Treasure of Light (The Light Trilogy) (34 page)

Metatron’s crystal hand patted his leg gently and for a minute Mikael just watched the movements of those glittery fingers. “Waves like the ocean?”

“Something like that.”

“I used to have funny dreams, too. When I was little, I used to dream that Aktariel came and tried to get me.” Mikael laughed brightly.

The angel inhaled a deep breath and leaned forward to wrap his arms snugly around Mikael. “He won’t hurt you, Mikael.”

“But he might. He’s a very wicked angel who fell from heaven. God says so. In the old books.”

“Well, Epagael has his own perspectives.”

“I guess so. Did you ever know Aktariel, Metatron?”

“Oh, yes. Very well, as a matter of fact. He was the leader of the angels, you know? I worked very closely with him in the beginning.”

“You mean like the beginning when God created the universe?”

“Exactly like that. Do you remember the teachings about how God destroyed the first two universes?”

“Yes. My grandfather told me. All the angels told God those universes were bad. Isn’t that right? Isn’t that what happened?”

For a time Metatron rocked Mikael back and forth in his lap, his golden arms tender and warm—so warm that Mikael started to feel sleepy. He yawned.

“Yes, Mikael. We advised God to destroy the first two. Some angels told him the same thing about the third. But Epagael wouldn’t listen. And that’s why we’re here. What do you think about being here? It’s pretty sad, isn’t it?”

Mikael’s thoughts turned back to his mother and he bit his lower lip, keeping the tears inside. “Sometimes it’s real sad.”

“I know.” Metatron rubbed his back comfortingly. “We’ll make it better soon.”

Mikael’s eyes felt so heavy he let them fall closed. Relaxing, he melted against Metatron, softly kneading the angel’s cloak between his fingers. When he was a baby, he used to have a pillowcase made from one of his mother’s old nightgowns. He kept it with him all the time. He couldn’t sleep if he didn’t have it against his face. This soft cloak made him feel the same way.

In a little while, Mikael felt himself being lifted and quietly carried across the room. His eyes fluttered open a time or two and he saw the door to his bathroom and his desk pass by, then Metatron gently laid him down and covered him up with his gray blanket, tucking the edges around his legs. His mother used to do that. It felt good.

Mostly asleep, Mikael murmured. “Could you sit by me? Just for a little while?”

“I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

Mikael sighed in contentment. Metatron’s warm hand tenderly stroked his hair as he fell deeper asleep.

Almost like an echo in his mind, he heard Metatron whisper, “Maybe we can even talk while you’re asleep. If you want to.”

“Can we do that?”

“Sure, it’s easy. And I sense that even though you’re tired, you’re worried about other things. Are you?”

“Yes, sir.”
Mikael’s thoughts swirled aimlessly for a while, like fluttering flames in the wind. Slowly, a golden fog grew up around him, soft, warm. He floated in it.
“Maybe you could tell me why my grandfather doesn’t talk to me very much. I need to talk to him. I don’t feel so lonely when I can hear him.”

“Oh, it’s mostly because your grandfather is in a place where time works differently. To you it’s been days since you heard his voice, but to him it feels like only seconds ago.”

“Where is Grandfather?”

“He’s in a place called Authades. It’s a dark dark void just on the other side of here.”

“Why can’t he come out?”

“That’s kind of hard to explain. You remember when you went to his funeral?”

Mikael’s chest hurt and he felt tears press against his closed eyelids.
“Yes, sir. It rained that day. It rained and rained.”

“I remember. The forests of Kayan glistened like a veil of rainbows. But, because your grandfather died, he no longer has a receptacle to return to in this universe. If he came through the void the light that composes him, you call it a soul, would just disperse. That means he wouldn’t be Zadok anymore.”

“Who would he be?”

“He wouldn’t be anybody. He just wouldn’t be at all.”

“You mean he’d sort of disappear?”

“Yes, sort of. He wouldn’t be able to talk to you anymore. And God and I need him to talk to you.”

