An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (26 page)

“Who are you?” the stranger asked warily, fiddling with his pack to draw out two bottles of amber liquid. He handed one to her, explaining, “High energy concentrate. It’s sticky, but good for you. Drink it.”

They locked eyes for a long moment before she glanced at the pistol clipped on his belt and murmured, “Do you know how to communicate without giving orders?”

He dropped his gaze. “Not very well. Let me try again. I’m the man who just saved your life. And who might you be?”

“What’s your name?”

He hesitated, then took a long swallow of his drink and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Since
I
saved
you,
I think I’m entitled to know who you are first.”

Anger burned suddenly in her breast, and she pounded a fist into the floor. “I’ve been running for a week, trying to escape the certain torture and death the Mashiah has in store for me. I won’t tell you who I am until I know you’re not one of his men in disguise! Now who are you?”

He lifted his brows and heaved a disgruntled breath. “Jeremiel.”

“Jeremiel…?”

“Jeremiel.
And you are?”

“Rachel.”

He glanced knowingly at her. “Pleased to have been of service … Rachel.” He pointed at Sybil who shifted in her lap. “And who’s that?”

“My daughter, Sybil.”

“Quite a little girl. She bit me when I tried to drag her deeper into the rocks.” He pulled up his sleeve, showing a red crescent of teeth marks.

“She didn’t mean it. She was just—”

“Oh, yes she did. You didn’t see the satisfied gleam in her eyes at the sight of my blood.”

“She was frightened.”

“So was I.” He snuggled his broad shoulders against the red wall and nodded with certainty. “That ship didn’t exactly look friendly to me either. Why does the Mashiah want to kill you? I assume that ship was one of his?”

She nodded tensely. “Yes, a
samael.
He uses them to terrorize the populace.”

“Samael?
That’s what he calls his ships?”

“Yes, I don’t know what it means.”

“Doesn’t matter, it just rang some fuzzy bell in my memories. Why was it pursuing you?”

At the predatory look on his face, she folded protectively in upon herself, suspicions running rampant through her tired mind. “You’re obviously not from Horeb. What are you doing here?”

“Let’s take one question at a time. Mine first, hmm?”

Sybil shifted in her lap, lifting her head hostilely. “I don’t like him, Mommy. He doesn’t trust you.”

“It’s all right, baby. I feel the same way about him. You sleep now. We might have to run again soon.”

Sybil threw Jeremiel a distinctly unflattering look, then buried her face in Rachel’s shredded robe. Anxiety tormented Rachel, but as she looked up, she saw the corners of his mouth tuck in a suppressed smile and some of her tension eased. He seemed human at least.

“She’s perceptive,” he whispered.

“Very.”

“Does the Mashiah want to kill her, too? Or is he just—”

“Yes.”

“And your husband. Where’s he?”

“He …” Rachel’s heart pounded sickeningly. She tried to lift the bottle for a drink, but her hand shook so violently she sloshed the liquid all over her robe before it could touch her lips. Gripping it in both hands, she lowered it to rest on the firm stone floor. “D-Dead.”

“The Mashiah’s work?”

She nodded.

He frowned and methodically wiped beads of moisture from the sides of his bottle. When his voice came, it sounded gentle, reassuring. “I’m sorry. I pray Epagael keeps him well.”

“Don’t talk to me of prayers,” she spat vehemently. “If God sees fit to punish us so terribly, he can damn well do without prayers. Or anything else for that matter.”

“You’re a nonbeliever?”

“Only a fool would believe in a beneficent God after what he’s done to us.”

“Yes, but I like fools. As a loyal member of their ranks, I don’t think we could have survived without them.”

“Imbeciles who’ll be the doom of all of us.”

“More likely they’ll be our salvation. Them and their stubborn senses of righteousness—fighting to the last breath in defense of God and their people.”

Rachel gave him a scorching examination. “So, you’re a fool, too?”

He raised bushy brows, reddish beard wiggling slightly with his grinding jaw. A hollow look of old pain invaded his eyes. “If you mean by that do I believe in a God who watches over us and loves us? No. I think the only shields Gamants have are the sophistication of their weapons, the strength of their bodies, and the skill of their brains.” He met her hard look and gave her stare for stare. “But just because I’ve lost my faith, doesn’t mean I scorn it in others. Anyone who feels they owe God a few moments each day is—”

“God’s job is to protect us.
He promised
in His covenant with our ancestors. Yet, He’s broken the bargain time and again. We owe Him nothing!” The passion and hatred ringing in her hushed voice surprised her a little, but he seemed to accept it calmly. He looked at her without surprise.

“Well, that’s your business, of course. Let’s get back to our original subject. Why does the Mashiah hate you?”

She countered, “What are you doing here on Horeb?”

“Are you alone, or were you coming here to meet someone?”

“Who are you?”

He squeezed the bridge of his nose in irritation. “Does this bantering have a purpose?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we seem to be at a stand-off.”

“Try answering my questions. That should break it.”

Sitting up cross-legged, he absently dusted some of the red dirt from his black suit. “Let’s try talking of a neutral subject. Tell me what’s going on here?”

“You don’t know? Then why are you here?”

He regarded her for a moment, eyes oddly intent, as though probing her soul. Then he whispered, “I’m here to organize and lead a faction who will overthrow your blasted Mashiah.”

“Why? Horeb is a barren planet. We have no desirable resources. What business is it of yours what goes on here on this insignificant waystation between—”

“Look, Rachel.” He leaned forward menacingly. “I spend the vast majority of my time wandering around the galaxy trying to protect Gamant lives. So it’s rather annoying when I discover Horebians are gleefully killing each other. I’d much prefer to fight the Magistrates—the true threat to our existence—but you and your comrades have given me no choice.”

