There Comes A Prophet (7 page)

Elder John never spoke about teachings, but for some reason insisted they visit him every few days. As soon as the storm cleared, Orah decided it was time.

When they reached the door of his cottage, the recent widower was waiting to welcome them in. He placed a kettle on the fire and hovered while it came to a boil. Once they had their hands wrapped around hot mugs, he gave them a lesson on the Temple.

"The Temple is far from perfect. We recognize that here in the Ponds. But it's better than any other choice. We know how terrible the darkness was-we read it in the book of light. But the memory of bad times fades. We're taught that even a small step backward may lead again to the darkness."

He checked on each of them to be sure they were listening.

"I don't know myself but they may be right. Their methods are harsh and I wish it were otherwise. But they hold our world together."

Orah could not keep still. "But aren't there better ways to make us know the darkness without... " She glanced at Thomas. "... hurting anyone?"

John sighed. "You don't understand. It's not knowledge they mean to impart but fear. They take one in three, sometimes more, at a young age. By making them afraid through the teaching, they make us all afraid. In that way, we come to fear the Temple, even as we respect what it stands for. And for all these centuries, that has kept the darkness away."

Nathaniel listened as if he'd just come of age. His world was growing more complicated. He'd always been faithful to the light except in his innermost thoughts, shared only with his friends. But the vicars knew nothing about that. What cause would they have to take him?

One in three. The rest were entries in Temple records. But Orah's voice echoed in his mind.

No more illusions.

***

March arrived. The drifts settled to knee-high under their own weight and then melted to the ankles. In the common pathways, the snow was beaten down and spread with ash so it was easier to walk. Within weeks, the roadways would clear and the vicar would come for the spring blessing.

As the snowed thawed, so did Thomas. More and more, details of his teaching emerged. Orah worked with him like a mother easing a splinter from a baby's finger, using insight gained from Nathaniel's father. She'd ask, "In this dark hole, Thomas, was it cold and wet as well?"

He'd sometimes answer, but never mentioned the betrayal. Though all knew about it, none would bring it up.

One day, as the three wandered through the village, making irregular tracks in the snow, Nathaniel watched Thomas lift his face to the early March sun, letting it give back warmth. He seemed more at peace than at any time since the teaching. For now, Nathaniel's own worries seemed unimportant, and he was happy to share his friend's good feeling.

Nathaniel stepped in front and stopped, causing the group to form a circle.

"There's something I want you to know, Thomas. Whatever you were forced to do wasn't your fault. From what my father said, the strongest character could not resist the teaching. The vicars had no right to demand my name. But know as of this day, I forgive you."

Thomas's good mood vanished, and the sallow look from festival returned. He stared past them, seeing another place.

"There was the hope of leaving, always out of reach. And the need to tell ... It was the only way to go home."

This was the most he'd ever said about the teaching. Orah urged him on.

"They killed my father, Thomas. Don't let them destroy you. So what if you gave them Nathaniel's name. You had no choice."

"Not just his name. They wanted more."

Nathaniel's head snapped around. "More? What else could they want?"

Thomas began to sob. "They wanted to know your dreams."

Nathaniel was torn between outrage and fear of consequences to come. He saw Thomas as he must have been at the teaching-exhausted, frightened, broken. His heart reached out, but the question could not be contained.

"You told them about my dreams?"

Thomas turned and stumbled away.

After a rare moment of uncertainty, Orah steadied herself.

"It's the Temple fault, not his. We have no choice but to forgive. And for anything else, we'll overcome it together."

Then she sped off, catching Thomas and letting his tears make a moist stain on her tunic.

First Test

The equinox, barely dawn, the morning of the spring blessing. Nathaniel tossed in bed. What if the voice from the sun icon should summon him next? Would he submit like his father? And if not, would he ever see Little Pond again?

