When Two Prophecies Collide Chapter 2 Majikahla, a dragonlance fanfic

Chapter 2

Majikahla

52 kilometers stood between Rhuadhán and his goal of proving he was the most worthy Champion of the Gods and deserving of the rewards promised for his services. Under normal circumstances, he could make that distance in about seven hours if he paced himself at a decent jog, slowed down every hour or so for about five minutes to catch his breath, and had a short break somewhere in the middle to keep his muscles from getting too tired. He'd be hungry as a lion, drinking water like a fish, and wanting to crash after refueling, but he had consistently made that distance in about that timeframe during his training this summer and autumn.

But these were not normal circumstances by any stretch of the imagination. Even with buckling down for his rigorous training in Mongolia, he was well aware Kangri Rinpoche was a whole other animal. Between everything they knew, and factoring in margins for worst case scenarios in delays, he was bound to need almost all of that extra six hours for getting past certain parts of the path safely and/or in the ways this ritual journey demanded.

Where they had entered the Kailash passes was the highest point along the sacred khora route, usually the midway point that pilgrims sought to reach. Because of the purposes that brought him here, it needed to be where he started and ended his circuit of the path. Which incidentally made it a boon at the beginning of his travels because that meant he started off with a path traveling down and would have the moonlight for getting out of the Dolma-La Pass; and he would be passing around the major checkpoints at the usual starting spot of Darchen village and the choke point at Sarshung village's bridge in the dead of night when the authorities at both locations were mostly sleeping and those awake weren't expecting anyone.

On the flip side, it created certain challenges in that he had to make the toughest section of the climb at the end and in a more tired state; and that section included needing to pass through Shiva-Tsal in the pre-dawn hours and increased his chances of running into spirits over there. While potentially problematic, it was less daunting for him than it would be other supplicants. If the wrong sorts of spirits showed up while he was making the required offerings and meditations, and he found himself in more trouble than he could handle, Shiva-Tsal was thankfully close enough to the Drölma summit that he'd be able to outrun them long enough to reach reinforcements. While tapping into his power over Time would expend more energy than he wanted to before needing to make his ascent, doing so for a limited burst on himself wouldn't be nearly as taxing as trying to use other magics to fend off spirits on his own.

Thankfully, altitude sickness wasn't a concern for him like it was for most westerners. He had spent the last three years living in different parts of similarly elevated Mongolia and had long since acclimated to processing the lower oxygen levels in the air. There were, however, other environmental conditions to deal with. The terrain being among the worst of them. Though winter hadn't properly arrived yet, Rhuadhán had to leave behind the moderate shelter of rock formations at the Drölma summit and stepped into the more open expanses of the eastern side of the Dolma-La Pass.

Chill winds came in from the Northeast and the slopes that loomed up either side tunneled them through the pass, preserving some inches of snow from an earlier storm and kicking up little flurries of loose snow with each gust. Between those flurries and the rising misty fog coming up from the ground as the temperatures began dropping with the sun having set, visibility under the light of the full moon was far from optimal.

The scattering of pilgrims who had been through since that storm had blessedly packed down small paths of snow before his travels through here. That cover of snow helped blunt some of the impact of rocks against his feet and acted as a soft mortar to keep them from moving about so much, but he was having trouble spotting just where others had traveled and frequently enough found himself stepping on an unpacked section and up to the top of his ankle in snow. A targeted warming cantrip on his feet kept him from the normal risk of frostbite, but it was still uncomfortably cold. His natural body heat, the swifter pace he was keeping at, and the namjar wrap kept the rest of his body passably warm for the time being, but he knew that the temperature would only keep decreasing the later it got. He wanted to be out of the northern heights as quickly as possible.

Concentrated on picking out his path, sometimes hopping forward a foot or two to reach particularly packed areas he managed to spot, it took Rhuadhán some minutes to notice he was being stalked. It was a rock being dislodged from higher up the slopes and quietly tumbling down behind him that ended up giving the creature away. Rhuadhán made sure he had stable footing and then glanced over his shoulder to see what was following him.

A wolf was some distance behind, and couldn't quite dart behind a rock fast enough to avoid being spotted. It was a Tibetan wolf, tawny and more compact than its European or Chinese cousins.

Rhuadhán couldn't help but smirk when he noticed the distinctive large patch of white on its left hind quarter just before it disappeared out of sight. "Ohhh, Altankhüü..." he called out in teasing warning to the dark shaman's companion, speaking Mongolian. "Bilguun is going to have your hide for giving yourself away so early! I bet he's cursing you fiercely, back where he's stuck sitting!"

Altankhüü couldn't understand the words being said, but the wolf could tell from hearing his name that he was busted; and his master watching and listening through him would realize it. The wolf stepped out from behind the small boulder and gave a guilty sniff and bow of its head.

