Chapter 6: 1-1 The Miracle of The Birth of Life

Mount Kailash, The Tallest Mountain of the world, Unknown Time period

A bearded man, alone, and for an unknown reason wearing nought but a long robe wound around his lower body and a string around his upper body, was walking up to the mountain peak, for he had a purpose. The old man carried on the top of his head a clay pot, filled with water, which a third party might find to be a bit redundant, for the man was surrounded on all sides by pure white snow. As the old man trudged onwards, uncaring of the conditions surrounding him, slowly and steadily trudging onwards up the mountain.

The man who somehow avoided being frozen into a popsicle, or having the clay pot above his head explode due to the water held within being frozen due to the sub zero temperatures it was enduring due to its surroundings, reached a certain point on the mountain, and emptied the clay pot above his head slowly as he muttered something under his breath.

As he carefully poured out the water in his clay pot as he kept muttering strange obscure sounds that seem to make no sense. As time went on, it became apparent that the water he carried in the pot was no ordinary water, for, as he muttered his strange chants, the snow wherever the water fell turned a very deep blue.

Around half an hour after the man began his strange ritual, he took the pot and poured the remaining water directly over himself, and yet strangely, not a drop of water or whatever strange liquid the man carried clung to him, and yet the snow beneath him turned a very dark blue.

The man excitedly stepped out of the strange shape he had created that resembled an eye, yet infinitely more complicated, looking like a spell-circle of the west instead. He took twenty steps towards the way he came from, and sat down on the ground, his legs folded in the lotus position.

For seven days and seven nights he waited, and as the sun rose on the morning of the eighth day, he sighed deeply and left his spot and returned to whence he came, a large two-floored building that seemed very unsuitable to the cold surrounding it, yet having not a single flake of snow within its premises.

Within the building, on the first floor, was a small kitchen, a big common area, a relatively small area open to the whims of nature, and an area clearly meant for the rearing animals, yet not a single animal to be seen.

As the man trudged through the mansion, for despite the lack of material opulance, the extremely detailed engravings on the floors, pillars and on the walls. Each engraving glowed as if tewlling a story of their own.

But today is not the day their tale is to be told.

The old man reached the entrance to the common room and took a deep breath, and opened the doors into it, bowing through the door as he did so. (AN- soo, it's an old fashioned indian house, 'kay? look it up to get the image in your head)

The very first thing to greet him were six little girls, each hitting him with a force that may very well might exceed a fully grown oxen's kick. As the man chuckled, he looked to the middle aged woman and shook his head, the ritual was unsuccessful.

He would try again, to allow for his wife, a woman of many non-traditional traits, some of which include her sky blue eyes and hair of a shade slightly lighter than gold to have the child she wished, even if he had to break the old laws to do it, for he knew full well of the stupidity of the old laws, was he not a victim of those very laws? Even the makers of the laws simply made the laws for reasons beyond their reach. They only did so prevent past mistakes and to not allow for the horrors of the past be the remnants of themselves the future reignites.

And so at the seventh day of each year, by his calendar, not the blasphemous inaccurate piece of crap the westerners touted on and on about about some lord of theirs who was so half baked that mere Vaishyas had managed to kill him not once, but twice.

And so this went on. And on. And on.

The children grew into adults, he wished them their farewells as they passed the final rituals of their adulthoods. They were to move out into the world, as common sense demanded, to not only spread his teachings, but also to ponder upon those teachings and to make up their own philosophies, settle down and continue upon their paths, continuing the cycle of seeking knowledge.

Only his twenty-seventh try, the man, who had not changed a single bit, finally succeeded.

There was no difference in the ritual nor in the chants used by the man.

But, on the final hour of the seventh night, just as the man was preparing to give up, losing hope once more, he noticed that a corner of the blue array suddenly flickered.

The old man froze in spot, watching with a lot of fascination and not just a bit of hope as he stared at the spot in the leftmost corner of the ritual circle, nought but a single flower of some kind residing there, which would have been perfectly normal, had he not been in the middle of a snowy desert, with no signs of life for miles.

Suddenly, the circle flickered once more, and the snow melted around the circle, leading to it burrowing deeper and deeper, till it met rock, and here, the ritual showed it's true power.

The circle, built up twenty seven times, Burst into blue flames, flames that pierced the snow covering and reached the sky.

The blue pillar of flames was a phenomenon that, if on an empty plain with nought but slight hills, would have been noticed for several dozen miles.

