Chapter 17: Chapter 17: The Night

***

Dhanur was awoken by a loud and obnoxious bawnk.

She shot to her feet, spinning and drawing her bow. The speed of her ascent sent a spike of pain through her arm and head, but she only saw Janurana staring back with wide eyes. She was ready to strike the ax blade again with a semi flat rock she'd found.

“What are you doing?” Dhanur put her weapons away, squinting against the new throbbing headache.

“Sharpening the blade?” said Janurana with equal obstinance.

Dhanur sighed. “That’s not how you sharpen it. You’re just makin’ it worse.” Dhanur held out her hand. Janurana slowly blinked at her. Dhanur blinked back. Their standoff went on for far too long before she continued. “Let me help.”

Janurana blinked only twice more and pouted. Her lips morphed from a frown to a neutral expression and she handed off the ax while avoiding Dhanur’s eyes.

Dhanur examined the blade in much the same way Janurana had, at which Janurana turned up her nose.

“What did you do—” Dhanur stopped as she already knew the answer. Dents and folds of the blade overshadowed how dull it had become. She raised her brow. “Ya really smashed this down. You should’ve—I mean. I wish you’d asked first… Ugh. I did kinda gift it to you. If you didn’t know how to sharpen it would have been nice if you asked me how.”

Janurana opened her mouth to give some sort of excuse, then bit her lip to quiet herself.

“Look. Bone’s harder than you think, and in a real fight you’re a lot stronger than ya think. Especially if that was the first time it’s not a tiger or nothin’ so, yeah. They’re not invincible, just, you know, remember that. People don’t need to be cut to pieces to go down.”

“They were vetalas.”

“I know! I know you needed to then. I’m only saying. For next time.”

“Thank you, Dhanur.” Janurana rose to bow.

Dhanur nodded back. When Janurana handed over her stone, Dhanur cocked her head. There was the tiniest glint under the requisite soot. Rubbing it off revealed the stone was a chunk of bronze.

“Is that what that was?” Janurana asked.

“Yeah. It’s probably a peg? I’m betting for a cart wheel,” Dhanur surmised, checking the heavier end for a fitting ring, hole, or the like.

“What was this building for that matter?”

“Probably a stable, that’s why the door was big enough for Dekha. Hold on to this.” She tossed aside the peg and handed the ax to Janurana, then dug through Dekha’s bags.

As Janurana watched, she searched her companion’s form, which stood intangibly different. Even though Dhanur’s breathing sounded slightly off to Janurana’s more sensitive ears, Dhanur was still in her element, in her expertise. She stood straighter without even realizing it and moved with a purpose. Janurana basked in this aura of her confidence, covering her mouth to hide a coy smile.

Dhanur came back, holding out her hand for the ax with a rag thrown over her shoulder. She held a whetstone in the same hand she offered. Janurana obliged but held the handle firm as Dhanur lowered to the ground with it as a crutch. She placed the head on her thigh.

“Oh, right. You have to clean it off before you use the whetstone,” Dhanur relented at their lack of water.

“But I did clean it off,” Janurana remarked.

“It’s just the normal steps or, whatever,” Dhanur grumbled, plopping her arm on the head to hold it steady with a wince.

“Okay, okay.” Janurana slowly sat on her calves. “So, you clean it.”

“Yeah.” Dhanur cleared her throat. “Then get the leather under it, get the whetstone, wet the whetstone and then go.”

Janurana leaned in to watch diligently but recoiled, sneering in disgust when Dhanur spat on the whetstone.

“What? You hiding water somewhere?” She sighed as it wasn’t enough for the stone. “Gotta make do.”

Janurana relented, reluctantly scooting forward but was focused and fascinated as Dhanur began.

She fumbled with scraping the ax and let forth the bastard love child of a sigh and growl. The ax fell off her thigh and Janurana glimpsed the leather thigh guards jutting out from Dhanur’s belt. A flash of firelight illuminated the gouges scarring the one under the stone deep, true, and old. She looked to see if the other bore the same marks, only to see a single deep slash.

“I usually, only um, with arrowheads or my knife,” Dhanur stumbled with her words.

“You don’t have to excuse yourself,” Janurana reassured her and scooted closer.

Dhanur moved the stone instead of the whole ax.

Janurana tried to lean around her companion and was shooed away when she practically blocked Dhanur. Perturbed, Janurana leaned back but soon covered her nose. She could finally tell the off scent from before was coming from Dhanur. It ceased radiating out and instead clung to the warrior like a second set of armor. She still couldn’t quite place it, however. It certainly didn’t smell like unwashed hair. Janurana wondered if maybe it was the ax which was covered in blood not long ago. But that blood hadn’t made her sick and it was in Dekha’s saddle bags as they marched. But then again Dhanur didn’t seem to notice it. Even if it was nothing, Janurana kept her distance. Janurana wondered if she was misremembering how rivers affected her and if they toyed with her senses.

