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

thin current of anger taint his gravelly voice, and Eifion tensed. Did he know who he was provoking?

A knowing smile curved Mascen’s lips, and in one swift movement, he vaulted over the railing and dropped to the courtyard floor. Despite his massive size and the considerable height of the fall, he landed silently, without causing the ground to split as his mother might have done. He could be stealthy when he wanted to be.

“Don’t worry, Bledig. The plants will regrow, and our mother certainly understands why I have—ahh—what’s the term humans use?—Razed this land.” When Bledig’s expression didn’t change, Mascen’s brow pinched, and he strode forward. “Destruction creates rebirth, does it not? A storm may knock over a tree or two but waters the earth as well. Of course, I’ve done a little more than a mere storm, but the idea is much the same. I am creating Rhosan as it should have been. Ask our mother, the birthing process is painful. The lands will recover.”

“The lands play no part in your feud,” the Lost God growled, standing firm despite Mascen’s approach. They were of nearly the same size, though Bledig was nowhere near the First Child’s power.

Eifion thought his protests ill-advised. After all, the land constantly changed. It would heal and face destruction a thousand thousand times.

As for the humans… Eifion had thought them too set in their ways for some time. Change would be welcome.

Something feral rippled across Mascen’s face as he stopped, mere feet away from his brothers. “So you have chosen, then: our mother—” His eyes flickered to Eifion as well. “And our father. They who turned away from their child and cursed him to a mere rock in the middle of Iluka’s turbulent seas?” He was turning skull-white, the black and red of his tattoos standing out in stark contrast against his skin. His hair looked like blood.

How quickly he could pass from gloating to rage. How quickly the storm could shift, turning to wipe out another hapless village in its path.

“No, Mascen,” Eifion said immediately, but Bledig cut him off.

“What do I care of your quarrel? Did I not still speak with you even after you were banished? But is this—” he gestured behind him, “really the way to go about fixing things, brother?”

The God of destruction bared his teeth, his hands clenched and his eyes black pits. But slowly, so very slowly, he unfurled his fingers and straightened up.“You are right, brother. This doesn’t fix things…” Mascen stepped forward to clap Bledig on the shoulder, his temper having disappeared.

Eifion watched as Bledig smiled, happy with Mascen’s decision, while he backed away, the current of change visible to him no matter the contour of his eyes. The smell of sulfur was becoming ever more potent, and his eyes watered from the fumes.

“But it’s a good start.” Snake-quick, Mascen grabbed Bledig’s wing at the base and yanked. The sound was like fabric tearing or rock grinding but wet with the splatter of black blood. Mascen laughed, dropping the wing as if it were nothing more than a stray tree branch he had trimmed. Licking his fingertips, he turned to Eifion, completely ignoring the twitching, screaming Bledig at their feet.

“I think it is time you go, brother.”

Eifion gripped Bledig even as he shoved wings from his back once more, lifting them both up and away from the madness hidden behind the stone and wood buildings of Caerthleon.

Chapter XIV

Tenth Moon, Waning Gibbous: Central Thloegr

Meirin’s feet ached, and her heart hammered an unsteady tattoo against her ribs, pleading for a let-up. Her breaths were coming in sharply, and her lungs burned but, still, they pushed on. Trying to put as much distance between themselves and whoever—whatever that thing had been. It frightened Enyo and Maoz, and so it frightened her.

Meirin couldn’t speak even if she had wanted to, her words eaten up by the need to gasp for air, but Etienne was flagging behind, and the clanswoman slowed her pace as well. They had been running for over an hour, and while it seemed that Delyth could go on forever, the mage could not. Nor could she.

Slowing to a hazardous walk, Meirin clapped Etienne on the shoulder. He was wheezing. “Don’t. Stop. Moving,” she panted. “You’ll. Cramp.” And then Meirin called croakily ahead. “Delyth!”

The warrior looked over her shoulder, and when she saw Etienne struggling, she slowed too.

“We’ve run enough.” Meirin swallowed, striding down the road determinedly. She must keep moving or pay the price. Even if her legs did want to collapse and her mind was reeling with all that had happened. “We should set camp soon—Then make way for Mynydd Gwyllt. We have to warn the others.”

✶

Delyth rounded on her, still dripping blood slowly from rents in her wings. It sprayed across the ground in a gruesome fan that fascinated Etienne’s tired mind for a long moment. “You want us to turn and run back to your clan?” the warrior demanded. “We were so close! Do the Mynydd Gwyllt all give up so easily?”

Etienne gripped his staff, too tired to do much more than continue moving his legs. “What we need now is to rest,” he said, angry that the two warriors would argue like this when it was evident that they were all too tired to think clearly.

“Give up?” Meirin retorted. “We need to warn them! If there are creatures like that, roaming our lands—You saw what it did to Enyo, your Goddess! It had her on her knees in a matter of seconds! The woman who nearly single handedly took down my entire clan, brought to her knees by some—some man?! Where is your loyalty?! Should you not go back and warn your people?!”

“My loyalty?” Delyth’s voice was incredulous, her face contorted with anger. “We have a goal. Do you think that Enyo and Maoz are any less dangerous because this Mascen attacked them? Besides, he was hardly interested in us! Not to mention, with the Gods weakened,