One (The Godslayer Cycle Book 1)

by Ron Glick

  “Whichever one you are, I am not really of a mind to play games just now,” he called into the darkness. Internally, Nathaniel was trying to judge how far he had come into the trees and whether Bracken's ears would pick up the conversation.

  “Oh, it's a game alright,” said the voice. “And you're our piece on the board, like it or not. Make no mistake about that.” As the voice continued speaking, its owner walked out from behind a nearby tree. “Not necessarily the role I would have chosen for you, nor, truth be told, you for the role, at all. But then, I am far too often overruled on such matters.”

  Nathaniel recognized the Goddess moving toward him in the moonlight. “Malik,” he acknowledged. “What exactly do you want?”

  Malik looked affronted, her feminine features twisting in mock insult. “Such hostility!” Then she smiled. “You must believe me that under any other circumstances, I would take enormous pleasure in your combative nature. You would do me proud as an agent of war...”

  “I am no warrior,” Nathaniel protested.

  “...or even as an advocate of peace,” finished the Goddess. “Even peacemongers must be fierce in order to prevail!” Malik took up a stance directly before her Avatar. “There's that element of duality again. Fierceness in a peacemaker. It's my nature to revel in both, especially when they actually coexist so well together!”

  “I ask again, Malik. What do you want? Perhaps you are not aware of my impatience over Gods who are vague...”

  Malik laughed, a surprisingly feminine lilt matched with a vicious undertone. “Oh, I have heard many a time you protest against it. Like it or not, though, vagueness is a prerogative of being a God. So is taking our leisure, and doing things in our own time. You may as well get used to it. Ranting and raving will not change eons of habitual vagueness...”

  “Like avoiding the topic...”

  “Precisely! Oh, I say again, what I would not do to have you working solely for me in a more direct capacity...”

  “Malik!” Nathaniel interrupted. “If you are only going to ramble on, I'll leave. Perhaps if you'd like to follow, you could meet my friend's axe...”

  “A shot to the heart of the matter,” Malik nearly purred. “Very well, Goodsmith. To the point. I have not a great deal of time, at any rate.”

  “When would an immortal not have time?”

  “When she is acting without the sanction of her fellows. I have shielded us for a time, but sooner or later, one of the others is bound to notice. I had to wait as it was for a time when the others were not paying you any great mind. And I have no idea how much time that permits me.”

  “Very well,” Nathaniel replied, his curiosity piqued. “You have my undivided attention.”

  “Well done. A concession.” Malik grinned wolfishly. “Mayhaps hope yet...” The Goddess ceased staring at the man and scowled. “First, I must need explain something to you that the others refuse to.”

  The Goddess set herself to pacing in front of Nathaniel, her hands clasped behind her back. “Each of the Pantheon, as you know, has two primary spheres of influence. And each sphere is opposed to the other. Love and Hate. Life and Death Land and Sky. Myself, I purvey over War and Peace. We Gods call this duality, and it is a primary facet of our specific covenant with mortals, how we were initially conceived and called into being in our present forms.

  “Yet it is more than just an agreement with mortals to act or not act in certain ways. A God personifies the spheres of his influence, in essence becoming what he or she has agreed to uphold.” Malik paused in her pacing to glance sideways at the mortal. “Do you understand what I am telling you so far?”

  “I believe so,” said Nathaniel.

  Malik nodded and resumed her pacing. “For most of the Gods, their duality may oppose, but it coexists, as well. Charity and greed can exist in the same man. A child can easily stand in both sky and on land. Knowledge and mystery accent each other. And so on.

  “However, my spheres can never coexist in harmony. War cannot exist if there is peace, nor can peace flourish amidst war. Of all the balances set forth in the covenant, mine is by far the most difficult to maintain.

