> 8. The Antigod waged war against the gods of the Pleasure Realms, seeking the Buddhas. His very claws rent the weave of worlds. His roars echoed thunderous across the heavens.

> 9. For all his violence, he could not surmount the Hand of the Buddhas. How can you surmount nothing?

> 10. Slain, the Antigod was cursed with immortality, and then caged and forged into the Antigodian Greatblade. Centuries passed, the Antigod realized his mistake: he could not win against Heaven alone. He must wield the power entire of the Earth itself. And so he influenced those that would wield him, so that he may sit upon the Wheel Turner’s seat: The Lotus Throne.

> 11. A billion years hence, during the Latter Day of the Law, where the teachings of the Buddhas would be eroded, vexed, twisted, and ultimately forgotten…

>

> Scriptures of Fates Hitherto Unforetold, Volume 1, Chapter 1, Verses 8-11

"I see." Vibujja looked up at the sky, as if accusing the gods of something. Then, she said: "It seems perhaps the Hell King hath shewn thee a modicum of pity... or perhaps bound you to some duty? And yet no rhapsody of prophecy hath been lain upon mine ears, speaking of one such as thee. No fanfare, no song. Thou art no hero... thou art a vagrant stumbling into something much greater than thyself. Thine is the beginning of a hero's story in truth!"

Sungai leapt over a crawling vine. Raxri reached up to pluck a loose clove from a clove tree as he did. "This servant has no claims to being a hero, great one. However, the witch and I have taken it upon ourselves to find the cause for the loss of my memory, and to seek out who I once was in truth."

"And it is the witch Akazha in truth that has taken thee in? Thou hath my full interest. Thou art a blank slate! And yet not as a blank slate as not able to speak. Though thy memories hath abandoned thee, thine innate skills cultivated from thine past life stayeth." Her plucking on the bamboo zither was soothing, still. She was a true expert in that artistry. Raxri wondered if all bidadaree can do such a task. Vibujja floated closer to Raxri and asked: "But tell me thou must: what doth thou believe might change if thou regaineth thy memory?"

Raxri blinked. Then, without much thought for it, said: "This servant in truth does not entirely know. They suppose that they'll find out when they get there." Raxri realized that they still spoke in formal register despite the bidaree telling them otherwise.

"Ah, a wise response. The future and the past are ever now, as much as they are never now. However, try as I might, I cannot find the spark of heroes within thee. Thou truly art a being that hath stumbled into a terrible fate greater than thyself."

"This servant supposes that to be true," replied Raxri, bowing.

They then traveled for relative silence afterwards, only breaking it occasionally for Vibujja to ask a few more things, such as if Raxri remembers where they were born, or if Raxri remembers any of the martial arts they've practiced or any mystic cultivation they have performed. The answers to all this was no, of course.

Through it all, she played her bamboo zither, which had only two strings, which were mightily taut. The tune she played went high and low, but was long and of moderate speed, as if the wood itself played a melody for the both of them. During a point where there was a lull in their conversation, she would sing along in harmony with her zither, and it was during these times that Raxri had to fight not to fall asleep. Eventually, her humming melody became ripe with lyric.

She sang:

"O, though trials there might be

The star bard shall herald thee.

Though Raxri Uttara be,

Full lost of their memory."

At that, Raxri blushed and grinned. "A song for this servant?" No one had ever written songs for them before. At least, not one they can remember. The song, nonetheless, had an impressively familiar tune...

Vibujja smiled. "Of course! Song ariseth from the meekest of places, from the most invisible of spots. It is this tanaga that has now arisen from me. Consider thyself blessed!"

Raxri beamed. "Your servant's ears are overflowing with nectar, great one! The tanyaga is full bursting with inspiration."

Vibujja laughed. "Ho ho ho! Thou art a spritely one, and a flatterer besides!"

"No flattery here, milady." Raxri sounded desperate, trying not to get onto Vibujja's bad side. "It is worth full mention of the great singer's capabilities. One can become idle and bored in the travel."

"No such thing as bored during travel, young one," said Vibujja. "During travel is a perfect time for meditation. Thou would do well to remember that."

Raxri nodded again, and then decided not to speak, so as to not get any more into Vibujja's bad side. They instead folded their hands palm-to-palm in front of their heart, and began meditating, focusing on Sungai's long black mane. It tossed and tussled, and in that moment a poem similarly arose from Raxri's heart:

"Tossed and twirled, black sea be ye?

Your chaos, Shagara's Web!"

Though Raxri did not full understand what Shagra's Web meant, from the context they had gathered when Akazha (or was it Jikajika?) said it, they took it to heart when it meant interpenetration. As every part of Sungai's mane was separated into a strand, they nonetheless intermingled, flattened, twisted and curled, creating large locks of hair.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Much like how, in Shagara's Web, all things and all beings have influenced one another at some point. The wind that now blew through Raxri's hair came from a stray breeze that spiralled down the nearby mount, which was once part of the sky, which once fought in the Windswars, which once was a little windling born from a thousand years of karmic cultivation from a rat that stayed listening to the Buddhas's teachings.

This act of mental stimulation cost Raxri a few movements of the sun.

----------------------------------------

"I don't suppose the horse is thine?" asked Vibujja as they traveled.

Raxri was nodding off, now. In part because of their intense meditational concentration, in part due to the lilting metronomic song which Vibujja sang.

Raxri inhaled and said: "Nay. The great master has the right of it. This horse belongs to the witch-master, who has graciously lent it to me to help in my overland travel."

