Lord of Light

by Roger Zelazny

  "Can you think of anyone in particular?"

  "The biggest problem, Yama, will be eliminating suspects, not finding them. Has the investigation been given into your hands?"

  "I am no longer certain. I think so. But I will find who did it, whatever his station, and kill him."

  "Why?"

  "I have need of something to do, someone to. . ."

  "Kill?"

  "Yes."

  "I am sorry, my friend."

  "I, also. It is my privilege and my intention, however."

  "I wish you had not spoken with me at all, concerning this matter. It is obviously quite confidential."

  "I won't tell anyone if you won't."

  "I assure you I shan't"

  "And you know I'll take care of the karmic trackings, against the psych-probe."

  "That is why I mentioned it, and spoke of Shiva also. Let it be so."

  "Good day, my friend."

  "Good day, Yama."

  Yama departed the Pavilion of the Lokapalas. After a time, the goddess Ratri entered there.

  "Hail, Kubera."

  "Hail, Ratri."

  "Why sit you there alone?"

  "Because I have none to make me unalone. Why come you here — alone?"

  "Because I had none to talk with, till now."

  "Seek you counsel, or conversation?"

  "Both."

  "Sit down."

  "Thank you. I am afraid."

  "Are you hungry, too?"

  "No."

  "Have a piece of fruit and a cup of soma."

  "All right."

  "What is it that you fear, and how may I help you?"

  "I saw Lord Yama leaving here . . ."

  "Yes."

  "I realized when I looked upon his face that there is a god of Death, and that there is a power which even gods might fear . . ."

  "Yama is strong, and he is my friend. Death is mighty, and is no one's friend. The two exist together though, and it is strange. Agni is strong also, and is Fire. He is my friend. Krishna could be strong if he wished. But he never wishes so. He wears out bodies at a fantastic rate. He drinks soma and makes music and women. He hates the past and the future. He is my friend. I am least among the Lokapalas, and I am not strong. Whatever body I wear goes quickly to fat. I am more father than brother to my three friends. Of them, I can appreciate the drunkenness and the music and the loving and the fire, for these are things of life, and so can I love my friends as men or as gods. But the other Yama makes me to be afraid, also, Ratri. For when he takes upon him his Aspect he is a vacuum, which sets this poor fat a-tremble. Then he is no one's friend. So do not feel awkward if you fear my friend. You know that when a god is troubled, then his Aspect rushes to comfort him, oh goddess of the Night, as even now it becomes twilight within this bower, though the day is far from ended. Know that you passed a troubled Yama."

  "He returned fairly suddenly."

  "Yes."

  "May I ask why?"

  "I am afraid the matter is confidential."

  "Does it concern Brahma?"

  "Why do you ask?"

  "I believe Brahma is dead. I fear that Yama was summoned to find his slayer. I fear he will find me, though I call down a century of night upon Heaven. He will find me, and I cannot face the vacuum."

  "What do you know regarding this alleged slaying?"

  "I believe I was either the last to see Brahma alive or the first to see him dead, depending upon what his twitching signified."

  "What were the circumstances?"

  "I had gone to his Pavilion early yesterday morning, to intercede with him that he might lift his wrath and permit the return of Lady Parvati. I was told to seek him in the Garden of His Joys, and I walked there—"

  "Told? Who told you?"

  "One of his women. I don't know her name."

  "Go ahead. What happened then?"

  "I found him at the foot of the blue statue which plays upon the veena. He was twitching. There was no breathing. Then he stopped twitching even and was still. There was no heartbeat and no pulse that I could feel. So I called back a portion of the night to cloak me in shadows and departed the Garden."

  "Why did you not summon assistance? It still might not have been too late."

  "Because I wanted him to die, of course. I hated him for what he did to Sam, and for the driving away of Parvati and Varuna, and for what he did to the Archivist, Tak, and for—"

  "Enough. One could go on all day thus. Did you depart directly from the Garden, or did you stop back at the Pavilion?"

