An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (52 page)

From within he heard the rustle of fabric and, in a few moments, her door opened. He smiled, touched by her beauty. She was dressed in a saffron colored gown which drew attention to her tiny waist and the curve of her hips, and her raven hair draped in thick waves to her waist. The
Mea Shearim
lay glowing brilliantly between the breasts swelling over the low-cut neckline. His throat tightened.

“I’m sorry I’m late. A servant caught me just before—”

“You’re not late, Adom,” she corrected, opening the door wider. “Please, come in.”

“I brought you this,” he said nervously, handing her the gift. “I hope you like it.”

“Adorn, you mustn’t bring me so many gifts. They make me feel—”

“But it makes me happy to see your eyes sparkle. Open it.”

Rachel sighed resignedly and ran her hands over the carved box before lifting the lid. Her lips parted slightly as she took the jewel-encrusted hair comb from its blue velvet bed. “It’s beautiful, Adom. Are those Lytalion sapphires?”

He nodded. The robin’s-egg color was unique, priceless. “I’d hoped it would match the
Mea,
but I see it’s a little darker.”

“It’ll complement the
Mea.
See?” Lifting one side of her raven waves, she secured the wealth over her ear with the comb. The gems glimmered brilliantly.

He smiled approvingly and took a step into her chamber, noting appreciatively that his servants had done a very good job preparing it. The huge brass bed against the far wall sat in a shaft of brilliant yellow streaming through the windows. The intricately woven lace bedspread highlighted the emerald tones of the plush carpet. The table and chairs before the stone hearth boasted a crystal decanter of brandy and a vase of fresh flowers. They were grown, he knew, under artificial lights in the moist caverns beneath the palace.

“How—how are you?” he stammered awkwardly. “Is everything all right? Are the servants tending your needs adequately? I want everything to be—”

“The servants are perfect, Adom. I feel like a princess.”

“That’s just how I want you to feel.”

She dropped her gaze uneasily and started across the room for the table, as though she were anxious to be away from him. A twinge of hurt touched him.

“Can I get you a glass of brandy?”

“Yes,” he answered softly, “I’d like that.”

He followed her and gracefully dropped into one of the chairs, watching her pour the crystal goblets full. She handed him one and as his fingers warmly brushed hers, their gazes caught and held. Warmth flushed him. He lowered his eyes, fearing he’d frighten her if she grasped even a hint of the emotions that roiled tumultuously inside him.

“Have you been getting enough sleep? I told the kitchen maids not to wake you for breakfast, but to wait until you rang. I hope they’ve obeyed.”

“I haven’t had breakfast before ten this entire week, Adom. I guess I’m catching up for the past few months.” Her brow furrowed. “Though God alone knows how I can sleep here at all.”

As she sat down, he studied her tense posture. An overwhelming urge to touch her, to comfort her, tormented him. He folded his arms across his chest, tucking his fingers beneath his flowing lavender sleeves. “Don’t you want to feel safe?”

“It’s not a question of want, it’s one of training. I haven’t been safe on Horeb in three years. Now, every time I feel myself relaxing, a part of me deep inside screams.”

He fumbled with his glass. “I’m so sorry. I’d hoped—”

“When is Ornias supposed to meet you?”

“Tomorrow. Unless something more important comes up.”

“What could be more important than the
brutal
murders of Horeb’s citizens?”

The hostility in her voice made him go rigid. “Nothing. I agree with you. I just don’t know how to force him to attend a meeting.”

“You’re the ruler of Horeb. Ornias has no right to treat you this way. You mustn’t let him.”

“I’m not very good at commanding people to do things.” The admission stung. Leaders were supposed to be great commanders, but he knew he wasn’t and never would be. He wanted to be easy and gentle with everyone. That was what gave him pleasure.

“Because you’re a kind man, Adom,” Rachel whispered, sitting back in her chair. Lustrous raven waves fell over her saffron robe. “But Ornias takes advantage of you because of it. You have to stand up to him.”

