The Light of Reason (The Seekers Book 3)

by David Litwack

  I stepped to the front, my boot steps clattering as I crossed the cover of the teaching cell. On a whim, I knelt down and lifted the wooden plank—such a tiny and dismal hole, but one that had caused so much pain. As I stared below, unable to tear my eyes away, Nathaniel came and rested a hand on my shoulder, with Zachariah and Kara at his side.

  “What is it?” Zachariah said.

  Kara spoke before I could respond, her voice taut with rage. “I’ve seen this place when we shared memories in the dream, but I hoped it was imagined. Such cruelty. How could they do such a thing?”

  When I shook my head, at a loss for words, Nathaniel answered for me. “Such punishments get justified when those in power believe they own the truth. We should remember this. Seek the truth, but be wary of what we find.”

  The truth so far was this: the vicars and their henchman had fled, but one place remained to explore. Despite my revulsion, I led the others down the narrow stairway to the prison below.

  The oaken doors stood open now, their metal bolts hacked off. I passed from one to the next, stepping into each, searching the corners and under the cot in the vain hope of finding Thomas there. At last, I entered my old cell, the one in which I’d expected to waste away for the rest of my life, like the first keeper, Samuel, who’d given all to protect the secret of the keep. The scant furniture still lay there, and the peephole through which Nathaniel and I spoke remained, but nothing more. Only the memory and the stench lingered.

  Nathaniel hesitated in the doorway, refusing at first to enter. His jaw tightened and his arms hung rigid at his side. Yet he gave me time, watched me brush the peephole with my fingertips, like greeting an old friend.

  Finally, he crept up behind me, and for a moment, stood still in the dark. Then he edged closer, his breath warm on my neck as he said in the softest of whispers, “Time to go.”

  Once outside, I drew in a long draft of fresh air, as if the prison had constricted my lungs.

  Caleb’s men had gathered a few of the residents eager to speak, and brought them to us.

  A kindly woman, who reminded me of my mother, told us of the day the vicars fled. “They sacked the town of anything of value, stripped our homes of food and provisions, and left us to rot.”

  An elderly man came forward next. “That upstart monsignor....” He paused to spit on the ground. “So high and mighty. Skipped all the tradition and declared himself the human embodiment of the light in this world. He proclaimed a new age and rallied all those of like mind to his cause, but not everyone accepted him. The coward and his followers fled to be with more of their own.” The man squeezed my arm with his bony fingers and hissed into my ear. “To be closer to the keep, they say. To steal its magic as they did before.”

  “What of the prisoners?” I said.

  “Taken in chains and marched to the east.”

  I stared to the east, though I could see no farther than the city walls. A question welled up inside of me, a question so big it plugged up my throat and made it hard to breathe. I swallowed once and forced out air, giving the question sound.

  “Was there a young man among them, short with sand-colored hair?”

  The man rubbed the stubble on his chin and consulted with the woman. She whispered in his ear while he nodded.

  He turned to me. “We can’t be sure. None dared come close and stare at those bruised and battered souls, but this woman believes one of them matched your description.”

  Blood rushed to my face, and my skin burned. I barked to Caleb, “Gather the troops. We follow them to the east.”

  The boy Micah grabbed me as I started to leave. “Let us come with you, me and my friends. There’s nothing for us here.”

  “But you’re too young, not even come of age.”

  He lifted his chin. “I’m almost fifteen, and have been beaten by the deacons three times. If each beating counts for a year, then I’m old enough.”

  I eyed him, so young, but not much younger than we were when we first set out to the keep. And with no less passion.

  I checked with Nathaniel, and we both nodded.

  Why not? Let all whom the vicars have wronged join our cause....

  ...though I have no hint of where that cause may lead.

  Chapter 8 – Adamsville

  From Temple City, we marched to Adamsville, but with a more measured stride. Despite the rumors rippling throughout our troop, we could only guess how far east the vicars had fled or how large their numbers had grown. How I wished to do as Caleb urged, and send scouts ahead to spy, but if caught, their punishment would be swift and severe. Who would I ask to go?

  Word spread before us like a spring breeze, and each village we passed drew more to our cause. With the crush of followers, Nathaniel and I became swamped with issues big and small: how much food and water to bring, how to deal with the injured or ill, and who should settle squabbles between groups vying for better sites at our encampments.

  Thank the light for Caleb. With little effort, he designated more troops and squads, and made decisions that everyone rushed to obey—a natural leader. With so many people, he could no longer rely on his own men, and needed others who would command respect, and whom he in turn could trust. He possessed a gift for identifying a person’s talents—those best suited to cook or gather wood, those with skill to fashion tools, or those born to lead. He required each squad to build a litter, to name one person responsible for caring for the sick or wounded, and to anoint another to run messages back and forth to his command.

  He assigned Kara to form a special squad, one that would carry and protect the black cube and other machines. These elite few formed their own identity, and much like the grey friars, took to embellishing their tunics, this time with black armbands to designate their role. They called themselves the bearers of the cube, an honor guard of sorts.

  On clear days, when the weather was mild and our progress steady, I’d climb a mound by the side of the road and beam at my people as they paraded past.

