by Ron Glick
Bracken let out a bellowing laugh. “Trapped by yer own trick! Yew could no' stop 'im 'cause you though' t' trick 'im by swearin' ta serve 'im.”
“Just that,” admitted Ankor. “How was I to know that he would start gaining divine power? I believed I could serve him in the role I assumed, and once he had served his purpose and his divinity be unproven, my oath would be undone.”
“But because he's gaining divine power - Godly power...”
“Then I am bound to his service,” confirmed Ankor.
“Oh, this is too rich for words,” Brea snickered, raising her hand to cover her mirth. “One of the New Order's Gods just tricked himself into working for the very people out to find the godslaying swords.” The former priestess dropped her hand and smiled at the God. “You have to see the irony here.”
Ankor could only scowl in response.
Chapter 10
There was a strange dissociation for Nathaniel. He was surrounded by buildings, people and scenery that felt like they belonged. But the one person standing in front of him was so out of place here, that it gave a complete sense of unreality to the entire scene.
Like seeing the sun surrounded by night stars, the man thought numbly.
The appearance of the Eternal left Nathaniel pointedly aware of exactly how real this afterlife had been to his senses. In spite of the fact that he knew he now existed in a world without physical form, his mind had translated it all as very, very real. Or so he had thought.
Now the Eternal was standing in front of him, casting doubt on every sense he had - including his own sanity.
The Eternal withdrew and looked past Nathaniel at the woman standing there. “My apologies, but Nathan and I are old friends. And we need to speak in private.”
Maribel smiled. “It is good that you have found a friend, Nate,” she said. “Perhaps he might shine some light upon the mystery of who you really are?” When the Eternal did not react to this, the woman added. “I found him suffering from some malady at the edge of town and his mind is now muddled. He believes himself to be my son, which is entirely impossible.”
The Eternal raised his hand and bowed. “Perhaps. But first, I must have a moment alone with my friend.” Saying this, the man sometimes called a phoenix pulled upon Nathaniel's arm, drawing him a short distance away.
“You must listen,” began the immortal. “As you know, this is not easy for me, since I do not move through time as you do. But you have asked me to intercept you, and so I have.”
“I have asked...?” Nathaniel's brows knit. “When would I have--”
The Eternal raised his hand again, this time to forestall the argument. “Nathan, please. You know I move opposite to your time. What for you has not yet happened has already happened for me.”
“Right,” Nathaniel rebuked himself. “But--” Nathaniel had only met the mysterious immortal once before, the guardian of a great city encased in amber. The Eternal had explained then that he was moving back through time. He could only interact with normal people because he could perceive a short time ahead of himself along the path he followed. It gave him the ability to form conversations, but it had to have been an incredibly complicated task. Every time Nathaniel gave thought to his encounter, he simply could not understand the complexity of not only learning to speak in reverse, but to also plan out every conversation you ever had.
But of course, by the Eternal's own accounts, he had had an eternity to master his skills.
“Nathan, more than ever, it is truly important that you listen and let me speak. I cannot risk you asking something which might lead to change more than what already has been.”
“Okay, you need to explain that,” demanded Nathaniel.
“Of course. Just listen.” The Eternal closed his eyes, seeming to gather his thoughts. When he opened his eyes again, they had an intensity to them that left no room for question.
“As I said, you are not dead. You have said that was your belief when you first arrived here, but that is not what has happened. You are indeed in the past, at a time when you were a young man. Before your mother died.”
Nathaniel felt his chest tighten. Before...?
The Eternal reached out and took Nathaniel by the shoulder. “You need to understand that you must not try to change the past. You are aware of things that have not yet come, and you will want to change things--”
“My mother,” said the younger man, looking across the short distance to the woman standing patiently in front of the tavern. His mind raced with opportunities, the imagined future he could share with his mother if he could only save her from the priestess... “I could save her...”
