Two (The Godslayer Cycle Book 2)

by Ron Glick

  The Witness squirmed under the uncommon attention. He had spent so much time being apart from people, Dart realized that this new-found celebrity status was not something he was going to get comfortable with anytime soon.

  “I cannot explain it better than that,” answered the Witness finally. “I see futures, probabilities – what I call paths. Until recently, they were predictable so that I knew where to go to witness important events. But now that has changed, and what I see is now – confusing.”

  “So I'm no' important?” demanded Gravin, the offense at being less than special visible upon his face.

  “That's not what he meant,” interrupted Dart. “He's still responding to things that are important. He had me bring him here specifically because of whatever it is you're doing here. He means that he's not just going places where important things are happening anymore. He's kind of fallen outside his routine, is all.”

  “So I am important then?”

  The eagerness with which the town's harrier pled for attention was sickening to Dart. Like so many bullies, he was clearly seeking some kind of acceptance and recognition. Better negative attention than no attention at all, I suppose.

  “What you are doing – or what is happening – I would say is important,” confirmed the Witness. “What you are doing is changing people's paths in ways I have only seen once before. That alone is more important than anything else in existence, from what I can perceive. I find it difficult to say at present exactly how or why it is precisely, but it is nearly unprecedented. That much I can say.”

  Gravin contemplated what the Witness had said before speaking again. “So how does i' all end?”

  Dart was more than a little surprised by the bluntness of Gravin's question. It implied a fear that the man surely was not going to admit to. Yet by asking, he admitted to doubt, and that doubt could only have its roots in an unspoken dread over this affair.

  “I cannot say,” admitted the Witness. “I am still trying to sort out the new paths you are creating. I can tell you that each time you kill someone else, you are only making it more difficult for me to divine the future.”

  “How so? I woulda thunk that killin' people would lessen the futures ya was seein'?”

  “That is not how it works.” The immortal man thought a moment before explaining. “Understand that in the future I see – the one that did not involve you – none of these people you have killed die. They live, interact with others, impact the world around them in some lesser and some greater ways. But when you take away a piece from the tapestry of the future, other pieces move to fill those voids.

  “Consider this.” The Witness placed his hand on Dart's back. “This woman with me. She affects many, many lives in the future. Each and every one of those lives then move on to affect others because of the impact she has on them. Remove her, and those changes never happen, and each of those people's paths change. So removing her does not lessen what I see – it just creates more changes that I have to sift through. Every time you take a life with your power, you realign the paths, and each time I need to start sifting through the threads of the tapestry to make sense of the new paths you keep creating.”

  Gravin looked at his hands. Clearly, something significant was represented by the deed, but Dart could not determine what it was.

  As their captor concentrated on the unknown nature of his palms, the immortal broker cast a glance around the room at the few remaining prisoners. When his siege had begun, there were some thirty patrons. Now there were six, not including the Witness and herself. Yet who knew how many people were left beyond the doors of the tavern?

  This town had to have more residents than just whoever had been unfortunate to be here when the siege had begun. Only two people had passed through the doors from the outside, but since no more entered, it was likely to assume word had spread quickly that this was a place to avoid – or perhaps just more attention was being given to the wall of water that existed at the edges of the community. Either way, Gravin's supply of victims was quickly depleting and he would soon be forced to go beyond this building if he wished to continue his acts of terror.

  “So if I stop killin' folks, ya'll be tellin' me what'll happen? How this'll end?”

  “I honestly cannot say whether I will or will not,” answered the Witness. “All I can say for certain is that everything is in constant flux while you are killing people.”

  Gravin closed his fists, studying the effect this caused. “So maybe there won't be an end if ya can't see one,” he mused.

  “That is not--”

  Gravin stood back up, casting his chair aside. Everyone in the room avoided his eyes, silently willing this monster to look at anyone other than themselves. With so few left, the chances of being overlooked were becoming less and less likely, but there was an undeniable desire to avoid his attention for as long as possible.

  Looking around the room, Gravin settled his eyes on a sailor sitting against the far wall of the room. He jabbed his finger at the man, and called, “Yer turn. I challenge ya ta take the sword from me.”

  The sailor looked up, fear manifest in his eyes. “Please, no. Please...”

  Gravin barreled across the room and hefted the man up by the front of his shirt. Their captor's strength was greater than that of a normal man now – he could actually hold his prisoner off the ground without any visible strain. “Take the sword 'r die now.”

  “I'll die either way,” protested the man.

  “True,” agreed Gravin.

  Without warning, a lash of water materialized out of nowhere and whipped past the man's head almost too fast for the eye to follow. But its effect was inescapable, as the sailor's head flew from his shoulders.

  Gravin threw the body aside in disgust and turned to another victim, one of the two remaining female prisoners. Gouging his finger in her direction, he called, “Yer turn. I challenge ya ta take the sword from me.”

