He tried counting timbers as a way to measure progress. How long should he let them keep going? He'd learned to trust the keepmasters, but their guidance was lacking in the cave. He preferred not to risk the lives of his friends on an assumption.
He needn't have worried.
Since they entered the cave, their torches had cast flickering shadows on the walls and the ceiling above. That suddenly changed-firelight scattered in all directions. They were not in a cave anymore, but a large chamber. And it wasn't empty. The torchlight reflected off signs overhead, most rusted, but some with numbers still to be read. And to their left and right, they could sense indistinct shapes, shadows in the darkness.
Nathaniel suggested they fan out, but Orah refused, reminding him of the giant snake. He turned to his left, only to bump into a chest-high wall. The right was the same. He advanced twenty paces and repeated the exercise. No change. The walls were not walls at all, but the sides of a trench between platforms.
He picked one side and hoisted Thomas up. After his friend confirmed it was safe, he boosted Orah up as well, then vaulted to the top on his own.
He held his breath. There was no sound but the echo of sounds they made themselves.
They stepped off, trying to maintain a straight line until they reached a wall. Orah held up her torch and examined it. It was made of tile, still intact but for a few fragments that had broken away.
"Thomas, come closer," she said.
"What is it?" he whispered.
"There's writing on the tile. Hold my torch up with yours so I can see better."
She peered at the wall, then rubbed off the grime with the flat of her hand. A blackening appeared against a white background.
"It's the start of a word."
Thomas brought the torches closer. There on the wall was the biggest letter P they'd ever seen.
She took the skin from her pack and began dribbling water over the next letter.
"What are you doing?" Thomas cried, reaching out to stop her. "We have little enough as is."
She jerked her hand free and kept pouring. "It's a message from the keepmasters."
She needed the full content of her skin before the words became clear. Please mind the gap between the platform and the train.
"What does that mean?" Thomas said.
"I don't know, but it might be important, like the rhyme."
"Or it may be ordinary, a simple everyday message."
Orah's eyes narrowed. "Nothing the keepmasters did was ordinary."
"I hope you're right," Thomas said, "but I doubt it. Unless they were gods, they were ordinary most of the time like the rest of us."
But there was no time for bickering-the torches were burning low. Nathaniel held his flame high and swept it across the chamber. He was rewarded with a flicker in response.
"Over here."
They rushed to his side and stood with torches in a row. Ahead the firelight reflected off huge shapes. Nathaniel shuffled forward, hands outstretched, until he reached the first. It was metallic, rounded, as tall as a man, and extended some distance in either direction.
"I think we found your giant snake, Orah."
She came forward and touched it. "Is it alive?"
"I don't think so. I think it's a creation of the keepmasters."
Thomas ran his fingertips along its dusty sides, then rapped on it with his knuckles. "But for what purpose?"
"Think where we've come from," Orah said. "Remember the road across the valley? It looks like a wagon that could carry lots of people."
"But why would the keepmasters call it a snake?"
"Maybe they were afraid we'd forget their name for it, so they used a timeless shape instead."
"But how can we be certain it's the snake of the rhyme?"
"Two doors to the mouth of the snake, Inside, you must enter and fly. Think, Thomas. The rock face wasn't a cliff, but a boulder in the shape of a man's head. Why couldn't the snake be a round wagon? And even though the word 'fly' means to soar like a bird, we use it in other ways. What did the elders say after you won a race at festival?"
Thomas grinned. "'That boy can fly.' All right, maybe the snake's a wagon. So what does a mouth mean?"
They wandered around the wagon, trying to find an entrance. There were doors on the side, but nothing that could be called a mouth, and all were rusted shut.
Nathaniel worried the kindling would run out and they'd be left in the dark. "We don't have much time. Where would a mouth be?"
"In the front, of course," Orah said. "But which end is that?"
"We better hope it's not where we've come from or these wagons will really have to fly when they find no bridge across the valley. Let's check the far end."
No longer afraid of some monster, Orah agreed to split up so they could more quickly inspect each wagon. Once alone, Nathaniel felt the small hairs on the nape of his neck tingle as his world shrunk to the pool of light from his torch. But soon, the shouts of his friends echoed across the chamber.
"Nothing on this one."
"None here either."
Then Orah's voice resounded above all. "I've found something, different from the others. Its front's more tapered... like the head of a snake."
Nathaniel ran toward her as fast as he dared in the dim light. "And are there doors at its mouth."
"I'll see. I'm almost there."
The three gathered and gawked. This wagon was different, newer and undamaged by time. Its translucent skin had a luster that amplified the light, like the surface of the scrolls. Most importantly, where its head tapered to a point, there seemed to be a hatch.
Was this the carriage that would take them to the keep?
Thomas broke the spell. "But we don't know how to get in. And if we did, we wouldn't know how to make it go."
"Believe," Orah said. "Believe in the keepmasters."
