Goddess

by Liv Savell

  Around them, the trees groaned, bending until their trunks creaked as though some invisible force was pulling them inwards. Like they were bowing to the boy. Wind whipped up between them, tearing at Va'al’s clothes, tangling Enyo’s hair. Somewhere far off, a wolf howled.

  Gethin’s head was thrown back his eyes, all pupil, open and staring. From the dim light around them, a dozen eyes gleamed, silent witnesses to their master’s reawakening.

  And then, all was still again. Maoz opened his eyes for the first time in three hundred years to the sound of thick paws padding away through the trees.

  He breathed in deep, nostrils flaring, a predator preparing to hunt. “Enyo. Va'al.” He was clear-eyed, unsmiling. “Let the hunt begin.”

  ⥣ ⥣ ⥣

  * * *

  It was bizarre, wherever it was that she was now. Sometimes it was warm, dark, and safe. All she felt was the velvet caress of phantom fingers and loving voices whispering to her that it was alright. All was well.

  Other times she could see distant views of scenery or campfires. Vague and boring, she would watch for a time and then fall back into that familiar embrace. Lulled to sleep—supported and safe.

  She wasn’t afraid anymore. She wasn’t tired. Her body— Well, she didn’t have a body. But she didn’t remember what it had been like before when she had one. So it didn’t matter.

  It was impossible to tell how much time had passed in the inky darkness, but she never felt trapped. Only content. Only happy.

  Until the screaming started.

  No matter which way she turned or fled, it followed her, so she returned to the view and saw not a forest or a stream or a campfire, but a cluster of buildings and people. Humans. A settlement.

  Blood.

  War was waged before her eyes, and she could not look away. Not as a woman was tossed aside or a man kicked in the chest. Not as the demon with blades sliced through muscle and bone, leaving groaning, weeping people in his wake.

  It seemed as though the brutality would never stop, seemed as though it would go on forever. That was until a striking woman yelled the same word that her heart had been singing. “Stop!”

  The woman came closer and peered into her soul, only to flinch in fear. How could someone look at her that way? She was not brutal. She was not fear-inspiring.

  Unable to stop herself from watching, she witnessed the red-headed woman’s defeat, witnessed her losing the spear.

  It wasn’t until she caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the man’s dagger that a jolt ran through her. She knew that face, haggard as it was. She knew those eyes, now slanted as a cat’s. She knew the hair, wild and unveiled.

  Alphonse.

  Alphonse had been her name.

  But where was she? This surely wasn’t the Realm of the Dead, for there was nothing but the view and the darkness—no one else. No guide, no other spirits.

  And she realized then. The view. It was the view out of her eyes. Eyes that Enyo was controlling.

  Again, Alphonse saw the explosion on that mountain top, Enyo’s rage destroying all in its path. She had yanked back Alphonse’s control over the body and stuffed her far, far, far away. Into the smallest, deepest corner of her mind.

  How much time had passed? How long had she been kept from the world?

  Hesitantly Alphonse reached out to touch the edges of her mind, but Enyo didn’t seem to notice. She was trapped. Invisible, mute, incorporeal. Did Enyo even know she was still there? Did anyone?

  Alphonse withdrew her hand and then, because it was so much nicer there, returned to the darkness.

  Chapter IV

  Ninth Moon, First Quarter: South of Lake Penneidr

  “Wait up!”

  Etienne’s voice grated against Delyth’s ears, and she ground her teeth in annoyance. How slow could one long-legged mage be? They had the rune. They knew just how far ahead Enyo had gotten already. Didn’t he understand that they needed to hurry? To get to Alphonse before Enyo could harm her any more?

  “Move faster,” the warrior snapped without bothering to turn around. Her eyes were on the road ahead, in the direction that Alphonse lay.

  “Or what, you’ll leave me behind?”

  Delyth whirled at that, teeth bared. “It would only serve you right, coward. You left us.”

