The Seekers: The Children of Darkness (Dystopian Sci-Fi - Book 1) (12 page)

Thomas turned, his face a hopeful question. “Then can it
burn again?”

“That, Thomas, is up to you.”

The vicar led him back to his chair and riveted Nathaniel
with a gaze. “Are you the true seekers? We’ll only know after you find the keep
and use its contents to change the world.”

Nathaniel’s dreams, once airy like gossamer, now took
substance, threatening to crash to the floor of their own weight.
Why me?

The vicar glanced out the window, noting the angle of the
sun. “You should leave soon if you hope to travel today, but before you do, I
have one last obligation.”

He opened the cabinet on the wall, exposing the sun icon,
and slid the shelf aside. From a hidden compartment beneath it he withdrew the
now familiar scroll.

Orah raised an eyebrow. “You hid the keepers scroll beneath
the sun icon?”

He gave a half smile. “My little joke.”

Nathaniel rose to accept the scroll, but the vicar strode
past him to Thomas.

“Why give it to me?” Thomas said.

“Because
you
are a seeker.”

Thomas hesitated, and then accepted the scroll.

The vicar beamed. “Next you go to Riverbend, a trip as far
as all the distance you’ve traveled till now, but I can help you get there. Have
you ever seen a map?”

“Do you mean a treasure map,” Orah said, “like we made when
we were little?”

“Similar, but on a broader scale.”

He fetched a paper from the cabinet and unfolded it on the
table. “This map describes our whole world—another secret the Temple conceals.”

Thomas pointed at a spot on the map. “That says Bradford. Is
that where we are?”

“Yes, Thomas, and at the far left is Little Pond.”

Orah traced their journey from Little Pond to Adamsville and
Bradford, and then released a sigh. “I wish we’d had this when we started.”

“To find the next keeper, you must go....” The vicar slid his
finger along the parchment, not stopping until the word Riverbend.

Orah gestured at an unusually windy road. “What’s that?”

“A river. From the breadth on the map, I’d say a wide one.”

“And this?” She pointed farther north to scribbles along the
edge.

The vicar shrugged. “Maybe wilderness or the edge of the
world.”

Nathaniel’s shoulders slumped.
So far to go, so much
unknown
. He squinted as an orange ray of light streamed through the window
from the low afternoon sun.

Time to leave, but one last question gnawed at him. “We’re
grateful for your help, so it pains me to ask, but how do you resolve the lie
between vicar and keeper?”

No sooner had the words come out than he worried he’d
offended his host.

The vicar grimaced and blinked twice, but then the grimace
turned into a smile. “My son, every age comes with its good and evil. The
Temple brought much good, overcoming the chaos of the prior age, but over time
it’s become corrupted itself. Someday a new order will replace it. That’s not
my task. My role as keeper has been to watch and wait. In the meantime, I do
what I can for my people, but make no mistake—when the world changes, I’ll
support the new way. You three may be the impetus for that change.”

The day had flown by. The light through the window diminished.

Light diminished in Nathaniel as well. When his first test
came, he’d fled to the mountains. When Samuel offered the scroll, he’d thought
only of childish dreams. He’d let his impatience with Thomas get the better of him,
where the vicar had treated his friend with kindness. This gentle man, who’d
kept the secret all these years, still managed to minister selflessly to his
people. Both he and the vicar were dreamers, but only one was worthy of the
keep.

He went to his pack and took out the first two scrolls, and
as the others watched, presented them to the vicar of Bradford.

The vicar looked bewildered at first, but then shook his
head. “No, Nathaniel, you must bear this burden, not I. The people of Bradford
need me.” He forced a warm smile. “And if a vicar tried to seek the keep, he
wouldn’t get very far.”

“You’re more deserving than I am.”

“More deserving?” The vicar’s eyes flared. “That depends not
on how hot your fire burns today, but how you stoke the flames when the time
comes. Until then, no one knows who’s deserving.”

Thomas went to Nathaniel and handed him the third scroll,
and Orah pressed his fingers until they curled around the three. It was
settled.

“I’ll gather supplies if you like,” the vicar said, “but I hate
to send you out so late. I’d be pleased to host you for the night so you can
leave refreshed in the morning.”

Orah glanced longingly at the roof overhead and began to
answer, but Nathaniel cut her short.

