There Comes A Prophet

by David Litwack

  Suddenly, she heard a new sound-boots crunching on the stony surface. Nathaniel swung his arm like a gate to stop her. From around a corner, she saw four deacons parading abreast. Their black uniforms were spotless, and the stars on their chests flashed in the sunlight. They paused at a post between buildings. The tallest unfurled a scroll and held it taut to the post, while a second nailed it down. Then they reformed and marched off.

  Once they were gone, the three reemerged. Nathaniel wanted to head in the opposite direction, but Orah insisted on reading the posting. The paper bore the block lettering of the Temple. On the top, in bold, it said "Temple Bulletin." The first section listed minor infractions committed by the locals, urging them to trim their hair, dress properly and eat only sanctioned foods. But it was the second part that raised bumps on her skin.

  Her lips moved silently as she read. When she finished, she signaled the others to follow as she ducked between buildings.

  The worry on her face spread to Thomas. "What did it say?"

  "There's a list of people they're searching for... with descriptions."

  "And we're on it?"

  "No, it's only vagrants and people traveling without permits. I told you word can't be sent that fast. Adamsville is controlled by a different Temple City."

  "I'd feel better if you were more certain of that."

  Orah whirled on him. "It's not my fault you're here."

  Nathaniel wrapped an arm around each of them and lowered his head so he could whisper.

  "But we are here, Orah, and it's time to tell where we're going. We shouldn't be lingering in the open. Where do we find the next keeper?"

  At least she knew this answer. "But isn't it obvious?"

  "Not to me. There are no mountains here."

  "They're not mountains, Nathaniel. They're spindles. The symbol of the three spindles is the sign of a yarn store. Our second keeper, if he exists, is a spinner."

  She watched Nathaniel reassess the symbol in his mind. When he was convinced, he stepped out from their hiding place.

  "In that case, let's find this spinner and get off the streets."

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Spinner

  Round the corner, above the doorway of a two-story brick building, Nathaniel spotted it: a brass symbol that matched the image on the scroll. But now so near, he was plagued by doubts. What if the chain had been broken? What if the keep itself was an illusion?

  He waited, searching for answers in the building. White curtains and a flower box marked the upper floor as lodging. The store was on the ground level, with a window large enough to display an impressive pyramid of yarn. Through the glass, he could make out a shopkeeper stacking spindles behind the counter.

  Orah stared in as well. "What if he's not the owner? We should be certain before we blurt out the pass phrase."

  "Does he look he look like an owner?"

  She shifted sideways to avoid the glare and peered inside.

  "Too proud to be a laborer, too old to be an apprentice. But I can't be sure."

  "You've dealt with spinners. Maybe if you went inside and pretended to bargain."

  She considered a moment and nodded. After patting the dust from her clothing and checking her hair in the reflection of the window, she marched into the shop with Nathaniel and Thomas trailing behind.

  The storekeeper was older than he appeared through the window. He moved with difficulty, using an unusual walking stick with a mallard's head carved into its handle. As he shuffled about with his back to them, placing spindles on shelves, Nathaniel noted his left leg hardly bent at the knee.

  Orah cleared her throat.

  The man turned, took them in with a glance and raised a brow.

  "Excuse me, sir," Orah said, sounding confident despite his reaction. "I'm a weaver from the Ponds and have been sent to find the best yarn available. I'm interested in seeing your wares."

  Her speech failed to move him. "Young lady, are you looking or are you prepared to trade?"

  "I'm prepared to trade, but not yet. First I want to compare your work with the others."

  He smiled in a way that was neither patronizing nor unkind. "Then you won't be back for some time, my dear. The nearest yarn store is a two-day walk from here. But I'll be happy to do business with you when you return. Now, I don't mean to be impolite, but I have things to do."

  With that, he resumed his work.

  Nathaniel watched Orah gather her will. Her expression was firm, but when she spoke, her voice quivered.

  "The first born says to tell you he is doing well, blessed be the true light."

