An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (67 page)

She reluctantly started to back away, then asked suddenly, “Will you be all right?”

“I have all sorts of strange talents, Carey. Don’t worry.”

“Aye, sir.” She hesitantly backed out of the room.

He squeezed Mikael’s hand and led the boy down the long white hall, thinking of how Bogomil said he hadn’t been eating.

“Mikael, I have to go my cabin first. Have you ever been inside a captain’s cabin?”

“No, sir.”

“Would you like to? I have some fancy things in there. Games and a galactic stamp collection. Even some—”

“Do you want me to?”

He looked down into those wide, pained brown eyes and his heart melted. “Yes, I do. Maybe we could even have some sandwiches and soup brought in while we look at things.”

“I’m not very hungry. My stomach doesn’t work too well any more. It hurts a lot.”

Tahn nodded understandingly. They passed several crew members who saluted. He returned the gestures perfunctorily. “I’ve felt that way myself recently. Maybe we can—”

“Did the Magistrates hurt you, too?” Mikael’s face darkened and he lowered his eyes to the floor. “Oh, I’m sorry. I guess you wouldn’t feel that way since you work for them.”

“Well, I may work for them, but they hurt me sometimes, too.”

“They do? But don’t you like them?”

Tahn flinched at the question, imagining Slothen’s blue hair writhing as the alien thought. “No, can’t say that I do.”

“Then why do you work for them?”

They walked to a transportation tube and he palmed the entry. Leading Mikael inside, he slumped back against the white wall.
Leave it to a kid to go to the heart of things.
“I’m not sure anymore. I used to know. But things have gotten hazy lately.”

The boy tucked a finger in his mouth and squeezed Tahn’s hand comfortingly. “Sometimes things get like that.”

He smiled faintly. “I guess so.”

CHAPTER 42

Rachel stood beside Adom in the communications center, watching his handsome face contort in agony. He gripped her hand like a life raft in a turbulent ocean as he spoke lovingly to the populace of Seir:

“My people, take heart. I know the trials ahead seem terrible and terrifying, but we must rise to meet them. Milcom fights for us even now, fights to conquer the horrors of suffering wrought by Epagael. We will all triumph if we stay together and help each other. The chambers here are cold and I—I miss you very much. As soon as I can, I’m coming home to you. In the meantime, love everyone who fights at your side, serve everyone, and remember God.”

The screen went dead for a second, a gray static filling the expanse, then Ornias’ tanned face appeared, a gloating smile on his lips. In the background a series of red and blue tapestries glowed in a golden halo of candlelight. “Perfect, Adom. I’m sure they’ll gain heart again. We’re projecting your face all over the city.”

“How many,” Adom choked out, swallowing hard. He clenched Rachel’s hand hard. “How many have we lost?”

“I haven’t checked casualty figures lately.”

“Well, please do so.”

Rachel blinked at the commanding tone of voice. It didn’t sound like Adom, but he was distraught, vividly feeling every pain he witnessed occurring on the streets of Seir.

Ornias eyed Adom deprecatingly, but leaned over and punched a key on his computer. “As of three a.m. the total losses of both sides approximate thirty thousand.”

Adom shuddered violently, so violently Rachel stepped between him and screen, whispering, “There’s nothing you can do about it. It’s not your fault. Don’t torture yourself.”

“But they’re my people, Rachel.” He opened his eyes and tears clouded the blue depths. “I know Milcom will save them all eventually, but I can’t bear to see them suffer more.”

“Adom?” Ornias called gruffly, clearly disgusted by the display. “Last time you requested to see scenes of the war, do you still—”

“Yes!” he ordered sharply. “I want to know what’s happening. Let me—
us
—see.”

“Very well.”

The screen switched to show an overview of the far section of the city. Rachel sucked in a breath. Her home stood not more than two blocks from the focal point of the lens. The bakery she’d frequented, the meat merchant’s shop, the dress shop, filled the screen in toppled devastation. She put a trembling hand over her mouth. Had Ornias planned it? To torment her? Hatred rose.

