by Liv Savell
The halfbreed was sure that the comment she made to Etienne would send the boy to arguing, just as he always had with Tristan.
But no. He looked a little…bemused. As though uncertain why one of the warriors here had bothered to address him. “I’m afraid I’ve always been this way,” he said. “But chasing after Enyo certainly hasn’t helped.”
The warrior had to give him that. Etienne had not bulked up on their travels. If anything, he was the least suited to such a vagabond existence. She’d thought little of him this entire time, but how hard must it have been to be placed so completely out of his element? She tried to picture herself doing well in the halls of his school but couldn’t.
She’d go easier on him. For Alphonse.
“I’m Etienne,” he told the girl. “Who are you?”
“Meirin. Well, if you’re tired of being frail, I could teach you some strength-building exercises. Then you might not look like a white stork. Although—” Her dark eyes were dancing as they drifted over to Delyth, her wings. “I suppose you’re in good company.” She smiled again, and not bothering to wait for Etienne’s reaction to her odd offer of help, turned to Delyth.
“Do you remember me, Priestess Delyth? I was much younger when we last met. You taught some of the children fighting techniques. I was among them.”
Delyth shook her head. “I remember teaching, but it was a long time ago. Too long for specific faces.”
Her summer spent with the Mynydd Gwyllt felt like a lifetime ago, but she still remembered the people here fondly. They had been accepting at a time when she had thought she never would be accepted.
Now, she thought she would be an outcast happily if she could only have her lover back.
“Delyth is fine, Meirin. I am a priestess no longer.”
Etienne looked up at that, his pale face pinched in some emotion she couldn’t name. Guilt, perhaps? Or just concern. Either way, it was fleeting. He turned back to Meirin. “Do you know what your War Chief decided? We need to leave as soon as possible.”
“War Chief Tanwen asked the warriors if any one of us would like to go along on your mission. I suppose you’ll just have to wait to see if anyone was interested.” Meirin nodded her chin towards the great hall, where a bell was ringing.“Noontime meal.”
Tanwen was visible upon the steps on the great hall, looking their way with a cross expression. It looked like bad news, but as Etienne and Delyth approached, she could see two large packs, stuffed to bursting, at the War Chief’s feet. So she would give them supplies.
“Here are your packs. Eat, and then I’ll take Delyth to the armory. Do you need a blade as well, boy?” Tanwen asked, tone bordering on sneering. Clearly, she didn’t believe Etienne could proficiently handle a weapon of any kind.
“Yes,” Delyth said before Etienne could open his mouth. “He’ll need a staff.”
He looked at her, his eyes wide, but she ignored him. He would have to learn how to defend himself, and a staff was the quickest option. Delyth brushed past Tanwen and into the hall, intending to eat as quickly as possible so that they might be on their way.
➳
Tanwen settled at her place at the high table, ornate goblet in hand but not eating as the rest of the clansmen who were available for noontime meal greedily gobbled down the contents of their plates. Her stomach was twisting and turning, and every time she looked at Delyth, once again stoic and in control, her heart sputtered. Tanwen had seen her real face, though Delyth’s nasty arguing yesterday had simply proven what Tanwen already knew to be true. The woman was aggressive and unstable.
A beast.
But she was promising to try and get Gethin back, and her people wouldn’t be sated until it seemed as if she was taking some measure for retribution. This was the best course of action.
Still, she hesitated.
The meal was nearly complete when Tanwen rose and the room quieted until all eyes were on her. Usually, Tanwen enjoyed having the full focus of her people, but now she felt itchy and nervous. Straightening her shoulders and throwing out her chest, she smiled broadly. “Priestess Delyth and her companion Etienne are going to hunt down the Goddess Enyo. They have promised to try and save Gethin and their friend, who is infected by the Goddess. Mynydd Gwyllt wishes them good hunting, and to help their efforts, we will provide Priestess Delyth with supplies, weapons, a map, and our blessing. I have asked our warriors, those who were not in the attack, if any would like to join Priestess Delyth and Etienne. To aid in bringing back our friend, Gethin.”
