An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (8 page)

“Papa,” Sarah whispered, extending trembling hands. “Let me? You don’t need to—”

“No—it’s my last chance.”

He led the way slowly down the drenched slope, winding around deadfall and thick briars. They followed in single file behind him, fragments of the Mourner’s Kedis echoing eerily from the mountains. By the time they reached the caves, the sun hung like a crimson ball over the peaks, the blaze of sunset lingering on the swirls and hollows of the cliffs.

Ornias leisurely paced before the fireplace in his bedchamber, listening to the wind hurl itself out of the night, whistling through the cracks around his windows. The fire in his stone hearth crackled and sizzled, throwing wavering light over the rounded arches along the walls and reflecting eerily in the vaulted ceiling.

“Will that be all, Councilman?” Shassy asked, glancing longingly at the door. She wanted to leave, and badly.

Swirling a glass of fine Kayan sherry in his hand, he glanced admiringly at her. A beautiful black woman, she had broad cheekbones and an aquiline nose. Her thin lips were pursed tightly with disdain as she met his eyes.

“No, let’s talk for a while, shall we?”

“I really must be going.” The silken fabric of her periwinkle robe shimmered in the golden flickers of the fire as she moved to collect his dinner dishes. Glass clinked against metal as the silence stretched. A tall woman, she had a lithe body and full breasts. Thick raven curls fluffed to her shoulders. But her eyes fascinated him most, drawing him to her like a wolf to a wounded rabbit. Black as night, those eyes glimmered with hatred for him and fear. Though she seemed defiant just now, standing rigidly next to his bed beneath the high vault of the ceiling. He smiled, finding it both enticing and amusing.

“You said you thought the rebels would fight back. I’m curious to know why?”

“I didn’t say that, Councilman,” she defended, eyes evading his.

“Isn’t that what you meant by ‘they have a right to protect themselves’?”

“No.”

“Well, what did you mean?” he pressed, knowing she despised talking to him, enjoying it all the more because of that fact. Leaning a broad shoulder against the corner of the hearth, he sipped his sherry.

“I—I simply meant it’s the nature of humanity to mass together when threatened.”

“Ah, you think they’re massing to attack us. Well, I wouldn’t doubt it. They’re remarkably suicidal. I just hope they—”

“Suicidal?” she asked disbelievingly, beautiful face tensing. She braced a half-full wine glass on the tray. “They’re desperate. You’ve hit them so hard this time, their minds can’t accept the truth. And those who understand are terrified of what might come next.”

“I certainly hope you’re right. Maybe they’ll knuckle under and accept their fates as citizens of Milcom’s regime.”

“They’ll never accept it! All their lives, Epagael has been the center of their faith. You can’t expect them to abandon Him in three short years.”

He laughed softly, gazing at the amber waves washing his glass as he swirled the sherry. “Not only do I expect it, I demand it.”

“And what does the Mashiah demand?”

Ornias blinked contemplatively, disturbed by her haughty tone. Not only that, discussing Adom gave him a stomachache. “He demands whatever I tell him to.”

“Where is he?”

Ornias glanced across the room at her, seeing her shoulders tighten, her beautiful face alight with hope. She looked like a proud black goddess against the background of gray stone wall.

“Does it matter? He’s a weak man, Shassy. I assure you Adom could care less how I run the domestic affairs of Horeb. Did you think he might order the rebels saved?”

“I just hadn’t seen him in a few days and I wondered where he was. That’s all.” She stared hard at the floor, hopes dashed.

“Adom is indisposed and will be for another week, I suspect. Milcom called him suddenly.” He burst into laughter, throwing his head back and letting the mirth shake his shoulders. Adom—such a prize.

“You make fun of his God?”

“Fun? No. I take Milcom very seriously. Just like I do every other god that influences the behavior of people. The human mind is a remarkably malleable thing. Contour a perspective here, twist an arm there, and you can build an empire based on the right kind of god. History proves that and I’m an ardent student of history.”

