The Seekers: The Children of Darkness (Dystopian Sci-Fi - Book 1) Page 9

  Their fates were his fault, the result of his cowardice. His friends would fight harder than he did and resist longer. Light knows how long their teachings might last, or, when they returned, how much would remain of their spirit. Like Nathaniel’s father, he’d bear this guilt for the rest of his life.

  He propped the spade up against the fence and switched to a pitchfork, lifting it high overhead until his shoulders shuddered. He took aim and pounded the prongs into the clump again and again. When he could no longer lift his arms, he stared at the pitchfork, now buried in the frozen earth.

  My friends. How he wished he could help them, if only he could be as brave.

  Chapter 13 – The Scroll

  Nathaniel shifted the pack on his shoulders. Temple servants had filled it with provisions and slathered it with oil until the leather gleamed in the sun. The newly restored pack rested soft and supple against his frame, but he kept fidgeting with the straps to give his hands something to do.

  Orah marched three paces in front, her jaw pointing to the road ahead.

  Each time he tried to catch her, she sped up until he had to jog to keep up. Finally, he conceded and let her walk alone.

  That morning, the deacons had brought her to the city’s western gate, the one leading to Little Pond. When she’d spotted Nathaniel approaching, pack on his back, she’d turned to her captors and insisted they return her to her cell. The bewildered guards assumed she misunderstood and, speaking slowly, explained she’d been released.

  By the time Nathaniel reached the group, she’d started shouting at them, demanding an audience with the vicars. The deacons told her to go home. Once a judgment had been handed down, the Temple was to be obeyed.

  Nathaniel had grabbed her by the elbow to draw her away, but she turned on him instead. Taking advantage of the distraction, the deacons slipped off, leaving the two odd young people and their outlandish village ways on their own.

  Once alone, Nathaniel had tried to persuade her to give up the fight and come with him. “For now, thank the light, we’re free.”

  He’d waited for her to argue, to scold, to get angry, but she did none of these. Instead, she pressed her lips into a thin and bloodless line, squared her shoulders toward the west, and glared as if challenging the horizon. After several awkward moments, she’d stomped off toward Little Pond.

  They’d now been on the road for more than an hour, and she had yet to say a word. He longed to catch up and face her so he could reveal the reason for his deceit, but the towers of Temple City still rose behind him in the distance. He bit his lip and vowed to say nothing more until the accursed place faded from view.

  He’d wait until twilight, at that evening’s campsite, and hope that when she learned the truth, she’d forgive him.

  ***

  He picked the perfect clearing as the sun settled to the treetops. A thick layer of pine needles carpeted the ground, good for a soft night’s sleep. A small stream bubbled nearby, and a rocky outcropping sheltered them from the road so no passing traveler would see their fire.

  Before twilight fell, he went deeper into the forest to gather firewood. Though Orah still fumed, she remained responsible enough to help with the chore.

  He knelt beside her as she gathered an armful of dead branches. “Still angry?”

  When she refused to answer, he reached across and touched her for the first time that day. She grasped the kindling like gold, her forearms tight and unyielding, but he pressed gently until her load clattered to the mossy earth.

  “You’re so stubborn,” he said. “Your anger has made you blind.”

  She spun around and faced him. “What don’t I see, Nathaniel? The vicars have set the both of us free, neither locked away in a teaching cell. Would you have me believe they’ve suddenly discovered mercy and let us go without you bartering your soul?”

  He was consumed by anticipation and dread—anticipation of sharing the story of the keep, and dread she might receive it poorly. How would she react?

  “With all your learning, Orah, have you ever heard of the keepers?”

  Her eyes widened with surprise. Then a hopeful uncertainty crossed her features, and she shook her head.

  In the midst of the trees, as they knelt facing each other, he poured out the tale: the founding of the Temple, their invention of the darkness, the eradication of the good along with the evil, the elders who saved their treasures in a place called the keep, and the generations of keepers who preserved its secret for the coming of the seekers.

  Her expression changed as he spoke, from anger to disbelief, disbelief to openness, and finally to wonder. By the time he finished, her eyes had become mirrors reflecting the fading light, as if the dreams of their youth had come to pass. “How do you know this, Nathaniel of Little Pond?”

  He told her of Samuel, kept prisoner for twenty years, the first of the keepers.

  She waited, considering all he said.

  She wants to believe, Nathaniel thought, but has one last doubt.

  “How do you know the story’s true? What if all those years in prison addled his brain?”

  Without a word, Nathaniel reached into his stocking and pulled out the scroll.

  Her eyes went from mirrors to moons. “What is it?”

  “The first clue in the chain.”

  She reached out, but he yanked the scroll away. “Be careful. It’s survived for hundreds of years.”

  Orah laughed—a wonder to see again. “I’ll care for it as if it were you as a baby.”

  Once she grasped the scroll, she let her fingers glide along its surface. “I’ve never seen such a parchment. It ripples like paper but feels like glass. Is it temple magic?”

  “Maybe magic from before the Temple.”

  She unrolled the scroll and raised it to her eyes in the dim light, but her wonder turned into a scowl. “There’s nothing on it. Is this one of your tricks to distract me from never speaking to you again?”

