Lightning and Final Fantasy XIII are the intellectual property of Square Enix. No copyright infringement intended.
Bêlit was created by Robert E. Howard in his 1934 Conan the Barbarian story, Queen of the Black Coast.
Chapter 2
Bêlit was a worshipper of the deity Ishtar. Ishtar was a goddess of war and blood, life and death, sex and desire. Ishtar was a lustful goddess, who often coveted the mates and lovers of others, mortal and divine alike. Ishtar was a greedy, avaricious goddess, driven by jealousy. Ishtar was a fickle, selfish goddess, who held grudges for millennia and perceived slights in the most innocent, unassuming remarks.
Little wonder, then, that Bêlit was devoted to her.
Lightning...well, it was not quite correct to say that Lightning worshipped Etro. Make no mistake – there was much about Etro that Lightning found...admirable. Estimable. Worthy. Etro was kind. Etro was compassionate. Etro could not abide the suffering of the weak and powerless. Etro did her best to provide a glimmer of hope to those in misery and despair. When Etro summoned Lightning to represent her in Valhalla, Lightning had been happy to act as the goddess' protector, to defend her from the onslaught of chaos.
But she did not worship her.
For almost all her life, Lightning had served the fal'Cie. She would never be a servant again.
One day, a struggle took place between the goddesses Ishtar and Etro, a struggle brought about by two of their favoured mortals.
When Lightning had agreed to become Bêlit's living trophy, Bêlit had ordered her shaman, N'Yaga, to tend to the numerous wounds that she had incurred in her defence of the Argus. Lightning had sat at the stern, the wizened, venerable bull-man wordlessly covering her cuts and injuries with herbs and paste, and watched as the raiders removed the final pieces of cargo from their stricken quarry. When the task was finished, N'Yaga was dismissed, and Bêlit settled herself next to her soon-to-be queen.
"The storm has died in your eyes, Valkyrie," Bêlit said, peering at her intently. "You fought so bravely this day. Have your wounds sapped all the strength from you?" Bêlit made a great show of seeming thoughtful, and then she laughed wickedly, and gazed hungrily at her. "What arts must I employ to inflame your spirit once more, I wonder?"
The sky darkened, and the wind strengthened almost imperceptibly. Every soul on the Tigress could smell the storm that had somehow managed to sneak up on them.
Lightning sighed. She'd had her little rest.
Lightning and Bêlit toppled over the side of the Tigress, and plunged into the ocean. Lightning's arm was coiled tightly around Bêlit's throat, Bêlit's nails digging unpleasantly into her skin. "Faithless wretch!" were the last words Bêlit managed to scream before she plummeted into the waves. "Slay her! Slay her!"
Bêlit's crew rushed to the starboard rail. Some were of a mind to dive in, and attempt to rescue their queen. Some were of a mind to throw down ropes and ladders. Others had hold of guns and spears, and were determined that Lightning would spend the rest of eternity bobbing lifelessly through the Black Veil. It made no difference either way. Etro had seen that her knight was in peril. Etro had come to offer what help she could.
At Etro's command, the storm whipped to life, rocking the Tigress back and forth across the waves, Bêlit's raiders stumbling and staggering around the deck, grasping for something solid to grab hold of so that they did not slip and fall into the depths. Cries went out to furl the sails and tie down anything that might be loose.
In the water, Lightning and Bêlit fought and struggled. Lightning's arm was looped around Bêlit's neck, and however much Bêlit scraped and scratched, and beat with her fists, Lightning would not release her. The two thrashed and wrestled, slowly sinking together into the freezing depths.
Lightning knew that she was going to die. She knew that she was going to drown, far from home, in this desolate, unfamiliar ocean. She knew that Serah would never know what had become of her sister.
It was all right. At least she was able to take this crazy woman with her.
Sensing the distress of her servant, the goddess Ishtar turned her attention to the Black Veil, and found Bêlit descending into watery blackness. Calming the waves, she stilled the Tigress somewhat, allowing the raiders to regain their balance, allowing them a few precious moments to attempt to save their mistress.
Etro instilled the storm with strength and fury. Harsh rains lashed the Tigress, and the raiders slipped and slid across the deck, roaring and bellowing, ropes and torches flying from their grasp. A merciless wind battered the vessel, and Bêlit's creatures were forced to expend all their power and effort on simply remaining upright, never mind helping their ruler.
Ishtar made the water somehow more buoyant, and Lightning and Bêlit floated and sank above and below the surface of the waves, relentlessly striking and clawing at one another.
Etro sent a bolt of lightning streaking down from the skies, incinerating a ram-headed creature taking aim at Lightning with his enormous crossbow.
