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

In all honesty, Etienne had no way of knowing if what he had told Delyth was true. He had no idea what the separation of the Gods and the Vassals would do to the human form. Alphonse would be better equipped to guess. She had always understood people and their bodies better than he could. Still, he had to hope. He had to believe that they would move past this, that the end of Mascen would open a new era for Thloegr, an era for Gods that could not harm their mortal followers. An age for prosperity.

And for him, for Delyth and Alphonse and Meirin, a chance for peace and love.

⥣          ⥣           ⥣

It took until nightfall for the bonfire to grow in strength. The flames leaped, high and bright, a beacon across the low plains. The humans couldn’t stand closer than thirty paces from the fire without sweating, but the Gods were not so affected.

They stood in a wide circle around the bonfire, ten paces apart and facing the flames. Aryus had the blade. A simple thing, plain steel and leather. It should have been more impressive, beautifully wrought gold, or cut gemstone. No matter. It was the blood they were after. Enyo watched, rapt, as Aryus raised the knife above their hand and aimed its point to the crook in their arm. The tip kissed skin, then broke it, blood welling up from that point even as Aryus pressed the dagger further in and down their arm, a long, dripping ribbon. They completed a similar stroke on their opposite arm and then passed the knife to Esha.

As though the dagger had been a weight holding them still, Aryus flowed into motion, Meirin’s braids streaming out behind them. They tramped runes, long forgotten, into the earth before the fire, half-stomping, half-dancing on bare feet. Then Esha began, and Maoz, and Va’al.

Enyo took the blade last and held it up to the starlight before bringing it down to cut across her one wrist,the second impermeable stone. It was less pain than release, with all the world and all her freedom stretching out before her. Enyo tossed the dagger aside and skipped through the mud, lifeforce draining out of her arm and trailing behind her. She could see the priestess through the flames, pale eyes washed out by the yellow of the fire. Delyth watched her, of course. Watched as she came into her power.

The others waited as Enyo finished her dance, and then together, they began to weave sunwise about the fire. Esha’s voice, gruff and foreign, was out of place in the song-chant of summoning.Maoz joined, and then Aryus, their voice surprisingly sweet. Va'al’s baritone was almost as it had been in the days of old, and Enyo smiled to add her chant to his.

Turning, they repeated the ritual in the opposite direction, footfalls speeding up. Her feet were hot, and the hair on her arms and legs stood on end. It was the power. The magic being drawn forth to open the gate and summon what was lost. Their chanting grew faster, and Enyo could feel her human body fading in strength, losing blood too quickly. She looked around at her companions. Va'al was focused and grim, Esha steady. Maoz looked pale as if he might be sick. Aryus… Well, it looked as if they were having a lovely time.

Stopping in her original spot, Enyo swayed on her feet. Soon. Very soon, they would have to complete the ritual, or she would fail.

The chant died, silence falling on the plains once more but for the crack of the fire and the river’s distant hum. For a breath, it seemed as if nothing would happen, but then the fire blossomed, doubling in height. The flames were so hot they grew blue and white, and finally, Enyo felt their sear. Her lips prickled, her hand clumsy as she drew a crude rune onto her forehead. Her mark was different from the others, each God choosing to name their new body. The blood was silver in the moonlight on their brows.

In a single breath, all five Gods and Vassals took three steps into the bone-melting fire.

✶

Etienne’s heart stopped. Alphonse was gone, her body swallowed by blue flame along with Meirin and the others. He called their names, but for long seconds there was nothing, no sound or movement. No smell of burning things.

A roaring sound, like that of an avalanche, drowned out the fire and the river, all things that rustled or called in the night. It was so much noise that Illygad herself seemed to shake from the strength of it. It rolled on, wavering in pitch intensity even as a beam of light exploded up from the center of the fire. It held steady, light like solid steel, and the Vassals fell back to the earth, ragdoll-limp but unsinged. Meirin and Alphonse lay near each other; the beginning and end of the God’s circle, their hair strewn across the trampled mud and their star-veiled eyes closed.

From the bonfire stepped a slender form, white hair and colorless eyes. Pearl and feather wings hung heavy from their shoulders. They moved out of the way, coming to stand and watch as the next figure descended. A woman with skin as dark as night and thick hair braided tight to her skull. Her face was adorned with silver-blue markings the very same shade as her eyes. Both forms had emerged naked, so it was easy to see that she was perfection: every curve, every line, every dimple or freckle or scar.

She was followed by a man impossibly tall. His skin was the color of a forest floor or canopy, streaked with dark lines and tattoos of beasts and fowl and fish. His hair was pitch, and rooted in the crown of his skull were two spiraling horns.

The next man was almost human in