One (The Godslayer Cycle Book 1) (10 page)

Taking careful aim and a firm stance, Avery hefted the sword and swung into the tree with all his strength.  Almost immediately he stumbled, thrown off-balance by the force of his swing, the blade digging into the ground on the far side of the tree.

Cursing himself for missing, he barely registered the creaking and snapping sounds that had erupted around him.  Self-preservation alone made him pull back away from the sounds as his eyes turned back to the tree in time to see the trunk slide completely free of its new stump, with the whole of the tree beginning a slow motion tilt toward the ground, directly towards Avery!  Avery quickly back-pedaled away, saved only by the tree's upper branches being held briefly until they or branches of neighboring trees snapped under the massive weight.  In moments that seemed to last much longer than they did, the tree came hurtling earthward, crashing resoundingly upon the leaves and twigs on the ground.

Dust and debris filled the air, making Avery cough as he instinctively tried to wave away the airborne particles.  He had dropped the sword, he realized, but a quick glance showed it lying only a few feet away.  He had obviously pulled it free of the ground as he had stumbled backwards.  His first fear had been that the sword had been buried beneath the massive log now lying in front of him.

Avery had landed indignantly upon his rump, he also noticed.  He quickly stood, brushing himself off before retrieving
One
from where it lay upon the ground.

“
Wow!” he finally managed as he looked around him.  The old tree, some three and a half feet thick, if it was an inch, had been felled, its branches still swaying in the aftershock.  He moved to the base and examined the clean, precise cut that had severed the great tree from its roots.  Now, only a slanted stump some two feet high at its crest remained rooted where the tree had stood.

“
You
did
this?
” he asked of the sword.  He could almost sense a satisfaction emanate from the blade, but he likely had imagined it.

Tentatively, he ran his hand over the smooth surface of the trunk. 
It would have taken an extremely fine cutting saw to do this
, he thought.  The wood had a nearly sanded quality to it.  Avery could barely feel the grain of the wood itself.  As he examined the wood, he also noted something else: several inches above the cut that had felled the tree, yet not intersecting with the new cut, was the original cut that he had made by accident.  Apparently, in stumbling during his fall, he had struck the tree several inches lower than he had intended, and yet he had still sliced cleanly through the entire width of the tree!

“
I would hate to see what you would do to normal steel!”

Avery spent a few minutes once again inspecting the blade for stress marks and defects.  He was not surprised to find none.  He finally sat down beside the stump to think. 
What else?
  he thought.

Well, he had already tried talking to
One
and received no response.  It had somehow conveyed its name to him, but that seemed the extent of its ability to communicate.  So the only other thing he knew to test was how the sword had let him be unseen last night.  That, however, would require risk since he would have to return to the town to risk being seen to learn whether he could actually
not
be seen.

As he sat musing, a sound in the rubbish behind him drew his attention.  Avery twisted, stretching his neck to see.  Whatever it was moved through the newly fallen foliage, but was too small to see.  The day still had enough light to see by, but lengthening shadows told that perhaps only another hour of light remained.

Again, the sound of skittering could be heard in the branches.  Avery held very still, forcing himself to barely breathe.  It certainly did not
sound
like anything threatening, but he was not prepared to test that just yet, sword or no sword.

All at once, a movement within the leaves betrayed the grayish-blue fur of a small animal.  It could not have been more that a couple of handspans in length, maybe a squirrel or rat.  Neither of those would pose a risk; they would be more frightened of him than the other way around.  Any small furry forest creature would run if it saw him...

That's it!
Avery thought.  That was how he would test the sword!  If he could be unseen by a man, how dissimilar could it be to be unseen by a rodent?  All creatures great and small saw things in the same way, after all.  Mask something from one, it should be masked from them all!

The plan seemed viable.  He could do nothing for his sound or smell, as he knew wild animals were extremely sensitive to these things.  So he would need to rely on stealth (and perhaps some luck to keep the breeze from blowing behind him).  Otherwise, he saw no harm in trying.

Carefully, he stood up, clutching the sword out before him.  He paused to wait for the small creature to move again to better decide where in the fallen timber it was.  He wondered momentarily what he should do, if anything, to activate
One
's magic, but set that thought aside.  He had done nothing special except hold it in front of him last night.  This exercise should not be so different.

