Goddess

by Liv Savell

  Her hip stopped bleeding, healed over in a familiar, knotted scar. Dirt lifted from her skin. Soon, the only smell that filled her breaths was one of pine; any metallic scents washed away. Delyth had no idea how much time had passed before she leaned back, tired but clean. She stretched out on her side, running the hawk feather in her hair through her fingers and watching the wildflowers tremble in a light breeze.

  Alphonse should be here.

  ❀

  The door appeared suddenly and without apparent reason. One moment Alphonse was hiding in the hallowed-velvet darkness of her mind; the next, there was a door. Painted yellow and surrounded by creeping vines of blooming purple flowers. It seemed to glow, and she could see a crack of sunlight beneath the seal. Whatever was on the other side of the door was warm and inviting. She knew it.

  A breeze, if such a thing was possible in the recesses of her mind, trickled under the seal. It smelled of loam and wildflowers and something else… Metallic and subtle.

  Why had the door appeared? Where had it come from?

  For a long moment, Alphonse sat, staring at the door without moving towards it. She was tired. It was so difficult now to think or move. Even watching out the windows of her eyes took more effort than she usually could muster. More and more, she felt the darkness calling to her, singing softly. Invitingly.

  Often she just stayed in the darkness, rather than face the light and the views of Enyo and Va'al. And all that they were doing.

  It was terrible, what they were doing.

  But the door looked tempting, the soft glow of sunlight a reminder of what had been. Of what it had been like to have a body, to feel the sun.

  Finally, Alphonse decided to go through the door, and before she could even place her hand on the knob, she was in a clearing. A woman curled on her side by the stream, her back to Alphonse.

  Fear clutched her heart, and she turned, wanting to retreat to her haven beyond the door, but the opening was gone, and she had nowhere to hide. Alphonse spun back to the woman, and something sparked in her memory. She had dark hair, inky blue, and massive black wings. Rough hands fiddled with a feather in her hair—a familiar feather.

  Alphonse watched for an indeterminate time. Something like a warm hand pressed against her shoulder, urging her forward. Remember, it whispered. So she tried.

  The gentle voice was right. There was something there—something tickling the back of her mind. Alphonse knew the woman by the stream. She was… She was precious.

  Remember.

  Alphonse swallowed but stepped closer, her eyes following the lines of the woman’s body and her wings, the way her hair seemed to absorb the light around it, the way she moved her hand. Shouldn’t she have a sword strapped to her back?

  Finally, a name popped into her mind. “Delyth?” she asked aloud, startled again by the sound of her voice. How long had it been since she had a voice at all? It sounded small and weak to her ears.

  Staring in confusion, Alphonse stepped closer but did not cover the entire distance. Memories were surfacing. Delyth and her walking together, hands nearly touching. Delyth smiling over a steaming cup of tea. Delyth, moving closer, eyes focused as she reached for Alphonse in the darkness of a tent. Delyth’s hand moving between Alphonse’s legs.

  She shuddered, pushing the memories away. That wasn’t her life anymore. Now, all she had was the darkness.

  ༄

  The warrior by the stream went mountain-peak still, her hand frozen with the hawk feather held lightly between the first and second fingers. Perhaps it had been her own heart that she had buried, for it felt as though nothing beat in her chest.

  It was some time before Delyth felt as though she could move again without breaking, and still, it was with agonizing slowness that she pushed herself into a sitting position and turned to look at the woman behind her.

  “Aderyn bak,” she whispered, the sound catching in her throat. “My little bird.”

  Alphonse appeared not as Delyth had seen her last, tired and bone-thin with the weight of Enyo on her soul, but soft and warm, her face lit in subtle pinks and her tawny hair almost gold with the light of the sun behind her. She wore a dress Delyth had never seen before—pale yellow and covered by a white apron wrapped around her hips. Below it, her feet were bare.

  “Alphonse,” Delyth called, a little louder this time, her strong voice made small by the fear that this vision would disappear, so much fairy-smoke torture. Tears leaked unashamedly from the corners of her eyes, rolling down the plains of her face, the curve of her neck. She stood but dared not go closer, so afraid of losing even this much of the healer. Instead, she opened her arms, a wordless beckon.

