THERE was silence when he had finished. Feyūnhaḥ once more mulled over those same words and was disheartened that not even her people should help the Gazhigam. She looked over to Iḷēhaḥ, who bit her lips in frustration. The King waited intent on the answer, while the rest knew little of what should be done. They turned to Iḷēhaḥ, and she thought to herself many things.

She at last sighed, and said, “I shall do as you say, though I cannot promise whether Dusdrahaḥ shall succeed in this endeavor. I have met your mother but once, and she is not one to be trifled with. Many problems I suffered in her wake, but I should hope that he alone will have the power to convince her.”

The King gave a great laugh and flicked his tongue with a smile. “Very good! Very good! The deal has been set! Now to the second of matter of business!”

He rose and motioned to the others to do the same. They followed him to the row of open arches at the side and, through it, they could see a great snake coiling around the outside of the building. That snake was feeding itself into the magma, moving through the stream, until its head came through the other side and stood before the group. Great were its fangs and hood, and long was its body. Its scales, like metal, shined under the light of the molten earth, and its black luster put awe in the group.

“She had carried ye hither after ye had fallen in the desert,” said the King. “From time to time do wayward travelers arrive hither, but usually by way of caravan with Gazhigam travelers and merchants, for no other knoweth how to reach this realm. So it came as a surprise, when I should find ye carried hither upon her back! This snake before ye is a long-lived kindred of ours, and hath long watched over us since our descent from the Heavens. She does hardly listen to us, and none are let near her. Yet she did give assistance during the War of the Ṃārhaḥn, and very much grateful we are of that.”

A voice as sharp as nails rang in their heads and shook the halls and it said:

Know me to be Hvesykhiḥ! For I am the Spirit Radiant as the Supreme. You who I have brought, harken to my words. You have escaped from the spell of the desert by my will. I have brought you hither with the desire that you should return these Gazhigam to their home in the Heavens. I knew that you carried the Dvhaḥṣhtro upon you and had the blessing of that great god who stands as king in the Heavens. But there is also another matter which must be dealt with in these realms.

Far to the east runs a great many ruined halls, abandoned with the passage of time, and for much of it, does it remain desolate. The greatest of strongholds it was during the War of the Ṃārhaḥn, but the Giants felled it with their powers, wreaking cataclysms unseen by any since. But one Giant fell within, during the wake of its destruction, and they have lived under it since; dormant, tired, yet also wrathful. For the Dehaḥṃār he supplicated would not answer his calls and left him thither, and he has since thought he was abandoned by friend and foe alike. I would ask you to find his desire, regardless of his intent, so that he may at last find peace and exit those lonely halls.

His desire is guarded by a foul lurker: a deathly emanation not seen for a time, and you will have to fell it to acquire your goal.

Having already assented to the former wish, will you now do as I ask for the latter?

And the ringing of her voice stopped, and the group was relieved at that.

Tūmbṃār then cried, “A Giant Talking Snake and Giants living here! Hah! Athruyam was wrong. They’re still here! Also, your voice was awfully harsh, but I’m glad you told us this. Indeed, we shall do as you say; come friends, let’s make to the ruins!”

They did not end up going there, much to his annoyance. The giant serpent had left soon after giving her message, and immediately after, the group left the palace in the company of the King and his retinue.

He wanted to hold a feast and have them rest for some time before they departed. He announced to his advisors, the ministers, and the other aristocrats that the group were indeed Agents of the Gods, and that the group should help them secure both passage to the Heavens and forgiveness of their mother in exchange for their aid for the coming invasion.

While the former news should be cause for joy and mirth, they seemed doubtful of this for they sensed nothing special within the group of which they had not already possessed—save for the Dvhaḥṣhtro of which they were not shown—and the latter news proved much to their disliking, for not many of the Gazhigam wished to meddle in affairs with the other Ṃārhaḥn.

Much of the betrayals they suffered in ages past had not yet washed from their minds and ever lingered in their hearts, even when it did not show. And so this caused great clamor among them, and many voiced complaints and issues with the King’s decision, but he said he would talk at length of this when time permitted and that for now his decision would not be upturned. The aristocrats remained silent. Troublesome thought brewed among his advisors, for they already schemed on what should be done with the group.

“Hey Iḷēhaḥ,” said Tūmbṃār.

“What is it, Tūmbṃār?” she said, as she twisted her hair about her finger, anxious over the promise she made to the King.

“Are you going to tell us what happened when you were asleep?”

“Aye, when will you tell us?” said Feyūnhaḥ. “You had me and many others worried then.”

“Oh, I almost forgot!” said Iḷēhaḥ as she smacked her hands together. She halted her movement and moved her hands to her head. “I apologize for having worried you all, but we should wait for when we are all together to hear of it. Perhaps tomorrow night, for I think we are all tired now. And very much should it be heard by Sanyhaḥmān and Vrihkhaḥ, as it affects all of you as much as it does me—though I suppose we can tell the wolf later.”

“You needn’t apologize to us, Iḷēhaḥ,” said Feyūnhaḥ as she brought down her hands; “if not for what you did, we surely would be dead by now.”

“I agree,” said Nakthaḥm. “While I do not think we shall ever see eye to eye, I too must show my gratitude, for even I could have very well perished in the state that I was.”

Iḷēhaḥ was glad as she could be at their words, and though she still had trouble dealing with Nakthaḥm, she was grateful to him for what he did to save Tūmbṃār.

“My gratitude to you all.”

The King overheard this and joined in, saying, “I heard apologies and thanks, but before I heard mention something quite different. May I too hear of what it is you shall speak? I am intrigued as to what ye have undergone on your journey.”

“Indeed, my lord! When the time is right and we are all gathered, I shall relate of it all!”