WHEN the group was not twisting and turning through the labyrinthine path, they rested at various spots and rationed what little food was stored in their sacks. They did not encounter any more ghostly apparitions, but voices could still be heard, though they were random and unintelligible. They seemed undirected toward them, and yet the eerie feeling they had experienced at the beginning of their descent still held firm. They felt that they had been long inside the cave, but were unaware at the time that they had journeyed for three days.
As they progressed farther, Tūmbṃār led them by way of faint traces of light coming from the man’s muddy image that would appear every so often. While his fear still held, he felt a sort of yearning to the light and could not break his attention toward it. Without the man’s presence, they would so easily have been lost. They were still much weakened from their engagement with the specters, and they could not so much as conjure a flame. No other trace of light could be discerned, and all was pitch black, no different than if they were blind. And they could no longer rely on Feyūnhaḥ’s hearing, for they were now too deep inside. Sounds however, still echoed through the space, and with it, they were able to know that the ceiling itself still rested high above them, and they could gauge their relative distance from each other.
Soon, Tūmbṃār stopped, and the three behind him waited for his call. The man stood far in front again and kept his smile, yet his appearance still caused dread within him. He gestured the boy to come forward to him, but Tūmbṃār, as if breaking from his trance, shook his head and muttered, no.
“What’s the matter, Tūmbṃār, is he asking for something?” asked Feyūnhaḥ.
“He wants me to come to him, but I’m still afraid. I don’t want to be any closer to him, not even with you all behind me. I’ve done my best to stay my distance, and want to keep it as such.”
“We must all face our fears someday, Tūmbṃār. You mustn’t be selfish now, for he’s helped us thus far; it’s only fair that you do as he says.”
“I don’t trust him. I don’t wish to go!” shouted the boy.
Iḷēhaḥ then felt for Tūmbṃār and bent in front of him. She placed her hands on his cheeks and centered his face as best she could toward her. “While I can touch you, Tūmbṃār, I cannot see you. This causes me unease and fear, but even so, I must bear it. I have to place faith in whatever can help us in this situation. Yet, I do not think the ghost or whatever it is that you see intends to harm you. You have seen him already once before, and though his intentions remain unclear, as Feyūnhaḥ has said, he has led us thus far. Trust in us to remain beside you and hold you firm. We shall not let you go. Be not afraid of whoever lies in front of you; his looks may be ghastly, but his actions are generous. Do good by him as he has done by you.”
Tūmbṃār felt her hold onto his quivering hand, and he breathed in deeply, then exhaled again. His fear was not gone, but he was for the moment calm. “I’ll do as you say. You’ll stay beside me, won’t you, Iḷēhaḥ?”
She held his hand tightly and smiled. “For as long as I can.”
Vrihkhaḥ nudged the boy forward, whimpering. Tūmbṃār brushed his fur, and the wolf licked him. He then faced the man, and the four walked to him. The man stood tall, much taller than even Feyūnhaḥ. He bent toward the boy and peered into his eyes, saying:
You still seem afraid. Is my form so sinister?
Tūmbṃār tightened his grip on Iḷēhaḥ’s hand, and he was sweating. She put her other hand onto Tūmbṃār’s and gently rubbed it, hoping it would calm him. His fear had now turned to tension, and this was in response to beholding the shifting sight of the man, whose intense presence became even greater. Four more arms erupted from the existing two, and behind them, six brilliant wings spanned toward both walls. His light shone with effulgence, and he looked like a god to him. Light filled the space, and though only Tūmbṃār could see it, all became illuminated, with not a shadow in sight.
Tūmbṃār remained silent and did not move. The man then held onto the boy’s cheeks, and said:
You will surely come to do great things, and though the time for you to awaken has not yet arrived, there are still greater things that await you, in which you will need assistance. I come providing that, but only if you shall accept it. But if you so desire, I shall leave and bother you no more. I ask, what is your choice?
But Tūmbṃār still did not respond, transfixed as he was by the man’s both awesome and terrible splendor. He opened his mouth but the words would not come out, as if overcome by the self-same heaviness that had afflicted him prior. He gulped and shut his eyes but the light still pierced through. Dearly he desired to escape sight of the man but he could not abandon his friends.
