ANSWERS are what Tūmbṃār sought, but it seemed they would be harder to obtain than last expected. The trial his teacher has planned was not far off now. And there was still much to do in preparation. Both Gravya and Tūmbṃār spent day and night tending to sage when they were not training. Vādruhaḥ made full use of them at his convenience, sending them on errands out and about, and when he had nothing planned, he would have them massage him and at time even sing. This both surprised and humored the others, and they hoped this might instill a little more discipline into their unruly boy.
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“Tūmbṃār, are you quite sure that this is going to work?” asked Gravya. “It took me weeks of toiling before the sage would grant my request. And it almost seems like he has it out for you, but I shan’t dare accuse him of impropriety—lest I be cursed.”
Tūmbṃār, though giving a sheepish smile, was serious about his intentions. “Don’t you worry Gravya, teacher will budge. There was never a time when my earnestness failed in receiving some gratitude from him.”
“But did he ever happen to respond quickly to such things? We have only a few days left before the trial.”
“No,” said Tūmbṃār, now seeming worried, “but there’s little that can be done now. I should just have to hope my teacher will finally explain things. I think it’s been long enough of a wait for my doubts to be answered.”
“If you don’t mind telling me, what are these doubts?” asked Gravya. “They must be quite something for the sage to have remained silent on them all this while.”
“In some ways yes and others no,” said Tūmbṃār. “The issue here is that teacher doesn’t trust me with the information he would otherwise give me. It really is supposed to only concern me and the greater world at large. He made a point that I shouldn’t be distracted by such things right now, but I’m afraid if I don’t find out now then I might not ever. There’s also the issue with Iḷēhaḥ. She seems to be hiding much from us, but I can’t necessarily say what that is.”
“That is quite odd,” said Gravya. “Say, I know you already mentioned this before, but is Miss Iḷēhaḥ really a goddess.”
“That’s what she told us, and the others confirmed it visibly by her change in appearance,” said Tūmbṃār.
“You haven’t seen yourself!” cried Gravya.
“No, and it doesn’t seem like I will anytime soon,” said Tūmbṃār. “It took quite the toll on her last I mentioned, so she’ll probably only take that form again as a last resort.”
“If that’s the case, why does it seem like your not on the best of terms with her?”
Tūmbṃār gave a perplexed expression. “What makes you say that?”
“Well observing you, it doesn’t seem like you give her all that much respect. You also look like you’re trying to avoid her, though it appears she fawns over you. You wouldn’t happen to be one of the Dehaḥṃār too!”
“Of course not!” said Tūmbṃār embarrassed while Gravya laughed. “It’s true that I don’t seem all that respectful of her given what she is, but it’s not because I’m angry or hate her or anything like that. First off, I nor anyone else in my party really see her all that much as a goddess—except for Aiṛth, but her situation is a little different. And two, she just seems to butt into my business without giving me much room to myself. Her behavior’s been odd lately. Whereas before she seemed a lot freer, now she seems almost bound. She doesn’t talk much to the others and from what they’ve told me she just either looks up to the sky—probably thinking about home—or just silently observes me.”
“Hopefully she’s not bound to you!” laughed Gravya.
“Hah! You and me both!”
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The days passed by with little event. Vādruhaḥ gave little indication as to his appreciation for the servitude of his disciple and the chieftain’s grandson—that is as far as Tūmbṃār could see.
It was not long before the last day of their grueling training arrived. Although this day was to be much lighter for the sage was going to teach Feyūnhaḥ, Sanyhaḥmān, Aiṛth, and Dhīṇahi how to project their minds. Feyūnhaḥ was worried that he had by this point forgotten about it, forgetting herself who she was dealing with.
Vādruhaḥ has each of them seated on a mat of Kusha grass. He directed them to close their eyes and cup their palms upon their laps. On doing so, the four of them relaxed and stilled themselves.
The others were busy sparring with one another, flinging strikes and elemental discharge about the plains. Vādruhaḥ had them stay near so that could observe them. Actively, however, he still kept his concentration locked to the four who were meditating. They were to stay as such for the entire day. Tūmbṃār laughed to himself that the four would most likely be stuck in that position after waking. The same thing happened to him many a time before, but his body eventually adjusted to the restriction.
With the group split in their activities for the day, Gravya was left alone tending to the sage while at the same time also maintaining a hold of the grazing animals. The sage had him direct his powers to shift the earth and air to keep them in place. Gravya kept aloft one of his arms as he did this while with the other he massaged the sage. Vādruhaḥ would have him alternate his arms every so often, but Gravya tried to resist seeing it to be improper for him to do so.
“I very much appreciate your guidance and direction, O respected sage,” said Gravya, “but please do not have me touch along with my right hand. Surely, you know it is unbecoming of one such as yourself to be tended with something that is unclean.”
“Did you not wash both your hands?” asked Vādruhaḥ.
“I did but—”
“Then I see their to be no issue,” said Vādruhaḥ. “I understand very much the cultural and ethical implications behind this, but nonetheless I ask you to do this. Trust me in that it shall be good for you. Se aside your norms and listen only to my direction.”
