He arose in the darkness.
He donned a simple white robe, a mark of his station, and left his cell. He waited outside the small and simple room, which contained a sleeping mat, a single candle, and a shelf for scrolls: all that was deemed necessary for his education. Down the corridor he could see the others, all years younger than he, standing quietly before the doors of their cells. The first black-clad master came along the corridor and stopped before one of the others. Without a word the man nodded, the boy fell in behind him, and they marched away into the gloom. The dawn sent soft grey light through the high narrow windows in the hallway. He, like the others, extinguished the torch on the wall opposite his door, at the first hint of day. Another man in black came down the corridor, and another waiting youth left behind him. Soon a third. Then a fourth. After a time he found himself alone. The hallway was silent.
A figure emerged from the darkness, his robes conspiring to mask his coming until the last few feet. He stood before the young man in white and nodded, pointing down the corridor. The youth fell in behind his black-robed guide, and they made their way down a series of torchlit passages, into the heart of the great building that had been the young man’s home as long as he could remember. Soon they were traveling through a series of low tunnels, rank with the smell of age, and wet, as if deep below the lake that surrounded the building on all sides.
The man in black paused at a wooden door, slid a bolt aside, and opened it. The younger man entered behind the older and came to stand before a series of wooden troughs. Each was half the length of a man’s height, and half that wide. One stood on the floor, and the others were arrayed above it, suspended by wooden supports in steps, one above the next, until the highest stood near the height of a man’s head. All of those above had single holes in the end that overhung the trough below. In the bottom trough, water could be heard sloshing, as it responded to the vibrations of their footfalls on the stone floor.
The man in black pointed to a bucket and turned and left the young man in white alone.
The young man picked up the bucket and set about his task. All commands to those in white were given without words, and, as he had quickly learned when he had first become aware, those in white were not allowed to speak. He knew he could speak, for he understood the concept and had quietly tried to form a few words while lying on his mat in the dark. As with so many other things, he understood the fact, without being aware of how he understood. He knew that he existed before his first awakening in his cell, but was not in the least alarmed by his lack of memory. It seemed somehow proper.
He started his task. Like so many other things he was commanded to do, it seemed an impossible undertaking. He took the bucket and filled the topmost trough from the bottom one. As it had on days before, the water spilled from the top down into each successive trough, until the contents of the bucket rested again at the bottom Doggedly he pursued his work, letting his mind go vacant, while his body undertook the mindless task.
As it did so many other times when left to its own devices, his mind danced from image to image, bright flashes of shapes and colors the eluded his grasp as he sought to close mental fingers around them. First came a brief glimpse of a beach, with crashing waves on rocks, black and weathered. Fighting. A strange-looking cold white substance lying on the ground—a word, snow, that fled as quickly as it came. A muddy camp. A great kitchen with boys hurrying about many tasks. A room in a high tower. Each passed with blinding quickness, leaving only an afterimage in its passing.
Daily a voice would sound in his head, and his mind’s voice would respond with an answer, while he labored at his endless task. The voice would ask a simple question, and his mind’s voice would answer. Should the answer be incorrect, the question would be repeated. If several wrong answers were made, the voice would cease its questioning, sometimes returning later in the day, sometimes not.
The white-clad worker felt the familiar pressure against the fabric of his thoughts.
—What is the law— the voice asked.
—The law is the structure that surrounds our lives, and gives them meaning— he answered.
—What is the highest embodiment of the law?—
—The Empire is the highest embodiment of the law—
—What are you?— came the next question.
—I am a servant of the Empire—
The thought contact flickered for a moment, then returned, as if the other were considering the following question carefully.