“Yes, Miri,” the boy said. “I can keep him at this state for a long time.”
Chrac tried to yell out, but all he could muster was a muffled groan as his jaw was fully clenched, and his tight lips refused to part. Even the air in his lungs had a hard time traveling up his throat.
It had been a long time since she had used this discipline, so Miri worked her mental tendrils slowly, lest she used too much Vis and would end up damaging his brain. During her time with the Arum Navar tribe, her foster mother had taught Miri how to alter another’s thoughts completely, using the mindsense. It was a skill not to be used casually, for it involved the changing of a subject’s mind by implanting different thoughts and recreating the psyche into a completely different personality. The Striga protectors had used this discipline only amongst tribal members who had been driven mad, for its effects were permanent.
Reading Chrac’s thoughts, Miri could sense he was planning to turn them over to the Zaash. She quickly began to remove his memories of ever having dealt with Wulfgen’s tribe, and replacing them with an unconditioned loyalty to her, and a disdain for the Maker. The moment she had boarded the land ship, Miri had feelings of guilt with having to use this power, for this was the first time she unleashed it upon anyone who was not uncontrollably maddened by sickness. In the end she knew it had to be done, for their very survival was at stake. Her experiences in Lethe had also hardened her, and the newfound callousness was surprising to behold. In the end she realized the more ruthless approach would be the only way forward in a harsh, unforgiving world.
For a brief moment Chrac’s eyes turned white as his pupils rolled up towards his forehead. The land ship captain’s entire body began to tremble, as an uncontrollable spasm seemed to have afflicted him. Rion had sensed his Vis was no longer needed so he stopped gesturing and looked away, unwilling to see the man’s continued suffering. Miri glanced at the boy briefly, hoping his kindness would not be unduly affected by what was happening, before turning her attention back to the target of her Vis.
Chrac exhaled loudly before suddenly slumping down to the floor of the cabin. Rion was about to help him up, but Miri silently gestured at him to stay in place. After a short while, a groan was heard coming from the captain. Chrac slowly sat up and rubbed the sides of his head.
Miri knelt down beside him. “Are you alright?”
Chrac looked up at her and gave a delighted look. “Yes, Miri. I believe I had a sudden fainting spell. It seems I have a hard time remembering what has occurred.”
With a faint smile, Miri helped him up on his feet. “Perhaps it was just the miasma in the air. I remember the Istas passing through a strange mist had stricken you, so I led you down here to recover your senses.”
He nodded before acknowledging the boy with an open palm. “Rion, were you attending to me as well?”
The boy hesitated briefly before signaling his acknowledgment. He didn’t like to lie, but he knew it was better to play along. “Yes, I was resting here when you were brought to the ship’s hold.”
Chrac scratched his head. “I see. Perhaps it explains why I am feeling light headed. I do not remember the last order I gave to the crew.”
“You told them to head to the Reaches, but I believe we had to change course after we ran into that perplexing mist,” Miri said.
Chrac walked over to the stairs leading up to the main deck. “Then we shall have to alter the sand sail’s direction once more then.”
Rion held a telling stone in front of him so the captain could see it. “Wait, instead of going to the Reaches, could we please venture out into the Frozen Desert instead?”
The captain furrowed his brow. “The Frozen Desert? But there are no tribal holdings to speak of over there. It is a place of mists and broken terrain. The few land ships had braved that area have never returned.”
“The object of my quest lies there,” Rion said. “Please.”
Chrac looked at Miri, who merely nodded in assent. “Very well,” the captain of the Istas said as he began clambering up the steps. “I shall inform the crew of our new heading.”
Miri and Rion watched him make his way up and tell the surprised crewmen of the sand sail’s new direction. There were a few gasps of surprise and some grumblings, but thankfully there was no major dissent amongst the crew. Within moments they both could feel the land ship’s great wheels turning as it changed course among the level plains of the flatlands.
