The Seekers: The Children of Darkness (Dystopian Sci-Fi - Book 1) (11 page)

Orah glanced out. “I can see why. It’s too steep a drop.”

The keeper’s response restored her confidence. “Bricks are
wonderful things. They hide secrets, and when removed provide hand and footholds.”

He slid the window open.

Thomas leaned out and turned back with a grin. “He’s made
holes every couple of feet like a ladder. Climbing down will be easy.”

The pounding on the door grew louder.

Orah pointed to Thomas. “Go.”

Thomas put his nimbleness to use, vaulting over the windowsill
and scrambling down.

Once he gave them an all-clear, she gestured to Nathaniel. “You’re
next. I’ll toss you the three packs. They’d be too heavy for me, and you can
catch me if I fall.

Before he could argue, she cast him a look of such urgency he
obeyed. After he’d climbed down, she dropped the packs to him.

As she turned to make her goodbyes, the second keeper drew her
close. “Travel east for six days, past the roads that lead south to the Temple
Cities. Then turn north at the next opportunity. Two days more and you’ll arrive
at Bradford.”

She repeated the words, hoping to remember, and scrambled
over the sill.

He called after her, “Go quickly. The keep won’t wait
forever. May the true light speed you on.”

Once over the side, she found the holes an easy fit for her
feet, but in her haste, she lost her grip near the bottom and would have landed
awkwardly if not for Nathaniel.

They dashed around the corner, out of sight of the window, and
she again took charge. “He said to go east. Let’s get as far from here as
possible.”

Nathaniel stopped her. “The bulletin claimed we were three.
If we go separately, we’ll be harder to identify.”

“I won’t split up,” she said.

“It’ll be safer. That’s all that matters. I’ll go north, you
go east and Thomas south. We’ll meet on the road, ten minutes east of the town.
Whoever arrives first should hide in the woods and signal when the others appear.”

She began to argue, but stopped when she heard the keeper’s voice
unnaturally loud, berating the deacons for manhandling an old man. She gave in
and took off in her designated direction with a prayer they’d meet as planned.

***

Orah slowed her jog and began scanning the woods. The terror
of being caught had diminished, but all would be wasted if one of them was
caught.

Then two sharp whistles, a birdcall to anyone else. She
turned to catch Thomas emerging from the trees.

Her remaining fear became a single word. “Nathaniel?”

Thomas made a sweeping gesture with his arm, and Nathaniel’s
tall form emerged through the branches. Bits of leaf clung to his hair and
beard as he beamed at her. “We did it.”

“Yes,” she said, “but let’s never separate again.”

He nodded soberly and brushed her cheek with his fingertips.

To feel his touch, to know he was safe.... How painful the
minutes apart had been. Was this her punishment for following his dream? But for
now, their escape stirred her blood and drove off any emotion save
exhilaration.

Their journey would grow harder with another eight days to
Bradford, assuming they found their way, but something more gnawed at her,
something... subtly wrong. Yes, Nathaniel had broken his vow to the arch vicar,
but why should three villagers from the edge of the world merit such attention?

She stared at the road ahead. Eight more days to Bradford.
Eight more days of looking over her shoulder and checking for deacons. Eight
more days of pondering her fate.

After more than two weeks, Orah had wearied of the seekers’
journey. Their goal remained a long way off, assuming the keep existed and could
be found. For each moment of elation or instant of peril, she slogged through
hours of tedium.

At least the April weather had been kind. Mild nights seldom
required a blanket, and cool days allowed for a brisk pace—that is until they headed
north, away from the second Temple City. When the sweltering heat arrived, she
imagined the vicars had sent temple magic to break their will. She trudged
along, each footstep landing with a thud upon the earth.

Thomas complained that his feet hurt and that as the
smallest, his pack weighed heavily on him.

Their pace slowed, and two days
after turning northward, she’d glimpsed no sign of Bradford.

Nathaniel did his best to raise their spirits. “Think how
much we’ve accomplished. We dodged the deacons and secured a second piece of a
puzzle for the ages. Are we sure to find the keep? Not yet, but the possibility
should stir our passions.”

