Chapter 20: Chapter 20: The Father

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When Dhanur’s eyes opened, Brachen was standing over her, his hands still glowing but his face as stern as stone.

“Abba,” she groaned, sitting up and almost daring to wave him off. “’M up.”

“I know you are.” He cocked his head. “You’re welcome for that. But stay in bed. I did what I could.”

“‘M fine.” Dhanur sat up on her right elbow. She held her head and rubbed her new bandage. “Oh. Uh, hi.” She looked back and forth, then waved.

“Mm. Hi.”

“Y-…yeah.”

Brachen was silent.

Dhanur laid back down, curling her lips in.

“Yes. I suppose that is exactly what to say. ‘Hi.’ Haven’t sent a messenger or, Light leave us, come visit in, oh what is it? You’re a head taller now. Quite a while. Twelve years it’s been. Not that there was a war a few years back or that the world caught on fire for a brief spell.”

“I—”

“No no. Why let me know you’re alive? Best to hobble back to me and faint in my arms. Oh! That’s why you didn’t say anything, Zirisa.” Brachen smacked his head as if he realized something.

“It’s Dha—”

“It’s whatever I call you right now.” Brachen pinched her draw shoulder. He had taken off her armor which she only realized when she nearly collapsed again, yelping like a child. “You didn’t say anything so you could show up and make me die of fright so you wouldn’t have to worry about seeing me again.” He squeezed harder. “That would certainly get rid of my worry. Thank you!”

Dhanur swatted at his arm, powerlessly. 

Brachen relented. “I’m sorry. That was harsh.” He bent over, slammed his arms around her, and recoiled when she cried out. “Oh! That was your wound, wasn’t it?” He called his Light again, making the pain instantly fade.

“It’s okay. I’ve had worse,” she chuckled, puffing out her chest like she could look stronger, but Brachen’s narrowed eyes wore her down. “Wh-What?”

“We were just talking about how worried I’ve been about you.”

“Oh. Uh, sorry… Can I have some water?”

“Of course you can, Virala Zirisa.” He kissed her forehead.

“It’s Dhanur.” She pouted, but not impudently.

“Yes, yes. I bet you are one now with that bronze.” Brachen waved his hand as he turned the corner into the main chamber of the temple with its adjoining storerooms.

Leaving her vision was like the closing of a door for Dhanur. Her head, stomach, and shoulder were all painless but they still felt off. That confused her. It had been a few years since a Light monk healed her after a battle so it was hard to remember the feeling. Regardless, she looked up and down the walls, seeing which scratch marks were still there, which murals carved into the cave itself had been updated and retouched. The ones of Light Ascetics were the same, only dusted. Some sat on flowers, one dying under a tree, two were creating a barrier of light together. A painted mural of the land hung over another bed. The space over it was bright and lit by the sun from a window, but on either side of the mural the creatures of the night tried to push at the day’s edge like a fire’s threshold. The one behind her was still the same. After Dhanur smiled at it, she realized the bed she was in was hers, the same one she always had. It felt a whole arm shorter, not a head as her father said. That made her chuckle. The rest of the beds were all different, moved, or with new things strewn about them. She looked down the opposite hallway with yet more beds and saw Janurana curled up in the corner one. Her hair and parasol were like a cocoon, wrapping her up against the sun. Dhanur chuckled and wished her a silent prayer for the Light to bless her rest after last night.

“Hey, Abba. All new pilgrims?” she asked as Brachen came back with a cup of water, still wet from being dunked in the urn.

“No. Well, yes.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “Not any from when you were young. But they’ve stayed since the war. Didn’t want to join the battles and none of them are willing to make the trek back to the Capital or find a trader to follow back home.”

“Oh. The temples in the Capital took in refugees as Ascetics. You know, from the Scorching.” Dhanur put down her cup, empty. “Can I ha—”

“Of course. Go back to sleep, Zirisa.” He kissed her forehead and put a hand on her shoulder. 

She was still pale and dark under her eyes. She didn’t resist and slipped back down.

“It’s Dhanur,” she said.

“I know. I know. I’m glad you did become one. But you’re still sick. It’s not threatening anymore. Be sure to thank your companion for getting you here when she did so you didn't become a one-armed dhanur.” 

