by Liv Savell
Suddenly feral, Va'al kissed Enyo until he thought his lips might bruise. “Don’t you want to be free again?”
She was snarling and twisting out of his grip, clearly ready to rip his throat out with her elongated teeth when his lips brushed against her own. Enyo devolved into a creature of lust, switching from bloodthirsty and indignant to pawing at Va'al in the matter of a heartbeat. Enyo bit his lower lip hard before tearing away and dropping back down onto her own two feet. “How many? How many of the others do we need to recreate our old forms?” Her suspicion burned up in intensity so virile it might have been aggression.
Of course, it was not difficult for the Goddess to believe that Va'al had wasted eighty years searching for her and her alone. His mate. His partner. The First Goddess to arrive in Rhosan, in Illygad. Why would he not wait for her before trying to reclaim his Divine Status?
Va'al grinned. It was an old trick, flattering Enyo into leaving off whatever questions she had, but it worked as easily as it ever had. And, he had planned to bring her back first. Always, Enyo came first. He was glad, though, that she did not know just how much time he had gambled away in dirty bars and cheap whore houses.
“We could try with three or four, but I think five of us would be a safe bet. Even in mortal Vassals, that would be a tremendous amount of power.”
The research he had found had not been very definite. After all, it had never been done before, but the mage had surmised that it might be possible for the Gods to reconstitute themselves if they found a means to gather enough of their power. They were creatures of magic, not of flesh and blood.
“Five? And you’ve already found Maoz laying about in some mountain clan? Typical. He probably put it down, caught the scent of some bitch in heat, and forgot all about his artifact. He’s not good for much, but he’s not nearly as intolerable as Tha’et. Of course, Tha’et shoved his moon jewel up in his mountaintop kingdom. Do you remember that cathedral he built out of—What did he call that stone? Star rocks?” She scoffed and glanced off in the distance as if she could see Tha’et’s realm even now, hundreds of miles away.
“You mean astral luminescents?”
“Yes, astral whatsits— Do you know where anyone else is?” Clearly her hesitancy in the plan was forgotten—so long as Tha’et didn’t join them. She and Tha’et had fought constantly, and not in the fun, alluring way she and Va'al had.
“Not in the least,” Va'al said cheerfully and dropped to the ground, stretching out his tired, mortal feet. “But the temples are probably a good place to start looking. Aryus’s tower is close to the clan with Maoz’s artifact, and then the next closest would be Ruyaa or Esha.”
He knew who he would prefer to bring back, but saying so would probably trigger Enyo. Still, Esha had to be the better option, right? It was Ruyaa. “So what do you think, the stoic, the clown, and one more?”
Grimacing, Enyo plunked herself down beside Va'al. “I suppose Kirit and Iluka are out… I heard her talking about housing her clam in a watery bed. How long can humans hold their breath?” Not long enough to swim to the ocean floor. “You could try to speak to your son. Derog might be able to get it since his body wasn’t transformed as we have been.”
Va'al cocked an eyebrow. Was Esha really that bad? He knew she could be a… drag at times, but her company wasn’t wholly unpleasant. Not to him. “So you would rather travel to Aberdwyr, hire a vessel to cross pirate-infested waters to whatever forgotten lump of an island my son has currently installed himself on—assuming we could find it— and ask him to then search out Iluka’s hiding place than take a short stroll down the Afonneidr to Esha’s temple?”
It would add moons to their quest. Assuming they could secure the money to hire the vessel. Otherwise, who knew how long? All because Enyo wasn’t a fan of Esha.
She sniffed in dismissal as if Va'al barely had a point. “Well Ruyaa certainly knows how to have a good time. If you can keep her in one place long enough.”
That was true, Va'al supposed. If by ‘a good time’ Enyo meant sleeping, or moon gazing. And, with the Goddess of Dreams, staying on task could seriously be an issue.“And you honestly think she would stay on task long enough for us to get our bodies back? What does she care? She was half incorporeal before we were banished.”
