I.viii

The water was calm, the sky above reflecting a pale blue to brighten the sea below. We sat in a distracted silence amidst the waves, punctuated by the rustling of cloth and grinding of rope through metal.

My father wasn’t hard on us during my childhood. We were lightly struck when we spoke out of turn, harshly reprimanded for stealing and work left unfinished. But during the nights, he sung to us by moonlight until we fell into sleeps’ dark arms. He knew Niko was too young for the workings of a ship, so he simply left him amidst bundles of cloth as we sailed and fished, and he would amuse himself with bits of wood and twine as children do.

When I grew out of the awkward lack of control that so many children possess and left my early childhood, my father guided my hands over rope and cloth and wood. He taught me to read the sky and the weather and predict the gods temperaments to the best of our mortal abilities. I learned to fly sails so they would bellow happily in wind. I learned knots to dock ships and tie lines and make nets.

And like many children before and many after, my hands slipped and stumbled over tasks. Knots untied themselves after leaving my grasp, sails fell, rope flew away from my hands. From these actions I received no shouts or strikes. My father knew the sea and ships, and like all men confident in their trade, knew the difficulties it took to grasp.

Our ship had been docked one day, before my hands and shoulders and legs grew strong from nautical tasks, when my father knew not to trust me to assist on open water. He had put his hands over mine, engulfing them in his palms, fingers gently laced over my own digits. He helped my tie and pull and push, preparing and resetting the boat many times as practice. A rope flew from my hand, pulled through my grasp as the sail stood on the precipice of rising, and like someone unaccustomed to a life of harsh materials, I tried to catch the length. It took layers of skin and a scream from my mouth as the sail fell to full length.

in response my father scooped me in his arms and cradled my squirming form as he rummaged through bags with one hand, coming out with a pot of viscous paste. Niko began to cry with me for no other reason than he saw my face crumpled. My father placed me in his lap and gently smoothed the remedy over my palm, and as he continued to apply the paste and then bandage the area, he hummed softly to me.

Beautiful flower

Raised by the soil and sun

The gods hands will guide you

Along many paths unknown

Back to the comfort of home

My arms tired rapidly as I raised and lowered the sails. Years before I had grown accustomed to the action. My muscles became familiar and friendly with it. Now, with a chasm of time opened between the girl on the boat and the woman who fights like a man, the repetition had my muscles shouting in constant protest.

Arash sat across from me at the helm. He held an oar loose in his hands, laid across his lap. After the agreement had been made with the foreman of the docks, we had spoken for only a few minutes more and agreed to meet him when the Lord of Song dipped his fiery companion bellow the horizon. During the day, Arash had wandered, and I had found shade underneath a forlorn tree and slept.

When we once again came together, he sat and stared at me as I exercised, watching me swing my blade and push and pull my body.

“I now see how you keep up your title and best men in combat.” He spoke. I paused slightly in my routine before continuing. We had not spoken since acquiring a ship, and I had not expected our first words shared to be about this.

“The armies of Cyprus do not teach us as Pryus does theirs, it seems.”

I paused once again, longer this time. I saw him sitting against the wall in the market this morning, breathing deep, breathing easy.

“Do you wish to join?” I spoke slowly. The words fell out of my mouth more than I said them. They were awkward and unplanned.

“It would be impolite to refuse an offer such as that,” He said after a moment’s consideration, head tilted to the side in mock thought. He rose from his shaded spot and stepped into the small clearing we had found on the edge of the town.

He followed quietly and without comment for most of it, only speaking to confirm things I said or have me expand on an instruction. At the end, we both sat in sweat and grime and sunlight on the hard ground. Despite the heat and dirt, the breeze was cool on my skin and the blood pumping through me satisfied.

“That is all?” Arash inquired. He took a deep breathe before speaking.

“For today.” I answered. He said nothing for a moment. Stared at me, and then looked away with ideas on his face, and then turned back.

I stayed silent, waiting for him to speak.

“In return, I ask to show you something that would compliment this regime well.”

A non-committal grunt was what I gave to him as offering. Yet when he stood, I too rose. What followed was grueling in a distinct way from what I had just put him through. It did not send blood roaring through veins and pounding in my head. We held positions and stretched and contorted our forms, and my muscles shrieked at these for prolonged, intense periods. When we finished this, I felt flimsy and odd, my limbs made of thin leaves.

Arash smiled at my prone form on the ground.

