An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (9 page)

Zadok rounded the final turn, “One hundred and twenty-two,” and proceeded down the spiral staircase cut into the rock.

In this deep part of the caverns, the rock smelled dry and the air was touched with a hint of spice. Each footfall echoed from the walls. Even breathing magnified in the narrow corridor until it seemed to come from every pore of the rock. No stranger could approach the Sanctum without being heard.

Zadok stepped into the inner cave and let his eyes rove the room. He hadn’t used it in years. A rounded cave measuring ten by ten feet, the ceiling hung so low tall visitors had to stand hunched. Candlelight played over the stark walls and drawn face of Rathanial.

“You said you wanted a secluded place, old friend. I hope this meets your needs.”

“I hope so, too,” Rathanial muttered uncertainly.

Zadok examined his friend closely. What could he fear so terribly in this isolated chamber shielded by billions of tons of rock? “I’m sorry I’m late. I had to—”

“Don’t explain,” Rathanial said quickly, rising. The gold bullion of his embroidered robe caught the light and shimmered.

“Funerals take such preparation,” Zadok said anyway. “All the relatives have to be notified. My brother Yosef and his friend Ari Funk are coming.”

“From Tikkun?”

“Yes. It’s a great distance, but he’s promised to grab a fast transport to be here by day after tomorrow.”

“I’m grateful that in this time of sorrow you agreed to see me.”

Zadok forced himself to smile with as much warmth as he could muster. “Let me get us some wine. You’ve had a long journey and stayed, I know, far past the time you’d intended.”

Rathanial nodded respectfully and took his chair again. Zadok went about gathering pewter goblets and a bottle of Cassopian Alizarin from a shelf carved into the rock. He unceremoniously blew the dust from the goblets.

When he turned to walk to the small table, the sparseness of the room struck him. Only one table and two chairs adorned the cave, sitting atop an ancient homespun brown rug. He remembered when orange and tan designs had graced the fabric, but they were long gone. Had everything in the world faded to brown? Had the entire universe decided to fold back in upon itself? Though he’d bathed and changed, the scent of blood still haunted his nostrils.
Ezarin
… A sharp pain pounded in his breast.

He set the goblets on the table and poured each full, then dropped into the hard chair and looked tiredly at his visitor. Rathanial’s white hair and beard gleamed in the soft light. He met Zadok’s eyes anxiously.

“Tell me about your new Mashiah. You wouldn’t have come to me if you didn’t think there was a possibility he—”

“I’m not sure, Abba. We need you to test him.”

“To test him,” Zadok repeated and leaned back in his chair. It meant leaving Kayan, his family. It was hardly the time to be gallivanting off to other worlds. Not only that, he’d grown so tired of the parade of charlatans, he didn’t think he could endure another testing.

“I don’t—”

“You’re the only one who knows the secret path to the Veil of God!”

Zadok heaved a disgruntled breath. “Of course.” The route through the seven heavens to the Veil where the acts of all generations, and the true Mashiah, were written was a secret he could pass on only at his death—which he feared might not be too far distant.

“Abba, I fear we can’t survive without your help. We need …” He stopped suddenly and looked around the room, eyes widening. Breathlessly, he leaned across the table, coming so close Zadok could smell his stale perfume and dank sweat.

“Tell me what you need?”

Fear gleamed in Rathanial’s dark eyes. “Terrible things are happening.”

“For example?”

Rathanial drew a deep breath and a brief shiver played over him. “Abba, I swear, I did everything I could. I distributed pamphlets about the Mashiah’s wickedness. I held secret desert meetings with the political leaders of Seir …” He swallowed. “But—but no one listened. It’s that Adom is so charismatic! No one sees him for what he truly is! He seems so innocent and pure that people are fooled! And I’ve tried—”

“Rathanial,
give me specifics!”

The man stood and paced a few steps, robe glittering like cornsilk at dawn. Zadok saw his mouth tremble. Then, as if embarrassed, Rathanial pressed fingers firmly to his lips to steady them. “We have … eavesdroppers in all our meetings, Abba.”

