One (The Godslayer Cycle Book 1) (19 page)

Nathaniel paused as he took another deep, steadying breath.  “I remember I was playing the Game with someone Bracken had introduced me to, someone from out of town, when we first heard the noise.  It was a sound of a large group of people shouting, cheering.  I can remember still the rise and falls in the cheers, urging others on, louder when they must have done something they approved of.”

The child now grown closed his eyes again, swallowing hard.  It took him a moment to continue.  When he did, his voice had begun to choke with emotion.  “Bracken grumbled something and went to look out the door.  He called out to someone, but I never heard an answer.  I remember him shouting for them to move along, to clear the road in front of his business.  I guess someone did move, because he went real quiet all of a sudden.”

Nathaniel opened his eyes and stared off at some unfixed point in the distance.  A tear had begun a path down his left cheek, and he had to swallow more than once to steady himself enough to continue.  “He called to have someone keep me inside and then ran out.  Me specifically.  'Keep young Nate inside,' or something like that.  Of course, as a young man, being told to stay was the only reason I had for wanting to see what was going on for myself.  I honestly would not have thought nor cared about leaving if Bracken had not wanted me watched.  But as soon as he said that, I was rushing out the front door.  No one even tried to stop me.”

Tears were flowing freely down Nathan's cheeks now as he once again closed his eyes, reviewing in his own mind's eye what he had seen and heard that day.  His voice caught as he tried to continue.  He had to stop for several minutes before he could compose himself enough to go on.  Brea sat silently in front of him, patiently waiting for him to continue.  She knew he would at this point.  He had to tell the story, had to get it out.  She would only have made it harder if she had prodded him.

“
The first thing I remember seeing was Bracken,” he started again.  “I had never seen him so mad.  He had a stick he had picked up and he was actually
hitting
people with it.  Anyone who tried to come close, he would roar something in what I assume was his native tongue and charge at them swinging.  At one point, someone tried to throw a rock at him, but he used the stick to swat it back into the crowd.  I didn't see another rock fly after that.

“
I couldn't understand why he would react that way, or why the townsfolk would turn on him like that.  He had been so – I don't know – controlled, I guess is the best way to say it.  And the people yelling and throwing things at him?  They may not have been the friendliest to him in the past, but they had never been hateful toward him.  It just seemed so unreal to see him so...  berserk.

“
That's when I saw the pile on the ground that he kept darting around.” Nathaniel swallowed, but didn't stop.  “No matter how mad he got, he never once stepped on it.  He would jump over it or step around it, but never by accident or purpose would he disturb it.  It wasn't until I saw the...  the
hair
... that I realized it was a body.”

The man swallowed again, and when he continued, his voice now shook with emotion.  “My mother used to have the most beautiful orange-blonde hair.  It had its own wave to it so you never knew if her locks would curl or lay straight.  She used to curse at it sometimes when she would brush it out, but I always loved the feel and smell of it.”

Nathaniel opened his eyes.  They had gained a steely appearance now.  Coupled with the tears flowing freely down his face, it gave him the appearance of being the most devout acolyte Brea had ever laid eyes upon.  “That's how I knew it was her, even at a distance.  There was so much blood and dirt mixed in with it, but I knew her hair.  Of course, I didn't know it was blood then – I thought it was mud, though the road was dusty dry that day.  I couldn't understand why she was lying on the ground to get her hair all covered in the mud.  Since I didn't recognize the blood at first, I did not know it was her own or that she was even hurt.  But I knew I should get out there and help her get up.  So I ran out of the tavern to do just that.  It's all I wanted to do – to help Mother get back up...”  The use of his mother's name as personal did not escape Brea, but she said nothing as the young man continued.

“
Bracken heard me coming but didn't know it was me.  He turned, screaming, raising up that old stick like it was his axe, the one he keeps behind the bar.  I remember the look of... 
rage
in his eyes, the
hatred
I had never seen in any man's eyes before.  It stopped me in my tracks. Like a deer too startled to know which way to run.  It took him a moment for him to recognize me, but when he did, he went pale as milk.  It would have been almost funny to see, if the circumstances were different.  But I was scared at that point, if not exactly understanding why.  His jaw dropped and I could see his rage change into pain in an instant.  'Oh, Nate,' was all he said.  Then he dropped the stick and the whole crowd went quiet.”

Nathaniel took another deep, steadying breath.  “I was confused.  I didn't know what that look meant or why suddenly no one would look at me.  I remember hearing someone's voice as he tried to push himself forward, but no one would move out of his way and I didn't care to look to see who it was.  All I could see was my mother then.  I rushed up to her and knelt down beside her, only thinking about helping her get up.”

The steel look in his eyes left and a vacancy seemed to take their place.  “Have you ever felt how warm blood is when it first comes out of the body or how fast it grows cold?  Or how sticky it can be when it does cool?  That's what I noticed first – how that blood felt as it left her body, how her skin already felt cool to my touch.  Not cold, necessarily, but there was a distinct difference I could feel – I could feel how she was not as warm as she should be anymore.

“
I had always thought a body took awhile to cool off when it died.  I remembered when we slaughtered animals and let them drain on cold winter days how long the steam rose from their bodies.  But this was different. Maybe that's normal when you only lose a little blood at a time, or maybe people are different than animals in some way.  But that wasn't how it was with my mother.  By the time I first touched her hair, felt where the hair was pulled away from her wet, sticky scalp underneath, felt softness where it should have been hard, that's when I knew she was dead.

“
Oh, I still tried to get her to talk, to wake up, to come inside where I could help clean her up.  But I knew the whole time that she was gone and I just felt...”  Nathaniel sighed.  “...empty.  I couldn't even get angry or try to reason out what had happened.  I just couldn't do anything except keep talking to her, trying to convince myself that none of it was real.

