Helva was excruciatingly particular about the way in which she conducted herself, she found. She was proud, yes. Stubborn, of course. There were qualities in her that were not conducive to the goals she set out to accomplish. Still, she was good. She had survived when others had not. She had trained relentlessly to uphold her status among her comrades. She was well-respected despite not being among the strongest. A true Bulwark, or so she thought.
Helva had wildfires within her. Fires she could not quite extinguish: desires. Jealousy. Greed. An untameable wrath. There were times when those urges threatened to overcome all her senses–it was one of the reasons why she meditated day in and day out. The lake of her mind remained unchanged. Impure. Tainted . Tava’s cautionary tale held some truth to it. An example of what it meant to unclench one’s hand and let go. Helva, on the other hand, hesitated to flow as freely.
When one swims in perilous waters long enough, what was once a paralysing, gripping fear begins to lose its bite.
There was a kind of wicked familiarity to it. To know something is wrong and to choose to sit with it rather than banish it. It was perhaps braver than anything her comrades had ever done.
Helva had her ways, and her peers were well aware of that. When Barandol came knocking at her door, she knew why he had been asked to disturb her. The idea both disgusted and insulted her. Months ago, Helva would have known he meant well. Now, however, the vicious, bottomless hole at the pit of her stomach practically begged her to lash out. And so she did.
“Your presence is not needed here,” she had said, hands shaking when she balled them into fists.
“I am sorry for disturbing your hunt. I tried to reason with Koral and the others, but—” he trailed off, noticing the way Helva had bristled at the mention of her mentor’s name, “They show concern for you. It is why I am here. It seems I came at the right time, my friend. You are wounded. Incapable of fulfilling your duties.” Feeling very cross and displeased with Barandol’s assumption, Helva immediately opened her mouth to retort, her hands trembling with rage. At that, Barandol artfully mended the issue, softening the blow of his statement.
“I am not here to take anything from you, Helva. We are in this together,” he tried, clearly making the effort to meet Helva halfway, though she refused to budge.
Barandol was a good man. Virtuous. Strong, with a good head on his shoulders. The epitome of what it meant to be a Bulwark. The strongest of the whole damn lot, really. Years ago, Helva would have been able to accept his presence with a smile on her face. Barandol, wise beyond his years and a mentor to many, came to her not as a friend but as a guard dog.
Helva remembered when the man underwent Harvester training years before her time came. He moved through the grounds with grace, almost as though he was unable to falter for even a second. If the fight brought him to his knees, he’d stand with renewed vigour. He’d been trampled, beaten, broken, but never defeated, and when the final trial came and lightning bit into sun-kissed skin, the Guild was not surprised to see him standing tall among the rest.
He was a natural-born leader – headstrong, like Koral – but, most importantly, he was kind. So kind that Helva’s aloofness often felt deeply inadequate. It contrasted too harshly, as some of her peers had tactfully explained.
Barandol had been present for her trials. “Take your struggle, learn it and master it. Do not separate yourself from it. Reshape it. Make it your own. No more, no less, sister,” he had said, with a soft smile and kind eyes. Helva would never forget the look on his face when all was said and done. She heeded his words. She stood strong. Unwavering. She was alive, and the others were not. Helva was not to blame for their failure, yet she felt wholly at fault anyway. She chased most of the memories away, but the people she was forced to leave behind were proof that it had happened.
For weeks, fishers raved about the ‘ugliest storm in recent years’, one that forced them to remain indoors and make do without fresh fish for days.
How daunting it is to see emptiness where there used to be something. Helva was a dead woman walking. Barandol, with the golden sun tangled in his hair and a warm, outstretched hand, reminded her of all her sins. It was awful. The stares. The whispers. The pity. It wasn’t fair. None of it was.
The others nearly exhausted themselves pretending her bitter victory hadn’t come at the expense of her fallen comrades. Helva twisted herself into knots trying to be everything all at once, hoping it’d be enough to atone for what was unnameable. After a while, the shame evaporates and is replaced with something far worse.
“I do not need to justify myself to you or the others. Your presence alone insults me. How would you feel in my stead?” The hunter’s voice was tight with emotion. She felt lightheaded yet did not show weakness in front of Barandol. Looking a proper fright in front of the man who had been instructed to help her with her contract was punishment enough.
“Helva, I beg you to see reason. You cannot hunt in that state. You can barely move without flinching,” his hand had left the pommel of his sword to reach out towards the hunter. Helva, moving away from his touch, made her disposition painfully clear.
“I will move! Wounded or not! I do not need you, Barandol. This is my hunt. Mine.”
It was outrageous. Barandol was there, yet he did not seem to know why. Not really.
How humiliating it is for one of your own to fail at their task. Another victim and still no dead beast to make up for it. Everything revolved around how Helva’s ineptitude stretched over time, enshrouding all in a deafening urge to continue with the hunt. Suddenly, there was no word to describe the way in which Helva’s certainties were fated to remain, unbeknownst to herself.
“You harp on about a sense of responsibility and dedication to the craft. This is what dedication looks like,” Helva spoke, feeling disgusted with herself, resisting the urge to make herself look smaller.
Barandol looked on with sympathy and Helva refused to meet his gaze.
↯
“Please, sit,” the blonde all but commanded, standing behind her desk as though she were about to judge Helva for all her past crimes. Helva, on the other hand, stood near the threshold of the woman’s study, taking in her surroundings. The silence did not seem to bother Helega, though, frankly, it was quite rude to skip the pleasantries and to simply… stare.
The study was clean. Tidy. Almost lacking in… personality, as though its owner spent more time outdoors than not, which was not typical for a researcher. The blonde studies people, Helva thought. Perhaps that was why, despite everything looking perfectly dusted and looked after, it didn’t fit the older woman at all. Almost as if to prove Helva’s point, the second her eyes landed on Helega’s attire her eyebrows threatened to disappear into her hairline in clear surprise.
This time, she wore a white, tailormade shirt with a generous neckline and a black, half-skirt that fit snugly around her hips. Helva knew this because the woman had bent over at the waist to place her palms on her desk in a way the hunter could only perceive as an intimidation tactic. Reeked of superiority complex, really, which did not, at all, match the way in which Helega’s lips quirked upwards in amusement.
