The Seekers: The Children of Darkness (Dystopian Sci-Fi - Book 1) Page 8

  Nathaniel stammered. What more could he say?

  The audience had ended. The arch vicar dismissed him with a flip of his hand, and the deacons led him back to his cell.

  Chapter 11 – The Keeper

  A scratching at the peephole intruded on Nathaniel’s thoughts.

  “I’m sorry you came back,” the old man said. “I hoped you’d tell them what they wanted and go home.”

  He had intended the words kindly, but Nathaniel waved him off. After a time, the old man put the slate back into place and hobbled away.

  Nathaniel slumped on the cot and buried his fist in his cheek. He’d dashed from Little Pond to this cursed place, hoping to help Orah, but what had he accomplished? An impossible choice lay before him: commit to the Temple, or send her back to the teaching. Either would haunt him for the rest of his days.

  He’d had no food since arriving at Temple City, and though eating was least on his mind, his stomach growled. Thankfully, at that moment, a young deacon unlocked the door and brought in a tray, a simple meal—brown bread, apples and goat cheese—but much to Nathaniel’s relief, enough for two. Moments later, a guard ushered Orah into the room.

  Dust coated her from head to toe, but her spirit seemed intact. “Nathaniel of Little Pond, and here I expected to share lunch with the grand vicar.”

  He gestured at the tray. “I arranged a little snack for us.”

  Each took measure of the other.

  How must I look in her eyes? Less battered he presumed, but far from the confident hero—just a boy from a remote village who’d reached beyond his means. Seeing her made his choice all the more burdensome. He couldn’t help but imagine her in the same state as Thomas at festival. No words seemed appropriate, and every attempt to speak caught in his throat.

  Orah’s eyes widened, and she reached out for him, but her hand hovered in mid-air without touching him. “Why are you here? Did they take us both for a teaching?”

  She’d see through any evasion, but he tried anyway. “I came to rescue you. I offered to replace you, but they turned me down. The light knows what will happen next.”

  Orah sat on the cot with the tray between them and let her gaze wander from the cell door to the food and finally back to him. She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “I should be angry with you for risking yourself like some fool hero.” Her features eased into a smile, and she brushed his cheek with her fingertips. “But thank you.”

  His head still down, he rolled his eyes up to glance at her, and grimaced. “Believe me, I’m no hero.”

  Shame kept him from saying more, but a flash of pain in her eyes told him she’d heard enough and knew he was hiding something. Whether out of pity or hunger, she refrained from pressing for now.

  She grabbed a loaf and broke it in half. “We should eat. Who knows when we’ll get the next chance?”

  He accepted the bread from her, grateful for the reprieve. They ate in silence, showing little appetite but managing to clear the tray.

  Once finished, she fixed him with a piercing stare. “What aren’t you telling me? If they turned you down, why was I released?”

  Before he could answer, the familiar scraping of the peephole cover sounded from across the room.

  Orah startled. “What was that?”

  “My new friend, the prisoner in the next cell. He’s been there so long he misses companionship.”

  Then, another, more ominous noise came from the walkway outside, the thump of deacons’ boots on the stone floor.

  “Quickly, Nathaniel, before they come. What are you hiding?”

  He dreaded the moment but had to tell. The choice seemed dragged from his lips—her teaching or his commitment to the Temple. She listened open-mouthed, but for once had nothing to say.

  “I made my offer,” he said, “and they made theirs. They granted me two days to decide, and in the meantime, they suspended your teaching and let us share meals. I thought seeing you would help me decide, but now my misery’s complete. I’m no hero, but I won’t let you go to the same fate that befell Thomas and my father and yours. How could I live with that?”

  She stood, rising to her toes so she appeared taller. “You will not do this for me. I forbid it. I’m not frail and will survive the teaching better than any of them.” Her face reddened to match her hair, and her breath came in short bursts. “As far as living with your choice, if you become one of them, you won’t live long enough to be ordained. I’ll kill you first, the Temple and their darkness be damned.”