  He drew in a deep breath and prayed the old prisoner hadn’t misled him. “The first keeper claimed the founders used their magic to hide the clue on the parchment. To view it, we need to hold it over a flame. The scroll won’t burn, but the heat will reveal its contents.”

  Orah stared at the blank scroll, running her fingertips over its surface as if touching the words would make them appear. Then she popped up and rushed off.

  “Where are you going?” Nathaniel called after her.

  “To make a fire.”

  He laughed. “Well you might want to bring some wood with you.”

  She fought back a blush and returned the scroll to Nathaniel.

  After collecting their kindling, the two hurried back to the clearing.

  ***

  By the time they lit the fire, twilight had settled over the land. Nathaniel found four green branches to make a frame, each as long as his arm. While he whittled off their twigs, Orah fetched twine from his pack.

  “What happened to your pack?” she said. “The leather looks like new.”

  “They cleaned it for my journey.”

  “Why would they bother?”

  “The benefits bestowed on a future vicar.”

  An edge came into her voice. “But you’re never going to be a vicar.”

  “They don’t know that, do they? Come on, now, I’m ready.”

  He pressed two sticks together, and Orah bound them with twine, and then they did the same with the second pair. He held both parallel while Orah slipped the scroll in between. Finally, they squatted by the fire.

  Until this moment, he’d thought of the keep as only a story, no different than the bedtime tales told by his father. If the clue failed to appear, they were lost. With nowhere to go, the vicars would punish them harshly for their deception.

  Nathaniel glanced at Orah and hesitated.

  She brushed his arm and nodded.

  Gripping the ends of the frame, he eased the parchment over the fire.

  He waited. The parchment did not burn, did
not even blacken, but black markings wriggled on its surface, forming themselves into a picture and words. He watched spellbound until the wood began to smolder, then laid the frame on the ground within the glow of the firelight.

  At once, the wonder of his childhood returned. He whispered as in a place of worship. “The city, the symbol, the pass phrase and the rhyme.”

  Orah raised her brows. “What does that mean?”

  “Just as old Samuel said. Look.” He pointed to the first word. “Adamsville, the city where we’ll find the next keeper.”

  Orah brightened. “Adamsville. A town to the east. The shopkeeper in Great Pond married a woman from there.”

  “Do you know how to get there?”

  “Not yet, but I can figure it out. What’s next?”

  “The symbol, which tells us how to find the keeper within the city.”

  Below the name of the city was a drawing of three identical objects, two side by side and a third behind and slightly above, each round at the bottom and tapering to a dome near the top.

  “They look like mountains,” Nathaniel said, “but I’ve never seen any so perfectly formed, and what would mountains be doing in the midst of a city?” He began to panic. What if he proved too dim-witted to solve the first clue?

  “I know what they are,” Orah said in her I-know-the-answer voice.

  He whirled on her. “Tell me.”

  “Not now. I’ll tell you when the time is right.”

  “Don’t make me wait, Orah.”

  Sparks glimmered in her eyes, reflecting the firelight. “Who had me waiting all day, worrying he’d bartered his soul to become a vicar?”

  Nathaniel lowered his head. “I’m sorry. I did what I thought best for both of us.”

  She lifted his chin with a finger. “Much as I hate to admit it, you may have been right. What comes next?”

  “The pass phrase.” He tapped the next lines. The first born says to tell you he is doing well, blessed be the true light. May the true light shine brightly upon him and disperse the darkness. “We greet the next keeper with the first phrase, and he responds with the second, a way to trust each other.”

  Orah turned back to the parchment and chanted the final words aloud.

  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

  She glanced up, pleading for an explanation.

  He gaped at her open-mouthed and shrugged. “The rhyme that leads to the keep.”

  “What nonsense. It’s not even a proper rhyme.”

  As they concentrated, hoping to wring more meaning out of the words, the letters faded and the parchment once again turned blank.

  Nathaniel kept staring, willing the words to return. Then he remembered the advice of the first keeper: “Each scroll contains one verse of the rhyme. Don’t try to make sense of the rhyme until you’ve received the final scroll. The rhyme must be whole to be understood.”

  When he glanced up, twilight had flown and night was ascendant. The time for storytelling had ended, and the two of them readied for sleep.

  As he lay on the pine needle carpet, in the darkness and under the stars, the seeker’s burden came tumbling down upon him. After so many generations, he alone had been entrusted with the mystery of the keep—a dream come true.

  Why then, in the darkness and under the stars, did he feel so small?

  Chapter 14 – Pact of the Ponds

  The third day of their flight from Temple City dawned with the blessing of groggy forgetfulness. Nathaniel awoke to a low-lying fog that soon burned off with the sun. He insisted he and Orah start immediately on the final leg of their trek, taking little pause for breakfast.

  His heart lightened as they entered familiar terrain. He’d traveled farther from Little Pond than ever before, and relished his return.

  He lifted his face to the sun and proclaimed his feelings aloud. “How good to come home. How wonderful to see our families again.”

  How reckless to rush off the week before, and how lucky all had ended so well.

