One (The Godslayer Cycle Book 1) (18 page)

“
Humor me then.”

Nathaniel sighed.  “If it will send you away, then fine.  Nathaniel Goodsmith.”

“No, your
real
name.”

“
That
is
my real name.  What, you want my middle name, as well?  It's Aireon.”

Brea scrunched her eyebrows, as though focusing hard to see something.  Her eyes never wavered from looking at Nathaniel, though.  “Okay, so maybe that is
also
your name.  But I want to know your
real
name.  Not the one you are using as your own now.”

“
What
are
you talking about?  I've only got one name!”

Brea jerked back, stricken.  She could not understand it.  Imery had given her special power, the ability to pierce any illusion or deception, power enough to thwart anything the Old Gods could have mastered.  Presumably, when Nathaniel protested about not being a God, the talent should have exposed the truth to her.  Instead, everything Nathaniel said came to her
as
truth.  No deception.  No illusion.  No falsehoods.  Except for when she had first challenged him.  He had been wary, saying he did not know what she was talking about.  Her new talent had told her he did.  Yet he dodged her every effort to get at what he really was!

Well, there was one question he could
not
dodge.  Imery had assured her of that.  If her special power would fail, she had been told there was one question no God could refuse to answer.

“
Who are you?” she asked, uncertainty cracking her voice.

“
What?  You know who I am!”

“
Answer the question,” Brea forced out.  Her confidence was beginning to waiver, and with it, she had begun to feel the effects of his charm once again.  “You can not refuse to answer it.  Who are you?”

Awareness blossomed in Nathaniel's mind, at last.  She had it mixed up! 
He
could refuse to answer that question, but a
God
could not! 
A God must name himself if asked
,
Airek had said.  Suddenly her comment about having power while acting like a child made sense.  As did her demand that he just stop bleeding.  Brea thought he was a God!  She believed he was one of the Old Gods in hiding!  She had somehow stumbled onto his power and drawn the wrong conclusion!  Maybe she did not know anything about the Avatar power or its purpose after all.  She had just seen a power she did not understand and somehow convinced herself that he was a God made flesh. 
How ironic,
he thought,
when I am little better than a helpless pawn!

Nathaniel could not help but chuckle in relief.  Maybe he
could
extradite himself from this...

“
What is so funny?”  Brea asked, her face flushing visibly.

“
You.”  Nathaniel tried to hide the smile, but failed.  “You think I'm a God, don't you?  Me?  I'm just a simple man trying to raise a family as far away from you New Order types as I can manage.  How does that make me a God?”

Brea felt her breath rush out of her.  Everything he had just said was true?  How
could
it be?  Imery herself had said his power was that of one of the Old Gods, so he had to
be
one himself!  Yet he plainly told her he was not a God at all, and her power had confirmed it!

“
Then how...”  she stammered.  “Your magic...”  Her heart raced now with the aching desire to throw herself at his feet to beg for his forgiveness.  How could she ever have doubted him?

“
What magic?”

“
The charm spell you put on me...”  Brea blushed deeper at that admission, and her heart raced all the faster, reminding herself of the lust she still carried inside her even with the original enchantment suppressed.

“
What spell?  I don't know any spells!  I'm not a wizard, either!”

More truth!  He did not know what she was talking about!  He had not only
not
cast a spell on her, he didn't know any spells in the first place!  How could she...  How could
Imery
have been so... 
wrong?

Brea felt dizzy.  “Th-then your feet are really...”

Nathaniel looked again at his feet, now crusted in places with drying blood, most of the cuts having stopped bleeding by that time.  “Yes, they really hurt.  Thanks so much for the concern.”

Brea fell to her knees in disbelief.  Imery had been wrong.  Goodsmith was no God at all.  And she had made a complete fool of herself over the man she had fallen in love with!  Yes, she knew it now, aided by her newly acquired talent.  She could not even lie to herself anymore.  Magic or no, she was in love with Nathaniel Goodsmith!

