Redemption of Light (The Light Trilogy) (7 page)

Even if he and Cole both survived the Horeb battle, neither of them had any idea how to break through Palaia’s defense net. The space station was shielded by an infinite series of electromagnetic shells. For over twenty-five years, Jeremiel had been trying to crack the puzzle of Palaia. Doing it now would take a miracle.

But it didn’t matter.

He had to find out if Carey was alive.

He sipped his taza and fought the ache that constricted his chest like the icy hand of God.

CHAPTER 6

The Governor’s Palace On Horeb

Governor Ornias and his new Minister of Defense, Fenris Midgard, briskly walked the long atrium that connected the palace with the Detainment Center. Windows lined both sides of the hallway. Beyond them, misty rain fell in silver veils over the ridges that surrounded the palace like a fortress, changing them from ruby red to a deep dark purple. He despised this filthy wasteland. If the Magistrates weren’t paying him five billion notes a year to govern it, he’d be somewhere far away.
Somewhere decent.

They turned a corner and Ornias caught his reflection in the glass. He looked himself up and down and smiled admiringly. A tall man with sandy hair and lime green eyes, his elaborately braided beard accentuated the perfect oval of his face. His gold silk robe glimmered like flame in the murky light. Let those other Magisterial fools don hideous uniforms, he preferred the sensuous luxury of satins, silks, and velvets.

“Governor,” Fenris said as he restlessly balled his fists and tucked them into the pockets of his purple uniform. A short, thin man, he had graying brown hair and a nose as long and thin as a spear point. “I know Magistrate Slothen’s demand that we find Calas was urgent, but I assure you these rebels we captured in the last battle are a stubborn lot. I’ve used every technique I know, including the probes, and not one of them has revealed any critical information about Mikael Calas’ location. The only thing I got was that they’re planning a food gathering mission in the high latitudes in the next few days. Should I—”

“I’ll take care of that, Midgard. I have a special unit to handle such missions.” Yes, indeed. He’d trained them himself, using the probes to erase any and all elements of compassion and guilt from their young minds. The soldiers in the Brandish Unit averaged between sixteen and eighteen years of age and felt guilt only when they failed him. He smiled gloatingly to himself, proud of that piece of ingenuity.

“Yes, sir. I apologize. I don’t understand why I’ve been unable to break even one of these—”

“Of course you don’t,” Ornias informed him irritably. Midgard had only been on Horeb for two weeks. He knew nothing about the reality of this squalid existence. “You don’t know Mikael Calas. He trains his troops well. Your problem, Fenris, is that your methods of information gathering are too sophisticated.”

Fenris hurried to keep up with Ornias’ longer stride. “I don’t understand, sir. What else—”

“Just wait, Midgard. You’ll see. I’ve had the prisoners moved to an isolated area of the Detainment Center.”

Fenris looked at him askance, but said nothing.

Ornias sniffed disgustedly. Midgard annoyed him. The man had no ethical elasticity. How could anyone so narrow-minded have survived this long in the realm of Magisterial diplomacy? He grunted to himself and turned the final corner, stepping down the dark stairs that led to his private interrogation chamber. Dank odors of mildew and rat droppings breathed from the stairwell. Midgard’s boots clacked hesitantly behind him.

Ornias stopped before the door at the bottom and struck the communications box, calling, “Sergeant Horner? This is Governor Ornias. Please release the latch.”

The door creaked open. Ornias stepped aside and extended a hand for Midgard to enter first. The minister nodded and stepped into the cold, foul-smelling room. The soft gasp that floated out made Ornias chuckle. He stepped inside and shut the door.

Within the ten by fifteen foot room, six rebels dangled a foot off the stone floor, their wrists and ankles bound in iron shackles. Rancid odors of urine and vomit clung cloyingly in the air. Ornias smiled at the four gray-suited planetary marines who guarded the room. Most refused to meet Ornias’ eyes. Good. The more they feared him, the better he liked it. From the corner of his vision, he saw Horner grinning maliciously. The bestial little man had porcine yellow eyes and a head almost as square as a brick; he shifted eagerly from foot to foot. Black hair hung in dirty strands over his acne-scarred forehead. The filthy little marine adored torture, worshiping Ornias for his expertise in the matter.

Ornias quickly passed by Midgard and went to the cabinet on the wall. He pulled out a crystal decanter of Cassiopan sherry and poured himself a glass.

