Two (The Godslayer Cycle Book 2) Page 7

  Nathaniel lowered his head into his hands. He was so confused, so bewildered over what to do. Brea and her mercenaries were breaking camp with Bracken's help, but not a one of them had spoken of where they were going, not even which direction they would travel in. It was as if somehow they would just know when the time came.

  But Nathaniel did not know. He had no idea where he would go from here.

  Geoffrey was missing, and Nathaniel knew his priority needed to be finding him. But Brea had only been another pawn of Imery's, apparently. And when Nathaniel killed Imery, any hope of learning from the Goddess where her own mercenaries had taken Nathaniel's son evaporated. So where was Nathaniel supposed to go to look?

  Then there were the swords. Oh, those God-be-damned swords! Nathaniel glanced over to where the two swords in his possession leaned against a nearby tree. One and First. That was what they each called the other. To his eye, they looked identical in every way – except that in the pommel of One was a single pitted die engraving, and that of First was unmarred by any marking whatsoever. Otherwise, they were the same. Identical it seemed down to the length, composition and immaculate etchings upon each blade.

  Nathaniel risked a glance in Brea's direction. She still visibly avoided looking in his direction. Her body language was difficult to read – a mixture of anger and shame, was the best he could ascertain. The stranger's violation of their minds, memories and emotions seemed like a distant dream on many levels now, but the feelings those changes had left behind – the sense of intrusion and defilement – those remained.

  There was a new resentment that each now carried, a fresh wound that none knew how to heal. Though in his mind he knew who was to blame, Nathaniel could not help but to feel a certain amount of frustration at Brea, as well. He knew – he knew – it had not been her fault. But it felt as though she had taken advantage of him, used the enchantment cast over them all for her own pleasure. By Charith, he was not even sure whether the memory of their coupling was a fragment of false memory or true. Yet regardless, he could not escape the feeling that he had broken his marital vows, and in doing so, he could not escape blaming the temptress with whom he had shattered them.

  The feeling must be true for them all, Nathaniel reasoned. They must each hold some resentment against each other, for there was no way to exorcise the false memories completely. Some were too intertwined with real ones to completely dismiss – like the memory of his physical relations with Brea. If it had happened, it had been wonderful, blissful. Yet those feelings were betrayals all by themselves, for they meant he took pleasure in another woman.

  The Old Gods had made a promise to him. They promised that if he could find the New Order's Goddess of Death, Elevan – that if he could slay her – then Charith would gain control of Mari's soul and they could resurrect her, bring her spirit back into her body. The Pantheon kept Mari's body in stasis, keeping it from deteriorating.

  Another task Nathaniel had to find a way to complete, yet he knew even less of how to find or summon Elevan than he did in finding his son.

  Three tasks then, none of which he could complete. He knew not where to find another sword, his son, or the New Order's Death Goddess.

  And none of that included trying to find out who their intruder had been. All any of them knew was that he possessed one of the nine swords, one that could manipulate memory. Or perhaps it manipulated reality. Nathaniel was not really sure which. But it was dangerous, and it represented a genuine threat to them all.

  Another thought occurred to Nathaniel then – why had he not sensed the other sword? Why had he not received a vision as he had with One? When that sword awoke, he had dreamed of being One, of being embedded in the ground. He had later seen himself as though he were being wielded. But even when visions did not flood his mind's eye, he could sense the sword, knew which direction the sword lay in.

  Yet Nathaniel sensed nothing of the sword the stranger had wielded. Nothing at all. Not its presence, and certainly not where it was now.

  A hand touched his arm gently from behind. “Nathan?”

  Nathaniel turned around to face Brea, pulling his arm from the priestess' grasp – though he found himself doing so far more delicately than he once would have. Was that shame at work, he wondered? Guilt? Or something more insidious – a lingering desire to not drive her away perhaps?

  “We should talk, you and I.” Brea put it simple, and yet somehow it seemed like the most complicated set of words Nathaniel had ever heard. How could they talk, what could be said? Nathaniel was not even sure what had happened in the first place.

