An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (13 page)

“It has to be a unified effort or we’ll all be killed.”

“It’s better,” a deep, fatigued voice whispered from behind them. “For some of us to survive than none of us.”

Rachel turned, knowing that voice, to see Talo. He staggered forward, his niece Myra supporting him. He had an arm missing. The stub protruded at a hideous angle, wrapped in filthy rags. His gray beard blended so well with the dove-colored light, it was difficult to make out his face.

“Talo,” Rachel greeted, heart going out to him. “I’m glad you made it.”

“God has something in mind for me.”

“Living, hopefully,” Myra gasped, breathing hard as they came to a stop beside Rachel and Sybil. Myra’s pretty face shone darkly with bruises, one eye swollen almost shut. Her dark hair hung in a straggly mass over her shoulders.

“Not if we listen to this idiot,” Rachel said, pointing tiredly at Colin. He stiffened.

“You arrogant—”

“You think we should storm the gate together, eh?” Talo asked Rachel, glancing sideways at Colin. “I agree. When do we go?”

A soft buzz of dissenting voices rose. “Ridiculous! They’ll kill us like schools of fish in a net. Stealth is the only way to survive!” “I won’t throw my own life away for the rest of you!”

“Wait,” Rachel said. “Don’t you see? We don’t know where the guards might be stationed, but surely the majority are hiding around the gate. Our best chance is to—”

“Then maybe some of us should climb the walls on the far side,” Colin said hopefully, nodding at the people around him, trying to gain support. “They’ll have fewer guards there.”

Talo shook his head. “You go if you want. I’ll take my chances with the group going out the gate.”

The red-haired woman wrung her hands, sobbing, “I’m too tired to cross the square again. I can’t make it.” She pressed trembling fingers to her lips.

“What will we do with the wounded?” Colin asked harshly. “If we storm the gate, we’ll never be able to drag them with us. But if we sneak out one at a time, we can each carry a child.”

“We have to leave the wounded who can’t run by themselves,” Rachel said coldly, meeting each set of condemning eyes in turn. Hate poured from the assembled faces, but she felt only an irritation at their impracticality. Gazing up at the sky, she could tell from the turning of the constellations that dawn loomed less than two hours away. Lancer, the spear thrower, had a foot touching the tallest peaks in the distance.

A gust of wind whistled around the square, whipping the hem of her bloody robe until it cracked. The stench of death and decay nearly overwhelmed her. Her empty stomach cramped. Sybil clutched Rachel’s leg and closed her eyes. Gently, she patted her daughter’s hair.

“Would you leave your mother?” the redhead raged. “You’re as bad as the Mashiah!”

“My mother died in the plague,” Rachel responded softly. “But if she were here and I knew that carrying her might mean death for four or five of you, I’d leave her.”

“Four or five? What are you talking about?”

“Many of us who are healthy will stumble and fall anyway, tripping others. But think how much more slowly you’ll have to go and how much more likely you’ll be to fall if you’re carrying someone else. Then there’ll be two bodies on the ground to trip others. If an ambush awaits us, falling means death.”

“But maybe there is no ambush!”

“Then we can come back for the wounded without fear.”

“And,” Colin said in a low savage voice. “If we leave the wounded and there
is
an ambush, they’re sure to die.”

“Yes. Undoubtedly.”

“What about the people still alive out there?” The redhead turned around and gazed in horror at the swelling bodies filling the square. The dead moved in a constant writhing, or so it seemed, until one realized it was the hungry night animals at work. “Some are certainly still alive, but buried and too weak to climb out. We should go over the square, calling to see if anyone answers.”

Rachel and Talo glanced at each other then lowered their gazes. No one supported the little woman, knowing instinctively that such a long search would mean death for all of them.

“I’m—I’m …” the redhead said unsteadily, “at least helping my mother. I don’t … don’t care about the rest of you. You can go around us!” She sliced the air with a fist and staggered wearily toward the wounded. When she reached the wall, a thin elderly woman embraced her and their combined sobs rode the wind like the mournful strains of a violin.