She knew he was right, but still....

Unable to act or plan, she fretted constantly. How many keepers
remained? What if, after all these generations, the chain had been broken? Even
if the chain remained intact, how would she solve such a baffling rhyme?

She viewed solving the rhyme as key to their morale. That
night, after dinner, she pressed Nathaniel to bring out the scrolls, and she memorized
every word.

The next day, as they hiked in the
heat, she chanted as she went:

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

~~~

Twixt water and dark walls of pine

A cave made by men who must die

The Temple of Truth you shall see

Golden doors that are closed for all time

Occasionally, she’d gain insight into a phrase and bring it
up with the others. As they debated its meaning, their pace would quicken.

“We go north,” she’d announce. “Then, when we come upon a
rock cliff, we turn east.”

Thomas wrinkled his nose. “How can there be a forest of
stone?”

“Maybe they mean petrified trees.”

“If the keep is the Temple of Truth, why would they build it
in a cave?”

“To hide it, of course.”

Thomas persisted. “Where?”

“Behind the golden doors.”

“Which are locked forever.”

Round and round they went. By midafternoon, black clouds
billowed and surged in the west, rising angrily as if at odds with the heavens.
They were a wonder to behold from a distance, but as the storm drew nearer it
seemed to target the seekers. The closer the clouds came, the faster they moved,
until they blotted all blue from the sky. An immense wind came up, too warm for
April—a wet, hot wind that turned the newly sprouted leaves inside out and ripped
the weaker ones away, stirring the litter far down the dirt path and raising
whirls of dust. Soon, thunder boomed and lightning flashed, followed by heavy
droplets of rain driven sideways by the wind, as if some power had heard them
mocking the rhyme.

The three fled for cover into the
trees.

The squall raced past as quickly as it had arrived, leaving
the air cool and fresh. April had returned, and as the storm moved on to the
east, a rainbow arced across the sky. Her friends gazed at it in wonder, trying
to see to its end, but—practical as always—Orah emerged onto the now muddy road
and checked the way forward.

What she saw made her smile, a weary hope fulfilled. “Look there.”

Nathaniel rushed to her side. “What is it?”

“A signpost. We’ve come to Bradford.”

***

After their narrow escape in Adamsville, Orah refused to
enter Bradford without scouting the town first. But which of them should go?
Thomas didn’t offer, and she didn’t ask.

Nathaniel volunteered, but she insisted
his height would make him too conspicuous, and people would more likely trust a
young woman alone. He finally gave in.

She wrapped a headscarf round her hair to conceal the color,
and left her pack behind. After smoothing her clothing and shaking off the dust
of the road, she sauntered off to Bradford like an everyday visitor.

Bradford, like Adamsville, had homes at the outskirts and a
merchant district within, but this city featured a square in its middle bordering
a well-kept park. At the park’s center stood a cheery gazebo built from
latticework and roofed with copper, surrounded by a small flower garden. Snowdrops
hung in bloom, joined by buds of crocus barely visible above the newly thawed
soil. The square seemed a place more for recreation than ritual.

Two-story brick buildings lined the adjoining cobblestone
streets, some with ornamental facades. From the heart of the town rose the
largest structure, crowned by a steeple and topped by an image of the sun.

Beside its entrance, a post for notices foreshadowed the
Temple’s presence, but neither paper nor nail marked its surface. No other
signs of the Temple showed, and no deacons marched about. More striking, no one
crossed the square to avoid her. Each passerby nodded a greeting or tipped
their hat, and some asked if she needed directions.

She’d promised her friends to bring back as much information
as possible, and so she traversed every street, checked every window, and pretended
to shop in every store. She could report with confidence that Bradford was a
friendly town, without a whiff of danger, but as yet, she’d found no sign
hanging over a door or picture on a wall resembling the symbol on the scroll.

Nathaniel had warned her to avoid taking risks, but she
refused to return without a plan. The day grew late, and the number of people
