There Comes A Prophet (10 page)

Nathaniel pressed his ear to the wall. It was like listening to his father telling tales before bedtime. The old man continued.

"A new age would come, they believed, when the treasures would again be embraced. But the Temple was ruthless in eradicating the past. The keep would need to stay hidden till then. So they created a puzzle that led to the keep and divided it into pieces, one piece to one person, with directions to find the next in the chain. These few, entrusted with the secret of the keep, were called keepers."

Nathaniel's heart was pounding. "How many keepers are there?"

"Each keeper knows only the next and no more, all except the last one. If one link is broken, the secret will be lost. That's why each keeper takes an oath to pass on his clue to the next generation before he dies."

Nathaniel had forgotten his dilemma. The idea of the keep had awakened something in him he thought he'd lost forever.

"But who'll solve the puzzle?"

"The founders of the keep believed a new generation would arise that would seek the truth at all costs, even at the risk of their lives. Some few from that generation would take the lead. These would be called seekers, and their task would be to solve the puzzle and rediscover the keep."

"But what's in the keep?"

"The chain started so long ago, Nathaniel. Even the keepers don't know any more. The keep may not even exist."

"Ancient magic?"

"More. Something the Temple fears. Something that might change the world."

Nathaniel's hands were shaking.
I'd be a seeker if I could
.

The other cell went quiet. Nathaniel turned to see the man slumped on the bed, his chest hardly moving. He knew he should leave him be, but...

"Samuel?"

"What is it now?"

"Are you a keeper?"

"It's just a story, Nathaniel. And now I need to rest."

***

The final meal came and went. As the door slammed shut and the bolt was thrust into place, Nathaniel wondered if he'd ever see Orah again. Images flashed before him: Orah in the darkness cell; himself with the not-quite-square-hat of a vicar reciting the blessing. And worse-snatching the child of some neighbor for a teaching.

First thing in the morning, he'd be escorted to the round chamber and look up into the faces of the clergy. They'd demand a decision.

The word decision echoed in his mind, so he almost missed it coming from the peephole.

"I've made my decision, Nathaniel," the old man said. "We both have a difficult choice. And so, we must help each other."

"Help each other? I have no way to help you. And what can you do for me?"

"I can offer a third way. And you can keep the chain alive."

Nathaniel gasped. "You
are
a keeper."

"I am the first keeper. For twenty long years, I've kept the secret safe and the hope alive. But if I die without passing on the secret, the chain will be broken."

"What would you have me do?"

"I'll pass my clue on to you. Then tell the vicars you'll join them. They'll let you go home, give you time to settle your affairs before returning. And then... don't return."

"I'm to become a keeper?"

The old man's chortle was strangely out of place. But he caught himself and spoke more distinctly than ever.

"You misunderstand, my boy. The time to rediscover the keep is now. You are to be a seeker."

The cell walls seemed to contract. Everything that had happened since leaving Little Pond came crashing down upon Nathaniel.

"But I know nothing about the world beyond my home."

"Don't doubt yourself. You had courage to come alone to Temple City and offer yourself to save a friend. You're a man of great passion. This will serve you well on your search. Accept the offer and seek the keep. You may be the drop of water that wears down the rock of the Temple."

"Why would you trust me?"

"Because I have no choice. I'll never leave here. When I die, the first clue of the keepers will be lost, the chain broken. You're our only hope."

This was the moment, Nathaniel realized, more than the decision to run to the mountains or to follow Orah to Temple City. This was the real test. He took a deep breath, puffed out his chest and relaxed.

"I'm ready."

Nathaniel heard the cot dragged aside and the scratch of fingernails on stone. He peered through the hole. The old man was kneeling on the floor and picking at the wall. A pebble came loose, a second hole. Samuel reached inside and pulled out a rolled-up parchment, then ordered Nathaniel to step aside.

He squeezed the scroll through the peephole.

Nathaniel grasped it as if it were spun glass. "What is it?"

