Goddess

larger, something wrapped in silk. She blinked. Delyth did not own any fabric so fine, and as she pulled it from her bag, it became clear just who it belonged to.
Alphonse’s journal. Alphonse’s veil.
Hardly daring to breathe, Delyth clutched the veil to her chest and opened the journal to the first page, losing herself in the delicate strokes of a careful hand.
Third Moon, Somewhere across the border of the wildlands 
Today, I met perhaps one of the most unique people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. She is a Cabot, though I have never seen another like her. By my estimation, she stands at five feet eleven inches in height, and she has the most astounding wings. Spined, leathery. They attach to her back near the scapula. They must surely be five feet in wingspan, each, giving her a full clearance of ten feet. They are as well-muscled as she is, and so I cannot pretend to know what she weighs. 
Her name is Delyth, and she is a priestess from a temple in the wildlands. Apparently, her temple worships the creature that is infecting my soul. She called the creature Enyo. So now I know its name. And that it is a Goddess. 
Of course, I was shocked to learn this news, and I admit I feared Etienne and I may be in over our heads. Still, Etienne is the smartest person I know. If anyone can reverse this curse, it is him. 
But darkness aside, Delyth—She carries a large sword and her pack, along with her wings. Her face was painted with blue with lines and shadows, and her hair is so black it nearly looks blue as well. I suppose some would find her intimidating, but I could not stop staring! 
How is it that in all my study at Moxous, no one ever told me there were people who could fly? How could I nearly be an ordained healer and still be baffled by the human body and its complexities? 
Of course, I keep my questions to myself. I suspect, like Brande, Delyth is tired of being singled out due to her differences. As unique as they are. 
Would it be terribly rude if I asked to examine her wings? My fingers itch to touch them. 
Perhaps I will work up the courage to do so. 
Delyth closed her eyes.
She remembered the day she and Alphonse had met just as clearly. Two Ingolans traveled on an old Thloegr border road. They had seemed so small. Frail, even, under the influence of Calamity.
Only, Alphonse, amber-eyed and beautiful, had looked up at Delyth with a frankness that stunned her. So completely unafraid. Open.
And later, when she had worked up the courage to ask Delyth to touch her wings, she’d been gentle. Reverent, even. Delicate, knowledgeable hands that set the warrior’s cheeks aflame.
Delyth read the entry a second time, her fingers tracing the curve of the letters. Alphonse had been so hopeful then. She had so much faith in Etienne.
He had ultimately failed her, but then, they all had. Enyo had thought of everything.
Delyth sighed. If it had been her crippled, left weak and unable to fight by Enyo’s magic, would she have been able to handle it? Would she have kept moving forward with the determination the mage had shown? Perhaps Alphonse’s faith in him had been justified all along.
Their opponent had just outsmarted them all.
When Delyth left her tent, Etienne was still seated by the fire, his eyes fixed unseeing on the flames, and his knees curled up to his chest. He didn’t look up when she sat down beside him, but he tensed, his shoulders coming up around his neck.
The warrior hesitated, unsure of what to say. “I’m… sorry.”
He raised his eyes to her face. “Me too.”
“I cannot give you your magic back, but perhaps, if you are willing… I could teach you the magic of Rhosan.”
For a long moment, Etienne seemed to struggle with himself. Delyth knew he had never approved of her use of “blood magic.” The school he so revered did not condone the old ways. Still, it felt right to offer. And not only because Alphonse would have wanted her to try to help him.
But because, like it or not, she and Etienne were now alone in this fight. They would fail if they could not work together. It was just the right thing to do. Perhaps that should have been enough on its own. Perhaps once, it would have been.
When had that changed?
Finally, Etienne nodded, his face set in determined lines. “Alright. I’ll learn.”
The stars above Delyth were bright against the night sky, and she breathed into them for a time before turning back to Etienne.
“You are of this land, born of bodies and blood and slime. In death, you will be earth once more. This, all who practice the old ways must know…”
⥣          ⥣           ⥣
It was late when Delyth returned to her tent, but, despite the exhaustion behind her eyes, she felt more at peace than she had in weeks. All because she had taken the first steps in remedying the work of Enyo.
With great care, the warrior lifted Alphonse’s journal and veil, intending to wrap them and place them gently back into the bottom of her bag. Only, when she did so, a loose page fell to the floor of her tent, this time, addressed to her.
Eighth Moon, Below Enyo’s Temple
Dear Delyth,
Or at least I hope Delyth is reading this, and not Enyo. I have wrapped my journal in my beloved veil and hidden it in your bag so that you might find it. And have a piece of me, forever. Two pieces if you count the veil. Which you should. It is the symbol of my purity and devotion to a good life. It died so long ago. 
But I feel better knowing that you will have it. That it won’t be desecrated by Enyo. 
I write this as you sleep beside me; the sun has