HE awoke to light. In one instant, he saw his master, in another darkness came, and soon thereafter a stream of white encased his view. He looked about himself and saw that he stood on what looked like clouds. They whirled about his feet, yet unlike their motion, their surface felt firm and solid. His shadow was gone, and no darkness could be seen or defined there.

He walked around for some time, but there was little to take sight of or be had, and little could he tell of the direction in which he was going. No matter where he turned or set his gaze, the horizon, sky, and surface all looked the same. He could neither see nor sense any gods or celestials, and he wondered whether he was really in the Higher Realms at all. But just as he thought that, he felt a twinge in his head. He shut his eyes and rubbed his head, and on opening his eyes, he saw that the space had changed.

When the white light surrounded him, he could see in the distance a lone syconium tree that hung upside down, its base and root driving as high up as he could see. While its branches stretched out along the horizon and under them, he could see two figures fluttering underneath it.

Coming closer to it, he saw some persons dancing about the tree while catching and tossing figs. When they took notice, they descended toward Tūmbṃār, and the white fhorlia that they bore floated up their legs as if water had been caught in it. They each held a long scarf loosely wrapped around their neck and arms, and swayed with grace as they descended.

They leveled themselves to Tūmbṃār’s height but would not touch the ground, hovering but a few feet above the floor with their feet pointed down. Tūmbṃār wished to speak to them, but found he had gone mute. He could not utter a sound to them, but even he knew that those who stood before him were celestials. They giggled, and taking his hands, they raised him. He floated just like them, and his fhorlia too began to creep up his legs and expand.

They then pointed to the tree. With three fingers held up to the boy, they gestured to collect that many figs. At that moment, it did not seem anything was unusual, but even so, he had to be careful, for who knew what trickery they might put him through? So, he flew toward the tree and attempted to pick out the figs. But every time he picked out the third fig and dropped it with the rest, two remained as if that was all there had ever been.

Tūmbṃār could not understand what was happening. Why would there remain two figs when he had collected three? He tried many times over, putting them into different piles and then combining them, separating them afar and pushing them together one by one, and even going so far as to chuck them to the unassuming celestials. Nothing seemed to work. Seeing as how he could not gather the figs in an orderly fashion nor hold more than two, he decided to keep collecting figs in pairs. But when presenting them to the celestials, they stuck out three fingers and shook their heads.

He scratched his head and was unsure what to do. He had to come to a solution fast, for he could not estimate how much time was to pass in those few moments.

Then realization struck. He started combining the pairs slowly to make sure they merged into one pile at the same time and as he did so, what remained before him were three figs. When he merged another pair he got four figs. And when he removed one, there were two figs. A conundrum it was, but one that he had solved, or at least to the extent of obtaining the requisite three figs.

Tūmbṃār presented the figs to the celestials. One of them took one fig while the other kept two, and when they had split, there were four figs in total. And when they separated the pairs, there were no figs left. They smiled to Tūmbṃār and taking his hand, they ascended along the tree and went high into the air. Tūmbṃār gazed below him and beheld the endless expanse of the clouds and the golden glow showering all in its sight. Above him, he saw the multitude of stars and suns that lit all within the realm.

His body became light, and he let go of their hands and was able to fly alongside them. They climbed higher into the sky as if to approach the stars but never did they come closer. Instead, a great mountain came into view that ascended from the ground and reflected in the sky. Along the reflection flowed what seemed like milk, and its drops glistened in the light of the Heavens.

As he came closer, he could not only smell its fragrant aroma, but he could also see a great hand fall behind the reflection. The hand rested on the summit, and he could see someone moving onto its palm. The hand then lifted and disappeared from view as the celestials moved higher and faster, and Tūmbṃār followed with haste. It was not long after that they passed the mountains, and below them was a surface that reflected like a mirror. They moved across this surface, and in their view, a large and towering figure stood with a lone person in front.

The celestials then halted, wishing not to proceed further, and urged the boy to go toward them. Tūmbṃār folded his hands and bowed to them as they bid him well.

He ran toward the towering figure in the distance, and as he drew closer, a booming voice enveloped his mind and the surroundings. The voice seemed to echo, and it caused great pain for him, yet he tensed his head to bear it and quickened his pace to escape it. The voice, however, grew ever louder, but as he came closer, the person he had noticed before became more noticeable and could see on them the red and white raiment. He rushed faster, ignoring the voice, and called out. She slowly turned behind, and he embraced her.

