Early afternoon the next day, Rakshal and Jakumar returned to Yake Meresta by way of Chicheol. It was a long trek through the dark underground world, but there was no helping it unless they wished to bring attention to themselves or risk destroying something. They traveled in companionable silence, and as they traveled down a narrow underground path beside a rushing river, Rakshal had the strongest urge to ask his companion just how he obtained the map he held in his hands. Since Quan let it slip that it nearly killed the older man, his curiosity had been piqued to the highest degree.
He kept the question to himself in spite of this.
He followed Jakumar’s steps exactly, walking lightly over the ground with practiced ease while keeping his eyes fixed on the back of the man’s head. Waistlength brown hair, wavy and still held in a ponytail, swayed gently in sync to long strides. It was hypnotizing and oddly calming.
“What’s your connection to the Wasihli?”
He blinked at the sudden question. After a moment’s consideration, he realized he was likewise curious about Jakumar and Quan’s connection to his family. “I was adopted by one.” He paused, then added, “Osharswan.”
Jakumar slowed for a fraction of a moment, then hummed in thought. “I thought about it. After what Shouhei said, there’s no doubt in my mind she’s being tortured. And if you’re adopted, she might be the last fullblood Wasihl left.”
“Yeah. She is.” Rakshal briefly stared at nothing, recalling his mother’s sorrow as they searched both Saheeleth and Khabeyht for family members—to no avail.
“I see…”
“What about you, Quan, and Shouhei?” he asked, walking over a puddle. “You just believers in the Wasihl conspiracy, or something more?”
“Admittedly, Shouhei is a newer friend, and Quan and I think he hasn’t told us everything, such as why he does what he does.” Wide shoulders shrugged. “I’ve known Quan since we were kids, and we were friends of the Rawaschi and of a Wasihl named Bibigula.”
A small, sad smile spread on Rakshal’s face. “Bibigula. She’d be my mother’s age today…” He quieted.
Rawaschs. He wasn’t surprised to hear their name; they sided with the Wasihls thousands of years ago. Consequently, they, too, were hunted.
He briefly considered asking more about them when a different sound came to his attention alongside water dripping.
Jakumar turned to him, a finger to his lips. As he turned back around, Rakshal signed for Goku to also remain quiet. The monkey dove into his coat, and he gently stroked the fuzzy head. Abruptly, Jakumar’s light went out, but this allowed him to see lantern light from someone else around a corner, bringing dim illumination to the space.
Rakshal picked out conversation, but it was nothing of importance. From the sounds, there were two others wandering the cave, and they weren’t traveling in the same direction as them or even taking the same route. Their soft voices soon faded alongside their light, and Jakumar flicked his back on. He waited a second, then continued.
A brief tug on his tunic brought Rakshal’s attention to Goku. The monkey revealed his hands and signed that a deity was near.
“There’s a god near,” Rakshal murmured. “Why the fuck are there so many in this city?”
His companion dryly chuckled, “Well, this is the city of the ‘divinely ordained’ Raakhirahi.”
He grunted.
A wall soon became visible ahead of them. They entered a large, surprisingly hollow space, and the wall reached the high ceiling. It was chillingly quiet here, and Rakshal indeed sensed something further ahead. It reminded him of either his mother or a god. This time, he knew for sure it was the latter.
Jakumar slowed, murmuring, “Well, this is it.”
Taking the lead, Rakshal approached. He spotted the opening, a low crack in the rock barely the size of an ordinary adult. Scanning it, he approximated that he could get through. Barely.
He stood before it and looked in. “That is tight.”
“Yeah.” Jakumar huffed. “Unfortunately, this is as far as I can take you. Ain’t no way I’ll fit in that with these shoulders.”
Rakshal glanced back to see him rolling the map and placing it in his tunic.
“I’ll be near, but I can’t stay here. If worst comes to worst, unfortunately, you two are on your own.”
“That’s fine.” Slowly, he navigated his way into the crack. “Shiayni, Jakumar.”
“No problem.”
Adjusting his sight to the darkness, he moved sideways until he was forced to crouch. After a few short minutes, he sensed Jakumar disappear behind him, leaving him and Goku alone in pitch blackness.
