There Comes A Prophet

by David Litwack

  Behind the musicians came men in white masks with skull-like sockets for eyes. Each held a pole with a creature on top made of pressed rag pulp and painted black. These resembled no animal in the Ponds, and were the most hideous figures Orah had ever seen, all warts and horns and fangs. With their appearance, people began to hoot and the children waved their sticks.

  The leader of the troubadours held up a hand. The parade halted and the crowd hushed.

  "Children of light." He sounded like a vicar. "The creatures of the darkness have come to defile your Temple. What say you?"

  A wave of jeering spread across the crowd.

  "Will you destroy the creatures of the darkness?"

  There were loud cheers.

  "Bring the creatures forward."

  The men in masks entered the crowd and held up their poles. Adults counted out five children and tied brightly-colored scarfs about their eyes. Then each in turn was positioned in front of a creature. When given the word, they swung their sticks until they found their mark. The creatures shattered as they were struck, and sweets came tumbling to the ground from their insides. After a few extra thumps for good measure, the children removed their blindfolds and fell on all fours to gather up their reward. Then the next five took their place.

  Orah watched, unsure whether to take pleasure in the game, or shudder at its meaning.

  Thomas leaned near and spoke in his most melodramatic voice, but softly to avoid being overheard. "And then the seekers, agents of the darkness, go forth to undermine the light."

  Orah elbowed him in the ribs so hard the air in his lungs was expelled with a grunt. But he wasn't far from the truth. Their mission was not only at odds with the Temple but with their whole world.

  ***

  Nathaniel watched from behind his friends. Nothing but children's games, yet it made him uneasy. He checked past the players to the opposite side, trying to gauge the mood of the crowd. No looks of fear or sneers of hatred. Like his neighbors in Little Pond, the people of Riverbend were taking the occasion to celebrate.

  Then he noticed several men standing apart, clearly strangers, though dressed like everyone else. But their backs were too straight, their bearing too formal. And their expressions showed no pleasure in the festivities.

  Deacons-out of uniform, but deacons nevertheless.

  As he watched, the tallest among them turned. Their eyes met. Nathaniel stiffened, but the man's posture never changed. He stared at Nathaniel for a second, then looked away.

  Nathaniel tapped Orah on the shoulder. "We need to leave. Now."

  He eased them away from the crowd until they rounded a corner, then signaled for them to follow at a sprint.

  ***

  As they came to the bend where the river veered north, Orah slowed to a walk. The road to the east was deserted and there was no sign of pursuit.

  "Deacons so near?" she said as she caught her breath. "Then why haven't they followed? Either you're mistaken or they didn't recognize us."

  Nathaniel looked grim. "I don't know, but we need to find this path in a hurry. The sooner we've gone into the wilderness, the better."

  Orah surveyed the countryside. Ahead, about fifty paces past the turn, she caught sight of a nondescript boulder, about as wide as Nathaniel's arm-span, and twice as tall.

  Thomas saw it as well. "That's the only rock we've seen in days other than pebbles. It'll be tough to find a rock face in this terrain."

  At the bend in the river, they split up to search. But even with the most vivid imagination, Orah could find no hint of a trail. On one side, the riverbank was so steep as to deny footing; a traveler would be swept into the current. On the other, the scrub was so prickly a child would have trouble slipping through. Every attempt to pass was met with scratches and bruises.

  At last, she regrouped with the others at the point where the river turned. They rested on the roadside, nursing their wounds and catching their breaths.

  Thomas grabbed a handful of dirt and flung it at the trees. "No path there. An eight day trip through these woods would take a lifetime."

  "We'll find it, Thomas," Orah said. "We just need more time."

  "More time? There are deacons on our trail. We don't have more time."

  Orah said nothing and looked away. Thomas seemed to sense her dismay and softened.

  "I'm sorry, Orah. I didn't mean to sound like it's your fault."

  "It might be easier," Nathaniel said, "if you'd help find a solution rather than always pointing out our problems."

  "You two are the smart ones, and you have no ideas."

  Orah shook her head. "The founders of the keep made it hard to find, to protect it from the vicars. If we're the true seekers, we need to keep trying."

  "But what if we aren't up to being the seekers? Or maybe too much time has passed. The scrolls we found may never age, but the rest of the world does. Trees grow. Soil gets washed away and weeds fill in. The road may have been overgrown long ago."

  Orah wandered off, unable to bear another word. She ambled along the road to the east, looking into the woods for inspiration. She sniffed the air but smelled only the scent of the pines. She listened, but heard only the caw of a distant crow. After a hundred paces, she gave up. If there was a path, it'd have to be nearer the river.

  As she turned, something about the large boulder struck her. She squinted, then let out a cry. "The rock."

  Nathaniel and Thomas leapt to their feet and ran toward her as she held out a trembling finger, but slowed as they came nearer.

  "What about it?" Thomas said.

  "Not from that side. From over here."

  They came closer, not turning until they'd reached her.

  "Now look back and let your minds imagine."

  Thomas saw it first. "It looks like the head of a man."

