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

himself to stillness. If this was a trap, then his quest to get his true form back would be delayed, yet again—more footsore days of bad travel food and worse shits.

And, Enyo would be in danger. She was a pain in the ass, but she was his pain in the ass, and he would not allow their son to take that from him.

So he waited, squatting on the earth between two squalid hovels in a stinking settlement laid out by humans, for some clue, some way of knowing what wasn’t quite right. When he understood, it was so plain that he ground his teeth at his failure to notice sooner. Perhaps the decades of existence in a human frame were beginning to dull his senses.

Aside from the youths keeping watch on the very outskirts, there were no children to be seen. No young ones played games in the streets or tugged on their mother’s skirts. There were no high giggling or newborn screams. The people here were hiding their young like prey animals when the wolf was near the den.

Va’al crept closer, ignoring the twinges of pain in his too-human spine, and managed to catch a shred of conversation.

“...’spose we should be grateful…”

“...still have the harvest.”

The speakers kept their voices low, careful, and soon moved out of earshot. No matter. Va’al had heard enough. He found his way to the edge of the alley and peered into the clearing where the villagers had built a stone pit for fires that the entire community could enjoy. There was one blazing now, stoked to a wasteful fury that must be eating through weeks of firewood stores. Lounging before this blaze, carefree and comfortable, was his son.

Mascen sat with his back to the pit, despite the heat, his head pillowed against the stone. He had all the quiet repose of a sated mountain cat or a sunning snake. Va’al ground his teeth again and slipped back into the alley, winding his way through shadow-paths to the place the others had camped.

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“Mascen is waiting for us.”

Enyo didn’t bother to look up as Va’al reappeared, panting and tight-faced. His news didn’t startle her. Of course, Mascen had found a way to cut them off from salvation. Of course, he lay in wait, ready to spring forth and finish what he had started in the valley three weeks ago.  The pain in her arm, her constant burden, burned as another sliver of human flesh turned to igneous rock. The Goddess didn’t wince. Not anymore. Ages ago, pain had been a familiar sensation for Enyo. In a body that no longer existed, in a place that only haunted her memories, fear and suffering had been Enyo’s daily companions.

She had thought those times were lost in the darkness of the Cursed Realms. She had been wrong.

Fatigue dragged at her limbs, at her soul, and Enyo only found enough energy to snarl, soft and benign even to her ears. “How? How did he know where we would go?” They hadn’t even known until the winged harlot had spotted the village.

“Does it matter?” Meirin cut in, hoisting her pack higher onto her back, ready to flee. “We need to put distance between him and us.”

“It matters if he can do it again.” Maoz’s voice still sounded strange coming from the mouth of the round-faced man-child. “We will not get far both as the hunters and the hunted, not when Mascen has full access to his powers.”

Meirin nodded, her demeanor the most respectful of the humans. “I understand, but we have no solution for that now. The only thing we can do is flee.”

The practicality of it irritated Enyo. She loathed the idea of running from her child, but another slice of pain reminded Enyo of the price she would pay in facing Mascen in this body. “Ba’oto, fly in, scoop up a peasant and bring them here.” Simple enough. The priestess had insisted they find someone willing to be Vassal for Aryus, but they were wasting time. Any mortal would do after all.

“I’m not your slave yet, bitch.”

Esha took a deep breath and stepped between Enyo and her priestess, as though blocking them from each other’s view would keep their spat from escalating. Meddling, soft-hearted fool she was. “That could be disastrous. What would we do if Mascen came down on us before we could perform the ritual?”

“What?” Enyo snapped. “Afraid to get your hands a little bloody, Esha? If Mascen shows up, we fight.” Despite her words, Enyo went cold at the thought. She didn’t want to hurt anymore. She didn’t want to return to the banishment, or worse. Cursed Realms, she was tired.

“Do you want to die so badly, Enyo? I wouldn’t even mind, except you’d be taking someone actually worth her air with you. Save the suicide for after the Vassals are free.” Delyth’s expression was a granite mask, but her eyes were flashing. It might just be worth it to die if it wiped that look off the cursed priestess’s face.

“I’ll show you—”

“STOP!” The cracked voice of the mage made Enyo halt in her stalking, turning to peer at him. He gripped the front of his shirt, pressing a hand to his chest, his colorless eyes wide. “This is pointless. The reality is that we are not equipped to fight Mascen in this state, so we run. Find a Vassal and fight him on our terms.”

“The boy’s right.” Va’al looked as though the words tasted of ash in his mouth. “We’ve known from the beginning that we needed our bodies back to face him.”

The others were turning, backtracking the way they had come. Enyo shook her head. “He’s making slaves of us, Va’al.”

“No. Never again. He has only made us more cunning.”

She held his gaze a moment longer and then turned to flee. Damn Va’al, and his pretty words. Even if they were right.

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