The Seekers: The Children of Darkness (Dystopian Sci-Fi - Book 1) Read online

  Orah grabbed at the thought. “You knew the pass phrase. Did he tell you anything more?”

  She nodded. “He cobbled 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, stood on it, and stretched on tiptoes to retrieve a solitary boot from the topmost shelf.

  Nathaniel grabbed it before she stepped down. He fumbled inside but found nothing. The girl smiled faintly at his search until he growled in frustration.

  “I thought as a seeker, you’d find the scroll with ease.” Lizbeth took the boot from Nathaniel and slid the heel back, revealing a hidden compartment. After carefully withdrawing the scroll, she placed it on Nathaniel’s outstretched hand.

  He rushed to open it.

  “Oh, there’s nothing to see. My father said you had a way to show the words but were not to tell me.”

  “Thank you, Lizbeth,” Orah said. “We’ll take the scroll from here.”

  Nathaniel held up a hand. “You can help us in one other way. Do you know this region well?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. Every spring, I’d go off with my father to take orders for shoes and deliver those purchased. I’ve traveled all over since I was little.”

  “Then you can direct us to the next city.”

  “Please, sir, I don’t understand 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. He told me its contents—a four-line verse—but I’ve never seen the words.”

  “There must be a city too.”

  The girl pursed her lips and shook her head. “No, ma’am, that’s not what he told me. ‘A four-line verse,’ he said, ‘one piece of the rhyme.’ He called it the rhyme that was not, because it did not rhyme. There’s nothing else on the scroll, not another mark or word.”

  Orah opened her mouth to argue when the realization struck. Her face grew warm, and the small hairs on the back of her neck tingled.

  She switched her tone 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 20 – The Rhyme That Was Not

  Though twilight approached, Nathaniel had no urge to rush off from Riverbend. Their two-week trek had worn him down, and he desperately needed a good night’s sleep. More importantly, he had no inkling of where to go.

  The shoemaker’s family had a longstanding relationship with the innkeeper across the way and traveling peddlers who bought shoes for resale stayed as guests at the inn. In exchange, the innkeeper received footwear for his growing children. Lizbeth secured a pleasant room for the three friends, 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 closed, he pulled out the scroll.

  According to Lizbeth, he held in his hand the final piece of the puzzle, but was acquiring the scrolls enough? The founders of the keep believed the seekers would arise one day, part of a new generation disaffected with the Temple and eager to learn the truth. Yet no such change had occurred. Yes, people feared the vicars, but not enough to fire a revolt. The Temple had ruled for longer than anyone could remember, and no one challenged the established order because no one could imagine a different way. Even he, for all his notions, had never considered opposing the Temple until he met the first keeper.

  He quelled his doubts: no sense in worrying his friends.

  Before exposing the words on the newest scroll, he tried to temper their expectations. “Fellow seekers, we now have all the scrolls, clues that haven’t been joined for centuries, but we shouldn’t expect to solve the puzzle in an instant, especially at the end of a long day. No matter what the flame reveals, let’s be gentle with ourselves.”

  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

  He sighed. The final scroll indeed, but the newest verse was as murky as 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 opened his pack to store it with the others, but Orah snatched it away.

  “Leave it,” he said. “Solving the puzzle will keep till morning.”

  “Thank you for your concern, but I want to add this verse to my memory before I sleep, so for the first time, I can see the full rhyme in my dreams.”

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

  ***

  After she had snuffed out all the candles save one, Orah studied the verse until the words fixed 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, listening to the breathing of her friends. The first keeper had warned them not to decipher the partial verses, but now that they’d completed the rhyme, she felt no closer to solving it.

  Yet one thought nagged at her, the master shoemaker’s remark to his daughter: My father called it the rhyme that was not, because it did not rhyme.

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

  ***

  Nathaniel awoke to the scrape of wood on the floor. His muddled brain perceived a wraith with a candle gliding across the room, but as his head cleared, he recognized Orah bustling about in the middle of the night.

