by Ron Glick
Alsen stopped shaking his elder brother and took a step back in shock. Immediately, Derik lost all interest in his brother and began to just stare into space. Alsen began to shake, his fists clenching and unclenching as he tried to settle in his own mind what had happened. Finally, after a great internal struggle of his own, his head bowed to hide the tears that had started to form, his voice shaking with emotion, he pleaded with his brother's tormenter. “Please, undo it. Make him how he was. Please. I know he is not always the best person, but he is the only brother I have...”
Brea's anger faded in the face of the emotion. She would have more expected the brother to charge her in rage, to try to force her to reverse the spell. Yet she should have known better. The younger of the brothers had always been the one with the most reason between the two, even if it had only been displayed by keeping his distance from her and his silence when near.
Yet Brea's falter was only momentary as she set her jaw. “Look after your brother until I return,” she said. “If you obey me in this...” She did not finish her words, but instead turned and began the walk back along the trail they had just traversed that day. She had been too close to breaking, and her voice would have betrayed her emotion had she continued. So when her voice had started to break, she simply walked away. Better to do that than to give the young man any idea that the magic had gone wrong, and she was not entirely certain whether it could be undone at this juncture.
Brea did not look back as she walked, but she did listen. She listened for any sign that she had misjudged Alsen, that he might attempt to charge at her from behind. Yet she heard nothing of the kind. All that greeted her ears upon leaving was the silence of one man watching her leave, and another watching nothing at all.
The path continued upwards for awhile, during which time she knew she could have stopped and looked back. She continued on however, her knees weak and her heart racing. After perhaps half a mile, the trail finally crested and she began down a slope that eventually moved her out of sight of where she had left the brothers, leaving behind the temptation to look back altogether.
As soon as Brea was confident that she could no longer be seen, she paused to catch herself. She clutched her chest and took a deep, steadying breath. She felt physically ill, and had barely managed the strength to walk this far. Her magic had always been dependable in the past, ever there to rely upon when she had needed it, always performing as she had willed it to. However, when she had only attempted to befuddle, she had possibly crippled Derik's mind. The original spell would have been short-lived – a few hours, at most. Derik would have been confused for awhile, but he would have eventually shaken off the effects with a lesson in humility learned. Yet somehow Brea knew this bastardized variation was much more powerful, if not permanent.
How could the spell have gone so awry though? Magic was a constant – one never achieved more than what a spell called for. Either it worked - in exactly the same prescribed way it always did – or it failed. It did not get bigger.
It had to have been the anger, Brea decided. She had always been trained to remain calm when calling up her Goddess' power, lest the magic fail her or burn her out from within. Yet those had been the only two options ever provided to her: either the spell would fail, or it would backfire upon her. Never had anyone suggested that the spell's effects would become more efficacious. Or that there was any possibility that a spell might become immutable.
Brea could not say how she knew, yet somehow she did. She knew that this spell she had cast would not fade in a few hours. She could not say how long it would last, but she knew it would be days, possibly weeks, before the powerful magics she had summoned would fade. The greatest fear however was whether the magics would fade at all...
“Lost somethin', 'ave ya?” came a gruff voice from ahead of her. So lost had Brea been in her private reflections that she had completely missed the dwarf stepping onto the trail a couple hundred feet ahead of her. At a distance, and in the failing light, she could barely make out the dwarf's obscure form as it lurked in the shadow of a rocky outcrop to the side of the road. Brea certainly could not tell whether the little man was armed or not. “Like mayhaps the two tall ones ya been roamin' wit'?”
Brea attempted to cover her startlement as she called back. “I came looking for you, Sir Dwarf. And I left my companions behind so as not to seem to be challenging you in any way.”
The dwarf scoffed. “More like ya lef' one a halfwit, an' the other ta guard 'im so's they woul' no' follow.”
Brea reddened at the observation. Clearly, the dwarf had seen the entire exchange. “It is as I said. I left them behind in such a way as to present no threat to you,” she fumbled. Brea cocked her head sideways, attempting to give a casual nonchalance to her body language. “Can you think of a more effective way to assure you I mean no harm?”
