THE next morning, they embarked on the river as the sun crept over the far mountains. They could see some animals walking around, not looking for food, however, but almost like taking a stroll, not unlike a person. Tūmbṃār was growing quite impatient, for although things seemed somewhat normal, he did not much like that everyone was keeping to themselves.

They had already been flowing down the river for a few hours and not a peep had been made between them. He did not wish to be the first to break the silence, but did not want to remain silent either. He hoped that the city they were coming to would soon come into view. It was not long after that initial thought that they could see a stone wall creeping up over the horizon, and as they drew closer, they could see the walls in their full glory, centered perfectly between the split mountain range with the river crossing through it.

As they reached its borders, they were greeted by soldiers at the outpost of the great arch. “Be quick to disembark your ship; many travelers have come in search of riches for this year’s Royal Game. If any of you wish to participate, the applications are being handed at the Rūrgha, on the western side of the city.”

“What’s a Rūrgha?” asked Tūmbṃār.

The soldier, surprised, said, “Oh! And I had thought everyone knew of it! It is a large complex that has many-tiered seats and floating platforms. Often, various games take place in it. But for today, it has been outfitted with a spiral structure connecting the one hundred and forty-four pieces of the board to the floating platforms on which the Royal Game shall be held! It is a blessing that there are still those who can hone the powers; not many of them do you see today, aside from the Servants, and much less would this competition be possible were it not for them.”

Tūmbṃār gleamed with delight at hearing those words and said, “I want to see that!”

“I shall hope that you do! It is a sight that you should not miss!” And with that, their ship passed through the arch.

They disembarked at the port where many vessels were docked, all of various sizes, with some having looked as though they came from other lands. Some had tall masts with hoisted flags flying insignias, while others looked like large canoes or bowls not unlike the ones that could be seen in Siḍhrehḷūr.

Now they were at an impasse, for: one, they had a large wolf that they did not know what to do with; and two, Feyūnhaḥ yearned to attend the Royal Game and participate; and three, Iḷēhaḥ sought an audience with the King, and would have Nakthaḥm accompany her for she did not wish for him to be out of her sights were he to run afoul.

“I know the King of Trdsyḷūr and he’s a reasonable man,” said Feyūnhaḥ. She took a ring bearing the sigil of her house from out of her pocket and placed it in Iḷēhaḥ’s hand. “Since it doesn’t look like we’ll be spending much time here, say to the royal guards at the entrance, ‘The Autirsāh of fair skin, dark hair, and inverted horns seeks counsel with King Rṭyāshphaḥ; Feyūnhaḥ, for She is of That who Trudges Forward,’ and show them this ring. They should give leave for you to seek an audience. Given the King’s fondness for my brother and maybe me, we should be able to spend the night at the palace; regardless, however, we’ll meet near the palace at the setting of the sun.”

“Is a name and ring all that we should need, princess?” asked Nakthaḥm. “I am surprised that a king should grant an audience with such meager qualifications and also that he should not attend the Games himself.”

“Aye, not many are left that have engaged with the Daivhaḥhō. And there are even fewer who know of my brother and me. It shouldn’t be long when the remaining ones leave to the stars, but I hope we’ll see them before their departure. Of the people that are familiar with us in Trdsyḷūr, it should be only the King and a select few. The ones that guard the entrance to the palace should be more heavily armored than the others; tell them what I have said and show them this, and things should be fine.”

“Wait, will you leave Feyūnhaḥ?” asked Tūmbṃār.

“No, at least I don’t think so, but that would depend on what the people of Siḍhrehḷūr decide. But what I can say is I shall at the very least stay beside you until the end of our journey!”

And the boy was relieved to hear that.

“As for the Games, the King since ten years ago stopped coming of his own accord due to the disappearance of his son.” She paused for a bit before continuing, “I wasn’t particularly fond of him, at least for a time, but no matter my thoughts, a loss it is for a parent to lose their child.” They were words that Tūmbṃār understood well given his situation. “Not a single bit of information could be had on his whereabouts, and most suspect he’s dead. But the King thinks his third wife, or rather former third wife, spirited him away to her home. I heard she is a witch or a shape-shifter or perhaps both, and that their kind lives above the clouds in Pedyṃhaḥ but it’s difficult if not impossible to find entry to their domain, as if it existed elsewhere, far apart from Ārhmanhaḥ.”

