“I AM the prince of the Mrigūhvha, Bahṛigfar: for I am One who Carries these Horns! Accept my apologies for not assisting you sooner. I was unsure at the time whether you were a group to be trusted, seeing as you carry a demon in your ranks. Wrong it was for me to have judged you without having first approached.”
The horned boy prostrated to the group, as well as Zvarañt and his retinue, though the latter did so for another reason entirely.
“Accept my apologies: Agents of the Gods!” said Zvarañt. “I knew not that the Light of That One rested so close to you.”
“Lūshhaḥ appeared?” cried Aiṛth, feeling she had missed a great opportunity.
“Aye! But it is best if the boy speaks of it,” said Zvarañt as he brought himself up with Bahṛigfar. “Long has it been since I had last seen the greatest of beings; to think I should meet him among you folk—truly this meeting was fated!”
“I am quite curious to hear this as well,” said Bahṛigfar. “I had heard stories of this great being, during the War of the Five Brothers, but I had not expected him to be among us now, having died so long ago.”
“He died only in body, prince,” said Zvarañt, “but he still exists as the light within all us. As he did from even before the beginnings of this world. Do not mistake this encounter as him having descended in form, for he himself had said that should only occur when the Era of Annihilation commences, and I believe we are still far from that time.”
“Well, I guess it is one less thing I have to worry about,” said Bahṛigfar, “as much as I would have liked to see him.” He turned to Tūmbṃār with anticipation. “Come, Tūmbṃār! Let us be on our way with your friends. You should not have to worry over the maiden, or goddess I heard as she was called; such beings will naturally heal quickly,” he said, smacking Zvarañt on the shoulder with a laugh.
Tūmbṃār, while well aware of what the young prince spoke, could not keep his mind off Iḷēhaḥ. Aiṛth wiped away the small traces of blood that flowed from the maiden’s temple, which Tūmbṃār found rather surprising, given how hard she had been hit. Perhaps her skull was made of metal.
The group decided to wait until Aiṛth was done healing. It was not but a few moments after she had finished, that Iḷēhaḥ suddenly opened her eyes and blinked three times. Her gaze quickly shifted to Tūmbṃār whom she was relieved to see was fine, but almost immediately after, her face tensed and she put her hands on her head and rolled frantically in the grass.
“Ah! This searing pain!” the maiden cried. “Must you have hit me so hard you wretched bear! Even if you did mean to kill us, you could have been a little more gentle.”
The bear-king laughed and said, “It is behind us, goddess! I have well accepted my error. Accept my apologies and hold no ill toward me, for I am sure you know my temperament is as such when dealing with their kind. Yet I must say: you and your friends did well to stand against me. Had I invoked any more of my power, I very well could have destroyed this forest, along with all of you in it.”
“Aye, I shall not hold any ill will,” and then she gave a glare, “but do not think I have yet forgiven you!”
“It should be alright now, Iḷēhaḥ,” said Feyūnhaḥ, patting her back as if to calm a troubled child, “you are a goddess after all. It should take much more than that to kill you, but I won’t lie: I did actually think, at the time, that your head split from that strike! Might be better from now on, if you leave deliberations to either me or Sanyhaḥmān,” to which the monkey nodded; “it seems you have a penchant for provoking other people’s ire.”
“I concur!” added Sanyhaḥmān. “Best you keep quiet for some time, wouldn’t want you angering the prince’s parents now would we?”
“Hah! my parents hardly get angry, in fact I have not seen them once ever become foul-tempered with me, let alone anyone else,” said the prince, as he flicked his fingers on his horn.
“I do not do so on purpose. ’Tis hardly my intention!” she cried and then held onto her temple again. “Ah! if I were not a goddess I should be dead by now. Well with that matter aside, I heard talk of a great being, what exactly might that be?”
The boy tried to speak but the words silenced again.
“Now this is odd,” said Bahṛigfar. “Why do you not speak Tūmbṃār? Have you gone dumb.”
“No, no!” said Tūmbṃār and then sighed. “I had in anger declared an oath—on Arhaḥṃār, That, and now it seems whatever That is, is holding me to it. I don’t think I’ll be able to break the seal on my lips until I see my teacher—well, I hope he can break it.”
