One (The Godslayer Cycle Book 1) Read online

  Nathaniel could only stare in confusion. Clearly, the man had been privy to the conversation between Bracken, the strange woman and himself. But to so affront Nathaniel with such familiarity took Nathaniel off guard. Had this even odder man been listening outside the inn, or had the woman somehow informed him of what had been said and then sent this man after him?

  The man winked. “Took your own time getting here, Nathan. But here you are, at last!”

  “And who are you that any of this is your concern? An exchange between friends interrupted by some lady, a dream, my name? What interest have you in any of this?”

  The man smirked. “My only interest is in continuing our talk away from your friend's misguided assistance.”

  “Continue our talk? Sir, we have never spoken. If the lady wishes to continue our talk, perhaps you should run along and fetch her? But be quick about it, as I have no intention of waiting for your return!”

  “Oh, I assure you, young Nathan,” spoke the man with an err of sternness. “I am the one with whom you spoke. It is only that my male persona is now dominant, though that could change if you'd like to turn around for a few minutes...” The strange man raised his eyebrow in anticipation of Nathaniel's response.

  “Your male... What nonsense is this then?”

  The man hefted a large sigh. “I know your mother shared the lore with you before she passed. It might be deeply buried, but I am sure it must be there. Have you no memory of the tales of those who walk the world in different forms, sometimes men, sometimes women?”

  Nathaniel's brows knit. “You speak of werebeasts? Or...” A dim memory flirted with his mind, but Nathaniel could not recall what it meant.

  “No, not werebeasts, nor skin changers, nor dopplegangers, nor shapeshifters. Well, maybe a kind of shapeshifter, but not a shapeshifter.” The man hefted himself up from his resting place against the tree to stand facing the young man. “Think, Nathan. You must recall this part on your own. I cannot tell you. It requires you to recognize me...”

  “Recognize you? I've never...” Comprehension suddenly dawned in Nathaniel's mind. “The Old Gods. They were said to be both men and women, changing from moment to moment, but never when a mortal's eye was watching...”

  The strange man sprouted a satisfied grin. “Well done, Nathan. Well done, indeed!”

  Nathaniel was not yet convinced of this stranger's divinity, however. “You are a bit... worldly for a God, are you not?”

  “My form changes on whim, but the clothes I chose. Do I not appear to be dressed as someone you might encounter upon the road?”

  Nathaniel could not deny that reasoning. He had already made the observation to himself that the man was dressed as a ranger might be, and rangers were well known for appearing in forested areas. “You have me on that, but why not simply appear in some divine form, dressed in robes or appear naked in some nimbus of gold or some such? Would it not make it easier to be accepted as a God if you had a more Godly appearance?”

  “Do you truly believe that we Gods choose to appear so differently from those who define us?” the man looked genuinely offended to Nathaniel's eyes. “Our essences may have been conceived beyond this plane of reality, but our form has always been defined by those who worship us. We appear as those who created our image made us, as extensions of their own appearances. Perhaps you believe that we created you in our own image, as some theologians have suggested? If that were the case, why would you not appear more Godly in form yourself then?”

  “So you are saying that you appear human because we want you to, but in doing so, you cannot prove you are a God because that would defy the rules we somehow set?”

  “Very astute,” the man nodded. “You have a sharp mind. You will need that. Rest assured, you will need that.

  “But as for proving I were a God, that is a different matter entirely...” Before Nathaniel could respond further, the man raised his hand to the sky, where a sudden resounding crack of thunder was heard. A split moment later, a dark bluish hued bolt of energy shot from the sky and struck the man's arm, crackling down the length of it and into his body. For a few moments longer, the energy crackled in the air around the man's hand, then snuffed out as he lowered it back to his side. “Well, I suppose you can say I have a few tricks that are harder to explain than simple slight of hand.”

