One (The Godslayer Cycle Book 1) (16 page)

Avery grinned.  “I am Avery, God of Vengeance!”

Drake dropped to his knee, head bowed.  “By your glory, oh Lord Avery, I am your man.”

First one, then another, dropped to their knees in reverence.  In moments, all in the room had knelt and sworn fealty to the new God walking amongst men.

Nathaniel lay still in the dimly lit room.  Daylight had begun to creep in through the east window over an hour before, yet he had not been able to raise himself from the bed.  The thin drapes kept out most of the daylight, keeping the room mostly in shadow still, but it had been Nathaniel's routine to be up at the first sliver of light shining through them.  Though not today.

Mari's arm lay lightly over his side, his back to her.  He clutched her delicate hand in his own, holding it desperately to his chest.  His heart ached, and some inner instinct compelled him to believe that holding her, any part of her, close to that ache would somehow soothe it.  His instincts, however, were not proving true.

Sleep had not come to him at all last night, though his mind barely registered the fact.  His mind had not shut down, but it was certainly numb.  To think of anything at all would thrust him into thoughts of his wife's crimes, of the games she had played with him for years now.  He would have to think upon the hollowness that represented the facade behind their vows, the darkness that overshadowed every moment of passion and love he had ever had with her.  He just could not accept that yet.  He was not willing to face the harshness of reality.

Last night had been a dull blur.  He had come into the cabin to be greeted by Mari's seemingly warm embrace, a hug he had returned mechanically, more from habit than from real emotion.  He had felt a lack of heat in his own movements, and thought that surely she should have taken notice.  Yet she did not, which only reinforced that Mari's own actions had been mechanically emotionless, as well. 

Mari had said nothing as she had made way for the rougher, clinging embrace of Geoffrey, who had squeezed between them to wrap himself around both of Nathaniel's knees.  The three year old little titan was in the mood for roughhousing, trying to topple his father as his form of greeting.  Yet all Nathaniel had been able to manage was to ruffle the tike's hair and beg for a reprieve.

Dinner had been a somber occasion for him, as well.  He had eaten what had seemed tasteless foods and responded to conversation with minimal words.  In hindsight, he could not even recall what had been said, even by himself.  He did know the one thing not spoken of though: the fateful information from Karmel knotted itself inside his gut and would not allow itself to escape.

Mari had noticed his preoccupation though and had made every effort to draw him out, yet to not avail.  After Geoffrey had been put to bed, she had asked him directly what was on his mind.  But he had only answered that he wanted to go to bed and excused himself from her presence.

It had not taken Mari long to join him there, either.  Absently, she spoke of taking the necessary steps to clean up after dinner, leaving what could be until morning.  When Nathaniel had not responded, she had curled quietly against him.  Even the efforts to arouse her husband physically only received the barest responses at first.  His movements were wooden, as if he made love to his wife as a chore, with no emotion at all.  Halfway through, this mood changed though, and Nathaniel's movements came as though from desperation, holding her tight and nearly crushing her in his need.  When he had finished, he lay atop her, weeping.

Several long minutes had passed before Nathaniel had wordlessly rolled off of her.  Turning his back to her, he hugged himself tightly.  She could only wrap her arms around him in sympathy, not knowing how to comfort him.  She had fallen asleep holding him, and though she had rolled away several times during the night, she had always returned to cuddle up against his backside.  Nathaniel had not been able to move himself from where he lay all night.

During the night, he had been visited with vague, imaginative flashes.  A richly dressed man with a small cut on his neck.  A sword cleaved finely in two.  Being surrounded by people he somehow knew revered and worshiped him.  It was impossible to make sense of any of it, nor did he care to try.

There came a noise from the front of the cabin, drawing Nathaniel from his stupor.  Listening carefully, he could hear voices, though he was unable to make out more than murmurs.  There was more than one, he was sure, but beyond that, there was no telling.  And by their increasing volume, he could tell they were approaching his home.

