The Seekers: The Children of Darkness (Dystopian Sci-Fi - Book 1) Page 21

  The man appeared pleased with the question. “Ah. You’d like to use the observatory. Please step into the elevator and I’ll meet you there.”

  She startled to a doorway appearing in the blank wall, exposing a hidden chamber. Unlike most rooms in the keep, this one was tiny, able to hold no more than four people. After a brief hesitation, she gave a shudder and entered.

  A pale light shone rather than the usual soft glow, revealing stark metal walls broken only by a waist-high handrail. She barely had time to question its purpose when the door slid shut, locking her in with no latch or knob, or box with sixteen stars.

  The room lurched and stopped. The lights flickered and dimmed. She’d become accustomed to problems, doors sticking, water spigots going dry, and other frailties of old age. Usually, the keep healed itself. But a day would come when the keepmasters’ creation would fail. As she gaped at the featureless door, a ghost of herself gaped back, a grim memory from her teaching cell.

  Before she could panic, a familiar voice sounded. “Please stand by. Repairs are being made.”

  Shortly, the lights brightened and the room began to accelerate—not nearly as fast as the flying wagon, but more disconcerting, it was moving upward. She clutched the handrail as her heart settled into her stomach.

  When the room came to a halt, the wall at the opposite end slid open, and she gratefully exited into a domed chamber. At its center, a cylinder a dozen feet long slanted upward toward the heavens, with a seat anchoring its bottom.

  Another of the ever-present screens sprang to life. The astronomy helper reappeared as promised. “Welcome to the observatory. Here you’ll be able to view the sky, either with the naked eye or through the telescope. Which would you like to do first?”

  She’d learned about telescopes and assumed the cylinder in the center was one of these, but she preferred to scan the heavens without it first.

  A tremor crept into her voice. “My own eyes... if you please.”

  Gears ground and the roof of the dome retracted. Above her shimmered the same night sky she’d grown to love in Little Pond. She’d forgotten how beautiful it was.

  The helper waved his arm in a broad arc, encompassing the round chamber. “You’ll find markers on the wall that show direction. I can give you a tour of tonight’s sky if you’d like.”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “At two hundred and thirty degrees to the southwest you will find the brightest of all lights, save the sun and the moon, a planet we call Venus.”

  She circled until she found the matching number, glanced up and beheld the evening star. Its light trembled and seemed to grow brighter as she stared.

  “Venus is a world like our own, but revolves around the sun in a closer orbit. You can prove this by observing its phases. Part of the planet becomes obscured whenever it cycles behind the sun. You can see this phenomenon through the telescope.”

  The tube in the center whirred and swung around. She waited until it stopped before taking a seat. When she glanced through the eyepiece, her brows rose. An amber crescent shone, a third of a ball, with the remainder in shadow—the evening star as she’d never seen it before. Another world like our own.

  The helper gave her time before continuing. “If you follow Venus for several days, you can track the phases as they change. Would you like to see more?”

  “Yes, please.” The tremor had gone, but her voice remained subdued.

  “At eighty-three degrees east is Jupiter, a world farther away than Venus but much larger than our own. You can tell it’s a planet because of the orbiting moons, with the four largest visible.”

  A third planet. Four moons. The open expanse made her giddy.

  She located the appropriate number, cast in bronze on the chamber’s wall, and glanced up. Though less bright than Venus, Jupiter outshone all the other stars.

  “I don’t see any moons.”

  “Let me position the telescope for you.”

  Orah clutched the sides of the chair as the cylinder adjusted and then peered into the eyepiece. Four bursts of white flashed close by Jupiter. She took a deep breath and then scanned the sky for another target. So many stars and between them all, far more dramatic, the endless blackness.

  After weeks confined in the keep, she found the sight inspiring, and gave expression to her feelings. “What a view, and such a clear night except for that one cloud.”

  “I’m sorry. Remember, you must tell me direction and degrees.”

