***

The Ascetics had continued through the caves. Chahua worried that they had taken a wrong turn, sure it shouldn’t have been taking as long as it was. No one listened, or no one else wanted to think he was right. Neesha had taken up torch duty and Jura insisted he keep his Light full in case Chahua collapsed. They had all but forgotten about who was as far back as she could be. Janurana nearly faded into the darkness and shook her head continuously.

‘Every time,’ she thought, angrily. ‘Every time.’

She repeated the words, cursing herself still.

‘A bed isn’t worth someone’s life.’

Janurana thought she had come to terms with what she had done, but yet again she found herself furious and ashamed, leaving death in her wake.

‘Every time,’ she thought.

An ear-splitting crack, followed by a rumble interrupted her train of thought. The others heard it too and reeled around toward the sound as one.

“It’s collapsing!” Chahua yelled and tried to bowl past. Jura snatched him by the scruff of his robe.

“We’ll stick together.” Diktala bent over to lock eyes with Chahua. “If we run, we could get lost. If it collapses on us, we can all get out if we all use our Light,” he said reassuringly.

Janurana wondered if the Light from all of them would kill her, since Neesha and Diktala’s barrier was painful even through her parasol. Then she wondered if that wasn’t for the better anyway.

After they started moving again the group stuffed Chahua in the middle who recited a mantra to himself to keep his breathing regular. Janurana came closer to the group, not even noticing how close until she bumped into Neesha.

Her expressionless stare made Neesha balk, but she put an awkward hand on Janurana’s shoulder.

Janurana shook her head, clutching at the patch of her trinkets. Her head snapped up. They were farther down the paths than she thought as only then did the wind from the last collapse hit her. It was the tiniest of breezes since no one else noticed, but with the cave air being stagnant, any movement carried through the whole length.

It brought with it the earthy spiced scent of the temple, laced with citrus and fruits Brachen and Dhanur had eaten, but also a clovey muskiness with the slightest undercurrent of bronze and garlic from a fresh bandage. Rather than raise any hopes, Janurana kept that to herself, and pushed back the possibility of Dhanur’s escape with the possibility of them being crushed in that collapse. The air grew still again, then echoed. Janurana heard footsteps from behind, but struggled to make out anything beyond that from the cave's tangle of passages, despite her more powerful gwomoni ears. She scoffed at herself.

‘Just like Outside,’ Janurana thought. It wasn’t impossible for a distant lion’s call to echo in such a way as to sound nearby from time to time, and she figured it was probably their own steps echoing which her mind was assuming were further away.

The steps grew louder, pounding at her ears. She clutched her head as if her back were about to seize up. The group was paying her little mind, either trying to help Chahua keep from having another breathing fit or trying to remember the exact way when they came to another fork, and thus Janurana fell further behind again. She sunk to the ground as Jura and Diktala were both convinced of opposite directions. Janurana’s thoughts raced despite her trying to force them down. They repeated ‘every time’ as she cycled through all the people she lost, including her mother.

Then Brachen came bursting from the darkness, dripping with sweat. Despite his Light, he tripped over Janurana and was saved by his disciples all trying to catch him at once.

He wheezed so loud he was unable to hear their cries to the Light for saving him. If there was ever a time he needed the Light’s rays, it was then as he couldn’t feel any part of himself. Brachen felt it was a cruel joke that his lungs felt like they were on fire. The young Ascetics tugged at him from every direction, nearly toppling him as he struggled to not drop Dhanur.

“Is the spirit—” Diktala started, realizing dead wasn’t the best word.

“I don’t, think so. Sent back though.” He smirked, panting, his graying mustache looking a bit more colorful in the dim light.

Neesha laid a glowing hand on him to keep him upright.

“No, no.” He waved her off, though the strength was welcome. “Thank you, but her please.”

They all complied, taking turns to give portions of the Light they still had rationed.

It burned Janurana, but she was too busy clutching her chest to notice or care. She did involuntarily take a step back as her thoughts raced. She began to snicker, then laugh. Her thoughts warred within her as relief gave way to pragmatism.

