《God Obliterating Vajra [Revolution Era Wuxia]》 WELCOME BACK TO HINGSAJAGRA Brutal Kung Fu. Esoteric Magick. South, East, and Southeast Asia martial arts and magical traditions. The GOD OBLITERATING VAJRA relaunch is coming in 3 days. Look out for it! It has around 2 books worth of finished writing, is a slow burn, and even has multiple viewpoints. It''s a very unique fantasy setting inspired by Revolutionary Asia (around 1800s to 1900s). There will be 20 Chapters on launch (Jan 31) and then 1 Chapter per day until we reach the end of the 1st Book (around Chapter 39)! Get ready for action scenes that draw upon my IRL Martial Art experience! GOD OBLITERATING VAJRA is what you''d get if you mixed John Wick x Disco Elysium x The Raid x Ip Man x Maritime Asia. After being murdered, Raxri Uttara awoke in a healing pool at the end of the world without memory. Without knowledge of who they are, they must find out what happened to them... and choose between vengeance or revolution. What can you do to someone who has nothing to lose?The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. GOD OBLITERATING VAJRA is a mysticpunk progression xianxia webnovel set in the sword & gun Maritime Buddhist inspired Utter Islands. Mystics grapple with martial artists for supremacy, the workers struggle against the rulers, and giant mechanical spirit guardians are converted into high-rises and public transportation. Raxri must find out what happened to them. To do so, they must understand the world again and re-attain their lost Cultivations to be able to enact vengeance upon those that have wronged them and forsaken them. Hingsajagra is the Fantastic Realist world of God Obliterating Vajra. Inspired by Esoteric Buddhism and Revolutionary Asia. Giant cats turned into apartment complexes, ghost horse steeds that tire not, walking giant mechanical armors turned into public transportation, charnel wizards summoning the long-dead, witches wielding the Pureflame of Creation, the Machine God beginning its slick advance into forever progress... the Age of Furor is upon us. The Latter Day of the Law. The Termagant Buddha watches closely. 1-1 Slit The Throat Of Self-Doubt
"Though we drink of apocalypse, let us revel. In the light and in the love. Tomorrow and ever after. Let us not turn away from life''s darkness. Swords forged from sorrow. Armors crafted from tumult. Let us wield that handleless blade, so that the petals may fall to the pond. Even in direness, let us turn the Wheel, so that we can finally attain Revolution. Love has left us behind. Love is for the next ones, who will come after us. Let us pave the royal road to enlightenment with our mistakes. Cut the throat of self-doubt. Walk, move forward. Do it for the world. Until all beings are free."
A light refuses to go out. A burning flame.
At the beginning of all things is darkness.
Did you know that at the beginning of all things, the first thing that arose was sound?
"Raxri."
A name. An epithet. A vow.
An anger. A wrath.
"Raxri Uttara, thy tale endeth here, and so shall it begin. Walk... until all the heavens and all the hells... have danced to your song."
A laugh. The voice continued: "Walk. Walk! Ye, once-dead! Let the world realize thy madness: you have been killed. Find out why... and enact your vengeance." The cackle of a mad woman caged within the husk of a man. "Until all beings are free."
Until all beings are free. A thought from our dear Raxri''s mind. Arising, dependently, from the prodding of the Mad Fool.
The cackle of crazy wisdom pierced the gloom.
Raxri awoke... ...half-submerged in ankle-high water. It glowed azure, blue tendrils reaching to the night sky. The body was rent of all clothing, of all armor. Skin the color of brightening dawn. Hair floating about them like a dawn halo. Lithe yet muscular. A dancer of the sword.
Raxri''s eyes opened; eyelashes long. Lotus-like. Their scarlet eyes dim... shorn of memory.
The swordstress'' body floated upon a shallow pond. Bright blue liquid lulled them to peace, to sleep.
Above them, through their eyes, the Sword Moon leered. His gleam bathed them in the light of pallid undeath. A giant edifice framed the moon: an arch with the middle removed. Two spires creating a gateway¡ªa Divine Gate. Its adobe was a deep red. Blood used to bind it together.
Raxri''s eyes grew heavy. The lulling movement of the softly moving pond beckoned them to sleep''s farthest shores. They could choose, right then, to leave¡ªto slumber again under the warm, almost rejuvenating glow of the blue-light pond.
A kindly voice told them, from the back of their head: It''s time to rest. You''ve fought all your life. It''s time to surrender to oblivion. Finally find extinction!
Raxri closed their eyes.
A gravelly, demonic voice uttered: walk. That sounded more like them.
The words of the Holy Fool...?
A vision of a scowling, scornful buddha. Wrathful heruka. Ready to strike. Ready to kill.
Walk. Walk. Walk. Not yet time for your death. Walk Raxri Uttara. Cultivate again Compassion. Wield the blade of Karma. Walk until the Path becomes the Destination.
Raxri... Uttara.
Walk. Rise, Raxri Uttara. Revolt against your own undoing. Let your blade find those that have betrayed you. A sound, a rock clacking against hardened soil, sounding like a final, gasping laugh.
Raxri Uttara rose from the waters of rejuvenation, water dripping from their form. As the liquid sapphire slowly left them, their soul bound itself again. Reconstitution.
Raxri shivered and then took their time to ground themself. They were wounded, naked, alive. A large gash on their belly, another across their chest. Incredibly, the wounds seem to have healed, turning soft pink.
The pain persevered.
The pain blossomed into anger. Who did this to me?
Raxri¡¯s tattoo itched, ink writhing like worms under their skin.
Raxri expanded their awareness, encompassed the darkness. 10 bodhisattva statues surrounded them, each meditating in a lotus position. Raxri knew they were bodhisattvas, as ascertained by the moon haloes about every single one of them, but they could not remember their names. Each wielded a distinct weapon: a longknife, a pewter staff, a bow and arrow, an arquebus, a longsword, a greatsword, a spear, prayer beads, a crossbow, and then four sets of hands.
Each of the bodhisattvas hummed a single note. A continuous drone. Singing of oblivion.
At the edges of the chasm, they could sense corpses¡ªcadavers¡ªall rotted. Most of them were now just skeletons. An unnerving alertness arose from them. Looking at one, Raxri could swear they could see a soul''s Eye staring back.
Their awareness continued to expand. There were a set of clothes from a mound nearby. Neatly folded.
Neatly folded? Raxri couldn''t complain. They took their chances. They walked over to the folded set of clothes and took it. "Monksrobes...?" they muttered to themself.
Without any other set of clothes to cover themself in, they took on the monk''s garb: a sarong combined with a simple, scarlet wrap shirt with cap sleeves. No slippers, no over-shawl, and no undergarments. But that''s all right: Raxri knew they couldn''t be too picky with their current predicament.
"No monk am I. Nevertheless..." they turned to the bodhisattvas. Muscle memory rang clear: Raxri folded their hands in front of their head, lips, and heart. They didn''t know what it meant; all they knew was that they had done it before, and so it felt like second nature to them. Like breathing. Or smiling.
They turned and walked towards the last thing they became aware of: the opening that led to a corridor. As they neared it, they noticed a bronze mirror¡ªthe frame of it a giant imp-like demon¡ªleaning against the opening. It was exceedingly dirtied, and part of it had fractured off. No doubt, this place must have been some sort of ritual importance, now abandoned.
Upon the mirror, they saw themself: brown skin, white hair, fair build, veins upon their forearms. The build of a martial artist. A tattoo wound around their forearm, written in an ancient script, arranged in such a way to form an ink talisman.
Raxri breathed. They followed the path.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
The chill wind and the nakedness became thoughts behind them. They came to the cognizance of their aching bones and throbbing wounds. Indeed, the pain still persevered. I must find a place of repose first, they thought to themself, so they walked. That was the command of the Holy Fool, after all.
Their feet pattered upon a cold, hard, cavernous rock. Despite the darkness raveling about them, they felt a nakedness beyond physicality. Spiritually, they felt bare. Flensed clean of both sin and virtue.
Their thoughts were a vortex: Where am I? Who am I? Why... am I here? Was I embroiled in some crime? Was I left for dead? This did not seem like a place for joy and laughter... It feels like a temple, of some sort. Was this a temple? A temple for the dead? Was I carried here?
Their walking brought them to a doorway. A bulging-eyed, sharp-fanged demon god stood atop the arch. It whispered a mantra. Again and again.
Raxri''s throat tightened, a white-hot knot of unspoken words.
Keep walking. Raxri uttered their own mantra. They walked through the doorway, ignoring the eyes swiveling to watch them. They arrived at a clearing in the cavern. The rugged and craggy rock turned into smooth gray stone, with patterns of overlapping circles engraved onto it. The rippling circles of a stone dropped into a still pond.
Light illuminated the hall. Raxri looked up to notice whiteglass lotuses housing white smokeless fires in the shape of perfect spheres and bulbs of light. Four-armed, bulging-eyed guardian spirit sculptures held up each lotus housing. No doubt, due to the march of time, some of the sculptures have lost their arms and hands.
Lotuslights? The nervous system of the temple was a network of electric circuitry etched into the bone of its stone walls. The circuitry rippled out of holes in circles: a pond constantly disturbed. Who made these? To whom does this temple belong to...? What powers this temple that it continues to run despite being in a state of disrepair?
Raxri''s feet padded upon cold stone. Nephrite pillars lined the sides of the corridor, stories of warfare and justice carved onto its bas-reliefs. Many of the pillars are crumbled, no longer supporting the stone roof.
Foot after ragged foot: Raxri''s walking led them to a broken stairway of blue jade, so blue that it could''ve been considered lazuli. A beat, as Raxri slowed down. Can I jump it? Might as well try. Things can''t get any worse. With a grunt, they threw themself over the crumbled-away pit and easily onto the other side, clambering onto what was left of the blue jade stairway.
