An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (65 page)

The screen went blank and Adom blinked in surprise, exhaling irritably. He turned around and smiled timidly at Rachel. “Well, I guess that’s it for now. Are you tired? We could sleep for awhile, or just lie in bed and talk about the tapestries.”

She stood stiffly. The battle had begun. It was her duty to
take the heart out of his followers.
Yet she couldn’t move.

“We don’t have to,” he said gently, red rising into his pale cheeks. He flapped his muscular arms helplessly. “We could go explore. Tell me what you want to do?”

He took a step toward her, opening his arms, baring his vulnerable chest and every fiber of her body hummed,
now! now!

She stepped unsteadily forwards—hesitating a long moment before falling into the circle of his arms. She slid her hands around his waist, burying her face against his chest.

“Are you all right?” he whispered in concern, kissing her hair and stroking her back. “Are you ill? You’ve been pale all day. Perhaps I should call a doctor from Seir? He could be here in a few hours.”

“I’m just tired.”

“You have every right to be. It’s been a terrible day and we didn’t get much sleep last night. I woke you so early. I’m sorry, it’s just that everything is happening so fast and Milcom—”

“Let’s go and rest for an hour. Maybe when we get up, I’ll feel better.”
Perhaps when he’s asleep and I can’t see the love in his eyes, maybe then I can do what has to be done.

They walked back to the king’s bedchamber. Closing the door behind them, he went to turn down the quilts while she undressed. He watched her growing nakedness with shy intensity, a look of warm adoration on his handsome face.

“Aren’t you going to rest, too?” she asked, gesturing at his clothing.

“Oh! Yes.” He laughed at himself and peeled off his jumpsuit.

While he finished the process, she unbraided her hair and fluffed it around her shoulders, then picked up her boots and set them beside the bed, within easy reach. A glint of silver caught her eye as she slipped beneath the sheet and tugged it up to her throat to shield her forced breathing. Even her lungs burned with her anxiety. She gazed at Adorn, engraving his image onto her soul: the high cheekbones and patrician nose. He stood naked, tall, blond hair cascading in waves over his broad chest. His deeply set blue eyes sparkled as he crawled into bed beside her.

“Rachel,” he murmured tenderly as he slid across the bed. She tensed and he stopped of a sudden, hesitating to put his arm around her. He lowered his eyes fearfully. “Rachel, we don’t have to do anything. I know you’re tired. I’ve just been alone for so long that feeling you warm beside me soothes something deep inside. I just want to be close to you. Is that … all right?”

Rachel looked into his boyish eyes, and for a moment she fought despair. “I want to be close, too, Adorn,” she whispered, holding out her arms. He hurried into them, pressing tightly against her bare chest and rubbing his chin over her thick wealth of hair. Sighing, he playfully stroked her foot with his toes.

“You make me very happy, did you know that?” His voice was startlingly beautiful, filled with tender emotion.

She forced her hand to caress his shoulder. “You make me happy, too, Adom. Let’s sleep now? And maybe when we wake, we’ll
do
something anyway.”

He smiled suddenly, then his eyes went seriously over her face and he kissed her gently. “I … I love you, Rachel.”

She started to say something but he put fingers softly against her lips. “No, I know you don’t yet,” he said understandingly. “But maybe soon. If everything on Horeb works out. When we have more time together.”

“Yes.”

He snuggled his cheek against her hair and closed his eyes. The feel of his ribs against her breasts, the rhythm of his breathing, all slashed at her heart like a dagger.

After several minutes, he shifted, graceful even in his sleep, rolling to his back. Pink and green quilted pillows framed his innocent face.

Rachel studied his exposed chest. One quick thrust to the heart—that’s all it would take. He’d barely know what had happened.

And then no more would die in Seir.

She quietly leaned sideways, hand drifting unsteadily toward the knife. She touched it, but the cold blade burned like fire. Dropping it back into her boot, she pressed hands over her face. Shudder after silent shudder of grief racked her. Curling into a fetal ball, she hugged herself, trying to force all the tears, all the terror and guilt back inside.

Time alone, that’s what I need.

Moving silently, she threw her legs over the edge of the bed and rose, casting a long look at Adom’s peaceful face. The man who needed dirty sheets and moldering cups beneath his bed, slept soundly in the king’s bedchamber. His blond hair spread over the pillows like a web of pale gold. Unconsciously, he moved a hand to her side of the bed, fingers searching unknowingly for something he sensed had vanished.

Rachel tiptoed to her pack and pulled out her ebony cloak. Swinging it around her shoulders, she quickly opened the door and stepped into the stark white light of the hall. The hem of the robe billowed out behind her as she walked unsteadily away, trailing like a perverse bridal veil in the harsh glare.

“Jeremiel,” she whispered miserably, “do you know I can’t do it? He’s innocent. He doesn’t
deserve
to die.”

Turning the corner, she found herself before room number six hundred and thirteen. She stood awkwardly, wringing her hands, then shoved it open and stepped inside. Perhaps the books would distract her, take her mind from the horrifying feelings of culpability and failure.

She closed the door, coughing at the dust that fogged around her with each movement. Her gaze was drawn to the bookcase. It sagged balefully, its ancient leather-bound volumes caked with what seemed the loam of millennia. She ambled toward it, cloak hem sweeping the dirt into swirling patterns.

“You’ll win, Jeremiel, I know you will. And, without Ornias, Adom will fade into the shadows again—a saint without a marketing genius. He won’t hurt anyone.”