After having head those words, Gravya did as the sage bid but still felt a lingering feat behind doing so. “You won’t curse me, will you?”
Vādruhaḥ burst into laughter. “So that was what you were afraid of! Fear not, I am not one who is quick to anger unless taken by surprise.”
Gravya sighed in relief. “Did Tūmbṃār have any resistance to your directions?”
“Yes!” said Vādruhaḥ. “Many times I must say. You have already seen how stubborn he is but he would always came around. In most cases I would have foregone such an unruly disciple as he, yet I was bound to him not because of my promise, but because of where I could see his life being led. I am to be his guide for something much greater. Whether he follows that path only time shall tell. I should only hope the Light will direct him when I cannot. But I fear that it could be too much for him to handle.”
Gravya thought at that moment that he should let this matter rest, but he felt a persistence that he should inquire further. “Why is it that you think that?”
Vādruhaḥ faced Gravya, giving a solemn expression. Gravya turned his face away. From the corner of his eyes he saw the sage pointing his fingers toward Gravya’s. With a vexed expression, he said, “Do you not think you are applying a little too much pressure there.”
Immediately, Gravya pulled his hands away. And no sooner had he done that did his control over the elements break. The livestock began flying in fear from the erupting crags and violent winds. Gravya panicked. He brought himself up, and positioned himself to sprint. But as his legs brushed the dirt, he felt his foot being grabbed and plummeted face flat into the ground. The earth then silenced its tremors, and the wind calmed into a light breeze.
Gravya spat out the dirt in his mouth and rubbed his face. He looked behind him to see the sage holding onto his foot.
“Did you mean to abandon your duties?” asked Vādruhaḥ.
“No, no! the sheep, the goats, I need to catch them!” said Gravya, looking back and front.
“Calm down, child, your animals are not going anywhere. Or would you have rather they persisted in flight under the duress of your powers?”
Gravya realized then that his powers had been dispelled. his body felt light. Looking behind, the livestock slowly returned with the help of Vrihkhaḥ. Iḷēhaḥ, Tūmbṃār, and Nakthaḥm made their way to Gravya and the sage. Gravya panned his head to see the dirt having erupting into ever higher crags the farther they went from him. It even seemed that some of them had molten tips that were quickly doused in water. Steam emerged from them, and the view of the village and its inhabitants were obscured by a thick mist. Gravya sighed and shook his head.
“Sorry Master Vādruhaḥ,” said Gravya. He closed his mouth in surprise and looking to his side he saw Tūmbṃār whose mouth was agape.
“You can speak his name?” cried Tūmbṃār. “Since when could you do that?”
“Were you not going to inquire as to his safety,” said Nakthaḥm.
“Yes, but, he’s alright and this is more important!”
Gravya scratched his head, unsure of what was happening. Vādruhaḥ patted his shoulder and said, “Worry not, for I have given you the ability to speak it. Your association to me is nor more than just as an attendant. Should you wish, I would gladly take you as a disciple.”
This surprised the others but made Tūmbṃār especially angry.
“Why teacher?” he cried. “Why would you take him as a disciple when you already have me?”
Gravya shook his head, and said, “Don’t worry Tūmbṃār. I have no intention of taking your place nor becoming a disciple. I’m afraid my role in this life would not permit me that.”
“Ho! And why do you think that should be the case?” asked the sage.
“Because I understand what must be sacrificed and what must be given to walk that path,” said Gravya with a forlorn expression. “I can’t risk to take such a dangerous path for myself when I don’t even know what it is I seek.” He looked to Tūmbṃār who held a confused expression, seeming to not understand what Gravya said. Gravya turned to Vādruhaḥ, and said, “Was Tūmbṃār not given a choice, O Master Vādruhaḥ?”
“Nay, for his choice was cast before he had even come into this world,” said the sage. “The curse I placed on him was enough to ensure that. Yet when we speak of the choice of his discipleship it extends in so much as he’s willing to receive. That was the boon I granted him. And the choice now still remains for him to cut association with me.”
Tūmbṃār’s confusion turned to frustration, unable to comprehend what his teacher meant. “What do you mean about these choices teacher? Why do you suggest that I would abandon you? Have I not stayed under your tutelage for so long? Have I not braved through so many trails that tested my faith and my conviction? Why then do you speak like this?”
Vādruhaḥ remained silent a while. Tūmbṃār looked to Nakthaḥm and Iḷēhaḥ who seemed to understand what the sage suggested. They too chose to remain silent. Tūmbṃār gnashed his teeth and was about to walk away until the sage finally spoke, “Are you willing to throw the chance away for a boon?”
Tūmbṃār froze at his position and turned. “So the answers to those question are also related to the answers to my doubts?” The sage nodded his head. “It seems to me that you have no intention of telling me and are seeking at every chance to avoid the issue. This might sound disrespectful, but I must ask, what makes you so afraid of me learning the truth of my situation?”