  “Yes.” Nathaniel had not meant to say anything. The word simply escaped with his breath unbidden and unwanted. The last thing he wanted was more confusion.

  Brea glanced over her shoulder before turning back to Nathaniel. “We're almost done. Really, we would have been done some time ago, but I think we all know that none of us know what comes next. We are doing what seems normal, because none of us knows what else to do. Packing things is what we would do any other morning, so it is what we are doing this morning. But once that task is done...” She shrugged her shoulders in a small, delicate fashion.

  “I came here to find a pretender. He's been found and run away.” Brea began to pull at the tuft of her sleeve, paying an inordinate amount of attention to the seam. “You came here to find me. I would say that was successful, even if you did not get what you came to find.” Brea turned soulful eyes up to the much taller man. “But what is next? Do you know?”

  Nathaniel took a moment to look deeply into Brea's eyes. He found it difficult to do anything else. He felt the overwhelming sense that if he answered her question, she would stop looking at him, and at that moment, he wanted nothing else but to look at her. But the moment passed and his self-loathing returned.

  “Your Goddess is gone, as is the only source I knew of who could tell me where Geoffrey was taken,” answered Nathaniel. “The stranger has disappeared, and with him any clue as to why he was here or how he knew so much about us. So no, I don't know what is next, either. I have been trying to reason out that very thing, and I am no closer now than when I began.”

  Brea lowered her eyes. “Imery is dead,” she whispered. When she looked back up at Nathaniel, tears brimmed her eyes. It was enough to break Nathaniel's heart. “And you killed her.”

  “I didn't mean to. I only wanted to stop her--”

  Brea held up her hand. “Please, don't say it. Don't try to defend yourself just now. It's too soon.”

  A stray gust pulled a strand of the priestess' hair loose from where she had it bound back and blew it straight into the air. For a moment it held Nathaniel's attention before it settled again. But in that moment, he had not had to think of anything else. But Brea was not finished speaking, and his mind was drawn back to her face.

  “I can't deal with the why right now. All I want to deal with is the fact that it is. She's gone, and you killed her. You took her from me and from every other mortal in existence. But what I don't understand...”

  Now the tears streamed freely down Brea's cheeks. “What I don't understand is why I don't hate you for it.”

  Nathaniel swallowed hard. “You should hate me. I would understand if you did. If you don't, all I can think is that it must have something to do with the man who pretended to be Avery. I know my memories and feelings are confused. I can't imagine what you must be feeling.”

  Brea shook her head. “No, I don't think that's it. Not entirely.” Brea leaned closer to Nathaniel. “I knew something was not right before she came through the fire last night. My faith was... It wasn't what it should have been. It hasn't been for a while now. Not since... Not since you.”

  Nathaniel felt his cheeks warm. “Please, don't blame me for your crisis of faith. I didn't ask you to chase after--”

  “No, I didn't mean it like that.” Now it was Brea who was blushing. “I know something happened when I met you. I...”

  Brea took a deep breath. “Well, I
fell in love with you.” She held up her hand again to forestall Nathaniel interrupting. “Please, let me finish or I'll never be able to. See, I don't even know how that is possible. Imery was convinced it was a charm of some sort, that you had cast a spell on me. She claimed it was Old God magic, that it was beyond her power to break because of that. But none of that mattered, because it wasn't just that I'd fallen in love with you. It was that I wasn't in love with her anymore. And I think that's why she went... well, crazy.”

  “I don't think I understand.” Nathaniel wanted to, but something about the whole thing escaped him. He expected Brea to make protests of love for him – she had done so often enough. But now she spoke not of loving him, but instead not loving her God?

  “When a priest swears fealty to his or her God, it is because he or she takes their God into their heart above all others. There is no room for mortal love when you are in love with the divine. It's hard to explain, but that is the only way to be a conduit of divine magic – to have such love in your heart for your God, that their power can flow through you. Or at least, that is what I was always taught. It was what I believed.

