The Godseeker Duet

by David A Willson

  The creature slowed when it saw the knife, then moved to circle its dinner. Gwyn stood less than fifty paces away, well-hidden by a large tree on a rise overlooking the clearing but intervening trees partially blocked her view of the conflict below. The creature pulled back its malformed lips, grinning hungrily and Gwyn could see long fangs that emerged from the creature’s jaw. Long hair fell down its shoulders, but it sported no facial hair. It stopped circling and stood, fists upon the ground supported by massive arms and shoulders. Even hunched over, it towered over the boy. But Gwyn was now in a terrible spot; the boy was in the path of any arrow she could loose.

  “Davay na menya, zver,” the boy challenged in Roska.

  Gwyn grabbed the bow on her back, nocked an arrow, and braced for an attack sure to come at any moment.

  The monster stepped forward, its tongue slathering fangs with saliva, eager to devour its next meal. “Groshka,” the beast yelled, then pounded its chest and growled, “Gnar.” It pointed a long, clawed finger at the youth as it spoke in garbled words. “Gnar nack o’nit.”

  Gnar. Was that its name? And it spoke as if it were human. Disturbing. Gwyn couldn’t understand what the monster said, but she moved to one side, looking for a clear shot at the beast.

  Gnar lunged forward, sweeping a large claw within inches of the boy’s nose. Although strong and fast, the beast was unwise, having chosen a simple, overextended attack for its opponent’s face. The boy stepped to the left, avoiding the claws and moving the knife high then low as he passed, slicing its biceps on the upper attack, the hamstring on follow-up. The creature’s howl betrayed its rage as it circled for another charge. This boy moved with surprising skill, and if he kept his wits and feet about him, he might live through the day.

  Gnar’s second attack was of a different sort. Instead of charging, the beast reared up on its hind legs, bellowed to the sky, and leaned forward, lungs heaving and eyes glowing brighter than before. Jaws opened, and a gout of fire shot out at the boy. It was a flamer! Though the lad tried to dodge the hot projectile, the surprise of it gave him little time, and as he spun midair, flame singed his shoulder.

  Gwyn now had a clear target on the beast and her fingers relaxed on the bowstring, starting to release the arrow. Suddenly, the Roska boy launched himself toward the monster, directly in Gwyn’s sightline, forcing her to abort the shot.

  Long knife in hand, the boy was quickly underneath his opponent and the blade found a home in the monster’s gut. Squatting, the boy wrapped his hands around the knife handle and thrust, cutting Gnar upward in a long gash from liver to lung.

  The blood gushed forth, bathing the boy even as Gnar released another torrent of flames, scorching nearby trees and bushes.

  The boy extracted himself from underneath the fatally wounded beast but no longer held his knife, having lost it in the close contact. Weaponless, he would have to evade the dying creature long enough for the monster’s wound to overtake it, but by the look of the creature as it regained its feet and focused on the boy, Gwyn doubted the young warrior would succeed.

  Gnar launched forward at its prey once again and Gwyn loosed her arrow. The fletching was soon visible in the side of the creature’s head as it fell dead to one side.

  The boy looked stunned at the sudden fall of the creature, breathing loudly. He looked about, eyes scanning the trees around him. “Thank you,” he yelled to the empty woods in Landian, hardly a trace of his Roska accent detectable. Bilingual, then.

  “More than you bargained for, today?” she asked, stepping out from behind her tree.

  “Yeah. It was,” he said, extending a bloody hand with a smile on his face. “I’m Yury.”

  She looked at his hand and gave him a glare.

  He wiped his hand on the bark of a nearby tree, then on his own leg. “You’re good with that thing,” he said, pointing to the bow.

  “I am.”

  “Who are you? Your name, I mean.”

  “Gwyn.”

