Helva was old enough to know better, but sometimes, some things were still worth doing, even if badly. She had the urge to explain why she did what she did, why she’d given up on one thing but not the other. How confidently can one say, ‘I know it seems sudden, but I believe I will be dead come morning’?
Helva was a prisoner of her own wants and needs. She wanted her last deed to be perfect. She had hopes, lived on them. Helva was old enough to know better.
After the incident at the Lake, Helva remembered warm, wandering hands and soft lips. She remembered supple flesh and a nagging thought in the back of her mind. She remembered teeth sinking into her neck once, twice, thrice before pulling away, only to come back for more.
There she was. Helega. Standing in the dawn mist, among the dancing shasta daisies , ambling back and forth pensively with a vacant look on her face. Helva squinted her eyes at her, shielding her face from the sun as the researcher meandered about. Helva wondered if she knew what would come next.
Turning her gaze downwards, Helva took the time to gather herself. After leaving the researcher, her evening had been quiet and lonely, almost unbearably so. Her room was cold, her bed was empty, and her heart heavy. When the sun came alive and slipped through the cracks of her window shutters, she knew she had to get her affairs in order.
It was not unusual for someone in possession of a life-threatening contract to depart their loved ones with a word of warning, if nothing else. Was it appropriate to presume Helega could be that for her? Perhaps not. There was very little time to mull any of it over. What was done was done. The Lake called out to her.
Dragging a small stick of burnt wood over one of the pages of her journal, Helva then used the side of her little finger to smudge and blend what was left. Not knowing what her Beast looked like irked her, but it did not mean she couldn’t visualise it. Barandol had always disagreed with the idea, saying it created false expectations, which was dangerous in their line of work. Helva paid him no mind.
It wouldn't make much of a difference. Her Beast was dangerous. In her journal, it was all teeth. Big. Deformed. Scarred, vestiges of hard-fought battles. Battles it had won. Trapping such a glorious creature on a page felt wrong, but it kept even the loudest of voices in Helva’s head silent.
“You’ve been quiet. Is something the matter?” Helega approached the hunter, obstructing the sun and offering Helva some reprieve. In turn, the hunter avoided the researcher’s prying gaze, choosing to put her journal away instead.
“No,” Helva curtly responded, not giving it much thought. It seemed it had been too short a response, though. Tensing up when her hunter spoke, Helega sniffed.
“Helva, I would loathe even to entertain the thought of you regretting what–”
“I regret many things. Kissing you is not one of them.” Helva was glad to see that her clarification had released some of the tension from the older woman’s shoulders. She did not deserve to think otherwise. The kiss had not been a mistake. Helva did not care to nurse most connections during a hunt, but Helega was different. They stood still in companionable silence, letting it all pass through them. When Helva looked up, she noticed the twinkle in the researcher’s eyes, and her will momentarily wavered.
Helva’s throat was dry. She hoped the blonde hadn’t noticed the look on her face, but it was clear she had. Flinching when the backs of Helega’s fingers brushed her cheek, Helva hesitated to melt at the touch. She understood real hunger now. She’d held it in her mouth for so long, it had a life of its own.
Grabbing the woman’s hand, Helva stood, taking their joined hands and bringing them to her chest. Giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze, Helva then pulled away and made to stand near the flowers.
“I brought you here for a reason.” She had not meant to sound quite so fatalistic. Fortunately, Helega seemed unfazed.
“I am beginning to see that. Bright and early, as well. What a surprise,” she teased, attempting to bring some levity into the conversation. In response, Helva ran her thumb over her wounded knuckles, resisting the urge to press into the cuts as she mulled over what she’d say next.
“I wanted to tell you that if you have any questions for me, you should ask them now. You won’t get the chance to do so later.” If there was a hint of a tremble in the hunter’s voice, she did not know why. Perhaps she did, though here was little use in dwelling on it more than she already had. At her hunter’s words, Helega approached her, placing a hand on the small of her back before speaking with a warm, albeit firm, voice.
“And why is that?”
“My hunt. We have reached the end of the path.”
“I see.” Straightening her posture, Helega’s fingers flexed against Helva’s back. Seeming visibly more guarded, Helva looked around the town’s garden, suddenly feeling out of place.
It was quiet. To many, it felt like a repetition of the same routine: wake up in the morning, have a wash, feed yourself and the youngins, work until the sun settles, and hope everyone makes it through the Winter. No new event. No new actions. No new fears. For Helva, the impulse to disavow what she once stood for could not be more present. Even then, the idea that all else comes with ease once one is through with the past was wrong, as usual.
She’d have her own kind of victory, in the end. Helega’s presence, however, made the thought of leaving unbearable—a true punishment.
“You disapprove,” Helva observed, chewing on the inside of her cheek as Helega’s hand came up to the nape of her neck, holding her there. Thumb drawing a lazy pattern on her hunter’s skin, Helega studied her next words carefully, knowing full well one of them was clearly on edge.
“No. I was harsh on you before, Helva. I understand why you do what you do, and how you do it.” Speaking softly, softer than ever before, Helega seemed to take the hunter’s hand and guide her to where they should meet. “I am familiar with what losing ownership of what is yours by right feels like.”
Turning her head, Helva looked at the blonde, waiting for the confirmation of what she already knew to be true. She seemed different. Like a facsimile of the woman Helva came to know. She highly doubted a kiss could change a person, but it was clear the researcher had a dog in that fight.
Helva had noticed the looks. The searching stares and the regret that came after. She pretended not to know of loss or ruin at times, but her face and her eyes told a different story. Whatever truth she had buried had started to decay. It threatened to rot from the inside out. Helva, in spite of her disposition, had been kind enough to act as though she had not noticed.
“You speak of Barandol?”
“Yes. Among other things,” Helega said, nonchalantly. Sensing another question on the tip of Helva’s tongue, the researcher pulled away from her hunter and pursed her lips. She was in no mood to entertain, it would seem.
“I never thought you were a stranger to loss. I’ve noticed the way you look at me.”
“Pardon?”
“You search for a face that is not there. I take no offence to it, really.” Speaking as though she had years of experience in the matter, Helva marched forward, stepping over the daisies to sit near the garden fountain. The surface was cool and moist, and Helva welcomed the feeling, taking in the earthy scent of wet dirt in the air as she averted her gaze from the researcher’s general direction.
“You are your own person. Different,” Helega corrected, sounding almost offended by the hunter’s assumption. Even so, she did not deny, or even attempt to deny, that she had been searching for something, indeed, someone, rather.
All of a sudden, something ugly gripped Helva’s heart, and she felt her face twist with it. It came in waves, Helva felt. Their conversation was of no use. Whether or not Helega looked for past lovers in the hunter was inconsequential, in the grand scheme of things. The truth of it rips at the innards. If Helva were to die, she’d leave Helega behind. Every conversation felt pointless, like exchanging pleasantries before burning a loved one at the pyre.
“I might not return tonight. Do you understand?” Helva asserted, clenching her jaw and placing her hands on each side of her thighs. She hung her head low, schooling her breathing while awaiting a response.
There was a brief pause. Helega’s eyes followed her hunter’s path, the crushed flowers, which still clung to the sole of Helva’s battle-worn boots, the footprints on the dirt, leading up to the fountain, and then, finally, Helva herself. Tired, and as stubborn as ever.
What a sorry pair, they were. Helega, overdressed as per usual, not a single hair out of place or a single muscle betraying her emotions. Helva, on the other hand, looked like a kicked pup. It might be that if Helega did not know any better, she’d feel sorry for her.
She looked at her as if everyone and everything were doomed at birth. That, despite the unfortunate truth, the point was to keep singing even if the music had stopped. Fate had already been engraved on them, as an old tale retold over and over. There was no other version of the story. This was the one, and, as it seemed, they were both acutely aware of such.
“Is it something you can live with?” Helega queried, unwavering. When Helva looked up and at her with tired eyes, she knew the response she’d receive.
“Yes.”
“Then who am I to go against your wish?”
“Good material for whatever it is you’re studying, yes?”
