Three (The Godslayer Cycle Book 3)

by Ron Glick

  Hamil had his own connection to the Pantheon of course, but none of that provided any real answers where Imery was concerned. He was working clandestinely with Charith and Malik, but that was just as much a ruse as his own work with his fellow New Order Gods. It was not an entirely open and trusting affair - and information gleaned was not always entirely reliable. So Hamil had to take strict measures in deciding whether what he learned were true or untrue. But things unsaid... There were the real gems to be taken away from his meetings.

  Now, as Hamil looked upon the after effects of whatever it was that had just happened - something that still transpired outside Hamil's own divine perceptions - it gave the disguised deity pause. Perhaps there was something more to Nathaniel Goodsmith than a curiosity? Or, as it now seemed, that there had been something to him? Maybe he needed to press his cohorts-in-crime for what the man's purpose had been now that he was out of the game? But more importantly, it was becoming clearer that he needed to know because it affected his own piece upon the board: Avery.

  When Avery had left their party that morning, he had done so within view of the town proper. At present, the others were all camped at the top of the ridge looking down on the town. And as far as they all knew, Hamil was waiting with them.

  But of course, Hamil did not have to stay. He had the ability to be in more than one place at once, and there was simply no reason why he had to stay with the others and not follow Avery. And so he had - creating a duplicate self that could follow in the steps - or missteps, as more often than not seemed to be the case - of his errant hobby. In this capacity, Hamil had listened in on Avery's talk with the former priestess, and had been present in the crowd while Avery had raced across town to find Goodsmith. He had even allowed himself to be thrown down by the force of whatever the little girl had unleashed. But most remarkable of all was what had happened after the dust had settled.

  The girl had vanished. No magic was used, no spell at least. Nor had she moved to another location - Hamil's godly talents would have perceived the relocation once she manifested somewhere else. And it was not the same effect as Avery's, either - when the would-be God vanished, there was still a sense of his existence in the skein of reality. With this girl, there was none.

  No - she simply ceased to exist. And that was incredibly disturbing, since - as Avery pointed out - so had Nathaniel Goodsmith. Along with one of the invisible swords, too, if Avery's exclamation could be trusted. Hamil could not have been expected to immediately notice either was missing - since Goodsmith was not something he could sense if he were not in sight, and the swords couldn't be seen at all. But if they had dispersed - just as this small girl had done - then there truly was something to be concerned about here.

  Lately, far too many things existed outside the Gods' perceptions. The swords had been the most disturbing, because they possessed serious power. Nathaniel Goodsmith had been an oddity, but the only real concern he presented was the fact he had one of the invisible swords with him. Or two, actually, since he had one the night he had first faced Avery, as well - unless Goodsmith had lost that one somehow?

  Then there was Imery's death - which was plainly the work of these swords. Two of Hamil's fellow Gods had fallen to these imperceptible swords in Levitz, and that was the only real clue in how Imery could have been killed, as well. Or, to be more accurate, to the circumstances of Imery's death. No matter that she had died - that her death itself, the actual killing blow, had somehow been hidden... And where had her soul gone afterwards? And for that matter, where were Kelvor and Galentine's souls?

  But now - now this girl had something that could literally obliterate things from existence!

  To Hamil - or, more appropriately, to the God Ankor that he truly was beneath his Hamil persona - all of these seemingly separate instances of hidden powers could not help but be related. A set of invisible swords, a man who could not be seen with divine sight, missing deity souls - all of these had seemed so randomly disconnected. But now, with this girl's talent, they all seemed unmistakably linked. The common factor in all of these oddities was the capacity to be unseen by anyone of divine power.

  Wait, thought the false scribe, a wicked grin spreading over his face. Not divine specifically. Godly. Specifically, the Gods.

  The two demi-Gods in Levitz could see the sword, the one that could manipulate water, the one that had just been destroyed. Of that much, Hamil was certain. And demi-Gods gained their power from their divine parents. So it was not masked to divine power - all of these things were masked from the Gods, and the Gods alone!

