Redemption of Light (The Light Trilogy) (20 page)

Ornias wiped his clammy palms on his maroon robe. “Rachel, listen to me. I’m rich and powerful. I can—”

The first shot sliced off Ornias’ left hand. Blood gushed from the severed arteries, spilling like a thick crimson river across the balcony. He howled in shock and gripped the railing to support himself.
“Oh, dear God!”

“I remember, Ornias,” she continued in a caressing voice. The sleeves of her ivory robe buffeted in the wind. “I remember the cries of the children buried beneath the mound of dead. Children I knew were dying and there was nothing I could do to help them.”

Mikael stiffened, bracing himself as she aimed at Ornias’ eyes. But out of nowhere a deep voice boomed:
“Rachel, no! NO! We can’t risk it!”

She gazed wild-eyed up at the lightning torn sky. “He deserves it!”

Another black whirlwind was borne on the clouds, it hurled downward, sweeping away everything in its rush to get to Ornias. Seeing the line of its descent, Rachel defiantly lifted her pistol and jerked the trigger. The shot went wild, missing Ornias and blowing a hole in the balcony railing. Marble splinters blasted into the cool air. Ornias dove and scrambled on his knees for the interior of the palace. But the black tunnel followed, swooping down to suck him up.

In speechless horror, Mikael watched Ornias spiral away. He tumbled down, down into the blackest Sheol, the deepest Pit of Darkness, getting smaller and smaller….

Rachel clenched her fists and fired insanely into the sky, screaming, “YOU PROMISED ME! What have you done with him? You told me he was mine! You promised!”

The clouds roiled violently, spinning into a dark cyclone. From out of the eye the voice came again:
“What have
you
done with that child? Where’s Nathan?”

Mikael’s knees trembled. His gaze darted from Sybil’s ashen face to the stunned crowd hiding amid the trees below. Had the universe gone mad? He felt as numb as a sleepwalker trying to escape a terrible nightmare on leaden legs. “Rachel?” he called again. “Help me?
Free me?”

She looked up and her face twisted as though she wanted to, but the voice echoed again, stern, commanding:
“Don’t try it, Rachel. Mikael
must
get on that cruiser and you know it. Don’t force my hand!”

Rachel swallowed hard and hesitated before violently throwing her pistol to the floor. In the gardens below a sustained din of horror and awe rose, gazes shooting from the voice in the clouds to Rachel’s mad and distraught face. She spread her arms imploringly. “Don’t you ever keep your promises? Just this once—”

A huge hand formed out of the clouds, reaching down to her.

In the palace, a series of shouts could be heard along with the sound of people running. Rachel ran to Sybil and kissed her daughter. “Do what you must. I’ll see you soon.”

“Mama, where’s Nathan!”

“You mustn’t ever ask again. Trust me. If everything works out, you’ll
know.”
She straightened up and backed away from the cloud-carved fingers. A new chasm whirled open in the palace and she raced for it to disappear into the dark mists. A chill wind gusted around the balcony, whistling through the pink arches.

Mikael went rigid when ten Magisterial soldiers flooded through the doors. The insignia of the battle cruiser
Sargonid
plated their purple sleeves. Somber light fell across their rifle barrels, creating bright charcoal blazes.

When the commanding lieutenant turned to Mikael, he suddenly felt very tired. He and Sybil seemed to be caught up in the mad plan of some demon. He leaned his head back against the pink pillar and stared sightlessly at the storm clouds. “What the hell is happening to us?”

Carey walked through the eye of a dark whirlwind. Cool fragrant winds ruffled the sleeves of her black jumpsuit, setting her auburn hair to dancing around her face. She inhaled a deep breath of the sweet air and squinted at the black waters boiling beneath her boots.

“The center of the ring singularity?” The possibility fascinated her. She concentrated on memorizing every facet of the experience.

Soft indistinct sounds eddied across her path, muted voices, the clatter of cartwheels on stone, a horse screaming in fear. Her
Mea
cast a subdued cerulean gleam over the darkness. Sometimes, when she seemed to get off the “path,” the
Men’s
gleam faded to almost nothingness. Only when she turned in the correct direction again did it flare brilliantly.

