Lord of Light (22 page)

"I report!" he cried. "We have destroyed the trail twice. Each time, the Lord of Flames has burnt a new one!"

"Then naught more can be done! Stay with us now! We need your assistance in another matter."

It sped on ahead of them, a crimson wedge lighting their way.

They rounded the well and raced up the tunnel. When they reached its end, they hurled the door wide and stepped out onto the ledge. The Rakasha who had led the way slammed the door behind them, saying, "They pursue!"

Sam stepped over the ledge. As he fell, the door glowed for an instant, then melted above him.

With the help of the second Rakasha, they descended the entire distance to the base of Channa and moved up a trail and around a bend. The foot of a mountain now shielded them from the gods. But this rock was lashed with flame in an instant.

The second Rakasha shot high into the air, wheeled and vanished.

They ran along the trail, heading toward the valley that held the chariot. By the time they reached it, the Rakasha had returned.

"Kali and Yama and Agni descend," he stated. "Shiva stays behind, holding the corridor. Agni leads the pursuit. The One in Red helps the goddess, who is limping."

Before them, in the valley, lay the thunder chariot. Slim and unadorned, the color of bronze, though it was not bronze, it stood upon a wide, grassy plain. It looked like a fallen prayer tower or a giant's house key or some necessary part of a celestial instrument of music that had slipped free of a starry constellation and dropped to the ground. It seemed to be somehow incomplete, although the eye could not fault its lines. It held that special beauty that belongs to the highest orders of weapons, requiring function to make it complete.

Sam moved to its side, found the hatch, entered. .p>

"You can operate this chariot. Binder?" asked Taraka. "Make it race through the heavens, spitting destruction across the land?"

"I'm sure Yama would keep the controls as simple as possible. He streamlines whenever he can. I've flown the jets of Heaven before, and I'm banking that this is of the same order."

He ducked into the cabin, settled into the control seat and stared at the panel before him.

"Damn!" he announced, his hand starting forward and twitching back.

The other Rakasha appeared suddenly, passing through the metal wall of the ship and hovering above the console.

"The gods move rapidly," he announced. "Particularly Agni."

Sam snapped a series of switches and pressed a button. Lights came on all over the instrument panel and a humming sound began within it.

"How far is he?" asked Taraka.

"Almost halfway down. He widened the trail with his flames. He runs upon it now, as if it were a roadway. He burn obstacles. He makes a clear path."

Sam drew back on a lever and adjusted a dial, reading the indicators before him. A shudder ran through the ship.

"Are you ready?" asked Taraka.

"I can't take off cold. It has to warm up. Also, this instrument board is trickier than I'd thought."

"We run a close race."

"Yes."

From the distance, there came the sounds of several explosions rising above the growing growl of the chariot. Sam pulled the lever forward another notch, readjusted the dial.

"I go to slow them," said the Rakasha, and vanished as he had come.

Sam drew the lever two notches farther, and somewhere something sputtered and died. The ship stood silent once more.

He pushed the lever back into its former position, spun the dial, pushed the button again.

And again a shudder ran through the chariot, and somewhere a purring began. Sam drew the lever one notch forward, adjusted the dial.

After a moment, he repeated it, and the purr became a soft growl

"Gone," said Taraka. "Dead."

"Who? What?"

"The one who went to stop the Lord of Flames. He failed."

There were more explosions.

"Hellwell is being destroyed," said Taraka.

Perspiration upon his brow, Sam waited with his hand on the lever.

"He comes now—Agni!"

Sam looked through the long, slanted shield plate.

The Lord of Flames came into the valley.

"Good-bye, Siddhartha."

"Not yet," said Sam.

Agni looked at the chariot, raised his wand.

Nothing happened.

He stood, pointing the wand; and then he lowered it, shook it.

He raised it once more.

Again, no flame issued forth.

He reached behind his neck with his left hand, performed some adjustment upon his pack. As he did this, light streamed from the wand, burning a huge pit in the ground at his side.

