I’d urged Jacob and Devorah to stay back as well. Unlike Caleb and his men, they’d joined our voyage not to fight but to bring back new skills to the people of the earth. Let them work with the craftsman in Bradford, the blacksmith and the cooper, the carpenter, the spinner, and the farmer. Let them master the crafts of peace.
But I’d asked Devorah to acquire one additional skill, requiring Kara to make her a bonnet like mine, but one attuned to her brain.
At first, she’d declined. “I grew up hearing tales of the dreamers, and would dread merging with those disembodied minds.”
“Not the dreamers,” I said. “I want you to learn to work the mending machine. If something happened to Kara, we’d lose the skill to heal.”
I’d neglected to say that if we took too many casualties, we’d need more than one healer, so the second might mend while the first recovered her strength. I prayed there’d be no need.
While I pondered the risk, the edge of the sun flared.
Nathaniel grasped me by the arms and squeezed to regain my focus.
I nodded.
“Attack,” he said.
Caleb waved the troops forward.
Half crept to the left and half to the right, keeping in a crouch and sticking to the tree line until all stood no more than a hundred paces from the gate. When everyone was in place, Caleb cupped his hands around his mouth and mimicked the screech of a hawk, and the troops dashed forward from both sides at full sprint.
By the time we emerged from the shadows, the red orb had cleared the horizon, a bright ball of light that blinded any who glanced our way.
We were seconds away before one of the deacons caught our advance.
He cried out a warning, calling for help, but no help came. Panicked by the rush of so many, he and the others fled.
We poured through without a fight, and moments later stood in the deserted street, conquerors of another Temple City.
Most of the residents had escaped to the countryside, fleeing the expected battle. Once those who stayed grasped the size of our friendly force, they came out from their hovels, mostly the elderly and the lame. They were quick to show us where the deacons hid, and in minutes, we surrounded their barracks. Our friend Jethro had been right—no more than a couple of dozen remained. Faced with overwhelming numbers, these dropped their weapons and surrendered.
After we secured the deacons, Caleb handpicked twenty men, and with arms at the ready, followed Nathaniel and me to the city center, where the main temple building stood.
My heart raced, no longer fearing an attack but rather what I might find.
Ahead lay the base of the vicars’ power, a building I once viewed with awe. In its chambers, the vicars had administered teachings to keep the people in line, teachings for those like Thomas and Nathaniel’s father and me, a brutal ritual that left me fatherless as a seven-year-old.
But the teaching cell was least on my mind, for far below ground, in the bowels of this building, lay the place I sought—the prisons of Temple City.
***
Unlike the last Temple City, the vicars here had only recently fled. The main structure remained pristine and unblemished.
We strode through the arched corridor that formed its entrance under the stony eyes of marble statues depicting long dead clergy.
The layout seemed similar to that of other temple buildings, and I quickly located the judgment chamber. The raised desk of the panel of vicars loomed at its front, with the mural that had once frightened me hanging on the wall behind. I stepped to the center of the room, to the wooden cover that concealed the teaching cell, but when I thought to remove it, my hands stuck at my sides and my feet stayed welded to the floor. What if the vicars, in their rush to flee, had abandoned some poor soul to languish?
Nathaniel came to my side and raised the cover while I looked away.
“No one there,” he said.
I shuffled to the edge of the hole, stared inside and shuddered, then gathered my will and glanced around. At the front of the chamber, to the right of the desk, gaped the passage I sought.
“This way,” I said.
We strode through a narrow corridor and down the spiral staircase, as we had before, but this time without fear. With no windows below ground, I needed a moment for my eyes to adjust.
There stood a lone deacon with his back to the locked door and his arms extended, brandishing a spear. The light of a single torch flickered off his face—so young, and less stout than most. Of course, the vicars would take the best with them for protection, and leave the weaker ones to rot.
I inched closer, and he fell back until his shoulders struck the door. His eyes flitted from side to side as if seeking a way to escape.
I recalled the lies the clergy had told Jethro about demons of the darkness, and held my hands out to him, palms outward. “Put your weapon down. We won’t harm you.”
He shook his head and raised his spear higher, trying to act brave, but the trembling tip gave him away.
Caleb came to my side.
When the boy spied this man more than twice his size, he panicked and lunged.
Caleb parried with the shaft of his axe, an instinctive move, no more than a flick of the wrist, and the deacon’s spear clattered to the floor.
The boy scrambled to his knees to retrieve the spear and stared up at us with eyes wide.
Caleb loomed over him. “Why do you defend this door? What lies behind it that you’d give your life for?”
“The grand vicar himself ordered me to—”
Caleb dismissed him with the wave of a hand and turned to me. “What shall I do with this one? Give me the word, and I’ll dispatch him.”
I extended an arm to brush Caleb aside and, despite Nathaniel’s protests, stepped closer, until the tip of the boy’s spear kissed the folds of my tunic.
“Your blood is too precious to waste, and spilling it does neither of us good. Leave the weapon and live. Join us and help make a better world.”