  Nathaniel held his breath and waited. Nothing. The man climbed a ladder behind the counter and placed two spindles on a high shelf. The only sound in the store was the clattering as the spindles tottered into place. After a few seconds, Orah spun around and left the store with Thomas and Nathaniel at her heels.

  "If he's not the one," Thomas whispered, "what do we do next?"

  "I don't know," Orah said. "He's all I could think of."

  Nathaniel tried to rally them. "Maybe he didn't hear you. We need to try again."

  Orah began to argue, but stopped when she noticed the shopkeeper eyeing them from the edge of the curtain that bordered the display window. Nathaniel gaped a moment, then rose to his full height and strode back in.

  "Sir," he said, making sure to speak loud enough this time. But his voice sounded strange as if it came from someone else. "The first born says to tell you he is doing well, blessed be the true light."

  The old man's hands began to shake. He grabbed Nathaniel and drew him further inside, with the others close behind. After making sure no one was watching, he pulled a shade down over the display window. Finally, he spoke.

  "May the true light shine brightly upon him and disperse the darkness."

  Nathaniel stood dumbstruck. It was true. It was true and they'd done it. They'd found the second keeper.

  "But why," Orah said, "didn't you answer the first time?"

  He stared out as if remembering times gone by.

  "I've waited so long, I thought I'd never hear the words." Then he smiled. "And if you'll pardon me for saying it, the three of you don't look the part."

  Suddenly afraid he'd offended them, he glanced up at the ceiling and proclaimed to no one in particular: "The seekers have come. Blessed be the seekers."

  He closed his eyes as if sleeping. When they reopened Nathaniel saw they were glistening.

  "Come with me," he said. "I've been waiting so long."

  He led them to a supply room in the back of the store. There he had Nathaniel slide a wooden cabinet aside. Dust underneath showed it had not been moved in years. He reached to the base of the wall with his walking stick and tapped the bricks, starting at the bottom and ending at the sixteenth. From there, he touched three bricks to the right, stopping on the fourth. But when he tried to remove the brick, he struggled, his fingers too weak to dislodge it.

  Nathaniel stepped forward to help, tugging until the brick came loose. From the hole, the shopkeeper removed a scroll exactly like the first. Grasping it in two hands, he presented it to Nathaniel.

  "The city, the symbol, the pass phrase and the rhyme. Blessed be the seekers."

  Nathaniel accepted the scroll. It made the hair on the back of his neck tingle as if lightning were near.

  "As a keeper," the man said, "my life's purpose has been to wait for you and, now that you've come, to lead you to the next in the chain. The rest is up to you. But I can give directions to the city where you're bound. It's several days' trek, however, and I see you're road-weary. Please honor me by accepting my invitation to dinner. Then stay the night and rest. In the morning, I'll replenish your provisions and start you on your way."

  The three nodded in appreciation. Nathaniel rubbed the texture of the scroll with the pad of his thumb, and the realization struck him. This was no illusion. The keepers were real. The keep existed.

  ***

  For the past
week, they'd survived on cornmeal crackers and dried mutton, eating in a rush while squatting on the ground. Now, as they were washing off the dust of the road, the second keeper was preparing a fine meal. The first inkling of it came from the aroma wafting up the stairs-yams simmering and lamb meat searing.

  When Nathaniel went downstairs, the table had been set and dinner was ready. His father had never cooked such a meal. From the taste, their host must have used spices forbidden by the Temple, maybe even a touch of honey added to the yams. In no time, Nathaniel had cleared his plate and asked for more.

  Afterwards, they sipped apple cinnamon tea and learned about the keeper. He'd been born and raised in this house and been taught spinning as a boy. At his coming of age, he was asked to swear loyalty to the family business. His father's family had run the Adamsville store with a fanatic commitment, longer than anyone could remember. But only as his father lay dying was the reason revealed: the yarn store was tied to the keeper's secret.

