***

Brachen was sitting on a pile of hay in the stable directly in the sun from a window, leaning against the inn. Janurana stroked the inside of her new sleeves as she watched the sun crawl slowly across the sky through her blue dupatta. She could only do so for a second, but it was worth the pain for the momentary glimpse. Janurana thought Brachen had been watching it but his eyes were closed so she didn’t know if he was meditating or just feeling the warmth on his face. They sat near Dekha who hadn’t moved, still as always, but he blinked once at seeing them. 

“Oh! How is your hand, Guru?” Janurana asked.

“Hm?” Brachen sleepily opened his eyes.

“Your hand, Guru. Is it better?”

Brachen cleared his throat. “Yes. Yes it certainly is.” He flexed his fingers painlessly. “A blessing of mastering the Light.” He settled back against the inn, centered his mind, and drifted into a nap again.

Janurana couldn’t help but smile, especially at the wrinkles his mustache couldn’t hide. For a moment, she worried how he would keep up with his warrior of a daughter and a gwomoni, but he had held off her mother.

She tensed at the thought.

A piece of advice from the Light pilgrim she had known suddenly shot to the fore. 

‘Center yourself, focus as if finding a single star in the night, from there it will grow and illuminate your path.’

Janurana was surprised at its sudden emergence, postulating that perhaps that was why her morning’s meditation was successful as if she was thinking of it without knowing. Thus, she pulled her knees to her face as she sat, hoping to block out more of the world as she wasn’t practiced at meditation, and thought.

Her mother’s translucent form was instantly there, but she had plenty of practice shoving that memory to the side. Behind that was a shadowy figure, a hunched-over shape of pure darkness that she couldn’t identify. There was a hint of white on it and bronze behind followed by a shock of pain on her hip and neck, but nothing more. It sent almost the same spasm through her as her mother’s presence. She tried to imagine a mote of light popping up suddenly like a fire clearing the Outside’s suffocating darkness.

Her mind raced on what would come next, not just in traveling through the jungle and finding this Muqtablu, but what was after that. Perhaps Muqtablu could banish spirits. Or perhaps they would find others who’d fought gwomoni. But Janurana doubted they would be as oblivious as Dhanur to what she was. At the same time, however, she couldn’t believe that someone who had traveled as much as Dhanur’s father and fought as many monsters could not notice when a traveling companion was a gwomoni. Regardless, Janurana thought Light followers were an option. They would fight against her mother, but most likely not the gwomoni who ruled their native Daksin. Then again, it wasn’t hard to believe they would if they knew the ones in charge of the south were literal monsters. But experienced Ascetics would be a task to find, meaning they would have to go further south. The closest at that moment were barely adults at the shattered mountain top temple who had chosen not to fight. She rolled her eyes and rubbed them with her knuckles. They only had until the new moon, and that wasn’t far.

Janurana sighed and looked to Brachen. While he was asleep, his breath was even and slow and his mustache didn’t twitch. He had laced his fingers together with his palms facing up, as if he were meditating. Even though she was with him behind city walls, and surrounded by a powerful garrison, she was still unsure of how her mother would be defeated, and feeling the unseen eyes of Vatram’s spirits rattled her ever so slightly further. 

‘They don’t appear to be locking down the city.’ Janurana thought on how the spirits and warriors had converged on the main inn earlier that day. No one through Vatram seemed worried nor had any spirits been searching for them as they went to the market. ‘Perhaps they can tell Deiweb has left? He would be a much more dangerous presence than us, clearly…’

She felt herself picking at her cuticles and hid her thumbs in her fists. She stood. 

“I’ll go look for Dhanur. We should move forward.” 

Brachen answered immediately, popping out of his meditation, and started cleaning his nails. “If you like. I’ll stay and wait.”

“We should have marked a time and place to come back to if we happened to purchase everything we needed. We wouldn’t have had to wait and waste half a day.”

“Yes, I thought of that as Zirisa ran off. It should have been obvious to her too.” He took a long sigh. “I doubt she was apprehended for any reason. We have not heard half the curses known to any language.” He chuckled, but his mustache still wiggled nervously.

Janurana knelt and put a hand on his shoulder. She copied the tap tap Dhanur had done but less awkwardly. He popped up at that. “I’m certain she’s fine. Regardless, I will seek her out.”

