The Black Sentry (3 page)

His father stopped
. His mother had reentered the booth, and the expression on her face was set and serious.

“I’m sorry, Xander,” she said, blocking his access to the cakes
. “I believe you’re needed back at the bakery.”

Xander looked as if he’d been pierced through the heart
. “But—”

“That was an instruction, not a question.
”

Xander fell silent
.

“G
o.”

Xander turned away, crestfallen, and left the booth.

His parents stepped outside and had a private conversation. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the tone of the discussion was agitated.

A fe
w moments later, his father returned to the booth, lips pursed. He did not say a word. He took two slices of the spice cakes and pressed them into his son’s hands. “Go find him.”

He
needed no further explanation. He bolted out of the booth and ran down the dusty crossroads, searching through the thick of the festival traffic for their slave. Celebration time neared, and people packed the roads.

“Daman, have you heard the news?”

Mykah shouted at him from the side of the road. He hadn’t seen his friend since the humiliating practice session the day before. Mykah had always been stronger and more popular, even when they were small boys. He suspected that many people in the village were amazed they were friends. But there was a secret reason for their long-standing friendship.

Once, when they were
eight and played together near Blaine River, Mykah slipped on ice and fell in. At that time, he could not swim, but Daman could, due to his father’s great love of the sport. He managed to pull Mykah from the paralyzing water. Not only did he save Mykah’s life–he didn’t tell anyone about it afterward. Ever since, Mykah had been his loyal companion.

“Have you heard?”
Mykah asked.

“
I do not believe the Acolyte would have any reason—”

“What has the Acolyte got to do with anything?”

He stopped. “What are you talking about then?”

“This news is about me.
” He pressed his thumb to his chest. “I’ve been accepted for the Black Sentry’s Rover team.”

He stared back at his friend
, not knowing what to say.

“Is that not incredible news?”

“But—you’re only sixteen—”

“They’
ve made an exception for me.” He beamed. “Isn’t that incredible?”

He
hesitated, not wanting to reveal his feelings, which he did not fully understand himself. He should be pleased for his friend, but somehow, the thought of him becoming even more involved with the Sentry made him feel cold and distant. Plus, if Mykah joined the Rover team, he would be permitted to travel throughout the Sentinel’s lands. He would see the world beyond the tall fence. “But it’s so soon—”

“Why should I wait
? An opportunity like this won’t come often. I can make a valuable contribution to the Sentry.”

Even in his short lifetime, he had seen famili
es torn apart by the Black Sentry—mothers taken from their families and reassigned, runaways hunted down and dragged back to their village, good men destroyed or exiled for violating the Laws and Ways, fathers forced to perform hated occupations.

Mykah continued. “
I want to be a part of the Sentry’s great work. To serve the Sentinel in all his glory. To see the world. Haven’t you ever wanted to know what lies beyond this village?”

Mykah’
s words stung. He knew the hard red earth of the village, the flat yellow plains of the Nether End, the green groves that lined Blaine River near the Forest of the Creepers. But he knew nothing of the world beyond. And chances were, he never would.

“I want a life of excitement,”
Mykah said. “A life of adventure. I don’t want to spend all my days in this dusty village slaughtering pigs and baking—” He stopped short. “I’m not saying that sort of life is bad. For some people, it may be perfect. But not for me.”

“Of course not
.”

“
I want to do the Sentinel’s will. After all, the Sentinel’s will is all.”

“Yes,” he
echoed, “the Sentinel’s will is all.”

“Won’t you congratulate me, Daman?”

He pressed his hand against his friend’s shoulder. “Yes. Congratulations. I’m happy for you.”

Mykah
stared the other way, toward the North Gate. His jaw slackened.

“What is it?”

Mykah’s hand rose, first to point, then to block the reflected light from his eyes. “The Acolyte,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “He’s here.”