Rhuadhán called over, "Bilguun, I don't know if you're tailing me to make sure I don't find a shortcut or skip over something, or out of worry for my safety, but it will be difficult for Altankhüü to keep up and stay safe. Call him back to you. I'm not going to put myself through this only to ruin the effort by cheating, and I can defend myself. I don't need Altankhüü to interfere if something pops up and get me disqualified for having help."

The wolf shifted between paws as it waited for some sort of impulse sent by its master to indicate what it should be doing now. Whyever Bilguun had sent his companion to shadow his progress, he apparently decided to rescind that decision. Altankhüü gave a wolfy grin at the young man, then turned around and trotted back happily in the direction where his master was camped out with the others.

Rhuadhán shook his head, still smirking, and then turned his attention back to where he was going.

Just a few short kilometers into his journey, the first of the real challenges for this trek began. Dolma-La Pass steadily opened up on one side as it started twisting towards the eastern side of the mountain, and the winds began blowing all the more furiously.

Rhuadhán soon found himself reaching the top of a switchback decline down the mountain pass, which led towards Gauri Kund and the Aksobahya Valley beyond. This treacherous section of the Dolma-La Pass claimed multiple victims every year who made a wrong step and didn't catch themselves in time. The way down was dizzyingly steep; with a bit over 400 meters of a drop-off that was liable to give the unwary who looked over the sides of the path a terrible case of vertigo. The rocks here were larger and rounded from so many people treading on them and grinding against one another, creating slippery footing on the narrow, winding path clinging to the side of the mountain. The light snow cover here was a liability, as there wasn't enough to hold the bigger rocks in place and made for even slicker footing.

Rhuadhán's pace slowed by necessity when he reached the infamous descent. Unlike most people who reached this point, he was at least starting down fresh because it was so early in his route, and he didn't have to deal with altitude sickness causing potential dizziness or blurred vision. His bare feet, however, were becoming chilled despite his warming cantrips and, especially with the wind whipping about and holding the potential to push him off balance if not careful, he needed to watch how he stepped through the quagmire of rocks so he wouldn't lose his footing and potentially be too stiff in the ankles to recover properly.

The Champion stepped out onto the path with one foot and carefully shifted it between the rocks to get a stable footing on the ground beneath. Despite his mental mantra going to keep his mind directed from physical complaints, he became aware of the faint ache beginning on the sole of his foot from the few kilometers of impacts against snow and rocks. He was going to be limping by the end of this, he just knew it.

Rhuadhán pushed the thought out of his head and focused on the mantra all the more determinedly as he planted his foot, and then repeated the same careful step with the next foot. Step by step, staying as far from the edge as he could, he began his descent down the slope. And step by step, it seemed the wind itself was against his efforts, trying to catch in his clothes to push at him and spreading icy fingers across his flesh.

Words of the mantra became a quiet chant, reciting the words of Sihir that weren't quite a spell, but a meditative focus to order one's consciousness to transcend physical discomforts.

Rhuadhán was a third of the way down the path when it happened. He was rounding a corner on the switchback, foot lifted to take the next step, and a vicious gust of wind hit him at the same moment. Despite how well planted his rear foot was, the gust disrupted his balance, sending him tilting to one side. He tried to bring his foot back to where it had been so he could regain his footing and then crouch down protectively against this burst of wind, only to find rocks had already started shifting down to the opening he had left behind.

Foot met stone, and the rounded fiend rolled beneath foot. His balance tipped further, trying to keep upright, and another vicious gust of wind, one with a barely noticeable but distinct trace of magic laced through it, hit him again.

As Rhuadhán felt his planted foot begin to lose its stability despite his attempts at recalibrating his balance, he realized the danger he was in. The mantra ceased to call up different words as the drop off edge of the path entered the corner of his vision.

"Cojuravreg Fasham!"

A heavy walking stick appeared in hand and was planted into the mass of rocks before him, driving it against the ground and using it to stabilize himself. Breaths, accelerated by the fleeting burst of fear-induced adrenaline, came out in misty puffs in the cold air in front of him as he found his footing again. He concentrated on his breathing, slowing it back down and quietly reassuring himself all was fine as he clung to the sturdy staff he had conjured.

Rhuadhán gave a heavy sigh. "Someone isn't chuffed I'm here... Can't imagine why..." He gave a shaky laugh as sapphire gaze went to the stick that just saved his life. "Well, so much for not using magic unless necessary to avoid detection 'til I'm knocking on the door... Fuck me…" He held back another laugh, giving a shake of his head as he glanced up. "Well, give me your worst, you right prick."

The one who sent the wind took that challenge. Rhuadhán found himself buffeted by increasing bouts of wind. He grit his teeth and forced his way forward between the gusts, making sure he remained stable on the walking stick and a foot at all times.

