Goddess Liv Savell (best autobiographies to read .TXT) 📖

Delyth backed away, her mask still in place, stoicism just hiding the turmoil beneath. She was tired of this game. Tired of talking about Alphonse with Tanwen as though they were anything alike. “Thank you, War Chief, for your assistance with our task.”

Tanwen’s cheeks were stewed-cherry red, and she pushed herself off the wall as soon as Delyth backed off. Her good hand clenched and unclenched at her side. Did she want to throw a punch? Delyth almost wished she would.

Instead, Tanwen sneered. “I was just asking because Meirin is going with you. She’s a strong fighter but smaller and closer to dainty. Like your precious lover. I suggest you try not to fuck her if you can manage it.”

Tanwen gave Delyth a final accusatory glance before she was flouncing off, clearly in a fit. Delyth let her go without deigning to reply. Tanwen had her clan and her family and the life she’d always wanted. At least in part.

Let her try to be happy with it. Delyth had far larger problems than frightened little war chiefs. Thinking of Alphonse had taken any sting from Tanwen’s spiteful words.

When she got back to the hall, Etienne was finished eating, his leg bouncing beneath the table as though he was eager to get back on the road. Delyth handed him his new weapons, smiling slightly when his eyes widened. She was willing to bet he’d be less excited when it came time to learn how to use them, but she’d let him have it for now.

“Let’s find Meirin and get moving. We have a few Gods to find, after all.”

Chapter VII

Ninth Moon, Full Moon: South of the Mynydd Gwyllt Clan

“This is where the trail ends. I bet they crossed the river or followed along on the bank, but since it is a rocky bed, there is little way to know. No footprints, no underbrush that has been disturbed.” Despite the disfavorable pronouncement, Meirin didn’t seem upset. She looked slowly left, and then right, but as she had said, the rock surface made it impossible for them to find any indication of which way the Goddess and her captive had gone. 

As it was, the trail was erratic. It weaved through the forest proper, with sudden changes in direction only to return to the original route. When Meirin had asked what this could mean, Delyth and Etienne had explained that Enyo was prone to chase whatever caught her eye.

They had come across a clearing not two hours hike from the settlement where every tree and every bush had been disturbed, the dead leaves piled up in a perfect circle lining the center of the clearing, which was empty of any debris.

She had never seen anything like it before, so strange and unnatural. Etienne and Delyth had discussed it for a long time and finally concluded that they must have used Maoz’s artifact to bring him back and bind him into Gethin’s body. The site looked much like other things had that they experienced with the Gods.

Still, they were determined, and Meirin had to respect that tenacity if nothing else.

She straightened up from the water's edge and tugged on one of her dreaded braids. “Priestess—Sorry. Delyth. Perhaps you could fly up and see if you can spot any indication of their path?” It was the obvious answer in this situation. Or so it seemed to her.

✶

The mage turned to Meirin, appraising her silently. “We have… another way to find Enyo.” Delyth opened a fingertip with her gilded dagger to trace a sigil onto the bare skin of her forearm. “Meirin, just how much do you know about magic?”

He wanted to introduce her to the idea gently, if possible. He had been shocked by the use of blood magic, but she was from Thloegr…

Dark eyes flickered to Delyth’s blood and then to Etienne’s face. “Not much. The Mynydd Gwyllt forgot those ways long ago. The spiritual leaders do a few rituals, but…” She shrugged, watching with guarded interest. “What is it that you are doing?”

Etienne watched as the magic took effect, and Delyth leaned back, sucking in a lungful of air. He’d never asked what it felt like to feel the surge of that magic. To know, suddenly, where Alphonse was.

Perhaps he’d know in time. If he managed to learn blood magic.

“She’s… closer than I thought she would be,” Delyth breathed, as though she hadn’t heard Meirin’s question. Perhaps she hadn’t. “South. And a little to the east of us.”

Etienne nodded, and then because this probably made little sense to the clan warrior, he turned to explain it to Meirin. “She’s using blood and runes to power a spell that can tell us where the Gods are.”

Simple enough. Except that it left out the part where it only worked because Enyo had drunk so much of Delyth’s blood in the moons leading up to Thlonandras. Even now, even after everything that had happened, it still made his skin crawl.

Meirin watched, her face set in uncertain lines even as she turned southward. “But why is Delyth doing the magic? She was a warrior priestess. They aren’t specifically trained to do such things. And you said you were Ingolan, from that fancy school.” Her words were leading and pointed.

He should be doing the magic. Otherwise, what was his role in all of this? He wasn’t a warrior, he wasn’t a tracker, he certainly wasn’t an expert on the Old Gods. Etienne sighed.

“It is true that the temple warriors are not trained in the old ways, but there are still those that practice them. The woman who raised me was one,” Delyth said, and Etienne blinked in surprise. He had not known that about her, had just assumed that blood magic was common in Thloegr.

But then, this was not quite the land of heathens he had been led to believe in Ingola.

“That fancy school doesn’t teach blood magic,” he said, even knowing it was a paltry excuse.