The Seekers: The Children of Darkness (Dystopian Sci-Fi - Book 1) (19 page)

She took a bite of something claiming to be chicken, and
then turned to Nathaniel. “What about you? Any more luck?”

“I’ve been studying history, especially the time the vicars
call the darkness.”

She set her food aside and sat upright. “What have you
learned?”

Nathaniel hesitated, and a hint of doubt crept into his
eyes. She’d known him since birth, knew him so well, but now a thin veil rose
between them, as if he feared the consequences of what he was about to say.

After a moment, he dropped his guard. “The vicars were
right. The so-called darkness was a time of chaos and war, but it was also a
time of innovation and genius, just as the keepers claimed. The Temple of Light
banished it all, both the good and the bad. Such events had occurred before. One
period called the Dark Ages lasted over six hundred years, a time when scholars
devoted their lives to recording forbidden knowledge for future generations
while hidden away in places called monasteries.

“Once the Temple consolidated its power, the keepmasters came
to believe a new Dark Age had begun. They saw it as their duty to save their
knowledge from being lost, but unlike the scholars who preserved the past with
parchment and quill pens, they recorded theirs using—”

The lights flickered.

Orah had barely enough time to catch the panic consuming
Thomas before the room went dark. She pressed her eyelids shut, counted to
three and opened them, but still saw nothing. As she strained to pierce the
blackness, her sense of hearing became acute.

Something was missing—the hum that had accompanied them
since passing through the golden doors. The heart of the keep had gone silent.
In its place came a plaintive wail.

“It’s the vicars,” Thomas said. “They found us.”

She jumped as a hand landed on her back, then relaxed when
she recognized Nathaniel’s touch. The two joined arms and shuffled forward,
trying to find Thomas.

Before they reached him, a new voice sounded, the soothing
words of a female helper. “We’re sorry. A temporary disruption of power has
occurred. Emergency lighting is being activated. Please stand by while repairs
are being made.”

The keep was healing itself. The dimmest of lights arose in
the corners of the dining hall, but to eyes straining in darkness, they were
enough.

Orah acknowledged Nathaniel with a
nod, and spotted Thomas a few paces ahead, cowering on the floor.

He clutched her extended hand and scrambled to his feet, but
quickly pulled away embarrassed.

She let him collect himself before asking, “Why did you
think the vicars had come?”

As the color returned to his face, his answer echoed off the
flat walls. “Because their weapon is darkness.”

Nathaniel wrapped an arm around his shoulders and led him
back to the table. “It wasn’t the vicars, Thomas, but the age of the keep. Over
time things will fail more frequently. Another reason why we can’t stay.”

Orah crept to the entrance of the dining hall and poked her
head around, checking the corridor. Nothing. She held her breath and listened.
Silence. She sniffed the air that usually shifted with a slightly cooling
breeze. Stillness.

Convinced of their safety, she came back and urged Nathaniel
to continue. “You were telling us about the past.”

“The darkness,” he said. “What we learned in school was
true. People had always waged wars, but the age before the Temple’s founding
was especially bloody, pitting people against each other.”

“But why?” Orah said.

Nathaniel shrugged. “Because they were different. We may not
understand, since we’ve known nothing but the Temple of Light.”

“Were they so different they needed to kill each other?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “Not that I can tell. All had some
form of prayer, but their gods had different names. They prayed at different
times, had holy days in different seasons. Most promised an afterlife if you
adhered to their faith.

“In any case, they used thinking machines to organize those of
like minds and turn them against everyone else. Then they fought with terrible weapons
conceived from the same knowledge meant for good.”

Thomas’s eyes narrowed. His pupils drifted to the corners. “The
people spoke different languages and worshipped different gods, and they used
these languages and these gods to separate the people each from the other.”

Orah waited until he finished, and then cautiously settled a
hand on his shoulder, as if afraid it might burn. “Did they tell you that in
the teaching?”

“Now we find it’s true, just as the vicars claimed. The Temple
of Light stopped it.”

She turned to Nathaniel, desperate for a better answer. “Is
that what the helpers said?”