Rachel’s gaze drifted over the group. Fear and hope stained frail faces.

A heavy silence descended. The ravening calls of the birds feasting on the flesh in the square grew to a ghastly cacophony of caws and shrieks. The moon cast a ghostly silver sheen over flapping wings and tearing beaks and Rachel thought she caught sight of a wild dog bounding near the far corner. He must have slithered beneath the gate on his belly.

“I’m … I’m going to carry my uncle,” a boy of perhaps sixteen said. He turned and left. Many others followed.

Talo exhaled through his nostrils. “Rachel, you know the Mashiah better than any of the rest of us. Is there an ambush set up out there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it likely that he wants us to get away? Maybe to tell the story of the massacre to frighten others?”

“Yes,” Colin said in relief. “That’s probably it! That’s why the gate is open. He wants us to—”

“It’s
open?”
Rachel demanded. Fear made her voice as sharp as a knife. “You’ve tried it?”

“Yes, immediately when I got here. It’s closed, but it’s unlocked.”

Rachel stood paralyzed, gripped by a stillness that was part evening chill and part terrible premonition. The frail tendrils of hope that had risen in her died. “Then it’s surely a trap. He knew some would survive and … We haven’t much time. Let’s get organized.”

“But perhaps we have a friend on the outside and that’s why the gate is open?” Colin pointed out.

Desperate smiles touched the remaining faces in the circle. Everyone wanted to believe. Cries of, “Yes, a friend wants to help us,” and “Of course, they couldn’t have rounded up all of the Old Believers. It’s one of our relatives out there!” tore the night. People turned desperately hopeful eyes to the empty moonlit street beyond the gate.

Rachel murmured, “Don’t be fools! We can’t take that chance.”

“God,” Talo whispered miserably, “is the only friend we can rely on.”

Rachel gazed curiously at him. After all this, faith still gleamed in his dark eyes. In the depths of her being, in the recesses of her weakened consciousness, a hatred rose up, not for Talo so much as anyone who could still believe. She felt like leaping for his throat and shouting,
“You stupid, stupid fool! What has God done for you this day?”
But she hadn’t the strength.

Strings of people came to surround the circle, some too old and feeble to stand; they dropped at the edges of the decision-makers. Many supported wounded, some hobbling themselves, all so weak they panted and trembled. All of them stared through wide, afflicted eyes, listening anxiously.

“Are we agreed we’ll storm the gate?”

“I agree,” Talo said.

“So do I,” Myra added.

Reluctantly, people around the circle threw in with them, even Colin. Yet still, it took nearly an hour to work out disagreements of who would stand where and who would go first. Then they steeled themselves in anticipation. As dawn faintly grayed the horizon, Rachel led Sybil to the front to stand next to Talo. The old man gazed calmly out onto the street, a hint of a smile curling his lips.

“Any movement?” she whispered, eyes darting over the lightening buildings.

He shook his head. “Nothing suspicious. See there? Look at the stone doves gathered outside the bakery waiting for their daily tidbits.”

Rachel looked. The yellow shop with the huge front windows had a dim light on. A long golden rectangle illuminated the birds strutting outside the door.

“Pretty.”

“Yes, they’re good birds, friends. I used to feed them. Every morning. I came down with bread I’d saved from dinner and I’d sit on that rock there for an hour and throw them pieces. They know me.”

He smiled, as though he knew he’d do it again soon. Cold sorrow drowned her heart. None of them would ever enjoy the freedom they had once had.
If
they escaped, they’d be in hiding until they could overthrow the Mashiah and his wicked rule. And how long would that take? How many years of violence?

“The true Mashiah,” Talo said, turning to her with hope glowing in his eyes. “He’s coming, you know? Last night, I remembered a verse in the Tahrea. When the numbers are added up right, it predicts he’ll be here within weeks.” He smiled, a frail, uncertain gesture.

“I pray you’re right, Talo.”

“I am. You’ll see.”

