Chapter 21: Chapter 21: The Reminiscing

***

Dhanur woke some time later. When she peeled herself from the pillow, the sun had crept closer to the horizon. It had been long enough for Brachen to fall asleep at her bedside. She smiled as she drank half the cup of water he had refilled for her.

She looked over how old he had grown. His mustache was new but his hair was graying and a few new wrinkles had started carving up his face. The years she spent away felt long.

Dhanur looked over to see Janurana curled up in bed on the other side of the hall. She appeared to be sleeping as well, but her parasol was blocking the way like before. Dhanur frowned at her companion blocking out the light.

The moment Dhanur started standing up, Brachen’s eyes shot open. His jolting awake made her snicker. 

He cleared his throat. “Feeling any better, Zirisa?”

Dhanur pouted, but rolled her shoulder. “A bit.”

“Good. That means it’s working. Stay in bed.”

“Don’t wanna let myself lock up.”

Brachen relented, leaning back on his chair with a groan that made Dhanur flinch. “It will take a while to let the infection heal. But you should be fine.”

Dhanur popped her neck. “Oh! Met Janurana?”

“Yes. I have greeted your companion.” Brachen tilted his head expectantly.

“Oh. Uh. Sorry.” Dhanur bowed with fists together, apologizing for her slightly too informal tone.

“She said you’ve only met a few days ago.”

“Yes, sir.” Dhanur stretched her back.

Brachen continued asking questions to fact check Janurana’s recounting of how they met at the inn. None of it was too incorrect. 

“Thought you’d wanna hear ‘bout me.” Dhanur chuckled nervously after explaining how she had thrashed the northerners at the inn, hyping them up as if they were three mercenaries guarding a single trader.

“Of course I do. I just want to make sure the woman you’re escorting is of fine character.” He smiled and not pointing out how easily a father can see through a daughter’s lie. “I wanted to deal with any coming problems before we actually talk.”

“Huh?” Dhanur sat back down, sipping the other half of her drink.

“She said you fled the Capital.”

Dhanur spewed out her water, remembering the reason she had come. “Daw! Dark right!” Dhanur recounted what happened at the Keep and how they needed shelter from whoever may be coming to finish Janurana off.

“So, you didn’t just come here to see me,” Brachen sighed, disappointed. “And watch your language.”

“Urgh! It’s not that! It’s just,” Dhanur took a breath. “I figured she could hide here for a bit and I could come see you.” Brachen started to smile but Dhanur raked her hand through her hair. “And if her mother tailed us here, you could send her off.”

“Her mother? She that Aarushi you mentioned?” Brachen asked.

“What? She didn’t—” Dhanur ground her hand into her forehead. “Ugh. No. She’s a spirit now. Janurana doesn’t like talking about her.”

She filled Brachen in on Janurana’s mother, that Dekha had chased her off with only a stare and a charge, and their travel to the temple, causing Brachen to look over the presumably napping girl in a new light. “I can’t say I blame her for not wanting to discuss her mother. She doesn’t seem as good of a parent as I was,” he quipped.

“Abbaji!” Dhanur groaned, pleadingly.

“I know. I know.” He chuckled, then sat forward, cupping his chin but running his finger along his mustache. “The situation is thus.” He paused, making sure Dhanur was ready to correct him. “You took this woman in, angered the rulers of Daksin who recently won a war just by her existing, and walked here in a straight line with her malevolent mother’s spirit following?”

“Um… The bridge was out.”

“Is that my point, Zirisa?”

Dhanur sighed. “No, sir. That’s the situation, sir.”

Brachen sighed as well, much as Dhanur did, or Dhanur sighed in much the same way Brachen would have. “Okay. I’m sure any warriors they’d send to take Janurana away wouldn’t do so on temple grounds.”

“How do you know?”

“Would you?”

“I mean, no.”