He pointed the wand again.

Nothing.

Then he began running toward the ship.

"Electrodirection?" asked Taraka.

"Yes."

Sam drew back upon the lever, adjusted the dial farther. A huge roaring grew about him. He pressed another button and there came a crackling sound from the rear of the vessel. He moved another dial as Agni reached the hatch.

There was a flash of flame and a metallic clanging.

He rose from his seat and moved out of the cabin and into the corridor.

Agni had entered, and he pointed the wand.

"Do not move—Sam! Demon!" he cried, above the roar of the engines; and as he spoke, his lenses clicked red and he smiled. "Demon," he stated. "Do not move, or you and your host will burn together!"

Sam sprang upon him. Agni fell easily when he struck, for he had not believed that the other would reach him.

"Short circuit, eh?" said Sam, and hit him across the throat.

"Or sunspots?" and he struck him in the temple.

Agni fell to his side, and Sam hit him a final blow with the edge of his hand, just above the collarbone.

He kicked the wand the length of the corridor, and as he moved to close the hatch he knew that it was too late.

"Go now, Taraka," he said. "This is my fight from here on. You can do nothing more."

"I promised my assistance."

"You have none to give, now. Get out while still you can."

"If such is your will. But I have a final thing to say to you — "

"Save it! Next time I'm in the neighborhood—"

"Binder, it is this thing I learned of you—I am sorry. I - "

There was a terrible twisting, wrenching sensation within his body and mind, as the death-gaze of Yama fell upon him and struck deeper than his own being.

Kali, too, looked into his eyes; and as she did so, she raised her screaming scepter.

It was as the lifting of one shadow and the falling of another.

"Good-bye, Binder," came the words within his mind.

Then the skull began its screaming.

He felt himself falling.

There was a throbbing.

It was within his head. It was all about him.

He was awakened by throbbing, and he felt himself covered with aches, as with bandages.

There were chains upon his wrists and his ankles.

He was half seated on the floor of a small compartment. Beside the doorway sat the One in Red, smoking.

Yama nodded, said nothing.

"Why am I alive?" Sam asked him.

"You live for purposes of keeping an appointment made many years ago in Mahartha," said Yama. "Brahma is particularly anxious to see you once again."

"But I am not especially anxious to see Brahma."

"Over the years, that has become somewhat apparent."

"I see you got out of the mud all right."

The other smiled. "You are a nasty man," he said.

"I know. I practice."

"I gather your business deal fell through?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Perhaps you can try recouping your losses. We're halfway to Heaven."

"Think I'd have a chance?"

"You just might. Times change. Brahma could be a merciful god this week."

"My occupational therapist told me to specialize in lost causes."

Yama shrugged.

"What of the demon?" Sam asked. "The one who was with me?"

"I touched it," said Yama, "hard. I don't know whether I finished it or just drove it away. But you needn't worry about it again. I doused you with demon repellant. If the creature still lives, it will be a long time before it recovers from our contact. Maybe never. How did it happen in the first place? I thought you were the one man immune to demonic possession."

"So did I. What's demon repellant?"

"I found a chemical agent, harmless to us, which none of the energy beings can stand."

"Handy item. Could've used it in the days of the binding."

"Yes. We wore it into Hellwell."

"That was quite a battle, from what I saw of it."

"Yes," said Yama. "What is it like—demonic possession? What does it feel like to have another will overriding your own?"

"It is strange," said Sam, "and frightening, and rather educating at the same time."

"In what ways?"

"It was their world first," said Sam. "We took it away from them. Why shouldn't they be everything we hate them for being? To them, we are the demons."

"But what does it feel like?"

"To have one's will overridden by that of another?

You should know."

Yama's smile vanished, then returned. "You would like me to strike you, wouldn't you, Buddha? It would make you feel superior. Unfortunately, I'm a sadist and will not do it."

Sam laughed.

"
Touché
, Death," he said.

