Two (The Godslayer Cycle Book 2) (24 page)

Avery felt a cold anger sweep over him.  “How old, dear woman?  How old was your child?”

The woman was either unable to comprehend the question, or she could not form the words.  All Avery could make out of her blubbery, incoherent speech was, “My little girl...”

Avery squeezed the woman's hand, then lay it softly upon her bosom.  An icy, dispassionate rage swept over him as he stood, ready now as he had never been before.  He would have guessed the woman no older than mid-twenties, which would place the child at young indeed.  And if the monster beyond those doors had done to the child what had been done to others, there was no forgiveness to be had for the man.  Any thoughts of trying to reason with this Gravin were gone.

The only thing left in Avery's heart was the exacting demand of vengeance.

*     *     *

“He's coming,” said Dart. 

Gravin raised his sword and liquid formed out of the air around him in a mad cyclone with himself in the center.  Splintered fragments of chairs and tables were picked up in the maelstrom, swirling tighter and tighter around him.  And yet there was never a moment when his physical form could not be fully seen.

Everything was moving so fast that nothing could be focused on – not completely.  It all became a blur, barely dimming the figure of the creature standing at the eye of the storm.

All sound was sucked into the swirling mass in the middle of the room, air itself sucked away from the corners of the rooms.  It was almost as if the weight of the world were increasing around the one artificial point in the room's center.

Nothing changed for several minutes.  The Witness and Dart huddled as far from the tempest as they could, while still keeping a clear line of sight to the front entryway.  For the barest of moments, Dart wondered if her senses had fooled her, if it had been some kind of false labor of expectation.  Perhaps the God's presence was so powerful that he was still far away?

Then a silhouette took shape in the doorway.  A man's shape stood there for a moment, his hair flying madly in the wind.  His dirty golden hair framed his face, giving it more shadow and depth than it would otherwise have had.  Dart could see through the illusion, however.  She could see the stark, angular face, the deep set eyes.  She could imagine the face emaciated and more fearsome, but what her eyes saw instead was more solid definition granted to it solely by the force of power below the skin.  But...

The man took a step into the room, and a second figure stepped up behind him.  This one was younger, more slight of frame.  Initial appearances struck Dart's mind as that of a scholar of some sort, no muscle definition, and the close, scrutinous eyes common to someone who spends entirely too much time hunched over books or ledgers.  And yet...

The second man's eyes darted over to where the immortals huddled, and his eyes narrowed.

“Not a word.”  The man's mouth did not move, yet the words reached Dart's ears as plainly as if the man had been standing over her shoulder, speaking directly into her ear.  “Don't you dare spoil my fun.”

This
was the God.  Not the first man, for all his airs of greatness and confidence.  The small, insignificant figure following the other man was the true power in this room.  But of course, Gravin did not see it.  The monstrosity of a man focused on the obvious threat, upon the man who presented himself as the one in charge. 

It was a confidence game, a scam of some sort.  Gravin was
meant
to focus on the mortal while the God escaped all notice.  But why?

Dart cast her eyes towards her companion, who was already looking to her.
Yes,
she willed her eyes to say. 
I heard it, too.

“
You would be Gravin,” said the first man.  He walked up to the edge of the tempest, fearless and confident.  “I come in greetings, brother.  Set aside your wrath and let us speak.”

Gravin faltered, his artificial typhoon's perfect rhythm falling out of sync.  Debris began to fly free of the storm,  then the wind started blowing outward from the center of the room instead of being sucked inward.  Then, without warning, the water in the air simply fell to the ground, harmless.

“Brother?”  Though he had released his hold upon the sword's power, Gravin had not lowered the blade from its defensive position.  “Wha' are ya sayin'?”

The great man nodded his understanding.  “You do not know yet, which is to be expected.”  With either directness that was either courage or complete incomprehension of the real threat posed to him, the man took another step forward, spreading his arms wide.  Dart saw for the first time that he only had one hand – his left.  “I am Avery, God of Vengeance.  You are Gravin, the newly born God of Tempest.  And I would embrace you as the brother you are.”

Avery?!
  Dart knew that name – it was the false God who had so ensorcelled Scollhaven, the one who had unsettled the Witness so much that it permitted their paths to cross in the first place. 
This
was Avery?

“
God?” blurted Gravin.  “
God?! 
Wha' kind of fool does ya take me fer?”

The man calling himself Avery pointed to the sword in the maniac's hand.  “That sword.  Its name is
Two
, is it not?  It told you it's name when you first took it?”

Gravin looked to the sword.  “Ya said you were
Two
,” he said to the sword.  “You
said
tha'.”

