Vassal

by Sterling D'Este

  With a growl, Tristan sprinted in the direction of the tracks leading up the high pass.

  His anger didn’t wane through the night. It boiled through his dreams, a flickering landscape of desolate, flame-scarred lands, and more recent betrayals. When he woke, it propelled him onwards, eating the miles between him and his quarry little by little. He could not let them stop Enyo’s return. Would not. The Goddess meant too much.

  The stinging scents of distant smoke finally reached him near the end of the second day, spurring his earth-bound body on faster, nearly at a run now. Enyo was not the type to take disobedience lightly.

  When he finally broke through the trees, she was smiling, her face something like pure joy. Rapturous.

  “Enyo!” he called, his face twisting into a grin only to fall with sudden horror.

  The fire was too hot, the wind too wild. Already, it turned towards them, ravenous and fed by Enyo’s malice.

  Her head jerked around at the sound of her name, and in a fluid motion, she stood. Beaming at Tristan, though somehow, a smile had never seemed so virulent before.

  The winds were tugging at her hair and her skirts, flinging the humans from their feet. Enyo laughed gleefully and looked up at the sun, hand reaching out as if she could draw power. More heat. From its very rays.

  Of course. She could.

  Fire skipped across the road, nearly flickering and dying, but finding fuel on the other side, burst into life.

  Tears were running down Alphonse’s cheeks, the smoke burning and stinging her eyes as she turned to glare at Etienne, splayed across the ground like a cowering animal.

  “You think you can steal me away?!” she snarled, flames all around them doubling in height and intensity. “You think you can yank me from this vassal and stuff me into that wretched darkness once more?!” Embers were flying through the air, landing on unburnt ground and growing into their own proper fires. Life blooming. Thriving.

  “Mages far stronger and cleverer than you have stood in my way, and now no one remembers their names!” She lifted her hands, gesturing towards Etienne and the flames nearest him reacted, reaching for him longingly at Enyo’s command. “Enyo remains! Enyo is worshiped and divine! You are nothing, boy! I. Am. Everything!” She screamed and launched towards Etienne only to stumble over her own feet.

  ✶

  Etienne fell back, his vision filled with Enyo standing above him, beautiful and terrible and wielding power that he could not imagine. In the firelight, her hair seemed almost to be alight with flame itself, and malice twisted her features into something so removed from Alphonse that she no longer quite appeared human.

  He was panting. Smoke stripped the insides of his lungs, burnt his throat, coated his tongue. He could see nothing but fire, Enyo growling at its center.

  And it was so hot. So hot that the hairs on his arms and head seemed likely to catch at any moment.

  Etienne had never been so frightened. He was hollow with it, his heart a hare fleeing through empty moor. When Enyo lurched for him, he didn’t move, frozen with panic. He closed his eyes, breath coming in gasps.

  And then she didn’t reach him.

  Alphonse must have made her stumble, kept her at bay. Saved him.

  Etienne leaped up and ran, the rhythm of his feet matching that of his heartbeat. He passed Tristan, the man half horrified, half enraptured by the sight of Enyo let loose. Etienne didn’t pause for him but kept running.

  It was only after he had put yards between himself and the fire that Etienne realized that Tristan had fled as well, leaving Enyo and Alphonse both in the center of it all. One body amid a vortex of leaping flame.

  Like the enraged Goddess she was, Enyo stood at the center of the forest fire, laughing and even dancing as the flames grew higher and higher. Hotter. They spread, consuming all that was in their path.

  She turned to point to a tree. Flames blossomed there. To a bush. There too.

  She was conducting the symphony of destruction when a massive tree, the trunk burned through at her command, cracked and groaned. It fell with an earth-shaking crash across the road, boxing Enyo in, and keeping Etienne out.

  At least he was safe for now.

  ⥣ ⥣ ⥣

  * * *

  Delyth flew through the night, though the time alone offered her little insight. She still felt just as abandoned, just as betrayed by the loss of her companions. She couldn’t help but think that it was some failing, some lapse in her own judgment or abilities that had driven Alphonse away.

