Game of Destiny, Book I: Willow

by J Seab

  Everam rode into Market Square and reined Moon Shadow to a stop. Snow, loping a few meters ahead, circled back and sat next to the horse, her tongue lolling.

  The town was a bit more jumbled than the typical Etus town, he thought, examining the town’s central market area. Rather than a neat circle of shops surrounding the Doma, a hodgepodge of crafter shops, distribution depots, and rows of crafter stalls were dispersed across several hectares of open ground dotted with patches of big trees and small gardens. Pathways and wagon trails connected them all into a confusing network of wide brick avenues and wandering narrow paths.

  Even so, it was impossible to get lost. The array of comdev towers flanking the area provided a reference point that could be seen from most anywhere within Market Square.

  The wireless communication devices were one of the most useful products the Warves had developed from the ancient science preserved across the centuries. Instant communication with the towns and villages of Etus was an essential element binding the people and culture into a cohesive whole and, for Market Square, permitted the timely and accurate flow of data between producer, distributor, and consumer.

  Everam’s thoughts suddenly turned somber. There was, of course, other science that the Ancients developed, science that he hoped would never be used again to create death and destruction on such a massive scale.

  Everam vigorously shoved that line of thought aside and returned his attention to the town.

  There were people everywhere.

  Market Square was the major distribution portal between the Warves and the southern states of Ten Sees and North Shores. Agri products flowing north and gadgets and tools flowing south made up the bulk of the distribution. There was always a steady flux of people and goods streaming between the port at North Greelys Folly and the major crafter towns of West Warves, especially Indy Square just to the north. And they all stopped here.

  Market Square distributors consigned the plethora of incoming products based on each community’s outstanding requests. Shortfalls or abundances were referred back to the affected producers so that appropriate adjustments could be made in production. The Congress of Mayors summit at Genesis maintained the overall balance within the system. The CoM also factored in issues such as production and resource requirements, product utility, and lifetime environmental impact to assign or modify the service-value for a given product. Service-value, then, fed back into the system as an important metric to help communities optimize resource usage.

  The entire system worked rather well, Everam reflected, although it was an evolving process. It was also highly dependent on the principles of trust and truth. If either broke down, the system, no doubt, would collapse.

  That’s what worried him.

  There were growing signs that trust and truth were being deliberately undermined by outside forces with hostile intent.

  Somehow, the mystery behind Swiik’s oddment was part of the solution.

  He urged Moon Shadow into the fray. Fortunately, he knew exactly where he was going. Snow followed, nose to the ground, investigating the riot of smells saturating the area.

  Horses, wagons, cycles, and a variety of people on foot wound through the streets. A self-propelled cycle he spotted on a side street captured his attention as it approached, accompanied by the hum of a lectric motor. He had heard of these before and studied it as it passed. It had three wheels: one in front and two in back. The driver, an older man with a cane propped next to him, sat in a molded seat, his legs stretched in front of him, controlling the cycle with a couple of foot pedals and a steering bar. It looked like he was moving along easily. Might be interesting to try that one, Everam thought, his eyes lingering on it.

  Moon Shadow snorted, shook her head.

  “Not to worry, no machine can ever replace you,” he said fondly, patting her neck.

  They continued deeper into the district, dodging carts and wagons laden with farm produce brought from the south and knots of travelers renewing acquaintances or making new ones.

  The general mood seemed good, Everam noted with relief.

  Many stalls scattered along the way were manned by stout crafters from all over West Warves who came into town during the harvest distribution to display their services and wares. Mostly they offered an assortment of tools and lectric lamps but there were also plenty of other items: dishware and pots, farm and garden equipment, clocks, mechanical toys, and a vast miscellany of other hardware and devices. One stall displayed an assortment of cycles, including both motorized and pedal versions of the three-wheeled variety he’d seen earlier. They seemed to be attracting a lot of attention. There were a couple of stalls displaying finely woven cotton fabrics from Ten Sees and several stalls from North Shores displaying stacks of alpaca wool and a selection of finely crafted cloaks made from it.

  Everam passed them all, wishing he had time to browse. There were a number of things he could use in his too often neglected home in Spirit Hill. Another time, maybe, once the business at hand was resolved.

  Everam eventually arrived at a cluster of merchant stalls circling an open area paved with large, flat stones. He dismounted and led Moon Shadow to a nearby day stable where she would be cared for and then walked to his destination. Time to see what Targo has, he thought. “Come on, girl,” he said to Snow, who was evaluating a steaming plop of horse manure nearby.

  “Woof,” she said, joining him after a final sniff.

  They entered the oddments shop through the open door. There was only one patron there poking around in the assortment of old and broken remnants of a civilization long buried by the erosion of time. Oddments weren’t high on people’s interest lists. Most called them junk. They found little value in the usual assortment of rust and rubble dug from the ground other than as curiosities from a time many wished would be left buried. Although, occasionally, something more intriguing would be found that evoked an immediate flurry of interest.