The face of the prince lit up in wonder. “More and more surprises! We have much to talk about.”
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The group now with new companions, followed behind the prince who guided them through the golden woods. Sparse became the trees, yet even so, their presence still held far into the distance. The trunks of the trees changed considerably in size, some becoming very thin, to the point where they did not seem but a foot wide while others were on the scale of hundreds. Yet one constant remained and that was the dense roof of the canopy, held by the long spreading boughs and branches, shining gold upon all under its gaze. Along their path, the land had flattened considerably and then they began to talk of many things. Aiṛth as well as Iḷēhaḥ listened intently to the bear-king and prince’s conversation with Tūmbṃār.
“The first time I saw Lūshhaḥ, who I thought was a specter, was during the dinner party Athruyam held—who is also Feyūnhaḥ’s sister,” said Tūmbṃār. “But it was very strange. He looked so terrifying that night. Maybe I was imagining it, but I guess that’s why they say he’s the most beautiful and terrible. Now I can understand why his extended family were so mean to him; if he was born like that, no wonder they would lash out at him in fear. And I guess that fear never left them or the others that met them, except for Zūryaṃār, his brothers, and some others in his family.”
“What did he look like, Tūmbṃār?” asked Zvarañt. “I remember seeing him upon that battlefield of yore, and though his appearance would seem dreadful, you do not seem like you are now shaken by him.”
“Aye, he had skin that was like ash, eyes as deep as blood, deeper than even Iḷēhaḥ’s eyes—and his lips were a strange mixture of purple and black. And his hair was a very very light yellow, almost white but I know there was a tinge of color in it.
“But when I saw him the second time, he looked completely different—or rather more different than when I last saw him. His body glowed like a strong lantern, and his appearance seemed very gentle—probably because of all the light—and he had six massive wings, spreading from his back! Those wings wrapped around me, and I felt so calm and peaceful and happy; a feeling I haven’t had since.
“Then the third and last time I saw him, was when Nakthaḥm had, I think, devoured me but I’m still unsure of that. We were in a white space and Lūshhaḥ had his deathly appearance again, but he still seemed gentle and more approachable and he told me to make friends with Nakthaḥm and stop Iḷēhaḥ from killing him. I haven’t seen him, at least in spirit, since then.”
“Very very interesting,” said Bahṛigfar, pondering over his words. “Now I wish to see that Light even more. Alas! I do not think it shall be. While he may rest in all us, I suppose the nature of him revealing himself to the dearest of ones holds true. Yet you do not strike me as all that pious or devout. Why should he choose you of all people? Not that I intend any offense to you, Tūmbṃār.”
“I don’t know,” said Tūmbṃār. “My teacher had related much to me of Lūshhaḥ, more so than any other thing in fact, but it always seemed rather strange to me. Why not talk of the Gods that are eulogized to no end in the Vādrunṃs, or of the highest of beings Ishvhaḥṃār, or even the ancestors? Well I guess I wouldn’t have listened to him all that much if it were anything else—I wasn’t a very good student.” He gave a shame-faced laugh, while rubbing the back of his head. “There’s also the fact that he kept warning me to be cautious of the Gods while also still being reverent toward them, strangely enough, but I suppose given the many stories concerning their mischief with Zūryashhaḥ and ascetics, its to be expected—not that the priests would talk of any of this.” He heaved a sigh, “If only I could understand more what Lūshhaḥ is. Its still hard for me to see anything past the Gods.”
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“As it is for many folk,” said Zvarañt. “What we call Arhaḥṃār, only few can relate in exact detail what it is and its connection with that of Lūshhaḥ. Even I as devoted as I am to the Light can not speak much on that matter other than saying that it is indeed higher than the Gods. It is said that only those that lived during the Era of Formation and in higher ages of past cycles were able to comprehend it, unable to be fully affected by the workings of the illusory force, unlike us.”
“Yet I must know Tūmbṃār, who is this teacher of yours?” said Bahṛigfar. “That oath you spoke of earlier can not be done by any normal individual, even one well gifted in the powers.”
