Lord of Light

by Roger Zelazny

  Yama was talking to Ratri when the cry of awakened Garuda broke the night.

  "This thing has never happened before," he said.

  Slowly, the heavens began to open.

  "Perhaps Lord Vishnu goes forth. . ."

  "He has never done so at night. And when I spoke with him a short time ago he said nothing of this."

  "Then some other god would dare his mount."

  "No! To the pens, Lady! Quickly! I may have need of thy powers."

  He dragged her forward with him, toward the steel aerie of the Bird.

  Garuda was awake and untethered, but the hood was still upon him. Kubera, who had carried Sam to the pens, strapped him into the saddle seat, still unconscious.

  He climbed down to the floor and activated a final control. The top of the cage rolled away. Then he took up the long metal pinion hook and moved back to the rope ladder. The bird smell was overpowering. Garuda shifted restlessly and ruffled feathers twice the size of a man.

  Slowly, he climbed. As he was strapping himself into place, Yama and Ratri approached the cage.

  "Kubera! What madness is this?" cried Yama. "You have never been fond of the heights!"

  "Urgent business, Yama," he replied, "and it would take a day to finish servicing the thunder chariot."

  "What business, Kubera? And why not take a gondola?"

  "Garuda's faster. I'll tell you about it on my return."

  "Perhaps I can be of help."

  "No. Thank you."

  "But Lord Murugan can?"

  "In this case, yes."

  "You two were never on the best of terms."

  "Nor are we now. But I have need of his services."

  "Hail, Murugan!. . . Why does he not reply?"

  "He sleeps, Yama."

  "There is blood upon your face, brother."

  "I had a small accident earlier."

  "And Murugan appears somewhat mishandled also."

  "It was the same accident."

  "Something is amiss here, Kubera. Wait, I'm coming into the cage."

  "Stay out, Yama!"

  "The Lokapalas do not order one another about. We are equals."

  "Stay out, Yama! I'm raising Garuda's hood!"

  "Don't do it!"

  Yama's eyes suddenly flashed and he stood taller within his red.

  Kubera leaned forward with the hook and raised the hood from the Bird's high head. Garuda threw his head back and cried once more.

  "Ratri," said Yama, "lay shadows upon Garuda's eyes, that he may not see."

  Yama moved toward the entrance of the cage. Darkness, like a thundercloud, hid the head of the Bird.

  "Ratri!" said Kubera. "Lift this darkness and lay it upon Yama, or all is lost!"

  Ratri hesitated only a moment, and this was done.

  "Come to me quickly!" he cried. "Come mount Garuda and ride with us! We need you, badly!"

  She entered the cage and was lost to sight, as the darkness kept spreading and spreading, like a pool of ink, Yama groping his way through it.

  The ladder jerked and swayed, and Ratri mounted Garuda.

  Garuda screamed then and leapt into the air, for Yama had moved forward, blade in hand, and had cut at the first thing he had felt.

  The night rushed about them and Heaven lay far below.

  When they reached a mighty height, the dome began to close.

  Garuda sped toward the gate, screaming again.

  They were through it before it closed, and Kubera prodded the Bird.

  "Where are we going?" asked Ratri.

  "To Keenset, by the river Vedra," he answered. "And this is Sam. He is still alive."

  "What has happened?"

  "He is the one Yama seeks."

  "Will he seek him in Keenset?"

  "Doubtless, lady. Doubtless. But ere he finds him, we may be better prepared."

  In the days that preceded the Great Battle, the defenders came to Keenset. Kubera and Sam and Ratri brought the warning. Keenset was already aware of the raising of its neighbors, but not of the heavenly avengers who were to come.

  Sam drilled the troops who would fight against gods, and Kubera drilled those who would fight against men.

  Black armor was forged for the goddess of Night, of whom it has been said, "Guard us from the she-wolf and the wolf, and guard us from the thief, of Night."

  And on the third day there was a tower of fire before Sam's tent on the plane outside the city.

