SANYHAḤMĀN left his friend’s store, bidding him well. His staff was polished to perfection as if its wear and tear were no longer there. And with him, he also had taken another staff of a similar likeness to what Iḷēhaḥ had before. She would need a weapon as they journeyed farther and no less a new Dvı̄sahlvah, but where to find one now was beyond him.

It was already afternoon, but the sun’s intensity did not let up. He walked around the bustling streets, taking in the sights. It had been awhile since he had last come to the Central City, and given how much things had changed he wanted to behold all of it. Perhaps even the Drasūvayeznd should it ever come in their path.

But as he walked through the bustling streets, he saw the monkeys and birds in a frenzy. Hearing their clamor atop the roofs, he called to them to ask what the commotion was. He listened to their shouts and screeches and without a moment’s notice started in a sprint, following after them. They had told him that his companions had been taken as prisoners by the King and that the soldiers of the city were now looking for him, Feyūnhaḥ, and Vrihkhaḥ.

The soldiers in pursuit had gone to the docks to question the guards. It would be some time before they could find either Sanyhaḥmān or Feyūnhaḥ. And it seemed the wolf was on his way to the Rūrgha to get Feyūnhaḥ. The timing of the events could not be worse but he could not fathom why it was that the King would arrest them. Were they not to be seen as friends of Feyūnhaḥ? The only thing that came to mind was that they had greatly angered him but in relation to what he could not tell.

Sanyhaḥmān moved into an alleyway and jumped from wall to wall until he was on the rooftop. He could see in the distance, Vrihkhaḥ moving with haste toward the Rūrgha. The monkey-man gave chase, running, rolling, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. It did not take him long till he reached the wolf. And he leaped onto his back and held tight to his fur.

“Oh, very good! You managed to get our stuff. Onward to the Rūrgha!”

The game was nearing its climax as the sun fell toward the other side of the structure. There were now fewer than ten participants and twenty spaces left, with most now on the floating platforms nearing the board’s summit. Feyūnhaḥ, however, had grown weary: she underestimated how high the board ascended and hoped this would not be the case in future games. But regardless, she felt she had a chance this time—a chance of winning. Having lost five times in previous years, she would not let the other participants get the better of her this time around.

The next turn came, and the dice rollers shook the dice. Ten spaces crossed, five participants lost. Five more spaces were crossed, and now there were only three left, all standing in the same space. And finally, the last turn came. All three participants looked to their dice rollers as each die snapped to the front. One. Two. Two. All were set to move to the last space, and they immediately ran. They jumped from space to space and the race seemed tight, but the princess had an advantage.

She encased the balls of her feet in air and released the air on her last step, leaping farther and faster than all the others. The light that trailed to the last space faded as the previous ones became covered, and before the other participants could make it to the next space, they fell. In most cases, the spaces would not fall until all participants had reached their positions, but as a player climbed higher, the more relaxed that rule would become. And so, each one would have to rush to their position if they wished to stay in the game. Yet it was not to be for the other participants, and they plummeted from on high, saved from their demise by the flying watchers.

Feyūnhaḥ had reached the top and stretched her hands high, shouting in delight.

“The Autirsāh has won, folks!” shouted the Game Master as all the people cheered. The flying watchers then released more fireworks that glimmered in the setting sun. “In all my years, never have I seen a race that close to the top. Magnificent! I could not have played better myself!” He moved next to Feyūnhaḥ and using his finger, he encased her in air and carried her high from where all could see her.

“You can also use the powers, can you not?” asked the Game Master.

Feyūnhaḥ smiled and said, “I don’t know what you speak of. I think it was but a fluke that I won this time around.”

He laughed and said, “Say as you will! We have been looking for talented individuals like yourself for some time. Do you know what can be had when one wins these games?”

“Is it not money and other fanciful items?”

“Oh yes! Those too. But those are not the primary rewards, and I do not blame you for not knowing. We only tell the victor of it after the game has been won. You see, since six years ago, the King Rṭyāshphaḥ has been looking for those attuned with the powers. To what end, I am unsure, but he gives those who come under his service all that they could desire, so long as it is in reason, of course. And you—having both won this game and possessing the powers—would more than likely be given a good position! Seems like a good offer, does it not?”

Now this piqued Feyūnhaḥ’s interest, but she soon became uneasy, remembering Athruyam’s words.

