The Seekers: The Children of Darkness (Dystopian Sci-Fi - Book 1) (17 page)

“In searching for the truth be ready for the unexpected.” ~
Heraklietos
of Ephesos

The golden doors led to a much less impressive corridor. No
vaulted arches or marble columns, no statues or artwork—only windowless walls and
a low, flat ceiling—a place built more for utility than splendor. Orah advanced
with care, wary of hidden defenses. The power of the Temple had surprised her, and
she had no intention of underestimating the keep.

A dozen paces in, she startled to a recurrence of the gears grinding
and spun around to catch the doors swinging shut. Thomas raced back and tried
to stop them from closing, though each outweighed him tenfold. Nathaniel yanked
him free before they crushed him.

“What are you doing?” she said.

Thomas clawed at the metal. “We’ll be trapped in the dark.”

Daylight from outside faded as the doors came together with
a thud, but darkness never came. A glow rose all around them, brightest where
they stood but with no identifiable source.

On the wall next to the doors, Orah spotted a twin of the
box with the sixteen stars. “Don’t worry, Thomas, this isn’t Temple City, and the
keep is no prison. The keepmasters have helped us get here and now we’re their
guests. Come, both of you, and join with me.”

She reached out, took their hands, and bowed her head. “Blessed
is the light that has given us life, allowed us to thrive, and brought us here
to this day.”

Thomas winced. “Should you be quoting the book of light in
here?”

“I’m praying to the true light, not to the Temple. The
keepmasters will understand.”

With their endeavor properly blessed, she led them down the darkened
corridor. As they approached the boundary of light, new illumination appeared. The
glow, it seemed, would follow them wherever they went.

The corridor ended with two doors, more modest than the
golden ones that guarded the keep. Before the three seekers reached them, they slid
open on their own, revealing a circular chamber filled with hundreds of seats, all
facing forward like a Little Pond classroom, but much larger.

As Orah struggled to guess the room’s
purpose, everything went dark, save a sequence of red lights in the floor that outlined
an aisle to the front.

“Well,” she said. “What are we waiting for? They’re showing
us the way.”

The three followed the lit path and fanned out to explore,
Nathaniel to the left, Orah to the right, and Thomas straight ahead.

As she groped for the wall, a crackling sounded behind her
like paper being crushed.

A light flashed, and Thomas yelped. “A
window... just appeared. That wall turned bright as day.”

Nathaniel rushed to his side. “A window? Where?”

“Don’t you doubt me, Nathaniel! I know what I saw.”

“I don’t doubt anything in this place,” Orah said. “Show us
where.”

He spun about, trying to regain his bearings, and pointed to
a spot on the darkened wall.

Orah inhaled and blew out two breaths as if about to start a
race at festival. Her legs seemed made of water, but she forced them to move forward.

The air crackled again and a window appeared with people on its
far side. They looked unthreatening, but she backed away before they could see her.

The window disappeared.

She froze in place and listened, but heard only the sound of
her breathing and the low hum she’d noted since arriving in the keep.

“Do you believe me now?” Thomas said.

Orah nodded and turned to Nathaniel with a
will-you-come-with-me look in her eyes. Before them lay what they’d sought all
these weeks, a chance to speak with the masters. She grasped his hand, and
together they approached the front of the chamber.

The window reappeared.

“They sense we’re here,” she whispered, “and have opened this
window to welcome us.”

“Or eat us for dinner,” Thomas said.

The people became clearer. At a plain metal table sat two
men and a woman, all elders. The woman wore her grey hair long, and dressed
like a man in trousers. The first man had a full beard, not the jaw-line cut
prescribed by the Temple but a bushy beard like an arch vicar, red in color
with speckles of grey. The second was clean-shaven but had hair longer than the
woman’s, tied in back in a tail.

The man with the beard stood, stared straight at Orah and calmly
approached.

She planted her feet so they wouldn’t run away. “I am Orah
of Little Pond.” Her voice rose and trembled like a scared little girl
pretending to be brave. “We came here following the clues of the keepers, to
seek the—”

Oddly, the man ignored her, gazing past her as if deaf and
blind.

Nathaniel stepped closer and waved a hand in front of the
man’s eyes.

Not a blink.

The man came to a halt and stood at the ready, like a
teacher waiting for students to settle before class. Nathaniel made circles with
both hands this time.

No response.

He checked with Orah, then inched closer to the window. His finger
extended a hair’s breadth at a time, until he touched the man’s nose.

The image dissolved into liquid, like a reflection in the
ripples of a pond. Nathaniel jerked his hand away, and the face resumed its
form. The keepmaster never lost his composure.

