One (The Godslayer Cycle Book 1)

by Ron Glick

  He had lost One. The Godslayer had cut it away. This much Avery was keenly aware of, yet the remembrance that it had been done through the severing of his hand escaped his enfeebled mind. He had lost control of the sword, and that had panicked him. One had been a monster all along, and it alone had had the real power. Avery knew this now, and the shame alone was enough to make him want to curl up here on the ground and die. But then he had lost control again and fled through the woods in a blind panic, only coming to his senses when his body could go no further. The shame had been doubled by that.

  Thank the Gods no one saw that, he thought numbly. He needed to rest, he knew. The sheer weight of his exhaustion was overtaking him. All he wanted was to lie here and rest. Maybe he would get back up after he had rested. Perhaps he could even find a way to...

  “Avery,” came a voice into his darkness. It truly had grown dark, he realized. It had been close to dusk, yet now was clearly full night...

  “My Lord,” came the voice again.

  “So tired...” Avery heard himself mumble. “Cold... Could you get me a blanket?”

  Avery found himself lifted bodily into a seated position, instead of tucked into his warm bed as he had expected. “How dare you...” Avery tried to sound forceful, yet his words came out as a lazy slur. “I am a God...”

  “Yes, you are, My Lord,” came the voice. “Yet you may soon be an extinct God if you do not act.”

  Avery scrunched his brow. “I am alive...” he managed.

  “True, though not by much. You need to restore yourself, before you slip too far gone.”

  The voice made no sense, and it was truly beginning to vex Avery. Why couldn't the voice just let him sleep? He could deal with the voice later, if only he could sleep awhile.

  “My Lord, I cannot sustain you,” said the voice. “You must do this on your own. You have taken in too much divine energy. I can not manipulate the healing energies you need. You must do it on your own...”

  “Divine...?”

  An audible sigh reached Avery's ears before the voice resumed. “You absorbed a portion of Galentine's power when you struck down his priest. And I suspect the touch of Imery added to the mix would be from when her priestess struck at you during your fight. You must have absorbed a portion of her power, as well. Regardless, I cannot heal you directly if you are possessed of another God's power. You need to heal yourself.”

  Avery attempted to scowl, his comprehension slipping. “You want me to heal you? I am the God of Vengeance, not healing...”

  Avery felt a sharp slap across his face. For a moment, he could see clearly and he finally recognized the voice's owner. “Hamil! How dare you!” Avery blustered.

  “My Lord, I beg your forgiveness, but you need to awaken.” Despite the scribe's words, however, Avery began to slip away again. After a moment's pause, Hamil was seized by inspiration. “Viola has need of you, My Lord. You must focus your energy so that you may rise to meet her needs!”

  This thought stirred something in Avery, as the thought of losing his sweet Viola gave his mind something new to focus on. “Viola...?” he stammered.

  “Yes, yes,” Hamil smiled. “Your Lady needs you to focus, to stay with me. I will guide you, but you must be aware enough to follow.”

  Avery opened one squinted eye, though he found it incredibly difficult to hold his head steady. “What do ya want me to do?”

  Avery was seized with a sharp pain in his left wrist as the scribe roughly broke it from the grip of his right hand. “Focus, My Lord,” said Hamil. “I need you to focus on your wrist, to seal off the wound. Or else you will bleed out...”

  Avery tried to answer, but coughed instead.

  “My Lord, no more words. Just look at me. Look in my eyes.”

  Avery once again tried to focus on his young scribe, and this time he found himself amazed at how vibrant and fascinating Hamil's eyes were. Once his one eye became focused, it became easier to focus the second. In moments, Avery felt himself calmly aware, if not completely conscious of what he was actually aware of.

  “Good, good,” came Hamil's voice from somewhere beyond his eyes. “Now, feel this.” Pain erupted anew in Avery's wrist as Hamil thrust his own hand over it.

  “Stop!” cried Avery, trying to pull free.

  “Stop me, My Lord,” came Hamil's voice.

