Helva pinched the spot in between her thumb and index finger harshly, hoping to stave off the screams and their haunted repetitions echoing in her mind. Her comrades around her spoke in a hurried, hushed tone, as though they knew they had outstayed their welcome, uttering their condolences over and over again as though she had asked for it.. Helva did not understand the reverence. Being her trial’s sole survivor did not feel like much of a blessing, not in hindsight.
Nails digging into already sore flesh, Helva’s grief-stricken eyes turned skyward. There, above the fireplace in the common room, was the Bulwark crest. Shadows and an orange glow danced across its surface as tears shamelessly threatened to fall on Helva’s cheeks.
She did not feel lucky, as some of her peers had so carelessly put – cursed, perhaps. Not lucky.
“It was a terrible storm, child. You are not at fault,” Koral judiciously remarked, though his voice trembled slightly. They were his students. The failure was his to bear, in a way. Helva shook her head in response.
“That means very little to me.” Helva’s thumb pressed down further, and the nail broke skin. She could not bear to stand. Kneeling was the only option. Was agonising pain a precondition for victory?
Standing at the threshold stoically, Koral spoke with a voice heavy with all left unsaid, “You fight for the living to bring honour to the dead, Helva. That is what must be done. Levent—”
“I know! You do not have to keep telling me. Me having lived must have meaning. It could not have been a stroke of bad luck, or anything. I was chosen. That’s what everyone else is saying: that I have a calling. What a load of shit,” words spilt out of Helva like a flood. Her hair smelt of burnt flesh, and every muscle on her body was sore.
Before Koral could get a word in, someone ran up the stairs just outside of the common room and marched towards Helva’s mentor with purpose. Helva was too tired to care.
“I came as fast as I could…” Barandol trailed off, panting slightly as he entered the room, “Sister,” he whispered, taking a few, tentative steps towards Helva.
Shuffling when he approached her, Helva turned her face away from Barandol to conceal her tears. Sniffling and wiping her nose with her sleeve bitterly, Helva refused to meet his gaze.
“I am very sorry. I cannot imagine how you must feel,” he tried. He smelled of firewood and the rain. His soaked books left a trail as he pulled a chair to sit near the younger Bulwark. Helva could only see his hands and his custom, signet ring with the Guild’s coat of arms out of the corner of her eye as she hunched forward, choking back on several sobs when attempting to speak.
“I don’t need your pity. Didn’t you hear? I am lucky to be alive,” she said, crestfallen.
“The others are trying to make sense of it in their own way. You shall rebuild anew, Helva.”
There was a pause. Despite everyone else’s departure, Helva felt as though a thousand eyes were on her. Bringing her hands, clasped, to the base of her throat, she fought back the urge to make herself look smaller than she already felt.
Every movement she made angered the waters she’d lost herself in. She drowned of her own accord, and the others simply watched, with passive enjoyment, Helva assumed.
“Why me? Since everyone seems to know everything, can you tell me why this has happened?”
“I am sorry,” he mournfully repeated. Reaching towards Helva to console her in the only way he knew how. When his warm hand rested atop her shoulder, Helva spluttered, tears coursing down her face. His very presence heightened her grief, a perpetual, existential catastrophe in which Helva’s heart felt much too big for her chest.
The storm raged with ancestral appetite for hours. Before it could shrink itself into a repressed memory, Helva saw it in her dreams, forming atop a distant Lake of lakes.
The boundaries of her sanity thinned, yet she lived. And how lucky she was to have lived.
↯
They liked him. They liked his inviting smile, his caring words. They clung to every word he said as though he were the only person in To-Valand capable enough to soothe all their fears. “What will you do now?” someone had asked, and Barandol, ever-diplomatic, would answer with his chin up and head held high. His voice was steady, and his hand rested atop the pommel of his sword.
As he addressed the group, Helva sat a few meters away from everyone and everything and sulked. Eyes drifting occasionally, she wished she’d find a way to reframe or reshape what she felt, especially as it gained a life of its own.
Narrowing her eyes at a preoccupied Barandol, she felt a fierce scowl descend upon her face, finding its home there. It was ugly, but as there were no witnesses, she did not mind whether it transformed her or not.
Clenching her hands, Helva felt a faint stinging sensation followed by an odd warmth on her palm. Gaze turning downwards, she slowly opened her hand and blinked once, twice, apathetically. There, poking out of the very centre of her palm, was her sewing needle with the cheap thread still attached. Sniffing noncommittally, Helva made to remove it before swiping a thumb over the area, transfixed by the way in which the lines of her palm were now painted red.
