An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (49 page)

“Mostly?”

“Yes, just about the necklace and the palace.” But in her mind the dream replayed and she could see the young man with curly black hair putting the necklace against his forehead. She pressed her forehead to the opposite side and they kissed. His lips had felt warm and soft, making her tingle deep inside. And the necklace had glowed so brilliantly between them she’d had to close her eyes.

“Can you read me a fairy tale now, Avel?”

He nodded contemplatively. “Sure. And maybe later we can talk more about your dream?”

“Maybe.”

She handed him the book and tied her shoes again, avoiding his eyes.

CHAPTER 28

Adom clenched his fists as he rounded the corner which led to Ornias’ office. A burly guard stood outside, straightening abruptly when he saw him.

“Good morning, Lieutenant Dally,” he greeted. Fear twisted in his stomach. Ornias would be enraged by the intrusion. He’d chastised Adom often for appearing without warning. “Would you tell the Councilman I’d like to speak with him immediately?”

“Mashiah …” Daily’s voice floundered. “Ornias said I wasn’t to let nobody disturb him.”

Adom pursed his lips tightly. “Please tell him I’m here.”

“I—I can’t sir. He’d have me flayed if I so much as knocked on his door. You know how he is about his privacy. He—”

“Lieutenant, I order you to—”

“Don’t,
Mashiah, I beg you,” Dally said pleadingly. Sweat had erupted on his nose. He looked at Adom through wide frightened eyes. “The last time I interrupted him after he gave me orders not to, he sent my six-year-old daughter to work the potato fields. She got real sick from the heat. She hasn’t been right in the head since.
Please,
I could’t bear it if—”

“I’m sorry, Dally. I didn’t know he … Just—just give the councilman a message when he comes out that I want to see him as soon as possible? Could you do that?”

Dally heaved a relieved breath. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll tell him.”

Adom turned and walked briskly away. In his head, the words,
Oh no, oh no, ohno,
echoed. He broke into a run, racing down the hall.

Rachel’s stories must be true if Ornias had done something so terrible to Daily’s child. He’d prayed she’d simply misunderstood and Ornias could explain everything. But now he felt as desperate as a hunted fox.

He
had
to talk to Milcom. God would tell him how to make it better.

Jeremiel dodged back into the alley as a horse-drawn carriage loomed out of the darkness, clattering by him and away down the street. Voices shouted from the line of battered apartment buildings and he heard metal clashings from a kitchen. Somewhere, a baby wailed.

The perilously narrow cobblestone street wound down a hill overlooking the palace. He’d spent most of the day scouting the structure, checking each door and window in the likely event that in the near future he’d have to use one as an escape route. Bracing a shoulder against the stone wall, he peered at one of the points of the massive triangular structure. The palace had obviously been constructed a millennia or more ago by someone afraid of his own populace. The lowest windows hung at least thirty feet above the ground and most external doors sported crisscrossing wooden fortifications. Iron bars completely encompassed the balcony on the top floor, making it more a cage than a place for viewing Horeb’s rocky wilderness. Guards seemed to be everywhere, gray suits melting into the night as they prowled the gardens or stood with hands extended over braziers of red glowing coals. Laughter and the scents of smoke and whiskey rode the wind.

He’d made a particular study of the guards, watching each go through his daily routines, noting when they changed stations, or took breaks. He’d identified the captains, listened surreptitiously to fragments of their conversations, knew which ones had streaks of brutality and which were basically decent human beings. The man lingering at the corner in front of the dim light of the brazier, tall with red hair and a full round face, seemed the most devoted to the faith of Milcom. He’d heard him discuss several times this day the intricacies of the Problem of Evil, speaking in depth about the hierarchy of demons and God’s purpose in allowing them to exist. Except when the man spoke in terror of the powers of darkness, he had a kind voice, soft and unassuming. A gentle person at heart, Jeremiel guessed. Once that morning, this captain had found a guard secretly napping in the towering shadows of the palace. Instead of screaming rage and recriminations, he’d merely kicked the negligent underling’s foot until he woke, then stared down in silent reproof.

