Goddess

Yet the Goddess didn’t drink. “Take the spear; say his name.”
Va'al rolled his eyes. Enyo was certainly one for ceremony… if it was her ceremony. Still, he supposed it was better to get it over with.
Gethin looked between the two Gods, his lips pale. He was obviously frightened, but to his credit, he didn’t flinch or hesitate. When Enyo threw him the spear, he stood up straight and evoked the Beast God’s name.
Around them, the trees groaned, bending until their trunks creaked as though some invisible force was pulling them inwards. Like they were bowing to the boy. Wind whipped up between them, tearing at Va'al’s clothes, tangling Enyo’s hair. Somewhere far off, a wolf howled.
Gethin’s head was thrown back his eyes, all pupil, open and staring. From the dim light around them, a dozen eyes gleamed, silent witnesses to their master’s reawakening.
And then, all was still again. Maoz opened his eyes for the first time in three hundred years to the sound of thick paws padding away through the trees.
He breathed in deep, nostrils flaring, a predator preparing to hunt. “Enyo. Va'al.” He was clear-eyed, unsmiling. “Let the hunt begin.”
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It was bizarre, wherever it was that she was now. Sometimes it was warm, dark, and safe. All she felt was the velvet caress of phantom fingers and loving voices whispering to her that it was alright. All was well. 
Other times she could see distant views of scenery or campfires. Vague and boring, she would watch for a time and then fall back into that familiar embrace. Lulled to sleep—supported and safe. 
She wasn’t afraid anymore. She wasn’t tired. Her body— Well, she didn’t have a body. But she didn’t remember what it had been like before when she had one. So it didn’t matter. 
It was impossible to tell how much time had passed in the inky darkness, but she never felt trapped. Only content. Only happy. 
Until the screaming started. 
No matter which way she turned or fled, it followed her, so she returned to the view and saw not a forest or a stream or a campfire, but a cluster of buildings and people. Humans. A settlement. 
Blood.
War was waged before her eyes, and she could not look away. Not as a woman was tossed aside or a man kicked in the chest. Not as the demon with blades sliced through muscle and bone, leaving groaning, weeping people in his wake. 
It seemed as though the brutality would never stop, seemed as though it would go on forever. That was until a striking woman yelled the same word that her heart had been singing. “Stop!”
The woman came closer and peered into her soul, only to flinch in fear. How could someone look at her that way? She was not brutal. She was not fear-inspiring. 
Unable to stop herself from watching, she witnessed the red-headed woman’s defeat, witnessed her losing the spear.
It wasn’t until she caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the man’s dagger that a jolt ran through her. She knew that face, haggard as it was. She knew those eyes, now slanted as a cat’s. She knew the hair, wild and unveiled. 
Alphonse.
Alphonse had been her name. 
But where was she? This surely wasn’t the Realm of the Dead, for there was nothing but the view and the darkness—no one else. No guide, no other spirits. 
And she realized then. The view. It was the view out of her eyes. Eyes that Enyo was controlling. 
Again, Alphonse saw the explosion on that mountain top, Enyo’s rage destroying all in its path. She had yanked back Alphonse’s control over the body and stuffed her far, far, far away. Into the smallest, deepest corner of her mind. 
How much time had passed? How long had she been kept from the world?
Hesitantly Alphonse reached out to touch the edges of her mind, but Enyo didn’t seem to notice. She was trapped. Invisible, mute, incorporeal. Did Enyo even know she was still there? Did anyone? 
Alphonse withdrew her hand and then, because it was so much nicer there, returned to the darkness. 

Chapter IV
Ninth Moon, First Quarter: South of Lake Penneidr
“Wait up!”
Etienne’s voice grated against Delyth’s ears, and she ground her teeth in annoyance. How slow could one long-legged mage be? They had the rune. They knew just how far ahead Enyo had gotten already. Didn’t he understand that they needed to hurry? To get to Alphonse before Enyo could harm her any more?
“Move faster,” the warrior snapped without bothering to turn around. Her eyes were on the road ahead, in the direction that Alphonse lay.
“Or what, you’ll leave me behind?”
Delyth whirled at that, teeth bared. “It would only serve you right, coward. You left us.”
The mage was pale, cheeks flushed and eyes frenzied. As though he was just barely keeping himself together. “Fine,” he said. “Go. But it won’t stop me. I’ll keep trying to find her, even alone.”
Something cruel twisted within her, and the warrior snarled at him. “You wouldn’t get very far, would you? Without—”
“Without magic, right? Because I’m so useless?”
Something in his tone took the fight out of Delyth. He wasn’t useless. Not to Alphonse. She had never turned on her companions, no matter how difficult things got.
Delyth sighed, turning back to the road. “Let’s just keep moving, Etienne.”
“Yes, priestess.”
That night, Delyth took her dinner in her tent to put some space between herself and the mage. They had been at each other’s throats all day, and she was tired of it. Tired of the fighting. Tired of the constant weight of loss hanging about her shoulders like chains.
In the small amount of privacy afforded by canvas walls, Delyth searched through her pack for the stone Alphonse had given her the day they’d told each other “I love you.” She wanted comfort, craved the warmth of gentle arms, but would take whatever she could find.
Instead of the brush of smooth rock, the warrior’s fingers found something