She removed her pack and pulled out a wrinkled sheet of paper.
"Not the ones in Temple lettering. Most were ripped down by deacons. But people took to copying them by hand and passing them around. They say the spinner of Adamsville closes his store at noon so he can spend the rest of the day writing. Look for yourself."
As he took the page and started to read, his hands began to shake. Memories of his own teaching flared in his mind.
"There are rumors," his wife said, "that it's the work of young people from Little Pond, two boys and a girl."
He looked up. "The Weber girl?"
"And her two friends who went missing last spring."
He read more-it was hard not to finish. But he paused as a thought struck him.
"Why did it stop?"
"What?"
"The postings."
"I don't know," she said. "Caught, I suppose."
"The Weber girl?" he said more subdued this time, picturing her in the hands of the deacons.
"It could be."
"I knew the father before he died. I still see the mother. With husband and daughter gone, she looks wretched."
He finished the page. It was signed "The Seekers of Truth." At the bottom was scrawled an additional phrase: "Please make copies and pass them on."
"Are there others?"
She reached into the pack and handed him three more.
"And I'll need a pen."
"What for?" she said.
"There's copying to do."
Chapter Thirty-Seven
A Sliver of Moonlight
Nathaniel woke to the sound of the bolt releasing. It was late evening, after dinner, and he'd dozed off-an odd time for the deacons to be coming. He swung his legs to the floor and combed back his hair with his fingers as if he cared what they thought.
But it wasn't deacons.
"Well, it seems little Natty's in a bit of trouble."
"Thomas!"
His friend hushed him with a finger to his lips, then squatted by his side.
"Do exactly as I say, Nathaniel. Count to sixty, saying one Little Pond, two Little Pond, like we used to playing hide-and-seek. When you reach thirty, leave the cell. The door will be unlocked. At forty, release Orah. Be sure to lock both doors behind you. At sixty, be by the exit at the end of the hall. I'll be on the other side to open it. Nod if you understand."
Nathaniel nodded.
Then Thomas was gone. A dream? Nathaniel wanted to believe and began counting. If the door was locked at thirty, he'd go back to sleep.
Twenty nine Little Pond, thirty. He pushed and the door opened. His heart was pounding. Thirty nine, forty. And there was Orah. She stared at him, her lips forming a question. He froze her with a glance and grabbed her by the wrist. Forty eight Little Pond, forty nine. He slid the bolts closed, then dragged her to the door at the end of the hall. Fifty nine, sixty. The snap of a lock releasing, a creaking sound.
Orah stared at the figure in the doorway. "Thomas. But how-"
Thomas silenced her with a slash of his hand. "No more talking till we're out of the city. Can you do that?"
She nodded as he locked the door behind them, then gaped as he flew down the hall to a stairway at the end. He bounded up it, taking the steps two at a time as Nathaniel and Orah struggled to keep up. At the top, he yanked them into a doorway on the left, the entrance to the temple laundry, which was closed for the night. In one corner lay a pile of dirty clothing, which he urged them to put on over their own while he did the same. His guess at their fit was flawless-even Nathaniel's long arms were covered. Orah stretched a cook's cap over her head, stuffing her hair underneath.
"Now do as I do. No questions."
He handed each a warm bundle tied in cloth and sauntered off with a limp as if his feet hurt from standing all day. Nathaniel drifted to one side and Orah to the other, mimicking his gait. As they went, he whispered nonsense, every so often breaking into laughter of the kind unlikely to come from someone trying to avoid attention. He dug an elbow into Orah's ribs to force a giggle and drive the terror from her eyes.
At the end of a passage, they came to an archway opening to the outside. A lone deacon slumped in a chair by the door, looking bored. He roused as they approached, straightened his tunic and stood to block their way.
"Leaving early tonight, are we?"
"Charlie-boy let me off," Thomas said in a hearty voice, only false-sounding to those who knew him well. "Birthday party to make. Gave me a bunch of leftovers for the celebration." He gestured to the bags they carried, which were ripe with the aroma of dinner. "There's plenty. Care for a bite?"
The guard's demeanor lightened when he inhaled the scent of freshly-cooked pork. He smacked his lips and rubbed his stomach.
Before he could respond, Thomas dug into his bundle. "Here you go."
The man reached out with both hands as Thomas handed him half a loaf dripping with meat. As he opened his mouth to take a bite, they waved and left the building.
Once in the street, Thomas insisted they maintain the pretense. One right turn, two lefts and a secondary gate. Then Temple City was behind them. Nathaniel paused to breathe in the outdoors and beam at the full moon. But there was no time to savor the moment. Thomas grinned at the two of them and proclaimed in a whisper.
"Now, run for your life and don't stop till you're ready to collapse."
***
Orah's lungs burned, but she refused to be the first to give in. She was giddy with the cold air, the night sky, with the three of them together again. She'd lost hope and now it was restored, at least for a while.
Nathaniel was jogging ahead. He slowed suddenly and thrust his arms in the air. She came to a stop by his side, with Thomas right behind. They'd been running for hours.
She had no breath to speak but motioned them deeper into the woods. Now that they were free, best not to take chances. And she needed to understand what was happening.
