He groped along the edge of one of the boxes, his fingertips struggling for purchase, and then pulled. It was tightly sealed. He tugged harder, and the box groaned, shifting a hair's breadth. The movement had exposed a gap for his fingers to grasp. He positioned his hands, bent at the knees and grunted. The drawer slid an inch.
A pungent odor filled the air, distasteful but vaguely familiar. Then it struck him-not a viewing area but a crypt, and the boxes held human remains. He slid the drawer back into place, then collapsed onto a chair to compose himself. When he glanced at the floor by his feet, he noticed another of the medallions lying on the ground as if awaiting a box of its own. In its center was a chunk of obsidian, at once clear and black throughout. It was the only one of its kind in the room.
As he stared, trying to penetrate to the heart of the stone, a flash from above caught his eye. The screen on the wall lit up. A helper appeared, but different from the others, older and more sickly, more like the prisoner Samuel than a keepmaster. The corners of his mouth glistened with wet, and old age spots dotted his cheeks. Black eyes stared out from their sockets, giving him a mournful expression.
For a long time, the man stayed still as if he'd forgotten why he was there. But then he began to speak.
"I have neither time nor strength for formalities, so let me begin. I have three purposes in making this recording. The first is in my role as a descendant of the founders of the keep. Our mission was to impart knowledge and I will do that. I'll recount the final days of the keepmasters. The second is to request a favor. And with the third, I'll repay that favor as a man who is dying. I'll bequeath to you what wisdom I've gained, the lessons of a lifetime.
"There are guidelines for helpers, to be cordial and impersonal. But I am a person and have a name. I'm called Kiran, which means ray of light. I don't know whether my parents chose that name as a sign of hope or a cruel jest, for I've never seen the light of day.
"When the recording of all the knowledge of our age was finished, we did not vanish. The euphoria that accompanies all great quests faded, but we went on with our lives. We married, had families and continued our research. But always, there was the fear of being discovered. Over time, we developed our own religion, based on a dread of the Temple of Light.
"By my grandparent's generation, leaving the keep had become unthinkable. I am the third generation to have never ventured outside. The fear gnawed at us and robbed us of reason to live. Fewer couples married. Of those who did, many decided not to conceive children who'd spend their existence imprisoned in the keep. We diminished. I was one of the last to be born here. At times, it's been no life at all, but I have lived nevertheless and will soon die, the last of the keepmasters.
"You, who I've never met, the seeker I awaited my whole life, can do me one final honor. Before you, you'll find a black stone, a color appropriate for the last of my kind. Behind you, in the corner of the topmost row, lies the box that awaits it. I have chosen it to mark my memorial. Please, take a moment to set the stone in its place and remember me and the rest of us who have lived and died in the keep."
He broke into a fit of coughing, reminiscent of the first keeper. But to his last, Samuel retained a hope for the future. The man before Nathaniel had none.
The speaker resumed.
"Now let me tell you what I've learned. In each of our lives, we have the great mission and the little things we do with the hours and minutes of our days. As a descendant of the founders, I stayed true to their ideals throughout my life. But as a man who lives day to day, I failed. I remember my childhood aspirations-to play outside in the sun, to be free of fear, to welcome the seekers who would someday come to save us. But these are things that exist in dreams. Each day, I had the ability to touch others, to repay my parents for their love, to embrace my wife.
"So what is the lesson of a lifetime, the great truth?"
He wiped his mouth with a soiled sleeve and stared out before continuing. Nathaniel slid to the edge of his seat. But the answer was simpler than he could ever have imagined.
"We should not be so seduced by our great mission that we forget how to live."
The screen went blank. Nathaniel glanced to the floor and caught the glimmer of the obsidian stone. He cradled it in his hand and proceeded to the waiting container. Using his height, he reached up and snapped it into place, then stared at it for a long time, trying to comprehend how it could glow so brightly and be black as night.
***
Late August. Autumn was fast approaching and the deadline would soon be upon them. The dwindling days weighed heavily on Orah, and she could sense it in Nathaniel as well. Only Thomas seemed unaffected.
That evening during dinner, as Thomas whistled a tune, Orah snapped.
"Would you mind for once if Nathaniel and I had some quiet while we ate?"
"It never bothered you before."
"I'd never before been so close to being crushed by your vicars."
Thomas's posture remained unchanged. His grin was infuriating.
"They're not my vicars."
"Then why do you defend them?"
"I don't defend them. But most of what they've claimed has turned out to be true."
"Well I have proof that their most basic precept is a lie."
She'd blurted out the words without thought. She wanted so much to impress Nathaniel with what she'd found, and now it had come out in a squabble. She glanced at him. He was staring back, his brows raised in a question.
"What have you found?" he said.
She set her food aside and straightened. "The sun is not the source of all light and the stars don't revolve around it. I'll never pray to the sun again."