“
There was something in her hand when I tried to get her to hold onto me.  It was partially wrapped in cloth, the rest pulled away by whatever had pummeled her body so badly.  It was covered in her blood because she had pulled it in tightly against her like she was trying to protect it from harm.  Her grip held it fast, and I could not bring myself to force her to release it, but I could make out a slip of paper on the outside with my name upon it.  I never knew what was inside the wrapping, other than it was metal, but I knew what it was, all the same.  It had been meant as a special nameday present for me, something she had had to come to town for.  And she had wrapped her body around it even as she died, trying to keep it safe for me.”

Nathaniel's eyes once again took on a steel glare and his lips went taught.  “It wasn't until then that I heard the voice.  It had probably been there for awhile, but I had been oblivious to it.  Someone was calling to the crowd, commending them for what they had done, saying that they were good and holy for striking down the 'infidel' in their midst.  She said a lot of other things, but that is all I remember.  I knew she was talking about Mother and I suddenly felt all the anger and hate I have not been able to feel before.  I remember getting up and screaming.  I remember the woman's face as she turned to look at me, a little fear and surprise mixing into her confidence.  I remember her taking a step backwards, almost tripping, raising her hands up to defend herself.  But that's all I remember for sure until I felt someone grab me and haul me back.

“I was a mad beast, screaming and growling.  All I could do was scream and shout.  I don't think I even said any actual
words
.  My fists were clenched, and I could not unclench them, so I could not grab at whoever was holding me back.  All I wanted was to kill that woman for saying such awful things about Mother.  I think I might have killed her, too, if I had not been pulled off of her, and people in the crowd had not ushered her away, crying things about heathens every step of the way.”

Nathaniel took yet another deep, steadying breath.  “I am not really sure how much time passed before I realized the reason I could not unclench my fist was that I had the woman's ear clutched between my nails, and I had not wanted to let go my grip.”

Brea gasped at the vivid imagery, but when Nathaniel looked up at her sharply, she quickly covered her mouth and fell silent.

Nathaniel looked at the ground.  “I don't remember much after that.  Not until late that night, when I woke up in one of Bracken's beds.  He was close by and I remember he willingly answered anything I asked, but I don't even remember what we talked about at first.  I didn't even feel like I was really even there.  I felt cold and empty.  When Bracken offered me food, I wouldn't eat, and I wouldn't sleep anymore that night either.  So Bracken stayed up with me and we talked all night about things that didn't even matter.  About the weather, the crops in the outlying fields around town, stories Bracken had heard about elves and dragons and faeries and some stories Bracken himself had lived through on his own, or so he said.  We talked about anything we could except for my mother.  Not because he wouldn't have answered, but because I wouldn't ask.  I couldn't face it then and I think Bracken knew it and so never pressed.

“The next day, after I finally did pass out for a few hours, he told me what had happened.  Some he knew from first-hand, but most of the details he told me he had gotten from those who had come into his tavern later.  This priestess had come to town, preaching about Zantel and how the township would prosper if they all converted to His faith.  I think she had wanted to create a shrine in Oaken Wood or something.  She had been holding a sermon in the street when my mother happened by.  She was telling a local shop owner that his business would triple for every coin he gave to Zantel's cause.  Of course, she was the local bank for Zantel's coin, but that is how all priests are, aren't they?”  Brea was not given an opportunity to speak before the man pressed on.

“
The priestess claimed that if Oaken Wood would forsake the old ways, that she had foreseen great prosperity for the town, that it would become a great city or somesuch, with patrons from the far corners of the realms.

“
My mother was a druidess of Lendus, the Old God of Bounty and Famine, and she wore his holy symbol proudly wherever she went, a bronze or copper representation of a sprouting seed, I think.  I haven't seen the emblem in a long time now, and I never really gave much attention to it in detail.  I should have been a better son, but I didn't have the devotion my mother had.  Maybe in time, I might have, but at fourteen, I didn't care about what the future might hold.

   “
At any rate, someone in the crowd pointed her out to the priestess and she singled my mother out, provoking her with accusations of keeping the world's wealth from the good people of Oaken Wood.  I guess my mother just smiled and responded that since she never took a coin from the townspeople and the priestess was demanding all they could give, the the priesthood of Zantel were more likely to impoverish the good people than anything she could ever do.  The priestess didn't like what she heard and called upon the people to 'cleanse' their town or risk the wrath of Zantel.

“
No one has ever been willing to figure out who started it, but the priestess had a fairly good hold on some by that time, I guess.  After the first rock was thrown, though, others started in, with the priestess cheering them on.  It was only the third or fourth stone, I am told, that hit her in the head and knocked her down.  She never got back up after that, but that didn't stop the stoning.  If anything, I am told, it encouraged it even more.  They could hurt someone and my mother's weakness empowered them, I suppose.

“
Bracken said that by the time he reached my mother's side, they were beating her body with sticks, and picking up stones from the pile already around her because they couldn't find anymore new ones to throw.  From what I could recall later, there must have been fifty or more stones lying around her body.  And from what could be told afterwards, the rock that had knocked her down had likely been the one that had killed her.  Her skull had been crushed, but most of the stones looked like they had been aimed at her body after she had fallen down.”

Finally, Nathaniel went silent and did not speak again.  Brea could not think of what to say, so she just sat across from him while he stared down at the ground beneath him. 

“I never knew my mother,” she found herself saying after awhile.  “I'm told she died when I was still a baby.  Told by my father over and over again, whenever he wanted to blame me for something.  Because no matter how small a thing it was, he would always add on the blame that she had died because of me.  I guess giving birth to me had weakened her so that she caught ill and died when winter came in my first year.