The Seekers: The Children of Darkness (Dystopian Sci-Fi - Book 1) (13 page)

Though twilight approached, Nathaniel had no urge to rush
off from Riverbend. Their two-week trek had worn him down, and he desperately
needed a good night’s sleep. More importantly, he had no inkling of where to
go.

The shoemaker’s family had a longstanding relationship with
the innkeeper across the way and traveling peddlers who bought shoes for resale
stayed as guests at the inn. In exchange, the innkeeper received footwear for
his growing children. Lizbeth secured a pleasant room for the three friends, and
promised to deliver fresh provisions the next morning.

Nathaniel listened politely as the innkeeper told the story
of every amenity in the room—pictures painted by his wife, bed quilts sewn by
his grandmother—but as soon as the door closed, he pulled out the scroll.

According to Lizbeth, he held in his hand the final piece of
the puzzle, but was acquiring the scrolls enough? The founders of the keep believed
the seekers would arise one day, part of a new generation disaffected with the
Temple and eager to learn the truth. Yet no such change had occurred. Yes,
people feared the vicars, but not enough to fire a revolt. The Temple had ruled
for longer than anyone could remember, and no one challenged the established
order because no one could imagine a different way. Even he, for all his
notions, had never considered opposing the Temple until he met the first
keeper.

He quelled his doubts: no sense in worrying his friends.

Before exposing the words on the newest
scroll, he tried to temper their expectations. “Fellow seekers, we now have all
the scrolls, clues that haven’t been joined for centuries, but we shouldn’t expect
to solve the puzzle in an instant, especially at the end of a long day. No
matter what the flame reveals, let’s be gentle with ourselves.”

He waited for Orah to nod before placing the scroll over the
candle. The rhyme appeared as before, but nothing else.

One more past four falls in a line

Inside, you must enter and fly

Climb its stairway, fourteen and three

When touched by the lines of the rhyme

He sighed. The final scroll indeed, but the newest verse was
as murky as the rest.

“I know I’m not the one to figure this out,” Thomas said, “and
I’m exhausted. I’m going to sleep.”

Nathaniel agreed. He rolled up the scroll and opened his
pack to store it with the others, but Orah snatched it away.

“Leave it,” he said. “Solving the puzzle will keep till
morning.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I want to add this verse to
my memory before I sleep, so for the first time, I can see the full rhyme in my
dreams.”

Too tired to argue, Nathaniel and Thomas readied for bed.

***

After she had snuffed out all the candles save one, Orah studied
the verse until the words fixed in her mind. Then she stored the scroll with
the others, doused the flame and went to bed.

But not to sleep. She lay awake, listening to the breathing
of her friends. The first keeper had warned them not to decipher the partial
verses, but now that they’d completed the rhyme, she felt no closer to solving
it.

Yet one thought nagged at her, the master shoemaker’s remark
to his daughter:
My father called it the rhyme that was not, because it did
not rhyme.

Orah repeated these words until her eyelids drooped and she
fell asleep.

***

Nathaniel awoke to the scrape of wood on the floor. His
muddled brain perceived a wraith with a candle gliding across the room, but as
his head cleared, he recognized Orah bustling about in the middle of the night.

He jumped to his feet. “What...?”

She’d slid a bench to the center of the room, taken three
candles from their bedsides and a fourth from a sconce on the wall, and set
them on the bench in a row. As she lit the first candle and proceeded to light
the others, their reflection made her eyes glow.

“Get the frame,” she said.

For weeks, Nathaniel had carried the frame attached to his
pack. He hurried to retrieve it now.

Thomas awakened as well and fetched the scrolls.

Orah wedged them in, starting from
top to bottom, and then directed the others to align the four over the candles.
The room dimmed as the scrolls obscured the candlelight and they waited for the
words to appear.

“Hold still,” she said. “I’ll need a minute.”

Nathaniel examined the verses. They seemed as
incomprehensible as before.

