An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (4 page)

“Can’t you see it?” he asked in an agonized whisper.

“The sky’s empty, Daddy. Just a few clouds, that’s all. There’s nothing else there.”

Still the old man screamed breathlessly. “What’s the matter with you all? Gamants! The wave comes from the Magistrates. They’ve sent it to destroy us! To burn Horeb to a cinder and us with ! No! NO!”

“I don’t care if you have to kill him,” a straggly-bearded youth shouted. “Keep him quiet!”

A group of boys jerked the old man from his daughter’s lap and clamped hands over his mouth, but he continued to shriek through their bruising fingers. Wordless cries of horror, his ancient eyes fixed on the silent blue sky.

“Make him stop! Make him stop!”

The boys slapped the old man until he sat quietly, knees pulled against his frail chest, eyes scouring the vacant heavens. His daughter gathered him in her arms protectively, sobbing, “Don’t hurt him anymore! The Mashiah killed the rest of our family. He’s crazy from the pain. He doesn’t know what he’s saying!”

Rachel glanced around the packed square. Terror lined every face, madness about to burst the very walls enclosing them. Trembling from fatigue and panic, people shifted uneasily, glaring at each other. Soon, they’d all be crazy enough to kill for a breath of silence, a slim boundary of space.

“We’re losing our minds,” a young man in a torn brown robe said uncomfortably to Rachel.” “It… must be the heat.”

“Yes, the heat.”

When nightfall came, fights broke out, people struggling to find sleeping positions. Rachel remained standing, letting Sybil sleep between her spread feet. In the distance, the jagged peaks of the mountains changed from red to indigo. She tried to imagine herself there, safe in one of the thousands of caves that honeycombed the hills. She dreamt of finding a spring where she could sit and let the cool water flow over her endlessly, of cupping her hands beneath it and letting Sybil drink as much as she could hold.

Then, in the middle of the night, when the stars gleamed like a sequined shawl thrown over the heavens, a wrenching scream set a jolt of shock through her. In the dim starglow, she saw the the old man stand up and stretch his arm toward the dark peaks. His hair jutted out at odd angles, making him look like a half-dead demon from the pit of darkness.

“Look!
The sea of blood!
It swallows our children! Oh, my God, my God, what have we done to deserve such punishment?”

Rachel stared at the starry sky, trying to force her thoughts from the horrifying prediction. The words pierced clear to her soul. A crack sounded in the darkness, followed by another and another. Boys grabbed him by the sleeves and threw him to the ground.

“Why can’t you see it? It’s the battle cruiser that caused it! And it’s so close! Can’t you—”

“For God’s sake, shut him up! We’ve got to get some sleep!”

The sound of ripping fabric shredded the night and Rachel turned to see one of the boys tying the cloth into a knot and stuffing it in the old man’s mouth, while another tied his hands. He struggled pitifully, choking.

His daughter stroked his shoulder in mute agony.

Rachel squeezed her eyes closed. Would the night never end?
“Lord of the Universe, why won’t you have mercy on us?”
She put a hand over her mouth as silent, dry sobs choked her.

“Ma … Mommy,” Sybil said, patting her mother’s leg soothingly. “Don’t cry. Why are you crying?”

Rachel slumped to the ground, squeezing tightly between two men and one woman, to hug her daughter.

“Get up, damn you! There’s no room!” A man cursed and pounded her back, but she huddled against the beating, refusing to rise. Her legs were suddenly too weak to hold her.

“Don’t hit my mommy!” Sybil shrieked, using her tiny fists to weakly flail at his leg.

In defeat, the man lifted his hands, muttering. “All right. For now.”

Sybil crawled into Rachel’s lap, slipping her arms around her neck. “Don’t cry, Mommy. Here, I’ll pat you to sleep.” Her daughter extended a tired, dirty hand to pat her back. “It’s all right, Mommy. Don’t—”

“Shhh, sweetheart,” she sobbed, stroking Sybil’s tangles. “You’re the one who must sleep. Tomorrow might be worse. We have to save our strength.”

