Redemption of Light (The Light Trilogy) (45 page)

CHAPTER 47

Carey walked slowly across the seventh heaven, Arabot. Michael had passed them hurriedly, which had shocked Zadok to his bones. He panted along beside her, pushing beyond his elderly endurance to hurry to the throne of God. Grass clung to his brown robe from all the rest stops they’d made because he could go no farther. Sunset blazed like amethyst fire through the drifting clouds. Cool grass stood tall and fragrant, lining the dirt path in absinthe green walls.

Carey shortened her stride to match Zadok’s and walked in silence, listening to the birds in the trees. Their melodious songs trilled through the coolness of the evening. The old patriarch had been giving her morose and pitying looks for the past half mile and she couldn’t understand why. In a few more hours they’d reach the throne of God and all the mysteries she’d ever entertained would be answered—maybe.
If Epagael was indeed God.

They climbed a hill and emerged into a shadow-dappled vineyard filled with row after row of lush red grapes on thick tangles of green vines. A tangy sweetness filled the air, suffusing everything, the scattered trees dotting the vineyard, the clouds shading crimson overhead, the snowy mountain peaks in the distance.

“Carey? I’ve been wondering,” Zadok called gravely, “what will you do if you can’t go back?”

She regarded him speculatively. “What do you mean?”

He reached out to link his arm comfortingly through hers. “I mean what will you do if the Magistrates have killed your body and you’ve no receptacle to return to?”

Strange that she’d never considered that possibility. Somehow, she’d thought that if Aktariel specifically sent her to heaven to talk to Epagael that she—like Zadok a century ago—would be returned to reveal God’s words to the Underground to help them stay alive. Why had she assumed that? Maybe her only duty was to go and enrage God and His actions thereafter would achieve Aktariel’s desired effect? Maybe Aktariel didn’t need her back in her universe….

Carey clutched Zadok’s arm tightly and continued through the vineyard.

A poignant hunger for Jeremiel welled up. Years began to drop away … the red grapes faded, blurring softly into red holly berries circling Pesach punch bowls. She could hear the gay holiday laughter as she and Jeremiel walked arm-in-arm amid the trees on Shaare. The white sunlight blazed in Jeremiel’s blond hair. People danced around them, singing and shouting in joy. Jeremiel’s deep voice soothed as he hugged her against him. “
I love you so much,”
he’d whispered into her ear. “
I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love you.”
The ironic clashing of pistols against legs sounded as soldiers veered around them. No one went unarmed, not even on a holy day. She could hear her own careless laughter, feel her heart near to bursting with love for this tall, broad-shouldered man she’d tried to kill so many times in her life. As though to exacerbate the pain of her memories, old friends, men and women she’d loved and respected, came marching back, smiling and jeering as though they’d never been blown to bits in a hundred desperate battles: Phil Cohen grinned at her, telling a crude joke; Rich Macey threw her a disgusted look from across the bridge; and there was a soft touch and a blustering voice that was Cole’s.

Carey’s throat went tight. Would there be no more times like that? Would she never again be able to stand beside the people she loved?

“I don’t know, Zadok,” she answered.

They came to the end of the vineyard and entered an open meadow. Carey stopped in mid-stride. An intense electromagnetic aura filled this field. It made her hair stand on end. Wind swept through the wildflowers.

“What is this?” she asked.

Zadok’s eyes widened. “The presence of Epagael. We’re close.” He pointed to the next swell in the land. “Right over that hill is the seventh crystal palace of God.”

Carey released his arm and broke into a trot. Auburn hair swirled over her face. When she reached the top, she stopped. At the foot of the snow-capped blue mountains, the seventh crystal palace sat like a sculpted work of art. Four towers jutted up into the sunset clouds, reflecting a rainbow of colors. A flock of round-faced cherubim laughed and tugged at each other’s silver robes as they jauntily flew around the palace’s turrets in a game of hide-and-seek. Wheels of fire swooped and soared at them, teasing playfully. And through all the magnificent beauty a stunning harmony of song rose and fell like the rush of waves on an ocean. It came from nowhere, everywhere, sweeping the land like a magic symphony.

