Vassal

by Sterling D'Este

  The pupils of those amber eyes widened and then contracted, focusing intensely on the warrior until something shifted within. Nothing tangible, nothing overly clear… It was just that one moment she was the doe, and the next a wildcat.

  Her eyes found Calamity over Delyth’s shoulder, and something about the way she smiled sent waves of unease rippling through the priestess’s belly.

  “Calamity,” the girl purred, not in common but in the old tongue—a language few, but priests spoke any longer.

  The halfbreed kneeled but did not unsheathe the sword. “Yes,” she said in the same language. “I carry Calamity in service to the Vassal.”

  The boy spoke up, his voice laced with anxiety. “She wants the sword, can’t you see?” He gave no indication of having understood Delyth’s words. “Don’t give it to her. She’ll kill us both.”

  Delyth ignored him. She was not chosen by the sword to die at the hands of the one she served. Instead, she looked up at the vassal for some acknowledgment or command.

  ✶

  Etienne reached towards Alphonse as hands once made for healing, now gauntlets of war, grabbed for that sword. It practically hummed with anticipation, and pure joy contorted her features, her eyes widening, her lips drawing back in an almost manic smile. Joyful but sickly—off, like something spoiled.

  The barbarian reached back and grasped the hilt of the monstrous sword she wore, half raising it out of her scabbard. Etienne lunged forward, despite knowing the risk of injury to himself.

  “Alphonse, don’t let her take it!” His voice was desperate now, pleading. He could see her getting hold of the weapon and turning on him, or the Cabot, could see Alphonse waking up with her gentle healer’s hands stained by the blood of either one of them.

  “Don’t let her turn you into a monster, Alphonse. This isn’t who you are!”

  The warrior woman paused at that, her eyes widening. Had what he said meant something to her? Etienne didn’t care. He just couldn’t let the thing within Alphonse have that sword.

  ༄

  Her fingertips were a mere breath away from the sword when the girl froze, growling and then gasping in fear all in the same breath… It was so strange to hear such dominance and terror conflicting within the same body.

  Then she yanked her hands back in desperation and teetered away from the priestess. Tripping on the hem of her skirt, the girl fell back with a shout of fear and landed hard on her rump.

  All signs of the Goddess within her disappeared.

  “Wh-who are you?” she asked Delyth, her doe eyes wide with terror, and the warrior was left in utter confusion.

  Did the vassal fear that Enyo was turning her into a monster? The thought was entirely inimical. Enyo was savage, yes, but also beautiful and powerful. She was the summer storm, the strength of mountains. They had her to thank for the seasons, for the very earth around them.

  Beyond that, though, if the vassal and the Goddess lay at cross purposes, who was Delyth to obey? She was a priestess of a temple that solely worshipped Enyo as the greatest of the deities, and yet she had been chosen to serve the vassal, to protect her on the journey she must take.

  Delyth knew that the vassal was only vital because of the presence of the Goddess, that her fellow priests would prioritize the Goddess above all else, but she knew too, what it felt like to have others make a monster out of you.

  Finally, she slid the sword back into its scabbard and stood, offering a hand to the vassal. “I am Delyth,” she said. “I am a priestess of a temple of Enyo, and I have been chosen to serve her vassal, to serve you.”

  The warrior pulled her up easily, and the girl held onto her hand despite regaining her feet.

  “You… you are a priestess? But— But you’re so… impressive,” she finished. “Serve me? But I’m no one.”

  Delyth certainly wasn’t expecting ‘impressive’ to be the girl’s word of choice, but it was a nice sort of surprise. She let the vassal hold onto her hand, looking down at her. “Enyo is as much a warrior Goddess as she is a nature Goddess. Some of us serve with swords,” she said, her low voice patient.

  It was difficult to imagine what it must be like to live with the Goddess, to get glimpses of her wild power and have no explanation for it. Delyth thought that if she had lost part of the control of herself, she’d be angry and terrified.

  “The Goddess I serve was freed a short while ago,” she went on, struggling to find a way to explain. “She was locked from this world for a time by people who sought to destroy her, but now… Now she has chosen you as vassal. You are not no one.”

