I Shall Rewrite the Stars

Chapter 22

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Soon as Patlin Mirabai turns, headed off to whatever prior engagement she’d had, the crowd surges forward. Aakesh smiles, flicking a wave before he vanishes beyond the sea of women and children flocking to Juba and I.

“Where are you from?” a small girl asks, her long, dark braid swaying behind her.

“Are you married?” asks a woman in a dull-orange shalwar and gray tunic.

“We-” I begin, my breath caught when Juba wraps his arm around my waist.

“Newlywed,” he says, to the squeals and claps of the younger girls.

“Juba?” I ask, glancing up at him. He spares me a smile, though his gaze is wary. After a moment, he looks out into the crowd, slowly scanning for potential threats.

This is the Juba I know, so much more akin to the husband from my visions than the gentle, soft-spoken man from the cave.

My heart tugs at the thought. Still, I force a smile and answer as many questions as I can.

“Your face is young, but your hair is pure white!” a short boy notes, jumping with his dark hand raised. When I kneel, he carefully grasps a handful. “It’s real!”

“Is it?” a very young girl asks from his left. Hesitantly, she reaches out to give my hair a sharp tug. Despite myself, I flinch.

“Enough of that!” a woman snips, charging forward to pull the children back. Hands on her deep pink hips, the woman offers me an apologetic smile. “Forgive them. None of us have seen hair the color of yours, before. The children are just excited.”

“It’s alright,” I assure, standing. “I—are these for me?”

Gathered together at my left, a group of girls hold baskets of white flowers. All of them smiling, they look to the woman in pink. She waves toward me with a sigh of relent.

“Kneel!” a girl in yellow commands, all but bouncing with glee when I do so.

“Your hair is so short,” groans a second girl in yellow. “Will we be able to braid it?”

“Selene?” Juba asks, as he is pushed aside.

“Ptolemy would spend hours playing with my hair, when we were younger,” I say, ignoring the pinching and tugs as the girls set to work. “Do not mind us, Juba. I am perfectly fine.”

Whilst the girls have their fun, Juba takes a seat a few feet away. Within seconds, yet more baskets are passed our way. Many onlookers sit, plucking dried fruits to nibble and passing mud-cups filled with cactus juice.

When finally the girls deem me presentable, I look up toward a hushed crowd. At the back of my head, I feel strings and flowers. Swaying against my back are two long, heavy cords, from which thick tassels hang. I cannot imagine the sight I look but, upon sensing the expectation of the crowd, I turn toward Juba. “What do you think?”

He is quiet a moment, and a soft smile lifts his lips. “You look beautiful, Selene. As always.”

My cheeks warm, and the crowd bursts into yet more cheers and claps. As chatter rises, fires bloom to dot the outskirts of the group. I notice Aarush and Arun herding camels out and around, following behind either Aditya or Aakesh. I wonder where they are headed, but have no chance to ask.

For a long time, until the fading moon is high and most of the small children lie fast asleep, the festive mood lingers. It is not until Patlin Mirabai issues a sudden declaration that all should retire to bed, that the crowd disburses.

“I see the girls got to you,” she snickers, offering me a hand. “You’re a newlywed it seems.”

“You can tell?” I ask, turning to help Juba stand.

“New brides will wear those blossoms for a year after their wedding. If even a single petal remains unwilted, it’s a sign of blessings upon their marriage.”

 “Are there many wedded women here?” Juba asks.

Waving, Patlin Mirabai leads us into the village. Most of the mud-huts are dark, with snores whistling from behind their mat-doors. For such a lively place, already it is almost as if the welcoming party had never even occurred.

“Exceptionally few,” Patlin Mirabai says, without looking back. “Invaders swept in, demanding fealty and tribute in exchange for our lives. Flowers and cactus juice weren’t good enough offerings, so they took our men instead.”

“Do they ever return?” I ask.

The matron shakes her head. “Their sacrifice ensures that we who remain, may live in as much peace as can be expected. As such, none have returned.”

“Why didn’t they take the brahmin and his disciples?” Juba asks.

“Aakesh?” Patlin Mirabai clicks her tongue. “He was just a small child, unwell and expected to die, when the invaders swept through. The other three were hidden in the temple by Aakesh’s father. Those boys have been at each other’s hips, ever since.”

“How sad,” I say, glancing around for any sign of said men. “Are they still in the village? I haven’t seen them since we arrived.”