I reached out to the boy, and his eyes met mine. After a moment, he dropped the spear and took my hand.
As the others led the boy away, Caleb leaned close and whispered in my ear. “I’m humbled. Your faith in your fellow creatures astounds me, but once again, you were right.”
I turned to the roughhewn oaken door and released the bolt, but hesitated before opening it, glancing over my shoulder at Caleb. “I hope we both feel the same after we see what’s inside.”
***
On the far side, no torches burned, and no candlelight flickered from behind the doors, leaving the prison as dark as a teaching cell. Nathaniel grabbed the torch that hung in the sconce by the door and led me down the dank hallway. The nightmare unfolded again before my eyes—the stone walls etched with decay; the row of doors locked with a metal bolt from the outside; the slat covering a window for the guards to spy on the prisoners; the air thick with dust and the stench of human waste.
Those who followed us marched several paces behind, eyeing the cells with contempt. None of them said a word, the only sounds our measured breathing and the thud of our boots on the dirt floor.
We unlatched the bolt of the first cell and peered within, but when Nathaniel waved his torch across the cot, the small desk, and the shadowed corners, the firelight revealed no one inside. Perhaps no prisoners remained, but why then leave a guard at the door?
We searched a second cell, a third, and a fourth. Still no one. Then, as the light from our flame reached the next to the last door, I caught an odd sound, out of place in this circumstance. I raised a hand to hush the others and held my breath.
From the end of the hallway came a muted whistle, a haunting tune but vaguely familiar. We proceeded to the cell from which the sound came.
As soon as the firelight from our torch came close enough to filter beneath the door, the whistling stopped.
A voice emerged in its stead, raspy and raw, but one I knew so well. “Don’t bother interrupting my music, unless you brou
ght me something to eat.”
Nathaniel and I looked at each other and spoke as one.
“Thomas!”
I raced to release the bolt as Thomas had once released it for me, my fingers fumbling with the latch.
The door creaked open, and my childhood friend lay slumped on the cot inside. His sand-colored hair and beard had grown scraggly and long, and his cheeks had sunk inward. Though he still looked young for his years, he’d aged since I saw him last, appearing older than the friend I recalled.
I broke into a long-suppressed smile. “Looks like you’ve got yourself into trouble again.”
His cracked lips curled into a half-grin. “I dreamed you’d come. Since we were children, you’ve always come to save me. What took you so long?”
“Oh, Thomas.” I rushed toward him and reached out in an embrace.
He struggled to his feet and collapsed in my arms. “Careful now. I’m not as limber as I used to be.”
I signaled for Nathaniel’s water skin.
Thomas grasped it in trembling hands and gulped the water down, wincing with each swallow and spilling some onto his soiled tunic.
When he’d drunk his fill, he turned to Nathaniel. “You don’t have any extra food in that pack, do you?”
Nathaniel laughed. “The vicars and deacons are gone or captured. We have our own army now, with food to spare, but first let’s get you away from this awful place.”
I wrapped one of Thomas’s arms around my shoulders, while Nathaniel supported the other.
He stopped us at the doorway. “What about the other prisoners?”
“Gone,” I said, “taken away by the fleeing vicars, all but the weak and sickly.”
He stuck his head into the corridor, marveling at our armed band, his eyes widening when he took in Caleb. “There has to be more. I heard moaning last night like an animal in pain. Did you check every cell?”
Only one remained, tucked away in the corner.
While I supported Thomas, Nathaniel unlocked the door and stepped inside. From his silence, I thought the cell must be empty, until he cried out.
“Samuel?”
I took a step closer. “It can’t be Samuel.”
He motioned to the cot with the torch. Upon it lay what barely seemed a man, with a discolored face blurred by wisps of gray hair, and a body shriveled from hunger and abuse so the skin hung off his bones. This prisoner matched how Nathaniel had once described the first keeper, who had anointed us seekers and launched us on our quest for the keep.
Yet Samuel was dead.
Perhaps I was confounded by the torch’s flame, or the quivering shadow cast on the wall, but it seemed Nathaniel fixed on this prisoner with a peculiar intensity.
The man on the cot stirred. Eyes opened, though he remained too weak to sit. A frail hand extended, a bony finger pointed at me. The lips parted so his teeth showed, almost a smile, and muffled words emerged. “Orah... whose name means light.”
I struggled to match that feeble sound to a voice that had long ago boomed those same words. I squinted to see in those clouded eyes the sparks that had burned like embers. I fought to find in that ravaged face the man I’d once feared.
Nathaniel moved the torch closer, and the face came into focus.
I gasped.
On the cot before me lay the deposed leader of the Temple of Light, our former enemy, the arch vicar.
Chapter 12 – Retreat
We bore our rescued prisoners up the spiral staircase and outside to the fresh air—Thomas stumbling along with support from Nathaniel, and the arch vicar carried by Caleb. After so long in the dark, both had to shield their eyes from the glare and peek through spread fingers at their newfound freedom.
Within an hour—and after a much-needed meal—Thomas came alive, reviving enough to tease Nathaniel about how fierce he looked with his warrior’s stave.
