I brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across my eye and blew out a stream of air. “Why did you leave Little Pond? You were never one to take risks. Why didn’t you hide on the far side of the mountains like Nathaniel’s father? Our neighbors would have kept you safe.”
He set the flute down and stared out the window, not searching for stars but for a memory too painful to recall. “The vicar came to our village, gathered us around, and placed the sun icon on the altar. From it, the voice of the usurper announced new magic that allowed them to spy on happenings across the world. Do you think that’s possible?”
I shook my head. “The astronomy helper told me they could watch anywhere using eyes in the sky, but I doubt the vicars could recreate such machines in so short a time, not even with a thousand gray friars.”
“I suspected as much, given the lies they told before. They claimed this new magic, granted only to defenders of the light, revealed that you and Nathaniel had died, that your quest to cross the ocean had ended with your drowning. Our people, already discouraged, heard the sad news and lost heart, but I refused to believe it. I needed to witness this magic for myself, so I headed to the keep to find out for sure.
“On the way, I met fleeing scholars, who rallied around me as the last of the seekers. Our group gained strength and grew until word reached the vicars. They sent deacons to stop us, and I learned a bitter lesson.”
“What lesson is that?”
“That being a leader is a heavy burden to bear.”
***
The morning dawned with a dreary mist that wafted across the city in waves, as if the world was struggling to awaken from a bad dream. I checked on Nathaniel, still asleep with his stave tucked under his arm. Though we believed the vicars had fled to the west, one ambush should be warning enough.
“Keep weapons at the ready,” Caleb had insisted, “and always be on guard.”
With such a large group, we took until mid-morning to gather supplies and prepare to depart. The first blemish of our day came when Nathaniel and I caught several of our troops ransacking temple buildings and taking what they pleased. We chastised the men and took them before Caleb.
“What crime did they commit?” he said. “They risked their lives to come here, and take only from those who have stolen from them.”
Before I could respond, Nathaniel shrugged and agreed. I turned to protest, but he grasped me by the arms and bent his head low until our foreheads touched “Think of the harm the vicars have done, men without virtue who’ve hurt so many. Now we seek to overwhelm them, to kill them if need be. How can we say stealing from them is wrong?”
I pressed my lips together and swallowed my response, not wanting to argue in front of the others. I thought of what Thomas had said—the burden of leadership.
When all was ready, the troops departed through the western gate.
I wandered among them as had become my custom, thanking and encouraging them. On this morning, I took the opportunity to visit our wounded as well. I found the grand vicar and Thomas carried in their litters, silent and uncomplaining.
A short way out of the city, a low moaning filtered our way.
“Do you hear that?” Nathaniel said.
I nodded. “It’s coming from ahead, but our wounded lag behind.”
With so many shuffling feet, we struggled to localize the sound, so I halted the march. A weak keening came from the woods to our right.
Nathaniel and I ventured further down the road and found a path, newly broken through the trees. Wary of escaped deacons, we collected Caleb and a dozen of his men to go with us.
We proceeded in single file, the passage remaining narrow, with a ceiling of dangling moss dipping lower and lower until even I had to stoop. Bits of torn cloth clung to branches and splatters of blood marked the way—some wounded soul stumbling in panic and making no effort to hide his tracks.
Fifty paces in, we discovered the source of the moaning.
A small circular clearing opened to the sky, except for the canopy of a single ancient beech. Beneath it and almost hidden in the folds of its sprawling roots, a solitary man sat with his back to the trunk and legs splayed out before him.
Through the shadow of leaves obscuring his face, I saw his cheek bore a spreading bruise, which had partially closed one eye.
“Declare yourself,” Caleb shouted, brandishing his axe.
The man glanced over his shoulder, to his left and to his right as if afraid someone had snuck up from behind. He took a shallow breath and muttered to himself. “No... never... never ever. No matter what you do to me.”
He pressed downward with his free elbow in an attempt to rise, but lifted only a hand’s breadth before collapsing again. In that brief instant out of the shadow, I caught his tonture and red sash—a grey friar, one of the vicars’ servants who maintained the technology pilfered from the past and disguised as temple magic.
As I leaned in, I realized something more. Though the tufts of white hair surrounding his ears had grown too long and his tunic was more tattered than the elements explained, his silk robe gave him away. Here lay not one of the brothers but their leader. Before me sat a prior.
I knelt beside him and offered my water skin.
He grasped it and gulped down its contents so fast some spilled, turning the dust in his beard to mud.
“I know you,” I said. “You’re the prior who led the gray friars in the keep. What are you doing here, and how did you come to this?”
His eyes refocused, and a grim smile crossed his battered features. “You’re not one of them. You’re Orah, a seeker of truth. But are you real or a vision conjured up by my mind through a mix of pain and phantom hope? They told me you drowned.”
I brushed my fingers across his bruised cheek. “Your hope is real, and so are Nathaniel and I.”
Nathaniel knelt down so the prior could see his face. “How have you come to be so far from the keep and abandoned in such a state? When we saw you last, you knew more than any of us.”
