PILLARS and arches lined all the walls, each decorated in its own style. Some had golden traces flecked with subtle traces of light, while others were painted in bright, saturated colors depicting various geometric patterns, aligned with the inset paintings. The interior seemed much vaster than the walls let on and all the monks walked about tending to their various duties. Vrihkhaḥ rested outside while the rest of the group and Vādruhaḥ sat on the stone floor. He questioned them on various matters until he had a better understanding of their predicament.
“So, your companion is who you suspect to be at the highest point generating the light,” said the Sage Vādruhaḥ as he stroked his beard and sipped some tea. “Fret not, for I know what it is she is doing atop that peak. She is right now communing with the Gods, but as to the reason, I know little. As you have said, haste is our priority but we should wait until the next day to venture to the peak. A powerful blizzard shall be on us tonight, and I hope it shall clear before Samiztrahaḥ’s rise.” He then faced Tūmbṃār, who was quite restless beside him and said, “And you, Tūmbṃār; know that I shall not be training you here, but next we meet, then shall I gauge your strength and knowledge. And do not think I shall go easy on you, as I did during your training.”
“Easy?” shouted Tūmbṃār.
He clicked his tongue and scratched his head. Vādruhaḥ laughed and smacked his palm against the boy’s head.
“We’ll do as you say, but I wish to know how it is that you know the maiden is communing with the Gods,” said Sanyhaḥmān. “There’s little the light’s been doing in the time that it struck the sky, but it’s still strange. One would think that the Gods’ descent would be more fantastical than this.”
The others agreed with him, but Vādruhaḥ gave a surprised look. “Who said the Gods were descending? She is merely contacting them in their heavenly abode. Were she more experienced, she would not have to resort to what she has done now, though to communicate with them by will alone would take more time than one’s life would allow.”
“So, Iḷēhaḥ is only talking to them?” asked Tūmbṃār. “She’s not trying to go with them?”
“It would seem the case, though I can say little of her intentions now for she seemed resolute to her cause but also very much confused,” said Vādruhaḥ. “She indeed seemed thoroughly discontent, but if she truly were to go back, the light would have vanished by now. And great would the display of her ascendence be! Know that she is more than she lets on, but I will say no more in regard to that so as not to anger her. Perhaps when you next meet, she will tell you all that she is.”
Feyūnhaḥ desired to ask him about the words that the old wolf Hṛjvāpaden related to them, but knew that if he were not willing to speak further about Iḷēhaḥ, then she would not be able to get any more out of him. Nakthaḥm, however, raised his hand, and Vādruhaḥ granted him permission to speak.
“Since you are the one who tasked the child with retrieving the Dvhaḥṣhtro, will you tell us why you had him bring it here?” said Nakthaḥm.
He tapped his nails against the floor as if to anticipate an answer he already knew. The sage looked at him calmly and smiled.
“Tell me Núkrg̃am, how has been your father of late?”
The sound of the taps ceased, and Nakthaḥm’s eyes grew wide. “How is it you know my name and are able to speak it? Such a thing should be impossible for one who is not of the Lower Realms. The only person who is known to have done so was Lūshhaḥ.”
“Think not that the laws of utterance bind me,” said Vādruhaḥ. “When one witnesses the infinite, such superficial restrictions are bound to be broken. Though the Light of That One was the only recorded being to have done so, it does not mean he was the only one. I myself never made it a habit to speak of such words to others. The vast majority think it to be a cursed language, not knowing that such words are indeed a part of the divine tongue.”
“Then does that mean that Ahasṭṛṭhaḥr isn’t the language of the Gods,” interjected Feyūnhaḥ. “Nay, Nakthaḥm couldn’t be right on this accord! I mean no disrespect to you, great sage, but if what you say is true, then it should cast grave doubts on the Servants of the Gods. How is it they can be wrong?”
She and Sanyhaḥmān did not wish to admit to a possibility that what the people of Ārhmanhaḥ knew about their history was mistaken. The words of the Servants were the foundation for all that was known to them and understood. To them, were their words to be wrong, it would well throw into question much more. They suspected much doubt and animosity could come if this were to be accurate, for no doubt lying in their position could strip them of their status and suffice with no more than death! But it seemed to Vādruhaḥ that they took this more seriously than they needed to.
