CLAMOR resounded in the Rūrgha, both high and low, and given the disposition of the Mrigūhvha, one could have hardly expected such deafening noise to arise from within the seated throng. Even the group was caught off guard by this, yet they felt they should not have been too surprised, given how not much of interest seems to happen about the area, save for the incident with the Demons. Regardless, the cheer resounded loud, and in that wide arena, upon the ring, there stood both Tūmbṃār and King Tı̄ṛvana. And upon an elevated balcony that stood just level with the lowest seats, was seated both the prince and the queen. Bahṛigfar was not all too happy about this, and in fact he desired that this event should have not even taken place. He could see with his father in the arena, what he meant to test Tūmbṃār against, and it made his stomach curdle from anxiousness.
The King then cast off his raiment and crown, and all could see embedded within his body the shining Dvı̄sahlvah of variegated hue, lined from his waist to his forehead.
And on seeing this, Tūmbṃār was struck with the memory of the animal trainer who sought to kill him. But he would not be unnerved. He stood resolute, bearing his sword, whetted and polished, and now shining like pure silver.
“I gather you can now understand what it is I wish to test of you,” said Tı̄ṛvana in a low voice. Even with the clamor of the audience, Tūmbṃār could hear well the king’s voice and he silently nodded. “Good child!”
He then held his hand high and clenched it. And immediately, the clamor stopped.
The King said, “Seven trials you will have to face, each more difficult than the last. And each of those trials will be against me. The Dvı̄sahlvah that have been embedded within will alight in succession for each trial, and should your stamina be able to last until the very end, then will I have considered this trial a success. I expect not for you to best me here, and so as long as you can engage with me till the end of this day without falling, then shall I grant my aid to your cause.” He held his sword forward as did Tūmbṃār and they each took steps forward, until the tips of the blades touched one another. The king stood much taller than the boy but Tūmbṃār had faced taller individuals in the past and bested even them.
He would not fail now.
“Let the trials begin!” shouted the king, and the clamor resumed.
The two of them leaped back toward the edge of the ring. The six Dvı̄sahlvah embedded within Tı̄ṛvana’s body dimmed in their glow until their light had wholly vanished. And then a single one embedded below the navel, shined with a red light encased by four petals. They circled each other, keeping their gazes locked, and their swords held firm and straight not once wavering in their movements. Tūmbṃār slowed his breathing as did the king, and while the sounds and cheers of the audience grew loud, to them it seemed to drop into a lull. Their skin prickled with excitement and their senses heightened. Their focus and attention was solely fixed on each other, and not one thing about could distract them.
The powers coursed in to the blades and the sheen of the metal shined against the rising sun. And when the element of choice had fully encased the entirety of their weapons, like a raging tempest, they cracked the surface beneath their feet and flew to each other toward the center of the ring.
Their swords clashed and a rebounding ring echoed all across the Rūrgha like a thousand bells all resounding at once. All the attendees were struck with a sensation that ran along the length of their body that made the ends of their hair stand erect.
Vrihkhaḥ who stood at the very top of the Rūrgha arose in attention and thereupon gave a great howl in delight.
The two combatants with their swords locked, with embers and sparks and steam arising from the silver, fixed their gazes upon one another, and two great smiles spread across their faces. The fight was on, and excitement welled within.
Tūmbṃār broke through his guard, and swung the blade across, but the King evaded and put distance between himself and the boy. And Tūmbṃār once more sought to strike and rushed to his opponent. Tı̄ṛvana, however, stood still with his blade held to his side.
It was then that Tūmbṃār saw his body emit waves of red hue that seemed to encase his form, and when there was only but a few feet between him and the King, he halted his movement and forced the air to bring him to his prior position. Before he had realized, the King’s blade had already swung and Tūmbṃār held his aloft.
A great gust as if commanded by the King, rushed from behind and struck against Tūmbṃār. The air was cut and parted to either side. The stream of air was sharp and those trace amounts that fell through cut Tūmbṃār against his shoulders and legs, and the shirt that he had held onto since leaving his home, fell like leaves from a tree, finely split on all ends.
His torn shirt draped down like a curtain hanging from what little was left stitched together, and the silver mail beneath revealed itself, gleaming like small crystals under the sunlight.
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“This does not look well for Tūmbṃār,” said Aiṛth worried. “Has his training not borne fruit? It seems he can barely hold off against the King. If only we could shout or cheer for him! But alas! even that has been taken from us.”
“Have hope, Aiṛth!” said Iḷēhaḥ in anger. “We have lain much of our trust in him, and never has he failed to deliver, insofar as concerning his ability! There is no need to suffer woe on part of your lack of trust, for he shall come through as he always has before. Both the Bear-King and the prince I know have seen to this, and while only a week has since passed, I say it is enough for him to bear against the Bull-King’s might. Indeed, that is all he has to do, and I know it is something in which he well excels,” she paused in her speech, thinking of what she did to him, and she felt a trace of sadness and regret, but she no sooner set aside such feelings, and looked once more resolute, continuing; “for even the pain I have caused him in both body and mind, is something he bore and took with determination to see to my return. So he will not fail us now!”
But the others remained unconvinced of this.
The trial had only just begun and they could already feel dread welling within them, seeing that the King, with only the flick of his sword and only one Dvı̄sahlvah, was able to force Tūmbṃār back with hardly a trace of strain showing upon his person. And this bore ill for them, for they only expected (as should be the case) the trials to become all the more arduous as each Dvı̄sahlvah alighted in succession with due splendor. The day would indeed be a long one, and the anxiety would only thereafter increase.
