Two (The Godslayer Cycle Book 2) Page 21

  “No' where 'e wants us ta go, Nate. How 'bout where 'e don' want us ta go.”

  “But where would that be?”

  Bracken's face went still as stone. “Where 'e said there was nothin' left, o' course. 'E said Levitz were gone, din't he? Mayhaps 'e told ya all the rest to give ya a reason ta no' go to Levitz first. If'n y someone knew 'boutcha, some'ne who knew where ya was goin' ta be, an'' tha' some'ne were an all-pow'rful God, wouldn' ya want somethin' to pertect yerself?”

  Brea could see the inner strife Bracken's words had upon Nathan. “By the Pit! And that was exactly what I was thinking – that maybe we could outsmart Ankor and Malik alike and go after whatever it was that could ward off a God.”

  Bracken nodded. “An' if tha' were jus' wha' Malik wanted?”

  Nathaniel scowled. “We need to ride straight for Levitz. If there's something there Malik wants to keep from me, then I think we need to find out what it is sooner rather than later.”

  Chapter 14

  The details of everything substantial was fading. There was very little color left, and nothing was solid to the touch. Even details that appeared substantial were in reality nothing more than echoes of the objects they had once been. Without Imery's will, the energy that had become physically manifest was dissolving into the aether.

  Only two islands of solidity existed within this realm. Two beings stood at the center of the nothingness, taking in all that remained of their sister.

  Ironically enough, no place was safer for a clandestine meeting than here. None of the other Gods wished to dwell upon their sister's mortality, and so they shied away from her demesne. It was also impossible for any other being to conceal themselves here, for there was no substance with which to hide themselves. There simply was not a shadow left – real or manufactured – that could hide anything within the former realm of the Goddess of Truth.

  “He's up to something, you realize,” said Kelvor without pretense.

  “When is he not?” responded Galentine.

  “Have you gleaned any clues as to what game he is playing?”

  “None. Ankor plays his cards close to his vest, as he ever does. We will not likely know his game until he deigns to spring the jest on us all.”

  Galentine sighed heavily. “I must admit, I feel shame playing our own game with him. It goes against my very nature.”

  Kelvor inclined his helmed visage to the side. “It sits well with Justice. It is appropriate that one who has manipulated and deceived his brethren for so long should be met in kind.”

  “But it is not honorable, my brother.”

  “Was Imery's death honorable? Or that one of our lesser brothers knows the name of her murderer, yet will not relinquish it so that justice may be delivered?”

  “We do not know for certain that Ankor knows who killed Imery,” amended the God of Honor.

  “You believe it as surely as do I,” Kelvor rebutted.

  “I may believe it, but there is no honor in accusing without proof.”

  “If he is defending our sister's killer, then justice demands he be dealt with harshly and without delay.”

  “You said it,” said Galentine, turning to face his fellow God for the first time. “If. If we are correct, and if Ankor knows who killed Imery, then honor and justice would be satisfied. But we don't know. Not for certain. And without that certainty, there can be no justice, especially if we're wrong.”

  Kelvor growled behind his helm. “We will never have proof, Galentine. You know this. It is better to act upon belief than to not act at all.”

  “So blind justice? No, I cannot abide by that. I will not. Even against the Prankster.”

  Kelvor turned his helmed features towards his brother deity, his stature forcing him to tilt his head downward. Despite the smooth, featureless mask he wore, Kelvor gave every impression of staring at the God of Honor for several minutes. Galentine likewise returned the stare, the pair poised as still as monuments as they each silently sought to impose their will upon the other.

  Galentine relented first, turning his gaze once more upon the fading remnants of their deceased kin. “We will never agree on this, Kelvor. And since we cannot reach consensus, we must not act at all. If we are to continue our silent investigation, we must not challenge each other. We must remain true to the task that Imery set upon us.”

  “To find the source of the Old God's magic within the mortal realm,” agreed the God of Justice.

  “It is still unknown what severed Scollhaven from our mutual resources, brother. So long as that threat still exists, we must remain true to that. Yes, Imery's death is significant, and it cannot be denied that her death is somehow linked to this. But I still believe that the best way to find who killed Imery is to first find who severed our link to our faithful.”

  “And Ankor's story of this Avery person is still our best lead,” added Kelvor grudgingly. “A mortal whom we cannot find, in spite of his claims to be of Godly descent. Does it not seem odd that the only source of information about this Avery person comes from Ankor? Isn't it possible that the Prankster made this man out of his own imagination?”

  “There is another source of collaboration,” corrected Galentine. “My former priest whom Avery severed from the divine. He spoke quite efficaciously of Avery and his pretense of being a God. Ankor insists he is not one of the Old Gods in disguise as we once believed, but there is no doubt that he is not the fancy of our brother's deviant mind.”

  “Yet we also know that there is another person whom Avery has named a Godslayer who he lives in fear of. Ankor claims to not know who this reborn Godslayer is, just as he insists that Avery could not be the one who slew Imery. So where does that leave us, if we take Ankor at his word? If there is a new Godslayer walking the realms, and Ankor is for some reason protecting him--”

  “Please, brother,” interrupted Galentine. “We have been over this time and again. There needs to come a point when we move forward, not dwell upon the mysteries we already cannot divine.”