  He'd married here. His wife bore him a son, who arrived sickly into the world and survived less than two years. They yearned for another to fill the void, but had drawn the white stone at their nuptials. They pleaded with the vicar, but the rule was enforced rigorously: a family of the white stone may bear only one offspring. If the child had been stillborn, they'd have been allowed another. When rules are made for the many, they're cruel for the few. His wife had passed on several years before, and he'd since lived alone.

  After dinner, he led them upstairs. Their room was small but comfortable, with a single window in back and eaves in the corners. It had been his room as a child and the nursery for the time his son had lived. His wife left it unchanged. After her death, he removed all reminders of his family and turned it into a guest room.

  The seekers had not slept in beds for a week. With their stomachs filled and the doubts of the day disappeared, they could barely stay awake. Seeing this, the keeper bid them good night and departed.

  But exhausted as they were, none of them could resist the urge to peek at the scroll. Nathaniel pulled it out and held it over a candle flame. Though the experience was new only to Thomas, all three held their breaths until the words appeared.

  This time, the city read "Bradford." Thomas lit up when he saw it. Though he knew nothing of the town, it was his ancestral home. Nathaniel took this to be a good omen and moved on to the symbol. The picture appeared to be a poorly drawn square, with one end longer than the other. He glanced at Orah for guidance, but her expression was as blank as his. But when he looked at Thomas, the blood had drained from his face.

  "What is it, Thomas?"

  "I know it. I see it each night in my dreams. A vicar's hat."

  Nathaniel gaped at the not-quite-square. "It can't be."

  He squinted to make the picture change, but the perception lingered. He buried his concern to steady his friend.

  "We'll go to Bradford. Once we're there, we'll find a better explanation."

  Thomas released his breath. "I hope so."

  Orah prodded them to keep reading before the letters vanished.

  "At least the pass phrase is clear."

  Below the symbol were the words, "We travel toward the dawn to seek the light of truth." And then, "May the light of truth keep you safe and show you the way."

  But the rhyme was as mysterious as before.

  Twixt water and dark walls of pine

  A cave made by men who must die

  The Temple of Truth you shall see

  Golden doors that are closed for all time

  "What's that mean?" Thomas said. "How do we get in if they're closed for all time?"

  "It's worse than the other," Orah added. "What's a cave between water and dark walls? And... it still doesn't rhyme."

  Nathaniel hid his disappointment, needing to keep their spirits up.

  "The rhyme makes sense only when complete. We're the seekers. Look at how many obstacles we've overcome. When the time's right, we'll know what to do."

  But what he knew at this moment was that the title was not enough. Before they were done, each would be called upon to do more than they'd dreamed possible, and only then would they have earned the name seeker. As the words faded, the day rested heavily on him. Their journey was getting longer with no end in sight.

  ***

  Nathaniel was first to stir. A sliver of sunlight had found a gap in the curtain and landed on his eye. He opened it, closed it and then startled awake. The light of midmorning, not dawn.

  As he came to his feet and began rousing the others, he heard an odd tapping-the click of a walking stick on the stairs. The keeper was coming to wake them. But the sound was approaching too fast.

  The second keeper burst into the room, his face ashen. In his right hand he waved a crumpled piece of paper.

  "Deacons. Searching from house to house. They'll be here in minutes."

  Thomas jumped up and began filling his pack, while Orah rubbed sleep from her eyes.

  "But they can't be looking for us," she said.

  The keeper handed her the bulletin he was carrying, and her color changed to match his.

  "It describes us, three friends of the darkness. A tall man with black hair. A short one with hair like sand. And a slender girl with auburn hair."

  As Thomas stuffed a blanket into his pack, he glared at Orah. "I thought you said word couldn't travel that fast."

  She glowered back, but he was the one most ready to leave. Nathaniel began packing and urged Orah to do the same.

