There Comes A Prophet Page 12

  Orah's voice returned to normal. "And what else can they do?"

  The vicar paused to organize his thoughts. "Have you seen the deacon's star?"

  "Yes."

  "They're not just decorations. They solve a problem. The deacons are unruly men. The star lets the vicars track their whereabouts, showing their location relative to the nearest temple tree. It's not precise, but it keeps the deacons out of trouble."

  Then he waited, trying to remember. Finally, he gave up.

  "Beyond that, I don't know. I'm sure more was possible, but so much has been lost."

  "But if the old age was so powerful," Nathaniel said, "why does the Temple rule in its place?"

  "A good question, Nathaniel. I can only surmise. My theory is that the quest for knowledge brought change so fast it couldn't be assimilated. For every benefit, there was an offsetting harm as our penchant for evil found ways to abuse it. Eventually, the bad outweighed the good. There was a revolt against unfettered thought, and the wonders of that age were destroyed.

  "Fortunately, the greatest of that era preserved their treasures in the keep and set up a trail so it might be rediscovered someday. We keepers are small steps on that trail, but we've kept faith across the generations. And at last you've come-the seekers."

  Thomas perked up at the mention of the keep. "Do you know what's there?"

  "I wish I did. All I know is that the keep embodies the wisdom of the past."

  The vicar's eyes took on a far off glow. Nathaniel recognized it as the look of a dreamer.

  "How I envy you," he finally said. "Who knows what wonders await? I only pray it's intact."

  Orah nearly rose from her seat. "Intact? Why wouldn't it be intact?"

  "Nothing goes on forever, Orah. The founders hoped the seekers would arise in a few generations, but it's been so long. The keep may have exceeded its intended life."

  "But if the keep was at risk, why wouldn't the keepers have acted sooner?"

  "That would have destroyed the keep's purpose-to restore the world to its former greatness. Creating a new world is like making a fine meal-it needs ingredients and fire. The keep holds only the ingredients. The fire must come from us. If the keep were revealed too soon, we'd have insufficient fire. The world would remain unchanged and the chance lost forever. The emergence of the seekers is supposed to be proof the world is ready."

  Nathaniel listened and wondered. Had he emerged? Or had the old prisoner chosen him as an act of desperation?

  He put his concerns into words. "Why has it taken so long? And how can we be sure we're the true seekers."

  "Why so long, Nathaniel? Because the Temple is good at what it does, especially extinguishing the fire in people's hearts. What else do you think teachings are for?"

  Thomas stood suddenly and shuffled to the window. The vicar looked perplexed.

  "He's had a teaching," Orah whispered.

  "Oh my," the vicar said. "I've been insensitive again."

  "It's not your fault." Nathaniel rose to fetch Thomas. "Come back, Thomas. We don't have time for-"

  The vicar waved him off and went to Thomas instead. When he touched his arm, Thomas shivered.

  "Forgive me, Thomas. I misspoke. A teaching can never snuff out your fire but can only drive it deeper."

  Thomas turned and faced him. "Then can it blaze again?"

  "I don't know, Thomas. That's up to you."

  The vicar led him back to his chair and then riveted Nathaniel with his gaze.

  "Are you the true seekers? You'll only know when you've found the keep and changed the world."

  The day was wearing on. Nathaniel's dreams, once airy like gossamer, now took substance, threatening to crash to the floor of their own weight. Why him? Why now?

  The vicar glanced out the window, noting the angle of the sun. "If you hope to travel today, you should leave soon. But I have one last obligation."

  He opened the cabinet on the wall, exposing the sun icon and slid aside the shelf on which it rested. Beneath was a hidden compartment from which he withdrew the now-familiar scroll.

  Orah raised an eyebrow. "You hid it beneath the sun icon?"

  He gave a half-smile. "My little joke."

  Nathaniel rose to accept the scroll, but the vicar strode past him to Thomas.

  "Why are you giving it to me?" Thomas said.

  "Because you are a seeker."