  A pit of dread opened up inside Nathaniel at the sight of the man standing before him, now shown in full glory to be, if not a God directly, then certainly a being of some immense power. Bracken's words came back to him in a rush: I would be puttin' some distance 'tween myself an' this town 'fore 'nother 'arbinger 'scended 'pon ya ta stop ya...

  It seemed distance had not warded away this harbinger after all...

  “Who...” Nathaniel began, but a harsh gesture from the stranger silenced him.

  “Have a care, my young friend,” he said casually. “You may not yet be ready to know the answer to that just yet. And once asked, I would be bound to answer. Take my counsel and hold that question for a time yet and I assure you when next you feel the need to know, you will be better prepared to hear it.”

  Nathaniel clenched his jaw at the rebuke. “Then if not who, then what?”

  The stranger raised an eyebrow. “Oh, very good. To the heart of the issue, yet still avoiding the guard. Nicely done. Also, not willing to blindly follow what is said, not yet ready to humbly accept the presence of a God, without something further beyond what may be the trick of a de'vil or demonic creature. You may yet prove more apt for this than some would have initially believed.

  “However, you will have to better frame your question. The thrust is still too broad to respond to just yet. I won't be trapped into such an open abyss so easily.”

  “You speak in riddles, in nonsense,” protested Nathaniel. “You must need speak clearer if I am to understand you...”

  “Oh ho!” The man chuckled, genuinely amused. “That talent of yours will not ensnare me, young Nathan! It was a worthy effort, but I am of sterner stuff than your village commoners!”

  “I still do not understand.” Nathaniel felt a sudden surge of uncertainty, as if something had been turned back on him, as though he had been caught at something and now he stood exposed for the failure. It was a sense of confusion and disorientation, the sure knowledge that what had happened, whatever that might have been, should not have and yet had all the same.

  “You do and you do not want to,” smirked the stranger. “It is part of the potential you were born with. Until now, it has only been a mild influence, but over the next several days, months, even seasons, that potential will be waxing, growing into its full worth. Now that the Swords have begun to awaken, all of your skills will blossom, not just your charisma. Oh, not over night. It will take time to grow, but the power of the Avatar is needed now and your potential has been activated accordingly.”

  “Why do you keep talking about this 'Avatar'? You talked about that back at Bracken's, too...”

  “To answer that, you must recall what has been buried in your mind. The seeds of knowledge were planted alongside those of power, only awaiting the proper time to be unlocked. Given time, your dreams will bring them all from the recesses of your memory. But I can give you a start here, with a memory that I believe will serve you.”

  The stranger walked up to stand directly in front of Nathaniel. “Close your eyes, Nathaniel Goodsmith, and remember.” The stranger reached up suddenly and laid a finger upon Nathaniel's brow. A spark touched him and he could not resist closing his eyes as he had been commanded. He could not have kept them open even without the command, as the rest of the world seemed to spin and shift around him, becoming somehow less real. “Remember,” the stranger's voice repeated. And suddenly, he did.

  * * *

  For a brief moment, there was disorientation as his senses expanded, wrestling with the concept of identity. Why had he thought he was a man, a mortal man? Why had he thought his name was Nathaniel Goodsmith? That was not who he was. He
was someone – no, something infinitely more. No, still not right – he was more, but he was also something else, part of something else. He was part of a greater group, each part of the whole yet separate and distinct. And in recognition of who he really was, who he had been all along, the illusion of the man was cast away and he opened his mind to his true self, that man disappearing as though he had never been.

  Airek, God and Goddess of Charity and Greed, Master and Mistress of Benevolence, holding dominion over kindness, mercy, lust and so many others, current consort to Sarla, God and Goddess of Land and Sky, Empress and Emperor of the Day, sighed. And that simple gesture radiated ripples outward along the lines of essence that linked her to all her spheres of influence. In a corner of her awareness, she knew that followers across the world, this sphere known to some as Na'Ril, felt a momentary pang of regret without knowing why. “Malik, what is this all about?” At the moment, Airek was in feminine form, and she brushed impulsively at the lock of hair she had unconsciously willed to fall across her brow.