“Exactly. Besides, the warriors who came here weren’t too happy about Neesha and Jura not wanting to fight. But they left soon enough.” Brachen chuckled, as if he drove them off. Dhanur wasn’t fully convinced, and Brachen saw it. “A single spirit? I understand if she’s powerful. But your bull drove her away, and I’m surely as capable as an animal.”

“Yea—”

“Then it’s fine, Dhanur,” Brachen said sternly.

“Bu—”

“No buts.” He stood up.

“Gwomoni don’t like the Light either but Gehsek could probably—”

“Who said anything about gwomoni?”

“Oh.” Dhanur explained further, about them being behind the throne and briefly touched on how she failed to oust them, going back to explain exactly how Dekha chased Janelsa off with his light and what he was.

“Virala Zirisa…” Brachen dug the heel of his hand into his forehead.

“Whaaat?”

“We should’ve built the temple with your skull instead of stone. So dense, sometimes,” he sighed. 

“Sorry, I forgot that part!” Dhanur pouted.

“What were you thinking?! Trying to kill a horde of monsters like that, only three of you??” He grabbed her shoulder.

“I’m worth ten warriors alone!” Dhanur flung him off and stabbed her chest with her thumb. “Aarushi had more magic than the Keep’s records probably and Muqta—” Dhanur fisted her hands and fiddled with her empty drink skin. “It was supposed to be quiet. They burned the whole plateau, Abbaji! They’re literal bloodsucking monsters ruling instead of Aarushi! What was I supposed to do? Too many people would have been too obvious!”

“It’s what you should have done?” Brachen turned his head so none of him was blocking the blue dhanur mural. “He may have been able to loose ten arrows to hit every head on a kalia at once but you’re—You’ll be that good someday.” Brachen embraced his daughter. “I’m proud of you for trying to do something righteous.”

Dhanur’s anger instantly faded and she slammed her arms around her father. She sniffled, tightened her grip, and only let go when Brachen meekly tapped her back. Even through her armor she could feel how much more withered his hands were. She rubbed the back of her neck.

“Sorry,” she chuckled.

“I suppose it was a good thing I kept them from the war,” Brachen chuckled too, hiding how he struggled to regain his breath and thought, ‘No wonder Janurana hasn’t told you.’

“You’re not surprised?” Dhanur rubbed her shoulder.

“We helped a few desperate northern warriors climb up here for healing before they headed up to Vatram or the jungle. The Tree Clan, do you remember them? I thought gwomoni was just their insult for the Maharaj and his generals or nobles. Don’t know if they even knew how accurate they were. But whatever they are, they started a war, claiming we should kill those people because they worship the spirits.”

“It was stupid.” Dhanur looked at the ground.

“May as well worship a tree, elephants, or rompos for eating rotting corpses. Or more like the rains. As likely to wash the streets as it is to flood them. Good spirits, bad. Better to worship something good that only heals and drives aw—” He kept himself from lecturing to the temple. “But it’s not worth killing over. Doesn’t surprise me people who’d call for killing on such a triviality are actual monsters.” His mustache twitched. “It does make things worse for us though. If it’s not a spirit or warriors, but dowsing gwomoni warriors…”

Dhanur straightened up at Brachen’s language.

“The Light provides our barrier around the temple. Do you remember that, Zirisa Dhanur?”

“Abbaji.” Dhanur groaned, embarrassed. “... Mostly.”

“It will repel spirits as well as imps. They always do around all the temples. Do you remember the time a band of the northerners from Vatram came with their spirits to chase us off? It helped us then.” Brachen mentally cataloged that the barrier didn’t repel gwomoni. “Any gwomoni would still need to be invited into our temple. You said your bull alarms, and apparently drives back spirits?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Then I suppose that’s all we can do. He’ll let us know if something arrives and keep her mother at bay. If it’s not he mother, all we can do is wait and trust in our walls and skill.”

