Treasure of Light (The Light Trilogy) (11 page)

Jasper glowered at the ugly Assimilant.

Mikael woke panting from a terrible dream. In it, people ran, screaming, trying to get away from something—but he didn’t know what. He’d hidden between two big spikes of rock that people in the dream had called the Horns of the Calf. He’d been a lot older in the dream, maybe twenty or so and a pretty woman had been with him. She’d had long curly brown hair and brown eyes. Ships swooped through the yellow skies around them, firing down to kill people.

Mikael lifted a heavy hand to brush black hair out of his eyes. Tiny blue and white lights winked throughout the room. He blinked lazily at them. It was funny. He could almost hear them talking to him, but their voices were too high and soft to make out the words.

“What?” he asked sleepily. “What did you say? I can’t hear you. Is it about the dream?”

The flashes grew brighter, bursting like fireworks—then they died. The room dimmed again. It reminded him of the silver sheet they put over dead people before they buried them. He looked at the shadows for a while, seeing how they pooled in the corners.

He felt so tired. Maybe that nasty drug they’d given him wasn’t working? He groggily rolled over to his side and the
Mea Shearim
that the angel Metatron had given him fell out of his brown robe to lie like a blue marble on the pillow. His people called it a sacred gate to God. His grandfather had worn this one for hundreds and hundreds of years. In his mind, Mikael could see his grandfather’s wrinkled face smiling at him. His heart ached with longing. He had vague memories of hearing his grandfather talk to him just after Captain Tahn and that mean doctor had left. What had his grandfather said? Something about a man named Jeremiel Baruch coming aboard. He was supposed to tell Mister Baruch something … but he couldn’t remember exactly what.

He snaked a finger up to touch first the golden chain of his
Mea,
then the ball itself. In a brilliant flash of light, a blue gleam like fire spread over his walls.

“Mikael,”
his grandfather said in a soothing voice.
“You go to sleep now. Don’t worry about the dreams.”

“Can you make them go away, Grandpa?”

“Yes, for a while
—
then we have to talk more about Mister Baruch and the coming of the Antimashiah. But for now, close your eyes, grandson. That’s it. Good. Sleep … sleep
…”

Mikael heaved a deep sigh and rolled over onto his back again. He felt floaty, like he wasn’t really in his cabin. He started dreaming again, and found himself lying on the floor of his bedchamber on Kayan, wrestling with his grandfather, laughing. In the golden light of the oil lamps, he could see his mother’s round face where she sat on his bed. She gazed at him with love in her eyes and Mikael thought his heart would burst from the happiness….

“Grandpa?” he asked so softly he could barely hear himself. “Can I stay home for a long time? I’m pretty lonely here on this big ship.”

“As long as you need to, Mikael. I’ll stand guard to keep the other dreams away.”

“Thanks … Grandpa.”

He fell into a deep, deep sleep.

CHAPTER 8

Rachel stood anxiously at the portal and watched the
Hoyer
loom closer. She’d showered and dressed in a tan jumpsuit she’d found on board. Damp black hair draped in waves to her waist, accenting the unnatural paleness of her olive skin. She could see dozens of ships, shimmering like white and black beetles against the background of sunlight that washed space. Most waited in line behind her ship, but some edged in from the side trying to squeeze ahead.

It amazed and frightened her. She’d lived her entire life on a backward planet at the edge of the galaxy. As a result, she had only a bare understanding of technology. What she could see, she could understand almost immediately. Rifles came second nature to her, regardless of fancy gadgetry or sophistication, but invisible things still baffled her: shields, EM restraints, “Uncertainty Principle” wizardry such as the engines that powered these ships.

She edged closer to the portal, studying the planet whirling below. Only the polar caps still lay untouched by the runaway fires and devastation. A roiling band of maroon clouds coiled around the central regions like a great deadly serpent.

“So that’s what a scorch attack does,” she whispered. She’d heard about such attacks on other Gamant planets, but had never grasped the awesome magnitude. The drought on Horeb had been so bad that the dry vegetation covering the deserts must have ignited instantly.