  The God and Goddess of War and Peace, Lord and Lady of Strife, presently masculine, stood defiant across the open theater. The others Gods and Goddesses stood and reclined in various positions, as they each saw fit, taking in the tableau unfolding before them. Charith, Goddess and God of Life and Death, Mistress and Master of Mortality, also in masculine form, alone stood at Malik's side.

  The two currently shared their own intimacies, just as Airek and Sarla shared their own. All of the Gods and Goddesses were fickle with their affections, each coupling for a time with one before moving on to one not presently engaged. As there were nine of them, there would usually be one whose affections could be attracted when the old interest waned, save for the occasion when there were three or more engaged with each other for the time. And yet, it was not a loyalty from rutting that made the Goddess and God of Death and Life stand in support of his mate; he had helped in the debacle that had assembled the Pantheon this day.

  “Whatever do you mean, Sister?” asked Malik with mock innocence. All the Gods knew why they were here, at least as to what had been done. Only the why of the deed was as yet unknown, which had been the reason for the assemblage.

  “No games, Malik,” spoke up Elgoth, God and Goddess of Knowledge and Mystery, Steward and Stewardess of Learning. Presently in her feminine form, she stood elegantly to the side, her simple dress unable to make plain the beauty of her form. “It is well known now that you have wrought the nine swords and Charith has aided in empowering them. It only remains to be known how and why.”

  A smirk came across Malik's features as he cast a glance at his co-conspirator, whose features chose that moment to shift to feminine. Even through the transition, however, she kept her face clear of any emotion. “You know of the nine, do you, but nothing of what they were designed for then?” There was something hidden in these words, but Airek could not discern what.

  “Enlighten us,” urged Elgoth. “We can all see that you bristle with the desire to gloat.”

  A passing darkness overcame Malik's features at the sting of the words, yet he quickly recovered. “Very well. I can do aught more with the Pantheon scrutinizing my movements now, at any rate. In answer to the first, without meaning to sound too cryptic, they have no 'how'. Which is to say, they are enchanted and empowered, but their individual purposes are not yet set. They are, for all intents and purposes, blank slates of pure power.”

  “What then is your purpose in making them at all?” asked Karmel, Goddess and God of Magic and Chance, Lady and Lord of Fortune, her face bending forward from her reclined position. “As much as my very nature is intrigued by such undefined powers, I still would understand the purpose to which these artifices would be put.”

  “Oh, they will serve a purpose, Sister, individually and collectively. But it will be mortals who shall set these, not I.” Malik, in spite of himself, did feel the need to take pride in his scheme and, now begun, he intended for the true genius of his plot to redeem his actions.

  “You have all felt it these last two centuries. Our powers, our influence, is ebbing, here and in the mortal realm.”

  “All things are greater and lesser in their own time, Malik,” spoke up Lendus, God and Goddess of Bounty and Famine, Guardian of the Grail. Unlike many of his brothers and sisters, Lendus had chosen an almost androgynous appearance this day, as was his way from time to time, not so much by physical appearance as the clothing worn. Simply put, Lendus' clothing suggested neither male nor female, and was loose enough to not clearly define which gender was presently dominant. “We have seen this before as one of our influences increase as another declines. It is the way of things. What you speak of, too, shall pass.”

  “I think not,” said Malik. “We are not seeing an ebb and flow amongst ourselves. We are seeing a symptom of something greater. It is the influence of the upstarts, as they move beyond their own realms and into our own. They are stealing our faithful with holy wars and insurrections. In certain parts of Na'Ril, it has become a crime to worship us! And without faith, without the devotion of mortal souls, we lose power and dominion over the mortal world altogether! Unchecked, we may soon be starved of all our divinity and locked out of the mortal realm forever!”

  “I think you exaggerate the risk, Malik,” responded Airek.