  Thomas hesitated, then accepted the scroll.

  The vicar beamed. "Next you go to Riverbend, a place that's farther than all the distance you've come to date. But I can help you get there. Have you ever seen a map?"

  "Do you mean a treasure map," Orah said, "like we made when we were little?

  "Similar, but on a broader scale."

  He fetched a paper from the cabinet and unfolded it on the table.

  "This map describes our whole world-another secret the Temple conceals."

  "It says Bradford," Thomas called out when he recognized his surname. "Is that where we are?"

  "Yes, Thomas. And at the far edge is Little Pond."

  Orah traced their journey from Little Pond to Adamsville and Bradford, then released a sigh. "I wish we had this when we started."

  "And you must go to... " The vicar slid his finger along the map, not stopping until the word Riverbend.

  Orah gestured at an unusually windy road. "What's that?"

  "A river. From the breadth of the lines, a very wide one."

  "And this?" She pointed further north where there were scribbles to the edge.

  The vicar shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe wilderness. Or the end of the world."

  Nathaniel's shoulders slumped. So far to go, so much unknown. When he glanced up, orange light was filtering through the window. Time to leave. But one last question gnawed at him.

  "I'm grateful for your help, but I need to ask. How do you resolve the lie between vicar and keeper?"

  As soon as the words were out, he worried he'd offended his host. But the vicar was unperturbed.

  "My son, in every age there's good and evil. The Temple brought much good, overcoming the evil of the prior age, but over time it has become corrupted itself. Someday a new order will replace it, but it's not for me to do this. My role as keeper is to watch and wait. In the meantime, I do what I can for my people. But make no mistake-when the world changes, I'll support the new way. You three may be the impetus for that change."

  The day had flown by. The light streaming through the window diminished.

  Light was diminishing in Nathaniel as well. When his first test had come, he'd run to the mountains. When Samuel offered the scroll, he thought only of childish dreams. He'd been impatient with Thomas; the vicar had been kind. And the vicar, who'd kept the secret all these years, still managed to minister selflessly to his people. Both he and the vicar were dreamers, but only one was worthy of the keep.

  He went to his pack and took out the first two scrolls. Then, as the others watched, he presented them to the vicar of Bradford.

  The vicar was bewildered at first, then understood.

  "No, Nathaniel. This is your burden, not mine. The people of Bradford need me." Then he smiled. "And if a vicar tried to seek the keep, he wouldn't get very far."

  "You're more deserving than I am."

  "More deserving?" the vicar's eyes flared. "How would you know? That depends not on how hot your fire is now, but how it burns when the time comes. Until then, no one knows who's deserving."

  Thomas went to Nathaniel and handed him the third scroll. Orah came forward as well and pressed his fingers until they curled around the three. It was settled.

  "I can gather supplies," the vicar said, "but I hate to send you out so late. I'd be pleased to host you for the night so you can leave refreshed in the morning."

  Orah glanced longingly at the roof over their heads and began to answer, but Nathaniel cut her off.

  "Thank you. But you've shown us the magnitude of our task. More than our comfort's at stake. We should start no
w."

  The vicar of Bradford, third keeper of a great secret, gazed at Nathaniel.

  "My heart wishes you'd stay, but my head tells me otherwise. These messages I received were more urgent than any I've ever seen. I fear for your safety."

  As light faded from the rectory, Nathaniel dwelled in his thoughts. The journey had begun as a dream and continued as an adventure. Later he learned to appreciate the risks. But only now did he understand the goal.

  The seekers were the bridge to a new world.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The End of the Chain

  That night, as soon as the campfire was lit, Orah insisted on viewing the scroll. Thanks to the vicar of Bradford, she knew the name of the next city. The symbol was a drawing of a shoe, suggesting the next keeper would be a cobbler. The pass phrase was more obscure. They were to say: "We have traveled far, but our journey has just begun. The true light drives us on." The keeper's response would be "May you find the end you seek and may the truth you discover hasten a new beginning."