“Eavesdroppers? You mean traitors?”

“No. No, I mean …” He waved a hand tensely. “Otherworld ‘listeners.’”

Zadok sat unmoving, tawny light playing across his withered features. “Explain.”

“I wish I could, Abba. Truly, if I knew—”

“Try.”

“Some in our community think the listeners are Adom’s guardian angels. The Mashiah claims, and has witnesses, to verify his miraculous birth.”

“Don’t they all?” Zadok squeezed the bridge of his nose, smiling faintly. “Saviors arise constantly, Rathanial, like weeds in a garden. Our duty is to pluck them up and get on with our lives.”

“This savior is different.”

“Oh?”

Nervously, Rathanial ran a hand through his white hair and sat down again. “It’s said that a man of shining white appeared at his cradle. The man wrapped Adom Kemar Tartarus in a swaddling cloth of fire and gave him flames to eat.”

“So he knows the ancient stories of Elijah’s birth. He’s more sophisticated than most charlatans.”

“Since he’s been in power, the grass has failed.”

“Horeb is a desert planet. There’s little grass anyway. A quarter inch of rain either way and—”

“It’s not a natural phenomenon. Even in bad years we’ve always had enough grass to feed the stock.”

“Uh-huh.” Zadok skeptically raised his bushy gray brows. Everyone wanted to believe their savior was either the true redeemer, or the promised Antimashiah who’d precede Him. No one wanted to believe in the capriciousness of nature.

“What’s your answer,” Rathanial inquired sharply, “for the plague that’s wiped out seventy percent of our population?”

“What plague?”

“The mountain valleys are filled with our dead! We’d no place to bury the vast numbers—”

“Why didn’t the Council on Horeb write me of this?”

“Zadok,” Rathanial murmured tightly, eyes scanning the room as though for “eavesdroppers.” “We did. Many times. You never responded. That’s why I risked my life to come to see you myself.”

“I never received—”

“I know that now. At first I thought … Well, you know how far out Horeb is and we have few of the governmental problems of other Gamant planets. There’s no interference with our schools or politics.”

Zadok glowered at his goblet, studying the way the light shimmered in the maroon wine. Something about this whole affair stank. Why hadn’t his own secret sources in Rathanial’s community been able to get the information out? Were they still alive? If not, why?
Who
was the traitor? “Tell me about the plague?”

“Hideous wounds maim and kill. It’s said … said that invisible demons gnaw the flesh of our people. Though, God knows, I don’t believe that and, anyway, it’s almost over now that everyone born under the House of Ephraim is dead.”

“The branch from which the final Mashiah is to come?” Zadok ran the ancient prophecies through his mind as his gaze drifted over the dusty wine bottles on the far shelf. The first Mashiah had come from the House of Yosef, the second from David. Those, the people knew from history, had died fighting for Gamant survival. And the third Mashiah was to come from the House of Ephraim. This redeemer, legend foretold, would finally free the People. Zadok let his tired mind ramble over what Rathanial had told him. Some element of the story rang ominously in the back of his thoughts. “What’d you say this Mashiah’s full name is?”

“Adom Kemar Tartarus.”

“Something about the first letters,” Zadok mused. “Do you perchance—”

“A-K-T? He also has them burned into his forehead. Theoretically the man of fire put them there at his birth.”

“Hmmm.” Where had he heard the letters mentioned before? The vast majority of ancient texts had been burned by the Magistrates in the last Gamant Revolt—a revolt he’d led. But the letters touched some deep fear inside him. “Do you, perchance, have a copy of the Apocalypse of Daniel … or maybe it was the Apocalypse of Ezra?”

Rathanial shook his head. “Neither, I’m afraid. The Magistrates purged our library a hundred years ago. Why?”

“Oh, it’s probably nothing, just a failing memory.”

“They might have a copy on Tikkun. You could ask your brother to check the archives.”

