by Ron Glick
The woman took a deep breath, then fixed her eyes squarely on Nathaniel's. “I make copies. Of myself. I make copies of myself.”
Nathaniel knit his eyebrows. “What does that mean?”
Tanath pressed her lips together, turning them white in her effort to deal with whatever emotions were struggling inside her. “Two or three times a year, I just... split. There's no other way to really say it. I feel really heavy, then bloated. Worse than any menstrual flow. And I can't handle anything on my skin at all. Then I get really, really hungry and after a day or so of this, I pass out. And when I wake up, there are two of me there.”
Nathaniel blinked, relaxing his guard. Tanath's eyes showed an absolute sincerity in what she was saying. Yet what she said seemed just so... impossible.
“Like I said, if you could wait a couple weeks, I could prove this,” Tanath said. “I could call in some of my twins, bring them here to show you that what I am saying is true. But here, right now, all I can do is tell you about it.”
“How would you call them? You know where they are?”
“I always know where they are, just like they always know where I am. There's something about what we go through that keeps us together. In here.” Tanath tapped the side of her head. “We can open our thoughts to each other if we want, but we always know where we all are. We can't really hide from each other. We always know how far away we are, that kind of thing. I don't know how to tell you what it's like. It's just part of the whole thing.”
“This...” Nathaniel stopped, trying to find the right words. “This is strange. It's not really proof, but it's strange enough that I can't say it's not true, either. I've seen some really strange things this last year, so I'm not sure I can just say you're lying as easily as I once could.”
Tanath beamed. “That's the best I could hope for, really. I mean, I'm not sure I would believe it if someone told it to me. And I've been living this life for over eighty years now!”
“Eighty?” Nathaniel regretted the surprise as soon as he had uttered it. He of course knew the stories - demi-Gods were near immortal. A gift they inherited from the Gods themselves. Stories conflicted - some said they lived forever, others that they just lived very, very long lives. But all agreed - eighty years would be nothing to a demi-God. In fact, it would make for a very young immortal.
It was just that Tanath looked so young. The man had entered his twenty-fifth year only a few weeks ago, and Tanath appeared to be of an age with him. Perhaps even younger. Yet if she were indeed a demi-God, Nathaniel chided himself that it should be expected that at some point she would stop aging. After all, how threatening could an eighty year old immortal be if they declined into old age like everyone else?
“I know,” said Tanath lightly. “I barely look a year past fifty. But there are demi-Gods who are a lot older than I am. I'm still really new at all of this by comparison.”
Nathaniel considered before asking his next question. “What makes you think I am this Godslayer then?”
“Part of being a demi-God is that we can kind of tell when we're close to the Gods or their power. Sort of like a built-in danger sense. We know when one comes close, so we know to usually run the other way. Your sword practically screams like that. I've seen a lot of holy relics in my years, but nothing like that. It's almost got the power of a God all by itself. Mind you, I've never actually seen a God in real life - felt a couple, but never let one get close to me. But if I were to guess what a God would feel like close up...” Tanath pointed at Two. “...that's what I'd imagine it would feel like.”
Nathaniel flexed his grip on Two's hilt. “But if you felt this like it was a God, why would you even approach me?”
“Because you're not a God, Nathan,” Tanath answered simply. “I can't explain it better than that, but it's not the same. Feeling the sword's power and you along with it, it's just not the same as what a God feels like. It's similar, but it doesn't raise my hackles like being close to a God does.”
“And you want... what? To have me work for you? Go after your parents? Sorry, but I already have a self-centered group trying to send me off like that already. I don't need anyone else trying.”
Tanath waved her arms quickly. “No, nothing like that. We want to help you, that's all. We have a common goal, but we don't want to be involved anymore than we have to. My only thing here is to let you know we're here, and we'll help you if we can. That's it. Promise.”
Tanath laughed. “It's actually a really good thing that I was the first one to find you. Because of my power. I have close to a hundred of myself all over the place, all of us sort of acting like a network, passing information for the Conclave...”
“The Conclave?”
“Oh, sorry.” Tanath actually blushed at that. “Forgot that. I said there were some of us working together. That's what we call ourselves: the Conclave.
“Anyways, like I said. It's kind of good that it was me that found you, because now if you run into any of my other selves, you'll already know who you can get help from. And I can tell the others a lot faster than anyone else could that we've found you, so they can watch out after you, too.”
“That's assuming I want your help,” pointed out Nathaniel.
“That's true,” said Tanath, hopping down from her perch, brushing at the wood flakes left behind on her skirt. “But I'd like to think this was a good first meeting. I hope you'll let us help you, because I really do think this would be good for both of us. But you're right - it's completely up to you.”
The woman turned around and began to back away. “Look, I'll just let you think about what I've said. I know you have friends. I've seen you with them. I've actually been trying to find you alone for a couple days now. But talk to them and let me know what you think after a few days. I'm not going anywhere for awhile. If you don't find me, I'll find you.”