  Kelvor chuckled. “You sound like Corus.”

  Galentine blanched at his being compared to the God of Knowledge. “Please do not draw that comparison, or we'll start talking about how mortals call you and Elevan one and the same for the final justice represented by death.”

  Kelvor fell silent, the reference sufficient to stay his ridicule. But after a moment, he asked, “So – do we summon him? And if we do, how much do we say?”

  “We summon him,” Galentine said. “Again. And we don't say anything. We ask. And we keep asking until we find the right question.”

  It took only a moment once decided upon for their action to manifest. Without any pretense or forewarning, Ankor simply appeared before his brethren.

  Immediately, the Prankster emulated a deep and reverent bow. “And how may I be of humble service to my greater brothers?” There was no mistaking the emphasis placed upon the word 'greater', nor that he really did not mean the words he said.

  “Mockery will not aid us in this, Ankor,” said Galentine. “And you know we must speak frequently if we are to be kept abreast of your progress.”

  “Well, I wouldn't be so quick to call it progress,” quipped the Lesser God. “But I see great advancement in our cause very soon.”

  “How so?”

  “My faithful continues to watch Avery, the wannabe God,” supplied Ankor. “They move with a specific destination, and I have reason to believe that if we wait patiently, he will draw the Godslayer to him there. Then we will be able to confront the person who killed Imery.”

  “That is significant, if it's true,” said Kelvor.

  Ankor cocked his head, a mocking smile splayed across his face. “You would doubt me? With so much riding on this?”

  “Considering who you are, and what you are,” responded Kelvor, “yes.”

  Ankor grabbed at his chest dramatically. “You wound me, brother. And I have been trying so very hard to be a good God, only speaking truth as my future station would
require.”

  “Truth does not include only what is said,” provided Galentine. “It also includes that which is not said.”

  “Oh, I see,” mused Ankor. “You think I'm keeping secrets.”

  “Aren't you?” demanded Kelvor and Galentine in unison.

  The Prankster laughed. “No more than you are. I may aspire to be the new God of Truth, but I must continue to honor my present station, as well. But I assure you, I truly am doing very little in this exchange to misdirect anyone. And none of it is directed your way, for once.”

  “Then tell us where we can find Avery so we can deal with this upstart ourselves,” demanded Kelvor.

  “So what? You can go barreling in and kill him for his blasphemy? Then how would we find the Godslayer?”

  Ankor bowed his head, shaking it from side to side. “You say you know me, but don't forget I also know you, Kelvor. Galentine might keep his word about waiting, but you will feel compelled to charge in and force Avery to reveal what he knows, and that would be disastrous towards our need for information. I assure you, I only keep this information from you for the benefit of us all.”

  “He does have a point,” said Galentine. “As reluctant as I am to admit it, you are somewhat impulsive in your pursuit of justice.”

  If possible, Kelvor's helmed visage appeared to become even more rigid. “Justice does not compromise,” he responded.

  “Precisely,” said Ankor. “I can't tell you where Avery is, or where he is going. My nature is to manipulate and deceive for mischief. You need to learn to trust me with what I do well. Very well. And you need to trust that when the time is right, I will tell you precisely where to go to exact your revenge.”

  “And yet you are able to keep critical information from us, and we have no way of knowing whether you are actually doing anything, at all,” amended Kelvor. “You say you trust Galentine? Then at the very least, share your knowledge with him so at least one of us can verify it.”

  “No, I said I could trust Galentine not to act on the information, but I never said he could be trusted with it,” said the Prankster, smirking. “The moment I tell him where Avery is, his honor would demand he share the information with you and we would be right back to the risk of upsetting my scheme all over again.”

  Galentine closed his eyes and sighed. “Agreed. We took oath to work together and share all we learned, Kelvor. I would be honor bound to share the information.”

  “So what, do we need to bring in another God to act as go between here?” Kelvor exclaimed, his temper flaring. “You manipulate, as you say, but you are manipulating us, no matter what else you say!”

  Galentine placed his hand upon Kelvor's arm. “Be calm, Kelvor, or you will undo all we have managed to accomplish so far.”

  Kelvor thrust his arm free. “My patience grows thin, and you wish me to be calm? He is playing yet another game, and we are his pawns!”

  “It is his nature,” Galentine offered, “but he is not wrong in what he says. We all have our natures. Mine is bound by honor, yours by justice. Ankor's domain is mischief. He cannot not be what he is, any more than we can be. But he has been honest with us about it, even his reasons. Which is far more than I can ever recall from him in the past.”

  Kelvor fell silent, the rage radiating off of him dissipating slowly. “In that, you may be correct. I likewise can never recall a time when the Prankster bothered to ever explain his reasons for manipulation. Perhaps I have been too hasty here.”

  “So, friends now?” Ankor held up his small finger. “Pinky pals?”

  Kelvor's tense posture reasserted itself. “I may be willing to acknowledge you have merit in what you choose to keep secret,” he growled. “But it does not mean I have to abide your disrespect. Galentine, he's all yours to deal with.”