Usually, Helva’s hunter instincts allowed her to study the environment and any potential threat quite meticulously. This time, however, her attention was trained on one person and one person only. They were alone, after all. At Helva’s unresponsiveness, Helega drummed her fingers on her desk, pursing her lips in a telltale sign of impatience.
She did not use much jewellery, Helva noted, save for the occasional brooch or earrings. Her clothes, on the other hand, made the hunter think anything of hers would look far more sumptuous. Perhaps she had thought wrong.
“I’ll stand,” Helva finally curtly replied, her fingers flexing and twitching when Helega mockingly made a cooing sound. She was teasing her.
“Well, do try to contain your excitement. I understand my work is of paramount importance, but I am simply a researcher. No need to kneel at my feet,” she straightened her posture and sat behind her desk, seemingly unbothered by Helva’s attempt at gaining leverage.
“That wouldn’t happen,” the hunter grumbled, studying the blonde’s features unabashedly. Barandol’s visit had stung, and Helva found her heart rate slowed whenever the smile lines near the older woman’s eyes became more prominent. Suddenly, the sting turned into pulling strings of honey from a wound. Hurting made it all the sweeter.
“Did I miss some kind of public announcement making the mistreatment of the one who saved your life mandatory?” she teased, though her voice had an edge to it. It seemed lighthearted enough not to make Helva bristle, but forceful in a way which spoke to the researcher’s waning patience.
“No,” Helva said in lieu of apology. It seemed to please the blonde enough for her to give a pointed nod of approval.
“I must say I am positively beside myself to see you here, Helva. I fully expected you to forget all about our little arrangement. Conveniently,” she almost chastised, referring to the one meeting the hunter had already missed.
“It was decided unilaterally. I had no say in the matter,” Helva retorted, annoyed by the idea of being told to do something she did not consent to. Unfortunately, Helega did not take her words seriously, going so far as to wave her hand dismissively as she leaned back on her throne-like chair.
“Such is life, my dear,” she said, looking up at Helva from under her lashes, though not in a lascivious manner, “Oh, don’t make that face, it looks dreadful on you. I am a woman of my word, you know? The nobles–” she tried, but was quickly interrupted, causing a scowl to slowly but surely form on her face.
“I do not care. Their opinions are of little consequence.”
“A lone wolf is not much of a threat, but a pack…” Helega tsked.
“If they think I am what’s causing these killings, then, surely, they’d be trying their best not to irritate me,” Helva grumbled through gritted teeth. It was unlike her to be so unmannerly, which appeared to pique the blonde’s interest.
Helva doubted that word of her argument with Barandol had not yet reached the researcher’s ears. To Helva’s chagrin, everything travels fast when in a tightly knit community, and she hadn’t been particularly mindful of any eavesdroppers.
“Ah, but that is where the fork in the road appears. The whispers are dissonant. They do not speak as one. Some think you are doing this yourself, yes. Most simply believe you are… permissive. That you have sick, nefarious intentions and are mentally disturbed,” the woman spoke calmly, almost as though she anticipated Helva’s bewilderment. Pressing her lips into a thin line to contain herself when Helva let out a noise of pure incredulity, she watched as the hunter made to stand directly in front of her desk.
“That is ridiculous,” Helva accused, all but shooting the messenger straight in her face. Thankfully, Helega did not mind. If anything, it only seemed to please her further.
“Is it?” Helega asked, feigning innocence, knowing full well that her words would anger the hunter.
They stared at each other in silence, then. In a second, the mirth that danced in Helega’s eyes suddenly turned into something far more critical. Something worthy of the one who watches, as opposed to the one who is watched.
“Why am I here?” Helva instinctively asked, because she was sick to death of all the compromising. The same compromise that smothered the words out of her, were she to speak out of turn.
“Only you can give yourself an answer, hunter. Why are you here? I could tell you what I see, but you would not enjoy it. Is that what you want? The real thing? The painful truth?” Helega indulgently pressed, fixing Helva with a searching stare. She spoke as though she understood more than she let on. As though her dropping of a subject could only ever be classified as a kind of torturous liberation.
“You do not know me. Your people do not know me,” Helva said in warning, staring down at the blonde and growing increasingly frustrated with herself for falling into her trap once more. For some reason, Helega did not appear to be even a little bit entertained with their little dance. She seemed almost… exasperated? In her own way, at least.
“Spare me the posturing. You yelp like a wounded pup, yet you expect me to take any of this seriously? You nearly died last night. How’s that for a start? Honestly, I am almost impressed by your complete lack of self-preservation. You do it so stupidly as well,” she spoke every word as if she had rehearsed it, like she had drafted the conversation several times over and guarded it at her bedside table. At that moment, Helva felt as if she were unsuited for the task at hand.
“I have a mission. There is no room for self-preservation, not when the trail is getting cold.”
“The beast wasn’t there.”
“It could have been.”
“It wasn’t. Ferals and some hardwood floors bested you. If I were you, I’d make up another story to explain the nasty scar at your side.”
“You are very sarcastic for a researcher,” Helva snapped, pinning the woman with a stare she did not feel minimally inclined to return.
“One does not prohibit the other. In fact, I’d say making astute observations is part of the job,” clasping her hands on her desk, Helega’s lips pulled downwards in silent admonishment.
“It is easy for you to pass judgment from behind a desk. I have a mission, do you understand? A contract. I will not fail. I will do whatever it takes.” By that point, Helva was sick of repeating the same point for the umpteenth time that morning. It was obvious to her. Why was it not obvious to others? The answer did not satisfy the older woman.
“Whatever it takes isn’t enough if you die halfway through, is it? You believe your death to be of little consequence, and so you sprint headfirst into peril.” It had not been a question, but an observation.
“As long as I succeed, the rest does not matter,” Helva flatly explained. What was the point of evoking memories past? They were Borush’s to keep. The truth was as it was. At a very young age, Helva learned that attempting to change what is set in stone is a fruitless endeavour. Flow with the sea, and you’ll soon find the shore– the Valandi way.
