| By King Bumis Heir | Genre | Rating | Reviews | Updates |
| More from King Bumis Heir | Horror | YA 13+ | None | No update page |
Author's Notes[]
Another horror one-shot, it's my second murder mystery story, as the first was a chapter in Avatar: The Legacy of Rong Yan. This was written in three days, while other stories are currently in outline form. Anyways, what urged me to write it was that I chose a past avatar who appeared in ATLORY. I wanted to experience writing an older character much wiser than myself.
The Grove of False Faces[]
Tuxi Cun, Hami Territory, Si Wong Desert
The sun rose in the wee hours of the morning, and the skies were shifting from purple to orange hues. The moon grew dim. It moved closer to the eastern dunes, while the stars hung lazily behind. Here in this village, the landscape was touched by the arid Si Wong sands, but not far from where the town stood were dry grasslands. Tuxi Cun sat near the edge of the desert and Wuyi province.
In the heart of the village stood a square-shaped manor built of adobe, an open courtyard tiled with ceramic mosaics and littered with slumbering vegetation eager to receive the scorching rays of the sun. Plants not native to the land were grown here, including a pomegranate tree, ripe figs, and vines with blooming jasmine flowers that enveloped some of the walls of this artificial oasis. In the center of the courtyard sat a small and low fountain crafted from the same earth underneath the tiled floor. Water flowed calmly through the various small cascades, and even fish swam harmoniously inside.
The manor was about two stories high, the apertures covered with wooden covers. They occasionally opened the apertures to allow a warm blast of hot air to enter. Inside the home, everything was calm, cool, and controlled. Even the birds dared not sing until the residents woke themselves—perfect shelter from the unforgiving climate outside the walls. Woven rugs dyed in indigo, saffron, and cloves covered the flooring of the sitting rooms. The furniture was carved from the wood of a mesquite tree.
In the kitchen, the scent of roasted chickpeas and flatbread blended with the rich smell of fresh jasmine tea. An older woman steeped the water inside a brass teapot. She placed the teapot onto a brass platter and walked out of her kitchen and headed for the courtyard. In the distance, cross-legged on a platform sat her husband, at sixty-five, who no longer resembled the shape of a once-strong warrior. However, his presence and demeanor were commanding. A man of broad shoulders, full rosy cheeks, and a now beefy build, now softened by many years of retirement, pastries, and many shared meals with his children and grandchildren. He conducted himself with a calculated and steady confidence of someone who no longer rushes into the wake of battle.
The man breathed of wealth and legacy, his home reflected that of comfort, not something measured with the coin in his coffers. The kind passed down through tea, silence, and comfort. His wife entered quietly while her husband was in meditation, and she placed the platter on a low table next to him. The heady aroma of the jasmine tea tickled his nose, while his wife poured herself and her husband a cup of tea. She sat across from him, his eyes gently opened as he felt her presence. She smiled and greeted him, "Good morning, my love."
"The sun's late, I've been here meditating, the spirits seem quieter than the sands," he responded as he stared into her deep brown eyes. Anila, his wife of thirty-nine years, was sixty with silver woven into her single braid of hair and clarity in her soft eyes.
He sat in his usual comfortable robes. His tunic was light brown, and every day it felt a bit tighter across his belly. A cloth sash knotted around the front and under his gut. His beard was mostly silver with a few strands of black left over from his younger years. It was long and ceremonial. His eyebrows were thick and slightly arched; they always conveyed a sort of amusement. Especially when he sipped from his favorite brass teacup, despite his frame and age, his balance was genuinely nimble, especially on sand. His sandals never sank into the loose grains of the ground.
He moved with the weight of wisdom, and like a sandstorm–measured, grounded, and unyielding. His bending style was something otherworldly; he developed his style of earthbending. One that uses the bending forms of the other three bending arts. It was known as the Hami-style earthbending. It wasn't with crushing force like the earthbenders who lived outside of the desert. It was precise and with rhythm. It flowed like water, free like air, and direct like fire. He no longer seeks to dominate but to reshape. The world was at peace because of him.
To many, he seemed like a wandering elder or a tea-loving sage. But to the Hami Empire, to the other rivaled empires of the dunes. They feared him; they knew him, what he's done. He was the Avatar, the one who halted a tsunami and created a sea from its destruction—the destroyer of the once great Isoro Empire.
To his grandchildren, he was known as "Popo"; to the world, he was known as Avatar Bhudev.
"I heard the sands shift," muttered Bhudev after he took a sip.
"You sure that wasn't the bean buns from last night?" Anila offered dryly.
"Hey, those buns never wronged anyone," asserted Bhudev.
Anila covered her mouth and snickered, "Mmhm. They also never had three servings of cardamom butter before bedtime."
Bhudev gave his wife a sideways glance–the kind of glance couples share over a lifetime when they knew the truth but refused to admit it. His cheeks puffed in protest, then deflated into a smirk. He rolled his eyes, "Alright, fine, maybe one serving betrayed me."
"It always starts with one," Anila giggled. They chuckled together, their voices barely rose above the tender whistle of the tea. Before dawn, the desert softened, as if the world didn't want to stir just yet.
Then– SQUAWK!
Loud enough to alert them, but it wasn't shrill. Anila froze mid-sip, and Bhudev seemed a bit startled. His head tilted up to see that it was a reedback crane-moth; he furrowed his brows as the creature descended from the skies. He rose to his feet, his joints popped like wood cracking in a campfire. Strange to see this animal out here in the Si Wong, considering it was native to the Anlu province.
Bhudev muttered, "Reedback."
The creature circled once, its long legs tucked like folded reeds, then it hovered into a sweeping arc of silence. Its wings barely stirred the sand as it landed with grace. Its antennae twitched and its legs shifted. Tied to the left leg was a strip of red cloth.
Anila set her cup down quietly.
"Well," she said. "I suppose it wasn't your indigestion after all."
The creature stood still, its wings folded like the drapes in one of the manor's sitting rooms. Bhudev didn't move. He gazed at the beast for a moment, between sips of his jasmine tea. He finally folded his arms, "It can wait. Whatever it is, it can wait until the sun's up."
Anila raised an eyebrow. She murmured, "You're right, it is a Reedback, honey. It didn't fly across the kingdom just to wait for you to finish your tea."
"I haven't even had my second cup," mentioned Bhudev.
"I recommend you have it while you read the contents of what it carries," chuckled Anila.
