***
The group made their way slowly through the night with Dhanur taking each step gingerly as Brachen tried to make her lean over his shoulder despite her protests. Eventually, Brachen grabbed his daughter and pulled her arm over him. Dhanur had stopped cold, glaring at her father with a seething anger Janurana had yet to see. Dekha had since ceased fidgeting at the spirits on the walls, listening when Dhanur told him it was alright, but she made even him step back.
“I’m. Fine.” The words fell from her mouth and landed on Brachen’s ears like falling stones.
He tried to match her glare, but threw up his hands. “Fine. You’re fine. By the Rays, Zirisa.”
“Dhanur.”
“A father just tries to help his daughter!”
“You’re not m—” She stopped before saying something she would regret and continued to the inn.
It wasn’t far from the gate, only a few houses deep. It was situated on the main way through the city, which linked the gate to the jungle beyond and was wide enough for an entire army to march through either way, regardless of the refugees clogging both sides. The inn was one of the few buildings still lit, even with Dhanur’s screaming echoing through the city. When they arrived, Brachen leaned on Dekha’s bags. His exhaustion finally caught up with him since they weren’t in immediate danger anymore with lungs burning and his bones screaming for a bed.
“Please, say you stole your armor if anyone asks,” he said.
“Fine.” She turned to storm inside.
“Wait, wait. Dhanur. Say Ku oru tumven. Per mu.” Brachen spoke the northern as slow as he could. “I want a room, three people.”
After she left, he glanced at Janurana who had procured her parasol and held it close. “Better a northern woman ask.” His tone was flat and Janurana only nodded. “If either of us did we’d be wandering the whole night.”
“Oh, yes.” She struggled to find the right words. With Dhanur gone, the lingering odor of garlic under her bandage faded and Janurana was assaulted by the northern city’s olfactory noise of sugar, fruit, and jungle plants. “That makes sense. What I was going to ask is if I could, maybe, find some help for you? F-for your hand. You haven’t used it and it has become quite swollen. I am at fault so… I want to do something.”
As Dhanur loudly and angrily repeated her northern words like an obvious foreigner to the sleepy innkeeper, Janurana avoided Brachen's solemn gaze. He sighed and looked away.
“There is nothing you can do for me right now.”
“I’m sorry.” She understood his unspoken request, his calm quiet.
“You, are not, your mother. So, thank you,” Brachen said.
Again, Janurana wasn’t sure who he was convincing.
“The Light shines on us all, even if we don’t accept it.”
Dhanur reappeared, eyes on Brachen alone. “It’s the last room on the right.”
“Dhanur.” Brachen scolded and held the inn door for her with one foot inside both it and the still burning firelight. “Go inside, Janurana. We’ll be in. Oh, and leave your parasol. They’re already barely fond of me, best not to give them something else to see.”
Janurana fidgeted, looking between the two, then down to her parasol. It looked back up at her, staring with its new single, tiny, almost imperceptible crack. She dared to run her finger over it. Somehow, it felt exactly like the patches on her sari. She hurriedly, and as tenderly as possible, slotted her parasol into Dekha’s bags before bowing and heading inside.
When Janurana had scurried away, Dhanur’s legs gave out. She fell to her knees with a silent, mighty groan. Before she even knew why, she began to bawl, but her nearly healed bones threatened to come apart again. She forced herself to not scream. Brachen wrapped her in his arms. He sighed and rocked her tenderly, as any nearby displaced northerners simply rolled over in their sleep. With her breath quickening and despite the pain, she pulled him to her and buried her face in his chest, her hot breath moistening his robe as she began to weep. Dhanur’s wails grew in volume she couldn’t control but were muffled as the weight of what happened finally fell on her; the attack on the temple, the statue crushing her, her wound before even getting there and how helpless she was after it. Her powerful fingers dug into Brachen as she shook in his arms.
“Okay… Okay, my sweetness, little Dhanur. I’m here.”
“I almost died,” she choked.
“Almost. Almost.”
“You coulda…”
“We don’t know if—”
“All because of her!” Dhanur squeaked, tapping the ground with a pitiful excuse for a punch.