They breathed. Their physicality returned to them like a long-lost pet. They hauled themselves onto the stairs, noticing that the blue jade glowed an almost unearthly blue-green. Is this some sort of guide to my path? Is this similarly powered by what powered the lotus lights?
Raxri let out a shaky breath. Nowhere to go but forward.
There, two giant ogre statues flanked a narrow set of stone doors. Flanged shoulder armor, eyes bulging and fangs twisting. Raxri breathed. Are these... directional guardians? Yakkas? Demon Guardians... The direction they''re facing is what they''re guarding against.
Raxri paused and looked over their shoulder. What manner of evil did they seal...? Or am I the evil?
A beat. Raxri decided that the ogre statues were not going to move, not going to assail them¡ªat least, not yet. They placed their hands on the two stone doors, hewn from stone and engraved with the same overlapping circles rippling across them. In the slight darkness, Raxri could make out, squinting, the little flecks of stars scattered across them. The night sky reflected from a rippling pond.
Raxri''s muscles awoke like dragons uncoiling from stone as they heaved and pushed the doors straight open. Their muscles spoke: Hey, this is your body. You were so comfortable in it once.
Like a friend reaching out a hand to help, Raxri was suddenly imbued with strength.
The doors groaned. White dust billowed. Loose stones tip-tap fell onto the ground. The machinery within the doors creaked and groaned and protested... until finally acknowledging Raxri''s latent strength.
The doors swung open like a jaw unhinging, stone teeth grinding against the floor. The night wind was a cold hammer striking Raxri''s face, body.
The smell and touch of freedom, a slight glimpse at liberation. Raxri''s hair whipped about them, their sarong fleeing from the touch of freedom.
Raxri moved forward. The night sky was cut by a clean stone path flanked by bamboo groves that lead into a cliff. A curtain parted: a shooting star streaked across the starry night sky.
The Gash of the Invincible Blade Princess cleaved the black of the sky.
Inhaling the cold air, Raxri felt the warm rejuvenation catalyzed into vigor. They stepped forward, bare feet embracing the cold stone at first and then eventually the harder, weed-choked stone path as they stepped into the bamboo gateway.
Beings watched them from between the shadow of the bamboo. As is well: they were unnerved by the utter lack of spirits inside the chasm they crawled out from.
Deep inside them, they knew that the world they walked upon was the world of spirits, not man. To stake one''s own kingdoms and empires is to accord with the gods that walked upon the grass, danced about the clouds, swam across the trees, and warred in the seas. Or to subjugate them. But the cycle of subjugation abounds, unlike the mutual trust of the accord.
The stone path was eventually choked by grass, soil, roots, and underbrush. The spirits always reclaim what is theirs. Raxri walked upon dank soil until they found themselves near the cliff''s edge. There they beheld the vista:
Overpowering the scene was a titanic strangler fig reaching into the sky. It held the Firmament, or at least a part of it. Further, craggy spires scoured the sky, the fingers of a long-dead giant. Clouds dance about it in mockery. You will never touch the sky! In the valley below, smoke wafted up and dissipated into the black. Multi-roofed wooden shrine structures jut out from the lower mountains, stopping by a river. The river fed into a small village of stilt houses and cottages until a lake, at the mouth of the valley, where a city walled by the roots of the titanic strangler fig slumbered.
To their east, past the jagged mountains that formed the southern part of the valley, were more coastal towns, similarly slumbering, with nary but slight torches to keep them alight, to ward off bears, tigers, and crocodiles.
Immediately to their east, Raxri saw the dirt path that led down to that coastal region. A destroyed wagon lay upon its middle.
Raxri inhaled. Their muscles creaked and moved. They felt as if rusted cogs began moving on their own within their bodies, ready to carry them where they needed to be. They took a step forward when--
"Oi!" A man peeked out from the path. Clad in bandit''s garb: a dusty and torn sarouel, a sleeveless, collar-less vest, and a cloak that covered his face all the same. His hair was shorn on its right side. A tattoo branded the left side of his face. Not a talisman. "Moon''s out, guts''re in!"
Raxri bit their lip, stepped back. "Please, patience, good sers! I am lost!
"Lost? At this time of night in the midst of the forest? Don''t fuck with us!"
Another man stepped in, wearing much of the same, though this one had bright blonde hair contrasting his burnt caramel skin. "Jugi... Do you not think it foolish to deal with that one? Witness: it bears monksclothes, and walks out of the Vault of Souls."
"Fuck the monkrobes Ruru! The Wizard''ll pay all the same for a good piece of esoterica," said the other bandit, stepping closer and brandishing his longknife[1]. They pronounced "esoterica by uttering every syllable. Mocking.
The blonde bandit frowned, staring at Raxri. "Look at its eyes. That¡¯s no dead thing. That¡¯s... a woman?"
"What stygian business would a woman have in the Vault of Souls[2]? What kind of demon mockery is this, ha?"
The blonde bandit paused for a moment. Then they said: "Did not the wizard say to look out for a dawn-haired chick?"
Jugi, the dark-haired man, said: "Oh. The Heaven Dancer? Right, the wizard said look out for a heaven dancer with white hair! Could that be...?"
Sighing, the blonde bandit raised their kinked-up longsword. "Even if it isn''t... the wizard''ll pay all the same. I''ll be damned if I shirk the commands of heaven." The two of them lunged.
Raxri inhaled, exhaled. They fell into battle meditation. In that meditation, they trusted their body''s memory.
Something blossomed in their body. No: multiple things blossomed in their body. Raxri could see it, burgeoning like a lotus.
First, at their groin area, their Yellow Secret Chakra.
Then, at their liver: the Green Abdominal Chakra.
Then, at their chest, the Crimson Heart Chakra.
Then, at their neck: the White Throat Chakra.
Finally at their forehead, at the top of their head, atop their blinking Third Eye (invisible, still): their Azure Crown Chakra.
Raxri was a keening thunderhead, about to explode. In their Liver, a mystic Inner Fire suddenly burned, sending their Inner Winds flurrying in every direction.
What... what is this? What power do I hold?
Against all the gods and the buddhas, without weapon nor armor: Raxri moved forward to meet them.
  1. Longknives, also known as sundang or machete, are single-edged blades, heavy, capable of both chopping and piercing. They are the most common form of weaponry in the Utter Islands, used not just for battle, but for cooking, gardening, pathfinding, and farming.??
  2. A hallowed pit the far eastern tip of Padma. Otherwise known as the End of the World. Souls thrown here are kept in thrall for eternity, removed from the Wheel of Wandering and forced to dream eternal.??
1-2 Enter The Devil Witch
"Welcome a wound for a friend. No greater compassion there be than one in correct self-sacrifice. However, be vigilant and wise: to sacrifice yourself for the wrong thing is not virtue, it is foolishness." Treatise on Self and Non-self by Soreh High Preceptor Onisantapa
The moment their intention was set, Raxri felt their flurrying Inner Winds and Fires settling. They moved instinctively.
I will keep you on this earth, the mystic Inner Winds seemed to say.
Doubt is the greatest fetter. Let us strike with the speed of lightnings! the mystic Inner Fire seemed to respond.
The black-haired bandit swung his longknife. Raxri moved in a diagonal pattern. An advanced stepping technique: the Triangle Blade Steps. Not quick enough, however: the knife cut into their wrap shirt, loosening it, revealing bits of their skin.
The blonde bandit arrived, licking his lips. He unleashed a steel onslaught with his longsword. Raxri settled into meditation: they duck and wove, stepping back, maintaining perfect distance to avoid each sword strike. After the assault, Raxri kicked away the flat of the amateurishly swung longsword with their bare foot, disarming the man. That movement led into a second kick--oblique, straight into the side of the bandit''s leg. It did not crack, but it bent in an unnatural angle and the bandit fell to the ground.
"Hells--!"
Raxri would not stay to watch their reactions. They bolted off, leaping over the destroyed wagon and running down the dirt path, toward the coastal region. Behind them, the men shouted: "Oi! Get her, get her! The damned bitch flees!"
Raxri ran. They ran and ran and ran. Raxri''s body gasped out. "Help!" they yelled, knowing no one would come to their aid. The spirits--those that they became aware of--watched in curious interest. Their running led them eventually, down that tapering cliff, into a backdoor leading into the inside of a temple complex.
A bulging-eyed, tongue-lolling demon god cradled the doorframe. To the right of it was a broken temple section, walls crumbled, pillars visible, and the roof caved in. That must be where those graverobbers came in through, Raxri conjectured.
With nowhere else to go, Raxri dove in through the doorway. The doorway led to a section of the temple where other lay practitioners would offer prayers to various pools of lotuses, upon each a God statue. Though now the statues each had been broken and fractured.
Straight from the doorway, through a stone path choked now by white sand, was a wooden ladder that led into a wooden elevated porch, then eventually a doorway into the main worship place of the temple. "There! Get the bitch; they''re in Hell King Temple!" The voices of the bandits yet again.
Hesitation was surely defeat, and so Raxri ran. Straight up the ladder and eventually into the wooden temple complex. Breathing heavily, they stopped as serenity lanced through them like a giant''s arrow.
Stillness. Quiet. Pervaded the worship area. The lacquered wooden floor was dirty, now. A giant horizontal doorway allowed cold air to seep in. Wooden pillars carved with the stories of Gods, Bodhisattvas, and Buddhas held up the vaunted roofs. To Raxri''s left, the front of the room, was a giant sitting god sculpture, painted light blue and gold. Seated upon a lotus throne, a giant and serene-looking god, a half-smile on his face, yet eyes bulging as if in wrath. In one arm it held a long dagger with a hilt decorated with a trident with its prongs facing inward. In another hand, it held a skull. A wheel-halo hung from above it, and an aura of crimson flame was sculpted around it.