Avery bowed his head in acknowledgment.  “You are the bearer of this sword, and that sword has gifted you with divinity.  I have come here to join you, for we are the first in a new race of Gods.  This is how we are made, how we come to be.  These swords are our birthright, and you have been chosen to be the second God in our new order.”

In spite of the words spoken, Dart could not avoid the complete absence of warmth in them.  Avery's words suggested companionship, friendship, welcome.  But his words lacked any such emotion.  In fact, they were cold and dry, like the spirit of the power he claimed to represent. 
Revenge is best served cold...

Gravin looked up at Avery, momentary confusion in his eyes.  “Where's yer sword then?”

Avery's face flickered, a crack showing in his perfected stoicism.  “That is a long story.  And it involves our mutual enemy, known as the Godslayer.”

“
We're Gods, yet there's somethin' tha' kin kill us?  Gods canna die, ya fool!”

“
Oh, they can,” said Avery, his face beginning to reflect the cold of his heart.  “Our sires – the ones who came before us, the Old Gods – were killed by the Godslayer.  Our power slept for countless years, waiting for the chance for the likes of us to be reborn.  But the Godslayer also survived, and we must unite in common cause to defeat him lest we share our parents' fates.”

Gravin's face registered indecision.  He was not as dim as Dart would have initially believed him, or maybe he just never believed anything anyone ever told him.  Dart herself might have believed this story if she had not known that Avery was no true God, if her own demi-God talents had not seen through the farce.  But Avery's rendition was compelling, sound – and the confidence with which it was delivered was unparalleled.  If the man did not believe what he said, then he was possibly the greatest grifter Dart had ever had the fortune to encounter.

Avery closed the distance between himself and the horror of Levitz, resting his good hand upon the shoulder of his declared patriot.  Absolutely no fear registered in Avery.  The man was in complete control of himself, so confident that he would not – or possible
could
not – be harmed, that he dared put his last remaining hand into the mouth of the viper...

...and had it torn off! 

With silent alarm, Avery leaped back, clutching at a large gash that had appeared in his hand.  The silent water rose again at Gravin's command, slicing through the air with razor precision, striking again and again at Avery's body, his legs, his face.

“
What kind o' God bleeds, ya fool?”laughed Gravin maniacally.  “Ya play a good game, that ya do, but I was a pirate, an' I know how ta see a man's true purpose.”

Avery finally screamed as Gravin swept upwards with the physical blade itself, cutting a deep wound through the self-proclaimed God of Vengeance.  Avery's hand flew to his midsection, attempting to hold his innards in place, blood pouring from his wounds without any restraint.  But as it flowed from his body, it did not fall – it mixed with the water in the air, joining in the assault upon its former home.

“Ya wanted my sword, ta replace the one ya lost!” screamed Gravin.  “I' was in yer
eyes
, how ya could no' help lookin' at it, plannin' wha' ta do with it.  Yer no God, ya fool!  Bu' maybe, jus' maybe, after I kill ya and take yer power, maybe I
will
be!”

By now, Avery's clothes were shredded and the skin of his body fell away in several places.  There was little to recognize of the greatness he had tried to project, the confidence of the man disintegrated into the bloody circle of mixed bodily fluids and water that flailed, cut and pierced his body. 

It appeared that the man – the clearly
mortal
man – was already dead, that only the force of the liquids assailing his body alone kept him standing.

And then as he was released, Dart watched Avery, would-be-God of Vengeance, fall to the floor as a bloody husk.

Nathaniel, Bracken and Brea had ridden into the shanty town just after dark the night before.  They had been cursorily met by liveried soldiers at the border, their horses having attracted attention.  Their weapons had drawn some attention, but when they appeared as nothing more than travelers with weapons designed for defense only, they were permitted to make camp for the night without molestation.  In the morning, they were assured, they could seek out the commander of the guard.

Clearly, the nightwatch had not been too threatened by strangers.  Bracken explained that it was common for military enforcers in Carland to display a presence without being overly intrusive, and Brea was able to confirm what the dwarf said. 

“Met much worse'n my time on th' road,” had remarked the dwarf.  “Almos' nice 'nough ta be worthless by 'perances, though tha's all fakin'.  They's a rough bunch'n what's can back thereselves up, they can.”

Also, since this lot apparently bore the crest of the king, Lord Justin I (“Glory ta 'is name,” had muttered Bracken under his breath), they were the marshals of the realm, the personal military force directly under command of the sovereign.  If they were here, insisted Bracken, then there was some serious concern about what was going on.  And they most certainly did
not
want to still be here if Lord Justin uprooted himself from his throne in his self-named port to come inspect the situation personally.

Following the protocol set for them, the trio had searched out the commander's tent in the morning. They found it easily enough, and were fortunate, it seemed, to find the commander in his own tent rather than out on patrol.  The young soldier who showed them into the commander's tent was full of pride at how their lord commander never asked a man under his command to do what he himself was not willing to do, including actively taking his own rounds alongside his men on patrol.