Helega’s face dropped, and, for a moment, Helva suspected she’d fall back to her ill-natured self from before, when her lips had not yet touched her hunter’s skin. The researcher’s face twitched, her spine straightening as she seemed to make a visible effort to remind herself of who she’d been talking to. When her lip curled upwards disdainfully, Helva knew she had failed.
“What a stupid question.” She laughed derisively, looking at Helva from under her nose when she sniffed. “I resent that. You know I do.” Ever stern with her words, Helega blinked thrice in rapid succession when all that met her was an obstinate look from Helva.
The blonde weighed her options, scanning the hunter’s face for a reason to disparage. Smoothing the fabric of her clothes with her hands instead before tilting her head at the hunter in lieu of an apology, she spoke once more, in a level tone. “The truth, Helva, is that I knew who you were from the start. I knew the lengths you would go to. I am flattered that you’d think so highly of me.”
“What?” Helva asked, puzzled.
“Yesterday evening, when you came to me. You are more predictable than you might think,” Helega clarified, a faint lilt in her voice as a smug smile painted her face, “You apply that same drive to everything else; your hunt is no different. Do you think I would have approached you had I known you were not what I was looking for? I know there is no changing your mind. You go after what is yours to take; it is quite simple, really. I value that.”
There was a faint blush on the older woman’s cheeks, as though speaking of Helva’s dedication to her hunt excited her. The hunter’s lips twitched upwards in response. It felt good to be seen. To be wanted.
“You and I, we…” Helega trailed off, moistening her lips and training her eyes on the crushed shasta daisies under Helva’s boots as she searched for words. “We are alike.”
“I will take that as a compliment,” Helva earnestly said, letting silence hang between them before making a big show of taking off her fur-collared cloak and placing it on the wet surface of the fountain so that the researcher could sit without ruining her attire. Smiling almost furtively, Helega accepted Helva’s silent offer and sat next to her, their knees touching.
“I don’t flatter, Helva. I tell only the truth as I see it,” hand now resting on Helva’s knee, the hunter fought back the urge of turning towards the older woman fully, like a lovesick pup, as she spoke. “I want it all, Helva. And I know you’ll let it all out for me, even the parts you deem most unseemly. I want the real thing. You…” Faltering when Helva rested her hand atop the researcher’s, the lascivious look Helega offered in return was indicative of the true meaning behind her words.
Despite experiencing a hint of regret over leaving Helega behind, Helva saw their relationship as complete. There was nothing more to be done, even if the heart sang a different tune. Helva’s conviction was ironclad. Her hunt took precedence over all else. Helega, on the other hand, seemed to examine things under a different light. Lips curling upwards in an inviting manner, it was clear the researcher believed that the pair had barely scratched the surface of what their relationship could be.
To act like Helva could continue to live when she should have died was a perilous thing. A thought she’d learned not to entertain for a long time. Either deluded or hopeful, Helega was under the impression that there was still something left to plunder, like sucking the marrow off a bone after all else had been ingested.
“You’re a long way from the end, Helva,” she spoke with conviction, her stare so unwavering Helva almost believed her.
“Helega.” The name was said in warning. Do not delude yourself, Helva thought. Instead of chastising the hunter for going against her word, Helega’s mouth simply broke into a smile. She was all teeth as she brought Helva’s hand to her lips and kissed her there.
“No, no. Listen,” she said with gentle remonstrance, mirroring the movements Helva’s head made to make sure the hunter’s eyes did not leave hers, “What do you want?”
Something moved deep within her. The superbness of her question made her mouth water. She did not wrestle with the feeling. She knew where she belonged. Nothing else felt as right.
Helva watched as the researcher tipped her head once more, placing another kiss on her hand, holding her hunter’s gaze still. When the blonde nibbled on the skin tentatively, Helva was galvanised into action, her breath getting caught in her throat.
“My Beast.” She spoke plainly and truthfully, and Helega’s smile finally reached her eyes, urging her on.
“Then you shall have it. And when you do, you’ll find what no one else could give you. Not Barandol or the Guild. You’ll never want for anything ever again.”
“There will be nothing sweeter,” Helva murmured, pulling away from Helega’s lips to trace the corners of her mouth with the tips of her fingers, as if to study the older woman’s face.
“Yes,” Helega breathed, voice tight, “Nothing.”
↯
Fingers threading through a damp mane, Helva swallowed thickly as her palm came to rest at her mare’s muzzle. As the hunter’s mind raced, her companion seemed to absorb her energy, pawing at the ground and exhaling forcefully through the nose as Helva clenched the coarse hair in her fist. When the mare nudged her, making her stumble, Helva had the gall to look put upon, her fist still full of hair.
“I am sorry,” Helva spoke plainly and truthfully, as though the words could be understood. Hand following the curve of the horse’s back in a way that could only be described as self-soothing, the mare snorted, turning her head this way and that, seemingly pleased with the hunter’s visit. “I have been busy. I wanted to keep you safe and warm,” she muttered, dipping her head forward to nudge the mare’s neck. “I’ll tell the others to take you on long rides after. You’ll be happy.”
Whirling around when she heard the gate behind her creep open, Helva regarded the innkeeper with a stiff upper lip, aware that she could blame no one but herself for almost neglecting her own horse. If a short visit was all she could muster after a few long days in town, then she deserved whatever scrutiny awaited her.
“You haven’t taken her out in a while. We almost thought you’d forgotten her,” they stated matter-of-factly, unaware of Helva’s discomfort. Wiping a floury hand on the towel thrown over their shoulder, they pinned Helva with a questioning, if slightly judgmental, stare.
Helva had heard whispers of how low on help the inn was. Some workers had fallen ill, as was usual in the Winter. That being said, the clearly overworked innkeeper was far less patient on account of the sudden workload thrust upon them. That and Helva wasn’t exactly the kind of person one would care to host for days on end—a walking liability of sorts.
“I wouldn’t forget my mare.” Accentuating her point by leaning against the horse’s shoulder, Helva crossed her arms at her midriff and angled her head nonchalantly, feigning indifference.
“Say, is there a reason why you don’t take her with you on the Hunt? The beast doesn’t eat horses, does it?” The innkeeper asked, arms akimbo, eyebrows pulled together as they questioned the hunter’s actions. Helva, suddenly cognizant of her own lack of patience, resisted the urge to be unkind.
“No.”
“Then why–”
“There are other threats in those woods. I won’t endanger my horse just because you tire of looking over her, despite my paying you.” Well, so much for resisting any urge. Money was not everything. Not in To-Valand and not anywhere. Money facilitated certain actions, of course, but manners were something Helva had been lacking, even if her voice sounded different to herself at times.
Lifting their hands defensively with a now raised eyebrow, the innkeeper reevaluated the situation. “We wondered if you just preferred to walk, is all.” We. People were talking. Of course they were. Everyone was. Had they communicated with the mercenary, as well? With Barandol? Was her life meant to be publicised until her dying breath?
“Yes. I love to walk,” Helva said, sarcastically. Her fingers curled around the fabric of her cloak, tightening around it imperceptibly.
“The guards asked some uncomfortable questions in my establishment today. Bothered everyone, includin’ my customers.” They spoke as though the point they were making was trite. Tired. Helva knew why. She had punished herself many times over because of it. Very little progress is made, yet much is still lost. The townsfolk knew plenty, but it seemed they were not yet privy to the fact that Helva had been teetering on the edge of greatness.
She bristled, weighing the innkeeper’s words while she struggled to come to terms with the thought of being scrutinised by those who failed to see what she had been dealing with.
When Helega had first warned her of the nobles’ suspicions, part of her carelessly presumed it was meant to throw her off balance. The nobles were careless and required constant vigilance, thus requiring the presence of a personal guard at the festival. It would seem, however, that those reinforcements were not as willing to leave town as Helva was.
At the mercenary’s visit, she saw things clearly, but to know the nobles’ guards had been looking for a reason to discredit her work for as long as they had meant she had a moral imperative to see things through. Biting her tongue to keep herself from speaking, Helva simply scowled.