“It is not a fear my boy, but a doubt,” said Vādruhaḥ. “I am unsure whether it is in yours, mine, and the world’s best interest for you to know. Through the answers themselves are not important, your reaction to them is. That reaction could occur now or sometime much later, and for all my business in affairs yet to come, I cannot see where this path of understanding shall lead you. Would you accept it, would you reject it, or shall you remain neutral, teetering on the line of inability to make a choice.
“Until now, I have always been guided and directed with my actions by a force higher than me; a force you surely know. Yet, they remain silent and I should not understand why. Much of what they do seems incomprehensible but only because we cannot know it in its entirety. And now it wishes that I choose and that be content with that decision. When one such as myself surrenders to the light, we also—by choice—surrender our agency. And so until this moment I have always acted as a vehicle for the Divine but now that same divinity is giving it back to me and I stand at a crossroads as to the decision I should have to make.”
Based on his words, Tūmbṃār thought the sage would be distressed, but if he were, he certainly did not show it on his face. In fact, he seemed almost excited. A sort of excitement that was also calm and at peace. This sort of duality was not something the boy had seen before and it made him feel restless.
“Then what would you have me do?” asked Tūmbṃār.
“Do as you have always done before,” said Vādruhaḥ. “Wrest control over what it is you seek from the adversary that stands before you!”
“Then does that mean I should take you to be my enemy?” asked Tūmbṃār.
“Tomorrow is the day of your trial, and so I do not see why that should not be the case.”
Tūmbṃār took a deep breath and exhaled. “Then I’ll do all I can to defeat you teacher! This time for sure. I may have defeated you before but I know you gave me that chance. This time it’ll be different. I’ll succeed on my own terms and then finally prove I’m worthy enough for you to trust.”
Vādruhaḥ smiled. “I’ll hold you to your word.”
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Evening fast approached. As the day’s session drew to a close, Feyūnhaḥ, Sanyhaḥmān, Aiṛth, and Dhīṇahi awoke. They each tried to move their legs and arms, and found that they were tense to the point of being immovable. The others laughed on seeing this and tried to help them stand.
“Ah!” cried Sanyhaḥmān. “I think I’ll be feeling this tomorrow.”
“As should I,” said Feyūnhaḥ as she stretched her back.
“Oh, stop complaining you two,” said Aiṛth who recovered rather quickly. She used her powers to loosen Sanyhaḥmān’s and Feyūnhaḥ’s muscles, and within a matter of seconds, they were back to normal.
The two of them turned to see the erupted crags. “What happened here?” cried Sanyhaḥmān.
Gravya with a sheepish smile, said, “I may have lost just a bit of control over the elements.”
“A little,” said Sanyhaḥmān, laughing, “why, had it gone any further you very well could’ve recreated the continental crags!”
“It’s good to see that your training with the sage has been fruitful,” said Feyūnhaḥ, smiling. “Practice more and you shall excel past most others.”
Gravya nodded with delight.
Dhīṇahi, who for the most part was unaffected by all this, ran about in excitement. She raced to Tūmbṃār and held her arms up, and cried, “Ah!” many times as if to mimic something.
“What’s she saying?” asked Gravya.
“A giant—maybe?” said Tūmbṃār. “Ah, she must’ve seen one of the gods!”
She shook her head and with her hands began to count. When she finished she held up three fingers in each hand.
“Thirty-three?” said Tūmbṃār and Dhīṇahi nodded with a great smile. “Wait—that means you saw all of them! That’s not fair; I only got to meet one.”
Nakthaḥm seemed surprised by this. “So you have also seen the Lord Daryurhaḥ I take it?” Dhīṇahi thought for a moment and shrugged. “Then I assume he masked himself in a coat of light. That is his regular state, though to bear such a form in the Hells would either greatly weaken us or outright kill. The form he usually takes resembles that of our kind so it would be rather hard to miss.”
“If he’s so deadly, then why doesn’t he deal with the Demons?” asked Tūmbṃār.
“And I likewise could ask why the rest of the gods do not deal with them.”
“Iḷēhaḥ told us they’re not supposed to descend,” said Tūmbṃār. “And besides, even if they could why can’t Daryurhaḥ fix the problem here and now?”
Upon asking that question, Tūmbṃār felt a menace around him. The demon clasped onto his shoulders and brought his face low. With a great grin and a voice that murmured like death, Nakthaḥm said, “I shall excuse your ignorance for now and leave you with this. What bring would wish to hurt his family?”
The menace receded, and Nakthaḥm loosened his grip over the boy’s shoulders. It seemed no one else had noticed. Tūmbṃār could only think that an illusion had been cast over him. And while in most cases that be cause for alarm, Tūmbṃār knew he was at fault for forcing Nakthaḥm’s hand. The demon surely did not want to speak of it.
“I’m sorry,” said Tūmbṃār in a low voice.
“Apology accepted,” said Nakthaḥm with a smile. He looked to his side to see Iḷēhaḥ glaring at him. Her hand looked hot like fire as it ever so faintly shined. She was ready to strike should his antics have passed her degree of comfortableness. Nakthaḥm could not help but think that Tūmbṃār had gained quite the powerful guard—one more obsessive than he could imagine. He moved his hands away and let the matter rest.
