by Liv Savell
“Mortal,” he murmured, his voice far deeper than it had ever been as Gethin. Meirin shuddered and averted her gaze. She couldn’t make herself look into Gethin’s friendly face and see something cold and distant instead.
༄
“Your little mortal slut is dead, Ba’oto! And you’re going to follow her!”
The warrior grit her teeth against Enyo’s screams, straining for more height. The weight of Alphonse's body was no great strain on her wings, and yet her thrashing made charting a course through the air difficult and uncomfortable.
No matter. It would be all the easier to deposit her into a rune trap from above.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Enyo,” Delyth snarled. “All three of us are going to live a nice, long time. And even after Alphonse and I are dead, you’ll still be rotting in banishment.”
Below them, Etienne had almost reached the traps, Tristan steadily gaining behind her. Delyth’s best bet would be to get the rogue ensnared first so that she could drop Enyo into a trap at her leisure. Shaking Enyo to keep her still, Delyth turned a wide circle, giving Etienne a few more precious moments.
Enyo sunk her teeth into the leather of Delyth’s boot with an unhinged howl, oblivious to the sight below of Meirin running to catch up, Maoz following diligently behind. The clouds overhead rumbled and darkened with ominous flickers of lightning, a reflection of the turmoil within Enyo. The wind was making it harder and harder to fly.
The Goddess spat out a chunk of leather and reached up to Delyth’s knee, gripping it with unbelievable strength, her fingers digging into the warrior’s flesh. Blood welled up beneath Enyo’s nails, and she began to climb up Delyth’s body. “You’ll pay, and I’ll yank your precious, pathetic girl out from the depths I shoved her into just to watch you suffer, you stinking, traitorous, beautiful bitch!”
Tristan was below, shouting something up at them, but it was impossible to make it out above the din of the storm and Enyo’s ranting.
✶
Finally, Etienne skidded to a halt behind the traps they had laid earlier; a mix of his blood and Delyth’s swirled into elaborate runes. He stood still for a moment, breathing heavily, and then dropped his bag to the ground to retrieve his journal. It had been moons since he had written down the spell for banishing the Goddess, but it was still legible in his clear, sure hand.
Above, Delyth wheeled towards him again, Enyo writhing where she hung from Delyth’s leg and Tristan following behind, his neck craned up to look at them. Meirin was heading straight towards the traps as well, a little behind but gaining fast. Maoz’s eyes were fixed upon her, staring. Hungry, almost.
Etienne shuddered and then closed his eyes to all of them. He had to focus.
Tristan arrived first, tearing his eyes away from Delyth and Enyo long enough to lunge at Etienne. “What are you planning, you worthless—” and then he was trapped, screaming uselessly and unable to move more than a pace in any direction.
Delyth came next, dropping out of the sky so that Enyo hit the trap feet first with a thud before throwing herself free in a tangle of arms and wings. She landed heavily but pushed herself up quickly enough, turning towards him. “Now, Etienne!” Already Meirin and Maoz were nearly upon them.
Enyo threw herself against that invisible wall, screaming, spittle flying from her lips. Her face contorted in fury, and she didn’t look anything like a human anymore. She was foaming at the mouth—a rabid animal that ought to be put down.
Meirin rushed past with a look of desperation, Maoz prowling behind. The Hunter God didn’t seem to be moving fast enough to stumble into one of the traps, he was still steps away when the earth shuddered. Etienne barely kept his footing, and Meirin shrieked as she fell. Even Enyo was distracted; she quieted, looking around. The ground heaved again, knocking Etienne and Delyth into each other hard enough to make sparks dance across his vision. He dropped the book and snatched it back up from the ground.
Enyo was shouting again, her voice muffled by the trap, but she wasn’t looking at Delyth anymore. She was staring at Tristan, who in turn looked frozen.
A crack of lightning flew through the air and blasted the land between them, scattering dirt and chunks of rock. Smoke rose from the charred earth, and Enyo slunk down to her haunches. She looked afraid in the still, staring way of a rabbit that had spotted the wolf.