Her thoughts drifted as she walked, wondering what Jeremiel and Cole would be doing now, trying to feel her body back in the probe chamber on Palaia. How would Mundus and Axio respond when they found her catatonic? At least, she assumed that was how she would appear. The older Gamants spoke laughingly about the month just prior to the fateful battle against the Magistrates on the plains of Lysomia. Zadok, the story went, had gone through the
Mea
and stayed away for so long his troops believed him dead. They’d allegedly even prepared his body for burial. It shocked everyone when he awoke on the burial display platform and shouted irreverently at the hundreds of wailing people who filed before his coffin. He’d gone on to lead his people to a crushing victory over the Magistrates. God, he claimed, had revealed the strategy to him.

Carey stopped walking when a figure loomed out of the blackness, huge, riding a strange dragon-headed beast with flaming membranes wings. Carey dove sideways, rolling madly to get out of his way as he thundered past, his black cloak flapping in his hurry.

She panted in fear.
Real? Or illusion?

The angel’s words came back. “…
The Void is filled with the faces of all the creatures who’ve ever ventured on the path of illumination. They’re not real.”

She crouched in the darkness. Another face formed a short distance away, a blonde woman. She knelt in prayer. Tears streamed down her face. Carey struggled to hear the words she spoke, but her cries came too softly. In a burst of light, the image vanished.

Carey blinked, frowning. A faint graying had appeared in the distance, like a smoky pinprick in the rippling blanket of space-time. She stood and started walking again. Her
Mea
blazed almost blindingly.

As she got nearer to the light, a small man waddled toward her. Bald and immensely old, he had a hooked nose, black eyes, and bushy gray brows. He wore a coarse homespun brown robe. He contemplatively watched his feet as he walked.

Carey heaved a sigh. How could she ever get to the throne of God when illusions kept distracting her? She bowled forward, striding straight at the little man. When she stood no more than three feet away, he looked up suddenly and his black eyes jerked wide.

“Blessed Epagael,” he murmured. “You’re a new one. I thought I’d seen every face in this void.”

Carey cocked her head, intrigued. None of the other illusions had spoken to her. “Do you see me?” she asked.

A hand went to his heart. He scrutinized her intently for a few moments, then edged forward and prodded her arm with a stubby finger. “Good God, you’re real.” He stared breathlessly at her. “Who are you?”

“Carey Halloway. Who are you?”

He formed his hands into the sacred triangle and bowed gracefully. “Zadok Calas. I used to be—”

“Zadok?”
she all but shouted the name. He flinched. “You’re dead! You’ve been dead for over a decade.”

“Yes, I know. But despite that, I feel pretty healthy.”

When she didn’t return the sacred triangle, he uncomfortably dropped his hands. A curious expression creased his withered face. “You’re not Gamant,” he guessed.

“No.”

“Then why are you here? Why are you following a pathway to a God you don’t believe in?”

“But I do believe in Epagael. Besides,” she said wryly, “an angel sent me. Apparently, I need to talk to God.”

Zadok gave her a sidelong look. “Which angel?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“You didn’t ask?”

“I asked. He wouldn’t say.”

Fear crept into the old man’s black eyes, darkening them like nightfall. He nervously crushed the fabric of his brown robe. “Well, that worries me.”

Carey read his suspicions on his withered face. Too many times in the past she’d slouched around a strategy table listening to old men in prayer shawls accuse Jeremiel of being possessed by the Archdeceiver. “Because you think it might have been Aktariel who sent me?”

“Yes.”

“What difference would it make? Isn’t talking to God always good? And anyway, maybe it wasn’t Aktariel. Why would the Deceiver want
anyone
to hear the Truth straight from God’s mouth?”

“That, my dear, is a good question. And one I can’t answer. But Aktariel’s ploys often follow contorted routes.”

