Redemption of Light (The Light Trilogy) (13 page)

He clutched his wounded leg with one hand and gestured with his gun with the other. “Come on, Amirah,
walk.
We’ve lost a lot of time. You don’t mind if I call you Amirah, do you? I’ll call you Amirah anyway, so you may as well not object.”

Weakly, she got to her feet. “And what shall I call you?”

“Nothing for the moment. Head down this corridor and take a left at the first intersection.”

She walked, watching the blue light of his handglobe reflect with a violet sheen from the red walls. The sounds of their breathing and footsteps reverberated down the tunnel. A dry spicy scent clung to the stone, like cinnamon mixed with cloves. Dead ends often met her when she turned the wrong way. At other times, rockslides and broken doors thrust up like sharp fangs from massive holes in the floors. Had someone in the distant past tried to blast a way out of these chambers? Why? To escape some terror within or an enemy penetrating from without?

“Turn right at the next intersection,” her captor instructed.

She did and halted abruptly. A three-pronged corridor met her searching gaze. “Which way now?”

He eased cautiously forward and pushed her aside so he could see her dilemma. Backing a few steps away from her, he braced a shoulder against the wall and pulled a map from his breast pocket. He scrutinized it a few moments, eyes only leaving her for an instant at a time. He finally breathed a subvocal curse, then whispered to himself, “Goddamn it, Baruch. What the hell’s this?”

“Baruch?” she spat repugnantly. “I should have known you were part of his filthy band of murderers.”

“Really? What tipped you off? Just my charm or something else?”

“Your charm was enough.
Who the hell are you!”

His handsome, dirt-streaked face fell into stern lines. “We’re friends,” he said carefully. “You can call me Cole.”

They stared at each other for a timeless moment, then her heart did a triple step, building to a violent crescendo where it slammed against her ribs.
Cole… ? Light bars?
He’d been captured during the Pegasan invasion of Old Earth. Captured and imprisoned in a six-foot-square light cage for several months. They’d tortured him endlessly. When Magisterial forces had defeated the invaders, and released him, he’d crawled out of his cage, his sanity not quite intact, they’d said. The Magistrates had promoted him, lauding his “superior valor and indomitable will.” Machinelike, her mind replayed scenes from the training holos in Academy—powerful scenes of a tall, brown-haired officer dressed in a crisp purple uniform lecturing before a tactics class, younger, more serious. No beard had obscured his face then, no lines had etched his forehead.

Softly, she murmured,
“Cole Tahn.”

He pinned her with piercing blue-violet eyes. The impact of that gaze struck her like a spectral fist in the dark. Her scalp prickled.

“Good work, Amirah. I’m sure you and I will have a lot to talk about over the next few days. We can start by reminiscing about Magisterial strategy regarding Gamant affairs.”

She wiped her sweaty forehead on her sleeve. “I doubt it.”

He reached down and unclipped her com unit from her belt and handed it to her. “Before we can began any pleasant dialogues, you’re going to need to tran your ship. Tell them you’re being held hostage.”

She watched him remove his own unit and set it for a peculiar form of scramble. Insuring what? That the
Sargonid
wouldn’t be able to get a fix on the origin point of her garbled message?
Or was he altering the transmission’s focal frequency to make it appear that it came from somewhere else?

“No. I don’t think I will, Tahn.”

He took a step back and leaned heavily against the wall, taking a series of deep breaths. Their fight in the corridor had undoubtedly torn holy hell out of his wound. He was hurting.

After several seconds, she pressed, “If the Underground is going to attack Horeb, why do you need me? My ship will fight just as well without me.”

His glare hardened until it seemed chiseled from stone. “Better, I’ll wager. Now, switch on your com unit, Captain. Your message is simple:
I’m being held hostage by terrorist forces. I’ll contact you later regarding the ransom.
Understand?”

She refused. Contemputously, she quipped, “I’m the stubborn type. I guess you’ll just have to kill me.”

“I’d rather not if you don’t mind.” He thrust out his hand, demanding her com unit back—and emphasized his request by clicking off the safety on his pistol. She tossed the unit at him and prepared to lunge….

But he stood defiantly still and let it fly by; it landed with a clatter on the rocky floor. His pistol aim hadn’t wavered. “You’re really not very likable, are you, Amirah?”

He walked away and knelt in front of her com unit to key in an unknown sequence. Lazily, he commented, “I’d have preferred your ship to have an authentic voice print, but this will have to do.”