  The mage was pale, cheeks flushed and eyes frenzied. As though he was just barely keeping himself together. “Fine,” he said. “Go. But it won’t stop me. I’ll keep trying to find her, even alone.”

  Something cruel twisted within her, and the warrior snarled at him. “You wouldn’t get very far, would you? Without—”

  “Without magic, right? Because I’m so useless?”

  Something in his tone took the fight out of Delyth. He wasn’t useless. Not to Alphonse. She had never turned on her companions, no matter how difficult things got.

  Delyth sighed, turning back to the road. “Let’s just keep moving, Etienne.”

  “Yes, priestess.”

  That night, Delyth took her dinner in her tent to put some space between herself and the mage. They had been at each other’s throats all day, and she was tired of it. Tired of the fighting. Tired of the constant weight of loss hanging about her shoulders like chains.

  In the small amount of privacy afforded by canvas walls, Delyth searched through her pack for the stone Alphonse had given her the day they’d told each other “I love you.” She wanted comfort, craved the warmth of gentle arms, but would take whatever she could find.

  Instead of the brush of smooth rock, the warrior’s fingers found something larger, something wrapped in silk. She blinked. Delyth did not own any fabric so fine, and as she pulled it from her bag, it became clear just who it belonged to.

  Alphonse’s journal. Alphonse’s veil.

  Hardly daring to breathe, Delyth clutched the veil to her chest and opened the journal to the first page, losing herself in the delicate strokes of a careful hand.

  Third Moon, Somewhere across the border of the wildlands

  Today, I met perhaps one of the most unique people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. She is a Cabot, though I have never seen another like her. By my estimation, she stands at five feet eleven inches in height, and she has the most astounding wings. Spined, leathery. They attach to her back near the scapula. They must surely be five feet in wingspan, each, giving her a full clearance of ten feet. They are as well-muscled as she is, and so I cannot pretend to know what she weighs.

  Her name is Delyth, and she is a priestess from a temple in the wildlands. Apparently, her temple worships the creature that is infecting my soul. She called the creature Enyo. So now I know its name. And that it is a Goddess.

  Of course, I was shocked to learn this news, and I admit I feared Etienne and I may be in over our heads. Still, Etienne is the smartest person I know. If anyone can reverse this curse, it is him.

  But darkness aside, Delyth—She carries a large sword and her pack, along with her wings. Her face was painted with blue with lines and shadows, and her hair is so black it nearly looks blue as well. I suppose some would find her intimidating, but I could not stop staring!

  How is it that in all my study at Moxous, no one ever told me there were people who could fly? How could I nearly be an ordained healer and still be baffled by the human body and its complexities?

  Of course, I keep my questions to myself. I suspect, like Brande, Delyth is tired of being singled out due to her differences. As unique as they are.

  Would it be terribly rude if I asked to examine her wings? My fingers itch to touch them.

  Perhaps I will work up the courage to do so.

  Delyth closed her eyes.

  She remembered the day she and Alphonse had met just as clearly. Two Ingolans traveled on an old Thloegr border road. They had seemed so small. Frail, even, under the influence of Calamity.

  Only, Alphonse, amber-eyed and beautiful, had looked up at Delyth with a frankness that stunned her. So completely unafraid. Open.


  And later, when she had worked up the courage to ask Delyth to touch her wings, she’d been gentle. Reverent, even. Delicate, knowledgeable hands that set the warrior’s cheeks aflame.

  Delyth read the entry a second time, her fingers tracing the curve of the letters. Alphonse had been so hopeful then. She had so much faith in Etienne.

  He had ultimately failed her, but then, they all had. Enyo had thought of everything.

  Delyth sighed. If it had been her crippled, left weak and unable to fight by Enyo’s magic, would she have been able to handle it? Would she have kept moving forward with the determination the mage had shown? Perhaps Alphonse’s faith in him had been justified all along.

  Their opponent had just outsmarted them all.

  When Delyth left her tent, Etienne was still seated by the fire, his eyes fixed unseeing on the flames, and his knees curled up to his chest. He didn’t look up when she sat down beside him, but he tensed, his shoulders coming up around his neck.

