Treasure of Light (The Light Trilogy) (50 page)

He said the words mildly, but they made Pavel shiver. “What have we done to deserve such punishment, Jasper?”

“We’re Gamants. That’s enough.”

“What has humanity come to that we can do this to each other? We’re all
humans,
for God’s sake!”

“Humans have always persecuted each other. They enjoy it. Look at Pleros of Antares. History is full of examples where brutality worked wonders to wipe out opposition and whip up the fury
of patriots.”

Pavel shook his head, wondering how it was possible to convey such contempt in such a virtuous word.

A roar like the wash of the ocean over rocks rose. Pavel looked up and saw the black ships moving, landing here and there. People stood, alarm on their faces. The guards started running.

“Jacoby!” the ugly sergeant cried. “Over here. You’re going with this bunch.”

Pavel gently woke Yael. Picking her up, he rose, offering Jasper a hand. The old man refused it, grunting as he stood and wiped sweaty palms on his black pants. They’d all dressed in their sturdiest everyday clothing. Yael wore blue pants and a red and black plaid shirt. He wore a red shirt and brown pants.

“Are we going, Daddy?” Yael asked, hugging him tightly around the neck.

He kissed her ear. “I think so, baby.”

In the distance, cloud shadows roamed the barley fields, darkening the golden grain with splotches of gray.

“Where to?”

“We don’t know yet. But everything will be all right. Don’t be scared.”

Aunt Sekan came running up as they followed the sergeant. Her green dress bore sweat stains down the front and beneath her arms.

“Jasper?” she asked pathetically, as though on the edge of hysteria. Her eyes looked as stark and wide as Yael’s. “What’s happening?”

Grandpa patted her shoulder gently. “We’re going with this group. That’s all we know. Don’t worry yet.”

She crushed and recrushed the balled handkerchief in her hands as they moved along in the flow of people. About fifteen others were herded with them toward a ship sitting at the far end of the street. Guards with truncheons waited at the doors, striking people indiscriminately, yelling, “Hurry, you filthy Gamants! We don’t have all day to wait on your lazy asses.”

Yael closed her eyes as they neared the doors, burying her face in Pavel’s collar. “Daddy?”

“It’s all right,” he whispered soothingly. “Only a little longer.” Her shallow breathing warmed his cheek.

“Get inside! Damn you! You waste our time dawdling!”

The guard struck Grandpa Jasper on the shoulder. He groaned, lifting his arms to shield his face as he ran up the gangplank. Pavel gripped Sekan’s dress sleeve and dragged her behind him, dodging between people to avoid the beating. She let out a small cry, but came.

A huge white room stretched in an oval around them, people packed wall-to-wall. Mustiness filled the air, a queasy odor of fear and dirt. Somewhere, a man recited the Kedis, tears straining his voice. Pavel silently accompanied him, saying the holy words with all the terrible reverence he could muster.
Are you listening, God?

Buttercup sunlight poured through the round portals, landing in spots of gay color on a hundred faces drawn with terror. Pavel and Yael shuffled back against the far wall. Out the portal behind him, he saw rows of daylilies bordering a family garden. The flowery lanes spread over the earth like lace doilies, accenting the golden stalks of dead corn.

He concentrated on the beauty, the tranquillity.

The doors snapped closed and the ship lifted, shooting away through the warm skies. Pavel rocked Yael in his arms, singing a soft lullaby, but she wouldn’t sleep. She hugged him in a death grip and stared up in grave silence.

He smiled, but his throat ached with the urge to shout at someone. He wanted to strike out, to hurt as he’d been hurt. Where was his father? What would happen to their home? Would the marines separate them, or leave families together.
Dear God, don’t let them separate us! Anything but that.
How long would the torture last? Where was Karyn? Dead? Or was the Underground even now planning their rescue?

Yes, yes, of course. A brief welling of hope calmed him. He let himself drown in it. People shifted, shoving each other to find a comfortable standing position in the cramped ship. Yes, he forced himself to believe. Surely the Underground would come soon, before the marines could hurt them. Baruch and his officers wouldn’t let them suffer at the hands of the Magistrates. They’d come as soon as they could and set them free.

For an hour, Pavel watched the undulating surface of Tikkun flash by beneath the ship, then they started to descend. A barren stretch of the Yaguthian Desert glowed like polished coral in the light of the setting sun. Rocky ridges cast long indigo shadows over the sands.

A man pushed through the crowd, whispering to people, shaking hands, speaking sharply on occasion. Short and thin, he had the lean pointed face of a hungry weasel. Pavel’s stomach muscles went tight as he neared.

His voice rasped like stone against sandpaper. “That’s a nice little girl you’ve got.”

“Thank you.”

“When you get to the camp—
she’s a boy.
You understand?”