thinned as more returned home for dinner. Time to change her approach.

She accosted an elderly man as he crossed the square. “Excuse
me, sir, may I bother you for help?”

He stopped at once. “Why of course, child. It’s no bother.”

Thomas’s interpretation of the symbol burned in her mind.
She had to eliminate the possibility. “I’m newly arrived here and have been
traveling for days. While away, I missed the blessing of the light. Can you
tell me when the vicar comes next?”

He puffed out his chest and beamed. “My dear, you’re in
Bradford. We have our own vicar, a man who’s one of us, born and raised here. We’re
most fortunate because he’s the best to be had.”

Orah considered the offer made to Nathaniel. Could a vicar
be a keeper as well? “Where may I find him?”

“Why you’re standing in front of his house.” He gestured to the
building with the steeple.

Of course—the rectory of the vicar.
Orah wavered. Should
she press on? “How may I get an audience with him?”

The man chuckled. “An audience? No need. He’s available day
or night. He ministers to our sick and comforts the afflicted. That’s why we
love him so. Wait a bit and see for yourself. His class should be ending about
now.”

Orah’s heart skipped a beat. She felt ill prepared for an
encounter. “Thank you, sir. The day’s getting late, and I won’t bother him now.
I’ll come back in the morning.”

The man wished her good evening and ambled off, taking a
shortcut across the lawn.

She slipped around a corner to watch.
Moments later, the double doors to the rectory swung wide, and the sound of
laughter filled the square.

This vicar, Bradford’s native son, emerged with six children
in tow. He knelt and thanked them for coming. When the little ones began to race
off, he froze them with a command. They stopped, gazing up at him cheerfully.

He reached inside his robe, pulled out a handful of sweets,
and placed a candy in each child’s palm. After receiving their treats, they skipped
off.

Orah clung to the wall for support. Of all of the
possibilities, this seemed the best. Tomorrow, they’d have to take the chance.

***

That night, after the others had gone to bed, Orah stayed
awake to write in her log.

After two weeks of stumbling through this journey—relying
not on our wits, but on good luck—our fate has come to this. All rests on my
judgment.

I used to believe the world made sense, that counting
numbers and assessing facts yielded the proper decision. Not anymore. All I
once relied on now rests on shifting sand.

I’ve studied the town of Bradford, its streets and stores
and people, learning all I can in so short a time. Yet every fact leads me to the
person I most fear: the vicar.

This evening, I passed what I learned onto my friends.

Nathaniel listened, demanding I repeat the story three
times, challenging every assumption. At length, he agreed to my plan.

Thomas took the decision badly. I
told him he hadn’t witnessed the kindness of this vicar, but it gave him little
comfort.

No facts prove my case; no numbers give the answer. I can
only guess. Never before has so much balanced on a whim, but where else shall we
go? The path forward remains a fog, and deacons await behind.

As I finish this entry, and try to get some sleep, only one
fact remains: If I’m wrong, all will suffer, but the fault will be mine.

***

Orah awoke to what sounded like a wounded bird caught in a
trap—Thomas moaning in his sleep. She got up and knelt beside him, touched his shoulder
and shook him gently. When he failed to rouse, she stroked his cheek and whispered
in a singsong voice, “Thomas, wake up.”

His eyelids fluttered and opened, and he stared at her, dazed.
“I dreamed I was back in the teaching cell alone.”

“It’s all right, Thomas, it’s only a dream.”

He pulled away, and his voice filled with dread. “It’s no
dream. Tomorrow, you’ll take me to the vicar.”

“I’ve seen him, Thomas. He’s not like the others. The people
of Bradford love him.”

“What if it’s a lie? So much of the Temple has been lies.”

“We have to try.”

“What if tomorrow will turn out like my nightmare?”

“It won’t be like your nightmare, Thomas.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I’m wrong, you won’t be alone.”

Nathaniel gazed up at the clouds as if searching for
guidance. When none could be found, he hoisted his pack and joined his friends
on the road to Bradford.

Minutes later, he stood before the rectory in the main