“What has passed must remain undisturbed, Nathaniel,” urged the Eternal. “I know you will ignore my words. You have told me as much. But Fate will step in and stop you. For if you were to succeed, you would be undone. I warn you all the same, because once you realize my words are true, you will need to rely upon them.”
“But you've come to warn me,” rebutted Nathaniel. “If you only tell me what is supposed to stop me--”
“I do not know, for you did not tell me. You have only sent me here to advise you. I do not know what you have done specifically, nor why you would not speak of precisely what happens next for you.”
“But... You've warned me now,” repeated Nathaniel. “I can do something different. I can--”
“Nathan, you are as much a part of this time and what happens as you always will be. You must believe in me on this - what happens in this town is predestined to happen. There are forces beyond our understanding, beyond even the Gods themselves, that prevent the very thing you seek to do from happening. Some call it Fate - it is what I feel most at ease calling it - but Fate is so much more than simply one source.”
The Eternal took a step back. “Before I became what I am - in order to become what I am - I had to understand time, how it works, how it doesn't. I needed to know how to escape an inescapable prison, and to do so, I needed to find a way to overturn time. In the end, I succeeded in doing what would have been impossible anywhere else than where I was - but it was not without first coming to understand the components of time implicitly. You would not understand terms such as paradox or causality loop, but these are real things and you are very much trapped by them. You will have to trust me--”
“You will forgive me if I do not take you completely at your word,” said Nathaniel, his back stiffening. “I have been the plaything of Gods in recent months, and no matter what your power might be, I somehow think you fall woefully short of their power. And if I can find ways to defy them, then your dark predictions will not prevent me. I will find a way. Now that you have told me where I am, I cannot not try.”
The immortal man nodded. “I understand. As I said, you have told me that you would not listen. But the warning is there, and you will act upon it. But you must learn the lessons Fate would provide for you first.”
Nathaniel tried to speak further, but the Eternal shook his head. “I am at my limit for what I can foresee, and by your perception, I must go. Mind my words, Nathan. But also remember.” The Eternal raised a single finger. “I have already lived through what has happened. You will be seeing me again soon enough.”
Without another word, the Eternal turned and walked away briskly, turning and disappearing around the edge of a nearby building within moments. Nathaniel could only stand in silence watching the immortal leave.
“Did he say something of import?” Nathaniel started at his mother's words. The woman had walked up to his side as he had watched after the Eternal.
“He... he did have a lot to say,” admitted Nathaniel. “Though I would not know where to begin...”
The woman laid a gentle hand upon Nathaniel's arm, looking after where the Eternal had disappeared. “I will admit to some disappointment that he did not stay. Yet perhaps he clarified yourself to you before he left?”
Nathaniel turned and looked into the woman's eyes. All he found there was an absolute
trust, something of a surprise to the man knowing what he did of her near future. “If I am to be honest, I do not know what answer to give you that you will accept.”
Maribel gripped Nathaniel's arm reassuringly. “All things come in their own time. For now, let us take you inside so that you might rest.”
“Mar'bel!” called Bracken from the door of the tavern. “Ya comin' 'r ya 'cided to stay out'n the street?”
Maribel leaned in conspiratorially. “It's the dwarf's way of saying he cares,” she whispered. Aloud, she called, “Coming now, Good Dwarf.”
As the two mounted the steps, Nathaniel could not help but jibe his old friend - the one who did not yet know that he was. “I thought dwarves were as patient as a stone in the ground.”
The dwarf stiffened. “Ya tryin' ta call me ou', boy?”
Nathaniel only smiled, walking past the shorter man, allowing himself to fall into the familiarity of the place. He had grown up around the Wyrm's Fang, even lived here for several years. His feet upon the ground here felt as natural as breathing. In his own time, this place had burned to the ground, but now - in the past, if the Eternal was to be believed - the building still stood. The rustic smell of wood and smoke, the tinted scent of whatever it was Bracken used to polish the floors - which also served to clean any surface the dwarf felt needed it. Even the slightly sour smell of the ale that had seeped into the wood from so many spills through the years. Every odor was precisely as he remembered.