Vādruhaḥ in the time that passed, asked the other what they had seen. And Aiṛth took it upon herself to explain their entire experience.
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“When we were put in a trance we could only see darkness. I, Feyūnhaḥ, Sanyhaḥmān, and Dhīṇahi after some while could sense one another but we felt so very far from each other. We felt as if we were walking on a path. One that was hard that then became soft.
“In the corner of our eyes light emerged yet it stayed at the edges, seeming to wish to not come closer than it already had. Yet as we continued on the trail, the light would burn ever so brighter, and then inexplicable, out of nowhere, we were flooded with light on all sides, blinded as it were! The light slowly receded and we could see around us golden clouds filled with light! Mansions and lakes and greenery all about us! The stars above looked like a myriad suns, and the people and animals were of such great stature that it was almost as if we had come to the land of the giants—not that such a land exists anymore. But just glimpsing them was enough to stay any anxiety we had, and revel in peace.
“As much as I would have liked to stay there and converse with all the inhabitants, we were almost at once pulled by some great unknown force. We flew as like the celestial beings and passed through many levels of the realm, soaring toward a great mountain in the distance! When we looked below it was as if we could see the Earth and yet not at the same time. I could see the Trdsyhrvti and Trdsyḷūr; the forests of the North, the Cedar, and the forest of Vūragam; and every major vista that one could know on our planet. All of it was visible no matter how far!
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“But as could be expected, our peoples were not there, and inspecting father, the buildings, the architecture, and even the formation of the landscape did not at all resemble what we had before seen. No, indeed, the land mirrored Ārhmanhaḥ and yet was its own. The Heavens have themselves their own society and I should guess they occupy the same physical locus as our dimension. Perhaps that is why it is said that the Higher Realms are accessible at the highest points of our planet. For that is where all below can be visible, especially with the use of the mind’s eye!
“We did not spend long soaring, for soon we reached the summit of the mountain and could see a resplendent domain. There rested a great lake that was almost like a sea, surrounded by four great cities that seemed as if to represent the quarters of this world. At the center of this lake rested an equally great city whose pinnacle reached high. Water basked in golden light poured from the rim of this pinnacle, and it seemed that that was to be our destination. As we neared we could see the prominent planets and stars seeming to orbit our location.
“Within moment of this sight we were pulled with a great force toward the pinnacle. And upon our entry, we were suddenly surrounded on all sides by grand, towering, golden beings whose bodies shine even more brightly than the sun: It was they, the Dehaḥṃār that had come to meet us! We had only chance to gaze upon their splendor for but a few moments before a voice said through our minds, ‘Leave.’ And then all at once, that world vanished from our eyes and we awoke. It felt as if we had only stayed there from some minutes before being thrust back.”
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“And the better for it,” said Vādruhaḥ; “had you stayed any longer then surely your bodies would have perished before you returned.”
A shiver ran down their backs.
“I had forgotten that we were to go to Ishvhaḥṃār’s domain,” said Aiṛth, sighing in relief.
“How much time is supposed to pass there?” asked Feyūnhaḥ. “I assumed the passage of time would be similar to Tūmbṃār’s journey, but from what he suggested he seemed to be there for almost an entire day.”
“The higher one ascends in the heavenly worlds the slower time proceeds,” said Vādruhaḥ. He took a stick and drew within the soil. He created a curved pyramid with circles running down the center. “Generally speaking, the period of one day for the Gods is one year for us. The farther up one goes the longer the duration becomes, usually by orders of ten, but I myself am not thorough in the calculations.
“This duration itself is dependent on a great many factors, such as the dimensional locus of these worlds in respect to ours. If the world operates on the same or similar horizontal level as the Earth, then it can deduced that their passage of the day is equivalent to a single day of the Gods as I had mentioned. Whereas if the world were elevated above that plane, then the passage of the day lengthens in respect to us, and conversely if the world is situated lower than that plane, then the passage of the day shortens.
“You must have all head of how long a soul is punished for in the Hells, with various estimates ranging from thousands to millions of years. Many have thought such time to be in relation our own Earth years, but in face what is being referred to here is the time passing in the Hells. Such that in some worlds, ten thousand years there could represent only a day here. As we speak now, many generations must have passed in the Lower Realms.
“Do not think this to bode ill, however, for the effect of time on those that dwell there has noticeably less effect than it does here, at least for the Demons. While this could be taken as cause for concern, in both yours and Tūmbṃār’s case, the host of your respective journeys was well aware of your situation. The effect of time was mitigated in both cases, yet should you have lingered for long, then you still would have very well perished.”
This made sense to Iḷēhaḥ, and Nakthaḥm—and to some extent Aiṛth who was already familiar with these qualities of the world. For the others, they had a harder time understanding such things. Yet it was a relief enough to Feyūnhaḥ and Sanyhaḥmān that they should not end up shriveled to grey husks as Tūmbṃār was at the summit of the Trdsyhrvti.