With no other choice, he looked directly into the eyes of the man and saw within them stars bright and radiant, and a vast space to which there appeared to be no end, all untainted by the color of his iris. And he became enamored by that sight, and felt the fear slowly abate and a sense of calm well within him. The man did not look so ghastly anymore, and though his presence remained intense – his features unchanged – his spirit was gentle and welcoming, and Tūmbṃār sensed this.
The heaviness was gone, and Tūmbṃār, letting go of Iḷēhaḥ’s hand, prostrated himself before the man.
“I am sorry for the disrespect I have shown you. You who shine like the Sun, burn like the Great Fire, and whose presence elicits felicities that cannot be adulated enough. Many questions do I have of you, beset am I by a deep yearning to know. But for now, I plead, help us O Great Being: guide us forward!” said Tūmbṃār as he clasped the feet of the man and touched his head to them, unaware of the meaning behind his words.
In those few moments, the boy had turned from fear to submissive adoration, and the rest of the group was perplexed as they heard his words echo through the cave. Now they were eager to know who this person was, who could have changed Tūmbṃār’s demeanor so much. The man smiled and lifted the boy.
All shall one day be answered. There may come times when you cannot feel my presence but know that always am I beside you. Never will you be alone! I will ever exist as that imperishable element that radiates within you, that is seen as non-qualitative by the mundane but as light by the wise, as the inhalation upon life and the exhalation upon death. And as the foremost agent that is sent by and is That One. Look forward and claim the Dvhaḥṣhtro!
The darkness that lay far in front vanished to the sides, and the group could see uncovered a glistening green and golden light, resting on a small platform across a long, wide bridge. The boy was pushed forward, and when he turned, the man was gone. It was all too sudden for Tūmbṃār and he at least wanted to know the man’s name. Iḷēhaḥ then grabbed onto Tūmbṃār’s hand, and he was dragged along with the rest of the group toward the light, as they all felt a rush of energy invigorate them.
“Who was the man you saw, Tūmbṃār? ’Tis interesting that your entire manner changed so quickly.”
“I’m not sure. Those words I said, I don’t understand all of what they meant. It was as if my lips spoke by themselves. But I still realized I was praising him, and that wasn’t a lie. It felt like I was pouring myself out to him though I understood little of his response. The only thing I grasped from him was that he said he would remain beside me somewhere, even when I couldn’t see him.”
“Perhaps he is a guardian spirit! That would explain much of why we could not see him.”
“No, he surely seemed more than that! He had six arms and wings, and looked much like a god.”
The maiden laughed. “Many things look and seem as such when viewed in a certain manner. Spirits are no exception in that regard, but then again, I cannot speak for what you saw. Perhaps he is more, or perhaps he is less. Yet were he a god, I suspect that he would not keep his presence from the rest of us.”
“How would you know?” asked the boy, confused. “Don’t tell me you’re a priest or a priestess, or even a sage!”
“You fool! I base this on the things I have learned in relation to them. There is not one incident I know of where only a select set of people could see the Gods when they presented themselves. Though they can shift to whatever form they desire, they will not by choice remain hidden, either to the mundane or the wise. Given our positions, I would say we all have equal aptitude for discerning them. So, for only you to be able to see this man suggests something else. Gods are indeed powerful—but not invisible.”
Tūmbṃār still held some suspicion, yet was satisfied with the answer, and he kept his eyes locked forward.
Soon, they reached the bridge and saw two large statues toward the end, shaped much in the same form as the ones outside the cave. The light illuminated that entire space, and the group saw the smooth ceiling that arched like a dome. It was much higher than the one in the cave, and, looking down, they saw only an abyss. The bridge itself was inset with large stone blocks, perfectly sculpted and outfitted with barely a trace of seams between them. And along its length were wall posts that gleamed but dispensed little light toward the bottom.
Feyūnhaḥ stood in front and halted. She then looked around, moved slowly toward the edge of the bridge, and brought up a small but heavy stone piece in both hands. And looking over the abyss below, she dropped it, perking up her ears and listening carefully for the landing of the stone. A few moments and then minutes passed, but no sound of an impact could be heard. Eventually, the sound of the stone cutting through the air faded, and all became silent.