༄
In the wake of lightning, silence followed. Delyth staggered to her feet, hauling Etienne up as she went. Everything was strangely muffled, a buzz where before there had been screams, the rush of wind. She shook the mage to get his attention. “Etienne, keep going before she kills us all!” Her words sounded distant even to her and Etienne couldn’t seem to hear at all. “Etienne! The spell!” She was screaming now; she could feel it in the rawness of her throat.
Delyth had assumed that Enyo would not have control of the weather once in the rune trap, but no one else could have called this storm, this lightning. They would have to hurry, to bind her as quickly as possible.
Shaking, Etienne turned back to his work, blood streaming from a cut he opened in his arm to join smoking herbs in a bowl at his feet. His voice was nothing but a drone to Delyth’s ears, but he appeared to be uttering the spell forcefully, his expression grim but confident.
Only, nothing seemed to be happening. No change came over the Goddess in her invisible cage.
Instead, all was quiet. The remains of the crater quivered, tendrils of smoke bending, parting like a curtain for a dark, man-shaped figure. Only, no man could have hair as red as paint and eyes as black as pitch. No man would have delicately pointed ears nor tattoos of vines and flowers ebbing and flowing over his skin, as if swaying in a breeze.
No man could make Enyo mute and Maoz hesitate. Even Tristan seemed surprised.
“Mother,” the man purred, his voice rich and beautiful to behold. Dark eyes darted to Tristan, and he smiled, exposing teeth with long canines. “Father.”
“Mascen,” Tristan called, his voice long and lazy. “You’re quite a way from home, son. What brings you to our side of the ocean?” Delyth drew her sword, ignoring the warning shake of Etienne’s head.
⫸
Meirin watched from the ground, scrabbling backward. Where had this man come from? And why was he calling the mortal, Tristan, father?! He seemed to have stepped from the fulmination that had struck the plains, and he stank of otherworldly power.
They hadn’t counted on a third God joining them, and Etienne looked as if he were struggling already. Meirin edged towards Etienne when the stranger’s dark eyes locked her in place.
“So many little friends, you’ve brought together, father. I’m hurt that you didn’t invite me. You know I haven’t had a good festival in years.” Meirin felt her gut churn at the idle way the stranger—Tristan had called him Mascen—sauntered closer to the contained Gods. Not at all intimidated or afraid.
What kind of lunatic wouldn’t be afraid of Enyo?
His gaze slithered over Enyo, where she crouched, teeth bared in what might have been a hiss if she were making any sound. Had she been a cat, her fur would have been on end. He leaned forward, gaze unblinking, and Enyo pressed back against the rune barrier. A trapped animal.
“That’s a clever little trick —What, Mother? Can’t you escape this human magic? How pathetic you are now.”
“Mascen,” Enyo croaked, somehow terrible and vulnerable at once.
He grinned and, with a flip of his wrist, pushed through the magic holding Enyo in place. “You should have stayed asleep,” he murmured, his tone sweet, intimate. He might have been speaking to a lover. Enyo scrambled for the blade strapped to her pack, only to stiffen as his fingers met flesh, closing around the thin bones of Alphonse’s wrist. A scream ripped from her throat. Where he touched, smoke rose.
Mascen merely looked interested in what was happening to the Goddess, veins of black tracing their way up her forearm and elbow, snaking towards her shoulder and neck.
Tristan s
houted, striking at his prison until his nails tore and spit flew from his lips. Maoz lunged forward, and Etienne fumbled in the dirt, perhaps trying for magic or runes, but neither moved with the speed or ferocity of the winged woman. Meirin had barely lifted her spear by the time Delyth had raised her sword and attacked. Her face was granite, and her movements a blur, impossible to track.
✶
Etienne stumbled backward, away from the violence, his hands trembling and his face ashen. This creature, whatever he was, was no mortal, his powers strange and deadly even to Enyo. They could not hope to beat him. Better to run, to leave this place while he was still distracted.
At least, if he killed the Goddess, Alphonse would be trapped no longer.
Only, Delyth was moving in to attack, the long, finely made sword in her hands. She moved faster than Etienne had ever seen her, drawing the point through the meat of Mascen’s thigh then up and across his back.
