There Comes A Prophet

by David Litwack

  The helper responded at once. "Proceed to the flashing screen."

  He glanced about and picked out the only screen that was blinking. On it were the words, "Dining Room."

  ***

  The dining room was filled with tables, all with a gray speckled surface and space to seat eight. The walls surrounding them were covered with screens, a dozen or more, each like the others in the keep, except for the red and blue pipes sticking out beneath them. Each displayed a variety of foods-meats, fruits, vegetables and grains-enough to make three hungry seekers salivate.

  Nathaniel approached one and said, "help." No helper appeared this time, but a pleasant-sounding voice asked the question he'd been hoping for.

  "What would you like to eat?"

  He thought a moment. "Lamb-with sweet yams and honey."

  The image on the screen vanished and a list appeared. The voice instructed him to make a selection. He scanned the menu, delighted to find lamb, but disappointed at the absence of yams with honey. He touched the word.

  A small door in the wall opened and a shiny package slid out. He took it in both hands and shook it, then turned to the others.

  "What do I do now?"

  Orah grabbed the package. After a brief inspection, she grasped its corner and tore off the top. But when she glanced inside, the corners of her eyes drooped.

  Thomas rushed up to check the contents and became disconsolate. "The food's spoiled. We'll starve."

  But Orah wasn't deterred. She sniffed at it. "Smells like lamb." She licked a fingertip, dipped it into the lumpy, brown dust and brought it to her tongue. "Tastes like lamb."

  She looked at the screen. "What do we do with this food?"

  "Please repeat your question."

  She spoke louder this time and more slowly, as one speaks to a child. "What do we do with this food?"

  There was a delay as if the helper was having difficulty understanding. It finally replied. "Food is for eating."

  Orah rolled her eyes and groaned. "I know that."

  "Do you have another question?" The screen voice was unruffled.

  Nathaniel sighed. Talking to the keepmasters seemed to be trickier than talking to a child. They must have guessed what questions would be asked and left behind a record of their answers. But it was up to the seekers to ask the right question. He placed himself between Orah and the screen.

  "How do I prepare this food?"

  "All food in the keep is dehydrated. You just add water."

  "And where may we find water?"

  "Hold the package beneath one of the spigots, red for hot and blue for cold."

  The curious protrusions scattered along the wall were apparently spigots, although none had a pump handle to work them. Orah held the parcel beneath a red pipe. As hot water poured out briefly in exactly the right amount, the aroma of freshly cooked lamb began to permeate the room.

  The three spread out, each to a different screen, and ordered a variety of foods, more than they'd be able to eat in a week. When they needed hot water, it came out steaming like tea heated in a fireplace. When they wished it to be cold, it emerged frigid as the waters of Little Pond in winter.

  While the food looked unappetizing, it tasted right and some even tasted strange and wonderful. Keep fare, it appeared, was no match for home cooking, but was wholesome, filling and, most importantly, plentiful.

  As Nathaniel inhaled the last of a buttered potato paste, he tried to picture the keepmasters eating meals where they now sat.

  "Imagine. This is how they ate for more than fifty years, spending their lives here, hiding from the vicars and recording their knowledge."

  Thomas poked at one of the packets-some kind of fish. "Yes, imagine. Fifty years with nothing solid to chew."

  "I don't think food mattered," Orah said. "They were doing a labor of love, a selfless service for people they'd never meet."

  "For people who never cared about them," Thomas added, "who over the centuries had forgotten them." He took a sip of purple liquid. "I wonder how long we'll be here, eating this food and hiding from the vicars, before we're forgotten as well."

  ***

  Orah sat at the table unable to budge. Debris from their first meal lay strewn across its surface. She might have found their gluttony amusing had their prospects been less grim. Time to confront the issue.

  "Well, Thomas, we're fed. Do you have any other ideas?"

  Thomas leaned back and contemplated the ceiling, then sat up and shrugged.

  "How about just staying here? It's safe, warm and there's lots of food."

  Orah studied her reflection in the tabletop and stroked the surface as if trying to brush away the speckles.

  "We can't stay here forever, Thomas."

  "Why not?"

  "Because we can't spend the rest of our lives hiding. We need some purpose."

  "I don't. I just want to avoid the vicars. Or did you forget they're still hunting for us, with their deacons and words that fly through the air and who knows what other magic?"

  "The keep may not be as safe as you think," Nathaniel said. "It's nearing the end of its life and may not support us for many more years. And while the deacons will have difficulty finding the keep without the rhyme, they're still searching. But more than that, what kind of life would we have here?"

  "But where else can we go?"

  Orah turned sideways and gazed at the far corner of the dining room. The longing she'd suppressed on their journey welled up within her.

  "We could go home to Little Pond."

  "The first place the vicars would look," Nathaniel said. "And even our neighbors might turn us in. Who knows what crimes we've been accused of?"

  "Don't give up so fast." Thomas's mood turned hopeful. "The vicars want to find the keep. We can use its location to barter for mercy and ask for our old lives back."

  Orah flushed. She wanted to go home, but not at such a cost.

  "Betray the keepmasters? After all we've learned?"