“Perhaps I could help on that matter, as I know the place you speak about,” said Sanyhaḥmān. “However, gaining entry is another matter. Regardless, we should then split up here and reconvene at the end of the day. We can embark tomorrow toward the mountain pass in the north.”

“But didn’t my teacher tell us to go east?” said Tūmbṃār.

“It’s best to head northward for now,” said Sanyhaḥmān. “I’m unsure of what the sage’s intentions were, but to the east lies the desert, the very one where the War of the Five Brothers was fought, now called the Desert of Upaurikṣhetvar, a place of harrowing lamentations from deep within the sand. Many say evil lurks within it, and not many travel that way, save for the Gazhigam, the Snake-people, but they have their own means which they won’t divest to others. In any case, when we cross the Northern pass, we should head to Pysefyaḷūr, stock up on supplies, then head east; the coast is level with the sea on the eastern side of the continent, so we’ll have little difficulty in reaching the forests.”

No further complaints were given, and the group decided on how to split themselves. Tūmbṃār spoke with Vrihkhaḥ, and he told him that he would stay on the vessel, for he felt too tired and perhaps uneasy about venturing out, which was good for the others. Sanyhaḥmān would gather supplies for the group though he did wish to participate in the Games. Feyūnhaḥ would attend the Royal Game while Iḷēhaḥ and Nakthaḥm would go to seek an audience with a king so that they may secure his trust for when the invasion would come. This left only Tūmbṃār who stood undecided.

The boy much wanted to go with Feyūnhaḥ to see the Rūrgha, but he also sought to be with Iḷēhaḥ and Nakthaḥm if on the off-chance he could make peace with her, and to make sure she would not lash out at Nakthaḥm.

He thought long and hard as the others patiently waited. At last, he said, “Though I very much want to see the Rūrgha, I’ll go with Iḷēhaḥ. Promise me with a zṣhṭya Feyūnhaḥ, that you’ll show it to me tomorrow before we set off!”

He held his left arm out with his palm facing out, and his index finger curled.

She looked at his hand, almost unnerved by it. She then sighed and said, “Though I feel I shouldn’t do this, I’ll do so for your sake. I just hope that I won’t be cursed by this.”

“I did not take you for being the superstitious type, princess,” said Nakthaḥm.

Now while it seemed like a trivial matter, a zṣhṭya, by most, was not taken lightly and rarely was it given. Rumors passed that those who should break the promise would be torn asunder in mind and soul and that they should become lifeless in all respects. None Tūmbṃār and Feyūnhaḥ knew sought to put it to the test, however, fearing its results. Perhaps others sought to do so, but never had they heard of such an occurrence.

Feyūnhaḥ then held her left hand in front of her chest with the same gesture. And the boy nodded in delight, having sealed the pact.

“Good,” she said, wiping the sweat from her face, “now that it’s done, we shall be on our way.” She took a glance at Iḷēhaḥ and continued, “May your forefathers help you in our quest.”

The maiden did not respond, standing aloof to the rest.

The city was vast, and the boy took in as much of the sights as he could: the long and wide streets; the bustle of people all wearing long sarongs or fhorlia and short shirts and scarves; the smell of spices and street food that wafted through the air; the posts that dotted nearly every vicinity, containing the self-same illuminating flowers as those in Siḍhrehḷūr; the tall structures and buildings of stone and mortar; a great pinnacle toward the north and the spiral structure and floating platforms of the Rūrgha to the west; and finally, the massive pillars and archways that supported the largest of their buildings and scaffolds. All he came across struck interest and wonder in him, and hard it was not to let his eyes stray away from the maiden.

As they walked onward, Tūmbṃār noticed a small commotion to his side. There was a man being fiercely beaten by some guards. They struck him from top to bottom, and he spat blood and broken teeth. Tūmbṃār rushed over to aid him, but he stopped in the middle, remembering Feyūnhaḥ’s words. It was his own discretion to choose when to engage, but now with Iḷēhaḥ beside him, he could not think to cause more trouble to her even though he had already stopped following them. When the guards had finished, they spat on the man and walked off. Tūmbṃār then went to his side and propped him against the wall.