“Would you like some sherry, Fenris?” he asked.

“No” A swallow went down Midgard’s throat. He hadn’t taken his eyes from the prisoners. Dark clots of blood matted their filthy clothing to their bodies. Two were women, four were men. One of the men had a jagged rent in the black fabric over his chest. Beneath, a hideous wound oozed with pustulation.

“Governor,”
Midgard whispered tautly. “That man needs medical attention.”

“Yes, I’m sure he does.” Ornias took a refreshing sip of his sherry, watching Fenris. A dark gleam of horror had entered the minister’s eyes.

Midgard’s nostrils quivered. He pulled his thin body straighter, glaring. Ornias swished the sherry around his mouth. The sweet honeylike flavor caressed his tongue like a silk scarf over skin.

Midgard exploded, “Governor, I don’t believe the Magistrates would approve of such barbaric—”

“If I waited for them to approve of everything I did, Minister, we’d all be dead and Horeb in the hands of Mikael and Sybil Calas.”

Ornias crossed the room to the array of ancient and modern torture devices that covered the wall opposite the prisoners. He preferred the ancient methods of information gathering: thumbscrews, racks, flayers. Terror was the only truly effective means of discouraging dissent. Couldn’t Midgard see that?

Shackles jangled behind Ornias. Someone moaned. He sipped his sherry and strolled back to stand before the female leader of the group. Thin and willowy, with long brown hair, her left breast spilled from her torn black uniform. Ornias gazed appreciatively at the dark nipple. The muscles of her shackled arms tensed, setting the iron jangling again. She fixed him with hate-filled eyes.

“Sira Ben,” Ornias cooed pleasantly. “I’ve always wondered what you were like. Captain Jonas told me that before they captured you, you killed thirty of my marines.” He cocked his head, and smiled his respect. “It saddens me to see a woman of your beauty and obvious talents tortured like this.”

Her sepia eyes gleamed like a hungry wolfs. She spat at him. Ornias artfully dodged, but rage flared in him.

“Dear Sira,” he warned. “You mustn’t antagonize me. I’m annoyed enough with your silence as it is. Would you like me to kill each of your compatriots before your eyes? Would that teach you manners?”

Her face tensed.

“Really, Sira, if you just answer one of my questions, I’ll release you.
Where is Mikael Calas?”

She snorted derisively and then had the gall to laugh out loud. Chuckles spread down the line of prisoners, rising to a roar which reverberated from the cold stone walls.

Ornias smiled, too, as he waited for the tirade to end. A crimson pool of blood had formed at Sira’s feet, spreading more every time she moved. He noticed with interest that a persistent trickle dripped from her right boot. Surely her wounds would have clotted by now … unless Horner had been tormenting them. He glanced surreptitiously at the ugly little man.

Striding past her, Ornias looked up mildly at Ibn Ezra—reportedly Sira Ben’s lover. “Ibn,” he said, extending a manicured hand to Sira. “She refuses my offer. What about you? Where is Calas? Hmm? We thought he was with your battalion, but obviously we were mistaken.
Where is he?
Answer but one of my questions truthfully and I’ll release you and all of your friends.”

Ezra, a heavily muscled, dark-haired giant of a man, stared down with icy contempt in his black eyes. The shreds of his camo uniform revealed deep gashes crusted with old blood. “Truth, Governor?” he whispered. “What do you know of truth?”

“Are you trying to be profound, Ibn? I’m afraid I haven’t much patience for such worthless diversions.” Ornias took a long drink of his sherry. Horner snickered blasphemously in the background. “I hear Sira is your lover, Ibn? Is that so?”

Ezra glanced in panic at the woman beside him. “No.”

Ornias grinned sardonically and waved a hand at one of his guards. Horner shoved through to trot up beside him. The short, evil looking little marine licked his lips eagerly.

“Aye, Governor, what do you want me to do?”

Ornias cocked his head and smiled at Ezra. “Kill the woman,” he ordered.

“NO!”
Ezra screamed as Horner opened fire. Purple light splashed the room with a lurid burst of color. Ezra gasped as Sira’s blood splattered him in hot red gouts. The giant squeezed his eyes closed and his massive chest heaved with sobs.

“Governor!” Midgard exploded. His face had gone ghost white, jaw quivering in disbelief. Sweat matted the strands of his hair to his head like thick gray-brown strings. “I cannot believe—”

“No, I’m sure you can’t. You’re a man of limited imagination, Fenris.”

