An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (31 page)

The celestial being smiled smugly. “You’re the most bombastically ignorant human in creation, did you know that, Zadok? I don’t know why Epagael endures your existence.”

“You dimwitted—”

“I thought it was imperative you get to the Veil as soon as possible? Will you let your anger prevent it? Hmm? Insult me just one more time and—”

“AH right, all right.” Zadok’s indignation drained away. For once, Sedriel was right. Though his throat had grown raw, he took a deep breath, exhaling, “Kebiriron, Dorriron, Sebiroron, Zahiroron, Webidriron …”

In the candlelit prayer room, Adom listened carefully, trying very hard to understand. God stood only a few feet away, his blue cloak fluttering as he moved.

“Yosef Calas can be a great aid to you, Adom. Treat him well. Bring him into the fold.”

“I try to treat all my people well, Milcom. I love my—”

“Yes, yes.” The cut crystal god sighed and massaged his forehead. “I know you do. And I want you to.”

Adom cringed at the irritated look on Milcom’s glowing golden face. “I’m … I’m sorry, Lord. Did I say something wrong?”

“No, Adom. Forgive me. I’m in a hurry today, that’s all. I think every blasted angel in heaven is placing bets against us. The traitorous …” He threw back his blue satin cloak to prop hands on his hips as he paced before the huge inverted triangle on the wall. Candlelight flickered wildly off his taut face. “I sense the buildup of power. I don’t know if we can counter it.”

“I don’t understand, Lord. Why would the angels want to stop us? Don’t they know you’re trying to save us all from the wicked Epagael?”

God stopped pacing abruptly and pursed his lips against some pain or irritation Adom couldn’t grasp. Tersely, he responded, “Their universe is directly tied to Epagael’s. They know little of our fate here.”

“I see.”

“Did you understand what I said about Calas?”

“Yes, I’m—I’m to take special care of him.”

“Correct. Let me briefly tell you why, then I must be going.” He began pacing again, this time furiously. His body threw an iridescent kaleidoscope across the blue and cream rugs. “By virtue of his name, Calas can influence your ascent to power in Gamant civilization.”

“Will that further our message of salvation, Lord?”

“Yes.
And we haven’t much time now. It’s
very
important you follow my instructions exactly.”

“I will, Lord. Please tell me what I must do?”

“Rachel’s the key. When she arrives, you must—”

“She’s coming?” he asked breathlessly, feeling his heart start to pound. He longed to have her close where he could teach her, preach Milcom’s message of redemption, and … and just talk to her. He knew his tender emotions for her rose from a childish part of his heart, but he couldn’t help it.

“When she arrives, make sure she meets Ari Funk.
Do your best to insure they like each other.”
Milcom heaved an uncertain breath. “Which will be no easy task.”

“I’ll do everything I can.”

“One last thing, Adom. Funk and Calas aren’t as naive as they seem. Remember that.”

“What do you mean?”

Milcom pinned him with glittering amber eyes. “I mean you should watch them closely. They can be a great aid, or send this whole thing tumbling down around our ears, depending upon whose side they choose in the end.” He flicked a hand irritably. “Set your watchdog, Ornias, to keeping track of their movements.”

Adom nodded obediently. “If you think it’s necessary. Is there a reason, Lord? Are they dangerous?”

“Let’s just say they’re crucial enough to warrant attention. But they won’t hurt you, Adom. Don’t worry about that.”

“I’m not worried. I know you protect me, Lord,” he murmured lovingly, turning adoring eyes on Milcom. “I fear nothing so long as you still care.”

The crystal god bowed his head. He stood silent for so long that Adom began to feel anxious. Had he said something wrong again? He clenched his teeth, wordlessly chastising himself for being so stupid and inept. “Lord,” he muttered softly, “I know I’m not very smart. Punish me if I’ve offended you.”

“You never offend me, Adom,” Milcom breathed unsteadily and when he looked up, Adom could have sworn he had tears in his gleaming eyes. God strode quickly to him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. The warmth sent a tremor up Adom’s spine. “It’s not you. I’m feeling … betrayed. People who once clandestinely voted with me for destruction are now—”

“Who, Lord?”