  "I don't care about what we've learned. The keepmasters can't protect us, so we need to look out for ourselves."

  "They sacrificed their lives to preserve what's here. How can you think such a thing?

  Her words drove Thomas inward. His mind seemed to go somewhere she shuddered to imagine. When he spoke, his brashness was gone.

  "Tell me something," he said. "How long were you in the darkness?"

  "What has that to do with anything?"

  "It has everything to do with it. Tell me."

  "Three, maybe four hours."

  Thomas stared at her unblinking. "My time wasn't measured in hours. It was measured in eternities. I'd rather die than be put back there."

  Orah considered his response. She wanted to win the argument, not just to win, but because the keep was so vitally important. But she couldn't hurt Thomas further, hated the thought of hurting him. Hated it. She bit down on her little finger and prayed the keep was worth it.

  "I'm sorry, Thomas, but I can't betray the keepmasters."

  She'd tried not to cause him pain, but his expression said otherwise.

  "Do you know," he asked suddenly, "what tomorrow is?"

  "I'm not sure. The summer Blessing?"

  Thomas's lower lip quivered. "Tomorrow's my eighteenth birthday."

  Orah touched him on the arm. "I'm sorry, Thomas. I'd lost track of time."

  "And do you know what I want for my birthday?"

  The question hung in the air. No one answered because no answer was expected.

  "I want my life back. I'm not like the two of you. I want to marry, have a child, or two if the Temple allows, and play music for the village at festival. It's enough for me. Can you give me my life back?"

  "I would if I could," Orah said. "But that opportunity was lost the day you were taken for a teaching. I don't trust the vicars. We might forsake the future and still be punished for it." She turned to Nathaniel and held out her hands. "Tell him, Nathaniel. We can't betray all this."

 
; Then she saw it. While she and Thomas were debating, Nathaniel's face had taken on a distant expression, the look of a dreamer. As he prepared to speak, she felt a stirring of hope.

  "What should we do now?" he said. "A question for heroes. Here's what I think. We should neither barter nor stay. We're bound to do more. We may have stumbled on the keep by chance, but we're the masters' only hope. We should do what the seekers were intended to do-change the world. We didn't come out of a rebellion, so we need to start one."

  Orah's hope drained away. He'd gone mad.

  "There's no way. What you ask isn't possible."

  "Not possible?" Nathaniel's jaw tightened. "The keepmasters didn't worry about possible. They believed in something and gave their lives for it. Since leaving Little Pond, I've learned about courage, and it's different than I thought. To be courageous is to do what's right even in the face of impossible odds. Most of what we've been taught is based on lies. What's right is to let the world know what we've found."

  Unable to respond, Thomas curled up in his chair and looked away. But Orah's spirit wilted, afraid something between her and Nathaniel was about to be lost.

  "I can't see my way to agree with you, Nathaniel. We're not children anymore. This isn't a game in our secret place. Your rebellion is an illusion, and the choice you want us to make is too much to ask."

  His cheeks flushed. He retreated to the far side of the room and stared at the white wall. Finally, without turning, he spoke.

  "Whatever happens, the three of us need to agree. The vicars won't distinguish. Whatever punishment befalls one will befall all."

  Orah's words were more breath than whisper. "But how do we reach that agreement?"

  Nathaniel went back to her, stopping when he was less than a pace away. His chest swelled as he took in a breath. She could feel the warmth as he exhaled.

  "The hot weather's almost here. The trip back across the ridge would be hard with no shade or water. Let's spend the summer at the keep." He lifted his chin so his jaw jutted out-a gesture he'd inherited from his father. "My father always said there's no wisdom without knowledge. There's a lot to learn here. Maybe by summer's end, we'll be wise enough to know what to do."

  Orah stared into his eyes. Her Nathaniel, friend since birth. If only they could go back to the way it was. But the practical side of her took over.

  "If nothing else, we'll be sheltered, well-fed and safe. And I'll have time to study and explore."

  "And what about you Thomas?"

  Thomas straightened his legs and stood, forming a circle with his friends. The sparkle was back in his eyes.

  "Will I have to study as much as Orah?"

  Nathaniel's expression lightened. "I didn't know that was possible."

  Thomas grinned and spoke for them all.

  "Then the end of summer it is. You'll find Orah in Bot-a-ny. For myself, I plan to do most of my learning in the Dining Room."

  As always, Thomas had found a way to make her smile. But the smile was short lived. Summer would fly by and she and Nathaniel would have to negotiate the boundary between illusion and reality. And for all her careful planning, she had no idea how it would end.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Exploration

  The plan was simple, study whatever interested them, then meet at dinner to share their findings. Yet by the end of the first week, no one had anything to say.

  Nathaniel yearned to set an example, to arrive at the dining room with revelations so profound his friends would feel compelled to act. But the keep was more complex than he expected, with most of the topics daunting. At his current rate of progress, he'd have nothing to add to their meals but silence.

  He decided to focus on history since all he knew was the vicars' point of view-everything since the Temple's founding was perfect. But the brutal practice of teachings, along with the treatment of the first keeper, gave lie to what he'd been taught.