Looking up, she saw Nathaniel moving closer to the stream to clean his feet.  Guilt overwhelmed her and she rose to rush to his side.  “Let me help you with those,” she pleaded as kindly as she could manage.

   “
You're not going to do anything spiritual like worshiping my feet now, are you?  Or perhaps dunking me under water to see if I can somehow not drown?”  Nathaniel gave a wry grin.  Whatever numbness had blocked the pain before was now completely gone.  He had started having serious concerns about how he could make it back without crawling.  And he really dreaded the idea of Brea watching him do that!  He had just started thinking of how he could get her to leave when she had come over to his side offering aid.

“
No, but I can heal them, if you'll let me,” she said, the blush creeping over her face burning at the words.  She had probably deserved that and worse for the way she had behaved.  More than anything, she wanted to undo the damage she had caused with her wild accusations.  But she would have to settle for the time being upon his wounds of the flesh.

“
What, like laying hands?”  Nathaniel had, of course, heard of such things, but had never given the stories much credence.  A spell-like ability of certain priests to be able to heal the wounds of their faithful was something that seemed pretty far-fetched, but if it were true, it would show a new level of depravity for the New Order, to be able to heal the sick and wounded but to choose to reserve that magic for themselves alone seemed inhumane to him.  How could a priest walk down a road, seeing the poor and destitute – and in larger towns he understood them to be in such massive numbers as to have weeping sores upon their skin – and to neglect to offer any succor?  Men of Gods?  What kind of men would follow such Gods if they knew?

“
I am not one of your converts and you cannot expect me to become one, either,” Nathaniel said.  He felt a sudden vulnerability at the idea of letting this woman care for him in this way.  It felt too... intimate, somehow.

“
That's not necessary for it to work,” Brea grinned sardonically.  She had heard the stories voiced among the masses, too.  Only she knew what parts were real and which were not.  For instance, she knew that a priest could cause wounds as easily as cure them, though she had no intention of mentioning that aspect to the man at this point in time.

Nathaniel grimaced at the thought of New Order magic being used on his body, even in a beneficial way.  But in spite of the anxiety at the thought, he nodded his approval to try.  If it worked, at least maybe he could walk back on his own two feet rather than have her witness his invalidity.

Brea leaned down and carefully took Nathaniel's right foot into her hands.  Tenderly, she lowed it into the stream to finish cleaning it, feeling gingerly as she did so for any foreign objects inside the cuts.  When at last she was satisfied, she pulled the foot from the water and laid it across the robe on her lap.

Brea closed her eyes and focused herself on the incantation she would need to heal the wounds in Nathaniel's flesh.  This was clerical magic, granted to priests for their faithful devotion and adherence to the will of their Gods.  It required daily meditations to maintain since the spell itself was in the form of ancient magic runes imprinted on her mind by her Goddess, runes that would burn themselves out of her memory whenever they were used or fade away once she went to sleep.

Somehow, in a way Brea truly did not understand, these runes tapped into the magical energies all around her and directed them to a specific task.  The magic did not exist inside her before she recited the incantation.  In fact, she could
feel
the energy flowing into her each time she called upon the magic.  The runes existed purely as a tool to draw the energy into her to effect the desired result.

Healing was one of the most basic spells taught to acolytes when they first received their training in the priesthood.  The talent to heal, or in counterpoint to inflict, wounds was considered a cornerstone of the priesthood, and most priests practiced committing several such spells, departmentalized separately within their minds, each day to memory.  Once a spell was recited, it would burn out the memory of the runes in a priests mind, so it was necessary to learn how to divide the mind, to even learn multiple copies of the same spell, to assure that all runes would not be expunged for the casting of a minor cantrip.

In this respect, the priest would make the decision on which spells he might need each day and then request these of his or her God during morning meditation and prayer.  The more experienced the priest, the greater their capacity for spell use and the greater the number – and the more powerful – of spells  they could absorb each day.

This spell use differed significantly from the power Imery had given to Brea.  That power came freely when bidden without a spell nor incantation and had not faded last night when she was finally able to sleep.  She did not really understand
that
kind of power, either.