“Be careful not to fall. There’s no bottom from what I can tell, and if there is, well, it is so far away, you’d surely die.”
Vrihkhaḥ then growled. His hair stood on end, and he snarled at the statues; the group then bore their weapons and crossed the bridge. The echoes of their steps were even louder than before, and the silence unnerved them. When they reached the middle, the ground began to shake and dust fell from above. The maiden and boy stumbled to the ground, but the princess held her posture.
Next, the posts started to move and circled the perimeter of the bridge. They increased in speed, and one after the other, they launched into the air and fell hard behind the statues at the bridge’s front. The statues themselves shook, copious gathered dust now falling from their crevices like a fine snow. They moved their arms, and those arms doubled and thereafter tripled until there were six on either side, all bearing curved stone swords.
Their steps were heavy and shook the bridge violently as slowly they approached. But their figures loomed high above the small group, and when they came yet nearer, it became clear just how tall they were. The one standing in front lifted all its arms high and, with great force and speed, plunged them toward the group.
A mass of dust and flying stone burst through the air. Vrihkhaḥ quickly gathered the group and leaped far back to evade the blow. The ground was indented, and the stone cracked and ravaged, but the bridge’s overall structure still held.
Then the wolf rushed forth and jumped onto the statue. He scaled its full height and tried hard to push it down to the ground, biting against the statue’s head and slamming its paws against its shoulders.
The statue furiously twisted and shook, and the wolf lost grip. He plummeted from on high, but before he could reach the ground, the statue kicked him with a hefty foot, and he was sent flying far back past the group, tumbling about halfway between them and the beginning of the bridge. He whimpered and stumbled but made his way to the group as quickly as he could.
The princess at once held her arms forward and shouted, “Iḷēhaḥ! Tūmbṃār! Release as powerful a gust you can! We must push the statue off the bridge!”
The two did as she bade as the statue lifted its arms high for another strike. The three issued fierce gusts that in rapid force combined into a raging whirlwind, and it struck against the statue’s arms.
It held its ground and attempted to push itself through the onslaught. Then the second statue that had stood still all the while lumbered forward, and each step it took shook the bridge to its very foundations. The boy, maiden, and princess all lost footing over the surface and stumbled. The winds dispersed, and immediately after, the statue in front fell toward them. The wolf hastened with great speed, and when it was but a few yards from the others, it leaped high once more.
As it passed over the group, an idea came to Tūmbṃār, and he stood and bent himself forward with his feet firmly planted. The second statue was nearing them, raising its arms high.
The stones beneath the boy stretched with immense force, and coupled with a burst of air, the boy flung himself high and fast, flying toward the wolf and grabbing its back leg.
Swinging himself, he launched the wolf with even greater speed. Vrihkhaḥ soared in the direction of the first statue, and in a single moment, he pierced through and destroyed its head.
The force of the impact propelled it backward, and it fell toward its partner; both crashed on top of one another, shaking the entire dome.
Tūmbṃār fell into Feyūnhaḥ’s arms, and she smiled in great delight. “That was the most foolhardy thing you’ve done, and yet you managed to topple the statues!” And she tossed the boy into the air over and over as he laughed.
Iḷēhaḥ was relieved; she had thought the boy would toss her instead. And Vrihkhaḥ stood atop the statues, scratching his paws against them. He then sensed something amiss and ran back toward the group as he growled at the statues.
The ground vibrated. Dust fell from the ceiling. The arms of the statues moved. They pressed their hands against the bridge and rose once more. Now, one stood headless and the other enraged.
A vexed fear held among the princess and boy, and they bore their weapons again as their hands quivered. Though visibly frightened, the maiden looked toward the statue’s feet and quickly realized what they should do.
“We should fly to their ankles! Were they to collapse, it should be enough to send them toppling off the bridge! Let us hasten back to the start of the bridge to put distance between them and us!”
