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

gathered to wrap the structure in green to
welcome Thomas home.
    Before they entered the forest, Nathaniel fetched an axe
from the woodshed while she rummaged about for twine. They met as dark settled
upon the clearing outside the village.
    Stars winked into being and a moon rose, less than half-full
but bright enough to light their task. She picked a branch lush with needles and
prodded Nathaniel to chop it free. As it fell, she grabbed the end, and
together they dragged it to the shelter. After she located the perfect spot,
they bound the branch to the slats with twine before returning to the woods. In
less than an hour, they had remade the bare structure into an enclosed dwelling
that seemed, under the stars, to have stood there forever.
    Orah ducked inside and waited amused as Nathaniel crawled in
on all fours. Beneath the cover of branches, her breathing quieted as if she’d
entered a holy place. The smell of freshly-cut balsam filled the air like incense,
a comforting memory of childhood.
    Custom prescribed a blessing when they’d finished their
work. This year was Orah’s turn. “May the light bless our shelter.” She stopped
at the tired old phrase, uttered without thought. This year’s blessing had to
be real. “Not the light the Temple claims to own, but the true light that burns
in our hearts.” She grasped Nathaniel’s hands and spoke for the both of them. “Dear
friend Thomas, we’re sorry to have covered this shelter without you, but know we
have not forgotten you. We’re here in the darkness with you. Not the darkness
of the Temple, but a warm and loving darkness that will soon embrace the three
of us again.”
    Nathaniel gasped at her statement—too close to heresy.
    She squeezed his hands to regain focus. “Thomas, we are with
you. Say it with me Nathaniel, so it will be stronger.”
    Both inhaled deeply and spoke. “Thomas, we are with you.”
Then she added, “Return to us safely and soon.”
    In what moonlight filtered through the branches, the puffs from
Nathaniel’s breath filled the space between them.
    ***
    For as long as Orah could remember, she’d looked forward to
festival, but Nathaniel’s coming of age and Thomas’s absence made this year
feel different. She’d tossed in bed last night, a cloud of uncertainty hanging
over her, but when she awoke this morning, the usual excitement filled the air.
    The celebration began at noon with footraces. The youngest competed
first, followed by the older children, and finally those of age, from seventeen
to twenty-five. Boys and girls raced separately, so she and Nathaniel could
cheer each other on.
    She’d always been fast, but now, as the oldest in her group,
she managed to win all three of her races—the sprint around the commons, the
longer run through the village, and a scramble between obstacles. The scramble
required more agility than speed, and favored the younger girls, but this year
she competed with a special intensity.
    Age worked against Nathaniel. As a new adult, he competed
with men whose muscles had thickened and minds had grown accustomed to the
length of their limbs. Deriving no inspiration from her victories, he ran
poorly in the first two events. Then, in the scramble, he fell at the finish,
lunging in an attempt to make the final three and skinning his knee.
    When all the races had finished, the elders awarded prizes
to the winners—by tradition an elaborate wreath made from the flax that grew
around Little Pond.
    Flax filled a vital need for the people of the Ponds,
harvested for both its fiber and seeds, but in the spring when its blossoms
bloomed, families would go out among the stalks and search for the most
beautiful flowers—the whites and lavenders, and the blues valued most of all. Orah
recalled long June evenings with her father before he died, sitting and weaving
stalks into rings. Then the flowers would be hung on the walls to dry, looking
like the wings of a butterfly. A simple prize, but even the oldest