“But you have to sleep, too.”

“All right, I’ll try. Close your eyes now.”

“Let’s close them together,” Sybil instructed, watching Rachel through one slitted eye until she closed her lids. Then her daughter relaxed into a tiny heap in her arms.

Rachel rocked Sybil back and forth as cold grew up around them. Outside the square, wind moaned like banshees roaming through the stone cold streets.

Her soul cried out as she watched a huge night bird land on the body of a child only six feet away and begin plucking flesh from its stiff body. Flapping wings sent a chill breeze to brush her hair. She hadn’t known the boy; still a fit of uncontrollable shuddering overtook her, as though the bestial wind were the last breath of one of her own loved ones.

Looking up, she noticed the guards on the walls. In the silver wash of starlight, their helmets shone a ghostly gray.

CHAPTER 2

A hunched figure in a worn black suit, Zadok Calas’ boots pounded a steady cadence on the damp path. The leader of Gamant civilization, he was a very old man, his skin leathery and dark from centuries of enduring the tortuous winds of barely habitable planets. His fleshy nose hooked over broad lips, accenting the black eyes that constantly searched the trees. Cliffs towered like silent sentinels over the path. Torchlight, taunted by the cool night breeze, flickered from their jagged edges.

He gazed admiringly at the stars. On holy days they seemed to flare brighter. A warmth built in his bony chest, a warmth spawned by memories and the tiny hand tucked in his own. He patted the boy’s fingers lovingly.

“Are you warm enough, Mikael? This wind has a chill—”

“Yes, grandfather. I’m always warm during Sighet.” The seven-year-old looked up. His brown eyes glowed like full moons. Small and awkward for his age, the boy stepped carefully through the darkness, occasionally glancing at the torch-lit line of people weaving through the forested hills behind.

Zadok smiled as they crested a ridge, looking at the huge cave tucked into the side of the cliffs below. Soft golden light streamed from the entrance, dappling through the trees to throw patchwork shadows across the ground.

“Grandfather?”

“What is it, Mikael?”

“Can I touch the
Mea Shearim?”

“Someday you can touch it. Not yet.”

“But you said you’d give it to me when I got to be old enough. Why can’t I just—”

“I’ve told you why. Don’t you remember?” Zadok tugged his hand and they started down the hill.

Mikael lowered his gaze to stare at the moist earth passing beneath his feet. “I remember, but—”

“I thought you did.”

“The
Mea
is like a thousand gates, isn’t it, Grandfather?”

“That’s what we think the old words mean,” Zadok answered. “Because there are a thousand paths leading to the orchard of Truth. But each
Mea
is a single gate.” He patted his chest where the object lay warm and comforting.

Darkness deepened around them, moonlight tarnishing the trunks of the trees and the curving branches overhead. Mikael edged closer to Zadok, childishly fingering the threadbare fabric of his black sleeve.

“Grandfather,” he said very softly. “Grandfather?”

He gave the boy a searching look. Mikael was persistent. Once he asked something, he never let it go. “I’m listening.”

“Maybe you could just let me look at it?”

“Later, all right?”

“Maybe now and then I wouldn’t have to remember to ask again later.”

“You think you might forget?”

“Sometimes it happens.” Mikael stared morosely at him, eyes tight with longing.

Zadok suppressed a smile and tried to look stern, but relented after a few moments, pulling the chain out of his white shirt. Kneeling in the wet grass, he swung the globe for Mikael to look at. The tiny blue ball glowed of its own inner light. The line of people veered around them, other children pointing excitedly.

Mesmerized, Mikael unconsciously reached out. Violent swirls eddied across the surface of the
Mea Shearim.
Zadok gripped the tiny fingers firmly, keeping them away. “You want Epagael to find you so soon?”

“God already knows where I am, Grandfather. You told me so.”

