An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (32 page)

“I’m sorry, Uncle. I just …” She jerked up her head, listening as steps thudded outside. “Quickly! Blow out the candles.” She lunged for one while he snuffed the other. They stood, hearts pounding sickeningly, waiting. A friend? Coming to greet them on Shabbat eve?

A soft knock sounded at their door. “Myra, let me in!”

“Sholmo? I’m coming.”

Talo heard her steps whisper across the floor and moonlight splashed the room as she flung the door wide. Sholmo leaned heavily against the house, a look of horror on his dark face, eyes wide. “I warned you,” he cried. “Get out, quickly!”

Without awaiting a reply, he lunged into the darkness, and Myra closed the door. “Hurry! Grab the biscuits and your coat. We have to run!”

Harsh voices issued from outside and Talo shuddered as a piercing shot whined. Then a boot slammed into a door across the street. “They’re here! Fan out. Find them!”

“Oh, dear God, dear God! Please let him get away!” Myra whispered, tripping over a chair as she fled in the darkness, heading for the door that had once led to the bedroom, but now led through a jumbled mass of charred timbers to open onto the street behind them. “Uncle, don’t stand there. They’ve come for us!”

“Let me get my books. I can’t leave them!”

With a wrenching bang, the front door flew back. Guards poured into the tiny room, rifles aimed. In the sudden light spouting from their helmets, Talo saw Myra standing in the bedroom doorway, her face a bluish mask of terror.

“Get your hands up!” a blond sergeant ordered, spitting at Talo.

“I … we want no trouble,” he moaned softly, lifting a trembling hand over his head. “What do you need from us?”

How deeply Talo wanted to hear some words of confidence. Maybe they’d tell him they only came to confiscate the food, or search for any uroplatinum or titanium they might be hiding. The Mashiah had ordered all precious metals confiscated. Perhaps the guards’ visit was simply routine, a question of sanitation or who owned the mule out back?

But the cruel smile on the sergeant’s face told him the firmament itself was about to open up and swallow up everything he held dear.

“You filthy peasants,” the guard accused, glancing speculatively from him to Myra. “You’ll each be allowed to take one pack on your backs. Fill it with food, maybe a few warm clothes. That’s all.”

“Where are you taking us?”

“To heaven,” he said with mock sweetness. “To heaven to rebuild Epagael’s pearly gates.”

“What does that mean?”

When the guard in gray didn’t answer, Talo looked at his niece. Myra met his gaze with terror-stricken eyes, as though she thought him mad for asking any questions at all. His knees went suddenly weak and he gripped the table to steady himself. Perhaps he
had
lost his mind. What new horror awaited them—what new gift had the Mashiah wrapped for them?

Outside, he could hear other guards shouting, “All Epagael worshipers, into the streets! Hurry!” A group of three passed by his door and he saw them herding friends away into the darkness, striking with truncheons when anyone resisted or fell to the ground. Their blows landed indiscriminately, bashing until the cries of men, women, and little children mixed in an eerie symphony of misery.

Talo shuddered as the blond sergeant’s eyes narrowed. The man took another step into the room, commanding, “I said hurry!”

“Yes, yes, all right,” Talo agreed, disoriented. “One pack? What should I take?”

“Uncle?” Myra hurried to him, keeping her eyes down in the presence of the guard. “Let me help you.”

“Nobody helps anybody,” the sergeant growled. “Get your
own
things ready. If this old man doesn’t have the strength to meet the schedule, we’ll leave him behind.”

Behind?
Talo wondered. Did the soldier mean he could stay home if he wasn’t strong enough for the work ahead? Maybe he should throw himself on the man’s mercy? Then he could spend day and night studying the ancient books, deciphering the cryptic words of God. A small glow warmed him. Yes, that would be a welcome fate. Even if he had to starve while he did it.

