Three (The Godslayer Cycle Book 3) (22 page)

The Goddess of the Unseen's features grew darker.  “I will keep your confidence and not speak of anything shared of what we embark upon without your leave.  I so swear.”

The seated Goddess smiled.  “Then let me inform you on what Ankor has actually been doing...”

*     *     *

Farius held the torch high overhead, spreading the light as far ahead as he could manage.  He kept silent, listening for any odd sound that might cue him into an unwanted presence.  So far, all he could hear were his companion's footsteps behind him, and so long as that was all he heard, he considered himself grateful.

These sub-tunnels were largely unused by the human residents of the city - quite frankly, few even knew there
were
passages down this far below Surenport - yet that did not mean they were unoccupied.  There were many denizen races who sought out dark, damp caverns like these to live in.  It did not matter if a cavern were natural or man-made - all that mattered was the moist and shadow.  Have these conditions, and demi-human races and creatures of the dark would be drawn to it like a fly to sweetwater.

In sweeping the light ahead, the rogue leader accomplished two things: a caution for any dark-dweller who might wish to avoid someone of his kind, and - more importantly - an early warning for himself should he stumble across one that was not so amenable.

Lord Justin Surelake's forces were becoming more and more persistent in recent months about rooting out those they considered dissidents.  Lord Justin had imposed long-standing rules against delvers - those who made a living out of exploring abandoned areas such as these in search of adventure - which was rather paradoxical considering Justin himself had earned his wealth and fame from that precise occupation, if the legends were true.  And so simply being down below the street level now risked exposure to more than just the denizens.

And yet, there was more to it than that, and an ironic need because of it that required the Conclave to set up their operations here.  The delving pursuits drew in people of all walks of life, but most predominantly attracted those who rebelled against law and order - one would have to be to live outside the rules of society as these questers did, after all.  But this very kind of lawlessness disrupted the kingdom Lord Justin sought to maintain - and so outlawing these pursuits made a sort of logical sense.

But in recent months, Lord Justin's laws against the so-called adventurers had begun to incorporate anyone who gathered in pursuit of any kind of agenda that involved upsetting the status quo.  There were many who blamed the merchant class in the city for this new outlook - people who could gain massive wealth through short adventures represented a genuine destabilizing force to the local economics.  As did piracy, larceny and other forms of banditry - and anyone operating outside the
acceptable
trades had been cast in the same light as a disreputable bandit.  Yet this alone was not enough - the merchants now seemed to be vocally standing against anyone who might bring in moneys through any method other than genuine labor or their own commercial entrepreneurship. 

It had become something of a campaign of late to ferret out anyone who relied upon money that could not be traced to one of the two approved means of income.  If one had money and it was not linked to commerce or a manual labor job, suspicions were cast about that they were earning their money illicitly.  They might not have been actual pirates, delvers or anything else - but the fear and propaganda running through the capital was palpable.  Farius had lived through a religious inquisition before, and to be honest, it did not look or feel much different than this madness that had predominated the citizenry here.  This may not have begun with any of the churches as the last one had, but it had the same irrational zealousness that led to lynch mobs and burning innocent people in the street.  It might not have reached that level yet, but Farius feared it was not too far away.

The consequence of all of this, of course, was that the Conclave had needed to move its meetings below ground.  Immortals earned their moneys over their incredibly long lives - and any that had lived more than a handful of centuries had no need to work or engage in commerce to live comfortably.  But this was the very profile that had drawn too much attention in the current court of public opinion. 

Should an immortal be singled out for being too affluent, the cost of exposure could be potentially disastrous.  Not only did it disrupt whatever stability the immortals might have made for themselves, but it also made them a target for divine reprisal.  Demi-Gods were under constant threat from their parent deities, and mortals were taught to see them as abominations.  All it took was one mortal praying to their God about a demi-God in their midst, and a deity could appear to slay the immortal without any forewarning. 