  "I passed the Pavilion and saw the same girl. I made myself visible to her and told her that I could not locate Brahma and would return later. . . . He is dead, isn't he? What shall I do now?"

  "Have another piece of fruit and some more soma. Yes, he's dead."

  "Will Yama come after me?"

  "Of course. He will go after everyone who was seen anywhere near there. It was doubtless a reasonably quick-acting poison, and you were there right near the time of death. So naturally he will go after you—and he will have you psych-probed, along with all the others. This will reveal that you did not do it. So I suggest you simply await being called into custody. Do not tell anyone else this story."

  "What shall I tell Yama?"

  "If he reaches you before I reach him, tell him everything, including the fact that you have spoken with me. This is because I am not even supposed to know that this thing has occurred. The passing of one among Trimurti is always kept secret for as long as possible, even at the expense of lives."

  "But the Lords of Karma would read it from your memory when you stood to a judgment."

  "Just so they do not read it from your memory today. The knowledge of Brahma's passing will be kept to as small a group as possible. Since Yama may be conducting the official investigation and is also the designer of the psych-probe, I don't think any yellow wheel people will be dragged in to run the machines. Still, I must confirm this fact with Yama—or suggest it to him — immediately."

  "Before you go . . ."

  "Yes?"

  "You said that only a few may know of this thing, even if lives must be spent. Does this mean that I. . . ?"

  "No. You will live, because I will protect you."

  "Why will you?"

  "Because you are my friend."

  Yama operated the machine that probes the mind. He probed thirty-seven subjects, all of whom could have had access to Brahma in his Garden during the entire day prior to the deicide. Of these, eleven were gods or goddesses, including Ratri, Sarasvati, Vayu, Mara, Lakshmi, Murugan, Agni and Krishna.

  Of these thirty-seven, gods and men, none was found to be guilty.

  Kubera the artificer stood at Yama's side, and he regarded the psych-tapes.

  "What now, Yama?"

  "I do not know."

  "Mayhap the killer was invisible."

  "Perhaps."

  "But you think not?"

  "I think not."

  "Supposing everybody in the City were made to stand the probe?"

  "There are many arrivals and departures every day, via many entrances and exits."

  "Have you given thought to the possibility of its having been one of the Rakasha? They are again abroad in the world, as well you know—and they hate us."

  "The Rakasha do not poison their victims. Also, I do not believe one could enter the Garden, because of the demon-repelling incense."

  "What now?"

  "I shall return to my laboratory, and think."

  "May I accompany you to the Vasty Hall of Death?"

  "If you wish."

  Kubera returned with Yama; and while Yama thought, Kubera perused his master-tapes index, which he had set up when experimenting with the first probe-machines. They were discarded, they were incomplete, of course; only the Lords of Karma kept up to date life-record tapes on everyone in the Celestial City. Kubera knew this, of course.

  The printing press was rediscovered in a place called Keenset, by the r
iver Vedra. Experiments with sophisticated plumbing were also going on in this place. Two very fine Temple artists also appeared on the scene, and an old glasscutter made a pair of bifocals and began grinding out more. Therefore, indications were that one of the city-states was undergoing a renaissance.

  Brahma decided it was time to move against Accelerationism.

  A war party was raised in Heaven, and the Temples of cities adjacent to Keenset sent out the call to the faithful to be ready for a holy war.

  Shiva the Destroyer bore only a token trident, for his real faith lay with the wand of fire that he wore at his side.

  Brahma, of the golden saddle and silver spurs, bore a sword, a wheel and a bow.

  The new Rudra bore the bow and quiver of the old.

  Lord Mara wore a shimmering cloak, which changed colors constantly, and none could tell what manner of weapons he bore or what sort of chariot he mounted. For to stare upon him overlong was to feel one's head swim, and things changed their shapes about him, save for his horses, whose mouths constantly dripped blood, which smoked where it fell.