“Great are the deeds of this young child who had bore much suffering in his travels,” said Nakthaḥm with his fingers interlocked and the nails tapping against his skin. “But I fear he has underestimated how much his lack of training shall prove to be his doom here. True it is that he holds greater power than I, now knowing that my frame over the course of this journey shall continue to weaken; but therein lies the problem. I well know the King expected of this, as all of you.”
And they did not wish for him to say it but he continued, “His power truly does not exceed my own, were I to regain my former abilities. Indeed were it the case, I could have very well annihilated King Tı̄ṛvana, before he could exact the use of all the Dvı̄sahlvah that he bears. But that is not the case, and so I can only fear what shall happen to Tūmbṃār by the end of this.”
“Speak not another word, Nakthaḥm!” shouted Iḷēhaḥ as she stood. “He will rise above you and the rest of your kin: that I am very much certain.”
“I speak only the truth, goddess,” said Nakthaḥm, “but I ask, when shall he rise above me? Do you truly expect him to overcome this trial by a miracle or a hand of fate? He is special, no doubt, but do not think that even the Light that has well stood by him, will exact his role in place of the boy’s.”
And Iḷēhaḥ could not help but become even more enraged over his words, but in her heart she knew him to be right.
“One could even say at times that Lūshhaḥ himself is fickle in the way he chooses to act, but he always does so in regards to when the circumstances deem it fit, for he would never deny our agency unless we so willed it. And I can see by Tūmbṃār’s eyes, the vigor and energy that blazes forth, and the excitement he must feel to fully release himself, free from any constraints, just as he had before in his battle with me. Ah! if only I could fight him once more now! But that shall have to wait, until the time is deemed right for us to engage: when you Iḷēhaḥ decide to undo these shackles that bind my heart.”
“And so long as it is in my power, they shall not be undone!” she said, pointing to him. “I will believe as I will—that the Light himself will not abandon Tūmbṃār here; even should the boy wish it.”
Nakthaḥm sighed and muttered to himself, “For as much as you are a goddess, hardly do you seem to understand the nature of things in our world. I pray that will change with time.”
“What of you, Sanyhaḥmān, and Feyūnhaḥ? What do you think of this,” she said glaring at them.
“Well—I should think that it could go either way,” said Sanyhaḥmān as she glared at him all the more, “but they could very well turn around in Tūmbṃār’s favor, yes, yes!”
Iḷēhaḥ shook her head in disappointment and looked to Feyūnhaḥ whose gaze was locked to the ring below. She tried snapping her fingers and waving her hand by her ears but it did not seem to catch her attention.
Grabbing onto her horns seemed to do little either, though usually even the Autirsāh would feel it awkward enough to be held by them that upon doing so they often immediately retaliate. The feeling as it was said, was not an altogether pleasant one, and to them it would feel as if their horns were being pulled out of their head (something the maiden was sure to have been well aware).
Then as if breaking from a daze, Feyūnhaḥ suddenly shook her head and looked around at the others who gave her a curious look. They spoke to her, but it seemed as if she could not register their words. And when she looked at the moving flaps of their lips, realization had struck.
Feyūnhaḥ pointed to her ears and then shook her hand. She could not hear them, and while some might say this is an altogether ill-boding matter, it was expected for her, given that the resounding clamor about them and the fantastical display of might rupturing the air could have very well damaged her ears. And so she suppressed her hearing, and she had by this point become quite good at it. Indeed she could well vex all in her group with this newfound ability but she would leave such mischief for another time.
Dhīṇahi meanwhile, paid little heed to the others, sitting on the priestess’ lap and enjoying the grand spectacle far below her. Out of all the others (at least ones that were of the Mānuzhhaḥ or Daivhaḥhō), it seemed she was the only one enjoying the event, and she would at times attempt shouting alongside the Mrigūhvha with broken and mumbled words.
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Tūmbṃār breathed with heavy gasps, as if the air had been sucked right out of him. And it was only a few moments after that he felt the air rushing back and filling his then emptied lungs. His breathing calmed and he felt the tension relieve its hold over him. He looked to the Bull-King whose red hue was now encased by an one of orange. The second Dvı̄sahlvah alighted and with it formed six petals, hazing directly over the navel.
“The second trial has begun,” the King said with a smile. “Let us see how well you shall now fare.”
On uttering those words, Tı̄ṛvana’s blade waxed with might, as the air about cycled it and ignited with flames. A burning cyclone had formed, with the flames rising above like a great conflagration, and Tūmbṃār gulped at what was to come.
The Bull-King roared and flew toward Tūmbṃār with his blade lifted high!
The flames seemed to elongate as the curtain of fire merged into one large stream that moved far into the sky above. And when he came in striking distance, the king swung down his blade, intending to cleave the child, but Tūmbṃār would not evade and he bore his sword above with his hands on both blade and hilt.
He took the strike and held high against the onslaught of the waxing flames. The heat excited the metal and he could feel his hands burn against them. But he held strong. The strikes against his short sword quickened and became fiercer than they had before. The flames burst away into hot embers and the searing heat made the sword steam.
Tūmbṃār could not afford for this to go on long, lest he let his hands catch on fire and his skin burn away.
A thin film encased his blade. The bull-king landed the next strike. Suddenly, a great mist covered the ring and Tı̄ṛvana was thrust back by the force of the rising cloud.
The flames, however, did not abate, and this unexpected defense of the child seemed to provoke the King’s ire. The fire had risen high, higher than the Rūrgha, and with yet another swing and a loud roar Tı̄ṛvana spun the blade around himself and dissolved the mist. And when it had cleared, Tūmbṃār was nowhere to be seen.