  By contrast, he'd learned little about the prior age, only how evil it had been. But he'd seen enough of the keepmasters' world to know there were also great accomplishments. Orah admired accomplishments, the effort and cleverness that went into them. The more he could find, the more likely she'd be to take up his cause.

  The anteroom for history was like the others, round with a recessed ceiling and lighting that bounced off the walls. Of the topics that spiraled from its center, two sparked his curiosity: politics and religion. He stepped up to the politics screen first.

  "Help."

  A helper appeared, this time a young man with hair so short the white of his scalp showed. "How may I help you?"

  "What is politics?"

  The helper described politics as the ability to govern people, involving the creation of a system of rules that administer and control their affairs. It sounded like what the vicars spent most of their time doing.

  "Then is it about how the Temple rules its children?"

  A pause followed as some mechanism adjusted. The helper returned momentarily.

  "Though the Temple of Light is the only system you've known, there have been many others throughout history. If you'd like to learn more about them, please follow this corridor."

  Exactly what he'd been searching for. How was the Temple different from other systems? And what were the weaknesses that might cause it to collapse? But before taking the advice, he had one more question.

  "What is religion?"

  The young man asked him to please stand by. Apparently, he wasn't the religion expert.

  The screen cleared and a woman in her middle years appeared. She had a strong chin and spoke with a high-pitched voice that made her words clipped and precise.

  "Religion is a set of beliefs concerning the nature and purpose of the universe, held in common by anywhere from a few individuals to entire populations. The larger congregations usually gather to practice some form of ritual observance.

  "They also preach a preset moral code. The code may be broad, declaring what's right and wrong in human affairs, or more detailed, dictating minutiae such as dress, diet and hairstyle. In some cases, compliance is left to the individual-a decision between each person and their god. In more extreme cases, it's enforced by authoritarian theocracies."

  Nathaniel was having trouble focusing. The woman had said things that would have earned her a significant teaching from the vicars. But he chose to pursue the word she used last.

  "What is the-o-cra-cy?"

  "Please stand by."

  The young expert on politics was back. His patience seemed endless.

  "A theocracy is government combined with religion. Using the force of moral certitude, theocracies tend to be more rigid and less tolerant. Generally, the civil and religious codes are one and enforced by a clerical class."

  Finally, something he could tie to his world.

  "Is the Temple of Light a theocracy?"

  "Yes. One example. If you'd like to learn about others, go to the politics section."

  The time had come to accept the advice. He peered into the corridor next to the screen, then went down it as he'd been told.

  ***

  Orah was struggling. The library back home contained fewer than a hundred books, all of which she'd read by the time she was thirteen. Now, as she wandered the keep, she found more areas of knowledge than there were books in Little Pond.

  She searched for something familiar. The term "pharmaceutics" caught her eye, reminiscent of the village pharmacy. She found the viewing area and waited for the screen to light up. Aman appeared who looked like an elder, with gray hair and a face creased with lines of wisdom. But in place of a black tunic, he wore a white coat.

  "Welcome to the subject of pharmaceutics. Here you'll find all you need for the assembling of medicines. Take a moment to look at the following list and select one by speaking its name. Some may be hard to pronounce, so you can also touch the word on the screen."

  His image was replaced by a list of words, most with too many syllables and almost all unpr
onounceable. Orah tried to find one she recognized and gave up. She had more pressing questions.

  "Help."

  The elder reappeared.

  "Where did these medicines come from? Are they really a gift from the light?"

  The man's image froze on the screen. When she was done, he replied.

  "It's easy for those of us who record our knowledge to forget how you were raised. I'd like to tell you these marvels were a gift from above, but that's not how it happened. In my age, groups of dedicated researchers worked to find cures for every ailment known. The Temple tried to take credit, but nothing could be further from the truth. These medicines were the result of hard work and individual brilliance."

  He went on to explain how people devoted their lives to find a cure for a single disease. The vicars kept the knowledge to make medicines, but the freedom needed for research clashed with their beliefs. The ability to discover new medicines was lost.

  Orah listened intently. It matched what the vicar of Bradford had said, but she wanted to know more.

  "What would I have to learn to discover a new medicine?"

  The screen went blank. When the elder returned, he had a more formal demeanor.

  "We're pleased you've chosen to pursue medical research. As a child of light, you've had a limited education, but all you need to learn is here in the keep. Subjects you must master include... "

  He rattled off a number of strange words-biology, chemistry, biochemistry, microbiology, genetics-until Orah stopped him abruptly.

  "I'm not following."

  "If you'd prefer to have the course on paper, say print."

  "Print."

  A slot appeared next to the screen, and moments later a piece of paper slid out. On it was the helper's list, printed in the block lettering associated with the Temple. Another miracle demystified.

  Orah spent the next few days trying to grasp these subjects, hoping to learn how to discover new medicines. She found the keepmasters knew the inner workings of the body. But the science underlying it was too complex for a summer's study.

  Undaunted, she searched for a simpler topic, one she could master in a matter of weeks. She stumbled upon mathematics. The word sounded familiar, like the arithmetic she'd studied in school. She'd always been good at numbers, but her experience here was similar to that of medicine, and just as frustrating.