The Maker of Entropy

by John Triptych

  Rion marveled at the new style of fighting that was being shown to him. “This is why I like to train with you. It seems that I learn something new every day.”

  “That is the other reason why I chose to accompany you both,” Zeren said. “The Magus who taught me all these skills was rumored to have ventured forth into these lands, and I hope to find him again.”

  Rion furrowed his thin eyebrows. “A Magus taught you this? What was his name?”

  “Fumal Led,” Zeren said. “Amongst the Magi duelists, he was the greatest I had ever seen, and I consider him as my true father.”

  A man with numerous scars on his face and arms strode over to them. Todrul had once been a pit fighting instructor before he decided to accompany the expedition. “The cooking fires have been alighted. Miri wants you both back at camp.”

  Zeren patted the boy’s slender shoulder as he sheathed his sword once more. “It is time to eat. I shall race you back to camp!”

  Miri ran her index finger along the glyphs of the telling stone as she held it by the light of the campfire. Rion had been steadily teaching her how to read the etchings on these rocks, and she was slowly getting the hang of it. A cold wind blew past her, and it made her red hair glow as the flames flickered and cast orange shadows all around. Ever since they had begun their journey, the telling stones were their only guide when it came to navigating the unknown regions. The last time any trading expedition ever ventured out into the Dead Lands occurred over hundreds of cycles ago, and the general knowledge of knowing where to go had been lost. All they had now were vague, fantastical stories etched in stone to show them the way.

  A short man with dark, curly hair crouched down beside her with a smile. Both the tunic and leggings he wore beneath his travelling cloak was made of much finer material, indicating his affluence. “And what do the telling stones say as to where we are to go next, Miri?”

  Miri turned to look at him. “This stone does not say. It merely told a tale about a comely young maiden who was set upon by three men. They had their way with her and then killed and buried her body in that very spot.” She pointed to the base of the underground spring, in between two leaning boulders made of granite. “When her father had avenged her and dug out her body, he was greeted by a torrent of water that burst forth from betwixt the rocks. That is how we were able to find this oasis in an endless land of dust.”

  Orilion smiled at her. He was the second husband to the matriarch of House Ixtal, and they were financing this expedition. “It is truly an intriguing story, yet how did you determine the spring was at this very place? We had been wandering across the sands for nearly a moon and a half, and I had thought we would die from thirst if we had not chanced upon these rocks.”

  “You should forward that question to Rion,” Miri said. “It was he who told us where to go.”

  Orilion nodded. “Yes, that boy is indeed a strange one. He seems young, yet possesses knowledge only the most learned of tellers could possibly fathom.”

  “You know his tale,” Miri said. “His memories had been reshaped by the lies of the nobles of Lethe, and it is only recently that he has finally begun to truly remember his past.”

  Orilion let out a short chuckle. “Please do not accuse all the nobles of this heinous deed. My house was but one of the smaller ones when the slave revolt began, and we had no part to play in the conspiracies that had occurred.”

  “Perhaps not in that instance,” Miri said. “Yet your family moved swiftly to take much of the holdings once belonging to House Aranida after they had fallen. I find your kind to be not much different than the other.”

  Orilion shrugged. “We took back what was once ours. Several of the mines in Lethe belonged to my house in the distant past, yet were forcibly taken by House Aranida when they became stronger over countless cycles. It was our right to reclaim our lost holdings.”

  “Your guards slaughtered many in the chaos that followed when the old matriarchs of House Kentis and Aranida were slain,” Miri said. “If the latest truce had not been agreed upon at the final hour, the former slaves would have exacted retribution upon you and your house.”

  “Be that as it may, the final truce was only made possible by the agreement with the noble houses,” Orilion said. “While it may have been decided the former slaves would have surely triumphed, most of them would have died before their completed victory if the strife had continued. Even you admitted to such when you spoke during the council meetings.”

  Miri rolled her eyes. “I only wanted the killing to end. If it were up to me, I would have held trials for all those that engaged in pillage and murder of innocents.”

  “And if you had gotten your wish, then the entire city would have been forced to stand before a tribunal, Miri,” Orilion said. “You must have realized it was better to enforce a bitter peace than to commit to more chaos.”

  Miri looked away. She didn’t like what had occurred, but he was right. There was simply no chance she could bring all the perpetrators to justice. The entire city had been guilty of something. “If you were so content with what had happened, why did you not stay in Lethe and enjoy the new riches your deeds had wrought upon?”

  Orilion snorted. “My matriarch gave much of the reins of power to her first husband. As you well know, second husbands such as I are nothing more than potential surrogates, second best at the most.”

  Miri pursed her lips. “I understand now. You went ahead and convinced your matriarch to provide coin for the building of the sand ship in order to show to her you are better at gaining riches for your house, is that it?”

  Orilion tilted his chin upwards in a smug gesture of confidence. “There is much wisdom in you, Miri. I did not sense your mental tendrils probing my thoughts, so you must have surmised this by mere observation.”

  Miri stood up as she saw Zeren and Rion running towards them. “I spent a few moons in Lethe as a slave without my gift of Vis, and I have sadly come to know the true nature of the people in it without having to resort to mindsense.”