The moon was partially hidden behind the clouds with its purple storm blended so well into them. Janurana stole a glance up.

“New moon coming.” Dhanur pointed up with the whetstone as the moon’s violet storms were slower than the week before.

 “Yes. The wet season is almost here too, I believe.” 

“Wet season? You mean whetseason?” Dhanur spoke the word so quickly it practically lost all its consonants.

“Oh. Yes. Sorry,” Janurana chuckled.

“Here I was thinking I was used to your accent.”

Janurana chuckled again but at the word having taken on a new pronunciation since she was young. She continued to watch Dhanur sharpen the ax. It was rhythmic and practiced, even if axes weren’t her specialty.

“But yeah, I think you’re right,” Dhanur said.

“Do you ever think that’s where monsoons come from?”

“Where, the moon?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Huh. Maybe. Never thought about it. Like the monsoon clouds are on the moon? I’ve never seen anything come off it but maybe they come off when it goes behind the mountains, ya know, then builds back up?”

Something rustled outside. Both their shoulders tensed and both gripped the ax, ready to use it in battle. Janurana’s eyes flew wide and again, her breath hitched. Dekha hauled himself around, stomping the ground.

A jittering purple shadow, marked by two teal eyes, shuffled along the edge of the fire’s light that radiated through the door. The imp extended its stubby paw, too small to cause any genuine alarm, only to withdraw with a yelp when it touched the light.

Dhanur’s sigh of relief was silent compared to Janurana’s. Her breath exploded from her and her eyes grew again, not in fear, but realization. Her head fell to her chest as she relaxed her shoulders.

“What?” Dhanur wiped the slightest sheen of sweat from her forehead and chuckled at what looked like an overreaction. “Never dealt with an imp?”

“Yes, of course. Just not often.” Janurana lifted her head and whipped back her hair, revealing her smile. “They only come out when my mother isn’t around.”

“Not like they’re not still a problem. Worse now. Lot more of them around since the Scorching and all. But you already know that, right? I guess I haven’t seen it with your mother being around.” Dhanur fiddled with the whetstone and wiped the sweat from her brow yet again. The effort of keeping her pain in check was wearing her down. She then motioned to Dekha, who had gone to the door and was snorting at the imp who scurried away. But Janurana just continued smiling, looking past him. “He’s got the night’s watch. He don’t sleep. Why don’t you go rest? This is gonna take a while.”

Before she stood, Janurana paused, looking Dhanur up and down in an instant. “If you’re sure?”

“Course,” Dhanur replied. Janurana flashed another smile right at her. Her pulse quickened, but she smiled back. “Good boy, Dekha. Keep watchin’. Keep your ears on the windows too.”

***

Dhanur’s head lulled about as sleep crept up on her. Her eyes were so transfixed on the ax that the world around her faded. Minutes would go by between grindings. At one point she saw Aarushi apologizing, looking up as she always did since Dhanur was taller than most Keep guards. Dhanur shook her head, pouting, and admitted that yes, Aarushi was simply trying to be nice by sending her bow to be touched up by the Keep’s armorers. But they never treated it right, always forgetting her bow’s ends were spiked and simply buffed them like any other bronze before accidentally nicking themselves. Then they found and yelled at her. By the time Aarushi was apologizing, it had been hours since Dhanur had yelled at her Maharaj for giving her bow to the armorers again and had spent most of that time on one of the Keep’s roof’s looking out to the unscorched mountain in the distance. 

Then all at once her dream had suddenly become a nightmare. Her begrudging acceptance of her lover’s apology morphed to a wounded Gehsek happily drawing his sword, his smirk making the healed arrow hole on his cheek flex. Aarushi was limp, being carried out of the throne room like a corpse, Hegwous had removed the gem from her tiara, and Muqtablu was nowhere to be seen. Dhanur snapped awake and wiped more sweat off her brow, then scowled in confusion. She felt too hot to be so sleepy but was passing out. She reasoned it must have been the fire keeping her warm in all her armor, but she refused to take it off with Dekha chuffing at another imp pawing the window.

“Shoulda brought another drink skin,” Dhanur said quietly to herself. There was no question in her mind that the excess of saliva she kept swallowing was extreme thirst. She kept at the ax regardless. It was only one more day of walking before they reached the mountain.

