The Black Sentry (6 page)

8

Daman watched the Creeper slither around the tree, whirling its tentacles. Its tail suddenly lashed out, faster than his eye could follow. It grabbed the lowest branch of the tree, just as they had done.

He
watched in terrified amazement as the quivering creature hoisted itself into the air.

T
here were no higher branches to which they could climb.

The Creeper waved
its tendrils, targeting the next branch. If it mounted that branch, it would be close enough to strike them with its tail.

He was being punished, he thought,
just as he was warned he would be. He had violated the Laws and Ways of the Sentinel by blaspheming, aiding the Old Man, and crossing the village fence. Now he would pay the penalty. He had been a fool and now he would die for it. Worse, this Old Man, who had lived so long, would come to a futile, pointless death.

H
e started to ask the Old Man a question, but the man silenced him with a harsh look.

He heard loud laughter
from the other side of the fence. Probably to relieve their anxiety, the Sentry were telling tales—loud, boisterous jokes.

Just as the Creeper prepared to grasp the second branch, it
stopped. Its front tentacles circled around and reached out toward the fence.

The creature paused for a moment, then
descended. It hit the ground in a matter of seconds and slithered toward the fence.

Had
the Creeper determined that the victims over there were more attractive than the two in the tree? The insurmountable fence that stood between it and its new prey apparently did not register.

“The Creeper
has no eyes, not as we do,” the Old Man whispered. “It sees with its frontal antennae. And it does not have true sight. It only touches and hears and detects motion.” The Creeper whirled its tail into the air, but it was not long enough to reach the top of the fence.

The Creeper hit the fence, pounding
with its tentacles, making it sway. The Sentry fell silent.

He heard one of them hiss
the word “Creeper.”

After more than a minute of the
incessant pounding, he heard the Sentry bolt down the road, away from the swaying fence and the horrible slithering and slathering sounds.

“This is ou
r chance.” As quietly as possible, the Old Man scrambled down the tree. Daman followed, quickly if clumsily. To his embarrassment, the Old Man made much better time. They both landed on the ground in a clump of something dry and crisp.

The Old Man winc
ed. “Hurt my ankle,” he whispered. But they could not discuss the matter further.

The pounding on the fence
ceased. The Creeper detected their movement.

They
raced back toward the fence at a point far south of the Creeper. He knew now how quickly the hideous creature could move. They had no time to waste. The Old Man had trouble keeping up. He favored his right foot. Each step appeared to cause great pain.

He
pulled the rope out of the Old Man’s pack and slung the hook onto the fence. He sprang up and, balancing at the top, offered a hand to the Old Man.

“Hurr
y!” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Creeper slither closer.

A
fter considerable effort, they landed together on the other side, barely seconds before the Creeper arrived.

They were safe, at least for the moment
. The Black Sentry platoon was gone. Twilight had fallen. He knew it soon would be dark and they could travel more safely. He allowed the Old Man to place one arm around his shoulder. Together, they hobbled back toward the village.

“That
dry, crackling brush we fell in on the other side of the fence,” he asked. “Those were leaves?”

“They certainly were,” the Old Man said, breathing heavily.

“They fall from trees?”

“Every year.”

“But in the village, leaves never fall. They stay on the branches forever, in an orderly fashion.”

“The Sentinel’s trees are fakes, fabricated
. Just like the flowers and the butterflies and...well, everything else in your village.”

“
What do you mean? A tree is a tree.”

“You have a lot to learn, son
.”

He
took the Old Man back to the village and headed for his family’s home. Fortunately, the streets were mostly empty and they had ample warning before the rare traveler approached. He assumed that most people, still exhausted from the Festival the day before, had eaten their dinners and gone to bed. Still, he kept his eyes and ears alert, ready to hide at a moment’s notice.

T
he quiet intensified his anxiety. His hands trembled with fear. He only hoped the Old Man could not detect it.

They took the road to
his family’s house and, as usual, began counting. As his home came into sight, a warm glow passed over him. They were actually going to make it.

Then he heard a noise
almost directly behind them. Someone approached quickly.

Dragging the Old Man along
, he darted into the easement beside the Moore cottage and ducked behind the trough.

Peering over the t
op, he tried to see who approached, hoping it was not a member of the Black Sentry. As the figure came closer, he realized it was someone smaller, younger...

Brita
. Even in the darkness, her vibrant yellow hair seemed as radiant as the sun.

She appear
ed to be staring directly at them. Was it his imagination, or had she spotted them?

Barely
a second later, a Black Sentry platoon marched down the lane in formation. He ducked his head and waited for them to pass. They moved slowly, obviously searching for something. Or someone.

He
realized that although he might have eluded the Sentry for the moment, the search had not been abandoned.

Af
ter a few minutes, the Sentry passed out of sight.

Brita had al
so disappeared.