Before Nathaniel could say more, Tanath turned and sprinted away. He considered following her, but only for a moment. She was right - he needed time to think on what she had said, to share it with Bracken and Brea.
The man known to some as the Godslayer looked to the sun, now almost fully risen over the horizon.
Besides, if Avery was right, it's Spring now, and the next sword will be waking up soon. And I can't see how having help with that could be a bad thing...
Chapter 2
The procession moved slowly yet purposefully through the wooded region, weaving their way through the remnants scattered about upon the ground of so many others who had beaten the path they followed into a much broader road than it had been just the previous year. Many items had been discarded, leaving what had surely been a pristine setting once now littered with refuse. Everything from discarded utensils to odd bits of clothing to even decomposing waste lay scattered on and about the path. The stench was something new to this area, and all of the riders knew it. For even beneath the sweltering refuse of the people who had come before, the land had not completely been choked of life.
Not yet, at any rate.
They were six in number, though the man leading the company stood out distinctly from all the others. The only one who came close to his bearing was the woman who rode at his side, yet for all her beauty, even she paled beside the majesty of the group's leader.
The man who plainly led the group rode a majestic steed, one that was clearly of noble descent. The lady beside him rode a horse a hand shorter than the great stallion upon which her companion rode, though it gave the bearing of a well bred creature, as well. The rest of the procession all rode horses whose lineage left little doubt that they were simple beasts of labor. Had the group not been obviously traveling as a unit, no one would likely have thought the other four connected in any way to the nobles who led the procession.
Avery flexed his right hand, still reveling in the strength of his restored flesh, even after all these months. The time he had been without his limb was significantly shorter than the period in which it had been restored, but still he felt the need
to assure himself that it was indeed there. Feeling the power of his closed fist, he felt as if he could rule the world from the back of his noble stallion by virtue of that strength alone. After all, who in all the history of the world could claim to be able to regrow their own severed hand?
Beside him, his wife Viola rode in her own glory. Avery still felt his heart melt every time he looked upon her, and when she would smile, he more than once thought he might give up everything in the world just for the joy that image gave him. Her faith in him was absolute, and her devotion was intoxicating. More than any other woman he had bed since he had set out on this grand affair, this woman ruled over his soul. Had she asked him anything, he feared that for all his power, he would be helpless to forbear her wishes.
As he thought this, Viola did indeed look Avery's way. Seeing his eyes upon her, she blushed and the sweetest smile imaginable brushed her lips. All at once, Avery felt his breath escape him, swept away in the sheer force of emotion he bore for this woman. She may only have been his wife by his own declaration, yet the two were bound by deeper roots than any mere priest could unite them through some other God's blessing. Besides, what other deity could possibly be called upon to unite a God and his bride?
“My Lord,” came a voice from behind Avery, snapping him from his state of adoration.
Avery mastered his urge to yell in return to the interruption, choosing to remain calm instead as he half-turned in his saddle. “Yes, Lartien?”
“The day's end approaches,” answered one of the other men as he rode up closer to his leader. “Should we not scout a campsite?”
Avery looked ahead, letting his senses reach out before responding. “Our destination cannot be much further, Lartien. We have already passed many pilgrims on the road. Surely this Oaken Wood cannot be that great a distance yet if I can feel the ebb of my brother so strongly?”
Lartien let out a grunting sound. “I imagine it may well be that we might have arrived in Oaken Wood by sundown, or perhaps shortly after, under normal conditions. But it is as you say - there are many already upon the road, and I cannot say what the valley itself shall display. If the words of the family leaving could be honored, the town has been consumed by the camps of those traveling to see proof of your Sires' divinity, which would make our approach highly questionable. Even presuming that these pilgrims are gathered peacefully, there will be a great many people through which we will need to pass, and that will take time. This quiet walk may be the last we see for some time, for we cannot say what lies over the next hill.”
The man spit upon the ground. “Even at the best of times, darkness is never the time to approach a foreign camp, My Lord. I recommend we wait for morning.”
Avery made a visible sign of considering his guard's words before turning to Viola. “What do you think, my love?”
The lovely maiden let out a sigh. “I am tired, Lord Avery,” she said simply. “Saddle sore and tired. I would sleep in a normal bed if I could, but Lartien is the master of your guard. I am sure his words are wise, in spite of my feelings.”
Avery could barely contain the smile of pride that nearly burst from him at that moment. Viola had once been a simple bar maiden, but the months traveling at his side as the newly-minted God's paramour had brought out a great deal in the young woman, not the least of which was a natural feel for speaking profoundly yet with clear intelligence. Even without Avery at her side, this woman would be one to admire - and each time he saw this side of her, his heart only grew all the more for his love of her.
“And you, Hamil?” asked Avery, not turning his eyes away from his lady love. “What say you?”
The scribe road up to be closer to his liege before speaking. “Like yourself, I feel an urgency to see this journey done. But one more night will surely not do any of us harm, will it?”
