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

her. Should have carried her into rage or somnolence. This time, though, she pushed through it until she found her mountain roots and breathed into them, filling herself to her core with clean, pre-dawn air. She could still move, could still think.

“You heard Enyo. There isn’t time for questions. Now, we move.”

Chapter XVIII

Eleventh Moon, New Moon: North of Gwynhafan

“Meirin, pay attention now. Look at how I add the salt and dried figs. It is important to mix these ingredients well with the flour—Meirin. Are you listening?” 

Of course she was listening. She just was also paying attention to the clanspeople passing by outside the bakery window.  They were chattering excitedly, and while Meirin couldn’t make out the exact words, she didn’t have to hear them to know what was riling everyone up. The traveling caravans were sure to arrive soon, and with them came news, trades, and fresh faces. Always an alluring prospect for the Mynydd Gwyllt. 

Not that it mattered all that much to her mother, Izel. Her parents, Meirin’s grandparents, had been travelers until they finally settled in Mynydd Gwyllt. They had claimed the winds of fate brought them to the clan, and then they had their only child, a daughter. Izel had been deeply rooted to the land and did not hear the winds of fate. Zuma and his woman, Patli, had been disappointed by their daughter’s fixed nature, but when she chose to have a child of her own and permanently build a life in the Mynydd Gwyllt Clan, they had accepted her wishes and remained as well. 

It was this fixed nature that made Izel uninterested in the traveling caravans unless she required a specific trade. She wasn’t now, and so she did not share her daughter’s enthrallment. “Meirin?”

“Yes, Mother. I am listening. Mix the dates and the salt into the flour.” The girl looked away from the window and to the work table where the supplies were set out. “Then add the wet ingredients and stir until firm. Then—”

“Very well. Since it appears you know the recipe, I suggest you make it while I start the next batch.” Her mother’s tone was dry and unamused. She didn’t often think Meirin’s know-it-all nature was entertaining. 

Sighing, Meirin took up the task, all the while keeping one eye on the road beyond. At the first sign of merchants, she’d make an excuse and leave. There was only one more season before she would join the warriors and patrol full time. She could hardly wait. 

It wasn’t that her mother’s bakery was unappealing; it was just that she felt trapped, stuck here in the same living space day after day. Her grandparents had often commented that Meirin had more of a wanderer’s heart than their daughter, but Meirin doubted it. She loved Mynydd Gwyllt. The people, the festivals, the feasts. It was her home, after all. She just wished her home wasn’t literally in the same building as her mother. 

There was no desire in her to run out into the wide world and leave all that she knew behind. She shared her mother’s belief that wandering was for the fickle-natured. Even her grandparents had set aside this custom in favor of permanency and stability. As any sane person would. 

No. Meirin was only interested in the travelers because it was a taste of the outside world without abandoning everything she loved. A taste was all she needed. 

⥣          ⥣           ⥣

Waiting under the shade of a lonely patch of trees on the side of the road, Meirin watched as Etienne clutched his stomach as though he was fighting the urge to vomit. People unaccustomed to running for long stretches often heaved up their guts. He had already stopped by the side of the road on three occasions that morning, but Delyth pushed them onwards, alternating between a jog and hurried walk.

For whatever reason, Enyo had given them a warning—Meirin suspected it was to make the hunt all the more interesting for the Goddess— and Delyth was not letting the opportunity go. They were cutting back the way they had come, aiming for Caerthleon and supposed safety. To hide among the masses—three humans amongst thousands.

Anything to get away from the Gods and keep their hands from the artifact that would resurrect another of their kind.

Delyth had flown off to scout the road ahead, likely anxious to keep moving but sensing Etienne’s weaning strength, offered them this reprieve in pretending to do some crucial task.

They hadn’t spoken much since packing up camp and fleeing from Gwynhafan, but Meirin had seen Delyth’s gaze as Enyo threatened. She had noticed how the warrior assessed her and Etienne’s own ruffled appearance after running back from Gwynhafan. Meirin was certain Delyth wouldn’t say anything about their outing, but she also was certain the warrior disapproved.

There was no time to obsess over that fact, not as they were being pursued by the vengeful Gods, yet Meirin kept coming back to the sensations. Elation at the evening she had been granted, guilt at not being there to protect Delyth from Enyo’s attack, frustration that they were yet again running, and that nothing on this cursed journey seemed to be able to go right. She felt embarrassed too, that she had been caught galavanting with the lanky mage.

Well.

Embarrassed and something more.

She watched him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, shaky from exhaustion and perhaps nerves too. He had summoned impressive magic to fling Enyo from Delyth. He had actually hurt the Goddess, which likely only made him more of a target for her wrath. Could he do it again? Could he fight a God? A bizarre thought given how dreadful a warrior he was. How could someone so odd also be so strong?

“Here.” Meirin removed her water canteen, nearly empty, and handed it to Etienne. He had already drunk all his water. “Have some of mine.”

✶

Etienne took the canteen gratefully, his hands shaking as