The remnants of disaster littered the village, far worse than the elder purifiers suggested when they assigned me to investigate. There wasn't much need for inquiry. I felt it even before reaching the community: the residue of magic thrumming in the aftermath of a torrential storm.
        The work of a demon, souls trapped between the cycles of the wheel of life, beings whose tether to the world remained even after all flesh and sensation had dissolved.
       I twisted the end of my long braid, tense as I took in the wreckage before me: buildings crushed by fallen rocks and trees, roads devoured by landslides, debris strewn like bits of shattered ceramic. The people endured it grimly by the distant look in their eyes and the shadow of grief that knotted their expressions. This was a community in mourning.
       Here, high along the terraced slopes of towering mountains, the damage was mitigated. But the valley floor suffered the brunt of the flood's destruction. Fields, markets, and homes were buried beneath deposits of mud and silt from the swollen river, which now receded. How many people lay broken beneath all that carnage, destined to rot in the dirt? Their ashes would never reach the seas of rebirth.
       Gut wrenching, I looked away, only to face the probing, bewildered gazes of more and more villagers. Their reactions were nothing new. I was a contradiction. The talwar at my hip, the saffron kurti that draped past my knees, the white and vermillion mark on my forehead signifying my advanced rank as a purifier of the Yajankhya--these symbols and talismans weren't supposed to belong to a girl of sixteen. But with nine demons sealed and the strongest magic in generations of purifiers, I'd been hailed a prodigy.
       I never thought of it that way. Such abilities and accomplishments had only brought me pain. The Yajankhya insisted on calling our work 'purification,' but imprisonment was a better word. Each time I took a demon, I damned another soul and lost a piece of my humanity. There had to be a better way.
       I pressed onward, wincing as the chime of my anklets drew more attention. My hand found the hilt of the talwar, a well-worn reflex engraved deeper with every peril I faced. But as my fingers wrapped around the cold steel, the whispers of the demons trapped inside strained at the edges of my mind, soft and anguished. I yanked my hand away as if I'd touched a bed of coals. The voices faded.
       My thoughts turned to the flute tucked in my waistband, and I imagined--as I so often did at times like this--playing it like I used to before the Yajankhya took me away. At first, it soothed me, making the world seem brighter, closer, and more wondrous. Soon, it grew into something more, the music reaching deeper and deeper until it tapped into hidden power within me.
       Magic was playful then, not anything like the dreadful duty that bound me now. I longed to have those moments back, but I couldn't play the flute anymore. Its music roused the demons in the talwar into an agonizing frenzy. Despite that, I couldn't bear to part with it.
       In the village center, life carried on as normally as it could. Even the cursed must eat, as they said. Merchants hawked their wares from streetside carts laden with spices, butchered meats, or bright fruits and vegetables. Craftsmen toiled on the dirt floors of their workshops. Rotis steamed on tawas before they were brushed with ghee, stacked, and wrapped in muslin. The scents of ginger and garlic frying in hot pans, fire smoke, livestock and the manure they left behind filled my sinuses.
       Only the bleak expressions of those left too long with their thoughts suggested they'd endured something terrible. That, and the pulse of the demon's lingering magic, a nauseating trill that made my head swim. I had to find the demon before it struck again.
       I approached a man sipping chai as he sat in the shade of an apricot tree. He shifted, concealing his discomfort with a respectful bow of his head. It was the same everywhere; they'd rather I do my work and leave quickly.
       "I'm blessed to meet you," he lied. "Purifier. . ."
       "A'shan," I answered. "I'm looking for the temple of Dayakirti."
       "You'll have to climb a little higher." He paused the furrows of his brow deepening. "It was truly a demon, then?"
       I nodded.
       An ugly mask of sorrow and anger twisted his features. "It must have been a savage creature during its life to cause so much violence. I--"
       "It's not like that," I said more forcefully than I intended. "They get trapped in the memory of hurt. They're suffering, and suffering creatures lash out."
       The man glowered, reminding me that I should've kept silent. Sympathy for demons would only sow distrust among the lay folk. As practitioners of magic, purifiers were already the outcasts of society, chained to the Yajankhya, where we were taught to control our power and become captors of anguished souls. The elder purifiers had beaten me for such impulsive remarks before. Our reputation had to remain unsullied; we'd been attacked more than once by those who'd grown too fearful of magic.
