Infinite Day (35 page)

Ethan stared for a moment at where it had stood and then turned to Eliza. “Well, our old friend is happy. You seem less so.”

Eliza rubbed her face wearily. “Eeth, I guess I'm feeling my age.” Then she frowned. “No. It's more than that. I'm troubled. Can't put my finger on it, but I am.”

“Eliza,” Ethan said, trying to restrain himself from expressing his irritation in a way he would regret, “the news today seems to be, on balance, good. We have won a victory. We have been given a great deal of vital information about the threat. What is there to be concerned about?”

She breathed out heavily. “I don't know. Eeth, don't worry. Publicly I'll celebrate with you and Andreas. But privately I have my concerns.” She slapped a hand on the table. “What it is I do not know, but
something
somewhere is wrong.”

13

T
wo days after the meeting between Ethan and Eliza and hundreds of light-years away, Merral was working alone in the room next to the bridge of the
Star
that he had made his office. Staring at a screen, he saw something on the edge of vision and, reconciling himself to some new extra-physical manifestation, turned to see it. In a fraction of a second he realized that the tall, black-coated figure standing in the corner was not one of the creatures from Below-Space. It was the envoy.

Driven by some inexplicable urge, Merral stood up and bowed. As he did, he ran his mind over recent events to see if he could identify anything worthy of reprimand. “I am honored by your presence,” he said.

“Do not honor me.” As ever, the voice seemed to come from somewhere else.

“I honor him who sent you.”

“That is well.”

Merral tried and failed to read any expression in the darkness under the brimmed hat.

“I have a question for you, Merral of Farholme. How in this world of shadows do you know it is the Lord Christ's servant who stands before you? Seeing is not believing.”

“Because you ask that question and because you name the crucified One.”

“A fair answer.” Then the man seemed to open his coat and light slowly fell out, as if it were a liquid. And as it did, color flared back into the room. Merral gazed around in wonder and joy at the reds, yellows, and greens.

“I was forgetting what they looked like. I only see them in dreams.”

The coat closed and the light faded.

“Oh,” said Merral, and he heard the wistfulness in his voice.

“It was a token that I serve the bearer of light to the worlds. I cannot distract you. There are things that must be said and heard.”

“Wait,” Merral said. “I want to thank you. I believe that you must take some of the credit for the relatively peaceful journey.”

“You give credit where it is not entirely due. The peace you have had is not entirely my doing. The Spirit of the Lord always travels with his people. As long as you stay united and watchful, bearing up one another in prayer, the enemy finds you hard to attack.”

“Well, whatever your role, we thank you.”

“I acknowledge that. Now, I have been sent to tell you several things. The first is this: the
Dove of Dawn
has docked at Bannermene. Delastro and Clemant are now in the Assembly.”

“I am glad they are safe there, but I fear the consequences.”

“You do well to fear them, and if—and when—you complete what you have come to do, you must make haste to get to Earth. They have brought a great evil with them, and a terrible deed has been done.” Merral recognized a strange sadness in the stony voice.

“I am sorry to hear it. What? Have many people been killed?”

“No, only one. But evil is not fully expressed by statistics.”

“I suppose not.”

“Now let me give you some advice. Where you are going, you will meet the enemy's forces. Here I am to urge you to both caution and courage. You will meet those whom it would be a sin to kill. But you will also meet those whom it would be a sin to spare. Be careful in how you wield—or sheathe—the knife.”

“Do you have the power to help us?”

“The power, yes. The authority, no. The two are very different. Remember the lessons you have been taught. I cannot intervene as I will. The Most Blessed has set rules that even he himself must abide by. Indeed, you may not see me for some time, although I will be busy. Yet be assured: if the lord-emperor breaks the rules, then as at Farholme, I will be able to act.”

There was a silence and Merral, emboldened by the absence of a rebuke, spoke. “I have some questions.”

“Ask.”

“You speak of the future as if it is uncertain. Is that indeed the case? Does the Lord know what happens?”

The head shook. “I marvel at your ignorance, which verges on blasphemy. He is the great I AM, the Eternal One who stands outside the fields of time. And if he didn't know the future, in what sense would he be Lord?”

“True. But . . . why does he not reveal what will happen?”

“Because your race cannot handle being told about the future. Such knowledge brings either fear or apathy.”

“I need to think about that. And those we are seeking to rescue—are they all safe?”

“Safe?” With the words came something that might have been a laugh. “None of them—and none of you—are safe. None of your race can find true safety outside the Father's house. Of those taken from Farholme, I can only say that, at this moment, all live, although some are in danger.”

