The Seekers: The Children of Darkness (Dystopian Sci-Fi - Book 1) (14 page)

The terrain behind the boulder bristled with thick brush,
but Orah could picture its past. On either side, a line of ancient trees rose
higher than the scrub in the center, setting the boundary for what once must
have been a major road. This terrain, directly behind the rock face, convinced
her they’d found the way north, though its passage remained challenging.

She fought through bushes as high as her waist, many with thorns
that grabbed her pack and snagged her clothes. After a few dozen yards, she
twisted her ankle, staggered, and nearly fell.

Nathaniel caught her. “What happened?”

“Not sure. Something hard on the ground, hidden in the brush.”

A few steps later, Thomas stumbled as well. Nathaniel groped
through the undergrowth and picked up a chunk of strange rock. Its flat black
surface contrasted with an underside pitted with gravel, seemingly stuck
together with glue.

He held the rock up for Orah. “What do you make of this?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it. Are there others?”

Nathaniel kicked around and found a half-dozen more. The
fragments seemed to fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

As he passed them around, he wondered aloud. “They seem
man-made, but for what purpose?”

Orah let her fingertips glide along the smooth surface. “Possibly
a layer to harden the road.”

“Why would anybody bother?” Thomas said. “That’s a lot of
work to avoid muddy boots.”

Orah scanned ahead, trying to imagine a thousand-year-old
roadway covered with black rock. “At least they provide some good. Along with
the high tree line, these rocks will guide our way. Let’s just watch our step.”

After half an hour, road and river converged. Walking eased
where seasonal flooding had thinned the vegetation and washed away any sign of
black rock. Ahead Orah spotted where the trail left the river and started to
climb.

What if the river becomes inaccessible?

They each carried two water skins—enough
for three days if the weather stayed mild. The rhyme claimed they’d reach the falls
in eight days. If they had no access to water before then, they’d face a dry
march.

They stopped to refill their skins at the last clearing
before the trail rose. Orah welcomed the respite. She’d battled both the
terrain and her own doubts since leaving Riverbend, but now they’d left the
deacons behind, and the best tracker would struggle to follow. Their path
seemed more certain, and she tried to relax.

What a beautiful spot.
The sun dappled the river with
sparkles, and a rushing sound filled the air.

“The current’s much stronger than the Ponds,” Thomas said. “If
I tried to swim here, I’d be swept away.”

Orah gazed north as if trying to see to the river’s source. “The
water comes from snow melting in the highlands, and is strongest in spring.”

“Where does it go?”

“Maybe as far as Little Pond, or all the way to Nathaniel’s
mythical ocean.”

She rested on the bank and admired the river battling to
reach its goal. The torrent struggled around rocks that jutted out everywhere, and
frothed about the roots of trees that inexplicably grew in the stream.

Thomas hacked off a twig with his pocketknife and tossed it
into the water. As the current carried it away, it inspired another idea. He
cut a second branch and made a dramatic slash in its bark. “A mark for our first
day. Seven more and we’ll be at the falls, and soon thereafter, the keep.” He
smiled and tucked the improvised calendar into his pack.

But Thomas’s good feeling eluded Orah. She stared at the
water and brooded.

Nathaniel tapped her with the toe of his boot. “What now?”

“Something’s not right. Things fit together too well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why haven’t we been caught?”

“Because you’re both so clever,” Thomas said, “and the
deacons are fools.”

Orah shook her head. “Or they’re smarter than we think. When
they passed us on the road outside Little Pond, they made more noise than usual
for people on the hunt. In Adamsville, the old keeper heard them blocks away,
and they stood at the door and shouted when they could have easily shoved past.
The notice sent to the vicar of Bradford said if he saw us, he should notify the
Temple but not detain us. Now, at Riverbend, the deacons spotted us but let us
go.”

“You think all that’s deliberate?” Nathaniel said. “Why?”

“I’d guess they want to follow, to scare us a bit but not
stop us.”

“We’ve worked so hard to avoid being tracked,” Thomas said. “All
those days in the thicket, those nights in the woods, and the deacons appeared
mostly within sight of towns. How could they follow from so far back?”