  “But that day in Bracken's inn, when I met you, suddenly I didn't love her anymore. I loved you. I don't know whether it was magic or something else, and I don't care. Because no matter how much Imery condemned it, it was better than anything I'd ever felt before. I ached when I wasn't with you, but when I was – or when I thought of being with you – it just seemed like there was more power there than anything I had ever felt with Imery.”

  “I'm sorry...” It was all Nathaniel could think to say.

  “No, don't be. I'm not telling you this for your sympathy or your blame. I am saying that for the first time in my life, I knew something more powerful than my love for Imery. Yet, even though I had these raw, overwhelming feelings for you – somehow, I was still able to channel Imery's magic. Remember, only absolute love and devotion could give a priest the ability to use divine magic. Yet somehow not only was I still able to use magic, I was given even more magic by Imery. And stranger still, she seemed oblivious to the fact that I no longer loved her.

  “I was just following her because it was all I had ever done. But the more I did, the more I saw her for her pettiness, her failings. I saw her as a selfish, self-absorbed tyrant who could not bear the idea of one of her toys being taken from her. And that's all I ever was to her – a toy.”

  “You're not a toy,” Nathaniel said with conviction. “No mortal should be a toy to the Gods.”

  “Yet we all are, even you. You said as much yourself. You agreed with me when I said that the Gods are playing games with us.”

  Nathaniel could not disagree. “But one of the players is dead.”

  “And I somehow don't hate you for it.” Brea managed a half smile, framed by the streaks of tears on her cheeks. Nathaniel could not stop himself from reaching up and brushing the tears aside, feeling the bite of the wind upon his newly dampened fingers.

  “You realize,” said Nathaniel, “that there is a storm coming, right?”

  Brea nodded.

  “And you had the camp torn down.”

  Brea's eyes opened wide. “Oh, by the stars! What were we thinking!”

  “Well, it's probably for the best. We should move more into the shelter of the trees, since there seems to be a great deal of wind. And it's only growing more powerful. Probably will be better to set up cover in there than in this open space. But still, I wouldn't tie things down too much yet.”

  Brea punched at Nathaniel's chest playfully. “So that's why you were standing over here being so unhelpful? You knew we were just wasting our time, didn't you?”

  Before Nathaniel could answer, Brea turned away and started calling to the others. “Move it all into the trees. We won't be able to go anywhere until the storm passes. And we'll have more shelter there.” It was odd that she had to raise her voice to be heard over the wind, yet he had no problem hearing her, even when she spoke under her breath.

  The one called Derik's face fit into a broad grin. “Brea is smart,” he pronounced, standing perfectly still in admiration of the priestess.

  “Yeah, yeah. She's a peach,” said Alsen, whom Nathaniel had come to understand was the simpleton's brother. The smaller man shoved his elder brother. “Now why don't you put your back to doing what she says, 'cause you won't listen to anything I say.”

  Alsen's evil glare at Brea did not escape Nathaniel's attention. There was something going on between the three that had not yet been revealed. And before they traveled on, whether together or separate, it would need to be resolved. Because Nathaniel had a deep feeling in his gut that Alsen intended to even some score with the priestess, whether she realized it or not.

  “I suppose congratulations are in order,” came a feminine voice from behind Nathaniel. The mortal turned to see one of the Gods standing behind him.

  “Dariel.” Nathaniel seemed to know by instinct now which God appeared before him, regardless of which form he or she appeared in. In this instance, Dariel appeared in her feminine form, and though he had not yet spoken directly to Baron and Baroness of the Dark, he knew exactly who she was.

  The Goddess bowed. “I give you homage, our beloved godslayer,” she said. “For only you could have slain Imery.”

  Nathaniel could do nothing more than nod, then wait patiently for the Goddess to say more. When it was clear he would remain silent, Dariel continued.

  “Which must also mean that you have retrieved one of the swords, even though you have not reached Scollhaven. Is this a tale we should be informed of?”

