WITH the temple left behind, they trekked further into forest. Heat from the surroundings slowly caved into their position, and it felt as if they were back underground with the flowing magma. And it did not help that the humidity began to rise. Yet even with such trouble, they relaxed their senses, listening to the chirping of the cicadas, the calls of the pheasants, observing the prowling leopards, and the movement of black bears and elephants. The forest on that side was not too dense and it gave way at times to flower beds and clearings—but for the latter they were quick to evade so as to not suffer the intense gaze of the sun.
It was not long before the ground began to descend. They continued to skirt the clearings, following the trail as best they could. The ground unfortunately was very much wet, and often they slipped and at times crashed into rocks on their descent. Leeches lurked in the puddles and pools and a great many of them rolled onto their legs. Aiṛth and Dhīṇahi remained clear of the blood-suckers, for they sat atop Vrihkhaḥ. But he out of all of them had it the worst, unable as he was to shake the leeches off. Feyūnhaḥ issued flashes of fire that chased away some of them but not enough for their comfort.
“Have we not suffered long enough, Gods?” groaned Nakthaḥm. “Give us at least some peace here! And I figure that even Samiztrahaḥ would least heed my call. Perhaps, when we meet I shall get a chance to tie him and chuck him into a raging river, where his fire shall be extinguished!”
Tūmbṃār and Sanyhaḥmān nodded their heads.
“Aye, you can count me in on that too,” said Sanyhaḥmān with his tongue held out and panting. “It really does feel like the sun has it out for us.”
“Can you two not hold your tongues?” said Aiṛth, who was still very much angered over their long absence. “Speak not ill of any god who do as they must to keep us feeble Ṃārhaḥn alive in the world! What were you to do if the sun were to vanish?”
“Well my qualms are not with the sun but the being that rests upon it,” said Nakthaḥm as he shook his legs. His clothes had not yet been mended, and their were now swarms of mosquitoes and flies hovering about him. All kept their distance from him, and he was not at all pleased with that. “I am sure if I were to incapacitate him, then the Gods will find another to take his place. They had done it before, especially during times when that oaf, Dusdrahaḥ, was punished from one of his escapades.”
“Yes, but when Dusdrahaḥ left for that time, the potency of the rains lessened,” said Aiṛth, sighing and shaking her head, “with even times of full droughts. What then would you think were the sun god to vanish? I would very much think the sky would be blackened.”
Nakthaḥm relented. “You are right, Aiṛth. Forgive this fool of a demon.”
The others laughed, except for Feyūnhaḥ. She took glances at Iḷēhaḥ every so often and held a quite serious look. The words of the old wolf never left her, and she felt she was close to uncovering the mystery that surrounded the goddess. She also grew worried whenever she saw Iḷēhaḥ looking toward Tūmbṃār. The obsession that held strong in her eyes did not at all diminish since their stay in Vūragāndara. But the worry was less for the boy and more for Iḷēhaḥ, for she could only wonder would happen to her, should anything grave befall Tūmbṃār.
Whenever the boy fell ill or was injured, even if it was small. She would not leave his side. She even seemed at times dependent on him, though he was still just a child. And it seemed odd to Feyūnhaḥ that no one else took notice of this, but that is perhaps she knew more of what Iḷēhaḥ was like than the others. Perhaps one day she would loosen her tongue with some drink, but the chance for such an endeavor seemed far off now.
Dhīṇahi, meanwhile, took notice of Feyūnhaḥ’s glances and expressions. But she was rather confused over this. When the group was clear of the wet trails, she hopped from the wolf to Feyūnhaḥ and shook the princess’s shirt. Feyūnhaḥ’s expression relaxed and she looked down to her side, as Dhīṇahi pointed to Iḷēhaḥ.
“Iḷēhaḥ? What about her?” said the princess. Dhīṇahi grunted, pointing to the princess’s face before shaking her hand with an upraised thumb, as if to question her. “Me? Well you needn’t worry on that child. I was just curious about something is all. I don’t think my doubts on her will subside anytime soon. The longer this journey continues, the more questions I’ll probably have.” And then muttering to herself, she said, “I wonder if we’ll get any answers from her.” Dhīṇahi did not quite understand what the princess meant but she slapped the princess’s back and gave a large grin. “My! Your slaps are strong! And I thought you quite frail—well, aside from your powers.”
