THE steps to the palace seemed as long as the ones in Trdsyḷūr, though a relief it was to know that they did not curve in their ascent. On either side of the steps were lined guards of scaled mail and metal skirts, and helmets of spiral tips, bearing spears within their hands.

They seemed to wait for the group that stood at the base of the steps as their glances shifted toward them every few moments. The group was discussing among one another, and as Iḷēhaḥ and her temporary retinue neared closer, she could see the faces of her companions come into view: Nakthaḥm, Aiṛth, Feyūnhaḥ, and Tūmbṃār.

Her steps hastened as she ascended the stone path, and the servants seemed unable to keep pace with her as if being repelled by an unknown force. Tūmbṃār shifted his gaze to the side and could see Iḷēhaḥ. His face beamed with joy as Iḷēhaḥ reached near.

He held his arms out with a large grin, but just as he was about to shout her name and grab her in his embrace, a searing pain swept his cheek and he clutched it tight.

He was struck with a hard slap, and he cried, “Ey! What did you do that for?”

Suddenly, he was caught in an embrace as tears flowed onto his shoulder and back.

“What madness could have possessed you to put your life at such risk?” cried Iḷēhaḥ.

It was then no wonder to the servants why she seemed anxious and lost in thought. Her frustration, sorrow, and rage released all at once there.

“Do you not once think about yourself? So far had I gone to run away from all this, and yet you still persisted in chasing after me? Why? When I would not speak, not once did it seem that hate or malice entered you; why? When the King was to fell the priestess, you pushed her away without a second thought, and took the strike almost costing you your life. Even after all the things that Demon had told you, why? Why do you seek to do all that should be beyond you? Why is it you will not put yourself first?”

“What is it with you guys and crying over me? I’m not dying anytime soon!” he said with a sigh. The others could not help but laugh over this.

“Well, I must say even I was worried, though just a little proud I am that I have not bawled my eyes like the others here,” said Nakthaḥm as he looked to Iḷēhaḥ with a grin.

She shot him a glare, and he turned his head away, hoping she would not crush his heart in the heat of anger.

Tūmbṃār then composed himself, and said, “Those are a lot questions but I’ll say this: had I only cared for myself, I don’t think I’d have as many friends as I do now.”

Iḷēhaḥ loosened her arms and looked him in the face. She could see the gentle expression he held.

“Will you not promise me to not put your life at risk?”

He shook his head. “I can’t promise something that I know I can’t keep. And were I to do as all you’ve said, regardless of it being right or wrong, I’m not sure this journey would be of much worth. I left because I wanted to see the world, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to see it alone or at the expense of others. Many friends and companions I wanted to make and many I did: you the maiden Iḷēhaḥ; the wolf Vrihkhaḥ; the princess Feyūnhaḥ; the Lord Athruyam; the Demon Nakthaḥm; the monkey Sanyhaḥmān—though I don’t think he’d like me calling him that—the soon to be lady Jūtihiḥ; perhaps he would be a little worried about this, but the high priest Furutham; and the priestess Aiṛth! And I’m sure to make even more!

“But I’ll promise to do my best to not worry you further. Also, it doesn’t matter to me what you are or what you did Iḷēhaḥ. You’ve already done so much for me, and for that, and much more, I’ll love you as I always have for all my life!”

He blushed in embarrassment, realizing what his last words were, and covered his mouth and averted his gaze.

Iḷēhaḥ then understood that this journey was not all for naught, if for no other reason than meeting the child who stayed by her and followed her all this time when not even the Gods would. She could not help but then smile in joy as her tears still flowed across her cheeks.

“And always shall I love you!” Giving just one more tight embrace, she cried: Haḥsvyan! Haḥsvyan, Tūmbṃār!

“Where are Vrihkhaḥ and Sanyhaḥmān?” asked Iḷēhaḥ as she cleaned her face.

“They’re at the public baths toward the south of the upper level,” said Feyūnhaḥ as she pointed up. “The water there is quite pleasant due to heat from the magma. But they couldn’t journey any deeper on account of that same heat being much too unbearable. Most likely because of their coats.”

And the maiden, for the first time in a long while, laughed. She imagined them sweating in a pool, cooling themselves as they were being heated.