“Be not distraught over this, children. It is indeed true that Ahasṭṛṭhaḥr is not the original language, though the priests and priestesses can hardly be blamed in this regard. When the Mānuzhhaḥ first walked upon Ārhmanhaḥ, they had forgotten all about themselves, and the Gods seemed to care little in relating their history to them. Though that was not without warrant, for even they had over time forgotten what had occurred eons before. And it did not help that the curse of the Demons and their subsequent invasions had left a rift between the Ṃārhaḥn, so much so that any trace of an association could hardly be fathomed, regardless of intent or deed.
“What you know now are only fragments of a greater whole, much like the divine compositions that have been produced. Though having said that, it is not wrong that Ahasṭṛṭhaḥr is a divine language, alongside Ameg̃išár, and the language of the Gods. The reason for this distortion comes due to the misunderstanding of what the Dehaḥṃār truly are. Tell me, children, do you know what Arhaḥṃār is? I know many now often refer to it as That.”
“We still invoke it often in our prayers and chants,” said Feyūnhaḥ, “but know little in the way of what it is other than perhaps being something related to the Gods – if not a god itself.”
“Quite a shame that people nowadays know not the meaning behind the words they speak when invoking its name,” said Vādruhaḥ. “Even Tūmbṃār, after all my teaching of it, seems to grasp little of its nature – perhaps no more than what you three know. I shall not bog you down with details but know it to be a source and a state and a divinity greater than anything that ever is. The Gods that you know of represent it only in the most superficial sense, but I tell you now that other gods do represent it in its entirety, and they are the ones that most have forgotten.”
And this came as quite the shock to them, and they wanted to press for answers, but before they could speak, he continued, “But regardless, I shall talk more of it when perhaps you are ready to receive that knowledge.”
And they felt disheartened at hearing that, but the sage was not yet done speaking. “Take not my words to mean all that you have learned is wrong. That is indeed as far from the truth as could be! This error is, by all means, trivial, for it has little bearing on those who wish to lead normal lives. I will not say there are no other errors among the histories of all the Ṃārhaḥn, save for Ishvhaḥṃār but by all respects, those too should matter little for distortions are bound to creep in by the very nature of our minds. Few possess impeccable memory even among the Zūryashhaḥn, where many would not be able to tell you in exact detail of all there is to the cosmos. So, keep not a heavy heart on such things; there are matters of much greater import to keep your minds preoccupied.”
“Then what of the Vādrunṃs?” asked Feyūnhaḥ. She persisted in getting as much as she could out of him, and this had stood at the crux of her mind since their talk the night before. “Have they been distorted as well?”
“Nay,” said Vādruhaḥ with a smile. “At least those who recount it orally would not err in its transmission. Various systems were set in place to allow one to memorize such contents accurately, and though mundane in nature, they do the job as well as they should. Tūmbṃār should know the systems in enough detail to be able to assist you should you have any doubts in its contents, yet I have doubt of whether he could explain their meaning to you.”
The sage gave the boy a sharp look, and Tūmbṃār gave a shamefaced smile and scratched his head. When Vādruhaḥ looked away, Tūmbṃār fiercely shook his head at the others, for he did not wish to have to examine the contents of the hymns that bored him to no end. Silence then covered the space as the sound of the monks’ work silenced.
The four of them seated looked about each other in an awkward manner until the princess sighed and said, “I trust your words, great sage.”
Vādruhaḥ laughed and said, “I apologize if I seemed to impose my words on you. Now Nakthaḥm, tell me of your father, and then I shall tell you why I have brought you here.”
The demon thought carefully about his words and said, “He is well, Zūryashhaḥ. For now, he has done his best to simmer the rage of the various factions, but I do not know how long that should hold. Unrest spreads to the residents, and a call for vengeance and blood grows as the days pass – and they pass, as you know, much quicker than in relation to here. Yet no gate has been opened that should allow the horde of my kin to enter Ārhmanhaḥ – for now, at least.”
“And I take it that you were after the Dvhaḥṣhtro in purposing to destroy your kin should things have gone afoul,” said Vādruhaḥ.
