An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (36 page)

“Are you aware that Kayan and a dozen other Gamant planets are rioting against the Magistrates?”

“Because they think the government killed Zadok?”

“Yes, that and …” He waved a trifling hand. “You know how Gamants are. I imagine it seemed as good a time as any for a revolt. The fools, the Magistrates will squash them like flies.”

“But maybe not. David took Goliath on the plain of—”

“Adom,” Ornias responded disparagingly, “we have perhaps a million people left in the galaxy. Even if we could unify ourselves—and, God knows, that’ll never happen—that would still only provide us with a half million soldiers. Government military forces alone number in the trillions.”

Sunlight edged across the Council Chamber and glared in Adom’s eyes. He watched it wink on the gold stitching of the carpet, then pass to illuminate the statue of Milcom. God’s stone eyes seemed to flare as though alive. He studied them, gaining strength and confidence from the illusion.

“What do you suggest, then?”

Ornias’ tanned face lit and he threw out a fist. “We should punch a hole in the hierarchy and ease our way in. Gamant civilization is vulnerable now, seeking leadership which we can provide.”

“But we don’t preach traditional Gamant theology. Why would they suddenly turn to us? I anticipated it would take years of preaching and teaching before—”

“Not if we do it correctly.”

“Correctly?”

“Yes.” Ornias rubbed his bearded chin and sidled closer, lime eyes gleaming. “If we present our religious teachings in the guise of a Revitalization Movement, that is, a return to the true ways of our forebears, we can—”

“The religion of Milcom
is
a return to the true ways. The most ancient texts talk of how our great forefather Solm built a temple to Milcom on the hills around Yershulim. It’s just that in all the book burnings of the past few millennia, we’ve lost the original teachings. That’s why Milcom came to me, to set Gamants on the right path again.”

“Yes, of course,” Ornias agreed impatiently, pacing the floor, plotting.

Adom frowned. Every time he spoke of Milcom or Milcom’s visits with him, Ornias always greeted the news with irritation. Of course, God had never appeared in person to Ornias; but still, such hostility indicated the Councilman’s faith wasn’t what it ought to be. He’d been promising himself for three years that he’d have to tend to that, but somehow he hadn’t had the time or inclination. In shame, he had to admit he didn’t really like his second in command.

“Ornias—”

“Shh!” The Councilman lifted a hand sharply, not wanting his thoughts disturbed. Adom shut his mouth obediently and turned his attention to the pink marble arches glowing luminescently in the searing light of midday.

Unable to bear it any longer, Adom blurted, “Milcom filled the warehouses, you know. That food didn’t just appear out of nowhere.”

“Hmm?” Ornias blinked his annoyance.

“Milcom,” Adom said tightly, “provided food when we were hungry.”

“Don’t be silly. It was my confiscation of every shred of food in Seir that filled the warehouses. Careful distribution of limited supplies is what fed people.”

‘“Where do you think the people got the food!” he defended, aghast. “Milcom gave every family a loaf of bread and milk for the children. He brought—”

“Of course, Adom,”
Ornias cut him off rudely. “I didn’t mean to imply God had no part in our success, only that prudent political measures often…” He shrugged as though shaking off an itchy cloak. “You know,
help
God.”

“Your doubts make me shudder.”

“I apologize, Mashiah.” He caressed his brow expressively, as though enduring great trials. “I’m just tired is all. My words don’t necessarily reflect my faith. It’s been a difficult two weeks.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“Are you? Good.” Ornias pinned him with those cold green eyes. “Then surely you’ll like my ideas about what to do with Calas’ name. It’ll take some covert activities on planets like Kayan, but we have enough talented, loyal supporters who are trained in the military arts to accomplish what I have in mind, I think.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“As soon as I’m certain about the details, I’ll notify you. Hmm? That way your precious time isn’t taken up with meaningless bantering.”

That wasn’t what Ornias meant, but Adom didn’t have the confidence to challenge the man. “All right.”