“Like you said earlier, about training? It’s hard to change old patterns. He’s always taken care of the business end of the movement. And, so long as I don’t interfere, things seem to go smoothly. But when I… I do, they don’t.” He clumsily sipped his brandy, a trickle spilling down his chin. Wiping it quickly on his sleeve, he cringed, knowing she’d noticed. Could he never do anything right?

“Adom,” she said through a tense exhalation. “Ornias enjoys using you as a front for his cruelty. It’s your position as Mashiah that gives him his power.”

“I know.”

“You
must
take action quickly, before he kills a thousand more.”

“I will, Rachel. On Saturday when he comes to—”

“Can I be there?”

He pulled in a breath, straightening in his chair. Her eyes gleamed like dark jewels. Ornias wouldn’t want her present, he knew that without asking. For three years, the Councilman had prohibited everyone else from participating in their strategy sessions.

“I can help you, Adom. Let me be there.”

“But, Rachel, that will anger him and I hate to do that.”

“You’re going to throw a wrench into his carefully planned terrorist campaign. He’ll be angry regardless.” She reached across the table to take his hand. The feel of her flesh against his soothed him, but he gazed at her timidly, worried that she, too, would reprimand him as Ornias did so often. “I promise not to say anything unless you need my support. I
trust
you to stop him from murdering your people.”

“Do you? Or are you just saying that?”

“I trust you, Adom. Though, Lord knows, every instinct in my soul cries out against it.”

“I—I trust you, too, Rachel.”

Her eyes softened and she lightly squeezed his hand. “Then you’ll let me come to the meeting?”

“Yes, I’ll let you come, Rachel. I just won’t tell him in advance. I’ll let him find out when he arrives at the council chambers.”

She nodded and heaved a relieved sigh. They sat in silence a few moments, sipping their brandy, then he asked in a sudden desire to change the subject to one more enjoyable, “Did you have a chance to read the books on Milcom I brought?”

A tiny upright line formed between her brows. “Yes, I found them very interesting.”

“I’d hoped you would. God wants you to thoroughly comprehend His teaching. We don’t—I … I don’t—force conversions.
Not ever.
Milcom wants only those who willingly give themselves to Him.”

Rachel glanced at him over the rim of her glass. “I’m curious about Milcom’s teachings on the Problem of Evil. The notion that Epagael is a wicked deity fascinates me.”

“Yes, once you’ve suffered severely, the truth seems obvious, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, I didn’t say it was obvious, just intriguing.”

“You’ll see,” he answered patiently, “once you understand better. It’s a hard thing to accept at first, especially after all your life you’ve been taught that Epagael loves and watches over you.”

“It is hard to accept. Especially the concept of creation
ex nihilo,
from nothing, and how evil begins there. Can you tell me more about it?”

Adom smiled, joy rising inside him.
She wanted to know!
“Milcom says that in the beginning Epagael was all that existed. In order to create the universe, he had to withdraw Himself, empty out a part of his presence.”

“He contracted himself? All right. And Milcom?”

“Milcom was created to serve as Epagael’s voice in a universe He could not enter.” Adom lifted a hand, waving it expressively. “Epagael could not enter the Void because if He had it would have ceased to exist, melted into Oneness again.”

“The dichotomy of God and not-God would have vanished. I understand. So the Creation is absent Epagael, but if that’s so, of what are we and all ‘this’ created?”

He smiled, applauding softly. He’d never had anyone to seriously discuss God’s teachings with. Ornias refused and he saw so few other people. Rachel’s interest excited him. “A good question. And one Milcom explains in this way: We know that consciousness has an epiphenomenal basis, that is, it’s spawned by the physicochemical processes of the brain, correct?”

“You don’t believe in a soul?”

He shook his head politely. “No. The concept of a soul is a quaint fiction. Everything in our universe has a physicochemical basis.” He shrugged. “Though the energy that composes what we are certainly continues. So, if you want to call that a soul, you can, I suppose.”