To the North, behind the rock face

To the East, towering o’er the lake

To the North, through forest of stone

To the East, the entrance shall be

~~~

Twixt water and dark walls of pine

A cave made by men who must die

The Temple of Truth you shall see

Golden doors that are closed for all time

~~~

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

~~~

One more past four falls in a line

Inside, you must enter and fly

Climb its stairway, fourteen and three

When touched by the lines of the rhyme

Orah’s eyes stayed riveted on the scrolls. Her expression evolved
from studious to intense, through an instant of worry, and ultimately to
triumph. All the while, she muttered what sounded like an incantation. “Not rhyming
yet, but I’ll beat you and forge you until you rhyme.”

Nathaniel watched, worrying her mind had snapped from the
strain.

After another minute, she eased into
a smile. “I have it. Face rhymes with race, lake with snake. To make a proper
rhyme, take the first line of each quartet and place them together, and then do
the same with the second, third and fourth.”

“What are you talking about?” Thomas said.

“Recite the words using only the first lines. Then do the
same with the second and so forth. Like this.” She chanted like a vicar during the
blessing.

To the North, behind the rock face

Twixt water and dark walls of pine

For a full eight days you shall race

One more past four falls in a line

~~~

To the East, towering o’er the lake

A cave made by men who must die

Two doors to the mouth of the snake

Inside, you must enter and fly

~~~

To the North, through forest of stone

The Temple of Truth you shall see

Once great, it now stands alone

Climb its stairway, fourteen and three

~~~

To the East, the entrance shall be

Golden doors that are closed for all time

Sixteen stars shall set the doors free

When touched by the lines of the rhyme

Nathaniel blinked, but before he could react, Orah confirmed
his suspicion. “I don’t yet understand every word, but at least the verses
rhyme, and now we know their purpose.”

Thomas cast about curiously.

Nathaniel explained. “The directions to the keep.”

***

In an underground chamber in Temple City, the arch vicar’s
eyes probed the faces of his younger colleagues. None bore his gaze for long.
To
the darkness with the politics of the Temple.

The voice from the box at the center of the table droned on.
“After further investigation, we find you blameworthy for taking undue risk
without council approval. Do you wish to say anything in your defense?”

The arch vicar pulled the transmitter close, wary of
admitting guilt in front of his underlings. “The situation demanded action. As
senior vicar on the scene, I had the authority.”

He shot a glance at the others. One of them had betrayed him
to the council in an attempt to besmirch his record. He detected nothing but a
shift in the eyes of the new monsignor, who had formerly ministered to the
Ponds. Perhaps he’d only imagined it. They’d all mastered the mask of calm in
the seminary.

The box on the table buzzed. “Nevertheless, our ruling
stands. From now on, we trust you’ll keep us informed as this matter
progresses.”

This matter
.
You treat it like a piece of
bookkeeping. Don’t you know the stakes?
He understood the temptation of
unfettered thought, as he himself had been tempted. When promoted to bishop and
granted access to the archives, he’d been drawn to the underground rooms, where
he spent long nights studying the past. Only after years did he realize the
truth—one could not separate the thirst for knowledge from the lust for power.
His kind needed to be kept simple. Better ignorance than chaos, better
innocence than violent death—that was the lesson of the darkness.

The voice in the box cared only for “this matter,” and
pandered to its superior. “Holiness, do you have anything to add?”

The grand vicar spoke next. “We trust you appreciate our
concerns. This issue has broad implications for the future of the Temple.”

The arch vicar scoffed. The awe the old man evoked in others
surprised him. He’d never been impressed.

“Your record until now has been exemplary,” the grand vicar
continued. “Please ensure no repeat of this offense. Blessed be the light.”

The spectacle had ended, and the assembled began to rise. The
arch vicar checked their faces for a hint of gloating, but the politics of the
seminary prevailed.

So clerical affairs have devolved to this—better to avoid
mistakes than take risk. Cowards and fools.
None but he would have acted
with such boldness, and none but he would reap the rewards when at last he
found the greatest threat to the Temple.