Visitors were uncommon here, but not unheard of.  There was a ranger who lived off the wilderness hereabouts who would come to visit every couple of months or so.  He had known Nathaniel's mother, had even shared many of her druidic beliefs, and considered it a respectful gesture in her memory to keep in touch with her son.  There were neighbors in the woods a few miles away, but they usually only came before the projected snows to speak of sharing supplies during the winter months.  And even rarer was the occasional wanderer who had come across their homestead by chance.  No one from Oaken Wood had come to Nathaniel's home since he had returned to live there at all, not even Bracken.  There was something of an ill omen believed to linger around the old druidess' home, and this satisfied Nathaniel's wishes for isolation well enough that he did little to dissuade the notion.

With all that had happened in the previous day though, Nathaniel did not for a moment consider that this visit was not in some way related to the new life being thrust upon him by the Gods.  Nathaniel felt like he had been exposed to more new influences and notions in the last day than he had had the misfortune of coming across in all his adult life.  Of course, that was far from the truth, but it did seem more than a little overwhelming in how important he had suddenly become to so many people.

Quickly he rose, dressed in the breeches and tunic of the day before, and made his way barefoot to the front door.  He did not wait for the visitors to rap upon the door, flinging it open on the startled face of Duncan Alair, an old tracker from Oaken Wood with whom Nathaniel had had many dealings with over the years.  His companion stood partially obscured behind the large man, her face concealed below the hood of a traveler's cloak.

“
Oh, mornin', Nate,” said Duncan, recovering slightly.  “I 'spected you would have been up and about by now, or I'd have waited a spell in coming.  And the lady was awful insistent, you see...”

The only response to his words was a dark look from Nathaniel, so Duncan took a step back and to the side.  With a nod and a raised arm in gesture, Duncan displayed his companion for Nathaniel to see.  “She says you know her and all...” he tried to explain.

At this, the lady lowered her hood and gazed up at Nathaniel with devilish green eyes.  “Yes, Sir
Nate.
” Lady Brea lingered ironically upon the name.  “Do tell dear Duncan that we know each other.”

Nathaniel could not mask his surprise at seeing her, either.  Reflexively, his hand went to the place where she had drawn her nails across his chest the day before, as though to take some protective measure against her.  Had she come to make good upon her threat to take possession of him and to steal him away from his family?  His heart beat in his chest at the shock, but his voice was the most telling of all of his anxieties.  “What are
you
doing here?”

Brea smiled.  “Oh, I admit we did not part affably, but I was hoping you could see your way of giving me the chance at amends.”  Inwardly, Brea struggled to consciously maintain her control, her own heart beating at the site of the young man.  Imery had not seen fit to remove the enchantment Goodsmith had laid upon her, insisting that to do so would reveal divine intervention.  And to see him now again in the flesh made her chest ache with the effort to breathe steadily and not to swoon at the thought of his speaking to her.  However, Imery had provided Brea with an inner reserve of force to assist her priestess in resisting the charm.  Imery had told her that she only had to focus upon her service to the Goddess to tap the reserve she had been granted, and so long as her faith in Imery remained pure, Goodmith's charms would hold no sway.  Yet Brea had to first
want
to resist.  And that was something she could not so easily want with her heart beating so unnaturally fast.

Did it only take looking upon this God made flesh to cast his spell, she wondered?  Or was she just fearful of the confrontation?  At the moment, she was hard pressed to tell.

“So you
do
know her then?” asked Duncan again.  “I only ask 'cause if she's unwanted, I can always drag her back to town, priestess or no.  It's not right to be the cause of mischief, and I'd not visit it upon you if I could avoid it.”

Nathaniel sighed.  “Aye, I know her, albeit from the briefest of meetings.  And I imagine the damage is done already.  You could make good on your threat to drag her bodily from my sight, but she knows the way now and would only return on her own.”

Duncan looked stricken.  “I'm sorry, Nate.  I guess I didn't think that far ahead...”

Nathaniel shook his head.  “It's alright, Duncan.  Truly.  If not you, she'd have found another to lead her.  She's willful that way, I would imagine from what I have known of her, so far.”

