Treasure of Light (The Light Trilogy) (30 page)

“Mikael,” Avel said happily, “this is Sybil Eloel. She’s eight and lives down the hall in cabin 1901. Sybil, this is Mikael.”

“Hello,” Mikael said, forming his hands into the sacred triangle of greeting.

Sybil stared uneasily, seeing him as he would be in a few years, noting how his jaw would get squarer, his brown eyes harsher and she wondered what would happen to set his mouth into hard lines. “Hi.” It came out smaller than she’d intended. She returned the sacred triangle.

“Come in! I’ve got games and candy in here.”

He trotted across the room to pick up a bowl of brightly wrapped candies that had been on the floor by his bed, then raced back to set them on the table. Sybil stepped over the threshold into his room. Avel followed and the door zipped shut. Her heart pounded as she gazed around. The room looked the same size as hers, except there was only one bed and it sat in the back. It had the same ugly gray carpet. He had the overhead lights turned off. Only one panel lit the room; it glared dimly behind his bed.

“Come and sit down, Sybil,” Mikael invited, crawling into a chair himself and patting the table. He smiled shyly again.

“Sure.” She slid into the chair beside him.

“Here, try one of these candies. The blue ones taste like licorice.” He shoved the brown bowl at her.

“I never heard of licorice, but thanks.” She picked out one of the blue ones and unwrapped it, putting it in her mouth. The burst of wonderful flavor made her laugh. “This is good.”

He laughed with her, eyes never leaving her face. Maybe he’d had dreams about her, too? The thought made her relax a little. She sucked in a deep breath and smiled.

“Sybil?” Avel said, touching her shoulder. “I have business to take care of for Jeremiel. Will you be all right here?”

“Sure. Me and Mikael will be fine. Go do what you need to, Avel.”

“All right. I’ll see you later.” He started for the door. “Don’t forget to call your mother if you’re going to be longer than an hour.”

“I won’t.”

“Bye, Avel,” Mikael called. “Thanks for bringing me Sybil.”

Avel nodded, smiling as he left. “You two have fun together.”

When the door closed, Sybil cocked her head, studying Mikael with interest. His hair hung in thick black curls over his ears, framing his turned up nose and big eyes. He dug into the bowl and pulled out a red candy.

He held it up for her to see. “These taste like hot cinnamon. You should have one next.”

She nodded. “When’s your birthday, Mikael? Avel said we were almost the same age.”

“September-Uru,” he said. “The fifteenth.”

“So you’re about four months younger than me. My birthday’s Jano twentieth.”

“My mom’s birthday was in Jano. She …” He stopped, dropping his gaze to the table. Sybil blinked seeing his tears well.

“You okay?”

He nodded quickly, wiping a sleeve over his eyes. “It’s just that my mom … The Magistrates killed her. They came in big ships and fired into the cliffs where we lived. Rocks rolled down on top of her.”

“I’m sorry,” Sybil forced herself to say, “My dad’s dead, too.”

Mikael lifted his eyes and looked seriously at her. “Is your mother all right?”

“She’s down the hall in our cabin. Where’s your dad?”

“He died before I was born. I don’t know very much about him. Just that he was a cantor in temple. People used to talk about what a beautiful voice he had.”

Sybil’s heart ached for him. She remembered the terrible fear of wondering what life would be like with both her parents dead. It had ripped at her insides like the claws of a huge cat. He must feel the same way. She reached across the table and squeezed Mikael’s hand tightly. “It’s okay, Mikael. Someday the Magistrates will all be dead and they won’t ever be able to hurt our people again.”

His smile faded and he gazed at her gravely—
through the same worried and fierce eyes that filled her dreams.
She couldn’t help but stare into them.

“You know why they’ll be dead, Sybil? Because I’m going to lead a new Gamant Revolt and kill them. Just like my grandfather did. You can come if you want to.”

She nodded, knowing she would. She’d seen the battlefields since the day she’d turned three and started having
funny
dreams. “I do.”