  The wording troubled Thomas. "A beginning? If Riverbend's the beginning, my feet'll fall off before we find the keep."

  "Oh hush, Thomas. It's just an expression. Let's move on to the rhyme before the words fade."

  She prayed the latest verse would help. But the lines on the third scroll proved no more intelligible than the others.

  For a full eight days you shall race

  Two doors to the mouth of the snake

  Once great, it now stands alone

  Sixteen stars shall set the doors free

  She stared in silence as the words faded.

  Thomas intruded on her thoughts. "What if the founders of the keep had gone mad?"

  "They were the most brilliant of a brilliant age," she said. "The puzzle was meant to be hard. We just need to figure it out."

  Thomas persisted in a way that had annoyed her since childhood.

  "Sure, they were brilliant, but they couldn't have been happy. Their world was crumbling beneath them. I know I'd be angry at least, if not mad."

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. "No, Thomas. They were not mad."

  "But they might have been. How else do you explain these verses?"

  She was in no mood for his pestering and struck out more harshly than intended.

  "Maybe you're not smart enough to solve the rhyme."

  "And you are?" he said. "Then tell me what it means?"

  She turned away and withdrew to the edge of the shadows cast by the fire. There, she sat cross-legged with her back to her friends and glowered at the darkness. Thomas had overstepped and knew it. When she heard him coming to make peace, she was relieved Nathaniel stopped him.

  Where she sat, the warmth of the fire did not reach. Though May was fast approaching, the night air had a bite to it. She clasped her arms around herself and did her best to hide a shiver. After a time, she could sense the others readying for bed.

  She stood and turned in a single motion, then strode to the fire where the scroll still lay in its holder. With firelight reflecting off her face, she grabbed the wooden handles and swung the frame over the embers. The words reappeared, and her lips moved soundlessly as she committed them to memory.

  When she was done, she looked up to find Nathaniel staring.

  "Are you all right?"

  "Tomorrow," she said, "I'll add these words to our marching song. But tonight, I'll dream of them. The answer will come, Nathaniel of Little Pond, and I'll solve it. I swear."

  ***

  Orah referred to the map several times a day. By charting their progress, she never worried about wandering off course. Such a simple idea. So helpful. If this was a sample of what the Temple had been hiding, what wonders awaited in the keep?

  Now, as this leg of their journey neared its end, each landmark brought Riverbend closer.

  The first sign they'd arrived was a cemetery of the kind that sat on the outskirts of so many towns. Surrounded by a waist-high wall, it had a single entrance through a stone arch. Orah grabbed her friends and yanked them inside.

  The gravestones bore witness to Riverbend's past. Some were knee high while others were obelisks with a sculpture of the sun on top. Some inscriptions were legible while others were worn smooth by time. In the back, the oldest stones had crumbled, the latest generation having no cause to maintain them. Nearest the road lay a fresh plot, the ground moist and mounded, with not enough time passed to be marked by a headstone.

  She directed Nathaniel and Thomas to sit with their backs to the wall, out of sight from the road, while she crouched in front.

  "We've seen little of the Temple since Bradford, so you might be tempted to take chances. But with words that fly through the air, we need to be careful."

  "Come on, Orah," Thomas said. "Look at this place. It feels more like Great Pond than Temple City."

  She sniffed the air as if to get a sense of the town, but all she smelled was the dank odor of freshly turned earth.

  She shook her head. "Too big a risk."

  "It does feel more like the Ponds," Nathaniel said. "Never mind deacons, we haven't seen a soul in days. And the vicar of Bradford said it was far from everything."

  "Oh, Nathaniel, don't you start being irresponsible. We mustn't-"

  Thomas jumped up. "Well I'm going in. We've slept on hard ground for two weeks and we're nearly out of food. It's getting late. If we wait much longer, we'll end up hungry and sleeping in a graveyard."

  Orah looked to Nathaniel for support, but he stood as well and accompanied Thomas out the gate. She glared after them, then surveyed her surroundings. Not wishing to be left alone in a cemetery, she followed.

