I snapped around as he spoke, though I’d anticipated what he’d say. Temple City! My heart raced as nightmares of the teaching cell swirled in my mind. We’d always done what we thought right, regardless of the odds, but still....
The man at the back of the hall echoed my thoughts. “You’ve been to Temple City twice before and with the luck of the light walked away. Do you think you’ll escape a third time?”
Nathaniel fixed the man with his gaze and measured his words. “We’ll need no luck if we show our courage together.”
The man who’d voiced his complaint stared open-mouthed.
I sensed a sickening odor, like leaves that had fallen in November and had since decayed into a brown mush that coated what remained of the flower beds, a stench I’d smelled before—the fear of having to choose between freedom and possible death.
I came to Nathaniel’s side. “We ask you to march to Temple City with us. If we arrive in large enough numbers, the cowardly deacons will flee. We’ve seen it before. Now is the chance for a better life for you and your children.” I paused and scanned the room from left to right and back, and then raised my voice, hoping to make it echo off the rafters. “Who will join us?”
The man from the back challenged me. “You ask us to join you on a fool’s errand.”
From among the crowd, Caleb strode forward, an imposing figure, as tall as Nathaniel but with shoulders half again as broad. He loomed beside us with feet spread wide, a mysterious stranger from a place beyond an ocean whose existence the villagers had once denied.
The crowd hushed.
“Who is the bigger fool?” he said. “The one who fights for what he believes in, or the one who cowers in these lovely cottages, hoping they’ll protect you from the next storm? This is your chance. Do you want to go through the rest of your lives living in fear? Do you want to whimper in your old age, whining to your grandchildren about what might have been?
“We who have traveled from afar bring ideas and inventions that can enhance your lives, and you can offer much in return, but first, you must muster your courage to demand a change. My people and I stand with the seekers of truth. Who else stands with us?”
From the front rows, those who sailed with us arose: Devorah and Jacob, Kara and little Zachariah, Jubal and Caleb’s other stout followers—thirty in all. Then others came: my mother, placing an arm around me and Nathaniel, elder John and elder Robert, Nathaniel’s father, the blacksmith from Great Pond, the spinner and his wife.
Our neighbors stepped forward as well, one by one at first, and then by the dozens. We crowded together, looking down at the empty seats.
I scanned the faces. Practical as always, I knew not all should come. Some were too elderly or frail. Others needed to stay behind to care for them and their farms. I made a note to find a way to honor them for their willingness to sacrifice.
Last of all, the man from the back row—the one who years before had endured a teaching—took one halting step toward us and stopped. The blood had drained from his face, and his rigid muscles refused to move, as if resisting what his heart desired. After a moment, he gathered his will, shuffled to the front, and stood by my side.
My heart beat stronger as I regarded those around me.
Our newest quest was set.
Onward to Temple City.
Chapter 6 – Shadows on the Moon
We marched in a column, four to a row, Nathaniel and I, some seventy volunteers from surrounding villages, and the thirty who’d sailed with us.
Despite their protests, I’d insisted my mother and new father stay behind—the village needed leaders to care for the old, the young, the sick, and the frail, and to look after the farms and the livestock. I’d handpicked for our expedition only the hardiest men and woman. Though I believed it unnecessary, Caleb encouraged them to bring farm implements for defense—axes and picks, rakes and hoes, anything with a sharp edge that could be swung with force.
I tried to convince Zachariah to remain with my mother, but he insisted on coming along. I agreed to let him go, but only if he obeyed my every word without question.
“If I say to stay in a village, you stay. Understood?”
He nodded.
“If I say hide, you hide without a word of argument, as silent as you were before you found your voice.”
He parted his lips to respond, but I glared until he nodded again. I refrained from saying what I meant: When I say run, you run. I prayed to the light he’d have no need.
By the time we reached Great Pond, the word had spread—the seekers had returned. Others joined our parade, and our ranks swelled.
Our march took on an air of festival. With so many, there’d be no fight. When the vicars saw our numbers, now three hundred strong, they’d yield to our demands as they had that morning four years before in Little Pond.
When I was taken by the vicar for my teaching, our trip to Temple City took three days. Now, with such a large group, our progress slowed to a crawl. In addition to our cargo of precious machines, we had to carry provisions for everyone, and when we stopped for the night, we needed two hours to pitch camp.
Caleb insisted on organizing us into smaller groups, twenty to what he called a squad, with four squads to a troop. He appointed a leader for each squad, who reported to the elder in charge of the troop. In this way, we could give orders to a few leaders and have everyone else obey.
Nathaniel thought this a fine idea for dividing up the work. Why have each person gather their own water and firewood, or debate over where to sleep?
At the end of the second day, we camped in an open field by a stream, a minute’s hike from the road. I laid out the campsite into quarters, one for each troop, and then divided each quarter into fours. Each squad had their place and was responsible for fetching water, making a fire, and distributing their own provisions.
Caleb also required each troop to set up a rotation, four men at a time, to keep watch while the others slept.
