In Her Blood

I feel a presence move through the crowd and it sets my hairs on end. There's another round of heated words directed at it. I look for a knife. I look for a club. I look for anything at all that would be there to aid my bare hands. I finish my drink and break the glass on the ledge. It will do, the sharp stem. Nothing permanent, but certainly viable in the short term. I get some frightened looks and the crowd takes another step away from the terrible noise.

The presence slips behind me and it takes all of my self-control not to drive my shiv into her neck. It's her. It's the other one. She is here to posture and dominate and turn this whole affair rather ugly. The bear swats at his ball and tries to find a corner to sleep in. He gets pelted with a rotten apple and snarls at the source.

"You have to be careful," says the other Gaisgeach, "They don't make things strong enough for us here."

I say nothing and watch the sky. It's so vast, so limitless. It is every horizon and every opportunity present in the same moment. I could at least get it in her side, maybe hit something soft and vulnerable. If I get the stomach, then that's a good way to bleed her out.

"I'm not here for violence," she whispers, "And neither are you."

She's right. The instinct was there, but the impulse has passed. I don't need to cut and pierce and bleed. There is something else there, raging against the venom barrier in my system.

"Put three whole needles in me before they let me come," I sigh.

"I got four," she says.

"Yeah, but I bet my needles were bigger."

"Sure, sure. Have they given you any food? They just give me more wine. I'm not complaining, but I would like something to eat."

She finally gets my attention and the barrier of my soul almost breaks. Almost. The venom rebounds and numbs me to the urge. She's in a dress, a pink dress like a church bell, shoulders and arms bare. She looks strong. She looks indomitable. There's powder on her cheeks deepening them down to rose red. I would kill to have my arms free like that. The sleeves are too tight, the cuffs too choking, but this is what I was given. She looks me up and down, sizing me up, finding out where to stick her own shattered glass before chucking it over the side as far away from the bear as she can. I do the same. It seems to be uncouth to be armed here.

"We're done then," I ask.

"We're done," she sighs, "maybe. They'll find something else to fight about. Or they'll find someone else to fight and we'll be back in iron and steel, blood drunk and crazed. The cool downs were always fun though."

"They were."

"Had one from the archer lines join in, unofficially. Stars, her arms were strong. Her grip was incredible."

"Had one of the medics join me. Made the sweetest noises and always liked to cuddle. She's the first one I've had that wanted to wake up next to me."

"That must have been nice."

I hum something affirmative and try to pull one of the servants over for more wine. And food. We need food. We have no food. We deserve food.

"Poor little guy," she says, gesturing down to the courtyard entertainment. I hum something similar in agreement.

"I've been thinking," she says, "about what we are."

"Warriors. Weapons. Killers. Heroes," I say, "Fiends. Monsters. Demons. Scum. There are all of words that they call us."

"That's what I mean. What they call us. What do we call ourselves?"

"I don't know. I think Gaisgeach works well enough. Bit of a mouthful, but still."

"What do you think we are? Out of all those things you said, what are we?"

"Like I said, Gaisgeach. It always sat right with me, more or less."

She sighs and looks again to the people around her. There should be food and we have none. I don't want to go out to the spread and scare so many people. I want to sit on my stoop and drink and look at the stars.

"That's what we are when we fight. What are we when we aren't fighting?" she asks, of me but mostly of herself.

"I don't know. I've never not been fighting, so I guess that's always what I am. They look at us and see the evil we can sow without a second glance. They call that a Gaisgeach and that's what I call us."

"I call myself Cam. What do you call yourself?"

"Finley. But I also like Finn."

She giggles and it's a soothing tone. Light and airy, almost like the shattering of glass.

"How many times have we tried to kill each other, and this is the first time I've had the pleasure of calling you Finn."

I don't see the pleasure in it per se, but I don't deny the oddity in the seeming distance between us. Hard thing to kill someone with their name on your lips, I've always presumed. But I find that I like the way mine fits hers.

"Y'know what I think," Cam says, leaning over the railing, "I think we can be something else now."

"They won't let us. Its not what we are."

"What we are changes. You put us on the battlefield and we're Gaisgeachs. You put us somewhere else and we're something else. You think that bear is the same as here as it is in the woods?"