“Bit anti-climactic, ain’t it?” said a gravelly voice behind her. The voice was rough-edged in the same way a sword loses its sharpness after a long-fought battle. The concept was familiar to Helva. “All this running around just for the thing to keep killing without much of a fight from either of you. It’s rather impressive, at this point.”
“Who are you?” Helva asked, not bothering to turn. At this, her visitor planted themself directly in front of her, bringing Helva’s movements to a slow stop as she dragged her eyes from muddy, overworn boots to rough-hewn face.
“Who I am does not matter,” they deadpanned, a perpetual smirk on their lips, “Your friend over there seems to wear his heart on his sleeve. Can’t seem to place you in all this, though.” Hooking their fingers on their leather belt, Helva’s upper lip twitched as recognition dawned on her face. Whoever pestered her then was posturing. A poor attempt at casual bravado to conceal the slight accent and out-of-place manners. They were not Valandi. A merc, yes, but no one Helva had ever seen before.
An interesting individual thrust into very interesting times, indeed. If they suspected they had bitten off more than they could chew, they showed no signs of it. A merc, still wet behind the ears where Valandi culture was concerned, searching for their big break. How quaint.
“Who hired you?” Helva casually asked, turning her attention back to her cloak to mend it as it had torn at the very centre, near the emblem. The merc scoffed, displeased with Helva’s clear disinterest.
“Let’s talk about you, instead, eh?” Before they could annoy Helva any further, the hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end. Like a moth to a flame, her eyes turned upward and straight past the nuisance before her.
Helega.
Strutting towards them with purpose and an impatient look on her face, Helega made a show of brushing straight past Barandol, making a beeline for Helva and the stranger with minimal regard for the people standing in her way. Sensing the hunter’s distraction, the stranger glanced over their shoulder and locked eyes with a woman who was very clearly on a mission. They had that much in common, at least.
Interesting times.
All of a sudden, Helva felt as though she were watching an individual fall down a very long flight of stairs. A disaster one cannot quite look away from.
Straightening their back as though being faced with an army general, the merc side-stepped to give Helva some much-needed space, but the damage had already been done.
Coming to a halt when she reached them, Helega gave Helva’s company an excruciatingly slow look of appraisal and conducted herself as though she had been asked to join them all along. “Beautiful morning, isn't it?” A rhetorical question. She did not care. “Helva, introduce us,” Helega said, a beautiful, bilious smile painting her soft lips. Despite Helva’s ever-declining mood, she smirked.
“I cannot. They refuse to tell me their name.”
“How rude,” faking her surprise, Helega took a step closer to where the hunter had been sitting before her delicate, albeit persistent, hand landed right on Helva’s shoulder. Odd behaviour, even for her.
“Well, it’s nothing personal. Just business, is all,” the merc clarified, giving Helega a cheeky grin that did not garner the reaction they had been hoping for.
“Business? What kind of… business?”
“The kind that only pertains to your friend and me.”
“Hardly true, is it?” Fingers digging into the fabric of Helva’s clothes, the hunter suspected it was her way of self-soothing. Casting a curious glance over at the woman who had her shoulder in an iron grip, Helva noticed the way in which the muscles on the older woman’s face tensed beyond belief. Helva’s face grew warm at the sight, despite herself.
“See, Helva, here, is a Bulwark; a Guild member. Her well-being is of paramount importance.”
“To you?”
There was a… pause. A very, very long pause. Helva watched as the researcher resisted the urge to tear her arm clean off her torso, clearly lost in a trance. The merc noticed the shift in the air and practically swallowed their tongue, now acutely aware of the hole they had walked straight into. Instead of lashing out, however, Helega’s hand fell from Helva’s shoulder and made its way down her back, her movements lacking in tenderness.
“And others,” the blonde said, plastering a welcoming smile on her face, daring the stranger to push her further.
“Folks aren’t pleased with her work.”
“Is that all? Surely a formal complaint is in order.” Mulling over her words, the merc’s eyes darted between the pair, seemingly concluding that whatever was between them wasn’t worth getting one’s face caved in. Good. Helva doubted she could take another round of nails raking down her back. It had made her shiver at first, but as Helega grew less patient, so did her touch.
“I’ll be seeing you around, Bulwark,” they hesitated, clearly hoping they could get the final word in despite Helega’s imposing presence. For once, Helva felt as though she could breathe. She could never tell the other woman this, though. It would go straight to her head.
Gazing up at the blonde, the hunter’s eyes shone with understanding, and perhaps something more. Something meaningful. At Helva’s silent thanks, Helega simply shrugged noncommittally and stepped back, her hand hovering above the hunter’s shoulder. As she grew pensive, Helva wondered whether she hadn’t realised she’d been wreaking havoc on her back. It was somewhat comforting to know she wasn’t the only person in To-Valand with a decaying self-restraint.