Orah blew out a stream of air as she and Nathaniel retreated
to Thomas. What she now realized to be a picture—a moving picture—went dark
once more.

“A message from the past,” she said.

Nathaniel agreed, though his eyes flitted everywhere. “Only
an image of the old keepmasters.”

“Sure,” Thomas said. “How could they be alive today?”

Orah discovered the window would also brighten if they sat in
the chairs. The intent was clear—visitors were to enter the room, take their
seats and listen.

The three settled in the front row and
waited for the message to restart.

After a few seconds, the man retraced his steps and addressed
them with these words: “Greetings, seekers.”

Orah sat transfixed as he welcomed them to the keep with all
the manners customary in the Ponds, but she was beyond manners. She slid to the
edge of her chair and waited for more.
Why have they brought us here?

With niceties finished, the keepmaster began. “We are the
founders of the keep, built before the darkness descended on the world. You who
have come here have justified our hope, that even after centuries of stagnation
some would long for more. You are the courageous few, able to overcome not only
the Temple of Light, but the obstacles we placed in your path. You have earned
the treasures preserved here.”

Nathaniel sat up taller and Thomas puffed out his chest, but
Orah recalled the empty seats on the flying snake, saw the empty seats now, and
a fear crept into her heart.

The master continued. “So why the keep? In our time, the
Temple had already existed for a hundred years, but the vicars had not yet solidified
their dominion over the world. They allowed dissimilar points of view not
because they accepted the beliefs of others, but because they lacked the power
to suppress them... until the foolishness of our leaders drove the
disillusioned into their arms. The vicars began to control everything—the teaching
of the young, the exchange of information, travel. We came to accept that no
one could reverse their growing power.”

The man in the window pressed closer, his face turned grim.

“Our age of enlightenment was ending. We grieved for the
loss of knowledge, the demise of the spirit of innovation, and a number of us
resolved to preserve these for the future. We fled to the ruins of the greatest
city of our age, through what had become wilderness. There, inside a world-renowned
center of learning, the keep was born.

“History has recorded periods of stagnation before, but the
human spirit is resilient and has always revived. So we constructed the keep to
last a thousand years, if need be, and planted within it the seeds for those
who would surely emerge.

“The best of our age—scholars, artists, thinkers—dedicated their
lives to recording their knowledge so that, when the time came, the new
generation could learn from the past. We began in the year ninety-two of what
the Temple cynically called the age of light. As we record this message, the
year is one hundred and forty-two. We have finished our task. The rest is up to
you.”

Orah whispered to Nathaniel. “Fifty years to finish the keep.”

“And nearly a thousand since they recorded these words.”
Even in the faint glow cast by the floor lights, she could see the anger
smoldering in his eyes. “It’s a disgrace we’ve taken so long to find the keep,
and a miracle it still functions.”

The bearded man returned to his seat, and the woman took his
place. She began in a muted voice that gained enthusiasm as she spoke.

“We constructed the keep for long-term use and stored in it
all the knowledge of our age. You’ll find a lot to learn here. We’ve made
provision for you to stay as long as you wish, with ample food and water. The
food has been dried and sealed without air to last for an extended period. It may
appear strange to you, but when water is added, it will taste acceptable and provide
all your nutritional needs. We embedded panels on the roof that soak up the
energy of the sun. There’ll be light wherever you go and a comfortable temperature
throughout the year, cool in summer and warm in winter.

“You’ll meet many helpers in the keep, recordings we made to
help you learn. You can access them through the same kind of screen on which
you’re viewing us now. Each shows a different field of knowledge—history, art,
science, and much more.

“The screens will light up as you approach, as this one did.
If you ask questions, they’ll respond. If you’re done with a topic, say ‘stop.’
If you’re confused, say ‘help,’ and an explanation will follow.”

She paused to take a sip from a porcelain cup on the table.
When she turned back, she had a quiet dignity about her.

“All the exploits of our age, the triumphs and failures, are
here. Humankind was imperfect in our day, as I’m sure it will be in yours. In
some ages we’ve been at our best and in others our worst, but overall the race
moves on. The Temple of Light stopped that progress. You are the spark that
will bring it back to life. Accept our knowledge as a bequest from the past. Take
what you believe to be good, discard what you think to be bad, but above all,
move forward from where we left off. We encourage you to stay, learn, and then
teach others.”

The woman resumed her seat, and the final keepmaster, the
one with his hair in a tail, took her place. He rocked on the balls of his
feet, and his voice rose and fell as he spoke.