       Still, I couldn't help myself. The way people misunderstood demons wasn't so different from how they misunderstood me. We both had to be confined. The Yajankhya fulfilled that role, and I hated it for this.
       "But you will rid us of it, yes?" The man pressed.
       I swallowed past the tightness in my throat and nodded. Another sealed demon meant another layer to the madness and pain. Already, I could sometimes hear the voices without touching the talwar. How many more until I became like the eldest purifiers, eyes hollow and mind splintered by too many tortured cries? The purifiers who retained their sanity assured me I'd grow numb to the guilt and suffering. But I didn't want to become numb. I wanted things to change. Why didn't anyone else want the same?
       "We'll be most grateful. I can still hear people sobbing at night: mothers, fathers, children, lovers. . .too many who lost someone precious to them. Is your demon's suffering more important than ours?"
       I bit back a retort. I knew by now that pain was incalculable; arguments for who deserved less and who could bear more were the words of violence. But now wasn't the time to quarrel.
       Thankfully, the man didn't press further. He drained the last of his chai and stood, stretching until his bones cracked. "Come, then. I'll take you to the temple."
       We trekked beyond the village, over a bridge strung with colorful prayer flags, and up a narrow forest path. The air tasted fresh here, crisp with the fragrance of pine needles from ancient deodars looming around us. Monkeys lounged in their branches, watching.
       The man kept stealing glances at my talwar. I braced myself for the inevitable questions.
       "How does such a blade kill a shapeless demon?" Ah well, at least he hadn't jumped straight to the rumors of burning steel or edges so keen they could cut through stone.
       "It doesn't. It's a talisman that gives expression to my magic." I paused, a frown tugging at my lips. There was a time I wouldn't have been ashamed of that. "Purifiers use them to cut the tether that binds demons, and all other beings, to this world. The talwar becomes their new tether, a chain that ties us."
       "Don't you fear their escape? All the destruction they could cause?"
       "They're powerless without their tether. Besides, no demon has ever escaped. If. . ." I trailed off, leaving the blasphemy unspoken. If it were that easy, I would've freed them by now.
       The man must've sensed my reluctance. He asked no more questions, and we climbed the rest of the way in silence. I liked it better this way; I didn't care for conversation, and anxiousness swallowed my thoughts.
       The elders complained I was too restless, but wasn't every caged animal? I'd even gone kicking and screaming when they dragged me from home. I'd grown bold with my flute, letting the music swell and change the world around me. Young and full of wonder, I didn't realize something so beautiful could be so deeply feared. I cursed the Yajankhya for a long time after that, even after I learned it was my parents who contacted them, who were too afraid of their child's magic to still love her.
       The temple sat atop a cliff overlooking the valley, a retaining wall enclosing its grounds. My guide took his leave and I kicked off my sandals and strode inside, anklets tinkling as my bare feet padded on the cool stone tiles. The temple rose before me, a conical structure of intricately carved stone. Motifs depicting gods and sacred symbols covered the walls. Garlands of marigold draped from the lintel over the door leading to the inner shrine.
       The Pujari, an old man robed in white, emerged from a building on the edge of the courtyard and started at the sight of me. I pressed my palms together and bowed, introducing myself.
       Regaining his composure, he returned the gesture. "It is my honor to welcome you, Purifier A'shan. If this was the work of a demon, then we're indebted to you for coming." His words and demeanor were kind, but I recognized that hesitant flicker in his eyes. My presence alone fouled the sanctity of the temple. I was a lesser evil who suffered to eliminate a greater one.
       "Can we begin," I asked. "I need to complete the purification before it strikes again."
       The Pujari stiffened at the implication, color draining from his face. "I will prepare the puja. Please join me when you are ready."
       He disappeared into the temple while I circled it nine times, whispering the mantra the Yajankhya had drilled into me as I tried to achieve a calm state. When that didn't work, I found myself rubbing the smooth, oiled wood of the flute, drawing comfort from the memory of playing it.
       The tightness in my shoulders and chest eased a little. Not completely, but more than I could usually manage; it was always there to some extent, burdening me. Finally, taking a deep breath, I entered the inner sacred space: the womb of the temple.
       The darkness was thick. Heavy. Smoke curled in the air, carrying with it the heady musk of sandalwood. The Pujari's soft chanting resonated as he anointed the idol of the god with milk and honey.