Dhanur couldn’t argue with the logic. She looked to the immense stone doors. They were open and she could hear the pilgrims milling about outside, tending the greenery, bickering over the best way to do so, or chanting a mantra. They weren’t warriors. Dhanur scanned over the beds and thought about what could brace the doors. She followed the bronze chains that dangled on either side up. Without pulling them the door would not open because of its own weight. It opened outward so bracing it from inside wasn’t an option, 

‘It’s not like a barrel of water would help. A monkey can’t help pull an elephant’s load,’ her inner voice said.

“I’m happy to help you, Dhanur. But I want her gone soon.” Brachen curled his lips.

She bowed fully, fists pressed hard together.

‘Really great sign. Nothing but trouble so far,’ Dhanur thought to herself.

“If there’s nothing to do, come. You’re awake now. You’ve evidently done a lot. Tell me how things have been,” he beckoned for her to follow him into the main hall.

Dhanur looked over to Janurana, who still looked to be sleeping. She sighed. 

‘It isn’t her fault,’ her inner voice said.

Dhanur turned her back to her companion and jogged to catch up. “Things have been fine! I—uh.” She rubbed her arm and looked over the main hall. Despite being bigger than she was twelve years ago, it still made her dizzy at how tall it was. She slowly sat down on the pillow to which Brachen motioned with a fresh cup of water. “I’m sorry I didn’t come say hello. Got caught up in traveling then the war started and, with the other Light monks in the fighting with us, I know you were too old to by then but I didn’t wanna see if—”

“Oh, I’m too old?” Brachen wiggled his mustache with its bits of gray. “It’s okay, Virala Zirisa,” he cooed and stroked her shoulder with glowing light.

“You’re mad about it though. And I made you mad. I just… didn’t wanna know if…”

“Yes, a messenger would have been nice. The war was only a few years ago and you’ve been traveling for quite a few longer before that. But the Light has begun to shine. The shadows are where they are and we’ll have to just deal with them. So, from the beginning.” He handed her a small bowl of dates, nuts, and dried northern jungle fruit. “What did you do when you left?”

‘You got lucky she happened to know a Light monk,’ Janurana berated herself. 

Janurana had fallen asleep with the day’s sun, when Dhanur and Brachen were asleep too. They easily woke her up. Sleeping light meant she could hear her mother. As Dhanur began her story, Janurana struggled on whether to listen or not. She felt listening would only make the pain of losing yet another companion even worse when her mother arrived. But it was the only other sound around, so she listened to keep the terrible thoughts from overwhelming her. She curled up further on the bed hearing how happily Dhanur spoke about her early adventures with different mercenary bands. Once she had gotten lost in a cave searching for an underground lotus pond with only her flint and pyrite’s sparks and occasional glowing mushrooms for light. In multiple cities she won bow contests, but one time had been accused of rigging her shots with northern magic which she furiously contested, and was subsequently banned from the city. Dhanur declined to describe how the argument escalated to such a level. Her father easily deduced a fight broke out but she assured him no one died and that she didn’t lose despite being kicked out. In her words she “just failed to win… against the whole town”. Regardless, following a furious insult exchange with a guard on the wall, she waited until nightfall and snuck back in to steal the money she had won. She continued by taking precious objects and nicking gems from noble carriages while they paid their taxes or had their seals checked, before rolling through the gate and learning Dhanur was not a tax collector.

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Janurana fished her hands, thinking that if Dhanur survived and spoke about the time they had spent together, all she could bring up was her wound, the gwomoni in the Capital, and her mother, nothing worth regaling people with. 

“Thank you, mother. Another kind person killed,” she mumbled to herself.

Brachen and Dhanur continued to talk for the rest of the day and Janurana decided she didn’t want to listen anymore. She became convinced the second they finished would be when she’d hear them say it was time to kick her out, so she curled up further in bed. But she couldn’t help herself. Dhanur hadn’t opened up about her past while they traveled except for what was immediately necessary, which Janurana understood, but she enjoyed hearing about the colorful antics Dhanur had gotten into and would have loved to hear them on the road. She wanted to get up and leave before she was torn from a cozy bed again. The patch of trinkets and bones weighed as heavy as it did when she had first sewn it on. But Janurana knew she was safer with Dhanur, Dekha, and multiple other pairs of eyes. And she was in a bed. Simple, but still a bed.