“Well if you just wanted Esha in the first place, why suggest Ruyaa at all?” Enyo snapped, annoyance making her face tight and ghoulish looking.
Va'al shrugged. “Come now, don’t be like that. I was just telling you who was nearby. We can get Ruyaa if you really want her.”
“Fine.” She grinned, calling his bluff. “Ruyaa it is.”
Va'al refused to play her game, leaning back and putting his arms behind his head. “Well, I suppose this body isn’t all that bad. It is fairly good looking. For a human.”
“What?! So you want to stay human? Don’t be ridiculous. You’re blond, Va'al. Blond. Of course you want your body back.”
“Yeah, it’d be nice,” he said. “If we can get everyone else on board.”
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. What was wrong with being blond? Plenty of women had liked it just fine over the years. And it obviously wasn’t enough to keep Enyo off him.
“I’ll get them on board. Now—” The Goddess smirked and moved to straddle Va'al’s hips, sinking down to sit in his lap. Hands coming to pin his shoulders to the earth. “How shall we get Maoz’s spear?”
Chapter III
Ninth Moon, First Quarter: Mynydd Gwyllt Clan
Tanwen hefted her son with a grunt. “You’re getting so heavy, Artur. Soon I won’t be able to carry you around. You’ll have to walk all by yourself, like your sister. Wouldn’t you like that? Hm? To be a big strong warrior boy?” Artur grinned up at his mother, showing off his few teeth. Tanwen had no idea if he understood her meaning or not, but he had an easy, happy temperament. Not like her.
Like his father, though much more expressive.
Where was Niclas, anyway? He knew she had clan business to attend to this morning, and Artur much preferred to ride about in a sling on his father’s back then sit with her in the great hall all day.
As if he had heard her thoughts, Niclas appeared. His footsteps were even and quiet, his gaze warm as he looked at Artur. “There you are.” The spiritual leader of the Mynydd Gwyllt Clan held his hands out to his family as he approached. Artur looked around and then buried his face against Tanwen’s breast, closing his eyes as if sleeping. The child often employed this tactic when he didn’t want to leave. As endearing and adorable as it was, Tanwen was happy to hand their son over.
“All yours,” she announced, shoving her heavy red hair back away from her face with a grateful sigh. “Now I just need to deal with—”
Her words were cut short by a loud shout from outside the hall doors. She spun, reaching for her ax in one smooth movement. “What—” The next shout morphed into a scream, and Tanwen turned to look at Niclas, who was holding Artur close. “Go out the back. Get away from here, Niclas. I’ll find you later.”
He knew better than to argue and hurried away without so much as a goodbye. Niclas never wasted his words. He knew it would be foolish to tell her to be careful or to say she should run too.
Striding forward, she yanked the door open to see chaos in front of the great hall. Warriors were converging on two figures down the path, and yet wherever the strangers attacked, waves of Mynydd Gwyllt clanspeople fell back. How could two individuals best five or ten warriors at a time?!
Taking no time to think about why this might be, Tanwen ran down the steps toward her people, ax in hand.
“War Chief—” Rhydian, a fine warrior, and devoted clansman, panted as he ran up. These days he worked in the smithy, which explained the roughly hewn sword he brandished.
“Rhydian. What’s happening? Who is attacking us?” And more importantly, why!? The Mynydd Gwyllt Clan had been on good terms with everyone in the area, aside from raiders. And raiding season was nearly to an end. No one
wanted to raid in winter storms and snows.
“Two strangers. They just… Walked right in. Said they were here to trade, and one of them was known to the men at the gate. But then they started attacking. Gods. They are strong—” As if to prove his point, a woman was tossed aside, her body flying ten feet before crashing to the dirt.
Tanwen turned to another scream, this time the sound of a man having his arm broken by the small woman. She grinned viciously as she did it and then spun with catlike grace to leap over a charging warrior and mule kick the next one in the chest with both her bare feet.
The man she kicked flew back and landed with a puff of dust. He didn’t rise again.
