AS the members awoke one by one, they saw that it was still night and that the sky seemed frozen as it were, with the moon and stars still present above. Dhīṇahi still slept and Tūmbṃār looked about to find Nakthaḥm. The demon stood high atop one of the trees overlooking something. The boy tried to call for him, but then remembered the oath still held effect and covered his mouth. The others shook their heads and seeing where Nakthaḥm was, they made to him.
“What is it, Nakthaḥm?” called Iḷēhaḥ in a loud voice.
He turned his gaze to them and said, “We should make our way to the ship. Though it is undamaged, I smell blood flowing from there. My kin did not lie in what they did. The men of this area have all been slain, and I should like to at least send them off in burial.”
They found this rather surprising, but given the demon’s resolve to uphold all that was right, they silenced any would be remarks and followed him into the woods.
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Aiṛth carried Dhīṇahi on her back and was beginning to tire. Even though she did not fight in the battle, the stress placed on her seemed much harder to bear than it did before and she desired to rest longer. But she would not give in to the temptation and kept a firm hold of the girl upon her back. She moved beside Nakthaḥm staying close to him. The words in her mouth stifled, and she became unsure of what to say. And then she shuddered and became pensive.
Nakthaḥm looked her way and asked in a low voice, “Have you grown afraid of me, priestess?”
She quickly shook her head and said, “No! It is—it is that I do not know what to expect of you, much less myself. You were not yourself in the battle, and seemed all too intent on slaughter.”
“Seemed?” he said with a laugh. “I meant to slaughter them.”
“I know—I know, but why? You do not hate your kind and yet would go to such lengths to kill them, and in such a cruel way! Is that not the kind of thing you full well reviled? Did not King Rṭyāshphaḥ’s actions disgust and enrage you enough to want to fell him on that spot? So, why then would you commit to such a deed now?”
He mulled on her words, but not long, for he soon after said, “Because it was in my nature to do so. Such is the way of the ‘Demons’, and long had I lived as such before having tempered myself. Yet every now and then, such temptations arise in me, and I so dearly wish to torture those who would afflict me or any other I hold dear.”
He then looked to her with a solemn face and continued in a low voice, “My dear Aiṛth, if any folk, whether they be of the orders of animal, man, celestial, god, or demon, would choose to assail you, never would I go give them chance to live, and miserable would I make their end! Even if you choose to reprove of it, as well you should, I would not hesitate to act as such. The only reason I came back as it were, would be for the boy’s words for I am held to his will by a force and promise stronger than any shackle he cast on me. I can imagine he is not happy that I still at the end decided to kill my kin, but I am fine with that. Better them dead than he whom I hold dear as like you all.”
She said no more after that, conflicted yet still overall glad that Nakthaḥm still held them well within their minds. Should he choose to once more become wrathful, perhaps then he would listen to her and by extension all of them.
They paced themselves on the thin trail through the woods, tending to their wounds and afflictions along the way, and listening for any enemies nearby. No surprise it would be to find undead walking about, but they could be relieved at the fact that no presence of other demons could be had in those woods. The presence now wholly vanished. Nakthaḥm’s sense had strengthened just a little since the conflict, and he could assure them that no other remained save for them.
The path swerved around the trees, and the trees themselves seemed to huddle on all sides as if to give comfort. The boughs once more arched above and the thin branches of the banyans came down like vines albeit just raised a little enough above their heads. The Forest became quiet, and any murmurs from the trees or the animals that remained would have been inaudible.
Dust and dirt kicked up from their movements and it seemed as if the earth was pushing up against them. The weariness of battle and its accompanying fatigue had yet to be fully cured and they became as dull and lifeless as the surroundings about them. The streams crossed seemed to slow in their flow, and the fish that swam within seemed to avoid the gaze of the group.
Vrihkhaḥ’s mouth was still covered in blood, and though Feyūnhaḥ did all she could to wipe away the foul liquid, it oozed from his teeth in a never-ending pool and he would shout every so often as if in pain from it. The blood that leaked from his mouth colored the stream black and the wolf did his best to wash the blood away within it. It did not work and this left the wolf even more sullen and in pain than the others.
