by Ron Glick
* * *
The forest parted, revealing a valley cut between three hills. Trees had been cleared away, though they had only been sparse here to begin with. Nathaniel knew this because his mother had told him when he was very young. As a druid of Lendus, she chose this place so as to affect the surrounding lands as little as possible.
Nathaniel paused to take in the view. He had seen it a thousand times before and still its simple beauty was to him magnificent. The plowed field where the early autumn harvest grew was surrounded by a rail fence to act as boundary, though he knew it would have done little to keep the likes of deer and rabbits from nibbling at the green. That was accomplished by the wards his mother had erected at the four corners of the field. These minor magics sent gentle resistance against nature's forces, so that not even a field mouse could cross into the garden without being invited by one who had touched the soil within.
The young man marveled that still twenty years and more since being laid, the wards still worked, showing no sign of failing. Nathaniel had memories of his mother ritually renewing the wards each spring, but since her death ten years earlier, they had not been renewed at all. Nathaniel had always wondered at that small blessing. Even after the property had been abandoned for six years, the wards had kept out the wildlife so that when Nathaniel had returned to reclaim his heritage, the garden may have grown wild, but it had remained pest free.
Nathaniel looked to the corral neighboring the garden, separated only by a walking path. Their plow horse, Cloff, meandered aimlessly around inside, nudging occasionally against the cow, Aila. Normally, Aila would have retreated into the shed at the far end of the yard rather than suffer Cloff's pestering, but today she tolerated it as she mindlessly chewed at her cud. She was getting on in years, Nathaniel knew, and would eventually need to be replaced. Perhaps they could yet breed her again and keep the calf if it was a female this time, and not another bull. Her two previous birthings had netted male offspring, and they had been gifted to the townfolk who had provided the stud once they were weened.
The road Nathaniel followed led down to the modest cabin set to the side of the valley, well enough removed from the field and livestock to not be bothered greatly by the latter's odor. Chickens ambled around the front of the place, pecking at the ground in search of grubs or other morsels. Linens hung waving in the gentle breeze from the lines drawn between a post and the side of the house. It seemed Mari had taken advantage of his leavetaking to do laundry. He wondered briefly if she could still be down by the brook, but as his eyes cast along the far treeline where he knew the stream lay hidden, he discounted the thought. It was approaching dinner and she would be inside preparing. He smiled at the image in his mind.
“It is truly a picturesque place you have, Nathan,” spoke a soft voice beside him. “Your mother would be proud with how you have kept it.”
Nathaniel leaped back, startled, as he heard the voice. His first thought was that Airek had returned, but as he turned to identify the speaker, he quickly confirmed it to be someone new. The woman who met his gaze this time had a phenomenal radiance about her, even greater than that possessed by Airek's feminine self. Her chestnut hair and eyes sparkled in the late afternoon light, and there seemed to be an ever-present laughter glittering behind those eyes. Her gown was the sheerest gossamer, with its pale green and blues doing little to hide the lithesome body beneath. The first thought to cross Nathaniel's mind was that this was not an outfit for a lady to wear for a walk in the woods. But then he remembered that this was no lady at all, at least not in that sense of the word.
“Which one are you?” he found himself asking without any thought.
The woman smiled coyishly. “Oh, Nathan, you are a true wonder. You know me by sight!” The woman betrayed a girlish delight as she giggled and clapped her delicate hands together lightly. “And so handsome! Airek did not say how wonderfully handsome you were!”
Nathaniel found himself blushing at her attentions. “You did not answer my question,” he managed.
The woman winked. “You did not ask it rightly, either,” she quipped, taking obvious delight in his reaction to her presence.
Nathaniel considered for a moment. He did not feel up to playing a word game, that was for certain, but he was beginning to learn that dealing with Gods meant little consideration for his own cares. “How should I have asked then? I am sorry, but the proper way to address a Goddess was not imparted to me in my upbringing.”