“So now that we’ve learned this, O Sage,” said Sanyhaḥmān, “how exactly are we supposed to seek the Gods when acquiring the Dvhaḥṣhtro? It was easy enough for Tūmbṃār since you were already there, but I don’t assume that we’ll be getting that kind of assistance.”
“On that account there is little need to worry,” said Vādruhaḥ. “Indeed I did say before, to Tūmbṃār at least, that it would be a while before he could project his mind by his own will. Yet I suspect by the next time, he shall be able to do so without my assistance. And as for the rest of you, your minds are trained to a much greater degree than Tūmbṃār’s. You shall know how to project when the chance arises, this I am certain.”
“Wait, does that mean I didn’t meditate enough?” asked Tūmbṃār. “But there were times you made me meditate for an entire day!”
Vādruhaḥ shook his head. “While I did have you do as such, it was with the intention of calming and stilling your mind, such that your concentration could be held for greater periods of time. You and I both know the outcome of that.” Tūmbṃār was confused, and thought hard back to that time. Then his master sat on the ground, slouching and yawning with his eyes closed and scratching his belly like an ape. The group burst into laughter and Tūmbṃār, having remembered, was left embarrassed. Vādruhaḥ stood back up and patted Tūmbṃār’s shoulders. “For now just remember to properly practice what I have taught you. Quality over quantity as they say. You have been making improvements in that regard if you have been able to see the light, so it should not be long till you have greater mastery over your own senses.”
Tūmbṃār smiled at those words of encouragement and nodded his head.
The sun began to set and orange-red haze colored the clouds. The villagers slowly retired to their homes as the livestock was brought back to their pens. With Vrihkhaḥ’s help, Gravya rounded up his animals. When his business for the day was done, he said, “What should we do for the rest of the day? I know Tūmbṃār, Nakthaḥm, and Iḷēhaḥ must be tired from practice but the rest of your must still want to move around after having meditated for so long.”
“I’d say that should be the case if it weren’t for the mental strain,” Sanyhaḥmān said, yawning.
“Likewise I feel the same,” said Feyūnhaḥ. “I’m tired enough that if I should see a bed I may very well collapse into a slumber on it.”
“Well you two surely have not meditated enough!” said Aiṛth, brimming with energy. “If I could I certainly would wish to visit the Heavens again and maybe even speak to the celestial beings. Perhaps I should try now!”
“You could,” said Feyūnhaḥ, “given what the sage has told us, but before you attempt remember the trial we shall face tomorrow and the child to your side.”
Aiṛth looked down to see Dhīṇahi slowly nodding off as she gently held to the priestess’ robes. “Ah! I’m sorry child,” she said bringing her up. “No need to worry Feyūnhaḥ, I was mostly jesting. I do, however, need to stay up late tonight to finish my prayers. Trial or not that will still need to be done.” Dhīṇahi fell asleep on her shoulder, and Aiṛth suddenly handed her over to Nakthaḥm. “It is now your business to take care of her tonight.”
Nakthaḥm was surprised. “Now I would like to think I am a reasonable person, but truly man am I less and demon am I more. Should you not think this over?”
“My! what is with you and seeking to test us time and time again,” said the priestess, annoyed. “If you truly were as evil as you suggest you are, I doubt she would be asleep as she is! Demon or not, Dhīṇahi trusts you. And besides, I should think the rest of our party should become drunks tonight. I can sense their thirst,” she said, glaring at them. Feyūnhaḥ, Iḷēhaḥ, and Sanyhaḥmān turned their faces away. They each had hidden a bottle of liquor under their robes. Aiṛth sighed and continued, “To think you should still act as such in the sage’s presence. I hope you three take the ignored advice of this princess and rest for some time.”
“Relax Aiṛth,” said Iḷēhaḥ, “we do not mean to drink the entire night. Just enough to sooth our nerves and perhaps a little more to drowse ourselves.”
“I suppose I have gotten my answer,” said Nakthaḥm a little despondent of being associated to the three would-be drunks. “Well I have my business as you all have yours, so I shall be busy tending to the child. Perhaps Aiṛth’s actions have influenced me, but I shall be praying tonight that this child does not at all end up like you.”
“You’ve become quite the father in this short amount of time,” said Sanyhaḥmān with a grin.
Nakthaḥm grinned in return, and said, “I would say more a perennial ancestor. In age, I am possibly older than both the goddess and sage combined.”
Vādruhaḥ laughed at that remark, while Iḷēhaḥ felt insulted, but she let the matter rest.
Gravya, in one way or another got his answer, and so he said, “Then let’s have dinner and make merry! A feast for tonight and a greater feast for tomorrow!”
And all agreed.
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They were given a spacious tent in the outskirts of the village on their request. They had just a modicum of decency to not disturb their patrons with their antics. While word had already spread as to their behavior, most laughed it off and saw it as a rather welcome change of pace, given the many day of toiling. They all had more than enough goats and sheep to feed their temporary guests, and the butchers were all too happy for this, thinking they might become rich by the time the group departed.
