Lord of Light

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.