“My gratitude to you for the offer,” said Feyūnhaḥ, “but I think I shall refuse. I don’t have much desire to be under anyone’s service, much less the King’s.”

This greatly surprised the Game Master, and he said, “Well, I would be lying if I said I was not shocked, but know that the offer shall stand after. If you should ever have a change of heart, do not hesitate to approach me, the King very much needs as many able people as he can find for whatever purpose he has devised. Alas! It is a shame that the prince had to disappear so suddenly all those years ago. The King has not been the same since. It is my wish that one day, he shall return to see it; though I am a mere entertainer, glad it would be for me to once again see the King out in the open, joyous as he ever was in years past.”

“And I wish the same,” said Feyūnhaḥ.

She looked around her once more at the cheering crowd and the ensuing fireworks and fanfare. It was a sight to behold, and she breathed in the scent of victory. But off in the distance, there was something unusual. She saw an orange and white mass heading toward them, being chased by flying persons. It was Vrihkhaḥ and Sanyhaḥmān!

The watchers of the Rūrgha then huddled toward the area for which they were heading. A flash of light and fire erupted before them, and all before the watchers became alighted. But the wolf leaped through the pillars of flame as its coat shined by the light and embers. It flew toward Feyūnhaḥ and the Game Master, much startled, flew away toward the ring. Sanyhaḥmān grabbed onto Feyūnhaḥ and brought her atop the wolf, the heavy descent of which landed them outside the structure. Vrihkhaḥ thereafter ran north-east.

“What’s the meaning of this?” shouted Feyūnhaḥ. “I want my prize money!”

“It looks like you might have to forego it, for now we have business with the King.”

“What business? Did I not say we’d be meeting near the palace this evening?”

“If only that could be the case,” said Sanyhaḥmān with a sigh. “The birds and monkeys have told me that the King has locked up Tūmbṃār, Iḷēhaḥ, and Nakthaḥm within the palace. For what reason, I don’t know, but it would seem that the King isn’t a friend of ours – not anymore at least.”

The princess became distraught, for she had not suspected things to have turned so afoul so quickly, especially not with one who seemed much like a father to her. She regretted not having taken her brother’s worries with more seriousness.

“I can say this, however,” said Sanyhaḥmān. “I met a friend of mine on the western end of the city, and he told me that the King holds within his possession a Drasūvayeznd, one that he has found deep in the Desert. And he can only suspect that he should be going to war soon, and perhaps that is one reason he may have detained our friends.”

“That can’t be!” said Feyūnhaḥ, now visibly distressed. “How could he even have moved such a thing? A great amount of energy it would take. And why to war? What could he gain from it?”

“There are most likely many Dvı̄sahlvah users aboard it, far more than we see in the city now. The King has been gathering as many as he could find for the last three years. And from what I know of the ship’s workings, it doesn’t take as much power as one thinks to move it. If a person could efficiently stream their powers into its various cores, you would need but a fraction of the amount one would normally use. It would take a considerable degree of control to maintain it over long periods, though I can’t deny that the ones chasing us now seem well attuned and trained, and the ones currently aboard should in all certainty be better.

“But as for war, he plans to attack Pedyḷūr, and from there embark north toward the valley of the shape-shifters. The aristocrats think for one reason or another that he is to be found there, but I surmise there is more behind their intentions. In any case, we’ll talk more of it later! Make haste Vrihkhaḥ!”

The wolf picked up speed, and with their flight were the flying watchers left behind.

The three were stuck in dark cells, separated from one another, their wrists tightly chained to the wall and their hands covered with gauntlets that could not be bent. Nakthaḥm was asleep while Tūmbṃār struggled against the chains to free himself. And Iḷēhaḥ sat there in silence. There seemed to be little hope for they could not exercise their powers, and all their things had been taken away. Their friends, for all they knew, were most likely being pursued as they lay miserably in their confines. The guards paced back and forth within the dungeon as their metal sandals struck the surface and released a sharp sound that echoed in the space. They would every so often check the cells to see if things were amiss, but with Nakthaḥm asleep, Tūmbṃār embroiled in his futile struggle, and Iḷēhaḥ despondent, there was little reason for them to worry.

After some time had passed, they could hear footsteps from above heading toward them. The guards moved from their positions to where the footsteps hailed from. There was the sound of speaking among them until a gentle voice told them to leave. And they did as the voice bade, and all was empty, save for the arrival of six persons.

