***
Dhanur knew she wouldn’t win against the whole Uttaran army, but she made a sporting effort of it. Instantly after the spirit screamed, dozens of warriors swarmed the pair. Dhanur kicked and flailed as best she could, scratching a few with her bow’s spiked ends and ripping one’s cheek wide open. To her surprise, however, they didn’t impale her to the ground with dozens of spears but restrained her instead. When Dhanur noticed she wasn’t fighting to take one of them with her, she curled her lips into a wicked smile.
It was an expression Janurana had never seen from Dhanur and she stared at Dhanur completely perplexed. Janurana didn’t struggle when she was grabbed again by the same warriors who held her during the duel. She knew that even a gwomoni could only make it so far before numbers and spirits took her down, and so decided to wait. Dhanur, however, chose violence did not.
“Aw, what? Can’t kill me?” Dhanur scoffed and writhed as she was pinned down, head pressed into the dirt. It did nothing to dampen her smirk. “Yeah, that was probably your best warrior, huh? Seeing how we killed all your best already!”
No Uttaran understood what she was saying in Daksinian, but its insubordination was clear. They yanked her to her feet as hard as they could.
Dhanur used the force to propel herself back and slam her head into a warrior’s nose. “Ha! By the Rays, think-”
A Clan Macaque warrior slugged in the gut and the warrior she headbutted kicked her in the back. Her bronze armor only did so much to stop the blunt trauma.
Janurana winced, both at the hits, and the fact that Dhanur smirked wider afterwards.
Before any others could get their hits in, the Clan Macaque Spirit who called them out grabbed Dhanur by her hair and threw her onto the central lift. She motioned for Janurana, who was shoved with just as much force.
“String them up!” One warrior chanted which was quickly picked up by the crowd. A few pressed forward to grab Dhanur and Janurana, but the Clan Spirit shoved them back.
“Are you okay?” Janurana asked and got to her knees.
Rather than heed their Clan Spirit, the Macaque Clan jeered and booed like an arena crowd. Soon, the few assorted members of other clans joined in.
“Perfectly fine,” Dhanur said, still trying to regain her breath from the body blows. “Hey, monkey! Ya left my hair on my head! Try again!”
“Dhanur! Shut up!” Janurana elbowed her companion’s side with as much force as Dhanur’s previous hits combined.
The Clan Spirit would have ignored Dhanur if she had heard, but she was barely able to keep the crowd from advancing on the prisoners. Individuals kept taking steps forward, followed by the entire crowd filling the space behind them. Each was shoved back, but that didn’t kept the entire mob from advancing.
“We’re supposed to take them alive!” she yelled, curling her expression in disbelief that a Clan Spirit has to explain themselves. “We’re going to question them, then we can string them up!”
“What does a southerner know?? How to make bricks!?” One Clan Rat warrior called back.
The Macaque Spirit took a single step back when her entire troop of warriors cheered in response rather than fight another clan insulting their spirit. But before the crowd could push forward into that step, a Clan Moth spirit leapt over a pair of tents, his proboscis and compound eyes not showing any Human emotion, but the message was clear. The mob took a step back too. Another seemingly normal woman leapt over the crowd from behind, denoting her as a spirit as well. With the intervention the mob quieted, and while the other spirits chastised the Uttarans for disrespecting their leaders the Macaque spirit to step back onto the elevator. She yanked the suspension root which caused every Clan Tree spirit in the cave to snap to attention. One pivoted gracefully like a falling leaf along the ceiling vines and summoned the elevator just as Dhanur was trying to get onto her knees.
“Hey! Monkey!” Dhanur still hadn’t lost her smirk even when she fell over.
“Dhanur!” Janurana was about elbow her again, but decided not to risk knocking Dhanur off.
The Clan Spirit didn’t turn, but crossed her arms.
“Heh. Kicked your Clan’s ass,” Dhanur said.
They were promptly dragged by their collars along the bridge and past a clanless porter who spat at them. Dhanur was about to hurl an insult his way as well, but instead was crushed by the unbelievable aura of sheer disappointment her father was radiating.
He was fairly certain the warrior he saw in the duel was Dhanur, but he couldn’t be certain dangling from the ceiling. When her helmet came off, he switched to not wanting to believe it. When he saw her dragged along the bridge, however, his face collapsed to an expression he hadn’t made since Dhanur was a child and tried to hit a target while jumping off the temple, something he felt he didn’t need to tell her not to do. He radiated disbelief at her actions and shame at his own as he contemplated where he went wrong.
Just as she did while her father was healing her broken bones back then, she gave him the same cocksure smirk while being dragged into the commander’s office.