Her husband didn't laugh, but his lips twitched like they wanted to. Still, his feet remained rooted. His eyes regarded the bird's leg with suspicion. What's the message about? Whose is it from? Why come here looking for him specifically?
He breathed, "Whatever's in that scroll is going to drag me somewhere I don't want to go. I can feel it in my bones."
"Then best you change to something more ceremonial, something that reminds people of you in your golden age," replied Anila. She reached for the cloth.
She untied it from around the reedback crane-moth's left leg, she unfurled the red cloth around a small scroll, and opened it. At the same time, Bhudev sighed, but not in protest, in acceptance. He turned to his wife while she read the contents of the scroll.
"Meiyun's Hollow is sick. Come alone. – A friend."
Bhudev finished his first cup as his wife read the scroll aloud. He asked, "You're sure I shouldn't finish my tea?"
Aniled rested her hands on her hips and gave Bhudev that look again.
He sighed, "I guess it's a walking tea kind of morning."
The Avatar grabbed his second cup of jasmine tea and headed inside.
After about an hour of dressing himself. He kissed his wife's lips and she gently fixed his iconic emerald robes, then said, "Go on then, but don't take too long. I'll be right here waiting with another cup of tea."
"I'll return in a week," replied Bhudev.
His traditional emerald green inner tunic was high-collared and tightly wrapped around his chest. Over it flowed a sandstone beige-colored outer robe, sleeveless and well-defined, secured at the waist by his wide circular golden plated belt. A large coin belt buckle rested at its center. A gift from Earth Queen Chuntao Qian. His trousers gathered at his ankles, tied neatly with wrappings that kept the desert's sand from getting in. Loose around his legs, while the trousers allowed for mobility. His boots, crafted from the leather of a ramdrake, were thick, flexible, and scratch-resistant. The dust that clung to the soles was no stranger to the man who wore them.
On his forearms, he wore bracers made from the hide of the jarrabound native to the Hami Empire's sands. Their hide is abrasion-resistant, which is perfect for bracers and sometimes climbing straps. On his back, a large cloth drape flowed behind him, split at the sides similar to martial uniforms. Atop his head sat a tall emerald green hat–likely from Omashu in design, it was sand-weathered, and a simple green sash tied under his chin kept it in place. It wasn't flashy, but Bhudev wore it with the weight of memory. And finally, in his right hand, he carried a broad ceremonial saber, his niuweidao. It was symbolic at this point, no longer used to slash at his enemies, only to remind.
Bhudev exited his home and strolled toward the southern wall of Tuxi Cun, where the stables were. The usual buzz of leather straps secured, water troughs scrubbed, mounts fed, and stablehands arguing over whose beetle-yak had kicked first. There, his trusty traveling companion, Alburuz, was nestled in his roost. The other animals gave the large flying beast his space, not from training, but from intimidation and instinct. A beetle-yak glanced in his general direction once, then looked away. It whined quietly and stayed unsettled. The stablemaster, Harzin, moved with care. He always made sure he never had his back turned to the beast.
Shiraqils were flying carnivorous predators. When kept in captivity, they fed on game meat. Harzin paid the local hunters to keep the Avatar's flying mount well-fed; a starving Shiraqil is likely to eat its owner. Or in this particular circumstance, the stablemaster and his employees. At the sight of his master, Alburuz let out an affectionate screech that echoed across the desert town. The stablehands guided the beast out of its pen; it was well-trained, therefore, it stayed tethered to nothing.
Alburuz was ready for flight, a large leather saddle with Hami Empire sand-colored banners decorated its sides. Alburuz's massive feathered wings hung folded, dusted in faint bronze, sand, and light earth brown colors. His horned, vulture-shaped head rotated slowly, as if it followed a distant noise only he heard.
Bhudev approached quietly, his left hand on his belt, his right hand brushing his beard. Harzin gave a quick bow but kept to himself–he only stepped aside.
"Alburuz's been restless, perhaps dreaming, maybe. Or remembering," Harzin offered, his voice lowered like a prayer.
Bhudev nodded and stopped a few feet from the beast. Alburuz moved only his head; he tilted toward the Avatar as if listening for a name that hadn't yet been spoken. The Avatar murmured, "So...you've heard the sands shift too."
The Avatar faced his palms to the ground, with quick and forceful gusts of wind, he hovered over the beast and dropped onto its saddle. Bhudev petted his fine mount, and a lower screech emitted from its beak.
"Zuraq!" commanded Bhudev.
Alburuz's wings expanded, just as his wife Anila came out to see her husband's departure. The bird gave a whisper as it accepted the order, it darted into the dry skies above and flew west. Dust from the sand that littered the solid ground of the town permeated the air; the stablehands coughed while Anila and Harzin covered themselves from the gusts of wind and sand that blew in their faces. Anila waved at Bhudev from below, even if he couldn't see her.
Two Days Later
The air was thick with evening gold, but the land below held its breath. From Alburuz's back, the Avatar peered below, his face drawn against the humid breeze. His beard faintly lifted, teased by the fog that curled like fingers around the marshlands of the west. Two days they've flown, he almost missed the Si Wong winds, Anlu's air had this wet-lunged stillness. And now the world beneath them turned soft, gray-green, and watching.
The hamlet of Meiyun Hollow unfolded bit by bit between the ridges of dry earth–a cluster of stone and clay houses. Sun-washed and smoke-stained, huddled like old bones left in a riverbed long since dried. The village was crescent-shaped, curved around a flat basin where two dead rivers once met. Now, there are no more than cracked scars across the light yellow-colored dead grass and forgotten wood bridges.
The sky held the weight of water, but none mysteriously fell. The swamp was miles away to the south–breathed through the province, leaving a constant layer of mildew, mist, and stillness. Trees grew with limbs low and crooked, their leaves hung like damp laundry. Lichen clung to rooftops, and paper lanterns hung from rusted hooks. While lit, it seemed as if the natural light from the flames was dull.
A few shapes moved in the streets below–slow, careful, not exactly afraid but wary. No laughter, no pets whined, no villagers haggled at the market stalls. Even the livestock seemed uninterested in chewing.
"It's hushed," Bhudev whispered to himself, his hand resting lightly on his mount's feathered neck.
"This place deserves to be louder and livelier," he added, mostly to himself. Alburuz is the only ear around the Avatar.
