Two months later, the once distant snow-capped mountains now towered over the Zakhira tribe's camp. It had taken them nearly half a year to cross the vast grassy plains since the tribe traveled slowly, took many breaks, and met other tribes for trade. They had entered the rocky and sparsely vegetated landscape at the foot of the mountain range, where the cold winds blew from the heights.
From here on out, the Shinoon would find little food, so Amiro left the tribe under his brother's command to continue with a small contingent. Viyal was worried about being attacked by bandits since there were only a dozen riders besides her father and brothers guarding their cart. When she voiced that concern, her mother was surprised at her wisdom.
"Worry not, my child. This sacred land is peaceful, its inhabitants kind. Not one who believes in Azakhal would dare spill blood here," Nayavi explained patiently. Viyal had heard the name Azakhal mentioned many times before and understood him to be a deity the people in these lands believed in.
As they climbed the slope, she looked back at their tribe's camp in the distance. The journey to the Akhma Merkheleh, the Elder of the Mountain, would take three days from here. They would overnight in homesteads along the way. Azakhal's law of hospitality meant they would find shelter with the families living in the region for small contributions and gifts.
Noro and Saro rode right behind their father at the front of the column, curiously taking in the unfamiliar landscape. They were born on the wide-open steppes and never saw a mountain before, let alone climbed one. Behind them came Rowen, seemingly asleep in his headless horse's saddle. Viyal had never seen him not wearing his black armor and crimson hood, even while within the safety of the tribal camp. Perhaps he had a reason not to take it off that went beyond personal safety considerations or preparedness for battle.
Noro and Saro gasped in wonder when they crossed their first mountain pass and looked down at the valley beyond. An evergreen forest blanketed the bottom and grew up the mountains' slopes on all sides. One could not find a single tree on the steppe, so this was the first time in their lives they saw any vegetation tower over them.
The locals maintained the gravel paths for the many pilgrims that came through here, so their progress was faster than traveling on the steppe. Stone piles with colorful banners fluttering in the wind marked their way, and they traveled along the slope right next to the tree line.
Around noon, the procession crossed the valley and climbed the next slope. Viyal dredged up the memories of her past life and concluded that this mountain range was taller than anything found in Japan. She had only ever seen pictures of the Himalayas, but perhaps this region was similar in height.
Their first evening was spent in a gathering of houses one would be hard-pressed to call a village. The buildings were made from wood and roofed with slate, constructed on the slope so each floor had a door to level ground. Their inhabitants were the Shangra, bipedal goats of short stature, who welcomed them warmly.
Viyal snickered at the thought that these clearly herbivorous-looking people invited in the carnivores of the steppe. When her mother gave her a questioning look, she blinked innocently and hugged Yunil, who seemed restless due to the new environment. Viyal mused that the little Nokkoy's hunting instincts had awakened from seeing her natural prey in the Shangra.
The Zakhira ate dinner outside under the starry night sky since the Shangra did not allow meat inside the house. They considered it unclean because of the life that had to be taken to produce it. Those who ate meat had to cleanse themselves with the freezing cold water from the well before they could enter again.
The tribesmen were split up into separate rooms. Viyal and her family got the largest guest room. For the first time since her rebirth, she lay on a soft mattress on a wooden bed under a solid roof. The windswept plains had always tugged at the tent, generating a constant noise that was wholly absent now. She was not used to the silence and could not fall asleep, so she slid off the bed to explore the house.
"Viyal," Yunil called out to her quietly as she pushed aside the thick cloth acting as the door. The little Nokkoy had started to speak simple words over the past week, not just by mimicking the sounds with barks.
"Shh, go back to sleep," Viyal waved at the dog girl and motioned to leave.
"No... alone." But Yunil climbed out of the bed and followed her with a sulky expression. Knowing she could not be budged when she made such a face, Viyal sighed and took her by the hand.
The two children tiptoed down the hallway and peeked into each room. In one slept a few of the other tribesmen who accompanied them while four men played a game of dice in another. They looked concentrated rather than jovial, showing it was a serious matter to them.
In the third room, they found Rowen sitting at a table at the window and writing something under the moonlight while still wearing his armor and hood. It did not look like he was going to take it off or go to sleep anytime soon.
"My, should you two ladies not be in bed?" he turned to look over his shoulder and wondered. Viyal glanced at Yunil in confusion. They had been completely silent, pushing aside the cloth in the doorway just enough to peek inside, but he had noticed them still. "Can you perhaps not sleep? It is indeed your first time in an unfamiliar place like this."
Rowen stood up and walked through the room toward the two children. If Viyal were not used to her father and uncle's immense height, she would consider the old knight a tall man. He squatted down despite being in full armor and extended a hand toward them.
"Would you like me to tell you a bedtime story?" he offered, the mouth hidden under his gray beard noticeably curling into a smile.
The two children exchanged curious looks, then nodded. Viyal's mother had hummed her lullabies, but this would be the first time she heard a bedtime story of this world. She was interested in learning what kind of stories these fantastical beings considered fantasy.
