The Godseeker Duet

by David A Willson

  "Say something!" Phelan pleaded.

  Bylo took a moment to focus on the frantic words, rubbing his eyes. "Hold on a minute," he said, climbing out of his cot. "The twins have power?"

  "The twins aren't the twin peaks; they are actual human twins! Phyili is used in several places, and in the scriptures of First Light, it refers to the gods Dei and Kai as brothers."

  Bylo nodded, following along.

  "As you know, the runes in the margin modify the meaning of the nouns in the scripture text. In most of the scriptures, when we see the word phyili, we see the god rune in the margin, making it clear that the writer refers to the twin gods. But in Cataclysmos, where we read of the separation, we see another rune in the margin. It is not the god rune but instead the human one!"

  "Phelan, the human rune in Cataclysmos is off. Higher in the margin. One would more likely associate it with a phrase above," Bylo said.

  "That's what we always thought," Phelan said. "But if so, why no god rune near this passage, or even on this page, like all the others? If referring to a mountain, as many scholars guess, why no earth rune? Phyili is always accompanied by a god rune, but it is not here!"

  "How do you account for it?"

  "An error," said Phelan. "You should know. As a scribe, you've been trained to illustrate, like an artist. Embellishment, not replication."

  "We couldn't anyway, Phelan. We aren't allowed access to the original manuscripts, so we couldn't be accurate if we wanted to."

  "Exactly." A powerful pause built, and an impish grin crept across Phelan's face. "So, I stole one.”

  "You're crazy!" Bylo said. "From the abbot?" Concern for both his comrade's safety and sanity washed over him. "They'll whip you—if you're lucky!"

  "Probably," Phelan said, but the grin remained on his face. "After the abbot left on his latest trip, I made an excuse to return a codex to his quarters. Brother Alen fell for the ruse and allowed me access. I searched the abbot's room. There, I found the oldest manuscript I have ever seen, tucked away in a sealed compartment under his bed. I had no key, so I used a log poker to force the compartment open."

  Bylo was horrified. Lying to get into the abbot's room and then destroying his furniture? Not to mention the theft!

  "I waited until after you fell asleep before I took my first glance." Phelan continued, leaning in and resting a hand on Bylo's shoulder in a gesture of affection. "If I couldn't confirm my suspicions, I wanted no witnesses to my crime. Not even you."

  Bylo was having difficulty with the implications of his friend's offense. "Where is it now?"

  The remnants of a prideful smile still on his face, Phelan reached behind to grab something that rested at the foot of the cot. A musty odor tickled Bylo's nose, and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of the treasure. Scratches in the leather and yellowed pages gave witness to both its authenticity and fragility.

  Phelan spoke in a slow-moving, reverent tone. "This manuscript contains the book of Cataclysmos in the original Breshi script, but the second half of the book is translated to Landian. Every reference to phyili has the god rune in the margin, centered to the right."

  "Except one?"

  Their eyes locked for a moment, and Phelan turned to one of the final pages. "Yes, except one. The last one, right here, in chapter eighteen of the Landian section. The human rune rests in the margin, not the god rune. Perfectly centered. There can be no mistake."

  The implications were earth-shattering.

  "Our understanding of Cataclysmos is wrong," Phelan said. "Phyili doesn't mean the twin peaks—we should be looking for an actual human being!”

  "A person will become two, Bylo. Somewhere, a woman will give birth to a special child. This child will somehow become separated, like Dei and Kai. Twins, perhaps."

  "So how would a child be separated into two?" Bylo asked. "It would die. That doesn't make any sense."

  "I don't understand it either, but if we don't find this person, or these twins, someone else will. No good will come from allowing them to fall into wicked hands. Remember the scripture. 'Conflict, pain, and death to many.' Bylo, this child may bring the end of all things. Or perhaps a new beginning."