Discovery was the one thing no demi-God could afford.  But the Conclave had set up their base of operations in Surenport - and to relocate would be equally cataclysmic for the movement.  How did one send out notice to the hundreds of immortals across the world who lived in secret that their clandestine organization had moved to another city? 

So the Conclave had done the one thing they
could
do - they hid better.  And in this case, it meant going deeper into the old city, the area that had been excavated hundreds of years ago and long-since abandoned for fear of flooding.  In all honesty, Farius was not sure how these subterranean regions remained clear of water - this passage alone was over a hundred feet below sea level - but he was no architect and had no genuine interest in learning the how of it.  And so he simply counted his blessings and accepted the good fortune that they
did
exist.

“How much further?” came Tanath's voice in a tight whisper.

“Child, if this is too tiring, you can always go back and hide under your blankets,” rebuked the man.  “Real heroes don't need such luxuries.”

“Heroes?” laughed Tanath.  “You and I?  Think perhaps you have a bit of an over-inflated ego there, don't you?”

Farius stopped and turned to stare at his companion.  She did seem more than a little agitated, her nails nervously scratching at her skin.  “Are you unwell?”

The girl knotted her fingers into a fist, but still rubbed the surface of her skin.  “Fine.  How're you?”

“Girl, don't play at this,” scolded the older man.  “Something is clearly wrong.  Are you afraid of dark places?”

Tanath gritted her teeth and growled ominously.  Finally though, she could not keep her fingers still and once again began to scratch at the skin under her shirt.  “It's my power,” she confessed.  “I'm getting close.  I've never had to spawn in a sewer before, and I'd rather not do so now.”

Farius considered a moment.  “How much time do you have?”

“Doesn't work like that.  Just know it's soon.  So.  How much longer?”

The man looked ahead, calculating in his mind.  Then, without warning, he reached over and physically picked Tanath up, throwing her over his shoulder without ceremony.  “Not close enough, likely,” he said as he began to race along the passage. 

Tanath initially protested, but the man's firm hold of her left no allowance for resistance.  Soon, even she realized what he was doing and she stopped struggling, suffering through the indignity as best she could.

The tall man reached out around him, feeling for lifeforce to draw upon.  He was a strong man, but his power had limits.  Unless he found a soul to draw more strength from...

Optimally, he would lay his hands on a living creature and sap its strength.  It was far less effective at a distance, especially if he could not actually see where he was drawing energy from.  But as he reached his senses out, he was grateful for what he could find to keep him moving.  There was nothing greater than a cluster of rodents and the ever-present insects living within the walls - but the sheer volume of them served better than what he might have been forced to rely upon if he had turned his power towards the girl he carried instead.

The further he moved, the more lives fell within the range of Farius' vampiric nature.  And the more energy he drew, the stronger and faster he became.  Within a few minutes, the man was racing through the dark passages at twice the rate of a normal man, and a few minutes later he had doubled even that speed. 

To Farius, this was his true self - the part that lived to feast off of life itself.  It was a part that he struggled with, the thirst.  No matter how much he gorged on life energy, he always wanted more.  And the drive to continuously feed his ravenous appetite could far too easily become all-consuming.  When his thirst controlled him, he was no longer a man of reason - he was a senseless beast, one that never relented until he had consumed all there was to devour.

After a point, Farius ebbed off his feed.  He had a livid fear of losing control, and it was not inconceivable that he would begin to feed off the girl he carried over his shoulder if he did. 

Before he realized it, Farius arrived at the stairwell he knew would lead to the final obstacle to the Conclave's present stronghold.  Whomever had constructed this part of the underground labyrinth had constructed two murder-holes - one to either side of the passage at the base of the stairs.  Behind the holes were two small rooms where at least one guard would be posted, prepared to fire upon anyone who was not known. 

As much as Farius' energy bristled for release, he forced himself to slow his pace, walking down the steps at as casual a manner as he could manage.  He needed to be recognized, and a large blur was not something easily identified.

As the man reached the base of the stairs, a voice met him.  “Who ya bringin' with?”

