༄
Gods, damn Enyo and all her magic.
Every muscle in Delyth’s back strained with the effort of keeping herself in the sky. Fire laced her shoulders through her wings. Her abdomen was tight with the stress the sky exerted upon her frame. Her breath came in gasps.
But she was pulling away.
She could feel it in the way her wings cupped the tumult. In the way the ground before her receded.
Her progress was small. Slow.
But she could do this. For Alphonse.
She could save them both.
Below, Enyo and Tristan were smaller than children, but she could still see him hand the Goddess his dagger, her molten eyes flashing.
Suddenly, freedom didn’t look so sure.
Delyth couldn’t dive now. She would never regain the height she needed in this wind. She’d be trapped—pinioned to the ground for Enyo to use as she willed.
No.
She could take a knife wound if the Goddess didn’t miss.
What was a little blood for Alphonse? It was certainly nothing she hadn’t given willingly before.
For Alphonse.
And for freedom.
❂
“Ba’oto! Beste fein a krin Enyo!?” The Goddess screamed into the howling winds, her voice worse than the gale.
Without hesitation, Enyo drove the dagger into her own gut. Into the small space at the base of her sternum where there were no bones to protect against the blade. Even as Enyo, she gasped in pain, still managing to glare her defiance up at Delyth, gripping the handle, which was already soaking with her blood and pushing it in further.
Was stopping Enyo worth losing her precious mortal lover?
How foolish the bitch had been. All along, Enyo had known her weakness. Knew the spot to strike to do the most damage.
༄
Delyth pressed onwards, bracing herself for the knife’s inevitable fire, only it was slow to come. Why was Enyo stalling? She knew just who she was choosing to fight.
The priestess glanced downward just in time to see the Goddess lift the knife above her head…
And plunge it into the center of Alphonse’s gentle body.
Delyth screamed, the sound raw and wild. An animal in pain.
Her wings collapsed. She plummeted, hardly bothering to slow before hitting the ground in a spray of dirt. Already blood was welling up beneath Enyo’s hands.
“No!” She screamed again, and her voice was full of stones. “Why— Alphonse!”
Delyth stretched one hand out, gasping, the basin still clutched to her chest.
Her little bird. Bleeding. Dying.
Even without the basin, she would never be safe while Enyo shared her body.
Alphonse had called Delyth protector when she filled her hands with little treasures and her heart with I love you’s.
But Delyth couldn’t protect her now. Couldn’t do anything against Enyo, corruption incarnate, attacking from within.
Delyth dropped to her knees. She was crying.
Stupid. Helpless.
“Stop! Please, Enyo…” Her voice had faded to a whimper. “Heal her.”
Even though Enyo’s stare was cold and imperious, tears leaked out of the corners of those long-lashed eyes. Alphonse’s tears of pain and grief, her suffering so vast that they escaped Enyo’s control.
The hand at the dagger hilt slacked and then tightened as if she were debating yanking the blade free.
A small flash of green light blossomed and dimmed. Alphonse was somewhere in there, frantically trying to stanch the flow of blood, to heal the hole made by cold steel.
Her brave little bird, still trying.
Dying.
Enyo would not allow it. She was unflinching, unrelenting. She was the mountain storm. She was the depthless lake. And just as you could not plead with a forest fire, Enyo would never care for Delyth’s tears.
Enyo smiled cruelly as she slunk to her knees, the body draining of blood, weakening.
“My basin.” She held out her free hand. She would rather kill Alphonse and die herself than let Delyth take away her chance of restoration.
Delyth choked on every breath. Her body trembled. But it didn’t matter. She couldn’t think of anything but Alphonse’s tears leaking past Enyo’s eyes, the light of Alphonse’s magic around the dagger.
Enyo might take the power and flatten the world for all Delyth cared. She would not let Alphonse go, killed by the evil she carried within her gentle soul.
Slowly, Delyth reached out, the basin shaking in her hands, towards Enyo’s waiting palm.
