Three (The Godslayer Cycle Book 3) (28 page)

The Goddess tossed her head.  “None of that matters anyway,” she said dismissively.  “Orlicia escaped your little battle and outed you to the Greater Powers.  They now know you have a pet Godslayer and that you were behind the death of the other Gods.”

“But I wasn't,” defended Ankor.  “Well, not all of them.  I swear, I had
nothing
to do with Imery. And I didn't bring
any
of the others to Oaken Wood.  They all just...  showed up.  On their own.”

“Do you deny that you attacked Belask?”

“Well, no...”

“Or that you had a hand in what happened to Kelvor and Galentine?”

“No, of course not...”

“Then what does it matter whether you are responsible for one or seven?  You're a part of it, and that makes you an enemy of your own kind.”

Ankor reached out and took the Goddess' hand in his own.  “Not to you.  Not to
any
of the Lesser Powers.  You
must
believe me.”

At the touch of his hand, the Goddess wilted.  She never could say no to the Trickster.  Leaning forward, she pulled the God to her body, kissing him passionately as she pressed her nearly naked skin against his chest.  Their debate would have to wait...

*     *     *

Geoffrey sat at the edge of the fire, meditating as he stared into the flame.  He did not exactly see visions when he did this, but it did give his mind the chance to see things beyond what his eyes took in. There was nothing special about fire - some might have seen it as chaotic and without a set form, but the young man found the flames predictable and soothing.  One was not surprised to see the dancing light - one should only have been surprised if the flames did
not
dance as expected.

“You realize you could go blind doing that.”

The God's voice came from behind the young man, and he smiled.  He had been waiting for his true father to appear for nearly a week now.  Ever since he had successfully acquired
First
, the young man had been awaiting instructions on what his next task would be.  And though Malik's visible form was not present, just hearing the God's voice brought great pleasure to his servant.

“I will be careful,” the young man responded.  “And I only do it to calm myself.  Once I have a task to perform, I will not have a need at all.”

“A task?  You would have a new task when you have failed in your prior one?” 

Malik's voice resonated disapproval, and it made the young man fearful.  He had been so proud of his accomplishment, had been waiting for praise.  Instead,
could
he have somehow failed?  It seemed impossible, and yet...  Malik could not be wrong...

“Wh-what have I done to earn your displeasure?”  Geoffrey asked, rubbing unconsciously at the nearly healed wounds on his chest.  He had not subjected himself to any ritual pain because he had thought he had earned a respite.  Now he doubted if he should have been so presumptuous as to presume upon his true father's desires.  “I have the sword.  I have become the Avatar, just as you commanded...”

“Have you?” The God's voice rumbled.  “Do you
feel
any different?  Can you
sense
anything new that you could not before?”

Geoffrey felt a pit form in his stomach.  “Malik, forgive me, but I do not know what it is you mean...”

The air quivered with Malik's displeasure, but the God deigned to answer the young man all the same.  “The Avatar is one with the swords.  If you had properly attained your sire's status, you would be aware of the other swords, be able to
detect
them,
feel
where they were.  And yet you sit here, alone by a fire, with no direction in mind whatsoever.  Is this how an
Avatar
would act?  Is this how the
Chosen
would spend his time?  Instead of seeking out the blades capable of slaying Gods, you would sit here and take pride in
stealing
only one?”

“But...”  Geoffrey swallowed, his eyes falling upon where
First
rested in its sheath beside him.  “But I took the sword.  My sire, Nathaniel Goodsmith, is dead.  I saw him die with my own eyes.  How could I
not
have become the Avatar?  I thought...  I
believed
that the mantle would pass to me once I had
First
...”

“And there is your gravest mistake,” grumbled the God.  “You took it upon yourself to believe in something I did not command.  You have made the mistake that so many blasphemers before you have.  You
assumed
your pitiful mortal mind could decide when and how the blessings of the Gods could be bestowed.”

Geoffrey felt close to being physically ill.  The presence of the God was beginning to bear down upon his body, making it hard to even draw breath.  He felt crushed under the God's will and his body fell forward, his weak mortal shell being crushed into a position of submission.

“Please, Malik,” the young man cried, burning tears tracing down his face.  “Please, tell me what I must do and I will do it.  You know I serve you in all things.  Please, I beg of you.  Forgive the failings of your one, true servant.”

The pressure eased back and a strong hand cupped under the young man's arm, lifting him up.  Geoffrey looked up to see the now-kind features of his God looking upon him with love and compassion.  He had been forgiven, and he knew he would do anything to continue to bask in this God's acceptance.

“There is only one answer, my loyal Geoffrey,” said the God.  “Your sire yet lives.  He has defied every tenant of existence and has defrauded the Gods themselves by deceiving us into believing him gone.  Yet he has found a new talent, bonded with some new demonic power to deceive us all.  He yet lives, and while he lives, the mantle cannot pass as it should.”

Geoffrey opened his lips to speak, and was momentarily startled by the trickle of blood that entered his mouth.  His nose had begun to bleed, yet another bit of proof at how imperfect he was when compared to a God.  His form was fallible, mortal, imperfect - while Malik was everything opposite this in a capacity beyond belief.  There could be no greater love than a mortal man could give other than to seek to rise to the level of perfection of his God, even knowing as he did so that it was an impossible feat.  There was no being greater than a God, and they deserved the worship and adoration of those who were so much their lessers.

The young man brushed at his nose, wiping away the blood before he spoke.  “Tell me where he is, and I
will
kill him.”  The promise was easily made, one he had committed to since he was a child.  He had thought himself thwarted once, but now that he knew his purpose still existed, he gladly recommitted himself to its completion.

“It is as I have said,” said Malik, turning his back upon the young man.  “He uses some demonic power to hide.  But that is not our concern for now.  He
will
appear again, and when he does, you will be prepared.  That is all I can ask of you for now.”

The God turned to look over his shoulder.  “That, and one thing more.”  The trace of a smile touched the God's lips.  “You must begin the holy duties which that sword compels upon you.  There are Gods out there waiting to die, and you now hold the means by which they shall fall.  Though you have not yet earned the mantle of Avatar, you nevertheless possess the weapon.  And having a sword means you must
use
the sword.”

“Of course,” said Geoffrey Goodsmith, pride imbuing his every pore.  “I shall at once set off to take the war to these impetuous Gods, these usurpers.  The New Order shall rue the day they rose from the muck that spawned them.”

A wicked smile consumed Malik's face.  “Who said anything about the New Order godlings?”

Ron Glick (born January 20, 1969) is a community activist, and is presently active in several charitable enterprises.  He was born in Plainville, KS.  After living in various states, he currently lives in Kalispell, MT.  He is the author of The Godslayer Cycle, Chaos Rising, the Oz-Wonderland series, and Ron El's Comic Book Trivia, as well as having written a screenplay adaptation of
The Wizard In Wonderland
. Additionally, he created the Golden Age Preservation Project as a means of making Golden Age comics more accessible to modern audiences. His expose, U.S. Political Prisoner Since 2004, broke him away from his fictional works to shed light upon political corruption in Montana.

Ron loves contact and welcomes input on his work through his Twitter accounts or through direct contact on this site.