When he reached the bottom and its scrubby landscape near thirty minutes later, he couldn't suppress the defiant grin as he glanced up the steep path he had navigated. He tilted his staff up towards the mountain's summit and said, "Nice try, but you lost that round. You're not stopping me from coming up there with anything short of blowing up the whole damn mountain, and we both know you can't."

The young Champion turned his back on the slope and began walking towards the circular lake not far ahead. The edge of the water was ringed by a foot or so of ice as encroaching winter began to freeze it over, and beneath the light of the moon it almost looked like a pupil-less emerald eye. An eye that glowed beneath the full moon with its latent magic.

Gauri Kund, or as it was known to the Vajrayana, Tukje Chenpo- the Lake of Compassion. It was said a goddess used to bathe herself here, and it was blessed with purification and healing powers as a result. If one could stand the freezing temperature of it, pilgrims who bathed in it after having made the long trek around the mountain felt as though they had been blessed with renewed stamina so they could finish reaching their starting point of Darchen in a refreshed state. Overnight camping wasn't permitted here, and it was too late for one of the guided hiking groups to be brought through, so there wasn't another soul in sight.

Rhuadhán came to the edge of the lake and knelt down before it, dismissing the walking stick he had conjured for the time being. One of the pouches from his belt was unbound and from within he pulled a ten centimeters long, five centimeters wide vial made of ivory. Pale fingers reached forward and came to rest against the ice, long digits fanned out as far as they could spread, and he said, "Esacair." The ice around his fingers obeyed the quiet command of the cantrip, melting and forming a hole to the water beneath. The vial was swiftly dipped within and came out with a shiver of his hand, but filled to the brim with the sacred water. He capped the vial, put it back in the pouch, and then tied it securely to the belt.

That done, Rhuadhán heaved a sigh as he stood and tugged free his belt as a whole. "Bloody closet sadist to put this lake up here and not even make it a hot spring..." After mumbling that complaint, he started back up the mental mantra to focus his attention inwards and began stripping out of his clothes. He tossed them in a pile, not wanting to spend more time than was necessary exposed to the elements by folding them up, and placed a few of the nearby rocks on top to keep the wind from blowing them away.

Bare as he came into the world, he gritted his teeth and started the walk into the enchanted lake without the benefit of warming cantrips to aid him. The sheet of ice broke beneath his feet and near-freezing water was almost immediately up to his shins. He trudged on, moving past the ring of ice and into deeper water. Mental mantra continued, but it was barely helping distract from the painful prickly sensation as the cold seeped into his flesh. Step by step, he forced himself further in because he could also feel the subtle rejuvenating magic of the lake seeping in and he knew he needed that aid to make it through the latter parts of this torturous trek without crippling himself for the effort.

When the water was mid-thigh and precariously close to sensitive dangly bits, Rhuadhán decided he was deep enough and to just get this done as quickly as possible. He gritted his teeth all the harder and then let his shaking legs go limp, dropping himself to let his rear hit the bottom of the lake and sinking himself to his neck. The shock of frigid water enveloping him caused muscles to spasm so fiercely it felt like he had a full body muscle cramp, but he forced his head under the water before the cold could really seep in and drop his body temperature any further. He stayed submerged long enough to ensure he could feel the magic tingling against every inch of him from scalp to toe, then popped his head back up to the surface with a gasp for much needed air.

As he got his legs back under him and stood, a bracing wind hit his soaked body. There weren't enough mental mantras in the universe to ease that sort of freeze and he griped through chattering teeth, "Holy Mother of All Shrinkage, Batman! Now you're just taking the Mickey out of me! That was entirely unnecessary!"

Giggles, ethereal giggles that echoed and vibrated with a supernatural melody to them, came from behind the Champion.

Rhuadhán stiffened immediately with the realization he suddenly had company, now sensing wisps of magic approaching from behind without even needing to extend the effort. The ambient magic of the lake had masked theirs while he was submerged in it, but they had strong enough auras that it was now reaching him. His sapphire gaze glared up at the sky as he thought, in what was knowing futility, 'Please don't be the Dancing Dakinis. Please don't be the Dakinis. Don't be the Dakinis...'

"I told you I sensed his energy on the wind," a beguiling voice, one he recognized, said to one of her companions in Sihir. "And who but Majikahla would dare utter profanities in this of all places?"

'Bollocks. Definitely the Dakinis...' The young Champion groaned in more than one kind of misery as he summoned every bit of self-discipline he had and forced his eyes to close; knowing full well looking at the immortal beings was risking temptations he could little afford to indulge flirting with right now.