The sound of leaves and twigs moving alerted him and he moved cautiously in the direction of the sound. 
Now if you will not hear or smell me as well as not see me, this should work
, he mused.

Avery's foot stepped on a twig, making a loud snap.  The little man swore under his breath.  No sound of flight came from the tree in response, though the small animal could just as easily have frozen in fear.  A new short burst of sound soon told him that was not the case and he edged closer to where the sound came from.

A moment later, Avery caught his first solid glimpse of the little beast as it sat haunched, nibbling at something in its small hands.  The gray squirrel finished its chewing and made a quick, darting motion in search of another morsel.  It momentarily vanished behind a branch to emerge on the carpeted ground soon after, having found a new treat to nibble upon along the way.

The squirrel was deep into the fallen timber, and Avery felt distress at the notion of sneaking up on it while somehow navigating the twists and meanderings of the fallen branches.  But his stomach not so gently reminded him that he had not eaten all day.  A fresh squirrel would certainly be better fare than he had had in a fortnight.  If, of course, he could catch the beast.  This thought gave him renewed motivation to not abandon his efforts and he once again moved forward as silently as he could manage.

Avery's movement was soon obstructed as a branch blocked his way.  It was easier to move aside than to try to navigate around, but the branch betrayed him, cracking loudly as an unseen split in the limb caused it to break.  Avery froze, his eyes darting to where the squirrel had been, expecting it to have fled.  Yet remarkably, it continued to nibble away contentedly, oblivious to Avery's presence.

Is the thing deaf?
  wondered Avery.  But his mind seized with another notion even before that thought was complete.

Impulsively, Avery reached down and picked up a stick that lay loosely by his feet and tapped at another nearby branch.  He realized belatedly that he could have done that with the sword, but it had not occurred to him at the moment.  Still though, the squirrel remained undisturbed.  Cautiously, he put the sword back into its scabbard, forgetting entirely his former belief that he needed to hold the sword in front of him for its effect to work, then took the stick between his hands and forcefully broke it in two.  Still, the squirrel did not react, though it did momentarily dig down below the leaves to find a new morsel to chew upon.  Presently, it found something and once again began to nibble amiably.

“Hey!” he called, whacking the broken pieces of wood amongst the fallen branches.  He wondered how much more he could do and still go unnoticed by the small creature.  Obviously, the magic was affecting more than sight since no amount of noise nor movement he made in the fallen debris affected the otherwise timid animal, which sat now only a few feet from him.

Remaining tentative, Avery worked his way through the rest of the brush until he knelt directly beside the squirrel.  The small beast faced him nearly dead on, its tiny hands working dexterously over what appeared to be some kind of nut.  Avery sat fascinated, watching the creature for nearly a full minute before his empty stomach again complained.  Even his growling innards did not alert the tiny beast, though.

Avery chuckled.  “You have no idea that I'm about to end your life,” he whispered.  “Just go on snacking on your meal a moment longer and it will all be over.”  At this, he reached out and brought a firm hand down upon the squirrel.

“
Ow!  By the Order!”  screamed Avery.  In a blind panic, the squirrel's eyes had suddenly registered Avery's presence just as his hand clasped it roughly to the ground, and with amazing dexterity had turned and bitten him!  Without thinking, Avery had jerked his hand away and the squirrel had seen fit to dart away into the underbrush, leaving Avery suckling upon his bleeding finger and his wounded pride.  With the pain also came the realization that for all its power, the sword would not protect Avery from harm.  And all at once, the novelty of being invincible went away.

Still, the squirrel had not sensed him at all until it had been grabbed. 
That
was certainly something.  It had not seen, heard nor even smelled him, even while squatting right next to it.  It had been as if he had not existed at all.  Yet he had still moved trees and made noises that he could hear quite plainly.  And the movement of other things around him had gone unnoticed, too.  This went so much farther than he could ever have imagined.

Even losing the squirrel and his wounded hand did not darken his spirits.  He still would be a power to be reckoned with; he would just have to be cunning in how he used it.

A host of new questions began to form in his mind.  These could wait though, he decided.  He had been emboldened by his experiment and was now confident enough to try out his new-found powers among humans.  In truth, he could not wait to try!

