Two (The Godslayer Cycle Book 2) (30 page)

The amphitheater shifted, rising in the distance so that the lowered stage could manifest below Ankor's feet.  As the other Gods settled in to hear what the God of Mischief had to say, the center of their attention smiled broadly.

“It is working just as I said it would,” he announced to the gathered deities.  “Our long centuries of suffering under the heels of our
betters
is coming to an end.  I personally lured two more of our
Greater
brethren to their demises, and still my role in this debacle is undiscovered.”

A low murmur of approval rumbled down to the floor of the theater, and Ankor raised his hand to silence it before he continued.

“Before I give you the blow by blow of what happened,” grinned the God of Mischief, “let me just say it like this:  Three down, twenty-one more to go.”

Louder approval rose from the gathered deities, and this time Ankor made no effort to quell the noise.  Instead, he called over them.

“Our days of subservience under the Greater Powers are numbered.  Soon, not only will we
be
the Greater Powers ourselves, we will be the
Only
Powers left standing in the New Order!”

*     *     *

Malik scowled as he stormed down the hall.  The corridors in his domain were ever circuitous, a manifestation in his own mind of the constant state of conflict between war and peace.  Other deities of the Pantheon chose to maintain two separate aspects of their demesnes, but for Malik, there was only one – the twisted maze-like passages that comprised the entirety of his realm. 

That damnable Ankor was going to be the death of every plan he had ever conceived!   How much did the Godling really know and how much was he bound to discover before this was all over?  And what was the point in making a truce with someone who was on the list of deities that needed to be wiped from existence if the Pantheon were to rise again to supremacy?

The God and Goddess of War and Peace could not seem to keep his secrets.  He had partnered with Charith to create the nine swords, but then Airek had somehow uncovered their existence.  When he had managed to convince Charith to remain silent about the first sword, the one from which all the others were forged, Dariel had uncovered that deception when he came across Malik within the pocket space where he had stored it.  And now Ankor – one of the
Godlings
, by the Pit! – Ankor had uncovered the existence of the swords with barely two of the nine awake!

Certainly, the New Order would have eventually learned about them, but Malik had hoped that at least half of the swords would be in play before the Godlings could pierce the magic concealing them from divine vision.  But now at least one of the Godlings was in possession of that knowledge.  Whether Ankor could actually
see
the swords or not was debatable, but he knew
about
them.  And what was keeping him from telling the others?  The word of the Prankster?
The Prankster?!

Malik suppressed the urge to scream, to vent his rage to all corners of his domain.  He was trying to stay ahead of the game, but he apparently lacked Dariel's skill for manipulation and deceit.  Or  Ankor's, for that matter.  By the Father, Malik was God of
War
and
Peace
!  Why had Fate left upon his shoulders the necessity of balancing the cosmos, when he clearly lacked the sphere of influence needed to effect the changes that needed to be made?

The sphere of War would have to do.  The influence of War provided for feints, for misdirection, for flanking maneuvers.  All of these had elements of deception to them, and they needed to be the areas the God drew upon if he were to master the design he had set in motion.

Malik set his mind to think along those paths, to not let the deception and manipulations of others foil his battle plan.  Some of his secrets may have been exposed, but not all.  There were still some things not even his allies in the Pantheon knew about.  Perhaps the swords had been scattered, and maybe they had been locked into a prophecy that required an avatar to unite them towards their purpose on the mortal plane.  But there was a weakness to the prophecy that he alone – apparently – had seen.  And he had taken the steps to make sure that that weakness was exploited to the Pantheon's advantage.

Certainly, the prophecy required an Avatar – and the Pantheon had made certain to create their matrix to pass down through the bloodlines of the faithful to insure the best chances for the Avatar being loyal to them.  But Nathaniel Goodsmith was willful and defiant in his own right.  Worse, he was not a true worshiper of the Old Gods – that had been his mother, who had died before inspiring in the boy any real devotion to the old ways.

There was no doubt in Malik's mind that Nathaniel was also keeping something from the Pantheon.  The boy's arrogance and distant attitude in their last meeting was proof enough of that.  Something had been passed onto their Avatar – probably by that priestess who he had suddenly decided to join up with – which had soured the trust he should have had in his mother's Gods.  Which only made the already resistant young man even more difficult to direct along the path the Pantheon needed him to follow.

Well, Malik had foreseen the need to motivate Nathaniel once, and the God's foresight had proven invaluable.  In fact, it may yet remain the one slim hope of turning the entire plan back upon the rightful path – which was to set the Avatar status into the hands of someone truly devoted to the Old Gods, and not just reluctantly going along with the quest until he could set right the wrongs done to him.

Charith had promised the lad a chance to have his wife returned to him if he collaborated and slew the New Order's Goddess of Death, Elevan.  Malik himself had suggested that the true identity of Geoffrey's kidnapper could only be learned by following the quest for the swords.  It was entirely possible that if both things were not accomplished that the boy would keep to the right path – but there was always the chance that if Nathaniel found his wife restored to him, he might return to protecting her rather than continuing the quest for the swords.  Knowing the stubbornness that he had already displayed, it was entirely conceivable that Nathaniel could place an ultimatum at the Pantheon's feet – that with his wife restored, he would not further act unless it also assured the return of his son.