Janurana relished the soft pawing of the imps and new wolf pack nearby. She sat as near to Dekha as she dared, watching the bedraggled but proud beast defend his master. His hearing was a match even for her own. He sniffed as often as his ears twitched and his eyes darted back and forth, seeing things she had yet to sense. She wondered if he was being extra vigilant since he almost missed her mother.

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The night creatures were just as fascinating to Janurana. It was exceedingly rare for her to outrun her mother and hear the Outside again. But they hadn’t traveled far enough for that to be the case. 

‘She’s scared,’ Janurana thought.

The last time that happened, at least that she could remember, she had found a rare southern spirit to help. It was only the fourth she had ever seen and the last. He kept her mother at bay for around a month.

The wolf packs outside barked away the imps, who would all chatter a response in unison and flock away like birds. A few smaller doles prowled about between the two factions and another creature was circling in the stumps, waiting to pick through their leftovers. It was long, slender, like a stretched out cat, and with rounded features.

“Madam Dhanur?” Janurana called.

Dhanur jolted awake. “Huh? Yeah, what?”

“I forget. The creature there. Its name.” She pointed and Dhanur strained to see.

“Kinda looks like a long, mean bunny?”

“Yes!”

“Rompo. Ya know. Scavenger. Remember? Corpse eater? Probably one eating the vetalas we chopped up too.”

“Yes! I remember now. Thank you. It has been some time since I saw one. They are quite cute, eh? Well, in their own way.”

“Guess so. Not many corpses these days for ‘em. Musta been a fun time after the war. Lots around after fights.” She yawned. “Remember one time we went out to collect weapons or stuff from the dead after a win. Rompos chewed up the bronze so bad we barely had any to melt down.”

“My, that’s quite morbid. How could you pull armor from the dead like a vulture?” 

“Like that. They’re dead. It’s fine, they ain’t gonna use it. They died well. Don’t want it to go to waste, let a vetala take their body and get some Keep made bronze, right?”

The wolves and imps continued scratching at the light, not learning their lesson. To Janurana, the sound of their claws kept the spirit of the land true. They belonged in the Outside, it was as though they came from the trees themselves, like people didn’t exist. No spirits, no fires, just the natural predators of the night. Her mother wasn’t around.

Janurana thought on why, wondering if they lost her through the canyon, if she had trouble with rivers too, or if she was only wary of Dekha. He was still huffing at everything that got close to the light. Every time he’d drag his horns across the ground or mock charge the doorway, they’d all disperse in a chorus of chitters and yelps. But they always regrouped, and he’d meet them again. It was a startling contrast to his stone silence at other times. Even when alarming he didn’t act like a typical bull, instead standing still and pointing with his eyes. Janurana smiled at how he was still an animal, stamping at wolves or marking his territory, even after all the gwomoni magic done to him.

A particularly loud metallic scrape, followed by a line of swears from Dhanur made Janurana scowl.

She felt the wilderness didn’t really deserve such disruptions. Dhanur sharpening was necessary to them surviving, like killing the squirrel to eat, but those curses burned her ears. If the forest had ears, Janurana figured, it would be as offended. Dhanur sat up and placed another branch onto the burning pile.

‘If Dhanur’s swears are polluting the forest, why am I okay with the snap of the fire or the hiss of the logs?’ she thought, moving her lips silently. Like eating the squirrel, it was necessary and did keep the forest creatures at bay. But the land was also burned enough. The forest didn’t deserve another crackling log. Once she thought about it, she thought it felt better because the fire was a softer sound.

“No. Because it’s like home,” Janurana whispered to herself.

Nostalgia flooded her, carrying her back to the fires in front of which she’d play. She remembered how she’d watch a servant cooking a meal for her, her mother, and her father when he’d visit. Those days she would watch from dawn to dusk as they prepared the lavish dinner, holding onto the edge of the table to peek up until some cook took her on their shoulders. It was always more of a curiosity as she had never fully taken in how the canyon river fish got from wriggling to cleaned and cooked on her plate. With that plate she was placed at the table next to her mother who scolded when she did anything improper, but was always conversely encouraged by her father. When they bickered she would look to the fire and her toys sitting on the hearth waiting to be played with again. But her mother would always bring Janurana’s attention back to the meal with her stern, yet gentle tone.

‘But home had lots of weapons when mother waged a war. They needed sharpening.’ Janurana rubbed her cuticles, sighing as she remembered the stories from when Mother got back from a campaign but smacked into another memory blank trying to place which warriors held which weapons.

Dhanur snapped awake again to smack a moth on her forehead.

The flat of the ax fell onto her foot as she swatted. Still, it was enough to make her bend over and clutch it in seething annoyance, not pain. As she reached down, however, she went lightheaded, and collapsed.

“Madam Dhanur?” Janurana called and rushed over. She fell to her knees, extending a hand to help as Dhanur was face down in the dirt. “What happened?”