A tang of familiarity to Raxri.
Lying prostrate in front of the hell-king, however, was a feminine figure, swaddled in multicolored veils, sarongs, and robes. Her hands and ankles were ringed with golden bands. Her feet were earthen brown, but her hair laid in an almost perfect array from her face, with straight bangs creating a visage akin to that of a shrine maiden. Her arms and legs were heavily tattooed, and against it her much-too pale skin brightened even more.
As Raxri stepped in, the woman arose from her prostrated position. A black veil covered the front of her face. When she looked at Raxri, she parted her veil, revealing eyes the color of the amber of stars, and eyeshadow scarlet against her pale skin. Her eyebrows were slight, her cheekbones sharp, almost masculine. Her hair was the color of raven night.
She stared.
"In there!" The bandits'' voice arose from behind Raxri.
"Hoy, think twice, Jugi. The Hell King will not take kindly to this impending violence we are to commit upon his grounds." The other bandit replied.
"I''ve no care for the gods. You think the gods care for us at all? No! Think you we would find ourselves in this predicament if they did? Now cease the pussyfooting and kill the bitch!"
Raxri''s eyes widened. They ran to the middle of the room and turned, putting their body in between the woman''s and the two bandits. I brought the bandits here. It''ll be my reponsibility if this woman gets hurt.
The woman''s voice resounded: "Why do you stand here?" Her voice was low, almost angry.
"The bandits," Raxri replied. "I will not have them harm you."
"I doubt you will be able to defeat them."
Raxri shrugged, scared. "Nevertheless."
The two bandits burst through the doorway, blades waving. "There! Get''em!" When Jugi the Dark-Haired Bandit saw the prostrated woman, he added: "Oho! And a second course meal too!"
The bandits lunged, blades flashing like steel serpents.
Raxri lowered themself, hands at the ready. They were going to fight, whatever it took. They made sure that the devotee was behind them. No way I''m letting her get hurt. She will be safe, even at the cost my life.
But as the bandits closed in, the woman laid a firm hand on Raxri''s shoulder--her hand was deathly cold--and moved past them. The woman threw her veil in between Raxri and the bandits, occluding the bandits'' vision. Then her other hand twisted into a mudra, one pointing with her pointer and ring fingers.
"O Dak Emmara Senje, King of the Hells! Aid me in my path, and forgive me for the violence committed in service to your peace. Deliver the ne''erdowells to their proper elysium! AUNG WARIL--" She pointed her fingers in front of her and pulled back as if drawing back a bow. A beat, she waited as the two bandits were aligned--quicker than Raxri could see--then she released it by flicking forward her middle finger. "--RUSAGA!"
A pin-thin point of light shot out from the tip of her middle finger, the color of breaking twilight. The light-beam skewered through both bandits in a single line: her veil was miraculously thrown to the side, just enough for the beam to avoid it.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
No blood was spilled. When the beam dissipated, the two bandits fell to the floor, a clean hole straight through their livers.
"No quarrel have I with bandits," she said, her voice calm yet angry, yet focused. "I have quarrel with men of no moral."
Raxri watched her for a moment. The woman-witch put on her shawl once again, covering her, and then turned and bowed three times before the statue of Emmara Senje. Then, she turned to Raxri. "State your objective here."
Raxri gulped. "You slew them. With magick...?"
"You''ve yantra tattoos around your forearm. Act not like you''ve been blind to sorcery your whole life."
"I-I''m sorry. I haven''t... Forgive me. I am Raxri Uttara."
"Raxri Uttara." She stared. "A monk are you?"
Raxri shook their head. "No. These... these are just garments I found when I left that chasm..."
"Chasm...?" She turned and looked in the direction where Raxri arrived from. "You arose from the Vault of Souls?"
A beat, then Raxri said: "That is what the bandits have claimed it to be called."
"Then you... you are once-dead. You yet live...?" The woman raised an eyebrow.
Raxri looked down on themself for a moment. Then they said: "I haven''t the faintest idea, lady! I''ve no certainty how I got in there, and I''ve even less certainty of how I got out. But... perhaps you can help me. Reorient me? I am shorn of memory..."
The woman stepped back. "Deceive me not with this act!"
"I would do no such thing! Here, you may magick my thoughts even, to see the truth."
The woman raised a delicate eyebrow for a moment, scrutinizing the vagrant. Then, before long, she said: "Very well. I am Akazha," she said, pointing at herself, "Follow me, Raxri Uttara, and pray you do not belie my trust, lest you meet certain death before long."
Raxri felt a wellspring of gratitude fountain out of them, encompassing Akazha. "Thank you. Thank you, great one!"
"I am no great," she said, rolling her eyes. "Now please, pipe down. We should get going, lest there be others on their trail--"
A voice erupted from outside. Raxri and Akazha turned, both, at the same time. "Here! Follow this path and ye shall find the Vault thither. Behind it is a graveyard. Keep to mind the command, fools: the bones and flesh and heart of those dead and even those that walk again." The voice belonged to a wheezing old man.
Akazha turned to Raxri. "You know not how to fight, yes?"
Sheepishly, Raxri bowed and shook their head. Despite this, Raxri stood a whole head taller than Akazha.
Akazha exhaled a humorous slight laugh. "Funny. I''ve taken you to be a warrior from your stature and stance. Death does make memory complicated...."
From within the folds of her robes, she produced a sword with a blade having 8 waves. Its handle was exquisite, decorated to showcase a tiger, and its hilt was made of dragonscale. Its steel was damascened, rippling. A kalis, Raxri knew.
Akazha was already walking out, through the large horizontal doors that led into an elevated porch area, where other shrines were, alongside a porcelain water pot right before the entrance.
"Hail!" Akazha yelled out. Raxri ran to her side.
Outside, right in front of the wooden temple was a small courtyard, pocked by stagnant ponds and stone spirit houses. This courtyard had around four men, dressed in the same bandit armor as the ones they had previously faced, save for one of them, who was dressed in a white tunic, and a brocaded sarong, and had a wooden bow in his hands.
The bandits all stopped and turned. They paled as if they had seen a ghost.
"State your business ''ere in the fine establishment of Hell King Dak Emmara Senje!"
The bandits all looked for a while. Then, the one with the bow said: "We''ve come at the behest of a certain wizard. Times are hard, lass, wouldn''t you agree?"
Akazha''s eyebrow perked up. She said: "You raid the tombs of the dead to take what is theirs. And they traverse the next life without the blessings of their loved ones. Have you no shame? What if this had been done to your graves!"
"There''ll be no one to bury us when we die, madame." The man with the bow seemed like the leader among them. His headwrap flared up taller than the other three''s bandanas, almost like a single horn. "This is the way of the world. I''m sure the Buddhas will forgive us."
"No forgiveness must be sought," said Akazha. "Evil deeds will be repaid with the selfsame, and tenfold. That is the way of the world."
A pause. And then, the leader said: "Then if you do not want evil deeds to happen to you, I suggest you get walking, madames. We''ve bones to collect."
"I refuse." Akazha moved, quicker than Raxri could''ve thought someone clad in such robes could move. She was like a flutter in the wind: in one second a cloth dragon, the next in front of one bandit, wielding a crossbow and only having around 3 bolts on his person. Her kalis flashed in a confident line, cutting the man''s arm off completely. Then, she put her fingers to her lips and uttered a low mantra: BA SA JU KU RU.
No blood spurted off of the stump. Instead, the stump healed. A clean amputation. Of course, the man was maimed, but no disease will infect his stump. Akazha then savagely kicked the man off to the side, where they stumbled into unconsciousness.
"You curry death, witch! Strike her all at once! Even witches cannot withstand a throng!"
"You underestimate this witch!" Here, Akazha uttered a sacred mantra. Then she casually threw her kalis aside, and it floated in mid-air as if kept aloft by an invisible wire. She breathed out, and as she did her eyes burned with a certain azure fire, coloring it, giving her an almost feline look.
The kalis shot forward, faster than thought.
It sliced through the other nearest bandit''s arm. The bandit screamed out, but louder still was Akazha''s ululation of the Healing Buddha''s mantra, forcing the wound closed. The bandit still passed out from the pain, however.
Akazha moved, leaping into the air and sailing through the winds as if lighter than a feather. As she sailed overhead, she kicked away at the other bandit, twisting and tossing him with her legs onto the nearby rocks, knocking him out. Another Healing Buddha mantra followed.
The last one, the man, tossed his bow to the rocks. "Wait, wait! Mercy! Prithee, grant mercy! Forgive me, I shall turn my leaf!"
Akazha''s flying kalis shot straight toward the man, again a blur. The man winced, but the kalis only stabbed his arm, holding him fast against a rock. Akazha fluttered over and stood atop her sword, hands behind her back as if she were a dainty maiden waiting for her due.
The bandit squealed: "Ack! Please, please madame, I beg you."
Akazha raised an eyebrow. "You truly believe it? You will turn the leaf?"
"Yes! Yes. I know what maleficence a witch such as you is capable of. I will not go back on my word. I will do as I''ve said!"
Akazha flipped from her sword''s dragon hilt, and with a flick of her wrist pulled the sword away with nothing but her thoughts. Her kalis flew back to her hands. Her other hand was on her chest, her palm facing her right as if she were folding her hands together in prayer but only with one hand. She uttered the incantations and the man''s savagely torn arm was immediately healed.
Seeing this, the man scampered away like the beaten dog that he was. Raxri watched him run, away and out of the premises of the temple complex, back into the valley.
