Lord of Light (26 page)

Helba was the god/goddess of thieves.

No one knew Helba's true sex, for Helba's was the habit of alternating gender with each incarnation.

Sam looked upon a lithe, dark-skinned woman who wore a yellow sari and yellow veil. Her sandals and nails were the color of cinnamon, and she wore a tiara that was golden upon her black hair.

"You have," said Helba, in a voice soft and purring, "my sympathy. It is only during those seasons of life when I incarnate as a man, Sam, that I wield my Attribute and engage in actual plunder."

"You must be able to take on your Aspect now."

"Of course."

"And raise up your Attribute?"

"Probably."

"But you will not?"

"Not while I wear the form of woman. As a man, I will undertake to steal anything from anywhere. . .. See there, upon the far wall, where some of my trophies are hung? The great blue-feather cloak belonged to Srit, Chief among the Kataputna demons. I stole it from out his cave as his hellhounds slept, drugged by myself. The shape-changing jewel I took from the very Dome of the Glow, climbing with suction discs upon my wrists and knees and toes, as the Mothers beneath me—"

"Enough!" said Sam. "I know all of these tales, Helba, for you tell them constantly. It has been so long since you have undertaken a daring theft, as of old, that I suppose these glories long past must be oft repeated. Else, even the Elder Gods would forget what once you were. I can see that I have come to the wrong place, and I shall try elsewhere."

He stood, as to go.

"Wait," said Helba, stirring.

Sam paused. "Yes?"

"You could at least tell me of the theft you are contemplating. Perhaps I can offer advice—"

"What good would even your greatest advice be, Monarch of Thieves? I do not need words. I need actions."

"Perhaps, even . . . tell me!"

"All right," said Sam, "though I doubt you would be interested in a task this difficult—"

"You can skip over the child psychology and tell me what it is you want stolen."

"In the Museum of Heaven, which is a well-built and continuously guarded installation—"

"And one that is always open. Go on."

"In this building, within a computer-protected guard case — "

"These can be beaten, by one of sufficient skill."

"Within this case, upon a manikin, is hung a gray, scaled uniform. Many weapons lie about it."

"Whose?"

"This was the ancient habit of he who fought in the northern marches in the days of the wars against the demons."

"Was this not yourself?"

Sam tipped his smile forward and continued:

"Unknown to most, as a part of this display there is an item which was once known as the Talisman of the Binder. It may have lost all its virtue by now, but, on the other hand, it is possible that it has not. It served as a focus for the Binder's special Attribute, and he finds that he needs it once again."

"Which is the item you want stolen?"

"The great wide belt of shells which is clasped about the waist of the costume. It is pink and yellow in color. It is also full of micro-miniature circuitry, which could probably not be duplicated today."

"That is not so great a theft. I just might consider it in this form—"

"I would need it in a hurry, or not at all."

"How soon?"

"Within six days, I fear."

"What would you be willing to pay me to deliver it into your hands?"

"I would be willing to pay you anything, if I had anything."

"Oh. You came to Heaven without a fortune?"

"Yes."

"Unfortunate."

"If I make good my escape, you can name your price."

"And if you do not, I receive nothing."

"It appears that way."

"Let me ponder. It may amuse me to do this thing and have you owe me the favor."

"Pray, do not ponder overlong."

"Come sit by me. Binder of Demons, and tell me of the days of your glory—when you, with the immortal goddess, rode abroad in the world, scattering chaos like seed."

"It was long ago," said Sam.

"Might those days come again if you win free?"

"They may."

"That is good to know. Yes . . ."

"You will do this thing?" "Hail, Siddhartha! Unbinder!"

"Hail?"

"And lightning and thunder. May they come again!"

"It is good."

"Now tell me of the days of your glory, and I will speak again of mine."

"Very well."

Dashing through the forest, clad in a leather belt, Lord Krishna pursued the Lady Ratri, who had declined to couple with him after the rehearsal dinner. The day was clear and fragrant, but not half so fragrant as the midnight-blue sari he clutched in his left hand. She ran on ahead of him, beneath the trees; and he followed, losing sight of her for a moment as she turned up a side trail that led out into the open.