But the King knew which direction he had taken as he turned his gaze toward the sun and squinted his eyes. He knew what was coming and yet decided to not defend. His confidence was great and he thought this time, he would incapacitate the boy.
The King arced his blade high and swung down with a great vertical sweep, where the flames dissipated before they could reach the audience.
This would not be the boy’s saving grace, but nor need it be, for he descended down as swift as an eagle, and the chirping of thousands of birds could be heard from the clash of lightning sparking upon his blade. He propelled himself faster and faster, bursting the air behind him. He crashed his blade against the King’s with enough force to crack the surface beneath his foe’s feet and force him down into the ring.
And then, all of a sudden, Tūmbṃār let go of his blade, letting the elements send it aflight, and thereupon grabbing onto Tı̄ṛvana’s horns, he swung him away like a discus. Tı̄ṛvana was caught in flight and Tūmbṃār followed after him with the blade now in hand to strike a final blow.
Then his gaze met with Tı̄ṛvana’s and he sensed intimidation, greater than any he had felt before, greater than even Nakthaḥm’s when in his savage state, and falling prey to it, he fell back once more. The King unable to stop himself mid-flight smashed into the wall that sent rippling cracks across the entire foundation. Yet the prowess of the Mrigūhvha shone forth, for not even such a strike was able to collapse the walls or the seats, and it seemed that the damage did not ripple any higher than where the King had broken his flight.
Bahṛigfar stood from his seat and called to his father. The queen then held onto his hand and shook her head, before redirecting her gaze to the dust-cloud that encased her husband. His concerns were unwarranted; for when the dust had cleared, the Bull-King, his father, with outspread arms inset into the wall, fell off from it and merely dusted himself, as if the attack had done little but spoil his fhorlia. And perhaps that was the case, for nary a scratch could be seen upon him with his overall form indeed remaining unspoiled.
He postured himself with his legs spread, and wailed. Now a yellow hue encased the orange and yet another lotus appeared hazing about the Dvı̄sahlvah, with ten petals now spread wide, eclipsing the other two.
The third trial had begun.
Tūmbṃār noticed that the body of the king seemed to harden in his view. A crust of earth looked embedded under his skin and his entire body seemed to expand not unlike what happened to Zvarañt in their conflict against the undead, yet this was more subtle and the movement of Tı̄ṛvana thereafter greatly slowed. The force of his steps shook the ground and the entirety of the Rūrgha, and cracks began to appear both around his feet.
Tı̄ṛvana then ran, and appeared to Tūmbṃār like a rolling boulder.
The boy made his way to the edge of the ring, and sought to put distance between them, but it would be to no avail.
For as soon as the King stepped back into the ring, the surface beneath them shook, and lifting his leg high in the air, lo! he brought it down into the stone, and lifted the ring by the seam of the crack, shooting it high into the air! Tūmbṃār’s footing, now lost, tumbled down the edge toward his foe.
All in the audience gasped in shock, and Tūmbṃār’s friends looked upon this with both great horror and awe, unable to foresee what should happen next.
The boy fell into the clutches of the King, and the part of the ring that had shot high, descended down to land in the spot that it once was, looking as if it had never left. Upon its landing, there was a sea of dust and dirt that lifted like a tornado, and just as quickly as it had come it left. With its recession, the audience could see that all cracks and marring of the Rūrgha had vanished, and it was now as pristine as it was when they had entered its confines.
“I should hope that you can bear this strike, child,” said the King with a solemn face. “Cover yourself in earth, and bear the strike that I am to give, for without it, you will surely die!”
And Tūmbṃār quivered and quickly encased himself in a crust of earth, ten layers deep in anticipation for what was to come. The King smiled, and bringing his hand back that waxed with the warm hues, he concentrated his power into the palm that was covered by his fist. His knuckles cracked as the power was brought to a finer and finer point. And when he had finished, not a moment later, did he send his fist straight into the protective casing!
The earth cracked, and Tūmbṃār gave a great wail. He flew from the reach of the King, crashing into the wall on the other side.
His friends above could no more stand the sight, and called as best they could to him. But only the cries of the prince could make it through. The oath still held strong even as it seemed the boy’s life nigh waned to nothingness. Not even the law of the world that bound Tūmbṃār to his oath, would give reprieve in his time of suffering; for this was what he had chosen.
Tūmbṃār’s system was shocked, and he could feel the power of the King’s strike still rippling through his body as if the strike would not halt until all his bones had been smashed into dust.
He coughed blood and spat onto the ground, and with little elegance, he fell from the wall bearing his sword, and falling onto his knees, doing all he could to hold himself aright. For if he were to fall, but even once, then the trials would end, and he would have lost.
It could not come to that; now that he held such fierce determination to see this through. And so he stood back up, and his movements became lank in rigidity as he seemed to drag himself back to the ring with the use of his blade that had at that point become more like a walking stick. He continued to cough blood, but he wiped away the excess from his mouth, feeling the taste of iron and dirt linger on his tongue that seemed to be drying as the match continued to progress. Tūmbṃār looked above and saw the sun had barely gone above the top of the stadium.
Would the trials end quicker than he thought? No, it would not: the King would see fit to test his might and stamina for all it had, for both he and Tūmbṃār knew that the latter had yet to show the full force behind his power.
