Lord of Light

by Roger Zelazny

  "Yes, Brahma."

  "Sam, wait! After the battle, should we live, I would talk with you—concerning mutual worship."

  "You wish to become a Buddhist?"

  "No, a woman again . . ."

  "There is a place and a moment for all things, and this is neither."

  "When the time and the moment occur, I will be there."

  "I'll get you your priest now. Hold the line."

  Now after the fall of Lananda, Nirriti held a service amid the ruins of that city, praying for victory over the other cities. His dark sergeants beat the drums slowly and the zombies fell to their knees. Nirriti prayed until the perspiration covered his face like a mask of glass and light, and it ran down inside his prosthetic armor, which gave him the strength of many. Then he lifted up his face to the heavens, looked upon the Bridge of the Gods and said, "Amen."

  Then he turned and headed toward Khaipur, his army rising at his back.

  When Nirriti came to Khaipur, the gods were waiting.

  The troops from Kilbar were waiting, as well as those of Khaipur.

  And the demigods and the heroes and the nobles were waiting.

  And the high-ranking Brahmins and many of the followers of Mahasamatman were waiting. These latter having come in the name of the Divine Esthetic.

  Nirriti looked across the mined field that led to the walls of the city, and he saw the four horsemen who were the Lokapalas waiting by the gate, the banners of Heaven flaring beside them in the wind.

  He lowered his visor and turned to Olvegg.

  "You were right. I wonder if Ganesha waits within?"

  "We will know soon enough."

  Nirriti continued his advance.

  This was the day when the Lord of Light held the field. The minions of Nirriti never entered Khaipur. Ganesha fell beneath the blade of Olvegg, as he was attempting to backstab Brahma, who had closed with Nirriti upon a hillock. Olvegg then fell, clutching his stomach, and began crawling toward a rock.

  Brahma and the Black One then faced one another on foot and Ganesha's head rolled into a gully.

  "That one told me Kilbar," said Nirriti.

  "That one wanted Kilbar," said Brahma, "and tried to make it Kilbar. Now I know why."

  They sprang together and Nirriti's armor fought for him with the strength of many.

  Yama spurred his horse toward the rise and was enveloped in a swirling of dust and sand. He raised his cloak to his eyes and laughter rang about him.

  "Where is your death-gaze now, Yama-Dharma?"

  "Rakasha!" he snarled.

  "Yes. It is I, Taraka!"

  And Yama was suddenly drenched with gallons of water; and his horse reared, falling over backward.

  He was upon his feet with his blade in his hand, when the flaming whirlwind coalesced into a manlike form.

  "I've washed you clean of that-which-repels, deathgod. Now you shall go down to destruction at my band!"

  Yama lunged forward with his blade.

  He cut through his gray opponent from shoulder to thigh, but no blood came and there was no sign of the passage of his blade.

  "You cannot cut me down as you would a man, oh Death! But see what I can do to you!"

  Taraka leapt upon him, pinning his arms to his sides and bearing him to the ground. A fountain of sparks arose.

  In the distance, Brahma had his knee upon Nirriti's spine and was bending his head backward, against the power of the black armor. This was when Lord Indra leapt down from the back of his slizzard and raised his sword Thunderbolt against Brahma. He heard Nirriti's neck break.

  "It is your cloak that protects you!" Taraka cried out, from where he wrestled on the ground; and then he looked into the eyes of Death. . . .

  Yama felt Taraka weaken sufficiently to push him away.

  He sprang to his feet and raced toward Brahma without stopping to pick up his blade. There on the hill, Brahma parried Thunderbolt again and again, blood spurting from the stump of his severed left arm and streaming from wounds of the head and chest. Nirriti held his ankle in a grip of steel.

  Yama cried out as he charged, drawing his dagger.

  Indra drew back, out of range of Brahma's blade, and turned to face him.

  "A dagger against Thunderbolt, Red One?" he asked.

  "Aye," said Yama, striking with his right hand and dropping the blade into his left for the true strike.

  The point entered Indra's forearm.

  Indra dropped Thunderbolt and struck Yama in the jaw. Yama fell, but he swept Indra's legs out from under him, carrying him to the ground.

