Gauri worked quickly, driven by the cold fear of exsanguination. She took the blade and snapped off most of the wooden shaft of the arrow, breaking the length that protruded from her shoulder.
The metal arrowhead, however, remained deeply pierced into her shoulder joint. She knew, with the deadly certainty of a veteran, that if she attempted to remove the main part of the arrow now, a fountain of blood would erupt, and she would bleed to death within minutes.
The arrow, in a twisted form of medical irony, was acting as a temporary plug, blocking the immediate hemorrhage.
She moved slowly, agonizingly, toward the tree where Rudraksha sat, rooted under the thick canopy. She sat beside him, leaning against the rough bark, breathing in heavy, ragged gasps. The coldness of the weather was bearable; the coldness of her soul was not.
She turned to her son. Rudraksha was silent, his young eyes wide with a terrifying knowledge, gazing at her with a mix of deep love and bewildered fear. For a fleeting moment, Gauri saw the image of her son biting the man's throat, a savagery she herself could barely match. She violently shook her head, dismissing the terrifying memory.
She opened her one good arm. "Come here, my son."
In a lightning burst of speed, Rudraksha hurled himself into his mother's embrace. He held her tightly, burying his face into her chest, sobbing quietly.
"Maa," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Thank you for saving me. Please, don't leave me, Maa. I also didn't know what came over me… that I killed one."
Gauri held him close, gently patting his back, her own pain momentarily forgotten. "Hush, my little warrior. Don't feel guilty. You have done the only right thing you could. We are alive because of your courage. And I will never leave you, my child. Never."
Rudraksha looked up to see his mother's face. It was bruised, streaked with mud and blood, but it still radiated the fierce, protective beauty that he adored. "I understand, Maa. Promise me then. I will listen to your every instruction, always."
Gauri smiled, a gentle, genuine smile that pierced the darkness. She pressed her forehead against his, a silent pledge. "Yes, my little warrior. I promise you."
For a few minutes, they remained locked in that embrace, the physical warmth of their bodies repelling the encroaching cold. It was a private moment of solace, a rest for their battered souls, a silent recalibration of their fractured world.
Rudraksha finally turned his worried gaze to the arrow shaft protruding from her shoulder. "Maa, I know you are in great pain. Should we remove this? I can help."
Gauri shook her head. "No need, my love. It can be done later. We need to go for Zarakan. He is still alive."
"Zarakan?" Rudraksha exploded, shaking his head vehemently. "No, no, no, Maa! We don't! We need to escape! This is the safest option. We can disappear now!"
Gauri fell silent for a few seconds, her eyes distant, calculating her options. In this wounded state, can I survive until the next day alone in the wild? The darkness is coming. My son can survive the journey, but I am not sure I can.
Her mind little agreeing with her son; escape was the most rational choice. But more than her survival, there was her purpose. She needed the answers that only Zarakan held.
"It will be done in a few minutes," Gauri finally said, her voice hard. "My son, you must understand. If he is left alive, he will be a venomous root. He will return for us. He is not just an enemy; he is a map to us."
Rudraksha, seeing the cold, unyielding logic in her eyes, nodded slowly. He knew his mother was right. The cycle of fear would never end unless the source was completely eliminated.
Gauri, with agonizing effort, pulled herself onto the captured horse. She positioned Rudraksha safely in front of her, clutching him with her right arm. Then, they charged straight back down the alley, toward Zarakan's position.
Zarakan, still propped up against the tree in the downpour, was growing increasingly anxious. Why are they taking so long? Even with losses, they should have subdued a single woman by now.
The impossible prediction arose in his mind: Did that witch kill them all and escape? He quickly shook his head and laughed at his own foolish thought. Seven men against one wounded woman? Impossible.
He tried desperately to stand, managing to get to his feet with the support of a broken branch, but his injured leg was completely numb. He collapsed back to the ground in frustration. It's useless. I need to get out of this cursed forest.
It was then he heard it—the distinct sound of a horse's hooves approaching. Relief washed over him. They are here! He braced himself, ready to be lifted to safety.