“I’m not sure, Thomas, but... Nathaniel only broke his
promise to become a vicar, a sin too small to set the entire Temple after us.”
She flicked a stone into the stream. “I’m afraid they know about the keep.”

A cloud of gloom settled over them.

Orah studied the river as if seeking an answer in its flow. “A
way to follow without being seen. Something I’d never have believed possible
before Bradford.”

The waters streamed past like the days of her life, some as
smooth as springtime before Thomas’s teaching, and others raging like the
morning they fled Temple City. She recalled her fury when Nathaniel appeared
with the gleaming pack on his back.

The pack
. She jumped up and turned to Nathaniel. “Can
I look in your pack?”

“If you like, but what do you expect to find?”

“It’s our only possession that was in the hands of the
deacons.”

Nathaniel fetched his pack and emptied its contents on the
ground. Both Orah and Thomas took turns poking around inside, checking each
compartment to no avail.

“Nothing,” Thomas said. “Your imagination’s gone wild.
Deacons make us all nervous. I’ll help repack.” He picked up a bundle of dried
meat.

Orah grabbed the pack before he could store it. “There must be
something.”

She grasped the leather lining and yanked it bottom up. As
her fingers caressed the seams, she cried out. “Thomas, give me your
pocketknife.”

Nathaniel stared at the spot where her fingers lingered. “I
don’t see anything.”

“That’s because you relied on me to make coats for you. Look
here.”

She dragged the pack into the sunlight. A patch of fresh
leather clearly showed, distinct from its more worn surroundings and held in
place by fine, nearly invisible stitching.

Thomas handed her his knife. She picked off the threads
without marking the leather, peeled away the lining and pulled out a stone cast
in the shape of a star.

She held it up to the light. “A deacon’s star. Now we know
how they followed.”

“But there are no temple trees in the wilderness,” Thomas
said, doing his best to cling to the fleeting sense of safety.

“No, but we passed one near the bend in the river, close to
where we entered the wilderness.” She turned to Nathaniel. “What should we do?”

“Bury the cursed thing,” Thomas said, “so no one will find
it.”

“We can’t. The signal would keep on and lead them to this
spot. We mustn’t let them discover the trail.”

Thomas took two flat rocks. He laid one on the ground and
held the other poised above. “Put it here. I’ll crush it to end the signal.”

“A worse plan. They’ve already tracked us nearby. Destroying
the star would tell them we found it and speed up the chase.”

“Then how will we escape?”

Orah considered a moment before handing him back his knife. “My
dear Thomas, can you and your pocketknife whittle me a very small boat?”

Thomas understood at once and soon had assembled a dozen interlocked
twigs into a raft small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Orah bound them
together with twine and placed the device in its center, then wove additional
netting to stretch across the top.

“There, the device will float downstream, even if flipped in
the current. Since the river runs along the road, we’ll give our deacons
something to follow.”

“Brilliant,” Thomas said with a nervous laugh. “Now we’ve
lost them for good.”

Nathaniel stepped forward and took the boat, which looked
tiny in his big hands. “I’m afraid not. Sending the star down river gives us
only a reprieve. Eventually, the raft will get caught on the rocks or be
grounded. Our little trick might confuse them for a while, but once it stops,
they’ll figure out the ruse and return to Riverbend with a vengeance.”

Thomas’s gaze flitted about as if the deacons were already
near. “Then can we never be safe?”

Orah wrapped an arm around him. “We’ll be safe in the keep,
Thomas. The keepmasters were the wisest ever and will know how to protect us.”

With a flip of his wrist, Nathaniel tossed the boat into the
stream.

Orah watched as the current whisked their latest threat away—another
danger avoided, another obstacle overcome.

She stared until the little package vanished round the bend,
then glanced up and noted the sun racing across the sky. “We’d best start
moving. The farther we get from here, the better.”

Nathaniel refilled his pack and headed toward the trail, but
a sudden need to bless such an important moment made her call him back.