“Vādruhaḥ Thoesyum!” said Tūmbṃār.
Zvarañt and Bahṛigfar looked to him with wide eyes and gaping mouths and after a brief silence they cried, “That great sage is your teacher!”
“It seems everyone I tell that to gets surprised in one way or the other, but even if he is that great, he never seemed all that important to me—aside from being my teacher.”
“Do you not know what all he has done!” said Zvarañt. “He has lived since the earliest days of Ārhmanhaḥ, and seen all that occurred between the Demons and Gods, while having written countless scriptures in praise of the Gods, the Highest, and That One and All. It was even he who compiled the Vādrunṃs and instructed the five brothers in their youth!”
“Yes, yes, I’ve heard it all,” said Tūmbṃār now a little irritated. “I don’t know. I’ve never considered him as anything more than my teacher. I know people will treat him like a god, but I can’t see him as such. While I wasn’t and still am not a good student, I still thank him for all he’s done for me. We’ll be meeting him soon as well, and then I hope I can at least get some answers out of him.”
“While you may not see it now, you have surely been blessed by him!” said Zvarañt. “You are no ordinary child to have had such a teacher, and at such a young age as well. In time you will see the benefit of this. I am sure it is the reason for your having been able to converse with Lūshhaḥ and even hold your ground against me.”
“I too think as much,” said Bahṛigfar. “Not many can be in the position you are in, so take it with the highest honor and dignity that you can hold. Your Gruvhō shall surely guide you on the way to the Light.”
Tūmbṃār was still unsure of all of this. He felt there was much more to it, more than even his teacher knew. There indeed had to have been a reason for him having been chosen by Lūshhaḥ, irrespective of any association of his. He had known the sage most of his life but other than acquisition of powers and of learning the scriptures (of which admittedly was not much) he did not feel any different. The only time a difference had come to him, was when he saw Lūshhaḥ, yet of all other times it was a recent event and not one which made much sense to him.
All the while, Iḷēhaḥ and Aiṛth could not believe what it was they were hearing. That the Light of That One should choose of all people to converse with, an ordinary boy (notwithstanding the involvement of the sage) who truly did not have much piety; not as much as could be said of the maiden and priestess. And to go so far as to reveal an even greater part of his form. Much of the happenings before, began to slowly connect in their minds, and they conversed with Sanyhaḥmān, Feyūnhaḥ, and Vrihkhaḥ who seemed intent on joining the conversation, though could not necessarily speak aside from howls, shouts, and barks. The girl meanwhile looked around herself in awe and would often annoy the Ṛkṣhaḥn by rubbing their fur.
“I had before surely thought he was hallucinating, when he spoke of the Light of That One,” said Iḷēhaḥ in a low voice. “I never took him to be a boy that would lie, as he had never done so thus far, from as much as I could gleam. Yet this does bear great importance. I can only wonder now what Lūshhaḥ desires to do now. He will not descend that much is certain! But to go out of his way to appear to Tūmbṃār, does make me uneasy.”
“I assume you heard nothing about this in the Heavens?” asked Feyūnhaḥ.
“None!” said Iḷēhaḥ in a raised whisper. “The Gods related I had some task to perform, but I did not yet know what that was until having met Athruyam. Ah! If anyone would have known about this, it would have been your brother, knowing how close he was to both Zūryaṃār and Lūshhaḥ. The man truly does not let on anything.”
“Ah! If only I could’ve wrung out more information from that sly brother of mine,” said the princess with a smack to her forehead.
“Now, now, I am sure we will all find out eventually,” said Aiṛth. “But I cannot lie in saying that I am just as surprised if not more. If I could have my way, I would have both Tūmbṃār and the great sage tell us all of it! And I am sure it will have great bearing on our mission.”
“Now that I remember,” said Sanyhaḥmān pondering, “didn’t the sage say something like, ‘The Light of That One shall guide him’ atop the mountain? I had taken that as a parting, but now that I think on it, he must’ve meant that literally. Iḷēhaḥ, did you really see nothing out of the ordinary when you and Tūmbṃār had ascended to meet Dusdrahaḥ?”