“Dwarf, your boy's cheating, I say!” called a loud voice from across the room.
Bracken barreled past Nathaniel in his rush to answer the charge. “Nat'anyel's ne'er chea'ed a day'n 'is life, ya Kafer!”
The time-lost man's skin tingled at the exchange. Nat'anyel? His breath stuck in his chest as his eyes followed the path that Bracken had taken, though in truth he had not needed to know where the dwarf was heading. There was a place in the tavern reserved for players of the Game, and Nathaniel remembered the exchange. The world around the man quickly became surreal as he found himself watching from outside the details of his own memory.
At a table against the far wall, a lanky young man sat across the table from a portly older one. The young man had sat back in his chair, his hands clutching to three cards far tighter than they had been a moment before. As Bracken walked up, the portly man stood and towered over the younger man, his arm raised, ready to strike.
“I'll not be cheated, dwarf! I won't!” bellowed the man, his words accompanied by spittle on every syllable.
The heavy man cocked his arm a second time, as if somehow building up greater force for his swing. But Bracken reached the table before the obese man could set his arm in motion. With a shove that sent the young man sprawling, the dwarf inserted himself into the arc of the large man's intended blow.
“Go 'head,” growled the dwarf. “Take th' swing'n see how long ya still 'as an arm.”
The large man flushed, lowering his arm, though his anger did not relent. “This child cheated. I want my wager reimbursed by the house!”
The dwarf snarled, the effect squinting his left eye, giving the right a piercing look. “So's tha's yer kind, is't?”
“Now yer gonna slur me, too?” The obese man's words remained just as harsh, but even at a distance Nathaniel could see his features waver. He was shifting from attacking to defending now that he had been accused of something.
“Ya go af'er the weak, figurin' they's easy marks, then bellow when ya canno' win, so's ya win no ma'er wha'? Well, no' 'ere ya don'. No' 'ere.”
A dagger appeared embedded in the table between the two men, Bracken's movement so quick that even when he knew it was coming, Nathaniel only saw the dwarf's hand fall away. The strike itself had been at best a blur.
“The Game 'as rules fer yer kin'.” The dwarf's tone was low and guttural, yet it held all the force of one of his loudest bellows. “Yer deck is forfei'. I' goes to the 'ouse as pen'lty fer foul play.”
The offended man blustered. “You're going to side with this child? Why, I've never been so offended in my life! Do you even know who I am? I am Ferdinand Lurion! I've played in all the great contests! I am a champion in--”
“If'n yew 'ere a champyen, yew'd be in Carland 'r some ot'er nation playin' fer a mastershi', no' wanderin' the Wildelan's.”
The man puffed up his chest. “Just so. It was where I was on my way to when I came across your quaint little village. Why, I've played Lord Justin himself--”
“An' been banished, mos' like,” interrupted the dwarf. “Yer a scoun'rel an' yer no' welcome here. Go pester Lor' Justin, if'n tha's who ya really be.”
The large man stared blankly at the dwarf a moment longer, then made to reach for his cards. Bracken's hand was immediately upon the hilt of the dagger.
“I sed,” growled the dwarf, “tha' yer deck be forfei'.”
The portly man's hand held tightly to his cards, but he did not make an effort to take them from the table. “You can't be serious.”
Bracken's only response was to glare menacingly.
The large man had begun to sweat profusely at some point, and now sweat dripped upon the table as he tried to stand off against the inn's proprietor. “You call me a scoundrel, but you are the thief. These are mine and you have no claim to them.”
“They be forefei' fer foul play,” repeated Bracken. “Tha's claim 'nough.”
“I'll bring the Lord's guard back--”
“An' I'll thank ya fer i' as I claim me own charges 'gainst yew fer cheatin' in my bus'ness. An' I'll 'ave the 'ole town b'hind me. Who'll yew 'ave?”
