The Seekers: The Children of Darkness (Dystopian Sci-Fi - Book 1)

by David Litwack

  Two-story brick buildings lined the adjoining cobblestone streets, some with ornamental facades. From the heart of the town rose the largest structure, crowned by a steeple and topped by an image of the sun.

  Beside its entrance, a post for notices foreshadowed the Temple’s presence, but neither paper nor nail marked its surface. No other signs of the Temple showed, and no deacons marched about. More striking, no one crossed the square to avoid her. Each passerby nodded a greeting or tipped their hat, and some asked if she needed directions.

  She’d promised her friends to bring back as much information as possible, and so she traversed every street, checked every window, and pretended to shop in every store. She could report with confidence that Bradford was a friendly town, without a whiff of danger, but as yet, she’d found no sign hanging over a door or picture on a wall resembling the symbol on the scroll.

  Nathaniel had warned her to avoid taking risks, but she refused to return without a plan. The day grew late, and the number of people thinned as more returned home for dinner. Time to change her approach.

  She accosted an elderly man as he crossed the square. “Excuse me, sir, may I bother you for help?”

  He stopped at once. “Why of course, child. It’s no bother.”

  Thomas’s interpretation of the symbol burned in her mind. She had to eliminate the possibility. “I’m newly arrived here and have been traveling for days. While away, I missed the blessing of the light. Can you tell me when the vicar comes next?”

  He puffed out his chest and beamed. “My dear, you’re in Bradford. We have our own vicar, a man who’s one of us, born and raised here. We’re most fortunate because he’s the best to be had.”

  Orah considered the offer made to Nathaniel. Could a vicar be a keeper as well? “Where may I find him?”

  “Why you’re standing in front of his house.” He gestured to the building with the steeple.

  Of course—the rectory of the vicar. Orah wavered. Should she press on? “How may I get an audience with him?”

  The man chuckled. “An audience? No need. He’s available day or night. He ministers to our sick and comforts the afflicted. That’s why we love him so. Wait a bit and see for yourself. His class should be ending about now.”

  Orah’s heart skipped a beat. She felt ill prepared for an encounter. “Thank you, sir. The day’s getting late, and I won’t bother him now. I’ll come back in the morning.”

  The man wished her good evening and ambled off, taking a shortcut across the lawn.

  She slipped around a corner to watch. Moments later, the double doors to the rectory swung wide, and the sound of laughter filled the square.

  This vicar, Bradford’s native son, emerged with six children in tow. He knelt and thanked them for coming. When the little ones began to race off, he froze them with a command. They stopped, gazing up at him cheerfully.

  He reached inside his robe, pulled out a handful of sweets, and placed a candy in each child’s palm. After receiving their treats, they skipped off.

  Orah clung to the wall for support. Of all of the possibilities, this seemed the best. Tomorrow, they’d have to take the chance.

  ***

  That night, after the others had gone to bed, Orah stayed awake to write in her log.

  After two weeks of stumbling through this journey—relying not on our wits, but on good luck—our fate has come to this. All rests on my judgment.

  I used to believe the world made sense, that counting numbers and assessing facts yielded the proper decision. Not anymore. All I once relied on now rests on shifting sand.

  I’ve studied the town of Bradford, its streets and stores and people, learning all I can in so short a time. Yet every fact leads me to the person I most fear: the vicar.

  This evening, I passed what I learned onto my friends.

  Nathaniel listened, demanding I repeat the story three times, challenging every assumption. At length, he agreed to my plan.

  Thomas took the decision badly. I told him he hadn’t witnessed the kindness of this vicar, but it gave him little comfort.

  No facts prove my case; no numbers give the answer. I can only guess. Never before has so much balanced on a whim, but where else shall we go? The path forward remains a fog, and deacons await behind.

  As I finish this entry, and try to get some sleep, only one fact remains: If I’m wrong, all will suffer, but the fault will be mine.

