A Greater Pause

The sound of a dull bell startled Rakshal awake. His surroundings, while dark, smelled exceptionally different from the typical locations he awoke in over the past several months, and it gave him pause. The calming incense registered to his senses, shortly reminding him of where he was.

Qudu Madraku, he sighed, body relaxing. Yiba let me stay here.

A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, but sorrow soured it. Sitting upright, he stared at the white sheet adorning his bed. His face felt dry and tight, a familiar feeling he thought and hoped he would never feel again—at least until he found his mother.

He spent most of the night crying.

It was such a relief, having met someone else he could call family. He truly thought Chicheol had hardened him, but after some consideration, he realized it made him even more emotional, or at least more susceptible to it.

He rather hated it.

He growled at himself, throwing off the covers, and turned to the side to stand. Having seen his mother cry and sob more times in his life than he wished were fact, he knew it was not a childish or weak emotional response.

Regardless, he hated it.

This time, he didn't bother making up his bed, approaching and then sliding open the door of his simple, squareshaped room. He was allowed to stay the night in what he supposed was a refugee suite, a commonplace location for a temple. From what he could sense, there was only one other in the set of rooms with him, and they had remained in theirs since he arrived.

While it could be part of their reason for remaining hidden, he also sensed they were an indraht. It was unusual but not uncommon for Faifethin temples to allow Indrahtoon to find sanctuary in their walls. He supposed from seeing the statue of Atiti Yiwa that Qudu was devoted to the Great God instead of Sahee, the god specifically worshipped by Faifethin. That likely helped.

He yawned loudly, which caught the attention of a monk passing ahead in the main hall. They nodded as they hailed him. "Ruankali would like for you to know that there is a wash room available if you wish to clean up."

"Ah. Shiayni." A bath sounded heavenly, and a familiar ping in the back of his mind told him Wukong wanted to speak with him. The wash room, if it was empty, was a decent location to talk in.

Backing into his room, he briefly took a look around. He was still wearing his clothes from the day before and hadn't considered changing into or asking for something fresh before falling asleep. He frowned and crouched to dig into his bag at the side of the bed.

He had only one pair of clothing left. Every other pair he had was destroyed in some way or form from the amount of fights he had found himself in throughout his time in Chicheol .He would have to ask his aunt for a spare.

He blew hair out of his face. A few spares, if possible.

Exiting, he followed his senses to find the bath room. The unique water and steam scent brought him to a room on the far end of a hall within the suite. Like most washing spaces in Saheeleth, it lacked a door, and upon entering, he spotted the space before the baths where one could obtain soaps or shampoos and undress.

A peek around the corner told him no one was around. Turning, he undressed with a grimace. His clothes suddenly felt filthy, and only now did he realize they weren't in the best shape. He gladly placed them in the nearby trash, but not before looking over the simple dark blue tunic and pants that were on a nearby rack. He estimated they would fit him and tentatively decided they were left for him by Zurooei or one of the other clergy.

The bathroom was surprisingly large, an offwhite space made of smooth stone from the very ceiling to the textured floor. Waterfalllike showers poured from faucets scattered around where one could drench themselves, or one could sit on the ends of the large hot spring at the center of the room. Rare and unique lights—a type he had yet to understand how they remained lit—kept the space bright as they stood in alcoves in the walls.

Looking towards a faucet, he considered standing under one when a deep yawn brought his attention to a god lazing in the water.

He smiled and approached the pool. "Nee." He dove into the hot water, sighing softly at how it eased all the kinks in his joints. He spent a few moments underwater before rising to find Wukong floating near him, arms resting behind his head.

"I'm glad you finally came upon family," the older god drawled, his golden eyes slanted with a keen, slightly askew smile.

Rakshal briefly wondered how much his brother knew, and it wasn't uncommon for him to consider inquiring.

He sighed instead, swimming to an edge of the water to sit on a projection of stone, and looked at the ceiling in thought.

"Will you join the Malaki Rajashun?"

His lips pursed.

It would be a deep, scathing insult to his family's millennia of strife to join the empire's military. That was plain fact.

"Whatever you decide, I will support you."

He tried to smile, but it faded before it could fully form. "Would Keekaa forgive me if I did? I don't even know if she wants me to save her." He closed his eyes with a miserable sigh and hunched, resting his head in his palms. "All I know is she knew she had to leave. Otherwise, she never would have left everything with me."

Water sloshing told him Wukong had moved, and then he sensed him sit near.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments. He opened his eyes to gaze at his brother. The older god rested low with his hands behind his head, as was his neardefault pose, and Rakshal couldn't help but crack a smile at his brother's lackadaisical temperament.

Wukong was a very old god, but he didn't look a day over four hundred in Rakshal's eyes, if not younger. He was also quite different in appearance from Rakshal, more simian. His claws were longer and defined, his face was similar to that of a monkey's, and he additionally bore the fur of one.

"I haven't seen you in a while," said Rakshal, breaking the silence.

A golden eye peeked at him. "Hm?"

He scooted closer and began to braid the side of Wukong's mane. "What brings you here, anyway?"

"Does a big brother need a reason?" Wukong hummed, readjusting himself and lowering his right arm to rest in the water.

