The Black Sentry

by Bernhardt, William

  He turned abruptly without a word. “Come on, men.”

  They left, closing the cellar door behind them.

  When they were sure they were alone, Brita extracted her face from his neck. “Sorry,” she said abruptly. “It was all I could think of. Hope I didn’t embarrass you.”

  “N–no,” he said clumsily. “I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t—”

  She pulled away before he could complete his sentence. “How are you?” she asked the Old Man.

  “Even more impressed than I was before. By both of you.”

  He promised to check on the Old Man again in the morning and to bring food. Then they both left him to rest.

  He stopped Brita before she left for home. “I will come and see you tomorrow. There are...matters we must discuss.”

  She nodded, then he quietly returned to his house and crawled beneath the warm covers of his bed. He slept heavily but not well, and once again his sleep was filled with dreams—dreams of watches and threshers and books and different times, when Constructs roamed the land and people lived without the Laws and Ways of the Sentinel.

  A time of freedom.

  *****

  Daman awoke full of energy. After dressing, he went to the kitchen to see his parents before they left for their daily business.

  Xander had already set out the meal. Lieutenant Coffin’s report apparently had not yet reached the Magistrate.

  His parents were both at the breakfast table waiting for him. Apparently they’d been awake for some time.

  He hoped his mother had softened, or forgotten about his punishment, but he soon saw that was not the case. One stony look from her was sufficient to tell him his sins had not been forgiven.

  “I said last night you were to have no supper,” she said, through stiff, tense lips.

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Yet when I went to the larder this morning, I found a loaf and a rind of cheese missing. Can you explain this?”

  In fact, he had eaten nothing. The missing food was what he had taken to the Old Man.

  His father studiously watched them both.

  “You took that food,” his mother pronounced. “Didn’t you, Daman?”

  He nodded.

  With unexpected ferocity, she grabbed him by both arms and shook him violently. “When will you grow up, Daman? When will you learn to follow instructions? Why can’t you do as you are told?”

  And then, as quickly as the rage had begun, it ended. She pushed away from him and pressed one hand to her forehead. A moment later, he was shocked to see his own mother crying.

  She tried to regain control but couldn’t. Finally she fled the room, tears streaming from her face.

  As if he didn’t feel badly enough already, he felt his father’s eyes boring down on him.

  His father placed a roll on a plate with a small piece of cured meat. “Eat your breakfast.”

  He did. They sat in silence, and it was perhaps because of the silence that he became immediately aware of the tumult outside.

  Even with the door closed he could tell that something was happening. He heard confusion, running, arguing.

  “The Black Sentry is everywhere today,” his father explained. “The Acolyte’s private platoon has remained with him here and taken control of our local Sentry. They’ve blanketed the village. They’re determined to find this Rebel.”

  He tried not to react. “Really?”

  “Apparently they came close to catching him last night, but someone helped him escape.”

  He tried not to seem overly interested. “I’m surprised that anyone in the village would help a Rebel escape.”

  “No doubt the Sentry were surprised as well.” His father paused a moment. “Some reports I’ve heard claim a young boy helped the Rebel escape.”

  “Surely not.”

  His father paused. “I can’t help but remember that you were out late last night, Daman.”

  “I was at a party. Victor’s celebration.”

  “So I heard.” He looked at his son with a strong and unbroken gaze. “I don’t suppose you heard anything about this Rebel?”

  “No one said a word to me about him.”

  “I see.” There was a long silence before his father spoke again. “Daman, you must be careful. If you do...hear anything about this Rebel, stay away from him. He will be dangerous. He is probably a member of the Resistance.”

  He could barely conceal his amazement. “You know of the Resistance?”

  “Of course,” his father replied. “And it seems–so do you.”

  He averted his eyes. “I’ve heard rumors. Stories, that’s all. I suppose you’ve heard the stories, too.”

  His father kept his eyes locked on his son’s face. “I was a member of the Resistance.”

  His knife clattered to the table. “But–you—” He paused. “You’re my father!”

  “It was a long time ago.” His father’s eyes seemed distant and unfocused. “I was young. Younger than you, even. Before my Winnowing. And I was in love with a beautiful girl.”

  “Mother.”

  “No. This was well before your mother was assigned to me. This girl’s name was Abigail. And she was wonderful. Smart, quick, fearless. Full of ideas. She didn’t believe people should be forced to do things they hated, or that their most important decisions should be made for them. She wanted us to join the Resistance, so we did. She wanted us to defy the Sentinel, to escape from our village. We thought about it and talked about it constantly. But in the end...” He sighed. “It was just too difficult. I couldn’t muster the...the strength, I suppose. The courage to turn my back on everything I had ever known, ever been taught.” He fell silent.

  “So what happened?”

  His father shrugged. “Eventually Abigail was assigned to someone else. I lost my Winnowing, and was transported to Merrindale. Eventually I earned enough Merit to be assigned your mother, and later still, to be allowed a son.”

  “Father...do you regret your decision?”