The Dakinis were quasi-goddesses of wisdom and pure energy that took the form of women of entrapping beauty, having been created to satisfy a certain being's desire for companionship. When they weren't catering to his needs and he sent them away to have time to himself, they were allowed to roam about in search of worthy human companions because they became restless and despondent if they weren't fulfilling their narrow purpose for being. Their existence contributed to all manner of myths across the world, perpetuated by mortals who didn't know what to make of them and depending on their interactions with the Dakinis- from fae to succubi, lamia to sirens, mermaids to nymphs.

If a man the Dakinis had their eyes on was accommodating of their desires, he'd find himself in for one exceptionally wild night of carnal pleasures; and depending on whether or not he knew tantric arts he might either end up with his life force accidentally drained from the experience by the exuberance of the Dakinis, or finding himself quite energized by redirecting their innate magics to feed back to him part of their life forces. If the man was not interested in taking that risk, or knew he was incapable of proper energy work to survive it- if he was exceptionally charming in refusal and offering other forms of entertainment for the Dakinis, they might find it endearing enough to grant bits of wisdom or advice in exchange for being temporarily distracted from their carnal urges with the mental stimuli. For the men who weren't so careful in their refusals or otherwise offended or bored the Dakinis, they found themselves risking the immortals' wrath for being scorned and their purposes utterly denied any satisfaction.

"I'm not so sure that is Majikahla," one of the Dakinis said contemplatively. "He's never been a redhead before..."

"Oh, it's him." the first voice said. "Sense out what's beneath his current form..."

"Parvati is correct that it is me, Shakti," Rhuadhán called back in Sihir with levity forced into his voice. "Am I to understand you don't like the crimson hair?"

"Oh, now I didn't say that..." Shakti said immediately.

"Majikahla..." Lalita called over teasingly. "You look cold out there. Your skin is all bumpy like a bird with its feathers plucked..."

"That tends to happen when one is in a lake so high above sea level this close to winter..." the young Champion called back wryly, then cast drying cantrips on his upper body to help stave off some of the cold leaching in. "The waters are as refreshing as rumored, though, so at least it wasn't for nothing."

"Come to shore, Majikahla..." Parvati's voice chimed in sweetly. "We can get you warm in no time, and put that stamina to such pleasurable use in the process..."

"Oh, I know you ladies could..." The words in English came out as a quiet suffering groan as he reminded himself just why he was in this lake to begin with. He started backing up towards the shore because he did have need of fetching his clothes as swiftly as possible. Loud enough to be properly heard, he said in Sihir, "As I heard stories, you ladies are normally having a party down on the southern section of The Gold and Red Cliffs when you're here. Did you come up this way just to see me?"

"How could we not?" Lalita asked, tone sulking. "It's been so long since you summoned one of us, we were beginning to think perhaps we did something to make you stop enjoying our company..."

"Believe when I say," he said to be placating, as she was the most tempestuous of the three to have him cornered in such a vulnerable state, "blessed lady of so very many intriguing talents, that there's not a thing you could do to make me cease appreciating your company. My memory is like shadows on many details because I've only recently returned to physical form, but I know my last body gave out under the strain of a spell I tried to cast and then I was sleeping for quite some time to recover."

"Oh no..." Lalita said in commiserating fashion. "So that's where you went off to..."

"Yes," Rhuadhán said, mind weighing out the proper exit strategy from this situation. The water was at his knees now, and he could roughly guess from the directions their voices were continuing to come from that they had congregated just a little off to the left of where his clothes should be. "I was certainly not avoiding you. You three were among the first memories I have found surfacing, much to my delight. I have been busy retraining my body to handle my magic and refreshing my memories on arcane knowledge, but summoning you three was high on my list once I uncovered the spell and had the capability to perform to your expectations..."

Lalita giggled in delight. "I'm honored we made such deep impressions..."

"Majikahla," Shakti's voice echoed out skeptically. "Why won't you turn around to look where you're going? Are you not wishing to look upon us?"

"That's not the reason..." Rhuadhán said teasingly.

"Are you playing a game with us?" Parvati asked, sounding mildly excited.

"I might be..."

"What's the game?" Lalita asked, voice hopeful for some fun.

"Shakti seemed so surprised by my hair color alone," the Champion drawled out, water to his shins, "that I'm wondering if you can guess what else has changed and how. Turning around would ruin the surprise."

"Are you worried we might not like this incarnation's changes?" Shakti asked, sounding apologetic now.

"No," Rhuadhán said, continuing his blind wading backwards and waiting to feel the shelf against the back of his legs. "You benevolent ladies love variety too much to be displeased."

"Hm…" Shakti's voice rumbled with pleasure to that smooth reassurance. "If your hair is changed, your eyes must have as well to match."

"Yes, they have. How?"

"Are they green?" Parvati asked, sounding hopeful as she adored that color.

"That is common with red hair, but no."

"Blue?"