“I don’t know what you plan on doin’, Bulwark, and, frankly, I couldn’t give less of a shit. Do what you must with whatever it is you’re huntin’. You want to know when we start havin’ a problem? When the adrenaline-seekin’ cunts with deep pockets start protestin’ because their friends are droppin’ like bloody flies. I don’t need you to scare off every Valandi from the area. Understand?”
Helva was but a single person in a sea of many. Losing her as a client meant very little compared to the number of people she had unknowingly pushed away. Her absence was needed. Her presence meant nothing.
“When you return tonight, take your horse, pack your things, and go to another inn. You’re bad for business.” They said, barging on, clapping their hands as if to finalise their one-sided argument, making the muscles on the mare’s back ripple nervously in response. When they left, Helva let out the breath she was holding and ambled over to the stall’s exit, watching the innkeeper walk away whilst shaking their head in silent admonishment.
Helva pressed her lips into a thin line, eyes flickering towards her mare. She felt the corners of her mouth dip downwards as she next spoke, “It’ll be over soon, old friend. I will make sure they take care of you.” She received a snort in response, and the pang of guilt that gripped her heart was most uncomfortable.
↯
Hand hovering over her armour, Helva’s eyes traced every scratch, every slight dent on the leather, her discolorated gloves and well-worn boots. Part of her was hesitant to don it all once more, but her loudest half urged her on. Even after every tired step, something twisted within her. She had learned to anticipate it. To thrive in spite of it all. Was a hero truly needed? Who would paint and hang her portrait after she perished?
Her fingers grazed the rough fabric of her shoulder pads. The armour was different from the one she usually wore. It constrained her movements more, but she felt it was necessary. Her flesh, yet tender, begged for rest. It pleaded and reasoned and whined. Helva was tired.
The candlelight flickered across her scarred face, the noises outside her room barely audible as she took each piece of armour off the wooden stand that held it upright. When she sought to meditate, she felt she’d misremember the words.
“Helva?” Barandol’s voice went, tentative, barely above a whisper. Helva turned, fingers still grasping the fabric of her cuisses. She felt an immeasurable anger rise to her throat. So strong she almost believed she’d lost her mind. Her face twitched once, twice. Barandol remained immobile, eyes drifting to Helva’s armour as silence fell between them.
“What are you doing here?” She regarded him suspiciously, fingers curling tightly around her armour in a defensive manner, angry with herself for not having locked the door.
“I wish to speak to you about the contract and the next steps we–” Barandol tried, the bags under his eyes matching his hoarse voice. Before Helva interrupted him, she noticed his bruised hands. Lifting the cart with barely any help had done a number on him. He stood proudly still, of course. When did he not?
“You want to know what the next steps are, Barandol?” Helva said, not looking for an answer. Shoulders tense and face taut, she kept her eyes trained on the man before her. “I go into those woods, and I kill it. Not you or anyone else. Me,” she forcefully pointed at herself, her body shaking with her words.
Barandol’s face twisted, and Helva could’ve sworn his eyes welled up with tears. This time, he avoided his friend’s gaze, receiving her words with a wounded look on his face, as though the room he stood in was vacant.
“There is something unusual about this creature, Helva. The victim,” he tried, clasping his hands behind his back in an effort to maintain a modicum of control over himself, despite his wavering voice. “She looked–”
“I know what she looked like.” Helva spat out, heart clenching at her own unwillingness to see Barandol as someone she once deeply cared for.
“The marks left on the body—her face— do not match the ones we’ve seen before. The punctures are deeper, meaning the teeth are… different. They’ve grown.” Barandol trailed off for a moment and lowered his gaze pensively. “Even then, the hunting patterns and behaviour match what you’ve told me.” He told his version of the story, righteous as ever. Barandol was never mistaken. He knew what everyone needed. Barandol, Barandol, Barandol. He looked at her as though he’d witnessed a shipwreck. It offended. It hurt.
“Get to the point.”
“It is sentient. It is aware, and it is trying to lure you in,” he spoke, voice laced with hints of desperation. If he could not make her see what he saw, then all was lost to him. He wished to hold his sister, and not a memorial portrait of her. “Helva, you cannot do this alone. We cannot do this alone. Which is why I have taken it upon myself to request the help of our comrades.”
Helva bristled. Her fingers twitched. Her neck nearly cramped.
Barandol’s ocean of grief disgusted her. She’d burn for what she believed in. That was her virtue. It was her right. Her Beast.
“You what?”
“It is what must be done. The Eyes have requested an audience, and I shall return home to state my case this evening. When I return, we will put an end to this. Together.” He spoke as though he had decided for her. It was almost dismissive, in a way. He assumed so much yet knew so little. Helva’s cheeks flushed with anger.
“You–” she scornfully started, biting her tongue to regain her footing. “After everything you have seen, do you truly think me this incapable?” Uttering the words nearly made her sick, her stomach tying into knots.
The one thing she was truly ever good at had never been ripped from her so easily. They asked so much of her. They asked her to continue living simply because she had survived. They asked her to fall in line because she had done so as a child. All for naught.
“No. Never.” Barandol said, contrite.
He believed himself to be her salvation. And, thus, he weaved his repeated pattern, the one he had been taught from a very young age, and trusted Helva to do the same. When circumstances did not appeal to his particular tastes, he’d take the shorter way home. See, for Helva, there was no shorter way home. The inconsolable was just that. Words were empty; only actions had any weight.
No. There was no shorter way home. Sometimes, a ship has but one destination. It was not pitiful. A vessel always has a use. Levent had decided.
“You’ve betrayed me. You seek only to take what little I have left.” Helva said after a beat, tugging on the fabric of her sleeves like a child.
“Helva, you speak nonsense. I worry for you. I worry for you like never before.” Barandol refused to approach her, even if his voice was thick with emotion. Helva gritted her teeth. “I wish to increase our chances of walking out of this fight victorious. I do not ask for your consent because you are–” Faltering, he then extended his hands towards the hunter in an apologetic, albeit cautious, manner. “You are losing yourself. I do not recognise the Bulwark before me, and that terrifies me. I have lost people. I will not lose you as well. Not you, sister.”
“The Barandol I knew would not have done this to me.” Losing a sister was a terrifying humiliation. She could live with being his humiliation to bear. Reality broke, then. Helva’s eyes flickered to where she kept her weapons. “She was right. You do not see me.”
“Sister?” He called out to her again, vehemently this time, as though he sought to stop whatever he believed would happen next.
Helva’s spine locked. Her eyes pricked with tears that would never fall. When the wood creaked beneath Barandol’s feet, she placated him with a stare he did not recognise, as though some kind of monstrous imitation of his friend stood before him instead of the real thing.
Many thoughts ran through his mind, Helva presumed. Even then, he regarded his sister with the intention of forgiving and forgetting. Was there a line that should not be crossed? The man’s face contorted with grief once more, and before he could get any more words out, Helva’s head twitched, unnaturally, and she surged forward.
Barandol, drowning in his wicked hope, did not move a muscle. When Helva’s hand slapped down on his shoulder without care, his eyes scanned her face wildly.
“We will do as you say. I shall wait until tomorrow.” Helva spoke as though it were no trouble at all. As though nothing had transpired. They locked eyes for what felt like an eternity. Barandol did not dare ask. It might just be that the very thought of entertaining the idea of being betrayed weighed too heavily on him, or perhaps he was simply frightened. Helva did not care to find out which.
Did he believe her? Was the storm relenting? Had Helva’s concession been his shorter way home?
“You… really?” Barandol faltered, searching Helva’s eyes for what he once saw, yet leaving empty-handed.
“Isn’t that what you want?” She pressed, giving him a prodding stare of her own, as still as a beast before it pounced.
“It is not what I want, Helva. It is what’s best. For you. Us.” He placed his hand on the pommel of his sword, in a self-soothing manner, perhaps. His ring clashing against the metal, making a distinct sound, which Helva deliberately followed with her eyes.
“Then your will shall be done. After that, brother, we shall never speak again. May Viharg’s lightning strike me down if I ever even dare break my promise.”