She forced herself to look away, turning to the dimly lit room. Her heart ached for a home that no longer existed, and for her daughter. It was such a painful longing, she felt if she stayed another moment on this starkly lit
samael
her soul would waste away to nothingness. She needed the warmth of candlelight and the calming salve of her daughter Sybil’s love to ease her inner anguish.

For hours, her tired mind had gone round and round the same deeply graven circle of confusing thoughts. Aktariel…

“No,” she whispered harshly to herself. “Not now. Wait until you can stand it.”

She couldn’t allow herself to think about Aktariel or Adom just now or she’d fall into a million …

A soft creak sounded behind her and she whirled breathlessly, expecting Aktariel to materialize out of nothing. Only a silent white room met her searching gaze. So often, now, she imagined hearing the soft rustle of a long velvet cloak. Her heart hammered at such moments. She found herself always waiting for him, as though she stood in an enormous palace with thousands of rooms and he toiled just on the other side of the wall. At every small noise she strained to hear the sound of his too-silent footfalls coming for her.

She gripped the fabric at her throat, trying to calm her breathing.

“Miss Eloel?”

The tall copilot, Emil Bakon, peered around the open door. He had a swarthy face and eyes as black as coal. Dressed in the gray uniform of one of Adom’s palace guards, he cut a debonair figure that sent a violent ache through her. Was he still loyal to the Mashiah? Did he know she’d murdered Adom?

“Yes?”

“We’re going in soon. Jeremiel sent word that he’ll meet you in the landing bay. Could you strap in, please? Just hit the blue patch on the arm of the chair.”

“Yes, of course.”

He nodded and disappeared into the command cabin. Rachel went to a seat. Hitting the button, she felt the restraints pull tight around her like a curious tingling net.

She closed her eyes against the foreign feelings it stirred.

The cramped admin room outside of Engineering smelled of sweat and stale coffee. Yosef Calas smoothed a hand over his bald head and gazed at the guard who lounged over a long white console reading a technical manual, then he looked around the half-moon shaped cabin. Computer screens covered the walls of the small, efficiently organized room. They displayed information in a variety of colors. Through the rectangular portal, Yosef could see dozens of ships lining up to debark into the
Hoyer.
The bays were already packed. Where in God’s name would they put them? In the background, stars glistened like melancholy diamonds in an onyx sea.

Yosef pursed his withered lips worriedly. Short, bald, and over three hundred years of age, he felt worn and hollow. He pushed back a short distance from the table and gazed at the tired little girl in front of him.

“It’s your move, Sybil.”

The eight-year-old heaved a breath and frowned at the tri-level checkerboard. A beautiful olive-skinned child, she had a perfect oval face with a button nose and huge brown eyes. Mahogany curls clung to her forehead and dropped to her shoulders. She fidgeted nervously. Yosef knew why. She missed her mother so terribly she could barely stand it. That’s why he’d asked her to play with him, to take her mind off Rachel’s continued absence.

“I don’t know where to move, Yosef.” She wiped sweaty palms on her blue robe.

“You’re just tired, Sybil. Would you rather take a nap?”

“No. I—I have bad dreams when I close my eyes.”

“Do you want to talk about them?”

She shrugged. He’d tried to get her to discuss her dreams for hours, hoping he could defuse their insidious terror, but she refused. Yosef cocked his head sympathetically, studying the way her young mouth quivered. Were her dreams about the death of her father? Sybil had told him in great detail about that horrifying day in the temple when the Mashiah’s guards burst through the doors and opened fire, strafing the temple with beams of violet, killing men, women, and children indiscriminately. She and her mother had escaped only to be captured by Ornias and confined with a thousand other people in a tiny square where they stood for three days without food or water. On the third day, the guards opened fire, burying Rachel and Sybil beneath a mountain of bloody dead. Undoubtedly, the gruesome ordeal had saved their lives—but damned them to horrifying memories.
The stuff of terrifying nightmares.

