The Black Sentry

by Bernhardt, William

  His father kissed his boy on the forehead and sent him to bed.

  He lay in the dark, a million conflicting thoughts running through his head. What should he do? Follow the path of the Sentinel and devote himself to preparations for Winnowing? If he turned in the Old Man now, there was a chance he might escape punishment. But the Old Man would not. And some of the things the Old Man said, some of the things he only hinted at...

  They both intrigued–and troubled him.

  What should he do?

  *****

  Daman lay in his darkened room, not letting his eyes close, until he was certain everyone else in the house was asleep. He crawled out of bed, collected a few items, and crept down into the cellar, using a candle for illumination. He thought he might find the Old Man asleep, but he was just as alert as when he left.

  He gave his guest a pillow and some blankets. The Old Man wrapped himself in them and seemed pleased, although he noted that the trembling did not subside.

  “Do you not need sleep?”

  The Old Man shook his head. “When you get to be my age, my young friend, you sleep very little. And I confess my foot still causes me some pain.”

  “Are you sure—”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He reached into the pockets of his coat. “I brought you some food from the larder.” He looked up suddenly. “You do still eat, don’t you?”

  Again he witnessed the man’s warm smile. “Yes, my friend. I still eat.”

  He noticed that, despite all the exercise they’d had earlier, and the fact that the Old Man must not have eaten for some time, he took small bites and ultimately ate very little. He did not seem to have much appetite.

  A moment later, the Old Man stopped eating abruptly. “What was that?”

  He froze. Behind them, he heard a creaking sound. It was the outer door to the cellar…opening.

  Someone was coming.

  9

  Daman blew out the candle and dove behind a shelf filled with jars. He froze, barely breathing, watching the cellar door. The Old Man crawled out of sight.

  The door opened, then quietly closed. After a moment’s hesitation, a slender figure stepped through the opening carrying a small candle of her own.

  Brita wore a dark hooded cloak that covered her clothes and her hair, but hers was a face he would recognize anywhere.

  “Daman?” she said, barely above a whisper. “Where are you?”

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to do.

  “Daman?” she repeated, stepping into the cellar. “I saw you come in.”

  He knew she would not leave until she had searched the room and discovered the Old Man. “I’m here.” He stepped out from behind the cluttered shelf. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m looking for your companion.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t play the fool with me, Daman. I’m much smarter than you. I saw you with him in the street. I tried to warn you that the Black Sentry was coming.”

  He thought back to when they hid behind the trough. He realized that if it had not been for her arrival, they probably would have been discovered.

  “Where is he?” she said, stepping down off the steps.

  “He’s gone,” he said hastily. “I don’t know where he is now.”

  “Daman,” she said firmly, “please stop these pathetic attempts to mislead me. You’re a horrible liar.”

  “I…can’t take the risk.”

  “Daman, think. I know it’s difficult for you, but try. If I’d wanted to inform the Black Sentry, I would’ve done so already. They’d be with me now. And I wouldn’t have tried to help you outside.”

  “I meant, I can’t risk…involving you.”

  “Too late. I’m already involved, and I want to help.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I know you’re not smart enough to do it alone. Now where is he?”

  “I’m here.” Before he could prevent it, the Old Man revealed himself. “May I ask why you seek to help me?”

  “You’re the one the Acolyte spoke of, aren’t you? The Rebel.”

  The Old Man’s eyes appraised her carefully before he answered. “I suppose I must be.”

  “You’re a member of the Resistance.”

  “You know of the Resistance?”

  “Obviously.”

  A tiny smile played on the Old Man’s lips. “What would you know about it?”

  “Are you still fighting? Recruiting new members?”

  He had no idea what they were talking about, but he remained silent and tried to learn.

  “We must fight for the greater good,” the Old Man said. “We must never stop fighting.”

  Brita came very close to him. “I want to join you.”

  “What?”

  “I want to join the Resistance. I want to help you.”

  He stepped between them. “Brita, think what you’re saying. The Laws and Ways of the Sentinel do not—”

  “Be quiet, Daman.” She turned back to the Old Man. “I want to go with you. And I want to go now.”

  The thought of her leaving the village left him strangely unsettled. “You have obligations here, Brita. You will soon be assigned a mate. Perhaps even...Mykah...”

  “That’s the point. Part of it, anyhow.”

  The Old Man raised a shaggy eyebrow. “You do not want to marry this...Mykah?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Is there something wrong with Mykah?”

  “No. He’s adequate, in his way. Everyone says he’ll be Magistrate one day.”

  “Then what is your objection?”

  “I’m barely sixteen. There’s so much I want to do, so much I want to see.”

  “But surely—”

  “If I wed Mykah, my life will be over. I’ll be his wife, and the bearer of his children, and nothing more. I’ll have no rights under the Sentinel’s Laws. No ability to make my own decisions. No power to control my own destiny.”

  “But that is the Sentinel’s Way,” Daman said, even though her objections to Mykah did not altogether displease him. “It’s how life is. It’s how it has always been.”