They were launched through the doorway, tumbling to a halt in front of Atampara, Kunya, Miraku, and two Clan spirits from Clan Leopard. Their lower lips sagged considerably and their fangs were a deep orange indicating their age.
Dhanur popped up almost instantly and spat directly at the nearest person, who happened to be commander Atampara.
She kicked an equal amount of dirt back at Dhanur. “You found them already?” she asked the macaque spirit.
“Nope. They were fighting one of our warriors in retribution.”
Every one at Atampara’s table took a collective moment and waited for the actual report.
“No, seriously. In here, like a couple of idiots,” the spirit continued.
“Hey!” Dhanur popped up before having her legs kicked out from under her. “Ow! Dark! Anyone here understand me? Feel like I’m insulting a wall!”
“Fetch an interpreter.” Atampara said in northern, then switched to southern. “Wait.”
Before Dhanur could speak again, Janurana pinched Dhanur’s shoulder just as Brachen did. “Seriously, shut up.”
Dhanur wanted to pick a fight with Miraku, who chuckled at the childish display, but she finally obliged. Taking a long breath, she calmed herself from the adrenalin.
Janurana, however, studied her captors.
They had returned to their conversation. While Janurana couldn’t understand, she could tell Atampara and Miraku were asking the Leopard spirits questions, which didn’t seem to satisfy anyone. The Clan Leopard spirits looked old, but she realized she had also never wondered if spirits aged.
‘That would explain mother’s wrinkles,’ she thought.
Janurana couldn’t tell if Atampara was another spirit who looked like a human either, but she did have a cup. As far as Janurana could remember, spirits didn’t need to eat. The northern language continued to illude her as well. She wasn’t even sure if the Clan Leopard spirits were speaking Uttaran with how heavy an accent they had. Even outside their tongue it was obvious. Though she could understand yes, no, and please coming from Miraku who seemed to have a more personal tone than Atampara. But through the jumbled mess of words she didn’t know, “Janelsa” flew through them and pierced her ears. She froze, felt the slightest pain in her back, then snapped to any other face than the one who mentioned it, and landed on Kunya’s. She snapped her gaze to the floor just as quickly.
Kunya stared into her and through her. He hadn’t taken his eyes of Janurana since she rolled to a stop. He poured over every facet of her face, every stray fleck of her hair, every tear in her clothes. The fact that Janurana didn’t meet his gaze only made him stare harder. He knew, deep in his bones, he had seen someone like her somewhere and it was a face he knew he should never forget.
“Kunya.” Mirkau gently nudged him.
Kunya only grunted in response which still made Miraku and Atampara flinch.
“Uh…” Miraku looked back to Atampara who urged him on with a single, expressionless nod, from behind him. “Are you okay?”
Kunya didn’t respond.
“Are you gonna be okay?” Miraku asked.
“Yes,” Kunya said bluntly.
“Commander Atampara.” The spirit who captured Dhanur and Janurana retuned and held the boar skin flap for a southern warrior in northern armor. She took off her helmet zig zagged with blue lines and revealed the red gill tattoos of Clan Fish.
“Traitor.” Dhanur chuckled in Daksinian, but no one responded.
“Well, I thank you for your time, great spirits of Clan Leopard. Your information was most helpful.” Atampara rose and bowed with her arms at her side, as did Miraku.
Kunya did not and continued to stare at Janurana. He was older than Miraku, though his wrinkles were hidden under his fur, but the Clan Leopard spirits only stood after it was clear they weren’t going to get the courtesy from him. For an agonizing moment of silence, the northerners waited for the boar skin flap to stop moving before rising from their bow.
Kunya was still staring.
Miraku shrugged and Atampara reciprocated with a silent sigh.
“Please, translate for us,” she said to the interpreter, then marched mechanically to Dhanur. “Now, your name, warrior?”
Dhanur scoffed at the southern warrior in northern armor who scoffed right back. “Annoying.” Dhanur bobbed her head to Atampara.
“Quite.” Atampara cocked her head. “Do you intend to act like a stubborn child this whole time?”
“I’ma try.”
“Wonderful. And you, gwomoni?” Even though Atampara’s tone was completely flat, the slur still carried the necessary hate.
Janurana adjusted her posture and bowed, putting her hands at her side. “My name is Shzahd.”
The name made Kunya’s ears perk up, but he couldn’t quite tell why.
“An odd name. No worse than Child though.” Atampara rotated her head mechanically to whomever she was addressing, staring as hard into their eyes as her expressionless face would allow.
Dhanur blew Atampara a kiss, which, again, made Miraku chuckle.