  “Of course not. We have a good life now–better than many. If I had defied the Sentinel, I would never have had this cottage, and I would never have had you–the greatest pride of my life. And make no mistake, Daman–even if the Sentinel disapproves of displays of strong emotion–I care deeply for your mother. But,” he added, after a long pause, “I’ve never forgotten that beautiful girl of my youth.”

  “Father?” Daman said at last.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you...believe in the Sentinel?”

  A deep furrow crossed his forehead. “What do you mean? Do I believe he exists? Yes, of course he does.”

  “But the other night when you showed me your...treasure and we talked and—I just wondered. Do you believe?” He struggled to find the right words. “Do you believe in the Laws and Ways? Do you believe that the life the Sentinel demands is the best?”

  “Suggesting otherwise is heresy. The Black Sentry could take you away, could take all of us away, and our belongings, just for asking the question.”

  “Yes, Father. I know that. Will you answer my question?”

  His father’s lips pursed. “There’s nothing wrong with being a baker, you know. It’s an honorable trade. But it’s not what I wanted to do. I wanted to be an inventor.”

  “An inventor?” He wasn’t sure what the word meant.

  “I wanted to make things–wonderful things. Like the Watch I showed you.”

  “Constructs?”

  “If you insist on calling them that. I wanted to make people’s lives better, to ease their labor, with my creations.”

  He nodded. “You would’ve been a good inventor, Father.”

  “There is much about the Sentinel’s world that is good. Order eases many burdens. Eliminates complications. Strife. Inequity. Uncertainty. And yet...sometimes at night, I long for the freedom to explore my own path, to make my own way. To fulfill my own dreams.” He looked up abruptly. “I hate the way we live, Daman. I hate the Sentinel and his wo
rld. I hate everything about it.”

  “Then why—”

  “The Sentinel is all-powerful. We do not have the strength to resist him. None of us do.”

  “But if the Res—”

  His father rose suddenly. “It’s foolish to speak of such things. Resistance is impossible. Look what’s happened to this poor Rebel and all those like him, running from village to village, never safe, always a short step from execution. No. The Sentinel’s Way is the only Way.”

  His father left for the bakery. He knew his mother expected him to follow, to spend the day helping, until it was time to practice again for the Winnowing. But he did not.

  *****

  Careful that no one was watching, Daman made his way to the cellar and crept through the doors. The Old Man was wide-awake. He held a piece of parchment before him, studying it intently.

  Was this a book? he wondered. Was the man reading? But as he stepped quietly forward, he saw that the parchment bore pictures–irregular shapes in various colors and sizes.

  “Is that a book?” he asked.

  “Oh no–it’s a map.”

  Once again, he had to struggle with an unfamiliar concept. “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “Forbidden by the Sentinel,” the Old Man said. “Who needs them? No one’s allowed to go anywhere. At least not on their own initiative.”

  The fact that it was forbidden by the Sentinel only made it more interesting. “Is that something you...read?”

  “In a way. But it isn’t made up of words, not primarily. It’s a picture. It helps you find your way. It’s how I found your village. And how I hope to get out.”

  “But–how?”

  “The pictures represent the surrounding countryside. By looking at the map, you can locate your destination and determine how to get there. See?” He pointed at a small blue dot toward the bottom of the map. “That represents your village, Merrindale.” He moved his finger upward. “This orange dot represents the nearest neighboring village, Clovis. This brown line shows the road that connects the two.”

  He nodded as if he understood everything, though in truth he understood almost nothing. “I suppose it must take years of practice to learn how to understand that.”

  The Old Man laughed. “Not at all. A bright boy like you–I bet you could learn it in ten minutes. Would you like that?”

  He scooted forward. “Very much.”

  The Old Man explained the mysterious workings of the map, teaching him about north, south, east, and west, about relative scale, about orientation. Before long, he understood the basic principles.

  “That’s wonderful. Almost...magical. Where did you get this map?”

  “It was given to me by another member of the Resistance. Where he got it, I don’t know. We’ve made an ongoing effort to reclaim the relics of the past. Sometimes they help us in our work. And sometimes we keep them because...well, just because. Because someone should.”

  He gazed at some of the other locations on the Map. There were so many places–some he knew by reputation, some he’d never heard of before. The Forest of Savages. Ingrid Pass. Elliott’s Creek. And he was particularly mesmerized by dark markings surrounding Merrindale. The Old Man explained that they were words, and that the words read: HERE THERE BE CREEPERS.

  He couldn’t believe there were so many places in the world–so many places he’d never seen. He wanted to visit them all–now more than ever.

  He pointed to the orange circle representing Clovis. “It must be much bigger than Merrindale.”

  “Yes,” the Old Man agreed. “The largest in this region. The Sentinel does not allow his villages to become any larger. Not in any of the regions.”

  “Why not?”

  The Old Man shrugged. “I could only speculate. The larger a town grows, the more people are packed together in one space, the more difficult they become to control.” The Old Man rolled up the map. “Can you think of a good hiding place? For the map and the key? Just in case.”

  He scanned the cellar. Under the supplies? On the top shelf? He shook his head. If the Sentry searched, they would find them in minutes.