  Avery struggled weakly to do just that, yet Hamil's hand only pressed down harder. “Let me go! Please, let me go!” Avery wailed.

  “Not that way, My Lord,” Hamil implored. “Reach deep and push me away from within. Push me away through your wrist. Do it now!” Hamil slapped Avery again. “Now!” he commanded, again slapping Avery fully across the face. “Do it!” he nearly yelled as he balled his fist and slugged his Lord and Master.

  “Stop!” screamed Avery. And then, without warning, Hamil found himself thrown bodily away from Avery as a bright flash of energy erupted from the end of Avery's wrist where his hand had been. Avery sat bolt upright, screaming in terror as the energy burst from his flesh, once again clutching his right wrist. Yet in spite of the sheer shock of it, the energy did not burn nor scald. After a minute's time, Avery found himself more in awe than fear, and his screams silenced. After a few minutes more, the energy faded and eventually receded back within his arm.

  For a moment, all was calm. Avery felt renewed somehow, if not completely whole. He found himself staring at the stump of a wrist, a newly deformed limb where his hand had once been. Yet the wound was healed, the residual scar a healthy pink. Avery looked down upon himself and saw the copious amounts of blood in which he had been drenched and looked again in amazement at his newly healed wrist.

  “I should be dead,” Avery marveled.

  “Truly,” said Hamil from where he sat sprawled a few feet away. “Yet My Lord is blessed and proven his Godhood...”

  Avery looked up and blinked. “Yes, I suppose I have...” he muttered. He was not entirely certain how, but he had found a way to heal himself, and the power had not come from One. If the sword had actually been the source of his power, then how was it that now, stripped of it, he could perform such Godly magic as this?

  “I will admit though,” Avery cautiously put forward. “I am not entirely sure how I survived. The Godslayer had me, dead to rights...”

  Hamil quirked his head in curiosity. “Godslayer?” he asked.

  Avery looked over at his scribe, only now beginning to wonder about how Hamil could have known exactly where he had been. “Yes, a bane of the Gods,” Avery managed. “He slew the Old Gods. He would have slain me if he had had his way. And he nearly had. Except...” Avery stopped and cocked his own head. “Except that you found me and told me how to heal myself...”

  Hamil shook his head, dismissively. “No, not I, My Lord,” the scribe insisted. “While I sought to bind your wound, you were speaking to another. I feared you were mad, yet now you seem fully sane.”

  Avery took pause at that. “I was talking to someone else? Not to you?”

  Hamil shook his head. “Truth be, I was afraid to speak, so fearful were your words,” the scribe muttered.

  “But how is it you are here...?”

  “I came when you called to me,” Hamil answered, tapping the side of his head. “In here. You called to me in here, and I came. I do not know how I knew where to come, yet I did. And I found you here upon the ground, speaking to someone not here. When I saw your wrist was bleeding, I came straight away to bind it. But then you thrust me away...” The scribe faded off.

  “Yet you say someone told you how to heal yourself...” Hamil's features brightened. “Truly you were in communion with your fellow Gods...?” The sheer adulation in the scribe's face at the thought of his God communing with others of his kind was embarrassing for Avery, especially after so soon humiliating himself before the Godslayer. Yet his words certainly gave Avery pause.

  Avery had believed himself to be a God reborn, that One had gifted unto him divine power. Could it have been more than the w
himsical fantasy that One had clouded his mind with? Could he actually have ascended to being a divine being, and now he had tapped into some incomprehensible method of communication with others of his kind? The possibility seemed pure fancy, and yet, he had healed himself. The idea had not been his own, for certain. Someone else had instructed him. If it was not Hamil, then who?

  Avery considered the other possibility only briefly. It was possible that Hamil was lying and his memory was true – that Hamil the Scribe had somehow known enough about a God to instruct him in how to heal himself. Yet looking upon the scrawny frame of his servant, the possibility seemed even more impossible than the former.