“You are learning, it seems, what you already know today. Another reminder then: A deity must name himself, or herself,” she giggled at this, “when asked.”
“I asked you,” Nathaniel responded, puzzled. “Why then did you not answer? Or are you saying you are not one of the Old Gods, after all?”
“Oh, that I am. But you asked 'which', not 'who'. I am not required to answer the first, as it is too broad. The latter I would be compelled to.”
It's just a game to her, groaned Nathaniel inwardly. “Fine. Then who are you?”
The woman bowed her head, smiling as she raised it again. “Better. I am Karmel, Goddess and God of Magic and Chance. And I come to service the Avatar.”
Nathaniel scowled and stepped back into the shelter of the trees self-consciously. “I am married!” he protested.
Karmel hid a girlish giggle behind her hand. “Oh, I am sorry, dearest Nathan. I had not meant it that way!” Impishly though, she slid up against Nathaniel. “Though now that the subject has been breached, I would not object to the sport!”
Nathaniel's head swooned with the scent of the Goddess and he could feel his body rising to the invitation. Somehow though, he managed to push her lightly away. “I cannot...” he stammered.
Karmel backed away delicately and shrugged. “It is of little matter,” she said. “But if ever you have a change of heart, you have only to ask...”
Nathaniel pulled himself together. “I told Airek I wanted nothing to do with his Avatar business. I have a family for which I must provide. I cannot go on some quest in search of your swords. I'm sorry.”
Karmel sighed. “Oh, Nathan. I beg of you, do not choose that path. You are the Avatar and there is no changing that. You are bound by prophecy, as are we all. If you do not embrace it willingly, it will be thrust upon you. And I fear to imagine how that would be accomplished.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Never, dear Nathan! Never that!” The woman's eyes reflected the sincerity of her words. “I would never wish harm upon you or yours! But it is the way of prophecy. It will come to pass. If the participants are unwilling, they are always compelled to comply. None of us have any way to prevent that.”
“How do you mean 'compelled'? You would place me under some spell?”
“Nothing like that. No prophecy could compel through geas. Were it that simple, it would not be so grave a concern. No, prophecies compel compliance through more... permanent measures.”
“'Permanent'?”
“Oh, this is not something I would wish to burden you with,” said the Goddess with a sigh. “Yet I know I must. You see, prophecies can cause things to... happen... to guide you along the path it has chosen for you. A road may wash out, a storm may require you to take shelter at a certain place at a certain time, your horse could suddenly throw you and gallop away. There are too many ways to say how one could be guided toward their destiny. But there are other ways, too. Ways far less pleasant. Death, destruction, plague. Imagine the most horrid tragedy and Fate could deliver it. And the power of prophecy can use any or all of these means to force an unwilling pawn to comply.
“In your case, the prophecy does not name you specifically. It names one who will control and unite, and the Pantheon has taken steps to control who that one is, and that is our Avatar. But there is nothing beyond this confining the prophecy to our whims. Any of the potentials could be made an Avatar. If you are unwilling, the prophecy could just... remove you to make room for another...”
“Kill me
. You would kill me for refusing to play your little game...!” Nathaniel was suddenly outraged. He knew though that it was more in defense from the fear at the prospect just presented than from the travesty itself.
“Not I. Nor any other God. Another rule of dealing with Gods, dear Nathan: a God cannot take a mortal life. True, we can manipulate others to do so, but no God can inflict death save on their own faithful, and then only for the most extreme betrayals of faith.”
“So you will just have someone else kill me. Swell.”
“Nathan, why do you say such things?” The Goddess actually looked near tears. “I would never harm you nor bring harm to you through others. I love you, dear Nathan! We all do! You are savior to us! Do you not understand that yet? Without you, we would have no control over who the Avatar was nor be able to guide him in any way. He could as easily be a tool of the New Order as our own servant. Nothing prescribes that the Avatar be of our faith!