“The keep is not as you left it. The usurper has taken over, declaring it the high temple, where only he and his followers may commune with the light. But they’re too lazy to extract the keepmasters’ knowledge themselves, so they asked me and the brothers to learn for them. What you see is the result.”
“Why would they abuse you,” I said, “a learned man and one who’s served them so well?”
“They asked me to do that which my conscience denied, to go against what I’d believed my entire life. When I refused, they reserved their special treatment for me.”
“How did you come to be here?”
“When they discovered I’d never yield, they sent me in a fast wagon to this furthest Temple City, where they encouraged the deacons to use me for sport. They hung me to a pole in the main square, a warning to those who would defy their edicts. Last night, when the chaos came, a kindly woman cut me down and helped me limp to the gate, but this was as far as my broken body could travel. I prayed to die here beneath this tree rather than be taken again, but now a miracle has occurred, beyond what a man of science should hope for—the seekers returned.”
Nathaniel’s fingers curled into fists, and the pulse in his temple throbbed. “What did they ask you to do?”
I held my breath, fearing the answer, but my heart knew what it would be.
The injured prior stared over my shoulder, through the trees and into the distance. “They demanded I use my learning to resurrect the sins of the past. They asked me to help them return our world to the darkness.”
Chapter 13 – Limits of the Dream
We arrived in Bradford three days later with our wounded in tow. Both the arch vicar and prior had worsened on the trek and lay lifeless in their litters, badly in need of the dreamers’ mending ways.
As predicted, Thomas refused to be carried into his ancestral home. When we reached the outskirts of town, he staggered to his feet and insisted on marching in on his own, albeit at a slower pace than
the rest. To be safe, Nathaniel and I stayed behind, trudging along with him, ready to catch him if he fell.
We reached the center of town by mid-afternoon.
I expected our road-weary troops to have scattered to their shelters, but was surprised to find large numbers of them gathered in a half-circle, backs to the rectory and facing the village green. I left Thomas in Nathaniel’s care and maneuvered my way through the crowd. At the front, the black cube that housed the minds of the dreamers lay on the lawn alongside the other machines, exposed for all to see.
Kara and Devorah stood with eyes closed before the mending machine, both wearing matching white bonnets. The bright light shone through its tunnel though no patient lay within. From the strain on Devorah’s face and the sweat on her brow, I could tell that she, not Kara, controlled it.
The vicar of Bradford spotted me and hastened to my side, waving his hand in their direction. “When you first arrived, you spoke of wonders. I never imagined....”
I glanced to my left and to my right, taking in the faces filled with awe. “I hoped she’d keep these wonders more... private... for now.”
“Kara asked that we take them outside on the green. While they can store the power of the sun for days, she claimed increased exposure makes them stronger. How could I refuse? She was seeking access to the giver of life.”
“Has she used them every day?”
The vicar of Bradford beamed. “Used and more. At first, she communed with the dreamers, seeking their wisdom to help Devorah. I watched in amazement as the bits of lightning in the black cube stirred and flashed. The next day, using the box of what she called spare parts, she made a vision of a new bonnet appear from nowhere and dance in mid-air. Then, with the aid of our seamstress and more parts, she created a second bonnet like her own, which Devorah dons each day as she learns to be a healer.”
What could I say? Kara had seen the injuries the deacons had caused and wanted her apprentice to be as prepared as possible when we returned.
The bright light of the mending machine flashed one last time and faded. Kara and Devorah removed their bonnets and embraced.
Murmurs rippled through what had been a silent crowd, with those who’d stayed behind in Bradford describing what they’d witnessed to the newly arrived troops. “The human embodiment of the light in this world... not from the sun icon, but inside the black cube. Lightning flashed within. This priestess and her acolyte donned bonnets to commune with the light, and used its power to make miracles.”
I winced at their words, but noted the two litters waiting at the front of the crowd, their occupants pale as chalk.
I strode to Kara. “We brought two in bad shape, prisoners of the vicars. I’m afraid our journey weakened them more. Do you have the strength to heal them now?”
She offered a half-smile. “I have strength enough. Devorah did most of the work today.”
We lifted the nearly unconscious prior onto the slab. On our trek here, I debated with the others who should be healed first. My preferred choice was the arch vicar as the weaker of the two, but Caleb convinced me to take the prior first. He’d been to the keep and possessed knowledge of the vicars’ plans, information we desperately needed. My heart longed to treat the arch vicar first, but my head knew better. I chose what was best for all.
After a brief examination, Kara worked her magic.
The light glowed... and the prior healed, after which strong hands bore him away in his litter to sleep and recover. We’d wait until morning to question him.
But the magic failed the arch vicar. The light flashed longer and brighter than ever before, and Kara grimaced with the effort. At the last, the glow dimmed, while the anguish on the arch vicar’s face remained.
Kara bowed her head. “Broken bones, damage to internal organs.... How could anyone do a body such harm? I tried to repair his wounds, but synthesizing so much tissue and bone causes strain. He was too weak to bear it.”
I regarded the old man’s limp body, and my eyes misted. “That can’t be.”
A weary Kara grasped me by the arms. “I’m sorry. My forbearers were brilliant, but far from gods.”
