They quickly discovered the plate at the base of the tree, which, like the others, was attached by screws at the corners.
Orah asked Thomas for his pocketknife, but he refused.
"You made the plans. At least let me take off the plate."
She relented. Thomas knelt on the ground and probed with his fingernails for the groove, then slotted his blade and twisted. The screws gave with little effort. As he eased the last one out, Orah grasped the plate and yanked it loose.
Exactly as the helper had described, a black wire snaked up from the ground. While she was admiring her find, Thomas grabbed the wire and began sawing with his knife.
"Stop." She thrust a forearm into his chest, and he fell backward.
"What did you that for?" he said as he picked dried leaves off his tunic.
"I just saved your life, Thomas. You were so excited you forgot that cutting the wire could kill you."
While Thomas stared open-mouthed, she rummaged through her pack and removed two items-the listening device and the tool provided by the helpers. The latter looked like scissors, but with a green coating on the handle. She turned on the device and listened to the familiar crackling noise, broken by remarks from faceless vicars. Then she picked up the cutting tool.
As she reached for the wire, Nathaniel grabbed her wrist. "I thought it can kill you."
"The helper said the coating on this tool will protect me."
"Maybe I should do it just in case."
She smiled at him. "The last time you tried to protect me, you almost became a vicar."
Before he could protest, she snipped the wire. Immediately, the crackling noise ceased.
***
The next night was moonless, and clouds had obliterated the stars. Orah watched at the edge of a nameless town, waiting for the last candle in a farmhouse to be snuffed out. She'd insisted on going herself, but her friends had objected. Instead, Thomas picked three stones from the side of the road, all of equal size, but one white like the Temple stone used to limit family size. He placed them in his pocket and shook it.
"The one who gets the 'only child' stone goes. After that, we take turns."
One by one, they selected. In the dim light, she had trouble seeing who'd picked the white stone, but it soon became clear it was Nathaniel. She grimaced as she handed him the four messages.
"You be careful, Nathaniel. Tread softly on those big feet. And remember, the one about the darkness goes on the Temple post. Put the others where you see fit, but be quick."
Then she rose on her toes and gave him a kiss.
"What's that for?"
"For luck."
He nodded and headed to town. But she knew luck was a false companion. Even if it came in abundance, it would eventually run out.
***
The old farmer made a habit of going out for a morning walk. He'd hike the fifteen minutes to the village center, where he'd circle the common ten times before returning home for breakfast. When he finished, his right hip was sore, but the exercise kept him active so he stayed with it.
On this day, he was surprised to see a Temple bulletin nailed to the post by the common house. Notices never appeared before midday-the deacons who lived in town were lazy and slept late. And there was never a rush to read Temple news. While he was faithful to the light, he wasn't about to break stride for more Temple nonsense.
At this hour, few people were about. Some like himself enjoyed their sunrise stroll, and other unfortunates, like the baker, had work that demanded an early start. Most ignored the bulletin, placing no import on its arrival.
As he strolled round the common, he counted those who bypassed the paper on the pole. He was up to six before the young man who apprenticed to the furniture maker stopped to read.
Oddly, the man stayed, not only reading the document, but seemingly studying its every word. The farmer watched from a distance as the young man pulled others over. All clustered around and stared at the bulletin. Soon, a crowd had gathered. For so early in the morning, they were unusually animated.
On his ninth pass, the farmer came to a stop at the post, curious to make out what was being said. The heated conversation became clear.
"It's not from the Temple."
"But it must be. Where else does such lettering come from?"
The old farmer began to nudge his way through the crowd. His eyesight was weak, and he'd need to be nearer to read the words. He was so jostled he was ready to give up, when a path suddenly cleared. He turned to see a deacon hustling toward him, finishing dressing as he went. The image of the adoring family basking in the rays of the sun lay wrinkled on his half-buttoned tunic.
The deacon stared at the post, while a second deacon caught up to him.
"What is it?"
The first deacon whispered to his friend, "Did you put this up?"
"Not me. Maybe one of the others?"
"I thought it was your job."
"I said not me. What's the problem? Looks like a proper bulletin."
The first deacon rubbed his jaw line beard. "Dunno. Words ain't right."
"Should we take it down?"
Despite the morning chill, sweat began to show on the first deacon's brow.
"Dunno. Never seen anything like it. Maybe we should check with the vicar?"
The other nodded and the two ran off.
The old farmer chuckled to himself. He'd waited many years to see deacons so flustered. When he turned back to the post, the pathway vacated by the deacons was open. He stepped to the message before the crowd could close.
As he read, he nodded slowly to himself, then faster. It had the look of a Temple bulletin but with one difference. For the first time in his seventy-six years, he was reading an original thought.
There on the post in bold lettering was written: The Truth about the Darkness.
***
The arch vicar scanned the faces around the table. Communication with the grand vicar was routine, scheduled every Monday morning. The broadcasts were uneventful to the point of boredom. Some of the vicars would scribble on notepads as the old man droned on. Others would bring a book and read.
