Read The Seekers: The Children of Darkness (Dystopian Sci-Fi - Book 1) for Free Online

been so hard since Thomas was taken.”
    She thought of herself as kindly. When someone asked for
help, she never paused to consider her own inconvenience. Once she understood
the young man’s mood, she set down her load and gave him her full attention. “Yes,
I’ve seen it in Orah as well. Her turn will be done in an hour. Can I give her
a message?”
    “If you please. Tell her to meet me as soon as possible. She’ll
know where.”
    Susannah laughed. The three friends and their secrets. She knew vaguely of some meeting place in the woods behind the Rush cottage. “Would
you mean the NOT tree?”
    Nathaniel nodded shyly.
    She imagined how his deceased mother would have responded,
and cut short her laughter, pursing her lips as if to say “poor boy.” Like
everyone else in Little Pond, she liked Nathaniel and hated seeing him unhappy.
    “I’ll tell her, I promise, as soon as I’ve finished with
this firewood. I’m sure she’ll want to meet you when her work is done.”
    Nathaniel thanked her politely.
    As he walked away, she shook her
head and—after glancing around to check that no one could hear—mumbled to
herself. “Why in the name of the light don’t the vicars leave these young
people alone? Honestly.”
    ***
    Nathaniel wandered about the village, reluctant to go home,
but after a while, he worried he’d draw attention and retreated to the seclusion
of the NOT tree. He checked his tracks before entering the hidden path. No
trace of his passing showed on the hard ground and, unusual for so late in the
season, no snow had fallen.
    When he arrived at the clearing, his heart sank. His mind held
an image of a magical place, but now, with no greenery to brighten the view or
night to cloak the scene in mystery, it seemed bleak and cheerless. As a child,
he’d played their summer games here—make-believe adventures with his friends--but
for him, they were much more. He’d go home and reflect on them as he lay awake
at night. In the dimness of his bedchamber, the darkness they’d fought would
transform into grotesque creatures, winged and scaled and breathing fire, or
fanged serpents with slit tongues. Yet always, the hero of his imagination
remained the same: tall, a plumed helmet upon his head, a gleaming sword with a
bejeweled hilt grasped in his right hand. And on his chest, an obsidian
medallion, all blackness, the oval talisman he’d used to capture and imprison
the darkness. For nothing could destroy the darkness that dwelled in each
person’s heart. Only great courage could constrain it.
    A deep sigh. The scene before him triggered none of those
fantasies. Beneath the noonday sun, the hut seemed small and bare, a skeleton
of his childhood.
    Usually by this time of the year, they’d have performed
their winter ritual, cutting down boughs of balsam fir and covering the frame. Usually
snow would have covered the land and... usually the three friends would be
together. Nathaniel’s throat started to close, and the world weighed on him as
if the adulthood that had hovered over him since his coming-of-age had come
crashing down.
    He heard a crackle of dry leaves and turned to catch Orah
jogging along the path. Her breath burst out in gasps, and the color had risen
in her cheeks.
    “I came as quickly as possible,” she said. “I didn’t finish
my turn, but I’ll make up for it tonight.” She grimaced at the bare shelter and
stepped forward to touch the wood. The circle of slats held fast in the frozen ground,
and their tops remained tightly bound. Nathaniel’s father had done well by them.
    When she looked back, her face was drawn. “Do you remember
how the three of us would play our games?”
    Nathaniel forced a smile. “You’d always set the rules.”
    “I did not.”
    “You most certainly did.” He mimicked her voice. “‘Thomas, go
off to the right, and Nathaniel to the left. I’ll stay here and count to ten,
saying one Little Pond, two Little Pond, which should give you plenty of