An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (40 page)

“Yeah, but it’s the way that counts,” Nahor blustered. “She got torn to pieces. God sent a demon to punish her.”

“What do you mean, punish?” Yoma inquired. “What did she do?”

“Well,” Nahor responded irritably, waving both arms, “I don’t know. If you ask me, it’s a sure thing that God knew Zadok was going to get killed and didn’t want any more in the line of Calas ruling us.” He eyed Sarah, his chin lifting. “And there’s some what say this girl is going to go the way of her relatives, too.”

As though in a trance, Sarah only vaguely sensed the mixture of fear and curiosity pouring from the men. The vortex of black focused on a single marble-sized gem that cast an enormous cerulean aura. She cocked her head slightly, letting the feelings the image wrought penetrate her terror. She felt oddly as though she gazed through the rippling darkness to the blue sky of different world. Where had she felt that before? As though she stood on the threshold of the time-worn gate to eternity? Her mind jumped over memories and a flood of confusion and longing smothered her.

Instinctively, she pushed to her feet and ran to the edge of the swirling vortex. “Who are you? Tell me what you want of me!”

A soft murmur of harsh bewilderment went around the fire, men jerking to follow the direction of her gaze into the chiaroscuro of forest and stars.

“Who is it?” someone called. “An intruder? David, Sholem, get over there!” The sharp clatter of boots over logs and brush sounded. The zing of weapons drawn from holsters pierced the night.

“No.” Yoma’s calm commanding voice responded and the hustle halted. “She’s not looking at the world we see.”

“What are you talking—”

“Shut up and wait!”

“For what?”

“People—legends—say that old Zadok used to be able to climb through the seven heavens to talk to God.”

“Hocus-pocus! You don’t believe that, do you?”

“I ain’t gonna sit around here and let her scare us into thinking she’s got some weird powers that give her authority over us. I say we just leave!”

“By God,” Yoma’s voice rose to a crescendo, “you get up from that seat one more time, Ezra, and I’ll—”

“All right, damn it! I’m sitting. But I think it’s all a trick. You see anything out there?”

“… No.”

Tears welled hot in Sarah’s eyes as a sound like the hissing of wind through dry grass came from the blue aura. In the depths of her mind, she thought she heard a voice struggling to speak to her, but she couldn’t make out the words. She forced her trembling knees closer, until she stood on the very lip of a precipice that fell away into a whirlpool of onyx waters. “I—I can’t hear you.”

The hissing dwindled away, replaced by a silence so barrenly empty she felt her soul shrivel. Reaching out a quaking hand and concentrating on the blue gem, she choked, “Give me the
Mea.
It’s mine. You’d no right to take it. My people need it!”

The darkness undulated and beyond it she thought she perceived the silken flash of a swirling robe as someone turned to walk back through. Through?

In an instant the vortex collapsed and nothing but dark whispering trees and tumbled rocks surrounded her. Behind, she heard Nahor blurt, “God almighty, the woman’s teched! Maybe even possessed by one of those demons that killed her sister.” A lengthy pause, then, “Yeah, maybe that’s just what it is. Did either of ye think of that? That’s why she hasn’t been torn apart yet. She’s on goddamned Aktariel’s side! Let’s get the hell out of here!”

She raised a trembling hand to her mouth as a sob welled and caught in her throat. Had the demon in the darkness chosen this time to appear because he knew it would discredit her? What could she do now to pull these fragmented strands of Gamant civilization back together? Soft footsteps stirred the pine duff and she glimpsed Zeb Yoma working his way across the grove. Towering over her, he gazed fearfully in the direction she had been looking. Scents of sand and smoke, horses and tobacco clung to his tan livery.

He stood in silence a long moment, before whispering urgently, “What did you see out there?”

Sarah lifted her gaze to him, mouth ajar with inadequate words. His green eyes tensed, etching his plain face with more years than it deserved. Back at the camp, she noticed Nahor and Kowitz gruffly throwing belongings into packs. Men bustled around them, tents dropping in puffs of dust that swirled in the firelight.