Rowen guided them to his untouched bed and helped them onto it. When Viyal wondered where he would sleep, he merely chuckled and said he needed none.
"Ride and sleep," Yunil pointed at the old knight and declared.
"That must be it," said Viyal with a smug grin.
"Oh no, I was found out!" Rowen feigned shock and turned away in exaggerated shame.
He soon tucked in the unruly children, pulled up a chair beside the bed, and began to tell his story. It was called 'The Faery Queen's Court,' a tale from his distant homeland in the west.
The story began with a boy running away from his private tutors as a prank, escaping into the forest surrounding the estate where he had played many times before. He found a stick and played at being a knight fighting mythical monsters to save the captured princess, forgetting about his surroundings. Thus, he lost his way and stumbled deep into the forest far from home.
As night fell, the howling of predators had him huddling in a hollowed dead tree trunk in terror. However, a distant light danced through the darkness, compelling the boy to follow it. Warm and reassuring, it seemed to guide him somewhere, slowing down whenever he had to climb over roots or round trees.
The veil of night soon parted to reveal the brightness of a thousand lights. On a grand clearing stood a single massive tree, illuminated by small figures with shining wings. They were faeries, fluttering about with garlands and bouquets, drinking sweet nectar from flower cups, and making merry with song and dance.
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The boy was entranced by the sights and unconsciously stumbled into their midst. However, instead of being surprised by the intruder, they welcomed him warmly to their banquet in honor of their new queen's ascension. One faery put a colorful wreath upon his brow, another placed a cloak of fine silk smelling of flowers in full bloom on his shoulders, a third handed him a wooden plate with a most fragrant fruit cake slice.
Forgotten were the terrors of the night, and the boy thoroughly enjoyed himself in the company of the faeries. Soon, their queen descended from the tree in a rain of flower petals. She floated on butterfly wings capturing the light of the full moon, scattering glitter with their every slow beat.
The faery queen's ethereal beauty had the boy spellbound. If it was all a dream, he wanted to never wake from it. He forgot all about his life outside this clearing, his home, his family, who were doubtlessly looking for him desperately. All he ever wanted was to continue celebrating with the faeries.
"You do not belong here, child," spoke an enchanting voice in his hazy mind. "Run along now. Return to your family."
At those words, the boy suddenly awoke. He was back in the hollow tree trunk, shivering from the cold morning air and the dew that wet his hair. Distant voices called for his name; his family came searching for him.
He was saddened that it had all been a dream. But when he moved, a flower wreath fell off his head, and a silken cloak slipped off his shoulders. As they dropped to the forest floor, they dissolved into the earth. The boy watched in wonder as a small branch grew from the dead tree, sprouting a few leaves before his very eyes. This was proof that he had been to the court of the faery queen after all.
As Rowen concluded the story, he found Viyal staring at him with glittering eyes and Yunil fast asleep beside her. While it had worked to send one off to slumber, the other looked more awake than before. Perhaps the story was too stimulating for her since she understood more of it than Yunil.
"Tell another," Viyal demanded with an insatiable thirst for more faery tales. Rowen chuckled at her enthusiasm and relented, beginning another story from his homeland.
Viyal woke up in the arms of her mother. She rubbed her eyes sleepily, then looked around in surprise. They were already back on the road, traveling along the mountain road in single file. Their cart's wheel was only inches away from a drop that would result in certain death.
Rowen's second story had put Viyal to sleep so thoroughly that she could not even remember what it had been about. She looked ahead and noticed the old knight glancing back over his shoulder. He seemed to nod before looking ahead again. Had he used some kind of supernatural ability to make her fall asleep?
Given his headless mount, she could believe that magic existed in this world. Perhaps the faery queen was not just a bedtime story but reality. Could Rowen have been the boy in the tale? Did he perhaps find the faery court again and learn the spell that put him to sleep from them? With such half-serious musings swirling around her head, Viyal yawned and snuggled into her mother's embrace.
The journey through the mountain range was largely uneventful. These sacred lands were mostly empty nature with little vegetation and fewer inhabitants. Aside from the lay of the land, one would find nothing dangerous here.
At noon on the third day, they rounded the bend of the slope and were greeted by a wondrous sight. In the valley below was a pristine lake overlooked by immense peaks. Nestled between its far shore and the mountain behind it was a city, the first settlement in this region one could consider as such.
A winding road decorated with colorful banners fluttering in the wind led up the steep mountainside beyond to a building complex seemingly carved from the mountain itself. Its walls were painted in white and blue, elevating it from the earthen-colored houses below. That was doubtlessly the Akhma Merkheleh's palace.
Viyal spotted gigantic carp-like fish in the lake with iridescent scales glittering under the sunlight. They were large enough to swallow her whole and swam beside them for a while, perhaps curious about the travelers.
"You cannot eat those," said her mother with a chuckle when she noticed her daughter's stare. "They are the sacred children of dragons."
Viyal blinked in surprise. She knew the idiom of a carp turning into a dragon from her world, but did not expect to find it here. Though, judging by the inhuman beings making up her tribe, perhaps these carp did indeed grow into dragons.