  He pressed two fingers to her lips, but he never could calm her when her blood was up.

  She twisted away and lowered her voice to a hiss. “The darkness—a tale they made up to control us. Why don’t they leave us alone?”

  “Hush, Orah. Think of where you are. Don’t make things worse for the both of us.”

  The grate of metal on metal quieted them as the bolt slid open. Two stout deacons motioned Orah to follow.

  She glared over her shoulder as she crossed the threshold. “Think hard, Nathaniel. I pray you come to your senses before our next meal.”

  The deacons led her off, one at each arm. The door slammed shut behind them, followed by a deafening silence.

  ***

  The silence didn’t last long.

  The old prisoner barely gave him time to collapse on the cot. “A strong woman, yes?”

  Nathaniel kept still, staring at the opposite wall, but for now companionship seemed preferable to quiet. “Yes, a strong woman.”

  “The teaching won’t destroy that one. No.”

  Nathaniel turned and spoke to the hole, his voice rising. “I won’t let them take her.”

  He imagined the old man chewing over his words before saying them aloud. “But to become a vicar? You know what they are.”

  “I don’t know anything, and neither do you.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “How could you know? You’ve been locked away in that cell for twenty years.”

  “What better way to know what they are?” The old man let the thought sink in, backing off and then returning to the peephole. His voice became less scattered. “She was right, you know. They lie about the darkness. The darkness was not as they teach.”

  Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed. He sat up straight and listened for more. When no more came, he slid to the edge of his cot and whispered, “How can you be so sure?”

  Snippets of muttering filtered from the other cell. The man seemed to be having an argument with himself. “It’s time to tell, Samuel. He may be the keepers’ last hope.”

  Nathaniel crept closer and peered through the opening.

  The old man stood more erect with the look of someone who’d made a decision.

  Nathaniel placed his mouth to the hole. “Who is Samuel?”

  “I am Samuel,” the old man said. “Yes, there’s still a person here after all these years, a man with a name. And she called you Nathaniel?”

  “Yes, I’m Nathaniel.”

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  Nathaniel checked back through the hole to catch Samuel bending at the waist with hands straight to his sides, a formal bow that seemed to cause him some pain—the bow of a once proud man.

  “How can I be sure about the darkness?” Samuel said, his voice gaining strength with each word. “Because the vicars failed to erase the past. Everywhere you look, bits of it remain. Haven’t you seen its vestiges in your village, things the Temple hasn’t ordained?”

  Nathaniel thought of wassail and festival, of Orah’s name from a forbidden language. He nodded, then realizing the man couldn’t see, said, “Yes.”

  “What they call the darkness is nothing more than our past, but they show us only the worst.”

  Nathaniel had to ask. “Were you sent for a teaching?”

  Samuel let out a laugh. “A teaching’s a trifle compared to what I’ve been through. I’m aware of what they show in teachings—and yes, all the evil they claim is true. I also know wha
t they hide, the good they’ve erased. Like a foolish parent trying to save us from our own wickedness, they’ve given us a world of limits and not a world of possibilities. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Nathaniel began to feel lightheaded, and tiny black dots fluttered before his eyes like gnats. “Nothing is as it seems. I have a lot to think about.”

  “Yes, and so do I.”

  The old prisoner moved away and settled on the wicker chair next to the table. His shoulders heaved, and his breath came in short bursts as he stared at his hands.

  Nathaniel staggered toward his cot, but stopped and went back to the peephole. “One last thing, Samuel. What’s a keeper?”

  Samuel glanced up. “A story for another time, my boy. For another time.”

  ***

  Time passed swiftly. At breakfast the next day, Orah begged Nathaniel to reject the vicar’s offer, but he refused to send her back to the teaching. Her parting stung more each time the deacons led her away.

