AS soon as they had awoken, they quickly realized Tūmbṃār was nowhere to be seen and that Nakthaḥm had also disappeared. They had slept for far too long; the sun was already nearing its apex and they had to meet the King and Queen of the Mrigūhvha. They scoured the city, high and low, and went through many levels within the tree, all to no avail. As time passed, Iḷēhaḥ began to grow more and more frantic, expecting the worst. None of the city folk or guards had seen him. It was as if he had disappeared.
“Is there any place where he might be?” Iḷēhaḥ finally asked Bahṛigfar, at her wits end to where he could have gone.
“There is one other place—barring the interior of the palace—where he could have gone, but,” and he hesitated on this, “if he really intended to keep this a secret from us, then it would not be an easy place to trek.”
“What is this place? Tell us!” said Iḷēhaḥ and the others tried to reel her back, but she would have none of it. “That foolish boy does not listen to us at all, and now he disappears as if its normal? No, if he ventured without telling us, then I can only expect the worst. Tell us Bahṛigfar, where would he have gone?”
“It makes little sense to me how he would know to go there, but there is a path on the far end of the realm that leads to a clearing three leagues off where we have kept hidden our ship.”
“A ship?” said Feyūnhaḥ. “Do you mean the one that your people shall use to sail the stars.”
He nodded and now grew concerned. “My parents should not be happy if we were to venture there. Maintenance has been halted, until a pressing matter has been resolved. Around that area, there lurks several Demons that have setup hold, and they are quite elusive and crafty.” He paused to look at the others who by this point could not conceal their disbelief.
“You have Demons prowling the realm? Why had you not related this to us before!” shouted Iḷēhaḥ.
Bahṛigfar became scared of the maiden’s wrath and he quivered in speaking.
“Stop this Iḷēhaḥ. Control yourself!” shouted Feyūnhaḥ. “Did you not already make the same mistake before?”
Iḷēhaḥ would not listen and stormed off in anger.
“I’ve been wondering for some time,” said Sanyhaḥmān, “but what’s happened to her? Ever since Tūmbṃār went unconscious she’s been unable to keep herself calm concerning him. Maybe it was like this even before then; it has gotten much worse now.”
“I’m unsure,” said Feyūnhaḥ, “but in any case this isn’t good. We should keep close to her.”
“Then let us be off,” said Aiṛth. “I too wish to see Nakthaḥm—however,” she glanced over to Dhīṇahi who held onto her robes, “I do not think it wise to bring her with us.” She bent down to the girl and said, “Will you wait for us here by the palace. We must be off, but it is best if you did not come with us. It would be much too dangerous for you.” She fiercly shook her head and clutched Aiṛth’s clothes tighter. “Listen, Dhīṇahi, there will be Demons in the forest: ones that would wish to eat you!” She still shook her head and pointed out toward Iḷēhaḥ. Her eyebrows furrowed and she looked determined to follow them into the woods. Aiṛth sighed and said, “So be it; stay close to me should anything happen,” and the girl at last nodded with a smile.
They made haste after Iḷēhaḥ, and Bahṛigfar seemed despondent over not having been able to answer the maiden’s question.
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They took a bridge to the far off woods at the western side. The same golden light pervaded them, but its effects seemed to have dulled on them. It did not feel warm and even felt cold as if the forest was shunning them.
Iḷēhaḥ was also still furious and they tried to keep pace with her, even though she kept on walking faster from them, as if to say they were slowing her down. Eventually she decided to circulate air about her feet and she sped forward with great leaps into the depths of the forest.
Vrihkhaḥ sprinted with Sanyhaḥmān, Aiṛth, and Dhīṇahi upon his back while Feyūnhaḥ did the same as Iḷēhaḥ. It was not long after, that the three leagues were quickly passed although at great expense to themselves: Vrihkhaḥ sprinted to keep pace with the princess and maiden whose steps against the forest floor ruptured the soil and threw the grass.
The forest gave way to a small clearing, and they at last found Tūmbṃār. Yet the scene they hoped to see before them was not at all present, and what instead occurred was something wholly distasteful, nay even horrific to them. Zvarañt was there, propped down beside the boy, with his hands clasping onto Nakthaḥm’s teeth and spreading out his jaw. A fine red stream poured into his mouth. The boy had slashed his wrist and let the blood flow.
Iḷēhaḥ upon seeing this, rushed to Tūmbṃār and embraced him tight, clutching with a firm grip his soiled wound. The force of the impact forced them in the air, and they flew a distance into the shrubs before skidding on the floor.
When Tūmbṃār who was sorely shocked from the sudden assault opened his eyes, he saw the furious face of the maiden whose tears watered his face, and he dreaded what was surely to come. But it did not come; and instead Iḷēhaḥ’s face softened, as if in hopeless resolve.
She stood up, gently pulling Tūmbṃār up with her, and put the boy’s hand to her cheek, where the blood smeared it.