“Sir?” he inquired gently, turning sideways to reveal the ragged stump at his shoulder. “I’m not a good choice for hard work. I won’t be of any use to you. Let me stay here where I can—”

The guard burst out laughing, throwing his head back and cackling until he had to hold his stomach. “You’re
asking
for it?”

Talo looked at Myra. She stood there frozen, eyes wide with terror.

“He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” she pleaded, wringing her hands. “He’s so old he doesn’t—”

“Shut up!” the guard raged, slapping her hard across the face. “I don’t need any stupid peasant to tell me anything!”

“Don’t hurt her!” Talo blurted, instinctively racing forward and shoving the man away.

He knew immediately the action had been wrong. A swell of gray-suited men closed around him, truncheons and rifle butts raised.

“Don’t!” he heard Myra scream jaggedly as the first blow smashed into his temple. “Leave him alone! He can work!”

He fell to the floor, crouching against the blows, feeling blood spurt from his head and throat. One man repeatedly bashed the back of his skull. Unbearable agony lanced him. Is that what the sergeant had meant? Leaving him “behind” meant killing him?

Myra stood with her arms folded, fearfully examining the street. The guards had dragged her uncle out and thrown him into the massing crowd. He sprawled at her feet, blood still flowing from his head and back. The wound from his missing arm gushed red, sending rivulets slithering across the soil.

In the silver gleam of moonlight, she gazed upon the people sitting among bundles in the middle of the road. Children weaved through the mob, crying, some shouting names of parents who could no longer answer. A few people tried to comfort them, laughing and promising they’d find their families when they got to where they were going. Adults huddled together for the most part, candlesticks protruding from some packs, golden goblets gleaming in others. Many had prayer books pressed protectively to their chests. Had they all lost their minds? These guards were taking them to their deaths, and they clutched trinkets? Insane rage welled in Myra’s chest. Had all sense vanished from the universe?

She tipped her chin to stare imploringly at the stars sparkling around the crescent moon. Cold wind whipped up the street.

“Epagael, where are you?”

CHAPTER 18

Sarah sat uncomfortably in the long white hall of the temporary government building in Capitol. Established to house the military troops sent to quell the riots that tormented Kayan, it was full of soldiers in crisp purple uniforms, who wandered the corridors throwing her spiteful looks as they passed. Did they hold her responsible for their transfers to the “cultural wasteland” of Kayan? She’d heard them murmur things to that effect. Straightening her black robe, she fiddled with her single braid, letting worried eyes flash darkly over the foreboding whiteness.

To her right, a door snicked open and a tall gray-haired man in a purple uniform stepped out. He had a pug nose and black bushy brows that formed a solid line across his wrinkled forehead. The gold braid on his shoulders marked him as a high-level administrator.

“Miss Calas?”

“Yes,” Sarah said and stood.

He awkwardly formed his hands into the sacred Gamant triangle and bowed slightly. Surprised, she hesitated a moment before returning the gesture. Did he think the greeting would ease tensions between them? Absolve the Magistrates of responsibility for invading an independent planet?

“I’m First Colonel Silbersay, current military governor of Kayan. Thank you for heeding my call so quickly. Please, come into my office.” He gestured through the door and Sarah swept past him, anxious to have the meeting over.

A windowless cubbyhole of no more than eight-by-ten feet, it contained a simple metal desk and two chairs. Crystal sheets were scattered around the room, most stacked in precarious piles leaning against one wall. Sarah took the chair in front of the desk and folded her hands nervously in her lap, waiting for him to make the first move.

Silbersay closed the door and dropped into the remaining chair, asking, “May I get you a cup of Taza or perhaps some—”

“No. Thank you.”

“Well, then, perhaps some Orillian tea or—”

“Colonel, I’m sure you didn’t call me here for pleasant inanities. What did you want to discuss?”

Silbersay’s mouth pursed and he stared down at his cluttered desk, eyes on one particular sheet. Sarah could see the purple shield insignia of the Galactic Magistrates shining in the glare of the lustreglobe overhead.