They sat in silence for a time.

"Can you spare me a cigarette?"

Yama passed him one, lit it.

"What's First Base like these days?"

"You'll hardly recognize the place," said Yama. "If everyone in it were to die at this moment, it would still be perfect ten thousand years from now. The flowers would still bloom and the music would play and the fountains would ripple the length of the spectrum. Warm meals would still be laid within the garden pavilions. The City itself is immortal."

"A fitting abode, I suppose, for those who call themselves gods."

"Call themselves?" asked Yama. "You are wrong, Sam, Godhood is more than a name. It is a condition of being. One does not achieve it merely by being immortal, for even the lowliest laborer in the fields may achieve continuity of existence. Is it then the conditioning of an Aspect? No. Any competent hypnotist can play games with the self-image. Is it the raising up of an Attribute? Of course not. I can design machines more powerful and more accurate than any faculty a man may cultivate. Being a god is the quality of being able to be yourself to such an extent that your passions correspond with the forces of the universe, so that those who look upon you know this without hearing your name spoken. Some ancient poet said that the world is full of echoes and correspondences. Another wrote a long poem of an inferno, wherein each man suffered a torture which coincided in nature with those forces which had ruled his life. Being a god is being able to recognize within one's self these things that are important, and then to strike the single note that brings them into alignment with everything else that exists. Then, beyond morals or logic or esthetics, one is wind or fire, the sea, the mountains, rain, the sun or the stars, the flight of an arrow, the end of a day, the clasp of love. One rules through one's ruling passions. Those who look upon gods then say, without even knowing their names, 'He is Fire. She is Dance. He is Destruction. She is Love.' So, to reply to your statement, they do not call themselves gods. Everyone else does, though, everyone who beholds them."

"So they play that on their fascist banjos, eh?"

"You choose the wrong adjective."

"You've already used up all the others."

"It appears that our minds will never meet on this subject."

"If someone asks you why you're oppressing a world and you reply with a lot of poetic crap, no. I guess there can't be a meeting of minds."

"Then let us choose another subject for conversation."

"I do look upon you, though, and say, 'He is Death.'"

Yama did not reply.

"Odd ruling passion. I've heard that you were old before you were young . . ."

"You know that is true."

"You were a mechanical prodigy and a weapons master. You lost your boyhood in a burst of flame, and you became an old man that same day. Did death become your ruling passion in that moment? Or was it earlier? Or later?"

"It does not matter," said Yama.

"Do you serve the gods because you believe what you have said to me—or because you hate the larger portion of humanity?"

"I did not lie to you."

"Then Death is an idealist. Amusing."

"Not so."

"Or could it be. Lord Yama, that neither guess is correct? That your ruling passion—"

"You've mentioned her name before," said Yama, "in the same speech wherein you likened her to a disease. You were wrong then and you are still wrong. I do not care to hear that sermon over again, and since I am not at the moment sinking in quicksand, I will not."

"Peace," said Sam. "But tell me, do the ruling passions of the gods ever change?"

Yama smiled. "The goddess of dance was once the god of war. So it would seem that anything can change."

"When I have died the real death," said Sam, "then will I be changed. But until that moment I will hate Heaven with every breath that I draw. If Brahma has me burnt, I will spit into the flames. If he has me strangled, I will attempt to bite the executioner's hand. If my throat is cut, may my blood rust the blade that does it. Is that a ruling passion?"

"You are good god material," said Yama.

"Good god!" said Sam.

"Before whatever may happen happens," said Yama, "I have been assured that you will be permitted to attend the wedding."

"Wedding? You and Kali? Soon?"

"At the full of the lesser moon," Yama replied. "So, whatever Brahma decides, at least I can buy you a drink before it occurs."

"For that I thank you, deathgod. But it has always been my understanding that weddings are not made in Heaven."

"That tradition is about to be broken," said Yama. "No tradition is sacred."

"Then good luck," said Sam.