He gave up on sleep, dressed and went outside to pace. In the watery light of pre-dawn, it was easy to see the way. As he circled the storage shed, he found he was hungry and stepped inside to hack off a slice of ham. As he crouched on a bench eating, he noticed his travel pack hanging on the wall and an idea began to grow. He could fill the pack with food. His sheepskin jacket hung nearby. Even at this hour, a brightening sky foretold a good day to be outdoors.

He'd never win a battle with the Temple. Even if he could resist their strange powers, the dread he'd observed in the villagers would make it impossible to defy them. And once he was in Temple City, he'd either lose his honor and courage or never return.

But...he could vanish for the day. While everyone was required to attend the blessing, there were always a few who had business elsewhere, were sick or visiting distant relatives. If he were absent, they might not think to call his name. Or they might call him, and, when he was found missing, do without a teaching for the spring. He could hide until the vicar was gone.

His heart sank as soon as the idea was formed. Here was his first test since coming of age, and he was choosing to run away. No illusions. It was his only choice. But in his wildest imagination, he could never conceive of his knight making such a choice.

***

By the time he filled the pack, the glow of sunrise was on the horizon. He donned his jacket and hurried off to the Not Tree. But once inside, all he could do was sit cross-legged and stare at the balsam walls.

Time passed slowly. After an hour or so, he began to worry. Was he still too near the village? If temple magic found him, would this place implicate his friends? So before Little Pond was up and about, he determined to go deeper into the woods.

Five-minute later, he stumbled upon a familiar trail. All schoolchildren of the Ponds made the trek to the mountains in the west. They'd hike to the foothills, then climb through bushes and scree to the base of the white granite, where they were told to touch the rock and feel the edge of their world. Here they may come, but no farther. Most never forgot that moment, but few repeated it. The mountains were a two-hour walk and, despite the stories, everyone believed they were insurmountable.

As a more adventurous sort, Nathaniel's father used to bring his son and his friends there for a summer's outing when they were little.

Before he knew it, Nathaniel found his feet on the path. The excursion would give him something to do, take him far from the village and let his mind clear. When he returned, he could claim he'd forgotten the vicar's visit and gone off to the mountains to celebrate his first spring since coming of age. The elders would chastise him but might believe the young, absent-minded romantic. But there was something more. This path-if the stories were true-was the beginning of the voyage across the ocean. In his uncertainty, he hoped such a place could provide answers.

As usual, his mind wandered, this time to younger days on the trail with his friends. As they hiked, his father would make up games to reinforce their schooling and keep them from getting bored. He'd start with geography, giving them five seconds to answer.

"How many ponds in this region?"

"Five."

"And their names?"

"Little Pond, Great Pond, Middle Pond."

"The easy ones, Thomas. Nathaniel, you must know the rest."

"Beaver Pond and East Pond."

"And how far to Temple City?"

"Three days."

Then, when the children began to fidget, he'd switch to numbers.

"How much is seven and nine?"

"Sixteen," Orah called out.

"I knew it," Thomas would protest, "but Orah always shouts it out first."

"I understand. This next one's just for the boys. It's the year 1132 of the age of light. I was born in 1101. How old am I?"

Nathaniel would glare at Orah, daring her to speak out of turn, and then answer, "Thirty one."

"And a hard one, again for the boys. Nathaniel's grandfather was born in 1073. How old is he?"

Thomas would look to Nathaniel, who could only stammer until the time had passed.

"Five seconds is up. Orah?"

The question was unnecessary. Her hand was already in the air.

"Fifty nine, sir. I knew it right away."

Nathaniel and Thomas would make faces at her until his father reprimanded them.

"You'll learn as well, if you work hard. It'll just take more time." And then, suddenly, as if he were surprised, "Look up. We've arrived."

***

As Nathaniel approached, the mountains loomed. No wonder teachers brought students here-an experience to impress. He'd been right about the day. The ground fog had burned off, revealing a clear sky. The morning sun, now stronger in the east, bounced its rays off the white cliffs and made them shine.

Nathaniel had kept a steady pace for two hours. Now that he had an unobstructed view of the edge of the world, he took a moment to rest. He plopped down on the spongy moss, settling against a rock and took a draw from his water skin. Then he tilted his head back and stared at the massive rocks, a scene from a storybook.