Any human man would be dying, flayed open by the wounds, but this God hardly flinched. Instead of blood, something slow and thick oozed from his back. Red and crusting black. It hardened in the open air and then crumbled away seconds later, leaving his skin and clothing untouched. Etienne gaped in horror. This was no God in a human’s body but in his natural form, untouchable by common steel.
Mascen turned to appraise Delyth curiously where she was already raising her sword for another dizzying barrage of attacks, only this time, even she was too slow. In a movement Etienne could not perceive, Mascen backhanded the warrior, sending her skidding into the dirt, her clothes and wings tearing beneath her.
Etienne gripped his staff. He could run now. They were all too distracted to see him. He could make it back to Moxous, tell them he and Alphonse had parted ways. Go back to his studies, easy and familiar in a world of rising Gods.
But he had made a vow, and he would not break because things had gotten more difficult.
Etienne threw himself forward, swinging his staff overhead so that it thudded heavily into Mascen’s temple. He had to get the God’s attention away from Delyth.
Despite the blow, Mascen merely grunted, unimpressed. He didn't even bother to retaliate, instead returning to his original pursuit.
༄
Delyth pushed herself to her feet, bruised and bleeding from dozens of small cuts. This God had sent her flying with ridiculous ease, more powerful than Enyo had been in any encounter she’d had with the Goddess.
“I recognize my mother’s pets when I see them, priestess,” Mascen murmured, prowling forward with the same eerie grace that Enyo possessed. “You should be happy to die as a sacrifice for her, though she too will join you. How easy this has been. A bit disappointing, really.” He reached for Delyth, fingers shimmering with heat. Is that what he had done to Enyo? Burned her from the inside?
Had Alphonse felt it?
Even as Delyth hefted her blade, a spear thudded into his flesh. In heartbeats, lava welled up to burn through the wooden shaft, breaking it off and covering the wound. He turned with a snarl where Meirin hurried to collect rocks to pelt him with. Her hands shook, but her face was set in a mask of forced calm. On his other side, Etienne did the same, pale but determined.
They were trying to save her, trying to keep Mascen’s attention turned away. They were both so brave, but it wouldn’t last. He would kill them effortlessly, tossing their bodies like their little stones. And then, he would turn to Enyo. He would take the wrist that Delyth had once kissed and drive those horrible, black veins into Enyo and Alphonse until they were both destroyed.
For the first time in her life, the warrior stood facing an opponent without any heat in her breast. She felt no battle fury, no bloodlust—only a deep, frightening cold. Delyth named it fear, then hoisted her sword anyway.
She would not let Alphonse be killed by this creature. Nor Etienne or Meirin.
She could not.
“Stop!” Delyth yelled, not to the God, but to her companions. “Meirin! Take Etienne and run!”
She didn’t turn to make sure they did as she asked. There wasn’t time. Already, Mascen was turning towards her, seconds dissipating like so much steam. She lifted her sword point towards Mascen but reversed in her grip, and in the moment before he spoke or moved to attack, she threw the blade like a spear, sinking it to the hilt between Mascen’s eyes.
Magma fountained on both sides of the God’s head, streaming down him like a second set of clothes, his figure and features obscured. The sword bent, white-hot in the middle and melting, its handle on fire from the heat. Delyth didn’t have time to see what became of it.
She skidded forward, raking her fingers through the runes that bound Enyo and Tristan, breaking the bonds that held them captive. Free, Enyo would be able to protect herself. Imprisoned, she and Alphonse both would surely die.
And that was one life Delyth would not gamble with. Not even to stop Enyo.
Then, the warrior was on her feet again. She swiped Etienne’s journal from the ground and then launched herself into the air, looking down as the sword melted to nothing at last, and Mascen stepped free of crumbling rock, unscathed.
“I’m not her priestess,” she whispered, but only the wind heard her.
❂
Enyo stumbled, free at last, but her arm was a rock forged to her skin, useless and heavy. Scalding pain raked up her flesh, well after Mascen had let go, and the Goddess fell limply to her knees.