She told of her lessons in astronomy, how the stars moved in their own paths, how some were worlds like their own, but most were themselves suns. And there were millions of them.
Thomas gaped at her. "A million suns? Are you sure you didn't find a vat of wassail?"
She turned from Thomas to Nathaniel. "It's true. I've discovered what the keepmasters call an observatory and there you can see for yourself. Come and I'll show you."
Nathaniel stood at once, but Thomas slumped in his chair.
"You don't need to prove anything to me, Orah. I believe you. But what difference does it make if there are a thousand suns or a million? It doesn't change our situation."
"You're just being lazy, Thomas. Come with us."
When he refused to budge, insisting he had better things to do, she gave up without a fight. Better to share her discovery with Nathaniel alone.
Orah led him along the familiar route. The two stepped into the elevator, and she took satisfaction as he clutched the handrail when it began to rise. Once in the observatory, she ordered the helper to expose the dome to the sky.
She'd picked a perfect night, and Nathaniel had the desired reaction.
"It's wonderful. We've been cooped up inside for so long, I'd forgotten what the night sky looked like."
She nudged him toward the telescope and urged him to take a seat. Then she asked the helper to point it toward the cluster of stars.
"Put your eye to the glass, Nathaniel, and look."
He did as he was told. Through the lens the cloud would become a brilliant whirl of lights, more than he could count in a lifetime. But when he glanced up, the look of doubt in his face confounded her.
"Aren't you impressed, Nathaniel of Little Pond?"
He slipped out of the seat and approached her, shaking his head. "I am impressed. But it makes me sad for what's happened to our world. We have only one choice."
She turned away and bit down on her lip-not the conversation she'd hoped for.
He lifted a hand to brush a stray curl away from her eye, then stroked her cheek with his fingertips, forcing her to face him. His look of doubt had changed to anguish.
"But I'm no longer sure I'm willing to take the chance. I'm beginning to think it may not be worth it."
Though she'd always been able to read him,
her instincts failed her now, not because he'd become opaque-he was as transparent as ever-but because his thoughts were in conflict.
"Then you agree with Thomas that we should betray the keepmasters?"
His gaze fixed on her.
"I'm not sure what I believe, but I understand better what's at stake."
"And what's that?"
"What you and I might have together. I'd trade all of this to go back to Little Pond and be with you."
He leaned in, gently brushing his lips against her neck, sending a quiver through her. Now her thoughts were in conflict. But before she could think them through, he drew her closer until her head rested on his chest.
She counted the too-quick pounding of his heart and waited, struggling to find an answer. They could not stay in the keep; they must not betray the keepmasters. If only those same keepmasters could freeze time and leave her and Nathaniel in this moment. Then she remembered the other miracle she'd found.
"There's something else, Nathaniel. They told me they traveled to the stars."
Nathaniel stared up at the heavens. "Are you sure it's true?"
She watched him gape at the sky and laughed. "I think so. It's all so complicated. I could try to explain it, but I'm not sure I could do it justice."
"Have you asked them to show you?"
So simple it never occurred to her. She shook her head.
"Go ahead and ask," he said.
Orah turned to the screen. "Can you show us star travel?"
The screen cleared. Then suddenly there was a loud roar and they saw a long cylinder slowly lifting off the ground, a ball of orange flame and clouds of smoke trailing behind. As it rose, they could see the land falling away. More showed, as if seen from a mountaintop, and everything below receded.
As they watched, the answer she was seeking became a question which Nathaniel gave voice to.
"If they could go to the stars, isn't anything possible?"
They kept staring at the screen. Orah could not yet see how to succeed. Challenging the Temple might be the ruin of them all, and Thomas would never agree to it. She needed more time.
"Summer's not over. We don't need to decide yet."
But in that instant, she realized there was only one way for her and Nathaniel to have a life together. They needed to overthrow the Temple. If the possibility existed on heaven or earth, she'd find it.
Gradually, the roar diminished. The screen filled with the surface of their world, so far away now she could only make out the largest objects-lakes, oceans and mountains.
Then she could see it all, framed in black, a great blue shining globe.
Chapter Thirty
A Plan for Revolution
Orah's mind was alive with plans. Was opposition to the Temple possible? If the vicars could track their every move, the rebellion would have no chance. So her first task was to learn about temple trees.
The helpers urged her to study the underlying disciplines. Their purpose was to provide an in-depth education, to produce an expert. But Orah had a simpler objective-to shut the temple trees down.
She tried asking in various ways. "How does it work?" resulted in a lecture on something called microwaves. "What's their purpose?" produced nothing more than what she already knew. She found herself interrupting the helper with an increasingly abrupt "stop." At last, she found the right question.
"What can I do to make temple trees stop sending words through the air?"
The helper froze. He apparently wasn't prepared to explain how to make something fail. Seconds passed while the brains of the keep searched for an answer. Finally, the helper awoke.