square. They had no choice but to seek the next keeper, and Orah had insisted
their only clue lay here. Still he hesitated, with something more than mistrust
gnawing at him. He’d never met a vicar outside of formal ritual. A veil of
mystery shrouded these men, these guardians of temple magic. Though he’d lost
faith in them, he was loath to speak to one.

The decision was made for him.

The double doors carved with the symbol of the sun swung
open, and the vicar of Bradford emerged, a small man in his middle years. Curls
of hair slipped lower than temple rules allowed, framing a face marked with
experience. If its lines could be read like words, they’d describe someone kind
and slow to anger, a person who had lived a satisfying life.

He bounded down the stairs with arms extended. “Welcome,
travelers, I’ve been expecting you.”

No need to respond. Their expressions answered for them.

“Oh, don’t be surprised. I’ve been reading about you for
days, though I only guessed you’d come here. The tallest must be Nathaniel, the
young lady Orah, and the third Thomas. I’m pleased to meet you.”

Nathaniel froze. Too late to flee, though nothing about the
man seemed threatening. To be safe, he placed himself between the vicar and his
friends. “How do you know our names?”

The vicar offered a half smile as if enjoying a private
joke. “I
am
an official of the Temple and receive all their bulletins.
They usually tell of miscreants and felons, but the latest described three
young people from light-fearing families, wandering far from home without
permit and heading my way.” He switched to mock officialdom. “‘If sighted,
report at once, but make no attempt to contact.’ Extraordinary. Why would such
as these travel so far and defy their Temple? It made me wonder, and then it
made me hope.”

Nathaniel glanced over his shoulder. Orah had fallen back a
step, while Thomas shifted sideways preparing to run away. Yet he sensed no flight
would be necessary.

“Your people say you’re generous and kind. You won’t betray
us to the Temple, will you?”

The vicar blanched. “Oh my, I’m sorry. How insensitive of me.
I forget you’re strangers to Bradford. Our town lies far from the nearest
Temple City and has always been served by a local vicar. I minister as I see
fit and not always by the rules. Now I’m your host, and you’re my guests.
Please join me inside.”

None of them stirred.

“I promise you’ll be safe. You can ask my people. I’ve never
once eaten their young.” He chuckled at his joke and opened the door to the
rectory.

After an awkward pause, Nathaniel ventured
inside, with Orah and Thomas lagging behind.

The vicar led them through a large assembly hall with rows
of pews and an altar in front, into some sort of classroom with a polished oak table
in its center. A door in the back led to his private quarters, and in one
corner a narrow stairway spiraled down to the lower level. Besides the
conference table and chairs, the meeting room was modestly furnished, containing
no high benches or ominous murals. The only mark of the Temple lay at the far wall—a
cabinet with brass doors engraved with the sun.

He took his place at one end of the table, on the lone
high-backed chair, and bid them sit on either side. “Now that you’re settled, feel
free to say what you choose.”

All three began to speak at once, but Thomas asked his
question first. “If no vicars come here, how do you administer... teachings?”

“I do them myself, like the vicars before me.” Then noticing
Thomas eyeing the spiral staircase, he added, “Just a store room, nothing more.
I teach differently than they do in Temple City. No harsh treatments here. I
sit with the children around this table and teach more light than darkness.”

Nathaniel went next. Though the vicar’s manner made him feel
at ease, he wasn’t about to let instinct dominate reason. “I’m curious why you
hoped we’d come to Bradford, and specifically to you.”

The vicar folded his hands and studied them, but a tremor in
his fingers exposed an unsettling uncertainty. “A foolish notion, one I harbor
whenever strangers draw near. Each time, I find myself deluded, but I have
faith that one day the right visitor will reward my hope.” He straightened and
met Nathaniel’s stare. “If today be that day, I’m not the one to speak first.
Answer me a question and only then, if my query is well answered, will I
respond.”

“A question?”

“Why did
you
come here?”

