Shadows of Secrets

The sun blazed high, its heat softening the wild forest's edge as Abhilasha, Mitrabhanu, and Chandramukha trekked onward, the port village fading behind. The storm that stranded them had lifted, and gratitude rippled through the group—villagers, travelers, all praising their gods for freedom from a place where shamans, both benevolent and malevolent, roamed. Locals, hardened by years among these spirits, lived cautiously, bound by rules to avoid fire and wildness, fearing the community's backlash more than any ghost. Abhilasha marveled at their resilience, a lesson in facing fear head-on, unlike her own world's fleeting battles in ruins.

"You face it, or it consumes you," the tavern keeper had said, her voice clipped, mind on coin rather than chatter. She and her husband, business-driven, left guest amusement to performers—singers whose voices cracked, unlike the siren's haunting melody. Mitrabhanu, worldly from poet-warrior days, leaned close. "Untrained," he muttered. "I've heard better."

Abhilasha nodded, her own world a blur compared to Tapti's vastness. She glanced at Chandramukha, ever stoic, his eyes scanning the forest path. "Amusement distracts," he said, echoing restraint. "A queen chooses what serves her."

She knew her choice: curiosity, unquenched by tavern songs or tales. Duty drove her to learn Tapti's heart—her land, even if her queenship lay dormant, divine burden foretold. "Once a queen, always a queen," she murmured, resolve firm.

Mitrabhanu pushed a bamboo mug toward her, its contents steaming. "For warmth," he said. "The forest tests faint hearts—drink."

"Faint heart?" she challenged, pride flaring. She'd faced Chapter 6's fire; a forest wouldn't break her. Yet he drank too, and Chandramukha followed, silent.

Seeing her hesitate, Mitrabhanu grinned. "Humans are frail, brave or not. Precautions matter."

"Against what?" she asked, sipping, the potion bitter but grounding.

Chandramukha met her gaze, his knack for reading gestures—honed—piercing her doubt. "Shaman birds," he said. "Their cries shake the heart. Evil ones possess dead creatures, coexisting in their shells."

"Do they kill them?" she pressed, leaning in, stories fueling her hunger.

"Some do," he said. "Others share the body."

"And humans?" Her voice dropped, dream shadows stirring.

Mitrabhanu cut in. "They wouldn't dare."

"Human energy's too strong," Chandramukha added, pausing—a full stop, not a breath. "Nature decides when it fades."

She sensed his evasion, a truth buried, but Mitrabhanu shifted focus. "What of that woman?" he asked, nodding toward a figure trailing the group, her scarf vibrant against the forest's green.

Abhilasha's mind snapped to her—Suriratna, met that morning, her beauty striking, eyes familiar yet elusive, as if from marketplace. "She's no commoner," she said, recalling her silk attire. "But her eyes… Mitrabhanu, you recognized them."

He frowned, "I've seen them—somewhere. We must be cautious."

"Don't tell me she's an old flame," Abhilasha teased, half-serious, probing his honor.

"My lady," he said, voice tight, "that's my reputation you jest with."

She softened, regretting the jab—Tapti's men guarded honor fiercely, unlike her world's jests. Chandramukha, subtler, studied Suriratna. "Not royal," he said.

"How so?" Mitrabhanu asked.

"No guards, no soldiers—royals don't travel alone," Chandramukha replied. "Even we, disguised, hide our status."

"True," Abhilasha said, their commoner guise a necessity. "But her scarf—it draws eyes. Maybe she's not clever."

"Intentional," Chandramukha countered. "She wants attention. She sought your help, Abhilasha—never ordered us. Royals command."

"She could be kind," Abhilasha offered, unconvinced.

"Why us, among so many?" Chandramukha pressed. "Men fawn, thinking her noble, but she chose three strangers."

Mitrabhanu nodded. "If royal, she'd not sit alone. Maybe she's fleeing—those eyes haunt me."

"If they were royal, you'd recall by now," Chandramukha said. "She's manipulating us, after us. Stay sharp."