"Very good, Lalita," Rhuadhán said with a teasing purr to his voice. "You've always been so clever at puzzling things out. What shade of blue? There's so many." He felt the shelf brush against his legs as he was mid-step and came to a stop. A hand reached back casually, searching for his pile of clothing.

"As vibrant and dark as your hair is, I would guess your eyes are similar…" Lalita hummed out contemplatively.

"Mhm…" Rhuadhán murmured in agreement. Where the bloody hell was his clothes? His hand reached further back, feeling along the ground, wondering if he might not have made so straight of a line back as he thought and he was miscalculating their location. He hadn't really broken through new ice, though, so he should be about where he started. "Keep going, what shade specifically?"

"Are they the color of the late night sky?" Shakti asked.

"Not quite so dark," Rhuadhán said. "Try again." His hand came into contact with something that wasn't the ground, but it also wasn't his clothing. It was a bare foot, slim and just noticeably longer than a human's, with a beaded anklet around the ankle.

Parvati's beguiling voice came from behind him as his hand left her foot, not far from his head, indicating she was crouching down. "Are they the color of the ocean as a storm rises up?" Soft, wonderfully warm hands slid over the young Champion's chilled shoulders; and in their wake flowed traces of magic that almost set his nerve-endings aflame with sparks of desire.

'Magic in such states feels so very, very delicious…' Rhuadhán's eyes squeezed tighter as he took a few careful breaths to make sure he had a grip on his self-control, feeling the familiar craving for more rising up and reminding himself it was too dangerous to indulge when he was on a time-limit. It took every bit of self-discipline he had to unclench his teeth and say levelly, "No, Parvati, as that would indicate hints of grey as well…"

"What are you looking for?" Parvati asked, tone teasing, laced with a hint of already knowing. Her hands were moving forward to trace over his chest.

"I was trying to locate my clothing so that I may warm myself," Rhuadhán admitted, his attempt at a placid tone straining as he was feeling certain other stirrings for the first time in almost three years. Human women might not have been up to the task, but immortals apparently were. "Perhaps you'd be so kind as to hand them to me?" He could feel the press of bare full breasts against the back of his shoulders as the Dakini leaned further in. Mental images of those rosy breasts, supplied by his scattered memories of the most recent lifetime before this one, sprung to his thoughts.

"Why would I do that," Parvati asked, warm fingers finding his nipples and starting teasing circles on the cold-tightened and sensitive flesh, causing him to take a sharp breath in as arousing magic followed her ministrations, "when there's far more entertaining ways to help you warm up?"

Words of mantras to focus escaped him. Instead, Rhuadhán decided to fight such fire with a different fire, pulling up in his mind the haunting image of The Daughter of Magic, who he was hoping would prove vastly more satisfying than even these quasi-goddesses with their limited spectrum of magic. The distraction that little minx caused was most welcome at the moment, and it helped tune out some of what Parvati was kindling.

"There certainly are more entertaining ways…" He left off his search of his clothes to wrap his hands around the immortal's wrists and gently remove her hands from where they were. He brought one hand up and placed a soothing kiss to her wrist, letting the smallest tendrils of his own magic extend out to tease at hers. "However, as much as it pains me to say it, I did come here for a purpose tonight, and that purpose was not to get lost in tantric delights…"

"Mmm…" Parvati hummed in agreement. "You've come with Vajrayana robes and we find you soaked in the waters of Tukje Chenpo. You're obviously here to seek out the Master. Why would you want to do a thing like that, Majikahla?" Warm breath was on his neck now, sending shivers down his spine. "You two can't stand being in the other's presence. A far more enjoyable way to spend your evening would be with us…" A teasing nibble at his earlobe, then an alluring whisper, "I'm sure we could aid you with whatever needs you have…" Soft lips began tracing a path down his neck, leaving a heated flush for him to bask in.

Rhuadhán took more breaths to steady his focus, reminding himself, again, why he was subjecting himself to being here. And as his focus sharpened with concentrating on that purpose, the calculating part of his mind recognized that the Dakinis hadn't just so happened to notice his presence and leave their favored place to dance. He transferred the delicate right wrist to join the left one in his left hand, long fingers closing around both; for the moment pulling the Dakini away from her attentions on his neck and freeing his right hand if needed for spell casting. He tilted his head to trail soft kisses up the immortal's arm, letting traces of his magic continue to resonate against her skin at vibrations meant to entice.

The Champion's voice, however, held an edge of warning in it as he said, "You ladies have always been accommodating and charitable. Unfortunately, my current needs are not ones you can aid me with. I'm sure we can see about making up for lost time when I'm not preoccupied and unable to give you the attention you deserve. For now, you can hand me my clothing from wherever you've relocated them to, with I'm sure only the generous thought to keep them away from the lake and dry. That aid would speed me dealing with those distractions."

