An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (15 page)

“Stop it!” she whispered. “Stop it,
now!”

“Mom …
I—I can’t go in there!
What if he—”

Rachel pulled Sybil out of line and knelt beside her. Pressing her mouth against Sybil’s ear, she whispered, “I know this is hard. Do you want to wait for me out here?”

“No! No, I want to be with you, but—”

“Then hurry, before people get suspicious.”

“Mom, hold me tight, just for a minute? I’m afraid.”

Rachel complied, stroking her daughter’s back comfortingly. “It’s all right. We’re just going to be inside for ten minutes. Then we’ll run and we won’t ever come back here again. You understand?” Sybil nodded. “Are you going to be all right?”

Eyes had turned to them, watching curiously. Sybil watched them back. Swallowing hard, she whispered. “Yes, I’m sorry. Let’s hurry.”

Standing again, she put a hand on Sybil’s shoulder and they drifted with the flow. Once inside, Rachel dragged Sybil along the back wall while the other worshipers went forward to search for seats. Though the temple stretched three hundred feet in front of her, so many people pressed into the room, that few seats were left. A horde of worshipers began lining the walls.

In awe, Rachel’s mouth parted slightly. The last rays of sunlight streamed through the glass dome, burning over the gold inlay of the walls and altar. Interlocking inverted triangles gleamed wherever she looked. The pews, arranged in chevrons, fit neatly into each hexagonal niche.

Unease crept up around her like a cold winter mist. If she’d only known the location of the altar, she could have entered by a different door, but now it was too late. She stood no more than fifty feet from the blasphemous platform and trying to get farther away would arouse too much suspicion.

“Stand a little behind me, Sybil,” she whispered. The girl nodded and pressed back against the wall, bracing her trembling knees against Rachel’s left leg. She reached around to gently pat Sybil’s cheek.

People continued to file in, though the temple threatened to burst at the seams. Before Rachel knew it, at least fifteen worshipers littered the path between her and the door. Big men, most of them, she’d have to force her way out when the time came.

As the sky darkened, lamps glowed to life in the temple. The soft light shimmered from silks of violet and ivory, sparkling off jeweled hands and hair nets.

Of a sudden the musicians on the other side of the building stopped playing and began a new song, louder, the notes clashing violently.

Ornias strode gracefully into the room, smiling beneficently as he made his way down the center aisle toward the altar. Dressed in rose-colored satin, his light brown hair and braided beard seemed to glow in the ocher lamplight.

Rachel clutched up inside. A tremor shook her so cruelly she had to force herself to close her eyes and go deep inside to find the source and halt it. When she opened them again, the High Councilman stood majestically at the altar, opening the thick book that lay on the podium.

A hush fell over the room.

“My people,” he cooed. “We come together this Shabbat night to give thanks to Milcom for this magnificent temple.”

In rumbling unison, the faithful murmured, “May the name of the Eternal be blessed now and forever more.”

Ornias lifted a fist over his head and his hand cast cobalt shadows on the wall at his back. “With love abounding hast thou loved us, O Lord our God. With great and exuberant mercy hast thou had compassion on us.”

“Blessed be the name of Milcom.”

Rachel stared numbly.
Compassion?
Was there any left in the universe? Yet, for all the terror of the past few days, the religious ceremony touched a place inside her that needed comforting, cried out for the former peace she’d felt at such rituals.
Oh, Epagael, why did you forsake us?

“Our Father, Our King! Enlighten our eyes in the Law. Teach us to follow the path of your anointed Deliverer …” Ornias closed his eyes and bowed his head. Lamplight winked from the jewels in his hair. “Adom Kemar Tartarus. Let His name be graven in our hearts so that we might proclaim your glory to the universe.” Slowly, his upraised fist lowered to rest on the podium and he looked toward the rear of the temple.