“
I won’t stand by and witness
—”

“Then, please go. You’re becoming a nuisance.”

Midgard fairly ran for the door, slamming it behind him. Ornias sighed and lazily strolled down the line. The sibilant hiss of his low laughter filled the room like the prophetic rustle of a burial shroud waving in the wind. Most of the prisoners clamped their sweaty jaws and turned away.

Ornias gazed up into the face of the youngest prisoner. A gorgeous girl of perhaps fifteen or sixteen, she had huge black eyes and thick wavy brown hair. Ornias tilted his head admiringly as he examined her. With a good washing and an expensive gown, he might be able to use this one.

“What’s your name?” he asked softly.

She kept quiet.

“Dear girl, do you realize I hold your life in my hands? I’d rather not kill you.
Has Calas retreated back to the safety of the polar chambers or is he still in the wilderness?”

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the gray stone wall. A transparent sheen of perspiration glimmered from her slender olive throat.

“You believe in the coming of the Mashiah, don’t you, dear? Yes, I’m certain you must. I do,” Ornias lied. Only an idiot could believe such simplistic hogwash. “You don’t have to tell me about Calas if you don’t want to. Instead, you can save your life by talking about this savior baby. We’ve heard so many rumors about him. You’ve heard those rumors, haven’t you, dear? What’s the child’s name?”

The girl’s mouth quivered with repressed tears. “I don’t know. None of us do. We’re waiting for the sign to tell us.”

“Sign?” Ornias scoffed. He chuckled maliciously. “What’s your name, girl?”

‘Ruth.”

“Ruth? There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He leered at her, then called over his shoulder, “Peron? Hark? Please release Ruth. Take her to my personal chambers.”

Terror tensed her pretty face. Ornias reached up to stroke her cheek seductively. “Don’t worry,” he whispered silkily. “You’ll be well cared for. I’ll see you tonight.”

She fell into Peron’s arms when he unlocked the shackles. Her arms, which had been chained over her head for an entire day, thumped against her sides like dead meat. She whimpered as Peron carried her from the room.

“So?” Ornias said mildly to the remaining prisoners. “Which of you would like to live? Surely someone in your rabble suspects the identity of this savior baby. What names have been suggested?”

None of the rebels responded. Some stared at the ceiling. Other had their eyes closed.

“What names?”

A low chant began, something ancient, powerful, the words unknown to him:
Adoneinu Malkenu yarum hodo, Adoneinu Malkenu yarum hodo….
Each rebel picked it up and their whispers rose to a roar which reverberated thunderously from the stone walls.

“Who is this savior child!” Ornias demanded at the top of his lungs, but his voice was drowned in the rebels’ din. “
I must find that child!”

Enraged, Ornias stomped to the exit. By the time he reached the door, the chant had died and an oppressive silence draped the center. The rebels watched him through devilishly glittering eyes. He stopped briefly and shook a fist angrily.

Horner grinned like a fanged dog.

Ornias surveyed the shackled prisoners distastefully, then he flicked a hand in irritation. “Kill all these little Gamant bastards,” he ordered as he stepped through the door and into the long white hallway outside.

CHAPTER 7

Sybil pushed a mass of brown curls over her shoulder and rested her head on Mikael’s bare black-furred chest. He tenderly stroked her side, gazing down through heavily-lidded brown eyes. His black hair and beard framed high cheekbones, full lips and a rounded nose. He’d returned from his military mission exhausted and aching because he’d lost half his team—Sira included. She’d been one of their closest friends.

Sybil had listened to him talk for hours about the debacles of the mission and how Omias seemed to have intensified his efforts to drive them out of the polar chambers—then he’d fallen silent, more disheartened than she’d ever seen him. It made Sybil’s throat go tight. The governor had scouted out each of their hundreds of entrances and exits to the honeycomb and now had them heavily guarded; he’d managed to pen them inside the subterranean chambers for the first time in ten years—or so he thought. What Ornias did not know was the extent of their cached supplies, nor did he have the slightest grasp of the intricacy of the internal maze beneath the ground. There were other ways out. Old and obscure, but there, hidden in the tumbled war-torn corridors. They’d find one that they could open. And if Ornias succeeded in breaking through the human fortress that guarded the depths of the polar chambers, he’d have one hell of a time finding the inhabitants, for they’d scurry like rats through the narrow chambers.

