A long silence held as Tūmbṃār reflected on what Hvālmēgkim had said. He was both surprised and shocked.

“You’re the one who wrote the Sītṛāyastri and made the script for Ahasṭṛṭhaḥr!” Tūmbṃār shouted suddenly. “And you also made these lights?” he said wide-eyed as he pointed to the oculus in the ceiling. “This is a lot to understand. I didn’t think I would meet another great sage and one who made so many things, including the Drasūvayeznd. But I guess I understand why they called you a mage.”

“Quite so, I’ve even made more things that would give further surprise—though I suppose most have forgotten about me having made them!” said the mage, laughing. “I hope at least a bit of your anger has lessened. After all, if I could be forgiven of my horrendous crimes, surely you could forgive your friends for their presumed cowardice. Is it not time that you went back to see them?”

Tūmbṃār remained silent to that, his expression quickly changing. And just as Hvālmēgkim was to talk further, the door behind them flew open, and Nakthaḥm, Sanyhaḥmān, and Vrihkhaḥ came barging through as they were assailed by small sprites that wisped in the air about them like golden flies.

“I see your friends saved us the trouble by coming here themselves,” the mage said as he laughed. “You may stop berating them fairies. They are this child’s friends.”

The onslaught ceased, and the three of them looked to Tūmbṃār and the mage.

“My gratitude for looking after the boy,” said Nakthaḥm, bowing and slapping away the fairies that buzzed around him. “I take it you are the mage that the townsfolk have talked about?”

“Indeed, I am! Welcome to my home, but just as quickly as you have come, I must ask you to leave. Too long you have stayed in here and even more time outside should pass if you stay longer.” He rose from his seat and brought Tūmbṃār to them. The boy, however, avoided their gaze and instead looked back to Hvālmēgkim with sad eyes.

“Will you continue to stay here? Alone?” asked Tūmbṃār. “Do you not feel lonely at all? I’m probably right in thinking you don’t go down to the village at all.”

The mage patted him on his head. “Yes, you’re right that I don’t visit the village and they don’t visit me either. Well, some have attempted but have never made it here. But be not sad. I have the spirits and these fairies that keep me company.” The fairies danced around upon hearing that. “Yet even more so, always do I have that Light and That One resting in me as it does in all things, even when they can’t see it. Even within and by you do they stand and guide. You especially must know this, for I know him to be more present with you; is that not the case?”

Tūmbṃār slowly nodded his head. Sanyhaḥmān and Vrihkhaḥ seemed confused by this. Nakthaḥm very well knew to what he referred, but chose to remain silent.

“Then don’t be sad for me. Hold your head high and walk your path without fear and dejection, for things shall always come to right. And I hope that at some point you can absolve your anger, just as I had absolved my sins.” He looked to the others. “Friends, continue to watch over this lad. I know of the oath he has bound over you and what it has done, but forgive him of such foolish actions. He’ll come to understand these things one day; even your supposed cowardice.”

“Aye, and we already have,” said Nakthaḥm with a grin as he looked to Tūmbṃār.

Hvālmēgkim then furrowed his brow as he looked at Nakthaḥm. “Hmm, you do not seem much human.” And his eyes widened. “Ho! so this child has chained a demon has he?”

“Quite,” said Nakthaḥm. “My name is Nakthaḥm, the monkey is Sanyhaḥmān, and the wolf is aptly named Vrihkhaḥ.”

“Salutations, mage!” said Sanyhaḥmān. “A fine place you have here!”

Vrihkhaḥ gave three howls and bowed to the mage.

“Why thank you, Vachūṇaṃār! It has been a long time since I’ve seen your kind here. And you, wolf, you don’t seem much a wolf. Ah! So you’ve been cursed, have you? Well, well, you’ve got quite the band here Tūmbṃār.” The boy ignored him, hanging his head low. “Well, I shan’t keep you any longer; you must leave now!” he brought them to the door and called to the fairies. “Guide them down the hill as fast as you are able.” The fairies fluttered about and raced out the door. “Follow after them, children. I shall come with as far as the entrance of my house.”