“Janurana?” Brachen cocked his brow.

“You pushed her back?” She was smiling deeply, but she covered her lips with her fingers.

“Enough.” He nodded.

Her mind swirled with thoughts. Dhanur wasn’t dead, but was hurt. Her mother had most likely wrecked their home if the booming collapses were anything to go on, but they were all alive. Brachen was able to push her mother back and no one had died. She had killed Light followers before but if an old man could send her packing, guru or not, Janurana’s mind went wild with the possibilities.

“Guru.” Jura scowled, looking to Brachen, then Janurana.

Janurana pardoned herself and faced a cave wall biting her fingertips rolling between glee, confusion, worry and relief.

“We should help all those who need it,” he sighed, stroking Dhanur’s back as the last Ascetics finished healing her.

“But our temple.”

“I know,” Brachen sighed again.

“Where are we suppo—” Diktala began to ask.

“A moment!” Brachen bellowed, digging his hand into his forehead, then pointed it like he was bowing and centered himself.

Not even a drop of water dared to make a sound somewhere in the cave as he stood completely still, emptying his mind to focus. The same thoughts that ran through his disciples pounded him. He had told them to loop around, but the temple was badly damaged. He had no idea if the door would move again. If Janelsa came back or didn’t leave, he wasn’t sure if they would be brave enough to face her. One Ascetics held her off but they weren’t master gurus or the warriors his Zirisa was.

Brachen’s head began to clear. He had no choice. He couldn’t send them elsewhere. Dhanur had said the bridge south was out and he knew the chances of them surviving a trek through the Outside were slim. They couldn’t go south to hopefully find a bridge still standing further up or down any canyon, and Vatram wouldn’t accept four random Light followers, especially two Uttarans who turned their back on the spirits. They had to go back to the temple.

‘If Janelsa still wants Janurana, they’d be safest where she’s not,’ he thought.

That left the second danger, whatever the nobles in the Capital sent to get Janurana. Brachen thought that had to be whatever it was that blocked his light and patronized Janelsa. Janelsa said she thought he was working for them and he did distinctly remember the person say they were “done”.

Finally, Dhanur’s weight made his shoulder spasm. The soma had brought him strength alongside the adrenaline of the night and it faded in an instant. Brachen almost collapsed, his ankles being the first to give way, and was caught by his disciples. They tried to give him another burst of Light.

“No. I can walk,” he said as Jura hefted Dhanur over his shoulder as gingerly as he could. Brachen continued, “I’m taking Dhanur to Vatram. Hopefully they’ll be able to heal her fully.”

“And we—” Diktala began, only to be cut off as his Guru wasn’t finished.

“I want you all to do what was expected of you.”

“Go back?!” Chahua’s voice spasmed like Brachen’s shoulder.

“Those that attacked our temple were looking for Janurana. They’ll follow her.”

“There’s more than her dowsing mother?!” Jura yelled.

“By the Rays,” Brachen groaned. “Dhanur needs healing! Do as I say. You’ll be safest there. I don’t know if they’ll even let me into Vatram. This one,” he barely nodded in Janurana’s direction, “will come with me. I’m sure the spirit is only interested in where she is. But if need be, I know if you have to, you can repel a spirit.” He trudged forward, ignoring Janurana who sighed again as the disciples either paid her no mind or sneered as they followed their guru. Even Neesha kept her head down. “If I can do it alone, you can do it. But only together,” Brachen reassured them, rubbing his shoulder.

The group soon reached a dead end. Brachen placed his hand on the wall, and the shape of a boulder appeared, wreathed in a golden glow. It fell forward with a thud onto the road outside. They were at the mountain’s base, but the moon was still swirling as they looked out into the scrub and forest. Everyone shuddered at the sight.

Dhanur’s groan spurred Brachen forward. He strode powerfully out onto the road and turned to face the huddled mass of his disciples. He looked over each of them, Neesha was trying to keep a solid expression, Jura was stepping back even if he didn’t look scared. Each of them refused to even touch the ground outside the cave.

