"We'd best get moving. The further we get from here, the better."
He refilled his pack and turned toward the trail, but Orah stopped him.
"We can spare ten seconds more."
She urged them to gather round, then faced the sun and raised her arms.
"Praise the sun, giver of life. Grant us success in our search. Guide us together safely to the keep."
Thomas gaped at her. "But isn't the keep the opposite of the light."
"No, Thomas. The keep is the opposite of the Temple. That makes all the difference."
They donned their packs and moved out.
From the first step the trail began to climb. The land to their left dropped off, falling away to the river below. Quickly, they were on a ledge above the water, wide enough for all three to walk abreast. To their right, the hillside banked steeply, covered by Tamarack pines that soared to the sky. Their naked poles rose fifty feet or more before branches emerged, providing a canopy that let in no light. In the odd place, where there was a gap, hardy spruce filled in, adding a blue tinge.
As Nathaniel gazed north, with the river rushing below on one side and the forest rising on the other, the vision of the rhyme was realized. For a full eight days they must race on this well-marked path, 'twixt water and dark walls of pine.
The Falls
The trail soon leveled and travel became easier. With the weather staying mild and a favorable wind wafting from behind, they were able to maintain a brisk pace, stopping only for meals and an occasional drink. Nathaniel became convinced they'd beat the time foretold in the rhyme.
By the second day, it was curiosity rather than weariness that slowed them down. Here, far from the world they knew, they began to see remnants of an older civilization, filled with things foreign to them, which they tried their best to understand.
In a well-protected section of the trail, they discovered tall poles at hundred pace intervals. These had the girth of a tree trunk, but were unnaturally straight with a shiny gray coating. If not man-made, they were man-formed and appeared to have been planted in place for no reason.
"I wonder what these where supposed to be," Nathaniel said, rapping on one with his knuckles. It made a hollow sound.
"Look," Thomas said. "Some have lengths of black rope hanging from them."
Nearby, he found a sample on the ground. He wrapped one end around each hand and pulled. Though it was lightweight and supple, it seemed extraordinarily strong. He took out his pocketknife and tried to cut through. The black skin peeled away revealing an inner core with the texture of the scrolls.
From the top of the next pole, a hundred foot stretch dangled intact. Thomas grabbed it and yanked, but it failed to come loose.
"Come help, Nathaniel."
"Just leave it."
"You can never tell when a sturdy rope might come in handy. You're the strongest. Give it a tug."
Nathaniel did as he was asked, with no success.
Thomas would not be denied. "I'll climb up and release it."
"You'll do no such thing," Orah said. "It's too dangerous."
"If we're caught, they'll put me in a darkness cell until I go mad. And you're worried about a fall? Nathaniel, give me a lift."
Nathaniel cupped both hands and boosted Thomas, who vaulted ten feet up the pole. There, he found hand and footholds in the weathered surface. He clambered up and was at the fastening in moments. In two twists, the rope was free.
Nathaniel coiled the rope and offered to carry it, but Thomas would have none of it, insisting it was his.
The next day, looking down at the river, they were surprised to see the remains of a covered bridge. The roof had collapsed, revealing a surface made of black rock. Two reinforced tracks lay on top, too far apart for the wheels of a cart. Another remnant of a strange past.
After three days, the trail turned steeper as it tracked the river toward its mountain source. The climb was so gradual they hardly felt it in their legs, but they began to detect a chill in the air. At the start, the tips of pine boughs were adorned with the bright growth of spring, but here the needles remained dark. Increasingly, they discovered patches of old snow, sheltered in gullies and the shadows of trees.
On the morning of the fourth day, the trail began to rise more quickly. For now, there was access to the river, but possibly for the last time. So far, their waterskins had lasted, but now they were nearly empty.
Nathaniel turned to Thomas. "Do you think you can climb down to the river?"
He studied the embankment. "I can climb down, but maybe not back up, especially hauling skins full of water."
"What if we used your rope?"
Thomas grinned. "I knew you'd find a reason for bringing me along."