“Well, we’ve got a hero on our hands, haven’t we? And what do you plan to do against this beast of yours in that state? I find it hard to believe the animal holds some kind of sanctimonious belief of not killing a half-dead hunter.” Now, she spoke with barely contained frustration, which was curious. Helva wondered, then, if what the blonde had shown her of herself before was contrived, an amalgamation of asymmetries. If the mouldering of the woman’s personality that she witnessed at that moment was simply what had been right in front of her from the start. For some reason, Helva craved the real thing.
“It will strike regardless,” Helva simply spoke. Her temper now returning to more familiar levels. This seemed to embolden Helega further.
“Have you ever wondered if your best is simply insufficient?”
“What?”
“Gods, how I love repeating myself. You, Helva. You speak as though the very Gods plot against you: ‘Oh, woe is me, the trail went cold again’,” she mocked impatiently, tiny veins bulging in her temples. Any more of that and she’d give herself a migraine.
“Perhaps your best is not enough,” Helega repeated, much to her displeasure. After a beat, she, at the very least, had the decency of looking somewhat embarrassed at the way in which she had conducted the conversation. Tugging at her sleeves to straighten the fabric of her shirt, she then took in a slow breath through her nose before planting her palms against the cool surface of her desk.
Helva took in every movement with a keen eye. Who are you, really? Who are we?
Sensing they had reached the end of the road, Helva wasted no time in turning on her heel, making to leave. Thankfully, her wound did not debilitate her to the point of restricting all her movements, even less graceful ones. Before her hand could touch the door, however, Helega’s warning tone reached her ears: “Do not turn your back on me.”
Despite all the distance between them, Helva felt as though she could not think clearly. It was a kind of imagined state she had conditioned herself into, really, one where the blonde was consistently one step ahead of her.
She was glad she had turned her back on the researcher. She doubted she’d have much more to say were the blonde’s eyes still locked with her own. Some things were unshareable to that degree.
“It’s all I have,” Helva tightly confessed. Helega did not speak a word.
When one is born into a storm, lightning brings clarity. The Bulwark were virtuous, some more than most. Still, the idea that everyone was to see the truth the way one presents it was vain in and of itself. Balance. Yearning to conquer the tempests. To Helva, explaining the obvious was akin to having a heel pressing down on one’s throat. Not enough to kill, but enough to humiliate.
“The hunt. The beast. It’s all I have,” she continued, feeling as though the damage had already been done. Behind her, she heard nothing. Rendering the blonde speechless was a victory, in its own way.
A beat.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Helega finally verbalised in a controlled tone. It sounded as if she had been searching for meaning in Helva’s words. The truth was that the statement was so heavy it felt exceptional.
The truth. Helva turned to face the researcher, whose face resembled a blank piece of parchment. There was an inscrutable look in her eyes, one Helva did not have the time to decipher.
“It may be ridiculous to you, but it is the truth. My truth, anyway.”
Helega’s head tipped backwards slightly in silent appraisal. She was no mere spectator. Despite her evasive nature, Helega measured the scales just as much as she tipped them in her favour. Helva’s confession seemed to dispirit her. Had she understood?
“Well, in that case, you need a walk. Care to accompany me?”
The researcher spoke simply after collecting herself, as though the moment hadn’t fazed her. Her posture reclaimed its harmony as she stood, proudly and deliberately, and made her way towards the hunter. Helva followed the woman’s movements, and when Helega strode out of her study, coat over her shoulders and without so much as a glance, Helva promptly followed.
↯
“It won’t be long before you crumble under the weight of all that pent-up anticipation you hold so dear,” Helega spoke after a moment of silence.
Walking down the cobbled path side by side, the pair unknowingly avoided each other’s eyes as the villagers bustled about, too concerned with everyday happenings to spare them a second glance. Helva preferred it that way.
A guardian chasing after a runaway child; a guard giving a drunkard a pep talk as the latter hung his head between his knees; an elder giving a mentee their bow, watching on with amusement as the student skipped away in excitement. It was strange how, despite Helva’s current predicament, the world simply kept turning.
The burden was firmly planted on her shoulders. There was an urge sitting right at the pit of her stomach, something pulling at her insides, asking her to reach out. To make something out of anything. Sometimes, her disposition felt somewhat inherited; a curse she was meant to carry.
“I disagree,” Helva dryly replied, resisting the urge to cup her side whenever she placed her left foot on the ground. After a couple more steps, Helega seemed to sense the hunter’s discomfort, for she came to a slow walk in a silent acknowledgement of Helva’s wound.
“That wasn’t a question,” came the biting retort, earning the blonde a scoff, “I have tried to make sense of it. Of your… incessant desire to be painfully mediocre. I cannot seem to get there on my own, so I was hoping for your aid.”
The absolute gall. The two women spoke to each other as though they were continually obliged to mend their differences. To make the other understand what they couldn’t quite put into words, except Helega went about it with an unbearable air of superiority, of course.
Regardless, the hunt both unmoored and grounded Helva. She knew who and what she was when in a chase. It was irrevocable. Helva found that being far removed from her purpose meant a constant evasion of one’s life. Being away from the forest’s cool embrace was the heaviest thing of all. Suddenly, Helva’s body and mind were unwilling. It was, in a way, indescribable.
“You wish for me to explain my shortcomings to you?” Helva deadpanned in a perpetually tired voice, turning to face the researcher with a blank stare. Helega glanced in her direction for but a second before turning her attention towards her own hands.
“I have heard of the arrival of a new guild member. One of your own, yes?” she queried, artfully changing the subject as she fished a pair of gloves out of her pockets.
“We will not discuss this,” the hunter replied in a tone that left little room for argument, forgetting whom she was speaking to.
“Oh, but we will. You are out of your depth. He senses it, does he not? And what of your peers?” Helega prodded, clearly dissatisfied with Helva’s answer. At the woman’s tone, Helva’s jaw tightened.
“They know not to intervene with my hunt. It is inconsequential.”