The forest slowly thinned and the number of animals decreased. Shade was also now harder to come by, but surprisingly the air began to feel cool. The trees morphed from life to death, and the leaves ever so gradually disappeared. And when they at last reached the edge, they stood before a lush vale, where and endless range of flowers and thing bushes and grass covered the surface. The hills rolled into the distance and only pockets of trees could be see at the edges of the horizon. In fact between them and the farthest edge in the distance, the entire sight was leveled with foliage that stayed well under their ankles. The clouds above had covered the sun, and the faint pale glow of the area soothed them. They had at last entered the Jaḍa valley.
“So this was the place we saw with Yūrmatṛtha!” said Sanyhaḥmān. “It’s been some time since I’ve last come here, but its valleys and flowers remain as beautiful and radiant as they were before. Perhaps they are even more so now!”
“Aye, ’tis been a while since I last came through here, and its beauty is indeed heightened,” said Iḷēhaḥ, “but I should hope the locals here will converse with me this time around. Last I passed through here they had evaded me as if I were a monster.”
“Well one could imagine you as being as such, were you to display yourself in your true form,” said Nakthaḥm with a yawn.
“Hush you! I should my think form behooves admiration and awe rather than fear.”
“Well, tell that to the soldiers of Trdsyḷūr,” he said with a grin. “I am quite sure they would run away in terror from your approach.”
She sighed. “Let us make our way through now. It would seem the clouds are coming and I should not like to be soaked; neither Aiṛth, for I think she would get sick again.”
And the priestess looked away in embarrassment as Dhīṇahi laughed.
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They passed into the green hills, where abounded the many flowers they saw from afar: the magenta lilies, the purple aconite, the red and pink-hued rhododendrons, and even small flowering cactus adorned in all manner of colors. And farther on, they cut through the dells between the hills arrayed on either side by dead trees. Still within the distance, but now more visible, they saw the streams and rivers snaking about, and seemed at certain points to spiral about one another.
Calls and chirps and shouts of the animals then came into the scene once more, as the animals that had prior seemingly vanished, now returned in full force. The elephants, the pheasants, the leopards, and even tigers were all scattered about. Serows grazed afar, while the langurs and macaques came by the group and hung around both Tūmbṃār and Sanyhaḥmān. They gave their welcome screeches before directing their attention above, where it seemed the clouds were coming under.
The monkeys acted as guides and the group followed their directions toward a high point where it seemed the clouds were coming near. They passed through the white haze, being dampened all the way. And when they emerged on the other side and made to the summit, they could see the clouds above and below. They were much thinner in the sky, where the light still shone through, its rays dotting part of the region. Yet what was more surprising, was that the clouds stationed below began to break and disperse on the ground in little tufts. And the same pale light they witnessed before seemed to blanket the entirety of the valley; to make it seem almost ethereal, and this delighted them.
When the monkeys took their leave they continued through the streams and undulating hills. Smaller meadows appeared now and then, but they seemed to recede into the grass. Dhīṇahi during this time picked out all the different flowers and tossed them into Aiṛth’s pocket.
When all the meadows were passed, they came to a leveled potion of the valley, where the grass extended into the horizon, broken only by small streams, and the rolling hills now only lay in the edge of sight. It was here they saw in patches, many great stone carvings and ruins. Their size matched the edifices they had seen before, and yet seemed even more worn. As if an ancient kingdom had once stood here but was now buried deep below the earth.
Perhaps one was here, but what it once could have been eluded any that had knowledge in that area. The place did exhibit some level of eeriness. Of those statues that were visible, the hands and arms stuck out like great trees. The wear upon them seemed to make their hands wrinkle and curl in pain as if the earth sucking them beneath. And the group to evade such a forlorn sight, made haste away from there and ran as quickly as they could to the hills.
Now it seemed as if they had to climb a mountain. The hills merged and stacked atop on another until it once more rose above the clouds. And what made this sight strange was that the animals that they could see were scaling it with ease. Not at all different from the animals they saw scaling the Trdsyhrvti, and this made them wonder even more what these animals really were. In a line they traversed the upward path, ascending past the shrubs and tall grass. At times the hills became so steep, that they needed to leap from spot to spot or hang onto tree branches to pull the others up. It would have been rather easy to scale if they used their powers at full force, but they were still much cautious of doing so. None could say if and when they should be attacked.