  She moved to the side of the corpse, then kneeled to examine the beast up close. The body was twisted, with deformed joints that bent at odd angles. Patches of hair decorated its skin in an inconsistent, spotty pattern. She moved to the other side of the corpse and found an ornate rune on its back. Further inspection revealed a second design, mangled, with new flesh that obscured the pattern. Scarred. Had they burned it to mar the pattern?

  “I’ve been following it all day,” he said. “I first spied it this morning, scrounging about for berries and grubs. They sometimes move in small packs but rarely come close to Klaksha. We watch them to make sure they don’t gather together and raid the village, then we pick them off when they are alone and we have the advantage.”

  “You should carry more than a knife,” Gwyn said.

  “I’m best with spear and shield, but it’s hard to sneak through the woods carrying big weapons. I didn’t plan on fighting but got sloppy, I guess. I didn’t see you at all. How long were you following me?”

  “A while.”

  “You’re good,” he said.

  “That burn will need some salve.”

  “I’ll be fine. I should go back,” he said. “My sister will have dinner ready. Care to join us?”

  “I think I will.”

  They spoke little as they walked for almost an hour before topping the final ridge between them and the Roska village. From that vantage point, they saw smoke rising from Klaksha. And fire.

  Soldiers milled about the burning buildings. A lot of them. Yury ran, but Gwyn stood still. “Yury, stop!” she yelled, to no avail.

  She should stay here. Charging into a village in chaos, with soldiers on a rampage doing Dei knows what–well, that was foolery. Gwyn was a survivor and didn’t make mistakes like this. But her life was different now. She’d signed up for something risky when she left Fairmont. She’d decided to be a different person. A stupid one, apparently.

  Her feet were moving almost before she’d decided to chase, and she reached for arrows, then sent them to find their homes in the necks or bellies of soldiers who tried to intercept. It was hard to keep up with Yury’s vigorous pace, however. As she entered the village, the heat from the flaming huts beat against her face, and she almost lost track of the boy among the screaming as soldiers rounded up children and carried them off to carts.

  “Ahna!” she heard Yury call from up ahead. She rounded a fiery stack of crates and saw him dash into an engulfed hut.

  “She’s gone,” Yury said when he came out a moment later, hair steaming from the heat and a look of anger upon his face.

  “Hey, you!” A man’s voice from behind them startled her, and they both turned.

  “Where’s my sister?” Yury asked.

  Yury dashed toward the man, his knife in hand, but he was unarmored and faced a soldier with sword and shield.

  Gwyn loosed an arrow that passed a few inches above Yury’s shoulder, but it bounced harmlessly off the soldier’s shield a moment before Yury reached him. The arrow may have distracted the man, however, and Yury easily dodged a clumsy sword thrust.

  Yury rained a flurry of knife thrusts and blows upon the soldier and they both fell, off balance, to the ground. The attacks soon overwhelmed the man and when Yury’s fist crashed into the soldier’s temple, he went still. Yury got to his feet, looking for another target.

  “We must go,” Gwyn said. “There are too many.”

  He looked at her a moment. “I have to find my sister. She’s all I have.” There was anguish in his voice and tears in his eyes.

  Pain lanced up her arm. She looked down and saw an arrow had impaled her left forearm, forcing her to drop her bow. Her right hand went to the wound as she turned to see an archer and a soldier walking toward them down the otherwise empty street.

  “Run,” Gwyn said as she picked up the bow in her right hand and backed away from the threat, expecting Yury to follow. An arrow whizzed by her ear. She turned to see that Yury had left her, charging forward into the fray. An arrow n
ow protruded from his thigh, and several soldiers surrounded him. With her wound, she couldn’t use her bow. Only one thing left she could do.

  She darted around another building, taking a moment to steel herself against the pain that now throbbed in her forearm. Sounds of soldiers approaching forced her to dash around another building, looking to escape.

