An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (2 page)

“And what then?”

“What do you mean?”

Rudy spread his arms in exasperation.
“I mean,
if you find out the Desert Fathers have set you up, where are you? Trapped on Kayan amidst six Magisterial military installations and a few thousand soldiers. And I’ll be long gone! You know I can’t hang around in dangerous space.”

“No, you can’t.” Jeremiel closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. Rudy was right, of course. But somewhere deep inside he couldn’t convince himself mattered. Death could be lurking around the next turn and he just didn’t care. Nothing in the universe mattered anymore. Nothing except a fatal mistake he’d made and the black chasm that swelled inside him to fill every moment of his life.

“And what about Tahn?” Rudy asked gruffly. “He’s still waiting out there. If he gets a whiff of where you’ve gone, he’ll be on you like ducks on a june bug.”

A prickle climbed Jeremiel’s spine. Tahn was the most brilliant commander in the Magisterial military. Six times in the past year, he’d almost caged the Underground fleet. Only desperate acts on Jeremiel’s part had saved them. But the day was coming, he knew, when without more troops and ships to join the Gamant cause, Tahn would win. “It’ll be harder to find me on foot, than when I’m surrounded by ten battle cruisers.”

“Don’t be so damned sure. You can move a hell of a lot faster in space than through a forest.”

“Horeb’s a desert.”

“Well … through sand dunes, then. The point is—”

“I get your point.”

Rudy slammed a fist against the hull of the ship. The thud rang ominously. “Do you? I’m not leaving you alone, Jeremiel. That’s all there is to it. You can’t offer yourself up as a sacrificial—”

“I’m
not
offering. And
you’re
leaving!
If that’s the last order you ever obey from me, you’re going to—”

“Damn it!” Rudy cursed imploringly as he squeezed his eyes closed and pleadingly tipped his chin to the ceiling. Sweat glistened on his olive skin, soaking the ends of hair that stuck to his forehead. Against the white hull behind him, he looked like some tortured savior.

Haggardly, Jeremiel rested his chin on his chest, exhaling tiredly. “I’ll call if I need you.”

“Sure. Sure, you will.
If you can.
And what if me and all your forces are locked around Giclas or Pitbon and can’t get back to you for months?”

He lifted a hand nonchalantly. “I’ll make do as best I can. There are always places to hide. I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Rudy demanded. “Duck into some cave and pray to God that when you have to come out for supplies nobody recognizes you? Steal a fast transport and fly hell-bent for the Lysomian system where you know you’ve got friends, worried every second the Magistrates are going to spot you and you’ll place everybody there in jeopardy?”

“I’ll figure something out.”

Rudy bent down, bracing his hands on Jeremiel’s chair arms, to stare him in the eyes. He met that hot challenge with equanimity, feeling like an observer rather than a participant in the affair. It took only a few seconds of glaring before Rudy’s gaze softened, going from fiery to worried sick. He straightened, walking to a portal to stare out at the stars. Kayan floated just ahead, a magnificently lush blue-green world covered with streaks of clouds. “I’m fighting a losing battle, aren’t I?”

“But you’re doing well.”

Rudy turned, giving him an annoyed smile. He pointed a finger sternly, but his voice came out low, affectionate. “If you get yourself killed, you’ll force me to blast half the goddamned sector to find the culprit. Remember that, will you?”

“I will.”

They stared at each other a moment, exchanging a silent communication of friendship, then Rudy strode quickly across the cabin and gripped him roughly by the arm, jerking him out of his chair. Scrutinizing him grimly, he embraced Jeremiel so hard forced the air from his lungs.

“Take whatever time you need to heal yourself. Then call and I’ll come running.”

Jeremiel tightened his arms around his friend’s midsection. “Just a couple of months, Rudy. That’s all I need.”

CHAPTER 1

Apartment houses stood empty, doors banging in the hot wind sweeping the dirt streets. Abandoned possessions loomed like sentries in the gaping sockets of windows, free to anyone, the owners long vanished. Lifeless. This far section of the capital city of Seir lay in ruins, black clouds of smoke billowing in the silent blue sky.