Then he saw a light flow under her palm, and he thereupon swung his arm, trying to free himself from no avail. And all the while, Iḷēhaḥ silently healed his wrist. Now Tūmbṃār had become furious and wished to lash back at Iḷēhaḥ but could not. His words and voice faltered again, and he looked to his wrist that had not a trace of gash on it. Pristine and clean as if it had never been there.
The two of them then walked back to where the others were, and Tūmbṃār kept his distance from her.
“Since you are still bound by the oath, I alone will have to speak to you,” said Bahṛigfar not pleased but relieved to see Tūmbṃār was safe.
Zvarañt sat rather awkwardly at the side still holding Nakthaḥm’s mouth open, yet the others noticed that Nakthaḥm did not stir or even seem to resist as if he were in a deep peaceful sleep.
“I can see you were feeding Nakthaḥm, and I am surprised that you had acquired even Zvarañt’s help in this regard,” said Bahṛigfar who gave a sharp look to the bear-king who calmly evaded the ire of the prince, “but I suppose the more pertinent question is: why did you go to so much trouble for this? At the cost of possibly making this demon’s bloodlust rush and endangering us: most of all you. I wonder how much blood it is you have drained by this point, for that wound looked deep and life-threatening.”
Tūmbṃār remained silent and then suddenly Bahṛigfar in a streak of anger lashed out, “Answer me, Tūmbṃār!” His voice resounded loud, like a king who was meting his punishment, and even the woods seemed to shirk away from that display of force.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“I—I did this because Lūshhaḥ had said this was the way to bring Nakthaḥm back to his self,” said Tūmbṃār with a stammer. “He told me to be careful of all of you, for you wouldn’t believe these words and let me do as I should.”
Bahṛigfar grabbed onto Tūmbṃār’s shoulder and said, “Lies! Speak the truth; do not expect us to believe that a demon be fed by the very thing he should be resisting.”
“It’s the truth!” said Tūmbṃār now with confidence. “Lūshhaḥ had said this, and he had hoped that you’d help me do this, lest I have to slash my wrist once more and feed him all my blood to bring him back!”
Now there was silence. The boy had made his determination clear, and this distraught all of them, not least the maiden who stood behind him. Not a wise idea they thought the boy had been brought toward. They began to question in their minds whether this being that Tūmbṃār conversed could really be Lūshhaḥ at all. Never did such a questionable thing arise in their minds that the greatest of beings should ask a child to do. If only they could converse and even berate this person who had put such ideas into this misguided child’s head.
Then Zvarañt spoke: “I would have you trust him, prince. As would I have the rest of you. He speaks the truth, for he has given me zṣhṭya and declared on That One that this should be the case at the cost of his life. Whether that due should be paid now or later, should he be wrong, is not something I know. Yet if he were willing to go this far for the sake of this worthless demon, then I say trust in his words! He himself surely believes it to be the case.”
The others looked to each other until at last Aiṛth held to Tūmbṃār’s hand and said, “I put my trust in him. Give me your knife Tūmbṃār: let me feed Nakthaḥm as well. I shall break this custom this one time, for the life of a friend and a true adherent to Khāryaḥ is worth more than any regulation.”
Tūmbṃār placed the knife in her hand and she pulled her robes from beneath the gloves to reveal a patch of skin, both dark and beautiful, seeming as smooth to the touch as any of the Autirsāh of Siḍhrehḷūr.
And with a quick slash, her left wrist opened, and Dhīṇahi standing behind her jumped from the quiver and embraced the priestess.
It was painful but Aiṛth did her best to not let it show. She positioned her wrist above Nakthaḥm’s mouth. The blood once more flowed; drop by drop and then in a stream.
Dhīṇahi tried to grasp for the knife for she wanted to do as Aiṛth had, but the priestess kept it away from her, placing it in her other hand high above her head.
While she was looking down at the girl who tried to reach up in desperation, Sanyhaḥmān from the side grabbed it from her hand and said, “A great shame it is to me for not having it picked it up before the priestess. A sorry state of a friend I am. But I too trust Tūmbṃār, and shall do as he has said. I’ll trust Nakthaḥm to have enough resolve to not devour me for his third stomach.”
And then he slashed his left wrist and above Aiṛth’s hand let his blood drop into the demon’s mouth.
This all seemed like madness to the maiden and prince, who were beyond baffled by this turn of events. No sooner had they thought to confront Tūmbṃār once more, that both Feyūnhaḥ and Vrihkhaḥ wished the do the same. The wrist of the princess and the paw of the wolf were likewise slashed and when they placed it above their friends’ hands, it now very much looked as a tiered fountain where the red-hued liquid streamed in the middle.
“Let us bring our friend back!” said Feyūnhaḥ. “No more should we hesitate on this matter, if Lūshhaḥ themselves wishes this then so be it.” And Vrihkhaḥ made grunts and shouts to indicate the same. “Iḷēhaḥ! Will you not reconsider? For Tūmbṃār to have made so terrible a deal in order to secure trust shouldn’t be taken light.”
