The Black Sentry (8 page)

He scooted forward
. “Very much.”

T
he Old Man explained the mysterious workings of the map, teaching him about north, south, east, and west, about relative scale, about orientation. Before long, he understood the basic principles.

“That’s wonderful.
Almost...magical. Where did you get this map?”

“It was given to me by another member of the Resistance
. Where he got it, I don’t know. We’ve made an ongoing effort to reclaim the relics of the past. Sometimes they help us in our work. And sometimes we keep them because...well, just because. Because someone should.”

He
gazed at some of the other locations on the Map. There were so many places–some he knew by reputation, some he’d never heard of before. The Forest of Savages. Ingrid Pass. Elliott’s Creek. And he was particularly mesmerized by dark markings surrounding Merrindale. The Old Man explained that they were words, and that the words read: HERE THERE BE CREEPERS.

He
couldn’t believe there were so many places in the world–so many places he’d never seen. He wanted to visit them all–now more than ever.

He pointed to
the orange circle representing Clovis. “It must be much bigger than Merrindale.”

“Yes,” the Old Man agreed
. “The largest in this region. The Sentinel does not allow his villages to become any larger. Not in any of the regions.”

“Why not?”

The Old Man shrugged. “I could only speculate. The larger a town grows, the more people are packed together in one space, the more difficult they become to control.” The Old Man rolled up the map. “Can you think of a good hiding place? For the map and the key? Just in case.”

He scanned the
cellar. Under the supplies? On the top shelf? He shook his head. If the Sentry searched, they would find them in minutes.

He thought harder
. The Sentry might look under and over things–but they probably would not look inside them. Say, inside a burlap bag filled with flour. Who would?

Daman took the two treasures and buried them deep
within the largest bag, then retied the top.

“They should be safe now
. As safe as they’ll be anywhere.” He shifted awkwardly. “I should probably go. My father expects me at the bakery.”

“Of course
. You must do everything you would normally do. Don’t create suspicion. My ankle feels better. Tonight, under the cover of darkness, I’ll try to escape.”

He knew that w
as best. The Old Man needed to proceed with his work, to get that Key back to the people who could use it. But at the same time, the thought of the Old Man departing saddened him.

“I have one favor to ask you, Daman
. There is a man I know who, last I heard, had been transported to Merrindale. Do you know a man called Martin Adkins?”

“My father?”

The Old Man grinned. “Indeed. I’m not surprised. He also had...a Gift.” He paused. “You favor your father, Daman. Perhaps in more ways than you realize.”

The Old Man squeezed hi
s shoulder. “Run along now. I’ll see you tonight.”

*****

As Daman made his way through the village, he found the tumult had intensified. The Black Sentry were everywhere. They were harsh and insolent, bowling people over in their desperation to find the Old Man. They broke into homes and shops, stopping passersby and searching them. He felt sorry for these innocents–and guilty, too. He knew that if the Sentry did not find their quarry soon, it would be even worse for the people of Merrindale.

At the same time, he
worried about the Old Man’s safety. He had deflected the Black Sentry from the cellar for now, but as the search intensified, they would surely return.

He
knew he should report to his father’s shop, but instead, he headed toward Brita’s house. If the Old Man was going to escape, he knew she would want to help. He wondered if she would still be determined to join the Resistance after seeing the frenzy the Black Sentry were creating.

He found Mykah standing just outside Brita’s cottage.

Mykah
stiffened. He didn’t have to guess why. “Daman, have you seen Brita? She was supposed to meet me this morning. We’ve been summoned by the Magistrate.”

He
knew what that meant. He assumed Brita would be assigned to be his wife. But didn’t he recognize her in the cellar last night? If so, he chose not to mention it. “I was told there was a chance we would be counseled by the Acolyte himself. And now I can’t find her.”

He wasn’t surprised
. He remembered what Brita said the night before about the prospect of marriage. “Did you check her home?”

“Of course I did
. There was no answer. She must’ve gone somewhere. How could she forget?”

“T
he village is chaotic today. Perhaps she’s somewhere safe with her parents.”

“You may
be right. I’ll check her father’s mill.” Mykah started to go, then stopped. “Daman,” he said slowly, “you’ve known Brita almost as long as I have.”

“That’s true.”

“Has she seemed...odd to you of late?”

He
felt himself coloring. Was this a veiled reference to what Mykah witnessed in the cellar? “Odd in what way?”

“
I don’t know. I can’t explain it. When I talk to her...it’s as if she’s somewhere else altogether.”

He
had no response for him. None that he dared utter, anyway.

“Well, I must go,”
Mykah said. “I have to finish this appointment, so I can rejoin the search. Every member of the Sentry has been called, no matter how young or inexperienced. This Rebel is a great enemy of the Sentinel, you know. It is said that the man who finds him will be elevated to the highest ranks.” He leaned in conspiratorially and whispered. “We think someone in the village is hiding him.” He tried to appear astonished. “Surely not.”

