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

  John sighed. “You don’t understand. They don’t mean to impart knowledge, they mean to impart fear. They take one in three, sometimes more, at a young age. By making them afraid through the teaching, they make us all afraid, even as we respect what the Temple stands for. For all these centuries, these methods have kept the darkness away.”

  Nathaniel tried to follow the elder’s words. He’d grown up fearing the darkness and had always been faithful to the Temple... except in his innermost thoughts, shared only with his closest friends. What cause would the vicars have to take him? So what if Thomas had given his name? They selected only one in three. The rest became nothing more than entries in Temple records.

  But Orah’s warning rang out in his mind.

  No more illusions.

  ***

  March arrived. The drifts settled to knee-high under their own weight and then melted to the ankles. In the common pathways, many boots beat down the snow, and the villagers spread ash over it to make walking easier.

  The warmer weather made Nathaniel worry more. Within weeks, the roadways would clear, and the vicar would come for the spring blessing.

  As the snow thawed, so did Thomas. Gradually, more details of his teaching emerged.

  Orah worked with him like a mother easing a splinter from a baby’s finger, using insight gained from Nathaniel’s father. “In this dark hole,” she’d ask, “were you cold and wet as well?”

  He’d answer sometimes, but never mentioned the betrayal.

  One day, as the three wandered through the village, making irregular tracks in the snow, Thomas lifted his face to the early March sun, letting it give back warmth. He seemed more content than at any time since the teaching.

  For the moment, Nathaniel’s worries eased, and he shared his friend’s good mood. He stepped in front, causing the three to pause and form a circle. “I have something to tell you, Thomas. Whatever they forced you to do wasn’t your fault. From what my father said, even the strongest character would give in to the teaching. The vicars had no right to demand my name, but know that as of this day, I forgive you.”

  Thomas’s good mood vanished, and the sallow look from festival returned. He stared past them, as if seeing a far-off place. “They dangled the hope of leaving, but always out of reach. I had to tell.... It was the only way to go home.”

  In those few words, he’d said more about the teaching than ever before.

  Orah urged him on. “They killed my father, Thomas. Don’t let them destroy you. So what if you gave them Nathaniel’s name. You had no choice.”

  “Not just his name. They wanted more.”

  Nathaniel’s head snapped around. “More? What else could they want?”

  Thomas began to sob. “They wanted to know your dreams.”

  Nathaniel’s heart thudded in his chest as a foul mix of outrage and fear tore at him. He pictured Thomas in the teaching—exhausted, frightened, and broken—and he intended to comfort his friend, but the question would not be contained. “You told them about my dreams?”

  Without another word, Thomas turned and stumbled off.

  Orah wavered for a second before confronting Nathaniel. “Blame the Temple, not him. We have no choice but to forgive, and as for whatever trials may come, we’ll face them together.”

  Nathaniel gaped as she caught up to Thomas, clutching him in her arms and letting his tears make moist stains on her tunic.

  Chapter 9 – First Test

  The equinox, barely dawn, the morning of the spring blessing. Nathaniel tossed in bed. What if the voice from the sun icon should call his name? Would he submit like his father, and if not, would he ever see Little Pond again?

  He gave up on sleep and swung his feet to the floor. While he waited in the dim light for the chirping of birds to signal sunrise, he pondered the value of honor and the cost of losing it.

  Ten years earlier, he’d spent a similarly somber night following the funeral for Orah’s father.

  ***

  He startled awake from a nightmare and cried out for the mother he never knew.

  His father rushed into his room, settled on the bed, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders until he calmed enough to describe the dream.

  “Mother appeared to me there in the doorway. She whispered my name, but for some reason, she stayed hidden in the shadows. I wanted to tell her Orah’s father was coming to join her, so I stood and came closer. She reached out as if to give me a hug, but before we touched, a moonbeam flashed through the window, and I saw she had no face.”