Parvati's forearms stiffened beneath his grip. After a few seconds the immortal gave a quiet warning of her own, one that she attempted to soften by wrapping it in a veneer of concern. "Majikahla, do you truly think you'll be allowed to gain an audience with our Master? And if you do, that He'll give you what you desire? Leave off this silly plan of yours and put your time to better use with us."

Contrary to her obvious aim, the Champion wasn't dissuaded. Rhuadhán's temper sparked at the assured dismissal and attempt at offering him a consolation prize. His eyes opened as he spun around with supernatural speed from where he stood, using his grip on her wrists to pull the quasi-goddess in closer. Her ethereal beauty was not the distraction it could have been with his anger incinerating the desire she had been trying to stoke; and he watched with a satisfaction, that was as icy as the lake he stood in, as she flinched in pain from her arms twisting and stared down at him in shock for the unexpected shift in the situation.

"Perhaps you forget who you speak to because I'm temporarily in a weakened state," Rhuadhán's voice was a lethal whisper slicing through the air between them; sapphire eyes narrowed and meeting her dark gaze unflinchingly. He could stare into the Dark God's void gaze and not be ensnared when his will was set to resisting it; this quasi-goddess ultimately only had as much power over him as he allowed. "I am Majikahla," he emphasized the name formed from Sihir; one that also served as the title declaring him to be Master of Time because of his successes in forging his unique brand of magic. "And only a fool forgets that Time flows along the course of Its own making. Those who repeatedly attempt to divert It from Its path to gain their own ends will always suffer the consequences when It corrects Itself. Even the Primordials know they run the risk of Time swallowing them up in Its stream if they agitate It too far. Who are you, or your Master, to deny the Master of Magic and Time what I seek when even the Primordials know better than to trifle with me? I may not have the power at the moment to deal with such insolence, but I have Time on my side and can return to deal with you later." He flung her hands away from him and ordered, "Now give me my clothes and be on your way, and do not bring yourself before my sight again unless I summon you. Otherwise, I swear to you, you will feel my wrath when you least expect it."

All three Dakinis stared at the Champion for several seconds, too thunderstruck to act at first. Then Shakti and Lalita faded away into the night as Parvati's head bowed in submission. "As you command, Majikahla. Please do not hold anger with us; we were not lying in expressing pleasure in seeing you alive again. But we must also obey our Master, and He requested we give a friendly test of your resolve."

"He succeeds only in testing my tolerance. Give me my clothes. Now. Then go join your sisters."

His clothing appeared before him, and in the space of time it took for him to glance them over, Parvati was gone from the area. Rhuadhán shook his head with frustration, and with faint relief that his status alone was enough of a weapon to wield in this instance. He pulled himself up out of the lake and checked to make sure the vial and other necessary items were where they should be. Only when he was assured the Dakinis hadn't nicked them, which would've necessitated hunting them down before they got too far and potentially wasted more time than he could make up, did he take the time to dry the rest of himself off.

As he tugged back on his clothes, Rhuadhán thought with brusque temper lingering, back to English because it allowed him a more colorful allowance of phrases, 'I swear, She better be a mint fucking goddess to keep me invested in this arrangement over the course of our existences and make it worth the sacrifices I'm making now, and will be in the future, to do as requested. I might enjoy such narrowly operating constructs for what they are, but I'm not going to be pleased if I went quids in, only to end up bound to a bog-standard counterpart who is ultimately nothing more than a useful puppet of someone else's. I will deem the arrangement null and void on the grounds of intentional and malicious false advertisement, and then spend whatever remains of the rest of eternity devising and carrying out ways to make The Three wish they had never given me what turned out to be empty hopes.'

The next twelve kilometers of travel out from Gauri Kund went by without some new form of trouble arising. Rhuadhán jogged down the northern slopes of Aksobahya Valley, a more pleasant stretch of the journey with its lichen fields and sporadic dappling of what hardy wild flowers remained this late in the season. He saw a few wild yaks off to one side, clustered together for sleep. He had to wade through a few small rivers that meandered through the valley and were just a little too wide to jump across, but they were shallow this time of year, the deepest not even coming to his knees. And thanks to the rejuvenating properties of Gauri Kund, he was feeling rather spritely as he winded along the paths, to the point where he had to resist the urge to whistle a traveling tune.

Dzultripuk Monastery eventually came into view as he rounded a corner. A small complex of mud and stone buildings that were nearly a thousand years of age, some of which were crumbling and in disuse, and others that had been periodically restored throughout the centuries. All the windows were dark and the monastery was silent; clergy and overnighting pilgrims alike were deep asleep.

The ancient monastery was named for the site nearby it that the monks kept care of- Dzultripuk, the "Miracle Cave" when translated from Tibetan. This site was quite sacred to the Vajrayana, as it was for many years the place where their Champion, the poverty-sworn Milarepa, called home after an interesting incident connected with it.