“Ah, so not all children bear hatred toward me,” said the man as he coughed up phlegm and blood. “You seem different. I have not seen a child like you here before; from where do you hail, if you would be so kind as to tell this old beggar?”

“I come from a village called Parāftaram to, I think, the west of here. Perhaps a little south on the western side. But tell me, sir! Why did they beat you like that? Weren’t you just asking for money? I don’t see any reason for a person to be beaten so senselessly like that.”

The beggar gave a wheezed laugh and patted Tūmbṃār. “So kind you are! It has been like an age since anyone has directed such attention toward me. But I tell you, if you knew the things I had done before, you would not be as you are right now to me. Perhaps you too would grow cold and even angry and beat me in the same way as all the others have.”

“What do you mean? What is it that you’ve done?”

Before the man would speak, he directed Tūmbṃār’s attention around him. He saw that though the people carried on with their business, they all glanced toward them, and many of their faces contorted in anger and disgust before turning away.

“The wrongs I have done I shall not speak of for they are not things that a child’s ear should hear. What I shall say, however, is that I was jailed for some time before being released and cast on the streets. Given my reputation, I am surprised no one has come to kill me as of yet or, at the very least, exile me from this city. But as it would happen, I am beat on every day from people of all likeness—soldiers, mothers, fathers, children, travelers, all people of all types all know what it is I have done. None have shown kindness, and all are mired in hatred.

“Yet here comes this child to me, who does not seem to know and who shows care and compassion, but were he to know the things I have done, he should surely act like the rest. And dearly do I wish to test him – to tell him all of it so that he may too not give me the light of day and either beat me or continue on his way. For this is surely my punishment and one I should have to burn in for the rest of my days. Ah, how long it has been since then, this feeble mind does not know or rather it has forgotten. And yet, all the same, I stay grateful to all those who do me harm, for I see something greater beyond here – beyond you and me and everyone else here.”

The beggar’s words did not make sense. He spoke of his plight but now seemed to think it more a blessing; perhaps he always did, but it only sought to confuse Tūmbṃār further.

“I don’t understand. Even if the actions you’ve committed are terrible, and though I could imagine what they’d be, none should have to die for any crime. None should have to suffer for all life. As far as I’ve seen it, you’ve atoned, but maybe I can’t judge that. But you look old and as if you have suffered much, and this suffering I see aches me. What could’ve made you accept this?”

The man gave a great laugh, and Tūmbṃār sensed more hostility around him. He clenched his fists in preparation for what could happen. And then the man touched his hand, and the boy heard the snapping of the man’s fingers. The world became slow, and all things began to faze around him. Though he could still see, he could not touch, and it felt as if his senses had been dulled. And of all this, the beggar alone was normal to him.

“Do not think I have cast a spell or anything of the like. I have merely rested your mind so that you may see things more clearly. To see what it is I see. Since you seemed to wish to know what it is I think, I gave but a chance for you to experience it for yourself. Look around you, child: the air, the people, the stones, the buildings, the sun, and the stars. None of it seems as it should be.

“The reason that you can move as is right now, is that you sense more than there really is, though you do not yet know what it is. These things we see around us, the things we experience, can be likened to drops in the ocean. Subtle at first, yet all-encompassing. For surely, what you have felt at one point or another must have felt like this too, and perhaps, maybe, everyone has experienced it at some point. If not now, then maybe before or perhaps later.

“I see you being guided by a great being as I think many others – who have not yet revealed themselves to you – have as well. And that being shines his light on me. Perhaps that is why you see me as you do and not as others do. This feeling, this tranquility – no matter what afflictions I receive or who metes out the affliction, ever should I be grateful for this suffering. Without it, I would not have seen what I do now and beheld the greatness of what they call as That.”

“Have you gone mad sir?” asked Tūmbṃār. He was calmed by the sensations rushing through him and spoke his mind without thought.

“I could have – there is, after all, a very fine line between madness and light. I cannot with all due certainty tell you if what I see is truth but if I have gone mad, then surely you have too, discussing such things with me!” said the beggar as he laughed and wheezed.