  In an instant, the God of Justice had vanished, leaving his greater and lesser companions behind.

  “You realize,” said Galentine, “that you can't continue to disrespect Greater Powers and not someday be held accountable for it? You will have a day of reckoning sooner or later.”

  “Oh, I know,” said Ankor innocently. “I'm looking forward to it.”

  * * *

  “We have to stop this,” said Dart for perhaps the hundredth time. She kept saying it, but with each reiteration, she believed her own conviction less and less.

  “No, we do not,” responded the Witness, repeating himself the same objection he kept saying over and again.

  “Sooner or later, he's going to choose us for his stupid game, and he only seems to get stronger each time he sacrifices someone to that sword,” argued Dart. “If he gets more powerful from killing normal people, can you imagine how much stronger he will be if he kills an immortal?”

  It had been five days now since the man known as Gravin had sealed away the town of Levitz. In that time, he had terrorized the town, exacting some personal interpretation of vengeance against the residents of the town.

  None within the boundaries of the town had actually done anything to harm the man. The true culprits had apparently died at sea during the strange firestorm a dozen days gone by now. And yet he insisted that someone must be made to answer for the crimes perpetuated against him. And if he could not exact his revenge upon the men who had wronged him, then he would do so upon anyone unfortunate enough to be where those people should have been.

  Several times a day he called a challenge against the townsfolk and selected one to stand against his challenge. None succeeded, of course, but Gravin apparently perceived this as justification for what he did.

  The challenge consisted of the offer for any man or woman to seize the sword which Gravin had embedded in the floor of the tavern and use it to free the town from its captivity. He insisted that anyone who commanded the sword would be able to release the wall of water that prevented any from leaving. It was implied, as well, that anyone who could wrest control of the sword from Gravin could also slay their tormentor.

  From what Dart could determine, there was no way to actually win the contest. There existed some kind of bond between the man and his sword. Even though he was not in physical contact with the blade, he still commanded its power. Which meant that for someone to actually take the sword would require that Gravin must first release his control over it. And clearly, he had no intention of doing so.

  Many methods had been tried to overcome the trial. Most would rush for the sword, only to have water rise up around the body of the steel and attack the perpetrator. The water somehow took on the substance of a million razors as it sliced and massacred anyone who attempted this method. Yet still, the general consensus was that if someone could wrench the sword free of the floor before the water could rise up, that this was the best way to defeat the test. So far, none had even budged the sword.

  The second most common method was to try to attack Gravin directly. Three had tried this, only to have waters rise and thrust them back and away. They were then directed to either take their turn trying for the sword or be executed where they lay. One had even tried to stab Gravin from behind while he watched another try for the sword, only to have his arm severed by a string of water that wrapped around his wrist and cutting it clean away.

  Two had tried to refuse to participate at all. And each of them had simply been beheaded by a stream of water, and another selected to take the challenge. Needless to say, this method was only tried by the first two challengers, and had not been attempted since.

  The sword itself was a mystery to Dart, as well. It existed – she could see it with her eyes – but whatever power it actually emanated left the area around the sword void to her percipience. She had ever had the ability to detect magical energies, but there seemed none at all around this sword. Nor for that matter was there any magic residing within Gravin himself. And yet, there was no mistaking the power that was being manifested. There was power, but it was a power that was completely foreign to Dart's own experiences.

  “He won't kill us,” said the Witness
. “He knows who we are, and he wants me at least to watch.”

  That's new. “What makes you think he knows who you are?” asked Dart. “And why haven't you mentioned that before now?”

  The Witness shrugged. “I was not certain myself until a few minutes ago. This sword – if that's what it really is – is not the same thing that affected Scollhaven, but it is similar. The paths are changing again, and it is more than a little disorienting for me.”

  “So again,” insisted Dart. “How do you know that? What have you seen?”

  “Likely, he 'as seen me talkin' ta him,” came a voice from behind Dart.

  The lady immortal leaped from her chair, a dagger appearing in her hand. It was not easy for anyone to approach her without her being aware of it, yet Gravin had demonstrated a keen ability to move about without setting off her intuition. The man almost gave the impression of not being entirely there, and this strange flux allowed him to slip between Dart's normal perceptions.

  Gravin glared at the woman. “Ya kin either put tha' away 'r lose it.”

  Grudgingly, Dart sheathed the dagger. “Instinct,” she grumbled as way of explanation, resuming her seat. Still, she could not allow herself to relax, and remained rigid in her chair.

  The town's captor did not bother acknowledging her response before turning to the Witness. “Yer the Witness then, righ'?”

  The immortal watcher nodded. “I am.”

  “Is it true yer drawn ta big things, that yer bein' here means that what I'm doin' is important?”

  The Witness flinched, and Dart commented, “Told you.”

  “Normally, I would confirm what you say,” said the Witness. “Things have changed though.”

  “Changed? In what way?” Gravin pulled a chair over to him, sitting in it reverse style so he could lean upon the back and still face the Witness. The man who had demonstrated nothing more than contempt for anyone else now appeared to emulate only admiration for the immortal in front of him.

  Serious case of man-love here, thought Dart. Wonder if there's a way to use that?