  But who had the power to hide things - and more than one thing, it seemed - from the Gods? Even Gods' souls?

  There were only a handful of possibilities, only a small number of entities capable of such a feat. And Hamil took a moment to consider all the possibilities.

  There were powers in the universe even greater than Gods, but those were not well known for subtlety. The higher powers were more embodiments of uncontainable force, not delicate manipulators. If one of them were actively killing deities on Na'Ril, they would not be playing games of hide and seek with their prey - they would be lashing out, with no effort whatsoever to disguise what they were doing. Even the shadow elves would leave behind clear evidence that they were the ones killing Gods, not hiding behind shrouds of imperceptibility.

  So if it were not the higher powers of the universe at work, that left only two possibilities: the Gods themselves or perhaps one of the demonic powers. Perhaps a third, if the totem powers ever took an interest in mortal affairs. The latter certainly had the power to do this kind of thing, but they simply had no interest in the affairs of anything beyond the natural world - so unless one or more of them had drastically changed their ways, they could not be the culprits. Which left the Gods or demons.

  Like a set of interconnected links in a chain, a theory suddenly snapped into Hamil's mind. Everyone was so focused on the fact that this Mariabelle Goodsmith had not been one of the Pantheon's faithful, that they had completely looked past the other things in her life that made her special. And though none had found anything especially poignant in her own past, she did have a connection to one of the other oddities: Nathaniel Goodsmith! The one mortal who could not be detected by the Gods - a confessed agent of the Pantheon - shared the surname of the mortal woman who had been preserved by the Pantheon!

  There must be the connection there! Hamil thought passionately. Mariabelle is related to Nathaniel, and somehow Nathaniel has some value to the Pantheon. So what they are doing has nothing to do with a display of power, at all - it's all being done for Nathaniel's benefit!

  The why of it was not there yet, but there was common ground here - there was a connection between Nathaniel and Mariabelle. And it was enough of a connection that the Pantheon had come out of hiding to save to mortal shell of Nathaniel's... what? Sister? Wife? Certainly not his mother, since the two were of an age. But there was something to be learned here, of that Hamil was absolutely certain.

  Discover the connection between Nathaniel and Mariabelle, and maybe - just maybe - everything else will fall into place!

  With this thought in mind, Hamil let go of this one physical manifestation of himself and moved it elsewhere...

  * * *

  Malik paced the halls of his domain in fury. The dark, twisting maze of corridors offered little solace to his raging spirit this day.

  Nathaniel Goodsmith had been slain! And with his death, all of his carefully wrought plans were about to be undone! The mortal had been a fool, a faithless heathen who had defied the will of the Pantheon at every turn, but he had needed to stay living for a time longer - because the man still possessed First!

  What use was creating his own Avatar, if the tool to make the child an Avatar were hidden away? The Gods could not sense any of the swords - that had been part of their enchantment to keep them out of the hands of the New Order Godlings. But the only mortal who knew where First was would have been Nathaniel Goodsmith - w
ho had just died!

  Malik stopped his pacing and stood rigid in one spot. Physically, his hands clutched in tight fists, his rage building uncontrollably. This version of himself was the only form where he could let his rage manifest - all of his other forms were under the scrutiny of his fellow Pantheon members. In fact, even now one of his myriad selves - a female counterpart - was calmly listening to the debate amongst his fellow Gods over the implications of their fallen Avatar within the Pavilion. Only here in his own demesne was he provided the privacy he so desperately needed to explode as needed over this catastrophic setback.

  “And here I thought you were the God of War,” came an unbidden voice from behind the Lord of Strife, “not of Tantrums.”

  Malik did not need to turn to face his unwanted intruder to identify the errant deity. “Ankor,” he growled. “You are most unwelcome.”

  “Normally, I am such a respectful fellow,” chuckled the invasive God, “and under normal circumstances, I would gladly leave you to your conniption fit--”

  “Ankor!” bellowed the God of War, turning upon his unwanted guest, intent on expelling the intruder from his home with unmeasured force.