“If you behave and answer my questions, then perhaps you may earn one.” She turned to Janurana. “You appear more understanding of the situation. So I will lay out the process of events. I’m sure you took stock of the corpses hanging at our entrances. Answer properly, and you will receive the same fate by a spear to the heart. Answer well and you may receive it at a later time when your information dries up.” She turned to Dhanur. “Answer poorly, and you will receive the same fate now by the messier discretion of the clans. This will also result in a similar treatment for your monk companion.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Dhanur’s smirk crashed to the floor and her every muscle tensed.
“You know we would like to avoid this.” Janurana scooted closer on her knees to take the attention away from Dhanur. Unfortunately, Atampara didn’t respond and only cocked her head without breaking eye contact with Dhanur. “Please, allow us to craft a deal with you. We can all emerge from this happier than we started.”
“A deal?” Atampara asked.
“A deal! Go for it port clan!” Miraku cheered her on.
“She is quite uncivilized,” Atampara still hadn’t taken her eyes of Dhanur, but her monotone finally carried a hint of sarcastic emotion.
Even if the interpreter had translated the personal exchange, Dhanur wouldn’t have heard it. She seethed from head to toe, wanting nothing more than to try her luck and act on raw emotion. But her father wasn’t wounded as far as she could tell from the fleeting glance he gave her so clearly he was safe, but she knew she couldn’t cut him down and escape. With a sigh, Dhanur shook her head.
“Fine.” Dhanur stared at the ground, but Atampara said nothing. “Go, fine. Ask away.”
“What is the current state of the south’s army?”
“Dark, I dunno. Been out of it for years.”
“I doubt that.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“Yes, it is.” Atampara squatted and tried to look Dhanur in the eyes. “The south would not expel one of their best warriors.”
“Yeah, well, they did. Got pissed off I was too, ya know, good for ‘em.” Dhanur rolled her eyes.
Janurana, however, noticed Dhanur’s slip. Her “ya know” was accompanied by too quick a stop in “too” and she had even rolled her shoulders back some as if her father would pinch them to sus out the lie. Dhanur was trying to hide their failed coup. And Janurana saw Atampara noticed too, despite lacking the details, as her brows had twitched one eighth of an inch.
“I see.” Atampara let the silence hang for a moment, then stood up when Dhanur finally met her gaze.
‘She doesn’t even know she’s being read,’ Janurana thought and picked at her cutiles.
‘Please, PLEASE do not leap up and punch her chin,’ Dhanur’s inner voice would have been on its knees if it had any.
“It is the same with me.” Janurana sucked her teeth, half to draw more attention to herself and half to prepare for not technically lying. “The southern rulers who removed Child from her position are the same that removed my family. They fear any growth in power be it from popular warriors and generals or houses that expand too quickly.”
The interpreter stepped in to whisper to her commander, who nodded. “Your house sigil?” Atampara asked.
Janurana winced, seeing flashes of the white bull crest that adorned her family home, that still barely clung to her spirit mother’s tattered muga. She took the split second that wince allowed to calm herself and try to remember the sigils her mother groaned at the most when receiving seals.
“The turtle,” she finally said.
“That is one of them,” the interpreter nodded, speaking in northern.
“House Deumera, yes?” Atampara half turned to Miraku, continuing in their native tongue.
“That’s the bird, isn’t it?” he asked.
Atampara tapped her chin. “Either way, both are less than stable allies to Daksin’s leaders.”
“So, dissent. Got it. Anything else?” Miraku peeked around Atampara, as if he could see the answer next to Dhanur or Janurana.
“You’re hiding something.” Atampara said to the interpreter who did her job.
“What?” Dhanur recoiled, something both Janurana and Atampara noticed went too far, especially since the interpreter didn’t address her.
“You risked yourselves to save the monk. He had no credible information, but he might bring some out of you.” Atampara nodded back.
Miraku, without a word, left the meeting room.
“Wait, what? No. No! I’m serious!” Dhanur shot to her feet, something Atampara barely acknowledged. “Really! I’m not a warrior anymore! I don’t know anything new!”
“Please, madam warrior,” Janurana said, unsure of the proper title, and stood as well. “You’re right, there is a small fact that we have kept.”
Janurana tried to push her way between Dhanur and Atampara, but Dhanur wouldn’t have it. She had become practically hysterical as she heard the vine holding her father descend from the ceiling.
“Dark!” Dhanur kept throwing her attention back and forth, watching the door and Atampara’s implacable expression. “I don’t know a dowsing thing! I swear! What do you want me to say!?”
