There Comes A Prophet

by David Litwack

  A different helper congratulated her on accepting the challenge of mathematics, a discipline that even in his own day was mastered by only the brightest. Since she was limited to what the Temple had taught, she'd have to start with the basics, things called algebra and geometry, before undertaking the differential calculus.

  Orah worked hard, natural stubbornness stiffening her resolve. She'd show the helper-irrational though it may be-that given enough time, she could master anything. But progress was slow. After a week, she'd had enough. She understood the need for medicine but was vague on the goal of mathematics. She dragged her fingers through her hair and summoned the helper.

  "What's the purpose of mathematics?"

  "In addition to its abstract elegance," the helper said, "it's used to express form and relationship throughout nature."

  "OK... If I master these subjects, you said I could proceed to the differential calculus. What's that for?"

  "To measure rate of change as conditions vary."

  "Give an example."

  "Describing the laws of motion in physics."

  "A more specific example, please."

  "Predicting the path of celestial bodies."

  She straightened in her chair, frustration turning to curiosity.

  "What do you mean by celestial bodies?"

  "Objects in the heavens."

  "Such as?"

  "The moon, the planets, the stars."

  Her breath became short and she needed to compose herself before asking the next question.

  "Why would you need to know that?"

  "To allow ships to rendezvous with objects at high speeds from great distances."

  Ships going to the heavens? She became lightheaded. What if Nathaniel was right, that the keep was worth risking their lives for? The question burst from her lips.

  "Are you saying you've traveled to the stars?"

  The screen went blank. A new helper appeared, older than the former and, to her relief, less arrogant. He greeted her in the usual way.

  "Welcome to the subject of astronomy. How may I help you?"

  She spoke the words as if each was being crafted for the first time.

  "Have you... traveled... to the stars?"

  The man's image froze. When it moved again, he graciously responded.

  "Yes. We've traveled to the stars. Do you have another question?"

  But there was nothing left to say. Instead, Orah struggled to catch up to the changes in her sense of things, changes that were coming too fast.

  Changes that threatened to tear her world apart.

  ***

  Orah was reluctant to discuss what she'd learned. She didn't quite believe it herself. As she munched on a gob of reconstituted carrot, she grumbled between bites.

  "I feel so dumb in the keep."

  She snapped a glance at Thomas, expecting him to pounce on her confession, but he was almost complimentary.

  "That's what I was afraid of. If you can't figure it out, what chance do I have?"

  She'd wondered whether Thomas ever left the dining room and decided to take advantage of the opening.

  "You never tell us anything, Thomas. What are you doing with your time?"

  "I'm using it as well as you, only I'm exerting myself less."

  "Really? What did you learn today?"

  Thomas leaned back and put his feet up on the table, carefully avoiding the containers of half-eaten food.

  "Today I studied the difference between light and darkness. It's more subtle than you'd think."

  Orah glared at him, not sure whether to be interested or annoyed. "Please enlighten me."

  "With the help of the keepmasters, I've discovered... " he paused for effect "... .something called custard. It comes in vanilla and chocolate, and is the perfect de-hy-drat-ed food. Vanilla is light and delicious, but I prefer the darker chocolate."

  Orah slapped his feet off the table. "I'm so pleased you've chosen to waste your time. Do you know what you're missing?"

  "No. And I haven't heard anything from you. Please enlighten me."

  She flopped back onto her chair and blew away a curl.

  "I've been trying to learn, but haven't found anything I can master so quickly. If I come back, I'd choose one topic and stick to it for years. If the Temple were overthrown tomorrow, it'd take a generation to relearn all this."

  She took a bite of something that claimed to be chicken, then turned to Nathaniel.

  "What about you? Any more luck?"

  "I've been studying history," he said. "Especially the time the vicars call the darkness."

  Orah set her food aside and sat upright. "What did you find?"

  "It was a time of cruelty and war as we were taught, but also a time of innovation and genius. Until the Temple of Light ended it. It had happened before. One period called the Dark Ages lasted over six hundred years. During that time, scholars spent their lives recording their knowledge for future generations while hidden away in places called monasteries.

  "When the Temple came into power, the keepmasters believed they were witnessing a new Dark Age. They saw it as their duty to save their knowledge from being lost. But unlike the scholars who preserved the past with parchment and quill pens, they recorded their knowledge using-"

  The lights flickered.

  Orah had enough time to catch the panic flooding Thomas before the room went dark. She pressed her eyelids shut, counted to three and opened them, but still could see nothing. She slowed her breathing and her sense of hearing became acute.

  It was then she noticed something missing-the hum that had been there since they passed through the golden doors. The heart of the keep had gone silent. In its place came a plaintive wail.

  "It's the vicars," Thomas said. "They found us."

  Orah jumped as a hand landed on her back, then relaxed when she recognized Nathaniel's touch. The two joined arms and shuffled forward, trying to find Thomas.

  But before they could find him, a new voice sound, the soothing words of a female helper.

  "We're sorry. A temporary disruption of power has occurred. Emergency lighting is being activated. Please stand by while repairs are being made."

