by Ron Glick
Lendus guffawed at that. Ever the one to relish in festivity, the Guardian of the Grail was usually the one who would laugh first at any jest.
Malik suddenly swept his arms wide. “Lendus has the right of it. This is a time for joy and mirth, not for bickering and spite. One of the forty eight has fallen, and you have dear Charith and I to hold in gratitude for it.”
Charith scowled. “Would that I could escape my part in this,” she muttered. Louder, she said, “Did you know that when a God passes, they do not pass through my domain?”
Malik blinked. “What of it?”
Charith glared at her former cohort. “It is unnatural! All things living just pass through death. Yet though we all know a God has passed, I felt nothing cross the veil. Nothing!”
“Because it was not one of ours, Sister. Rest assured, I am quite sure Elevan sensed--”
“Would you have me define the arts of war for you, oh, Patron of Insanity?” Malik scowled at the insult, but Charith continued without interruption. “Just because I do not have dominion over a soul's death does not mean I am unaware of its passing. I know when any mortal or immortal soul passes from the land of the living. If it is my soul to collect, I am drawn to it. If not, another is. Yet I always know the soul is there. When this Godling passed, though, I sensed nothing cross the veil. All I sensed was what all of you did – the passing energy, the absence in the web of divinity. I do not know where that soul went. I, God and Goddess of Death and Life, now know that when Gods pass... We are gone. Just... gone.”
All were silent for several moments, none being able to respond to Charith's words. “It is not natural...” she repeated after a moment, before lapsing again into silence.
Malik took a deep breath and pushed forward. “Does anyone know who the unfortunate soul, er... My apologies, Charith. Has anyone learned which of the Godlings passed?”
All were silent for several moments, until at last Dariel stepped forward to stand in front of Malik. “I believe I know.”
When the God and Goddess of Truth and Deception would say no more, Malik prompted, “Well? Don't just stand there – tell us.”
“And say how it is you would know when none of the rest of us do,” added Airek, who had shifted to his feminine form now.
“Oh, I know because I am just ever so much richer now than I was before,” responded Dariel. “You see, though my faithful have not grown, the resistance to faith from the sphere of truth has lessened considerably. When the Goddess died, whatever resistance she may have created to my faithful went with her. And because it is only in this one area where there has been a lessening, I know who must have died.”
Dariel looked around the room, clearly taking pleasure from the exasperation she was feeding. “Imery, Goddess of Truth has died. The sphere of truth has been released. And so I know it must have been Imery.”
Malik felt his chest catch, as though he genuinely suffered a malady of shock. It made sense that Imery would be one involved, but to have her be the first to fall? He had needed her to keep Nathaniel on the path he had chosen for their avatar, and if she were dead already...
“What an odd irony,” Elgoth spoke up. “The very Goddess who slew our avatar's wife was the first to fall to his blade. It seems that there may indeed be justice in the cosmic balance of things, after all.”
“Be careful, my dear Steward,” mocked Dariel. “You seem almost ready to convert to principles of honor there.”
Lendus let loose with another loud bellow of laughter, and even a few others could be heard snickering at the last.
“Do we know for certain that young Nathaniel was the godslayer?” interrupted Karmel. Even though the God and Goddess of Magic and Chance was in his masculine form, still he had a certain femininity that left little doubt to his preferred form.
“It will have to be ascertained, of course,” said Malik, trying to regain some semblance of control. “But I do not believe there can be any doubt. Nathaniel was sure to have the first of the swords by now. But I will go to see--”
“No, I think it best if you not be the one to make such an inquiry, Malik,” interrupted Dariel.
Malik failed to disguise the shock at Dariel's obstruction. “And why not?”
Dariel smiled beauteously. “Because it is more proper for the God and Goddess of Truth to inquire into the passing of one of her own sphere, don't you think? And besides, it will present the perfect opportunity to determine how close Imery's little puppet is to our avatar.”
Malik resisted the urge to scowl at the manipulative move of his compatriot, but had to concede when put in such a manner. This would qualify as her domain more than his. She had a claim to propriety. At least he could take some solace in the idea that at least it had been Dariel and not one of the others who would be going to inquire of Nathaniel. After all, if one of the others learned of the tenth sword at this juncture, it would cause no end of grief.
* * *
Ankor lay across the throne haphazardly, twiddling a dagger between his fingers. It really was a lovely place, he thought absent-mindedly. A shame truly that it would soon pass the way of its mistress.
Kelvor reached across and swatted the dagger from his hand. “Would you pay attention?”
“I am,” protested the God of Mischief. “I was paying quite a lot of attention to my little knife before you threw it away, thank you.” With a whim, the dagger once again appeared in Ankor's hand, and was soon spinning between his fingers yet again.
“To me, you miscreant. To me!”
“Oh, well. Now that I can't help. See, I never was one for being yelled at all the time. I tend to pay far less attention to people like that.”
“Please, Kelvor,” urged Galentine from behind the larger God's form. “We should be grateful he is cooperating, at all. Drive him away, and what will that accomplish?”
“Perhaps the truth of his involvement in the death of our sister!” shouted the God of Justice.