  ***

  Orah had to concede. There was something familiar about Riverbend. The people were friendly and the town easy to navigate. After a two-minute walk, she found herself on the main street. On one side stood an inn and on the other three single-story shops.

  The nearest had a cask above the door, the mark of a cooper. The second had a hammer and saw tacked to the wall, the workshop of a carpenter. And much to her relief, the third displayed an insignia that matched the shape on the scroll. For once, she hoped, there'd be an uneventful episode in their journey to the keep.

  Inside, shoes and boots were scattered across the shelves and the smell of leather filled the air. In one corner was a workbench, covered with scraps of hide and an assortment of tools. A girl sat at the bench, tapping away with hammer and awl at a half-soled boot. She glanced up when they entered.

  She was young, not yet of age, with curls hanging down to the middle of her back. A white mourning sash lay across her gray vest, and the rims of her eyes were red.

  An apprentice, for sure. Orah tried to be considerate of the grieving girl.

  "Excuse me. Is the master shoemaker here?"

  The girl set down her tools and stood to greet them, almost making a curtsy.

  "If you please, ma'am. If you mean my father, no. He's gone."

  "Do you know when he'll be back?" Nathaniel said.

  Her voice quivered. "He's gone and will never return. He died two weeks ago and I'm alone."

  Orah offered the customary response. "May he go to the light everlasting."

  The girl looked uneasy. "Thank you, ma'am. But I'm not sure he'd want your blessing. It wasn't his way. I'm his daughter, Lizbeth. I suppose that means I'm the master shoemaker now. He left me with the best of his tools and skills. I'm as capable a shoemaker as he was."

  Had the keeper died without passing on the secret? And if he'd passed it on, was it to his young daughter or someone else? What if they'd come all this way to find the chain newly broken?

  Lizbeth misread Orah's discomfort.

  "If you have need of my craft, don't be concerned. I've been working with my father since I was little. You won't find better workmanship in the North River valley. Let me prove it by showing my wares."

  But as she reached for the shelves, Thomas blurted out what they all were thinking.
>
  "We haven't come for your shoes."

  Orah recalled her own father's death, and tried to cushion his words. "I'm sure your craft's the best, Lizbeth. I'm a weaver and, like you, I know what skill can be gained from a loving master. I'm sure your father's left much of himself with you. Excuse us. We didn't mean to bother you in your grief."

  She started to leave, but before she could reach the door, she felt Nathaniel's grip on her elbow.

  "We have to try," he whispered. Then his eyes bore into the girl. "We had other business with you father."

  The girl's brows arched, making her eyes bigger. "Then you knew my father. If so, you must stay and be my guests. I'd love to speak with anyone who knew him and could set his memory firmer in my mind."

  "I'm sorry," Orah said. "We never met your father. But we have reason to believe he had a passion other than shoes."

  "But my father lived for his craft. There was no other business I knew."

  Orah's shoulders sagged, but Nathaniel pressed on.

  "None. Look deep into your heart, Lizbeth. We've travelled far to see him. And now you're our only hope."

  The girl fell back a step to lengthen the distance between them and took a moment to steady herself. Then her tiny hands balled into fists and she leaned forward on the balls of her feet. She no longer appeared a child.

  "He taught me that all things are possible. Whatever you had to say to him, you may say to me. We are as one."

  Orah checked with Nathaniel who nodded. She spoke in the same voice she'd heard him use twice before.

  "We have traveled far, but our journey has just begun. The true light drives us on."

  The girl's tears began to flow. "He'd waited his whole life and now, is it possible I fulfill his wish so soon? It seems I haven't earned it."

  "Do you have an answer?"

  Orah grasped her by the arms and waited, giving her time. Then as quickly as the tears had come, they were gone. Lizbeth pulled back and announced:

  "May you find the end you seek and may the truth you discover hasten a new beginning."

  The chain was intact. Relief filled the shop and all embraced.