“Iḷēhaḥ! I’ve finally found you!” the boy shouted with a delighted smile with tears in his eyes.

When he looked up, he saw that she was surprised, no doubt at his making his way to her, but then it was all too quickly replaced by an expression of solemnity. She removed his arms from her person and turned once again to the towering figure whose form resembled light made physical. Gold and blue ornaments covered its body, and it knelt on the ground. And the boy could see that just like the celestials, this being also bore a fhorlia and scarf along with its own set of golden robes; were it not for its stature, he felt his fear and worry could have been allayed.

A voice resounded in his mind. It projected itself in another tongue, but Tūmbṃār could understand the words for some reason, and it said:

And so it is as I have said! The child comes bearing the Dvhaḥṣhtro. Wilt thou not do as I say, Iḷēhaḥ? As thou art now, thou risketh the annihilation of the Ṃārhaḥn for thy feeble consternation. Verily I ask, is this what thou shalt will to be thy legacy? Think not whether it should please any of thy forefathers, let alone me.

The giant’s head turned to Tūmbṃār, and its painful voice once again resounded within his head. It was now at its loudest point, and the boy cowered on the ground, covering his ears and shutting his eyes as tight as he could.

Long has it been since the Ṃārhaḥn of the Midworld came to our domain – since the madness that overtook our brother and kin in the South. The last who entered here on permission since was Yokṣhuah, cast with a burden that none should have to bear all on account of our mistake in cursing our kin! And long has it been since we kept quiet to the deeds of the Ṃārhaḥn in the Midworld. They now think that we have since forsaken and abandoned them. All while a dreadful power has awoken, one long thought gone to guide our forsaken kin in their wrath. But now we must break our silence and once again convene with our lesser kin! With this said, no longer shall we dwell on it.

Welcome, child, to the Heavens! Know me to be the Dehaḥṃār Dusdrahaḥ, the Lord of Thunder and King of my kin! Long have I waited to see whom this child should bring, and it should happen that she should choose another child to accompany her! Raise thyself child; tell me thy name and present the Dvhaḥṣhtro thou carriest. Thou need not cower in my presence, for I shalt make my voice and appearance more gentle for thee to discern.

And as the god had said, his stature diminished, and though he stood much taller than the two, his form was more relatable. He stood before them as a middle-aged man of smooth skin, jet-black hair, and a thick beard adorned in all manners of jewelry with his scarf and fhorlia remaining in the same likeness as they were, but glowing brighter and more radiant. And atop his head was a helmet merged into a crown that had the same spiraling tip and halo as the statues guarding the entrance of Siḍhrehḷūr.

Tūmbṃār stood up and bowed to him. He then looked around his person but realized he did not have his sack or the Dvhaḥṣhtro. He looked to Iḷēhaḥ who did not so much as waver, but she would not look his way. He thought for a bit, and at that moment a voice whispered to him:

Close your hands.

He did as the voice said and no sooner had he done that, than a small gleaming light pierced through the spaces in his fingers and when he opened them, there was the Dvhaḥṣhtro, though it looked much smaller. He knelt before Dusdrahaḥ with his hands held above and the god took the Dvhaḥṣhtro from out of his palms.

Within Dusdrahaḥ’s hands, the Dvhaḥṣhtro grew in size until it covered the palm of his hand. It then tore itself into multiple pieces and, suspended in the air, it became malleable and viscous and elongated and stretched around the god’s hand. Within moments, a great flash of light issued, and now resting in Dusdrahaḥ’s palm was a large arrow encased in bright lightning that radiated a stream of colors bound within white light. The god bent to Tūmbṃār and placed the arrow in his palms and afterward raised him.

This be the original form of the Dvhaḥṣhtro. Know that it has been possessed by many agents.