She settled into it, pretending to sleep.

***

Dhanur and Brachen continued talking even as Dhanur sharpened her bow notches and used the temple’s oil to tend the leather of her gloves and armor. When she asked to take a bath, Brachen went outside and explained to his disciples that their guests would be staying for a few days and to not bring up what Janurana was with Dhanur. His daughter did seem to like her companion despite everything, or at least wanted to help. But that was all he could see. As far as Brachen could tell, Dhanur didn’t seem to know Janurana was a gwomoni or didn’t want to know and he didn’t know how she’d react. 

The Ascetics milled about the last hours of the day outside, dragging the bronze ringed clarifying urn to the garden and reciting mantras meant for midday in the sun’s fleeting amber rays. There wasn’t much butter to clarify with the trade routes between the north and south being practically non-existent and Vatram being even less welcoming of Light monks than they were before the conflict.

Neesha had come over to try to say hello to Janurana. But Janurana could never bring herself to say more than a few pleasantries. 

After her bath, Dhanur strode over to Janurana, her hair voluminous and shining as she combed it out. She had trimmed her brows as well, having taken full advantage of the water.

“Hey. You okay?” she asked, sitting next to Janurana.

“Mm.”

“Get some rest tonight. Here.” Dhanur placed a wet cloth on the bed. “Figured you might wanna stay asleep but ya really liked the bath back at my place so…” Dhanur trailed off as Janurana said nothing. She gave her companion a few light taps on the hip and went back to her father.

Janurana silently cursed herself for not saying something to Brachen and silently thanked him for noticing she kept what she was from Dhanur for a reason.

‘With an arrow through me I wouldn’t have to deal with mother. Not like I have anything to hold on to that will make me a spirit and have to keep from her forever,’ Janurana thought, but she pushed it aside. Since she hadn’t killed herself by either an arrow in her chest or giving up to let her mother kill her, she knew she didn’t have the courage or want. ‘I bring trouble,’ Janurana continued, then retorted to herself almost reassuringly, ‘I’m not a bad person. Even Dhanur’s father can see that. But I’ll only cause them distress.’ Her thoughts devolved again and she focused on her parasol to shut them up.

Dhanur returned to her father and continued to speak at length about the random things she did once she left the temple, as best she could with Brachen stuffing his sick daughter with food and water. 

She spoke of nights battling whatever popped out of the forests, be they animals or monsters, with random travelers and Light monk pilgrims she had met on the road or traders who hired her. She was particularly proud of the time a group she was with had run out of food days from another town. They weren’t optimistic about the game in the area so the two other mercenaries and two traders were debating giving up one of the carts and eating the bull around a foodless fire. But Dhanur simply strolled out of the fire’s light, plucked some of her own blood, wiped it on a tree, and waited for whatever showed up. A scorpion wasn’t what she expected and she and the other mercenaries struggled to bust through its carapace. Instead they lured it under a dying tree that Dhanur then pushed over to pin it long enough for them to break its head open with a particularly unique, round, double-headed ax from the trader’s carts. Brachen had never had roasted scorpion claw, but it, evidently, tasted like fish. 

She had also taken jobs raiding smaller settlements with less powerful walls, which was usually code for walking up to a town gate with other mercenaries to demand taxes which hadn’t been sent to a governor. However, local nobles did recruit the bands she was in for their occasional skirmishes with each other to which the Maharaj usually turned a blind eye unless it grew too large. She had tried to travel up and down both the eastern and western mountain chains. In the east, she got light headed just as the townsfolk at the base said she would and was instantly knocked back down by a mountain goat with a somehow harder head than her. She still remembered the villagers’ “I told you” stare. 