Drinks and plates were passed around in the tent. Tūmbṃār, Gravya, Iḷēhaḥ, Feyūnhaḥ and Sanyhaḥmān all ate and drank their fill. Aiṛth had gone with Vādruhaḥ to the nearby stream to pray, while Nakthaḥm was in another tent in the village, watching over the sleeping Dhīṇahi.
For the former party, the merriment was high. With their voracious appetites, one should think they had nothing to worry about. Even the seats and tables they were given seemed more fit for royalty than for a group of travelers! Though one could say it worked in the princess’ favor not that there was anyone of note to witness this. It seemed as they would party then entire night, but unexpectedly they dozed off while the night was still young—all except for Tūmbṃār and Gravya.
They sneaked out of the tent and went to a nearby hill. They laid on the grass and looked at the Stars. There was hardly any cloud cover, and so their light and that of their sister’s was unobstructed, allowing all within the valley to remain visible.
When some time had passed, Tūmbṃār said, “I made a friend before coming here. His name was Bahṛigfar, and he was in similar position to you—well except the issue of possibly dying from the powers. He ultimately made the choice the stay behind. It seemed his duty, his Khāryaḥ, compelled him to stay with his people—even though he desired to be with us.”
“I’m sure you once before mentioned this, but what’s your point, Tūmbṃār?” said Gravya. “Are you still seeking for me to reconsider this journey?”
“In some part, yes, but the other wants to know why people such as yourself are so attracted to us? I mean we’re an odd bunch and have a very important mission. I know that there are other things preventing you from seeking adventure elsewhere, and while we haven’t known each other long, you seem to put your fill trust and confidence in us.”
After having said that, Tūmbṃār wondered to himself why he was even thinking this way. Before he would have been more than glad to have someone accompany them, but now he felt hesitant and worried, and some sense of doubt began to fill him. Where did this arise? Was it here or did it occur before? The light was to keep them sage and yet they felt so far away. Most importantly, would the divine protection afforded to his group extend to Gravya and what determined that? The same question could have been asked multiple times in his journey, but only now did it arise in his mind.
“Well if you’re asking me,” said Gravya, “I would say it has to do in part to the Khāryaḥ that you spoke before. If indeed Lord Lūshhaḥ has returned or returned in so much that he can be seen from time to time then wouldn’t that speak to something greater than any regular or mundane situation a person finds themselves in? If the point of our lives is to seek the Heavens, or the Gods, or the Light, then I would think we should be doing everything in our power to reach toward that.”
“But this business of mine concerning the Light and the Gods doesn’t involve you or any other,” said Tūmbṃār; “it’s a task given to me and a few of my other companions. We’re to search for capable individuals to assist us but not necessarily travel. I had no intention of either conscripting you or your village.”
“What you say is true, but I have a question for you. Suppose the whole of the Mānuzhhaḥn knew of what was to come and knew of your situation, and they all decided to rally to your cause, would you not then accept them?”
Tūmbṃār was about to respond no but held his tongue. The question was not meant for Tūmbṃār’s mind to slip. He knew in one day or another that if the Demons succeeded in returning to Ārhmanhaḥ, even if he and the force he gathered eventually defeated them, there would still be a great loss of life. Even containing them to the desert of Upaurikṣhetvar would inevitably involve the entirety of the Gazhigam and perhaps some other inhabitants that he did not know. If not even the most remote and most desolate locations of the world could prove sage for battle then what to speak of the rest? Would it not then be better for the denizens of the world to fight rather than simply leave their life to the workings of fate?
“I don’t know,” said Tūmbṃār. “I don’t know how I’ll be when that time comes. If such a situation happened now, I would hesitate. A force involving all those that live could easily push back the Demons, but it would come at great loss. I suppose that great loss would come about either way but I don’t think I could handle seeing so many dead fighting with me.”
“I won’t argue against that,” said Gravya. “All I’m saying is whether it’s better to die in service to the Light and the Gods rather than to ourselves. At least then we could break from this cycle of suffering that the Servants keep telling us. My life isn’t particularly hard but if you have me the chance of keeping to where I was and living in ultimate bliss, I’d surely choose the latter.”
“You don’t mean to die with us, do you?” cried Tūmbṃār, bringing himself upright on the grass. He looked at Gravya with fierce eyes.
Gravya remained calm, and said, “No, I never said that was my intention. At the beginning, I did think my traveling with you was more of a selfish desire than anything, and I even related that to you and the others awhile back. But now I’m seeing this situation to be a little different. It’s not often that a person gets the chance to rise above his station to fight in the cause of something grander. I don’t think it’s coincidence that you and I just happened to meet in this time of our lives, where I learn of the situation of the world in respect to my own. The others you met may not have been able to travel with you, but I certainly can! You shouldn’t have fear for my well being for while I may not be as strong as you or the others, I can certainly hold my own. After all, I was able to put even you in a bind during our last scuffle.”
Tūmbṃār relaxed and sighed. Facing the night sky, he said, “Do as you want then.”