  Then, from among the demigods were fifty chosen, still struggling to discipline erratic Attributes, eager to strengthen Aspect and gain merit through battle.

  Krishna declined battle and went off to play his pipes in Kaniburrha.

  He found him lying upon a grassy hillside beyond the City, staring up into the star-filled sky.

  "Good evening."

  He turned his head and nodded.

  "How goes it with you, good Kubera?"

  "Well enough, Lord Kalkin. And yourself?"

  "Quite well. Have you a cigarette upon your most impressive person?"

  "I am never far from them."

  "Thank you."

  "Light?"

  "Yes."

  "Was that a jackbird that circled the Buddha before Madam Kali tore his guts out?"

  "Let us speak of pleasanter matters."

  "You killed a weak Brahma and a mighty one has replaced him."

  "Oh?"

  "You killed a strong Shiva, but an equal strength replaces his."

  "Life is full of changes."

  "What did you hope to gain? Revenge?"

  "Revenge is part of the illusion of self. How can a man kill that which neither lives nor dies truly, but which exists only as a reflection of the Absolute?"

  "You did a pretty good job of it, though, even if, as you say, it was only a rearrangement."

  "Thank you."

  "But why did you do it? . . . And I'd prefer an answer to a tract."

  "I intended to wipe out the entire hierarchy of Heaven. It would seem now, though, that this must go the way of all good intentions."

  "Tell me why you did it."

  "If you'll tell me how you found me out. . ."

  "Fair enough. Tell me, why?"

  "I decided that mankind could live better without gods. If I disposed of them all, people could start having can openers and cans to open again, and things like that, without fearing the wrath of Heaven. We've stepped on these poor fools enough. I wanted to give them a chance to be free, to build what they wanted."

  "But they live, and they live and they live."

  "Sometimes, and sometimes not. So do the gods."

  "You were about the last Accelerationist left in the world, Sam. No one would have thought you were also the deadliest."

  "How did you find me out?"

  "It occurred to me that Sam would be the number one suspect, except for the fact that he was dead."

  "I had assumed that to be sufficient defense against detection."

  "So I asked myself if there was any means by which Sam could have escaped death. I could think of none, other than a change of bodies. Who, I then asked myself, took upon him a new body the day Sam died? There was only Lord Murugan. This did not seem logical, however, because he did it after Sam's death, not before it. I dismissed that part for a moment. You—Murugan—having been among the thirty-seven suspects, were probed and passed upon as innocent by Lord Yama. It seemed I had surely taken to a false trail then — until I thought of a very simple way to test the notion. Yama can beat the psych-probe himself, so why could not someone else be able to do it? I recalled at this point that Kalkin's Attribute had involved the control of lightnings and electromagnetic phenomena. He could have sabotaged the machine with his mind so that it saw there no evil. The way of testing it, therefore, was not to consider what the machine had read, but rather how it had read it. Like the prints of the palms and the fingers of the hands, no two minds register the same patterns; But from body to body one does retain a similar mind-matrix, despite the fact that a different brain's involved. Regardless of the thoughts passing through the mind, the thought patterns record themselves unique to the person. I compared yours with a record of Murugan's which I found in Yama's laboratory. They were not the same. I do not know how you accomplished the body-change, but I knew you for what you were."

  "Very clever, Kubera. Who else is familiar with this strange reasoning?"

  "No one, yet. Yama, soon though, I fear. He always solves problems."

  "Why do you place your life in jeopardy by seeking me thus?"

  "One does not generally achieve your age, my age, without being somewhat reasonable. I knew you would at least listen to me before striking. I know, too, that since what I have to say is good no harm will come to me."

  "What do you propose?"

  "I am sufficiently sympathetic with what you have done to assist you in escaping from Heaven."

  "Thank you, no."

  "You would like to win this contest, would you not?"

  "Yes, and I'll do it in my own way."

  "How?"