Then, when they passed back into the Forest, they could feel a warmth emanating from it. The silver light had not returned, and much of the area was still steeped in darkness. Yet they relaxed and let loose their guard, and enjoyed as much of the time they had to themselves before having to face another troublesome matter. Even Vrihkhaḥ was glad of this and felt now a little more resolve in bearing his troubles.
When they passed through the forest and came to the clearing of the village, dread filled them, and their faces held to a horrified expression at what could be seen before them. All buildings, crops, and animals, devastated and reduced to rubble or ash. The blood of the victims flowing on the ground with many of them having been torn to pieces and mutilated beyond recognition. And many more charred to charcoal, ripped here and there, and all piled together in one big heap.
They knew upon sight that they would have been used to flame the city of the Mrigūhvha. And for Tūmbṃār, he felt anguish, anger, and despair and could for that moment understand why Nakthaḥm reacted the way he did, though indeed it seemed out of place.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
For as much love as the boy had for him, he could never see the demon as one to care for the life of those he had no affiliation. Hardly had he displayed such a side: not during the incident in Viprūtaram nor at the destruction of Vālukyāvaḷūr nor at the demise of those who summoned Druhastuṃār nor even at the assailment of Vūragāndara. Perhaps he had been hardening himself to such things but Tūmbṃār could not tell one way or the other. Yet at least now, he could see sorrow on the face of his friend, a kind he had not displayed since Tūmbṃār awoke to him in Gazhigashrahthya.
And while not having been said to Iḷēhaḥ, Nakthaḥm had profusely apologized to no end to the boy in the realm of the Gazhigam for having failed before to protect him. A promise was given that, no matter the cost, he would not let harm come Tūmbṃār’s way, and he held true to that word, even if it came at the cost of a terrible oath that seemed to separate them. The resolution of the promise of which in part had no doubt led to the outcome before them and which seemed the demon could no more tolerate.
Nakthaḥm looked around at the bodies and one by one he began to pick them up and lay them side by side. The others followed in suit, careful to make sure that the bodies did not fall apart. For long they did continue with this, and it seemed the night sky held still: Svyamhaḥ and Naktshuthaḥ both watching them. When all the rubble and dust and ash had sweeped away, they looked at the mass of neatly laid bodies before them, twenty-four rings of bodies all spread before the smouldering Fiyukthi, and this only accounted for those that had not been flung.
The demon then said to the others, “Let us alight them; let the wayward at last be free to enter the Halls of their Forefathers.”
Tūmbṃār, Feyūnhaḥ, Iḷēhaḥ, Zvarañt, and Bahṛigfar stepped forth and conjured a stream of fire that set aflame the Fiyukthi and the fire conjured, then moved all around, spreading into the lines of the dead and alighting them. The embers coursed and then quickly began to rise as pillars of fire that surrounded the sacrificial altar. The bodies quickly burned away and they began to sing the Prayer for the Dead. The ash of dead flew into the air and then not soon after did the flames stand erect and begin to faze in their view. A stream of red hue spiraled about them and the flames seemed as the Eastern and Western lights of the farthest reaches of Ārhmanhaḥ.
The light shined upon each of the flames, and they could see before them the shapes of peoples now passed. These spirits folded their hands and bowed, and one by one ascended quickly and high as if to become like a star in the night sky. And when all of them had passed and the fires had died, the sun began to rise into view and blanket all in a golden light. And they all stood in silence watching the morning.
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“Nakthaḥm, I had been meaning to ask of this for a while, but what happened to the God of the South?” asked Feyūnhaḥ.
They were making their way back, as the rest were silent and dejected. The golden light had come into the Forest and the vigor of the trees returned, as did the animals, and all once more seemed merry and alive, save for the group itself.
Feyūnhaḥ would not let this chance pass by and continued, “I’ve heard that epithet mentioned one too many times, and I know very much that it somehow concerns Iḷēhaḥ. But I can’t make sense to what it should mean: Hṛjvāpaden talked of a ‘cursed lord’, and you spoke of him being ‘vile’, and having ‘fell’ to the words of your kin. I can even remember in my daze, that Hvesykhiḥ spoke of the God of the South being ‘cursed’ by someone. Tell us Nakthaḥm what has happened to him?”
