An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (24 page)

“I must talk to her, Ornias. She’s not sane. She needs help.”

“You’ll have your chance, Adom. I promise. But you mustn’t let it worry you. You’ve far more important things to think about.”

Adom shivered, remembering the blood-spattered stones of the temple, the charred limbs twisting from beds of ash. “What could be more important?”

“For one thing, we must find a way to feed the homeless multitudes. After the drought, our storerooms are nearly empty. We’ve little food to spare. I was thinking maybe we should contact the Magistrates. They’re always willing to—”

Adom turned sharply, meeting the Councilman’s cold, lime green eyes. Why did Ornias always look so perfect, so utterly confident and untouched by any and all tragedies? It angered him a little. “Have you lost your mind?” he whispered urgently. “For every loaf of bread the government brings, they demand a pound of flesh. Namely our children. They’ll want to establish a Right School on Horeb. I won’t have it!”

“You always get carried away with emotions, Adom. I’m trying to do something practical.”

“You won’t contact the Magistrates!”

“All right,” Ornias agreed reluctantly, throwing up his manicured hands. “You know I’ll obey your wishes, but what do you suggest to keep the wolves away from our door? Starvation is unquestionably the greatest impetus for apostasy that’s ever been devised. We can’t just let—”

“I’ll … I’ll ask Milcom. He’ll tell us what to do.”

“Adom,
really.
God has other things to do than hear our petty cries every day. We need to handle this ourselves. What if I contact Kayan or Tikkun? Other Gamant planets will surely want to donate supplies.”

“What are you saying? That you don’t believe Milcom will help?”

“No, no, of course not. It’s just that I don’t want to ‘wear out our welcome’ in heaven, if you get my meaning? Too many requests over insignificant—”

“Insignificant?
We have a thousand desperate people standing in our gardens.” His voice dropped to a frail murmur. “Some are dying.”

“I’m well aware of that and if we don’t provide them with some bread and milk they’re liable to take out their frustrations on us. You don’t want to see the palace burned by such vermin, do you? That’s why we must take some concrete action, before they get out of hand and storm the doors.”

“Milcom will feed them.”

Ornias lifted his thin graceful brows and roasted Adom with his gaze. “You mustn’t expect—”

“He’s never come to you! That’s why you doubt.
But he
has
come to me.”

“Of course, Adom. Don’t get upset.”

“You will take no action until you hear from me tomorrow. And I don’t want to be disturbed unless it’s an emergency. I’ll be in my prayer room.”

“Very well, but …”

Adom veered sharply right at the next hall, leaving Ornias behind, his mouth still open.

His heart thudded so loudly he could barely breathe. Who did Ornias think he was? He had no right to treat him like a child. His stomach muscles clenched tight every time he had to deal with the councilman over any serious subject. He felt oddly as though they gazed at each over the sights of pistols, each waiting for the other to make a mistake. Yet it was a silly feeling, he knew that. Ornias was no different than any Gamant. They were all a little violent underneath their pleasant ways. Still, Ornias made him shudder deep inside.

“You’re … you’re just careworn lately,” he crooned to himself, hoping to soothe the frantic pounding of his heart. “It’s all right. Milcom will guide you. Don’t … don’t panic.”

A chill crept from the salmon-colored walls to taunt his bare feet. He hurried, obliviously passing the rich brocaded drapes and thousand-year-old Elnat mahogany statues of the martyrs. Taking the stairs that plunged into the bowels of the palace, he soon found himself panting in a pool of darkness at the bottom. Tendrils of cold breathed from the stones.

“Milcom? It’s me. I’m coming to you.”

Before him stretched a long corridor, bare of all furnishings except lamps in wall niches. The servants kept them lit, but they were so widely spaced they cast scant patchy light on the towering rough-hewn walls. Like a huge stone coffin, the hall reeked of damp and decay. Adom blinked to help his eyes adjust to the dimness, then quickly strode to the door at the far end, his maroon robe fluttering behind him.

