Three (The Godslayer Cycle Book 3) (9 page)

Her father had entered then,
Three
held in his over-sized fist.  A cold anger burned in the man's eyes as he looked upon his daughter.  He only stared as the girl's strength failed her and she collapsed upon the floor.

“You think I would not recognize the sword?  That it would not make sense when I saw the two of you together?”

Alisia had only been able to stare in disbelief, her eyes darting between the towering figure of her father and the sword that even now called to her. 
Three
wanted her, needed her as she needed it.  How else could she ever see her mother again without it?

“You play with witchcraft, girl,” had growled the large man.  “Devilry!  I don't pretend to know such things, but I know what I saw.  I saw you - as you are now - and I saw this...  thing!”  The man's hand had gripped harder upon the leather of the scabbard.  “You are no daughter of mine!  I'll not have a demon under my roof!”

Alisia would never be able to explain where her sudden burst of strength had come from, but without a thought, she had found herself on her feet, shoving her father back and away.  The large man had been stunned by his daughter's ferocity, letting go of the sword as he tried to grab hold of something more secure in his fall. 

And that was all the girl had needed.  Her hand found the hilt, and in an instant, she had drawn the blade and found herself in a time as far away as she could imagine.  She found herself upon an open field, and she somehow knew she had gone so far into the past this time that even her home did not yet exist.  She was further in the past than she had ever gone - all because she had wanted to be as far away from the threat that her father had posed as possible.

And with that recognition, the girl had known there was no home to return to.  Her father considered her a witch of some kind, had been all but ready to smash in her head with her own sword.  There was no going home - and she could no longer dwell here, either.

First Alisia had lost her mother.  And now she had just as surely lost her father, as well.

There had been only one solution in the young girl's mind - she had to return the sword to the ground, find a way back to the time when she had first found the sword and make certain her younger self had left it where it lay.  If her younger self had buried the sword instead of pulling it free, at least she could still have her life with her father.  She would lose the chance to see her mother again, but perhaps that was better in the end if the cost was her father, as well.

From that point, all Alisia wished for was to return to the time when she had found the sword.  It consumed her as much as had the desire to see her mother.  She walked to where she had found the sword and made many attempts to find her way back to that day.  By now, there was some kind of instinct she had developed.  She could sense how far from her own natural time she was - she could even control how far she went if she concentrated.  But somehow, there were points where she could not move to.  And no matter how she tried, Alisia could not move to the point in time after she had discovered
Three
.

Frustration gave way to anger, and anger to rage as the girl thrust herself into attempt after attempt. But no amount of trial and error could overcome this obstacle.  In the end, her young mind came to accept the truth of it: she could not travel where she and the sword had already been.  And in accepting this limitation, the young woman gave into the inevitable. 

Alisia was now alone in the world.  Alone, with only
Three
as her companion.

Some five days had been lost in Alisia's earliest pursuits.  In her young mind, loss of her family filled the girl with a desire to be away from any people, and so she had set out into the forests which lined her family's land.  She saw herself becoming a hermit, or perhaps a wandering wild-woman.  But hunger quickly quelled her juvenile dreaming and she quickly abandoned thoughts of being alone for longing to find people - if for no other reason than for food. 

Somehow, Alisia knew that the sword was sustaining her, even without food.  The girl did not begin to comprehend it, but she knew on some subliminal level that
Three
would keep her strong, that no matter how much her stomach might ache from being empty, she would not starve.  It kept her sustained for the next two weeks, her body somehow feeding itself off the power of the sword and the measly amounts of berries and fruits she could find in her journey.  Had it been closer to winter, she might not have even had that.  Spring was not the bountiful season for fruits, but at least it did not leave the countryside entirely barren.

Still, the girl craved food and so the sword did something else - it guided her.  In hindsight, she could not have said how, but it was unmistakable that her direction was set by the sword, who drove her in a very specific direction - one that eventually led her to a road through the trees, and then upon people who were moving along that path through the wilderness.

Fear of her father dominated her mind, however.  Would he rile up the local ranchers?  Would he go to Wellington and convince people his daughter was some demon?  The young girl had no idea whether using magic of this kind were a crime or not, but she could not imagine that there must be
something
wrong about it - or her father would never have reacted as he did.  And if
he
were going to condemn her - and he was her own blood - how much greater would it be if he had others sent looking for her?