  His Aspect possessed him completely then, and as he glared Indra seemed to wither beneath his gaze. Taraka leapt upon his back just as Indra died. Yama tried to free himself, but it felt as if a mountain lay across his shoulders.

  Brahma, who lay beside Nirriti, tore off his harness, which had been soaked with demon repellant. With his right hand he cast it across the space that separated them, so that it fell beside Yama.

  Taraka withdrew, and Yama turned and gazed upon him. Thunderbolt then leapt up from where it had fallen upon the ground and sped toward Yama's breast.

  Yama seized the blade with both hands, its point inches away from his heart. It began to move forward and the blood dripped from the palms of his hands and fell upon the ground.

  Brahma turned a death-gaze upon the Lord of Hellwell, a gaze that drew now upon the force of life itself within him.

  The point touched Yama.

  Yama threw himself to the side, turning, and it gouged him from breastbone to shoulder as it passed.

  Then his eyes were two spears, and the Rakasha lost his manlike form and became smoke. Brahma's head fell upon his breast.

  Taraka screamed as Siddhartha rode toward him upon a white horse, the air crackling and smelling of ozone:

  "No, Binder! Hold your power! My death belongs to Yama . . ."

  "Oh foolish demon!" said Sam. "It need not have been . . ."

  But Taraka was no more.

  Yama fell to his knees beside Brahma and tied a tourniquet about what remained of his left arm.

  "Kali!" he said. "Don't die! Talk to me. Kali!"

  Brahma gasped and his eyes flickered open, but closed again.

  "Too late," mumbled Nirriti. He turned his head and looked at Yama. "Or rather, just in time. You're Azrael, aren't you? The Angel of Death . . ."

  Yama slapped him, and the blood upon his hand was smeared across Nirriti's face.

  "'Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven,'" said Nirriti. "'Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.' "

  Yama slapped him again.

  "'Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. . . .'"

  "'And blessed are the peacemakers,'" said Yama, "'for they shall be called the children of God.' How do you fit into the picture. Black One? Whose child are you, to have wrought as you have done?"

  Nirriti smiled and said, "'Blessed are they who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.'"

  "You are mad," said Yama, "and I will not take your life for that reason. Give it away yourself, when you are ready, which should be soon."

  He lifted Brahma then in his arms and began walking back toward the city.

  "'Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you,'" said Nirriti, "'and persecute you, and say all manner of evil things against you falsely, for my sake. . . .'"

  "Water?" asked Sam, unstoppering his canteen and raising Nirriti's head.

  Nirriti looked at him, licked his lips, nodded slightly. He trickled the water into his mouth.

  "Who are you?" he asked.

  "Sam."

  "You? You rose again?"

  "It doesn't count," said Sam. "I didn't do it the hard way."

  Tears filled the Bl
ack One's eyes. "It means you'll win, though," he gasped. "I can't understand why He permitted it . . ."

  "This is only one world, Renfrew. Who knows what goes on elsewhere? And that isn't really the fight I wanted to win, anyhow. You know that. I'm sorry for you, and I'm sorry about the whole thing. I agree with everything you said to Yama, and so do the followers of the one they called the Buddha. I don't recall any longer whether I was really that one, or whether it was another. But I am gone away from that one now. I shall return to being a man, and I shall let the people keep the Buddha who is in their hearts. Whatever the source, the message was pure, believe me. That is the only reason it took root and grew."

  Renfrew swallowed another drink.

  "'Even so every good tree bringeth forth good fruit,'" he said. "It was a will greater than mine that determined I die in the arms of the Buddha, that decided upon this Way for this world. . . . Give me your blessing, oh Gautama. I die now. . ."

  Sam bowed his head.

  "'The wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north. It whirleth about continually, and the wind returneth again according to his circuits. All the rivers run into the sea, yet the sea is not full. Unto the place from whence the rivers come, thither they return again. The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be, and that which is done is that which shall be done. There is no remembrance of former things, neither shall there be any remembrance of things that are to come with those that shall come after. . . .'"

  Then he covered the Black One with his cloak of white, for he had died.

  Jan Olvegg was born in a litter into the town. Sam sent for Kubera and for Narada to meet him at the Hall of Karma, for it was apparent Olvegg would not be long alive in his present body.