  ***

  Orah awoke to what sounded like a wounded bird caught in a trap—Thomas moaning in his sleep. She got up and knelt beside him, touched his shoulder and shook him gently. When he failed to rouse, she stroked his cheek and whispered in a singsong voice, “Thomas, wake up.”

  His eyelids fluttered and opened, and he stared at her, dazed. “I dreamed I was back in the teaching cell alone.”

  “It’s all right, Thomas, it’s only a dream.”

  He pulled away, and his voice filled with dread. “It’s no dream. Tomorrow, you’ll take me to the vicar.”

  “I’ve seen him, Thomas. He’s not like the others. The people of Bradford love him.”

  “What if it’s a lie? So much of the Temple has been lies.”

  “We have to try.”

  “What if tomorrow will turn out like my nightmare?”

  “It won’t be like your nightmare, Thomas.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if I’m wrong, you won’t be alone.”

  Chapter 18 – The Holy Man

  Nathaniel gazed up at the clouds as if searching for guidance. When none could be found, he hoisted his pack and joined his friends on the road to Bradford.

  Minutes later, he stood before the rectory in the main square. They had no choice but to seek the next keeper, and Orah had insisted their only clue lay here. Still he hesitated, with something more than mistrust gnawing at him. He’d never met a vicar outside of formal ritual. A veil of mystery shrouded these men, these guardians of temple magic. Though he’d lost faith in them, he was loath to speak to one.

  The decision was made for him.

  The double doors carved with the symbol of the sun swung open, and the vicar of Bradford emerged, a small man in his middle years. Curls of hair slipped lower than temple rules allowed, framing a face marked with experience. If its lines could be read like words, they’d describe someone kind and slow to anger, a person who had lived a satisfying life.

  He bounded down the stairs with arms extended. “Welcome, travelers, I’ve been expecting you.”

  No need to respond. Their expressions answered for them.

  “Oh, don’t be surprised. I’ve been reading about you for days, though I only guessed you’d come here. The tallest must be Nathaniel, the young lady Orah, and the third Thomas. I’m pleased to meet you.”

  Nathaniel froze. Too late to flee, though nothing about the man seemed threatening. To be safe, he placed himself between the vicar and his friends. “How do you know our names?”

  The vicar offered a half smile as if enjoying a private joke. “I am an official of the Temple and receive all their bulletins. They usually tell of miscreants and felons, but the latest described three young people from light-fearing families, wandering far from home without permit and heading my way.” He switched to mock officialdom. “‘If sighted, report at once, but make no attempt to contact.’ Extraordinary. Why would such as these travel so far and defy their Temple? It made me wonder, and then it made me hope.”

  Nathaniel glanced over his shoulder. Orah had fallen back a step, while Thomas shifted sideways preparing to run away. Yet he sensed no flight would be necessary.

  “Your people say you’re generous and kind. You won’t betray us to the Temple, will you?”

  The vicar blanched. “Oh my, I’m sorry. How insensitive of me. I forget you’re strangers to Bradford. Our town lies far from the nearest Temple City and has always been served by a local vicar. I minister as I see fit and not always by the rules. Now I’m your host, and you’re my guests. Plea
se join me inside.”

  None of them stirred.

  “I promise you’ll be safe. You can ask my people. I’ve never once eaten their young.” He chuckled at his joke and opened the door to the rectory.

  After an awkward pause, Nathaniel ventured inside, with Orah and Thomas lagging behind.

  The vicar led them through a large assembly hall with rows of pews and an altar in front, into some sort of classroom with a polished oak table in its center. A door in the back led to his private quarters, and in one corner a narrow stairway spiraled down to the lower level. Besides the conference table and chairs, the meeting room was modestly furnished, containing no high benches or ominous murals. The only mark of the Temple lay at the far wall—a cabinet with brass doors engraved with the sun.