"All you need to begin the search. The city, the symbol, the pass phrase and the rhyme"

Nathaniel cradled the parchment and unrolled it. It was unlike any skin or paper he'd ever seen, smooth but with a hard gloss, so it looked wet but felt dry. He wanted to believe in the keep, but when he glanced at the scroll, his doubts returned.

"It's blank."

"The words will appear when held over a flame. Don't worry. The scroll won't burn. The words will show for a few seconds and then vanish when it cools."

Nathaniel rushed to the candle, but the old man barked for him to stop.

"Not here. Not anywhere near Temple City. They must never see the words. You can look when you're far away."

"But how will I know what they mean?"

"That's the seeker's task, but I can start you on your way. There's the name of a town and a symbol. Use these to find the next keeper. Then there's a phrase you must speak and the words the next keeper will respond with. In this way, you'll know to trust each other."

A cough racked the first keeper. Only when it subsided could he continue.

"Finally, there's the rhyme that shows the way to the keep. Each scroll will contain a four line verse. Don't try to make sense of the rhyme until you have the final scroll. The rhyme must be whole to be understood."

Nathaniel stared, trying to make the words appear with the heat from his eyes.

"One last warning, Nathaniel. Make haste. The keep's been waiting too long. It may already be dying."

More coughing followed. When he resumed, his voice was barely audible.

"That's all that has been passed down to me through the ages. Now I need to rest. My life's work is done."

Nathaniel watched as the old man limped to his bed and collapsed. Then he closed his eyes and prayed, not to the Temple, but to the light.

"Be blessed in the light, first keeper."

He rolled the scroll up tightly, concealed it in his sock and lay down. But there'd be no rest that night. Here, when things were darkest, he'd found what he'd been searching for his whole life. Something to change the world.

Nightmares

Thomas leaned against the split rail fence and glared at the hard ground. His father had sent him to prepare the field for planting, though the earth had not fully thawed. Better than brooding, he said. Better to get his mind off his friends.

The teaching had left him weak in body. This chore he'd grown up with seemed harder this year, and he needed a moment to rest. But his spirit ached as well. Only recently could he sleep without nightmares, and now his friends had been taken as well.

He poked at the ground with the spade, rolling a clump of frozen sod. His mind eased into the place where his friends must be. Memories of his teaching were nightmares, but the thought of Orah being taught was worse. And now Nathaniel as well.

Both their fates were his fault. His friends were braver than him, would fight harder, resist longer. Who knew when he'd see them again and what would be left of their spirit. Like Nathaniel's father, he'd carry this guilt for the rest of his life.

He leaned the spade against the fence and switched to the pitchfork, lifting it high until his shoulders shuddered. He took aim and pounded it into the stubborn clump again and again. When he was spent, he stared at the pitchfork, its prongs now buried in the earth.

His friends. How he wished he could help them.

And by the light, how he wished he could be as brave.

The Scroll

Nathaniel shifted the pack on his shoulders. Temple servants had filled it with provisions and oiled the leather until it glistened in the sun. It felt soft and supple against his frame, but he kept fidgeting with the straps, not because the pack was ill-fitting, but to give his hands something to do.

Orah was marching three paces in front, her jaw pointing to the road ahead. Each time he tried to catch up, she'd go faster until she was almost running. Finally, he conceded and let her walk alone. If they were to travel apart, it might as well be at a reasonable pace.

That morning, she'd been taken by the deacons to the city's western gate, the one leading to Little Pond. When she saw Nathaniel approaching, pack on his back, she whirled around and insisted she be returned to her cell. The bewildered men assumed she'd misunderstood and, speaking slowly, explained she was being released. When she dug in her heels, they told her to go home. The will of the vicars must be obeyed.

By the time Nathaniel reached the group, she was ordering them about as if she were in charge. She demanded an audience with the vicars but was denied. Once a decision had been made, she was told, the Temple was not to be questioned.