  “--but-I-just-saw-Nathaniel-Goodsmith-blown-from-the-face-of-Na'Ril!” finished the New Order's God of Mischief rapidly as he took a step back defensively.

  Malik paused, the flaring power subsiding from his body. Potential of something to gain momentarily ebbed his rage.

  “Thought you'd like to know about that,” smirked Ankor, shrugging.

  “You witnessed it?” asked Malik cautiously.

  Ankor's head bobbed eagerly. “I did. I was there. Saw it all for myself.” The mischievous God crossed his hands behind his back and stood on his toes as a child might. “Thought seeing your agent blown up was a big deal.”

  “Indeed,” responded Malik cautiously. “What did you see?”

  Ankor cocked his head to the side, still balancing upon his toes. “So you didn't see it yourself?”

  Malik considered a moment before responding. “We all knew that Nathaniel was gone,” he confessed. “None of us were present for it.”

  “Well, it was a sight, that's for sure!” Ankor began to rock back and forth on his heels. “Your boy started to beat up on a little girl, and she killed him in an instant for it!”

  “A girl?” Malik scoffed. “Do you expect me to take you seriously?”

  A gleam appeared in Malik's eye, his rocking motion coming to an abrupt stop. “A girl with a sword, unless I miss my guess.”

  That caught Malik's attention. He realized too late that his face must have registered the open astonishment that he felt, since Ankor's face lit up with satisfaction. As best he knew, Nathaniel's sight had not been triggered, which meant that a new sword had not yet woken. “You're sure?”

  “As much as I can be,” admitted the God of Mischief. “Since none of us can actually see the swords themselves. But your boy swung something at the girl, and something stopped it in mid-swing. And then everything blew up, and Nathaniel went...” Ankor pressed his finger tips together, then spread them outward quickly, “...blooey!”

  Malik felt a degree of urgency. None had been watching Nathaniel, so no one could have saved him. But if Ankor knew where his body lay...?

  “I see that look,” broke in Ankor, shaking his finger. “You aren't gonna be able to make another divine mortal this time. There was nothing left of your boy after the girl finished. Even his shoes got blasted to nothing! Even with his bloodline tied to your girl under glass, you can't restore dust.”

  The brief hope of restoring Nathaniel to life faded as quickly as it had sparked, but Malik could not avoid the scoffing chuckle emerging from his throat. “There's no blood shared between man and wife, fool,” he muttered absently, his mind trying to work through any remaining options.

  “Avery said she had also destroyed one of your swords, too,” confided Ankor, leaning forward conspiratorially. “That it blew up with Nathaniel. He was pretty upset about it.”

  It made sense to Malik. The only thing which could have conceivably destroyed one of his swords would have been another of the swords.

  “Where's the girl now?” demanded the War God.

  “Gone. Vanished right after. And I can't find her either. She's as gone as Nathaniel is.”

  “So what you're saying,” said Malik through gritted teeth, “is that you have nothing useful to say beyond the fact that you saw it happen?”

  Ankor visibly thought about this, then bobbed his head, grinning all the while. “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “So you're now going to leave me alone, aren't you?”

  The smile vanished from Ankor's face. “I was sort of hoping you'd have something to tell me,” confessed the impish God. “Like, maybe now that your boy's gone, why he was so important in the first place?”

  Malik let a wicked smile spread across his face. “Not likely,” he practically purred.

  Ankor gave a theatrical sigh. “Well, doesn't hurt to ask. Still, sooner or later, I think someone's going to tell me.” A sly grin split the Godling's features. “Might think about the advantage you'd gain for it being you.”

  Before Malik could comment further, his visitor vanished, leaving the God of War to dwell upon other God's parting barb. Was there something to be gained by being the one to let the Godling in on the truth behind the Avatar Matrix? The imp already knew of the plan to slay the New Order - at what point did keeping the full scope of the plot against Ankor's brethren a secret begin to work against his own interests?

