Our path, though muddy at times, remained flat and wide, and rarely took us out of the sunlight, until we reached the base of a familiar notch through the hills, the last obstacle before the turn north.
Almost safe.
As we started our ascent, the shadows deepened and the sky disappeared, the dimness of dusk widening its grip on the world. The slope climbed steadily, until we marched along a ridge with woodland encroaching on either side, and branches arching overhead, their leaves dense enough to create a tunnel. We wandered now in twilight, with the forest surrounding us like a prison.
As I gazed up, trying to pierce the thick canopy to the darkening sky, Nathaniel grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me aside.
“What is it?” I whispered.
He stared up at the still branches and listened. “The birds. They’ve stopped singing.”
At once the leaves quaked, despite the absence of a breeze, and twilight turned to darkness. Men dashed from the trees, dressed in forest green and with faces streaked with black paint, making them hard to spot in the dim light. Each wielded a dagger in one hand and in the other, a cudgel with nails protruding from its top.
Our disciplined ranks dissolved, and the squads scattered. Once proud warriors let weapons thud to the ground and ran.
So much for the power of light over darkness.
The darkness had arrived in force, and the light was fleeing.
Three paces before me, a boy fell, struck in the forearm as he protected himself. Through the blood splattering his face, I recognized Micah.
A deacon approached him to strike a fatal blow.
I rushed forward and slammed my shoulder into his side, knocking him off balance.
He turned on me, his blade extended, but a rough hand stayed his arm.
A gruff voice barked an order. “Not that one. Take her alive.”
They raced toward me, though I barely saw them moving. As I fell back, a stave as thick as my wrist swung past me and caught the lead deacon in the chest.
He dropped to one knee, clutching his ribs, but two more followed.
Now I understood how Nathaniel had spent his evenings—he’d been training with Caleb.
Nathaniel stood taller than his adversaries, and his long arms held them at bay, but he had trained for days, and they for years. Soon he too gave ground under their assault.
I scratched around and found a rock to throw and then another, and when no more rocks were found, I flung dirt in their faces.
They kept coming, five at once.
I winced at the crash of wood on wood, and Nathaniel’s stave slipped from his hands. Undaunted, he stepped before me, his fingers curled into fists, but before he could engage, a hulking figure flashed from behind, as tall as Nathaniel and half again as broad.
Caleb!
Two swings of his axe, and two men fell. Then a third, and the others fled.
Nathaniel retrieved his stave, and I gathered up handfuls of stones, but when I spun around to confront the enemy again, my spirits rose. Yes, many of our supporters, so buoyant a moment before, had panicked in disarray and scattered back down the slope, but others stayed, led by Caleb and his men.
These strode forward now, shoulder to shoulder in a disciplined wedge, weapons gripped in calloused hands, protecting each other’s flank. Axes flew, picks found their mark, and now the deacons bled.
Surprised by such a stout defense from what they believed to be the meek children of the light, the deacons fell back, dropped their cudgels and knives, and ran away.
After no more than minutes—but what seemed like days—the road quieted and the troops reformed. Those assigned to care for the wounded dashed in with their litters and performed their appointed tasks.
I slipped among them counting, the most painful tally of my life. I should have thanked the light—nine wounded, none dead—but as I followed the boy, Micah, to a litter and listened to him moan, the light was furthest from my mind.
When all was secure and we’d stationed our guards, I assembled our leaders in a tight circle around me. “No camp tonight. The full moon will let us travel in the dark, and if we push through without sleep, we can reach the safety of Bradford by dusk tomorrow.” I turned to Caleb. “Pick your strongest and fastest men to go ahead and carry the wounded.” Then to Kara. “You and your bearers of the cube go with them. Too dangerous to attempt a mending here. Wait for Bradford. The rest of us will form a rear guard.”
As the leaders split up to follow their orders, Jubal, one of Caleb’s men from across the sea, dragged a frightened and bleeding deacon to me.
“What shall we do with this one?”
Caleb grasped the man in his thick hands and shook him until he cried out.
“Perhaps now, we can find out what awaits us in Temple City,” he said as the terrified deacon looked on. “And the rules of your teaching need not apply.”
I grabbed his wrist, my hand too small to encircle his forearm, and glared at him. “Enough violence. I won’t allow this man to be mistreated.” I clasped a wide-eyed Devorah by the shoulders and squeezed to regain her focus. “Do what you can for his wounds, and fetch him something to eat.”
After the others moved out of earshot, Caleb fumed at me. “You’re a fine leader, Orah, and wise, but you’re innocent in the ways of the world. Before this quest is done, you’ll need to learn.”
“Learn what?” I said.
“That no change comes without the shedding of blood.”
Chapter 10 – Bradford
By the time we arrived in Bradford, the litters had been laid out in a row on the village green. Some of their occupants moaned from pain, but others just stared out with vacant eyes.
Kara had secured the cube and other devices inside the rectory, and now worked with a singular focus to set up the mending machine. She barely acknowledged our arrival.
The vicar of Bradford flitted between the wounded bearing a tray with mugs of hot cider. The new warriors—all those able—wrapped their hands around its warmth and stared into the steam as if searching for redemption. As each took a first sip, the vicar rested a hand on their shoulder and whispered comforting words.