Sybil stared hollowly at the flickering candle that gleamed on their bedside table. It threw wavering golden light over the beautiful room. Hexagonal, their bedchamber was thirty feet in diameter. Rich paisley rugs of turquoise, mauve, and caramel covered the floors and walls like irregularly strewn magic carpets. The soft light flamed in the gold and silver stitching that laced the edges of the designs. Small tables and a desk clustered along each side of the hexagon. Crystal vases and ancient paper books adorned niches carved into the walls.

They’d only broken into this chamber on level forty a few months ago. When Mikael had first learned of her pregnancy, he’d searched for the most remote room in the entire polar chambers structure—to keep her safe. The day they’d smashed the seal and burst through the door of chamber 231, everyone’s eyes had widened at the stunning opulence. The beauty still took her breath away. They’d left the place exactly as they’d found it, except for cleaning and straightening. It still intrigued her that each rug and table covered hidden niches filled with ancient supplies of food and ammunition. What had King Edom feared so terribly? Something as malignant and creeping as Sybil did now? Had he had an opponent as ruthless as Ornias?

Mikael broke the silence, softly whispering, “Salome says her uncle intercepted a message on his dattran that hinted that the Underground might be planning a rescue mission for Horeb.”

Sybil tightened her grip around him, hugging him fiercely. Surely, he couldn’t be suggesting they should hide their heads in the snow and wait? “It may never come. We have to attack Ornias’ palace immediately. He captured too many of our people in the last battle. The children alone are reason enough. And we can’t just leave Sira—”

“I know, Sybil. I’m tired. Forgive me.” Mikael tenderly caressed her arm. Candlelight danced in the dark depths of his eyes. “It’s just that our paltry one thousand men, women, and children seem like a handful compared to Ornias’ twenty-five thousand trained Magisterial soldiers. And … there are also rumors that Slothen is dispatching another battle cruiser for Horeb. Not as a ‘peace-keeping’ vessel,” he said mockingly, for everyone knew the four cruisers that currently circled Horeb did nothing at all—except ferry important diplomats and retrieve supplies from the planet’s surface. “They’re supposedly sending the vessel to provide direct military support for Ornias’ actions against us.”

Sybil sat up in bed and looked at him fearfully. A wealth of brown curls tumbled over the bodice of her shimmering white nightgown. “Why would Slothen suddenly decide we were that important? In ten years of fighting the only action he’s ever taken to hinder our attacks against Ornias was to kidnap all the Gamants he could and take them to places unknown.”

Mikael’s face took on a haunted slackness. “It’s as though he’s heard the stories about the coming of the Mashiah and is—”

“You think he would care? Why? Gamant legends are totally meaningless to Giclasians.”

Mikael tilted his head uncertainly. The reflected candle flame glittered in the tangles of his dark beard. “Perhaps, we can’t be certain. From a military perspective, he should take into account the rallying of Gamant spirits if the savior child does appear. If I were him, I’d do everything I could to stop that event.” In a gesture filled with desperate hope, he reached over and put his hand on Sybil’s swollen belly, then he closed his eyes and she could tell his lips moved in a silent prayer. When he’d finished, he lifted his hand to pull the
Mea
from beneath the sheet. He held it up so that it swung like a pendulum. The glowing blue ball on the end of the golden chain had been revered for centuries as the sacred gate that allowed Gamant holy people to speak directly to Epagael, to God. “I wish we had help, Sybil. Any help! The Underground, God, Metatron. …” His voice faded to nothingness.

For two years after they’d been sent back to Horeb, Mikael had awakened almost every night in a cold sweat, crying out for Metatron, though he rarely discussed it anymore. The angel who had so faithfully guided Mikael in his youth had stopped coming right after their arrival—as though Horeb were hell and angels could not descend into the vile wretchedness. Sybil suspected that Mikael believed God had abandoned him for some wrongdoing. That couldn’t be true. Mikael had always done the best he could.

Sybil gripped the
Mea
and tugged it up to place it against Mikael’s forehead, then she put her head against the ball and kissed him. His eyes softened in understanding. In a dream long ago, Sybil had seen them do that—
they’d been standing on a grassy hill looking down over a bloody battle. Men and women screamed in agony, writhing as they died under purple lances of power from ships that swooped through the yellow skies. She and Mikael had held the
Mea
between their foreheads and kissed and a war had ended. The sounds of battle and pain had ceased.