“Wait until morning. Do as I said,” he said as he took Dhanur from Jura.

“Stay in the caves??” Chahua covered his mouth as his voice echoed through the night.

“The way behind is closed,” Brachen sighed. “See here, when the Light returns, you’ll be safe enough to come out and circle back. Do as I said.”

“Will you be coming back?” Diktala asked.

Brachen curled his lips, his shoulder aching under his still unconscious daughter. “Once all is done with Dhanur, and she’s okay, I’ll see. I don’t—” he paused, licking his lips anxiously as he made his choice, holding Dhanur tight. “I don’t know what else she needs of me. But I’m getting old. One day you all would inherit the temple regardless. You’re not children. You can handle time alone.”

His disciples who had come to know every wrinkle on his face over the last couple years all stood in silence.

“You’ll be okay. Trust in yourselves, your Light, the Light above, and you’ll find your way to do your duty,” his voice was rigid and methodical. Mechanically, he bowed, standing still for the entire group to bow back

There was a long pause, until Janurana scuttled along the wall past the packed Ascetics. She gently wrung her hands on her parasol, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

With one last look, Brachen raised his hand, extending a pillar of Light to push up the boulder, and direct it into place. The faces faded away as the stone rose, separating him from each of them. His mustache wavered and he fisted his hand once the job was done, causing the Light to fade. The thunk of the stone settling into place echoed through him louder than it did the night.

“You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Virala Zirisa?” He patted Dhanur.

She responded, gasping awake, then going limp again.

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He lowered her to the ground, holding her up so she could sit. “I know. I do, my sweetness. But you have to wake up. I need to know. Your bull. The magic one. You said you had him?”

Again, she gasped awake. “A-Abbaji?”

Brachen couldn’t center himself quick enough to hide his tears. “Yes, Zirisa. Dhanur. I’m here. Please, I need you to tell me something, you said you had your bull. I need him now.”

Dhanur blinked groggily. His words were pushing into her like a wide post into dirt. Her body responded to his voice, trying to make her relax and heal, involuntarily reasoning that if her father was there she must be safe. She battled the urge to collapse into sleep and stayed upright with his help. “Y-Yeah. Gotta…” She tried to get up. “Is she—”

“The spirit is gone.”

“K-K… Sta—” Dhanur stumbled, doing her best to plant her feet with less coordination than when she was drunk. More than once she almost fell over in pain. But Brachen urged her on. Her squeals of contained agony ate at him as she went through the same motions to summon Dekha. After a final laborious push, he came to life, flailing back with horns ready and bleating like a scared goat as if Deiweb’s fire was still coming. “H-Hey!” Dhanur’s eyes shot wide. “S’ okay. Don’t—No. Don’t be scared. She’s gone—” Dhanur stumbled forward, out of Brachen’s arms but the pain took her. In an instant, she passed out and collapsed onto Dekha’s head. Laying between his horns, Dekha came to a halt and held his master steady.

“Okay. Okay.” Brachen centered himself, lifting Dhanur with one last push of his strength. His shoulders almost gave out as Dhanur had, but there was just enough for him to lift her onto the saddle bags and slide her bow into them. He knelt down to take the broken hitching post from Dekha’s rope. “Thank you for the help moving your companion, Janurana. What are you going to do?”

Janurana hadn’t moved. She continued to look down at the ground, caressing her parasol’s single crack. The night was quiet, weighing on her. “I thought…” She finally looked up and met his eyes. “I’m going.”

“Away?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Are you?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Because you’re just standing there.”

Janurana turned her torso, but her feet were planted.

“I thought your kind moved faster at night.”

She said nothing.

“I’m going to Vatram. It’s not far. Come or don’t. Just don’t go back to the temple.” He turned Dekha, but paused. He brought his hands together, sighed, and said with a much softer tone, “What your mother does isn’t your fault, no matter how it may hurt those around you.”

