An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (54 page)

“I prostrate before no one!” Ornias insisted angrily. His chill green eyes narrowed. “Bargaining is different than—”

“Uh-huh, but tell me, doesn’t it bother your conscience to know that selling me to the Magistrates will result in the deaths of millions?”

“Not at all, since I won’t be one of them.”

“Spreading Milcom’s religion means that much to you?”

Ornias laughed loudly, throwing his head back. Firelight flickered over his light brown hair and beard. “Who told you something so foolish? I could care less about religion. Adom and his quaint delusions have simply been a means to an end.”

“Ah, I see. And what have the Magistrates promised you? Certainly the billion for my reward, but you don’t look dull-witted enough to have stopped at that. Let’s see, what else could they give a power-monger that would make it worth his while? Rank? No, you don’t look like the military type. A planet of your own? A civilization to enslave?”

Ornias chuckled smugly. “Not exactly, but something like that. I assure you, if you live, you’ll know my name. As will everyone in the galaxy.”

He forced himself to smile, though he felt brittle and vulnerable. “So what’s stopping you? Why don’t you send a dattran to Tahn and get this over with?”

“There are too many obstacles left to be taken care of. I insist on ‘neatness,’ you see. Besides, you arrived long before I expected.”

Jeremiel shook his head, the fatigue weighing him down, sapping what little strength he had left.
So, I left too abruptly for your spy to get the information out. There are limits to your network in the caves.
“Tahn doesn’t know I’m here?”

“Not yet. But don’t worry, your meeting is near at hand. I understand you know each other?”

“No.”

“Indeed? He spoke of you like a brother.”

Jeremiel quietly responded, “Well, you’d know better than I. We haven’t been on speaking terms for a while.”

Ornias smiled callously as he ambled over to the fire, a manicured hand caressing his bearded chin. His head jerked up as a disturbance sounded in the hall, a woman cursing, “I have the right to see him, damn you!”

Elaysin’s voice apologetically explained, “The Councilman said no one was allowed inside, ma’am. I can’t be going against—”

“Get out of my way!”

Ornias’ face tensed, a brow lifting threateningly. He started for the door as it thrust open, slamming back against the wall with a dull thud. Jeremiel gazed at a beautiful black woman silhouetted against a background of frightened male faces. Her amber satin robe flattered every curve of her tall body, highlighting her mahogany skin.

Elaysin pushed up behind her, shouting, “I told her, Councilman, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“It’s all right, Captain. Return to your duties.” Then to the woman he cooed with poorly concealed irritation, “Shassy, dear, please shut the door.”

Her dark eyes stayed glued to Jeremiel as she pushed it closed behind her. He felt like a side of meat in a market place. “Is it him?” she asked breathlessly, searching Ornias’ face.
“Is it?”

“Of course, darling, but I thought I asked you to stay in my chamber?”

“My life in exchange for his … that’s what you said. Let me go now! Ornias, please,” she pleaded, wringing her hands as she hurried across the room. In the firelight, Jeremiel could see her shaking. “You have what you want, let me—”

“Not quite yet, Shassy. But soon, I promise.”

The marmalade light of the flames glittered against the fabric of her robe, outlining her breasts as she drew a deep, shuddering breath, struggling between rage and tears. “How soon? I can’t go on like this. You know how
cooperative
I’ve been.”

“Yes,” Ornias chuckled, reaching up to stroke her smooth cheek. “You’ve been very cooperative. And I’ll release you just as I said I would, but you must wait a few more days.”

She said nothing for a time, standing with fists clenched. Reflected firelight danced in her golden earrings as she turned to stare hollowly at the cold stone floor. Then she glanced regretfully at Jeremiel, and looked back to Ornias, desperation haunting her dark eyes. “A few days. That’s all?”

“Yes, dear. That’s all.”

“On your word of honor?” Her voice broke suddenly, cracking like a branch under the weight of heavy snow. She lifted a hand to cover her trembling lips. “As if you had any.”