  The keep was healing itself. The dimmest of lights arose in the corners of the room, but to eyes straining in darkness, it was enough. Orah acknowledged Nathaniel with a nod. And ahead was Thomas, cowering on the floor a few paces away.

  She extended a hand. He clutched it and scrambled to his feet, but quickly pulled away embarrassed. She let him collect himself before asking.

  "Why were you so sure it was the vicars, Thomas?"

  As the color returned to his face, his answer echoed through the room.

  "Because their weapon is darkness."

  Nathaniel came forward and led him back to the table. "It wasn't the vicars, Thomas. It's the age of the keep. Over time it'll fail more frequently. Another reason we can't stay."

  Orah went to the entrance of the dining room and poked her head through, checking the corridor. Nothing. She held her breath and listened. Silence. She sniffed the keep air that usually shifted with a slightly cooling breeze. Stillness. Finally, convinced the situation was stable, she came back and urged Nathaniel to continue.

  "You were telling us about the past."

  "The darkness," he said. "What we learned in school was true. There'd always been wars, but that age was especially good at pitting people against each other."

  "But why?" Orah said.

  Nathaniel shrugged. "Because they were different. It's hard for us to understand, since we've known nothing but the Temple of Light."

  "Were they so different they needed to kill each other?"

  Nathaniel shook his head. "Not that I can tell. All had some form of prayer, but their gods had different names. They prayed at different times, had holy days in different seasons. Most promised an afterlife if you adhered to their faith.

  "In any case, they used thinking machines to organize those of like mind and turn th
em against everyone else. And they fought with terrible weapons, conceived with the same knowledge that had been used for good."

  Thomas's eyes narrowed. His pupils drifted to the corners.

  "The people spoke different languages," he said, "and worshipped different gods. And they used these languages and these gods to separate the people from each other."

  Orah held her breath as he spoke. When he was finished, she settled a hand on his shoulder as if testing to see if it was hot. "Was that what they told you in the teaching?"

  "And now we find it's true," he scowled. "The Temple stopped it."

  Orah turned to Nathaniel, desperate for a better answer. "Is that what the keepmasters said?"

  Nathaniel's chin sagged. "The wars became so bad that elders came together and made a pact to remove the differences. But no one would accept the other's faith. So they formed a new one, taking the best of each and setting at its core a ban on violence. They met in a great conference to define the new religion. It would be easy to adopt, with few demands on people's lives. All the gods would be combined into a single concept called the light. Along with sins like murder or theft, anything before the new age would be considered evil.

  "Each leader brought large numbers of their followers. And why not? They promised to keep the best, eliminate the worst and, most importantly, stop the bloodshed."

  Orah exhaled the next question. "So what happened?"

  "Not everyone accepted it. The original leaders passed on and the next generation began to focus on ways to consolidate power. Over time, a new set of precepts emerged. Keep the population simple and small. Control all teaching. Ban new ideas. Limit travel. Discourage diversity. And erase the wonders of the prior age, except those needed to sustain the Temple. In the end, they got what they wanted: a peaceful world with the vicars in charge."

  As he spoke, Orah fiddled with the folds of her tunic, until the edges had crumpled into a tight bunch. When he finished, she looked up.

  "How can so much harm have been done in the name of good??"

  "I asked the helper that."

  "And what did he say?"

  "His answer was 'unknown.'"

  As the three stared at each other, the keep came back to life. The soft lighting was restored and the hum resumed-the only sound in the room.

  ***

  Thomas sat and fumed, long after the others had gone. He'd made a fool of himself and was powerless to stop it. He had no tolerance for the dark anymore. The vicars had marked him with this scar and he'd never forgive them.

  But the keepmasters were no better. Nathaniel had confirmed it. To the darkness with the keepmasters and to the darkness with the Temple of Light.

  Despite what he'd said, he knew they'd never stay in the keep. His friends were different from him. To him, dreams were a game, at least before the teaching had turned them to nightmares. But to them, dreams were like air-needed to stay alive. And they couldn't pursue their dreams in the keep.

  If he had all the power of the keep, if he could push buttons in the shape of stars until they lit up and destroyed the Temple in a hail of the old master's magic, he'd do so. But Nathaniel was foolish to think they could destroy the vicars by themselves. Once they left the keep, they'd be caught. And the scratches they might inflict on the Temple would only make their punishment worse.

  Each day he watched his friends edge closer to their doom. He was terrified of returning to the darkness and would do what he could to save them from that fate. But he prayed that in so doing, he wouldn't lose their friendship.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Discovery

  Weeks passed, but Orah couldn't bring herself to tell the others about star travel. It was too hard to believe without proof. So she made astronomy her new home and spent most of her waking hours studying the stars.

  Like the Temple, the keepmasters acknowledged the world revolved around the sun, but there the similarity ended. They claimed the points of light in the night sky were just a sampling of the heavens. A few of the brightest were called planets, other worlds that circled the sun. But most of the stars were suns themselves. And with instruments invented by the so-called age of darkness, they'd been able to find millions of these. The sun, giver of life, was one among a many, and not even the foremost of those.