The young people from Little Pond were leading him to the
keep. When they found it, he’d be the one to destroy it, making the Temple and
humanity safe for all time.

Orah awoke to a knocking at the door. She staggered across
the room and fumbled to release the latch.

The shoemaker’s daughter barged in, bearing three bulky bags
of provisions. “This is all I could gather in so short a time—” She stopped,
spun on her heels and glanced about the room.

What must she be thinking?
Midmorning and the
seekers still sleeping like shiftless drifters.

The bench that had rested against
the wall now stood in the center of the floor, with four spent candles stuck to
its surface and their melted wax forming a sequence of mystical patterns. Considering
the scene, the girl’s reaction seemed muted.

Orah steadied Lizbeth with both hands and gave her a kiss on
the cheek. “Good morning. We overslept. With so much to consider, we stayed up
late.”

“If you please, ma’am, my place is to serve.”

Orah nearly urged the girl to call her by name—no one had
ever addressed her so formally—but she recalled her own brief stay in the teaching
cell and shuddered. The less Lizbeth knew, the better.

As Orah’s senses cleared, she became aware of a clamor outside
and went to the window to check. A crowd of people milled about on the street
below.

“What’s going on?”

“Don’t you remember?” Lizbeth said. “Today’s the first of
May, the Festival of Light.”

Orah shot Thomas a glance, hoping to keep him from showing
the seekers’ ignorance of the local custom. She leapt in before he could disillusion
the girl. “Of course we remember, but we’ve been on the road so long we’ve lost
track of the date.”

Thomas swung his feet to the floor and stretched in a yawn. “And
where we come from, festival’s celebrated a bit differently.”

Lizbeth smiled. “Here in Riverbend, people travel from all over.
We play games in the afternoon, followed by a feast. You’re welcome to come.
With so many visitors, no one will spot you for strangers, and you’ll find plenty
of food.”

“Thank you,” Orah said, “but you’ve done a great deal for us
already. We can’t ask for more. In any event, our mission’s pressing and won’t
wait. We should take our provisions and be on our way.”

“Leaving so soon?” Lizbeth arranged the bags on Orah’s bed
and counted them a second time. “I hoped you’d stay for the parade.”

“I’d love to stay for the parade,” Thomas said, “and the
food as well.”

Orah glared him into silence, and then peeked past the
curtain at the crowd. She considered the first lines of the rhyme.

To the North, behind the rock face

Twixt water and dark walls of pine

For a full eight days you shall race

A possible interpretation: head north past an outcropping of
rock, to a road along the river with a well-treed cliff on the opposite side.

She hoped to learn more from Lizbeth about the surrounding
area, but pictured the girl in a darkness cell. Her questions required a
circumspect approach. “Where do these people come from?”

“From all over, ma’am. From villages and farms to the east
and west and south.”

“None from the north?”

“No, ma’am. The North River blocks the way. It’s impassable
at any time of year, but especially now when the water’s high.”

“No bridge?”

“No bridge and no road. No one ever crosses the river.”

Thinking Lizbeth had misunderstood the question, Orah tried
a different approach. “How do people travel to towns in the north?”

Lizbeth’s brows rose and her eyes widened. Orah guessed at
her thoughts. Her father had foretold of the wise seekers. How could they know
so little about the world?

“There are no towns to the north. On the far side of the
river you’ll find only wilderness. From Riverbend, we have only the road going
west to east.”

Orah tapped her teeth with the tip of her thumb.
No
passage north? The rhyme seemed clear on this point.
Then a new thought
occurred to her. “Why do you call it the North River if it runs west to east?”

“Oh, if you please, ma’am, because it does run north. A ten
minute walk east of here, the river takes a sharp turn and goes off into the
wilderness—the bend that gives our town its name.”

Orah suppressed a grin and nodded to the others, but she was
reluctant to probe further.

Nathaniel jumped in. “Where the river turns, does a road run
alongside?”

“No, sir, nothing but the road that goes east.” Lizbeth
heaved a sigh. “No one wants to go north. It’s nothing but a barren wasteland.”

