Redemption of Light (The Light Trilogy) (39 page)

CHAPTER 40

In the past hour, a leaden blanket of silence had fallen over Engineering. It terrified Mikael. Jeremiel had instructed him to incapacitate the ship by reducing it to running on “incremental power.” Which meant that the cruiser had shut down almost every part of the ship except Engineering. Not even the food dispensers on board worked. The lights glowed with a dull sheen.

He sat in a chair beside Sybil’s bed, watching her sleep, stroking her dark tangled hair to soothe himself. Touching Sybil had always eased his fears. She was fine when awake, but she still needed a great deal of sleep to keep up her strength. Rad and his two technicians slumped against the wall a few feet away, EM restraints securing their hands and feet. One of the techs snored softly.

Mikael gazed around the tri-level round chamber. Brilliant lustreglobes glared everywhere, hurting his eyes. He squinted up at the duty stations that perched like wire bird’s nests on each level, fifteen in all. On the opposite side of the room, Ari sat with his feet propped on a control console, gleefully sipping a bottle of beer. The gun in his gnarled fist was aimed at Engineer Rad’s barrel chest. Rad hadn’t said a word in hours, but the collar of his purple uniform had darkened with sweat and his stubby black hair glistened as though studded with diamonds. His hands and ankles bore EM restraints. Yosef hunched over a panel on the other end of the long console, his spectacles propped beside his face while he slept. The constant hum of the ship sounded like the buzzing of insects on a summer night.

Mikael smoothed his callused fingers over Sybil’s face. In their twelve years together, she’d rarely been ill, and then only with minor viruses or flus. Seeing her weak with pain and crying out for him the first few days had shredded his soul. He feared to be away from her for even a few seconds—feared she might awaken and find him gone. Even after the magic of the med unit, her shoulder still blazed with dark indigo and violet bruises and he knew she must be feeling as though demons had descended upon her with flashing swords.

Gently, Mikael lifted her hand and kissed the limp palm. She moaned something softly and her dark eyes fluttered open.

“Mikael?” she whispered groggily.

“I’m here, Sybil. I’ve been here all along.”

She squeezed his hand. “… Love you.”

“And I love you. Go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I had the strangest dream.”

“About a thousand friendly soldiers with rifles appearing out of the air, I hope?”

She smiled faintly and it gladdened his heart. He pressed her cool hand against his cheek and nuzzled it tenderly. “No,” she said. “It was a
funny
dream, Mikael.”

A crawly sensation tormented his chest. She’d had strange, prophetic dreams since she’d been a child. “What dream, Sybil?”

“About a little boy. He was living with a community of men who wore white robes. They lived in caves on the shores of a green lake.”

He bent down to kiss her warmly on the mouth, trying to stave off the inevitable discussion about their son. If he thought about Nathan now, he’d go mad trying to figure out what had happened, and he couldn’t afford it. Not yet. There was no telling when Woloc would make his next assault.

She brushed black hair away from Mikael’s eyes and examined his face. He knew he must look dead tired. “When was the last time you slept?” she whispered.

“I’ll nap when I have the chance.”

“What’s happening, Mikael?”

“Nothing. That’s what worries me. We’ve barricaded every possible entry we can find. But I have a terrible feeling that we’ve missed something.”

“We just have to hold Engineering long enough for Baruch and Tahn to get here tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s an eternity, Sybil. While you’ve been sleeping for the past three hours, bangs and knocks have sounded all around us—Woloc’s up to something. He’s trying to figure another way in.”

Sybil sank back and pulled the blankets up around her throat, peering at him through wide dark eyes. He tucked the edges of the blanket around her and kissed her.

“Try to sleep more, Sybil. There’s nothing you can do. This is just a waiting game.”

“No,” she said and sat up. “Hand me my boots.” While Mikael reached down to retrieve them from the floor, Sybil grabbed her gunbelt from the bedside table and fastened it around her waist. Mikael rose and handed her the boots….

A soft resonance of breathing came from overhead and Sybil bolted off the bed and fell into a crouch as Ari screamed,
“Up there!”

Mikael dove for the floor, rolling to come up firing. The entire second level swarmed with purple-uniformed soldiers. Mikael fired again and a man shrieked; his body slammed the white wall before tumbling over the railing; it bashed against the floor with a sickeningly dull sound.