Carey nodded agreeably. “I’ve read enough Gamant history books to believe that. However, I’m still going to talk to God, Zadok. Nobody’s going to stop me. I’d like you to come with me. I’ve many things to tell you about what’s happened to Gamants since your death. But not if you’re worried about being tainted by my—”

“About Gamants? What do you know about Gamants?”

“Quite a bit. I’m second in command of the Underground battle cruiser, the
Zilpah.”

Zadok lifted both bushy brows. “The
Gamant
Underground? When did Baruch start allowing non-Gamants to serve?”

“When he married one.”

Zadok’s eyes went over her carefully. The darkness behind him fluttered like black windblown flame, as though reflecting his astonishment. “You’re Jeremiel’s wife?

“Yes,” she responded, silently daring him to say anything about “foreign women.”

Zadok heaved a resigned sigh and affectionately took her arm. “Why didn’t you tell me that immediately? I wouldn’t have felt such reservations if I’d known. Epagael wouldn’t allow Jeremiel’s wife to be deceived by Aktariel.”

Carey’s brows lowered. She gazed down at the elderly hands that caressed her arm so tenderly. Zadok had a light of glowing certainty in his eyes. Did he know nothing of the terrible fate of Gamants in her universe? And if he didn’t, why had God kept such things from him? “I can see we have a very great deal to discuss, Patriarch.”

“I can’t wait. Here, let me show you the way. I know this path rather thoroughly. I doubt Epagael will let me cross the threshold into the first heaven, but I can take you that far.”

“Why can’t you enter the first heaven?”

“Oh, it’s a long story, I’m afraid. Epagael gave me a choice of heaven or helping my people in your universe. I chose the latter. The price was permanent exile here in this cold wasteland.”

Carey’s eyes narrowed. What possible justice could be served by condemning the greatest Gamant patriarch to the darkness of the Void for eternity? “But you haven’t helped them, Zadok, have you?”

“Oh, yes,” he fervently exclaimed. “I’ve spoken to Mikael several times, through his
Mea,
of course.”

“When was the last time?”

He cocked his head uncertainly. “I don’t know. The Void is timeless. But it seems like only a few days ago. What year is it?”

“It’s 5426.”

He stopped as though stunned. “I … I don’t understand. Are you sure? Mikael was still a boy the last time we spoke. But Epagael assured me—”

“Then he lied to you.”

Carey strode toward the graying patch in the distance. New scents drifted on the wind: trampled grass, flowering jasmine, a fragrant tang like freshly cut wood.

Zadok puffed to keep up, “What are you talking about? I thought Gamants were safe on Horeb?”

“No, Zadok. They’ve never been worse off. In the past decade the Magistrates have slaughtered them by the hundreds of thousands. Horeb is one immense death factory.”

His ancient face paled. “But why didn’t Epagael tell me?”

“Maybe he doesn’t want you to know.”

He glanced sideways at her and retrieved her arm again, forcefully tugging her forward toward the light. “There must be another explanation. Let’s go find out.”

Jason Woloc paced anxiously before the huge forward monitor on the bridge. Over the past several hours, his purple uniform had gotten damp and uncomfortable. His officers sat rigidly in their control niches, their eyes glued to the screen. The
Marburg
and
Hammadi
circled the planet Sinai, probing it. At the same time, the shuttle
Aretz
sped toward Jason’s cruiser, a silver needle gleaming in the brilliant wash of sunlit space. As soon as it arrived with the Calas family, they’d immediately be obliged to head for Palaia Station.

His gut knotted.

He’d been desperately hoping that either Williamson or Stein would find some trace of Amirah before he had to leave.

“Sir?” Gever Hadash called. Her weasel face pinched as the com aura snapped on in a golden halo about her head. “I have Captain Williamson—”

“On screen, Lieutenant.”

He futilely straightened his purple sleeves and sucked in a deep breath. Mikos Williamson’s face appeared. His bald head gleamed. A short man, he had a bulbous nose and slanting blue eyes that always made Jason brace himself for the worst. Williamson leaned forward in his command chair. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant.”