  “It must be as you say,” Avery concluded at last. “In my time of need, I was sheltered by others of my kind. I fear I may have been too overwhelmed by the Godslayer, and so I am unaware of exactly who it was that gave aid. But I am certain the one who did will make himself known to me soon enough.”

  Hamil beamed. “Well said, my Lord,” he said. Hesitantly, Hamil rose and crossed the distance between them. “Your hand though...” the scribe was clearly pained to discuss it. “You have lost your hand...”

  Avery looked down at both of his appendages as Hamil took his wrists. The left hand appeared a monstrous growth compared to the abrupt end that his right wrist now came to. Amazingly enough, the Godslayer's blow had severed his hand cleanly, leaving his wrist fully intact.

  Avery smirked ironically. Including, it seemed, the brand. Like the Godslayer could not have stripped him of that cursed part of his flesh? That could have been seen as almost a blessing if he had.

  Hamil made an exaggerated effort to look at Avery's back. “I see you lack your sword as well as holder.” Avery half-heartedly reached over his shoulder to verify that even the sheath of One was gone as well, apparently. Returning his gaze to his God's frontside, Hamil drew Avery's severed arm into his hands. “He did not deprive you of your holy symbol though,” Hamil said, caressing softly the scar on the backside of Avery's wrist. “It is a good sign, I think.”

  Taking a deep breath, Avery stood up himself. “I believe it is, as well, Hamil,” he said. “It shows that even the power of a Godslayer could not destroy me. Still, I believe we should not press our luck overly much. We should make haste and return to Viola and make away from these parts as soon as possible.”

  Hamil nodded, bowing humbly. “By all means, My Lord. Lead, and I shall follow.”

  With a renewed sense of optimism, and a new level of power to explore, Avery set out from his misadventure restored in his own personal self-importance, if not completely in body. In his wake, his servant remained bowed for a moment before rising to follow.

  However, Avery completely missed the smile that was now spread across the young man's face. And it was not one of reverence, so much as... amusement.

  Ah, thought the man, this game just becomes more and more fascinating the longer I keep it going! Barely containing his glee, and only giving the barest of hops for joy of the prank, Ankor, God of Mischief, set out to follow the would-be-God.

  * * *

  It had not taken a great deal to convince Derik to lay down to sleep. The simplistic mind that now dominated the man's body took the merest suggestion as practical and complied. He simply lacked the sophisticated mind to dispute what he was being told. So when Alsen told the big man that it was time to sleep, Derik only moved to the bed roll that Alsen directed him to and went to sleep.

  Alsen, on the other hand, was far less at ease, especially with the presence of the two newcomers. The dwarf had been more or less expected; the larger man had not. Lady Brea had gone up the trail specifically to convince the dwarf to come out of hiding, but both he and Derik had been assured that it had only been the dwarf up there. That there was another man altogether, one that none of them had been aware of, was somewhat unsettling. Brea had clearly lied to them – that or her Goddess had lied to her – about the man's presence. Neither possibility settled well with the young mercenary.

  Worse still, none of them seemed overly concerned by Derik's state. By the time Brea had returned leading the two strangers, Derik had soiled himself and reeked of the excrement filling his trousers. And though Alsen held great brotherly affection for his elder brother, cleaning the grown man as though he were a babe was not something he relished doing. Consequently, he had simply sent the man to bed – like the babe he clearly now was.

  And so Alsen stood across the campsite, at the edge of the light. Though he made as though he were on watch, he clearly was not doing an apt job of it since his back was not turned toward the fire. He intended to keep an eye upon these three, and the distance's only purpose was to give them no fast advantage should they decide to turn upon him.

  The dwarf, Bracken by name apparently, did not appear any more at ease than Alsen, though. The dwarf, though he stood close to the other two by the campfire, had yet to sit, or lay his axe to rest. Alsen did not have any personal experience with dwarves, but it seemed to him that the dwarf was both angry and unsettled. And from the stories he had heard, this was not a good combination in a dwarf. Dwarves were well known for their volatility, and this one most certainly appeared volatile.