Dhanur swatted at her, shushing her with contempt.

Janurana backed off, curling her lip at the insult to her offer of concern, then leaned back down. “Are you crying?” she asked.

“Sh-shut up…” Dhanur whimpered. She reached up to clutch her head, then down to cradle her stomach, but her left arm seized up. 

“What’s wrong?”

Dhanur only winced and groaned. She was tensed to capacity, twitching, trying to hold her head, stomach, and arm at the same time. She rolled onto her side and let out a groan that vibrated the walls, or simply enticed the imps and other animals further as more paws tried their luck at the burning fire light for the weakened prey.

Janurana’s breath quickened as Dekha mock charged every window, trying to cover every spot at once. But Dhanur’s face was the most worrying, even though she was the deep northern brown, she was clearly losing color.

Janurana hurried to place another log on the fire to strengthen it and returned to Dhanur, but she instantly hopped back as Dhanur heaved, throwing up all her food from the day. Reluctantly, Janurana bent over the reeling woman, then her nose flinched as she approached so hard she couldn’t ignore it. She stayed on her toes and only extended her finger tips.

“Ligh—Ah. No no no—” Dhanur heaved and coughed again, only throwing up yellow bile. Tears ran down her face as her body shook with pain and embarrassment.

Janurana sucked in a breath, then sniffed silently to locate the intangibly wrong smell on Dhanur. She focused, leaning in as her companion was preoccupied, and followed the scent to Dhanur’s wound. Suddenly it all fell into place for her. That was the off putting stench from before, that was why she hadn’t craved Dhanur’s wound after she was hungry again. Even the dried blood should have drawn her. That’s why the bread, meat, and water weren’t helping her for long. “May I examine your wound?”

“What??” Dhanur yelled, causing the creatures to rustle more. The exertion made her heave again.

Janurana kept as many parts of her clothes tucked in as possible as she knelt and undid the bandage. Dhanur couldn’t object if she wanted to. As Janurana removed it, she was pelted with the scent and it almost made her wretch as well. The wound was festering. The edges were growing purple, yellow, even green. Janurana retracted her hand and covered her nose, completely repulsed by the horrid stench.

“I’m going to procure some helpful herbs.” One hand covered her nose and she snatched the ax, sharpened or not. It bounced as she rested the head on her shoulder, luckily free from Dhanur’s vomit. With a disgusted shiver and a shake of her head, she turned to the door and the pocket forest beyond it. The rustle of restless paws spurred her to add a final bundle of twigs to the fire for good measure.

“W-wait!” Dhanur couldn’t even lift her head.

“Don’t worry.” Janurana leaned down to pat her softly and quickly. “I’ve done this before.”

Dhanur tried again to look up but her head flopped down with a thunk and she seized up, trying to hold her whole body at once. Janurana took the chance to hop effortlessly and silently over the walls, through the open roof, past the horde of waiting creatures, which all followed the new prey like an arrow to its target.

Dekha stayed vigilant, stomping and huffing until the horde had vanished into the darkness.

Dhanur growled at herself, sucking in a ragged breath as she tried and failed to stand and follow.

Every rustle among the trees tore at her chest as she waited for a scream.

And waited.

And waited longer still.

There were grunts of effort and a charging yell, but nothing to signal pain or fear. Then, of all things, an elephant’s scream rattled her bones. It continued to bellow painfully until the chittering, yipping, and growling of the horde faded away. The night then grew as silent as when they’d set up camp.

Dhanur stared at the ground.

‘S-stupid,’ she thought, slowly curling up.

‘You’re just dull,’ her inner voice retorted.

‘That’s… What’s stupid…’

‘You can’t blame yourself. Growing dull from being Inside happens.’

‘No. No, not okay.’

‘Sure, it’s painful, but that’s why you have Janurana here to help.’

‘Marched on, on, less.’

‘Things have been worse, and yes, you’ve endured worse with less sleep, but by some Light lost trickery today you happened to be just off enough to get sick. You didn’t clean the wound, and you still were able to climb those vines with it and Janurana on your back.’

‘Couldn’t help with the records.’ Dhanur groaned, still unable to get up. ‘Doubt any…’ she winced. ‘Normal noble could take all those wolves and…’

Her inner voice didn’t respond immediately. ‘Did you hear her scream? She’ll be fine, okay? She’s fine. She’s lived out here for a while. I’m sure she knows what she’s doing,’ it replied eventually.

Dekha tapped the dusty ground. Not a stamp, like when the creatures outside the light grew loud, but a much gentler step. She curled her brow, sure he was an arm’s length further away before, but seethed again as her head throbbed.

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