Softly, she spoke the ancient words of magic that came to her as she accessed the part of her memory that stored the spell.  Immediately, a warm, soothing energy flowed from the air around her into her hands that cradled Nathaniel's foot.  He could actually feel his skin moving, stretching to close the gaps and knitting together deep under the skin where the cuts had penetrated.  The pain also retreated with the spreading warmth from Brea's hands.  In moments, the process was complete and Nathaniel looked down at his newly mended foot, completely healed as though the abrasions had never existed!

Nathaniel looked upon Brea with a new sense of admiration. 
This
was real magic, nothing like the facade of power the Old Gods had inflicted upon him.  This was a power that could actually
help
people.  Why then had the New Order spent so much time destroying lives if they could perform such miraculous deeds as this?

Nathaniel's gaze of admiration did not escape Brea's attention when she opened her eyes.  She felt herself blush again, now for an entirely different reason.  She had helped to create a pleasant feeling within the chest of the man she adored, even if only for a moment.  Perhaps there still was hope for her in this man's heart, after all...

Putting aside thoughts of her own self-interest, Brea bent down to repeat the process for Nathaniel's other injured foot.

“
There is still something you have not answered,” said Brea.

Nathaniel turned to look at her.  “I thought we had settled this?”

The two had begun the trek back to Nathaniel's home.  They moved at a leisurely pace, mostly set by Nathaniel, who was in no great hurry to return to the confrontation with his wife.  Brea's healing had been a great success and he could hardly tell that his feet had been injured, at all.  The only discomfort he felt was the itch where his wet boot now rubbed against his leg, or more accurately, against his pants leg, which was now as equally wet as the leather.  It was a fair exchange in his mind, though – to wear a wet boot rather than cutting his feet yet again on the walk back.  And besides, he was fortunate to be walking back in the first place.

Upon finishing her healing, Brea had watched as Nathaniel had put on his boots, and then had begun to head back the way she had come.  There were many things Nathaniel had been raised to believe in, and even more that he had come to believe in since his mother's death, but he could not in good conscience let the woman walk back alone.  Aside from being extremely disrespectful and impolite, especially after what she had done to mend his feet, there was always the odd chance that she could either become lost or become the victim of some wild animal.  True, this close to their cabin, that was unlikely, but he knew he would never have been able to live down the fact had she indeed come to harm after leaving him alone.  And so he had followed her, and in short order had found himself walking beside her.

Nathaniel looked around to gauge the distance left to return home.  The thought of dread at returning home seemed so foreign to him.  Before today, there was never once that he was away from his home that he did not pick up his pace as he returned, so overwhelmed with love had he been for his wife.  Now he found himself dragging his feet, trying to keep away the inevitable problems associated with his return.  Confronting Mari was very nearly the last thing he wanted to do.  In truth, he would rather be having one of his seemingly frequent encounters with one of the Old Gods than do this. 

And Brea had unnerved him, as well.  That she had actually come to believe that he was one of the Old Gods himself was mind blowing, but even more unsettling was that she somehow had discovered he had power, at all.  She had struck far too close to the truth for Nathaniel's taste, and now he found himself taut with the fear that she would somehow draw the remaining pieces together and report who he was to her own Goddess, that he was the Old Gods' chosen avatar, complete with powers that were somehow intended to overthrow the New Order.  Or whatever he was supposed to be doing.  What could seeking out swords have to do with power struggles between Gods, anyway?

Not that he had decided to accept the mantle offered him.  He had not yet been convinced that it was a job he could not escape.  And now he had even more reason to stay than before.  His marriage was a farce.  His wife was some kind of agent for the New Order, selling her body in order to “save” the souls of his children.  How could he possibly just leave his son with such a woman?

He could just imagine telling her he was leaving on a quest for the Old Gods to recover nine magical swords designed to slay the Gods of the New Order.  He would never see Geoffrey again, assuming he was not drawn and quartered by her family first.  Assuming he left directly without giving her time to adjust, he would still likely not have made it more than a handful of leagues before she had told her father, and a lynch mob would have been in pursuit.  Maybe he could have eluded them, but did he really want to risk something like that, knowing that even that would cost him the only child he was ever likely to have now?