“Forget about them,” Yoma murmured softly. “I’ll talk to them later. Tell me about the phantom you spoke to.”

“I’ve met him before.”

“Him?”

As she blinked up at the starry sky, she grappled with herself. How much could she reveal? These were simple men from the far reaches of Kayan. They understood little of Gamant philosophy. To them, her father had been more magician than man and the
Mea
spawned journey he followed more myth than fact. Yet … what would happen if she told them nothing?

“Who, Sarah?”

“He’s a thief.”

“A thief? What has he stolen?”

“The path to salvation.”

Mikael Calas stood outside the tents set up in the valley and looked up the steep path his mother had taken. His throat was tight with the urge to cry. His aunt had died. Then his grandfather. Would he wake up tomorrow morning and have someone tell him his mother was dead, too?

He trotted out into the tall grass of the meadow to get another angle on the path, to see if he could still see his mother climbing. But she’d disappeared. A sharp pain pricked his stomach. He always felt so tired and frightened lately.

The Magistrates were to blame. Anger flared to cover his fears. Someday,
someday,
he would lead a war against them, just like his grandfather had done during the Gamant Revolt. And he’d kill them all, and then his people could rest. They wouldn’t have to be exhausted and hungry anymore. They could live in peace.

“Mikael?”

He turned to see his uncle Mark standing by their tent. A tall dark-haired man, he had a full black beard. “Dinner’s ready. Come and eat.”

“I’ll be right there, sir.”

“All right, but don’t take too long. We don’t want the meat getting cold.”

“Yes, sir.”

He gazed longingly back at the mountains again. His heart throbbed agonizingly. “Someday,” he promised himself and soothed his worries by thinking about the battles he’d fight. Already he could imagine the comforting weight of a rifle in his hands. He’d make the Magistrates afraid of him—just like his grandfather had done.

CHAPTER 23

Zadok plodded down the narrow dirt path past the ancient oak trees that led to the gate of the seventh heaven. A broad knitted canopy shaded him, the cool of evening suffusing the air. Through the laced branches, he could see the sunset sky had turned a dark cherry color.

“What did that arrogant angel mean?” he asked himself quietly. While the gatekeepers of the other heavens had passed him with an almost hurried amusement, Sedriel’s words continued to haunt him. “What whirlwind has Aktariel set in motion? And who are his perfect dupes? Surely he hasn’t fooled Yosef or Sarah?” No, he couldn’t believe that. Everyone in his family knew Gamant history too well to allow themselves to be used as a tool by God’s most persistent adversary. Aktariel’s evil efforts had been drilled into each of their minds since birth.

He waved a hand in irritation. “And maybe Sedriel was wrong. Maybe he was just trying to get me so flustered I wouldn’t be able to answer his questions.” Hope sprouted, but quickly faded. If that speculation were true, he wouldn’t now feel his chest tight with apprehension and longing for this quest to be over. He’d always cherished his visits to the seven heavens. Even more, he’d loved tramping through the seven crystal palaces of God within Arabot, the seventh heaven.

As he emerged from the trees, he saw the gate gleaming in the fading sunlight. Its enormous Ionic columns stretched into the sky to pierce the ruby and lavender clouds. A chorus of seraphim broke into song, each note of their voices weaving a stunningly beautiful harmony.

“Zadok?” a tired, rich baritone rumbled. “Hurry, patriarch. The mind of Epagael wavers.”

The archangel Michael soared down from the clouds. His milky wings sparkled mauve in the fading light. Zadok craned his neck to watch the circular glide of the celestial being. Of all the angels, only Michael’s beauty stopped the heart from beating.

“Over what does God waver?”

As the archangel floated to land before the gate, his golden robe draped around his feet. He carefully folded his eiderdown wings and turned. His crystalline face shone so brightly, Zadok had to struggle to keep his eyes on him.

“The impudence of man has wearied him. He toys with the
Reshimu.”

“The
Reshimu?
The residue of light that remained when God withdrew himself to spawn the void before creation?”