The door to the palace opened and an angel stepped out. Clad in a cadmium yellow robe with a garish purple sash, he put a hand up to shield his eyes from the fading rays of sunset and looked in her direction. Amber curls hung down to his shoulders. His body glowed so brilliantly, it caused a fluttering golden halo to dance over the faceted surface of the palace. He lowered his hand and leaned lazily against the shimmering wall of the crystal palace. A smile curled his lips.

“Carey Halloway, isn’t it?”
he called. “
I thought you’d never get here.”

“Anapiel,” she whispered to herself. She’d read about him in a hundred sacred Gamant religious treatises—the guardian of the final approach to God. The angel of the River of Fire.

Anapiel laughed softly, but it echoed from every tree and blade of grass.
“Yes, Carey. Come. Let’s talk about your universe. Baruch and Tahn will be very glad to know you’ve finally arrived. They’re not doing so well. In fact, they’re on the brink of the Abyss.”
He laughed again, low and cold, a sound that turned her blood to ice.

She lunged forward, racing down the hill with all her strength.

CHAPTER 48

Cole slouched over the table on the far side of the brig. He couldn’t sleep. Even the vaguest effort made him angry with himself since he still hadn’t the slightest notion what they were going to do once they got to Palaia.

On the far side of the white tiled room, Jeremiel lounged back in a chair, his eyes preoccupied, weaving strategy, no doubt—but they certainly couldn’t discuss it here where every breath they took was recorded. Baruch looked dead tired; dark splotches stained the skin beneath his eyes and his blond hair hung in a stringy mass over his forehead. Everyone else slept in their narrow bunks. Mikael and Sybil huddled in each other’s arms. Brigs were not designed for comfort, but the young couple seemed to be doing okay. Twenty beds slatted the aft wall and four tables with four chairs each lined the starboard. A drink dispenser stood like a silver trash receptacle in the center of the room. No other piece of furniture or adornment existed, except the chronometer that flashed 02:30 in blue over the door.

Cole clenched a fist and threw a quiet taunt out to Jeremiel. “You damn well ought to be sleeping. You’ve probably got twenty hours before doomsday.”

Baruch shook his head mildly. “I’ve got it all figured out. It looks more like twenty-four.”

“Yeah? Well, good, I feel better knowing it’s a full day.”

Cole absently fingered the too-tight cuff on the tan jumpsuit they’d brought him. When they’d roughly thrown him through the light-barred door, he’d immediately headed for the shower. The endless stream of hot water had revived him. In the Underground, they constantly attempted to save water, which meant that three-minute showers had become standard. The luxury of standing for fifteen and washing four times felt like a gift from God. He squinted back at Baruch. “You’ve got it figured out, huh?”

Jeremiel’s blue eyes glittered. “I think so.”

Goddamn, if we could only discuss it!
“No
deus ex machina
endings, right? No bolts of lightning coming out of nowhere to destroy our enemies? I’m a pagan, remember.”

“No lightning,” Baruch promised. “What have you been thinking about?”

“Me?” Cole hunched farther over the table to loudly whisper, “The sound of the waves lapping against Charon’s boat.”

Baruch bowed his head to hide a smile. “I don’t think….”

Jeremiel’s words faded as voices drifted through the door. They both looked up. The light bars vanished in a flash of gold, leaving the exit open. Alarm warmed Cole’s veins at the sight of Jason Woloc. The young officer stood rigidly, his hands behind his back, while he gave clipped orders to the security staff guarding the door. One sergeant quietly questioned him, obviously uneasy with the orders Woloc had issued.

Woloc said something terse and the sergeant saluted stiffly and backed away. Two purple and gray suited corporals entered the room and strode directly to Cole.

“Captain Tahn,” the red-haired corporal asked. “Please come with us.”

“What for?”

“Lieutenant Woloc wants to speak to you.”

“About what?”

The corporal pulled his pistol and commanded, “Now.”

Cole resentfully walked across the floor, his gaze never leaving Woloc. When he exited through the door into the crowded corridor, he stood awkwardly, waiting for instructions. Probes? Is that why the lieutenant had come to personally escort him—he’d talked Amirah into following standard procedures for handling enemy captives?

Tahn took a deep breath and glared because it made him feel better. Woloc met his harsh gaze almost frantically; something strange shone behind his eyes—curious, frightened.

“What’s this all about, Lieutenant?” Tahn ventured.

Woloc pulled his pistol, aimed it expertly at Cole’s broad chest, and responded, “Please march straight ahead, Captain.”

