TŪMBṂAR found himself lying on a soft surface. He could hear some raised voices and shouts not far from him, but cared little for them. Peering around himself, he could see the ship gently swaying, a soft wool bed laid out for him, and Feyūnhaḥ resting upright by his side.

He sat back in the bed, thinking for a while. Two weeks passed in his time in the Heavens, but it felt to him no more than a few hours. He wanted to blame the celestials but knew that he would not have made it all that far had they not been there. Even with his powers, he could not exactly fly as they had; maybe one day he would be able to, but that seemed a long ways away.

He propped himself up on his elbows and could see that his skin had regained some of its color but that he still looked unbearably thin. He nudged Feyūnhaḥ, and she awoke and apologized to him, but Tūmbṃār shook his head, smiling.

“How long was I asleep?” asked Tūmbṃār.

“About three days; much happened in the time you were asleep,” said Feyūnhaḥ. “Would you like to know what happened?”

He nodded, noticing that the shouting had not ceased and was perhaps related to whatever the princess had to say. She asked leave for a bit, and after some time, came back with some millet mixed with various herbs. She laid Tūmbṃār down and fed him spoonfuls at a time to which he reeled in disgust. The taste was much too bland for him, but he had to bear it if he wanted to get better.

“The harbormaster was quite shocked about the whole ordeal, and allowed us to keep our ships docked at no expense, which was quite nice of him. All he asked of us was to see to your and Iḷēhaḥ’s safety, for he did not wish for any more to vanish into the mountains, and of course, we were going to help you two no matter the cost!

“When you returned to us, so did Iḷēhaḥ. Both of you collapsed at the same time, but within a few minutes, Iḷēhaḥ awoke, and her body had regained its former complexion and bearing almost instantly. She saw the sage and prostrated to him, and greeted me, Sanyhaḥmān, and Vrihkhaḥ though she wouldn’t approach you.

“When she saw Nakthaḥm, she lashed out at him, saying, ‘Tūmbṃār and the Gods may have accepted your presence, but never shall I! Much better it would have been for us for you to have died that day, but the child still cannot see how much of a threat your kind is.’

“Nakthaḥm afterward, with that same grin he usually carries, said, ‘Then why not relate this to him? Surely you can convince him to kill me, here and now! Heal him and be done with me.’

“She refused to have anything more to do with you but also said she didn’t have the means to cure what ailed you, and only that you would regain your strength soon enough. She’s probably just being stubborn, is all; I wouldn’t place too much stock in her hating you. It seems she has yet to learn how to control her anger.

“After her confrontation, the sage bid us farewell for he had business to attend to elsewhere. He said, ‘The next we shall meet is when the star Ydhṛhaḥ is at its highest zenith. Though you need not do as I say, I advise you to head east toward the forests at the edge of the continent and circle toward the tip where lies Pysefyaḷūr.’ His manner of departure was abrupt, especially given that you had passed out, but I suppose a sage’s duties stretch far and wide. Perhaps he also had enough trust in us to take care of you, which is reassuring.

“After he had left, I asked Iḷēhaḥ what happened in the Heavens, and she related to me that she had talked with Dusdrahaḥ alongside you and that the arrow you now carry is the true form of the Dvhaḥṣhtro. Then she gathered the others and in a sullen manner spoke of the mission we were tasked with, of collecting the other Dvhaḥṣhtro. I was quite surprised to hear that more divine weapons could still be found in Ārhmanhaḥ. Most everyone would’ve assumed they had been taken back into the Gods’ possession much like with Daryurhaḥ. However, this was all she would tell us.

“To sate my curiosity just a little more, I asked if she was a goddess, and she became angered and said, ‘Think as you will, princess! No reason do I have to tell you who could do no more than to fall to the might of that wretched foe! Perhaps if you had left me alone, I could have returned home but now that seems an impossibility, and I am to suffer for it because of all of you! Be gone from my sight, friend, no more do I wish to speak with you!’

“And I tried to calm her, but as if by some unknown power, I couldn’t approach, transfixed where I was. She then left me in my distraught state, and what held me released. I cannot fathom what that was, and it seems even she remains unaware of it. Since then she hasn’t talked, let alone approached me or anyone else for that matter, but it seems now she’s snapped at Nakthaḥm.”

Tūmbṃār sprang out of his bed, and while his figure was still much emaciated, he ran to the other side of the boat. Feyūnhaḥ followed after him, hoping he would come back with her before trouble could come his way.

“You speak of Druzāsh as if he were a murderer!” shouted Iḷēhaḥ. “After all the damage your ilk had caused, do not expect me to believe they were not in the wrong and that Telāhita should not have been killed!”

Nakthaḥm sat on the deck, watching the water pass by. Beside him was Sanyhaḥmān who merely sighed, having grown tired of their behavior.