“I checked there myself, several years ago. Perhaps there are no copies of those books left any place. A shame, they tell a great deal of the coming of the true Mashiah and his travails.” He paused, sipping his wine. “Tell me more about Tartarus? Where did he come from? What’s he like?”

“He’s a curious character … born on Horeb. Fourteen years ago, when he was fifteen, his parents died in a freak accident in the mountains. The family had gone out for a picnic and, somehow, the rocks above his parents loosened and a landslide came roiling down on top of them.”

“But the boy survived?”

“Yes. He claims Milcom, his god, came to him just before the landslide and led him away into the hills to give him a series of visions.”

“And the content of the visions?”

Rathanial shrugged. “No one really knows, but he came down from the mountains weeks later, preaching that Epagael was wicked and Milcom was good. He says the two are locked in a constant battle over the existence of the universe.”

“He’s been preaching ever since the accident?”

“Yes, but only recently has he gained any followers. You see, Adom used to be the equivalent of our ‘town drunk.’ He stumbled through the streets in stinking rags, pathetically preaching his message of salvation while he dug through the garbage dumps for food.”

“How sad,” Zadok murmured. What had happened to Gamant charity on Horeb? The boy should have been taken in by someone and protected from himself. He squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. “Is his mind gone?”

“Sometimes it seems so. The servants in his palace report that after Milcom talks with him, he wanders for hours, mumbling to himself, waving his arms like a madman. But at other times, he seems perfectly normal. And it’s at those times, Zadok, that he addresses the masses.”

“And sways them to his bidding? Interesting. His madness must lend him some magnetic charm. I’ve seen it before in the mentally ill. The delusions spawn such confidence they seem invincible and charismatic.”

“Yes, but Adom has no understanding of the needs of his ever-increasing flock. He—”

“None of them do. Each exists somewhere in a dark corner of his own mind, separated from reality. It’s a tragic ailment.”

Rathanial nodded curtly, staring hard at the scarred surface of the table. “Madness isn’t a debility, however, when you have an evil genius around to orchestrate the religious movement.”

“Tartarus has such a genius?”

“Yes, an off-worlder named Ornias.” His voice lowered to a whisper as his eyes cautiously examined the shadows in the room.

“Off-worlder? From where?”

“I’ve been investigating for four years, Zadok, and can find almost no records about him. I’m fairly certain he was born on Palaia Station, but—”

“Palaia?” Adrenaline flooded Zadok’s veins in a rush. “The home of the Galactic Magistrates?” The implications staggered him. A plant? A spy sent to undermine Gamant culture and religion?

“Yes, but I’m not even positive of that. He must’ve changed his name several times and flitted around the galaxy like a firefly, because, except for a few scraps of data, he seems to have been born a few years ago when he appeared on Horeb.”

“I see. And what happened when he arrived?”

“Almost instantly, he plucked Adom from the streets, buying him clothing and taking care of him. He kept Adom out of sight for months, then began a massive publicity campaign announcing the arrival of the ‘Promised Mashiah.’ He set up a preaching tour all over Horeb, even hitting the small nomadic villages of the vast desert regions.”

“Selling him, eh?”

“Yes.”

“It seems to have worked.”

“Obviously,” Rathanial responded bitterly. “Now Ornias is running a campaign to destroy all the Old Believers, calling them traitors or demons sent to deceive the faithful.”

“What if my testing reveals Tartarus as a fraud and his followers still don’t believe? Fanatics are notoriously stubborn. What do you plan on doing then?”

Rathanial held his breath a moment before blurting, “I’ve been meaning to tell you.” He twisted his hands anxiously.

“What?”

“I’ve summoned Jeremiel Baruch. He’s to report to you before—”

“Why?”
Zadok sat forward so suddenly, he knocked his goblet over. Wine splashed the table, running in a stream onto the stone floor. Quickly, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and sopped it up, leaving the stained rag pushed against the wall near the candle. “Baruch has enough problems without our making demands on him! Why can’t you organize your own forces?”