"We never heard of such a town," Nathaniel said. "River something? We've never been there."
"But of course you have, as surely as you grew up in Little Pond. Beyond tracking you there, we have the testimony of the shoemaker's daughter... from her teaching."
Orah charged forward, planting her small fists on the desk with such force the arch vicar slid his chair backward.
"But how could you? She was underage, too young for a teaching."
"My child, the Temple has precepts and rules. Precepts are handed down from the light and are immutable, but rules are determined by the council. An orphan may be taught early, if necessary. I had the authority to issue such a dispensation, and she has benefited as a result."
Orah swallowed hard and stepped back. Without taking her eyes off the arch vicar, she groped for Nathaniel's hand. Their fingertips touched, their fingers intertwined. Nathaniel felt her strength surge through him as she spoke.
"We have nothing to say."
The arch vicar aged before them. His trappings of office lost their power.
"Very well. I don't need to know where the keep is, only that its secret will never be revealed. You'll be our guests for the rest of your lives, and the secret will die with you."
He moved a finger to press a button on the desk-a signal to the deacons-but the finger hovered, hesitating.
"I'll summon you again in a month." The finger shifted, sliding down across the messages instead. When he resumed, his voice chilled like a winter wind. "I can do worse. I can put you in separate cells or send one of you to another Temple City so far away you'll never see each other again. One month. And in the meantime, ponder this. The keep was hidden for centuries, and you only stumbled upon it with my help. Now you've spent weeks spreading these 'truths.' Yet the children still live in the light. No one wants what the keep has to offer. It's time has passed. Hiding its location will accomplish nothing but to keep you apart." He crumpled the messages and waved them in their faces. "One month. It will be your last chance."
***
When they were gone, the arch vicar collapsed in his chair. He removed the black hat with the red stripes earned over so many years and wiped the moisture from his head. When he was finished, his few strands of gray lay plastered to his scalp.
How could they be so willing to sacrifice so much? Had the founders of the keep left the world a better place? Did they need to develop such efficient ways to kill? Was it so vital to contravene the order of things, to be able to fly, to challenge the heavens? He denied the darkness not because of what he'd been taught in the seminary, but because of the light he'd found in his own heart.
Yet these two also believed in something-the misguided ideals of the keep-with the same ferocity. He shook his head. They'd never tell. They'd tasted from the fruit of the tree of knowledge and would always want more. But despite their foray into the darkness, their friendship-their love-was of the light.
And he'd used it against them.
What had the slightest hope of finding the keep done to him? It made him offer a choice that would torment them to the end of their days. How could their sin deserve such a punishment, when he'd nearly succumbed himself?
He studied his oversized hands. They could have been the hands of a bricklayer, but he'd chosen to wield power instead. He'd been wielding it for too long.
No. He'd never follow through with his threat. He no longer cared what the younger vicars thought. Maybe he wasn't hardened enough to become grand vicar after all. If they refused to divulge the location of the keep in a month, he'd leave them be, to live out their lives locked away but with each other. Then he'd wash his hands of the whole affair. There was no need to do more.
The age of the keep had passed.
Great Pond
The spinner was stacking yarn in the stockroom when he heard the jingle of the bell at the front door. His wife and daughter returning from Adamsville. He dropped what he was doing, brushed back his thinning hair and rushed out to greet them.
He hugged his wife, then took the eight-year-old by the hands and looked her over.
"As I suspected. Two weeks gone and you've grown an inch."
His wife laughed. "My mother gets to feed her only a few days each year, and she takes full advantage of it."
"And how was your trip?"
"Long, as usual."
He noted their clothing, covered with the dust of the road-they'd need a thorough cleaning.
"And news. What news from the towns to the east?"
The woman's face settled into a frown.
"Odd things are about. There've been postings, like those of the Temple, but not from the vicars. For a while, I hear, they were appearing daily, but then stopped."
"What did they say?"
"Complaints of the kind usually spoken in private. Accusations against the Temple. But with details to back them up. Here. I can show you."
