An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (59 page)

Moonlight outlined the edges of Milcom’s fluttering ebony cloak like liquid silver, landing sharply on his quivering jaw. “So am I, Adorn,” he whispered.

“But, Lord, you can’t …”

God closed his eyes and lifted a hand to the night. The vortex whirled outward, consuming him in a black cyclone before it vanished.

Adom leaned back, anxiously pulling the sheet up over his chest as he stared at the place where God had stood. So the day he’d feared for years had come. They hung over the precipice of the final battle of Light and Dark.

“Please, Milcom,” he prayed softly. “Help the powers of Darkness triumph.”

God had explained long ago that darkness far exceeded light in our universe. Therefore the forces of the Void were “dark” in comparison to the stark brilliance of Epagael. Absently, he creased the sheet between nervous fingers, wondering why human beings had gotten it wrong for so long, thinking they should be fighting on the side of the Light. But Epagael had awesome abilities to deceive and coerce.

Quietly, Adom threw back the sheet and rose. Going to his dresser, he pulled the small pack from beneath it and stuffed it full of clothes. How long would they be at the Pole? For good measure, he threw in another pair of underwear.

Dressing in a maroon robe, he quickly brushed his blond hair and went to kneel beside the bed.

“Rachel?” he called softly. When she didn’t answer, he put a hand against her bare shoulder and shook gently. “Rachel? You can wake up now.”

She stiffened, lying perfectly still.

“It’s all right,” he murmured, stroking her back tenderly. “It’s me.”

She pulled herself to a sitting position and gave him an anxious smile. “It’s still dark. What’s—”

“Yes, I’m sorry to wake you, but we have to go to the polar chambers now. The battle has begun.”

Her beautiful face slackened in terrible understanding.

Garold Silbersay stood abruptly, pacing his small white office, arms crossed tightly. Captain Brent Bogomil sat uneasily in the chair before his desk, twisting his purple hat in large hands. A short, stocky man, the captain had piercing jade eyes and curly red hair, clipped close to the head.

“Colonel, I realize you’re timid about—”

“It has nothing to do with being timid!” Silbersay defended. Damn the Magistrates. How dare they send in someone to “help reorganize” his military operations. Just because he’d suffered a few setbacks was no reason to think him incompetent. Outsiders had no grasp of Gamant psychology. “Brent, with all due respect, you’ve no idea what sort of dragon you’ll unleash if you order a full-scale attack here. Gamants are a peculiar lot. The harder you hit them, the harder they fight you. They’ll die to the last warrior just to prove a point about justice.”

“You give them too much credit. Gamants are nothing but a bunch of partially civilized hoodlums. You’ve let them get away with—”

“Nothing!” Silbersay raged, whirling to face his accuser. “You don’t understand. After a few months of fighting, they’ll grow tired of the mud and blood. We’ve seen similar situations all over the galaxy! All we have to do is appear to make a few minor concessions, like turning back some of the territory, then those ‘hoodlums,’ as you call them, will be perfectly happy again. They’ll settle back down to herding their goats and growing their pathetic crops. We do not—”

“Colonel,” Bogomil interrupted, heaving an exasperated breath as he ran a hand through his red hair. He shifted positions, making his chair creak. “Do you realize Yorkcaster, Sifre, and a hundred other planets are screaming because most of our cruisers are tied up circling Gamant worlds? Without a Magisterial presence in non-Gamant sectors, pirate activity has increased twentyfold. Trade has virtually stopped in the Wecgin area. The Magistrates want something done—and fast—so we can get back to normal operations.”

Silbersay clenched a fist, lightly kicking at a stack of crystal sheets piled in the corner. “How many other Gamant planets are rioting? I’ve heard some scuttlebutt, but—”

“Too many. That new Mashiah on Horeb has sent missionaries all over the damned galaxy, telling the people that
we
killed Zadok—of all the blasted stupid notions—and that they must rally behind this Tartarus and fight back or we’ll exterminate them all.”

“Our actions against Pitbon certainly lend credence to that philosophy.”

Bogomil looked up sharply. “We didn’t have any choice and you know it! The fools broke the treaty, then proceeded to attack Magisterial installations. They’re all suicidal lunatics!”