"Thomas," she said between gulps of air. "You are amazing. How did you do it?"
He explained how he'd discovered the two shafts and used his climbing skills to explore. One led to their cells, the other to the far side of the main prison door. He realized he could set them free, climb back up and release the main door from the other side. He practiced until he could finish within a count of sixty.
As he spoke, his eyes sparkled, reflecting the slivers of moonlight that slipped through the branches of the bare November trees.
"But you might have been caught. How did you know there'd be no one there?"
"Every night, I waited until the guards and prisoners were finished with dinner. I took a pouch of flour from the storeroom-too little to be missed-and climbed down the rope. I sprinkled a dusting on the floor, then checked for footprints the next morning. I started early in the evening and late the next morning, then narrowed the times until no footprints appeared."
She nodded between gasps.
"The rest was easy. I watched where the laundry carts were taken. The hardest part was finding clothing to fit Nathaniel. Taking food was no problem-the kitchen folk are always bringing leftovers home. Then I waited for a moonlit night so we could run without breaking a leg."
She looked at him as never before. "That's... brilliant, Thomas. So much planning, so many details."
She imagined he must have blushed, but his grin was visible in the dark.
"Maybe I spent too much time with you."
She reached out to embrace him, when a thought struck.
"So how much time do we have?"
She watched him calculate in his head.
"Six, maybe seven hours before they find we're gone."
"Six hours." Concern rumpled her brow. "Then what are we waiting for?"
"I thought you needed to rest."
She glanced from Thomas to Nathaniel, and sucked in a breath. "I'm ready. Let's go."
Then she stepped onto the path and took off.
***
They did their best to keep
running until the sun rose above the trees, walking a step here and there, more often staggering before picking up the pace. Thomas guessed they were less than a day from Little Pond. But they wouldn't get there without stopping. He'd been better fed and more active than his friends and could see the difference. Orah was having trouble maintaining a straight line, and Nathaniel had stumbled twice. He signaled for them to halt.
"Enough. If we keep going, you two will pass out in the middle of the road."
Nathaniel doubled over, palms resting on his knees. Orah braced her back with her hands, trying to stretch her lungs to make room for air. She shook her head long before she could speak.
"We keep going."
"No," Thomas said. "We find a clearing in the woods and get some sleep."
Orah dropped to one knee, looking as though she might be sick. "I'm not going back. I'm never going back."
She was exhausted, nothing left but her will. Thomas eased her up by the elbow, trying to help her stand as he had the day they'd discovered the Temple of Truth.
"No, Orah. This time it's my adventure. And I say we rest."
For once, she gave in. With his support, she lurched to her feet and collapsed in his arms.
***
Thomas sat on his haunches and tracked the shadow receding along the ground until it exposed his friends to the sun. Neither stirred. He stepped closer and nudged them with the toe of his boot.
"Time to go."
Orah sat up, stretched her arms over her head and turned to the warmth from above.
"Praise the sun, giver of life. What a day."
"I thought you vowed never to say that again."
"I know, Thomas, but it feels so good to see the light."
The exhilaration of the night's flight had faded, and daylight exposed the worry on her face. She rose stiffly and surveyed her surroundings.
"But where?" she said. "Where can we go that we'll be safe?"
Thomas shrugged. "I got us out of Temple City. I thought the two of you could figure out the rest."
Nathaniel stumbled to his feet and tried to rub away sleep. "Where are we?"
Thomas waved his arms and circled about. "We're in the Ponds, I'd guess about a day's walk from home."
Nathaniel gazed at the road ahead. "Little Pond. I'd love to see it, but won't the vicars look there? They may be waiting already."
Thomas frowned. "I did the best I could. I could only think of two places that gave us any hope-the keep and Little Pond. The keep was too far away. And a part of me wanted to see home again."
Orah touched her palm to his cheek.
"You did well, Thomas. The deacons have been searching Riverbend. We'd have run right into them if we got that far."
Thomas held his head still, savoring his reward, but the sun was racing across the sky.
"They'll be after us by now. We need to keep moving. But where?"
Nathaniel strode forward. Thomas could see the resolve gathering in his eyes.
"We'll go to the granite mountains, to the pass I found and from there to the ocean. No one will look for us there."
Orah glanced up as she brushed mud and dried leaves from her clothing.
"Winter's coming. We'll need provisions and tools to survive. And I don't know about you, but my clothing's wet and I'm chilled to the bone."
Thomas watched the minds of his friends churn, planning as they'd so often done. He was relieved to be free of that responsibility.
"We'll go to our special place," Nathaniel said, "staying on back trails. From there, we can scout out Little Pond and check for deacons, then sneak in to gather supplies. We can rest in the shelter before heading to the mountains. We'll need all our strength to scale those peaks."
Thomas looked at him skeptically. "And then what?"
Nathaniel shrugged. "I don't know. Winter by the ocean, build a shelter or find a cave, catch fish to eat and wait till spring."
Thomas cocked his head to one side. "And when it's warmer... .?"
Orah came to Nathaniel's side and hooked her arm around his. She smiled at Thomas and winked.