  "You are brilliant, my friend, but there are other scholars in this world. Perhaps employed by the queen and the archbishop. They may have come to the same conclusion. Maybe that is why the soldiers are here, seeking this manuscript and those like it."

  "I know," Phelan said.

  A hard knock on the closed door sent a shiver down Bylo's spine.

  Phelan re-wrapped the text, setting it under the cot. Bylo reached the door, opening it to reveal a man standing outside. Captain insignias were visible on his epaulets as he imposed himself into the room.

  "I'm here for Phelan."

  A heartbeat later, Phelan stepped forward.

  "Come with me," the soldier said, his fingers playing upon the pommel of his sword.

  "I'll see you later," Phelan said, then turned to put a hand on Bylo's shoulder.

  Barely a whisper in his ear, Bylo heard the last word Phelan would ever say to him.

  "Run."

  Then Phelan exited the room with the soldier.

  Bylo stood still, contemplating the peril he now faced. His heart pounded against his rib cage, fear battling a rising sense of urgency. After a moment, the urgency won and he resolved to act. He snatched the book and dashed out of the room. If he could make it to the back of the building unseen, he might escape.

  A well-timed scurry through several corridors brought him near the exit. As he walked down the final hallway, he heard the first of several bells ring from far within the structure, driving him to burst out of the monastery into the darkness beyond.

  In the fields south of the building, he turned to deliver a final gaze at the place he had called home for nearly ten years. The place he thought he would always call home. An ache grew within his breast as he wondered what would become of his friend. Then he turned and ran. He had a special child to find but did not know where to look.

  So much had happened in intervening years that the memories seemed like those of another man entirely. Bylo had decided to protect Nara before she was even born and until now had done a fine job. Things were changing, however, and today brought the opportunity for disaster. But the announcement ceremony wouldn't take place until evening, giving him an opportunity to make preparations of his own.

  A breakfast of cold carrots started the morning, then he stepped out to the shed and gathered travel gear, a large backpack, several knapsacks, and salted preserves. With the door closed and a candle lit, he pulled out a quill, a needle, and a bottle of imbued ink. There was much to do, and little time.

  6

  Observations

  Gwyn Khoury had been camping in the hills above the little fishing town for the last few days. The cool fall air and occasional rainstorm had taken their toll and she had become truly uncomfortable. Less than an hour in front of a fire at a small tavern, however, and life had returned to her bones. It was fascinating how the local residents didn't blink an eye at the constant fall of water, managing soggy clothes, mud, and damp air with aplomb, as if they knew nothing else.

  The tavern keeper milled about the room as she warmed herself, and she could hear him removing dishes from tables as he maneuvered himself clumsily to catch her profile. She thought about what she looked like from his perspective. She was no longer young, but neither was she old. Lean of face, with high cheekbones, dark eyebrows, and ears covered by wet, wavy locks that had probably escaped her hair band. She was weatherbeaten, for sure. She made no move to acknowledge him.

  After a time, she placed another log on the fire and turned her boots to dry the backsides. She removed her cloak, and then realized that she had uncovered the small, thin swords strapped to her back. Each was sheathed in a plain leather scabbard, free of decoration, buckle, or etching. He would see that she was not just a traveler but a soldier. A woman soldier in a tiny, backwater fishing village. T
hat would cause a stir.

  “Amos Dak is my name. Can I 'elp ye, ma'am?" he called to her in a thick coastal accent.

  She didn’t answer.

  "I ca' muster up bread and chee', if ya like, a-hungry 'n' such," he tried again.

  Without responding to his questions, Gwyn slid her feet into the boots, threw the cloak over an arm, the pack over her shoulder, and walked straight at him as he stood behind the bar, washing dishes. He could surely see her face clearly as she approached—sharp, angled features and a visage bereft of emotion. Then, as if quickly bringing flame to a lantern, she smiled and her blue eyes brightened as she arrived at the counter.