“Yes, like the residue that clings to the bottle when the wine is emptied. That light still pervades everything, rushing headlong for oblivion. Background radiation, if you will.”

“Why does God toy with it, Lord Michael?”

“Because it’s the source of all evil, Zadok. Surely you can see that.”

He blinked, searching his thoughts. “No, I can’t.”

“Ah … Then that, Zadok,” Michael said, tapping his crystal chin reflectively, “is the question you must answer to pass through the seventh gate and be on your way through the crystal palaces.
How is the Reshimu tied to the existence of evil?”

“But, Michael, I thought Aktariel was responsible for evil? The Deceiver—”

“Oh, in a way that’s true.” He smiled faintly to himself, a gesture filled with regretful warmth. “As our leader, he shouldn’t have been so blasted democratic. Had he insisted on his own will, none of this would have happened.”

“But his will is to do evil! That’s why suffering exists. He deceives people into straying from the path of righteousness.”

“From Epagael’s perspective, that’s quite true. You’ve learned your lessons well, patriarch. But there are other perspectives.”

“What?”

“Hurry, Zadok. You haven’t much time if you want to save your universe. And without you, it’s surely lost.”

Fear brushed Zadok like a cold wind from the door to the pit of darkness. “Lost?”

“Yes, one way or another. Whether the act is Epagael’s or Aktariel’s.”

“Please, Lord,
help me.
I haven’t studied the ancient texts on the
Reshimu
in over a hundred years. Give me a clue?”

Michael’s amber eyes gleamed and he lowered his gaze to the grassy knoll beside Zadok, speaking softly to himself. “For old times’ sake, Akt? I don’t know. If God knew, he’d—”

“Michael, please! You said time is short!”

The angel waved a hand harshly. “All right, Zadok, but it’s not for you that I risk expulsion from heaven. Rather for an old friend with a blind and stubborn nature. A friend I once sided with in a clandestine meeting of supreme importance.”

“Clandestine? Secret from whom?” The archangel couldn’t mean a meeting of angels where God was not present? No, that would be blasphemous.

“Hush, you old fool!” he spat, looking fearfully over his shoulder at the seraphim who swayed in the darkening sky, their song stopped in mid-sentence. “Quickly, here’s your clue. Listen very carefully, for I’ll say it only once: Look deep in your memories. The answer lies waiting for you in Terran history. Who else believed that retracing the cosmic process to its ultimate foundations would provide redemption?”

“That’s no clue, Lord, Terran history is filled with prophets who sought the cosmogonic starting-point: Abraham ben Eliezer Ha-Levi, Moses ben Jacob Cordovero, Arno Penzias, Robert Wilson.”

“All right, but this is the final one: ‘And these are the Kings that reigned in the land of Edom …’ Not only from the
Reshimu
but from the dross of the primordial kings does the domain of evil arise.
Unde malum, Zadok? Unde malum?”

They slowly wound along the diamond-shaped red tunnel, lamps throwing huge shadows over the walls. Rachel and Jeremiel brought up the rear, walking side by side through the somber and deathly quiet that seemed to ooze from the very stones. The monks studied her, fear, doubt and something else, something deeper, plain on their faces.

“I wish they wouldn’t look at me that way,” she murmured for Jeremiel’s ears alone. “I feel like I’m on exhibition.”

He smiled wanly. “I’m quite sure they can’t help themselves. You look like every man’s fantasy come true.”

Rachel tried to laugh, but her ribs felt as ungiving as iron bars. Dressed exotically in a rose silk gown topped by an ebony cloak, jewels sparkled from her ears and wrists. She knew she looked beautiful, had verified it before a dozen mirrors in the past two hours. But she felt drained and strange to herself, like a pagan goddess adorned for sacrifice. Sybil had said as much at their tearful parting, “Mommy, you look like you’re dressed up to go to a funeral.”

“How are you doing?” Jeremiel whispered confidentially. He’d stayed no more than three feet from her all day, soothing, praising, helping her get ready.