***

It was a pleasantly warm day and the water was on the cool side of tepid, unlike the hot baths Janurana knew growing up. Regardless, it was clean, there was no pond creature waiting to nip her for daring to relax in its home, and it felt divine being even partially submerged. The wind outside was gently billowing the curtain of the single window, carrying the scent of the spices from the market into the room. She sank lower into the tub, the tips of her hair getting wet.

A pale blue silhouette flashed in Janurana’s vision. Her back seized and Janurana jerked awake. She leapt to her feet, about to bolt out of the room, only to remember she was safe Inside once more. It had been so long that she could sleep in a sitting position and feel safe that her manic morning energy faded away. But because of her movement water had sloshed over the sides of the tub. She sucked her teeth at having made a mess when she noticed it was flowing to the small hole near the corner of the room. It was covered with a round bit of stone.

“A drain?” she asked herself, then noticed the floor was slanted gradually toward it. “When did drainage get so advanced?” She cocked her head, then mumbled as she thought, ‘Was I just too young to remember these things back home?’

She wasn’t sure if she saw them in other cities. Regardless, after lifting the stone to let the water out, she settled back into the tub, pressing her toes against its wall to help curl herself into a tight ball. She sunk deeper into the water, almost submerging her nose, her hair fanning out around her, and closed her eyes once more.

Dhanur fidgeted with her soup in silence as Janurana bathed. It was good and she was thankful. But things about her guest still didn’t sit quite right with her. She needed to clear her head. Since her washroom was occupied, Dhanur dragged her fingers through her hair again, doing her best to detangle it, then donned her armor.

As she closed the door, Dhanur stared up at the sun. Its rays warmed her as she took a long breath.

Taking one last quick glance to the small mountain in the distance whose peak barely poked out above the city walls when not on her second floor, she stopped a passerby.

“Hey. Ya know if Aarushi—The Maharaj,” she corrected herself, “is holding the service today?”

The man readjusted his grip on his urn of butter. “Nope. She’s not. Sorry.”

He waddled off, but Dhanur sighed in relief.

“Thank the Rays,” she mumbled to herself.

She went back inside and scooped up her own urn of butter from the hearth, one Janurana had thankfully not noticed.

By mid-morning on any normal day, most of the Capital’s citizens would be pouring from their homes to attend the market. But most were instead attending their local temple for the weekly services. Dhanur, however, decided to make her way to the Keep and its looming temple to the sun which jutted out from the white walls like a circular horn of yellow brick.

When she reached the main way, she glanced up and down the street over the few less pious traders who were setting up their stalls in the choicest locations. The market stretched along the whole main way from each of the four gates to the Keep’s hill itself. With the city’s walls being so formidable, and plenty more in the Outside to fear from the Scorching, trade had become the lifeblood of the city. Shipments of food had fallen since losing so many smaller villages and farming towns in the fires, thus traders from further afield were brought in to hock their wares. Patrols left the Capital every time a gate was opened to range along the plateau’s roads to secure their routes.

Dhanur circled the Keep’s hill. She walked past the stable at the hill’s base feeling the gaze of two bronze–clad Keep guards directed at her. Trying to pay them and the Keep itself as little mind as she could, she stared at her feet as she walked, but the imposing, if short, gleaming white walls above drew her gaze more than once.

She winced, knowing Aarushi wouldn’t call to her from behind them.

‘Janurana does resemble Aarushi,’ her inner voice spoke up again.

‘And Muqtablu. So what?’ Dhanur spat back.

‘That’s only because she’s so fair–skinned.’

Dhanur sighed, conceding that point, then sputtered as she bumped into the back of the forming line on the stone steps up the hill. The upper crust of the city, most of Dhanur’s neighbors, all stood with their jars of butter.