So if he left, he would have to so without an explanation, or a flimsy concocted story to justify the trip.  Of course, she would not believe anything he said.  She would be convinced he was leaving her because of her deceptions.  Which would certainly, in part, be true.  He could not bare the idea of being near her, not knowing what he now did.  But to leave would also assure he would never see his son again.  She would not stay here.  She would move back in with her father and that man would never let him near his son.

What other choices were there?  To take Geoffrey with him?  Too dangerous.  To evict her and raise Geoffrey alone?  A possibility, but one likely to provoke his father-in-law.  It seemed there were no clear answers and until he had decided what to do, until he settled upon a due course of action, he could not confront Mari.

All of this he had thought through as he had walked beside Brea.  Nothing much had been said between them until now, either, and for that he had been grateful.  That gratitude, however, was destined to be short-lived.

“
We settled some things, but not everything,” Brea said.  She walked on for a minute, forming her question in her mind before speaking again.  “You are hiding something.  You were nervous when I first confronted you.  So what did you think I was talking about?”

“
I had no idea,” Nathaniel responded.

A lie
, observed Brea.

“
You followed me into the woods and I don't have the best history with your kind.  How did you expect me to act?”  Nathaniel did his best to seem put off by the subject, yet Brea did not drop it.

“
Hmmm...” she mused.  “Some truth there.  So you've had bad experiences with women or whatever...”

“
Not women,” Nathaniel snapped.  “Priests.  Specifically, New Order priests.”

Brea stopped short for a moment, stunned by the venom in Nathaniel's words.  She quickly recovered from her shock though and rushed to make up the distance she had lost.  With a firm grip, she seized the man's arm and forced him to stop.  “What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“
Somehow, I imagine it would not be that difficult to find out about, if you have had some sour dealings with a priest in the past.  Oaken Wood is a small town and seems ripe with gossip mongers...”

“
Ask away.  It's pretty well known.  You'll get all the answers you want, for sure.”  Nathaniel turned a wicked grin upon the girl.  “But you'll have to leave me be if you wish to go after your answers.  For awhile, at least...”

Brea flushed at the implication.  Surely, he thought she was angered, but in truth his words had stung.  He actually wanted rid of her...

She snapped her mouth shut as she cut off the retort she had started to make.  Better to not further alienate him, she thought.  She instead watched his jaw set firmly as he turned to leave.  If she wanted an answer, she would not get it by badgering him.  Whatever it was, it was personal, close to his heart.

Realization dawned on her.  “This has something to do with your mother, doesn't it?  What happened to her?”

Nathaniel's entire backside stiffened.  Brea did not need any extra senses to tell she had struck a nerve, which meant she was on the right track.

“
What happened to her, Nate?  It's what has come between you and your wife, too.  I don't know how, but it has.  I can see that...”

“
I said I didn't want to talk about it!” Nathaniel growled.

“
I could find out from Duncan, you know.  I wouldn't have to leave for that...”

Nathaniel turned on her so fast that Brea had to take a step backwards to avoid colliding with the man.  “Fine.  You want
truth?
  How's this for truth?  The local priestess of Zantel had my mother stoned to death. And I've just learned that my own wife and father-in-law took part in her murder!  Satisfied?!”

Brea was speechless.  A priest had killed his mother?  Or, at least, directed the killing?  His mother must have been a heretic, but even still, stoning was a bit severe.  She must have done something truly evil to deserve such a thing.  But how could she impart the wisdom of her priesthood to the son of someone who was punished in such a way?

“What did she do?” was all Brea could think to ask.

“
Do?  Of course,
you
would think she had
done
something to
deserve
it!”  Nathaniel was practically spitting with pent up fury.  “She must have been a vicious heretic, a threat of some kind, right?