“I’m marching.”

Cole picked up his pace. Only Woloc followed him. No security team joined them. Cole scrutinized each intersecting corridor, waiting for the hidden soldiers that had to be monitoring the halls as an extra precaution.

When they reached the transport tube and stepped inside, Woloc hit the patch for level two and stared probingly at Cole as they ascended.

Conversationally, Cole remarked, “How’s your crew, Lieutenant? Any signs of post-invasion disorientation?”

Woloc braced a shoulder against the wall. “Tell me something, Tahn? Do you know about these seizures? Is that why she called for you?”

A knot pulled tight in Cole’s stomach.
Amirah …
“Yes, where is she?”

“Her cabin. That’s where we’re going.”

“How is she?”

Woloc shook his head and let out a bewildered breath. “I don’t know. I can’t get her up off the floor.”

Cole looked him over in detail. Woloc was almost shaking himself. His hair was matted to his head by sweat. “What triggered the seizure?”

Woloc pulled himself straight. “I’m not at liberty to say. That’s classified—”

“Damn it, Woloc!” Cole shouted in rage. “Give me something to work with. I can’t …”

The tube halted with a feathery touch and the door slipped back. Cole exited into the hall and Woloc followed.

“What cabin is it, Woloc?”

“210.”

Cole picked up his feet and ran, heedless of the weapon Woloc held. He heard the lieutenant’s steps pounding behind him. He veered around a corner and dashed headlong down the long white corridor. No one else walked the passageways. Had Woloc had the foresight to order them cleared so no one would see Cole go into Jossel’s cabin?
A fine young officer, indeed.
Cole slid to a stop in front of her cabin and struck the entry patch. The door slid back.

Cole stepped inside and went to kneel by Amirah. She lay in the middle of the floor, a gray blanket thrown carelessly over her. Woloc entered and the door closed.

In the near darkness, Cole could tell that beneath the blanket she was naked. He glanced at Woloc, and noticed the lieutenant’s uniform shirt was tucked haphazardly into his pants. Woloc’s face tightened in defense, as though be saw the line of Cole’s thoughts. Not that Cole was thinking anything particularly, except maybe wondering why Amirah asked for him when she had someone she trusted more closer at hand.

Cole sat on the floor and folded the blanket around Amirah, then gently lifted her into his lap. She lay limply, silently, her head against the shoulder of his tan jumpsuit. She seemed tired to her bones, bled dry of every ounce of vitality.

“Amirah?” Cole called. “Talk to me. Are you here? Or somewhere else?”

As though barely able to get the energy, she murmured, “Cole, they made me kill her…. Slothen did.”

“Who?”

Her body quaked uncontrollably and Cole held her more tightly, crushing her securely against his chest. “Who, Amirah?”

“Grandmama,” she mouthed it more than spoke it.

Cole peered down at her haunted eyes. She appeared to be staring back in time to that terrible day years ago, but experiencing it as though it had happened only moments before. What had occurred here tonight to make her recall that? Woloc must have tripped the switch somehow. Cole’s thoughts wandered down unpleasant pathways, wondering if Slothen would use a sexual cue? He might. A chill empty feeling invaded Cole’s gut. Jeremiel’s notions about Jossel seemed even more likely now. Sefer Raziel had vanished after her contacts on Rusel 3 claimed that Magisterial soldiers came to herd her and Amirah into a ship and take them to Palaia. What had Slothen done? Programmed Amirah and then tested his trigger on Raziel? Who better to use than Amirah’s own beloved grandmother? If she could kill Raziel, she could kill anyone. But
who
was Slothen’s target?

“Lieutenant,” Cole said amiably to Woloc. “The captain’s all right now. Could you pull a robe out of her closet for her? She and I need to do some serious talking and I suspect she’d rather be warm for the duration.”

“Yes.”

While Woloc sprinted across the room, Cole called, “Amirah? Can you stand up?”

No response.

“Amirah?” He urgently put a hand under her chin, turning her beautiful face up. She appeared catatonic, as though her brain had simply shut off. “Amirah? Can you hear me?”

She didn’t even blink. He smoothed blonde tangles back away from her cheeks and patted her hair.
Lord, what now? Is this part of the programming? A safety mechanism to keep her from lashing out at the government if she ever discovered the truth?
His stomach roiled. “Hold on, Captain. This won’t take long.”

