WALKING across the steps, they followed the blue hues of the illuminating mushrooms. The surroundings had now become much too dark to see one way or the other. The fire that danced in their hands could hardly illuminate anything before them, its light seemingly trapped to its form. They had walked for what felt like days, as no sliver of light could penetrate the thick branches and canopy above. The steps themselves while starting out steep seemed to reduce in height as they prodded further. At times it felt as if they were descending down a mountain, which would not have have been all that unusual due to the elevation of the area.
Every few hours they took rest alongside the steps and set up camp. During each of those times, when the others conversed with one another, Tūmbṃār sat in silence and often meditated. He became more and more anxious for the answers he sought, and endeavored toward any avenue that could give it to him.
It was said that those who fell into deep meditation, could access any and all information that the cosmos would present to them. But there were few before, and even now, that could do such a thing, his teacher being one of them.
Yet he persisted time after time, sometimes spending what would have been an entire night in that dark space, silently meditating, stilling his breath, and chanting myriads of mantras in his head—all in hope that someone or the other would answer his call, not least Lūshhaḥ. Yet the presence of any other felt too far or perhaps absent, and it was as if he was alone within his mind, seemingly stuck at an impasse.
At last, they could see light at the bottom of the steps, having journeyed for what was surely days in the darkness. They quickly raced to the end and appearing on the other side, they averted their gaze from the powerful light of the sun. When their eyes adjusted they looked before them to see a vast clearing, with the trees surrounding the very rim of the horizon, and the wide expansive sky above. Grass swayed all about them, and the clouds slowly moved above, leaving behind wisps and trails.
When they shifted their gaze, they could see not far from them, a dilapidated structure. Moving closer to it, they could see that it was a temple. It was situated in a small depression, its entrance facing the south-east. It stood tall enough, that they were unable to see the tip with the exterior steeply descending toward each section where the roofs rose into a pointed pinnacle of gold. All around it were great columns and the sculpted images of the Dehaḥṃār and Daivhaḥhō, all seeming to dance along its walls with vigor and joy. Seven towers stood about with Fiyukthi burning at their tops. However, great vines and massive overgrowth and moss covered its surface.
“Could this be the temple that Vūragam mentioned?” asked Iḷēhaḥ. “Is no one maintaining this place? ’Tis quite the sorry state I must say.”
Aiṛth sighed and said, “I fear to see what the state of the interior is from here! But I suppose it should be in our expectations. Much of this land is now uninhabited.”
“Well in any case, I’d say we best check it out and perhaps rest there,” said Sanyhaḥmān as he stretched his arms and tail. “Having been stuck underneath that dark canopy for so long, my body feels stiff, and I’d rather not venture anymore today.”
Feyūnhaḥ was suspicious. “Are we really sure that we want to stay here? While I don’t sense anything foreboding, I feel uneasy of being near it. As if should become lost within it.”
“Well, barring Aiṛth, you seem to be the more superstitious among us,” said Nakthaḥm, laughing.
“And I say you’re a fool for not being one! I still think the zṣhṭya had some part to play in our troubles in Trdsyḷūr. And I’m still unsure of whether the effects since then have worn away.”
Nakthaḥm started walking ahead and called to the others. “Be not wary, for this demon here shall stand guard tonight. I much doubt any malicious force will come near as I hold aware.” He grinned as his teeth seemed to sharpen.
The princess still held worry of approaching the temple, but the wolf nudged her and she sighed.
Dhīṇahi went to Tūmbṃār’s side and pointed to the temple. She seemed confused as to why some of the others hesitated to approach it.
“I don’t know,” said Tūmbṃār, “but I think we’ll find out soon enough.”
“So are we all in agreement in staying there?” asked Iḷēhaḥ.
No objections were cast and they made their way to the temple’s entrance. They took a dirt trail that was covered in patches of grass and descended into the depression. The bowls on their side were lit with great flames that rose high and smoldered as if oblations were cast into it. When they reached the entrance, they saw the enormous pillars cover their view with rising statues that guarded the way on the sides. The statues themselves, merged into another seeming to welcome all those who pass through the open arch.