The four of them followed the fairies, descending the spiral stairs, past the chandeliers and many halls. When they had come to the entrance, they took one last look at the house, standing in front of the large moon that shined in the clear sky free of haze and lingering fog. The fairies flew about them as if to call them.

Just as they bowed to the mage and were about to take their leave, Tūmbṃār stepped forward and said, “My gratitude for letting me stay as long as I did Hvālmēgkim. I hope we’ll meet again.”

“Perhaps one day, but certainly not here. As I had said before, in some cases, I’m not really here. And further, what you see here shan’t remain for long. I am but an impression left behind by my past self, to guide those who happen to stumble here, such as yourself.

“So let me repeat myself: be not sad that you should be leaving me behind. We haven’t known each other long, but nonetheless, we remain connected. If and when you understand That then you’ll know what it is I see and feel to remain as content as I am. But tarry no longer! Go with your friends and don’t look back.”

He turned Tūmbṃār and pushed him away. Tūmbṃār turned around and the space between him and Hvālmēgkim seemed to grow wider and the clearness of the sky and the space became fogged. The form of the mage disappeared, and the group started walking down the hill. Tūmbṃār stood for a moment. And then he heard a voice.

“That One and All shall manifest in you!”

The boy turned away and followed the trio. His mood had become considerably worse. He overtook the others, who now tried to keep pace with him. They followed the light of the fairies, who guided them through the wayward haze. When much time had passed, the fog thinned and suddenly dispersed. The base of the hill was clear, and they stood in front of the arch. The fairies fluttered about them before retreating into the darkness of the mountain with their quiet giggles.

Standing both in front and behind them was a crowd of people with torches. Then Iḷēhaḥ, Feyūnhaḥ, and Aiṛth appeared out of the crowd and ran to the others.

“Where have you three been?” cried Iḷēhaḥ. “Three days have passed since you had disappeared!”

“That long!” said Nakthaḥm in surprise. “Well, well, that explains why the mage wanted us to leave quickly.”

“Mage?” asked Feyūnhaḥ. “What are you talking about?”

Nakthaḥm explained to them and the crowd of the rumors of the mage and that they had met him atop the hill after being lost in the fog for some hours. The crowd gossiped, and they grew fearful of Nakthaḥm’s words.

The chief of the town, an emaciated fellow with white robes, a red sash, and a staff, stepped forth. He looked to them with a solemn face and said, “We must ask that you leave this town at first light, though better it would be if you left now. We shall fulfill our duties as hosts for you weary strangers, but no more than that! This mage you’ve seen bares ill omens for us, as do all people who bear powers: be they as righteous as a god or as iniquitous as a demon. And for you to have gone so far as to converse with him, suggest to us that you be folk of ill character. It is not altogether that we see an Autirsāh, a Vachūṇaṃār and a wolf as large as this, but I suppose we expected too much.”

“We apologize,” said Iḷēhaḥ, bowing to him. “We had not meant to cause trouble for you. But if you shall wish us gone tomorrow morning, we shall abide it.”

The chief simply nodded and dispersed the crowd. They all muttered to one another, complaining of having searched for no-good folk. Iḷēhaḥ and Feyūnhaḥ had pleaded for their assistance to look for the others and they had scaled the hill and the surrounding marshes many times, having found no sign of them. Aiṛth had joined in their search since yesterday, but she as like the townsfolk and the maiden and princess, she too had reached a dead-end.

It was good that they should appear unscathed, though Iḷēhaḥ was still worried. She bent to Tūmbṃār and, with great resistance, gently placed her hand on Tūmbṃār’s cheek. And she tried to speak, but the words would not come out. Tūmbṃār averted his gaze and simply walked past her and the others. That night, he slept outside the Servants’ quarters with Vrihkhaḥ and said not a word.

With anger and sadness melded with one another, he became unnerved. The dreams had ceased for a time, but still his mind was in a torrent. The destruction of Vālukyāvaḷūr, the oath he had pronounced, and the words of the mage whom he felt he would not see again: what was the right answer? A child he still was through and through, and he knew it well. He dearly wished to see his teacher at that moment; to seek his solace and have him guide him as he once did all those years ago.