Goddess by Liv Savell (books for 6 year olds to read themselves txt) 📗

balcony doors, looking decidedly green around the edges.

“Are you ill?” Etienne asked, suddenly intent on the clan woman. “Is it the height?”

“I’m just—a little—I don’t enjoy it up here.”

“If there is no artifact and this really is a temple—” Delyth turned slowly, taking in the room.

Etienne brushed dirt off the top of the altar. “Whose temple?”

“Does it matter?”

“Hrmph. No respect these days.” Etienne jerked around. Who had said that?

Meirin opened her eyes with a sigh. “At least we know why they came. To get another artifact so they can bring back another God. It seems—it seems like they want to bring back all the Old Gods.”

Etienne stepped away from the altar, examining the room around them more closely. There was another flash of white, just out of his line of sight. “Who’s there?”

The two women stopped speaking immediately, turning to watch Etienne. Meirin snorted. “Are you talking to walls now, Etienne?”

He ignored her, scanning the darkest corners of the room. “I know you’re there.”

“Etienne…” Delyth’s brow was furrowed, but he just shook his head.

“Of course I’m here! The tower needs tending. Somebody has to do it, and all the young Priests are lazy layabouts. It’s impossible to get anything done— Is that why you’re here? Looking for a hand out like the rest of ‘em?” The tone was accusatory and the voice a mere croak. It seemed to come from the very air itself, though neither women reacted to the complaints, instead staring at Etienne, wide-eyed.

“Who do you take me for?” Etienne feigned offense and began to dust the top of the altar.

༄

Delyth watched Etienne bustle around the room with a growing sense of failure. Alphonse had trusted her to get away, to take care of Etienne, and now she had brought him to a place that had completely broken his mind.

“Ah, yes, the pillars, of course,” Etienne was muttering, glancing over his shoulder as he vigorously cleaned the curves of a pillar with the hem of his tunic.

She shook her head, irresolute. Should she try to interrupt him? Would shaking him out of this delusion harm him more?

“Right you are. I’ll just wipe this down a bit and go find a broom.”

Delyth closed her eyes, pressing the heels of her hands against the lids until she saw stars. She couldn’t chase down the Gods and take care of a mad scholar. There wasn’t enough time. Frustration coiled in her belly. In all the time she had known the mage, why had he shown no signs of madness, only to break now?

“Who is he talking to?” Meirin whispered to Delyth.

How was she supposed to know? It could be some family member that plagued his vision or a teacher from the school he and Alphonse had attended. Maybe even an old friend. Hadn’t he told a story about a friend back when they were waiting out the blizzard in the mountain cave?

A story about a friend no one else could see…

“Oh.” Delyth laughed out loud. “It's a spirit.” She had forgotten about Etienne and the clever friend no one else could see, about how Alphonse had met him. There were people that could talk to spirits, and Etienne was one of them.

“A spirit?” Meirin sounded less incredulous and more impressed. “Well, that’s handy.”

✶

A man-shaped glimmer stood in the center of the room. He was draped in white robes and hooded with a golden shawl. His face was creased with many lines, and his shoulders were hunched with age. He was nodding sagely as Etienne continued to clean, clearly pleased to have an acolyte after all these years. The ghost must have been a priest for the Death God some three hundred years ago when the Gods were banished. He had dutifully stayed on to look after the tower when all others had fled.

“Good, good—Don’t miss that spot there. Higher. Yes, higher. Really put your back into it.” He flapped his hands at Etienne, but his expression was turning from stern to one of pleasure. “You know, you’ve a strange accent, boy. You fleeing the southern border raids?”

“Yes,” Etienne said, letting his face somber. “I lost my best friend in the fighting.”

“It is always sad to lose a friend too soon. Still,” the priest straightened up, striking a pose of a teacher bestowing wisdom to his pupils. “You may take comfort that your friend is in the warm embrace of Aryus. They who shelter us all. Death.” He bowed his head ceremoniously.

Etienne only hesitated a moment. “It’s an honor to serve them.”

A long silence stretched between them as the priest continued his grave pose. He straightened up finally, a nostalgic tone coating his voice now. “I remember when I became an acolyte. First, you had to win a staring contest with Death. As you can imagine, it is challenging to look them in the face for long. They tend to cheat, too—blowing flower petals at my eyes. Still, they liked how I handled myself,” he brushed his white robes, preening. “Then! Oh ho, they don’t make you do this anymore, and I did have to seek out a particularly vixenish man to find one, but I had to catch—”

“Um, sorry, but what should I dust next?”

“Eh? Oh! Oh yes. Don’t forget the artifact. That’s very important. It must shine with your reflection when you’re done.”

“The artifact?” Etienne stammered. “But shouldn’t it be on the altar?”

“The altar? Pah! Don’t you know anything, boy?”

Etienne hunched his shoulders. “No one bothers to tell me anything.”

The priest eyed him but then muttered, hurrying forward. He passed through Meirin, who shuddered and looked around. “Look here, boy. What do you see?” He was pointing to something on the floor, below the altar. Etienne slipped past Meirin so that he could see it. Three simple lines of script had been etched into the floor, all but hidden in the shadow of the altar—another riddle.

“If I drink, I die

If I eat, I am alive

What am I?”

What ate but could not drink?

Etienne knew from what few healing classes he