Looking to the sky, Avery realized that he had only a few minutes left of sunlight.  The sun had already begun to disappear over the horizon.  Though he could not clearly see the sun setting from within the trees, the darkening shadows told him this clearly enough.  By now, most of the townsfolk would have returned to their homes or begun their nighttime forays to the local tavern or gambling hall.  All the better for what he had in mind anyways.

He set a brisk pace as he set out, fueled by his new found excitement.  First, he would need to see to getting something to eat and drink.  Then he could start in on some
real
mischief.  These townspeople were like so many others he had been shunned and humiliated by over the years.  Perhaps they had not been actually violent to him directly, but that was a difference allowed only by his sudden change of fortune.  Had
One
not come into his hands last night, he
would
have been beaten – at the very least!  He shuddered at the stories of heretics who had had hands and ears cut off for burglary.  Well, he intended to show this world exactly how it felt to suffer, beginning with this town!

As he walked, a wicked possibility crossed his mind.  After he finished terrorizing these people, he could set out to find that miserable priest who had slain his master and cast him out as a heretic.  As he so often did, Avery unconsciously rubbed at the branded scar on his right wrist, tracing the four points from their central joining. 
How would he deal with being branded himself
, he wondered.

Avery reached the edge of town almost without realizing it.  The sun was now completely below the horizon, with only a pink haze cast upon a few lingering clouds to mark its passage.  The bowl in which the town rested lay fully in shadow, though the town only had a semblance of twilight yet.  Lanterns and candles burned at various points from windows and illuminated walkways in more prosperous areas of the town.

Prosperity is an illusion
, thought Avery. 
And now I'm going to teach the poor fools the true meaning of illusion!

Before this night was through, Avery would have
them
cowering in fear, give
them
a lesson in humility.  Treat him as a pariah, would they?  Oh, they had a great deal to answer for...

The Lady Brea.  Favored priestess of Imery, Goddess of Truth.  There was no greater power available to mortal man or woman than that given to a servant of their God.  And not just power and influence over their fellow man, though such influence was ofttimes intoxicating in and of itself; No ruling body dared impose laws against the servants of the divine and so her every whim was law, her will unopposed.  Yet also there was magic -
real
magic
- at her command!
  True, it was through the blessing of her God and required routine devotion and prayer to maintain, but it was well worth it.  A small dose of humility and reverence in exchange for the power of which miracles are made.  Yes, more than a fair exchange.

So why then do I feel so helpless at the moment?
Brea asked herself.

That man.  She knew it was the man in the dwarf's place downstairs that had done this to her.  Yet it was not magic as she employed it, at all.  This had been a more basic, primal power.  He had awoken in her feelings she had thought long buried.  He was a magnetic power.  Yes, a
magnetism
that drew her as powerfully as an iron filing to a lodestone.  And powerful as she was, she had been overwhelmed in the encounter.

Who
are
you, Nathaniel Goodsmith of Oaken Wood?  Or was he truly of the town, at all?  Had not the dwarf mentioned that the man had come to town for supplies?  So he lived in the wilds, somewhere with the beasts in the untamed lands.  She had heard tale of those that lived amongst the animals, somehow respected by them.  Rangers, she had heard them called.  Or a farmer, perhaps?  One certainly did not travel from another town to
this
hamlet for supplies; Oaken Wood was simply too small.  What kind of man was he then?

Brea felt her face flush, not for the first time.  She paced in her room, where she had retreated for solitude and contemplation, at least so she had uttered to herself as she had stormed up here.  Her hands seemed possessed of minds of their own, touching and lightly caressing against her.  Her left hand ran softly over her neck and face, her eyes closing, her head tilting in response to the intimacy of the touch.  Her right hand moved tenderly over her abdomen, reaching down occasionally to move softly against her hips and thighs.  She felt warm all over, her body responding on a base level to both her thoughts and unconscious touching.

She shuddered, not from fear but from desire.  She knew what she longed for. 
No, not what
, she amended herself,
who.
  And that longing flew in the face of her faith.  No one could surpass the love she had for Imery, the passion she held in her heart for Her calling to spread the word of truth to all men.  She was forsworn to the faith, and though nothing forbid her the pleasures of the flesh if she so desired, such yearnings were trivial before the ecstasy she felt in the service of her Goddess.