       I sat cross-legged behind him, keeping my back straight as the incense made me dizzy. Still chanting, the Pujari turned and handed me a shallow cup of tea steeped with turmeric, tulsi, and other substances I'd never been able to identify.
       I took it and gazed at my reflection through the steam. Then, asking for strength and resolve, I gulped it down. Sweet, bitter, and a burn like fire all the way to my stomach.
       The pain faded slowly, along with the ripples in my mind. My eyelids drooped and a hum vibrated throughout my body, peaking with the rises of the Pujari's chant and lulling with its silent pauses. I swayed a little, my tether reduced to a hairlike thread as the world quivered around me.
       Here, in the womb, I crossed into the realm of the gods--a dreamlike place of uncertain substance, of wheeling colors and shapes, of layered melodies, of memories and things unmanifest, and of pure magic.
       It was a perilous journey where Self grew faint. Drift too far, unbecome too much, and my tether would snap, trapping my wandering mind here forever. But my inner eye had opened wide; focus and clarity kept my tether strong.
       Soon, I detected it, a subtle feeling that played on all my senses and the awareness beyond them: the presence of the demon's magic, wavering between realms. Caught. Bound in suffering.
       It thrashed with feverish abandon, destroying the fragile life around it. I needed just a sliver of its magic, added to my own, so I could confront it in the earthly realm and end this. It went smoothly, like spinning a thread or plucking a single lotus petal. I had a delicate touch, and the demon was distracted by far stronger impressions.
       Sorrow and regret echoed distantly, rising from the depths of my conscience. Could I really do this again to another helpless being? I forced the doubt aside; such feelings could spell disaster for me here, so I focused on my tether, willing myself to be drawn back to my body. Slowly the world solidified, like a reflection in water growing still. The darkness of the womb, the Pujari's soft chanting, the sweet sandalwood smoke, and--
       And pain. Erupting inside me. Spreading from the sliver of magic I'd taken. I doubled over and pressed my hands against my head as the pressure built, dimly aware of the Pujari rushing to keep me from falling over and curling into a ball. He spoke, but his words were a meaningless muddle of sounds.
       The sliver resonated with something: gathering magic, tense like a drawn bow. It could only mean one thing.
       I fought through the waves of pain as I stood and stumbled out of the temple, ignoring the Pujari's protestations. A blanket of grim clouds rolled over the sky.
       The demon's storm.

       I sped through the forest, feet squelching into the soggy earth as rain pounded on my skin. Clouds roiled overhead. A blustery wind whipped through the air as I descended into a ravine, guided by an elusive feeling I recognized only by its wrongness.
       All the while the storm intensified, bowing even the mighty deodars. Flashes of lightning illuminated long, quivering shadows as thunder cracked and rumbled. I was breathless and chilled, but urgency spurred me onward. There was no mistaking it. The demon had been building up to this moment: another monsoon, another flood that would drown families and sweep away homes. I had to find it. I had to--
       There. Something eddying in swirling patterns up ahead, difficult to see through the storm's chaos, like wisps of smoke or the warped air around a hot fire. The demon's sliver of magic waxed stronger as I approached. The voices murmured from within the talwar. They recognized their own. Its suffering amplified theirs.
       I'm sorry it must be this way, I thought, imagining I spoke to it like a dear friend. But my body told another story. My heart raced as cold sweat trickled down my back. My fingers twitched, ready to draw the talwar at a moment's notice. I recited a mantra of protection, careful to keep my voice steady. The vaporous movements shivered, quickening to a frenzied state.
       I stifled the dread rising inside me. I knew what came next, and no number of purifications had ever made it easier. The demon's shapeless presence solidified into a hazy outline of some monstrous creature intent on me.
       The mantra died on my lips. Shimmering lines appeared, weaving together in a glowing braid behind the demon that tied it to the earth.
       Its tether.
       The demon loosed an unnatural howl and lunged forward. Reflex and experience took over. I stepped back and drew the talwar, the voices trapped inside screeching in response. They were torturous but contained enough to endure.
       The demon crashed against the blade like a storm wall, nearly sweeping me away. I stumbled back, gritting my teeth as I planted my foot behind me and struggled to keep the talwar steady. It cleaved through the demon, which burst into tendrils of foggy darkness that scattered through the air. Taking advantage of its temporary retreat, I rushed for the tether, prepared to deliver the strike that would end this.