“Or mayhaps ya wanted me t' see that so's I'd cower from ya when's ya found me?”
Brea smiled. “I would think that would hardly be a way to get you to come out to meet me, now would it?”
“I woul' no' know, considerin' wha' we 'spect o' ya, to begin wit',” called the dwarf.
Brea paled. “We?”
“What, you thought Bracken would come after you on his own?”
A chill ran up Brea's spine at the voice from behind, her mind flooded with unexpected emotions. Bracken? The dwarf from the inn? That's who had been following her? And that voice...
Brea turned quickly to verify that her ears had indeed not been mistaken. Roughly ten paces behind her stood Nathaniel Goodsmith, the object of her obsession made flesh.
In an instant, she was upon him. Her Nathan! The man she could not live without, yet had abandoned for the fool quest of her Goddess! That that thought represented the bitterest of resentment she had held deep inside mattered little now. It was true, and in the presence of Nathan, she could admit to anything, no matter how heretical.
Brea leaped the last few steps, wrapping her arms around Nathaniel to hold herself in place as she kissed him with as much passion and abandon as she could physically achieve. No thought intruded her mind other than to breath in his musk, to taste the sweat upon his lips, to have him embrace her in return...
But he was not embracing her. Nor was he returning her kiss. In fact, she hung alone by the strength of her arms around his neck, and though her lips continued to press upon his, his were firm rather than yielding. He was not at all trying to hold her up, and her own weight was wearing upon her strength, already at low ebb from her recent bout of nausea. Cautiously, she withdrew her lips and a brief burst of rationality intruded enough to let her see what she was doing. She had literally just thrown herself upon a married man...
At last, he made contact, if only to reach up and pull her down and away by her hips. Brea could not help but blush, as much from the heat of the moment as embarrassment. She was not one to give in to flights of fancy, and this was as far begone as she could ever have imagined herself.
Nathaniel cleared his throat. “Not exactly the reaction I expected...”
“S-sorry about that,” she muttered, hiding her face in her hands. “It has been a very stressful last couple of days.”
“Doubt they could possibly compare to what you left behind,” Nathaniel growled, his anger reasserting itself over his momentary confusion.
Brea looked up into Nathaniel's eyes. Why was he upset with her? “I don't understand.” Suddenly, the idea that these two had tracked her for over a week through the Wildelands struck her. What could possibly have happened in Oaken Wood? For only some great travesty would send these these two of all people after her. Had some disease broken out that required a priest? Some other malady? Her eyes registered the shock as she asked, “What has happened?”
“Like'n ya don' already know,” came Bracken's voice. Brea had no idea how long she had been lost in her misguided embrace, but clearly enough time had passed to allow the dwarf to cross the distance between them. “Ya don' run when yer no' gui
lty!”
Brea was even more confused now. “Guilty? What are you talking about? Has something gone missing?”
“That is one way of putting it,” growled Nathaniel. “I am missing a wife and son. Seen either recently?”
Brea blinked at the fury behind Nathaniel's words. “N-no, I have not,” she stammered. Then, attempting to reassert herself, letting her own anger begin to rise, she took the offense. “I have seen nothing of your wife since I left your homestead, more than ten days gone, and your son only briefly as you apparently sent him to stay at the inn! What exactly are you implying? You have clearly been following me. You know I don't have a woman and child with me.”
“At leas' half o' tha' woul' o' been a rather grisly sight,” muttered Bracken. “Hard t' say 'bout the oth'r half a' the moment.”
“Stop speaking in riddles. Speak clearly!” Brea demanded.
“Very well,” asserted Nathaniel. He grabbed Brea forcefully and thrust his face into hers. “My wife was slain and my son abducted by servants of Imery, Goddess of Truth. Considering you were the only representative of Imery's to visit our town in years and within days of your visit, my wife and son are taken from me, I think it pretty clear that you were the one who gave the order! I would see you hang for the murder of my wife, but not before you tell me where you have had my son taken!” By the time he was finished, Nathaniel's face was a livid red, and he no longer cared that spittle rained down upon Brea with every syllable.