“We congratulate you on the success of your revolution. Your
presence means the Temple has at last been defeated, or its power so diminished
that the keepers felt safe to reveal the rhyme. We can help by arming you with
knowledge.

“You are the leaders of a great movement. Bring your
followers here. We built the keep to educate hundreds. The keep is yours. Its knowledge
will dispel the darkness and light the way so the world may be reborn.”

The window darkened, and the glow from the hidden lights returned.
When Orah glanced back at her friends, their faces had gone pale.

She spoke for them all. “At least now we know what the seekers
were supposed to be.”

“Yes,” Thomas said, “and it wasn’t us.”

***

None of them spoke for several minutes, each lost in their
own thoughts. Orah clasped her hands between her knees and contemplated the
floor while Nathaniel slumped in his chair, his long legs stretched out before
him.

Only Thomas stood, circling the chamber
as if hoping to find a window with a different message.

After his second loop, Orah could bear his pacing no more. “Come
sit, Thomas. We need all our brains to think this through.”

Thomas stopped, but stayed standing. “What’s to think about?
The message was clear. We don’t deserve the keepmasters’ congratulations. We’re
not what they hoped for. They expected the elders of a new generation, not
three young seekers filled with delusions.”

“But seekers nevertheless.”

Thomas spun around, his face flushed. “Don’t you understand?
The keepers were supposed to wait for a rebellion to begin, but we took too
long. They got desperate and stumbled upon us in their final breath. Our
success was luck, not the stuff of legend. We’re not the seekers they expected.
We’re... an accident.”

Nathaniel rose, using his height to intimidate Thomas. “You’re
right. Our forebears failed, but now there’s only us, and our fate depends on
what we make of it. So what if we came here by accident? The bigger concern is
what to do next.”

The question hung in the air. Orah pressed her lips into a
thin line, for once devoid of answers.

“Well, I know what we should do,” Thomas said, and then paused,
waiting for their full attention. “I heard one thing that impressed me. The
keepmasters may be useless to protect us, but they’ve left plenty of food. I’m
going to find something to eat.”

Orah eased into a smile. “I knew we had a reason to bring you
along.”

She joined Thomas and beckoned to Nathaniel. “Better than
sitting here feeling glum.”

Nathaniel hesitated as if searching for a more noble answer,
some battle to fight, but no enemies lurked in the vicinity, and no great cause
flared like a beacon on the horizon. So he followed his friends to explore the
keep.

The keep consisted of a honeycomb of circular chambers, most
with corridors extending from them like spokes. A small window graced the wall
by the entrance to each corridor, and lit up with words describing its treasure
whenever anyone came near.

Orah paused before one that displayed the word
Botany
.

“Bo-tay-nee,” she said aloud. “What does that mean?”

Nathaniel stood behind and rested a hand on her shoulder. “The
keepmasters claimed we could ask the... screen... for help. Give it a try.”

She hesitated, recalling her discomfort in the welcome
chamber, then said the word “help” with little conviction.

A woman appeared, much younger than the others and eager to
serve. “What is your question?”

“What is Bot-a-ny?” Orah tried to be precise with her
pronunciation.

“Botany is the study of plants.”

Orah beamed, pleased with her success.

Then, as the helper waited, Thomas stuck his head in front
with a more pressing question. “Can you tell us where to find food?”

The helper responded at once. “Proceed to the flashing
screen.”

Orah glanced about and picked out the only blinking screen. On
it were the words
Dining Hall
.

***

Tables lined the dining hall, each with a gray speckled
surface and space to seat eight. Screens covered the surrounding walls, a dozen
or more like the others in the keep, except for curious red and blue pipes
sticking out beneath them. Each screen displayed images of food—meats, fruits,
vegetables and grains—vivid enough to make Orah salivate.

She approached one and said, “Help.”

No helper appeared this time, but a pleasant-sounding voice
asked the question she’d been hoping for. “What would you like to eat?”

She thought a moment. “Lamb—with sweet yams and honey.”

The image on the screen vanished and a list appeared. The voice
instructed her to touch a selection. She scanned the menu, disappointed at the absence
of yams, but delighted to find lamb. She pressed her fingertip to the word,
feeling a bit foolish, and waited.

A small door opened in the wall and a shiny package slid
out. She held it with both hands and shook, but nothing happened. After a brief
inspection, she grasped its corner and tore off the top, but when she checked
inside, her brows knitted and the corners of her mouth drooped.

Thomas glanced over her shoulder and his features drooped as
well. “The food’s spoiled. We’ll starve.”

