“You offered.”
“Very well, but be warned my answer may be nonsense, the babble of a musician.”
I leaned in and focused on his eyes. He and I had been apart much of the past three years. I now perceived a depth in those eyes I’d never seen when playing adventure games in the NOT tree or on our search for the keep.
How much he’s changed. “I’m listening,” I said.
“You always told me we need to strive, to try to be more than we are, but that goal never appealed to me. I’m one of the contented with limited needs. For those like you and Nathaniel, whom the vicars call dreamers of dreams, striving is needed to live, like food or water or air. That’s why you couldn’t stay in the keep and had to go off and start your revolution.” He leaned closer to me. “That’s why you had to cross the sea. I always wondered—what happens when goals collide, when the passion and strong will of those like you clash with the goals of others? Neither side could back down, because to do so would be to give up who you are, leaving no choice but to fight.”
“Does that mean people like Nathaniel and I are by our own nature doomed?”
He shrugged. “How would I know? I find my solace in the grain of this wood, and in the sound of the music it makes.”
I slumped on the bench and buried my face in my hands. Thomas rubbed my shoulders until I glanced up at him and smiled.
He offered me the flute. “Would you like to learn to play?”
I shook my head and laughed. “You know I have no talent.”
“If I can teach Zachariah, I can teach you. Of course, you’ll never be as good as me, but you can still take pleasure in it.”
He thrust the instrument at me. “Cover the first, third, and fifth holes with your fingers.”
I did as he asked.
“No, not like that. It’s not a weapon. Hold it more like a caress. The music won’t come if you don’t show it love.”
“I can’t do this, Thomas.”
I offered him back the flute, but he refused. “Four notes, no more.”
I covered the three holes again and blew. To my surprise, it made a pleasing sound.
He shifted my fingers to different holes and told me to try again.
I blew into the mouthpiece, and the note changed.
“Now two more, and we’ll put them together into a tune.”
I did what he asked. As I played, the tension drained from my shoulders, my burden not relieved but for a time forgotten.
“One last thing. Play the first three notes as before, then take in a breath, blow the fourth, and hold it.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as your heart tells you to.”
I set the flute down on my lap, licked my lips, and repositioned my fingers on the holes. I played the first note, the second and the third, and then took a deeper breath and blew.
Thomas was right. The sound wafted into the air and lingered, and for those few seconds, the whole world was healed.
***
For the next two days, Kara worked with little sleep. She spent no more time with the black cube, but rather with the other cargo she’d salvaged from the machine masters’ city—what she called her box of parts.
To maintain secrecy, she did most of her work indoors, surrounded by a tripling of Caleb’s trusted guards.
During that time, Nathaniel and I shared our meals but little else. Words trickled between us in dribs and drabs, as if the thoughts that had flowed since childhood had dried up.
At the end of the second day, as we sat in the common room of the inn silently eating our evening meal, Kara emerged from her labors, her face worn down by something more than exhaustion.
I held my breath as she approached, stopping an arm’s length away.
She seemed to have strength left for only two words: “I’m ready.”
Chapter 21 – A Greater God
Another night, another dream, this time of Nathaniel still as death in the dreamers’ cocoon, his mind downloaded to a machine. I needed to wake him or he’d die, but each time I reached for the abort button, it slipped from my finger and floated off into the icy blue mist leaking from inside. I circled the cocoon, chasing the elusive control until first light filtered through our bedchamber curtain and woke me.
***
The next day dawned in silence. Everyone rose and went about their tasks, drilling until Caleb’s latest tactic became second nature.
This time, the attack would wait until dusk and use a different formation. The bulk of our troops would spread out wide in a crescent to provide less of a target for the deacons’ darkness weapons. Behind them, four clusters of handpicked men—comprised of those whose stubborn bravery would let them hold their position despite casualties—would huddle around carts covered with canvas. Each cluster would be hidden behind a banner, depicting the opposite of the tapestry that hung in the vicars’ teaching chamber. In place of the battle of darkness and light, this image showed lightning flashing from storm clouds and striking the vicars down.
The Temple had taught me the power of ritual, theater to control men’s minds. Now we’d use the same approach but to conceal our true intent—the dreamers’ surprise.
At last the hour arrived. More than a thousand souls lined up, their determination so strong the air crackled around them, but each of them understood the risk. They’d lived the day of battle before.
I reviewed the troops one last time and gave Caleb the signal to advance.
As we trudged along the road, fingers twitched around the grips of weapons, and eyes flitted from side to side. Trees lurked like enemies lying in ambush, their gaze zeroing in on the intruders like beasts stalking their prey. The forest bristled with a dark and magical power, making me tremble like a lost little girl. At that moment, an ancient fear welled up within me, and I believed the trees might attack... or swallow me whole.
At one point, I conjured up an old woman at the side of the road, glaring at me from behind knobby eyes. Her gnarled arms stretched out as if to grab me in their clutches and carry me away. I squinted to view her more clearly.
Not a woman. Not a person at all. Just some crone-like tree with knotted trunk and branches twisted by endless gales.
