The Seekers: The Children of Darkness (Dystopian Sci-Fi - Book 1) (23 page)

Orah contemplated their cell, a space less confining than her
prior stay, but with walls just as dreary. Deacons had placed them on a wooden
bench at one end of a table—the only furniture in the room—and told them to
wait for the vicars.

No. Not a cell, a holding area. A precursor to the rest
of our lives. How many decades of dreary walls lay ahead?

She leaned close to Nathaniel while keeping her gaze on the
door. “Have you seen a room like this?”

“Never.” His voice sounded raw.

She tried to swallow, but her dry throat denied the effort. “I
expected more pomp.”

He turned toward her, but she kept still, viewing him only out
of the corner of her eyes.

His lips parted easily with no tension in his jaw. “Pomp is
for Temple ritual, theater for believers. It’d be wasted on us.”

“What did they do with Thomas? Back to the teaching?”

“I don’t think so.”

She counted the seconds between his breaths. Normal, not
rushed.

“I’m afraid he couldn’t take it again,” she said.

“He’s not in the teaching.”

“How do you know?”

“The teaching frightens only those who believe, not those
who’ve learned the truth. The arch vicar found our messages, the tool to
disable the trees, the communicator. He knows we’ve been to the—”

Her hand flashed. She pressed two fingers to his lips and
shook her head. “They may have ways to listen. Secret places should remain that
way.”

Boot steps echoed in the corridor outside. She glared at the
door, keeping it shut with her eyes.

When the guards had passed and the echoes faded, she released
her breath and faced Nathaniel. “Will he tell?”

“He might. He told before.”

Orah picked at the melting wax from a candle on the tabletop
and molded it into a figurine. Before it hardened, she placed her thumb on its
head and pressed downward until nothing remained but a splotch.

“He won’t tell,” she said. “I’m sure of it.”

“Why?”

She glanced from the candle to the ceiling and sniffed the
stale air. “Because I know him, my friend since birth.”

***

The arch vicar waited for the deacons to bring in the boy.
The others had earned the consequences. Not so the boy. His teaching almost a
year before had revealed no strong beliefs other than loyalty to his friends.
When he had come to the light at last, he was broken. The arch vicar loathed that
part of his role, the need to imprint the precepts on the young, but for
hundreds of years, such methods had kept the darkness away.

The darkness, always there, always waiting to pounce, to
shred the existing order and cast the world once more into chaos. These young
people understand nothing of the forces they might unleash.

The door opened and deacons dragged in the boy, supporting
him under the arms so only the toes of his boots touched the floor.

The arch vicar signaled to the
deacons to release their captive, and the boy collapsed in a heap.

The arch vicar stepped out from behind the desk and stroked
the boy’s head. “No one will hurt you, Thomas.” With the tip of one finger, he
lifted the boy’s chin until their eyes met. “No more teaching cell, but the Temple
needs your help.”

The young man nodded, though his gaze darted everywhere as
if unable to focus.

The arch vicar resumed his place behind the desk and waited
for the boy to compose himself before using the voice of authority he’d learned
in the seminary. “Thomas of Little Pond, where have you been?”

The boy began to sob.

The arch vicar lowered his voice. “Thomas, can you hear me?”

He nodded.

“Are you willing to defend the light?”

He nodded again.

“Say it.”

“Yes, I’m... willing.” The words trickled out, almost too
soft to hear.

“Then tell me where you and your friends have been.”

Thomas’s eyes rolled up into their lids, his body trembled.
Not a young man now, but a boy. Not a boy, but a child.

Finally, his eyes steadied, focusing on his boot tops, but
his voice quivered when he spoke. “To the keep, Holiness.”

The keep
. The muscles of the arch vicar’s jaw tensed
and released. How often he’d dreamed about its wonders and the knowledge it
might offer, but like the others of his race, he could not be trusted with that
knowledge. If he discovered its location, he’d send those too ignorant to be
tempted. Let them destroy it, and eliminate the temptation forever.

First, how far dare he go with the boy?

