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The first time Lexa sees Wanheda she is five years old and she falls in a river.
She and the other children are taken into the woods to train. There’s a clearing next to the river that Indra and Bena decide is a good place. Bena stands in front of the neat lines of children while Indra stays behind him. She will be taking over training from him soon; Bena is not only there to train future warriors but their teacher as well.
Bena begins to pair them off to begin their exercises. He glares at Lexa, who turned her head to glance at Costia, in hopes of being paired up with her.
“Lexa!” He barks, and Lexa flinches, snapping her attention to him. She ducks her head, she wasn’t supposed to move. “Pair up with Derrek. Maybe he’ll teach you to fall in line.” Lexa gulps down a protest and moves off with Derrek, near the river. Derrek is nearly ten, he’s the oldest of their group and will likely be chosen as a second soon. Lexa’s grip tightens on her wooden practice sword. As well as being the oldest, Derrek was merciless. He always caused heavy bruising and sometimes broken bones.
“Begin your parries,” Indra shouts, and the order is barely out of her mouth when Derrek brings his sword down on Lexa’s head. Lexa barely gets her own defense up soon enough; she stumbles under the strength of his blow.
“Would you actually try?” Derrek growls and Lexa huffs. She lashes out with her sword, attempting to slash the older boy across the ribs. He’s too fast though, and before she knows it Derrek has her disarmed and his sword at her throat. Lexa can hear the river roaring behind her—she can almost feel it—but she holds his gaze.
“You got me.” She says. Derrek scoffs and turns away before removing the end of his sword from Lexa’s throat.
“I’m not going to get any better practicing with you.” He says. His back is turned to Lexa, though. So Lexa does the only thing she can. She launches herself at him, driving her fists into his exposed kidney. His breath whooshes out of his body and he falls forward. Lexa scoops up her sword as Derrek stumbles in an attempt to keep his balance. He turns, and there’s a look of fury in his eyes that makes Lexa’s stomach drop.
“That’s it.” He snarls, and attacks. Lexa barely keeps up with his battering attacks and steps backward with each one until she is right at the bank of the river. Derrek moves to stab her in the gut, but Lexa spins out of his way. However, the ground beneath her is slippery with river water, and before she can make it out of the way the point of Derrek’s sword connects solidly with her forehead and she falls backward.
The river is cold and fast flowing. Lexa sinks at first, stiff with shock. Then she tries to take a breath and chokes on water. She flounders to the surface, and there’s nothing she can do as she’s swept downstream away from the group. She can barely keep her head above the water. She spies Indra sprinting along the bank of the river, then her body slams into something hard and she’s sent spinning.
Lexa can’t do anything against the might of the river. She chokes on the water and tries to stay relaxed as her body is battered; against sunken logs, rocks, and other objects in the water. The current is too strong; she is literally helpless. Occasionally she manages to break the surface, but usually not long enough to draw breath. It’s all she can do to trust that Indra will not leave her to such a terrible fate.
Just as she’s starting to lose consciousness, a hand wraps around her upper arm and pulls, hard. Lexa hits cold air and feels herself being dragged through the mud. She gasps before coughing violently and vomits up a mouthful of water. She keeps coughing until she’s too weak to continue, and flops back.
She takes in great big breaths for a few minutes. When she finally feels like she has enough air in her lungs, Lexa gets an arm beneath her and slowly starts to sit up. The world spins, too quickly for her, and Lexa quickly flops back down.
“Careful,” An unfamiliar voice says. “Just lie back for a moment.” Instead of obeying them Lexa whips her head to the side, taking in the unfamiliar woman crouching beside her. She scrambles backward, away from the woman, who frowns. “I said lay back.”
“Who are you? Why did you save me?” She demands. The woman sighs, rolling her eyes.
“It’s not important for you to know who I am. It wasn’t your time, and so you are alive,” she says cryptically. Lexa regards her with suspicion before cautiously settling back on the ground. She takes a second look at the woman, trying to recognize her.
She’s not very wet despite pulling Lexa from the river, only to about her knees, and she’s dressed in a strange way. A rough hood is pulled over tangled blonde locks which spill over her shoulders. She has the barest smudge of warpaint under her eyes, and the rest of her clothes look nothing like typical trikru gear.
“Who are you?” Lexa insists, more curious than ever. The woman regards her for a moment before her head snaps up at the shouts of Indra and a few others.
