Vassal by Sterling D'Este (ebook reader computer TXT) 📕

As if she had died there.

Chapter XXII

Eighth Moon, New Moon : Thloegr

Excerpt from the Journal of Etienne d’Etoiles

Eighth Moon of the Year 1819, somewhere in the Northern Brig’ian Mountains

After the delay caused by Tristan’s inadvisable taunting of Enyo, the rest of the seventh moon passed with damnable slowness. Everything, it seems, has become more difficult.

The roads now are steeper, winding tracks that slip around the rough faces of the mountains, growing less kempt with each day. Despite the fact that it is high summer on the gentle planes of Ingola, the air here is continuously colder. We wake to rain and sleet more often than sun, and a few times, it has even snowed, though not with the fervor of Enyo’s blizzard.

My companions are greatly unchanged, though the Cabot, Delyth, has become even more distant. She says little, especially when Enyo is present. Useless, unless it becomes necessary to separate the Goddess from Tristan. She, at least, still works to preserve that bit of Alphonse.

Tristan is consistent if nothing else. He strives to irritate those around him, cruel and smirking. He has learned, though, not to treat Enyo to the same teasing that beget the blizzard. Wonder of wonders. More worrisome, is the new tendency for him to whisper inaudible conversations with Enyo. I’ve not been able to overhear anything they are saying, and don’t dare to try and separate them myself, given Enyo’s propensity for physical harm and the chance that she might again destroy my meager magical supplies. Delyth, of course, has done nothing but ignore this.

Conversely, the changes in Alphonse grow more noticeable every day. She no longer seems to have the ability to fight the Goddess. Enyo is in control more often—as many as 6 hours on a given day and can only be stopped through bribery and cajoling, often with the use of Delyth’s blood, sickening though it is. Alphonse no longer expels these offerings but becomes somnolent with them. 

When Alphonse is in control, her temper has become very evident. It seems as though the incident in which she slapped Tristan in the cave was not an isolated occurrence, but evidence of a deeper, more sinister change. The cost of sharing her body with Enyo, no doubt. Even her physical form is changing, losing the softness that has characterized her face and motions for as long as I have known her. She is almost gaunt now, her cheeks hollow, her fingers all but skeletal. Possibly it is a purposeful attack from Enyo, to make my friend easier to control.

My own temper is little better than Alphonse’s, I find, though I have not tried resorting to violence. It is hard to think clearly in this bloody cold, and the Goddess’s tendency to target me has not made it any easier.

Even after moons of observation, I can discern no patterns in the way Enyo will act at any given time. Often she is a simple hedonist, dancing or drinking the wine Tristan procured from passing travelers, but this is just as likely to turn into sexual advances—most often directed at Tristan, though occasionally with the aim of seducing Delyth as well. I am never sure if a moment of appreciation for nature will turn into revelry, calm meditation, or sudden cruelty, and there are times when she does none of this at all.

Just a week past, our party came upon a man on the side of the road, his leg broken. Enyo approached him, and though I feared for the man’s life, she only commanded him to be healed and spread the word of Enyo’s return. Somehow, she had managed to access Alphonse’s healing abilities without allowing the healer control over their shared body. It is unclear whether this greater control is due to Enyo’s growing power or Alphonse’s new lack of ability to fight her.

For now, I can do nothing but observe and prepare the binding spells I will use when we reach the temple. Hopefully, when the time comes, Alphonse will be able to aid me. I must confess, however, that the closer we get, the more sure I become that it will be me alone facing the others.

Gods aid me. Alphonse cannot be left to suffer any longer, for all I fear that the changes wreaked by the Goddess will be permanent, the cost of her paying for my mistakes.

⥣          ⥣           ⥣

All day, Alphonse was plagued by a creeping feeling down her spine. They had come through a small village, poor and struggling, their crops having failed from an unseasonably dry spring. The company had bartered with very little success and left.

Enyo was eerily quiet, perhaps cowed by the apparent suffering of her people. Whatever the reason, she made herself scarce and left Alphonse to walk alongside Delyth for the entire afternoon. Their hands would brush against one another as they climbed the little pass and into a valley that should have been full of fruit and vegetables. Sometimes, she would share a smile up at Delyth, her stomach clenching in a most agreeable way whenever Delyth’s ice-blue eyes smiled back.

Despite these moments of happiness, Alphonse could not shake the feeling of being watched, the trees whispering with dry winds…

But she couldn’t understand what they said. Not like Enyo.

It still felt like a warning.

Time and time again, she would glance up at the rocky mountainsides and see a flicker of movement. But she’d look again, and nothing would be there.

A light humming was distracting Alphonse as they came to a sharp bend in the path. “What’s that sound?” she asked Etienne. Her voice was hoarse from lack of use. It had felt important to keep quiet for some reason. He didn’t seem to know what she was talking about, frowning at her like she was now insane, like she was hearing things that weren’t