“And what kind of gentleman would I be if I sent you off?” Brachen started to rise, groaning at his aching bones. Janurana held out her hands as if to push him down without touching him, but he brushed her off. “I know this city better than you.” He crossed his arms.

“How hard can it be to find a market?” Janurana copied him.

“I speak the language.” He crossed them tighter.

“I don’t need it to find Dhanur.”

“I am not so fair as you.” He stroked his mustache. 

Janurana pulled her hair and dupatta in front of her face. Brachen couldn’t deny it was hidden enough from a passing glance. With her victory asserted, Janurana spun on her heel, hands on her shoulder as if spinning her parasol, and flinched as a neck bone clattered to the ground.

She had forgotten she had her old sari on her waist and a thread from the patch on its hip had come loose, allowing one of the trinkets to spill out into the sunlight from the window. Quick as lightning, Janurana fell to the dirt and covered it with her hands. The sun’s stinging rays didn’t register as she peeled them open to make sure it hadn’t run away. Just as tenderly, she scooped it up in a cradling embrace, brushing off the flecks of dust.

Janurana remembered exactly who it belonged to, a young child who had a toy just like her old jade elephant, but his was a bird. She and he had tossed it back and forth when she traveled with his family for a time as she went east to find shelter in the mountain caves.

“Perhaps you should leave it here.” Brachen covered her reddening hands with his. 

“What??” she snapped, yanking the bone close.

“Your sari. The seal has tried to escape, now the bone. Perhaps the Light is shining on them now to show they want to leave, like stepping out of the home into the daylight?” He put a hand on her shoulder.

“I will not leave them here!” Janurana yanked herself from his hold.

“Nor am I saying you should. Perhaps the Light is instead shining on them to remind you of these memories and that they shouldn’t be forgotten? But you slotted your parasol into Dekha’s bag, Dhanur’s home has been trashed while she was wounded by fragments of it. I do not know the will of the Light, but I can at least see when something should be safely stowed. If you’d like…” He held out his hand.

Janurana looked at her hand, then him, then turned back to her hand. She peeled open her fingers to reveal the bone. She knew exactly why it had a scratch at the center. Janurana hadn’t wanted to do it, but when two kalias emerged from the cave the family thought was empty and a safe place to sleep, she had no choice. The poison from the one she had killed was melting through her flesh. The entire family had died taking down the other, all but the child. He would die anyway, she knew. She couldn’t take him with her into the wilderness, her mother would find them eventually, and she needed to save herself. 

She turned stiffly to Brachen, slowly, carefully undoing her sari. Pieces of dust and dirt flaked off as she ensured the patch and pocket with her seal were tucked into the center.

“Please, please don’t drop it,” she said, eyes closed, feeling the still smooth jamawar fabric.

“I can’t,” Brachen assured her.

“Good,” she gasped in relief.

“You won’t let go.”

Janurana opened her eyes to see she was almost crushing it with a white knuckled grip.

“I’ll take care and make sure our bull friend does as well, you don’t need it now. Let it go, little one. It will be okay.”

She peeled each finger off, mentally apologizing and telling the bundle of cloth that she would be back, all the while Brachen nodded. Eventually, he could lift it from her open palms. She fought the urge to snatch it back, but spun around quickly, putting her back to it. 

“Please, do not, drop it,” she repeated. He only smiled and waved, the sari nestled in his arms. She smiled and briskly entered the street as she was tempted to run and grab it from him. 

As Janurana hurried back to the market, she moved more of her hair in front of her face to stay better concealed.

Deiweb had claimed the gwomoni were meeting in a moon, and Janelsa was unaccounted for. Regardless of what that man had said, Janurana didn’t feel it was smart to take his word on every detail even though he knew more than he should have. She thought that, if he was summoned to kill her and Dhanur, that could all have been one long winded ploy to get them to return to the Keep for a clean kill. 

‘If he could casually stroll into Vatram then why would he need to trick us?’ Janurana thought and slowed as she walked. ‘And Brachen had seen him ignore mother as if she were a light breeze. If he wanted us dead he would have just done so.’

Regardless of if he was telling the truth, Janurana knew going north would mean more safety from the gwomoni in the Keep, her mother, and more people willing to kill southern monsters. 

‘I could beseech spirits to join us along with Muqtablu and add other magics to our little group. Perhaps they could even heal mother,’ Janurana thought, often wondering if her mother was simply infected with some kind of spirit insanity. She didn’t know enough about spirits and none of the northerners were willing to talk. 