With all of these fears pressing upon her mind, Alisia chose to travel as much as she could in the past.  Though
Three
's power was amazing, it did not physically move her along the ground as it did to different points in time.  And once its influence abated, it would always return her to the present.  But the present - her present - was where her own father had condemned her as a witch, and she could not imagine what the man would do once she had proven his fears true by vanishing right in front of him.

However, it was a brief period in the present that gave her a clear direction to travel in for the first time - and what gave her the nourishment her young body so desperately needed.  Whether by fate or some unknown influence of
Three
's, Alisia emerged from the forest into a camp of self-proclaimed pilgrims, traveling towards the Wildelands in search of some kind of holy site.  There was a town, they had said, called Oaken Wood.  It was where the Old Gods had returned to Na'Ril, where they had left proof of their divinity.  There was a divine woman, they said - a woman struck down by the New Order Goddess, Imery, and preserved in death by the divinity of the Old Gods.  And many were traveling to see it for themselves.

And most fortunate of all - the town lay at best a day's journey further east.

Alisia had been raised in the old ways.  Though her parents did not actually worship the Old Gods, it had been their stories that they had told her.  She knew well the tales of Lendus walking the land, deciding which land to make prosperous and which to lay bare.  She knew the stories of Sarla, who looked down from her great orb in the night sky and meted out blessings to those who were true.  But most of all, she had been raised with the belief that Airek would be gracious to any who were benevolent to others.

The New Order Gods were known to Alisia, but their priests did not bother the ranchers and farmers too far out from the large cities.  She had seen the occasional priest when she had journeyed with her parents to Wellington, but she had never spoken to one.  Nor, to the best of her knowledge, had her parents. 
There's no money in us
, her father had once said.  And Alisia had believed that to be truth.

But even Alisia knew that the Old Gods were supposed to be dead.  Even raised with their stories, she saw the Old Gods only as legends, faery tales of times long gone.  But if they were not dead?  If they had somehow come back to the mortal realm...

New fantasies filled the young girl's mind at this.  As she shoveled food into her mouth, famished beyond words, she absorbed all the pilgrims said and hope filled her young breast.  She had looked down to
Three
, lying inertly at her side upon the ground.  The pilgrims had not even asked her about it, but she knew they had seen it.  These were merely charitable people who had seen a young girl in need.  She was thankful for their charity, but even still - the sword was a very real problem for her.  And for the first time, she began to consider a way to be rid of it.

In all the world, there could not possibly have been a greater power than what this sword could do. And with such power, it could only have come from one place - from the Gods themselves.  Whether from the Old Gods or the New Order, it mattered not. 
Three
could only have been made by the Gods, and if the Gods could make it, surely they were the only ones who could also
unmake
it.

Oaken Wood.  It was a strange name for a holy city, but the name mattered not.  It was where she could find Gods.  A place where Gods walked the world of Na'Ril.  And if Gods walked the mortal world, then she could find them - and they could help her undo all that had happened since she had found herself in possession of their sword.

And maybe - just maybe - they could show some gratitude to her for bringing them their weapon back and restore her mother to life?  They had spared this other lady - this divine woman the pilgrims spoke of.  Why not her own mother, as well?  For surely, being struck down in one's sleep was no different than being slain by the Gods themselves?  Who else besides the Gods could do such a thing?

Filled with renewed hope and a full belly, Alisia had accepted the offer to bed in the pilgrim's camp that very night.  Plots ran through her semi-conscious mind as she found herself in the nebulous region between wake and sleep, clutching
Three
to her chest as she drifted.  Imaginary plans of finding the Gods and having them shower her with their love and blessings filled her mind's eye.  She saw herself kneeling, offering
Three
to the nine Gods gathered all about her.  Karmel herself knelt and kissed her forehead, giving her the gift of good fortune for the remainder of her days.  After the Lady of Fortune withdrew, each in turn a new God would kneel and shower her with rewards. 