“You don’t believe in Milcom?”

“I believe in Milcom’s
power.
And I deeply appreciate what it’s done for me.” He motioned to the magnificent bedchamber with its rich satins and velvets, then let his gaze linger on the way her robe clung to her flat belly and accented the swell of her breasts. Yes, she understood. He saw it in her suddenly downcast eyes. Shassy was as much a spoil of his ever-increasing power as were the
things
of his reign.

“That’s blasphemous.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I hope God strikes you dead for it.”

He took another long sip of his sherry, watching her over the rim of his faceted goblet. “And for lots of other things, I imagine. Well, I sincerely doubt it will happen, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“My hopes are all I have left.”

“Oh, Shassy,” he chastised irritably. Finishing his sherry, he set the goblet on the mantle and eyed her askance. “You, of all people, know what I mean. Admit it, you’d love to have my power. With it, you could make enough money to bribe whoever you’d like. Then your husband wouldn’t have to sell you for—”

“I’d—
we’d
never use power the way you do, to torture and starve. We’d use it for good things.” She turned away from him to stare at the elegant red velvet and pearl satin spread over his bed.

He laughed shortly, demanding, “Look at me, Shassy.”

When she refused, anger rose in him. He strode quickly across the room, put a hand beneath her chin and twisted so he could see her face. Her dark eyes flamed. “I can tell you don’t want to talk about your husband, but let me remind you of one thing before we close this discussion. I didn’t kill him, did I? And I very well could have. Instead, I made a bargain. A harsh one, I agree, but necessary if I’m ever to get off this barren rock and establish the religion of Milcom—”

“Don’t be a hypocrite!” She shoved his hand away, pacing with the lithe grace of a tiger. Her blue robe shimmered in the firelight. “You don’t care any more about Milcom than we do. All you care about is profit.
We’re
interested in the survival of Gamant culture. And we’ve had to bargain with the likes of you to secure it.”

“Ah, careful,” he said, waggling a finger. “You’re not interested in Gamant survival. You’re interested in preserving a series of useless rituals and preposterous beliefs. There’s a
big
difference. Your attempts at preservation may well be counterproductive to survival.”

“You’re a beast. Using torture and starvation—”

“Torture and starvation are powerful keys to shaping civilization. Never underestimate their value in the right hands. Besides, my punitive actions are reluctantly taken and then only out of massive pressure from the majority of our populace who hate the rebels’ blaspheming.” He gave her an endearing smile. “I simply hearken to the will of the flock.”

“How can you value human life so little? Have you no conscience?”

“Not if I can help it. It cuts into the profits.”

Her nostrils flared with disgust.
“Mercenary!”

“I’ve been called worse. I—”

“I’m sure you have.”

He laughed uproariously and moved to stand so close beside her that he could smell the floral scent that clung to her clothing. His gaze drifted with satisfaction over her suddenly trembling hands. She tried to lift the tray, but a wine goblet tumbled to the floor, thudding dully on the red rug. She set the tray back on his bedside table and knelt to retrieve the glass.

“Don’t be nervous. You know I can’t stand weakness. Have I ever hurt you?”

She shook her head and straightened with the glass in her hand, tucking it back on the tray, evading his eyes.

“Nor will I. You’re a valuable woman.” He softly caressed her hair, studying the way the curls caught the firelight. “Shassy, I made you my
personal
servant. Remember that. Things could be a lot worse. I could have you assigned to the prison work colony, or thrown you into one of the subterranean cells for murderers and rapists. You’d be just as well-guarded there as you are here.” He gave her a broad smile. “And not nearly so pampered.”

“Pampered,” she spat, clenching her fists.

“I treat you better than the rebels, don’t I?”

“I suppose I should be grateful for that.”

“You certainly should, considering you and your family are of their ranks.”

A swallow bobbed in her throat. “I’d better be going, Councilman,” she said stiffly, recoiling from his touch.