First by Druzāsh, The Lord of Southern Ārhmanhaḥ, who felled his sister Telāhita and stayed the advance of the Yavhaḥṃār during the Era of Formation; then by the King of Vzpṣhatrak, Lūshīthō, who sought to erase the Yavhaḥṃār but was stopped by none other than his friend, Vdātyavā, during the Era of Foundation; then, toward its end, by the King of Utanjhanam, Āvishvajysht, whose malice and envy knew no bounds in the beginning but who at last ruled with wisdom and justice greater than any previous king; then by the Great Warrior-Priestess Levāñyhaḥ, whose rage against the wicked kings who had marred her and brought death to her parents dissipated not until their demise during the Era of Unification; then by the Lord of the Cedars, Athruyam, whose might and valor stood greatest among all warriors during the Era of Foundation onward through the Era of Separation; then by my son Zūryaṃār, King of Trdsyṃhaḥ, whose plight and burdens was of no one’s fault but mine and who had bestowed a curse that has plagued us ever since the Era of Tribulation; and now to thee, Tūmbṃār, do I bestow it in this twilight of Dissolution and Annihilation.

Keep well this weapon for its purpose has been devised to help in the quest that thou shalt undertake.

“I shall not assent to this, Dusdrahaḥ!” Iḷēhaḥ shouted suddenly.

Her voice echoed loud with an imposition greater than the boy had ever witnessed, greater than even the god standing before him.

“I do not care for what shall happen to Ārhmanhaḥ; ’tis but a matter that concerns me not. You have already decided not to war with the Demons, and you and the other gods have sealed my powers, so what more can I do there? Nothing, I tell you and the rest of my kin! I wish to go home, and to you, Lord of Thunder and King of Gods, do I demand you take me so!”

Dusdrahaḥ kept to a solemn face, and Tūmbṃār thought that at that moment, the god’s face would twist and contort with rage and that he would smite the maiden on the spot. Were he to do so, the boy would do all in his power to save her, but to his surprise, that was not what happened. The god approached her and stroked her head, and his solemn face turned to one of sadness. A being said to be at the highest of the Ṃārhaḥn, who has watched and guided their brothers and sisters across eons now looked to him almost like a man whose weakness was put forth without shame.

Dost thou not think that we would wish thee back?

Those words caught the maiden off-guard.

Long have I pleaded the Old Progenitor to allow thee to end thy quest, but they would not have it. They see that a greater role is to be fulfilled by thee, and not even I, with all my power, can overturn their ruling. I beg of thee, child, make no more quarrel on this. Stay with the child thou hath brought. Guide him and watch him, for he shall be the one to deliver thee from this task. Should ye fail, not even I can say how they should react.

“Why must it be so?” she muttered. “Why must it be so!” she shouted. “Why will they not send for me? What purpose that has had me stranded on that planet for so long could be of such importance to forbid me from coming home? Why is it now of all times that the Demons choose to attack? Has it not been said that they shall only envelop Ārhmanhaḥ at the end of Annihilation! And if fate has already decided it so, why must we intervene now? What difference shall it make whether we succeed or fail? Such questions plague me and will not allay in me; tell me Dusdrahaḥ, tell me! When fate has already decided its course, why is it that I should have to play along with it?” And now crying and sobbing, she embraced Dusdrahaḥ and whimpered. “Why me?”

The situation was difficult for Tūmbṃār to comprehend, and though he suspected deep down that she shared some connection with the Gods, he still could not bring himself to see her as any more than the maiden that he met under the cedar.

But while she would not say it, Tūmbṃār suspected that she could be a goddess. But was that true? The weakness that Dusdrahaḥ displayed, could it only be shown to gods and goddesses? For after all, even Zūryaṃār his son, was not wholly a god. He was only half, no, even less, for the power he was born with was much less than one of his line should possess. And not just for him but for all his brothers. And so what would that make Iḷēhaḥ? In all their time together, she displayed little that could make her seem anything other than a maiden attuned with the powers.

Like many other things, he could not come to an answer at that moment, but he knew at the very least, that there stood before him a friend, a friend who needed help, and he wished to help that friend as much as he could.

He slowly approached her while she embraced Dusdrahaḥ like a child. But her face turned toward Tūmbṃār and the fierce expression that she held to on the day they fought Nakthaḥm, resurged once more and the boy took a step back, fearing her state. Her rage had not subsided and had only grown. She quickly left the embrace of Dusdrahaḥ and stormed toward Tūmbṃār with her right hand raised to strike him, but the King of the Gods grabbed her arm before she could swing it.

Iḷēhaḥ! Why dost thou do this? Is this child thou hath brought not important to thee?