The room seemed to shrink and grow dim. The vicar leaned forward,
his knuckles whitening as he clasped his hands more tightly, and a keeper’s
intensity replaced his cordial demeanor. “You’re safe here, but if you seek a
worthy goal, you must speak first.”

Nathaniel’s vision narrowed so he saw only the man’s eyes.
He searched in them for a reason to believe. After a moment, he’d seen enough.

A deep breath in and out. “We travel toward the dawn to seek
the light of truth.”

The vicar of Bradford raised his clasped hands to his chest,
threw his head back and glanced at the unseen heavens. His retort brought a
glow to the room.

“May the light of truth keep you safe and show you the way.
Praise the light. At long last, the seekers have come.”

***

Nathaniel struggled to make sense of the situation. This ordained
envoy of the Temple was the third keeper, guardian of a secret that might
destroy that same Temple. As the day progressed, he discovered something more: this
humble man led an exemplary life, far better than he himself had aspired to.

The vicar invited them to share lunch, assuring them they’d
draw no attention. He often welcomed travelers who passed through town, because
hospitality was a virtue of the light. He warned them, however, to expect a
modest meal. The people of Bradford willingly provided whatever he desired, but
he’d be wrong to exploit his position. Despite the imposing rectory, he led a
simple life, accepting their largesse only to meet his most basic needs.

He brought out a basket of bread and cheese with a bowl of strawberry
jam, apologizing as he served. “This isn’t Bradford’s best season. Had you come
a month from now, I’d offer you the most wonderful blueberries around.”

After they’d eaten their fill, the three swamped their host
with questions. He held up a hand and promised each their turn, offering to answer
Orah’s first.

“As a vicar,” she said, “you must know the secrets of the
Temple. Will you share them with us?”

He pursed his lips as he listened and then nodded. “I’m at
the lowest rank. Only those higher up have access to the greatest mysteries, so
I may know less than you presume. Your question, however, shows a misunderstanding
of our positions. I may be a vicar, but I’m a keeper first. My life’s work is
to aid the seekers. Of course, I’ll tell you all I know.”

Orah balanced on the edge of her seat. “How did word of us
travel so far and so fast?”

“To answer that, I must start with things not written in the
book of light. What preceded the Temple was not darkness, but an age of
innovation and genius. The people of the world enjoyed boundless freedom of thought
and harnessed nature in unimaginable ways. The Temple’s founders abandoned that
knowledge due to the harm it caused, but kept the more useful inventions to
themselves, especially those that can control the populace, such as the medicines
they distribute to the children of light, thinking machines to track information,
and the answer to your question--a remarkable system of communication.”

Nathaniel had heard similar claims from the other keepers,
but here, right in front of him, a vicar disputed the Temple’s primary precept.
He could not let the presumption pass. “The book of light tells us, ‘Thus ended
the darkness and the age of enlightenment began.’ We’re taught that as the
basis for the existence of the Temple.”

The vicar winced. “I’m sorry, my son. I’m aware of what you
were taught, but you’re a seeker now and must learn the truth. A more honest
assertion would be, ‘Thus ended the age of enlightenment and the darkness
descended.’”

Thomas’s eyes popped wide, and Nathaniel let out a
whistle—their world turned upside down.

But Orah honed in on the details. “How
does the system work? What lets them talk over such distances?”

“A difficult question, Orah. Do you know of the temple
trees?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Apparently, words are made to fly through the air. Each temple
tree receives the words and passes them on to the next. The Temple issues all clergy
machines to catch these words, either as sound, such as the grand vicar’s blessing
from the sun icon, or on paper, like the bulletin warning me of your approach.”

Thomas gasped. “Temple magic!”

“Magic, perhaps, but not of the Temple. They stole these
wonders from the past.”

Orah folded her hands between her knees and leaned in. “What
makes the words fly, and how does the machine recapture them? There must be an