“No,” Pavel said, shaking his head in confusion. “She’s a—”

“Fool!
Don’t argue! She’s a boy and she’s under twelve!”

“But, that doesn’t make any sense. Why should we….”

Pavel stopped when Grandpa’s hand tightened on his arm. He turned to stare questioningly. The elder’s withered face shone with grief.

“We understand,” Jasper said softly. “Thank you for telling us.”

The weasel man nodded and glanced sorrowfully at Sekan, shaking his head before hurrying away through the crowd, finding and speaking to others with children.

Pavel frowned, holding Grandpa’s stern gaze. What possible difference could age and sex make for …
work …camps.
… As understanding dawned, Pavel began to shake. He clutched Yael more closely. “Oh, no.”

“What did he mean?” Sekan asked frantically, turning up her tear-bloated face. Red hair dangled in damp curls around her ears. “Jasper?”

“Hurry,” Grandpa said in a gentle voice. He produced a key ring with a tiny pair of scissors on it. “We need to cut Yael’s hair. Maybe if she looks more like a boy, they won’t check.”

“Yes, yes.” Pavel set her on the floor and smoothed brown curls away from her eyes.

“Jasper… ?”

“Shh, Sekan. We’ll discuss it later.”

Yael’s mouth puckered miserably. She looked up at Pavel as though the end of the world had come. Her dark eyes searched his face imploringly. He cursed himself for being such a fool. She couldn’t have missed his terrified voice or trembling. He forced a smile and stroked her side.

“Sweetheart, don’t cry. I was just being silly. All right? You know I act stupid sometimes. Forgive me. Don’t worry.”

“You’re going to cut off my hair?” she asked, fingering her curls. Tears leaked from her eyes and her chest puffed spasmodically.

“Yes, but it will grow back in no time and you’ll be as beautiful as ever. Can you pretend to be a boy? You’ll have to be a lot meaner.”

“You yell at me when I’m mean.”

“I won’t this time. Grandpa, let me have those scissors.”

Jasper handed them over and Pavel quickly cut Yael’s hair very short, leaving bangs over her forehead. When he’d finished, he ruffled her new hairdo and lifted his chin in judgment.

“You’re still beautiful,” he assured. “You look more like Karyn now.”

Yael’s eyes glowed suddenly. She smiled that sweet little girl smile that always melted his heart. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“You’re welcome. Can you remember to say you’re ten, not twelve?”

“I’m ten.”

“And you’re a boy. Remember?”

“Ten and a boy. Yes, I remember.”

“That’s my smart angel.” He grabbed her and hugged her playfully. “Smart and beautiful.”

She giggled, but tears still clung to her lashes. Pavel’s throat constricted. “Don’t worry, baby. I won’t let them hurt you.”

“I love you, Dad.” She patted his cheek and reached out a hand to Jasper. “And you, too, Grandpa—Auntie.”

Jasper took her fingers and kissed them, squeezing them tightly. “You’re my best girl.”

Sekan leaned over and kissed Yael’s forehead.

The ship juddered a little as it set down. When the doors opened, a man outside shouted, “Hurry it up! Come on!”

People flooded out across the vast desert. Pavel looked around at the livid sky behind them, at the tall dark rocks hemming them in on two sides like a prison wall, at the frightened figures stumbling from fatigue on the hot sands. Had he gone crazy? Surely this couldn’t be happening.

The gleam of sunset lay like a sheet of translucent lavender over the hostile faces of a hundred guards. A huge building surrounded by a photon fence sprang from the desert. Ships lined the grounds outside, marines lounging in their cool shadows. Cruel smiles lit their faces.

A scream sounded from behind and Pavel whirled. A guard slammed a rifle butt into a woman’s jaw. She fell to the sands in a heap, blood gushing from her mouth. People started pushing, jabbing Pavel in the side and his injured spine to make him move forward. He gripped Yael’s hand tightly, shuffling through the open gate and into the compound.

“Lord above,” Grandpa whispered at Pavel’s elbow. “What is this place?”

“It—it looks like more than a work camp,” Sekan whimpered. She kneaded Jasper’s sleeve in clammy palms as she looked around.

From inside, the photon shield seemed to rise infinitely into the sky, a wall of gold that sparkled in the fading light. Beautiful. The buildings formed a huge square complex. But strangely, no windows or doors dotted the grayness.

“Attention, Gamants!” Someone shouted from near the front of the mob. “Attention!”

Pavel stood on tip-toe to see over the heads of people. A tall, dignified looking man stood on a platform. He had light brown hair and a drooping mustache. His square face made his dartlike nose seem even sharper. His purple uniform stood out brightly against the background of gray buildings.