⥣ ⥣ ⥣
* * *
Etienne was panting as he rounded the temple, his legs jerking beneath him from the punishment of the last couple days. He had pushed himself farther than he thought he could go, both physically and magically, to close the distance between himself and the others.
The last day had been particularly grueling, but thanks to the first pit of stakes, he had known to be wary of traps, and he was aided somewhat by the passage of Enyo and the others. Every trap they triggered was one he did not have to find himself.
Still, it felt like a lifetime before he saw the temple.
Before he came around it’s battered walls, a scream rent the snow-dampened air. It was unearthly. The sound of a shattered creature, a pain his body seemed to know even though he had never been broken so completely.
Was that Alphonse? Was he too late?
He reached them to find Delyth on her knees before a bleeding Enyo. He had never seen the priestess so defeated. Her shoulders sagged, and her wings trembled. Her breathing was ragged, uneven.
In her outstretched hand was the basin.
And in a moment, Etienne knew what she had done. That she had tried to stop Enyo. That Enyo had placed the blade in Alphonse’s belly to stop Delyth.
And somehow, the priestess, the devoted follower, had been cowed by the thought of losing Alphonse so completely. He took in a sharp breath of air. The warrior had failed.
But this had always been his mess to fix.
Etienne raised his hand, the words of the binding spell on his lips. The rune was drawn, the potion spilled. The door to the realms of magic ought to have opened.
Only, nothing happened.
No coiling serpent of power writhed within him, striking from raised fingers. It was as though he could not touch the magic at all.
He tried again, more frantically this time while the sound of Tristan’s laughter rang all around him.
Again, the world refused to bend around his thoughts.
The words were still trapped on his lips as Enyo’s hand touched the basin.
Silence filled the clearing before the temple, the winds dying down, the birds quieting, and the mountain itself holding its breath as Enyo reached with bloody hands to take her basin.
A soundless explosion rippled out from where she knelt. The trees snapped and broke, the heavy stone of the temple fractured and started to crumble. The very earth at her feet retracted and turned to dust.
As quickly as that concussive force expanded from her body, it reversed and slammed into her. Wind, dirt, flecks of rain from a clear sky. It swirled around her in some absurd and terrifying dance until Enyo was blocked from view.
And when the dust finally settled, and the broken tree branches echoed off the valley floor where they fell, Enyo stood.
Whole. Healed.
Reborn.
Etienne watched in a sickening mixture of horror and fascination as Enyo emerged, like Alphonse still, but changed. It was Alphonse’s thick hair and her golden skin. But her lips, which had been the barest of pinks, were now a deep, blood red. And her eyes, so often wide in wonder or contemplation, were slitted, catlike and cunning.
Her body…
Alphonse had been graceful and precise, despite her rapid wasting. But now...
Enyo moved with a boneless ease that bespoke animalistic origins. She wore confidence like a second skin as
she lifted her head to stare up at the cloudless sky, a wonderful and terrible laugh echoing from her. Deep and joyful.
Gone were the modest, demure greys and browns of Alphonse’s gowns. Now she was dressed in some sort of rough, woolen sarong that tied at one hip and exposed the length of her entire right leg. Her upper body was covered in nothing more than a piece of leather wound tightly about her ribs and chest, both ends tied behind her neck. A crude and gaudy copper band encircled her upper arm, its pattern that of a snake with two ruby eyes that stared up at Enyo’s face.
Bare feet crunched against the graveled road, and golden eyes swiveled from Delyth, whose tear tracks were grey with dust, to Etienne, who gaped in horror.
A wide, predatory smile traced her lips, exposing teeth that somehow had elongated and sharpened. Perfect for ripping out throats. Perfect for eating still beating-hearts.
She was wild, vicious, all demure kindness replaced by something old and dark and alien.
She captivated him.
And he hated himself for it.