Ancient paper volumes were scattered on the dusty floor. She knelt, carefully turning one over. Many of the pages had crumbled to dust; others were only partially intact. She frowned as she struggled to read the fragments of sentences still visible:

…
blue beasts came in droves … took us to … Lord only knows what would have happened if we hadn’t… the secret lay in their energy source. We stole … took our scientists three years to discover a way to contain the primordial… the Gate has set us free … and they don’t even know we escaped by their own …

Rachel shook her head in bewilderment and eased the book back to the floor, then picked up another. The pages were made of some strange sticky substance. Over time, mostly of them had melted together. But the text on the first page was clear.

The Secret History of the Great Halls of Giclas …
During the month of Uru, First Magistrate Mastema lectured to the Hall of Science on “Phase Transition Dynamics in Clouds of Trapped Ions,” relating working theories to the construction of the containment chamber on newly completed Palaia. He said the only possible weaknesses might be associated with temperature or frequency control, since the chamber required constancy or the ions broke apart into disordered …

“Phase transition dynamics?” she repeated, wondering what that meant. She put the book down and searched the array on the floor, looking for one that seemed whole. A black leather-bound volume caught her eye. She picked it up and stood, walking to the table. Blowing dust from a chair, she sat down and gingerly brushed off the first page. Her heart stopped at the words:

January 11, 4412.

Dear God, I don’t know what to do. I’ve ordered all my family and critical staff here to the polar chambers, but I know
… I know
we’re not safe. Jekutiel’s forces are massed on our borders, and Milcom says her army numbers over a billion.

Rachel’s blood raced. She gently turned the volume back to the first page. “Edom Middoth’s personal journal? Not the Middoth of the Exile? The tyrant who forced Garnants to endure terrible suffering in his labor camps?”

It seemed a bizarre impossibility. None of the old teachings had spoken of him coming from Horeb. But try as she might, she couldn’t remember them ever speaking of his planet of origin at all. In a flood of excitement, she flipped through the pages.

March 31, 4413

He won’t come in the day any more. But at night, He touches me, His ghostly fingers gliding like electricity over my flesh to wake me. I think … but I shouldn’t write this, if He chances to read … No, He doesn’t care so long as I continue massing my army of slaves for His bidding. No … I—I’m safe. And this journal is my only refuge from Him. I must at least write.

I think he’s Aktariel, hiding behind the name of Milcom. Though, God help me, He’s so persuasive. I can’t disbelieve his horror stories about Epagael. When I look around me, all I see is suffering.

If I only knew for certain. Blessed Lord, where are all the
Meas?
I’d challenge Epagael myself if I could, demand He answer the terrible questions about human suffering that Milcom poses.

But all the
Meas
have vanished. And I’ve wondered in the depths of my soul if Milcom didn’t take them. For if the gates are gone, God can’t defend Himself.

Rachel blinked, leaning back in her chair. Her eyes sightlessly landed on the dilapidated couch with the broken legs. “Jeremiel and Rathanial talked about a
Mea
that Zadok had.” She looked back at the haunting page. “So—they really existed. Exist? And lead to the sacred Veil?”

She thumbed another page.

July 7, 4414

My daughter is dead. My beautiful Pyran, torn to pieces by some mad demon. My heart aches so that I can barely force my hand to write. Milcom says it’s Epagael’s work.

I don’t believe it.

I told Him yesterday she hated the war, that she’d stormed into my chamber after the Rensin disaster vowing when she became leader of Gamant civilization she’d stop the bloodshed and free the slaves—His army of destruction.

Dear Pyran, forgive me, I didn’t know how insanely desperate He’d become.

Now, I fear He’ll do anything to keep me on his hook.

Almost hypnotized by fascination, she flipped to the last page of Middoth’s journal.

September 12, 4414

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death … The final attack has come. Horeb lies a barren waste. Thirty-two million dead. Milcom—Aktariel, I’m sure now—says we must press ahead.

I haven’t the heart. The slaves have revolted. We’re being torn apart from the inside now, too. Jekutiel owns the only
Mea
left. I can’t fight someone who can talk to God face to face. Doubt consumes me.

I have only a questionable source … a fallen angel of immense beauty with a soothing voice and the power to convince frail humans of anything.

I can’t go on.

Tikkun, Tikkun, where is the promised Mashiah? Broken shells, Kings of Edom, I am finished.
Rachel, last of the Sefirah, you must return it all to the original root.
Don’t
let Him take your substance!

We cannot bear it.

She sat frozen.
Him?
Epagael or Milcom? An inner voice chastised, “He means the mother of the people, not you.” Yet she couldn’t get the words out of her mind. Clutching the ebony robe tightly around her, she stared at the passage again. “So, Adom is not the first to be approached by Milcom—
Aktariel?”
She’d been taught the evil acts of the wicked angel since birth. The Deceiver.
How could Middoth have believed?
Couldn’t he see the effects of Milcom’s actions were devastating? Billions died in his war with Jekutiel.

The deep roots of her former belief in Epagael stirred, prodding like the tip of a sword, beckoning.

A soft creak made her jump. She turned. Adom stood in the doorway, a sleepy look of anguish on his face. “Rachel, Ornias is on the monitor. The war is …” He squeezed his eyes closed, reaching out for her pleadingly. “Ten thousand have died.”

“Ten …” Numbly, she rose from her chair and ran past him, sweeping out the door and down the long hall to the communications room.

CHAPTER 41

Cole Tahn sat rigidly in his command chair, watching as the lush blue-green world of Kayan swelled on the forward screen. Clouds swirled across the surface.

“How much time until we attain orbit?”

Halloway struck a button on her console, looking like someone had kicked her in the belly. “Thirty seconds.”

“Macey, any further messages from Silbersay?”

The redhead switched on the com, twitching slightly as the golden aura flared around his skull. “No, sir. But we have one from Bogomil.”