With the temple’s entrance outside the Keep’s wall, the upper class could come inside without having the Keep’s main entrance open for too long. Dhanur had plenty of memories entering the Keep through the temple, as it was much quicker than waiting for a ditzy local city guard to realize you were calling and wanted to be let in. Few actual Keep guards watched and of the four Keep gates since the war was over, instead taking up the less defendable entrances such as the stable and they always held open the door of the temple. Their bronze armor was the practical gate when the temple’s doors were open, even if they were heavy enough to be barred for a time if needed.

“It’s gonna be night by the time they let us in,” a portly man, one of Dhanur’s neighbors, joked as he nudged her back.

She hadn’t noticed him come up behind her so she flinched, but awkwardly said, “Yeah.”

Her neighbor paused, furrowing his brow, letting Dhanur look away before speaking again. “Ya know, we’d have more to talk about if you did more than tepidly wave to us now and then. You’ve got to have a few stories from your time.”

“Yeah,” Dhanur chuckled. He was often one she’d wave to since he waved first.

“We’ve been waiting since you got that big house. I don’t care you’re northern, ya know. you’ve proven you’re not like the others.”

The woman in front of Dhanur turned her head, adding her attention to the conversation.

Dhanur smiled, enjoying the admiration.

“Not your fault your kind and their Light lost spirits burned the Outside!” He nudged her back again.

“Fool,” the woman in front of them said. “Like spirits could get so far south. The Light itself sent them back!”

“The Light would never!” Dhanur snapped. She threw out an accusatory finger, then retracted it. Her smile faded as she remembered most of the upper class who weren’t already warriors knew little about the war besides the few things they heard, most of which were exaggerations. “War’s worse than raiding,” she said.

Her neighbors took the hint and left her be.

The line inched up the hill and Dhanur looked off past the walls, tracing right over the flat, brown landscape dotted with canyons and charred pocket forests, the obliterated and barely recovering Borderlands, then back again to the single lonely mountain off in the distance. She was pushed along by the line until she reached the temple doors where an Ascetic of the Light in an orange–yellow dyed robe dipped his finger in the turmeric paste of the same color. The pot he held was similar to a butter jug. He smeared the paste over Dhanur’s brows, catching a bit of her hair of which he didn’t approve. Regardless, he traced the outline of the morning horizon on her forehead and bowed to her as she entered. Dutifully, Dhanur bowed back as a warrior.

The two Keep guards watched Dhanur step past, narrowing their gaze.

She tried to ignore them, but like the walls, she couldn’t help but look once. Her eyes were hard, but she turned away and her brow softened.

The inside of the temple brought Dhanur a sigh of relaxation.

It was the same mudbrick as most buildings in the Capital, but it was lavishly decorated. The open ceiling above allowed for the sun’s light to reach every corner of the room, letting the dyed cotton tarps shine and almost glimmer. Like the robes and paste above everyone’s brows, they were blended in the same turmeric orange. Dhanur had forgotten the root’s name, much to her annoyance, but being removed from the ground and still having the orange–yellow glow of the sun made it an integral part of most ceremonies. Whatever wasn’t dyed that color was the red or gold that Aarushi wore, or painted with stories and murals, or carvings.

Dhanur smiled at the walls with the older and more familiar religious idols or mythologized events she knew. She stood for longer than she realized, remembering the stories she had heard as a child of pious Ascetics with the revelations or evil governors who had been stricken down by the light while looking at the corresponding statues and murals. She eventually fell upon the blue painted statue of the Blue Dhanur and bowed to it. The more recent tarps showed the Ascetics of the Light of the temple forming walls of the sun’s Light to shield the bronze clad soldiers marching against the Uttaran warriors. The northerners tattooed with their facial clan marks and animal headed spirit allies were not only hindered, but fled from the Light.

Two young men entered the temple, carrying a wrapped body. A new refugee Ascetic instantly jogged over to offer his sympathies for their loss and sent for two Keep guards to take their passed loved one. She assured them they would begin the preparing the body for internment in the Keep’s catacombs once the morning’s service was concluded.

Dhanur fisted her hands. She knew the preparation included harvesting the corpse’s blood for the nobles. Before she could frown, however, another Ascetic offered her a dab of scented oil on her neck to help cleanse one’s scent and calm the nerves.

