One (The Godslayer Cycle Book 1) (7 page)

The woman's eyes seemed to sparkle with glee.  “I am pleased beyond measure to hear those words.  For the Avatar must never serve the interests of the New Order.”

Nathaniel was taken aback.  “But you just said...”

“I
said
,” interjected the woman, “that the Avatar is a servant of the Gods.  I said nothing whatsoever of the so-called New Order.”

Bracken's features blanched at the meaning of the words spoken, and his friend's face paled visibly.  “You mean the Old Gods?”  Nathaniel managed weakly.  “But they've been dead for centuries now...”

The woman smirked.  “If you wander into the trees for a time and are not seen by other men, do you die without recognition?”

“
Ya be sayin' the Ol' Gods be no' dead?” Bracken asked.  “I be thinkin' ya woul' be havin' a hard time sellin' such snake oil ta the masses, 'speci'ly wit' one of the new clergy in residence.  The Ol' Gods, if no' dead, 'ave certainly left this world behin' a long time ago.  And asides, I would be thinkin' this talk, eit'er way, has b'come a bit too treach'rous to go on wit'in my pub.  I woul' thank ya fer yer input on my frien's dream, unwanted as it may 'ave been, an' bid ya to kindly take yer leave now.”

A wicked grin crossed the woman's face momentarily, but it soon vanished and she bowed her head.  “As you wish, sir dwarf.  This is your domain and I shall respect your wishes.  But know you, young Nathaniel Goodsmith,” and at this, the woman's eyes were again intent upon the young man, “it was no dream what haunted you, but a foreshadowing.  You saw what
was
, you witnessed the awakening of
One
and, as you say, your life will never be the same again.  It would be best for all if you planned to bid farewell to all you know now, before it is too late to do so.”

Before either man could speak in protest, the woman rose, pulled her cloak around her shoulders and made to leave.  Yet she paused before she walked away, keeping her face averted from the two.  “You are needed, young sir,” she spoke, her head cocked ever so slightly down and to her side.  “Far more than you realize.  And you will be called upon to fulfill your debt, whether you wish it or not.”  At this, the woman walked across the room to the door.  “We will meet again, Nathaniel.  We will.  And soon...” came her voice as she disappeared out the door and into the street beyond.

Bracken relaxed visibly once the woman had gone from his sight.  It had almost seemed at the end that she might retaliate for the dismissal and every fiber in his being had stiffened in defense.  There was an obvious mystical quality to the woman's presence and dwarves had a natural aversion for such things.  It had taken a great force of will to summon the words he had and the effort had left him drained.  Had the stranger refused, Bracken knew he would not have been able to raise a finger in his own defense.  And this personal admission shook him to the core of his being.

Hesitantly, Bracken touched the card lying on the table.  It was real and there was no mistaking its import.  Whoever the strange woman had been, she knew who Bracken was.  And more, she knew Bracken's past.  He had thought he had escaped it, yet here it was, upon a card of the Game, no less, immortalized for any to see.  And no matter what the stranger may have said, where there was one, there would be more copies of the same.  So was it a trap?  A warning?  Or was someone from his past searching for him even now?  No answer would sit well with him, nor could he see a positive resolution to the conflict he knew was forthcoming.

“Goo' riddance to bad rubbish,” Bracken muttered, pocketing the card and turning his mind from the suggestions it imposed.

Nathaniel however only stared after where the woman had passed from the room.  “I'm not so sure...” he mumbled at last.

“Ya listen ta me, Goodsmith,” snarled the dwarf.  “I 'ave known my fair share o' trouble an' tha' one reaks o' it, through an' through.  In case ya di' no' recognize it, she was usin' magic ta control our minds, force us ta listen ta her words.  An' anyone that can so eas'ly charm a dwarven son is
no'
ta be trusted!”

“
Even so...”  mused Nathaniel.  The young man turned to his friend, intensity in his eyes.  “I
have
heard that verse before.  I'm not sure where, or how, but I know it.  It's like I've
always
known it!  And now I can't
not
recall it, word for word...”

“
For certain, 'cause she used
magic
ta ingrain i' 'pon yer brain!”  Bracken reached over and tapped two thick fingers atop Nathaniel's head for emphasis.  “It be part o' the spell!”

“
No, it's more than that,” responded Nathaniel.  “As soon as she began, I knew what she was going to say
before
she said it...”

“
Still par' o' the magic...”

“
I'm not so sure,” protested Nathaniel.

  “
'Gardless,” said the dwarf, finally taking a seat again, an exasperated sigh gushing from his lips as he did so.  “I be thinkin' i' is yet more cause tha' ya be 'pon your way back ta tha' refuge o' yers.  As welcome as yer comp'ny may be, somethin' ill is stirrin' and i' be sighted 'pon you.  First, tha' damnable priestess and now some intolerable witch o' some sort, both wit' eyes for Nate Goodsmith.  If I was ya, I would be no' wantin' ta be waitin' 'roun' for the third sign.  I would be puttin' some distance 'tween myself an' this town 'fore 'nother 'arbinger 'scended 'pon ya ta stop ya from goin' 't'all!”

