by Liv Savell
Listen to him, using Delyth’s term for the Wildlander blood magic she was teaching him. He didn’t even want to think about what the Moxous masters would say if they could hear him now. But, he needed to learn this if he was going to aid their fight with Enyo. And if Meirin knew a faster way…
She yanked her pack open to pull out supplies. Heaving herself to her feet, Meirin handed Etienne a stake. She found a large stone and hefted it. “Hit the stake into the ground in front of your tent—There.” She pointed to a spot left of the entrance and turned to find a rock of her own, crouching to tamp her stake into the right side. “This is an ancient ritual my father taught me when I was small.” When she was done, a few inches of the stake stuck out above the dirt, the rest driven down deep.
She looped the end of the rope she had brought over and tied it. Stretching it tight, she knotted that side off as well until the line was taut, six inches off the ground, anchored by the two stakes.
“Now, here’s the magic of it…” She gestured for Etienne to come closer, to watch as she drew a symbol into the dirt before his tent.
Curiously, Etienne bent down to better make out the symbol she had scraped into the dirt, only to find a simple arrow pointing inwards.
He snorted with laughter. “You know, I can just see Enyo falling for this. She’d be in a killing mood after, but it would almost be worth it, just to see her fall for the trick.” He snickered, then chuckled, then let it bloom into a full belly laugh. He could just see the Goddess now, indignant as a wet cat.
Only much, much more dangerous.
That thought sobered him a little, but he was still smiling when he looked at Meirin. “This is just what we need. It’ll fool them, for sure.”
She snickered and brushed away the arrow with the palm of her hand. “You can keep the supplies. I brought more.” Of course, she had. Meirin elbowed him playfully, albeit a bit painfully, in the side. “Try not to fret about the magic, Etienne. You’re in your head too much as it is. It slows you down. Your body knows what to do. If you’d just trust it.”
Etienne ran his hands through his hair again, suddenly a little awkward. “Yeah,” he said, looking away. “I know. It’s just new to me, I guess… Trusting anything but my mind.”
It was all he had needed at school: his mind and his magic.Only now, one was gone and the other useless.
“With the training for your body you receive every morning, you will start to understand it better. And if that doesn’t work, I’m certain I can knock sense into you.” Her teeth flashed in the firelight, and Meirin turned to hunker down. She rarely erected her own tent, calling it “too much of a bother.”
As unpleasant as the idea of having the sense knocked into him seemed, Etienne was smiling as he turned towards his tent, carefully stepping over the tripwire he and Meirin had lain. He was glad that the clan warrior had come with them, and not just for the help she would be in a fight.
“Night, baker,” he said playfully and slipped inside to sleep.
⥣ ⥣ ⥣
* * *
In the wan light of early morning, Delyth slipped Alphonse’s journal from her bag. She knew she should share the words written there with Etienne, that he would find comfort in them as well, but still, even after weeks of carrying it close, she could not bring herself to do so. With a difficult fight before them and such a slim chance of success, the journal felt like her last tie to Alphonse now more than ever. So, once again, alone miles from camp, Delyth opened the journal to read.
Fifth Moon, Waning Crescent
Today, a new man joined our group. He is called Tristan, and he has cunning eyes and a sly smile. One arm is covered in red and black tattoos, and he carries twin daggers. He says he comes from a Master who knew of Enyo’s return and was sent to aid the Goddess to her temple and her “Basin.”
I cannot understand how Tristan’s master would know of Enyo’s return, but then Delyth’s temple knew too. Perhaps I simply do not understand the way of Gods—the magic they use and the ripples it sends out into Illygad.
I do know this: I have woken up in his arms, and while it was most alarming to suddenly be in a stranger’s embrace, his touch was not cruel, and I found no harm had been done to my form. Of course, Delyth and Etienne were furious. They are both such fierce protectors, in different ways. Etienne uses his words, which—I hate to admit—seem ineffective against Tristan’s sharp tongue. Delyth makes herself a shield.