Dhanur went on at length about the trinkets that adorned her home, realized how smart it was to have watered her shrubs before she left, and endured her father’s chastisement for taking road signs which meant some poor travelers had possibly gotten lost thanks to her. Still, she spoke about the elephants she rode in the west before getting sick with a swamp disease halfway through her western mountain trek and needing to stop. But right after recovering she had tried to ride a rhino kept alongside the elephants, and then never wanted to see one again. One of her more recent excursions was to a dam being constructed by one of the governors. Supposedly, it would have blocked off a river like regular debris from a rainstorm but on a much larger scale. If a wall could be built around the resulting flooded lake it would make the land a farming super city. Such a project was wholly new to the plateau, so she had to see it for herself. Unfortunately, the monsoons were particularly strong that year, and before the dam could begin pooling water behind it, it burst. Neither she nor Brachen knew if anyone had tried something like that again since protecting such a project from the creatures that prowled the plateau was costly enough, let alone making the dam itself. Still, she had taken one of the bricks from its construction for a souvenir.

Brachen wasn’t too keen on the less virtuous ways she made a living, or how she would cough and say she “acquired” a few of her trinkets when pressed. 

Janurana would often hear her companion flinch and whine after saying that, like she did when Brachen had first pinched her shoulder. 

But he would always sigh after. His daughter was gifted with a bow and he praised her for doing what she was gifted in and doing what made her happy and wealthy. He’d often jape at how pointless it was for her to collect things if she was never home to enjoy them.

Dhanur described how the first small home she bought in the Capital’s lower sections was a box full of boxes. She had to pay local mercenaries to watch over her collection and keep a mental list of everything she owned. It soon became known to the city as a renowned traveler’s storage which led Dhanur to her uplifting for the war, the battles, and the Scorching.

“Abbaji?” Dhanur took a handful of nuts. “The Light… It wouldn’t burn the Outside, right?”

“Zirisa!” Brachen scolded. “You think the Light would do that? Those fires? You should be ashamed of yourself!” 

“I know! I know!” She winced, covering her shoulder, then rubbed her neck. “I just wanted to make sure. Some people say it was the Light that did that, you know, to drive back the spirits but the fire spread. Nobody really has an answer. I asked some Gurus around the Capital and a few said fire and the Light are related so it makes sense but another said no way but another said it could have been but they don’t know and I know it didn’t it’s just… Aarushi never really knew either except that it may have been some foreign magic user but she wasn’t sure and…”

Dhanur ranted about the stupidity of it all, working with Aarushi, what happened to her, and how the gwomoni gave her the new house and mounds of cowries and gems to compensate her life and silence while keeping Aarushi’s mindless husk as puppet ruler. She only tangentially mentioned Muqtablu, but became too emotional to explain her role any further. 

Brachen cradled his daughter whose head alone was as big as her whole body was when he first found her. 

The sun fell below the eastern mountains and the temple hall became dark. Father and daughter had turned to a lighter subject and reminisced about how Dhanur had gotten lost in the caves under the temple or how she always broke the rules of hide and seek by climbing to the top of the temple. When the last ray of sunlight vanished from the skylight, Brachen patted his thighs and got up with a small groan.

“Time for bed,” he said in a nostalgic tone.

Dhanur wanted to wave him off, but her shoulder twinged before she could be so rude. With a gentle caress of his Light, the pain faded.

“Dhanur, I want you to rest in case we need your bow tonight. I’ll redress your wound before you sleep.” His voice had fallen.

Dhanur’s face slowly fell solemn. “Yes, sir.”

The Ascetics were trailing in from outside, shooting awkward glances to Janurana. Dhanur made her introductions by the door.

“Guru Brachen has always spoken highly of you.” Neesha bowed dutifully.

“Heh, I am pretty great.” Dhanur puffed out her chest, chuckling awkwardly.