  He jumped to his feet. “What...?”

  She’d slid a bench to the center of the room, taken three candles from their bedsides and a fourth from a sconce on the wall, and set them on the bench in a row. As she lit the first candle and proceeded to light the others, their reflection made her eyes glow.

  “Get the frame,” she said.

  For weeks, Nathaniel had carried the frame attached to his pack. He hurried to retrieve it now.

  Thomas awakened as well and fetched the scrolls.

  Orah wedged them in, starting from top to bottom, and then directed the others to align the four 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 before.

  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

  Orah’s eyes stayed riveted on the scrolls. Her expression evolved from studious to intense, through an instant of worry, and ultimately to triumph. All the while, she muttered what sounded like an incantation. “Not rhyming yet, but I’ll beat you and forge you until you rhyme.”

  Nathaniel watched, worrying her mind had snapped from the strain.

  After another minute, she eased into a smile. “I have it. Face rhymes with race, lake with snake. To make a
proper rhyme, take the first line of each quartet and place them together, and then do the same with the second, third and fourth.”

  “What are you talking about?” Thomas said.

  “Recite the words using only the first lines. Then do the same with the second and so forth. 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 react, Orah confirmed his suspicion. “I don’t yet understand every word, but at least the verses rhyme, and now we know their purpose.”

  Thomas cast about curiously.

  Nathaniel explained. “The directions to the keep.”

  ***

  In an underground chamber in Temple City, the arch vicar’s eyes probed the faces of his younger colleagues. 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, we find you blameworthy for taking undue risk without council approval. Do you wish to say anything in your defense?”

  The arch vicar pulled the transmitter close, wary of admitting guilt in front of his underlings. “The situation demanded action. As senior vicar on the scene, I had the authority.”

  He shot a glance at the others. One of them had betrayed him to the council in an attempt to besmirch his record. He detected nothing but a shift in the eyes of the new monsignor, who had formerly ministered to the Ponds. Perhaps he’d only imagined it. They’d all mastered the mask of calm in the seminary.

  The box on the table buzzed. “Nevertheless, our ruling stands. From now on, we trust you’ll keep us informed as this matter progresses.”

  This matter. You treat it like a piece of bookkeeping. Don’t you know the stakes? He understood 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. Only after years did he realize the truth—one could not separate the thirst for knowledge from the lust for power. His kind needed to be kept simple. Better ignorance than chaos, better innocence than violent death—that was the lesson of the darkness.

  The voice in the box cared only for “this matter,” and pandered to its superior. “Holiness, do you have anything to add?”

  The grand vicar spoke next. “We trust you appreciate our concerns. This issue has broad implications for the future of the Temple.”

  The arch vicar scoffed. The awe the old man evoked in others surprised him. He’d never been impressed.

  “Your record until now has been exemplary,” the grand vicar continued. “Please ensure no repeat of this offense. Blessed be the light.”

  The spectacle had ended, and the assembled began to rise. The arch vicar checked their faces for a hint of gloating, but the politics of the seminary prevailed.

  So clerical affairs have devolved to this—better to avoid mistakes than take risk. Cowards and fools. None but he would have acted with such boldness, and none but he would reap the rewards when at last he found the greatest threat to the Temple.

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

  Chapter 21 – The Rock Face

  Orah awoke to a knocking at the door. She staggered across the room and fumbled to release the latch.

  The shoemaker’s daughter barged in, bearing three bulky bags of provisions. “This is all I could gather in so short a time—” She stopped, spun on her heels and glanced about the room.

  What must she be thinking? Midmorning and the seekers still sleeping like shiftless drifters.

  The bench that had rested against the wall now stood in the center of the floor, with four spent candles stuck to its surface and their melted wax forming a sequence of mystical patterns. Considering the scene, the girl’s reaction seemed muted.