They stood before their cells, and when Tūmbṃār and Iḷēhaḥ looked at them, they saw that in front stood a woman who seemed as a priestess; adorned was she with the garbs and mask that all the other Servants of the Gods bore, in pure white, while the other five bore the self-same jewelry and adornments that Rṭyāshphaḥ had but in some ways more reserved. A singular gold piece hung about their shoulders, surrounding their necks, with golden bracelets about their wrists and silver rings from their earlobes. Two of them donned fhorlia of similar design to the King’s while the others bore veils and the raiment of aristocrats, but laced with more vivid and colorful designs.

One of them removed her veil to reveal a face racked in sorrow. Her face was fair, but her hair had grayed, and with tears welling in her eyes, she prostrated before them.

But before she could speak, the priestess jumped in excitement, ecstatic from seeing the boy, maiden, and demon, and said, “Truly it is as the god said! Long has it been since we have heard their voices but as I did my prayers but a few hours ago, a ray of the sun shone upon the Fiyukthi. And as I cast the oblations and sang, a voice came to me, and a form I could see as like a brilliant luster of the sun. And the being told me that he was Dusdrahaḥ, Lord of the Gods, King of Heaven, The Wielder of the Divine Bolt! And he advised that he had a task for me.

“He bade me come here and release you from your confines, regardless of what might come after. For your mission is of the utmost import, and they as your benefactors shall see to it that you do not fail, though he hopes that you as a group grow wholly stronger and wiser on your journey. As he related to me, he and the other Dehaḥṃār can only help so much for they will not descend upon Ārhmanhaḥ until the last age reaches its close. Alas! If only he could have stayed longer in my mind and conversed with me at length on various matters. But I suppose I have spoken for too long – I shall have to free you first! And do that I shall, after these royal patrons have had their business with you.”

The priestess stepped back while muttering to herself of various things—mostly related to Gods—but her voice was overpowered by the sobbing of the prostrated woman who spoke. “Forgive us for what we have done to you! We heard that you were Princess Feyūnhaḥ’s friends. We heard all of what transpired in the hall of the King, my husband. But regardless of whether a demon is with you or not, we shall not deny you your quest! My fool of a husband thinks war should bring our son back when he fails to realize that he still has a family here – the wife who bows before you and the other lying bedridden from affliction. And our sons and daughters who have come to see you.”

In likewise manner, the persons behind her prostrated, and one of the princes said, “We shall lay our trust in you that you should be able to stop our father. We believe in the words of the priestess, for we beheld the signs of the Gods’ advent and know it to be true that you are indeed the ones they have dispatched! To what end the Gods have sent you we know not, for while their form was visible to us, only the priestess could commune. But be that so, we would do well not to disregard their words and set you free from your chains so that you may continue with your quest.”

He then came nearer to the cell. “But we have one more request. Should you ever see our brother, ask him to come to us! Dearly do we miss him, and if he should not be dead, then there should be little reason for him not to come back and stay our father’s madness. Our father’s love for Tretadunya that is greater than he has shown to any of us, has turned his attachment to anger and madness, and naught we should say has helped in this matter. If you cannot find him, then I am afraid that no one can. And should it come to that, then we ask that you stop our father when the chance arises and permit either death or life to him by your will.

“As it stands now and though we love him, he seems more like a dead man whose will caters more to the Demons than to the Gods, and we can see that should it continue long, perhaps Trdsyṃhaḥ or all of Ārhmanhaḥ would fall to chaos. We beg of you to stop him before that can arise; let not this shame come upon him!”

Then Iḷēhaḥ lifted her head and broke her silence. “Might a mere voice in someone’s head, and some signs of nature, be enough to convince you of this duty? Is there no sense of doubt that you hold of us?”

And they were confused by her question. The young prince asked, “Of what do you mean? Are you saying that you are not those who have been sent by the Gods?”

“It would be better if it were not so, but alas! such things cannot be. Though we have failed in one part, ever must we continue you on this futile journey,” she said. “Come! Release our shackles and give us our things so that we may embark toward our wretched doom.”

The priestess, Queen, and the sons and daughters were distraught over her words, for she seemed to have little resolve left to continue onward. But the boy calmed their minds and said, “Don’t listen to her. She’s been like that for some time. She’ll get over her brooding sooner or later.”

“If what you say is true, then we shall hope as well,” said the young prince.