Rachel Eloel ran up Izhar Street, clutching her eight-year-old daughter’s hand in a death grip. Long black hair streamed out behind her.

“Mommy, I’m scared.”

“Don’t cry, Sybil,” she whispered shakily. “Dear God, please don’t cry.”

“Are they coming after us? Those bad men?”

“Yes, sweetheart. You must be very quiet.”

The sun dipped in and out between the roofs of burned buildings, lighting her path with a false brightness promising no hope. Old yards, thick with withered grass, led to what had been the homes of friends. She knew the names so well, she unconsciously whispered them as she passed: Leashno, Tarin, Wexler. Dead trees, silence and desolation, had the world gone mad?
God? Where are you?

A
chant of harsh voices carried on the wind and Rachel shuddered. Planetary marines. Rounding a corner, she spied a tumbled pile of rubbish. Dragging Sybil, she shouldered through the head-high refuse, pushing to the back and crouching in the dense shadows of the overhanging building. Petrolon boxes and stinking cans surrounded them, the smells of rotting fish and sour milk strong.

Sybil brushed brown curls from her face and looked up through wide, afflicted eyes. “Where’s Daddy?”

“I don’t… He’s home, baby. It’s all right. We’ll see him soon.”

“Why didn’t he come get us when the bad men burned the temple?”

Rachel’s heart rose into her throat. She wiped sweaty palms on her long blue robe. This was the week of Sighet, the holy week celebrating the freedom of the Gamant people from the horrible labor camps of the wicked Edom Middoth. Yet all the temples on Horeb stood closed … save one. Adom Kemar Tartarus held his blasphemous ceremonies at his magnificent palace, while hundred of laborers finished the new temple to Milcom. People prostrated themselves daily before the growing structure.
Dear God, how could they? Traitors!
She and Shadrach had risked death to hold an illegal Sighet celebration in the basement of an abandoned and ruined temple on the outskirts of town. An ugly thing, the broken structure looked like the fanged mouth of some beast. That morning, the fourth day of Sighet, they’d been feasting when the military forces of the Mashiah stormed their sanctuary, firing blindly into the crowd.

“Mommy? Why didn’t Daddy come when the bad men—”

“He … he had to go home, Sybil. We’ll ask him when we get there, all right?”

“You’re lying to me, aren’t you?” Sybil whispered anxiously. “Don’t lie to me. I need to know if—”

“Hush! I’m not lying to you. I—I—”

“Can we go see him? I want my daddy now.”

Rachel stroked her daughter’s tangled hair and kissed her forehead. “Soon, baby. We just have to sit here quietly for a little while longer …” Her voice faded, terror taking over as her ears picked up sounds from the street. Boots against stone. The hum of a rifle.

“Over here!” someone shouted.

Rachel froze as the thudding of footsteps swelled closer. Sybil’s eyes widened and she twined fingers in Rachel’s blue sleeves.

“Mommy, what …”

Rachel clamped a hand over her mouth, not realizing the force she used. When the child scratched madly at her fingers, Rachel shook her viciously, whispering, “Don’t! Hush!” Sybil’s tiny head flailed, face twisting. Then she sank down to her mother’s lap, refusing to look at her, but Rachel could feel the tears soaking her robe.

“I’m sorry, Sybil. Please, I didn’t mean to—”

“Come out!” a harsh male voice demanded. “I know you’re there. I can smell you filthy demon worshipers. Come out before I shoot!”

Quaking, Rachel shoved Sybil behind her, tucking her in a dirty box stained all over with mold and holding a finger to her lips. The little girl’s eyes filled with tears. She reached out, silently pleading. Tiny fingers worked in a gesture of “take me, take me.” Rachel mouthed the words, “no,” and “quiet.”

“Damn you! I know you’re there. Hear this?” The hiss of a pulse rifle switched to full charge met her ears.

“Mommy—”

“Here!” Rachel shouted, stumbling over a crate. “Don’t shoot. I’m coming.” Quickly, she shouldered through the trash to stand in a shaft of sunlight penetrating between the tall buildings. Her dark hair fluttered wildly in a gust that swirled red dust up to the charred rooftops before whirling away.