This far from the village, he could defy the vicars and imagine his knight, fresh from defeating the darkness, coming to take on his next quest. Perhaps the knight had scaled the mountains after all and built a boat on the far side to cross the great sea. And to this day, his descendants lived on the other side of the world, where there were no vicars, no Temple and no teachings.

Exhausted from a restless night, with the sun on his face and visions of knights in his head, Nathaniel drifted off to sleep.

***

He awoke with a crick in his neck from the hard rock and took a moment to recall why he'd come. As sleep cleared from his mind, he decided he'd made a good choice. He'd avoided the vicar and saved himself for the great deeds that lay in his future, while also rediscovering this spot from his youth. He resolved to bring his friends back as soon as possible.

As he stared at the craggy hilltop, seeing the mountains anew, he noticed a dark patch a third of the way up the rock face. At first, he wondered why it failed to reflect the light. Dense bushes? Moss on rocks? But the more he looked, the more he saw no rock at all, but a pass through the mountains. And he thought he could make out a trail leading up to it. A foolish notion, his father would say, but he needed to know.

He began to work his way up, fighting at first through knee-high undergrowth, some of it thick with thorns. But once through, he found a series of switchbacks climbing up the slope. He moved with no plan, but trudged steadily upward. Before long, sweat streamed down the small of his back, and he was breathing heavily. As exhaustion overcame anticipation, he stopped to rest. For all the distance he'd covered, the pass seemed farther away. He'd need provisions to reach it and some rope. But as his breathing returned to normal, he realized the pass was no illusion-it was real and possible to reach.

As he sat on a high ledge, he glanced back to gauge how far he'd come. Then he saw it below-the village of Little Pond. The place that had been home for all his life looked tiny from here, but he could make out details: his father's farm and the village commons.

And suddenly his circumstance became clear.

The sun was approaching midday. Within an hour, the blessing would commence. His absence would embarrass his father, who was an elder. And in the bright glare of the sun, he knew coming here was an act of cowardice. Whatever might happen, he should never have run from the fear of it.

Forgetting his discovery, he turned downhill and raced back to the village.

***

Breathless and hot despite the chill, Nathaniel rushed into the square. A few villagers lingered, but most had returned to their homes. He relaxed when he saw the altar bare. The vicar was gone.

But relief turned to concern when he picked up a murmur among those who remained. He approached neighbors and asked what had happened, but they only shook their heads. He searched for someone more familiar, finally spotting Susannah Weber, whose face had gone pale as chalk.

"What's happened?" he asked. "Tell me what's happened."

His panic spread when he saw her cheeks moist with tears.

"Oh Nathaniel, first my sweet young man and now my daughter." When he continued to stare, she cried out, "Orah has been taken."

Temple City

Nathaniel knew what he needed to do, but his father forbid him to go. Rather than disobey directly, he waited until the wee hours of the morning before filling his pack and leaving a note.

"I have to go after Orah. Please don't worry."

Now his legs stretched until his muscles sang. By leaving before sunrise, he'd cut their lead in half. He hoped to make up the rest with his long stride. Whenever his legs began to tire, he pictured Orah in the teaching cell and pushed harder.

He paused to rest beside one of the temple trees that loomed over the landscape. He'd been taught that these towers wrapped in branches were a miracle of the light, possessed of magic and to be avoided. But his father told him of a more practical use. Always at intervals of ten thousand paces, they provided a good way to measure distance. Two hours apart at a normal stride, but he'd passed the last few in less. If only he could keep up this pace.

He sucked in a breath and started off again.

Thomas had tried to stop him. No one can prevail against the vicars, he said. They were too strong, the fear they instilled in the people too great. But Nathaniel had no fear of a teaching now. Nothing could shame him more than this-after waiting his whole life, he'd failed his first test of courage. He'd run away, and the vicar had chosen Orah in his stead. Now he was paying the price.