An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (62 page)

“Bombed? Where would a planet full of backward barbarians get bombs?”

“They made them from the native elements. Crude things, but they work. Over six hundred of our forces died in the blasts yesterday.”

Tahn sank back into his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Desperation always served as the mother of invention, but how could a bunch of uneducated cave dwellers pose such a severe threat to Magisterial forces? “Garold? What’s your analysis of the situation?”

Silbersay heaved a disgruntled sigh and turned to the screen. He looked haggard, gray hair matted to his head, eyes dull. “I told them strong-arm techniques wouldn’t work, Cole. But you know how the Magistrates are. They—”

“The order,” Bogomil interrupted, glaring at Silbersay, “has already come down. Discussion is spurious at this point. How soon can the
Hoyer
be here, Tahn?”

“Carey, calculate minimum time to Kayan.”

She threw Bogomil a disgusted look and pensively examined her console. “Forty-seven hours, sir.”

“Got that, Brent?”

A look of relief spread over his face. “Yes. Is there anything we can do on this end to help you?”

“Just get everybody the hell off that planet. You know how it works; we’ll commence firing as soon as we make orbit.”

“Acknow—” Bogomil began, but behind him Silbersay lurched to his feet, his elderly face twisted in anguish.

“I told them! I told them what would happen, but they wouldn’t listen to me! Now we’ll have more innocent blood on our hands and all because the Magistrates are too stupid—”

“Shut up!” Bogomil hissed, staring wide-eyed. “They’ll be reading this tran, Garold. For God’s sake, you don’t want to—”

“I don’t care! Somebody should know what we’ve done here. We can’t continue blasting children for no reason!”

“Silbersay!” Bogomil lunged to his feet, his bulk blocking the screen.

“Garold? Garold!” Tahn shouted, thrusting up from his chair. “Let him talk, Brent. God damn it! What’s going on there?” He watched impotently as Bogomil whirled the colonel around and shoved him out the nearest door.

Tahn’s gut knotted. He felt his entire bridge crew go tense. Shoulders stiffened, eyes narrowed. Obviously Silbersay had been relieved of command. Halloway glanced speculatively at him, murmuring, “I suppose the Rule of Law established at the ancient Narmber trials doesn’t apply anymore, huh?”

Tahn glared at her. “Have you been present at a Magisterial court-martial, Lieutenant?”

“No, sir, but—”

“Well, I have. My longings to join the ranks of the ‘Glorious Dead’ haven’t been the same since. Not only that, I won’t betray my duty to those men and women on Kayan.”

“Um. Ohlendorf would be proud, Captain.”

His anger flamed at her knowing tone. “Who the hell’s Ohlen—”

“Tahn,” Bogomil called urgently, leaning over his monitor so that his perspiring face filled the screen. “I’ll begin evacuations immediately. Get here as quickly as you can. We need you.”

“I’m on my way, Brent.”

The screen went dead and a heavy silence fell over the bridge. No one so much as moved. He glanced at each stiff back in turn, a bad taste rising in his mouth. They hated it as much as he did. Maybe more. He just had to give the order. They had to carry it out, making sure no inhabited part of the planet remained unsterilized.

“Halloway, input course corrections for Kayan. I’m—”

“What about the military movements on Horeb, sir? Do you still want me to wake Dannon?”

“No, belay that. But order Lieutenant Talworth to take the shuttle and remain in orbit around this godforsaken planet. I want constant updates on troop movements. And forget about the Councilman, Macey. It looks like the fools on Kayan have just given their Horebian relatives a brief reprieve.”

He started for the door. “I’m going back to my quarters. Don’t disturb me unless it’s urgent.”

The door snicked shut behind him and he found himself alone in the tube, staring hard at nothing. “Fourth level.” He paced the cramped tube a few times, then slumped against the wall and slammed a fist into the white petrolon.