“D
on’t worry. We’ll find him. Perhaps I will be the lucky one.”

“Perhaps so.”

“Regardless of who finds him, this heretic will be punished. And,” Mykah added, “whoever is hiding him will die.”

11

As
Daman considered what to do next—he heard a faint tapping from inside the cottage.

He turned sl
owly, trying not to attract attention. The tapping came from the window.

Brita
was at home, after all. Trying to get his attention.

He
approached the front door as if doing nothing out of the ordinary. An instant before his hand touched the knocker, the door swung open before him.

No one was visible
in the entryway.

H
e stepped inside.

The doo
r closed behind him. Brita huddled behind the door.

“
Mykah is looking for you,” he said.

“Do you think I don’t know that
? Don’t be such an imbecile.” She stepped away from the door, motioning for him to follow her. They sat on the floor in the rearmost room of the house where they could not be seen from the street. “That’s why I don’t want anyone to know I’m here.”

H
er parents were not at home. The two of them were alone together. Another violation of the Laws and Ways of the Sentinel. Just the thought of it made his heart beat faster. “But—why miss your appointment? Why avoid Mykah?”

“I avoid
ed Mykah because I have no intention of marrying him, as I believe I’ve already told you. And I missed my appointment because we have far more urgent tasks today.”

He
could not help but notice her use of the word “we.” “Such as?”

“We must get the Old Man out of the village.”

“To where?”

“How would I know
? Neither of us has ever been beyond the village fence.”

Not entirely true af
ter yesterday’s adventure, but he did not correct her. “I know what lies outside the village. I’ve seen a map.” He told her of his experience that morning with the Old Man. He also told her where he had hidden the map and the red key. “The Old Man said he intends to slip out tonight.”

She
nodded. “Anywhere would be safer than here.”

“I
s it still your intention to go with the Old Man? To join his Resistance?”

“Y
es. If he’ll have me.”

“But think of the dangers
. The Black Sentry. The Creepers. The Savages.”

“I would rather die aiding the Resistance than die trapped in
this village, living an empty life married to Mykah.”

“You should think carefull
y before you do anything that dangerous.”

“These are odd words
coming from the boy who rescued the Old Man.”

“I…
would not want you to come to any harm.”

“I do not intend to come to any harm.”

They sat quietly for an awkward moment. “Brita...is what you said true?”

“About what?”

“About books.”

The corne
rs of her lips turned up. “Would you like to see one?”

“
Very much.”

She glanced at the door again,
making sure they were out of sight. Then she tossed aside the area rug in the center of the room. She inserted three fingers into what appeared to be a knothole in a plank of the wooden floor. To his astonishment, the plank rose out of its groove.

“We
keep them in this hideaway, where even the Black Sentry won’t look. I only wish it were large enough to hide the Old Man.”

She reached into the opening, stretching her arm almost to its fullest extent
. A moment later, she withdrew what he could only assume was a book. It was about the size of a loaf of bread, but black and thick. The outer covering was heavy, while inside, many thin sheets—what Brita called “pages”—were packed together.

He
crouched beside her. These pages were covered, in part with pictures, but mostly with tiny scratchings similar to those he saw on the map. He could make no sense of them. “What do you do with it?”

“You read it,” she
replied.

“I don’t understand.”

She pointed at the page. “These are letters. They form words. The words form sentences, just as we do when we talk.”

“And you can read these scratches?”

“Of course I can.”

“What do they tell you?”

“Stories, sometimes.”

“About events that happened before the time of the Sentinel?”

“Sometimes.”

“What else do the books say?”

“Some recount the lives of great men and women. Or explain how things worked. How people lived. This book is”—she turned its spine so he could see the word—“an ency-clo-pe-dia. Sailing dash Tunis.”

“What does that mean?”

She frowned. “I’m not sure. But the book tells of many wondrous things.” Her eyes lit. “Of termites and threshers and a man called Shakespeare who wrote poems.”

“Poems?”

“Poems are words arranged so that— Oh, it’s too difficult to explain. But they’re beautiful! And so are the stories.”

“Are there many of these...poems
? Or stories?”

“There were
. Before the Sentinel forbid them.”

“If they were beautiful, why would the Sentinel forbid them?”

“My mother says it’s because they put ideas into people’s minds. New and different ideas. The Sentinel wants everyone to have the same ideas. The ones he gave them.” She clutched the book close to her. “There’s so much out there, Daman. So much we know nothing about.”

He
saw the happiness these books brought her. He was glad—but also sorry he could not share this delight. “How many books do you have?”