  “It may be how it is,” the Old Man said firmly, “but it is definitely not how it has always been.” He took Brita’s hand and drew her beside him. “I appreciate your courage, young woman, but you have no idea the dangers that would confront you if you joined me.”

  “Nonetheless, it’s what I want.”

  “Plus,” he continued, “as much as I would like a companion, I fear you would only slow me down—without providing any assistance.”

  “I could help you,” she insisted.

  “Have you some special skills? Do you know how to pick locks?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know the secret trails that can take you from one village to the next without encountering the Black Sentry?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have weapons? Money?”

  “No, no.”

  He patted her on the shoulder. “I admire your courage, but—”

  “I can read.”

  Her words flew out and hovered, suspended in the silence.

  Daman gaped. Surely she had not said what he thought she said.

  The Old Man gazed at Brita. “What did you say?”

  “I said I can read.”

  “But that’s impossible.”

  “It’s true.”

  Daman barely knew what the word meant. Read? What was this read? All he knew for certain was that it was forbidden by the Sentinel.

  “But how did you learn?”

  Brita raised her chin. “My mother has books.”

  “Books are forbidden.” He knew that, although he didn’t truly understand what books were.

  “Nonetheless, she has them, and she brings them out, late at night, and she taught me to read them. I have read many books. That’s why I’m so much smarter than the other young people in the village.”
>
  “Books...make people smart?”

  “Indeed they do,” the Old Man said. “Which is why the Sentinel has forbidden them. Where did your mother get these books, Brita?”

  “From her grandmother. Who got them from her aunt. Who got them from her mother.”

  It seemed his father’s Watch was not the only relic being handed down through the generations.

  “They all defied the Sentinel?”

  “In secret, yes. Not everyone in the villages loves and obeys the Sentinel. Not everyone believes.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” the Old Man said. “I had all but given up hope. What about you, son? Are you also interested in joining the Resistance?”

  “I have never before heard of this Resistance,” he answered. And yet, even though he couldn’t explain why, he knew the Resistance was a force for good. And he wanted to be a part of it. “But yes. I wish to join.”

  “But why?”

  “I–I can’t explain.” He knew it sounded feeble, but it was the best he could manage. “I just know it’s the right thing to do.”

  The Old Man’s white eyebrows drew closer together. “Is it possible...” he said, more to himself than to the others. He shook his head. “Let me tell you about the Resistance. It explains my current, simple quest. To deliver this.”

  He reached inside his tunic, and a moment later, withdrew a glittering red stone tied to a leather strap that hung around his neck.

  The stone was smooth and irregularly shaped, like a glittering gemstone. It shone in the candlelight.

  “Is it...some kind of jewel?”

  “No, son,” the Old Man replied. “Although it is beautiful, it’s not a thing of nature. It’s a thing of man.”

  “But what is it?” Brita seemed entranced by the glittering object.

  “It’s a key. A unique key. Not a jewel, and yet more valuable than any jewel–at least to us. This stone, and the others like it, are the only powers in the world that can defeat the Sentinel. That’s why he had them hidden. It has taken the Resistance more than a hundred years to find this one. And now that we have it, we believe that, for the first time since the Sentinel clutched the world in his steely grip—he is worried.”

  “How does the key work?”

  “That I do not know.” He tucked it back inside his tunic. “My friend Matthew knew more, but he was captured by the Black Sentry. I must return this to the other Rebels. They will know what to do with it.”

  “And where are these rebels?” Brita asked. “Are they in Merrindale?”

  “Of course not. I must take the key on a journey. But the Sentry spotted me outside this village and now I don’t know how to get it out safely.” He smiled faintly. “And as kind and courageous as you two are, I do not think you can solve my problem.”

  The cellar fell silent. He was not sure what to do or say.

  Brita broke the silence. “You said that things have not always been as they are now. That there was a time when girls had other choices.”

  “Everyone did,” the Old Man replied.

  “You speak of the time of the Ancients,” Daman said. “But we’ve been taught that before the Sentinel ruled, the world was evil and chaotic. The Constructs ruled.”

  “That is not so,” the Old Man answered. “True, at times, there was chaos. Humans are by nature imperfect, disorderly. Competitive. But even so, the old days were better times. Freer times.”

  “You lived then? Before the Sentinel?”

  “Oh no. This was long before I was born. But I have heard tales about those times.”

  “And I have read about them,” Brita added.

  “How do we know that you’re telling the truth?” Daman asked. “How do we know that these are not just...stories?”

  “In a sense, we cannot know,” the Old Man admitted. “I cannot prove it to you. You must have faith. You must believe.”

  There was a pause. “I do believe,” he whispered.

  The Old Man gazed at him once again with intense interest.

  “Tell us more,” Brita urged.

  The Old Man nodded. “There are others who could tell you more. I know the general course of events, though not many of the details. But there was a time when all people were free, when freedom was so common that people rarely thought of it and often took it for granted. It was a time of wonders. A time when men and women could pursue their highest and best destiny.”