“Do you? Really?” he asked anxiously.

“Yes. I need to be there with you. So we can kill them right.”

“Do you know how?”

She shrugged. “Not yet. But I will someday.”

He formed his hands into the sacred triangle and nudged her to do the same. When she did, he wove his fingers with hers, locking the triangles together. “Let’s make a pact that we’ll both learn, on our parents’ graves.”

She looked at his fingers linked with hers. It sounded reasonable. “Okay, what do I have to do?”

“Just say you promise on your dad’s grave that you’ll help me lead the revolt.”

“I promise—on my dad’s grave.”

A lump rose in her throat. She didn’t even know where her father’s grave was. That hurt. She swallowed hard and saw Mikael gazing steadily at her, as though she were his only friend in the universe.

“Thanks, Sybil. And I promise on my mother’s grave.” Then he cocked his head and hastily warned, “You can’t back out now.”

“I won’t back out. You need me.”

Slowly, he released her hands and they stared at each other for a long moment. Sybil smiled first, then he followed.

An hour later, she got on her knees on the chair next to the com, punching in her room number. “Mom? It’s me.”

After a short wait, her mother responded, “Are you all right, Sybil?” There was something brittle about her voice, like she might break into a million pieces if she talked too long. Sybil heaved a tense sigh.

“Fine. Me and Mikael have been wrestling. I won.”

“Don’t hurt him, sweetheart.”

“I won’t.”

Sybil smiled down at Mikael. He was stretched out on his side on the floor. He grabbed his ribs like they were broken, then shook a fist at her. They both laughed. A warm feeling flooded her chest. “Mom? Could I stay here for another hour or so? We want to play checkers.”

“Yes, Sybil. Just call me every so often to let me know you’re all right.”

“I will, Mom. Bye.”

Sybil switched off the com and climbed down from the chair. Mikael looked up at her through shining eyes.

“Your mom sounded worried.”

“Yeah.” She shook brown hair out of her eyes and sat down cross-legged beside him. “She’s been like that since she got back from Horeb. She had to kill a bad man and I think she’s still feeling funny about it.”

Mikael pursed his lips and rubbed his fingers thoughtfully over the carpet. The glare of the single light panel reflected silvery through his hair, casting the gray shadows of wispy curls over his cheeks. “It must be hard to kill somebody.”

“I guess so.”

“I don’t really want to, but we’ll have to, you know.”

She nodded, stretching out on her side next to him. “Yeah, I know.”

“I’ll try to make it easier for you. Once I learn how to do it, I’ll show you.”

“Okay.”

Sybil let out a long breath and picked at her fingernails for a little while, thinking. “Mikael? Have you ever had dreams about me?”

He frowned in confusion. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

She crushed her pant leg in one hand, feeling her palm getting wetter as her heart thumped against her ribs. “I think I’ve dreamed about you.”

“Really? What was the dream?”

She hesitated. Maybe she’d better only tell him about one to start with—he might feel weird if she told him she dreamed about him all the time. “Well… it… it was funny. We were standing on a green hillside and there were horrible sounds. Screams and things. People were dying all around us. Purple fire burned in the clouds for as far as we could see.” She closed her eyes, shuddering, remembering the brilliant lavender reflection flashing across the evening sky. It was huge, not like the small purple fires that had lit up Horeb during the civil war. Her nostrils ached with the coppery scents of blood and battle.

He shifted suddenly and she pulled her eyes open, meeting his tense gaze. “I’ve seen that kind of fire before. When the Magistrates killed my mom.”

“So, it’s real?”

“It’s real. It comes out of the big ships the Magistrates own. Like this one.”

“Oh.” Her gaze darted nervously over the table and chairs, his bed and desk.

“What else happens in your dream?”

Should she tell him? What would he do? Would it make him afraid of her? Maybe she could tell him part. “Mikael, do you have a
Mea?”