  “Am I dead?” Alphonse asked, looking around the beautiful forest.

  “No, brave one,” Delyth said, hazarding a step closer. “You’re trapped. But I’m coming to get you.”

  When Alphonse did not disappear, Delyth stepped forward again. Then again. She stopped when they were close enough to touch, then stilled. Her heart was a bird, flapping at the cage of her ribs, frantic to escape. She had not buried it after all.

  Confusion twisted Alphonse’s face, but she didn’t shy away as Delyth approached. She stood, staring at the warrior with an intensity rarely witnessed. Finally, she blinked, breaking the trance, and reached her hand out, palm up, for Delyth to take. To hold.

  “It’s normally dark where I am. But here, it’s so light. I like it here…” Shyly, she looked up at Delyth. “Do you think we could stay here for a while?”

  Delyth took Alphonse’s hand, warm and steady in her own despite the distance between them, and pressed the soft fingers to her cheek to mingle with the tears falling there. She did not trust herself to speak but nodded, her face tilted down at those familiar eyes.

  She ached to know that her little bird lived in darkness. Of course, they could stay in the light. “As long as you would like,” the warrior managed to say finally, her voice no more than a whisper.

  “I love you,” Alphonse murmured. She traced the tears on Delyth’s cheek with her forefinger and then brought her palm to Delyth’s lips, asking for a kiss.

  “I love you,” Delyth said, only her voice broke high, choked with feeling. She kissed Alphonse’s palm, brushed her lips against the healer’s delicate wrist. Tried again: “I love you.” And somehow, the words slipped from her lips whole and strong. “I love you.”

  Delyth tugged Alphonse closer, wrapped an arm around her waist to hold them together. She kissed her shoulder, her neck, her cheeks, then stilled, looking down into the face of her lover.

  What had she done to deserve this? No gift could possibly have been greater, more welcome. And what had she done to earn it but fail Alphonse on the mountain top and again on the plains? She had not freed her little bird, but here she was, just as gentle and beautiful as Delyth remembered.

  The warrior let her eyes trace the contours of Alphonse’s face with an air of tremulous reverence, then leaned close to kiss the woman she loved, tugging her down so that they could lay pressed together on the meadow loam.

  ❀

  With her head nestled against Delyth’s shoulder, Alphonse stared up into the canopy overhead, relishing the feel of the other woman’s fingers combing through her hair. Something shifted in Alphonse’s heart, and she realized this was real. Somehow, this was real. Whatever this was. Wherever this was.

  Not like the dizzying array of images she got from Enyo and Va'al. Not the foggy recesses of memory she often walked through, simply to have something to do in the darkness.

  She could feel. She could see what she chose to look at. She had a choice.

  So somehow, this was real. Real. Real. Real.

  Time was impossible to track, and so they lay together in silence, arms wrapped about each other for minutes or hours. Finally, some thoughts ordered themselves in her mind, and Alphonse realized she needed to tell Delyth some things. Because this was real, and it would end. And Delyth needed to know.

  “Del?
” she asked, voice gravelly with lack of use. She could feel Delyth shift beneath her in response. Awake. “Enyo has my body. And she has been hunting down ways to bring back the other Gods.”

  Delyth stiffened, tightening her arm around the healer. “We know that she’s been gathering their artifacts. Do you know why?”

  “Yes.” Alphonse responded quietly, sifting through all the jumbled memories she had of peering out those portals. Into Enyo’s life. Was this what it had felt like for Enyo when Alphonse had been “in control?” “Va'al—her mate, Tristan—They want their bodies back. Their original bodies. I think they will become full Gods again when that happens—But it will take a great deal of magic, so they are summoning the others, the Old Ones. With enough collective power, they can resurrect their forms.” Alphonse frowned, watching as a butterfly floated on a phantom breeze to light on the leaves overhead. She hadn’t spent much time thinking or caring about Enyo’s plan. It seemed so far away, in a world she didn’t belong to anymore.

  But if Enyo got her absolute power back—What would she do to Delyth and the others? To the wildlands?

