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

  Chapter 27 – A Question for Heroes

  The keep consisted of a honeycomb of circular chambers, most with corridors extending from them like spokes. A small window graced the wall by the entrance to each corridor, and lit up with words describing its treasure whenever anyone came near.

  Orah paused before one that displayed the word Botany.

  “Bo-tay-nee,” she said aloud. “What does that mean?”

  Nathaniel stood behind and rested a hand on her shoulder. “The keepmasters claimed we could ask the... screen... for help. Give it a try.”

  She hesitated, recalling her discomfort in the welcome chamber, then said the word “help” with little conviction.

  A woman appeared, much younger than the others and eager to serve. “What is your question?”

  “What is Bot-a-ny?” Orah tried to be precise with her pronunciation.

  “Botany is the study of plants.”

  Orah beamed, pleased with her success.

  Then, as the helper waited, Thomas stuck his head in front with a more pressing question. “Can you tell us where to find food?”

  The helper responded at once. “Proceed to the flashing screen.”

  Orah glanced about and picked out the only blinking screen. On it were the words Dining Hall.

  ***

  Tables lined the dining hall, each with a gray speckled surface and space to seat eight. Screens covered the surrounding walls, a dozen or more like the others in the keep, except for curious red and blue pipes sticking out beneath them. Each screen displayed images of food—meats, fruits, vegetables and grains—vivid enough to make Orah salivate.

  She approached one and said, “Help.”

  No helper appeared this time, but a pleasant-sounding voice asked the question she’d been hoping for. “What would you like to eat?”

  She thought a moment. “Lamb—with sweet yams and honey.”

  The image on the screen vanished and a list appeared. The voice instructed her to touch a selection. She scanned the menu, disappointed at the absence of yams, but delighted to find lamb. She pressed her fingertip to the word, feeling a bit foolish, and waited.

  A small door opened in the wall and a shiny package slid out. She held it with both hands and shook, but nothing happened. After a brief inspection, she grasped its corner and tore off the top, but when she checked inside, her brows knitted and the corners of her mouth drooped.

  Thomas glanced over her shoulder and his features drooped as well. “The food’s spoiled. We’ll starve.”

  Orah waved him off. She sniffed at the lumpy brown dust. “Smells like lamb.” She licked a fingertip, dipped it in and touched it to her tongue. “Tastes like lamb.”

  She glanced up at the screen. “What do we do with this food?”

  A helper appeared, this time a portly man who seemed appropriate for the dining hall. “Please repeat your question.”

  She repeated the same words but louder this time and more slowly, as she might speak to a child.

  The helper froze as if he was struggling to understand. He finally replied. “Food is for eating.”

  She rolled her eyes and groaned. “I know that.”

  “Do you have another question?” the helper said in the exact same tone.

  Orah sighed. Talking to the helpers seemed trickier than talking to a child. They must have guessed what questions would be asked and recorded their answers, but the burden was on the seekers to find the right question.

  After some thought, she came up with a new approach. “How do I prepare this food?”

  “All food in the keep is dehydrated. You just add water.”

  “And where may I find water?”

  “Hold the package beneath one of the spigots, red for hot and blue for cold.”

  The curious protrusions scattered along the wall were apparently spigots, although none had a pump handle to work them. She held the parcel beneath a red pipe. Hot water poured out in exactly the right amount, sending the aroma of freshly cooked lamb wafting through the room.

  The three spread out, each to a different screen, and ordered a variety of foods, more than they’d be able to eat in a week. When they needed hot, the water poured out steaming like tea heated in a fireplace. When they wished for cold, it emerged as frigid as the waters of Little Pond in winter.

  Though the food looked unappetizing—not much more than colored paste—the offerings tasted right and some even strange and wonderful. Keep fare might be no match for home cooking, but it seemed wholesome, filling and, most importantly, plentiful.

  As Orah inhaled the last of a buttered potato, she pictured the keepmasters eating meals where she sat. “Imagine, this is how they ate for more than fifty years, spending their lives here, hiding from the vicars and recording their knowledge.”

  Thomas poked at one of the packets—some kind of fish. “Yes, imagine. Fifty years with nothing solid to chew.”

  “I don’t think food mattered,” she said. “They were doing a labor of love, a selfless service for people they’d never meet.”

  “For people who never cared about them,” Thomas corrected, “who over the centuries forgot they existed.” He took a sip of purple liquid. “I wonder how long we’ll be here, eating this food and hiding from the vicars, before the world has forgotten us as well.”

  ***

  Orah sat at the table, unable to budge. Debris from their meal lay strewn across its surface. She would have found their gluttony amusing had their prospects been less grim.

  Time to confront the issue. “Well, Thomas, we’re fed. What other ideas are rattling around in that head of yours?”

  Thomas leaned back and contemplated the ceiling, then sat up straight and shrugged. “How about just staying here? We’ll be safe, warm, and never go hungry.”

  Orah studied her reflection in the tabletop and stroked its surface as if trying to brush away the speckles. “We can’t stay here forever.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we can’t spend the rest of our lives hiding. We need some purpose.”

  “I don’t. I just want to avoid the vicars, with their deacons and words that fly through the air and light knows what other dark magic.”

