The town was called Hirok, a sleepy, provincial town sprawled out atop a gentle hill, with modest houses of mud-packed walls and timber roofs. The streets swerved around the houses like streams running through a rocky field.
They had roved across a valley of flowers, countless thickets, up and down a forested hill, fording three swift-running streams and one shallow water river, and then past a treacherous rope and plank bridge that swayed too much. When they reached the foot of the highland, a man in an ox cart pointed them to the town up ahead, half a day's climb.
Hirok was warm from the torches on the street. It was evenfall by then, and the streets were already empty. Aksha's feet hurt from the ascent, and the spiritual heat in her belly was draining.
"Does this cursed town not have an inn?" She had lamented to Bali in pain and exhaustion.
The asura prince gallantly found a decent inn, with some knocking and asking around. They paid the innkeeper with Bali's gold necklace, a price too high for a night's stay. The room was no Queen's chamber, but it was adequate, warm and lamp-lit. Aksha took to the bed in her travel-worn garbs and closed her eyes, pondering over what was to come.
A sharp knock on the door awakened her. Bright sunlight streamed in through the open window and washed over her. Aksha pulled herself up, still groggy from sleep, and stumbled over to the door. It was Bali.
"I have made some inquiries," he announced, waiting at the door, looking well-rested, none of the previous night's haggard lines on his face. If he noticed Aksha's untidy state, he ignored it. Yet, Aksha vainly tried to smooth her tangled hair with her fingers. "Next town is four days from here by foot."
"A horse would be nice." Her feet had just stopped throbbing, and another four days on foot sounded too long and far.
Bali gave a nod of understanding. "So would a change of clothes. And a map. The Valley of the Saints is not too far from here." His sable eyes were fixed on Aksha with a hint of curiosity.
It was as if Bali had read her mind. The Valley of the Saints was the home of the all-knowing Bhrigus, the descendants of Sage Bhrigu, the eighth Divine Sage of the realm. After the Merging, enticed by the promise of renown and wealth, the seven divine sages left the east to open a gurukul in the central capital of Amravati. But the eighth sage, Bhrigu, was not lured. It was eons ago, but to Aksha, it seemed like a blink of an eye.
Where the Gurukul of the Seven Sages flourished in fame and number of pupils, Sage Bhrigu's hermitage grew in mystery and righteous appeal that pulled people. Locals boasted of it, swore the Bhrigus were the only true saints of the OneRealm who possessed knowledge beyond the reach of even the highest gods and asuras. Aksha had not thought much of the chatter around Sage Bhrigu's hermitage until now. It had grown so large that they named an entire valley after them, the Valley of the Saints.
True or no, there was no harm in borrowing a piece of that all-knowing insight that the Bhrigus had.
"Since we have made all the way here," Aksha said with a casual shrug, "it would be rude not to pay our respects to the Bhrigu Saints."
Not too long after, the two scrabbled in the town's bazaar, stumbling from shop to shop until they gathered all their necessities. The last stop was a horsedealer. Bali went in while Aksha waited outside the horse shed that reeked of manure and decay.
Across the street, an old man sat on the porch of his home, with a craggy face covered in bristly beard, gray wavy hair that fell to his shoulder, and a lean body covered in muscles that made him look not so old. He drew loudly from his hookah, eyeing Aksha curiously, perhaps on account of her ragged clothes or disheveled looks.
Grass and mud stuck to the hem of her clothes, her sandals worn out from the long, uninterrupted walk for days. She felt the newly bought raiments that were tucked inside the sack hanging from her shoulder, and it eased her. She had never been so filthy and unwashed in her entirety of existence and dreamt of a long, cleansing bath in boiling hot water and being reborn in a new skin….
A horse's whicker tugged Aksha back to the present. Bali had returned in tow with two mares, a white and a chestnut half-breed. They were not as huge as the royal destriers they were riding before, but they were decent-sized and well-groomed.
"These are the best ones he had," Bali said, offering Aksha the reins to the white mare. He seemed skeptical of the purchase. "They should serve the purpose of the journey."
Aksha took the reins from him. When the mare snorted and shook its head, she stroked its neck twice to steady it and strapped her sack to its saddle.
"So long as we don't ride them into a battle," Aksha said with some irony as she pulled herself up across her seat. Their journey so far has been nothing but one battlefield after another.
Bali chuckled, favoring Aksha with a dimpled smile that softened his brusque face.
"You miss your horse," Aksha stated as a matter-of-fact. She remembered how Bali personally tended his black destrier, never overworking the beast.
Bali mounted the small chestnut mare, settling across the plain leather saddle. "Uchchha is the best warhorse in the entire realm," Bali bragged, fondly, "it is difficult not to miss him. He would be safe. He is clever; he would find the way back to the Gold Palace. And if those Aditya priests have any reason left, they would not dare capture the horses." Bali said this as if he was talking to himself.
He gently led his mount over to the main street of the town. Aksha put her heels to her mare and followed after him.
"The white mount you rode…" Bali started.
"What of it?"
"Are you not worried of losing him?" Bali pried.
Aksha responded with a long, tired sigh. "No. Like yours, he would also return to his owner."
"He ran like a trained warhorse. Did you have him for long?"
The question brought a smile to Aksha's lips. "Too long."