“Welcome to Block 10,” he shouted, smiling pleasantly. “I’m Major Lichtner. You are all political prisoners,
troublemakers,
labeled as dangerous by the Galactic Magistrates. That’s why you’re here. Your value to the government rests in your ability to tell us about Gamant thought processes. The Magistrates want to know exactly what it is in your brains that causes such disruptive behavior patterns. As a result…”

Pavel’s knees shook. He couldn’t breathe. He felt Grandpa’s hand on his arm, holding him up.

Sekan looked with dread from Pavel to Jasper. “What … what does he mean?”

“It means Toca may have been the fortunate one,” Jasper whispered.

“Move!” a guard shouted and started jamming his rifle barrel into people’s backs. “Go on! Head toward the booths! Run! Run!”

As they charged forward, they passed a series of enormous translucent bins. At first no one recognized the contents, then a rumble of gasps went up. The mob stumbled over each other, slowing. The dead eyes of thousands of children stared out, noses smashed against the petrolon. cheeks white and bloodless.

All were in their teens. Over twelve?

Pavel’s knees locked. People flooded around him. He stared, unable to pull his gaze away. Tears burned his cheeks. Inside his chest, a violent horror rose.

CHAPTER 38

Rachel stood in the nighttime corridor outside Tahn’s cabin. She felt confused, desperate, her stomach aching. Her mind had gone over and over her conversation with Aktariel in Tverya until she could barely think at all. One thing she knew—every human who’d ever believed him in the past lay dead in a long-forgotten tomb.

And in the back of her distraught mind, the name Yeshwah rang alarmingly. Was Yeshwah ben Yosef the same Yeshwah as in: Avram, Yeshwah, and Sinlayzan, the holy fathers of the People? The possibility struck her frighteningly. What did that mean in the end? If the Yeshwah ben Yosef in Tverya had never known Aktariel, did that mean he hadn’t become one of the sacred patriarchs?
Did it mean the Gamant people had ceased to exist in some misty past?
Had Aktariel manipulated the strings of this universe to keep her people alive?
Why?

Her gaze drifted over the gray ceiling panels, the gray carpet, the dark gray shadows outlining each doorway down the hall. How could human beings live like this? The colorless, odorless environment grated on her nerves, draining her energy.

She closed her eyes, trying to feel again the warm, olive-scented breezes on her face, trying to taste Tzipora’s rich wine on her tongue. Aktariel’s words about strands and conjunction haunted her, as did his joyful laughter and gentle touch. Both rang some warning bell. The Deceiver. Despite his words aligning deception with temptation, the old teachings proved hard to dispel. Could he make her trust him through deception? Is that why she
wanted
to believe him? When he’d returned her to the
Hoyer
and vanished, a hollow place of longing had torn open in her soul. Soon, very soon, she’d have to decide whether or not to tell Jeremiel the things Aktariel had told her to. She’d held off too long already. But she hadn’t been able to force herself to do it because she
knew
Aktariel was playing his own game and couldn’t be certain it didn’t culminate in all their deaths. Yet Aktariel seemed so sincere. Could he make her feel that way against her will? Through his power, could he
shape
personal thoughts?

From behind, a tender voice said, “No, Rachel. I don’t have the ability to control your thoughts.”

Adrenaline flooded her veins. She turned. He stood tall and handsome at the end of the hall, his glow gone. Blond curls brushed his forehead; they seemed almost flaxen against the hood of his chocolate-colored cloak.

“But you read thoughts.”

“It’s a simple matter once you understand the mechanics of the vortex. Since it’s connected to everything, you can follow it anywhere. But your free will is your own. If I could force people to believe things, I wouldn’t have had nearly as much trouble with the Deceiver reputation, would I?” His cloak billowed out behind him as he walked forward.

Rachel’s muscles tensed instinctively. “Why are you here?”

“We need to have a serious talk.”

“Why?”

“You haven’t yet told Jeremiel about the Laced Star maneuver the Magistrates have waiting for him. Why not?”

He stopped an arm’s length from her, gazing down through magnetic brown eyes. The scent of roses clung to his robe, sweet, delicate.

When she didn’t answer, he asked, “Testing me? Have I been wrong before?”

“You don’t read thoughts perfectly, I see.”

“Especially not ones that are imperfectly formed. Let me help you make the decision you’re wavering on. You’re afraid to tell Jeremiel?”

She haltingly took two steps away from him. His gaze followed her every movement. “I don’t know how to approach him with it. If I go down and tell him—”

“Instead of relying on the ‘dream’ theory, why don’t you tell him the truth?”

She laughed disdainfully. “Oh, yes, if I tell him you’re quite real, that’ll make him feel better.”

“Well.” He braced a shoulder against the wall and frowned. In the pewter light, his tanned face had a faint silver sheen along the cheekbones and forehead. “It’s not his feelings we’re concerned with, is it? We’re trying to help him prepare his half-trained crew for the greatest challenge most of them will ever face.”

