Treasure of Light (The Light Trilogy) (35 page)

“What do you mean?”

“For example,” he said and extended a hand toward the cackling group of people below them. “The water system here is contaminated. The women have to walk three miles a day to carry each bucket. And the local political official was assassinated last week for er … ‘indiscretions’ with his brother’s wife.”

She grinned and leaned back on her elbows. The wind blew long strands of her wavy hair over her eyes. She brushed them away, drinking her wine, relishing the aniselike flavor. “What charming problems.”

He gave her a wry smile. “Charming? You do have a different way of looking at things. Where did you say you were from?”

“I don’t know where it is in relation to here. You see, I think I’m dreaming. It was nighttime when I left. The ship’s halls were mostly empty.

“Dreaming?” He lifted bushy blond brows and chuckled. “Well, the important thing is that you’re happy. I say you enjoy it, Rachel.”

“Yes, I plan on it.” Her smile faded. “Because the world I come from is terrible.”

A potent gust of wind swept them with stinging grains of sand. They both threw up their arms to protect their faces. The tree branches overhead creaked like rusty hinges.

When he lowered his arm, he asked, “Terrible how?”

“Filled with sadness and discord.”

A woman’s loud husky laughter rang from around the roasting pit. Hasmonaean stretched out on his side, propping his head on his hand. His blond curls ruffled in the wind. “Yes, discord is always the enemy, Satan in the truest form. The region of Truth has no shadow in its heart, for the immeasurable light fills it entirely. But the limbs of Truth are dark, boundless chaos. Do you know the writings of Basilides?”

He shifted to look at her and his eyes gleamed softly with power. Strange, she thought, that dreams always conjured people easy to love. This handsome man’s gaze buffeted her like a gale-force wind. Perhaps that was why she was having this dream. To help her work out the ache that lingered in her soul for Shadrach. Regardless, she planned on letting herself drown in the pleasant feelings.

“I don’t know the work of Basilides, but his idea of the shadow seems similar to something else I’m familiar with. The
reshimu.
Have you heard of it? I don’t know very much about it.”

“You mean the notion that the forces of evil come from God Himself?”

“Yes,” she responded eagerly. “Could you explain it to me? I’m not sure I grasp it.”

He inhaled the scents of spiced meat that drifted to them on the breeze. “I’ll try. Stop me when I bore you.”

“I doubt that this discussion could ever bore me. It’s too important.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Because I believe suffering is the heart of everything.”

He nodded contemplatively and studied the dark red contents of his goblet. “Yes, I think you’re right. Well, then, the story goes something like this. In the beginning, Light was all there was—God, if you will. Light withdrew a part of itself from itself, leaving a void: an empty space within which creation could take place. But Light could never again enter that space.” He waved a hand airily. “Or else the Light would be One again, if you follow me?”

“The dichotomy of God and not-God would vanish, melt into Oneness again. I understand. Go on.”

“Within the void, a residue of light remained, like the perfume that scents a bottle long after the contents have been emptied. That residue, the
reshimu,
is the source of evil because it’s a partial reality.”

Rachel took another sip of her wine. Her head had started to feel light, the alcohol making her vision seem clearer. The turquoise sky contrasted sharply now with the azure of the ocean. She rolled over on her side, closer to him, their faces only two feet apart. He looked at her speculatively, that same warm glint in his eyes.

“I don’t understand. How is it the source of evil?”

He smoothed his fingers over the green grass. “Oh, Basilides’ followers would talk about the fall of the light of the
Pleroma
down to the lowest depths of the abyss. Other mystics would put it differently. In the beginning, the
reshimu
simply existed as pure light, but soon this light, ‘atomized,’ or soured, forming clots in the body of the void. When God infused the pure vessels of light into the midst of the clots, they picked up the taint and soured, too, bursting. Their wealth spilled forth across the universe. From those fundamental bits of light, all this—” he gestured to the sky, sea, and earth. “—came into being. And, as most intelligent people know,
all this
is fundamentally chaotic.”

“Most people in my faith view the universe as fundamentally ordered,” Rachel challenged.

“That’s because they view only the surface of reality.”

Rachel toyed with her cup. “So chaos is equated with the
reshimu?
”

“Not exactly. Chaos is an effect of the
reshimu’s
isolation in the void. When God put the stopper on the perfume bottle, he condemned the aroma to a tragic fate. In perfect equilibrium, a top can spin eternally. But perfection exists only in God. The
reshimu’s
isolation shattered that perfection. The ‘top’s’ motions became chaotic, turbulent; it’s begun to wind down. The very nature of the creation is to struggle against itself, seeking an equilibrium it can never find. We experience the struggle as suffering.”

She inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. The words wafted like a silk scarf through her mind, soft, familiar, as though she’d heard them before. In the deepest recesses of her mind, a forbidden voice spoke in gentle tones about God and Milcom and the “naked singularity.” Adom. Her heart ached.

“Some thinkers have actually proposed,” Hasmonaean continued, “that the
reshimu
soured because it went insane, because it was always seeking the glorious memory of the fullness that lingered in its essence and could never find it.”

Images of her visit to the throne of God tormented her. Rachel could feel the heat of the River of Fire on her face, hear Epagael’s arrogant voice. She swallowed hard. “How could there be a God so cruel He would sacrifice a remnant of Himself to appease His own curiosity? It’s like cutting off your hand just to watch it bleed.”

“But once the hand has been severed, the body ceases to feel its pain. The hand can cry out in agony forever and the body will never know.”

“Are you saying God doesn’t know we suffer?”

“No, no. He knows.”

“How could He if He can’t enter this universe to see for Himself?”

“In the beginning, He created messengers, angelic beings who could traverse the interuniversal void between the Treasury and the Abyss. They told Him—a thousand thousand times.”