“And be assured, this is no 'little game', as you so glibly put it. This is a matter of worldly consequence! Imagine the fate of the world if the Pantheon is gone entirely and the New Order reigns undisputed? How many more orphans will be left to fend for their own?”
The last words stung Nathaniel. He knew Karmel referred to his own life. Deprived of a mother at fourteen, facing an uncertain future. Though under law he was considered capable of being independent by twelve, he had not been prepared to be so, even at fourteen. He had inherited his mother's land and property, but he knew not enough of how to live alone in the wilds. Oh, he knew how to fish, trap and plant seeds. He could even do rough maintenance work, as his had been the strong shoulders his mother had relied upon for years. It was more the idea of how to live without someone else to rely upon that he had not been ready for.
Had it not been for the kindness of the citizens of Oaken Wood, he would likely not have survived the first winter. Perhaps they had helped him out of guilt for what they had done, for allowing themselves to be culled into stoning his mother. Nathaniel had never known who exactly to blame for that and, at first, had blamed the community as a whole, spurning any offer of aid. But weakness and hunger defeated his pride and he at last had to accept their help on the heels of a devastating blizzard that had blown off the root cellar door, burying the winter stores until spring under ice and snow. Yet still, it took the stubborn dwarf, Bracken, to trudge out to Nathaniel's home to drag him back into town.
A priestess of Zantel, one of the New Order, had been responsible for his mother's death, if anyone could be given direct blame. And she had nearly cost Nathaniel his life, as well.
All across the countryside, word of the New Order's influence grew daily, and had been doing so steadily for as long as Nathaniel had had the notion to listen to gossip from beyond the borders of the town. Lord Justin Surlake, King of Carland, the realm to the west beyond the Wildelands, which claimed the territory in which Oaken Wood rested as a vassal state (though they never truly enforced the claim other than to collect taxes), was himself of the Platinum Sect, one of the so-called Knights of the Order, warrior priests who formed the holy armies of the kingdom. And of course, he would do nothing to prevent atrocities by members of the “all-powerful” New Order. What indeed would become of a land completely dominated by their ilk with no opposition?
“I can see your point, and I truly sympathize,” Nathaniel said at last. “But I cannot abandon my family... I would be doing to them purposefully what my mother did against her will....”
“Dear Nathan,” Karmel's voice echoed the sadness of her heart. “You will not be given a choice.”
Nathan clenched his fists. “I cannot and will not be your pawn! I am not your priest nor have I ever sworn to your service. In fact, until a few hours past, I had thought you all dead and gone. You cannot simply appear in my life and compel my service now!”
Karmel shook her head. “Not I, Nathan. You must understand this is beyond our powers to control...”
“Dariel set this prophecy,” Nate snarled. “Have him... whatever it is he needs to do to undo it!”
“No. He cannot do that. Once a prophecy is empowered and set, it cannot be undone, even by a God. It must be seen through to the end.”
“This is madness! I refuse to debate this further! I told Airek I would have nothing to do with this and I am telling you the same! Leave me be!” Nathaniel turned his back on a God for the second time that day and stormed off down the path to his home.
Karmel made a half-hearted motion to draw him back, but gave it up. “Oh, Nathan,” she moaned softly.
However, Nathaniel had not taken a dozen steps when he stopped sharply, gripping at his head as though in pain. Instantly, Karmel was at his side. “Are you unwell?”
Nathan did not respond immediately, but stayed bent over, his eyes closed. After several minutes, with the Goddess looking on earnestly the entire time, he finally relaxed and looked back at the Goddess, whose arm now cradled over his shoulder. “My head...” he started, before fully recognizing who was holding him. He straightened stiffly, pushing away the Goddess' support.
“It was like my head had been thrust into a tree! I was blind, and I could feel the weight of the tree over me. Then I was pulled free and I... that was it. I didn't see anymore...”
“It was One, reaching out to you. Did you see where it was?”
“No,” mumbled Nathaniel. “Just the tree...”
