A WEEK passed, and they now trudged across more steep and rocky ground. Some deer and fawns heard Tūmbṃār’s call and directed them toward an easier path, one with fewer crags and better footholds. They ascended and descended past the rocks and wondered how anyone could journey here with any level of ease. Athruyam himself suggested that those who made the journey to the cave might do so on a regular basis. Not to mention they were able to make it back, more than likely afflicted with wounds and other injuries from the demon.
Tūmbṃār thought to leap from branch to branch, but Iḷēhaḥ and Feyūnhaḥ would more than likely have difficulty in keeping up with him without using their powers. Vrihkhaḥ was still rather lazy and almost dragged himself along the way, so it was not as if they could rely on him.
After a while, the land leveled and the forest parted to the sides, leaving a free trail for them to walk. Farther along the trail, the land on the sides slowly rose, and they passed through a wide chasm with all the trees set above them.
They could hear the sound of water in the distance, and they passed through quickly to reach it. It took them off the trail but not so far off as for them to lose it. Upon reaching the source, they saw a mighty river with fierce rapids. Following down its length, the distance between the banks widened, and they reached the edge; in the end, they stood above a large waterfall, its rush of water and accompanying mist obscuring much of the ground and pool below.
But at the edge of the mist, they saw a dirt trail connected to a stone path, circled upward around the rocks, and vanishing into the waterfall. They looked to the other side of the river and saw that a dirt trail emerged from the woods and trailed to the edge. The sun was setting, and they decided to camp there for the night.
This time, Iḷēhaḥ practiced with Feyūnhaḥ. The boy alternated his training with her and would usually practice his forms and stance during those nights, sometimes even with Vrihkhaḥ. Iḷēhaḥ did not, however, exercise control, but instead expansion.
It would be much in their favor if she could cast her powers across a wider range regardless of whether she could maintain it. It need only scatter and touch the recipient to cure them. It might even be a necessity were the demon to injure any of them from afar, though if any cut and wound were too deep, even this ability would prove ineffective.
She placed her hands upright on her lap as Feyūnhaḥ held them. She evoked the elements of water and air and issued a stream of mist. Using space, she expanded it outward as far as she could and had it snake about before releasing it and letting the water condense.
She did this many times, always sure to keep herself silent and still as she kept the mist active. Sometimes due to lack of concentration, as the mist was moving about and around them, she would release it, and a downpour of water would cascade down over them, much to her vexation. While they were not injured, it still brought a mild remedy that loosened their muscles and joints. Though she would not send out her powers as a mist when in battle, lest she decided she wanted to cure foes as well, she needed to expand it in such a manner. Her control of the elements was already much greater than Tūmbṃār’s, and now it was just a matter of whether she could keep them potent over a wide area. And to her surprise, it seemed to be the case. Tūmbṃār who practiced his form and stance and Vrihkhaḥ who napped by the crackling flames, both afar, were rejuvenated by it and rushed about the area with great vigor.
“Success!” said Iḷēhaḥ in joy. “Tūmbṃār! Vrihkhaḥ! come here!”
The boy and wolf ran to her, and she took a look at their bodies and smelled them. The two had suffered some scruffs and scratches along the journey, not to mention fatigue.
Once she had her fun moving their legs and arms—and even Vrihkhaḥ’s—she was satisfied. “It has indeed cured you! And not only that, but it also seems to have significantly relaxed your muscles and even cleaned your bodies as well.”
“Does that mean I don’t have to bathe?” asked the boy with a smile.
She promptly smacked him on the head. “Foolish child, do not expect me to use this for your laziness! Even I need to conserve my powers to some extent. What would you do were you to suffer injuries and wounds?”
“See a physician, of course.”
“Ah, yes, child, a physician – and where might you find one in the middle of the woods or up the side of a mountain?”
The boy thought a bit and shrugged.
She sighed and said, “Be mindful of these things. Do not think I shall always be here for you, even though I would wish it to be the case.”
The boy then became sad, and Iḷēhaḥ immediately covered her mouth. Even she knew that her words needed more careful choice, though she seldom did think before speaking. Feyūnhaḥ then slapped the boy’s cheeks and lifted his face.