Brea, on the other hand, was speechless. Mari murdered, the child taken? By Imery!? She wanted to defend her Goddess, to spout some rhetoric about Imery's honor, and that her deity would never take the life of an innocent without cause. She wanted to, and yet the words stuck in her throat. She could not utter a defense of her Goddess sufficient to take away what Nathaniel was going through right now. Perhaps he wanted her to see anger and madness, but all she could see were the pain and anguish deep within his eyes. Oh, that her love could hurt so, and worse to believe that she was capable of causing him such pain!
“I – I don't know anything about this,” Brea finally managed. “I swear to you, Nathan. I don't know anything about this...” Tears began welling in her eyes. For all her trained calm and composure, for all the fear she should have felt for her own welfare, considering these two men had come so far to exact revenge, Brea's heart was breaking for the pain Nathaniel Goodsmith was carrying. All she wanted to do was to have him release her arms so she could hold and comfort him, to in some way help take away the pain he had inside.
Spells. She knew spells, Brea mentally fumbled as she tried to fix upon a spell that would do what she wanted. Something to help numb his pain, to heal his broken heart. Yet she could think of no magic whatsoever, much less a spell, for deadening emotional duress at the moment. Not one at least that would not potentially destroy Nathaniel's mind as it had Derik's.
Brea was jarred from her mental cataloging by the very real sensation of being physically shaken. “Don't give me tears and sorrowful excuses! You were there! Through you, Imery was there! And you want us to believe you were not involved?!”
“Yes!” Brea nearly shouted as she somehow managed to shake herself free of Nathaniel's grip. “I didn't leave because I had committed a murder! Or kidnapped a child! I left because my Goddess ordered me to! She sent me on a fool's errand to get me away from you and your magics! She sent me after some fool pretender so I would not be near you! And now I see why!”
Nathaniel felt his resolve weaken momentarily. “My magics?”
“Your charm! Your thrall! Your enchantment! Whatever you want to call it! Whatever you cast to make me fall in love with you in the first place!”
Nathaniel was now fully in retreat emotionally. “Spell on you? I can't – I don't – How could I have put a spell on you?! You're the priest!”
“And you're the witch! Or warlock! Or whatever you call your kind of magic users!”
“I'm not...” Nathaniel cast a plaintive look to Bracken. “Help me out here, Bracken! Tell her I'm no warlock!”
Bracken had taken a defensive stance behind Brea, intending to guard against her fleeing. Yet now as both Brea and Nathaniel turned expectantly to him, he raised his hands and took a step back himself. “O' magic, I wan' nothin' t' do wit' it!”
“But Bracken...” Nathaniel pleaded.
Yet before the dwarf could respond again, Brea turned on Nathaniel again herself. “Why pick on the dwarf? Why not just call down your Gods or Goddesses or whatever unholy forms they are taking now to explain it?”
Now Nathaniel felt his defensiveness returning. “They are not 'my' Gods, Lady! They could go take a flying leap into the nearest abyss for all I care! Them and yours, as well! Get rid of all of them at once to save the world from their petty bickering, and Imery can lead the charge!”
Brea gasped at the affront. “And why her? Because you want to hurt me more than you already have? Is that it? Haven't you done enough already?”
“What have I done?!” Nathaniel demanded. “I didn't kill my wife, Imery did!”
The mention of Mari's death shocked Brea back to her senses. “Right,” she said, stepping back sheepishly. “Sorry, I forgot.”
“Well, if'n yer done now wit' spattin' like some ol' married couple, coul' we get on wit' this?” grumbled Bracken from behind.
Brea blushed again. “Yes, please,” she managed. “I think we all need to talk this out calmly. I think maybe we can make more sense of this if we're not shouting.”
Nathaniel took a deep breath to steady his nerves. “Alright,” he said simply.
