Goddess by Liv Savell (autobiographies to read txt) 📕

a matter of hours, he would be out of danger. Enyo had hardly started towards her child when Maoz bowled past her. Bledig and Eifion were both his children.

“Father!” Eifion settled Bledig onto the ground and straightened, his shifting, mirror-countenance taking on the plainer shape of Gethin’s broad face as Maoz neared them in his human form. “You will never imagine how glad I was to feel all of you here together.”

From his place on the ground, Bledig raised a hand towards his father. The stoic God’s face was a mask of pain, his swarthy skin pale and grey. Maoz gripped his arm but did not move to lift him.

Enyo approached with Va'al and bent to inspect Bledig’s wound. It was brutal but appeared to have none of the burning, deteriorating effects her own had.

“Mascen?” she asked pointlessly. Who else could have done this? Bledig was just as much a wild creature as Maoz and just as much a warrior as she. It wasn’t as if he could have been taken unaware by a human or one of his other, lesser siblings.

Eifion nodded, and Enyo brushed the fingertips of her good hand over Bledig’s greying skin. Grey with blood loss, not some curse that would turn him to stone. Not like her. His eyes fluttered and opened again, peering at her.

“He’s mad.” Bledig’s voice was weaker than her own. “He destroyed Caerthleon. He’s cutting through Rhosan.”

Enyo winced, knowing the earth’s pain. “We’re going to stop him.”

“How?”

Va'al stepped forward and gripped Eifion’s shoulder, even as his and Maoz’s son took on some of Tristan’s lighter coloration. “We are going to get our old forms back,” he said, “so that his power will be nothing to ours. Will you help?”

Bledig gritted his teeth, his face wild with fury below curling horns. “Let us destroy him this time. No more simple banishments.” Maoz seemed ready to march towards Caerthleon at once to do just that.

At this, the Changeling God hesitated. “He did slip his bonds…”

Something old and nearly forgotten within Enyo stirred.

Destroy?

Mascen was a monster, she agreed. But he was her child—her firstborn, and her only one with Va'al. He was the cataclysm they made him to be. Should he be destroyed for that? Etienne and Alphonse had wanted to destroy her.

The humans of three hundred years ago had wanted the Gods dead and gone but lacked the power to completely obliterate them and so locked them in a noiseless, sightless tomb.

When humans died, they went to Death’s Realm. There Aryus would oversee the mortal souls and ensure they remained peacefully for eternity. Where would Mascen’s essence go should he be slain? Would he return to the Source? The Cursed Realms?

She looked at her withering hand, at the stump of gore protruding from Bledig’s back.

She had done worse in her day…

Ember eyes flickered to Va'al, lips compressed tightly, holding back the words she was actually afraid to say. She did love her son—as much as someone like her could. She didn’t want him to die.

Va'al met Enyo’s gaze for a long moment before turning back to the others. “The first step is stopping him,” he said. “We can decide what to do with him afterward.”

Eifion’s gaze was already on him when Va'al turned to face his son more directly. “Will you watch Mascen from a distance and let us know if his attention turns towards us again? I’d rather not face him before we’re ready.”

Again, the Changeling God hesitated, looking towards Bledig. His brother was in no condition to accompany him or their parents.

“Take him to my temple in Glynfford. They have healers and they know enough about Maoz that Bledig shouldn’t frighten them entirely. Tell them their Goddess has sent them a precious gift, and they must care for it.” Enyo straightened from beside Bledig. Those priests ought to be good for something.

Finally, Eifion nodded, bending to lift his half brother once more. “I’ll see it done. Goodbye, fathers.” And with that, he was away, beating into the air on strange, misshapen wings.

Va'al turned his eyes towards the others, finding Maoz pacing like some wild, caged animal. If he still had wings, they would be mantling; as it was, the God’s shoulders tensed around his neck.

“I will carry you,” Maoz told Enyo, “if it means that we will reach Gwynhafan sooner. It is past time for your son to pay for his crimes.”

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Where Enyo stood within her meadow, she could see Mascen at the stream. He was collecting up rocks to throw, something she had seen human children do countless times over. How beguiling to think her own son, the only child made between two Gods, was much the same as any child. He hefted one far too large for his little arm and grunted with effort as he heaved the stone into the water. It made an impressive splash, and Mascen cackled with delight. His offering-red hair was short, sticking up at odd angles atop his head, and the marks he had been born with, humans would consider them tattoos, growing and changing as he aged. 

Now at thirty years, he looked and behaved much like a human child of six or seven. His little legs sturdy, his belly pooching out, overly full with the treats her people spoiled him with. 

Perhaps sensing her thoughts or feelings, as his father did, Mascen turned to look at Enyo. His black eyes unblinking as he waited for her to approach. Enyo sighed and came to stand beside the bank of the stream. Deep enough for swimming, but no raging mountain river. Safe for her child. 

It chuckled in welcome, glad to see her. Absentmindedly, Enyo knelt to tickle her fingers through the clear waters, and the stream laughed. Then she flicked the droplets of water from her fingertips at Mascen, who frowned like a stormcloud. The sky overhead darkened as well.

Enyo demanded the skies clear, but they hesitated, torn between her and her