UNBEKNOWNST to them, they were to journey a long ways to reach their destination. They set camp every seven leagues or so and crossed through many ravines, elevating ever higher on the slopes of the mountains and journeying deeper toward the heart of the Cedar Forest.
Through the path, the trees towered over them and obstructed much of their view, but to their side, deep under the slopes, they could see the rivers flowing and thick mist lingering near, possibly spreading in the distance. The humidity of the area would often dampen the wolf’s coat, and so it would shake its body to release a mass of water, soaking its two companions, much to the amusement of Tūmbṃār and vexation of Iḷēhaḥ.
Every night, they settled in a nearby clearing, or made one if none existed, where Iḷēhaḥ groomed herself, Tūmbṃār foraged for wood and food, and the wolf napped next to the fire. They hardly talked with one another as the fatigue of traveling set within them, yet the boy at times would pester the lady, asking her about herself.
To silence the boy, she would always jest, “You shall know when I want you to know. Not now, not the next, not anytime soon, but should you pass me in stature, maybe then will I say,” and in response would he pout at her and ignore her for the rest of the day. But always would he take glances, measuring her stature to his and realizing he would have a ways to go to pass the one foot in distance.
They came across a lake midday, having traveled some hundred leagues, and decided to stop for rest. Iḷēhaḥ, immersed bare into the warm water, washed herself. She called to Tūmbṃār to come in so he could clean himself as well, but he would not do so, instead wanting to forage for food and wood. This annoyed Iḷēhaḥ, for she had acquired some plant extract a few days before. The boy was beginning to smell, and she wished to clean him with it from head to toe. It was not unbearable per se, but as the boy had remarked some time ago – still unpleasant.
When night came, they were attentive to their usual activities, but the boy became bored. He had had quite enough of gazing into the fire that night, and he realized that for all the days they had traveled, he had not even asked her why she was traveling.
“Hey lady,” he called to her, and she looked his way with a curious face.
“What is the matter, child?”
“I wanted to know why you’re traveling. I completely forgot about asking, probably because of all the fascinating sights! But will you at least tell me that?”
She stopped her grooming and thought for a bit. It looked as if she became a little sad while mulling over her thoughts but then she looked to the lake and gave a sigh.
“I suppose I can tell you that much,” and Tūmbṃār was ecstatic over this. “Do not be so giddy over this! I did say I will tell you, but not all of it,” and then his joy left him and he slumped his chin on his hands and sighed. “There is a matter of importance of which I have come to hear. As I said before, I cannot return home for one reason or another, and one of these reasons has to do with a mission I was given—though it seems an impossible one for me, even with all the time I have spent here. In fact, I did not have many people to talk with before you; many, if not all, seemed to avoid me, possibly given my unusual appearance and unfortunate way of dressing, though I very much like these clothes. But nevertheless, even with all the misery I have spent here, I am glad to have at least met you,” she said, giving a gentle smile. “Yet the nature of this mission is confidential. I am forbidden to speak of its purpose unless I find worthy individuals to whom I may reveal it. Hopefully, in one way or another, I can go back home, as I hope you can soon.”
“I don’t want to go back home anytime soon!” he said, to which she laughed. Then Tūmbṃār thought for a bit and said, “What you said before sounds just as vague as the things my teacher would say whenever he talked about the journey I’d make. He mentioned some evil occurring in other spheres, and that it would eventually come here, and that the Gods were involved with it. And that maybe I might become involved with it too, although I couldn’t tell whether he thought it to be a good or bad thing. It felt like in some cases it made him happy, and in others sad.” Then he laughed and said, “He’s a very weird sage!”
Her face suddenly became serious, and her eyes grew wide. She avoided his gaze before he could notice, and she bit her lip. She did not want to think the person she was to look for was this child. Would those who had sent her really seek him, an innocent boy as he, to do their bidding? And as her mind raged over the matter, Tūmbṃār came close to her and clapped his hands. She then looked his way and said, “Oh! What is it?”
He shook his head. “Nothing, you just looked stressed is all.”
She sighed and patted him. Turning her gaze, she looked to the lake again. It was calm and clean, and the moon and stars shone brightly over it. And as she fixed her gaze on them, an idea came to her and she clapped her hands in joy. She looked Tūmbṃār’s way and, smiling, she said, “While I cannot speak on the matter of the mission, perhaps I can speak of something alike to the evil that should come. Do you know the Tale of Druzāsh and Telāhita?”
He shook his head, and she—elated—responded, “Perfect! ’Tis quite a sad tale, yet still good and one that you should know!”