  Samuel eavesdropped through the peephole during their morning meal but said nothing. After the cell door closed following the second lunch, he spoke at last. “I told you my story was for another time, Nathaniel. Well, now’s that time.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Come close so I can whisper. I’ll tell you about the keepers.”

  The term had piqued Nathaniel’s curiosity since their earlier conversation, but what could he believe from his fellow prisoner? What fantasies had the poor man concocted over twenty years?

  He shuffled toward the wall as if approaching a precipice in the dark. “I’m here.”

  “Our forebears lived in time of wonder, filled with magic and strife. When the Temple came to power, the vicars preferred order to wonder. The darkness, they screamed from their pulpits, a time of chaos and death. They determined to erase the glories of the past so we’d forget them forever, but the wizards of that age resisted. To save their treasures for the future, they concealed them from the vicars in a place called the keep.”

  Nathaniel pressed his ear to the wall and listened, as he had as a child when his father told tales at bedtime.

  The old man continued. “The time would come, the wizards believed, when a generation would arise that embraced their wonders once more, but the vicars ruled with a ruthless hand, intent on eradicating the past. The keep would need to stay hidden until the coming of the new age, so they created a puzzle, a rhyme that led to the keep, and divided the verses into pieces for safekeeping, one piece to one person, with directions to find the next in the chain. Those chosen to preserve the clues they called keepers.”

  Nathaniel’s heart pounded. “How many keepers are there?”

  “Each keeper knows of the next and no more—all except the last one. If one link is broken, the secret will be lost forever, the reason why every keeper takes an oath to pass on his clue before he dies.”

  Nathaniel’s dilemma flitted from his mind, replaced by the vision of an armored knight with a plumed helmet and a flashing sword. To the darkness with teachings and the coming of age. The idea of the keep had awakened something in him he thought he’d lost forever.

  “But who’ll solve the puzzle?” he said.

  “A vanguard of this new generation would arise first, driven to seek the truth at all costs, even at the risk of their lives. These few would take the lead. The founders of the keep called them seekers, and their task would be to solve the puzzle and rediscover the keep.”

  “What’s in the keep?”

  “The chain started so long ago, even the keepers aren’t sure. The keep may not even exist.”

  “Ancient magic?”

  “More. Something the Temple fears. Something that might change the world.”

  Nathaniel’s hands shook. I’d be a seeker if I could.

  The other cell went quiet.

  Nathaniel checked through the peephole to find the man slumped on the cot, his chest hardly moving. He should leave him be, but....

  “Samuel?”

  “What now?”

  “Are you a keeper?”

  “It’s just a story, Nathaniel, and now I need to rest.”

  ***

  The final dinner before Nathaniel’s decision came and went. As the door slammed shut and the bolt snapped into place, Nathaniel wondered if he’d ever see Orah again. Horrific images flashed before his eyes: Orah in the darkness cell; himself with the not-quite-square-hat of a vicar reciting the blessing; or worse—snatching the child of some neighbor for a teaching.

  First thing in the morning, the deacons would escort him to the round chamber, and he’d gaze up into the unyielding faces of the clergy. They’d demand his decision.

  The word decision stuck in his mind, so he almost missed its echo from the peephole.

  “I’ve made my decision,” the old man said. “We each face a difficult choice, and so we must help each other.”

  “Help each other? I have no way to help you, and what can you do for me?”

  “I can offer a third way, and you can keep the chain alive.”

  Nathaniel gasped. “You are a keeper.”

  “I am the first keeper. For twenty long years, I’ve kept faith, but if I die without passing on the secret, the chain will be broken.”

  Nathaniel tried to count three breaths before speaking, as Orah would urge him to do, but the words burst out as if on their own. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I’ll pass my clue on to you. You tell the vicars you’ll join them. They’ll give you time to go home and settle your affairs before returning. Then... don’t return.”

  “I’m to become a keeper?”

  The old man’s chortle resounded strangely off the stone walls, but he caught himself and spoke more distinctly than ever. “You misunderstand, my boy. The time for rediscovery has come. You will become a seeker.”