“Thank you, Thomas. I need one more thing from you.” He waited
for the boy’s panic to subside. “Tell me how to get there.”

Too much. The boy doubled over as if a deacon had kicked him
in the stomach.

Once again, the arch vicar left the protection of the desk
and went to the boy. His knees creaked as he knelt beside him. “I’m your
friend, Thomas, and will do for you what I can, but you must tell me how to
find the keep.”

“I can’t, Holiness,” the boy protested between sobs. “They
hid the way from me, blindfolding me at crossroads. No teachings, Holiness, I
beg you.” Then, looking around, trying to give anything to save himself, he
added, “There was a mountain, a waterfall, a cave. We walked for weeks, maybe
to the north or west. No teachings, Holiness. That’s all I know.”

The arch vicar’s brows drooped as he stared down at the
frightened boy, the scars from his teaching still all too visible. Enough for
now. He motioned for the deacons to take him away.

Had the boy told the truth? He’d betrayed his friends
before, and they may not have trusted him. Only one way to be sure. His friends
would confirm the story or reveal the lie—the reason he’d kept them apart.

***

The arch vicar strode into the meeting hall, paused at the
head of the long table and sighed. A haze filled the air from the flickering
fires of the braziers, casting shadows on the expectant faces of his
colleagues. He’d struggled against the darkness for forty years, and would keep
on until his dying breath, but he wearied of the younger vicars. In varying
degrees, they believed in the light, but many cared more for power.

The questioning began before he’d settled into his chair. “Did
they find the keep, Holiness?”

“Of course they found the keep. Where else would they obtain
such technology?” He cast a quick glance around the table. Someone in this room
had betrayed him to the council.

“Will they tell where it is?”

He opened a folder and reread the report but found nothing
to change his mind. “Thomas Bradford gave the names of his friends in his
teaching. They had reason to mistrust him. The boy is either unstable or
extraordinarily clever. He may be the most likely to reveal the location if he
knows it, but he seems terrified. The best way to gain the secret from him is
with kindness.”

The new monsignor’s hand shot up, but he began speaking
before being recognized. Civility was lost on these upstarts. “The keep is the
heart of the darkness, Holiness. I’m familiar with these stubborn children from
Little Pond. We should use force to learn the location.”

The arch vicar’s black eyes had served him well in
exercising authority, and he leveled them now. “Would you violate the precepts
to get it?”

The monsignor blinked and backed down, his answer left
unsaid, but his intent lay bare for all to see. He’d violate the precepts if he
sat in the arch vicar’s chair.

“The Temple is best served by treating him well. I’ll give him
the opportunity to work in the kitchens. Of course, my men will supervise him at
all times and keep him locked up at night.”

Murmurs of approval and some nodding of heads. Finding the
three had strengthened his hand, but a few took notes in the event of a
failure.

“What of the others?” the monsignor said.

“The others are believers in the darkness. They’re unlikely
to tell.”

“But, Holiness—”

“They’re unlikely to tell, I said!” He raised his voice and
added intensity to his glare. “Not with teachings, not with any method allowed
under the precepts. No matter. We already possess what we need from the keep.
As for the rest, our forebears rejected it long ago. The keep contains nothing
more that we want. I’d destroy the place if I could, but what matters most is
that no one ever finds it again.”

Hands raised and mouths dropped open. Some even had the
nerve to shout out of turn.

The arch vicar struck the table with the flat of his hand,
and they fell silent. His eyes burned now, and his thick gray brows hovered
over them like billowing smoke. “The keep doesn’t matter. Only the knowledge of
the keep matters. If we find it, we’ll destroy it once and for all. If not, the
secret will die with them. The two won’t get the chance to stand before their
people, and they’ll never see the light of day again.”

***

The chamber remained the same, but the circumstances
differed. This time, the arch vicar sat alone behind the raised desk. Orah let
her eyes roam up to the peak of the dome and down to the tapestry. The vaulted
arches seemed less imposing, and she now saw the battle between darkness and
light for what it was—a fantasy to inspire clergy, a nightmare to frighten
those who’d be taught.