The priestess opened the doors to their cells and removed their shackles and gauntlets. The priestess handed their things and dropped Tūmbṃār’s sack in front of him.

“Child! How is it that you bear such weight?” asked the priestess exasperated and tired. “This would break any normal person’s back!”

The boy slapped her shoulders and said, “Be glad that you didn’t have to go through the training my teacher put me through; even Iḷēhaḥ can carry this sack now, but that was so even before she trained. She used to lug this massive box with a bunch of ornaments inside. I guess most of the weight in that sack is coming from that now.”

“Might I know who this master who puts children through such excruciating tasks is?”

The boy thought for a bit and shrugged to himself, saying, “I guess not much point in keeping it secret now. I’ve already told one king or lord, so I see little harm in letting another know – assuming you’ll tell him. He’s Vādruhaḥ Thoesyum, who I’ve recently come to learn is the compiler of the Vādrunṃs and the composer of the Atneṃārhaḥn!”

There was silence in the room and then a great clamor that resounded among the priestess, the Queen, and the sons and daughters. They were in disbelief over what Tūmbṃār had said.

“A boy who’s the disciple of that great Zūryashhaḥ!” cried the priestess. “Rare it is that we see any nowadays and even rarer has that name been said! But to think that such a great being was your teacher. Tell me, child, when is it you will see him again? I would dearly wish to know for never have I seen a sage, and greatly do I wish to ascertain the knowledge that they hold.”

Tūmbṃār walked over to Nakthaḥm and woke him up. The demon arose, and then Tūmbṃār said, “Who knows, he said he’d meet us again when some star was at some point in the sky.”

“Ah, an astronomical reference, yet you speak like it doesn’t matter to you. Surely you must know what that means? He must have taught such things to you.”

He brushed his clothes a bit and stretched and Nakthaḥm looked around himself confused.

“You ask many questions,” said Tūmbṃār.

“Quite like you child,” said Nakthaḥm as he yawned and Tūmbṃār stuck his tongue out embarrassed.

“Well, even so, you seem to think that I listened to everything he said. I knew he was a sage, but it’s not like I cared much for who he was. And so I trained with him mostly in my own manner – and got punished often. At a certain point, I did become diligent, but it wasn’t as if I understood or was interested in everything he said. And with that star, it seems the others know what he meant by it so you can ask them later.”

And the priestess sighed and then laughed. “What I should give to be in your position, but no matter! You should be able to find your way to him soon enough!”

And Tūmbṃār was not at all pleased with that response. Next time he was to see him, would another training session begin, and dread welled within as he mulled on that.

Nakthaḥm and Tūmbṃār talked at length about many things with their escort while Iḷēhaḥ remained silent as they made their way to the interior of the palace. Many secret ways they took before reaching a large door. And the guards pushed the door open, and before them was a wide space almost identical in design to the interior of the castle in Viprūtaram but with many tall pillars about and more aristocrats walking around. They made their way toward the entrance as all they passed seemed confused by the group. Glad were Tūmbṃār, Iḷēhaḥ, and Nakthaḥm that no individuals they met along the way had noticed who they were.

But as it should happen, that hope was dashed, for just before the entrance where freedom could be had, stood Rṭyāshphaḥ and his retinue of steel-clad guards. And they bore their weapons and struck the ground with the blades and tips. A deafening sound rang through the halls. The King held up his hand, and the soldiers flipped their weapons upright. The soldiers surrounded the group, and Rṭyāshphaḥ approached the Queen.

“So, you too wish to betray me now, like that wretch who spirited my son so many years ago!” said the King as he slapped his wife.

She fell to the ground, and the sons and daughters came to her side as Rṭyāshphaḥ scoffed.

Tūmbṃār could take it no more and did not wish to stand idle. Too much injustice had he allowed to pass in his presence, and greatly he wished to shirk his responsibility if it meant he could do as he saw right, but Nakthaḥm grabbed his arm tight and shook his head.

“Why do you wish me to be idle in almost any situation?” said the boy in a hushed voice but nonetheless angered. “Hasn’t enough passed before us! You, Iḷēhaḥ, and Feyūnhaḥ seem to be all right with such things happening around you, but should I have to be so at every moment? Shouldn’t we make a stand when given the chance?”