Elaysin was his name.

Wiping grimy hands on his brown robe, Jeremiel moved like mist down the alley, clinging to the shadows until he reached the street which fronted the palace. Looking out across the high parapet, his gut twisted. Since his conversation with Sybil, he’d been unable to shake the terrible premonition of a trap. He felt vaguely as though a hooded figure stood at his shoulder, guiding his fateful path to destruction.

“Doesn’t matter,” he whispered tightly and adjusted the small pack on his back. “Rachel’s in there.”

Sucking in a deep breath, he wondered briefly why someone of his experience couldn’t think up a more impressive plan, then he let out a bloodcurdling scream and dashed madly for the sentry in the gatehouse. Guards sprang to their feet, rushing toward the gate to look. The courtyard echoed with a babble of voices and pounding boots.

“Help me!” Jeremiel shrieked, casting terrified glances over his shoulder as he threw himself headlong on the locked portcullis, twining his fingers in the grate and shaking it ferociously. “They’re coming! They’re coming! Dear God, let me in before—”

“What’s coming?”

“The Beliels! They’ve been chasing me for—”

“Demons?” one man gasped and stepped back from the gate, peering frantically into the darkness behind Jeremiel. “Like those from the plague?” He licked his lips anxiously and stared at the men around him.

“I must speak with the Mashiah,” Jeremiel pleaded, sobbing. “They’ve been tormenting me for days and I—”

“Go on, get away from here!” a squint-eyed sergeant commanded and kicked the grate hard to throw Jeremiel off, but he clung desperately.

“Elaysin! Who’s named Elaysin here?”

The captain stiffened, but said nothing as all eyes sought him.

Feverishly, Jeremiel continued, “The demons are mounting an attack against the palace. They’ve got in mind to capture Elaysin and use him as bait. I must tell the Mashiah. We’re all in grave danger!”

A clamor of uncertain voices rose. “Blessed Milcom, maybe another plague is on the way!” “He’s crazy. Don’t believe a thing he says.” “Demons? My Lord, how can we fight them? Our weapons are useless. We’ll be crushed …”

Captain Elaysin pushed through the crowd, eyeing Jeremiel severely. His red hair glimmered light threads of copper in the crimson glow of the brazier. “Beliels?” he asked fearfully. “They’re bad ones. They … they mentioned my name?”

“You’re Elaysin,” Jeremiel whispered unsteadily, swallowing hard. “Dear God, did you know they were after you?”

“No, I—sometimes, I’ve thought, but I never knew.”

“Captain, please, I beg you. I must speak with the Mashiah before it’s too late.”

“Raise the portcullis,” Elaysin ordered quickly. “We need to interrogate this man.”

The grate squealed as it rose and men anxiously clutched their weapons, pointing them at the darkness beyond. Jeremiel jumped to the ground and slid beneath on his stomach, hissing, “Close it! Hurry!”

The sentry slapped the appropriate lever and the portcullis dropped to the ground with a loud clang. Iron arms seized him from all sides, dragging him to his feet and ripping his pack from his back before throwing him brutally against the stone wall. He lifted his arms over his head, letting them search him.

That logical part of his brain that could calculate battle strategy at three in the morning, determine energy expenditure ratios without even concentrating and fly through the complexities of navigation and not break out in a sweat,
wondered what in the hell he was going to do next.

A half hour later, he slumped in a chair in a stone chamber stretching maybe ten feet by ten. Sparsely furnished with four chairs and a table, the banked glow of the hearth threw ruby reflections across the walls, revealing the stern suspicion in the eyes of two guards who stood before him.

“He’s lying, El!” a young dark-haired sergeant charged, glaring at Elaysin. “Don’t waste any more time on him. I say we shove him back out the gate and forget this whole thing.”

“And what if he really knows about an attack the demons are planning? Eh? You want to be the one to tell the Councilman
we
threw him out?”

“How would he find out?”

“Beliels pick and choose their prey, Tony.”

