Two (The Godslayer Cycle Book 2) (9 page)

All Gravin could think of was a fountain, like he had seen before in certain city decorations.  A spout of water would rise from a fish or a mermaid or some other sculpture, with gravity eventually claiming the liquid when the spout reached its apex.  Yet this...  This spout – if that is what it was – did not come from a sculpture into the air, but from below the water.  And it was somehow holding him above the water...  Worse, the water felt as solid beneath him as the deck of a ship.

Gravin's eye caught the sight of the long rocky object clutched in his right hand and he suddenly felt cold inside.  He had salvaged something of magic from Kalrios' domain, for only magic could answer for what was happening.  No mortal salvaged from the Sea God's domain, not if they wished to live.  For Kalrios was a greedy master, and what he claimed beneath his surface was for he and he alone to treasure.  These were amongst the most basic tenets of a seaman's life – show homage to the sea through gifts and sacrifices, and never take back what is given. 

And yet, Aris had declared Gravin himself as one such sacrifice.  The captain had specifically claimed his right to cast the mutineer into the sea under Kalrios' law, which made Gravin property of the Sea God's domain.  Once cast into the sea, only Kalrios' mercy could have spared the sacrifice.

Shakily, Gravin pulled himself to a sitting position, fully expecting the water to give way beneath him.  In doing so, he noticed that his shackles remained firmly in place, making any plunge back into the sea likely to be the death sentence to which he was originally condemned.  Yet the water did not change its density, and he remained safely above the water level.

The mutineer carefully inspected the rocky structure of the object and found he had originally guessed true – the outside was merely barnacle and rocky deposits, not substance of what the object beneath truly was.  He imagined it would take a great deal of effort to clean the object, though he also knew there was a chance that some small part could be forced loose to gain an inkling of what lay beneath.

Gravin applied a bit of force to an area near one end, only to find the crusty exterior flake away in a large chunk.  An air pocket perhaps?  Yet this theory did not hold true as he continued to work along the length of the object to discover that the entire rocky exterior easily fell away when only a small effort was expended.  It seemed that whatever was beneath, the barnacles of the sea had only formed around it, and could not attach to the object's surface.

It did not take long before Gravin recognized the pommel of a sword, and shortly thereafter the scabbard covering the blade itself emerged.  And with each piece of crust that fell away, more and more marvel was displayed as the sword's elegance began to shine forth.  The surface of the weapon showed absolutely no erosion nor wear.  It appeared for all intents to be a perfectly preserved ornamental weapon of unparalleled beauty.

Within a few minutes, Gravin found he could simply pull the sheath from the interior of the crust that had contained it, as though the crust itself were the scabbard and it the blade.  And though the scabbard appeared to be made of leather, it likewise showed no sign of being exposed to the elemental corrosion of the sea.

Even the blade's surface lacked the expected pits and scores of a weapon lost to the bottom of the ocean once Gravin had drawn it free.  Occasionally such weapons would wash ashore, and they would be universally ruined by their time in the sea.  Not true this sword, however.  What Gravin originally thought to be defects in the blade actually proved to be some form of elaborate script engraved into the steel.  And upon closer observation, he found identical markings etched into the leather of the scabbard.

Free at last from its weather-wrought encasement, the sword was by far the most elegant thing that Gravin had ever laid eyes upon.  He reaffirmed his original conclusion that he had retrieved an item of great magic, and once again the fear of what he had done began to seize his heart.  Could he still return it to the sea and forego whatever punishment Kalrios would inflict upon him once his deed were discovered?

Gravin turned the sword in his hands as he tried to think of what to do.  This time, he noticed two small white pits within a black square area of the pommel.  “
Two
,” he muttered softly.  And though his original intent had been as a count, he somehow knew that this was the sword's name, as well.