The others followed behind Iḷēhaḥ and Aiṛth, and prostrated before the statues. When the priestess finished giving her prayers, they looked to the gate and seeing all was covered in darkness, they hesitated. But looking behind them, they saw rain clouds coming from the west, as if Dusdrahaḥ and Vreshahaḥ were both urging them to enter. And with no more lingering thoughts they once more entered into darkness.
The unease they held to before lifted as their eyes adjusted to the interior with the small traces of light that came through the cracks in the roof. It was not long as they ascended the interior stair cases toward the inner sanctum, where light from fires lit within bowls and torches lit the sides. Hanging bells could be seen all about and when they reached the inner sanctum, light flooded the space, from the great oculus inset above.
They could see the forms of the sculpted stone in all its glory. And in front, laid two gigantic statues sculpted in the likeness of Īrshevhaḥ and his consort Hrvtihiḥ. Golden light fell upon both as they sat beside one another in meditation. Īrshevhaḥ’s trident rested upon his lap and a great winged serpent coiled itself about his neck rising above his hair, whose likeness bore a resemblance to Hvesykhiḥ.
“Beautiful,” said Iḷēhaḥ as she approached the statues and fell to their legs, grasping onto them.
Feyūnhaḥ went quickly to her side. “Are you okay Iḷēhaḥ? You seem much too tired.”
“No, Feyūnhaḥ. These statues bears such a resemblance to those gods that I felt almost as if I would fall into a swoon. It may not have their radiant glow, nor their great size, nor any splendorous qualities that supersede the physical. But even so, I can see the mastery of the sculptures resembling their form. Ah! ’Tis like I am by them now, never having left. How I dearly wish I could see them again—as I would all of you.”
“Perhaps one day we will!” laughed Feyūnhaḥ. “But I suppose we should rest now. The light from the oculus is dimming.”
And as she had said, the light slowly dissipated about them. Iḷēhaḥ lulled into a slumber by the statues while Aiṛth gave some short prayers, and the others prepared to camp in the abandoned sanctum.
During that night, where only the flames of the Fiyukthi and torches lit the hall, Aiṛth mended Nakthaḥm’s clothes, leaving him strapped in a loin cloth much to Sanyhaḥmān’s and Tūmbṃār’s amusement. While he himself was not very fond of having to strip down, he made do for he did want to cast aside those clothes.
Dhīṇahi by this point had already fallen asleep.
Vrihkhaḥ himself looked asleep but he silently remained aware of the going-ons about him.
Sanyhaḥmān made dinner as he did on many nights, and they all enjoyed his rather tempered meal. No meat was given that night, on demand of Aiṛth herself. While it was the case they would regularly eat it, she would not permit doing do in the sanctity of the temple, abandoned or not.
As night settled outside, where the darkness fully took hold, and the others were either asleep or silent, Tūmbṃār could hear whispers. Faint at first, yet growing louder. He turned his head from side to side in confusion looking for the source. Yet nothing of interest came in view. It was then that he heard the whispers calling to him from the corner. Not far from where the statues lay. And as he got up to look, he made sure to get the others’ attention, by chucking pebbles their way.
Nakthaḥm, Sanyhaḥmān, and Vrihkhaḥ took notice and followed after him. When they were at the corner of the hall, they could feel air release through the gaps and cool their hands. Tūmbṃār dug his hands into the creases, and feeling something rather sticky, he quickly pulled them out. He shook his hands in disgust as the muck flew on either side of his feet.
“I see there’s something behind there,” said Sanyhaḥmān, pondering. “I’ll try and pull the wall aside.”
He took his chance at the wall and put his fingers through, and yet not too soon after having dug his fingers in, he felt a jolt run up his arms and quickly pulled them out.
“What’s behind that door?” he screeched as he slapped his hands together. “It was as if I was shocked.”