As far as he
could tell, the way was clear. He helped the Old Man to his feet and quickly completed the journey to his home.

Many years before, hi
s father had dug out a large cellar behind their house, principally for the storage of supplies and equipment and baking ingredients.

T
he perfect place to hide the Old Man.

They crept inside
. He tried to make the Old Man comfortable. He could see the man was in pain.

“I will fetch the physic.”

“No. You must tell no one I am here.”

“But your ankle
—”

“It’s a minor injury
. It will heal on its own in time.”

“The physic is a good man.”

The Old Man shook his head. “The Sentinel’s influence is everywhere. There is no one we can trust while he holds the villages in his grasp.”

“But you can’t stay here forever.”

“As soon as my ankle is strong again, I will be on my way. I have a quest to complete.”

The Old Man spoke bravely, but as he
gazed into those tired eyes, as he watched the Old Man’s lungs heave, he found it difficult to believe the man could carry on much longer.

“I will return
later with pillows and bedding to make you more comfortable.”

The Old Man
smiled. His face drew up, intensifying the crinkles around his eyes. “You are a good boy. And a brave one. Thank you.”

He
lit a small candle and hurried out of the cellar, careful that no one should see him.

*****

When Daman entered the front door, he found his mother waiting for him.

“Wh
ere have you been?”

“I
—I was—” What could he say? “I was...delivering bread for Father.”

“You have been go
ne eight times as long as your task required.”

“I’m sorry, Mother
. I was—” He stopped, drew in his breath. He couldn’t tell her the truth, but he didn’t want to lie, either.

“
Idling at the marketplace?”

“No.
”

“You weren’t at your practice session with
Mykah. He came looking for you.”

“No...
”

“M
aking merry at Victor’s celebration?”

“No.
” He wanted her to know that he had not been wasting his time. But he could not explain. She was upset enough already. How could he tell her he had aided someone the Acolyte himself had named an enemy of the Sentinel?

“Yes, Mother,” he
said finally. “That’s what I was doing.” He hoped she didn’t check with any of those who were at the victory celebration. “I’m sorry.”

His mother’s anger was palpable
. Her hands tightened and her nails bit into his shoulder. “You will go straight to your room.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“You will have no supper tonight. Or tomorrow. You will not be permitted to see your friends for”—her voice trembled—“until I say so. Except Mykah, of course. You may work for your father and prepare for the Winnowing. And that is all! Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mother.”

*****

Daman went through the usual motions of preparing for bed, even though he had no intention of sleeping
. Just before he turned down his bed, he spotted his father in the doorway.

“
I have just spoken with your mother,” he whispered.

“I know I’
ve made her angry. I know she does not like me very much.”

“Oh, Daman.
” His father pulled his boy close and hugged him again. “Your mother loves you more than she loves life. She’s not angry. She’s frightened.”

His father
did not say any more, nor was there any need. He was fifteen, soon to be sixteen. The Laws and Ways of the Sentinel could not be avoided.

“I will try to do better,” he
whispered into his father’s ear. “I promise.”

His father held him at arms length and smiled
. “Thank you, son. I knew you would.”

His father kissed his boy on the forehead
and sent him to bed.

H
e lay in the dark, a million conflicting thoughts running through his head. What should he do? Follow the path of the Sentinel and devote himself to preparations for Winnowing? If he turned in the Old Man now, there was a chance he might escape punishment. But the Old Man would not. And some of the things the Old Man said, some of the things he only hinted at...

They both intrigued
–and troubled him.

What should he do?

*****

Daman
lay in his darkened room, not letting his eyes close, until he was certain everyone else in the house was asleep. He crawled out of bed, collected a few items, and crept down into the cellar, using a candle for illumination. He thought he might find the Old Man asleep, but he was just as alert as when he left.

He gave his guest a pill
ow and some blankets. The Old Man wrapped himself in them and seemed pleased, although he noted that the trembling did not subside.

“Do you not need sleep?”

The Old Man shook his head. “When you get to be my age, my young friend, you sleep very little. And I confess my foot still causes me some pain.”

“Are you sure
—”

“
I’ll be fine.”

He
reached into the pockets of his coat. “I brought you some food from the larder.” He looked up suddenly. “You do still eat, don’t you?”

Again he witnessed the man’s warm
smile. “Yes, my friend. I still eat.”

He
noticed that, despite all the exercise they’d had earlier, and the fact that the Old Man must not have eaten for some time, he took small bites and ultimately ate very little. He did not seem to have much appetite.

A moment later, the Old Man stopped eating abruptly
. “What was that?”

He
froze. Behind them, he heard a creaking sound. It was the outer door to the cellar…opening.

Someone was coming.

9

Daman blew out the candle and dove behind a shelf filled with jars. He froze, barely breathing, watching the cellar door. The Old Man crawled out of sight.

