by Ron Glick
“Look after Nate,” the man said simply.
Nathaniel took one last look at his mother, choking back a sob. His hand reached out towards her in one last gesture, then he turned and walked away.
The dwarf would never have known, but the man walked with his eyes closed for the first dozen steps, fearful that if he opened them, he would lose his courage to leave his mother to her final rest. And he had already done more harm in this time than he could ever face without disturbing that as well.
Chapter 19
Ankor continued to sit in the street of Oaken Wood, stunned at the pain he felt coursing through his arm. Pain was a foreign concept to a God - they did not actually possess bodies in the commonly accepted sense. Their bodies were constructs made manifest by their individual wills. Consequently, they could assume any form they liked - though by covenant with the mortals, there were specific forms which they were bound to. How else were mortals expected to recognize their Gods, after all?
Simply put, there were no pain receptors in the bodies which the Gods made for themselves. They could be struck in a way that might engender discomfort if it affected the energy form of the God, but to feel actual physical pain from within their constructed bodies simply did not happen.
Well, amended Ankor to himself, it's not supposed to happen. Obviously, if he were feeling pain, it was possible and it did happen.
Avery knelt nearby. He looked on the God curiously, looking from the scorched arm to the deity's face repeatedly before he spoke. “Why have you not healed that? It doesn't exactly look very Godly.”
Ankor smirked. “Oh, I'm sorry I had not thought to do that.” Letting out an exasperated sigh, the God shrugged his arm, rolling the extremity in its socket. “It would appear your sword did something rather permanent to the arm and I cannot fix it.”
Avery looked puzzled, yet before he could speak again, Ankor continued. “Your sword tried to kill me, Avery,” he explained. “I picked it up to attack Belask, but it didn't like me holding it all that much, so it tried to burn me.”
“But... But how did you even get the sword? I though you couldn't see it?”
“I couldn't,” agreed the God of Mischief. “I didn't. Not even when I was holding it. But when you lost consciousness, your hand still held the sword, so I was able to find where it was.” Ankor flexed his hand, causing the skin to split and weep. Flinching, he continued. “Something like a blind man in the dark, but it worked. I was able to pick it up to save your life, though the sword itself didn't take too kindly to my trying.”
Avery visibly wrestled with an internal thought. “Gods can be in more places than once, right? That's why we usually see more than one shape being pulled back to where the God is when I kill one, right?”
Ankor nodded, tucking his arm into his middle protectively. “Gods are able to exist in different aspects of themselves, splitting their awareness between different forms.”
“So why not call on one of your other bodies, one that isn't wounded?”
The God's face twitched. “It would seem that whatever the sword has done has affected all of my forms. Every single version of myself has the same wounds you see here. And trying to create a new form does not erase the harm, either. Whatever your sword did, it did it to my entire existence.”
“The swords are able to pull upon the tether that exists between all of your facets,” said Brea. The priestess had left with Bracken for a time to search for anyone who might be wounded. That she had returned so quickly did not speak well of what had been found. “It is how the swords are able to draw in all forms of a God to a single place. What it did to Ankor was simply a force sent backwards along that thread of existence.”
“And you would know this how?” asked Ankor, raising an eyebrow.
Brea's face took on a distant look. “I just know,” she responded. “Ever since I struck down Belask, my skills have expanded immeasurably. Before, I had Imery's aspects to see truth. Now, I also have the ability to see what is not otherwise known. I feel as though there are no secrets in the universe from me now if I don't wish there to be.”
“Would that not be a bit overwhelming?” asked Avery. “To know everything all at once?”
Brea smiled. “I don't know everything all at once. I know what I need to know when I think upon it. No more than that.”
“That is going to get annoying very quickly,” mumbled Ankor. “Don't plan on having sex anytime soon unless you want a cosmic peeper, then.”
Brea walked over and gently laid her hand upon where One rested in its sheath on Avery's back. “These swords are amazing,” she said, almost to herself. “They are indeed changing us. They are changing us into that which we are killing. Each time we kill one, we gain aspects of its being. But we are not all changing in the same way. I am now the repository for both Truth and the Unseen, while Avery seems to be drawing mostly power rather than specific talents.”
“You said Nathaniel killed Imery,” corrected Avery. “So how do you have Imery's talents?”
“Because I basked in her form as it dissolved,” shrugged the priestess, lifting her hand from where it caressed the black leather. “I had already been gifted with talents by Imery, and when I touched her essence, it bonded with me in a way that allowed me to absorb her divine energy.”
Brea looked into the distance, as though she were looking for someone specifically. “There were things I instantly knew when I absorbed Belask's essence through One, two things which were of significant importance to us all. First, I learned that Nathan is not dead.”
Avery's eyes flew wide at this admission. His head swiveled to look to Ankor, asking without words whether the God of Mischief had known this. The God could only shake his head. He certainly had not known that Goodsmith had somehow survived being obliterated. He was not even sure how such a thing was even possible.
“He is alive,” continued the priestess, “and I know where we must go to rescue him.” The look on Brea's face was one of serene happiness. Clearly, the knowledge that the man she so obviously loved was safe had soothed her deeply.
