by Liv Savell
“You’ve got something that belongs to me, priestess.” In the space between Delyth’s wing and the curve of her shoulder, Meirin could see the flash of Enyo’s teeth. To her right, a man with a soft build stood between her and Etienne’s tents, hemming them in completely.
“Come and get it, Goddess.” Delyth’s voice was a growl, and nothing in her form showed any sign of fear.
Enyo hissed, stepping forward to accept the challenge when Va’al’s hand appeared at her shoulder, stopping the Goddess from moving forward. It was neither Va’al nor Enyo who spoke next, but the stranger. The old man. “What do you want, human?”
The winged woman laughed, but it was a broken sound. “What do I want? Since when does one of you care about what any of us want? You take the people we love, endanger our lives, burn our towns. You know, I had to kill a child today. Had to. Maybe six, maybe seven years old. I can’t tell you anything else about them because of how badly they were burned, pieces of their flesh sticking to their clothes, to my hands. What gave you the right to come here, to do this to us? Do you think, just because you are powerful, you can destroy everything good there is?”
She stopped, her throat catching, and in the silence, an animal howled in the distance. Eerily human. When no one immediately responded, Delyth went on. “You have taken everything that ever mattered to me, so what use is there now in asking what I want? You are not Gods. Just narcissistic monsters setting yourselves up as some higher power.”
Enyo snorted. “You think we’re bad; you should have seen how it was before we came. Where we came from. All you humans are alike—feeble-minded, soft-hearted. Never willing to get your hands dirty for what matters. So you had to kill a child? When Mascen is through with Rhosan, all children will be orphans.”
“You should have all died in whatever hell hole you came from. Then, you never would have created that horror.” Delyth’s hands clenched at her sides, and Enyo struggled against Va’al’s hold. This couldn’t come to a fight, didn’t the warrior get that? They were powerless, outnumbered.
“As flawed as we may be, human, there are worse things. My—companion is right. Mascen is by far worse than we are. Which is why it is ill-advised to stand in our way. Enyo knows you have an artifact. Give it to us so we might right this wrong.” It was the soft-bodied male again, his voice gentle, almost motherly.
“How?” Meirin replied too fast, trying to draw their attention away from violence. The man to her right sounded almost reasonable, so it was him she addressed.
“When we are in our original bodies again, Mascen is but a child to us. We can send him back. Or end him.”
“And how are we to know you won’t be just as bad? Or worse, even. Since you’d be stronger.”
“Faith.” Enyo suggested, brushing off her sarong, and Delyth snorted derisively. For a moment, Meirin felt a rush of empathy. Delyth had been faithful, once.
༄
“What about the Vassals?” Delyth hated how tired her own voice sounded. Would it be worth it? Letting the Gods loose in exchange for Alphonse?
Yes. The memory of holding the healer was still so fresh in her mind, in her body. She could still feel the brush of gentle fingers on her wing.
It was Va’al who answered. The other Gods seemed reluctant to speak. “We have never inhabited human bodies in this way, but I see no reason why they should not return to normal after we leave. They are still here, after all. Just… tucked away.”
Hope was a weed in Delyth’s chest, climbing up through her arteries to clutch at her heart. She could have Alphonse back. She could stop the horrible deaths of innocent children.
And all it would cost was her freedom.
“You didn’t answer Meirin’s question. Not really.” Etienne’s voice was sharp, cutting through Delyth’s vision. He was right not to trust them, wasn’t he? After all, they’d been through.
Still, if there was a chance… The image of the tiny island came unbidden to Delyth’s mind. Alphonse in a string of pearls, safe and happy.
“There is a way in which we can be sure that they won’t be worse. The Gods can take binding oaths—I’ve felt one. Oaths they cannot back out of.” Delyth looked scornfully at Enyo, unable to hide her lack of anything like admiration. Mascen’s refusal to make the same sort of oath that Enyo had made at Thlonandras had gotten her thinking. If he could easily undo such a thing, why would he have been so careful to avoid it? And there was no question of allowing him to continue as he was, slaying thousands and destroying the once-fertile heartland of Thloegr. If Alphonse had seen the destruction, had known what pain even one suffered at his hands… Would she forgive Delyth for allowing it to continue? Would she have still curled up beside the warrior if she had seen the knife sliding up into the skull of a child? Delyth didn’t know if she would ever forgive herself. Hadn’t she spent her life training to protect others?
