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

had been required to take that all creatures needed water. Everything drank. Birds, beasts, snakes. Fish were constantly submerged. No living thing died from drinking.

So then, it had to be something inanimate. Something that ate but could not drink.

“Fire,” he said softly. Then, louder, “It's fire! It has to be. Fire eats fuel but is doused by water!”

“I guess the standards for acolytes are lower these days. Hrmph.” His expression was decidedly unimpressed. “I assume you know what to do now, boy? Or should I spell it out?”

Etienne was already pulling his knife from his belt and pressing its blade into his palm. On the rough, stone surface of the altar, he painted one of the few runes Delyth had taught him, squinting his eyes against the sudden flare of flame. Then, nothing.

Meirin and Delyth watched on, silent and expectant.

And still, nothing.

Sagging, Etienne turned to the ghost, intending to ask for help, to see what he had done wrong.

And then, the altar split open with a crack like the first peal of thunder.

“Go on, it won’t clean itself. Just don’t say our lovely God’s name while you do. Don’t want to summon them here for a clumsy acolyte, do we?” The old priest chuckled at the thought.

“Is that the artifact?” Meirin asked, stepping forward and peering into the newly revealed hollow.

“Yes.” Carefully, Etienne wrapped his hands in his shirt and lifted the horn, making sure that it did not touch his skin. Inviting a God into his body might be a fitting recompense for summoning Enyo, but it would not help them now. He did not make any pretense of cleaning it. “The spirit of a priest led me to its location—thank you, by the way.”

“Spirit? What are you yammering on about, boy? Are you going to clean it or no? Lazy thing.” The priest was frowning now, perhaps catching on that not all was well.

“Sorry, but I can’t,” Etienne said. “We’re going to have to borrow it for a while.”

“Borrow? You can’t borrow it! It’s not some decoy like the one those fools took. It’s real! Now put that back, or I’ll have to have you removed from the priesthood.”

Etienne’s face lit up. “There were others here? And they took a fake artifact?”

“They always do. Now—Hey! Come back here!” Etienne moved towards Delyth, handing her the horn.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he told the ghost, “but I think that horn will help me get my friend back.”

Delyth was watching him with the still focus of a mountain lion. “What do you mean?”

“Enyo wanted the artifact, right? She’s up to something involving other Gods. The more she awakens, the harder it will be to stop them.”

Delyth nodded slowly, her shoulder seeming to relax a fraction. “We’re a little ahead, for once.”

“We’re catching up with Enyo. Finally. Let’s see if we can trap a Goddess.” Etienne turned to lead the way back out to the plains, the ghost protesting all the way.

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Once more, Delyth stood at the entrance of the Mynydd Gwyllt Clan, its walls stretching impossibly high above her. Tanwen stood at the gate, one hand on a black bastard sword, her head thrown back, laughing.

“You can’t come in, Del,” she taunted, pointing the blade in the halfbreed’s direction. Only, Delyth didn’t have a sword of her own, and her wings would not unfurl to carry her. They were too heavy. Not fast enough.

“Why?” She growled the word, throat raw and full of anger. Alphonse was in there. She had to be. So close and still Delyth couldn’t reach her. 

Agonizingly, as though her legs were mired in ooze, she struggled towards the clan leader until they were almost near enough to touch. A sword-stroke away, if she’d had a sword. Tanwen stopped laughing, her eyes growing wider, their bright green igniting into embers. “I know you enjoy hurting others, Ba’oto. I think perhaps you are the most vicious out of us all, Tristan included. Trickster that he is, he’s not a cunning, cruel creature such as you.”

And then it wasn’t Tanwen at all, but Enyo standing before her, hands dripping with the blood of a human heart, bulging with fat and frayed tissue but still beating, still thumping out spurts of crimson in an energetic tattoo. “Yuk, Ba’oto,” the Goddess crooned. “Eat the heart, and I’ll give Alphonse back to you.”

Her words warped, a strange song repeating over and over, bouncing until they became distorted. “Eat the heart, eat the heart, eat the heart, Ba’oto.”

Slowly, Delyth lowered her mouth towards the writhing organ, tears leaking from her eyes until finally, the hot thing was against her lips, filling her mouth with metallic gouts of ichor. She bit into soft flesh…

And then it wasn’t a heart at all, but Alphonse’s hand that Delyth was drinking blood from, the healer’s skin becoming paler and more drawn by the second, only Delyth couldn’t stop, couldn’t pull away while thick liquid poured down her throat.

“Hush,” Alphonse whispered, stroking her hair as gently as she ever had, letting her fingers brush the warrior’s temples. “It's alright, Delyth. I always knew you were a monster.”

Consciousness came like a shock of freezing water, abrupt and cleansing. Delyth gasped for air. Her simple bedding was wrapped around her legs, binding them together, her wings catching the edge of the tent. She had to get free, get out.

Delyth wrenched herself loose, ignoring the groan of tearing fabric. She lurched forward, knocking a wing joint against the hard pole of the tent; spilled outside like so much viscera. The air was cool, and she gulped it down, chest heaving.

It was just a dream. Just a dream.

It wasn’t real.

Delyth pulled her knees into her chest and sobbed, air escaping her mouth in bursts while tears soaked her jerkin. She had lost so much in the last moons. Her faith. Her purpose. The woman she loved. Now, she’d come so close to losing herself too. Losing herself to the dark, to