“We can spare ten seconds.” She urged them to gather round,
glanced up to the sky and raised her arms. “Praise the sun, giver of life.
Grant us success in our search. Guide us together safely to the keep.”

Thomas gaped at her. “Isn’t the keep the opposite of the
light?”

“No, Thomas, the keep is the opposite of the Temple. That
makes all the difference.”

They donned their packs and moved out.

From the first step the trail rose, and the land to their
left dropped off. Soon they had climbed to a ledge above the water, wide enough
for all three to walk abreast. To their right, the hillside banked steeply,
covered by tamarack pines soaring to the sky. Their naked trunks rose fifty
feet or more before branches emerged, providing a thick canopy. Where the odd
gap appeared between them, hardy spruce filled in, adding a blue tinge.

Orah gazed to the north. With the river rushing on one side
and the forest rising on the other, she recognized at last the vision of the
rhyme. For a full eight days they must race on this well-marked path, ‘twixt
water and dark walls of pine.

The trail soon leveled and travel eased. With the mild
weather and a wind wafting from behind, Orah led at a brisk pace, the trio stopping
only for meals and an occasional drink. Their progress convinced her they’d
beat the time foretold in the rhyme.

By the second day, curiosity rather than weariness slowed
them down. Here, far from the world she knew, lay remnants of an older
civilization—things foreign to her, which she tried her best to understand.

Along a well-protected section of trail, a line of tall
poles rose at hundred pace intervals, each with the girth of a tree trunk but
unnaturally straight. A shiny gray coating suggested they were man-formed, if
not man-made, and all appeared planted in place for no reason.

Nathaniel rapped on one with his knuckles, and it made a
hollow sound. “I wonder what these were supposed to be.”

“Look,” Thomas said, pointing to their tops. “Some have lengths
of black rope hanging from them.”

He found a sample on the ground nearby, and wrapped one end
around each hand and pulled. The cord proved lightweight and supple but
extraordinarily strong. He took out his pocketknife and tried to cut through.
The black skin peeled away, revealing a hard inner core with the same texture as
the scrolls.

From the top of the next pole, a hundred-foot stretch dangled
intact. Thomas grabbed the nearest loop and yanked, but the other end stayed
stubbornly attached.

“Come help, Nathaniel.”

“Just leave it.”

“You can never tell when a sturdy rope might come in handy.
You’re the strongest. Give a tug.”

Nathaniel braced himself and pulled. The rope hardly budged.

Thomas approached the pole and wrapped his arms around it,
testing his grip. “I’ll climb up to release it.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Orah said. “It’s too
dangerous.”

“If we’re caught, they’ll lock me in a teaching cell until I
go mad, and you’re worried about a fall? Nathaniel, give me a lift.”

Nathaniel cupped both hands and boosted Thomas ten feet up
the pole. His nimble friend clambered up, clutching hand and footholds in the weathered
surface, and reached the fastening in seconds. With two twists, the rope was
free.

Nathaniel coiled their find and offered to carry it, but Thomas
insisted on bearing the prize himself.

The next day, looking down the embankment, Orah noticed the
remains of a covered bridge. The roof had collapsed, revealing a surface made
of the mysterious black rock. Two reinforced tracks lay on top, too far apart
for the wheels of a cart—another riddle from the mysterious past.

After three days, the trail began to climb, tracking the
river toward its mountain source. The slope rose so gradually she detected it not
in her legs but as a chill in the air. Farther down, the tips of pine boughs
displayed the bright green of new spring growth, but here the needles remained
dark. Patches of old snow increasingly dotted the hillside, sheltered in
gullies and beneath the shadows of trees.

On the morning of the fourth day, the trail rose more
quickly. For now, the river appeared accessible, but possibly for the last
time. Orah jiggled her water skin. Only a couple of mouthfuls sloshed inside.

She turned to Thomas. “Can you climb down to the river?”

He eyed the embankment. “I can climb down, but maybe not
back up, especially hauling skins full of water.”

“What if we used your rope?”

He grinned. “I knew you’d find a reason for bringing me along.”