But even if she did remove her mother from the equation or get some kind of revenge on the gwomoni, the other would be right there to pick off the winner. Janurana sighed. 

“I’m tired,” she muttered aloud to no one. 

Janurana reached the sun beaten market and kept her head lowered. The whole of the market had crowded under the shade of stalls and homes, waiting out the midday heat, eating and chatting with friends. However, there was very little arguing as all clans observed the unofficial midday truce to fight when it was cooler. Most sat among their kind, Leopard with Leopard, Kalia with Kalia, but there was some mixing between allied clans like the Fish and Tree. But if a group of Clan Macaque decided they liked the spot, the clans always moved. But almost every group had least one clanless sitting with them or areas for the displaced of their clans. 

‘Perspective is an interesting thing,’ Janurana thought, seeing the people hide from the light just as she did, sticking to as many shadows as she could even though her new outfit kept her covered.

Refocusing, she stopped and tried to listen or smell for Dhanur, wondering if she'd gotten lost to have left them alone for so long. She sniffed for the, by then, familiar smell of malted barley and clove. The market had so many scents, and people stared while she was stopped right in front of a stall trying to hone in on Dhanur as discreetly as she could. Some northerners giggled, some sneered. Janurana could have just walked around calling for her, but that seemed inefficient, and she thought that if the gwomoni had sent Deiweb, they may send someone else, and thus it was probably best not to announce where they had been. She could tell that Dhanur hadn’t left the main road and had traveled towards the jungle gate. The scent from the blacksmithing section’s hit her just after and she grew guilty again at losing the precious ax Dhanur had gifted her. Its power was intoxicating, the smooth grip of the leather and heft of the head weighing on her right hand. She would miss it too.

She looked side to side for Dhanur’s boots among the sea of northern sandals, keeping her head low still. Her back never spasmed, however, something Janurana finally noticed. None of the spirits were in the city, instead, when Janurana looked to the walls, she saw they were crowded with the animal headed clan spirits. All of them, however, were looking out south with some hopping on and off the wall, giving speaking to each other with what looked like worried expressions.

A few warriors passed by and hurried to the gate, but not so fast as to imply an attack. Nevertheless, Janurana picked up her pace. She felt as though she was walking for hours before she caught a glint of bronze off to the side. Dhanur was walking back the way they had come with a brand new quiver that was fully stocked. Janurana rushed to her side and bowed, making Dhanur jump. 

“Light! Ugh.” The southern language caught people’s attention again and Dhanur spoke quieter. “Why’d you do that?” 

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” Janurana averted her eyes. “Guru Brachen and I were waiting and I wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt. I just… Got excited at finding you. I believe there may be another commotion at the front gate, but I’m not sure.” 

Dhanur didn’t hear a word she said. The blue and white linen wrapped around Janurana and over her hair contrasted startlingly with the brown and white jamawar she had worn before, the rich, heavy fabric that had brought her so much attention in Daksin. Janurana was shorter than Dhanur noticed before, and Dhanur stared down at her, her brows low on her forehead. At another time, Dhanur might have focused on her full hips and thighs, more noticeable in airy fabric than dense jamawar.

“Did Abba get new clothes too?” Dhanur asked with a stony expression before her eyes fluttered away.

“Yes. I think he looks rather sharp.” Janurana risked a friendly assumption with a smile. “I think you’ll think so too.” 

“Yeah.”

“S-shall we? Guru Brachen was able to find out where Mu- she might be.” 

“That was fast, I thought we’d have to look all over the north.” Dhanur had refused to meet Janurana’s eyes and she scratched her newly wrapped wound. 

On top of the blacksmithing section’s putrid odor and the assault of new Uttaran smells Janurana had never taken in, the garlic from Dhanur’s bandage was just another stab in the nostrils from a poisonous knife. Janurana tried to breathe through her mouth and clung to the front of her new pants, pulling them against her thighs as they walked in silence back to the inn. 

Dhanur noticed Janurana’s change in breathing, sighed, and rolled her eyes. She clenched her jaw. “Where might she be then?”

Janurana heard Dhanur’s teeth grind. As she walked with the northern Dhanur and had her face mostly hidden, the Uttarans avoided the odd looking woman and her warrior escort rather than watch Janurana with evil eyes. 