Nakthaḥm slowly nodded with his head hung low, and though he would not show it, the rest of the group could sense his sadness. Feyūnhaḥ turned to him and bowed, apologizing for all the things she had said earlier, as did Sanyhaḥmān.
Yet Nakthaḥm said, “My gratitude to you, but you need not apologize. You have done as you should; as I have suggested before, only those that are naïve would trust a demon and his words. It may sound harsh, but I seek no approval from any of you; see me as a friend or foe, for I only stand by you due to these shackles. I cannot say what my intentions or destination should be were these to be removed, but so long as they are there, I shall have to stand beside you.”
“Don’t say such things Nakthaḥm!” cried Sanyhaḥmān. “You have yet to give me your future shares. Should those shackles disappear and you decide to go your own way, I’ll have to chase you to the ends of Ārhmanhaḥ to seek my riches.”
The sadness then dissipated altogether, and the demon burst into laughter. “I shall keep that in mind, Sanyhaḥmān.”
Vādruhaḥ then cleared his throat and addressed each of them, saying, “The Dvhaḥṣhtro you carry shall be presented to the God Dusdrahaḥ atop the highest peak. He shall decide then and there upon what quest you shall embark. I suspect that Iḷēhaḥ is currently in talks with him about it, but of course not for your sake but for her own. And only one of you will be able to speak with him.” And turning to Tūmbṃār, he said, “That person will be you, Tūmbṃār.”
“What! I’m talking with a god?” shouted the boy as he stood up. “I don’t mind, in fact, I’m excited! But why me and not anyone else?”
“Because of the four of you, you are the only one I can send to speak with him,” said Vādruhaḥ who looked at the confused expression on the boy’s face. “As I said before, the Gods are not descending, so you will have to go to the Higher Realms to engage with them. And only you will be able to do it. In the six years I have taught you, there were numerous times where I asked you to meditate, and I did so with the intention that you not only be able to perform this but perhaps also allow yourself to seek beyond the Higher Realms. Now for the former, you should be ready to do so.”
“I’ll be able to do that with meditation alone?” asked Tūmbṃār with a suspicious look.
“Do not doubt what I have taught you!” said Vādruhaḥ. “It allows you to keep yourself still and aware, and the state in which I shall put you is an extension of it that shall project your mind above. A day will come when you will be able to do so without my assistance, but that is a while away.”
He faced the others and continued, “Conversely, you three shall have your turns at some other point; later, when we shall meet again, I will direct you as I have Tūmbṃār in projecting the Ārhmaht. Had we more time, I would have taught you here and now, but alas, you must make haste to the maiden!”
He then motioned Tūmbṃār to sit, and the boy slowly crossed his legs on the floor, brimming with excitement. But while he was elated to talk with the Gods, not to mention to be able to see Iḷēhaḥ again, he still held a little worry as to how to approach his conversation with them. It was one thing to deal with Iḷēhaḥ on her own and quite another to do so with both her and the Lord of Thunder, second only to the creator. While Vādruhaḥ did not reiterate his warning to Tūmbṃār, he knew he had to be wary when dealing with any of the celestials.
Vādruhaḥ’s words seemed to pass through the other three as if they were not paying attention to them, seemingly distracted by the conversation between him and Tūmbṃār.
“Oh, so Tūmbṃār will be talking with the Gods, I see.” But as soon as Feyūnhaḥ said that, she shouted, “I didn’t think that would be possible for any of us! And no less with the King of the Gods!” And then in a whisper, she muttered to herself, “Did my brother know of this? Why didn’t he relate this to me? Such information is crucial for us to know!”
“Ho! Perhaps I’ll be able to get the Vaisvyamhaḥ sooner than I expected,” said Sanyhaḥmān with all the eagerness of a child.
Nakthaḥm, however, sat silent, unfazed by the sage’s words or their bickering.
When things calmed, he looked to Feyūnhaḥ and Sanyhaḥmān and said, “He did not say that we shall be the ones conversing with him. Do not think we are ascending to the Heavens to seek what we will. I mistook your intentions, great sage, my apologies to you.”
Nakthaḥm prostrated, and Vādruhaḥ brought him up. Feyūnhaḥ and Sanyhaḥmān sighed, disappointed that they should not anytime soon have the chance to see, let alone speak to, those who dwelled in the Higher Realms.