Ishtar tore an opening in the storm clouds obscuring the sky, a shaft of light falling from the heavens and illuminating the region of water where Lightning and Bêlit were fighting.
Etro sent in a thick, gray mist, and the raiders squinted through the fog, their narrowed eyes pattered with drizzle, unable to see more than a few feet ahead of them.
The deities Etro and Ishtar, locked in a celestial battle to decide the fate of their human charges.
Try to imagine two goddesses fighting over a pair of dolls, pulling and tugging them this way and that.
The water was cold. Sensation was fleeing from Lightning's body – she could not feel her fingers, or her toes, or her lips, or her nose, and when she tried to move her legs, the movement was stiff and imprecise. Bêlit continued to twist and turn, but even she was becoming weaker, more lethargic – the freezing ocean was dampening even the great anger that burned within her.
Lightning was weakening, but she knew that she would never let go. She knew that she take this savage, this criminal, this pirate to the bed of the Veil. Lightning knew that she would die, but at least Bêlit had claimed her final ship. Lightning knew that she would die, but at least no more innocent people would fall foul of the Tigress.
With a hideous cracking of wood, the Argus upended and sank into the sea. As it descended towards the bottom, the passage of its great body created a pull in the water, and Lightning and Bêlit found themselves being sucked, pulled down with it.
With a cry of alarm, Etro made her last move.
()()()()()()()()()
Bêlit summoned every ounce of strength that existed in her body – and all she could do was roll onto her belly, and groan into the dirt.
Sand. Sand on her lips, and in her mouth, and on her tongue, and grinding between her teeth. Sand on her skin, and in her hair, and in the tattered, torn robes that hung from her shivering limbs.
Water. A sudden rush of water, surrounding her, immersing her, making her cough and splutter, and then vanishing just as quickly. Bêlit was on a beach somewhere. Somehow.
Cold. Bêlit was exhausted, and addled, and bewildered, but even in her debilitated state, she knew that her body had been subjected to a terrible ordeal. There was little time. She needed to find some place dry. Some place warm. She needed to cover herself with comfortable furs. She needed to put herself before an enormous, raging fire.
Cursing and groaning, Bêlit pushed herself to her feet, and began walking away from the ocean. Her legs were unsteady. Her sandals had been lost to the waves. Her entire body was numb, and the lack of feeling in her toes made walking a lot more difficult than she cared for.
Her breathing was ragged. Rattling.
I may develop a fever, before long, Bêlit thought. I may have survived the ocean, but only by Ishtar's favour will I survive the coming days.
The skies were overcast, a gloomy shroud thrown over the land that stretched out before her. Ahead of her, Bêlit could discern the shape of rocks, and trees, and mountains. This was not a welcoming realm. This was not a hospitable realm. Bêlit hissed, and grumbled to herself. She was a queen, a pirate, a ruler of the seas. She was not an explorer. She had neither the humour or inclination to investigate unknown territory.
Lightning's face floated up to the forefront of Bêlit's mind.
As she staggered away from the water, Bêlit grimaced, and clenched her fists, and ground her teeth.
When Etro's Knight had appeared before her on the seas, a series of visions had blossomed in Bêlit's head.
Bêlit had fantasized about outfitting her Valkyrie in an endless succession of colours and armours and liveries and uniforms.
Bêlit had fantasized about sending her Valkyrie to sack villages and cities, to sink ships and slay immense monsters of the deep.
Bêlit had fantasized about bringing her Valkyrie to the fabled Pirate Courts of the multiverse, the other Lords of the Veil gazing with fear and wonder and admiration and jealousy – Bêlit would so very much savour the jealousy – at her proud, stately queen.
Bêlit had fantasized about the stories that would spread across the entire Black Veil, rumour and whispers and shanties and ditties and yarns and tales about the Devil Queen Bêlit, and the stern-faced warrior that she had stolen from a goddess.
Bêlit did not realize that her eyes were blazing. Bêlit did not realize that her feet were stomping, that little splashes of sand and water were being sent flying upwards each time she planted her soles on the beach. Bêlit did not realize that her breathing was coming in petulant, inelegant snorts.
Bêlit forgot that she was deathly cold. Bêlit forgot that she urgently needed to find shelter, and warmth. Bêlit forgot that she had almost drowned.
Ingrate. Trickster. Betrayer.
Bêlit heart beat faster and faster. A fire began to grown within her chest, an inferno of hatred and vengeance and affronted indignation. Her blood raced through her veins, carrying this hatred to every corner in her body; her arms, her legs, her fingers, her knees.
Mongrel. Traitor. Thankless whore.
