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

darkened to a tumultuous grey. “Did you convince her to do it?”

When Delyth didn’t answer, he turned away, desperately moving to step into Va'al’s path. Only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder. The warrior spoke then. “Stop, Etienne. This is not your decision.”

“No,” he said, but his voice was a whisper. “It shouldn’t have to be anyone’s decision.”

This couldn’t happen this way, not again. He should have offered to be the Vassal, should have not played the coward’s role once more. Alphonse had been lost to a God for his hubris.

And now Meirin would be lost for his fear.

The first thick droplets of water began to fall as Va'al placed the horn in Meirin’s hand. She already had a knife ready, and as she raised it to slice open her hand, Etienne could do nothing but watch, numb with horror and leaning into Delyth’s grip.

He was almost relieved when the knife jumped from her grip, torn away by a sudden violence of wind. The God who had stopped her was framed in the storm he had created.

“Now, we can’t have that, can we?” Mascen said and threw back his head to laugh into the torrent.

Chapter XXII

Eleventh Moon, Waxing Crescent: Eastern Branch of the Afonnieder

Meirin watched the arc of her knife as it flew through the air and then landed in the earth, blade first. The hilt stuck up, quivering with the impact, so inviting, if only she could dash across the distance and pick up her weapon. But Mascen was still before her, and his black eyes were sharp as he looked down at her.

She did probably the most foolish or the most courageous thing she had ever done in her entire life. The warrior reached back her hand and punched him square in the jaw. She felt her wrist creak, the bones grinding together, but Mascen did not move from the impact. He laughed and backhanded her hard. Her head snapped against her shoulder, and her body followed, flying across the clearing and landing in a pile of limbs and whirling thoughts. The horn was no longer clutched in her small fingers.

“Mascen!” Enyo screamed, the storm redoubling its efforts. Meirin tried to push herself upright, but her mind was addled from her brief flight. Maybe she would just lay there a little while longer.

“Mother, don’t be so dramatic,” Mascen drawled, stepping closer to the collected Gods. “I can play this game all day. All year. My entire life. But I’ve been growing bored. You’re so predictable. You never try anything new. Anything interesting.”

“Let us get our bodies back, and I’ll show you something new,” Enyo hissed, her promise less than threatening as she made no move to attack, rotten, stone arm hanging uselessly at her side.

“I’m not a fool. Don’t insult me, mother.”

✶

Etienne stumbled back to fall to his knees at Meirin’s side. “Are you alright?” he asked, fingers trembling, and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her rain-spattered face.

Around them, the storm raged so that it was all but impossible to see the others through the tumult, but Etienne could recognize Enyo from her voice alone. And was that Delyth behind her? The mage squinted even as the tall, winged figure came barrelling away from Enyo’s tent, a familiar sword in hand.

Mascen’s eyes were on her too. “So it seems that you will keep our bargain, after all, mortal.”

Etienne turned to look at Delyth, his brows pinching together. What bargain? Delyth wouldn’t make a bargain with Mascen… Would she?  The God of Disasters turned to his mother, his gloating face as clear despite the deluge. “Some loyalty you command, Mother, if your priestess is willing to steal your sword for me.”

And then Delyth was upon him, opening a gruesome cut in his arm—a real wound that fountained blood rather than lava.

Mascen turned in anger, and with a single motion, sent her flying back twenty feet where she struck a tree and lay unmoving.

Etienne sucked in a deep breath, looking down at Meirin again. Mascen would destroy them all. Could destroy them all so easily. And millions would follow after.

There welled in him a desperation so great that, finally, he understood what had driven the clanswoman to take the horn. She had even more to protect than he did, and alone, they would never be able to save the people they loved.

Her eyes were unfocused as she looked up into Etienne’s face. Maybe she saw understanding there, or perhaps she was simply hopeless, but she grabbed the front of his tunic and pulled him closer. “Do something, Etienne. We can still finish this.”

The mage shuddered, recoiling from her whispered command. What was he supposed to do? He could not fight, not like Meirin and Delyth could. Besides, they had already proven just how ineffectual trying to fight a God was. The winged warrior might have wounded him, but neither looked as though they would rise again anytime soon.

“How annoying.” The God stalked towards Delyth, teeth bared, and one hand clamped over his arm. “Well, I suppose you’ve still managed to be useful.”

Calamity was lying several feet away from the warrior, gleaming cruelly on the wet earth. Still, Delyth didn’t stir.

Etienne swallowed. How much worse would things be if Mascen touched that blade. Would he slay Delyth with it? Alphonse? The mage stood, hands trembling.

What could he do, if not fight?

He still had such a small grasp of the magic Delyth had been trying to teach him, and even if he could cast it, no Ingolan spell could be prepared in time. He was useless, just as he always had been. The reason that Alphonse had been taken, that all of this had started in the first place.

He clutched his hair with both fists, grinding his teeth together. What was he supposed to do against a creature made of magic?

Magic that came from the Cursed Realms. Just like all magic did.

Etienne froze, suddenly understanding the idea that had been