Treasure of Light (The Light Trilogy) (10 page)

Someone asked him a question, but he felt too drained of strength to answer. The attempt brought on nausea. A short time later, lights flashed through his skull. Probes! He recognized the feel, like hot tendrils of wire snaking through his thoughts. His throat had gone too raw to scream. Only a soft groan escaped his lips. Why torture if they had probes? Why? He caught a glimpse of a hideous face:
a gruesomely twisted ruby-eyed demon.
It hovered over him, smiling, teeth bared. Then the pain returned, stunning in its intensity. Someone asked another question. He vomited and vomited. …

After days, he learned a trick to evade them. He reached inside himself, found his soul, and put it in the rocky fortress of the walls of Notre Dame, a place so cold and hard the probes couldn’t reach him there.
Abandon yourself. Leave your body in the cage and just go
….

And he did. He stayed gone for what seemed an eternity. Finally—it seemed years later—he awoke to stare up at the cathedral. Sunrise. Light streamed through the shattered fragments of the rose window that clung to the stone wall, falling in dappled shades of red and pink over his cage. How long had he been captive? A month? Two? Ten? Somewhere in the interim he’d ceased to be a man. All the social conventions that told him how to be human had blown away like dust in the wind. He was an animal—even less than that—a bloody piece of meat to be carved upon at his torturer’s whim.

“Maggie?” he called hoarsely. “Maggie…. Are you all right?”

He battled his bruised body to move his head three inches to look at her cage.

… And in that single moment, all his dreams, all his hopes died. Her emaciated body had gone rigid. Blonde hair cascaded over her face. She’d stretched her arm out of her cage, trying to reach him with her last strength.

And he hadn’t been there.

He gazed blindly at her contorted hand. Rolling over onto his back, he stared at the sky for hours. Days? The sun burned his face and eyes until he barely felt their pain. It seemed as though he lay there in utter stillness endlessly, timelessly.

He heard soft footsteps in the grass—and turned.

The demon had returned.

It crouched outside his cage, smiling in. Tahn pulled himself up, sliding back, away from it. “What are you?” he questioned disbelievingly. “Are you some Pegasan creature?”

The demon’s ruby eyes flared like fiery pits in its grotesque face. “Pegasan? No.” It laughed a laugh that made Tahn’s blood run cold. “I’m Nabrat. Naar sent me to prepare you for Moriah.”

“Who’s Naar? What’s Moriah?”

The demon smiled; it crawled inside the cage and lunged at him. He fought, but the beast wouldn’t let him go. They wrestled, trying to tear each other to pieces, screaming, crying. Waves of pain accompanied each battle. But in the background of their cries, he heard the crackle of dry weeds rustling in the cold winds of winter. Rustling and rustling, growing coated with frost, then covered with snow—and still the demon refused to leave.

Sometimes … sometimes they just sat on opposite sides of the cage and stared at each other for hours. The hideous creature’s ruby-colored eyes glistened more wildly at those moments and it smiled. Then without warning, the demon would lunge at him again and they’d grapple with each other for days and weeks without end. Pain … so much pain….

Images swirled again, coming close and speeding away. Colors spun a rainbow of shapes … he heard Maggie’s voice … and he tried to reach for her….

Unaware, his arms flailed and he knocked over the pitcher of water sitting on his bedside table. The splash across his face brought him half-awake. He shook himself out of the nightmare. His head ached so violently, it incapacitated him.

“You’re … on …
Hoyer.”

Through blurry, half-lidded eyes, he struggled to make out any feature of his cabin. Only one item caught and held his wavering vision. The dim glow of the light panels glimmered from the transparent case mounted on the wall at the foot of his bed. He saw woolly patches of medals and ribbons—decorations for valor.

Bile rose into his throat as memories of the landing bay and Baruch swelled. Weakly, Cole Tahn lifted an arm and draped it over his eyes—blocking the vision of those colorful bits of metal and cloth. By now his crew would be going mad, wondering if he’d ever be all right, blaming him for losing the ship. Anxiety twisted in his stomach.
I have to do something. They need me.
He tried to push up on his elbows, but he fell back to the sheets, images whirling again, Maggie’s tormented screams echoing in his ears….