“Except it isn’t. You are here, with me, instead of patrolling the woods like you normally do, which can only mean he is doing so in your stead. Your ego is bruised, and you run off to lick your wounds in private, but the mask is beginning to crack. You reek of desperation, and it is terribly unbecoming,” she unkindly finished, upturning her nose in evident disapproval. It drove Helva mad, and not in a good way.
“He is outmatched and will need my help. If it weren’t for this damned wound, I would take the lead.” Almost as if to accentuate her point, just as the words practically flew out of her mouth, a distracted villager with a heavy sack of potatoes thrown over her shoulders slammed against Helva’s side, causing her to stumble.
The villager hurriedly issued a halfhearted apology before being on her way, but Helva remained rooted in place, trying to catch her breath. Helega looked on curiously. Staring at the hunter with a small, wry smile, tugging at her lips. Before Helva could voice her irritation, the researcher reached towards Helva’s torso with no hesitation, pulling her cloak to the side to examine the fabric of her clothes. Her eyes scanned over her frame languidly, pausing where she knew the hunter’s wound was. Helva imagined the older woman was looking for any hints of blood, but the extra steps seemed greatly unnecessary, earning her a comical, searching stare.
“You do not know everything, researcher. My purpose has been etched in the sky, and I have fully embraced it many years ago. I will see it through. There can be no other outcome,” Helva spoke, her voice low. Lost in thought, she allowed her eyes to scan the woman’s features for what felt like the umpteenth time that morning.
Sensing Helva’s prying gaze, Helega appeared to all but revel in it. Lingering near the hunter’s wound, she held the fabric of her cloak imperceptibly tighter, silently permitting Helva to stare without being caught.
“Besides, if you think catching such a beast is so easy, why don’t you do it yourself?” The hunter’s words had lost their bite. At her question, however, Helega’s eyes met her own, all amusement gone from her face. Loosening her hold on the cloak, she recoiled as though she’d been burned, exaggerating for comedic effect. Despite herself, Helva chuckled.
“Hilarious,” the blonde was unamused, “But no, I shan’t. That is your job.” Resuming their walk, Helega did not wait for Helva to accompany her. Despite wanting to distance herself from Helva’s self-destructive behaviour, she seemed to support the end goal regardless.
At that, Helva resisted the urge to puff out her chest, evidently pleased. The woman’s words only served to embolden her, in a way.
In a sea of people who did not understand Helva’s rising sense of urgency, Helega, at the very least, knew whose responsibility it was. Who held the sword, and who the executioner must be. Barandol, on the other hand, saw it as a job like any other.
Helva held her hunt in her hands and guarded it. It did not matter whether it ever left a bitter taste in her mouth. She nurtured it because it was hers. Helega understood.
A few steps behind, Helva’s eyes travelled along the researcher’s frame, who walked with such confidence the crowd before her split in two. Before the hunter could lose herself in the way in which Helega’s hips swayed, she caught up, feeling her lips twitch whenever the townsfolk moved out of Helega’s way. Perhaps they thought she was another noble with deep pockets and a death wish. Either way, they moved.
When they crossed the street to walk alongside the forest’s tree line, Helva caught a blur of movement out of the corner of her eye. There, hopping from tree branch to tree branch, was her long-lost acquaintance. Again.
“You,” Helva accused, narrowing her eyes up at the trees. At that, Helega glanced over in her direction, making a face at her tone.
“Pardon?”
“Him. That bird,” Helva nodded up at the tree, and when the blonde followed her gaze, she noticed the creature’s presence, yet remained unfazed, for obvious reasons.
“The raven?” she asked after turning to face Helva once more, her movements so comically slow Helva would have chuckled had she not been so suspicious of their visitor.
“It is a crow,” Helva absentmindedly corrected, following the crow’s hopping and waiting for it to stumble. He never did. Odd, for an old, mangy beast.
“Oh, I don’t care what it is,” she sounded almost exasperated, waiting for the hunter to explain why she seemed so transfixed by the damn thing. It was clear to Helva that the researcher had hoped to continue their walk in comfortable silence, as she dictated when the next round of relentless questioning would come. Funnily enough, Helva did not seem to mind. It was almost like a game of hide and seek where the pair took turns beating around the bush and dancing around the subject at hand instead of addressing the other directly.
Now, onto more important matters. The crow.
“It’s been following me,” Helva offered in a rather cryptic fashion. Helega looked at her as though she had sprouted a new head.
“Are you… well? It is a bird, my dear,” the blonde queried with a hint of concern in her voice, face twisting in utter bewilderment.
“A bird that’s been following me. Is it yours?” Helva offhandedly insisted, and the older woman scoffed, looking between the hunter and the bird as though Helva had lost her mind.
“Mine? The crow?” she gestured with her hand towards the tree, hoping Helva would tell her it was but a jest. When the hunter simply stared back at her, Helega looked positively peeved.
“What a stupid– yes. In truth, I own an aviary. The largest there is, really. Would you like a tour? Honestly. ‘Is it yours?’,” Helega mimicked, acting as though the question itself had disturbed To-Valand’s peace. Almost as if on cue, the crow cawed thrice in rapid succession, and Helega’s head turned excruciatingly slow to face the creature. The pair stared at the bird for a few seconds, not quite knowing what to make of the situation. It stared right back.
“My concern, Helva,” the blonde started, choosing to ignore the crow, and Helva immediately braced for impact, “Is that you make a show of understanding what you do not. You are wading into that Lake of yours, and you do so willingly. No grandeur. No legacy. You are not worthy. That is the truth. Perhaps you find the idea of actively betting on your own demise easier than an unplanned defeat. I can… understand the appeal of self-sabotage when bettered. But you must remember that the path you walk on will lead you to a resting place that is not so much provisional as it is permanent,” her tone had been softer that time, yet her words still brought discomfort.
Helva came to a halt, and Helega, a few steps ahead, followed suit, looking back at the hunter with a look that confirmed her suspicions– Helega did not feel any remorse for what she had said, not one bit.
There she stood, with the breeze coursing through her hair like a painting in motion. Her back straight, her gloved hands clasped at her front. Her eyes unfaltering, unwilling to give Helva a reason to presume she had the upper hand. Ever convinced of her righteousness, the blonde did not move a muscle as Helva took her time sauntering towards her, eyes narrowing when a particularly cool gust of wind hit her face.