When back on the ring, Tūmbṃār formed a great mass of water on his palm and swiftly took it down his throat with one large gulp. His wounds healed, and the blood and dirt upon his person vanished. And he thereafter took more gasps of air having felt like he had just been drowning. What he had done was not altogether risky, but most certainly unpleasant.
Bahṛigfar and Zvarañt had taught him how to heal himself when faced with dire straits, but that he should not rely on it much during the trials. The power it consumed was too great, and if done too frequently would put great strain on his body. It was not the water itself that healed. No, it was instead the cells that excited within their activities by the use of the element that healed such afflictions; but at great expense to their longevity. Never was it recommended for a person not well-versed in the healing arts to perform such things on oneself, but Tūmbṃār had little choice in the matter.
As he recovered his bearing and cracked his bones, and subsequently tightened and loosened his muscles, he could feel vigor and strength once more returning to assist. And the King surprised by this, gave a great laugh and the audience gave even greater cheers. His friends were, no doubt, relieved, but Aiṛth knowing of what Tūmbṃār had done, grew more and more afraid, and she began to shake her legs that unnerved even the child upon her lap.
“Now this day shall become longer than it already has,” said the King to Tūmbṃār’s displeasure. “Child, I feel at this point your continuing resistance against me shall prove futile. Though I am desirous of testing you to your utmost extent, I fear that your life shall suffer greatly upon its end. While I have struck and assailed you with the intention to kill, never would I have let you fallen since then it was in my power. But now, no such promise I can make! Do you still wish to see this through, Tūmbṃār? While I have said that you and all your friends shall be banished upon your loss here, I give this one chance to relieve yourself of this burden and forfeit my assistance for your ability to once more return hither. What say you, Tūmbṃār? Is it not a good deal: to be able to keep both your life and your desire to see my son, whom I know greatly loves you as the dearest of friends?”
Tūmbṃār, quivering but determined, spoke with a hoarse voice: “No, King Tı̄ṛvana. I love Bahṛigfar! my friend and your son, as do all the others. I love the journey that I’ve taken and continue to walk, but having come to an impasse in this struggle against you, I’ve now to make a decision that should affect the duty that I’ve been given. Should my love for your son and my life for this journey hold greater sway than what it is that I’m to do? Should my desires overpower that which is to be held as right in this world? No, I say!
“And so I shan’t at this moment turn my back on the Gods who’ve sought our assistance; for even with their abandonment and our ambivalence toward them, ever does love and forgiveness prevail in the mode of Khāryaḥ, and I’ll keep myself as best in line as I can with it. For that I feel is the Zvokhāryaḥm that has been bestowed upon me! My life isn’t my own anymore; it belongs to things and people greater than I know. And I’ll do my best to surrender to such will that’ll benefit all the Ṃārhaḥn alike, from the highest god to the lowest demon: never shall I forsake them! Your aid is what I seek: what the Gods seek. And I shall uphold their will even at the cost of my life!”
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Bahṛigfar cried upon those words, and Iḷēhaḥ, Nakthaḥm, Aiṛth, Sanyhaḥmān, and even Feyūnhaḥ, who could not hear but could still sense the power behind his words, became distraught.
Iḷēhaḥ then cried, “Stop this foolishness! You have done enough, I was wrong! Do not cast aside your life: this is not what the Gods desire; what I desire!” And she muttering to herself in tears, “What shall I do without you?”
But her words could not reach him and she herself could not direct them toward him. Yet while the others would not say it, should it indeed come to a point where his life truly came at risk, they would not hesitate to intervene; not only because he was a child, but because he was the dearest friend they had.
Above the Rūrgha where the wolf watched, whimpering, and the Bear-King sat pensive, the latter said, “It is fine and all that he holds such resolve, yet I feel that such determination is a foolhardy one when not tempered. Would even the Dehaḥṃār wish a child of such tender years to give his life to a cause, thinking it to be right? Giving your life to a cause should only be sought when all other means have failed, and when you as a person are in a mode of thought that is not swayed by desire, which I can very well see is not the case for him, regardless of the tenacity behind his words and the resolve in his mind.
“What he intends to do is indeed tantamount to suicide, and were he to indeed perish, the Hells would be the least of his worries! He would do well to forfeit right this moment, but I suppose there is more than just the ‘Zvokhāryaḥm’ that he has resolved himself with that makes him want to continue as such.”
He then looked to the wolf and pet his mane, saying, “Worry not, you sullen wolf, for if his life truly comes to be in danger, I myself will go down into the ring and end this fight.” And then thinking to himself some more, he said, “Hah! Perhaps even this boy speaks as such, expecting me or one of his friends to help him: in all my life, I have never met a more selfish but endearing child!”
The King once more was surprised by this, and he sighed, saying, “A foolish child you are! But so be it! if this is what you have resolved yourself toward, then I shall let you see my power waxed greater than any Ṃārhaḥn has yet to bear witness. Behold! as the fourth Dvı̄sahlvah alights and your doom draws near! Let the fourth trial commence!”
The very air, and the winds and breezes became erratic like a storm. And they slowly making themselves around the king, became charged with lightning, as the green hue now overlayed itself on the other three. The Dvı̄sahlvah in his chest alighted! He rose high with a vortex of air beneath him, and seemed like Dusdrahaḥ and Vuryothaḥ descended. He looked as an emanation of the storm, as the sky above became covered with thick black clouds that boomed with the echoes of thunder with the charging of thousands of bulls.
His sword held above gleamed like a bolt of lightning, where sparks radiated out far and wide like the branches of a tree. The King’s gaze shifted below, and he saw the boy quivered before him. Not from fear, however, for while his wounds were mended the pain had not yet left, and losing control of its functions, it began to shake. Tūmbṃār straightened himself and held the sword above, readying to parry any attack that would come his way.