  “It’s a dream, Nathaniel, nothing more.”

  “At least Orah knew her father. I know nothing about my mother.”

  His father sighed. “I miss her so much, sometimes I forget to share her with you.”

  “Tell me what she was like.”

  “She was tall, with deep brown eyes that pierced your soul. I believe she had a special sense and could tell what those close to her were thinking.”

  “Like Orah can with me?”

  “Yes, your mother would have liked the comparison. She loved you more than anything. When you were still in the womb, she’d tell you stories about all the wonderful things you’d do. She believed one day you’d make the world a better place. If the darkness ever returned, you’d be the one to drive it away.”

  ***

  On this morn of the spring blessing, what would his mother think of him as he shivered in his underclothes and helplessly awaited his fate? Were her dreams merely the aspirations of a young woman expecting her first child, or a premonition? If he was so destined, what choice should he make now?

  After a time, he gave up on sleep, dressed and went outside to pace. In the watery light of pre-dawn, he easily found his way. His stomach growled, and he stepped inside the storage shed to hack off a slice of ham. As he sat hunched on a bench eating, he caught sight of his travel pack hanging on the wall, and an idea began to form. What if he filled the pack with food and a jug of water? His sheepskin jacket hung nearby, and a brightening sky foretold a good day to be outdoors.

  He’d never win a battle with the vicars. Even if he could resist their strange powers, the dread they inflicted on the villagers would make it impossible to defy them, and once in their grasp, he’d either lose his honor or never return.

  He had one other choice: vanish for the day. The Temple required everyone to attend the blessing, but a few always found excuses—business elsewhere, sickness, or a visit to a distant relative. If he missed the ceremony, the vicar might forget to call his name and do without a teaching for the spring. He could hide until the vicar departed.

  Nathaniel’s heart sank as soon as the idea formed. His first test since coming of age, and he planned to run away. What other option remained?

  Yet in the fantastic dreams of his childhood, his knight would never have made such a choice.

  ***

  As the hint of sunrise flared on the horizon, he donned his jacket and hurried off to the NOT tree.

  Once inside, he sat cross-legged and stared blankly at the balsam walls. Time passed slowly. After an hour, he began to worry. He was too near the village, and if temple magic found him, this place might implicate his friends. So before Little Pond rose for the day, he headed deeper into the woods.

  Five minutes later, he stumbled upon a familiar trail. At some point, all schoolchildren of the Ponds made the two-hour trek to the mountains in the west. They’d hike to the foothills and climb through bushes and scree to the base of the white granite, where their teacher would tell them to touch the rock and feel the edge of their world. Here you may come, but no farther. Most never forgot that moment, but few came back. Despite the old stories, everyone believed the mountains insurmountable.

  As a more adventurous sort, Nathaniel’s father used to bring his young son and his friends there for summer outings.

  Before he knew it, Nathaniel had set out on the path. The excursion would give him something to do, take him far from the village and let him think
more clearly. When he returned, he’d claim to have forgotten the vicar’s visit and gone off to the mountains to celebrate his first spring since coming of age. The elders would chastise him but might believe the young, absentminded romantic.

  Still, he hoped for something more. This path—if the legends were true—led over the granite peaks to the ocean... and beyond. Perhaps, in his uncertainty, it might also lead to answers.

  As he hiked, his mind wandered to younger days on the trail with his friends. His father would make up games to reinforce their schooling and keep them from getting bored. He’d start with a quiz about the land, giving them five seconds to answer.

  “How many ponds in this region?”

  “Five.”

  “Their names?”

  “Little Pond, Great Pond, Middle Pond.”

  “The easy ones, Thomas. Nathaniel, you must remember the rest.”

  “Beaver Pond and East Pond.”

  “How far to Temple City?”

  “Three days.”

  Then, when the children began to fidget, he’d switch to numbers.

  “How much is seven and nine?”

  “Sixteen,” Orah would call out.