  When they entered the Hall, Kubera stumbled over the dead man who lay within the archway.

  "Who . . . ?" he asked.

  "A Master."

  Three more wearers of the yellow wheel lay within the corridor that led to their transfer rooms. All of them bore arms.

  They found another near the machinery. The thrust of a blade had caught him precisely in the center of his yellow circle, and he looked like a well-used target. His mouth was still opened for the scream he'd never screamed.

  "Could the townsmen have done this?" asked Narada. "The Masters have grown more unpopular in recent years. Perhap they took advantage of the battle frenzy. . ."

  "No," said Kubera, as he raised the stained sheet that covered the body upon the operating table, looked beneath it, lowered it. "No, it wasn't the townsmen."

  "Who, then?"

  He glanced back at the table.

  "That's Brahma," he said.

  "Oh."

  "Someone must have told Yama he couldn't use the machinery to try a transfer."

  "Then where's Yama?"

  "I have no idea. But we'd better work fast if we're going to manage Olvegg."

  "Yes. Move!"

  The tall youth strode into the Palace of Kama and asked after Lord Kubera. He bore a long, gleaming spear across his shoulder, and he paced without pause as he waited.

  Kubera entered the chamber, glanced at the spear, at the youth, said one word.

  "Yes, it is Tak," replied the spearman. "New spear, new Tak. No need to remain an ape any longer, so I didn't. The time of departure is near, so I came to say good-bye—to you and to Ratri. . . "

  "Where will you go, Tak?"

  "Td like to see the rest of the world, Kubera, before you manage to mechanize all the magic out of it."

  "That day is nowhere near at hand, Tak. Let me persuade you to stay a while longer. . ."

  "No, Kubera. Thank you, but Captain Olvegg is anxious to get along. He and I are moving out together."

  "Where will you be going?"

  "East, west. . . who knows? Whatever quarter beckons. . . . Tell me, Kubera, who owns the thunder chariot now?"

  "It belonged to Shiva originally, of course. But there no longer is a Shiva. Brahma used it for a long while."

  "But there no longer is a Brahma. Heaven is without one for the first time—as Vishnu rules, preserving. So . . ."

  "Yama built it. If it belongs to anyone, it belongs to him . . ."

  "And he has no use for it," finished Tak. "So I think Olvegg and I will borrow it for our journeying."

  "What mean you he has no use for it? No one has seen him these three days since the battle—"

  "Hello, Ratri," said Tak, and the goddess of Night entered the room. "'Guard us from the she-wolf and the wolf, and guard us from the thief, oh Night, and so be good for us to pass.'"

  He bowed and she touched his head.

  Then he looked up into her face, and for one splendid moment the goddess filled wide space, to its depths and its heights. Her radiance drove out the dark. . ..

  "I must go now," he said. "Thank you, thank you—for your blessing."

  He turned quickly and started from the chamber. "Wait!" said Kubera. "You spoke of Yama. Where is he?"

  "Seek him at the Inn of the Three-Headed Fire-Hen," Tak said, over his shoulder, "if you must seek him, that is. Perhaps 'twere better you wait till he seeks you, though."

  Then Tak was gone.

  As Sam approached the Palace of Kama, he saw Tak hurrying down the stair.

  "Tak, a good morning to you!" he called, but Tak did not answer until he was almost upon him. Then he halted abruptly and shielded his eyes, as against the sun.

  "Sir! Good morning."

  "Where hurry you, Tak? Fresh from trying out your new body and off to lunch?"

  Tak chuckled. "Aye, Lord Siddhartha. I've an appointment with adventure."

  "So I've heard. I spoke with Olvegg last night. . . . Fare thee well upon thy journeying."

  "I wanted to tell you," said Tak, "that I knew you'd win. I knew you'd find the answer."

  "It wasn't the answer, but it was an answer, and it wasn't much, Tak. It was just a small battle. They could have done as well without me."

  "I mean," said Tak, "everything. You figured in everything that led up to it. You had to be there."

  "I suppose I did . . . yes, I do suppose I did. . . . Something always manages to draw me near the tree that lightning is about to fall upon."