Mikael scrambled back toward Sybil as Ari’s pistol flared. The purple flash blinded Mikael for a second, but he kept crawling.

Yosef screamed, “I’ll drop it!”

And Mikael whirled to see him holding a vial of hypinitronium over his head. Yosef’s elderly face pinched with intent and terror.

A familiar voice shouted, “Put it down, Yosef. We’ll kill Mikael and Sybil!”

As though to make the point, a burst of fire slammed the floor in front of Mikael, separating him from Sybil. Bits of metal and debris showered his uniform. From the corner of his vision, he saw Yosef’s elderly face wither.

Jason Woloc shouted again, “Stop! Lay down your weapons. We don’t want to kill any of you!”

“Get out, Woloc!” Mikael responded, waving his arms emphatically. “Get out or this entire section of the ship is going up in a ball of flame!”

Standing on the second level, the lieutenant’s honey blond hair had a silver sheen in the bright lights. Mikael sighted on him, his finger tightening on the trigger. The other fourteen or fifteen soldiers had positioned themselves around the balcony, rifles braced—just waiting for the order to open fire. Rad and his two technicians had scurried into the corner, trying to get out of the line of fire.

“I’ll tell you one more time, Yosef,” Woloc said, and as he did so he raised a hand over his head, ready to signal his forces to let loose a fiery apocalypse. “Put down that canister or Sybil Calas dies first!”

Yosef’s old eyes misted. The canister swayed in his hand and Mikael felt a lump of ice lodge at the base of his throat.

Sybil shouted, “Drop it, Yosef. Do it!”

CHAPTER 41

Rev Amora sat and lectured:

“What is the meaning of the verse (Ps. 87:2): “The lord loveth the gates of Zion more than all the dwellings of Jacob?’ The ‘gates of Zion’
—
these are the ‘gates of the world’; for gate means an opening, as it is written (Ps. 118:19; ‘Open to me the gates of righteousness.’ Thus God said: I love the gates of Zion when they are open. Why? Because they are on the side of evil.”

Nathanaeus and Yeshwah gazed up at the huge stone walls of the Epitropos’ palace that extended endlessly into the belly of the azure sky. The spring sun roasted their flesh, baking their faces a dark brown and sending sweat to stain their coarse white robes across their backs and beneath their arms. They each wore swords on their hips and quivers of arrows on their backs. Their bows were hooked on their belts. A low roar, like that of a stormy ocean, sullied the air. The crowd that had gathered milled around nervously, shaking fists in rage and shouting profanities. White poplars, tamarisks, mallow trees, and sweet licorice dotted the hillsides that cradled the city, scenting the hot wind like perfume.

Yesu—the affectionate Aramaic form of Yeshwah’s name and the name by which Nathanaeus had come to call his best friend over the past fifteen years—looked fierce. He stood tall and dark, his brown hair clasped neatly at the base of his skull with a golden clip; his mahogany eyes focused like daggers on the palace balcony where they all hoped Lucius Pontius, the Epitropos, would emerge to answer their charges.

Nathanaeus moved to shift the weight of his one hundred and eighty pounds to his left foot. They’d been standing since dawn and weariness had afflicted them like a plague. People grumbled irritably, shoving at anyone who got too close in the confined courtyard.

Nathanaeus brushed long black hair over his ears. The searing breeze whipped his black beard over his broad chest. “This is foolish, Yesu. What if someone recognizes us? I think we should just go home.”

Yesu shook his head patiently. “We can’t go home, Nathan. He’s gone too far this time.”

“But if they find us here, you know what they’ll—”

“You’re afraid of death? I thought you’d gotten over that long ago. Didn’t the
Paquid
teach you that life and death were all the same?”

Nathan heaved a sigh and folded his arms stiffly. “He taught me, just as he did you. But I’m still a weakling at heart, Yesu. The sight of swords and blood, especially my own, worries me.”

As though he hadn’t heard, Yesu squinted up at the balcony. “The great Pontius Pilatus must have lost what little mind he had. How could he seize the sacred Temple fund to finance the building of his aqueduct? Surely he knew it would fuel a revolt?”

“I’m sure that was his goal. That way he’ll have an excuse to kill us by the thousands.”

Yesu’s mouth tightened. “I wouldn’t doubt it. Did you hear the gossip this morning that Pilatus killed several Galileans and mixed their blood with their sacrifices? The old woman who told me claimed she heard it from that bastard prophet, Ben Panthera.”