  Always respectful, she told him the location of the cloud, but her mouth dropped open at his response.

  “That’s likely not a cloud but a galaxy, a cluster of stars so far away they appear as a haze in the sky. I suggest you check through the telescope.”

  Once more, the cylinder whirred and stopped, but when she pressed her eye to the eyepiece, her vision blurred. She had to wipe the moisture away with the back of her sleeve before looking again.

  Oh, Nathaniel, you should see this. She checked again to be sure she hadn’t dreamed it. Through the lens, her mind filled with a million suns.

  ***

  Nathaniel raced into the dining hall, eager to show Orah what he’d found—his childhood fantasy come true—but as he skidded to a stop before her, late and out of breath, she barely looked up.

  “I found a map,” he announced.

  “What’s so amazing about that? We have a map that shows all we need.”

  “Ours shows the world of today. The keepmasters’ map displays their world on a screen.”

  She shoved the remains of her dinner aside. “Is this city on it?”

  “Yes, and much more. Come with me.”

  She stood to follow, but Thomas didn’t budge.

  “You too, Thomas,” Nathaniel said.

  “I haven’t finished eating yet.”

  “The food can wait.”

  Nathaniel grabbed his arm and tugged until Thomas shook him off. “Enough. I’m coming. This had better be worth it.”

  Nathaniel led them through a maze of corridors, never slowing to read screens. In a couple of minutes, they arrived at a viewing area like all the others. He urged them to sit while he stood next to the screen.

  As soon as they settled, he issued his first command. “Show me Riverbend.”

  The screen flickered and a map appeared, more detailed than the third keeper’s paper map and in color. The North River wound through the landscape in a ribbon of blue, and the forests gleamed a bright green. Shaded contours gave depth to the terrain.

  Orah pointed to a thick black line. “Is that the road we took out of Riverbend?”

  He nodded. “Watch. We can follow it.” He barked out the word, “East.”

  The image scrolled, and the town vanished, but in the center of the screen the river curled northward.

  Orah understood at once and took over. “North.”

  The picture changed. The river’s bend now lay at the bottom left corner, and the broad roadway spread beside it.

  “Can we keep going?”

  Nathaniel barely contained his delight. “Go ahead and try.”

  She repeated the command and the screen scrolled again and again. Contours showed the trail rising. Soon, the four falls tumbled down and a new roadway jumped out of the mountain on one side, arched across the valley and entered the slope on the other.

  Without hesitation, Orah changed direction. “East.”

  The image soared over the rugged terrain shifting again and again each time she spoke.

  “Look how far the wagon flew. Don’t make me wait, Nathaniel? How much farther?”

  “A few more.”

  Orah barked out three more commands and gasped when the city appeared with its needle-topped buildings poking the sky.

  She blew out a stream of air. “I wish we’d had this on our trek here.”

  Nathaniel nudged Thomas. “Your turn. Give it a try.”

  Thomas reluctantly rose to his feet, shuffled closer, and mumbled the words. “Show me Little Po
nd.”

  The screen stayed unchanged. Thomas frowned and fell back a step.

  Nathaniel placed a hand on the small of Thomas’s back and nudged him closer. “It doesn’t understand Little Pond. I tried before. The village may be too small or the name may have changed over the centuries, but we can still get there.” He faced the screen and spoke, “Show me Great Pond.”

  The larger town appeared by the pond of the same name.

  “Go ahead. You know the way home from here.”

  Thomas eyed him skeptically. When he spoke, he sounded afraid he’d be denied again. “West... north... west.” When Little Pond at last appeared, he brightened a moment before becoming wistful. “If only the screen came with a wagon to take us home.”

  “I’m sorry, Thomas. No wagon, but I have one more surprise.”

  He waited like a magician, letting the suspense build before performing a trick. Only after Orah slid to the edge of her seat did he speak the next command.

  “West.” Little Pond vanished from the screen. “West, west.”