The summit of the high peak came into view, but this was where the ascent became the hardest. And the group looking to their side became annoyed. The animals had not all slowed in their pace, and it seemed by this point that already two or three waves had passed them. But they could not afford to rest. Not as they were now, climbing on all fours with Nakthaḥm carried Aiṛth while Tūmbṃār carried Dhīṇahi. They scaled past the green rocks and shrubs until they were at last on flat land again from where a trail ascended. Looking to their side they could see the trail curving down. And then they at last realized that the trail merged into the grass plain below.
“How could we have not noticed this!” said Sanyhaḥmān slapping his face with his palm.
“We were rather hasty,” said Nakthaḥm, “even I did not wish to linger too long in those ruins behind us. But I see it odd that you should complain.” And laughing he said, “You are a monkey after all.”
“In part perhaps, but I assure you we don’t much like scaling rocks and mountains like this. Perhaps if and when I can awaken the higher powers, I should be able to do as King Zvarañt or my namesake could do, and enlarge myself to the size of a mountain!”
“I think the boy is much closer to that than you,” said Nakthaḥm.
They afterwards continued along the upward trail. Once more ascending through the clouds that now stood much higher and when they came through they stood atop a flat area. The clouds both above and below cleared and they could see a great flat land below. There was a lake and some small ponds situated toward the edge. And a little away, it seemed there were makeshift houses and wagons or the like set about the place with many farm animals grazing about. But curiously no farms.
As they surveyed the land, both Tūmbṃār and Nakthaḥm felt a twinge in their heads. Something was racing to their position. They turned to the sides, and as soon as they locked their gazes toward the other hills, a streak of lightning rushed by. It struck Tūmbṃār and sent him flying away from the summit.
He broke through the clouds and skid on the grass. When he was at a halt, the thing that had sent him flying came rushing toward him. Tūmbṃār at once crossed his arms in front of himself. The strike landed with great power and forced the boy’s legs to crack the ground. His feet lodged themselves into the holes beneath and the boy lost balance. Another strike came his way, but he deflected the attack, and not soon after, waxed the aether and send the assailant back.
With not a moment to waste he encased himself in the elements. And he rushed into the haze of dirt and dust. His strikes landed, but he could not pierce through this person’s defense. Yet Tūmbṃār could sense a familiarity of who came to meet them, and he smiled. He lunged, and the man evaded and his fist was caught within the assailant’s grasp.
And with a great toss, he was pummeled into the soil and the ground shook with each impact. The boy had prepared for this and he grabbed both of the assailant’s hands with his legs. Wrapped around them, he shifted his weight and smashed the other beside him. Now coming free from the other’s grasp, he invoked the lightning and the higher powers and was ready to barrage his foe with the arcs that encased his fists.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
He blinked. The assailant had vanished. No matter which way he turned he could not find him nor sense his presence. Suddenly, a whirling blaze struck him from behind. He once more crossed his arms, bracing anything that might come his way. The inferno dissipated. Trace embers flew about him. Their light blinded anything he could see beyond. But he felt a figure stand near to him. And as he looked up, he saw two fingers cut the air. And when the air was cut he felt a heaviness lift from him and his body felt light. Then a finger touched his forehead and he was sent flying back once more.
He tumbled and rolled as dust flew all about. The animals fled away in fear and only falling dirt and rock could be heard in the valley. Tūmbṃār heard footsteps coming his way. He rolled himself upright to at last see who it was.
A pained smile came on his face and he said, “Salutations, master!”
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When Tūmbṃār and Vādruhaḥ returned to the others, Aiṛth, who had been silent for some time, became at once ecstatic—more than she ever had been before. It had been some time since she had displayed herself as such, but moments did come at oft random points in their journey where she let a bit of such eccentricity come through.
She held firm and tight to the sage’s feet when she addressed him, and after reciting some prayers and adulating him, she lifted herself almost immediately, and said, “O Great Sage, long have I wished to see you! Yes, very long, and many, many questions I wish to ask of you! Dusdrahaḥ himself had illumined in my mind, but not even a god can stand as magnificent as you. You who have written the Atneṃārhaḥn; you who has compiled the Vādrunṃs; and you who had directed the many regents who had ruled within the Unified Kingdom. Would you confer upon this humble priestess all the knowledge that you have gathered in the many thousands of years you have lived? Dearly do I wish to know of so much, answers to many questions that I have held to long over these many years. O Zūryashhaḥ, let me know truly the answers that I seek.”