The narrow passage continued for a while. If he wasn’t as fit as he was, and maybe wasn’t a god, he likely would have started feeling some pain in his back or legs from how he had to remain low to the ground; there wasn’t enough room to move into a crawl now.
He navigated through with nothing of interest or worth memorizing. Water dripped idly, he stepped in puddles, his hands became wet. However, the closer he came to what he hoped would be a cavern, he realized the god further ahead was—for the umpteenth time—none other than a certain Sinister Grin.
This couldn’t be a coincidence.
A low growl of annoyance grew in his throat, but he didn’t have time to think about it as an large underground space revealed itself ahead of him. Rising to his feet, he brushed himself off and placed his hands on his sides while looking around.
At least five wonky, naturallooking pathways scattered around the cavern. He softly hummed, brows furrowing with worry. He could easily get lost.
Goku climbed to his shoulder, cooing softly, and signed if he should go ahead.
“Absolutely not—” Rakshal bristled as the sound of humming and rattling chains approached from one of the entrances.
This fucking guy…!
Scowling, he eyed the nearest pathway and slid inside. He sensed Goku’s concern as the monkey climbed back into his tunic, but they couldn’t do much else but watch the opening they came from and hope the god passed by.
The humming shortly stopped, too close for comfort.
Rakshal’s tail went on end as a pale face with an uncannily large smile peeked around the corner, bright in his vision amidst the blackness.
“What’d ya think yer doin’, tryin’ t’hide from lil’ o’ me, who smells the un’erworld on ya?” the god chuckled, his voice low, slightly melodic, playful, and thick with a broken Lougui accent. A black, forked tongue flicked out from between still lips for emphasis.
Rakshal tilted his head to the side. It was an oddly fitting voice the god had, and he was shocked he could understand him at all. His fingers readied to reach for his bou staff. “What do you want?”
A low hum. “What’d ya think yer doin’, traversin’ the un’erground o’ the citypalace with no plan…no nothin’?”
He grinded his teeth, annoyed that the snake figured that much out. “I admit I don’t have much of a plan,” he said, “but I wanted to see how far I could get before having to turn around.”
“Mm, I smell a liar…” The god moved to the side, becoming fully visible, but didn’t approach. “Y’ain’t ready t’do this. Yer too weak.”
A rumble of irritation grew in Rakshal’s chest. “I’m not against getting stronger. I just…can’t wait.”
The pale head cocked to the side, bringing several long strands of hair into the god’s face. “Why?”
Rakshal didn’t answer immediately. Once more, he scanned the tall form, noting that they were the same age. “Do you have a loved one?” he suddenly asked.
A drawnout hum of confusion emitted from the snake god, his head tilting to the opposite side. “What’cha mean?”
“Have you had a lover, or even a family member?” Rakshal’s throat slightly constricted, but he swallowed it down. “Were they ever in danger? So much danger that…even if it was dangerous to help them, you couldn’t just stand by and do nothing? Even if it meant dying with that person?”
Aashubhanay stood still for a few moments, the questions hanging thick in the air. Finally, the head of white hair turned away with a soft, contemplative hum. “Had a mom, once. Ne’er knew ‘er. She died fer me when I were real young, and I were left ‘lone.”
“If you could, would you want to die alongside her trying to protect her, or even save her?” Rakshal’s own words took him by surprise.
Then he realized he meant what he said.
It almost scared him.
Shoulders falling, he briefly shut his eyes.
“That’s a real in’trestin’ wonder…”
At once, the world wobbled and tilted. He swayed on his feet from sudden lethargy before falling backwards, hitting the ground hard.
His vision waned, but not before hearing Goku’s loud sounds of distress and a hissing chuckle.
Rakshal observed his mother, sitting but a few paces from her on the table. Though her head was turned in his direction, he couldn't see her face by much due to her unkempt hair obscuring it. The lack of light in the space didn't aid this. Her position was impressive, really; her large, long body covered the entirety of the table as she slumped over and rested atop it, and it was already quite low to the floor. He turned his head sideways to make out more of her expression. The most he saw of it was her closed eye.