  The cell walls seemed to contract. “But Temple City’s the farthest I’ve ever roamed from home. What do I know of the greater world?”

  “Don’t doubt yourself, Nathaniel. You had the courage to come alone to Temple City and offer yourself to save a friend. Such passion will serve you well as you seek the keep. Accept my offer. You may be the drop of water that wears down the rock of the Temple.”

  Suddenly, Orah’s voice echoed in his mind. No illusions. His eyes narrowed. “Why would you trust me?”

  “I have no choice. When I die, the first clue of the keepers will die with me, and the chain will be broken. You’re our only hope.”

  The moment had come, Nathaniel realized. More than the decision to run to the mountains or to follow Orah to Temple City, he now faced the real test. He took a deep breath, puffed out his chest, and relaxed. “I’m ready.”

  The old man dragged his cot aside and knelt on the floor. He then picked at the far wall with his fingernails, and a pebble came loose, revealing a hidden compartment. He groped inside and pulled out a rolled-up parchment, ordered Nathaniel to step away, and squeezed the scroll through the peephole.

  Nathaniel grasped it as if it were spun glass. “What is it?”

  “All you need to begin the search: the city, the symbol, the pass phrase and the rhyme.”

  Nathaniel unrolled a parchment unlike any skin or paper he’d ever seen, pure white but with a hard sheen, so the surface looked wet but felt dry. He wanted to believe in the keep, but when he unfurled the scroll, his doubts returned.

  “It’s blank.”

  “The words will appear when held over a flame. Don’t worry. The scroll won’t burn. The words will show for a few seconds and then vanish when they cool.”

  Nathaniel rushed to the candle, but the old man barked for him to stop. “Not here. Not anywhere near Temple City. They must never learn what’s on the scroll. Look when you’re far away.”

  “How will I understand what it means?”

  “That’s the seeker’s task, but I can start you on your way. Each scroll contains the name of a town and a symbol. Use these to find the next
keeper. After that come the phrase you must speak and the required response of the keeper. In this way, you’ll know to trust each other.”

  A cough racked the first keeper. Only when it subsided did he continue. “Finally, you’ll find a part of the rhyme that shows the way to the keep. Each scroll will contain one four line verse. Don’t try to make sense of it until you’ve discovered the final scroll. The rhyme must be whole to be understood.”

  Nathaniel stared, trying to make the words appear with the heat from his eyes.

  “One last warning: don’t dawdle. The keep’s waited too long and may already be dying.” More coughing, and when he resumed, his voice sounded rasping and raw. “I’ve told you all that’s been passed down through the ages. My twenty years of suffering is nearing an end. My life’s work is done.”

  The old man limped to his bed and collapsed.

  Nathaniel mouthed a silent prayer, not to the Temple, but to the light. “Be blessed in the light, first keeper.” He rolled up the scroll, concealed it in his sock, and lay down.

  But he found no rest that night. Here in this cell, as the candle flickered and his hope dimmed, he’d found what he’d been searching for his whole life.

  Something to change the world.

  Chapter 12 – Nightmares

  Thomas leaned against the split rail fence and glared at the hard ground.

  His father had sent him to prepare the southwest field for planting, though the earth had not fully thawed. Better than brooding, he’d said.

  The teaching had left him weak in body, and this chore he’d grown up with seemed harder this year—his shoulders burned, and he needed a moment to rest—but his spirit ached as well. After months of nights haunted by dreams, he’d begun to find some peace... until his friends had been taken.

  He poked at the ground with the spade, rolling a clump of stubborn sod, but his mind ventured into the dark place where his friends must be. Memories of his teaching brought nightmares, but the thought of Orah in the vicar’s cramped cell frightened him more. He’d tried to dissuade Nathaniel from going, but his friend’s growing bond with Orah defied reason. Now, he had nothing to do but wait.