“Then I suppose it is my turn to open this wretched passage!”
Nakthaḥm elongated his nails and suffused with fire, he dug them into the gaps and blasted the fire along the line. And not a moment sooner, the fire blasted in his direction and covered him in soot. His loincloth was blackened, and while not out of his tastes, he did not very much like the feeling of black dust marring his skin.
He sighed. “The trees do not like me, the animals keep their distance, and now even the walls spew fire in my direction! I wonder when this madness shall at last end.”
The others tried to stifle their laughter. But the priestess took notice after that display. She moved to them, gently resting Dhīṇahi on the floor. However, before she could reach them, the others gave clearance to the wolf, who with a great buildup, charged to the wall, and smashed it to bits! And the lining of the stone cracked along the seams, letting dust and debris fall from the walls and ceiling. It sprinkled upon the statues, like grains cast in a marriage ceremony.
And while surely a wondrous sight, Aiṛth grew furious and shouted, “What are you doing? Would you destroy the rest of this temple and all the fine crafts the adorn its walls? Have none of you respect for the gods that dwell and oversee this hall? Cease this foolishness at once!”
Iḷēhaḥ was still sleeping, but Feyūnhaḥ awoke from the collapsing wall.
“What happened?” she said as she yawned.
“Look their way, princess of the Autirsāh! They have broken the wall of this temple.”
As her eyes opened she could see the gaping wall that was created by the wolf’s charge. She was also none too pleased about this—but less so for the temple, and more so for any rocks or stone that could fall atop them.
“Why did you blast a hole here?”
“We didn’t blast anything!” said Sanyhaḥmān. “We had Vrihkhaḥ ram into the wall. Tūmbṃār here found something suspicious, and indeed it seems there’s a passage that runs behind the wall.” They all looked inside and could see steps creeping into the darkness, ascending high, with small fires in the distance. “It would seem this temple was hiding this from us. Maybe at one point the wall would’ve revealed this passage, but it seems any functions this temple once had are now wholly broken.”
“It does not mean you should have to go and break it even more!” said Aiṛth, still furious. “What do you intend to do now? Follow inside deeper? Nay, this you should not do. I shall not permit it! We have disturbed this temple enough as it is, and I have no doubt that the god Īrshevhaḥ and the goddess Hrvtihiḥ would not at all delight in our wandering this play like our playground. Come, let us sleep!”
“I do not think it a very wise thing to leave this be,” said Nakthaḥm. She felt almost betrayed by his words, but he soon said, “The boy here senses something. And I should think we should see what it is that has set its abode here. The walls themselves resisted our advance, yet fell quite easily from a charge the wolf. Do you not find this a bit strange?”
“Indeed I do, but I should think we should not disturb this place any longer,” she retorted. “We would surely anger the Gods otherwise. Is not this sanctum for them? Then why should we do as we please in here?”
“Perhaps the Dehaḥṃār are guiding us, or more specifically Tūmbṃār.”
Nakthaḥm looked down at the boy but Tūmbṃār stood transfixed at what lay before him. He did not feel so much afraid as he did anxious. For he felt that what he sought lay close, and that he should follow it further. Though he could not voice this to the others, they could tell that he wished or needed to journey inside.
And Aiṛth at last relented, and sighing, said, “Do as you must. I shall wait here. Will you follow them, Feyūnhaḥ?”
“Aye, I suspect there shall be trouble ahead, and best I help keep eyes on them. I don’t think trouble shall come here, so take your rest beside Iḷēhaḥ and Dhīṇahi. We’ll make back as soon as we can.”
And with no further complaints, the priestess gave her prayers to them and the five of them journeyed into the passage.
The steps were weathered and worn, and seemed to ascend infinitely in a spiraling maze. They could see the paths cross one another, but even with the torches lighting their way, it was hard to see any farther than a few feet. The walls widened as they trudged deeper. Yet the light breeze could still be felt and they used it to guide them. At times, the torches on the walls seemed to move farther away, where the distance was so great that only darkness lay in between. They made sure to keep close to one another so as to not seemingly walk off the edge.