“Don’t be insulting, Shassy. I’ve given you the truth.”

Jeremiel pushed up again, straining against the chains to relieve some of the unbearable pain in his shoulders. At the jingling of his shackles, Shassy turned, staring. He met her frightened gaze with equanimity, feeling nothing, no hatred, no anger—only a sublime sense of curiosity. Obviously her situation was little better than his, a prisoner for a price. But who bargained for her? Who in the caves of the
chaste
Desert Fathers waited for her return?

“All right,” she whispered. She ran from the room, flinging the door wide and dashing into the hall. The guards peered into the chamber anxiously. Elaysin stepped forward and started to gently pull the door closed again, but the Councilman’s curt voice stopped him.

“Captain, please come in and unlock our guest’s chains. I’m sure he’d appreciate a night’s rest in a prone position.”

“Yes, sir.” Elaysin hurried in, his lips pressed tightly together. Fumbling with the jingling key ring at his waist, he selected one and lifted it to Jeremiel’s wrists. “There.”

Jeremiel felt dead weight slap against his sides and he dropped to his knees. Elaysin knelt beside him to unlock his ankles, softly saying, “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine in an hour or so. It’ll hurt like Hob, but you’ll pull through.”

From the corner of his eyes, Jeremiel saw Ornias’ white teeth gleam briefly before he strode for the door.

“Councilman?” he called, pain clear in his voice. Ornias stopped, tilting his head inquiringly. “Just one thing before you go. I can’t hurt you now. I think you owe it to me to tell me who your contact is in the caves.”

“You mean, who sold you out?”

He nodded haggardly. They held each other’s eyes for a long minute, Ornias’ face dark and impassive. Striding for the door again, the councilman cast over his shoulder, “I owe you nothing, Baruch.”

Elaysin quickly followed Ornias out and Jeremiel heard the door slam and a bar drop across it outside. Falling sideways, he rolled to his back, gasping at the agony tormenting his shoulders and ankles. Unable to feel or move his arms, he did his best to ensure they stretched at the proper angles at his sides.

“Rudy…” he moaned faintly, his friend’s image filling his mind. “Damn it, Rudy. You were right again.”

He stared at the flickers of the fire dancing over the stone ceiling, listening to his heart throb.

The long cigar-shaped cavern smelled dry and sweet with the scent of dust. But underlying it, the metallic tang of freshly cleaned weapons caught in Harper’s throat. He swallowed hard and gazed absently at the spiderwebs that covered the ceiling; they glistened in the dim candlelight.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’d have given you more notice if I could have.”

“Oh, hell, Harper,” Janowitz, a short stocky blond responded. He sighted down his rifle at the far wall, fingering the trigger. “We knew the score decades ago. We’ve always been ready.”

Harper warmly clapped the man on the shoulder. “I knew you would be. Abba picked the best.”

Walking down the line of assembled men, he stared each one in the eyes, trying to project a confidence he didn’t feel. Their anxious faces gleamed with a sheen of sweat. When they’d finally dressed in the gray uniforms of the Mashiah’s personal guards, he’d start praying. There weren’t very many of them, but, by God, they were better trained than anyone else on Horeb. If they could blend in with the palace staff for fifteen minutes, they’d make a hell of a close-quarters assault team.

When he finished his inspection, he heaved a tense sigh. “Any questions?”

“Just one,” Janowitz said. “When are we going to hit *em?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m waiting for one more signal from Rathanial. Be prepared to go at any time.”

Men nodded and fell out of line, drifting to the tables to collect small packs and stuff as many extra magazines into their pockets as they could hide.

Dreams of Shadrach tormented Rachel’s sleep.

She walked anxiously through the kitchen of their old house, winding toward their bedroom, touching the still warm timbers that lay like charred human limbs across the floor. All her dishes had been smashed and strewn over half the house; she could see colored fragments of the floral pattern beneath the rubble.