Adom jerked, stepping back as a bolt of violet splashed the screen. Buildings crumbled with a deep-throated roar. And from the broken debris a child, a little girl, darted, running headlong toward them. She clutched a green-spotted toy horse to her breast.

“Oh, my God,” Adom murmured, watching in horror. “Ornias?” he cried raggedly. “There’s a child in the streets! Send someone to—”

A shrill whine split the air and the child’s head jerked around, staring in horror at the sky. Her mouth opened in a scream and she clutched the horse tightly, but the sound disappeared in the thunder of beam cannon fire, her body exploding like a ripe melon dropped from a great height. Blood and bits of flesh slammed the walls of toppling buildings.

Rachel faded back, Sybil’s face—for a terrible, terrible instant—replacing that of the unknown girl. Her shoulder thudded hard against the wall and she slid to the floor, stunned, barely noticing Adom’s sobs or his fist repeatedly slamming the control console—though the sharp thuds seemed to echo through the entire vast complex.

Jeremiel told you
—
he told you ten times more would die if you failed to carry out your mission. Every moment you sit here and waste time weeping, another child perishes miserably.

She drew up her knees and buried her face in the velvet folds of the ebony cloak.

“No …” Adom murmured.

Rachel looked up to see a group of seven women running through the streets, dragging crying children by the hands. They rounded a corner, hurrying as much as they could through the smoking rubble. Her heart stopped. She studied the faces. Wasn’t that Myra in the lead? Talo’s niece? She remembered her from those eternal hours in the square where time stopped; only thirst and terror existed. The stench of death. The night birds tearing. The whimper of buried children who would never be found. Sybil’s still body against her legs.

Yes, it was Myra, she recognized the long thin hair and large eyes. Rachel watched with sick hope as they rounded another corner, running straight at the lens.

A coherent beam lashed through the already torn buildings and a huge stone wall crumbled, enormous chunks tumbling down onto the street. Rachel clutched her throat, watching the stones roll over the fleeing group.

“Wait! One’s still alive,” Adom sobbed, wringing his hands.

Myra dragged herself from beneath the debris to lie in a broken heap beside a mound of fragmented gray stones. In a hopeless gesture, she extended a hand toward the screen, pleading inaudibly, as though she could see Rachel’s pale ravaged face.

And Rachel understood.

Kill him. Kill him! For all of us. Do what you promised that terrible day in the square!

“Adorn?” Ornias’ face replaced Myra’s on the screen. “The troops are fading again. Stragglers have gathered outside the palace. Can you speak to them?”

“Yes. I—I can.”

The monitor filled with the hollow eyes of thousands, each staring pleadingly at the screen before them, yearning for the Mashiah’s reassurance that everything would be all right. Dressed in rags and bloodstained uniforms, they appeared ghoulish.

Through great effort Adom pulled himself together, raising his arms to the multitudes, a look of terrible suffering on his face.

“Friends, I grieve with you, I …”

Rachel rose as though in a dream, her heart numb, legs moving forward leadenly.
“Adorn?”

He turned and all the color drained from his face when she drew the knife from her boot and lifted it over her head. Sweat popped out across his forehead as he backed away, stumbling into the screen. In the background Rachel could see people screaming in horror as they watched.

“No,” he said softly, “Rachel, no.”

She lunged, thrusting the knife into his broad chest. Blood splattered his ivory robe, an irregular crimson starburst. He clutched his heart, closing his eyes as he sank to the floor.

Then the horrified rage of thousands blared across the audio system and Rachel’s knees went weak. The image faded abruptly, Ornias’ angry face swelling to fill the monitor like an enraged beast.

“You fool!” he screamed. “It wasn’t time! Now the forces will fall apart. I’ll kill you for this.
You stupid FOOL!”

She slammed a fist against the switch, turning it off. The room grew breathlessly quiet, the only sound, the soft sucking of the hole in Adom’s chest.

“Rachel …” He coughed, sliding in slow motion to his side. A red froth bubbled at his lips. “Hold me?”

She dropped to her knees, gathering him in her arms and pulling him tightly to her breast. “Adorn, forgive me.”