  The granite mountains appeared—what the vicars insisted was the end of the world.

  He gave his friends time to absorb the implication and then said, “West,” again.

  The mountains filled the right side only, but on the left, an expanse of blue appeared.

  Orah came forward and brushed the blue on the screen with her fingertips. “Oh, Nathaniel, the ocean your knight discovered, beyond the edge of the world.”

  Nathaniel waved his hand and bowed. His show had ended.

  But Orah wanted more. “Did you go farther? Did you try to find what’s on the other side?”

  He shrugged, surprised how caught up she was in the illusion. “I tried. Nothing but ocean. I’ll show you.” He took a breath and issued the command, “West.” The screen turned all to blue. “West, west, west.” Nothing changed. He waved at the empty sea. “The end of the map.”

  “Are you sure you went far enough? What if the ocean is so large we’re still over water?”

  “I tried a hundred times. The blue never changes.”

  “Ask if we can make it scroll faster.”

  He asked, and a helper told him to state the number of movements with the command. He ordered the map to shift five times, then ten. No change. In desperation, he hurled absurd commands at the screen. “West a hundred times. A thousand times. West to the far side of the ocean.”

  He turned to take his seat, tired of the show, but stopped when he saw Orah’s eyes widen. Almost afraid to see what she was gaping at, he looked back.

  The blue now filled only half the screen, with land on the left side, and on that land, a broad roadway led to a shining city.

  The legend—every word of it—was true.

  ***

  The next day, Thomas ventured from the dining hall without knowing why. Did boredom drive him, or had he finally succumbed to Orah’s nagging? Whatever the reason, he found himself sitting alone in front of a screen.

  When a helper appeared, he had no choice but to admit the reason he came. “Can you tell me about the darkness?”

  The helper responded matter-of-factly, oblivious to the mood of his listener. “Do you mean darkness as in the absence of light or darkness as used by the Temple?”

  “The darkness of the Temple.”

  The helper changed. The new one bore an unfortunate resemblance to the arch vicar, with thick eyebrows and a bushy beard, but when he spoke, he seemed friendly and enthusiastic. “Thank you for your interest in the Temple of Light. The vicars invented the term ‘darkness’ to mean the time before they came to power. Of course, the usage is simplistic. Any era has good and bad. The vicars justified damning ours by emphasizing the worst and hiding the best. I can show you examples of both and am pleased to discuss these further, but you may narrow the discussion by being more specific.”

  Thomas forced himself to recall his teaching. “Did they invent a liquid that melted flesh from bone?”

  “The time before the Temple was a period of frequent wars, with atrocities committed by all sides.” The helper warmed to his subject. “Combatants armed themselves with weapons that used the knowledge of the day, one of these was an incendiary gel composed of polystyrene, benzene, and gasoline, which—”

  “Stop.” One teaching confirmed. No need for details. “Did they drop an artificial sun from the sky?”

  The helper resumed, unperturbed by the interruption. “The Temple coined the term ‘artificial sun’ to describe a super weapon dropped from the sky that could kill many people. The crass attempt at symbolism was obvious. Their sun, the giver of life, would compare positively with—”

  “Was it ever used?” Thomas couldn’t bring himself to look at the screen.

  “I’m sorry. Please repeat your question.”

  Thomas squeezed his fist until the nails bit into his palm and spoke louder this time.

  The helper hesitated as if reluctant to answer. Finally, he said a single word, “Yes.”

  “How many died?”

  “Difficult to say. At least several hundreds of thousands, maybe millions if you count the long term effects of—”

  “Show me.”

  The screen flickered and lit up, showing the same pictures he’d viewed during his teaching. His breath came in heavy bursts. Finally, he said, “Stop.” The screen cleared, and the helper reappeared, waiting with an infuriating patience.

  The word exploded from Thomas’s lips. “Why?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

  “Why did they do it?”