  “The mortals would never completely forsake us,” spoke up Ilaris, Goddess and God of Love and Hate, Maiden and Minstrel of the Heart, her breath coming forth in barely a whisper of sound. “Their hearts may lose their way for a time, but their devotions will return.”

  “No,” spoke up Charith for the first time. “This is not a small concern. Malik sees it rightly. Within my service of life and death, I am called to witness fewer and fewer births while called upon to herald in death an even greater number of faithful, though even that has begun to decline.

  “But the aspect of birth is the most disturbing. If a child is not reared in faith, he will rarely turn to it in maturity, and then only through force, coercion or deception. It has never been our way to force faith upon our fellowships, yet these newer Gods have no such scruples. They command their faithful to slaughter those who do not 'repent' and take the new faith as their own. Fewer children are christened to us out of fear of reprisal and though some are still raised to believe in us in secret, we do not receive the blessings of public devotion.

  “I say again, Malik has it aright. If left unfettered, this so-called New Order will sweep us from the face of Na'Ril and not even our names will be remembered within a handful's span of generations. It may not happen for a century or more, but it will happen. Unless we take measures to stop it.”

  “And these swords of yours would somehow set this all to right again?” This came from Dariel, God and Goddess of Truth and Deception, Baron of the Dark, his form slightly out of focus as ebon tendrils of ethereal smoke seemed to coalesce around his body.

  “In the end, yes,” answered Malik.

  “And how would nine enchanted swords make such an impact?” asked Sarla, rising from her seated position behind Aerik. “Na'Ril is a grand place for only nine small tokens.”

  “It is often the smallest thing that can invade a body to cause the most harm, and stands the best chance of going unheeded until the harm has already been done” said Charith. “We would infect this New Order and cripple it afore it can deliver unto us a death blow.”

  “How?” asked Dariel, keenly intrigued now.

  Malik took a moment to look each of his brethren in the eyes before answering, savoring the moment of revelation. “The swords will remain unfocussed. The enchantments imbued into each blade will seek its focus from the mind of the first mortal to draw it. Nine swords for nine Gods, one each given to a faithful of our individual choosing. A devout mortal is predictable – he will wish to manifest the power of his God and therefore the swords will become extensions of each of us.”

  “Then why have mortals set the power,” asked Elgoth. “Permit each of us to empower our
own counterpart and avoid the risk of leaving their powers to be defined by mortals, who may not do as you predict. Imagine a mortal craving a fruit pie upon taking up his sword and it being forever after only a baker's tool for creating pies!”

  Humor rippled through the Pantheon at the imagery of one of Malik's great blades being used for aught but a pastry maker. Malik himself stiffened visibly.

  “Because our duality would not compliment their purpose,” answered Charith. “Each of us reigns over two spheres of influence, each diametrically opposed. This creates balance in our natures. It is how the mortals first set us to our tasks in their service, and it is how we each choose to exist in order to receive their devotions.

  “Mortals cannot handle duality so easily. Mortal minds forced to be caught in duality are more often driven to madness as naught. A mortal man cannot equally live between life and death as I do; he must choose between the two or go insane. And though many mortal minds have drawn the connection between insanity being as close to divinity as a mortal mind could come to be, it nevertheless would not be an acceptable frame of mind for a mortal to have when wielding such an artifact as these will be.”

  “Can you imagine, Airek,” inserted Malik, “a mortal caught in a state of being equally kind and malicious to all around him? You can divide your attentions to all of Na'Ril, split your awareness and your form between multiple tasks, so you can be equal to both tasks. But a mortal has no divine presence to dilute the influence into. And so he must be limited in his application of the power we would bestow upon him through our empowered weapon. He would need, upon drawing forth the blade, choose to do both or neither, and either path would cripple his mind irretrievably.”

  “I see the point,” admitted Airek reluctantly.

  “And so it was decided that a mortal must make the choice between the two factions,” Charith said. “In Malik's example, your faithful servant could choose to empower his sword with an aspect of either greed or charity, depending upon his need at the time he felt it prudent to draw the sword.”