  ✶

  This piece of news completely shocked Etienne. The darkness, the creature, the sickness…

  It was a Goddess?

  “A Goddess?” Alphonse’s trembling words echoed Etienne’s thoughts, and he understood the shock on her face. “I should sit,” she mumbled weakly, slumping back to the ground in a crumble of brown skirts and dust.

  Etienne rushed to crouch down beside her. Her face was forlorn, hopeless, but all he could feel was relief. Somehow, she had managed to deny the shadow, the Goddess that was sharing her body.

  The warrior—Delyth—had completely misread Alphonse’s reaction. She was looking down at the two of them with something like sympathy, though for all the wrong reasons.

  “Alphonse,” she had started, “it is Alphonse, isn’t it? I know this task must feel impossible, but you were chosen for a reason.”

  Yes, chosen because he had made a colossal mistake.

  Etienne cut in before Alphonse could respond. She seemed to trust the warrior so easily, and he didn’t want her to give away the true nature of their quest, not to a priestess of the very Goddess they hoped to bind away.

  “She’s been talking in her sleep,” he said. “Something about a Thlonandras. Can you take us there?”

  The warrior glanced at him as if having forgotten almost that he was there. “What is your name?”

  When he gave it, she nodded. “My people speak of Thlonandras, though no one has seen the walls of the great temple in generations.” She turned to Alphonse. “Is that where we must go, vassal? The journey will not be easy.”

  ❀

  Alphonse winced at the term given to her by the winged warrior. Vassal. Something holy and important. Something chosen. She wasn’t chosen. She was some giant cosmic joke. An accident. An experiment gone awry.

  And it seemed wrong, so very wrong, to lead the priestess down the path that would inevitably expel her Goddess from Alphonse when surely she was meant to aid ‘Enyo’. But…

  Alphonse gulped, looking between Etienne and Delyth. Her friend and a winged symbol of devotion…

  Etienne’s gaze was wide and steady on her, his chin dipping almost imperceptibly. Yes. They needed to go to Thlonandras. And that was true…

  Even if it wasn’t for the reason Delyth thought.

  “Yes. We must go to Thlonandras. Will you help?”

  “Of course,” Delyth said. “I am your sword and shield, Alphonse.” Once more, the winged warrior offered the Alphonse her hand. “There is still daylight left. We should keep moving. There is a long road ahead of us.”

  With Etienne and Delyth’s help, Alphonse was on her feet once more. She still felt unsteady, her mind churning with the knowledge that the darkness was a Goddess, clawing and biting and fighting to get out. Perhaps it was some relief to know what...Who it was within her.

  Readjusting the straps of her pack, Alphonse dropped the warrior’s hand quickly, feeling guilty to lead her astray. Would Enyo punish them for lying to her priestess?

  Alphonse knew that answer without having to think. Of course, Enyo would punish them if she could. Enyo had proven already she wasn’t a particularly gentle Goddess. But this was her best hope of being freed. Getting to Thlonandras, to the basin. So Etienne could work his magic and set right the wrongs he had made. They had made.

  Don’t give up, Allee. She is a Goddess, but she was locked away once, and it
can be done again.

  Chapter VI

  Fifth Moon, Full: Thloegr

  For a long while, Etienne walked in silence. In front of him, the warrior strode purposefully down the road, the sword slapping against her back between the strange, powerful wings. Alphonse trailed behind him. He checked on her from time to time, but now that he knew Delyth was no immediate threat, his curiosity about her formation occupied his thoughts.

  Was she of a different species or only part human, or was this some strain of evolution that had not occurred within Ingola? He had seen Cabot before but nothing like this. Nothing so clearly different. Her wings appeared almost bat-like, leathery and veined, but he could not discern any other attributes different from Ingolans, except perhaps, her stature and severity of her features.

  After another moment, Etienne lengthened his stride to walk beside her. He had to know. Perhaps she would be open to questions. “Delyth,” he asked, “How does one put shirts on with wings?”

  The warrior snorted, a half-smile twisting her mouth. “That is what you want to know?”