  “As such, amongst all the Gods of the Pantheon, I alone am restless, discontent. I may never rest because my nature is always in conflict. This though gives me a unique perspective that the others lack. It is what gave me the foresight to foresee the dominance of the so-called New Order and to create the swords, even though Dariel stole them from me to ensnare us all within his prophecy...” Malik stopped herself and shook her heard savagely, turning to face Nathaniel. “My point is, I foresaw the need to challenge the upstart godlings and my prediction bore true. Even you, for all your resentments and reluctance, must see that this is true.”

  Nathaniel nodded. “I do concede that the New Order Gods are reckless and out of control. I cannot say as I agree with the Pantheon's solution, but I confess that I see a need for something to be done.”

  Malik reached up and clasped Nathaniel on the shoulder, the slender arms revealing a far greater strength than immediately apparent. “Precisely! And I agree with you wholeheartedly that the Pantheon's creation of an Avatar within an unwilling host may well have been ill-conceived. Or, at the very least, that we should have guided you from a young age to better prepare you. Yet my voice on the subject did not prevail.

  “Trust me, Goodsmith. I more than share with you the frustration over being forced to bend to the will of the Pantheon. I, as well, am too often forced to bend to their rules when I know to the core of my being that they are wrong! Just as I know they are wrong in sending you in alone against a God-crafted blade. What madness!”

  Nathaniel had always had the impression that Malik had been one of the least helpful Gods. The memories granted to him by the others had seemed to cast her in a less than favorable light: the renegade, the God and Goddess that always defied the good will of the Pantheon. Yet the Goddess Nathaniel spoke with this night did not come across that way, not even the slightest. Malik had not avoided the foibles the other Gods had placed upon her, either. Instead, she had embraced them, explained what had been perceived as rebellious imperfections in a very sensible manner. Nathaniel had to admit, this was not the character he had attributed to the God and Goddess of War and Peace.

  Though the others seemed to present Malik as almost mad, Nathaniel found the Goddess compellingly sane. She even lacked the distant, almost arrogant mannerisms of the others. This Goddess actually seemed motivated by genuine concern and empathy for her brethren, not from a need to maintain immortality for herself. In truth, Malik almost appeared to Nathaniel as... human!

  “Now that you mention it, I do seem to be more than a bit outclassed,” admitted Nathaniel. “I suppose I have become too complacent, believing that the prophecy would create a way for me to prevail. Your point is valid, though.”

  Malik smiled. “I knew I could count upon you, my child! Now, for the final test: If I could provide you with a way to even the odds, to stand a chance against that sword waiting for you in Scollhaven, could you see clear to agree with me that it might not be in the best interest to tell the others of the Pantheon that I helped you? Although I am not exactly breaking a Pantheon edict, I am certain that if they learned what I intend to do, they would undo it just as quickly.”

  “You want me to keep a secret from the other Gods on your behalf?” Nathaniel was not even sure such a thing was possible.

  Malik nodded. “It would be imperative. Trust me, once done, they will not know it has been done unless you say something. But you must swear to keep it a secret or I will be unable to help you.”

  Malik's face grew grim. “Sometimes, even a prophecy needs to be helped along, especially if you wish for a favorable ending to it.”

  Nathaniel was stunned by what he was being asked, to keep the confidence of one he had considered almost an adversary until this night. He very much wanted more time to make this kind of decision, but he remembered what Malik had said about having a limi
ted amount of time. He had to make a decision now and live with whatever fallout the consequences brought upon him. And when the Goddess of War and Peace was the one offering the bargain, chaos was a surely inescapable outcome.

  Nathaniel sighed. “You have my word,” he said reluctantly.

  Malik's face split wide in satisfaction. “Excellent. Now, look behind you.”

  Nathaniel turned, not knowing what to expect. Yet even of what he could have conceived could never have equaled the sight before him. Against the very tree from which Malik had emerged was a great sword, lying against the trunk of the tree, its solid black hilt glistening in the moonlight.

  “Your means of battling a God-forged blade, Goodsmith: a second God-forged blade.”