Yet gaining this strange knowledge did nothing to assuage his fears.  That it was a relic consigned to the sea was bad enough, but that it was of such great power only magnified his risk.  It was said that Kalrios watched over all of his sunken treasures with equal avarice, yet how could he not be even more aware of something of such might as to be able to move the seas themselves?

Tentatively, Gravin rose to his feet, splaying his hands out for support in case he somehow pitched off the area of solid water.  Nothing untoward happened though and he soon found himself searching to horizon at his full height.  A quick turn of his head showed he was not truly as far out to sea as he had originally thought, though.  His back had been to the shore, and he could see that we little more than a few hundred yards from a rocky outcrop extending from the mainland less than half a league away. 

Gravin turned around to face the shore as he became more surefooted on the strange watery island he found himself.  It was still a goodly distance for a man in chains to try to swim, but if he could manage to remove the weight of the irons, he was sure he could make the swim.

The mutineer glanced down at the sword in his hand, attempting to judge the strength of the steel.  He could possibly use it as a wedge to pry loose the iron pins holding the manacles secure, but there was a good chance he would sever either an arm or leg in the process.  Yet what choice did he have?  Even if he were ashore, he would need to have his legs free to walk in more than a hobble.  And besides, anyone coming upon him would likely see him as a convict and hold him for a constable.

Grimacing at the thought, Gravin leveraged the hilt of the sword between his legs, clamping hard in hopes of holding the blade as steady as he could manage.  The tip of the sword slid beneath the manacle easily enough, since the metal clasps hung loosely on his wrists.  The cold steel against his skin though drew vivid images of severing the veins on the underside of his wrist should he slip. 

Gravin gritted his teeth as he twisted the sword to apply pressure on the manacle's clasp, mindful of where the edge of the sword lay next to his flesh.  He intended to gradually apply force so he would minimize the risk of cutting off his own hand, but to his surprise it proved unnecessary. 

Within moments of applying forceful pressure against the metal, Gravin saw that the metal of the blade was actually cutting into that of the shackle!

Gravin withdrew the sword and examined the area of the manacle where he had seen the steel bite into it.  Unmistakably, a groove was now present in the underside of the metal that had not been there before. 

A sword that could cut through metal so easily?

What exactly have I found?
The mutineer shuddered at the thought, but he did not intend to waste time speculating on this just yet.  Whether the blade were God-sent or not, it was clearly exactly what he needed, and he wanted to be clear of the shackles before his good fortune could change.

Returning the sword to its task, Gravin found that he was able to apply barely any pressure before the sword again began to cut into the shackle.  Using slow and steady effort, the sword continued its path through the iron until it had completely sliced through.  With an angry clang, the shackle fell clear, hanging by its three links to the clasp upon his other wrist.

Elated, Gravin wasted no time in repeating the process on his other wrist, followed in turn by his ankles.  Providence seemed to guide his hands as he became more and more confident in his use of the blade, somehow assured by its feel that there was no risk whatsoever to his own harm.  And sure enough, by the time he had removed the final cuff, he had not so much as grazed his own skin.

The mutineer kicked loose the last leg iron and watched as the four severed units spiraled out and away, falling out of sight the moment they splashed into the sea several feet away.

Well, at least I have returned that much to the sea.

Gravin glanced up at the shore again, gauging the distance and trying to spy any obvious currents that might hide an undertow.  Taking a deep breath for reassurance, he stepped to the edge of the watery platform...

...and the platform moved with him!

The man took a startled step back and watched as the flowing surface receded with him.  He glanced in wonder at the sword in his hand, then grinned lasciviously. 
To the Pit with giving it back to the sea.  If Kalrios wants it, he can pry it from my cold, dead hand!

Besides, reasoned the seaman – if this were not the Sea God's will, why would he have found it in the first place?

With thoughts of power over the sea itself mixed with fantasies of seeking revenge upon those who had cast him overboard, Gravin sauntered towards shore, marveling at how the water rose to shelter its new master.