Dhanur tried not to notice any stares or lack thereof, especially the displaced, as she was honor–bound to escort a woman with the face of their enemies.

“The merchant we met, the one who would let us purchase from her, she mentioned that we could watch her fight at an Arai Arena. But, I’m unfortunately not sure how far north or in what city it is.” 

Dhanur sighed and a ghost of a smile ran across her face. “That’d be in Aram. Thank the Rays…” Immediately, the relief rolling off of her was almost tangible.

“You know where that is? Was it a stop on your many adventures, Dhanur?” Janurana asked with a smile. 

Dhanur used the motion of pushing back her hair to hide a widening smile. “No, never been beyond the jungle. A friend of mine told me about it when I was traveling. It's right on the other side of it. It’s got the most famous arena up there. Abba didn’t say?”

“Unfortunately, he did not. We ran into some trouble soon after when trying to replace the ax you had gifted to me.” Janurana instantly regretted bringing up the ax as Dhanur’s momentary smile crashed to a frown.

They reconnected with Brachen down the road from the inn where Dekha was stashed. He informed them that the innkeeper of the one they had stayed at owned the smaller inn as well. He had seen Brachen resting in the stable and chased him off. When they returned, he had already left for his main inn again, allowing the group to return to Dekha. 

“I heard a bit more rumbles nearby, some spirits seem to be moving about.” Brachen peeked out the stable window. 

“I saw a group of warriors move to the front gate,” Janurana added.”Perhaps they’re still searching for Deiweb?”

Brachen wiggled his mustache and licked his lips. “Perhaps. I doubt he’d remain in the city. My bet is they’re sending search parties out into the Borderlands.”

Janurana picked at her cuticles and was surprised she didn’t notice the scent of her sari. She kept her eyes on Dekha’s bags, focusing on the smells she understood in the miasma of unfamiliar northern scents. It had been so long since she went without her sari for more than a bath that she had forgotten its scent, but at that moment Janurana could actually tell what she smelled like. And it was just like the plateau with some typical Human scent rubbed off on it. It was nearly impossible to discern from Dehka’s bags.

Dhanur handed out a few provisions for lunch and to keep on their person before storing the rest of her purchase and taking her bow. 

“I know we have a lot more food but make it last, alright? I don’t really have any more gems. Probably up-charged me for the fish or something.” Dhanur rolled her eyes.

Brachen needled his daughter by poking the pin attaching the back strap of her quiver, it was topped with a ruby. “Or perhaps you splurged a bit on your new quiver.”

“Uh…” Dhanur avoided directly saying it was unguarded and that she knew nobody would question if a warrior suddenly had a quiver they didn’t before. 

Before Brachen could press, she struggled through recalling Dekha. It was as quick as the previous time, as Dhanur did the mechanical motions as fast as she could and Dekha was more than happy to return to the safety of his master’s head. 

Brachen couldn’t stand seeing his daughter in pain. It was less than last night but still pained him more than her.

“Perhaps you should have left your bow stowed,” Brachen said.

“You just said there’s some troops moving.” Dhanur rolled her eyes, then minded her tone. “... Sir.”

Brachen and Janurana kept the burgeoning mob they escaped to themselves.

Janurana had felt a pang run through her as both her sari and parasol disappeared. She didn’t see if anything had fallen out again, no seal nor trinket where Dekha had been, but she wanted nothing more than to run forward and make sure with her own eyes. 

They slipped through the back streets of Vatram, making sure each route was empty, and slowly reached the barricade of forest. Being right up against it Dhanur, Brachen, and Janurana struggled to discern the wall made from monolithic jungle tree trunks from the jungle. To their foreign eyes it had begun look like the jungle itself was barring entry of its own will. Only the fact that the main road ended there, with barracks on either flank, gave it away. All the warriors were either inside to wait out the heat, or at the market themselves. A Clan Tree warrior sat in the shade of a hut next to the gate, fanning himself with a palm leaf and clearly upset that he was designated as gatekeeper. 

Dhanur took one step towards the hut, then leaned back to Brachen.

“Abba, uh…”

“Liat ravyay, cevyu,” he told her the appropriate Uttaran words slowly. 

She poked her head in. “Open the gate, please,” she repeated in the most foreign accent possible which Brachen sighed at. 

“What? Why? Leave something up there??” The gatekeeper fanned himself angrily and Dhanur’s mouth hung open, staring at him blankly. “Well??” 