  Chapter 15

  Avery's trio had ridden hard and fast for the last fifteen days. Ever since the encounter with the odd trench dug in the earth by sky-fallen debris, there had been an urgency to their travels. They had lost track of each other while exiting the crater – or more specifically, Viola and Avery had lost Hamil – but upon once again being reunited at their horses, Avery could not wait to be away from the scene.

  Something in the crater – a piece of which that was now carried by Viola – had proven to be crippling to Avery, and he had no desire whatsoever to find what continued exposure to the greater source of it caused him. He had found a fear of mortality in that scarred terrain, and if for no other reason than to keep his two remaining followers from questioning why it had affected him so profoundly, he needed to get as far away as humanly possible.

  Ironically enough, Avery's own urgency was reflected in the mannerisms of his scribe, as well. However, whereas Avery sought to escape the threat to himself, Hamil was determined to reach their destination in Levitz without any further delay. When asked, he insisted it was an effort to beat the Godslayer to their destination, but Avery suspected it had more to do with seeing his God brought low by whatever had been discovered in the crater.

  Avery could not account for the precise reasoning of the scribe, and he could not ask the little man. The would-be-God thought it possible that Hamil might be responding to what the stranger, Martin, had told them about the opportunity to retrieve another sword like One. Having witnessed Avery weakened, could the scribe be urgently seeking a restorative to what ailed his God?

  Regardless of the premise though, as a consequence of both of their urgencies, the trio rode long into the dusk, and arose earlier than had been their practice each morning. Avery would have admittedly slackened their pace after a sufficient distance had been achieved, but Hamil's insistence kept them moving. The scribe's eyes were ever on the horizon ahead, as if he could through sheer force of will determine how much distance remained between where they were and their destination.

  Several days
out though, Hamil's urgency magnified to the point of desperation. Near dusk one night, he suddenly became frantic and bolted his steed ahead. They had always maintained a steady, if somewhat rushed pace, but the group had no desire to break their horses. Yet Hamil's sudden mad rush forward would have done exactly that if he were permitted to race the horse into the night.

  Avery and Viola's horse had been hard pressed to keep pace with Hamil's, of course. The scribe's horse only carried one rider, while theirs carried two. It was fortune alone that forced Hamil to slow to make a sharp turn in the trail that finally gave Avery the chance to cut off the scribe's reckless clip.

  By that time though, darkness had fully set in and there was not even an opportunity to scout out a proper site. Irritation with the scribe's behavior had been bad enough, but forcing them to camp without the fortitude of seeking a water source or even proper shelter should it rain during the night only made the situation more unbearable.

  Making matters worse still, Hamil could provide no explanation for why he had raced off like he had – only that he had suddenly felt that something bad had happened. He professed to having no specific memory over what had seized him, only that something had compelled him to race forward as if all of existence depended upon it. Even Hamil had to meekly admit how irrational that was, since even at their best speed, they could not reach the coast for another week, possibly ten days.

  Still, Hamil's strange possession had had an impact upon them all. If something had seized control of the scribe, then there was clearly some power at work that wanted them to hasten their speed. Avery had no clue as to how such a thing were possible, but in the last month, he had encountered magic swords, travelers through time and firestorms falling from the sky. Somehow, the idea of his scribe being possessed by some kind of spirit did not seem so impossible in light of all of that.

  So the trio had moved as quickly as they felt their mounts could travel. They continued pushing, even agreeing to forego watches so they could all sleep an uninterrupted five hours each night. Their horses were ragged, and they all felt the strain of the trip, but when they broke free from the tree line and could see the coast far in the distance, they felt their goal was at least in sight.

  Hamil proved to be his amazing self in having produced a map which lent the group the capacity to gauge their landmarks and determine where they were. It also provided them an easy route to the trading roads which led through the plains and down to the coastal communities.

  Of course, the view from the lowland hills was deceptive. The shore was still a week's distance traveling at a reasonable speed, but they managed to reach what they assumed was the crest of the road leading into Levitz in five days. By then, each of them was worn ragged and no amount of pushing on Hamil's part could compel Avery or Viola to continue on.

  “Hamil, if we arrive in Levitz to challenge whomever has the sword like this, we will pass out from him breathing hard on us,” grumped Avery. He did not care whether his companions saw the comment as weak or un-Godly; he only wanted to sleep and be at least somewhat rested before he was forced to fight whoever had the next sword.

  Avery could not avoid his own innate sense of self preservation, either. He knew he was expected to put himself at risk, and that he was acting solely upon the word of a man who he had never before seen and certainly had not heard from since. But was it enough to convince Avery to risk his life in order to prove whether or not what the man said was true?

  Martin had been very convincing, no doubt about that, especially with his disappearing right in the middle of telling Avery what to watch out for. That was no charlatan's act – the man had genuinely vanished from existence, presumably returning to whatever future time he had come from. And as much as Avery would have liked to have believed that it was all a scam, he could think of no conceivable reason why anyone would expend that kind of power just to pull a prank – and especially not on someone who had just had his power stripped from him.

