There Comes A Prophet Page 13

  After some time, the young keeper pulled away and wiped her eyes.

  "My father hoped the seekers would come soon, in his lifetime, or all would be lost. When he fell ill, he berated himself for being weak, for failing the seekers and leaving me with such a burden before my time. He was afraid if I were taken for a teaching, I'd reveal the secrets. And so he told me little."

  Orah grabbed at the thought. "But you knew the pass phrase. Was there anything else?"

  "Just one thing. He made a special boot, just one, not a pair. He said to give it to you if you came."

  She slid a chair to the wall and climbed to the topmost shelf, then retrieved a solitary boot.

  Nathaniel reached up and grabbed it before she stepped down. He fumbled inside but found nothing. The girl was almost enjoying his search, until she saw his frustration.

  "I thought you'd find it with ease."

  He gaped at the girl. "Find what?"

  "Why the scroll, of course."

  Lizbeth accepted the boot from Nathaniel and pulled the end of the heel. It slid back, revealing a compartment. Carefully withdrawing the scroll, she placed it onto Nathaniel's outstretched hand. He began to open it.

  "Oh, there's nothing on it. It's blank. My father said you'd know how to make it show but were not to tell me."

  "Thank you, Lizbeth," Orah said. "We know what to do from here."

  But Nathaniel was hoping for more. "There's another way you can help. Do you know this region well?"

  "Oh, yes, sir, very well. I'd go off with my father to take orders for shoes and deliver those purchased. I've traveled far and wide since I was little."

  "Then you can direct us to the next city."

  "Please, sir. I don't know what you mean."

  "Leave her be," Orah said. "She doesn't know what's on the scroll."

  Lizbeth spun around. "But I do, ma'am. I've never seen it, but he told me its contents. A four-line verse. I don't know the words though."

  "But there must be a city too."

  "No ma'am. I know what he told me. A four-line verse, one piece of the rhyme. He called it the rhyme that was not, because it did not rhyme. But there's nothing else on the scroll, not a mark, not a word."

  Orah opened her mouth to argue when the realization struck. Her face grew warm. There was a tingling at the back of her neck. Her tone changed to gratitude.

  "Thank you, Lizbeth. You've given us all we need. Your father would be proud."

  Not a mark, not a word. Nothing but the verse.

  Lizbeth was the final keeper.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Rhyme That Was Not

  Though twilight was approaching, Nathaniel was in no rush to leave. He was worn down and in need of a good night's rest. But more importantly, he had no idea where to go.

  The shoemaker's family had a longstanding relationship with the innkeeper across the way. Traveling peddlers who'd buy shoes for resale were allowed to stay as guests at the inn. In exchange, the innkeeper was provided footwear for his family. Lizbeth secured a pleasant room for them, and promised to deliver fresh provisions the next morning.

  Nathaniel listened politely as the innkeeper told the story of every amenity in the room, pictures painted by his wife, bed quilts sewn by his grandmother. But as soon as the door was shut, he pulled out the scroll.

  If Lizbeth was right, he held in his hand the final piece of the puzzle. But was that enough? The founders of the keep believed that one day the seekers would arise, part of a new generation disaffected with the Temple and eager to learn more. Yet no such thing had happened. Yes, the vicars were feared, but he'd seen no disaffection strong enough to fire a revolt. The Temple had ruled for longer than anyone could remember. No one challenged it because no one could imagine anything different. Even he, for all his dreams, had no such thoughts until he met the first keeper.

  But he couldn't let his doubts show. After a month of wandering and at the end of a long day, his friends were unlikely to be at their best. So before placing the scroll over the candle, he tried to temper their expectations.

  "My friends," he said. "If the shoemaker's daughter is right, we now have all the pieces of the puzzle, pieces that haven't been joined for centuries. But the puzzle was made to be hard. We shouldn't expect to solve it right away. So let's be kind to ourselves, no matter what we find."

