by Liv Savell
“What is it that you want? And who's your new plaything? He looks a bit scrawny for your usual temple types.” Tanwen’s tone was deliberately cruel.
“Just like I said. To talk.”
Delyth wondered if she looked as empty as she felt, staring up at Tanwen. The redhead was shooting untipped arrows, and she didn’t even know it. They came nowhere close to piercing the warrior’s scarred hide.
For a moment, she looked from Tanwen to her warriors, noting their drawn faces, the tight grips on their weapons. They looked as though they expected a fight, as though Delyth and Etienne alone were going to tear through the proud Mynydd Gwyllt settlement.
Unlikely. Though a restless, desperate part of her half wanted to try. If only to find out where Enyo had gone faster.
“What are you afraid of, Tanwen? We’re not even armed, and my friend here is no warrior.”
Tanwen made a choked, insulted sound, and then her head withdrew from view. But those must have been the right words to say because the gates groaned open, and she stalked out, spear clutched in her good hand. Face bruised, hand wrapped and splinted and held to her chest, eyes bright with undirected fury.
She snarled as she approached and gave Etienne a withering glare before squaring up to Delyth.
“You can’t expect me to believe you just so happen to want to talk not five days since your Goddess showed up here with some other God and destroyed my settlement. Killed—” She lifted her hand in example. “Maimed.—What? Did you send her here to exact your revenge for my leaving all those years ago? Did you tell her Maoz’s artifact was here as some sick joke?”
Etienne tensed at Delyth’s side, and she forced herself to take a deep, shuddering breath. He must have seen her clench her fists. She had not been this easy to anger before.
“Yes, Tanwen,” Delyth growled, uncharacteristically cruel. “I summoned a Goddess from the abyss to attack the girl who walked out on me seven years ago.”
Fuck, she needed to be slapped, but somehow Delyth didn’t think that would do anything for their negotiations. “Look, woman, you’ve met Enyo. Do you really think anyone sends her to do anything? She does what she wants! Takes what she wants—”
Delyth was breathing hard, her words becoming more rasping as she got more heated. She swallowed, looked away. Why couldn’t she talk? It’d been weeks! No injury had affected her this long. Refusing to heal…
“She took the spear of Maoz? Did she say anything else?” Etienne spoke up beside her, his voice clear, his eyes focused on Tanwen.
“They took one of my clansmen. They spoke about taking me, but apparently, my sex was a problem for Maoz. A Vassal… That’s the word they used.” Tanwen looked to Delyth again. “What does that mean? Your Goddess taking my people hostage? What will she do to him?”
Delyth and Etienne looked at each other. The mage’s face was still far too easy to read, open and afraid. They both knew exactly what that meant.
Vassal. To think Delyth had once considered it an honor.
Her stomach turned.
“They’re summoning another God,” she said after a long moment, turning back to look at Tanwen. “They’ll use his body to hold Maoz, and it’ll kill him. Slowly at first. Like a disease with no cure. Enyo did it to my—” Delyth squeezed her eyes shut, then forced herself to look at Tanwen. “Someone I loved.”
Etienne stepped forward, squaring his thin shoulders so that his height, well over a head above Tanwen, was evident. “We’re going to stop them,” he said. “To get our friend back. I don’t see why we couldn’t save your clansmen too. Though we could use some help. Food. Weapons. And the last direction Enyo was seen heading.”
“Oh yes—” Tanwen drawled. “I’ll just give Delyth a few of my warriors to command and a nice big sword to wield. I know what she does when she’s angry. Besides—” She tossed her red hair away from her shoulders. “From what I saw of Enyo, your scrawny little friend? She’s hopeless. That bitch slaughtered my people left and right, broke my hand for no reason other than speaking out against her, and then tried to fuck me—Sorry Delyth, guess she’s not as in love with you as you are her.—And I’m not willing to sacrifice more of my people for your personal vendetta.” Tanwen shot Delyth one more look and then turned to leave.