  Orah steadied Lizbeth with both hands and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Good morning. We overslept. With so much to consider, we stayed up late.”

  “If you please, ma’am, my place is to serve.”

  Orah nearly urged the girl to call her by name—no one had ever addressed her so formally—but she recalled her own brief stay in the teaching cell and shuddered. The less Lizbeth knew, the better.

  As Orah’s senses cleared, she became aware of a clamor outside and went to the window to check. A crowd of people milled about on the street below.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Don’t you remember?” Lizbeth said. “Today’s the first of May, the Festival of Light.”

  Orah shot Thomas a glance, hoping to keep him from showing the seekers’ ignorance of the local custom. She leapt in before he could disillusion the girl. “Of course we remember, 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, festival’s celebrated a bit differently.”

  Lizbeth smiled. “Here in Riverbend, people travel from all over. We play games in the afternoon, followed by a feast. You’re welcome to come. With so many visitors, no one will spot you for strangers, and you’ll find plenty of food.”

  “Thank you,” Orah said, “but you’ve done a great deal for us already. We can’t ask for more. In any event, our mission’s pressing and won’t wait. We should take our provisions and be on our way.”

  “Leaving so soon?” Lizbeth arranged the bags on Orah’s bed and counted them a second time. “I 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 into silence, and then peeked past the curtain at the crowd. She considered 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

  A possible interpretation: head north past an outcropping of rock, to a road along the river with a well-treed cliff on the opposite side.

  She hoped to learn more from Lizbeth about the surrounding area, but pictured the girl in a darkness cell. Her questions required a circumspect approach. “Where do these people come from?”

  “From all over, ma’am. From villages and farms to the east and west and south.”

  “None from the north?”

  “No, ma’am. The North River blocks the way. It’s impassable at any time of year, but especially now when the water’s high.”

  “No bridge?”

  “No bridge and no road. No one ever crosses the river.”

  Thinking Lizbeth had misunderstood the question, Orah tried a different approach. “How do people travel to towns in the north?”

  Lizbeth’s brows rose and her eyes widened. Orah guessed at her thoughts. Her father had foretold of the wise seekers. How could they know so little about the world?

  “There are no towns to the north. On the far side of the river you’ll find only wilderness. From Riverbend, we have only the road going west to east.”

  Orah tapped her teeth wi
th the tip of her thumb. No passage north? The rhyme seemed clear on this point. Then a new thought occurred to her. “Why do you call it the North River if it runs west to east?”

  “Oh, if you please, ma’am, because it does run north. A ten minute walk east of here, the river takes a sharp turn and goes off into the wilderness—the bend that gives our town its name.”

  Orah suppressed a grin and nodded to the others, but she was reluctant to probe further.

  Nathaniel jumped in. “Where the river turns, does a road run alongside?”

  “No, sir, nothing but the road that goes east.” Lizbeth heaved a sigh. “No one wants to go north. It’s nothing but a barren wasteland.”

  Best to change the subject before the questioning becomes too explicit. Orah focused on the rock face, a term that might imply a hidden trail 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. The terrain’s the same as far as I’ve traveled.”

  “No cliffs or rocky ledges? Where we’re from, the mountains turn to slabs of stone above the tree line.”

  “We have hills but no mountains, and few exposed rocks. That’s all the landscape I’ve ever seen.” Her eyes drooped at the corners, and her smile turned into a frown. “You ask a lot of curious questions. Why so much concern about rocky ledges and roads that go into the wilderness?”

  Realizing she’d pressed as far as possible, Orah signaled for the others to let the girl go. The three lined up to thank her, wish her well, and say their goodbyes.

  After Lizbeth departed, Orah stared out the window at the gathering crowd and beyond them, to the trees at the edge of the town. They’d found the final keeper and had in their possession all the pieces to the puzzle. She’d unraveled the verses and mastered the rhyme. Now, the keepmasters directed them to head north into a wilderness with no road 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.