“Not important.” A half smile splits her face, and she says something in English Lexa doesn’t understand before vanishing into thin air.
Lexa is still gaping at the spot where the woman disappeared when Indra finally reaches her. She kneels on the ground next to her, grabbing her chin to force her gaze towards her.
“Lexa!” She growls. “Are you alright?” Lexa nods against her hand, but the movement makes her feel dizzy. The instant Indra removes her hand Lexa falls back again. Indra catches her before she hits the ground, and the last thing Lexa remembers before blacking out is being scooped up into her arms.
Lexa squares up against Anya, elbows in, fists tight as the older warrior instructed. She is nine years old and she’s been Anya’s second for two months, which have been the hardest of her life. She wouldn’t have it any other way. Her body throbs in pain from Anya’s blows, but she ignores it, focused on her mentor instead. Anya rolls her shoulders in preparation for their next round. They’ve only been at it for a few hours, but Lexa is already sore and tired. She tries to conserve her energy because after sparring comes sword training, but Anya pushes her hard enough that she’s forced to perform with all her energy.
“Attack.” Anya orders and Lexa doesn’t hesitate before flying towards her. Lexa doesn’t pull punches, and neither does Anya as they dance around each other, feet and fists flying. Lexa concentrates on her form, gritting her teeth against all the blows Anya lands. She doesn’t give as good as she gets, not even close yet, but she manages to sneak past Anya’s guard once or twice.
The two of them seperate after Anya shoves her away in an attempt to knock her off balance. Lexa spins with the momentum, keeping her center of gravity low in order to stay upright. The two circle, each judging the other to see who would break first. Lexa was the one to move, launching at Anya, ready to deliver a fake to her gut.
“Enough!” The cry echoes over the training field, and instantly the sounds of fighting stop. Lexa pulls up, turning her head curiously towards where Indra called for order. She spies Indra, striding into the training field. Her freshly tattooed head is held high and her hands are clasped behind her back. “Chief Lucas is here to overview training.”
Despite the discipline of the warriors, a whisper ripples through the field. It’s not often the chief of Tondc comes to watch their training. There are mostly younger, less experienced warriors out at the moment, during their allotted time slot. Lucas usually reviewed and trained with the older warriors. Lexa stands up straighter as she spies movement near Indra. She’s far enough away that she can’t quite see her or Lucas. She can hear them fine though.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Lucas demands, his voice gravelly with age. Lexa catches a flash of graying hair before suddenly her feet are swept from under her and she lands in the dirt.
“Enough daydreaming,” Anya says as Lexa struggles to her feet.
They immediately return to sparring, alertness at an all-time high. Lexa is more aware of the heaving warriors around her than she was before, paranoid that any moment the Chief will pop out of the crowd. The heel of Anya’s palm connects firmly with her nose and Lexa flinches back at the pain. It’s not broken—it’s not even bleeding—but it hurts all the same. “Concentrate, goufa .” Lexa shakes her head to clear the fog as Anya regards her over her own loose fists. She fares better after that—more concentrated than before.
They spar for a while longer before finally being interrupted. Anya drops her guard and immediately turns to face someone behind Lexa. Lexa, however, doesn’t realize there is someone else there and jumps on the opportunity. She aims a punch at Anya’s throat but hits a little lower than expected. Her fist connects with Anya’s collarbone, which makes her stumble but not to the effect Lexa expected. She frowns until Anya recovers enough to glare at her. Only then does Lexa have the sense of mind to turn around.
“I expected you to aim a little higher,” Lucas says pensively. His arms are crossed and one of his eyebrows is raised as he observes Lexa. “I bet you did too.” Lexa gulps. “Mistakes on the battlefield are costly. You cannot afford them, especially when faced with a ruthless enemy. Come.” He jerks his head towards the center of the field. “Let us allow your second show to off a little, shall we Anya?” Lexa looks back at her mentor, who nods. She then turns to follow Lucas, who was already striding through the crowd.
He leads her to the middle of the field, where another overeager second is already waiting. Lexa doesn’t know his name, but she recognizes his face.
“Lexa.” Anya comes up next to her, bearing a real sword. With a start, Lexa realizes the other second is already holding one of his own. She looks at Anya, panicked all of a sudden. “Don’t worry, it’s not a fight to the death. Just a display of skills.” She nods at Anya’s explanation and draws the sword offered to her.