Abhilasha's gut stirred, Suriratna's plea—a vague call for aid—"I felt it when she spoke," she admitted, eyes drifting to her, scarf glinting by the first tavern window's light, now a forest silhouette. Her beauty held a strange aura, magnetic yet unnerving.

Is she a siren? The thought thrilled her, Tapti's forbidden love—human and siren—a sin Mitrabhanu's clan bore.

"A siren here?" she whispered, excitement rising. "Among humans?"

Mitrabhanu scoffed, anger flaring. "No siren's that foolish. They'd be slaughtered. They're tricksters, not idiots."

"Those eyes," Abhilasha pressed. "Who do they remind you of?"

"I don't know," he snapped, voice clipped. "I've seen them—that's all."

"Is this a love story?" she sighed, frustration peaking. "Why not confront her? Are you hiding a past?"

"I honor my clan's curse," he said, each word deliberate. "I'd rather die celibate than risk that sin."

His fury silenced her—his honor, was no jest. She'd seen humanity's worst, Mitrabhanu's moral fight for Tapti assured her he'd never sink to that. Still, his temper grated, a glimpse of the man he warned of: You don't know me.

Suriratna glanced their way, eyes sweeping past, swift as a deer's. Abhilasha froze, masking her stare with a laugh, commenting on the storm's end, the tavern's chatter. "Don't react," she whispered, "but she looked at us, then away."

Mitrabhanu caught her cue, chuckling, though confusion flickered. A man at another table stared, misreading her mirth as flirtation. "Stop hitting on me," she shot, loud enough for him. "I'm not laughing for you—I'm wealthier than you think. Look away."

He blinked, baffled, but she ignored him, mind on Suriratna. Chandramukha stayed calm, as he had since boat, when she'd pleaded, "Let me be Abhilasha, not queen, while undercover. Free to act, before we claim what's ours."

"You can't do anything," Mitrabhanu had warned, already yielding. Chandramukha, sterner, had added, "That's not queenly."

Yet he lived justly, despite his lost crown—a tribal prince in a king's body, loyal to Tarish's true ruler, never betraying that duty. Abhilasha wondered, if destiny meant them to meet. Would I trade my mother's life for this? The thought soured her—no, she'd choose loss over this bond.

Suriratna's presence haunted them, her shadow trailing. She's after us, they agreed, her eyes always watching. Confronting her risked exposure—her knowledge of their identities could doom Swarnchandrapura's quest.

The forest deepened, its saying chilling: A headless human is better than a heartless siren. Yamin's tales praised warriors, beheaded by sirens, still fighting—a hatred etched in feud. Abhilasha puzzled over its root—human and siren shared Yamin's goddess, yet loathed each other. Mitrabhanu, tight-lipped, offered no answers; only Tarish held the truth, a secret vital as the lake.

The village's mantras shielded it, wells at four corners—north, south, east, west—guarding against shamans. Near the ocean, a banyan tree loomed, its well carved with protective runes. "Against evil-dead shamans," Chandramukha explained, voice low, as if spirits listened.

Abhilasha mingled, chatting with all to mask her aim—Suriratna. She walked beside an old woman, carrying her sack, mute but kind. Abhilasha approached, heart pounding. "I'm Abhilasha," she said, voice odd. "Your name?"

"Suriratna," she replied, smile faint.

"Your mother?" Abhilasha nodded at the old woman.

"No," Suriratna said. "A good lady, though—she can't speak."

"I saw you this morning," Abhilasha blurted. "You're the prettiest I've met."

Suriratna's laugh was soft. "You haven't met many, then."

"No, really," Abhilasha insisted, caught by her charm—delicate eyes, a smile both prudent and sly, a beauty unaware yet potent. She'd be a nation's crush, she thought, irritation mixing with awe at her naive allure.

A voice snapped her back—sharp, taunting, not hers but the former queen's, from mirror. This isn't queenly. Charmed by magic, losing sight of your aim? You'll never rule. It stung, meant to sharpen her, though Abhilasha never chose that path—destiny did.

"Where are you going?" Suriratna asked, eyes curious.

Abhilasha faltered, her quest for truth tangled in secrets, the forest whispering bonds she couldn't yet see.