Before his showdown with Naro Bönchung, (or, depending on who you asked, it was among the causes for that duel, or possibly an incident that took place after their showdown and peaceful resolution reached,) there was a fierce storm raging through the mountains and the sorcerers decided to take shelter from the elements. Unable to spot a proper place to bunker down, they agreed to work together to make one. Naro was to construct the sides of the cave, and Milarepa was to form the roof. Before Naro could even begin to form the walls, Milarepa had already transfigured a roof to form, and it stood strong above their heads without the support of walls. Naro was humiliated by the display of magical superiority in this endeavor, and grudgingly went about fashioning walls around the roof to finish sheltering them from the elements. Not done proving his prowess and the superiority of his faith's sorcery over Naro's brand of magic, Milarepa then altered Naro's work to blend more harmoniously with his roof and the surrounding mountainside.

Those who were skeptical of such a story and questioned the monks about it, they were pointed to potential proof. There was a handprint, and supposed headprint, within the formation of one wall and the roof, from where Milarepa worked his magic on the surrounding stone. And to one side, there was an odd column of stone, that did nothing for structurally supporting the roof of the cave, but was supposedly Milerepa's trusty walking stick turned to stone. The magician knew when he was reaching the end of his life and wanted to leave one of his few possessions behind for perpetuity. According to the monks, despite all his teacher's lessons and his devotion to them, and having reached his enlightened state, even the inspiring Milarepa hadn't been able to completely devoid himself of the desire to leave some physical marks on the world in a lasting fashion.

Rhuadhán's next task to succeed in his mission brought him creeping past the monastery to reach the ancient cave. The reason being, the cave, like so many things about the mountain, wasn't exactly what the Vajrayana thought it was.

"Dzultripuk" might mean "Miracle Cave" in Tibetan, but it was a play on words. Its true meaning was revealed if one could speak Sihir. Something Milarepa had learned to do; either when he initially learned some form of magic that he had murdered a man with, or when he was seeking atonement for his crimes and gained access to higher magics. That part was a bit lost to time, but that the ancient magician could speak Sihir was indisputable as it was how he had managed to perform such feats he was remembered for.

"Dzultripuk", as revealed to Rhuadhán by his retired monk of a best friend, was in truth a clever homophone for "Suhl Tri Pahk". Those three little words were a set of instructions on how to retrieve his walking stick, which was apparently some sort of magical staff, because he had a vision that there'd be a need for it in the distant future and someone else would be called on to wield it, so he needed to preserve it for such time. And a new Champion had indeed arrived, one who had puzzled out the instructions quickly enough when he had eventually been told the words.

"Suhl" was a cousin word to "Suh" in Sihir; instead of excluding the speaker from a collective, it singled out someone as being the same as the one speaking. "Tri" was simple enough, as it simply meant "write". "Pahk" was likewise an easy word to translate, being "promise". Together, the instructions were, "You who are like me, write (a/the) promise."

The tricky part had been puzzling out what "write (a/the) promise" had meant. Milarepa, not wanting to risk the wrong people gaining access to the staff, hadn't left behind further instructions. Was the would-be recipient supposed to make a promise for the usage of the staff that complied with Milarepa's teachings? If so, what specifically must be adhered to? And his teachings had been passed down orally, which meant some words could have changed over the centuries. Whatever protective enchantments he had placed on the pillar to hide the staff, they'd only react to the exact same words he had first spoken. Magie and Lemuel had spent many hours poring through texts while the Champion was out training, and the former had gone running research trips to various places trying to locate the oldest documentations of Milarepa's teachings, trying to discover what those words might be.

And then Rhuadhán realized they were looking at the puzzle in the wrong way. He didn't need to make a promise to Milarepa based on whatever teachings and words he had devised. The Champion of the Vajrayana might have studied different forms of magic, maybe even shifted who he dedicated himself to, but for him to be fluent enough in Sihir to come up with his little word play, he had to have been in that life or a former a servant to The Three. And that meant Milarepa would have known better for something so important. The monk-sorcerer would have relied on something that was Timeless to unlock his magic, something that couldn't be lost in translation or misused by entrusting it to others to pass down, something that only someone like him would know by their own similar circumstances.

Milarepa had meant The Promise. Something that favored magi such as themselves were bound to hear at some point from The Three's own mouths and may or may not pass along, in general terms, to apprentices and colleagues like themselves to explain why they had the powers they were gifted with.

"Jasihir mahanda shirkit magi paristakar omu ledan itu."

"Magic will always obey the magi possessing the will to control it."

The promise from The Three that, unlike other Gods, they would never abandon or rescind their gifts to their faithful; no matter what it may cost them to keep faith to their end of the bargain, they would always set the example of honoring that a compact made between two parties with magic was binding.