Thunder claps cracked in quick succession against Nathaniel's ears.  The air pressure seemed to drop with each successive blast, adding to the impact of the thunder strikes.  It felt as though he were climbing into the mountains at a rate faster than he could ever have imagined, and his ears ached with the pressure shift.

Looking to the sky, Nathaniel saw trails of fire crossing the sky towards the west.  When he was a child, he would place a stick into the fire, then run around with the red-hot ember on the end, trailing a thin line of smoke behind.  The smoking trails he saw now resembled nothing more than slow-moving versions of his childhood firesticks, but the effects upon the world around them were far more devastating.

It had been no normal tempest, after all.  The winds had not been the precursor to a rainstorm, but to this – the coming of fire in the skies that seemed to possess the power of lightning, resounding thunder in their wakes.

“
Aden's Beard!” shouted Bracken following an exceptionally loud reverberation.  “I thinks tha' one hit near!” 

The dwarf grunted and pulled back hard upon the rein he was holding in hand.  Horses by nature were uneasy around thunder, but this unnatural tempest terrified them even worse.  The sudden onset of thunder and fire had spooked the horses, and Bracken had been quick witted enough to race for where they were tethered when the first clash had sounded, but he had only been able to grab three of the six leads before the combined strength of the horses splintered the fallen tree they had been secured to. 

Now Bracken held two horses with one hand and the third in his other, rooting his feet firmly in place, defying the strength of the great beasts to tear him from the earth.  Nathaniel knew that the dwarf's strength was prodigious, but holding three horses in place while they each pulled against him with all their might seemed physically impossible.  Clearly, there was more at work here than simple strength, but it was something that would need asked about after the crisis had passed.

Of the others, two of the horses had bolted into the gloom of the day while the last could not stop rearing up in fear.  Even now, Alsen and Nathaniel were dodging the horse's hooves trying to catch hold of its lead.  Derik proved less than useless though as he stood at the edge of the tree line clapping and shouting at each new thunderclap, ignoring the plight of his brother.  Not for the first time, Nathaniel wondered why Brea had hired someone like that as a defender.  Brea stood to the side, uncertain as to how to assist.

Nathaniel looked in the direction the sound had struck from.  “Kind of surprised more haven't!” 

Bracken's face split in a mischievous grin.  “Feelin' 'vent'rous 'nough ta go chasin' fire from the sky?”

“Like we don't have enough to worry about without the sky falling?” came Brea's voice from behind Nathaniel.  The taller man turned to see the priestess approaching with her hood drawn up to protect her face from the stinging wind.

Bracken spat to the side.  “Who's ta worry?  No' this dwarf.  Seen worse'n this under the mount'n!”

“I would remind you that none of us have a mountain over our heads to shelter us,” called Brea.  “So perhaps you might be a little more concerned, for the rest of our sakes?”

“
An' wha' would ya have me do?  E'en if I still prayed ta Gods, it woul' be ta Gods o' earth 'n' stone, no' sky.  Dwarves ne'er had much o' need fer worhsipin' wha' we could na see.”  The dwarf chuckled at this, a deep throaty noise that sounded as much like a growl as it did laughter.

Brea's eyes sparked from beneath her hood.  “Are you mocking my faith now, dwarf?”

Bracken grunted, but before he could respond, Nathaniel inserted.  “Can we please not do this now?  We have enough at hand to worry about without--”  Nathaniel's words were cut off suddenly by yet another resounding crash.

Brea frowned as she stepped towards the horse.  “I wonder...” she murmured.  Though the priestess raised her hand towards the stallion in what should have been a calming manner, Nathaniel sensed an unsteadiness, a tenseness to her stance.  It appeared as though she were trying to say something, but she could not remember how to speak.  The horse's eyes were wide with terror, and the raised hand did nothing to calm it.  If anything, it gave the beast something else to pull away from.

“I don't think that's helping,” said Nathaniel.  “Maybe--”

Brea yanked her hand back and turned an angry glare at the tall man.  “Be quiet!  I almost had it!”

