There Comes A Prophet (8 page)

Like the knight of his dreams, he'd charge into Temple City, but this time, he had no doubt what to do. He'd go to the vicars and offer himself up in her place.

***

"Let us record the first teaching of Orah Weber of Little Pond. Blessed be the light. Orah, do you understand why you're here?"

Orah gazed up at the three men and forced herself to match their stares.

"No, my lord, I do not. I've done nothing wrong."

"It's not the doing of wrong we concern ourselves with, but the tendency to make choices that might allow the darkness to return. You do know what the darkness is?"

"Yes sir. The darkness is the time before the light, a time of chaos and death."

The vicar in the center wore a hat with six red stripes and had a beard two hands long. An arch vicar. She'd learned the rankings in school, but had never seen a vicar so powerful. He glared at her, unblinking, his thick brows hooding his eyes.

"The darkness was much more." His voice echoed to the arches, which were lost in the shadows cast by candles that dotted the walls. "The teaching will help you understand what it was, so you'll never forget the need to obey the Temple of Light."

Orah held her head high and tried to stay focused, but her gaze kept wandering.

The clergymen sat at a curved desk mounted high on a platform, forcing the one before them to strain their neck to see. A tapestry covered the wall behind them, climbing halfway up the dome. Its colors had faded, but its meaning was clear. On one side, a sun beaming across rows of vicars with arms uplifted in prayer. On the other, a black thunderhead threatening the advancing host. The battle of darkness and light.

And beneath her feet, the hatch hiding the teaching cell.

She shook off such thoughts and answered with a firm voice.

"I look forward to your help. I'm an excellent student and eager to learn."

"And so you shall. Orah. Isn't that a name from one of the forbidden languages?"

"It may be, sir. I'm told it means light." She wavered, then conjured up an image of her father. Her back stiffened and she lifted her chin. "It's a proud name that's been in my family for generations."

"But a forbidden name, nevertheless. Rules exist so the darkness may never return. Yet you play loosely with the rules. That means you do not know the darkness. But, Orah of Little Pond, whose name means light, we shall see that you learn... " He leaned forward for emphasis. "... to the depths of your being."

For the first time, she began to wither under his stare. Her hands swung behind her as she tried to hide how much they'd started to shake.

***

As he approached, Nathaniel could no longer suppress his sense of awe. The Ponds had no buildings of more than one story, and all were made of wood. But even from a distance Temple City soared. Elaborate stone structures, some standing six stories high, challenged the low-lying clouds that dotted the morning sky.

But all changed once he entered the city. While the official buildings dominated the horizon, the homes were small and ill-kept-lodgings no one in Little Pond would deem fit to live in. But there was something else. The hospitality of the Ponds was nowhere to be found. People here were fearful of strangers and trudged about with the bent-over gait of someone who's been recently beaten.

Though quick to get there, he lost time finding his way. He wandered in circles, passing the same buildings again and again.

Periodically, he ran into bands of men marching four abreast. Temple officials, he assumed, but not vicars. They wore no hat and their tunics matched his, except for the insignia on their chests-the sun icon shining down on the adoring family of three. In the center of the sun lay a gem in the shape of a star. It held no color of its own but reflected the colors from its surroundings.

The men strutted about with disdain for all they passed. He took a hint from the locals and shied away from them.

By the fourth loop, he'd become desperate. Time felt like lifeblood leaking from his veins. He finally approached a woman who reminded him of Orah's mother.

"Can you tell me how to find a vicar?"

Her kind face became dismayed. "By the light, man, why? No one speaks to the clergy unless spoken to first."

"Please help me. A friend's been taken for a teaching and I have to find her."

The woman backed off and scurried away without answering.

It wasn't until the third try that he changed his approach. He stopped a boy who was hurrying home with his head down and a bag of flour under his arm.

"Can you tell me who these men are, marching with the mark of the Temple?"

"Why sir, they're deacons, defenders of the light."

"Do you think they'd help me see a vicar?"