I frowned at this. Something leapt in me, but the wilting of my body smothered it. I breathed deep and stared at the sky instead.

In.

Out.

 

---

 

The Lord of the Sea was calm, and his presence graced us with simple, slight waves. The ship jumped and hopped over their peaks like a well-trained but excited dog.

“How do you plan to go about this?” Arash asks.

I look at him momentarily, casting a glance at his eyes between languid gazes of the ship. He takes my silence as intended, a request to expand the thought.

“This task bestowed upon you to take the life of an entire island.” I scoff silently at the tone. Dramatic. Displeased.

“I do not know. They will die by my hands. The rest is unseen.”

“And this pleases you?” At that, a pause. It was not a response I expected. This conversation had a point I was unsure of now.

“It does not displease. I have traded goods for a life many times.” At this, he seemed discouraged. He disliked that response. It gave him momentary pause, and I a momentary respite from the speaking of words.

“Be as that may, this sits differently in my heart. This is not simple barter.”

“We required a boat. We now sail on one. I will not resign the promise made to acquire it.” I stated. Before he could respond, I continued, frustration rising now:

“These men would die regardless. We have an objective on that land. They block us from it.”

“A mathos does not kill entire legions of men to acquire what their buyer prizes. Only those who cannot be slipped by. Only those who are quite necessary.”

“What would you know of being a mathos?” I said plainly. He still sits uncomfortably at the head of the boat, oar still dry. He smiles, then. Easily and lightly.

“Do not betray your character, Helena. You are not a braggart, but if pushed into pride, you emanate righteous confidence in the skills of your craft. Helena of Nothing does not find difficulty in staying silent in the shadows to leave men confused when their treasure is taken by phantoms.” I scoff again. More drama. No displeasure at this. He remains proud of his tongue, whatever he may say about my own pride.

I said nothing to this. My sword hand was strong. My muscles could swing and pull and strike and push. My tongue was useful, but unused. It did what it needed to. Nothing more. At these retorts, it fell muddled and confused into the pit of my mouth.

“They are payment.” I stated. Arash seemed taken aback at this. Not visually. He simply said nothing for a few moments.

“Have you ever hated a target, Helena?”

These words now send me into a handful of silent seconds. Not emotional. Not contemplative. Simple remembrance. Until

niko

 wolf

“No.” I respond instead. The grip on the rope was useless. But the tight fists my hands had formed felt more natural on the length rather than hanging in open air. My jaw hurt, then. The pain from its clasp of teeth on teeth was immediate.

“I believe you on that subject. The man you chase now is not a bounty. You have returned the money to its owner, and yet still you chase him over days, and nights, and hundreds of meters.” He paused to collect himself. I had no response to this. My tongue was muddled, my brain confused, despite the clarity of his meaning.

My knuckles were white. Underneath them, twine was hard and rough on my palms and pads. I stared at a single mobile point that travelled along the water beside us. 

“You entered into immediate agreement to kill his men, without thought. So now you lie, because although I do not see it, there is anger in this decision. Your blade is not cool and heartless in this task. It boils.”

He opens his mouth to continue. Decides against it. Whether he tires of hearing his own voice or he catches the grip I have on the rope, tight like a man killing a snake for pleasure, he ceases. I know there are more words to come, but for now he ceases.

My sword on my hip is singing. Screeching, maybe. I want to hit him. Not for the first time I want to feel Arash’s cheekbones under my knuckles. There is no lightning inside me now. Whatever occupies my veins is slower and languid but just as energetic.

Thoughts will enter your mind, but simply let them pass. Accept them and do not dwell

In.

Out.

I made it a single round before the breath felt like venom in my mouth. I spat whatever remained after a hard swallow into the sea, now racing by us as the wind crisply rushed past.

And then through the bloody haze that craves split flesh the salt hits my nose. It is light and cool and cuts through like a blade through a blanket.

A thousand moments flash. My father, on a boat with me. My father, singing to his children on docks and under high sun. Years later, sitting on the fishing town’s beach without shoes. It was night, and the Lycons had not yet passed through. The bloody wall of crimson had laid behind me still.

The sand was warm but rapidly cooling under potent moonlight. It gently soothed my toes and small, aching bones. A few times, small creatures had scuttered across, suddenly exposed to the world above the sand and terrified because of it.

In.

Out.

Sea breeze. The hollow sound of water lapping wood.

In.

Out.

In my vision, Arash looked somber, not bloodied. The oar still sat in his lap, unused due to lack of instruction.