I knelt by the litter where my enemy-turned-friend wheezed in short gasps. I recognized that sound—a death rattle. I recalled waiting at my father’s side, wondering which of those precious breaths we took for granted would be his last.
I cradled the arch vicar’s hand in mine, and his eyes opened a slit.
“Do you have kin... someone we should tell?”
“No one,” he said between gulps of air. “I’ve... given my life to the Temple.”
“I’m so sorry. I hoped we could do more.”
The pad of his thumb stroked the back of my hand. “Don’t mourn for me. All men must die, and I’ve lived longer than most. After a lifetime of fighting the darkness, I have no wish to live... to see its return.”
“Is there nothing more I can do?”
His eyes widened for an instant and his voice firmed as he mustered his remaining strength to deliver his final words. “Go forward and carry the banner. Restore... the light... to our world.”
His thick brows wilted as he breathed in and gasped.
I waited.
Another breath, another gasp... then the heaving of his chest stopped, and the spark went out from his eyes.
I recalled that spring day before Thomas was taken for his teaching, sitting with Nathaniel by the pond and watching the reflection of the leaves off the water. How I longed for that life now. It had been so beautiful—so simply and terribly beautiful.
I reached out two fingers, as I’d done with the corpse of my father, and closed the old clergyman’s eyes for the last time.
***
The vicar of Bradford urged me and Nathaniel to stay as his guests in the rectory, citing the first day we met, and how he regretted letting us leave so soon.
I accepted at once, eager to spend the night in a soft bed, but once I lay down, my mind denied me sleep.
A full moon rose, casting its pale beams through the branches of a willow that shaded the window of our bedchamber, leaving spidery shadows on the wall. As a breeze kicked up, making the ghostly web tremble, I fought off visions of the darkness and held Nathaniel close, burying my face in his arms and reveling in his breath against my skin.
When I was sure he was asleep, I rose, grabbed my own white bonnet, and padded to the chamber where the dreamers lay.
The bearers stood guard outside the closed door, so I faced the cube alone. With no windows and the candles burning low, the lightning within flashed brighter than ever. In the still of the night, as I donned the bonnet and pressed my eyes closed, a faint buzz filled the air.
As always, the exchange ensued as a stream of thoughts flitting across my mind.
“Welcome Orah,” the speaker said. “Though we have no sense of time, we’ve visited with Kara on nine occasions since meeting you last. Were you away or ill?”
“We traveled with our troops to Temple City to learn more about the vicars’ plans, and to search for prisoners.”
“What did you find?”
“The vicars fled to the keep, but we found three prisoners alive. Two you know from my memories—the former arch vicar, and my friend Thomas.”
The buzzing grew into a beehive of thoughts so intense I failed to follow, until the speaker brought them to order and they commented one at a time.
“The keep....”
“An obvious refuge....”
“Where the knowledge of your world resides....”
“And Thomas alive....”
“When we joined minds with you, you reserved a priority in the archive for him....”
“You must be relieved to find him....”
“Is he well?”
I adjusted the bonnet to slow them down and give me time to frame my thoughts. “Thomas is well, considering what he’s been through, but the arch vicar passed to the light. Kara tried to heal him with the mending machine but failed.
”
More buzzing. The speaker responded. “The mending machine has limits.”
“From your memories, this arch vicar lived long....”
“The machine’s synthesizing circuits need careful tuning for one so frail....”
“If we controlled it ourselves....”
“We might have saved him....”
“Though we still could have failed....”
“The human body is a complex problem....”
“A poorly designed machine....”
They paused. The dreamers always seemed to pause when they realized they’d been spouting logic at an inappropriate time.
After a moment, their thoughts flowed in unison. “We’re sorry.”
I counted four of my breaths, something impossible to do when joined with them in the dream. I was pleased to remain attached to my body, imperfect machine though it may be.
Though once before they’d refused to advise me about our conflict, ill at ease with the folly of the living, the circumstances had worsened, and I needed to ask once more.
“I come to you seeking guidance. My people have witnessed the wrong the vicars have done, the suffering they’ve caused. Many cry out for vengeance, but if we march on the keep, more will be hurt, and some will die. They look to me for wisdom beyond what I possess. They place faith in the seekers based on nothing but illusion, wishing for magic. What should I tell them?”
The buzzing in my mind grew to such a level that I almost covered my ears, though the dreamers made no sound in the physical world.
I waited, praying to the light for guidance, but as Kara had said, her forbearers, though brilliant, were far from gods.
“We understand what you ask,” the speaker finally said. “The more people dwell on illusions, the more these illusions take on a life of their own. In our archives, we store many such instances from our past, tales of concocted beliefs used more often than not to seize power or seek revenge, yet we can offer no advice. We’ve become creatures of pure logic, and logic has no place in the decision to go to war.”
***
That night, I tossed and turned until shortly before first light, when at last I drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep. I awoke late to find the glare of mid-morning streaming through the window and Nathaniel gone. I scrambled out of bed and stumbled into the adjoining dining area.
The Light of Reason (The Seekers Book 3) Page 9