  The sudden change seemed to take him aback, and he stood motionless in front of a tub of soapy water, still holding a dishrag in one hand and a dirty clay mug in the other. She reached into a small pouch at her waist and dropped three copper bits onto the counter in front of him. As she did so, she revealed two bone rings to him, one on the third finger of each hand. He wouldn’t know their significance, but she should have put them away before entering the tavern. Sloppy. The cold weather had clearly taken her off her game.

  "Thank you for use of the fire," she said. Her words were fine, well-annunciated, and deliberate, like the careful motions of a surgeon. "Announcement tonight, no?"

  "Yes, ma'am," he said. "Big party too."

  "Thank you." Then her smile disappeared—gone as quickly as it had turned on. She swiveled gracefully, then walked toward the front door.

  "Well, I'll be…" she heard him say as she left the building.

  Although no stranger to travel or bad weather, Gwyn preferred the cold and snow of the interior of the Great Land, not the constant precipitation of these coastal regions. This was a dismal place to live, but the short time by the fire and given her new strength, and had been worth the risk to her mission.

  As a watcher, Gwyn had long ago become accustomed to seeing a little more than other folks. As long as she had a cepp available, such as the rings on her hands, she wielded a special sight. She could detect sources of life, whether they be animal, plant, or people. It helped her to be the first to find moose on the game trail, to know which trees bore rot, and to spot where the human quarries hid when she was on a job. It also helped her to see the gifted—a talent of great appeal to rich men. A noble who had gifted in his employ was formidable, and watchers like Gwyn could note the bearers of magic from far away. Not only could she spy the wielders of magic, she could also see cepps when they were carried by others—a sure giveaway that the bearer was gifted.

  Gwyn was a quick study, had mastered her ability soon after her own announcement ceremony at age fifteen, and was conscripted into the service of Baron Chak of Took. She welcomed the opportunity. No family protested her departure, and the folks who raised her harbored no concern for her welfare, having cared for her only in respect for Gwyn's dead mother. It was good to be free of that loveless home.

  Baron Chak owned the land around her home village of Eastway. He had first drafted Gwyn into his household to ferret out any spies. Gwyn was effective, and more than a few of the baron's rivals had met a quick end due to her efforts.

  She learned archery and woodcraft and loved to wander the lands around the barony watching wildlife. She hunted occasionally, as she loved the taste of fresh venison and coney, often leaving some of her kill with a poor family fallen on hard times. Such was the custom of the watchers—to provide for the bellies of the poor.

  Chak assigned her—more often as she got older—to pose as a lady at garish functions, where she would mix with the elite in her efforts to identify his enemies and gauge their strengths. She developed false identities, learned how to waltz, and how to strike with a blade. As years passed and her skills were refined, she turned from a watcher to a weapon, from talented girl to surgical killer. She witnessed the fates of many who had chosen to defy powerful lords. No, not witnessed. She was not a member of the audience for such plays; she was an actor on the stage, lucky to be playing the part of villain—a fortunate role when compared to the victim. She had looked in the eyes of those victims as her blade cleft flesh, sinew, and scraped against bone. As hearts stopped and dreams died. She had seen it in their eyes—the fear, the confusion, the realization that it was over. Everything was over. They were done. Gwyn would avoid that pitiable role. She would never be a victim.

  Her eventual orders to report to Fairmont and serve the Ministry of War and Justice had been no surprise. Minister Vorick had heard of her successes over the years and paid Chak to release her. She still wondered how much it had cost him. The monies she received in soldier's wages were greater than those of common folk, but meager compared to the coins exchanged by powerful men. She had few complaints, however, as her belly never hungered, she never lacked adventure, and as long as she obeyed, she was safe. The missions she fulfilled for the minister were of the same sort as those given to her by Chak. At Vorick's direction several years later, Chak fell under one of Gwyn's own blades, having become a victim of the very weapon he had crafted. A painful irony.