Hands balling into fists so harshly that the leather of the hunter’s gloves made a sound as it rubbed together, Helva trained her eyes on the researcher’s and searched for what she could not find.
“You make assumptions I do not care for, researcher. I am a difficult person with a difficult task. Sometimes I barely manage to stomach it all, but how does any of that serve me? I have to succeed because there is no other option. And I will, despite my mediocrity or whatever else your self-absorbed friends discuss amongst themselves. Do not mistake my struggle for what it is not. I may look desperate or even obsessed to you, but at least I am something. I am where I should be. Are you?” Helva calmly spoke, despite herself.
Helega really looked at her, then. Lips twitching mirthlessly in response to what she saw as halfhearted raving, no doubt. She raised her chin to stare at Helva over her nose, watching her closely.
“You have so much to learn,” the researcher placated her with a veiled stare, her posture stiffening when the hunter huffed out a breath of irritation in response.
“I can learn on the road.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”
They had reached a dead-end. Neither party was willing to continue the conversation, but not due to anger or frustration, no. Helega clearly enjoyed the advantage she had over Helva. She practically feasted on it. The severe case of superiority in which she spoke tested Helva’s patience, but it also threatened to charm her, in a way.
Sometimes, an apparition of a genuine smile ghosted across the older woman’s face. A smile that held no preconceived notions or hidden agendas. Helva understood. At times, people were no different from beasts. There were urges, things one does in the name of survival. Things that might bring shame. Helega was no different because she could not be. She was human, and humans could only be so unpredictable.
There was weight to Helega’s words because the woman had buried history she did not care to unearth, not in front of Helva, or anyone, for that matter. That much was obvious. One could not pass such a harsh judgment without having been burned by the same flame in the past. It was impossible to be an impassive observer, untied or unshackled. Something drove Helega to speak with such firm determination, but Helva did not know what.
The blonde stood in front of her, back to the tree line, and as Helva took in the sight, her eyes flickered wildly across the woman’s face. Moments later, a pulsating pressure gripped Helva’s skull, forcing her to shut one eye to stave off the pain but to no avail. Unaware of what ailed the hunter, Helega simply questioned the look on her face, yet received no response. Fighting back the urge to palm the back of her skull, Helva trained her eyes on the woman’s face.
A ray of sunlight pierced leaves and blonde tresses, painting the older woman’s frame with a golden halo that flickered whenever Helva shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She watched as naked tree branches in the distance peeked from behind Helega’s body, immortalising and planting themselves in Helva’s mind like a vision during a fever dream. There was a ringing, and soon the pain spread to the front of Helva’s skull, which was when she stumbled. Helega’s searching gaze slowly turned cautiously empathetic.
“You are unwell. Perhaps we should not have walked,” the blonde guessed, sounding slightly apologetic. If Helva had been in her right mind, she would have voiced her surprise. Leaning against the researcher’s supporting touch, she briefly shut her eyes when one of the woman’s hands moved from Helva’s shoulder to her sternum, feeling her heartbeat thrumming against her palm.
“I have to find him. I have to be out there. I can’t stay here any longer,” the hunter spoke through gritted teeth, regaining her footing yet refusing to step away from the one that grounded her. Exhaling slowly through her nose when Helega spread out her fingers against the very centre of her chest, she risked a glance and found the researcher willing to return the gesture.
“Stubborn,” Helega muttered in a way that told Helva she had not meant to hear it, eyes lingering on the hunter’s lips when she spoke. Something crossed her face, then. A memory or two, of something or someone, Helva presumed. How curious.
There it was. The itch, now a dull ache humming away at the pit of her stomach, returned with a purpose. A reminder that one with such obligations must pay no mind to hopeless endeavours, even at the cost of the self. What was victory, compared to the warmth of her touch? Helva suspected she would soon find out.
“I need to find the beast,” the hunter gravely spoke, holding the blonde’s hand in her own for a moment, letting it rest against her chest. Helega gave no verbal response. When Helva’s words reached her ears, her lips quirked downwards imperceptibly, and her eyes regained their usual vagueness.
Even as Helva nearly forced herself to place some distance between them, she could not help but feel as though she had spoiled something.
↯
Helva was not stalking her comrade. If she had been, it would’ve been highly unprofessional and uncouth. Thankfully, that was not what she was doing. No. Helva was simply closely watching Barandol. Very closely. From behind a tree.
It was getting colder the more the sun set. Barandol dealt with weather adversities expertly, as any Bulwark would, but that did not mean he was particularly keen on experiencing the biting cold. Starting a small fire as he knelt on the gathering snow, Helva watched as each of his movements were slow, calculated and deliberate – it was almost ritualistic, in a familiar sense. Was he readying for a fight?
“I can sense you following me,” he softly spoke, a misty cloud leaving his lips as he exhaled a calm breath. He was at ease, as always. Helva, on the other hand, was not. Moving in a circle, not quite entering Barandol’s field of view, she examined their surroundings.
The forest wasn’t as quiet as it could be. There was the chirping of birds in the distance, and a few meters away from where they stood, Helva could see a pair of deer feasting on a dry patch of vegetation. It was safe, for the time being.
“I was not hiding. If I were trying to spy on you, you would have never known,” Helva patronisingly explained, furrowing her brow as she approached Barandol’s camp.
“No, I wouldn’t. Come. Sit for a while,” the man warmly offered, kneeling on a mat he had placed in front of the fire. As Helva came to stand in front of him, on the opposite side of the camp, Barandol lazily braided his long, thick black hair. Despite the cold, he looked almost cosy, even as the gradually freezing temperature was especially harsh on the tips of his moustache. He hated it when that would happen. Helva remembered the lengths he would go to keep both his hair and beard properly groomed – absolutely ridiculous, Helva mused.
“I suppose they told you I am a failure. That I bit off more than I could chew with this hunt,” Helva bitterly guessed after a moment of uncomfortable silence. Part of Helva wished to lash out at Barandol, while the other half harboured nothing but self-disgust. It was getting harder to reconcile the two, not to mention attempting to be reasonable.