She takes up a stance a few meters away from the other second. The other warriors form a clearing for their fight, with Lucas and Indra standing front and center. Lexa grips the sword in her hand, swinging it a few times to get the feel for it. She almost isn’t ready for the other second’s charge. Almost.
Lexa slips under his strike easily. He is taller than her and misjudged the height of his slash. She taps the flat of her blade against his chest and he looks down, surprised. Lexa glances over his shoulder at Anya, who nods slightly. It’s all the approval Lexa needs. She whirls into action, and they meet with a clang of metal on metal. She is by no means a master, but she is determined to win this fight. The other second seems to share her mentality, as his eyes harden as he continues to fight, whirling away from where their swords were locked. They’re nearly even in skill, and they both start panting as the fight extends.
Just as Lexa thinks Lucas has to call the fight a draw, the other second steps forward and kicks her unprotected shin. Lexa gasps in pain, and her sword hand reaches down on reflex to sooth it. The other second’s face lights up; Lexa has left herself exposed. In his eagerness, his slashes his sword carelessly, blade out.
Fire blazes on Lexa’s stomach as he slices her just underneath her light armor. Her sword falls from her hand and clatters on the ground. As though in a dream, Lexa moves to press a shaking hand to her wound. It comes away soaked in black blood, and her next breath is labored. Ever so slowly, she falls to her knees, and from there onto her side. She catches a glimpse of the other second’s terrified face, and then Anya is taking up her line of sight, pressing her own hands to Lexa’s stomach.
“What are you doing?! Leave your incompetent second, the fight isn’t over!” A warrior growls.
“Maybe you should be teaching yours some restraint,” Anya growls. “We need a healer!” Lexa hears the conversation as though underwater. She groans and her head lolls to the side. A stunned Indra appears in her line of sight. Lucas is beside her, and though his surprise isn’t as evident his mouth is open a fraction.
“Natblida,” He whispers, and then Lexa slips from reality.
“Lexa, Lexa!” Someone shaking her awake is the next thing Lexa processes. “Wake up!” She opens her eyes slowly, moments after she closed them. A blurry figure appears, blonde hair falling to tickle her face. As her eyes focus, the figure shrunk away, leaving a gaping, empty space above her. Lexa whines; there was something familiar about the figure, something she can’t place. She turns her head to the side, hoping to catch sight of her. Instead, she’s met with the sight of Anya, slumped over in a chair by her bed, eyes blotted with dark shadows.
“Anya,” Lexa groans, trying to sit up. She cries out in pain instead, her stomach feels like it’s on fire. Anya jolts awake at the noise.
“Lie still, you stupid goufa .” Anya’s hand appears on her shoulder, pressing Lexa back into the mattress. “It’s a miracle you’re even alive, the healers said you would be lost.”
“Where’s the woman Anya?” Lexa asks.
“What woman? There’s only been me and the healer.” Lexa seals her lips instead of answering the question. She knows what she saw, and she’s beginning to remember why the woman seemed so familiar. But it was impossible, it should be impossible. She’s a legend, meant to scare children. Lexa has never believed, not really. Why should she now?
The war with Azgeda has been raging for two years. Lexa has survived it, so far. She’s survived everything, all fourteen years of her life.
She thinks she won’t survive this. Not this time.
Lexa has been tasked with returning to the most recent battlefield to search for survivors, scavenge for weapons and armor, and—if it came to it—put the dying out of their misery. She has already slit the throat of a man whose intestines were spilling from his gut. Despite him being Azgeda. She doesn’t want anyone to suffer any more than they have to.
But this is war, and around her is a field of broken, bloody bodies, some of whom she killed. She doesn’t know how many, she lost count. On the battlefield, it’s kill or be killed. Lexa doesn’t have a choice.
She picks her way through mangled bodies and churned earth, eyes peeled for anything that might help her clan end this war. Anything will help , she remembers a tired Anya telling her as she tasked her with the mission. So Lexa searches.
Most of the gear is too damaged to be of any use, and Lexa has mostly been mercy killing for the past hour. She’s counted four, and she’s only made her way through a portion of the field. She has, however, managed to pry a few spears and decently kept sword out of the mud. They’re slung over her back, to be added to the cart she left at the edge of the field.
Finally, with the sun going down, Lexa makes the decision to go back for the night. She pauses for a moment to catch her breath before calling out.
