Two (The Godslayer Cycle Book 2) (8 page)

“
I don't think I understand.”  Nathaniel wanted to, but something about the whole thing escaped him.  He expected Brea to make protests of love for him – she had done so often enough.  But now she spoke not of loving him, but instead not loving her God?

“
When a priest swears fealty to his or her God, it is because he or she takes their God into their heart above all others.  There is no room for mortal love when you are in love with the divine.  It's hard to explain, but that is the only way to be a conduit of divine magic – to have such love in your heart for your God, that their power can flow through you.  Or at least, that is what I was always taught.  It was what I believed.

“
But that day in Bracken's inn, when I met you, suddenly I didn't love her anymore.  I loved you.  I don't know whether it was magic or something else, and I don't care.  Because no matter how much Imery condemned it, it was better than anything I'd ever felt before.  I ached when I wasn't with you, but when I was – or when I thought of being with you – it just seemed like there was more power there than anything I had ever felt with Imery.”

“
I'm sorry...”  It was all Nathaniel could think to say.

“
No, don't be.  I'm not telling you this for your sympathy or your blame.  I am saying that for the first time in my life, I knew something more powerful than my love for Imery.  Yet, even though I had these raw, overwhelming feelings for you – somehow, I was still able to channel Imery's magic.  Remember, only absolute love and devotion could give a priest the ability to use divine magic.  Yet somehow not only was I still able to use magic, I was given even more magic by Imery.  And stranger still, she seemed oblivious to the fact that I no longer loved her. 

“
I was just following her because it was all I had ever done.  But the more I did, the more I saw her for her pettiness, her failings.  I saw her as a selfish, self-absorbed tyrant who could not bear the idea of one of her toys being taken from her.  And that's all I ever was to her – a toy.”

“
You're not a toy,” Nathaniel said with conviction.  “No mortal should be a toy to the Gods.”

“
Yet we all are, even you.  You said as much yourself.  You agreed with me when I said that the Gods are playing games with us.”

Nathaniel could not disagree.  “But one of the players is dead.”

“And I somehow don't hate you for it.”  Brea managed a half smile, framed by the streaks of tears on her cheeks.  Nathaniel could not stop himself from reaching up and brushing the tears aside, feeling the bite of the wind upon his newly dampened fingers.

“
You realize,” said Nathaniel, “that there is a storm coming, right?”

Brea nodded.

“And you had the camp torn down.”

Brea's eyes opened wide.  “Oh, by the stars!  What were we thinking!”

“Well, it's probably for the best.  We should move more into the shelter of the trees, since there seems to be a great deal of wind.  And it's only growing more powerful.  Probably will be better to set up cover in there than in this open space.  But still, I wouldn't tie things down too much yet.”

Brea punched at Nathaniel's chest playfully.  “So that's why you were standing over here being so unhelpful?  You knew we were just wasting our time, didn't you?”

Before Nathaniel could answer, Brea turned away and started calling to the others.  “Move it all into the trees.  We won't be able to go anywhere until the storm passes.  And we'll have more shelter there.”  It was odd that she had to raise her voice to be heard over the wind, yet he had no problem hearing her, even when she spoke under her breath.

The one called Derik's face fit into a broad grin.  “Brea is smart,” he pronounced, standing perfectly still in admiration of the priestess.

“Yeah, yeah.  She's a peach,” said Alsen, whom Nathaniel had come to understand was the simpleton's brother.  The smaller man shoved his elder brother.  “Now why don't you put your back to doing what she says, 'cause you won't listen to anything I say.”

Alsen's evil glare at Brea did not escape Nathaniel's attention.  There was something going on between the three that had not yet been revealed.  And before they traveled on, whether together or separate, it would need to be resolved.  Because Nathaniel had a deep feeling in his gut that Alsen intended to even some score with the priestess, whether she realized it or not.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” came a feminine voice from behind Nathaniel.  The mortal turned to see one of the Gods standing behind him.

“
Dariel.”  Nathaniel seemed to know by instinct now which God appeared before him, regardless of which form he or she appeared in.  In this instance, Dariel appeared in her feminine form, and though he had not yet spoken directly to Baron and Baroness of the Dark, he knew exactly who she was.

The Goddess bowed.  “I give you homage, our beloved godslayer,” she said.  “For only you could have slain Imery.”

Nathaniel could do nothing more than nod, then wait patiently for the Goddess to say more.  When it was clear he would remain silent, Dariel continued.