“Yes, but he’d want to talk to you if you touched this.”

“I want to talk to God.”

“You just think you do. He’s not as friendly as most people imagine.” He tucked the sacred object back into his shirt. Mikael watched intently.

“I know how to use the
Mea,
did you know that, Grandfather?”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” Mikael blurted excitedly. “You have to find all of yourself
inside
—” he tapped his forehead, “—and then you have to put the
Mea
to your head and send yourself through.”

“Usually, but sometimes God reaches out and grabs you when you least expect it. That’s why you can’t play with it. God always thinks you’re serious when you pick the
Mea
up.”

Mikael nodded, licking his lips. “Grandfather, tell me again about how the sky used to be filled with
Meas?
And how the Magistrates came and got them all and put them—”

“You have more important stories to think about tonight. Like Edom Middoth and the Exile.”

“Did all the other
Meas
go to God, too?”

Zadok sighed. “The legends say that some did and some didn’t. But since ours is the only one left, nobody really knows anymore. Now, you think about the Exile.”

“But,” Mikael halted, deciding, then gave in. “Okay, tell me about Middoth.”

“You can’t wait to hear it from Rev Bahir?”

“No, please tell me.”

He smoothed the child’s curly black hair and smiled. Rising, he took the boy’s hand and started walking again. “All right, but only just a little. Otherwise, I’ll spoil the Sighet celebration for you.”

“Just a little.” The boy beamed.

Zadok took a breath and his voice grew deeper. “Long, long ago, in the days of the Tranquillity, our people lived on one planet, a blue world of immense beauty. Then one day—”

“Edom Middoth came!”

“I thought you wanted me to tell this story?”

“Don’t be difficult, Grandfather,” Mikael mimed his mother Sarah’s voice and it made Zadok laugh.

“I’m never difficult.”

“But you know I want you to tell me about Jekutiel. About how she used her
Mea
to rescue us during the Exile. How she flew to God and He gave her ships out of a whirlwind and a huge pillar of fire led her to the planet where our people—”

“Ah, the
Mea
again. I think you know the old stories better than I do. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“Oh, Grandpa. Please,” Mikael pleaded, eyes lingering on the bump in Zadok’s shirt. “You tell me. Like you do every year.”

“I should be glad you want to know,” Zadok said half to himself. “Not very many people do anymore.” A sad reverie came over him. Most Gamant children were stolen away to be trained in Magisterial “Right Schools” before they could be taught the truths of the past. Mind probes turned children against their parents and friends, forced them to believe the facts of Gamant history and religion were false.

Zadok frowned, an ache invading his ancient chest. Though some thought the
Mea
was the real sacrament of Gamant religion, he knew it was “history.” The
Mea
served as a sacrament only to the Gamant leader, leading him face to face with Epagael. But for the rest of the people, history took the place of the
Mea.
Through history the people saw the face of God and endured. All the words, deeds, thoughts and emotions of history were the bread and wine of the sacrament, which the touch of God—through the
Mea
—transformed into both the symbol and instrument of his Grace for all time. It was that Grace that the Magistrates stole from Gamant children by erasing the stories of history from their young minds.

Zadok looked tiredly around him, surveying the dark cliffs and starry sky. “That’s why we live here in the caves, isn’t it, Mikael? To protect you.”

“You mean …” The boy asked in confusion, “You mean because Middoth made our people slaves and Jekutiel had to save them?”

“Oh, no, I was thinking something else, but you’re right about that. That’s another reason we live here, secluded from other citizens of the galaxy.”

Zadok stopped as they rounded a corner. A deep baritone lifted powerfully from within the temple, drifting on the chill breeze to caress him like the hand of God. Squeezing Mikael’s tiny fingers, he plodded forward.

People milled around outside the cavern, laughing and talking. Zadok’s heart warmed. During great festivals, Gamants came from all over the galaxy to participate. Every year it seemed as though some long lost relative appeared out of nowhere.