Sixteen stars shall set the doors free
She stared in silence as the words faded.
Thomas intruded on her thoughts. "What if the founders of the keep had gone mad?"
"They were the most brilliant of a brilliant age," she said. "The puzzle was meant to be hard. We just need to figure it out."
Thomas persisted in a way that had annoyed her since childhood.
"Sure, they were brilliant, but they couldn't have been happy. Their world was crumbling beneath them. I know I'd be angry at least, if not mad."
She closed her eyes and shook her head. "No, Thomas. They were not mad."
"But they might have been. How else do you explain these verses?"
She was in no mood for his pestering and struck out more harshly than intended.
"Maybe you're not smart enough to solve the rhyme."
"And you are?" he said. "Then tell me what it means?"
She turned away and withdrew to the edge of the shadows cast by the fire. There, she sat cross-legged with her back to her friends and glowered at the darkness. Thomas had overstepped and knew it. When she heard him coming to make peace, she was relieved Nathaniel stopped him.
Where she sat, the warmth of the fire did not reach. Though May was fast approaching, the night air had a bite to it. She clasped her arms around herself and did her best to hide a shiver. After a time, she could sense the others readying for bed.
She stood and turned in a single motion, then strode to the fire where the scroll still lay in its holder. With firelight reflecting off her face, she grabbed the wooden handles and swung the frame over the embers. The words reappeared, and her lips moved soundlessly as she committed them to memory.
When she was done, she looked up to find Nathaniel staring.
"Are you all right?"
"Tomorrow," she said, "I'll add these words to our marching song. But tonight, I'll dream of them. The answer will come, Nathaniel of Little Pond, and I'll solve it. I swear."
***
Orah referred to the map several times a day. By charting their progress, she never worried about wandering off course. Such a simple idea. So helpful. If this was a sample of what the Temple had been hiding, what wonders awaited in the keep?
Now, as this leg of their journey neared its end, each landmark brought Riverbend closer.
The first sign they'd arrived was a cemetery of the kind that sat on the outskirts of so many towns. Surrounded by a waist-high wall, it had a single entrance through a stone arch. Orah grabbed her friends and yanked them inside.
The gravestones bore witness to Riverbend's past. Some were knee high while others were obelisks with a sculpture of the sun on top. Some inscriptions were legible while others were worn smooth by time. In the back, the oldest stones had crumbled, the latest generation having no cause to maintain them. Nearest the road lay a fresh plot, the ground moist and mounded, with not enough time passed to be marked by a headstone.
She directed Nathaniel and Thomas to sit with their backs to the wall, out of sight from the road, while she crouched in front.
"We've seen little of the Temple since Bradford, so you might be tempted to take chances. But with words that fly through the air, we need to be careful."
"Come on, Orah," Thomas said. "Look at this place. It feels more like Great Pond than Temple City."
She sniffed the air as if to get a sense of the town, but all she smelled was the dank odor of freshly turned earth.
She shook her head. "Too big a risk."
"It
does
feel more like the Ponds," Nathaniel said. "Never mind deacons, we haven't seen a soul in days. And the vicar of Bradford said it was far from everything."
"Oh, Nathaniel, don't you start being irresponsible. We mustn't-"
Thomas jumped up. "Well I'm going in. We've slept on hard ground for two weeks and we're nearly out of food. It's getting late. If we wait much longer, we'll end up hungry and sleeping in a graveyard."
Orah looked to Nathaniel for support, but he stood as well and accompanied Thomas out the gate. She glared after them, then surveyed her surroundings. Not wishing to be left alone in a cemetery, she followed.
***
Orah had to concede. There
was
something familiar about Riverbend. The people were friendly and the town easy to navigate. After a two-minute walk, she found herself on the main street. On one side stood an inn and on the other three single-story shops.
The nearest had a cask above the door, the mark of a cooper. The second had a hammer and saw tacked to the wall, the workshop of a carpenter. And much to her relief, the third displayed an insignia that matched the shape on the scroll. For once, she hoped, there'd be an uneventful episode in their journey to the keep.