       But I froze, every muscle in my body resisting. Do it, I told myself. Don't think. It must be done. I'd said these words before, used them to shield myself from overwhelming guilt. Only this time, they were powerless. I couldn't do it. Not again.
       Just then, a voice rang through my mind. Not a tormented cry or ferocious roar, but something soft and human.
       Sanju. . . the demon said mournfully. I shuddered. A name? But how? I looked over my shoulder to find the demon reformed but motionless. I could feel it watching, waiting. Why didn't it attack? It had to hear the wails of other demons trapped within the talwar. But even those voices had grown unusually quiet.
       I swallowed past the lump in my throat, hesitating even though it could mean my death. One cut and this demon would no longer endanger the people of the valley. But the talwar felt heavy, burdened with far too many beings whose weight I suddenly couldn't bear.
       I dropped it. Though my magic remained poised, prickling through me as it sought an outlet. It flowed towards the flute at my hip. No, I thought, panic rising. They'll tear me apart. The talwar was the only talisman that could keep the demons contained. Fusing my magic and theirs without that barrier--how could I survive so much pain?
       Ah.
       Maybe. . .maybe I didn't need to. It was a possibility I'd never been brave enough to consider, a solution that seemed obvious now. If I could end this cycle of suffering, what did it matter if they destroyed me? What exactly was I holding onto?
       I'd grown used to blaming the Yajankhya, but it was to me they were bound. Freedom required sacrifice, and if I truly wanted to bring an end to their imprisonment, then only one sacrifice would do.
       Rather than fill me with despair, this realization instilled a sense of relief, like exhaling a pent breath. I felt lightened, as if my tether uncoiled, bringing me closer to the realm of the gods. The tension that'd gripped me since my magic was first used for violence finally unclenched, opening pathways and flows of power long sealed.
       Abandoning any notion of self-preservation, I reached for the flute and brought it to my lips. The captive demons shrieked, exploding in a thunder of excruciating noise. My surroundings flickered between the rain-beaten forest and a darkness so thick with haunted memories that I thought I'd be trapped in it forever. I squeezed my eyes shut, desperate for it to stop, but the visions seared through my mind.
       And yet beneath it all, the music flowed steady; its rhythm called to me like it'd been waiting all this time for me to find the strength to summon it, demon after demon, through guilt and regret and loathing and grief.
       So, despite the agony of the voices burrowing deep inside me, I began to play.
       The notes sang out like the gush of a mountain stream or the caress of wind through old forests. It was a simple melody but pure and soothing. It swelled from the flute along with my magic, creating harmonies that attuned the demon's world with my own.
       Then, all at once, the voices and the tormented visions ceased. Only the solemn music remained and the startling realization that I was still here doing the impossible: reclaiming my talisman, one not defined by bondage and destruction.
       I opened my eyes and stiffened, nearly causing the music to falter. The demon stood before me, more tangible than any I'd seen before. A woman held onto a young boy, their features formed by white, billowing mist that curled and faded from their bodies. She peered into my eyes. Sorrow and panic filled hers.
       I could see the details of the memory that trapped her: a burning home, flames encroaching, a frantic reach for magic that she obtained only in the moment of death. I watched it all unfold, how she used her newfound magic again and again to summon rain and extinguish the fire, her desperate love overflowing into a surging flood.
       Tears leaked down my face as I continued to play, pleading with her to recognize that it was over, that she'd done all she could, but now it was time to surrender.
       Something changed in her expression. She tilted her head, hearing the music, or its magic, for perhaps the first time. She rose from her stooped position and stopped clutching the crying boy in fear. She laid a gentle hand atop his head, and his crying subsided.
       "Sanju." Her voice echoed, tranquil and tender. He craned back to look at her.
       "Mama."
       She guided him away, escaping the burning memory at last, pausing only to gaze over her shoulder at me.
       "Thank you," she said softly as their tether faded away. And with it, so too did they, vanishing into the air like fog under the midday sun.
       I pulled the flute away from my lips and sat down, trembling as tears rolled over my cheeks. The wind softened, and the rain reduced to a drizzle. As the storm dissipated, I gave in and buried my face in my hands as the quiet crying turned to sobs.
       Free.
       One of them was finally free.
       And after I freed the others, maybe I would be too.