  The warrior hesitated, unsure of what to say. “I’m… sorry.”

  He raised his eyes to her face. “Me too.”

  “I cannot give you your magic back, but perhaps, if you are willing… I could teach you the magic of Rhosan.”

  For a long moment, Etienne seemed to struggle with himself. Delyth knew he had never approved of her use of “blood magic.” The school he so revered did not condone the old ways. Still, it felt right to offer. And not only because Alphonse would have wanted her to try to help him.

  But because, like it or not, she and Etienne were now alone in this fight. They would fail if they could not work together. It was just the right thing to do. Perhaps that should have been enough on its own. Perhaps once, it would have been.

  When had that changed?

  Finally, Etienne nodded, his face set in determined lines. “Alright. I’ll learn.”

  The stars above Delyth were bright against the night sky, and she breathed into them for a time before turning back to Etienne.

  “You are of this land, born of bodies and blood and slime. In death, you will be earth once more. This, all who practice the old ways must know…”

  ⥣ ⥣ ⥣

  * * *

  It was late when Delyth returned to her tent, but, despite the exhaustion behind her eyes, she felt more at peace than she had in weeks. All because she had taken the first steps in remedying the work of Enyo.

  With great care, the warrior lifted Alphonse’s journal and veil, intending to wrap them and place them gently back into the bottom of her bag. Only, when she did so, a loose page fell to the floor of her tent, this time, addressed to her.

  Eighth Moon, Below Enyo’s Temple

  Dear Delyth,

  Or at least I hope Delyth is reading this, and not Enyo. I have wrapped my journal in my beloved veil and hidden it in your bag so that you might find it. And have a piece of me, forever. Two pieces if you count the veil. Which you should. It is the symbol of my purity and devotion to a good life. It died so long ago.

  But I feel better knowing that you will have it. That it won’t be desecrated by Enyo.

  I write this as you sleep beside me; the sun has not yet risen. My last day on this earth has not yet begun. I should be terrified, but I’m not. For once in my life, I am not afraid. I suppose it’s easy to be brave when you’re protecting your friends and your paramour. Lover. I don’t know the right term. How can one word encompass all that you are to me? It can’t.

  But you make me brave. I intend to throw myself, and Enyo along with me, off this cliff. I don’t want you serving a madwoman, and I don’t want to hurt anyone else.

  If I succeed, I want you to know I did this willingly and with courage. For once, I am not crying.

  I want to thank you. For being my friend, for protecting me against Enyo. For keeping me warm on cold mountain nights and for loving me. For teaching me what love is. I do not regret a single piece of this journey because it led me to you. I don’t think I could ever love another being, even if I grew old and experienced a full life. You are it—the only person who could make my heart flutter and my tongue fumble. You make me shy and flirtatious—at times disastrously so—and giddy all at once.

  You are so beautiful, and so strong.

  I want you to be free, and to have a life that makes you happy every day. You, of all people I know, deserve joy.

  I hope I gave you some measure of happiness in our short time together. You certainly made this harrowing journey worth it all.

  Also—Because I know you might think of this and worry—I always trusted you. I simply didn’t tell you about our plan to rebind Enyo because I didn’t want to break your heart. I know it seems selfish, but you were the bright spot of my days, and the idea of asking you to choose between your Goddess and me was impossible.

  I’m sorry. I should have told you from the start. Or at least after our first kiss.

  Gods, kissing you… touching you. Being wrapped in your arms. I’ll think of that as I watch the sunrise today—perfect thoughts for my last one.

  I love you, Delyth.

  Alphonse

  P.S. If you ever do see Etienne again, please tell him I forgive him. For the ritual, for leaving… He is my brother, after all. I cannot hold hate or anger in my heart for him. Hug him for me, if you do see him again. He thinks too much and doesn’t get hugged enough. I should have hugged him more. I should have told him I love him more too.

  Alphonse.