  Etienne considered this. He was reasonably certain that he wanted to know most everything, but that would work for now. He nodded.

  “I just have clothes made to accommodate them, little scholar”—Etienne was fairly sure that little was pushing it since he was taller than her—“I assume that’s what anyone with wings would do, though I don’t know for certain. I have never met anyone like me.”

  That gave Etienne a whole host of things to think about. Were there others with wings? It made sense that there were. Delyth had to have come from somewhere. Even more intriguing, though, was the idea that she had lived her entire life among regular humans.

  “What was that like?” he asked. “Not knowing any others like you?”

  Delyth looked at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she quickened her pace. “I am done with questions for now.”

  ❀

  It wasn’t until they had stopped to make camp, water in a pot set over their fire, that Alphonse seemed to break out of her silent reverie. She had debated within herself all afternoon if it was wrong to mislead Delyth, or acceptable to take the warrior’s help to cure herself.

  Alphonse had come to the conclusion that while it was not morally sound to lie, it was more than a grey area when it came to protecting herself. And she most certainly was protecting herself from Enyo. The longer their two presences were battling within her body, the worse she would fare.

  And since she had no intention of harming Delyth besides the deceit, Alphonse was able to rectify the lying.

  Somewhat.

  Guilt still churned in her belly as she watched the warrior settle onto the ground before the fire, her wings rustling slightly with the movement. Alphonse’s gaze traced the lines of those wings, the sweeps and curves, and the manner in which Delyth held them to her body.

  They were a thing of beauty. And nightmares.

  The healer within Alphonse longed to examine them and study them, understanding each intricate detail.

  She wanted to touch them.

  Balling her hands into fists in her lap, Alphonse spoke for the first time since meeting the warrior priestess.

  “Priestess Delyth… I—we don’t know much about Enyo…” The Goddess’s presence stirred behind Alphonse’s heart at the mention of that wretched name. Alphonse swallowed in fear but pressed on. “Would you...Tell us more?”

  Understanding the Goddess would surely help her battle Enyo within herself.

  It couldn’t hurt.

  Right?

  ༄

  “Delyth is fine,” the warrior said. None of the others at the temple had ever addressed her so formally, and she found the deference unsettling. “I am no disciple, trained in the ways of speaking history, but I will tell you what I know.”

  For a moment, the halfbreed gazed silently into the fire, her fingers working at the buckles binding Calamity to her back. She shrugged the scabbard off and set it within reach so that she might fold her wings more comfortably. When she was ready, she began the tale in a sonorous voice.

  “In the time before kingdoms, Enyo crossed the barrier into this world. We know little of the plane from which Gods come, but that it is a hellish place, fire-brimmed and sulfurous. Enyo was the first to come, though others followed. For this, we call her Un Cyntaf. It means…” Delyth paused, drawing her brows together… “First One? But also swiftest?”

  She shrugged, the movement as much wing as shoulder. “Enyo came to this land, long before it was Rhosan or Thloegr, and she found it cold and barren. The wild people who lived here eked out rough lives across the ice.

  “Enyo saw this and was displeased. From the bones of the earth, she pulled the Brig Ia Mynydd—the Brig’ian Mountains in this tongue—to protect the land from the frigid cold of the North Sea. In their shadow, she filled the land with deep forests and rich valleys, and the people here worshipped her in thanks for all she had wrought.

  “Now, there came a time when other Gods began to follow Enyo’s path. The next was Dilynwr, He Who Follows, who is also called Kirit. Kirit saw the land Enyo had created and was jealous, so he found the people who lived north of the mountains and told them that Enyo had wronged them by not making their land as fruitful as those below the mountains. He taught them the arts of war and showed them the way to Enyo’s people.

  “When they came, the Goddess was filled with rage. She had created a beautiful, chaotic world and should be praised for it, not vilified. So when the people of ice attacked, Enyo strode to meet them with a sword carved from disaster itself. She and Calamity flew through the army with the ferocity of a summer storm.

  “None survived. Her people were spared any casualties, so we worship her for the lands bounty and the ferocity to protect what we care for. Enyo is both the joy of spring and the terror of a mountain blizzard, feral and wild and powerful.”