A promise from The Three that the Champion was banking on to ensure he made it to the top of Kangri Rinpoche if he could complete this ritual journey to gather what was needed, proving his worth along the way, and make it back in time to cast the spell to ascend the mountain. The Master of Kangri Rinpoche had established this magical rite long ago, and he couldn't stop it from being attempted by someone outside the monks if The Three were granting their blessings to the magic-user to do so.

'The so-called Master of Kangri Rinpoche is just going to have to deal with an unwanted visitor at dawn,' Rhuadhán thought with a smirk as he approached the knobby stone pillar. 'Come whatever tricks he might try to slow down my progress, in hopes of cheating me of what I'm owed.'

The young Champion kneeled before the stone pillar and unbound another little cloth pouch from his belt. From this one he pulled a shallow ivory bowl about 8 centimeters wide, a short writing stylus with an ivory handle and stiff pure white hairs from a horse's tail to form a slender brush, and a single razor blade of silver that was wrapped in a saffron oil soaked cloth. The bowl went before him, and the stylus was placed to the side of it.

Then the razor was used to slice open a shallow cut along his left forearm, the minor pain and small sacrifice of his own blood being the necessary medium in which to write the magical phrase out with. A price he was more than willing to pay to have the catalyst for the spell to be reversed and gain the next item he needed. The bowl was soon filled and he used the cloth to bind his arm and staunch the trickle of blood.

As Rhuadhán lifted the stylus in preparation of dipping it into his blood, his keenly trained hearing picked up a faint noise coming from a distance behind him.

A shuffling of something, heavy yet agile, moving against the sandy ground outside the cave.

Stylus lowered as Rhuadhán glanced over his shoulder to see what the cause of the noise was. Sapphire blue eyes widened with reactive alarm to the answer, and he instinctively froze all movement.

An impossibly large hooded viper was slithering its way from the direction of the monastery to the cave, easily over four meters long, and bearing scales in unnatural bands of bright red and copper.

'A trap and test,' the young Champion's mind instantly recognized as the serpent met his gaze and gave a threatening hiss. Spilling his own blood for the ink to write must have summoned a guardian for the staff.

Milarepa was by all accounts a man who, after making his penance, tried to be a man of peace and only took life when it was unavoidable. A test designed by him shouldn't be lethal, so this shouldn't be a test of how many bites he was willing to allow himself to be poisoned with as he tried to write… And spilling the blood of another creature was not allowed on the grounds of Kangri Rinpoche, so this wasn't a test of his ability to defend himself with martial or magical force. Nor did he think, with how skilled a sorcerer Milarepa was said to be, that a simple enchantment to speak with the magical snake and turn it away with words would work.

So this must be a test of Milarepa's guilt-fueled teachings, for keeping one's inner discipline despite whatever threats one was under. The serpent shouldn't be able to harm him if he could keep himself calm.

'Alright, no more room for fucking around. Time to get Zen focused and prove why I'm the one The Three tapped for Consort and aren't making me share my prize.' Though the thought was sarcastic, it was still absolutely serious; and he could only hope his hurried assessment was the correct one.

The Champion, who over nearly three years had managed to earn the respect of the tribe of hereditary followers of The Three that took their faith so very seriously and Magie had tossed him into no-holds-barred training with, turned his gaze from the magically summoned creature. He closed his eyes as he carefully shifted into a lotus sitting position, let his hands drop down to rest on his knees, and turned his attention inward.

Words to his favored of mantras that was taught to him not by Lemuel, but Ankhbaatar- one of the hunters he trained with, but could not abscond so far from his duties to join them- began to be intoned at a specific cadence to help him quiet his mind. "Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas."

There was another hiss from behind, sounding all the more menacing at the spellcaster.

Rhuadhán kept chanting the mantra, using it to pace his breathing, focusing on zoning out everything but the sound of his own voice and the rhythm of his breathing. A mantra that meant, "My body and mind are but shadows compared to the magic of my soul." The Mongolians didn't speak Sihir fluently, but long ago The Three had taught them isolated phrases to aid them, and they passed those down from mentor to apprentice. It was a mantra that hunters within the Mongolian tribe used to focus their minds when they were first learning the art of astral projection, or older hunters used when they needed the aid to perform that difficult task in a moment of stress.

The mantra was a concept especially appealing to the young Champion with aims such as his own. He concentrated on that reassuring mantra to drown out the noise of the hissing as it grew louder and the sound of a scaly belly undulating against dirt crept ever closer.

"Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas," Rhuadhán continued to chant over and over, not counting how many times he said the words, only concentrating on the words themselves.

His pulse steadily slowed as his voice pitched the words to reverberate out from him. Muscles relaxed as calmness took over with the affirmation of his ability to transcend such petty conditions that would make another balk.