“Costia!” She calls. “Come on, we have to go.” She spins around, looking for her companion. She shouldn’t be too hard to spot. She and Lexa are the only living people within a two hundred meter radius. But she doesn’t see her and starts to worry. “Costia this isn’t funny. I know you can hear me. I’m going back to the cart. You can come with me or be left here!” She yells out. Lexa bites her lip deciding to give the field another sweep before heading in.
She nearly cries out when she spies movement in her peripheral vision. Her head snaps toward the source, and she arms herself with one of the spears she scavenged. It takes her a moment to see what moved, but she spies a hooded figure with their back to Lexa crouched a little ways away. She sighs gratefully, she really didn’t want to make her way back to camp alone in the dark, and heads towards her.
“Costia, let’s go.” She jerks her head towards the cart once she gets within a couple meters of her. Costia’s head pops up from where it was bowed before.
“Hang on a second.” Her voice is thick and scratchy, almost unrecognizable. Lexa peers around her to see what she’s kneeling over, and lets out a small “oh” when she recognizes him.
It’s Derrek, an arrow in his throat and eyes wide open. Lexa sets her spears on the ground, Derrek may have tried to kill her before, but there were no grudges amongst her clan anymore. Costia reaches up to his face and closes his eyes.
“ Yu gonplei ste odon .” Costia bows her head again, and her shoulders rise with an intake of breath before she stands up to face Lexa. Lexa jumps back in surprise when she shows her face.
“You are not Costia,” She says, leaning down to grab a spear. It’s the woman, the one who appeared to her twice before. Her hands are covered in gore and dirt, and the signs of battle are streaked across her face, although she does not appear to be injured herself.
“No, I’m not,” The woman responds.
“Then who are you?” Lexa snarls. The woman holds out her hands in an amicable gesture and takes a step towards Lexa, who merely raises her spear higher.
“Easy. I think you know the answer to that.” Lexa draws a shaky breath. It couldn’t be true.
“ Wanheda ,” She whispers despite herself. The woman smiles sadly, and a chill runs up Lexa’s spine. “Why?”
“I think you know that too.”
“No, I don’t.” Lexa clenches the spear tighter as Wanheda takes another step towards her. “Stay back.”
“Do you really think I’ll bring death to you when I’ve saved you twice already?” Wanheda asks.
“Why then? Why save me, and not any of them?”
“You’ve heard my story.” It was true. Every child grew up hearing the tale of a great meteor falling from the sky that destroyed a Trikru village. When her people went to search the wreckage they found many more bodies than they should have. Some of the remains were strange, too soft and unscarred to have lived long on the ground despite being fully grown.
And then, in the very middle of all the destruction, they found a young blonde girl kneeling in the ashes. The only survivor. She vanished into thin air before they could exchange a word, and many speculated her to be the cause of the tragedy. Since that day, many stories circulated about a blonde terror appearing at deadly tragedies; floods that wiped out whole villages, forest fires that seared flesh from bone, battlefields of mass carnage. And so the Commander of Death was born.
“I may command death, but I do not choose fate.” Wanheda tilts her head and smiles. “I can control it a little, though. And I know it like no other.” She steps forward again, and she’s now close enough to touch Lexa. “I know your fate.”
“Stop!” Lexa yells, stumbling back. “You did this, do you not regret the lives you waste?”
“Of course I do,” Wanheda says sadly. “But even I must obey fate. You understand that.”
At her words, rage consumes Lexa. She lets out a war cry, concerned with Wanheda and Wanheda alone. Lexa launches herself at her, reaching out to tackle her.
Instead, she lands face first in mud watered by Derrek’s lifeblood. She lifts her face and spits, the iron tang of blood heavy in her throat. She looks over her shoulder, only to find that Wanheda has disappeared.
She lets out a frustrated cry and slams her fist into the dirt. Tears prick at her eyes and she squeezes them shut to keep them from falling. Her cry echoes over the field, but Lexa doesn’t care. The sound travels back to her, and she is enraged when it’s not even her voice. It’s Wanheda’s.
“ May we meet again. ” In English. Lexa understands now, and it floors her. She never wants to see Wanheda again, because all she brings is death and suffering.
“Hey.” She hears Costia say after laying in the mud for an undeterminable amount of time. She must have been drawn by her shout. Lexa grunts in response. “I heard you yelling, what happened?” Costia settles into a crouch beside Lexa. She tilts her head curiously to try to look Lexa in the eyes, but Lexa turns away.