Farius bit back his growl as best he could.  “Just drop the glimmer,” he snapped.  “Do it now!”

“Farius, we can't--”

The man felt his rage rise and he knew from experience that his eyes now glowed red.  His reputation long preceded Farius' joining the Conclave, and there were few - even among the demi-Gods - who dared oppose him when his eyes began to blaze.

Whoever was standing guard clearly knew this as well, for the next moment a section of the wall ahead vanished, showing a concealed doorway.  Normally, this would be secured behind a solid, iron-bound door, but on this day, it had been opened preemptively - with the person responsible plainly hidden from view. 

“Go on ahead,” came a voice from behind the opened door.

Farius wasted no time dwelling on what cowards the Conclave had posted to guard their sanctum. Instead, he rushed forward, carrying the trembling form of his female companion.  Once he had found a place of isolation for Tanath and her forthcoming transformation, then he would raise issue with the Conclave's hierarchy about their choice in defenders for their boundary.

It was not acceptable with what was coming.  They could not have weaklings guarding the gate, after all - not with the coming war on the Gods...

“Why is everything happening all at once?”

The question was a simple one, but Avery knew it would not be a simple answer.  Just as he knew that even though he sat alone on vigil, waiting yet another night for the return of the missing
Three,
that it would be answered.

Six days had passed since the death of Nathaniel Goodsmith.  In that entire time, he had not made any effort to actually speak to Hamil - at least not about anything of any significance.  He was not a child, after all.  He had no intention of pretending that the disguised God was not still around, or to act impetuously by refusing to speak to him altogether.  But it had been a significant betrayal to find out that the person he had thought was only committed to writing his history had actually been playing him for a fool for close to a year.

Of course, there was more to it than Hamil's true identity being exposed.  Avery had started calling himself a God as a ruse, a way to get the people of Scollhaven to listen to him.  It had been an impulse - a defensive act.  When the old woman had seen his brand, she had called him out, sought to turn the town upon him for being an outcast, a heretic.  He had not planned to pronounce himself a God - it had just been what came out of his mouth.  And once said, he could not very well take it back.

Since leaving Scollhaven, Avery had continued to profess himself the God of Vengeance to any who would listen.  With Hamil and Viola at his side, even when was temporarily shorn of
One
, he still had others who would speak for him.  And of course, overcoming
Two
and regaining the first of the Nine had only cemented his claim to the title.

But it had all been a lark.  Deep down, Avery saw the claim for what it was.  It was a scam, a confidence game that he used the power of the swords to manipulate others into believing in.  But at the end of the day, it was not real.  None of it had ever been real.  Avery knew that. 

And so too had Hamil.

All along, Hamil had known Avery was no God.  And yet the disguised God of Mischief had shored up Avery's claim, playing with Avery and everyone else around him.  All along, the one person he had trusted more than anyone - if truth be told, even moreso than the love of his life, Viola - had been the
real
confidence man, the true faker.  He had completely fooled Avery.  And being fooled on such an immense scale was more than humbling - it was emasculating.

Now the man who had called himself a God was ready to talk.  Ready for the answers he had been avoiding now for nearly a week.  Before anything else could happen, Avery needed to know precisely what the real game was.  And no one would know that better than Ankor.

As expected, Hamil appeared behind Avery within mere moments.  The man could not have said how he knew that the God would sense the question was directed to him, but the deity had known precisely that.  And he had come in response without hesitation.

“There are things even Gods do not know,” the faux scribe began.  “Gods may be more powerful, and we certainly control
more
of the universe than mortals do - but in spite of our own self-serving scriptures, we are not all powerful.  There are forces in the universe that are greater than we are, some of which we even fear.  But one thing that is inescapable for mortal and deity alike is Fate.  Fate holds us all to certain degrees.”

“That is not really an answer,” said Avery.

