THE lake was calm, and a gentle breeze moved their ship far across it. Hardly anything could be seen, and save for a few small islands, much of the lake’s expanse was empty. The Viprūyavās was indeed pure, so pure in fact that they could drink from it regardless of how much sewage flowed in. From time to time, they used harpoons and nets to catch some fish.
If some island appeared along the way when night fell, they disembarked and made camp. Tūmbṃār was not happy that he had to partake in eating the fish, though he did not much like eating nuts and berries the whole time either. And during the day when the ship moved on its own, they napped on the deck with one person keeping watch for any oddities.
Vrihkhaḥ however, had not moved even an inch since setting foot in that bowl. He just lay there sleeping, as if in hibernation. Even when the ship disembarked, he stayed inside and did not budge from there.
After three days had passed, they could see the lake’s edge and spot it funneling into a river. The flow of the water grew sharp and swift, and great care had to be taken to evade the rapids. And a little while after, the water calmed once more but the overall flow was still much quicker than in the lake.
Across the river banks lay vast grasslands with a few cedar, fig, and mast fir trees dotted here and there. Occasionally, they could see elephants, rhinos, buffalo, and even tigers coming to the river to drink the water. Tūmbṃār often called to them with various voices, and the animals would give shouts back. This confused Nakthaḥm and Feyūnhaḥ, but Sanyhaḥmān only laughed, seeming to understand what the boy was saying. Vrihkhaḥ at times perked his ears at Tūmbṃār’s calls, on occasion smiling too.
When dusk came, they tied the ship to a nearby tree or rock and made camp. Feyūnhaḥ and Nakthaḥm would venture out to hunt in the dead of night, which seemed odd to the boy, more so for the princess than for the demon. Meanwhile, Tūmbṃār and Sanyhaḥmān ate some figs and other assortments of wild fruits and vegetables.
But on one particular night – twelve days into their journey – Feyūnhaḥ and Nakthaḥm, who had gone hunting, had not yet returned. It was a few hours since they had left, but usually, they would have finished business within an hour, if not sooner. The wind was also becoming more erratic, and it seemed a storm was brewing from the southwest.
Sanyhaḥmān, seeing the boy become more anxious, said, “Go find them, Tūmbṃār. I’ll look over the camp. Take Vrihkhaḥ with you as well. Though he seems as though he’s sleeping, I’m sure he’ll wake up if you pester him.”
Tūmbṃār did as he said and ran to the slumbering wolf inside the bowl-shaped vessel. He had at times tried to wake the wolf but found he would not budge, as if to resist the boy’s appeal. So now, unlike his last attempt using raining liquor, he would have to use a more direct method.
He pulled up his sleeves and took a broad stance. Pulling his arms back, he cycled a mixture of water and air and rushed a torrent toward the wolf. The spraying of the water jet seemed to have little effect as the wolf stayed slumbering, without flinching. The boy kept at this for a good fifteen minutes before he fell back from exhaustion.
“Get up, Vrihkhaḥ, please!” shouted the boy. And as if having spoken the magic words, the wolf rose from his vessel and leaped onto the land. He shook his fur and sprayed water onto the grass, then stretched and arched his face to the moon, giving a great howl that echoed far and wide.
A flash of anger passed the boy’s face, and he demanded, “Why didn’t you wake up before?”
Vrihkhaḥ made some grunts and shouts, and the boy slapped his palm to his forehead. “Didn’t think you much cared for respect, Vrihkhaḥ.”
Tūmbṃār jumped onto the wolf’s back, and the two ran in the direction of the clouds. The storm grew more violent and restless, yet not a drop of rain fell. Thunder roared in the skies, with flashes of lightning espied in the distance and the ever-heightening rage of the wind came with enough force to blow a man off his horse. But still did the boy hold tight to the wolf who ran as fast as he could, bearing the onslaught of the elements.
As they passed through the grasslands, flocks of animals ran in the direction of the clouds. And seemingly out of nowhere, a powerful shockwave flew from the northeast and broke Tūmbṃār’s grip. He, along with various animals, were blown back and tumbled some distance away. Vrihkhaḥ stood his ground, and when the shockwave had passed, he ran back to the boy and shielded him from the rush of animals stampeding around them.
When Tūmbṃār had recovered his bearings, he jumped on top of Vrihkhaḥ and made in the opposite direction. As Vrihkhaḥ sped through the animals, Tūmbṃār sensed something amiss. Peering back, he saw a thin line projected toward the sky, and the clouds grew more turbulent as they moved faster toward it. Tūmbṃār whistled to Vrihkhaḥ, and he hastened, sensing desperation from the boy.
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It was not long after that when Tūmbṃār sensed Nakthaḥm and Feyūnhaḥ, and Vrihkhaḥ was able to pick up their scent. Following the trail, they happened across a pack of wolves seemingly surrounding something. Three stood on guard, and they howled when Vrihkhaḥ approached. Halting before them, the three wolves circled Vrihkhaḥ and Tūmbṃār. They bore their fangs, and the boy heard a voice:
So, you too are companions of that maiden!