He held out his hand when done, silently asking for the small donation of a few cowries, to which Dhanur obliged.

She watched the corpse be carried off through the doors in the back of the temple. They were simple and sported only a perfectly painted yellow circle split evenly down the middle. Dhanur slid past the people and pillows dotting the floor, flanked by piles of brick arranged, poorly, to look like they were left there while building. Typically, it would look like the temple was never finished, as if the world was still being built and thus why pilgrims were required to travel and master their own Light to help where they could. But to Dhanur, it looked forced. Regardless, Dhanur smiled at the other patrons or very rare young pilgrims traveling from temple to temple. However, there were very few of them since the Scorching made the Outside much more dangerous. Many refugees who survived the Scorching had joined the order and become Ascetics of the Light. Dhanur could easily tell them apart from the actual pilgrims as their robes had no mends or scars. They stayed on one side of the temple while the higher class people took the other, all conversing and waiting for the offering ceremony to start.

She came upon the central, orange painted pit rimmed with painstakingly polished bronze. It was directly under the skylight, layered with steps and multiple urns of butter warming and clarifying in the heat whose scent mixed with the oils being handed out. It was to be polished before sunrise every day for the sun’s rays to reflect and heat the butter to make it clear for the Light above to properly consume the offerings. Regardless, a splotchy, dusty pit was disrespectful.

Dhanur stepped over the first row, prepared to place her jar there and be done with it, but stopped. She could go further down, to the center where it was warmer and the butter clarified faster with the sun’s rays. But she didn’t want more stares than the Keep guards already gave her. They still watched her from the door. She settled on half way, wiping some of the scented oil from her neck into the butter. She placed her fists together as she stood, bowing to her offering.

As she did, she looked up to the other higher class people in their dyed saris, jamawar sashes, and warriors with no weapon but their armor of scales or breast plates. They were descending into the pit, almost jostling for position at the center, never being so crass as to actually push each other. Dhanur rolled her eyes and scoffed at the petty display. Among the ornate upper class, a city guard with a bronze helm was climbing out of the pit.

Dhanur was surprised seeing him at the Keep’s temple and he noticed her immediately.

“Hey! You’re the dhanur, yeah?” he said, circling around the pit.

Dhanur flustered, stepping back, but he caught up with her.

“Yeah! I saw you over the walls at the last siege! That was ridiculous, sliding down ropes and hopping over rooftops. Is it true what they said? That the Maharaj asked for you and Muqtablu specifically for her guard after that?”

“What’re you doing up at the Keep’s temple?” Dhanur deflected. “Plenty of ones down in the lower section.”

The guard balked. “What? Not good enough to come up here now the war’s over? I still fought, even if I’m only a city guard now! Not a full warrior like you but still!”

“That’s not wha—” Dhanur stammered, wanting to grind her teeth, but an upper class worshiper stepped in.

“Perhaps you would be more comfortable among your own kind.” She looked down her nose at him.

“No!” Dhanur’s annoyance grew to offended shock. She took a step towards the woman. “A temple’s a temple. The Light welcomes all in its warmth.”

Scowling, the upper class woman looked Dhanur up and down. “Don’t know why a northerner should understand.”

Dhanur wanted to continue the argument, but when she fisted her hands, she realized she hadn’t brought her bow. It wouldn’t have intimidated the woman anyway, being in the same class. Dhanur sighed, noticing the bronze clad Keep Guards watching her much more intently, along with the rest of the congregation.

“Well, uh, thanks for that,” the guard said.

“Yeah.” Dhanur nodded.

“I guess a dhanur even without her bow is still feared, yeah?” he chuckled.

She forced a chuckle herself, shaking her head.

“Anyways, I made my offering so, I’m gonna head out before things get uglier. You should maybe do the same. Or not, I don’t know how it’s like. You earned that armor and glory, fighting those northerners.” He smacked Dhanur’s scaled bronze. “Oh, uh, other northerners. You know what I mean! You and that Maharaj of yours have a nice time, yeah?”