The room started to murmur with whispers and people shifting in their seats. The announcement was being taken favorably. Good. In fact, Tanwen saw a few young, brash men starting to stand in their spots, ready to let blood. She hurried on. “Meirin of Mynydd Gwyllt has agreed. She will be the spear of justice for our clan, and she will aid Priestess Delyth and Etienne in hunting down Enyo. In stopping her from hurting any other clans as she hurt us. For this, we honor Meirin.”
As a group, the clanspeople clapped their fists above their hearts—a symbol of respect and pride.
Meirin hadn’t risen, not much of a showman, but nodded with a tight smile.
“I know many of our brave warriors would want to go and join the hunt, but I cannot allow this. We need patrols; we need hands in the fields. First and foremost, we must keep Mynydd Gwyllt safe from any outside dangers!” She could see the crowd nodding along, faces pulled in solemn contemplation. The fires, which were burning hot, were now dying down again, her people happy that some justice would be measured out.
The knot in her chest loosened when Niclas caught her eye. She had to say it. She had to be the War Chief. “Thank you, Priestess Delyth and Friend Etienne.” She nearly choked on the words. “May your journey be swift and victorious.”
And then, before she could vomit, Tanwen strode for the door. She’d lead Delyth to the armory, and then the bitch would be gone. Finally. And her clan could get back to normal. That was all Tanwen wanted.
༄
Delyth stood to follow Tanwen, keeping her face impassive for all that her stomach churned. These people might believe their War Chief’s words, but she knew how little the redhead actually meant that blessing.
When Etienne moved to stand, Delyth placed a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. He needed to finish his meal. They wouldn’t get food like this on the road. Might not even be able to stop for supplies for a long while. And it wasn’t as if he knew how to pick out a weapon. She would get him something serviceable so that he might have some hope of protecting himself in the coming moons.
Tanwen’s shoulders were tense on the way to the armory, so Delyth kept quiet. Yesterday’s fire had burnt low in her belly, leaving her tired and aching. She didn’t feel up to a verbal sparring match just then.
Tanwen hauled open the heavy wooden door to the armory and stepped aside. The walls were lined with spears, shields, clubs, axes, bows and arrows, daggers, staffs, and—of course—swords. Of various lengths, weights, and curves.
Mynydd Gwyllt was shored up like an army—not that it had helped them against Enyo’s attack.
The redhead moved to lean against the wall, watching Delyth test several weapons before speaking. “You said that girl was your lover? The one Enyo is using?”
Delyth reached up to test the feel of a bastard sword, similar in length and shape to Calamity. For a second, she flinched, half expecting the bite of anger to taint her mind, only nothing happened. It was just a sword. Just metal and leather. Nothing malicious.
Her lover. It sounded cheap, in a way. Alphonse was right. The word wasn’t quite big enough.
“Yes,” Delyth said simply, drawing the sword. The balance was good; the steel rippled along its length. The Mynydd Gwyllt had always done well when it came to weapons. The dagger at her waist was proof enough, and she wondered if Tanwen had noticed that she still carried it. Would she care?
The sword slid back into its sheath with a snick before Delyth belted it on,
the weight familiar between her wings. It felt right, somehow, to be armed again. As though she had been bare without a blade to clothe her.
“She looked very… small,” Tanwen murmured, eyes glued to Delyth’s back as the warrior moved to the wall of staves, estimating Etienne’s height and determining the right length for him.
Delyth tucked a decent staff under her arm and turned to look for a dagger. How the boy had managed for so long without a good one was beyond her.
“She is small,” she said, “And soft. Gentle. What of it, Tanwen?”
She took a breath, trying to keep her mind on the task. He wouldn’t need anything particularly fancy or even particularly deadly. Functional was best. It wasn’t like she’d have time to teach him knife fighting.
No, the staff would be his safest bet. It didn’t take much time to master a few basic moves, and that would be more than enough against bandits and the like.
As for the Gods…
Well, hopefully, he would have his magic back by then.
“Small and gentle wasn’t your type. I was just… Surprised to learn she was your lover… I mean…”
Because Delyth was tall and muscled? Because she was a warrior?