“You guys know Iḷēhaḥ?” asked the boy, jumping off Vrihkhaḥ and walking toward them.
Halt!
The boy stopped, and the largest of the three wolves sniffed Tūmbṃār. Its amber eyes glowed in the dark, and the moonlight gave a view of its red fur. Each of them had a long thick tail that slowly swayed in the air as if floating.
Tell me, boy, where has the maiden gone? We have business with her!
“What business do you have with her? Do you know where she is?” asked Tūmbṃār, surprised but with his gaze locked to the sway of the tails as if hypnotized. Iḷēhaḥ, from what he knew, was not one to take to animals—barring Vrihkhaḥ, anyway—so it came as a surprise to him that she even approached them.
She crossed through this region on foot, and her presence has disrupted the order of animals here. We let her be, for we thought that after she left the area, things would return to normal. It has been more than a week since our pack has eaten, and though for our kind such a fast would generally be normal, we have been racked by an insatiable hunger. But we have been unable to catch any prey as if an invisible force prevents us from doing so, and now as you can see for yourself, the animals have run off toward the light! Tell me where she is now, boy, so that we may rip her to pieces!
“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do that,” he said with determination in his eyes. “However, I can catch some animals for you if that’ll calm your rage.”
Nay! A man shall not feed us, nor should that fix our predicament. We shall have our vengeance against her!
Vrihkhaḥ snarled at them, but the wolves would not back down, and they grew bold. They pounced on Tūmbṃār, but he quickly forced them off.
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He circled them, and taking a glance at the other wolves, he dashed away and broke through the pack. Vrihkhaḥ immediately blocked the chase of the three wolves, and they attacked him. Spinning himself, he knocked the other wolves back. He then grabbed each by the neck and then tossed them afar, thereafter giving chase.
Tūmbṃār, having made it into the encirclement, saw both Feyūnhaḥ and Nakthaḥm but they looked exhausted, and there were cuts all across them. When he landed next to them, the three in perfect circle kept their backs to one another and circled counter-clockwise to the wolves.
“What happened, guys?” asked Tūmbṃār, “I wouldn’t have thought a few wolves would give so much trouble.”
“Neither would I,” said Nakthaḥm panting, “but these wolves are abnormal as if their tails did not give it away. They recover too quickly and grow more ferocious with each wave. They chased us from afar, and it would seem that they have grown very desperate.”
“They bark and shout as if they’re asking something of us,” said Feyūnhaḥ, “but we can’t make out what it is that they want.”
Tūmbṃār then heard a series of voices demanding:
Tell us where the maiden is!
He responded, “I can’t do that! Is there any way for me to fix your problem?”
“His ability to talk to animals comes in quite handy,” said Nakthaḥm with a chuckle.
Nay! If you do not hand her to us, then we shall kill you where you stand!
The wolves charged and tried all manners of attacks, from scratching, biting, and head butting, and though such ways of offense would seem rather dull, the force behind such strikes was not to be underestimated.
The elements that the three unleashed did little to hold their foes back and only served to tire themselves. As the waves of wolves kept coming, Feyūnhaḥ and Tūmbṃār danced with their blades, slashing and forcing the wolves back while Nakthaḥm elongated his nails and pierced the wolves that came his way. But even this was to no avail, for as Nakthaḥm had said, they healed too quickly.
The wolves then receded a bit, and their fur stood on end, tails pointing toward the sky, and it seemed their teeth grew but a bit larger as they salivated. They all gave a piercing howl and ran faster than they had before. The three of them were exhausted and could do no more against them.
“Perhaps it would be a good time to undo my shackles, child,” said Nakthaḥm with a grin. It would not have been an unwise endeavor to undo them as the wolves grew ever more ravenous. But Tūmbṃār adamantly refused.
The wolves edged closer, and with each step, their paws cracked the soil beneath. When they were but a few paces away from the three, they leaped high in the air as if to rain down from the sky. But before they could land on the group, the wolves were all blown back by a massive gust of wind, more potent than any that Tūmbṃār had unleashed.
They crashed into the grass with dust and dirt flying all about them. When the wind had receded, there in between stood a giant of a wolf. One of similar likeness to the wolves that had attacked the group, standing exceedingly tall, and though its fur was thick, its skin sagged.
It turned, and each step it took let out a loud thump and shook the earth beneath the group. Now standing in front of them, the three gazed up and saw just how tall the creature was. It towered at least three times as high as Vrihkhaḥ, but Tūmbṃār, Feyūnhaḥ, and Nakthaḥm, did not feel agitated by its appearance; instead, a calming sensation enveloped them as its keen and discerning eyes looked their way.
It bore its teeth but harbored no aggression, and the three of them heard voices within their heads.
Forgive us, weary travelers. My kin understand not what it is that is occurring to us and seek to cast blame upon your companion. I hoped to arrive sooner, but it takes a while for this old wolf to travel about these days.