“Thank you, but you’ve shown us the magnitude of our task. More
than our comfort’s at stake. We should start right away.”

The vicar of Bradford, third keeper of a great secret,
regarded the three of them with a wistful look in his eyes. “My heart wishes
you’d stay, but my head tells me you’re wise to go. Those messages from the
Temple carried the utmost urgency, and I fear for your safety. Wait here while
I fetch you supplies.” Then he vanished down the spiral stairs.

As the light faded from the rectory,
Nathaniel dwelled in his thoughts. The journey had begun as a dream and
continued as an adventure. In Adamsville he’d learned to appreciate the risks, but
only here in Bradford did he finally understand the stakes.

The seekers were the bridge to a new world.

That night, as soon as the campfire flickered into life,
Orah pulled out the third scroll. Thanks to the vicar of Bradford, she already
knew the city—Riverbend. The symbol depicted a shoe, suggesting a cobbler, but
the pass phrase sounded more baffling than the others. The seekers were to say,
“We have traveled far, but our journey has just begun. The true light drives us
on.” And the next keeper would respond, “May you find the end you seek, and may
the truth you discover hasten a new beginning.”

The wording troubled Thomas. “A beginning? If Riverbend’s the
beginning, my feet’ll fall off before we find the keep.”

“Oh hush. It’s just an expression. Let’s move on to the
rhyme before the words fade.”

She prayed to glean more meaning from the latest verse, but
the lines on the third scroll proved no clearer than the others.

For a full eight days you shall race

Two doors to the mouth of the snake

Once great, it now stands alone

Sixteen stars shall set the doors free

She stared in silence as the letters dissolved into flecks
of black and vanished into the white background of the scroll.

Thomas intruded on her thoughts. “What if the founders had
gone mad?”

“They were the most brilliant of a brilliant age,” she said.
“The puzzle’s meant to be hard. The burden is on the seekers to solve the
rhyme.”

Thomas persisted in that annoying way he had of focusing on silly
details. “Brilliant, sure, but they couldn’t have been happy. Their world was crumbling
around them. I’d be angry, at least, if not mad.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “No, Thomas, they
were not mad.”

“How else do you explain these verses?”

She lost patience with his pestering and struck out with a
scowl. “Maybe you’re not smart enough to understand the rhyme.”

“And you are? Then tell me what it means?”

Rather than continue the debate, she withdrew to the edge of
the shadows and dropped cross-legged on the ground with her back to her friends.
The heat of the fire failed to reach where she sat, so she clasped her arms
around herself, rocked back and forth, and did her best to hide a shiver.

After a time, she heard the others readying for bed. She strode
to where the scroll still lay in its holder, and in a single motion grasped the
wooden handles and swung the frame over the embers. The words reappeared, and
her lips moved soundlessly as she committed them to memory.

When she finished, she glanced up to find Nathaniel eyeing
her.

“Are you all right?”

“Tomorrow,” she said, “I’ll add these words to our marching
song, but tonight I’ll dream of them. The answer will come to me, Nathaniel of
Little Pond. I swear it.”

***

No dreams came to Orah that night, and she hardly slept.
Instead, the rhyme rattled round in her half-awake brain but continued to make
no sense. As the moon set and the breeze stilled in the trees, she wondered if
their quest also made no sense—spinners and vicars preserving secrets across
centuries, leading them on a race to a place that may not even exist. She
wished she’d never left the comfort of Little Pond.

Then she recalled Thomas’s blank stare, her father’s gaunt
face, and the tears on her mother’s cheeks when she told how the teaching had
killed him. She pictured the pompous panel of vicars, preaching their truth to
her—a truth based on lies.

With a sigh, she roused herself and tossed a few branches
onto the dwindling fire. The flames crackled and spit sparks into the air,
floating like shooting stars until they burned themselves out.

Once the fire burned bright enough, she grabbed paper and
pen from her pack and began to write.

Here’s what I know:

We found three keepers in the chain. We hold three verses
of the rhyme.

The keep remains a mystery. No one’s sure if it exists, or
knows what’s hidden inside.

In addition to the scrolls, I carry a map. At least five of
the towns listed are real—I’ve visited every one. Does this far-off Riverbend
exist as well? To find out, I must spend the next two weeks of my life sleeping
on hard ground.