  "I will return to the City now and destroy as many of them as I can before they stop me. If enough of the great ones fall, the others will not be able to hold this place together."

  "And if you fall? What then of the world, and of the cause you have championed? Will you be able to rise again to defend it?"

  "I do not know."

  "How did you manage the comeback?"

  "One time was I possessed of a demon. He rather took a liking to me, and he told me at a time when we were in peril that he had 'strengthened my flames,' so that I could exist independent of my body. I had forgotten this until I saw my mangled corpse lying beneath me upon the streets of Heaven. I knew of only one place where I might get me another body, that being the Pavilion of the Gods of Karma. Murugan was there demanding service. As you say, my power is electrodirection. I learned there that it works without a brain to back it, as the circuits were momentarily interrupted and I went into Murugan's new body and Murugan went to hell."

  "The fact that you tell me all of this seems to indicate that you intend to send me after him."

  "I am sorry, good Kubera, for I like you. If you will give me your word that you will forget what you have learned and that you will wait for some other to discover it, then I will permit you to live and depart."

  "Risky."

  "I know that you have never given your word and broken it, though you are as old as the hills of Heaven."

  "Who is the first god you would slay?"

  "Lord Yama, of course, for he must be closest upon my heels."

  "Then must you kill me, Sam, for he is a brother Lokapala and my friend."

  "I am sure we will both regret it if I have to kill you."

  "Then has your acquaintanceship with the Rakasha perhaps given you some of their taste for a wager?"

  "Of what sort?"

  "You win, and you have my word not to speak of this. I win, and you flee with me upon the back of Garuda."

  "And of the contest?"

  "Irish stand-down."

  "With you, fat Kubera? And me in my magnificent new body?"

  "Yes."

  "Then you may strike first."

  On a dark hill on the far side of Heaven, Sam and Kubera stood facing one another.

  Kubera drew back his right fist and sent it forw
ard against Sam's jaw.

  Sam fell, lay still for a moment, rose slowly to his feet.

  Rubbing his jaw, he returned to the spot where he had stood.

  "You are stronger than you seem, Kubera," he said, and struck forward.

  Kubera lay upon the ground, sucking in air.

  He tried to rise, thought better of it, moaned once, then struggled back to his feet.

  "I didn't think you'd get up," said Sam.

  Kubera moved to face him, a dark, moist line descending his chin.

  As he took his ground, Sam flinched.

  Kubera waited, still breathing deeply.

  Run down the gray night wall. Flee! Beneath a rock. Hide! The fury turns thy bowels to water. The friction of this crossing grates upon thy spine. . . .

  "Strike!" said Sam, and Kubera smiled and hit him.

  He lay there quivering, and the voices of the night, compounded of insect sounds and the wind and the sighing of grasses came to him.

  Tremble, like the last loosening leaf of the year. There is a lump of ice in thy chest. There are no words within thy brain, only the colors of panic move there. . . .

  Sam shook his head and rose to his knees.

  Fall again, curl thyself into a ball and weep. For this is how man began, and this is how he ends. The universe is a black ball, rolling. It crusheth what it toucheth. It rolls to thee. Flee! Thou might a moment gain, an hour perhaps, before it comes upon thee. . . .

  He raised his hands to his face, lowered them, glared up at Kubera, stood.

  "You built the room called Fear," he said, "at the Pavilion of Silence. I remember now your power, old god. It is not sufficient."

  An invisible horse races through pastures of thy mind. Thou knowest him by his hoof marks, each of which is a wound. . . .

  Sam took his position, clenched his fist.

  The sky creaks above thee. The ground may open beneath thy feet. And what is that tall, shadowlike thing that comes to stand at thy back?

  Sam's fist shook, but he drove it forward.

  Kubera rocked back upon his heels and his head snapped to the side, but he did not lose his footing.

  Sam stood there trembling as Kubera drew back his right arm for the final blow.

  "Old god, you cheat," he said.

  Kubera smiled through his blood, and his fist came forward like a black ball.