They could hear a great piercing laugh in their heads that made them feel uneasy. The wolf then gave a great howl, and the three shut their ears for the noise was too much for them to bear. When they let go and looked around, they saw all the wolves, including Vrihkhaḥ, bowing. The old wolf approached Vrihkhaḥ and sniffed him, and he whimpered.
Ho! This old wolf expected not to find such a curse!
Feyūnhaḥ and Nakthaḥm were visibly confused by that statement, but Tūmbṃār asked, “Oh, do you know about Vrihkhaḥ’s curse? He said he couldn’t tell me what it was or about himself because of it.”
Indeed! It is quite the strange curse; it would appear he is not a wolf at all but a man like you, and quite the boisterous personality he has, something you would not find among our kind at the least. But I digress.
The old wolf turned to the group and sat with its long tail gracefully falling to its side. Feyūnhaḥ and Nakthaḥm looked over to Vrihkhaḥ who seemed to be grinning. Now it became clear to them about all the unusual habits the wolf displayed from time to time, though Feyūnhaḥ felt there was more to it than she could yet understand, seldom feeling reminiscent whenever she observed him. Then the old wolf began to speak:
I am the leader of this pack, known by the other Ṃārhaḥn as Hṛjvāpaden for I am one who is quick-footed, or at least in a time long past, I was.
I stand before you as an emissary by one to whom you are close. She came to us far to the north of here in our domain, wishing to collect an item that we held for a long time, in the stead of her forefathers, waiting for a time when she would come.
‘Turn back,’ she says, go no farther for she wishes to have nothing more to do with any of you. Her presence here, unfortunately, has brought about our doom, though verily it is by no fault of hers that we must suffer as we do.
A fault it was of mine that I should have assented to siding with such evil kings during the Era of Unification. A curse was placed on our kin in generations past by that radiant warrior-priestess whose legend lives in the divine composition; the nature of her curse was such that when the misbegotten child of the cursed lord shall pass through this land, we should suffer a slow death by pangs of hunger.
He shifted his gaze to the other wolves and continued:
Understand, my children, that while the maiden was the trigger for this fate, it is not by her hand that we have been afflicted; it was ordained long past that she should come to collect what it was that we guarded, so bear not any hate toward her and act no more in haste! Accept what it is that has been wrought on us, for now. Our time has come. We have fulfilled our duty though not even the Gods can alleviate our plight; live free with the time you have left.
The wolves whimpered at his words, and a great sadness hung about them.
But Tūmbṃār said, “It seems all of us are bound by curses of one nature or another. I don’t know if I’ll ever gain a power that could help here, but if I do, I swear to you and all that bow before you to help when the time comes. Though the power of fate seems in many ways beyond the God Vshephaḥ, there’s certainly a way for us all to live through this; wait for me Hṛjvāpaden and all you wolves of the red fur and amber eyes, and I’ll do my best to help you recover from this!”
The wolves stood up, all howling to the moon. Hṛjvāpaden perked the ends of his mouth in what could be likened to a smile and said:
Those words alone are enough for us, child. I sense that something great rests within you, and perhaps you shall do as you say. But what of your companion, Iḷēhaḥ, as you called her; what shall you do? I have given you her message, and while she felt sad at having left you all, she nonetheless hardened herself against you, that you should not approach her anymore.
“That’s simple,” said Tūmbṃār with a light smile on his face. “We’re going to keep following her. She can’t run away from her friends. If she doesn’t wish to come with us even after this, then there’s little I can do, but until that point comes, I shall persist and have her face us and tell us directly what it is she wants to do. I made mistakes in how I should’ve approached Iḷēhaḥ’s troubles, yet I hope I can put her worries, anger, and hate to rest.”
Feyūnhaḥ and Nakthaḥm looked on in wonder, for it was a first for them to see Tūmbṃār talking with such a magnificent creature. And just as he displayed fortitude and resilience behind his words when conversing with figures larger in many ways than himself, not once had he stood wholly afeared of them. Neither with Vrihkhaḥ, nor with Athruyam—though he had a gentle disposition to begin with—and nor with Nakthaḥm, nor with the lord of Viprūtaram. And it seemed it would hold for long, even if his resolve should come to fail. Forever striving, he was to meet on equal terms with all.
“I wonder to myself why it is that he holds so much determination and fervor behind his eyes,” said Feyūnhaḥ, “enough to make him put forth such promises and resolutions. Does he truly think that he can go against fate or even change it with just that alone?”
“There have certainly been times where it has been changed for much less,” said Nakthaḥm, “but perhaps change is not the right word. In any case, we shall see where this journey of ours leads to; I look forward to seeing how the child grows in the coming years.”
But something other than Tūmbṃār’s antics bothered Feyūnhaḥ and it had to do with the words of the old wolf. She knew just how strange a person Iḷēhaḥ was, and though Tūmbṃār seemed to shrug it off as nothing more than an oddity, she knew there was more to it even if neither Nakthaḥm nor Athruyam would relate what they knew. The misbegotten child of the cursed lord—what exactly was meant by that? No answer came to her at that time.