“We were supposed to meet Lord Vorconis at his hold this eventide,” Miri said. “Why did you insist on going to the area beyond the borderlands?”
Rion showed her the telling stone. “I had filched this from the collection of the Khanate teller. It speaks of a way to reach the Valley of Shadow.”
“The Valley of Shadow? Where this Keeper of the Lost resides in?”
“Yes,” Rion said. “The glyphs on this stone said the path to the Valley of Shadow lies somewhere in the Frozen Desert.”
“I see,” Miri said. “If we are venturing forth to this forsaken place, then can you tell me of potential dangers we may face?”
Rion bit his lip. “It does not say much about it, but if Captain Chrac’s mentions of lost sand sails and their crew are to be believed, then we may be facing the greatest of dangers when we venture there.”
Miri nodded. She didn’t want to tell the boy the strange sense of unease in her mind had begun to wane the farther they traveled from the Sea of Dunes. It was as if the intruding presence she had been defending against had less power out near the borderlands. They were facing off against the very legends that had been etched in the telling stones which were thousands of cycles old, and she shuddered at the kind of power these unimaginable beings could wield against the two of them.
Chapter 13
The pirate enclave lay close to the eastern borderlands, less than a day’s travel by sand sail from the rock wall where the two land ships had collided. Despite frequent attempts by the Khanate to wipe out the vestiges of banditry, the raiders continued to exist, as they would continuously move their main hold from one desolate crag to another. The current domain consisted of a chain of granite outcroppings stretched forth like a gigantic, rocky worm across the sandy wastes. In the hollow of the highest rock shelf was a pyramidal structure made of black basalt, the walls forming a strange polygonal joint pattern along its surface.
Zeren stepped off from the bronze gangplank and onto the bedrock, the shadow of the cliff wall bathing him in the twilight of oncoming eventide. Turning his head, he stared at the woman and child as they followed him from the parked sand sail at the edge of the escarpment. When the other raiders realized he was a Magus, they put away their weapons and offered him safe passage into their territory. With no means of returning back to the Khanate holdings, Zeren accepted.
A gaggle of small children, mostly dressed in hide rags while the smallest ones were completely nude, ran up and stared at him with hungry, inquisitive eyes before their mothers called out to them from the distance, alarming the little ragamuffins enough to make them scamper off into wildly different directions, their innocent squeals and laughter echoing along the hollow walls of the crag. One of the smaller children, a naked toddler boy covered in dust and grime, continued to stand a few paces away from him.
Zeren smiled. “I am sorry little one, but I have no treats for you other than a bit of wine, but I do not believe your mother would like it if I offered you some.”
The boy gave a toothless smile before a youth ran over, draped him over his shoulder like a leather sack, and dashed back towards a nearby encampment below the cliff walls. The adults of the enclave stayed close to their fire pits, their muskets and swords at the ready while observing the outlander from a fair distance away. Zeren figured there must be several hundred of them at the very least.
Syviss stood beside him while gesturing towards the black pyramid. Her daughter Thalena clutched her mother’s hand tightly and stayed close by her side. “Our leaders shall meet with you i
n that place.”
He looked at her for a short moment. “You have not told me much other than to say you were Fumal Led’s wife. He was my mentor, and I need to know more.”
She continued to point towards the structure. “All your queries will be answered by the Council. You must present yourself to them first.”
Shaking his head, Zeren began walking towards the pyramid. As he got closer, he noticed there was a hollow at its base, and he could see illuminating torch lights coming from within the large opening. A number of men and women ran past him, hoping to get inside and observe the upcoming proceedings. Glancing over his shoulder, he could tell Syviss and her daughter were following him at a discreet distance.
Zeren entered the cavernous hall of the building, his right hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. While he felt a certain confidence since they allowed him to keep his weapons, he could not help but realize he was heavily outnumbered and it would be pointless to fight his way out should they decide to give him any trouble.