He left Janurana standing on the road, alone, unmoving. But she noticed Dhanur’s bow had fallen out of the bags. She jogged to catch up with him. “She says it needs to be unstrung.” Janurana tried to do so, but couldn’t quite remember how.

“Later,” Brachen said, urging Dekha at a brisk walk so as not to bounce Dhanur.

Janurana ground her teeth, gingerly placed it in the saddlebag near its owner, and stayed close to them.

The night was as eerily silent as when Janurana had first appeared at the Capital’s gate. She kept expecting the familiar tension in her back, but it never came. No matter how often she peeked back, there was no telltale pale blue sliver waving in the distance. Brachen did his best to keep a brisk pace along the route north to Vatram. Despite it all, they kept Dekha as his brisk walk. Both of them shot their eyes every which way, but no creature accosted them, no imp, no wayward bull, not even a bat. The wind was still as they hurried. It was quiet but for Dhanur’s occasional groan and the shuffling of their clothing as they hurried gently.

“Haven’t been Outside at night since the Scorching. Tell me, is it normally this quiet now?” Brachen asked after stroking Dhanur’s hair.

‘Only around me,’ Janurana thought, then said, “No.”

Brachen licked his lips and continued.

“Dekha will surely sound his alarm if there’s anything,” Janurana tried to add, but Brachen kept looking about regardless.

From then on they traveled in silence, scanning the brush line. The foliage grew ever denser and their path connected to a larger road along with others. New signposts had been erected at each in the more rounded Uttaran script with a simple clan marking for the illiterate denoting who controlled which point of interest. Janurana couldn’t read it, but she could see Brachen’s frown as none of them pointed to the temple.

Despite the Borderlands’ Scorching, the closer they got to Vatram, the more healthy the brush became. It was healing much faster with each step nearer to the northern jungle with the black of soot giving way to bright recovery green. Rather than the copious shrub plains and occasional pocket forests of the south, the jungle was starting to creep forward, making the trees denser and more numerous. It faded on the gradient just as the Borderlands were more Daksinian closer to the Capital. The dirt as well was much more moist. There was barely any dust kicked up despite the dry season coming to an end.

But even with the lusher forests, no animal called from among the trees. The path wound around a small hill, covered in saplings and defiant jungle trees, smaller than the full Uttaran jungle. Brachen twitched his lips, staring up its slope. The night had returned to its normal intangibility with the shifting outlines.

“What is it?” Janurana whispered.

Brachen looked to Dekha’s eyes, the lightless beacons of yellow in the night. “Your eyes are better than mine now, yes?” he asked pointedly.

“Yes, Guru. I don’t see anything though.”

Brachen stroked his mustache. “There was a tower before the war. Always gave us a hard time. But if you don’t—”

Dekha spun and shot his light into the brush, illuminating a northern slinger leaping from a hole in the ground off the path.

“Could have smelled you, s—” he started saying in Daksinian, readying his shot that glowed with an emerald hue, but he recoiled in Dekha’s light. Dazed and confused, his stone fell from the sling and its hue vanished.

Two more warriors scrambled from the hole, readying their spears. Shining tendrils of green or blue light snaked from their fingertips and trailed up their spear’s shafts to engulf the blades. Janurana clenched her hands, like a tiger extending its claws, but Brachen stepped forward as the warriors stumbled at Dekha’s light too.

“Wait!” Brachen cried in Uttaran. “We’re travelers! Please! We need—”

“Hold! Hold!” The slinger yelled in Uttaran, putting away his weapon, covering his eyes. “It’s just the monk.”

The two other warriors shared a confused look while shielding their eyes.

“Shut your bull up, monk!” one demanded.

“Yes. Yes,” he stammered, looking back to Janurana with a pleading look that translated what they had ordered.

“Um, there there, Dekha. You can calm down now,” Janurana tried, kneeling down in front of him.

He didn’t listen immediately, fixating on the two men still holding their spears, but Dekha reluctantly relented and instead began stamping his foot and chuffing, then stopped when Dhanur groaned.