"How generous. And in truth, having a horse for land travel is rare in the Utter Islands. It would've been much easier, faster, and safer on a boat! But I suppose the witch has no boat. Prithee, tell me: what is the witch Akazha like?"

Raxri blinked, then straightened. "Ah, pardon this servant. The witch Akazha is full helpful, though she has a tigress' temper at times."

"Ha! How interesting. I have not personally met the witch, nor made their acquaintance. But one should know that it is almost a funny cultural phenomenon for each forest to have their own witch. East Pemiwood has Akazha as her witch, you see. Many gods and spirits pilgrimage there for certain problems that require sorcery to fix."

"Even gods require sorcery to fix?"

The bidaree nodded. She twirled to face Raxri. "Yes. Sorcery is supernatural, paranormal. The gods are, well, natural, normal. Though their powers are supernatural. And in some circles, the distinction is fraught and worthless, but we are not in those circles as of the present moment."

Raxri looked up and nodded, as if considering the fact. "I see." In truth they were attempting to shoo away an incoming sneeze, no doubt a fault of the iridescent feathers that fell from the bidaree.

Vibujja giggled--a giggle like a bird's call--then she turned again. "I've seen her from afar, however. She is full beautiful, in that bladed sense. Sharp black hairs, piercing pale tones, eyes hooded and almost raptor-like, as if to hide them. Full lips, bounteous besides. Though her eyes are always so deep set, dark circles always married to them, as if she never sleeps." Raxri smiled. Vibujja continued, "She moves with the quickness of a warrior, yet is the splitting image of a wizard. Wrapped she be in her yantra tattoos, she is clean yet. When she sets her jaw she is like a man-warrior, but when she relaxes her body she stands like a woman-shaman, slack and unbound by the rules of polite society."

Raxri could've sworn Sungai looked at them. Raxri themself said: "Great one, may this servant lapse courtesy for a moment?" Raxri said these things as naturally as it came to them. It seems speaking to a godly being--or at least, what seemed like a godly being--activated some dormant mote of manners and politeness in them.

"If thou must." Though Vibujja did not look at them.

"It seems you are quite stricken by the witch-master. One has been observing them for a long time?"

"You may now return to courtesy," said Vibujja. Raxri performed the crown reverence and did not speak again.

They rode in silence for a few moments, before Vibujja returned to singing. As if nothing had happened.

Raxri was worried, of course. If the witch-master had a stalker in the form of a bidaree... what could that entail? Raxri knew there was some reason, some consequence to this, but fo the life of them they could not remember, so they opted instead to quiet down.

Eventually, they arrived at another slight clearing, though the ground was full uneven. The jungle canopy--which they were deep in now, and with the humidity Raxri had to shed their robe for a time, wearing only their tunic--broke open to reveal the haunting silvered visage of a titanic tree.

Its branches reached and bent against the heavens, keeping the firmament firm. Its gigantic roots burrowed into the earth. Raxri could see, upon its giant roots, pocks of light and torches. No doubt settlements have been carved into the very root of this titanic tree. The tree itself seemed to have wood so black it glistened, but its leaves were the color of pale gray fires. Its many leaves shone and illuminated the now soon to dusk sky.

Sungai bristled. Raxri nodded. "Yes, Sungai. Of course." Raxri looked up and called out: "Great singer, this one and this one's horse are in need of rest."

Vibujja turned around, breaking from her singing. "Hm? Oh, yes, of course. Fatigue is the purview of humans such as thee. Go on, rest. I will provide thee with a tune of succor."

As Raxri dismounted and unpacked some of the food and rations for themself and for Sungai, they said: "Does the great singer require no rest?"

Vibujja shook her head as she floated over to a loose root, sat on it, and strummed her zither. "Not until my merit is burned up or am I forcibly killed, in which case I will be reborn as something else in the latter, or something similar to a bidaree in the former... provided my karma weigh not too heavily."

Raxri nodded, pursing their lips together and furrowing their brow. "I see." They turned and gave Sungai a banana, and then led them to a small brook--this one even smaller, but enough to be drinkable water for a horse.

Then, they turned and said: "Though the great chanter requires no food, this servant feels it to be rude if they were not to offer. " Raxri held out a bundle of rice in banana leaf.

Smiling, Vibujja said: "No need either. I have offerings enough, and I can go for days without needing to eat."

Raxri made a face of understanding, and then ate the rice themself. "Truly, bidaree are interesting beings. How much life can one truly live. Can this servant become as a bidaree as the great chanter?"

Vibujja nodded. "Of course, though one cannot truly ascertain the specific being one will become upon passing..."

"Oh, then one must first die?"

Vibujja shrugged and said: "Well, in truth, one must first accrue much merit and lighten one's karma. Then one will be reborn into one of the Higher Paths."

"I do not understand."

Vibujja tapped her finger against her chin for a moment, and then said: "Here."

She sang:

"Across a billion lives dance,

Six major paths of rebirth.

Sundered they between six.

Highest be the Heaven Path,

Where higher gods dance and dwell.

Then follows the Spirit Path,

where gods of passion and earth

war and ravage and regret.

Then will be the Human Path,

where attainers of Quenching,

cultivate their minds and forms.

Then the Animal Path,

though baser, blessed they be,

for they can listen the Law.

Then will be the Ghost Path,

with hunger insatiable,

they eat until they despair.

Finally, the Path of Hell,

where beings are scourged, until

their mindstreams be free of hate,

of malice, of the karma,

inalienable until

correction arrives to claim."