"Maybe we'll build a boat and sail off to the new land."
"You've both gone daft in those cells. We'd have no chance."
"That's what you said about finding the keep."
Dreamers. He had to pick dreamers for friends. But there were no better options. He flashed his grin.
"All right then. Let's do it. I never liked kitchen work anyway."
What did it matter? He'd made his choice on the steps of the Temple of Truth, on that near-perfect September day that seemed so long ago. And now the consequences of that decision were at hand. Better to die in the mountains or on the ocean than in the hands of the vicars. Better to die with his friends.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Choices
It was past midnight when they limped into the clearing outside Little Pond. Getting there had taken longer than expected. Even familiar woods are hard to navigate in the dark, and their dash from Temple City had left them bone-weary.
Orah stared at the remains of their childhood sanctuary and sighed. Her legs throbbed, and her damp clothing offered little protection from the cold. But the branches that wrapped the Not Tree would provide little shelter-their needles had turned brown and fallen, leaving walls that were tattered and bare.
As she gazed at the naked trees surrounding the clearing, so near to home she could sense it, a question crept into her mind.
"Does anyone know what date it is?"
Nathaniel's eyelids sagged, almost covering his eyes, and the rest of him sagged as well. "The leaves are down and it's cold. That's all I know."
"The last of November," Thomas said.
"Festival already. Time's passed strangely this year,"
Thomas shuddered. "This time last year, I was heading to my teaching."
An unexpected gust kicked up. Orah wrapped her arms about herself and rubbed, then became captivated as the branches on the shelter fluttered in the breeze.
"I'd love to go home to my mother, sleep for a week and then meet for festival. But if we thought that way, we'd be back in Temple City before we knew it. Thomas would get his own cell. And Nathaniel and I would be separated, so far apart we'd never see each other again."
She gave a shiver, and Nathaniel draped an arm about her shoulders. She could feel his warmth, but there was little strength left in him. When he spoke, he hardly had energy to get the words out.
"Let's get some rest. We'll need to be up before dawn if we're to slip into the village unseen."
She nodded, then turned and embraced him. She clung fast as if to allow no space for vicars or deacons or walls to come between them ever again. When they separated, she noticed Thomas standing apart and went to him.
"Whatever happens, Thomas, thank you, even if it's only for a short time."
Then they entered the shelter and huddled together for warmth.
***
Orah was first to awake, startled to consciousness by a yearning to be someplace familiar, someplace safe and secure. The frozen ground had been unkind to her limbs, and the wind whistling through the branches had disturbed her sleep. She sat up, peered into the darkness and remembered-someplace familiar, but never again safe and secure.
She went outside so as not to disturb her friends and settled on the flat rock. Her eyes wandered, following the dried leaves that skittered across the ground, then staring up at the treetops as they swayed in the moonlight. As if searching for hope.
Then she heard a sound on the path to the clearing, leaves being crunched, twigs being snapped. She caught sight of a solitary figure approaching through the trees but she remained still and unnaturally calm. Deacons would come in greater numbers, not alone.
The figure became more distinct, the gait familiar. It moved deliberately, shoulders hunched, until it breached the tree line and entered the clearing. Nathaniel's father.
"Orah. Thank the light I've found you."
&n
bsp; She stood to meet him as he came forward to embrace her.
He glanced about fearfully. "Where's Nathaniel?"
Thomas heard their voices and stuck his head out from the shelter. "What is it, Orah?"
She gestured to Nathaniel's father. When Thomas recognized him, he scrambled out to greet him as well.
She tilted her head toward the tattered frame.
"He's in the shelter sleeping. Come, Thomas. Let's leave father and son to talk alone."
The older man thanked her, then bent stiffly and crawled inside.
***
Nathaniel awoke to no sound, but rather to a presence nearby, a specter kneeling over him praying. One eye opened, then the other. A vision of his father? He sat up and rubbed his eyes.
"What... ?"
"I've come to warn you, Nathaniel. I have only a short time. There are deacons in the village. They intend to-"
"But how did you find us?"
"Have you forgotten who built this shelter?"
"I didn't think you remembered."
"I'm still your father and always will be."
Nathaniel grabbed him in a strong embrace. They clutched each other for a dozen heartbeats.
When they parted, the two studied each other in the rays of moonlight that filtered through the branches, trying to measure how each had changed, trying to understand the moment.
His father spoke first. "You've become a man, Nathaniel."
"I've been gone less than a year."
"I don't mean by time but by experience. I can see it in you."
"The vicars haven't changed me. Their darkness doesn't frighten me anymore."
"Not in that way, Nathaniel. There's a seriousness about you, like one who's faced death and made a choice."
Nathaniel looked away, embarrassed. When he turned back, a moonbeam had slipped through the branches and crossed his father's face, revealing a right cheek discolored and an eye half-closed. He reached out to stroke the wound.
"What happened?"
His father winced and pulled back. "A misunderstanding with a deacon."
"I thought the Temple doesn't harm its children."
His father bowed his head and stared at the ground. "I've never seen them like that, not even during my teaching. You must have done something terrible to make them so angry."
There Comes A Prophet Page 26