The man with the woman, blond and tattooed and fighting with two daggers, cut and slashed his way through her people as if he held a hot knife and they were made of naught but butter. Speckles of red flew where his blades flashed and spattered across the dirt path. They were making progress up the road towards the great hall despite her people fighting to their best abilities. Despite her people dying.
“Stop!” Tanwen screamed, hurrying forward. “Fall back! Fall back! Stop!”
Her people, recognizing her voice, immediately complied with her orders and hurried towards her and the relative safety of the hall. Now standing before the two strangers who continued to prowl forward with gleeful smiles, Tanwen resettled her grip on the ax.
“Who are you?” she called, standing her ground. The female laughed and looked at her companion with such ardent affection Tanwen very nearly felt jealous. She hadn’t loved someone like that in a long time.
“Humans have such short memories, don’t they?” The woman chuckled, stopping ten feet from where Tanwen stood. It was amazing to think the woman could have the strength and power to plow through Mynydd Gwyllt warriors as she had. Her face was skeletal, and her build frail. Despite revealing clothing, the woman had little to no curves. Definitely no muscle.
Tanwen tightened her grip on the handle of her weapon, feeling her arms bulge. She had worked a long time to build up those muscles. To become physically strong enough to withstand most fights.
That terrible laughter rang from the woman’s blood-smeared lips again, and she muttered something to her companion in a language Tanwen didn’t understand. He was nodding in agreement.
“Why have you come here? Why do you fight us? We are not your enemy,” Tanwen asked. Her voice broke slightly, though she was trying to sound reasonable.
“We fight because the battle is glorious. And we come because you have something we need.”
⚀
There had been a time, once, when no mortal would have stood before a God and demanded answers, a time when Enyo’s reply would have been commonplace rather than strange. The world had been a younger place then, beautiful and wild.
And they would have it back.
But, until then, Va'al would use his understanding of the new world to speed things along.
“Tanwen,” he said, dredging the name up from some memory of the girl when she was little but a flirting teenager. “Surely you know who we are. You spent time among the priests of Enyo. Hearing their lessons, their prophecies…”
Before your father and I sent you running home…
“Surely you can recognize the Goddess herself when she’s standing before you. Now step aside. We have come to retrieve the spear of Maoz and will kill any who stand in our way.”
“His spear? But—”
“Yes, exactly,” Va'al said. “I’m glad we’re on the same page. Now step aside, girl. Unless you’d like to make a sacrifice to a nature Goddess.”
He stepped forward, physically pushing her aside.
➳
Tanwen let him, looking at the bodies of her people strewn about. How many were simply hurt? How many were dead?
The female strolled up, her gait strangely swift for someone so unassuming. She paused beside Tanwen and looked up through ridiculously thick lashes. Her eyes were an odd color. Dark with hints of gold and red. Tanwen had never seen eyes like that.
With her strength, strange eyes, and what the man had said, it was not so hard to believe they were Gods. What else could explain this? No human was this powerful. It seemed as if the girl knew what Tanwen thought because she smiled broadly and lifted a thin hand to touch the redhead’s mouth. Tanwen flinched but didn’t step back. She’d not show her fear in front of her people.
“Crael,” the woman called. No. Not a woman. Not a girl. A Goddess. He had said it was Enyo. Enyo, who Delyth worshiped. Enyo, who she hadn’t thought of in seven years.
Here. Real. Terrible. Just as Glynfford’s seer had predicted.
When the man turned back to look at Enyo, brows arched, she smiled wickedly and turned away from Tanwen with a dismissive air. “Won’t we need a Vassal for Maoz?”
⚀
Va'al cocked an eyebrow and looked over the girl with a critical stare. “Let’s get him a male, Enyo. Otherwise, we’ll never hear the end of it.” He turned back to the great hall, his back to both of them. For once, Va'al didn’t want to stay and play. He wanted his body.
He wanted the shadows.
As he entered the hall, they half bent towards him. Flickering. Remembering. As though even now, even inside this body, the dark places of Illygad still knew his name.
Even after humanity had forgotten it.
