YIELDING the light to the Heavens, Iḷēhaḥ’s form exited and she became as she once was. She fell onto her knees and spewed blood into her hands. Now panting and gasping for air, as her strength nigh waned to nothingness, she said, “Friends, companions: I shall have to sleep now. I know not when I shall awake but be not alarmed if my body should writhe or convulse, for that should surely be a part of my punishment. Ah, my eyes feel so heavy; it feels as if my bones have collapsed. Vrihkhaḥ’s fur feels so soft. I think I will nap now, yes. Goodbye for now, friends! We shall talk once more when I have come to—if I should come to—I hope I shall come to.”

And she then collapsed, and her breathing slowed until the sound became inaudible. Feyūnhaḥ brought her close to her and hugged her tight. The worst was now over, with the wicked king and his army receding into the horizon; all they needed now was to fly far enough away to where the army would no more be able to pursue them. And yet, after all that had passed, a friend dear of heart seemed vanished, and they did not know if she should return.

The priestess seemed to be the only one shocked and said, “Are you guys not bewildered by what occurred? Is she not a goddess? Or perhaps you already knew?”

“We suspected as much,” said Feyūnhaḥ. “But there was no way to be sure, for she would say little about herself. Now I see why she kept it secret. If she had told us, never would we have believed without display, but for her to do as such would’ve cost her dearly, and now it seems she’s paid the price.”

With tears in her eyes and her voice stifled by sorrow, she continued, “She spoke as if she was to die now. I can barely feel the air flowing into her and can scarcely hear the beating of her heart. Why must it be so? Why should it have come to this? Tūmbṃār is marred, Nakthaḥm has gone mad and unconscious, and now Iḷēhaḥ has sapped her life!”

And she cried long afterward, releasing all the emotions she had kept within since their departure from Siḍhrehḷūr, before too falling into sleep from weariness.

Vrihkhaḥ kept to his pace long into the night, even after many leagues were crossed. Sanyhaḥmān tried all he could to bring the wolf to a halt, but Vrihkhaḥ would not respond as if he were in desperation to escape something. And he understood, at least in part, why he felt as such. For Sanyhaḥmān, the splendor of those wings and the rage of the person bearing them struck him with fear. In some ways, more so than the Drasūvayeznd itself. Unable to combat their tension, they continued in flight for three days with no rest.

During that time, the priestess held to the sealed wound on Tūmbṃār’s neck and coursed her power into it, repeating the same prayer to herself:

Dehya yukmam āyirāshphaḥn

Preméntavahm bakshér vrazhāḥṃ

Thvél nivashphaḥ rar Hṃétravāḥṃ

Yavhaḥniv tūrpṛshasht télāḥ

O Divine Twins, masters of steeds and medicine;

We offer supplications (to thee);to bestow (thy) power into (our) work!

Just as thy cutting and grafting of the horse’s headyielded powers for Hṃetravaiaḥ,

(So too) we ask that the evil is cut and the good is graftedso all (within us) is (made) pure!

Sanyhaḥmān had—after a while—noticed this, and asked, “What is it you’re speaking to yourself, priestess?”

“It is a hymn to the Ashphaḥn, the horse masters and divine physicians,” she said as she wiped the sweat from under her mask.

“What good will saying that do?” he asked. “Isn’t the power you’re releasing enough to cure the wound? I much doubt that the Gods will hear your call, let alone answer.”

She laughed to herself and said, “Perhaps they will listen now, for Dusdrahaḥ himself had illumined within me!”

“Dusdrahaḥ contacted you!” he cried in surprise. With a sigh, he said, “Well, I shouldn’t be surprised; it gives better reason to why you protected us. But if only they would speak to me! I feel quite left out. The persons in our group have had dealings with much greater beings than I’ve known. But I guess if the sage’s words hold true, a chance should present itself in time.”

“Surely it will! I do not suspect such things to end anytime soon. But even if Dusdrahaḥ did not contact me, I would have still healed the child in the same way.”

“You mean to tell me that your prayers actually heal? I’ve seen the priests and priestesses of my village and in other places do the same, but I always took it for show or ritual.”

“Yes, but I should say it is not the prayer itself or our powers that do the healing,” she said as she took away one of her hands and pointed it to her head. “We merely send our thoughts and affirmations to the patient. And in so doing, their intellect takes what we give and directs the body to heal itself. The mind is much more than what we see as a reservoir of thoughts. With the help of the intellect, it acts much like a link to our Ārhmaht.

“I take it that not many of you pray, but the same idea holds true there. One can shape themselves in any number of ways by focusing themselves on a cause. Whether it be from prayer, hymn, affirmation, or goal. And it holds true even without the powers, but I say that much of the servants—or those at my level or lower—seem to understand this only in relation to such things, unable to see the application beyond it.

“It has long posed trouble to the more senior of us, and they lament from time to time that the effects of this practice should soon die out after the powers have fully receded, and sad it will be when and if it should come to pass. I still hold some hope that a few who come after will put this knowledge to good use.”

“You’ll have to relate this to the others. Especially Iḷēhaḥ, whenever it is she’ll awake. She stands to be the only other whose healing can match to yours, and she—unlike the rest of us—holds some piety,” and, with a laugh, he continued; “the two of you’ll no doubt get along well!”

The priestess was a little confused over that last remark, for she did not think that the Dehaḥṃār had any need for prayer, but she cast the thought aside and nodded in approval, smiling under her mask. No doubt that it would be good for her to make friends with the goddess—and no doubt she could brag and be proud of such a dealing in the face of her peers.