Because she was a monster?
Delyth finally turned to Tanwen, weapons in hand, and took three quick steps to close the distance between them. She caught the clan leader by surprise, just like she’d intended to, the woman stepping back, eyes wide beneath a swath of red hair.
“She is small and gentle and has never once raised a hand in violence,” Delyth whispered. “But, Tanwen, she wouldn’t have flinched.”
Delyth backed away, her mask still in place, stoicism just hiding the turmoil beneath. She was tired of this game. Tired of talking about Alphonse with Tanwen as though they were anything alike. “Thank you, War Chief, for your assistance with our task.”
Tanwen’s cheeks were stewed-cherry red, and she pushed herself off the wall as soon as Delyth backed off. Her good hand clenched and unclenched at her side. Did she want to throw a punch? Delyth almost wished she would.
Instead, Tanwen sneered. “I was just asking because Meirin is going with you. She’s a strong fighter but smaller and closer to dainty. Like your precious lover. I suggest you try not to fuck her if you can manage it.”
Tanwen gave Delyth a final accusatory glance before she was flouncing off, clearly in a fit. Delyth let her go without deigning to reply. Tanwen had her clan and her family and the life she’d always wanted. At least in part.
Let her try to be happy with it. Delyth had far larger problems than frightened little war chiefs. Thinking of Alphonse had taken any sting from Tanwen’s spiteful words.
When she got back to the hall, Etienne was finished eating, his leg bouncing beneath the table as though he was eager to get back on the road. Delyth handed him his new weapons, smiling slightly when his eyes widened. She was willing to bet he’d be less excited when it came time to learn how to use them, but she’d let him have it for now.
“Let’s find Meirin and get moving. We have a few Gods to find, after all.”
Chapter VII
Ninth Moon, Full Moon: South of the Mynydd Gwyllt Clan
“This is where the trail ends. I bet they crossed the river or followed along on the bank, but since it is a rocky bed, there is little way to know. No footprints, no underbrush that has been disturbed.” Despite the disfavorable pronouncement, Meirin didn’t seem upset. She looked slowly left, and then right, but as she had said, the rock surface made it impossible for them to find any indication of which way the Goddess and her captive had gone.
As it was, the trail was erratic. It weaved through the forest proper, with sudden changes in direction only to return to the original route. When Meirin had asked what this could mean, Delyth and Etienne had explained that Enyo was prone to chase whatever caught her eye.
They had come across a clearing not two hours hike from the settlement where every tree and every bush had been disturbed, the dead leaves piled up in a perfect circle lining the center of the clearing, which was empty of any debris.
She had never seen anything like it before, so strange and unnatural. Etienne and Delyth had discussed it for a long time and finally concluded that they must have used Maoz’s artifact to bring him back and bind him into Gethin’s body. The site looked much like other things had that they experienced with the Gods.
Still, they were determined, and Meirin had to respect that tenacity if nothing else.
She straightened up from the water's edge and tugged on one of her dreaded braids. “Priestess—Sorry. Delyth. Perhaps you could fly up and see if you can spot any indication of their path?” It was the obvious answer in this situation. Or so it seemed to her.
✶
The mage turned to Meirin, appraising her silently. “We have… another way to find Enyo.” Delyth opened a fingertip with her gilded dagger to trace a sigil onto the bare skin of her forearm. “Meirin, just how much do you know about magic?”
He wanted to introduce her to the idea gently, if possible. He had been shocked by the use of blood magic, but she was from Thloegr…
Dark eyes flickered to Delyth’s blood and then to Etienne’s face. “Not much. The Mynydd Gwyllt forgot those ways long ago. The spiritual leaders do a few rituals, but…” She shrugged, watching with guarded interest. “What is it that you are doing?”
Etienne watched as the magic took effect, and Delyth leaned back, sucking in a lungful of air. He’d never asked what it felt like to feel the surge of that magic. To know, suddenly, where Alphonse was.
Perhaps he’d know in time. If he managed to learn blood magic.