  "It is the Lord of Hellwell come to keep his promise, oh Siddhartha!" said the voice that rang within his head.

  "Taraka! How did you find me—recognize me?"

  "I look upon the flames, which are your true being, not the flesh which masks them. You know that."

  "I thought you dead."

  "I nearly was. Those two do drink life with their eyes! Even the life of one such as I."

  "I told you that. Do you bring your legions with you?"

  "Yes, I bring my legions."

  "It is good. The gods will move against this place soon."

  "I know. Many times have I visited Heaven atop its mountain of ice, and my spies remain there yet. So I know that they make ready to come to this place. They also invite humans to share in the battle. Though they do not feel they need the assistance of men, they think it good that they join in the destruction of the city Keenset."

  "Yes, that is understandable," said Sam, studying the great vortex of yellow flame. "What other news have you?"

  "The One in Red comes."

  "I expected him."

  "To his death. I must defeat him."

  "He will have demon-repellant upon him."

  "Then I will find a way to remove it, or kill him from a distance. He will be here by nightfall."

  "How does he come?"

  "In a flying machine—not so large as the chariot of thunder we tried to steal—but very fast. I could not attack it in flight."

  "Comes he alone?"

  "Yes—save for machines."

  "Machines?"

  "Many machines. His flying machine is filled with strange equipment."

  "This may bode ill."

  The tower spun orange.

  "But others come also."

  "You just said he comes alone."

  "This is true."

  "Then riddle me your true meaning."

  "The others do not come from Heaven."

  "Where, then?"

  "I have traveled much since your departure for Heaven, going up and down in the world and seeking allies among those who also hate the Gods of the City. By the way, in your last incarnation I did try to save you from the cats out of Kaniburrha."

  "I know."

  "The gods are strong—stronger than they have ever been before."

  "But tell me who is coming to aid us."

  "Lord Nirriti the Black, who hates all things, hates the Gods of the City most of all. So he is sending a thousand unliving ones to fight on the plains beside the Vedra. He said that, after the battle, we of the Rakasha may take our choice from the bodies which yet remain among the mindless ones he has grown."

  "I do not relish aid from the Black One, but I am in no position to discriminate. How soon will these arrive?"

  "Tonight. But Dalissa will be here sooner. Even now, I feel her approaching."

  "Dalissa? Who . . . ?"

  "The last of the Mothers of the Terrible Glow. She alone escaped into the depths when Durga and Lord Kalkin rode to the dome by the sea. All her eggs were smashed and she can lay no more, but she bears within her body the burning power of the sea-glow."

  "And you think she would aid me?"

  "She would aid no other. She is the last of her kind. She will only assist a peer."

  "Then know that the one who was known as Durga now wears the body of Brahma, chief among our enemies."

  "Yes, which makes both of you men. She might have taken the other side, had Kali remained a woman. But she has committed herself now. You were her choice."

  "That help
s to even things a bit."

  "The Rakasha herd elephants and slizzards and great cats at this time, to drive against our enemies."

  "Good."

  "And they summon fire elementals."

  "Very good."

  "Dalissa is near here now. She will wait at the bottom of the river, to rise up when she is needed."

  "Say hello to her for me," said Sam, turning to re-enter his tent.

  "I will."

  He dropped the flap behind him.

  When the God of Death came down out of the sky onto the plains beside the Vedra, Taraka of the Rakasha set upon him in the form of a great cat out of Kaniburrha.

  But immediately he fell back. The demon repellant lay upon Yama, and Taraka could not close with him because of it.

  The Rakasha swirled away, dropping the cat form he had assumed, to become a whirlwind of silver motes.

  "Deathgod!" the word exploded in Yama's head. "Remember Hellwell?"

  Immediately, rocks and stones and sandy soil were sucked up into the vortex and hurled across the air toward Yama, who swirled his cloak and muffled his eyes with its hem, but did not otherwise stir.

  After a time, the fury died.

  Yama had not moved. The ground about him was strewn with debris, but none lay near him.

  Yama lowered his cloak and glared into the whirlwind.