Rachel stood silently, watching for a few minutes as the night changed from a deep gray to a seashell opalescence that dimmed the stars. Lancer dipped below the horizon.

“We’re ready,” Colin called. “Dawn is almost here. We’d better hurry.”

Rachel swallowed hard and nodded. “I’ll shove the gate open. As soon as it’s wide enough, we’ll flood out. Does everyone understand?”

She took one last look at the people. Eroded faces with inflamed eyes gazed back, heads nodding. Their greasy mops of hair and bloodstained clothes made them look like ghouls from the darkness of Aktariel’s pit. Yet, a severe courage filled their terrified eyes. With the last ounce of strength, she knew, these people would fight to endure.

Though the gesture came from a nationalistic feeling of pride rather than a religious one, she formed her hands into the sacred triangle. “I pray we all make it, brothers and sisters.” The symbol was repeated throughout the crowd. People bowed their heads in prayer before crouching, ready to run.

Rachel lifted Sybil to her hip.

“I’m scared, Mom.”

“So am I, sweetheart. Can you hold me tight?”

Sybil nodded and wrapped her arms around Rachel’s neck. “Run fast, Mommy.”

“I will.” Rachel kissed her daughter’s cold cheek and squeezed her own eyes closed momentarily before taking a deep breath. Mustering her courage, she raced for the gate, swinging it wide and bursting out into the red sandstone street. Like a shot, she headed straight for the flat-roofed houses of the residential section. She knew the sewers and secret cellars so well, she could lose any pursuer there. Talo sprinted at her right, people spilling in a flood around them.

For a brief moment, it seemed everything would be all right. The stone doves burst into flight, circling lazily above them. Smoke rising from chimneys twisted heavenward, reflecting the lavender rays of morning before vanishing in the wind. Sweet scents of fresh baked muffins and pastries filled her nostrils.

“Now!” a harsh voice shouted from somewhere faraway.

And violet light streamed out, slashing the fleeing, ripping off arms and legs. The crackle of the pulse rifles rose to a shrill constant wail, drowning the screams of terror.

“Dear God!” someone shrieked. “They did it. Dear …”

“My baby! Don’t kill my baby!”

Just before Rachel and Sybil reached the safety of the residential section, she heard Talo cry out in pain and saw him fall. Still alive, he writhed on the ground. Rachel gripped Sybil tighter, running with all her might, heart pounding in her chest.

The dawn air, sparkling with sunlit red dust, rose over a widening pool of blood trickling through the streets of Seir.

Rounding a corner, she sprinted up a narrow alley where tall buildings towered over them, leaving her path in complete darkness. Finding the rectangular opening she’d used a hundred times, she kicked off the sewer cover and shoved Sybil into the wet blackness. On her stomach, she slithered in behind and jerked the cover back into place with a ringing clang.

CHAPTER 8

Ornias hummed to himself as he strolled the magnificent marble halls of the palace, eyes routinely appreciating the breathtaking coral arches and rich paisley rugs. Brilliant sunlight shone through the lace curtains covering the windows high above him, sprinkling his path with dapples of gold. He playfully tapped each of the rose agate statues of the saints as he passed them, smiling disdainfully.

How could any thinking human being possibly believe such foolishness?
Saints and angels, demons and gods. Pure bunk. But oh, how very lucrative.

He laughed softly, delight filling him, as he rounded a corner and headed down a long hallway toward Adom’s personal office. A servant girl dressed in the gray robes of the palace staff raced toward him at a trot.

“Good morning, Councilman.”

“Good morning, Amelia.”

She smiled gratefully that he’d spoken, and lowered her gaze respectfully as she passed. Respect? Or fear? He caressed his braided beard, hoping it was the latter. Fear wrought far more obedience than respect. And things seemed to be developing wildly on Horeb. He needed obedience, not reverence—though that didn’t hurt things, of course.

When he arrived at Adom’s ornately carved door, he straightened his damson colored robe and ran a hand through his light brown hair. Knocking, he called softly, “Adorn? It’s Ornias. I got your message that you wanted to see me.”