Mikael slept fitfully, dreaming of his grandfather. They sat on the floor of his bedchamber, playing yarrow by the light of a single candle. His mother shook her head, eyes warm as she gazed lovingly at both of them, laughing. Even in slumber, tears filled his eyes, his heart tight with longing for them.
Lonely. So lonely.

“Mikael?” a soft, soothing voice penetrated his dreams.

He yawned and rolled to his side, blinked hazily at the golden light that gleamed from his cinnamon walls. But he remembered blowing out the candle … Turning, he shot up in bed, gasping in fear. A man of glowing glass knelt beside him wearing a green cloak with the hood pulled up. The
Mea
swung slowly from the chain in his hand, its blue glow like a beacon of comfort.

“I believe this is yours, isn’t it?” the man asked in a kind voice. He extended the blue ball. Mikael’s eyes widened, but he felt too much surprise to reach for it.

“Don’t be afraid,” the man said, tenderly patting his exposed foot. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Are you … are you an angel from God?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your name?”

“You can call me Metatron.”

“The Prince of the Divine Presence? I remember studying about you,” he said proudly. Metatron had taken Ezra to heaven to talk to Epagael.

“Yes, you studied very hard. I’ve watched you. Mikael, there’s something very important God and I need you to do. Will you help us?”

“What is it?”

“You’ll need the
Mea.”
He held the globe out again and this time Mikael took it, putting it around his neck and patting it lovingly. His heart thumped as the ball glowed to life, blue light mixing with the yellow of the angel to stain his walls a pale green.

“I’ll do anything Epagael needs me to.”

“You’re a good boy. God knew He could count on you. Listen carefully, Mikael. As the new leader of Gamant civilization, you’re responsible for saving the people. Did you know that?”

“Oh, yes, sir. I know.”

The angel smiled and laid a gentle hand on Mikael’s shoulder. The warmth sent a tingle through him. “Before you can do that, you need to save yourself. I’ve come to help you.”

“What’s happening? Are the Magistrates going to hurt us again?”

“I’m afraid so. God needs you to get out of bed and get dressed, then put some clothes in your pack. You must run down the mountain to Capitol as quickly as you can.”

Mikael threw off his blanket and jumped to the floor. Grabbing his brown robe from his chair, he slipped it over his head and fell to his stomach to pull his pack from beneath his bed. “Can I tell Uncle Mark where I’m going?”

“No, I’m sorry. This has to be a secret.”

“I understand. Sometimes Grandfather told me secrets, too,” he said breathlessly as he stuffed socks and underwear in his pack.

The angel stood up, his glowing body casting eerie shadows across the walls as he strolled around the small cave. “You must find Colonel Silbersay in Capitol. Can you say that name?”

“Oh, yes—Silbersay. I’ve heard it many times. Mama used … used to go talk to him a lot.” Pain cramped his stomach. He swallowed his tears, knowing instinctively it wouldn’t be good to cry in front of an angel. He stuffed another robe in his pack.

Metatron bent over to stroke his brown hair softly. “It’s all right, Mikael. You can cry if you want to. I know how much you’ve been hurt. I’m trying to make sure nobody else has to hurt the way you do.”

“By helping God to save us?”

“… Yes.”

“What should I say to Colonel Silbersay when I see him?”

“Tell him who you are and that your mother was killed in his last attack.
Tell him you want an audience with Director Slothen.
By the Treaty of Lysomia, it’s your right as the new leader. Demand it.”

Mikael nodded, fastening his pack and standing up. Breathing hard, he gazed intently at the beautiful angel. “What should I say to Slothen?”

The angel exhaled heavily, then smiled and extended a hand. “That’s a good question. Let me walk you to Silbersay’s office. We’ll discuss it on the way.”

Mikael gripped the golden fingers tightly, shuddering at the warmth that crept through him. The look on the angel’s face reminded him of his grandfather, gentle and wise. He had that same pinched look of sadness around his eyes, too.

Mikael let Metatron lead him through the dark hallway, the angel’s body casting the light of fifty candles.

