by Ron Glick
Now Brea slept in a section of the room divided by an old blanket for privacy. Nathan and Bracken may have shared the room, but there was very little in the way of regular communication. They gave her shelter and shared in their meals, but anything beyond plans for the spring when the third sword was supposed to awaken was never breached. Theirs had become a professional relationship, made all the moreso by the clear emotional walls Nathan had erected where she was concerned.
Martin's cohort had implanted a false version of history in all of their heads - one that involved Nathan and Brea being intimately involved. There was more than just the physical in this illusion though - there had been genuine feelings of love and devotion. Brea had already suffered from a powerful attraction to Nathan before this enchantment had been cast upon them, and now the memories of having that relationship fulfilled and her emotions returned made her ache. To make matters worse, Nathan was still a married man, his wife only recently deceased. He had believed his becoming enraptured in the glamor to be a betrayal of his wife's memory, and it made him particularly hostile towards the thought of having feelings for Brea.
His denial of the emotions, his own guilt, did not remove the feelings however. Brea could tell this much. There were times she still caught the image of the same empty ache that she felt reflected back at her from deep within Nathan's eyes. But he would not relent, and chose to punish himself for something which he was powerless to overcome. The magic may have passed, but the changes remained. And no matter how much self-flagellation the man chose to inflict upon himself, it no more changed this than it did for Brea herself.
The end result was a distance, a deliberate refusal to engage Brea in anything more than cursory conversation. They all shared something in this quest for the swords - and Nathan was clearly too honorable to set her aside because of his own mixed-up feelings - but the working relationship was anything but comfortable.
Bracken at least had begun to come around. Previously, he had been opposed to her presence in their company, and never let an opportunity pass to express his discontent in his ever-so-colorful manner. But in recent months, Brea had detected a more comradely way in which the dwarf spoke to her. His manner remained gruff and antagonistic, but Brea had come to see that as his normal personality. What made the real difference was that he had all but stopped objecting to having her around, and when he did bring it up, it seemed more of a jovial stab than anything serious. He had even begun consulting with her on meals, something he did not even do with Nathan.
Bracken Hillfire might never embrace Brea as she so desperately hoped Nathan might, but she was now far more confident of his acceptance than she ever thought she could be.
Brea turned her attention back to the pit in front of her, watching the embers pop and sparks dance as the cool wind swept over them. Bracken had erected this partial hearth shortly after taking up residence in the shack, and it served them all well - both for cooking and for heating stones for evening comfort. The shack was many things, but it was not designed for people to live in - and even Brea could tell that any effort to build a fire within its walls would have been disastrous. So instead, the building was heated by a constantly revolving set of heated stones, mounted along the walls and in a pile within the center of the room. It was by no means an elegant solution, but it at least made the interior of the small building comfortable once the men had sealed the cracks in the walls and roof.
Now with spring on the wind, the temperatures had risen, but there was still an early morning bite to the wind, and Brea still practiced a routine of sitting by the morning embers as she meditated upon her day. When she was a priestess, this meditation would take the form of prayer - but when one's God was dead, to whom did one pray?
But this was where Avery had found her, suddenly walking up to her without any effort to conceal his approach. It had been a bold move, one the former priestess could not help but respect on some level. But her inherent distrust of this man trumped any respect she might have for his audacity.
“A man came to our camp the day after we first encountered you,” Brea finally explained. “He had one of the swords, but it was not one that any of us had ever seen.”
“Martin had Three,” confessed Avery.
Brea's eye shot across to the man seated opposite her. “The third sword? I thought you told Nathan that it would not wake until the spring?”
Avery took a deep breath, spreading his hands wide as a gesture of sincerity. “I know. And what I said was true. The third sword was not awake when Martin visited me. Two had barely woken. But it does not change that he did indeed have Three.” Avery reached across his back and pulled his own sword from its sheath, displaying the hilt of the sword for Brea to see. Upon the hilt, a single white dot rose from a small black square inset on the handle. “I saw the pips myself.”
