Two (The Godslayer Cycle Book 2) (23 page)

Hamil's face lit up.  The scribe
did
so like making his pronouncements.  “You have nearly answered that question for yourself.  No mortal
could
get through the wall.  But a
God
could and did.”

Hamil stepped back and flourished his arms towards Avery.  “Behold your rescuer.  I present to you, Avery, God of Vengeance, and liberator of Levitz!”

The Witness had called the presence a God, but it was not acting like any wrathful deity that Dart had ever envisioned.  If a God had truly pierced the wall surrounding Levitz, what other reason could it have than to seek vengeance against the upstart mortal at the heart of the debacle?  Why not seek out the
reason
for the anomalous manifestation?

And yet it had not – the presence had lingered at the fringe of the community.  What was it waiting for?  If it had no intention of tearing down the power behind the unearthly anomaly, why had it bothered to pierce the veil?

Gods simply did not come to the mortal realm that often.  If they did, Dart was confident that she would have felt this imposing phenomenon before.  This was why they had priests and clergymen, after all. 

Yet in all her four hundred years, this was something new. 

Dart was convinced that what she had sensed – and presumably the feeling she shared with the Witness – was not any actual manifestation of power by the God.  Or, at least, that was how the Witness described it.  He insisted that if it had been a display of power, the impact upon their perceptions would have been significantly greater.  He explained that as rare as a personal entry into the mortal realm was for a God, to actually have that God use his powers was almost unheard of in living memory.

This pretense was validated by the consistent flow of power emanating in their direction.  Unless the God had entered casting off some powerful effect and maintained it at a constant level consistently, then this was indeed only its substance that Dart felt.  She shuddered at the idea of how much more power this being possessed if
this
represented the barest influence it could have on the world around it.

Gravin was not handling the news all that well, either.  He had been pacing all night, restless to the point of mania.  He had overheard the Witness' declaration of there being a God in Levitz, and he had prepared for the inevitable confrontation that had never come.  He had pulled the sword free of its binding and stood facing the door, bracing himself for attack.

But an attack had not come, and until the dim twilight of the town had receded in favor of true night, he had held his stance – stiff yet unsettled, shifting, twitching.

It was obvious that whatever had triggered his own senses had faded – he was not aware of the continued existence of the deity.  Otherwise he would not have stood awaiting its arrival.  He would have known that the deity was keeping its distance, for whatever reason.

But he had been rattled by what he
had
felt.  Perhaps it had been nothing more than the disruption of his own magic he had sensed – he was clearly in communion with the magic of the sword.  It only made sense that he was also tied into the magical weave it created.  If the God had forced its way in through the wall, would that account for whatever triggered Gravin's awareness?

Yet if there had been some manifestation of power to pierce the watery prison wall, it could not have been from the God.  As the Witness insisted – and Dart believed – they would have felt that.  So the God had come into the city by taking advantage of something else powerful enough to disrupt the power sealing the community off from the outside world. 

Did this suggest that the God was following some other, more powerful being?  Or was it perhaps subterfuge, trying to mask its entry into the town?  If not for the demi-Gods' presence inside the walls, Gravin would only have sensed the breach of his wall – and perhaps the God was not aware he would have sensed that?  The magic holding the wall in place had clearly not been shattered – the immense edifice still stood imposingly, casting its shadow over everything, even in light of day, the strange dancing lights of the reflected liquid surface still dancing upon the ground beyond the tavern entryway.

Gravin's foreboding was only increased by the fact that his appointed minions were gone.  The one who had brought the child had been sent into the night to bring him news of this God, and had not returned.  His second subordinate had never come back, at all.  Though Gravin had gained no true advantage from having these men with him, their absence definitely affected his self-confidence.

Now the daylight – or what passed for it with the refracted light falling upon the town, magnified and reflected at angles from the walls surface – had returned, and only now did Dart sense movement.  Gravin had long-since abandoned his defensive stance and now paced the room anxiously. 

Yet Dart must have shown some tell of what she sensed, for Gravin stopped his tracking across the floor and rushed over to roughly lift her up to face him.  “What?  What do ya see?”

“N-nothing,” managed the immortal.  “I never
see
things, I only feel them.  I'm not a seer.”

Gravin growled – literally snarled like a beast.  Through gritted teeth, he took another breath and managed.  “What do ya
feel
, then?”

Dart glanced to the Witness for guidance, but Gravin released one of her arms to grab her face, forcing it forward.  “Pay heed ta me, no' him.  What do ya
feel
?”

The immortal swallowed.  “It's coming.  The God is coming in this direction now.”

“Why?” demanded Gravin.  “Why now?  Why no' sooner?”

“
I told you,” barked Dart.  “I'm not a seer!” 

Gravin released the woman's chin only to deliver a staggering blow across her jaw that nearly dislocated her head from her shoulders.

“I don't know!” Dart screamed, trying to pull away from her attacker.  Desperately, she fumbled for the knife she kept hidden at her waist, only to have her wrist seized in the man's bear-like mitt.  The  pressure threatened to crush each of the tiny bones in her hand and wrist.

“
I warned ya 'bout keepin' that put away!” he bellowed in her ear.  Somehow, he had pulled her to his body without her even being aware, holding her to his chest in some demented form of intimacy. 

“
Torture her all you like,” said the Witness.  “We certainly can't stop you.” 

Dart's heart sank at how passive her companion was proving to be.  Even with her life on the line, he was giving the beast permission to torment, possibly even kill her.

“But if you continue that now,” continued Dart's fellow immortal, “you will be unprepared for the God when it arrives.”

