Two (The Godslayer Cycle Book 2) Page 32

  “What are you doing here, Ankor?” The Pantheon's Avatar addressed the Prankster directly. “This wasn't part of the plan!”

  “Plan?” quipped the robed deity, appearing without notice at Kelvor's side. “Wait, Kelvor. We need to hear this.”

  As the God of Justice lowered Nathaniel to the ground again, his companion asked, “What do you mean by that, mortal?”

  “Don't listen to him,” laughed Ankor, swirling his finger around his temple. “Guy's gone a bit looney from all the air Kelvor kept from his brain.”

  The robed God ignored his Lesser companion and asked again, “What did you mean?”

  Nathaniel made as if to withhold the information, then gave in. “By the Pit, he's obviously playing both sides. Why should I protect him?”

  Kelvor glared at the God of Mischief. “Yes, we agree.” For good measure, he shook his captive roughly. “Tell us what you mean.”

  “He's the Trickster, isn't he? The one you're never supposed to believe? Not sure why I believed in him when he claimed to want to switch sides, knowing that.”

  “Switch sides?” growled Kelvor, his helm actually beginning to glow.

  Ankor tried to move between Kelvor and his prisoner. “Don't listen to him! He's a patsy of the Old Gods! He'd say anything to confuse us right now!”

  “You're probably right,” agreed the robed God. “But then again, he is also right in naming you the Trickster God. Not a one of us should ever believe what you say, for you so rarely say what you truly mean.”

  “Galentine!” cried Ankor, gripping his chest in mock pain. “You wound me! Through and through!”

  “So the Prankster has been helping the Godslayer,” said Kelvor, shifting his grip to Nathaniel's throat. “We suspected as much, already. So we can deal with him once this pretender is destroyed.”

  The God named Galentine tried to intercede. “Kelvor, there is more we need to know!”

  But the God of Justice would not be dissuaded this time. His strength increased and the pressure on Nathaniel's trachea would soon crush it. Desperately, Nathaniel cast his eyes in desperation towards his lifeline, the sword embedded in the ground so far away. In desperation he reached his arm out for it...

  A loud clap of air nearly deafened the mortal man, but inexplicably he found himself on the ground beside the sword. Wasting no time in trying to make reason out of what had happened at that moment, he gripped the hilt and pulled Two from its earthly sheath.

  Once more, Nathaniel stood on his own two feet, this time with the confidence of the Old Gods' power at his disposal. Instinctively, he reached for the sword's power and marveled at how readily it responded. He could feel the throb of the ocean behind him, the wafting molecules of water drifting in the air. He could sense the flow of liquids in living things for miles around. But most importantly, he could sense the complete absence of any liquids in the bodies of the beings before him.

  To the sword, these beings were unnatural, and Two's new wielder could taste the blade's thirst to eliminate them from existence. It was an ambition shared by the man who wielded the blade now.

  Another emotion lingered in the blade, however – relief. Unmistakably, the sword was relieved to be free. Nathaniel could feel the dark resentment the sword felt for all the harm it had been made to cause, and knew instinctively that the sword embraced him as its bearer if for no other reason than the freedom it now gained from the delivery of such pain.

  So these swords can actually know humanity, marveled Nathaniel.

  Yet the man had no more time for reflection of his sword's feelings. The Gods of the New Order were standing in confusion at the incredible disappearance of their prey, and they were looking around for where he had vanished to.

  A memory flashed in Nathaniel's mind – he had done this before. He had once been moved from his home several miles distant to what ended up being the ruins of Bracken's inn, the Wyrm's Fang Tavern. At the time, he had assumed it was the power of the Old Gods, responding to his need to try to rescue his son. Now, he recognized it for what it was – a manifestation of a power of his own. It had to be linked to the Avatar matrix, like his inexplicable knowledge of swordsmanship or bowyery. If he survived this battle, he would have to find which of the Old Gods to thank for this particular blessing – for it had saved his life.

