by Liv Savell
She would come to protect them from the Gods, she meant. As though it was a possibility that they would be in danger even after the oath. Well, Etienne supposed she had every right to be cautious.
Behind her, Enyo and Va’al stepped closer, and Delyth took off before either could speak, showering the clearing with dust stirred up by great, black wings.
⥣ ⥣ ⥣
* * *
Running seemed the fastest way to travel, and yet only after an hour, they slowed to a walk again. This was the third morning with the Gods and the third time Enyo had failed to keep pace. Meirin watched her and Va’al closely because she didn’t trust them, or so she told herself. Now that she suspected what they shared was real, the warrior was unable to look away, fascinated with the strange dynamic they fostered. It was Va’al who had called for them to slow, jogging beside Enyo, who had incrementally decreased in speed. The black of the stone arm spread as Meirin watched, veins slithering over her collarbone and shoulder blades, exposed by her minimal wrappings.
The God ran his hand up the length of the Goddess’s spine, boney ridges of vertebrae poking through her skin, and curse Meirin if she didn’t see concern in his face. He murmured into Enyo’s ear, and she shook her head as if determined to push onwards. Meirin flushed, a little embarrassed to witness the tender exchange. As she looked on, Va’al insisted again, and Enyo gave up arguing with him.
The speck of darkness overhead circled downwards until Delyth landed. She didn’t ask why their pace had slowed; she just watched another tendril of ash snake its way across Enyo’s chest. They needed to find another Vassal now.
“Did you see any settlements ahead?” Meirin asked, drawing Delyth’s gaze.
“Yes.” The warrior’s voice was terse. Closed. “There is a settlement within a day’s walk. It appears untouched. No clouds of smoke or scorched farmland.”
Relief flooded Meirin; this would be over soon enough. With one more Vassal, Aryus would be returned, the Gods would summon their original forms, and banish Mascen. And then she could return to Mynydd Gwyllt and her family. Her duties. Her life. Maybe they stood a chance of actually pulling this off? One more Vassal and… That word wasn’t right. A Vassal was someone holy entering an ordinance with their God. The fifth would be more like a shell, holding the essence of something other.
Perhaps she should have offered herself as Vassal? Guilt was an enemy’s sword aimed at her chest, but she used reason as a shield. They needed warriors, hands with spears. Even if hers had been sacrificed in the initial battle with Mascen. She could fight, she could protect. With Enyo so weak, and Etienne still mastering the basics, they needed as many warriors as they could muster. Asides from that, this wasn’t her responsibility. This wasn’t her fight. Her duties had been dictated by Tanwen. Bring back Gethin, help banish the Gods if she could.
Well, now they were working side by side with the Gods, so the only thing Meirin could do was watch after Gethin. How would she do that if she was housed with the Death God? She couldn’t.
“A day is not so far,” Esha’s deep voice pulled Meirin from her thoughts. “Let us press onward.”
Etienne nodded, adjusting his pack. He seemed heartier after a couple night’s sleep and the slower pace of the last few days. There was a grim set to his jaw, a do-what-we-must determination that matched Delyth’s. Both were uncomfortable in the presence of the Gods.
Delyth nodded. “I’ll fly ahead to check for trouble.”
Though not much could have changed since the last time Delyth had flown in that direction, Meirin didn’t blame her. It would be easier to take haven in the clouds than stay on the earth with Enyo. Watching Alphonse’s body fade away with those spiraling black vines of infection.
“No.” Meirin jumped at the abrupt word. It was Va’al, shaking his head even as the others prepared to move onward. There was a sneer on his face that stank of arrogance. “This is too easy. Too much like a trap.”
“Then what do you suggest?” Delyth bristled as though her shoulders were lined with spikes rather than wings. “Are you going back on your bargain already? Too sentimental to put down your monster offspring?”
Va’al ground his teeth. “Actually, most astute one, I was going to suggest that one of us quietly scope out the town to make sure the way is clear. And, since bat-winged troglodytes aren’t common in this region, you won’t be of any help.”