The bear roars again and I can't help but think Cam has a point.

She pushes her braid from one shoulder to the other. Heavy, thick thing it is, interlaced with gleaming silver threads. I'm not wearing anything that fancy. I have a signet ring on my finger for a house that I don't belong to. Or maybe I do. I don't recall, but that's all I have. I want to reach out and feel it. It looks soft. It looks like a fun thing to twirl around my fingers and play with. I don't. The serving boy brings us more wine and a handful of summer sausages that look molding and wormy. It's what they are throwing at the bear. He scurries away before terrible things can befall him.

Cam finally taps into our shared anger. She smashes the tray on the floor and it shatters. A gasp falls over the crowd and the guards start a cold sweat. I smell the ice-cold fear wave over me and it is wonderful. The bear growls again and the people down below laugh and cheer. Cam takes a deep breath and the anger calms down. I am calm. She is calm. The room is calm.

"I want to know what we are when there is no more fighting," she whispers.

She looks to me and her eyes are green. Venom green, just like mine. They are shining and sparkling. There are tears in them. I don't like that. Rage, unfiltered rage at those tears. Cam should not cry. Nothing should make her cry. I look at the crowd and they are watching us like we are uncaged beasts.

"There are cliffs to the south," I whisper, "about an hour's ride. They overlook the sea by an abandoned lighthouse. You've got me curious now. I want to know too."

Cam hiccups and takes the reins back. The tears dry. There's no more wine and there's better food out there. To my surprise, she darts forward. For a moment, the old instincts get in my head. She's fast enough to slip through my guard and plant a gentle kiss on my cheek. It tingles as she pulls away. It ignites and sparks and arches down deep into my core. There aren't enough needles in the world to quell that feeling.

"Tomorrow afternoon," she calls out as she parts the crowd like a battalion under her axe. I hum my agreement. The crowd looks to me and thinks of what I will do if I am angered. I don't think they will ever get the full picture. I can do so much more than they could ever imagine.

---

The sea crashes below me, so far below me. I watch the sea. I watch the waves. I watch the suggestion of ships crest and plummet down. I watch the clouds roll and run. I watch it all from my perch on the edge of the world.

I'm thinking of nothing at all. Nothing, so much nothing. I am. Nothing more. Nothing less. I am here in the spray of salt with the wind in my hair and fluttering my cape behind me. I let my horse wander away. It was skittish and frightened the entire time. It ran and I'll worry about that part when I need to. I don't know if Cam is coming. I don't know if I want her to. I don't know if she wants to. I'm not thinking about any of that. I am watching the waves and feeling not furious and not full of bloodlust.

Content, I believe, somewhat similar to what I feel after my sedation as I drift into dreams. I sit in the moment and let it fill everything I am without thought, without feeling, without even believing it. There is no faith. Just existence. This is what I am, when I am not on the battlefield, a passing thought without mass, a ghost, a suggestion of a person. I take the shape of one, I have the parts of one, changed almost beyond recognition, and I have the actions of one. But I am not one. I am nothing at all.

I let go of the breath I was holding and take in a new. I inch closer to the edge. The wind calls to me. I can fly, like one of the clouds. One step and I would be sparing with them. It seems nice, to drift along the wind, to collect and grow, the scatter and shrink. No form, no weight, nothing at all. I inch closer. A wave breaks and hits my face with a cool mist of salt water. It feels good. I feel it, but I do not think.

I do not think either as I hear another horse approach from my left. Heavy steps, a draught beast, sturdy, carrying something just as weighty on top. It whinnies and snorts, skittish as my own. I grip my weapons. Might have been a mistake to bring them, but I need them. I need them at hand every single moment of every single day. No armor though. I couldn't sneak that out of my barracks.

Cam dismounts and I can feel the air part for her. Her presence alone strikes the earth down to its core and out the other side. She sways with the wind, never bowing to it and never breaking. An endless mountain range breaking the sky like a jaw of hungry fangs. It eviscerates reality. I turn and face her.