Brea chose to follow the other two as they were escorted into a command tent.  As a priestess, she was expected to be aloof, not noticeably in a position of authority, even if everyone in the room would know where the true power rested. 

An older man sat reclined in a wooden chair within the spacious interior.  The chair itself was positioned to the rear of the room, providing the man a clear view of anyone who entered.  His left leg was held rigidly in front of him, covered by a rough blanket.

The commander's mustache twitched as he noted Brea's glance at his leg.  “Fell off my horse,” he grumbled as way of explanation.  “So forgive if I don't rise to greet you, as honor dictates.”

Nathaniel took the lead, bowing in respect.  “No offense taken, m'lord.  May I introduce to you the priestess, Lady Brea, the dwarf Bracken Hillsfire, and myself, Nathaniel Goodsmith, formerly of Oaken Wood.”

The commander grunted.  “Country lad, I see.  You don't know your ranks.  I'm no lord, young master.  I am merely a field commander in Lord Justin's service, no more.”

The older man raised an eyebrow as he looked over the company standing before him.  “You're a motley crew, if I ever did see one though.  A commoner is no surprise, but standing with a dwarf and a priestess, no less?  You two,” he waved his finger between Brea and Bracken, “should be at each other's throats.  How can it be you stand together, at all?”

Brea blushed.  “Though it's true the New Order has little tolerance for demi-humans--” to which Bracken snorted, “--and they have little respect for us in return, these are unique times.  Besides, it is not so much that the dwarf and I travel together, so much it is as we both travel with our mutual friend, Nathan.”

The commander snickered.  “The glue holding the ragtag together then, lad?”

Nathaniel smiled.  “Something like that, I suppose.”

The old man squirmed in his seat to position himself straighter.  “So what brings you to the great wall of water, formerly known as the fishing port of Levitz?”

“So this
is
Levitz then?” asked Nathaniel.  There had been some concern that they had been lost in the dark and missed the village.

“
What used to be, sure.  'Course, if what Avery says is true--”

“
Avery!?” exclaimed all three of the visitors in unison.

Nathaniel held up his hand to silence his friends.  “Perhaps it's not the same Avery...”

The commander had leaned forward earnestly now.  “Wiry fellow, claims to be a God of some sort?”

Brea felt a pit open wide in her stomach.

“Same person,” Nathaniel admitted with a groan.  “Is he here?  Can we see him?”

“
No, sorry.  He went through the wall yesterday.”

“
Through
it?”  Nathaniel looked to Brea, who only shrugged her response.

During the night, Brea had wandered around, using her status as a priestess to pass amongst the campfires, gleaning what information she could about where they were.  The story of the massive liquid wall had been abundant in the tales she had heard – the barrier itself was hard to avoid, even in the dark, with the fires reflecting off its surface closer to shore – but people had been oddly quiet about the specifics.

Now that much made sense – no one would wish to proclaim the presence of another God to a priestess of the New Order.  Her sect was well known for harsh treatment of pagan faiths, after all.  So the people avoided any discussion about the town itself or – it would seem – anyone who had presented himself as the town's savior.

Apparently, the lord commander did not share the superstitious fears of the common people.  His attitude suggested he had no tolerance for anything other than strict truth, regardless of how unpleasant it might seem.

“I will admit, my lady,” said the commander, addressing Brea directly, “that I was confounded by his use of magic.  He called himself a God – slew my best steed with his bare hands, even – and then started telling people that Levitz had not been destroyed, but was safe beyond a wall of water.  Up until that point, we had believed the funnel to be a solid pillar, you see.

“
Then, yesterday I am told he just walked up to the wall and it parted in front of him.  He just walked through and the wall closed behind him.”

Parted the water?
  But Avery had never displayed that kind of power.  For all intents and purposes, his power had come from his sword – from
One
.  But Nathaniel had stripped him of the weapon – along with his hand.  Even assuming he would have survived being maimed, where had he gained the power to walk through a massive wall of water?  By all reports that Brea had gathered, the wall had resisted all forms of assault.  It was seen as indestructible.  Yet Avery had just waved his hand and walked right through it?

“
Lord commander,” said Brea.  “This man is not a God, though he passes himself off as one.  He is a charlatan.  We have confronted him before and bested him, and we are only three mortals.  No true God could be so easily overcome, I assure you.”

The commander
hrrumphed
.  “I should think not.”

“
But he has a knack for convincing common folk that he
is
a God, and that makes him very,
very
dangerous.”  Brea stepped forward to express her urgency.  “If he ever reappears, you must subdue him and bring him to me or any other priest you can find.  I command this of you by authority of Imery the True.”