And Malik knew that the latter would not happen by following the swords.  At least, not in the way Nathaniel expected.  And not on its own.

Malik calmed himself as he arrived at his destination.  Within the structure of his labyrinthine domain were secret areas, parts of his domain that he had learned could exist between the divine and mortal realms.  It was in precisely such a pocket of reality that Malik had hidden the swords, and where
First
had been secreted for centuries.  But that had not been the only such pocket dimension he had created.

Malik did have one small gratitude to offer to Dariel.  The God and Goddess of Truth and Deception had informed him of how another God could focus in on where these pockets were if Malik himself were occupying them.  At least, if efforts were not first made to conceal the manifestation of the God which entered such a pocket. 

Armed with that knowledge, Malik first made a point of shielding his form from detection before preparing to enter this specific pocket.  Each of the spatial areas that he had created required a very specific pattern to be followed, to have the God walk in a set pattern through specific areas of his demesne, in order to gain entry.  The path set for each entry was unique and intricate – there was simply no other way to enter the pocket area if the pattern was not followed – unless another God would choose to focus on Malik's presence while inside the rift.

This latter was the method by which Dariel had bypassed Malik's security once before.  But being forewarned, Malik made sure that there would be no discernible presence to latch onto this time.  And with his form masked, the God of War and Peace traversed the sequence of steps necessary to access the area he sought.

Once he had completed the ritual, he was no longer within his twisted halls, but instead within a seemingly finite room, cast entirely in white.  This particular chamber was larger than the one that had housed the swords originally, and it also had more furnishings – a bed, a desk with a chair, a wardrobe and several cabinets where the God knew dishes and food were stored.  There was also a fixture that through divine power produced a constant flow of water which could be diverted either to clean dishes and clothes, or even to bathe in a white-wooden tub located behind a curtain for privacy concerns.

“
Malik!” cried a young voice, the object of Malik's desire appearing from behind the curtain.  The young man's shirt was removed, and only one stocking was on his foot.  It seemed that the God had caught the boy in preparation for bathing.

“
Yes,” said the God.  “And how is my devoted pupil today?”

The young boy, who appeared to be roughly eight years of age, bounced up and down on the pads of his feet.  “I finished the Oraclice!” he cried excitedly.

Malik beamed, proud of the child's accomplishment in spite of himself.  “And did you find it inspiring?”

At this, the boy relaxed somewhat – still excited though somewhat more thoughtful.  “I don't understand why the oracles were so intent on keeping the war going.”

“Mortal diviners are ever a troubled lot,” responded the God.  “The Oraclice is more of a cautionary tale though, than one that should be taken openly as true.  The moral to be learned is that those who dare defy the wishes of the Gods only seek to usurp power beyond their station.  And you saw what happened when the oracles did.”

The boy's easy smile returned.  “They were sacrificed on the battle field.”

“And their deaths brought the peace they so vehemently opposed.”

Malik took a moment to admire how well the boy was growing.  This particular pocket did not work as others he had created did.  The God was not entirely sure why, but time did not move the same way within the boundaries of this area.  An object – or in this case, a person – left here would age rapidly while time in the outside world crawled by comparison.  In retrospect, Malik knew the child had been in this chamber not even two months' time by the outside world's reckoning, yet had aged years by all appearances.  By spring, the child would have reached age of maturity and would be ready to assume the mantle of his heritage.

Malik moved over to the chair by the desk and sat down, reaching his hand out invitingly.  “Come here, please.”

The child eagerly responded, sliding easily onto the God's lap in a clearly familiar routine of devotion. 

“You are coming along quite well, you know,” said the God.  “You have made me very proud.  You have read the Artices and now the Oraclice far sooner than I would have expected you to read either.  And I can hear your prayers quite powerfully.  In fact, I don't believe there is another mortal who prays for my love as devoutly as you do.”

The child grinned impishly.  “I am yours.  You know that!  I am devoted.  I am true to you and the faith.”

“Yes, I do,” agreed Malik.  “You will truly be the truest ideal of devotion that will have lived within a thousand years.  And when it comes time for you to return to the world of men, you will do so as my most revered and honored servant.  You do want that, don't you?”

“
Oh yes, Malik!  I want to prove I am yours!  True in all, I worship only you!”

The God of War and Peace looked upon the child with pride.  “You are my greatest achievement.  Your father may have stolen the mantle when he caused your mother's death, but you will rise to the challenge of reclaiming your birthright.  You are the one true Avatar, and once the time is right, you will return to the world of men to make sure your father pays for his crimes.”

The boy buried his face into the God's chest.  “I love you, Malik!”

The God returned the boy's embrace.  “And I love you, too, my young Geoffrey.”

R
on 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 unmarried, with ambitions to someday change that.  He is the author of The Godslayer Cycle, Chaos Rising and the Oz-Wonderland series, as well as having compiled several volumes of Ron El's Comic Book Trivia.  He is presently working on the second novel of the Oz-Wonderland series,
Dorothy Through the Looking Glass
.  He loves contact and welcomes input on his work through his Facebook page at http://facebook.com/godslayercycle.