The large man's hand holding desperately onto his cards began to tremble, spasming from squeezing onto them for some kind of measured support. He held the position for a moment longer, his gaze going around the room, looking for anyone who might have supported his bid. But Nathaniel knew there was no one in the room who would offer any measure of support to the man. He was alone in a sea of enemies, a town united around their own. He had never stood a chance.
Bracken had earned his place in Oaken Wood. He had come here, built a reputable business and supported his neighbors. None ever had an ill thing to say against the dwarf, and this stranger who had set upon trying to bully a win from a teenage opponent certainly was not going to be the wedge to drive any of the townsfolk against the tavern's proprietor. And with a sickened appearance quickly spreading over his porcine features, the foreign player in the room realized it, as well.
But it still did not stop him from making one last effort to oppose the dwarf. A wicked smile spread across his face as he launched his last defense. “And what will you do to enforce your petty rule, dwarf? As you say, we are in the Wildelands. Your town has no outpost, no town militia. Would you murder me to take my property?”
At these words, the room was suddenly filled with the sounds of scraping furniture as the half dozen patrons in the room rose at once. The message was clear: Bracken does not stand alone.
The portly man swallowed hard, his eyes darting about in panic at the four men and one woman who now stood in their places, looking somberly across the room at him. Whether he could have bested the surly dwarf may have been of question, but even this man knew he could not overcome an entire town. His bluff called, the man finally withdrew his grip from his cards.
“Would you also take my purse and the clothes from my back as well?” the large man growled.
“Jus' yer cards,” said the dwarf, cocking his head for the door. “Though if yew'd like ta press the' ma'er more, we ken always take those, 's well.”
The large man tugged at his shirt, as though he were pulling himself together after a brawl. He gave one more look about the room, apparently looking for any break in the solidarity surrounding him. Finding none, he threw his head back and marched for the exit.
At first, it looked as though the he intended to say no more, but as he reached the door, the robust man turned one last time and called, “I will be back for my property.” He did not wait for
a response, hastening out the door into the lengthening shadows of late day.
Bracken wasted not a moment in turning and offering the young man a hand up. He had remained upon the ground where Bracken had shoved him, too stunned by the scene to do anything more. “Ya alrigh', young Nat'anyel?”
The teen blushed and took the dwarf's offered hand. “I didn't cheat, Bracken,” he said as he pulled himself erect. “It was a fair win.”
Bracken slapped the young man on the back heartily. “I know, la'. I know.” The dwarf's hand rested on the young man's shoulder as he guided him back to where Nathaniel and Maribel stood. “Nat'anyel, may I int'rduce ya to yer namesake, Nate.” At this, the dwarf gave the young man a light push, sending him forward alone to face the elder Nathaniel.
An odd sense of anamnesis overcame the elder man. He had not at first remembered being introduced to himself - the memory of the day had largely been of the porcine man who had threatened him for losing the game - but now that he was looking down at his younger self, he did remember, if in a somewhat dissociated way. He remembered looking up at himself, taking his own hand - which at the time he had no way of knowing was his own - and shaking it. Remembered saying in time with the man...
“Well met,” the two Nathaniel's said together, the younger from politeness, the elder saying the words from recall.
“Nate has some trouble with his memory,” explained Maribel. “I found him at the edge of town, overcome with some strange malady. I healed him, but his memory...” The woman shrugged, indicating she did not really have an answer as for what was wrong with the elder Nathaniel. Then her face grew thoughtful. “He does seem to know you though, Nathan. Have you met him before, by chance?”
The younger Nathaniel shook his head. “Sorry, Mother. I have never seen him before.”
“No, he wouldn't know me,” offered the elder version. “Though you could say that I know him very well.”
It was an incredibly awkward feeling Nathaniel had towards his younger self. On one hand, there was a distinct pleasure in seeing his younger self, the innocent young man who had suffered nothing worse than a spring fever in his entire life. His mother had sheltered him, provided for him, never having the young man want for anything. There had never been any real conflict in the young man's life. In fact, the porcine man's display had been the greatest threat the young man had faced in his entire life - and Bracken had fought that battle for him.