  Rion had stopped his running the moment he got to within a few paces of her. The boy bent over and placed his hands on his knees while catching his breath. “I ran back all the way … now I am but exhausted.”

  Miri smiled as he rubbed the boy’s sweaty forehead. “It seems Zeren did not even match your swiftness, for he seems to be taking his time.”

  Orilion made a slight bow. “Welcome back to camp, young god. I shall see to the others and prepare for the journey tomorrow.” He turned and walked towards the other campfires that blazed nearby. Not far from them stood a bronze sand vessel, its long oblong hull casting tall shadows over them all.

  Rion had a confused look on his face as he watched the nobleman depart. “Young god? What does that mean?”

  Zeren smirked as he finally got within range of the firelight. He purposely let the boy win the race, in order to toughen his lungs. “That is what they call you now, Rion.”

  The boy squinted and scratched the back of his head. “I do not understand. Why would they compare me to a god?”

  Miri took a bulging waterskin lying on the ground and gave it to him. “It was your readings of the telling stones that enabled the builders of Lethe to create the sand vessel we travel with, but it is not the only thing. Do you remember the time when one of the crewmen was stung by that huge norpion? The others thought he would die, yet you gave a bit of your blood to save him.”

  Rion nodded as he tilted his head up and drank deeply. The fresh water from the spring was pure and refreshing as it cascaded down his parched throat. “The man was dying and I simply helped him. As for the sand sail, I merely followed what was written in the Great Library.”

  Zeren took the waterskin from the boy and took a swig. “You think any of us could have done that? If it was not for the power of your blood, then that man would be dead by now. Everyone witnessed it. Our wondrous sand sail could not have been built without your guidance. You are the reason why many of them ac
companied us on this expedition.”

  Rion’s eyes grew wide. “Me?”

  Miri nodded. “He is correct, Rion. When the call for volunteers was issued for this journey we had to turn back a multitude. Many heard tales about the power of your blood, and were eager to serve you. Zeren and I tried our best to lessen the rumors, but the tale spread like fire across the city. Do you not notice the way they treat you?”

  Rion was lost in thought for a moment before he answered. “Almost everyone seems to give me a slight bow and stay silent when it is my turn to speak. I thought it was because they wanted to hear about the stories of the telling stones.”

  Zeren laughed. “That is what I like about you, boy. Despite having wisdom beyond your cycles, you are still somewhat naïve when it comes to discerning the thoughts of men. May the gods help us should you ever develop a mindsense.”

  “I-I was not aware of what they thought of me,” Rion said. He shuddered slightly at the realization he was highly revered, despite his age. This newfound awareness filled him with a gnawing sense of fear and responsibility, and he was scared at the thought of disappointing everyone.

  Miri felt a slight weakness in the boy’s confidence. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Worry not, Rion. Zeren and I are here to help you. If you feel you should ever need council as to where to go next, then place your trust in us.”

  Rion looked up at her and smiled. “My thanks, Miri.”

  Miri looked out towards the outcropping. “No one is using the spring, so why not take your bath? You must be ready for we shall depart at dayspring.”

  The boy blinked in surprise. “We are to leave at the morrow?”

  Miri nodded. “We have been here for nearly half a moon, and have fully repaired the wheels of the sand sail after the ordeal across the Dead Lands. Did your telling stones not say the Sea of Dunes is but a few days journey from here?”

  Rion became giddy with excitement. They were finally moving again! “Oh yes, Miri. The telling stones stated the Sea of Dunes lies a few days to the north of the Spring of the Virgin. Since we have discovered the oasis, then it is only logical the dusty flatland lies beyond.”

  “Good,” Miri said. “Now go on with your bath and get some rest. You will need it.”

  The boy turned and ran towards the spring. Miri exhaled a shallow breath while keeping her hands on her hips. From the stories she had read, the Sea of Dunes was home to many disparate tribes of men, and ruled by the Khanate, a powerful family who enforced peace among the inhabitants after eons of war and discord. For the expedition, this would be the goal of their long journey. She sensed the inevitability of some sort of conflict- as if it was fated to be- no matter how hard men tried to resist it, for in the end it was but an essential part of their inner nature.

  Zeren placed his hand on her elbow as he stood directly behind her, his mouth almost touching her right ear. “You are brooding again,” he said softly.

  Miri bit her lip. “I cannot help but sense more battles ahead. Whenever large groups of men gather, there will always be blood that is spilt.”

  Zeren chuckled as he placed his face into her hair, holding her by the waist. “Fear not, for you have the young god of blood and I to protect you. With our combined powers, there is nothing that could withstand our might.”

  Miri pushed his hands away from her body as she took a few steps forward. She continued to look out into the growing darkness of eventide.

  Zeren sighed. “What is the matter, Miri? You have slowly wandered away from me ever since we started on this trek. Was it something I have done?”

  Miri gave him a remorseful look. “No, it is I. My feelings for you … once bordered on attraction. But now…”

  A sense of bitterness began to take hold of his mind. “But what?”

  “I … cannot find the words,” Miri said softly. “I have too much worry on my mind to think about our bond.”