“
Which must also mean that you have retrieved one of the swords, even though you have not reached Scollhaven.  Is this a tale we should be informed of?”

“
I wonder how it is a tale you do not know already?”

Dariel smiled.  “You know we cannot perceive the swords.  And the presumption would be that you yourself would be likewise invisible to us if you were to wield one.  Since none of us witnessed you taking the life of the New Order's Goddess, then we can only presume that she died at the blade of one of our swords.”

Dariel's smile turned wicked.  “But that does not mean that we did not become aware of the good Goddess' departure.  We felt her death as keenly as we might have witnessed an entire continent sink into the ocean.  And myself most especially.  For all of a sudden, my sphere of influence over truth has grown more powerful.”

“
Have you come to gloat then?”  If there was one thing Nathaniel had learned, it was that these Gods whom his mother once so devoutly worshiped were not the pious beings he had been raised to believe.  If anything, they were small and petty – barely better in many respects than their New Order counterparts.  “Was this your plan then all along in sending me after Imery, so that you would get more powerful?”

“
Oh, no,” insisted Dariel.  “This was unforeseen.  None of us expected that simply removing one of the New Order would so suddenly increase our power.  Influence over our spheres?  Certainly.  This is how Charith could intervene with Mari's soul if Elevan were gone.”

Dariel waved her hand, and a seat formed out of a tree behind her.  “But there is more at work here,” she said as she sat softly back into the chair.  “The Gods gain power from worship, dear Nathaniel.  We don't gain more or less power from there being other Gods in existence.  Imery's passing should have only opened up the
potential
for more power, since I could now recruit from her former flock.  If that were all it was, my power would not have increased so drastically.  Yet it has, which means there is more going on than any of us ever suspected before.”

In spite of his reluctance to have Dariel in his presence, Nathaniel found himself intrigued.  “So what is going on then?  How do you gain more power without gaining new followers?”

Dariel leaned forward in her chair conspiratorially.  “Though I cannot begin to fathom the how just yet, I do have a very good sense for deceit, my dear.  It is, after all, one of my dominions.  So believe me when I say that the New Order are not just depriving us of faithful; they are also somehow blocking the power we receive from those who still hold to our faith, as well.”

“
Again, how is that possible?”

“
How should I know?  I have only gained greater influence over truth – the realm of deception is still blocked to me.  Now, if you were to seek out, let's say, Faetious or Srell, or possibly even Enuchek, maybe if they would as suddenly cease to be, I could be of more help, but--”

“
So you want command over what?  Darkness?”

“
Actually, shadow is Srell's dominion.  Darkness is part of Laer's domain, and doesn't really act as part of keeping things hidden as much as most mortals think--”

“
Fine.  Shadow.  The others, they represent what?  Faetious is the God of Deception, but I don't remember any Enuchek.”

“
She's a Lesser Power, like Srell.  Her dominion is over mystery.”

“
So you want the darker powers for yourself,” Nathaniel said.

“
Oh eventually, for certain.  I wish my entire dominion back.  That's the point of being done with the Godlings, after all.  But I only posited the idea because you seemed to expect me to know something that has been kept from us for countless mortal generations.  And that would require my having greater influence over those so-called darker spheres.”

“
So I don't suppose you would be of any great help then in telling me more about our intruder this morning, either?”

Dariel's left eyebrow lifted.  “Intruder?”

“Yes, we woke to find a stranger in our camp with the ability to change our memories and make us see things.  Seems to have had another of the magic swords, but I couldn't sense it then or now.  But he knew a great deal about us.”

Dariel leaned back into her chair thoughtfully.  After a moment, she asked, “When the first sword awoke, how do you think we knew it had if we cannot sense the swords?”

“That's actually a really good question,” admitted Nathaniel.

“
We may be oblivious to the swords themselves, dear Nathaniel, but their effects upon the world are something else.  When the first sword surfaced, it sent a ripple through the mortal plane, and that ripple echoed through you.  It awoke your own potential as our avatar.  Through you, we felt the sword wake up, and this is how it will be each time.  Simply put, you could not have met someone else with one of the swords, because we would have sensed another sword wake up.  It's that simple.”

“
So how--”

“
If I were to guess?  I would say you have been fooled by someone with the power to pretend to have one of the swords.  You said he could make you see things, why not have you believe you saw a sword just like your own?”

“
But who besides a God could do that then?”