“What fantastic timing you have, mage. I was afraid you’d miss what we worked so hard for.” She gestured to her body. To Alphonse’s body. “If it weren’t for your meddling, boy, I would have never been found in that dusty tome. I suppose I should thank you…”
Long-fingered hands came up to tap blood-tainted lips. “Shall we say a quick death is fair payment for the debt I owe you?”
This was what the death of Alphonse looked like, not the girl of the days and weeks before, seeking some way to deal with the darkness she carried.
Gods, if he had just not given up on her. Not ran away…
Perhaps then, this could have been prevented. Perhaps then, he could have saved her. Etienne heard Enyo’s question, but her words no longer held any sting. Why shouldn’t he die? He had failed in every way that mattered.
“Do it,” he said. His voice was flat, sepulchral. And he had no tears to give.
༄
Delyth watched as Enyo prowled closer to Etienne, reaching with hands that looked more like claws than anything else, to run her fingertips over his throat and up through his hair—playing with her next meal.
“Mages are all the same. Think a little bit of study, and sacred words will save them. Makes them better than the rest of the mortals…” She crooned, leaning in to brush her lips against his ear.
“Magic isn’t so very hard to break. Not when the wielder is already lying in pieces.” She leaned away and sauntered past Etienne, coming to Delyth now.
“Oh Ba’oto, what a fickle creature you are. I suppose you can’t help it… Maoz always loved his current fling with all his heart. Even if he would move onto the next one the moment he caught their scent. You’re no better than the beast himself. And of course…” Enyo bent at the waist to peer into those cold blue eyes. “I own you now—a lifetime for a night. You never answered…” She grinned, reaching to run the tip of her nail down the side of Delyth’s temple, tucking the lock of ebony hair interwoven with a hawk feather behind her ear. “Was it worth it?”
Delyth just turned her head away. She would not answer, would not give Enyo the satisfaction.
Not unless the Goddess made her.
Because Enyo was right. Delyth was an animal, all feral beast, and anger built within her like a flood, its waters pressing at the backs of her eyes, flying up her throat. It shoved apart her rib cage. Left her open, hollow and gaping.
She clenched her fists at her sides and bit down hard on her cheek to keep from screaming.
There was nothing in this world that could fill her but absolute destruction—the death of Enyo.
Whom she was doomed to serve.
So let the demon bitch make her answer. Let her draw it out like poison.
She would never have Delyth’s willing service. Never again have her devotion.
Only spite and hate and roiling, blinding anger.
That rich chuckle escaped her lips again, and Enyo straightened up, running her hands luxuriously over her body, enjoying every curve and every line. She moaned and stepped towards Tristan, bare feet disturbing loose rocks, and suddenly, Delyth knew what her punishment would be, what Enyo would demand of her.
“Ba’oto. Watch.”
The words were no less horrible because she had known they were coming.
Delyth did not turn to look. She would not watch Enyo defile her lover’s body. Could not. Whatever ribbons held her sanity together would not be able to stand it.
Delyth did not watch.
And in so doing, found that she did not have to.
Somehow, somehow despite the horror of losing Alphonse, she still retained her freedom. She did not have to follow Enyo’s command.
Delyth laughed, the sound dark and broken. She let it rumble up through her throat. Let it raise her to her feet.
Alphonse was lost.
But the beast could still fight back.
Delyth drew Calamity and felt nothing. The sword must have been clamoring for Enyo, for blood. It was probably singing with power.
But it's bloodlust was nothing to her own.
And if she could not kill Enyo for fear of destroying the last embers of Alphonse, she could at least take the Goddess's plaything.
Delyth’s laughter cut off. Her eyes narrowed in on her target. And she flung herself at Tristan with all the fury of a mountain cat.
Enyo spun so quickly she was no more than a blur.
She collided with Delyth, who surely would have decapitated Tristan had Enyo’s body not slammed the warrior, rocketing her off course. The Goddess laughed low and soft as Delyth regained her footing. “Who do you think taught your priests how to fight?”
The temple behind her quivered. The mountain shook. Enyo would bring the entire peak down in her fury.
