One (The Godslayer Cycle Book 1)

by Ron Glick

  Mari turned to look at him in disbelief. “I can't rest now. I need to make our home right for Nate. I've hurt him so much, you see. I took his Mama away from him, but I love him so much. I didn't mean anything by it. I just want to make him happy.”

  “Aye, and you can make him happier still if you would lie down, Mari. Nate would want you well.”

  “No, I'm not the important one. Nate is all that matters. He's so special. Did you know he's a really good singer? He doesn't like people to know. He gets embarrassed. He's shy that way.” Mari blushed. “He's really so cute when he's embarrassed...”

  Duncan cast a pleading look at Brea. The priestess, for her own part, did not know how to respond. Amidst all the rambling was utter and sincere truth. Mari really did love Nate. And she really believed she needed to make up for taking part in Maribel's murder. There was actually genuine guilt in Mari's heart!

  It also occurred to Brea then how closely the two women's names were to each other: Maribel and Mari, who she knew from the town was actually Mariabelle. She wondered if Mari's name had had any kind of unconscious influence upon Nate's choice in accepting her as his bride, or whether the Gods themselves were somehow involved in this unlikely coincidence. That the man would love a woman who had helped murder his mother, and that their names would be so similar... Odd, indeed. Mari could not escape the feeling that there was some cosmic significance in this, but it was beyond her mortal mind to comprehend if there were.

  Without further thought. Brea went up to the woman she so wanted to hate yet now could feel little more than sympathy for. Gently, Brea took Mari into her arms, cradling one hand behind the woman's head, pulling it to her shoulder. “Hush, now,” she soothed. Nate will be home soon. He just needed a little more time before he came back.”

  Mari pulled her head up to look in Brea's eyes. Her sanity seemed to have, at least briefly, returned. “Are you sure?”

  Brea smiled affectionately. “Yes, I am sure. He told me to tell you that. It's my fault that you thought the worst. I'm sorry for that. I...” Brea stopped herself and corrected what she had almost confessed. “I was worried about him, too. I just needed to know you would not hurt him anymore.”

  Mari's eyes grew wide. “No, you don't understand! I can't hurt him anymore! I've hurt him so much already!” She made to pull free from Brea's embrace, but the priestess held her firmly. “I need to get things ready for him,” Nathaniel's wife protested. “I have so much I need to do...”

  Brea sighed as Mari once again set to rambling. Tenderly, she pulled the woman close to her breast and opened her mind to the magic within. As words incomprehensible by human kin uttered forth from her mouth, a soothing warmth filled Mari's body. All at once, the woman went lose in her arms.

  “Lady, is she...” Duncan fretted.

  “Just a little sleep spell, is all,” Brea assured him. “Take her to her bed, if you would, good Duncan. And see if you cannot find something for the little one to eat.” She glanced out across the field where little Geoffrey had long since abandoned the company of adults to chase after the chickens. “I am certain he has not been fed yet, today. And if he is made to wait much longer, he may just feast upon yonder bird, assuming he could actually catch it.”

  “And you, Lady? Will you care for Mari?”

  Brea sighed. “I fear I need to go again after Nathaniel. He will have to be convinced to set aside his own grief for his family's sake.”

  * * *

  “The priestess will be coming for you in a moment.”

  Nathaniel turned from his vantage point overlooking the valley below to look upon the Goddess that had appeared behind him. “I was wondering when one of you would show up again,” he said.

  “You have had a difficult day,” said Karmil. “I am sorry for that.”

  “Considering none of it would have happened if you had not appeared in my life, I would think you have a great deal to feel sorry for.”

  “You are bitter. That is understandable.” Karmil took a seat beside the mortal man as though it were the most common thing in the universe for a Goddess to do. “I have come to remind you that for all you have learned, you seem to overlook how easy it is to become swept along in events which you have neither control over nor blame in.”