  Targo was in his usual place, his compact frame slouched into a padded chair behind an old, beat-up desk piled high with papers and various unidentifiable objects. Grizzled head bent, he was scratching on a sheet of paper, working on his book, The Encyclopedic Compendium of Oddments, Everam remembered. He called himself a tinkerer-scholar because he studied the lost technologies of the past in an attempt to advance theories to build the future. Tinkering and inventing were popular activities in the Warves and Targo was considered one of the most knowledgeable scholars of ancient artifacts throughout Etus.

  “Targo,” Everam called in greeting, approaching the desk. Snow proceeded to lap the room, checking it out.

  “Everam,” Targo exclaimed, jumping up. “How are you, old friend? And how’s our girl, Snow?” he asked, leveling his gaze at her. Snow was intently examining a long, bent object leaning against one wall. Her tail swished once, stirring the dust on the floor, and then she returned to her investigation.

  “We’re both good,” Everam responded. “How goes the great work?”

  “Ah,” he sighed. “A never-ending task. Most of it is beyond me. It’s hard writing about something you know nothing about.

  “It appears, despite being as burdened with ignorance as you claim, that your work has had a tremendous impact on our knowledge of the Ancients. I’ve read much of it. It’s good, solid.”

  “So you say,” he said, turning a palm, “but there remains more mystery than understanding in most of what I’ve studied. A few thousand years of nature’s work leaves little behind and most of that are mere curiosities,” he said gesturing at a lone patron. The patron glanced over, smiled, and returned to his browsing. “Nonetheless,” he continued, “I don’t expect you stopped in just to chat. What can a befuddled old Targo do for you?”

  Everam opened the flap of the pouch slung over his shoulder by a long strap. Withdrawing Mel’s oddment, he set it on Targo’s desk.

  Targo, scrunching his lips, studied it for a moment without touching it. Then, opening a drawer, he brought out a magnifying
glass. “Interesting,” he mumbled as he rolled it around, noting the magnet symbol and the writing. “Invisible fields will open a path to the Ultimate Treasure,” he read aloud. “Curious, never seen the like,” he continued to mumble. He then looked up at Everam. “I’m guessing this is a message cylinder and that you open it with a magnet?”

  “Indeed, it is.”

  “And that you’ve removed the contents and deciphered the message within and have some questions?”

  “We have. Before we get started, Snow and I are famished. I’ll explain what has happened along the way. I left the oddment’s contents safely stored at Spirit Hill but I have a copy of the message,” he said, patting his pouch. “I need your expertise to help me understand its meaning.”

  Targo stood and extended an arm. “Lead on.”

  On the way out, the patron approached Targo and held up a twisted sheet of heavily pitted metal. With a little imagination, one could just make out something embedded in its surface that looked like “25E.” Diffidently, he asked, “Is it alright if I take this, Targo?”

  “Absolutely, Jeri. That’s a marker sign,” Targo said, winking at Everam. “It was used by the Ancients to label their roadways. A distributor from down south dropped it off for us. Said it was found in an old barn. We don’t come across ones that are in such good shape often. A valuable find. Take good care of it.”

  “I sure will,” Jeri returned. “Thanks.” He left, admiring his new acquisition.

  “Jeri’s a good collector. Crafts most of the signs we use on the shops and stalls in Market Square. Does most of his work in wood or stone. He keeps a display of old signs and plaques in his shop,” Targo said as he waved vaguely to the north. “Likes to make up stories about them. He’ll probably have a grand tale concocted by the end of the day about pioneers struggling along the old 25E to found a new community deep in virgin territory.” Chuckling, he guided Everam through the door with a hand on his back. Snow followed them into the street. “Enough with that, tell me about this oddment.”

  Everam related the events leading to his visit as they walked to the Steaking It, a small diner that specialized in meats, and ordered their food. All three had cubed potatoes, a heap of boiled soybeans, and a strip of grilled venison. Meat was more readily served in West Warves than in the south. Everam occasionally enjoyed a small portion as long as it wasn’t tainted with cruelty. Snow, of course, wolfed down her portion with enthusiasm.

  Between bites, Everam told Targo about Swiik, the Mysteries of Bathus, and opening the oddment. He completed his report as they finished eating and then gave Targo a copy of the message they’d found within the cylinder.

  His hunger satisfied, Everam pushed his chair back. Snow was busy licking her plate clean, making certain that she had captured every molecule of food from it. Targo bent over the message and read it through one final time. Finished, he placed his palm over the paper and raised his eyes, his face skeptical. “This message speaks of prophesy, even of mysticism, magical swords and staves, something I can’t readily accept. How certain are you of this oddment’s legitimacy?”