“Shadrach?” she shouted into the stillness, fear welling to flutter in her stomach. Something deep in her soul told her he’d been hurt, but she couldn’t remember where or how. Her heart ached with the need to find him. Had he been here when they burned the house?

She clawed at a web of smoking boards that blocked entry to their bedroom. “I—I have to get inside.”

An urgency built in her chest, demanding, violent. She pounded fists into the web, loosening a board; it groaned miserably as she pried it out of the way and edged through into the darkness. The stench of smoke and melted petrolon stung her nose.

“Shadrach?”

Her foot struck a fallen chunk of wall. A dull thud rang out. Feeling her way, she stepped around the obstruction and gingerly worked deeper into the room and the black curtain that draped the silence.

A soft rasping came from the far corner and Rachel’s heart stopped, the sound echoing like an earthquake in her soul. It was him, she knew it! The closet?
Had he hidden in the closet?

“Shadrach?”
she screamed, thrusting things out of her path as she stumbled forward. “Answer me!”

A shaft of searing light penetrated a rent in the roof like a dagger, stabbing the broken closet. She raced forward, gasping as she worked to jerk the crushed door open. Pounding it with her shoulder, she shouted, “Are you in there, Shadrach?
Where are you?”

When the door finally dislodged, tears streaked her face. She peered inside, eyes drawn magnetically to the place the finger of light pointed. Her heart went cold and dead in her chest.

Her husband hung in shackles against the wall, his once muscular body emaciated from starvation. Lifeless eyes stared back, covered with flecks of ash.

She jerked awake, panting, to stare blindly at the opulence of the Mashiah’s palace. The emerald tones of her plush carpet gleamed in the subdued light cast by the still glowing hearth.

“Oh, Shadrach,” she choked out. Rolling to her side, she buried her face in her pillow.

A chill breeze crept through her open window, silver moonlight falling in a long rectangle across her tousled bed. She clumsily grasped for her blanket and pulled it up to her throat. Curling into a fetal ball, she unknowingly snuggled her forehead against the warm
Mea,
barely perceiving the brilliant cerulean glow that built to fill her entire room. “Epagael,” she murmured in soft agony to the god she no longer believed in. “Why is this happening to me?”

In a sudden rush, a new dream washed over her. She found herself in a long tunnel; dark mists wavered as though alive. She shook her head incredulously, feeling as though she stood in the eye of Time’s hurricane. Nothing but a whirl of blackness supported her feet. “What is this place?”

A soothing whisper echoed from the all around. “You asked ‘why?’ Come to me. Let me tell you.”

Adrenaline flushed hotly through her veins. She stepped backward.
God?
She didn’t voice the question, but an answer came regardless.

“Yes. Come?”

What sort of dream is this that reawakens the old and powerful emotions I used to feel for Epagael?
Images of the square flooded her mind and she railed, “I don’t want to talk to you! You’re a monster. You torture us with suffering!” Sobs rose in her throat and her shoulders heaved. She lifted a fist to shake it …

And woke in the palace again, the
Mea
glowing so brilliantly it nearly blinded her.

CHAPTER 33

“Sybil!” Avel’s harsh voice stabbed through her sleep.

She shoved her blankets off and crawled frantically toward him before asking breathlessly, “What?”

He jerked her up by one arm, throwing warm clothes at her. “Get dressed. Quickly!”

She flew out of her nightgown and tugged the sweater over her head, pulling on her pants and diving to retrieve her shoes. “What’s the matter, Avel? Are we attacking the Mashiah?”

“Don’t ask questions now, Sybil.”

Before she’d finished tying her left shoe, he dragged her off the bed and out of her room, nearly running down the diamond-shaped tunnel. The candle he carried cast glimmering golden designs across the walls. She watched them in frightened silence. If it wasn’t the attack, what could be happening that would scare Avel so much?

The farther they walked the more tightly he clutched her hand until finally it ached miserably. She squirmed, trying to tear it free. Didn’t he know his grip strangled her fingers?