Her armor seemed to ring hollow and echo through the temple. She had made her offering, but she didn’t feel any better. Nor was her head clearer. As the guards continued to watch her, she scoffed and headed back home.

***

Janurana’s toes and fingertips had gone cold, then she snapped awake as Dhanur returned home. Janurana frantically looked around for a wolf or an imp, but remembered where she was, let out a sigh, and clutched her chest.

As wonderful as it would have been to sit and relax until the sun set, Janurana thought it best not to stew in the dirty water. She stood and washed herself with the small rag sitting on the edge of the tub. The murky water ran off her in rivulets and she grimaced at the evidence of just how dirty she had been. Paying particular attention to her feet, cramped all day in her boots that were so worn and dry, she sighed at how much dirt had wormed its way onto them. After cleaning herself fully, she scrubbed her whole body four times and ran her fingers over her skin, reveling in the renewed softness. There was even a squeak when she rubbed them back and forth on her thigh. She had always enjoyed the squeak when she bathed, a friendly reminder that she couldn’t be cleaner if she tried.

Janurana didn’t even have to ask if Dhanur had a comb nearby, as it sat behind the tub, a few strands of red hair still between its teeth. A small clay jar was next to it, filled with cloves, cinnamon, allspice, and other similar smells. Janurana wondered if the scent was really that strong or if her more sensitive nose could smell through the cork. Another was full of mint leaves and another with Uttaran coconut oil on whose bottle were flecks of her hair. Dhanur did have haphazard leather armor under her scales, but she was far from sloppy.

Janurana poured out the tub, having removed the stopper from the drain, and poured a bit more water in to rinse it out.

“Can you get it?” Dhanur said from beyond the flap having jogged over when she heard the draining water.

“It’s alright. I only filled it half way,” Janurana brushed her off with a smile, even though Dhanur couldn’t see it.

“Yeah? Okay, well, I’ll be up on the roof if ya need any help.” She pursed her lips. “Call me if you need help.”

After splashing handfuls of water onto her hair to soften it, Janurana picked up the polished bronze mirror that was sitting by Dhanur’s comb. She tried to balance it on her knees so she could have both hands to fight the matts in her hair, then paused at the remarkably clear reflection of everything but herself. The mirror was truly powerful as she could see the room in perfect detail, especially since her own reflection was nowhere to be seen. She had the faintest hope that it would be different with a proper mirror. She couldn’t remember when she last looked down at a stagnant pool or small pond to try to see herself, but nothing had changed. She ran her fingers down her round cheeks as if that would reveal them to herself. Regardless, she marveled at the detail of the room in the reflection.

‘No wonder the fires above the walls were so bright if these were the mirrors behind them,’ she thought.

She tore herself away from it and began the war. Janurana missed so many things about bathing, but brushing her hair was not one of them. To test her wild black hair, she stuffed the comb in, and it stuck in place as it had done for as long as she could remember. She sighed.

Janurana delicately picked apart her hair for what felt like hours, prising it with her fingers where it was too matted for the comb, worried a tooth might fly off. She loosened it with water as best she could and occasionally bargained with it as if it could talk back. But it relented inch by agonizing inch. Eventually, it fell against her shoulders in soft, shiny curls buried under a haze of frizz. As far as Janurana remembered, the wild frizz never left even when drenched in oils. But the knots were parted. Again, she took a moment to enjoy the feeling, running her fingers through the ends just because she finally could again. Not a single strand had been pulled out of her scalp.

A gust of wind blew the curtain open fully, showing her how late the day was getting. The sun had crawled along the sky, closing in on the mountainous horizon, and Janurana was running out of time to wash her clothes.

Avoiding the makeshift pouch she'd sewn onto the hip of her sari, she used her nails to scrape off any particularly thick clods of dirt with extreme care. Janurana didn’t want to guess how much of the dirt had become part of her dress, but she scraped off what hadn't been ground through the fibers. The most troublesome part was her boots. She scraped and scraped with her nails, picking off more and more filth, and paused often to make sure it wasn’t her sole she was removing. Suddenly, her finger popped right through the bottom. They had become so worn that they barely had any sole at all and crumbled to the slightest touch once the armor of packed earth was gone. She pouted, staring blankly at the hole she had made before chewing her lip.