“Va'al,” she whimpered, broken. The mortal body was failing her.
Mascen chuckled as Va'al appeared at Enyo’s side, his strong arm looping about her waist and hoisting her up. He was glaring at their son, but Enyo could feel the rigidity in his touch. He was afraid too. Afraid of Mascen. Afraid of what they had created.
“I think I’ll let you live, mother. I’ve had a wonderful idea—Father, you’ll enjoy this.” Mascen grinned humorlessly. “Since you love Rhosan more than you ever cared for me, I will take Rhosan and all her people, and I will make her mine.”
Despite the pain and fear Enyo felt, she gripped Va'al’s arm with her good hand, snarling in defiance. She’d not let this sniveling brat take what was rightfully hers. “You will not—”
“You don’t like that, do you mother?” Mascen crooned, stepping forward. Va'al pulled them back, keeping a safer distance. “So then you’ll know the despair I felt when you cast me out to that lump of rock in the middle of the ocean, disconnected from the mountains and the lands I was made to rule. And that shall be your price, my pathetic parents. Outcasts from all you love and rule. Specks of meaningless human flesh.”
“No!”
Mascen’s smile grew. “I’ll see you soon.” With a burst of sudden heat, he sunk back into the earth. All the plants in the glen withered and died, and Enyo’s scream of pain echoed through the valley.
Chapter XIII
Tenth Moon, Third Quarter: Caerthleon
From the shadows of the foliage beyond, Bledig stepped into a shaded clearing too-near to the human settlement of Caerthleon. It was empty, drowsy with heat and insects, but for the figure of a man in its center. He was blurred, an image seen through clouded glass, and his features seemed perpetually in motion, his nose bulbous one moment, then thinning to a line, his eyes widening and narrowing. Shifting colors.
He had not yet seen Bledig, so the God of Forsaken Places opened his mouth to call his brother’s name only to find that his throat had become so unused to the contours of speech that it had all but forgotten how to form the words. He took a breath and tried again. “Eifion.” The sound was that of a mountain cat’s growl.
Eifion turned, his shifting form changing slightly to mirror Bledig’s. Horns, rough and malformed, erupted from the changing head, and wings began to sprout from his shoulders before shifting away again. “You’ve felt it too,” Eifion said by way of greeting, each word in the voice of a different man, some high, others dark and low.
Bledig nodded. “Shall we see what justice our brother has wrought?”
E
ifion shuddered, his shoulders giving a disjointed pop as he strained against the fabric of the world. Slowly, two wings grew from his back, spiny and over large.
Unnatural.
Bledig turned away and flung himself into the air with a single, powerful motion, his youngest brother not far behind him.
From the air, it was clear where Mascen had been heading. A swath of land was burned south of them, the earth and creatures crying out though much of the human farmland had been spared. Great rifts had cracked open the surface of the ground. Smoke turned the horizon a despairing grey.
Bledig followed the line of the destruction, turning his great, horned head north towards the settlement of Caerthleon. The largest human city left in Rhosan. And a fitting seat of power.
⥣ ⥣ ⥣
* * *
Long-fingered hands gripped the rails of the palatial house’s balcony from where Mascen watched the courtyard below. Humans scurried this way and that. Little ants hurrying to bring their loads back to the colony. Desperate to please him. To serve him.
He had torn down every temple within the massive city erected for the Old Gods, left their ruins nothing more than steaming heaps of crushed stone, and proclaimed to all that he was their new and only God.
Obediently, they had bowed to his will, like the humans on the isle, cast out of their ships and washed ashore— a collection of misfits and missing children. Not any longer. He would not rule over some handful of cast-offs but the entire populace of Rhosan. Perhaps Ingola too. It wasn’t as if his siblings were truly fitting Gods. They had all but shed their corporeal forms, only showing themselves before the humans for ‘miracles’ and “smiting.” They didn’t know the real purpose of a God.
All those years ago, when his mother and father, and all the other Old Ones, had turned against him, it had been for this very vision. This ambition to unite all people under one faith. They had thought him insane and greedy.