“Try, Nathan,” pleaded Karmel. “Only you can see the swords. Only you can find them. You have to let the visions guide you...”
“No!” roared Nathaniel. “I am not your tool! I am no part of this!”
“You already are, Nathan. You were conceived to be!”
Nathaniel fell to his knees, clutching as his hair. “No! I want no part of this! Take it away to be someone else's burden!”
Karmel knelt beside him, pulling the man into her embrace. “Calm yourself, dearest Nathan. Calm yourself.”
Nathaniel became acutely aware of Karmel's closeness and again pushed her away. “What is it with women today? I am neither your child nor your plaything!”
Karmel sat back on her heels. “Actually, in a sense, there's more truth to the former than you may think.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“In a sense, the Old Gods are each a parent to you, a surrogate at best, but your existence, your very conception, would not have happened without the seed we provided.”
“Stop speaking in riddles!” Nathaniel sat now on the ground, his head between his knees. “I need you to stop being vague and just say what you mean!”
“Very well. Let me ask you then, how much did your mother ever say about your father?”
This caught Nathaniel's attention like a slap in the face. Lifting his head, he cast accusing eyes upon the Goddess. “What are you driving at? Are you going to tell me now that my father was a God now, too?”
“No, no. He was mortal,” Karmel giggled. “He needed to be for the magic to work. A child of a God would still not be fully mortal and thus be unable to perceive the swords.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“It is not so much what I am saying as what I am asking. How much do you know about your father?”
Nathaniel thought for a moment. “Honestly, it was rarely a concern. My mother said that she and my father had been together only briefly, that he left long before she ever knew she had me in her womb. And by then, it was impossible to know where he had gone. And, of course, he never came seeking her, either.”
Karmel nodded knowingly. “Without meaning to speak ill of your mother, dear Nathan, young Maribel was a free spirit. It was her way and blessed was she of Lendus for it. In a time when most cringed at the very name, she embraced her calling and gave of herself freely in her Goddess' calling, for it was Lendus' female form she idolized, for this was the aspect most predominant over fertility.
“Of course, your mother took measures to avoid an unwanted pregnancy. She had magics to render
her infertile until she felt herself ready for such a challenge as motherhood. So blessed was her faith though, it came to pass on one evening, under Sarla's full moon, that Lendus, instead of gifting her with infertility for the evening ritual of the moon... Do you know the ritual of which I speak?” Nathaniel shook his head dumbly, so Karmel continued.
“The ritual of the moon is a celebration of life. Once a month, during the first night of the full moon, followers of the Pantheon gather and celebrate life through the joining of their bodies. Being a druidess of Lendus, young Maribel had attended many such rituals in her younger days. But this night was different, for it was time to spawn a new Avatar potential in this part of the world. And this time, Maribel had been chosen as the vassal to carry him. Not that he would have been any less effective as a female, but this time it was to be a male child.
“At any rate, this night when Maribel cast her infertility charm Lendus twisted the magic to instead enhance her fertility. In counterpoint, Sarla located a man who met the prerequisites we needed to breed a healthy child and implanted within him the seed of the Avatar, magic that, when joined with Lendus' fertility magic, would guarantee the conception of the child.
“After this, Naris enchanted them with infatuation only for each other, so that no other could distract the purpose of this night. The two became enraptured with each other and spent a blissful night together under the stars. By morning, their passions had fled and they each took leave without regret or remorse, since this was the tradition of the ritual. It was not meant to create lasting pairings, only to celebrate the joy of life.
“As she told you, by the time she learned she was expecting, she had no idea where your father was nor had any reasonable expectation of ever seeing him again. They had not even exchanged names.
“So Maribel took herself into solitude, which is the way of the druid, where she birthed and raised you in the ways of the Old Gods. Perhaps if she had not died so cruelly, you might have become a druid yourself. Instead, Fate chose to distance you from your mother's faith so that now, when you are called upon to act in its service, your own life holds more influence.”