Best to change the subject before the questioning becomes
too explicit.
Orah focused on the rock face, a term that might imply a hidden
trail behind a cliff. “This is such lovely country, Lizbeth—so green with
rolling hills. Is the surrounding area like this, or does it change?”

“Thank you, ma’am. The terrain’s the same as far as I’ve traveled.”

“No cliffs or rocky ledges? Where we’re from, the mountains
turn to slabs of stone above the tree line.”

“We have hills but no mountains, and few exposed rocks. That’s
all the landscape I’ve ever seen.” Her eyes drooped at the corners, and her
smile turned into a frown. “You ask a lot of curious questions. Why so much
concern about rocky ledges and roads that go into the wilderness?”

Realizing she’d pressed as far as possible, Orah signaled for
the others to let the girl go. The three lined up to thank her, wish her well, and
say their goodbyes.

After Lizbeth departed, Orah stared out the window at the
gathering crowd and beyond them, to the trees at the edge of the town. They’d found
the final keeper and had in their possession all the pieces to the puzzle. She’d
unraveled the verses and mastered the rhyme. Now, the keepmasters directed them
to head north into a wilderness with no road and no people.

No choice but to take the next step.

They’d proceed to the bend in the
river and search for a rock face, a dark wall, or any hint of a trail heading
north.

***

At Nathaniel’s urging, Orah gave in to Thomas’s nagging and
let him watch the parade. They were about to head off into a wilderness filled
with towers, caves and snakes that fly, with no notion of how long they’d be
gone. So she hefted her pack, prayed for luck, and followed the others down to
the inn’s common room and out the front door.

The sun shone high overhead as throngs lined the main
street. Riverbend’s elders had arranged excited children in rows on the opposite
side. Each held a stick in one hand, the thickness of a broom handle and half
as long.

Music drifted on the air, and soon Orah spotted a large drum
decorated with red and green ribbons. It boomed with a sound deeper than the
Little Pond drum, and people clapped to its beat. Other instruments appeared as
the parade approached. Sunlight reflected off one fashioned from brass. A
player pressed his lips to its end and blew, puffing his cheeks out with each
breath to make a braying sound, harsher than Thomas’s flute and much louder. A
second player grasped what looked like a saucepan with bells affixed to its
edges, and shook it in time with the drum.

Behind the musicians came men in white masks with skull-like
sockets for eyes. Each held a pole with a creature on top, made of pressed rag
pulp and painted black. These resembled no animal in the Ponds, and their warts
and horns and fangs made Orah shudder. The adults hooted and the children waved
their sticks.

The leader of the troubadours held up a hand. The parade
halted and the crowd hushed.

“Children of light.” He sounded like a vicar. “The creatures
of the darkness come to defile your Temple. What say you?”

A wave of jeering spread across the crowd.

“Will you destroy the creatures of the darkness?”

They responded with loud cheers.

“Bring them forward.”

The men in masks held up their poles. Adults counted out
five children, tied brightly-colored scarfs about their eyes, and positioned them,
each one in front of a creature. When given the word, the children swung their
sticks until they found their mark. The creatures shattered as they were struck,
and sweets tumbled to the ground from their insides. Following a few additional
thumps for good measure, the children removed their blindfolds and fell on all
fours to gather their reward. Then the next five took their place.

Orah wavered, unsure whether to take pleasure in this game
or shudder at its meaning.

Thomas leaned close and spoke in his most melodramatic
voice, but softly to avoid being overheard. “Then the seekers, agents of the darkness,
go forth to undermine the light.”

Orah elbowed him in the ribs so hard the air puffed out from
his lungs.

Yet he wasn’t far from the truth.
Their mission placed them at odds not only with the Temple, but with their
whole world.

***

Nathaniel stood behind his friends, taking in the parade.
Nothing
more than children’s games.
He checked past the players to the opposite
side, trying to gauge the mood of the crowd. He detected no yelps of fear or
sneers of hatred. Like his neighbors in Little Pond, the people of Riverbend used
their festival to celebrate.