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The sky was clear the following day as the sun rose above the mountains and hills. The sage brought the group far past the hills to another location dotted with crumbling ruins covered all about with moss.. The surroundings were desolate, devoid of any animate life. The grass itself remained perfectly still while the air seemed dead. This was indeed a perfect spot for all to unleash their powers without worry.
A ring of flattened grass was made to hold the contestants. It spanned to the edges of the ruins and marked the boundary of action. Should a person fall out of the ring, they would be disqualified. The goal that was set was to either incapacitate the sage or push him outside the ring, neither of which would be easy but was certainly in expectation.
At the southern end of the ring stood Vādruhaḥ while at the north stood Tūmbṃār, Iḷēhaḥ, Feyūnhaḥ, Vrihkhaḥ, Nakthaḥm, Sanyhaḥmān, and Aiṛth. This left Dhīṇahi to spectate and Gravya to referee. He too wished to participate but held from joining. He feared his lack of control over the powers. Dhīṇahi did not care much either way, think the whole affair to be more of an amusing spectacle to entertain her.
Many times had the group confronted Vādruhaḥ in this manner, but they hoped and prayed that the outcome would be different now. For their inability to triumph could signal greater doubts and perils ahead for them which they certainly could not afford. Each side poised themselves for combat. Vādruhaḥ to his stance and the group to their weapons or hands laced with the aura of the elements.
Gravya held his arm high and looked to each side. He calmed himself, and with a deep breath, flung his arm down.
A blast of wind cut through the center of the field and his cry went through: “Prevazht! Start!”
He immediately leaped backward and the two sides engaged. Earth, fire, water, and air erupted all over and the sage was forced to move from his position. Vrihkhaḥ appeared his side, lunging toward him, intending to bite his arm. Vādruhaḥ evaded his teeth and grabbed onto the wolf’s jaw.
In that moment, the others began to circle the sage, knowing he was to throw Vrihkhaḥ. Feyūnhaḥ, Nakthaḥm, Sanyhaḥmān, and Aiṛth clapped their hands to the ground and muddled the surface. The sage lost his balance and loosened his grip.
The wolf took chance to disengage and retreated behind the princess.
With their companion clear of impending danger, Tūmbṃār and Iḷēhaḥ rushed from either side of Vādruhaḥ and issued a great mass of steam. It gassed the ring. The sage’s view obstructed.
All seemed to be going as planned. They did not give even a moment’s leave for the sage to act. They sought to end this quickly. With a barrage of blows from all sides, they thought not even the sage could withstand without a steady defense. But such hopes were soon dashed.
Silence kept for some time in the mist and though it was thick with a not a trace of light to penetrate, they should have at least been able to hear the sage’s movements.
Suddenly, the must dispensed. Tūmbṃār and Iḷēhaḥ were sent flying back. The sage stood in midair with levitating stones. The elements rushed about him and he seemed as like a warrior of old. The way Vādruhaḥ projected himself was unlike anything he had ever shown in their sparring sessions. They had seen this defense of his time and time again, never once being able to break past. But to think such an enormous difference could be had in the display of his powers dampened any sense of quick victory. Yet, It did not stifle their resolve, and they stood poised for the next round.
Nakthaḥm grinned, and shouted, “Friends! Stand clear of the area before me. For I and the boy shall show this great sage the power befitting ones who wield the aether and the higher powers!”
“Have you gone mad, Nakthaḥm?” cried Iḷēhaḥ. “Should we wish Tūmbṃār to die?”
“Your words are better directed to him than to me,” said Nakthaḥm. “It was his idea.”
“Don’t worry, Iḷēhaḥ,” said Tūmbṃār as he readied himself. “I won’t release as much as I did last time. My control is greater now and I think with it, we can finally break through teacher’s shield!”
Iḷēhaḥ desisted in arguing and sought to restrain Tūmbṃār then and there. Sanyhaḥmān, Feyūnhaḥ, and Aiṛth did not know what to do and hesitated. Regardless of any intent, it mattered little. The maiden was far too late in preventing them.
The wind swirled about the demon and the boy and they each issued great cried that echoed to the Heavens. The darkness encapsulated them both. Nakthaḥm’s teeth sharpened as his nails grew, while Tūmbṃār’s eyes glowed like orbs of light.
All members could feel the force of the powers brimming. Nakthaḥm’s pull lowered the sage’s flight, but the sage was unfazed. Vādruhaḥ brimmed with fury. As like the god of thunder, he wielded bolts of lightning in his hand, elongated to spears. Their potency heightened from the discharged above. The clouds grew erratic and darkened like billowing smoke. Lighting struck all about, and those who stood back were frightened.
Gravya lost his balance and shook with fear, while Dhīṇahi, seemingly unaware of its danger, looked on with and awe and amazement.
Sparks frayed from the bolts and struck the soul. A ring of fire emerged between the sage and his opponents and he seemed with full intent to eviscerate them. But before he could his bolts, the demon and the boy issued waves the darkness that latched onto the sage. Their cries resonated and the clash of elements was like the din of drums, signalling the advance of an army. The sage, with great resistance, lifted his arms high. The aether proved a futile match. Yet both Tūmbṃār and Nakthaḥm expected this.