  No, Avery was convinced – at least consciously – that Martin's warning had been sincere. This was the logical course of action to take, and he believed he was exactly where he was supposed to be. But none of those rationalizations could complete dispel his innate fearful nature. He had lived too long as a heretic, timidly eeking out a meager existence whose primary survival skill was running away from any potential risk. And here he was – such a short time later – being expected to risk his life simply because a stranger told him he was destined to.

  Avery was no fool, either. One had given him the powers of a God. It went without saying then that whoever wielded the second sword would have all of Avery's own powers from before he had been stripped of them along with his right hand. He would be facing the power of a God, and the ego of the person behind the sword, as well. So he was not only being asked to take a sword; it was also expected of him to defeat another potential up-and-coming God.

  Despite his intentions to refresh himself through the night though, the anxiety of what he would face the next day plagued Avery through the night. The dark of the night seemed thicker, the air felt heavier and the imagined proximity of his nemesis vanquished any oasis of calm that might existed within his soul.

  Martin spoke of Avery gaining a magnificent stature, of overcoming the loss of One. Or, at least, the man had certainly implied it. He had spoken with reverence and respect to Avery, told him that his actions in Levitz critically affected the future, if for no other reason than Martin himself could not have traveled back in time if Avery was unable to secure Three – and he had to obtain Two or he would not have the power to overcome the Godslayer to get that third sword.

  Avery pulled himself free from Viola's embrace and sat up, staring into the overwhelming pitch of the darkened night. He could just make out the reposed form of his scribe and the darker silhouettes of the horses. There were no trees this far from the mountains, only hills and valleys, scrub and grass. There were not even any bushes near their camp site to identify in the dark.

  The man's eyes wandered to the horizon where he knew they would travel the next day. Unlike many of the forest and mountain trails they had wandered up until now, these coastal trade roads were well maintained, even paved. Markers had been placed at regular intervals in the road to direct travelers, and the last their group had encountered had confirmed where they were – less than a handspan of miles from the coast and the town of Levitz. But his noctivagant eyes only met gloom and shadow when he looked in that direction.

  A chill suddenly ran up Avery's back. Should there not be lights visible over the horizon if they were indeed so close to the town? Avery had approached many a community at night – in fact, during his sojourns as a heretic, this was often the only time he could safely approach a town without fear of reprisal. Being this close, there should have been a halo of illumination visible over the hill, some kind of indication that there were people beyond the horizon.

  There was only darkness. Darkness and silence. There had not even been any sounds drifting to the group's camp through the night. At the very least, a shipping community should have had the sounds of their local tavern drifting along the quiet shores during the night. Yet there was nothing. No signs whatsoever that there was any kind of settlement over the next hill.

  Could they be wrong? Could the signs have been mistaken? Even Hamil's map?

  All thoughts of rest were abandoned as Avery stood and gathered his clothes about him. Viola stirred, raising her head drowsily.

  “Sleep,” said her lover softly. “I will be right back.”

  The briefest of thoughts crossed Avery's mind suggesting he should rouse Hamil, but he just as quickly discarded it. The last thing he could afford was to raise panic and discover he was wrong to do so. If the town were not there, he could always pass it off as his Godly wisdom interceding, but if the town were there and simply closed down for some reason, he could not justify panicking the scribe or Viola.

  No – the would-be-God knew he had to investigate this
on his own.

  Avery's heart beat in his chest as he hastened along the road. The elevation of the path rose, taxing him slightly. But it was gradual enough – or perhaps his strength lent to his endurance. Either way, he reached the crown of the hill in less than an hour.

  The road now went straight ahead to the rocky shore. There were no twists, turns nor visible obstructions – no more hills nor valleys to thwart his view of the landscape below.

  At first glance, the road seemed to run straight down to the shore some two miles' distance and drop into the sea. It took a more critical search to spot the strange variation in the darkened landscape. Looking upward, Avery found there was some illumination from the peculiar locus appearing at the apex of the road, but he had to look up to see it. What light there was from the strange edifice was being directed straight up into the sky – and only the fact that Avery could see the entire structure provided him any vantage to see it at all.

  It was difficult to make out the specifics, but for all intents and purposes, the town of Levitz appeared to be surrounded by a massive walled barricade. It was not uncommon for a town to erect walls, but this structure was unlike anything Avery had ever seen – not so much because its surface seemed to reflect the few stars visible in the night's sky, but that it extended straight into the air for well over a mile if it extended a foot. The sheer magnitude of the construct was mind boggling, and Avery's mind had difficulty accepting what his eyes saw.

  By light of day, the structure would be revealed in all its grandeur, but even in its vague delineation visible against the night sky, the wall was awe-inspiring. And there was no doubt in Avery's mind that it was not a mortal construct. This was the work of his unknown adversary, a manifestation of the inherent godhood that came along with possession of one of the Gods' swords.

  Casting his eyes down to the base of the structure, Avery could see some light reflected off the wall there. Someone was down there already, though at this distance it was difficult to imagine a great number. Yet it was late, and what he saw was at best some sentry's light.