“You may have the artifact if you each vow to destroy Mascen, return your Vassals unharmed, and kill no mortal so long as you exist.”
“We don’t know what will happen to the Vassals once we leave.” Enyo’s voice was unapologetic. It was clear that the Goddess wouldn’t mourn Alphonse.
The old man nodded slowly. “We cannot make a promise we do not know how to keep.”
The world spun beneath Delyth’s feet, and she took a huge, shuddering breath. That Alphonse might not survive Enyo’s removal from her body was a risk she hadn’t considered. She might have killed her lover on the plains without having ever known to fear. There was a rustling behind her as Etienne stepped forward and squeezed her shoulder. A small comfort, but one she found steadying nonetheless.
Just staying as she was, Alphonse was dying, slowly fed on by the parasite that infected her body. If there was a chance at all, then it must be taken. The alternative was certain.
You don’t know that she’ll die.
It wasn’t Alphonse’s face that swam before her eyes, though, as she nodded, but a single clear eye in a field of burnt flesh. “Then you will vow to destroy Mascen, return your Vassals unharmed if at all possible, and kill no mortal so long as you exist.”
“Of course, there will need to be another Vassal for the artifact you have now,” the stranger murmured.
Frustration made Enyo’s face pinch. “And we will not destroy Mascen unless we absolutely have to. He will return to his prison, like before.”
Delyth sneered at her. “What, so he can escape and start all of this again? Either kill him or banish him as you were banished, or we have no deal. I understand the necessity of another Vassal, but they will need to be infected for the shortest possible time.”
“He will not escape again!” Enyo argued. “The wards around his island faded because you humans banished us!! Who do you think kept those walls intact? This is all because of your folly—not ours.”
“He was your son! You created this! You have no right to admonish any mortal for learning to protect themselves from such— such—” Words seemed to fail Delyth, so she fell silent, the muscles in her neck standing rigid with tension. “If you are too weak to destroy him, then bind him as you were bound.”
“And you call us the monsters! He is our child. One of our own. Your simpering lover would never condone murdering a child.” Enyo was sneering. “What will she think of you, Ba’oto, when she finds out what you’ve done? Hmm? I can control her memories, you know. Let us try to preserve some part of Mascen, and I will keep your— what do you call her? Little bird? From knowing who you truly are.”
“You survived banishment, didn’t you? Preserve him that way,” Delyth snapped, too angry to be easily cowed. “Besides, that is no fucking child. It's a lunatic with too much power, out killing for sport. And you have already said you cannot be sure of what will happen to Alphonse. What happens to you, I wonder, if you break a binding oath?”
Etienne stepped forward to stand beside Delyth. “Does it really matter how they dispose of him? Have them swear that he will never again step foot on
Thloegr. If they fail, perhaps we will be rid of all of them.”
The mage squeezed her shoulder again, and Delyth took a deep, shuddering breath. She couldn’t make herself speak a civil answer, but she didn’t cut down the suggestion either.
They waited as the Gods huddled together, discussing the bargain, and Delyth made herself into stone. This was the only path she could see leading toward Alphonse’s freedom, for all that it would cost the warrior.
Forgive me, annwyl.
The animal howled again, closer this time, and overhead, the clouds broke. For a moment, stars were visible high above, and then they were lost behind black-satin wisps. Delyth’s eyes snapped back to the Gods when they approached. It was Enyo who held her hand out to Delyth in agreement. “We will abandon these Vassals and not harm them. We will contain Mascen and keep him from Rhosan. We will kill no mortals. You will give over the artifact and cease your efforts to thwart us.”
The muscles in Delyth’s jaw bunched, hatred a beast threatening to consume her, to eat its way free from her chest just for the chance to harm Enyo. She would have to shake the Goddess’s hand. “And you all swear it?” Only after they had each repeated the words did she nod and seal the promise.“You have a bargain.”