A tall shadow appeared on the far wall, wavering in the dim light. All heads turned, reverence washing across faces. Adom stepped into the temple, chin tipped heavenward, hands spread wide. Pale blond hair cascaded in waves over his chest. He had deeply set blue eyes, riding atop high cheekbones and a straight patrician nose. A God incarnate, the flashing silver of his robe made him seem a pillar of embodied starlight.

He floated across the floor like a dandelion seed wafting on gentle morning winds. He lightly touched the heads of the children he passed, smiling gently. When he neared Rachel, her heart thundered. She bowed her head to stare at the floor.

He passed silently, mounting the platform to take his place behind the podium. Ornias stepped down to stand no more than ten feet away from her.

A look of deep and abiding love filled Adom’s eyes as he gazed out over the congregation. “Baruch atta Milcom,” he praised and his deep voice seemed to caress the very walls.

“Blessed be his Deliverer,” the temple responded.

Rachel counted off the minutes. How long? Should she start moving toward the door? No, let him get into his sermon, then she’d go, when he’d captured people’s attention completely. But as she looked around the temple, she knew he already had, no one so much as moved while he readied himself. Worshipers’ faces brimmed with adoration.

“Believers,” he said softly. “No one can deny the awesome beauty of your labors. This temple will remain for millennia as a light unto heathen civilizations. The first temple to the Great and Glorious Milcom.”

“We beseech thee, O Eternal, save us.”

“We promised, O Mighty One of Sinlayzan, to find you a dwelling place. Lo, we have found it in the deserts of Horeb. And here … here we will set up the fountain of your Truth. Here, we will begin the battle to wipe your enemies from the face of the universe. To establish righteousness and fear in the hearts of human beings.”

Fear.
Rachel’s stomach fluttered, memories of the past week rising up to slap her again and again. She turned fever-brilliant eyes on Adom, hatred pouring from her face. For a brief instant his gaze touched hers, and she trembled. What was it about him that set the soul to yearning? Some magnetic aura of confidence and innocence surrounded him. Even she … even Rachel Eloel … felt it.

“My Beloved People,” Adom said. Pain tinged his voice. “The past few days have been difficult for all of us. There are those in the fold who seek to destroy all we have built.”

A buzz of hostility echoed through the temple.

He looked up pleadingly, lips quivering. “I have prayed for days without end that the rebels would come to me, but …”

“Don’t try to talk to the filthy demon worshipers!” someone shouted.

Adom squeezed his eyes closed a moment. “I want only to end the hate.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Tell me how? Tell me, my people?”

Then, as though God himself had told him, he cocked his head and looked piercingly at Rachel. Tears filled his eyes. “Tell me how?” he repeated, but this time the question was asked of no one but her.

A flood of adrenaline raced like fire through her veins.
Dear God, he knew!

Roughly, she gripped Sybil’s sleeve and shoved her along the wall as she backed toward the door, forcing men out of her way.

Throughout the temple, people responded to Adom’s question. “Imprison the dissidents!” “Punish them!” “Kill them!” Kill them … kill them …
kill them …!

Rachel bumped into a burly man who refused to move. He was in the midst of waving a fist and shouting, “Give them to us. We’ll take care of them!”

She tried to shove around him and he stopped to glare. “What’s your hurry?” he demanded. “The ceremony isn’t over.”

“My little girl is ill,” she whispered imploringly. “She has to get out to the fresh air before she—”

“She doesn’t look sick to me,” He frowned at Sybil. “You sick, kid?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I think you’re playacting. You babes are all alike. You get a little tired of standing and you want to go home. But you
need
to hear the Mashiah for your own good. Understand, girl?”

“Get out of my way!” Rachel ordered, slamming a fist into his chest. “I didn’t ask for your advice on raising my child!”

“Well somebody needs to give you some!”

“Get out of our way before I…”

The first explosion rocked the temple and a rumble like the ground ripping asunder shook them. The glass dome shattered; splinters flew high into the slate blue sky to hover like the stars themselves before crashing down.

A roar of horror laced the temple. People ran.

“Stampede, Mommy!” Sybil yelled. “Come on, let’s go!”