  Malik hated to admit that the other God could have foreseen an advantage he had not seen himself. But it did bring to mind another responsibility.

  With barely a thought, Malik created another form and sent it to the mortal realm in search of his own, personal player. In moments, he found himself standing amongst a copse of young saplings, an advantageous point from where one could see the gathered crowd below. A young man knelt in the old, dead grass which had sprung up around the small grove of new trees, taking full benefit of the position.

  “Did you witness what happened?”

  The young man started, but only briefly. He could not be faulted for being caught unawares - a God's appearance was not something that a mortal could normally sense. And the young man's inherited talents had not yet been triggered.

  “I did,” Geoffrey said, not taking his eyes off the events below. “My sire is dead.”

  “Yes,” agreed Malik. “Slain by one of the swords.”

  “So what now?” asked the young man, his own frustration barely held in check below the surface. “I was supposed to have him lead me to First. How am I going to find it now?”

  Malik certainly did not have an immediate solution, but he had no intention of telling his prodigy that. He had pulled off the grandest of deceptions when he had kidnapped the Goodsmith stripling and secreted him away in a time divergent pocket dimension, but the conditioning he had subjected the child to required absolute faith in the God's own infallibility. One did not create a weapon like this one by engendering doubt into his psychology. Now, more than ever before, Malik had to remain in control - and to do that, he could not let the young man perceive his own weakness at being caught unawares.

  “It is unfortunate that Nathaniel met his end before our own plans were fully realized.” Malik placed a strong hand upon Geoffrey's shoulder. “But all is not as lost as you believe.”

  The young man looked back over his shoulder at the God he considered his true father, absolute, unwavering faith filling his eyes. Malik could not help smiling. “Nathaniel may be lost to us, but he lived below. He had a home, shelter, companions. Any of these could lead you to First. You only need to follow the path fate has provided.”

  Geoffrey grinned, his childishness coming out vividly in his features. “Of course,” he chided himself. “The dwarf was with him earlier.”

  Malik nodded knowingly. “He and Imery's former cleric are both potential resources you can
use to find First. It is your holy quest to obtain and wield First. Did you honestly believe such a holy endeavor would not present challenges unforeseen?”

  Geoffrey blushed at the rebuke. “No, of course not. I should not have been so easily discouraged.” The young man bowed deeply, prostrating himself before his God. “Forgive this mortal's imperfections, Lord Malik. I shall make atonement for my flaws. It is my own frailty that permitted me to doubt your grand plan.”

  “It is indeed.” Malik plastered a stern expression upon his face, even while he laughed inwardly at the ease with which such devout fools adopted blame for themselves. “Imperfection of the spirit is what led your sire astray. Giving his heart room to doubt led to his downfall, for what happened today only happened because of his own belief that he was greater than the will of the Gods. Let this serve as reminder that it is you who must prove yourself to me, for the moment you forget that, you will only share in your sire's fate.”

  The young man pressed his face to the earth. “I am your humblest of servants, Lord Malik. Please, I will not fail you again.”

  Malik permitted a near audible silence to fall between them before he spoke again. “Question not my will, mortal. Your obedience is blind, or you have no worth to me. Remember that.”

  “I will not forget again, Lord Malik.”

  The God of War held his position for a moment longer, then vanished from sight. But he did not leave - he only shifted his presence so the mortal child could not see him.

  It took Geoffrey Goodsmith several minutes before he worked up the courage to raise his head, small pebbles and threads of grass plastered to his face where it had been pressed into the ground. Believing his God departed, he raised himself up and brushed away at the tears that had leaked from his eyes.

  There was no hesitation in the young man's movements in what came next. Quickly, he retrieved his satchel and rooted out a serrated dagger and strip of leather. He stripped back his shirt, leaving it hanging from his waist as he brought the dagger against his chest, parallel to the multitude of scars already prominently carved across his flesh. On the opposite side of his chest, a blood crusted piece of leather hung, and without hesitation, the young man ripped it clear with his free hand, forcing the wound below to bleed freely.