Brea lowered her head in concentration, then raised it again to look at the horse.  Sensing somehow that he had once again become the center of the priestess' attention, the horse bucked hard away, nearly trampling Alsen.  The mercenary took advantage and seized hold of the reins as the horse darted past, though the effort proved in vain.  The beast's momentum pulled the man off his feet and flung him to the side, where he rolled out of sight behind the frantic creature.

Raising her hand, the priestess resumed her focus.  Again, Nathaniel felt as though the woman wanted to speak, but words would not come.  The young man was about to make another suggestion when an odd sensation filled his senses.  It was not quite a sound, nor a real feeling against his skin, yet he still felt it radiating through him.  With a moment's concentration, he recognized that the feeling was somehow coming from Brea, though the priestess seemed oblivious of its presence, still trying to focus on words that would not come.

With sudden clarity, Nathaniel realized what Brea was trying to do – she was trying to cast a spell.  Or, more precisely, she was trying to remember the
words
to a spell.  Imery – as any other God – had granted her clergy magical abilities, the most common of which were clerical spells.  Nathaniel was not completely familiar with how it was accomplished, but with Imery now deceased, it seemed reasonable that whatever ability the Goddess had granted would no longer be there for Brea to draw upon.  Yet the priestess was clearly attempting to do so, just the same.

In spite of this, however, there was clearly
something
the priestess was doing, whether she seemed aware of it or not.  There was no way of knowing exactly what – Nathaniel was still discovering new traits to his God-given powers as an Avatar, but one thing he had come to understand was an affinity for magic.  So far, it had mostly manifested through being able to feel the presence of the swords, but this was not the first time he had felt this sensation when in the presence of other magic.  It was just the first time he recognized it for what it was.

“
Brea,” Nathaniel called as he made a grab for the horse's bridle again.  Alsen had regained his feet now, and though he favored one side, he still made a game effort at trying to block the horse from retreating.  “Brea!”

The priestess lowered her hand again and glared at Nathaniel.  “What?” she demanded.

Nathaniel looked deeply into Brea's eyes, searching for what he knew was there.  But the priestess' anger shadowed the exact source of her power.  Closing his eyes instead, he felt for the presence without his eyes, though this gained him little more.  All he could verify was that it was there, not how to reach it.

Opening his eyes, the man tried to articulate what he felt.  “Stop trying to cast a spell.  Imery is gone, and so is her help.  But there's something there – I can feel it.  I think you can reach it if you just focus on the
feeling
, and not on the words.”

Brea gave an exasperated sigh.  “What are you talking about?  You don't--”

“I
know
,” Nathaniel interrupted.  He had to dodge suddenly as the horse made a run at him, but Alsen's shout averted the horse's path.  “Just trust me.  Feel for the power.  It's there, but the spell isn't.”

Brea blinked for a moment, Nathaniel's words piercing whatever stubbornness had been there.  “The spell isn't...” 

A spark of understanding flashed in Brea's eyes and she returned her focus to the horse.  This time, she made no effort to raise her hand.  She only looked at the stallion in his rage and fear.  Perhaps she was reaching inwards in search of what Nathaniel talked about or maybe she was trying to extend her senses outside of herself.  Nathaniel could not tell.  But she was clearly trying to do something.

It seemed though that the horse also knew that Brea was a new threat, for the horse decided at that moment to make a run for it – straight through where Brea stood.  Time seemed to slow for Nathaniel as he helplessly watched the horse gain speed the moment his hooves set to the earth.  A single gallop appeared to increase the beast's speed exponentially so that even as Nathaniel raced to try to intercept the horse's path, he knew he could not reach the stallion in time.

Yet it wasn't necessary.  Isolated in a center of calm that defied the risk to her, Brea reached up her hand, palm first.  “Stop.”