  “I had the answer,” Thomas would protest, “but Orah always shouts it out first.”

  “I understand. This next one is just for the boys. This is the year 1132 of the age of light. I was born in 1101. How old am I?”

  Nathaniel would glare at Orah, daring her to speak out of turn, and then answer, “Thirty-one.”

  “A hard one now, again for the boys. Nathaniel’s grandfather was born in 1073. How old is he?”

  Thomas would look to Nathaniel, who stammered until the time had passed.

  “Five seconds is up. Orah?”

  Her hand had already shot into the air. “Fifty-nine, sir. I knew it right away.”

  Nathaniel and Thomas would make faces at her until his father reprimanded them. “You’ll learn as well if you work hard. It may take a bit more time.” Then, he’d look up as if surprised. “Ah, we’ve arrived.”

  ***

  Nathaniel had kept a steady pace for two hours, and finally the mountains loomed. No wonder teachers brought students here—an experience to impress. The ground fog had burned off, revealing a brilliant sky, and the morning sun shone strong from the east, bouncing its rays off the white cliffs and making them glow.

  Now, with an unobstructed view of the edge of the world, he needed to rest. He plopped down on the spongy moss, settled his back against a boulder, and took a swallow from his water jug. Then he tipped his head back and stared at the massive rocks, a scene from a storybook.

  This far from the village, he dared defy the vicars and imagine his knight, fresh from defeating the darkness, coming to take on his next quest. Perhaps the knight had scaled the mountains and built a boat to cross the sea, and to this day his descendants lived on the far side of the world, with no vicars, no Temple and no teachings.

  Exhausted from a restless night, with the sun warm on his face and visions of knights in his head, he drifted off to sleep.

  ***

  An hour later, he awoke with a crick in his neck from the hard rock and needed a moment to recall why he’d come. As his mind cleared, he decided he’d made the right choice. He’d avoided the vicar and saved himself for the great deeds that surely lay in his future, while also rediscovering this spot from his youth. He resolved to bring his friends back as soon as possible.

  He stared at the craggy hilltop, seeing the mountains anew, and noted a dark patch a third of the way up the rock face. Why does it fail to reflect the light? Dense bushes? Moss on rocks?

  The more he stared, the more he envisioned no rock at all, but a pass through the mountains and a trail leading up to it. A foolish notion, Orah would say, but he needed to know.

  He began to work his way up, fighting at first through knee-high undergrowth, some thick with thorns. Once through the vegetation, he found a series of switchbacks climbing up the rocky slope. He moved with no plan, trudging steadily upward until sweat streamed down the small of his back and his breath came in short bursts. Exhaustion overcame anticipation, and he paused to rest. For all the distance he’d covered, his goal seemed farther away than when he’d started. To cross the mountain, he’d need provisions and perhaps some rope, but as his breathing returned to normal, he realized the pass was no illusion.

  As he eyed the steepening path, he pictured his knight, battered from his battle with the darkness, scaling this mountain. He would have shed his helmet and armor, too heavy for the climb, and burdened with nothing but his sword and the talisman round his neck, slashed his way through the thicket and carved out a passageway. On the far side, he’d have built a boat and sailed away, taking the magically constrained darkness as far as possible from the children of light.

  On a whim, Nathaniel glanced back to gauge how far he’d come. From his perch on the high ledge, he spotted the village of Little Pond. The place that had been home for all his life looked tiny from here, but he recognized details: his father’s farm, and the bell tower of the village commons.

  At once, his circumstance became clear.

  The sun approached its midday peak. Soon, the blessing would commence. His absence would embarrass his father, and in the glare of the noontime sun, he recognized his coming here as an act of cowardice. Whatever might have happened, he should never have run out of fear.

  Forgetting his discovery, he turned downhill and raced back toward the village.

  ***

  Breathless and sweating despite the chill, Nathaniel rushed into the square. A few villagers lingered, but most had returned to their homes. He blew out a stream of air.