Rakshal smiled but didn't reply, his tail swaying in undeniable contentment.

As was normal, Wukong was unable to stay long; he left by the time Rakshal finished bathing. After watching his brother disappear, he left the wash room fully dressed and feeling a hundred times better. He reentered the hall where his room branched off, wondering where to go next.

"Rakshal."

Blinking, he looked to his right. Further up the hall, Zurooei waved him over. "Have you thought more about your decision?" she asked as he approached.

He briefly glanced away. "Actually, no. I still have to think about it."

She nodded. "I understand." Moving aside, she gestured for him to follow her.

They returned to the large prayer room, and his eyes were drawn to the statue again. She noticed and brought him to it, slipping her hands into her large sleeves.

While he mirrored her pose, he somewhat avoided the statue's gaze. "Maybe I'll…walk around for a little while," he muttered after some short minutes.

"Very well I await your response." She gave a light bow before turning to leave.

He also turned and parted, his destination…

…somewhere.

Blowing hair out of his face, he decided to at least start with leaving the temple.

He stepped down the stairs, idly eyeing the small carved white and blue cloud statues indicating the temple was dedicated to Atiti Yiwa. He hadn't noticed them before, too busy following Quan at the time.

The Isay Baanen stared at him from across the temple's court. He narrowed his eyes, gazing to the right, which was further down the road. If he continued to the left, he would return to the Janchitei, where he absolutely had no intention of returning to.

However.

It was the day after JonjaeBoo, which meant the military procession was to occur later in the day.

There were people everywhere.

He frowned with a huff. I am going to regret this.

Slipping his hands into his pants' pockets, he began the long trek further into the domain of his enemy.

Again.

One thing Rakshal had to admit about the Feast: it was gorgeous. He was too angry and vengeful to take in the sights before, too caught up in his thoughts, too focused on what he thought he wanted to do. He had noticed the fireworks, of course. He had noticed the people, the music, the smells.

But the sights.

He stood on an arched bridge connecting two buildings, looking at the people walking below in the street. The sun was still rising, giving a picturesque sight on the low horizon. Behind him, the sky was still blue, and he wished he had awoken earlier to witness the stars in their full glory.

Tonight is another night.

From where he was, the cleared streets in preparation for the procession stretched on for miles, from the lower Isay Baanen to the Janchitei's walls, as that was where it would start. From what he understood of the march, after it ended, the soldiers would disperse into the city for a while, mingling with the cityfolk and other things he didn't care about.

Mingling with city folk…

Several admittedly stupid ideas sparked in his head from that realization.

He could ambush a soldier and take their uniform. He could steal a soldier's headset—no.

His lips twisted.

He had never used a Faifethin headset before, which ultimately meant getting into severe trouble if he had no idea what he was doing once it was in his grasp. It wasn't a matter of if he could do it but a matter of if he was stupid enough to.

Enemy territory, Rakshal.

He grumbled, walking down the bridge.

Much as he hated to admit it, most technology was foreign to him. As was typical of nomads, he and his mother had no use for it, but she spoke about it sometimes, and he had seen it at a distance. Oppositely, it was extremely common in Khabeyht. Airships, on the other hand, were everywhere.

One such vehicle flew swiftly overhead. His body tensed and his hands clenched at the sound, as it was militarygrade. They normally didn't fly so low, but he would have to deal with that for the remainder of the day if he chose to be outside.

Sucking his teeth, he turned and landed on the pavement.

He would wait until the procession. Perhaps by then his mind would be clearer.

Heavy music and strong vocalizations rumbled through the earth, vibrated in his chest, and sent a low buzzing in Rakshal's head. Along with the colors of red, gold, and black, silvertrimmed ceremonial armor gleamed in the light of an overcast but moisturefree day. It wasn't unpleasant, contrary to the deep scowl on his face. In fact, the sights and sounds were the least unpleasant thing of the experience, being surrounded by and in the crux of the Isay Baanen as the NianGyoushing commenced.

He didn't understand how anyone could feel comfortable with the eyes of the empress upon them, beneath the shadows of the imperial airships, surrounded by soldiers.

His heart hammered as his eyes remained fixed on a particular ship that hovered low. Like many others present, he didn't stay in place. He walked slowly alongside the soldiers behind the partition that prevented the crowd from walking directly on the street itself. He wasn't there because he wanted to see them and their ranks or their feats of yousotyu or their military prowess. No.

A woman's uncannily powerful voice rose above all others as she led the troops in a militant anthem. He felt it, her dark vermilion gaze that indicated her bloodline. It panned over the soldiers and the people, blissfully unaware of his attendance in the crowd.

The socalled godappointed Empress of the Faifethin and Saheeleth, Saynab Raakhirah. Her presence among the commoners was rare, and many had emerged from all corners of the plane to get a glimpse of her.

He finally looked away.

Why was he here?

Almost spitting to the side, he turned and struggled his way through bodies moving against him. He didn't walk too fast, trying not to bring unwanted attention to himself. Not with his enemy, that of his entire family, near and while surrounded by those who would jump, bark, and murder at her command.