At the center of the village stood a decayed shrine, its tiled roof sagged in the middle like a sleeping head. Beyond it, a small open square, lined with empty stalls and dull fires that burned with fresh wood. Something here definitely seemed off if it affected the fires of the village's street lanterns. The scent that rose to greet them wasn't of rot or sewage–it seemed older than that. Wet earth, clay, cautious incense–and beneath it all, something wrong. Of course, not loud, just waiting.
Bhudev gently pulled the reins, and Alburuz angled lower. He softly spoke to his mount, "We're here."
What few individuals walked the streets cowered into their homes at the sight of the visitor and the monster that he rode on. Bhudev took in a deep inhale of the moist air, "Let's see what's afraid to speak."
Hurried footsteps crept up from the shadowed outskirts of the village square. A nervous, middle-aged constable came forward, his hands trembled, and his shoulders hunched as though he carried an invisible burden. His uniform was rumpled and stained by sweat and mist. His eyes were exhausted like someone who hadn't slept in several days.
His words stammered, "Avatar Bhudev," his voice was dry and cracked, "Thank Tian Fu–y-you came quickly. I sent the Reedback myself, hoping you'd understand the urgency."
The Avatar scanned his surroundings while the constable spoke to him. He returned a glimpse at the decaying shrine of Di, the Oma Kingdom equivalent of Yun. Its untouched and once pristine tiles are now mold-ridden.
"What's happening here?" Bhudev inquired gently; he sensed a deep unrest hidden underneath the hamlet.
The village's lawman swallowed hard. He withdrew a worn-out journal page damaged by the moist fog from his sash. The paper shook in his hands, ink smudged and faded.
"We...lost Master Rensu, our healer–our elder. Murdered, Avatar. Found dead inside the hollow of the Banyan Grove tree, just outside of town. It's..." he hesitated, his breath shallow.
"Something he sealed away in that tree a long time ago–it's escaped."
Bhudev took the journal page carefully. He noticed the script was frantic, hurried, and trailed off into silence. As the constable grew quieter now, Bhudev's eyes moved left to right as he read the writings on the page.
"I've heard the whispers grow louder; some of the townsfolk have had trouble sleeping."
The rest of the writing was smudged by sweat? Aside from the clammy atmosphere around them. At the bottom was the results of the investigation made by the lawman, which read:
"Three shadows–one in silk, one in furs, and one who lies... – Constable Sangdan"
"It started small, at first it was just whispers in the night. Now, every villager hears them–the voices of recently departed kin. Even I've been hearing the voice of sweet Wenrou. It keeps everyone awake. Five nights now without proper rest. Some of the villagers are hallucinating, the children...they speak in tongues, Avatar. Words no living soul taught them," reported Sangdan.
Bhudev raised his eyes slowly from the page. He studied the constable's weary face.
"What of the shrine?" Bhudev asked, nodding toward the decaying structure in the town's heart. "Why is Di's statue untouched, while the foundation and the buildings of the town crumble?"
The lawman shook his head helplessly and shrugged, puzzled.
He then adds, "It doesn't always remain untouched. I've had to clean it sometimes. It bleeds, but how is that possible? A stone statue of our beloved goddess cannot bleed if there are no cracks! No cuts!"
"I've noticed that you wrote at the bottom of the page about three shadows, one who lies, one in silk, and another in furs. What can you tell me?" inquired the Avatar.
"I've made three conclusions on who committed this atrocity: there's the town's silk merchant, Madame Xiulan, a hunter and tanner named Tuk, and our local alchemist, Bao," answered Sangdan.
Bhudev's boots sank gently into the marsh-softened earth just outside of town. He neared a modest hut on the eastern edge of Meiyun Hollow. The evening fog lay heavy; it slowly swirled around his feet and curled up wooden posts. It drifted lazily over stretched leather hides that hung to dry. He paused at the doorway, noting a scent–sharp, earthy, and strong with tannins—the smell of painstaking, solitary work.
"Tuk?" Bhudev called privately into the silence as he stepped forward.
For a moment, there was only the quiet hiss of the oil lamps that flickered against the darkness. Then, from deep within, came a single, low, expressive grunt–a signal more than an answer. Bhudev entered the hut carefully. The tanner's home was small and meticulously kept, filled with orderly racks of leather, drying herbs, and polished blades arranged with precision.
At a sturdy table near the hearthfire sat Tuk, the famed local hunter and tanner, his lean frame hunched over a fresh fox deer hide. His calloused fingers moved with practiced ease, and he scraped the hide gently but methodically. Tuk paused only briefly to glance upward, his piercing gaze locked with Bhudev's eyes, sharp but deeply tired.
The visitor spoke gently, as he sensed the hunter's watchful reserve, "I'm sorry for intruding at this late hour, Tuk. Constable Sangdan tells me you found Master Rensu."
Tuk stopped, and he placed his blade softly on the table. He nodded calmly, his eyes darkened with grief. He tapped two fingers to his lips, then gestured downward–his sign for death. Bhudev understood instantly.
The Avatar murmured, "You're mute." As carefully and respectfully as he asked, "Can you sign? I somewhat understand, my airbending master in my youth, Sayun, was born deaf. It's been over two decades since I've spoken to him. So I'm a bit rusty."
Tuk's eyes widened slightly with quiet relief. His movements became fluid, graceful, fingers flickered urgently through signs, accompanied by subtle yet expressive sounds and quick gestures.
["Yes. I found Rensu in the Banyan Grove. He was cold. Long dead. Blade wounds. Clean and precise."]
Bhudev calmly nodded; his eyes wandered over to Tuk's polished knives behind him, where they hung on hooks.
"You would recognize wounds like that," Bhudev stated gently, no accusations–just silent acknowledgment of the hunter's skill.
Tuk's jaw clenched briefly. He shook his head emphatically, raising one hand to his heart.
["I did not harm him. Rensu was my friend. He saved me once. Tried to save my wife."]
He noticed the sudden flash of sadness in the hunter's eyes.
"Swamp fever took your wife, yes? And your voice?" he inquired.
Tuk nodded steadily, his shoulders dropped, his hands lowered heavily. His following signs were heavier and slower.
["Fever took everything. Left only memories."]
Bhudev offered a quiet, sympathetic silence and allowed the hunter to gather his composure. After a moment, Tuk resumed:
["I hear her now...my Seyri. Every night. Whispers from shadows. Calls me to join her. She is cold, she says...she's lonely."]