  The altar lay bare. The vicar had gone.

  Relief turned to worry when he picked up a murmur among those who remained. He asked for the cause of their concern, but they only shook their heads, so he searched for someone more familiar.

  Susannah Weber! Her face had gone pale as chalk, and her cheeks were moist with tears.

  “What happened?” he said.

  “Oh Nathaniel, first my sweet young man and now my daughter.”

  When he stared blankly at her, she cried out. “Orah has been taken.”

  Chapter 10 – Temple City

  Nathaniel stretched his legs until the muscles sang. He’d been ready to rush off to Temple City at once, but his father had forbidden him to go. As a loving son, he was loath to openly disobey, so he’d waited until the wee hours of the morning before leaving. By dashing off before sunrise, he’d cut the vicar’s lead in half. Now he hoped to close the remaining gap with his long stride. Whenever his legs tired, he pictured Orah in the teaching cell and pressed on.

  He paused to rest near one of the temple trees that loomed over the landscape, with its stubby branches and garish green needles. His teachers had proclaimed these towers a miracle of the light, possessed of magic and to be avoided, but his father had taught him a more practical use. Set at intervals of exactly ten thousand paces, they provided a good way to measure distance—two hours apart at a normal stride, but he’d passed the last few in less. If only he could keep up this pace.

  He arched his back to expand his lungs and drew in a deep breath, then started off again.

  Thomas had tried to stop him, insisting no one could prevail against the vicars. “They’re too strong and instill too much fear.”

  Nathaniel had dismissed him with a wave. He felt no fear. Nothing could shame him more than this—after waiting his whole life, he’d failed his first test of courage. He’d run away, and the vicar had chosen Orah in his stead. Now he must pay the price.

  Like the knight of his dreams, he’d charge into Temple City, but this time, he had no doubt what to do. He’d go to the vicars and offer himself up in her place.

  ***

  “Let us record the first teaching of Orah Weber of Little Pond. Blessed be the light. Orah, do you understand why you’re here?”

  Orah gazed up at the
three men and forced herself to match their stares. “No, my lord, I do not. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “We concern ourselves less with the doing of wrong than the tendency to make choices that allow for the darkness to return. You do know what the darkness is?”

  “Yes sir. The darkness is the time before the light, a time of chaos and death.”

  The vicar in the center wore a hat with six red stripes and a beard two hands long—an arch vicar. She’d learned the rankings in school, but had never seen a vicar so powerful.

  He glared at her unblinking, thick brows hooding his eyes. “The darkness was much more. This teaching will help you learn the truth about the darkness, so you shall never forget the need to obey the Temple of Light.”

  Orah tried to stay focused, but her gaze kept wandering up to the arches, which were lost in the shadows cast by flickering candles dotting the surrounding walls, and back down to the panel of vicars.

  The clergymen sat at a curved desk mounted high on a platform, which forced the person standing before them to crane their neck. A tapestry hung behind them, covering the wall halfway up the dome. Its colors had faded, but its meaning remained clear. On one side, the sun beamed across rows of vicars with arms uplifted in prayer. On the other, a black thunderhead threatened the advancing host. The battle of darkness and light.

  Beneath her feet lay the hatch hiding the teaching cell.

  She shook off such thoughts and answered with a firm voice. “I look forward to your help. I’m an excellent student and eager to learn.”

  “And so you shall, Orah. Isn’t that a name from one of the forbidden languages?”

  “It may be, sir. I’m told it comes from the word for light.” She conjured up an image of her father, and raised her chin. “It’s a proud name passed down in my family for generations.”

  “But forbidden, nevertheless. Rules exist so the darkness may never return, yet you play loosely with those rules. That means you do not fully appreciate the horrors of the darkness. Orah of Little Pond, whose name means light, we shall ensure that you learn—” He leaned forward for emphasis. “—to the depths of your being.”