By the time he finally managed to detach himself from the crowd, to say he was thoroughly disgruntled was an understatement. Even more people were running towards the road, their eyes sparkling with what he could call obsession in their depths.

Nauseating.

Flipping his slightly unkempt hair over his shoulder, he began to walk away for certain when a distant sensation came to his awareness.

His eyes went wide Keekaa—?

Spinning around, he spread his senses out, eyes darting towards the direction of the White Road.

No… His shoulders fell. It's probably a shishen.

He sighed, rubbing his neck.

Guess I might as well go back to Qudu…

Nearby music reached his ears, the sound deeply pleasant. He picked out a particular dirgelike string instrument, one he happened to like. It was accompanied by a man's vocalizations, and he found himself looking for the source.

He turned around a wall, spotting six musicians on the side of a busy street and before some woods. Dressed in earthy tones and silver, they stood out among the many citizens dressed in black, dark blues, and bloody red, and all but one, a man, played an instrument.

Moshuni noh Shisheni, he hummed to himself, crossing his arms to watch from a distance; it wasn't often one saw the God Charmers. Wonder what deity they're singing about this t—

"Isay Saapebi, Isay Saapebi,
Where are your shoes?"

His eyes nearly popped out of his head. "You have got to be kiddi—"

"Isay Saapebi, Isay Saapebi,
Where are your eyes?"

A dirge procured from a solo wind instrument. Then, at once, drums thundered, playing strong. A shamitar joined, his favorite stringed instrument. It was powerful, beautiful, demanding to be heard. It resonated. It blossomed within him. Even as a simple instrumental, it praised the god.

He couldn't help but crack a smile of appreciation, and though they were given glares from several passerbys, a good number of citizens had stopped to watch the Charmers play.

His head gently swayed side to side, stopping only when the song calmed. The vocalist began again.

"Isay Saapebi, Isay Saapebi,
Can you speak in tongues?
Isay Saapebi, Isay Saapebi,
Eater of the bashmut"

The vocalist shouted the last word, followed by the loud flourish of the instruments once more.

Aashubhanay was oddly popular here, despite his reputation, it seemed.

With an ardent expression, the vocalist raised his hands to the sky.

"Come play, come play,
Come play with us, O Shishen
You don't bite, you won't bite,
You might bite a child, O Shishen"

The man held the note, the rising strings thrumming with the drums in perfect, chugging sync.

"Shishen!"

Rakshal scoffed at the lyrics, but his smile turned contemplative at the beauty of it all—particularly the vocals. They were passionate, playful, yet all at once morose. It was different.

He liked it—

No.

He loved it.

As a powerful instrumental interlude played, he let his eyes close. He decided, just then, to savor the moment.

It would probably be the only time he would find something truly beautiful in this accursed city.

"Isay Saapebi, Isay Saapebi,
The rattler of chains
Isay Saapebi, Isay Saapebi,
Eerie widesmile
Isay Saapebi, Isay Saapebi…"

A familiar presence abruptly made itself known to Rakshal's senses. Startling at the eerie sound of chains approaching, he pushed himself off the wall.

"Shishen, O Shishen…"

Somehow, no one noticed.

The music continued, rising for a final time.

"O Shishen!"

As the song neared its end, the passionate fervor behind the vocalist's voice as he held another note almost made Rakshal cry in amazement.

The glint of silver and white told Rakshal the deity was upon the musicians, peeking out from the verdant behind them.

They still hadn't noticed.

The vocalist, finished with his singing, turned towards the woods in the motion to get something.

His loud gasp brought his companions' attention to him, but the music didn't stop. It didn't even falter.

Resting lazily on a branch that appeared far too delicate for his large, wide body, the all white form of the snake god known as Aashubhanay grinned widely at them. Even on an overcast day, his long fangs flashed menacingly, causing Rakshal to gulp.

Fitting, he found himself thinking, as the god's common moniker meant "Sinister Grin". Regardless, he watched curiously, as did everyone in the vicinity as the music neared its end.

Suddenly, the god revealed a white and silver flute from within the folds of his coat. He brought it to his lips.

Rakshal was certain he was one of many whose jaws dropped upon hearing the pure melody that echoed through the street from the god's instrument.

After less than a second's hesitation, the musicians played gracefully, effortlessly, alongside the deity.

This part seemed sad, as if something were ending that wasn't just the music.

It was the moment.

The man bowed towards the god, singing, soft and reverent, one last time.

"O noh Isay Saapebi."

The god lowered his flute, his smile twice as large with appreciation. Slipping the instrument back into his coat, he stood.

Rakshal's jaw couldn't lower any further.

This was his first time seeing the god in his entirety.

Even at a distance, he could see, and know for certain—

The god was massive.

Not as tall as his mother, no—no one was.

But Rakshal felt a sudden respectful fear of the god from his mere appearance.

From between a curtain of anklelength, perfectly white hair, he felt as though he was being stared at. But he couldn't be certain.

Much as the song suggested, he couldn't see the snake god's eyes, nor could he tell if he had any.

The perpetual, somehow playfully sinister smile grew again, so wide Rakshal was certain it could split the pale face in two.

Then, the god was gone.