Silbersay ground his teeth, waiting until most of the red drained from Bogomil’s cheeks. “Brent, what are your orders,
specifically?”

“Slothen didn’t send a dattran to tell you?”

“No.”

The captain shook his head regretfully. “Garold, I thought you knew. I’m sorry.”

“Tell me.”

“Slothen has ordered me to take over military command here, though you’ll still handle domestic affairs, of course.”

“And what actions are you authorized to take?”

Bogomil hesitated, twisting his hat in his big hands. “Any necessary, though we’ll begin with selective sterilizations, but if that doesn’t work—”

“It won’t work, damn it! Don’t those idiots read any of my reports? You kill a few leaders and their followers, who are mostly disorganized and disinterested currently, will mass together into the biggest revolt the Magistrates have ever seen!”

“Then the planet will be scorched, Garold!”

Silbersay closed his eyes, listening to his heart pound. “When will the Magistrates get it through their tri-brains that such brutal measures don’t work. How long did he give you to resolve the issues?”

“Seven days, your time.”

“Have you told Tahn?”

“Yes. He called me some names I’d rather not repeat. He doesn’t like the idea any better than you or I do, but if those are the final orders …”

Silbersay nodded tautly. He felt like shouting in rage, but restrained himself. He’d do it later, when he got back to his private quarters and could get reeling drunk. “Yes, of course.”

Mikael ran, bursting through the dense underbrush, gibbering to himself in terror. The stormy night crowded round him, rain drenching his thin gray nightshirt. Darkness had fallen so heavily, he could barely make out the forms of trees ahead. He squinted miserably, searching for the path he knew existed.

“The burrows … th—the burrows.” He’d be safe there. He veered sharply left, falling to his knees to crawl. Behind him an explosion shredded the night, violet light reflecting like wavering fire from the overcast sky. He watched it through the tangle of trees.

“Mama! Mama, run!” he sobbed. She’d told him she couldn’t. She had to stay, to try and talk Colonel Silbersay out of it. He knew now, that whatever she’d said—if the soldier had given her a chance to say anything—hadn’t worked. Had she run, then?
Yes, she ran away as fast as she could. She’s hiding somewhere … just like me.

Scrambling up the slope, he found one of the weabit burrows he’d been searching for and slithered into it on his stomach. The dense weave of vines overlooked the caves. Through the branches, he could see patches of his home, the cinnamon cliffs hanging in wounded patterns, gouged by the violet lances. He huddled in the darkness, panting.

A scream echoed up the slope, someone shouting, “Oh, my God, there they are!”

Mikael’s eyes went to the tangle over his head where a dark shape floated soundlessly. Red and blue lights around the edges outlined the huge ship. He held his breath, unable to take his eyes from it.

“No! No!” he heard his mother shriek, her voice echoing over the rain-drenched slopes.

He struggled to see, catching a glimpse of her standing with her arms out, her blue robe clinging to her body, before the mouth of the caves. Desperately, he slithered out of the burrow, emerging into a meadow as another beam of violet lashed from the ship. Chunks of rock tumbled through the sky, flashing in the lights of the ship like meteors. He fell to the ground, covering his head, whimpering.

Horrible silence descended and he saw the ship ease away, gliding over the cliffs. Rain ran in rivulets from the trees to soak his head and shoulders. He shivered, listening to the brittle wails that began softly, but quickly built to a deafening roar.

He got to his feet to run headlong down the slope, slipping on the wet grass. Through breaks in the forest, he saw people crowding around the entrance to the caves.
“Mama?”

An avalanche of boulders had toppled under the ship’s fire to fill the valley. People climbed over this mound of rocks like ants, trying to find a way into the caverns. They’d left the old and sick behind, knowing they couldn’t run.

Mikael stopped at the bottom of the slope, breathing deeply of the dust-laced air. A few lamps glowed in the darkness, lighting faces twisted with fear. At the outskirts of the boulders, he saw his cousin Shilby. The boy cried raggedly, eyes swollen and red. In front of his cousin, a group of people shouted, digging frantically beneath a huge rock. A tendril of blue fabric caught Mikael’s eye.

