by Liv Savell
And they’d made their choice.
⥣ ⥣ ⥣
* * *
Delyth had ranged too far ahead.
Lake Gastwyr was a silver line behind her, hidden by the curve of the world. Ahead, Thloegr was aflame. At the very edge of her vision, she could make out a scar marring the land before Caerthleon, still too distant to make out. Closer, the dotted catastrophes of individual towns or holdings had become great smears of smoking black.
Anxiety and urgency waged war in Delyth’s gut. She had to get the artifact away from Enyo, had to stop her from destroying Alphonse completely, and blinded by that need, she had flown hours ahead when she left the others to scout. She had just wanted a glimpse of the city, a means to measure how far they needed to go until they could disappear into the throng of people within. Maybe there would even be someone who could destroy the artifact or free Etienne from Enyo’s binding.
The flying, though, had cleared her head. Seeing Caerthleon would not put them any closer to it, and letting herself get so distant from Etienne and Meirin with Enyo after the artifact was madness. Delyth shook herself and wheeled in a great arc, turning back to the others. If she pushed herself to the edge of her speed, she ought to make it back to them in an hour and a half or so. Gods, let them still be alright.
Delyth angled her wings to gain speed, only to be flung earthward by a surge of wind coming down directly upon her. She tumbled, ground and sky flying past her vision in a dizzying rush. The feeling of spinning didn’t leave her even when she got her wings open again, pumping for altitude. What the hell had that been? Wind didn’t suddenly turn towards the ground, not even in the wildest storms. She cast about, looking for some answer, only for the blast to come again. Her wings were forced behind her, muscles tearing, and again she fell. Had Enyo somehow caught up with her? Had she passed the others? Or were they already dead? Delyth struggled against the sky, the cords in her neck and shoulders bunching with effort. She couldn’t let herself get taken, not when there was still a chance to get to the others, to save Alphonse. She drew strength from that desperation, the need to find a way to free her little bird.
And then, the sky forced her down again. She could see the ground now, pockmarked with craters that spoke of Mascen’s work. Mascen. Not Enyo. He stood at the edge of a pool of lava, his black eyes shadowed by its shuddering mass. His gaze was unwavering, and even from this distance, Delyth could see the flash of his teeth. She would have to land or risk being dashed into his burning mess, despite every likelihood that he only meant to kill her.
Delyth noticed the heat first. It reached up to cloak her chest, her limbs even as she glided to earth, a sweaty embrace from too many hands. The boiling rock was too-bright, and all the world smelled of sulfur. She landed hard, knees nearly buckling. Mascen’s eyes never left her.
“Cousin,” he said, his tone bordering on respectful. Behind him, pockets of melted ore heaved upwards, exploded, relaxed. Like a breathing creature, a living thing. “Enjoying my handy work?”
Delyth refolded her wings uneasily, noting the soreness, the heat in her muscles. Sweat gathered across her forehead, and her breath was only slowly returning to normal. She would stiffen soon, and then getting back into the air would be uncomfortable—even difficult, and she still had miles to go to reach the others. How dare this creature keep her from them, tear her from the sky as though she belonged to him? Anger made her into an animal, but she would need to stay cunning to escape.
Delyth sucked in too-hot air in an attempt to control herself, keeping her expression blank. She might burn herself to ash before a hint of her fire made any mark on this creature, but it was still only the greatest use of willpower that kept her from trying.
Will power and… fear. She had seen Mascen injure Enyo, seen first hand the destruction he could cause. The scars on the land around them were almost too horrific, too large to understand.
Delyth was afraid of Mascen, and somehow, the knowledge made her blood boil as though it were lava, oozing up from depths below the surface of the earth, eating away at the edges of the world.
Still, her voice did not tremble when she spoke. “Mascen.”
He watched the warrior with a keen interest but made no move to come closer. “Why is it that you were foolish enough to fight my mother? I’ll admit you’re a fine specimen—” His tone was bland, not lecherous. “But she could rip your throat out and drink from your veins. Even as limited as she is now.”
