Two (The Godslayer Cycle Book 2)

by Ron Glick

  Brea struggled with her memory. The term “first men” triggered some sense of familiarity, but she could not recall exactly why. “It sounds familiar, Nathan, but it's been more than a decade since I read those old books. I don't remember...”

  “What about something called the First City?”

  “Now I remember,” admitted Brea. “The First City, the first men. There was a really old story told by people who were of neither faith – I think it was some cult or another – that said the first men on Na'Ril had built a great city and ruled the world from there. But the story goes that they destroyed themselves, about how they worshiped knowledge and because they refused to believe in Gods, their city waned and was lost. As I recall, it's something of a parable – a lesson that men cannot exist without Gods.”

  “Dwarves proved tha' wrong,” laughed Bracken. “We threw one o' ours inta the pits!”

  Brea felt her face flush. “It's just a story, Bracken. I'm not saying it's true.”

  “But you believe that, don't you?” Nathan asked. “That mortals can't exist without Gods?”

  “I believe the New Order brought life to the world, yes, and that we owe the Gods our worship. We certainly could not have existed in the first place without them.”

  “So how do you reconcile that with the Pantheon's story that they took men from the stars and planted them here on Na'Ril?” asked Nathaniel.

  “Until recently, I didn't even believe the Old Gods were even real, Nathan,” protested Brea. “Even accepting that they are, I don't know which stories are true and which are not.”

  “Or maybe which of your own are or are not?”

  Brea flinched. “Or even that,” she begrudged.

  For a time, the three walked in silence. Brea felt the turmoil in her heart spring up again after Nathan's words. There was so much she had accepted as true that now she doubted. She had been lied to her entire life – and most recently by the Goddess of Truth, as ironic as that was. Could even the origin stories have been lies? Was there any truth known to man that truly explained where men came from? Was there in fact anything the Gods told their faithful that was true?

  Before long, the priestess had fallen in line behind Nathan, with Bracken now leading them in single file through the trees.

  Without even thinking, Brea found herself talking again. “So why the questions about a phoenix and the First City, Nathan? Did these 'neighbors' tell you about them?”

  “You could say that,” admitted Nathaniel. “They certainly gave me some things to think about.”

  “Nothin' yer gonna share?” prompted Bracken.

  “Not for now, no. I was warned about what I should and should not say. And I tend to believe what they told me about the consequences.”

  Bracken cast a glance back over his shoulder before looking forward again. “No' like ya ta keep secrets, Nate.”

  “Nothing has been like it used to be for quite awhile now, Bracken.”

  Brea heard Bracken grunt in response, but apparently he accepted that since he didn't argue further. It was clear that he trusted Nate, and if the man chose not to answer the dwarf's questions, that he had good enough cause.

  Brea could not help but feel an ominous foreboding at the notion, however. She had been trained to root out secrets, and to expose them to the light of day. And even though her very fundamental beliefs had been undermined by recent events, it still rankled her that Nathan intended to keep these secrets.

  “At the very least, I think you should tell us who it was you spoke with,” urged the priestess. “If nothing else, I might have some insight into whether to believe them or not.”

  “No, I don't think so,” countered Nathan. “I think you need to just accept that I need to keep their secrets for now and let it go.”

  Nathan's rebuff struck Brea like a blow. She felt anger brewing deep inside, tapping into the emotional angst and frustration that she had been forced to keep in check since first she had encountered Nathaniel Goodsmith. Imery had insisted that Brea's feelings were the result of some magical charm – Old God magic, the Goddess had called it. Yet for Brea, the emotions remained very real, and they were now even more raw than ever before after having suffered the faux realization of her dreams.

  And along with the rising emotions came the power, the residual magic that she was only beginning to understand. It roiled and churned within her, mixing with the frustration that needed an outlet. She closed her eyes, not knowing whether she were trying to suppress it or revel in it. But whether she wanted it or not, it was going to come out...

  “Don't even think about it.”

  Brea snapped her eyes open to find herself face to face with Nathan. “What--”

  “Don't play stupid, priestess. I know you were planning to use your magic. And I can only guess that you were going to use it on me, to make me tell you what I found out after I chased off after the wisp.”

  “Wisp?” echoed Bracken from somewhere behind Nathan. At the moment though, the man's larger form took up her entire vision.

  “You called it a sun,” answered Nathan. “It was a will o' the wisp. But that's not important.”

  Nathan leaned down to where his face was level with Brea's. “I'm not even sure why you're still with us, but let me make something perfectly clear. If you ever try to use your magic on one of us again, you won't be any longer. I don't relish the idea of leaving you alone in these woods, no matter who you are. And you've alienated the guards you hired, so we're pretty much it. But I won't have a viper at my back.”

  “But I didn't...” protested Brea. “I wouldn't--”

  “Tell tha' ta the walkin' dumb ya cursed afore we found ya,” said Bracken.

  The priestess could now see him in her peripheral vision as he moved to stand to her left. But her eyes stayed on Nathan. He was all that mattered.

  “The magic...” started Brea. “Whatever it is that Imery left in me. I don't know how to control it right. It was there, it was rising, but I wasn't exactly aiming it. It was just coming out and I didn't know what to do about it.”