Upon hearing Helva’s words, Barandol looked up at his companion, never ceasing his movements as he continued braiding his hair, and spoke as though they had had this conversation a million times over. Perhaps they had. To Helva, most of it blurred together at that point.
“They said nothing of the sort, Helva. They are simply concerned for your well-being, which is perfectly natural,” he reasoned in a friendly manner, even if there was a hint of disapproval in his voice. Barandol was a good man, but if there was one thing he could very rarely stomach was self-deprecation. ‘It minimises you as a person, my dear friend’, he had said, what felt like aeons ago.
“Do they concern themselves with yours?” Helva caustically pressed on, ignoring the pang of guilt that hit her squarely on the chest. Deep down, she knew Barandol, of all people, was undeserving of her ire. How does one tame aversion when it stirs deep within? Helva acknowledged it, in her own mind, but it never softened the words that left her mouth, and hiding it would be disingenuous.
“I train the younglings. I do not accept as many contracts as I used to, but, when I do, I consider it a great honour. I am, as one could say, safe from most hazardous situations as I age, as is what is asked of me. The same cannot be said of you.”
Braid finished, Barandol gestured towards the space at his side, silently urging Helva to sit before pulling up his hood to protect his hair, no doubt. His clothes were much, much warmer than Helva’s.
“This has been true for as long as I can remember, yet it only matters now. You forget who I am?” Helva asked, not quite looking for an answer as she had made up her mind long ago. Carefully kneeling to Barandol’s left with some difficulty, she extended her hands towards the fire to warm her freezing fingers, flexing them to regain some mobility. Suddenly, Barandol’s overly complicated, warm attire made more sense.
“Helva, you are a force of nature. Ever-expanding. Your branches, no matter how wilted you believe them to be, reach towards all things and touch all beings. Both your presence and absence are deeply felt among the Guild, yet I cannot help but feel as though you resent us for it.”
“You do not know what you speak of.”
“Then help me understand.”
“You cannot bear it,” Helva said after growing pensive. “You cannot bear the idea of me outgrowing you. Or perhaps it is the very opposite, you wish to rid yourselves of me because I cannot keep up.” The hunter sensed Barandol’s hurt as soon as the words were ripped from her throat. The thought of the Guild’s disapproval or indifference was so overwhelming Helva was sick with it. She could keep the weight of the world on her shoulders, but there is only so much one can take before knees start to buckle.
“That is not true.” For the first time in a while, Barandol’s entire posture went rigid, as though the accusation had physically harmed him. Helva had the strange tendency to spread her innermost pain beyond herself in a poor attempt at control. It did not matter if her words rang true; Barandol’s presence was an insult. She lashed out again.
“I cannot wait for the Guild in the shadows, Barandol. You won’t be the one to spring me into action because I have been here every step of the way. Only I know what it is like. My beast.”
Barandol hesitated, clearly lost in thought for a moment as Helva’s sombre speech came to a close. Instead of silent admonishment, the man simply nodded sagely, a hint of a smile reaching his warm, brown eyes. For some reason, his gentle understanding made Helva hold her breath.
“You speak as though we see you as a child. Like a fisherman asking Tava to serve him something to eat. I know you are capable, Helva. This hunt is a two-Bulwarks job, my friend. It always was. They were wrong to send you out here alone.” Barandol explained with graceful simplicity, speaking methodically, as if one wrong movement would send Helva running like a wounded dog. The thought made Helva’s skin itch.
“There comes a time when every hunter is outmatched. It is the order of things. We are not the apex predator in these woods. I know you know this; you’ve said it yourself, this is familiar to you,” he inclined his head towards her, then, before turning his palms skywards, balling them into fists and shutting his eyes. The conversation was over, and Helva was none the wiser.
Her mind raced. Meditation was out of the question as she would not be capable of focusing.
Oftentimes, Barandol’s manner of speaking was much too lyrical for her taste. She found it complicated matters that could be solved if spoken plainly. The others did not share Helva’s sentiment. ‘He speaks in song’, they said. When alongside him, Helva looked cynical. Inelegant. Like a baby deer on ice. Barandol found it funny; this time, Helva did not.
“I found tracks,” the man said, breaking Helva’s reverie and making her snap her head towards him.
“What?” the hunter blurted out.
“Indeed. Big ones. Ones that could belong to our beast.”
Our?
“They lead deeper into the forest, fading right at the border of the tree line, near a lake. It is too open, so I wished to prepare and study the area before venturing forth. Would you like to come with me? Since you do not plan on resting, that is,” he said with gentle remonstrance, clearly disapproving of Helva’s stubborn nature.
Before he could say anything else, Helva fumbled to stand upright, refusing Barandol’s aid as she got back up on her feet. She needed to put some much-needed distance between them.
Our beast… implied a great deal. Nothing Helva was keen on allowing. Insuperable, in a way, as it presupposed Helva’s lack of authority in the matter. The beast was not something she’d share.
“Tonight?”
“Tonight. Helva,” he began, his tone making the following words sound more serious than he had meant them, “We are equals. Do not make me force you to see reason. As you cannot fight, I shall take the lead with you at my side. This is undebatable, sister.”
Barandol shut his eyes once more, and Helva practically seethed with rage. Something was wrong – her own feelings astonished her. Besieged her with complete remorselessness.
Helva was painfully susceptible.
↯
Coming to a halt to Helva’s right, Barandol pointed towards a fishing hut in the distance. There, at the edge of the vast lake, was a single, clearly abandoned structure, embraced by the shade of an overgrown willow tree, the only one left standing in the clearing.
“A point of interest. I believe it is long abandoned, but we must take heed,” the man spoke barely above a whisper as Helva craned her neck to follow the beaten path that led to the fishing hut. Many carriages had travelled in and out of the area in times past. Now, however, it was eerily quiet.
“Do you see why I wanted to scout the area first?” Barandol continued, taking note of the suspicion written all over Helva’s face.