  From the far side, the rock had taken on the appearance of an old man in profile, with an overarching brow, a great beard and a look of wisdom for the ages.

  Orah's faith in the founders was renewed, and she prayed to never doubt them again. But from now on, she'd have to avoid relying on the obvious. While they'd found no trace of a cliff or a stony ledge, here before them was the rock face of the rhyme.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Water and Dark Walls

  The terrain behind the boulder was thick with undergrowth, but Nathaniel could see what had been there. On either side, a line of trees rose higher than the scrub in the center, setting the boundary for what must have been a major road. This terrain, directly behind the rock face, convinced him they'd found the way. But that didn't make the going easier.

  As they struggled through the thicket, Orah staggered and nearly fell.

  Nathaniel reached out to steady her. "What was that?"

  "Not sure. This brush is dense, but the ground's been smooth till now."

  A few steps later, Thomas stumbled as well. Nathaniel reached down and found a chunk of black rock. Its underside was pitted with gravel that seemed stuck together with glue, but its top was smooth.

  He held it up for Orah to see. "What do you make of this?"

  "I've never seen anything like it. Are there others?"

  They kicked around and found a half-dozen more. The fragments seemed as if they could be fitted together like a puzzle.

  "They seem man-made," he said. "But for what purpose?"

  Orah let her fingertips glide along the surface. "Maybe a layer to harden the road."

  "But why would anybody do that?" Thomas said. "It's an awful lot of work to avoid muddy boots."

  Nathaniel scanned ahead. Along with the high tree line, the rocks would help mark the way.

  After half an hour, road and river converged. Walking became easier. Seasonal flooding had thinned the brush and washed away any sign of black rock. The trail started level with the river, but ahead Nathaniel could see it begin to climb.

  What if the river became inaccessible? They each carried two water skins-enough for three days if the weather stayed
mild. The rhyme claimed there were falls in eight days. If there were no access to the river before then, it would be a dry march.

  He had them stop to refill their skins at the last clearing along the river. The respite was welcome. Since leaving Riverbend, he'd battled both thick brush and his own doubts. The deacons-if that's who they were-had been left behind, and the best tracker would have difficulty following. Now that he was sure where they were going, at least for the next eight days, he tried to relax.

  It was a beautiful spot. The sun dappled the water with stars and a rushing sound filled the air.

  "I've never seen water flow so fast," Thomas said. "The current's much stronger than the Ponds. If you tried to swim here, you'd be swept away."

  "It's a river," Orah explained. "It gets its water from snow melting in the highlands to the north."

  "But where does it go?"

  "I don't know. Maybe as far as Little Pond. Or all the way to Nathaniel's ocean."

  Nathaniel sat on the bank and watched the river battle to reach its goal. Rocks jutted out everywhere, making the torrent struggle to get around. Here and there a brave tree stuck out with water frothing about its roots.

  Thomas hacked off a twig with his pocketknife and tossed it into the stream, then marveled at how swiftly it was carried away. But that gave him another idea. He cut a second branch and, while the others watched, made a slash.

  "A mark for our first day. Seven more and we'll be at the falls. And soon after, the keep." Then, he tucked the improvised calendar into his pack.

  But the good feeling eluded Nathaniel. He stared at the water and brooded.

  Orah seemed to read his mood. "What is it, Nathaniel?"

  "Something's not right. I know it hasn't been easy, but things have fit together too well."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Why haven't we been caught?"

  "Because we're too clever," Thomas said, "and the deacons are too stupid."

  Nathaniel shook his head. "Maybe. But when they passed us on the road outside Little Pond, they made more noise than usual for people on the hunt. In Adamsville, the old keeper could hear them blocks away. And they stood at the door and shouted, when they could have shoved past. The vicar of Bradford said if we were seen, the Temple was to be notified, but we were not to be contacted. And now, at Riverbend, the deacons saw us but did nothing."

  "You think they did that deliberately?" Orah said. "But why?"

  "I don't know. It's like they want to follow, to scare us a bit but not stop us."

  "But we've worked so hard to avoid being tracked," Thomas said. "All those days in the brush, those nights in the woods. And the deacons have appeared mostly within sight of towns. How could they follow from so far back?"

  "I'm not sure, Thomas. But...I only broke my promise to become a vicar. That doesn't seem enough to set the entire Temple after us." He picked up a stone and flicked it into the stream. "I'm afraid they know about the keep."

  A cloud of gloom settled over them.

  Orah stared at the water raging past. "Some way to follow without being seen. I'd have thought it impossible before Bradford." Then her eyes came alive. "Can I look in your pack, Nathaniel?"

  "If you'd like. But what do you expect to find?"

  "I don't know, but it's the only thing that was in the hands of the deacons-remember how they cleaned it while you were so impressed with becoming a vicar?"

  Nathaniel winced at the memory but decided not to argue. He fetched his pack and laid its contents on the ground. Once it was emptied, both Orah and Thomas took turns poking around inside, checking each compartment to no avail.

  "Nothing," Thomas said. "It's only your imagination. Deacons make us all nervous. I'll help you repack."

  He picked up a bundle of dried meat, but before he could place it in the pack, Orah grabbed it away.