“You don’t have to run to my aid. I can handle myself,” Helva muttered, going back to mending her cloak and growing increasingly frustrated when her needle refused to do what she wanted it to.
“And, typically, I would have left you, but by the Gods, you should have seen the look on your face. Murderous. I simply had to intervene.” She was teasing her, that much was obvious. Before Helva could reply, Helega surged forward and held the hunter’s hand in her own, swiping her thumb over now dried blood, feigning disinterest as any more of that would lead Helva into thinking she was fussing.
Her hand was warm. Soft, unlike Helva’s. Finger practically caressing the hunter’s palm, Helva shifted in place in response and cleared her throat to regain her composure. She ignored Helega’s look of disapproval.
“They didn’t say anything you disagree with, if I recall correctly,” Helva said, pulling her hand away and chewing on her bottom lip as she made to stand, abandoning the hopes of fixing her cloak for the time being.
“Yes, well. No point in beating a dead horse, is there? Besides, it is one thing when I say it…” And there it was. Helega trailed off, and as Helva stood straight and proud, the older woman’s eyes landed squarely on the small patch of bloody fabric that stuck to the hunter’s stomach.
After bursting through the door at the Lake, she’d reopened her wound. Nothing too serious, at least not to her. The idea of postponing her recovery didn’t weigh on her as much as dealing with Helega’s chastisement would, and with good reason. Tearing her eyes away from her shirt, the researcher then pursed her lips in silent admonishment. Helva resisted the urge to explain herself… and failed.
“Helega—”
“What did you do?” she asked in an accusatory tone, placing a hand on her hip and drumming her fingers against it.
“I’m fine.”
“Show me,” she gestured vaguely towards Helva’s wound and remained unfazed even as the hunter huffed in protest. Lifting her shirt, Helega’s eyes seemed to feast on Helva’s figure long enough for Helva to exhale softly through her nose in an almost-laugh.
Giving the hunter a sly look, she then turned her attention to her wound. The stitches were still there, but barely holding the flesh together. Helega exhaled harshly at the sight, yet no amusement could be seen in her face any longer. She was thoroughly unimpressed.
Helva mentally chastised herself for going along with the researcher’s request. She hardly believed the blonde knew she was fussing over her, but that was precisely what had been happening. Helva did not care for it. There was no time for it.
“Well. Since my efforts were in vain, perhaps you’ll manage with a stranger’s touch,” if Helva didn’t know better, she’d say Helega sounded almost jealous as she intentionally prolonged the word ‘stranger’, making it sound heavier on her tongue. Helva opened her mouth to protest, but was rudely interrupted once more.
“And you need a bath. You positively reek, my dear,” nose scrunching to drive her point home, Helva rolled her eyes at the researcher’s dramatics. She quickly realised the observation had not been said in jest, as Helega gave her a slow once-over and nodded pointedly at the busy alleyway in which one could find the local Bathhouse.
“I do not—”
“I was not asking, Helva. I was telling,” sauntering away while adding an extra sway to her hips, the researcher glanced over her shoulder and motioned Helva to follow, “Come, now. With haste, if you will.”
Well, Helva could hardly say no. Truly.
Throwing Barandol one last glance, Helva took her cloak, put away her needle and thread, and walked, stubbornly, towards the blonde, whose arm was still dramatically extended.
↯
‘A stranger’s touch’, she’d said. Well, the stranger’s touch had been gentle. Cautious, in the way they pulled and restitched Helva’s wound. Helega’s deft work was a marvel, really, but there is not much one can do with a stubborn patient. Either they listen, or they don’t, and Helva rarely did.
The stranger’s touch had been gentle, yet Helva yearned for a familiar sting. She thought of it so much that the words danced in her mind, rendering her speechless. Motionless. It was as if a sharp line had been drawn, a line Helva could not bring herself to cross as her loyalties became permanently etched on her skin. Quite literally.
Stretching her limbs, she looked around the room, the wet steam sticking to her skin most unpleasantly as she focused on her breathing. Helega had insisted she take some time for herself. “Relax,” as she had so tactfully and irritably said. Helva saw no point in it. In sweating and sitting practically naked, save for a skimpy towel to hide one’s private parts, in a stuffy room with no source of entertainment.
Rolling her neck from side to side, Helva then focused on her own hands. Calloused. Scarred. Hands that could no longer mend what she had broken. One thing led to another, and suddenly Helva wondered, ‘What if?’ What if there were no Beast? What if the others had survived the trial, but she had not? What if Helega had settled on studying someone else’s behaviour instead of Helva’s? What if.