Dariel giggled.  “Oh, the things you do not know of this world, Nathaniel.  Aside from demi-gods scattered all over the world, any number of creatures have magic at their disposal that could do precisely what you have described.  It
is
a concern that this – well, let's call him a mortal for now, until we know otherwise – this mortal knew
anything
about the swords though.  But I can assure you, whoever it was did not have one of the nine swords.”

“
Somehow, that does not make me feel better.  In fact, it makes me even more worried.”

“
As it should.  The things you do not know – the
powers
you are oblivious of – why, they could kill you.  Without even a moment's hesitation.  Best find a way to move on and quickly before whoever it is comes back.”

“
We won't be able to travel for at least a day with a storm blowing in,” advised Nathaniel.

Dariel sighed.  “No, I imagine not.”  The Goddess raised herself up in her chair in as a regal a pose as she could manage.  Nathaniel would have expected the ever increasing wind to at the very least muss the Goddess' hair, but apparently her divine powers protected her from the effects of the storm.  “Though that will give you plenty of time to tell me about how you acquired the sword.”

Nathaniel had hoped the Goddess would have forgotten that detail.  He was still sworn to secrecy by Malik.  He was not supposed to let the other Gods know about
First
.  And without explaining the use of the secret tenth sword, he was not sure how to explain how he had overcome Avery.

“
Oh, don't fidget,” laughed Dariel.  “I know about the other sword, the one Malik was supposed to give you.  Malik and I are in that much together.  But none of the others know, so don't mention it to them.  Which is the real reason I insisted upon being the one to visit you this time.  If we are going to
keep
that extra sword a secret, we are going to have need of deception.  And there is none better at it than I.”

Nathaniel shrugged.  Well, that was at least one less worry.  “Seems we didn't need to travel all the way to Scollhaven,” he began.  “Scollhaven came to us.  Well, the part that mattered did, anyways.  The man with
One
was already on the road, headed in our direction...”

The waves slapped against the side of the ship.  There was enough force with each new concussion that the ship jarred with each contact.  The winds pulled at the sails as men in the masts attempted to furl the sails before they became tattered.  It was always the way of the sea – a storm could come on suddenly as this one had, and if the sails were not secured, the winds could shred them, leaving the ship adrift.

Worse, when the ship was close to shore as
The Gull-Griffin
presently was, unfurled sails could result in being dashed against the rocks submerged near the shore, if they were not instead run aground entirely.

Gravin watched the men swinging and jumping around in the masts with a fascination that really was not warranted.  He had watched the sight countless times through his life, and there really was no true mystery to the process for him.  He had often been one of the mast monkeys himself in his younger days, in fact.  Yet on this day, the sight of the crew leaping and pulling against the power of the rising storm held a special rapture for him.  For this would be the last time he saw such a sight.

In spite of the weather, Captain Aris intended to carry out his sentence.  So vexed was the captain by Gravin's conduct that even the safety of his ship took secondary concern to seeing Gravin removed from his ship.  No, not just removed from the ship – expunged from this existence.

“
Gravin!” shouted the captain.  Even at the measly twenty paces, his voice was doused by the wind.  It seemed even the Gods were up in arms over Gravin's conduct.  That, or they were truly perturbed that Gravin had failed.  Either way, their tempest could not have been more aptly timed.

“
Listen to me words, ye bootlicker!” 

Gravin pulled his attention from the masts to his former commander.  “I hears ya,” said Gravin, though he knew his words would not reach Aris.  “Jus' get it over with, a'ready.”

Though Aris could not have heard Gravin's words, his jaw set firmly as though he had.  “The charge is treason and mutiny.  Both be punishable by death.  Do ye challenge my charges?”

Gravin only glared back at the captain.  Yes, he had tried to raise a mutiny against the captain.  Yes, he had committed treason against the crown in doing so.  He had thought he had the crew behind him, but it turned out those who played at sympathy to his desire to commandeer
The Gull-Griffin
were only placating him, letting him put his own neck out. 

When Gravin had attempted to assassinate the captain, not a solitary sole rose up with him.  Aris was old and far from healthy.  Gravin would easily have been able to take the old man even then.  But he had been denied an honorable challenge, as the captain's first mate had struck Gravin from behind.  The mutineer suspected that the man had been tipped off by one of his fellow renegades, though he would never know the truth of that suspicion now.

