IḶĒHAḤ quickly became bothered by the ceaseless occurrence of one cedar after the other. She also felt sullied, for she had not bathed for days now. The last lake they had come across was about a thousand feet from under them, and she in earnest yearned to head back there and soak herself from head to toe in the naturally warm water. She also still wished to wash the child thoroughly with the plant extract, for his stench became stronger and often nauseated her.
The cold weather atop the slopes did little to ease her burdens, but Tūmbṃār had come well prepared, and he would cover her with blankets and other sheets. And this kindness of his made her just a bit more glad to be by him.
Having arrived on a ridge clear of cedars, they could see in the distance large fissures cutting through parts of the forest, moving toward the east. And as dusk came over the land, Tūmbṃār sang:
Se yavhō Dvhaḥṣhtro la vahm!
Gedhyatam nakt se lūshalhv!
Nichalvaparyashuḷhā!
Dīyatham Dehaḥṃārhaḥṃān!
We approach, divine arms in hand!
Against shadowed selves with light amid!
Tearing asunder the whole, spreading it afar!
To be able to see, to Gods of That One and All!
And he sang the same tune for a long while, with the wolf joining in with his shouts, and with every repetition, Iḷēhaḥ became more and more distressed until she could bear it no longer. “I have heard enough, now let me be done with it!” and Tūmbṃār and the wolf shut their mouths. He was surprised, for he was unsure if it was his singing or the words themselves that angered her, as he had sung many songs along their journey. It was the first time he had seen her in such a state since usually, she would exhibit nonchalance whenever she told him to be quiet. He had come to like her a lot and would at most times refrain from crossing her, even if she was odd and stubborn and even prideful about certain things.
The fissures, however, brought further unease to her and she said, “Tūmbṃār, might we able to journey quicker? I wish to be rid of the sight of the land.”
Tūmbṃār cocked his head and said, “What’s wrong with the land? There are many interesting things to see here. The mountains, the trees, the fissures,” to which Iḷēhaḥ shot him a glare. “But we could travel atop the wolf, though the ride may be rough for you, lady.”
“It matters not; the farther we are away, the better it will be.”
He set his eyes on the wolf, and the wolf looked back between each of them before resting its gaze on Iḷēhaḥ. “Does he want anything?” Tūmbṃār shook his head, remaining silent and Iḷēhaḥ said, “Well, speak up! What is it saying?”
“He’s asking if I’m sure of letting you ride on his back,” and Iḷēhaḥ threw the sheets at Tūmbṃār while she stormed to the wolf and clung to its fur, and climbed it.
“Why should it need your permission? If I say I want to ride it, I shall ride it,” she said, to which Tūmbṃār shrugged to the wolf with a smile, and it shook its head in return.
They both scrambled to the top of the wolf and gazed at the moon and clear sky. “Beautiful,” but no sooner had she said that than she found the wind rushing against her face. The wolf flew high into the air, landing on the canopy of cedars and leaping onward from tree to tree. Tūmbṃār was delighted by the rush of the wind against his face, but Iḷēhaḥ screamed behind him. “Stop! Stop! I cannot bear this wind; my face will tear at this rate!” But Tūmbṃār could not hear her. He laughed and smiled while the wolf continued to leap from tree to tree, at times pausing to howl to the moon, thereby giving just a little respite to the feeble maiden.
Almost were they to their destination, having crossed more than two hundred leagues over the past few weeks. The wolf was now able to sense the presence of whatever it was that it wanted to show. They could traverse much faster atop the wolf’s back, and Iḷēhaḥ would use Tūmbṃār as cover to shield herself from the wind. The boy’s face was resilient and would not stay stuck even after hours of onslaught, much to the maiden’s delight. She felt little shame of using a child to shield herself – not that it mattered to him.
The sun was setting behind them as the path moved upward again. They could see another clearing where the slope tapered. There they stood atop a large flat peak, now many thousands of feet into the air, able to overlook any major sight from their vantage point. The boy was overjoyed and ran around the space in high spirits. The wolf nudged Iḷēhaḥ, and she walked forward following his direction. After a short time of walking, she could see steam in the distance. Coming closer, she was able to see what it was and became ecstatic.
“A hot spring! O blessed am I by the forefathers!”
She threw off her clothes and rushed into it, thanking the wolf for its service. She called for Tūmbṃār, and he scurried over.
“Take your clothes off and bathe; it should be a welcome change of pace from foraging. You also smell quite putrid.”
He thought for a bit. He had enough food stored in his sack, and the wolf would hunt if it became hungry. He bent down toward the steaming water and dipped his finger into it.
“It’s nice and warm, I’ll try it!”