No dress today, and I feel an odd tremor in my stomach. I wanted another dress, to see her bare shoulders, her bare arms, the deep valley of her cleavage. But I get simple riding leathers and that is its own little treasure. And her axe. She looks comfortable, simple. Her hair is back in a braid, without the threads. Plain, and even that is striking in its entirety. She smirks when she sees me ogling so openly. That doesn't stop her looking at me in the same way. I opted for something a bit more opulent, but still designed for utility.

"You look like you're dressed for a funeral, Finn," Cam says. I like wearing black. I can't help it. It looks good on me. I just shrug.

"You brought your axe," I say. My hands go to my own weapons. The spear on my back slips from its loops and I bear an inch of steel for her.

"You brought yours as well," she says.

Cam lets the weight rest in her hands. The gravity well draws me in. More bits of steel and the spear comes free in full. She rolls her shoulders and then it comes to her stance. I have mine. She looks sad as her body moves to prepare for me. Feet into the earth and shoulders a rampart against the world.

I move and I am the wind. The sea breeze goads me on and we clash. Shockwaves into the sea, the ripples carrying on to some distant foreign shore. She shoves me away and I come to break myself against her. An effortless block and I am pushed back again.

It's her turn and the weight she brings crushes me. The grass waves with our impacts. Heat, we are heat colliding together. We are weight and fury and rage of the physical strength we carry. Despite it all, I'm oddly calm. There is no armor to protect me. One slash to the gut and I would be slaughtered like a pig. I wish I had more to eat last night. I wish I had more to eat on the way here. I wish I would get dinner tonight. That sounds nice, especially if Cam would join me. Her axe tries to take off my head, but I am faster than her. The butt of my spear finds her knee and she hobbles to get some space.

We have room today. The ground is dry, and the hills roll with gentle suggestions. She looks radiant with her bubbling anger. I haven't had any of my needles today and I feel good. Everything is as it should be. Nothing to wake me up or calm me down or turn me inside out. I spin my spear and bring my sword to meet her axe. She is light and heat incarnate.

The flow changes and catches me off guard. I am the first to break. My spear is now in two parts, but the one I hang on to has the business end. Could be worse. She smirks a bit and I find an odd flutter in my breast. My spine straightens and I bounce on my feet. Less to move and I am faster now. A tempest on the sea with the waves growing higher.

We have the rhythm, and I can't break it. Neither can she. Habits, good and bad, beaten into us and the knowledge of both ourselves and one another. I know where she will hit, and she knows where I will defend. Back and forth, we play our game.

The sun sets now, turning the sea golden and shining. I don't have an ounce of fatigue in me. If anything, there is more heat now than ever. It burns in me, and I love it. My jacket is gone, and I don't know where it went. I've cut into her trousers right along her thighs. I watch the bulge snake down her leg and my own grows in response. She notices it and smirks. I love her smirk. I love the way it plays with a scar I gave her across her cheek. I love the way it looks when it turns into a grimace. Her axe comes down across my chest and splits my shirt open. I have something on my face, and I don't know what it is. A smile, I am smiling. I bring both down on her and she brings down the axe to meet.

The cliff gives way, sending us both teetering. I run. I run to stable ground with her on my heels. The rough rock gives me handholds and I pull myself up. I heave my body onto the grass and gaze at the sky, out of breath and panting.

"Help," Cam calls.

Panic, raw panic fills me as I bolt to the edge. She has a hand on the ledge and the other on her axe. Everything's clenched and tense and scrambling. I put out my hand. She's calm, all things considered. Our tumbling boulder falls and sends a massive spray of water to us, soaking through everything.

Cam looks to my hand and looks to her axe. A moment of hesitation is all it takes to make her decision. She drops it and takes my offer. I heave. I hoist. I lift her enormity up from the cold claim of the sea. Another wave breaks and shoots a geyser of spray in defiance. Cam collapses on me and takes her own breather.

She is heavy. I don't know why I think to remark that, but it is true. She is heavy, all of the work done to her and from her has sculpted her flesh into dense muscle. I know there's something they did to our skeletons as well, but I don't know exactly what. They did so much to us and now we have to sit with what we have done. Breaking things and changing the landscape and carving our own way with steel and pain. She's on me and I feel her breathing in time with mine. It slows down just as mine does.