She cleared her throat and spoke: “During the Era of Formation, when the land was swarmed with Yavhaḥṃār, Demons, and the Ṃārhaḥn waxed with the highest of powers, a noble king supplicated to a sage. He asked of him a boon, an heir who would rid their domain of the wrathful assailants and ever be a chastiser of foes. The sage then bade the King fetch him some water from a specific stream with a pot that he lent, promising him he would give the boon when he returned. The King took the pot and did as he was told.
“He filled the water to its brim and carried it back atop his shoulder, being ever careful not to spill it. As he was walking back, however, he tripped over a root and spilled the water. He went back to the stream, filled the pot, and once more, walked back to the sage. But this time, he hit a branch and again spilled the water. For a third time, he went back to the stream, filled the pot, and walked back, but he still spilled the water. He was now dismayed, for he wished to do as the sage asked of him. But he also wished to journey back home as he had traveled a long ways to meet the sage. Dusk was coming on the land, and he feared he would be stuck forever along that path.
“In haste, he looked for another body of water and found a lake that lay closer to the sage. But in the darkness, he could not tell that the water was sullied and carried it back, thinking it fine. The sage meditated in silence, and the King knelt, placing the pot before him. The sage was glad, and he lifted it, putting it to his mouth and gulping its contents. As he drank the water, his tongue was struck with a strong, bitter taste, and the feeling that ran down his throat could be likened to that of consuming mud – much like how I felt when you spilled your soiled, river water upon me.
“And when he finished, he looked to the King enraged and said, ‘You have not listened to my words and instead have brought forth soiled water! I shall keep my promise and grant you your boon, but know that your second child shall be sullied just like this water and great misfortune shall befall your children for it!’
“The King was horrified and begged of him – much like your parents – to dispel the curse, but the sage would not relent and walked away from his sight. Days passed into months, and months passed into years, and the King did all he could to appease the sage, but he would not accept any of the gifts or his supplications. And over time, those wretched Demons grew ever fiercer.
“The sage noticed this and then, at last, said to the King, ‘Know that I cannot take back my words for what a Zūryashhaḥ has pronounced, shall be upheld to be true. Yet you should still bear your children, for the Demons grow ever more ravenous. Though misfortune shall befall your children, it is not as if your lineage shall perish. When the time comes, your son shall fell the Demons and rid the land of their scourge. You have my word that at least one of your children shall live and beget a line. This is the most I will say.’ And the sage left, never to be seen by him again.
“The King, with little recourse, told his wife of what afflicted him, and she in like became distraught. Though even so, they could not let their lineage go extinct, for it was the duty of every man and woman always to keep their line secure. And so it came to pass that he sired an heir, whom he named Druzāsh, One of Happiness. And the Queen wanted another child, but he would not assent to her request at the time. But when twelve years passed, then did he relent, and sired a princess whom he named Telāhita, the Purest One.
“The heir grew strong of might and outclassed the best soldiers in the kingdom. The princess lived merrily without a sign of distress. And the King and Queen, looking at their children in the thousands of years that had passed since their births, thought that maybe the curse had been done away with. Soon, their son would ascend the throne, and on doing so, would they retire to the forest as was the custom in those days. But the Demons, hearing of the prowess of Druzāsh, grew fearful of what he should become and held council. They came to a resolution to storm the kingdom at the dead of night and kill all the inhabitants who lay sleeping behind the walls. A most cowardly tactic!
“They set their plan in motion and in the month of Āgriṣhyam when the snow fell at its hardest, the Demons stormed the castles and palaces and killed and devoured all whom they could find. The remaining soldiers banded together to fend them off, but it was to no avail; even with the power of the elements and their mighty weapons, they could not muster the force needed to engage them, eventually succumbing to the might of the assailers. Yet the princess was instead captured and taken to the demon stronghold far to the north, where they had conquered the surrounding kingdoms. To this day, no one knows why she alone was spared.
“Now, the heir was the only one left, for he was away at the time, taking part in various competitions held centennially within the Freelands. When news came of the attack, he hurried to his home only to find it a ruin. And on seeing it, he broke down and lamented for seven days and seven nights. When his mourning had passed, a messenger came to him, bearing news that his sister had not been killed but instead found herself captured by the Demons.
