Work Text:
Remember, my children: Do not stray from the path. You will feel safe. You will feel clean, with warm stone beneath your feet. But the blood is always lapping at your ankles, ready to drag you into darkness once it senses a weakness of faith. Never think yourself above that weakness. Even the King’s most loyal warrior was tempted by evil when it came to him wearing a beautiful face.
- An excerpt from the last writings of the delusional Priest Narash. Rest assured, this traitor has been arrested and executed by Our Glorious King Pagan Min for his crimes of spreading heretical doctrine. May His light shine upon us all.
Ajay’s mother never taught her son to speak her native language. The boy picked up some words here and there, of course, just from hearing her speak to herself around the house. (Including one word that Ishwari had shouted after dropping a kettle on her bare toes, and firmly told Ajay not to repeat. He took to muttering it at bullies on the playground. It wasn’t like any of them would understand him anyway.) And even now, if Ajay closed his eyes and hummed, he could remember some of the Kyrati songs that his mother used to sing him to sleep with, even if he’d never understood the lyrics.
Now, waist-deep in a river of blood and surrounded by shrieking demons, Ajay wished he’d at least bought a pocket dictionary or something. Because he was currently saying something that was probably very important, but he had no fucking idea what was coming out of his mouth. Was it even his mouth? That wasn’t his voice. And this wasn’t his body. But it certainly felt like he was here. The searing pain that exploded in his side as a demon shot a burst of flame at him definitely wasn’t all in his imagination. Ajay cursed in the voice of an ancient warrior and ducked behind a wall as he commanded his tiger to bring the demon down.
He’d visited Shangri-La a few times now, and he still wasn’t sure if this was a genuine moment of religious rapture like the kind of thing Sabal talked about, or if he was just high off his ass from the five different illicit substances that Yogi and Reggie had pumped into his bloodstream without asking.
He should...probably stop visiting those guys, come to think of it. Fool him twice and all that.
At least he’d gotten the formula down for surviving these visits. Take a couple minutes to admire the scenery of whatever picturesque place he’d been dropped off at, stab a metric fuckton of demons, spin a few wheels, ring a bell, wake up with a killer hangover. It felt kind of sacrilegious to reduce what must be sacred Kyrati lore to a five-step plan, but Ajay was getting really tired of being set on fire, okay.
Ajay warped time between his fingers. A volley of arrows scattered the demons approaching his shoddy hiding place. He reached for his quiver, heart dropping when he realized he was almost out. The demons just wouldn’t stop coming; he was well and truly screwed this time.
The shrieks, smoke, and volleying arrows all belied the peaceful landscape. Red leaves crinkled gently under Ajay’s feet as he ran towards the gentle gurgle of a river in the distance. He didn’t know if it would be deep enough to hide, but he had to try.
He was almost at the water when he realized his tiger hadn’t followed him. It had stayed behind, fighting his battle for him, and Ajay felt guilt wash through his body just thinking about the beating it was probably taking. He turned around. He just needed to get close enough to call it back, and then-
"नहीं।"
Ajay’s heart stopped. Never once, in these visions, had someone spoken to him. He turned towards the direction the voice had come from, and saw a demon walking out from the trees that guarded the river. Except...it was different. It had the shape of a man. It wore a mask and little else. But it carried itself differently than the monsters did. The way it approached Ajay was confident, but somehow gentle.
The demon said something else he didn’t understand, and Ajay found himself speaking back in a tone of confusion. As their un-conversation unfolded, Ajay found himself staring at the demon’s mask. He’d seen that face before. He was no expert on Kyrati religion, but he’d had enough of Yalung’s image to last him a lifetime.
And yet, Ajay wasn’t scared. The demon’s voice was soft, almost seductive in its cadence. Ajay didn’t know why, but he trusted it.
The demon raised its arm, pointing behind Ajay. Ajay turned to see his tiger, his faithful protector, limping towards them. Ajay broke into a grin and moved to greet it. He was stopped by the demon’s hand on his arm.
Ajay met the eyes of the demon’s mask. It shook its head and repeated something it had said before. Gently - so gently - it lifted Ajay’s wrist, aiming his bow towards the tiger.
Wait. What?
Ajay tried to put the bow down. He tried to pry himself free. But his body wouldn’t listen to him. It knew that the demon knew best. This needed to happen. Even though-
His arrow was nocked. His tiger sat still, complacent, watching to see what he would do. Judging him.
