An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (50 page)

He tried to look surprised. “Our missionaries didn’t tell us the Mashiah planned on battling the government. Where will we get the ships and weapons?”

“I suspect Milcom will provide them when the time comes. He’s always taken care of us in the past.”

“I see.”

“What did the Beliels look like?” Elaysin brought the subject back suddenly, eyes narrowed.

Jeremiel sat perfectly still. He hadn’t the slightest idea. He let himself shiver. “I remember most their glowing eyes. In the darkness they appeared like a thousand tiny flames.”

“There were that many?”

“Hundreds.”

“My God, what will we do? If they attack like they did during the plague, we’re liable to lose the rest of the city.”

“Plague?”

“Yes, a few months ago, the Samas, those are the lesser demons, attacked under cover of darkness. They’d find people walking the streets alone and jump them, tearing huge chunks of flesh from their bodies. Toward the end, they got so bold they crashed through doors to get at the people hiding in houses. We found caches of skeletons littering the alleys of the far side of the city, not a speck of flesh left on them. They killed thousands.”

“Why did they stop?”

Elaysin swallowed convulsively and steepled his fingers against his lips. “Nobody knows. From what you’ve been saying, maybe they were just regrouping to hit us harder. If the Beliels are involved now, there’s no telling what we’re up against. The old books say they command legions of lesser creatures.”

Jeremiel nodded, noting that the captain’s jaw muscles had tensed with fear. A sheen of sweat covered his face, gleaming in the candlelight.

“Maybe once the Mashiah knows, he can stop them.”

“I doubt it,” Elaysin whispered hoarsely. “He couldn’t stop the last attack. Some folks—the backward and uneducated—speculated the plague was sent by Epagael to kill the new believers. But lots of the Old Believers died, too. Other people said maybe the plague was just the beginning of a battle between Epagael and Milcom.”

“Horebians admit the possibility that both Milcom and Epagael exist?”

“Admit? We
know
both exist. They’re locked in constant battle. Milcom fighting for us, Epagael against us. The Mashiah’s teachings are very clear.” His expression changed; a soft look touched his freckled face. “Have you seen him yet? I mean, even from afar?”

“The Mashiah? No.”

“He’s the kindest man in the world.”

Jeremiel nodded sympathetically, remembering the horror stories Rachel told of senseless murder and calculated holocaust. “I’m looking forward to having an audience with him.”

“He’ll shock you,” Elaysin said, smiling as though the subject brought him great pleasure. “You’ll think he’s just a young boy he’s so innocent and pure, but when Milcom overtakes him, he changes completely. Almost like he becomes someone different; he gets a thousand years older in a second.”

“I’ve heard stories like that. About how his face goes slack and he …”

Hurried steps sounded in the hallway outside and Jeremiel held his breath, watching the sergeant enter, leading a tall white-robed man into the room. Even at this late hour, he looked regal, reeking with authority and the power of command. His light brown hair and lime green eyes shimmered in the glow of the hearth.

“Councilman,” Elaysin said apologetically, “I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour, but we’ve got a special case here. Papers we found say his name’s Jere Lansford. He threw himself against the portcullis, sir.”

“He’s a crazy fool,” the sergeant supplied. “Tried to talk us into believing Beliels were chasing him. But nobody’s seen anything out there.”

“Yet,” Elaysin murmured ominously.

“Interesting,” Ornias said, giving Jeremiel a curious evaluative stare. A hush descended over the room. Only the popping of the candle disturbed the quiet.

“Lansford, eh?”

“Yes, I’m from Pitbon and I …”

The Councilman laughed from the depths of his stomach. “Indeed? How long has it been since you were there?”

“Months. Why?”

“The Magistrates scorched it, that’s why.”

“When?” Jeremiel asked, feeling a chasm develop in his stomach. Where had his own forces been? Surely Rudy Kopal had received intelligence regarding the possibility? Why hadn’t he been there to protect them?

“Last week.”