“Is
that what we’re doing?”

She spread her legs, bracing herself, ready for a battle. If she delivered every message he told her to, what would the outcome be? Was he ‘pulling strings’ to adjust chaotic patterns more to his liking? Who would die this time? Her? Jeremiel?
Sybil?

“Ah, you think I’m lying to you. For my own gain?” He lifted a hand to thoughtfully stroke his chin. “I’m not going to argue with you, Rachel. I’ve told you the truth. We’ll all pay a tragic price if you don’t believe me.”

“What price?”

“A few hundred thousand lives. Most of them are currently suffering terribly in the Yaguthian Desert, praying every moment that the Underground is on its way to free them. Would you rather they weren’t freed?”

“You’re saying I’ll be to blame if they die?”

He gazed at her steadily, a curious longing on his face, almost whispers of fear. “Let’s just say your actions are critical to their salvation.”

“’ Why can’t
you
tell Jeremiel? Why do you need me to serve as your handmaiden? I don’t like it!”

“Oh, Rachel, Rachel….” he whispered forlornly. Tenderly, he reached out to stroke her hair. She flinched and he drew back as though she’d burned him. He gazed contemplatively at his fingers before slowly closing his hand. “Rachel, there are many things we don’t like in life, but what bearing do they have on duty?”

“Duty?” she whispered incredulously.
“Duty!
If those people’s lives mean so much to you, Aktariel, why don’t
you
save them? You have powers I can’t even conceive of.” Desperately, she blurted, “Why don’t you destroy all their enemies or … or call down twelve legions of angels to save them?”

For a time, he stared hauntingly into her eyes. “I wish you hadn’t used that choice of words, but, to answer you, I don’t have any angels at my command.” He extended a hand to her.
“All I have is you.”

“It was a poor choice of words,” she answered coldly. Fear and indecision knotted in her stomach, making her frantic. “Perhaps I should have said
demons.”

“Oh, Rachel.” He shook his head, as though trying to convince himself she hadn’t said that. She could feel the noose his charm had thrown around her throat tightening, strangling her.

A warm night-scented wind swept the hall and Rachel jerked around. The vortex whirled outward, huge, spinning to hover around her like black rippling fingers.

Wearily, Aktariel said, “Rachel. Pick up your
Mea
before you go to see Jeremiel. You’re going to need it.”

He stepped through, melting into the darkness. The black cyclone consumed him before it vanished.

She stood riveted, staring breathlessly at the white hall. What had he meant by that?

“But it’s dead. Why would I need it? Aktariel?
Aktariel, tell me why!
”

Jeremiel stood in the level twenty conference room, lights off, a huge holographic display of Tikkun hanging like a gold, blue, and green ball over the oval table. The three major continents stained the globe irregularly, two in the northern hemisphere, one in the southern. The vast oceans shone deep azure, dotted with thousands of islands.

Avel Harper pointed to a section of the North Amman continent. His black hair glimmered green in the holo’s light, accenting the khaki color of his robe. “What about here? This is fairly isolated.”

Jeremiel caressed his beard. “True, but we don’t know the locations of Magisterial operations in the deserts. And there are no facilities in those regions—just nomadic way stations at the scattered oases.”

Harper shrugged. “I don’t think that will matter to most of the Horebian refugees. They’ve always lived precarious lives.”

“I know, but starting over is hard enough as it is. I’d rather set them down somewhere where they’ll be in the company of like-minded communities.”

“That’ll be difficult.” Harper tapped a wazer pen on the edge of the table. “With the refugees already having split into two distinct groups: Old Believers and Tartarus’ Believers. Maybe we should set each group down in a different place?”

Jeremiel heaved a confused sigh. He was a soldier not an expert on long-range social evolution or its techniques. In the Underground fleet, he had professionals who worked out details such as this. He wished he had them here now. What if he made some critical mistake that doomed these people to miserable existences? Mara Kunio’s hopeful face prodded him like the barrel of a rifle. “That’ll encourage separate evolutions of ideas. Do we want to do that?”

“Well, I don’t know, but if we put them together, I can tell you for a fact that we’ll be staging a war. Do we want
that?”

Jeremiel shook his head and frowned at the holo. The place called to him, taunting his cluttered mind with fragments of memories. He saw long roads and tawny fields of barley waving beneath the wind; cool Shabbat evenings of stories and song, robust laughter and gay smiles; starlight falling in pale silver bars over rough-hewn streets lined with squat houses. He hadn’t been home in too many years to count. “No. No more war between Gamants.”

Harper sat on the edge of the table, thoughtfully studying the globe. The green glimmers of islands seemed to draw his eyes. He lifted a hand, pointing to a new location. “How about these islands off the coast of Samran?”