  “The keep may not be as safe as you think,” Nathaniel said. “After a thousand years, it’s aging and may not support us much longer, and while the deacons may struggle to find us without the rhyme, they’re still searching. But more than that, what kind of life would we have here?”

  “Where else can we go?”

  Orah turned sideways and gazed at the now darkened screens that lined the walls. The longing she’d suppressed on their journey welled up within her. “What if we went home to Little Pond?”

  Nathaniel clenched his teeth and sucked air in between them. “That’s the first place the vicars would look. Even our neighbors might turn on us. Who knows what crimes they’ve accused us of?”

  Thomas’s mood turned hopeful. “Don’t give up so fast. The vicars want to find the keep. We can use its location to barter for mercy and ask for our old lives back.”

  Orah flushed. “Betray the keepmasters after what we’ve learned? I want to go home but not at such a cost.”

  “To the darkness with the keepmasters. If they can’t protect us, we need to look out for ourselves.”

  “They sacrificed their lives to preserve what’s here. How can you think such a thought?”

  Thomas scowled and hunched his shoulders, and his mind seemed to go somewhere she shuddered to imagine.

  When he spoke again, his brashness had vanished. “Tell me something, Orah. How long did you stay in the teaching cell?”

  “What has that to do with anything?”

  “It has everything to do with it. Tell me.”

  “Three or four hours.”

  Thomas stared at her unblinking. “I measured my time not in hours, but eternities. I’d rather die than be taught again.”

  His response rolled round in her mind. She wanted to win the
argument—not just for the sake of winning, but because the keep was so vitally important—but she couldn’t hurt Thomas further, hated the thought of hurting him. She bit down on her little finger and prayed the keep was worth the sacrifice.

  “I’m sorry, Thomas. I can’t betray the keepmasters.”

  She’d tried not to cause him pain, but his expression said otherwise.

  “Do you know,” he asked, “what tomorrow is?”

  “I’m not sure. The summer blessing?”

  Thomas’s lower lip quivered. “Tomorrow I turn eighteen. What do you think I want most for my birthday?”

  The question hung in the air. She didn’t answer because no answer was expected.

  “I want my life back. I’m not like the two of you. I want to marry, father a child, or two if the Temple allows, work my family’s farm and play music for my neighbors at festival. That’s enough for me. Can you give me that life back?”

  “I would if I could,” Orah said, “but that opportunity died the day you were taken for a teaching. I don’t trust the vicars. We might forsake the future and still be punished.” She turned to Nathaniel and held out her hands, imploring. “Tell him, Nathaniel. We can’t betray all this.”

  Then she saw it. While she and Thomas were debating, Nathaniel’s face had taken on a distant expression, the look of a dreamer. He prepared to speak, and she felt a stirring of hope.

  “What should we do now?” he said. “A question for heroes. We should neither barter with the vicars nor hide here forever, but do as the masters intended. We may have found the keep by chance, but we’re their only hope. Time to change the world. We didn’t come out of a rebellion, so we should start one.”

  Orah’s hope drained away. He’d gone mad. “What you ask isn’t possible.”

  “Not possible?” Nathaniel’s jaw tightened and twitched. “The keepmasters didn’t worry about possible. They believed in an idea and gave their lives for it. Since leaving Little Pond, I’ve learned courage is different than I thought. To be courageous means you do what’s right even in the face of impossible odds. Most of what we’ve been taught is based on lies. What’s right is to tell the world the truth.”

  Thomas curled up in his chair and stared at the floor, but Orah’s spirit wilted, afraid something between her and Nathaniel was about to be lost.

  “We’re not children anymore, Nathaniel, and this isn’t one of our games at the NOT tree. Your rebellion is an illusion, a choice too much to ask.”

  His cheeks flushed, and he retreated to the far side of the room to contemplate the white wall.

  Orah bit down on her lower lip as if to punish it for letting out the words. She stared at Nathaniel’s back, at the hollow between his shoulders, trying to see through to his heart. She’d always been able to read his moods, but so much had changed since their coming of age.

  What is he thinking?

  She closed her eyes and concentrated. She sensed Thomas hovering nearby and could hear his breath coming in quick bursts, but otherwise silence.

  Speak to me, Nathaniel.

  The scuff of footsteps approached, and she opened her eyes.

  Nathaniel had come back to her, stopping less than a pace away. His chest swelled as he took in a breath, and, when he exhaled, its warmth brushed her cheeks. “Whatever happens, the three of us need to agree. The vicars won’t distinguish between us. Whatever punishment befalls one will befall all.”

  Orah’s words emerged in a whisper. “How do we reach that agreement?”

  “The hot weather’s almost here. The trip back across the ridge would be hard with no shade or water. Let’s spend the summer in the keep.” He lifted his chin so his jaw jutted out—a gesture he’d inherited from his father. “My father always said there’s no wisdom without knowledge. By summer’s end, we might gain enough knowledge to make the right choice.”

  Orah gazed at him, her Nathaniel, her friend since birth. If only they could go back to Little Pond and resume their lives as if none of this had happened.