  Delyth clutched the thin paper to her chest and clamped a hand over her mouth, shaking with the force of her sobs.

  Chapter V

  Ninth Moon, Full Moon: Mynydd Gwyllt Clan

  Despite the splints on her fingers, Tanwen’s hand still ached. Of course, her head pounded from time to time, and the bruise on her jaw had not faded. It had only been a handful of days after all. Her physical woes were nothing compared to that of the clan, though.

  Three dead, seven seriously injured, half a dozen more slightly injured; the number of hunters able to go out had dwindled considerably. Tanwen could have wept in relief that this attack had come after the majority of the harvests. Despite farmers being dead or hurt, Mynydd Gwyllt would survive the winter.

  Her people had no idea how to react after the attack. Affronted, afraid, bloodthirsty, or relieved. Some clamored for her to send out hunters to take down the strangers and bring back Gethin. Still, she had others pleading that she do nothing, lest they invoke the wrath of those Gods.

  Niclas, in private, had even said they should be happy that Maoz would be brought back. Of course, he understood Maoz’s return didn’t fix the deaths and injuries, but…

  Tanwen had made him sleep in his own quarters since he had said it. Maoz hadn’t done anything for them in the last three hundred years, and now his devoted followers were dead and harmed? No. That was not her God. Not anymore.

  And it made sense that Enyo was insane. Her followers were idiots that blindly followed a high priestess who bred brutal fighters like Tanwen’s people might breed a horse for its beautiful coat or sound mind.

  Yet, they were Gods, and so Tanwen could see no way to get Gethin back. Or any reason to send people out to hunt for him. How could mere humans fight that?

  A call from the gate drew her from her brooding. There were strangers at the gate. Had they returned? Did the Gods want more from them? A second call said one was known. A woman. A winged woman.

  Her head ached.

  What was she doing here?! Tanwen jogged down the road despite her injuries, and with some assistance, climbed the wall to peer down the opposite side. Indeed, it was Delyth. And some frail, pale boy. He didn’t look as if he could hold a mug of fine ale, let alone a spear or a blade. It was unlikely he was from the temple.

  “Come to see what your precious Goddess has done to my people?” She called, not giving the signal to let them in. Tanwen had already had enough trash in her settlement this moon. She would not let another killer in.

  ༄

>   Once, the sight of Tanwen of the Mynydd Gwyllt might have hurt Delyth. Sent a shot of pain, like an old injury, through the center of her chest. There was a time even the sight of the road leading to her could do it. Years ago.

  Now, Delyth did not think anything could ever hurt her again. Not in the way that leaving Alphonse on that mountainside had. She was broken from it. Raw.

  Tanwen, in comparison, did not even prick.

  It was clear at once that something had happened here. The guards were too-wary, some of them bruised or bloodied. Tanwen was looking as though she’d been beaten to unconsciousness, one side of her face smeared purple.

  Enyo.

  Delyth put a hand to her neck. The bruises were gone, her flesh healed, but her voice still took so much effort to pull from her throat. “Tanwen,” she called, her voice like a rockslide. “Let’s talk. For old time’s sake.”

  Of course, the idea that a gate could keep Delyth out was ridiculous. For a second, she let herself consider what she might do if Tanwen said no, refused to help her find Enyo. Her vision dimmed, black around the edges. It would be so simple. To leap into the air, tear the redhead off that wall like the monster everyone knew Delyth was. She could be out of range before the guards ever raised their bows.

  Beside her, Etienne shifted, and Delyth swallowed. What was wrong with her? She didn’t even have Calamity to blame any longer.

  The redhead’s smirk was unmistakable from her position, looming high over the road. The fact that she could still sneer with her face in that state was impressive. But then Tanwen had always been one for dramatics. “Old times sake? Really? Come on, Del—” She threw the nickname at Delyth like a spear. “You are such a terrible liar.”

  The guards watched unblinkingly, their grips still tight on their spears. These were people who had once admired Delyth, thought her a mighty and fine warrior. Now they glared at her as if she had personally attacked them.