When he spotted us, he came over at once and greeted us with the same grace he’d shown three road-weary travelers four years before. Though he retained the sparkle in his eyes, more worry lines marked his face, and patches of gray streaked his hair and beard, making him appear older than the intervening years should warrant.
“Greetings, seekers,” he said. “Thank the light you’re alive.”
Nathaniel and I stepped forward and embraced him, without the hesitation of our first meeting.
He waved an arm to encompass the wounded. “The deacons’ work, I presume. I’d heard rumblings from the south, but this is the first proof of how deep they’ve descended into the darkness.” He gestured to Kara. “Your young friend raced in after them, assuring me she worked for the light, and asked my help in caring for them. Of course, I obliged, but she’s told me little other than that she sailed here with you from the far side of the sea.”
Despite my exhaustion, I smiled at this man who’d first enlightened us about the wonders of the keep. While he remained committed to serving his people, we followed his dream—to find the truth and make a better world.
“We found wise men there,” I said, “a thousand years more advanced than the keepmasters, but no time to explain now. Young Kara is their proper descendant. With the guidance of her forbearers, she knows how to heal them.”
He crumpled his brow. “I pray it’s so, but I have some skill at healing myself. For some of these, there will be no healing.”
“We’ll see.”
I shuffled over to Kara as she knelt by the mending machine, fiddling with its controls. “Is everything all right?”
She stood, brushed the dust from her knees and faced me. “I hope so. You were smart to send me ahead. It’s been jostled by the journey and setting it up has been harder than expected, but I�
�m ready now.”
I glanced over at the wounded and caught sight of Micah. He reminded me of Zachariah after his fall from the carousel, one arm twisted at an odd angle, and his face contorted with pain.
I turned back to Kara. “Take the boy first.”
She shook her head so hard her hair swished across her eyes. “With so many, I may lack the strength to heal them all tonight. I asked your friend, the vicar, to place them in order by the urgency of their injuries, so I can start with the most severe wounds.”
She led me to the litter nearest the mending machine, which bore a man I recalled from Adamsville. At first, I’d refused his request to join us, declaring him too old for the trek, but he’d made up in passion what he lacked in youth. Now he lay still, eyes closed and the blood drained from his face. Someone had crossed his arms over his chest, and they rose and fell as he breathed in shallow bursts.
Nathaniel and two others lifted him onto the slab, doing their best to cause no further pain.
The time had come. Kara donned her bonnet, and we stood aside while she hovered over the injured man and closed her eyes. As before, the machine whirred and the slab rolled into the tube.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a number of our troops gathering behind us. Their silence was deafening.
The glow grew so bright, everyone covered their eyes or looked away. I sensed the tension in Kara as her mind joined with the miracle machine. Through it, she’d synthesize new bone, muscle, and skin to mend the damage.
When finished, she opened her eyes, and the man emerged from the glassy tube, his face calm and his breathing normal.
Muffled cries of “Praise the light” sounded from behind me, but with so many left to heal, the troop remained subdued.
Kara went through them, one by one, until none remained but Micah. The strain of mending showed on her face, and she staggered, so Nathaniel had to catch her.
“Can you do one more?” I said.
She smiled weakly. “One more, a simple broken arm, and then you’ll need to carry me to bed.”
The light flashed. The boy healed.
Only then did the silent troop erupt into cheers, chanting louder and louder: “Seeker magic.”
I winced but was too exhausted to correct them.
After the crowd dispersed and we’d put Kara to bed, Nathaniel and I sat in the rectory with the vicar of Bradford and shared a meal in silence.
At last he spoke. “I raged when the usurper overthrew the grand vicar, and grieved when they said you had drowned. I feared dark times ahead. Those new to power would oppress the people and punish them for their disobedience, and the people would fight back. I counseled my flock to stay true to the light, to foreswear violence and live in peace. Now I’m less certain.”
“Why is that?” I said, unsure what I believed myself.
“Because of what I just witnessed, so much more advanced than anything found in the keep. These miracles you’ve brought from across the sea are not miracles at all, but fruit from the tree of knowledge.”
I waited, hoping for more.
That spark I recalled from when he learned we were seekers flared once more. “I understand better now. The wonders that freedom brings may indeed be worth fighting for.”
***
The next morning, Devorah brought the captured deacon to the rectory for breakfast. No need for protection from Caleb’s roughhewn men, no need for guards at all, as her kindness had transformed the man. The cuts and bruises suffered in the ambush had been cleansed and dressed, and the fury of combat had faded from his eyes.
She pressed a hand to the small of his back and nudged him forward to the head of the table. “This man’s name is Jethro. He became a deacon five years ago, before you discovered the keep. He says the vicars never treated him this well.”
The former deacon made a small bow. “Thank you, Miss Orah, for your kindness. From what they taught us, I expected you to kill me... or worse.”
I tipped my head, my own bow of sorts. “I’m pleased to see you better and with no weapon in your hand. Are you willing to help us in return?”