  A deep sigh, and the practical side of her took over. “If nothing else, the keep will provide us food and shelter, and I’ll have time to study and explore.”

  Nathaniel turned to Thomas. “What about you?”

  Thomas shuffled closer and, after a moment’s hesitation, formed a circle with his friends. The hint of a spark had returned to his eyes. “Will I need to study as much as Orah?”

  Nathaniel’s jaw relaxed, and he eased into a smile. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

  Thomas grinned and spoke for them all. “Then the end of summer it is. You’ll find Orah in Bot-a-ny. For myself, I plan to do most of my learning in the dining hall.”

  Thomas, as always, had found a way to make her smile, but this smile was short lived. Summer would fly by, and she and Nathaniel would have to negotiate the boundary between illusion and reality. For all her careful planning, she had no idea how it would end.

  Chapter 28 – Exploration

  Orah slipped through a narrow passageway into a small room more cramped than her Temple City cell. She took a deep breath to calm her heartbeat. This place was far from Temple City—no teachings here. Like everything else in the keep, the builders had designed these chambers for utility more than luxury. The keepmasters had thrived in such quarters for fifty years. Surely she could survive a summer.

  A friendly helper had assigned them each a warm and well-lit bedchamber. A straight-backed chair stood in its center, and to provide more space, the desk and cot folded into the wall. She asked the helper to lower the cot. Tiny gears hummed, so much quieter than those of the golden doors, and the cot stopped level with her waist. The meager mattress appeared as hard as the floor, but when she settled upon it, its strange material molded to her body.

  She lay there, staring at the white ceiling and letting the tension drain from her muscles. For the past several weeks, she’d run a race filled with danger and doubt, and now that she’d reached her goal, she longed to stay on the soft surface.

  One task left to do.

  She rose and asked the helper to lower the desk as well, and then removed the long abandoned log from her pack. Time to record the start of a new kind of quest—an adventure of the mind. She turned to the first blank page and began her entry.

  The keep at last.

  Such a strange journey, so different from what I expected when I foolishly left Little Pond with my friends. Somehow, thank the light, we’ve reached our goal, but now what to make of the keep?

  Though I’ve yet to explore, I’ve seen a sampling of its wonders. Treasures lie here beyond counting, greater than I ever imagined, but not easily obtained. The keep offers more than any person could learn in a lifetime. In these scant few weeks of summer, my challenge will be to focus on one or two subjects. I pray to choose wisely.

  We’ve agreed to a simple plan: set our decision aside and ignore our impending fate, then pick an area of study and gather at dinner each evening to share our findings. Like Nathaniel, I’m eager to begin. Thomas professes disinterest, but I believe the keep will eventually pique his curiosity. It offers so much, the promise of a world reborn.

  My eyes grow heavy now. My hand lacks strength to write. Time to get some rest, for tomorrow my new adventure begins—a journey to discover my potential for greatness.

  ***

  Nathaniel yearned to set an example, to arrive at dinner with revelations so profound his friends would feel compelled to act, yet by the end of the first week, he had little to say. The keep offered an array of topics more daunting than he’d expected, and at his current rate of progress, he’d bring nothing to their meals but silence.

  He decided to focus on history since all his knowledge of the past came from the vicars. They preached peace and perfection during the reign of the Temple of Light, but the brutal practice of teachings gave lie to what he’d learned. They claimed chaos and death had preceded its founding, but he’d seen enough of the keepmasters’ world to know there had
been more—bold undertakings and impressive accomplishments.

  Orah admired accomplishments, the effort and cleverness that went into them. The more he found, the more likely she’d take up his cause.

  The anteroom for history had the same appearance as the others, round with a recessed ceiling and lighting that bounced off the walls. Of the topics spiraling from its center, two sparked his curiosity: politics and religion.

  He stepped up to the politics screen first. “Help.”

  A helper appeared, this time a young man with hair so short the white on the sides of his scalp showed. “How may I help you?”

  “What is politics?”

  The helper described politics as the ability to govern people, involving the creation of a system of rules to administer and control their affairs. Politics sounded like what the vicars spent most of their time doing.

  “Then is it about how the Temple guides its children?”

  A pause followed as some mechanism adjusted. The helper returned momentarily.

  “Though the Temple of Light is the only system you’ve known, many others have come and gone throughout history. Please follow this corridor to learn more about them.”

  The very subject he’d been searching for. What made the Temple different from other systems? What weaknesses might cause its collapse?

  But he had one last question before entering the corridor. “What is religion?”

  The young man asked him to please stand by. Apparently, he wasn’t the expert on religion.

  The screen cleared and a woman in her middle years appeared. She had a strong chin and spoke with a high-pitched voice, making her words clipped and precise. “Religion is a set of beliefs concerning the nature and purpose of the universe, held in common by anywhere from a few individuals to entire populations. The larger congregations usually gather to practice some form of ritual observance.

  “They also preach a preset moral code, which may be broad, declaring what’s right and wrong in human affairs, or more detailed, dictating minutiae such as dress, diet and hairstyle. Often, compliance is left to the individual—a decision between each person and their god. In more extreme cases, the code becomes law and is enforced by authoritarian theocracies.”