The lake filled most of the open area, sitting under the moonlight without so much as a ripple. No fish, no frogs, just rotten, decaying trees – dozens of them, like discarded spears on a battlefield – sticking out of its milky white water, its surface impenetrable, even by the moonlight.
“Water from the glaciers?” Helva mused aloud, entering the clearing and stepping into the light.
“Yes, though I suspect—” Barandol started, but was quickly interrupted.
“I feel it.”
The air was thick and moist, sticking to the skin, but that was not all. There was a familiar kind of tickling sensation at the back of Helva’s throat, the kind that would quickly turn into lightning coursing through veins were she to attune herself to the environment. If the clearing turned out to be the beast’s resting place, then it would certainly be feeding off of the energy there, growing stronger. Restless.
On their way there, the pair moved in the cover of the night and yet had not found any tracks. Still, as Helva took in the sights before her, she was inclined to believe something was plaguing the area. The lakeside hut did not appear to have been broken into, but there was only one way of confirming the hunter’s suspicions. Perhaps there were claw marks. Patches of hair, anything. Something.
“There has to be something here,” the hunter voiced in a way that sounded almost pained. Like the idea of being wrong came to her as a slow death rather than a lesson to be learned. Suffering, as it turned out, was a precondition for the hunt. That much Helva was acutely aware of.
“Do not see things where there are none. I understand you wish to close the contract, but we must keep our minds clear. As is Levent’s will,” Barandol had said 'we' instead of 'you' to soften the blow, Helva suspected. Her patience waned, even as she knew he spoke from experience.
“It’s not that. I can feel it…” she tautly clarified, trailing off and running her teeth over her upper row of teeth as her mouth seemed to dry up.
“Careful, sister,” Barandol pointedly warned, his voice leaving very little room for doubt. Whatever he saw in Helva at that moment was not something he cared to witness again. Pulling her away from her thoughts, Helva turned to face the man, cupping her side to make sure the stitches didn’t tear away at her skin. She should not be moving that much, truth be told, but when duty calls, a side wound mustn’t take precedence over potential triumph.
“I will approach the hut with or without you. Make your choice.” Helva shuddered, feeling as though all the heat in her body threatened to leave her the more she approached the lake. Barandol, on the other hand, lifted his gloved hand in warning. Silently pleading with her, asking her not to be quite so rash. In his eyes, treading into unknown waters meant certain death, especially for someone in Helva’s condition. Nonetheless, he understood that, from where Helva stood, it was all or nothing. There was only one fate worse than losing ground with one’s Guild: losing ground with oneself.
“Helva—” he tried, but Helva quickly settled their debate, turning to walk as efficiently as she could towards the abandoned hut, back straight and shoulders tense even as her wound protested against it. Behind her, she heard Barandol let out an exasperated sigh moments before breaking into a quick jog to catch up to his uncompromising counterpart.
As she approached the hut, she could hear the faint sound of rustling leaves as the willow tree danced along with the slight, cool breeze. How curious that something so beautiful and gentle was capable of surviving, ambitiously, even in the most violent of conditions.
Placing one foot in front of the other, Helva found herself all but transfixed, like her legs had a life of their own. Tilting her head with her eyes trained on the hut’s door, she felt a persistent, prickling sensation underneath her skin. A warning? Behind her, Barandol’s steps faltered, but she paid him no mind.
She heard someone call out her name, but the voice seemed distant, like a fading memory. Then, it ceased, and Helva threatened to take the plunge. Her palm rested against the wooden door, though she did not recall ever reaching her destination, and before she could push it open, there was a terrible commotion.
Trees shook and wood split as if something deep in the woods was sprinting towards them; both Helva and Barandol froze in place. It was big. The hunter’s heart leapt to her throat. Spinning around with daggers already in hand, her eyes landed on Barandol’s frame in the distance, his sword unsheathed. When their panicked gazes met, Helva was almost convinced he’d been seconds away from asking her to flee. Whatever it was, it sounded large enough to pose a bigger threat than what they had mentally prepared for.
They stood their ground. Barandol assumed a fighting stance, one foot forward with the other slightly turned outward. He would not go gently into the night, even when facing off against something that could dispose of him in mere seconds.
Knowing they’d stand a better chance if they fought together, Helva stalked towards her companion, beads of sweat littering her upper lip as her eyes darted across the tree line, looking for any signs of the creature.
The thunderous sound it made as it neared the clearing had the pair settling into their discomfort. Casting a furtive glance in Barandol’s direction, if Helva didn’t know better, she’d say there was nothing that could ever frighten him, if not for the way in which he attempted to ground himself by taking several calming breaths. Before they were forced into action, however, the noise abruptly stopped.
The pair panted as though they had finished a fight, exchanging uncertain glances as whatever toyed with them refused to make itself known. They waited… nothing. Before they could start feeling somewhat ridiculous, Barandol finally spoke, breaking the deadly silence.
“I called your name multiple times. You refused to listen.”
“I did not hear you, Barandol.”
“We could have died.”
“But did we? It seems the forest is far more dangerous than this clearing. It won’t show itself.” Helva pointed out vehemently.
“It knows something we don’t, that’s why,” almost as if on cue, Barandol’s head snapped to the right as a pained shout from deep within the woods called out for help. Helva immediately surged forward, taking hold of his arm and fearing the worst as her run-in with the Ferals served as a painful lesson of not always trusting everything one might hear. Barandol did not understand, looking back at her with a chagrined look on his face before running towards the sound.
Alone once more, Helva’s chest heaved as she swayed in place. There had been too much adrenaline for one evening in her state, she presumed. Even then, she’d rather be out there than in the comfort of the place she called home.
“I know you’re here. You’re toying with me, like you always do.” Thankfully, Barandol was not present, for he’d rightly think her mad. How else could she describe it? She felt its presence. She was so sure of it that it nearly pierced her heart. It was, in a way, a gift to feel so close to one’s prey that certain behaviours become second nature; an extension of the self, drunk on anticipation.
“You wish for me to play your game, I’ll play your game.” Helva thought aloud, sheathing her daggers before marching off into the woods, the pain at her side long forgotten, weaving itself into a force which served only to embolden her.