The grip holding Dart slackened slightly, the uncertainty measured in the minor abatement of pressure against her body.  Then she found herself stumbling backwards, caught in the Witness' arms.

“It's alright,” said her new friend.  “It will be over soon enough, one way or the other.”

Dart looked up at the Witness through blurred vision.  “You can see what's going to happen?”

“Not at all,” countered the other demi-God.  “I simply cannot imagine that for all his bravado, that this Gravin has any chance whatsoever against a real God.”

*     *     *

Avery stood with all the self-imagined confidence that he could manage.  None of it was real.  Not one lick.  But he could at least manage to stand before the structure without his knees quaking.  That had to count for something.

There had been no more putting off the inevitable, though.  Hamil and his God had accepted the night's hospitality of the frightened family at the edges of town, but come daybreak, there was no longer a justifiable excuse to avoid the trek into the heart of the town to confront the barbarian whom the family had come to know only as Gravin.

Avery had a name now for his fellow sword bearer.  But from what the father of the household had told him, the man was truly a monster.  Nothing like Avery had been like when he had been gifted with the powers of a God.

Well, that was not entirely true, either.  Avery could recall what he had originally
planned
to do with
One. 
His mind had been aswim with images of seeking bloody vengeance against all those who had hurt him through the years, of torturing and slaughtering every man, woman and child in Scollhaven as penalty for all of his own hard years.  He had envisioned himself as a crimson avenger, reigning terror down upon anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path – all for the simple crime of
not
being heretic, not wearing the brand of condemnation.

Yet Avery's dreams of retribution had almost immediately faded.  He had taken a step forward to defend a barmaid from being raped by corrupt officials – his own dear Viola, though at the time he had no idea of how significant she would become to him.  When he had revealed himself to the people of Scollhaven, they had fallen all over themselves to worship him.  And he had accepted that devotion with the barest of hesitation.  Though he had declared himself the God of Vengeance, he had instead shown compassion to those he had dreamed of slaying. 

In the end, Avery's inherent humanity had prevailed.  When overcome with nigh infinite power, he had chosen to shelter and defend those who remained mere mortals. 

Yet his counterpart had become the living embodiment of the horror that Avery
might
have become.  Here was the reality of someone who had acted on the more base instinct to exact punishment against the less fortunate of humanity.  Avery could not imagine what
this
man had endured before becoming empowered, but he clearly lacked the moral core that had somehow survived in Avery through all his outcast years.

And this ruthless fiend was now who Avery had to face off with if he was going to wrest control of the sword to his own purposes.  And he needed to do so soon – the ethereal presence of the Godslayer hung over his mind now, gaining more power over him with each passing moment.  The man would find him soon, and Avery needed to be ready for that confrontation, as well.  But he could not possibly deal with both Gravin
and
the slayer of Gods.

Avery could feel the proximity of his newest followers, as well.  Half the town it seemed had been waiting for him on the street when he had exited the small abode that morning.  Word had spread that a God had come to free them, and they now flocked to be present when their liberty was reclaimed.

Hope, it seemed, held more power than fear.  Or at least it did when there were two figures for these disparate emotions to center around.  Yet in spite of the renewed courage that had brought them out of hiding, they still preferred to follow rather than lead.  Avery was still very much on his own in confronting Gravin, with only his enigmatic scribe to chronicle his success or failure.

I have to wonder if Hamil will be permitted to live to record anything if I fail, though.

Avery looked back and forth along the street, giving all appearances that he was plotting the lay of the land.  But the landscape had not changed since he first approached the unnamed tavern in the seaside warren of town. 

The only inhabitant of the street was a lone woman, lying pitiably in a heap beside the building.  The way her body lay behind her, it was clear that she had no use of her lower extremities.  She had pulled herself to the side of the structure, but that was as far as she could manage.  If her intent had been to enter the building, she had fallen short by a dozen paces.

Every subliminal instinct Avery screamed that the woman was a trap of some sort, some kind of bait left in an unseen snare.  This was the real reason he hesitated, for why would one lone woman be lying in front of this structure like that if not as some kind of lure?  When no other living thing moved within a hundred paces of the building?

Yet by the same token, how could he ignore her plight?  How could he enter the building without first seeing to her welfare?  But if he did – if he sprung whatever trap this represented – would he be able to enter the tavern, at all?

Hairs on the back of his neck bristled as Avery walked forward, heading for the woman lying to the side of the building.  His original reasoning proved to be accurate, he noticed as he approached – both of her legs were twisted and deformed beneath the material of her skirt.  But these were recent afflictions, the purple and black masses upon the skin's surface testifying to the brutal beating she must have endured. 

“
I'm sorry,” Avery offered as he knelt by her side.  His hand hovered over the woman's wounded legs, fearful that any touch of comfort would only bring more pain.  “If it were within my power to heal you, I would.  But I am God of Vengeance, not Mercy.”

The woman opened pain-wracked eyes, apparently having been completely oblivious to Avery's approach until he had spoken.  “Vengeance?”  Her voice cracked, whether splintered from her beating or from what must have been hours of crying was impossible to determine.  “Oh bless you, My Lord.  For you have heard my prayers.  It is not mercy I need from you, My Lord.  Your vengeance is all I require.”

The woman reached up to grasp the material of Avery's shirt, though in her weakness, it was at best a feeble brush against the fabric.  “Avenge her, My Lord.  Avenge my Therese.  I beg of you.  Avenge her...”

“
Therese?”

“
My daughter, My Lord God,” sobbed the woman, trying again to grasp his shirt.  Avery reached out and took her hand in his own.  “My daughter...” she cried again, this time breaking down in shudders of anguish.