Two (The Godslayer Cycle Book 2)

by Ron Glick

  The trio moved quickly now with their goal in sight. But as they approached the mass of debris, one part of the mass stood out that had not been immediately visible at a distance. One area close to the middle of the crevice did actually show visible signs of being melted. In fact, a dark, glassy surface was plainly visible once one knew to look for it. And when they approached even closer, the area appeared to be inverted, as though a hole roughly ten feet across had been fused into the earth.

  Avery drew closer, cautioning his companions to hold back. “Let me look first,” he said. As he began to move towards the glassy surface, he questioned why he had been so quick to lead. After all, it had not been so long ago that he avoided any risk, and here it had now become something of a habit. But he quickly dismissed the self-doubt as he reminded himself that if any kind of object like one of the swords rested here, he was the one who needed to find it.

  He first began feeling oddly within a handful of steps, and the feeling only increased as he drew closer. Something of power clearly rested within the obsidian-baked area ahead, but his senses reeled as he tried to approach.

  “My Lord?” called Hamil.

  “Something's here,” Avery called back. “I can feel it.” He felt the ground rise beneath him as he realized he was now leaning on his hand for support. His knees had buckled under him.

  “Avery,” Viola's voice was at his ear, though the man could not raise his head to look at her. “Let me help you.”

  Weakly, Avery pointed ahead. “Get it, Vi. We need to get it before the Gods find it.”

  Avery felt more than saw Viola leave his side, heard her feet crunch upon the brittle ground as she approached the heart of devastation. Silence took her when her feet fell upon the smoother area of fused black glass, and a few minutes later a sharp, scraping noise could be heard.

  “It's melted into the ground, most of it,” called Viola. “But I think I can get a piece of it free.”

  Avery managed to pull himself into a sitting position as he strained to see where Viola's voice came from, but he could not focus on the area ahead of him. Inexplicably, her hand soon found itself on his shoulder again.

  “I have a piece,” the girl said. “Here, look and tell me what it is.”

  Avery's senses spun out of control as a dark black object was thrust into his line of sight. Half of his body seemed to be trying to expel the other half, while the half not being expelled was trying to explode.

  “Put... Put it away...” Avery managed, pushing Viola's arm away.

  Momentarily, the overwhelming nausea passed and only the disturbance Avery had felt before remained. With renewed energy, Avery turned himself away from the crater, forcing himself to stand and walk quickly away from whatever the source of the destruction was.

  “It looked like a wall,” Viola was explaining as she hurried at his side. “It looked all flat and angled like it should have been a wall, like one big chunk of black rock. This piece was cracked along the edge and I managed to get it free. I had to put it in my pocket while I climbed back out though, because the ground was like ice.”

  The further away Avery walked, the stronger he became until finally the effects completely passed. Restored, Avery paused to look back in the direction they had come from.

  “Whatever that was,” Avery managed, “it's likely just as dangerous to any other God as it was to me.” He smiled at Viola. “You keep that piece safe. I believe we have found a new weapon against the Godslayer, when next we meet. If there is any divinity in him, I imagine that this rock you found will give us the edge we need to beat him.”

  Avery was so pleased with his new plan though, that he failed to notice that Hamil was no longer with them.

  Chapter 11

  Charith walked with an acutely calm manner through the somber hallway. There were many places within his domain where it was bright and beautiful, personifying all that was wonderful about life and living, as was appropriate for half of his station. This corridor was not one of those areas.

  All around the God and Goddess of Life and Death, the walls lacked any true color or hue. Each stone in the wall, floor and ceiling could almost be said to be monochrome, save that to be such required there to be at least some color to them, and there truly was none. It almost appeared as though the boundaries of this area of death's domain did not even really exist in any traditional sense. Certainly, the spirits moving around could see no colors here.

  But then, the spirits wandering this region of Charith's dominion could not see anything, as their blighted faces could attest to. These were the spirits who had been sentenced to an eternity of torment for some act or another in their lives. And so the Lord and Lady of the Afterlife had deemed in his divine wisdom that such souls would be punished to wander eternally through these halls without ever again seeing or touching, including any other spirits they might encounter in their meanderings.

  In fact, the only sense remaining to these cursed souls was the capacity to hear – and then only enough of the sense to perceive the wails and cries of all the other souls about them. They could not hear their own voices nor cries of anguish, nor could their minds recognize any kind of speech which another soul might utter. Only the sounds of torment, sorrow and anguish reached them, and in turn aroused their own cries of longing and torment.

  No other visitor to Charith's realm ever wished to come here. If any responded to Charith's summons or simply sought audience with him, it would be in the brighter regions of his domain that they would appear. Not even another God could long suffer the constant cries of anguish and abandonment these tormented souls exuded.

  And yet for Charith, he found an odd form of soothing comfort here. In the wails and lamentations, the God and Goddess could hear a melody, a strange efficacious form of resonance that could give him a sense of peace and tranquility when he felt only discord and imbalance.

  This day however did not bring the calm to Charith's own soul that he had come seeking. Today, a great disturbance in his understanding of the fundamental rules of existence had challenged both his beliefs and center of existence. And no amount of succor from the symphony of souls could silence his inner turmoil.