  The man, Nathaniel, seemed calmer, though his face reflected more stoicism than calm. He seemed to be wrestling with his own inner demons, and had the look of one who had not yet made up his mind about whether the demons required an outward display of anger. He certainly did not carry himself like a warrior, and in fact did not even have the simplest of armor on him, yet he carried two swords, one sheathed across his back and the other he carried by the sheath as he entered camp. True, he had set this second one down, but he had not moved far from it so it remained within easy reach. This alone suggested that the weapon was one he would not hesitate to use if he needed to.

  And then of course there was Brea. The Lady Brea. The traitorous. The one who had cursed his brother for speaking his mind. Perhaps his brother could be temperamental and, truth be told, a little arrogant and rude at times, but nothing that had deserved the level of penance she had cast down upon him. Inwardly, Alsen raged, yet he dared not show his fury to the priestess for fear that she would do worse to him. Despite his mistrust of the strangers, his distrust of his female companion was great enough that he felt some degree of loyalty that he should be warning the two strangers against her. But fear was an effective muzzle, and he remained as civil as he could manage towards the three that now shared his camp.

  For some time, the three had walked around, preparing to set up camp, doing all the menial chores one needed to do in order to settle into a place for the night. Barely a word was exchanged between them as they did so, but it was clear that some great unspoken matter hung in the air between them. Even now, though they had been settled around the fire for some time, still none yet had broken the silence of whatever the matter was that lay between them.

  There had been a battle of some sort, that much could be gleaned easily enough. Even had the sounds of battle and screaming not drifted down the way, the ragged condition of at least two of them made it clear to Alsen's battle-hardened senses. The two men were covered in blood, some splattered, some copious in amount, most notable upon the back calf of the dwarf. Had Alsen been one to guess purely upon the angle of blood and amounts, he would have assumed that the dwarf had had the tendons, or perhaps the back calf muscle, on his right leg severed. There was certainly enough blood for it. And yet the dwarf walked with nary a hesitation that suggested a wound. Of course, Brea was a priestess and such were well known for their healing magics, but still it was an amazing thing to see such crippling damage healed within such a short span of time.

  Brea took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, breaking the heavy silence. Alsen perked his ears up to hear what would be said, balancing it in his mind over what he should do should he need to take measures to protect himself.

  “It is clear that we need answers,” Brea began.

  Bracken guffawed in response,
but said nothing else.

  Brea knitted her brow in consternation, but continued as though she had not been interrupted. “I believe there is something far greater going on than any of us knows. I think we are all acting and reacting, but I don't believe any of us know what we are acting or reacting to.”

  “I think the Old Gods have been pretty clear in their directions,” inserted Nathaniel. “Go here, do this. And they seem to be willing to answer any question put to them when I ask...”

  “That, of course, implies that you are asking the right questions,” Brea interjected.

  Nathaniel thought on this a moment, and nodded. “They are Gods, I suppose,” he said.

  Brea nodded in return. “And clearly they are playing a game that to them is greatly important, but places us as little more than pawns upon a board. I think it is time for us to see if we can improve our power on that board before we find ourselves removed from it altogether.”

  Nathaniel cocked his head, raising an eyebrow. “What would you suggest?”

  “First, we need to tell each other everything so we know where we each stand. If we have secrets, we cannot be expected to act together against any of the Gods, old or new.”

  Nathaniel stiffened. “Forgive me, Lady, but I think that would be foolish. You are still in communion with your Goddess, and if I disclose anything to you, your Goddess will know instantly. Regardless of the motives or reasons behind this 'game', as you call it, I do hold in the belief that what I am about, what I have been tasked to do, is hidden from the New Order, and it seems more to my advantage to keep it that way.”

  Brea scowled. “It does not work that way, Nathan,” she said with forced patience. “My Goddess does not get to read my mind whenever she wants to. It would violate the free will doctrine...”