“I’m sorry my actions caused harm to my father. And my mother.”
“But the Sentinel, boy. What about the Sentinel?”
He knew what the smartest answer to this question would be, but somehow he found himself saying something altogether different. He had an opportunity to do more, an opportunity he shouldn’t—couldn’t—let pass. “The Sentinel is a cruel master who forces people to do his bidding without regard for their own needs or well-being.”
The roar from the gallery was loud, but Crusher managed to make his voice even louder. “Then you are an enemy of the Sentinel,” he bellowed, pointing a finger. “You hope to destroy him.”
“I have never made any plans against the Sentinel, nor wanted to. But if I could find a way to restore freedom to the people of Merrindale, I would.”
“Meaning you would destroy our orderly society.”
“There can be no freedom so long as the Sentinel dictates every aspect of our lives.” He turned toward the gallery. “We do not have to live like this!”
Crusher grabbed him and shoved him back into his seat. Everyone in the courtroom tried to speak at once. The proceeding became chaotic until the Acolyte cut in, silencing Crusher and the crowd with a single gesture. “The evidence is clear. This examination is concluded.”
Crusher tried to protest. “But I still—”
The Acolyte’s eyes blazed.
Crusher stepped back to the raised platform and retook his seat. “The examination is concluded.”
“And I assume there are no other witnesses,” the Acolyte said.
Crusher shook his head. “I see no need. What more proof could you want? What more could any court want? The boy’s guilt is clear. You have confessed it yourself, Daman Adkins.”
“That is not true. I wish to speak on my own behalf.”
The Acolyte did not even look at him. “Denied.”
“But surely I have the right—”
“Silence.” Again, the Acolyte made the slashing gesture that brought immediate quiet. “You have said quite enough. You are not to speak another word. If he tries to do so, I instruct the Sentry to gag him.”
As the panel decided his fate, he stared out into the crowd. For the first time, he found some eyes willing to meet his. Was the Acolyte so afraid of his words that he could not even be permitted to speak?
The Acolyte spoke again. “Rise, Martin Adkins.”
He felt a clutching at his heart. What did the Acolyte want with his father?
“It is the decided opinion of this panel, having considered all the evidence put before us, that you have committed no crime and thus have not been charged. You still bear some responsibility in this matter. You may be guilty of failing to properly instruct your son to obey the Laws and Ways of the Sentinel. But we find no evidence that you intentionally committed any act of treason. Therefore, you and your wife are free to go.”
His mother wrapped her arms around his father, a display of affection such as he had never witnessed between them before. Relief swept through his own heart as well.
“Daman Adkins, you will rise.”
He pushed himself to his feet. His knees trembled. He hoped he did not look as frightened as he felt.
“While your father may have acted without malice toward the Sentinel, and may at best be guilty of negligent disregard, you are quite a different matter. Despite being not yet sixteen years of age, you hold great hatred and disrespect for the Laws and Ways of the Sentinel. You have no sense of right and wrong, and you deliberately and with malice aforethought took actions that you knew aided the enemies of the Sentinel. It is apparent to this panel that you are a young man with no conscience, a young man capable of unspeakable offenses against our orderly way of life.”
The courtroom was deathly quiet. “You cannot be allowed to live in consort with civilized men. You are a contaminating influence, a danger to the peace of the village. Therefore, despite your young age, you must receive the maximum sentence. The Ritual of Execution.”
A gasp went up—from his mother. Everyone else knew this verdict was inevitable. Perhaps she did, too, but tried to tell herself otherwise.
“Tonight,” the Acolyte continued, “there will be a ceremony of worship and rededication in the Arena. Let all those who are loyal to the Sentinel come and prove it with reverence and charity. We will know who our friends are—and by their omission, our enemies.”
The Black Sentry guarding him clamped their hands down on his shoulders. Without waiting for him to rise, they jerked him out of the witness chair and hauled him through the courtroom. None of the villagers spoke as he passed through the gallery. His father acted as if he wanted to, but he never had a chance.
The last sight he had was of his mother, her face buried in wet hands.
16
They dragged Daman back to the Keep, then locked him in the same miserable cell as before.
He slumped down on the cot. How had he managed to destroy his life so utterly in only a few days? So many questions raced through his brain. He had no answers for any of them. And given the bleak prospects for his future, he was never likely to.
He heard footsteps outside the cell—slow, shuffling boots on the stone floor. He peered through the bars. The uniform told him it was Black Sentry. A guard posted to make sure he stayed put until sunrise.
Only when the boots came close to the bars could he identify the guard—Mykah.
This couldn’t be a coincidence. The Captain of the Guard must have posted Mykah here intentionally, perhaps as a loyalty test. Or perhaps Mykah requested the assignment, to prove he had buried all feelings of friendship.
“I want a word with you,” Mykah said.
“Have you come to lecture me again on my duty to the Sentinel?”
“No. I’ve come to try to talk some sense into you. Whatever you may think, Daman, I haven’t forgotten that we were once friends. I still care what happens to you. So please–call for the Prosecutor. Repent. Beg for mercy. It’s still possible your sentence could be commuted.”