Akazha let out a breath. Then another. Then another. She was breathing heavily, chasing after air, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
"That was amazing, witch Akazha."
Akazha turned and smiled. "I implanted a curse upon him," she said. Sweat matted her skin, causing it to glisten against the moonlight.
"What for?" asked Raxri.
"So that I will know where he tarries." She raised her hand and a bundle of strands swayed within.
"You truly are a witch," Raxri said. Their hand balled up, anxiously. "That is the tool of witchery."
Akazha shrugged as if to say guilty as charged. Then she said: "You wield the blade as if you know how to use it, but you obviously do not. How interesting. I will have to reactivate the hidden potentials within you, the stones blocking your rushing Winds." A beat, then she said, "Though when it comes to your corpus, to your physical form... you seem to be completely rejuvenated."
Raxri exhaled, then nodded. "I laid within a pond of glowing lazuli. I do not know what it is... but it rejuvenated me completely."
"Medicinal Waters of Peisajekuru, the Healing Buddha." Akazha stared at Raxri for a bit more. "To think that the Vault healed you... though it did remove your memory. No martial skill at all. You are nothing... and yet...."
Raxri blinked. They weren''t sure if they were going to be annoyed or offended.
Akazha sheathed her kalis into one of the folds of her robes. She took out a reed whistle and blew it. The shrill sound echoed across the night sky. After a few moments, however, a pitch-black steed came galloping into the temple complex, complete with saddles and stirrups.
"Come. It''s not safe here. Not yet." As the steed came to a stop before them, Akazha pat him on the back. "Good boy Sungai. We''ve a new friend. Let them ride with us, would you?" 1-3 Now Enter The Stream
One day the great Crimson Swordstress came upon the Adamantine Awoken, who was traveling upon a colorful raptor. "O, most venerable one, great conqueror of reality! Please, tell me, for my mind is yet troubled. My daughter has taken the path of the witch, for the purpose of finding power. How can I speak with her to persuade her out of this baleful path?" The Awoken raised an eyebrow. "Tell the Thus-Come-And-Gone thus, have you loved her all your life?" "Of course!" The Awoken always could tell lies from truth: that is the perfection of enlightenment. "Very well. Then you must know, the witch path and the sage path and the scholar path and the ascetic''s path are all paths equal on the stream to enlightenment." "But her motive be selfish, Awoken. She will only cause harm! I do not want her to live her next life in the Hells." "She will only live her next life in the Hells if she doesn''t awaken within this life, and if she doesn''t perform her rituals. No doubt you have done something to have pushed her onto this path. Listen closely: you will war with your daughter in the far future, this is inevitable. She will be commanding roving warbands of demonkin, and you will be powerless. Then you will find the witch path as she did." from The Journey-Song of Dattreya Wairini
Sungai the horse looked fleetingly at Raxri. A look of judgment. A look of contempt? What a strange horse. What an expressive horse.
The look was oppressive. Completely oppressive. Raxri felt like they were crumbling, hands disjointing under Sungai''s almighty gaze.
Sungai exhaled as if in confirmation or affirmation, after a moment.
"Thank you Sungai," Akazha said. She mounted Sungai and then offered her hand to help Raxri. Raxri took it.
"Thank you, great witch."
"Don''t thank me yet," she said. "You never know: I might lead you yet into certain death, and I will use your screaming soul as an ingredient for my elixir. Hyah!" She stirred Sungai into a gallop, and off they went, riding out of the temple complex and down the broken set of stairs that led up to the temple.
More of those split gateways flanked the stair path at specific intervals, looking like arches but with the top section removed. "Heaven Mountain Gates," said Akazha. "Going through such gates bears to the soul the climbing of the mountain and, subsequently, the symbolic entering of heaven. The entrances are always found at the top of tall mounts."
"I see." Raxri stared at the gates. Its old architects carved it out of ebon night stone.
Eventually, the stone path ended with the last Heaven Mountain Gate, and they burst out into a dirt path that wound up. The path was decidedly flat, leading to a slight grassland before it eventually fell into the sea. Though the Horned Moon watched on this night, the sea was pure black.
Now Upon The Pemi Lowlands
Further off into the distance of the sea, Raxri saw the distant shadow of a giant man''s torso, at least fifty fathoms tall, walking across the waves. It walked with a slow gait, truly like a giant walking across an ocean. When the man''s eyes--a set of two balls of fire--met Raxri''s, they immediately turned away to watch the trees pass by. Sungai galloped at a brisk pace.
"Tonight is a night of the Highest Horned Moon," Akazha said as they brought out coral prayer beads. "It would be best not to let your eyes wander. The Dead and the Unwelcome walk here galvanized. But so do we witches."
Raxri watched as Akazha uttered a mantra eight times quickly before blowing into her prayer beads and then throwing her hand into the air, letting the gathered wind cover them. Raxri felt low pressure envelop them as if the winds wrapped around them and protected them.
The dirt path carried them close to the shoreline, where ghastly jellyfish and bioluminescent eels swam underneath the waves¡ªhunting, abiding. Raxri couldn''t help but find it beautiful, the non-deluded movement. Shadowmen lurked nearby, standing by the coast, unfettered by the cold night winds. The winds now were strong, you see. Not a storm, nay, but the natural ocean wind all the same.
The shadowmen''s eyes blurred white. They held in their hands gloom-swords like mantis-blades. They watched Raxri and Akazha ride past.
Eventually, they arrived at a ruin. Wooden stilt houses abandoned, a destroyed stone spirit house in the middle, seemingly by a stream. The stilt houses had fences about their undersides. No more life here. Raxri conjectured this ruin was once a stopping point for travelers but has now fallen out of favor.
Sungai flew past when Raxri heard a low groan. Panic? Pain? "Wait! Akazha, I hear someone inside."
Akazha stopped Sungai right as they crossed the bridge. "Within? Impossible. These ruins are dangerous, and no one pilgrimages to that Temple anymore."
"I heard it." Raxri hopped off Sungai. As they did, they felt a change of pressure; their ears popped. "There, it''s louder now." More sounds of groaning.
Akazha similarly hopped off, commanding Sungai to stay with a wave of a mudra. "They might be Undead."
Raxri walked into the small copse of stilt houses. "Hello? Is anyone here? We can help."
A voice immediately replied: "Oh! Oh, over here!"
Akazha caught up just as Raxri found a little boy peeking behind a shut window. Raxri walked up to the stilt house, climbed the ladder, and looked into the window from the elevated front porch.
"Hello. What are you doing here?"
The boy was small, waifish, wrapped only in a sarong. Together with him was a little girl, no doubt his sister. Raxri offered his hand, and the boy shook his head.
"We came here to swim," said the boy. "But we took too long to get out of the water. The night caught us and now binds us to where we hide!"
"Why? Where do you live?"
"Blacklight Town," the girl replied.
Akazha came up behind them and said, "Blacklight Town? That''s quite a ways away. Mind you, it''s not very far, but it''s still about half a sun- movement."
"Yes." The boy bit his lip. "But... I''m sorry. We wanted to watch the March of the Sea Monks is all!"
Raxri shook their head. "Why can''t you--"
The groan, again.
Akazha''s eyebrows furrowed. She turned and summoned her kalis and then let go of it so that it hung in the air again. "More of these reanimated..." Akazha commanded her kalis to become her step. She stepped onto it and then off it to climb down from the elevated porch of the house.
Two walking wights shuffled into view, rusty blades in their hands, loose sarongs and tunics clinging onto desiccated, falling flesh. They groaned with every movement.
"Slaying them brings no karmic consequence," Akazha said to Raxri, eyes burning bright blue again. Her kalis danced and dispatched the wights handily¡ªclean bisections and then butchering into many fine chops. "The Reanimated are not sentient beings. They are cages for a Mindstream. Such Mindstreams are chained to be auxiliary powering sources for the walkers-in-death. It would be of the highest merit to free such Mindstreams so they may journey the Whorl again."
"How?" Raxri asked, somehow more interested in that than the Dead-Walking-Again before them.
"Magick, sites of great emotional atrocity, or places cursed by wizards, are catalyzed by the Hunting Moon to trap a Mindstream into these bodies, preventing reincarnation. Slaying such creatures lets the Mindstream continue into the Whorl. We must deliver unto them Certain End, for them to begin again."
"So these ruins... Something must have happened to them...?"
"Indeed," said Akazha, sighing. "The Invincible Blade Princess cast the Utter Islands into disarray. The Second World Revolution failed and ended the world. We live upon a divine corpse, Rarxi Uttara. Remember it well."Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The undead, now dispatched, Akazha turned to the kids. "Come along now, children--" she stopped. She pressed her index and pointer finger to her forehead and looked like she had an eye on her brow. A moment passed, and then she sighed. Raxri watched her and then turned to the window where the boy and the girl were.
They were not there.
"They''re free now," said Akazha.
"What?"
"Those children... They were those." She gestured to the corpses with her lips. "They were the relics of their Mindstream. Now freed."
Raxri inhaled, a heavy weight on their hearts. They uttered a mantra, one that arose from their lovingkindness. One that they remembered, even if nothing else returned to memory: "AHOM DAYA ZINTA."
"Do ghosts arise from such sites?" asked Raxri as Akazha walked past them on the way back to where Sungai was.
"Some of them, yes. Others are pakta, hungry ghosts who must serve their time due to their past life. Some specters arise from Mindstreams so burdened with passions that they stay in the intermediary state of ghosthood. This is why many people perform rituals for their dead, so that they may pass on."
"I see."
Akazha smiled then. "I enjoy this. Imparting my knowledge onto someone so stupid. Refreshing."
Raxri blinked, then followed after Akazha. "Do you not think the ruins must be cleansed?"
