My Shadow’s Keeper Part 4: Between My Lies (Excerpt)

By Rory Hatchel

           It took the villagers too long to realize they were dead. Obviously the first man who came out to greet them would be surprised. His eyes lit up with the fear that comes from clinging to life, then dulled with the tide of oblivion.

            What surprised Thiala was that it was the same for so many subsequent victims. They heard the shouts or smelled the flames and ran out to help or see what was going on. They looked at Thiala slowly, like cattle. The realization struck their eyes after Dara’s arrow did. How could they all be so careless with their lives?

            As Dara slew those stupid enough to show themselves, Thiala went for the hiders. Their shadows and the stench of fear would give them away. Most of them couldn’t even control their breathing. She barely had to cast a spell as she found crying children in closets or gasping grandfathers underneath beds. It was a waste of her talents to kill those so clumsy with life. They couldn’t even face the end with dignity. None of them took up arms or tried to kill her. Some ran, and some hid. That was the only variation in the weak.

            They didn’t have the strength she did, the strength to enter oblivion willingly with a smile on her face. A coward ran into the arms of death like a toddler looking for his mother. A warrior greeted death like a familiar dance partner.

            And death was what waited for her at the end of this day. Entropos made that clear back at the mine. If Zoldak had found them, that meant the Empire knew something was wrong. They’d notice the missing saltpeter and prepare for some type of explosion. If they were lucky, the Empire would expect the attack to be on Elfzegarek. They’d never suspect their capital far away and secure, but Entropos made things clear. They would not be lucky. Stealth was not an option. Their only hope was to let the Empire think they’d stopped them. That meant they had to get the saltpeter to Vaeril without anyone noticing, and then they had to die. It couldn’t be an illusion. The Empire would need bodies. Their deaths would guarantee Vaeril’s cover. That would protect the mission and doom the capital. The mission would be a success even if the squad perished.

            Or rather, when the squad perished.

            Thiala stepped out of the house and set it ablaze behind her. The village was only a dozen or so buildings. One large square sat at the center of it, with a fountain and a statue of the Daughter at the center. The image of the goddess stood in her simple robes, holding up the scales of justice, her fingers pressing down on one side.

            “There is no judgement,” said Thiala as she spat on the ground. She wiped the sweat from her brow and went towards Dara. Her last companion was gathering the bodies in one heap at the feet of the Daughter. Her hair was up and sweat covered her face. The fires from the other buildings kept pressing, jumping from building to building.

            “That’s enough,” she said. “I think they’ll get the point.”

            Dara nodded and wiped her brow. She hadn’t spoken since Thiala explained the plan. She didn’t want to die, but honestly, what did she have to live for? Her brother was gone. All that remained was her father back in the Petrified Wood. If she wanted to protect him, she’d help Thiala take down the Empire. This was the only way.

            “Time?” asked Dara. She took a corner of her tunic and wiped her face and brow.

            “Ten or fifteen at most,” said Thiala. “Set your traps and then get in position. Stick to my Darkness. Stay mobile. Remember, don’t fire until they set off my rune.” Dara nodded and darted off.

            Thiala wrapped the thick cords of darkness around her hands and tugged on the shadows of the carts. She flexed her shoulders, trying to save as much magic as she could, and hauled the saltpeter to the docks. Most of the boats were already on fire, but they had saved two. Thiala bent her legs at the knees, taking control of one cart at a time, and lifted. The cart tipped and dumped its contents into the boat. Thiala did the same with the other three carts, splitting them up so each boat handled two loads.

            She took a deep breath. She was no good at spells with currents or anything with conjuration or abjuration. She could try to control the shadow of each boat and ensure it got to Letzemisto safely, but its power would dwindle as it moved from her. She’d do her best, but this would ultimately be in Entropos’s hands.

            She released her breath. It came out as black smoke. Not grey smoke. Not thick smoke. It came out like puffs of darkness. It wrapped around her and around the docks where she stood. She disappeared into the Darkness. She kept her eyes closed, feeling the presence of all things disappear from her, the chill as sweat evaporated from her body, the heat from the burning town to her right, the cool wind from the ocean water, and the ash that stung the back of her throat. It was gone. All of it. When she opened her eyes again, there was only the beautiful nothingness and the scores of green eyes that made up that nothingness.

            Entropos was a paradox. It was nothingness, oblivion, and yet it was a thing. Vaeril said it was a curse of language. Sentences needed subjects and verbs, but Entropos didn’t exist. Entropos didn’t do. Entropos undid, but even that implied action. Entropos was the way things break down. Over time, things weaken. They corrode. They mold. All things are consumed and burned off. Balance would teach that it goes back into the environment, that it was some circle of life. That was a lie. Most of it went back, but not all of it. Where did the remnant go?

            It went to Entropos.

            And yet Entropos was not a place or a person. If God was, and is, and will be, if God is all verb tenses and all nouns and all matter and all energy and all connection, then Entropos is none of those things.

            Again, language fails.

            But Thiala was wrapped in that nothingness now. She was barely a consciousness now. She could hold onto the barest sliver of thought, but everything else about her faded. The presence of Entropos brought clarity. Thiala had no fear, no insecurity, no doubt. She didn’t care for the approval of Vaeril, Mother, or even Messime. Her goals were gone. How could nothingness have goals? All of the universe will one day burn out. That’s the lie no one tells you. The universe is a candle. No matter what, it will expire. God will cycle through all matter and energy, and even if Entropos takes only a sip of each transaction into its nothingness, eventually it will all be gone. The universe goes out.

            Nothing Thiala is or does will matter except for serving that nothingness. It was and is the only thing that makes sense. It was in this space that she and her companions must die. She felt no fear or anger when she heard it. She wasn’t capable of it. Even the resentment of Entropos and the cost of her plans was impossible. There was only what must be done. It was as simple as knowing one must breathe. She had to die. She had to make them think they had stopped them.