“But,” he said quietly, desperation edging his words, “Milcom said you … you wouldn’t …”

“Milcom is Aktariel, Adom!” she cried in anguish. “He’d do anything, say anything to get you to help him!”

“Oh,” he whispered, eyes looking lovingly into hers. “I know. I’ve known … for a long time. But he … he’s right. We have to … to end the suf …”

He fell into a coughing fit and Rachel expertly held his head sideways, her soul shriveling at the amount of blood he spit up on the floor.

He gazed up at her. In his eyes she saw all the tenderness, the boyish innocence that had ravaged her heart in past weeks. She bowed her head and wept silently, tears running down her face to drop on his chest. He reached a trembling hand up to stroke her cheek.

“It’s … all right, Rachel. I know you just wanted to … end the suffering … too.”

His robe rustled as he tried to move, then fell silent. His body went limp in her arms and she hugged him blindly, crying into his blond hair.

In agony, she looked up and saw her reflection on the blank screen. Her wide eyes accused. Nothing she could say would be defense enough. She’d murdered the only gentleness in the universe that could soothe the agony.

Slowly, she lowered his slack body to the floor, and pulled her arms from beneath him. Ornias had promised revenge. A
samael
undoubtedly flew north even now, filled with marines whose orders she dared not think about.

She started to rise but couldn’t, her legs shook too hard to hold her. Leaning forward, she tenderly kissed Adom’s pale forehead and for a moment snuggled her cheek against his. “Adom, I …”

In the harsh glare of the lustreglobes, his wide blue eyes stared out, strangely calm, as though relieved that the horrors of the universe no longer concerned him.

Rachel forced herself to get to her feet.

“I’ve got to get out of here.” She ran, stumbling down the hall, to the vator. Palming the entry, she rode to the surface anteroom in a trance of deadly quiet.

When it stopped and the door clacked back, she lunged for the storage room where Adom had told her the
samael
pilot had hung extra weather-suits. She found two hanging in perfect order, helmets on the shelf above.

Stepping into one of the suits, she fastened it all the way up and fixed the helmet on her head. She hit the door button and a blast of glacial wind flooded over her. Even through the suit, she felt the tendrils of fatal cold.

Darkness spread like a black velvet blanket outside. Wind whipped fingers of snow high into the heavens and sent a white haze rippling close to the ground.

Rachel walked out into the waste wilderness of ice and ran toward the windblown snowdrifts, seeking a place to hide from the
samaels.
Through the snow caking her visor, she studied the indigo shadows clinging to the cliffs, striving to follow the lee of the ice wall.

She tramped for a timeless eternity, until her feet and hands ached miserably from cold. Stars glittered like frost crystals above, but still no
samaels
dove through the night. How long had she been wandering? Two hours, maybe three? If Ornias had dispatched them immediately, they’d still be an hour away. A flicker of hope warmed her. She picked up her leaden legs and ran with all the frail might she could muster for a cleft in the icy cliff ahead. A series of black dots marred the white. Overhangs? She’d passed hundreds in the past hours, but they’d all been too close to the polar chambers.

As she neared the location, she recognized the dots as caves. Bending over, she lumbered inside one. Blackness enveloped her, but at least the wind no longer tormented. Waving hands over her head, she searched the expanse to find its limits. The ceiling stretched too high for her fingers to touch, but the walls seemed no more than ten feet in any direction. She edged as far back as she could and slumped to the floor, staring out the entry. In the fainter gray beyond, wind hurled snow against the cliffs, shrieking mournfully.

Rachel clumsily unfastened her helmet and set it on the floor beside her, taking a deep breath of the sharp air. Her exhale plumed whitely.
What you just did is suicide.
But as she leaned her head back against the wall, she knew she didn’t care.
I’ll put it back on soon,
she promised, blinking around at her shelter. Without the helmet blocking her view, she could see the brilliance of the
Mea
splashing her collar.
Light.
She tugged on the chain, pulling it out. A cerulean halo illuminated the cave, reflecting darkly from the irregular surface of the walls.