The door opened,
then quietly closed. After a moment’s hesitation, a slender figure stepped through the opening carrying a small candle of her own.

Brita
wore a dark hooded cloak that covered her clothes and her hair, but hers was a face he would recognize anywhere.

“Daman?” she said, barely above a whisper
. “Where are you?”

He
didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to do.

“Daman?” she r
epeated, stepping into the cellar. “I saw you come in.”

He
knew she would not leave until she had searched the room and discovered the Old Man. “I’m here.” He stepped out from behind the cluttered shelf. “What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for your companion
.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play the fool with me, Daman. I’m much smarter than you. I saw you with him in the street. I tried to warn you that the Black Sentry was coming.”

He
thought back to when they hid behind the trough. He realized that if it had not been for her arrival, they probably would have been discovered.

“Where is he?” she said, stepping down off the steps.

“He’s gone,” he said hastily. “I don’t know where he is now.”

“Daman,” she said firmly, “please stop these pathetic attempts to mislead me
. You’re a horrible liar.”

“I
…can’t take the risk.”

“Daman, think
. I know it’s difficult for you, but try. If I’d wanted to inform the Black Sentry, I would’ve done so already. They’d be with me now. And I wouldn’t have tried to help you outside.”

“I meant, I can’t risk…involving you.”

“Too late. I’m already involved, and I want to help.”

“Why?”

“Because I know you’re not smart enough to do it alone. Now where is he?”

“I’m here.
” Before he could prevent it, the Old Man revealed himself. “May I ask why you seek to help me?”

“You’re the one the Acolyte spoke of, aren’t you
? The Rebel.”

The Old Man’s eyes appraised her carefully before he answered
. “I suppose I must be.”

“You’re a member of the Resistance.”

“You know of the Resistance?”

“Obviously.”

A tiny smile played on the Old Man’s lips. “What would you know about it?”

“Are you still fighting
? Recruiting new members?”

He had no idea what they were talking about,
but he remained silent and tried to learn.

“We must fight fo
r the greater good,” the Old Man said. “We must never stop fighting.”

Brita came
very close to him. “I want to join you.”

“What?”

“I want to join the Resistance. I want to help you.”

He stepped between them
. “Brita, think what you’re saying. The Laws and Ways of the Sentinel do not—”

“Be quiet, Daman.
” She turned back to the Old Man. “I want to go with you. And I want to go now.”

The thought of her leaving the village left him strangely unsettled
. “You have obligations here, Brita. You will soon be assigned a mate. Perhaps even...Mykah...”

“That’s the
point. Part of it, anyhow.”

The Old Man raised a shaggy eyebrow
. “You do not want to marry this...Mykah?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Is there something wrong with Mykah?”

“No
. He’s adequate, in his way. Everyone says he’ll be Magistrate one day.”

“T
hen what is your objection?”

“I’m barely sixteen
. There’s so much I want to do, so much I want to see.”

“But surely
—”

“If I wed
Mykah, my life will be over. I’ll be his wife, and the bearer of his children, and nothing more. I’ll have no rights under the Sentinel’s Laws. No ability to make my own decisions. No power to control my own destiny.”

“But that is
the Sentinel’s Way,” Daman said, even though her objections to Mykah did not altogether displease him. “It’s how life is. It’s how it has always been.”

“It may be how it is,” the Old Man said firmly, “but it is
definitely not how it has always been.” He took Brita’s hand and drew her beside him. “I appreciate your courage, young woman, but you have no idea the dangers that would confront you if you joined me.”

“Nonetheless, it’s what I want
.”

“Plus,” he continued, “as much as I would like a companion, I fear you would only slow me
down—without providing any assistance.”

“I
could help you,” she insisted.

“Have you some special skills?
Do you know how to pick locks?”

“No.”

“Do you know the secret trails that can take you from one village to the next without encountering the Black Sentry?”

“No.”

“Do you have weapons? Money?”

“No, no.”

He patted her on the shoulder. “I admire your courage, but—”

“I can read.”

Her words flew out and hovered, suspended in the silence.

Daman gaped
. Surely she had not said what he thought she said.

The Old Man
gazed at Brita. “What did you say?”

“I said I can read.”

“But that’s impossible.”

“It’
s true.”

Daman
barely knew what the word meant.
Read
? What was this
read
? All he knew for certain was that it was forbidden by the Sentinel.

“But how di
d you learn?”

Brita raised her chin
. “My mother has books.”

“B
ooks are forbidden.” He knew that, although he didn’t truly understand what books were.

“Nonetheless, she has them, and she brings them out, late at night, and she taught me to read
them. I have read many books. That’s why I’m so much smarter than the other young people in the village.”

“B
ooks...make people smart?”

“Indeed they do,” the Old Man said
. “Which is why the Sentinel has forbidden them. Where did your mother get these books, Brita?”