The interpreter finally stepped in and pulled Dhanur back, who had come almost nose to nose with Atampara. Despite being a full warrior of the Uttaran army, she struggled to keep Dhanur in check. Rather than flail with a purpose as she did when first captured, Dhanur was only ripping her arms away haphazardly.
“My companion speaks truth, great warrior!” Janurana bowed in the northern style. “She knows nothing of the south currently as I do not either.”
Brachen was escorted through the door. Within moments, Dhanur had elbowed the translator in the side hitting only bronze, spun to elbow her in the neck, and broke away to grab her father. Instead, Miraku grabbed her throat.
“Zirisa, it’s okay.” Brachen hurried forward to comfort his daughter. He stroked her cheek, wiping off the tears that ran down and dripped into Miraku’s fur.
Miraku released Dhanur and she flopped uselessly into the dirt before being cradled by her father. He gathered her up, stroked her hair, and continued to inform her that it was okay, despite some of his bruises, welts, and minor cuts.
“I doubt we need to go much further,” Atampara said through the translator, then panned to Janurana. “Now, you claimed to be hiding something, Shzahd.”
“Yes,” Janurana fiddled with her clothes, stole a peek at Kunya who hadn’t budged, then at her companions both crying in each other’s arms. “There was a coup in Daksin. An attempted coup. Child was forced out of the warrior class for her assistance once it was foiled.”
Atampara’s brows rose an entire inch with the force of a monsoon. “And why did you keep this from us?”
“‘Cause,” Dhanur’s voice rattled in her through, trying to pass through her tears and prepared rage, “I don’t wanna give you a reason to start the war again.”
“Thank you for confirming the rumors,” Atampara said as she stepped towards Dhanur and Brachen. When Dhanur threw herself between the commander and Brachen, Atampara took a single step closer, no more or less. “We have heard of discontent among the Daksinian clans before and after this failed coup. Is this true?”
“Yes,” Dhanur curled her lips.
“Can you confirm the houses?”
Dhanur curled them tighter.
Atampara knelt to be eye level with Dhanur. “If you’re truthful, you will not watch your companion suffer.”
“... I don’t know. A woman leads one of the houses.”
“And you know nothing more specific about southern strategies, troop movements, concentrations, anything?”
Dhanur turned a still tearful eye to Janurana. “They don’t like her house.”
“The south is disunited,” Atampara crossed her arms behind her back and spoke in Uttaran to Miraku. “We may be able to find allies against the Maharaj or at least take advantage of any inter-Daksinian war. Thank you, Child. You will share the same fate as your monk. You will be brought to Aram, fed into the arena, if you survive then you will be allowed to continue as a spectacle alongside Muqtablu. String them up.”
***
Dhanur asked her father if he was okay after every fruit core hit him from the crowd below them, but every time he just wiggled his mustache with a sassy aplomb. It wasn’t unlike his daughter’s smirk. He bared the jeers and stones much better than her as she couldn’t help but yell back, wasting her strength and energy. Occasionally, Dhanur was able to kick a fruit core mid throw, and she’d regain her smirk, but something always hit her afterwards to knock it off her face. When she noticed the translator from their interrogation had joined the throne, they descended into a spirited debate and the Uttaran crowd cheered their champion on. They had no idea if his come backs were well timed, but they cheered at every one.
“Are you okay, little miss?” Brachen asked Janurana. He spoke softly as a welt had swelled up on his cheek.
“I suppose.” She wiggled but the vines grew tighter.
“And here my Light would only help these itchy ropes.”
“Maybe they’d be thankful and let go!”
“I’m not sure I’d survive the fall.” He looked down, past the mess of bridges and the crowd below them.
“Yeah?? Cut me down and find out, slinger trash!” Dhanur roared. One loaded up his sling, but Dhanur just spat at him, hitting him square in the middle of the forehead. “Ha!”
“Must you, Dhanur?” Brachen sighed.
“What?? He started it!”
“And you’re being a child.”
Dhanur scowled. The crowd murmured, getting a translation, then started yelling “Child!” in southern.
“Said the guys who’s asses I beat! Not my fault you all suck!”
A few of the northerners asked Matikal and two other Macaque spirits who were presiding over the situation to let Dhanur down and try her luck. Each was rejected. Eventually, the crowd thinned.
“I never did get my sip of water,” Brachen complained.
Dhanur, who hadn’t noticed the lump on her forehead, wiggled in her vines. “Okay, Abaji. I’m sorry, alright? We were doing fine! Ya know, before we got caught.”
“Quite insightful. Now you’re inciting a crowd of jungle clan Uttarans whenever you get the chance.” Brachen rolled his eyes.