Jura rose to his tiptoes, japing, “Pretty easy to speak highly of her.” 

Neesha chastised him as Diktala said, “please let us know if you require anything.”

“Wait, did you fight in the war?” Jura asked, breaking away from Neesha.

“Yeah?”

“I heard of you! Yeah! One of the northern warriors we healed a bit back! They really hated you!”

“Jura!” Neesha and Diktala both yelled.

“What? They kinda looked like they respected her.” He backed up.

“Don’t know if anything’s coming tonight. Be ready for whatever, know you’re not warriors but still,” Dhanur’s voice was placid then she passed them for Dekha.

The Ascetics looked at each other confused. They had focused on their mantras, tending the garden, and their offerings to the Light above and thus missed all of Dhanur’s explanations.

“Be extra ready tonight, buddy.” Dhanur knelt down beside Dekha. “I need to leave you out here. They’ll get mad if you come inside and you sent Janurana’s mom back before so don’t worry, okay? I’ll be right inside.” She dared to give him a gentle touch on the nose. Dhanur never knew if he liked being pet or if the subsequent flaking hurt, but she could have sworn she heard him say “I will”.

As Dhanur was outside, Brachen motioned for the monks to group around him. “I don’t know if it’s tonight or tomorrow. But we may get some visitors soon. Warriors like last time maybe.”

“For her?” Jura asked, looking to Janurana.

Brachen nodded, stroking his mustache. “Seems she’s no bigger a friend to them than you lot. Whatever it is, let me handle it. You all stay behind the doors. If anything happens, I want you all to grab a bite to eat and head through the tunnels. You remember the way, yes?”

They all nodded, Chahua peeked behind him to the small passageway on the back wall of the main hall leading into the mountain, as if checking it was still there.

“I’m sure it will be nothing. But I’d rather you all not get involved. Just walk through and circle back around,” Brachen said.

They weren’t reassured, and Brachen knew it. Regardless, he closed the doors with their help working the mechanisms, and forwent the night’s mantra for the Light to return, hoping they’d feel there was no need to pray for anything before sending them to bed. 

They still weren’t convinced when Dhanur strung her bow, donned her armor, and laid Janurana’s ax by her side.

“Janurana.” Dhanur shook her awake and patted the ax. “Just in case. Go back to sleep.”

Janurana wanted to, but needed time to let the scent of Dhanur’s new dressing fade. Brachen had repatched her wound with a smear of ginger and garlic. It wasn’t as pungent as fresh garlic and was blended under a wrapping, but it still stung her nose. 

Dhanur sat on her bed and checked her arrows’ fletchings.

“Virala Zirisa.” Brachen tapped her shoulder.

“Dhanur.”

“Virala Dhanur, I’m sure you have taken fine care of your weapons. Maybe trust your past self. The younger ones are… I’d rather not frighten them more.”

Dhanur sighed again and kept her quiver and bow right next to her as she laid over the sheets.

The temple held many extra beds. The Ascetics were dispersed among them. Most were left for any pilgrims who would make the journey or those needing sanctuary, though there were much less of them after the war. Dhanur took refuge in her old bed directly next to Brachen’s which had remained unused.

She kept her weapons ready, but her last thoughts before sleep were about the bed itself. She felt much too large for it, even though it was the same size it’d always been and she still had plenty of space. She fell asleep with a little smile tugging at her lips.

Brachen made sure the bed had stayed the same, except for when he dusted it off. He had no thoughts before sleep took him. With practiced ease he cleared his head, repeated a mantra, told himself there was nothing to do but get some rest, and faded into sleep. The Ascetics did the same to varying degrees of success.

But Janurana stared at the ceiling. She had slept during the day, even if it was light and interrupted. She hadn’t fed since last night, but she wasn’t particularly hungry. It was a normal time to wake up. To wake up and start moving.

She refused to peek in other directions, like a child refusing to investigate the bumps in the night but who dares not sleep and become helpless. To look around might mean triggering her mother’s arrival somehow. Her anxiety grew. 