She looked behind her at the maiden who held a surprised expression, almost one of shock if not for the fact that she tried to hold herself back from expressing it.
“Iḷēhaḥ will you speak of the matter? Are you in anyway related to Eruhaḥ? Indeed what has happened to him?”
“She will not speak of it,” said Nakthaḥm immediately after. He looked Iḷēhaḥ’s way, but she averted her gaze and he shook his head. “It seems she is not yet ready to speak on the matter, and that being the case, neither will I.”
“But should we not know what it is that occured during that time?” said Feyūnhaḥ as if pleading them to speak. She turned to Zvarañt and asked, “Might you know anything of this, King of the Bears?”
And he said, “I know only very little concerning the matter, but what I can say is–” a strong menace came toward him as if to intimidate. He could see the sharp glare that the demon gave him and though he was unafraid, he listened to it, not wishing to anger him and continued, “–that he is not to be spoken here.”
Feyūnhaḥ could take it no more and shouted, “You people and your secrets! How much longer shall we continue to travel in silence with information—that could very well lead to aid in our quest and stifle further risk—continuing to be withheld from us, and for no other reason than what seems some misplaced guilt or shame?”
“And do you not have secrets of your own? And how is it that you should know this to be of any aid or risk?” said Iḷēhaḥ.
“Aye! I indeed do, but seeing how much Nakthaḥm seems to revile him and how you remain secretive as to the doings of the Gods can only mean that there is something concerning the matter of which I’m very sure involves this ‘God of the South’ and you particularly. There seems to be more to this conflict revolving around the Gods and Demons, that concerns even those who walk upon Ārhmanhaḥ. Those above may not wish us to know, but all the same, if it should affect our quest in any way, then I say it should be dispensed to the rest of us! He, whom I am sure to be Eruhaḥ: something terrible must have occurred to him, enough so to even have him weigh heavy in Nakthaḥm’s mind and to even concern you Iḷēhaḥ, perhaps he could even be a reason as to why they have abandoned us. Do you know what it is that Nakthaḥm knows of you?”
She shook her head and said, “No, and I do not intend to for I already have the answer—regardless of whether he was party to it or not.”
Feyūnhaḥ scoffed and said, “Fine! Be as you will with your riddles, goddess!” and she stormed away.
Vrihkhaḥ moved passed the others to be by the princess but she only began to walk faster. The wolf shrunk away with his head hung low and whimpering.
Aiṛth while she would normally have engaged in such a conversation (or rather argument), remained silent, unable to come to a conclusion of her own. And all the same she did not wish to bring further tension to the others, especially Nakthaḥm and Iḷēhaḥ. And the others were unsure of what to do.
“Are they often like this?” Bahṛigfar asked Tūmbṃār in a low voice.
“No, very rarely, it’s happened a couple times before,” said Tūmbṃār, sighing. “I’m not sure what to do about these things, and since I can’t talk to them for now, I guess I’ll have to remain silent.”
“Have no worries, prince!” said Sanyhaḥmān. “They’ll be back together as friends in no time. The princess doesn’t stay mad for long, unfortunately the same can’t be said of the maiden,” and Iḷēhaḥ gave him a glare and pouted, “but she’s not mad right now, at least not with her, so I say give it a day and things will be back to normal. As for myself, I shall deal with Nakthaḥm.”
And he scurried off after that and made to the demon’s side, slapping the poor fellow on the back much to his annoyance.
“And what of you Tūmbṃār? You do not seem so well,” said the prince who noticed the boy slowly wobbling from side to side.
“I guess I’m tired, but I should be fine after some sleep,” he said, yawning. “I was up all night talking to Lūshhaḥ; he told me many interesting things about himself aside from what I had to do for Nakthaḥm.”
“Oh! Tell me, tell me! What did he relate to you,” said the prince, eagerly.
Tūmbṃār put his finger to his lips and curled a smile, and said, “Something that should be kept secret.”