  Hells, maybe it had been in allowing herself to get close to Alphonse at all. Maybe the girl had felt uncomfortable or pressured. Maybe it had all been an act. Maybe she hadn’t ever trusted Delyth.

  The warrior switched the hand she held Calamity in to rub at her eyes while she flew. Gods, was she crying?

  Delyth didn’t cry.

  She ground her teeth and spurned herself on to greater speed, wings aching with the effort. Dawn had melted into an uncommonly hot morning and sweat beaded on her skin only to be whipped away by the force of the wind. Ahead, a smoke cloud bloomed like a poisonous flower from the tops of the firs.

  Delyth didn’t need Calamity to know that was Enyo.

  She sheathed the sword and pulled in her wings, angling down into the flames as she dropped from the sky. All the world was on fire, and at its center stood Enyo, laughing as though nothing could be better.

  Grimly, Delyth flung herself at the mad creature and snatched her up from the ground, though she dipped as Enyo turned her senseless rage onto her captor. It was like holding a mountain lion, the vicious creature screaming and clawing and tearing at Delyth with her inhuman strength.

  “I command you, Ba’oto! Release me!” she ordered. “Return me to the flames!” And when Delyth refused to listen, her commands devolved into insults, shrieked at so high a pitch they hardly registered as words. “Pestilential priestess! Winged nuisance! Unfaithful harlot!”

  Even the seconds between the fire and the open air seemed impossibly long. Every time Delyth looked down to fight off Enyo, they lost height, the flight erratic and frenetic. Until finally, Enyo sunk her teeth into the soft flesh of Delyth’s upper arm hard enough to make the priestess yell. She looked down to find Enyo’s mouth filling with blood, the stuff flecking her face and dripping down Delyth’s wrist. Desperately, she tried to pull Enyo free, but the Goddess only worried at the wound.

  The flight grew even more turbulent, but the warrior didn’t look up. She had one hand fisted in Enyo’s hair, trying to pull her off when the center of her left wing collided with a solid pine. Pain immediate, and wrenching. There was a sickening crunch, and then they were falling in a tangle of arms and legs, tumbling through the air over each other.

  The impact left Delyth stunned and gasping, but Enyo still beat and tore at her, a dim, distant thing. From miles away, someone tried to haul Enyo away, the Goddess’s voice still shrieking obscenities.

  Delyth pushed herself up grimly. She’d fallen on her broken wing, and she bled from cuts of greater or lesser severity from both arms and legs. In front of her, Tristan seemed to be trying to talk to Enyo.

  The warrior growled, took two steps forward and punched the slight woman in the jaw with every ounce of her strength. Only, Enyo’s crazed eyes softened and changed from flames to warm honey the second before the priestess’s fist connected with her face. Perhaps Enyo had seen the hit coming and known what it would mean. Wanted Alphonse to pay for her escape attempt as much as Etienne.

  Or perhaps it was punishment for Delyth, for disobeying her orders to be returned to the flames. Perhaps it was just a spiteful move, not taking the strike Enyo had rightfully earned, but whatever the reason, it was Alphonse who gasped in pain, and it was Alphonse who crumpled to the forest floor.

  The fire raging on behind them slowly sputtered out and died. Without Enyo to fuel it on, the damp mountainside couldn’t sustain such an inferno.

  ✶

  Etienne watched in ho
rror as Alphonse crumpled to the ground, the heaving form of the priestess looking down at her, fists clenched. His old friend looked so small, though her body was untouched by flames. He started forward as the warrior kneeled down to cradle Alphonse in blood-smeared arms.

  “Stop!” he shouted, voice cracking. “What are you doing with her?”

  Delyth turned towards him with a look like a sword thrust, Alphonse limp in her grasp. “Don’t come near me,” she growled, the sound low and menacing. Even Tristan looked stunned. Etienne supposed that he hadn’t expected the priestess to resort to such a physical method, not when it was Alphonse whose body would bear the brunt of the blow.

  The warrior turned away, limping back towards the road, one mangled wing held gingerly away from her body.