“Do you still have sympathies for the rebels?” he asked in mock curiosity. Of course, she did, but he wanted to hear her say it. “Is that why you’re so touchy tonight? I suppose, given your husband’s political philosophies, that you—”

“I have no sympathy for them.”

“Don’t you? Good. It’s always nice to discover unsuspected things about confidantes.” He lifted a hand to her hair again, stroking it seductively. “And you are my confidante, you know?”

“I’m your prisoner!”

“Yes, but I’ve been trying very hard to make your stay here pleasant. You have privileges no one else does, don’t you? Who else in the palace sees me so vulnerable?” Of course, that was a lie. No one,
ever,
saw him vulnerable. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that way. Perhaps four or five years ago, before coming into his proper station as master of everything important on Horeb.

Shassy picked up the tray again, clutching it to her chest to stabilize it, and tried to push past him to go to the door. “Excuse me, Councilman, I have to—”

He steadfastly blocked her path, smiling. “I don’t think you’ll be going tonight, Shassy.”

“I—I must.” A spark of panic touched her voice. “The palace librarian wanted me to—”

“I’ll send word to him you won’t be coming. He’ll find someone else to do the Mashiah’s research on ancient texts ana—” he waved a hand distastefully “—whatever else Adom ordered you to trifle with before he went into his blasted prayer room.”

Tears welled in Shassy’s eyes. “Not tonight, Ornias, please. I can’t bear—”

“Don’t plead, Shassy. It’s beneath a woman of your status in life. Secret though that status might be.” He took the tray from her hands and set it on the floor. As he rose, he stopped to nibble her breasts, letting his hands caress her thighs. Every muscle in her body went rigid. “Do be more polite this evening, though, will you, darling? It took me nearly a month to heal from your stab wound last time. While I’ve had everything sharp and heavy removed from the room, I suspect you could use a pillow to try and smother me—and I wouldn’t take kindly to that.” He straightened and met her eyes, smiling cruelly. “I might have to break your sweet neck for it.” His hand slid suggestively down her mahogany throat.

“Kill me and you lose everything.”

“Quite true. So, maybe I’ll just—hurt you? Eh?”

Defiantly, she insisted, “I won’t stay. You’ve no right to force me to.”

“Oh, but I’ve every right. I’m the master of Horeb and you are but a tool—”

“The Mashiah is the master of Horeb! He rules, not you.”

“Don’t be a dimwit. The only thing Adom rules is his own bodily functions … and I worry about those sometimes. Besides, where is he now, when all the rebels are crying for him. Hmm? He’s locked away in his prayer room having delusions of the great and mighty Milcom.”

Shassy kicked the tray. Splintering glass exploded. Ornias stepped sideways to avoid the splash of liquids, and Shassy slipped by him, running for the door.

He waited patiently until she’d flung it open, then remarked conversationally, “I’ll just have the guards bring you back, my dear. Would you rather I do that? Shall I offer them a reward for your return? Say—an hour alone with you?”

Hearing her steps stilled, he turned, frowning sympathetically. “Do be sensible. We’re in this together. My goal is inextricably tied with yours.
Freedom
comes at a price.”

She squeezed her eyes closed, lips trembling as she bowed her head. After an eternity of silence, she braced a hand against the door and slowly pushed it closed.

CHAPTER 5

The caves of Kayan formed an intricate labyrinth beneath the lush surface of the planet. Narrow passageways wound for thousands of miles through the hard cinnamon-colored rock. In the darkest depths of the maze existed rooms known only to Zadok.

As he hobbled down the tunnel, he counted the turns. “A hundred and twenty-one.” Rounding it, his lamp lit an even narrower shaft.

If Rathanial had followed his instructions exactly, he should be waiting in the tiny niche Zadok lovingly called the Sanctum. If not, they’d hopefully find him in the next few days, wandering lost and terrified on an upper level. He’d only misplaced one visitor in the past two hundred years. And when he came right down to it that had been good riddance. He’d strongly suspected the man of being a spy from the Magistrates sent to assassinate him, though the fellow had the finest references, of course.