Today was different. It was not a Monday, and this conference had been arranged in haste. A rumor was spreading that the Temple was under attack.
The box on the table hummed while the grand vicar stated the facts. As the arch vicar listened, his grip tightened on the arms of his chair. Blasphemous notices had been put up in twelve towns, possibly more. The messages were printed to look like Temple bulletins. Somehow, the perpetrators had gained access to technology. They'd even figured out how to disrupt communications. In response, all resources were being mobilized. Repair crews had been dispatched to the damaged towers. The gray friars were working round the clock to localize the heretical activity. But as yet no pattern had emerged.
The arch vicar trembled at the threat but also saw opportunity. The decision to release the young people had been his, and their disappearance had left a mark on his record. Now, he could be the savior.
A hand shot up at the end of the table. The young monsignor always managed to have a question. The arch vicar hesitated, but this was no time for politics. He nodded and pressed the button.
"Holiness, what has the reaction been to these messages?"
A long pause. Had their enemies disrupted the main communication line as well? But when the voice returned, the answer was more chilling.
"The people are passing this heresy on to their neighbors. Questions are being asked. These enemies of the light must be stopped. I've authorized rapid transportation and all other technologies at our disposal, clandestine or otherwise. All clergy have a responsibility to end this desecration at once. If we do not act soon, the darkness will spread."
Blood rushed to the arch vicar's cheeks. This was his fault. He'd been convinced his plan for Nathaniel and his friends would work, but they turned out to be more resourceful than expected. The feisty old prisoner who'd died that summer had beco
me placid after Nathaniel's departure. The secret had been passed on, he was sure. His men had tracked them for weeks-the plan was working. Until suddenly they disappeared.
Now the Temple of Light was under attack.
He'd lived his life with a dual purpose-to prevent the darkness from returning, and to rise up the hierarchy, to someday become grand vicar. Now the two might converge. He'd make up for his mistake. They'd stolen technology and been clever in its use, but no one could master the secrets in so short a time. It had taken him years to acquire such knowledge. And now, he'd be the one to use that knowledge against them.
***
The Vicar of Bradford came down the steps to meet his morning class. This was his favorite group, children between six and eight, all delightful. Any one of them might replace him as keeper someday. But there was no longer a need-the Seekers had come. And from the news burning up the network, they'd found the keep and were on the move.
He playfully ruffled a few heads before signaling them to follow. But as he strode up the first step, one of them tugged at his robe.
"What is it, Richard?"
The little boy had huge brown eyes under a mop of untamed hair. But now Richard crooked his tiny finger and beckoned the vicar to bend low so he could whisper in his ear.
The child grasped his cheeks to make sure his ear stayed close and told him the story. That morning, when he'd gone outside to fetch water for his mother, a pretty lady had appeared. She'd given him a paper bag and made him swear to do two things-to tell no one, and to give it to the vicar of Bradford the instant he saw him. She promised he'd be rewarded with a sweet.
The vicar accepted the bag from the child, unfolded the tightly-rolled top and looked inside. There lay four scrolls with a surface like glass. Next to them was a note.
He waved the children inside for their class, all except the little messenger. When they were gone, he took the note from the bag and opened it. Three handwritten words read: "Just in case."
He looked to the horizon, and then to the expectant face of the boy, who with the blessing of the light might someday be anything he desired. But as vicar and keeper, he had one final task. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a fistful of sweets and dropped them into the cupped hands of the child.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Eyes of Fire
Nathaniel roused before his friends in a clearing deep in the woods. How odd it was to sleep during the day. But with the pace they'd been keeping, at least he'd slept well.
He glanced about, trying to get his bearings. The day before, they'd gone south, posted in a village at midnight and then dashed on to the east. Last night, they raced west, avoiding towns all together. With all the twists and turns, hurries and delays, no wonder the vicars hadn't found them. Orah had been brilliant.
He turned to watch as she slept. The spirited heart that beat inside was resting, letting her features relax. A strand of hair fell softly across her cheek. A cruel image crept into his mind, Orah wasting away in a cell. Had she gone along with this venture because of him?
She'd warned the more they posted, the more likely they'd be caught. The chatter on the listening device was already filled with their exploits. Every vicar and deacon in the world was searching for them. The race was on-would the people rise up before the seekers were found?
He reached over with his fingertips and brushed the hair from her face. She stirred and rolled toward him. Her eyelids fluttered and opened. She met his gaze and her lips parted.
"What are you staring at, Nathaniel?"
Once he'd have turned away embarrassed, but now he didn't flinch.
"At you, Orah. I was staring at you."
***
The arch vicar stomped into the priory. Everything was taking too long. He prowled the rows of brothers pausing to glance over each shoulder as they stared at their screens. On each screen was a map of a region. On each map blinked a cluster of dots. As he watched, a brother in the center found a match. He punched a few keys and another dot vanished.
The prior was pacing in the last row, hands folded in the small of his back. He stiffened when he saw the arch vicar.
"Holiness, the brothers need sleep. If they're too tired, they'll make mistakes, and we'll have to start over."
