One (The Godslayer Cycle Book 1)

by Ron Glick

  None dared to dispute the priest's words, fearful eyes darting between the woods and the man standing before them. None doubted that Rantell had had a hand in the execution of Farun the barter, but also none knew whether or not he had acted alone. In recognition of a possible assassin watching their every move, no man nor woman would speak further.

  Avery had returned woodenly to his workplace only to discover men whom he did not recognize loading the shop's stores into a wagon. Rantell had wasted no time in ordering the business seized and its assets sold to pay the “debt” to the shrine for the barter's insolence, it seemed.

  Avery had been enraged, attacking the men without thought of the consequence. He was, of course, overcome easily – it had been four fully grown men against a slight teen. Beaten into submission, he was dragged to the shrine where Rantell awaited him. What the priest had to say would forever thereafter be etched into young Avery's mind:

  “The evil of the barter lives through his disciple,” emoted the priest, “yet since a life has already been paid for the barter's insult, this young man's shall be spared.” But it came at a cost, a hefty one: Avery would be branded a heretic.

  The priest did not wait for anyone to speak on Avery's behalf before reaching to a brand he had already prepared beside the alter. As the four large men held the hysterical young man, Rantell had seared the mark of the heretic into Avery's arm where it met his wrist, forever branding him an outcast by command of the New Order. Under the laws of the New Order, no man branded a heretic would be made welcome before any hearth nor within any shelter. He would have to forage for himself to survive for none could offer him succor without being cast out themselves.

  After the brief ceremony, or lack thereof, was completed, Avery was carried bodily by Rantell's men to the edge of town and cast into the mud. One of the men declared for any who might hear that Avery was banished from Kellenburg for the rest of his days, upon penalty of the death he had been spared should he return. And with that, the men simply turned and left. Avery was no longer deserving of their time nor attention.

  And so Avery was sentenced to a life in exile from all civilized society, left to wander as he would, ever in search of comfort he was forever denied by other men. Avery no longer cared to learn the names of the countless towns he had wandered through, the one he presently sheltered within being no exception. This existence had become his lot in life, and though depression and hopelessness had burdened his soul every day since, somehow he had always managed to find a way to stay alive, albeit a life worth less than a common vermin's. At least a vermin garnered attention long enough to exterminate it – the New Order forbid actual killing of its heretics, considering them warnings to those who might otherwise speak out of place.

  Of course, priests did not outright declare heretics' being protected as being abject lessons for the masses – their actual words were that to actually slay him gave him attention he was no longer worthy of – but Avery knew better. His existence was a warning: speak out and be cast out. Otherwise, he would have been executed and his corpse cast beside his master's all those years ago.

  Avery scratched at the scar on the back of his right wrist as his mind cast backwards through the memories. It was too dark to actually see the inverted pair of horns that marked a heretical outcast of the New Order, but the wound was always visible within Avery's mind. Years had passed since the priest had set the iron brand to Avery's flesh, searing away forever any hope he might have had of ever again returning to a normal life. Heretics were the pariah of the New Order, lepers of religious stature, forever shunned and scorned for defying the will of the Gods.

  It was no God that wielded that brand, thought Avery. Though in truth, he had to admit that at least the heat of the brand had to have been magical in nature since no fire had been started to heat it. The iron had been leaning against the alter, not in a bed of coals or any other visible means of heating it. For all intents and purposes, the metal should have been cool to the touch, but once in contact with Avery's flesh, his skin had blistered and hissed as if it had recently been pulled from a furnace.

  Yet regardless of whether it was mortal or Godly design, the end result was the same. The power of the brand through the perception of those who saw it was to effectively ostracize Avery from every community, from every habitated domicile, from any form of civilization. Occasionally, he could get aid from servants of the Old Gods who had refused to bend to the will of the New Order, but for the most part, Avery had to rely upon himself to survive. If he could not catch, trap or steal it, he went without. And far too often, that meant going hungry or staying cold.

  It was a rare night when Avery could enjoy the luxury of a sheltered bed. Even the cold, drafty loft where he presently had secured himself should have been exquisite to him, even with all its imperfections. Yet somehow the place roused new anxieties within him that he had not anticipated. This was not the first time he had stolen into an empty building at night, either. It was not a common thing, but not so uncommon, either. So why was he so on edge tonight in this place?

  There! Avery sat bolt upright with the urgency of the feeling. There was someone - or something – in the dark, in here with him! He had for a moment felt the tingle of recognition, not quite heard a soft sound just beyond what he would normally have been able to hear. He felt it more as an absence of real sound than anything truly audible, but he could not mistake that something was out there in the dark...

  Avery could feel the dampness on his forehead, the breeze chilling the perspiration against his skin. He shivered as the cold, nettling tingles ran once again down his spine. He realized his jaw was clenched, but when he tried to relax it, his teeth began to chatter so badly he was forced to clench his jaw again to stop them. Then, of course, the chattering echoed out into his body and he began to tremble all over.