Sybil moved to three different squares before she ambivalently settled on a new one. “There, Yosef. I guess I’m done.”

He reached across the table and patted her arm gently. “We don’t have to play. Would you like to do something else?”

“No, I just…”

Ari Funk lunged awkwardly into the room waving a pulse pistol. A tall willowy old man in a soiled gray robe, he had a shriveled triangular face tucked inside a gray mop of hair. A broad smile creased his lips.

“Watch this!” he called, shoving the gun in his holster and doing a remarkable fast draw. Yosef jumped backward. The guard, noticing the barrel pointed at his left eye, let out a shrill gasp and dove for the floor. His elbows and knees banged against the wall.

“What’d you think of that?” Ari asked conversationally and grinned like a demented imp.

Yosef scowled and thrust a hand toward the far wall. “You idiot. Put that thing away. Look what you made the guard do!”

Ari blinked at the young man sprawled like a dead spider in the corner. “You were worried, eh?” Pride lit his old face. “Wait till you see what else I learned in that holo library of yours. I’ve been battling those 3-D ghosts for hours.”

With all the dignity he could manage, the guard pulled himself to his feet and straightened his black uniform before throwing Ari a hard look and going back to his technical manual. Under his breath, he murmured, “Crazy old bozon.”

“He’s not crazy,” Yosef defended indignantly. “He’s senile. There’s a
big
difference.”

“Don’t help me, Yosef,” Ari urged.

Heedlessly, Yosef waved a hand at the guard. “Just wait until you’re three hundred and seventeen. You’ll find things don’t work the way they used to either.”

Ari’s gray eyes jerked wide. “Good God!” He slapped his pistol on the table with a painful clang. “You’re not going to bring up Agnes again, are you?”

Yosef blinked owlishly. “Don’t be stupid. I wouldn’t mention your problems in front of strangers.”

“My problems! Don’t forget I know about the time you took Agnes out on that date to watch the chickadees mate and got het up over all the fluttering.”

“
Will you sit down?
I meant that what’s between your
ears
doesn’t work right!”

Ari’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he took the chair beside Sybil. “You get on my nerves, Yosef, did you know that?”

“You’ve only got one nerve left. A person can’t help but get on it.”

Laughter bubbled up from Sybil’s stomach. “You two are pretty funny.” She had a soft luminous look in her dark eyes, betraying the desperately tired little girl beneath.

“It’s good to see somebody around here has a sense of humor.” Ari leaned across the table to kiss her forehead affectionately. From the very instant they’d met, they’d grown to be fast friends—though why Yosef couldn’t imagine. Ari was the last person he’d suspect of paternal inclinations.

“How come you aren’t sleeping?” Ari pointed a crooked finger reprovingly. “When I left, you said you were going to take a nap.”

Sybil’s smile faded and she stared down at her restlessly twisting hands. “I can’t sleep, Ari. The Mashiah’s face keeps coming.”

“He can’t hurt you anymore, Sybil. He’s dead.”

She gazed up ominously from beneath jet black lashes. “Only in real life.”

“But that’s the only place that counts, sweetheart.” He opened his skinny arms. “Come here. Tell me about these dreams you’re having of another man.”

Sybil slid down from her chair, running to climb into Ari’s lap. She nestled against him, rubbing her cheek over the soft gray silk of his robe. “They’re bad ones. Not
funny
ones, but bad ones.”

Yosef frowned, wondering how “funny” dreams differed from other kinds. Ari spoke softly in her ear, confidentially, and Yosef heard Sybil sniffle and whisper in response. Gradually, their two low voices intertwined, barely audible, and he could tell the little girl’s fears had ebbed. Her tone grew calmer, brighter. Yosef shook his head, amazed that gruff, sharp-edged Ari could speak so kindly to anyone.

“Uh-huh,” Ari whispered. “So he came and floated over your bed?”