Jethro stared out the window at the rays of sun streaming through the trees and making the dust motes dance in the air. “I was raised a good child of light, never questioning the Temple and always obeying its rules—no teaching necessary for me. When the vicar chose me to be a deacon, my parents beamed with pride. For the first couple of years, I performed my duties out of a belief in the light. Later, like most of the others, I became cynical and obeyed to avoid the vicars’ wrath. The punishment for disobedience makes a teaching seem like a stroll through the woods on a spring day.
“Increasingly, I saw practices more like remnants of the darkness than the virtue demanded by the light. When the man you call the usurper took charge, some deacons became corrupted by the power he let them wield. Others, like me, grew uneasy, but we’d had discipline beaten into us.”
“Why stay? Why not run away?”
“We were afraid. Afraid of being punished, yes, but they warned us of what you’d do to us if caught. They told stories of how you treat prisoners, horrors like skinning or burning alive.”
I winced, knowing his words rang true—not the first time the vicars had lied. “I hope you now realize we’re not demons of the darkness, but simple folk trying make a better world. If one day, when your wounds heal, you wish to join our cause, we would welcome you. All here are volunteers. For now, if you’d like to repay our kindness, perhaps you can tell us what you know of temple plans.”
Jethro glanced at Devorah for guidance, and she nodded back.
He turned toward me, but his eyes avoided mine, tracing the wooden grain of the tabletop instead. “They ordered us to fortify the walls of Temple City, the one two days south from where we attacked, declaring it the westernmost boundary of their domain, the first barrier against their enemies, but when they received word of the size of your force, they feared you were headed their way. They sent us out to slow you down while they retreated in haste.”
“So the city stands empty now.”
His pupils flitted from side to side and settled at the corners, but he failed to answer.
“Is the city empty?” Nathaniel repeated.
He met Nathaniel’s gaze. “No. They left a guard to protect their rear flank.”
“How many?” I said.
“Not many. A couple of dozen, perhaps. They took the majority with them, leaving only enough to man the gates and give the appearance of strength, another delaying tactic. Not much lies behind them, only a few to guard and feed the prisoners.”
I nearly jumped from my seat, but quelled my excitement and tempered my tone. “Prisoners?”
“Yes. They took the healthy ones, but left those too weak to travel behind, concerned they’d slow them down.”
I began to speak, but the question stuck in my throat.
Nathaniel asked it for me. “Was there a young man among them, slight of build, with sand-colored hair.”
“I don’t know sir. They never let me near.”
My shoulders slumped, and I blew out a stream of air. “Is there anything else you can tell us?”
Jethro looked up at Nathaniel and me. His eyes widened, and he shook his head. “So much new to digest, so many changes from what I’d been led to believe. Devorah says she comes from across an ocean I once thought to be a myth.” He slid forward to the edge of his chair. “And she claims you are the seekers, the ones who found the keep and started the great change. Does she tell the truth?”
“Yes, but why does that matter?”
“Because of rumors, whispered among my fellow deacons in the dark of night.”
“What did they say?” My question emerged with little air.
“That deep in the prisons of Temple City, a third seeker lies captive.”
Chapter 11 – Rescue
We lay on our bellies, assessing our objective from a hilltop that sloped down to an open plain. In the gray of
pre-dawn, this Temple City appeared more forbidding than the other, its walls surrounded with poles stuck into the ground, spaced a foot apart and rising at an angle with sharpened points facing outward. This makeshift fence stood twice the height of a tall man, and to make scaling it more difficult, a trench encircled the outside. Only two entrances remained—one gate to the west and another to the east.
On Caleb’s advice, we’d circled around to approach from the east, where the city’s defenders would be less likely to expect an attack. If few deacons remained, as Jethro had claimed, they’d apply most of their force facing their enemy. In addition, the sun would soon be rising behind us, forcing the guards to gaze into its glare.
Nathaniel rose to one knee and peered between stalks of grass as high as my waist. “I count ten, each holding a spear. I’d be reluctant to attack through such a narrow passage, if not for the report from our friendly deacon.”
I peeked out from behind him and eyed the guards. “Then let’s pray he told us the truth.”
As we watched, several more deacons arrived. The others saluted them and left—a changing of the guard at sunrise.
Caleb signaled our men to the ready. They organized in a well-practiced formation, tightening their grip on their weapons as they waited for the next command, but he hesitated, still assessing the situation.
“In two minutes,” he said, “the sun will clear the horizon, shining in their eyes and making us nearly invisible. Those who have gone off duty will begin to relax after their long night, an assault the least on their minds. Now’s the time....”
He held up a hand to hold the troop back, and turned to Nathaniel and me. “You’re our leaders, and these are your people. Give me the word, and they’ll obey.”
I gaped at the newly arrived deacons as they busied themselves, backs to us, dowsing torches on either side of the gate and preparing for the day. Would our numbers be sufficient to make them abandon their post when we attacked?
We’d left many in Bradford—those less fit or not as well trained. The bearers of the black cube stayed behind to protect the device that housed the minds of the dreamers and the other wonders from across the sea. Kara remained with them, as I couldn’t risk her well-being since, for now, only she could use the mending machine.
The Light of Reason (The Seekers Book 3) Page 7