“Though what Nakthaḥm says is true; you three will surely get your chance at speaking to them after learning how to project the Ārhmaht. If not when presenting the Dvhaḥṣhtro, then indeed by the end of your journey,” said Vādruhaḥ as he went back to sipping his tea.
“When shall that be, great sage?” asked Feyūnhaḥ.
He put his cup down, cleared his throat, kept a solemn face, and said, “Who knows?”
The next morning arrived, but it was hard to tell for the blizzard did not let up. They were given thick woolen coats, and with Vādruhaḥ accompanying them, the companions set off into the storm. Not far into the onslaught of snowflakes they soon lost their way, and at some point, they had traveled down the wrong face of the mountain.
With all his powers, the Sage Vādruhaḥ could not see through the snow—not that he had held any such power to begin with. And the group was all but going in circles to find a way back up but could barely see a few feet in front of them. All their senses had been dulled, and they could not hear or see each other. The cold was biting into their hands, and they shivered, but they held close to one another, using Vrihkhaḥ to shield them.
After some more time of wandering, a faint wisp of light appeared in Tūmbṃār’s view. As he peered closer, he saw that it was moving, and not wishing to lose it, he grabbed Feyūnhaḥ’s hand and ran toward it. Feyūnhaḥ then grabbed Sanyhaḥmān who grabbed Nakthaḥm who grabbed Vādruhaḥ who shouted to Vrihkhaḥ, and in a chain they followed after Tūmbṃār.
It was not long after that they came outside the storm and were on top of another peak. Tūmbṃār was no more able to see the faint wisp, yet was able to see that they were closer to the distant light. When they looked behind them, they could see the storm localized to only a subsection of the range that did not encroach any further, as if placed there by something. But they gave it little thought and continued onward.
The sheer sides of the mountain covered them on their descent, and each time, they would need to circle to find a way up toward the next peak. The clouds often obstructed their view but not as much as the blizzard had, and the crunching of dead leaves beneath their feet on the stone surface soothed them enough to stave off any worry they might have had. Tūmbṃār wondered to himself, however, if the wisp of light that had led them out of the blizzard was the being he had met before. He could see a faint silhouette of a man within it and some flecks of lights that descended like feathers, but at the time, he was still unsure.
They had ascended much higher; the rocks became loose, and the stairs that had covered much of their path gradually disappeared. The ground was soft, but their feet held firm to the soil. Animals climbed around them: deer, mountain goats, tigers, elephants, and a variety of birds from the smallest hummingbird to the largest hawk. Strange it was to see so many ascend, especially for those that were heavy and not well-equipped to make such a journey. Indeed it should have been well-nigh impossible for many of them to do so. The group halted to allow the animals to pass, and they cried or shouted to them as they cut through.
The path had become broader and to its sides was a line of tall but dead trees with few leaves left on them. And like the trees toward the bottom of the mountain, their branches arched as if to give passage to somewhere grander. When the animals had passed the group, they continued on their ascent toward the peak, where the light grew stronger and more intense. On and on they climbed, coming close as they felt the warmth of the light enveloping them through their coats, feeding them warmth.
When they passed through the last steps, they averted their gaze, no more able to bear its effulgence. But soon they were able to see for the light then receded and they – now atop the summit where they could see all the swirling clouds above and below and the far expanse of the range – beheld a woman down on her knees with her arms raised above.
Her arms were thin and somewhat grayed, and she stood still as a stone. But the raiment she bore was of red and white, and her unmistakable silver hair swayed in the gentle air; upon seeing this, the boy rushed to her side and called out, “Iḷēhaḥ!”
No response came. The boy then shook her, but she would not move, and the sage quickly grabbed his hands. Tūmbṃār was dumbstruck when he saw her face. Her eyes were open, and they remained still, and her face bore a gray pallor as the form of her bones peeked through the thin skin, like a seed the husk of which had cracked. But in the center of her forehead was a new adornment, a red crystal, shining brilliantly under the rays above and tinting her face ever so lightly, held by golden links that traced along the forehead and center of her head and merging at the back by a silver clip bearing the likeness of a flame.
Tūmbṃār flailed, trying to free himself loose from his master’s grip, but Vādruhaḥ held firm and shouted, “Do not disturb her! She is very much alive, and you shall awake her but not by physical means! You very much know the risks of waking someone in such a state, so do not act with haste.”
