Treasure of Light (The Light Trilogy) by Kathleen O’Neal Page A

more backward worlds, stories had even begun to circulate that he was the promised Mashiah, foretold eons ago in the Old Books—the savior who would free the people from the cruel hands of their tormentors and establish the millennial kingdom in this galaxy. He half believed it himself. He’d seen Jeremiel hurt, worried, desperate, he couldn’t ever recall seeing him afraid. No, some inner strength flowed in the man’s veins. Why not think of it as the power of God? He’d always been a deep believer and the religious overtones provided a curious sort of comfort.
    Fondly, Harper reached out and gripped Jeremiel’s shoulder, squeezing it hard. “Well, things may look bad, but, thanks to you, Horebians have an ark to carry them away from this catastrophe.”
    Jeremiel’s shoulder muscles bunched beneath the fabric of his black jumpsuit. He bowed his head a long moment, as though struggling with himself. Then he turned to Harper and the expression on his face made Avel loosen his grip.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “You think this is an ark?” Baruch’s deadly quiet voice lashed out. His eyes had taken on a haunted gleam. “Wrong. Epagael has just lifted his fist over our heads, my friend. This is the belly of the whale and we’d damn well better find a method of cutting our way out—fast. Or we’re all going to die in here.”
    Harper’s mouth dropped open. He felt strangely as though the words had kicked the foundations of the universe apart and all the stones of hope had come tumbling down around his ears.
    Jeremiel lifted a hand uncertainly. “Sorry, Avel. I shouldn’t have said that.”
    “No, it’s all right. I see what you mean.”
    “Do you? Then I’m doubly sorry. It’s not to our benefit to have both of us scared to death.”
    “You? Frightened? I don’t believe it. God’s armor shields you from fear.”
    Jeremiel laughed softly, bitterly. “God’s armor? Where are your eyes, Avel? Can’t you see?” He stabbed a finger at the bright light panels overhead.
    Harper glanced up. “See what?”
    “God sitting up there. Right there! You see Him watching us? Every time we cry out to Him for help, every time we beg for mercy, He demands more of our blood! For millennia we’ve given it to Him willingly, blaming ourselves because we broke His commandments or misunderstood His goddamned teachings! Gamant blood has washed clean every soul in the universe, and still God raises his fist and slashes open our hearts for more.” He took a breath. “When Tahn wakes up, you’ll see what I mean.”
    Jeremiel’s bearded jaw quivered with emotion. He shoved away from the console. “I wouldn’t take God’s armor if He gave it to me.” He strode for the exit and pounded a hard fist into the patch. The door pulled back, revealing a blood-sprinkled hallway. Baruch stopped, shaking his head. His voice came out lower, softer. “Avel… I’m tired.”
    “I know you are.”
    Jeremiel nodded gratefully. “Check in with Janowitz. I need to know the numbers of people we’ll be dealing with. Then please meet me in landing bay nineteen-four.”
    “Aye, Jeremiel.”
     
    Cole Tahn tossed and turned, writhing across his sweat-drenched blankets, reaching pleadingly for people who weren’t there. The hallucinations hurled themselves at him from the dark void of unconsciousness. He had vague memories of Carey hauling him to his cabin and shooting him up with steroids, but since that moment, time had ceased.
    “You’re on … Hoyer!” he screamed at himself. The echoes of his voice rang through his mind, clanging like the bells of Notre Dame.
    Distorted, monstrous images flared and died. He fought them, but still they came….
    He ran through the narrow streets of Paris, rifle gripped in clammy palms. Millennia before, the entire city had been declared a planetary historic site and preserved in its twenty-first century splendor. Magnificent buildings with arches and delicate scrollwork lined the streets. Marble