Ajay closed his eyes. He was too much of a coward to see what he did.
Ajay woke up. By now, he was familiar with the feeling of the thin carpet he’d laid out in his family’s homestead. What wasn’t so familiar was the sight of another person’s boots in front of his face.
He pushed himself up, fighting off vertigo and fumbling for a weapon. His vision was still blurry, but anyone in his house without his permission was bad news.
(If Yogi and Reggie had busted back in, he swore to fuck he was going to-)
“Ah, brother. You’re back with us.”
His eyes weren’t up to speed yet, but his ears would recognize that voice anywhere. “Sabal? What are you doing here? Did the groundskeeper let you in? I told him-”
Sabal leaned down and offered Ajay his hand. “Brother, one of my men found you wandering up the mountain in a trance. He couldn’t get your attention, and he couldn’t stop you. I came to ensure your safety.”
Oh. So that was what happened to his body while his mind was off in Shangri-La La Land. Good to know.
“Sorry for freaking you out,” Ajay muttered, letting himself be pulled to his feet. “It was the...” He gestured to the fragmented painting on the wall. Nearly complete now.
Sabal’s face lit up like Ajay had never seen before. “Yes! Kalinag’s thangka. It wasn’t lost after all. I should have known the Son of Mohan would be the one to find it.” He approached the painting and surveyed it with a critical eye before turning back to Ajay with a smile. Shit, Sabal looked good when he smiled. He should do that more.
“Not only that,” Sabal continued, “but your soul was touched, wasn’t it?”
Ajay scratched the back of his head. “I...start dreaming when I look at these, if that’s what you’re asking.” He almost said I trip balls, but that probably wouldn’t have gone down well with Mr. Religious over here.
Sabal gripped Ajay’s upper arms. “Do you understand what this means? Not just anyone can experience the thangka’s journey, brother.”
It was late. The only light in the house came from the candles Ajay had placed on his awkward excuse for a shrine. It felt like the house should have one, if only in his mother’s memory. Now, the candlelight caught Sabal’s dark eyes, and Ajay couldn’t tell if it was a trick of the light or if Sabal was being really intense.
Sabal shook his head in disbelief. “Kyra could not have given me a more clear sign. She brought you to me, and now she gives you this...you are a destined savior, Son of Mohan.”
“Ajay,” Ajay blurted out.
Sabal’s rare smile faded. Ajay’d fucked up. “I’m sorry?”
Ajay already wanted to tell him to forget it. Whatever. He’d grabbed the shovel, he might as well keep digging his hole. “My name is Ajay. Not - not ‘Son of Mohan.’ Not ‘brother.’ Although I know - I’m sure that’s some sort of, like, cultural thing and I don’t want to be, y’know, insensitive, but please, just. Call me Ajay. Ajay Ghale.”
He didn’t mean to emphasize the American pronunciation, but there it was. AJ Gale. Yet another degree of separation he could put between himself and his father. He didn’t know the details yet, but he was rapidly getting the impression that Mohan was not the saint Sabal made him out to be. Ajay didn’t want to be in Mohan’s shadow.
(Not to mention that, if Ajay ever did catch Sabal’s interest in the way he wanted to, the last thing he wanted Sabal moaning in bed was his father’s name. But that was a distant concern, and he felt like an ass for even thinking about it right now. Civil war and crimes against humanity came first.)
Sabal blinked. “I’m sorry, br- Ajay. I didn’t know it would upset you. Your father is a great man, you should be proud-”
“I know,” Ajay interrupted, knowing all too well that Sabal wasn’t the kind of guy you interrupted. “It’s just...not something we do back home.” He cringed at himself for falling back on that excuse. But he couldn’t just come out and tell Sabal, I’m taking back your country for you. Can’t you at least say my name?
Sabal chuckled and clapped Ajay’s shoulder. “What are you talking about? We’re sitting in your home.”
And Ajay didn’t know what to say to that, and Sabal’s face was really close to his, and the only response that came out of him was a nervous laugh. Smooth.
Sabal cupped Ajay’s face in his hands. His palms were rough, weathered by years of work, and shockingly warm. Ajay worried they might burn him.
“Don’t worry. Trust me, Ajay.”
Ajay nodded without thinking. He didn’t even know if he meant it.
He didn’t even know if that mattered.