Quietly, he entered his small sanctuary. The sweet scent of sandalwood caressed him. Lamps glowed here, too, one on each of the four walls. A mantle of gold glimmered from the blue and ivory geometric designs of his round prayer rug, flashing from the inverted triangle hanging on the gray wall directly in front of him. A pile of tapestried pillows tumbled over each other in the corner.

He went to the rug and knelt, bowing his head and forming his hands into the sacred triangle. “Milcom, your people need you. I need you.” His voice sounded immensely deeper in the candlelit stillness. “Please, Lord?”

When no answer came, desperation touched him.

Determined, he cleared his mind and concentrated, focusing all his anxieties into a single cry for help. Standing amongst the homeless, he’d felt barren and lost, groping for guidance that only God could give.

“Milcom, I beseech you. We can’t survive without your …”

A form passed before the lamp to his left, casting a long cool shadow over him. He exhaled in sudden relief. Taking a deep breath of the scented air, he turned. Milcom stood regally. A god in the shape of a man, his muscular body shimmered like cut crystal in the soft light. Dressed in a hooded cloak of viridian velvet, the celestial being smiled and to Adom it felt like the coming of the sun. Joy leapt in his soul.

“I knew you’d come, Lord.”

“Of course, Adom. You’re never alone. I’ll always be here when you truly need me.”

“Since that day in the mountains when you saved me, I’ve known you watch over Horeb.”

Milcom gracefully threw back his hood and walked to stand only two feet from Adom, gazing down concernedly. His wide amber eyes shone brightly, singularly gentle. “I’ve sensed a stir in this universe. What’s wrong?”

“A stir?”

“Yes,” he said and frowned. Tiny lines of light appeared around his eyes. “Your voice formed only part of it.”

Adom blinked in confusion. “Does it have to do with Horeb?”

“I’m not sure. What’s happening here?”

“The rebels destroyed our new temple and hundreds were killed or injured. But worse than that, the fire consumed a fourth of the city, leaving thousands homeless and hungry. Even now, they cry for bread in the streets. I—”

“Yes,” Milcom said, closing his eyes and cocking his head. A pinched look of sadness came over his brilliant face. “I hear them.”

“Lord, can you—”

“They’ll have bread. Even if I have to tug it from another universe. Michael’s coffers are overfull, after all.” A remorseful smile touched his lips. “Don’t concern yourself about it, Adom.”

Gratitude flooded his fevered body like cool water. “Thank you, Lord.”

“Tell me what else is happening. I sense a deep worry in you that goes beyond the temple disaster.” Milcom scrutinized Adom with a piercing look.

Adom lowered his gaze to trace the entwining swirls of blue and ivory in his rug. The lamps flickered as though touched by a breeze. “You’ve always known my soul. I’m terribly worried about the rebels. Rachel Eloel has escaped. Yet I know if I could only talk with her, preach to her for a few days, she’d understand your will and come around to our side. But we can’t find her.”

“Indeed? You want to preach to her after what she’s done to Seir?”

“Yes, Lord. She needs preaching badly.”

Milcom laughed softly, though why Adom didn’t know. “And what would you tell her?”

He blinked, gazing into Milcom’s warm, crystalline features. The angles of his perfect face were as sharp as though chiseled from glass. “I’d tell her of your goodness and power. I’d explain to her the wickedness of Epagael. I’d show her—”

“She won’t believe you.”

Adom frowned, mouth ajar. “But why, Lord? Surely any thinking person can see the Truth?”

“Thinking has very little to do with religion. I thought I told you that?”

“You did. But I—”

“Never believed it?” Milcom smiled and gently laid a hand on Adom’s shoulder. The warmth sent a tingle through him, making him feel better, for it had occurred to him that his disbelief might have constituted disobedience. A thing he never wished to be guilty of. Milcom had saved his life and continued to fight to save the life of the entire universe. He owed him obedience and faith.