“Why do you want to know?” Mascen’s apparent interest put Delyth immediately on the defensive. Whatever did he want with her? She was not a God or a supplicant, and she would have nothing to do with him at all if not for his coming upon Enyo.
Delyth’s only quarrel was with Enyo, and she would just as soon be done with the Goddess as well once she had Alphonse back. If only that were possible.
“I’m not in the habit of explaining myself to humans, even ones as superior as yourself.” Mascen made no move to come closer and instead resumed studying the lava he had summoned.
He was considerably less overtly hostile, less volatile than his mother. His tone, while haughty, was reasonable. He stood utterly still, arms at his side. He made no threatening gesture nor tried to make himself seem intimidating.
And still, Delyth didn’t trust him.
What did she possibly have to gain from telling him about Alphonse? About the girl she was willing to face down Gods for? Enyo regularly used Delyth’s love of the little healer as a weapon. Was she supposed to just assume that her son wouldn’t do so as well? No. She wouldn’t do it. Not when the admission might put herself and her mission to free Alphonse in danger.
And, yet, she had to answer him. He could stop her from leaving with a thought, so long as he wanted something from her. So she would have to find something else to say.
Something that might just turn this meeting in her favor. “I was trying to stop Enyo from getting her body back.”
Dark eyes, previously so aloof, shot back to Delyth with visceral intensity. So he hadn’t known, then.
“Her body back?” The hand at his side clenched and then relaxed. He blinked and looked away. “That would be very bad for the humans of Rhosan indeed. She is a difficult mistress to serve. As is my father. That is why I have come to liberate Rhosan and her children.”
Delyth doubted that Mascen had come to Thloegr for any purpose other than to serve himself—since when did any God care about humans?—but she did not say as much. In fact, she did not comment on the second part of his statement at all. Better to say nothing than disagree with him; for all his seeming civility, Mascen was powerful and clearly not adverse to using his power. The warrior ground her teeth. She was not prone to spouting her opinions, but having to act cautiously out of fear was as unpleasant as it was against her nature.
“That is her current plan,” she said simply. If Mascen put pressure on Enyo, it might buy her and the others time to decide what to do with the artifact in their possession.
Unless, of course, he managed to catch up with Enyo.
Delyth’s blood ran cold at the thought, her chest caving open. Had she just put Alphonse in danger?
“My mother plans often. Rarely does she have the foresight to see those plans to fruition. Tell me, cousin, how is it that you know her aspirations? Presumably, you were fighting her because you disagree with them.”
As Enyo’s aspirations did not include leaving Alphonse’s body unharmed or letting Delyth out of her oath of servitude, the warrior thought she could easily affirm that she did not agree with the Goddess. Though neither did that mean she agreed with Mascen. Illygad had been better off before the Gods returned. All of them should have rotted in their prisons forever.
Though, all she said, was a simple “yes,” more in answer to his statement than the question that preceded it. “She told me of her plans herself.”
Mascen turned to Delyth, his gaze heavy on her face and shoulders. Despite the darkness of his eyes, there
was something tangibly torrid about them. A flickering that may or may not have been due to the lava behind him. His exterior may be calm, but Mascen was just as cruel as the rest of them. His temper was just under better control.
There was a breath of silence, and then the God’s eye flickered to her. Mascen moved, one moment sixty feet away, the next standing right in front of the winged warrior. She was startled, but Delyth didn’t flinch. She wouldn’t let him see her fear.
“Why you, though? Is it because you’re her priestess? Does she trust you?” He laughed, and Delyth could feel his breath on her cheek, hot and stinking of sulfur. “You’re a priestess fighting her God… Why fight, why not just choose, I don’t know, some other profession?”
Delyth sealed up her face behind a brick and mortar expression, completely blank. These questions didn’t seem directed at her, not really. He wanted to figure it out himself, peel her apart like so many onion layers just for the joy of being clever.