“Cheer up boy! Iḷēhaḥ always thinks less than she speaks,” and Iḷēhaḥ pouted, taking offense to that. “I think it would be good if I told you about the history of my people, and perhaps more about myself. I think it’s time I told you all about it now that we’ll be traveling for a while.”
Tūmbṃār nodded and Iḷēhaḥ was surprised yet still glad, nonetheless. The four walked up the river to where the stream was calm, made another fire and cooked some more of the food that the boy gathered. And as they ate, Feyūnhaḥ recited her story.
“In the Era of Formation, the Mānuzhhaḥn had just arisen. They knew little about themselves and of the ways of the world. Having passed from the sea and onto land, having shed their hair to seeming bareness, and having shifted from bent to standing upright, they looked to their surroundings with wonder and awe.
“But they had little time to marvel, for they were ill-equipped to handle the dangers of their environment. With their prior forms now totally stripped away, they could neither scale trees nor keep themselves warm, nor converse with the other animals. Lost was also their former finely honed ability to attune with much of nature.
“Men were of short stature in comparison to all around them, while the animals stood tens of feet tall, trees stood hundreds, and the mountains many thousands. And by all of this did many perish during those days.
“Nights were cold for while the Earth was much warmer then, heat often receded as the sun set. As time passed, they came to make clothes and weapons for themselves, but they had little in the way of language and culture. All that was made and performed was done to ensure their survival, no more and no less.
“And after many years like this, the Gods felt pity and shame for their actions, having cast them from the Heavens in their jealousy. The thirty-three descended and taught them language and culture and to hone the elements. It was from here that the language of Ahasṭṛṭhaḥr arose and the first Fiyukthi that rested in Trdsyḷūr constructed.
“And the Gods then took form and sought union with the men and women of Ārhmanhaḥ, teaching them of the ways of marriage, and thereafter giving rise to powerful progeny. And it came to pass that the infantile Ṃārhaḥn, over successive generations, became like Gods on the Earth. Fortified were their bodies, high they very well stood, waxed were their powers to the fullest potential, and well-versed in all precepts of religion were they.
“Thereafter, large settlements and cities arose, with the rise of farming, fishing, and the taming of various animals appearing soon after. When all peoples were settled across the Earth, the foremost of them called an assembly in the presence of all the Gods.
“Even the one they called the Highest, Ishvhaḥṃār was in attendance in full splendor and said, ‘O Dehaḥṃār, who cast us and revitalized us. O Ishvhaḥṃār who stands above all creation and is the father and mother to all. O Arhaḥṃār who is the infinite source from where all existence issues forth and by whose power we are all sustained.
“‘To all do we cast this oblation, performing the first sacrifice of this Descendant Expression. May this herald prosperity for all Ṃārhaḥn through this long age, and hold for as long as That One and All wills!’ The oblation was cast, and the fires of the stone and metal vessel rose on high. All bowed before the Fiyukthi, and Gods and men alike could see, as it were, the state of Arhaḥṃār – whatever it could be – and could hear from the fire that same syllable of creation that we utter in prayer today, ĀḤṂ.”
Feyūnhaḥ paused to look at the others, who seemed intent on hearing the rest. She smiled and continued, “Now during this time, men hadn’t spread all that far when that first sacrifice was cast, and this caused the Gods to grow wary. They feared the return of the forsaken kin they had cast out from the Heavens, and all the subsequent destruction they would unleash on Ārhmanhaḥ. And the men were few in number during that time and had little desire to walk across the reaches of the Earth.
“And so, many of the Gods bade their lesser kin, the Daivhaḥhō, to descend and take on various forms. They were instructed to seek union with the men and woman of Ārhmanhaḥ, so that their resulting progeny may spread across the planet. They did as was asked, and many of the celestials took to themselves forms of the likeness of men or gigantic animals, or even other forms. One of these celestials to descend was Tavtirṣhṭr. They came down in the form of a woman who called herself, Tavtirṣhṭri, and she settled in a massive forest of cedars. She would sport about much of the day, gliding across the trees, swimming in the lakes, and sailing through the sky.
“Men inhabiting Trdsyḷūr heard of her beauty and sought to take her as a wife. Droves traveled many leagues searching for her, and many spent years in the forest, ever keeping a watchful eye over her presence.
