There Comes A Prophet
Page 28
The final word echoed in the square. More arms were raised, more fingers tightened on stones. But before anyone could act, Nathaniel's father strode forward.
"My son's voice. It's all true."
Deacons tried to block his way, but he shook them off with thick forearms and moved next to Nathaniel.
"I stand with my son."
The arch vicar grimaced, but motioned the deacons out of the way.
"Now we see where the seeds of darkness were sown. So be it."
And then Susannah Weber burst from the crowd and came to Orah's side.
"And I stand with my daughter."
The three became five as the village watched. No more arms were raised, but none were lowered. The red morning sun had cleared the trees.
A buzz swept through the crowd. Hands without stones were raised and fingers pointed at a tramping noise, the sound of marching feet.
The three friends, their parents, clergymen and deacons all turned. Men and women began to arrive, first in ones and twos, then tens and twenties. When finally gathered, they were more than three hundred. A middle-aged man with thinning hair came to the front. His wife stood beside him, arm in arm. He was breathing hard and needed a moment before he could speak. When he did, his voice was crisp as the cold air.
"The people of Great Pond stand with the seekers of truth."
Nathaniel's father stared at them, assimilating the situation, then set his jaw and turned to the clergymen-facing them for the first time as an equal.
"Take your wagons and leave the Ponds. When next you return, it'll be on our terms."
Flustered deacons began to form a wedge around the vicars, a battle formation. But now at last, hands with stones found a purpose. There were angry shouts. Arms were raised.
Outnumbered, the deacons backed down and retreated. Left with no choice, the arch vicar signaled the others to the wagons. But unafraid for himself, he lingered, a true believer.
"This is a sad day for the light. You know not what forces you have unleashed. When the darkness descends upon our world, let it be remembered it started here in Little Pond."
The monsignor held open a door, and the arch vicar swept inside. There was a roar as the wagons sprang to life. People covered their ears. Wheels spun, kicking up dust that rose twenty feet or more. And then they were gone.
Arms relaxed, rocks thudded to the ground. As quiet settled on the village, Nathaniel found his neighbors staring, expecting him to fill the void. Now his heart began pounding and his breath became short. They waited for him to speak, but no words came to mind.
Then Orah rose up on her toes and leaned in, laughing and whispering in his ear.
"Think of new beginnings."
He recalled the Shoemaker's daughter and remembered her proud face reciting the pass phrase. He faced Orah.
"We have traveled far, but our journey has just begun. The true light drives us on."
Orah picked up on it instantly, friends since birth.
"May we find the end we seek and may the truth we discover hasten a new beginning."
When Nathaniel glanced back at the villagers, all were watching him. He rose up to his full height and proclaimed:
"Thus ends the age of darkness. Let the age of enlightenment begin."
Epilogue
Spring finally arrived. The seekers' bulletins had been read by thousands. Then thousands turned to tens of thousands. The rebellion was spreading like wildfire, just as Orah had planned.
Thomas had muddled through the winter while elders from surrounding towns convened. As one of the seekers of truth, he was obliged to attend. But at last the agony was over. Today had been celebrated as a new holiday, the festival of freedom. And tomorrow the best of the region, led by Nathaniel and Orah, would embark on the first expedition to the keep.
He wasn't sure he wanted to go.
It was the first mild day of the season and the trees were preparing to spread their seeds to the world. He sat on a log and dangled his feet in the pond until he could barely feel his toes, then swung them out to warm. Sunlight filtered through the branches, causing ripples on the ground as they swayed with the breeze. Overhead, cream colored pods from a honey locust were floating to the ground like snow.
December had been filled with bickering, demands from the people and righteous indignation from the Temple, until conditions for the meeting were agreed. Adamsville was to be the site. Nathaniel's father was chosen to represent the people and the arch vicar would lead the clerics.
January consisted of posturing and pomp, with a plentiful smattering of sermons about the darkness. But eventually necessity drove everyone together. The Temple had no means of support without the people. The people needed the medicine the Temple provided and, perhaps, missed its spiritual ministrations as well. And after a thousand years, neither side had much appetite for violence.
In the midst of negotiations, the grand vicar had passed to the light. The Temple council offered the position to the arch vicar, who at first declined. But when no one else wanted the job given the circumstances, the old man was declared the human embodiment of light on this earth by default.
After long days fraught with ill will, the people and the Temple reached a truce. The terms were simple. All teachings would be suspended. The people would accept ministrations from the vicars and continue to tithe. In exchange, the Temple would provide medicine and, most importantly, safe passage to the keep.
Orah worried that each day brought the keep closer to extinction. So, practical as always, she proposed inviting the gray friars to accompany them, hoping they might use their skill to take over maintenance of the keep. The council of priors agreed at once. The brothers it seems were more interested in tinkering with devices than arguing about the darkness.
This inspired Nathaniel to suggest including some vicars. Their guidance might help avoid the mistakes of the past, and their involvement might ease the rift with the clergy. Orah was outraged and accused him of dreaming again. While Thomas couldn't imagine letting the vicars near the keep, he wasn't about to doubt Nathaniel. Stranger things had happened.
Thomas's feet had warmed in the sun, and he swung them back to the pond. As the tingling spread through his ankles, he slowly shook his head. No. He'd pass on the trip. Once to the keep was enough.
And he had other things to do.
This afternoon would be the first meeting of the group of musicians he'd formed. They were a modest five, a drum and four flutes. He'd composed a tune for them to learn but believed it needed a different instrument. While he'd heard many in the keep, he hadn't bothered to learn their construction. So now he sat on the log and tried out his newest creation.
He'd chosen a backing of rosewood for the teardrop shape and, after some testing, had settled on spruce for the sounding board. He'd lovingly sanded the wood through the winter until he could sense the grain with his fingertips. Then he'd tap it with the side of his thumb and gauge the vibrations, shake his head and sand some more.
Across the hole in the center, he'd strung catgut, which he found would produce different tones depending on how tightly they were stretched. To allow for adjustment, he wrapped them around pegs inserted into a short neck. For now there were five strings, but maybe by next freedom festival, he'd add a sixth. He gave a twist of the knob to tighten the last string and plucked them in sequence. Three were perfect, but the others needed tuning.
He was undaunted. He'd call his new instrument a lute, after a similar one from the keep. He might even call it a Bradford lute, since his was unique. It had its own sound, though not yet ideal.
But he knew he could make it better.
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