  Once again, the mage had proven just how terribly weak he was, how worthless. He could not get Alphonse safely to the temple. He could do nothing to stop Enyo. Etienne pulled at fistfuls of his own hair. He didn’t deserve to stop Delyth. He couldn’t let her take Alphonse alone.

  In the end, he just followed, feet dragging until they reached a place they could camp.

  Chapter XV

  Sixth Moon, Waning Crescent: Thloegr

  It only took an hour for Alphonse to rouse from her stupor. She came to suddenly and horribly, her mind reeling with the images in her head: Flames licking at Etienne greedily, Delyth’s face as her body slammed into a tree, protecting Alphonse even as the smaller woman tried to attack her…

  Tristan calling out and then realizing what a horror she was.

  Etienne running away in fear.

  The glorious heat of the flames, calling to her. Singing to her.

  She remembered it all. Every terrible, gruesome piece. Every detail.

  The healer had barely sat up and looked around, their new campsite down the road from the ruined piece of forest she… Enyo… They had created. Because Enyo wouldn’t have been that enraged nor alone had the healer not run off. Escaped with Etienne. She, Alphonse, had created the opportunity for that destruction and insanity to wreak havoc.

  She was responsible for the sullen silences and maimed bodies. Tears immediately flowed from her eyes, sobs making her body convulse, and she sat that way, unable to stop or soothe herself.

  When she finally remembered herself well enough to start healing her companions— she dare not think of them as friends anymore, for no one could or should be friends with a monster like her—she began with Delyth.

  The priestess’s beautiful wing was broken, her skin marred by scratches and bites, bruises, and a few minor burns, but despite the need to concentrate on her task, Alphonse could not stop crying. Her hands shook as green healing light came from them, her voice choked and quivering as she asked Delyth to raise her wing, lower it, stretch it out.

  It was incredible how Delyth ignored her pain, mute and tight-lipped as Alphonse worked. She didn’t say a word throughout the proceedings, and with every silent moment, Alphonse felt her own guilt redouble. Gone was their easy camaraderie, and, as soon as she was able, the priestess stood up and disappeared into their tent.

  She must be furious with me, Alphonse thought, sniffling. She watched the tent flap swing shut and then moved onto Etienne, though somehow he had come out mostly unscathed. An image flickered in her mind, tripping over her own feet…

  Swallowing, Alphonse only gripped his shoulder tightly before dragging herself over to Tristan. “Are you hurt?” she croaked, silent tears still dripping off her chin and cheeks. Even he had come for her, had to run to survive the madness. And this was a man who she feared and hadn’t given a chance, hadn’t tried to see any good in.

  Instead of answering her question, he curled his lip. “Why’d you do it, mouse?”

  Alphonse flinched and looked away. She understood what he meant—not the fire, not the attack.

  Why had she fled?

  Wasn’t it obvious? She was growing sicker each day, weaker. It was becoming more and more difficult to fight the Goddess to keep control. This was a battle, and Alphonse was losing ground. She couldn’t share this body with Enyo for the rest of her life, and she couldn’t let Enyo out to attack other people. The Goddess was cruel and savage.

  It was her duty and responsibility to put Enyo back.

  I’d rather die trying to escape my captor than be a slave the rest of my life. And truly, it was that simple. But she didn’t say that.

  “I was trying to do you all a favor. She’s madness. She’s dangerous. She would have killed you all today…” Alphonse shuddered. That blood would have been on her hands too. She had been so blessedly lucky today.

  She glanced at Tristan once more. He seemed unharmed.

  Alphonse turned to go to her tent, only to realize Delyth was in there… What would she do now? There weren’t enough apologies in Illygad. “She hates me.” The words came out as a whisper.

  ⚄

  Tristan snorted derisively. “You have a pitiful understanding of others,” he told her, but then refused to say anything else. It wouldn’t do him any good to save the relationship between Delyth and Alphonse. The priestess had an annoying habit of sticking close whenever Enyo was paying him any attention.

  But the girl was behaving ridiculously. Humans were stupid, selfish creatures. They did not break their bodies for people they hated.

  That sort of hatred was the realm of the divine.