“Panthera? He’s crazy. Why would anyone believe him?”

“Because, my friend, Panthera’s madness lends him some strange sort of power.”

Nathan breathed out ferociously through his nostrils. His black eyes narrowed. “Yes, I’ve seen him preach. I know what you mean. I was at his triumphant return to Natzaret last week. His own people, people he’s known since he was a boy, drove him out of the temple, screaming that he was possessed by demons.”

Yesu shrugged and Nathan matched the gesture. Anyone who preached a different way eventually got accused of black magic. A gust of wind swept the hillsides and came roaring down into the city, peppering them with sand. Their white sleeves crackled.

Yesu wet his dry lips. “When Ben Panthera starts sympathizing with our
great leader
Lucius Pontius Pilatus, then I’ll worry about demonic influences. Right now he’s just an irritant.”

“I hope you’re right. Some people are saying he’s the Holy Serpent who will free us all.”

“Ridiculous,” Yesu insisted. “The Holy Serpent must first descend into the depths of the Abyss before he can subdue the Serpents of the Abyss. Ben Panthera has never seen evil in his entire life. …”

His words faded as dozens of bronze-suited cavalrymen rode from around the rear of the palace. Their raised swords glinted like liquid silver in the bright sunlight. The lead centurion’s gravelly voice carried over the din of surprised gasps and shuffling feet: “You pious imbeciles want to challenge the Procurator about the Temple funds,
eh?
Well, he sends his answer!”

Screaming insults and shouts of rage, the soldiers whipped their horses pell-mell into the crowd and began slamming around indiscriminately with the flat edge of their swords, using their weapons as clubs. The hideous cries and cracks of shattering bone rent the air.

The crowd broke into a frenzy. Trying to get out of the way, they ran over each other or pushed the weak beneath the stamping hooves of the horses. A choking storm of dust roiled up, hugging the impenetrable palace walls like honey. The shrill wails of children pierced the blazing day.

“Yesu, run!” Nathan blurted, grabbing him by the arm.

They pulled their swords from their scabbards and scrambled through the swarming horde of humanity, leaping downed bodies, protecting each other’s backs. But as they dodged behind an empty chariot, Nathan saw Pilatus arrogantly stride out onto the balcony and survey the wailing crowd. A rich smile creased his cruel Spanish face.

Without even slowing his stride, Nathan unhooked his bow, grabbed an arrow from his quiver, and stopped just long enough to let it fly at the wicked Epitropos. The world seemed to die around him when he saw it strike home, piercing the man’s breast. Pilatus shrieked and fell into a sprawling pile of purple cloak.

A cacophony of disbelief and satiated rage welled up with the power of a dozen Legions on the march. Nathan sucked in a sudden breath when a centurion pointed his shining sword and shouted, “Zealots! They’ve murdered Pilatus! Kill them!
Kill them!

Nathan vaulted a low clump of brush and spied a narrow opening in the crowd that led into the city. “No, this way, Yesu!” He lunged to grab Yesu’s white sleeve, dragging him in the direction of salvation. Their legs pumped like those of hunted animals scurrying for the safety of their burrows.

Just before they scampered beneath the overhanging branches of a mallow tree, one of the soldiers spurred his horse forward, screaming, “You filthy rebels!”

Hooves thundered behind them, and Nathan caught the fiery glimpse of a sword blade as it arced up and came smashing down across Yesu’s muscular back. Blood spurted hot and crimson across his white robe. His friend screamed raggedly and dove beneath the tree, crawling furiously for safety.

The centurion laughed and Nathan hefted his sword. He brutally swung it around to hack once and twice at the enemy’s leg. The bone snapped under the impact and set the centurion to howling madly. Leveling his sword again, Nathan aimed higher. The sickening hollow-wood thunk of sword on skull sounded and the soldier fell out of his saddle, landing in a dead bloody heap on the ground.

In panic, Nathan lurched beneath the tree and crawled insanely, following the trail of Yesu’s blood that splashed the sandy soil.
Please, Adonai, take me! Don’t let Yesu die! Take me … take me… !
Shrieks swelled to a deafening climax around the palace. Nathan choked on the pungent scent of fresh blood.

