Two (The Godslayer Cycle Book 2) (3 page)

“
Well, the Old Gods makes sense, their being dead and all--”

“
The Old Gods are not dead.”  The Witness spared Dart another of his rare smiles.  “I would know if they had died.  I still sense them moving around from time to time.”

Dart raised her fists to her head and splayed her fingers suddenly outward.  “Wow.  Mind blowing!”  The Witness turned his head sideways to that.  “Oh, sorry.  An expression from the Western Realms.  Means that was completely unexpected, that I was not expecting that.  How can the Old Gods be alive?  They haven't been seen in hundreds of years...”

“Not as widely, but they have been seen.  Or I would not know of it.  In most things, I am not aware of the movement of Gods, for they seem beyond my abilities.  But I am aware of mortals who
see
the Gods.  And though there have been much fewer who have, they nevertheless still appear from time to time.”

Dart whistled.  “I'm not exactly sure how, but that's
got
to be worth something to someone.”

“
I would not recommend letting most people know that you are aware of this.  Those who have usually do not meet a pleasant end when the clergy of the New Order find out.”

“
Now
that
I can believe.”  Dart wiped her hand across her mouth, pinching her upper lip in thought.  Lowering her hand, she said, “Okay, so we have the Old Gods – not as deceased as before – and a new God who is neither Old or New.  Do I follow you so far?”

“
Yes.”

“
So, what do we call this new God?  And is he part of a pack like the others?”

“
From what I can learn, he calls himself Avery.  He claims to be the child of Malik and Charith.”

“
Which would make him...  what?  A new Old God?  Part of a new Old Order?  What?”

“
I do not know.  But the townspeople insist he preaches that the Old Gods are dead, which I know to be false.  So it raises doubts as to whether this new God is really who he claims.”

“
But he's a God though?  You're sure of that much?”

The Witness let out a sigh.  “I cannot be sure of anything, but I know I cannot perceive him – so he must be a God, for only a God is capable of escaping my knowing.  Yet it seems I am also not capable of sensing the paths of anyone whose life has been touched by him, either.  And that is
not
something I have ever encountered with one of the other Gods before.  So it is possible that he may be something so new – so powerful – that he is actually
more
than a God.

“
That, and one thing more.  He claims the New Order's heretic symbol as his own.”

“
He what?”

The Witness traced the familiar four horned heretic symbol on the back of his own wrist.  “He wears the symbol, and insists that any who are his faithful wear it, as well.  Apparently, everyone in this town has had themselves branded so that they would fall under his protection.”

Dart let out another whistle, this one much longer.  She needed time to process what she was learning, and it was the only thing that came to mind.  Yet by the time she had finished, she was still no closer to fully grasping the significance of what the Witness had said.

“
Sounds like the real deal,” Dart said at last.

“
Or a very real imposter,” added the Witness.  “The only thing I cannot assess is whom he made covenant with.”

“
Covenant?”

The Witness raised his eyebrow quizzically.  “You of all people do not know what a covenant is?”

“Sure I do,” insisted Dart, feeling her face grow warm.  “It's a contract.  But what do you mean about Avery not having one?  Who would a God make a contract with?”

The Witness took a deep breath.  “It seems even I am capable of being surprised.  I had assumed that – being a demi-God – you would have at least heard about divine covenants.”

When Dart only shook her heard in perplexity, the Witness continued.  “For a God to gain power from fealty, he must make a covenant with his faithful.  Someone must bend the knee and agree to serve in exchange for services from the God.  The God must agree to do certain things, to represent certain ideals, in order to gain the faith of his flock.  If a God has no covenant, he cannot draw power from anyone who believes in him.  And this is where a God gains his power – from the power of those who have faith in him, or at least, in the ideals he represents as set forth by his covenant.”

Dart just stared across the table.  Gods needed
permission
to be Gods?  Was that what this elusive immortal was saying?

The Witness shook his head.  “Perhaps it would be easier if I gave you the story of the first covenant.  The covenant between the Old Gods and those who first came to this land.”

“What--  How would you know something like that?  The stories only said you knew what would be and what was only when it became the past.  I didn't think you knew everything about the past, too.  That is
definitely
something that escaped the rumor mill...”

“
Normally what you say is more or less true.  I only know what has happened in the world since I first came into my abilities.  I know very little of what came before other than what I have learned through histories.  But there are a few...  well, exceptions.  Things I have come to realize I know and have no answer for how I do.  The first covenant is one such history.”

The Witness reached across the table and took Dart's hand into his own.  “Bear witness with me,” he said.  And suddenly, the world around the seemingly young woman dissolved away.

*    *     *

Olsef Lanseyer looked out upon the strange new land.  The land that had not been there when he fell asleep the night before.  A land he could not have imagined even in his dreams.

As far as he could see in the waning light of day was fertility.  Trees over thirty feet in height, bushes and grasses that competed for wherever the trees did not claim.  The wind carried the scent of flowers in such abundance, at first Olsef thought his nose would burn from the fragrance, so powerful were the odors.

Before had been the waste.  Desert land as far as the eye could see.  A few oasis lay scattered around the lands, but even they were growing fewer in number. Olsef's grandfather had told stories of pastures and grazing animals, markets and places called cities where stores of food and produce exchanged hands.  Yet in the span of fifty years, that had all vanished beneath the waste.