Only to halt at the sight of Niclas standing at the gate. His face was as remote as ever, but the clan leader must have seen something there to make her turn her head and speak. “I’ll let you stay for one night. A hot meal. Even a few rations —For old times sake.”
“Thank you, but I’ll have to decline.” Delyth’s face had gone bone-pale. Her hands were shaking where they hung at her sides. “I’ll not set foot in the home of a coward.”
“Delyth!” Etienne hissed. She knew why he was worried, how much of their supplies they had lost on that mountain top, but she just couldn’t do it. This bitch had no idea what Alphonse had gone through. No right to insult her. And to call this a personal vendetta? It was like she didn’t even care what happened to her clansman, so long as she got to stay safe inside with the rest of her warriors.
“Come on, Etienne, let’s go. The Mynydd Gwyllt care nothing for the man Enyo took, and we’ve got what we came for. We know why she was here.”
Etienne didn’t move, even as Delyth turned her back on Tanwen and started to walk away. “Stop!” he said, his voice strained. “She doesn’t know Alphonse. Her words don’t matter. And we need supplies. Pretending that we don’t is just going to endanger Allee even more.”
Delyth stopped. He’d said the magic words.
For a long moment, she didn’t move, struggling to keep tears from coursing down her cheeks. She wouldn’t cry here. Not in front of Tanwen. Not just because she was angry.
Finally, she turned back around.
Tanwen had turned back to Delyth, her face contorted with anger. Only Niclas’s hand on her shoulder seemed to have stayed her retort. Instead, she exchanged a look with the spiritual leader and her bonded partner before rolling her eyes and stalking off.
Niclas watched Tanwen’s retreating form for a moment longer and then smiled sedately to Delyth and Etienne.
“Pride can be a wonderful thing, but also a crippling vice. I see both you, Priestess Delyth, and War Chief Tanwen have that in common today. Please—” He stepped aside, making the path up into the settlement available to them. “Come. I am certain when tempers and fears alike have cooled, we will find a way to address this calamity.”
✶
As Etienne approached, Niclas nodded. “I am Niclas,” he murmured to the mage, needing no introduction with Delyth. “How is it that you came to be hunting down Priestess Delyth’s Goddess?”
Etienne glanced back at Delyth warily as he walked with Niclas into the settlement. He didn’t think he would call Enyo Delyth’s Goddess. Not after all that had happened. He wondered if the warrior even still considered herself a priestess.
He couldn’t imagine so. She had chosen Allee’s side. It wasn’t his job to say so, though. Delyth would decide what she wanted to be called.
As for how he ended up here…
“I’m Etienne.” The mage met Niclas’s eyes. He seemed like an understanding man. Warm and empathetic. But how much of this tale could he stomach? “It’s a long story…” Etienne said blandly. He couldn’t remember ever understating something so dramatically.
Niclas nodded in some expression of understanding. “I find most stories are. So, Enyo took your friend’s body? As she took Gethin? And what will she do with him?”
“Sort of…”
Enyo had taken over Alphonse’s body as a result of the summoning ritual Etienne had performed in Moxous all those moons ago. It was his fault, her being here now—a result of hubris and boyish impatience.
He would never forgive himself for it. Never atone.
Not if he lived three hundred years.
“With Maoz’s artifact, Enyo and Tristan will be able to summon Maoz from banishment to live within a human V
assal. What Delyth said about it destroying your clansmen is true, but it’ll happen slowly. We hope to stop them before—before they die. Until then, it’ll be like two minds in a single body. Sometimes the God is in control. Sometimes the human.”
“I see. And your friend…” Niclas glanced back at Delyth and lowered his voice. “She was Delyth’s lover? Did she live in the temple as well then? Was she a worshipper of Enyo and offered to be bound together, as Gethin did?”
“No.” Etienne’s voice was dark. “Alphonse didn’t have a choice. Neither she nor I had ever heard of Enyo before…”
Before they had summoned her. For his pride.
But he didn’t want to speak of that, didn’t want to admit it.