  "What sorcery is this?" came the words. "How is it you manage to stand?"

  Yama continued to stare at Taraka. "How is it you manage to swirl?" he asked.

  "I am greatest among the Rakasha. I bore your death-gaze before."

  "And I am greatest among the gods. I stood against your entire legion at Hellwell."

  "You are a lackey to Trimurti."

  "You are wrong. I have come here to fight against Heaven, in this place, in the name of Accelerationism. Great is my hatred, and I have brought weapons to be used against Trimurti."

  "Then I suppose I must forego the pleasure of continuing our combat at this time . . ."

  "I should deem it advisable."

  "And you doubtless wish to be taken to our leader?"

  "I can find my own way."

  "Then, until we meet again. Lord Yama. . ."

  "Good-bye, Rakasha."

  Taraka shot like a burning arrow into the heavens and was gone from sight.

  Some say that Yama had solved his case as he stood there in the great birdcage, amidst the darkness and the droppings. Others say that he duplicated Kubera's reasoning a short while later, using the tapes in the Vasty Hall of Death. Whichever it was, when he entered the tent on the plains by the Vedra he greeted the man inside with the name Sam. This man laid his hand upon his blade and faced him.

  "Death, you precede the battle," he said.

  "There has been a change," Yama replied.

  "What sort of change?"

  "Position. I have come here to oppose the will of Heaven."

  "In what way?"

  "Steel. Fire. Blood."

  "Why this change?"

  "Divorces are made in Heaven. And betrayals. And shamings. The lady has gone too far, and I know now the reason, Lord Kalkin. I neither embrace your Accelerationism nor do I reject it. Its only mattering to me is that it represents the one force in the world to oppose Heaven. I will join you, with this understanding, if you will accept my blade."

  "I accept your blade. Lord Yama."

  "And I will raise it against any of the heavenly horde—saving only Brahma himself, whom I will not face."

  "Agreed."

  "Then permit me to serve as your charioteer."

  "I would, only I have no chariot of battle."

  "I brought one, a very special one. For a long time have I labored upon it, and it is not yet complete. But it will suffice. I must assemble it this night, however, for the battle will commence tomorrow at dawn."

  "I have felt that it might. The Rakasha have warned me as to the movement of troops near here."

  "Yes, I saw them as I passed overhead. The main attack should come from the northeast, across the plains. The gods will join in later. But there will doubtless be parties coming from all directions, including up the river."

  "We control the river. Dalissa of the Glow waits at its bottom. When the time comes, she can raise up mighty waves, making it to boil and overflow its banks."

  "I had thought the Glow extinguished!"

  "Save for her, it is. She is the last."

  "I take it the Rakasha will be fighting with us?"

  "Yes, and others . . ."

  "What others?"

  "I have accepted assistance—bodies without minds—a war party of such—from Lord Nirriti."

  Yama's eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared.

  "This is not good, Siddhartha. Sooner or later, he will have to be destroyed, and it is not good to be in the debt of such a one."

  "I know that, Yama, but I am desperate. They arrive tonight . . ."

  "If we win, Siddhartha, toppling the Celestial City, breaking the old religion, freeing man for industrial progress, still will there be opposition. Nirriti, who has waited all these centuries for the passing of the gods, will then have to be fought and beaten himself. It will either be this or the same thing all over again — and at least the Gods of the City have some measure of grace in their unfair doings."

  "I think he would have come to our assistance whether invited or not."

  "Yes, but by inviting him, or accepting his offer, you owe him this thing."

  "Then I will have to deal with that situation when it arises."

  "That's politics, I guess. But I like it not."

  Sam poured them of the sweet dark wine of Keenset. "I think Kubera would like to see you later," he said, offering a goblet.

  "What is he doing?" asked Yama, accepting it and draining it off in a single swallow.

  "Drilling troops and giving classes on the internal combustion engine to all the local savants," said Sam. "Even if we lose, some may live and go elsewhere."

  "If it is to be put to any use, they will need to know more than engine design . . ."