On the mountain however, the flames were indistinguishable from the scenery, if only due to its colour.

But that soon changed.

The flames rapidly changed colours, starting from the sky, as if the heavens itself was assisting the ritual in its task. The task being the freeing of the being trapped in the mountain, who was predestined to be the man, the great Sage who discarded his name in an incident long past, who only answered to his many titles, and his wife, who was of a similiar standing, yet for not the same reasons, for she was a being whose every mention is a stuff of legend, in the west at least, the Sage believed not in such nonsensical rumours, and not just because of her status as his wife. For she was but an ordinary human, who was the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter.

And, it would seem, until they had their seventh daughter, she was forced to live on.

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And so, when it was revealed by the visiting healer that after her sixth birth, she did not have it in her for another birth, they were at first revealed for they thought that they had no idea of the curse at the time.

But as time passed and their youngest reached ten years of age, and their eldest, sixteen, when they noticed that neither had aged a day since the birth of their youngest. And so, the one known as the sage tread into the mountain to free the wrathful god he knew was trapped within, and tried to free him in the hopes that the god would grant unto him one wish.

And so he tread unto the mountain, searching for the place nearest to the heart of the mountain, and with the minimal amount of snow interfering with his magic.

And he repeated his search each year, unknowingly lead to the same place each time by his magic, for he was correct in his methods, but his methods lacked the punch to truly seal the deal.

Now, after twenty seven rituals superimposing on each other to create an unknown magik that seemed to demand of the heavens themselves the power to bring the one he searched for into being.

And, most surprisingly of all, the heavens answered the call, sending arcane powers, magiks, magical power down the hole dug by the ritual.

Then, the pillar of flames was instantly frozen over, stuck in a somewhat interesting blend of bluish-silver and gold the colour of the finest gold, with the silver rising to the heavens in rebellion and grudging respect, while the gold descended unto the ground as if it was inevitable and slowed its advance when it met the silver, also in grudging respect.

This situation stayed stable for a further short period of time, and then the ice cracked, raw unfiltered, unmanagable power sizzling through the cracks.

The pillar disintegrated, leaving gold to rise from the ground, while silver descended from the heavens, giving the sole observer whiplash, before he noticed that in fact, the power rising from the ground seemed to be telling a tale of some kind or the other, while the one from the skies did not.

And then, the contrasting colours met in the middle, hundreds of feet above the ground, and clashed fiercely, causing shockwaves to ring out and certainly a few avalanches. This clash continued through the day, bringing with each clash of powers, immense sounds and shockwaves, before suddenly, the two powers were balanced, encircling the other, each power growing upon feeding up the other, and forming what is known in the far east as a TaiChi circle, a symbol of perfect balance.

This spinning circle that, in the Sage's opinion, rather resembled two one-eyed fish devouring one another, with each fish being the other fish's mirror, gathered and funneled all the power into it's centre, where a being laid gestating.

The circle gradually rotated more and more quickly in order to satisfy the desires of the gestating being within it, until it look like a blur of silver and gold.

The circle was slowly, yet steadily descending to the ground, and so the Sage waited.

days and nights passed, and yet the Sage waited, not a single muscle twitching.

For seventy seven days the circle spun, gathering the energies of the world, before landing on the place where there was once a blue dot, the spot the Sage always stood in when making the ritual, and dissipated entirely.

And what the circle revealed upon its dispersal was the being that had gestated within.

And within lied... a rock.

The rock looked like the average rock, weighing about 8 pounds upon the weighing by the curious man, who then shrugged, knowing that the whims of the heavens are not to be understood by the likes of him, and plodded his way home, his only bounty a piece of rock.

Upon presenting the rock to his wife some time later after his return, she immediately hugged it, cradling it in her arms, and guaranteed unto it all the things being her family , seventh and final daughter, and the chrysalis of her hopes and dreams, making the rock comfortable, before whispering to the rock, where the left ear would be if the rock had been a baby, and through the rock, the world, the rock's name.

Upon this guarantee and proof of love and family, the rock changed, morphed and shifted into a cooing baby, most certainly a girl, with heterochromatic eyes, and locks the colour of spun silver.

And at once, through the world, all those who proclaimed themselves a monarch of the fairies found themselves struck down, with a brand in an indecipherable( to all but 8, soon to be 9), and the world feared.

And forgot the fear as the years, decades and centuries slipped by, this being one incident amongst many.

The brand was passed down in tomes and scrolls, for any who cared seek it.

It said, "Bow before the Fairy King and Repent"

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