The tracker lowered his eyes.  “You know, Nate, I'm glad I came, just the same.  Your ma was a great lady, and a good friend to us woodfolk.  I should have come around more often after she was gone.  I guess...  I waited too long and then it was too late...  I did ya fair in our trades and whatnot, but I was not the friend to ya that your ma would have preferred me to be, I am certain...”

Nathaniel smiled in spite of himself.  The bittersweetness of Duncan's words mingled with the memories of his mother and the cursed knowledge he had recently acquired, creating an odd sense of balance within him.  For a moment, he did not feel the ache, and this man's sincerity had given him that reprieve.  “It's okay.  I understand,” he said simply, choking on the words.

Duncan looked up, a tight smile on his face.  “I appreciate that, Nate.  Surely, I do.  Not sure why I felt the need to just come out with all that all of a sudden.  Guess I just felt it was time, ya know?  I...”  he cut off as words caught in his own throat, the glimmer of a tear forming in his eye.  “Been ten years and I still miss her.  Losing her was hard on a lot of us, you have to know that.  Hardest on you, for sure, but she meant a lot to a lot of us.  And to lose her
that
way...”

Impulsively, Nathaniel stepped forward and embraced his mother's friend.  Duncan returned the hug, both men oblivious to Brea standing to the side with a puzzled look on her face.

This is a God in hiding?
  Brea asked herself in disbelief. 
He talks of a mother that this other man knew.  And he just seems so...  human.  Could Imery have been mistaken?

No,
she amended. 
A God could do anything, including appear this human.  It's just part of his disguise.
  Yet she could not so easily set aside the doubt lingering in her own mind.

After several moments, Nathaniel released his hold on Duncan and the older man wiped at his eyes with his sleeves.  “You turned out alright, you did, Nate.  Your ma would have been proud.”  Nathaniel just nodded silently in return.

The men stared silently at each other, each knowing well the feelings of the other, yet unable or possibly unwilling to say more on the subject.  In a way, Duncan's words had offered a balm for Nathaniel's twisting emotions, not that the other man could have known that his mother's memory had so recently been brought up by someone else.  It encouraged him to have his mother's friend here.

And yet, what were the odds that a friend of his mother, whom he had only had bare contact with since the years of her passing would not only appear on his doorstep so soon after his contact with Gods, but that he should so uncharacteristically divulge deep emotional feelings that he had been keeping to himself for ten years?  And that the words would be ones he needed to hear for his own self-worth?  Nathaniel puzzled over whether the Gods had manipulated Duncan to appear when he had, but quickly discarded the idea.  Why would they send him in the company of a New Order priestess, if they were trying to manipulate him towards their ends?  It would seem more logical that they would be more careful than to risk anything with anyone even remotely tied into the opposing powers nearby.  So then, perhaps this was an example of Fate, or the prophecy itself manipulating circumstances to compel him upon the path it had chosen for him?

Only one thing seemed certain: it was far too early in the day, especially with a sleepless night, to try to wrap his mind around such imponderables.  However, Duncan was here, and this presented an opportunity to resolve at least one issue.  With emotions so raw and fresh, Nathaniel dared to breach the topic he had not yet been able to with his wife.

“
Duncan, about my mother,” Nathaniel started.  “About how she died.  Were you there when it happened?”

The trapper looked uncomfortable and cast a look at Brea before he answered.  “No, Nate, I was not.  Though I hate myself each day that I was not.  I should have been.  I could not believe it when I did hear...”

“What...”  Nathaniel swallowed.  “What happened to those that...  did it?  Do you know anyone personally who took part in it?”

Anger brewed below Duncan's eyes.  “Aye, I do.  And not a thing happened to them.  That priestess absolved all who took part, so long as they swore to her cause.  And not a one declined her amnesty, neither!”

“Priestess?”  asked Brea, suddenly intrigued.

Nathaniel ignored her.  Trying to act nonchalant as best he could, Nathaniel vocalized Duncan's meaning.  “None would stand up to a priest of the New Order.  If she granted pardons, none could naysay her.  Was...  Aliban one of them, do you know?  Was...”  he could not bring himself to ask the question.