  As a God, he had struck a deal with the Old Gods' avatar, Nathaniel Goodsmith. It had been a deal struck in good faith, yet it was a deal struck – apparently – in deceit. Ignorant deceit, perhaps, but deceit all the same.

  Nathaniel had been the one the Avatar matrix had awoken in. He had been empowered with all the Gods' gifts in order to be their agent in the mortal realm. Yet Nathaniel had rejected their pleas, choosing to renounce any hold the Old Gods may have had over his life. The Pantheon had feared that the prophecy would force Nathaniel's hand, compel him though circumstance to take up his task, since he was bound by Dariel's handiwork as all the others were. But Imery had acted first – or so they had all thought.

  Now the belief was that someone else had framed Imery, that she had been a patsy in the scheme to slay Nathaniel's wife and take his son. It had been that act that had given Charith the idea to propose his pact with Nathaniel – for he had believed he would have the unique means to act.

  Mariabelle's soul had belonged to Zantel when she died. Through her father, she had sworn her soul to the New Order God of Merchants at a young age, and though she had not actively practiced her faith since marrying Nathaniel, still she had never renounced her faith, either. Therefore, when Nathaniel's wife was murdered, it was beyond Charith's power to intercede. Mariabelle's soul belonged to the New Order, specifically to Zantel. And there was no way he would ever release a soul to the Old Gods – not unless there was something of greater value in it for him.

  Gods bound souls to their pantheon's service after death. Both sides had a God assigned to supervise the souls as a whole through the station of death, but their final resting place was within the domain of their God. For Charith, he only obtained souls in the afterlife who had sworn to him in life, or had committed a great sin in the service of another w
hich required atonement. And so it was with the New Order, as well. There, Elevan was the Goddess of Death and served the same function as Charith did for the Pantheon.

  Gods, however, had no such inclinations. Immortal beings, their souls were not sworn to any specific being after death. They would, by definition, fall within the realm of the faithless, whose soul would be claimed by whichever death God's realm they fell within at the time of their death. In the case where more than one such God laid claim, it would fall to whichever God could lay claim first. It was a less than eloquent solution in the cosmic scheme of things, but it was how the universe balanced.

  In recent centuries, Charith's power had waned, and it had been Elevan who had won the challenge of claiming the unfaithful more than not. Simply put, Charith had not the strength to waste chasing errant souls who would only drain his power by safekeeping them. But for the soul of a God, Charith would have risen up and challenged Elevan – especially if that soul had a bargaining power enough to secure Nathaniel's service.

  When the Pantheon's sire had been slain, his soul had come to Charith to guard. Even now, its essence lay in the deepest regions of his domain, guarded by none lest any should acknowledge its existence and thereby revitalize it. That had happened long before the New Order had come into existence, and so he had never had to challenge another God for possession of a divine soul. But in this instance, there was more at stake.

  Charith had struck a deal with Nathaniel in exchange for his service: If Nathaniel would slay Zantel, then she would contest Elevan for the Merchant God's soul. Without the God to serve as caretaker for the souls he harbored, Mariabelle's soul would have fallen under Elevan's dominion – a newly unfaithful soul, yet pledged to the New Order. But since Zantel had no afterlife allegiance, his soul would have fallen into the domain of whomever laid claim to it first.

  Charith swore to be eternally vigilant for Zantel's death and be first to claim his soul. In doing so, he planned to have a grand barter to hold over Elevan – he would exchange the soul of the God for his newly unfaithful, a bargain Elevan would surely have agreed to. For how could Elevan permit Charith to be in possession of one of their own's spirit? Even at the cost of millions of unfaithful souls, the New Order's Goddess of Death would not have been able to deny the barter.

  In striking such a deal, Charith would have gained control over Mariabelle's soul, and through her dominion over life, could have restored her to her mortal body. Charith could have restored Mariabelle to life, and given back to Nathaniel one of the most important things in his life. Only Nathaniel's son could possibly have rivaled the value of restoring Mariabelle to life. And Nathaniel had agreed to take up his duties as avatar based solely upon the hope that Charith could do as he said.

  Sadly, even Gods have limitations, and Charith had learned of another, one he could not possibly have foreseen.

  Charith could not restore Mariabelle to life, because he would never gain the soul of Zantel if Nathaniel slew him.

  Charith turned forcibly, retracing his steps, now more agitated than before. And with his first step, his form shifted instantly into his feminine form, the sharp cut his dark outfit blending into the more delicate edges of her dark gown. His tightly styled beard receded inwardly to reveal the stark though harsh beauty of her face, and the short hairstyle flowed outward to manifest in dark, twisted curls trailing down her back.

  For a mortal, the change would have occurred in less than an instant, with no movement or shift between one form to another. But to another God, each stage of the change was visible and capable of being admired.

  “I've never, ever said this before,” said a man's voice behind the newly formed Goddess, “but I've never seen a more beautiful transformation in all my life.”

  “Wha-- How did you get here?” demanded Charith. “In fact, what are you even doing here?!”

  “Would you believe slumming?” said Ankor, stepping forward to bow to the Goddess.