“How is that possible?”
Avery laid the sword across his knees as he visibly considered how to answer. “Martin said he came from a time that had not yet come, that he had come into the past to tell me to travel to Levitz, that this was where I would find the second sword. I had no idea whether to believe him or not, but I had nowhere else to go. So I did as he advised, and went to Levitz.”
“And he was right,” Brea said matter-of-factly.
“He was right,” agreed Avery. “I found Two, and I exchanged it with Goodsmith for the return of my own sword.”
Brea felt her mouth twist in distaste. “I wish you would stop calling him that. It sounds too... impersonal. Disrespectful.”
Avery seemed struck. “I meant no offense. I just don't think it's proper for me to use his given name. It's a bit too... familiar, I think. Don't you?”
Brea waved a hand dismissively. She had forgotten that in spite of the man's pretense, Avery really did not have the experience of addressing people formally. “Of course. But could you not call him 'Master Goodsmith' or 'Sir Goodsmith'? Or something else that would not strike such a distasteful flavor to your saying his name?”
Avery blushed, clearly realizing his mistake had been discovered. “Of course. Master Goodsmith.”
Brea looked at the man. A child playing at being a man, she thought, citing a line from an old parable. “At any rate, we did not recognize the sword this man had, but he spoke of Martin. He also kept talking about 'time' and said things about his 'illusions'. I think we all assumed his sword controlled our minds in some way, but if Martin also had a sword--”
“If your man had a sword that affected the mind, it was not Three,” interrupted Avery. “Martin was quite clear. Three gave him the ability to come back and give me instructions. Which means that Martin must have brought back another sword besides the third of the Nine.”
Martin's the smart one, or so he's always saying. But I'm the one he sent to outsmart the Godslayer.
The stranger's words echoed in Brea's mind, giving her an overwhelming sense of dread. While this man had distracted them, Martin had plainly met with Avery. How many others had been about that day, and what else could they have done to hurt all of their future plans?
“So did Martin send you here?” Brea shivered at the prospect. “Was it his idea to find Nathan in order to get your hands on the third sword?”
“In all honesty, I have only met Martin that one time,” responded Avery. “And he disappeared right in front of my eyes, so I cannot tell you where he is or where he went. So no - my coming here was not his idea. It was mine.”
A gleam flashed in the would-be God's eye. “And I have one of the Nine. What reason would I have to possess another?”
Up to this point, everything Avery had said had a ring of truth to it. Brea's true sight had verified that with absolute certainty. Yet in the last, there had been a deflection. Not an untruth precisely, but there was definitely something the man was choosing not to say.
Brea sighed. There was no way to know what Avery hid, but the man's inclination towards honesty up to that point gave Brea pause in rejecting his request
outright.
“Bracken and Nathan are not here,” the woman finally said. “They have developed a routine in recent weeks of leaving before first light. To where, I can only guess. Hunting, at least in part, as they usually return with fresh game by mid-afternoon, but they did that before from Nathan's traps and it never required them to leave so early. I suspect there is more to what they are doing, but I am not entrusted with the knowledge of what that might be. And I do not pry.”
“May I wait here for their return?”
Brea gave a light laugh. “As I have said, I have little say over anything. I will not bar you from staying, but I will also offer you no assurance of safety if you do. Nathan's decisions about you will be his own, and I will not act to dissuade him, either.”
Avery squirmed at this last - barely discernible had Brea not been watching for just such a reaction. The man was not as confident about Nathan's open brotherhood as he professed, but clearly the man had struck out upon this path, and he intended to see it through.
The man across the pit returned his sword to its sheath. “Then by your leave, I will remain.”
Brea shrugged and returned her gaze to the pit, meditating upon the random sparks of the dying embers she saw there.
* * *
“It's maddening, Bracken,” growled Nathaniel. “It's there, then it's not. I can feel it, then I can't. I don't understand any of it.”