Now the sage was surprised over this. Many indeed had shown him respect but it had been some time since he had met a person such as her.
He simply laughed and said, “Oh you shall indeed acquire by me the knowledge and answers that you seek, but it may not be of the kind you do desire to hear.” She was puzzled over this, but her state of confusion soon turned to dismay, reflecting on the many things she had discussed with the others. She shuddered over what it was he would say to them. Tūmbṃār, Vrihkhaḥ, Feyūnhaḥ, Nakthaḥm, and Sanyhaḥmān, however, knew what it was he referred to, but remained silent for then.
They descended the hills atop, taking a trail that snaked into the valley, and it was not long before they passed through the animals and came to the village. The villagers were quite surprised over the strangers but oddly enough they ignored them and went about their duties. The group made not too far from the village’s center and seated themselves atop the soft grass. Though based on how it was arranged it did not seem as such. They were not mistaken in what they saw from afar: many high tents were set about them in themselves did indeed look like makeshift houses. And all about were many wagons and farm animals. There was neither road nor trail in this valley and the feeling of the grass was no different from where they were before. But they were glad at least that while the clouds above returned basking the sky in gray, it did not rain.
At the center of the village was a makeshift Fiyukthi, yet it seemed it had rested long there. In fact many Fiyukthi were set about the entire place, but only few were burning. And centered around each of them were small wooden effigies. They did not, however, bear any resemblance to the Gods. They looked rather more like people. As they were taking in the sights about them, some of the villagers brought food and refreshments. They were dressed in long gowns and fhorlia but the styling and pattern upon them was quite different from what they were used to seeing. The spiral patterns merged into a mass of colors shaded with a back color of plain blue or red. They did not speak much, but when they did there words were barely understandable.
When the villagers were to take their leave, they bowed and said, “Gratitude you, welcome strangers.”
They did not remember having done anything to earn thanks but nonetheless they gave their thanks. When they were now sated, in comfort and relaxed, Vādruhaḥ spoke, “It is good to see you all again! Forgive me for that wrathful display, but I desired to test Tūmbṃār’s abilities while he was unaware of my presence.”
“You see! You see! I told you he was watching me from afar!” and Tūmbṃār suddenly realized he could speak to them. The sage smacked him and told him to sit down. They were all surprised and found that they as well could speak to him with no more burden or wards blocking the way of their speech.
“You can speak to us again!” said Iḷēhaḥ who embraced him in delight. “Ah! how I missed hugging you and directing to you as such. Whenever I did so before it felt as if I was under a heavy weight.” She looked to Vādruhaḥ and said, “But did you do something to Tūmbṃār when you fought him?”
“Indeed I did, but it was not anything special,” he said. He waved his hand in the air and holding two of his fingers together he cut the air, and they could for some reason hear the air being cut before them. “Though merely a display of ability, one could say I cut the chains that bound Tūmbṃār to his oath. And that was also another reason why I had to fight him unawares. If he knew my presence and saw that I was coming, the attachment to the curse that lingered hard in his mind would have been much harder than it was now to break.”
His face then became serious and he gave Tūmbṃār a stern look. Suddenly he took out a split piece of bamboo and struck Tūmbṃār on the back. And Tūmbṃār leaped from his spot and went hopping around as if the strike had burned him.
“That is your punishment for having used such power without warrant.” When the pain subsided, Tūmbṃār stood still and looked up at his master who stood before him. His master, with a pained expression, said, “Do not act as such ever again. Never invoke the name of a higher power without due cause. Had you gone so far as to even forego eating, drinking, or sleeping, you may very well have died. What then would I have to tell your parents? That I let my student and their child to act so rashly as for him to have lost his life? Nay, it should not come to that. My promise shall hold, but only if you are willing to listen. For I can only do so much.”
Tears welled in Tūmbṃār’s eyes and he said, “Forgive me, master,” as he embraced him.
He had never once before felt like this, but he could tell Vādruhaḥ was much anguished over the actions he had taken and he could not help but feel ashamed and sad over all the trouble he had not only caused him but to all those around him.
Tūmbṃār then looked to the others, and bowed, “I’m sorry for all the trouble I have caused till now. Forgive me, friends.” And he then prostrated.
All in the village took glances their way, when they saw what was occurring, but silently kept to their work so as to not disturb them.