“Sir, could you maybe get him to talk to me more?”

A hesitation, and Mikael felt a curious sense of sorrow and reluctance swirl around him. It made him afraid. But then the feeling vanished and the warm light came back. The fog thickened, shimmering like gold dust in the sun.

“I’ll see what I can do. There are some other angels I know who might be able to help.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m glad you came today. I feel a lot better.”

“Whenever you need me, just call. I’ll come as soon as I can. Sometimes, if I’m far away, it might take a while. But you just keep calling and eventually I’ll come. You sleep now. You’re very tired. Sleep … sleep….”

Mikael let himself go, feeling safe for the first time in what seemed forever. Against his skin, the glittering fog felt as soothing as a velvet blanket left beside the fire. Faintly, he felt the angel kiss his forehead and heard him say, “Yes, we’ll make it better. God wouldn’t listen back then. He’d already seen the spinning patterns of chaos and been drawn into their magnificent beauty. No matter what the angels told him about suffering in this universe, he didn’t care. But He’ll have to pay attention again soon. We’ll
make
him.

“Soon, Mikael.”

Just before Mikael fell asleep, his head started to hurt again,
badly.
He whimpered. Sybil had said it felt like brain poison, but to him it felt like little bugs eating tunnels in his head.

Then it stopped and the golden haze returned, warm and soothing. Mikael slept.

CHAPTER 26

It began as a dream.

Rachel heard the heavy blows of a hammer on an anvil. The sound rang with such rich clarity, she thought at first it was a silver bell. She listened and it grew louder, like the temple chimes of her youth, calling her to worship. Curious, she walked toward it.

She found herself plodding along a narrow dirt path, dressed in a long, coarsely-woven white robe. A great ocean spread to her left, surreally blue and vast. Birds soared through the halo of sunshine. A warm breeze caressed the land, flapping the hem of her robe. Her long hair danced in the gusts. In the distance, she could see a mountain rising, its top rounded as though scoured by the salt-laden sea winds for millennia. Dark green blankets of trees covered the long slopes.

The clanging of the hammer grew so loud she could almost feel its pounding against the air. She crested a hill and plunged down the other side into the narrow streets of a village. An old crone of a woman sat combing wool in front of a mud house. A black and white goat chewed straw at her elbow. The crone cackled and lifted a hand, waving at Rachel as she passed. Down the street, a man yelled ferociously at a great hump-backed beast loaded down with merchant’s goods. The curious animal brayed and tugged against his lead rope, finally resorting to spitting on his master. Rachel laughed long and hard at the look of surprised rage on the man’s hawk-face.

Turning down a shadowed alleyway, she lifted her arms and spun around. A feeling of sheer freedom possessed her. None of the terrible burdens on her soul existed any longer. Whether or not the Magistrates would find and kill her and everyone she loved was an irrelevant question. The Magistrates didn’t exist here. She felt as though she’d stepped out of her own universe and into a sanctuary nestled in the calm heart of space and time. Two-story buildings rose on either side of her. On bars extended out windows, clothes hung drying, waffling in the warm breezes that swept the village.

The savory odors of burning logs and roasting meat met her nostrils. She inhaled deeply and hugged herself.
But this is only a dream, Rachel. Soon you’ll wake up.
She fought the truth by picking up her feet and running like the wind, winding down the hill. Breaking out of the alley, she burst into the bustling environment of a picnic.

A broad plaza spread before her, filled with racing children and barking dogs. Men and women laughed around a long table filled with baskets of fruit and bread. Nearby, the roasting pit glowed. Flames leapt four feet high to taunt the sizzling flesh of three animals on spits. On the far side, in a shaded grove of trees, a tall man lifted a hammer and slammed it down on a red-hot piece of metal. Each clang sent her heart soaring. He’d called her here. Why?

Rachel watched him as she slowly meandered through the crowd. She listened to fragments of conversations she didn’t understand, but the rich guttural quality of the language reminded her vaguely of Gamant. It made her smile. She felt an almost euphoric sense of contentment.
She’d escaped… escaped….