He jerked as though she’d hit him, sitting bolt upright. His breathing quickened. “How do you know about it? My grandfather told me not to tell anybody but Jeremiel Baruch. And he’s so busy, I haven’t seen him at all.”

Sybil’s throat had gotten scratchy, making it hard to swallow. “In my dream, we hold it between our foreheads and—and do something.”

Slowly, as though he feared doing it, he tugged on the golden chain around his neck, pulling a
Mea
out of his robe. The brilliant blue ball threw light like a glowing shawl over the walls.

Sybil’s heart thumped louder. “Where did you get it?”

He lifted his chin a little, staring at her in a doubtful way, like he thought she might not believe him if he told her. “An angel brought it to me.”

“An angel?”

He nodded. “He’s bright and shining. His name’s Metatron. He—”

“Hey! I think I’ve dreamed about him, too! He came and brought you a
Mea?
Why? So you can talk to God?”

Mikael’s shoulders sagged. Abruptly, he got to his feet to pace, hands clasped behind his back. “I don’t think I can tell you, Sybil. I’m sorry. I’ll have to ask my grandfather first.”

“It’s okay,” she said, playing with her shoelaces—only a little hurt. “Is he on board?”

Mikael’s breathing stopped, face puckering as though he were trying to decide if he could tell her. “Sort of.”

At the strained look on his face, fear tightened in her chest. She didn’t like feeling afraid with Mikael. She wanted them to be friends. “You know what? I think we ought to play checkers for a while.
Meas
are funny things. They scare me.”

She jumped up and ran across the room, pulling the checkerboard off the desk by his bed and carefully carrying it back to the table.

He smiled gratefully and tucked the
Mea
back in his green robe before climbing up on the chair opposite her. They set out the playing pieces, glancing sideways at each other.

“Sybil?”

“What?”

“In your dreams? When you talk to Metatron, does your head hurt?”

Sybil swallowed hard. “Yeah. Real bad. Like maybe he’s putting poison in my brain or something. Does yours hurt?”

Mikael nodded heartily. “I don’t really know why. But I talked to my grandpa about it and he said that sometimes angels do funny things to people. But he didn’t know why Metatron was talking to me either.”

“What else did he tell you?”

“Well … I’m not supposed to say. I’ll tell you someday, okay?”

“Sure. You don’t even have to if you don’t want to. You’ll still be my friend.”

He sneaked a hand across the table and patted her arm. His fingers felt warm. She looked up. He watched her from under his lashes, a sad smile on his face.

“You can move first, Sybil. I don’t want to.”

CHAPTER 22

Jasper Jacoby rounded a corner, heading down another aisle in the grocery store. His basket had a wobbly wheel, making it difficult to control. He had to aim it to the left and lean into it to get it going straight. People who noticed him coming at them fled liked scared chickens. It was a little exciting, since the place brimmed with people today, especially women buying fresh fruits and bread for the Shabbat. Their freshly-ironed dresses gleamed brightly down each aisle. He liked the startled looks on their faces when they observed his tenacity with the basket.

“But you’re still a damnable beast,” he cursed, giving the malevolent wheel a swift kick.

For the past two days he’d been staying at one of the largest vagrant camps north of Derow. Those bums knew how to live. They never told anybody their real names and they never asked him his. Soldiers had come through a few times, but all the derelicts had clammed up tight. Still… Jasper had a feeling of impending doom—like time was running out.

He pushed his cart toward the checkout. A young fat woman with two ugly children stood in line in front of him. The younger boy clung to his mother’s skirts like a leech, whining for a toy he’d seen.

“I
want
that bear, Mama! You promised you’d get me a toy. You lied. You lied!”

“Shh!” his mother hissed, slapping at his hands, which made the child worse. His whines rose to shrieks and he started to jump up and down. “You’re embarrassing me! Stop it!” She cast a sideways glance at Jasper. “See that man staring at you, Tomasz? He thinks you’re a bad boy.”