4

Daman watched as t
he Procession of the Acolyte strode through the North Gate and entered the crossroads of the village in shimmering splendor. The light of the midday sun reflected off the sea of white robes, momentarily blinding all onlookers. Five attendants walked on either side of the Acolyte, who wore a simple robe with the gold braid that designated him as one of the Sentinel’s chosen. He wore a tall peaked hat upon his head, predominantly white but fringed with lines of purple. A Black Sentry contingent circled around the Procession.

The Acolyte waved to the dumbstruck spectators as he passed by, smiling and making the gesture of blessing
. People fell to their knees, faces buried in the dirt.

T
he merchants closed their booths. Families gathered, and although no formal instruction was given, all fell in line behind the Procession.

He found his parents
and followed with the others. No words were spoken, not even whispers. Everyone seemed spellbound, caught up in the magnitude of the moment.

At last they arrived at the public entrance to the Arena
. The Procession moved to the center, while the villagers scrambled for seats in the gallery. A large object, almost the size of a shed, rested near the place where the Procession stopped. A large canvas covered it so no one could tell what it was.

Wh
en at last they found their seats, the Acolyte stepped out from the ring of attendants, faced the gathered throng, and lifted his hands high into the air.

He spoke in a clear, booming voice
. “The Sentinel is our heart, our soul, and our salvation.”

The congregation repeated his words in unison
. “The Sentinel is our heart, our soul, and our salvation.”

The Acolyte continued
. “The Sentinel protects us from evil, and the evil in our own hearts.”

“The Sentinel protects us from evil,” the people of Merrindale chanted back, “and the evil in our own hearts.”

“May the Sentinel be with you, always.”

“
And also with you.”

The Acolyte made the sign of blessing and finished the lengthy litany all those present knew well
.

As Daman
gazed about the Arena, he saw many tears. This surprise visit from the Sentinel’s own representative moved some of the villagers more than words could express.

But his
heart was strangely unaffected.

After they completed
the appropriate litany for the Spring Festival, the Acolyte lowered his arms and gazed out toward the assemblage with a warm, soothing smile. “Children of the Sentinel, thank you for joining me today to celebrate the rich and fertile bounty of our patient Master.”

“Long live the
Sentinel!” someone shouted. A tumult of cheering and applause followed.

The Acolyte’s smile broadened
. “It pleases me to see that the Sentinel is loved here. I wish everyone felt as you do.” A trace of darkness crept into his voice. “Alas, it is not so. Unbelievable though it may seem, there are those who rebel against the Sentinel, who struggle with their patient Master. They resist his Laws and his Ways. Many of these foolish Rebels have banded together to restore the malevolent weapons of the past and use them against the Sentinel and his people.”

“No!” a woman shrieked from the stands
. Several more cries followed.

“Your anger is understandable
, but it is not the way of the Sentinel. We must live in peace—and order—as we always have done. But be aware that Rebels are amongst you even as we speak. Dangerous exiles have been spotted outside the gate to this very village, men hunted for heinous crimes.

“There is one man in particular,
” he continued, “a very old, very foolish man, who has taken something that belongs to the Sentinel, something he hopes to use for his own savage purposes. If you see this man, you must report it immediately to the Black Sentry, so that order may be preserved and justice may prevail.

“Remember,” the Acolyte said, raisi
ng a finger, “this old man is crafty. He is the Great Deceiver. He and his imps will try to fool you. You must not listen. You must remain true to the Sentinel. He has always cared for you. He is our only hope for survival.”

The Acolyte laid a hand upon
the huge draped object. “You must never forget that we live in a hostile, evil world. The Creepers swarm just beyond the fence, flinging their tentacles at all who come within their grasp. The Savages infest the untamed forests, perpetuating their unspeakable barbaric acts. At one time, the Constructs, the sworn enemies of Man, thrived everywhere. They dominated us and controlled our every movement. The Sentinel vanquished these demons and restored the world to order. But do not be fooled, brave Children of the Sentinel. Those enemies are only dormant, not dead. They could rise again. They lie in wait for their opportunity.”