“What do the Magistrates want?” she asked.

“They’ve authorized me to open new talks with you.”

“We’re not interested in new talks. We’re interested in having you leave our planet immediately.”

The Colonel laced his fingers and spoke gravely. “I’m sorry you’re uninterested, as well, in even getting to know me. I can be a great help to you. I’m not your enemy.”

“Any military official from the Magistrates is our enemy.”

“I see. Well, I suppose I should get on with it, then. Miss Calas, we understand that since your father’s death, you are now in charge of Gamant civilization, is that correct?”

“It is.”

“Then, may I ask, do you plan on continuing his path of obstinacy in relation to the government?”

A chill crawled her spine, but she gave no evidence of it. What would he do if she answered “Yes”? What the Magistrates considered “obstinacy,” Gamants considered a technique of survival. “Please be more specific. To what are you referring?”

Silbersay drew a breath and leaned back in his chair. “I’m referring to Kayan’s—and other Gamant planets’—refusal to accept any government aid.”

“We don’t need your aid.”

“Perhaps you are uninformed about our vast technological knowledge.”

“I know you can provide us with wealth beyond our wildest dreams, but we’re not interested.”

“Wealth aside. Do you realize that, for the asking, we could bring your communities from the Dark Ages to the present? Our technological advances can rid Gamant society of the scourges of diseases like arthritis and cancer. And simple eye disorders or birth defects, which are practically unknown in the rest of the galaxy, can be cured almost instantaneously. You need never again worry about food supplies or—”

“You’ll just ship in medical specialists and tons of food, is that right?”

“Yes. The Magistrates are very efficient at the redistribution of goods and personnel.”

Sarah stared at her hands. Unconsciously, she formed the fabric of her black robe into peaks, then smoothed them away.

“Miss Calas, forgive me for being so blunt, but your people have suffered for centuries because of the stubbornness of your father. We have so much to offer. Let us help you?”

A grim smile curled her lips. Every time in the past that the Magistrates had brought help, they’d taken children in return. Claiming that education was their primary goal and Gamants were too backward to understand how to properly school their own offspring. They’d “trained” the children for them—and Gamant civilization had lost a generation of fine minds. She cocked her head and glared hotly at him. “And the cost?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The cost.” She leaned forward to prop a fist on his desk.
“What’s your price?”

“Well…” He waved a negligent hand. “We customarily require a few minor changes in social structure. For example, we’d want to establish a Right School on Kayan and—”

“And all children would be required to attend under penalty of parental imprisonment? Isn’t that the way it works elsewhere?”

“It varies. The practice is generally tailored to the society, but, of course, we’d expect cooperation with our policies in exchange for the goods and service we offer.”

“Cooperation?”
she spat. Her dark eyes had, unbeknownst to her, taken on a violent gleam, as though she might spring over the desk at any moment and attack him. “I call that blackmail.”

Silbersay nonchalantly straightened the gold braids on his uniform, keeping silent. What did he think she was? Stupid? Weak?

“Colonel, what you ask is impossible for us to agree to. Magisterial programs are designed to destroy cultural uniqueness, particularly religion, and we will not allow it!”

“Religion,” he responded condescendingly, “oppresses technological and intellectual development. The government is merely attempting to circumvent your superstitions, not destroy them, so that the health and welfare of developing planets on the outskirts of the galaxy might be enhanced.”

Sarah stood, shoving her chair back so savagely it squealed across the tiles. “Thank you, Colonel, for having this chat with me. But I assure you, we do not now, nor will we
ever
need your assistance.” She started for the door, but his commanding voice stopped her.

“Miss Calas …” He waited until she turned to meet his hard gaze. He had his fingers steepled below his chin, brow furrowed deeply. “The few scattered government installations on Kayan have been under considerable attack since your father’s death. I hope you’re aware that if such violence continues, we will be forced to take defensive action to subdue your planet.”