  He waited for Orah to nod before placing the scroll over the candle. The rhyme appeared as before, but nothing else.

  One more past four falls in a line

  Inside, you must enter and fly

  Climb its stairway, fourteen and three

  When touched by the lines of the rhyme

  Nathaniel sighed. The final scroll indeed, but the newest verse was no clearer than the rest.

  "I know I'm not the one to figure this out," Thomas said. "And I'm exhausted. I'm going to sleep."

  Nathaniel agreed. He rolled up the scroll and began to put it away, but Orah snatched it from him.

  "Leave it," he said. "It'll keep till morning."

  "I'm grateful for your concern, Nathaniel, but I'll be all right. I only want to add these lines to my memory, so I can see the full rhyme in my dreams."

  Too tired to care, Nathaniel and Thomas readied for bed.

  ***

  After all the candles were snuffed out, save one, Orah stared at the words until they were set in her mind. Then she stored the scroll with the others, doused the flame and went to bed.

  But not to sleep. She lay awake in the dark, listening to the breathing of her friends. The first keeper had warned not to decipher the rhyme until it was complete. Now, that time had come, and she felt no closer to solving it. But a thought echoed in her mind, the master shoemaker's words to his daughter.

  "My father called it the rhyme that was not, because it did not rhyme."

  She repeated these words until her eyelids drooped and she fell asleep.

  ***

  Nathaniel awoke to the scrape of wood being dragged across the floor. His muddled brain saw a wraith with a candle gliding across the room. As his head cleared, he realized it was Orah, bustling about in the middle of the night.

  He jumped to his feet. "What is it?"

  He could see now that she'd moved a bench to the center of the room. She'd taken the three candles from their bedsides and a fourth from a sconce on the wall and placed them in a row on the bench. The first candle had been lit and she was proceeding to light the others. As the brightness grew, he could see a glow in her eyes.

  "I have it," she said. "Get the frame."

  For weeks, Nathaniel had carried the frame attached to his pack. He hurried to retrieve it. Thomas had awakened as well and fetched the scrolls. Orah wedged them into the frame, filling it from top to bottom, then directed them to lay the it over the candles. The room dimmed as the scrolls obscured the candlelight and they waited for the words to appear.

  "Hold still," she said. "I'll need a minute."

  Nathaniel examined the verses. They seemed as incomprehensible as ever.

  To the North, behind the rock face

  To the East, towering o'er the lake

  To the North, through forest of stone

  To the East, the entrance shall be

  Twixt water and dark walls of pine

  A cave made by men who must die

  The Temple of Truth you shall see

  Golden doors that are closed for all time

  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

  One more past four falls in a line

  Inside, you must enter and fly

  Climb its stairway, fourteen and three

  When touched by the lines of the rhyme

  But Orah stayed riveted on the scrolls. Her expression changed from studious to intense, through an instant of worry and ultimately to triumph. All the while, she spoke what sounded li
ke an incantation.

  "Not rhyming yet, but I'll beat you and forge you until you rhyme."

  Nathaniel watched, worrying her mind had snapped. But after another minute, she smiled.

  "There it is. Face rhymes with race, pine with line. If we take the first line of each quartet and place them together and then do the same with the second, third and fourth, we have a proper verse."

  "What are you talking about?" Thomas said.

  "Recite it using only the first lines of each quartet. Then do the same with second and so forth. It reads like this."

  She chanted like a vicar during the blessing.

  To the North, behind the rock face

  Twixt water and dark walls of pine

  For a full eight days you shall race

  One more past four falls in a line

  To the East, towering o'er the lake

  A cave made by men who must die

  Two doors to the mouth of the snake

  Inside, you must enter and fly

  To the North, through forest of stone

  The Temple of Truth you shall see

  Once great, it now stands alone

  Climb its stairway, fourteen and three

  To the East, the entrance shall be

  Golden doors that are closed for all time

  Sixteen stars shall set the doors free

  When touched by the lines of the rhyme

  Nathaniel blinked, but before he could speak, Orah confirmed it.