Woloc hastily went through the uniforms and off-duty wear in the closet to find a magenta colored robe with tiny bands of white Orillian lace sewn over the bodice. He touched the garment almost reverently as he pulled it from the hanger. Cole watched the action with mild interest. Woloc walked back and handed it to Cole, but such reluctance pervaded the gesture that Tahn handed it back.

“Here,” Cole said. “I’ll take the blanket off and you put the robe around her shoulders.”

“Yes, sir.” Woloc knelt, ready to comply.

Cole hesitated, a little baffled by the “sir,” and Woloc looked up. Their gazes locked. They stared at each other, evaluating. And a fragile bridge of trust grew between them. They both knew that something dangerous and deliberate had gripped Amirah, and she needed help. But how much did Woloc know about her programming? As Cole scrutinized those veiled hazel eyes, he figured it was more than Woloc would ever let on—unless Amirah directed otherwise.

Cole slipped an arm beneath the blanket and around Amirah’s cool back, then pulled off the gray blanket, baring her muscular shoulders to the dim light. Woloc hastily draped the robe over her nakedness and tenderly smoothed his hands down her arms.

When Woloc lifted his eyes back to Cole’s, fear shone in the depths. “Have you seen this happen to her before?” he asked tautly.

Cole shook his head. “No. I imagine that whatever triggered her memories of killing her grandmother also triggered a buried defense mechanism to keep her from acting on the knowledge.”

“You mean Slothen—”

“That’s exactly what I mean, Lieutenant. Slothen’s taking no chance that he might lose her. I wager she won’t even remember this episode—if she ever comes out of it.”

Woloc shook his head in confusion. “But I don’t understand. What’s the programming for? What’s she supposed to do?”

“You mean you don’t know?”

“No!” Woloc asserted defiantly. He lurched to his feet and spread his arms helplessly. “I don’t have any idea! Do you?”

Cole gently lifted Amirah and carried her across the floor to ease her down onto her bed. She looked as frail and willowy as a rag doll. From the corner of his eyes, Cole noticed that the com unit on the desk flashed:
END OF HOLO. REPORT ON LEVEL 5 ALERT STATUS.

Cole turned around and glanced questioningly at Woloc. “What’s going on? What level 5 alert?”

Woloc’s face slackened. He ran to study the screen. “Oh, no.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. I…” He let the sentence dangle while he bent over the key patches and told the com unit to abandon the file. The com refused to respond. It continued to demand a report on the alert.

Woloc dropped into the desk chair and typed: LEVEL 5 TERMINATED.

STATUS OF CAPTAIN? HARMLESS OR DEAD?

Jason vented an astonished curse. “Was that file intended to render her harmless? What in the name of God is going on?” He input: HARMLESS.

Cole’s brows drew together when the com responded:
STAND BY FOR MESSAGE FROM MAGISTRATE SLOTHEN.

Woloc gritted his teeth and leaned forward, glaring worriedly into the screen. Cole frowned when the screen blanked and a broad patch of white light flared. It began to shrink to a tiny pinpoint, changing color, darkening to a purple beam which …

Cole dove, grabbing Woloc by the shoulders and slamming him brutally to the floor as the coherent beam lanced through the back of the desk chair and pierced the far wall before shutting off. Woloc struggled to sit up and stared at the blast hole, panting. He wiped his mouth on his uniform sleeve and exchanged a panicked look with Tahn.

Cole got cautiously to his feet. He edged toward the unit and hit the patch to cut the power. The screen went a dull gray.

Through a long exhale, Cole observed, “Obviously the person who knew what was in that file was considered expendable, Lieutenant.”

Woloc pulled himself to a sitting position. “I-I don’t fully understand this. Slothen must have wanted to protect the ship in case Amirah’s trigger ever went off accidentally. That’s why I—”

“Yes, that’s why you could get into the file at all. It was intended to send her into catatonia and then eliminate the person who knew about the trigger.” Cole paced stiffly in front of Woloc. “Slothen’s desperate to keep her in his power.
Goddamn it, what’s he up to?”

Woloc inhaled a shuddering bream. “After reviewing the Tikkun files, I suspect it relates to Gamants. Maybe …” he paused and squeezed his eyes closed as though trying to decide. “Maybe I’d better tell you what was in the file. Together we might be able to figure it out.”