Still smiling, the Councilman strolled closer and Jeremiel could smell the sweet scent of roses seeping from his swaying robe. The man’s calm knowing expression grated on his nerves.

“You’ve been with the demons, I understand?”

“Yes, they came out of—”

“And you want to tell the Mashiah of an impending attack?”

“He’s the only one I can reveal the details to.”

“Uh-huh.”

Ornias’ green eyes narrowed and for a long minute, he paced quietly across the room, watching Jeremiel in the glimmer of the candle. His gaze seemed to trace every line of Baruch’s face, studying, weighing. Finally, he bent forward and whispered in a voice so low Jeremiel knew the guards couldn’t hear, “I’ve a special place arranged for you. I assure you, we’ll make you comfortable until the last minute.” A small gloating smile twisted his lips.

“What?”

“You know very well what I mean.”

As he held the man’s cold eyes, his muscles clenched tight. He sensed the councilman not only knew his identity, but had been eagerly anticipating his arrival.
I’ve got to get the hell out of here.

Seeing him stiffen, the Councilman chuckled softly and waved to the guards. “Captain, you know the guest chamber on the second floor?”

Elaysin nodded. “Yes, sir. The one with no windows?”

“Yes. Take Mister
Lansford
there, please. Secure him in the shackles, and make absolutely certain the exit is barred. But under no circumstances are you to kill him. Understood?”

“Yes, sir, I wouldn’t let my men—”

“Good. I want two guards posted outside the door at all times and a special regiment assigned to guard that side of the palace.”

“An entire regiment?” He whirled to look dubiously at Jeremiel. “For one man?”

“Don’t question my orders, Captain!”

“No, I—I didn’t mean to, sir.” Elaysin looked confused. “I’ll obey, of course, but what about the demons? Don’t you think we should send troops to the parapet to guard against them?”

“In due time, Captain,” Ornias smiled maliciously. “Now, hurry, take him.”

I have to try now, while the forces near the gate are still ignorant of who I am.

The sergeant grabbed one of Jeremiel’s arms and pulled him to his feet. With a violent wrench, he twisted free and struck out with his knee, slamming the sergeant in the groin. Whirling he pounded a fist into Elaysin’s solar plexus, shoved the councilman to the floor and made a desperate run for the door.

He didn’t get five steps before the guards who’d been standing unseen in the hallway rushed him. They fell on him like wolves, throwing him to the stone floor. A pulse pistol flashed from a holster and the man brought the butt down hard against his head. Dazed, Jeremiel flailed out with his fists, trying to get to his knees to crawl, but the butt landed again at the base of his skull and he sank to the floor, half-conscious.

He heard the Councilman order in a stern voice, “Drag him if you have to,
but don’t hurt him severely.”
Chill hands rolled him over and locked onto his arms, tugging him from the room.

CHAPTER 29

Zadok grunted as he lowered himself to sit cross-legged and stare up at the infinitely high columns of the seventh gate that stretched to the stars. Though night had touched Arabot, Michael’s radiance cast a soft golden glow across the meadow where Zadok sat.

“I know part of the puzzle, Michael,” he said tensely. He’d wasted three days already, dredging his memories for the answer, heart pounding all the time. How many days did he have left to save his universe? Two hundred or two?

“Do you, Zadok?”

“Yes, I know the answer lies in the writings of Issac Luria, better known as Ari the Saint. Luria likened the ‘deaths of the primordial kings’ to the ‘breaking of the shells of light,’ from which the creation emanated, but I—”

“Ari the Saint, yes. Aktariel’s very clever with name synchronicity.”

Zadok grimaced. “Don’t complicate this further, Michael. I’m already long overdue.”

“Uh—sorry, patriarch. It would help, perhaps, if you tried a different perspective. A different metaphor. Say, for example, we conceive of each shell,
sephira,
as a cell from God’s brain.”

Zadok cocked his head, watching Michael’s face glow brighter, piercing the blanket of darkness like a beacon. “You mean the death of the primordial kings can be likened to the bursting of bits of God’s mind—the breaking of the shells?”