“Hey now,” yelped Ankor, sitting upright while the dagger vanished. “What's all this about the death of a sister?”
“That is what I have been trying to discuss with you, you twit,” growled Kelvor. “Imery is dead.”
Ankor laughed. “Oh, that's rich. Gods don't die, you knuckler.” Ankor reached out and rapped on the metal helm of his fellow God. “Air not getting in there? I think you've become confused with mortals. They die, not Gods. Ask Elevan if you don't believe me.”
Kelvor's entire body tensed, but Galentine stepped forward to prevent his eruption. “Please, Kelvor. Let me handle this.”
The God of Honor leaned low to speak softly at their lesser companion. “Please, Ankor. This is difficult enough without your antics.”
“Honor is hard, that's true,” responded Ankor. “But it's good of you to admit to the problem. First step in the cure. If you'll let me, I can show you much easier ways to work things so you're not always so uptight.”
Galentine closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. “Imery is gone. Her being simply ceased to exist sometime last evening. None of us were quite sure what it was when it happened, because we have never felt a God die before. As you say, none of us knew it was possible. We only wish to understand how this came to be.”
“So why are you asking me?” prompted the God of Mischief. “Ask anyone, I know about as much of value as ol' Kelvor there has a sense of humor.”
“Be that as it may, you were known to be in the area where we believe Imery... well, passed. Any insight you may have would be appreciated.”
“So you're saying I'm a witness?” Ankor beamed. If it was possible, the idea of being the witness to a murder may well possibly have been more entertaining than anything else he had done all day. And his grin showed this to his interrogators.
Galentine nodded. “Yes, I suppose you could be.”
“He's been around, you know.”
“Who?”
“The Witness.”
“He has?” Galentine looked over hi
s shoulder to Kelvor. “The demi-God?”
Ankor nodded. “Showed up in Scollhaven about a couple days ago. Just sits all by himself in the tavern. Not like him really, 'cause usually he sees what he's come to see then goes on his way. Something's got him off his game.”
“Are you trying to say he has something to do with Imery?”
“No, why? Do you think he does?” Ankor leaned forward excitedly.
“I'm asking you. You brought him up.”
“Oh,” said Ankor, leaning back in his chair. “I was just making conversation.”
Galentine sighed loudly. “Can we please speak of Imery?”
“What about her?”
“Did you encounter her at all while you were... visiting this Scollhaven place?”
“Nope. Didn't see her. Unless she was disguised, in which case I could have seen her, but wouldn't know if I had seen her. Would that count?”
“This is getting us nowhere!” Kelvor bellowed.
Galentine decided to try a new tact. “Prankster, you see that Imery's domain is fading?”
Ankor looked around casually. “I did notice the furniture was getting kind of squishy around the edges, yeah.”
“You know that Imery was one of the Greater Powers.”
Ankor rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. She was my better, blah, blah, blah. I should show her more respect, blah, blah, blah. I should stop trying to sneak looks at her naked, blah, blah--”
“What was that?” interrupted Kelvor, pushing past Galentine.
Ankor raised his hands in mock supplication. “What? You always wanted me to look up to her, but when I did it up her dress, that was wrong?”
Galentine seized Kelvor's arm. “Can't you see he's doing this on purpose? He's trying to upset you so you'll dismiss him.”
“And doing a right fine job of it, if I do say so myself,” insisted Ankor.
Galentine ignored the Lesser God. “He doesn't want to be here. That alone should tell us something, don't you think?”
Kelvor did not immediately respond to Galentine's words, but eventually awareness donned in his eyes. The helmeted brow of the God of Justice bobbed up and down in recognition. “Pranked by the Prankster. Should have known better.”
“Does this mean you won't be getting mad anymore?” asked Ankor. “Let me know, because I'd hate to waste the effort.”
Galentine turned to the God of Mischief. “Look, there's something you don't want to tell us. That much is obvious. Sooner or later, we will ask the right question, and you will tell us what you know. So why not just tell us and you can get back to whatever it is you were doing when we summoned you.”
“I have a better question,” said Ankor, once again leaning forward. “Why don't you two tell me why it wasn't the whole Greater Assembly that summoned me instead of just you two? What is it you don't want to talk about?”
Galentine threw a guilty look at Kelvor, which was all the confirmation Ankor needed. “I knew it! You guys are playing a game, one you don't want anyone else to know about. No fair. I want in!”
Kelvor pulled his head back. “You what?”
“It's a game, isn't it? Well, I love games. And I so rarely get invited to anyone else's. You just have to let me play!”
Galentine and Kelvor exchanged glances. After a moment, Kelvor shrugged. “Why not? We're not going to get anywhere any other way.”
Ankor immediately leaped to his feet. “Great! So what's the prize?”
“Prize?” Galentine asked.
“Sure, the prize. All games have to have prizes for the winners. Otherwise, what's the point in playing?”
“Well, what would you like for a prize?”
Ankor thought for a moment, then perked up. “I know. The Truth.”
“But that's what we are all trying to get, the truth,” responded Kelvor. “How can that be a prize?”
“No, I mean The Truth. Imery's truth. Or, more specifically, her job.”
Galentine blinked. “I don't follow.”