The burly dwarf stood to the side of his friend and companion, leaning heavily upon the haft of his great axe. The weapon itself stood nearly as tall as the dwarf himself, and he had to sink it into the earth several inches in order to lean on it in this manner. “I's magic,” he grunted. “What'd ya 'spect?”
“Something a bit more consistent,” said Nathaniel. “Like what happened when the other two swords woke up.”
“So ya'd rath'r have a brick upside th' 'ead than whispers in yer ear, tha's it?”
Nathaniel chuckled. “Not exactly. But something more than this... there-then-not-there feeling.”
“Ya think it's anythin' ta do wit' that girl ya met? Tha' demiGod lass?”
The taller man shook his head. “I don't think so. It's spring, and that's when Avery said the third sword would wake up. So it's just a common timing thing, I think. And she's gone now, so there's that.”
Nathaniel had woken that very morning to find a note pinned to his door:
Had to leave. Someone's coming. We'll be in touch.
The note was not signed nor addressed to anyone specifically, but Nathaniel had known its meaning. Tanath was a demi-God and she ran when danger came near. It was the nature of the immortals to do so - or so the stories told - which coincided with the other feeling Nathaniel had woken to.
Bracken spit to the side of the trail the pair had been walking along. “An' Avery's sword? Ya still feel it, 'swell?”
Nathaniel nodded. “Yes. It's very close now. Might even be in town now.”
“'Nother common time t'ing, tha'?”
“No,” said the man, his jaw setting. “I'm thinking Avery must be here because he somehow feels the new sword waking, too. But why he'd come to me instead of following it himself, I can't say.”
The dwarf twisted the haft of his weapon, worrying the blade of the axe a bit further into the earth. “An' how much long'r ya gonna keep Brea in th' dark 'bout all this? Ya know, she's prov'd 'erself. She's loyal.”
Nathaniel ground his teeth at this last. “You say she is. I'm not sure what she is.”
“She's loyal,” repeated the dwarf. “Why she's loyal, well, tha's up fer guessin', but she is, an' tha's really all tha' matt'rs a' the moment, dontcha t'ink?”
Nathaniel was silent a moment before responding. “The Gods have been gone a long while, too. Haven't seen any of them since Levitz. Haven't seen any of the Old Gods since before that. I don't like that. And I don't like that there's so much we don't know. About the new sword. About why Brea's still here. Or what Avery is up to. None of it.”
“Well, ya know wha' I sed we shoul' do 'bout the brat,” said Bracken. “Find 'im, broil 'im and be done wit' 'im. Simples' solution's of'en the best.”
“Avery's a wildcard, I won't deny that,” rebuffed Nathaniel. “But he didn't have to give me Two. He's not the enemy we thought he was. He's in it for himself, no doubt. But is that enough of a reason to kill him?”
“You sed the Ol' Gods told ya to gat'er all the swords. Avery's got one, so's if'n yer gonna do wha' they want, sooner 'r later, yer gonna hafta take 'is sword, too.”
“I don't work for the Old Gods,” growled Nathaniel. “I'm only going along with them until we find Geoffrey. After that, they can all hang in the wind for all I care.”
“An' Mari? Wha' 'bout their promise ta bring 'er back?”
A great look of sadness enveloped Nathaniel's heart. “My wife is gone, Bracken. Now more than ever. She's been turned into some kind of totem by the Old Gods, and that means she's never going to be my wife ever again. I know that now, and I'm ready to put her behind me.”
Bracken guffawed. “You no more'n believe tha' than I do,” bellowed the dwarf. “If'n tha' were true, you'd no' still be pushin' Brea 'way.”
“Brea is not my wife!”
“No, bu' ya gots feelin's fer her, and she fer you. No doubt 'bout tha'.”
“That's not real.”
“Says who?” The dwarf's brows knit together. “Jus' 'cause magic made ya see i', don't mean i's any less real.”