He took off his clothes and moved carefully into it, expecting to be burnt otherwise. When he immersed himself up to his shoulders, he felt the heat rushing to all corners of his body, and he calmed and relaxed. Iḷēhaḥ then grabbed the boy without notice and held him. She brought out the plant extract and slathered it over the boy, thoroughly spreading it across him and sighing all the while.
“Ey! Stop that!”
“If you wish me to stop, then learn to clean yourself properly, child. Did your parents never teach you to care for yourself?”
He clicked his tongue, and she smacked his head. “Oh they did, but I never liked the soap, cleansers, whatever you call them. They always left my body feeling sticky or unpleasant by the end.”
“Well, that is how you know ’tis doing its job. I, however, find the sensation to be quite pleasing.”
The extract was quite potent. Foam encased Tūmbṃār and spread into the rest of the spring. The smell was also fragrant and reminded her of the sweet scent of Svyamhaḥ. And then she had him submerge himself seven times from head to toe until she deemed him clean before washing herself in like fashion.
They stayed in the spring in silence for some time, basking in its warmth, looking to the moon and stars.
“I wish I could venture home. Do you not wish the same, Tūmbṃār?”
Tūmbṃār shook his head. “I wish to see the world for myself, to see if there’s something beyond just a regular village life for me. If not for the curse, I’d most likely be stuck home, trapped behind those eerie mountains. Maybe wasting my days farming or mining or doing something that I’d rather not. My teacher also thinks there’s a greater purpose for this journey, one related to that evil he mentioned, and he seemed to think we’d find out soon. But I don’t understand it all that much. I just wish to stay away from home is all!”
She mulled over what he had said, responding, “You may not feel it now, but after some time, the urge to set back will come over you with little notice. That is when your curse shall hit you the hardest.”
“Where is your home, Iḷēhaḥ? It must be a nice place if you wish to go back already. Maybe we’ll see it along our travels!”
She lifted her hand and pointed to the stars. “It rests far away and high above, but I doubt I shall get back soon. And I much doubt it shall ever come in sight. When I say it is far, I truly mean it to be far. It is not a location one can reach with ease.”
“That’s not very specific.”
She rubbed his head, sighing. “Grow a bit and then maybe I shall tell you.”
He laughed and said, “Aye, aye, lady.”
She rested her arm and closed her eyes. The stars and moon changed position as the boy and maiden laid submerged in the spring. When Tūmbṃār glanced to Iḷēhaḥ, he saw tears flowing down her face, but she made not a sound. Tūmbṃār sat silent, wishing not to disturb her. He knew little of how to console people, and though he felt close to her, she was still a mystery in many ways. He closed his eyes and inhaled the steam, putting his mind on much happier things.
Some time passed, and he felt dizzy. He tried to open his eyes, barely able to keep them lifted. His head and body slowly swayed side to side, and then all went black. He collapsed into the water, splashing his face against the surface. Iḷēhaḥ broke from her reverie, and on seeing the boy’s face flat on the water, she became frantic and rushed to pull him out. She carried him on her back and ran to the wolf, fearful the rest of that night.
First light had come, and the subtle rays peeked through the mist and foliage and shined on the boy’s face. He awoke and found himself looking at Iḷēhaḥ’s face, unable to move. Yet the surface he rested on felt soft, warm, and welcome. She was looking into the distance with one hand above her head as the other gently patted him.
She then looked down and, at seeing the boy’s face, smiled. “Good morning! But it would seem you still have a fever. I should not have made you work all those days before, nor used you as a shield for the wind – though humorous it was. I apologize, Tūmbṃār.” But he looked to her hair and face. She smiled and pulled out her jeweled comb. “What good is grooming myself if there is no one to see? Much better would it be for you to be here than to keep my face pretty.”
She then chucked the comb into the distance, and the boy’s eyes became wide. She looked to him, smiling, to which he gave a light smile in return.
To the ground she then reached, and picked up some green and brown paste. She opened the boy’s mouth, launched it inside, and shut it closed all in one instant. He flailed at the unpleasant taste and tried to spit it out, but Iḷēhaḥ held tight to his jaw.
“No, Tūmbṃār! Swallow it, ’tis good for you! Bear the taste, for the medicine shall reduce your fever.”
Tears flowed down his face and he pouted, but he did as he was told and took it down his throat. He held his tongue out in disgust, and she giggled. He saw a fire when he looked to his side, and looked back and forth between that and Iḷēhaḥ.
“While I may be pampered, I have survived alone in this world for quite some time. I know how to make a fire or two.” He curled his brows at the statement. “What? ’Tis true, how do you think I managed to stay alive all this time?”