“Nothing,” she said with a sad face. “It seems even the Gods might have been unawares of all this. Perhaps Ishvhaḥṃār would know, but even he did not relate anything of this: not before when I was still in the Heavens or even after I had gone a second time to receive my punishment. Why must we be left in the dark of so many things, should we not have the right to know of such things? Seeing as it will very greatly affect our quest.”
“Perhaps it won’t affect it all that much,” said Feyūnhaḥ. “I gather that it’s more personal to Tūmbṃār than anything else. It really may not be any of our concern. Besides, it would all depend on the desire of Lūshhaḥ. If he did indeed want us to know, I’m sure we would’ve been given such information long before, but as it stands, it doesn’t look like we’re meant to know.”
“But still, it irks me,” said Iḷēhaḥ biting her lip; “how it is that I cannot in so much as any way help Tūmbṃār regarding this. I wish to be as close as I can to him, for I shall not let the same mistake be made again. He has suffered too much! From my flight, to the many battles, to his injuries. Too much he has to bear on his own, and if in anyway I could aid, I would certainly lighten that load. I feel his connection with Lūshhaḥ should only further add to it and ever weigh heavy on his mind, knowing that we can give no guidance to alleviate it.”
“Do not speak as such, Iḷēhaḥ,” said Aiṛth. “Regardless of what might befall the boy, the Light shall surely watch over him and protect him. Even with as many troubles he has faced, he is more protected than any of us. Lūshhaḥ will not let him fall if his role in this mission is that important. Nay, even without it, he should still be protected.”
Iḷēhaḥ spoke no more of it but mulled ever on. She looked to the boy who was walking not far in front of her, and she felt a distance grow between them. Many years it had been since she had last felt as such; the last of which was when she had been sent away from the Heavens, tasked with having to find companions on account of a reason that was not yet given to her.
She cried for days when she had first descended to Ārhmanhaḥ and though it was not long before she had grown accustomed to life here, she had little resolve of finding people with whom to travel. And given her odd mannerisms and dress many had at that time avoided her. Very well it could be said that even though she had company at times, it was not long lived, and they would part ways as if they had never known each other. Such a thing changed upon meeting Tūmbṃār. And her resolve to be with him, grew more and more until she had a deep inset obsession with him.
She often said to herself, “If and when I ascend, I will be sure to bring Tūmbṃār with me, I shall not leave him to this base world. He will know true happiness the likes of which could never be found here.”
The density of the trees began to increase and only a few miles in did it become as before; towering trees on either end and a sizable path that varied in width. The gold light however did not cease and between the spaces of the trees they could see it in greater effulgence, as like strong beams shining through the cracks of a wall.
Birds rustled the leaves of the canopy, and the trees seemed to ever so slightly shake. It had seemed their fear of Nakthaḥm while having abated for a time, came back once more. The group could feel a shiver run down their backs and when they looked behind them, they saw that the demon and his board that was pulled along by the wolf, violently shook and even jumped a few inches off the ground. His mouth began to foam, and then his shrieks and wails returned in full might.
“What is this foul sound?” shouted Bahṛigfar. “Someone silence him!”
Zvarañt headed toward Nakthaḥm and opening his mouth stuck a thick branch inside to muffle his voice. “There, that should do for now.”
“I pray that this will not hurt him in any way, will it?” asked Aiṛth. “His mouth is stretched quite a bit—enough to make me uneasy.”
“Be calm, priestess. The branch will not hurt him, unless he truly is that weak. Let him gnaw on it like a dog; it should help stave off some of his craving for flesh,” the bear-king said as he laughed.
Aiṛth was not at all pleased with this. She asked Vrihkhaḥ if it would be all right to pull her to which the wolf nodded. She sat upon the roots atop the demon’s legs and held onto her veena. It unfortunately was not wide enough for her to properly place it, but she made do as best she could and plucked the strings, playing a beautiful harmony. It seemed to sooth Nakthaḥm for his writhing and convulsions ceased and while he still gnawed upon the wood his concentration seemed affixed to her playing. The girl walked beside them and hummed to the tune of the instrument.