Yet something had disrupted her sense of harmony. 
Someone
, she corrected.  Goodsmith had struck something deep inside her, awoken a desire she did not know she possessed.  And that... 
lust
burned inside her in a way she could not control, not that she wanted to at all!  She
wanted
that man in a way she had wanted no other!  And she could not bring herself to take him!

Goodsmith was betrothed!  A wife! 
And
a child!  Had there not been mention of a child?  Or perhaps children?  Her mind had been addled, then shocked at the mention of the man's married status, so she had not been paying heed to all that was said immediately afterward.  How could she have let herself become so enamored by that...  that peasant!

“
Oh!” she groaned in futility.

Catching hold of herself, Brea attempted to force her mind to calm. 
Truth
, she breathed silently, the mantra of her faith. 
He did nothing but speak.  He did not touch nor suggest anything untoward.  I must confess that much to myself, or I fail in my service to Imery.
“Truth before life” was Imery's creed, and Brea would cling to it, even in her confused state of mind.  If she continued to tell herself as much, surely it would eventually be true...

Yet
, she thought,
there was something in him that seemed to want me, wasn't there?
  Surely she was not fawning over the man without
some
hint of interest; she was not some love-besotted fool, easily swayed by any handsome, rigid male body.  She was not some child easily swooned by brief infatuation, either!  There
must
have been
something
he had said or did or...

Yet, try as she might, calling to mind as frequently as she liked their oh-so-brief encounter (and oh, she liked thinking of that – that alone pleased her immensely!), she could find no memory of anything suggestive of a sexual interest from him.

Why did that admission sting so?  Brea could feel the warmth at the corner of her eyes as she felt the bitter pain in her heart at the thought.  He did
not
want her. 
He
did not
want
her.  That was it.  He had rejected her, spurned her without having known he had.  And confessing that to herself hurt more than the rejection itself.

No!
She thought, clutching her small fists firmly to her side, yanking them away from where they had still been touching her body. 
If Goodsmith is fool enough to see me as an object of desire, I will not dignify myself with any regret in return!

Immediately, she found herself regretting her words, casting about as though she had spoken them aloud in his presence.  “Oh, Blessed Goddess, I do not mean such cruelty to the man.”  She spoke earnestly, wringing her hands before herself in mock prayer.  “Surely, he is as good as his name suggests for
his
mind never wavered from his own devotion to his wife.”

So am I the one at fault?
  She had reacted badly, for certain.  Threatening the poor, faithful man for no crime at all.  Certainly, that alone would make him despise her all the more.  And all she wanted was for him to return her affections, even if their love could not be consummated but for his prior obligations.  If only he could have shared her feelings, this burden she carried would not be so harsh.  Yet instead he must think so little of her now, after the scene she had made.

I will go to see him!
  She scanned the room for where she might have cast her cloak. 
He may not have left town yet.  Perhaps he has a room here at the inn.  I'll go see him and apologize, and then he can hold me and...
Her words dropped off, and her hand let go of the cloak she had just picked up, letting it fall to the floor.

“
I am a priest of Imery,” she scolded herself aloud.  “That would be an indignity, and would be improper for one of my rank.  He should be the one to come to me!”  Furtively, she cast her eyes now to the door, a great despair once again sweeping through her. 
So why has he not come for me?

Timidly, she moved herself before the mirror, a tear now visible streaking down her left cheek. 
What does he not see in me?
  she pleaded of her image. 
Am I not beautiful enough?  Are my bosoms too petite or my waist too thin?  Or perhaps not thin enough?
  She turned herself to let her see herself from behind, trying to find something to despise about herself, something about herself that she could make more appealing, more comely to this man.  A thousand flaws came to her mind.  Most she knew she could never disguise in short order without magic.

She stopped herself.  Why change herself when she could just change him?  Yes, she could bewitch him, ensnare his heart with magic she knew through her devotion.  She had done so with other men before.  Why had that thought not occurred to her before now?