Rachel grabbed her hand and tried to shoulder through the onslaught of terrified people who raced for the door nearest her. But in the wave after wave of bodies, she was shoved back against the wall and knocked to the floor.

“Mom!” Sybil wailed as the second explosion blasted the far wall. It toppled down, smashing pews and people beneath its weight. Tortured shouts and squeals rolled through the tumbling structure.

Rachel pulled Sybil to her chest, shielding her from the flailing arms and legs as people stormed the doors. Flames burst to life engulfing pews, stealing toward the altar.

“Adom?” she heard Ornias scream. “Hurry, we must leave! Adom!”

Rachel glimpsed the Mashiah’s pale face. He stood like a statue on the altar, eyes still fixed on her.

“Tell me why?”
he shouted again.

Rachel fought against the magnetism of his vulnerable eyes, screaming,
“You slaughtered my people!”

He blinked, face slackening. “What?”

“Adom! For God’s sake!” Ornias yelled at the top of his lungs, gripping the Mashiah’s sleeve and dragging him from the altar. “She’s trying to
kill
us!”

Adom shook off the councilman’s strong hand and lunged for the side door.

Rachel got to her feet and ran, stumbling, through the shattered pews and broken stones to get outside. Worshipers stood paralyzed in the night air, the flames of devastation flickering across their horrified faces. When the cold wind struck her, she inhaled sharply and swung Sybil to her hip, dashing headlong up the steep street.

A terrified group of women and children passed her, tears soaking their cheeks. One woman wailed, “The filthy rebels did this. I know it! I hope Milcom wipes them from the face of the world!”

Rage pierced Rachel’s breast. Did none of them care that a thousand of their relatives had been brutally murdered only a few days ago? As she reached the crest of the hill and prepared to round the corner, she heard a hoarse scream surge over the roar of the final blast. From nowhere it came, everywhere. She whirled around and her heart almost stopped beating.

Below, on the temple grounds, Colin stood surrounded by a ring of howling worshipers. Ornias, rose-colored robe shading crimson in the light of the fire, shouted orders she could not hear, but in agony she realized their intent when a young man took a truncheon and began brutally beating Colin over the head. He dropped to his knees, covering his bloody skull with his arms.

Adorn, where was Adorn?
In vain she searched the crowd for him. Had he died in the final tumbling of walls? Silently, she prayed for it to be so. And Talo? Had he escaped?

Rachel watched Colin sprawl across the firelit ground. The crowd surged over the rebel until she lost sight of him. Then, suddenly, Ornias turned in her direction and his arm lashed out. Through the roar of the fire, she faintly heard him shout, “There! There’s the culprit. Rachel Eloel is responsible for this destruction!”

Faces turned her way and an angry mob coalesced before her eyes, grabbing stones and sticks, racing up the street toward her, screaming curses.

“Mommy! Come on!” Sybil shrieked, tugging Rachel’s hand with all her might. “We have to go to the old burnedout bakery, Mommy! Come on!”

Rachel gripped Sybil’s hand and they ran wildly through the streets.

CHAPTER 9

Jeremiel had to bend low to follow Rathanial and Sarah through the narrow tunnel that led into the dark depths of the mountain. The protective fabric of his black jumpsuit scraped shrilly against the stone. In the dry coolness, the smell of the fresh-baked bread Sarah carried in her basket struck him painfully. It had been three days since he’d eaten anything substantial. Since he’d been forced to make his way on foot through the tangles of vine and wet forests, energy bars had been his only sustenance and they were a damn poor substitute for real food.

Rathanial stopped, blinking quizzically at yet another of the many smaller tunnels that jutted off from the main one they trod. “Sarah? Isn’t this the turn? I thought I remembered—”

She shook her head and long black hair fell over her shoulders. A pudgy woman with a face too round and eyes too large, she reminded Jeremiel of a timid owl, the type that stuck to the high cliffs of old Earth, refusing to be seen until the cover of night crept over the land.