Nathaniel insisted Thomas tie the rope around his waist, so he could ease his descent. He then used it to lower the empty skins and pull the full ones up. Afterwards, he dropped the rope one last time to secure Thomas. He braced himself to support his friend, but there was no need. Thomas scrambled up like a goat, scarcely breathing hard. Nathaniel never felt tension on the line.
***
Despite Thomas's misgivings, the trek was going well. All four keepers had been found. Though he'd fretted about the rhyme, he trusted Orah would figure it out in the end. She always did. The deacon's star would be far away by now, hopefully carried by the torrent all the way to Nathaniel's ocean. And most of all, he'd found small ways to be helpful.
But he had trouble shaking the sense of three vicars, sitting at a high bench and watching his every move.
Near sunset of the fifth day, the rains came and the temperature dropped, a last gasp of winter. A wind from the west lifted droplets from the river and turned them to ice. As sleet stung his face, he huddled behind Nathaniel and did his best not to complain. But when the footing became treacherous, he was afraid to continue.
"We have to stop, Nathaniel," he shouted over the winds. "We can't go on."
"We can't stop in the open. Too dangerous."
Thomas cupped his hands around his eyes and glanced past Nathaniel.
"There's an outcropping ahead. We can crouch beneath it, put up blankets and tie them down with the rope."
Nathaniel wavered, then agreed. The three hurried to the overhang and removed their packs. Thomas uncoiled the rope, while the others pulled out blankets. Within minutes, they'd built a shelter and were huddled inside.
As darkness settled in, Thomas felt more than exposed on the ledge. The blankets flapping in the wind felt like walls closing in. The air grew heavy, and he felt as if a millstone were pressing on his chest.
He forced himself to breathe, then pulled out the calendar stick to give his hands something to do. Careful not to cut anyone in the close quarters, he made a slash.
"One, two, three, four, five. Only three days left to the falls."
Orah moaned. "Three more days this close to you and I'll go crazy."
Nathaniel countered. "That's assuming we survive the night."
As if in response, a gust of wind ripped loose their covering. They scrambled to grab the blankets and tie them down more securely. The blast of cold air combined with the exertion made it hard to breathe. Thomas lay quiet, catching his breath and listening to the creaking of the pines. Finally, he wondered aloud.
"It's as if the forces of darkness are conspiring to stop us."
"I don't believe in the forces of darkness anymore," Orah said. "That's not what frightens me."
"Then what
are
you afraid of?"
"That we'll come all this way and fail. That the secret of the keepers will be lost. That we'll never make it to the keep."
The thought hung in the air, competing with the wind to chill them. Thomas studied their profiles in the dark. Even Orah had doubts. Even Nathaniel had fears. When Thomas spoke at last, the certainty in his voice surprised him.
"Do you know what I believe? I believe in my friends. I believe we're the true seekers. And I believe we'll find the keep. Or at least that Orah will find it for us."
Orah said nothing, but leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
After a few minutes, the storm was spent. The wind calmed and the drumming on the blankets quieted.
Nathaniel eased into a smile. "We may survive the night after all."
Survive the night
. Maybe Orah was right. What if the keepmasters were more powerful than the vicars? The keepmasters would keep them safe. Thomas peeked outside the blanket and then made a small bow to his friends.
"I never doubted it. But now what I want to know is what happens when we get there? What do the keepmasters expect of us? How does it end? When a seeker finds what he seeks, what does he become?"
The next morning, the trees bore an icy glaze and a bright sun made their boughs glow. By mid-morning, the sleet on the trail had melted away. Nathaniel had them gather what water they could from dripping branches, enough to last till the seventh day. They'd go thirsty after that.
Thomas licked his lips, recalling the thirst of the darkness. He hoped they'd reach the falls soon and find them, unlike the rock face, to be real and within reach.
***
From high above the river, Nathaniel spotted the lake that must have been its source. It was vast, several times the size of Great Pond. Shortly, he began to hear a roar ahead, growing louder as they approached, the sound of rushing water. When it was time to rest, he determined to forego it. No one spoke. The only sounds were their hurried breathing and the roar of the falls.