“You seem to misunderstand my intentions, child,” said Nakthaḥm. “You can free yourself from my grasp and do as you please. But before you decide on that, let me speak a few words. I too wish to thrust him toward the ground and show him his place, but I have chosen to bide my time. I erred in our first meeting with him; had I not let my anger get the best of me, then we might have had a more fortunate position. But though I do not wish to apportion blame, the maiden too is at fault for her cowardice. Had she not stood frozen when the King approached you, I would not have had to step in.”

To this Iḷēhaḥ had no response and hung her head low. She bit her lip and held a fierce face, continuing to remain silent.

“And to you Tūmbṃār, impulsiveness must be restrained! Do not seek to meet violence with violence at every turn. There are those who say my kind has a predisposition for such behavior, but you—knowing of the history of this world, at least partially—should know when it is best to engage or to stand back. So, I say, do as your forefathers have done before you and watch; look for the opportunity that would present itself. Though the King has gone mad, it is not as if compassion has wholly left him.” He then added, “But be not like Zūryaṃār; his negligence cost the entirety of the Unified Kingdom. Indeed a fool that he was!”

And Tūmbṃār calmed himself and let his hand rest from Nakthaḥm’s release. Though he did not agree with all the demon said, he knew in his heart that they needed the King’s aid.

With the Queen fallen and in sorrow, Rṭyāshphaḥ walked toward the priestess who stood in front of the group. And he said, “Out of my way, Servant of the Gods, for I have business with those standing behind you. They have broken the law of this land and, in so doing, almost let death come to me. Hearing this, will you still shield them from me?”

“O King Rṭyāshphaḥ! I know what it is you speak, but as one who stands above you, I would have you listen to my judgment as is befitting my role. The Dehaḥṃār of Thunder and King of the Gods, Dusdrahaḥ had spoken to me in my mind and has indeed told me that it was he that sent them on their quest. Through his mind, did I see all that occurred within the throne room and how you lusted after the Dvhaḥṣhtro they had in their possession! Speak not ill of them, for they were indeed your follies that brought about this dilemma.

“With the authority that I hold, I ask that you stand aside and give them leave. I will not stop you if you should go to war with Pedyṃhaḥ, but nor shall I stand by as you wrest control over those you do not deserve in your land. Let them be free to continue on their quest, and they shall bother you no more!”

Rṭyāshphaḥ stepped closer, his face not far from her mask, and with a hiss, he said, “This I shall not give! Your authority will not usurp mine. Enough I have had with the wills of the Servants; you have no power that I could not take away at this very moment! And perhaps I will do that and be rid of one impudent Servant who denies my desire and wrath!”

He brought out a dagger and held it high, swiftly bringing it down on her. Nakthaḥm moved in haste to catch the blade. His hand missed. Yet to his relief, the priestess was saved but at a cost that was greater than he would expect.

Blood dripped from the base of the boy’s neck as the priestess was thrown to the side with a gust of wind. All in that hall—save the King—looked at that event in horror, and Iḷēhaḥ, who had stood pensive all that while, broke her silence to him and cried: “Tūmbṃār!”

“What have you done!” shouted the priestess.

The King did not so much as flinch as he dislodged the dagger and moved toward her. But Tūmbṃār held onto him and tightened his grasp, doing all he could to prevent him killing her. Rṭyāshphaḥ looked to him, and the boy could see in him that same rage that had once taken over Iḷēhaḥ, eyes filled with such malice that he trembled upon gazing at them.

Tūmbṃār quivered, his grasp becoming loose and weakening as the blood trailed down his neck. The King cast him aside, and he stumbled and fell as his vision became blurred. Yet he felt something soft to the touch grasp him, and could feel water falling on his face and trailing his cheeks. Apologies and scolding he could hear as the rain on his face would not cease. His body began to feel light, and he could feel pressure coming on his neck as a light appeared in the corner of his eyes. He once more went to sleep and began to wonder why such awful things kept occurring. But those thoughts came to a rest as his mind became silent.

Nakthaḥm then stood between Rṭyāshphaḥ and his object of malice, grabbing once more the wrist of his enemy. Enraged, he said, “Too far have you gone! How could I have erred so? To think I should have hoped for change!”

And the shackles that bound his hands waned and he tightened his grip around the wrist of the King who wailed in agony. A dark power issued forth, waxing greater than in the high hall, and all who beheld it stepped back in terror. For while much of the demon’s power was still sealed, that which could be released afeared all who could witness it. The aether released, and his fingernails grew long.

If we should have to seek the aid of a king who would abandon reason and assail those whom we love, better off are we without him! Thou shalt fall where thou standeth. No more shall I suffer thy presence and iniquity!