"They might, or they might beat you for sport. I'd keep my distance if I were you." He took a few steps, then called back as he broke into a run. "But don't go near them till I'm gone and don't tell them we spoke."

Nathaniel was furious with himself. What good was courage without a plan? Finally, he gave in and approached the deacons directly. Now at last, he was being marched under guard through the entrance of the main Temple building.

While he waited, a clerk wrote down his request and then repeated it in a nasal whine

"You say your friend has been brought in for a teaching. You're offering to take her place. Is that correct?"

"Yes, sir."

The clerk paused, punctuated his writing and then looked up.

"Hmmm. Most unusual."

He folded the request, marked it with a wax seal and handed it to one of the couriers dashing about everywhere. By now, Nathaniel knew he couldn't save Orah from the teaching, but he might yet keep her from the worst. He tried to follow the messenger, but the clerk signaled for him to sit and wait.

With so much business transpiring, Nathaniel worried he'd be there for hours. But the courier returned in a few minutes and gestured for him to follow. They ended up in a round room with vaulted ceilings, chillingly as his father had described. Three senior clergy sat at a raised desk along the back wall.

The one in the center began. "You are Nathaniel Rush of Little Pond?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you are here to... request a teaching in place of Orah Weber?"

"Yes, sir."

The senior vicar shook his head. "Extraordinary."

The vicar on the left leaned toward Nathaniel. "No one ever requests a teaching."

"Nevertheless, I'm here to offer myself in Orah's place. I'm of age, from the same village and would serve your purpose as well. My father's an elder and I'm well-regarded by my neighbors. After I've been taught, Little Pond will be stronger in the light."

There was grumbling, murmurs of disagreement between the three. Nathaniel edged closer. When they noticed his approach, they went silent.

"Nathaniel of Little Pond," the senior cleric intoned, trying to restore order to the proceeding. "We must confer. We'll need time without your presence. You'll be taken to a place where you may wait in the meantime."

He rang a bell whose handle was a miniature sun icon. Four deacons marched in, formed a square around Nathaniel and prepared to escort him out.

Except that Nathaniel refused to go.

He was tall for the people of the Ponds, who in turn were bigger than the people of Temple City, so he towered over the deacons. They hesitated, looking to the clerics for guidance, knowing it would take some effort to move him.

Annoyed, the vicar on the right waved them off. "What is it now?"

"My request is urgent. I want my friend relieved of her teaching or my offer doesn't stand."

The vicar in the center stared at him and stroked his beard, taking time before responding. His expression changed from irritation to decision.

"Your friend has only arrived this morning. We've just finished with her. We'll deliver our pronouncement soon. Now with your permission, young man, follow these gentlemen to your... guest quarters."

He gestured for the leader of the deacons to approach, leaned in and whispered a command. Then the deacons reformed and guided Nathaniel away.

As Nathaniel turned, he glanced over his shoulder. The two younger vicars were staring in bewilderment. But their superior was gazing after him, deep in thought.

***

The deacons led Nathaniel down a stairway to an underground corridor. On one side, the wall bore no markings other than the etched decay of years. But on the other stood a row of oaken doors, each with a window, concealed by a metal slat controlled from the outside. And each was anchored by an iron bolt.

From the beginning, Nathaniel knew this was no guest house. He was to be prisoner until the judgment was handed down. He could only hope he hadn't made matters worse for both of them. The room inside, however, was not the teaching cell he feared. It was comfortably wide, with a ceiling high enough to provide headroom to spare. It contained a serviceable cot on one side and a table and chair on the other. Though there were no windows-the walls were below ground-there was a tarnished brass receptacle on the table holding a lit candle. At least there'd be light.

As soon as he entered, the door was locked behind him. He sat on the cot and stared at the walls. The stones were chipped and worn, leaving a layer of dust that gave the air a stale taste. But he refused to be discouraged. He remained determined to save Orah and was hopeful the vicars would agree.