  "Yes, Nathaniel. I don't understand every word either. But at least now it rhymes, and we can see what it is."

  When Thomas cast about curiously, Nathaniel explained.

  "The directions to the keep."

  ***

  In an underground chamber in Temple City, the arch vicar probed the faces of the younger clerics. None bore his gaze for long. To the darkness with the politics of the Temple.

  The voice from the box at the center of the table droned on.

  "After further investigation, the council has found you blameworthy for taking risk without proper approval. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

  He pulled the transmitter closer. He wasn't about to admit guilt in front of his underlings.

  "The situation demanded action. As the senior vicar, I had the authority."

  He shot a glance around the table. One of them had betrayed him to the council, an attempt to besmirch his record. But all he detected was a shift in the eyes of the new monsignor, who had formerly ministered to the Ponds. Perhaps imagined. They'd all mastered the mask of calm in the seminary.

  The box on the table buzzed. "Nevertheless, your action was rash. From now on, we trust you'll keep us informed as this matter progresses."

  This matter. Like a piece of bookkeeping. Didn't they know what was at stake? He knew the temptation of unfettered thought, as he himself had been tempted. When promoted to bishop and granted access to the archives, he'd been drawn to the underground rooms, where he spent long nights studying the past. It took years to realize the truth-the thirst for knowledge was inseparable from the lust for power. The only hope for his kind was to be kept simple. Better ignorance than chaos, better innocence than destruction. That was the meaning of the darkness.

  But the voice on the box cared only for "this matter" and pandered to his superior.

  "Holiness, do you have anything to add?"

  The voice changed. It was the grand vicar.

  "We trust you appreciate our concerns. The issue has broad implications for the future of the Temple."

  The arch vicar scoffed at the voice. The awe the old man evoked surprised him. He'd never been impressed.

  "Your record until now has been exemplary," the grand vicar continued. "Please ensure there's no repeat of this offense. Blessed be the light."

  The show was over. The assembled began to rise. He checked the faces for a hint of gloating, but the politics of the seminary prevailed.

  So the Temple had devolved to this-better to avoid mistakes than take chances. Cowards and fools. None but he would have been so bold, and none but he would reap the rewards when the greatest threat to the Temple was found.

  The young people from Little Pond were leading him to the keep. And he'd be the one to destroy it, making the Temple and humanity safe for all time.

  Chapter Twenty

  The Rock Face

  Orah fumbled with the latch and swung the door open. The shoemaker's daughter came in, bearing three bags of provisions.

  "If you please, ma'am, this is all I could find in so short a time."

  Lizbeth stopped short and glanced about the room. What must she be thinking? Midmorning and the seekers barely awake. The bench that had rested against the wall stood in the middle of the floor. Four spent candles lay in a row upon it, their melted wax forming mystical patterns on its surface. Considering the scene, the girl's reaction was muted.

  Orah steadied her with both hands and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  "Good morning, Lizbeth. We overslept. You gave us so much to think about that we went to bed late."

  "If you please, ma'am. It's my place to serve."

  Orah was about to urge the girl to call her by name-no one had ever addressed her so formally. But she remembered her own brief stay in the darkness and shuddered. The less the girl knew the better.

  As her senses cleared, she became aware of a clamor on the street below and went to the window to investigate.

  "What's happening outside?"

  "Don't you know?" Lizbeth said. "It's the first of May, the festival of light."

  Orah leapt in before Thomas could disillusion her. "Of course we know. But we've been on the road so long we've lost track of the date."

  Thomas swung his feet to the floor and stretched in a yawn. "And where we come from, it's celebrated a bit differently."

  "Here in Riverbend, people come from all over. We have games in the afternoon, followed by a feast. Of course, you're welcome to stay. With so many visitors, no one will spot you for strangers and there'll be plenty of food."