Truly she
was
lovesick if so simple a remedy had escaped her so readily.  She could have him.  He would not,
could
not deny her then.  She could act upon her threat and take him, make him want her more than she wanted him.  She could make him grovel and beg for her pleasure, spurn
him
for a time as she demanded of him chastity and devotion.  He would abandon that wench of a wife and leave her to raise the bratty children alone.  He would plead with utter humility for even the smallest favor that in her mercy Brea could grant.  And only when she could not hold back her own lust another instant would she couple with him, though she would never betray to the man how deeply she wanted him.  He would belong to her heart and soul and she would make him feel small indeed for the indignity of forcing
her
to pine over
him!
  Yes!

No!
  she almost screamed, falling to her knees. 
I want him to love me, not to enslave himself to me!
  How could she even
think
of doing such a thing to the man she...  loved?  Did she love him or was she only fooling herself to think she did?  But why could she not bring herself to enthrall him as she had so many men before?  Enchant his mind until she lost this absurd obsession for him?  Then she could just send him off to wherever he wandered once her need was sated, without any concern nor regret.

Brea buried her face in her hands and wept. 
By the Goddess, I could never hurt him!
  And deep down, she knew that had she chosen to charm him, that once she had possessed him, she would never have been able to set him free...

She took a deep breath to calm herself again.
What has become of me?
  she sobbed. 
What am I to do?  Goddess, give me the strength to endure...

On her knees already, Brea at last turned to her faith fully.  Clasping her hands in her lap, she lowered herself into her prayer posture, her heels beneath her, her head bowed.  In choking sobs, she began to cant Imery's ritual form.  “Blessed is the Goddess, for your name is Truth.  Blessed are your words, for they are my bidding.  May I seek your blessing in all that I do.  Hear me now, Imery, for the words of your most devoted daughter are only for you...”

** *

The field stretched as far as could be seen, even by divine eyes.  One could say the field of flowers, glittering with crystalline sparkles, stretched unto infinity, for in truth the physical appearance that the field took did not possess any boundary nor limit.  It neither ended nor began.  It existed as it was entered, without any kind of definition that could limit it in any way.  And since only a God could enter the field of blossoms, it did not matter that it existed so.

This was the Field of Knowledge.  It did not truly exist as it appeared, either, since each flower was, in fact, a piece of knowledge from the mortal realm, manifested in this place in a medium form that permitted easier manipulation by the Gods.  Though a divine power could weave the barest threads of reality, it was the symbolism through which such acts were performed.  Certainly, the plucking of a flower to quash an idea somewhere in this vast garden was not required to commit the act; an act of divine will could accomplish the same without ever setting foot here.  But Gods were ruled by form, and symbolism of the act, as inspired by those that bound them to their duties, was everything.  Without the imagery that mortals used to define their divine provinces, the poetic balance of the universe would fall to disordered chaos.

These thoughts did not touch the Goddess of Truth as she wandered aimlessly through the flowers.  She was of the divine and could think of as many things as she could create forms to wander.  A God  existed not in a single form as mortals did, after all, but could replicate their forms as needed, imparting unto each a portion of their essence which served to bind each form as a collective whole.  Thus could the Goddess serve many of her faithful at once or none at all, as the choices were needed.  And all being part of the greater self, she was always aware of what each of her selves knew and experienced.

To Imery, it was not necessary to think on the nature of the Field of Knowledge to understand it.  This was a basic element of the New Order, the Field itself a manifestation of their mutual will.  Therefore, it existed as much a part of her as separate.

Imery cast her eyes upon the Field, knowing that each crystal flower in its individual brightness, each a replication in a slightly different way of an inconceivable number of multitudes of colors and forms, represented a different kind of knowledge, its state of bloom displaying its status within the mortal realm.  A closed bud would be unknown, a flower in full bloom fully revealed, a wilted one a suppressed or hidden thing known to only a few perhaps.  They all existed in so many different variations of bloom as to be beyond comprehension to any save divine.

Imery's attention was focused on flowers fully abloom, and of those only the ones in brightest shades.  These were the Truths of existence that were known to mortals, and the sphere of influence over which she prevailed.  The dark blooms were the deceptions, the lies, the falsehoods that mortals told themselves and to each other.  Enough of the latter could smother the brighter flowers, and in many places they did.  It pained Imery to see Truths overrun, but it was the order of things, and she had to accept it as so.