“Karl!” a man shouted. “We’ve found her. Oh, dear God. Tell … tell Doctor Smythe not to—to bother.”

“Mama?” he whispered, stumbling sightlessly toward the scene.
“Mama!”

People turned as he approached, the lamplight flickering over their hollow eyes. Like still, lifeless ghosts they all stared at him.

“Mikael,” his uncle Mark shoved through the crowd. “Come here.”

“No!” He threw himself at the group, shouldering past his friend Halan’s father who tried to grab him, but he dropped to his knees, crawling frantically.

“My mama,” he shouted. “Did you see her?”

Cries for help twined through the jumbled rocks, driving him to near madness. “My mama!” he screamed. “Where is she?”

As he neared the place, a man grabbed him by the arm and jerked him up, struggling to keep him back. “Let me go! I have to find my …” The words stilled in his mouth. Around the man’s leg, he saw a tangle of blue fabric and bloody flesh.

“The filthy murderers!” Halan’s father screamed, tears streaking his dark face as he stumbled through the boulders. “They’ve left us no choice now! We tried to stay peaceful. We have to protect ourselves!”

Mikael listened numbly to the shouts of agreement that sounded from various parts of the avalanche. Lamps sparkled like amber jewels over the rain-drenched rocks, moving, searching.

“War!” someone wailed. “That’s what they’ve wrought!”

From his right, Uncle Mark emerged, black hair hanging in a wet stringy mass over his face. “Geol, let me have my nephew.”

Mikael let himself be handed into different arms. When he felt the warmth of the man’s chest touch his, he whispered, “That’s my mama—isn’t it?”

His uncle hugged him tightly. “Yes, Mikael. Don’t cry. You’re our leader now. You have to be strong for the people.”

He leaned his head on his uncle’s wet shoulder and tucked a finger in his mouth, sucking softly. He felt numb.

A cold black pit opened in his tiny chest.

CHAPTER 36

Rachel’s knees shook as she hurriedly dressed in a white polar jumpsuit, then worked her hair into a single braid that hung to the middle of her back. Adom had said the battle had begun and she should meet him back at his room before sunrise. From there they’d fly to the polar chambers. But no sounds of gunfire met her ears, no waves of soldiers boiled over the parapet outside. Maybe he’d meant it was
about
to begin?

She hadn’t the time to wonder. A faint lavender glow lit the horizon out her window. Striding purposefully across the room, she caught her image in the mirror and stopped. Empty black eyes stared back at her.
A time for tears, this day after betraying yourself.

“But I secured my legitimacy, Jeremiel,” she murmured, pretending the hollow eyes were his. “When you said I didn’t have to, you didn’t know the situation Ornias would place me in.
I did. I did have to.”

Tugging her gaze away, she sprinted to her closet and pulled out dresses, throwing them on the bed, heedless of their expensive fabrics. Adom haunted her thoughts like a pale ghost. The fragile look in his eyes left her floundering, his innocent words of love piercing her soul. A boy, such a boy. Yet, throughout their lovemaking she’d felt he held himself back, like a
man
riding his passions with a curbed bit, for fear of hurting or frightening her.

“What happened to the hatred that used to fuel your efforts?
Damn you!”
she shouted at herself. “What happened to the promises of revenge you made in the square?”

She suddenly felt dazed and sick, ashamed of the answer: Her animosity had melted beneath Adom’s gentleness.

“Jeremiel, where are you? You promised you’d come. I need you!
I… I can’t kill Adom.”

Clenching her fists, she squeezed her eyes closed. What would happen if she failed to carry out her part of the battle plan?

“I don’t even know if the plan is still in action,” she justified hostilely. “Maybe the whole thing’s been called off and I haven’t been notified because Jeremiel couldn’t breach Ornias’ security around the palace.” She blinked, sucking in a sudden breath.
Yes, and maybe the sun won’t rise tomorrow either. This is Baruch you’re talking about. If he didn’t come it was for another reason
—
strategic probably. You can’t just arbitrarily change plans! Stop tormenting yourself! War takes many innocent victims.