“So Imery's gone, right? Her domain is dissolving and soon she'll be just a memory.” Avery swept his arms around for emphasis. “But you still need your twenty-four Higher Powers for balance, which means you need someone to handle the Truth. If I win and solve who killed Imery – be the one who finds the truth in her dying and all – I think it's only right that I should get the job.”
“You know,” said Kelvor to Galentine. “That does make a weird sort of sense. Even coming from him.”
“I'm afraid I have to agree,” Galentine concurred. “Although we alone cannot decide who takes Imery's place, there must be a Goddess – or God – of Truth. And I cannot imagine anyone but a Lesser Power taking over.”
“So you'll give me the job if I can be better at finding the truth than anyone else?” prompted Ankor.
“Well, it would certainly go a long way towards getting the, er... the job,” agreed Galentine.
“Then it's settled.” Ankor clapped his hands together, bending his head down over his folded fingers. “I solve the mystery, I get the job.”
Galentine sighed. “We make no promises, but that does seem a reasonable request.”
“Then let me tell you what I know,” the God of Mischief purred. “See, I was real close to that Avery guy when he left Scollhaven. And all he would ever talk about was this Godslayer...”
Chapter 3
Leaves danced in the air, swirling in a crescendo of silent chaos. They darted in equal exuberance towards and away from each other, adding to their performance with impossible rises and falls. Between their dancing forms, the wind could be seen in gusts of grit and soot raised into the air, coloring the otherwise invisible lines of force that pushed the leaves and other inanimate objects to and fro.
A storm was coming. Nathaniel thought the visible manifestation to be an appropriate metaphor for the real tempest brewing unseen. He knew it was there, and though he could not see the signs as well as the one preceded by the gusts of air, he felt it upon him all the same.
A God was dead. There was one less God in the New Order; the perfect balance of twenty-four greater and lesser powers was forever shattered. He had slain Imery, Goddess of Truth. As impossible a notion as that was, he saw it with his own eyes, felt the electricity of Imery's final dissolution, became aware the void that the Goddess' absence had left in the aether all around him. A presence he never before realized had existed was gone. A function of his plane's reality destroyed, wiped from existence. There was not even a body left behind.
And Nathaniel Goodsmith had done it. The simple recluse from Oaken Wood had taken the life of a God with a single stroke of a magical sword. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that such was possible. Even when members of the Old Gods told him what the swords were capable of, he had not given their words proper merit.
So it was necessary for my sphere of influence to be used in empowering the swords, to give each sword power enough to slay a God.
Charith said those words. She had given the swords the power to slay a God, but how could Nathaniel have known what that truly meant? That simply striking a God with a sword was enough. It did not need to be a fatal blow, or at least a blow that would have been fatal to a mortal. It was enough to run the sword through them. And in doing so, the very essence of a God could be destroyed.
It had not been Nathaniel's intent to kill Imery. Not at that point in time, at least. He had intended to wound her, to stop her rampage upon Brea. And yes, to hold the Goddess, if possible, so that she could answer for her crimes. There had been so much to answer for.
Mari was dead, slain at the hands of Imery's faithful. Gregory had been abducted, carried off into the night by those who slew his mother. Bracken's inn had been razed to the ground, people's livelihood put at jeopardy. All to strike out at Nathaniel. All to punish him for being the unwilling pawn of the Old Gods.
Since the night of Mari's murder and Gregory's kidnapping, Nathaniel had gone over those events again and again. The Old God
s insisted that the New Order was blind to his existence, that their magic had masked him. Yet Imery knew enough to send Brea, and then later to send a raiding party to attempt to kill him. Only he had not been there – he had been taken away by Airek, the Master and Mistress of Benevolence, in an effort to convince Nathaniel of the evils of the New Order. Whisked away to a strange part of the world, Nathaniel had not been home when the raiders came.
But Mari was. And she had died because the servants of Imery could not find their target.
The irony was that Nathaniel had been unconvinced by the words of the Gods who were trying to recruit him. It took seeing the evil of the New Order first hand – as if he had not seen enough from their mortal agents already – before he could be compelled to cooperate with their bequest. Oh, but the cost had been so high... So high.
As Nathaniel looked up into the sky, the leaves seemed to dance to the macabre rhythm that ebbed within his soul, moving faster and faster as the force of the wind increased. His wife was dead. His son was gone. All he had had to drive him was the belief that he could track down Brea and through her, confront Imery – find out where the Goddess had taken his son. Yet even that had proven fruitless.
Nathaniel took a deep breath, as if by force of will he could somehow alter the wind by stealing its power into himself. He may have become powerful enough to slay Gods now, but he still lacked the power to change the course of a storm. He held the stolen air in his lungs for as long as he was able, but eventually he had to release it. Yet not even an attempt at mastering the elements could assuage the ache in his chest.
The others in the camp could be heard in the background. Everyone else was breaking camp. Well, they were breaking down Brea's camp. Their own gear, save their bedrolls, was still tacked to their horses. Bracken had retrieved them the night before from where Nathaniel and he left them tethered while facing Brea. And of course, that confrontation ended with a battle with the would-be-God, Avery.