The Seekers: The Children of Darkness (Dystopian Sci-Fi - Book 1) (5 page)

“I guessed you’d be here,” Thomas said, his voice strained
but close to his own. “I always know what the two of you are thinking. That
hasn’t changed.”

One side of his mouth did its best to curl upward, passing
for his familiar grin. Then all three moved toward each other, silent as the
snow-covered woods, and met in a steadfast embrace.

My coming of age seems like a good reason to start my new
log, no longer to chronicle the changing of the seasons but to record the
progress of my life.

Last night, following the ceremony and our reunion with
Thomas, I dreamed of my father in a teaching cell, but I was the one being
taught. The vicars insisted they’d release me only if I betrayed him.

“How can I betray him?” I cried. “He’s passed to the light.”

The Little Pond vicar with black beads for eyes glared down
at me. “You must renounce his deathbed wish.”

My father’s final words came back to me:
Don’t let the vicars set your mind. Think your own
thoughts, big thoughts based on grand ideas.

I shook my head and sat back down. The cover thudded shut,
thrusting me into darkness. Tears began to flow for the first time since my
father died. What else could I do? To renounce his wishes would be like
watching him die again. Yet unless I betrayed him, I’d stay in the teaching
forever.

The air above me shimmered as Nathaniel’s father had
described. I braced for visions of the darkness, but my father appeared
instead, younger than I remembered and with the delicate features he’d
bequeathed to me. “Why are you crying, little Orah?”

“The vicars demand I betray you.”

“Not me. No one can betray those who are gone. They’re
asking you to betray yourself.”

My lower lip trembled and my words emerged with a quiver. “What
should I do?”

My father offered that familiar smile and spoke as if
reading me a bedtime story. “Your mind and heart are your own. No one can
control them, even with temple magic. Find your purpose and be true to
yourself. Nothing else matters.”

The image flickered, the dream faded, and I awoke.

I lay in my bed, staring up at the ceiling until the dawn
crept past the edges of my window shade.

Now, as I write this, my first log entry, I wonder: What is
my purpose?

I’ve come of age and am more confused than ever. I’m
certain of only one thing—I boil with rage at the vicars.

But to what end?

Nathaniel battled against a howling headwind that stole his
breath and stifled all speech. A storm had blown in from the north and swirled
through the Ponds for the past two days, leaving in its wake drifts to the eaves
of his cottage. That morning, after the sky cleared, Orah had insisted they get
Thomas outdoors. So now Nathaniel trudged along, breaking a path for his
friends through the newly fallen snow.

He paused to catch his bearings—another hundred paces to
Elder John’s cottage. Once the steam from his lips slowed, he drove his knee
forward and set out again.

They’d managed to get Thomas outside every day except for
the height of the storm. Whereas before the teaching he’d complained about the slightest
discomfort, now he seemed to thrive on the cold. That morning, he’d rewarded them
for their efforts.

“The darkness lurks in the past,” he said, “or in the cells
of Temple City, but not in Little Pond with my friends.”

As they made their daily treks, neighbors noticed the three out
and about and gladly invited them in. One by one they came forward, first with
sympathy, and then with stories of teachings.

“My Uncle Edward—he’s long gone—had a teaching. Wouldn’t let
on what happened until his fortieth birthday. He was a good man, but after he told
his story, he was a better man.”

“My brother Richard—you remember him, gone off to work in
Great Pond—had a teaching. Came back, said nothing for two months. Then went to
the village square and spat at the altar. After that, he was fine.”

Elder John never spoke about teachings, but for some reason he
insisted they visit every few days. As soon as the storm had cleared, Nathaniel
decided the next visit was overdue.

When they reached the recent widower’s cottage, he stood in
the doorway waiting to usher them in. They stamped the snow off their boots on
the weather-beaten slats of the porch and bustled into the warmth of the living
room, where a fire blazed in the stone hearth. Elder John hung a kettle over the
flames and hovered while the water came to a boil. Once they had settled in
their chairs and wrapped their hands around steaming mugs, he gave them a
lesson on the Temple.

“Despite the Temple’s imperfections, it offers us the best
chance for a good life. We read in the book of light about the horrors of the darkness,
but the memory of bad times fades. The vicars claim even a small step backward might
lead us to violence, chaos and war.” He checked that each of them heeded his
words. “I don’t know myself, but I trust the vicar’s wisdom.”

Orah’s eyes flared. “Can’t they find a better way to show us
the darkness without hurting anyone?”

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.

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.”