Enyo’s chuckle just seemed to irritate Delyth even more. “So you’ll do it then? Because we all know you’re so fucking trustworthy.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
Meirin looked for a better option. Her gaze fell on Maoz, who stood with his arms crossed and his attention fixed on Delyth. Unresponsive, uninterested. Esha, who looked so strange with her hip cocked and fingers twirling one lock of the priest’s hair. Etienne, pale and gangly and lacking in all things stealthy. And Enyo, slower than a human now. Turning to stone. “I could do it,” Meirin offered.
“You are the least recognizable out of all of us. You look like you belong here, like you could be a wandering merchant or warrior… or baker.” Etienne smiled at her in his silly, wide-mouthed way. “But should Mascen discover you—”
“If Mascen realized she was with us, he’d kill her. She can’t outrun him. Can you imagine her fighting him?” Va’al laughed. “We all saw how well that went last time. I’ll go. There’s nothing else for it.”
⥣ ⥣ ⥣
* * *
It was dusk when Va’al reached the settlement. It was little more than a few homes raised together and a small open marketplace, currently empty for want of traders. They sat nestled against the river, cradled by a few miles of verdant farmland, with a few boys set to keep watch against the chance of bandits. There would be fighters within, plains people with spears near to hand if the need arose.
None of them saw Va’al.
He could not slip from the shadow half-world on the edges of existence like he might have when Rhosan was young, but his abilities had never entirely relied on that power. He knew the darkness, understood the way changing light cast flickering fingers as the sun sank, knew how to move among them like so much smoke, fox-silent.
As he stepped between the houses, he crouched in the earth—no cobblestone here— and listened. The village people moved about their evening tasks in small groups, talking among themselves. No one was too quiet or too loud, and they did their work with the sort of bored, every-day efficiency that came from duties performed at the same time, in the same way, year after year. And yet, there was something off, something wrong. He shifted uneasily, disturbing a skinny dog questing for scraps, and had to school himself to stillness. If this was a trap, then his quest to get his true form back would be delayed, yet again—more footsore days of bad travel food and worse shits.
And, Enyo would be in danger. She was a pain in the ass, but she was his pain in the ass, and he would not allow their son to take that from him.
So he waited, squatting on the earth between two squalid hovels in a stinking settlement laid out by humans, for some clue, some way of knowing what wasn’t quite right. When he understood, it was so plain that he ground his teeth at his failure to notice sooner. Perhaps the decades of existence in a human frame were beginning to dull his senses.
Aside from the youths keeping watch on the very outskirts, there were no children to be seen. No young ones played games in the streets or tugged on their mother’s skirts. There were no high giggling or newborn screams. The people here were hiding their young like prey animals when the wolf was near the den.
Va’al crept closer, ignoring the twinges of pain in his too-human spine, and managed to catch a shred of conversation.
“...’spose we should be grateful…”
“...still have the harvest.”
The speakers kept their voices low, careful, and soon moved out of earshot. No matter. Va’al had heard enough. He found his way to the edge of the alley and peered into the clearing where the villager
s had built a stone pit for fires that the entire community could enjoy. There was one blazing now, stoked to a wasteful fury that must be eating through weeks of firewood stores. Lounging before this blaze, carefree and comfortable, was his son.
Mascen sat with his back to the pit, despite the heat, his head pillowed against the stone. He had all the quiet repose of a sated mountain cat or a sunning snake. Va’al ground his teeth again and slipped back into the alley, winding his way through shadow-paths to the place the others had camped.
⥣ ⥣ ⥣
* * *
“Mascen is waiting for us.”
