The Rise Of Wanheda.

Chapter 5: Wanheda.

The unforgiving nature of my demons would aways stay with me, but I had now become ready to fight them night after night. Just as my mindset began to change so did my appearance. I had collected  more of those dark, red berries and used them to transform my golden locks into a deep shade of blood red. They were braided for practicality but also because I was now living my life as a grounder, so a grounder I would become. I adapted my clothing to fit with this life and wore dark paint made from ash upon my face.
Clarke Griffin was fading away giving into something more savage. She would have a heart of stone, become emotionally locked down, guarding against the brutality of this world and the nightmares that plagued her. This was my defining moment, the realisation that I never intended to return to the arms of Skaikru. This temporary exile had now shifted into a permanent existence. I'd lost so much of myself in that mountain, there seemed like there was no way to ever retrieve that part of me. I learned to live like a shadow, a solitary ghost of the Trikru forest, nameless or at least that's what I thought.

Returning to my shelter from a successful hunt, I happened upon a masked man in the woods. He approached me and spoke in Trigedasleng, I didnt know enough of the language to to understand his words. He held up a sketch of a  face I recognised, only this fair-haired girl from the sky was known to him by a different name. He called her Wanheda and he urged me to answer him. I shook my head and bowed it to hide my identity. As I began to walk away he grabbed me by the shoulder, stopping me in my tracks. I swiftly took a hold of my dagger and drove it into his leg. He yelled out and dropped to the ground, holding the blooded wound. I found part of a tree branch on the ground and without a second thought I struck him across the face, knocking him out.
It seemed my anonymity hadn't lasted long and that the world had a new name for me. I intended to find out why.

The orange glow from the candles illuminated the small room that was my shelter. The grounder I had knocked out had been unconscious for a few hours. I'd bound his hands behind his back and secured him to a disused pipe on the wall. His face was covered in scars not all from battle, some were etched upon his face in the shape of arrow heads. I'd seen something similar when meeting with the war chiefs before the march on Mount Weather. He was Ice Nation.
I had finished eating my catch of the day just as he awoke. Sitting silently I watched his eyes focus upon my face, realising I was the girl he was seeking out. "Yu laik Wanheda!" He growled as he wrestled with his restraints, to no avail.
I held up the sketch he carried, "Who gave you this?" I demanded, but no answer was given. I traced the blade of my dagger down to the wound on is leg and repeated my question, "Who gave you this?"
Once again he refused to answer. I grinned at him, knowing I would feel no remorse for what I was about to do. He called out in agony as I sliced into his leg. Waiting for the screams to finish I continued to question him, "Wanheda? What does it mean?"
A crazed smiled crossed his lips as he spoke, amused I was ignorant to its meaning, "You are Wanheda, The Commander of Death, Mountain Slayer!"
I recoiled at the mention of Mount Weather, a part of my past I was desperately trying to suppress. I feared it would always follow me, fate had its cruel way of reminding me. "What do you want with me?" I queried.
"A storm is forming in the North. Azgeda warriors are craving blood and my Queen seeks the power of Wanheda. She wants your head." His words chilled me, I had no understanding of this power he spoke of. If the Ice Queen wanted me dead, it made me wonder how many more of these bounty hunters were out there. Who else was seeking out Wanheda and this myth that now seemed to surround me? I needed to find out.

I kept the Azgeda bounty hunter under watch for days until I gained the information I needed. The benefit of this was learning more of the grounder language, just enough to get me by. Now more than ever I had to do what I could to blend in.
My prisoner spoke of how the clans had heard of the events at Mount Weather, how Skaikru had survived and how their enemy was now destroyed. Clarke Kom Skaikru led the decimation, now holding the the power of death itself. She had surpassed her name and become something more powerful, she had become  Wanheda. The reality of what happened was quite different for me, but I knew grounders had their superstitions in such matters. It would seem that Azgeda and some of the other clans had now sought to take this power they thought I held in order to elevate their status in the coalition. Ultimately they wanted me dead, but I wasn't ready for it to end that way.
The dilemma of what to do with the Ice Nation bounty hunter played out in my mind. If I were to let him go he would bring others. If I were to keep him as my prisoner I would have to provide for him. If I were to kill him I would invite another ghost to haunt me. My decision was difficult but ultimately there was only only one  logical choice.
I untied him from the pipe, keeping his hands bound and placed a sack over his head. With a blade at his spine I led him up the ladders into to open air of the forest. The light of day was almost blinding. I took a deep breath before kneeling him to the ground. Never once did he try to run or fight, knowing in his heart this was to be his fate. I held his head and slowly, with some degree of care I pushed my knife into his neck. It was regrettable, but after all we were all just doing what we needed to do to survive out here.
As I felt his life slipping away a tear fell from my eye to honour the Azgeda warrior. May his ghost be kind to me in the afterlife now that his fight was over. I hoped he would find his peace.
Yu gonplei Ste odon.