The Seekers: The Children of Darkness (Dystopian Sci-Fi - Book 1) by David Litwack Page A

such blasphemy spoken so bluntly—and
here in Temple City.
    The man’s rant sailed on. “The self-righteous vicars and
their henchmen who strut about. Deacons they call them, defenders of the light,
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, why haven’t they stoned me? Do you know why? They’re
afraid to let me stand before my people, terrified of what I might say.”
    “How did this hole between the cells get here?”
    “I bored through the stone myself, yes I have, scratching
with a bit of this and that. Through a wall as thick as a grown man’s head.” He
tried to laugh, but only an unhealthy cough emerged.
    A madman, surely, but Nathaniel couldn’t let such a claim go
unchallenged. “That’s impossible.”
    “Impossible? A persistent man can do anything. It took
twenty years, but I wore down the stone before they wore me down.”
    Twenty years . Nathaniel sucked in a breath but stayed
silent.
    “Let me have a look at you,” the man in the next cell said. “I
see so few people.”
    Nathaniel peered through the hole but saw nothing.
    “No, no, not so close. It’s only a small hole. Go back to
the far wall. Your turn will come.”
    Nathaniel did as asked.
    “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.” He attempted a long sigh which quickly degraded into a
wheeze. Once he caught his breath, his voice rose. “Lie if you must. Why did
they bring you here anyway?”
    Nathaniel opened his mouth to answer but stopped. This wasn’t
Little Pond. The whole city brimmed with intrigue, and he was fast learning
mistrust. “Let me see you first. It’s my turn.”
    He heard scuffling steps from the far side and put his eye to
the hole.
    In the neighboring cell stood an old man with skin so loose
the outline of his skeleton showed. He panted 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 to a body given hardly enough food and water to
survive. The Temple doesn’t harm its children, oh no, but they don’t know what
I am, so they keep me here. Would you like to know what I am, young man?”
He paused, seemingly more for effect than expecting 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. What did he behold? An image of madness? Or courage beyond
anything he’d ever imagined?
    ***
    The clergy reconvened in a windowless room that was brightly
lit despite the absence of candles. A pale glow flickered off the arch vicar’s
face as he gazed into the glass panel, giving his actions a mystical cast—the
light bestowing wisdom on its high priest.
    He tugged at his beard, nodding repeatedly, and spoke
without looking away. “Perfect.”
    “What is?” the junior vicar said.
    “The boy’s background, his family, his profile... all as I
suspected.” He faced the younger man. “I had him placed in the cell next to the
old prisoner.”
    The younger vicar stared back, his lips spreading agreeably,
but his eyes narrowed. “But holiness, the plan failed the last time.”
    It had failed, but the concept was sound. The last time, the
arch vicar had spent weeks begging the council for approval, overlooking how
they indulged him like a child. Let the old prisoner die, they had said. The
secret’s nothing but a legend. Finally, to humor him, they