The marine in front of her lowered his rifle, clicking the charge down a notch as a sadistic smile curled his lips. He stood over six feet with blond hair and sleepy blue eyes. His green formfitting uniform was splattered with crimson stains.

“Well, well, you’re not what I expected.” He turned and yelled over his shoulder, “Hey, Charlie, come see what I’ve found.”

Rachel locked her trembling knees, forcing herself to stand straight, defiant, as a stocky sergeant with dark hair and a bulbous nose trotted around the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. “Holy father!
It’s her,
isn’t?”

“Hell, yes,” the blond responded. “I think. You’re Eloel, aren’t you?”

She steeled herself. Had the Mashiah sent them after her? Did he know she’d escaped the temple holocaust? “No.”

“The hell you aren’t. I know you from the spectrum prints.” The marine fingered the trigger of his rifle.

She clamped her trembling jaw. They had prints? But the rebel faction had been so careful. Behind her, she heard Sybil wail softly, barely audible. Terror flooded her veins. She’d witnessed what the planetary marines did to children of the Old Believers. Seen with her own eyes their tiny bodies explode in flares of violet.

“Look!” Rachel shouted, stepping forward. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m a loyal follower of the Mashiah. What do think you’re doing, hunting down innocent citizens—”

“If you’re so innocent, what’re you doing hiding in this filthy alley?” the sergeant demanded, glancing at the rubbish piled six feet high.

“What would you do if you saw fifty men with guns following you? Stand there so they could use you for target practice?”

Both men stared at her for a time, weighing her story, but she knew they’d balk. She knew it as surely as she did that Shadrach’s still-warm body lay dead in the ruined temple. Though she hadn’t seen his murder, she’d heard faint cries before she’d grabbed Sybil to run. It had been his voice, an echoing rasping that would haunt her for the rest of her life. She’d made a horrifying choice: her baby over her husband. Why hadn’t she gone back to see? Maybe he … But no, no, she couldn’t let herself think that.

“Hey, Charlie,” the blond whispered, licking his lips eagerly. “Let’s have some fun before we turn her in, huh? Just fifteen minutes of play.”

“Don’t be an idiot. The Mashiah would cut you to pieces for something like that.”

“Damn, Charlie, he won’t know. Nobody’ll ever find out. Less you spill your—”

“Shut up, damn you, Joe! I’m no informer!”

The two men dropped their voices to whispers. Rachel strained to hear. Was Charlie trying to talk him out of it? Something in that low interchange of words made her throat go tight, fear rising up like a chill, ever-swelling bubble to choke her.

“We’ll have to kill her if we …”

In the long moment of waiting that ensued, Rachel studied a shaft of rose-amber light that crept down the gray stones to her right. At midday, the sun on Horeb gleamed like fire. She turned ever so slightly, desperately wanting to make certain her daughter couldn’t see what was about to happen. Silently, she prayed.
Don’t let her see, God. Please, I’ll do anything you want!

The blond smiled and leered at Rachel, stepping forward. “Come here, beauty. Don’t make this difficult now. I won’t take long and I get mean when women give me trouble.”

“I—I’m not going to give you any trouble.”

“That’s the right idea.” He pointed to a broad doorway with a thick mat. “Why don’t you just go lie down over there and get comfortable.”

She surveyed the doorway. It stood in the ruined cleft of an old bakery. The faint aroma of bread still clung to the stones, and it was only five feet from the corner to the street. If she ran, she might be able to distract them long enough for Sybil to get away. “I’m going,” she murmured, preparing to run.

“Wait!” He grabbed her shoulder. Swinging her around, he prodded her belly so hard with his rifle, she doubled over. “Not so fast. You walk real easy, remembering I’m right here behind you.”

Gasping in pain, she forced herself to shuffle to the mat. He followed so closely she could smell his stale sweat and the coppery odor of the blood that covered his uniform.
Shadrach’s blood?
Or some other friend?

When they reached the mat, he brutally shoved her against the wall, ordering, “Put your hands against the door and spread. I’m going to have to search you first, honey. We’ve heard about you and your fancy training. So, you just be still if you plan on living to stand trial before the Mashiah.”