It was her job not to flinch at any of it, and she’d been successful, for the most part. Yet, there was still so much she refused to bear witness to. The distance between her and the point of no return was very little, she felt. The Lake at the very end of her path was visible, calling out to her. Imprinted on her skin.
Barandol had taken it upon himself to explain the nature of the latest killing. Rattled by the physical similarities between Helva and the victim, he wasted no time in summarising what he had witnessed. “We won’t go into any details,” he had said, making it a point to include his companion despite her aloofness. When he eased the noble’s body back to the earth, Helva exited the hut and did not look back.
Her Beast… Were they cut from the same cloth? The question repeated itself in her head, sinking its fangs into Helva’s mind. She searched for one grand answer, yet the thought of never being granted her big revelation made her sick to her stomach. Before she could lose herself, Helega’s voice came from the opposite side of the perforated wall.
“Helva?” There was a hint of impatience in her voice. Had the hunter lost track of time? Humming in response to Helega breaking her reverie, the researcher took it as confirmation that the hunter was alive and well, despite being less cooperative than she was accustomed to.
“I am not opposed to some self-indulgence from time to time, but…” she trailed off, hooking her index finger under her collar as the fabric stuck to her skin. She was irritated, as per usual. She also seemed somewhat flustered. The heat, perhaps? It was worse where Helva sat, but a thin wall was all that separated them, after all.
“It knows me,” Helva suddenly breathed out, moistening her lips as a drop of sweat dripped from her chin. She leaned her head back against the wall she’d been supporting herself against, and when Helega slightly turned to follow the sound of Helva’s voice, the pair locked eyes.
The blonde acted as though she’d been caught staring, which could not be farther from the truth. If anything, she’d been actively avoiding looking in Helva’s general direction. Choosing not to take any offence, Helva brushed it off.
“Pardon?”
“The Beast. My Beast.” Helva clarified, clenching her jaw, “I suspected it at first. There is no doubt about it now. It is mirroring me, beckoning me. Mocking me.” When Helega sniffed, Helva bristled. It was hard to make out the facial expression on the researcher’s face, but Helva suspected she had been trying to ease her mind in her own, peculiar way.
“It is an animal like any other,” the blonde offered, gesturing vaguely with her hand and feigning control over the conversation even if it was obvious she, herself, had started to sweat in that blasted room.
“No. Do not say that.” Silence fell between them, then, the kind where the blonde could hear the hunter’s slightly laboured breathing.
She was fed up with how quickly she could go from apathetic torpor to borderline paranoia. She couldn’t make Helega understand because most of it was unbelievable, not unless she felt what Helva felt. It wasn’t just an animal. It was more than that. It had to be.
“Helva.” She spoke with gentle remonstrance, voice so warm it was akin to a hand cupping a lover’s face. “How is your wound?” Artfully changing the subject, the blonde pressed the back of her hand against her forehead as the room seemed to grow hotter. When Helva grumbled in protest, Helega clicked her tongue.
“Do not be such a child.”
“I am not a child. And I do not care how my wound is.”
“No, no. Show me,” she asked, voice losing its fire near the end of her request as the meaning of her words dawned on her. Through the perforated wall, Helega watched as Helva slowly and deliberately, and without giving it much thought, stood upright, towel pooling at her feet.
For the first time since Helva had known her, the researcher seemed unsure of what to say or where to look. Stepping into Helva’s line of sight, Helega unabashedly took her in. Eyeing her from head to toe in a way that made the hunter proudly puff out her chest and square her shoulders.
Sauntering towards her with a hungry look in her eyes, Helega then made the conscious decision of focusing on nothing but the re-stitched wound, reaching out to test the firmness of her stomach with the very tips of her fingers. Helva’s muscles twitched in response.
Flexing her fingers to resist the urge to pull the blonde closer, Helva shuddered when Helega grazed her wound, hoping there wouldn’t be a repeat of any previous antics.
The researcher made a noise in the back of her throat, looking terribly pleased with herself as she dragged her eyes back to Helva’s face. It wasn’t sloppy work, but hers had been infinitely better. It was endearing.
“Fine,” her voice was rough. It was unlike her, “Not great, not terrible. Could, and should, be better.” Leaning back to size the hunter up, the woman’s throat bobbed when Helva reached towards her to pinch the fabric of her sleeve in between her thumb and index fingers. Expensive material. It suited her most beautifully.
“A stranger’s touch won’t suffice,” Helva confessed, enunciating every word as she allowed the backs of her fingers to graze the researcher’s bare wrist. Her skin was warm to the touch, nearly as warm as Helva’s, and her pulse quickened when the hunter tipped her head forward.