“Seven
. We used to have eight, but the pages in one became brittle and crumbled into dust. Mother says we must be careful with those that remain. We take the books out less and less now.”

She showed him
the other books hidden under the floor. All had scratchings he did not understand. One said “ALMANAC,” one was the story of a man named “LINCOLN,” with pictures, one was a storybook about “JUSTICE,” one was a very thick book about “SCIENCE,” and another was the book Brita said she understood least of all, something called “THE HOLY BIBLE” written by a man named Gideon.

“This
book is a wonderful account of the Ancients’ government,” she said. “From the time when people controlled their own destinies and animals could talk.”

He
blinked. “Animals could talk?”

“Of course
,” she said scornfully. “Didn’t you know?”

Hi
s forehead creased. He knew she was more knowledgeable than he, but... “It’s hard to imagine a time when animals could speak.”

“Only for you,” she scoffed
. “Because you are so unlearned. The proof is right here. This book tells all about it.” She showed him the thin volume, which she explained was called
Animal Farm
. “The Time of the Ancients was a time of wonders.”

Finally, she showed him a book ca
lled a “dictionary,” which she explained was the key to understanding the words in the other books.

“I
f you see a word and you don’t know what it means, you can look it up in the dictionary.”

“But if you don’t know the word, how can you look it up?”

“By how it’s spelled.”

“What?”
He didn’t begin to understand. He was so lost he couldn’t even ask intelligent questions. “Brita,” he whispered, “do you think perhaps...I could learn to read these scratches?”

“Of course you c
ould. You don’t have to be smart. You just have to know how it works.”

“Wh
at is...SCIENCE?”

She
scooped up the thick book. “Oh, that’s my favorite. It has so many great ideas. Things you would never imagine.” She paused a moment, scrutinizing his face, as if determining whether she could trust him. “Would you like to see my experiment?”

“What is that?”

“That’s when you try to discover or prove something with a test.”

“Like what?”

“Anything. Why the world works the way it does.”

“We were taught that the world works the way it does because the Sentinel wishes it so.”

She apparently didn’t deem that remark even worthy of reply. “This isn’t my first experiment. I made a compass, once, with a needle and a small pan of water. And I’ve watched mold grow on old bread. Did you know that hot air rises?”

“I’m...not sure what you mean.”

“Then just stay silent and watch. Maybe you’ll learn something.” She removed some materials from the back corner of a cabinet. She took a length of fabric, maybe twice the size of the book, then started a small fire in the open hearth. Once the kindling caught on, she held the fabric over the flames, then rounded the cloth like a ball. To Daman’s surprise, the cloth held the round shape, even after she removed it from the hearth.

“It looks as if it were solid,” he
remarked.

“Well, in a way, it is
. It’s filled with the hot air rising from the fire. Now watch this.” She sealed the fabric, tying it with a string, then brought it into the front room and released it.

I
t rose toward the ceiling.

Hi
s lips parted. “It’s amazing.”

“It’s a balloon,” she
said, laughing. “And it isn’t amazing–it’s science. I love balloons. I’ve read all about them.”

“Did
the Ancients have balloons?”

“Of course
. They were so common they became toys for children. The Ancients had even more amazing machines that flew through the air. Machines so strong people could take long rides covering enormous distances in a short time. They could travel all over the world.”

“But–why?”

“To see what there was to see,” she said softly. “To see the world outside their own village.”

“Brita, do
you believe everything the Old Man told us? About the world of the past?”

“I do
. Do you?”

H
e paused. “Sometimes at night I have strange...well, I call them dreams, but they aren’t really dreams. Because I’m not asleep. I guess I don’t really see them–they just sort of appear in my mind. Things I’ve never seen with my eyes. I don’t know where they come from, or why, but I do know—”

He heard
a terrific commotion in the street outside the house. Hurriedly, she hid the books and all traces of her experiment in the hiding place under the floor. After she finished, he stepped outside to see what was happening.

Doze
ns of villagers scrambled to get out of the way. A Black Sentry platoon rushed past in formation.

He
felt a cold clutching at his heart. What could be happening?

Xa
nder rushed toward him, calling his name. His instinctive reaction was outrage. A slave should only speak when spoken to. He admired what Xander had done the day before, but surely insolence such as this—

“Daman,” Xander said, “c
ome quick!” He breathed so heavily he could barely speak.

“Xander, ple
ase conduct yourself in—”   

“It’s the Black Sentry.
”

“What about them?”

“They’ve found the Rebel. The one the Acolyte spoke of!.

He tri
ed not to react. “What has this to do with me?”

“Don’t you understand
? They found him at your house. While your father was at home.”

“
My father would never help an enemy of the Sentinel.”

“T
he Black Sentry think he did. They have your house surrounded. And your father is trapped inside.”