When he glimpsed her again, she stood upon a hillock, her bare arms upraised above her head, her fingertips touching. Her eyes were half closed, and her only garment, a long black veil, stirred about her white and gleaming form.

He realized then that she had taken on her Aspect, and might be about to wield an Attribute.

Panting, he raced up the hillside toward her; and she opened her eyes and smiled down upon him, lowering her arms.

As he reached for her, she swirled her veil in his face and he heard her laugh—somewhere within the immense night that covered him over.

It was black and starless and moonless, without a glint, shimmer, spark or glow from anywhere. It was a nighttime akin to blindness that had fallen upon him.

He snorted, and the sari was torn from his fingers. He halted, shaking, and he heard her laughter ringing about him.

"You have presumed too much. Lord Krishna," she told him, "and offended against the sanctity of Night. For this, I shall punish you by leaving this darkness upon Heaven for a time."

"I am not afraid of the dark, goddess," he replied, chuckling.

"Then your brains are indeed in your gonads. Lord, as hath often been said before—to stand lost and blinded in the midst of Kaniburrha, whose denizens need not to strike—and not to be afraid—I think this somewhat foolhardy. Good-bye, Dark One. Perhaps I'll see you at the wedding."

"Wait, lovely lady! Will you accept my apology?"

"Certainly, for I deserve it."

"Then lift this night you have laid upon this place."

"Another time, Krishna—when I am ready."

"But what shall I do until then?"

"It is said, sir, that by your piping you can charm the most fearsome of beasts. I suggest that if this be true you take up your pipes at this moment and begin your most soothing melody, until such a time as I see fit to let the light of day enter again into Heaven."

"Lady, you are cruel," said Krishna.

"Such is life. Lord of the Pipes," and she departed.

He began to play, thinking dark thoughts.

They came. Out of the sky, riding on the polar winds, across the seas and the land, over the burning snow, and under it and through it, they came. The shape-shifters drifted across the fields of white, and the sky-walkers fell down like leaves; trumpets sounded over the wastes, and the chariots of the snows thundered forward, light leaping like spears from their burnished sides; cloaks of fur afire, white plumes of massively breathed air trailing above and behind them, golden-gauntleted and sun-eyed, clanking and skidding, rushing and whirling, they came, in bright baldric, wer-mask, fire-scarf, devil-shoe, frost-greaves and power-helm, they came; and across the world that lay at their back, there was rejoicing in the Temples, with much singing and the making of offerings, and processions and prayers, sacrifices and dispensations, pageantry and color. For the much-feared goddess was to be wed with Death, and it was hoped that this would serve to soften both their dispositions. A festive spirit had also infected Heaven, and with the gathering of the gods and the demigods, the heroes and the nobles, the high priests and the favored rajahs and high-ranking Brahmins, this spirit obtained force and momentum and spun like an all-colored whirlwind, thundering in the heads of the First and latest alike.

So they came into the Celestial City, riding on the backs of the cousins of the Garuda Bird, spinning down in sky gondolas, rising up through arteries of the mountains, blazing across the snow-soaked, ice-tracked wastes, to make Milehigh Spire to ring with their song, to laugh through a spell of brief and inexplicable darkness that descended and dispersed again, shortly; and in the days and nights of their coming, it was said by the poet Adasay that they resembled at least six different things (he was always lavish with his similes): a migration of birds, bright birds, across a waveless ocean of milk; a procession of musical notes through the mind of a slightly mad composer; a school of those deep-swimming fish whose bodies are whorls and runnels of light, circling about some phosphorescent plant within a cold and sea-deep pit; the Spiral Nebula, suddenly collapsing upon its center; a storm, each drop of which becomes a feather, songbird or jewel; and (and perhaps most cogent) a Temple full of terrible and highly decorated statues, suddenly animated and singing, suddenly rushing forth across the world, bright banners playing in the wind, shaking palaces and toppling towers, to meet at the center of everything, to kindle an enormous fire and dance about it, with the ever-present possibility of either the fire or the dance going completely out of control.