“Have we gotten any word on Uncle Yosef or Ari?” Mikael asked.

“Yes, Yitsa said they left four days ago. You know how they are. They’re probably wandering around like kids in a new playground, searching for the
genizah.
”

Mikael smiled faintly. “Probably. Sometimes I think they have too much interest in those books your mother found twelve years ago.”

“I don’t know. Deep down inside of me I think they hold the key to destroying the Magistrates. Mama said they talked about the construction of Palaia Station.” Sybil’s stomach always ached when she talked about her mother. The last time she’d seen her mother had been on Palaia Station, twelve years ago. Rachel had appeared out of nowhere, hugged Sybil, assured her she loved her very much, and vanished. Sybil had never stopped missing her. Secretly, she thought her mother was dead—though she’d never been able to say it aloud. “If we can get our hands on those books, maybe we can find a way to break into Palaia and defeat the government.”

“And free the Gamant people for all time.” Mikael’s gaze drifted over the ivory and crimson carpet hanging on the wall beside them. In the candlelight, it gleamed like swirled wine and cream. “I hope we do it soon. Ornias’ new proclamations terrify me. His insane demand that we turn over all children under the age of seven smacks of madness.”

“Yes, Ornias’ proclamation has turned everyone here into shuddering idiots.”

“Did you hear what Lin told me?”

Sybil shook her head. Long brown curls fell back over her face, creating a silken veil. Poor Lin ish Kriyoth. His infant son Jehudah had been captured in the last battle. Lin had lost his wife only two months before. He’d gone nearly mad with grief and terror.

Mikael inhaled a deep breath and expelled it hard. “He said Ornias has been leaking rumors that he’s going to line all the children up in the palace gardens and shoot them. But I can’t believe it. Granted, he’s killed thousands of adults in recent years, but children? The Magistrates have held his brutality at bay for years. I can’t believe they’d let him—”

“Ornias doesn’t need their permission. He thinks he’s cornered us. Now he has to draw us out into the open so he can finish us off. If he does that, the Magistrates won’t give a damn about the methods he uses. Twelve years ago he initiated a major slaughter of all the Old Believers in the capital city of Seir, including children.” She twined her fingers tightly in the sheet over Mikael’s heart. She could feel the organ pounding furiously beneath his warm skin. “And maybe Slothen has changed his policy. Did you think of that? Maybe that’s why that new battle cruiser is coming, to give Ornias a free hand in squelching our rebellion.
We’ve got to get those babies out.”

Mikael stroked her back. “I’ve already started making plans. Tomorrow I’ll select the assault team. I was thinking about assigning Jonas, Yehud, and Dara as leaders. What do you—”

“I’m going, too.”

His arm muscles hardened. “No, you’re not. You’re not capable now, Sybil. If we get into trouble, you’ll never be able to move fast enough—”

“I don’t want to be part of the actual assault team. I’ll serve as lookout. I’ll hide up in the rocks and signal you if anything looks bad.”

“No! For me, please, stay here where you and our son are safe.
For me?”

Sybil tenderly squeezed his hand. “It’s for our son that I must go. Mikael, while you were away, I had dreams about attacking the palace and you … you get hurt.” Tears swelled in her throat. She’d loved Mikael since she’d been a child. She couldn’t bear the thought of raising their son without him. “In the dream, I’m not there, Mikael.
I’m not there. I
have to go with you.”

The candle flame flickered and spit suddenly, throwing ghostly shadows over the rugs and across Mikael’s taut face. He pulled her hard against him and nuzzled his cheek in her hair. Too many of her
dreams
had come true for him to ignore this one.

“Let’s wait and talk about it tomorrow,” he murmured. “I can’t think straight tonight.” He placed his hand on her stomach again. His large fingers felt warm through her white gown. He caressed her skin softly and Sybil felt their son kick as if he felt it, too. “We can’t risk Nathan.”

The unspoken words:
because he might be the promised Redeemer foretold eons ago in legends
hung like a shroud around them. Nathan’s birth would coincide with the prophesied year. To further fulfill the prophecies, their son would have to sweep the Magistrates from the very universe and set up God’s promised kingdom in their place. Nathan? The Mashiah? The very thought terrified Sybil. She sent a silent prayer to Epagael, begging Him to bypass Nathan. But if God chose to lay so heavy a burden on their son, she prayed for Him to let Yosef and Ari find the
genizah.
Nathan would need all the help he could get.