In the middle of the cavernous room lay a massive fire pit, its smoldering fuel casting an orange glow which helped to lighten the entire place. Half a dozen men stood near the opposite end of the hall, while the rest of the crowd stayed dutifully along the sides, indicating he was to continue towards the smaller group ahead. Zeren obliged as he continued to move forward until he stood a dozen paces away from the apparent leaders of the enclave.
The oldest of the six had a patchy beard and his forehead was balding. He might have looked formidable in his younger cycles, but age and battle had clearly taken a toll on him. He pointed a crooked finger towards Zeren. “I am Marmon, former captain of the great sand sail Asirope, now I am both teller and herald of our tribe. Announce yourself.”
Zeren smiled as he made a slight bow. “My name is Zeren, one of the protectors of the trading expedition from the great city of Lethe.”
Marmon exchanged curious looks with the other councilors before turning back his attention to the man who stood in front of him. “Lethe? We had thought a city such as yours would have been lost eons ago. The telling stones that were last written told of a great calamity, when the ground shook and swallowed up the city in which you claimed to have come from.”
Zeren chuckled. “It seems the little telling stone you have read is wrong. The inhabitants of Lethe are countless, and its citizens far outnumber all the tribes in the Sea of Dunes combined. Perhaps it is time for you to throw away that telling stone that told you of such false tales.”
Marmon raised his hands and spread them wide. “Look around you, this entire building is a gigantic telling stone.”
Zeren looked up in surprise. The old man was right. All along the inner walls of the pyramid were carved glyphs that seemed to glow from the reflection of the torch lights. Zeren remembered the time when Rion had offered to teach him to read the writings of the telling stones. After several moons of trying, all he could muster were a few words before he ultimately gave up on his lessons. Now a part of him regretted not paying attention to what the boy had tried to impart.
“We have no need of a cache of telling stones when our entire memories are etched in these very walls,” Marmon said. “As an outlander, you are only the second to be amongst us.”
“Yes, I am aware,” Zeren said. “Fumal Led was the first, yet he was also from the city of Lethe. Did he not tell you of that truth?”
Marmon shook his head. “No, Fumal Led never told any of us where his origins lay. All we knew of him was he had come from a faraway land, and he was the last of his kind.”
Zeren’s eyes narrowed. Did his foster father and teacher willingly lie to protect the people of Lethe from the Khanate, or was it the other way around? “Nevertheless, I now stand here in front of all of you. I was travelling in one of the Khanate’s land ships, and we were waylaid by a group that belonged to this … tribe.”
A crewman on the sand sail that had brought Zeren to the enclave was standing beside one of the council members, whispering in his ear. This other councilor was completely bald, and had tattoos on one side of his face. The man’s veins seemed to pulse with hatred as he sneered at Zeren.
“We survive by preying on the sand sails of the Khanate,” Marmon said, “just as the Khanate seeks to slaughter us all.”
Zeren held up his arms close to his chest, palms up in a gesture of contrition. “So it was all just a misunderstanding then? Since I am not with the Khanate then there is no conflict between us is there?”
The bald councilor pointed at him. “Yes there is! You killed several of my nephews and brothers, and for that you will pay with your life!”
Marmon held up his hand in a gesture of calm. “Vlaex, please. When we swore an oath against the Khanate, it did not include strangers from distant lands. We have no quarrel with him.”
Vlaex hissed. “We cannot let him get away with the murder of our people! Blood must be answered with blood!”
Zeren raised an eyebrow. “Your men killed one of my companions from Lethe. He was but a mere youth of sixteen cycles. I consider this matter closed, but if you wish to reopen it I shall accommodate you.”
Vlaex growled as he placed his hand on the hilt of the longsword by his waistline. “I am not afraid of you, Magus. I have fought battles since I could stand on my own two feet.”
Zeren smirked. “If you keep this up, you shall need a new pair of legs once I am done with you.”