“The Mashiah isn’t a comrade of mine.”

“No? Why not?”

“So you’re here to stop Gamants from killing Gamants.”

“Something like that.” He cocked his head like a hawk spotting a mouse. “Why does the Mashiah want to kill you?”

Bitterness throbbed in her, and she suddenly felt every weary ache in her body. His name haunted her. Jeremiel …? Who protects Gamants? She stopped breathing. “Jeremiel
Baruch?”

His bushy brows lifted. “The last time a woman said my name like that, I had to dive for cover. And I hate running battles.”

“Jeremiel Baruch—the leader of our Underground forces?”

“Why does the Mashiah want to kill you?”

She patted Sybil’s warm leg to reassure herself. “I—he built a new temple to Milcom and I blew it up on the day of its initiation.”

He leaned back against the wall, a new respect in his eyes. “I bet he found that annoying.”

“He did.”

“Since the
samaels
still have direction, I assume he survived?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Well, nobody’s perfect. We’ll get him next time.”

“We?”

“You haven’t lost your fervor for battle, have you?”

“I’ve never had any fervor. I just did what was necessary to survive.”

“You don’t want to join the fight?”

Tendrils of terror wound through her, Adom’s serene face overlaying her memories of the square like a ghostly executioner. “I—I want him dead, but … I just want to find a place where my little girl and I can live together without worrying about being killed in our sleep.”

His stern gaze softened. He blinked and looked at the dusty stone floor. “I see. Well, we’ll do it without you.”

Rachel miserably examined his handsome face and noticed for the first time the dark circles beneath his eyes and the deep lines etching his forehead. A curious wistfulness brushed his gaze.

“Maybe I can …” she began, trying to think of something she could do to help without becoming directly involved. “No, then he’d …” In a sudden wash, all her fear, stress and weariness flooded to the surface and a sob rose in her throat. She drew up one knee and braced her forehead on it.

“What would he do if you helped?”

Kill thousands!
she silently thought, unable to utter the horrifying words. She couldn’t bear the thought, just now, of even speaking of Adom or Ornias. The hatred that welled smothered her strength.

“What’s been happening on Horeb?” Jeremiel pressed softly. “Obviously you didn’t blow up his temple alone. Did you have an organized resistance effort?”

She mustered enough strength to nod.

“How many?”

“Damn it!”
she blurted. “Can’t you see how … how tired and beaten I am? Stop trying to wring information from me! I need a few hours of sleep and peace.”

“We all do. But how long do you think your comrades in the city will last without you? Do they have other leaders or were you and your husband the only—”

“We were the only two, but others will rise. I’m sure of it.” Hearing the uncertainty in her own voice, a curious feeling, stronger than grief, stronger than hatred began to beat in her chest. The Mashiah wanted to kill them all, wipe the old Gamants from the face of Horeb. What was she doing, thinking of herself? Her mind recalled the faces of friends and family, the faithful believers, who still huddled in burned-out buildings throughout Seir and her heart went cold and dead.

“Better?” he asked.

“I’ll never be better.”

“How many?”

She lifted her head angrily, meeting his eyes.
“Before or after the holocaust?”

“What do you mean, ‘holocaust’?”

“He rounded up about a thousand of the Old Believers earlier this week, locked us in the square, then …” Her voiced failed as memories flooded back: The little girl dragging her brother, the boy stroking his dead mother’s hand. “Then,” she blurted, “he … he positioned the marines around the walls and they began firing, and kept firing, until nothing moved. Except … the night birds … looking for food.”

Through tear-blurred eyes she saw he sat stone still, hatred and grief flickering over his face.

He picked up his bottle, draining the liquid dry. But Rachel noticed how tight his grip was, how white his fingernails. “I promise you, Rachel, he’ll pay with his life.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. I’ve been trying for three years to kill him and haven’t—”

“We’ll discuss my abilities to keep promises later. Since we’ll have to be up long before dawn, maybe we’d both better try and sleep.” He turned away from her to reach for the lustreglobe.

“Yes, all right.” Without a word more, Rachel rearranged Sybil and stretched out on the cave floor between her daughter and Jeremiel. The light went out and, after a time, she heard Baruch lie down a short distance away.

Rachel’s mind raced over what he’d said, and what she’d revealed. The more she thought, the more unsure and panicked she grew. Why had she told him those things? She didn’t
know
he was Baruch! Confiding in anyone was dangerous, but a complete stranger? Terror rose to overwhelm her. She tried to force herself to believe he really had come to rescue them—but she couldn’t. It made no sense. Horeb hung at the very edge of inhabited space, but even so they heard news of other worlds. Rumors said Baruch waged a great battle against the Magistrates in the Akiba system—months away. Fear reared like a wild stallion in her soul, trampling her hopes to dust.

Dear God, what have I done?

She buried her face against her sleeve suppressing the sob that roiled in her throat.
Do something!
she shouted at herself, feeling to tired to move; knowing she must. She waited until his breathing slowed to deep rhythmic patterns. Then, with the silence of river mist, she moved closer to him, so close that she could feel the warmth rising from his body and smell his masculine scent. She found comfort in that, but her weary mind quickly denied it. If she thought about Shadrach now, the floodgates of her grief would burst wide. Stretching out her hand, she searched the floor at his side for his pistol, but touched only cold sand and gravel. Would he sleep with it clipped to his belt? Finding nothing, she steeled her nerves and moved closer still, hovering over him. Silently she dropped a hand to his waist.

A grip like iron encircled her wrist. “I do hope you’re making pleasant advances, Rachel,” he whispered. “Otherwise, I might be tempted to shoot you.”