“Yes.”

“So, if we follow the analogy, from those cells all things in my universe are created. But you said the ‘dross,’ dirt, of those kings relates to the
Reshimu.
How could pure cells from God’s mind have any taint whatsoever?”

Michael’s amber eyes narrowed and he fluttered his wings gently. A cool wind brushed Zadok. “How could they not?”

“What?”

“Oh, Zadok, must I
give
you the answer?”

“That would help, Lord.”

Michael bowed his head and smiled. “You know I can’t do that. But let me guide you just a little more.”

Michael’s golden brow furrowed as he thought and Zadok knew the result would be another cryptic response, but he’d accept any help just now. His thoughts drifted constantly to Yosef and Sarah, Kayan and Horeb, where he knew war probably raged. People might be dying while he sat here bantering with angels in the cool grasses of heaven.

“Perhaps wine is a bad analogy. Try this? When you pour milk from a bottle, what do you have left?”

“The dregs. A—”

“Given time, what happens to the dregs?”

“After a few days it’s nothing but a foul-smelling residue.”

“Yes, it actually changes its nature, becomes a sour shadow of the original sweet substance.”

“Yes, but what does that have to do with—”

“My God, Zadok!” Michael chastised severely, pursing his golden lips in disdain. “The apocalyptic abyss yawns before you and you can’t grasp the
obvious!
It might be a good thing your universe is doomed. Natural selection.” He crossed his arms, leaning a shoulder heavily against one of the enormous Ionic columns.

Zadok dropped his gaze to the grass. In the archangel’s glow, the blades glimmered a soft saffron color. Thoughtfully, Zadok tugged them, breaking some. Their sweet scent surrounded him like a soothing blanket.
What happened when you added fresh milk to sour? A microbial metamorphosis occurred, the fresh picking up the taint and bursting forth in foul reduplication, progressively getting worse, until the entirety had gone bad.

“Lord,” Zadok said mildly, looking up into Michael’s brilliant face. “Are you trying to tell me that
Reshimu
is like the residue left by milk? That without the fullness of God, it soured and when Epagael cast the bits of himself into the cosmic Void—”

“I’ll accept that as an answer, Zadok!” Michael interrupted, glancing cautiously around the starry night sky as though for eavesdroppers. “Now, get up, patriarch, and run as fast as your human legs will carry you.” He thrust an arm toward the dark path beyond the columns.

Zadok pushed to his feet and rushed through the gate, hurrying to the seventh crystal palace of God, heart throbbing miserably in his bony chest.

CHAPTER 30

Yosef pushed his spectacles up higher on his nose and squinted at the dark empty hallway, watching Ari duck behind a statue. His old friend stood tall and lanky in a spear of silver light, wearing a black silk robe that highlighted his bony frame and mop of gray hair. Moonlight streamed through the windows above them, falling in glowing sheets across the marble walls. In the darkness, the colors of the rich carpets faded to mottled shades of cream and charcoal.

Yosef looked around cautiously, then whispered, “Will you let me lead!”

“You’re too slow,” Ari hissed back. Darting from behind his statue, he crept quickly down the hall.

Yosef pursed his lips in disgust, watching his friend’s willowy shadow weave inexpertly around dark obstacles. “If you don’t slow down, you’re going to—”

A thud sounded, followed by a loud gasp. He saw Ari tumble to the floor. The vase that had been sitting on top of the pedestal he’d bumped, tottered and fell with a crash. “Blast it!” Ari cursed.

“Did you break that vase?”

“Forget about the vase. Worry about my brain. It smashed my skull.”

“Agnes told me that’s the only part of your body that stays hard. I’m not worried.”

“You can’t believe anything that old maid says! She doesn’t know the difference between—”

“That proves my point! I don’t know why I take you anywhere. You made enough noise to wake the entire floor!” Yosef waddled down the hall, grabbing Ari’s arm and roughly helping him up.