The arch vicar, however, suffered from the limited exertion. His neck seemed too weak to support his head, and his eyes kept rolling up into their lids.
For now, both would require a litter to travel.
The younger Thomas, with food, water, and loving care from his friends, would recover in time, and might find the strength to march into Bradford with head held high.
The arch vicar’s only hope lay with Kara and her mending machine.
Dusk settled on a now peaceful Temple City. Caleb insisted on posting guards at the gates, while the rest of us sought lodging in the abandoned dwellings. Some of our troops built bonfires and clustered around them to eat their evening meal and celebrate our victory, but most stayed subdued as rumors spread about what we’d found. Perhaps they realized at last that this trek would be no festival. Our enemy lurked on the road ahead, clever and cruel, and our future remained fraught with risk.
After dinner, Nathaniel and I split up to do our rounds. Years before, after we’d revealed the lies of the Temple and the wonders of the keep, our neighbors expected us to guide them, disregarding that gangly boy who’d grown up among them with notions of becoming a knight, and the little girl who’d pretended to be the leader in adventure games. On the distant shore, the people of the earth had declared us a prince and princess who’d sailed across the sea to bring a better life. Now, as we embarked on more uncharted waters, the children of the light once again sought our guidance. All was pretense, but for the sake of keeping up their spirits, we maintained the illusion.
After I’d played my part, showing my steadfastness and congratulating the troops for their courage that day, I went back to check out the wellbeing of our patients. I tiptoed into the arch vicar’s chamber, thinking him asleep, and settled by his side.
His breathing seemed more labored than before, and in the light cast by a nearby candle, his skin showed a sickly pallor.
As I sat watching his chest rise and fall, comforting myself that he still lived, his eyes opened a slit.
“Orah... is... that you?” His voice, soothed by food and drink, had strengthened, though the words still emerged one or two at a time. “I feared... it was... a dream. Come nearer, child.”
I slid closer.
He grasped my hand and attempted to squeeze, though his grip lacked strength. “So many days I prayed to meet you one last time, to ask you to accept my penance. I lay in that cell, dwelling on the harm I’d done to you, Nathaniel, and Thomas. I was wrong. Thank the light for the chance to beg your forgiveness before I die.”
I waited as a fit of coughing racked his frame. Then I squeezed back. “No need to beg. I forgive you. No matter now. We’re all victims to the usurper.”
He tried to sit, but lifted no more than a finger’s width before dropping back to the litter. “The usurper!” His nose scrunched, and his mouth puckered like he would spit. “How foolish I was, insisting that the thirst for knowledge led back to the darkness. I misunderstood the nature of evil. Evil spawns not from the thirst for knowledge, but from the lust for power.”
He coughed again and collapsed from the exertion, his breathing settling into a more regular rhythm as his eyes drifted closed. When he stayed silent, I rose and left him to rest.
Next I sought out Thomas in the abandoned cottage Nathaniel and I had commandeered for the night. How wonderful to be together again, the three of us as we once were, inseparable through childhood. If I blocked out the warlike chants coming from the bonfires outside, I could almost ignore our plight and imagine we played one of our adventure games at the NOT tree.
Thomas was in better shape than the arch vicar, sitting up and gobbling down a second meal.
“I’m glad to see you with a healthy appetite,” I said.
He attempted his old grin, but blisters and bruises prevented his lips from widening, making his words emerge as a mumble. “The vicars came close to extinguishing my fire in the teaching, and more so in their accursed prison, but they never dampened my appetite. They only deprived me of food. Thanks to you, I now have plenty to eat.”
“I owed you a rescue.”
A lump formed in my throat, quashing my response. I shrugged instead and shook my head. Then, remembering my gift from Little Pond, I rose and rummaged through my pack.
“Look what I brought you.” I pulled out the flute he’d hand-carved and polished to replace the one the arch vicar had destroyed.
His crooked grin dissolved, and his chin wrinkled as he blinked back tears. Unable to utter a word, he caressed the instrument and slid his fingers along its surface, searching for its holes, but when he tried to play, no sound emerged. Determined to try again, he moistened his sore lips and blew. He managed a single note, but no more.
I rested a hand on his cheek, careful to not cause him further pain. “You’ll play again in time.”
He nodded. “After my lips heal, I’ll play you the tune I composed as I lay in prison, a song of sadness, an ode to anger at what the vicars have stolen from us.” His eyes flared. “A tune fitting for your troops as they march into battle.”
I went to the window and searched through the tree branches for my old friends—the stars—seeking their guidance as they’d once guided our boat across the ocean. My fingertips brushed the glass as if reaching for the sky. “I pray there will be no battle. I hope the vicars take one look at the determination of our people and yield.”
When I turned back, Thomas was staring at me, his eyes watery and his head shaking from side to side. “My Orah, always seeking the light, but since you left our shores, I’ve seen more cruelty than a child sent to bed hungry can conjure up in a nightmare, a throwback to the darkness. They’ll never yield without a fight.”
The Light of Reason (The Seekers Book 3) Page 8