The princess and boy agreed, and the group took flight. With small bursts of air beneath their feet, they accelerated their pace and were able to put at least a furlong between themselves and the statues. The statues then quickened their speed, and Vrihkhaḥ gave a screeching howl. It slowed the statues for a bit, and in that time, Tūmbṃār, Iḷēhaḥ, and Feyūnhaḥ bent forward as Tūmbṃār had done before. And Tūmbṃār held tightly to Vrihkhaḥ’s leg, and all stood poised for flight.
“We’d best launch at the same time. When I call, fly as the Winds of Vyāythaḥ!”
A moment passed, and the statues grew nearer. Another moment passed, whereupon the statues held their arms high. And then another passed, and the statues brought down their weight en masse toward the group.
“Fly!”
The stones once again stretched, and the same burst of wind propelled them, but now they flew level to the ground. Feyūnhaḥ and Iḷēhaḥ both struck the ankles of the first statue, and Tūmbṃār swung Vrihkhaḥ to the second statue’s right ankle. On release, he gave another final burst for himself and struck the left ankle.
All four were behind the statues and skidded to a halt far from them. The right ankle of the second statue collapsed, and cracks began to form on its left. At the same time, cracks also began appearing on both ankles of the first statue. The two stood still, and the room fell silent. The ankles then gave way on their feet and the statues fell at either end, down into the abyss. Their feet and the posts they once held to were all that was left of them.
“Success!” cheered Iḷēhaḥ. She fell to the floor in exhaustion. “I thought not that we would best them. ’Tis a relief that their bodies could be shattered.”
A resounding cheer came from the princess and boy, and the wolf howled in joy.
They continued forward and reached the platform where the light was bright. An item, shaped like a conch, was seated atop it, and it gleamed with brilliance and radiated light in all directions. A green and golden hue covered it, and it was inscribed with the symbols of the Gods, with one much larger than the rest. Two large curves sat atop a rounded base, and within the curves were designed iterative but smaller likenesses seeming to branch toward the infinite. And from the smallest branch, a flame rose and spiraled above with light gleaming from its center—the symbol of the Great Fiyukthi. And there at its zenith was the symbol of the divine bolt.
“This is the Dvhaḥṣhtro?” asked the boy. “It doesn’t look like much of a weapon. Are you supposed to blow into it?”
The princess was puzzled, for she too had expected something much different. The maiden, however, looked unfazed.
“’Tis indeed the armament! Though I know little of how to activate it. We should take it now and figure it out later. We have one more battle ahead of us, and I fear it shall be much worse than this.”
The princess and boy remembered. Feyūnhaḥ was dismayed while Tūmbṃār held excitement and fear. He did not handle ghastly beings well, but Demons he was much impatient to meet – though he still wished that none would perish in the conflict, something he reflected on deeply for a while in the back of his mind.
Iḷēhaḥ held the armament, and she felt the intensity of its presence before her and became enamored by it. She traced her fingers gently along its surface and muttered something under her breath.
Feyūnhaḥ became a little worried, seeming to think Iḷēhaḥ coveted it. Yet quickly, Iḷēhaḥ opened Tūmbṃār’s sack and threw it inside. And when the group turned to make their way across the long road back, the bridge was gone, along with the statues and rest of the dome.
In front lay the large entrance to the cave, and behind was only the single lone platform.
A starlit sky was above them, and they walked toward the shore, keeping vigilant for any sight of the demon. The grass tapered and gave way to sand and stone. And on reaching the beach, the maiden dropped her guard and became ecstatic. She splashed in the water, and though it chilled her, it made her all the happier. The boy went to play with her while the wolf and princess sat on the sand looking at the moon.
While Feyūnhaḥ did not show it, she was quite worried that the demon had not shown itself. The worst that could come was if it were to sneak up on them in the middle of the night as they were asleep, and slay them. The four of them were thoroughly exhausted, and it would only be a matter of time before they would fall asleep, unable to open their eyes for the rest of the night. As the waves rocked back and forth and their sounds lulled the princess toward a slumber, she felt a sharp breath against her ears; an intense sense of dread welled within her, and she was unable to turn.
A gentle voice spoke:
Princess of the Autirsāh, I have come to collect that which I seek.