  Nathan continued to glare at the priestess for a moment before he stood back up. “So you're saying you're more dangerous than not.”

  Brea flushed in anger. “I'm not saying any such thing!”

  “But you are. You just said you can't control whatever is going on inside you, whether it's magic or something else.”

  It's like talking to a wall, Brea thought. “Look, I said it was rising up, that it would have, well, vented. But it didn't have any form or structure like a spell. I don't think it would have done anything or caused any harm. Magic requires focus, a form for it to take. This... I'm not dangerous!”

  “You don't think is just another way of saying you don't know,” said Nathan.

  Brea took a deep, steadying breath. “You're right,” she admitted. “I don't know. But neither do you. Neither does anyone, except maybe one of the Gods. I know all about the Godslayer stories of lore, and not one of them ever said anything about a God's power surviving his death. So this is entirely new. For me, for you, by the Pit, for all of Na'Ril.”

  Nathan scrunched his brow. “In what way? Seems to me, it's only you.”

  “Think about it, Nathan. I am one priestess. Imery had thousands in her clergy. Am I the only one afflicted like this, or is something happening to all her priests? There's no reason to believe I am the only one this is happening to. And you're planning on going around the countryside and killing a lot more Gods, and each one of their priests could have the same thing happen to them. So yes, this is new for everyone. By destroying the Gods, you might be creating more harm than even their arguably manipulative games could cause.”

  Nathan fell silent, his inner conflict visible on his face.

  “Hate ta say it, Nate,” offered Bracken. “Bu' she might 'ave a point.”

  “I know,” breathed Nathan. “I know.” Nathan reached over his shoulder to re-sheath his sword. Brea had not even realized he had drawn it.
Once his hand was free, he extended it towards the priestess. “I beg your forgiveness. Truce?”

  Brea blinked in astonishment. “Just like that?” She looked to her side to gauge the dwarf's reaction and saw for the first time they were back at the fusang tree where they had tied the horses. As if in acknowledgment of the fact that she had at last taken notice of them, one of the horses nickered and shook its head.

  Nathan shrugged. “Bracken's right. And you're right. I'm the one who's wrong. I shouldn't have assumed you were a threat. I should have been more understanding about what you're going through, and not assumed the worst. So yes, just like that.” The man thrust his hand out further still.

  Brea reached up and tentatively shook the proffered hand. But once they had shook, Nathan did not immediately release his grip.

  “I meant what I said. If you do ever try to use magic on us, I won't be so forgiving. But we need to trust each other. My mother raised me better – by the Pit, Mari taught me better. So I promise to try harder.”

  With that, Nathan released her hand and turned back in the direction they had been heading. “How much further, Bracken?”

  “I 'magine only a shor' bit. We weren' too far back in th' trees when we lost ya.”

  Once again, the trio set off, each now guiding a horse of their own. This time, though, Nathan took the lead, with Brea following him and Bracken taking up the rear. Bracken secured the lead of the pack horse to his own mount, assuring that the fourth beast would follow behind them. It was this excuse he used for bringing up the rear.

  Say what they will, but the dwarf wants to keep his eyes on me, Brea thought.

  But then she thought of Nathan and his response. He had responded to what he thought was a threat, but as soon as he was proven wrong, he accepted it and set aside the grievance. When had a man she had known ever done that? Men she had known were prideful and arrogant, never giving ground, especially when they were wrong. And yet Nathan barely took a breath before he admitted his mistake and asked for her forgiveness.

  Once again, Brea found herself incapable of finding fault in Nathan. If she didn't know better, she would have believed him a saint, a blessed man of faith.

  But no, Brea chastised herself. He had faults. He was quick to anger, for one, even if each instance may have been justifiable. He was not exactly the most learned man she had ever known, and yet his simple backwoods common sense often outstripped her church-bred education. And then there was the fact that he was intolerably without faith, even if he did act in the service of the heathenly Old Gods.

  Brea sighed inwardly. The man was a mass of contradictions. And even when she could find fault in him, she could just as quickly find redemption in his failings. She recalled that when first she had been sent by Imery to unmask Nathan, it was under the mistaken belief that Nathan had been one of the Old Gods masquerading as a mortal.

  That had been the first drastic misstep of Imery's – convincing Brea that the man she had become besotted with was a God. The priestess now knew he was not, knew he was mortal. Yet somehow, even in knowing he was mortal, she could not escape the almost divine aspects of his character.

  Within minutes, Bracken's prediction proved true, and the trees parted to reveal the worn dirt of the common road. None of the paths through the Wildelands were especially well cared for, but at least they were kept reasonably clear enough to allow convoys to pass through. So there was never any doubt when one came across a road, even if it were not paved or marked in any way.

  “Brea, let me ask you something else,” offered Nathan. He did not turn around as he spoke, turning first one direction and then the next to look for anyone else who might be on the road. But Brea could imagine the look on his face while he spoke. There would be no resentment, no grudge, no signs of any thoughts of getting even. For Nathan, the misunderstanding was indeed in the past, and she had every reason to believe that is where it would remain.