He knew Mykah was trying to help, but he also knew that would never happen. “No.”
“Please. If not for yourself–do it for your family.”
“I’m sorry. No.”
“The Old Man has already been transported out of the village.”
His chin rose.
“He’s being sent to the village of Clovis. His Ritual of Execution will be the principal feature of their Spring Festival, which takes place tomorrow. I shouldn’t be surprised if your Ritual was granted the same...honor.” He drew in his breath. “Please, Daman. While there’s still time. Repent.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t.”
Mykah stiffened. “Then I can’t help you.” He turned, glancing toward the door. “You have a visitor.”
He was surprised he was allowed visitors. He was even more surprised when he identified the man who walked quickly toward his cell.
“Father!” He stretched his arms through the bars of his cell. “I’m so sorry!”
“There is no need, son,” his father replied quietly.
“How did you persuade the Sentry to let you in?”
“I’ve lived in this village many years, Daman. I have many friends–even in the Black Sentry.”
“Father,” he started, and all at once the words tumbled out. “I know I’ve shamed you. I don’t know what happened—”
His father pressed close to the cell bars. “You’re wrong You haven’t shamed anyone.”
“I have. I saw the expression on Mother’s face—”
“Listen to me.” He glanced over his shoulder, making sure no one was close enough to listen. “Someone has to fight the Sentinel’s tyranny. Someone has to stand against him and his minions.” He paused. “And it should have been me, not you. I’m the one who should be ashamed.”
Daman’s lips parted. He didn’t know what to say.
“All my life I’ve hated the Sentinel, hated everything about his heartless, b
land...orderly world. But I didn’t have the courage to resist. In my entire life, I never had a tenth of the courage you displayed today in that courtroom.”
“It would’ve been smarter to keep my mouth shut.”
“Perhaps. But your words needed to be said. Surely you noticed how some of the people in the gallery reacted. Many in that room agreed with you, even if they were not able to say so. We need leaders, men and women willing to speak the truth and speak it loud. You’ve started a fire burning, Daman. If others join the cause, if others are willing to be as brave as you were today, then the Sentinel might yet be defeated.”
“I don’t know why I did it,” he said quietly. “I just...knew it was the right thing to do.” He paused. “There’s one thing I don’t understand, though. I left the Old Man in the cellar. How did he get inside the house?”
“I brought him in.”
“But–how did you know he was in the cellar?”
A smile flashed across his father’s face. “I knew it the instant I looked into your eyes. You’re a poor liar.”
“But—”
“He’s an old friend of mine, as it turns out, from when I was a boy, before I reached the age of Winnowing. A friend of mine–and Abigail’s. We were having a very pleasant chat–until the Black Sentry discovered us.”
“That’s my fault. Bringing him home was a mistake.”
“Nonsense. What else could you do? But you did make one mistake. You should have let me take the blame.”
“Never.”
“What does it matter if they take me? I’m old–only a few years from my journey to Balaveria. You’re young. You have your whole life ahead. And this village–this world–needs you. Someone to lead the fight against the Sentinel.”
“But Father…you said—”
“Never mind what I said before. Listen to me now.” He reached through the bars and squeezed his son’s arm tightly. “Don’t make the mistakes I did. Be true to your heart. Do what you know is right.”
He looked back into his eyes and nodded. “Yes, Father. I will.”
“But first, we have to get you out of here. Otherwise you won’t be leading anyone anywhere.”
“Mykah stands guard,” he whispered.
“Yes, and there are other guards outside. It will not be easy. But I will see what I can do.”
“But–how could you possibly—”
His father winked. “This old baker still knows a few tricks.” He glanced once more over his shoulder. “It may well be that–well—” He hesitated. “I don’t know if we will see one another again, so I’d best say this now.” A warm smile crossed his face. “I’m very proud of you, Daman. Never give up.” He squeezed his hands tightly. “Godspeed, son.”
After his father left, he stood on tiptoes under the high barred window, trying to get an outside view, but he was not tall enough to look out. He felt as if he had been separated from the entire world. He could sense it, and he knew it was there. But he could take no part in it. Perhaps he never would again.
Still, it comforted him to hear the sounds. The clackety-clack of cart wheels on cobblestones, the opening and shutting of doors, the animals baying in the night. He pulled his cot close to the window and lay down on it, listening to the familiar sounds that would soon be lost to him forever, until at last he fell asleep.
*****
Daman was awakened by a stinging sensation in his eyes. He reached up as if to brush something away, but there was nothing there. He inhaled deeply—and gagged.
He sat upright. He tried to shout out, but his voice caught and he was overcome with coughing.
His eyes and nose burned. In the moonlight that crept into the cell, he spotted dark billowing clouds.
Smoke. But how—?
He felt a burning sensation on his leg. He looked down, coughing fitfully, straining to see through blurred eyes.
His cot was on fire.
17
Daman leaped off the cot, but not in time. The leg of his trousers caught the flame.
