An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) by Kathleen M. O'Neal Page B

military governors had outlawed all “mystery cults,” as they called them, believing the sacred meetings to be treasonous strategy sessions. Different cultures and religions had been thrown together to increase internal human conflicts, and discourage alliances. Then they were forced to work exploiting the planet’s rich resources. Some were shipped off-world, families wantonly destroyed. War after war resulted and the Great Night of Glass ensued. Gamants began to forget the old teachings. Slowly, but surely, other philosophies tainted the original—or strengthened—depending on the way you looked at it. A thousand years later, when Edom Middoth raided Earth for his army of slaves, the Exile ripped the tradition asunder. After Jekutiel’s triumph, the people drifted apart, searching out other planets. Exiled factions remembered the myths, legends, and rituals differently—many only partly. They groped to pull the threads of their identity together and, in the process, blended with their neighbors, picking and choosing things from foreign traditions that sounded comfortingly familiar. No one knew anymore how much the current rituals resembled the originals. Not that it mattered to Zadok. Gamant culture may have mutated— but it had survived.
    His mind wandered, pausing here and there indiscriminantly until he lost his train of thought. Perhaps he was just too tired to think tonight. But how much time did he have? He shook his head wearily, lowering his chin to rest on his chest.
    He sat in the cave long into the night, staring vacantly at the floor.
    CHAPTER 6
     
    Jeremiel crouched in the wet grass beneath a towering pine. The ice-bitten wind lanced his suit. He watched the lavender light of morning blush color into the dew drops sparkling on the brush around him, then turned his gaze to the caves below.
    The right caves? Pulling the map from his pocket, he checked it over and compared it with the surrounding terrain, pinpointing his location as best he could through the clutter of trees and peaks. These must be Zadok’s caves.
    But still he wasn’t certain, and to walk into an unknown camp would be suicidal. Puffing an exhausted breath, he let himself slump backward, sitting down in the wet vegetation so he could think. The pungent scent of damp pine duff tantalized his nose and he pulled in a deep breath.
    “I have to be close.”
    Rudy had dropped him three days’ journey from the caves, far enough away that hopefully no one would think it suspicious even if they noticed his descending jetpack. But the distance made following the map confusing. Kayan burst with deep valleys and high ridges, thick forests and dense underbrush. For the past day, he’d felt like he was playing a game of wits with mountain peaks.
    Movement caught his eye and he leaned forward cautiously. Two men stepped out of the caves and into a small meadow. In the dim gray of dawn, he couldn’t make out their faces. Slipping his small pack from his shoulders, he pulled his noculars and focused in on the shorter man. His heart skipped a beat. Zadok. But who was the other? He could be a damned Magisterial ambassador for all Jeremiel knew. He couldn’t take the chance of exposing himself yet.
    Zadok started off, leading the stranger down a grassy path which wound around the base of the mountain toward the capital city below. Quietly getting to his feet, Jeremiel weaved through the trees, following.
    As he shadowed them, the wind brought him fragments of conversation. Discussions about Gamant politics, ethics, and history passed between the two. The tall white-haired man nodded obediently each time Zadok pointed his finger sharply.
    When they reached the street leading into the city, Jeremiel waited, huddling in a thickly wooded area above the spaceport. He watched Zadok hesitate at the door outside, waving his ancient arms wildly.
    “Damn it, Zadok,” he whispered. “Don’t go inside. You’ll be a sitting duck if anyone wants to murder