This man seemed to know a great deal about Delyth’s past. How had a simple temple priestess become so close with a clan chief? There was much Etienne didn’t understand about Delyth. Perhaps sensing Etienne’s distress, Niclas was quiet for the rest of the walk up to the great hall. Men and women were coming down from the burial grounds, shovels in hand.
“If you’ll excuse me, Priestess Delyth and Etienne, I must oversee the last of the burials. Maoz—” he smiled ruefully, likely recognizing the irony in inciting the teachings of a returning God, “said to mourn the dead and then live your life. Please help yourself to the food in the great hall. I doubt Tanwen is there.”
Etienne glanced back at Delyth. Food sounded good. And they both needed it. Even if Delyth was too angry to admit it. “That sounds good, Niclas. Thank you for your generosity.”
He and Delyth turned in the direction the man had indicated. Towards warmth and rest for the first time in weeks.
Chapter VI
Ninth Moon, Full Moon: Mynydd Gwyllt Clan
Delyth woke slowly, pulling apart lashes glued by salt. She was too warm, the blankets and pillows from the too-lavish bed shoved onto the floor. One arm cradled Alphonse’s journal. The other was flaked with dried blood in the shape of what had been a complicated rune.
She didn’t remember falling asleep, though she must have at some point well into the morning. A good thing too. She was more herself for the few hours rest.
Though she took her time dressing and stowing her things, it was still early when Delyth stepped from the room, so she was surprised to find Etienne waiting for her just outside the door. He had never been an early riser—not like Alphonse— but he looked better than he had since they had fled Thlonandras. Less grey under the eyes.
Even as she looked at him, Etienne pulled himself up taller, filling his chest with a too-big breath. She had an inkling of what was coming, but not enough to prepare herself. “Delyth,” he started, face set in determined lines, “Your new… aggressive attitude is jeopardizing our goal. I know this hurts, but you can't just turn and attack those around you like some—some wounded animal. Not if Allee is the one who’s going to pay for it.”
Delyth flinched. Animal. Monster.
She could do better than this. She had thought herself better than this.
Etienne was bracing himself as though he half expected her to lash out at him. She’d spent enough time doing just that lately. Now, all she could think about was Alphonse’s letter. How she had regretted not telling Etienne how much she cared.
For a long moment, Delyth looked up at the ceiling above them, mastering herself. Then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the pale Ingolan mage. He flinched at first, caught by surprise. Then, finally, awkwardly hugged her back.
“I’ll take care of it,” Delyth told him, stepping away. Her old armor was up around her face. Calm and steady. “I’ll talk to her. If she’ll listen.”
⥣ ⥣ ⥣
* * *
Delyth hadn’t needed any direction when Niclas told her Tanwen would be at her father’s grave. She remembered the place. A hill dotted with the headstones of fallen chiefs painted in soft pastels with the first light of morning. It was still beautiful in its solemn, time-crumbled way. Delyth supposed it always would be. No matter what went on in the lives of those who saw it.
She landed behind Tanwen, several feet away from the newest stone marker. Delyth didn’t have to read it to know who was buried there.
“How long has it been?” she asked, keeping her tone as bland as possible, though her throat was made of stones.
The War Chief’s shoulder tightened as if preparing for a fight. But in a moment, she gushed out a breath of air and brushed her hand over the top of the large stone with reverence. “Two years,” she murmured, and while her tone wasn’t inviting, at least it wasn’t openly hostile. That had to count for something.
When Tanwen looked at Delyth, it was clear she had been crying recently, the kohl around her eyes smeared. She studied Delyth’s wings and the set of her jaw and then shrugged in dismissal.
They would not fight at her father’s graveside, it seemed.
“I can’t help you, Del. Your Goddess beat us down without trying. She wasn’t even out of breath.”
“I’m not asking you to fight her. We’ll do it for you. I just need a sword and provisions.”
Delyth swallowed, remembering Tanwen’s comment about just what would happen if she gave the halfbreed a sword. She supposed that's what the redhead had been telling herself all these years. That she had left because Delyth was dangerous.
Well, maybe she was, but not to simple clan girls.