“I think I’m losing my mind,” Lexa mumbles. Costia lets out a sigh and places her hand on her back.
“I know.” Her hand starts to move, rubbing a flat palm between Lexa’s shoulder blades in a soothing manner. Lexa breaths out, and they stay there until long past dark. It’s only then is she able to pick herself up from the ground.
“We should be getting back. Anya is not going to be happy.”
“Anya is never happy.” Lexa smiles slightly at Costia. She’s enough to bring her back from the brink of insanity. And in this war, it’s something she desperately needs.
Lexa feels like she can’t breathe, and it’s not just the oppressive smoke clamoring at her lungs. It’s this entire moment; the weight of her new shoulder piece, they prickling of the eyes of her people. The anxiety over whether or not Wanheda will show her face again.
Probably not. Costia and Gustus are already dead, very dead. Because of her, because she was weak enough to need protection. Lexa has already turned cold along with her lover and the man she considered her father.
But still, Lexa has a feeling that she might come. She’d been researching, trying to find some secret that might explain why she keeps seeing ghosts. That’s all she found; Wanheda was a ghost.
Costia had laughed teasingly at her. Giggled over the fact that she was pouring over an old legend instead of coming to bed with her. Lexa would do her best to ignore her, but when her arms snaked around her waist and her lips brushed the shell of her ear it was all but impossible not to be dragged to bed and fall asleep entwined with the love of her life. Gustus had been more subtle, gently reminding her about the war they were in the middle of in order to draw her away from her books. Now Lexa regrets listening to them.
If she had just found something, anything. Then maybe she could have ended the war when she was called to lead her clan and saved countless lives. Maybe she could have used Wanheda instead of simply being haunted by her. She’s sixteen and has already lead so many to their deaths, has already lost so many she’s loved.
“Commander.” She hears the word, so joltingly out of place. It’s English; the only English word her people use regularly. It ensnares her attention and forces her to turn her head towards the one address her. “You need to rest. The pyre is cold. Your duty is done here.” Indra says.
“My duty is never done, Indra.” She says sadly. Indra remains quiet, but despite her response, Lexa knew exactly what she was trying to say. She sighs and turns her gaze back to the smoldering pyre one last time. “I’m going to retire to my tent.” Lexa spins on her heel, avoiding Indra’s gaze and marching to her tent.
She sweeps aside the canvas and only when it falls close behind her does she allow the tears to slip down her face. She makes her way over to her bed and rubs at her eyes. Her hand comes away black with smudged warpaint. Her eyes burn with the sting of the paint and her tears, and Lexa rubs them fiercely in an attempt to make it stop. It doesn’t work, and in a fit of enmity, she tears off her shoulder piece and her coat, throwing them to the ground.
Her mind flashes back to the events of the day. She recalls the box, sent to her as a gift from the Ice Queen. She was cautious in opening it but more curious than anything. That curiosity turned to despair, however, when the lid was lifted to reveal two severed heads belonging to Costia and Gustus. Their patrol was captured by the Ice Nation, and though Lexa feared the worst nothing she could imagine could have been as terrible as seeing them carelessly thrown into a box together.
“I’m sorry.” Lexa takes a sharp breath as Wanheda’s voice fills the tent. Her hands fall to her sides, itching to reach for her discarded sword. But she remains stationary and doesn’t turn around or move for her weapons.
“I knew it would be too good to be true,” she says dully. She knows Wanheda will understand what she means. “You just can’t stay away from me, can you?”
“Lexa, your path leads to more death than almost anyone I’ve ever seen. I wish I could change that for you.” Wanheda walks forward to stand next to Lexa, who finally looks at her out of the corner of her eye.
“Almost anyone? I’ve been slaughtering people for most of my life.” Lexa responds acidly.
“And you’re only human,” Wanheda murmurs. Lexa draws in a sharp breath.
For so long she thought of Wanheda as a mythical figure, a legend. But in this moment, she sounded so painfully much like a girl with the weight of worlds on her hunched shoulders. She bites her lip, considering how to respond, but Wanheda squares her shoulders before she gets the chance.
“Gustus and Costia’s spirits will be taken care of, I’ll see to it personally. Death is not the end, Lexa.” Her eyes are intent as they bore into Lexa, an endless blue just like the sky.
“Thank you.” Lexa has to look away. Wanheda’s stare is too intense for her.