All in the audience were now taken aback from what they saw before them. The King now looked like a menace that would destroy their entire realm, and though the power he displayed was but a portion, it did not ease their worries about what could happen. But they should have known better than to think as such, for King Tı̄ṛvana would never allow his power to effect mayhem and while the lethal force of its use could not be hampered, its effects would stay within the confines of the ring.
This he was certain.
And so holding his blade high, he issued lightning that struck through the clouds and revealed a long opening from where light passed through. The shafts concentrated upon the ring, and the brightness against the dark sky, made all avert their gaze. Tūmbṃār himself was blinded and when he too averted his eyes, the King took his chance and sent the lightning through the gap in the clouds, down toward the lone child!
Tūmbṃār too late to retaliate, took the brunt of the blow and wailed high. His cries echoed across the ring, and the audience felt they could no more suffer this and cried to their King to end this. Indeed, even the prince and Tūmbṃār’s friends did likewise, but for all their appeals, the King remained silent—as did the queen. When the last of the sparks had dissipated, Tūmbṃār was left, smoldering like a burnt tree; his skin seared, his hair in embers, and his clothes now fully tattered, with only the chainmail seemingly left intact.
Iḷēhaḥ unable to bear this anymore ran from her seat and flew to the edge of the ring.
The others and even the prince followed after her, intending to either stop or help her, but before any of them could make onto the ring, Tūmbṃār shouted, “Stop! Don’t come on here! The fight is not yet over!”
“Do not cast away your life, Tūmbṃār!” shouted Bahṛigfar. “Enough of your mettle you have shown; no more can you produce that which could best my father! Relinquish the match to the King, and come back once more when you are stronger. Surely you will have to face my father again, perhaps even to death, but at least until that time comes you will continue to gain strength that most certainly in the future could allow you to bring forth the ideals you hold. Throw not your life away, my friend!”
“No, Bahṛigfar, I shan’t cast aside this match. I will fight until I’m satisfied, or dead, or cannot move anymore!”
“Why do you persist when all is futile!” cried Bahṛigfar. “There is no chance to beat him!”
And Tūmbṃār looked back and smiled, saying, “I know, my friend. But to the Gods above, the Demons below, and to the sage, my teacher: I have promised that I shan’t run away from a battle so brought my way. Zūryaṃār himself sought to flee for he couldn’t bear to kill his wicked brothers, yet he came around since that was the duty he was tasked with to uphold Khāryaḥ. And in so like, regardless of my desire, I see this as the way forward for me to effect my duty: the one the Gods have given me and the one my teacher has prepared me for all my life.”
Bahṛigfar sought to convince Tūmbṃār once more, no, many times more if it should at any chance bring him to his senses. Yet the boy assuaged his doubts, looking to him and his friends, saying, “I said before I’d fight even at the cost of my life, but trust me Bahṛigfar that even as I’m committed to those words, I don’t intend to die now. Many times death crossed my way, and at every turn I and everyone else came back new and whole! Don’t fear for my life, friend, as I know the forces of the world won’t let me or anyone else fall now.”
With no further words dispensed, Tūmbṃār healed his burns and postured himself with his blade. And slowing his breathing, he focused his power to the tips of his blade. The wind coursed along the length, and Tūmbṃār began to levitate.
His mind was now calm and clear.
And with the blade still held firm, he coursed fire, and then earth, and then water, and then lightning. The movements of the elements circulated with a gentle rhythm, fusing with another to become like steamed light, molten and smooth, yet versatile enough to branch like the roots of a tree. The power imbued was enough to make any powerless man or inanimate object that came in contact to be be rent asunder, ignited, and dissolved in brittle form.
And with this newfound ability in hand, he took a great leap and flew high to meet his foe in the air. The King now charged lightning once more upon his sword and the bolts above struck against the blade and reflected arcs all across the edge of the Rūrgha.
Tūmbṃār would not give him the chance to strike, and with swift movement he swung his blade down on the King, and Tı̄ṛvana having amassed enough energy, then swung in like toward Tūmbṃār. The clashing of the elements excited themselves thereon, and it seemed as if a wall had been erected between the two, pushing both warriors back and releasing trace hues of the issuing powers. And with a great flash, and a wall of light, both Tūmbṃār and Tı̄ṛvana were knocked back down toward the ring on either side and ejected crumbled stone and dust high above.
As the dust cleared, and the audience was looking more and more intently down to the participants, they saw the boy held himself by his blade, barely off the floor, and that the king was knelt down.
Now the question came down to whether Tūmbṃār had indeed fallen before erecting himself? But no time was there to answer, and no more did the King care. Both Tūmbṃār and Tı̄ṛvana seemed to vanish for a moment. Then they appeared in the center with a flash. Their blades struck against one another, and the silver chipped. The elements no longer coursed about their blades, and they had resolved to end this with physical might alone.
With great swings, lunges, and slashes, the blades sparked and clanged and the movements of their wielders only began to hasten, and it seemed as if the weapons were crying for release. And their cries were heard! for at the final swing and upon the last impact, the blades cut themselves loose from the hands of their masters and flew to either end of the Rūrgha, burrowing themselves deep into the walls up to their hilt.
Then the fighting halted for that time and the two of them knelt on the ground, seeking respite.