In the morning, Alisia could not recall any of their blessings save for the last one - Charith had stepped forward and in his arms had been her mother, whom he had brought back personally from the afterlife.  And as her mother's feet once more touched the living earth, all had been perfect again.

The smile was still upon Alisia's lips when she rose the next morning.  She accepted charity once more from the pilgrims and accepted a meal of ground oats and honey, but she declined to travel with them. In spite of her new-found hope, there was still the very real fear in her heart of her father finding her in this time, in this present.  And she had no intention of risking these good people suffering for her.

And so with a smile on her lips and hope once more in her heart, Alisia had given her farewells and stepped once more off the path into the woods.  Once she felt she was out of sight, she used the power of
Three
to once more step into the past, moving away from any threat her father might pose.

But now the girl had a direction.  Moving with purpose now for the first time in weeks, Alisia took the first steps towards finding the Gods themselves, traveling as a new pilgrim on the road to Oaken Wood.

A small flare shot up from the pit, briefly illuminating the stone interior.  The fire had long-since died, but occasionally a new flame would lick upwards from the base of embers left behind.  To Brea's mind, these young sparks were the reason she used the dying embers in the first place - the chaos of birth and death in such a small, confined area gave her mind something to reflect upon as her inner self sought answers through meditation.  For Brea, self-reflection was not about avoiding distraction; it was about embracing it.

Yet this was normally a task done in solitude, where the only source of distraction was the unpredictable nature of the fire.  Having someone watch her as she attempted this went beyond even Brea's capacity for shutting out the exterior world.

With a degree of finality, Brea let out a great sigh and once more met the gaze of her undesired companion.  “How is it you even found us?  Last any of us saw, you were still on the coast.”

“You were not exactly secretive on your destination,” Avery confided.  “You told that marshal where you were going, and I overheard it.”  The wiry man shrugged.  “I was there, just not seen.”

“So you waited until now to seek us out?”  Brea raised an eyebrow.  “Why?”

“Because I didn't need to before now,” Avery responded simply.

The former priestess could not think of a response to that.  Thankfully, fate intervened so she was not required to.

Avery perked up, looking to his rear.  “The Godslayer...  I mean, Master Goodsmith...  he's coming back to town.”  The man turned back, a look of confusion on his face.  “But he's coming very, very fast.”

Brea threw back her cloak, freeing her hands.  An old habit, certainly, but it was far too ingrained to abandon now.  “How would you know that?”

“I can feel
Two
,” said Avery absently, his eyes growing distant as he cocked his head to the side. “When I'm close enough, at any rate.  When it's nearby.  I've felt it before, so I know what it feels like.”

The two rose at the same time, seemingly in some unspoken form of agreement, though Brea recognized it as chance.  For whatever reason, Avery did not even seem fully aware of Brea's presence as his focus reached out towards where he believed Nathan approached.
  Without comment, Avery turned and began to walk away, leaving Brea to follow in his wake or be left behind.

“Wait,” the lady called, reaching out to take Avery's arm.  “Don't forget, Nathan may not really be wanting to see you just now.”

Avery pulled himself out of whatever fugue he had suffered from and his eyes focused on the woman holding his arm.  The man blinked, as though for a moment he did not recognize her, but this was quickly replaced by a grin.  “You're right, of course.  Perhaps you should lead the way?”  Avery nodded his head in the direction he had been heading.  “He's coming from that direction.”

Brea took a step back at Avery's sudden compliance.  The man proved to be a constant mix of contradictions, and the former priestess simply did not know how to respond to his ever-changing personality.  But if what he said were true, there was an urgency to Nathan's movements that did not bode well for the time needed to reflect upon what made Avery act the way he did.

Setting her posture to one of authority, Brea pushed past the would-be God.  “Fine.  Follow me.”

Movement through the town was a constant act of shifting one's direction.  The town really only had one main road, and this throughway was now more densely packed than most bazaars Brea had visited through the years.  There simply was no room for the number of people who congregated around the town.  Tents and lean-tos occupied the edges of the already narrow road, pressing the traffic to an even more confined space.  The woman did her best to press forward urgently, but the masses too often hindered her speed. 