They came.

When the secret alarm rang in the Archives, Tak seized the Bright Spear from out its case on the wall. At various times during the day, the alarm would alert various sentinels. Having a premonition as to its cause, Tak was grateful that it did not ring at another hour. He elevated to the level of the City and made for the Museum on the hill.

It was already too late, though.

Open was the case and unconscious the attendant. The Museum was otherwise unoccupied, because of the activity in the City.

So near to the Archives was the building set, that Tak caught the two on their way down the opposite side of the hill.

He waved the Bright Spear, afraid to use it. "Stop!" he cried.

They turned to him.

"You
did
trigger an alarm!" accused the other. He hurried to clasp the belt about his waist.

"Go on, get away!" he said. "I will deal with this one!"

"I could not have tripped an alarm!" cried his companion.

"Get out of here!"

He faced Tak, waiting. His companion continued to retreat down the hill. Tak saw that it was a woman.

"Take it back," said Tak, panting. "Whatever you have taken, take it back—and perhaps I can cover—"

"No," said Sam. "It is too late. I am the equal of anyone here now, and this is my only chance to depart. I know you, Tak of the Archives, and I do not wish to destroy you. Therefore, go — quickly!"

"Yama will be here in a moment! And—"

"I do not fear Yama. Attack me or leave me now!"

"I cannot attack you."

"Then good-bye," and, so saying, Sam rose into the air like a balloon.

But as he drifted above the ground, the Lord Yama appeared upon the hillside with a weapon in his hands. It was a slender and gleaming tube that he held, with a small butt and a large trigger mechanism.

He raised it and pointed. "Your last chance!" he cried, but Sam continued to rise.

When he fired it, the dome was cracked, high overhead.

"He has taken on his Aspect and raised up an Attribute," said Tak. "He binds the energies of your weapon."

"Why did you not stop him?" asked Yama.

"I could not, Lord. I was taken by his Attribute."

"It does not matter," said Yama. "The third sentinel will overcome him."

Binding gravitation to his will, he rose.

As he fled, he grew conscious of a pursuing shadow.

Somewhere just at the periphery of his vision, it lurked. No matter how he turned his head it escaped his sight. But it was always there, and growing.

Ahead, there was a lock. A gate to the outside hovered above and ahead. The Talisman could unbind that lock, could warm him against the cold, could transport him anywhere in the world. . . .

There came a sound of wings, beating.

"Flee!" the voice thundered in his head. "Increase your speed, Binder! Flee faster! Flee faster!"

It was one of the strangest sensations he had ever experienced.

He felt himself moving forward, racing onward.

But nothing changed. The gate was no nearer. For all his sense of tremendous speed, he was not moving.

"Faster, Binder! Faster!" cried the wild, booming voice. "Seek to emulate the wind and the lightning in your going!"

He strove to halt the sense of motion that he felt.

Then the winds buffeted him, the mighty winds that circle through Heaven.

He fought them down, but the voice sounded right next to him now, though he saw nothing but shadow.

"'The senses are horses and objects the roads they travel,'" said the voice. "'If the intellect is related to a mind that is distracted, it loses then its discrimination,' " and Sam recognized the mighty words of the
Katha Upanishad
roaring at his back. "'In this case,' " the voice went on, "'the senses then become uncontrolled, like wild and vicious horses beneath the rein of a weak charioteer.'"

And the sky exploded with lightnings about him and the darkness wrapped him around.

He sought to bind the energies that assailed him, but found nothing with which to grapple.

"It is not real!" he cried out.

"What is real and what is not?" replied the voice. "Your horses escape you now."

There was a moment of terrible blackness, as if he moved through a vacuum of the senses. Then there was pain. Then nothing.

It is difficult to be the oldest youthgod in the business.

He entered the Hall of Karma, requested audience with a representative of the Wheel, was shown into the presence of the Lord, who had had to forego probing him two days before.

"Well?" he inquired.

"I am sorry for the delay. Lord Murugan. Our personnel had become involved in the wedding preparations."