Rṭyāshphaḥ gazed alike in fear, much like a babe as sweat trailed down his face. The nails shined against the aether encasing the demon’s hands, and ready was he to plunge them deep into the heart of the sad, wicked King who now knelt before him. But before Nakthaḥm could strike and be done with his foe, his arms and legs were grabbed by the King’s children and the priestess.

“Have mercy O Yavhaḥṃār of the Lower Realms!” cried the children of the King. “The boy shall survive, we swear on the Gods themselves; let them do with us as they will if our word shall fail!”

“Listen to them Nakthaḥm!” cried the priestess. “The boy shall survive; it is not his time to pass! A grave error the King did commit in trying to fell me, but do not let this anger take over you! You shall undoubtedly need his help when the time comes! Would you let all this fall in vain?”

And he intoned words alike to ones he had uttered as an enemy:

Se vahriktavahm Dehaḥṃār!The Gods have abandoned us!

And with a great wail that shook the halls, he thrust his nails down. Yet a flash of light gleamed from the entrance, and thereupon a great surge of fire and air erupted, shooting forward like a bolt of lightning. The ensuing blaze enveloped the demon, and all standing about him were knocked back by the rush of wind. And through the stream of flames appeared Vrihkhaḥ, Feyūnhaḥ, and Sanyhaḥmān. The wolf rammed his head against Nakthaḥm, sending him flying toward the other side of the hall, where he crashed through the trail of columns. Quickly, the princess leaped down and witnessed the wound on Tūmbṃār’s neck.

“What has happened! Who’s done this to him?”

The maiden who wept shook her head and—in a faltering voice—said, “It matters not, we must leave! No more can we remain here; help me carry him, as the wound must be tended to quickly, and I cannot do so here!”

With haste, the two carried him atop and proceeded to flee, but the priestess called to them. “Take me with you! I too can stay here no longer. Will you allow me to travel, Agents of the Gods?”

“Come if you will!” shouted Sanyhaḥmān. “We must leave now! The army is upon us; they’ll be here at any moment.”

The priestess quickly climbed atop the wolf’s back. But Vrihkhaḥ would not move as his eyes were locked on Rṭyāshphaḥ and his blood-soaked dagger. And he took glances to his side to see the Queen and the children.

“Move, Vrihkhaḥ!” said Sanyhaḥmān as he slapped his back. “I don’t know what’s happened to Nakthaḥm but we must grab him and leave. We can’t tarry any longer, wolf!”

Vrihkhaḥ ended his gaze, and his eyes were beset with tears. He gave a great howl which pierced all their ears and stunned the soldiers. With no more time to spend, he ran with haste past the guards, and all that was left were the cries of the Queen as she called out, Tretadunya! and at the time, no one knew to whom she directed her call.

They quickly made their way onto the rooftops, fleeing their pursuers as streams of the elements shot from behind and from the sides. The soldiers who had followed them thus far from the Rūrgha ambushed them on their flight from the palace, and they, having acquired reinforcements, slowly closed in on the group from the west, east, and south. Flames were alight within the city as the flying soldiers gave little care for the destruction. And the citizens in great fear amassed in the citadel.

It was not long until most of the streets had emptied, but this gave all the more room for the onslaught to wax. In the distance, the group could see the gate, and all the while, Feyūnhaḥ did her best to keep their pursuers at bay as Iḷēhaḥ and the priestess tended to Tūmbṃār. Nakthaḥm was held in the mouth of the wolf, unconscious, and Sanyhaḥmān attempted to keep hold of their things as he tied it around the wolf’s neck.

Iḷēhaḥ knew little in the way to heal such a wound, yet the priestess was adept enough in that area. There were not many Servants left who were greatly attuned with the powers, with perhaps one or two individuals per town or city. So much a surprise it came to them that she could treat the boy in such a manner (though no time was there to marvel over the matter). The rush of the wolf made it much too difficult to use her powers with haste and precision, and so time and protection would need to be bought as their escape brought them farther out of the city.

As they approached the gate on the eastern end, a mass of soldiers stood resolute with long poles while a multitude of archers was garrisoned along the wall. And all were aiming at the group as they neared. When but a furlong was left, the poles and arrows were released and flew with great speed toward them. They arched high and covered the sky in their descent.