Bracken nodded himself. “The day a dwarf 'as a cooler 'ead than you lot is the day ya shoul' be lookin for th' sky ta start fallin' down...” he muttered under his breath.
Brea smiled, in spite of her own hurt feelings. “Truer words have never been spoken,” she managed diplomatically. Then, turning to Nathaniel, she said, “I think you should go first, if only because I think yours will be hardest to tell.”
Nathaniel swallowed a lump in his throat, but before he could start, Bracken interceded. “No' much ta tell. Nate came home t' fin' 'is wife dead and brut'ly murdered in their home, an' my inn was beset 'pon shortly after. They came fer 'is son, an' made no effort t' hide tha' they were Im'ry's men. They shouted i' o'er and o'er as they burned my place t' th' groun'. I coul' no' stop 'em, an b'fore I knew wha' was happ'nin', they was ridin' off wit' Geoffrey...”
“And you thought I ordered this? The killing of Nathan's wife and the taking of his son? For what purpose?”
Bracken looked to Nathaniel for guidance. Silence held for several moments as Nathaniel decided how much to confess to at this point, still not fully knowing whether to trust the priestess. Honesty won out in the end however, and Nathaniel let out a sigh as he began. “Because of the Gods. The Old Gods. They have decided I am important to them, and they want me in their service. You were showing a peculiar interest in me, and we thought you had figured out that they had returned to the mortal world and that they were trying to use me. So we thought...”
“That I would kill your family as some vague, perverted warning to not get involved with the Old Gods?” Brea interrupted. “I think I have a few other choices I would like to have tried before I resorted to wholesale slaughter, thank you!”
Nathaniel shrugged. “You left so close to the attacks, how could we believe otherwise?”
Brea nodded, her own dread building. What the two had to say left her only one conclusion to reach. It was not a pleasant thought, but it certainly fit everything Nathaniel and Bracken said, and justified her own doubts that she had been feeling about this sudden quest across the countryside.
“I am beginning to believe that perhaps you were meant to think exactly that,” said Brea softly. “I have my own confession to make now. You say the Old Gods have come into your life? Do you mean that they have appeared in visions or...”
“Rather more than visions,” Nathaniel grunted. Brea cocked her head at h
im, and he continued. “They keep coming to me in person, actually.”
A chill caused Brea to shudder. “To me, as well,” she said.
Nathaniel started. “The Old Gods...” he started.
“No!” burst out Brea. “Not the Old Gods! My God! Or Goddess, that is. Imery.”
“Imery has been coming to you? In person?” Nathaniel asked. It seemed thr proper response, though he had already personally witnessed at least one communion between the priestess and her Goddess.
Brea nodded. “Ever since the night you ensorceled me...”
“I did not 'ensorcel' you!” Nathaniel burst out.
Brea blushed. “Well, Imery said you did. Said you used Old God magic...”
“I had not even met the Old Gods until...” Nathaniel stopped. “Of course. Airek. He was in the inn, to the back of the room, when we first met. I didn't know it then, but yeah. That's who must have put a spell on you.”
Brea blinked. “I did not think a God could use magic upon someone not in their service?”
Bracken scoffed. “Tell tha' to this lot,” he laughed. “Ask Nate if'n he asked to be made an Avatar!”
Brea shot a glance at Nathaniel. “Avatar?”
Nathaniel shot a harsh glance at the dwarf himself, who shrunk back. “Sorry, Nate,” he muttered.
“What do you mean by 'Avatar'? Gods don't use Avatars anymore,” Brea insisted.
“What do you mean by 'anymore'?” Nathaniel asked.
“The gospels talk about Avatars,” Brea said impatiently. “They are old world servants of the Gods. Like prophets, only more powerful. Now what did you mean?”
Nathaniel gritted his teeth. “It's how I am special. I am some kind of Avatar. Inherited it somehow through my mother. It's why the Old Gods want me in their service, because I was born with certain... talents. Talents they made sure I would have.”