  He took his place at one end of the table, on the lone high-backed chair, and bid them sit on either side. “Now that you’re settled, feel free to say what you choose.”

  All three began to speak at once, but Thomas asked his question first. “If no vicars come here, how do you administer... teachings?”

  “I do them myself, like the vicars before me.” Then noticing Thomas eyeing the spiral staircase, he added, “Just a store room, nothing more. I teach differently than they do in Temple City. No harsh treatments here. I sit with the children around this table and teach more light than darkness.”

  Nathaniel went next. Though the vicar’s manner made him feel at ease, he wasn’t about to let instinct dominate reason. “I’m curious why you hoped we’d come to Bradford, and specifically to you.”

  The vicar folded his hands and studied them, but a tremor in his fingers exposed an unsettling uncertainty. “A foolish notion, one I harbor whenever strangers draw near. Each time, I find myself deluded, but I have faith that one day the right visitor will reward my hope.” He straightened and met Nathaniel’s stare. “If today be that day, I’m not the one to speak first. Answer me a question and only then, if my query is well answered, will I respond.”

  “A question?”

  “Why did you come here?”

  The room seemed to shrink and grow dim. The vicar leaned forward, his knuckles whitening as he clasped his hands more tightly, and a keeper’s intensity replaced his cordial demeanor. “You’re safe here, but if you seek a worthy goal, you must speak first.”

  Nathaniel’s vision narrowed so he saw only the man’s eyes. He searched in them for a reason to believe. After a moment, he’d seen enough.

  A deep breath in and out. “We travel toward the dawn to seek the light of truth.”

  The vicar of Bradford raised his clasped hands to his chest, threw his head back and glanced at the unseen heavens. His retort brought a glow to the room.

  “May the light of truth keep you safe and show you the way. Praise the light. At long last, the seekers have come.”

  ***

  Nathaniel struggled to make sense of the situation. This ordained envoy of the Temple was the third keeper, guardian of a secret that might destroy that same Temple. As the day progressed, he discovered something more: this humble man led an exemplary life, far better than he himself had aspired to.

  The vicar invited them to share lunch, assuring them they’d draw no attention. He often welcomed travelers who passed through town, because hospitality was a virtue of the light. He warned them, however, to expect a modest meal. The people of Bradford willingly provided whatever he desired, but he’d be wrong to exploit his position. Despite the imposing rectory, he led a simple life, accepting their largesse only to meet his most basic needs.

  He brought out a basket of bread and cheese with a bowl of strawberry jam, apologizing as he served. “This isn’t Bradford’s best season. Had you come a month from now, I’d offer you the most wonderful blueberries around.”

  After they’d eaten their fill, the three swamped their host with questions. He held up a hand and promised each their turn, offering to answer Orah’s first.

  “As a vicar,” she said, “you must know the secrets of the Temple. Will you share them with us?”

  He pursed his lips as he listened and then nodded. “I’m at the lowest rank. Only those higher up have access to the greatest mysteries, so I may know less than you presume. Your question, however, shows a misunderstanding of our positions. I may be a vicar, but I’m a keeper first. My life’s work is to aid the seekers. Of course, I’ll tell you all I know.”

  Orah balanced on the edge of her seat. “How did word of us travel so far and so fast?”

  “To answer that, I must start with things not written in the book of light. What preceded the Temple was not darkness, but an age of innovation and genius. The people of the world enjoyed boundless freedom of thought and harnessed nature in unimaginable ways. The Temple’s founders abandoned that knowledge due to the harm it caused, but kept the more useful inventions to themselves, especially those that can control the populace, such as the medicines they distribute to the children of light, thinking machines to track information, and the answer to your question--a remarkable system of communication.”

  Nathaniel had heard similar claims from the other keepers, but here, right in front of him, a vicar disputed the Temple’s primary precept. He could not let the presumption pass. “The book of light tells us, ‘Thus ended the darkness and the age of enlightenment began.’ We’re taught that as the basis for the existence of the Temple.”