“ May we meet again, Heda,” She says, and Lexa’s head snaps over to where she was standing. The English was jarring enough, but Heda...it sounds familiar. Like it was calling to her.
“What was that?” She demands at empty space. “What is Heda? Wanheda!” She growls, then sighs and collapses on her bed. It seems as though Wanheda cannot leave her mind alone, always leaving her with some new mystery to solve. Lexa is tired of it. She’s so tired, and it's all she can think as her eyes slide close and the world deadens around her.
“This way Commander!” Anya yells, shoving Lexa in front of her. Lexa hears the sound of her warriors fighting and dying behind her, but she can’t look back. There’s no way she can and not rush to their aid, which would be stupid. They were dying so that she could get away. Dying for her.
They were taken by surprise by an ambush on their way to the Ice Nation's capital to negotiate an end to their nearly decade-long war. Lexa’s party was heavily outnumbered; they were a small, peaceful force consisting of only Lexa, Anya, six warriors and an ambassador. The ambassador fell first; a spear in his chest knocked him off his horse in the middle of his conversation with Lexa. Lexa can still see the surprise and pain in his eyes.
“This whole thing was a trap. Azgeda never wanted peace,” Lexa growls as she and Anya flee for their lives.
“Run now, regret later,” Anya pants. “Faster Lexa!” She follows Anya’s advice, pumping her arms and legs harder, not bothering to watch her step. Her instincts will keep her footing. Her head has to figure out how to save them.
“There!” She cries, skidding to a stop in the snow in front of a metal grate. “Get inside.” She hauls the grate aside and Anya pushes her in first before clambering in after. She pulls the grate shut and throws herself over Lexa, another layer helping hide her from view.
They fight desperately to control their breathing, knowing that being too loud could mean life or death. Lexa hears the shouts and crunching snow, made by the ambush party. The snow is disturbed by patrols enough in this part of the forest, making it unlikely that Azgeda will follow them by tracks. She repeats it to herself because at the moment it’s the only thing keeping her calm.
Lexa’s theory is proven correct as the party races past their hiding spot. She and Anya hardly dare to breathe until they are long past. The noise fades eventually, and at last Anya moves off of Lexa to crouch in the tunnel that’s too small for them to stand up straight.
Right now, they’re trapped between the grate and a wall of collapsed rock. There are a couple meters between the obstacles, leaving barely enough room for the two of them to sink into the shadows.
Anya moves to peer out of the grate, but Lexa grabs her arm and shakes her head. Anya glares at her, but Lexa holds her gaze. She may have been Anya’s second, but the days of her conceding to the older warrior are long past. They will not give Azgeda the satisfaction of flushing them out. Not if Lexa can help it. It’s a waiting game now, one that she is determined to win.
They wait out the night behind the grate, still as death and just as quiet. Once or twice, they spy a member of the ambush party, but they never wander too close. Anya’s nostrils flare and her eyes turn to chips of flint each time they come into view, though.
Lexa doesn’t want to think about what she’s planning in lieu of a worst-case scenario. She knows what Anya’s duty is, but refuses to acknowledge it. Wryly, she takes it as a good sign that Wanheda doesn’t appear. Maybe that means they’ll both make it out of here alive.
Finally the first rays of dawn spill over the horizon. Lexa squints at the brightness of the snow, but despite her stiff muscles and aching eyes, she thinks it’s the most beautiful sunrise she’s ever seen. The sky turns red, a tribute to those lost in the day before. There is no sign of Azgeda.
“Stay here.” Anya holds out a hand as Lexa starts to move. She reaches up to her face, smearing her warpaint into a crude imitation of Lexa’s. Lexa’s stomach drops as she realizes what Anya is doing. She’s making herself bait, just in case.
Anya pushes out the grate, lowering it to the ground gently to prevent noise, and cautiously slinks out. Lexa bites her lip and stretches her sore muscles, preparing to burst into action at a moment’s notice.
Anya takes a few cautious steps into the forest. Her head is on a swivel, scanning the icy forest for danger. She is crouched, ready to dive to the side at any moment should danger fly unexpectedly from the trees in the form of an arrow or a spear. Lexa’s breath comes in shaky gasps; every moment that Anya is exposed is another that she’s in danger.
But despite the odds, Anya makes it to a tree and scrambles up it, quick as a squirrel. She hovers on a branch in Lexa’s line of sight, her hand held up in a gesture for her to stay.