“This is blasted foolishness, El. If the Beliels were waiting out there, the Mashiah would have told us! Remember before the plague? He came and gave an hour long speech, telling people to bar their doors and windows.”

Elaysin shuddered visibly. “Course, I remember. But maybe this time—”

“I don’t believe it!”

The captain folded his arms uncomfortably, gazing sideways at his subordinate. “You’re not in charge here, are you, Tony?”

“Damn it, no.”

“Then maybe you should let me do the questioning and make the decisions?”

The sergeant’s nostrils flared. He jerked a nod and tramped across the room to stand stiffly before the door.

Elaysin rubbed his stubbly jaw, green eyes troubled as he turned to Jeremiel. “The papers we found in your pack say your name is Jere Lansford and you’re from Pitbon. What are you doing here?”

He heaved a disgusted breath. “I told you. I came to worship the Mashiah, but before I had a chance to—”

“The Beliels attacked you.”

“That’s right.”

The captain strolled to the hearth and extended his hands to the warmth, glancing warily around as he considered the story. “What did the demons tell you?” he asked in a hushed voice, as though he feared the beasties might hear. “About me, I mean?”

“Only that they knew you were a good god-fearing man and figured they could use you to gain leverage with the Mashiah.”

“Aye, that’s probably true. The Mashiah holds me in pretty high regard. I’ve never missed one of his public worship sessions. Everybody knows my faith. They just plan to capture me?”

Jeremiel lowered his eyes, not having to feign fear. “No, I’m—I’m afraid they mentioned one other possibility.”

“What? Tell me, man! I’ve a right to know.”

“You know the demons can assume different forms? They’d planned on infiltrating the Mashiah’s ranks using your—”

“Hush!” Elaysin whispered urgently, peering to where Tony stood. “If my men hear that, they’re liable to balk at their own shadows when I’m around.”

“I understand. That’s why I
must
speak with the Mashiah. They’re planning to attack soon.”

“When?” Elaysin shuddered visibly, eyes darkening.

“I don’t … I’m not sure.”

“Did they speak to you in Belielon?”

Belielon? Was that the wicked creatures’ ancient tongue? Jeremiel shook his head and felt suddenly uneasy about the story he’d concocted. He knew only the barest details of the Mashiah’s teachings on demonology. One mistake and they might think he came from the realm of darkness himself.

“What language did they use?”

“My own home planet’s. Pitbonese.”

“Ah.” Elaysin nodded sagaciously and wiped clammy hands on his gray pants. “The old books talk about how they can make Belielon sound like any tongue they want. They’re crafty.”

Some of the tension went out of Jeremiel’s shoulders. So far so good. “While we sit here bantering, Captain, they could be massing their forces beyond the parapet.
I have things I can reveal only to the Mashiah! Let me see him!”

Elaysin gave him a hard look then turned to the sergeant. “Tony, go see if Shassy can find the Councilman? See if he has a moment to spare?”

The man darted through the door. Jeremiel heard his fast steps echoing down the hall.
Shassy.
A name to remember. She had an inside track to Councilman Ornias.

Elaysin ran a hand through his damp red hair, holding Jeremiel’s gaze. “Have you ever been to Horeb? Haven’t I seen you before?”

“No.”

“You look awfully familiar. Were you ever on Thelma in the Akiba system?”

“No.” He stopped breathing. He’d waged a desperate battle on that forbidding planet a dozen years ago. The Magistrates had slashed his forces to pieces, leaving dead piled ten feet high in the streets. He’d been young and inexperienced. The memories of his errors stung something deep inside. Had this man seen him?
Did he recognize him?

“But you’re a believer in the Mashiah? I didn’t know we’d sent missionaries to Pitbon.”

“Missionaries are everywhere, Captain.”

“I’m glad to hear it. We need to spread the good news of the coming of the true Redeemer,” he whispered reverently. His eyes lit with adoration when he spoke of the Mashiah. “We’re going to squash the Magistrates as soon we get enough converts. Just wait.”