“They’re awaiting you at the temple.”

“Which is outside the village,” Juba presumes.

Patlin Mirabai nods. “Our village was a small, thriving town some twenty years ago, but you can see what we’ve been reduced to. Though our homes have moved a bit, the temple remains where it has always been.”

Within minutes we pass through the village, following a worn path out toward two high, jagged mountains. Juba steps closer to me once we’re in the open. I take his hand, squeezing gently. His ability to perceive potential threats might be greater than mine, but I want to trust that we are safe here.

My heart will ache if we are not.

“Is the temple much farther?” Juba asks, as we pause before an incline.

“Just up and over,” Patlin Mirabai says, pointing forward. “I’ll be heading back now. My old bones aren’t fit for climbing.”

“Thank you for bringing us this far,” I say.

Flicking her hand as she goes, the matron mumbles, “Yes, yes. Goodnight then.”

“I don’t trust her,” Juba says, the moment we’re out of hearing range.

“Do you trust anyone?” I ask playfully.

He smiles. “You.”

I shake my head and tug at his hand. Just as the matron had said, soon as we crest the incline, a small, stone temple appears. Old and worn, with deep cracks and an overgrowth of webs and dust, the temple would look abandoned, were it not for the candles glowing within.

Standing between two pillars, at our approach, Aakesh throws his arms wide. “Welcome! I was just on my way out to fetch you both.”

“We’re grateful for the intent,” I say, frowning at Juba when he mutters something under his breath.

“Follow me,” Aakesh says, turning on his heel.

Our footsteps echo even before we enter the temple. Its stone floors are dark, their shadows flickering from the light cast by thick candles set atop the panes of dozens of glassless windows. Carved figures of beasts wrap around the alcoves, their human-like hands made to hold up the domed ceiling.

“It looks better in here, in the daylight,” Aakesh says, turning a right.

“These carvings are so intricate,” I note. “Is this temple very old?”

“It was begun by my ancestor about a hundred years ago. Unfortunately, it’s fallen into disrepair with my generation. I’ve little knowledge of stone-working, you see.”

“This stone was imported,” Juba says. “Its color doesn’t match the desert rock. This village must have been quite the merchant’s town at one point.”

Aakesh hums. “We were a stop along the Great Connection—the path which spread goods from the forbidden empire of Gojoseon in the east, to the frigid outlands of Noregr in the north-west.”

“A perfect vantage point for power-hungry emperors to set their sights upon.”

Aakesh spares us a glance. “You think so? Perhaps, if the people here weren’t stubborn as young camels.”

“Stubbornness can throw off your enemies?” Juba scoffs.

Aakesh shrugs. “Willingness to destroy your own town, burn all the food, and hide or destroy anything of value can do a lot to throw off an enemy.”

“You’d rather banish all that made your town prosper, than give it into the hands of your rivals?” I ask.

“From my understanding, it was hoped the invaders would see us as pathetic and without means to be of use to them. All was sacrificed save for that which we valued most: our lives.”

“But the invaders weren’t keen to leave emptyhanded,” Juba concludes. “How very like Roma.”

Aakesh stops short. “You assume that it was Roma who swept through this place?”

“They took my kingdom, long ago. I recognized their trail of despair the moment we arrived at your village.”

Aakesh hums again, waving to a mat-cloaked doorway. “Anyway. You may use this room for the duration of your stay here. My room is two halls down and to the left, if you need me.”

“And the sanctuary?” I ask, as he turns around. “My mother believed that prayer was as much a part of life as breathing. I would like to give thanks for the hospitality we’ve received since arriving here—both here and in Indrira as a whole.”

When Aakesh smiles this time, there is some warmth to it. “I’ll escort you in the morning, if that is alright.”

We part with that, as Juba and I enter a small room with a low ceiling. Painted along the walls are lines of Indriran writings, accompanied by white figures both human and beast-like. At the corner, a candle flickers atop a narrow, copper pole. Beneath a window, a straw mattress lies half-concealed by a long pillow of worn gray, and a matching blanket.

“Sleep lightly, Selene,” Juba warns, kicking the blanket away to search the mattress. “Something’s off about him. That would-be brahmin reeks of disdain.”

“He is quite wary of us,” I agree. “But he helped us when we were in need, and trusted us to enter what remains of his hometown. Would a man who poses a threat truly do such things?”

“If he works for Gustavian, he might.”