Feyūnhaḥ turned her attention toward the missiles, giving leave for the onslaught of the powers to come their way. But with her arms fully locked toward the sky, she issued a great stream of fire and earth, molten to their core. With traces of lightning, it arched high above like a dome and all under it became covered in darkness. The missiles waned as they came near, and on impact alighted with great spectacle just like the grand fireworks of Sītṛayasav.

And when all those missiles had been felled, the princess clenched her hands tight, and the molten earth ruptured and burst into many small fragments. A myriad of these shot at both the pursuers and the soldiers at the wall. Great was the heat that the fragments emitted, and those unfortunate enough to be struck by it thrashed on the ground in excruciating pain. Thereafter, the ranks and stations soon fell into disarray, no longer able to keep with their foes.

Vrihkhaḥ leaped on high and flew over the garrison. Now were they freed of the foot soldiers, with only a smaller number of flying soldiers on their tail. Distance grew between them as they pushed farther into the plains of the east. But just as the city was moving out of sight, the gate swung open and an army on chariots rode through. Their horses were swift, their tremendous speed unmatched by even the fastest of the untamed animals. And the flying soldiers took seat on the golden roofs alongside the standards, their glistening pennons swayed in the rushing wind.

Just as the group thought freedom was in sight, their foes’ powers rushed forth and yet again assailed them. Feyūnhaḥ did all she could to provide protection, deflecting and dispelling as the raging elements came their way, but her prior attack had sapped much of her strength. Her movements had suffered, and she was beaten with a flurry of attacks that had now concentrated on her. When her guard broke, she was thrust back toward Sanyhaḥmān. He caught her before she could tumble off, and he furiously patted the wolf.

“Speed, Vrihkhaḥ, speed! Fly as Vyāythaḥ!” he shouted with screeches.

Vrihkhaḥ nodded and hastened his sprint, swerving in his motion to evade the attacks. The priestess’ concentration that had held steady for that time broke, and Tūmbṃār began to bleed.

“It is a miracle that this wolf has the strength to carry us all, but I fear I am unable to do much for the child as things are now!” said the priestess. “Is there any means by which we can singe the wound? We must at the very least stop the bleeding!”

Iḷēhaḥ nodded and pressed her hands against his neck, and a flash of fire burst within. Tūmbṃār flinched and wailed before falling back into silence. The bleeding had already slowed by that point, and so now, all they could do was hope that they could escape in time.

Even with all the speed that Vrihkhaḥ could muster, the chariots were slowly closing in. And as they came in range, alongside the elements, a host of arrows and poles did fly their way. They scraped and cut the wolf, but he did not slow down, and if anything he again began to pick up speed as if to muster the last of his strength.

Now the distance between them stayed steady and Iḷēhaḥ, as the only one left to protect them, issued gusts, torrents, and surges of flames, as light, metal, and steam clashed in the air. The smell that effused was noxious, and she became dizzy as did the horses and those who rode in the chariots. Then a lone one rushed in front, and there, standing with a golden bow and a single arrow pulled back, was the King.

“Cease your escape and perhaps I shall grant pardon!” shouted Rṭyāshphaḥ, who cackled. “Look in front, for your end shall soon be met if you heed not my words!”

And Sanyhaḥmān in faltered voice said, “Friends – I don’t think the King jests! This might be our end! That which I’ve wished to gaze upon all my life now comes before us!”

Upon the horizon rose a form on high unlike any they had ever seen. Its golden face shone in the darkness of the setting sun, and it glimmered with majesty and might, unmatched by any structure standing now or in the distant past. The form of a conical stepped pyramid resting on a massive ship became visible, and large steeds of astral form pulled it forward as the clouds above thundered and circled it with a haunting eeriness. At its pinnacle could they see the orb of light radiating with a great flame. The Drasūvayeznd had come, and now all seemed lost to them.

But Iḷēhaḥ then gnashed her teeth and stood atop Vrihkhaḥ, facing the King.

“King Rṭyāshphaḥ!” she shouted: “This power! This force shall not match the might of the goddess that stands before you! Stripped was I of my power when I had descended, but upon meeting that Lord of Thunder was I once again bestowed with it. Great misfortune shall befall me for using it now, but no alternative do I see if we are to live. I pray that the souls that fall by my might will find peace in the Halls of their Forefathers. Let whatever punishment may be dispensed come my way!