“Madam Dhanur?” Janurana called out.

Dhanur had made her way onto her second floor’s roof via her window and a ladder to stare at the same small mountain off in the north. She silently groaned at how often she watched it, as if it were going to disappear if she didn’t spend her day looking at it. Still, she didn’t stop. Its green peak shined, its color changing with the setting sun. The reddish brown base, the same hue as most of the land, became less prominent as the green summit contrasted with the orange of the evening. A few of the denser pocket forests of the northern Borderlands would have balanced the green tip better, were they not more scarred than the lands outside the Capital. She even saw the northern jungles further beyond if she strained. Dhanur yawned. The shadow of the second floor cast over her, as if it were night time. Occasionally a neighbor would wave and snap her back to reality, asking how she was doing as they milled about their roofs tending to a few potted plants or whipping out their laundry, or shuffled down the streets.

“Fine.” Dhanur might reply, if she didn’t simply wave.

“Madam Dhanur?” Janurana called again.

Dhanur popped up like a jittery imp, slid forward, and caught one of the wooden posts jutting out from the wall. She pushed herself off, and dropped to the ground, a scar on her shin a constant reminder of why it was essential to dodge the window right below her.

“Yeah?” Dhanur asked as she came inside.

“You have not laid out a gown for me.” Janurana stated from behind the curtain.

Her impertinent tone made Dhanur recoil. “Uh, yeah. Because I didn’t expect you?”

Janurana blinked, remembering that the only other person there was her host, not a servant despite being in a higher class home. “Yes, of course. My apologies. Would you be so kind as to fetch one for me?”

“Sure.” Dhanur rolled her eyes, but procured one all the same. She returned with the thin sleeping gown from the guest room, handing it through the flap. “Washed your clothes?”

“Why, how did you know?” Janurana smiled coyly, “Is there a place out of the way I can hang them to dry?”

“Uh, just give ‘em to me. It’s ok.”

“No, no. You’ve done more than enough.”

“It’s fine. I can hang some clothes. Don’t worry.” Dhanur cracked a small smile, hoping to be reassuring, from the other side of the tarp.

“You’re too kind, Madam Dhanur. Thank you so much.” There was an odd pause before Janurana handed off her clothes through the curtain.

“S’what I should do,” Dhanur said.

As Dhanur sparked up a fire with flint and pyrite, she examined her guest’s attire. She felt it may be an invasion of privacy, but they can tell a lot about a person, as her Abba had told her. She ran her finger over a lump of dirt, stubbornly clinging to the sari. As she tried to pick it off, it took a part of a brown stripe with it. Dhanur jumped.

“Oh, dark.” She whispered quickly. She looked back to the washroom as Janurana slipped out with no sign that she’d heard it, being much too lost in caressing her clean skin.

“If you want, uh, we can get you new clothes,” she said as she hung up the boots.

“No!” Janurana snapped. “No. Thank you so much for the offer, but I very much like my old sari, thank you.” She bowed. Janurana took one step up, but paused before heading to the guest room. “If I may, Dhanur,” she asked, fidgeting with her robe. “Why did you help me?”

Dhanur paused, rolling the question over in her mind. “You needed help and I should help. Shouldn’t that be enough?” She shrugged.

“I suppose. I ask because you seemed apprehensive towards the higher born.”

Dhanur didn’t exactly understand Janurana’s words, but she pieced together what they meant. “Used to be a warrior, now I’m not. We don’t really have the best record.”

“Yes, yes.”

“And uh, there was one who was nice. So, ya know.”

“Thank you. Truly.” Janurana stared past Dhanur, at the largest patch on her Sari.

Dhanur failed to notice how Janurana’s fists tightened as she spoke. “No problem.”