He pouted. She wasn't snoring, so she probably wasn't drunk or tipsy, and her soft breathing was barely audible. Yes, she was breathing, because he saw her body's rhythmic, gentle movement. Yet, she hadn't woken up despite him calling her for the past eight odd minutes. Granted, he was calling her quietly, but he didn't like to raise his voice indoors, and all the more so since it was well past evening.
"Mamaaaa," he finally whined, practically jumping atop her to shake her entire body with all his might. "Wake up!"
She abruptly gave a violent twitch, her body jolting backward and throwing him off of her. "Wha—?"
Giggling, he flipped and landed in a low, sprawled crouch, his tail waving playfully. "Mama!" he cheered. "You're awake!"
Having turned to look at him, he saw her glowing eyes blink slowly, owlishly, behind her hair. After a few short seconds of this, she hummed and stretched. "What is it, Rakka?" she grunted, stifling a yawn.
He moved to her side to wrap his arms around as much of her chest as he could. "Well..." He went quiet, looking away.
Every now and then, but not that often, he would make a request. He tried not to ask for it, as it caused her a pain he could never understand, one that went deeper than physical or mental.
Yet.
He was aware she enjoyed his inquiries, much as they hurt her. He sighed, muttering soft apologies regardless.
A large hand landed on his head, fingers gently combing through his hair. "You wanna listen to a story about the family."
He nodded, head lowering, and began to make another apology when she softly chuckled.
"C'mon," she said, slightly urging him to stand, "let's go to bed."
Beaming, he looked up into an amused smile and scrambled to stand. With one graceful move, she unfolded from the floor onto her feet. She stretched again, muttering, "I'm getting old..."
A fond smile spread on his lips as he moved to sit in her pallet bed. "Yes, Mama. More than twothousand!"
She blew several stray white strands out of her face with a snort but didn't refute him. Lazily sauntering over while scratching her upper chest, she muttered something he didn't catch.
He giggled at her slightly indignant expression, and she softly scoffed in response, lowering onto the pallet. "Well, then..." She covered him with a thin sheet and blanket, tucking him in, before propping herself up on her palm while lying on her side to face him. "What would you like to hear about this time?"
He took a moment, not just to think, but to observe her.
She yawned again and reached behind her pillow to grab a jug of alcohol. He noticed a slight sway to her movement, how her eyes grew larger, eagerly, upon seeing her poison, as she called it. After she popped out the cork, she took several mouthfuls before noticing his eyes on her.
Before she could lower the jug, he smiled. "More about Savendao and the others!"
Humming, she brought the jug to her mouth again, her eyes closing and greying brows creasing wistfully. "Savendao," she muttered after a moment.
His smile waned, but he kept it on his face. Scooting down into the pallet, he rested his head on his pillow and fixed his eyes on her.
She continued to drink, the only noise breaking through the silence distant sounds of the night and the sloshing of liquid in the jug. To anyone else, it would have seemed that she was ignoring him.
But he knew she was sifting through memories, trying to find one that was informative, was easiest to talk about.
There was no denying the fact of the matter: his mother was old. Certainly not the oldest, and he had met people older than her (much to his shock), but old enough. She furthermore experienced far more in her lifetime than the average person, even the average warrior; she didn't need to tell him that for him to know.
He had met many others who were warriors, some as old as she was and beyond. Even in normal conversation, none of them bore the same weight she did. He couldn't explain it, he just knew it. He even knew he was right about it...but he couldn't put it into the correct words. She carried herself differently from all of them, like a great burden weighed upon the very air above and around her. She exuded a power, yes, and he knew others could even feel that, but...
"I wanna hear how you found 'em!" he suggested, breaking her out of her thoughts. That was one of his favorite stories, and one of the least sensitive.
She glanced at him around her jug, then lowered it, swallowing with another hum. "Alright..." She closed her eyes again, then chuckled after a second of thought. "I remember it like it was yesterday, so clearly," she began, her voice soft. "It was far from here, and the family was...dealing with the ongoing purge and everything. Yet...these eight, scared, scrawny little kids—babies, really—were out in the middle of nowhere, surviving on nothing."
He settled into the covers, twotoned eyes fixated on her and hanging on her words.