The old man raised an eyebrow at that.  “Imery, you say?  Now, it's funny you should mention the Goddess of Truth, for there have been rumors of late about her.  Perhaps you would confirm them for me?”

Brea's felt her mood darken.  “What rumors, lord commander?”

“
You will forgive that I bear disturbing news.  And I, being a simple man, make no claim on their veracity.  But none have been able to disprove them in recent weeks.”

“
Again, what rumors, lord commander?”

The commander let himself fall back in his chair again, giving the perception that he was relaxing his guard.  Yet Brea's senses were alive still, and they saw the ruse for what it was.  He intended to root out what he saw as deception, and he was bracing himself to leap up, if need be.

“The words that have reached my ears say that Imery has vanished from the lands.  She is said to no longer answer prayers, and her clergy have all retreated within their temples.  It is said that all power derived from the Goddess has vanished, and that these clergy are now no better than common men.”

Brea's allowed her face to redden.  “Are you
actually
trying to call an emissary of
Imery
, Goddess of
Truth
, a liar?”

“
Not I,” said the old man, holding his hands wide before him.  “Words that have reached me, not my words.  But, as you have breached the topic, troubling words all the same.  Words that require some veracity to give them strength or to vanish them entirely.

“
You are the first priest of Imery abroad in weeks, Lady Brea.  Perhaps you can fault an old man for listening to rumors, or perhaps you have no power to do so?  Mayhaps you are one of the many fakers wandering the lands who has just not heard of the collapse of the faith you portray?  How am I to know?”

Nathaniel's hand twitched, clearly feeling the urge to reach onto his back for the sword that no longer rested there.  The man and dwarf had left their weapons with their horses under promise of safe passage.

“You may regret asking me to prove my pedigree, commander,” warned Brea.

The commander smiled.  “By all means, show me that I must regret,
Lady
.”  The old man was growing more and more convinced that he was right.  Brea had to prove him wrong.

Momentary doubt flared in her heart.  She could tap the power in times of need, but could she do so without working up to it? 

No weakness
, the former priestess told herself. 
Show any now, and this man will see
me
as the charlatan.

Brea breathed in deeply, and began walking slowly across the room towards the commander.  “Once, there was a man who claimed to be true in all he did,” started Brea, reciting one of the many parables of her former faith.  “He grew great in his self-importance, amassing a great stature within his community as being above reproach, and from the belief he inspired in others, his opinion of himself grew and grew.”

The priestess could feel the power within her grow, felt her own body expand as she continued to take small, deliberate steps.  “One day, he was visited by a priest of Imery, who asked of the man penance for his pride.  'What need have I for Imery or her words,' said the man, 'when I am an oasis of truth all on my own?'”

The commander's form began to recede from Brea's eyes, appearing to shrink before her.

“Imery's priest reminded the man that he had no capacity for truth in the first place without Imery's goodwill, so what importance he felt he had was no more than the blessings of the Goddess.  The man only laughed at the audacity of the priest, to which the priest offered the man one last chance to repent.  'Give honor to the Goddess, for without her blessing, you will have no truthful words to speak.'  Again the man just laughed.  And so the priest bowed and left.”

By now, the commander looked very small to Brea, forcing her to bend over at the waist to look down upon him.  “Once the man was alone, he tried to return to his normal routine, but found he could not speak.  He could not tell anyone what he wanted, nor even tell his servants that he wished their service.  In time, he found he had not lost all words, only words which could be seen as true.  He was still capable of speaking falsehoods, lies and manipulations.  And before long, he so longed to speak that he embraced his newfound liberty.  But his falseness quickly spread, and from that day forward, no man ever again believed a word he spoke.  He lost his home, his wealth and the respect of the community.”

Brea stopped walking, as she now towered so tall over the commander that she had to kneel to not rip through the roof the tent.  The commander himself had pulled back into his chair, cowering before the gargantuan personage hovering over him.  “All because the man believed himself so much greater than my Goddess that he could cast doubt upon her.”

“
M-my apologies, priestess,” fumbled the commander.  “I was mistaken.  Forgive me.”

Like so many men in power, the man had proven himself a coward. 

With a shrug, Brea released her power and receded back to her normal dimensions.  “Never again challenge the emissary of a God.”  She then turned and retraced her steps until she was once again standing behind her companions.

“
If that is all, commander?” asked Brea.

The old man simply waved his hand in dismissal.  All pretense of authority had vanished from the man.  He could not even muster the power to properly speak his leave for their departure.

“Safe passage through this encampment, then?” prompted the priestess.

“
Yes, yes,” mumbled the commander.  “For you all.  Safe passage.”

Nathaniel bowed his respect once more.  “Farewell, sir.”  Then he turned and led his companions from the tent.