NOON came, and they continued onward, skipping lunch so as to conserve food. The sand grew hot as time passed, and the boy could feel blisters forming on his feet as he walked forward, but he bore the pain carrying Iḷēhaḥ all the while. She had not moved all that much since the start of the day.

Feyūnhaḥ and Sanyhaḥmān were quite worried before Tūmbṃār had awoken for as Iḷēhaḥ said, before she fell into a slumber, her body writhed and convulsed, and she often cried and wailed in pain. In all those instances, it seemed she was still unconscious. They could only wonder what punishment was being dispensed. Yet Tūmbṃār was at the very least glad that her breathing and heartbeat returned to normal. Now, if only they could find some water or an oasis: the maiden was beginning to smell.

The group took many stops and rests during their trek through the desert, but in all the time that passed, the Sun did not once change position as if it wished to scorch them with its rays. And soon, it came to the point that their stock of food and water was all emptied. Hours, if not days or perhaps weeks, seemed to have passed, and yet the Sun remained as it was. No sign of the Stars or the Moon ever came.

Then it chanced upon them that they should find a tree not far from where they were, and they ran as fast as they could to reach it. Perhaps there were fruits or water nearby. But on reaching the tree, it vanished, and it seemed to them that the desert and perhaps even Samiztrahaḥ were playing tricks on them as if to send them into madness.

“Could this be an illusion?” asked the priestess, falling into the sand and panting. “My strength has left me; no more can I walk. Might we take break here?”

Sanyhaḥmān looked to the wolf. His coat and the luggage he bore had become much too heavy for him. Sanyhaḥmān took some of the things and dragged Nakthaḥm by his legs, holding them to his waist. Feyūnhaḥ hoisted the priestess onto her back. Tūmbṃār meanwhile did not stop and continued to prod on even as he stumbled through the sand. Not once did he look back, determined to make it through.

“It’s best we continue Aiṛth,” said Sanyhaḥmān. “Tarry here, and I fear the Sun will scorch us to death. It would’ve been much better had we gone north up the river, but no more use in that. It wouldn’t do us well to backtrack and make north either; we wouldn’t we be able to pass the mountainous crags yonder that way. If only those brothers of old could’ve pushed their warring some hundreds of leagues down!”

He turned his gaze to the Sun and said, “But strange it is that it hasn’t moved even a bit from its zenith. How I wish this demon would wake up and help me just a bit. Such a friend is he that falls at such an opportune time to let the other drag him as he would while he pleasantly sleeps. I won’t let him hear the end of it when he wakes!

“Tūmbṃār! Is there anything unusual about the area? Perhaps this isn’t all that different from the passage to the high priest’s lair.”

“I don’t know,” said Tūmbṃār in a weary voice. “The heat’s playing tricks on me. I can barely hear your voice or feel the sand. And Iḷēhaḥ feels so light on me. My sense of pain is gone and—like Nakthaḥm—I too want to beat down that God of the Sun. He should already know to what place we’re traveling. Can’t he ease our burden just a little?”

“I’m beginning to think we shouldn’t have done the zṣhṭya, Tūmbṃār,” Feyūnhaḥ said with a weak laugh. “I also heard that it could backfire in ways like this.”

The boy felt like a fool for having even entertained the idea of using it the way he did. But zṣhṭya or not, it well could have been one of the Gods’ tests, but to what end they sought, the group did not know. It seemed ill-timed and even more so out of place that the Gods would not, at the least, make their journey easier. To Dusdrahaḥ, they gave their gratitude, but to the others—save the priestess—they gave their silence and contempt.

No one knew how much time had passed since the Sun stopped in its motion. They knew the wind to be dead, for though the sand shifted, hardly could the breeze be felt upon them, and no more could they hear it. All their water and food was spent, and no more could they tell north from south from east from west. No matter what direction they moved, all looked the same; dunes atop dunes as far as they could see, with its sand sifting in the wind often stinging their skin. Tūmbṃār had covered Iḷēhaḥ in some thin cloth, hoping to shield her from the Sun and the sand. Her body felt cold yet not lifeless, and it even felt pleasant on his sweat-drenched back.

It was not long after that Aiṛth dragging along at the very end fell from exhaustion, but the others in front did not hear her thud; their senses having dulled to such an extent that they could not see nor hear one another and yet their will kept pushing them forward. Then soon after did Vrihkhaḥ fall, no more able to bear the heat with his thud echoing even louder, but still the others could not hear it. Then Sanyhaḥmān succumbed to the rays of the Sun, and he dropped into the sand, still holding onto Nakthaḥm’s legs. And Feyūnhaḥ—who tried to keep pace with Tūmbṃār—fell unconscious, for she was afflicted by a loud ringing in her ears that would not cease.

When only Tūmbṃār was left, he looked behind, sensing something amiss, but he neither saw nor heard anyone or anything, and he thought to himself that the others had overtaken him in his weariness. He hastened along, not knowing that he was leaving his friends behind, and went as far as his legs would take him. And after crossing a point past the largest dune he had set his eyes upon, he beheld then the emptiness this wasteland held.

At one point, the desert was but a speck of land in the middle of the continent, but that seemed hard for him to imagine now. Having used all the potent weapons that the combatants of that war possessed: the Dvhaḥṣhtro, the Drasūvayeznd of which there were said to be thousands, and the highest use of their powers, they did render much of the land surrounding it uninhabitable. Like a plague, the ensuing fallout annihilated all it came across until the desert had grown as large as it was. How terrible it must have been to witness such a thing and to know to be the cause of it. Millions upon millions of bodies washed away deep under the sand. The boy felt as if all those who died called to him from beneath to seek release from their contemptible torment.

He continued a bit farther until he could see a lone thing standing not too far from him. This thing, which looked like a man but had a mask and bony hands and a cloak as black as the night, receded farther into the desert until it completely vanished. When it had gone, there before Tūmbṃār stood a massive army, shadowed like ghosts. On either side, they stood lined in formation until the conches of their commanders were blown and resounded far across.

The armies broke, and the soldiers ran to one another and, therein, ushered the slaughter of the age. For what the boy could see seemed almost like a reenactment of that Great War, save for the fact that these warriors could not have been real, or if they were, they certainly were no more human.

The fighting continued on and on as Tūmbṃār stood still in awe and fright. In the distance, the Drasūvayeznds lined by the hundreds, came and seared the ranks with their beams, felling the multitudes with their great volley of arrows. Then the terrible light of the weapons was unleashed, and he was blinded.

His legs gave in, and he fell, and he wondered at that moment if his time had come once more. Trials and tribulations that pushed him to his limits that he felt seemed no different from what Zūryaṃār had undergone.

He thought to himself that perhaps he should be glad. He knew that no matter how many times death crossed him that some force by way of the Dehaḥṃār, or friend, or some other would come to save them, as had always been the case before. But the specter he saw just before the battle commenced haunted his thoughts. He dreaded the idea of seeing the apparition again. When he had relaxed and calmed his mind, he let himself sink into the sand, feeling content in having made his way this far into the wasteland.

Once more, he resigned himself to the forces of the world.