“Don’t say that,” he sighed softly. Brachen wondered if he might have told her a few too many sanitized stories about invincible paragons. “You took on a task, we should complete it. She needed help. It’s what you should have done. No going back on that now.”
“No. The temple is—N’ the other, other pilgrims.”
“We don’t know that. The Light will soon shine and they can return to the temple.”
“It’s dowsing rocks now! That was home, Abbaji!”
“Janurana’s mother won’t chase them.” Brachen cringed at his poor word choice. “Her mother is not her fault. She is not her mother, Dhanur.”
“Of course none of this is working.”
“What isn’t?” He stroked her hair.
“She-She was supposed to help me avenge Aarushi or whatever.”
“I don’t remember you saying she said that.”
“… She didn’t.”
“Then who did.”
“The… voice I hear.”
Brachen let the words settle in his ear. “Your thoughts? We all have them, Dhanur.”
“It doesn’t feel like me…”
“You didn’t say this voice existed earlier because?”
“Why should I have to?” Dhanur sat up through the pain.
Brachen sighed. “Fine. Perhaps it is the Light speaking directly to you, perhaps my words have taken form in your head, perhaps it’s your bull who comes out of your hair.” He felt his tone rising and sighed again, putting up his hands to center himself.
Dhanur pulled away and fisted her hands, beginning to shake from the pain and anger. With all the might her trained draw arm could muster she slammed her fist into the ground, leaving a marked imprint in the well–trodden road. “Why did I bother?!” Dhanur fell backwards into the dirt.
Brachen patted her back with two tepid taps, knowing he wouldn’t get through to her at that time. She seemed so small to him, splayed out on the ground and covering her face, even in her armor. He scooted back, licking his lips so as not to groan and patted her head.
“Let’s go to sleep. Maybe clean that face up.” He took off his robes and dabbed her eyes with the inside of his sleeve.
Dhanur squeezed them shut, letting the last of her tears slide out. Looking up at her father’s mustache and familiar eyes only brought more tears bubbling to the surface. It reminded her that she was safe, that he was safe, but that they weren’t before and may not be again. That she was near what Janurana’s mother wanted. He was as well but if there was something after them from the gwomoni too, their target was in the building behind them, and maybe in his arms as well.
‘You hoped Janurana could give you a second chance against the gwomoni. You, her, whoever you met would become their target, regardless. And we almost died,’ said her inner voice.
‘You told me to do this!’ Dhanur thought back and covered her face again, smacking the side of her head until Brachen somehow got her arm under control.
He pulled her head into his lap. “Little Dhanur. Virala Zirisa. Shhhh. You’ll feel better after you sleep.”
“No, I won’t.”
The scales on her shoulders clinked as Dhanur wiped her face uselessly. Where she wiped away tears, more immediately took their place running down her cheeks. Brachen looked down into her eyes and only saw the little girl who would run around the temple grounds with mushrooms from the cave to pretend she had Light of her own, listen to the stories on the temple walls and demand to hear about the Blue Dhanur who never once lost a fight for the hundredth time, or hide among the garden’s bushes before training for hours on end with the bow they made together. He kissed her forehead and stroked her hair back over and over as she let out her last lingering sobs. She had grabbed his hand and held it to her cheek. He didn’t move it.
The moon had moved across the north’s sky, obstructed more by the jungle’s steam than the clouds, and making room for dawn that would soon come. Dhanur sniffled and breathed deeply, keeping her eyes closed and covered them with his hand. He smiled. She was embarrassed. When she spoke, her voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a canyon.
“A-are you okay?” She grimaced and his hand moved, but she still held it.
“Yes, little Dhanur. Are you okay?”
She sighed, pulling Brachen’s hand down her face to meet his eyes. “No, Sir.”
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“No?”
“I’ll help you up, Zirisa.”
“Yes, sir.” She nodded.
Brachen kissed her forehead again and helped her up as she sniffled and coughed. Dhanur let him do so and without thinking reached to her hip for her drink skin, but in the chaos of the night, it had fallen off her belt. Dhanur squeezed her fist in its absence.
“Come on, my sweetness. Let’s get some sleep.”