They hold their positions for more than an hour. Anya does not detect any movement, Lexa knows her facial expressions that she can see every shift in her otherwise stone persona. She is a constant the entire time she watches.
Anya lowers the hand telling Lexa to remain in place and climbs down the tree. Lexa sprints out of their nightlong hiding spot and meets her at the base of it. They don’t talk, but exchange nods and head off. They both know what has to be done; return home now, revenge later. Blood will have blood.
The two warriors reach the border of Azgeda territory by the end of the day. The sun is low on the horizon, and Lexa is exhausted from fighting her way through the snow and being on constant edge all day. Anya is taking her turn breaking a path for them, remaining several feet in front of her while Lexa watches their backs. She looks just as exhausted as Lexa feels.
“Nearly there, Commander. There’s a Trikru trading post not far from the border, we can rest there-” Anya is cut off by a dull thunk of an arrow hitting flesh. She gasps in pain, and Lexa’s head snaps forward towards her mentor, taking in the arrow still quivering in her back. There’s another flash, and a second arrow hits its mark just below the first. Anya wheezes and falls to her knees. She sways, obviously trying to stay upright, but there’s nothing she can do as a third arrow hits her, seconds after the first. She falls forward in the snow.
“Anya!” Lexa screams and runs forward, arrows be damned.
Her first instinct is to crouch down to see if Anya is alive, but her warrior instinct kicks in. She draws her sword, and after a moment’s thought, Anya’s too. Lexa spins around a snarl on her face and a growl in her throat. The sight of seven Azgeda warriors does nothing to faze her, instead enraging her even more. Three of them have their bows drawn, the rest are armed with various swords and pikes.
Lexa’s mind works furiously. She’ll have to take out the archers if she has to stand any chance of surviving. But they’re thirty meters away and she has no long-range weapons. And even if she reaches them, the four others pose another difficulty.
As she debates her course of action the archers quickly reload, focusing their aim at Lexa. A heavy wind sweeps through the field, but Lexa knows it will do nothing to inhibit the archers. They’ve been training for this kind of task since they could stand. Lexa takes up a fighting stance though. If she’s going down, she’s going down swinging.
The archers don’t have to communicate as they release their arrows at the same time. Lexa registers the twang of the bowstrings, and time starts to move like tree sap. She readies her swords—she’s been knocking arrows out of the air since she was twelve. She can do this, she can survive.
But the arrows never reach her. Someone catches them instead.
Wanheda stands directly between Lexa and Azgeda, the arrows clenched in her fists. She lets out a roar, throwing them point down towards the ground. They bury themselves so deep in the snow and into the frozen earth that even the feathers at the end are hidden from view. Wanheda disregards them the moment they leave her hands, stepping forward menacingly at the warriors. She throws out a hand in their direction, fingers in a tense claw formation. The wind blows harder, making her hood and cloak flutter rapidly.
“You. Don’t. Touch. Her.” She growls, and only then do the warriors look terrified. They scramble, slipping on the snow as Wanheda’s hand clenches into a fist. One of the archer’s bowstring snaps, hitting her in the face. She doesn’t flinch, terrified as she is by Wanheda, and her blood splatters against the snow. Lexa watches in awe, and it’s only when the wind dies down and the warriors disappear from view does she remember the woman bleeding out behind her.
Lexa whips around and falls to her knees beside Anya, who is still fighting to take shallow breaths. Lexa’s hands shake as she reaches out for her mentor’s shoulder. Anya grunts weakly and turns her head to Lexa. Her hair is covering her face, and Lexa ever so gently brushes it behind her ear. She misses on the first attempt, blurry as her vision is with tears. She doesn’t want to move Anya, in the fragile hope that if she can administer even the barest of healing then she’ll be fine.
“Wan...heda?” Anya gasps. Blood pours out of her mouth as she opens it, staining the snow crimson. “She’s real.”
“Yes, Anya.” Lexa’s voice breaks and she can’t stop the tears that spill from her eyes. “She saved me. Now I can save you.” Anya breaths out in relief, sinking into the snow even further. Her eyes flutter closed and her mouth starts to go slack. “No, hang on Anya! You can survive this!” She cries desperately, even though she knows she’s spewing lies. Anya takes one more shallow breath.
“You survive,” Anya whispers, and then falls still. Lexa lets out a sob, and her tears drip down to mix with Anya’s blood.