  The vicar winced. “I’m sorry, my son. I’m aware of what you were taught, but you’re a seeker now and must learn the truth. A more honest assertion would be, ‘Thus ended the age of enlightenment and the darkness descended.’”

  Thomas’s eyes popped wide, and Nathaniel let out a whistle—their world turned upside down.

  But Orah honed in on the details. “How does the system work? What lets them talk over such distances?”

  “A difficult question, Orah. Do you know of the temple trees?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Apparently, words are made to fly through the air. Each temple tree receives the words and passes them on to the next. The Temple issues all clergy machines to catch these words, either as sound, such as the grand vicar’s blessing from the sun icon, or on paper, like the bulletin warning me of your approach.”

  Thomas gasped. “Temple magic!”

  “Magic, perhaps, but not of the Temple. They stole these wonders from the past.”

  Orah folded her hands between her knees and leaned in. “What makes the words fly, and how does the machine recapture them? There must be an explanation.”

  The vicar shrugged. “Perhaps, but I don’t know it. I’ve tried searching the ancient texts from prior keepers and taking apart the devices, but nothing reveals how they work. I’m not even sure the gray friars know.”

  “The gray friars?”

  “Ah, of course. How would you ever encounter them? No temple devices to maintain in Little Pond. The gray friars, so-called wizards of temple magic, serve the clergy largely in secret. We study the book of light, while they ponder the knowledge of the past to better service the Sun icon, printing machines and other devices, but I don’t believe they understand what makes them work.”

  Orah’s eyes widened, and she spoke in a whisper. “Can they listen to our words?”

  “I... don’t think so. To converse requires a device on either end activated by speaker and listener. Maybe in the distant past but....” He hesitated, then shook his head. “No, I’m quite sure, because if the hierarchy possessed such a capability, they most certainly would have used it.”

  Orah’s voice returned to normal. “What else can they do?”

  The vicar paused to organize his thoughts. “Have you seen the deacon’s star?”

  “Yes.”

  “It exists not merely as decoration but to solve a problem. The deacons are unruly men. The star lets the vicars track their whereabouts, showing their location relative to the nearest temple tree. While not precise, it keeps the deacons in line.” He wrinkled his brow as if strain
ing to remember, but finally shrugged. “I wish I knew more. According to keeper legend, so much was once possible, but most has been lost.”

  “How did the Temple come to rule,” Nathaniel said, “if the prior age was so powerful?”

  “A good question. I can only surmise. Perhaps the quest for knowledge brought change faster than it could be assimilated. For every benefit, an offsetting harm occurred, as our penchant for evil found ways for abuse. Eventually, the bad outweighed the good. Those who preferred order to progress revolted against unfettered thought, and the wonders were banned.

  “Fortunately, the greatest of that era preserved their treasures in the keep, and set up a trail so others might someday rediscover them. We keepers are small steps on that trail, but we’ve kept faith across the generations, until at last you’ve come—the seekers.”

  Thomas brightened at the mention of the keep. “Do you know what’s there?”

  “I wish I did. All I’m certain of is that the place embodies the wisdom of the past.” The vicar’s eyes took on a far off glow, the look of a dreamer. “How I envy you. Who knows what wonders await? I only pray it’s intact.”

  Orah nearly rose from her seat. “Intact? Why wouldn’t it be intact?”

  “Nothing goes on forever, Orah. The founders hoped the seekers would arise in a few generations, not centuries. The keep may have exceeded its intended life.”

  “If the keep was at risk, why wouldn’t the keepers have acted sooner?”

  “The keep’s purpose is to restore the world to its former greatness. Creating a new world is like the making of a fine meal, requiring both ingredients and fire. The keep holds only the ingredients. The fire comes from us. If we found the keep too soon, we might lack sufficient fire. The world would remain unchanged, and we would lose the chance forever. The emergence of the seekers is supposed to show the world is ready.”