“If everything goes well, you’ll not hear from Enyo or me again. Unless it is to return your missing warrior.”
The sigh that escaped Tanwen sounded much older than she was. She rubbed at her bruised jaw while she stared at her father’s grave and finally looked away.
“I’ll make a decision this afternoon. Can you wait that long? At the very least, you and your skinny friend would get another two meals. You look like you could use them.” A mild insult and a small smile on her lips.
She always had enjoyed arguing.
Delyth snorted and looked down at herself. She did look a bit rangy these days. Lean and sharp like some ill-fed hound. Well, the sort of things she’d been through would do that to a person.“We cannot afford to wait any longer than that. Every moment we waste here, Enyo draws father away.” Every moment wasted was another with Alphonse caged in her own mind.
Tanwen nodded in understanding. “You’ll have your decision come noontime. Now—Leave me to my father.” A dismissal, but at least she wasn’t spitting insults.
Delyth didn’t bother answering, just spread her wings and leaped into the sky, wheeling high and fast into the rising sun.
⥣ ⥣ ⥣
* * *
Tanwen kept her gaze focused on her children as Niclas spoke. His tendency to invoke her sense of honor and duty had kept her on a straight course for years now. He wasn’t any fun bickering with as he never rose to her bait, and in truth, Tanwen had come to trust his insight. Even when it was against her own clamoring instincts.
She wanted to send Delyth and the boy away. Immediately. Without aid. But Niclas thought differently.
“The people will be angry if we just let Gethin go without a fight. Now, this opportunity has presented itself, perhaps ordained—” Tanwen scoffed, fed up with the Gods. He smiled in mild agreement and pushed on. “We risk very little and stand to profit. Not to mention, if more Old Gods are being summoned, who knows how the world will change? Are you willing to gamble the Clan’s safety that Maoz or the others would be less hostile and violent? What if they are all like Enyo?”
“Fine. Fine, Niclas, we’ll give them weapons and supplies and send them on their futile, doomed mission.” Tanwen stood, ready for this to be over.
“Tanwen. We should send a warrior, a sign of good faith and our commitment to fighting.”
She rounded on Niclas, her eyes wide with disbelief. “What?! And sacrifice another one of our people? That’s insane.”
“Ask for volunteers. Don’t order anyone, but if someone is willing to go…”
Tanwen’s fists clenched an
d unclenched. Of course, he was right. Her people had been restless and edgy since the attack. They were unused to inaction. She had heard mutterings in the hall, discontent. Too many had died or been injured for this slight to go unanswered. The only reason Tanwen hadn’t sent out scouts and warriors was because she knew the enemy was too powerful. But her people were proud and a little foolhardy and brash. They wanted retribution. And if someone volunteered… it wouldn’t be as if she sent them to their death. Would it?
Niclas was waiting, his grey eyes steady on her face, his expression neutral, as if he didn’t care what her answer would be.
“Fine,” she snapped, flinging the word at him with venom. “Fine. I’ll go talk to the warriors now. See who is stupid enough to want to track down a Goddess and invoke her wrath. Oh, and travel with Delyth and that boy.”
⥣ ⥣ ⥣
* * *
“Here—Boy!”. At first, Delyth didn’t react, but when the mage slowed and turned, A sharp voice called from behind Delyth and Etienne, on their way to the great hall she followed his gaze. The woman marching up the hill to him was nearly as intimidating as Delyth, without the wings or height. She had coppery tan skin and bright black eyes that flashed beneath the thick yellow warpaint she wore smeared across her eyes and down her lower lip and chin. She was small but well-muscled, her compact form covered in the usual clan-leather and wool tunic and leggings.
Her black hair was pulled into a wild horsetail at the back of her skull, braided and thick. Nearly matted. The sides of her head were shaved, showing criss-cross scars and nicks. She stopped in front of Etienne and looked him over with blatant appraisal, and then grinned.
“Were you always so skinny and pale, or has chasing around that mad woman made you so?” she asked, planting her hands on her hips and tilting her chin back to gaze into his eyes without blinking.