  Ahead, several horses were tied to a hitching post. She sprinted into action and a moment later, she was atop a black mare, galloping for the hills. As she left the area, she passed several wagons outside the village, nearby soldiers shouting at Gwyn as she galloped past. The wagons had cages. Children were inside. They looked at Gwyn with panic in their eyes. What did soldiers want with children, and why would they destroy an entire village to get them?

  It took little time to evade the few who followed her on horseback, laden as they were with armor and gear. She found a vantage point to watch the scene from atop a high ridge, miles away, where she and the horse each caught their breath. The once-clear sky was becoming shrouded with the smoke from the village.

  The wagon cages soon rolled to the east, followed by many soldiers. To Fairmont, probably.

  Oh, Anne, what have you gotten me into now?

  Hopefully, the boy would survive and get medical care before his leg wound festered. She looked at her own wound. The arrow had pierced the meat of her forearm but had not touched bone. She dismounted the horse and reached to the rear of the arrow, bracing the arrowhead against the saddle and breaking the shaft. Pain lanced up her forearm, but she didn’t pause, immediately pulling the shaft free of the wound. As the blood flowed, she reached into her belt pack to retrieve some ground herbs from her pack. She mixed them with spit to form a paste that would prevent infection.

  She wrapped the arm with bandages, and while it would likely heal, it would be useless for a time. But she had a horse and a task to perform. Save the boy. Yes, she could do that.

  But where were they going?

  4

  Intercept

  The small city of Took hosted a home for children, but to call it an orphanage would have been generous, as small as it was. Even so, Nara was grateful for the elderly woman who met her and Mykel at the front door following their knock in the middle of the night.

  “We found her in a village to the north,” Mykel said. “Everyone was dead.”

  An anxious expression crossed the woman’s face. Not of surprise, but more like fatigue. She sighed. “It’s not the first village to fall,” she said, “but they don’t usually leave the children.”

  “This one hid,” Nara said. “I found her in the bushes.”

  “I’ll take care of her,” the woman answered, rubbing her eyes then reaching for the girl who still clung tightly to Nara.

  “It’s okay, little one,” Nara said. “She’ll take care of you.”

  The girl relaxed, then reached out for the old woman, who received her.

  “I don’t know her name,” Nara said. “And we don’t have any money to give you.”

  “Thank you, dear. We’ll be fine.”

  “Who is doing it?” Nara asked. “And why?”

  “Nobody knows,” the woman said, then closed the door.

  As they walked away, Took began to quiet itself–shops closing and streets emptying. Nara also felt empty, as if she should have done more for the girl, or for the old woman. A subtle anger seethed within her. This horror was Kayna’s for sure. Something must be done, but she couldn’t act, not yet. She was needed elsewhere.

  “We’re not going back to the cavern,” she said. “We don’t have time. Dimmitt needs us now.”

  “Your vision could have been a mistake,” Mykel said. “You’re new at this stuff.”

  “They don’t work like that.”

  “You’re not ready,” Mykel said.

  “I know. Doesn’t matter.”

  He shrugged. “We sleep. Then straight south?”

  “Yes.”

  They spent the night under an abandoned wagon in a field on the south side of Took. Huddled up to Nara for warmth, Mykel fell asleep quickly, but Nara could not, troubled by thoughts of the vision and what it might mean. When the sun rose again, she couldn’t remember having slept at all.

  Running south from Took through the mountainous region was rough. The melting of the snows had created rivulets that crossed the road, eroding the dirt and crushed rock of the road under their feet. Nara twisted her ankle more than once with a misplaced step, yet she was undeterred, flaring health and continuing for hours, urgency spurring her on, Mykel following closely behind. They rarely stopped even to drink water from passing creeks, exchanged no words, and didn’t slow when they passed merchants or travelers. How odd it must have been to see two young people sprinting at a supernatural pace toward them, passing by, then disappearing over the horizon.

  At midday, they stopped for a long break at a creek to drink water and wash the sweat from their skin.

  “This is going to take days,” Mykel said.

  “Then it will take days.”