She reached out a hand and brushed her fingertips against the skin of the wagon. Suddenly, it emitted a hum. She jumped back, but the wagon did not fly. Instead, it stirred slowly as if waking from a long sleep. The interior began to glow and in a few seconds was bright as day. The humming grew louder, and next the hatch began to lift, rising gracefully until it had cleared the way-exposing a doorway wide enough for four men to enter abreast.
Thomas was dumbfounded. "It's magic."
"Yes," Orah said. "But not temple magic. It's the genius of the keep. When something's the work of the keepmasters, anything's possible. And now, they're inviting us in." She dropped her torch and entered. "Well, what are you waiting for? Do you think it's going to eat us?"
Thomas hesitated, but was unwilling to let Orah be braver. He stepped inside. Nathaniel snuffed out his torch and followed.
The interior was laid out with padded chairs that would have been appropriate around a Little Pond fireplace. But there the similarity ended. Had there been two hundred more seekers, all would have fit.
They took the nearest seats, facing the front. They'd been travelling for days and in darkness for hours. Odd as the circumstances were, they took the chance to savor the light and rest. For several minutes nothing else stirred. Then, just as smoothly as it had opened, the hatch began to close.
Thomas leaned in and whispered. "What happens next?"
As if in answer, the hum grew louder until it approached a roar.
"I'm not sure," Orah said, "but if I were you, I'd hold on."
As if on cue, the great wagon of the keepmasters began to fly.
***
The wagon wasn't flying, but was moving faster than anything Nathaniel had believed possible, driving forward with a roar that echoed through the cave. In the light cast from within, the walls seemed to pass in a flash.
He tried to measure their progress but gave up. They might cross the world in hours in the heart of this wagon.
Then, as suddenly as it had started to fly, it began to slow. The echo spread into a larger area, perhaps bigger than the first chamber. The wagon eased to a stop. Moments
later the hatches lifted and they stumbled out. The doors closed behind them, the lights faded, and the three found themselves in darkness once more.
Nathaniel was disoriented, his mind flying past shadows while his feet were rooted to the ground. But even after adjusting to the loss of speed, he remained unsettled. Where were they, and what should they do next? Then, as his sight adjusted to the darkness, he noticed a brightening at the front of the chamber.
Not far in front, a sliver of light filtered down from above. Shortly, the platform ended, and he found himself at the base of what appeared to be a metal staircase. While the oddly grooved steps were bent and corroded, they appeared passable. But most encouraging as he began his ascent was what he saw up ahead.
The topmost stair was aglow with the reflected light of the sun.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Golden Doors
Nathaniel emerged onto the ruins of a street so broad it could have held all the streets of Temple City combined. The black rock that covered its surface was warped from the ebb and flow of weather, and tangles of weeds sprouted through the fissures.
Running along its center was what once must have been a bustling park, lined with trees planted at intervals. A few still survived, but most had succumbed to age and fallen, their rotting stumps visible only as moss-covered mounds. Here and there lay the remains of fences that formed the border of gardens, now overgrown, with the occasional wildflower all that was left of their former splendor.
On either side of the street, buildings stretched as far as Nathaniel could see. These rose to staggering heights, some intact with towers tipped by needles that poked at the sky. But most were ragged and crumbling, as if the heavens had fought back, leaving their bases littered with stones. Their vacant windows stared out like hollow eyes, silent and sad, not monuments but memorials. Could there ever have been so many people?
Thomas tipped his head back and gaped. "Did the darkness do this?"
"If we're to believe the keepmasters," Orah said, "it was they who built this and the Temple that destroyed it."
But Nathaniel was too impatient for contemplation. "We must be close. I only hope we don't find the keep in the same state. Where does the rhyme lead us?"
Orah shook herself from her reverie. "This must be the forest of stone. The rhyme says to head north to the Temple of Truth."
They stood at the intersection of great roads. With so many tall buildings, it was hard to get direction from the sun. Nathaniel guessed north must be down the broadest of boulevards-appropriate for the approach to the keep.
"It can't be far," he said. "Even with keepmasters' magic, this many buildings can't go on for long."
He passed buildings beyond counting, each with an entrance more impressive than any he'd ever seen. Some had walls of black granite, while others displayed carvings and the remains of statues. So much lost. How could they have fallen to such ruin?
In the distance, the boulevard was ending. Ahead stood a building far different from the rest, dwarfed by those around it in height, but ceding nothing in grandeur. Its facade was white marble, fronted by columns, each too wide for Nathaniel's arms to embrace. A staircase as broad as the facade rose up to a corridor behind the columns.
Anticipation quickened Nathaniel's pace. Orah jogged alongside, reciting the third verse between gulps of air.
To the North, through forest of stone
The Temple of Truth you shall see
Once great, it now stands alone
Climb its stairway, fourteen and three
Running as fast as they dare on the uneven surface, they finally arrived at its base.
Thomas stared up reverently. "Is this the Temple of Truth?"
Nathaniel counted fourteen steps of granite, each as pure as the sundial in Orah's garden. These climbed to a landing, where they were followed by three more that went on to the top. They'd arrived.