What then? How many more towns? How many more keepers? What
if the chain broke long ago? Will our quest never end?

Or will the deacons hunt us down first, long before we have
a chance to change the world? Will our sacrifices be in vain?

***

Orah referred to the map several times a day, matching
landmarks to symbols on the paper—her only proof of progress. By charting their
location, she never worried about wandering off course.
Such a simple idea.
So helpful.
If the keep housed more ideas like this, perhaps its discovery
would justify their trials.

Now, as this leg of their journey neared its end, each
landmark seemed to bring Riverbend closer.
The sooner, the better.

Ants had found their way into a
packet of food and, as a result, their provisions ran low. A weary Thomas
whined constantly about the size of his rations, and her own stomach had begun to
growl by mid-afternoon.

At last, a cemetery of the kind that sat on the outskirts of
so many towns signaled their arrival. A waist-high wall surrounded it, with a
stone arch providing the only entrance. Orah pulled her friends inside.

The gravestones bore witness to Riverbend’s past. Some stood
knee-high, while others rose as obelisks with a sculpture of the sun on top.
Some inscriptions remained legible, while others had been worn smooth by
weather and time. In the back, the oldest stones had crumbled, the latest
generation having no cause to maintain them. Nearest the gate lay a fresh plot,
the ground moist and mounded, as yet unmarked by a headstone.

She directed Nathaniel and Thomas to sit with their backs to
the wall, out of sight from the road, while she crouched before them. “We’ve
seen little of the Temple since Bradford, so you might be tempted to take
chances, but with words flying through the air, we need to be wary.”

“Come on, Orah,” Thomas said, gesturing to the cluster of homey
cottages in the distance. “This place seems more like Great Pond than Temple
City.”

She sniffed the breeze as if to gain a sense of the town,
but only the dank odor of freshly turned earth came to her. She shook her head.
“Too risky.”

“It
does
feel more like the Ponds,” Nathaniel said. “No
deacons, and we haven’t met a soul in days.”

“Oh, Nathaniel, don’t you start being irresponsible too. We
mustn’t—”

Thomas jumped up. “I’m going in. I’ve slept on hard ground
for two weeks, and we’ve nearly run out of food. The shadows are deepening. If
we wait much longer, we’ll end up hungry and sleeping in a graveyard.”

Orah looked at Nathaniel, pleading silently for support, but
he stood as well and accompanied Thomas out the gate. She glared after them,
but then surveyed her surroundings. Not wishing to be left alone in a cemetery,
she followed.

***

Orah had to concede that Riverbend
did
feel familiar,
with friendly people and pathways easy to navigate. After a two-minute walk, the
dirt road they’d traveled upon passed through the heart of the town, becoming
its main street. On one side stood a modest inn and on the other, three single-story
shops.

A cask hung above the nearest doorway, the mark of a cooper.
The next had a bowl and mug, which, along with the smoke from its kiln, indicated
a potter. Much to Orah’s relief, the third displayed a shoe that precisely
matched the symbol on the scroll. Perhaps for once, they’d find an uneventful
episode in their journey to the keep.

Inside, shoes and boots lay scattered across the shelves,
and the smell of leather filled the air. In one corner stood a workbench,
covered with scraps of hide and an assortment of tools. A girl sat there,
tapping away with hammer and awl at a half-soled boot. She glanced up when they
entered.

Her youthful face showed she had not yet come of age, and curls
hung down to the middle of her back. A white mourning sash lay across her gray vest,
and the rims of her eyes appeared raw and red.

An apprentice, for sure.
Orah lowered her voice out
of respect for the grieving girl. “Excuse me. Is the master shoemaker here?”

The girl set down her tools and rose to greet them, almost
making a curtsy. “If you mean my father, no. He’s gone.”

“When will he be back?” Nathaniel said.

Her voice quivered. “He’s gone and will never return. He
died two weeks ago and I’m alone.”

Orah shuddered as she recalled her own father’s passing, and
offered the customary response. “May he go to the light everlasting.”

The girl’s eyes shifted down and to the corners before
rising to meet Orah’s gaze. “Thank you, ma’am, but if you please, I’m not sure
he’d want your blessing. That wasn’t his way. I’m Lizbeth. I suppose I’m the
master shoemaker now.”

Orah shifted uneasily.
Did the keeper pass the scroll on
to his daughter, or did he take the secret to his grave? What if we’ve come all
this way to find the chain newly broken?