“From her grandmother
. Who got them from her aunt. Who got them from her mother.”

It seemed his f
ather’s Watch was not the only relic being handed down through the generations.

“They all defied the Sentinel?”

“In secret, yes. Not everyone in the villages loves and obeys the Sentinel. Not everyone believes.”

“I am glad to hear it,” the Old Man said
. “I had all but given up hope. What about you, son? Are you also interested in joining the Resistance?”

“I have never before heard of this Resistan
ce,” he answered. And yet, even though he couldn’t explain why, he knew the Resistance was a force for good. And he wanted to be a part of it. “But yes. I wish to join.”

“But why
?”

“I–I can’t explain
.” He knew it sounded feeble, but it was the best he could manage. “I just know it’s the right thing to do.”

The Old Man’s white eyebrows drew close
r together. “Is it possible...” he said, more to himself than to the others. He shook his head. “Let me tell you about the Resistance. It explains my current, simple quest. To deliver this.”

He reached inside his tunic, and a moment later, withdrew a glittering r
ed stone tied to a leather strap that hung around his neck.

The stone was smooth and irregularly shaped, like a glittering gemstone
. It shone in the candlelight.

“Is it...s
ome kind of jewel?”

“No,
son,” the Old Man replied. “Although it is beautiful, it’s not a thing of nature. It’s a thing of man.”

“But
what is it?” Brita seemed entranced by the glittering object.

“It’
s a key. A unique key. Not a jewel, and yet more valuable than any jewel–at least to us. This stone, and the others like it, are the only powers in the world that can defeat the Sentinel. That’s why he had them hidden. It has taken the Resistance more than a hundred years to find this one. And now that we have it, we believe that, for the first time since the Sentinel clutched the world in his steely grip—he is worried.”

“How does the key
work?”

“That I
do not know.” He tucked it back inside his tunic. “My friend Matthew knew more, but he was captured by the Black Sentry. I must return this to the other Rebels. They will know what to do with it.”

“And where
are these rebels?” Brita asked. “Are they in Merrindale?”

“Of course not
. I must take the key on a journey. But the Sentry spotted me outside this village and now I don’t know how to get it out safely.” He smiled faintly. “And as kind and courageous as you two are, I do not think you can solve my problem.”

The cellar fell silent
. He was not sure what to do or say.

Brita broke the silence
. “You said that things have not always been as they are now. That there was a time when girls had other choices.”

“E
veryone did,” the Old Man replied.

“You speak of
the time of the Ancients,” Daman said. “But we’ve been taught that before the Sentinel ruled, the world was evil and chaotic. The Constructs ruled.”

“
That is not so,” the Old Man answered. “True, at times, there was chaos. Humans are by nature imperfect, disorderly. Competitive. But even so, the old days were better times. Freer times.”

“You lived then
? Before the Sentinel?”

“Oh no
. This was long before I was born. But I have heard tales about those times.”

“And I have read about them,” Brita added.

“How do we know that you’re telling the truth?” Daman asked. “How do we know that these are not just...stories?”

“In a sense, we cannot
know
,” the Old Man admitted. “I cannot prove it to you. You must have faith. You must believe.”

There was a pause
. “I do believe,” he whispered.

The Old Man gazed at him once again with intense interest.

“Tell us more,” Brita urged.

The Old Man nodded
. “There are others who could tell you more. I know the general course of events, though not many of the details. But there was a time when all people were free, when freedom was so common that people rarely thought of it and often took it for granted. It was a time of wonders. A time when men and women could pursue their highest and best destiny.”

“Everyone was free to choose–for themselves
?” he said. “To make their own decisions?”

“Do you find that incredible
, Daman?”

“I should,”
he said softly. “But no, I don’t. I’ve had…dreams.”

“What kind of dreams?”

“I can’t explain it.” He shook his head rapidly. “Tell us more about the world of the past.”

“It was a world o
f many great achievements. But there were some who disliked this world. Freedom led to disorder, inefficiency. Chaos. And at times, madness. These people wanted to reshape the world in a more orderly, predictable, controlled image. And the greatest of these was the Sentinel.”

“Where did the Sentinel come from?”

“I do not know. Some say he is the physical manifestation of our worst fears. Some say he is pure intellect, fulfilling a single-minded purpose. Some say the Sentinel descended from the skies. I do not know the answer. All I know is that the Sentinel acquired great power, and by using it, he was able to make all the Constructs, all over the land, stop working.”

This puzzled him
. “But that was a blessing, wasn’t it? The Constructs were our enemies.”

“The Construct
s were neither friends nor enemies. They were tools. Oh, they could be used for evil purposes, as any tool can. But it was the person operating the machine that was evil, not the machine.”

“I have seen the machines!” he
said, struggling to make sense of this. “The Acolyte showed us one in the Arena, and it was a hideous, evil thing.”