“They took from me.” I stated. It was low. At this, Arash nodded.

“Will you take from them as well, Helena?” Not said accusatorially. Not filled with venom and judgement. Only a question filled with concern, framed by a concerned face.

I pause for a moment. In. Out.

Sea breeze. The sound of waves.

“They have done evil.”

“Many have. Many commit lesser crimes. The gods still allow those men to live.”

“I am their fate, then. They were allowed to live until my path crossed theirs.”

“You do not bear the gods seal, Helena, you are not their harbinger. When this Wolf dies by your blade, his men will flee and recount the steps they took in life to arrive beside him. Many men have changed after journeys such as these.”

In Lycos, you are forged as a weapon is. Like a sword, you may break and batter. Unlike a sword, you can not be melted down and reforged into a statue or an ornament. Your purpose is who you are.

“They will not. They will remain the same and they will die. The order of those events does not matter.”

Arash pauses. He contemplates for a moment. He does not want to repeat the same points, create a circle of a conversation, I assume. I interrupt before he continues once more.

“Men are born. On that day, they are who they are. Then they die.”

As a child I did not kill. We did not kill. Blood was an uncommon sight.

But Lycos acts like a womb for all who pass through it. You enter small and weak, and through blood and steel and flesh and bone you are reborn.

Arash says nothing now. My interruption changed something in how he wanted the conversation to go.

The point is moot. I instruct him with the oar, making actions with empty hands to guide him. We eventually pull onto an empty shore, a small slit cut out of massive cliffs looming above us. The sun casts directly onto us, but as it will rise, shadows will cover this place, leaving it a pit of dark tones edged by waves.

With Arash’s assistance, the boat is pulled high enough up the shore that only a terrible storm will grab it from the earth’s grasp. With that done, and with no provisions to unload, I begin to walk. After three steps, Arash speaks.

"Is this where you will let your anger take you?" Arash spoke.

I turned my head to my right and gazed over my shoulder at him. His eyes were soft. His body language was tense. Coiled. Disappointed.

In response I said nothing. The look we shared was angering for both parties. For him, he saw whatever he hadn't before, the depths my words and face had never quite shown. For me, every word he spoke distracted me from what I wanted to hold on to, replaced the fire inside me with something colder bit by bit.

The wind spoke for us, pushing water and sand around our forms. The spray that hit us was cold and salty. It stuck loose hairs to my cheek.

Then i turned and continued the journey deeper into the island. For a moment, nothing followed me. The Wolf sat ahead, and simple air trailed my path.

Then, soft footsteps on sand and eventually rock and foliage and dirt.

There was no path to follow. We walked surrounded by shade and emerald light. The ground was littered with the castaways of nature, fallen leaves and twigs and branches. The silence we shared was not amicable, but it was crowded out by small sounds of animals and the scent of the sea wind filtered through wood and plant.

I made a purposeful stop after minutes and minutes of quiet walking. We stood beside a thick tree, blessed by the gods with a height that towered over its brothers and sisters surrounding it. Not the first i had seen since the beach, but the only one as of yet with branches close to the ground.

"Stay," I spoke, making my way under the lowest outcropping.

"As you wish," Was the response. Said mostly flat and without much humour. He walked away from me and sat on his haunches against a tree across the way. I unbuckled my sword and slid off my chestpiece and wrist guards and let them fall to the ground in his view.

I jumped and grabbed and pulled in one fluid motion, getting my shoulders to my hands and then using the momentum of the jump to quickly arc my belly around the branch and extend my arms and lock my elbows. Hovering over the branch, i swung my legs up, carefully straddling and then standing on the limb. Despite myself, i cast a quick glance down. Not a fall that would kill, most likely, but that would soon change.

After a handful of ascents i was sweating and huffing and pausing every couple branches to sit and breathe and not look down.

The trees on Lycos were small, their bigger siblings cut for wood long ago, before my time. When the instructors deigned to have us climb to reach a point, they used the cliffsides in unpopulated sections of the island and some of the taller buildings on the outskirts of the city. The handholds were small and thin most times. Yet little injury occurred, despite the heights. Only after we were made strong through combat and training were we made to do these tasks.

Eventually i sat on a branch high enough that I could gaze over the humps and ridges of the island. In the dark moonlit distance, three translucent grey columns waved and bunched against the trees and stars. One was to the right of  me and further along, and one was quite far to the left an even longer ways away. The third was again to the left, close enough I could see light.