The tremble left Bêlit's legs, and where once she shambled and shuffled through the sand, now she stalked and prowled.
Devil! Liar! Snake!
The cold was gradually banished from her body. Her strength was returning.
Bêlit came to a sudden stop. She stood ramrod straight on the beach, lips pressed tightly together, balled fists at her waist, a dark fury in her eyes.
Bêlit was about to throw a tantrum. The Queen of the Black Veil was about to have a screaming fit, and although any civilized individual would doubtlessly find this immature, unseemly, undignified, and, above all else, unqueenly, there were two very important mitigating considerations.
One, there was no one around to witness such mortifying behaviour.
Two, Bêlit's all-consuming rage and fury had likely saved her from death by pneumonia.
Bêlit screamed. Normally, such paroxysms would be accompanied by violence, but, alas, there was nothing around to clobber and brutalize, at that moment, except for sand and seashells.
"Did I ruin your day?"
Bêlit turned around, and her nose crumpled beneath Lightning's fist.
There was a witness, after all.
()()()()()()()()()()
Lightning was utterly fatigued. She had engaged in battle, single-handedly, against an entire crew of raiders. She had fallen into the ocean, and been carried along by the currents – how long she had been travelling, and what distance she had come, she could not even guess.
It made no difference. Rest was a luxury she did not have.
Lightning was extremely grateful that she had been able to take Bêlit by surprise. She would be forever thankful for the fact that Bêlit was apparently demented enough to have a tantrum in the middle of a strange landscape with no knowledge of possible surrounding threats. Lightning was running on fumes, and she felt as though her muscles had been replaced by cotton, but at least she had the element of surprise.
Bêlit was a capable sorceress. Snarling with rage, abhorrence in her eyes, blood gushing from her nose, she flung waves of fire, lightning, ice and wind at her foe, her magic lent further strength by the bile in her throat and the searing glow at the back of her head. Luckily, while Bêlit had been occupied with making a scene on the beach, Lightning had armoured herself with an array of protective magics – barfire, barfrost, barthunder, barwater, shellra. Bêlit's spells had some effect, but Lightning was able to shrug the damage off. For now.
Keep close, Lightning told herself. Close in. Don't let her get any distance between us. You're stronger than she is. You're tougher than she is.
She's just a target.
Bêlit reached for the ornate dagger that she always wore at her waist. The scabbard was empty. It seemed the ocean had claimed her weapon, along with her footwear.
Lightning's knee connected with Bêlit's sternum. A right to the temple, a left to the jaw, and then Bêlit was sprawled on the sands, out for the count.
Lightning straightened, and her spine gave a satisfying crack.
She needed that.
()()()()()()()()()
When Serah and Lightning were little girls, they heard stories about the primitive people of Gran Pulse.
They believed every word.
They believed that Pulsians practised cannibalism. They believed that Pulsians were practitioners of witchcraft. They believed that Pulsians wore loincloths and headdresses, and painted their bodies, and stuck bones through their noses and ears. They believed that Pulsians led raiding parties to neighbouring villages, and made slaves of all the women and children, the men left with their hearts ripped out and their skulls caved in with rocks.
Eventually, Serah and Lightning became women, and agreed that these stories were probably nonsense.
And then they met Oerba Dia Vanille, and Oerba Yun Fang, and Noel Kreiss, and wondered how they could ever be so gullible, so naive. The people of Pulse were noble, and loyal, and kind – no different than the citizens of Cocoon. How foolish Lightning had been, to believe those ridiculous stories about brutal, cruel, bloodthirsty barbarians.
But what to make of this woman, then?
As a traveller across the multiverse, Lightning had come to be prepared for many contingencies. Though much of her belongings were lost on the Argus, she happened to have a length of durable cord on her person; this cord was now looped around Bêlit's wrists, restraining her. Lightning had forced her to sit cross-legged on the sand. Bêlit glowered at her captor, the intense loathing in her face amplified by the dried blood caking her mouth and jaw.
"Even as we speak," Bêlit spat, "my men are searching for me! The Tigress will scour every shore, every bay, every little pool of water for me, and when they find us..."
Here, Bêlit began cackling viciously. Insanity danced in her eyes.
"...oh, a much different fate awaits you, now! Much unlike the destiny I offered you before!"
Lightning stood a safe distance from her prisoner. There was determination in her eyes, and firmness, and resoluteness...but also, it must be said, a hint of unease. Lightning was spooked. How could she not be?
Here, hunched on the ground before her, was the Pulsian savage.
Here, bound in rope and hurling curses and threats her way, were all the frightening stories that Lightning and her sister had been told when they were children.