He was wrong. Helva was right. She had to be right.
↯
“We must lift as one. On the count of three: one, two… three!” said Barandol, using all his strength to lift the merchant’s cart with the help of two very clearly dishevelled townspeople. Helva looked at the scene before her, unwilling to push away the gut feeling that told her there was something wrong.
The beast had approached the edge of the clearing and showed no signs of having left. It simply stopped dead in its tracks. Why were they there?
A faint whimper reached Helva’s ears, and it was then that she noticed a child, with tear-streaked cheeks, trapped under the cart’s crooked wheel. The leg was crushed. Irreparable beyond belief. They’d have to amputate as quickly as possible, if the pool of blood at Barandol’s feet was of any indication. Helva remained rooted in place– there was nothing she could do in her state, as she’d risk tearing her stitches.
Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, Helva urgently called out to Barandol, a bleak look on her face. “Helva, thank the Gods you are here. Come, I need you to keep the child awake,” the man loudly asked, clearly disturbed by the scene before him. Ignoring how Helva seemed unwilling to move, he once again ordered the townsfolk to lift the cart. Helva looked away before it slipped from their grasp and slammed back down on the child’s crushed leg.
The child’s guardians, Helva presumed, were inconsolable and panicked, a state that only worsened when Barandol suggested cutting off the child’s leg then and there so they’d take off towards the village sooner rather than later. Helva gritted her teeth so hard her jaw ached.
“Where is it?” Helva asked, her voice holding an edge to it. The question had been nearly drowned out by the cries of desperation and the high-pitched neighs of their petrified horses, now loose from the cart, as they would only make matters more difficult. The child lolled their head from one side to the other, making faint, mewling sounds as one of the guardians fussed over them with trembling hands.
“Helva, please,” Barandol hissed, motioning to her to come closer. Helva ignored his wordless request.
“You,” the hunter nodded towards one of the guardians, who had been sobbing uncontrollably by that point, “Did you see anything?”
“The horses got a fright and the cart tipped over. We don’t know what they saw,” Barandol replied in their stead, giving Helva a tormented look, as though he didn’t recognise the woman standing before him.
“Barandol, it is here. I know it is. Why won’t you listen?” Helva gruffly persisted. She understood the delicate situation the man was in. Understood misfortune had befallen the family he was trying to aid, but she was positive the beast had misled them. It was there. They were so close Helva could taste it.
“There is a child trapped under the wheel, Helva!”
“I don’t—” care! Barandol was stunned into silence. Slack-jawed. For but a moment, Helva had the decency to look ashamed, but her mind was set on something far greater. Greater than herself, or Barandol, or, Helva thought, the child.
It was appalling. If there was a moment where Helva’s exceptional carelessness lost its originality and, instead, became more of the same, not to others but to herself, she wondered how good, virtuous men like Barandol would see her. If her greatest, most shameful acts splintered within him; if they rotted her from the inside out. If, and most damning of all, she cared.
“You don’t understand. How could you? This isn’t your hunt,” she bitterly reminded him, balling her hands into fists, her nails digging into her palms in a way that almost broke skin. Her words impeded Barandol’s efforts to respond in a coherent fashion. Even then, Helva witnessed the way in which he fought himself, searching for a different path. One that did not end with his back turned to his sister.
Unable to linger more than he already had, Barandol choked on his protests and nodded towards one of the horses before turning his attention back to the child, his sword drawn.
Squaring her shoulders to maintain a semblance of control, Helva staggered towards the horse, biting the inside of her cheek as she struggled to hop on the saddle. Helva looked away just as Barandol’s sword descended upon the child’s crushed leg, severing it on the second try. It was not something she cared to witness.
As she galloped away, she did not allow the guardians' mortified cries to distract her from the task at hand.
Levent had decided.
↯
She knew where to go. It called out to her in a language she was beginning to grow accustomed to. It stalked her because Helva had a role to play, as did the Beast.
Helva, ever-conscious of the voice at the very back of her head, craved to relieve what sought to destroy her in a way that was incomprehensible to people like Barandol. In the same way her fingers itched to trace the stitches holding her flesh together, her hand reached towards the door before her. She felt compelled to drown in those waters, even if momentarily.
The door was firmly shut, yet that did not stop her. Wasting no time, she slammed the right side of her body against it once, twice, three times before it finally budged. By the time the door flew open, Helva’s shirt was soaked in her own blood.
The consistency of the pain brought her comfort as she stumbled to the floor, falling on her hands and knees. Before Helva could succumb to the feeling, her fingers sank into a cold, sticky liquid coating the surface, which was when the stench hit her.
Mere centimetres above her head, she heard a creaking sound, only this time, it did not come from the blood-soaked wood beneath her palms.
Blood-soaked.
Straightening her posture as best she could, she felt something nudge her head, yet paid it no mind. She had been right. It was all a ruse, a distraction meant to trick the two guild members. She nodded to herself, pressing her lips into a thin line whenever the corpse, hanging by the legs, imperceptibly swayed back and forth out of the corner of her eye.
Tears prickled her eyes, yet a sour smile tugged at the corners of her twitching lips. She had been right. She turned her gaze downwards, rotated her hands until the blood glistened in the moonlight and simply stared.
She had been right, and now, she waited for a moment her mind couldn’t define. Helva waited and waited, avoiding her haunting reflection in the pool of blood staring right back at her, yet nothing ever came. No reprieve. Just morbid vindication. Ugly. Tainted. Her temples throbbed and, still, nothing happened.
She looked up, eyes following the source of the creaking sound she had heard moments ago: large fishing hooks, connected to long metal chains, that pierced the victim’s calves and thighs, holding her in place. Her arms were dangling above her head with a long string of blood dripping from her index finger. She had teeth marks on her neck, having been bitten several times around that same area. The largest was the source of the major bloodloss.
Helva avoided her face. She couldn’t. Wouldn’t, lest she find familiar features staring back at her. This was a mockery. A humiliation. Her beast was far more sentient than she thought.
“Why?” Helva asked, plainly. Voice devoid of emotion.
All she heard was the rustling of leaves and the quiet of the dead.