  “Everyone was free to choose–for themselves?” he said. “To make their own decisions?”

  “Do you find that incredible, Daman?”

  “I should,” he said softly. “But no, I don’t. I’ve had…dreams.”

  “What kind of dreams?”

  “I can’t explain it.” He shook his head rapidly. “Tell us more about the world of the past.”

  “It was a world of many great achievements. But there were some who disliked this world. Freedom led to disorder, inefficiency. Chaos. And at times, madness. These people wanted to reshape the world in a more orderly, predictable, controlled image. And the greatest of these was the Sentinel.”

  “Where did the Sentinel come from?”

  “I do not know. Some say he is the physical manifestation of our worst fears. Some say he is pure intellect, fulfilling a single-minded purpose. Some say the Sentinel descended from the skies. I do not know the answer. All I know is that the Sentinel acquired great power, and by using it, he was able to make all the Constructs, all over the land, stop working.”

  This puzzled him. “But that was a blessing, wasn’t it? The Constructs were our enemies.”

  “The Constructs were neither friends nor enemies. They were tools. Oh, they could be used for evil purposes, as any tool can. But it was the person operating the machine that was evil, not the machine.”

  “I have seen the machines!” he said, struggling to make sense of this. “The Acolyte showed us one in the Arena, and it was a hideous, evil thing.”

  The Old Man shrugged. “It was a thresher.”

  “A—what?”

  “A thresher. A device that helped farmers reap their crops,” Brita replied. “I’ve read about them.”

  “Very good,” the Old Man said. “Very good indeed.”

  He was confused. “But—we need no machines to help us farm.”

  “So you say,” the Old Man replied, “but isn’t food scarce every year, particularly during the winter? Aren’t there people with too little, especially in the Nether End? Aren’t there children who go to bed hungry? In the time of the Constructs, men were able to produce a thousand times as much food. There was no need for anyone to go without. Indeed, some had far too much.”

  That silenced him. He had seen the hungry–slaves, usually, though sometimes others. Sometimes even children.

  “The Resistance wants to restore the dreams of the past, or better yet to build new ones, and to end the tyranny of the Sentinel. So far, it has been just that–a dream. But now, for the first time...” The Old Man gazed at the red stone dangling around his neck, then fell silent.

  Daman could see that the Old Man tired and, despite earlier protestations, needed sleep.

  “May I ask one more question?” Brita asked.

  The Old Man’s eyelids rose. “How can I deny anything to she who reads?”

  “I want to know about—this.” She pointed to the top of his tunic, where the white backward collar showed through. “Why do you dress in this peculiar way? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I’m glad you asked,” he said, “but there is more to it than I can possibly explain tonight.”

  “Just tell me a little, then,” she urged. “Does it relate to the world before the Sentinel?”

  “This is a very old costume, and a time-honored one. I wear it as a symbol, a reminder, of a time when people worshiped out of love, not fear. When people had faith that freed them, rather than enslaved them.” He laid his hand gently against Brita’s radiant hair. “I wear it because it gives me something to believe i
n. Perhaps in time it will give you something to believe in as well.”

  Brita pressed her hand against his.

  He laid the pillow and blanket in a flat place in the back of the cellar so the Old Man would be comfortable and protected from casual view. He and Brita started up the stairs.

  All at once, they heard a sudden thunderous noise outside.

  Brita jumped, grabbing his shoulder. He didn’t mind, but at the moment he was more concerned with determining the source of the sound.

  Someone pounded on the cellar door.

  “We know you’re in there,” they heard a voice call. “Open this door immediately. By the order of the Black Sentry!”

  10

  Daman knew he needed to do something, but he could not think what. His brain felt as frozen as his body.

  Without warning, Brita pushed him to the ground. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, leaned across Daman, and planted her lips directly on his.

  His eyes widened with amazement.

  The cellar door burst open. The blaze of torchlight illuminated the stairs.

  “Who’s in there?” the voice shouted. “Daman, is that you? Didn’t you hear me?”

  It was Mykah, in uniform, with a small platoon of Black Sentry behind him.

  As soon as Mykah entered, Brita broke off the kiss, as if suddenly startled, and buried her face in the crook of his neck.

  Mykah appeared puzzled. Then his eyes adjusted and he understood. What Brita wanted him to understand. The hood covered Brita’s distinctive hair, but it was still obvious that Daman held a girl in his arms.

  A slow smile crept across Mykah’s face. “Daman, you old dog.”

  Awkwardly, he tried to return the smile.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Mykah said, clearing his throat. “We’re all searching for this Rebel the Acolyte warned us about. He was spotted in the forest today. We believe he has a local accomplice and may be hiding somewhere inside the village.” He grinned. “But I can see you have concerns of your own.” He laughed heartily, then moved his torch toward Brita’s head. A strand of her hair tumbled out from her hood.

  The expression on Mykah’s face was unmistakable. But he said nothing.