Without warning, the horse cantered off center and fell to the side, its momentum carrying him past where the priestess stood.  Though a cloud of dust and debris rose from where the beast struck the ground, Brea remained undisturbed, standing as though oblivious to the cacophony around her.

Nathaniel was forced to leap into the air over the beast as he found he could not slow before colliding with the felled creature.  Landing deftly beside the priestess, Nathaniel braced himself against her as he gained his balance. 

Brea smiled at Nathaniel beatifically.  Sweat glistened on her brow and her eyes glossed over.  The next instant, she fell into Nathaniel's arms listlessly.

Alsen was at his side a moment later, resting his own hand on Nathaniel's shoulder, catching his breath. 

“
Check the horse,” Nathaniel directed, though to be honest, the stallion's fate had been the furthest from his mind.  Somehow, Brea had been able to tap into magic – magic that had been the province of her now-deceased Goddess.  A chill ran up his spine as his mind directed to one thought:
was Imery still alive?

There seemed no other possible explanation.  Brea's source of power had
been
the Goddess of Truth.  And if Brea still possessed the Goddess' blessing, what other explanation could there be?  What did anyone know about the true nature of Gods, at any rate?  It was entirely possible that some essence of the Goddess remained in the aether, even if her physical form had been destroyed.  And yet – he had felt so absolutely certain that the Goddess' spells were gone...

“
He's unharmed,” came Alsen's voice.  “She only put him down.  He doesn't appear to be hurt other than that he can't get up.  But I think that's just her magic.”

Nathaniel looked over to Bracken and shared a knowing glance.  The dwarf was equally concerned over Brea's sudden magical prowess.  The man looked back at the woman whose head rested against his chest.  When were all of these strange mysteries going to stop appearing?

Nathaniel was pulled back to his senses by a large hand reaching across his field of vision.  Derik had wandered over from his vantage point and was trying to prod the priestess awake by administering gentle shoves to her still form. 

Nathaniel reached over and gently took hold of the simple man's wrist.  “She's just resting,” he explained.  “She'll be fine.”

Derik's mouth split in a wide grin, drool escaping down his chin.  “Brea's pretty.”

Nathaniel smiled, in spite of himself.  “Yes,” he agreed.  “Yes, she is.”

Ansel came over to guide his brother away, and Nathaniel again noticed how the younger mercenary averted his eyes from the priestess as he did so.  “Come along, Derik,” he said.  “The storm's past.  It's time we picked up the mess.”

Nathaniel started as he realized that Alsen was right.  The thunderous noise and blasts of wind were gone, and an eery silence had settled around them.  Only the gloom that had accompanied the heavenly disaster remained.  Even the horses had settled down enough for Bracken to lead them towards the shelter of the trees.

Still, Nathaniel could feel the pressure upon his ears that he had attributed to the storm.  As he became aware of it, he now realized that it was different than the pressure of the storm – constantly shifting with the impact of each new thunderous resonance.  This was more persistent, and had been building steadily for several minutes.  It was only the preexisting presence of the storm that had hidden it from his awareness.

Setting Brea to the ground, Nathaniel turned his head to the side, striking his upturned ear in an effort to dislodge the pressure.  The only sensation similar that he could attribute it to was the feeling of diving deep underwater, and the resulting feel of residual water left in his ear.  No amount of striking could dislodge the feeling, however, though it did draw the attention of the dwarf.

Bracken cocked an eyebrow.  “No' gonna knock no sense inta ya this late'n life, Nate.”

“
Can't get this...”  Nathaniel turned his head and tried striking the other side.  “Something in my ears...”

Without warning, Nathaniel found himself go rigid, his feet clasped together and his vision blurred by the liquid around him.   He could see that the water a few feet away disappeared into darkness, while the area immediately around him seemed aglow with some form of luminescence.  Glancing towards his feet, he realized that a hand was wrapped around his ankles, moving him bodily through the water.  He tried to breathe, but found he had no lungs to draw a breath.