Akazha shook her head as she mounted Sungai once again. "I fear those are the last of the lingering souls there. It is a ruin true, now. Inert. Dead."
"And it''s because of the Invincible Blade Princess..."
"Yes. Come. We''ve much to discuss."
Raxri mounted Sungai as well, and off they galloped. Over the bridge, down finally into the coastal region, and then into a path in the forest by the base of the lower mountains, where fireflies still danced like lamplights.
Pemiwood''s Edge
At first, the forest was composed of the kinds one would see near the shore: coconut trees, strangler figs, palms, and areca, among others. But as they rode deeper, following the light and crooked forest path, the trees turned into large, towering pili and rosewoods, mahoganies, and ironwood trees. Even now, as the fireflies lit the path (no doubt, Raxri thought, a twist of witchcraft), she could see the glowing eyes of arboreal animals watching from above. Bearcats, flying lemurs, cloud rats, giant flying foxes, and eagle-owls watched them. Some of them, no doubt, were spirits in their own right.
Akazha chanted something under their breath.
The path led them to a small clearing in the forest, where even the canopy broke free, revealing the Hunting Moon that still watched through emptiness.
Raxri knew something smiled from up there.
Sungai stopped before a tall stilt house with several annexes, which gave the impression that it belonged to royalty. The house was built upon thick ironwood pillars, and each pillar was carved with geometric inscriptions and talismanic engravings to strengthen its spiritual hold against the dark.
Somewhere behind the cottage, a spirit house stood, with the deity within replaced with what looked like a prayer wheel... though its script glowed with a low blue light. The offering platform had wires that looked like... streams of water flowing out of it. The tubes snaked into the earth, and then presumably, into the house. A faint sound also emanated from the spinning prayer wheel... it sounded like a slow, melodious chant of mantras.
Akazha climbed down from the black horse and removed a small rattan bag from his side. Raxri followed suit, hitting the ground with a thud. Then, she led Sungai on his reins toward a nearby hut. This was also an elevated stilt house, but the under-section was much taller and had multiple fences to allow Sungai to rest within.
"Good boy, Sungai. Thank you for riding with us. Have a rest." Akazha kissed Sungai on his cheek and then exited the stilt house. "You, follow me."
They climbed up the ladder--a goodly ladder, the thick ones that were more like stairs, belonging more to princes--and arrived at the front porch. Akazha removed her straw reed sandals, opened the lid of a porcelain dragon jar resting beside the entrance of the first doorway, and rinsed her feet with water. Raxri did the same, removing much of the accumulated dirt and soil. They realized then how thick the callouses on their feet were.
Witch''s Hut
Akazha''s home was quaint: it wasn''t too large, but it had two levels (as signified, Raxri had thought, by the two roofs). The living room was spacious, with a recessed middle and a table, allowing easy sitting. On one side, however, was a table filled to the brim with palm leaf scrolls and leaf manuscripts. Some brass jars of ink threatened to spill. A stele with some fresh blood lay beside a sheet of dried palm leaf--the paper of the Islands.
Above Raxri, a canopy of beams kept up the second level, and from that canopy hung multiple threads of differing colors. Some of them were prayer beads, others were threads of precious jewels. There was also a piece of bone, a skull, and a hanging clay pot.
Akazha moved through the room with comfort. She pressed her finger against a circular, blackstone button installed to the side of a room. The same lotus-lights lit afire with pureflame blossomed out, illuminating the room in a pure white glow. Akazha pressed it again, and the glow turned from a pure white to a comfortable halogen orange. Are these the same lotus lights that lit the Vault of Souls? They saw that the blackstone installation also had similar "veins" blossoming out of it, coursing through the wall, returning to whatever battery powered it.
"Sit. Make yourself at home," Akazha said, somewhere from another room.
Raxri nodded.
It took Raxri a moment to notice that Akazha had disappeared into one of the four annexes of the cottage (turning the home into a four-roomed complex). Eventually, she returned with a wooden tray, whereupon an intricately filigreed wooden box, a tiny knife with a dragon handle, a teapot, and two porcelain teacups sat.
"Do you hunger yet?"
Raxri''s stomach grumbled and groaned.
Akazha laughed. A light laugh. The kind of laugh a mother or a sister would make. She said: "I''ve some claypot chicken rice I''ve cooked a few movements ago. Linger, for a while."
Raxri bowed deeply, folding both their hands in front of their mouth. "I thank you deeply and kindly."
"Good, I like it when you appreciate things." And she disappeared into the annex again, which Raxri figured out by now was the kitchen.
Raxri blinked and then decided it would be too awkward to continue simply standing there. So they sat in front of the table where the box was. Raxri contemplated what it could be when Akazha returned, bringing a clay pot with white rice and steamed chicken thighs within, doused in soy sauce. To Raxri''s grumbling stomach, it might as well have been Amrita.
"I thank you kindly again for your hospitality."
"Eat up. No good conversation arises from a stomach void."
Raxri did as instructed, wolfing down the clay pot with their hands.
Akazha watched, amused. "Good to see you haven''t lost all your etiquette knowledge."
Raxri blinked. "Is eating with my hands not mannerly? Forgive me; this seemed most natural."
"Nay. Eating with your hands is the common way of eating here in Pemi and most of the Utter Islands, in truth. Despite the loss of your memory, it''s good to see you have some of your reflexes still intact."
Akazha poured black tea onto both teacups and opened the wooden chest. Within were already prepared quids of betel nut. Akazha took a bit of lime, opened a bit of one quid, squeezed it within, and then wrapped the quid up again before placing it on the side of her mouth. Then she masticated.
As Raxri ate, Akazha prepared another quid for Raxri and placed it in front of them. "After dinner."
Raxri blinked momentarily and then asked: "What is this for...?"
Akazha half covered her mouth with her fingers. "Goodness. Not just memory but social norms as well. You truly must be studied. You know, even the dead I''ve actually talked to, the spirits and ghosts are still stuck in the mortal realm. They remember their past, sometimes with the uttermost clarity- too much, even. It only fuels their remorse and, therefore, their clinging. And yet you... you''ve forgotten everything, even what it''s like to live here, in this world.
"Betel nut quids are one of the most important aspects of socialization and hospitality here in the southern isles. It''s fallen out of favor in such utter regions as North Ra-om: there they offer tea or coffee or opium instead. But within the confines of our islands, it is mandatory to offer betel nut as a gesture of goodwill. Truly, even the gods are offered such betel nut, as a sign of hospitality and good faith. These social norms you must learn, lest you anger the wrong person. Or worse, a king.
Raxri nodded in understanding. Then they looked up. "Speaking of things I have completely forgotten," they said, swallowing some chicken. "What... powers the lotuslights?"
Akazha raised an eyebrow. "Electricity."
Raxri titled their head to the side. They asked: "And the electricity comes from...?"
"Well, they would usually be powered by a karma grid. Each major city or town has one," Akazha replied, scooping some rice into her mouth. "But I am not connected to one. This house is powered by a small karma engine. Mayhaps tomorrow you will see the karma engine behind the house."
"Karma engine...?"
Akazha tapped their chin. "It''s... an engine that converts karma into electrical energy."
"That''s possible?"
Akazha nodded. "It''s hard to explain: it was invented and commercialized after the fall of the Invincible Blade Princess. Electricity powers the majority of the Utter Islands'' machines, elevating all of us into a new age. Karma is converted through a mix of samadhi fires and powerful mantras. The prayer wheel is actually a furnace, while the mantras written upon it is the Karma-Ripening Mantra, a mantra that only monk-machinists can chant. So they write it onto the prayer wheels instead."
Raxri blinked. "Where does the karma come from?"
Akazha shrugged. "Devils, ghosts, demons, sacrificed animals, little spirits that wish to move on to the next part of the Wheel. Any being with Karma works. It forcibly ripens one''s karma, but it does slay the being."
Raxri pondered the repercussions of such a thing.
"It''s not murder, you should know," explained Akazha. "It''s closer to suicide. Voluntary death. At least, the majority of karma engines are powered that way."
Raxri writhed. It''s still technically killing someone, right...?
"Anyway," Akazha continued. "The act is inherently beneficial to those of Lower Paths. Burning your karma means your next Rebirth will be in a higher Realm. Demons and Hellbeings might be reborn as Animals. Pakta and animals might be reborn as humans. Some humans might be reborn as spirits. Some spirits might be reborn as gods! But it''s not a science. Only the buddha can truly predict the ripening of karma."
Akazha swallowed her food and said: "You really have lost all memory. Everyone is born into electricity, more or less. To the point that we don''t really ponder about the repercussions of the karma engine. "
Raxri swallowed a mouthful of the soy sauce-drenched chicken breast with white rice. The food lightened their mood. "Truly, I''ve forgotten the workings of this world completely. You must teach me!"
Akazha scoffed. "I''m no teacher. And I''m definitely no mother. Treat me in no such manner."
"I will not survive--" Raxri swallowed another mouthful; they had a big mouth, "--a day upon this land without a teacher, a guidance, a tutor. Please, I beg you!" Raxri was about to get up and prostrate themselves before Akazha, but she stopped them with a hand. 1-4 The Long Song of the World
"To soothe a heart aflame, compassion must pierce uncrowded. For a heart must love unashamed, to see with eyes unclouded." Poem by Venerable Flower Garland Fifth Patriarch Jisinsati
"Pray, cease. I''m no god, I''m no sage, I''m no Buddha. You''ve no need." She spat out a glob of red, shooting it straight into a medium-sized hole to the side of the table, where it fell into a section walled-off section of the undersection. "Cease, please! Have some respect for yourself."
Raxri pushed through Akazha''s hand and kowtowed.