A beat.
A single tear painted Barandol’s face, following the curve of his cheekbone. He smiled sadly, which was not returned.
Distancing herself from a man she now regarded as a stranger, Helva turned to tend to her armour once more. She half expected him to come up with a lousy excuse. Anything, really. When nothing reached her ears, she found his presence to be quite unendurable.
“Take my horse with you. She is restless and needs to ride.” Helva said with finality.
“As you wish, my dear friend.”
Reaching for a satchel off to her left, Helva lifted her head when Barandol marched out of the room without a word. She bit the inside of her cheek, abandoning all meaningless thoughts to focus on the task before her.
As she removed a handful of metal rods from her bag, she proceeded to take some of the yet-unused leather straps from her armour before fetching her carving knife and cutting into the material.
Her room smelled of snow. The air was cold. The moment felt somewhat ceremonial as she made it a point to circle the makeshift pieces of armour around her thighs and biceps, gritting her teeth when the metal rods dug into her skin— a pointed reminder of what she’d been willing to lose were she to push forward.
Before the shadows fully embraced the town and folk returned to their homes, Helva left another piece of bread on the windowsill for the absent crow. She hoped someone would take on the task after she’d left. That someone, with goodness that Helva felt she did not have, would care for the poor creature.
Choosing not to dwell on it any further, Helva threw her fur-collared cloak over her shoulders, face twisting in displeasure when the metal rods protruded under the fabric and scratched her skin incessantly.
A battle of attrition. She’d tire the creature before delivering her final blow. That was the plan. It was the only plan.
Her beast did not need a hero. It yearned for a Hunter.
↯
It was a cold, cold night. Colder than what Helva was accustomed to, as she lumbered on through the clearing, the wind hit against her skin like sharp pine needles. Looking around, the hunter’s eyes involuntarily drifted towards the Lake, now frozen. In the distance, she could make out a piece of cloth, swaying with the wind, just a few meters away from the very distinct figure of the mercenary she had left behind. With half of their body now trapped in ice, Helva found it fitting that someone from distant shores would meet their end in Valandi waters.
She pressed on, hugging herself when a particularly cool gust of wind made a violent shiver run down her spine.
It called out to her from the fishing hut, of course. Snow and wind be damned, Helva had her mind trained on one thing, and one thing only. Removing her hood as she crossed the remaining distance between her and her goal, she marched into the hut, pausing to take in the sight of the fishing hooks still hanging from the ceiling. The blood, now dried, filled the room with an unbearably metallic stench, making Helva’s nose scrunch reflexively.
She wondered if the moment would live up to her expectations. Wondered if her Beast would look as deadly as she had envisioned. She slowly wandered around the hut, hand resting on one of her daggers as she took a mental note of where each room was and what had been left behind. It was not a good idea to be caught in a place with nowhere to go, but she felt as though it was appropriate. That her Beast would understand.
She made an effort to kneel with her back turned to the entrance, hoping the creature would take the bait, and drew in a breath. She did not, however, seek solace in her prayers. It did not feel right to do so, though she could not quite explain why.
Just as the silence threatened to weigh down on her, Helva heard the distinct sound of something, or rather someone, approaching her. Standing upright, she prepared to throw the stranger a scathing remark, bristling at the thought of having been followed by Barandol, of all people. When she turned, however, it was not Barandol who locked eyes with her, but Helega, standing right at the threshold of the hut.
Helega.
The woman, standing directly in front of the moonbeam that cascaded from the sky, enveloping Helva in her shadow, simply tipped her head to the side and smiled knowingly. Helva did not move. She hoped, in her heart of hearts, that the warning bells ringing in her head with abandon were wrong.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Helva said, discrediting the gut feeling that begged her to stand on guard.
“Is that so?” Helega went, her voice nearly carried off by the wind as she fixed Helva with a languid once-over, happily taking her time with whatever had brought her there. Helva’s gaze lowered to the bloodied floor as if to ask: Does it not disturb you?
“I had to rescue someone who insisted on wandering into these woods once. If you care about your safety, you should leave.” Helva’s voice carried a harsher tone, as if to issue a command. Prove me wrong, she thought. Please.
“Oh, that little spectacle,” Helega said vapidly, scoffing and waving away the look of bewilderment on Helva’s, “Not to worry, my dear. I do not fall quite so easily.” The words were said with such maliciousness that Helva would be remiss if she were to disregard them. “And to think that you believed you’d find me in that blasted place of all places. Honestly.” Helega turned her nose, looking and sounding disgusted by the idea. In turn, Helva’s heart dropped as far as it could.
“What are you saying?” It was a question to which she did not require an answer, something Helega herself seemed to know, for her smile was quickly replaced by a harsh look of aggravation.
She approached the hut like an apex predator, only announcing her presence once she deemed it time to do so. The muscles on Helva’s face twitched, a second away from giving away what she truly felt at that moment. At the hunter’s lack of a reaction, Helega seemed to grow several centimetres taller, her shadow outgrowing the very room the hunter found herself in.
“Helva.” She said in passing, as though the name meant both too much and too little. It was a call to action meant to bring the hunter back to reality, to face the truth.
Helva’s wound ached. Her stomach churned. Of all eyes to meet hers, why Helega’s? How could a monster bear her lover’s eyes?
“What are you doing here?” Helva asked, not quite looking for an answer. In turn, Helega simply smiled, all teeth.
“I am here for you,” Helega said, discarding any explanation, as it was clear to her that the hunter knew, as well as she did, the true meaning behind her words. Helva felt as though she’d run out of breath.
“No.”
“No?”
“This isn’t– this is wrong. It is not what was–”
“What was what, hm?” She quipped, resting a hand on her hip, her eyes full of mirth. Her voice was laced with a song Helva was unfamiliar with, though it was clear she took pleasure in watching the hunter come undone by pushing her every which way until she got what she wanted. “Planned? Not what you had in mind?” There was an unsettlingly large smile on her face. It was unnatural. It disfigured. When Helva trembled at the sight, Helega all but purred in response, tipping her head to the side almost blissfully.
It was all so very odd. Helva wrestled with her own mind, attempting to reconstruct her thoughts in a way she’d be able to understand them. She had expected a large beast. Ravenous and prepared to strike. She had expected to return her blows in equal measure, without a second thought. Helva muttered a prayer to herself, earning her a quizzical incline of the older woman’s head as she made it a point to interrupt what the hunter had been saying.
“Oh, will you stop with that drivel. Honestly,” she jeered, as though she had been privy to the hunter’s prayers often enough to bother. Despite herself, Helva followed Helega’s order.
Extending her bare hands towards the hunter, the blonde’s mouth curved into the smile Helva knew so well, and her eyes shone brighter.
Silver. Like the moon.
“Helva, come to me. It is wonderful out,” the woman cooed, twitching her fingers in a silent request, urging Helva to follow.
She wore her lover’s face. Her lover’s smile. Her hands and warm eyes. She looked beautiful. So beautiful that if moonlight erupted out of her fingertips and brightened the night sky, Helva would not have to feign her surprise.
“Who are you?” Helva asked in earnest, face contorting when she felt the telltale sign of her throat closing. At her question, the woman before her rolled her eyes dismissively, irritated by the fact that her command had not been heeded.
Dropping her hands back to her sides, the blonde’s grey eyes went steely. A warning. “Helva–”
“No. You owe me this—no more games. Tell me something real, I beg of you,” the hunter’s dam of a throat broke, dramatic enough to make Helega’s shoulders tense up in response.
“Oh, you beg, do you?” the woman said, a sardonic smile painting her lips. When Helva’s hurt stare did not waver, she at least had whatever decorum she had left in her to look somewhat ashamed, her wolfish grin dropping imperceptibly.
There was an odd silence then, as though the hunter had disturbed the order of things. It seemed that even the blonde had her expectations for the evening, and it was not yet going according to her plan. Like a newfound mistranslation on a document one had read several times over.
“You fascinate me,” Helega confessed, speaking the words as though she’d been pulling teeth, which told the hunter she had not lied. Something real, indeed.