Our breasts press together, and she starts shuffling. The pressure feels good, and I wish she wouldn't move so much. Just a bit so I can breathe and watch the sky instead of being buried in her shoulder. There's also a braid in my mouth.

I don't get the sky. I get her and her eyes. They're not green anymore. They're a soft blue, just like the sky, just like what I want. I look into them and see no tears, feel no pain.

There is no pain, despite the pressure, despite the wounds, despite everything I've had done to me.

"You lost your axe," I say.

"You lost yours too," Cam says softly.

"I can get new ones."

"So can I. But I don't think I want to right now."

I hum in agreement. I don't feel naked right now, but I think I would like to be.

Cam darts through my guard again and kisses me. She is burning up. I taste steam and heat through her lips. I feel her blood boil through her skin. She rocks her hips against mine.

"I didn't think you would have one of those," she sighs.

"We all do," I say, "Part of the process."

"I know, but I've never been this close to find out. I like it."

She's back to kissing me and I can't help but agree. Its nice to be close to something like me and not have to kill it.

Not to say the urges aren't violent. They are just new, freezing me in place as she holds me down. I like being held down. I think she's the first person to actually be able to do that. And this is the first time I have to fight to get my way with someone. Not that hard, judging by Cam's body and the way it moves, but still.

"What were you doing on the edge," she says. There's a sultry purr in the question, tinged with a mote of concern. People only stand on ledges when they are thinking and thinking leads to tragedy.

"Thinking," I say, "About what we are. And what we should be. I didn't come to any conclusions. The best I got was I want to be a cloud."

"I don't have any answers either," she says, "But I also kind of don't care. I am Cam. That's all I'll ever be."

"Then I don't want to be a cloud. I am Finn."

"Yes, you are."

I am clear headed and light as a feather. Stiff as a board too, but not entirely unpleasant. I am awake and moving and clear as lake ice. I see everything I am and come back with nothing at all. An empty shell without a blade, a husk drifting in the wind. I have impulses in me and they don't give any answers. I want her pressure on top of me. I want her lips on mine. I want us to join in our libation union that has been dolled out to us. And I want to go to sleep for a very, very long time.

I have pains in places I can't name. I have aches that don't fade. I have so much pressure on every inch of my body and that is nothing of what is on me, gazing into me with soft blue eyes. That playful smirk is gone. Concern has won.

"You were going to jump, weren't you?" she whispers. The thought crystalizes into some ugly black knot in my throat.

"I don't know," I croak, "I honestly don't. I might have been. I just thought that I could fall away."

She kisses me again and that does a remarkable job of cutting the knot. It's still there. It still urges me to roll over and fall into the sea. But I don't want to take Cam with me. I want her smirking and playing and eating better things than moldy sausages begrudgingly fished from the garbage. I am the wind, formless and moving and shifting and empty. She puts her forehead to mine, and I can't look anywhere else other than her. We are aligned together. My arms go to her waist and hold her still. My hands are shaking, and the muscles keep them still.

Everything rages inside me, and I am conflicted. I want softness. I want roughness. I want everything. I want nothing. I have Cam in my grip, and I move my head to her shoulder. Her heartbeat is strong and steady. Her hand goes to my scalp and plays with my hair. Her fingers are strong. Gentle, but I can feel the calluses and scars. Broken joints pulled back together. All of her is broken. All of me is broken. We fit together in all the shards and jags and grind to a halt. I feel the wind slip between us and tickle my stomach. I think it's a tickle. So very few things in my life have tickles to give me.

"If we're doing this," Cam whispers, "I think we need to move somewhere else. I'm used to roughing it, but I'd prefer not to."

In addition to being stronger than me, she is also apparently smarter than me. I don't like that. I also don't like the fact that a loose stone is digging into the back of my knee. I also have to bend my spine in a weird s shape to lie flat. This really is a bad spot. I don't know why I picked it.

"The lighthouse," I say, pointing down the shore, "No one goes there."

"Not quite true," she smirks, "We're someones and we're going there."

She lifts me with ease, and I am back on my feet. I am aroused, painfully so, but everything is covered with the barest modesty. Her own erection juts from her hips in a ravenous bulge. I will devour her as she devours me. We have some trouble walking, but the lighthouse grows closer.