CHAPTER 7

The 4th of Tishri, 5414. Capital city of Tikkun, Derow.

The soft pearlescent gleam of dawn played over the streets of rough-cut stone, glimmering like frost from the marble window sills of apartment buildings. A chill barley-scented wind wound through the city.

Jasper Jacoby stopped at an intersection, watching four children race across the road in front of autos to catch a purple bus for school. They shoved one another playfully, crowding onto the steps. As the bus eased back into traffic, it belched a dark, foul-smelling puff of smoke into the air around Jasper.

“Damned buses. I hate them.” He waved his hand in front of his face, coughing expressively. A few people looked up from their newspapers to stare. The streets bustled this Thursday morning, business people striding quickly to and fro on the sidewalks. Jasper straightened the knotted ends of the blue babushka he wore beneath his gray derby and looked both ways before dodging into the crosswalk. It was an old woman’s trick, the babushka, to cut the wind, but he’d turned three hundred last month and felt no compunction to prove his masculinity when he might catch a dreadful cold as a result. Besides, the silver star dangling from the pocket of his red shirt proved his manliness to anyone with a shred of sense. He’d fought in the last Gamant Revolt, right alongside the legendary Zadok Calas.

Jasper crossed the street and turned down an alley, plodding steadily. He passed in and out of the shadows of buildings. He had to get to the square outside the Fine Arts building before all the best seats were gone. Every Thursday, the senior centers emptied out, people flooding into the square to resolve the galaxy’s greatest problems. Jasper had no intention of missing today’s discussions, not after the frightening events of yesterday.

As he rounded the final turn, he shielded his eyes from the glare of the slanting morning sunlight and surveyed the benches. Over a dozen people had already seated themselves. On the far side, he spied Chaim Losacko and nodded to himself. That’s the bench he wanted today. Chaim had an illegal dattran receiver in his basement. He’d know what was going on.

When Losacko saw Jasper striding purposefully toward him, he lifted a hand in greeting. Chaim looked more frail than the last time Jasper had seen him a month ago. A withered stalk of a man, wisps of gray hair clung to his bald head, fluttering in the cool breeze. Short and stooped, Losacko had eyes the color of dead grass. A large fleshy nose hooked over his brown lips. He’d dressed stylishly today, wearing a lavender leisure suit and purple ascot.

“Chaim, how the hell are you?” Jasper asked as he gingerly lowered himself to the bench. Mist from the fountain in front of the Arts building chilled his face as the wind changed.

“I’m doing great. I took the long way around to avoid Mildred’s sharp tongue.”

Jasper looked over his shoulder surreptitiously. “Is she here? I saw her downtown earlier and she tried to fasten onto me, but I took fifteen back ways and lost her.”

“Sure, she’s here.” Chaim pointed to the other side of the square where a nest of women chattered. “First thing she did was ask me if I’d seen you. I guess she’s pretty taken by your charms.”

“What a curse.”

Chaim snorted a laugh and for a time they just watched the parade of people rushing by on the street. In the distance, they could see fields of ripe golden grain rippling beneath the caressing fingers of wind. Jasper’s grandson, Pavel, worked as a botanist in the government labs, developing better plant strains. He wondered idly if Pavel had anything to do with this year’s wonderful barley crop. Not that it mattered, that’s what he’d tell his friends anyway.

Chaim shifted, groaning softly, to drape an arm over the back of the bench. “How’s your son, Toca?”

“He’s worried about me. He wants me to come live with him.”

“You’re not going to, are you? He’s going to get himself in trouble someday soon. Mildred told me he’s been holding illegal religious rituals in his basement.”

“Of course!” Jasper growled. “He’s been a Rev on Tikkun for sixty years. What do you think, eh? That he’s going to stop now just because the damned Magistrates closed all the temples and made our rituals against the law? Bah! He’ll never get caught. He’s too smart.”

Jasper eyed Chaim hostilely.