“It is as I say, maiden,” said Nakthaḥm, now annoyed at Iḷēhaḥ. “Though you and the others have been taught to assume that my forefathers – who had invaded Ārhmanhaḥ – sought destruction above all else, it was anything but that. Ah! these Gods truly do deceive. Ārhmanhaḥ used to be our home before the Ṃārhaḥn we know today came into being. Our forms were grotesque, and the Earth at that time all but inhabitable. The fires of the mountains, the acidic metal of the waters, and the scorching rain of sulfur were all upon us day and night.

“I have not said this before, but shall say it now: the Lower Realms were created after we had been chased from our homes in Ārhmanhaḥ. Ishvhaḥṃār, our Old Progenitor, gave us leave to inhabit the Foremother when we had been cast into the void. He had not intended to populate this world, at least not until you should arise. But he forsook those earlier plans for us, for we are still his children like all the Ṃārhaḥn. When we were at last run out from our second home, then were the Lower Realms fashioned in the southernmost end of this universe, but never did we forget our past homes and our toil.

“Long had we lived on Ārhmanhaḥ when the curse did little to affect us. There were not many of us at that time, and there did not need to be for all was well with what we had, and able were we to withstand the pangs of hunger that struck us for all time. But as the stars fell from the sky and battered the Earth, marring her face, it was not long after that she should bear the first beings that would become you in likeness.

“And after many eons, when they had taken form, the Gods approached them and taught them all they needed. My forefathers then came in contact with you, and it was at that point – when we beheld your form and saw how godlike you had become, yet how fragile you indeed were – that our curse resurged. Our forms were grotesque, but you sought peace with us, and at the time, it should seem our gratitude to you was warranted. As years passed, however, our hunger still did not abate, and every time we looked at you, a madness grew in us that slowly overtook. And at last, the first wars broke out, and we fed on you to sate our appetites. The continent was split between you and us, eventually leading to the story we now know.

“So, why have I told you all this? Because it was these words, this tale of ours that allowed Telāhita to understand our plight, become a savior to us, and willingly became a Yavhaḥṃār though it assured her death at her brother’s hands. That foolish brother of hers should have known better than to be fixated on his rage, but I suppose there are few then and now who can maintain themselves in the face of adversity. Few would do what she did.

“We had killed her family, kidnapped her, brought ruin to her line, and even desired to devour her—and so she had every right to desire our demise, and if so choosing, slay us; think not that she was a damsel, for a great power fired within that could have felled us on that very spot. Indeed, it aided her in the battle against Druzāsh and the myriad forces of the Mānuzhhaḥ and Daivhaḥhō sent against us in the Northern lands. And yet for all the misdeeds sent her way, she forgave us and fought at our side. But for your consolation, know that her one quality that remained steadfast to the end of her days was that she never dined on any of her own kind. Indeed she ate nothing at all.

“Now tell me, what can a regular demon do if they are plagued by that over which they have little control? Who is there to deliver us from such madness? None I say!”

“And the better for it,” said Iḷēhaḥ. “I have no trust for your words or for the stories you relate; besmirch not the names of those who delivered the Ṃārhaḥn! ’Tis not something I take lightly, no less of your kind.”

Nakthaḥm, for the first time, showed a face of displeasure, but he did not turn to Iḷēhaḥ. He continued to look at the waters for a few moments as if to gaze at some melancholy sight before looking to Tūmbṃār with a smile.

“As you should, fair maiden. I shall do well to keep my words from you.”

And the discussion ended, and Iḷēhaḥ went back to her seat at the bow of the boat, ignoring Tūmbṃār. He was quite surprised to hear that story brought back up, and he wondered to himself if there was more to it than the two let on. He could not deny the discrepancies that existed in their accounts; the truth was out there to be found, and knowing now that his teacher had written the Atneṃārhaḥn, perhaps he would one day be tasked in filling the blanks – a wishful thought.

Though aside from that, the confrontation did leave a little hope in reconciliation. Her hair was ragged, and it seemed she had neither a comb on her person nor asked for Feyūnhaḥ’s help. No matter how obstinate she was, or how angry she got, she still held Tūmbṃār in her mind. If she had any notion of making peace, he knew at some point she would open up and see Nakthaḥm as one of them.

The waters swept along gently under the rim of the boat, and the mountains ever so slowly widened their gap. The winds were calm, with no chatter between the group. Three days had passed, and not a single word was spoken between any of them – well, save for Tūmbṃār who gladly talked with anyone he could. But at their current time, only silence was held among them.

Nakthaḥm still looked at the waves, and Sanyhaḥmān cast a net to catch some fish. It did not seem like a good idea, but he had caught fish like that before. Iḷēhaḥ still sat at the bow, silent and still, watching the waves much like Nakthaḥm though she sighed every now and then either out of boredom or sadness – or perhaps both. Vrihkhaḥ for the most part remained asleep in his vessel, though at certain intervals, he would peek his head out to see what was going on. Feyūnhaḥ for the most part stuck to cutting up vegetables and making stew or millet porridge, the latter of which Tūmbṃār greatly disliked.