Now, even the King seemed to grow weary and the queen who now sat alone within the balcony, rose from her seat and made to the balustrade, saying, “King to our people! Father to our child! And husband to me. Do you now sigh and gasp in defeat, and allow these Agents of the Gods to effect their duties?”
“Nay,” said the king.
“Then rise, and show these people that their business shall not be met!”
“Mother!” called Bahṛigfar. “Why do you speak as such? Are we not to meet the Gods as their servants? Have they not given us more than we could ever desire? And yet now, having remained silent on the issue for long, you speak as if you hold them and these friends of ours in contempt!”
The queen shook her head and now seeming angered, spoke, “These gods have grown weak and weary; they must now seek the aid of those dwelling in the Midworld to do their duty for them! Are they not the protectors of the Ṃārhaḥn, as was said by them in days or yore, and written within the hymns of the Vādrunṃs? They who have promised us in bygone days that they would ever keep watchful of the forces of the Demons and let them not assail us if we so call them for aid. Nay, even without it, they did promise to act as such. Yet for all their words and expended valor, have they yet to show a glimpse of the might that they had once held.
“I know very well how it is they keep the Demons at bay in the depths of space and the void that is set between the various planes, but that alone cannot be recompense for their negligence to their brothers and sisters and children that lie desolate upon the face of the Foremother: their mother! They will not descend, and I fear they may even desire our ruin for reasons unbeknownst to me. The Servants very much would not like to hear this as would many others, but now I have said it!
“Not even the Light who is said to be by the child, your friend, seems to have any desire to right the wrongs of the Dehaḥṃār. Enough I have spoken, my child! You shall be king one day, and though I am glad you have made friends of these folk, their purpose altogether should no more concern us as the trees that tolerate the burrowing of animals within and upon their system. Let these Agents be dealt with here and now, and have nothing more to do with us!”
Thus had the queen spoken, and the audience now hushed and no more could either Bahṛigfar nor any other speak against her.
The King rose as did the boy.
Tı̄ṛvana sought to fight: to stay true to the words of his queen. And Tūmbṃār likewise sought to put his resolve and power to the test, remaining true to the will of the Gods.
Even had the queen relented and promised aid, that alone would not quell the excitement that ran through both these opponents. The two stood tall and proud and bore their fists.
The King said, “Let the fifth trial commence!” And now a blue hue encased the green with sixteen petals now alighted upon the Dvı̄sahlvah held in his throat and encompassing the forms of the others. Water raged around the King, thin and razor sharp, but he silenced their movement and extinguished their form, for he would not use them now.
With signaling cries to engage in war like the blowing of myriad conchs, they rushed to each other, and traded blow for blow and strike for strike, with their attacks landing on every inch of their bodies. They ran around the edges of the ring, and their movement were so quick, that it seemed even the very air followed them in their path, as if to show Vyāythaḥ’s delight.
And as they continued to circle each other, far from one another, with swift and exact precision, they would clash their strikes within the center of the ring and just as quickly make back to the edges with hardly any break within their movements.
Tı̄ṛvana had little problem being able to land his strikes as he meant, but Tūmbṃār was met with unfortune, for his strikes seem dampened against the King’s now wet body. Even though the King had snuffed the element, the effects still lingered on his form, and this gave great trouble to Tūmbṃār.
On and on this stalemate dragged and now it seemed anyone’s guess as to who could come out the victor. Each strike they landed echoed loud like the booming of thunder, and each parry given blew back the wind and issued great gusts toward all in the Rūrgha. The audience if they so desired to look away, could no more do so. The clashing warriors would not allow it.
That day was to be a long one.
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The evening was drawing near with much time now passed since the stalemate. The strikes of the combatants had not yet ceased, with no respite given to the audience. Clashing continuously without stop, the air would always rupture, again and again, and the small pockets of air within the ears of the audience would burst every time. It had gotten to a point where they were now covering their ears tightly and at time shutting their eyes, for even flashes of light would appear every so often that would temporarily blind them. And it was not any easier on the group, who stood not far from the ring. All but Nakthaḥm had their ears covered; not even Feyūnhaḥ, whose hearing was still dulled, could bear the rupturing of the air.
“It doesn’t seem there’ll be an end to this anytime soon,” said Sanyhaḥmān covering his ears and gritting his teeth. “I don’t care anymore for the King’s aid! Should we not make Tūmbṃār lose now, and be done with this? As we can’t very well leave, I’d rather our senses remain intact before exiting this place.”
“While that would be for the best,” said Nakthaḥm who out of all the others, seemed unaffected, and was flicking his nails, “I do not think you nor anyone else could make him stop.” And then grinning he continued, “Unless you would like to be caught within the onslaught of their strikes.”
“Never mind then,” said Sanyhaḥmān, sighing. He then shouted, “Tūmbṃār, do something! Make him go to the next trial even; your attacks are hurting our ears!”
As if the magic words had been spoken, the two ceased their strikes with the final impact against their fists that were locked against one another, sending a blast of air that flew across the entirety of the stadium. Bloodied, and seeming to pulsate, their breathing became labored, and their forms seemed now shorn of strength.
But through all of that, it was clear that it was Tūmbṃār that had sustained the greater damage. His chainmail was gone, but not vanished; for upon the surface of the ring, were scattered the cut pieces of the mail that were now as like silver beads of dew covering the grass in the morning. The dispersed carcass shined like small gems seeming so beautiful now that its duty was done.
While Tūmbṃār’s body was wracked with many ills, the chainmail proved to have lessened the damage, at least upon his chest and abdomen, for only bruises could be found there, and not cuts or wounds that had otherwise appeared on his arms and legs.