Ten minutes later, we reached the bend in the north river. The ram’s horn sounded as expected, and the advance guard fell back as we charged. Ahead, the elite deacons in gold tunics emerged, but twice as many as before.
This time, instead of pressing forward shoulder to shoulder and firing their sticks, they separated, creating spaces between them. From these gaps, others ran out, bearing not weapons but rocks the size of an apple.
Had the Temple reverted to their heritage, a stoning for apostasy, but this time on a massive scale? If so, they’d find a surprise.
Our troops scattered, dodging the rocks, with only a few of those finding their marks, causing little more than bruises, no harm at all, until....
...Until the rocks landed.
The earth shook with ear busting booms. Dust flew everywhere and men screamed. Dozens of our troops fell to the ground, some with arms and legs missing, others with flesh rent beyond repair. No mending for these.
From the memory of my teaching, the arch vicar’s voice resounded. “And now, Orah, whose name means light, you will understand the darkness... to the depths of your being.”
Amidst the smoke and dust, and the screams of dying men, a different voice arose.
“Now!” Caleb yelled.
The guardians of the carts dropped their banners and removed the canvas, revealing what had once been the topmost turrets of Kara’s repair machines, the ones used for cutting and welding. Their tips glowed red and beams spewed forth, as the bearers swiveled them to the left and right.
Golden tunics blackened, and the ranks of the elite collapsed. Bodies dissolved amidst the stench of burning flesh.
Seeing their best so easily vanquished, the remaining deacons fled, leaving weapons and provisions behind. They dashed
up the paved road, built with the forced labor of my people, until they vanished around the bend.
A cheer went up among our troops, but not for long, as the fate of their injured comrades sunk in. Litter bearers raced about, gathering those wounded who might still be healed.
Nathaniel, Caleb, and I waited to make certain the healers had evacuated all who could be saved, and then ordered the retrieval of the remains of those less fortunate, to be brought to the Riverbend cemetery and buried with dignity.
I staggered back to the village in a daze, my eyes focused on the road ahead. No, not the road, not even the horizon... but to a darker place I feared to go. I took several breaths to test the air, but all I smelled was the normal fragrance of trees. I cast about, studying the surrounding plants and flowers—nothing unusual. Despite how it seemed, the world remained the same. The forest had changed neither shape nor color nor scent.
Only the people had changed.
I lingered at the spot where I’d imagined the old woman. Now, in the light of an ascendant moon, I realized my mistake. The gnarled tree stared back at me with knots where a mouth, a nose and eyes would be, a face I might draw on paper if I wished to depict the horror of the day—the essence of the darkness.
Nathaniel called me back from the void. “Don’t dawdle. The deacons may be defeated, but no sense risking a stray looking to avenge his friends.”
I reached out and grasped his hand, needing his strength to flow through me. We quickened our pace and caught up with the stragglers. Ahead, the north river wound through a flat stretch of land, looking cool and inviting, like it might wash the blood away. At one point we passed a dog standing by the side of the road, staring at the parade of the disillusioned.
At the center of town, I found a repeat of the scene from the prior battle: the grass littered with wounded, Kara and Devorah frantically mending, and their helpers tending to those who waited their turn. But this time, twice as many lay still and pale.
How many more will meet their fate in battles to come?
As I wandered among the survivors, encouraging them and comforting the wounded, darkening clouds cloaked the moon, and a light drizzle began to fall. Raindrops splattered on the torches that lit the field, making them sizzle and smoke. I squinted, and moisture formed on my eyelashes, blurring the torchlight and softening the sickening scene. How easy to pretend the battle had never happened, and that the bodies before me slept.
I gazed past the carnage, struggling to understand how the search for truth had brought us to this, when a new sight caught my eye. Beyond the field filled with litters, the troops had gathered in a half-circle, hundreds of them crowded together and facing forward, with those in the front kneeling.
I drew closer, rose up on tiptoes, and peered over the shoulders of those who stood at the back.
In the center of the circle stood the black cube, surrounded by its usual display of flowers—daisies and daffodils, white lilies and a bouquet of blood red roses—but something new had been added.
I squeezed through two burly men to get a better look, and gasped at what I saw. On the ground before the cube, someone had placed trophies from the battle, a pile of deacons’ axes with spikes at the top, a pair of fire sticks, and seven golden tunics charred and drenched with blood.
As I stood there, mouth agape, one of them recognized me, and a murmur spread through the crowd. “Orah, seeker of truth.”
The words rippled across the men like a wave and then silenced, but not for long.
All eyes turned to me, and one man with a deep baritone called out.
“Hail to the seekers of truth.”
The others picked up his rallying cry and repeated it, until someone added a second chant.
Only when the chants converged did I make out the newest words.
“Hail to the light in the cube.”
Chapter 22 – Children Unborn
Nathaniel and I stood hand-in-hand at the rear of the cemetery, heads bowed and avoiding the attention of the crowd. At the front, too many litters lay covered with white sheets and decorated with day lilies. Behind them, too many holes gaped in the ground, and the air reeked with the odor of freshly turned sod.