The pressure was not so much a surprise as it had been the first time, and with her stance wide and her back straight, Delyth bore it without sinking to her knees. The sky above them was rent with a sound like lightning—magic clapping against the edge of existence.
And then it was over, just as suddenly as it had begun.
Delyth yanked her hand out of Enyo’s. “Etienne, hand them the artifact.” It had been in his bag since well before Gwynhafan, and he did as she asked, holding the horn out for the Gods to take. Maoz tucked it beneath his arm.
“We’ll need a Vassal.” Enyo looked at the mage, but Meirin interrupted.
“Who is that for?”
“What?” Enyo snapped.
“The horn, what God does it bring back?”
“Aryus. Death.”
“Doesn’t Aryus have his—”
“Their.” Enyo cut in, correcting the girl.
“Own priests?”
Enyo scoffed. “Everyone is a follower of Aryus, whether they want to be or not.”
“Then where will you look for a Vassal?” Etienne asked, and Delyth found herself hoping, absurdly, that it wouldn’t be terribly far.
“Is it too much to ask that they be willing?”
Chapter XX
Eleventh Moon, New Moon: North of Gwynhafan
She hadn’t intended to spy or eavesdrop. Really. Meirin had climbed the tallest tree she could find—a scraggly oak that grew on the south side of a shallow valley where a trickle of water ran during wetter seasons. Around her, the land sloped upward in soft, grass-furred hills, but she could still see farther from her perch in the highest branches than she could on the crest where the others camped. That view had drawn her up the rough bark. To scout. Or to buy herself a few private moments. The morning had flown by with snarling insults and uneasy glances as the Gods and humans tried to find some sort of understanding. All the walking on eggshells had given Meirin a headache, so she had fled under the guise of being useful.
It was too strange to watch Gethin glide around, red wolf-lithe, no smile to be seen, not a flicker of recognition. Too awful to watch Enyo snarl at or pine for Delyth, often in the same breath. She had thought coming on this journey would be the adventure of her lifetime. Serving her clan and seeing the world. Making her name as a warrior. Had it been greedy or naive to think this would have been fun? Probably a combination of both.
Whatever it was, now Meirin was stuck up a tree, watching as Enyo knelt beside the spring. The Goddess reached out to splash the water over her stone arm, sending light reflecting off the edges like gemstones. Nothing happened. Enyo repeated the process three times before she slumped back, bringing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arm about them tightly. Enyo buried her face against her thighs, and her shoulders quivered. Cursed Realms, was the Goddess weeping? Meirin held her breath, not daring to move. She didn’t want to think about what would happen if Enyo found her in that tree, watching her in a vulnerable moment.
As if summoned by his lover's misery, Va’al appeared, his speed still incomprehensible to Meirin. How had anyone thought he was mortal? He put a hand on Enyo’s hair, stroking it back away from her face.
The bark of the tree was sharp against Meirin’s palms, biting her flesh. She mustn’t shift to spare her legs; she mustn’t reposition her hands. She could make no noise. Only watch.
Enyo turned her face up to Va’al, whatever tears she had shed absorbed by the sun or some other power. The Goddess turned her cheek to press further into Va’al’s palm, and she murmured in response, voice husky and weak. The interaction reminded Meirin of her own parents. Of the way they exchanged little touches in quiet moments or held each other up in hard times. Enyo and Va’al’s behavior just did not make sense with Meirin’s understanding of the Gods.
Va’al’s thumb stroked Enyo’s cheek— No. Alphonse’s cheek. That was Alphonse’s body, wasn’t it? Whatever he said had Enyo laughing, sudden and unbidden. She smacked away his hand, but as he helped her to her feet, Enyo didn’t object to his touch, to the arm he looped about her waist. Striding from her sight, the last thing Meirin could see was Enyo tilting her head to rest it upon Va’al’s shoulder.
How many lovers had she seen walking arm in arm, just like that?
She waited twenty breaths. A hundred. Two hundred. When it seemed certain they would not return, Meirin climbed down out of the tree, kneeling beside the spring to soak her sore hands in the cold waters.