Tūmbṃār heard voices from his side and saw that they were children, looking not much older than he. And soon after, he saw that things had gone back to normal, and the beggar had gone asleep or maybe unconscious.

“Hey! have you beaten him?” one of them asked.

Tūmbṃār shook his head. They pushed him away, and the same child said, “Get away from here! We won’t do anything to you since it seems you’re new. I’m surprised, though. Most of the travelers we’ve seen would’ve definitely beaten up this man. Yet you don’t seem caught in rage like the rest of them. But it doesn’t matter, go away! If you won’t beat him, we will. I suppose we would’ve done it in any case.”

Tūmbṃār in anger grabbed the child and shouted, “Why do you do this! Hasn’t he already suffered enough? What more could you gain from this?”

“Everything,” the child said and pushed him off. “Had you known the things he’d done, you would do the same. Our rage shan’t be stayed, and all who stop us shall suffer the same fate as him.”

“I can guess myself what it is he’s done, but even so, I shan’t.” And he was stopped from further engagement. His arm was grabbed by a hand with long nails that emerged from out of a black shirt. The threads at the end wiggled as though they were worms. The children, looking at the face of the new person, became frightened and ran off. Tūmbṃār looked behind and saw it was Nakthaḥm.

“You had best not go off on your own. Had I not arrived soon, this situation could have become worse than it already was.”

The boy was still angered and pulled his arm out of the demon’s grasp. “Tell me, Nakthaḥm, does this old beggar deserve all the things that’ve happened to him?”

“I cannot say,” said Nakthaḥm. “My place is not to judge him or those who attack. Perhaps my kin would say he does deserve it but not out of any sense of justice. Nay, they would want it to reel and twist the victim’s mind to madness. Whether they would go through with that, though, is another question. The Vādrunṃs are not particularly fond of us when they describe our supposed activities.”

Tūmbṃār shed a few silent tears. He patted the beggar as he had been patted by him and walked back with Nakthaḥm to Iḷēhaḥ. She did not say a word to Tūmbṃār, and though the two could not see it, her face held some degree of sadness. The day had gone in a bad direction and Tūmbṃār would then on pay little attention to the sights as the words and plight of the man and the reactions of its citizens plagued his mind.

The Royal Game was set to start. As the sun crept above the Rūrgha and basking all in golden light, the participants were brought forth for all the attendants to see. Feyūnhaḥ could see the tiers of seats that circled the center ring, with cheers resounding all around. The aristocrats were given access to the front and last tiers, and many of them would swap between positions as the game progressed. The middle was filled with commoners but certain affluent individuals would do as the aristocrats had and within the commoner seating, move from the front to the back. The princess was not too fond of this, but she abided it like all other years.

The spiral structure the guard had spoken of stood not far from her, and running along its length were the many large steps representative of the spaces on the board. It stretched high into the sky, and its top could be seen to be leveled with that of the uppermost floating platforms.

She stood in a crowd of participants, of which there were thousands. From what she was told, there would be a single match among everyone, and instead of using pieces, the participants themselves would move along the board. Each was given a cylindrical device functioning as a dice roller. When a turn had come, the roller would automatically roll the dice, and when the dice had stopped, a light – only visible to the user – would stream out of it, marking the spot where the participant was to go.

While this all seemed normal as other years, the sole fact that they did not block the participants off into separate rings and then have a final match at the end of the day seemed quite unusual. The guard at the gate made it seem as if there was only one Rūrgha, but there were, in fact, many—yet of a much smaller scale. And usually, they would have been set up with smaller boards to allow the matches to progress faster toward the final match held in the main Rūrgha at the end of the day. She wondered why they had changed things all of a sudden. It seemed even the other participants were confused over this, having thought they would be divided toward the other Rūrgha after signing up.

Now, the Game Master stood on a much smaller floating platform with a staff in hand. And he flew high in the air, circling the stadium many times.

“Gratitude to you citizens and participants, for joining this year’s Royal Game!” he said with his voice projected across the entire Rūrgha. “As in all other years, the participants shall climb toward the board’s summit. But I say it shall be most difficult given the number of participants this year. We lowered the participation fee on account of complaints from participants of last year’s game, and now we have nearly eight thousand! To allow the game to progress faster, each and every turn a cutoff shall be rolled, and those who do not meet it shall fall toward the base and rather quickly, I might add.”