  ༄

  Delyth stilled, her fingers stopping in their motion through Alphonse’s hair. Enyo back at full power.

  What would that mean for Alphonse? Would she be gone then? Would she have her body back?

  If so, it would almost be worth it, though it would mean the loss of Delyth’s freedom. Because if Enyo reached her full power, Delyth’s vow would come into play. She would be a slave to the Goddess.

  Banishing the Gods was still their best chance of getting Alphonse back, of ending this.

  Of being free.

  “Tristan is Va'al? A God? When did she even find his artifact? We thought there were only two of them after we found the horn.”

  “He was Va'al the entire time. I do not know when Tristan found Va'al’s artifact, and they merged. The way he speaks, it’s been a long time—He loves Enyo very much.” Alphonse sounded distracted, and when Delyth looked at her face, the healer’s expression was uncomfortable.

  Nearly guilty.

  Delyth pressed a kiss to Alphonse’s forehead, holding her close. “The things you see are not you, aderyn bak.”

  Still, the idea that they had traveled with two Gods the entire journey to Thlonandras was disconcerting, though it explained Tristan’s strange knowledge of the old ways. And perhaps, his harassment of Etienne, the only one of them with the power to really hinder Enyo.

  A tremor of guilt passed through her. If they had better protected Etienne, would things have ever come to this? The boy was practically a different person without Tristan’s—Va'al’s influence.

  With a sigh, Delyth shook her head. There was no purpose in bemoaning the past. They could only move forward.

  “Do you know where the next artifact is? We could beat them to it, stop them from waking another God.”

  “It’s difficult to remember… I only watch sometimes. She’s very—well. Sometimes I hide. It’s better that way.” Alphonse explained, turning onto her side and craning her neck to see Delyth’s face more clearly. “Va'al was talking about Esha. Do you know who she is?”

  Delyth sighed in relief. So many of the Old Gods must have been forgotten over the years, like Va'al, whose name she had never heard before. But Esha was still worshipped by many in Thloegr, and her temple in Gwynhafan was well kept.

  “Yes,” the warrior said, taking a deep breath. “We’ll make for her temple and get the artifact before Enyo. I think we’re traveling faster than the Gods are. We’ve already caught up once.”

  There was just the hurdle of getting the others to believe her, though Delyth knew she would carry on alone if she had to. “Is there something I can tell Etienne, so he knows that this came from you?”

  ❀

  Alphonse was quiet for a long time but then smiled. “Make him breakfast and tea, and make him drink it. Tell him he forgets to take care of himself. He’ll remember.” Alphonse felt her throat tightening, reliving the childhood she had shared with Etienne. Her brother. Her best friend. He had come back, in the very end. He hadn’t given up on her.

  She remembered him appearing on the mountainside after Enyo grasped her basin. He had tried to fight the Goddess for her.

  Something sharp yanked through Alphonse’s mind and down into her arm. She winced and sat up suddenly, looking down at her hand. It seemed fine, but it felt heavy and numb.

  The pain lanced through her again.

  “I have to go.”

  “No, Alphonse…” Delyth’s voice broke again, and she gathered the healer against her chest. “Can’t we just stay here? Lie in each other’s arms until we fall asleep?”

  “We are asleep, dear one.” Alphonse turned to cup Delyth’s cheek with her good hand. The pain was growing in intensity. Soon Enyo would wake, and so would Alphonse. She understood now. This was a communal dream world. Some connection she and Delyth shared, for whatever reason. A gift, a curse.

  “Don’t forget to ward your tent at night,” Alphonse murmured, leaning closer to kiss Delyth’s lips. “Enyo thinks of you often. She doesn’t understand why you matter so much, but—” Alphonse smiled ruefully. “You have my heart, even when Enyo is using it. Be careful, Delyth. Promise me.”

  Pain turned her face pale and tight.

  Waking was coming.

  “I promise,” Delyth said through broken sobs. “Stay safe. Keep yourself whole in the darkness, and remember who you are. Alphonse, I love you.”

  She kissed Alphonse again, pressing her lips hard against the healer’s as though to convey everything she felt in that touch.