  Alphonse shuddered and turned to look at Tristan incredulously. “It is because of me she bled. It is because of me that her bones were broken. Would you be friends with someone who did that?” Her wide eyes took in every facet of his face, of his expression. Begging for him to tell her something kind. Something that would save her feeble heart.

  She was an idiot. And Tristan wanted Enyo back. The Goddess, at least, could be a good time.

  As for Alphonse?

  Tristan could not imagine being trapped with so feeble a creature. Her ceaseless crying only grated against his nerves. Pitiful. Spineless.

  “I certainly wouldn’t have done it for you,” Tristan told her, and then had a stroke of sudden inspiration. “I wonder what she thought she’d get out of it?”

  He smiled innocently and shrugged. Let the squalling creature stew over that.

  Etienne, annoyingly, seemed to wake up at the remark. “Don’t listen to him, Alphonse,” the boy said in his girlish Ingolan accent. “Not everyone thinks that way.”

  Tristan just shrugged again and slipped into his own tent. Anxious people were easy to manipulate. Give them an idea, and they’d work it to pieces on their own.

  ✶

  Etienne watched Alphonse from beneath his lowered brow while she hesitated, clearly unable to make herself follow Delyth into their tent. She wrung her hands and sighed, struggling, then finally gave up to sit by Etienne at the fire.

  “I’m sorry, Etienne,” she whispered. “Enyo is stronger than I am…”

  “At least you’re strong enough to fight her.” Etienne’s voice was dark, laced with self-loathing. He had done nothing, been absolutely useless. Worse, he had run. He had left Alphonse behind.

  She might have burned herself to ash had it not been for Delyth.

  Alphonse actually snorted. It was an especially snotty sound, given all the crying she had been doing. “Yes. I fight her with tripping. What a mighty warrior I am. Delyth actually knocked her out…”

  “Etienne.” She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You were willing to try. You were willing to fight for me. That’s all that matters. You’re a true friend.” The tears that had faded started to flow again. She sniffed. “One I don’t deserve.”

  It was more that he didn’t deserve her, really. He had been the one that started this mess. Besides, Alphonse was wrong. He had run away with her, yes, but he had not fought for her. Not to mention, she seriously downplayed her own struggle. He looked down at her tear-damp face. Her cheekbones were sharper than he remembered above her bruised jaw.

  “I know why we had to try
,” he said finally. “But it’s clear that we will not be able to make it on our own. We need them. Or at least Delyth.”

  His eyes cut over to Tristan’s tent. The other man had run too, for all his bravado. He had more self-preservation than devotion to Enyo.

  Etienne pulled her into his shoulder and held her for a moment while she cried. He’d done it more than a few times since they’d become close at Moxous. It was almost familiar, something like family in this hell they’d found themselves in.

  “It's been a… trying day, Alphonse. You have to sleep. To— to keep her at bay.”

  ❀

  Shakily, she nodded, wiping at her eyes though it was pointless, more tears just kept falling.

  “Good night Etienne,” she murmured, hugging him tight one last time before pulling away. She had no choice. She had to face that tent and… and the mess she had made.

  Alphonse stood, and before she could rethink it, ducked into the tent.

  Delyth was laying with her back to the tent flap, her newly mended wing tucked tightly about herself. The stiffness in the warrior’s shoulders told Alphonse that she wasn’t asleep.

  “Del?” she asked, voice thick with emotion.

  Alphonse stood and watched for another breath. When it seemed that Delyth was not going to reply, she carefully undressed as quietly as possible not to disturb the healing warrior priestess.

  Then she crawled under her blankets and shivered. It was almost as if Delyth’s disapproval and hatred for Alphonse made the tent colder. How was that possible?

  Tristan’s words echoed in her mind, taunting and snide. I wonder what she thought she would get out of it?

  Alphonse clutched her hands together and wrung her fingers as she contemplated it. What had Delyth thought she would get from saving Alphonse from the fire? Her Goddess back, clearly. Because Enyo was the most important being in Delyth’s life. She had devoted herself to Enyo. To restoring Enyo.

  And Alphonse had risked that. Had risked Enyo. Delyth would never forgive her.