Enyo didn’t bother to look up as Va’al reappeared, panting and tight-faced. His news didn’t startle her. Of course, Mascen had found a way to cut them off from salvation. Of course, he lay in wait, ready to spring forth and finish what he had started in the valley three weeks ago. The pain in her arm, her constant burden, burned as another sliver of human flesh turned to igneous rock. The Goddess didn’t wince. Not anymore. Ages ago, pain had been a familiar sensation for Enyo. In a body that no longer existed, in a place that only haunted her memories, fear and suffering had been Enyo’s daily companions.
She had thought those times were lost in the darkness of the Cursed Realms. She had been wrong.
Fatigue dragged at her limbs, at her soul, and Enyo only found enough energy to snarl, soft and benign even to her ears. “How? How did he know where we would go?” They hadn’t even known until the winged harlot had spotted the village.
“Does it matter?” Meirin cut in, hoisting her pack higher onto her back, ready to flee. “We need to put distance between him and us.”
“It matters if he can do it again.” Maoz’s voice still sounded strange coming from the mouth of the round-faced man-child. “We will not get far both as the hunters and the hunted, not when Mascen has full access to his powers.”
Meirin nodded, her demeanor the most respectful of the humans. “I understand, but we have no solution for that now. The only thing we can do is flee.”
The practicality of it irritated Enyo. She loathed the idea of running from her child, but another slice of pain reminded Enyo of the price she would pay in facing Mascen in this body. “Ba’oto, fly in, scoop up a peasant and bring them here.” Simple enough. The priestess had insisted they find someone willing to be Vassal for Aryus, but they were wasting time. Any mortal would do after all.
“I’m not your slave yet, bitch.”
Esha took a deep breath and stepped between Enyo and her priestess, as though blocking them from each other’s view would keep their spat from escalating. Meddling, soft-hearted fool she was. “That could be disastrous. What would we do if Mascen came down on us before we could perform the ritual?”
“What?” Enyo snapped. “Afraid to get your hands a little bloody, Esha? If Mascen shows up, we fight.” Despite her words, Enyo went cold at the thought. She didn’t want to hurt anymore. She didn’t want to return to the banishment, or worse. Cursed Realms, she was tired.
“Do you want to die so badly, Enyo? I wouldn’t even mind, except you’d be taking someone actually worth her air with you. Save the suicide for after the Vassals are free.” Delyth’s expression was a granite mask, but her eyes were flashing. It might just be worth it to die if it wiped that look off the cursed priestess’s face.
“I’ll show you—”
“STOP!” The cracked voice of the mage made Enyo halt in her stalking, turning to peer at him. He gripped the front of his shirt, pressing a hand to his chest, his colorless eyes wide. “This is pointless. The reality is that we are not equipped to fight Mascen in this state, so we run. Find a Vassal and fight him on our terms.”
“The boy’s right.” Va’al looked as though the words tasted of ash in his mouth. “We’ve known from the beginning that we needed our bodies back to face him.”
The others were turning, backtracking the way they had come. Enyo shook her head. “He’s making slaves of us, Va’al.”
“No. Never again. He has only made us more cunning.”
She held his gaze a moment longer and then turned to flee. Damn Va’al, and his pretty words. Even if they were right.
⥣ ⥣ ⥣
* * *
Delyth drifted, letting a warm air current buoy her up, the world cold and silent but for wind in the absence of wing beats. Below, the earth was a featureless plain of pale yellow, broken only by the twisting ribbon of the Afonneidr’s western branch and the occasional square of farmland. The rest of her party were so far below that they might have been fleas or lice on the back of some enormous, wrinkle-skinned animal.
The rest of her party. Delyth’s stomach clenched, and she beat faster just to get farther away from them, away from the torture of being near the person she most loved once again, of seeing Alphonse’s lips twisted into sneers, of seeing her touched by someone whose hands she would not want anywhere near.
What am I doing?
They were working with Enyo again, traveling with her despite knowing what she was capable of. Was this a fool's errand? Was this all doomed to fail? Was her need to see Alphonse restored only putting Delyth in a place to be manipulated by the Gods? She should know better this time. She was no longer the faith-blind priestess, raised to serve a Goddess she did not understand.