“You flatter me,” Helega responded, fluttering her eyelashes involuntarily when Helva risked dragging her fingers up her arm, “Though I hope you don’t mean you plan on reopening it a second time. My self-restraint wears thin these days.”
“I will try not to.” Refusing to break eye contact with the researcher, Helva tilted her head to the side in a highly suggestive manner, to which Helega responded with a terse, controlled smile.
“You test my patience, hunter,” Helega went, her voice heavy with meaning. Losing herself for but a moment, Helva’s eyes dropped to the blonde’s neck, now littered with sweat. For someone who prided herself on her willpower, Helega seemed very at odds with herself at that moment.
“You mean to say there is still some of it left?” Helva teased, removing her touch from the researcher’s skin to hover just centimetres over her jaw, smiling to herself when the blonde imperceptibly chased after it.
“Oh, if only you knew.” The look she gave her was almost predatory. It appeared it was the older woman’s turn to caress the hunter’s skin, for what came next made Helva wonder if she had been beaten at her own game.
Lifting her hand to trace the muscle where the shoulder meets the neck with the pads of her fingers, Helega gazed down at Helva’s toned shoulders with half-lidded eyes.
“The tension is oftentimes better than the act itself.” It had been an unnecessarily flirtatious provocation, really. One that seemed to break Helega’s train of thought as she stiffened in response.
Helega did not seem to care for the tension. Not anymore. She looked at Helva as though she wished to crack her open and taste her at the source. Inexorably so. Helva could sympathise, for as the blonde pulled away, she drunkenly chased after the feeling her touch had reignited.
“I am sure you know all about that, don’t you?” Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. Had the researcher reached her breaking point? Had their dance come to a close? Had that been her last chance?
“Only when it comes to beautiful women,” Helva tried, hoping Helega would take the bait and return to her, but to no avail. A line only visible to Helega seemed to have been crossed. Helva’s rationality told her it was for the best, but the human part of her yearned for what she could not have.
“Naturally.” Helega clawed her way back to a static form of being, casting out the hunter to reclaim control over the situation. The researcher’s frustration was palpable. So much so that Helva, with sufficient consciousness, suddenly felt the urge to fetch her clothes as a way to lessen the impact of Helega’s impending foul mood. It would’ve been all for nought, of course.
The hunter’s tired eyes locked with narrowing ones, and neither party broke their stalemate. A decision had been made, and when the blonde turned her back on the hunter and briskly walked out, Helva resisted the urge to stop her.
It was going to be a very long day.
↯
Something nagged the hunter, and she did not care for it. Not one bit.
Her hunt had taken on a different shape. It was beginning to dawn on her how pretending not to understand was more difficult than what she had seen at the Lake. In a way, ignoring the obvious, glaring signs before her was what had kept her alive, but that simply would not do any longer.
It was a tumultuous feeling. Helva did not quite know if her innermost self understood how fatalistic the truth was. Anyone else would’ve asked for help or perhaps passed the responsibility of catching the Beast to another. Helva was not anyone else. To write a story of endless evasions only to let it slip from your grasp at the very end? Where was the vindication in that? No. The path had led her to that hut. To the Lake. There was no danger of collapse if one already knew they were falling, and Helva always fell harder than most.
Her wound ached, and it would ache until she drew her very last breath. Levent had decided.
Perhaps in another life, what devoured her would bloom, instead. But, then again, is it not usual for a feeling so immense to stand on its own as a kind of death? A strange death, one that takes days and days to claim what it thought it was owed in the first place – its only kindness being that it cleanses.
One lives and one dies by what one believes to be true. It may be that there is no mystery to it, that when one’s body flows down the river, it does so without the weight of things past; a body like any other.
Helva had doubts, and they were persistent enough to disturb her.
As one thought led to another, her feet brought her to Helega’s study at the very centre of the town. The folk who recognised her in the sorry state she was in nodded in greeting, but the streets had lost whatever warmth they had left. Their eyes no longer looked to Helva for answers, but to Barandol. Let them have it then, she resentfully thought.
Taking the stairs to Helega’s office, hoping the woman would humour her one last time, she hovered a fist over the door. Before she could knock, she heard a voice she did not recognise, and when Helega’s own joined it, Helva realised the two were familiar with each other. Helva pressed her ear against the door, trying to pass as inconspicuous in the stupidest way possible by leaning against the surface at an odd angle with her arms crossed at her midriff.
“—er with a renewed sense of… urgency, I suppose.”
“And yet you are spending far too much time on this little game of yours. Just be done with it already before it spirals out of control. Let the chips fall where they may,” the stranger warned, speaking to the researcher with obvious familiarity. Their remarks could be regarded as biting, but there was something else laced in their tone. Helega was being teased.