  “Okay,” said Brea.

  “You say you read about other religions. Did you ever read anything about what the Old Gods were before they were like they are now?”

  Brea walked over to where Nathan stood. The man was examining the darkening sky overhead, most likely judging whether there were any point in trying to continue on that day. “What do you mean exactly?”

  “I mean, are there any stories about other Gods, other than the nine we know today?”

  Brea rifled through her memories, considering how to respond to Nathan's question. “There was one story that comes to mind. Something about a dark God, like a demon opposed to all of the others. Many primitive religions have that kind of negative counterpart to their Gods, the ultimate threat or temptation designed to show the faithful what would happen if they didn't remain true.”

  “What happened to him? Do you know?”

  “I don't know that anything did happen. It was just a collection of old stories that I remember reading in the archives. Just old myths that no one, not even the remaining faithful of the Old Gods, considered true.”

  “Did he have a name?”

  Brea thought for a moment. “If the books named him, I don't remember it. I just remember the stories, not a name or anything. Why is this suddenly so important?”

  “I just need to find out as much as I can, alright?”

  “No, it's not alright,” scolded Brea. “You talk about trusting each other, but how can we trust you if you're keeping secrets? Obviously, you met someone who has filled your head full of stories and ideas, but for some reason, you won't let us know what you were told. Suddenly, you've become the all-wise arbiter of knowledge, deciding who is or is not deserving. You want information from me? Then you need to return the favor. Who did you find back in those woods that you won't tell us about?”

  Nathan blanched. “Really, I can't tell you and you need to not ask. I know it's a lot to ask, but I need you to trust in my judgment. It's not that I want to keep this from you, it's that I need to. At least for now. Can you please just take me at my word on this?”

  Brea dropped her brows menacingly. “Fine, if not who, then why? Why is it so important for you to suddenly know all of this? About phoenixes, and first men and now whether there were ever more than nine Old Gods? Can't we at least know why you need to know all of this?”

  “Because there seems to be a great deal that the Pantheon isn't telling us,” Nathan finally relented. “And sooner or later, I'm going to have to find out why.”

  Chapter 10

  “But what caused it?” asked Avery. The moment he asked out of impulse, he regretted doing so. Mentally kicking himself, he added, “It must be the act of one of my fellow Gods. But what is its purpose?”

  “My Lord?” asked Hamil, cocking his head slightly. “Pardon my ignorance, but I feel I need to seek clarity on your reasoning.” When Avery cast him a dark look, the scribe quickly amended, “How else am I to chronicle your greatness for other mortals to understand if I do not understand myself?”

  Avery allowed his tenseness to dissipate, returning his gaze to the rent in the ground before him. “I am a God, Hamil. Child of Malik and Charith. If there is anything that transpires of significance on the mortal plane, should I not be aware of it? Instead, I was unprepared for the fiery assault from the sky, and I am likewise unclear on what could have caused this kind of... destruction. Therefore, the only conclusion I can come up with is that both are the workings of another of the Gods.”

  Avery turned a wicked glare at Hamil. “Or do you have another explanation you would wish to share?”

  Hamil immediately thrust up both hands, waving them frantically. “No, no. Your wisdom is inescapable. I simply did not understand.”

  Avery's glare did not waver as he studied the little man for several seconds. Sensing no hidden motive behind the other man's words though, he finally relented and returned to studying the mystery before him.

  It was getting more and more difficult for Avery to keep up the facade of godhood. At least, it felt more diffic
ult to him. It seemed the longer he was separated from One, the more he found himself wanting to revert to the introverted, fearful personality he had developed while being a heretic. Absently, he rubbed the area of his wrist where he still wore the heretical brand, the symbol he had adopted as his own when he had declared himself at the tavern in Scollhaven.

  When he had One, it was second nature to assume the air of someone powerful, in control. But without it, all he had was himself. He had no power, and only the lingering effect of his time while wielding the divine sword gave him any position of authority over his companions. They believed him still to be a God, even after he had been maimed.

  Well, Hamil still believed in him after finding him maimed in the woods. Viola's faith had visibly been shaken when she had discovered his lost limb.

  The trio had headed out from their meeting with the stranger who called himself Martin with renewed zest. If there were a chance to retrieve another sword similar to One, Avery believed he might still have the chance to regain his rightful position of power. He had commanded that they would travel to Levitz with all due haste, if for no other reason than to beat the Godslayer to the second sword. It was of utmost importance, Avery had insisted, if they were going to gain the means to defeat the Godslayer once and for all.

  Yet before they had been able to set out, Viola had cornered Avery and demanded to see his arm and pulled it free from under his other, revealing to her eyes for the first time the severed stump where his right hand had been.

  Viola had gasped, and the look of doubt and confusion had been blatantly displayed across her face. There was no question in Avery's mind that she saw Avery as a mortal in that moment, that her faith in his divinity was gone.

  What rescue could have been had was made by Hamil, who came up to support his God. “The power of the Godslayer is to be able to destroy a God. No other God in the stories ever walked away from facing him, at all. It is only by divine grace that our Lord Avery only lost a hand, and not his entire being.”