“Magic didn't make me see it,” amended Nathaniel. “Magic made it happen. Which means once the magic fades, so will the feelings.”
“Really?” laughed Bracken. “Been close ta half a year since i' happen'd. When's it gonna go 'way then?”
“It's not right, Bracken,” said Nathaniel softly. “I don't love Brea. I love Mariabelle.”
“Ya sed yerself - Mari's gone. Brea's 'ere. Ya gotta move on. Or yer ne'er gonna be able ta be a man e'er 'gain. An if'n we do fin' Geoffrey, ya won' e'en be able ta be a fat'er, 'cause ya won't be able ta feel yer love fer yer son while ya block out the rest o' yer feelin's. All ta spite Brea.”
“No, to spite the swords!” Nathaniel turned roughly on his friend, closing the distance between them. “It's not Brea who made me feel this way, it's the damned Old Gods and their swords! I just have to get ahold of whatever sword that man held in our camp that day, and I can undo this!”
“A swor' tha's no' real? Tha' doesn' exist? One ya canno' feel 'r sense? How long 'til ya ge' a feel fer i', then? An' how long ya gonna wai'?”
Nathaniel was about to respond when suddenly his mind reeled. The vagueness was gone, slamming all of his senses with the profound impact of his Avatar abilities. The Old Gods had given him the ability to sense the swords. Like a lodestone, he was drawn to their existence, but more, he could at times see through the swords as though he were contained within the steel of their forms. This feeling was not entirely that - he still saw himself precisely where his physical body was - but the feeling of being somewhere else was unmistakable. And he knew exactly where the third sword was...
“It's in Oaken Wood,” Nathaniel managed, forcing his throat to utter the sounds, his mouth to form the words, in spite of how rigid and unmoving his body felt. “Three is in Oaken Wood right now!”
Nathaniel reached to his side to make certain Two was still at his side and without another moment's hesitation, he forced his body to run - run for the town, run for Brea, run to save anyone from whatever disaster this sword's new wielder intended.
The man known as the Godslayer barely registered his own body responding to his commands, and had no clue whether Bracken followed. But somehow, he knew the dwarf would.
* * *
Some distance away, a figure stood in shadow, watching as the two forms took off running. The pair had been too far away to make out their words, but the urgency of their actions and the direction they had fled told him enough. Something had happened back in Oaken Wood. And since the spy had not heard anything on his
own, he could only imagine that it had something to do with Malik's swords.
That was after all Nathaniel Goodsmith's primary talent - to sense the swords so he could use them. This had been intended to be a talent devoted to the Pantheon, but Nathaniel Goodsmith had corrupted that purpose. He had no faith in his heart for the Gods, and he only sought out the swords for his own selfish interests. He might have been born into the powers of the Avatar, but he was a heretic all the same.
The young man scowled at the thought. To be blessed with the glory of the Gods, and to shun their blessings so that one could usurp the power for oneself. There could not possibly be a greater heresy.
Picking up his pack, the young man set off after his quarry. The twice-damned Avatar had no idea he was being hunted, so there was no urgency to the man's motions. Besides, he had been gifted with his own talent in order to escape immediate notice. He was able to be unseen so long as he did not fall directly within someone's line of sight. So long as he stayed a fair distance away, Nathaniel Goodsmith might be able to hear him, but he would never be able to find him. Not until his predator was ready to pounce.
The man was ready for the eventual confrontation. He would confront the man that so many called the Godslayer. It was not even a true title, since the godslayers were the swords, not the man. But that mattered little to the spy's purpose. He only cared about the sword he was after - the one that would give him dominion over all the rest.
The young man could not help but let out a light laugh as he trekked through the woods. Nathaniel Goodsmith had the greatest weapon in all of Na'Ril and he had no clue what its true power was. While the so-called Avatar chased after the nine godslayers, he had no clue that he didn't even need any of them. He actually possessed the keystone to all of their powers, and he was blind to the fact.