Tuk's expression hardened, an edge of anger mingling with hushed dread.
["But it's not her. Something else calls. Wearing her voice."]
Bhudev frowned deeply. He felt a chill run through the room.
"Do you believe the spirit freed from the Banyan Grove is responsible?" guessed Bhudev.
Tuk nodded firmly, his eyes unwavering.
["It knows us all. It knows our losses. It speaks with the dead's voice to torment our hearts. Rensu sealed it decades ago, when he founded this village. Now it's loose."]
Bhudev took a step closer, voice gentle but firm.
"Can you guide me to where you found him, Tuk?" he questioned the hunter.
The hunter rose to his feet without hesitation, sliding a cloak around his shoulders and quietly strapping one of his knives at his side. His eyes met with the Avatar's–steady and determined. With a swift gesture for the door and a low, resolute grunt, Tuk invited Bhudev to follow him into the shadowed evening.
The path to the Banyan Grove wound through brittle grass and fallen leaves, the air thick with the tang of wet earth. As Bhudev and Tuk approached, the trees grew taller and closer. Their limbs twisted toward the center as if they listened for something long gone. The grove itself stood in a shallow clearing, the centerpiece an ancient banyan tree, once the pride of Meiyun Hollow. In Bhudev's younger years, such a place would've radiated tranquility–a stillness that cleansed the spirit. But this was not peace.
The air was sour here, heavy with a scent of damp wood and something older, and sharper, like rust on a blade. The wind, if it could be called that, seemed to move sideways; it slid around Bhudev's shoulders without ever touching his dark-tanned skin.
At the very heart of the banyan's massive trunk sat a brass mirror, fixed into the living wood. Its polished surface caught the faint light of the moon–but reflected nothing. Not Bhudev. Not Tuk. Not even the gnarled branches above. A wide ring of salt encircled the tree, the once-solid barrier now scuffed and broken in some spots. Wards carved from smooth river stones lay cracked or entirely shattered along the perimeter. Whatever they meant to hold prisoner...was gone. Bhudev stood still, eyes half-closed, he deepened his breath, and he listened for the echoes of what had been here. There was something–a faint presence like the last ripples in a pond after the stone sank beneath the surface. Not enough to confront, but enough to know it had been true.
Tuk stepped forward, his boots crunched softly on the salt. He faced the Avatar and signed, his motions tight and deliberate, punctuated by a low hum.
["I came here at dawn. Somebody already broke the wards. Salt scattered. The mirror is foreign to this tree...Rensu's body was beside it. Not standing. Slumped."]
Bhudev's brow furrowed, "You mean...inside the hollow?"
Tuk nodded sharply.
["He was already cold. There was no sign of struggle in the clearing. His wounds...clean cuts. Precise."]
The Avatar walked the perimeter, his eyes tracing the fractures in the wards. He observed further, "So...whoever did this broke the seals first. Freed whatever was inside. Rensu must've come to contain it again. But he was attacked before he could act."
He paused, glanced back at the mirror, "And this...this is no ordinary spirit trinket. A brass mirror of this size, bound into living wood–it was meant to be an anchor for something. Whatever it was, it's not here anymore."
Bhudev's voice lowered, but with certainty in his tone, "This was planned."
He turned his head to face Tuk and asked, "Who's in this village that would've wanted Rensu gone?"
Tuk's eyes narrowed as he pivoted his body to the north of where the local silk merchant resided. His hands moved with clipped assurance.
["Madam Xiulan. The silk merchant. She never liked him. Always called him a meddler. Rude to him in the square. Always sold her goods at double the price to him. Rotten attitude, too."]
Bhudev studied the hunter's face for a moment, then nodded, "Rotten attitudes don't always lead to murder...but in this case sometimes they do."
He glanced at the mirror one final time, and its empty surface seemed to drink more of the light of the moon.
"Thank you for your assistance. I don't want her to harm you in some way, but if I need you again, I'll return to your hut. I have to visit the good Madam," Bhudev gestured a farewell to his new friend.
Silence clung to the walk back from the Banyan Grove, the air heavy with a presence that lingered from what once lay imprisoned here. Bhudev lumbered, eyes on the broken wards still etched in his memory. He stopped at the edge of the village square, where a few stray pickens pecked quietly at the damp cobblestones. Bhudev stood there for a moment, and he permitted the evening air to press against his skin. The constable's words, Tuk's account, the feel of the broken circle–all swirled together in his thoughts.
A once sealed spirit, freed with intent.
A healer cut down with precision.
A mirror that refused to reflect.
If Tuk's suspicions were correct, Madam Xiulan might've known more than she'd ever admit. Bhudev continued his journey to her shop, his boots made soft taps on the damp stones. Meiyun Hollow's streets were quiet now–too calm for the early evening. Shuttered windows and barred doors. The humid air was thick with the faint, sweet tang of silk dye, and the sharper scent of boiled mulberry leaves.
Her shop sat at the far end of a lane, its weathered sign painted with a faded gold chrysanthemum. Rolls of silk leaned in the window, their colors dimmed in the dull light. Upstairs, on a small balcony, lengths of crimson and saffron silk hung drying, limp and still in the damp air. A single line of light escaped from beneath the front door.
Bhudev stopped just a short step, eyes lingered on the silk above. Each strip swayed ever so slightly–not with the wind, but as though disturbed by something that moved within. He took a slow breath and rapped his knuckles twice against the wood.
Her shop sat at the far end of a lane, its weathered sign painted with a faded gold chrysanthemum. Rolls of silk leaned in the window, their colors dulled in the dim light. Upstairs, on a small balcony, lengths of crimson and saffron silk hung drying, limp and still in the damp air.
A single, thin line of light escaped from beneath the front door. The humidity swallowed the sound, but inside, faint footsteps approached—steady, unhurried. The latch clicked, and the door opened.
A woman in her late fifties, her black hair drawn into a sleek knot pinned with jade. She wore a layered robe of deep plum silk, embroidered with curling gold chrysanthemums, and though the fabric shimmered in the lamplight, the faint scent of dye still clung to her sleeves.
Her eyes swept over Bhudev in a glance sharp enough to cut thread.
"The Avatar," she said, her voice smooth but laced with something that might've been sarcasm. "I'd heard you've arrived. I assumed Sangdan would come running to you."