  They didn’t say anything else, and when they hit the road again, the urgency in Nara’s heart had faded a touch, tempered by Mykel’s words. It would indeed be days until they reached Dimmitt. They could not fly like birds, and many miles separated them from their home. This would be a marathon, not a sprint.

  Though their pace didn’t slow much, the second half of the day seemed to stretch forever. They passed several small villages that seemed unharmed, which was a great relief.

  When darkness finally settled in, they slowed to a walk. The life in the bushes and grasses on the sides of the road could be seen in Nara’s special vision, guiding her, the images in stark contrast to the dullness of the dirt and rocks on the road.

  “We chase evil people,” Mykel said, breaking the silence.

  “Evil?” Nara asked. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe? Of course they are.”

  “I used to think that people could be evil, Mykel, I really did. I think that’s what we want to believe. Makes it easier.”

  “How can you say that, after what you’ve seen?”

  Nara took a deep breath.

  “Anne used to believe in evil. A long time ago. But she changed her mind and decided that nobody’s really evil.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Evil is a label. It’s how we see actions that hurt others. Or actions that hurt us. But how many people deliberately hurt another simply to see the pain? To delight in another’s torment? I agree; that would be evil, but nobody does that.”

  Did they really chase evil people? She kicked a rock to the side of the road and thought about Mykel’s comment. It was hard to articulate what she was thinking because Nara only half-believed it herself. Anne had shared her thoughts on this matter, however, and they warranted consideration. As she thought about her sister and the conflict they were in, the topics of good and evil, right and wrong had often been on her mind.

  “Kayna and the king,” Nara said. “They did horrible things, but each with a purpose that served their own interests. It seems evil when you’re a victim, or when someone you love suffers, but these are just horribly selfish actions. Some people take what they want and don’t care about how it affects others. I don’t know if evil is the best word. I like selfish much better.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “I think it does.” She stopped walking and Mykel turned to face her.

  “Let’s say Kayna ordered those soldiers to do what they did,” Nara paused, taking a deep breath, then continued. “What if they defied her? Let’s say they just told her, ‘Hey, powerful magic Queen. I don’t think I will.’ What would have happened to them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I bet you can guess.”

  “Punishment,” Mykel said. “Death, maybe. Or their families killed.”

  “Exactly. Family punishments are quite common for crimes in the Great Land. The soldiers who murdered those innocent vill
agers may have been thinking that they were saving their sweetheart, or a child, or a mother. If a soldier kills but thinks he has no choice or that he is actually saving someone, is he evil?”

  “I didn’t think of it that way.”

  “Or a warrior? When he fights in a war, he kills another man. Someone’s son, perhaps. In the mind of the mother who loses a child in war, the other army is evil. Any warrior that puts a sword through her precious son’s heart is evil, right?”

  “I guess.”

  “And which side of the war is the evil side? Which warriors are righteous, and which are the dark ones? They can’t both be, so which?”

  “Sounds like you and Anne have been talking more than you’ve been training.”

  “We have,” Nara said.

  “I’m not good with words like you, but I think there are evil people. I really do. Kayna. The king. Those soldiers. What they are doing. I don’t know what else to call it.”

  “Do you think I’m evil?”

  “Of course not!”

  “How you think Gretchen Wipp feels about me?”

  Mykel’s jaw went slack.

  “To her, I’m more than evil. I’m a monster. I’m the creature who sucked the life out of her sweet husband. A dark thing, a demon.”

  “But you didn’t mean to. You didn’t think you–”

  “Exactly. When I did that terrible thing, I didn’t think,” she continued, her voice strained. “I just acted. Did what I wanted, without considering the cost, the risk, the bigger picture. I took Amos Dak’s life to save you. To save me. I was so focused on our need that I didn’t even realize I was harvesting the life of another person. Fear drove me. Panic. Selfishness. Not evil. At least,”–her voice quieted–“I hope not.”