“Heart is the key, Adom. If people want to believe something, they’ll bend logic into a fine container.”

“Yes, I’ve seen it. I’m sure that’s why so many still hold to Epagael.”

“Partly. It’s also their heritage. Old ways die hard. Especially old gods. That’s why I’ve always told you that gentle means of conversion are best.”

Adom looked up imploringly. “We’ve been trying, Lord. But the rebels refuse to listen to us. How can I lead them to the salvation you offer if all they want to do is kill us?”

“Well, there are some things you’re doing wrong. I’m sorry I’ve been too busy to return here to guide you recently.”

Milcom paced slowly to stand before the huge triangle which glistened in the candlelight. His velvet robe swayed as he put a hand on his golden chin. “Look at this sacred symbol. Which is right? Should the apex be up or down? Or maybe sideways?”

Adom frowned. “Down, Lord. You’ve taught us the world is the source of all that’s good.”

“And what is the world?”

“The … the soil, the trees, the animals, the people.”

Milcom nodded thoughtfully, but kept silent. As the hush continued, Adom shifted uncomfortably.

“Lord? Did I say something wrong?”

“What makes you think the world doesn’t include the sky? The stars? The entire universe?” He waved a hand around his head as though casting a lasso.

“I don’t understand? I thought—”

“Forgive me. When I said ‘world,’ I was thinking of an ancient Greek word,
cosmos,
which refers to everything that is not god. The cosmos is the ground of our being, not Horeb. You following me?”

“Not exactly, Lord.” Red crept into Adom’s cheeks. He always felt so dimwitted during this type of discussion. God had knowledge of the entire breadth of the multiple universes and Adom had difficulty even conceiving that other planets existed. He’d never been off Horeb, though he’d read extensively about galactic exploration when he’d been younger—before Milcom found him.

“Hmm …” God lifted amber brows. “Well, suffice it to say that the entirety of creation should be considered ‘world.’”

“So the triangle can point in any direction?”

“The creation lies in all directions, doesn’t it?” Under his breath, Milcom added, “And no direction.”

“What was that last, Lord. I didn’t—”

“Never mind. Embrace the creation.
Understand it, in all its horrifying facets.
That’s the essence of salvation and that’s what you must teach to bring people to our way of thinking. Don’t tell them they’re damned because their holy triangle points in the wrong direction. Understand?”

“I think so.”

“You
think
so?”

“No, I—I do … understand.”

“Good. Can you teach
Rachel Eloel
about the creation?”

Adom steeled himself. He felt a strange attraction toward the woman. She was very beautiful. Just thinking about her sent a warm flush through him, even though a part of him hated her for the suffering she’d caused. “I don’t know, Lord. She’ll be difficult. But I’d like to try.”

Milcom nodded contemplatively, rubbing his golden chin. “Well … all right. I’d planned on doing it myself, but perhaps your gentle innocence will be a better tool.”

“What do you mean, Lord?”

God ignored his question, responding instead, “I’m going to help you with this one.” Striding forward, Milcom reached into the pocket of his cloak and drew out a necklace. The blue globe dangling from the chain emitted a blinding cerulean halo in the god’s hand. “You must never touch the globe. You understand?”

“Yes.” Adom extended fingers and Milcom laid the chain in them. Immediately, the brilliant halo vanished, the globe becoming a simple blue ball. Adom’s mouth fell open slightly in awe. “What’s it for?”

“It’s for Rachel.”

“But I don’t under—”

“For her and no one else.
Clear?”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Give it to her as a gift. Uh … and you might not want to mention it’s from me. That might, shall we say,
taint
her appreciation.”

Adom grimaced, appraising the thick chain and azure globe. He frequently failed to understand Milcom’s intentions, though he tried very hard. “All right, Lord. Will you bring her to me?”

Milcom dropped his gaze and smiled faintly. “Not exactly. But she’ll be back.”

“Thank you, Lord.”

“Adorn?”