She watched him send the message and anger and futility rose with a fiery vengeance. She shook her fists at him. “This is ridiculous! My second in command will search every—”

“Yes, Jason Woloc,” Tahn rapped his knuckles irritably on his knee. “I’m sure he’ll want to blow up half the goddamned sector to get you back. At least, I certainly hope so.”

Amirah shifted uneasily. His voice had a knowing quality, as though he suspected she and Jason had a secret relationship. “What the hell are you implying, Tahn?”

“Woloc loves you, doesn’t he? He’s requested transfer four times in the past two years. I admired the wording of his last attempt, ‘Captain Jossel is an officer of superior ability; however, I am unable to concentrate under her command.’“

Amirah squelched the urge to shout. “How do you—”

“You’re a very attractive woman, Captain.” Tahn’s eyes took on a hard questioning gleam. “I’ll bet serving on the
Sargonid
is a living hell for him. Sitting in front of you every day, close enough to touch you and not being able to must tear him apart. Why didn’t you give him the transfer, Amirah?

She slowly leaned back against the wall and wet her dry lips. She’d asked herself the same thing a thousand times.

CHAPTER 14

Sybil concentrated on the faint consciousness that washed the edges of her mind. Strong antiseptic scents clogged her nostrils—mixed with smells of infection and the coppery sting of fresh blood. People moaned around her. Over her head, a hazy flicker of flame danced, warm, caressing, weaving through her disconnected thoughts like a golden thread.

“What happened?” a vaguely familiar voice asked.
Doctor Plutonius.

Mikael responded tautly. “Our attack went bad. They ambushed us and followed us back to the chambers. Reinforcements came in today.”

Sybil tried to call out to Mikael, but her voice had grown cold and still. The doctor’s scalpel glittered brightly in the candlelight. Hazy reflections sparkled through the darkness of the polar chambers.

“Yosef?” she heard Mikael murmur. “Those books you found. If anything happens to me, get them to Baruch. I don’t know how you’ll do it, but—”

“We’ll do it,” Yosef assured. Through her wavering vision, Sybil could see him. His round face and bald freckled scalp gleamed in the candlelight.

Sybil felt a skeletonlike hand squeeze her forearm and she heard Ari whisper, “Don’t let them get you, Sybil. We all need you and love you.”

Weakly, she tried to reach out to him, but her hand barely moved. Ari reached down and gripped her fingers tightly, before kissing her on the forehead. “Save your strength,” he murmured lovingly.

“Please go now, Uncle Yosef,” Mikael demanded frantically. “We may not have much time.”

From the concave blue shadows that swallowed her, Sybil watched Mikael’s face drop closer again. She focused on him, on the black wisps of hair that clung wetly to his cheeks. Then the doctor’s movements drew her attention away. Plutonius bent over her, dropping his hands out of sight near her chest.

“If I save the child, I may lose Sybil, Mikael. I hope you’re ready for that.”

“Save my wife, doctor. I don’t yet love the child.”

“You
may not love this child,” Plutonius informed gruffly, “but your followers do, Mikael. They’re calling this baby the Mashiah and singing his praises at this very moment. A crowd of five hundred have gathered in the far chambers. They’re praying for the
child’s
survival.”

“I don’t care!” Mikael said with hushed violence. Sybil saw the quick flash of a gray pistol barrel. “You’ll save my wife, doctor!”

“Yes,” Plutonius sighed tiredly. “Yes, of course, I will.”

The pains inside Sybil grew to a staggering weight. Stunning in their endurance. Then everything in the world went stark and quiet. Cold seeped from every pore of her body, setting her to shivering.

Vague, dark voices exchanged whispers. The shrill whine of rifle fire penetrated the mists that enveloped her, coming from far away. Flames shot up in Sybil’s mind. Her flesh rebelled, writhing. She groaned.

“Blast!” the doctor hissed. “This is the hardest Governor Ornias has ever hit us and we’ve barely enough anesthesia to keep the injured from getting up and walking away from the operating tables! I can’t afford to give her anymore.”

Explosions rang through the labyrinth, shuddering the table beneath Sybil, but she didn’t know if they were real or imagined.

“Dear God. They’re getting closer.”

“Shut up!” Mikael ordered. “Keep working.”

In a blur of dusty black battlesuit, Sybil saw Mikael kneel at her bedside. He smelled pungently of sweat and battle. Scents she’d known since childhood and found comforting. Lovingly, he murmured, “Sybil, listen to me. Can you hear me! You’re hit in the lung. Doctor Plutonius is going to try and save it. If he can’t, he’ll remove it. I know you can feel the instruments inside you. But you have to be very still.”