“Who are you to judge me? I am catastrophically bored! Do you understand?” Helega’s mood had clearly soured, and not without reason. Even if a sea of differences separated her from the hunter, Helva was glad to know that the very little she had seen in the older woman wasn’t completely fabricated. It appeared she had been conversing with a friend, and if the stranger’s tone was of any indication, they were very close. Close enough for Helega not to take their words as a personal affront. “No, of course you don’t. You content yourself with doing nothing all day.”
“I don’t care for this side of you.”
“It is the only one I have,” Helega hissed through gritted teeth, Helva presumed. She could see it in her mind’s eye quite clearly. She’d reached a breaking point and, in a way, Helva could relate. Otherwise, she would not have been spying on the woman who had left her naked at the local Bathhouse.
“You need a plaything. Expeditiously. This temperament of yours is hardly bearable. You ruin my high,” the stranger snobbishly retorted, enunciating his words in a way that made placing the origin of his accent quite difficult for Helva. It was not Valandi, that much was clear, but it also lacked any other kind of shape. Or perhaps its form was too foreign for Helva to recognise.
Losing herself in hopes that she’d be able to place the stranger’s accent, Helva almost missed the meaning behind their words. A… plaything? All signs pointed to Helva, though it would be very remiss of her to assume. Unless…
“Oh, do be quiet.” Helega’s voice had dropped an octave – a warning. What had Helva stumbled upon? The pair was clearly in cahoots to an unsettling degree. The stranger knew too much, whereas Helva remained in the dark. She did not particularly care for it.
“And I am not wrong. I never am.”
“Be that as it may, you incorrigible nuisance,” Helega spoke in a chiding tone, not mincing words as she regarded her friend, “I shan’t rush.”
“Debatable,” came the response, like a sword sheathed only halfway as the stranger’s burgeoning mockery tested Helega’s patience even further.
“This is… different.”
“Is that right? How enlightening. Perhaps we should fetch the town crier and inform everyone of your sudden change of—”
“Enough,” Helega seethed, followed by the scraping sound of a chair dragging across wooden floors, causing Helva to stand at attention. When the researcher all but stomped towards the door, Helva made to leave with utmost urgency, but not before the older woman’s final words reached her ears: “You bore me. Stop boring me and go make yourself useful for once.” Her friend did not dare respond, and by the time Helega walked out of her study with a foul look on her face, Helva had already hidden behind the nearest merchant’s cart.
The hunter watched as the blonde briskly walked away, clutching the edges of her coat together at her chest while her free hand clenched and unclenched in rapid succession. She was on edge, and Helva simply waited. Waited so much she was made of it.
With wind blowing through her long blonde hair, Helega’s step momentarily faltered and, in a moment of weakness, she looked back. Eyes searching for the echoes of whatever begged for her attention, disappointment unravelled across her face when she came away empty-handed. Helva’s heart pounded in her chest, her right hand coming to rest at her side, cupping her wound.
Taking one last look around, turning her head this way and that, time stood still when their eyes finally met. Face lined with the unsayable, Helega’s expression turned more guarded, even as her hold on her coat slackened. Helva’s fingers dug into her own skin.
The world passed between them. Helva was too selfish to let go of the moment they shared, and Helega looked on so bitterly that the hunter could not help but tremble. Still, they stayed, unnoticed by any passersby. The fullness of the simple act of looking enshrouded Helva in a specific kind of dread as they recognised the abnormality of it all.
They took refuge in the anguish of the waiting itself, hoping it meant very little even as they crumbled beneath its colossal weight. Helva’s ache at her side moved to her chest; Helega’s taut smile never reached her eyes, and then, like dropping a stone into a lake, the crowd engulfed her.
Wrenched back to the present, Helva all but shook herself awake to regain her posture, though it felt pointless. Rubbing the back of her neck in a way that seemed almost sheepish, her gaze drifted to the faces who walked past her as if nothing particularly life-altering had transpired. She had to distract herself one way or another.
Helva’s hands trembled. It had happened. It was real, and it had happened because she had felt it. Her mind flooded with thoughts not quite her own – growing louder, now that Helega was not at her side, and painting a sordid picture as Helva hesitated to fight them off.
When her eyes drifted further away and locked with the merc’s, standing outside the inn with a large tankard of ale in their hand, the shadow Helva cast spanned the path she stood on, extending beyond herself, past her own feet. Her mind was burning, and all the merc did was raise the tankard in her honour, a taunting smile spreading across their face.
