Vassal Sterling D'Este (top 10 books of all time .TXT) 📖

Chapter VI

Fifth Moon, Full: Thloegr

For a long while, Etienne walked in silence. In front of him, the warrior strode purposefully down the road, the sword slapping against her back between the strange, powerful wings. Alphonse trailed behind him. He checked on her from time to time, but now that he knew Delyth was no immediate threat, his curiosity about her formation occupied his thoughts.

Was she of a different species or only part human, or was this some strain of evolution that had not occurred within Ingola? He had seen Cabot before but nothing like this. Nothing so clearly different.  Her wings appeared almost bat-like, leathery and veined, but he could not discern any other attributes different from Ingolans, except perhaps, her stature and severity of her features.

After another moment, Etienne lengthened his stride to walk beside her. He had to know. Perhaps she would be open to questions. “Delyth,” he asked, “How does one put shirts on with wings?”

The warrior snorted, a half-smile twisting her mouth. “That is what you want to know?”

Etienne considered this. He was reasonably certain that he wanted to know most everything, but that would work for now. He nodded.

“I just have clothes made to accommodate them, little scholar”—Etienne was fairly sure that little was pushing it since he was taller than her—“I assume that’s what anyone with wings would do, though I don’t know for certain. I have never met anyone like me.”

That gave Etienne a whole host of things to think about. Were there others with wings? It made sense that there were. Delyth had to have come from somewhere. Even more intriguing, though, was the idea that she had lived her entire life among regular humans.

“What was that like?” he asked. “Not knowing any others like you?”

Delyth looked at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she quickened her pace. “I am done with questions for now.”

❀

It wasn’t until they had stopped to make camp, water in a pot set over their fire, that Alphonse seemed to break out of her silent reverie.  She had debated within herself all afternoon if it was wrong to mislead Delyth, or acceptable to take the warrior’s help to cure herself.

Alphonse had come to the conclusion that while it was not morally sound to lie, it was more than a grey area when it came to protecting herself. And she most certainly was protecting herself from Enyo. The longer their two presences were battling within her body, the worse she would fare.

And since she had no intention of harming Delyth besides the deceit, Alphonse was able to rectify the lying.

Somewhat.

Guilt still churned in her belly as she watched the warrior settle onto the ground before the fire, her wings rustling slightly with the movement. Alphonse’s gaze traced the lines of those wings, the sweeps and curves, and the manner in which Delyth held them to her body.

They were a thing of beauty. And nightmares.

The healer within Alphonse longed to examine them and study them, understanding each intricate detail.

She wanted to touch them.

Balling her hands into fists in her lap, Alphonse spoke for the first time since meeting the warrior priestess.

“Priestess Delyth… I—we don’t know much about Enyo…” The Goddess’s presence stirred behind Alphonse’s heart at the mention of that wretched name. Alphonse swallowed in fear but pressed on. “Would you...Tell us more?”

Understanding the Goddess would surely help her battle Enyo within herself. 

It couldn’t hurt.

Right?

༄

“Delyth is fine,” the warrior said. None of the others at the temple had ever addressed her so formally, and she found the deference unsettling. “I am no disciple, trained in the ways of speaking history, but I will tell you what I know.”

For a moment, the halfbreed gazed silently into the fire, her fingers working at the buckles binding Calamity to her back. She shrugged the scabbard off and set it within reach so that she might fold her wings more comfortably. When she was ready, she began the tale in a sonorous voice.

“In the time before kingdoms, Enyo crossed the barrier into this world. We know little of the plane from which Gods come, but that it is a hellish place, fire-brimmed and sulfurous. Enyo was the first to come, though others followed. For this, we call her Un Cyntaf. It means…” Delyth paused, drawing her brows together… “First One? But also swiftest?”

She shrugged, the movement as much wing as shoulder. “Enyo came to this land, long before it was Rhosan or Thloegr, and she found it cold and barren. The wild people who lived here eked out rough lives across the ice.

“Enyo saw this and was displeased. From the bones of the earth, she pulled the Brig Ia Mynydd—the Brig’ian Mountains in this tongue—to protect the land from the frigid cold of the North Sea. In their shadow, she filled the land with deep forests and rich valleys, and the people here worshipped her in thanks for all she had wrought.

“Now, there came a time when other Gods began to follow Enyo’s path. The next was Dilynwr, He Who Follows, who is also called Kirit. Kirit saw the land Enyo had created and was jealous, so he found the people who lived north of the mountains and told them that Enyo had wronged them by not making their land as fruitful as those below the mountains. He taught them the arts of war and showed them the way to Enyo’s people.

“When they came, the Goddess was filled with rage. She had created a beautiful, chaotic world and should be praised for it, not vilified. So when the people of ice attacked, Enyo strode to meet them with a sword carved from disaster itself. She and Calamity flew through the army with the ferocity of a summer storm.

“None survived. Her people were spared any casualties, so we worship her for the lands bounty and the ferocity to protect what we care for. Enyo is both the joy of spring and the terror of a mountain blizzard,