  Nathaniel tentatively reached out and touched the leather of the scabbard, tracing the intricate designs etched upon it. After a moment, he reached up to touch the metal of the hilt, then to run his hand over the marble-like handle. As his fingers touched the center of the handle, he felt an electric surge as though power had crackled through the sword itself. He cast a glance at Malik, who had taken the time unseen to revert to his male form.

  “You are saying that this sword can defend against One?”

  Malik nodded once. “Against any of them. Though the sword in Scollhaven may be One, this sword is First. It's mold is what the other nine were cast from. One is only a copy. What you hold is the one, true original.”

  Nathaniel had just clasped his hand completely around the hilt when Malik's words struck home. “So this sword has the same attributes as the others. I could bring Mari back with it...”

  “No, I am afraid not,” said Malik. “It is not a part of the prophecy, was not there for Dariel to re-ensorcel and cast out into the mortal realm. Though it shares the indestructible qualities of the others, it was not empowered to activate to the will of its first wielder, nor was it enchanted with the power to slay a God. You will still need to retrieve the others for that. And make no mistake: this sword is only a loan, at best. Sooner or later, despite our best efforts, the others will find out you have it and demand that it be relinquished and destroyed. So use it while you may.”

  “But I don't know how to use a sword,” Nathaniel protested. “I told you, I am no warrior.”

  “You would be surprised at what you do not know that you know, Goodsmith. Part of the Avatar potential was an innate knowledge of how to wield the weapons we intended to send you after. I ought to know, as it was my contribution to the Avatar matrix. Though knowledge is one thing, skill another. You will need to train your body to do what your mind already knows to do.”

  Malik shrugged. “Take some time to spar with the dwarf. Your mind will know what to do even if you consciously do not realize it. It is good that you have a couple of weeks yet to reach your destination. Your body will be aching solid for at least a week once you start training.”

  Nathaniel lifted the sword, drawing it clear of its scabbard. “I will say this much,” he said, “I may be no expert, but you do seem to do a fine job at metalcrafting, Malik. I will give you that much.” Nathaniel surprised himself with how eager he was to begin training now that the sword was clasped in his hands.

  “Do me proud, Goodsmith,” Malik said as he began to fade from view. “After all, my very future rests in those hands...”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Avery lay awake in the dark, listening to the steady sounds of breathing from his companion of the evening. Sleep had been more and more elusive in the last couple of days as he had fallen more and more into his role as a God. He always felt restless, seeking ways in his mind to stay active and alert. It helped to have so much energy to draw upon – One had been a blessing in that regard – but he was beginning to become aware that there was more going on than just that.

  Ever since he had slain those two men and robbed the priest of his divine powers, Avery's personal anxieties had been building. He was not even certain why he had confronted the priest as he did in the first place. The men, certainly – they had attacked him. Yet the priest had tried his magic and failed. Why skewer him? And how had it been that he had been able to strip the man of his magic, as well?

  The answer, of course, came back again and again to the same thing. It did not matter how often he asked it of himself, the answer was always the same: the sword. One. The steel blade had given him the ability to fight those men and to steal the priest's power. Worse, it had given him the knowledge of what to do to achieve those ends. And it was from this fact that a good measure of his anxiety came from now.

  Avery looked across the room to where his clothes lay, the sword itself leaning against the chair they lay in. In its present state, the sword looked common enough. It was undeniably a magnificent piece of craftsmanship, with the fine leather scabbard and delicate engravings. Yet it was still just steel and leather to all outward appearances.

  There was more there though, so much more. This was indeed a God's sword, and Avery, for all his pretense to the contrary, was a mere mortal. The power residing in the sword could possibly elevate him to Godhood. Of that, Avery was convinced. His mind swum with images of grand conquests and spectacular accomplishments. In each vision, he held One, either at his side or aloft. It was clear that the sword was an integral part of his future success. Where then were the downsides?