He tried to beat it down with his hands, but it was too hot and too fast. The flames began to burn.
Desperately, he whipped off his tunic and used it to squelch the fire. A few seconds later, it was still smoking, but extinguished. He tore the bottom part of his pant leg off so it wouldn’t singe his leg. Then he whipped the flames on the mattress.
Too much time had passed. The blaze engulfed half the cot. The thick smoke cloud billowing up and the red-hot heat emanating from the cot made it impossible to stand close.
He ran to the bars of his cell.
“Mykah!” he cried, but his words were choked down by coughing. He covered his mouth, inhaled carefully, and tried again. “Mykah!”
He heard a door creak open, then footsteps. “What have you done?” Mykah shouted.
“Nothing.”
“Is this some sort of trick?”
“Trick? I nearly burned to death in my sleep.” He was barely able to get the last words out. The cot was entirely incinerated. Only a huge bright bonfire burned where it once had been. The cloud of smoke was so thick and suffocating he could barely breathe. “Please help me.”
“I can’t let you out. I have my instructions.”
“Please!” His voice was hoarse and gravelly. He began to feel lightheaded. “I’ll die in here.”
Mykah bit down on his lower lip, then turned away.
“Mykah! Please!”
A moment later, Mykah faced the wall at the end of the corridor. He laid his hand on one of the stones. The stone gave way. There was a tiny recess behind. Mykah reached in—and came back with the key to the cell.
Mykah raced to the cell and inserted the key into the lock. The door swung open. He raced out, choking and gasping for air.
“Thank you, Mykah,” he said, as soon as he could catch his breath. “Thank you for—”
To his astonishment, he saw Mykah’s eyes roll closed, his knees crumble, and his body fall to the floor.
“Mykah?” Hidden in the smoke and shadows, a shimmering form emerged.
Xander.
How had he gotten in here? What was he doing? What happened to Mykah? His mind reeled, and to make his confusion even worse, he suddenly realized there was a second figure in the shadows.
Brita.
They both wore dark cloaks with hoods over their heads, ceremonial robes of the sort that many people wore to the various festivals and celebrations of the Sentinel. But why was Brita staring at him?
Suddenly embarrassed, he slipped his tunic back on. Xander lifted his right arm. He held a thick wooden club.
Brita reached under her cloak and withdrew a backpack. Reaching inside, she pulled out a length of strong rope. Xander took his knife and cut two pieces perhaps a foot and a half in length. Then she put the remainder of the rope back in the pack.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like? We’re helping you escape, you fool!”
He bristled. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
“Of course not. You probably thought turning yourself in was a brilliant plan.”
“Why did you involve Xander?”
“Xander volunteered. And I needed help.”
Xander volunteered? To risk his neck? Why would a slave do such a thing? “How did you get in here?”
“By a combination of deception and brute force. I provided the deception. Xander provided the brute force.”
“But the guards—”
“Your father distracted a few long enough for us to sneak inside the Keep.”
“He’s part of this?”
“Of course. Who did you think threw the charred ember through your cell window after we sneaked inside? Fortunately, most of the Sentry are at the Arena. Most everyone is, thanks to the Acolyte suggesting that anyone who did not attend would be judged a traitor. Xander only had to club a few guards to get to your cell.”
His brain struggled to catch up. “You set my cot on fire on purpose.”
“You don’t miss a trick, do you?” Brita and Xander tied Mykah to the bars of the cell. The fire, having nothing more to feed it, was dying out.
“Why not just club Mykah like the others?”
“Because we didn’t know where he kept the key to your cell, idiot. We had to trick him into getting the key before I could let Xander brain him.”
It was a clever deception, he had to admit. “How did you think of such a devious plan?”
“I read it in a book.”
“Well, I should...thank you. Your plan was good.”
“My plan was flawless,” she corrected.
He tilted his head to one side. “I did burn my leg a bit...”
“Don’t whine. We got you out, didn’t we?”
“Yes. But you might’ve warned me.”
“Your father tried. You were sound asleep and your guard would have heard him had he spoken loud enough to be heard over your snoring.”
“I do not snore.”
“You do. But we have more important matters to discuss. We must get out of here as soon as possible. The Sentry will soon realize you’ve escaped.” She tossed him a dark cloak like the ones they both wore. “Put this on.”
He followed her directions. She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the exit.
They moved at a quiet but brisk pace, careful not to attract any unnecessary attention.
He spotted another Black Sentry guard lying unconscious and tied fast. He showed no signs of stirring any time soon.
Xander led the way through the confusing maze of corridors that led to the outer office of the Keep. Apparently he had been sent on errands here in the past and had some familiarity with the layout. They were almost at the outer door when he heard an earsplitting noise.
“The alarm bell,” Brita muttered.
“But who—?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “But someone knows you’re free. In a few moments, every Black Sentry platoon in the village will be here. Run.”
18
Daman and his two companions bolted out of the Keep, moving as fast as their legs would carry them, Xander leading the way. Fortunately, the loose-fitting black cloaks did not restrict their movements.
The Black Sentry Page 10