  “He's over there!” shouted Kelvor, finally spying where Nathaniel stood.

  The God of Justice did not move – or at least, he did not appear to move exactly. He more appeared to melt out of existence and reappear right in front of Nathaniel, again reaching his mailed fist out for the mortal's throat.

  But this mortal was prepared this time. Without any warning, Nathaniel shoved Two in front of him and let the God's own blind justice impale himself upon the blade.

  The helmed face twisted in an odd imitation of shock, though Nathaniel had no way of knowing how any emotion could register on a featureless surface. Remarkably, the metal of the helm flowed, elongated before the man's eyes, and an opening that could almost be called a mouth appeared. There were no teeth, gums or tongue to mark what one would otherwise identify with such an orifice, however – only a gaping, dark hole.

  The God reached down and fumbled at whatever it was that held him in place, for it was plain that the deity could not see the sword. His hands moved across it, even through it, but his form could not grasp the source of his discomfiture. The dark opening in his face made a gasping sound, ostensibly trying to find a sound to make audible his distress. Then he found it.

  Throwing his head back, the God of Justice suddenly emitted a howl unlike any mortal voice could ever manufacture. It reached out and vibrated every nerve in Nathaniel's body, its very force conveying sheer and utter agony of a sort no man alive could ever have envisioned.

  And then the phantom forms began to coalesce in the air around him. Just as it had with Imery, the God's mortal wound was drawing in all of its other manifestations, all forms of existence it maintained throughout the mortal world and the dimensions beyond. With Imery, though, Nathaniel had only been able to see the forms the flickered in and out of the light of the fire. Now, it was daylight and the sky quickly filled with the infinite number of alternate forms that the God of Justice had created for himself.

  Imery's spectral selves had tried to resist, to keep from being drawn into the center of her destruction. But for the God of Justice, it was different. Nathaniel sensed that these forms were not trying to escape destruction, but instead were flocking to the heart of the danger to bolster the strength of the God. It was as though the God were of the belief that justice – given enough fortitude – could overcome anything.

  In this, justice was wrong. For coming together only hastened the God's demise.

  As each new form flowed into and merged with Kelvor's impaled manifestation, the God's body shuddered and more and more power leached away from his body and down the blade of the sword. Nathaniel felt even more power drawing from this death than he had from Imery's. Yet he sensed it was not because this God was more powerful, so much as it was he had become a more tempered vessel for the flow of power.

  At last, the final ethereal form merged with the central body. At the last moment, the God's plated face melted away, and a childish face of pure innocence appeared. The true face of justice was revealed in that last moment, that of a naïve child who was incapable of understanding anything else but its own existence.

  Then with a final shudder, the last image of Kelvor, God of Justice, shattered into a million fragments of soft white energy, flowing down and off of the sword, released at last from the binding that had fragmented his very existence.

  “Kelvor!” The God known as Galentine was standing in the spot behind that previously held by the God of Justice, his eyes wide with disbelief. Nathaniel only wished he could remember what dominion this one was supposed to oversee. It might have helped in knowing what kind of threat he continued to pose. Would he flee in the face of his brethren's death, or would he s
tand and fight?

  Galentine's face twisted in rage as he focused his fury at the Godslayer standing before him. He opened his mouth to vent his rage...

  Then gasped in horror as another blade swung down from behind, arcing through his right shoulder and coming to halt in the region near where a mortal heart would be. The God's mouth worked, trying to enunciate what he was feeling, but he could not be heard.

  Nathaniel witnessed what it was like to see a God's demise from the outside looking in. Twice now, he had been at the heart of a God's destruction. Now he was the bystander looking on.

  As before, the phantom forms took shape in the air around them, the sky filling as far as the human eye could see with ghostly counterparts of the robed deity. These forms reacted much as had Imery's – they fought being drawn into the maelstrom of their own destruction. They were equally powerless to defy the gravitational pull the sword's magic manufactured, yet circled in ever tightening rotations as they tried with desperation to flee the abyss they were being drawn into. One by one, the ghostly forms came into contact with the central form and were sucked into his being. As each moment passed, fewer and fewer duplicates were in the air, as more and more joined with their core version.