As she walked, Brea's eyes darted about, searching for signs of Nathan to validate Avery's warning.  She looked back towards Avery once, seeking assurance that she was even moving in the right direction.  The man following in turn only nodded forward, urging her to continue as she was.  With no other option, she redoubled her efforts and pressed forward with even more urgency than before.

Finally, as the pair moved towards the edge of town, where the land rose slightly to meet the timberline, Nathan appeared.  He leapt down the small hill, his feet barely touching the earth.  Brea was still some distance from him when he stopped in place and drew his sword.

Brea came to a sudden halt as the hairs on the back of her neck began to rise.  Without any other warning, Nathan was surrounded in a liquid storm as the power of
Two
drew vapor from the air to swirl about the sword's bearer. 

“Nathan!” called Brea.  “What is it?”

The sword wielder's eyes turned to Brea, his hardened features softening somewhat as he did so.  “The third sword,” he called.  “It's here.  It's here in Oaken Wood!”

Brea rounded upon Avery.  “You knew, didn't you?  That's why you're here!”

The wiry man threw up his arms, palms outward.  “I swear to you, I didn't.  I had no idea.”

Brea could not deny the truth of the man's words, and she quickly turned from him towards the one she loved.  As she did, Nathan's face changed as he recognized the man who was with her.

“What is
he
doing here?!” growled the man so many called the Godslayer.

“Don't ask me,” called Brea, moving forward once more.  “He just showed up a few hours ago.”

“I'm here to help,” Avery responded himself, pushing past the woman.  As he moved forward, she could clearly see that he had drawn his own blade.  “Where's the third sword?”

The self-proclaimed God of Vengeance came to an abrupt halt a handful of steps from Nathan. Though Avery's own sword was held to his side, Nathan's was clearly raised aggressively.

“I mean it,” called Avery over the ever-increasing sound of swirling liquid.  “I came to help.  I'm not here to cause problems.”

“But you're here with the third sword?” called his opponent.

“Not with,” Avery assured the other man.

Nathan's eyes darted around, looking past the would-be God, clearly searching for some other threat.

“My people are not even in town,” Avery said, lowering his sword even more.  “I told them to wait. I came here on my own.  I swear.”

The two men stood in silence for several tension-filled seconds.  Brea held her breath, expecting that at any moment one or the other would charge, and an epic battle would ensue.  Neither man seemed willing to give ground to the other.

“Step off!” came a gruff voice from behind Nathan.  Brea looked up to the edge of the trees, where a clearly exhausted dwarf stood, holding his side as he leaned heavily against a tree for support on one side, while grasping his axe with the other hand for balance.

Nathan's eyes narrowed momentarily, giving an even greater air of threat.

“I sez, 'step off'!” called the dwarf again.  “Or yer both gonna hafta deal wit' me 'stead!”

Nathan held his stance a moment longer, then lowered his blade, the swirl of water falling away. 

“Tha's bet'er,” Bracken called.  “Like chil'ren,” he grumbled as he pushed himself off the tree and began to hike down the small hill.  “Too ol' fer any o' this.”

In moments, Bracken passed Nathan, slapping the taller man hard on the shoulder as he passed.  He said nothing though as he walked straight up to Avery.  The dwarf planted himself directly in the would-be God's path, his own weapon held to his side in the dwarf's large, ham-sized grip.  Bracken did not even rise to Avery's shoulders, but the dwarf's stout frame still made him a far more imposing figure.

“Yer gonna hafta give tha' up, ya know,” the dwarf nodded his head toward
One
.  “No' taday, p'rhaps, bu' ya will.”

Brea could clearly see the tension in Avery's shoulders.  “Not today,” he responded, his words tight with import.

The dwarf gave the smallish man a glare, then walked past him.  “We's go' a sword ta fin', an' we don' need ta be fightin' one 'nother whiles we do.”

Brea cast her eyes about the crowd that had formed around the conflict.  She had not realized how centralized her vision had become until she noticed that every soul in the vicinity had stopped to gawk at the two sword-wielders standing off against one another.  She had been completely oblivious to anyone else save those involved.  And she could imagine that the same effect had been shared by everyone else.  How often could any of these people have seen such a display of magic in their lifetimes, much less two men with swords threatening to set into each other?