Olsef spat into the earth at his feet. 
The Gods be damned
, he thought, not for the first time in his life.  His entire existence had been one of eking out a paltry existence, running from or to one rumored source of water to the next.  Where his grandfather's people had been great city-dwellers, Olsef's were now nomads, traveling out of necessity to survive.  And all because the Gods had gone to war.

Olsef's grandmother had told him these stories.  Of how the Gods were so harsh upon the people, so demanding, that the resources of the land had begun to dwindle.  Yet rather than relax their yoke upon the mortals of the world, the Gods became greedy amongst themselves, pitting their faithful against each others' in battles and conflicts to steal what they could no longer produce on their own.  And as the Gods made war, fewer and fewer were left to cultivate the land, to raise the chattel needed to sustain the people who went to war for their Gods.  The cycle only increased as the further the Gods reached, the greater their demands became of the dwindling resources of the land.  By Olsef's grandparents' time, there was more war than there was peace.

So greedy were the Gods that eventually there came a time when their faithfuls' efforts were not enough so that the Gods themselves began entering the battles.  With one deity throwing their powers against another, what was left of the land was soon reduced to ruin, the great cities toppled.    By Olsef's father's time, the cities had been reduced to little more than dusty memories, buried deep beneath the sands of the waste.  Storms now raged across the landscape every evening, burying any hope anyone might have had of ever rebuilding what had been destroyed.

The desert had been all Olsef had ever known.  He had sheltered his people as best he could, but always it was from one crude shelter, one small oasis to the next.  He never knew whether his people would eat or drink on any given day, and the other nomad tribes were only too intent upon fighting over the scant resources. 

It was the way of things, and Olsef had learned to accept it.  Stories were for the elderly, for those who no longer had the strength to hunt or find the small pockets of food and water that the Gods had left for their scattered peoples to find.  For only the old ones had the energy to even care about the past.

Olsef had led his people into an old tower the night before, much as he had a hundred times since taking the braid from his father.  There had been nothing foreboding or threatening, only a more preserved structure than most, enough shelter to guard against the evening storms. 

Yet when he had woken, the normal amber hue to the air was not present.  The sand did not linger in the air, nor was it heavily upon his blanket as he would have expected.  Instead, he heard the whistles and tweeting sounds, buzzing that sounded much like insects, yet was far louder than he had ever heard in his life.  And when he came to the doorway of the building and looked out, he saw a world that was no longer his own lain out before his eyes.

His people had been in awe more even than he was, but it had not taken them long to spread out to taste the fruit on the trees, taste the waters of a nearby stream or to simply lay prone upon the fresh smelling earth.  Olsef, though, had other duties.  He needed answers as to where they had come, to what had happened to the world around him.  There were mountains here, so it was clearly not where they had fallen asleep.  But if not there, then where?

Olsef looked down now upon the valley where his people celebrated their new-found fortune.  The tower – some thirty levels high – was actually in even better condition than he had originally imagined.  The first winds of the sandstorms had begun by the time the shelter had been found, and the tower's upper levels had been obscured by it.  But now he could see that the building was immense, and standing of a height he imagined could possibly have been built to reach the skies themselves.

“
Amazing, is it not?”

Olsef turned at the unfamiliar voice, reaching for the bone blade he wore at his side.  Yet the sight that greeted him was only a man.  A man dressed in simple white robes with sandals for walking on.  He wore no weapon, no scars, no signs of hardship.  He was possibly the softest looking man he had ever seen.  Even his women were not so soft.

“What clan do you hail from?” asked Olsef.

The man smiled.  “We do not have clans here.  Not as you know them.  You may call me what you will, for if it pleases you, I would have you name me on your own.  We do not have names as you would use them, and for us to reach an understanding, we would have need of you providing us with them.”

“What man has no name?  Have you no family or pride in where you come from?  Did your father not give you his blood, so that your mother could shed it for you at birth?”

The man only smiled.  “I am no man, Olsef.  Nor am I yet what I will be.  Yet with your blessing, I am my brethren will offer you our shelter and protection in this new land.”

“You speak in riddles.”

“
Yes, I suppose I do.  For I know of where you come from, and I hesitate to name what we are for fear of frightening you.”

Olsef thrust out his chest.  “How do you know my name, yet still think me capable of fearing such a soft man as yourself?”

“Let me say this first: you are no longer on your own world, Olsef.  The Bab'l Tower has brought you to not only a new place, but a new world.  Your land is forever denied you.  You could reenter the tower and travel for a lifetime and never have it land again upon your own lands.  Oh, possibly upon your world, at some point, but how would you know it if the lands were too far removed?”

The man stood up and Olsef realized he had been mistaken to think the man small.  Though his stature remained thin and unthreatening, the man stood a full foot taller than himself – and Olsef was one of the tallest in his clan.  As he approached, Olsef could also see that the man's features were more than soft – they were delicate, fragile even.  How could a man ever survive to grow so tall?

“You will have needs here.  Though you see now a wealth of food, water and life, what you do not see is disease and adaptation.  You will not survive a winter here without aid, for you come from a place where there are no more seasons.  You come from a place ravaged by Gods to such a point that it barely supports life.  And I say to you that if you do not have assistance with the changes to come, you most certainly will perish, in spite of the bounty you see all around you.”

Olsef considered this.  “You have a deal to strike, I am sensing.”

The man's features fairly glowed.  “A covenant, to be more precise.  An agreement between yours and mine that shall endure for all time.  For what we forge here today will pass down from generation to generation, into such antiquity that your children's children a hundredfold removed will have lost the tale of how it ever came to be.”