Ornias turned to leave, but Adom’s voice stopped him. “Councilman … any word on Rachel Eloel yet?”

“Are you getting impatient?”

“It’s not that exactly. Milcom and I just have things we’d like to do.”

“Well, don’t worry. It shouldn’t be long now. I’m working on getting her back.”

“You—”

“Of course.”

Adom surveyed the slit-eyed exultant look on the man’s face and folded his arms, fearing to ask any more questions, not sure it mattered anyway. Milcom had said she’d be back. That’s what mattered.

“Very well, Councilman. Proceed.”

Ornias bowed slightly and turned in a whirl of sable robes to stride between the marble pillars and out into the corridor. His boots thudded dully over the plush carpets.

Adom turned back to the window to stare longingly out at the red peaks rippling in the heat of the day. He stared for a long time, blue eyes distant with thought, contemplating Rachel Eloel, Ari and Yosef, and the battle cruiser that undoubtedly saw the movements of every stone ant on Horeb.

He cocked his head, thinking he heard faint wailing notes from the trumpets of Judgment Day.

Jeremiel slouched in the uncomfortable chair in Rathanial’s private quarters, watching the old man use a potholder to draw the taza pot out of the fireplace. A large chamber, it had few furnishings. A sleeping pad lay against the far wall, a lamp on a table beside it. Next to him, a tiny table barely two hands’ breadth across nestled on a rectangular blue and gold rug.

Rathanial rose from the fire, striding carefully back with two cups of steaming liquid in his hands. His khaki robe swayed with his movements.

As the old man set the cups down and took the opposite chair, Jeremiel noticed the sheen of sweat on his forehead that dampened his white hair.

“Let’s get down to business, Rathanial. We can’t use her.”

“Oh, but we must. Don’t you see, without Rachel in the palace thousands more will be lost.”

Jeremiel stroked his beard thoughtfully. Had senility struck this elderly father? “After the appearance of the ‘listener,’ surely you realize our battle plans have been compromised? Sending Rachel in now is like throwing her to the lions.”

Rathanial propped an elbow on the table, sipped his taza, and then frowned. “We’re not sure how much the listener heard of our conversation. We only saw it at the very end. Perhaps it heard nothing at all.”

“Don’t be foolish. We can’t risk that.”

“What other choice do we have?”

“A hundred choices,” Jeremiel breathed disbelievingly. “We’ll reorient our plans, circumvent the necessity of having someone in the palace. We can—”

“No we can’t!”
the old man said with sudden violence, cup trembling in his hand. Leaning across the table, his eyes glistened. “She’s our best hope. Don’t you see? Even if the listener reveals our plans, Adom still feels deeply for her. He won’t kill her! And she needs only a few weeks to—”

“You’ve lost your mind. He’ll slit her throat the first chance he gets.”

“We don’t know the listener heard!
And even if it did, we can’t be certain that’s
dangerous.
We’ve never seen any of our plans compromised after one of them overheard our discussions.”

“Regardless, we can’t—”

“Wait!” Rathanial pleaded, slamming his cup down unsteadily and putting his hands on either side of his head as though to steady reeling thoughts. “Let’s discuss this rationally. Our emotions are carrying us away.”

Your emotions are affecting you. Mine are fine.
“I’m listening.”

“We’ve spent three years trying to figure out what the shadowy creatures are. For a time, one seemed to be present every time we had a serious discussion, but now they come only sporadically. Maybe they don’t even really exist.” He hesitated, searching Jeremiel’s face imploringly. “Zadok suggested that perhaps the creatures actually existed in another universe. That they looked into ours through some,” he waved a hand, “‘portal,’ their shadows the only visible sign of the opening of the door.”

“You mean something like a
Mea?”

“Zadok didn’t say, but I suspect that’s what he meant since the parallel is so close.”

“I suppose it’s possible, but why would another universe be interested in our problems?”