Bhudev offered her a polite nod, "Madam Xiulan, I presume."
She stepped aside–just far enough to let him in without it seeming like an invitation, "Presume correctly."
Inside, the shop was cramped but rich with color. Rolls of silk leaned in neat rows, some glowed faintly in the lamplight like molten metal, while others muted in the soft shadow. A long lacquered table dominated the middle, covered in open account books and small ceramic dishes of powdered dye.
Bhudev paused; he allowed his eyes to adjust to the lamplight. "I've come to speak about Master Rensu."
Her lips pressed together at the name the older man muttered, the barest flicker of distaste passed her face before she smoothed it away.
"Ah...of course," she said, and she folded her hands.
"You mean to ask if I mourn his passing? I do not. But nor did I kill him, if that's what you've heard," expressed Xiulan.
Bhudev raised an eyebrow, "You speak plainly."
"I have no patience for the pretenses people here seem to love. Rensu and I...disagreed. Often. Publicly," she paused as she gathered her thoughts.
"He made it his mission to meddle in my trade and scold my customers. I made it mine to remind him he was the only voice worth hearing in this village," shared the noblewoman.
She turned and brushed one silk roll with her fingertips as though it might've calmed her. "And now he's dead, and everyone looks at me like my scissors are dripping blood. It's quite tiresome," Xiulan disclosed.
Bhudev studied her posture, her hands–steady, composed. "You were not fond of him, yet you live in the same village. That must've required restraint."
She gave him a thin smile, "Restraint is a silk thread, Avatar–it holds as long as no one frays it. Rensu...tugged at mine often."
Bhudev let the silence linger, "You've heard about the Banyan Grove?"
Her gaze sharpened, she mentioned, "If you're going to ask, yes, I've heard the whispers, spirits, broken wards. People claiming to hear the dead. I don't indulge in such stories. However, I've noticed the shrine of our beloved Di has been crumbling faster these last few days."
He inclined his head slightly and asked, "And you? No voices?"
A faint scoff, "The only voices I hear are customers asking me for credit they don't deserve!"
Bhudev took a gentle step forward, the weight of his presence settled, "If you remember anything—anyone acting strangely before Rensu's death–send word to me."
She tilted her chin upward, the faintest flash of challenge in her eyes, "If I see anything worth your time, Avatar. I'll be sure to send a silk ribbon to tie it to."
The Avatar left the silk trader's home empty-handed; she only provided hearsay evidence for her innocence. Bhudev unfolded the journal page from earlier in the evening when he arrived at Meiyun's Hollow. The note mentioned another person...one who lies. The final person on his mental list, as mentioned by the constable, was the local apothecary, Bao.
The apothecary hut sat off the central lane of the hamlet, its carved wooden sign depicting a sprig of mint in a teacup. The sign itself swayed gently in the damp evening air; the moon was now in the center of the sky. Midnight. The thin layer between the physical realm and the Spirit World grew its thinnest at three hours past twilight. A soft yellow glow spilled from its windows, and the faint clink of ceramic drifted out each time the door swung open.
Inside the shop was a maze of shelves lined with glass jars and ceramic pots. Each neatly labeled in careful calligraphy. The air permeated by a plethora of different scents–dried ginger, camphor, lotus root, and a faint, sweet note of something floral. Bhudev wasn't sure, but as he scanned the shop, he saw bundles of herbs hung from the ceiling to dry, which swung a bit in the draft from a back window left cracked open every night.
To one side, a long counter displayed teas in wide clay bowls, their leaves arranged in artful spirals–green, black, red, and oolong. Tiny bamboo scoops rested beside them, and a steaming kettle hissed quietly at the far end of the counter. A small workbench stood behind the counter, crowded with mortars, pestles, and tiny scales. Above it hung a row of corked vials which contained powders in shades of pale green, ochre, and a striking deep crimson. The whole space felt...lived in. Comfortable. Safe.
From a side door, Bao emerged carrying a tray with two steaming cups of tea. He was a man in his early sixties, round-cheeked and soft-bellied, with a short gray beard and bright, kindly eyes. His robes were plain but spotless, with sleeves tied neatly back with a cord to keep them out of his work.
"Avatar Bhudev," Bao said warmly. He set the tray on the counter.
"What an honor. You've flown far, I hear. Please, take some tea. A good traveler's brew–calms the bones, steadies the mind," Bao offered the Avatar some kindness.
The Avatar stepped forward, the scent from the cups curled near him–earthy, with an oddly metallic undertone he couldn't quite place. His voice even, he said, "You've heard why I'm here."
Bao nodded solemnly, he slid a cup toward the Avatar, "The whole village has, we've lost a good man. Rensu was a healer's healer...his passing leaves an emptiness I'm not sure I can fill," Bao doubted himself.
Bhudev accepted the tea but didn't drink it right away; his gaze wandered the shelves. His eyes lingered briefly on one of the tea jars behind Bao. Its lid is slightly askew, the leaves inside tinged with a faint reddish dust, unlike the others. The apothecary noticed the Avatar's glance, but his smile did not falter.
His hand shifted subtly to slide the jay behind another, "You'll find no answers here, Avatar."
His tone was too quick, too smooth, "Only remedies and rest."
Bhudev kept the cup in his hand but hesitated to drink; the risen steam drifted between them like a veil. His eyes remained steady on Bao.
He inquired, "Tell me, Bao–what do you recall of your last moments with Master Rensu?"
Bao's smile faltered just slightly, his hands smoothed the front of his robe as if he collected his thoughts, "He came to me three nights ago, just before sundown. Said it was urgent. He wanted bloodvine—freshly cut, not dried. I told him I'd need to go to my stock in the back, but he didn't seem interested in the price or the weight. Only...insistent."
Bhudev tilted his head slightly, "For what purpose?"
Bao spread his hands slowly, "That, Avatar, I couldn't tell you. But he said something that unsettled me. He mentioned that the spirit of the grove had changed."
"Changed?" Bhudev repeated.
"Aye, he didn't explain how–only that it wasn't the same as when it's sealed. He said it needed three things–a mirror, the bloodvine, and moonwater-polished tools."
Bhudev's brows drew together, "Moonwater-polished tools?"
Bao nodded, clearly puzzled himself, "I've worked with such tools before, but always for spiritual wards, blessings, or binding charms. Not...whatever he was planning, he gave no details, just gathered the vine, and the other things he needed, paid me, and left."