Inside, shoes and boots were scattered across the shelves and the smell of leather filled the air. In one corner was a workbench, covered with scraps of hide and an assortment of tools. A girl sat at the bench, tapping away with hammer and awl at a half-soled boot. She glanced up when they entered.
She was young, not yet of age, with curls hanging down to the middle of her back. A white mourning sash lay across her gray vest, and the rims of her eyes were red.
An apprentice, for sure. Orah tried to be considerate of the grieving girl.
"Excuse me. Is the master shoemaker here?"
The girl set down her tools and stood to greet them, almost making a curtsy.
"If you please, ma'am. If you mean my father, no. He's gone."
"Do you know when he'll be back?" Nathaniel said.
Her voice quivered. "He's gone and will never return. He died two weeks ago and I'm alone."
Orah offered the customary response. "May he go to the light everlasting."
The girl looked uneasy. "Thank you, ma'am. But I'm not sure he'd want your blessing. It wasn't his way. I'm his daughter, Lizbeth. I suppose that means I'm the master shoemaker now. He left me with the best of his tools and skills. I'm as capable a shoemaker as he was."
Had the keeper died without passing on the secret? And if he'd passed it on, was it to his young daughter or someone else? What if they'd come all this way to find the chain newly broken?
Lizbeth misread Orah's discomfort.
"If you have need of my craft, don't be concerned. I've been working with my father since I was little. You won't find better workmanship in the North River valley. Let me prove it by showing my wares."
But as she reached for the shelves, Thomas blurted out what they all were thinking.
"We haven't come for your shoes."
Orah recalled her own father's death, and tried to cushion his words. "I'm sure your craft's the best, Lizbeth. I'm a weaver and, like you, I know what skill can be gained from a loving master. I'm sure your father's left much of himself with you. Excuse us. We didn't mean to bother you in your grief."
She started to leave, but before she could reach the door, she felt Nathaniel's grip on her elbow.
"We have to try," he whispered. Then his eyes bore into the girl. "We had other business with you father."
The girl's brows arched, making her eyes bigger. "Then you knew my father. If so, you must stay and be my guests. I'd love to speak with anyone who knew him and could set his memory firmer in my mind."
"I'm sorry," Orah said. "We never met your father. But we have reason to believe he had a passion other than shoes."
"But my father lived for his craft. There was no other business I knew."
Orah's shoulders sagged, but Nathaniel pressed on.
"None. Look deep into your heart, Lizbeth. We've travelled far to see him. And now you're our only hope."
The girl fell back a step to lengthen the distance between them and took a moment to steady herself. Then her tiny hands balled into fists and she leaned forward on the balls of her feet. She no longer appeared a child.
"He taught me that all things are possible. Whatever you had to say to him, you may say to me. We are as one."
Orah checked with Nathaniel who nodded. She spoke in the same voice she'd heard him use twice before.
"We have traveled far, but our journey has just begun. The true light drives us on."
The girl's tears began to flow. "He'd waited his whole life and now, is it possible I fulfill his wish so soon? It seems I haven't earned it."
"Do you have an answer?"
Orah grasped her by the arms and waited, giving her time. Then as quickly as the tears had come, they were gone. Lizbeth pulled back and announced:
"May you find the end you seek and may the truth you discover hasten a new beginning."
The chain was intact. Relief filled the shop and all embraced.
After some time, the young keeper pulled away and wiped her eyes.
"My father hoped the seekers would come soon, in his lifetime, or all would be lost. When he fell ill, he berated himself for being weak, for failing the seekers and leaving me with such a burden before my time. He was afraid if I were taken for a teaching, I'd reveal the secrets. And so he told me little."
Orah grabbed at the thought. "But you knew the pass phrase. Was there anything else?"
"Just one thing. He made a special boot, just one, not a pair. He said to give it to you if you came."
She slid a chair to the wall and climbed to the topmost shelf, then retrieved a solitary boot.
Nathaniel reached up and grabbed it before she stepped down. He fumbled inside but found nothing. The girl was almost enjoying his search, until she saw his frustration.