His eyebrows shot up. "You have some?"
She removed her pack and pulled out a wrinkled sheet of paper.
"Not the ones in Temple lettering. Most were ripped down by deacons. But people took to copying them by hand and passing them around. They say the spinner of Adamsville closes his store at noon so he can spend the rest of the day writing. Look for yourself."
As he took the page and started to read, his hands began to shake. Memories of his own teaching flared in his mind.
"There are rumors," his wife said, "that it's the work of young people from Little Pond, two boys and a girl."
He looked up. "The Weber girl?"
"And her two friends who went missing last spring."
He read more-it was hard not to finish. But he paused as a thought struck him.
"Why did it stop?"
"What?"
"The postings."
"I don't know," she said. "Caught, I suppose."
"The Weber girl?" he said more subdued this time, picturing her in the hands of the deacons.
"It could be."
"I knew the father before he died. I still see the mother. With husband and daughter gone, she looks wretched."
He finished the page. It was signed "The Seekers of Truth." At the bottom was scrawled an additional phrase: "Please make copies and pass them on."
"Are there others?"
She reached into the pack and handed him three more.
"And I'll need a pen."
"What for?" she said.
"There's copying to do."
A Sliver of Moonlight
Nathaniel woke to the sound of the bolt releasing. It was late evening, after dinner, and he'd dozed off-an odd time for the deacons to be coming. He swung his legs to the floor and combed back his hair with his fingers as if he cared what they thought.
But it wasn't deacons.
"Well, it seems little Natty's in a bit of trouble."
"Thomas!"
His friend hushed him with a finger to his lips, then squatted by his side.
"Do exactly as I say, Nathaniel. Count to sixty, saying one Little Pond, two Little Pond, like we used to playing hide-and-seek. When you reach thirty, leave the cell. The door will be unlocked. At forty, release Orah. Be sure to lock both doors behind you. At sixty, be by the exit at the end of the hall. I'll be on the other side to open it. Nod if you understand."
Nathaniel nodded.
Then Thomas was gone. A dream? Nathaniel wanted to believe and began counting. If the door was locked at thirty, he'd go back to sleep.
Twenty nine Little Pond, thirty. He pushed and the door opened. His heart was pounding. Thirty nine, forty. And there was Orah. She stared at him, her lips forming a question. He froze her with a glance and grabbed her by the wrist. Forty eight Little Pond, forty nine. He slid the bolts closed, then dragged her to the door at the end of the hall. Fifty nine, sixty. The snap of a lock releasing, a creaking sound.
Orah stared at the figure in the doorway. "Thomas. But how-"
Thomas silenced her with a slash of his hand. "No more talking till we're out of the city. Can you do that?"
She nodded as he locked the door behind them, then gaped as he flew down the hall to a stairway at the end. He bounded up it, taking the steps two at a time as Nathaniel and Orah struggled to keep up. At the top, he yanked them into a doorway on the left, the entrance to the temple laundry, which was closed for the night. In one corner lay a pile of dirty clothing, which he urged them to put on over their own while he did the same. His guess at their fit was flawless-even Nathaniel's long arms were covered. Orah stretched a cook's cap over her head, stuffing her hair underneath.
"Now do as I do. No questions."
He handed each a warm bundle tied in cloth and sauntered off with a limp as if his feet hurt from standing all day. Nathaniel drifted to one side and Orah to the other, mimicking his gait. As they went, he whispered nonsense, every so often breaking into laughter of the kind unlikely to come from someone trying to avoid attention. He dug an elbow into Orah's ribs to force a giggle and drive the terror from her eyes.
At the end of a passage, they came to an archway opening to the outside. A lone deacon slumped in a chair by the door, looking bored. He roused as they approached, straightened his tunic and stood to block their way.
"Leaving early tonight, are we?"