Hamil sighed.  “I know, but it is the foundation for one.”  Hamil walked over and took a seat beside his companion.  “Would it surprise you terribly to know that Gods have philosophies that are as equally mysterious to us as they are to mortals?  Well, we do.  Our philosophies, of course, are grander. Cosmic even.  Where men think of where they fit into the world, we theorize on where we fit between worlds.” 

The man was about to object, but Hamil bowed his head, waving his hand to dismiss the topic.  “My apologies.  That would take us away from your question.  Let me just say that we have considered the very question you have asked, though on a considerably grander scale than what you are presently able to perceive.  Gods live a much greater lifespan than mortals - even long-lived races like elves and dwarves pale before the age of a deity.  And so we see things over eons like you see them over years.  And still, even with all that time on our side, the answer is still at best one of philosophical debate.”

Avery thought on that a moment.  “So what do
you
think the answer is?”

“I cannot say as I have a belief, per se,” confessed the God.  “But if I were to lean towards one viewpoint over another...” 

Hamil turned visibly to look in the direction of Bracken's hut.  Early morning was just beginning to lighten the sky, but the glow from the ever present firepit could still be seen in the distance, if not the actual pit itself. 

Avery's mind briefly touched upon how few of the pilgrims that the town now possessed.  When he had first arrived in Oaken Wood, there would have been no clear line of sight to the camp for all the tents and lean-tos built up in every free space available.  But now that the pilgrims had fled - most to the old Goodsmith estate, if the information could be relied upon - the streets were largely vacant.  It amazed the would-be-God how a little fear of the unknown could drive the masses out of town when all reason and common sense had failed before.

“There are those who believe,” continued Hamil at last, “that Fate deliberately draws events together into points of significance.  Call them cruxes, or crossed threads of destiny or whatever else you like. The terms are irrelevant while the underlying principle is the same.  Things which are terribly important tend to cluster around single points in time.  As a mortal, I am sure you have witnessed how a single day can be filled with one conflict after another while for weeks before and after, there is nothing significant at all happening?”

When Avery nodded, the disguised God continued.  “Now imagine something similar in a much larger context.  Empires can last for centuries, yet one incident or sequence of events can lead to the complete downfall of that empire in a relatively short period of time - days, perhaps weeks.  Deities have been watching such diversity flare up time and again without any purpose other than the understanding that change was inevitable.  But change is rarely slow.  When it does happen, it almost always escalates quickly so that it is sudden and abrupt.”

Hamil waved his hand in front of him, encompassing the street where
Three
had appeared and vanished just as quickly.  “Goodsmith was here, you were here and the girl was here.  What are the odds that all three would have happened at
precisely
the same moment in time?  It boggles even the mind of a God to consider how impossible those odds are.  And yet, the girl did not appear until you had entered Oaken Wood.  She could have appeared weeks ago, or weeks into the future after you had been here for a considerable amount of time.  Instead, you all converged at
exactly
the same point in time, on the
exact
same day you came to this town.”

“Which was why I asked my question to begin with,” prompted Avery.  “I realize that the coincidence is beyond belief.  Which was the reason I asked you
why
.  Why is it that all of this happened at once?  There has to be an answer.”

Hamil laughed.  “If there is, it is beyond the understanding of the Gods.  The best I can tell you is that Fate is a very real and fluid thing.  Fate does not speak to us - not even to deities.  But make no mistake - there is
something
beyond us that does appear to control things like this.  We call it Fate because we have no better name for it.  It
is
real, however.  There are just too many cosmically impossible coincidences in existence for there
not
to be.  It is a force that seems to possess a mind of its own, yet it does not communicate nor respond to the wishes of any of us.  No one understands its purpose, and none that we are aware of can influence it in any way.  It simply exists as a force of nature, and we must all move along the path it sets for us.”

Now Avery chuckled.  “As a child, I was raised to believe that the Gods were responsible for such things.  To hear you confess that they are not...”