He
grabbed the canvas with both hands. “Peer into the face of evil.” With one sweeping gesture, he jerked the canvas off the huge hidden object.

The crowd gasped as if their breath had been st
olen from their lungs. All eyes were fixed on the horrible...
monstrosity
...in the center of the Arena.

This
huge hard object was unlike anything Daman had ever seen before, unnatural in design and clearly malicious in purpose. Most of it was green, though partly yellow, with two large wheels on either side and smaller wheels in front. A rectangular cab rested at the top, and through transparent glass he saw a chair such as a man might sit upon. In front of all this, low to the ground, an array of glistening curved blades hung like the teeth of this ravenous beast.

Children cowered, covering
their eyes. Many adults did the same.

“Behold the Construct
!” the Acolyte cried. “These hateful creatures once ruled the earth. They chased Man and herded him like beasts. Only the Sentinel saved us from their evil dominion. And only he prevents their return.”

More squeals
flew from the gallery. The thought of that hideous Construct advancing toward them, carving humans with its cruel blades, sent shivers down his spine.

With the help of two
attendants, the Acolyte replaced the canvas, masking the green and yellow abomination.

“Today, thanks to the Sentinel, we are free
,” the Acolyte continued. “Free to live noble, orderly lives, fulfilling the works of the Sentinel, furthering his great Laws and Ways. Children of the Sentinel, do not provide safe harbor to those who let these evil beings dominate us. The Constructs have been vanquished, banished, and forbidden, and they must remain thus always. So saith the Sentinel.”

“So saith the Sentinel,” the crowd chanted in response.

“Keep the faith, my blessed people. May the Sentinel be with you, always.”

“And also with you.
”

Questions r
iddled Daman’s brain. Evil or not, he wanted to know more about the Construct in the center of the Arena. What was it, exactly? What did it do? It did not appear to have a life of its own. Why would it chase or herd people? Was it some sort of weapon? A tool? If it were an enemy to men, why did it have a seat for one?

He
knew these were vile questions. He had been taught all his life that people were better off knowing as little as possible about the Ancients. All they needed to know was that it was a time of horror and that the Sentinel had saved them from it. His curiosity should end there.

But it
did not.

What’s wrong with me? he
wondered, as he gazed at the enraptured faces around him. Do I have some sort of deviant, twisted personality? Why don’t I worship and adore the Sentinel like the others do?

Or was it simply the fear of the Winnowing that perverted his thoughts?

“Enough,” the Acolyte pronounced. “This is a Celebration. So let us celebrate. Bring forth the Combatants.”

T
he attendants parted to make way for two young men from the village. He knew them both. One was called Victor. His father had a small mill near the river. The other was Evan, whose father kept sheep and other feedstock. He had known Evan all his life. He, Mykah, and Evan had often spent summer nights swapping stories about the Creepers.

The Acolyte stepped between the boys and laid a hand on each shoulder
. “It is the right and duty of these two boys, the two oldest in the village who have not yet achieved the age of Winnowing, to enter into combat on this day. In this manner, the Sentinel’s will shall be done.”

T
he Acolyte guided the two boys to the large octagonal grid with intersecting areas of red and yellow.

“Victor, you shall fight upon the red.
” He placed Victor in the appropriate starting area. “And you, Evan, shall play on the yellow.” He moved Evan to the opposite side of the grid. “Bring forth the winnowers.”

The Acolyte weighed each
winnower in his hand, ensuring that they were of equal heft and strength. Then he handed one to each boy. He stepped out of the grid and once again raised his hands into the air.

“
Just as the Sentinel once fought for you, so you now shall fight for the right to carry on his great plan, to ensure that his work is never forgotten. You are our future. Let no man forget the importance of what is done in this blessed Arena.

“When I give the si
gnal,” he continued, “the Winnowing shall begin. When I drop my hands, the gong will sound and you will fight—to the finish.”