The others smiled and they all lifted him. Iḷēhaḥ wiped away his tears while the others ruffled his hair and patted him.
“What was done was done,” said Iḷēhaḥ, “but at last you are free from the bindings you cast upon yourself. Hold no more anguish or ill-feelings over it. We are glad that you are once more yourself!”
And he raised his face with a smile, looking at all his companions that had journeyed beside him for so long.
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“You have at last arrived though I say you are a bit late,” and he gave them all a stern look when saying that. They either shifted their gazes away or hung their heads low. Except for Dhīṇahi who looked confused and Feyūnhaḥ who was determined to obtain answers. “Would you tell me all that has happened on your travels?”
“Yes,” said Feyūnhaḥ. Everyone looked to her with surprise for they had expected Iḷēhaḥ—as she often did before—to speak for them. She began relating all it was that happened, from their time in the desert, to their meeting of the Gazhigam, to their travels through the subterranean paths, to their stay in Vālukyāvaḷūr, to its eventual destruction and flight, to their travels through to the Banyan Forest and all that occurred in Vūragāndara. When she had finished speaking, Vādruhaḥ reflected and then looked to Tūmbṃār.
“Remove your shirt, child,” said Vādruhaḥ. Tūmbṃār did as he was bid, and the sage looked from top to bottom and thereafter inspected his hands and held his hand to his heart. He sighed and said, “So it is as I have feared. You unleashed the higher powers, did you not? Why did you remain silent of this before?”
Tūmbṃār was surprised and said, “I thought you knew what happened! I did find it odd that you didn’t question me at the monastery, but haven’t you been watching me all this time?”
“Nay,” said Vādruhaḥ shaking his head, “it was true that I was watching your movements from afar when you still resided in Parāftaram, but I did not intend to watch over you across the entirety of your travels. I would leave you to learn for yourself for you were then at a point where you did not need my guidance as far as survival was concerned. But now, I see that Athruyam must have taught such powers to you, and to fight Nakthaḥm.”
“Don’t blame Athruyam,” said Tūmbṃār, “he didn’t know what Nakthaḥm was like.”
“Neither did I, until our meeting at the monastery,” said Vādruhaḥ, “but I suppose it does not matter now. You have already activated it at great expense to your body of which I am sure you know. It shall not take its toll until later years, but were circumstances different I should have very much desired to heal you of this.”
“Do not feel sorry, O Great Sage,” said Iḷēhaḥ. “It was my fault that it had to come to this. I was the one who struck his hand, and let him to be ailed so. Had I not let my anger overtaken me, perhaps we could have spoken to Nakthaḥm.”
The demon looked to the ground and said, “I am not so sure. I did at a point desired to test you, but I had pushed myself too far and had become ravenous for blood. That indeed took its toll in the Banyan Forest. Were it not for the intervention of the Spirit Vūragam, I very well would have devoured you all. I suppose it is equal responsibility for us to have caused Tūmbṃār’s suffering.”
“It’s fine!” said Tūmbṃār with a grin, “I’m sure I’ll still have long to live! And now I can control the higher powers—well in some sense I can. I don’t think I can release it to the extent that Zvarañt or even Tı̄ṛvana could, but I’m sure I’ll get there some day.”
“And you will,” said Vādruhaḥ, “quite soon in fact. But we shall leave that for later.” He turned to Feyūnhaḥ whose gaze remained unshifted, and said, “You my dear princess, have more to say do you not?” She nodded. “Then speak for I know that both you and Tūmbṃār have questions for me.” The boy had forgotten about it in the moment and was ready to interject but Vādruhaḥ held his palm out to Tūmbṃār and shook his head. “I shall answer your questions at another time; let the princess speak first.”
And so Tūmbṃār remained quiet and pensive.
Feyūnhaḥ said, “We had met a group of ascetics on top of a temple. They told us you had conversed with them, is that not true?”
“Indeed it is,” said Vādruhaḥ.
Iḷēhaḥ and Aiṛth were surprised over this but remained quiet.