Gravin now stood with his hands and feet in irons upon a wooden plank suspended over the port side of the vessel.  It was tradition to let the sea judge a sailor by forcing him to walk the plank, to give him a chance to prove his innocence against his capacity to survive.  Had they been out of sight of land, Gravin would have not been bound so.  He had earned that much honor in his execution.  But clearly, Captain Aris was not inclined to give him any opportunity to survive, not with being in sight of shore.

Gravin could see the shore from his vantage point, even if it was a good league from the ship's far deck.  The captain had decided that the mutineer's execution would be on the seaside of the vessel to give him yet another obstacle to overcome were he to somehow survive the execution.  As if being bound in heavy irons were not enough.

“I will take yer silence as a confession to the charges,” called Aris.  “By the authority vested in me as captain, I--”

Gravin let out a sudden crow loud enough to drown out the captain.  Once he was sure his outburst had shocked Aris into silence, he spat over the side of the plank in disgust.  “You have no authority, Captain.  No law gives ye right to send someone o'er the plank.  Yer bound by the crown's law, which gives me right to trial by court.  So don' get yerself all high'n mighty o'er power ye don't rightly have!”

Aris' face grew red with rage.  Gravin imagined spittle flecking the other man's lips as was so common for the old man at moments like this.  Aris never had responded well to challenge.

“
The law of the Kalrios holds over any law of land when 'pon the sea, ye bastard!  So long as we're ta sea, I hol' to
his
law, not that o' the crown.”

Gravin guffawed.  “We're p'rhaps a half day from port in Levitz, an' yer in such a hurry to cast me off, there's no way ya believe that.  Yer puttin' the safety o' yer ship at risk so's ye can be done an o'er with me.  There's a storm, damn ya man!  Hate me all ya want, but don't kill the
Griffin
fer it!”

Aris' face grew redder still as he drew his cutlas from his side and waved it at his former crewman.  “Off with ye, or I'll have my mates run you through, then cast ya off!”

Gravin cast an uncertain glance at the choppy sea beneath his feet.  It was a struggle to maintain his balance as it was with the pitch and yaw of the ship in the storm, but he knew he would be unable to hold his footing if someone else came out to swing a sword at him.  Still, he fought for some way to delay his inevitable end.

Raising his head in defiance, the mutineer made one last protest.  “Ye denied it before, but I call again the right to challenge, ye old goat!  Give me a sword an' the right to stand in challenge 'gainst ye.  Don' choose a coward's end fer me.  There's no honor in it fer either of us.”

Aris only waved his cutlass again, signaling with his other hand for anyone nearby to come forward to carry out his orders to drive the criminal off the plank.  The captain did not realize that every able hand was too engrossed in doing what he should have been doing by this point, though – securing the ship against the storm.  It truly had become a confrontation between the two, no one else left to witness the outcome, and no one save the captain to drive Gravin into the sea.

Realizing that none would respond to the captain, Gravin grinned maliciously.  “Come on, old goat.  Come'n get me!”

Aris cast a quick glance and finally realized he was alone at the ship side of the plank.  With a growl of frustration, he climbed up to the bulwark, kicking solidly at the plank.  Gravin felt the vibrations along the wood, yet still managed to hold his footing.

“
Not goin' ta be that easy, ya goat!”  Gravin called.  “Yer gonna have ta bloody yer own sword, if ye wan' me off yer ship!”

Aris spat himself as he climbed fully onto the plank, though he still held firmly to the railing as he did so.  Gravin had not actually given the captain credit for coming so far, yet here the man stood, ready to walk the plank far enough to see Gavin cast off.

The mutineer shifted his feet to stand against any charge the captain might actually attempt.  His left foot moved to the side to brace himself, but the support he expected was not to be found and his foot only found air.  Gravin unexpectedly found himself pitching backwards towards the sea.

Gravin's fall was abruptly cut short with a lurch.  Inexplicably, the mutineer found himself dangling wrong side up, with his head swinging precariously above ever rising waves. 

The mutineer's first thought was that someone had caught hold of him, preventing his fall.  Or at the very least the chains on his legs, since he could feel them gouging into the flesh of his bare ankles.  Yet the only person within possible reach had been Aris, and that man would have cut off his leg before grabbing hold of it.

Looking up was difficult, however, as he swayed worse now than when he had been above the plank.  A wave crashed into the side of his head, dousing his mouth and nose with brine, stinging his eyes and making it even more difficult to determine the identity of his savior.  Squinting, he stared up at to where his feet were and saw no one – just the outline of the wooden plank itself.