“Of death?”

“There are greater perils than death.”

“True.” As he spoke, Merral remembered something that had been troubling him. “Another question: we have a plan to rescue our people, but it will involve us in a deception. Is that . . . permissible?”

“You are wise to be wary. Deception must be a last resort. Lies multiply. But here, and against these people, yes. There are those who have denied the truth for so long that they have forfeited the right to hear it.”

“Thank you. One more question: this world—Below-Space—this grayness . . . Tell me more about it.”

“I will tell you as much as you can know now, but be warned: this is not the full story of the gray realms. Your race has always known of this place. It was never meant for men and women, but many have entered it on death. Indeed, some have sought this place—and found it—even while they lived. This is the edge of the terrible shadow where light and hope do not come.”

“So is this hell?”

“No. These gray realms are the borders of hell. And were the serpent to win, then these gray lands—and worse—would spread everywhere and last for all time. There would be only an eternal and joyless night.”

“But he won't win.”

“That is the voice of faith. Keep holding on to it.”

“Please, when the Lamb triumphs, what happens to these worlds? Will they be destroyed?”

Merral heard something that might have been a sad sigh. “There are those whose hatred of the Lamb and the light is so deep that they will flee anywhere to escape him. To escape from the infinite day they will even flee to the darkness of hell. For them, these lands will remain.”

“I see. I have other questions.”

“That is enough. Now, I have three warnings, and as commander, you must bear their weight. The first is this: You will shortly be arriving at the heart of the Dominion, and here you must be prepared for things to go other than as you planned. Whatever happens, do not lose your nerve. Yet with that warning comes a promise: you will be offered a door of opportunity that, if you are brave and daring, you may enter. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”
Understanding may be the easy bit
.

“The second warning is this: There will almost certainly be fighting. In that case it is likely that you will suffer casualties. But remember it is better to die rightly than live wrongly.”

“Aah, I see.”
We are going to take casualties
.

“The third warning is strictly private. It is this: The road you will have to take may be one that is hard indeed. It will be a way as dark as you can bear, and maybe more. You will have to take it alone.”

Foreboding seized Merral. “Is that . . . what you said to Perena?”

“No two people walk the same path.”

“But you mean . . . death?”

“I cannot say, but in these days, no one who shuns death can truly live.”

There was silence for a moment before the envoy continued. “My warnings are ended.”

“I cannot welcome this.”

“I do not ask you to welcome it; I ask you to accept it.”

The room seemed to shift, as if reality had flickered, and he was gone.

Merral considered what he had heard and passed on what he felt he could to Vero and Luke. However, when he addressed the soldiers, he warned them without explanation that if they had to shoot to kill, then they should do so without hesitation.

Not a single person bothered to express any concern over the instruction.

We have come a long way from Fallambet; but is it for the better?

In his room Vero turned to his files on the founder of the sentinels and once more called up “Adlen's Testament.” He read it through again but paused toward the end when the founder of the sentinels mentioned the War of the Rebellion for the last time.

I had hard decisions to make about what happened at Centauri. I have sometimes been asked whether I think anything of Jannafy's enterprise survived. If I was going to say anything more, I would say it here. I wish the sentinels well. I have done what I can to set them up and start them off. The way ahead is unknown and I leave them in the safe hands of the Almighty.

Moshe Adlen

Vero stared at it.
If I was going to say anything more, I would say it here
.

“I wonder,” he said aloud.

He checked on the document background and found that it was stored in the Library of the Sentinel College, Jerusalem.

One day, God willing, I will look at it. But there's nothing I can do about it now.

Not very far from where “Adlen's Testament” was stored, Eliza Majweske walked as quickly as she could down the long, winding corridors of the Suleiman Building in northern Jerusalem. She was late for the private meeting Ethan had called with Advisor Clemant and Prebendant Delastro, freshly arrived from Bannermene.

An armed guard—there were so many of them now—directed her to a doorway. There she paused for a moment, tried to push her ruffled hair into place with a hand, adjusted her dress, and then knocked.

“Come in!” It was Ethan's voice.

She obeyed and walked into the room. The four men seated there rose. Ethan, his face thin and tired, greeted her with a hug and introduced her to the strangers as “Eliza Majweske, president of the Sentinel Council and an old friend.”

“This is Advisor Lucian Clemant.” The dark-haired man in the black suit bowed slightly and then gave her an odd and rather cursory shake of the hand.