  ༄

  When she pulled away, Delyth was lying in her tent, curled around the ragged journal. Outside, the sky was dark, and far off, she could hear birdsong; she had slept nearly to the dawn of the next day.

  And in her ears, echoing faintly from far off, she could still hear Alphonse’s voice. “I love you.”

  Chapter XV

  Tenth Moon, Waning Gibbous: Central Thloegr

  Etienne woke slowly to familiar sensations. It was cool out—the mountains always seemed to be colder than they ought— and the smell of Alphonse making porridge was wafting through his tent. He stood up slowly, groggy. He felt as though he had slept way too long. When he stepped through his tent, it was only to be reminded that they weren’t in the mountains at all anymore, and it wasn’t Alphonse cooking.

  “When’s the last time you ate something?” Delyth asked, gently like Alphonse would as she stirred the pot of porridge. “You’re always forgetting to take care of yourself.” She poured him a cup of tea and held it out to where he stood, frozen. “Drink some tea. It's not from me.”

  Etienne reached for the cup with trembling fingers just as Meirin joined them at the campfire. “How?”

  Delyth laughed, a nervous, broken sound. “I don’t know, but I saw her. Spoke to her. She said you would believe me if I did this.”

  He took a sip of the tea, wincing slightly. It was still scalding hot.

  But it tasted right.

  It didn’t seem possible. Dream sharing was not an ability Alphonse had been capable of even before Enyo wrecked her mind and body. But there was no doubt in his mind of who the message had come from. It was too like her. Too Allee.

  Sister. Friend.

  He swallowed and sipped again, more carefully this time while Delyth ladled out breakfast. “What else did she say?”

  “That we were right, Tristan isn’t who we thought he was. He was one of them from the beginning— a God named Va’al, brought back long before Enyo. And that the reason they need the artifacts is so that they can get their bodies back. It’ll take several of them. Can you imagine? A bunch of Mascens running around Thloegr.”

  Etienne was dumbstruck, too shocked to be able to form an answer right away. Though, absurdly, his first thought was that he had known Tristan was off all along.

  “Wait,” Meirin scoffed, “you’re saying Tristan is a G
od, and they are going around bringing back the other Gods to...what? Somehow pull their old bodies out of… well! Wherever it is they were?And you know all this because of some vision you had?”

  Etienne watched as Delyth fell silent, his certainty suddenly tainted by the clan girl’s accusation. Still, it wasn’t like the warrior to make something up; if Meirin didn’t agree with her, Delyth would just continue on her own, stubborn and unchangeable as the mountains she came from.

  “I can’t explain it,” Delyth admitted, shrugging. “It was magic beyond my ken. I would once have said it was a gift from the Gods, but—well— I can’t really see how it’d serve them.” She smiled sardonically and took a sip of her tea. “All I know is that I spoke with Alphonse last night, and she told me what she could about Enyo and her plans.”

  “It makes sense, though. Doesn’t it?” Etienne ran his hands back through his hair until it stood up. “Why else would they be collecting the artifacts? And we heard them talking. Mascen called Tristan Father.”

  “They could be bringing back the other Old Gods to—I don’t know! Have friends…. So we should go on because Delyth had a dream of her dead lover?”

  “She isn’t dead,” Delyth snapped, even as Etienne flinched.

  “If you think they’re dead, why did you come in the first place?” he asked, staring at the clanswoman. Tanwen had said that this was a volunteer mission. Meirin hadn’t had to come.

  Meirin stilled, watching Delyth’s expression tensely. “When I first agreed, I thought it was a heroic mission. And I hadn’t seen how different Gethin would be after he was infected with Maoz. There was nothing left of him. I spoke to him, you know—When you were being chased by Enyo. He didn’t recognize me. He didn’t know me. Gethin was a friend of mine. But he’s not in there anymore.”

  “And so, in a few seconds of conversation, you became more an expert on the Gods and their Vassals than the people who spent moons traveling with one,” Delyth snapped, her face flushed with anger.

  Etienne looked between the two women uneasily. “It can appear that way,” he said, “but they are still in there. Two souls in one body, with only one in control at any given time.”