"A camp lies that way," I stated and pointed, as my feet touched ground.

"Two more lie there and there."

Arash said nothing for a moment.

"I am to assume they have seen our craft, then?" He asked.

I gave a small noise, answering in the positive. I gestured for him to follow, a small movement of my fingers. We began to make our way back to the shore.

"What is your plan in retracing our steps?"

"We hide near the boat. If they come, we ask our questions and kill them. If not, then we are undiscovered."

His lips pursed at this, but he continued to follow my steps.

The intensity of moonlight through the leaves rose as the foliage thinned out. Eventually we breached the green wall around us, and as soon as the noise of our arrival happened, it was promptly greeted with a heavy Lycon voice.

"What business have you here?" One of the two soldiers below bellowed. Behind me, the sounds of footsteps quickening. Arash brushed past me immediately after. As he did, he whispered, "Drop your sword in the bushes, and take my lead," and his face shifted, falling and smiling in the way only a drunk mans does. I paused. Then, quietly, unbuckled and gently lowered my blade to the ground by the belt and stepped fully into view.

"Oh, my gentle men! My lady and I assumed this island unoccupied!" He said jovially. Beneath us, the men laid palms on sheathed swords as we approached.

“What business have you here?” The Lycon repeated. His words were harder this time. Yet Arash continued his descent towards the pair, unhurried and content. With hesitation, I followed steps behind him.

“We have heard great tales of an empty island off the coast, where lovers come to meet! My lady’s home does not approve of her laying with a man of my colour, so we have come away to be free from harsh gazes.”

I said nothing. Simple stood and watched. The Lycons stares turned to me.

“Why does your woman walk armoured?” The other, who has yet to speak, asked.

“A man cannot help what he craves, my fine fellows. She is a farm girl, as your eyes can tell you, and she is as quiet and shy as a blooming flower. Yet my pain brings her pleasure, and I do not altogether disapprove of the process, save for the bruises she leaves after. So we must come to the remote spots of the world to feel comfortable in expressing ourselves.” He does not slur his words as much as he extends them, enunciating with extreme difficulty.

Two hands still lay on swords, despite Arash’s words. Yet we are close to them now, and Arash continues to regale them with tales of created misadventures as he walks beside and around them slowly. His hands wave gently and stand away from his body, and he laughs heartily as he reaches the boat and sits contently. They both turn to stare. For a few moments, he talks at them and they stand, uncertain. Then, he winks softly over their shoulders, at me. Their heads turn, and I cross my arms, trying to look like I’ve never felt. A want to hide my outer self, the armour I wear, the scars on my arms and legs. They see and unthreatening farm girl clad in something she does not belong in, and turn back to Arash.

My movements are quiet and pristine as I use my toes to slip from my sandals. My footsteps are as silent as a branch falling in a maelstrom. I pad softly along the sand, and reaching the man standing slightly behind his companion, wrap one arm around his neck. My bicep sits under his jaw. The other cups the back of his skull, hand above his left ear and elbow near his right. With a strong and quick kick, his legs tumble from underneath him.

The other sees commotion in the corner of his eye and turns. With a shockingly smooth chain of actions, Arash delicately picks a rock from underneath his feet. He hefts it in his fingertips and flicks his wrist towards the man. The stone sails through the air, round and flat, perfect for skipping along the water, and cracks the bridge of his nose as a blunted blade would.

The man in my arms squirmed and wriggled for lack of air. His eyes bulged. I tightened the grip of my lower arm on his neck and reached to his lower back and fumbled until my fingers hit a daggers hilt. I unsheathed it and placed the blade in his throat with one quick action. I let him go, his weight pulling the dagger from his neck. Blood rapidly pooled beneath him.

His partner was almost released from the shock of having his nose bisected as I lunged to him and slid the pointed tip into the soft flesh beneath his chin. He gurgled as he fell. I let the dagger drop with him.

Arash stared at the scene at his feet. His face was bare. Not blank and uncaring. Not emotive and horrified. Something simpler and less rich. He continued to stare for a handful of moments as I picked the man I had strangled by the armpits and dragged him what felt very far into the bushes at the edge of the forest. When I fixed the tall leaves over his body and began to kick sand across the trail of blood, Arash arrived with the other.

Soon we stood on a smooth, white beach once again.

“We did not arrive at an opportunity to question them,” Arash said lowly. I made a noise in my throat.

“We know where their camp lies.” I responded, and began to walk.