  Finally, no more dopplegangers existed, only one form of the God existing in the one micro-spot of existence, where it had formerly occupied an infinite number of places. Galentine's eyes gained a strange nobility at the end, as though he somehow had gained acceptance for what was to come next. The look of peace upon his face expressed forgiveness and glory.

  Galentine took one final breath and released it. And with his last breath, his body simply dissolved. There was no great burst of energy – he simply relaxed and let go, the white fragments of his former self drifting easily to the earth below.

  Standing behind the former robed God stood Avery, One held level before him. “Seems you're not the only Godslayer, anymore.”

  Across the gap between them, the two wielders of the only two of the Nine yet awake in the land shared a look. They held each others' gaze for what seemed an eternity before Nathaniel finally gave a nod. Avery returned the gesture and in the space of a heartbeat, vanished once again.

  The silence in Nathaniel's ears was deafening. After all that had happened, the quiet was inexplicably overwhelming. His veins pulsed with new power, yet his hands shook with a weakness he could not identify.

  Panic filled Nathaniel's mind when he realized he had not accounted for the third God. He raised Two defensively, casting around for any sign of the Prankster, but it appeared that the God of Mischief had vanished, as well.

  Delicately, the sword's new bearer lowered himself to the ground to retrieve Two's sheath. It did not have any means by which he could strap it to his back as he had with Avery's crude belt made from course rope. Yet somehow it was fitting that he not so quickly set the blade out of his grip.

  With great care, the man sheathed Two, feeling a moment of satisfaction before the emotions of the sword disappeared from his perceptions. It was odd, but he somehow felt closer to this sword than he had to One. There had always been a resentment in the other blade that was completely absent from this one. He could not explain it, but this sword simply – accepted him.

  People had begun to return to the site of the battle before Nathaniel returned to his senses. He found that he had somehow fallen to sit on his posterior, the sheathed sword lying across his knees. And he honestly had no memory whatsoever of sitting.

  In the distance, a horn blared and shouts could be heard. “Make way! Make way!”

  The lone victor reached beneath himself and leveraged himself up off the ground. He found willing hands to his side to raise him to a standing position. For that he was grateful, for his legs shook ferociously.

  Soldiers on horseback could now be seen making their way through the streets, a pinioned banner flying two horses back, identifying the riders as wardens of Carland.

  Well, that was to be expected, thought Nathaniel. The military was bound to ride in and take credit. Just as well.

  “Lord Avery!” called the lead rider “Lord Goodsmith! Has anyone seen either of these men?”

  Nathaniel weakly raised the hand holding his newly acquired sword. “I'm here,” he called.

  Aaron broke from the regiment and rode up to where Nathaniel stood, his weight supported by a strong fisherman. The soldier reached down, offering his gauntleted hand in greeting.

  “Well met, it seems,” said the rider, gripping Nathaniel's hand tightly. “Do you know the fate of Lord Avery?”

  “He's gone,” said Nathaniel. “You just missed him.”

  Aaron raised himself up, looking about the streets hopefully. “That's a shame. I would like to have offered my gratitude to him, as well.”

  The weak man laughed ironically. “Hard as it is for me to admit, I think he would have actually deserved it this time.”

  Nathaniel gave a grateful nod to the man helping him stand, then moved away from his support.

  “Where are you going?” called Aaron. “What exactly happened here?”

  Nathaniel suddenly found his exit blocked as Aaron moved his horse to intercept the retreating hero. “I could have you detained, force you to answer my questions.”

  The reluctant Avatar looked up wearily at the soldier. “But you won't,” he responded. “Or you would have ordered me stopped rather than appeal to me personally.”

  Aaron struggled with the frank observation, but finally nodded his head.

