The wolves stood aghast in the upper world, near the crown of the great pine that bound both realms together. Yamozha appeared before them—alongside the beavers and the members of Orniskem. To the wolves, it was nothing short of an apocalyptic vision.

  Uncertain, they began to howl, summoning battle. Yet Menrva swiftly placed herself between the two factions and cried out for silence.

  “We were sent to seek Yamozha,” the Etruscan goddess declared. “We have brought your lord.”

  An uneasy stillness fell.

  The gray wolf, EbedahoLtihe, stepped forward and regarded her with defiance.

  “Yamozha died centuries past,” he said coldly. “We merely wished you gone from our realm.”

  “Yet I am not deceased,” boomed Yamozha. “I but succumbed unto slumber in the lower world.”

  “Yes, of course,” Epona muttered dryly. “As though that excuse were to be believed.”

  “Well, why didn't you say so before?” the wolf replied, baring what resembled a grin. The other wolves burst into laughter.

  “Once more, you granted too much credit to wolves,” Anpiel murmured to Epona.

  The wolves began to dance, and the beavers whirled joyfully about Yamozha, whose booming laughter filled the air. His delight spread like warmth among them. Orniskem could only watch in astonishment.

  “I recall this realm once teemed with maidens and noble beasts for the hunt,” Yamozha said merrily. “Where hath all that gone?”

  “We were fashioned by Grandmother herself,” EbedahoLtihe answered, “to guard this place after her passing.”

  “And we never relinquished hope of your return,” came a voice from afar.

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  All turned.

  An ancient woman approached—withered and frail. She was wrapped in wolf pelts and held a drum in her right hand. Her face was painted in red and black. Beneath her mantle she wore a moose-skin shirt and a vibrant skirt. She rode upon a bear. Beside her stood two women of brown skin and long dark hair, clad in garments akin to hers.

  They halted near the towering god.

  The elder dismounted and floated gently upward toward Yamozha.

  “Thou mayest not know me,” she said, “but I am Ts’akwi, granddaughter of Setsune. She was but a child when thou vanished from our world.”

  “I recall that maiden well,” Yamozha replied warmly. “She was joyful and kind.”

  “I never lost faith that thou wouldst return, my lord,” Ts’akwi said, tears of joy falling from her aged eyes. “Even thy presence alone hath ended the war that endured so long.”

  The women beside her gazed in jubilation upon the colossal being they had known only from legend.

  “Good elder,” Yamozha continued, “these youths awakened me from my slumber. They seek passage from our sphere. Wilt thou aid them?”

  “Gladly,” Ts’akwi answered, turning toward Rodrigo and the others.

  “Return swiftly, and we shall hold another feast!” Yamozha roared.

  “We shall!” Menrva called back with a radiant smile.

  “And should ye require my strength—against the man thou spakest of, or any misfortune—know that this realm shall stand in everlasting debt. Summon me, and I shall answer!”

  Orniskem nodded, smiling.

  “Do not worry, Yamozha,” Menrva replied gently. “If we require your aid, we shall call.”

  They bid farewell to the great giant and followed the women across the vast kingdom.

  Beyond a great lake, far from the island where the tree’s summit joined the worlds, rose immense mountains. Tipi dwellings dotted the landscape.

  One detail struck Rodrigo and the others with particular interest: the realm was inhabited solely by women—along with bears and wolves. Thus had Yamozha mistaken Loki for a maiden earlier.

  Upon the highest mountain stood a great white tipi, larger than any they had seen—similar to the one within the labyrinth. Red markings adorned its surface.

  “That lodge is the exit of Denendeh,” one of the women explained. “Pass through it, and ye shall reach Taltheilei—the human world of the Dene.”

  “I hope this truly is the way out,” Rodrigo said nervously.

  “Come now, Rui—do not be so suspicious,” Ana replied lightly.

  Tania stepped through first.

  Upon emerging, she found a landscape akin to the lower Denendeh—but she felt at once the crushing pressure of the human realm, diminishing her power.

  One by one they followed: Epona, Ana, Loki, Anpiel, Rodrigo, Susanoo, and finally Menrva.

  They stood once more before a tipi identical to the one they had left behind.

  “This must be Taltheilei—the world of the humans who worship these gods,” Anpiel observed.

  “How do you manage to memorize such strange names?” Epona asked the angel, who answered only with a faint chuckle.

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