Shaking her head absentmindedly while staring at them from across the street, the hunter realised she had been followed. She was being spied on in the name of… what, exactly? Was she their beast? Is that what they called for? Fear made them search for answers in the most unlikely of places. Unfortunately, Helva was fresh out of patience.
Something was thawing within her, and it needed to be siphoned out.
↯
Boots sinking into opaque water, Helva pricked up her ears for any ripples. There were none. Perhaps it was for the best; standing still was beginning to feel more taxing than it should be.
Taking off her leather gloves and throwing them haphazardly over her shoulder, Helva squatted down to plunge a hand in the frigid water and let out a shaky breath. The Lake looked different, then. With water kissing her skin, Helva looked up at the mountain range and vowed not to break the silence, her throat sore, holding all the words she could not speak into existence.
There was a blood trail leading out of the fishing hut to her right, soaking the snow in a hauntingly beautiful way. Helva wondered if she had meant to be in her place, if she’d been living on borrowed time the second she had accepted her contract. Did any of the other deaths matter? Her hand trembled again when she raised it to press her palm against the water’s surface. The smell of rotten tree bark overwhelmed her senses for a moment.
How much more would it take to finally drown?
The Lake was hers, as was the clearing, the hut, and its willow tree. It was all there for her.
The ache at her side reminded her of her task. It was a testament to her role. What use was there to lick one’s wounds when the taste of blood no longer disturbs?
There were cuts on her knuckles. Winter was as harsh as ever, and the cold was unforgiving. Making a firm fist with her hand, Helva watched as blood trickled from the small wounds and mixed with the water. Did any of it matter? Helva felt more alive than she should be. Was it right? What would the others say?
The others… Helva discarded the thought.
“Been looking all over for you. I’m hoping we get to talk this time. Y’know, have a proper, civil conversation.”
Helva’s eyes snapped upwards. The hired hand had finally come to test their luck once more. In her clearing. Her Lake.
“Do not pester me any longer,” Helva said in a perpetually tired voice, remaining in the same position even as her head followed the sounds of footsteps behind her. Her jaw clenched, and her lips twitched in barely concealed rage.
“‘fraid I have to. It’s what I’m being paid for,” they explained, stalking closer to the hunter, “I had a nice talk with your Bulwark friend, by the way. He’s nice. Stable, eh?”
“Barandol would not have spoken to you,” Helva bristled, hand sinking into the water as she blindly reached for a stone. Now elbow-deep, the hunter ignored the shiver that ran down her spine and focused entirely on the merc.
“Except he did. Told me all about your little show of force, as well. I have to say I’m impressed. Not everyone places duty above all else.” Hearing the smug smile in the way they spoke, Helva’s fingers circled a stone, and she fished it out of the water, finally standing upright, her movements slow and calculated.
“Seems like we’ll understand each other, hunter,” they patronisingly went. Walking deeper into the Lake, Helva stopped when the water reached her shins. She breathed in deeply, once, twice…
Did any of it matter?
Whipping her head around when she heard the merc enter the water themself, Helva’s eyes locked with questioning ones. The merc’s right hand was behind their back, close to where their large axe was strapped diagonally across their frame. She suspected they were not there to kill her. The repercussions of such would be devastating for Valandi politics. Unprecedented. No. They were there to understand her. Everyone tried to understand her. How fitting.
“Leave. This is your final warning.” Helva grit her teeth so strongly that her jaw hurt. Her face contorted as the merc approached her, and the stone in her hand felt heavier than it was.
“Listen, I’m not looking to ruffle your feathers more than I already have, but you have to understand the—”
“No, it is you who must understand,” voice thick with all that had been carefully locked away for as long as she could remember, Helva’s legs moved of their own accord, taking her closer to the one who had disturbed her space. Her peace.
“What?” The merc’s arm twisted further, clearly reaching for the axe’s throat. They did not feel safe, not while Helva’s eyes all but bulged out of her skull, seemingly focusing on the treeline behind the merc with a thousand-yard stare.
“Tell them I did it, then. Tell them I am the orchestrator. The monster. You’ll find yourself to be just as disposable as I, once they find your services lacking.” She gripped the stone in her hand so strongly that her knuckles turned white. She was unarmed, wounded and had not worn any armour. She was, all in all, outmatched.
“Y’know,” the merc stiffened, sizing her up as they prepared for a fight, “It’s funny how much more talkative you are now that you don’t have that stuck-up cunt blowing smoke up your arse.”
Something visibly cracked deep within the hunter, then. Her face blanked, and her stare turned vacant. It was as unambiguous as it could be, and for a moment, the merc felt as though they had rattled her.