And Nathaniel stood at her side.

The arch vicar shuffled through a stack of papers on his
desk. When he finally spoke, he used the thundering Temple voice. “Nathaniel
Rush and Orah Weber, you stand accused of crimes against the light. The Temple
relies on its rules, and you have violated many—blasphemy, praising the
darkness and inciting others to follow. What do you say in your defense?”

Orah wanted to indict as well, to recite her own litany of lies
and the harm the Temple had done, but this trial had only one outcome. Better
to say nothing.

She glanced at Nathaniel, whose back had stiffened as he
prepared to speak. She concentrated, trying to pass the thought through to his
mind.
Be careful, Nathaniel. He’s shrewd, dangerous. Don’t let him anger
you.

But Nathaniel had changed, no longer the reckless boy of her
youth. His passions stayed under control. “What we say doesn’t matter. Your
trial is all for show. Just... get on with it.”

The arch vicar had wielded power for more than twice her
life, but now reshuffled the papers for no reason.

Finally, he looked up and glowered. “Tell me where you’ve
been.”

“We left a trail of messages,” Nathaniel said. “I’m sure you’ve
tracked them all. Most towns we’ve now forgotten or never learned their names.”

Good, Nathaniel. Say nothing he doesn’t already know.

“Tell me anyway,” the arch vicar said, “starting from Little
Pond.”

***

Orah quieted her mind. The tenor of the questioning troubled
her—too easy. The old man asked, she parried, but a trap was coming.

She tried to disrupt the flow of the interrogation. “What
did you do with our friend?”

“Thomas will be cared for based on his needs. Each child of
light is treated according to Temple precepts.”

Temple precepts.
The Temple doesn’t hurt its
children. It harms the whole world
.

The arch vicar leaned his elbows on the desk and rested his
full weight upon them. “The Temple will treat him better than his friends did.
He tells us you treated him badly.”

Treated him badly? Thomas fought to be with us. Why would
he say such a thing? Unless....
She glanced at Nathaniel. He bit down on
his lip and stayed silent, but the comment required an answer.

Careful now. He’s about to spring the trap.

“He’s our friend. We’d never treat him badly, but after what
you did to him in your teaching, we couldn’t trust him.”

The arch vicar tightened the net. “You never left him? He
went everywhere with you?”

Think it through. Don’t rush
. “Yes, of course. We
couldn’t leave him alone. He’d have run off.”

“Then he’d know the way.”

Think, Orah.
He’s questioned Thomas separately.

The arch vicar settled back, his thick hands folded, a block
of granite weighing down the desktop. He wouldn’t be the next to speak.

“No. We made sure he’d never betray us again.”

“How was that, Orah of Little Pond whose name means light?”

She felt like a child fighting the darkness with a stick. Her
heart beat faster, but she took a cleansing breath and steadied herself. “At
every major turn, at each crossroad, we used my scarf to blindfold him.”

The arch vicar snapped a look at Nathaniel, and Orah
followed his gaze. Her best friend nodded in agreement.

***

Nathaniel did his best to stay focused, but the questioning
dragged on for hours. Orah had handled it masterfully. Their story stayed
consistent with no mention of the keep.

At last, the arch vicar eased the folder closed. “Orah Weber
and Nathaniel Rush, I take no pleasure in the judgment I must now hand down.
You followed your beliefs, misguided though they may be, and will gain nothing
from teachings, but you present a danger to the light. I rule you shall stay
here as our guests for the rest of your lives.”

The rest of your lives
. Nathaniel had one last hope
but the request stuck in his throat.

Orah turned toward him, her whole body turning, and uttered
his request aloud. “Will we be together?”

“No. You’ll be kept apart. I’d make it easier for you,
but....” The arch vicar’s thick brows drooped at the corners. “...you’ve done
too much damage to the light. The answer is no.”

***

Orah’s spirit sagged. Bad enough to never see her mother or
Little Pond again, but to live without Nathaniel....

The arch vicar rang the bell with the sun-shaped handle, and
eight deacons entered, forming a box around the two.