  “I sure seem to be asking people a lot about what they are really trying to say lately. Can't anyone just come out and say what they mean the first time?”

  Karmil smiled. “Sometimes Gods, and those who practice in dealings with us, forget how to be more specific. It becomes routine to be vague so that the broadest interpretation becomes possible from the simplest thing.”

  “And you're real good at avoiding the subject, too.”

  Karmil inclined her head. “That, as well.”

  “So, is this another rule I need to know? 'A God won't answer unless the question is said exactly right'?”

  Karmil giggled, and from the Goddess, it was accompanied by an intoxicating sense of warmth that Nathaniel could feel his loins responding to. “No, dear Nathan. It's just that some things are difficult to express, even for Gods.”

  “You're still avoiding the topic.”

  “So I am.” Karmil sighed, an amazingly sensual act. “I told you that Mariabelle was only a girl when she helped her father take your mother's life. And I also told you that it was her father's will that you be prevented from raising your children in the old ways. Yes, she took part, willingly, in both cases. But she is not without justification for her actions. And you shun her rather than give her opportunity to explain her reasons to you.”

  “I'm not sure that there can be justification for all of it. Granted, she would have been an impressionable child for the first, but she could have confessed her part in it long ago. That was something she owed me the truth on.”

  “Agreed,” said Karmil. “But at what cost to her? If she told you she had taken part in that horrible day, could you have seen past it and still married her?”

  “I don't know,” Nathaniel admitted. “But she did not give me the chance to find out.”

  “No, but Mariabelle is mortal, and she was afraid to find out. She feared that you would hate her for it. Surely you can see that?”

  Nathaniel sighed. “I suppose I can. To a point. I still think she should have told me. And what of her agreeing to marry me to breed out the old ways? I wasn't a druid like my mother, and to speak truly, after what happened to her, I had abandoned all faiths, new and old. I was not likely to raise a child in the old ways, regardless.”

  “Precisely why she agreed to her father's bidding, dear Nathan. He would never have consented to the union if she had not agreed, but she knew how angry you were at the Gods for what had happened to Maribel, both the new and old. She never thought the issue would affect you greatly, and so she thought it a safe measure to pacify her father.”

  “Still,” Nathaniel said, “it was another secret she should have told me.”

  “Again conceded. And I offer the same reasoning: she is mortal and she is fallible. She was filled with fear of losing you. If she told you of her father's demand, she feared you would likely have confronted him and learned the whole secret, or at the very least, upset the tenuous consent she had gleaned for you to wed. And then you would have either hated her or been denied to her thereafter altogether.” Nathaniel made to object, but Karmil silence him by placing her finger lightly over his lips. “This is what she likely thought, not necessarily how you would have acted. I speak only in possibilities, not realities. Please consider that it was the possibility of what might happen were you to learn the truth that has ruled her heart for these last four years.

  “Rest assured in the knowledge that, above all else, Mariabelle Goodsmith loves you. She had been burdened with guilt for more years than you know. I spoke as I did so that you could speak with her about it, not avoid her. I wished to give you the gift of solace, not discontent. You will be forced to leave soon and I wished to strengthen your marriage, not tear it asunder. O
nly a marriage based on unconditional love and devotion could hope to survive the days that are surely to come. And I wished to give your happiness that kind of strength and endurance.”

  Karmil smiled gently, though her words seemed hard. “Your reaction has devastated the young woman, dear Nathan, more than even I could have foretold. You must go to her, or you could lose her forever this very night.”

  Nathaniel felt a sharp stab of fear. “What's happened to her? Tell me!”

  “You see, dear Nathan. Despite all your hurt and anger, you would still defend and protect her. Trust in the latter feelings more than the former, and you will do both of your hearts honor.” With these words, Karmil rose gracefully and turned to leave.

  “Wait. Before you go, I need to know one more thing. Brea, that priestess of Imery's, said that the priest who... convinced the crowd... my mother...”