“One day, a Mānuzhhaḥ by the name of Namurakam happened across her as she was bathing, and her beauty enamored him. He snuck into the bushes and kept watch not to lose sight of her, but the celestial sensed his presence and smiled. She came out of the lake bare and walked in his direction, and fear overcame him. He did not dare to approach the celestial, fearing she would curse him for his insolent spying.
“She bent in front of the bushes and gave a cry that startled the man, who leaped from his hiding place and stood in the open, resolute and alert with his face turned from her. She cupped his face in her hands and turned it toward her, and he beheld her two flowered ears on either side, her two black horns circled about her head, her hazel eyes locked onto his, her ashen hair that glistened in the light, and her smooth dark skin, the touch of which calmed his soul.
“He was bewitched by her with all his senses directed to her attention.
“She said to him, ‘Bring me all the men in this forest, for there is a purpose for which I have led all of you here. Do not turn back after I release you. Fly to the folk and bring news that they may see me.’ The man nodded, and she sent him on his way.
“Namurakam rushed back and informed the thousands of men that he had found the maiden of the forest and that they should come see her in all her glory. They heeded his words and followed him back to the lake. All stood in front of Tavtirṣhṭri who was clad in white robes, and instinctively all bowed to her.
“She said to them, ‘All of you that stand before, shall be betrothed to me. You shall inherit this domain extending toward the south. Your progeny shall rule these lands, and I shall stand as their first queen. Since it is Namurakam who has first found me, he shall stand as King before all of you, and his line will rule thereafter for many generations. When my purpose has been fulfilled, and my children are settled, I shall leave here and ascend back to the Heavens to return not till the end of the Ṃārhaḥn. Knowing this, will you do as I bid?’
“And to this did all the men shout, Yea!
“Siḍhrehḷūr was soon erected, and the first children were begotten in those lands, most related by half to one another and possessed of the same qualities as their foremother, save for having three ears on either side instead of one. When she looked at her children and noticed their ears, she gave us the name, Autirsāh, the thrice-eared. And when these children came of age, men and women were brought from nearby locales to be betrothed to them, and with the passing of seven generations, only then were the Autirsāh allowed to marry each other. Tavtirṣhṭri, gladdened by the expanding of her children and having fulfilled her role, ascended back to the Heavens.
“It was not long after that they spread across Ārhmanhaḥ and became dominant like men. Their forms and likenesses also changed, and so you have ones like me who possessed similar traits but with different colors, and specific to me, inverted horns.
“They fought beside men in a number of conflicts with the Demons and were said to be their greatest allies, with Athruyam standing at their forefront during the Era of Foundation – though he held a much more serious demeanor than he does now. His power exceeded his peers’ by magnitudes, and back then, he was able to face against even the towering giants of the Demons, able to unleash cataclysms on the battlefield. But after the Demons receded once again to the Lower Realms, he cast aside many of his powers, for he felt he had little need of them and instead took to his role as Lord of Siḍhrehḷūr when his parents retired.”
She then paused and thought to herself, while the others clapped, whistled, and howled. And regaining some confidence, she continued, “Many, many years later, I came into the picture. At the time, the remaining Autirsāh of all kinds had congregated in Siḍhrehḷūr. Yet disputes arose of whether they should take to the stars or not. Even now, such matters hold great contention among the many Daivhaḥhō, and it was said to me by Athruyam, that my family had left when I was just a babe, upon a great disagreement concerning that.
“Though it may not look it, Athruyam is in fact related to me, but he of course is not a brother per se. I’m not sure what he would be exactly, maybe a long-line progenitor given how long he’s lived—though he doesn’t really act as such either.
“But I don’t deny his words. I myself have almost no recollection of any of them. Yet as for the reason why I was left here, he would merely say, ‘To give me a choice.’ And even now, I still don’t understand what he meant by that.
“There will come a time when I’ll have to rule over the Autirsāh, but I’ve yet to be accepted as one worthy of such repute, especially so among the many ministers and officials, as you well know. They see me only as a foreigner who would usurp the title.
“The people, while it may not look it, are also wary of my inheriting that position, though they do give me respect as befitting a princess. I think the whole of them do hold some animosity toward their departed kin, thinking them to have abandoned the Foremother. Though now, many of the Autirsāh of Siḍhrehḷūr have now consigned to doing just that!
