(no subject)
With a tug, the room full of Them snaps away, and Helen is left short of breath in darkness, back to a cold wall.
She puts out a hand, and breathes, straightening. She’s alone.
It takes her another moment to realize where she’s alone; to realize that she’s in one of the back hallways of the House, to realize she’s Home.
Helen chokes back emotion, and stiffens her shoulders. She parts her hair, stiffly, and walks along the hall.
Everything is sparsely lit, and from the lack of sound, empty. It must be night. Helen stops when the hallway splits, one side veering sharply left and the other gradually turning right.
Helen knows where she is. If she turns right, she will be heading upwards, she will find the eating hall and the rooms of the most senior Hands. If she turns left, she could find her rooms. She could pack her protective clothing and her knives, the things she had to leave behind when she was exiled. She could leave; she could gain honor by not showing her face until she’s made Them pay.
Helen hesitates. She turns right.
--
The most senior Hand was very tired; but when he saw who it was he spluttered for a good minute before bidding her to sit.
He was even more scared of her than before, Helen thought, but he filled her in on the doings of her world while preparing coffee for them. It was not as early as she thought it was, only an hour before the servants usually woke.
Helen drank her coffee, and said very little during that meeting. She was thinking.
--
Helen decides she will eat breakfast with the rest of the Hands. She doesn’t see why she shouldn’t.
She stiffens her jaw, and straightens her shoulders. Her hair is still firmly behind her ears. When she walks in, the already quiet room goes silent.
"Haras-uquara," says Hand Raqen after a moment, standing and rushing forward, stopping short of her. "You’re safe, thank Uquar."
Helen stiffens for a moment, almost taking a step back, and then relaxes. The rest of the Hands come forward to greet her, quiet but genuinely glad, and a small part of her is warmly pleased.
--
Helen has the burnished key from the librarian; Pani often wakes up before everyone and grabs food from the kitchen, going to the archives before anyone in their right minds. She walks through the stone archway, and carefully unlocks the sturdy metal door. She turns to relock it behind her.
She walks down the turning staircase, and at the bottom lays a hand against another doorway, speaking a quiet word to it and unlocking it; relocking it and speaking another word to it. It has the ease of long practice, the door opens to her like it’s heard her voice hundreds of times.
She reaches the drop door and calls "Is there a Hand below?" through the small barred window.
"Give me a moment!" comes the frantic reply, "Just a second, just a second; sorry, I was just-hmm," the voice breaks off into muttering, and Helen hears the crank spin easily.
As the drop door lifts, Helen ducks through and climbs down the ladder.
"Haras-uquara!" Pani exclaims, and Helen turns to see him leaning on a crutch, blinking at her through his glasses. "I-hello," he tells her, after a moment, smiling in a way that might be called slightly dazed.
"Hello," Helen says, suddenly uncomfortable. "You may call me Helen, if you wish."
There’s a pause, and he nods to her. "Helen, then; would you like some coffee?" He’s swinging himself back over to his chair.
After a moment, Helen follows him, surprised to find herself almost smiling.
(Later, she goes into the deep archives, and finds a door, just in case.
It doesn’t open.)
She puts out a hand, and breathes, straightening. She’s alone.
It takes her another moment to realize where she’s alone; to realize that she’s in one of the back hallways of the House, to realize she’s Home.
Helen chokes back emotion, and stiffens her shoulders. She parts her hair, stiffly, and walks along the hall.
Everything is sparsely lit, and from the lack of sound, empty. It must be night. Helen stops when the hallway splits, one side veering sharply left and the other gradually turning right.
Helen knows where she is. If she turns right, she will be heading upwards, she will find the eating hall and the rooms of the most senior Hands. If she turns left, she could find her rooms. She could pack her protective clothing and her knives, the things she had to leave behind when she was exiled. She could leave; she could gain honor by not showing her face until she’s made Them pay.
Helen hesitates. She turns right.
--
The most senior Hand was very tired; but when he saw who it was he spluttered for a good minute before bidding her to sit.
He was even more scared of her than before, Helen thought, but he filled her in on the doings of her world while preparing coffee for them. It was not as early as she thought it was, only an hour before the servants usually woke.
Helen drank her coffee, and said very little during that meeting. She was thinking.
--
Helen decides she will eat breakfast with the rest of the Hands. She doesn’t see why she shouldn’t.
She stiffens her jaw, and straightens her shoulders. Her hair is still firmly behind her ears. When she walks in, the already quiet room goes silent.
"Haras-uquara," says Hand Raqen after a moment, standing and rushing forward, stopping short of her. "You’re safe, thank Uquar."
Helen stiffens for a moment, almost taking a step back, and then relaxes. The rest of the Hands come forward to greet her, quiet but genuinely glad, and a small part of her is warmly pleased.
--
Helen has the burnished key from the librarian; Pani often wakes up before everyone and grabs food from the kitchen, going to the archives before anyone in their right minds. She walks through the stone archway, and carefully unlocks the sturdy metal door. She turns to relock it behind her.
She walks down the turning staircase, and at the bottom lays a hand against another doorway, speaking a quiet word to it and unlocking it; relocking it and speaking another word to it. It has the ease of long practice, the door opens to her like it’s heard her voice hundreds of times.
She reaches the drop door and calls "Is there a Hand below?" through the small barred window.
"Give me a moment!" comes the frantic reply, "Just a second, just a second; sorry, I was just-hmm," the voice breaks off into muttering, and Helen hears the crank spin easily.
As the drop door lifts, Helen ducks through and climbs down the ladder.
"Haras-uquara!" Pani exclaims, and Helen turns to see him leaning on a crutch, blinking at her through his glasses. "I-hello," he tells her, after a moment, smiling in a way that might be called slightly dazed.
"Hello," Helen says, suddenly uncomfortable. "You may call me Helen, if you wish."
There’s a pause, and he nods to her. "Helen, then; would you like some coffee?" He’s swinging himself back over to his chair.
After a moment, Helen follows him, surprised to find herself almost smiling.
(Later, she goes into the deep archives, and finds a door, just in case.
It doesn’t open.)