“Because of course the monk has a haunted bull like that,” the slinger said, stepping over the brush and spitting in Brachen’s direction. “What do you want?”

“I do not want to hurt you. I did not want to hurt you.” Brachen spoke simply and directly in Uttaran, lacking any nuance or colloquial syntax. “My daughter. She needs a healer!”

The spearmen shook the color from their spears, their northern magic retreating along the same paths they took up the spears and back inside their hands. As it did, it revealed the resplendently forged spearheads they used, covered with various colored swirls more beautiful than any gem wedged into a sword’s hilt. But their armor was haphazard leather and cloth, like Dhanur’s under her bronze scales. Each piece was scarred, worn, and oiled, the choicest bits from their service showing what battles they had been in.

Both spearmen looked to the slinger, who wore a dented and scuffed chest plate, one just like those used by southern warriors. It too was well taken care of. Rather than be fully repaired, it was proud of what it had been through. His grieves, wrist guards, and helmet, however, were all bronze of northern make with red and green swirls circling in on each other. His clan markings too were different from the spearmen. He bore the tan and white t–shaped tattoos across the top of his forehead, around under his cheekbones drawn down to the sides of his chin marking him as Clan Macaque. The spearmen however, had the brandings of Clan Fish and Tree with the red gills on their neck or the brown trunk up their nose and green leaves on their forehead with dangling vines down their cheeks.

The slinger rubbed the last stings from his eyes and ignored the spearmen, instead looking back to the hole from which they came. Their spirit commander climbed up the ladder which led down into their underground, fireproof outpost. She wasn’t blue like Janelsa, but was as inhuman. Gray and tan fur covered every inch of her, including her tail, which stuck out her pants through a cut hole. Only her face was furless, like every macaque since she had the animal’s head. She peaked out of the hole hesitantly, saw Dekha was no longer alarming, and dusted off her shirt as she came out.

“What happened, great spirit?” the slinger asked with due reverence, giving a slight bow with his hands at his side.

The spirit leapt as Dekha snorted wildly. He shuffled back and forth, wanting to charge forward despite Dhanur’s groans. His eyes began to glow again while Brachen and Janurana pleaded with him to calm down.

“That wasn’t the Ascetic?” the spirit asked in a perfectly normal human voice.

“No, great spirit. Please! We need a healer!” Brachen had his arms around Dekha’s neck, while Dhanur started to yell. He recoiled when Dekha’s skin flaked off. “Janurana, please!”

“I’m trying!” She retorted and continued trying to coo Dekha looking straight into his eyes.

He tried get around her to take aim at the spirit, but Janurana matched his movements. She tried grabbing his head which surprised him. He stopped chuffing and heard Dhanur’s pained groans, finally slowing down. Thankfully, when Dekha’s skin flew back to him as black smoke, the darkness of the night kept it hidden from the northerners.

“Heal her yourself.” The slinger crossed his arms. “Back the way you came! You’ll find no haven here!”

Janurana could only understand a few words of northern she had picked up over the years, but she could easily tell the conversation wasn’t going well.

“Please! We need a healer!” Brachen pleaded, stepping forward. A stone whistled past his cheek into his hood, knocking it back and tearing a hole.

“What did we say?!” The slinger loaded up another stone and charged it with his green light.

“Please. I did not fight! I—” The stone grazed Brachen’s shoulder. He clasped the wound. It burned as the northern magic also singed his robes. Janurana rushed to his side, but he waved her off to keep Dekha under control who began chuffing again. “I am too old! I helped people. People didn’t want to fight and I helped them. I helped Clan Tree!” The Clan Tree warrior looked away. Brachen slowly stepped back, sparking another tiny Light for long enough to show Dhanur’s northern skin. “We have one of yours!”

“So?” the Clan Fish scoffed. “Go back to your temple. Keep us from our watch and say he’s not with any scouts. Where’s the warriors you’re with? Distracting us, are you??”