She darted forward, hand coming to grip Delyth’s throat. One moment she was standing before the priestess, the next, she was strangling her, lifting the larger woman off her feet by her neck.
When Delyth swung Calamity in defense, Enyo’s empty hand shot out to capture Delyth’s wrist, twisting cruelly to force the warrior to drop the blade. “You pathetic, treacherous, fickle, beautiful creature. I admire your fire, if not your stupidity.” Enyo’s grip tightened on Delyth’s throat, her eyes steady as she watched the warrior struggle to breathe.
Then, the hand clamped around Delyth’s throat suddenly released her. A tiny gasp escaped Enyo, and hesitation flickered momentarily across her face.
Delyth gasped for air, barely standing, her eyes watering from pain.
Why had Enyo stopped? To toy with her? To draw out Delyth’s death?
The beast grit her teeth, raised her head to spit in the face of the Goddess, to prove that she would not be cowed.
But she found amber eyes instead, a delicate flash of color above sharpened teeth. And then Alphonse lunged to take the priestess’s face in both her hands. Her thumb smoothed a tender line against Delyth’s cheek. She yanked Delyth’s mouth up to her own. Passionate. Gentle. The warrior’s lungs still ached for air; only it didn’t matter. Nothing did.
Alphonse remained. Even now, she fought.
“Ad—” Delyth tried to murmur, but her voice would not form words. It was too broken.
Brave little bird.
She wrapped her arms around the healer and kissed her until her body throbbed for want of air. Tears spilled from her eyes once more.
The hope hurt almost more than the loss did.
But Delyth clung to it anyway.
❀
Alphonse ran her fingers greedily across Delyth’s skin, soaking up every touch, every sensation. She could feel Enyo growling and thrashing beneath her heart. She didn’t have long.
Only long enough to save the most precious people in the world.
“Delyth,” she murmured, careful to keep her voice low. Let the others think Enyo was still toying with the priestess. Let them believe she murmured terrible, wretched things to her lover. Let them thin
k she was breaking the warrior’s unrelenting spirit.
So brave. So strong.
Her protector.
“It’s my turn to protect you, Del. Please. I love you. Take your things, take Etienne, and go. I can’t stay for long.” She winced in pain, her mind reeling as Enyo sliced claws of bone through her thoughts.
“Go.”
༄
Delyth hesitated for a moment. She knew that Alphonse was right, that Etienne was the only person who still knew anything of binding Enyo, that she had to go if she ever wished to free the healer.
And yet, she wanted to say more.
She wanted to tell Alphonse to be safe, to curl up and hide deep and protect the healer herself from whatever atrocities Enyo wrought. She wanted to stay and protect her herself.
Only, they were out of time. And Delyth could not speak.
Painstakingly, she opened her lips to form last words, breathy and slow. They were barely audible. Barely words at all.
“I love you.”
And then she turned, reaching Etienne in a series of short bounds and lifting him from his defeated slump. Her wings spread, raising them from the ground, clumsy and awkward but flying still. She managed to get their bags, their lifeline in the cold, unpredictable mountains, and then dove down the side and towards the plains far below.
Minutes passed before there was a massive blast from the peak, the sound of shattering wood and stone raining down on bare earth. Thlonandras had finally fallen.
⥣ ⥣ ⥣
* * *
Enyo’s Thlonandras was now nothing but rubble. Rubble and the basin.
Tristan watched the escape of the halfbreed and the coward with little interest. So, what?
They were nothing.
He did not immediately interrupt Enyo’s rage. It was awesome and terrifying to behold; she uprooted trees with mere blows, made the mountains tremble. Still, he needed this body. Let her take it out on their surroundings rather than him.
When the time came that she no longer seemed as likely to kill him as anything else, he approached her, easy smile in place.
“This is a strange way to celebrate, even for you, Enyo.” He let his eyes wander the length of her rage-shaped form. “We’ve won, remember? Your basin is in hand, along with your power.”
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