  "Destiny, sir."

  "Rather an accidental social conscience and some right mistake-making, I fear."

  "What will you do now. Lord?"

  "I don't know, Tak. I haven't decided yet."

  "Come with Olvegg and me? Ride with us about the world? Adventure with us?"

  "Thank you, no. I'm tired. Maybe I'll ask for your old job and become Sam of the Archives."

  Tak chuckled once more.

  "I doubt it. I'll see you again. Lord. Good-bye now."

  "Good-bye. . .. There is something . . ."

  "What?"

  "Nothing. For a moment, something you did reminded me of someone I once knew. It was nothing. Good luck!"

  He clasped him on the shoulder and walked by. Tak hurried on.

  The innkeeper told Kubera that they did have a guest who fit that description, second floor, rear room, but that perhaps he should not be disturbed.

  Kubera climbed to the second floor.

  No one answered his knocking, so he tried the door.

  It was bolted within, so he pounded upon it.

  Finally, he heard Yama's voice:

  "Who is it?"

  "Kubera."

  "Go away, Kubera."

  "No. Open up, or I'll wait here till you do."

  "Bide a moment, then."

  After a time, he heard a bar lifted and the door swung several inches inward.

  "No liquor on your breath, so I'd say it's a wench," he stated.

  "No," said Yama, looking out at him. "What do you want?"

  "To find out what's wrong. To help you, if I can."

  "You can't, Kubera."

  "How do you know? I, too, am an artificer—of a different sort, of course."

  Yama appeared to consider this, then he opene
d the door and stepped aside. "Come in," he said.

  The girl sat on the floor, a heap of various objects before her. She was scarcely more than a child, and she hugged a brown and white puppy and looked at Kubera with wide, frightened eyes, until he gestured and she smiled.

  "Kubera," said Yama.

  "Koo-bra," said the girl.

  "She is my daughter," said Yama. "Her name is Murga."

  "I never knew you had a daughter."

  "She is retarded. She suffered some brain damage."

  "Congenital, or transfer effect?" asked Kubera.

  "Transfer effect."

  "I see."

  "She is my daughter," repeated Yama, "Murga."

  "Yes," said Kubera.

  Yama dropped to his knees at her side and picked up a block.

  "Block," he said.

  "Block," said the girl.

  He held up a spoon. "Spoon," he said.

  "Spoon," said the girl.

  He picked up a ball and held it before her. "Ball," he said.

  "Ball," said the girl.

  He picked up the block and held it before her again. "Ball," she repeated.

  Yama dropped it.

  "Help me, Kubera," he said.

  "I will, Yama. If there is a way, we will find it."

  He sat down beside him and raised his hands. The spoon came alive with spoon-ness and the ball with ball-ness and the block with block-ness, and the girl laughed. Even the puppy seemed to study the objects.

  "The Lokapalas are never defeated," said Kubera, and the girl picked up the block and stared at it for a long time before she named it.

  Now it is known that Lord Varuna returned to the Celestial City after Khaipur. The promotion system within the ranks of Heaven began to break down at about this same time. The Lords of Karma were replaced by the Wardens of Transfer, and their function was divorced from the Temples. The bicycle was rediscovered. Seven Buddhist shrines were erected. Nirriti's Palace was made into an art gallery and Kama Pavilion. The Festival of Alundil continued to be held every year, and its dancers were without equal. The purple grove still stands, tended by the faithful.

  Kubera remained with Ratri in Khaipur. Tak departed with Olvegg in the thunder chariot, for an unknown destination. Vishnu ruled in Heaven.

  Those who prayed to the seven Rishi thanked them for the bicycle and for the timely avatar of the Buddha, whom they named Maitreya, meaning Lord of Light, either because he could wield lightnings or because he refrained from doing so. Others continued to call him Mahasamatman and said he was a god. He still preferred to drop the Maha- and the -atman, however, and continued to call himself Sam. He never claimed to be a god. But then, of course, he never claimed not to be a god. Circumstances being what they were, neither admission could be of any benefit. Also, he did not remain with his people for a sufficient period of time to warrant much theological by-play. Several conflicting stories are told concerning the days of his passing.