Now, this seemed to the princess a rather drastic measure in culling the participants. But the next line of the game master assuaged her doubts.

“Be not alarmed, participants!” he said as he faced those who stood in the ring. “We shall have none die, but I would be cautious. The drop alone could make one soil themselves and significantly weaken their frame. If you do not wish to progress further, shout to me! And the other watchers and I shall carry you down. With all this said, let the game commence!”

A deafening cheer resounded through the Rūrgha. Around the perimeter could be seen more persons flying on floating platforms, and when the game master signaled them, they held their left hands up and, with their palms open, shot balls of fire that circled high into the sky. And when the fire had ascended high enough, far above the highest platforms, they burst with great fireworks that could be seen across the entire structure.

The participants shook the dice rollers, and all ran to their positions!

Now Sanyhaḥmān had made his way to a shopping district on the northeastern side of the city not too far from where the palace was situated. There, he perused the stalls, buying various assortments of fruits, vegetables and spices and tossing them into his bag. And when it was filled to the brim, he tossed it on his back and went to an armory store not far off.

As he entered, the shopkeeper, who sat cross-legged on a legless chair, sprang up and shouted, “Sanyhaḥmān! It has been too long. What brings you back to Trdsyḷūr? Perhaps you wanted to spectate the Royal Game – but no, the Games have already commenced. Then perchance was it to visit me!”

He was a Vachūṇaṃār himself like Sanyhaḥmān, and he screeched in joy. Sanyhaḥmān laughed and shook his head.

“It’s been quite some time, my old friend, but no. I have come to restock on supplies for a long journey I am to take with some newfound companions! But before I tell you of it, how is business these days? Do the folks here treat you well?” asked Sanyhaḥmān as he patted the shopkeeper on the shoulder.

“Still looking for that potent nectar of the Gods, I see,” he said with a bellowing laugh. “But yes! Things have been well these past few years, and I could not have asked for better patrons among the citizenry. It has been six years, and though not many of our ilk or those of the other Daivhaḥhō are to be found here, the citizens do not give strange eyes and rather see us as usual, like them. I say that even though our presence becomes rarer over the years,” said the shopkeeper, no doubt joyful in his position with a little sense of sadness at the end of his words.

But his face turned solemn, and he continued, “I have since three years ago secured a contract with the King, but it does strike me as rather odd, for nowadays it seems he prepares for war. Nearly fifty-thousand swords, shields, axes, bows, armor, and other such items we have made for them, and every so often, you can see the soldiers training outside the barracks in rank and file. Of course, I am not displeased over their patronage for I have made quite the earnings from it, enough to close shop and retire if I must. But I tell you, Sanyhaḥmān, strange times are upon us. And to think all this started when the King had lost his son! He seems to be desperate to get him back.”

“Ho! It’s always seemed rather odd to me that the King gave such special attention to him when he has two other wives and five sons and daughters. Does he know then where he is?”

The shopkeeper brought out a map and sprawled it across the floor. “I cannot say, but if my suspicions are founded, he plans to attack Pedyḷūr after amassing a great force from the other realms on this continent. No doubt he will seek help from the Autirsāh, though you do not see many of them these days – in fact, I have only seen three in my lifetime, two of them in Trdsyḷūr, no less. But regardless, I fear how the other kingdoms across Ārhmanhaḥ shall react if word of this gets out; I suspect he shall have a force of more than a hundred thousand if he can convince the other lords in Trdsyṃhaḥ to join him.”

“A hundred thousand!” shouted Sanyhaḥmān. “That’s utter madness! It’s been thousands of years since such a large force was brought. I don’t doubt that there must’ve been conflicts of a smaller nature in the time that’s passed from the splitting of the continents, but this is nonsensical! What does Pedyḷūr have to do with this? Does he plan on conquering the whole of Pedyṃhaḥ until he finds him? And how does he plan to embark such an army? There aren’t many ships that could take such a large amount across the seas.”