  "Thank you," Orah said, "but you've done so much already, we can't ask for more. In any event, our mission's pressing and can't wait. We should take our provisions and be on our way."

  "Leaving so soon?" Lizbeth rearranged the bags on Orah's bed and counted them a second time. "I'd hoped you'd stay for the parade."

  "I'd love to stay for the parade," Thomas said. "And the food as well."

  Orah glared him to silence, then peeked past the curtain at the crowd. But her mind was planning. She reviewed the first lines of the rhyme.

  To the North, behind the rock face

  Twixt water and dark walls of pine

  For a full eight days you shall race

  Head north, past an outcropping of rock. Then possibly a road along the river, with a well-treed cliff on the opposite side. She needed to know more. But she pictured the girl in a darkness cell. Her questioning had to be circumspect.

  "Where do all these people come from?"

  "From all over, ma'am. From villages and farms to the east and west and south."

  "But none from the north?"

  "No, ma'am. There's no way to get to Riverbend from the north. The North River's impassable at any time of year, but especially now when the water's high."

  "There's no bridge across?"

  "No bridge and no road. No one ever crosses the river."

  Perhaps the girl had misunderstood the question. Orah tried a different approach.

  "But how do people get to towns in the north?"

  A look of surprise crossed Lizbeth's face. These were the wise seekers her father had foretold, but they seemed to know so little of the world.

  "There are no towns to the north, ma'am, and no people. On the far side of the river is wilderness. From Riverbend, there's only the road along the river that goes west to east."

  No passage north? There had to be an answer. The rhyme seemed clear on this point. A new thought occurred to Orah. />
  "Why's it called the North River if it runs east to west?"

  "Oh, if you please, ma'am, because it does run north. A ten minute walk east of here, it takes a sharp turn and goes into the wilderness."

  Orah suppressed a smile and nodded to the others. She hesitated to probe further, but Nathaniel jumped in.

  "And is there a road where the river turns?"

  "No road, sir, and no trail. I'd know of it. Nothing but the road that goes east."

  Best to change the subject before the questioning became too explicit. Orah focused on the rock face, which might imply a trail hidden behind a cliff.

  "This is such lovely country, Lizbeth. So green with rolling hills. Is the surrounding area like this, or does it change?"

  "Thank you, ma'am. It's the same as far as I've seen."

  "No rocky terrain? Where we're from, we have mountains where the terrain turns to slabs of stone above the tree line."

  "No, ma'am. It's hilly country, but not mountainous, with few exposed rocks. I've been far and wide and that's all the landscape I've seen."

  Realizing she'd learned all she could, Orah signaled to the others to let the girl be. The three lined up to thank her and wish her well, then said their goodbyes.

  After Lizbeth was gone, Orah stared out the window. They'd met the last keeper, and the puzzle was complete. She'd unraveled the verses and mastered the rhyme. But now, all she knew was to head north, where there was no road, no village and no people. No choice but to take the next step. They'd proceed to the bend in the river and search for a rock face, a dark wall, or any hint of a trail heading north.

  ***

  Orah finally agreed to let Thomas watch the parade. They were about to head off into a wilderness filled with towers, caves and snakes that could fly. Who knows how long they'd be gone. So she hefted her pack, prayed for good luck and joined the others outside.

  It was almost noon, and throngs lined the street. Excited children were organized in rows on the opposite side. Each held a stick in one hand, the thickness of a broom and half as long.

  In the distance, Orah heard music. Soon, she spotted a large drum decorated with red and green ribbons. It boomed with a sound deeper than the Little Pond drum and people began clapping to its beat. As the musicians approached, she saw other instruments. One was fashioned of brass and reflected the sunlight. A player wrapped his lips around its end and blew, puffing his cheeks out with each breath. It made a braying sound, harsher than the Little Pond flute and much louder. The second looked like a saucepan, with bells affixed to its edges, which the player shook in time with the drum.