Lord of Light

Without warning, then, one took upon itself the form of a flying serpent and swept down toward him, talons outstretched and slashing.

For a moment, his full attention lay upon it.

It uttered a brief, broken cry, and then it came apart, falling in a shower of blue-white sparks.

Then these faded, and it was utterly vanished.

There was silence in the caverns, and the lights pulsed and dipped about the walls.

Siddhartha directed his attention toward the largest point of light, Taraka.

"Did that one attack me in order to test my strength?" he inquired. "To see whether I can also kill, in the manner I told you I could?"

Taraka approached, hovered before him. "It was not by my bidding that he attacked," he stated. "I feel that he was half crazed from his confinement."

Siddhartha shrugged. "For a time now, disport yourselves as you would," he said. "I would have rest from this task," and he departed the smaller cavern.

He returned to the bottom of the well, where he lay down upon his blanket and dozed.

There came a dream.

He was running.

His shadow lay before him, and, as he ran upon it, it grew.

It grew until it was no longer his shadow but a grotesque outline. Suddenly he knew that his shadow had been overrun by that of his pursuer: overrun, overwhelmed, submerged and surmounted.

Then he knew a moment of terrible panic, there upon the blind plain over which he fled.

He knew that it was now his own shadow.

The doom which had pursued him no longer lay at his back.

He knew that he was his own doom.

Knowing that he had finally caught up with himself, he laughed aloud, wanting really to scream.

When he awoke again, he was walking.

He was walking up the twisted wall-trail of Hellwell.

As he walked, he passed the imprisoned flames.

Again, each cried out to him as he went by:

"Free us, masters!"

And slowly, about the edges of the ice that was his mind, there was a thawing.

Masters.

Plural. Not singular.

Masters, they had said.

He knew then that he did not walk alone.

None of the dancing, flickering shapes moved through the darkness about him, below him.

The ones who had been imprisoned were still imprisoned. The ones he had freed were gone.

Now he climbed the high wall of Hellwell, no torch lighting his way. But still, he saw.

He saw every feature of the rocky trail, as though by moonlight.

He knew that his eyes were incapable of this feat.

And he had been addressed in the plural.

And his body was moving, but was not under the direction of his will.

He made an effort to halt, to stand still.

He continued to advance up the trail, and it was then that his lips moved, forming the words:

"You have awakened, I see. Good morning."

A question formed itself in his mind, to be answered immediately through his own mouth:

"Yes, and how does it feel to be bound yourself, Binder—in your own body?"

Siddhartha formed another thought:

"I did not think any of your kind capable of taking control of me against my will—even as I slept."

"To give you an honest answer," said the other, "neither did I. But then, I had at my disposal the combined powers of many of my kind. It seemed to be worth the attempt."

"And of the others? Where are they?"

"Gone. To wander the world until I summon them."

"And what of these others who remain bound? Had you waited, I would have freed them also."

"What care I of these others? I am free now, and in a body again! What else matters?"

"I take it, then, that your promised assistance means nothing?"

"Not so," replied the demon. "We shall return to this matter in, say, a lesser moon or so. The idea does appeal to me. I feel that a war with the gods would be a very excellent thing. But first I wish to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh for a time. Why should you begrudge me a little entertainment after the centuries of boredom and imprisonment you have wrought?"

"I must admit, however, that I do begrudge you this use of my person."

"Whatever the case, you must, for a time, put up with it. You, too, shall be in a position to enjoy what I enjoy, so why not make the best of it?"

"You state that you do intend to war against the gods?"

"Yes indeed. I wish I had thought of it myself in the old days. Perhaps, then, we should never have been bound. Perhaps there would no longer be men or gods upon this world. We were never much for concerted action, though. Independence of spirit naturally accompanies our independence of person. Each fought his own battles in the general conflict with mankind. I am a leader, true—by virtue of the fact that I am older and stronger and wiser than the others. They come to me for counsel, they serve me when I order them. But I have never ordered them all into battle. I shall, though, later. The novelty will do much to relieve the monotony."

"I suggest you do not wait, for there will be no 'later', Taraka."

"Why not?"