Kara, along with Jacob and Devorah, pitched a smaller camp of their own, separate from the troops and deeper in the woods, where they concealed the machines. No sense exposing these to curious gawkers—until needed—and then having to explain their purpose.
I myself had enough trouble understanding them.
After dinner, Nathaniel and I strolled among our followers, stopping at each squad and thanking its members for their support, but also gauging their mood.
Many had never traveled to Temple City, and most who had were, like me, dragged there for a teaching. As a result, an odd mix of excitement and apprehension pervaded the camp.
After visiting several squads, we diverted to Kara’s hiding place. There we found the black cube of the dreamers and the mending machine hidden beneath mounds of leaves, but devices from the third container lay exposed on the ground.
Kara hovered over them with her bonnet on, so intent on communing with them that she hardly noticed our approach.
“What are you working on?” Nathaniel said.
She looked up and removed the bonnet so she could focus her thoughts on us. “Just trying to see if I can make things work, a holo here, a synthesis there. One never knows when we’ll need a miracle.”
I smiled at her joke but knew she spoke the truth. After a year living with machine masters and dreamers, I’d become accustomed to wonders a thousand years beyond the skill of the keepmasters. The people in the encampment behind me, those who’d followed us on little but faith and a shared hatred of the vicars, had no conception of such things. How would the children of light perceive these marvels when they were at last revealed?
From there, we continued on our tour. At the fourth troop, second squad, five of our neighbors from Little Pond approached us, shuffling their feet and with the pupils of their eyes drifting from corner to corner. It seemed there was some unease.
“We don’t mean to question, but we wanted to know. Have you granted him authority over us?”
“Who?” Nathaniel said.
“The stranger from the far side of the sea.”
“Caleb?”
“Yes.”
I brushed the man who’d asked on the forearm. “It’s only for a short time, until we reach Temple City. With so many, don’t you think we need to be organized?”
“Organized? Yes, but why are all the leaders his men?”
Nathaniel stepped toward them, his face flushed. “All of them?”
A second man turned and pointed deeper into the woods. “Go ask him. He’s gone with his friends to do light-knows-what.”
Nathaniel spun around to follow the gesture, but I grasped his arm before he could leave. Now was no time for passion over reason. “Let me go. I’ll talk with him.”
Under the cloudless sky, a full moon lit the narrow path through the trees. I paused to gaze up at its pockmarked face. In the keep’s observatory, I’d learned that the dark shadows on yellow were craters, deep scars made on the surface by rocks flying through space. I watched them with wonder through the eyepiece of the helper’s instrument, the one called a telescope, but when I shared memories with the dreamers, I saw much more—startling images of a rocky wasteland from when their ancestors had flown there in ships and walked on the moon.
My reverie was interrupted by the crash of axes on wood. I followed the sounds until I came upon a smaller clearing, where several of Caleb’s men cut branches and bound them with twine.
“What’s this?” I said.
Caleb approached me, but signaled his men to keep working.
“A good leader should pray for the best but plan for the worst.” He spread his arms wide to encompass the encampment. “These people are our responsibility. We build litters of the kind we used to take the boy up the mountain to the mending machine.”
“Why do we—?”
“With so many in our party, we need to be prepared.”
I thought of Zachariah, crumpled on the ground, his arm twisted at an odd angle and his face contorted in pain. The greenies kept a litter at the ready for such an event.
“I see. With so many, what if one trips and twists an ankle, or another falls ill. We can’t leave them behind so we’d have to carry them.”
Caleb came closer and rested his huge hand on my shoulder, but gently, and released a long sigh. “I wish that were the only reason. We need these litters for more than accidents.”
“I don’t—”
“Though I’ve never met your vicars and deacons, I’ve heard you and Nathaniel describe them—not a kindly lot. They subjected their people to teachings when their rule was secure. How much worse might they do now that their authority has been questioned?”
I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them again, I needed a moment to calm my breathing. Finally, I nodded. “I understand. For the wounded... just in case.”
He stared down at me with weary eyes, like when he’d recounted the fate of his late wife. “Aye, Orah, for the wounded... or worse, for the dying.”
***
As I trudged back to camp, the daylight waned, and flickering shadows cast by the branches overhead confounded my vision.
What should I do?
With a growing troop, I needed Caleb. I’d implore my people to be patient, to give our new enterprise time, and I’d urge him to temper his passions and share his lead with others.
Chapter 7 – Memories of the Darkness
To my relief, Caleb’s worries were unfounded. We’d needed neither litters nor guards, nor any other defenses. Our troops had plodded along without incident, and by noon of the fifth day, we stood on the hillside overlooking Temple City.
Though the day remained cool, a bright sun blessed our mission. With no threat apparent, we ordered everyone to take out their water skins and rest.
Nathaniel, Caleb, and I crept forward, crouched behind a moss-covered boulder, and assessed the situation below. From this vantage, the spires of the city loomed. Though an imposing sight, I knew what lay inside—a warren of dwellings more wretched than any we’d found in the machine masters’ city; vicars spreading lies and punishing those who doubted them; a people filled with fear. Yet the question remained: how should we approach?