She rubbed the bridge of her nose and exhaled. "Very well. Fine! If it will stop you from kowtowing. Get up! I will teach you, but in so doing, you will be formally in my debt. You will have to honor your debts to me, unless you wish to know what happens should you trigger a witch''s ire."
Raxri swallowed yet another mouthful of claypot chicken rice and was immediately seized with the fear that they would finish the chicken rice too soon. Yet, they nodded. They knew they were in no place to negotiate. They hardly even knew where they were. "I agree to your terms, witch."
"Good. Let us see how well it goes. It will be interesting to see your path," she said, chewing. "A curiosity like you... it might even stake me upon the path to wizardhood. Matters of consciousness, Mindstream, souls and the like are all the rage in the wizardly community."
Raxri raised an eyebrow. "Wizardhood? What mean you? Are you not a wizard presently?"
Akazha spat out another globule¡ªthis one was the entire quid itself. Then, she drank some tea, gargled it in her mouth, and then spat it out again. Then she poured herself another cup and drank that normally. Raxri reached for their own tea and drank it as well. A warmth¡ªthe kind welcome on a cold night such as this¡ªenveloped them. They could taste hints of clove and cinnamon.
"You will learn when we awake in the morning tomorrow. For now, enjoy your food."
Raxri shrugged. "I suppose that would constitute a lesson." And Raxri wasn''t sure if they could retain such knowledge then.
Raxri ate until the clay pot was completely empty, almost licked clean of rice granules and even the soy sauce. They then finished their tea as well, a perfect downer for everything else. Akazha watched as Raxri took a piece of quid (she gestured for them to do so) and gingerly copied what Akazha had done, placing it onto the side of their mouth and then beginning to chew.
Raxri could feel a bit of a tang immediately, a bit of spiciness. Then that nutty flavor, then those seeds. Then the spiciness rose, covering their entire mouth, almost numbing it in the process.
"Be careful not to swallow," said Akazha. "When you feel like you are on the brink, spit it out onto that hole yon thither."
Raxri nodded. When they smiled, their teeth were already stained red. They spat out a piece and then continued chewing. After the first few seconds, it became almost second nature to Raxri. They''d done this multiple times before, in times past.
Before long, Akazha moved to pick up the claypot. Raxri rushed to grab it quicker, saying: "Effort not, master. I shall clean it."
Akazha smiled and said, "Nay, student, there is no need to do it so late in the night. Bring these to the annex first, and we''ll wash them by the stream first thing tomorrow."
Raxri nodded and did as she asked. They remembered the annex Akazha had walked out of. Carrying the whole tray, Raxri walked into a kitchen more like a half room. Half the room was on the roofed elevated ledge, where all the spices were kept alongside multiple earthenware and porcelain jars, no doubt filled with food and other cooking accessories. Then, a ladder led to an open kitchen, still roofed, where a blackened stove sat. Various pots hung from a wooden beam attached to the two poles that kept the thatched roof up.
Raxri placed the tray onto a table and returned to the living room. There, Akazha had undressed herself of her garbs, robes, and veil. She only had a simple breast wrap--a kemben--around her chest underneath her armpits, and then a cloth loincloth drenched in azure dyes, wrapping around her hip and covering all the way down to her thighs. In truth, it was less of a loincloth and more of a... kilt, in a way. Though it wrapped around a person''s privates, the cloth was long enough to cover the thighs.
She looked at Raxri and raised an eyebrow. "Don''t just stand there ogling. It''s rude."
"The bahag you wear... is this not the common clothing of men?"
Akazha shrugged. "It is, but ''tis be my home. I''ve no need for appearances, and it is far more comfortable besides. My room is upstairs. You on the other hand..." Akazha walked towards the annex on the other side of the room and pushed the door open. Within was a spacious room with a soft down bed and pillows on the edge, an incense burner upon a low four-legged table, and a black mosquito net veiled over them. "Make yourself at home."
"Thank you kindly. I will do all that I can to repay you."
"We will see about that." Akazha walked over to the ladder that led to the second floor. "Sleep soundly. We begin training at dawn tomorrow."
Raxri made themself at home in the guestroom. Cold wind drafted from the open windows and the bamboo slat floor. Raxri Uttara clad themself in the provided cotton blanket, which had the abstract representation of a lizard upon it.
Raxri removed their wrap shirt now. They used their blanket to cover the entirety of their body, which was not remarkably lithe; they had the severeness of a warrior. From their silhouette they would be mistaken as a broad-shouldered woman with unfortunately almost non-existent breasts, but by the way they moved they carried themselves with the warlord mien of a man.
Narrow by the waist but broad-shouldered. Their naked body betrayed a long past of myriad events: slashes and gashes pocked their light brown skin, some of them not as recent as the bright pink gashes they had taken. Some of them cut into the soft flesh of their breast, their sternum, their abdomen, their buttocks. A light bruise as well, not yet fully healed, on their groin area. Instead of being incensed, Raxri couldn''t help but be confused.
The night, as always, was quiet. Raxri was made to sit in their thoughts alone, except for the occasional hoot of an eagle owl and the slight call of the gecko. Within this mire, they couldn''t help but think and be aware that they most likely had a long history before this. They didn''t seem like they were of young stock: Raxri conjectured that they''d lived around twenty-five harvests by now. Looking up at the roof of the mosquito net, they segmented their thoughts: deep gash wounds now turned into pink scars--no doubt because of the Healing Buddha''s waters. But they wondered then: what were the Buddhas? What were those Bodhisattva statues depicting? What were those ogre statues? Gods thrived here, it seemed, but sometimes their temples might be forgotten or forsaken. Dilapidated. What did that mean?
What was the Whorl? What were all these things that Raxri could swear they had knowledge of? Deep understanding and awareness. Perhaps something even close to Enlightenment in these subjects, but now nothing. Did they just lose all progress, then?Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
Clinging to these thoughts, Raxri knew, would only deepen the confusion, like clinging to the blade of a knife already lodged into your heart.
They focused on succumbing to slumber. It didn''t take too long; they were mighty tired, even with the rejuvenation of the Buddha Waters. And in that state, no dreams came to them. Not even the words of Silang sa Bayno.
Dawn came. The incense sticks on the burner had fallen into stumps and were out.
Raxri arose to that all-too-familiar sound of the cock''s crow. Their eyes opened. Though they had no clue about the length of their slumber, they knew from the buzzing energy deep within their muscles that they were ready to move. Raxri leaped out of the mosquito net and stretched their body to the full length it could, priming it like a blacksmith heating a blade.
Then, they put on the monk''s garments they''d picked up¡ªthat wrap shirt with cap sleeves and the sarong¡ªand walked out.
In the living room, as the rays of sunlight streamed in from the malachite sky above, Raxri found no mentor or teacher. All they found was silence and emptiness. The cock''s crow reverberated again, this time accompanied by the flapping and the tweets of little Maya-maya. Raxri figured that perhaps Akazha had gone on ahead. Perhaps this was some sort of test against them, and they should pick up the slack. To show that they''re eager to move, learn, recover their memories, and help them.
Raxri walked over to the kitchen annex and saw that the unwashed clay pot was still there. Raxri also noticed at least five other claypots, most of which had leftover rice within. Must be Akazha''s other dishes. I''ll clean those too.
Raxri fit all five claypots onto their arms and walked down the annex ladders, balancing everything precariously. From their vantage on top of the annex''s ledge, they could see the close glistening waters of the stream that Akazha must have been talking about.
They walked past the open kitchen and into a lightly trodden path, cutting through lush jungle underbrush. The path eventually opened into the stream, which flowed to their right. The stream flowed quickly and cleanly.
It was so early that the indigo of the night was only just being bleached into the orange of dawnbreak. Raxri walked down the path and to the stream, when the sound of gurgling erupted from beside them.
Sometimes, one should understand that the flesh always remembers. Sometimes, though it is the Mind that overpowers reality, the flesh is still a major dependent origination. This means even the Mind, as all-powerful as it is, as long as it is bound to the flesh cage that is one''s own body, it will be restricted by the Flesh.
But if the Flesh remembers, then the Mind will too.
Raxri''s senses were not preternatural. They were honed by years of meditation.
Raxri stopped walking. The gurgling sound got louder. It turned to echoes of growling. It sounded like people drowning.
That doesn''t sound good.
Raxri set down the claypots. The moment they had put it down, a shadow erupted from the bushes and the marshes. Their awareness expanding, they dove into a desperate defense. They dove to the side, hit the ground on a roll, and then looked up.
There were two... things. Humanoid, yet too gangly and thin, with faces heavily gilled and eyes bright red like fishes, webbed feet, and iridescent turquoise scales. They looked like fish-men, but with hands sharp with razor claws. The noise was coming from their not-throats, stomach-churning drowning noises.
Water ghosts? Raxri saw a slightly rusted blade beside them. Serendipitous. Hopefully, this would be enough. Better to be armed than to fight back without a weapon. This time, they had to rely on their body. There''s a nugget of martial knowledge in there, in their brain. They just know it.
They rose to their feet and readied the blade, cocking it horizontally across their left bicep, holding it with their right. I don''t know how to move like this... but it feels right.
DO YOU WISH TO SURVIVE?
Raxri''s forehead knotted. Half fear, half confusion. What is this...?
I AM THE YOU THAT YOU KEEP HIDDEN. DEEP WITHIN. THE YOU THAT PROTECTS YOU AGAINST DAMNATION. RAXRI UTTARA. I AM YOUR KILLING INTENT. LET ME GUIDE YOU. LET ME PROTECT YOU. TAP INTO ME. ALL SENTIENT BEINGS HAVE IT. WOULDN''T YOU LIKE TO BE A TIGER?