  This particular mission had a different flavor, though—one she had just begun to taste. She was looking for a girl, a hidden gifted, probably sequestered in one of the poorer villages of the Great Land. She had spent several years looking, casually wandering from village to village, camping on the outskirts of towns.

  It was yesterday that she saw her target.

  When engaging her sight, Gwyn could see life. But she could also see magic, whether produced by cepps or by the gifted. A fully charged cepp, even when hidden under clothing or behind a wall, was visible from a dozen yards away. Uncovered, it could be seen from fifty or a hundred yards away.

  Gifted could be seen from slightly less distance unless they actively used their talent. In that case, they lit up like a torch.

  But yesterday Gwyn saw a light from miles away, shining from someone who climbed the mountain over Dimmitt. It was a beacon of incredible brightness that lingered for more than an hour. It only faded from her vision once the light reached the top. Such power! The light was many times brighter than any she had seen, dwarfing all that she had seen. Racing through the woods, she had followed the light, spotting it when it descended the mountain again. The source was a teenage girl, her light bearing a myriad of colors—a scintillating nature, shifting slightly from hue to hue as if unstable. Or undecided. What sort of creature did she chase? Gwyn followed the girl to a cottage in the woods where she apparently lived with an old laborer.

  Knowing now that it wouldn't be hard to find her, Gwyn decided to hang back and get word to Fairmont that the search was over. And such a find!

  She left the tavern and visited the local post, scribing a short note to Fairmont. It would cost four silver drachmas for a private courier to carry it. As she handled the coins, she thought of how many she would receive for her efforts and wondered who else might pay for the information she now held. That light announced a gifted that wielded more power than Gwyn had ever seen, or even heard of, and information on the girl's location would be worth a king's ransom. Then she remembered who she considered betraying and dismissed the fanciful imaginings. Invoking Vorick's wrath would not be worth any price.

  The young clerk behind the mail counter seemed surprised by the request for private post—and even more so when the silver coins dropped onto the counter. Dimmitt's postal service clearly didn't receive lavish requests, and Gwyn wondered if such a courier could even be found.

  "Is this going to be a problem?" Gwyn asked.

  "N-No," the girl stuttered. "I can get Abel to take it north. He's the best rider in town, and he'll be happy for the work. It's just been a long time since anyone has commissioned a private carrier, ma'am."

  "Tell him to leave today."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Gwyn pulled her hood over her head as she left the building.

  It would take more than a week for the fastest courier to make the journey, and much of the payment would be spe
nt on horses and food. It would take just as long for the minister to send someone in response. Two weeks. Gwyn would continue to camp in the woods, watching and awaiting their arrival.

  Curiosity mixed with caution as she wondered about the potential of tonight's announcement ceremony. Would this child be announced, or had she been, already? Gwyn had never recognized a gifted unless they had first been announced by a ceppit in a proper ceremony. If so, why was no such child on record at the Ministry of War and Justice as living in Dimmitt? The child was surely a blessed, but wouldn't that have been known all over the Great Land? There were things Gwyn did not understand about this mission, but the merit in the minister's interest was now as apparent as a thunderstorm. This child had value.

  Questions would have to wait, for she had a job to do. Gwyn would watch, she would wait, and she would do what she was told. A good soldier, she would be rewarded for her loyalty. Obedience was all that she had ever known.

  7

  Preparations

  Mykel occupied himself by moving wood scraps from the mill to supply the bonfire for today's announcement, hoping to fuel the heat all day and much of the night. Nobody helped him, but neither did he need it, possessing a strong back, a powerful resolve, and a sturdy wheelbarrow borrowed from the docks. Nervous excitement for today's ceremony swelled deep inside his breast.

  As he pushed the load of wood, his eyes wandered about, spying his neighbors as they made preparations. School held no classes, the town hall was sealed and dark, and community members were cooking food and planning games. A sanguine expectation, only mildly articulated in their conversations, seemed to fuel the plans they had begun several days ago. Perhaps this year would stand apart from previous announcements.