explanation.”

The vicar shrugged. “Perhaps, but I don’t know it. I’ve
tried searching the ancient texts from prior keepers and taking apart the
devices, but nothing reveals how they work. I’m not even sure the gray friars
know.”

“The gray friars?”

“Ah, of course. How would you ever encounter them? No temple
devices to maintain in Little Pond. The gray friars, so-called wizards of
temple magic, serve the clergy largely in secret. We study the book of light,
while they ponder the knowledge of the past to better service the Sun icon,
printing machines and other devices, but I don’t believe they understand what
makes them work.”

Orah’s eyes widened, and she spoke in a whisper. “Can they
listen to our words?”

“I... don’t think so. To converse requires a device on
either end activated by speaker and listener. Maybe in the distant past but....”
He hesitated, then shook his head. “No, I’m quite sure, because if the
hierarchy possessed such a capability, they most certainly would have used it.”

Orah’s voice returned to normal. “What else can they do?”

The vicar paused to organize his thoughts. “Have you seen
the deacon’s star?”

“Yes.”

“It exists not merely as decoration but to solve a problem.
The deacons are unruly men. The star lets the vicars track their whereabouts,
showing their location relative to the nearest temple tree. While not precise,
it keeps the deacons in line.” He wrinkled his brow as if straining to remember,
but finally shrugged. “I wish I knew more. According to keeper legend, so much
was once possible, but most has been lost.”

“How did the Temple come to rule,” Nathaniel said, “if the prior
age was so powerful?”

“A good question. I can only surmise. Perhaps the quest for
knowledge brought change faster than it could be assimilated. For every benefit,
an offsetting harm occurred, as our penchant for evil found ways for abuse.
Eventually, the bad outweighed the good. Those who preferred order to progress revolted
against unfettered thought, and the wonders were banned.

“Fortunately, the greatest of that era preserved their
treasures in the keep, and set up a trail so others might someday rediscover
them. We keepers are small steps on that trail, but we’ve kept faith across the
generations, until at last you’ve come—the seekers.”

Thomas brightened at the mention of the keep. “Do you know
what’s there?”

“I wish I did. All I’m certain of is that the place embodies
the wisdom of the past.” The vicar’s eyes took on a far off glow, the look of a
dreamer. “How I envy you. Who knows what wonders await? I only pray it’s intact.”

Orah nearly rose from her seat. “Intact? Why wouldn’t it be
intact?”

“Nothing goes on forever, Orah. The founders hoped the
seekers would arise in a few generations, not centuries. The keep may have
exceeded its intended life.”

“If the keep was at risk, why wouldn’t the keepers have
acted sooner?”

“The keep’s purpose is to restore the world to its former
greatness. Creating a new world is like the making of a fine meal, requiring
both ingredients and fire. The keep holds only the ingredients. The fire comes
from us. If we found the keep too soon, we might lack sufficient fire. The
world would remain unchanged, and we would lose the chance forever. The
emergence of the seekers is supposed to show the world is ready.”

A tremor rattled down Nathaniel’s spine.
Have I emerged,
or did the old prisoner choose me as an act of desperation?

He put his concerns into words. “Why
did
it take so
long? How do we know
we’re
the true seekers?”

“Why so long? Because the Temple is skilled at extinguishing
the fire in our hearts. That’s the very purpose of a teaching.”

Thomas rose suddenly and drifted to the window.

The vicar crumpled his brow and eyed
him as he went.

“He’s had a teaching,” Orah whispered.

The vicar put a hand to his breast and drew in a quick
breath. “Oh my, I’ve been insensitive again.”

“It’s not your fault.” Nathaniel rose. “Come back, Thomas.
We don’t have time for—”

The vicar waved Nathaniel off and went to Thomas instead. The
clergyman reached out, a father about to comfort his son, but his hand wavered
in mid-air.

He’s stuck,
Nathaniel realized,
torn between vicar
and keeper. His temple caused the harm. Does he have the right to heal the
pain?

Finally, keeper vanquished vicar, and he touched Thomas’s
arm. “Forgive me. I misspoke. A teaching can never snuff out your fire, but can
only drive it deeper.”