  Karmil nodded knowingly. “She guesses aright. The woman responsible for your mother's death was not an anointed of Zantel. However, she still spreads the doctrine and regardless her personal motivations, is still a priest in our eyes.”

  “So I have hated the New Order Gods for all the wrong reasons.”

  “Hardly,” spoke Karmil coldly. “Do you honestly believe that it is not within a God's power to strike down someone who has usurped their name in order to commit heinous acts, or that such blasphemy could occur without a God's knowledge? Believe me, the Old Gods have never permitted such atrocities. But these faux priests serve a purpose: they instill fear in the masses that the Gods themselves can disavow through their clergy if the false priests commit an act unforgivable. And so long as they serve this purpose, the New Order will only present a pretense of stopping any of them, no matter what your priestess would have you believe.”

  “So, anointed or not, she still had Zantel's blessing in killing my mother.”

  “Correct. Now, if that is all, I must away before I am seen by the priestess.”

  Nathaniel was about to object, but Karmil simply disappeared. One moment she stood over him, and the next she had simply ceased to exist.

  “Nate?” came Brea's voice. He had not even seen her approach, and she was almost across the field entirely, in clear view of where he sat at the edge of the trees. “Who were you just talking to?” The priestess looked furtively from side to side. Obviously, she had still seen or heard something of Karmil before her departure.

  “Trust me,” responded Nathaniel. “No one you would want to know.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The celestial palace of Imery, Goddess of Truth, was cast in a low shade of gloom, reflecting the mood of its occupant. Imery herself lay reclined against a pillow, contemplating everything that she had been learning. Something was seriously amiss in the mortal realm, and so far she alone of the New Order seemed aware of it.

  It had started with that priestess, Lilian, the one who called herself Lady Brea in her service. No, she corrected herself. It had started with the Field of Knowledge and the undiscovered truths in those ten flowers. A more extensive search had revealed two more partially budding flowers in two separate areas of the Field, each stinking of the Pantheon's magic. One of the flowers, it seemed was some twenty years old, another only days. The so-called Old Gods were up to something, had been up to something it seemed for some time. And whatever it was, it was coming to an apex now. But was it something to be concerned over, or would it pass on its own? After all, how much power could the Old Gods have left to them after all this time?

  Then there was Brea. Influenced by magic tainted by the Pantheon, magic she could not affect. It had seemed so obvious that Brea had defected, and then when that had proved wrong, that this Nathaniel Goodsmith had been responsible. It had seemed inescapable that the young man was one of the Pantheon in human guise. It certainly would have explained how the Old Gods' magic was affecting the mortal realm if one of them were manipulating the mortals to mold reality around him. If an Old God were masquerading as a mortal, magic would be needed to extend outward from him or her, creating false memories to people all around to perfect the illusion. That could have been the source for nine of the flowers if each of the Old Gods were in hiding, if the disguises were ones that had been maintained that long. This could have been the answer as to what had been hidden from New Order knowledge.

  Yet even that seemed to have been a wrong conclusion. Nathaniel Goodsmith had passed her emissary's testing. He was not one of the Old Gods.

  Though that did not end the mystery surrounding the young man. Oddly enough, Imery had not been able to perceive the presence of this Goodsmith lad except through Brea's eyes. She had sought out Goodsmith with her divine senses as soon as Brea's memory had recalled him, yet the Goddess had been unable to locate him. This had only lent credence to the idea that Goodsmith was a God in disguise, of course – who else could defy the mind of the Goddess of Truth when seeking out something unknown? Yes, Imery's being blinded to Goodsmith's presence had seemed to add merit to the idea that Goodsmith was a God incognito. Though strong faith in another religion could have been responsible for masking Goodsmith's purpose, it should not have been able to hide his presence from a divine being. Yet, even when Brea was in his presence and she knew where he was, it was as if he did not truly exist at all. For all intents and purposes, Nathaniel Goodsmith existed only in the mind of her priestess. Even when Brea had called upon magics to heal the young man, she had only barely sensed a presence for the magic to affect – as though Brea were healing a small woodland creature rather than a man.