  I’d given Zachariah a flute, one of several I brought for Thomas—knowing how they’d provide him solace once we found him, as I was sure we would. The once silent boy taught himself a simple tune with a beat appropriate for marching. He played this twelve-note tune as the troop marched by.

  I found it cleansing, like rain washing over stepping stones in a garden. I brimmed with hope— my dream come alive, my faith at last fulfilled.

  Until I learned about the weapons.

  One evening, as Nathaniel and I prepared our bedding for the night, Devorah approached, with shoulders hunched as if bearing a heavy pack.

  “May I speak with you,” she said.

  I set aside the bedding and faced her. “Of course, anytime. No need to ask.”

  She sniffed at the air and glanced away, staring at something unseen in the distance before turning back to me. “I sailed here along with Jacob to study your crafts, to learn to build better homes, to make sharper tools and feed ourselves from the land—new skills we could bring back to the people of the earth. But now I find these hands the good earth gave us are being asked to create tools to do others harm.”

  I glanced at Nathaniel but he only shrugged and gaped back at me. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Caleb ordered every squad to assign one man to be their armorer. He insisted they provide at least one weapon to every member of the troop—the implements of war. I know little of your world, but from what I’ve heard, your children of the light, much like my people, have refrained from violence for hundreds of years. Yet I understand the challenges we face, so I will not judge.

  “What pains me is that Caleb ordered Jacob to mentor this group, to teach them how to carve long sticks and sharpen their points, to modify tools of the farm so they may better maim and kill. Jacob does as he’s told, but it tears him up inside.”

  “You must be mistaken,” Nathaniel said. “We’ve given Caleb no such order.”

  She lowered her gaze to the ground. “Then he
does it on his own, as he once defied the earth mother to tunnel through the mountain to the dreamers.”

  I reluctantly rose from the cushion of pine needles, gathered to provide a much-needed night’s rest. Nathaniel jumped up with me, the blood rushing to his face, but I pressed a hand to his chest. “Let me go alone. Better to understand before we react. We have enough enemies.” I turned to Devorah. “Where’s Jacob now?”

  “Follow me.”

  I followed Devorah to the edge of one of the camps, where Jacob had set up a makeshift workshop, stocked with tools accumulated from the villages we passed—a saw here, an awl or file there—anything that could enhance his significant skill in shaping wood or metal. Now the fruits of his efforts lay stacked against a waist-high rack, spears and knife blades, sharpened picks and hoes and axes, any implement of the farmer that might be converted for war.

  Though Jacob surely sensed us coming, he kept his head down and focused on his work as if ashamed to be discovered at such a dishonorable task.

  I thanked Devorah, promised to deal with this matter from here, and bid her goodnight.

  When Jacob still refused to face me, I rested a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry you have to do this.”

  His eyes drooped at the corners. “I’m sorry as well, but no person has forced this upon me, only the circumstances. Rumors abound of evil done. If even half are true, this task I perform is necessary.”

  “You didn’t follow us across the ocean for this.”

  He rubbed his salt and pepper beard and stared at his boot tops. “No, not for this.” He set his tool down and shuffled over to a log. “Come sit with me.”

  After I settled on the log, he slid closer and fixed me with his eyes. “When the earth mother first came to us, she taught a harsh lesson about our existence—that we’re wired to want purpose in our lives, but that we can never be certain what that purpose is, and so, we must trust in ourselves and each other and have faith. Did you choose to lead these people? Your nature and circumstances have brought you to this day. Why do I help them make weapons? It’s what I was blessed to do, to work with my hands. With the evil we’ve found in your world, I can’t say for certain that the making of these weapons is wrong.”

  “I’ll talk to Caleb.”

  “Do as you wish, but what he asks is not on a whim. There’s a need in the air.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “Aye. As always at this time of day, with his men practicing. Whenever we camp for the night, they go off deeper into the woods to train and drill.”

  He directed me to the edge of the encampment, to the start of a narrow trail formed by the runoff of rain.

  After a minute’s walk, I spotted an opening in the trees. Before I reached the clearing, I shifted sideways and peered from behind the broad trunk of an ancient beech. What I saw made my eyes water.

  A formation of Caleb’s men stood before me, all those who had come with him from the distant shore, split into pairs and aligned in a row, each clutching a blunt stick with two hands. They wore tunics stuffed with straw to provide padding, making them appear larger than life in the dim light of dusk. All focused on the front, where Caleb stood astride a boulder, barking out instructions.

  “Plant your feet wide and maintain your balance. To lose your balance may be to lose your life. Keep your eye on your enemy’s chest. He may feint one way or waggle his head to the other, but his chest will always show his intent. Each of you has been assigned a number, one or two. On my command, one will thrust and two will parry. Then you’ll switch. Remember to drive your front knee forward. Weapons at the ready.”

  Each man pointed his stick, aimed at his opponent.

  Caleb’s voice rang out in the night. “Attack.”

  Those on the left lunged with their sticks, while those on the right blocked them. The air filled with the crack of wood on wood and the grunts of straining men.

  “Attack.”

  The roles reversed—a second thrust, a second parry.