“Who is to say what any kingdom has concerning this? No one knows what truly happened to the prince, but I suspect the aristocrats have played some part in poisoning the King’s mind. There are rumors suggesting they spirited the prince away to secure more land and money for themselves. While I suppose I should not speak of this, given my own greed, I feel they take it much too far given what they already have. No, perhaps it has less to do with greed and more to do with power, but there is even more to this related to your second question.”

The shopkeeper looked around himself and in a whisper continued, “I hear, from both high and low, that he does not plan on using ships—at least not just of the type that sails the seas. There has been much commotion among my sources, and they say that an aerial structure from the great war has been unearthed deep in the desert to the east. And it is still functional; you must have noticed how many people who can wield the powers have been gathered here as of late under the King’s service. No doubt do I hold that they plan to use this to embark on war.”

A foreboding news it was to Sanyhaḥmān. From the tales he had heard recounted in the Atneṃārhaḥn, there was one particular vessel described in it that had long held interest to him and it was what his friend spoke of.

The Drasūvayeznd, a flying castle or palace as it was known, and a single one could carry well over seventy thousand soldiers. It was made of stone, silver, gold, and iron; carried by emanations resembling steeds and shaped like a conical stepped pyramid mimicking a temple, with an orb of light encased by fire at its pinnacle. Some of them even rested on massive vessels looking like gigantic boats. And this orb could at times emit surges of light that could annihilate all it touched, blazing the surface and all in its path. But rarely was its use recorded, even during that great war, better utilized as a fortress from which a multitude of archers could fire and flying chariots could disembark.

Having heard this, Sanyhaḥmān dearly regretted not having asked Vādruhaḥ further on details regarding it. But scared he was no less as Feyūnhaḥ must also have been, of what could have happened should his speech have offended the Zūryashhaḥ.

“How is it that none seem to know of it? I heard no talk of it on my way here,” said Sanyhaḥmān. “Surely he must have brought it back with him to Trdsyḷūr.”

“Aye, but it seems they activated the ship in the desert with fifty warriors carrying Dvı̄sahlvah. And they were able to lift it high into the sky, far above the clouds from where none could see it.”

“That many Dvı̄sahlvah! Though I know others possessing them, for that many to exist in a kingdom is troubling. Were not the kingdoms’ Dvı̄sahlvah destroyed during that war?”

“Indeed they were, and so I cannot guess where he procured them,” said the shopkeeper. “And certainly the Autirsāh would not dare to give it to the King; for even they are cautious of who must hold them, irrespective of attunement. But now that structure, though high in the air, will at certain times rest not far from Trdsyḷūr. The birds and monkeys have grown wary of its presence, and they tell me to beware of the path toward the desert, for it flies along it day and night.”

Sanyhaḥmān sighed and rubbed his head as if in pain. This, alongside the eventual invasion, did not bode well for their group, and he had a feeling that many more problems would present themselves soon. He breathed deeply and slapped his cheeks.

“Well, there’s not much of a point in worrying about this now,” said Sanyhaḥmān as he scratched his head; “so long as we don’t anger the King, we should be fine. I suppose we’ll have to deal with this later when the time presents itself.”

“Indeed! So, what do you wish me to do, friend? I assume you want me to look over that staff first?”

He nodded and handed his staff over.

“This has been well worn out. Do you not wish for a new one?”

He shook his head. “It’s as much a friend to me as you are, and I don’t think I should ever replace a friend. It should at the very least last me to the end of my journey and after, so I don’t suspect I’ll ever have to hold any other staff,” he said with a smile.

“Hah! Come, you must tell me all of it! And of your friends!”

“And so I shall,” Sanyhaḥmān said following his friend. He brought Sanyhaḥmān upstairs to his workshop and they talked at length of many things, but during all that time, the coming of war lingered in his mind.

There was chatter outside Vrihkhaḥ’s bowl. And though the wolf could usually sleep through such things, this time, he felt something amiss. He awoke from his bowl, and his head peered out and looked toward the Rūrgha. Looking to the birds and monkeys he listened to their shouts and cries. Then he looked about the boat and grabbed his companions’ items, and leaped from the bowl to the amazement and fear of the men working the docks, running atop the roofs to the eastern district.