As for his notions of Temple City, he'd been deluded. This place had not a whiff of ancient greatness. Men of honor would never have built it. The strength of this conviction gave rise to cynical words spoken aloud.

"So this is the great Temple City."

"Not quite."

Nathaniel froze. Was that an answering voice, or had he already gone mad? A grating came from the opposite wall, like the gnawing of a rat on stone. He grabbed the chair for defense. But what happened next took him by surprise.

A flicker of light came through a hole in the wall, and then a muffled voice.

"You see, there are many Temple Cities. And this is only one. Not the biggest either."

Nathaniel set the chair down and edged toward the wall. "What did you say?"

"Not the biggest. I've only seen three, but one was bigger. At least as far as I can recall. It was so long ago."

Nathaniel came closer. "Who
are
you?"

The voice on the far side of the wall was gaining strength. "You see, the Temple has created their world on a grid. East to west, north to south. A Temple City every six days-each responsible for children of light within a three-day-walk. And do you know for what purpose?"

Nathaniel had no idea how to respond.

"Control of course. To control you and me and everyone else." The voice became deep and mocking. "So the darkness shall never return. Why else do you think we're here? To protect the world from the darkness? No. To control our thoughts."

Nathaniel had never heard words spoken so bluntly-and here in Temple City. But the voice wasn't finished.

"The self righteous vicars and their deacons who strut about. Defenders of the light, they call them, but they're only rough men, uneducated, who do as they're told because the Temple provides them power they could never obtain on their own."

"But who are you?" Nathaniel said, trying to be more assertive.

The man cackled. "I'm the guest in the next room. Their favorite guest because they never let me leave. If there comes a prophet," he boomed, mimicking the vicars, "you should stone him, even if he be your own child. But if I'm a prophet, then why haven't I been stoned. Do you know why? I'll tell you. They're afraid to let me stand before my people, terrified of what I might say."

"How is it there's this hole between the cells?"

"Because I've scratched through with a bit of this and a bit of that. Yes, I have. Through wall as thick as a grown man's head." He tried to laugh, but only an unhealthy cough emerged.

The man must be mad, but Nathaniel couldn't resist responding.

"That's impossible."

"To wear down stone? It can be done. It took twenty years, but I've done it before they've worn me down."

Twenty years. Nathaniel drew in a breath, but stayed silent.

The man filled the silence. "Let me have a look at you. I see so few people."

Nathaniel approached the hole and peered through but could see nothing.

"No, no. Not so close. It's only a small hole. Go back to the far wall so I can see. Your turn will come."

Nathaniel did as he was told.

"A young one, eh? Fine-looking and tall. Let me give you advice, young man. Don't stay as long as I have. Tell them whatever they want and go on your way. Lie if you must. Why did they bring you here anyway?"

Nathaniel began to answer but stopped. This wasn't Little Pond. The whole city was strange and he was fast learning mistrust.

"Let me see you first. It's my turn."

He heard scuffling steps from the far side and then put his eye to the hole.

In the neighboring cell was an old man, with skin so loose the outline of his skeleton showed. He was panting and his mouth hung open, exposing a tongue covered with sores. Nathaniel looked away.

"Not pretty, no." The man's voice became clearer by the moment. "This is what happens when a body is given just enough food and water to survive. The Temple doesn't harm its children. Oh no. It loves its children. But they don't know what I am and it frustrates them, so they keep me here. Do you want to know what I am, young man?" He paused, more for effect than to wait for a reply. "I'm what they fear most. The truth. So here will I stay forever."

Despite his revulsion, Nathaniel returned to the hole and looked again. An image of madness? Or courage beyond anything he'd ever imagined?

***

Alone now, the clergy met in a windowless room that was brightly lit despite the absence of candles. The arch vicar gazed as a pale glow flickered off his face, giving his actions a mystical cast-the light bestowing wisdom on its high priest. He tugged at his beard, nodding repeatedly, then spoke without looking away.

"Perfect."