“No. I-I really need t’ think.”
“To speak with that voice?”
“To shut it up.”
“Perhaps listen to it.”
“That’s what’s caused all this!”
“Take off your armor at least, best to not draw attention.”
Dhanur looked up, past Vatram’s wall and to the temple.
“Pavar told me you should be fine with it, but I think it’s better safe than sorry here. You’re behind Vatram’s wall. They’ve prepared their city for another invasion. This is perhaps the safest place for you except for beyond the jungle.” Brachen stroked her back and she felt it through her armor.
“Yeah.” Dhanur nodded. “Yeah. C’mon, Dekha.” She gave him a tug on his rope and he quickly fell in behind her, matching her slow gait perfectly.
The other bulls tittered as she entered the inn’s stable, more unsure of Dekha’s scent than off put, but by the time she reached an empty pen in the back, they had calmed. She opened the gate and he didn’t need a command, instead strolling in and turning to face her like he did after the first time she ever stored him in a stable.
“Good boy,” Dhanur said, kneeling to look into his eyes. She winced as she did and he waggled his head. “No, no. No one’s here. Just be quiet, yeah? Can you do that? No spirit here is gonna hurt you. Or me. Just wait. I’ll call you if something’s wrong. Okay? Are you okay?”
When he didn’t answer, she rubbed the air over his head and put her scales away, burying it at the bottom of his bags.
‘Of course… Lot of good that did me,’ Dhanur thought, her shoulder popping as she was removing it, and she decided to store her leather armor additions as well. When she saw her father enter the inn through the connecting windows, she slunk outside.
Brachen walked into the empty main room. The innkeeper had dragged himself back to bed and left only the welcoming fire near the front door going with a fresh log. There was a protective ring of stones around the hearth against the wall, almost hiding the scars of a past unsupervised fire. The pillows and tables were far away as well.
Brachen warmed his hands by the fire. His mind was clear, but in the blaze he saw a sudden image of Janelsa soaring back, hit dead in the center of her chest by one of his blasts. It sent a rush of pride through him, burning like the flame of youth once again, for the few seconds before his aching shoulder, back, ankles, and cracked hand snuffed it out.
He made his way to their room and found Janurana curled up on the floor in the darkest corner, leaving the bed open for either of her companions. He wiggled his mustache and sat down. It wasn’t as soft as his own bed back at the temple with his form molded into it, but it felt wonderful nonetheless. He felt like he’d spent days on his feet rather than only the last few hours. It had been years since he gallivanted around the plateau on pilgrimage or sent anyone back from the temple. Brachen groaned as he got comfortable, massaging his still swollen hand that felt a little better from the flames, barely enough to let him sleep.
Janurana’s breath hitched and Brachen noticed. He’d figured out what Janurana was almost the second he saw her and he was sure that Dhanur hadn’t noticed yet. She was never the most observant back at the temple.
‘That was twelve years ago,’ Brachen thought. ‘She wouldn’t survive all she’s done by being so dense.’
Regardless, he knew Janurana hadn’t told Dhanur. For that Brachen couldn't blame her with Dhanur’s apparent past with the gwomoni. He saw Dhanur was trying her best to be a paragon, strong and thoughtful, but he remembered how quick she was to snap and place blame when her anger hid sorrow as a child. He didn’t know how much she had changed in the past twelve years.
“I know you’re awake, young woman,” he said.
Janurana pursed and bit her lips, picking at her cuticles, and hesitating before sitting up. She couldn’t meet his eyes, so looked at his old hands instead. Their southern skin wasn’t too different to hers, but far more wrinkled. His nails were still dirty from the fight, but it looked like he took care of them. She closed her eyes and waited for his berating. It wasn’t the first time Janurana had caused loss, but at such a scale, it had been a while.
“Why don’t you sit up here with me?” Brachen asked.
“Certainly, guru.” She sat stiffly at his side with her hands delicately folded on her lap. Brachen put one warm hand on hers and she only looked back in confusion. He patted her hand twice as they sat quietly and the air in the room felt heavy.
“This isn’t the first time this spirit has caused you pain like this, I can safely assume?” Brachen asked.