Helva heard the icicles hanging from the willow tree’s leaves hitting softly against one another in an almost melodic way. She searched Helega’s eyes for the woman she had spoken to just that morning. The woman she had kissed and held onto. She did not know whether to laugh or cry at the fact that she found her there, still.
“Fascinate?” Helva repeated the one word like a prayer, her hot breath mingling with the cool air. When her hands trembled, Helega’s gaze lowered, twitching in response, as if to suppress the urge to reach out. “Why did you keep this from me? I thought…” Helva trailed off, losing herself momentarily.
The loose strands of Helega’s hair danced in the wind, caressing her nose and cheeks. Helva wondered if the incessant compulsion to kneel at her feet in a desperate show of worship would ever subside.
The insinuation that what Helega had with her was all a ruse, fabricated in the hunter’s mind, seemed to anger her. There was a small chance that the feelings she harboured were real. Perhaps she simply loathed the idea of being misinterpreted or questioned. Helva doubted she would ever find out which.
“Something they do not teach at that guild of yours, I take it. A beast is always just a beast, a monster, only a monster. You preoccupy yourselves with studying and hunting what you already know; such a cavalier disregard for the complexity of all beings.” She spoke with such voracity that the hunter could not help but feel as though the matter was personal to her. “Beast. Monster. Words meant to trap, to other. It disgusts me.” Helega’s harsh tone matched the scowl on her face, painting a picture that Helva was not as willing to follow. She had struck a nerve, clearly, if the way the blonde bared her teeth was of any indication.
“Helva. You are different. You gave me what I wanted,” Helega explained, accentuating her point by clenching her hands into fists near her midriff. Helva wondered if her blood would paint them soon.
“Stop,” the hunter choked out, making to turn away from Helega before a sharp tsk prevented her from doing so.
“You are different. You understand my–”
“I understand my Beast. I do not understand you.”
“You delude yourself. Do not disappoint me.”
“Viharg–”
“Your gods have no power here!” Helega shouted, her voice echoing through the clearing, the veins on her neck throbbing while she spoke, “Do not pray to what is faceless, Helva. Do not seek to impress the dead. I am here. I am the one who heeded your call.”
Words sharp enough to cut, Helva briefly shut her eyes, refusing to see the truth in what had been said. In a way, she longed to meet her Beast. The shock of being met with silence after giving her all nearly ripped her heart out of her chest. When Viharg would not listen, she hoped her Beast would. And, evidently, she had.
Was this Helega’s mercy? To caress with one hand and strike with the other? To present a false victory on a silver platter only to claim another body soon after? Was this what Helva had prayed for? Were they cut from the same cloth?
Helega was a maker and an undoer in equal measure. She held all power in her hands, yet she had not decided to strike. Not yet. She was toying with her. Priming her hunter for the scene she had set, though Helva would not dare presume her words had caught the blonde off guard, she highly doubted she was pleased with the turn of events.
“Something real,” Helva demurred, making her way towards the entrance, her step faltering when the muscles on Helega’s neck twitched, anticipating what would come next. “I cared and lusted for you. Part of me still does. It makes me sick, I think. The nobles were right, after all.” Boots landing on faintly red snow, vestiges of Helega’s previous kill, Helva closed the distance between them. The blonde’s posture straightened, wearing her pride on her face without shame, her eyes hungry. Helva muttered her following words.
“But you are not my Beast. My Beast would have killed me already.”
At that, a wave of emotions washed over Helega’s face. Before the hunter could pinpoint a single one, the woman’s expression turned blank.
“Always so impatient. It seems you are in the habit of rushing even the most pleasurable of moments.” Her face did not betray her true feelings, but her eyes sang a song of their own. At that moment, Helega resented her. The implication was that there was only one Helega, yet that was no longer enough. Before the blonde could dwell on it any further, the nearby sound of flapping wings broke her from her reverie.
“Show me,” Helva choked out, voice thick with want. Helega was many things, but there were certain urges she could not suppress. It had been that way when they kissed, and it remained true at that very moment. As soon as Helva’s word reached her ears, the older woman’s eyes flashed dangerously, her body appearing to reshape itself to accommodate her colossal desire.
Gaze unfocused, something within Helega seemed to fall into place. “Show you?” She repeated, sucking on her own tongue when Helva nodded in response.
At that moment, Helva felt as though the woman she knew was no longer present. It was thrilling to see her efforts come to fruition in such a violent manner. It was odd to think about how, as Helega extended her hands towards her in a way that seemed almost ritualistic, Helva could not help but chase after the feeling. Acutely aware of finally having been granted an audience with what had kept her up at night often enough to deteriorate her mind.
Ground trembling beneath her feet, Helva hesitated to look away from Helega, but when she heard countless crunches from under the snow, she felt she had a moral imperative to seek the sound. She had been right, of course, for before she could even assume a defensive stance, a handful of large, thick roots wrapped around her feet, rearing up with such speed that Helva was left dangling in the air in a matter of seconds.
Helega’s sardonic laughter reached her ears, causing the hunter to whip her head around. “You should be careful what you wish for. Though I find myself willing, of course, when you ask so earnestly.”
Helva remained silent for a moment, taking note of her surroundings. Helega was an Erdi scion , then. A powerful one, at that, if the way the roots bent to her will was of any indication. The hunter quickly realised the peril she was in. Helega could make her fall to her knees from a safe distance, and the hunter needed to close that distance in order to strike. She started to sweat, racking her brain for a solution that would not involve her premature death.
“Ever so eager; so pliant. Aren’t you?” Helega cooed, and Helva’s insides churned with anticipation reflexively; it brought her shame. She struggled against the roots, huffing when they snaked around and up her thighs, seeking to wrap themselves over her chest, and squeezed. As the air all but left the hunter’s lungs, she locked eyes with the culprit, unsurprised by what she found there.
When they kissed— it was the same look, no less animalistic, really. When her mouth curved into a predatory smile, Helva could’ve sworn her teeth looked sharper.
The hunter realised, then, what she believed to be true for a long time, yet was hesitant to say aloud. The recent killings had been presented as proof of Helega’s interest in her. They mocked her, yes. But they gave away one of Helega’s biggest weaknesses: her curiosity. She could not help but prod, or stalk, or spy. She was, as she had so resentfully admitted, catastrophically bored. What Helva did not know about her did not matter. She already knew plenty. She knew enough. She knew how to make her Beast tick.
Letting out a struggling groan, Helva fought back the impulse to twist and turn in the unforgiving grip Helega had her in and simply stared at her, parting her lips in a silent request. Helega, in her haze, followed the movement with bated breath. When no words left her hunter’s lips, she sauntered towards her with purpose.
Helva was not the type to talk. Not during…
“You can take more, can’t you? I would expect as much from my hunter,” Helega provoked, enunciating every word as though she hoped Helva would drink from them. The roots dug in deeper, nudging the metal rods on her limbs, causing them to break skin and pull a prolonged hiss from her. At that, Helega’s lips parted, her wild eyes darting across Helva’s face with renewed urgency.
Curious. Despite Helva’s state, the older woman made no move to kill or sink her teeth into her. She was not quite studying so much as she was… intentionally drawing the moment out, as though it were something she derived immense amounts of pleasure from. Helva felt her cheeks and chest flush, despite herself. The Beast noticed.
A weaker, thinner root parted from the rest, travelling its way up Helva’s sternum and stopping right at the base of her throat. A silent order. A command. Helva had her right where she wanted, so she complied, tipping her head to the side, exposing her neck and offering herself up under false pretences, though Helega was too far gone to realise it. The roots pulled her higher still. Now at eye level with Helega, she approached.
Tipping her head forward until the tip of her nose brushed against Helva’s cheek, the blonde’s tongue peeked out of her parted lips, and, for a moment, Helva had half a mind to let her do as she pleased. It was only when Helega dragged the flat of her tongue over the prominent scar across the hunter’s upper lip that she crashed back down into reality.