  Orah listened to lectures about the motion of heavenly bodies. She learned the appearance of the night sky could be precisely charted, the movement of the stars following not Temple dogma, but the laws of mathematics. But the concepts were too theoretical-nothing that would convince her friends. She needed more.

  One night, back in astronomy after another unproductive dinner, her frustration boiled over.

  "There must be a way to see these stars, to prove what they claim."

  The screen lit up, and the astronomy helper appeared. "I'm sorry. I don't understand. Do you have a question?"

  "No. I was only talking to myself."

  The helper waited, uncertain how to respond. Orah folded her hands and studied her fingers. After a while, she stood and approached the screen.

  "You said there were instruments to explore the night sky. May I see them?"

  The man looked pleased with the question.

  "Ah. You'd like to use the observatory. Please step into the adjoining elevator and it will bring you there. Once you've arrived, I'll meet you on the observatory screen."

  As Orah struggled to make sense of his words, a doorway opened next to the screen, exposing a hidden chamber. Unlike most rooms in the keep, this one was tiny, holding at most four people jammed together. She gave a shudder, then entered.

  In place of the soft glow was a dimmer light, too dark for reading. It revealed an empty room with stark metal walls broken only by a waist-high handrail. Then, as suddenly as the door had opened, it slid shut again. She was alone with no way out.

  The room lurched and stopped. The lights flickered and dimmed. She'd become accustomed to problems in the keep, doors sticking, water spigots going dry, frailties of old age. Usually, the keep was able to heal itself, but a day would come when there'd be no recovery. As memories of her darkness cell threatened to overwhelm her, she prayed the keep would not choose this moment to fail.

  Before she could panic, a familiar voice sounded. "Please stand by. Repairs are being made."

  Shortly, the lights brightened and the room began to accelerate, not as fast as the flying wagon, but more disconcerting, it was moving upward. She clutched the handrail and felt her heart fall into her stomach.

  When the room stopped, the wall on the opposite end slid open, and she gratefully stepped out into a domed room. At its center was a cylinder a dozen feet long, slanted upward to the heavens with a seat attached to the bottom.

  Another of the ever-present screens sprang to life. True to his promise, the astronomy helper was there.

  "Welcome to the observatory. Here you'll be able to view the sky, either with the naked eye or through the telescope. Which would you like to do first?"

  Orah had learned about telescopes and assumed the cylinder in the center was one of these. But she thought it best to view the sky without it first.

  "My own eyes... if you please." A tremor had crept into her voice.

  Gears ground and the roof of the dome retracted. Above her was the night sky as she might have experienced it in Little Pond. She let out a gasp. She'd forgotten how beautiful it could be.

  The helper began instructing. "You'll find markers on the wall that show direction. I can give you a tour of tonight's sky if you'd like."

  "Yes, I would."

  "At two hundred and thirty degrees to the southwest is the brightest of all lights, save the sun and the moon. A planet called Venus."

  She circled the wall until she found the number, glanced up and beheld the evening star, its light trembling and seeming to grow brighter as she stared.

  "Venus is a world like our own, but revolves around the sun in a closer orbit. You can prove this by observing its phases. As
the planet circles behind the sun, part of it becomes obscured. You can see through the telescope."

  The tube in the center whirred as it swung around. Orah waited to be sure it stopped before taking a seat. When she looked through the eyepiece, her brows rose. There was an amber crescent, a third of a ball, the remainder in shadow-the evening star as she'd never seen it before. Another world like our own.

  The helper gave her time before continuing. "If you track it for several days, you'll see the phases change. Would you like to see more?"

  "Yes, please." The tremor was gone, but her voice was subdued.

  "At eighty three degrees east is Jupiter, a world farther away than Venus but much larger than our own. You can tell it's a planet because of the moons spinning around it. You can easily see the four largest."

  A third planet. Four moons. The open expanse made her giddy.

  She located the direction, cast in bronze on the chamber's wall. While less bright than Venus, Jupiter was easy to spot.

  "But I don't see any moons."

  "Look through the telescope. I'll position it for you."

  Orah clutched the sides of the chair as the cylinder adjusted. When it stopped, she peered into the eyepiece. Four bursts of white were clearly visible close by Jupiter. She took a deep breath-so much to learn-then scanned the sky for another target. So many stars and between them all, far more dramatic, the endless blackness. After weeks confined in the keep, she found the sight inspiring, and gave expression to her feelings.

  "What a view. And such a clear night except for that one cloud."

  "I'm sorry. Remember that if you point, I cannot see. You must tell me location by direction and degrees."

  Instinctively, she gave him the location of the cloud. His response surprised her.

  "That's not a cloud but a galaxy, a cluster of stars so far away they appear as a haze in the sky. I suggest you look through the telescope."

  Once more, the cylinder whirred and stopped. Orah tried to look, but her vision had blurred. She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, then looked again.

  Oh, Nathaniel, you should see this. She checked once more to be sure it wasn't a dream. Through the lens, her mind filled with a million suns.