THEY passed through the halls of the palace as the arch of the walls ever increased in height the deeper they progressed within. The walls were lit by tall standing lanterns, with flames arising in two saucers and blazing towards the ceiling. And unlike the other palaces they saw, it seemed neither too tall nor too embellished. While gold adornments could be seen across the wall, they were of characters in an unknown script, with the stems of the letters spreading like snakes above and below the sentences.
Along the way, they were led by some more servants dressed in patterned tunics that stretched down to the base of their tails and held by a single thread with tassels about their waist. But as they passed from hall to hall and bridge to ramp through the many arched entrances, they noticed that the interior became larger and larger and started resembling that of a large tunnel.
As they continued to walk and ascend, they wearied, until Tūmbṃār shouted, “How long is this going to go on! I thought Trdsyḷūr was the last place I’d have to endure this!”
Iḷēhaḥ then smacked his head. “Manners, Tūmbṃār! I know of your outburst in Viprūtaram; do not think I should be happy were you to do the same here.”
“It’s good to see that the sister is back!” said Feyūnhaḥ, laughing, no doubt happy that her responsibility over Tūmbṃār had ended.
One servant then spoke, “We are very much sorry that ye should be displeased by the structure of this palace. It was built in mind for the great Snake-King, Athizhska, who thwarted the terrible sacrifice in which most of our relations were annihilated.”
“Who performed this sacrifice?” asked Aiṛth. “Seems a very ignoble action to perform against one of the Daivhaḥhō and kindred to the Ṃārhaḥn. Could it have been one of the Mānuzhhaḥn? There was a time when war did occur between us, but to commit to such folly seems very unbecoming of one of that time.”
The servant hesitated, feeling he had said too much on the matter. Iḷēhaḥ shook her head to Aiṛth, who immediately apologized to the servant.
After a short while of silence, he continued, “Perhaps, but it would be wise to speak no more of this. We bear a great animosity, and for that flame to be kindled is rather unjust. It was a deed so dreadful that we still remember so, but understanding the time in which it was wrought, we cannot help but sympathize toward its use.”
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They spoke no more on that matter, and their voices receded to silence. The footsteps and slithering were now the only sounds that echoed upon that ascending spiral ramp.
When they had come upon the end of the steps and walked further, they passed through the last arch to an open hall, and now stood within the throne room. The hematite spread over the walls melt into the gold and the orange luster of the magma reflected across that hall, showering the room in a warm haze. And in front of them was an opening, circular in shape but meshed with a thin frame, as embers and heat escaped through the openings.
At the end of the room stood the King’s dais. It was strange, for it stood level with the floor with the back of the seat raised as like the flames of the lanterns. Upon its seat rested the King, but unlike the other Gazhigam, his body was that of a man’s with his neck alone covered in scales, merging into the face of a cobra that stood larger than even his broad shoulders. He sat alone, cross-legged and meditating, as the group and the servants stayed silent, watching the haze sway about him. Ardent in the line of his form, his hood fanned and contracted with each passing breath.
His eyes then opened and the haze vanished. As if struck by lightning, the group’s hair stood on end. Eyes keen to the gaze, like that of the transcendent middle-eye, and it seemed as if he could discern all they were about. No regalia nor golden ornaments could be seen on his person, and in place he bore a simple tunic and a rather plain fhorlia looking no more than a beggar. But not even that unseemly appearance could dissuade the group from seeing him as a being grand in all aspects, with not a trace of hesitation or doubt held in his bearing.
The King stood from his seat and walked toward the group. He passed through the embers as his feet pressed against the mesh. They did not burn nor ignite, and the flames seemed to calm as he passed over. Standing in front of them, he held his left hand and gently let it fall. All at once did they feel relaxed, released of all their tension.
“I apologize for alarming thee,” said the King. “Each time around the mid-day do I take my time to perform these meditations. And often what comes as by-product of such things is a release of rage and wrath that I direct upward past the oculus. Peace and rest are ever preserved in this realm by its power. The flames that do spout from the walls would often ignite the air were I not to do this. We reside close to the heart of the earth, where rests the feeble Goddess who bears the labor of her children.” He once more sat cross-legged. And directing them, he said, “Sit my guests! A long discussion we shall have, for there are many things I desire to know as well as many answers I wish to give.”
They sat before the king and were eager to speak.