When a small exhale left the hunter’s nose in response, Helega gave out a sound of recognition of her own, as if to say she’d take as much time as she’d like, with or without Helva’s approval. Testing the hold the roots had on her, Helva realised the grip had slackened just enough for her to make her move.
Touching the pommel of her dagger with the very tips of her fingers, gritting her teeth when blood trickled down her biceps as the metal rods pressed, pressed and pressed even deeper against her skin, Helva breathed another sigh of relief when she managed to pinch her weapon in between her index and middle fingers. After a short pause, she pulled it, slowly but surely, out of the scabbard.
Turning her hunter’s head this way and that, as if to examine the fruits of her labour, Helega’s eyes flashed whenever Helva seemed to react positively to her ministrations. It wasn’t a normal hunt for her, that much was clear. She’d been so focused on the way Helva trembled whenever her roots reached for places they shouldn’t that she could barely react to what came next.
Successful in her efforts, she grabbed hold of her dagger and yanked her other arm forward, breaking it free from some of the roots holding her in place. Letting her dagger fall from one hand to grab it with the other, she quickly thrust her weapon forward, cutting the Beast just below her hipbone, on the left side of her body.
Helega’s reaction was instantaneous. Retracting her roots to assess the damage, dropping Helva in the process, she palmed her side, eyes narrowing when she took note of the blood on her hand.
If it bleeds…
“You…” Helega started, though, strangely enough, she did not seem angry. Quite the opposite, in fact. It seemed as though Helva had made the right choice. Choosing not to dwell on it, the hunter got back up on her feet, movements swift and, despite her messy state, her blood thrummed in her veins, commanding her to fight. Unsheathing her other dagger before making wide slashes, she aimed straight at the Beast’s face.
Artfully side-stepping the first two stabs with a hungry smile on her face, the amusement quickly dissipated when Helega realised that, instead of tiring her hunter out, the speed of Helva’s movements only seemed to increase, like an animal possessed. None of the cuts landed, but by the time the weapon threatened to come back for seconds, the limp roots at Helva’s feet rose to life once more, staggering the hunter as the Beast stumbled backwards in an effort to keep up with the relentless onslaught of attacks.
It was unlike anything Helva had ever seen. Even when staggered, Helega persisted, matched Helva’s harvester rhythm, treating it as if it were a dance of sorts. She was no ordinary scion. She was something more. The silent question burned itself into the walls of Helva’s mind, and, for a moment, she wondered.
Groaning with each forceful lunge, Helva managed to cut through the roots without giving it too much thought, and, when she found an opening, she held her weapon in a reverse grip, threw her arm to the side and sliced.
Silence.
The pair's breath mingled, both panting with exertion and only a hair's breadth away from each other’s mouths. The look on Helega’s face was different that time. She seemed to realise her hunter had spoken the truth that day: It was all she had. Her Beast, her Hunt, were all she had. Why fight so hard for something one does not want? No. Helva, with blood running down her limbs, soaking her clothes, wanted it.
Blade glinting in the moonlight as Helega twisted and pulled her hunter’s hand from her face and the tip of the dagger away from her eye, she spoke with newfound respect for Helva’s little trick. “You are holding back, aren’t you?” Helega asked, craning her neck to capture Helva’s shame-filled eyes. “You are exquisite. Do not limit yourself, not for any of those simpletons, and never for me.” And, with that, the roots flung Helva backwards, sending her flying and crashing towards the willow tree, from whence they had come.
Wind knocked out of her, Helva scrambled and rolled out of the way of many falling icicles that were several centimetres long, gasping when a sharp pain rose from her stomach all the way up to her chest. She reached for the parts of her that hurt, which were all of them, and spluttered, spitting out the blood pooling inside her mouth.
Lips twitching when she realised her stitches had come undone a second time, she rolled over to support herself against the tree. Helega was too strong. She had predicted this—half of it, at least— but it did not make it any easier to come to terms with.
As she looked up at the dark sky and weighed her options, hugging her side with ragged breaths, she watched as the one sickly crow hopped down and descended from the branches of the willow tree and landed right next to her boot. For some reason, Helva resisted the urge to laugh breathlessly.
She was done. She’d reached the end of her rope, and yet, even with such a poignant reminder, Helva felt as though the moment was never-ending. That, eventually, the sky would part and prove her right, that waves would turn into gentle ripples, leading her away confusedly, as though her time had not yet come. Even so, the River of Souls beckoned her. Would Viharg lend their thunder once more? Would Borush bear witness to any of her comrades’ grief?
Helega’s eyes were violent. They sought only to claim. The death she granted, however, did not come in one fell swoop; it lingered with an unerring sense of purpose.
Her Beast could not fit in a single page of her journal, just as Helega, at her core, could not fit in her head. Helva could not own her. She could contain the woman before her to a single idea. She was greater than all else— god-like, in a sense.
The crow twitched its head to the side, its beady eyes boring holes into Helva’s face. It did not look at her so much as it seemed to see her, its gaze lingering on her bloodied mouth and the cuts spread all over her body. When Helva twitched in a pathetic effort to rise back up to her feet, the creature poked her boot with its beak, as if to measure the damage done to her.
Turning when it heard the distinct sound of roots retracting back towards the tree they stood next to, the bird gave Helega’s approaching figure a look of appraisal before cawing once, loudly. At that, one of the blonde’s roots swatted the bird away impatiently, ignoring the way in which its wings fluttered in protest. Helva’s eyes flickered between the two as if they were the mad ones.
Perhaps she did own an aviary.
Helega tsked, disapproving of the way in which Helva seemed too weak to show her just how powerful a Bulwark could be, if unchained. “Get up,” she commanded with that air of superiority she often carried. Helva drew in a deep breath, planting her fists at her sides to push herself up. Once she stood, even if still leaning against the tree, the ice in Helega’s gaze seemed to thaw for but a moment.
“You have what you want. Why don’t you just finish it already?”
“Do not presume to issue me any commands, Helva. Unlike you, I happen to take my business quite seriously.” There was a hint of mockery in her voice. It was familiar to Helva, but the woman’s demeanour had changed. A sort of indistinguishable quality that comes only when one knows there is no turning back, that there is no more use in pretending.
Perhaps they were not good people, and the blood sticking to Helega’s lower abdomen was but a false promise.
Helva felt as though lightning itself had been torn from her sky. She could have tried a little harder. Could have fought a little harder. See, at that moment, death felt unmerited, and that simply would not do.
Springing back to life when she felt Helega’s roots restrain her once more, she watched in silence as one of them aimed straight for her wound, sinking under the leather armour only to burst through it, leaving an opening. The root’s touch was Helega’s touch, if the way in which it lingered there was of any indication. When the Beast’s gaze lowered to her reopened wound, she gave out a noncommittal hum, as if to say, ‘Mine would have stuck.’ Before Helva could get a single word in, she doubled over with a loud gasp as Helega dipped into her wound, curling inside her with the intention to claim.
Just as Helva was halfway through falling to her knees, the pain subsided considerably. Suspiciously so. As if on cue, a strange warmth spread all across her innermost self. Looking down at her body with wild eyes, Helva reached for the root that was just shy of pushing deeper into her wound, but was hit with an unprecedented and uncontrollable wave of adrenaline, rendering her speechless.
“There,” Helega drawled, curling the root upwards in a way that would surely pull a groan from her hunter, “All better now, yes?”
Losing herself, Helva only panted in response, jerking whenever the root moved inside her. Feeling like a cornered animal, she reached for it and held it in a vice-like grip, sensing the way in which it seemed to respond to her touch.
Locking eyes with her Beast, Helva’s chest heaved with the same urgency as Helega’s. Parting her lips to speak, the blonde silenced her by pulling her towards her quite unceremoniously, only satisfied when their bodies came together.
With a command always at the tip of her tongue, Helega claimed her hunter’s lips in a messy kiss, voicing her approval when the blood on Helva’s tongue coated her own. Helva was all too willing to follow her lead. Too willing, indeed. Arms circling the blonde’s frame awkwardly on account of the metal rods on her biceps, Helva’s body was tenser than it had ever been. Helega, on the other hand, appeared to sag in her arms.