Tūmbṃār lightly shrugged and shook his head. The boy had not known at the time, but she and the wolf had spent the night scavenging for wood, herbs, kindle, and flint. While she implied that the fire had come with ease, truly she had spent hours in attempt to make it burn and thereafter to excite the flames. Yet from there, she had the much simpler task of making medicine. It was difficult to tend to him, for even unconscious on her lap, the boy would flail violently unless the wolf held him down. Though a little displeased, she was glad in heart for his well-being and hoped the boy would be beside her for the days to come.
The wolf had returned, coming down the path to the south, and nudged Iḷēhaḥ. It bent down and lowered its back, and with all her strength, she pushed the boy atop the wolf. Though he did not look it, Tūmbṃār was a heavy child. She then packed all their items and attempted to carry the boy’s sack for him. But she was too weak to move it – or perhaps Tūmbṃār was too strong. The wolf motioned her to come onto its back and so she did, and it picked up the sack with its jaws.
“Do be careful with that! Your teeth may puncture it!”
The wolf nodded and held firm to it in its teeth. She held the boy down face flat and bent forward. The wolf then leaped and soared back to the trail, gliding past the now dispersing trees as the path cleared of any obstructions. The gray mountains could be seen in the distance, and she wondered to herself what could be there and why the wolf had gone to such lengths to bring them to it. She saw snow atop the peaks, but it did not look to her as if they were going that way. The trail proceeded up and down with a constant descent, but slowly narrowed. She became frightened that she or Tūmbṃār could slip into the deep chasms below where she could see naught but darkness.
“Wolf! Are we almost there?” It did not respond, and she remained silent.
They passed through another series of ridges, taking no rest, and then came to a passage sided by two enormous, imposing, stone statues both holding two long, curved swords, one pointing straight up and the other straight down, pierced into the ground.
The armor sculpted on them was also strange. They donned shoulder pads connected to a thick cuirass, but toward their base, it became less rigid and flowed down as a skirt in similar likeness to their fhorlia. And the pants seemed scaled with intricate designs as they pulled from the inner sides up toward the hip and tied at the waist. But their feet were completely bare. Iḷēhaḥ and the wolf could see the tremendous amount of wear on them as if they had moved for a long time before resting in place. At their tips, they wore helmets that traveled down the sides of their heads and rose to the top into a dense spiral, encased with figures of jewels and crowned with a three-pronged symbol, surrounded behind by a sharp halo.
When Iḷēhaḥ saw the symbol, she was struck with awe and admiration and knew at once where the passage led. She patted the wolf to bring her down, and the wolf bent. Carrying Tūmbṃār on her back, she knelt before the entrance and paid respect to the statues in front of them, touching her head to their feet. She then proceeded into the large opening with the wolf in tow.
The passage was long and dark, but a faint shaft of pale light crept through deep cracks in the ceiling. They had walked for some time, encountering neither twist nor turn nor split. She talked to the wolf while the boy slept soundly, his breathing soft.
“This passage could be said to be holy ground, at least for the Mānuzhhaḥn. If this passage leads to whom I think it should, then it is most fortunate that we can see them now before they disappear from these lands. Many of their kin had taken to the stars during the Era of Foundation, after the war that annihilated many of the Ṃārhaḥn. I suspect that as the powers recede from this sphere, so too will they. Though I should think some would remain, even if in hiding, being ever watchful. I shall have quite the story to relate if ever I make it back home!”
The wolf responded with a few grunts, and she nodded her head in delight. Now, her feet by that point had become swollen and were bleeding across their surface. She had tossed both hers and the boy’s shoes into the sack just before entering the passage. The wolf often took glances, making sure she did not collapse, yet it was strange, for this feeble maiden now had copious amounts of energy for walking across such a rough surface, no less with Tūmbṃār on her back. And though she was sweating, she also smiled as she in earnest yearned to confirm what dwelt past the darkness.
They eventually came to a long descending set of steps, yet they could see a faint light trickling through. Iḷēhaḥ rushed down the steps, the wolf following after. At times, she almost tripped over her feet, but the wolf always made sure to grab her before she tumbled. When they had reached the bottom of the steps, the light overpowered their sight, and they could not see a thing past it. Iḷēhaḥ closed her eyes, and walked through. And when they were on the other side, she opened her eyes and was elated to what lay before her.
She looked to the wolf that nodded its head and in ecstatic glee, she shouted, “They are here, they are truly here!”
A man came walking to their side and Iḷēhaḥ, upon seeing him, became overjoyed.
“O! Our guests have finally arrived!” He bowed to them and said, “Welcome, friends! My name is Athruyam a noble of the race of Autirsāh and Lord of Siḍhrehḷūr, the City of Cedars!”