Orah had him tie the rope around his waist, and she and
Nathaniel eased his descent. They then used it to lower the empty skins and
pull up the full ones. At last, it served to secure Thomas. They braced themselves
to support their friend, but he scrambled up like a goat, scarcely breathing
hard. Orah never sensed tension on the line.

***

Despite his misgivings, Thomas had to admit the venture was
going well. They’d found all four keepers, and though he still fretted about
the rhyme, he trusted Orah would solve the puzzle in the end. She always did.
The deacon’s star would be far away by now, hopefully carried all the way to
Nathaniel’s ocean. Best of all, he’d found small ways to help his friends.

If only he could shake off the vision of three vicars, sitting
at their high bench and spying on his every move.

Near sunset of the fifth day, the rains came and the
temperature dropped—a last gasp of winter. A wind from the west lifted droplets
from the river and turned them to pellets of ice. The sleet stung his face as he
huddled behind Nathaniel and did his best not to complain, but the footing
became treacherous.

He cried out over the winds, “We
have to stop. We can’t go on.”

“We can’t stop in the open,” Orah said. “Too risky.”

He cupped his hands around his eyes and glanced beyond
Nathaniel. “There’s an outcropping ahead. We can crouch beneath it, put
blankets up and tie them down with the rope.”

Orah wavered but then agreed.

The three hurried to the overhang
and removed their packs. Thomas uncoiled the rope while the others pulled out
blankets. Within minutes, they’d built a makeshift shelter and huddled inside.

Darkness settled in, and Thomas felt more than exposed on
the ledge. The blankets flapped in the wind like walls closing in, and the air
grew heavy, as if a millstone weighed on his chest.

He forced himself to breathe, and pulled out the calendar
stick to give his hands something to do. Careful not to cut anyone in the close
quarters, he made a slash.

“One, two, three, four, five. Only three days left to the
falls.”

Orah moaned. “Three more days this close to you and I’ll go crazy.”

Nathaniel countered. “That’s assuming we survive the night.”

As if in response, a gust of wind ripped loose their
covering. They scrambled to grab the blankets and tie them down more securely.
The blast of cold air combined with the exertion made breathing strained.

Thomas lay still, catching his breath and listening to the
creaking of the pines. Finally, he wondered aloud. “It’s as if the forces of darkness
are conspiring to stop us.”

“I don’t believe in the forces of darkness anymore,” Orah
said. “That’s not what frightens me.”

“Then what
are
you afraid of?”

“That we’ll come all this way and fail. That the secret of
the keepers will be lost. That we’ll never find the keep.”

The thought hung in the air, competing with the wind to
chill them. Thomas studied their profiles in the dark. Even Orah had doubts.
Even Nathaniel had fears.

When he spoke at last, the certainty
in his voice surprised him. “Do you know what I believe? I believe in my
friends. I believe we’re the true seekers and we’ll find the keep... or at
least Orah will find it for us.”

Orah said nothing, but leaned in and gave him a kiss on the
cheek.

After a few minutes, the storm blew past. The wind calmed
and the drumming on the blankets quieted.

Orah eased into a smile. “We may survive the night after
all.”

Survive the night. Maybe Orah is right. What if the
keepmasters possess magic stronger than the vicars? The keepmasters will keep us
safe.

Thomas peeked outside the blanket and made a small bow to his
friends. “I never doubted it, but what happens when we find the keep? What do the
keepmasters expect of us? When a seeker finds what he seeks, what does he
become?”

All fell silent, lost in their own thoughts.

The next morning, the trees bore an icy glaze that made
their boughs sparkle, and the rising sun melted the sleet on the trail. Orah
had them collect water from the dripping branches, enough to last until the
seventh day. They’d go thirsty after that.

He licked his lips, recalling the thirst of his teaching. He
hoped they’d reach the falls soon and find them—unlike the rock face—to be real.

***

From high above the river, Orah spotted the lake that must
have been its source, a vast body several times the size of Great Pond. Shortly,
the breeze bore a hopeful sound from ahead, growing louder as they approached—the
whoosh of rushing water. She picked up her pace, determined to forego their
normal rest.