It could be that Helva wore sheep’s clothing; that all it takes for one to do the unthinkable is to be pushed and prodded enough to disfigure. There were a great many things Bulwarks repudiated. There were times, however, when a monster wasn’t really a monster, but a person like any other.
Pivoting quite suddenly when a noise came from the woods, the merc let down their guard. Without so much as a warning, Helva pounced, raising her hand and bringing the stone down on the base of the merc’s head with so much force that they immediately went limp, falling in shallow water and painting it red.
Whether it was rage or lunacy, Helva did not know, nor did she care to find out. Turning the merc around and laying them flat on their back, Helva straddled them and snaked her hands around their throat, ignoring how they grabbed at her jaw in a futile attempt at fighting back.
The harder Helva pressed, the wider their eyes got. Spluttering in a panicked manner as water entered their mouth whenever they tried to suck in a sharp breath, the hired hand thrashed around desperately, reaching for whatever they could grasp, but to no avail. Putting all her weight on the front of the merc’s throat, Helva felt a faint crunch under her palms, and the struggling subsided. After a few strained gurgles, the merc’s hold on the front of Helva's shirt went limp, their limbs sinking into the water.
Water lapping at their face, Helva leaned back, panting, and tipped her head to the side as if to examine the fruits of her labour. The hired hand’s larynx was slightly off centre. Tiny, red dots were scattered across their skin, with finger-shaped marks on the sides of their neck.
They were still. Voiceless.
Wiping the blood off her face and smearing it even further, Helva’s head turned towards the spear-shaped trees in the Lake, and she could not look away. She felt more at home in blood-tinted waters than she did near her comrades.
Her hands remained her own, and they appeared to be as human as ever. Was she fated to exist half-creaturely? There had been no exile of the self. The tumult of her impulses and most shameful urges still spoke to her in a familiar tongue. The voices in her mind were of the same pitch.
Tearing her cloak off her shoulders when its weight became unbearable, letting it fall on the water, Helva shut her eyes and focused on the way the ripples in the water crashed against the wilted trees.
She could not dig any deeper for meaning. Looking around, she saw no monster. No Beast. Only its hunter.
There was work to be done.
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The pull was irresistible. Helva knew, deep down, that she could not bear to leave any loose ends behind. Helega was her loose end. The feeling bubbled within her, springing her into action.
Marching through the faintly lit streets, Helva’s breath was steady even as onlookers spoke among themselves, wondering what kind of trouble the hunter had gotten herself in this time. She could not exist in the same space as them; her untameable nature was irreconcilable.
There was, as it would seem, no grandeur after all. One’s nature gnaws at the bones until, one day, something gives. Helva had accepted the conditions; they’d laced themselves around her entrails by then. There was only one thing left to do.
Bursting through the door of Helega’s study, Helva’s arrival had been sudden enough for her to hear the faint flapping of wings in the distance as Helega whirled around to face her, her back to the open windows near her desk.
Instead of feigning indifference, the lines in the researcher’s face painted a completely different picture. She was no longer angry or disappointed, no. There was very little to her expression other than pure and undeniable lust. Helva was glad. Any other reaction would have quickly made her rethink her actions.
Before they could ask each other what any of it meant, Helva used her foot to slam the door shut behind her in a rather graceless manner, ignoring the way in which Helega’s eyes narrowed slightly in disapproval, and took long, decisive strides towards the blonde.
Reading the expressions on Helva’s face, Helega permitted the hunter’s approach, but did not move a muscle. If Helva wanted something only Helega could give, then she’d have to take it herself – no room for hesitation or thinly veiled meaning. Things were as they should be.
Chest rising and falling rapidly when Helva took her in her arms and cupped the back of her head, the hunter was mentally present for very little the second she claimed Helega’s lips in a searing kiss.
The blonde made a surprised noise in the back of her throat, but before Helva could second-guess her actions and give the blonde some room to breathe, she quickly recovered and reciprocated the gesture with nearly as much urgency as her hunter.
A sea of emotions exploded in Helva’s chest. She felt dizzy with want.
Their kiss was clumsy. Their hands grabbed all they could reach, and their breaths mingled as they moved as one. Losing themselves in the moment, Helega seemed seconds away from tearing the clothes off Helva’s body, nails scratching the hunter’s scalp instead as a way to sate her desires. When the researcher artfully parted her lips to deepen the kiss and clawed at Helva’s back to pull her in, Helva’s body melted against hers with little effort.
For a while, nothing could be heard in the woman’s study. When Helva gave out a prolonged hum of appreciation for the researcher’s ministrations, Helega finally broke the silence, her voice thick with lust, “Good. Very good,” she murmured against Helva’s mouth and kissed her once more.
Helva believed every word.