“She’s… closer than I thought she would be,” Delyth breathed, as though she hadn’t heard Meirin’s question. Perhaps she hadn’t. “South. And a little to the east of us.”
Etienne nodded, and then because this probably made little sense to the clan warrior, he turned to explain it to Meirin. “She’s using blood and runes to power a spell that can tell us where the Gods are.”
Simple enough. Except that it left out the part where it only worked because Enyo had drunk so much of Delyth’s blood in the moons leading up to Thlonandras. Even now, even after everything that had happened, it still made his skin crawl.
Meirin watched, her face set in uncertain lines even as she turned southward. “But why is Delyth doing the magic? She was a warrior priestess. They aren’t specifically trained to do such things. And you said you were Ingolan, from that fancy school.” Her words were leading and pointed.
He should be doing the magic. Otherwise, what was his role in all of this? He wasn’t a warrior, he wasn’t a tracker, he certainly wasn’t an expert on the Old Gods. Etienne sighed.
“It is true that the temple warriors are not trained in the old ways, but there are still those that practice them. The woman who raised me was one,” Delyth said, and Etienne blinked in surprise. He had not known that about her, had just assumed that blood magic was common in Thloegr.
But then, this was not quite the land of heathens he had been led to believe in Ingola.
“That fancy school doesn’t teach blood magic,” he said, even knowing it was a paltry excuse. And that it was not the reason he could not be the one that found Alphonse.
“Etienne,” Delyth said, her voice low, “she deserves the entire story.”
The mage rubbed his chest. It was not a pleasant tale, and it did not paint him well, but Delyth was right. If Meirin was going to help them face Enyo, she deserved to know.
So, while they walked, Etienne spoke. He told Meirin of his friendship with Alphonse, how he had convinced the girl to help him with an ancient spell. How that spell had summoned a creature of fire that changed Alphonse in frightening ways. He told her of their journey to get rid of the shadow. Of meeting and traveling with a warrior priestess who was determined to protect Enyo’s vassal, of the struggles of dealing with the Goddess, of the joys of getting to know new companions. When h
e got to the part where they had met Tristan, he described the rogue as normal. Rude and lecherous. But not god-like.
Etienne didn’t even leave out the cave, for all that Delyth turned away, sunk into herself at the mention of it. He spared no detail of the fight with bandits or his own betrayal and subsequent flight to the temple. By the time he got to their battle on the mountaintop, he was hoarse, but Etienne plowed on, speaking of Delyth’s attempt to get the basin away, of Enyo’s cruelty and Alphonse’s kiss. He didn’t end until their arrival at the Mynydd Gwyllt so that she would know it all. His loss of magic. Their desperate race.
༄
Meirin had the gift of being able to listen. She didn’t interrupt, not once, and while she nodded or frowned from time to time, she kept her opinions to herself while Etienne spoke. Darkness was blooming by the time he was done with the tale, and Delyth busied herself with setting up camp. She had a bland soup boiling over the fire when Meirin sat down across from her and Etienne.
“That’s a good story. A few things are clear to me now. The only use you had, Etienne, was magic. You are not strong, you do not fight; in my clan’s terms, you are a coward. You fled and didn’t participate in the battle against the bandits. If we are to succeed against Enyo and Tristan, and I suppose Maoz now, you must change. If your magic is gone—” She flipped her hand, uncaring. There was nothing she could do about magic. Why worry about it? “Then you must learn other skills that make you valuable—fighting, or hunting, or perhaps scouting. Plenty of us live our entire lives without magic and manage just fine. You will too.”
Her dark eyes darted to Delyth now, her gaze appraising. “You, Delyth—I wonder if you should even be on this journey. You say you bound yourself to the Goddess on your last night together. What if we come upon her and she orders you to stand down. Or to turn and kill us instead? It seems risky. Of course, you could be useful against Maoz or Tristan, but they are with Enyo. I have heard you are an incredible warrior. I saw you train first hand, though it was some years ago. Should the Goddess make you attack me, I do not know how long I would withstand the onslaught.” Her honesty was brutal and concise.