Infinite Day (55 page)

Something disturbed the stillness of the air in the room.

Azeras was suddenly aware, with a terrible sureness, that he was no longer alone. He swallowed, his mouth dry, and as he tried to think what to do, he continued to stare at the screen.

Whatever it is, it's behind me. At the rear. How did it get in?

Carefully trying not to reveal that he was aware of the intruder, he put the mug down on the table and slowly reached inside his tunic for his gun. Then he braced his foot against the floor.

Now!

He spun round on the chair and swung the gun up.

At the rear of the cabin, in front of the wallscreen image of a beach scene, stood a figure.

Over the sights, he saw it was human, or at least had taken human form. It was a tall, dark-garbed man, his face hidden in darkness beneath a strange, wide-brimmed hat.

“Who are you?”
Is it this envoy?

“You know who I am.”

Yes, I do
. “You are the one that . . . visited
them
.”

“Indeed. So you know that the gun is no use.”

Azeras put the pistol down on the table.

“What do you want with
me
? I think
they
need help.” He motioned at the screen.

“Yes. They do.” Azeras sensed no haste in the words.

“Then why have you come to me?”

“You appealed to my Master for help. For them and you.”

“Yes. I did.”

“Time is running out.”

“For who?”

“For you. For them. For everyone. You need to make a choice. You have rejected what you call ‘the powers.'”

“Yes.”

“But it is not enough to reject the dark. There are only two sides. The mistake of the True Freeborn—and others before—was always to imagine there might be a third possibility. There is none. You must accept the light. Do you want that?”

“I want . . .” His voice ebbed away in indecision.

“What
do
you want?”

“I want to be left alone.”

“There is a place where those who so wish can be alone forever. Men call it hell.”

“So am I doomed to go there?”

“Men doom themselves. What do you want?”

He pointed at the sapphire water and blue sky with fluffy clouds on the wallscreen. “Just that. I just want a beach. I want blue skies . . . and clear water. And waves. Like at Farholme. A beach that goes on forever.”
I'm babbling.

“Accept the One who is the true light, and you will get your beach . . . or something better.”

“My choices then are to either run or to obey . . . obey
him
? Just those?”

“Two choices are enough.”

“To obey him would mean . . .
what
?”

“It would mean making a hard decision. A battle vessel approaches that is going to attempt to block the
Sacrifice
leaving by hovering above. By emerging from Below-Space now and accelerating toward it, you will be able to let the
Sacrifice
escape.”

“Oh, yes. That's going to be a very interesting maneuver. A freighter? A last-minute, 5- or 6-G swerve? Very likely. The hull could easily give.” He paused. “Will I succeed?”

“The future is not given to me to know.” There was a reflective silence. “Or at least, not clearly. You may be able to swing this vessel past and escape. Just. But it is likely that you will not succeed.”

“I see. In other words, I may die. So that they will live.”

“That is an adequate summary.”

“It's hardly an attractive one.”

“I understand. But if it were the other way around, they would do it for you.”

“Yes. I have come to realize that.” The words came slow. “I do not understand it, but I appreciate it. I'm not sure I want to imitate it.”

“If you are to act, you must act now.”

The figure vanished.

Azeras was left staring at the rear wall with its great expanse of sea and sand.

He heard himself sigh.

However far you run, sooner or later death catches up with you.

Far, far away, Jorgio was about to start work in the garden at Ragili's Homestead. He wore a thin jacket; the winds out of the north were starting to blow and the autumn's heat was waning. Jorgio gazed up at the sky, trying to predict the weather. In Ynysmant he would have known better what was in store, but here at Isterrane, the presence of the sea made things far more uncertain. He decided that the thin, torn clouds in the pale blue sky promised no immediate storms and, pulling out his cutters, began snipping away at the vines. He would do the proper pruning in a month's time, but with the grapes gone there was much to tidy up. As Jorgio worked, he whistled in a rather off-key way a hymn to the greatness and goodness of the Lord who is the Three-in-One.

Without warning, he shivered. He stood up slowly
. I do most things slowly these days. But what made me shiver? Has the wind suddenly increased? No. Has a cloud crossed the sun? No. Yet it feels like both
.

The answer came to him with a quiet assurance.
Merral and the others are in trouble.

He put the cutters away in his pocket with slow care, walked to a nearby seat, and sat down heavily. He had prayed morning and evening every day for them all, but he was certain that they now needed his prayers in a special way. So he prayed, mixing borrowed words and phrases with his own.

Blessed One, who took on flesh, give his flesh strength. Lord! Keep him going. Give power to his arm. Be his sword!