“Sir,” Dhanur said as if her father was her commander, “it’s a respect thing. We were told if we were ever caught to get on their good side by not letting any warrior treat us any king of way. They’re gonna treat us more like equals or at least keep us around if we’re entertaining.”
“Now we’re all to be thrown into the Arai arena. Very much the ‘keeping us around’ I envisioned.”
“But isn’t that a good thing?” Janurana said.
Brachen and Dhanur looked at her in the exact same confused way.
“That’s why we were trouncing through this jungle, no? Now we need not worry about finding our way. Yes, we traded that for these bruises. Still, we did solve one issue.”
Dhanur looked down. “Huh. Maybe I’ll get to fight Muqtablu, get that settled.”
“See? At least there’s some positivity.” Janurana smiled.
“Shut up!” One of the spirits ripped off a piece of vine from the bridge and hucked it at Dhanur’s head. She moved fast enough to make it a grazing hit. A trickle of blood ran down her cheek, regardless.
Janurana looked over out of instinct. It was almost instantaneous how quickly the scent of blood smashed into her.
“What?” Dhanur cocked her brow.
“Oh, nothing.” She shrugged.
Dhanur noticed the trickle drip off her chin, then snickered. She rolled her eyes and fisted her hands, as if preparing to fight Janurana off.
“Then again, perhaps we may not make it to Aram.” The welt on Brachen’s cheek throbbed.
A cool breeze blew in from the vents dug into the ceiling. The northern tunnels didn’t change in color throughout the night. Shifts and patrols changed instead, which was the only reliable source of telling time. Although the trio couldn’t determine exactly how long had passed, the estimated there wasn’t much left in the night. With the crowd dispersed and even the Macaque spirits leaving only Matikal on watch, Dhanur and Brachen were able to catch a few sporadic naps. Janurana couldn’t catch a single second, she tried to close her eyes, tried to look elsewhere, just observing the camp and taking in this new sigh. She had eaten enough to keep her awake for a few days at least, but the fresh blood kept tempting her. Traveling again, she had no idea when he next Human meal would be. Occasionally, she’d catch eyes with the Clan Macaque spirit eyeing them from the commander’s quarters and snapping her head away.
Kunya hadn’t stopped watching them even after they finished the interrogation. He stood by the vine fence extending from the bridge to the door, seizing it with all his might. Perfect indentations scarred the vines almost beyond the will of any spirit to fix. He tried to glare Dhanur into the wall for the death she brought to his warriors, even though she brought glory to her people. He tried to glare at Brachen for bringing up Janelsa’s name. But he kept looking to Janurana most of all, the oddly colored woman with hair that looked just a bit too familiar.
Her face was too familiar and Kunya knew he had seen someone with such wild hair before. Even though it was hundreds of years ago, he knew he could have sworn Janurana had Janelsa’s eyes.
“Kunya?” Miraku put a tepid hand on his shoulder.
He almost had it ripped off. Miraku and Atampara leapt back. With a sigh, Kunya rubbed his forehead. He hadn’t noticed when they were watching him behind the boar skin flap nor that the guards outside them had left not long after he started staring.
“What?” Kunya asked.
“You okay?” Miraku stepped forward.
“No, I’m not okay. Are you blind?”
Miraku looked back to Atampara, who was standing behind him with her arms crossed, urgently nodding.
“Sorry I had to put you out,” Miraku said.
“Bring me that Tree Clan and we’ll call it retribution.” Kunya threw his glare to Matikal for a split second.
She slowly started inching along the bridge further away from him.
Atampara jabbed Miraku’s back, who sneered, then relented. “Who’s Janelsa?”
Kunya’s tail and fur shot straight up. Both leapt back again.
“I asked some Clan Fish and Rhino’s oldest spirits too. They only said you’d know,” Miraku said warily.
Kunya was silent, starring at Janurana, fists trying their best to crush anything inside them, every muscle tensing with barely controlled rage.
“There are no records with us dating back to your time,” Atampara began. “Please, you’re the oldest, Kunya. If something is amiss with these three…”
“A Light monk, Muqtablu’s fellow southern champion, and some even fairer southern girl break into our camp, bring up the thing that burned us, and you ask what’s the issue? There’s your reason for war, Atampara.”
“I only just thought of the tunnels,” she chuckled. “We have time before we attack.”
Kunya’s hands broke through the vine railing. “She’s why we had to overthrow the boars, why we were under them for so long. She took our land from us.”
“We had land??” Miraku shook his head in confusion. “I never saw it! I thought it was just a clan myth! Ya know, to say why we have our markings still. Every other spirit I’ve met said we never held anything above the jungle!”
“We didn’t. It was the borderlands. A long time ago.”