Janurana opened and closed her mouth, unable to form a completely honest answer.
“I want to thank you for your apology. I accept it and I understand your responsibility in this, but,” Brachen patted her hand again and smiled softly. “The Light doesn’t plan itself around a small gwomoni roaming the forest.”
Janurana’s rigid posture and lump in her throat cracked as they laughed lightly together.
“I know you are older than you look,” he said.
“Ha! Very! … Yes.” The mirth left her voice. “Yes.”
“Older than me?”
“I… Think so. Yes. Fairly sure… I’ve lost track.”
“So, this isn’t the first time you’ve experienced loss. It’s not the first time I’ve experienced loss. In my case, as far as we know, I have not this night. If our emergency plans hold water, my disciples will be safe in the caves and emerge at daylight. I have worry, but not grief. The most that has changed is a few broken statues and a door, replaceable features. And for my worry on Neesha, Chahua, Jura, and Diktala, I cannot blame you. I’m happy to help you, that is my reason to be here. To bring the Light, to share that Light with others in whatever way it calls me to.”
Janurana pulled her hand from under his and covered her trembling lips, looking away. “That’s very admirable. I’m still… Very sorry… For bringing my mother—Excuse me.” She tried to hide telltale trembling in her voice under fake coughing.
“We can’t control exactly how and when we enter or exit people’s lives. Or how others enter or exit ours. I’ve let go of the losses I've experienced in the name of being a physical being. You should.”
The memories flooded Janurana like an incoming monsoon wind, knocking down the walls of denial Janurana held aloft for decades or even centuries if the largest guess on her age was right. There were so many gone, so much company she’d give anything to experience for one more day, all their memories and lessons stuffed into her trinket patch to be forgotten and never relived except for the passing second of remembrance. Her chin trembled, quickly feeling sore. She looked away again and the dykes burst open. Wailing wrought Janurana forward as her lungs nearly collapsed at the force of her sobbing. She leaned over and covered her mouth with both hands, almost screaming as Brachen could only pull her in and touch her back gently as he did with his daughter, expecting as much from the girl. Old as she might have been, she was evidently still a girl, one who never let herself or got the chance to grow up.
“I’m sorry…” she wheezed. Her thick lashes already clung to each other and a line of drool fell from between Janurana’s fingers as she tried to keep her wails behind them. All her years of running and hiding and losing and loving came back fresh. “I-I-I don’t want anyone else to get hurt! I can-I ca-anymore. No more. They have to die. Enough!” She leaned forward further, her lungs and stomach heaving, then leaned back to take a painfully deep breath. She might’ve fallen off of the bed had Brachen not caught her around the waist and pulled her to him, holding in the complaints from his fractured hand.
In a long life pain could fade or fester. Janurana had not let it harden her so much. Her catharsis was long overdue, and Brachen knew as much. She clung to his arm and he figured he was probably the only person who had bothered to hold her in such a long time.
For a moment, Janurana reverted to childhood, clinging to a father with proud facial hair. She shook and her throat ripped with sobs until a callous bang knocked their wall and Janurana seized, quieting quickly. A learned reflex, but Brachen patted her head as she sniffled.
“An early alarm our neighbor didn’t request.” He smiled and she chuckled weakly. Her face was red and wet, emotion having poured from her eyes, nose, and mouth for what felt like hours. She used the scarf of her sari to wipe her face dry and she smiled truly. It was small, but true.
“Thank you,” she sighed heavily, like a flock of crows leaving her. Janurana felt lighter, still guilty, but a healthier guilt. “You shouldn’t have to comf—”
Brachen held up a hand to prevent that train of thought.