Bhudev permitted a pause to stretch between them; the soft hiss of the kettle filled the tranquility of the shop's atmosphere. The Avatar sniffed the contents of the teacup again. He pressed his lips to the edge of the cup. The warmth of the liquid caressed his upper lip. Bao's face suddenly shifted into one of anticipation. Bhudev put the cup down again because a question popped into his head.
"Did he seem afraid?" he inquired.
Bao hesitated before answering, "No. Not afraid but determined. As I thought he'd already made his choice. And all that was left was to act on it."
Bhudev's index and thumb fingers no longer curled around the ear of the teacup, he prodded, "And you didn't think to follow him?"
The alchemist shook his head, "It wasn't my place, Avatar. Rensu knew what he was doing...I'd only be getting in the way."
Bhudev's fingers lingered on the warm porcelain cup, still untouched. His eyes lowered–not to the tea but to the spaces in between the sounds. And that's when he felt them. The first was soft, clean, and ancient in a benign way—like the echo of water against river stones. Healing, cleansing. The kind of spirit that left footprints in the rain, not mud.
The second was wrong. Old. Watching. It clung to the walls, breathed from inside the jars on the shelves, and coiled in spaces between the shelves. Beneath it all, Avatar Bhudev felt it pressing from under the floorboards–its power stronger there, like it seeped into the shop's bones. His focus narrowed, and he breathed in whispers as he tried to feel its shape.
"Everything alright, Avatar?" Bao's voice is too smooth, a pleasant tone drawn a little too tight.
"You went still, like you were listening to something I couldn't hear," mentioned the alchemist.
Bhudev blinked once and eased back, feigning ignorance. He rested the edge of the porcelain teacup to his lips. The warm, suspicious tea caressed his upper lip. He set it down again and complimented the tea, "I'm just admiring the smell of the tea. You brew it well."
When Bhudev set down the still full, warm teacup, he noticed that Bao's teacup was empty. He finally drank the tea, he thought.
The alchemist's grin returned, small but fixed. "Ahh, it's an old recipe from my grandmother," he said, pouring himself another cup of the warm tea.
He then reached to adjust a jar on the shelf behind him. His fingers clutched the lid for a second too long.
"People forget the Spirit World isn't all dragons and bumbleflies. Sometimes, it's subtle. Quiet. Like tea that makes you remember dreams you've never had," chimed in Bao.
While the apothecary rambled on, Bhudev's gaze wandered–and began to catch things that shouldn't have been missing. Several jars bore faint markings etched on the inside of the glass–binding runes, but inverted, their purposes twisted. At the window sat a shallow bowl of lotus seeds. They were oddly blackened, the husks wept a slow amber sap that clung to the ceramic. And from beneath the floorboards came a faint hum—steady, almost inaudible, until it beat like a heartbeat before it faded again.
Bao casually moved, as Bhudev's eyes tracked his movement, as he fumbled random jars filled with dried contents. The hum underneath his feet rose again, this time louder, before it receded like an exhaled breath. Bao sat back. He cradled the cup in both hands as if he were warming them.
He finally decided to disclose, "I gave him a charm–something to protect him. One I carved myself."
He reached into a small drawer behind the counter and drew out a rough stone disc, jagged and imperfect, strung on a thin cord. The stone's surface sculpted with a warding script, the grooves darkened with ash. It pulsed faintly under the Avatar's touch, and then it dimmed again, as if exhausted.
"Sangdan discovered it shattered next to Rensu's body," murmured the alchemist.
His eyes, for once, did not meet the Avatar's. "If he used the bloodvine...he meant to banish something or someone. I still don't know what the brass mirror or the tools were for."
The floor beneath the Avatar's feet hummed again—low, steady, and too alive to be just another vibration. It wasn't the same as the wrongness that clung to the shelves or the breathing from the jars. No...this was trapped. Muffled. Warded. Afraid. Whatever was below had been hidden not just from the village, not just from the spirits—but from the earth itself.
Bhudev pressed his palm to the worn wooden planks. He closed his eyes. A faint whisper escaped his lips, not for Bao's ears, "Show me."
The stone listened. The boards shuddered. Dust rose in a stable, hazy drift. A grinding sound rolled through the room like distant thunder. Then–crack–a narrow panel splintered inward. It revealed a stone-lined shaft barely two feet across; it plunged into blackness.
From below, something exhaled. A sound like old parchment tearing, it shaped into a word, "Ava...taaar..."
Air rushed upward, cool and damp, and it skimmed past the Avatar's face as if someone gasped as they surfaced from deep water. Somewhere below, a seal had broken. Behind the counter, Bao didn't flinch. His stillness was unnatural–not the startled stiffness of a man caught, but the noiseless posture of someone who had been waiting.
Then he sighed. Not in frustration, but in resignation, "I told it you'd come."
He turned his back to the Avatar, as if the hole in the floor meant nothing, "But I hoped you've never looked beneath."
He made no move to stop him. No cry for him to close the shaft. Bao went on almost reverently, "It begged for freedom."
"So I did what I could—contained it. Fed it scraps of old spirit wood and dreams stolen from the fevered villagers," he confessed to being responsible for the current state of Meiyun's Hollow.
Bhudev's gaze darkened, "You kept this from the village?"
Bao's hand hovered over a jar; he brushed its side as if in thought.
"It's not evil, Bhudev. Just...forgotten. And hungry," he defended his actions and the spirit.
The whisper from below came again, softer this time–it pleaded. The stone walls of the shaft trembled ever so slightly, like a creature who shivered in the cold. The charm in Bhudev's hand pulsed faintly, like a slow heartbeat of something far away.
From the shaft below, the hum came again–it calls out to the Avatar, but not with hate. With hope, maybe fear, or perhaps both. Bhudev closed his large fingers over the stone disc; he drew in a steady breath. Whatever was down there, he felt he couldn't have faced it alone. Not with Bao standing just a few steps away, his calmness too careful, his eyes too unreadable.
With a low, controlled motion, Bhudev pressed both palms to the floor. The earth shifted in a deep sigh that grinded as the shaft closed. A gap in the floorboards big enough for an adult man to fall in was left behind. The humming below muffled again into stillness.
"You'll leave it?" Bao asked quietly, almost like a challenge.