  “I wonder how it is a tale you do not know already?”

  Dariel smiled. “You know we cannot perceive the swords. And the presumption would be that you yourself would be likewise invisible to us if you were to wield one. Since none of us witnessed you taking the life of the New Order's Goddess, then we can only presume that she died at the blade of one of our swords.”

  Dariel's smile turned wicked. “But that does not mean that we did not become aware of the good Goddess' departure. We felt her death as keenly as we might have witnessed an entire continent sink into the ocean. And myself most especially. For all of a sudden, my sphere of influence over truth has grown more powerful.”

  “Have you come to gloat then?” If there was one thing Nathaniel had learned, it was that these Gods whom his mother once so devoutly worshiped were not the pious beings he had been raised to believe. If anything, they were small and petty – barely better in many respects than their New Order counterparts. “Was this your plan then all along in sending me after Imery, so that you would get more powerful?”

  “Oh, no,” insisted Dariel. “This was unforeseen. None of us expected that simply removing one of the New Order would so suddenly increase our power. Influence over our spheres? Certainly. This is how Charith could intervene with Mari's soul if Elevan were gone.”

  Dariel waved her hand, and a seat formed out of a tree behind her. “But there is more at work here,” she said as she sat softly back into the chair. “The Gods gain power from worship, dear Nathaniel. We don't gain more or less power from there being other Gods in existence. Imery's passing should have only opened up the potential for more power, since I could now recruit from her former flock. If that were all it was, my power would not have increased so drastically. Yet it has, which means there is more going on than any of us ever suspected before.”

  In spite of his reluctance to have Dariel in his presence, Nathaniel found himself intrigued. “So what is going on then? How do you gain more power without gaining new followers?”

  Dariel leaned forward in her chair conspiratorially. “Though I cannot begin to fathom the how just yet, I do have a very good sense for deceit, my dear. It is, after all, one of my dominions. So believe me when I say that the New Order are not just depriving us of faithful; they are also somehow blocking the power we receive from those who still hold to our faith, as well.”

  “Again,
how is that possible?”

  “How should I know? I have only gained greater influence over truth – the realm of deception is still blocked to me. Now, if you were to seek out, let's say, Faetious or Srell, or possibly even Enuchek, maybe if they would as suddenly cease to be, I could be of more help, but--”

  “So you want command over what? Darkness?”

  “Actually, shadow is Srell's dominion. Darkness is part of Laer's domain, and doesn't really act as part of keeping things hidden as much as most mortals think--”

  “Fine. Shadow. The others, they represent what? Faetious is the God of Deception, but I don't remember any Enuchek.”

  “She's a Lesser Power, like Srell. Her dominion is over mystery.”

  “So you want the darker powers for yourself,” Nathaniel said.

  “Oh eventually, for certain. I wish my entire dominion back. That's the point of being done with the Godlings, after all. But I only posited the idea because you seemed to expect me to know something that has been kept from us for countless mortal generations. And that would require my having greater influence over those so-called darker spheres.”

  “So I don't suppose you would be of any great help then in telling me more about our intruder this morning, either?”

  Dariel's left eyebrow lifted. “Intruder?”

  “Yes, we woke to find a stranger in our camp with the ability to change our memories and make us see things. Seems to have had another of the magic swords, but I couldn't sense it then or now. But he knew a great deal about us.”

  Dariel leaned back into her chair thoughtfully. After a moment, she asked, “When the first sword awoke, how do you think we knew it had if we cannot sense the swords?”

  “That's actually a really good question,” admitted Nathaniel.

  “We may be oblivious to the swords themselves, dear Nathaniel, but their effects upon the world are something else. When the first sword surfaced, it sent a ripple through the mortal plane, and that ripple echoed through you. It awoke your own potential as our avatar. Through you, we felt the sword wake up, and this is how it will be each time. Simply put, you could not have met someone else with one of the swords, because we would have sensed another sword wake up. It's that simple.”