He made a bow to Orah. "You go first. You've earned it."
She started up the stairs, climbing slowly out of respect for the new-found Temple. He watched as she rose above him, placing one foot in front of the other and holding her shoulders square. She turned at the landing and gazed back over the ruined city. But when she glanced down, her eyes widened, and she beckoned for her friends.
When he reached her, Nathaniel saw what had caught her eye-a golden plaque inlaid in the floor. Covered with dust, its words were barely visible.
"Thomas, give me your water skin."
She reached, but he pulled back. "I'm not wasting any more."
Orah dropped to her knees and began wiping away the grime. Thomas reached down and tugged at her elbow, but she twisted away.
"Leave me alone. I believe even if you don't."
"But it may not be important."
She whirled on him. "Hush, Thomas. This is the Temple of Truth."
She returned to the plaque, rubbing with the sleeve of her tunic. Where the dust was too thick, she added spit to the task. At last, the first words became visible.
The greatest truth must be...
She scrubbed harder, but the next several words were gone, the metal melded with the stone. Her shoulders sagged, but she pressed on, intent on restoring the rest. When she was done, they could make out the final phrase.
... that in every child is the potential for greatness
Orah knelt there exhausted, while Nathaniel waited, giving her time. Finally, he eased her up.
"There's more to discover."
At the top of the stairs, past the columns, a corridor extended in either direction. Several stories high, its domed ceiling must have once been decorated with paintings but was now reduced to patches of color.
"We're almost there, Orah. Which way?"
"To the East, the entrance shall be."
"We've been heading North. East is to the right."
Nathaniel was anxious to get there, but the enormity of the situation made him slow down. His footsteps echoed behind him as he strode down the corridor. At its end, it opened onto a dome painted with white stars on a blue background. In the back wall of the chamber stood two massive, golden doors bolted shut with such conviction they might have been closed for all time.
***
They were at the last lines of the rhyme, the final phase of the journey. Nathaniel approached the doors, eager to touch them, knowing the keep lay behind. He rapped with his knuckles-they hardly made a sound. The surface betrayed no lock, no keyhole, no handle. He turned to Orah.
"Do you know how to open them?"
"I hope so," she said. "There's only two lines left."
Sixteen stars shall set the doors free
When touched by the lines of the rhyme
Thomas gazed up at the dome. "There are the stars, but how do we get to them? Even I can't climb that high."
Orah laughed. "I don't think those are the stars, Thomas. The ones we're looking for are much closer."
She gestured to the left of the doorway. There in the shadows was a box made of a substance like the coating of the scrolls. On its surface were four rows of four buttons, marked in sequence from one to sixteen, each in the shape of a star.
"I knew the last lines had to refer to a puzzle, a sequence of numbers that would unlock the doors. It took me a while, but I figured it out. The one thing I didn't know was where to find the stars. And there they are."
"Well," Thomas said. "What are we waiting for?"
"Nothing at all. With your help, I'm ready."
Orah told Thomas to kneel on the floor and mark out the numbers in the dust.
"I noticed there were numbers in the verses but none higher that sixteen. The numbers to unlock the doors are in the rhyme. I'll recite the verses and each time I say a number, write it in the dust. Take care not to miss any."
She began chanting.
To the North, behind the rock face
Twixt water and dark walls of pine
For a full eight days you shall race
Thomas was spell
bound, and she needed to remind him. "I said the number eight, Thomas. Write it down."
He nodded. "Now I understand."
One more past four falls in a line
He wrote the numbers one and four unprompted. Then two for the doors. He checked to be sure that fourteen and three-the steps-were to be counted.
"Yes. That was one of the clues. I wondered why they didn't say seventeen and then realized it would have exceeded the number of stars."
After he wrote sixteen in the dust, Orah directed Nathaniel to the box on the wall.
"Now I'll read the numbers from Thomas's list and you touch the matching star."
Nathaniel positioned himself next to the box, while she stood over the markings in the dust.
"Eight."
He pressed the eighth button. Much to his delight, it lit up. Orah moved on.
"One. Four. Two. Fourteen. Three. Sixteen."
Nathaniel was having trouble keeping up. With each successive number, his vision was becoming more blurred. When Orah recited the last one, he settled his finger over the sixteenth button, checked to be certain and pressed.
He stepped back from the doors, giving them leeway, and waited.
Nothing happened. No movement, no sound, no change in lighting. Nothing. After a few moments, the stars went dim.
***
Orah sat cross-legged on the floor, sullen and silent. The upward arc of her features had yielded to defeat. Nathaniel decided to let her be and wandered off to explore with Thomas. A half hour later, they returned to the golden doors. They'd found nothing; the Temple of Truth was as lifeless as the rest of the keepmasters' city.
Orah still couldn't face them. "You were right all along, Thomas. I'm not smart enough. The secret of the keep is beyond me."
There Comes A Prophet Page 16