Still, I do not believe Tristan means to harm me. As I reemerged from wherever I go when Enyo is in control, I recall feeling comfortable and cared for. This Tristan made Enyo happier than she had been in some weeks. For that, I am grateful. When Enyo is happy, I feel her claws less keenly in my heart.
I understand that a piece of her craves contact. Wants a friend. I feel it too. Though with Delyth and Etienne, I am lucky with my friends. And Delyth is a good addition. I had such trouble making female friends at Moxous, but Delyth is not like those girls. She isn’t concerned with looks or status. She is easy to talk to. To be around.
While the addition of Tristan complicates the binding spell Etienne and I hope to do, I am hopeful his joining us will sate Enyo’s temper and calm the pounding in my head. I have not told anyone, but with each sunrise, my heart feels heavier. My head feels clouded. Enyo is strong.
And hungry.
⥣ ⥣ ⥣
* * *
Meirin was stirring up the coals of the firepit as Delyth landed. Hopefully, the winged warrior had been scouting the path ahead. They would leave the forest completely behind today and make it out onto the open plains of Thloegr. A dangerous prospect, given how the visibility would make them vulnerable.
Still, the runes had said Enyo, Maoz, and Tristan were headed that way. So they would go.
“I was thinking about reheating the root vegetables from last night’s meal. Does that sound reasonable to you, Delyth?” Meirin offered, sitting back from the fires growing heat to rummage around in her pack.
Pulling out the muddy paste that was her war paint, she unwrapped it carefully and took off the lid. Dabbing her forefinger in the yellow stuff, Meirin started the slow process of reapplying it to her eyes and chin.
Delyth nodded, her face set in that stone-calm that she wore so often. “Thank you, Meirin.”
The warrior set about tearing down her tent, packing it carefully around her few things. Meirin had all but finished applying her paint when Etienne fell out of his tent and hit the ground hard, his hair and clothes mussed from sleep.
To Meirin’s surprise, Delyth snorted. It was very nearly a laugh.
The clanswoman couldn’t manage that level of composure. She doubled over in fits of laughter. The trip line they had left up the night before was tangled about his feet, and in his sleepy state, Etienne hadn’t even thrown out his arms to catch himself. Just landed face-first in the dirt.
When the brunette had finally caught her breath, tears leaking out of her eyes and ruining her warpaint, she jumped up with a triumphant “ha!” Running over to Etienne, she hopped up and down joyfully and pointed. “Look! I am a mage! Did you see? My wards worked!” She crowed like a wild creature but then did offer the mage a hand up. “Good use of your head there, Etienne. It really softened the fall.”
༄
Delyth watched as Etienne used Meirin’s proffered hand to try to pull her off her feet, only for the clan girl to laugh harder when he failed. “That was at least half your fault,” he growled at her, smiling despite the embarrassment that tinted his cheeks. “The tripwire was your idea after all.”
It was nice that they got along so well—pleasant change from the constant bickering between Tristan and Etienne before. Besides, it was kind of a relief to have them focused on each other. Companionship had never before felt like such a burden.
“I take full credit. Had you only been Maoz, we’d be all set now.” She dusted off his front vigorously and then slapped him on the back for good measure.
“Ready to
spar?”
Etienne groaned dramatically. “Haven’t I fallen on my face enough this morning?”
Still, he went and fetched his staff, moving far enough away from the tents to keep from disturbing them, and when Meirin joined him, he launched himself at her, spinning the staff in one of the moves Delyth made him practice evening after evening.
⥣ ⥣ ⥣
* * *
Delyth led the way into the grasslands later that morning, her neck crawling as she stepped out from beneath the trees. The warrior was not afraid of open places—she loved the freedom of a wide-open sky— but there was something strange about being on the ground and yet completely bare of cover. Anyone might see them and attack.