  Therein lay the mystery. Brea could sense him, truth-read him, even affect healing upon him. Yet Imery herself could not directly sense Goodmith whatsoever. Without her servant's perceptions, Imery would have been blind. So what exactly did that mean? Was Goodsmith something else entirely? Not another God at all, but something other than a God?

  Imery knew that though mortals may believe Gods to be all powerful, that there were other entities in the multiverse far more powerful than all the Gods of Na'Ril combined. There were also those not necessarily more powerful, but of a different kind of power, making them impervious to divine talents. True, these kinds of beings did not have need to hide amongst mortals, yet she could not rationalize why they could not be so inclined if there were a purpose of which she was unawares.

  Or perhaps she was thinking too grandly. Could Goodsmith simply be a demi-God, whose talent provided him the ability to mask his presence from the Gods? It was certainly not unheard of for Gods to sire children with mortal women. Mortals were incapable of seeding a deity's womb, but mortal women were especially susceptible to impregnation by a God. Usually, the result of such a union would produce am especially strong mortal, perhaps even one of longer than normal lifespan. However, on rare occasion a child of divine conception could inherit actual divine power. These few became demi-Gods and, depending upon the following they could inspire amongst mortals, could become quite powerful in the own right.

  A demi-God could potentially rise to challenge the power of a full God, Imery knew, though none sired of the New Order had ever been allowed to attain such levels. At the first indication that a demi-God were gaining too much power, he or she would be destroyed and the threat removed. In fact, Imery's brotherhood made it a practice of slaying any children that were discovered who demonstrated any demi-God potential at all, though in truth it was usually not until they began accruing too much power that they came to any of their attention. But perhaps the Pantheon had not been so inclined? Perhaps Goodsmith's mother, a druidess herself, had lain with her God and sired Nathaniel?

  Yes, that seemed reasonable. It would explain his obvious power, for only one gifted of divine power or something equivalent could mask itself from her sight. And Goodsmith himself could well be oblivious to his true origins, and be equally oblivious to his blossoming power. That did not make him any less dangerous in the long run, but it removed the risk of a direct threat anytime soon. There would be time to deal with a stripling...


  If that was what he was. She had been wrong twice already – and oh, how thank rankled her! Goddess of Truth being refuted by a mortal's machinations!! However, the wrong conclusion now could be much more dangerous than the risk of a demi-God could ever be...

  Finally, there was the peculiar thing happening in Scollhaven. Nothing specific, more of a dimming of faith in that specific community in the last few days. Few called upon her name there since last evening, in fact. And though she had no great population of specific faithful in residence there, any believing in the New Order typically called upon her for guidance if it affected truth or integrity. “By Imery, I swear it to be truth,” was a common expression amongst the masses used by even the weakest follower of any New Order scripture. Yet the number of common callings had diminished so dramatically, that it had raised a curious oddity in the web of faith.

  Normally, Imery would not even have noticed such a small, isolated phenomena. But her senses had been cast out, watching for any kinds of disturbances in hopes of uncovering the Pantheon's scheme, any signal to her rivals' activities. And a sharp decline in faith in a localized community could have been a signal of something, if for no other reason than it was odd. As with the Goodsmith influence upon Brea though, it could have been caused by any number of factors. Certainly Goodsmith was not responsible for something a hundred leagues distant, but the area of disturbance was close enough geographically that it could have been related in some way. But how?

  The Goddess rose and paced the massive room she had envisioned around herself. The palace itself was insubstantial, reflecting her moods and whims. So when she no longer required the pillows, they could either remain or simply fade away. The amphitheater type style of the room, open in all directions, providing endless views of rolling countrysides, was equally subjective and could just as easily become an enclosed room with no exits at all.