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

at most one pace square, enough to sit up straight with legs
bent. The wooden hatch that formed the ceiling hung well short of his height,
so he had to hunch over when he stood. He could sustain the position for only a
few minutes before dropping back down.
    He’d given up trying to find a comfortable position. The
Temple hadn't designed the cell for comfort. They intended the teaching to be
harsh. No way around it, so now he stared into the darkness with his knees
drawn to his chin.
    The voices of the vicars echoed in his mind. “Let us record
the first teaching of Thomas Bradford of Little Pond, blessed be the light. Do
you understand why you are here, Thomas?”
    “Yes sir.” Temple City still dazzled him then, with its
lofty towers and arched halls that boasted row upon row of larger-than-life
statues. He’d felt privileged to be there.
    “Why is that?”
    “To learn to defend the light against the darkness.” He’d
been a fool.
    The senior vicar had leaned forward and glared. “Do you know
what the darkness is?”
    “Yes sir. The darkness is the time before the light, a time
of chaos and death.” The standard answer learned in school.
    The vicar’s response struck like a slap in the face. “You
know nothing of the darkness, because you’ve never been taught. The darkness
would terrify a child, but you’re of age now, Thomas, a full child of light. We
chose you for this teaching, so you’ll guide your life hereafter to ensure the
darkness never returns.”
    They asked him to say the precepts, an easy test, and with a
grin he recited what he’d memorized as a child. “Blessed be the light. Blessed
be the sun, the source of all light. Blessed be the moon, the stars, and our
own world, which revolve around its light. The light is the giver of life....”
    When he finished, they said he’d recited the words with
“insufficient sincerity,” and sent him to ponder the meaning of the darkness.
    He’d crouched in this cramped cell
ever since. Time passed, but he had no sense of it.
    At first, he felt no fear. The Temple preached no harm to
others. Weapons, war and violence were of the darkness and forbidden. Gradually
he realized that the teaching caused him no harm, that the pain came from
within. The constant dark gave no measure of space and masked the passage of
time, leaving him awash in a sea of nothingness so large he couldn’t see the
shore. He longed for the light of a firefly, for news of the day. These
thoughts gnawed at him like a physical pain.
    Deacons brought food and water at intervals, but never
enough. His stomach growled, and his throat stayed raw and dry.
    His legs began to throb. To escape the cramping, he imagined
himself separated from his body, floating in the air overhead, but he kept glancing
down at the wretch below. He could envision himself clearly, all except the
eyes.
    Exhaustion reigned above all. At first, he hurt too much to
sleep. After a while, he’d drift in and out, his head nodding until his chin
dropped to his chest and woke him.
    Sometimes, he’d startle as the ceiling cover grated open.
Light would pour into the cell, flooding him with exhilaration. Such moments
meant more than food or water. He’d stand, stretch his limbs and look into the
plump faces of the vicars surrounding him, seniors all with their decorated
hats. They, in turn, would look down on him with sympathy before reciting a
litany of the horrors of the darkness.
    In the darkness, they claimed, people spoke different
languages and worshipped different gods. Their leaders used these differences
to separate the people—each from the other—and then rail against their enemies to
turn focus away from their own shortcomings.
    At first, they fought with simple weapons, similar to the
pocketknife the vicars had taken from him. Then their wise men studied in
schools and toiled for years to create bigger weapons to destroy their enemies
in greater numbers. A tale to scare children, Thomas would think,