The arch vicar glared at the rows of gray friars. Too coddled over the centuries. Alone among the clerical class, they were allowed to embellish their dress with preening accessories, the crimson sash and red skull cap. But now the skull caps lay next to the screens and sweat glistened on their tonsures.
Wizards of temple magic. He'd learned more in the archives than any of them. Now, his youthful obsession was bearing fruit. Not even the priors knew the systems as well as he. Not a one of them could have devised this plan.
He was counting on the young people's resourcefulness. Every communication device displayed as a dot on a screen. If they had an unsanctioned device as he suspected, it would show as well. The brothers would check dots against records. When the list was exhausted and only one remained, he'd have found them.
To the right, another dot was extinguished. But there were still too many.
He whirled around to the prior.
"No sleep for anyone. No sleep until only one is left. Then you can sleep as much as you want and my work will begin."
***
Thomas forced his eyes to stay open, terrified the nightmares would return. Dreams of the darkness lingered but had evolved since leaving the keep. At first, his mind conjured up caves and fast wagons, flying at incredible speeds. But then the images changed. The wagons became hunters and he was the hunted.
He tried digging his nails into his palms to stay awake, but as the sun grew warmer and the air softened, he drifted off.
When the dream began, he struggled to name the fear, but the sense of expectancy was palpable. Then the wagons came, this time at night and with eyes of fire. He tried to flee, but his feet were stuck in a quagmire. In no time, the beasts were upon him. A door like the mouth of a snake opened and he was devoured.
Inside its belly, he was returned to the darkness.
***
The middle of the night. Orah led them on a path with tree trunks encroaching on either side, too narrow for fast wagons. She'd become more cautious as the days progressed, always moving, never stopping on roads. They posted in fewer towns, more widely dispersed. They ran, hid and slept, then ran some more.
Why didn't the people rise up? Why was it taking so long? She prayed they'd rise up soon, because she was tired of risking the lives of her friends.
When the whining came, it sounded like an animal in pain. As it became louder, she could tell they were approaching. And then she could smell them, a pungent stench that burned her nostrils. Fast wagons. The vicars had come.
"Into the woods, fast."
In the distance, she saw lights through the trees. Ten, twelve, more each second. And they were moving more rapidly than the three of them could run. Nathaniel and Thomas hesitated only briefly-they'd learned to trust her and obeyed. But this time her judgment had failed them.
She tried to steady her mind, to think as she went.
"Split up. Go in different directions."
When they were three steps ahead and fading into the dark, she slowed to remove her pack. Still moving at a jog, she groped for the device, then stopped to be sure it was the transmitter and not the receiver. The blessing was six weeks away-too far off-but she had no choice. She took a deep breath and flipped the switch. The red light came on. She scanned the trees and picked one with a crook in its branches. Reaching as high as she could, she placed the device in its cradle, then sped off to her fate.
The whine became a roar. She glanced over her shoulder. These were unlike anything she'd seen in the keep, smaller and narrower, with two wheels and a rider on top. These could follow wherever they went.
The pursuers split up as well, swinging wide to form a circle. When it was complete, they stopped. The glow of their lights
pointed toward Orah and her friends. They'd become the hub of a wheel whose spokes were beams of yellow, made foul by smoke and dust-she could taste it on her tongue. The roar swelled so she had to resist covering her ears and the lights began inching forward, tightening the trap.
The crack of a branch to her right. She turned to see Nathaniel dashing toward her. By the light of the machines, she could see his fists were clenched. He began to advance on a rider.
She grabbed his arm, arching her back to add weight. He spun on her, easing off only when he recognized her. She shook her head until his arms went limp and fell to his sides.
They were herded back to the road. Minutes later, a larger wagon rolled to a stop, its lights glaring in the darkness. Front doors opened. Deacons emerged, each taller and broader than Nathaniel. One of them opened the rear door, and a man stepped out.
It was the arch vicar.
***
Nathaniel matched the arch vicar's glare. No high bench between them now. The arch vicar came within two paces. Nathaniel held his ground.
"And so, Nathaniel, does this mean you no longer intend to keep your vow."
Nathaniel refused to be baited. He tightened his jaw.
The arch vicar signaled to one of the deacons to fetch Nathaniel's pack. The stack of papers was inside. He skimmed the pages, and a sneer of delight came over his grim features. Then he looked up, waiting for a reaction.
He'd get none. Nathaniel knew he could frustrate this man before whom others cowered. He'd learned things about the Temple that were provable and true. Nothing this frail old man could do would change that.
Then the arch vicar turned to Orah.
"Orah of Little Pond, whose name means light. Will you still claim you've done nothing wrong? The darkness is a disease with no cure. You are sick with it and have tried to infect others."
He searched Orah's bag. He flipped through the papers, glared at Orah, flipped through some more. Another ritual: read, humiliate, repeat.
Next he found the wire-cutting tool and a diagram of the temple trees. He fondled the tool, opened and closed it, stared at the diagram. Finally, he was handed the listening device. He waved it in front of them.
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