He then knelt and began to cough.
And that coughing seemed to grow greater in intensity. Not soon after, he spewed blood from his mouth, and he even gasped for air. Bahṛigfar called to him but Tūmbṃār did not respond. Instead, he formed another mass of water upon his palm and imbibed it. He then clutched his chest tight and gnashed his teeth, doing his best to not scream, and within a few moments the pain subsided and the bruises, cuts, and wounds healed.
Iḷēhaḥ, now seeming at her wit’s end, rushed to the ring to try and grab Tūmbṃār and bring him back, but Nakthaḥm, Feyūnhaḥ, and Sanyhaḥmān held her back.
She then shouted, “Let me go you fools! Do you not see what he has done to himself? Would you allow him to continue this match at the expense of his life? There is no more he can do to defeat the King!”
“We very well know that,” said Nakthaḥm, “but we shall still honor his resolve! Know this, Iḷēhaḥ, that we shall not let him die, but neither shall we stop him yet. Give him leave to fight: look upon his face!”
She turned his head to Tūmbṃār, to see that there was a smile, and that his eyes seemed lit with joy even at the expense of many pains, as like he once was when they had first met.
“Let him fight Iḷēhaḥ,” said Feyūnhaḥ, “while I don’t very much like this state of affairs, I won’t deny him his wish of battling the King. He has still yet to lose, and perhaps! he may very well live up to his word. You yourself said that he never failed to deliver when concerning his ability, and I don’t think the prowess he exhibits now will go away anytime soon.”
“Indeed,” said Sanyhaḥmān, nodding to himself, “besides I don’t think Tūmbṃār would stop even were you to bring him back now. In fact, you might very well bear the brunt of their attacks in the heat of the moment. And the King isn’t very fond of us, least of all you. I’d think you wouldn’t want to cause Tūmbṃār any further worry, given what the King could very well do to you.”
Iḷēhaḥ gulped and bit her lips, and then Tūmbṃār turned to her with a wide smile. They released her, and she relented to their words. She could only hope that now whatever should come, that he could rise above it, and if he could not, then that they at that moment should be able to save him. And she fixed her determination on this.
Aiṛth, meanwhile, did not find this situation in any manner good, and thought it best that they should leave now, while Tūmbṃār only had what could amount to her to be minor afflictions. She feared that he could suffer greater damage than she or any other Servant or physician could mend.
And Dhīṇahi merely cheered Tūmbṃār on as well as she could with her shouts and mumbled speech. Out of all the others she alone did not wane in excitement, as if she could feel it within him.
Now, Tı̄ṛvana recovered his bearing and once more stood tall.
He then touched the Dvı̄sahlvah embedded in his head and said, “Tūmbṃār, I should not speak as such, but greatly have I enjoyed this match! Long has it been since I could wax my powers as such, and with a boy who is no older than my son! Veritably, you have outdone yourself, for I very much expected this match to end quite early on, as did Bahṛigfar.” Tūmbṃār turned to face him, and the prince looked away, feeling ashamed of himself. “Do not blame him for thinking as such, for my power is indeed great, and one not many can match; even among the Demons. But it shall end now, Tūmbṃār! When this sixth trial begins, then will you know power greater than any you have faced! Now, even the resolve upon your Zvokhāryaḥm, shall fail to triumph against this. Behold! as the sixth trial commences!”
And the sixth Dvı̄sahlvah of indigo hue then alighted, and a lotus of two petals on either side, that seemed like wings emanating from his backs. It was then that the aether issued, and the space about him warped such that he grew in size, becoming taller than the Rūrgha itself, as like the great elephant Yūrmatṛtha, the steed of Dusdrahaḥ. His horns enlarged and curved like two great tusks that ascended high. And all in the audience and all in the group became terrified of this display. Never before had they seen a form quite like it and dread consumed them.
Yet Tūmbṃār and likewise Dhīṇahi seemed awed by this. The boy was still, kneeling as like a vassal to his king. Then he rose, and unleashed the aether he held within, pulsating great waves across the entirety of the Rūrgha. He gnashed his teeth and formed what seemed like a spear in his hand. But the pain that had assailed him from so long ago, once more resurged and he clutched his chest, but he would bear it. The higher element was released and none among the group or the audience knew, yet all the same did its trace form linger through the mass of shadows.
It was not the case for Zvarañt, who exclaimed, “He has perfected it this much? Never did I think our few training sessions would result in this!” His face became solemn, and he continued to himself, “But even with this it shall not be enough to defeat King Tı̄ṛvana. The might of the elements he has unleashed is of an order far greater than what the boy can muster, no less with the higher element. Perhaps, even I would lose were I to face him, and no less if he activates the crown Dvı̄sahlvah.” He stood up and lifting Vrihkhaḥ with one arm he jumped from his position and landed to where the group was.
“Zvarañt!” said Iḷēhaḥ. “You were here?”
“Indeed, goddess,” he said laughing, “I was on top of the Rūrgha with Vrihkhaḥ though I do not blame any of you me for not seeing me, as I did not arrive until much later.” He shifted his gaze to the towering giant of a king and said, “We should all bear our weapons now, not even Tūmbṃār with all the power he is releasing can come unscathed from the attack the King will unleash.”
“I am in agreement,” said Nakthaḥm; “friends, let us bear ourselves for what is to come! Whether the boy shall like it or not, he will need our aid when his power has been spent!”
All were in agreement to this and rallied around the Bear-King, bearing their weapons. Now they had only to wait.