"I literally stumbled upon them. They were so malnourished, so small, I could've trampled over their bodies and wouldn't have noticed. Savendao, of course, saw me first. They had been sleeping, and I unintentionally snuck up on them in their little shack. I wasn't...well. I drank too much...more than now...was volatile...more than I am now," she softly scoffed, a sheepish look on her face. It didn't last, falling quickly as she muttered, "But we Wasihls were always...unwell."
She shook her head dismissively.
"Savendao was whispering so he wouldn't wake anyone up, but... I was loud. He hated me immediately for that, waking them. When they saw my eyes, they panicked, thinking I was some sort of…thing. A masakhou, " she said softly, daring to utter the word.
Masakhou.
He repressed the urge to shiver.
With a soft groan, Rakshal stirred awake. A coo brought his attention to Goku, who came to his side, and he murmured the monkey’s name with some confusion. Slowly, he sat up. Head lowered in thought, he stared at his lap.
That snake…!
He jumped to his feet and looked around, only to blink in surprise. “Nee?”
Wukong, dressed casually in a simple black tunic and pants, glanced back at him with his arms crossed. However. His halo, typically never displayed when in the mortal realm, shone behind his head, and his golden eyes narrowed.
Tail lowering, Rakshal looked away. Shit.
Also aware of the situation, Goku softly cooed while jumping onto his back.
He was in trouble.
“He had a point,” Wukong said, turning to face him. His tail, while held low, twitched. “You could have gotten into a lot of trouble if you had bumped into, say, a ye’an patrolling the cavern. What would you have done then?”
The words came out easily. “I would have brought the whole city down,” Rakshal admitted, hands clenching into painfully tight fists.
His brother made a harsh tut. “Foolish and selfish. Doing that would have killed thousands of innocents.”
His head dropped.
“Your mother would be ashamed of you for even thinking that way.”
His face burned, but he couldn’t deny that.
Admittedly, he hadn’t thought of his mother’s reaction when he came up with that halfassed plan.
Deep frustration eroded his insides, causing his lower lip to tremble.
“You’re being unusually brash,” said Wukong, his voice gentler. “You cannot afford to do that. You should wait, build up your skills.”
“I can’t!” Rakshal threw his hands up, but he didn’t meet his brother’s gaze. “I need to do something NOW.”
He immediately quieted as a thought, abrupt and unwanted, wandered into his mind.
“Nee,” he whispered. “I have a question I need the answer to.”
He raised his head to see his brother appeared wary, as if he knew what was going to be asked.
Swallowing, Rakshal took a step closer. “What…what is my mother? Is she a divine or a goddess? Like you?”
The golden eyes looked away. Several expressions crossed the older god’s face: concern, sorrow, dismay.
“Is…she a…” Rakshal couldn’t say it, but the word hung in the air.
After a moment’s hesitation, Wukong gave a single nod.
Rakshal shivered. “No. No. She’s not a—!” He swallowed the word. “They don’t raise children to be good people, don’t cry of hurt, shame, and distress!”
Suddenly appearing weary and somber, Wukong uncrossed his arms. “Why would I lie?”
Mouth opening, Rakshal emitted a croak. He recalled the times his mother would mutter that word to herself, at herself, then make him swear to never say the word.
Masakhou.
He rapidly shook his head, dismissing the whole conversation. He would deal with it another time.
“Fine. How can I get stronger?” he asked, covering his face with his hands. “It’d take cycles, far too many! Unless someone helps me—and I know it can’t be you, Nee. I know.”
A hum. “There is one shishen who could help, if he so chose.”
He lowered his hands. “Who?”
“Igni. You’ve met him before…”
As if on cue, a white form appeared in a tree at Rakshal’s far left. Chains rattled ominously, and he slowly panned a glanced of awe and shock at the snake god. “Igni?”
An eager nod was the response.
He spat to the side. “I’m not going to work with a transgressor,” he sneered, eyeing the many gleaming chains around the god’s body.
Sighing, Igni drawled, “Ya don’t even know m’crime—”
"You’re a shishen; it doesn’t matter.” Rakshal crossed his arms and looked away from him.