Orah waved him off. She sniffed at the lumpy brown dust. “Smells
like lamb.” She licked a fingertip, dipped it in and touched it to her tongue. “Tastes
like lamb.”

She glanced up at the screen. “What do we do with this food?”

A helper appeared, this time a portly man who seemed
appropriate for the dining hall. “Please repeat your question.”

She repeated the same words but louder this time and more
slowly, as she might speak to a child.

The helper froze as if he was struggling to understand. He finally
replied. “Food is for eating.”

She rolled her eyes and groaned. “I know that.”

“Do you have another question?” the helper said in the exact
same tone.

Orah sighed. Talking to the helpers seemed trickier than
talking to a child. They must have guessed what questions would be asked and
recorded their answers, but the burden was on the seekers to find the right
question.

After some thought, she came up with a new approach. “How do
I prepare this food?”

“All food in the keep is dehydrated. You just add water.”

“And where may I find water?”

“Hold the package beneath one of the spigots, red for hot
and blue for cold.”

The curious protrusions scattered along the wall were
apparently spigots, although none had a pump handle to work them. She held the parcel
beneath a red pipe. Hot water poured out in exactly the right amount, sending
the aroma of freshly cooked lamb wafting through the room.

The three spread out, each to a different screen, and
ordered a variety of foods, more than they’d be able to eat in a week. When
they needed hot, the water poured out steaming like tea heated in a fireplace.
When they wished for cold, it emerged as frigid as the waters of Little Pond in
winter.

Though the food looked unappetizing—not much more than
colored paste—the offerings tasted right and some even strange and wonderful. Keep
fare might be no match for home cooking, but it seemed wholesome, filling and,
most importantly, plentiful.

As Orah inhaled the last of a buttered potato, she pictured
the keepmasters eating meals where she sat. “Imagine, this is how they ate for
more than fifty years, spending their lives here, hiding from the vicars and
recording their knowledge.”

Thomas poked at one of the packets—some kind of fish. “Yes,
imagine. Fifty years with nothing solid to chew.”

“I don’t think food mattered,” she said. “They were doing a
labor of love, a selfless service for people they’d never meet.”

“For people who never cared about them,” Thomas corrected, “who
over the centuries forgot they existed.” He took a sip of purple liquid. “I
wonder how long we’ll be here, eating this food and hiding from the vicars,
before the world has forgotten us as well.”

***

Orah sat at the table, unable to budge. Debris from their
meal lay strewn across its surface. She would have found their gluttony amusing
had their prospects been less grim.

Time to confront the issue.
“Well, Thomas, we’re fed.
What other ideas are rattling around in that head of yours?”

Thomas leaned back and contemplated the ceiling, then sat up
straight and shrugged. “How about just staying here? We’ll be safe, warm, and
never go hungry.”

Orah studied her reflection in the tabletop and stroked its
surface as if trying to brush away the speckles. “We can’t stay here forever.”

“Why not?”

“Because we can’t spend the rest of our lives hiding. We
need some purpose.”

“I don’t. I just want to avoid the vicars, with their
deacons and words that fly through the air and light knows what other dark
magic.”

“The keep may not be as safe as you think,” Nathaniel said. “After
a thousand years, it’s aging and may not support us much longer, and while the
deacons may struggle to find us without the rhyme, they’re still searching. But
more than that, what kind of life would we have here?”

“Where else can we go?”

Orah turned sideways and gazed at the now darkened screens
that lined the walls. The longing she’d suppressed on their journey welled up
within her. “What if we went home to Little Pond?”

Nathaniel clenched his teeth and sucked air in between them.
“That’s the first place the vicars would look. Even our neighbors might turn on
us. Who knows what crimes they’ve accused us of?”

Thomas’s mood turned hopeful. “Don’t give up so fast. The
vicars want to find the keep. We can use its location to barter for mercy and
ask for our old lives back.”

Orah flushed. “Betray the keepmasters after what we’ve learned?
I want to go home but not at such a cost.”

“To the darkness with the keepmasters. If they can’t protect
us, we need to look out for ourselves.”

“They sacrificed their lives to preserve what’s here. How
can you think such a thought?”

Thomas scowled and hunched his
shoulders, and his mind seemed to go somewhere she shuddered to imagine.

When he spoke again, his brashness had vanished. “Tell me
something, Orah. How long did you stay in the teaching cell?”

“What has that to do with anything?”

“It has everything to do with it. Tell me.”

“Three or four hours.”

Thomas stared at her unblinking. “I measured my time not in
hours, but eternities. I’d rather die than be taught again.”