King of All, who became man and knows our weaknesses, protect him. Lord! You be with him and act as his armor and as his shield.

Eternal One, who defeated the worst and most powerful of the powers by dying in shame and pain and then rising, give him victory. Lord! Let him win and win well.

And as he prayed in this vein, Jorgio felt that he was having to grapple with nameless and formless evils that swooped around him and threatened to distract his mind and frustrate his prayers. And he pushed them away, naming them and even ridiculing them until they fled and he was left alone.

Then, aware that he was covered in sweat, he ended his prayer.
At least, Lord, that's what I pray. But if what I want ain't what you want, then I pray you'll bring them safe back to their eternal home with you
.

Down on the floor of the Vault of the Final Emblem, Isabella had decided that she was about to die. The last few days had seen her hope chiseled away by a number of blows. The first had been Lezaroth's sudden refusal to see her and the second had been the brutality with which they had been herded—and
herded
was the word—out of the ship. The last and most devastating blow had been this monstrous, overbearing hall. The immense dome hanging a hundred meters above, the weird pipes, the serried clifflike black walls, the gloom, and the great banner with the shifting symbol that hurt the eyes—all seemed to speak of death, not life. Here any remaining hope had utterly failed her.

I am on my own; they have all deserted or betrayed me
. The thought came in a flame of bitterness and anger.
I was betrayed first on Farholme by Merral, then by the ambassadors, then by Lezaroth. He manipulated me and all he wanted was to find out more. I could have done so much, but I have been betrayed
.

Now even her colleagues had deserted her. She looked about her to see little pathetic huddles clinging to each other. Some were praying.

Should I not pray? If death looms, should I not be preparing for it?

She didn't want to pray.
I am too angry to pray. And doesn't prayer require forgiveness? I am in no mood for that! I have been betrayed.

Isabella remembered the teaching that facing death, you had peace and security and the joy of knowing you would soon be with the Lord. It came back to her as a childhood fancy.

No, I don't feel anything of that. I don't even want to feel that. I am just angry. I have been cheated.

A wave of massive, almost deafening fanfares of harsh, elemental sounds broke around her. Isabella recognized in the sounds—it could hardly be called music—something that matched the brutal and massive quality of the architecture.

Her attention grabbed by the noise, Isabella looked up. She noticed for the first time that ahead and above her, just below the great banner, there was an elevated podium and on it a high-backed, dark throne.

As if from nowhere, a man appeared there. He was too high and far away to make out any details, but she knew it was the lord-emperor.

The discordant fanfare ended and the man sat down on the throne. As her stomach writhed, Isabella knew what he was going to say.

He is going to announce my death.

Merral was arranging things with Vero and Luke when he heard muffled sounds echoing through the door.

“Slee, can you get us sound?”

The man tapped the screen and a blast of brutal noise sounded from the screen.
A fanfare of sorts: the lord-emperor is arriving
.

“Thanks. We'd better act!” Merral motioned the team to him. As they gathered, Merral caught Vero by the hand. “We have come a long way together.” The words seem to stick in his throat. “And, Vero, whatever happens, you have to get back to Earth. I fear the damage that Delastro and Clemant can do.”

Vero, his eyes suddenly moist, nodded and wordlessly returned the hand grasp.

With the entire team clustered around him, Merral spoke rapidly. “This is the plan. When we open the door, I'll go forward to the center. The rest of you, file in along the edges. Don't fire unless ordered or fired upon. I hope to get the hostages released. If I do, get them out. Now this is important: getting everybody back to the ship is the priority. I hope to follow. But I can give you no guarantees.”

He saw looks of dismay. “Ilyas, if I'm not with you, take over. On the way out, put those charges by the control command center and detonate them to give you cover. Make sure everyone has a sword. These are commands. Now, Lloyd, I need to talk briefly with you. Then you, Anya.”

Merral and Lloyd stepped aside and Merral felt his aide peer down at him. “Sir, I want to stand there with you. It's my job.”

“Sergeant, thanks, but no. If I felt it would do any good, I would let you.”

“Sir, I've got the flag.”

“So you said.” Merral paused. “Oh, well, a gesture never hurt. Come as standard bearer. But when I tell you to leave, you must.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Ilyas moved among the team, quietly giving orders in his low gruff voice, Merral turned to Anya. Her face, framed by the helmet, was as pale as ice.

“There is a lot I could say,” he began, “but this isn't the time or place.”

“It never is, is it?”

“There's been a war on. . . .” He tried to smile.