Birds twitted from branch to branch overhead, taking advantage of the bright, warm day to do what birds do on such days.  They frolicked, they fed on berries, and they filled the forested countryside with their intermittent warbling calls.  Below on the ground, insects and rodents scurried amidst the underbrush in search of their own purposes.  In the distance, something larger could be heard, if not seen, moving away from the foreigner who traveled through their domain.

All seemed right with the world, at least on the surface.  All the creatures of the forest acted normal, and Nathaniel knew that if something were amiss, they would be the first ones to sense it.  And yet, in spite of this, he still felt there to be an underlying wrong somehow to it all.  It seemed that none of what he saw nor heard was real, only some facade perpetrated for him alone.  But the real truth was something else entirely, something he could not imagine at all.  Or perhaps he had just become more acutely aware of something inherently wrong within himself, and this tainted his view of everything else.

That strange woman back at Bracken's place had certainly unnerved him.  The Wyrm's Fang had attracted its share of odd visitors in its time, for certain.  Up until four years ago, Nathaniel had actually lived in town and had witnessed quite a few oddities himself.  Only Bracken himself knew how many had come before Nathaniel had begun frequenting the tavern or since he had moved his family out of the town proper, moving into the property he had inherited from his mother.  Yet this stranger was unique upon them all.

She was using magic
, Bracken had said.  Such a foreign idea to commoners in these lands, yet not completely unknown in the world.  There were entire cities dominated by magical forces elsewhere in the world, or so it was said.  And even the citizens of Oaken Wood themselves had born witness to the occasional miraculous feat performed by a wandering priest or side-show mystic.  The New Gods restricted magic's use, but it could not abolish it.  Clergy spread the notion that magic was the holy venue of their Gods, but there were still mystics and witches who practiced the art.  And, of course, the New Order could do nothing to influence the ways of the elves, the dwarves (even though they themselves shunned magic for the most part) or any of the other non-human or magically spawned races scattered across the land.  It would have been easier to stop the sun in the sky than to abolish magic from the citizens of the world.

Still, magic required some degree of skill for a human to use, some degree of practice and proficiency.  Or, at least, this was always what Nathaniel had been led to believe.  All the bards' tales seemed to agree upon this point, at least, if nothing else regarding magic: spells and incantations needed complicated gestures, mystic words and odd materials to draw the energies forth to accomplish even the smallest success.  A man did not simply will a thing done; it took some underlying procedure to call magical energies to accomplish it.  And this woman had shown no sign of doing anything uncommon at all.  She had only recited a...  what?  A poem?  A verse?  What would one call what she spoke?

In spite of this rationality, some base sense told Nathaniel that the dwarf was right.  The stranger had possessed an unmistakable quality that could only have been see as magic.  Her very presence had commanded attention and belief in what was said that went far beyond charm and charisma.

Had it been only the stranger, though, Nathaniel would only be half as troubled on his walk home.  That damnable priestess, as Bracken had called her, had shown a peculiar interest in him that seemed to defy logic, as well.  He could still feel the hot prickles upon his flesh where she had run her nails across his chest.  Had she marked him in some way by doing so?  Was that why his skin flushed when he thought of the intimacy that touch had suggested?

You are a married man!
he scolded himself.  No matter how attractive the priestess had seemed in that all-too-brief lowering of her guards, she had no hold upon him, body nor soul.  She was a woman, one with great potential for beauty and allure, but he felt no love for her, only sympathy for the life she had chosen to lead.  Surely, she would be happier following her feminine instincts than the harsh restrictions of that truth-besotten Goddess, Imery. 
There was passion in that woman that no religious fervor could ever satisfy
,
thought Nathaniel.

He scolded himself again.  These were not his thoughts, not the proper thoughts of a committed man, and he wanted nothing more than to banish all thoughts of the priestess from his mind.  Yet he couldn't help wondering as he tried if perhaps too many
had
put her from their minds in order to turn her upon the path she followed in the first place...

“
'Intolerable mystic', indeed,” came a man's voice from around a turn in the path ahead.  “Dwarves can be so narrow-minded, at times!  For such a creative race, and they
are
inspired in their workmanship, I can assure you...”

A few steps took Nathaniel to where he could glance the road ahead through a break in the trees and for a moment caught sight of a man pacing back and forth across the center of the path.  Not that the path was all that wide to begin with – in fact, the man's pacing consisted of little more than two broad steps each direction before trees at the edge of the path forced him to turn around and pace the opposite direction.  His garb would have suggested he might be a ranger, with the leather clothing and bracers he wore, but his manner suggested just the opposite of those stealthy men.  “And dense!  Why, the sky could reign fire upon the world around him and he would be more concerned with the cinder in his beard!”

The next few feet of the path obstructed his view, as denser foliage intruded.  The man was only out of sight for a few minutes, yet by the time Nathan cleared the trees, the man had ceased his pacing and stood leaning against a tree, one leg raised bracingly against the trunk.  The initial appearance suggested that the man had not even seen Nathaniel approach, with his eyes closed and his head back.  A quick turn of his head and slight opening of his right eye quickly dispelled the illusion, however.  “And that's who you would call a friend?  To him you would go to sage advice about a dream?”

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.”