  He strode closer to her. “What are these worries that plague you so? Tell me so we may deal with them as one.”

  She shook her head. “I … I cannot. For I am unable to discern them myself.”

  Zeren smiled reassuringly. “Is it because these thoughts of love are alien to you? You must remember you have obeyed the laws of being a Striga for a long time, and the concept of having a lover or even a husband is something you have never experienced. You are no longer bound by your oaths, and it is confusing you.”

  Miri looked away in shame. “I do not know what I want. When we spent those days in Lethe together, your own reflections would sometimes burn in my mind like a fire so powerful I could not suppress it with my mindsense. Your thoughts were like an open sieve to me, and I could not help but look into them. It seems you are attracted to me because I remind you of another woman, the one you lost before you met me.”

  “Ylira was a dear friend to me. That I admit truthfully,” Zeren said softly. “I killed my own brother to avenge her death.”

  “And it is clear you are still haunted by your recollections of her,” Miri said. “You seem to think of me as but an imitation.”

  Zeren shook his head. “No! You are very different than she was, Miri. I never even thought of her as a lover, but as a trusted ally and confidant.”

  “Yes, and it seems her death affected you more than you could ever realize,” Miri said. “This is surely another reason why Strigas should not ever marry, for there can be no secrets, no hidden thoughts we cannot discern from those we love.”

  “If you wish me to maintain my thought blocks whenever you are near, then I shall do as you desire,” Zeren said. “There! We have solved this minor dilemma that disturbs you so. Now let us move on.”

  Miri looked away once more. “It … is more labyrinthine than that. I am sorry.”

  Zeren threw his arms up in frustration. “So you refuse my offers of help. You refuse to construe what it is that truly troubles you, and you expect my sympathy? To the hells with you, woman!” He turned and walked away.

  Miri blinked rapidly a few times to hold back her tears. She had not been honest with him, and Zeren deserved better than that. Their relationship had both bewildered and terrified her, and she was simply not ready to deal with the complexities of his affections. But there were other concerns in her mind that filled her with uneasiness, and she could not deal with it all. The members of the expedition had thought they were being guided purely by what was written on the telling stones, but Miri was sensing more than that. Not since her journey to the Black Redoubt near the gates of Lethe did she experience strange and troubling dreams while she slept. It was as if they were being guided by an invisible hand towards an unknown destination.

  She had remembered being mortally wounded in the Black Redoubt on the way to Lethe. Of being nursed back to health by the last of the Gorgons, an ancient being who called herself Neth. Of having been entrusted with the spear of Kaelr, the greatest Magus and bane of the Three. Those very dreams once again intruded upon her thoughts while she slept. It now felt like a prescience was leading her along with the rest of her companions towards a quest to meet the Maker of Entropy. She recalled the words of the old Gorgon.

  “The Maker of Entropy is the key to restoring this world to its former splendor,” Neth had said. “The lands around us were once covered in oceans of water, teeming with life. The dry areas were fertile, with beasts and plants. There was food for all and people would thrive. A great catastrophe had happened, and its true cause was lost in the eons of time. The world must be reborn again or else the remaining ones will die.”

  Chapter 3

  Vorconis carefully stowed the longsword beneath the bedding furs inside the room. The steel blade was his most prized possession, and he hated to be away from it for very long. His brother the Khan had called for another feast upon the eventide, and the ancient pacts had forbidden the carrying of weapons while in his presence. The recent turn of events however, necessitated an increased vigilance, for he had begun to see enemies all around. Ta
king a bone dagger from the shelf, Vorconis meticulously concealed it along the sides of his right boot, ready to be drawn at the slightest sign of trouble.

  The flap by the entryway was opened, and his subordinate peered inside. “My lord, the drums have sounded. It is time for us to join in the feasting.”

  Vorconis stood up. He was nearly three yards in height, and he was a giant among his tribe. Only the hairy ones from the neighboring clans could ever be as tall. “Worry not, Bugurt, we shall be there shortly. It is but a short walk up the steps and into the cave of the Khanate.”

  Bugurt was his most trusted subordinate, and he looked at his superior with worried eyes. “The Khan has decreed we are to sit at the rear table, by the cavern entrance. To serve as a ceremonial guard, he said.”

  Vorconis snorted. His brother would have never dared to seat him at so distant a table. It had to be his wife’s doing. “By the gods, if this was but any other feast day, I would have refused such a dishonor!”

  Bugurt’s eyes darted around warily, as if he felt someone was listening. “Apologies, lord. But what is your command?”

  Vorconis straightened the sides of his tunic. He looked down at his bed of furs, and stared at a vest made of overlapping bronze scales lying on it. The Pact of Respect might have prevented them from carrying weapons into the feast, but nothing in the ancient treaties mentioned they could not wear armor. He picked up the scaled coat and began donning it.

  Bugurt was shocked. “My lord, what are you doing?”

  Vorconis tightened the sides of the scale armor using the leather straps fastened along its side. “The pact has no provisions about armor, does it?”

  “N-no, but…”

  “Then it is settled,” Vorconis said as he strode out of the tent. “Tell the others to get into their armor, now!”