When they had come to a series of columns with darkness set about them, they halted.
“I think we may be lost,” said Sanyhaḥmān. “I can’t feel the wind nor see any of you. And I assume none of you can see me either.”
“I think it’s too late for us to backtrack now,” said Feyūnhaḥ. “Is there no way we can journey further? Vrihkhaḥ, do you sense anything about us.”
The wolf slightly nodded, but he seemed unsure. There was something amiss that he could feel. And Tūmbṃār too could feel this. As if something were approaching them. He heard faint hisses and whispers, but the sharp air seemed to sting him from afar. Then suddenly, Tūmbṃār was grabbed by Nakthaḥm who pulled him away and an immense rush of wind sailed by them. The ground shook and the stones rattled and the silence was broken by swinging bells that rung all around.
“What was that?” shouted Feyūnhaḥ, as she closed her ears. The deafening rings of the bells attacked too suddenly for her to bear.
“A beast has joined us, friends!” said Nakthaḥm as his eyes glowed in the darkness with a red hue.
He amassed fire in his hands and lighted the area about them creating a ring of fire. There in front of them slithered a black mass of scales. It seemed at first to be Hvesykhiḥ, yet they could see the hoods fan out and the black scales so dark that the light of the fire seemed to be sucked into it. Its fangs bore sharp and from them dripped poison that melted the stone below. The heads of the serpent rested upon a face whose likeness was that of the Mānuzhhaḥn: its long hair flowing to the back and its face seeming gentle. But from its back spread great wings, whose pennons seemed sharp to the touch where even the embers were cut by the edges. Adorned in all manners of jewellery, and wielding two long curved swords in either hand, it seemed as like an Agent of Death, coming to spirit them to the Hells.
It slithered forward, its gaze keeping them all transfixed save for the demon who looked it in the eyes with a cold glare.
“I presume you are of the Gazhigam, are you not?” said Nakthaḥm. “Speak! Why is it you assail us?”
The serpent would not speak and instead opened its mouth wide as if to consume them, and Nakthaḥm at that moment amassed the aether. But as he prepared to strike, Tūmbṃār ran in front of him. Nakthaḥm tried to reach for the boy, but to no avail, as Tūmbṃār was consumed by the snake.
And soon after, growing in size, it raced to the other four, giving no time for retaliation. It quickly swallowed them all, and soared from the wide space high into the air. It moved itself faster and faster until light could be seen from above. Passing into the light it now flew about the temple, ascending higher and higher. It flew past the clouds, and the darkness of the night seemed to dispel into the morning twilight. The orange hues of the sun shined against the temple’s lining and reflected off even the pennons of the serpent.
Yet it did not spend long flying, for it spiraled about the highest tower of the temple until at last it reached its pinnacle. There, before it, was a lush garden filled with blossoming trees and flowers, a hermitage, and scores of animals that frolicked about the area with not a care in the world.
As the serpent descended into the open space, the animals all halted in their motion. Looking to the flying snake, they prostrated to it. It held its hand up and gave them leave, and the animals thereupon scurried away.
Now having landed, and looking about itself, it nodded, seeing all was clear. Putting its hands on its stomach, it pushed it inward, and immediately, it regurgitated the swallowed companions. All covered in saliva yet still whole and unharmed.
They each awoke on the grass surface, and seeing themselves drenched in the fluids of the beast they reeled in disgust. Then they looked to the serpent before them, that gradually reduced its size till it was like them. The wings withdrew into its shoulder blades and the tail morphed into legs covered in a stained fhorlia. But the golden articles upon its person did not vanish and under the light of the dawn, glowed with radiance, making it seem like a king or a divine figure.