  The screen cycled through helpers as if unsure which expert to select. At last, the original helper returned, looked at Thomas dejectedly and said, “Unknown.”

  Thomas glared at the man, challenging him to come up with a better explanation. Everything the vicars claimed turned out to be true, and the keepmasters had no defense. He wanted to go hide in the dining hall and never hear of the Temple or the keepmasters again.

  Then the helper began to speak on his own, his tone no longer pleasant but concerned. “I note your last several requests dealt with the horrors of our age—and we had many—but it would be unfair to limit yourself to such a negative view. I urge you to explore our achievements as well, the writings of our great thinkers, the scientific discoveries, the works of art.” The helper opened his arms wide and waited.

  Science was Orah domain, and Nathaniel studied history, but science gave Thomas a headache, and history revealed a time he’d just as soon forget. A part of him wanted to rush out into the ruined city and race through the buildings until one of them crashed down on him and ended his misery, but curiosity made him ask for more.

  “What do you mean by art?”

  The helper waved his arms as if to encompass the screen, the room and the universe. “The creative arts. We have so many forms—painting, theater, literature, sculpture, music.”

  The last caught Thomas’s attention, and he repeated the word, “Music.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t....”

  “Please show me music.”

  A new helper appeared, if anything more buoyant than his predecessor. “Welcome to the study of music. Music has evolved throughout history, an art form that constantly changes. Does any particular style interest you?”

  Thomas had no idea. Most of what he knew consisted of the sound produced by two flutes and a drum, but a thought struck him—the vicars disapproved of music.

  “Show me music from before the vicars came to power.”

  “We have many forms of—”

  “Pick one.”

  At first, he believed the screen had gone blank, but then he realized he was watching a scene at night. Fire flashed. When the smoke cleared, a brightly-lit stage appeared with a dozen young men and women poised upon it, all dressed in black and made up in ghastly colors.

  The drummer began, establishing the beat, and then the others joined in. The music blared louder than anything he recalled—until
he remembered a similar sound from his teaching cell. The vicars had claimed the young worshipped death, but he perceived the noise differently now, a kind of music.

  Had he finally caught the vicars in a lie?

  He leaned in, needing to be sure. “Can you show me their faces?”

  The screen zoomed in on the audience, not children worshipping death, but revelers at a kind of festival, their faces expressing pleasure, not despair.

  Thomas settled back in his chair. The urge to flee had passed. He recalled the words of the vicar of Bradford: The people of this era had enjoyed unlimited freedom of thought. This music was chaotic, not to his taste, but these people enjoyed its sound.

  The day had worn on, and his stomach began to growl. He decided to sample one more before joining his friends for dinner. “Can you show me something a little... quieter?”

  The screen cleared for a moment before revealing a mass of players holding instruments the likes of which he’d never seen. Peering closer, he picked out a flute similar to his own, except larger, more polished and elaborately carved, and another wind instrument, even longer, with more holes and silver pieces to cover them. Most of the players clutched what he assumed to be wooden string instruments and held above them something like a thin saw.

  The leader in front tapped twice with a stick. The musicians readied their instruments, with saws raised and pointing to the sky.

  Then they began to play.

  Thomas took a moment to connect the sounds—rich and sonorous and somehow woody—with the musicians sawing at their instruments. As he listened, he caught something else, not a single melody, but several going on at once. They didn’t get in each other’s way, but worked together, playing off one another to form a whole piece.

  One of the higher-pitched instruments tossed out a melody. A lower one picked it up, changed it and tossed it back. Then all came together for a note or two, changing the—he had no word for it—and split apart again in a musical dance.

  He found himself lost in a bouncing, floating joy, which made him recall trips to the granite mountains as a child, the thrill of winning a race at festival, the euphoria of finding the keep. It sounded like something he’d been dreaming about all his life—strange dreams that hinted of music from long ago—and now he’d discovered the joy again, better than he ever imagined.