Tūmbṃār amassed more of the aether to himself as did the King. Two great pillars of darkness rose on high, and the sky became as black as the night. The clouds billowed about the raging element and thunder ejected and crashed all about, striking the Rūrgha and the ring. The queen then leaped from her balcony and stood atop the roof. And with hands raised she cast a veil of air and water about the whole of the seats, thin as a leaf and clear like glass, but no doubt strong, for it was able to repel the bolts of lightning that struck it. And by either the hand of fate or some other force, the bolts did not assail the queen and stayed their distance.
Most if not all the strikes concentrated on King Tı̄ṛvana, who continued to enlarge in form. But it did not seem to afflict him, and instead it was as if the energy of the lightning was being absorbed therein to his form. Lifting his hands high, he amassed the aether in a great ball of darkness. And with a roaring voice that projected to the surrounding and to the minds of all the people, he said:
This shall be your end, child! Forfeit this match, and live to see another day! Not even the Gods shall help you here!
Tūmbṃār remained silent and rose with the aether. And at a great height he met the King face to face, eyes locked once more to each other. And he bearing the spear of darkness in his hand, cried with the same booming voice as the King.
Tı̄ṛvana likewise did the same and readied himself to strike, as Tūmbṃār flew to him. The distance was closing. All looked intent to them. The spear was to meet the ball. And then lo! the two struck against one another, and a great wave of darkness issued from the collision!
The aether of such might, blew the dust, crumbled the ring, and sent such fierce gusts that could have blown any layman from the stadium to their doom high above. The group held their ground against the waves of darkness. Zvarañt enlarged in form, and shielded them from the waves. And Bahṛigfar who stood at the other end, mustered as much strength as could be had, to force back the waxing elements.
The situation now seemed dire. It was as if the world were about to end, and no more could the Rūrgha withstand such awesome display of might. It began to disintegrate from the top, and the audience who were seated above made they way further down the seats in panic. Not even the shield the queen had cast could protect the citizens from this devastation. And to make matters worse, the citizens could not leave, lest they suffer themselves being stripped of their life upon exiting the Rūrgha. At the very least, all of them had amassed in this one location and the queen would do all she could to protect them, fearing that such a result would have come.
The two combatants were still locked, wailing at each other, and ever trying to push deeper their weapon to break the other’s hold over the powers. It was then that the King thrust himself against the spear, letting it stab through the ball and into his chest! With great resolve and a burning sensation coursing through him, he forced the ball of aether through and the darkness of the aether enveloped the boy.
They could no more control it, and it left their hold. The element became frantic and like a snaking serpent, it sent Tūmbṃār plummeting to the ring.
On impact, the ring shattered and pieces of it flew straight high only to disintegrate under the might of the elements. And the swirling darkness that had enveloped the two combatants before now covered the zone of Tūmbṃār’s impact. The winds blew harder than they had before, and all about the shattered ring braced themselves against the impact.
In a matter of moments, the onslaught lifted and the raging elements calmed. The disintegration of the Rūrgha halted and all the panicked spectators remained still where they were. A flash of light then emerged from the darkness, and it dispersed the aether away.
Tūmbṃār came into view, kneeling once more, but now much tired. His spear had also reduced in size and seemed no more than like a thin stick.
But the sight was not one that could give relief for he was covered in dirt and blood that spilled like water. And if that was not enough, he attempted to stand but stumbled; the pool of blood growing all the more thick.
Tı̄ṛvana still standing in his massive form, spoke not a word, and held his fist high, where it could just touch the clouds. And then with great force, he brought it down, toward Tūmbṃār, putting his whole weight behind the attack.
The boy could not move. He stood paralyzed, looking to his enemy’s fist, thinking to himself that perhaps this is the last thing he shall see.
The others could stand by no longer, and ran to Tūmbṃār’s rescue. They cried loud, bore the weapons and elements, and alighted their Dvı̄sahlvah. And now shielding the boy, they made ready to bear the brunt of the King’s attack.
Bahṛigfar on the other end, stood frozen in horror unable to do anything. And he closed his eyes, wishing not to see the end result.
The fist descended. It drew near. Not even but a few feet were left before it would make impact. And then! it stopped.
In between Tūmbṃār and his friends, there walked a being of light, radiant as the sun, the moon, and the stars. His form while effulgent was gentle: his hair of ash, eyes of blood, and skin of death, wrapped in white robes passed by the others and stood to the King. Though he did not display his form of many arms and many wings, the group knew who he was, and they stood transfixed as it were, admiring this sight.
Tı̄ṛvana quivered and he brought his arm back with haste and did his best to prostrate. And all who beheld this resplendent figure could do naught but seat themselves and look his way in awe.
The being smiled, turning to them, and then all too quickly, he vanished.
The aether lifted high, and like the mist in a morning that disperses upon the arrival of the sun, it left their presence and no more could be seen. The King became as he once was, still prostrating, determined to not lift his head for some time. And relaxing, the others dropped their weapons, and heaved a sigh of relief.
But Tūmbṃār would not have it. He would not let this match be cast aside on account of a being for whose help he did not at that moment ask! And he rose upon his shaking legs, wading the soles of his feet through his own blood.
He pushed aside the others and cried, “This match is not over, King! I’m still very much standing. Fight me, fight me Tı̄ṛvana!”
And before the others could reach for him, he stumbled on his feet and fell to the ground. King Tı̄ṛvana lifted his head and stood.
He walked to Tūmbṃār, who writhed in pain on the ground with his half-raised eyes, and said, “You have lost, child.”
Then all becomes black and he falls into a deep but peaceful slumber.