“Well that's fine,” said Avery. “But what of my men? The ones you went looking for?”
“There was nothing which could be done for Loris or Nalen,” sighed Brea. “Bracken has gone to find a wagon to carry away their remains. Lartien is nowhere to be found. I assume he fled during the fight.”
Avery scoffed. “Of the three, he would be the least likely to run.”
“One can never know how another will react when faced with the impossible,” offered the priestess. “Lartien may have been a veteran of many wars, but he was a neophyte in a war between Gods. Even his brave heart could not have been tempered for such an overwhelming battle.”
“You said there were two things?” prompted Ankor, interrupting the vein of conversation. “Two things you knew once you had absorbed Belask's energy?”
The woman turned back to look at the God, then past him. “I believe that issue needs to present itself.”
Avery followed the priestess' line of sight, looking for something to appear. All that existed in the direction she looked however was the farthest-most building, representing the edge of the town's construction. Except...
At the edge of the building, there was a wood shed that rose only three feet off the ground. Pieces of bark lay scattered about the ground around the edge, the lumber that had been stored there depleted by the demands of winter. But the small shed was just tall enough to hide something behind it. And as the figure rose from behind the little structure, it was apparent that this was what Brea had been watching for.
Alisia stood up sheepishly, only her head and shoulders visible over the edge of the wood shed. Avery knew she must still possess the sword, but if she did, it was still concealed. She looked between the three people in front of her, then looked behind her, as well.
“Bracken won't sneak up on you this time,” said the priestess, raising her hand in welcome. “I know you saw what just happened. You saw what t
he Gods are really like. Do you truly want to entrust yourself in their care?”
“Hey!” grumbled Ankor. “I resent that.”
Avery and Brea both ignored the God as they stood together facing their visitor. Avery had reasoned out the sword's power, and they all knew how skittish the girl was. None wanted to send her careening off to some other point in time. And so Ankor decided to remain silent - after all, if the girl now distrusted the Gods, anything he said would not likely help.
“I'm Brea,” said the priestess, placing her hand to her chest. “Remember?”
The girl nodded, yet neither spoke nor moved from her place of concealment.
“I realize that for you, the fight for your sword just happened, but for us, it's been a full week,” offered Brea. “We have all had time to calm down now. Do you understand that?”
The girl avoided looking in the priestess' direction, but from the way she shifted her weight, it was clear that she heard what was said.
“Your name was Alasia, wasn't it?” asked Avery from the priestess' side. “I promise, no one will hurt you or try to take your sword.”
The girl looked up at the faux God. “Alisia,” said the girl softly. “My name's Alisia.”
Brea raised her hand again toward their visitor. “I know what happened with Nathan. I know you did not hurt him.”
The girl's eyes grew wide at that. “You mean the man? With the other sword? But... I saw what happened. I saw--”
“You saw him sent to another time,” said Brea. “He is safe, I promise.”
Another time? thought Ankor. Well, that did make sense - a sword able to control time could just as easily move someone... where? To the past, perhaps? Certainly not to the future, or if so, not to a future point that had yet arrived. But if so, how far out of time had this girl sent Nathaniel Goodsmith?
The girl looked up, reflecting back on her own memories, but it was Brea who provided the details.
“You told Nathan to see to his own mother,” provided the priestess. “You sent him to a time where his mother still lived. You sent him to his own past.”
The girl's face brightened at this, but clouded over just as quickly. “I don't know how to bring him back...”
Brea smiled softly. “There is no need,” she said. “I know where he is. We'll go rescue him. You could come with us, if you like?”
“Really?” The girl took a tentative step from behind the shed, the dark scabbard of Three coming into view for the first time.
“Truly,” said Avery. “You do not realize how special you are. We--”
Brea reached out and put her arm in front of Avery, who had begun to walk toward Alisia. “What Avery means to say is that the sword you have is very special, and we would do much to earn your trust. We are not your enemies, but the Gods...” The woman turned an eye to Ankor. “Well, let us say that you can't know which ones to trust on your own. But we could help you learn.”
“I almost lost an arm, you know,” complained Ankor. “You would think I'd deserve a bit more respect after that.”
“This one, for example” Brea indicated with a wave of her arm, “is also known as the Trickster, and you would do well to distrust almost anything he says.”
“Or at least check with one of us first,” added Avery, turning an aggrieved glare upon the woman. If Brea noticed it, she did not respond however.
“Right here,” groused the God, stabbing his good thumb at his chest. “I'm right here...”
Alisia took another tentative step from behind the shed. “I wanted the Gods to bring back my mom,” said the girl. “But these...” she waved the hand holding onto the sword in a small circular pattern. “They were scary...”
“It has been our experience,” said Brea, “that Gods are rarely what we expect them to be.”
“You said before...” The girl stopped, rephrasing her words. “You said your friend was special, that he could talk to Gods?”
“The Old Gods,” amended Brea. “The Gods who were here were not of the Old Gods. They were of the New Order.” The priestess cocked her head slightly. “Do you know much about the Gods?”