The vicar of Bradford spoke for the dead, his every word ringing out despite his subdued tone. As he recited the name, age, and home village of each of the deceased, none of the assembled made a sound. No one so much as shifted from one foot to the other, as if fearing to disturb the sacred soil. Even the breeze paused out of respect.
After the ceremony, Zachariah approached me, dragging the vicar by the hand.
“Come with us,” he said. “The vicar wants to show you what we found.”
They led Nathaniel and me to a gate in the stone wall at the back of the cemetery, unmarked and plainer than the elaborate wrought iron arch at the front—one we hadn’t noticed before. Beyond it, a mossy path snaked deeper into the woods.
A hundred paces in, we came to a second cemetery, with headstones smaller than the first and clustered closer together. A single granite monument loomed above them in the center, with these words engraved upon it.
Riverbend Children’s Park
A resting place for the angels
Who dwelled too briefly among us
We strolled past the stones, stooping to read the names and dates on each one. The first, a child of only three, and the next less than a year....
“I checked them all,” Zachariah said. “None as old as I was when my parents left for the dream.”
The vicar of Bradford waved his hand to encompass them all. “Why must such innocents die so young? Why must so much potential be lost? Each of these may have become a seeker and discovered miracles of their own, if the Temple had not stifled our growth. You’ve shown me the possibilities in the knowledge you found in the keep, and now in the healing science brought from the distant shore.” He sighed and glanced to the heavens before fixing on me. “You asked for my wisdom about right and wrong, whether seeking weapons from the dreamers would cause more harm than good. We’ve witnessed much suffering this day, and I grieve for those who’ve been lost, but despite the tragedy, we must continue our struggle. We must never return to stagnation. We must fight for the children unborn.”
As he spoke, Zachariah paced from one end of the row to the other. Then he returned to the first and started to sing in that lovely voice I’d discovered in the hall of winds. I recognized the verse he’d composed for his mother, but now he’d changed the words.
Sweet child with eyes that shine
To heaven, take my rhyme
Keep this poem so you will know
All of us love you so
He shuffled from stone to stone as he sang, brushing each with his fingertips while tears streamed down his cheeks.
When he finished, the vicar of Bradford reached out and grasped his hand. “Come, Zachariah, leave the children to rest. We have work to do, to make a better world. We owe it to them and to all the friends we’ve lost these past days.”
The four of us trudged back to town in silence, each absorbed in his thoughts.
At the rectory, before parting ways, the vicar paused and confronted us. “When you first came to Bradford, and I sent you off to find the keep, I envied your adventure. I don’t envy you anymore. The light has chosen you to be the leaders of a great but perilous cause. May you lead wisely.”
Once in our bedchamber, I closed the door and leaned with my back against it, relieved for the moment of the need to pretend. My chin sagged to my chest as my shoulders slumped under the weight of this hideous burden. I wanted to flee back to Little Pond, to mount the podium once more and relive my coming of age, to make different choices and return to a more innocent time.
Nathaniel and I stared at each other like scared children. He stood with hands at his side, balling them into fists and stretching the fingers out again and again, as if trying to decide whether to fight or yield.
I steered him into the full glow of the candlelight t
o better read his eyes. They reflected back at me, pained and glistening.
He licked his lips to moisten them, and when he spoke, his voice came from far away, not so much distant in space but in time, the voice of the boy of my youth. “I was wrong, Orah. I’d learned nothing from those foolish days when tales of knights filled my mind. I’m the one who’s been dazzled by illusions, not you. I was so poisoned with hate for the vicars, for the harm they’d done, I turned a blind eye to what we’ve spawned, a horror grown out of control.”
I rested a hand on his cheek and watched his mind churn. My Nathaniel. “Out of control? Yes, but they still expect us to lead. What should we do now?”
He stepped back and gazed up at the wooden beams of the ceiling, as if hoping to find answers there. His jaw twitched and the vein in his temple throbbed. “The gray friars follow their master’s command, to delve deeper into the knowledge of the darkness. You and I have watched the images on the screens, recordings of past atrocities. More than most, we understand how devastating war can be.” He closed his eyes and took three measured breaths before reopening them. “They’ll attack again, this time with more terrifying force than before. We have no other choice. Our sole salvation lies with you and Kara, and the white bonnets you wear.”
***
I joined Kara in her bedchamber at the inn, the one where years before I lay awake deciphering the keepers’ rhyme. I checked the hallway to make sure we were alone, and then closed and locked the door.
I lowered my voice so no one outside could hear. “I dread where this request might lead, but we have to ask.”
Kara pressed her lips into a thin and bloodless line, and shook her head. “Unlike your friends in the keep, the dreamers are living minds. Who knows how much more they’ll help? Without their assistance, my skills have limits.”
“The gray friars work day and night to make more powerful weapons. We need to do the same.”
“What if the dreamers won’t—?” She turned her back on me and stared at the wall, unwilling to meet my eyes.
The Light of Reason (The Seekers Book 3) Page 14