Feyūnhaḥ looked to Iḷēhaḥ and Aiṛth, and taking a deep breath, said, “Listen closely to what it is I’m about to say. I have no doubt that you Iḷēhaḥ knew of this or at the very least had some level of understanding associated to it. But regardless this knowledge that has been given to us, has to some extent made us more aware of our predicament and the true danger that lies behind it. And I assume it has some relation to your own history.” And Iḷēhaḥ’s face became grave. She shifted her gaze ever so slightly to the others but remained silent. And Aiṛth was now lost in thought. She looked to Nakthaḥm whose gaze was held down. Feyūnhaḥ looking once more at Vādruhaḥ at last broke the silence: “The Gods are not immortal are they?”
“They are not. All of what you heard the ascetics speak, is the truth.”
Those words were enough to make Aiṛth distressed, and she said, “What do you mean? Has all we learnt then wrong! Nay, that can not be.” She looked to Iḷēhaḥ for confirmation, but she continued hold her silence. “Have now all of you turned against me? Will you continue to speak such untruth to my ears. Has not Zvarañt said to not speak words that would agitate the minds of others? Why then would you speak as such to me now? O Great Sage, I ask you, will you not take back such words that are truly of the mode of Akhāryaḥ? Would you let such improper speech be heard by the Gods themselves.”
“O Servant of the Gods, listen to me carefully. The Gods themselves hold little sway among those who have illumined by the Divine. And when I speak of this Divine, I do not mean one that is of their order. Nay, I speak of one that stands above even them! Separate and distinct yet all-abiding in all of us. Some call it the Light, Lūshhaḥ, others call it That One, Arhaḥṃār, but I call them Nilṭhrhaḥm, for They are as a Friend to me, and not just any friend but the greatest. And I see them inside and beside you all. They are my master, they are my friend, and they are my God.”
Aiṛth was silent but she quivered. No one else had the courage to speak, and that long silence persisted awhile. Vādruhaḥ patiently waited as the minutes passed.
When the priestess had at last regained her composure, she said softly, “I–I cannot make sense of this. What does it mean for a being to stand above the Gods? All I know are the Gods: primeval, everlasting, always watchful, and though some of the stories would say otherwise, I hold them to be perfect in all their actions. How is it you can speak against their order, whom surely must have conferred upon you your title and bestowed upon you multitudes of powers? Would you then curse them now, as other sages of old have done as well? Well, I should think you already have by your words alone. Or perhaps those stories are a lie too, and you have no power!”
She then shifted to Iḷēhaḥ. “Why do you hold yourself silent, friend? Can you not speak out against such improper words and ideas. You must surely know the truth, being of their order. I do not know your intentions in regards to this, but speak now! Tell me the truth, I know you to know it! Tell me, tell them all, that what the sage here speaks is but a lie!”
“I cannot,” said Iḷēhaḥ and Aiṛth felt her heart wrenching from those words, “because what he speaks is indeed the truth. Our order is not immortal; at least not in the sense of a life-span, for it is said within the Vādrunṃs and myriad other places that the Ārhmaht alone is immortal, regardless of the order or station it may inhabit. I have told you before that I am not of the Dehaḥṃār, but even so, even we gods and goddesses that are lesser that the thirty-three know it to be the case that they, like us, will eventually perish.”
Aiṛth for as disciplined as she was could not accept those words. She suddenly slapped Iḷēhaḥ and said, “Why must this goddess speak lies to me? Should I now accept that everything I have heard or been told is now a lie? Should the very words of the Vādrunṃs and the divine compositions now be tossed aside for such worthless drivel, that frauds such as yourself and this sage hold to be true? You may very well hold the powers of those that higher than us, but so too did many deceivers of old.”
“Aiṛth!” called Feyūnhaḥ. “Do you really mean what you say? Recant those words.”
She ignored the princess and stormed from the area. Dhīṇahi immediately ran after her, trying to call for the priestess in mumbled speech only to be met with silence. The villagers much like the others were no less surprised. The group understood that trouble of this sort could arise when talking of such things, but they themselves were not prepared to handle it.
Vādruhaḥ, meanwhile, sat silent with a solemn face. Nakthaḥm lifted himself to chase after the priestess, but the sage called to him, and said, “Leave her be for now, Nakthaḥm. She will come to understand in time,” and turning to the others, he continued, “as will all of you. There is still much to speak regarding this but I shall hold those words from you this time, if only to give you some peace of mind so that you may reflect on this affirmation of knowledge that I have given you. But you shall have time for that later. Now we must seek the elder of this village, or moving village I should say. You have yet to introduce yourselves to him.”
The group did as he said and followed after him to the elder’s tent.