“Oh! Right! That’s Janurana.” She started to rise again, pointing to the opposite bed hall with her bow arm, then winced. “Ugh, I should have wrapped it. Come on, ugh.”

Brachen put a hand on her shoulder and pressed her back down again. 

“You can tell me everything when you wake up,” he said. “And you’re not a fool for having forgotten to wrap your wound. I’m sure you were just focused on what you should do.”

Dhanur only grumbled, passing into sleep.

Brachen smiled, tossing the cup in the air and catching it with cocky aplomb at how well he healed his daughter. He went to the other hall of beds, past the entrance and the main hall of the temple. He strode along the shaped cave stone floor, past a few pillars with more carvings of Light Ascetics as well as battles and other events of Daksin’s history, the still open doors, and down to the deepest corner in which Janurana was hiding. Brachen’s face had fallen to the same stone-cold placidity as when he was scolding Dhanur. 

“Why don’t you start?” He crossed his arms, Dhanur’s light snores echoing through the temple.

Janurana was curled under her parasol, worried to let even her boots be exposed to the light from the doors or main hall. With the inside of the temple being a cave carved into the mountain itself, it had few windows apart from the natural hole directly above the main hall for which it was originally designated holy. From above, the golden light draped the many cushions strewn about its floor in warm grace, its light adding to the almost orange color of the reddish-brown stone walls. She sat up and tried to focus on the carvings and murals around her in the side hall, as if she didn’t hear Brachen, and was rising to look at them instead. Each painting or engraved statue portrayed miracles, stories, or the plateau in full, wet season bloom under the Light’s nourishing rays. Light monks being blessed by the sun, imps or other creatures fleeing, a blue dhanur shunning wealth to go hungry with the poor, and other such images filled her with nostalgia. Her mother’s home had plenty of similar images peppering the halls and bedchambers. Janurana smiled, knowing Dhanur must have sat as a child in their majesty and been regaled with what they were portraying.

Brachen tapped his foot. “I can wait. Come up with your story. I’ll ask Dhanur if it’s accurate when she wakes up.”

 Janurana sighed. “Okay.”

“Quite the accent. You’re much fairer. From around here?”

“Father was. Mother was from the Rivers.” Janurana sat up and smoothed out her sari, scanning the floor as she refused to look up, keeping her parasol open for the shade.

“The Rivers? You’re an old one then. Those dried up hundreds of years ago,” Brachen raised a brow then sighed as she didn’t answer. “I suppose there are plenty of fairer people at the southern end of the plateau.”

Janurana debated if Dhanur would have sat on the cushions or the piles of bricks for the stories. The bricks laid littered along the floor, vines engulfing them to ensure the work of the world was never completed. 

Such details Janurana observed were but minor pinpricks of attention before the grand mural of the center wall in the main hall. She had noticed it before running to the corner. It hung over the entire temple like a Maharaj with the murals and carvings all fading as they neared it as if being bleached out by its rays. Rather than being shaved down to a flat surface for carvings or paintings, the back wall was mostly left raw and jagged, except for one spot with the mural. It was perfectly paralleled by the column of light beaming down from on high and was leveled to a supernatural degree. The art in the center made no attempt to mimic the ever–present rays of the sun. It was a single, simple, thickly layered, solid yellow circle presiding over the whole of the sanctuary. It was like an eye, from which no part of the sanctuary was hidden, even the corridors of beds and the food stores behind their walls.

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“What gave me away?” she asked, not looking at Brachen.

He first waved off his disciples who were peeking around the door. Janurana flinched at how much fear was in their eyes.

“You’ll have to excuse them. They didn’t take part in the war. Not the bravest bunch. What gave you away, my dear, was the fact that when I dragged Dhanur in you, the woman she was with, didn’t even come to help until Chahua specifically bid you entry. Recoiling from the Light was just double checking.”

“Mmn.” Janurana flexed and unflexed her grip on her parasol.

He stroked his mustache. “Now, I have to ask, you’re not doing this to her, are you?” Brachen’s voice fell, like a father who knew if their child would lie, giving them the choice to be punished or not.

Janurana flinched at the accusation. “Not… Not purposefully,” she squeaked.