What Janurana had decided in the cave solidified. She knew that enough was enough. Once and for all, she would make sure that what she brought upon Brachen, his temple, and Dhanur was not in vain. She had traveled with a Light Ascetic before, seen dhanurs and bulls fall for whatever reasons, but Janurana knew there had to be a reason her mother kept getting sent back recently, why the woman who decided to help her had the animal sigil of her noble house and how that bull could counter her mother, why that sigil was made by the same monsters that cursed Janurana to be a gwomoni, and why that warrior had just fought in a war against spirits and had tried before to destroy those monsters who brought down her house centuries ago. In truth, she didn’t know if the gwomoni Dhanur had fought were the ones who made her one too. She couldn't recall their faces, but the names Hegwous and Gehsek were undoubtedly ones she knew from somewhere since her mind was completely blank on them. There was a memory behind their names she had thoroughly blocked out. Janurana had blocked certain memories before, but few as deep as their names. Even if she was conflating the misremembered names of random towns she had seen on a random road sign, the feeling was enough to give Janurana drive and convince herself they were the ones who killed her once powerful mother and ruined her life.
This time would see her mother vanquished or passed on.
In an almost jovial tone she mumbled to herself, “Running is tiresome and repeated mourning is loathsome.”
The whole time Brachen stroked her back gently, so gently she no longer noticed, and let her think what she must and feel what she would until she was done. She took one of his hands in hers and kissed it before pressing her forehead to his knuckles as she stood.
“Please, please rest,” Janurana said.
“I suppose I can now, there’s no storm cloud in my bedroom’s corner. You do so too.” There were further implications behind his words, but Janurana knew then wasn’t the time to voice them.
“I’ll,” Janurana didn’t hear Dekha alarming outside or feel her back spasm. “I’ll try.”
Brachen smirked and she smiled, but he did lay back with a groan. She covered him with the pelt at the end of the bed. A soft “oh” left his surprised lips but he relaxed and closed his eyes, almost immediately breathing deeply and evenly. The setting moon swept across his features, highlighting the brown and gray of his mustache. She smiled again, wider, looking at him for a longer while. His sleep was deep after his ordeal today. She slipped back to her corner and studied the moon, then pressed her head to her knees, and closed her eyes to rest.
***
After she left the stable Dhanur had paused at the inn’s doorway, gritting her teeth in anger at the one who had brought so much danger being near her father, then wandered up and down the main way.
‘Yikes, that did not go well,’ her inner voice said. Dhanur twitched at it, louder in her ears than usual, as it continued to berate her, ‘What did you expect leading a random spirit to the temple? Not just any temple, yours.’
‘You said I should help her!’
‘But not at the expense of yourself or your only family!’
She stepped down the road, gritting her teeth and clenching her fists. Her nails bit into her flesh so she whipped her knife out to fidget with anything else.
‘Wasn’t your smartest strategy,’ it said. ‘A wonder you haven’t been killed before now if that's what you consider a good idea.’
‘Where else were we supposed to go? She didn’t say how strong her mother's spirit was!’
‘She kind of tried,’ her inner voice snapped back
Dhanur then tried to focus on something else, anything else. She gripped her knife’s blade in her gloved hand, feeling the edge through it. A refugee shifted, readjusting as another man slept against him. Dhanur stared into his eyelids as he drifted back off. She couldn’t help but try to place him in the northern ranks she fought.
“No worse than raiding,” she said to herself and returned to the stable to stare at Dekha instead. “I didn’t make those fires and make it all worse.”
‘I guess because you rescued Janurana from a few northerners you knew better. You had to help some downtrodden person. It’s what you should do. But it’s all her fault of course. Great idea, Dhanur.’
She banged the side of her head with the knife’s pommel and tears began to flow again.
“I thought you were supposed to be helpful…” she said aloud.
‘And you always try to shut me up. Why do you care about my help now?’
‘Because you told me to help her and it’s all going wrong! Fix it! You made the problem!’
‘Well, I don’t want to deal with her again any more than you do! We almost died!’
Dhanur tried to think back on a time she had come so close to death. There were dicey moments in the war and times she had almost tripped off a cliff during her travels, but an accident or close call weren’t as bad as being dead to rights if not for her father. She only remembered when she, Aarushi, and Muqtablu had failed to take down Hegwous and the gwomoni. She pushed that memory back into its hole, leaving only its footprint of hatred.
Dhanur realized the safest place would be further north into Uttara, away from Janurana’s mother and the gwomoni. She figured that, by then if nothing had come for them, nothing would. But that was only a guess.
Dekha only watched silently, as he always did.