“No. I don’t and I don’t think very many other Old Believers would.” She leaned back, lifting both brows. “I’m surprised you weren’t burned at the stake years ago.’”

“Oh, Milcom protects me.”

“I see. And what does epiphenomenalism have to do with Creation?”

“Milcom uses the following example: If you took a minute clump of cells from your brain, you would continue to function unimpaired. Your consciousness would remain intact. But if the severed cells were prodded into mitosis, who’s to say the growing tissue mass wouldn’t develop a consciousness of its own?’”

“Milcom teaches that Epagael cut out a part of His brain and threw it into the Void to form the foundation of the universe?”

“That’s the analogy he uses, but actually the cells were vessels, shells, filled with light. When they broke, the light spilled forth.”

“And developed a consciousness of its own?”

“Yes. Epagael hadn’t the slightest idea that would happen. It fascinated Him, He—”

“I can understand that. It’s vaguely analogous to bringing up a child. You know they’re part of you, but they develop so very differently.”

Adom smiled in embarrassment. “I wouldn’t know. Is chaos the key factor in childhood development?”

“Unquestionably.”

“Well, then it is analogous. Because God loves the chaotic patterns spun by universal consciousness.”

Rachel braced an elbow on the table and leaned forward, studying him intently. Her breasts pressed tighter against her saffron robe. He tried not to notice, holding her gaze, drowning in the warmth he felt there.

“It’s the chaos that fascinates God?”

“Oh, yes. In fact, the more the better, so far as He’s concerned. He destroyed the first two universes for lack of it.”

She laughed softly, frowning. “Like the ancient myths say? Only the third survived his judgment?”

“They aren’t myths. The third survived only because the other angels in heaven were too cowardly to side with Milcom that it, too, should be destroyed.”

“So we exist because Milcom failed to convince God that more chaos was bad?”

“Exactly.”

She grunted disbelievingly and Adom felt a twinge of pain. “Chaos is related to evil, I take it?”

He tried harder to be clear and persuasive. “Yes, don’t you see? The very nature of the universe is to struggle chaotically against itself. We experience the struggle as suffering.”

Rachel toyed with her brandy glass and he studied her contemplative features. Her heart-shaped face and straight nose could not have been more perfect if Milcom himself had designed them with Adom’s likes and dislikes in mind.

“But there’s a logical flaw, Adom.”

He frowned. Was there? Milcom had never mentioned one. “Is there?”

“Yes. What catalyst set the cells of Epagael’s brain to dividing in the first place? What caused the shells of light to break?”

He grabbed a lock of his blond hair and tugged at it aimlessly. “I remember once Milcom spoke sarcastically about something called the
Reshimu
kicking off creation, but I never asked what it was.”

“Hmm. Well, there’s something else bothering me. If Epagael can’t enter the universe, how can He know we suffer? If he doesn’t know, how can He be evil?”

“Oh, He knows. Milcom has told him over and over.”

“Epagael knows and allows the suffering? Is He powerless to stop it?”

“He’s not powerless. He just has to kill the consciousness in this universe that spawns chaos.”

She shivered visibly. “How would he do that?”

“I don’t know. Milcom has never discussed it with me.”

“Well, for the sake of argument, let’s say Epagael could ‘kill’ chaos and stop our suffering. Why doesn’t He?”

Adom lifted his glass, sipping his brandy, feeling it warm his stomach. “Milcom says it entertains Him.”

“That’s cruel.”

“That’s why Milcom hates Him so.”

“Can
we
ever end the suffering, by ourselves, I mean?”

“Milcom teaches that the purpose of existence is to return the universe to Epagael. Only then will suffering end.”

Striped bandit shadows crept across her face, accenting her sparkling eyes. Behind her, through the window, he saw the rooftops had been dyed crimson by the deepening fires of Horeb’s midday sun. Soft voices climbed up to him on the warm wind, people moving about in the streets below.