“Takla, nanra lankun.” Brachen whispered the words to her again. 

“N-no. I want to go North.” Dhanur’s accent was somehow worse the second time.

The gatekeeper squinted and got up, shoved her out of the way to look for who else was speaking, and was given a reciprocating push.

“Zirisa!” Brachen scolded her.

“What!? He start—”

“Wait! I know you!” The gatekeeper frantically drew his ax, which lacked the typical decorative swirls or most northern weapons, from his belt.

Dhanur hopped back, drawing an arrow.

“He says he knows you,” Brachen said and pushed her bow down.

Dhanur put the arrow back. “What?”

The gatekeeper spit at her.

“Traitor!” Brachen translated as best he could while the gatekeeper yelled, yanking up a piece of leather armor from his shoulder revealing a sunken, starburst shaped scar. It had clearly gotten infected for it was far larger than an arrowhead. Brachen backed away as the Clan Tree yelled in rapid northern and while he translated bits and pieces, clearly leaving out some choice language.

“You’re the one who wounded him,” Brachen said. “He can no longer fight for glory but must sit here—” The gatekeeper spat again, interrupting him as Dhanur had already begun to retort in Daksinian. 

“I didn't force you to fight! You can’t be mad I bested you, it was fair!”

He growled, raising his woodcutter’s ax. “A traitor who can’t even speak her own tongue!”

A few other warriors emerged from the barracks, throwing on their helms and lowering their spears which were infused with ripping blue, green, and even red. A Clan Macaque behind them readied his sling. All were soon filled in on the situation.

“The dhanur? From the war?” The slinger scoffed. “She’s not that tall.”

“I heard she has blue hair,” a spearman with a blue infused spearhead said.

At that moment, Brachen realized that amidst everything going on he had somehow forgotten about Dhanur’s unique and easily identifiable clay red hair alongside her bone covered bow and gleaming scaled armor. He ground the heel of his hand into his forehead in much the same way Dhanur had. 

Both Janurana and Dhanur, seeing the warriors and then Brachen stare at her hair, both joined his self admonishment by either sucking their teeth or groaning a loud “daaaaaarrrkkk”.

“That is her bow though, white and scaled armor,” a Clan Rhino added.

“No way…” the Clan Macaque chuckled, his smile growing.

Brachen shot his daughter an I told you so glare and then bowed in the Uttaran fashion with hands at his sides. “Good sirs. Only this. We want to go nor—” he began in northern.

“Silence, Light monk! We had enough of your lies before the war!” one spearman yelled.

The slinger took an interest in what he said though, and stepped forward. “You wanna go through the jungle, you and… that really is the dhanur? She gonna go join Muqtablu and fight for us in the arena?”

“Yes, sirs,” Brachen answered.

“Ugh, is that a sling?” Dhanur’s eyes suddenly focused like a tiger seeing a wounded deer.

Brachen let out a painful sigh. “Oh, Zirisa, please. For all the Light’s warmth, not now.”

“Oh, Light leave it, no. Get over here you.” Dhanur stopped when Brachen reached up, slipped his hand under her armor, and pinched her shoulder.

The warriors laughed, one smacking the gatekeeper’s scarred shoulder who buckled as Dhanur was practically brought to her knees by the old man.

“We have a deal for you, monk,” the slinger spoke again, chuckling at Dhanur’s glare. He looked back to make sure his comrades nodded in approval. “We’re gonna let you into the jungle. If you make it through to Aram, we’ll all convert to your haunted religion.” The others laughed even more boisterously. 

Brachen only bowed. “Thank you, good sirs. Thank you. I am grateful. May the Light ever shine upon you.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” The slinger turned and called for more Clan Tree. They exited the barracks, went to either side of the gate, and extended their hands. A glow of green exuded from them and pooled in their outstretched palms. The gate glowed with the same radiance, and as the warriors lifted their hands, the individual trunks all rose from the ground, slowly floating into the air. One Clan Rat ran forward and put planks of wood over the indents from the gate.

As Janurana, Brachen, and Dhanur passed under, Dhanur gave the slinger a final glare and raised her fist, but he was unphased.

“Good luck. Watch out for boars!” He snickered as the gate lowered behind them and turned to one of his comrades. “Call ahead, let one of the patrols know they’re coming. Whoever gets the dhanur’s bow can be a Clan Spirit when they die.”