At one point, the kiss was all teeth. Unfocused. Troubled, even, as her Beast’s hunger only grew. Despite this, Helva allowed her to trail open-mouthed kisses from her mouth to her jaw and, finally, her neck, nibbling on the flesh with strange persistence, as though she were testing its strength.
When she felt the absence of Helega’s mouth on her flesh, she turned to face her, her heart thundering in her chest when the blonde’s jaw dropped, and her teeth inched closer to her jugular. She practically salivated in anticipation, which painted a fine picture for Helva. Even so, nothing could have prepared her for the feeling that burst just beneath her skin when Helega finally pulled her into her awaiting mouth.
It was excruciatingly perfect. She understood, then, why the victims had been so willing, why some had died with smiles on their faces. It was almost euphoric in nature. A feeling so strong it made Helva’s blood sing, something Helega agreed with.
Teeth sinking into her neck, Helega’s knees turned weak whenever a fresh burst of warm blood entered her mouth, and, for a moment, Helva was happy to play that role, mind fuzzy and all, but the more she took, the more she wanted. Her bite turned deadlier as Helva attempted to push her away, the blonde’s moan reverberating against her skin while she lost herself in the feeling.
She drank, and drank, and drank from her with such desperation that, if Helva hadn’t known better, she’d say she’d been planned as the main course the entire time.
Hooking her fingers under the seam of Helva’s trousers to pull her closer, the frightening reality that she had lost all feeling in her neck forced the hunter to take action, even as her eyes shut of their own volition.
She’d been marked for death.
What came next was not so much planned as it was a side effect of her harvester training, hours upon hours of honing one’s craft, knowing when to retaliate with immense speed. Her blood stormed within her, shocking her into taking a stand. When all else failed, the impulses of her innermost self were her greatest weapon.
Breath tickling Helva’s blood-covered skin, Helega’s hungry eyes turned wide and pained when she took the hunter’s dagger all the way up to the hilt. Helva twisted it, pulling a short, trembling gasp from the blonde. When Helega’s eyes locked with hers, the Beast’s unobedient lust raged on, her hand coming to rest atop Helva’s as she made it a point to pull her closer, and deeper, still. Helva felt dizzy.
When a choked sound left her parted lips, she slowly pulled away from her lover. In turn, Helva’s panicked eyes took in her unusual expression, exhaling harshly when she realised she had regained her footing in that fight.
Part of her expected Helega to pass judgment at once, her life now forfeit. Instead, what came left her just as speechless.
With the corners of her lips curling upwards, Helega laughed in utter bewilderment, her gaze no longer cold or distant, but warm as her approval washed over Helva like a warm bath on a cold Winter night.
You and I, we… we are alike.
Despite her state, the ground beneath Helva’s feet split open as the Beast appeared to conjure up more support. Instead of striking back, however, the roots lifted her a few centimetres off the ground and carried her off to the very centre of the clearing.
The Beast was retreating. Helva had hurt her.
Descending from her roots, she faltered forward, hand hovering over the hilt of the dagger, fingers trembling as she seemed to mentally chastise herself for having been caught wanting, but before she could decide on whether she’d pull it out of her or leave it in, their eyes met.
Helva took one heavy step forward, her face twisting when her body protested against it, blood spurting from her neck at an alarming rate, the Erdi noted. Wiping her hunter’s blood from her lips, she watched as Helva’s skin began to glow a faint blue, contrasting against the snow and the trail of blood she’d left behind.
“There you are,” Helva’s lover breathed, talking to herself, mostly, and standing proudly in place as the hunter’s cautious steps turned into confident marching, then a quick jog. “Show me,” she grinned, fingers curling around the hilt of the dagger as Helva now sprinted at her, crossing the distance between them with impressive speed. “Show me!”
Chest rising and falling rapidly as she looked on with a twisted sense of pride, the blonde noted the way in which Helva muttered to herself, and her lips twitched downward. Even then, she prayed for what would not come to her aid. Stubborn, she thought.
With chastisement right at the tip of her tongue, she swallowed her words when the metal rods in Helva’s body created small domes of energy, which, in turn, embedded themselves into her flesh . Before they could grow too large in size, Helva’s limbs drank them in, the snow beneath her feet crackling with energy while she ran.
It was only when she took note of the pained expression on her face that she realised this was Helva’s final, desperate attempt. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Helva twisted her body to the side, the cloudy skies humming in acknowledgement, seemingly granting a secret permission as a large spear of lightning formed in her hand in a way that the blonde could only describe as god-like. Despite herself, she held on to the moment, waiting for Helva to strike.
Putting all her might into it, Helva’s scream echoed through the clearing, disappearing over the mountain ridge when she launched the large bolt of lightning at her undoer.
The light travelled the distance between them with such speed that, even with her new powers, all that could be done to stop it was by running for cover. When realisation dawned on her, her roots scrambled to form a thick wall just a second before the bolt could reach its target. The impact sent ripples of energy through the roots, some of which were still circling the blonde’s limbs in an effort to protect her. Falling to her knees as the energy engulfed her body, the scion spluttered, practically choking on her own spit when she felt as though her spine was being pulled straight out of her body.
It was a pain unlike any other. Blinding, in the literal sense of the word. When she shut her eyes to shield her vision, she could see everything through her eyelids still. The feeling exploded near her extremities before climbing its way up her body, up her chest and gripping her throat, pulling a loud, unbecoming scream out of her.
When the pain ceased, she almost thought she’d lost a limb. Twitching her fingers and toes to make sure she had a full range of motion, the blonde gasped, sucking in a breath through her mouth so harshly it sounded as though she’d been drowning.
The smell of burnt wood drowned all her senses. When her vision returned, she realised she’d been immersed in a cloud of smoke. A crow’s caw reached her ears; she pushed herself up to her knees, groaning petulantly when she found it hard to rise to her feet without any help.
“What a conundrum, indeed. Took you long enough,” he went, sounding as though he were bored out of his mind. His voice came from above. As such, the blonde suspected he had conveniently sat on a sturdy tree branch, just a few safe meters from her. As the cloud of smoke had not yet dispersed, she could not see him. Knowing him, he had done so on purpose.
“Quiet! Leave this place at once. Have you completely lost your mind?”
“Leave? What for?”
“She–”
“Ah,” he quipped, clearing his throat awkwardly when he realised the meaning behind his friend’s words. “Well.”
“Well, what?” She snapped, finding herself fresh out of patience once more. It seemed that there was nothing quite as sobering as being hit with a giant bolt of lightning. Unfortunately for her, the rude awakening was quite unwelcome. Her limbs were sore. Her hair and clothes were ruined, and she felt as though she had lost something. She wasn’t meant to feel this way. Not at all. She was meant to feel–
Helva.
Rising to her feet without a second thought, she clawed the dead, charred roots off her limbs and stumbled through the smoke, shuffling, with her feet close to each other to make sure she’d avoid the waves of energy that still kissed the earth after Helva’s immense show of power. The Erdi coughed as the smoke entered her lungs, making her eyes sting. Emerging from the cloud, her gaze turned to her ever-unexpressive companion, who, in turn, simply cocked his cloaked head towards the silhouette in the distance. Following his gesture, she saw her. Sitting in a small crater of her own making.
It did not look like her. She seemed too small. Too broken. She waited in place for Helva to call out to her, or curse her very existence, anything, really. Nothing came. Grasping the hilt of the dagger, she walked towards Helva’s kneeling frame, biting back a pathetic cry as she removed the blade from her side. Faint sparks played across Helva’s limbs, urging the blonde to walk faster.
Reaching the hunter and standing directly before her, her childish optimism died in her chest when she took in her lover’s state.
Beaten. Bloodied. Neck torn apart, flesh sizzling as if it had been burned with fire. The smell made her sick.
“She left me more bread this evening. I could hardly believe it. I didn’t touch the other one for a reason, and yet she goes and does it again. Quite off-putting, if I do say so myse–”
“Shut it!” Whirling around to face the culprit, she cupped her side and fought back against the impending desire to scream. If she didn’t know better, she’d say his masked face seemed almost taken aback by her reaction.
