Free Tree of Truth (Book of Pilgrimage 1) by James Huss

broke the silence with procedure. “The elders have heard your appeal. You may step down from the podium.” I retired to the familiar bench in the back of the hall. The Elders discussed my appeal. There were those for and those against. Most against were not convinced that anything had been learned about the Disease. They did not believe the stories of the city (they had heard many fantastic stories in their lives). They did not believe in technology, for as far as they knew it had not advanced since we were first plagued by that redoubtable sickness. Those for were mostly the younger of our brood: adventurous, optimistic, energetic. I think I could have assembled a team right there from among the elders themselves. But age and wisdom won the day—the senior elders quelled the “impractical” appeal and sent me on my way.
    I moped about the front of Meeting Hall—I could not bear the thought of returning to school, defeated, to face the one for whom this hopeless endeavor was launched. I heard the loud crack of wood on wood as the gavel dropped to adjourn the meeting. They filed out one by one, patting me on the back, offering their condolences, some even praising my eloquence.
    Blake and Emerson were the last to leave. They were engaged in businesslike conversation. My brother abruptly cut away the moment he noticed me still standing there. He was oddly supportive. “That was a great speech, a noble effort. I’m proud of you.” For a moment I actually thought I had convinced him. “But you cannot save her. No one can.”
    The anger welled up within me and lifted my arms, thrusting them into his chest. I had no control over my body—my mind sat helpless, a mere observer to this foolish and impetuous act of defiance. Blake stumbled backward, lost his balance, and tumbled to the dusty ground behind him. “Marlowe!” He was angry and astonished. Elder Emerson helped him to his feet.
    Blake brushed himself off casually, like the boxing champion caught off-guard by a glancing blow from a junior opponent, knowing his prowess superior and still confident the fight was his. His face strained to suppress his rage. Before he had a chance to utter another word, I sprinted as fast as I could, far away from that miserable hall and my overbearing brother.
     

Chapter X
     
    I didn’t stop running until I was completely out of breath. I stooped with my hands on my knees and heaved the air in and out until I could stand again. When I looked up, the Library lay directly in my path. Something had led me there—perhaps fate or my own mind or the Ancients’ mysterious god—I did not know. But I was compelled to cross that sacred threshold and search those crowded shelves for answers.
    I thumbed through dozens and dozens of bootless Books, dismissing the endeavors into the realm of ancient legend and returning to the shelves those failed missions for that elusive Tree of Truth. I had no interest in mythology—I was on a quest for science. A scarce few of those Books had anything to offer. One described a particularly interesting theory about a conspiracy of ancient scientists believed to have invented the Great Disease to control the rampant population growth. Another suggested that it was not even a disease, or at least a disease as we knew it. But what other kind of disease is there? Those dubious tales were of little help.
    I read more of Benjonsen’s Book. After all, it was interesting, and he was the one Pilgrim I had encountered who knew science was the key. I wondered what happened to those books he read that gave him such ideas. I wondered if I could still find those books in some dusty, ancient library somewhere. I thought about the love he had for his Tiesse and how lucky he was to have a wife to say goodbye to as he departed on his Pilgrimage. I imagined leaving Shelley on our own porch and saying goodbye to our own children, and I imagined returning years later with the Cure, the children grown and longing for their