Instruments clinked together. The room spun nauseatingly, getting darker, darker, and she suddenly felt as though she’d stepped inside of herself. She could see her own heart contracting and expanding, see the shredded pinkish-white of her lung clotted with dark blood. In the midst of it all, a shimmering blade moved as though alive. Her mind went dark. Sightless. As blind as God. Consciousness seemed to flutter around her, aware of itself, but of nothing else. She struggled to pull it back inside her head. Terrible. So terrible to feel herself separating.

“Hold on, Sybil.
Don’t leave me!
I need you so much. I love you … I love you. …”

Mikael repeated the words over and over. Murky feelings of his touch against her cheek and hair penetrated her haze, and delicately she felt her mind tie to her body again, a whisper of warm sensation. Mikael gripped her hand tightly.

“The baby’s coming.”

A hard pounding of military boots echoed.

“Get out of here!” Plutonius said. “Save yourself, Mikael. The people need you. For God’s sake, go! Get away from here. I—I’m sure I can leave these lungs a moment to pull your son. He’s so tiny, he shouldn’t—”

“No!” Mikael ordered sternly. He set the candle down on the floor. “I’m staying. Keep working. Tell me what to do and I’ll bring my child into the world myself.”

Plutonius gave Mikael soft hurried instructions.

Pain. So much pain. Waves and waves of it. Black chaos possessed Sybil’s soul, timeless and absolute, like a diamond clawed demon scratching out the eyes of everything bright.

Shouts. People running. Piercing bursts of rifle fire….

“Oh, God. Blessed God!” Plutonius shrieked. “They’re just outside the door! They’re here!”

A tiny angry wail stirred the darkness. “So’s my son, Doctor. He’s here, Sybil. He’s here and he’s beautiful.”

She opened her eyes and could make out a hazy image of Mikael holding the baby tightly against his breast. Cautiously, he walked forward and held the blood-streaked child up for her to see. “See? Here he is Sybil. Nathan. Nathan
buzina kaddisha.
My son. Our son.”

In a blinding flash, the
Mea Shearim
around Mikael’s neck flared to life. Plutonius inhaled sharply and backed away.

Through her pain-dusted vision, Sybil saw the
Mea’s
cerulean halo spread like wildfire, engulfing her son in an azure ocean. Nathan’s pale face shone as though reflecting the shadows of a towering ice cliff.

And for a moment, for the briefest of moments, Nathan’s unfocused eyes seemed to clear. He stared wide-eyed at the
Mea
as he reached a tiny bloody hand for it, seeking, seeking.

“Oh!” Plutonius whispered hoarsely. “Look at the boy’s face.
Look at his face!
It glows as though afire. It’s true! He is the blessed redeemer!” Plutonius fell to his knees and prostrated himself before the child.

“Get up,” Mikael ordered. “Finish operating on Sybil.”

“No, no, she’s not important anymore. The boy …”

Sybil saw only a black whir of Mikael’s boot. Plutonius tumbled across the floor and cried out. Mikael leveled his pulse pistol at the doctor’s head. Sybil blinked tiredly. So tired. Mikael cut a strange figure. In one hand, he clutched new life. In the other, he fingered the trigger of death. Nathan waved his blood-streaked fists hostilely, peeping his upset.

“Get up, Doctor!”

“Don’t shoot. I’m getting up. See me? I’m—”

Shouted commands. More rifle fire. The shudder of mortars. A roar of dozens of men shouting.

“Calas! Halt!” a brutal voice shouted. “Move and you’re dead!”

Mikael barely responded. He slowly extended his pistol and dropped it to the floor. It clattered away. Slowly, he turned halfway round and held up his son. “I’m not going anywhere, Sergeant. Get up, Plutonius. Damn you, get up quickly!”

The words swirled around Sybil, deep, cool. A breath of wind touched the candle flame on the floor. It flickered wildly. But in her wavering vision she saw something else—something black and huge, like a gigantic living shadow. It loomed over her and she caught the horrifying scents of decaying vegetation and stale darkness. She tried to sit up, to run. But she couldn’t move. “Mikael?” she mouthed—but no sound came.

The Darkness moved. But not toward Sybil. It went to envelop her son, folding around Nathan like a black demon from the depths of oblivion.

A ragged scream pierced the room and she saw Mikael jerk backward suddenly, away from the Darkness. He fell onto her bed.

Rifle barrels, dozens of them, appeared over her.