Raxri knew they had to, if they wanted to survive. And so they did. They closed their eyes and allowed killing intent to course through them. The two water ghosts flinched, very subtly.
What am I?
Then, the water ghosts lunged. Raxri found that they could handle their burning anxiety a bit better now that they had gotten a good night''s sleep and some food in their stomach. The water ghosts moved quickly, they did not think. They fell into habit, into martial tendency.
As the water ghosts'' claws descended, Raxri avoided it by slashing diagonally while taking a huge step to their left. Their blade cut through both of them in one movement. Now effectively behind the water ghosts, they struck twice--a movement they also did not know how to do intentionally, but their physical instrument burgeoned and moved for them. Was this... instinct?
No. Raxri realized exactly what it was. This was their innate violence. This is my killing intent.
The two swordstrikes immediately turned into a double horizontal strike that immediately dug deep into the water ghost. The other water ghost shrieked at that, and then immediately dove into the marshes behind the trees, effectively retreating.
After a moment of silence, when Raxri could ascertain that it was more or less safe, they put their blade down. Was that it? What was that? Raxri looked at their own hands. Killing Intent... did everyone have this? Can everyone do that?
Without another word, they went over to the claypots, gathered them into their arms, and made their way to the stream. Somehow they could sense that no other water ghosts would be appearing now, as the great Sun beamed her destructive rays into the earth.
Slightpond Stream
Raxri placed the pots onto a nearby rock, knelt, and drank the glistening water. Refreshment poured down their throats, cleaning them. There was no teacher here, and Raxri eventually concluded that perhaps the teacher had just slept in.
As the sun rose and the chill morning air slowly gave way to a slight dawning heat, Raxri shrugged, removed their clothes, and washed themselves clean in the rushing waters behind a large boulder the stream snaked around. Tall trees created a verdant canopy over them, shielding them from the worst of the sun''s rays. Though they had no oils to coat their hair nor any soaps to clean their skin, Raxri found themself at peace, once again. Always, it is always the rushing waters.
Afterward, as Raxri dried themself, they set about washing the clay pots. It didn''t take long until each pot was cleansed of detritus. Raxri allowed the large chunks of leftover rice, some still stained with soy sauce, to flow away with the river, chanting a mantra as they did. Or what is a song? Raxri didn''t''t know anymore. These were at the forefront of their mind, and they sang it, but they didn''t exactly know what it meant. It arose automatically, because of some reason or other wholly outside of Raxri''s comprehension as of now.
As Raxri washed the dishes, they found that each dish was intricately engraved with flower spiral designs. It was a beautiful design, no doubt, though Raxri didn''t precisely understand the true meaning of each spiral. They understood now that the world they''ve returned to is filled with the uncontrollable urge to make everything they see beautiful, filling it with the same beauty as nature-filled empty spaces¡ªthe truth of emptiness.
Then, behind them, a yawn.
"Oh, Raxri, my dear student. You woke up much too early."
Raxri turned around just as they finished washing the last of the claypots. "Good morning, teacher. I had thought you came here first as a test of loyalty."
"From whence did you get that thought? For someone who lost all memory, mischief dances yet in your head." Akazha saw the cleaned claypots and said: "Quaint, cleaned you even my own dishes. Those I''d laid aside for I promised they''d be washed when the chance presented itself."
"A waste of a trip it would''ve been if I hadn''t," replied Raxri, rising to their full height and bending backward to stretch their back.
Akazha smiled and shrugged. She moved over to the other side of the boulder, saying: "Well, you''ve certainly won me over with your diligence. Our first lesson shall begin, then." She spoke over the rushing stream''s din and on the boulder''s other side. Raxri figured she would be bathing and didn''t want to go over there to ruin her privacy.
What had just transpired arose in Raxri''s mind. "Akazha... will you answer one of my questions?"
"Yes. Of course. That will be the better way of it." She arose from the other side of the boulder with only a single textile covering her entire body.
Raxri said: "A pair of water ghosts struck at me up the path."
"Oh, so that''s why there was ghost residue upon the path," she said, tapping her chin. "And you... fought them off?"
Raxri nodded. "I... was spoken to by my own Killing Intent..."
"Interesting," said Akazha, walking into the water to wash her hands and feet and face. "Every sentient being faced with mortal danger will have their Killing Intent reach out to them at one point or another. Some people--often the bourgeois--will never experience this in their life, for they are perpetually safe. For others, though... they will experience it at some time during their childhood. So it is as if you''re reborn."
A silence, as Raxri contemplated on her words. They asked: "Was I rebirthed?" 1-5 The Whorl of Suffering
1 - Great Teacher Thus-Come-And-Gone, prithee tell this unworthy disciple. How may I achieve enlightenment, when I must face the tribulations of the world? 2 - Disciple Utavashika, learn ye this: if an obstacle standeth before you, cut it down. 3 - If the obstacle be my family? 4 - Cut down thine conception of thine family. 5 - If the obstacle be my beloved? 6 - Cut down thine delusion of thine beloved. 7 - If the obstacle be the God? 8 - The Thus-Come-And-Gone answered not. 9 - If the obstacle be myself? 10 - Kill God Yourself." From The Water Lily Wreath Scriptures
Akazha shook her head. "Unlikely. Rebirthing means you are born from the start of that Path''s life. Unless you''re reborn as a God, but all Gods are reborn upon Heaven or within Mountains. You are no Spirit either, as Spirits often are born fully born. I''m assuming your Killing Intent carried your body there?"
Raxri nodded. "My killing intent tapped into my muscle memory, I believe."
"And you easily dispatched water ghosts. Something mortal swordsmen would never have been able to do. How truly interesting. But do not get used to your Killing Intent. It will only save you at the direst of times. It is not a combat skill, it is a survival skill. Killing Intent is used to threaten souls. You cannot depend on it. You must depend on your body and mind."
Raxri nodded. "Understood, master." They stared at the water again. It reflected something, but it did not reflect Raxri.
Akazha took a moment to wash her face even more. Then, when she finished her facewashing ritual, she said, "Parry at my thrust, Raxri Uttara: you''ve truly lost all memory? You do not even know what this island we are upon is called?"
Raxri shook their head. "Unfortunately, no. I recall nothing. Emptiness greets my recall."
"Just as well. Listen, kind, and with care.
"This grand island is known only as Pemi, a word in Karita meaning Lotus. Now, you need to know: Karita is the language of the gods and the Awoken. It is the great tongue, the first of all writing, the first of all language, from which all other languages became streams. Pemi is one of five great islands comprising the Archipelago Continent known as the Utter Islands. The other Islands are..."
Raxri waited, feet now dangling in the stream. Akazha climbed on top of the rock and wrung water from her hair. Her skin was smooth, almost poreless. "There, so I need not shout over the din of the rock. Now. The other islands are thus: Hiraga Ra-om, Temog Ra-om, Nilatpa, and Wadzara. Upon each island, one rules over most of the others that stay within. However, each island is large enough to have multiple rulers within. I will not go over every island, for that will no doubt be too much for your newly awoken brain. One thing you should remember is this: the first world ended when the Invincible Blade Princess conquered the world, and then was slain in the First World Revolution."
"But you talked of the Second World Revolution, master."
Akazha nodded. "The Decades of Carnage lasted for 40 years. Proletarian revolutions across the entirety of the Utter Islands. All this ended when the Merchant Empires mounted a full offense, which ended in them detonating an Atima Bomb upon the Lotus Throne itself."
Raxri raised an eyebrow. "The Lotus Throne?"
"The seat of the Universe. It is annihilated, now."
A silence followed. A reverence. Raxri themself did not know exactly what to do, but having the Throne of the Universe be obliterated by a bomb seems... disastrous.
They looked up at the gash in the sky. Is that why the world is as it is?
Akazha continued explaining. "In Pemi, the Godtree is placed, taken from the peak of Mount Dakmala, and placed for safekeeping so that the Asra and the Tewa would not fight over it. This great Godtree cannot be cut down, and I believe it is an anchoring point of sorts for spirits and gods. A collection of steward communes presides over the Godtree, facilitating matters of shamanism and spirit and tending to the giant flowers and forest surrounding the Godtree: the Nunuk League. We are near it, no doubt you''ve seen it. Their split gateways and spirit shrines pock the island.
"Pemi is commonly seen as the final border. Past it is the archipelago only known as the End of the World. And that would be no mistaken name: past the End of the World, there is nothing more than the ocean and, eventually, a vast sea of milk."
Akazha pointed at the island''s eastern edge, known as Pemi, at the border of the End of the World. "Currently, we reside here on the far eastern edge. Though we are on Pemi itself and near the Godroot to boot, we are considered at the End of the World. This is the region where one can watch the moonly March of the Sea Monks."
"Did you get all that?"
Raxri nodded. They didn''t. Just remember. I''m on Pemi. There''s a big bomb that destroyed the Lotus Throne. I should make a mental note to ask about the Lotus Throne again in the future.
"Good." Akazha wrung the water out of her hair momentarily and then stood. Though she still had a cloth wrapped around her, Raxri noticed how long her limbs were and how lanky she seemed. She was so thin compared to Raxri''s athletic frame that she might have passed as undernourished, almost skeletal. "Now, that''s just one of the many things you must refamiliarize yourself. Just know the following: you are on the island of Pemi, in the region of the world known as the Utter Islands. To the far, far north, thousands of miles away, you will find the Dakmala mountain ringed by a jagged steel spire. The Dakmala is the center of the Trichiliocosm: the Three Billionfold Universe. It pins everything together. The Lotus Throne used to be in the Nail of Dakmala, a portion of Dakmala that was shorn away from it and became the pinning rod that bound the Utter Islands together."