As he scanned the crowd, he noticed several men keeping apart,
clearly strangers. Although dressed like everyone else, they stood with backs too
straight and bearings too formal, and their expressions showed no pleasure at
the festivities.

Deacons—out of uniform, but deacons nevertheless.

The tallest among them turned, and their eyes met. Nathaniel
tensed, but the man’s posture never changed. He stared for no more than a
second and glanced away.

Nathaniel tapped Orah on the shoulder. “We need to leave.
Now!”

He eased them from the crowd until they rounded a corner,
and then took off at a sprint.

***

Orah slowed to a stop at the bend in the river. No enemies
marched on the road ahead, and she saw no pursuit from behind.

“Deacons so near?” she said as she caught her breath. “Then
why haven’t they followed? Either you’re mistaken or they failed to recognize
us.”

Nathaniel lowered his pack to the ground, and his face
turned grim. “I don’t know, but we need to find this path north... in a hurry.”

Orah surveyed the countryside. The sole feature worth noting
stood a hundred paces ahead, well past the turn—a nondescript boulder, twice as
tall as Nathaniel and wider than his arm-span, but far from the mysterious
cliff that hid the trail to the keep.

Thomas saw it as well. “That’s the only rock we’ve seen for
days other than pebbles. How will we find a rock face in this terrain?”

They split up to search, but even with her most vivid
imagination, Orah found no hint of a trail. On the one side, the riverbank fell
so steeply as to deny footing, threatening to cast a wayward traveler into the
current. On the other, the prickly scrub grew so thick a child would struggle
to slip through. Her every attempt ended with an assortment of cuts and
scratches.

At last, they regrouped where the river turned, resting on
the roadside and nursing their wounds.

Thomas flung a handful of dirt at the trees. “No path there.
An eight-day trip through those woods would take a lifetime.”

“We’ll find it,” Orah said. “We just need more time.”

“More time? With deacons on our trail?”

She refused to be goaded and turned away.

Thomas tempered his tone. “I’m sorry, Orah, I didn’t mean to
sound like it’s your fault.”

Nathaniel rested a hand on her shoulder and glared at Thomas.
“You might help by suggesting a solution rather than always pointing out our problems.”

“You two are the smart ones. Where are
your
ideas?”

Orah’s neck ached and her head began to throb. She closed
her eyes and took a cleansing breath. “A month of travel and deacons nearby
will fray our nerves. Let’s remember why we came. The founders hid the keep to protect
it from the vicars. As the true seekers, we’re tasked to find it, no matter how
hard. We mustn’t get discouraged or give up.”

Thomas drew small circles in the soft earth. “I’m not saying
to give up, but so much time has passed. The scrolls may never age, but the
rest of the world does. Trees grow. Soil gets washed away and weeds fill in.
The road from the rhyme may long ago have vanished.”

Orah wandered off, unable to bear another word. She ambled
along to the east, searching the woods for inspiration. A sniff of the air brought
only the scent of the pines, and the gentle breeze carried only the rush of the
river and the caw of a distant crow. After a hundred paces, she threw her hands
into the air and gave up. Any path would have to be nearer the river.

As she turned back, something about the large boulder struck
her. She squinted and let out a cry. “The rock.”

Nathaniel and Thomas leapt to their feet and ran toward her.
She held out a trembling finger as they came near.

“What about the rock?” Thomas said.

“Not from that side. From over here.”

They crept closer, eyeing the rock but not turning until
they’d reached her.

“Now let your minds roam free.”

Nathaniel’s fists unclenched when he saw no danger there,
but Thomas recognized it first. “It looks like the head of a man.”

From where she stood, the rock had taken on the appearance
of an old man in profile, with an overarching brow and a great beard, staring
out with wisdom for the ages.

Orah renewed her faith in the founders of the keep and prayed
to never doubt them again. From now on, she’d avoid relying on the obvious. They’d
found no trace of a cliff or a stony ledge, but here before them stood the rock
face of the rhyme.