  If someone were down below in the forge and heard him, there would be little he could do to escape. The opening he had crawled through had been precarious at best to reach in the waning light of day. At night, he would break his neck trying to climb down, even if he were not in such a hurry to get away.

  He had been beaten before for trespassing. The laws of society did not punish heretics – they were, after all, nonentities – but they did not protect them either. The laws of the New Order may have prohibited outright killing of a heretic, but they tended to turn a blind eye to beatings. A property owner affronted by a heretic could meet out any punishment they desired, short of death, as consequence for any crime committed by a heretic without fear of reprisal. Heretics were considered nonexistent; They were not members of society, but something society was plagued with, nevertheless. To see a heretic was seen as an affront, but to be victimized by one was inexcusable.

  The New Order encouraged harsh treatment of its outcasts and made it a matter of doctrine to punish those whom it had set aside to be persecuted. It was not only acceptable to treat heretics with malicious contempt, it was divinely ordained! All the ills of society could be heaped upon the heretics, all the pent-up hostilities people faced everyday could be vented their way. It did not matter that that very treatment was what necessitated the need of a heretic to steal and trespass in order to simply survive in the first place – what mattered was that the priests of these new Gods had villains to blame the woes the people suffered under their doctrines upon.

  So Avery fully knew the consequences he would face if he were discovered in the loft. And suddenly his fear of being discovered outweighed his need for a secure place to sleep for the night. He was possessed with a great urgency to get out of that place before whatever it was moving around at the edge of his senses in turn caught hint of his presence, as well.

  He could not leave by the way he had come in, though. Not in the dark. He would have to crawl down from the loft into the main work area of the blacksmith's shop. And whatever lurked just outside his ability to detect could just as easily be below as outside.

  Avery tried to control his shak
ing as he gathered up the blanket he had rolled out upon the damp straw. It was ratty and worn, with probably just as much mold in its fabric as the hay it lay upon, but he could not leave it behind, no matter his urgency. It would be all that existed between him and the cold that he would now have to sleep in outside. And besides, it was his oldest remaining possession.

  Once the blanket was rolled into a small, tight bundle – the cord he had once had to tie it had broken days ago – Avery threw his satchel over his left shoulder, using his right arm to carry the blanket roll. Once he was in a more lighted area, he could try to find something to lash the two bundles together, but that was simply something he could not spare the time for here. True, there may well have been old string or cord from hay bails in the loft, but he would have spent far too much time feeling around in the dark than he could afford. It was far more important to get out of the building before his sense of dread overwhelmed him and he bolted recklessly into flight. Yet he needed stealth to win free without detection, no matter how strong the urge to panic really was. Running blindly through the dark would only decrease his chance of escape, and escape he desperately wanted to do.

  Slowly, Avery crept to the edge of the loft and looked into the room below. A soft orange glow could still be seen around the edges of the kiln door where the blacksmith smelted his ore. During the day, that furnace would be the sole source of heat for the entire operation. Now it contained little more than embers and its warmth only emanated a few feet from its door.

  As Avery paused in his wait, he cast back over a memory of a time when he had slipped into a foundry and had the opportunity to watch a smith at work. That had been a blacksmith shop of somewhat more repute than this one, for certain. That had been a maker of fine weapons and armor. Yet he had been fascinated with what he saw, and though Avery had understood little of the actual procedures he had witnessed, he had walked away from the experience with a rich appreciation for the metalworker bending raw elements to his will.

  The erstwhile trespasser strained his ears, listening for anything that would betray the presence of a sentry or fellow trespasser. After several minutes, he still was not convinced that he was truly alone, but he could not make himself wait any longer to escape.

  Avery carefully tossed down his satchel and blanket roll, tensing in the dark as they each made a soft impact on the dirt floor below. Again he waited, this time to see if anything stirred in response, but only for a few seconds this time. With care, he lowered himself bodily over the ledge, holding on by his hands alone for a moment before dropping lightly to the ground himself.

  Avery reached out and slowly pulled his bundles closer to him, straining to hear if his movements had been noticed before moving towards the back wall in search of an exit. He would prefer not to leave by the front door that faced the main street through the town if he could help it. And besides, leaving by the rear would put him closer to the edge of town, if he was not mistaken.

  It took him several minutes in the dark shadows of the shop to finally locate the back service door and several more anxious minutes trying to undo the fastenings that held the door closed. He could only go by feel in the darkness, and with each passing moment, his own anxiety worked more and more against him as his fingers became less focused on the task, more desperate. Somehow though he finally felt the catch release and a quick press against the door opened his way to the outside world. He waited not a heartbeat in lurching out the door into the night air.

  In the shadow of the building, Avery glanced furtively in either direction, trying to recall in his mind which direction the edge of town, and the safety of a wooded grove he had seen upon entering, would lay.

  “Hey there!” came a voice out of the darkness. Avery froze, hoping that the voice's owner were not calling to him. His hopes were cast down though as two figures emerged into the moonlight and made quickly for him. “I see you there,” called one of the men approaching. “What were you doing in Master Kinsel's forge?”