Milcom gazed down, an urgency creasing his face. “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand.” He dropped his hand and strode quickly to the far wall. Lifting his hands, the black vortex spun outward, seemingly swallowing the stone wall from which it sprang. “I’ll try to give you advance warning before Rachel arrives.”

Clenching his upraised hands into fists, he vanished into the cyclone of darkness and it spun closed behind him.

Adom blinked weakly at the stone wall with its flickers of candlelight, responding meekly, “Thank you, Lord.”

CHAPTER 17

Talo bowed his head over the Shabbat meal, idly studying the hard biscuits and thin porridge as he listened to his niece, Myra, murmur the holy prayers.

“Blessed art thou, O Eternal, King of the Universe, at whose behest the evening darkens, who in wisdom opens the gates of heaven and whose understanding varies the seasons and arrays the stars in their watches in the firmament according to His will. He creates day and night, causes the light to vanish …”

Gray strands of hair fell over Talo’s eyes. Through their web, he gazed at the tiny room. Though it was a burned-out husk, they’d done their best to make it livable. The only room in the house that could be repaired, they’d shoveled for days to rid it of ash and charred board from the collapsed roof. Then they’d stolen …
No,
he told himself—
they hadn’t stolen the boards for the roof. They’d
gathered
the least burned remnants from the homes of friends. Dead friends. People who wouldn’t have wanted them to be cold at night just to fulfill some ancient code of honor.
After patching the roof, Myra had hung faded pictures of the saints in an irregular fashion along the soot-licked, blistered yellow walls. A good girl, she lacked the artistic sense of his beloved Drala, buried now for fourteen years. And he had no right to complain about the arrangement of the pictures, or anything else. He hadn’t been much good to anyone since the holocaust in the square. The pain in his shoulder seemed unceasing and he constantly reached for things with his missing arm, feeling the flesh still warmly present in his mind. At least Myra had done her best to make the shanty a home and he felt a deep affection for her putting out the effort. He peered at her lovingly. She sat on the opposite side of the table, head bowed as she murmured softly. Dressed in a tattered tan robe, brown hair hung in a stringy mass over her shoulders. Her gaunt face had a haunted look, cheekbones protruding cadaverously—but they all looked like that now, those who’d survived.

“… With ever-enduring compassion you have loved the people of the house of Horeb. And, O! do not withdraw your love from us. Blessed art thou, the Eternal who cherishes the Gamant people.”

Talo closed his eyes, responding fervently, “Hear, O Horeb, the Eternal our God, the Eternal is One.”

Myra paused for a short time and his passionate words seemed to ring in the candelit silence. When she continued, her voice sounded strained. “Take heed, lest your heart be given up to folly and you turn aside and serve strange gods and prostrate yourselves before them. For then the wrath of the Eternal will be enkindled against you and he will restrain the heavens, so that there shall be no rain, and the soil shall not yield its produce and you shall perish speedily from off the goodly land which the Eternal gave you. Blessed art thou …”

That’s what has happened over the past three years, Talo nodded harshly to himself. The Gamants on Horeb had turned to the Mashiah and the foreign god, Milcom, and drought had ravaged the land. Epagael, in His wisdom, punished them for straying. Punished, like a father punishes a son, in love, so that the child might see the error of its ways and return to the path of truth and righteousness.

“It is He,” Myra prayed, softer still, a quaver in her voice, “who freed us from the hand of kings: Himself our King who delivered us out of the power of all Tyrants.”

The words, of course, referred to the liberation of Gamants from the wicked Edom Middoth, but there were those these terrible days, who turned to Milcom because of them. Many saw the Magistrates as tyrants in whose power Gamants remained. Therefore, they believed Epagael had betrayed them. But Talo knew better. The words eddied out of the darkness of history. They had nothing to do with the present. Except, in a way, they did. The true Mashiah’s arrival stood only a breath away; he knew it, could feel it in the depths of his tortured soul. And
He
would free them for all eternity by establishing the millennial kingdom in this galaxy.