“And He didn’t care?”

“He loves the spinning patterns of chaotic turbulence. They’re quite beautiful, you see.” Hesitantly, he reached over and gently caressed her hand. The warmth of his skin, the tenderness of his touch made her turn her palm up so they could twine fingers. He gripped her hand tightly and heaved what sounded like a sigh of relief. He closed his eyes a moment as though drowning in the feel of her flesh against his.

When he opened his eyes, he said, “God had no curiosity before He spawned the void. Since then, it’s become His greatest passion.” He sounded bitter, as though he were voicing an achingly human and heartrending protest against suffering. One she understood.

“Then the seeds of curiosity must have been in the Pure Light to begin with. Couldn’t the original taint have come from God rather than isolation in the void?”

He smiled admiringly. “A good question. Many brilliant women and men have proposed exactly that—but I don’t think so. I don’t believe that in the beginning the Light was either good or evil. Rather, I think the original separation tainted it as well as the void. Before spawning the Abyss, the Light felt no hatred or envy, no love or greed. You see, if there’s only One reality, no element of dualism can exist. Only after God had ‘seen the light’ was He drawn into the magnificence of chaos.
That
is the point when he developed a personality.”

Rachel thoughtfully swirled her wine, watching the dark waves wash the cup. “Too bad we can’t go back to a time before that point. But, if God loves the web of chaos so much, aren’t we all doomed to endless suffering to provide Him with entertainment?”

He nodded. “Yes. Unless we do something to force Him to feel what this universe feels.” He gave her a solemn glance. “We have to ‘reconnect’ the hand so he can feel its anguish.”

“And how can we do that?”

He looked down at the people in the plaza. They’d started dancing, whooping, and singing, arms locked as they kicked their legs joyously. “We must penetrate the Treasury of Light and slap Him in the face with chaos.”

Rachel’s breathing went shallow. He no longer sounded like he was discussing philosophy. No, he sounded like he
knew
what he was talking about. She looked down at the large tanned hand that twined so comfortably with hers and she felt slightly faint. She jerked her gaze up to his, cataloging every element of his classically handsome face: the high cheekbones and patrician nose, the large, magnetically wistful eyes. The similarity jolted her like an electric shock.

“Oh.” Her gasp came out small and pained. She tried to jerk her hand away from him, but he held it tightly.

“Rachel … don’t. Just talk to me. I’m not as bad as you thought, am I?”

She frantically fought to get away from him.

He pressed his lips tightly together and released her hand. “I’m sorry. I wanted to be with you in a world where the myths about me don’t exist.”

An iron cage tightened around her chest. Rachel slid a few feet away. “Why do you play the name-games? Aktariel. Hasmonaean. You’re a trickster. What is your name really?”

“I’ve had thousands over the millennia. Too many to remember. At this point, one seems as good as another. But forgive me, Rachel. I couldn’t see any other way of showing you I’m not the monster you believe.”

She concentrated on the warm wind that ruffled her long hair, fighting the revulsion, trying to take her mind off the powerful natural attraction she felt toward him. “You tried to
deceive
me! I—I don’t…”

He waited, giving her time, but when she refused to finish, he said, “Talk to me, Rachel.
Let’s just talk.
I’m not asking anything of you—except your companionship at this moment.”

“Is
that all you want?”

“Yes. I swear it.”

She absently creased the hem of her robe. “Is this a dream we’re in? Something you manufactured? Or is it real?”

“It’s real. I’ve wanted to bring you here again for a long long time. I just—”

“Again?”
Her lungs went stone cold still. “What do you mean
again?”

His smooth jaw moved with grinding teeth, as though he were silently berating himself. He lifted his goblet and finished it to the last drop. “I don’t think you’re ready for that discussion yet. Let’s talk about—”

“I’m ready for the truth, damn it! Do you ever tell that?”

A buried hint of desperation glistened in his eyes. “I’ve never lied to you.”

Rachel gazed miserably into that handsome face framed in blond curls. She had the passionate urge to strike him, or slip into his arms and let him soothe the terror and confusion that twisted her soul. But she did neither. She braced her forehead against her drawn up knees and stifled the emotions that threatened to consume her.

After a few moments, she felt a gentle hand stroke the long hair that draped down her back. “Do you want to go back? I’ll take you.”

“Stop touching me!” He took his hand away. In the depths of her heart, she wanted to stay here—far away from the realities of Magisterial tyranny and murder. “You frighten me, Aktariel.”

“Why?”

“You’re the Deceiver, for God’s sake! How can I believe anything you tell me?”

“Rachel, please, try to see beyond the propaganda Epagael has spun around me. Do I seem frightening—as a man?”

“… No.”

“Let me prove myself to you. Give me the chance—”

“But you’re not a man. Are you?” She lifted a hand and gestured to his perfect body. She could see his stomach muscles tense at her words, bulging through his silk robe. “How do you do that? Lose your glow, I mean?”

He broke off a blade of grass and pondered its softness, brushing the tip over his fingers. “It’s a simple matter of refocusing the vortex around myself. And, yes, I know you think I’m talking gibberish again. I’m not. Let me teach you, Rachel. Let me show you …”

She got to her feet and backed away. “Aktariel, if you care about me,
leave me alone!
Prove you truly care by … by giving me this dream—without you. Let me walk these streets alone for a few hours.” Lord, how she needed that. Just a little time to feel the solidity of a planet, the comforting simplicity of a less complicated time.

He nodded and stared at his empty goblet. “Of course. I want you to be happy.”

She quickly trotted down the hill, out across the plaza. In the distance, the ocean beckoned, crystal blue and immense. She just wanted to walk barefoot in the sand and listen to the crashing of waves while she thought.