  Yet when he looked back at Orah, she’d turned grim. “We must learn to never think that way again.”

  He stopped and faced her. “Why won’t you let me celebrate our good fortune?”

  “What good fortune would that be?”

  “We’ve challenged the vicars and returned unharmed.”

  He resumed walking with a hint of a swagger, but Orah cut him off. “Unharmed, but not unburdened.”

  He sighed, heaving his shoulders up and down more dramatically than necessary. “Don’t I deserve to enjoy my homecoming before taking off to light knows where?”

  “You promised the vicars you’d return in a week. The farther away you can get in that time, the better. Once they discover you misled them, they’ll come looking, and if they find you, you might pray for a teaching as the lesser punishment.”

  She was right, but he tried to cling to the good feeling. “A few days won’t—”

  “Generations of keepers died to preserve the secret, and you’d sleep late for a few days?”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “Leave at first light.”

  “First light tomorrow? I can’t be ready by then.”

  “Of course you can... with my help. Adamsville is just the first stop, with no hint of which town will come next or how many towns will follow. You’ll need water skins for dry stretches, food for at least ten days, warm clothing, a sharp knife and a hatchet. I’ll contribute the few coins my grandfather left me. We can start collecting supplies as soon as we get home. Thomas will help too. We’ll gather them in small bunches to avoid notice and store them in the NOT tree.”

  He considered her plan. Though he hated to leave so quickly, they could be ready by morning. Yet provisions remained only a part of the challenge. “What about my father?”

  “We’ll make up a story.”

  “You mean lie?”

  “A necessary story. No one in Little Pond has ever gone to the vicars and volunteered for a teaching. We’ll tell them you so impressed the clerics they decided to send you on a mission. You’re not sure how long you’ll be gone, and you’re forbidden to discuss it further.”

  “They’ll believe this?”

  “We’ve been to Temple City, but neither of us bear the look of a teaching, and too little time has passed and.... They’ll have to believe us. How else could we have returned so soon?”

  Nathaniel nodded. He’d never lied to his father, but the story would work. His father would let him go on a mission for the light, and not worry, at least for the first week.

  He stood there open-mouthed as Orah spun around and resumed her march.

  “Come along,” she called back. “We can make Little Pond by noon if we hurry.”

  ***

  Nathaniel had crossed less than half the footpath to his cottage when his father rushed out to embrace him. After they separated, he held his son at arm’s length and delved deeply into his eyes. “It’s you, Nathaniel, and unchanged.”

  “There’s been no teaching, not for myself and not for Orah.”

  Astonishment spread across his father’s face. “How is that possible? When I read your note, I assumed the vicars would consume you both.”

  Nathaniel swallowed hard and chose his words carefully. “I had no plan when I arrived in Temple City. It’s the biggest place I’ve ever seen. The people were all afraid, and deacons marched everywhere.”

  “Such a reckless thing to do. I’d have stopped you if I could.”

  “That’s why I didn’t give you the chance.”

  His father took a step back and eyed Nathaniel with the look of one who’s discovered his old friend had changed while they were apart. “How did you free Orah?”

  “I went and offered myself in her place. Well, the vicars had never seen such a thing. My actions impressed them so much they thou
ght I might serve the Temple in better ways than being taught. They decided to send me on a mission for the light.”

  His father winced as if struck. Though a loyal child of light, he mistrusted the vicars.

  Nathaniel pressed on. “I’m to go far away, seeking something of enormous significance to the Temple.” That part at least rang true. “Who knows how long I’ll be gone, and I can’t say more than that. They forbid me to reveal details.”

  The light drained from his father’s eyes. “Then I’m to lose you again, and maybe forever.”

  “Of course not. I’ll come back, and when I do I’ll have changed, but only in ways that will make you proud.”

  His father waited, digesting his son’s words before his expression softened. “I’m already proud of you, Nathaniel, and that will never change.”

  ***

  Nathaniel arrived with a satchel of supplies: bags of dried apples, flatbread and smoked meat, two water skins, and a hatchet—enough to fill nearly half his pack. He itched to start the journey, but the talk with his father weighed on him. What if his father was right? What if he’d never return? He waited for Orah to ease his misgivings.

  She arrived in a whirlwind, bearing a bag bigger than his. “I brought most of what we need. Thomas agreed to fetch the rest: some twine, a pocketknife and two blankets. A bit more food and we’ll be ready.”

  Nathaniel sized up the bag on the ground. A sheaf of paper caught his eye. “What’s this?”

  Orah flashed a smile. “Paper for my log. I’ll need it to record our journey.”

  His head snapped around as the implication struck him. “Orah of Little Pond! There’s no way you’re coming with me. Not a chance. I forbid it.”

  “Since when do we forbid each other anything?”

  “You forbade me to become a vicar.”

  “That was different. You were about to make an awful choice to protect me.”

  “I’m trying to protect you now.”

  “I can’t let you go without helping. I’m in your debt for rescuing me.”

  Nathaniel looked away, embarrassed, but he recalled his father’s concern. How could he place her at such risk? “Seeking the keep is not child’s play. Think what they’ll do if they catch us?”