His response rolled round in her mind. She wanted to win the
argument—not just for the sake of winning, but because the keep was so vitally
important—but she couldn’t hurt Thomas further, hated the thought of hurting
him. She bit down on her little finger and prayed the keep was worth the
sacrifice.

“I’m sorry, Thomas. I can’t betray the keepmasters.”

She’d tried not to cause him pain, but his expression said
otherwise.

“Do you know,” he asked, “what tomorrow is?”

“I’m not sure. The summer blessing?”

Thomas’s lower lip quivered. “Tomorrow I turn eighteen. What
do you think I want most for my birthday?”

The question hung in the air. She didn’t answer because no
answer was expected.

“I want my life back. I’m not like the two of you. I want to
marry, father a child, or two if the Temple allows, work my family’s farm and
play music for my neighbors at festival. That’s enough for me. Can you give me that
life back?”

“I would if I could,” Orah said, “but that opportunity died
the day you were taken for a teaching. I don’t trust the vicars. We might
forsake the future and still be punished.” She turned to Nathaniel and held out
her hands, imploring. “Tell him, Nathaniel. We can’t betray all this.”

Then she saw it. While she and Thomas were debating, Nathaniel’s
face had taken on a distant expression, the look of a dreamer. He prepared to
speak, and she felt a stirring of hope.

“What should we do now?” he said. “A question for heroes. We
should neither barter with the vicars nor hide here forever, but do as the
masters intended. We may have found the keep by chance, but we’re their only
hope. Time to change the world. We didn’t come out of a rebellion, so we should
start one.”

Orah’s hope drained away. He’d gone mad. “What you ask isn’t
possible.”

“Not possible?” Nathaniel’s jaw tightened and twitched. “The
keepmasters didn’t worry about possible. They believed in an idea and gave
their lives for it. Since leaving Little Pond, I’ve learned courage is
different than I thought. To be courageous means you do what’s right even in
the face of impossible odds. Most of what we’ve been taught is based on lies.
What’s right is to tell the world the truth.”

Thomas curled up in his chair and stared at the floor, but
Orah’s spirit wilted, afraid something between her and Nathaniel was about to
be lost.

“We’re not children anymore, Nathaniel, and this isn’t one
of our games at the NOT tree. Your rebellion is an illusion, a choice too much
to ask.”

His cheeks flushed, and he retreated to the far side of the
room to contemplate the white wall.

Orah bit down on her lower lip as if
to punish it for letting out the words. She stared at Nathaniel’s back, at the
hollow between his shoulders, trying to see through to his heart. She’d always
been able to read his moods, but so much had changed since their coming of age.

What is he thinking?

She closed her eyes and concentrated. She sensed Thomas
hovering nearby and could hear his breath coming in quick bursts, but otherwise
silence.

Speak to me, Nathaniel.

The scuff of footsteps approached, and she opened her eyes.

Nathaniel had come back to her, stopping less than a pace away.
His chest swelled as he took in a breath, and, when he exhaled, its warmth
brushed her cheeks. “Whatever happens, the three of us need to agree. The vicars
won’t distinguish between us. Whatever punishment befalls one will befall all.”

Orah’s words emerged in a whisper. “How do we reach that agreement?”

“The hot weather’s almost here. The trip back across the
ridge would be hard with no shade or water. Let’s spend the summer in the keep.”
He lifted his chin so his jaw jutted out—a gesture he’d inherited from his
father. “My father always said there’s no wisdom without knowledge. By summer’s
end, we might gain enough knowledge to make the right choice.”

Orah gazed at him, her Nathaniel, her friend since birth. If
only they could go back to Little Pond and resume their lives as if none of
this had happened.

A deep sigh, and the practical side of her took over. “If
nothing else, the keep will provide us food and shelter, and I’ll have time to study
and explore.”

Nathaniel turned to Thomas. “What about you?”

Thomas shuffled closer and, after a moment’s hesitation, formed
a circle with his friends. The hint of a spark had returned to his eyes. “Will
I need to study as much as Orah?”

Nathaniel’s jaw relaxed, and he eased into a smile. “I didn’t
think that was possible.”

Thomas grinned and spoke for them all. “Then the end of
summer it is. You’ll find Orah in Bot-a-ny. For myself, I plan to do most of my
learning in the dining hall.”

Thomas, as always, had found a way to make her smile, but
this smile was short lived. Summer would fly by, and she and Nathaniel would
have to negotiate the boundary between illusion and reality. For all her
careful planning, she had no idea how it would end.