“
Her 'crime' was that she was a druidess of the Old Gods and
disagreed
with something Zantel's priestess preached!  That's all!  Big, powerful menace, that!”  Nathaniel turned and hit his fist into a tree before he could let his rage build any further.

Brea tentatively put a hand upon Nathaniel's shoulder and realized that the man was crying.  “And
she
killed my mom because of it!” he sobbed.

“
Please, Nate,” Brea spoke so softly that it was near a whisper.  “Tell me about it.  I want to know the truth of it...”

Nate turned red-rimmed eyes upon the priestess.  “That's all you care about, isn't it?  Chasing after your Goddess' pointless mantra!”

No,
Brea protested internally. 
I care about you, too.
  But that is not what she said.  “Hiding truth is akin to falling down a pit, Nate,” she answered from dogma.  “You're trapped in both cases.  Only setting the truth free can liberate you from  this trap.”

Part of her heard her own words and blanched.  For the first time in her spiritual life, the words not only lacked meaning to her, but they actually did not even seem to apply.  She was speaking them only because she felt she needed to say something, while inwardly cursing that it was practiced rhetoric more than something personal.  She longed to express her true feelings, but dared not make fool of herself more than she already had the day before.

“You know the truth already,” Nathaniel managed.  It was obvious that he fought to get the words out.

“
Only part of it.  Set yourself free...”  She stopped herself, almost biting her tongue in doing so.  She did not want to convert him.  She wanted to
comfort
him.  And she instinctively knew that her spiritual routine was not the way she would accomplish that.

“
You aren't going to leave this alone, are you?”

Brea considered doing just that, but she found herself shaking her head just the same.  She
needed
to know, if for no other reason than to learn the truth behind his deep-rooted hatred of the New Order and its priesthood.  How could she ever hope to gain his affections, after all, if he hated her simply for what she represented?

“
Fine,” he grunted, taking time to sit down with his back against a tree.  “If I am going to tell this, you had might as well get comfortable.  This may take some time.”

Brea considered momentarily before doffing her cloak and laying it upon the ground.  Once she had it settled smoothly, she knelt lightly upon it facing Nathaniel.  The similarity between her current position and her morning ritual to her Goddess did not escape her attention, either.

Nathaniel closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  “It happened a little over ten years ago now.  I was shy of my fourteenth year by a little under a month then, and my mother had brought me along with her into town.”  The man paused and opened his eyes, looking directly into Brea's eyes in such a way that made her feel he was looking deeply into her soul for some meaning to all that he was about to say.  “I wasn't always allowed to, you know.  I usually stayed at the cabin with some chore or another.  I guess in hindsight, she thought I was safer here than in town.”

Brea looked in the direction of the house that they had been returning to, perhaps a quarter mile distant now.  “This is the same place you grew up?”

Nathaniel nodded.  He rubbed at his nose and sniffed quickly before continuing.  “It's my mother's place.  Maribel was her name.”

“
Pretty name,” Brea caught herself saying.

The man smiled and Brea blushed, though she tried to cover it by bowing her head respectfully.  “Thank you,” he said simply before continuing on.

“Anyways, when we got to town, she sent me off to the tavern to visit Bracken.  He's the tavern owner, the dwarf?”  Brea nodded.  “Said she had something to do I shouldn't be there for.  She was going nameday shopping for me, though I did not know it at the time.  See, we rarely bought things that weren't necessity.  I had expected to celebrate my nameday at home as I did most every year, and so I was not expecting anything more.

“
Bracken was an old friend of my mother's.  I had known him since he first came to Oaken Wood, even worked a little on helping him set up Wyrm's Fang, his inn.  So it wasn't all that uncommon for me to visit him, either.  If she had not told me to go there, I would have asked to go anyways.  He always had jerky or some new sweet he wanted me to try.  And he had this interesting card game he was mildly obsessed with that he always wanted me to play.  I guess it's what people call the Game, but I didn't know it at that time.  Not a lot of people took to him in those days, though they didn't exactly frown on his setting up the business.  They just didn't befriend him personally.  I was one of the few exceptions.”