Though with whatever he ate, he began to recover, and within those days that passed from his waking, he began to look more like his usual self. He wanted to approach Iḷēhaḥ multiple times, but never quite found the right moment to do so. Discerning a person’s emotions was hard work for him and something he had not grown accustomed to since his travel with Iḷēhaḥ in the Cedar Forest. Feyūnhaḥ told him to be patient for now.

The waters then became gentle, and the breeze stopped. And just beyond them, they could see the end of the mountains and a lush valley on either side of them. Shafts of sunlight cut through the clouds and beamed down onto the landscape as if the Heavens were welcoming them to this new domain. Animals roamed not far from their sight, and many of the same type they had seen on the mountains: tigers, elephants, deer, wolves, rhinos, hawks, and eagles. It was strange to see such variety here, especially when they were not hunting each other. Tūmbṃār, on seeing them sent shouts their way, and their respondent cries could be heard in the distance.

“What is the boy saying?” asked Nakthaḥm.

“‘Hey, I saw you on the mountains!’ or something along those lines. The animals are shouting back either yes or no,” said Sanyhaḥmān, despondent over many things. Then he could feel the net sway with action in the waters. “Oh! I think I got a catch – well, more than just a catch; an entire school, it would seem! Keep shouting, Tūmbṃār! We shall have a feast tonight!”

“I don’t want to eat fish!”

“Too bad, Tūmbṃār! I do!” said the monkey-man as he screeched in high spirits. When enough weight was on the net, he flung it out onto the deck with a mass of fish piled onto the floor.

“It should be a very interesting sight to see you converse with a monkey; I hope such a day comes soon,” said Nakthaḥm.

His gloom seemed to have passed and Sanyhaḥmān replied, “If it makes you just a little more lively, then I’ll seek out the nearest one!”

The stars shined brightly that night, clear was the sky, and the smell of fish was in the air. They set up camp on the valley, and Vrihkhaḥ sat beside them watching the fire. Feyūnhaḥ and Nakthaḥm sparred with Tūmbṃār while Sanyhaḥmān greatly ate his fill of the fish with some Svyamhaḥ in hand, and the maiden ate her fish in a sullen mood. Many times, Vrihkhaḥ tried to nudge her, but she would not respond. Her eyes were also fixed on the fire, but it was as if she saw something different in it. Something that brought her great sadness. She would periodically shift her eyes toward Tūmbṃār but did not move her face.

They shot fire, air, water, and a host of other elements in a furious display. Tūmbṃār issued them from his blade with great intensity as if to slice the air, but the princess and demon evaded his attacks with grace and would every time best him. Tūmbṃār did not much like training: neither with Vādruhaḥ, nor Athruyam, nor anyone else for that matter. But he persevered nonetheless, for if there was one thing he learned, it was that one does not acquire greater skills or abilities lazing about.

“You are too hasty in issuing your attacks,” said Nakthaḥm as he grabbed his hand. “You must control them to a point, then release; it might have served you well to have done as you did in previous battles, but without this, you will face greater difficulty in your challenges ahead. Not to mention the lack of grace in your movements, which are much too erratic.”

“The Dvı̄sahlvah you carry will greatly aid you in that,” said Feyūnhaḥ. “All you need is to focus yourself on it and then release your attacks in a directed stream.”

“But I can already control the elements to some extent! Don’t you remember when I made that vortex at Athruyam’s party?”

“Yes, I quite remember, and it was very amusing. But I could see even through my drunkenness that you were streaming more air than you should have, and it was barely managed by what little control of space you had. If not for the time limit that your teacher imposed on us, we would’ve certainly trained you for at least another six months, but perhaps Nakthaḥm here would have grown even more bored and terrifying if we waited long.”

“I would like to think that I have better resolve,” he said with a smile, “but you would be right that I would have very much felt bored. Ah! How painful life can be sometimes. To sit in one area and do naught for a time. Quite the glorious mission the Lord of the Hells dispatched to me.”

The boy sighed and loosened his arm. Nakthaḥm let go of his hand, and he fell backward into the grass and looked to the mass of stars receding into the horizon.

“I’ve tried many times, but just can’t seem to focus. Not just here but anytime I want to release the elements. It’s as if I feel a rush of energy that wants to release all at once. I find it much too hard to contain it.”

Feyūnhaḥ sat beside him, looking up as he did, “Well, you won’t get better without consistent practice. Why else did I tell you and Iḷēhaḥ to encase your feet in air? You can’t stay fearful of mistakes forever.”

He sighed once more and pushed himself upright. “All right, let’s do it once more.”