  “Attack, attack.” Caleb repeated the command at an ever faster pace.

  Here and there, someone missed a parry. The weapon of their opponent struck his padded chest and knocked him breathless to the ground, but Caleb gave no quarter. The fallen scrambled to their feet to fend off the next blow.

  I gritted my teeth to keep from crying out. How could he practice such violence without our consent? I withdrew deeper into the woods, glad to have left Nathaniel and his temper behind, and glanced up to the heavens as if seeking guidance. Above me, the impending dusk cast a shadow on the branches, cloaking them in a dark green, but higher up the leaves glowed gold in the rays of the setting sun.

  Darkness and light—always together, always shifting roles.

  I sighed. What sense would it make to burst into their midst and scold him in front of his men? What good would it do?

  From the precision of their movement, these protectors of the people of the earth had practiced this drill many times before, likely long before our boat had sailed. Why? To defend against the forces of darkness.

  Perhaps Caleb was right and such training was necessary. Maintain your balance or die.

  A good leader should pray for the best but plan for the worst.

  We needed Jacob to continue his work, and I’d persuade Devorah to agree.

  But as I turned to leave, I recalled the litters, imagined their purpose, and shuddered.

  ***

  Our trek to Adamsville proceeded without incident. Why not? Who would challenge such a throng—as the vicars might say, the living embodiment of the will of the people?

  How different this visit compared to our last, when we three young seekers slunk into town, skulking in doorways and peering around corners as the deacons nailed the vicars’ edict to the temple post. How less tense than our escape, fleeing out a window like thieves in the night.

  Not this time. We marched down the main street with heads held high, and everyone knew who we were. Small children lined the road, bearing baskets of braided rolls and cheese, which they offered to the brave souls who promised them a better future. Young girls rushed forward to hand us flowered wreaths.

  Nathaniel leaned in and whispered to me, while keeping his eyes ahead. “Too much like festival, but we haven’t won anything yet.”

  I nodded and forced a smile to keep up appearances. How could I appear worried to these people who waved at us, cheering and chanting “The Seekers”?

  In the main square, by the post that once held temple bulletins, the spinner of Adamsville greeted us. No hesitation this time; he grasped Nathaniel and me with both arms in a tearful embrace.

  As our troops filed into the town, in such numbers that not all could fit in the street, he climbed the front steps of his yarn store and gazed out over the sea of heads. “So many.”

  “And more each day,” I said. “The vicars will have no choice but to yield.”

  He blinked and his smile turned to a frown. “May the light make it so, but I wouldn’t be so sure. Come into my home, just the two of you and a few of your leaders. I’ll make you my special tea and tell you what little I’ve learned.”

  We invited Caleb to join us, and Devorah, and Kara too, and waited around a table while the spinner warmed tea. Only when the scent of apples and cinnamon filled the air and we’d settled with cups in our hands did he begin.

  “I’m sure you heard the grumblings before you left. The keep may contain wonders but they take effort to learn. Those who studied the history of the darkness returned to their villages with tales of horror, confirming what the vicars always claimed. Nevertheless, the grand vicar kept his word, banning all teachings and protecting those scholars in the keep. The clergy loyal to him preached patience. With their wise counsel and the blessing of the light, we prayed to someday master the wonders while avoiding its horrors.”

  He took a sip from his tea and set it down, then scrunched his nose as if he’d swallowed something sour.

  “Many among
the younger clergy had no such patience. They sought to restore the power they wielded over the children of light, before you discovered the keep. And not just the vicars. Many of our neighbors heeded their sermons.

  “The grand vicar aged and became more frail, and his influence over the naysayers weakened. Then came a rebellion of sorts. A young vicar, some say no more than a monsignor, overthrew him and usurped control of the Temple, including the gray friars and deacons.”

  “We heard,” Nathaniel said. “We know this man who once ministered to the Ponds. It was he who took Thomas and Orah for their teaching.”

  The spinner sighed. “Then you know of his character, a calculating man who uses the Temple to his own advantage. He came to Adamsville once, with his bootlicking followers, a slight man with black buttons for eyes. A cold man. Once he declared himself to be the human embodiment of the light in this world, most of the other vicars and their deacons fell in line. All had been trained to obey, and they were frightened by the change rushing toward them too fast. Some of our people followed as well, those longing for the comfort of the old ways. Many more were aghast at what happened but were too afraid to speak out.

  “Now they’ve consolidated their power to the east, a better defensive posture with more vicars and deacons, in a smaller area and nearer the keep.”

  I slid to the edge of my chair. “What of the keep? Is it still in safe hands?”

  The spinner grasped the table and winced as he pushed himself to standing. “Wait here. I’ll fetch someone who can tell you more.”

  He limped off, leaning on his walking stick with the carving of a mallard’s head on top, his gait stiffer than I recalled.

  Moments later, he returned with a slightly built man with a face that seemed younger than his years. After so much time apart, I might have taken him for Thomas but for his shock of red hair. Though not much older than me, he walked with a limp, grimacing with each step, and the slanted sunlight filtering through the spinner’s curtains revealed a face laced with scars.