“What does she have on you, then? A secret? An oath? A lover? And you wish to be free of your bonds.” His smile widened, and Enyo shone out of his features. “I’ll strike a deal with you, cousin.”
No one had ever told Delyth just how weak fear could make her feel. Her knees had jellied, and though she kept still, she knew her heart was beating so hard that the pulse must have been visible through her skin. She took a deep breath before answering, searching for the steel in her spine.
“What are the terms?” Delyth would not accept any offer blindly, would try not to accept any offer at all. Only, the insinuation that she might one day be truly free of Enyo was a heady one.
“Simple enough,” he replied, tucking his smile away. “I rather enjoy the idea of killing my mother with her own precious blade. Calamity. You saw it in the clearing. The beastly blade with a blood-crystal pommel. Bring it to me, and I’ll behead her, which of course, will free you.”
No deal. Delyth would not lose Alphonse to get rid of Enyo. Not under any circumstance. Fear for her own safety was rapidly being replaced by fear for her little bird, a more familiar sensation.
But how was she supposed to say no to him?
Delyth took a deep breath before managing something like a shrug. “You assume that I want her dead.”
His black eyes squinted at Delyth, and he laughed. “Humans. Always making things more complicated than they need to be. Fine. What is it that you do want?”
The woman I love, alive and safe and free from any God.
“I want Enyo to live a very long time,” she said, hoping at once to win Alphonse some safety and to avoid pledging herself. “Alone and powerless and unable to enforce my oath.”
Mascen looked down at the warrior for a long moment before he nodded. “I suppose I can do that. And you will bring me Calamity?”
For a frantic moment, Delyth said nothing. Could she refuse to make the bargain and still live to walk away from this meeting? If she died now, what would happen to Alphonse? She had seen the lava boil, Mascen smiling like Enyo on the hunt. For all his niceties, she felt certain that to refuse him would be to give up her life then and there. But the reverse, to allow herself to be sealed in yet another binding oath… It was as though she was being forced to parcel out her freedom in payment for the chance to save Alphonse.
Desperately, she struggled to think of some wording that may give her an out. He had not specified a time, nor had he said that she must give him the sword. Simply bringing it to him did not mean she necessarily had to hand it over.
Though how she could stop him from taking it, she had no idea.
Reluctantly, the warrior nodded. In the end, she could not refuse him, could not risk everything she had worked so hard for. Could not risk Alphonse. “If you swear to not harm Enyo or her human Vassal, I will bring you Calamity.”
Mascen held out his hand. “Isn’t it human custom to shake?” As soon as Delyth’s hand slid into his, Mascen’s grip tightened, pulling her close, a snake coiling around a mouse. Mascen’s thumb brushed the inside of Delyth’s wrist, and with that unwelcome touch came pain. Delyth seized, struggling to wrench her hand away, but he held it longer, tighter, as though to prove he could. “So you don’t forget.” He turned away, a dismissal. “I would avoid Caerthleon if I were you.”
On her wrist was the red-black shape of a thumbprint, a gruesome reminder, and yet it did not feel like a binding. Though she had been loath to enter into another oath, the lack of sound and pressure made her uneasy. All she could think of as she stepped away was that Mascen had not actually agreed to the bargain at all.
What, then, had he gained?
⥣ ⥣ ⥣
* * *
“She was just going to scout ahead, right?” Etienne was trying to sound casual, but there was an edge of concern in his voice.
Usually, whenever Delyth left to scout, she returned before he had time to even enjoy the moments alone with Meirin. This time, however, they’d been walking alone so long that they’d fallen into an easy silence.
What then, had kept her?
Etienne dismissed the idea that she had gone on without them. The artifact was still in his bags, and he doubted that she would leave them to fend off Enyo alone.