In the past, as the seekers, Nathaniel, Thomas, and I had slunk through the night from village to village, evading the deacons and nailing the truth onto posts normally reserved for temple bulletins. Now we were gathered more than three hundred strong.
Should we send in a scout to survey the city, or a delegation to negotiate with the vicars? Or should we enter in force?
I cupped a hand over my eyes to block out the glare. No guards stood at the open gate, and no activity showed within.
I turned to Nathaniel and wrinkled my brow. “How can they not see us by now? Why don’t they respond? Why not bar the gates or muster the deacons to keep us from entering?”
He placed an arm around my shoulders and peered in. “What if they spotted us from their towers, saw our numbers, and fled?”
As we focused on the gate, Caleb rose to one knee, scanned the surrounding wall, and pointed.
No longer were we unseen. High along the ramparts, shapes scurried about, gaping over the fence and gesturing toward us, but none wore the uniforms of deacons. They were children, dressed in rags.
Caleb stepped out from behind the boulder and stood astride the crest of the hill, feet spread wide and axe on his shoulder. He must have appeared a fearsome figure from below.
When those on the wall saw him, they scampered away and vanished.
He gazed down at the city, grim and stone-faced for a minute or more before turning back. “We have no choice. Nothing more to learn here. Let’s march in together. My men and I will take the lead.”
I tapped my thumbnail against my teeth. As a child, I pretended to be the leader of my friends, a know-it-all making decisions in our make-believe adventures—games without consequence. Now, I turned and scanned our gathering, trying to read each face as they awaited my decision. I’d set out to seek truth, to make a better world, but never intended to hold the lives of others in my hands.
“All right,” I said. “We’ll go.”
Caleb aligned the troops in order, one through four, with one exception. He and his men moved to the front, a sturdy vanguard with their picks and axes held high on their shoulders.
At my signal, we headed off to the gate.
The situation became clearer as we neared. No one raced out to meet us, and no one blocked our way. Now three hundred strong, we passed through the gates of Temple City unchallenged and triumphant.
My foolish heart swelled with pride.
Yet something seemed amiss. No deacons marched four abreast on patrol, with the stars on their chests flashing in the sunlight. No people appeared at all. The streets lay deserted until a few curious children ventured outside. These skipped along with our army, while their parents eyed us from behind soiled curtains and from around the door jambs of their hovels, peeking out and hissing for their offspring to come back inside.
We turned a corner past a cluster of wooden shacks, each in such disrepair that it appeared to be held up by its neighbor, and marched into the main square.
A bonfire blazed at its center, and all around it, a knot of older children huddled together, seeking warmth from the chill air. When they saw us, they dispersed to the far side of the fire, and all conversation stopped. The flickering light revealed somber faces, confused and frightened by our appearance, unsure whether to stay or run away. A dog barked at us, not with the growl of an angry beast, but rather a loyal pet protecting its master from harm. Its owner, a lanky boy only a few years older than Zachariah, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him back. Once the animal calmed, the boy glanced up, and a look of recognition brightened his features.
He pointed at Nathaniel. “You! They said you had drowned.”
He turned back and whispered to the others, and an excited murmur rose among them.
I stepped closer, hoping to hear what they s
aid. One phrase stood out, spoken louder than the rest: the seekers.
Nathaniel grasped the boy by the shoulders and eyed him, taking a moment to reassess a memory from the past. “I know you. You’re the one who told me about the deacons my first day in Temple City. You ran off before I could thank you and ask your name.”
The boy beamed, as his friends viewed him with admiration—one known to the seekers. “I’m called Micah, and you—” He waved a hand at us and grinned. “—are the seekers of legend, the ones who discovered the keep and promised a better world.” The grin faded, and he lowered his chin to his chest. “That is, until....”
I came to Nathaniel’s side. “That’s right, Micah, and our goal remains the same—a better world. You can help. Can you tell us where the vicars have gone?”
“The vicars? Fled, and their filthy deacons too.”
“Fled where? Behind their fortress walls.”
“No. Fled from Temple City. Their buildings stand empty. We play games in them now, and take what we please.”
“Show us.”
Micah led us through a maze of streets littered with debris, with his gang of youths from the bonfire parading alongside.
My blood rushed, eager to see Thomas again, but when we reached the main temple building, site of our imprisonment and my teaching, I froze in place, stunned at what I found.
The grand doors to the entrance had been cast aside. One hung askew from its upper hinge and the other lay in the dust on the ground. In the impressive hall that had once intimidated me with its grandeur, timbers had been plundered for firewood, and the statues had been ransacked, their arms and heads chopped off as if they were the vicars themselves.
Inside, I found the chamber where teachings were held and where Nathaniel and I stood trial for our apostasy. The tapestry on the back wall, which depicted the battle of darkness and light, had been torn down, with nothing but tatters of cloth at the corners left clinging to their attachments. The polished teak planks from the raised desk had been ripped away, taken presumably to enhance the dwellings of the city’s inhabitants.
The Light of Reason (The Seekers Book 3) Page 4