  Everam was unsurprised at Targo’s incredulity. If it couldn’t be proven with hard scientific evidence or experimentation, then it wasn’t fact; it was fantasy. That was part of the reason Everam had come here. He needed to hear that perspective. “The condition of the oddment and its construction are consistent with Swiik’s report but our options to follow up are limited because of her death. Have you ever heard of any references to Bathus or this storyteller?”

  “Never,” Targo said, leaning back and crossing his arms.

  Snow, her plate spotless, sat and watched Targo as if she were listening to every word.

  “Furthermore, Everam, as you must already understand, there were many mainstream as well as fringe cults preaching their own brands of truth back then. All of them were making all sorts of mostly contradictory claims about gods and supernatural events in an attempt to assuage the growing hysteria.” He shrugged. “The world was full of desperate people easily swayed by lies and false promises, people who looked to outside forces to excuse their own failings.”

  Patting the message, he continued. “That part of your message I can accept. But the rest of it, especially this bit about prophesy, is too much for me. Time is an arrow that only points forward. The future can’t communicate with its past. And there are solid reasons why this is so.”

  Everam couldn’t reject anything Targo had said. Still, there were elements concerning the oddment and the Mysteries of Bathus that couldn’t be tossed aside so easily by hard, scientific reasoning. Science was a tool to investigate the temporal—space and time. Everam couldn’t abandon his feelings simply because he couldn’t pick them up and examine them as one might study a rock with a magnifying glass. There was a reality that existed beyond the dimensions of space-time. Everam had debated with Targo many times on that subject but he hadn’t come here for that, enjoyable it might be. “What, then, would you recommend?”

  “I think you should shelve the whole thing as a mere curiosity. You, based on what you’ve told me, have more important things to do.”

  Everam smiled. “Assuming, then, that I’d like to invest some additional time into this quest before shelving it, what might you recommend?”

  “Well, assuming the message is legitimate although somewhat biased toward fantasy, you must also factor in this last part,” Targo said, pointing. “If you are worthy suggests that some level of knowledge will be required to reach your objective, particularly given the challenges you’ve experienced opening the message cylinder. Will you arrive at a point where you simply don’t have the expertise to advance further?”

  “Indeed,” Everam said, entwining his fingers before him. Worthy could have many meanings. Was he, indeed, worthy? Were the people of Etus worthy? By what metrics could he judge? Looking into Targo’s eyes, he continued. “Perhaps, but a door of opportunity was opened for us by the Bathus Pod’s sacrifices. It is our responsibility, our obligation, to step through that door, regardless of the challenges. Perhaps we’ll ultimately fail but we’ll learn much from the journey.”

  Shaking his head, Targo leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, waving a finger. “Very well, understood. This, then, is what I suggest. First, you need to verify Swiik’s story. Find the Bathus Pod. Second, find the origin of your oddment. If both of these things continue to support your interest, then you can try to track down the second location given in the message.”

  “I’ve already asked Willow and Geldane to pursue the first objective. They are looking in the Dolfina Isles where there’s a good chance they’ll find some information leading to the Bathus Pod. I’m reasonably confident they’ll succeed and that the Bathus Pod will be able to direct them to the oddment’s origin. Once we know that, then we can follow the directions to the Chambers of Radiance mentioned in the oddment’s message.”

  “You, therefore, want an ancient map from me?”

  “Indeed.”

  Targo let out a slow breath. “Unfortunately, I can’t help you with that map. I’ve got several scraps that shows some gross features from before but nothing at the level of detail that you need. I expect you’ve already seen something similar. Physical maps had become relatively rare by the end of the Age of Failure and we still don’t understand what replaced them.”

  Everam nodded slowly. “We have several paper maps at Spirit Hill but none sufficiently detailed to help me.”

  “As I expected. I do know somebody who might be able to help.”

  Everam sat up, “Who?”

  “His name is Profeser. His whole life is dedicated to exploring ruins, mostly over in East Warves. Last I talked to him, let’s see,” Targo drummed on the table, “must have been last winter when he was in town picking up supplies. He said he found a detailed map of Etus from before. Was quite excited about it, was telling everybody who’d listen. He wouldn’t bring it here so I could examine it, said it was too fragile to
move, that if anybody wanted to see it they’d have to go to his place. I’ve been meaning to get over to East Port to take a look but haven’t been able to break away yet.” Targo raised a brow.

  “That’s it! That sounds like what I’m searching for. I’ll find Profeser in East Port?”

  “Yes, he’s got a warehouse, a research facility he likes to call it, outside the village. I don’t know if he’ll be there. He spends a lot of time out in the field digging. And there’s no comdev out there so you can’t call.”

  “Only one way to find out,” Everam said, pushing to his feet. “There’s several hours of daylight left. Might as well get started.”