Bêlit. The Queen of the Black Veil. The most feared pirate of the spirit oceans. The sorceress acolyte of an uncivilized, warlike goddess.
Lightning examined her captive. Bêlit's outfit, sodden and torn though it was, had once been exquisite and extravagant. Robes of silk and velvet, painstakingly crafted and embroidered with gold thread. A necklace, and bracelets, and armlets, and hairpins, all expertly made.
All stolen, plundered from helpless victims.
Bêlit dressed herself in jewels and finery, but Lightning had seen her crew. Bêlit's minions betrayed the true savagery of what she was. Brutes and thugs. Beasts and primitives. Creatures with rotting teeth and missing fingers and wooden legs and eyes dulled by lifetimes of violence and desperation. Criminals with clubs in their hands, and axes, and hammers, and knives, and spears. Pirates who stole from decent men and women, and then squandered their ill-gotten gains, drinking it all away in taverns, and gambling it all away in dens, and screwing it all away in brothels.
When the Tigress sailed out of the ocean mist, Lightning had watched, astonished, as all those childhood stories had come to life before her eyes. Did Bêlit's crew eat their victims, Lightning only half-jokingly wondered?
"Well?" Bêlit demanded. "Had your fill of staring at me, yet?" Slumped at Lightning's feet, there was an undeniable challenge in Bêlit's posture. Bêlit was a savage...but now that she was a captive, did the savage have an expectation that savage things would be done to her?
When the Pulsians capture their enemies, they do such horrible things to them!
They put them in cauldrons of oil, and light a fire underneath.
They shrink their heads, and hang them as trophies from their belts.
They stake them to the ground, and cover them with honey, and then wait for the ants to come.
Do you expect me to put you in a cauldron? Lightning wondered, as Bêlit glared at her. I'm not supposed to cover you with honey, am I?
There was defiance in Bêlit's eyes. No matter what humiliation Etro's Knight would inflict upon her, she would not take her pride. Bêlit was Queen of the Black Veil! She would not surrender her dignity.
"You were going to make me your slave," Lightning said, coldly.
This caught Bêlit by surprise. "My slave?" she spluttered. Bêlit looked about in amazement, as though in disbelief at what had just been said to her, and Lightning couldn't tell if she was hamming it up, or if she was always this dramatic.
She had an inkling it was the latter.
"My slave? You mean to insult me, Valkyrie?" Even pushed to the ground, her arms tied behind her, Bêlit would lose none of her dark majesty, her twistedly regal bearing. Her breath was drawn from deep within her belly, and her voice was furious and sure. "Is that the respect you will accord the honour – the privilege – of standing at my side? I am Bêlit of Shem, captain of the Tigress and descendant of the kings of Askalon! Men fall at my knees on every coast and shore! I offer you the greatest gift that is within my power to grant, and this is how you repay me? With betrayal and disloyalty!"
A shadow fell over Bêlit, as Lightning loomed over her. When Lightning spoke, she couldn't quite keep the quiver from her voice. "Okay, first, stop calling me 'Valkyrie'! My name is Lightning. Two, you're a pirate! You're a criminal! You killed all those people! You tried...you tried to make me your...your sex slave!"
"I sought to make you my queen!" Bêlit cried, in a tone of voice which seemed to suggest Lightning had indeed offended an entire nation. "The greatest honour you are likely to be offered in your pitiable life!"
Lightning gave a flabbergasted 'O' of amazement, and then dismissed Bêlit with a defeated wave. "Forget it," she said. "You're crazy."
Hands on her hips, Lightning peered about at their surroundings. The sky was heavy with clouds, and there was a fraught atmosphere, as though a torrential downpour was liable to break at any moment. What little light there was faded each minute – it would be dark, soon. They needed shelter, but there was nothing to see but rocks, and hills, and forests, and mountains. No sign of civilization at all – though, considering the Tigress was possibly nearby, lurking the waters, Lightning supposed that wasn't entirely a bad thing.
She didn't want to endanger any more harmless civilians.
"Okay, Queen of the Black Veil," Lightning said, "where in your kingdom are we?"
Bêlit gave the landscape a sullen glance. "This region is not familiar to me," she said, suddenly glum.
Lightning groaned. "Great," she said. "Okay, on your feet, your majesty. Make any trouble, and you can have our rematch with your hands tied."
Bêlit tarried on the ground a moment, Lightning impatiently clicking her fingers, and then she began climbing grudgingly to her feet. Head bowed, Bêlit tramped across the sand, Lightning marching behind her. They ventured inland. The world darkened, and if the Tigress was out across the waves, they could not see her.