  “Besides,” continued Nathaniel, “you'll find more answers from everyone who witnessed what happened the entire time, not just what I saw at the end. Let their stories be what you write in your report for Lord Justin.”

  “Where will you go then? How can we find you if we need answers these people cannot give?”

  Nathaniel smiled ruefully, his eyes cast longingly at the horizon. “I am going to take the advice of someone I had never thought to before,” he answered. “I am tired, and I am going home to rest.”

  “And where is home?”

  The man known by some as Avatar, by others as Godslayer, and by those closest to him as friend and companion, laughed softly and answered.

  “Oaken Wood. I am returning to Oaken Wood.”

  Epilogue

  “And what exactly are you complaining about?” asked Ankor, leaning against the wall made of clouds.

  It was always so confusing for the God of Mischief when visiting these Pantheon types – One never knew what part of their disparate demesnes you would be visiting. So far, he had visited Charith's region devoted to death (dreary and colorless) and what he assumed was Malik's domain of war (all twisted and dark corridors). But today he was visiting Charith's domain of life, and the clash between the God's counter-domain could not have been any more striking.

  Charith's region of death was comprised of stone halls with colorless, drab imagery consumed with the wails of lost souls throughout. Here in the demesne of life, it was all white clouds, delicate paisley colors and soft, melodious music.

  Ankor had come here immediately after leaving Levitz to share the news of his brothers' deaths with his illicit compatriots. Unfortunately, where he had envisioned warm and joyous greeting, the Pantheon Gods were instead a tad more upset with him than he felt was proper.

  “I do not know how I could be more clear,” proclaimed Malik, his great masculine voice booming through the oh-so serene environment. “Our purpose in this... let's call it a partnership for the moment... Our reason for entering this partnership with you was to avoid your fellow Gods finding out about the swords. Instead, by all reports, you led two of them to the site of the second sword and set them on one of our mortal agents.”

  Ankor perked up his head. “Agent? When do Gods have agents? We have servants, worshippers, faithful, but an agent? Blasphemy!”

  The elegance of Charith's dark, flowing dress contradicted the sour look upon her beautiful face. “You know who we are talking about, Trickster
.”

  “Yes, yes.” The God of Mischief waved his hand dismissively. “This so-called, Godslayer, who's really not the Godslayer. I believe his name is Nathaniel Goodsmith of Oaken Wood. Am I right?”

  Malik glowered. “You know it is.”

  “Yes, and you insist on calling him your agent. Why do you call him that, I wonder?”

  Malik opened his mouth to respond, but Charith raised her hand in caution. “You are trying to change the subject. Answer first why you would break our agreement and inform your other Gods about the swords.”

  “But I didn't tell them about the swords,” said Ankor, adopting an innocent expression. “I told you before – they were after whoever slew Imery, and that happened to be your Godslayer. I was bound by Greater Powers to reveal his location if I discovered it. And, to be honest, going along with that direction was the only way I could excuse the liberties I took in keeping knowledge of the actual swords from them.”

  The two Pantheon Gods only stared in response. Ankor made an elaborate sigh, then continued. “Look. The New Order wants to know who killed Imery. Kelvor and Galentine charged me with finding out who it was.”

  “Why you of all people?” asked Malik.

  “Because I happened to be in Scollhaven while Imery was investigating Avery's appearance, and it was assumed I had something to do with her death. The only way I could gain any liberty to track down the real killer was to accept their terms.”

  Charith stepped forward, her deadly beauty giving power to her words. “So you say you were giving them information on the one Avery called the Godslayer, but you had to know that would lead your brethren to the swords. So how is this not a violation of our truce?”

  “Because,” yawned Ankor, “if any God was going to wander in blindly to confront someone responsible for killing a God without first asking how the deed was done, I knew it would be Gods of Honor and Justice. And since they knew nothing of the swords, and none of us can actually sense the swords, I took a gamble on the chance your boy could get the upper hand.”