"Temple trees get their power through a wire that runs underground and comes up through their base. You'll find a metal plate at the bottom of each tree for maintenance. If you open it and cut the wire, the communication tower will cease to function."
Orah was ecstatic. The trees were isolated and easy to access, protected only by the myth of temple magic. If they could be disabled, the likelihood of success increased. But the helper wasn't finished.
"Be advised that what powers them is strong enough to kill you. So take the necessary precautions to protect yourself." He appeared pleased that he'd found an answer, then added, "Do you have another question?"
And so it went. She felt like a child trying to assemble a puzzle, while the helpers teased her by withholding pieces. But she made progress. She kept careful notes and, whenever appropriate, printed pictures and diagrams.
The next day she focused on transportation. Though the Temple had banned all forms of fast travel, the vicars might have held something back for themselves. If they could move faster than the seekers, the undertaking would be more difficult.
The topic of travel led to more discoveries. The prior age had been one of mobility. While travel to the stars was unusual, it was common to take a trip anywhere in the world. She asked if that included crossing the ocean and was told yes.
"Then were there great boats for ocean travel?"
The helper told her there were, but only for pleasure, because they were too slow. Most people were unwilling to take a week or more, when they could cross the ocean in hours.
By now, Orah was beyond surprise. But she'd seen the ocean on the map and wasn't about to let such a statement pass.
"What did they use to cross the ocean in hours?"
"They flew."
"Do you mean like the flying wagon that brought us here?"
"No. In a flying machine."
"Do you mean like birds fly?"
When the helper responded yes, she hardly blinked, focusing single-mindedly on the plan.
Later she learned the predominant form of travel was a fast wagon. Some of these, like the wagon they'd taken to the keep, were capable of moving hundreds of people but only on a preset path. Other, smaller ones could go almost anywhere. And nearly everyone had one.
Flying machines, giant boats, fast wagons. She gathered information. But now came the most important questions.
"Does the Temple have flying machines?"
"No. The cost to maintain them would be prohibitive and they'd be impossible to hide."
"Or fast wagons?"
"We believe so. Because no roads were maintained, they'd be less effective. But we suspect they kept a few for emergencies."
"Show me a fast wagon."
A broad roadway appeared, coated with black rock. Hundreds of fast wagons rolled along on four wheels, moving at incredible speeds. They were sleek and low, wide enough to seat three people across. But no threat here-no such roads existed.
Next she asked to see them on dirt roads. Out of their element, they lumbered rather than glided, but could still outpace a grown man. As she watched, she recognized their weakness-too wide for trails through the woods. If the seekers stuck to the trees, the vicars would be unable to catch them.
Orah scoured her mind. What else might the Temple have in store for them? Then it dawned on her. She'd focused on the wonders of the keep but had overlooked the horrors.
She approached the screen apprehensively.
"Did the vicars keep weapons?"
There was a pause. When the helper re-emerged, his answer was the word they'd all come to dread-unknown.
An obvious next question occurred to her, but she tried to resist. Anger overcame her doubts.
"Can you provide the seekers with weapons?"
This time, the screen blanked. When it brightened again, there stood the woman who had first welcomed them to the keep. Apparently, Orah's question required a response from one of the elders. The keepmaster's lips were stretched into a thin, unyielding line.
"The council knew the question of weapons would arise. We debated among ourselves and decided it was the abuse of knowledge that brought the world to its current state. It seemed foolhardy to encourage the seekers to start down that path. We determined to eliminate weapons from the keep. Of course, the foundation is here for you to re-invent them if you choose, but we'l
l not be party to it.
"Ignorance was the only weapon the Temple of Light needed to overturn our world. Knowledge should be your weapon to reverse the damage."
The image faded.
Knowledge should be your weapon...
Orah's plan was coming together, but she needed a way to spread the truth. On a whim, she asked to print a picture of a temple tree. As the paper slid out of the wall slot, an idea came to her.
"Is there a way to print my own words?"
"Yes," the helper replied. "Say the word 'record' and as you speak, you'll see your words appear on the screen. Edit them as you wish. When you're done, say 'print.'"
"Can I print more than one copy?"
"As many as you wish. Say 'print' followed by the number of copies."
It was nearing dinnertime. She'd be late if she tried now. But she was so close. She said the word "Record."
"Nathaniel and Thomas are my dearest friends."
The words appeared as she spoke them.
"I would do anything to protect them from harm."
The new sentence was added to the first.
"Change the word 'harm' to read 'the Temple of Light.'"
Instantly, the last phrase changed.
"Print."
Immediately, a page came out with her exact words in temple lettering.
"Print five times."
Five more copies came out. She read each to make sure they were correct. Not a single flaw.
A new thought struck her. "How do you turn my voice into words on a page?"
"Your voice is recorded and stored. Then the sound is interpreted into text that can be printed or displayed on the screen."
"May I listen to it?"
The helper replied that she was to say play instead of print. She determined to try.
There Comes A Prophet Page 21