  Avery abandoned all pretense and fled into the night. He could hear the two giving case, but he did not dare turn back to see how closely. All he knew in his panic was the need to keep moving. He had been seen exiting the shop and no explanation would win him free if he were caught. One glimpse of his brand would condemn him.

  The full moon cast its light upon the sleeping town, making him an easy target to follow. Avery cursed his misfortune as he tried weaving in and out of shadows in his flight. Tonight, of all nights, had near perfect light to see by, with clear sky and a pie-sized orb shining down upon the land. He quickly changed his mind about trying for the shadows though and counted at least one blessing in his favor as he saw the edge of the treeline appear before him as he rounded a corner. At least he had run in the right direction. He could just as easily have set off into the heart of town!

  The woods offered less shelter than he had hoped, however. As he crossed under their boughs, the moonlight cast a seemingly unnatural glow amongst the trunks of the trees. Avery ran full on for several minutes before he heard the sound of his pursuers' footfalls on the leaves carpeting the ground. He could also hear at least three voices calling between themselves as they came. Someone else had joined in chase, apparently. At this rate, Avery fretted that a mob would be searching the woods before daybreak. And what were his chances of escape then?

  Avery became acutely aware of the sound of his own feet making crashing noises through the underbrush and realized those behind him were following his flight by ear more than anything else. Yet he feared to stop lest they overtake him. He still was unsure exactly how far behind the men were. There did not seem to be a solution one way or the other...

  Without warning, something drew his attention to the side as he ran. With a compulsion he did not at all understand, he dove toward whatever had called his attention without even knowing what it was nor why he should. In a moment of clarity, he recognized the foolishness of what he had just done, but he was by now on his belly in the underbrush. All he could do was pick himself up and frantically scurry for cover before his pursuers caught up to him.

  As he scrambled backward in panic, Avery's hand unexpectedly came upon something cold and hard under the leaves. His first impulse was to pull back as though he had been struck, so sudden was the icy contact. However, some dim awareness recognized the feel of worked metal and quickly moved to uncover the object, momentarily forgetting the peril of his circumstances.

  The leaves were several inches thick here, the underlying layers already in decomposition. But the metal knob of the object that he had felt proved to be an easy guide, as his hands worked quickly around a large root that the object seemed wedged under. In the moonlight, the object soon took on definition and he recognized it for what it was.

  “It's a sword,” he marveled in awe before he thought better of it. The object thrusting from below the tree root proved to be a finely worked sword pommel, the hand and guard of the sword protruding up out of the ground. The pommel was ebon black, visibly unmarked in any way, with the fine silver of the metal at its end glinting brightly in the moonlight. It appeared possible that the tree had grown around the sword as it had lain upon the ground, or possibly even that the sword had been pushed upwards to the surface by the tree's roots. Yet the handle itself looked clean and unmarred, giving the appearance of being freshly cleaned and oiled.

  “I heard him over this way!” came a voice from somewhere close by in the woods. Avery scolded himself for letting the words slip from his tongue, for now he could see the shadow of his pursuers moving through the trees toward where he knelt hidden in the brush. But he would not stay hidden long. There was not enough brush to hide him from direct line of sight.

  Without thinking, Avery's hand gripped the pommel and gave a hard pull. He could not have expected the sword to have come clean all at once from its resting place, but Avery somehow had thought it might do just that. The sword, however, seemed possessed of a different mind and remained embedded below the tree
root, though he thought he felt it give some all the same. He realized instantly that one of the guards was hooked below the root, stopping the sword from coming clear. Briefly, his mind cast back to the solid muscles of the smith he had watched make just such a sword once, wishing he possessed even a fraction of that raw power now that he needed it most.

  Casting caution aside lest his prize be lost, Avery rose to squat over the sword, leaning his back against the tree, pulling with all his might as he twisted the pommel to try to clear the sword from its earthen home.

  It came as a shock when the sword did pull free. Avery sat shocked, finding himself leaning against the tree with a five foot blade of polished steel wielded dangerously mere inches from his face. It took a moment to recognize that the sword was in his own hands, not those of someone else. The sword's sheathe lay half-exposed, still in the ground where it had also come partly clear before the sword withdrew from its confines enough to leave it behind.

  Avery's sense of accomplishment was short lived though as one of his pursuers came into view, turning directly toward him, their eyes meeting through the branches of a large bush. “I see him!” the man called, momentarily slipping behind a tree as he moved to weave around the thicket between he and his quarry.

  It suddenly occurred to Avery how he would appear to the men chasing him: a heretic squatting in the dark wielding a great sword menacingly in front of him to ward off his antagonists. He had only made his dilemma worse. Not only did he possess no skill with a blade whatsoever, it was forbidden for a heretic to even possess such a weapon, much less threaten others with it!

  Oh Gods! he thought. They'll think I stole it from the smith!

  Avery closed his eyes, his mind racing over what to do. The smart choice would have been to throw down the sword and run again, but he could not get his body to comply. Instead, he sat rooted to the spot in fear, unable to even lower the blade so it did not seem so threatening.