But the Uttaran warriors all stopped the second the spirit took a step forward, she was staring up through the recovering trees at Brachen’s temple. Although she wasn’t on the spirit’s plane, she could see how disturbed the barrier was and the sound from the fight had echoed through the Borderlands while Brachen’s Light wreathing the temple had lit it like a beacon. The purple of the moon bent and swayed barely enough for one looking at the right spot at the right time to think a translucent spirit was in the air. The spirit walked onto the path, causing Dekha to get even more agitated. The warriors ignored Brachen and Janurana finally being able to take Dhanur off him and crowded around their leader.

“Has it changed?” the slinger asked as the two other spearmen struggled to see so far in the darkness.

“Not much.” She tapped her foot and turned her head to each side, focusing her more sensitive ears. “There’s no other sounds yet either.”

“Did you do that?” The slinger spun around, getting out another stone.

Brachen brought forth his Light to sooth his daughter who had started to regain consciousness. Janurana was on the opposite side of Dekha trying to shush him and was spared its burn. The spirit, however, leapt back. Her skin burned like Janelsa’s when Brachen made his barrier around the temple doors. It wasn’t as bad since his Light was smaller and she was further away. Still, it broke her focus on the temple and the warriors readied their weapons again, until she stepped forward and noticed Dhanur’s unique hair.

“The monk wouldn’t let anything happen to his own temple or child,” she said.

The warriors all put their hands to their sides and bowed. They were each a few years younger than Dhanur, and being children when Dhanur still lived with her father wouldn’t have recalled or even noticed how his serene missionizing demeanor changed the second anyone turned against his child. The Macaque Clan spirit slowly walked towards him, remembering how he had sent them back the one time warriors from Vatram had come out to remove him from the temple.

Brachen shook his hands as Dhanur slipped back into unconsciousness. He panted with the Light fading away, any lingering strength from his soma having faded. The spirit looked him up and down, seeing the stain of blood on his cheek.

But Dekha, now free from Dhanur, charged forward when the spirit got too close. He knocked Janurana aside, horns lowered, eyes beginning to glow. The spirit, without missing a beat, leapt back to her men.

“Dekha! No!” Both Janurana and Brachen yelled in unison.

He listened, but just barely. He dragged his horns against the ground and dug at the path, ready to charge again. The warriors lowered their own spears to lock horns.

“Enough.” The spirit shook her head. “She’s hurt. He’s hurt. We can let him see a healer and head back tomorrow.”

“But he’s—” The Fish Clan started.

“What is wrong with that bull, monk?” The slinger demanded.

Brachen and Janurana didn’t answer, so the spirit tentatively approached Dekha. Janurana ran forward to sooth him as he still had his horns ready for battle.

“Is he going to be a problem in the stables?” she asked. The spirit held out her hand as she approached, but he recoiled with a chuff and she yanked it back as his eyes began to glow once again.

“Dekha. Sh. Sh. You have to shush.” Janurana squatted in front of him and looked directly into his eyes.

He jittered, unsure of what to do.

Brachen barely pulled himself up from the ground as his bones screamed for the night to be over already. “She wants to know if Dekha will calm down in the stables. I will translate for you,” he said.

“I believe so, once his owner can tell him shush.” She continued to coo him and Brachen nodded as he relayed the answer.

The spirit’s brow curled. She came forward again and finally Dekha listened. He was uneasy but with Janurana and Brachen physically holding him back still he twitched and flinched instead of attacking. The spirit sniffed him and Janurana in turn. Brachen didn’t dare bend down again with his aching ankles overwriting his parental need, and he kept shooting one eye to Dhanur. But the spirit ignored him, getting right up to Janurana’s face. She appreciated her scent about as much as Dekha’s.

“W-We’re not from here. From further south,” Janurana said as the spirit curled her nose and Brachen translated.

“Yeah,” she scoffed, accepting that as a rational explanation. “Stupid southern magic. They’re fleeing whatever caused that at the temple. Slima, Ramti, bring them to the city and come back.”

The slinger and Tree Clan warrior looked around, as if there was someone else.

“Fine.” Slima put away his sling and trudged past them. “Course the monk has some messed up Light shooting bull.”