Vlaex cursed as he started to advance, but two other councilors grabbed hold of his elbows and stopped him. The crowd began shouting as Marmon and the other councilors gestured at them to calm down. In a matter of moments, the chaos had begun to rapidly die down, a testament to their respect for their leaders.
Another councilor, an old man with a leather eyepatch on the right side of his face, held both hands up while he faced Zeren. “This strife must stop. Magus, I am Hitijin, cleric of Duun, god of the wastes. We do not worship the Maker out here, and we live by the old ways. Please do not provoke my fellow councilors any further.”
Zeren shrugged. “I respect those who respect me. Perhaps you should speak those words to the companion who stands beside you.”
Marmon turned to look at Vlaex. “He is right. This outlander has offered to forgo any additional antipathy to our tribe. For the sake of order, we must continue this in a peaceful manner.”
Vlaex spat onto the dusty floor. “My blood relations shall be avenged.” He turned and began walking away from the proceedings, a small group from the congregation following his resentful wake as he left the hall.
Hitijin sighed and shook his head. “On behalf of the Council, I apologize to you, outlander. Even though we war constantly, each loss in our tribe is felt deeply. We were informed as to the circumstances of the battle which took place, and blood was spilt on both sides. Now we must forge a bond of peace.”
Zeren tilted his head, indicating the direction which Vlaex took as he had left. “And what of him and his followers?”
“He shall be watched to make sure no harm comes to you,” Marmon said. “You have our word on that.”
Zeren bit his lip. “Very well. I forgo any vendetta against your tribe.”
“That is good,” Marmon said. “Now as to the blade you carry, is that not the sword of Fumal Led?”
“It is. I found it in the ruins of another tribe that had been slaughtered by the Khanate.”
Syviss raised her hand, indicating she wished to speak. “My husband told me he would do what he could to help the Valis tribe. It was the last time I spoke with him before he had left.”
Zeren glanced over to her. “Of what tribe did Fumal Led join? Yours or the Valis?”
Syviss shook her head. “Fumal Led was a member of no tribe. He traveled where he pleased.”
Zeren gave her a quizzical look. “And the Khanate allowed him to meet with pirates?”
Marmon winced when the word “pirate” was spoken, while a few others in the crowd alternately gasped and whistled.
“Fumal Led took great pains to make sure his movements were not tracked,” he said. “He never told the Khanate he would occasionally live amongst us. He was a trustworthy man.”
“I see,” Zeren said. “It seems my mentor had many secrets.”
“You keep calling him a teacher,” Hitijin said. “Did you know of him in the past?”
“He raised me when I was but a young boy,” Zeren said. “He was like a father to me. This is why I decided to use his sword as my own.”
“Since we have no reason to disbelieve you,” Marmon said. “We can only surmise that Fumal Led is indeed dead.”
Thalena started to weep as her mother hugged the little girl tightly. A few others in the crowd looked away with tears in their eyes, for they had remembered the times when Fumal Led had helped them.
Zeren gritted his teeth. The news of his mentor’s death was upsetting, and a festering shard of vengeance had lodged itself in his heart. “Can you tell me what he was trying to do?”
“Fumal Led was a great man,” Hitijin said. “He knew the complications of the many tribes in this land, and he was doing his best to bring about a peaceful resolution to the strife afflicting us. He had realized the struggle centered on the Maker.”
“I have heard of this living god amongst the Khanate,” Zeren said. “They seem to worship this being and obey the commands of its heralds, the Exalted.”
Hitijin nodded. “The Khanate fear the Maker and its servants. I know most of the tribes in the Sea of Dunes despair over the loss of their youth when the Oracle demands their sacrifice, but there are those who wish the present arrangement to continue. Fumal Led attempted to break this deadlock.”
“Several tribes had been reduced to nothingness due to the constant demand for sacrifice,” Marmon said. “The ones that could get word to us would ultimately join in with our faction. The others would be absorbed by the larger tribes within the Khanate. As you can see, the ones in power prefer it this way. Your mentor knew this.”
The Maker of Entropy Page 14