"Charlie-boy let me off," Thomas said in a hearty voice, only false-sounding to those who knew him well. "Birthday party to make. Gave me a bunch of leftovers for the celebration." He gestured to the bags they carried, which were ripe with the aroma of dinner. "There's plenty. Care for a bite?"
The guard's demeanor lightened when he inhaled the scent of freshly-cooked pork. He smacked his lips and rubbed his stomach.
Before he could respond, Thomas dug into his bundle. "Here you go."
The man reached out with both hands as Thomas handed him half a loaf dripping with meat. As he opened his mouth to take a bite, they waved and left the building.
Once in the street, Thomas insisted they maintain the pretense. One right turn, two lefts and a secondary gate. Then Temple City was behind them. Nathaniel paused to breathe in the outdoors and beam at the full moon. But there was no time to savor the moment. Thomas grinned at the two of them and proclaimed in a whisper.
"Now, run for your life and don't stop till you're ready to collapse."
***
Orah's lungs burned, but she refused to be the first to give in. She was giddy with the cold air, the night sky, with the three of them together again. She'd lost hope and now it was restored, at least for a while.
Nathaniel was jogging ahead. He slowed suddenly and thrust his arms in the air. She came to a stop by his side, with Thomas right behind. They'd been running for hours.
She had no breath to speak but motioned them deeper into the woods. Now that they were free, best not to take chances. And she needed to understand what was happening.
"Thomas," she said between gulps of air. "You are amazing. How did you do it?"
He explained how he'd discovered the two shafts and used his climbing skills to explore. One led to their cells, the other to the far side of the main prison door. He realized he could set them free, climb back up and release the main door from the other side. He practiced until he could finish within a count of sixty.
As he spoke, his eyes sparkled, reflecting the slivers of moonlight that slipped through the branches of the bare November trees.
"But you might have been caught. How did you know there'd be no one there?"
"Every night, I waited until the guards and prisoners were finished with dinner. I took a pouch of flour from the storeroom-too little to be missed-and climbed down the rope. I sprinkled a dusting on the floor, then checked for footprints the next morning. I started early in the evening and late the next morning, then narrowed the times until no footprints appeared."
She nodded between gasps.
"The rest was easy. I watched where the laundry carts were taken. The hardest part was finding clothing to fit Nathaniel. Taking food was no problem-the kitchen folk are always bringing leftovers home. Then I waited for a moonlit night so we could run without breaking a leg."
She looked at him as never before. "That's... brilliant, Thomas. So much planning, so many details."
She imagined he must have blushed, but his grin was visible in the dark.
"Maybe I spent too much time with you."
She reached out to embrace him, when a thought struck.
"So how much time do we have?"
She watched him calculate in his head.
"Six, maybe seven hours before they find we're gone."
"Six hours." Concern rumpled her brow. "Then what are we waiting for?"
"I thought you needed to rest."
She glanced from Thomas to Nathaniel, and sucked in a breath. "I'm ready. Let's go."
Then she stepped onto the path and took off.
***
They did their best to keep running until the sun rose above the trees, walking a step here and there, more often staggering before picking up the pace. Thomas guessed they were less than a day from Little Pond. But they wouldn't get there without stopping. He'd been better fed and more active than his friends and could see the difference. Orah was having trouble maintaining a straight line, and Nathaniel had stumbled twice. He signaled for them to halt.
"Enough. If we keep going, you two will pass out in the middle of the road."
Nathaniel doubled over, palms resting on his knees. Orah braced her back with her hands, trying to stretch her lungs to make room for air. She shook her head long before she could speak.
"We keep going."
"No," Thomas said. "We find a clearing in the woods and get some sleep."
Orah dropped to one knee, looking as though she might be sick. "I'm not going back. I'm never going back."
She was exhausted, nothing left but her will. Thomas eased her up by the elbow, trying to help her stand as he had the day they'd discovered the Temple of Truth.
"No, Orah. This time it's my adventure. And I say we rest."
For once, she gave in. With his support, she lurched to her feet and collapsed in his arms.