Nakthaḥm quickly pulled the sage his way, and the flow of the aether dragged Tūmbṃār in flight.
“Raise the surface above you!” cried Nakthaḥm. “You as well Gravya! Either shield yourselves or fly!”
Gravya heeded the warning, and grabbing onto Dhīṇahi, the two leaped back a great distance.
The others raised the earth with three levels in between and huddled low for cover.
Tūmbṃār raced fast toward his teacher. While they both flew fast in flight, it seemed to Tūmbṃār that this moment went on longer than expected. The aether slowly unwrapped itself from the boy’s body and in his hands was encased a brilliant light. Vādruhaḥ attempted to turn himself about to face his pupil’s strike. And while in succeeded in facing him, there was no time to restrain the power coming his way.
Tūmbṃār forced his hands through the sage’s barrier, dispelling each of the elements as they came in contact. The knock-back of their dissolution proved too great for Tūmbṃār’s body. Each element erased flayed parts of his skin. Yet he was now near. With the assault of the elements now lifted, he smiled to his teacher and gently opened his hands. He allowed the light to leave his person and enter the sage. The light then vanished and the sage gave a great cry.
The elements they had issued grew erratic. The layers of elements holding the sage’s barrier expanded. On contact with the ground they burst! Lo! the soil cracked and the winds blew and a fiery mass of molten earth ejected through the clouds! Light beamed through the openings. The elements now ravaged the surroundings, dissolving the nearby ruins and earthen ejections.
It was a relief to the group that the storm had passed. But not even this proved fruitful. The sage remained unfazed. Neither his clothes not his form was marred. In place of the sage’s barrier was a weapon of unmatched proportions.
Carved of stone and traced with light, it’s size was three time that of Vādruhaḥ himself. He held it from his body with ease using only one hand. He looked to Nakthaḥm whose clothes were burnt and body seared. And to Tūmbṃār whose skin slowly healed. They both stood far from the sage, but could barely move. Tūmbṃār gripped his sword and looked above. He beheld the sight of that magnificent blade that seemed like an edifice of old. Though its edges were blunt and its surface marred with cracks, it did not in the least bit distract from its form. One could even argue that it made it all the more grand.
“What is that teacher?” asked Tūmbṃār, before coughing. A sudden pain struck him and he could feel it well within his chest. His body was not healing fast enough.
“Well before I speak on this,” said the sage, moving the sword onto his shoulder, “let me congratulate you for making it this far. Iḷēhaḥ, Aiṛthyavā, heal these two if you would. I shall for this moment grant you all respite.”
“But teacher,” called Tūmbṃār with a strained voice, “should the fight not continue? It’s not fair that we should get a break now. Would our enemies give us this?”
“You are right, Tūmbṃār, they would not,” said Vādruhaḥ. He moved to the side a part of his robe to reveal and affliction on the lower part of his abdomen. “But do not think all your enemies shall rush to your demise. The abomination you fought may have not cared for self preservation but I and the enemies you shall face do, and so do not be hasty to engage in battle when you have yet to ascertain the state of your opponent.”
Tūmbṃār’s face brightened. His attack worked. But it proved risky. He meant to have more of the others involved but he was still unsure of how much control he could levy over the higher powers. Her certainly did not expect the knock-back from the elements be as intense as they were. His teacher was right: he would need to judge more carefully. He could no more afford to fight alone.
“Now with that said, let us rest awhile and I shall answer your questions, Tūmbṃār.”
Iḷēhaḥ went to Tūmbṃār’s side. Her solemn expression betrayed by tears that welled in her eyes. Aiṛth went to Nakthaḥm’s side and she seemed to take this rather well though she remained silent behind her mask. The two healed as the others gathered about their injured friends. They all relaxed and sat on the ground. Gravya and Dhīṇahi made their way back to the ring and sat not too far off from the others. Gravya’s fear had not lessened and he kept his face low, thinking that the calmness exhibited by the sage could easily morph to fury should even a stray glance of unsurety be caught by the sage’s eye.
Iḷēhaḥ brought her face close to Tūmbṃār’s cheek as if to conform him, and said, “I am sure you had your reasons for not relayed that ploy of yours to us. It pains me that you still do not seem to trust me.”
Tūmbṃār could not respond. He felt embarrassed from thinking that he could hurt her. Goddess or not the pain of the human body would still reach her and he could not risk her or any of his other friends being hurt in the fallout. Nakthaḥm alone was the only one he could trust to withstand the aftermath of his strike.
“But we shall discuss the later,” said Iḷēhaḥ. “For now, I assume there is more to your plan than just destroying the barrier. Relay to me all of it and I shall inform the others.”
She was right in her assumption. But the large weapon wielded by the sage defied Tūmbṃār’s expectations. He would have to rethink the plan but could do so as he told Iḷēhaḥ all of it. All while keeping an ear open to listen to his master.