The irons!  The realization came to him in an instant.  The chains had caught on the plank, and his life was dangling solely upon whatever snag the metal links had become lodged in!

Gravin was not given the opportunity to even try to comprehend how securely he was held though – for no sooner did he recognize the source of his salvation than the wooden lifeline took a downward turn directly towards him.  A moment's comprehension was afforded him to guess that Aris had knocked free the barrels weighing down the far end of the plank and decided to let the wooden beam join the renegade in its seaward pitch.

But the moment was gone in the next when the cold, harsh shock of the stormy sea stung Gravin to a new sense of awareness.  He plunged under the surface without time to even take a breath, the force of the impact knocking what air he did have from his lungs.  Worse, the sharp cold forced him to inhale, filling the space within his lungs with ice. 

Gravin tried to cough, but that only made him inhale more as he felt his body pulled along in the rough currents.  A limited awareness let him perceive that he was being drawn feet first along the current so that his face was not carrying the brunt of the current, yet it did little good in helping him regain the life he had already lost upon hitting the sea.

Then without warning the next spasm of Gravin's lungs to cough and inhale was met with dry air rather than liquid.   He gasped, choking on the air as much as he had on the water.  But it was all short lived as he soon found himself again sucking in water as he plunged yet again below the surface.

But the momentary respite had given him a brief surge of strength, enough so that the would-be pirate could twist himself towards his feet.  He found the ankle irons twisted around the plank, still clinging to what had before been his life preserver, and now served as the means by which the current was dragging him along.  Twisted as it was, the wood acted as a sail in the water, catching the current and pulling Gravin further below the surface with the undertow.

Gravin lacked the strength to wrench the wooden rudder free with his hands, but once released, he found he could kick at it.  With vicious desperation, the man assailed the wood now lodged between his legs, trying to break free. 

At last, the dead man felt the wood crack, split and then fall away.  He tried to now kick for the surface, before he realized he had no idea where that was.  The small amount of strength he had gained had by now completely fled and what kicking he could manage was little more than feeble swishes in the water.  His awareness was also quickly slipping from him as the lack of air forced darkness into the edge of his vision.

I need air
, he inwardly gasped. 
If only I were a fish to command the water to let me breathe...

Absently amidst his failing consciousness, Gravin wondered why he could see at all.  After all, he was likely deep under water with a storm raging on the surface.  He should have been surrounded by murky blackness.

Yet the man could see.  At least, he could see where the blackness had not yet encroached on the edge of his vision.  Lazily casting his eyes above where he lay – for he now realized he was on the bottom sea floor amidst sand and broken coral – he caught sight of something.  Something that his hand had somehow grasped as he had been pulled through the water.

To all appearances, the object was made of stone, though it was not a rock as much as it was a slim shard rising from the broken ground.  But Gravin knew enough about the sea to recognize that the object was likely just covered in barnacles and coral, and that whatever was beneath was likely made of metal or wood.

Or water...

The thought made no sense, but reason was gone.  Gravin knew that much.

Up...

Without warning, Gravin felt his arm pulled sharply, forcing him bodily away from the sea floor.  Dumbly, he kept hold of the rocky substance which had somehow given him something to see in his last moments, little comprehending that he should not have still held it if he were no longer where it had been buried in the ground.

The next thing Gravin was aware of was retching brine and bile.  His lungs and throat were raw, suggesting he had been vomiting for some time before his mind had recognized what he was doing.  Yet between each retch, sweet, sweet air replaced the vile mixture.  And after several minutes, the retching stopped and there was only air.

Gravin continued to cough, hacking at the burning in his lungs and throat.  But he was alive.  That much was unmistakable.  For no afterlife he could imagine would include being able to breath air after drowning in the ocean.

Through tears in his eyes, Gravin dared to look around himself.  He expected to find himself on some shore or perhaps on the deck of some boat that might have rescued him.  But he saw none of that.  He saw only... 

Water.  For as far as he could see, there was only ocean. No land, no ship, nothing but water.  And it was not the stormy surface he had left behind, either.  Whatever squall had come upon the sea had now passed, and only mild crests and furrows comprised the ocean's expanse for as far as he could see.  Even the sun had returned through parts in the clouds overhead.

Startled, Gravin looked to where his hands and knees rested only to find that he seemed to be resting upon water, as well, though this water churned and moved beneath him.  It was as though the water were pushing up to the surface, then leaching off to the side like...