Delyth shifted, caught another draft, let her frantic pace slow. Perhaps she should let them make her the Vassal just so that she would not have to see Enyo misuse her lover. She didn’t pursue the idea long. It had curled itself in a circle in her mind and spun there for days, always thwarted by a single question: What would happen to Etienne and Meirin if she did?
The warrior snapped her wings closed and just fell. A hundred meters. Two hundred. She opened them again when she could see cart tracks in the road below, letting the pain in her shoulders pull her back to reality. She was spinning again. Pointless thinking. Unpractical. She needed to scout ahead, to look for a Vassal. To save Alphonse. To keep Meirin and Etienne safe.
So she beat back up, focusing on the pull and release of the muscles in her back, her wings, on the breaths thundering from her throat. Once, flying like this had felt powerful.
Far to the east, the trail split and she turned a wide vulture-circle to give herself time to think. The left road, she thought, was broader—more space for carts and horses. A trade route perhaps? It would be the busier option. She flew down it and was quickly proven right by the lumbering forms of a merchant’s caravan. Rather than stay and be spotted, she turned and flew back to the others.
⥣ ⥣ ⥣
* * *
“If we take the left fork ahead, we’ll meet a number of travelers with carts and horses.” Delyth announced as she landed before them. With wind tossed hair and any shadow of happiness gone from her face, Meirin thought Delyth looked like a wild creature. Something made for prowling woodlands or nightmares. It shamed her, but Meirin could understand how people might be afraid of Delyth.
This Delyth, at least.
Meirin missed the simple days of traveling with Etienne and the winged woman, the two warriors teaching him the basics of hand to hand combat and staff work. Sharing chores and cooking meals. She and Etienne sneaking into the city to have a taste of a different life. How could those memories only be a week old? It seemed like moons and moons ago.
Wordlessly, the group turned to take the left fork. Enyo glared at Delyth, but blessedly neither seemed interested in resuming their argument.
Increasing her stride, Meirin caught up to Etienne, who wandered ahead of her, journal in one hand, pen in the other. He scribbled away like a person possessed. “Etienne?” As he looked her way, Meirin smiled. “I’ve been thinking about Gwynhafan.” Well, not really, but she needed any distraction from the death march they found themselves part of. Watching Enyo grow weaker, Delyth turning more and more into stone alongside the body of her lover. It was unrelentingly depressing. She didn’t want to think about collecting another Vassal and unleashing the Gods and the fight t
hat would ensue with Mascen. She didn’t want to think about that piece of truth that Esha and Enyo had given them, that the Vassals very well might not survive at all.
This entire ordeal would have been pointless if that were the case.
“Oh?” Etienne dragged himself out of whatever thoughts were possessing him, as though he'd been in a trance and she was waking him.
“Now that you’ve seen one of our great cities and one of yours, which do you think is better? Thloegr or Ingola?” Meirin knew it was an impossible comparison, but one of Etienne’s best traits had proven to be the ability to prattle at length on any given topic. Just the distraction she yearned for.
“I don’t think one is better than the other,” he said, turning to look at the land sprawled out around them. “This is a freer place, but also more dangerous to settle. Ingola’s rural areas aren’t so different, except that they follow stricter belief systems and don’t have to learn the sword. Ingola’s cities are bigger, with more craft, trade, and scholars, but they also struggle with crime and poverty. I haven’t seen any beggars in Thloegr.”
No, there were no beggars. At least none Meirin had ever experienced. Any clan worth its weight would not allow a single member to fall into such neglect, and she suspected that while larger cities were easy to get swallowed up in, the same principles applied. The temples and the leaders would ensure everyone had a piece of something. Even if it was a small piece. But scholars didn’t sound too bad. “Fine,” she flipped her hand, eager to move the conversation forward. “Which lands have the most handsome people?” Despite herself, Meirin felt a coy smile stretching across her face.