She walked to stand behind the circle of men watching the blacksmith and maneuvered so she could see between two men to watch his crafting. He smiled at her when he noticed her attention. Nudging a man standing next to him, he indicated Rachel with a tilt of his head. The man turned. Tall, with a tanned face and a mass of blond curls, his gaze made Rachel’s heart stand still. In the bright afternoon sun, his deeply set brown eyes shone magnetically warm—eyes that swept her away like the powerful waves of a flood. A gust of wind flattened his tan robe across his broad muscular chest.

She dropped her gaze and started to back away, but the blacksmith’s robust, teasing voice stopped her. She shook her head, “I don’t know your language,” she answered. “I’m sorry.”

The half dozen men in the circle turned to smile at her, talking animatedly among themselves and gesturing toward the tall blond. He made some comment and smiled as though in embarrassment. Backing out of the circle, he gracefully walked over to Rachel. He smelled faintly of crushed spices and desert-scented winds.

He bowed at the waist. “Forgive me, lady. My name is Hasmonaean. My friends here correctly assume that my language is very similar to yours. Though you give your Aramaic a slightly different accent. Where are you from?”

Rachel opened her mouth to answer, then laughed. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”
This is a dream, Rachel. You can tell him anything you want.
She laughed again. Oh, it felt so good to laugh.

He smiled. His gaze caressed her face with an almost breathless anticipation. “Perhaps, if you’ll allow me, I could escort you around our celebration? I’d like to hear your stories.”

“Whether you believe them or not?”

“Oh, belief is all a matter of perspective, isn’t it? You see, I’m not from the Dor vicinity either. I travel a great deal and like hearing stories from different places.”

“Mine might shock you, I’m afraid.”

“Then I look forward to hearing them all the more.”

He offered his arm and she hesitantly accepted it, feeling his hard muscles beneath the tan fabric of his robe. They strolled leisurely across the plaza. A gaggle of children crossed back and forth across their path, weaving in some game. Giggles and shrieks laced the air. He guided her out of the press of people and up a hill into a grove of sweetly scented trees overlooking the plaza. He led her beneath the overhanging boughs of a tree filled with ripe red fruit. Stopping before a wooden barrel propped on a table, he reached for a clay goblet and placed it beneath the spigot, filling his cup with dark maroon liquid.

“The wines here are strong, but they have a wonderful spicy flavor. May I get you some?”

“Yes, thank you.”

He handed her the cup he’d been filling, then filled one for himself. “What is your name?”

“Rachel Eloel.”

“A beautiful name.
Eloel Souel.”

She frowned inquiringly. “What does that mean?”

He shrugged as though wishing he hadn’t said it. “I don’t think anyone really knows anymore. It’s a very old phrase.”

He flashed her one of those charismatic smiles that made her heartbeat quicken, then took her arm again and guided her through the grove. Finally, at the peak of the hill, he sat gracefully on a mat of thick green grass and extended a hand to her. “Come, sit with me.”

Rachel pulled up the hem of her white robe and dropped down beside him, gazing out over the blue ocean that sparkled in the distance. Behind her, sandy hills dotted with trees undulated endlessly. She sipped her wine and tipped her head back to the scented breeze, letting it flood her face.

“You look happy,” he said.

“You can’t imagine. Being here is like paradise.”
No, better.
After all the horrors of her life the past three years, all the weary burdens she’d borne, this simple land of villagers wearing homespun robes and laughing seemed far superior to any of the promised seven heavens. Her thoughts shifted briefly to Epagael and a tired bitterness gripped her heart. She sipped her wine, forcing the thoughts away. When she looked up, she found Hasmonaean studying her taut face anxiously.

“Oh, I think I can imagine. Being in Dor affects me that way, too. Take care though, paradise is rarely what it seems.” He smiled and she had the feeling he’d done it deliberately to cheer her up.