  Delyth fidgeted self-consciously and looked toward Alphonse. “Does that answer your question, bykhan?”

  ✶

  “Yes,” Alphonse mumbled, obviously awed, only when she turned to look at him, Etienne didn’t quite meet her eyes. At the mention of spring, his thoughts had turned to the scene in the meadow, to how he had nearly given in. It was a painful memory, but in the moments before he had spoken to the entity, he had seen a glimpse of something that loved the nature around itself.

  He turned to Delyth, his face dark and hurt. “Most of the Enyo we have seen—if this is indeed Enyo—is just cruel. Cruel and hungry.”

  The warrior cocked her head to one side, as though examining him. “It is not for us to understand the ways of Gods.”

  Etienne snorted at that, actually angry. “You could countenance any action with that logic. She could do something absolutely evil, and still, you could say that it was simply not your place to understand.”

  “We follow her because we know that she is not evil any more than an avalanche or a storm is. Enyo is a force of nature within this world, wild and feral and above the morals of simple men.”

  Etienne scowled. “Tell me that again after she slaughters some poor innocent for getting in her way. At some point, your lack of willingness to act against her will make you compliant in whatever horror she reaps.”

  Delyth blinked at his vehemence. “I have faith in the Goddess that she will not act out of any evil impulse.”

  Etienne stood abruptly. “Then you are delusional. That creature will do exactly as she likes.” He shook his head. She just couldn’t understand. “I’m going to bed.”

  ❀

  Alphonse kept her gaze downcast as the scholar and the warrior argued, shame making her throat tight, and her eyes glaze over.

  Of course, Etienne was right. He had experienced Enyo’s irritation first hand. Alphonse had merely repaired the damages she had done after the fact. The truth of the matter was, she had little control over the beast within, and when she wanted out, it was all Alphonse could do to w
alk and breathe, suppressing that hissing, growling thing.

  It made the healer so truly sorry. And embarrassed.

  She felt dirty.

  Her eyes barely lifted to wish Etienne good rest when he stalked off to his own little tent, hardly more than two stakes and a rope taut between them, a heavy canvas material draped over it.

  The fire popped and crackled, dancing merrily despite Alphonse’s mortification, Etienne’s annoyance, and Delyth’s stoic calm.

  The water in the pan was boiling.

  Alphonse reached for it, unthinking, and grabbed the handle with nothing but her bare hand. She realized a moment too late what she had done and dropped it back on the fire, some water sloshing over the edges but most staying within the confines of the pot.

  Gasping, she looked down at her fingers, expecting to see seared skin and bubbling flesh.

  Her palm wasn’t even red. Her slender fingers were undamaged, perfect.

  Breathing unevenly, Alphonse gathered up her skirts, using them to protect herself this time as she poured the boiling water into the cups sitting nearby, already filled with herbs meant to aid digestion and sleep.

  Uneasily she set the pot down and reached for the cups. She was trembling.

  “Do you like tea, Delyth?” She asked, musical voice quivering.

  The priestess did not answer Alphonse’s question. “Already, you change,” she said, her voice gentle. “Yours is not an easy path.”

  Alphonse considered that and then nodded in agreement. She had changed. Every day she changed.

  And no. This was not an easy path.

  She eased closer to the priestess, careful to keep her glances at those glorious wings to a minimum, and handed Delyth the steaming tea. A small smile came to her lips as Alphonse settled beside her new companion on the ground, crossing her legs and sitting with her skirts neatly fanned around herself.

  “I grew up on a farm. Etienne was a commoner as well. Our lives were simple. Even at the academy—that’s where we met, the Moxous School of Magics—You studied, and you took the classes your masters told you to take, and you practiced and… and at the end, you were supposed to be set on your path. The way was clear. We worked very hard, but …” She chewed on her plump lower lip, feeling somehow wrong to admit this. Warm-honey eyes flickered up to glacial blue ones, and she let out a breathy sigh. “It was easy. Easy to trust others to show you the way. To just… walk the course laid out before you.”