He stopped and looked to his master, sniffling. Vādruhaḥ bent down, gripping his shoulders and saying, “Remain calm, Tūmbṃār, and you will meet her soon. Whatever discussion she is having with Dusdrahaḥ must end quickly, for if she stays too long in that state, she will surely die. Present Dusdrahaḥ the Dvhaḥṣhtro and have him make haste in his decision.”
The boy wiped his tears and asked, “Why must I be quick? I don’t wish to anger Iḷēhaḥ further.”
“I had related to you before that time works differently up there. For the Higher Realms specifically, it runs at a rate slower than it does here, just as time in the Lower Realms runs faster. One day there could last longer than a year here and were you to go to where Ishvhaḥṃār resides, thousands of years could pass in an instant! Be vigilant of your stay and rush Dusdrahaḥ if you must: he will not let harm befall you.”
Tūmbṃār nodded and, facing the others said, “I hope I’ll be back soon, friends. Wait for me here, okay?”
“Do as you must, child,” said Nakthaḥm. “I shall wait patiently for your return.”
Nakthaḥm sat on the floor and brought out two small glass cups and a bottle of Svyamhaḥ. “Would anyone like a drink?”
Sanyhaḥmān said, “I pray your mission is a success, young lad. I’ll wait here with the demon, drinking up his share; don’t take too long up there, as I wouldn’t like to see a grayed-out child.”
“Cease your chatter, monkey, and drink it already!”
“As you wish,” and with that, Sanyhaḥmān sat down beside Nakthaḥm and started chugging down the contents of the bottle much to the demon’s vexation.
Feyūnhaḥ, however, approached Tūmbṃār and bending down to him, put the Dvhaḥṣhtro in Tūmbṃār’s palms where it gleamed with its rainbow-colored hue as the rays from above fell on it.
“It’s been more than a month since we’ve seen Iḷēhaḥ,” said Feyūnhaḥ, “and though in our minds we’ve kept her firmly in sight, I cannot tell if she still thinks of us the same or has chosen to forget. In either case, however, tell her what she means to you, let her know truly. Perhaps then she’ll at last come back to us.”
She then embraced Tūmbṃār for a long while, for she felt she would not see him for some time. But Tūmbṃār, smiling, reassured her, “I’ll be back soon; something tells me that while there’ll be trouble, she’ll listen to me and come back. I’m sure of this!”
“Vrihkhaḥ!” he called to the wolf, “I’ll come back soon. I won’t abandon you to your cruel fate! We’ll look for a way to break the curse, I swear!”
The wolf howled and rubbed his nose against the boy before sitting beside Iḷēhaḥ and dozing into a slumber. Tūmbṃār, having given his farewells, seated himself across from the maiden. Laying his right leg on the floor with his left leg upright crossed over the other, he rested the Dvhaḥṣhtro in his lap. He then wrapped his arms around his left leg and kept his back fully erect.
Now that Tūmbṃār was in a comfortable posture, Vādruhaḥ sat cross-legged in the lotus position between the boy and the maiden and said, “Breathe and relax, Tūmbṃār, as we have done many times before.”
With gentle ease of exhalation and inhalation, he loosened his muscles, and a calm sensation welled within him. His body became still but his eyes remained focused, and he locked his gaze with his teacher’s. Vādruhaḥ lifted his left hand with his index finger pointed between Tūmbṃār’s eyes.
“Look at my finger and keep your gaze locked onto it.”
Tūmbṃār did as he was bid, and Vādruhaḥ suddenly poked Tūmbṃār’s head and thereafter slowly drew back his finger. The boy’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as his eyelids were half-rested, and the clouds above the group swirled with greater vigor than they had before. A second opening emerged, and a great light issued toward Tūmbṃār. The light intensified, and the glow of the Dvhaḥṣhtro radiated throughout, but just as quickly as it came did it weaken, and when the light became gentle, a glowing white haze filled the summit. All the animals standing around then sat and rested, and all chatter among people and animals ceased.
In that silence, Vādruhaḥ stood and addressing the group said, “The boy has gone to meet the Gods; the Light of That One shall guide him.”