“Let us go home, yes?” He went, after a prolonged pause, voice now laced with barely disguised concern.
Instead of responding, she simply came to kneel before her hunter, averting her eyes from her face, as though gazing upon what she had done would serve as a bad omen. It was what she wanted, after all, wasn’t it? Within the confines of her mind, she conceded, knowing she had done exactly as she saw fit. Her heart, on the other hand, betrayed her.
She swallowed once, hoping her hunger and thirst would disappear. When it didn’t, her face twisted bitterly. Sniffing to feigning indifference, she spoke once more: “Help me with this.”
“I am not an undertaker, and neither are you.” He pointedly reminded her, silently urging her to get her head back on her shoulders before something unpleasant took root in her mind.
“I am not leaving her like this, you foul beast.”
“I could say something very hurtful to you, but I won’t because I know you are distressed.”
Her movements stilled as she mulled over his words. Jutting her chin forward and waving him away in one angry motion, she grabbed Helva by the shoulders and struggled to gently set her back down on the earth, on her side. Lips set in a hard line, she leaned back to examine her work, hands clenching into fists on her lap.
“I do not understand you,” said the muffled voice at her side, though he did not speak maliciously or with the intention to cause any harm.
“I will have to leave her here, where they can find her,” she spoke absent-mindedly, ignoring her friend’s words.
“Very well.” There was a hint of impatience in his voice on account of the wound on the woman’s side. It looked worse than it felt.
Before she could feel anything else, she reached for Helva’s expressionless face and pushed some of the stray ginger hairs from her eyes. The familiar, captivating scent of blood clung to Helva’s skin in a way that made her mouth water. The bite she had given had not been enough to quench her thirst, though the thought of defacing the hunter’s corpse made her hands tremble in disgust.
She had given her what they both craved. It was only fitting that this would be her end.
Hand hovering over Helva’s face, her eyes trailed down her body, lingering at her wound. Small, shy roots hugged the skin, pulsing with each spark her body gave out. It had gone according to plan; it all had. And yet, she was of two minds. Her hunger, as meticulous as ever, clamoured for more, even after faced with what she had so wilfully taken. Helva’s blood had been as exquisite as she had suspected. It had been worth every cut. Every wound. Every blow. At the thought of the hunter’s fallen, broken frame, the Erdi’s heart clenched.
Had the Shattered One made a home out of her heart? She had deserted the Gods long ago. Even then, seeing Helva grasp the sky’s lightning in her hands made her wonder if the so-called higher callings had some truth to them. If, once marked by a God, one is forced to bend the knee and suffer the consequences.
It did not matter. She was no stranger to a God’s violent indifference. If they were, indeed, watching, then they had a twisted sense of humour. What was death and suffering, if not a God’s plan? In a kinder world, Helva would still live.
She had tasted of bottled thunder, salty waters and despair. Her lover’s tongue still remembered. Resting her palm over Helva’s wound, she realised the hunter would blossom for her yet.
“We mustn’t linger.”
“I know,” she seethed, extending a hand towards him so he could help her up.
Helva had offered herself. She had made a decision only she could make, and it had led her to her death. The Beast, as Helva called her, had willed this, and not out of ignorance.
Lifting her gaze to look upon the frozen lake, she caught Helva’s cloak sticking out of the icy surface, the torn emblem of the Bulwark barely visible as the wind coursed through it. She felt an odd sense of exhilaration at the thought of having claimed such a restless hunter for herself, but the silence she was met with when gazing down at her lover made her pause.
Before she could second-guess herself, she turned on her heel and marched forth into the woods.
↯
“Quite the eventful trip, hm?” The headmaid teased, taking the silver tray from her Grand Arkos ’ hands. When she received no reply, her eyes searched the blonde’s face until she could no longer bear to look away. “How do you fare?” There was an edge to her voice, like a knife hidden behind one’s back, just shy of striking without so much as a warning. She had one particular question in mind, yet sought to make the other woman squirm. She was fresh out of luck, however.
“Just grand, thank you,” the blonde responded, sitting up on her large bed with stiff movements so as not to disturb her wound. She watched as her maid placed the tray on her side table with a hint of disapproval bubbling just under the surface of her face.
She, of course, did not tell her maid how she had been privy to all the news coming out of To-Valand and its latest victim of The Chilling . How she had been informed of the Guild-wide effort that took place just a day after Helva’s death. How the Bulwark Guild searched endlessly for what they could not find, fighting a battle of words with the nobles who had been left with no one to blame. She would not tell her this because she’d seem weak. And she was not weak. Her mind and teeth were sharper than ever before.
Something foul must have crossed the scion’s face, for the woman before her opened and promptly shut her mouth, as if to keep herself from saying something she shouldn’t. She hoped to reach out and ease some of the tension from her Grand Arkos’ shoulders, but the desire to do so was stomped out almost as quickly as it had come. It was improper. It should not be done.
“Must you keep this here? Is it not unsanitary?” She went instead, lips curling in a way that would have amused the blonde in different circumstances. Her maid fingered her belongings with faint annoyance, clearly wishing to rearrange everything in a way that would please her. The Erdi’s gaze lowered to the woman’s gentle, slightly paint-tainted hands, losing herself as she grew pensive.
The vibrant colours of her castle held many memories; many regrets. It suffocated, at times, despite her best efforts to course-correct. This, of course, could not, would not, be reflected anywhere else. Her chambers looked as pristine as ever, and everything was where it should be. The paintings, the endless shelves with books, old and new; her plants, the glass of wine she had abandoned on the table just the night before. It was all there. It was she who felt different.
On the first night, when the scion had first arrived, she’d been acutely aware of how different her maid’s body felt in her hands. She was taller, softer and fuller where Helva wasn’t. Her hair was a light shade of brown, and her dark blue eyes less tormented. That night, when she tended to the scion’s wounds, she had been all questioning glances and tight-lipped smiles, and when her lips met the heavy silence that came after was familiar.
Following her maid’s gaze, towards the farthest wall, her eyes landed on Helva’s dagger sitting quite ungracefully and sticking out like a sore thumb from between her other toiletries. She bristled and ran her palm over her satin sheets, doing away with the wrinkles before she trained her eyes back on her maid. “I wish to have it framed. Somewhere.”
Unsanitary. Really, she mused, scoffing at the thought of a dagger being what made someone like her squirm with disgust. How predictable it was for a secondborn to simplify that which could not be.
“Ah.” Came the curt response, to which the blonde responded by almost rearing back in bewilderment. Out of everyone to be giving her a hard time, surely–
“Well, I shan’t say no to you,” she said in a sing-song voice, the muscles on her face taut and her lips pursing with displeasure, “Helega the Second.”
The blonde’s back straightened at once, and the pair entered what seemed to be a staring contest. Not once breaking eye contact as she stood on her own two feet, without requesting the other woman’s help, she ambled towards the largest window in her chambers, the one facing the main road of Echek , cracking it open.
“Who told you this?” She queried in a perpetually dry tone, which her maid gladly matched.
“The trees have eyes and people talk. You must keep your wits about you.”
“Helega,” the Grand Arkos called out to her in a warning tone, clearly unwilling to continue the conversation and leaving little room for an argument. Helega scoffed and shook her head, failing to understand why she had not been offered any reverence.
“You are home now, Etel.” Helega chastised, disapproving of the time the blonde had spent reminiscing as though she were a lover scorned. “You keep forgetting.” With that, she turned and left the room with a sharp slam of the door, taking the silver tray with her. Etel clenched her jaw, looking out of her window, towards the horizon, where the distant sea remained.
She’d have the dagger framed, she thought, resting her hands on the windowsill, nails dragging across the cool surface. Sinking back into that inexhaustible silence, Etel’s shoulders sagged the longer her eyes searched for the place where she believed the sea to be, piercing the distant, seemingly unreachable horizon as an odd feeling settled in her chest. She felt as though it watched her. Judged her.
She was home now, and she’d have the damned dagger framed.