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

the jagged peaks. The cool air smelled richly of earth and pine.
    Zadok twined through the underbrush, heart pounding. His brown woolen robe clung to his body in clammy folds, making it difficult to walk, yet still he forced his ancient legs forward.
    “Where are you, Daughter? Ezarin?” The entire village had joined the search. Around him, the slopes crawled with movement.
    “Zadok?” Rathanial called from somewhere through the trees to his side.
    “Over here!”
    “Macus thinks he’s found something.”
    “Where?”
    “In the meadow up ahead.”
    “I’m coming!”
    He shoved a berry bush aside and worked toward the meadow. It seemed to take forever to wind around the thorny bramble. He stepped over a rotting log and broke into the meadow. Shreds of mist curled through the tops of the trees. People huddled close against the chill, milling nervously in the thick wet grass. All eyes were upon him, and the knowledge that had been swelling in his breast for twenty hours grew larger until it became a certainty. A terrible certainty. Yet, still, he forced himself to ask, “What did you find?”
    Macus lowered his eyes, staring at the ground, but not before Zadok caught the glimmer of tears. Over a hundred with a shock of red hair, he’d grown up with Ezarin, played with her in his own backyard for a dozen years. They’d been as close as brother and sister. Zadok’s heart thumped so loudly he thought it might burst through his chest.
    “What is it?” he demanded, but his voice had weakened; it sounded more like a plea.
    Before he could call again, Rathanial pushed through the crowd, hurrying toward him. He looked like an elegant Angel of Death in his shimmering silver robe and carefully trimmed white hair. A hush filled the meadow.
    Rathanial blocked his path. “Abba, it might not be a good idea to—”
    “Tell me.” He gazed into the man’s pained eyes. “Tell me!”
    “It’s only a … It’s not a sight you should see. Let me take care—”
    “If you’re not going to tell me, get out of my way, you fool!”
    Zadok pushed him aside and forced his trembling knees to work toward Macus. As he approached, people cleared a path and he glimpsed the blood trickling down the small earthen channel, pushed and diluted by rain. His steps faltered. People shifted uncomfortably, some shaking their heads in disbelief, others grimacing in anguish and fear. He clenched his fists.
    “I knew,” he murmured unsteadily.
    “Grandfather,” Mikael called, “It’s not Aunt Ezarin. I know it’s not. She never wore a ring like that—”
    “Shhh.” A ring? Her Jekutiel ring? She only wore it at festival. Mikael must not have noticed. Tramping slowly forward, Zadok smoothed the boy’s wet black hair, then bent to kiss him on the top of the head. His grandson stared up with wide eyes, hugging his mother’s leg. Sarah stood stiffly, eyes set imploringly on Zadok. The storm had drenched her long hair, turning it into a stringy black mass that clung in clumps to her face.
    “Papa____?”
    He laid a hand comfortingly on her shoulder and smiled weakly, reassuringly, into her round face. “I know. I’ve feared it for hours. I should have guessed long ago.”
    “What do you mean?”
    He met her eyes and saw the sparkle of terror there. Reaching up, he wiped the rain from her face and patted her cheek gently. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow, hmm?”
    “You don’t think the Magistrates—”
    “Later,” Zadok said grimly, noticing fear brighten in the eyes of those huddling around them. A hushed murmur grew. “Don’t worry. I’ll figure some way of stopping the madness.”
    Turning, he stepped into the brush to examine the place from which the blood flowed. It wasn’t a body; only an arm. A woman’s arm, ripped from the shoulder and thrown carelessly into the deadfall of the forest. Zadok forced a swallow down his tight throat.
    “Hurry,” he said, waving a hand at the woods. “We must find her. Maybe she’s