Nathaniel tried to separate her from the deacons, but she turned on him instead. Taking advantage of the distraction, the deacons slipped away, leaving the two odd young people and their outlandish village ways on their own.

Once alone, Nathaniel tried to persuade her to give up and come with him. For now, they were free to go and should take advantage of it. He waited for her to argue, to scold, to get angry, but she did none of these. Instead, her lips compressed into a thin line. She squared her shoulders, clutched her arms about her breast and glared at the horizon. After several awkward minutes, she stomped off toward Little Pond.

They'd been on the road for more than an hour, and she had yet to say a word. Nathaniel wanted to catch up, force her to face him and tell her the truth. He slowed his pace and glanced behind. The towers of Temple City still showed in the distance. He bit his lip and vowed to say nothing until the accursed place was out of view.

When he turned back, Orah had lengthened the gap. He quickened his pace to get closer but slowed before catching up. He needed to be far from Temple City before telling her. He'd wait for twilight, at that evening's campsite, and hope when she knew, she'd forgive.

***

Nathaniel found the perfect clearing as the sun settled to the treetops. The ground had a thick cover of pine needles, good for a comfortable night's sleep. A small stream bubbled nearby. And it was far enough from the road that their fire would be unseen.

Before twilight came, he went deeper into the forest to gather wood. Though Orah had not broken her silence, she was responsible enough to help with the chore. As they knelt to pick up dead branches, he spoke without looking at her.

"Are you never going to talk to me again?"

"Never," she said.

He lay down his woodpile and reached across, touching her for the first time that day. Her forearms were unyielding, her hands clutching her kindling like gold. He pressed gently until she released her load.

"You're the most stubborn person I know, Orah. You've always been able to see my thoughts, but now you're so angry, you're blind."

The last got her attention. She finally faced him.

"What is it I see wrong, Nathaniel? Neither you nor I are in Temple City being taught. Would you have me believe the vicars have discovered a new light and let us go without you bartering your soul?"

Nathaniel was filled with anticipation and dread-anticipation of sharing this story and dread that she might receive it poorly. He was afraid to guess her reaction.

"You're so learned, Orah. But have you ever heard of the keepers?"

The question took her by surprise. A hopeful uncertainty crossed her features, and she shook her head.

While they knelt facing each other in the midst of the trees, he poured out the tale: the founding of the Temple; their invention of the darkness; the eradication of all that was good along with the evil; the elders who had saved their treasures in a place called the keep; and the generations of keepers who'd preserved its secret for the coming of the seekers.

As he spoke, her expression changed from anger to disbelief, disbelief to openness and finally to wonder. By the time he was finished, she hardly breathed. It was as though the dreams of their youth had turned real.

No need to guess her reaction. Her eyes had become mirrors reflecting the fading light.

"And how do you know this, Nathaniel of Little Pond?"

He told her of Samuel, kept prisoner for twenty years, and how he was the first in the chain of keepers.

He had her now. She wanted to believe. But she'd have one last doubt.

"How do you know the story's true? What if the years in prison made him mad?"

Without a word, Nathaniel reached into his stocking and pulled out the scroll. He waved it in front of her eyes, which had gone from mirrors to moons.

"What is it?" she asked with little air escaping.

"The scroll of the first keeper. The first clue in the chain."

She reached out a hand to take it, but he yanked it away. "It was given into my protection."

"You'll be the one who needs protection, Nathaniel, if you don't let me see it."

He offered the scroll, then pulled it back one last time.

"Be careful. It's survived a long time."

Orah was laughing again-a wonder to see. "I'll take care of it as if it were you as a baby."

He handed her the scroll. She let her fingers glide along it.

"I've never seen anything like it. It ripples like paper but feels like glass. Is it temple magic?"

"I don't know. Maybe magic from before the Temple."

She unrolled it, then brought it closer in the dim light. She turned it over and did the same on the other side.