“Oh, ya?”
He startled, nearly falling backwards, when the large form appeared directly in front of him, leaning forward with an eerie, menacing smile. "Then what're ya doin', tryin t'get yer ma back? Ain't that 'gainst 'em rules, too?"
He softly growled, meeting the older god’s unseen eyes, causing a smirk of amusement to grow on the pale face.
“Aiyūl is not a bashmut,” Wukong softly corrected. “It doesn’t count.”
Turning his glare from Igni’s face to his brother’s back, Rakshal’s hands balled into fists again while the snake god hummed with interest.
Wukong continued, “I meant what I said about supporting you, Tou. But things are…strange…in the world of shishen right now. I won’t be around to aid or speak to you for a while.”
Concern clouded Rakshal’s face.
Looking back at him and seeing his expression, Wukong managed a small smile. “I put my faith in a divine outcast once. I can do the same now.” He began to turn.
“Wait!” Rakshal raced forward. His brother saw it coming and opened his arms. All but jumping him, he hugged his brother tight, bringing a fond chuckle from the older god. “In case I don’t see you again,” he said softly, also wrapping his tail around him.
Warm, strong arms held him, squeezing gently. “That had better not happen. Shishen disappear forever when they die…”
They stood in silence. It was a moment Rakshal wasn’t aware he needed, bringing back his thoughts on how emotional he had become.
They parted. Instead of saying their goodbyes, Wukong gently placed a hand on Rakshal’s cheek, then turned and disappeared.
“Must be nice t’have someone care ‘bout’cha.”
Rakshal scowled at the snake god.
“Scary scary,” Igni tut, his smile never waning.
Exhaling deeply, Rakshal looked to the dark sky. He had barely noticed the night air, the night atmosphere. Steadily, he relaxed. “What did Wukong tell you to help me with?”
"T'get better at bein' a shishen. Yer ma were unable t'help ya since she's a masa...ah..."
The look Rakshal gave him could wilt plantlife.
"So scary." A pale hand waved dismissively. "Yer ma might've been a good lady, but she ain't no shishen. Lemme give ya a hand, Raaki."
"Don't," Rakshal snapped, causing Igni to raise a hand nonthreateningly. "Only family can call me that."
"We're both shishen, ain't we?"
"That doesn't make us family."
“Aw.”
“Where’s Jakumar anyway?”
“Crawlin’ ‘round ‘ere, somewheres.”
Out of a short burst of jooryovaa, the man himself appeared, moving to stand beside Rakshal. Teal eyes watched Igni warily, and honestly, Rakshal didn’t blame him.
“You coming with us?” he asked Igni.
“Guess so.”
“We can’t just go around with Aashubhanay trailing after us,” Jakumar softly grumbled.
“Agreed.” Turning completely towards the older god, Rakshal asked, “Can you turn into a snake?”
The wide smile twitched. “Can ya turn n’t’a monkey?”
He quickly looked away, then slapped Jakumar’s arm as he softly chuckled.
A curt sigh brought their attention back to Igni, who lowered his arm to the ground, palmup. From out of his long sleeve came three white, redeyed snakes. They were small, the size of garden snakes, and they began a slow slither towards Rakshal and Jakumar.
“Them’s m’kids,” Igni explained. “Y’better take care o’ ‘em, ‘r else.”
Jakumar cleared his throat, watching the snakes. “We can’t just go around with Aashubhanay’s white snakes on us…”
Before Rakshal could complain in agreement, the snakes moved faster. He went pole still as two slithered into his pantsleg. And went up his pantsleg. And settled in an inner pocket. And stayed there.
He shuddered from the uncanny feeling, then watched the third do the same with Jakumar. A similar shudder ran through the older man.
Neither barely breathed straight after this.
But neither of them said a damn thing against it.
Satisfied, the snake god turned and waved. “See ya. I’ll be ‘round.”
He disappeared before they could so much as open their mouths, leaving Rakshal and Jakumar to exchange nervous, wideeyed glances. Goku, comfortably situated on Rakshal’s head, chirped warily.
“Goddammit,” Rakshal finally groaned, slapping a hand over his face.
AFTER THE CHAPTER
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