  Every good thing had a bad side somewhere. Avery could see that the death of whatever God One had belonged to was one bad side of finding it. But where was the bad from the power received or for possessing it? Freedom of his faithful? Surely that was for the good. He could protect them and they worshiped him for it. His own freedom perhaps? He had to admit there was a certain loss of independence while he was under scrutiny from his followers. And there were times when...

  What? The thought had been almost there, yet it had slipped from Avery's mind. What was it that he was losing that he could not quite put his finger upon?

  The woman beside him stirred, snuggling closer to his side. Avery could not help but sigh. Viola was truly as magnificent a specimen of womanhood as One was of weaponry. Over the last two days, he had stolen every moment he could to be with her. She had become something of an obsession for him. Even when he lay with other women, his mind always retreated to Viola...

  And there certainly was a bounty of other women. Since his public escapade against the priest magistrate, he had been inundated with requests for his “blessing” within the bed chamber. Word had spread of his prowess therein, his endless passion, and women were falling over themselves to be the next to experience the rapture of lying with a God.

  The women were not the only ones assailing him directly, either. Men were approaching him. Brothers, fathers, husbands even, begging him to bless the woman most treasured by each man. My daughter is virgin, my wife is sterile, my sister oh-so comely. All were convinced that lying with Avery would cure them of whatever ill fortunes were sufficient to make their lot better in this life, or for the women to be more desirable amongst other men. What was to be said for a woman or her family, after all, if she had been chosen to lie with a God? And Avery found it more and more difficult to deny one without accepting another for a bout of romance, if only to end the ceaseless requests for a time.

  Then there was the subject of his prowess. No matter how many women he took to bed, he was never unable to perform, for his animal lust was always just below the surface. As much as these women could not wait to be with him, he could not seem to get enough of them. Still, the act of copulating was quickly becoming more of a chore than a pleasure. More and more he found his body performing while his mind wandered. And more often than not, he found it wandering to Viola.

  It had quickly become known that Viola was Avery's most favored. And her father, Mansel, could not have been more pleased at the prospect. Everyone saw him as the most blessed besides his daughter, and he did little to discourage the notion. He adored his daughter, that much could not be denied. But he idolized this new God come down amongs
t them more. The man was in utter bliss to know that Avery favored his family above all others. And though Avery was aware of how the innkeep bartered favor, it mattered not to him at all, so long as the man blessed Avery's union with his daughter.

  A story had even begun circulating amongst the people about Avery's love for the mortal maiden, Viola. It was being said that Avery had come to Scollhaven for the express purpose of seeing Viola, that looking down upon the world, he had spied her and come to Mansel's tavern that night to lay eyes upon her in person. Upon arrival, the story went, he was so overcome with passion, that when her honor was affronted by the arrogant lord, he could not remain silent, revealing himself and in so doing, declaring his love for her in actions greater than any words. After all, Avery's first act upon his appearance was to defend her virtue against Quinn's lecherous intentions. And not so soon thereafter, the God had taken the maiden for his own.

  She was a fine looking woman, no one could disagree, and was it so hard to believe that it was her beauty that had brought Avery here in the first place? Was it any wonder the townsfolk gave such reverence to Viola whenever she was about and not in seclusion with her God? If not for her, Avery would never have blessed them with his presence! It was said that their romance would become the subject of legends. And Avery, for one, had high hopes that the story would at least in that respect bear truth.

  Avery had heard all of this, yet chose not to challenge any of what he knew to be false. If it gave the lovely creature at his side special pleasure to believe that he had been so motivated, why deprive her of it? He had certainly become attached to her since. In fact, he could now not imagine his life without her.

  I must take her with me when I go, Avery thought, running his fingers through her golden curls.

  Avery started. Go? He had not thought of leaving at all before this moment, though now that he did think about it, he realized it was a foregone conclusion. He would have to leave here eventually. Before he became too complacent, too docile, too comfortable.