She sat up and shrieked as a chorus of screeching chirps filled the temple. A flock of bats burst from the temple’s cave and soared up into the night, blanketing the moon through the skylight. Chahua shot up with her, but shook his head and punched his bed as he did every night when the bats woke him up with a pang of fear. 

Janurana figured there couldn’t be a more obvious sign and got out of bed, wringing her hands. She snatched her parasol for comfort, but left the ax.

Only the light of the moon shone through the main hall and Janurana was able to enter unhindered. Pale violet dulled the simple majesty. She focused intently on the dominating yellow mural, still appearing to glow in the night. She didn’t even have to look up or crane her neck, it was so large. Her steps were straight and methodical, pausing before each to drag out her time in its gaze, then reached the end of the cushions and the food Dhanur and Brachen hadn’t put away. It all came to an abrupt halt a cart length from the back wall which was left empty at all times. A moment passed before she looked to each side, her neck popping as she shifted. Neither side was appropriate to her. She looked to the floor behind her. That, too, did not feel appropriate, but she couldn’t just stand there.

She sat where she was. Janurana ran her hands along her sari, keeping it from wrinkling more.

She remained transfixed on the mural as her expression fell. She thought of how long she’d been away from home and all that ensued from then, what it was like when she first discovered she could no longer enjoy the sunshine, of spending the first few months burrowing into the dirt like an animal for respite, and how one gwomoni’s decision, the first who must have made the others, had led, centuries later, to her bringing massive danger to sweet people who only wanted to help her over and over again. Dhanur and Brachen had both welcomed her in and shared their homes and fare.

‘Do they even want me dead?’ Janurana thought back to the gwomoni in the Capital and wondered if anyone from there was coming for her. No warrior or gwomoni had come to kill them so far. ‘Perhaps they saw us leave. Maybe that was enough. Or mother may have gotten territorial about her kill.’ 

A couple patrolling warriors in powerful bronze had found her alone on a barren hill one night. She had thought she was far enough from the road that no one would notice her draining the poor man she had killed. The warriors paid in blood for their attempt to kill her when her mother found them all. 

‘Or they just forgot to scrub me out and I just happened to show up the day they remembered. We did only guess the nobles wanted me dead. No. That was so many years ago, when those tablets had to have been made. The record keepers would have corrected the mistake by now. A ridiculous coincidence.’

Janurana looked back to the doorway, flexing her hands on her parasol, expecting to see her mother’s silhouette in the dark. On the mountain’s summit, the Outside’s fluctuating outlines were nowhere to be seen. Although dim, the night was clear. But as beautiful as the place was, Janurana knew that if she stayed any longer, her mother would come eventually and wouldn’t deign to spare a group of monks. 

Janurana sighed at how impressed she was as a child, watching her mother get what she wanted from countless powerful governors, Uttaran clan leaders or even Clan Spirits, traders, and warriors. She wondered if they were so upset with Janelsa Malihabar, not because she was demanding higher tithes or more troops, but because she was doing things like killing peaceful Ascetics of the Light and their chivalrous warrior daughters and Janurana never noticed.

She had apologized for bringing danger to the temple, as she did for Dhanur back at the Capital. Or she thought that was why she said sorry. She couldn’t remember if she ever said it exactly, to Brachen or Dhanur. Janurana thought that maybe she didn’t want to remember one way or the other and confirm she didn’t say it. For some time, she stayed lost in memory and thought, until her hand underneath her twitched with her weight. She didn’t even notice she’d sat on it when she smoothed out her sari, and she was even slouching. She straightened her posture as she moved her hands on her lap. As they took up position on her thighs, Janurana noticed her own veins. They were filled with blood, the blood she had to drink, the blood her mother wanted to make cold, the blood of a monster like the ones that want her dead. They pulsed with hot blood as her tears ran cool down her cheeks.

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