Alisia hesitated, then shook her head. “The priests never bothered us much. My dad used to say that we weren't worth noticing--”
“--Because there was no money in you,” finished the priestess. “I am sorry for that. But it is something many priests believe. They focus on how much coin can be obtained rather than the good that can inspired through charity. Sometimes the laws which the Gods bind us to are not so easily understood in their application in the real world.”
Brea's face clouded over, and she turned to Ankor. “Which reminds me. There is something that I have not been able to discern since acquiring Belask's power. How did she kill Loris and Nalen?”
Ankor shirked at the question, but tried to deflect his answer. “Like this,” he said, and swung his good arm in a cleaving action.
Brea scowled. “You know what I mean, Trickster. Second rule of divinity states that a God cannot take a mortal life. And yet, Belask just killed two mortals. How is that even possible?”
Ankor shrunk down into himself. “Yeah, that.” The God of Mischief struggled with how to avoid the question, uncomfortable with admitting anything.
“Answer her,” commanded Avery. And just like that, Ankor's resistance was gone.
“The truth is, I don't know,” said the God. “You are correct - the second rule says we cannot kill a mortal. Belask should not have been able to kill one, much less two mortals. And yet she did. She broke covenant, and had she lived, she could have been asked...”
“Yet these are not rules that can be chosen to be followed or not,” insisted Brea. “All my teachings have told me that these are compulsory elements of being a God. Just as you are bound to reveal yourself when I asked, you cannot choose to kill a mortal. Or can you?”
Ankor groaned. “We are not supposed to be able to. I confess, I am a little disturbed that she could do what she did. It means she had somehow found a way to bypass the rules which bind us. And if she can do that...” The God shrugged, wincing at the pain in his injured arm when he did so.
“...Then any of the Gods could,” finished the priestess.
The implication left an impact upon all present, Ankor himself not the least affected. None of the Lesser Powers possessed this ability, he was sure. So was it something the Greater Powers had achieved?
If the Greater Powers are no longer bound by the Rules of Divinity, are any of us safe?
* * *
Bracken shrugged as he tossed the coin to the farmer. It seemed that everyone in Oaken Wood had forgotten what it was to be neighborly. As recently as last year, if he had come to ask Old Palen to borrow his horse and wagon, he would have lent it to the dwarf with a smile and a promise of a meal when he brought the conveyance back. Now, the old man refused to budge without some payment for the service.
It was all that had happened in this last year. The attack on Wyrm's Fang, then the sudden onset of traveling pilgrims trying to find some meaning out of the Old Gods' trick with Mariabelle. The kindly citizens of the small outlying community were being exposed more and more to the evils of the outside world, and the more they became aware of others' vices, the more the people here adopted their own.
It was odd that even slaying their resident priestess all those years ago had not had this impact. The entire town had been made to see their darkest sides through the manipulations of that damnable priestess of Zantel. She had come to town, convinced them to murder one of their own, then vanished into the world beyond Oaken Wood without any further explanation. And yet, after the instigator was gone, they had all returned to their typical behavior.
The dwarf would have thought that being made to turn on their own would have been enough to turn the hearts of the men and women here dark, but it had not. No, it had taken another decade to completely taint their souls with avarice and greed. Murder had not been enough to corrupt them - but finding people
they could take advantage of themselves had...
Bracken stood in the shade of the barn while Old Palen retreated within to shackle up his plow horse. The wagon was needed to move the bodies of the two men killed in the battle between the Gods. Even if their bodies were not bloody, the thought of individually carrying multiple severed body parts to the outskirts of town to burn was not a pleasant thing to consider. Loris had been cleaved neatly in twain, but Nalen's right side had not intersected so cleanly with whatever force the ebon Goddess had used to slice at the pair, leaving his hand, fingers and parts of his arm scattered about.
As he stood in the building's shadow, the dwarf reflected upon all that had happened to him since coming to this town. The one place in all the world where the politics of the Gods should have avoided had somehow become a lodestone for incursions. Zantel had intruded a decade ago. Last year, Imery had sent a priestess, who had then been blamed for merciless attacks on both Mariabelle and Geoffrey Goodsmith. Then the Old Gods themselves had created a debacle by erecting a shrine to Mariabelle which had drawn people from all over Carland and beyond. Then to have Geoffrey return, somehow aged and brainwashed into believing the worst of his father - if this had not been the act of some unseen divine influence, Bracken was convinced he would have willingly eaten his own beard.
Finally, as if none of what had come before had not been enough, the town had been beset with a war between the Gods themselves. Six Gods had fought - and four of them had actually died. Right in the central road of Oaken Wood. The center of town may have been largely deserted after the confrontation that had taken Nathaniel from them, but there had surely been enough people around to witness the battle. What stories would emerge from this new event?
Yet above all of this was the nagging sense of personal failure. Brea had used magic upon the dwarf - forced him to see a truth deep in his heart that he had lived in denial of for decades. He had abandoned his people, his clan. He had fled rather than remain and seek to expose the truth of his own sire's murder. And in doing so, he had proven himself a coward.