The Avatar hadn't answered. He turned and stepped out into the humid night. The air was heavier than usual; it carried something unseen at his back until the apothecary's door shut behind him. The path to the Banyan Grove is colder now than before, though the air hadn't truly cooled. By the time the Avatar stepped into the clearing, the wind had died entirely. Leaving the trees in an uncanny, listening stillness. At the heart of the grove stood the old tree, its gnarled trunk twisted skyward. Roots clawed out of the soil like reaching hands. Beneath it lay a smooth, circular stone dais, half-buried under leaf litter and damp earth.
And there—a mirror, its brass frame damaged, half-sunken into the wood of the trunk. It reflected not the canopy overhead, but a sky that wasn't its own—violet and streaked with strange shifting clouds. As Bhudev stepped closer, the mirror's surface flickered like disturbed water. And then—
A voice entered his mind, low and female.
"Bhudev...you came. But not soon enough."
His head turned instinctively. She stood in the clearing—a gray-skinned spirit and hollow-eyed, her form wreathed in drifted coils of black smoke. Yet while her silhouette was calm, even humble, she bowed low before him.
"I was the friend...I took the shape of Wenrou, Constable Sangdan's dearly departed, and asked him to write me a letter to you," she revealed, her voice both in his mind and around him.
"Rensu tried to banish something that wore my shape. I gave him the charm, told him to find you. But the false one...the mimic...she killed him before the ritual finished," the spirit frowned. The smoke around her curled in tighter ribbons as she took a step closer.
"It took my place in the village, someone there...helped it," she said, her eyes were deep and hollow, but they weren't unkind–fixed on his.
"If you don't finish what he started, it will take another life...maybe even..." the spirit paused, Bhudev calm.
She resumed, "...yours."
The mirror behind her shimmered again, and for a moment, he saw his reflection there—eyes hollow, skin gray, smoke curled from his mouth. Then the image was gone.
Bhudev exhaled. He felt centered again. His spirit opened like a lotus in the moonlight. The grove shifted—his physical form faded into luminous essence. The trees rose impossibly tall, their bark flowed with veins of memory that glowed. The stone dais hummed with an ancient protective script, untouched by time.
The mirror was a doorway, not a reflection. And the 'friendly' spirit, her sorrowful form cracked and flickered until the ash-gray skin and mourning veil peeled away to reveal something else entirely. A grin, too broad. She was grotesque, no longer beauteous to the eye; nightmarish faces protruded from her abdomen. Any normal person would've soiled themselves and run for their lives. But not Bhudev, he's seen an excess amount of monstrous-appearing spirits in his active years of Avatarhood.
She hissed at the Avatar as her jaw lengthened slightly, "Ah...so you see me now, little bridge."
"Your friend was real, but now her bones feed the grove, and I wore her face," the evil spirit said.
The mimic sank deeper into the trunk and roots of the banyan tree, confident it could vanish back into the dark. But it forgot who Bhudev was, the Avatar's shribbled in anger, his eyes flashed white, and the air cracked like a thunderclap. The broken salt lines blazed to life in a spiraling ring of fire. It raced outward in perfect symmetry. The old glyphs scorched into brilliance by his will, the flames didn't feed on the wood of the grove–it only isolated the apparition.
A ring of truth—of judgment. The mimic screamed—its stolen shape melted into its proper form: a long-limbed shadow, its surface a blur of smudged faces and whispering mouths. The mouths spoke in a dead language similar to the village's children. The faces screamed in pain along with their wearer. In one breath, he saw the mimic desperately attempt to shapeshift into Rensu, then Bao, and then a disfigured reflection of Bhudev.
"You can't bind me!" the mimic hissed.
"I've tasted too many names, I know your fears, Avatar!" it screamed.
The mimic lunged at the Avatar, then jerked back as if struck. In his pocket, the charm created by Bao pulsed faintly...alive. The center of the mirror rippled again, and this time, another figure emerged—soft, glowing, flickering at the edges. It was her...Shuilian, the protector of this village. She was still gray like a stone, exactly how the mimic appeared. Perhaps, it had something to do with the mirror? They cast her into the brass mirror.
"Avatar...finish it! Shout the name of the spirit to banish it!" Her voice faded, but the echo lingered. The mimic writhed in the fire, her many faces twisted, desperate for a shape to hide behind.
Bhudev drew the charm from his pocket, the twin to the one shattered beside Rensu's body. Its surface hummed with a timeless rhythm. The mimic froze as she watched it.
Rensu's voice threaded into the Avatar's mind, calm and steady, "Break it, Bhudev! The charm was not crafted to protect you! It was forged to imprison the mimic! Its name is Mienmu!"
The Avatar's grip tightened, his breath unshakeable. His strength crushed the stone disc; it burst into shards of blinding light as he cried out, "Mienmu!" It spiraled down into the ring of fire like falling stardust.
The mimic shrieked—not in rage, but in remembrance. The flames contracted, the glyphs lifted inward like jaws. They dragged the shadow down into the earth. The masks dispersed into thin air, one by one, until nothing remained but the void of their true self. Bound once again.
The grove exhaled, and the fire faded. The mirror's surface cracked not in anger, but in relief. Shuilian's spirit manifested before the Avatar. Her skin was a stone blue color, her eyes bright, no longer sunken; now, instead of faces, she held a glowing lantern, the spirits of those lost in the wetlands of Anlu lit her way, the once veil of black smoke that encircled the mimic was mist that surrounded the swamp spirit.
"You ended what Rensu died to begin. The balance here is fragile, Avatar. But it can heal now," breathed Shuilian. She dissolved into the mist, the banyan roots coiled inward, as if resting at last.
The mirror's fractured surface glowed faintly, its light the same violet as the sky inside it. Bhudev stepped toward it, the dust from the charm still warm in his palm. Now it only gave a reflection of himself, but there was a pull there, it was gentle and specific. The Avatar took one last breath of the grove's moist air and placed his palm on the center.
Half of his arm passed through it, then he took a step inside. The world bent, light and shadow twisted like a braided thread. Then he was gone, the Spirit World took him. He entered a plane between breath and tranquility, where rivers curved upward into the sky, and constellations hummed with voices he's never met but he knew the names of. The banyan tree existed here too, but taller, unburned, golden with ancient light. Its roots spread endlessly.
Rensu sat beneath it, where he waited patiently as if he had bided his time for the arrival of the Avatar. He looked up with tired and kind eyes. His spirit was whole here–no longer broken by fear or betrayal. He offered no bow, only a friendly smile.