The spear was just as he had last seen it. Unguarded. Unadorned. The Mynydd Gwyllt must have felt secure all these years to let such a precious thing be left out in the open. But then, he supposed, Maoz was always careless with his artifact as well.
He hefted the spear and turned back towards Enyo. “Alright. Let’s pick him out a good one. Male, and you know. Tall.”
“You have the spear. Just leave.” The clan leader said, raising her ax as if that would stop them from taking what they wanted.
Enyo had always found the smell of weakness a powerful lure. She turned on the redhead, snarling. “You do not tell us when to leave, mortal.” Her voice was thick with contempt, and despite the hilarious difference in height, weight, and weapons, the War Chief of Mynydd Gwyllt winced.
Still, she held her ground. “You cannot take my people.”
Enyo slapped Tanwen so hard her head rocked back, and blood leaked from the corner of her mouth. The warriors of the clan rushed forward, but Tanwen held out her hand to stop them.
Enyo smirked and looked at Va'al. “I like how feisty she is. Are we certain Maoz wouldn’t make do with a female? It’d be an interesting experience for him, being on the receiving end…”
The redhead spat out a mouthful of blood and raised her ax.
Before Va'al could call out, Enyo was pouncing on the clan leader. With an audible snap, she broke several of the redheaded woman’s fingers as she yanked the ax away.
Tanwen screamed in pain and clutched her hand to her chest.
“Stop! Stop! I’ll go with you.” A young man was approaching. He had thickly curling hair and the hefty build of a warrior or farmer. His grey eyes were filled with concern as he looked at his leader, who was doing her best to suppress her whimpers of pain. “Gethin,” she whispered, but Enyo was growing bored. She punched the clan leader squarely in the jaw, and the woman collapsed.
“You’ll do, mortal.”
Va'al just shrugged. He wasn’t the biggest warrior in the hall, but he was willing. And Enyo’s experience with Alphonse had proven just how invaluable a willing Vassal really was.
He hoped the boy didn’t mind dullness. Or stoicism. Or an indiscriminate fuck every now and again. But then, it wouldn’t matter all that much if their plan worked smoothly. They wouldn’t need these bodies for long.
“Excellent. That is everything we came for, I believe. After you, Enyo?”
Enyo took the mortal by the arm, hauling him behind her as they exited the hall. The rest of the clanspeople stepped out of their way, wary and frightened or obviously angry.
“Where are we going?” he asked— Tanwen had
called him Gethin.
Enyo rolled her eyes but then looked at Va'al expectantly. After all, he was the one who made the plans. She just followed her whims. “I suppose we should go into the forest. It’ll be easier to arrange things there, hm?”
“That would be fitting for Maoz. He was always more at home in wild places.” That or a whore’s bed, and the forest was more expedient. As he walked, Va’al spoke to the man who had volunteered for the ritual. “The Mynydd Gwyllt are followers of Maoz, so you should feel honored, Gethin. You’ve just volunteered to be your God’s Vassal.”
He turned quickly off the road, both to find a dark, quiet space for Maoz and to get away from prying eyes. It would be dull if the humans of the clan decided to do something foolish like track them.
“It should even be painless. Since you’ve chosen this path. It was for my Vassal and me.” He smirked at Enyo, gloating. She hadn’t been so lucky.
Enyo rolled her eyes and muttered something dark under her breath in the Old Tongue, but she was smirking all the same. Finally, they came to an outcropping of trees, and she tossed Gethin into the encircling trunks.
“Hold out your hand.” He swallowed but complied.
Enyo revealed a dagger, likely pulled from some hidden sheath on her body. She sliced along his thumb and shuddered in enjoyment as she inhaled deeply. Yet the Goddess didn’t drink. “Take the spear; say his name.”
Va'al rolled his eyes. Enyo was certainly one for ceremony… if it was her ceremony. Still, he supposed it was better to get it over with.
Gethin looked between the two Gods, his lips pale. He was obviously frightened, but to his credit, he didn’t flinch or hesitate. When Enyo threw him the spear, he stood up straight and evoked the Beast God’s name.