Hesitation, sadness, fear, and wrath assailed her mind in all forms. She could not relent; she should not relent: such were the nature of her thoughts.
She could not believe the boy’s words and she had thought her friends to have gone mad. There was no more she could say to convince them otherwise, and so she stood: silent and pensive, brooding over dark thoughts that should happen if and when Nakthaḥm awoke.
Feyūnhaḥ had no sooner became saddened over this, as did the others. But Tūmbṃār most of all, felt anger; that she should not help even a friend in his time of need, and by way of a source that was higher than even she. The rage that he first held when he had cast that oath then resurged in his mind, and the words of Prelūshyodhaḥm and Jūtihiḥ came to him. He could not and should not have his way. His resolve should not be thrust upon others, for he himself knew that all others had the freedom to decide.
The position he held was one mired in ignorance; regardless of his standing as a disciple, and his association with the Light, he had not the means nor the knowledge to persuade anyone else to do as he would.
And so he let himself calm down and he looked to Bahṛigfar who was still very much bewildered over all this and said, “I’m sorry, Bahṛigfar. I apologize for all I did against you, even though you’ve done so much for me. I followed my convictions at your expense even though you were always intent in keeping me at the forefront of your thoughts. But I would ask, for just this one time, that you let me follow through with this and that you’d stand by me in this. I’ve made mistakes before, but I assure you, at least this alone is not one. Lūshhaḥ did indeed tell me to do this, and he has guided us this far. He won’t let trouble consume us, this I’m sure. Put your trust in me as you would in him.”
The prince became even more confused before realizing who those words were truly directed toward.
Iḷēhaḥ turned her head toward Tūmbṃār, and she looked to the back of his head. A light seemed to overpower all else before her: her friends, the forest, and all else seemed to vanish in a sea of white, leaving only her and the boy.
Her expression changed to one of awe, as she beheld, coming from in front of Tūmbṃār, a radiant being of light; grander than even the Gods, more terrible than even the Demons, yet at the same time both serene and gentle in form. Her fear released upon witnessing him, for the one who had surely tasked her had come forth, in his resplendent robes and fhorlia. He embraced Tūmbṃār, though the boy did not seem to realize it, and he rested his chin upon his shoulder.
Looking with that gentle smile of his toward Iḷēhaḥ, he said:
Let your fears be removed. I have come and have given my message. Raise this demon from his pain, and let him once more stand by you as a friend and a protector of Khāryaḥ alike. You who were tasked by the Gods, know that it was me who had made that request of you. I stand before you, in partial form, this one time, to relieve of you of this momentary suffering; and though you and many others will indeed err in the future, and much evil should come all your way, never doubt that I, who rests as the foundation of all, stand beside and within you all: even should the whole of the Ṃārhaḥn conspire against you. Let this child be to you as like the Light of the Immortal Flame, for when the time shall come he will surely guide you all to your deliverance: that is the truth. Now step forth, Dehyaiḷeḥ: Goddess of Divine Adoration! and let the life that flows within you be dispensed to the brother who lay asleep!
All became as it once was, with the light having suddenly vanished. Her gaze broke but she felt renewed. And at last as if a great burden was lifted, she approached Tūmbṃār’s side. Her face had become calm and resolute and she gave a gentle smile his way. His words seemed to have reached her, he thought to himself, but the truth was much greater than he realized.
Iḷēhaḥ took the blade from Feyūnhaḥ and slashed her left wrist and placed it below all the others. Then without her realizing, Dhīṇahi swiftly grabbed from her hand, and slashed her wrist as well and placed it below hers. The girl grit her teeth, as Aiṛth shouted at her and tried to grab her wrist to heal it. But she would not have it and Aiṛth halted her movements knowing it futile to stop this stubborn girl. Dhīṇahi had for the moment won, and joined with all the others in their act.
The sword was at last given back to Tūmbṃār, and he finished the deed with his blood flowing above all others. With the fountain now complete, and as if a spell had now been cast over it, the blood became loose and light and seemed to dance through the air. It spiraled its way in a stream directly into Nakthaḥm’s mouth and in a matter of moments the blood in his mouth overflowed. And Zvarañt as soon as he noticed this, pulled his hands out of Nakthaḥm’s mouth, who with a snap closed it shut. Three gulps went down his throat, and the outer larynx bobbed high and low.
A silence was held for a moment, quickly followed by a deep rumble that shook the floor beneath them. The sharp teeth receded from their point and became more human. His head fell back and seemed diminish in size. And then he opened his mouth; a stream of air flowing from a forceful exhalation rushed out and shook the leaves of the trees, and a deep sigh as of death released whispered in their ears before altogether vanishing.
Nakthaḥm opened his eyes and after many days of having not spoken, he said: “My penance has been spent.”