Nakthaḥm walked toward it as he flicked the saliva from his person. “A strange choice of transportation; could you not have carried us, Gazhigam?” It shook its head. “Yet another mute I see. Can you at least make any grunts or mumbles for us?” It shook its head again. “Well no matter, take us to where it is you wish.” The snake-man nodded and walked, beckoning them to follow.
“You sure this is a good idea, Nakthaḥm?” asked Feyūnhaḥ worried. “You don’t think he means to do us harm? He after all seemed to really wish to consume us. To think a rabid Gazhigam lived within this temple. I wonder if that has any reason to do with the temple’s abandonment.”
“I much doubt it,” said Nakthaḥm; “I could very well have killed it from within its stomach. But inside I could see the acid recede and the air become gentle, as if it would furnishing its insides for our comfort. He is not an ordinary Gazhigam that much I am sure. If he truly desired to devour us, then I see no reason why it should wait. Come friends, let us follow him!”
The others followed after his call and though the princess was hesitant, she trusted in the demon and followed beside him looking menacingly at the snake-man who gave only a smile.
The animals followed beside them, and often they flocked around the snake-man seeming to desire his attention. This sight alone was enough to irk Nakthaḥm, who up until that point seemed to scare away the animals, and yet himself thought the snake-man to be more hostile than he—at least in that moment when he had swallowed them.
As they walked they took in the sights about them: the tall knotted trees whose branches and canopies soared high, the grazing fauna that peculiarly differed in size from regular height to even taller than Vrihkhaḥ—some standing nearly three times their height, the lakes and running water that made it seem almost like the valley set above the grand tree of Vūragāndara, and the golden hue of the rising dawn that once more basked all in a golden light. The light seemed odd however, for it seemed as if it stood still, with the sun not having risen any higher than when they had arrived.
And just as they pondered over this, they could see large columns and stones jutting out from the grass, greatly weathered yet inscribed with verses in Ahasṭṛṭhaḥr. They all circled each other into a spiral and the group moved into the path it had carved. After many rounds they reached its center, from where they looked forward, and saw that the columns had all of a sudden created a front facing path that moved out of the spiral. This seemed much odd to them, but they did not question it, and followed behind the snake-man and his flock of animals.
The path sloped up for a ways and then quickly descended, and skirting around the base was a stream that cut into their path, with stone platforms seemingly set for them. They hopped from stone to stone, and without their noticing the stream had all of a sudden become like a forceful river.
Now, they were beginning to think they were cast under an illusion. For while they could forgive such happenings in other locales that seemed almost mystical in nature, they found it much odd that a valley like this should rest above a temple—regardless of how tall its farthest tower stood, and even more that the surroundings should seem to shift themselves as if to confuse them.
Yet the water would not peak above the stones. Vrihkhaḥ out of all of them held the most worry, for he found the stones just big enough to hold his paws, and felt that with the wrong step he would fall into the river and be swept away by the rapids.
The river continued to widen as they hopped onward. It was not long before they could see beyond them the end of the path, where they could hear the river’s descent almost sounding like a waterfall. The trees themselves also seemed to cut along the edge. Then the snake-man took a great leap onto land with the flock of animals—who had somehow managed to follow alongside them—following behind. They likewise leaped from the stones onto land.
Approaching the far off trees, they could see some men seated under the shade of the trees, seated atop kusha grass, conversing amongst themselves. They seemed rather old, with long gray hair and beards, except for one. There was a rather young man, whose body seemed of light, and his complexion exuding youthfulness to a degree mirroring Iḷēhaḥ’s form. All were dressed in a single loincloth like Nakthaḥm.
The snake-man approached them, and the old men raised their left hands as if to bestow blessings upon it. The snake-man prostrated to them, before facing the others and bringing his hand to them.
“Good, good!” said the youngest. “Our gratitude to your bringing these folk here; we have much to discuss with them.”
The animals scurried away after the men gave them leave. Now only the group, the snake-man, and the strangers were left in the open. The elderly folk beckoned to them and the group approached and sat beside the snake-man, who itself was seated on its knees.