Unless, of course, she had reached the same conclusion they had and was leading Enyo away to give them more time…
Meirin squinted ahead, and Etienne was reminded of their conversation on travel. She wanted to see more of the world, to understand more. To their right, the curve of the lake had been visible for days, but it was beginning to reveal the strange shape of a building perched on one of its islands. It was impossible to tell just what stood there from this distance, but the outline seemed strange to Etienne. Malformed somehow.
Behind them, the eastern branch of the Afonneidr had faded into the distance, and ahead, nothing was visible but the gradual change of open plains into more structured farmland. They must have been nearing a town, but the longer he stared, the more his eyes began to water.
“Is that smoke?” Meirin asked, voicing the question that Etienne had not yet thought to voice.
He peered at the sky up ahead, filling his lungs with warm air. How had he missed the acrid scent on the breeze? It was strong now, coating his senses in the smells of burning things. The atmosphere before them was thickening, making it more and more difficult to see what was ahead. The haze suggested that whatever was burning had been doing so a long time. Why hadn’t someone put it out? Etienne pressed on, his long legs burning with the now-familiar sensation of exertion. The land was curving upward, hiding whatever lay beyond behind the hill. “We should be able to see more from the top.”
⫸
Meirin gasped when they reached the top of the hill. To the right, there lay the lake and its strange islands. Spirals of smoke rose up from the building there, but it was not the source of the fumes. The road continued north, but off to the side, a trail led to what had been a settlement. Buildings were torn apart and smoldering, and even from this distance, they could see figures in the streets, strewn about and unmoving. Hurt? Dead?
Without speaking, Meirin broke into a run down the rough path, zig-zagging to slow her pace as the hill’s downward trajectory increased her momentum. Reaching for a spear that was no longer latched to her shield, Meirin entered the village ready to fight, protect, help. Anything.
She stopped short at the first fallen body, its face disfigured from being left in the sun for several days. From the way it was dressed, she suspected it had been a man in real life, but it was only rotten meat in death.
The putrid smell made Meirin turn and heave, her stomach recoiling at the horror. Never in her life had she ever witnessed something so foul. Magots bored into the eyes, the skin blue and bloated. She could see what he had died of. Both his legs had been torn from their sockets. One lay a few yards away; the other was nowhere to be seen.
She vomited again.
Battle was supposed to be glorious and honorable. This man just looked like a doll
a child had grown bored of. Discarded and misused.
✶
Etienne stepped past Meirin, his heart beating a heavy tattoo in his chest while his eyes moved from corpse to corpse, taking in the swell of thick lips and cheeks, the purple of fetid decay. The sheer horror of it was too vast to comprehend, and yet he found that he could not look away.
Several yards into the settlement, Etienne stopped, all the hair on his arms and neck rising. He had heard something, a small stirring, and scanned for the source.
What could still live in this place?
Behind him, with their back to a charred but sturdy wall of stone, the indistinct figure of a child sat, bald and burned black along one side of their body. The child stirred again, blinking pain-dazed eyes and peeling the burned arm slowly from their chest where they had been cradling the injured limb.
Flakes of skin, black and sticky, were left clinging to the child’s tunic even as they worked to stand only to fail and fail again. Finally, the child just crawled forward, shaking and stuttering towards Etienne, who stepped back in primal disgust. This thing hardly looked human any longer.
And yet, it could still speak. The words were impossible to make out at first, rough and whispered, but as the child moved closer, Etienne could understand. “Make it stop,” they crooned. “Make it stop.”
Behind him, he could hear Meirin rustling through her pack, but he doubted she carried anything that could help.
“Make it stop.” No one was a healer here. Alphonse could have saved this child, but with just Etienne and Meirin for saviors, its hope was less than none.
༄
Delyth landed between Etienne and Meirin, weary and pale. This was not the first settlement she had seen since leaving to scout ahead. Mascen’s destruction was complete in the swath he had chosen to attack, but she had not gotten this close to any of the others. Were they all so full of bodies? She shuddered and forced herself to look at the pitiful creature that held Etienne’s attention. He had not so much as looked away when she landed.