  "We have time," the spinner said. "The deacons are clumsy fools, so quick to harsh treatment they've foretold their coming. I have a bag for each of you, food for ten days. I'll fetch them while you finish. Fold your bedding and clean up, so there's no sign you stayed here. I'll be back in an instant. Please hurry."

  By the time they were ready, he was back. He'd left his walking stick behind so he could carry the three bags at once. His gait showed he was in some pain. The three accepted the food and stuffed it into their packs, then rushed toward the stairs.

  They froze at a knocking on the door.

  The shopkeeper put a finger to his lips, then came close and whispered.

  "I've planned for this-it wasn't hard to guess how the Temple would feel about the seekers. There's a way out. You can go through the window. It leads to a small alley out of view from the front of the house. There's no back door, so they won't suspect you could leave that way."

  Nathaniel glanced out at the drop.

  "I can see why. It's too far down."

  The keeper's response restored his confidence. "Bricks are wonderful things. They can hide secrets. And when removed they can provide hand and footholds."

  He slid the window open.

  Thomas leaned out and turned back with a grin.

  "There's holes every couple of feet. It'll be easy."

  The pounding on the door was getting louder. Nathaniel pointed at Thomas.

  "Go. I'll drop your pack when you've landed."

  Thomas put his climbing skills to use, vaulting over the windowsill and scrambling down. Once he was on the ground, Nathaniel tossed him his pack.

  "You're next, Orah."

  He cast a look of such urgency that she obeyed at once. When she was down, Nathaniel dropped the two remaining packs. When he turned to make his goodbyes, the keeper surprised him by pulling him closer.

  "Travel east for six days, past the two roads that lead south to the Temple Cities. Then turn north at the next opportunity. Two days more and you'll be at Bradford. Now, go quickly."

  Nathaniel repeated the words, hoping he'd remember. As he scrambled over the sill, nearly getting stuck in the frame, he heard the keeper whisper.

  "Make haste, Nathaniel. The keep can't wait forever. Go with the truest of light."

  Once over the side, Nathaniel's feet were a poor fit for the holes. He struggled to get down, hanging mostly by his hands. When he was past halfway, he lost his grip and landed awkwardly but unharmed.


  After they'd dashed round the corner, he took charge.

  "He said to go east. Let's get as far from here as possible."

  He began to leave, but Orah grabbed his elbow and yanked him back.

  "The bulletin said we were three, but the descriptions were vague. If we go separately, we'll be harder to identify."

  "I won't split up."

  "It'll be safer, Nathaniel. That's all that matters. I'll go east, you go north and Thomas south. We'll meet ten minutes east of here. Whoever gets there first should hide in the woods and signal when the others appear."

  Nathaniel began to disagree, but stopped when he heard the keeper, his voice unnaturally loud, berating the deacons for manhandling an old man. Orah was right as usual. He nodded, then took off in his designated direction with a prayer that they meet again.

  ***

  Nathaniel slowed and began scanning the woods. The thrill of escape was gone. All would be wasted if one of them was caught.

  Then he heard it-two sharp whistles, a birdcall to anyone else. He turned to catch a beaming Thomas emerging from the woods.

  Nathaniel's remaining fear became a single word. "Orah?"

  Thomas made a sweeping gesture with his arm and there she was, her slight form slipping between the trees. Bits of leaf clung to her hair, but she was smiling.

  "We did it, Nathaniel."

  "Yes," he said. "But let's never separate again."

  She nodded soberly and brushed his arm with her fingertips.

  To feel her touch, to know she was safe. How painful the minutes apart had been. Was this his punishment for following a dream? But for now, the escape had stirred his blood and driven off any emotion save exhilaration.

  It would get harder. The trek to Bradford was eight days long, assuming they could find their way. But there was something more, something... subtly wrong. Yes, he'd broken his vow to the arch vicar. But why should three villagers from the edge of the world merit such attention?

  He stared at the road. Eight days to Bradford. Eight days of looking over their shoulders and wondering what might lie ahead. Eight days to ponder their fate.