“I suppose it would be a blessing should I come across my family on my travels, but I feel doubtful of it. Athruyam himself does not know if they have taken to the stars, seeing how long it takes to build the ships. Regardless, I shall just have to prove to them that I’m a person worthy of taking a title as queen, and I hope my going to wherever this council is should do just that! And then, should that person at last return, I hope I can make amends.”
“Well that is good, friend!” said Iḷēhaḥ. “And no doubt, both I and Tūmbṃār shall help you in this!” The boy smiled and nodded. “But I must ask who is that person you mentioned?”
“Someone whom I don’t wish to speak about, and perhaps I should not have mentioned,” she said, now seeming melancholy and downcast. The wolf whimpered and nudged her, and she then smiled and caressed his mane.
She looked to Tūmbṃār and said, “Quite rude it was for me to become sad when I was trying to cheer you up. I do hope telling you all this didn’t bore you.”
Tūmbṃār shook his head in high spirits. “No, I liked hearing it! I hope you find your family.”
“As do I, Tūmbṃār,” she said, patting his head. She looked to Iḷēhaḥ and back to the boy, whispering to him, “What say you, to leaving the maiden here for a while and go strolling up the river? There’s still other stuff I want to talk to you about.”
This, of course, caught Iḷēhaḥ’s attention and she said, “Might I know what you are speaking of?”
“Oh, nothing you would want to hear. They aren’t very pleasant words, concerning you,” she said with a grin.
Iḷēhaḥ then pouted and said, “My, you people never can boast of my good qualities! I shall retire now, so I need not hear any mention of your unwarranted criticisms. Good night!”
She took some large pieces of cloth from the boy’s sack, quickly spread them on the small rocks, and stretched on the makeshift bed. The boy and princess stifled their laughter, and the wolf slumbered. The two laughed and quietly left the campsite and strolled down the river.
“Maybe one day, I can hear one of her tales. Which one did she tell you?”
“The Tale of Druzāsh and Telāhita! It’s a sad story, but at least they had a happy end after they died. It seemed like they reached enlightenment.”
The princess held a surprised look. “Indeed, they did! There weren’t many during that time who hadn’t reached that state. Very interesting she told you that in particular. I don’t hear much of it these days—not that popular of a tale around here.
“While Iḷēhaḥ shares some distaste for the Demons, you won’t find many in Ārhmanhaḥ who would say they ‘hate’ them – but they would at least advise caution were you to see any now. You have certainly heard of other tales of the Great Demons that fought for us?”
The boy nodded.
“And even if it weren’t for them, some have been known to temper themselves to their cravings and become wise and benevolent after doing so. Moreover, some have become sages, and given the Demons cannot perish trivially, they may still live among us today.
“It’s indeed unjust for successive generations to bear the weight of the failings of their forefathers, though I say many now cast doubts on the tales we’ve been told of their doings, and I think them very foolish for doing so. Some say that the story of the Demons, or at the time, a subsection of the Gods being cast out, had much more to do with equal greed over the ambrosia than any moral failing on a singular faction. And that same ambrosia was the reason for our fall, though it’s said that it was given to us in equal share by Ishvhaḥṃār. Perhaps the same was true between the Gods and Demons, but it wouldn’t necessarily concede the Demons not to harbor moral failings of their own. It’s hard to reason of the things that happen in other realms.
“It’d be best if we didn’t have to fight the demon that lurks in the Western woods, but as things stand, little choice is there. I don’t dare to speak of these things around Iḷēhaḥ. Do you happen to know why she bears such hate?”
The boy shook his head. “She hasn’t told me anything of her past. I only know about her as much as you. But she did get very angry at me some time ago. I sang many songs on our way to Siḍhrehḷūr, but there was one that made her snap at me. I couldn’t tell you though if it was because my singing was irritating – though I’d like to think it’s pretty good – or whether she didn’t like that song in particular.”
“Which one was it?”
“The Onset of War Within, the one where the brothers are just about to fight with the divine weapons. I didn’t pay much attention to the words, but now I remember that it mentions the Dvhaḥṣhtro, though I didn’t know it also meant divine weapon at the time.”
“That’s a popular song! I haven’t known any to dislike it; even the men who came and passed through Siḍhrehḷūr would sing it every evening. A very odd but sad lady that she is, one that can’t even appreciate the greatest of lays.”
Tūmbṃār could not agree more.