“And he made a terrible oath over the greatest Fiyukthi in his kingdom in full presence of all the officials and Servants of his land, an oath that would haunt him for the rest of his days: ‘O Arhaḥṃār, whose might, grandeur and splendor are above all else! O Dehaḥṃār who serve That One and All and are in turn served by us! Hear my words and bear witness! Never shall I rest, never shall I eat, never shall I halt, until I have wiped from Ārhmanhaḥ, all the Demons residing therein! Uphold my words, so that by the Light of That One, it shall be made true!’ And all chanted, ĀḤṂ, in the presence of their lord.
“Years then passed, and he became renowned throughout all the world for his terrible oath and his relentless excursions against the Demons! Many of the people during this time were sympathetic to their plight. It was said that the Demons were cast from the Heavens, cursed by the Dehaḥṃār for the wicked deeds that they had committed before the arrival of the Ṃārhaḥn in Ārhmanhaḥ. Yet to the sympathizers would I say, ‘The Demons were given what they deserved!’ Since their arrival, they ravaged the face of the Foremother, and killed and devoured countless individuals to sate their hunger, and so even those who were sympathetic knew that at some point, they would have to be dealt with.
“He took with him his most trusted companions and most loyal soldiers and campaigned against the Demons for twelve thousand years. After such a long time, he at last found his sister. But to his horror, she was now a demon. It was said in those days that persons who made contracts with Demons would inevitably become one. Some said that those who would make such contracts did so out of a desire for power, yet as to why Telāhita had done so, no one knows.
“And Druzāsh became distraught, and his resolve weakened, not knowing what to do. But it did not stop Telāhita from attempting to kill and devour him. And so they fought within those deadlands for days, trading block for block, blow for blow, and strike for strike until she at last halted, and as if coming to her senses, she sat and bit into her own arm. And now compelled by his oath which he could no more resist, the brother brought up his sword and waxed his powers and with a single mighty blow, incapacitated his sister.
“As she lay dying in her brother’s embrace, she gave her last words: ‘Be not sad, brother. Though I am now a demon, at last succumbing to the pangs of hunger, and though you have taken upon yourself such a terrible curse and oath, know that ever will I be your sister and ever will I love you.’ And her life left her. Tears flowed down his face, and he wailed and bawled, where his cries could be heard across the far reaches of the Earth. His companions and soldiers sat beside him in mourning. When she perished, no Demons were then left within Ārhmanhaḥ.
“Now it does not mean that they did not come back, for they most certainly did, only to once again recede to the Lower Realms. But that is a history for another time.
“The brother, with his lifeless sister in his arms, walked back to his kingdom, crossing leagues of distance with neither food nor rest nor stop. When Druzāsh and his retinue returned, he held a grand funeral for Telāhita, and the accompanying procession lasted an entire month as all bemoaned her death.
“Thereafter, his officials and priests pleaded with Druzāsh to take a wife and ascend the throne as his parents desired. And while Druzāsh was still saddened, he did as they asked, holding fast to the customs of his land. He married and formally took the throne of his kingdom and became a wise and benevolent king, well versed in the knowledge of the Vādrunṃs, and ruling for eighty-four thousand years. And when his time to abdicate came, he gave his kingdom over to his daughter and retired to the forest with his wife.
“After many years in penance, they obtained Vukyhaḥ and ascended to the Heavens. There, they saw his sister and ever was he elated to meet her upon death. The Gods bowed to them and showered Svyamhaḥ and flowers, giving countless praise to both Druzāsh and Telāhita. The three then bade the Gods farewell and ascended to Ishvhaḥ Arhaḥṃār, from where no one returns, yet from where they shall ever be in bliss, for ever and ever.”
Having ended her tale, the maiden looked at the child and the wolf who each clapped, cheered, and howled, and the boy with a great smile asked, “Does this mean the Demons are returning?”
And she held a confused expression and said, “I never said they were coming, but why would that make you happy?”
“Because it’s Demons we’re talking about! The Gods won’t come down, but I know the Demons want to come here. I very much want to meet one. They can’t be as bad as you’ve said.”
“Oh, they are quite terrifying, I assure you; were you to come across one, they would most certainly devour you. I tell you, child, never trust a demon; you would be wise to follow Druzāsh’s example.”
Tūmbṃār was not convinced, however, for he had heard tales of righteous Demons and ones that had even helped fell evil kings – not to mention that he thought it impossible for her to know what a demon was even like, not having met one herself. But he cared little to argue with Iḷēhaḥ, glad enough that she had told the story to him and shared a little about herself, with an added bonus of unintentionally giving him just a little hope of perhaps meeting one on his journey. He retired for the night, sleeping next to the wolf as the moon receded behind the mountains.