“I don’t know. Except, well, maybe what happens here will affect all of creation. If Adom is truly the …” he stopped, fiddling nervously with his steaming cup as he glanced at Jeremiel. “Well, at any rate, perhaps there are powers in force here we don’t understand.”

“If one, or many, beings are watching from another universe, then surely you’re right. But such speculation is no better than saying the listeners are tools of the Mashiah. And we must assume the worst or we’re liable to cut our heads off to spite our faces.”

“I know that, Jeremiel. Really I do. But we’ve never seen any negative effects from the listeners’ appearances. That’s why I don’t think we should alter our plans.”

Jeremiel rubbed his brow fiercely. Did the old man have no battle sense at all? The instant it seemed plans had been compromised, a good commander always flew like a bat from the pit of darkness. Unless he were trapped and had no choice. But they weren’t trapped, not yet.

“No, Rathanial. I won’t chance it.”

“Please, Jeremiel. Let’s … let’s test it. At that last meeting we discussed many things, preparing our forces to battle the Mashiah’s, for example. Surely, if the listener revealed our plans to Adom, he’ll immediately began rallying his forces to stop us.”

That made sense. The longer the Mashiah waited, the slimmer grew his chances of winning. He’d have to take action quickly to quell their efforts. “So?”

Rathanial heaved a tired breath. “Let’s delay sending Rachel in for a few weeks, and watch Adom’s movements in the city very carefully. If we see signs that he’s massing forces, we’ll go to a different plan.”

Jeremiel’s gut tightened. Some wrongness sent tendrils up to invade his stomach. “All right, but in that case, I’ll be putting equal emphasis on three different strategies, just in case we have to shift at the last moment.”

“Good. Yes, that sounds wise.”

Jeremiel kept his face impassive as he studied the swell of relief reflected in the old man’s posture. Rathanial slumped back into his chair and surreptitiously wiped perspiration from his brow—as though a terrible weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“I’ll need every scrap of information you have on the palace and its construction.”

“I’ll have Father Harper take you down to the documents room. We have thousands of books which list alterations over the past few centuries. Though, God knows, we’ve never found a vulnerability to exploit. But maybe you can.”

“I plan on it.”

CHAPTER 21

Sybil moped around the cavern, picking up rocks and slamming them against the floor, watching her mother and Jeremiel from the corner of her eye. They stood hunched over a table with maps spread across the top, talking in low ominous tones. Jeremiel, dressed in a gray robe, stood a good foot taller than her mother, who had an elbow braced on the table and was staring thoughtfully up at him. Her jade robe shone a dull green in the dim candlelight. Sybil bashed another rock into the floor and looked up hopefully. Neither even turned her way. No one cared about her frustration or the worry that made her ill with dread.
Her mother was going away!

She weaved slowly toward the far wall where shadows clung to the stones like cool screens of protection. She squatted on the floor. The caves all sprouted cold and dust, though almost every room had a fireplace. She gazed up at the high ceiling where the flames cast odd flickering shapes across the stone and bit her lip.
Why couldn’t she go with her?
She’d never been without her mother before, not on that terrible day in the ruined temple when her daddy was killed, or during the smothering days in the square. Why did it have to happen now?

Sybil traced a series of wavy lines in the sand by her thigh. Oh, they’d talked about it, how her mommy had to help Jeremiel and the Desert Fathers win the war against the Mashiah, but she didn’t really understand why she couldn’t go help, too. There were lots of things she could do and … and her mommy needed her. Sometimes in the night, when her mom cried, Sybil had to hold her and tell her not to be afraid or she couldn’t sleep. What would she do alone for two months? Would she ever sleep?
Two months …
Forever.

“God damn it, Rachel!” Jeremiel cursed and Sybil looked up sharply. He stood irritably with a hand on his hip. “We can’t do that and survive to tell anybody. And I, for one, plan on surviving. Don’t you think—”