When they finally stepped out into the misty rain drenching the mountains, pine-scented winds lashed them.

“Cold?” the angel asked softly. His voice seemed to echo from the cliffs.

“No, sir.”

Metatron nodded, but spread his green cloak and enfolded Mikael in it anyway, shielding him from the darkness and the storm.

CHAPTER 39

Silent as a shadow, Jeremiel slid through a nightmare of dark caverns, feeling his way by memory and luck: The hollow thud of bridges beneath his boots, the scent and sound of water trickling over stone.

And in the distance far ahead, a soft chanting caressed the sandstone.

In the eternity of black quiet, he found himself falling into the trap of weariness; he couldn’t yield to the sweet whispers of his body that he should just sit down for a while and rest. His bruises ached and his head was fuzzy from exhaustion, but ten minutes might make the difference between life and death for Rachel. He couldn’t risk it.

A flash of gold in the hall ahead made him fall back against the wall. Two monks dressed in brown robes strolled hurriedly through a perpendicular passageway, speaking in hushed tones.

“But the Mashaih has stopped his attacks.”

“Stopped? Surely you don’t believe that? Tartarus has just halted to confuse us. While we’re arguing ethics, he’s probably readying his military forces. I think …”

They disappeared down the hall and strain as he might, Jeremiel couldn’t make out any more of their conversation. He drew his pistol and gripped it in sweating palms. Slipping from his hiding place, he silently followed them, letting the glow of their lamps guide him.

For fifteen minutes, he dogged their steps, twisting down a series of diamond-shaped tunnels, until finally he found himself at a three-pronged interface of corridors he recognized. He faded back into the shadows, barely breathing as he listened for other footsteps. Hearing none, he wiped perspiration from his forehead and eased left around the corner, studying the long hall. At the end, a brazier of red coals glowed, casting a bloody halo over the stone. Holding his pistol with the barrel pointed at the ceiling, he silently ghosted toward the yellow curtain fluttering on the left.

The earthy scents of crushed herbs drifted out to him, along with soft sounds of movement. Pressing his back against the wall, he lifted the curtain a slit and peered inside. The multicolored throw rugs had been rearranged, but the long table and chairs sat in the same place in the center of the large room. And near the fireplace, Rathanial stood, arms crossed tautly, flaxen robe shimmering like liquid gold in the flickers of flame.

Jeremiel surreptitiously checked the rest of the room through his slit, insuring that the Most Reverend Father was alone, then he slipped inside, casually whispering, “I met your wife. Quite a beauty.”

Rathanial whirled, horror twisting his elderly face. “Je-Jeremiel. We—we heard you’d been captured! I’m so glad to see you’re all right.”

“I’m sure. Tahn probably doesn’t accept damaged merchandise.” Aiming the pistol at Rathanial’s heart, he crossed the room to stand next to him before the fire. After the cold of the caves, the warmth seeping through his gray suit made him shiver.

“I don’t know what you mean. Tahn—”

“Oh, I think you do.”

“No, I—”

“Sit down,
good friend.”
He pointed to the chair beside the fire with his pistol barrel. “I’ve got most of it figured out, but there are still a few details I’m hazy about.”

Rathanial swallowed hard, studying the gun, then wisely dropped into the chair. The fire crackled, threading his panicked face with glimmers of orange. “Jeremiel, let—let me explain.”

“I intend to. I’ve rarely killed anyone before extracting all the relevant information. First, let’s discuss Kayan. You said that Zadok never received any of your messages about Horeb—that all your messengers had been killed en route. I wondered how you’d made it to and from the planet so easily. If
somebody
was out to keep Zadok in the dark about Horebian politics, you should have been their primary target. But there never were any messengers, were there?”

Sweat beaded on the father’s face. He twisted his hands in his lap. “Yes, of course, I sent at least five. I—”

“This charade is over, Rathanial. Either you answer my questions straight or I kill you right now. Your only value to me at this moment is as a source of information. There never were any messengers,
were there?”