“King – the Dehaḥṃār have indeed chosen us! and nothing you purpose or scheme shall hinder our quest! One final chance do I give you to relent. What say you? Will you give us leave, or shall I fell your toy and all who fly in it – that which you seem to hope will fulfill all you wish?”

Rṭyāshphaḥ, enraged, said, “Never shall you stop me in seeking my son, wretches! No more shall I suffer you; your heads shall I have!” and he released the arrow.

The maiden dodged it with ease, but it pierced through the wolf’s ear, and he gave a great shout in pain.

So be it, their blood is upon you!

King Rṭyāshphaḥ then held his palm toward the structure of doom and clenched his fist. At that moment, a great light lifted heavenward, bending around and spiraling into the orb. And lo! a light of brilliant radiance issued from its core and surged toward the group.

Iḷēhaḥ ran to the front of the wolf, cupping her palms. The light swerved in her direction and struck against them. It blinded all in sight, and the force of the beam halted the wolf. Iḷēhaḥ cried in pain as her hands were seared. But her face became fierce; no more malice remained and in its stead grew a desperation to save all those whom she so dearly loved!

And it was then that her body began to glow, and the red crystal atop her head lifted with myriad hues and her form hazed as her hair stood and became golden. Markings lined her form, and it seemed that her arms multiplied as she moved them. The afterimage of them was beheld by all, save the King who could not see beyond his wrath. And to all who witnessed did she indeed look like a goddess. Her face became calm, and she gently offered her hands forward.

The light then reflected, and in an instant, the yoke of the steeds was cut, and the Drasūvayeznd erupted in flames. The clouds calmed, and the night sky came into view. The falling structure made its way far behind Rṭyāshphaḥ’s army and crashed with a great cataclysm. Wrathful winds and flames issued from the site of impact, and the ensuing shockwave felled all the chariots and cut the yokes. The horses bolted, and the soldiers fled in terror, beseeching the Gods for mercy. All aboard that flying structure had most certainly perished in its fall.

And in the wake of such disaster, Sanyhaḥmān took advantage and screeched, “Fly, Vrihkhaḥ! Fly! Now’s our chance to escape!”

The wolf did as he was bid and once more sped as fast as he could. Rṭyāshphaḥ’s eyes blazed with rage and he caught a horse and made his way after the group, wielding his sword in his hand. The horse, under the King’s duress, hastened to the group and was able to keep pace with Vrihkhaḥ.

The light had not yet left Iḷēhaḥ but it seemed as if she were stuck in a trance, suspended in midair, unable to move and in great pain as she curled herself into a ball. No more could they count on her for aid.

The King slowly closed in to their position and readied himself to strike down any that could come in reach of his blade. But then, as if by a hand of fate, a great bolt of lightning struck between Rṭyāshphaḥ and Vrihkhaḥ, and the horse at that moment keeled over and tossed the King aside.

He tumbled into the sand and looked on as the trail of blood from the wolf’s ear tracked far into the distance.

He could no longer pursue them and he wailed high into the air, shouting, “Bring back my son, wretches! My son! Tretadunya!”

And Vrihkhaḥ continued to hasten and hasten as his eyes ever more beset themselves with tears, fleeing far away to where the King’s army could no more pursue them.

Rṭyāshphaḥ’s anger then softened, and sadness and misery overcame him. He continued to look on to the fleeing company, witnessing the light of the goddess that now dimmed. And suddenly bawling, he tossed the sand, rent his raiment, and beat his chest.

He had lost everything now: he lost the means to find his son; he lost the trust of the princess and her friends; and he lost any sense of hope that was left in him, now knowing he had been truly abandoned by the Gods he once loved. In utter humiliation and defeat, he wallowed in despair.

Sanyhaḥmān looked behind him to see the motionless King. And as they moved farther into the distance, he could see another person walking to him with a retinue of soldiers. Two great wings outspread from his back, and from what little he could make out, it seemed he held a fierce expression. Sanyhaḥmān became grave upon seeing this and shifted his sight to the wreck. The flames of the Drasūvayeznd had turned into a great conflagration, a blanket of fires seeming to spread along the line of the horizon, ascending ever higher, lining the forms of those great wings in a resplendent, fiery gold.

He turned back, looking to his friends, and held a solemn face. The city was now passed, but their journey was far from over. Now, they would soon make to the foreboding desert of Upaurikṣhetvar.

THUS ENDS THE SECOND BOOK OF THE ṂĀRHAḤNYAHM