All through the morning, Delyth was on edge, adjusting the lay of her sword or glancing over her shoulder while the other two chattered. Something just felt…
Off. Like an impending storm or the moments before a lightning strike.
A few hours in, she even opened a cut on her thumb to retrace the rune of the tracking spell, checking for the second time that day that Enyo was well south of them, unlikely to attack. The distance between them had narrowed some, but not enough to put them in danger.
Delyth set her jaw. Whatever was making her so uneasy would not come in the form of the Gods.
No, it would come dressed in rags and rusted weapons.
Sometime after midday, several figures appeared in the distance, walking in the opposite direction as Delyth and her companions. The nearer they drew, the tenser she became.
When the strangers were close enough to size up, she understood why. These were not bandits like those she and Alphonse and the others had faced in the mountains, poor farmers desperate for food. These were hardened men and women who made their living off others’ misfortune, be it as mercenaries for warring clans or raiders stealing from travelers and merchants alike. They made no pretense of going past, instead moving to block the road. Others were likely circling around behind them.
Consummate professionals, Delyth supposed. But they would die just as easily.
The warrior pulled her sword from its sheath even as one of the raiders called out, her blood singing so that she could hardly make out his words. “Let’s take this nice and easy,” he was saying. “Put down your bags and your weapons if you would like to live.”
Delyth ignored him, stepping forward and raising her sword. She needed to live to see her task through. But as for him, he would not leave the dirt he stood on.
“Wait!” Etienne’s voice cut through the roar in Delyth’s ears, and she shook her head as though trying to rid herself of some buzzing insect. She had been craving a battle for weeks now. She would not let his cowardice stand in the way.
No. She would lose herself in the tang of blood and sword sparks, and for a time, she would not feel. These men were monsters. They deserved nothing less.
“Delyth!” Etienne’s hand was on her arm now. “Not everything has to end in bloodshed.”
The man leading the bandits chuckled, and Delyth shook Etienne off her arm, taking another step forward. “Listen to the boy, woman. Put down your sword, and we won’t fuck you with it when we’re done.”
Etienne was relentless, though. “You’re not protecting anyone, Delyth,” he said. “Would you want Allee to see you now?” Finally, she looked at him, teetering on the edge of abandon. “There’s got to be another way. Meirin, tell them you’re with the Mynydd Gwyllt. I doubt they want that kind of trouble.”
Meirin’s eyes widened and then became thoughtful as she looked towards the bandits, who were clearly preparing to fight as well. Hands on weapons, teeth clenched. She dropped her spear and reached into the pocket of her trousers. Pulling out something akin to an amulet, she held it up for all to see. The bandits paused in their preparations and peered across the distance at the golden coin in her hand. Meirin strode forward, seemingly unafraid of entering the group of ruffians who bristled at her approach. When she handed over whatever it was in her hand, the man leading the band inspected it with a peevish glare. Words were exchanged and Meirin laughed in that freeing manner she had before returning to where Etienne and Delyth stood. “I forgot War Chief Tanwen gave me her sigil, should we run into any trouble. No one likes to tangle with the Mynydd Gwyllt Clan. Even these hard folk.” Behind Meirin, the bandits regrouped and argued amongst themselves.
A few still looked keen on the idea of attacking, but the rest were nodding in agreement or understanding of whatever their leader was saying.
“Good thinking Etienne. I suppose your mind isn’t completely useless after all.” Meirin knelt to pick up her spear again as the group of rogues started to trickle past. How quickly that had turned around. How quickly it could have gone badly.
Delyth let her sword tip point towards the ground but didn’t sheath it until the bandits were well down the road. She was breathing hard, trying to regain some semblance of herself.
She had not even considered the option of peace, not even tried to find a way around the slaughter. Were it Calamity in her hand and not a mundane weapon, would she have even been able to refrain from the bloodshed? Or would she just have killed them all? Slaughtered them like they were meat rather than thinking, feeling human beings?