They remained silent for some time, unsure of whether to speak or wait for the signal of the others. They were able to tell at first glance, that these folk were not regular persons to choose to dwell in a location like this. No less being able to wrest the snake-man under their control.
Nakthaḥm looked about himself and then to the smiling men, and then said, “Well come now! Will you not tell us why you have brought us here? You seem to be ascetics, are you not?”
They smiled and the youngest said, “Indeed we are. We were just waiting for our meditations to end. Might you be able to bear just a bit longer.”
“Meditations? You did not look as if you were meditating at all. Should you not keep your mouth shut and silence your mind in that case!”
The others looked to Nakthaḥm with hesitation but dared not to speak. They could see that the demon was rather annoyed. Having been stripped to a self-same loincloth, being covered in ash, and then swallowed by a serpent had made quite a bit irritable.
The ascetic laughed and shook his head, and said, “Nay, my fellow Ṃārhaḥn! There are but many ways to connect to the Divine; don’t think the mere stilling of the senses is the only way to do so. I say even greater than that would be the chant the names of the Divine of which we were very much doing. But given the processions of animals that followed you, and the raging of the rapids, I don’t fault you for being unable to hear us.”
Nakthaḥm’s face of displeasure morphed to one of intrigue and he said, “Ho! And I thought only the Servants engaged as such. Perhaps it would not have been a bad idea to bring Aiṛth along with us, though I do not think she would have suffered well being in the stomach of a snake.” And he shifted his gaze to the snake-man, who remained still and resolute, as if to wait for the commands of its master. “Can you tell us who might this serpent be? I thought him a Gazhigam, but now I wonder. Why have you had him bring us here? Did you simply wish to make idle talk with us? I suppose I should not fault you, given this isolated abode you have chosen to dwell.”
“The snake-man whom sits beside you, we shall speak of later, for there are much greater things to speak of now. We have brought you here on request of the Sage Vādruhaḥ. He had wished us to talk to you of a many great things. But primarily in manner of discourse, toward the boy’s questions, of whom I can see you brought along with you. Very good!”
Nakthaḥm and the others were surprised and looked to Tūmbṃār. The boy did not move his head to affirm or reject instead keeping his gaze fixed on the men.
“Pardon my interruption,” said Sanyhaḥmān, “but what questions do you mean? We cannot speak to Tūmbṃār due to an oath he’s taken, so we know little as to what he’s thinking.”
The man laughed and said, “Well let the boy speak for himself! You know what it is we mean, do you not?”
“Aye,” said Tūmbṃār.
“Good, then let us begin,” said the young ascetic whose face became solemn in anticipation of the boy’s question. “What is it you wish to know?”
Tūmbṃār thought for a bit with his eyes closed. And when he opened them he asked, “Might you be able to tell me of the nature of the Gods?”
This was a rather odd question the others thought of him to ask.
Feyūnhaḥ looking to the ascetics, said, “What purpose does a question like that have? He along with us and our companions should very well know their nature, as is discussed in the Vādrunṃs and other works.”
“No, what he asks is a good question, for I can surmise from what you speak that you yourself do not know the real nature of the Gods.”
And Feyūnhaḥ was shocked by that statement. “Do you mean to tell me that even the Servants are wrong on this accord! Heavens, how much more of what we know is to be wrong?” Then she narrowed her eyes and said, “No, I cannot believe you! Even should you be able to speak that great sage’s name, there are even those who have acquired great power that have afterward fallen. How do we know you to not be leading us astray in your words?”
“Think as you will, lady of the Autirsāh,” said the ascetic. “But I would ask to make your decision after having listened to all I have had to say. Will this suffice for all of you as well?”
“Aye, I’m fine with that,” said Sanyhaḥmān.
“And likewise am I,” said Nakthaḥm.
And Vrihkhaḥ gave a shout indicating his assent. Feyūnhaḥ sighed and silenced after those words.
The ascetic then began to speak, as his peers about him closed their eyes, meditating.