“Yes, I imagine it must feel wrong to you.  Gods have always claimed responsibility for good fortune that appears to favor our faithful.  Fate - or whatever force it is we
call
Fate - has certainly never stepped up to challenge us on it.  And there are certainly many things we deities
have
manipulated in favor of our fellowships, so it is not entirely a falsehood.  But everything?  No.  There is a great deal in the universe that happens in
spite
of us.  We just take advantage of the chance events that make us look good at the end of the day, and blame the bad ones on whatever scapegoat we can direct it towards at the time.”

“So what you're saying is that Gods are pretenders?”

Hamil grinned.  “Something of which you are mastering well on your own, I might add.”

Avery's jaw set.  “Yes, and there's that.”  He would have said more, but Hamil's hand came to rest on his shoulder, causing him to hesitate.  It was incredibly odd at how genuine the affectation felt to him, even knowing what he did of this being's true purpose.

“I know how it must appear,” interjected Hamil into the silence.  “And I will confess, at the outset, it was very much like what it appears.  I stumbled upon a mortal pretending to be a God and I thought to myself, 'Oh, isn't this the greatest practical joke there ever was?'  I
am
the god of Mischief, after all.  It was in my nature to revel in chaos like this, and so I decided to help bolster your claim.

“You may think this was me making a fool of you, but rest assured, it was precisely the opposite. That sword of yours - the one I cannot see no matter how much divine power I exert - it was so much more than just a magic sword.  It was created to be equal to...  No,
greater
than the Gods themselves.  It was
made
to kill Gods like myself.  And the only way something could do that was to have evolved into a power
beyond
that of the Gods themselves.”

Hamil paused, visibly reflecting on how to set his thoughts to words.  “I cannot say if the Pantheon knew what they were doing when they made these swords.  You say that the swords have spoken to you, and to be honest, I cannot refute that.  Nor do I doubt it.  I do not believe the Old Gods knew what they were creating when they made these swords, and I believe they have grown into something far more than they were ever intended to be.”

Avery perked up at this.  “You know for a fact that it was the Old Gods who made the Nine?”

“Oh yes,” nodded Hamil emphatically.  “Malik and Charith, Gods of War and Death.  They made them and Dariel threw them into the mortal realm.”

“Why?”

“As an act of revenge, of course.  My brethren had won the war.  The Pantheon were dying, and they wanted one last chance at taking their vengeance out upon us.”

Avery reached over his shoulder and drew his sword free.  In the light of the morning sun rising over the trees, the untarnished sheen of the blade sparkled brilliantly, the dark runic imagery etched into the blade standing out in contrast to the bright silver.  “I wish you could see the sword,” the man suggested.  “I have always wondered what language was written on the blade.”

“There are words on the steel?” asked Hamil, shock evident in his words.

The two companions looked at each other.  After a moment, they both burst into laughter, the strange oddness of the moment striking a chord of humor in man and deity alike.

After a few moments, Avery fell into serious reflection.  “Do you find it strange to sit so closely to a weapon that could actually kill you?  You being someone who has never before had to fear dying?”

“Oh, Gods fear dying, Avery.  We fear it very much.  Just not with the same sense of urgency that mortals do.  Eventually, when my brethren and I are much, much older, we will each feel the compulsive need to start killing each other.  It is difficult to explain how that works, but there is a point where Gods feel the need to progenerate, to create children.  And we become insanely dominant, trying to make sure that only our own children are born.  It might take centuries, but in the end, the ambition is to have only one mother and one father.  Only then can the next generation of Gods be born.”

Avery found himself aghast with what he had just been told.  “Are you not all brothers and sisters?”

“Oh yes.  But it is how it is done with our kind.”

“So...  You kill all your brothers so you can have children with whatever sister manages to survive as well?”

“Something like that, yes.”

Avery let out a low whistle.  “Well, that would be something to worry about, I suppose.”

“Not immediately, but eventually, yes.”

“Wait,” said Avery, clasping the sword's hilt tightly.  “You said
One
was somehow changing me into a God.  Is that what is going to happen to me?  Will I have to start worrying about some mad need to kill other Gods so I can have children with some Goddess?”