Bile rose in her throat, and she struggled not to lose it. When had Delyth become the monster she’d tried so long to prove she wasn’t?
Finally, Delyth put her sword away, turning to find Etienne smiling at Meirin. “That could have definitely gone worse,” he said. “It's a good thing you had that sigil.”
The warrior closed her eyes. She had been good before she had met Alphonse. Why was it so hard to escape the darkness now that she was gone?
How much worse would it be if she completely lost her freedom to Enyo?
When she opened them, the battle lust was gone, and in its wake, Delyth just felt tired. “We ought to get going again,” she said. “To keep from losing more time.”
⫸
For a long time, Meirin walked in silence. It had been strange how aggressively Delyth had reacted to the bandits. How ready she had been to attack without any attempt at negotiations. Meirin supposed they had been bandits—people who made a living preying on others. Perhaps that was enough reason for Delyth to draw her sword.
Meirin shook her head, squinting against the afternoon sun. Thank the Gods it had finally started to cool off—it had been such a warm fall in the lands below the mountains. The warpaint over her eyes helped reflect some of the light, and so she found herself without the splitting headache that generally came with walking for miles. Still, the warrior was ready for a rest when something large started to appear on the horizon. As they passed over the Afonneidr River, Meirin realized it was a building.
She had never seen something so tall that had been made by human hands. It rose up out of the plains in a perfectly symmetrical column, higher than any tree. Sandstone blocks climbing above the plains. Mynydd Gwyllt was considered a mighty clan, with many buildings and many resources, yet they had nothing close to the magnitude of the tower.
How had the people who constructed it gotten the stones piled up so high? How had they made it so sharp and square? Mynydd Gwyllt built along natural lines, following the curves of the earth.
She swallowed back her surprise and intimidation as Etienne and Delyth did not seem impressed. The runes Delyth had marked pointed towards the tower, and so that was where they would go. But after an hour of walking and the behemoth structure only looming larger and larger, Meirin had to ask. “What is it?” Why had the Gods come here? Why had they left such a magnificent creation?
✶
When Delyth did not immediately answer, Etienne considered the question. He had studied the maps of this region before he and Alphonse had left on their journey to Thloegr. Even the maps kept by the school of Moxous had marked this place, outdated as they were. It must have been standing exactly as it was for hundreds of years.
That thought was enough to co
w him. The tower was not excessively impressive by the standards of Ingolan architecture, but the fact that it had stood so untouched by time when even Enyo’s temple had begun to fall to ruins… It was outstanding. Perhaps there were enchantments laid upon the very stone, sung into it at its quarrying, and whispered over the mortar to bind it tight for centuries.
If so, how much blood had been spilled to bind something so mighty?
When he spoke, it was in reverent tones. “The name of this tower has long been forgotten, but in the records still kept by Moxous, it was considered a place of worship and prayer.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “There was something else too, some connection to death. Perhaps a tomb. Or a God of Death.”
“A tomb? What, you mean the dead aren’t buried or burned here? Just put in a stone box?” For some reason, that idea seemed to unsettle Meirin more, her mouth tightening in displeasure. “Why would the Old Gods come here?”
Etienne shrugged. The idea wasn’t particularly strange to him. Above-ground tombs or mausoleums were particularly common in coastal Ingola, where frequent flooding made burial both inconvenient and dangerous to the water supply. “All of Thloegr belonged to the Old Gods at one point, didn’t it? Perhaps one of them carved out a place here.”
“You mean like a temple?” Meirin’s voice sharpened.
“Something like that.” Etienne didn’t think it much looked like a temple, but the writings about it had suggested as much. If the Old Gods were returning to another temple, perhaps they were still searching out their own kind.
Delyth seemed impatient with this speculation, speeding up so that she reached the tower before the others. She made a full circuit of the building, her wings pulling tight in one of her few displays of concern.
“What is it?” Etienne asked, peering past her at the stone. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with it.