"I knew you'd come, even if I wouldn't live to see it," cheered Rensu.
Bhudev knelt across from him. He spoke to the Avatar like wind through hollow reeds, "I tried to fight it alone. I was foolish. I thought my faith could unmask it. But it knew me better than I knew myself. It whispered to me like a friend. It wore my face before it wore my bones."
He reached into the soil and withdrew a seedling made of light and memory.
Then he said, "But you...you listened. You didn't chase rage, you sought truth."
"This is all I can offer you now," proffered Rensu as he placed the seed into the Avatar's hands.
"Plant it in a place where people have forgotten themselves, where fear pretends to be law. Where masks stay on too long," advised Rensu.
"And remind them, the Avatar sees," finished the former village elder. He faded, not with grief, but serenity, as if he meant to be part of the Grove.
Avatar Bhudev awakened back in his body. The mirror had vanished. In his palm, a spirit-seed glowed faintly; it pulsed with the heart of Rensu. A single root formed—it waited for soil, for justice, for purpose, and rebirth. Balance mended, but the world still trembled in crevices he hasn't yet seen. The Avatar knew that his time in Meiyun's Hollow hadn't ended. He still had one loose end he needed to tie.
Bhudev's shadow stretched long across the cobblestones as he lumbered into the apothecary again. The air inside no longer carried the warmth of the herbs and tea. Instead, it was stale and intense as though the walls themselves held their breath.
Bao seemed to be in a hurried state, as if he rushed to pack things to leave town abruptly. He focused on arranging his things; he didn't notice the Avatar returned. He cried out in fright when the Avatar exhaled air from his mouth. One jar fell out of his grasp and shattered on the floor. He dashed to the counter and attempted to remain calm. He folded his hands neatly on the countertop, his expression stripped of the friendly mask he'd worn before.
"I-I didn't kill Rensu," Bao trembled. He took a deep breath to compose himself.
"But I did feed what killed him. I kept it contained, or so I tell myself. It was better that I fed it scraps rather than let it wander free. I lied to everyone, including you," he admitted with guilt, but his gaze didn't waver.
"Exile me. That will end it," Bao suggested.
Bhudev's eyes narrowed slightly, "Exile isn't the cure for rot, Bao. I'll tell you what, wait outside and I'll announce to the townspeople of your exile," the Avatar lied through his teeth. Bao's judgment was set in stone.
The apothecary hesitated, then stepped through the doorway into the open town square. The mist hung low, lanternlight bent through it in dim halos. A few villagers gathered—drawn by the Avatar's return.
Bhudev followed, when Bao least expected it, the elder Avatar stomped forward and swung his arms down, then upward. A cone of earth broke through the ground and trapped the apothecary. He struggled and tried to break free, but to no avail. He cried out for mercy, but his tears were ignored. Madam Xiulan watched from the balcony of her home, and Tuk came out to see what the noise was about.
"Bao of Meiyun's Hollow," the Avatar's voice boomed, like lightning that struck a mountain.
"You harbored a false spirit. You fed it the dreams of your neighbors, you let it wear the face of Shuilian. These are your crimes," Bhudev's voice echoed along the pathways of the hamlet. Most of the townspeople were present.
Bao screamed as Bhudev's eyes lit up, the Avatar furious, then the air around Bao shifted. A whisper of wind coiled around his head. He struggled while imprisoned, his eyes bulged, and appeared bloodshot. Then silence.
"No blood," Bhudev murmured, his voice low enough for the accused.
"No struggle, just stillness," whispered the Avatar.
His airways constricted, and Bao's last breath left him soundlessly. His body sagged in the earthen hold before the ground took him back. The villagers did not cheer; they only watched as the Avatar turned to face Bao's shop. He inhaled slowly, he drew heat up from his core, and flame bloomed in his hands—controlled, precise, a craftsman's fire. It leapt the exterior walls inside the hut, from shelf to shelf, beam to beam; this was not vengeance. It was a cleanse.
The fire ate the shadows from the walls; it left nothing but bright, honest ash. When it was done, the rest of the village still stood in awe. Bhudev paced into the remains and knelt. He planted the spirit-seed deep into the blackened soil where the counter once stood.
"Mercy would've let him keep breathing," Bhudev declared to himself.
"But justice makes sure no one else does in his place," he whispered.
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of smoke and damp earth away from the hollowed shop. Somewhere beyond the fog, the grove exhaled. The fire had long since died, the spirit-seed buried deep, hidden from view, but already it hummed faintly in the ground.
When the Avatar stepped back into the square, the mist had thickened; it clung to every lamplight and turned the faces of the villagers into pale shapes in the dark. They stood in silence—they didn't crowd him, nor did they call out—just observed. An older woman clasped a string of prayer beads in her hands, the rhythm of her fingers unbroken as her eyes tracked him.
A group of fishermen stared openly, their expressions caught between relief and unease. A little girl hid behind her mother's skirt. She peered out long enough for the Avatar to meet her gaze before she vanished again.
No one spoke or neared him.
The constable stood off to one side, hands wrapped behind his back, his face unreadable. He gave the Avatar a short nod—not of approval, or condemnation, simply acknowledgment. It seems the villagers wanted him to say something, to explain or justify his actions. But he didn't, and the rumors reflected his demeanor.
The legends were true.
The skies above began to shift from dark hues to pink and orange again. He knew it was his time to get back to his Anila. He turned toward the southern entrance of the village, where his faithful companion Alburuz peacefully slept. Behind him, the villagers finally began to murmur. Some whispers ‘thanks', others questions.
One man uttered, "Justice."
Trivia[]
- Anila means "wind" can also mean "air" or "breath" in Sanskrit. अनिला
- Harzin means "heart" in Yiddish. האַרץ
- Sangdan means "panic-stricken" in Chinese. 喪膽
- Tuk means "young man" in Turkish.
- Seyri means "course, flow, progress" in Turkish.
- Wenrou means "gentle and soft" in Chinese. 溫柔
- Xiulan means "rotten" in Chinese. 朽爛
- Rensu was a name found on a random name generator.
- Bao means "cold in manner" in Chinese. 薄
- Mienmu means "veil of faces" in Chinese. 面幕
- Shuilian means "water lotus" in Chinese. 水蓮
- Alburuz was named after a famous mountain range in Iran named Alborz. البرز
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