The corners of his eyes sagged. “The wars forced elders to
come together and make a pact to remove the differences, but no one would
accept the other’s faith. So they convened an historic conference to define a
new religion, promising to preserve the best of each and set at its core a ban on
violence. To speed acceptance, they made it easy to adopt, with few demands on
people’s lives. All the gods would be combined into a single concept called the
light. Along with sins like murder or theft, they would deem anything that
preceded it evil.

“Each leader brought large numbers of their followers. And
why not? They’d kept the best, eliminated the worst and, most importantly, stopped
the bloodshed.”

Orah exhaled the next question. “So what happened?”

“Not everyone accepted the new way. The original leaders
passed on and the next generation began to focus on ways to consolidate power.
Over time, a different set of precepts emerged. Keep the population simple and
small, control education, ban free thought, limit travel, discourage diversity,
and most of all, erase the wonders of the prior age except those needed to keep
them in power. In the end, they got what they wanted—a peaceful world with the vicars
in charge.”

As he spoke, Orah fiddled with the folds of her tunic until
the edges crumpled into a bunch. She didn’t look up until he finished. “How can
so much harm have been done in the name of good?”

“I asked the helper.”

“What did he say?”

“His answer was ‘unknown.’”

As she stared open-mouthed, the keep sprung back to life.
The soft lighting returned and the hum resumed—the only sound in the room.

***

Thomas sat and fumed long after the others had gone. He’d
made a fool of himself when the lights went out, and had no power to stop it.
He had no tolerance for the dark anymore. The vicars had marked him with this
scar, and he’d never forgive them.

Now Nathaniel says the keepmasters were no better. To the
darkness with the keepmasters and to the darkness with the Temple of Light!

Despite what he’d said, he knew his friends would never stay
in the keep. They were different from him. He thought of dreams as a game—at
least before the teaching had turned them to nightmares. But Orah and Nathaniel
needed dreams like air, and they couldn’t pursue their dreams in the keep.

For a time when he was younger, he’d imagined himself with
Orah, but not for long. To bind himself to someone never content with the
world? Not for him. Nathaniel and Orah were a matched pair, incapable of
happiness without some improbable cause. Now the two fed off each other, each
more desperate to prove their worth, their passion leading them closer to the
brink.

If he had the power of the keep, if he could push a few buttons
in the shape of stars until they lit up and destroyed the Temple in a hail of
the old master’s magic, he’d do so. But how could Nathaniel believe they’d defeat
the vicars by themselves? Once the three of them left the protection of the
keep, they’d be caught, and whatever scratches they might have inflicted on the
Temple would only make their punishment worse.

Each day his friends edged closer to their doom. He feared a
return to the teaching and would do what he could to save them from that fate,
but he prayed in so doing, he wouldn’t lose their friendship.

Weeks passed, but Orah refrained from telling her friends
about star travel—she could hardly believe it herself. So she made astronomy
her new home and devoted most of her waking hours to searching for proof in the
stars.

The keepmasters confirmed the vicars’ vision that the world
revolved around the sun, but differed on all other celestial matters. They
claimed the points of light visible in the night sky offered a mere sampling of
the heavens. A few of the brightest were planets, other worlds that circled the
sun, but most of the stars were suns themselves. And with instruments invented
by the so-called age of darkness, they’d found millions of them. The sun, giver
of life, was one among many, and not even the foremost of those.

She listened to lectures about the motion of heavenly bodies
and discovered their movement followed not Temple dogma but the laws of
mathematics. She even learned how to chart their course. The concepts, however,
were too abstract—nothing that would convince her friends.

One evening while sulking in astronomy, her frustration
boiled over into words barked at the blank screen. “If only I had a way to
prove their claim.”

The screen lit up, and the astronomy helper appeared. “I’m
sorry. I don’t understand. Do you have a question?”

“No. I was talking to myself.”

The helper waited, uncertain how to respond. She folded her
hands in her lap and studied her fingers. After a while, she stood and approached
the screen. “You said you built instruments to explore the night sky. Do they
still exist?”

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 Pond.”

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—”