Was it a trick? Had they known she was there and played out the scene to make her more amenable to their cause? Or, had Meirin seen the fragility of the Gods that they hid behind masks of cruelty and power? Her mind said it was all a falsehood, but her heart paused. It seemed real.
What did it matter anyway? War Chief Tanwen had sent her to help retrieve Gethin if possible. This wasn’t her quest, her burden. How had she gotten caught up in this whole ordeal? She hadn’t asked for this. She hadn’t really sought it out.
After refilling her canteen, Meirin made her way back to their campsite. Delyth and the priest they called Esha were working out a plan to find the fifth Vassal. Maoz stood off to the side, monitoring. To avoid interacting with the Gods, Meirin scanned the clearing for Etienne and found him writing in his journal.
Impulsively Meirin let her hand rest against his shoulder, even going so far as to tug on a lock of his white hair. Overgrown and untidy as he repeatedly ran his hands through it. He looked like a porcupine. “What are you writing?”
Etienne looked up from his work, his eyes still unfocused, as though it was difficult for him to return from the world of his own thoughts. “I’m keeping a record, as accurate and unbiased as I can, in the hopes that I can learn something about Gods and magic. If we survive this mess.”
Despite herself, Meirin smiled. Of course, he was keeping a record. “Am I in the record? What do you say about me?” She leaned closer as if to inspect the pages. His handwriting was precise, but she couldn’t read it anyway. She didn’t understand Ingolan.
“Only nice things, I promise.” He stretched, and in the wan light of early morning, she could see shadows beneath his eyes.
“Oh, so you’re writing lies then?” Meirin teased, hunkering down to squat beside him. Despite herself, Meirin felt her gaze turning back towards the Gods. And Delyth. She looked haggard.
He mimed insult. “This is an unbiased account, remember?”
“Of course. I apologize.” She smiled and shook her head. Esha nodded, and Delyth’s lips compressed into an even thinner line. They must have come to some sort of agreement. Meirin sighed. “I want to ask you something, as a scholar and a mage, not Etienne who knows Enyo and Va’al.”
“Alright. What is it?”
“I know they a
re monstrous, but…” Enyo and Va’al stood off to the side, once more tall and proud. None of the defeated weeping or sweet consolations. Their masks were back on, or the act dropped. She didn’t know. “Do you think they feel the way we feel? Can they experience fear, or remorse, or… love?” Dark eyes flickered to Etienne’s face then, ready to catch any change of emotion there.
✶
“Nothing that we have encountered so far suggests that the Gods lack a full range of human emotion. If anything, they may feel more, though I have noticed that they seem to have little grasp of guilt or consequence. Perhaps it’s a side effect of immortality?”
Etienne stretched and rolled his aching neck, catching sight of Meirin’s face. She looked thoughtful, even soft. Had she seen some facet of Va’al or Enyo that made her empathize with them? He supposed it was possible. They might have even shown her something of the sort purposefully. They were, after all, masters of manipulation.
“Has anyone ever been cruel to you? Back home?”
“Yes, though that was a long time ago.”
“Yes, well, they likely felt all the things humans usually feel too. What you feel matters less than how you act.”
He glanced to Delyth, who had moved away from Esha to begin tearing down her tent. They would set out soon. Meirin still crouched beside him, her brow furrowed, so he stood and offered her his hand. “What are you thinking?”
With a blink, Meirin turned to focus on Etienne’s hand but hesitated before slipping hers into it. “I think things are more complicated than I ever imagined. I think I’m a clan girl out of her depth.” As he hauled her to her feet, Meirin held onto his hand for a heartbeat longer. “I think I’m lucky to have made you as a friend.”
“Me too. At least this way, we can be out of our depth together.”
Etienne moved to take down his tent, thoughts still on the warmth of Meirin’s hand, and the winged warrior stood between him and Meirin to speak. “We’re headed east, to find a Vassal in one of the small settlements that lie along this branch of the Afonneidr. I’m going to spend the day in the air so that Mascen will be unable to catch us by surprise, should he find us. If anything happens, shout or light a fire rune, and I will come. I won’t be far.”