“I have brought?” she said with a scoff. “I have brought no one! He came of his own accord; I bade him and the others cease this foolish pursuit! Had he listened before my flight, I should have stayed and have suffered no more of that demon! Why have you come, Tūmbṃār? Answer me!”

His body quivered, and his legs shook. He knew there was the possibility that she could lash out like this and blame him for what had happened, but he knew then he was not at all ready to handle it. He dearly wished to embrace her once more, but he could not take a single step further, afraid.

But with as much courage as he could muster, he faced her and shouted, “I’ve come for you, Iḷēhaḥ! I’m sorry for everything up till now! You having to take care of me, fixing my mistakes, and having to make you go through the ordeal of facing Nakthaḥm. It’s too much that I put on you; please forgive me!”

He then ran to her and bent to her feet, clasping them and putting his head to them. “I don’t know why you hate the Demons so much or why you had to stay on Ārhmanhaḥ for so long, but if what Dusdrahaḥ says is true, I wish you to come with us. Not just for me but for everyone: for Vrihkhaḥ, Feyūnhaḥ, Sanyhaḥmān, my master Vādruhaḥ, and even Nakthaḥm. I don’t mind if you decide to not talk to me or see me, but we’ll do all we can to help you. Won’t you consider traveling with us once more?”

His body still shook, and the maiden could sense his fear and sadness. She calmed herself and turned away from him. Tūmbṃār fell to the floor as her legs moved, and he tried to reach to her once more as he had done on her flight. He could hear a faint voice, saying, You cannot help me, Tūmbṃār.

His body then floated, and he was set upright by Dusdrahaḥ. He held his head down, feeling that he had failed. But Dusdrahaḥ said:

Regardless of what she has to say, she has little choice but to travel with thee.

Dusdrahaḥ floated, and his scarf and fhorlia waved in the air.

I set upon thee and thy company the task of recovering the remaining Dvhaḥṣhtro. Thou must halt the invasion of the Yavhaḥṃār upon Ārhmanhaḥ in twelve years’ time. Seven there are in total, five left within Ārhmanhaḥ and one left in possession of our kin Daryurhaḥ, Lord of the Lower Realms. When the remaining six have been recovered, then shalt thou have a chance to stay their rage. Yet finding them is of another matter and one ye must bear alone. Know the Dvhaḥṣhtro I have bestowed upon thee can only be used by thee. For each Dvhaḥṣhtro recovered, shall one of thy company inherit from its associated Dehaḥṃār.

But know that they alone shall not be sufficient for thine aid. Across thy journey, thou must gather allies: kings, lords, companions, whoever they be – thou must acquire as many as can be had for verily I say, even with the Dvhaḥṣhtro in hand, thou must surely need an army to keep our forsaken kin at bay. Go with Iḷēhaḥ to thy friends and relate to them what I have said.

When he had finished, he told the two of them to stand together, and they did as was asked, but Iḷēhaḥ did not look Tūmbṃār’s way, pretending he was not there.

Words flowed into Tūmbṃār’s mind, strange words, unutterable yet majestic in sound. And when the stream of sound had passed, floating before them, Dusdrahaḥ said:

I have given thee, Tūmbṃār, the mantra by which thou can invoke the Dvhaḥṣhtro. Know that it cannot be said by word of mouth, and must be passed through the mind with clear and directed force. But be careful as toward whom thou should use it for if their power be weaker than thy own, then surely a greater cataclysm than the splitting of the continents should occur upon the whole of this universe. Having said this, it is now time ye made back to your companions. Long have ye stayed here, and afeared am I that your bodies shall languish toward death. As the people of Ārhmanhaḥ now say what the Dehaḥṃār once said, That One and All shall manifest in you!

And with that he poked Tūmbṃār and Iḷēhaḥ on their foreheads and they fell backward through the mirror-like surface, down past the mountains, through the clouds, into darkness, and sleep overcame them.

Tūmbṃār awoke in Feyūnhaḥ’s arms, and she looked visibly distressed. He tried to lift his arms, but could not; when he moved his eyes down, he saw how thin and gray his skin had become. He looked to her and asked with a frail voice, “How long was I gone?”

“Two weeks,” she said, and the boy exhaled as if Death had come to spirit him away.

He dozed off into a slumber. The light piercing the sky vanished, shouts and cries of the animals weakened, and the chatter of the others around Iḷēhaḥ faded from his ears.