  "There must be something. It's the only explanation."

  She grabbed the inside of the pack and turned the leather bottom up. As her fingers caressed the seams, she cried out.

  "Thomas, give me your pocketknife."

  Nathaniel stared at the spot where her fingers lingered. "I don't see anything."

  "That's because you've relied on me to make coats for you. Look here."

  When she dragged the pack into the sunlight, a patch of fresh leather showed, distinct from its more worn surroundings. Fine, nearly invisible stitching held it in place.

  Thomas handed her his knife. She picked off the threads without marking the leather, peeled away the lining and pulled out a tiny stone. It had a shiny surface and was cast in the shape of a star. She held it up to the light.

  "A deacon's star. So that's how they followed."

  "But there are no temple trees in the wilderness." Thomas said, doing his best to cling to the fleeting sense of being safe.

  "No, Thomas, but they can follow to the nearest one." She turned to Nathaniel. "What should we do with it?"

  "Bury it," Thomas said, "so no one will find it."

  "No, Thomas, we can't. It would continue its signal and make them certain to search this area. They may not have the rhyme, but given enough time, they'd find this trail."

  Thomas found two flat rocks. He laid one on the ground and held the other in his hand poised above it. "Put it here and I'll crush it. Then there'll be no signal."

  "That would be worse," Orah said. "They've already tracked it near here. Crushing it would tell them we found it, which would speed up the chase."

  "Then how can we escape?"

  Orah considered a moment, then handed him back his knife.

  "My dear Thomas, can you and your pocketknife carve me a very small boat?"

  Nathaniel understood at once and encouraged Thomas. Soon, he'd assembled a dozen twigs and interlocked them so they formed a raft that fit in the palm of his hand. Orah bound them together and placed the device in its center, then wove additional netting that stretched across the top.

  "There," she said. "The device will float downstream, even if it's flipped in the current. And the river runs along the road. That should give our deacons something to follow."

  "Brilliant," Thomas said with a nervous laugh. "Now we've lost them for good."

  Nathaniel stepped forward and took the boat, which looked tiny in his big hands.

  "I'm afraid not. Thomas. It's only a reprieve. Eventually, it'll get caught on the rocks or be grounded. It might confuse them for a while, but once it stops, they'll figure out the ruse and return to Riverbend with a vengeance."

  Thomas's gaze flitted about as if deacons were already near. "Then can we never be safe?"

  Orah put an arm around him. "We'll be safe in the keep, Thomas. The keepmasters were the wisest ever and will know how to protect us."

  With a flip of his wrist, Nathaniel tossed the boat into the stream and watched as it was whisked away. Another danger evaded, another obstacle overcome. He stared after it and heaved a sigh, then noted the sun racing across the sky.

  "We'd best get moving. The further we get from here, the better."

  He refilled his pack and turned toward the trail, but Orah stopped him.

  "We can spare ten seconds more."

  She urged them to gather round, then faced the sun and raised her arms.

  "Praise the sun, giver of life. Grant us success in our search. Guide us together safely to the keep."

  Thomas gaped at her. "But isn't the keep the opposite of the light."

  "No, Thomas. The keep is the opposite of the Temple. That makes all the difference."

  They donned their packs and moved out.

  From the first step the trail began to climb. The land to their left dropped off, falling away to the river below. Quickly, they were on a ledge above the water, wide enough for all three to walk abreast. To their right, the hillside banked steeply, covered by Tamarack pines that soared to the sky. Their naked poles rose fifty feet or more before branches emerged, providing a canopy that let in no light. In the odd place, where there was a
gap, hardy spruce filled in, adding a blue tinge.

  As Nathaniel gazed north, with the river rushing below on one side and the forest rising on the other, the vision of the rhyme was realized. For a full eight days they must race on this well-marked path, 'twixt water and dark walls of pine.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Falls

  The trail soon leveled and travel became easier. With the weather staying mild and a favorable wind wafting from behind, they were able to maintain a brisk pace, stopping only for meals and an occasional drink. Nathaniel became convinced they'd beat the time foretold in the rhyme.

  By the second day, it was curiosity rather than weariness that slowed them down. Here, far from the world they knew, they began to see remnants of an older civilization, filled with things foreign to them, which they tried their best to understand.

  In a well-protected section of the trail, they discovered tall poles at hundred pace intervals. These had the girth of a tree trunk, but were unnaturally straight with a shiny gray coating. If not man-made, they were man-formed and appeared to have been planted in place for no reason.

  "I wonder what these where supposed to be," Nathaniel said, rapping on one with his knuckles. It made a hollow sound.

  "Look," Thomas said. "Some have lengths of black rope hanging from them."

  Nearby, he found a sample on the ground. He wrapped one end around each hand and pulled. Though it was lightweight and supple, it seemed extraordinarily strong. He took out his pocketknife and tried to cut through. The black skin peeled away revealing an inner core with the texture of the scrolls.

  From the top of the next pole, a hundred foot stretch dangled intact. Thomas grabbed it and yanked, but it failed to come loose.

  "Come help, Nathaniel."