“Get up Anyas” She cries. “Death is not the end, it can’t be. Get up!” She’s yelling at a corpse now, but it doesn’t stop her from shaking her mentor in a feeble attempt to revive her.
“They will come back Lexa,” Wanheda says after Lexa sobs for a few minutes. “You have to go.” She whips around to face Wanheda.
“I can’t leave her! Not like this.” Lexa is nearly hysteric and Wanheda looks like she’s on the verge of tears herself.
“You won’t. I’ll protect her. But you have to get out of here !” She pulls Lexa to her feet. “I promise, I will protect her, but only if you go.” Lexa can’t breathe as Wanheda shoves her forward. She stops firm, fighting with all her remaining strength.
“Wait!” She falls to her knees next to Anya’s corpse and, using Anya’s sword, cuts off one of her braids. She shoves it into a pouch at her waist and staggers to her feet. “Don’t let her go alone.” Wanheda nods determinedly, both as a gesture of acknowledgment and a way to urge Lexa onwards. Lexa turns and starts running. She doesn’t look back. She can’t look back.
Lexa is twenty years old and is covered in the blood of the last person she cared about.
It’s finally over. Lexa staggers through a courtyard of the dead. She thinks she should be one of them, as wounded as she is. She lost feeling in her left arm hours ago and can barely stand due to a deep gash in her thigh. An arrowhead scratches against her side lodged in a chink in her armor. She snapped the shaft off when it hit her so that she could continue fighting. The endless pace of battle had prevented her from feeling much pain.
But the battle is over now, and Lexa feels everything. Every scratch, every bruise, every fatal blow suffered by her and her people. Still, she lurches through the courtyard like one of the dead, intent on her target.
Nia quivers against the wall she is pinned to by Lexa’s sword. Lexa had thrown it in a last-ditch attempt at ending Nia’s reign of terror. She draws in gasping breaths as blood drips down her chin. She’s still alive, but she won’t be for long. Lexa is going to make sure of that.
She doesn’t make it all the way to the wall, collapsing instead a few feet away when her leg finally gives out. She lands in the pool of blood at Nia’s feet and the sticky feel of it makes her shudder. Lexa groans and tries to push herself back to her feet. She fails, falling back to the cobblestones. Nia laughs weakly at her, which only enrages Lexa. She reaches up, trying to reach her sword so that she can yank it from Nia’s chest. She’ll be damned if she dies before getting the satisfaction of seeing her greatest enemy fall.
“It’s over Lexa.” A gentle voice soothes her. Lexa grunts, she knows that Wanheda is here for her this time.
“Not...yet.” She gasps, still reaching for the sword. She falls pitifully short, fingers trembling in the air inches from the hilt. A calm hand covers hers, helping her stretch the last few inches.
Wanheda closes Lexa’s hand over the hilt of her sword, and with the last of her strength, Lexa pulls it from the wall. A river of blood pours from the wound in Nia’s stomach, and she collapses next to Lexa, nearly on top of her. Lexa scoffs in disgust, but she has nothing left to move away with. Wanheda does that for her, laying her ever so gently on her back a couple yards from Nia.
“You can let go now.” Her voice cracks and there are tears in her eyes. Lexa thinks it strange, such a powerful deity crying over her of all people. She gently brushes the hair out of Lexa’s face as her vision slowly fades. First, the courtyard around them and then the rest of the castle until all she can see is Wanheda’s face edged with the blue of the sky. It strikes Lexa how uncanny the similarity between the sky and Wanheda’s eyes is.
“Stay?” She pleads. Wanheda lets out a half laugh half sob.
“I will be with you forever.”
Lexa is twenty-two when she closes her eyes for the last time.
Legend tells of a powerful being roaming the earth far and wide. A being with power over death itself, appearing to guide the doomed to their end.
The stories pass down through the generations, of a girl who fell from the sky and proceeded to leave a bloody wake in her path, never seeming to succumb to her own power. She comforts those on their final journey, guiding them to where their path takes them next. Wanheda lives on, tied to the very earth and the fate of its people.
The stories also tell of a fearsome warrior, following Wanheda wherever she goes, protecting her from those who wish to do her harm. One of the past commanders, many believe. Some say they’re lovers, some think enemies. But whatever the truth, it is without a doubt that Heda is beyond loyal to the Commander of Death, and will forever follow her to the ends of heaven and earth should that be her will.