“Blessed art thou, O Eternal, who blessed the Gamant People with peace.”

“Amayne,” Talo whispered passionately, vaguely hearing Myra echo the word.

“Uncle? Please pass the bread.”

Talo retrieved the wooden basket of hard biscuits and handed them to her. After thinking of the coming of the Redeemer, the candles on either end of the table seemed to glow brighter, the chilly house to feel warmer. “Niece, what news did you hear when you were out visiting today?” he asked, taking a biscuit and dipping it in his bowl of porridge to soak it soft.

Myra exhaled irritably. “Sholmo says the Mashiah is planning on attacking us again. I don’t believe it, but—”

“It’s probably true. He won’t leave us alone until we’re all dead. True Believers are a threat to him.”

“But why?”
Myra cried, pounding a fist into the table. “We’re only a handful now. How can we be a threat?”

Talo pursed his lips, not wanting to reveal the secret thoughts he’d been having lately. He’d been adding up different passages in the Micha and was sure he’d determined—finally—the true nature of Adom Kemar Tartarus.

“I think we should leave here. Maybe we can buy passage on one of the merchant ships that docks every six months. If they’ll take us to New Payestine, we can—”

“I’m too old to start a new life. Too old to scratch a living from a planet far away. Besides, those Gamants on New Payestine are fools. Living in the heart of Magisterial power? Insanity.”

“How do we know? Maybe the Magistrates will be kinder to us than the Mashiah? Huh? Did you think of that? The Mashiah—”

“Impossible.”

“How do you know?”

“You wouldn’t believe me,” he reprimanded softly, looking at her affectionately. “I know you don’t hold with the old system of numerological—”

“Oh, Uncle,” she said in exasperation, “you haven’t been wasting time adding up sentences again, have you?”

“It’s not a waste. God hides things in the books, He—”

“If He hides things it’s because He doesn’t want us to know them.”

“No. It’s because he doesn’t want casual readers to discover them. But if you’re serious, and you read enough, you can see the way He engineered the passages so that those who really
need
to know can decipher the messages.”

Myra shifted uncomfortably and Talo wilted, retreating inside himself where he felt safe. The expression on her face reeked of near anger at his squandering of precious hours on useless things.

“Did you finish mending the hole in the wall?”

“No, I—I forgot,” he defended weakly. “I’ll get it done tomorrow.”

“I asked you to do it a week ago, Uncle. You know mice come through that hole and no matter how hard I try to hide the flour they always get into it.”

“I know. I forgot. I’ll fix it tomorrow.”

Myra scrutinized him disbelievingly. In defense, he picked up his spoon and dipped it in the porridge, avoiding her condemning eyes. The soup tasted like pure water, the few radi roots too weak to add flavor. “I’m sorry, niece.”

She nodded, squeezing her eyes closed. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve been racing around the burned-out sections of the city, trying to trade for food with the few survivors, but there’s so little here. I’m frightened. I don’t know where else to look without going into the heart of the city and trading there.”

“You can’t do that! If someone recognizes you—”

“What choice do I have? Rumors say the believers in Milcom have plenty of bread and milk—that their god conjured it from the air. Maybe if I wear a veil and—”

“I won’t eat tainted food,” Talo whispered miserably. Leaning forward, he cast caution to the winds, blurting: “You won’t believe, but I’m going to tell you anyway. Epagael has revealed to me, through the numbers in the Sibylline Oracles, that Tartarus is
the Antimashiah foretold by scriptures!
I won’t eat food magically created by his demon assistants. It would probably strike us dead in our beds!”

“Uncle …”

“It’s true. I don’t care if you believe,” he murmured, turning away to gaze blindly at the mouse hole in the wall. A dark cavity, it gaped four inches wide. A hollow chasm throbbed in his chest at his lie. He did care if she believed. How could they fight Tartarus if no one knew his true nature?