  He thought harder. The Sentry might look under and over things–but they probably would not look inside them. Say, inside a burlap bag filled with flour. Who would?

  Daman took the two treasures and buried them deep within the largest bag, then retied the top.

  “They should be safe now. As safe as they’ll be anywhere.” He shifted awkwardly. “I should probably go. My father expects me at the bakery.”

  “Of course. You must do everything you would normally do. Don’t create suspicion. My ankle feels better. Tonight, under the cover of darkness, I’ll try to escape.”

  He knew that was best. The Old Man needed to proceed with his work, to get that Key back to the people who could use it. But at the same time, the thought of the Old Man departing saddened him.

  “I have one favor to ask you, Daman. There is a man I know who, last I heard, had been transported to Merrindale. Do you know a man called Martin Adkins?”

  “My father?”

  The Old Man grinned. “Indeed. I’m not surprised. He also had...a Gift.” He paused. “You favor your father, Daman. Perhaps in more ways than you realize.”

  The Old Man squeezed his shoulder. “Run along now. I’ll see you tonight.”

  *****

  As Daman made his way through the village, he found the tumult had intensified. The Black Sentry were everywhere. They were harsh and insolent, bowling people over in their desperation to find the Old Man. They broke into homes and shops, stopping passersby and searching them. He felt sorry for these innocents–and guilty, too. He knew that if the Sentry did not find their quarry soon, it would be even worse for the people of Merrindale.

  At the same time, he worried about the Old Man’s safety. He had deflected the Black Sentry from the cellar for now, but as the search intensified, they would surely return.

  He knew he should report to his father’s shop, but instead, he headed toward Brita’s house. If the Old Man was going to escape, he knew she would want to help. He wondered if she would still be determined to join the Resistance after seeing the frenzy the Black Sentry were creating.

  He found Mykah standing just outside Brita’s cottage.

  Mykah stiffened. He didn’t have to guess why. “Daman, have you seen Brita? She was supposed to meet me this morning. We’ve been summoned by the Magistrate.”

  He knew what that meant. He assumed Brita would be assigned to be his wife. But didn’t he recognize her in the cellar last night? If so, he chose not to mention it. “I was told there was a chance we would be counseled by the Acolyte himself. And now I can’t find her.”

  He wasn’t surprised. He remembered what Brita said the night before about the prospect of marriage. “Did you check her home?”

  “Of course I did. There was no answer. She must’ve gone somewhere. How could she forget?”

  “The village is chaotic today. Perhaps she’s somewhere safe with her parents.”

  “You may be right. I’ll check her father’s mill.” Mykah started to go, then stopped. “Daman,” he said slowly, “you’ve known Brita almost as long as I have.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Has she seemed...odd to you of late?”

  He felt himself coloring. Was this a veiled reference to what Mykah witnessed in the cellar? “Odd in what way?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t explain it. When I talk to her...it’s as if she’s somewhere else altogether.”

  He had no response for him. None that he dared utter, anyway.

  “Well, I must go,” Mykah said. “I have to finish this appointment, so I can rejoin the search. Every member of the Sentry has been called, no matter how young or inexperienced. This Rebel is a great enemy of the Sentinel, you know. It is said that the man who finds him will be elevated to the highest ranks.” He leaned in conspiratorially and whispered. “We think someone in the village is hiding hi
m.” He tried to appear astonished. “Surely not.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll find him. Perhaps I will be the lucky one.”

  “Perhaps so.”

  “Regardless of who finds him, this heretic will be punished. And,” Mykah added, “whoever is hiding him will die.”

  11

  As Daman considered what to do next—he heard a faint tapping from inside the cottage.

  He turned slowly, trying not to attract attention. The tapping came from the window.

  Brita was at home, after all. Trying to get his attention.

  He approached the front door as if doing nothing out of the ordinary. An instant before his hand touched the knocker, the door swung open before him.

  No one was visible in the entryway.

  He stepped inside.

  The door closed behind him. Brita huddled behind the door.

  “Mykah is looking for you,” he said.

  “Do you think I don’t know that? Don’t be such an imbecile.” She stepped away from the door, motioning for him to follow her. They sat on the floor in the rearmost room of the house where they could not be seen from the street. “That’s why I don’t want anyone to know I’m here.”

  Her parents were not at home. The two of them were alone together. Another violation of the Laws and Ways of the Sentinel. Just the thought of it made his heart beat faster. “But—why miss your appointment? Why avoid Mykah?”

  “I avoided Mykah because I have no intention of marrying him, as I believe I’ve already told you. And I missed my appointment because we have far more urgent tasks today.”

  He could not help but notice her use of the word “we.” “Such as?”

  “We must get the Old Man out of the village.”

  “To where?”

  “How would I know? Neither of us has ever been beyond the village fence.”

  Not entirely true after yesterday’s adventure, but he did not correct her. “I know what lies outside the village. I’ve seen a map.” He told her of his experience that morning with the Old Man. He also told her where he had hidden the map and the red key. “The Old Man said he intends to slip out tonight.”