  "He's been talking himself hoarse for days, and the scribes are taking it all down—geology, mining, metallurgy, petroleum chemistry . . ."

  "Had we more time, I would give my assistance. As it is, if ten per cent is retained it may be sufficient. Not tomorrow, or even the next day, but. . ."

  Sam finished his wine, refilled the goblets. "To the morrow, charioteer!"

  "To the blood. Binder, to the blood and the killing!"

  "Some of the blood may be our own, deathgod. But so long as we take sufficient of the enemy with us. . ."

  "I cannot die, Siddhartha, save by my own choosing."

  "How can that be, Lord Yama?"

  "Let Death keep his own small secrets. Binder. For I may choose not to exercise my option in this battle."

  "As you would, Lord."

  "To your health and long life!"

  "To yours."

  The day of the battle dawned pink as the fresh-bitten thigh of a maiden.

  A small mist drifted in from the river. The Bridge of the Gods glistened all of gold in the east, reached back, darkening, into retreating night, divided the heavens like a burning equator.

  The warriors of Keenset waited outside the city, upon the plain by the Vedra. Five thousand men, with blades and bows, pikes and slings, waited for the battle. A thousand zombies stood in the front ranks, led by the living sergeants of the Black One, who guided all their movements by the drum, scarves of black silk curling in the breeze like snakes of smoke upon their helms.

  Five hundred lancers were held to the rear. The silver cyclones that were the Rakasha hung in the middle air. Across the half-lit world the occasional growl of a jungle beast could be heard. Fire elementals glowed upon tree limb, lance and pennon pole.

  There were no clouds in the heavens. The grasses of the plain were still moist and sparkling. The air was cool, the ground still soft enough to gather footprints readily. Gray and
green and yellow were the colors that smote the eye beneath the heavens; and the Vedra swirled within its banks, gathering leaves from its escort of trees. It is said that each day recapitulates the history of the world, coming up out of darkness and cold into confused light and beginning warmth, consciousness blinking its eyes somewhere in midmorning, awakening thoughts a jumble of illogic and unattached emotion, and all speeding together toward the order of noontide, the slow, poignant decline of dusk, the mystical vision of twilight, the end of entropy that is night once more.

  The day began.

  A dark line was visible at the far end of the field. A trumpet note cut the air and that line advanced.

  Sam stood in his battle chariot at the head of the formation, wearing burnished armor and holding a long, gray lance of death. He heard the words of Death, who wore red and was his charioteer:

  "Their first wave is of slizzard cavalry."

  Sam squinted at the distant line.

  "It is," said his charioteer.

  "Very well."

  He gestured with his lance, and the Rakasha moved forward like a tidal wave of white light. The zombies began their advance.

  When the white wave and the dark line came together there was a confusion of voices, hisses and the rattle of arms.

  The dark line halted, great gouts of dust fuming above it.

  Then came the sounds of the aroused jungle as the gathered beasts of prey were driven upon the flank of the enemy.

  The zombies marched to a slow, steady drumbeat, and the fire elementals flowed on before them and the grasses withered where they passed.

  Sam nodded to Death, and his chariot moved slowly forward, riding upon its cushion of air. At his back, the army of Keenset stirred. Lord Kubera slept, drugged to the sleep that is like unto death, in a hidden vault beneath the city. The Lady Ratri mounted a black mare at the rear of the lancers' formation.

  "Their charge has been broken," said Death.

  "Yes."

  "All their cavalry was cast down and the beasts still rage among them. They have not yet reformed their ranks. The Rakasha hurl avalanches like rain from the heavens down upon their heads. Now there comes the flow of fire."

  "Yes."

  "We will destroy them. Even now they see the mindless minions of Nirriti coming upon them as a single man, all in step and without fear, their drums keeping time, perfect and agonizing, and nothing behind their eyes, nothing at all. Looking above their heads then, they see us here as within a thundercloud, and they see that Death drives your chariot. Within their hearts there comes a quickening and there is a coldness upon their biceps and their thighs. See how the beasts pass among them?"