Dropping to the bed, I curl up on my side. Soon as my eyes shut, I sink into the memories of my bed from home: satin sheets, silken pillows—a gauzy canopy strung high above!

“We’ve known him for less than a day,” I sigh. “I trust you—trust that you feel off-put by this place. Even so, I want to give Aakesh a bit more of a chance. After all, he is not wrong to be cautious around strangers. Outsiders have not been kind to him, Juba.”

“I see your point,” he says, and I feel him lie down behind me. “Please don’t misunderstand, Selene. I’m not criticizing your desire to return his courtesy. I’d just rather stand on the side of caution, in case the worst comes to pass.”

“A fact I both understand and readily support.”

“Because you know that my trust is hard-earned?”

“Exactly.”

Chuckling soft, Juba sets an arm around my waist, pulling me flush back against him. My breath catches, my eyes flown wide. Daring a glance back, I catch his gaze.

“I thought you’d intended to move slowly?” I ask.

“Considering the things that have crossed my mind, this is moving slowly,” he replies.

Words failing me, I face forward, gasping as Juba sets his cheek against my neck, and his warm breath caresses my skin.

“Your kindness is beyond comprehension,” he whispers. “Every time I think that I understand its depth, you surprise me again. I truly value this part of you, Selene.”

“Th-…thank you,” I say, my voice a breath. After a lengthy silence, when my heart feels ready to burst, I ask, “Why did you tell the villagers that we are newlyweds?”

“If they’d thought your hand unclaimed, they might have sought to wed you off to one of the few boys who remain.”

“Such as Aakesh?”

Juba tsks, nipping the space where my neck and shoulder meet. “Don’t talk about him. I don’t want to think about him right now.”

A shiver runs through me, overwhelming in the most perfectly agonizing way. It leaves me breathless again, something that Juba seems to notice.

“You’re tense again. Don’t tell me I was never meant to show you affection.”

“In my visions, you would often hold my hand,” I try, to which Juba hisses.

“That’s it?”

“We shared a kiss at our wedding, and again mere days before Gustavian recalled us to Roma-”

“That’s all?” Lips trailing along my neck, Juba pecks in three places, until he reaches my ear. “You deserved more.”

“We…we had to be cautious,” I say, so unfamiliar with the feelings welling inside of me. “Gustavian-”

“I don’t want to hear his name,” Juba says, his thumb rubbing a blazing arch against my hip. “How could there have been a future where I had a wife yet refused to cherish her—to honor her in every way that a husband should?”

“Y-you are so different, compared to the Juba I foresaw. Even so, I-” I suck in a breath, my heartbeat so loud I am positive Juba must hear it. “I never felt uncomfortable with him. He was a gentle, considerate husband.”

“But not half a man worthy of a wife like you,” Juba sighs, leaning back whilst his hand searches for mine. When he finds it, our fingers twine. “Maybe he didn’t believe that someone could actually feel affection for him. Maybe he held back for fear that you didn’t truly accept him.”

“Would such assumptions have been unreasonable?” I ask.

“Knowing what I do now, that even in another life—even at the risk of re-living so many terrible things, you still hold feelings for me, I have to say that it is. The me you were meant to marry, was an unworthy, cowardly fool. He deserved whatever fate befell him-”

“How can you say such a thing?” I cry, forcing myself up so I can fix him with a glare. “If anyone has the right to be upset with who you were meant to be, it is me. But I am not. I will never wish for anything bad to happen to you, Juba-”

“Not to me,” he interrupts. “You’re still thinking of the person the stars wish for me to be—a coward so full of himself, he couldn’t accept the greatest gift that life had ever offered him!”

I hesitate, unsure what to say. In the silence that grows, Juba opens his arms. I lie back down, facing him this time, and sigh as he pulls me in once again.

“I will not make the same mistakes in this life,” Juba whispers. “I will neither question your feelings nor ignore them. And I will not ignore my own, either.”

“What do you feel for me, if not love?” I ask.

“Happiness, above all else. Awe, wonder, pride-”

“Pride?”

“You could have chosen to care for any man in the world, and everyone, regardless of status, would have been available to you. Yet you chose me. After failing so miserably as a husband, in the life you foresaw, you still chose me.”

“I will always choose you,” I say. “Never question that, Juba. No matter how many lives I live, I will always, always choose you.”

“And no matter how many lives we live, I will never fail you as I did in that first life,” Juba swears. “This life will be different, Selene. I promise.”

***