But his relief curdled into terror. Only one horse was coming.
As the horse drew near, he saw the rider. Zarakan's eyes, already wide with pain, dilated with pure horror. He saw Gauri—blood-soaked, mud-caked, the arrow protruding from her shoulder—a vision of a triumphant, terrifying demon. And on her face was the terrifying indifference of a god of death.
Zarakan's jaw dropped. He stammered, his body shaking with a pure, psychological dread. His voice chocked, "Wait… don't come near… Where are my men?… It can't be…"
Gauri dismounted with difficulty. She spoke plainly, without emotion. "Yes, I killed them all. As you can see, only I am here. And you."
Zarakan screamed, a raw sound of sheer panic. "Go away, witch! Go away! Or my father… my father will find you!"
Gauri smirked, walking slowly toward him, dragging Zarakan's own sword. "Save your father's name. Think for yourself now. I once spared you on that battlefield long ago. I will not now. Don't worry, your father will meet you soon."
Gauri delivered a sharp, open-handed slap across Zarakan's face. He instantly shut up, his eyes widening in primal terror. The physical pain was nothing compared to the dread of her torture techniques, which he knew were swift and horrifying.
"I can spare you this time also," Gauri lied, her voice an ice-cold whisper. "But you need to tell me what I ask."
"What?" Zarakan gasped, his breath ragged. "Tell me! I will answer everything!"
Gauri stopped, her fierce, dark aura radiating palpable threat. She asked the question that had burned in her soul for over a decade.
"Where is that man, 'Zhao'?"
Rudraksha, listening intently, felt a shiver of fear run down his spine, not from the external cold, but from his mother's terrifying, dark intensity. The word 'Zhao' was alien, spoken with a dialect he had never heard. He realized the question was the very heart of his mother's pain.
The thunder rumbled, punctuating the silence. Zarakan tried to hold out, but Gauri was relentless.
"Tell me, Zarakan! Where is that man now?" Gauri screamed, her foot slamming down onto Zarakan's chest, applying agonizing pressure.
Zarakan broke.
"I… I only know that he is from the Far East!" he stammered, tears streaming down his face. "He belongs to a great dynasty—the greatest this land has ever witnessed! I saw him a few times but don't about him very much."
Gauri remained silent, her gaze unwavering. Zarakan, desperate to buy his life, spilled the final secret.
"W...ait....Wait! I only know that he and his army helped us conquer your nation and the surrounding tribes! But then he went back to his homeland! The pact between them is only known to my King and my father! Please! This is all I know! Don't kill me!"
Gauri slowly removed her foot from his chest. She sighed, a deep, weary sound of despair and crushing helplessness.
The man she hated most, the architect of her destruction and humiliation, was impossible to find—hidden behind the walls of a foreign, powerful dynasty. To reach him, she would have to challenge the royalty and authority of her entire continent, a task impossible for a lone, wounded woman.
She looked at Zarakan. He was exhausted, broken, useless. His information was spent.
She slowly raised Zarakan's sword, the rain washing the blood from the blade. This had all been a necessary bluff. From the moment he threatened her son, she had never intended for this vile man to leave the forest alive.
Zarakan realized it instantly. The panic in his eyes turned to suicidal fury. He saw a knife lying nearby—a small, discarded dagger that one of his men had used to briefly cut his rope earlier.
In a last, impossible act of vengeful strength, Zarakan used the tree branch to lever himself up. He snatched the dagger, letting out a short, pathetic cry, and leaped toward Gauri. He bypassed her chest, her face, and targeted her most vulnerable point: her already compromised left arm and shoulder.
"Die, witch!" he screamed.
He brought the dagger down with the full force of his desperate, dying rage, severing the tendons and slicing through muscle and bone at the thinnest point of the upper arm, just below the shoulder.
Gauri let out a blood-curdling, desperate scream of pain as the arm, already weakened by the deep horizontal gash and the arrow, was completely severed from her body.