They rounded the lake and approached the outskirts of the town. The climate was too harsh and the soil too infertile to grow much, but each of the houses had its own vegetable patch. Since everybody living in these lands were vegetarians, they kept livestock only for labor and producing milk.
As their procession entered the settlement, the inhabitants greeted them with warm smiles and deep nods. They were mostly Shangra, but not one was worried about the dangers Viyal and her family could pose. It showed that the carnivorous species kept strictly to Azakhal's tenets even when free meals stood before them.
Viyal realized her thoughts often steered toward food when she saw these goat-like people. Perhaps her new body's instincts were stronger than she thought. But her previously human mind could keep it in check; she was not so weak as to let it control her actions.
When they reached the city center, Viyal realized why the population welcomed them so warmly. A stone statue depicting a male Mosyv sitting cross-legged on a fallen log dominated the square. Closed eyes and a half-open mouth showing off his sharp teeth gave off mixed signals of peacefulness and potential for violence. His wrists rested on his knees, with the left hand an open palm and the right holding a small wooden stick. He wore a blue cloak made from real cloth, placed on his shoulders by the city's inhabitants.
"Is that Azakhal?" Viyal asked her mother quietly.
"Oh, no. That is Valoro, the first Akhma Merkheleh and founder of the Temple of Time," Nayavi responded, pointing at the palace towering over the city. It was even more impressive from up close, a testament to the architectural prowess of the locals.
"The first Akhma Merkheleh ate meat?" wondered Viyal, looking at Valoro's sharp teeth.
"He used to be a bloodthirsty warrior of the steppe. But when he felt himself chosen by Azakhal, he renounced killing, came to this land, and had the temple constructed," her mother recounted Valoro's story. "He did not eat for the rest of his life and gave the first and last prophecy as the Akhma Merkheleh in the finished temple: When and where to find his successor."
The skeptic in Shizuru furrowed her brow at that explanation. She learned early on from her father that religion only existed to manipulate the uneducated masses. A warrior renouncing killing and building a temple to their god felt like an excuse for something, although she could not say what it was without knowing more.
Their procession reached the bottom of the winding path leading up to the temple. Only Viyal and her parents would proceed from here while the others had to wait below. It was the first time she had to separate from Yunil since they came together, and the Nokkoy let everybody know that. She struggled and complained, but Rowen held her back gently.
The last stretch was too narrow and steep for the Shinoona, let alone a cart. Amiro carried Viyal in his strong arms while following Nayavi's pace up the slope. Seeing her mother exert herself for the first time, Viyal realized that she perhaps had a sickly constitution. She needed frequent breaks to catch her breath and moved only slowly. Still, she did not once complain and persevered for the sake of learning her daughter's fortune.
Finally, they reached the temple entrance when the shadows grew long. It was a gigantic arch with no doors, seemingly open to anybody. However, in alcoves on either side sat two towering guards carrying thick staves. They were bulging with muscles that could be seen even through the white hair covering their bare upper bodies. Their smooth curved horns and elongated faces gave them a resemblance to humanoid bulls.
They stared at the Mosyvvi family and snorted loudly. Viyal feared these massive guards would bar their way, but they did not move. Amiro nodded silently, took Nayavi's hand, and guided her into the temple grounds. Perhaps that reaction from the minotaurs was a signal for them to pass.
A few monks in gray robes swept the path with wicker brooms but stopped to bow when the Mosyvvi approached. A high-pitched bell rang out across the temple, announcing their arrival. When its echo faded, a rotund man in black robes emerged from the main building and greeted them with a nod. He had the nose of a pig and a pair of tusks growing from his broad mouth. A silvery white goatee and bushy eyebrows that nearly covered his beady black eyes marked him as elderly.
"The Akhma Merkheleh already awaits you. Follow me," he grunted quietly to not disturb the holy silence of the temple. Viyal looked at her parents and found surprise on their faces, which quickly changed to understanding. The Elder of the Mountain had foreseen their arrival.
The elderly monk guided the Mosyvvi into the main hall, which was carved directly from the mountain. The ceiling was steeped in darkness, too high for the candles surrounding the massive pillars to illuminate. Countless monks sat on the ground facing away from the interior, meditating while muttering something as if in a trance. These were perhaps shamans in training.
At the end of the hall was a slightly elevated stone platform before a gigantic relief of intricate geometric patterns. It was arranged radially around a small hooded figure sitting on a simple fallen log, just like the first Akhma Merkheleh Valoro. As Amiro kneeled at the bottom of the platform with Viyal on his arm, she could see the face under the hood. It was distinctly lizard-like, with iridescent scales and piercing yellow eyes.
"Welcome, Viyal of the Zakhira," spoke the Akhma Merkheleh in a youthful boy's voice. He raised his clawed hands and brushed back his hood to reveal a spike-covered head. Despite looking clearly inhuman, she could tell he was still a child. A blue forked tongue flicked from his thin lips to taste the air. "I have awaited your arrival, soul from another world."