  “You cannot enter the demesne of another God without leave, Godling. How did you manage to come to be here?”

  “Charith, Charith, Charith,” cooed the God of Mischief, winking up at the Goddess conspiratorially, “you do know to whom you are talking to, do you not?”

  Charith stiffened. “We are Gods, Prankster. Of course I know who you are.”

  “Ah, and there you have named me,” laughed Ankor, straightening again. “I could not prank if I did not know my ways around rules and boundaries. I mean, come on – how else can you take other beings who know everything about everything by surprise?”

  Charith scowled. “So this is a prank, to prove you can go wherever you want?”

  “No, of course not,” protested Ankor. “Well, maybe a little, but certainly not the biggest reason.” Ankor tssked. “Okay, so now that you bring it up, I did want to give it a try, and this did seem like a good time to try, since for once I had a reason for you not to cast me right back out again.”

  “And what could possibly make me not banish you from my domain?”

  Ankor sidled up to the Goddess and threw his arm inexplicably around her shoulder. Leaning into her ear, he whispered, “Because I know about the nine swords, of course. And you don't want me telling the others, am I right?”

  “Swords?” Charith made every effort to appear disinterested, but she could feel anxiety flaring in the core of her being. The New Order has learned of the swords, and we have only barely recovered one of them...

  Ankor stepped away and grabbed hold of Charith's shoulders so he could stare directly into her eyes. “Please. I am the Prankster. You're not going to be able to convince me that you don't know what I am talking about. I invented bluffs, after all.”

  “Actually, you didn't. They came with the first men to walk upon Na'Ril. That kind of deception is not something any God can lay claim to the creation of.”

  Ankor rolled his eyes. “Fine, so I didn't invent them. But I am a master of them, and I know when someone is trying to bluff, and you have the worst tell in the world.”

  “And what would that be?” Charith could not help herself from asking, though the moment she did, she recognized the hook.

  “Sure – you opened your mouth. You would not have said a word if you really hadn't known what I was talking about, since you would have wanted me to think you did. That's arrogance for you.”

  Charith clenched her jaw. “What do you want, Prankster?”

  “Now that's just being impersonal,” responded the God, releasing Charith's shoulders, throwing his arm across his brow in mock indignity. “I do have a name, you know.”

  “Ankor,” said Charith stonily. “What do you want?”

  “Well, for one, I don't want to die. And I figure if there's any way to save myself from that, it's to test the waters over on this side of the pond.”

  Charith blinked in confusion and shook her head. “What makes you think--”

  Ankor raised a finger and wagged it warningly. “Ah, ah, ah,” he said. “Bluffs, no. Truth, yes.” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Or I don't stay, and the other Godlings find out your little secret.”

  Charith took a deep, steadying breath. “Very well,” she conceded. “No more bluffing...”

  “See?” exuded Ankor, grinning hugely. “Friends already!”

  Charith narrowed her own eyes. “Conditionally.”

  Ankor stopped, his face freezing. “I don't like conditions,” he warned.

  “This is a simple one,” cooed the Goddess of Life and Death. “I don't bluff, and you don't evade. Tell me true – why are you here?”

  Ankor held up a finger. “Imery is dead.” He raised a solitary finger on his other hand. “You suddenly have nine secret swords.” He brought the two fingers together, linking them. “I smell a game. And I want to know the rules.”

  “So why come to me? Why not petition the Pantheon as a whole?”

  Ankor repeated the one raised finger. “Because then this wouldn't be a secret.” He again raised the second finge
r on his opposing hand. “And you're one of the Gods responsible.” Again, he joined his fingers. “Mommies keep secrets to protect their babies.”

  “'Mommies?'” exclaimed Charith.

  “Oh, I'm sorry.” Ankor dropped his hands. “Were you the Daddy when you did the nasty with Malik?”

  Charith felt her temper rising. “What are you talking about?”

  “Avery, of course,” grinned Ankor. “You know, the one who says you and Malik were his parents?”

  “The Pantheon has never sired a child from our unions, Godling.”

  “Oh, I know you didn't beget a God,” offered Ankor. “But you did have something to do with Avery. I could sense that much about his magic.”

  “Wait a moment. Avery. That was the one who found One. The one who passed himself off as a God.”

  “That would be him,” agreed Ankor. “He claimed that you and Malik were his parents to bolster his pedigree, and though it was pretty clear that he was not a real God, there was something of both you and Malik about him when he talked about it. You touched the boy in some way, and if you weren't really his parents, then how?”

  “The swords, fool,” scoffed the Goddess. “Malik and I made the swords. If Avery had One, what you sensed must have been our influence leaking into the mortal's body along with our magic.”

  Ankor rolled his eyes upward for a moment, presenting for all appearances that he was thinking hard upon the possibility. “Yet I could never actually see the sword. Couldn't even really sense it in any way. I only knew it was real because everyone else saw it.”

  “Part of its enchantment,” admitted Charith grudgingly. “We hid the swords so no God could find them.”

  “Why would you do that? Doesn't seem very practical for a game. After all, if you make the toys, don't you want to see how they are played with?”

  Charith considered her words carefully. “Because we didn't want your lot to find them, either.”