As her eyes cast about though, Brea saw something else - something none of the men who had been so focused had noticed.  Whether it was because they were looking for a masculine threat or for some other inconceivable reason, as each man turned to look out into the crowd, not one of them settled upon the small girl standing back a short distance from the crowd's edge.  But Brea saw her.  And what she saw sent a chill up her spine.

The girl had a sword.  A small teen girl, standing perhaps a head shorter than the average man in the crowd, was holding one of the Gods' swords, hugging it to her chest. 

Cautiously, Brea moved through the assembled masses, trying her best not to draw too much attention to herself.  The girl's eyes were centered on the three men who were now beginning to fan out. Two of the men wielded swords, another a large axe.  To this small girl, it must have been a terrifying sight.

But had the girl heard what they were looking for?  Did she understand that they were trying to find the very sword she held in her arms?

Brea's attention was entirely directed at the girl, fearful that if she looked away, the frail thing would slip into the crowd and be lost.  She allowed her peripheral vision to guide her through the people standing about, hoping that no one would step between her and her prey.  But in spite of her best efforts, she could not avoid notice entirely.

“Watch where you're going!” shouted a woman, shoving the former priestess roughly. 

Instinctively, Brea turned to look at her accuser, an apology forming on her lips.  But the natural impulse drew her eyes away from the girl, and she saw her mistake too late.  When she looked back again, the apology unspoken, the girl was now looking directly at her.

Panic filled the girl's eyes, her head turning left, then right as she looked about her for the safest direction to run.

“No, wait!” Brea called, kneeling down to seem less threatening.  There were still several feet between the two, and she feared she would never be able to bridge the distance if the teen did choose to flee.  “I'm a friend.  We're friends.”

The girl began to dart to the side, but stopped almost as soon as she had begun.  She clutched the sword tighter to her chest and held her ground.

“They have swords,” the girl said.  “They have swords like mine.”

Brea bobbed her head rapidly.  “They do, yes.  But they won't hurt you.  I promise.”

The girl's eyes cast to where Nathan was now looking over the edges of the crowd, his sword hidden by the people standing in his way.  Just as quickly, the girl turned to face Brea again.  “I don't want this.  I don't want any of this.  I just want to find the Gods.  That's why I came here.  To find the Gods.”

Brea resisted the urge to launch into the religious dogma that had been so firmly ingrained in her mind.  She had spent years in a monastery studying Imery's lore, and she had been very good at convincing people of how pure her Goddess' purpose was in the world.  When someone would come to her asking for her Goddess' aid, there had been a standard approach:
The Gods are all around us, my child.  You have only to believe to see them.

The former priestess knew this was not the answer this particular child was seeking.  She held a sword crafted by the Gods themselves.  She was not seeking the Gods in a purely philosophical sense - this girl was searching for
real
Gods, ones of flesh and substance.  And nothing in her old teachings could possibly satisfy the girl's quest.

But what could?  How did one answer such a question and not drive away the questor?

Brea resisted the urge to smile as the answer presented itself.  The irony that it was the most basic answer that she could have ever come up with did not escape her either.

The truth.

“There are no Gods here, child,” Brea said, spreading her arms wide.

“People said there were,” the girl said, tears beginning to brim in her eyes.  “The people on the road said the Old Gods were here.  That they saved a dead woman.”

Brea felt her head bob in agreement.  “That is true,” she said.  “But that was some time ago.  They are not here now.”  The former priestess reached out her hand.  “But my friend, Nathan.  He talks to the Gods sometimes.  If anyone can help you find the Gods, it's him.”

The girl's eyes grew suspicious.  “Priests are always saying they talk to the Gods.  But they just pray. And they don't pray for people like me.”

“Why?  Why would you say that?”

“Because there's no money in me.”

Brea felt her face grow warm.  She recognized the rebuke for what it was.  The New Order's priesthood was almost entirely motivated by greed - if not for greed's sake itself, then in pursuit of tithes in their Gods' names.  Building up sites of worship cost money.  Spreading the word, supporting the efforts of the clergy took coin.  And so this is where the speakers of the Gods focused their attention more than not - upon those who could supply such moneys as were needed to advance their cause.