“Don’t look at me that way,” Losacko warned. “I know what I’m talking about. You should come over tonight and listen to my dattran machine.”

“Yeah? What’s it saying?”

Nervously, Chaim looked over his shoulders and wet his withered lips, leaning closer to whisper, “The Magistrates scorched Kayan.”

“What?”

“Sure, I got that news straight from a battle cruiser called the
Jataka.
It was only a level two attack, but—”

“Level two? They wiped all the known population centers? What for?”

Chaim shrugged and cautiously looked around again. “I caught a bunch of different snatches on the seventh dimension band. It looks like
our people
revolted because they thought the Magistrates killed old Zadok.”

Jasper frowned. Most citizens whispered when they said “our people,” or “True Gamant.” Though Tikkun acknowledged itself as a Gamant world, so many government military and educational offices existed that the numbers of native population had slipped below that of the Magisterial personnel. They had to be careful what they said in public. Already acts of rebellion stirred across the planet, Baruch’s secret Underground forces attacking military targets.

“Our people,”
Jasper enunciated proudly. He threw out his bony chest as Chaim cringed, “were probably just trying to protect themselves. Goddamned Magistrates!”

Losacko blinked nervously, then leaned back and pulled open the jacket of his leisure suit to scratch his stomach. As the sun rose higher, the day warmed pleasantly and the scent of ripe barley grew stronger. Jasper untied his babushka and took it off, tucking it into his pocket before putting his derby back on.

“You better watch out, Jasper. Nobody’s safe anymore. Just look what happened to Wexler’s store—and Cavage’s factory.”

“I’m too old to worry about being ‘corrected.’ I haven’t got any brain left anyway.” But unease crept up around his heart. The square had filled; people shouted and waved arms as they talked. Laughter filtered through the crowd. Life went on as usual, though two Gamant businesses had been burned to the ground yesterday. Eyewitnesses claimed Magisterial officers stood by and watched the blazes until the flames consumed every shred of the properties. And strange holograms had begun to appear throughout the city, caricatures of elderly Gamants, showing long noses and slit eyes.

“I think maybe the Magistrates are punishing us for what the Gamants on Kayan did. They …”

Losacko stopped abruptly as a young dark-haired man strode casually over to stand nearby. Dressed in a formfitting synthetic suit, he opened a book and pretended to read.

“Assimilant,” Chaim whispered.

Jasper nodded. Assimilants were those who’d willingly abandoned their Gamant heritage for rewards from the government. They were dangerous.

“Serpents we’ve nursed at our bosoms,” Jasper hissed.

“Where’s your heart? You should feel sorry for them.”

“What for?”

“Don’t you see? They aren’t worthy of their heritage. Truth is like a great stone. These poor-spirited creatures are too small and frail to bear up under the burden of it. They can’t carry the Covenant. You and I have to do it for them.”

“Bah!” Jasper spat quietly. “Anybody who can’t bear the Covenant by himself doesn’t deserve its blessings!”

“I’m glad our forefathers didn’t think like you. If they’d abandoned the people every time they strayed, none of us would be here now. Where’s your kindness?”

“Don’t preach at me, you old fanatic.” Jasper shook a fist.

“Calm down, Jacoby. Didn’t your doctor tell you not to get excited? How’s your heart? Does it hurt? Maybe you should take one of those baby-shit green pills he dishes out to you.”

Jasper opened his mouth to say something viperous, but stopped. The young Assimilant scowled openly at them. In response, Jasper reached down to stroke the cool silver medal on his chest. He scowled back.

Losacko heaved a disgruntled sigh and looked sideways at both of them, then he grunted and got to his feet. “Well, Jacoby, it’s been nice seeing you again. Come around next week. We’ll talk some more.”

He gave Jasper a worried look as he hobbled away toward the busy street below. A traffic jam crowded the intersection. People honked horns in irritation. Jasper watched Chaim go, then studied the two commuter buses stuck in the crosswalk. On the side of one of them a green and red hologram glared. An elderly Gamant woman with straggly hair and beady eyes held up the sacred triangle of the faith, sucking it like a baby’s bottle.