Then Mung went down into a waste of Afrik, and came upon the drought Umbool as he sat in the desert upon iron rocks, clawing with miserly grasp at the bones of men and breathing hot.
And Mung stood before him as his dry sides heaved, and ever as they sank his hot breath blasted dry sticks and bones.
Then Mung said: “Friend of Mung! Go, thou and grin before the faces of Eimēs, Zānēs, and Segástrion till they see whether it be wise to rebel against the gods of Pegāna.”
And Umbool answered: “I am the beast of Mung.”
And Umbool came and crouched upon a hill upon the other side of the waters and grinned across them at the rebellious home gods.
And whenever Eimēs, Zānēs, and Segástrion stretched out their hands over their rivers they saw before their faces the grinning of Umbool; and because the grinning was like death in a hot and hideous land therefore they turned away and spread their hands no more over their rivers, and the waters sank and sank.
But when Umbool had grinned for thirty days the waters fell back into the river beds and the lords of the rivers slunk away back again to their homes: still Umbool sat and grinned.
Then Eimēs sought to hide himself in a great pool beneath a rock, and Zānēs crept into the middle of a wood, and Segástrion lay and panted on the sand—still Umbool sat and grinned.
And Eimēs grew lean, and was forgotten, so that the men of the plain would say: “Here once was Eimēs”; and Zānēs scarce had strength to lead his river to the sea; and as Segástrion lay and panted a man stepped over his stream, and Segástrion said: “It is the foot of a man that has passed across my neck, and I have sought to be greater than the gods of Pegāna.”
Then said the gods of Pegāna: “It is enough. We are the gods of Pegāna, and none are equal.”
Then Mung sent Umbool back to his waste in Afrik to breathe again upon the rocks, and parch the desert, and to sear the memory of Afrik into the brains of all who ever bring their bones away.
And Eimēs, Zānēs, and Segástrion sang again, and walked once more in their accustomed haunts, and played the game of Life and Death with fishes and frogs, but never essayed to play it any more with men, as do the gods of Pegāna.
Of Dorozhand
(Whose Eyes Regard the End)
Sitting above the lives of the people, and looking, doth Dorozhand see that which is to be.
The god of Destiny is Dorozhand. Upon whom have looked the eyes of Dorozhand he goeth forward to an end that naught may stay; he becometh the arrow from the bow of Dorozhand hurled forward at a mark he may not see—to the goal of Dorozhand. Beyond the thinking of men, beyond the sight of all the other gods, regard the eyes of Dorozhand.
He hath chosen his slaves. And them doth the destiny god drive onward where he will, who, knowing not whither nor even knowing why, feel only his scourge behind them or hear his cry before.
There is something that Dorozhand would fain achieve, and, therefore, hath he set the people striving, with none to cease or rest in all the worlds. But the gods of Pegāna, speaking to the gods, say: “What is it that Dorozhand would fain achieve?”
It hath been written and said that not only the destinies of men are the care of Dorozhand but that even the gods of Pegāna be not unconcerned by his will.
All the gods of Pegāna have felt a fear, for they have seen a look in the eyes of Dorozhand that regardeth beyond the gods.
The reason and purpose of the Worlds is that there should be Life upon the Worlds, and Life is the instrument of Dorozhand wherewith he would achieve his end.
Therefore the Worlds go on, and the rivers run to the sea, and Life ariseth and flieth even in all the Worlds, and the gods of Pegāna do the work of the gods—and all for Dorozhand. But when the end of Dorozhand hath been achieved there will be need no longer of Life upon the Worlds, nor any more a game for the small gods to play. Then will Kib tiptoe gently across Pegāna to the resting-place in Highest Pegāna of Māna-Yood-Sushāī, and touching reverently his hand, the hand that wrought the gods, say: “Māna-Yood-Sushāī, thou hast rested long.”
And Māna-Yood-Sushāī shall say: “Not so; for I have rested for but fifty aeons of the gods, each of them scarce more than ten million mortal years of the Worlds that ye have made.”
And then shall the gods be afraid when they find that Māna knoweth that they have made Worlds while he rested. And they shall answer: “Nay; but the Worlds came all of themselves.”
Then Māna-Yood-Sushāī, as one who would have done with an irksome matter, will lightly wave his hand—the hand that wrought the gods—and there shall be gods no more.
When there shall be three moons towards the north above the Star of the Abiding, three moons that neither wax nor wane but regard towards the North.
Or when the comet ceaseth from his seeking and stands still, not any longer moving among the Worlds but tarrying as one who rests after the end of search, then shall arise from resting, because it is the end, the Greater One, who rested of old time, even Māna-Yood-Sushāī.
Then shall the Times that were be Times no more; and it may be that the old, dead days shall return from beyond the Rim, and we who have wept for them shall see those days again, as one who, returning from long travel to his home, comes suddenly on dear, remembered things.
For none shall know of Māna who hath rested for so long, whether he be a harsh or merciful god. It may be that he shall have mercy,