As they came around the next bend, his optimism evaporated. Before them, tree limbs, dirt and debris were scattered across the trail. He could see the scar where the land to their right had been ripped away, likely during the recent storm. But of bigger concern was a boulder, too tall and sheer to climb over and wide enough to block the trail. Only a foot's width of path remained before the land dropped away.
The slope down was treacherous, and the cliff up to their right too steep. Behind them, there was no water for days, and their skins were empty. But worse than that, turning back meant the unthinkable-abandoning the search for the keep.
Nathaniel prodded the rock to no avail. It was firmly lodged and too heavy to move. He checked with Orah for guidance, but no words needed to be spoken. They had only one choice-the way forward.
He told Orah to go first. She was the slightest and least likely to disrupt the ground. She wrapped the rope around her waist, while he held the other end and braced.
Before starting, she patted his hand. "Don't drop me, Nathaniel."
"I'll do my best. I wouldn't want to lose our best seeker."
When he was set, he nodded. Orah passed around the boulder, clutching its every knob, sliding her small feet painstakingly from side to side. When she'd cleared the rock, she returned the rope to Thomas, who did the same. Then both attached the rope around themselves and waited for Nathaniel.
He untied the rope from his waist and tossed it across the rock to the other side.
"What're you doing?" Orah cried.
"If I fall, I'd only pull the two of you down with me. Better I cross alone."
Blocked by the rock, they could no longer see each other, but he heard Orah shout. "If you fall, Nathaniel, you'd better die, because if not, I'm coming down to kill you."
It was time. Nathaniel took a deep breath and started around. His feet were too big for the space and his heels hung over the edge. One foot suddenly gave way as gravel skidded off the path and tumbled to the valley below. He balanced on the other and groped for cracks in the rock while listening to the echo of falling pebbles.
He looked down. The misstep had created a hole, half the size of his heel. He shifted around it. Then one step, two more, and he was clear.
Orah grabbed him as soon as he was safe. "Don't ever do that again."
"I don't plan to if I can-"
An expression of wonder crossed his face as he glanced past his friends.
"What now?" Orah sounded as if she could handle no more surprises.
He began laughing. "Look behind you."
Concerned about the drop-off, neither she nor Thomas had bothered to look ahead. There, less than a minute away, was the first of the falls. It started from the slope above and plummeted all the way to the lake below.
Another obstacle? It quickly became clear that the flow was forced out over the land. The cascade tumbled unimpeded while the trail passed beneath.
A few paces farther and they could see them all. This time at least, the rhyme was literal. Before them were four falls in a line.
Despite Orah's disapproval, Thomas stuck his face out under the nearest torrent and emerged soaked with his cheeks red.
"It's freezing," he said, "but delicious."
***
Orah suggested they camp between the falls. As the sun settled behind the far wall of the valley, the wind stilled and the clouds evaporated. Soon, stars began to appear, flickering into being one at a time until they sparkled in clusters across the heavens. Behind the seekers, the thickly-treed slope had turned black, so it was hard to tell the ridgeline from the darkened sky. To the west, the mountains had grayed, but a glow radiated at the top from the remnants of the sun. Shortly after, a full moon rose, fat and orange on the horizon. Then, as it climbed, it cast a path of gilded glass across the lake below.
Thomas pulled out his flute, but before bringing it to his lips, checked with Orah.
"Are we far enough from the vicars now?"
She laughed. "I don't think they could hear us even with their communication devices."
"Then with your permission, may I play for my friends?"
She glanced at Nathaniel and they both nodded.
Thomas began slowly, but with each passing note he poured more of his being into the instrument. He played a tune of sadness and hope. The song flowed into the air and hung over the valley, matching the light of the stars.
That night, they slept to the sound of rushing water. One more day and they'd be done with the first verse. But it was the second that worried Orah now, whether it would be literal like the falls or symbolic like the rock face. It was the quartet that told of a man-made cave and entering the mouth of a snake that could fly.