"I thought you'd find it with ease."
He gaped at the girl. "Find what?"
"Why the scroll, of course."
Lizbeth accepted the boot from Nathaniel and pulled the end of the heel. It slid back, revealing a compartment. Carefully withdrawing the scroll, she placed it onto Nathaniel's outstretched hand. He began to open it.
"Oh, there's nothing on it. It's blank. My father said you'd know how to make it show but were not to tell me."
"Thank you, Lizbeth," Orah said. "We know what to do from here."
But Nathaniel was hoping for more. "There's another way you can help. Do you know this region well?"
"Oh, yes, sir, very well. I'd go off with my father to take orders for shoes and deliver those purchased. I've traveled far and wide since I was little."
"Then you can direct us to the next city."
"Please, sir. I don't know what you mean."
"Leave her be," Orah said. "She doesn't know what's on the scroll."
Lizbeth spun around. "But I do, ma'am. I've never seen it, but he told me its contents. A four-line verse. I don't know the words though."
"But there must be a city too."
"No ma'am. I know what he told me. A four-line verse, one piece of the rhyme. He called it the rhyme that was not, because it did not rhyme. But there's nothing else on the scroll, not a mark, not a word."
Orah opened her mouth to argue when the realization struck. Her face grew warm. There was a tingling at the back of her neck. Her tone changed to gratitude.
"Thank you, Lizbeth. You've given us all we need. Your father would be proud."
Not a mark, not a word. Nothing but the verse.
Lizbeth was the final keeper.
The Rhyme That Was Not
Though twilight was approaching, Nathaniel was in no rush to leave. He was worn down and in need of a good night's rest. But more importantly, he had no idea where to go.
The shoemaker's family had a longstanding relationship with the innkeeper across the way. Traveling peddlers who'd buy shoes for resale were allowed to stay as guests at the inn. In exchange, the innkeeper was provided footwear for his family. Lizbeth secured a pleasant room for them, and promised to deliver fresh provisions the next morning.
Nathaniel listened politely as the innkeeper told the story of every amenity in the room, pictures painted by his wife, bed quilts sewn by his grandmother. But as soon as the door was shut, he pulled out the scroll.
If Lizbeth was right, he held in his hand the final piece of the puzzle. But was that enough? The founders of the keep believed that one day the seekers would arise, part of a new generation disaffected with the Temple and eager to learn more. Yet no such thing had happened. Yes, the vicars were feared, but he'd seen no disaffection strong enough to fire a revolt. The Temple had ruled for longer than anyone could remember. No one challenged it because no one could imagine anything different. Even he, for all his dreams, had no such thoughts until he met the first keeper.
But he couldn't let his doubts show. After a month of wandering and at the end of a long day, his friends were unlikely to be at their best. So before placing the scroll over the candle, he tried to temper their expectations.
"My friends," he said. "If the shoemaker's daughter is right, we now have all the pieces of the puzzle, pieces that haven't been joined for centuries. But the puzzle was made to be hard. We shouldn't expect to solve it right away. So let's be kind to ourselves, no matter what we find."
He waited for Orah to nod before placing the scroll over the candle. The rhyme appeared as before, but nothing else.
One more past four falls in a line
Inside, you must enter and fly
Climb its stairway, fourteen and three
When touched by the lines of the rhyme
Nathaniel sighed. The final scroll indeed, but the newest verse was no clearer than the rest.
"I know I'm not the one to figure this out," Thomas said. "And I'm exhausted. I'm going to sleep."
Nathaniel agreed. He rolled up the scroll and began to put it away, but Orah snatched it from him.
"Leave it," he said. "It'll keep till morning."
"I'm grateful for your concern, Nathaniel, but I'll be all right. I only want to add these lines to my memory, so I can see the full rhyme in my dreams."
Too tired to care, Nathaniel and Thomas readied for bed.
***
After all the candles were snuffed out, save one, Orah stared at the words until they were set in her mind. Then she stored the scroll with the others, doused the flame and went to bed.