The cool shadows of the squat whitewashed buildings fell over him as he turned a corner and entered a shaded alley. A cry clotted his throat at the sight of Yeshwah. He lay in a heap of blood and white robe, propped against a stone wall.

“Yesu?”
he shouted. Nathan tugged his friend to his feet and draped one of Yesu’s arms over his shoulders, then half-carried, half-dragged him down the alleyway.

“Nathan,” Yesu, groaned, face twisting in pain. “Leave me. They’ll be coming!”

“Hold on, Yesu. It’s not far.”

Yesu gasped and moaned, trying to contain the wails that lodged in his throat. His dark brown hair had fallen out of its clasp to hang in grimy strings over his shoulders, tangling in his bushy beard. People watched openly from the windows on high, some screaming,
qanal qanal
—zealot—as though to shame them, to berate them for objecting to murder or the obscenity the Epitropos had placed in the sacred Temple! Nathan glared at them, casting profanities back. The fools, the pious Sebastian idiots! Lucius Pontius Pilatus had brought the Eagles of the Legion and the Imperator’s Icon into Yerushalaim itself! He’d stolen the temple funds to build his aqueduct; he’d killed innocent Galileans to feed his ravenous appetite for blood. He deserved death a thousand times over!

“Help?” Nathan pleaded. “Help us! Somebody, please!”

He lugged Yesu around another corner and entered a dense residential section where the connecting apartments created a shadowed canopy. The scents of urine and stock animals permeated the gray stones. Ahead of him, a woman leaned alluringly in a doorway. She had long brown hair and huge blue eyes. Her full lips gleamed with rouge. Dressed in a bright scarlet robe shot through with silver embroidery, her profession wasn’t hard to guess. She straightened up, a frown lining her face when she saw them.

“You!” Nathan shouted commandingly. “Is that your home? Open the door.”

When she hesitated, Nathan rushed her, shoving her back against the wall with his free hand and hissing, “Do it now! If the decuria following us doesn’t kill you, I will!”

She turned hastily and threw open the door. The stale musk of perfume and fornication drifted out. Nathan hauled Yesu inside and gently lowered him to the hard stone floor, then went back and jerked the woman inside before locking and barring the entry.

Hurriedly, Nathan returned to Yesu and carefully rolled him over on his side to check his back wound. The woman threw herself down on the floor beside him and peered at him through eyes enormous with fear.

“Are they after you?”

“I just told you they were,” he answered sharply. Removing his dagger, he slit Yesu’s robe and peeled the blood-soaked material back. The gaping gash that met his gaze made his knees go weak.

“What did you do?” she demanded.

“I killed a centurion,” he said, knowing the whole truth would terrify her so badly she’d turn them in the first chance she got.

A sly cloying smile lit her pretty face. In the almost complete darkness, he could see a glint of amusement in her eyes. “I hope it was that
scortator,
Publius. He’s been driving me mad with his slobbering caresses for months.”

Nathan’s heartbeat throbbed in his ears. “Get me some water and a towel. We have to clean this wound before it festers.”

She lunged to her feet and ran for the pitcher beside her bed. Outside, the drumming sound of hooves on stone beat in the air like furious angels’ wings. She stopped in mid-step, the pitcher trembling so that it spilled water across the floor. Raucous shouts and curses split the walls to seep into their sanctuary. Nathan held his breath. The woman stood rigidly. Both of them stared at the door as wide-eyed and silent as the dead.

But the soldiers passed by. The crack-thud of their passage echoed down the street until it vanished.

“What’s your name, woman?” Nathan breathed.

“Miriam. Miriam of Migdal-Nunaya.”

Council of the Synod of Bishops. Lakeside town of Nicaea, The Year of Gnosis, 4085.

Emperor Constantine rose in his seat, throwing back his red velvet cloak. Tall, with dark hair, he had a hooked nose and powerful eyes. The room quieted as the bishops turned in a wave to hear his words. They looked as worried as a flock of frightened birds. He smiled secretly to himself.

“My most reverend companions,” he began, “I am a bishop of internal things. In the civil war of 4084, my military campaign was a crusade against corrupt Christianity. From this day forward, I tell you, my allegiances are to the blessed Teacher of Righteousness. Let no one doubt my resolve to make the Teacher’s Truths the Truths of the entire world. For I believe that to change the religion of Byzantium is to change the world, forever and ever. Amen!”