No one spoke as they focused on the
sounds of their own hurried breathing, and on the unceasing roar of the falls.

Around the next bend, her optimism faded. Tree limbs and
debris lay scattered across the trail where the hillside had ripped away,
likely during the recent storm. Of bigger concern, a boulder too broad and
sheer to pass around had blocked most of the trail, leaving a scant foot’s
width of path between it and the drop-off.

The slope down appeared treacherous, and the cliff to their
right too steep to climb. Behind them, they’d find no water for days, and their
skins hung empty from their packs.

Nathaniel prodded the rock. The boulder had lodged itself firmly
in the path, far too heavy to move.

He glanced at Orah, but she had no
guidance to offer. Turning back meant the unthinkable, abandoning the search
for the keep. They had only one choice—the way forward.

Nathaniel insisted she go first as the slightest and least
likely to disrupt the ground. She secured the rope around her waist, while he grasped
the other end and braced.

She patted his hand. “Don’t drop me,
Nathaniel.”

“I’ll do my best. We don’t want to lose our best seeker.” Once
set, he nodded.

Orah passed around the boulder,
clutching its every knob, sliding her small feet painstakingly from side to
side. After she cleared the rock, she threw the rope to Thomas, who did the
same. Then both grabbed the end and waited for Nathaniel.

He tossed the remaining rope across to their side.

“What are you doing?” she cried.

“If I fall, I’d only pull the two of you down with me. Better
I cross alone.”

He stood out of view, blocked by the boulder, so she shouted
across to him, “If you fall, Nathaniel, you better die, because if not, I’m coming
down to kill you.”

As he started around, she closed her eyes and prayed to the
light, knowing his feet were too big for the space and his heels would hang
over the edge. A yelp from the far side made her jump. Pebbles skidded off the
path and echoed as they tumbled to the valley below. She peeked around and
caught Nathaniel balancing on one foot as he groped for cracks in the stone. The
misstep had created a hole the size of her fist.

“Stay with me, Nathaniel. Don’t look down.”

He finally shifted around the hole. Then one step, two more,
and he was across.

She grabbed him as soon as he reached solid ground. “Don’t
ever do that again.”

“I don’t plan to if I can—” An expression of wonder crossed his
face as he glanced past her.

“What now?” She could handle no more surprises.

He began laughing. “Look behind you.”

Less than a minute ahead, the first of the falls plummeted
from the slope above all the way down to the lake below.

Another obstacle? No, thank the light.
The cascade shot
out over the cliff face while the trail passed dry underneath.

A few paces farther and she saw them all. This time at
least, the rhyme was literal. Before her lay four falls in a line.

Despite her disapproval, Thomas stuck his face out under the
nearest torrent and emerged with his cheeks red.

“The water’s freezing,” he said, “but delicious.”

***

Orah suggested they camp between the falls. As the day ended,
the wind stilled and the clouds evaporated. Soon, stars flickered into being
one at a time, until they sparkled in clusters throughout the heavens. Behind
the seekers, the thickly-treed slope had turned black, obscuring the ridgeline
from the darkened sky. The mountains to the west had grayed, but a lingering glow
radiated from their peaks. Shortly after, a full moon rose, fat and orange on
the horizon, climbing until its beams shed a path of gilded glass across the
lake below.

Thomas pulled out his flute, but before playing, he checked
with Orah. “Are we far enough from the vicars now?”

She laughed. “I don’t think they could hear you even with
their communication devices.”

“Then with your permission, may I serenade my friends?”

She glanced at Nathaniel and both nodded.

Thomas began slowly, but with each passing note he poured
more of his being into the instrument. He played a tune of sadness and hope.
The song flowed into the air and hung over the valley, matching the light of
the stars.

That night, they slept to the sound of rushing water. One
more day and they’d be done with the first verse, but Orah worried more about
the second. Would it be literal like the falls or symbolic like the rock face?

She gazed out over the river valley and silently mouthed the
words:

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