Aiṛth then spoke, bowing to her, “Salutations, Goddess! I have yet to name myself to you. I am Aiṛthyavā, but most of my associates and relations call me Aiṛth—address me as you wish. I know not how I should present myself to you, seeing as your friends seem to not treat you any differently knowing what you are now. However, I am not sure I can do as such given my position, for ever am I a humble servant to the cause of the Dehaḥṃār.”

Iḷēhaḥ seemed a little sad over those words. She held onto Aiṛth’s shoulders and said, “You need not see me as any different from your fellow Ṃārhaḥn. Though I may be a goddess in title, my circumstances are still special, but ’tis not something I shall relate now or any time soon. So all I shall say is, see me as a friend and not a benefactor or preceptor, for I tell you I am not so different from the rest of you.”

Aiṛth was more than happy at Iḷēhaḥ’s words, glad that what Sanyhaḥmān’s said held true.

Iḷēhaḥ turned to the others, and said, “What matters have been attended to here? Speak of what happened as I was asleep.”

They related that they had all been brought to the beds when they were unconscious and awoke only some hours ago. There had been a guardian, as it was called, that had brought them here and subsequently piqued the King’s interest. Their intention was to meet him upon having been summoned. They already had in mind to secure his aid. Luckily, they did not have to wait to seek his permission, for he bid them to come as soon as possible. He was eager to speak with them.

“Let me negotiate with him,” said Iḷēhaḥ, “for I am sure he will assent to our aid were he to know who I am. I do not imagine him to refuse if I give proof as to my identity and what we come bearing in our quest.”

“No! No more should you show yourself as such!” said Feyūnhaḥ, distressed. “Already you’ve suffered much in relation to that, and who knows what more shall happen should you invoke such power.” Calming herself, she continued, “But regardless, why should he refuse? I expected the other Daivhaḥhō to be willing to help us without complaint. I should think bearing the Dvhaḥṣhtro alone is enough to convince them.”

“You shouldn’t show yourself as a goddess Iḷēhaḥ,” said Tūmbṃār; “I’ve heard from the others what happened. I don’t want you to go through that again, so you shouldn’t show it! I think it’ll only hurt you later. I don’t know much about the going-ons of the Daivhaḥhō, but even I thought they would be like Athruyam and have no problems helping us, although I guess my teacher had some part to play in getting Athruyam’s help.”

“Relax friends, I did not mean to show my form but to present the light of this crystal atop my forehead,” she said, pointing to it. “It was given by the Dehaḥṃār to Levāñyhaḥ when she at last was to meet in battle the evil kings of her time. She gave it in keeping to the wolves of the north—of whom I no doubt know you spoke to—before cursing them for their part in that war, if it could even be called as such.”

She sighed. “Fifty million combatants against a lone woman of whose wrath they all succumbed to in pathetic display and thereafter were burned in the Vai-fiyukthi, that great sacrificial altar, much to the terror of the Gods. But I am rather surprised.”

She turned to Aiṛth, and asked, “Do you know of the history of the Gazhigam, Aiṛth?”

She shook her head and hung it in shame. “I am afraid that the Servants of the Gods in the domains of the Mānuzhhaḥ have little knowledge of the other Daivhaḥhō, save for what can be gleamed from the pages of the Atneṃārhaḥn. But I presume that the priests and priestesses here would know of what you speak, although no sign of a Fiyukthi or temple I have seen here as yet; perhaps they are to be found elsewhere in this realm.”

Iḷēhaḥ turned to Nakthaḥm with a solemn face, and asked, “Do you at least know of what it is I speak, demon?”

He pondered the question, and said, “Unfortunately, I am only knowledgeable about matters relating to the very distant past, maiden. I know little before, for I spent most of my life in the lower worlds unaware of much of the matters concerning Ārhmanhaḥ save for what I too could recollect from that divine composition.”

“I had thought the memory of such events would have passed unto later generations, but it would seem that history is lost,” said Iḷēhaḥ, as she shook her head in disappointment. “The reason concerning my words is a long story and ’tis something I would much rather not speak here: the seeds of anger have not wholly left the Gazhigam. We should indeed speak to the King first! I should hope that my concerns are of little merit.”

The group agreed, seeing they should tarry no longer now that Iḷēhaḥ had come to, and together they ascended the steps to the palace.

The guards bowed and cried, “Friends! May good betide you! The King awaits.”