That threw Brachen off. “What?”

“No! Not directly, I swear!”

Brachen crossed his arms tight, hiding his clenching fists.

She sighed, curling up again, staring away forlornly. “No. I’m not harming her. She got wounded escorting me here, hoping to offer me safety…”

“Safety from what?”

“Those in the Capital may not—don’t—aren’t happy I’m alive. Dhanur hoped I could possibly stay here.”

Brachen unfisted his hands, but kept his arms crossed, then changed the subject. “You know, I think you moved less than that mangy bull you two were dragging along.” He smirked and nodded to his side, motioning to the door.

“Really? He was already with her when we met. He protected us from—” She stopped as if smacking into a wall.

“I’m going to assume whatever it is that you want to hide from?”

“Mmn.” She looked away again. “Something Outside.”

Brachen curled his mustache.

“Guru!” Diktala called from outside. 

Brachen shushed them so they wouldn’t wake Dhanur. He got up, keeping an eye on Janurana.

“We put away her bull,” Neesha said as he came outside. Jura, Chahua, and Diktala were all standing behind a rock, not hiding, but keeping it between them and the motionless Dekha standing in the simple and wooden stable.

Brachen cocked a brow at them. “Her name is—Well, she likes Dhanur,” he said to Neesha.

“Dhanur’s bull, apologies, Guru.” She bowed and glanced to Dekha. “It wasn’t a problem.”

“But?”

“But, Guru, sir,” she sputtered. “Its skin came off. Like some kind of Outside monster. And its eyes…” 

Brachen twitched his lips and sighed. He twirled his mustache and approached Dekha, neatly hitched up. The grass and water in his trough was untouched. Where the flesh had flaked off had already been repaired. He peered into Dekha’s amber eyes, as empty and deep as when Janurana had done so. But he didn’t feel worried being so close to the unmoving beast.

Dhanur was starting to snore loudly when he re–entered and sat next to Janurana again. She continued to look away as she told him how she and Dhanur met, how they had traveled, the vetalas, the canyon, the tiger and northern town, and how they hoped to shelter with him for a time from whatever the nobles at the Capital may send their way.

“I’m not gonna hurt her,” Janurana squeaked.

“I doubt you could. But you didn’t bandage her wound either.”

Janurana closed her eyes as tight as she could and forced herself not to crush her parasol.

“But then again, I’m sure it’s been some time since you’ve had to worry about infections or bandages. How long have you known my daughter?”

“Only a few days.”

“But I should trust you?”

Janurana had nothing to say.

“I read our visitors at the door. I’ve had plenty of practice. Dhanur didn’t seem concerned for herself around you. That I trust.”

Janurana’s ears perked up. 

“Many in the Light don’t look favorably on your kind through experience, or at least from what they’ve heard from stories or what others have experienced.” He stood up. Behind one of the beds, the carving of a blue dhanur skewering a gwomoni through the heart after his bow had broken loomed over them both. Brachen patted his thighs. “Whether it’s an angry official or a warrior sent to take you, we can deal with that when it arrives. This is holy ground, after all. Why don’t you take a rest?”

“Thank you.” Janurana got up and bowed deeply, pressing her hands together, with her parasol held tightly between her arm and side. “Your hospitality is a testament to your order.”

“We welcome all who require help, regardless of the Light’s effectiveness to help them or not.” He looked about Janurana’s face, settling on her flushed cheeks and furrowed brows.

“I’m sorry.” She bowed again and put her parasol between her and the main hall. As Brachen stepped away, she curled up behind it, patting her tingling skin gingerly.

Brachen returned to Dhanur’s side. He gently stroked her hair as she slept, his hands glowing with the same light as before. Each stroke restored more color to her.

“Do you remember this story, Zirisa?” He smiled at the relief behind them. “The Blue Dhanur? It was your favorite. He would trounce across the land, across the Lost Valley and Rivers, up the plateau, and far into Uttara. And he’d always find the people who needed help with his companions, slaying monsters, gwomoni, evil spirits. And what would he always say?”

Dhanur continued to snore.

“‘Because it’s what I should do.’ He had quite the Light in him, don’t you think?” Brachen saw his fingers starting to shake from giving so much of his Light and only stroked her head instead.

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