Lizbeth misread Orah’s discomfort. “Don’t be concerned if
you need new shoes. I apprenticed to my father since I was little, and he left
me with the best of his tools and skills. You won’t find better workmanship in
the North River valley. Let me show you my wares.”

Before she could reach for the shelves, Thomas blurted out
what Orah held back. “We didn’t come here for your shoes.”

Orah tried to cushion his words. “I’m a weaver and, like you,
I learned my craft from a loving master. I’m sure your father left much of his
skill with you. Excuse us, Lizbeth, we didn’t mean to bother you in your grief.”

She started to leave, but before she could reach the door, Nathaniel
grabbed her arm and whispered, “We need to try.” He spun around to the girl. “Please,
we had other business with your father.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “You knew my father? Then you must
stay and be my guests. I’d love to speak with anyone who could set his memory firmer
in my mind.”

“I’m sorry,” Orah said. “We never met your father, but we
believe he had a passion other than shoes.”

“My father lived for his craft. He had no other business.”

Nathaniel’s shoulders sagged, but Orah pressed on. “None?
Look deep into your heart, Lizbeth. We’ve traveled far to seek him, and you’re
our only hope.”

The girl staggered back a step. After a moment, her tiny
hands curled into fists, and she rose up on the balls of her feet, no longer
appearing a child. “He taught me all things are possible. Whatever you had to
say to him, you may say to me. We are as one.”

Orah checked with Nathaniel. When he nodded, she stepped
forward and spoke in the same voice she’d used with the spinner. “We have
traveled far, but our journey has just begun. The true light drives us on.”

The girl’s tears began to flow. “He’d waited all his life
and now, might I fulfill his wish so soon? I haven’t earned it.”

Orah grasped her by the arms. “Do you have an answer?”

Lizbeth steadied herself, lifted her chin and announced, “May
you find the end you seek, and may the truth you discover hasten a new
beginning.”

The chain was intact. Relief filled the shop and all
embraced.

After some time, the young keeper pulled away and wiped her
eyes. “My father hoped you’d come soon, in his lifetime, or all would be lost.
When he fell ill, he berated himself for being weak, for failing the seekers
and leaving me with such a burden before my time. He feared if the vicars took
me for a teaching, I might reveal the secrets, and so he told me little.”

Orah grabbed at the thought. “You knew the pass phrase. Did
he tell you anything more?”

She nodded. “He cobbled a special boot, just one, not a
pair. He said to give it to you if you came.”

She slid a chair to the wall, stood on it, and stretched on tiptoes
to retrieve a solitary boot from the topmost shelf.

Nathaniel grabbed it before she stepped down. He fumbled
inside but found nothing. The girl smiled faintly at his search until he
growled in frustration.

“I thought as a seeker, you’d find the scroll with ease.” Lizbeth
took the boot from Nathaniel and slid the heel back, revealing a hidden compartment.
After carefully withdrawing the scroll, she placed it on Nathaniel’s
outstretched hand.

He rushed to open it.

“Oh, there’s nothing to see. My father said you had a way to
show the words but were not to tell me.”

“Thank you, Lizbeth,” Orah said. “We’ll take the scroll from
here.”

Nathaniel held up a hand. “You can help us in one other way.
Do you know this region well?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Every spring, I’d go off with my father to
take orders for shoes and deliver those purchased. I’ve traveled all over since
I was little.”

“Then you can direct us to the next city.”

“Please, sir, I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Leave her be,” Orah said. “She doesn’t know what’s on the
scroll.”

Lizbeth spun around. “But I do, ma’am. He told me its
contents—a four-line verse—but I’ve never seen the words.”

“There must be a city too.”

The girl pursed her lips and shook her head. “No, ma’am, that’s
not what he told me. ‘A four-line verse,’ he said, ‘one piece of the rhyme.’ He
called it the rhyme that was not, because it did not rhyme. There’s nothing
else on the scroll, not another mark or word.”

Orah opened her mouth to argue when the realization struck.
Her face grew warm, and the small hairs on the back of her neck tingled.

She switched her tone to gratitude. “Thank you, Lizbeth. You’ve
given us all we need. Your father would be proud.”

Not a mark, not a word. Nothing but the verse.

Lizbeth was the final keeper.