The would-be God of Vengeance reflected upon those words for several moments before responding. Avery knew that Hamil was not the simple scribe he professed to be. Even in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, still the little man budged little in his role as a loyal servant to the self-proclaimed God. In Levitz, Hamil had confessed to perceiving the wall of water barring the fishing town from the rest of Na'Ril differently than anyone else, and more than once, Avery had caught a hint of power in the little man that defied his simple pretense. Yet there existed an unspoken agreement between the two not to press the scribe for his true identity, and so long as he continued to demonstrate an unflagging loyalty to his own ambitions, Avery had no intention of disrupting their alliance.
Still, being aware of Hamil's secret power also let Avery see in the little man the potential for an equally unspoken wisdom. Simply put, Hamil knew things - things no mortal man should. Though Hamil would never divulge all he knew, or even that he knew it, still his advice would always be tempered with this covert wellspring of information. Regardless of what Hamil's true purpose might be, he was dedicated to Avery's well-being, and that meant that if there were some kind of danger along a specific course, Avery could rely upon the scribe to at least provide caution.
Yet still, for all Hamil knew, he did not know what Avery did. For instance, Avery alone had intimate knowledge of the true plans of the Nine, as the nine mystical swords called themselves. He had been in communion with... what? Their hive mind? Their shared consciousness? Two had disassembled his body so that the sword could communicate directly with his soul, and he had learned much through that communion. But more important than anything else, he had learned when and where the yet-slumbering swords would arise. And it was that knowledge which pressed upon him for time more than any other.
Of course, to say he knew when and where the swords would awaken was not quite as specific as it sounded. The swords simply did not perceive time or the world in the same way that he did. Therefore, the concept of time which the swords conveyed to him was rather non-specific. He could generally say how long it would be before the swords woke and their general distance from each other, but other than that, it was a guessing game. Still, it was more than any other living being possessed - including Nathaniel Goodsmith, the so-called Godslayer.
This thought forced another memory to the forefront of Avery's mind.
The sword I bear is Three, the third to awaken and call for men to find. And it is the sword that above all others must not fall into the Godslayer's control. For without it, I would be unable to travel here to give you these tidings in the first place.
Those words had been spoken by the mysterious Martin, a man who had professed to have traveled from the future with grave tidings of things to come. It had been at this man's insistence that Avery had traveled to Levitz and recovered One. The journey had indeed been precisely as the stranger's words had predicted - he had encountered the second of the Nine, and he had come into conflict again with the Godslayer. But that confrontation had not ended as he would have expected. Avery's communion with the swords had given him a clarity of sight - one that proved to him that this Goodsmith was not the slayer of all things divine he had feared for so long, and that this rival actually had a place within the plots of the Nine.
Nathaniel Goodsmith may not have left the confrontation as an ally, but he did not leave as a nemesis, either. Avery and the Godslayer were bound to the same destiny, and the self-proclaimed God of Vengeance felt bound to the swords' ambitions to keep this man alive.
At least for now.
But whatever the Nine's plans were, that did not mean Avery could discount Martin's words. He needed to be the one to retrieve Three when it woke, and - more importantly - he needed to keep it out of Goodsmith's hands.
Avery had spent the winter thinking on how best to do that. He had a general location in his mind of where the third sword would wake, and a vague time of when it would happen, but generality meant nothing. He could spend weeks, perhaps months, trying to find the sword while Goodsmith might just walk right up to it.
Avery was not sure how it worked, but there was no doubt in his min
d that Nathaniel Goodsmith had his own connection to the swords. Goodsmith had come to find Avery himself when he had first left Scollhaven, and then he appeared at Levitz shortly after Avery's own arrival. Avery had stumbled upon One, and been forewarned by his future visitor about Two. But Goodsmith's uncanny ability to find the swords was a factor Avery could not yet understand, and that made predicting the Godslayer's abilities impossible.
Given a choice between setting up camp in the general vicinity of the third sword and hoping to somehow encounter it before Goodsmith came looking for it was too much of a gamble, in Avery's mind. That meant he had to find another solution if he intended to act upon Martin's forewarning.
It had been a few weeks ago that the solution had finally come to him. If he needed to take the sword before the Godslayer could, why not simply attach himself to Goodsmith and follow wherever he went in pursuit of the sword? He could either join Goodsmith outright if the man were willing - offer to lend assistance as the only other wielder of one of the Nine - or follow Goodsmith after he left on his own trek after the sword. Either solution would give Avery the chance he needed to take the sword for himself.
Avery reigned in his steed, sitting patiently while the others in his troop followed suit. “Though there is clearly no threat to myself, perhaps I should be more considerate of your needs. Lartien, you and your men may scout for a site suitable to camp for the night. Viola, Hamil and I will await your return here.”
Lartien made no comment, simply nodded to his men and led his horse off one side of the trail. His two men did likewise to the opposite side of the path.
Once the men had passed some distance away, Avery turned to his scribe. “Is there anything you wish to say before they return?”