Raxri scratched the back of their head. "The wonders of this world hammers my mind!"
"And there is more withal," replied Akazha. "The surface of the deep ocean of this world, of the Utter Islands. But you will learn it as you go along, like how a blade strengthens through water. Now, rise."
Akazha rose. She put on their garb and said, "Mercenarism is how people make money these days. If you have truly lost all memory, then I might as well acquaint you violence yet again. Not knowing any martial art in the Utter Islands is a death sentence. Now, on your guard."
Akazha fell into a low stance, legs wide apart, accentuating the stability of the earth, one hand near the cheek as a guard and another outstretched as a blade. "We witches on the Adamantine Path have been taught bits and pieces of a fist art so common in the southern reaches of the Utter Islands." She moved her hands in a flowing, spiral motion. "The Whorl Hand Art is commonly used by the pacifistic warrior-monks in the Heavenshards. Follow me."
Raxri took on the same pose and followed their movements. Slowly, as if chains were being broken open, Raxri''s body remembered the movements. Raxri followed Akazha''s kata, a perfect shadowing of her motions. It was as if, in a past life, they''d perfected this very Art, and moving in the same way gave them the catalyst for remembrance.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Together, they danced an intricate fist-jive, following a silent rhythm revealed to them only from the betraying sounds of the forest. Raxri followed and learned each movement until they realized the entire kata was a mixture of repetitions. Eventually, Raxri let the flow of the movements carry them. They quickly sank into an almost meditational state, where their mindfulness was only upon the movement of their hands, legs, elbows, feet, their place beside the stream, their place within the world. Their stream of consciousness quieted and turned into a blade they could wield, cutting away frustrations and unknowns, focusing on the present now.
Akazha and Raxri''s fists struck out at the same time, striking the air. The foliage before them moved, disturbed, as if a wave of invisible wind struck it. A force erupted from each of their fists.
"How does that feel?"
"Interesting. I... what is this power erupting from me?" Raxri gasped for air.
"I''m glad you can feel it immediately. The majority of people cannot, they are not trained to do so. This is your inner power working. Your Nihawa. The Inner Breathing Wind flowing through all sentient beings. Sometimes known as qi, ki, chakra, vim, daya batin, gahum, sakti, kundalini. .
"Your Nihawa is strengthened by your Sapi Furnace, the cinnabar fields where power erupts. The Sapi is your Inner Mystic Fire.
"Nihawa and Sapi can be cultivated separately, leading to Nihawa focused Physical Cultivators and Sapi focused Warlocks and Witches. But for you, we will be training both at the same time, as most people would teach. The successful fusion of Nihawa and Sapi is a lifelong process, one that eventually creates the conditions for the Secret Spiritual Energy to arise: Vajra, the Emptiness Thunderbolt.
"I will explain to you at length in due time, for this is a deep and life-long wisdom. For now, understand that the cultivation of Nihawa and Sapi is tantamount... but they are nothing without the proper Systems and Techniques to harness them. Think of them as spiritual fuel, something useless without proper technique to use and burn them."
Raxri straightened and looked at their hands. "It felt... familiar. My body told me that this is the way to move."
"Delightful. Then, my conjecture proves true. You were a martial artist before the loss of your memory. May our movements bring remembrance."
Raxri looked at their hands. "I''m... not so sure about your proposition, however. I do not know if I can do it. If I can take a life."
"Precisely why I''ve taught you the Whorl Hand Art. The Whorl Hand Art hews closely to the First Precept of the Buddhas: Never take a life. All these techniques--" she performed a quick movement, elbows and fists striking. "--are for disabling, incapacitating, for inducing remorseful contemplation. You will not worry about answering that question just yet."
Akazha took Raxri''s hand and put them in a fighting stance. Then she struck with her fist. In reflex, Raxri''s hand shot out to parry it, guiding it away. To that, Akazha answered with another twirling fist, and Raxri caught that with a thwip of a forearm. Question, reply, question, reply. A counter to a counter to a counter. Raxri was enlightened by the realization that this was the very kata they had been doing just a few moments before.
"Hm. You''re better at this than I thought." Akazha found an opening in Raxri''s defense. She shot through with an obfuscating elbow, only to break it with a knee straight into the gut, followed by flipping Raxri over that same leg and slamming them into the ground. Akazha''s hand still wrapped around Raxri''s wrist, twisting their hand. "It is fascinating to note. Your body clearly remembers, but it is clouded, much like how the mind is clouded from the truth of enlightenment. An obscuration of death, somehow?" Akazha let go of Raxri''s wrist when she realized they were shouting, "Yield!"
"Ah, forgive me."
Raxri sat. "You''re really good."
Akazha''s lips curled up. "Come, we''ve much more to learn."
The lancing pain in Raxri''s wrist lasted only for a moment as enthusiasm bubbled within them again. "Right!" They leaped to their feet and trained.
Raxri was taught the meaning of the Whorl Hand Art: "The Whorl Hand is so called because it is the microcosm of the truth of the world: every being will inevitably enlighten. And so the circle is more of a spiral. A whorl. However, it takes innumerable years to get there, and in so doing, one prolongs one''s suffering. The Whorl Hand''s movements are exactly that: spiral, circular movements that eventually end in a point, which is the very point that incapacitates or disables in some way. The Hand is powerful and cannot be broken. Tell me, where can whorls commonly be seen?"
Raxri''s mind was blank. "Uh. The sky?"
"Well, yes," said Akazha, shrugging. "But whorls are most common in the sea. The whirlpool, remember?"
"Ohhhh!"
"Yes. It is called the Whorl Hand Art due to the rushing strength it can generate from its wheeling movements and its eventual strikes that crash like the very ocean''s waves. It is the very martial art wielded by Badrapaan, the vaunted bodyguard of Dattreya Wairini, the Adamantine Buddha, who vowed never to take a life until they reached Enlightenment."
Then, Raxri was taught the basic movements. The fundamental punches, the fundamental exchanges, the counters, and the counters to those counters. Once Raxri got it--and they got it much too quickly, though not quickly enough to betray prodigiousness--they moved on to the counters of those counters and then various ways to lock an opponent or disarm them.
As Raxri performed the techniques, they could see the spiraling movements that echoed the teachings of the Buddha. A long arc that eventually turned into a single point. The long arc of rebirths eventually ending in enlightenment. As Raxri performed an arcing movement, they saw something arc across the sky, as if following the motion of their finger. They squinted, saw that it was more like a worm, wriggling across the clouds or the malachite blue.
"What is that...?" asked Raxri.
"Hm?" Akazha looked up. "Oh, that''s a dragon. Naka in the trading tongue of Bazaar Kyapo. Ruong in Dragontongue."
"I see." Under closer inspection, Raxri saw that it had bright scarlet scales and moved like a serpent would move across water. Bright light trailed behind it from its horns, eyes, whiskers, talons, and claws.
"AHOM NAKA SANG TANI WANAG HOMA," Akazha said, folding her hands and touching the base of their hands to her forehead. Raxri did the same, uttering the same thing.
Afterward, Akasha said: "That means: Glory to Dragon, Enlightenment Omen. It''s a good sign, and dragons are gods that lead to awakening."
"I see. A good omen, then."
"Very much so," said Akazha. She turned and raised her fists again. "Come, an omen is but a sign of things to come. It is not an excuse to forego the work."
Raxri nodded, and they continued to train until the sun was high in the sky.
When the heat felt too much, Akazha stopped. Drenched in sweat, she said, "Ah, it''s zenith. The sun smiles upon us. Let''s rest. It''s time for us to eat. Grab those bowls. I''ll make spicy coconut stew."
Raxri was commanded by their master to collect finger chilis in the Witch''s garden. Raxri bound their shoulder-length hair into a mid-parted ponytail, messy yet, and went about their work. As if binding a cloud to a master.
Raxri was a wonder of a warrior: at times, when their hair is loose and falls about them, they seem like a woman true, and a beautiful one at that, with soft features, full cheeks, and almost doe-like eyes. However, when they adopt fiercer aspects, such as pulling their hair into a messy ponytail or wearing armor, their man''s visage shines like a fierce god suddenly arising. A full-handsome one as well, with features angular and sharp, as if they themself were born of a sword.
The Witch''s Garden lay on a small patch of land behind the witch''s house, right in front of the giant strangler fig tree, which provided wide shade for all the crops beneath it. Arrayed in rows upon the garden were tomatoes, taro, finger chilis, safflowers, black peppers, basil, ginger, limes, pea flowers, and turmeric.
One entire row was empty as if it belonged to a particular crop. Raxri knew not, of course. They would not be privy to that knowledge as of yet.
The smell of morning dew, of green grass, of wet, damp soil overpowered Raxri. However, none of this became a bother: the cold wind that wrapped around them and then tousled the crops... felt like a blessing of the gods. Off in the distance, the sound of Maya birds tweeting and flitting about was punctuated by the occasional cry of monkeys and roars of tigers.
Behind the fenced-out section of the garden, beside the large strangler fig, was a sole areca palm. Raxri hazarded a guess that Akazha collected her betel nuts for her quids from that.
Then, a wide-brimmed hat. Peeking out from behind the giant roots of the strangler fig. Eventually, the wide-brimmed hat revealed a large... night heron, brown of feather, bright yellow-eyed. It walked in a funny, lax gait. It moved its wings as if it were its hands, keeping its hat on. On its beak was a long reed.
The heron walked like a young man needing to work the fields to earn their keep.
It yawned. A sound escaped its beak. The croaking crow of a night heron. Then, when it turned to see Raxri, it raised an eyebrow laxly. Unbothered, it said: "Yes? And for what reason under heaven would you have to be staring?"