Creatures of Light and Darkness

TO THE PLACE OF FIRE

Behind Vramin’s eyes is the vision distilled…

There stands the Prince, downward staring. The surface of the world’s afire. On the prow of the Prince’s boat stands the beast whose body is armor, whose rider sits unmoving, gleaming, also facing the place of conflict. The crossbow approaches. The cockleshell swings forward. The Hammer is cocked, snaps forward. Then, rag-tail ablaze, the comet comes forth, glowing, brightening as it races onward.

Somewhere, a banjo is plucked as Bronze rears and the head of the General swivels over his left shoulder to face the intruder. His left hand jerks toward him and Bronze continues to rear, up onto his hindmost legs and then springs away from the Prince’s vessel. Three strides only are taken. Mount and rider vanish. There comes a haziness, a crinkling, and the stars dance in that corner of the sky as though they were reflections within an agitated pool. The comet is caught up in this wind that is Change, becomes two-dimensional, is gone. Pieces of the broken crossbow continue on along the path the vessel had followed when whole. The cockleshell heads toward the surface of the world, vanishes amid the smoke and the dust, the flames. For a long while, the entire tableau is a still life. Then the cockleshell streaks away. It now contains three occupants.

Vramin tightens his hand upon the piece of bloody light, and the Chariot of Ten turns to pursue.

The conflict rages upon the surface of the planet. The globe seems a liquid and boiling thing, changing shape, spurting forth fiery fountains. There comes a series of enormous blazes and a mighty shattering. The world comes apart. There is brightness, mighty, mighty, and dust, confusion: Fragmentation.

Behind the jade eyes of Vramin, within which dance the yellow lights, there is this vision.

Hands clasped behind his back, the Prince Who Was A Thousand considers the destruction of the world.

The broken body of the world, its members splintered and crushed, rotates beneath him, flattening, elongating, burning, burning, burning.

Now he watches through an instrument as he orbits the ruin, an instrument like a pink lorgnette with antennae. Occasionally, there is a click and the antennae twitch. He lowers it, raises it again, several times. Finally, he puts it aside.

“What is it that you see, my brother?”

He turns his head, and the dark horse shadow is at his side.

“I see a living point of light, caught up in that mass down there,” he says. “Twisted, shrunken, weakly pulsing, but still alive. Still living…”

“Then our father has failed.”

“I fear so.”

“This thing must not be.”

And Typhon is gone.

Now, as Vramin pursues the cockle of Anubis, he sees the thing for which there is no understanding.

Upon the blasted heap of elements that was a world there comes now a dark spot. It grows, amidst the light, the dust, the confusion, grows until its outline becomes discernible:

It is a dark horse shadow that has fallen upon the rubble.

It continues to grow until it achieves the size of a continent.

Rearing, the dark horse is rampant over all. It swells, it expands, it lengthens, until the wreckage of the entire planet is contained within it.

Then it is framed in flame.

Nothing lies within the blazing silhouette. Nothing whatsoever.

Then the flames subside and the shadow shrinks, retreating, retreating, running down a long, absolutely empty corridor.

Then there is nothing.

It is as if the world had never existed. It is gone, finished, kaput, and the Nameless Thing That Cries In The Night along with it. And now, Typhon, too, is gone.

A line comes into Vramin’s head: “Die Luft ist kuhl und es dunkelt, und ruhig fliesst der Rhein.” He does not recall the source, but knows the feeling.

Bloodbolt held on high, he pursues the god of death.

Awakening, slowly, manacled spread-eagle fashion to a steel table, bright lights stabbing down through his yellow eyes like electric needles within his brain, Set groans softly and tests the strength of his bonds.

His armor is gone, that pale glow in the corner might be the star wand, his shoes that walk upon everything are not to be seen.

“Hello, Destroyer,” says the wearer of the glove. “You are fortunate to have survived the encounter.”

“Madrak…?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“I can’t see you. Those lights…”

“I’m standing behind you, and those lights are only for purposes of preventing your use of temporal fugue to depart this vessel before we are ready to permit it”

“I do not understand.”

“The battle waxeth furious below. I am watching it through a port now. It looks as if you have the upper hand. In a moment, the Hammer That Smashes Suns will strike again, and you will of course escape it as you did the last time-by means of the fugue. That is why we were able to pick you up a few moments ago, just as Anubis did in days long gone by. The fact that you did appear testifies to what will happen shortly. There! Osiris strikes, and the Hammer begins its descent-Anubis! Something is wrong! There is some sort of change occurring! The Hammer is… is… gone…”

“Yes, I see it now,” comes the familiar bark. “And Osiris, too, has gone away. The Steel General-he it was.”

“What shall we do now?”

“Nothing. Nothing whatsoever. This turn is even better than we had hoped. Set’s occurrence recently by means of the fugue testifies that some cataclysmic event will still shortly occur.-Does it not, Set?”

“Yes.”

“Your final clash will doubtless destroy the world.”

“Probably. I didn't stay to watch.”

“Yes, there it goes,” says Anubis. "Wonderful! Now we have Set, Osiris has been disposed of, and the Steel General is no longer available to pursue us. We have Thoth precisely where we want him. Hail, Madrak, new Lord of the House of Life!”

“Thank you, Anubis. I didn’t think it could be that easily accomplished-but what of the Nameless?”

“Surely it must have fallen this time. What of it, Set?”

“I don’t know. I struck it with the full force of the wand.”

“Then everything is tied up neatly. Now hear me, Set. We wish you no ill, nor will we harm your son Thoth. We rescued you when we could have left you to rot-”

“Then why have you secured me thus?”

“Because I know your temper and your power, and I wished to reason with you before freeing you. You might not have granted me sufficient opportunity, so I insured it myself. I wish to deal with Thoth through you-”

“Lord!” cries Madrak. “Observe the ruined world! There comes over it a monstrous shadow!”

“It is Typhon!”

“Yes. What can he be doing?”

“What do you know of this, Set?”

“It means that I failed, and that somewhere amid the ruins a Nameless Thing still cries in the night. Typhon is completing the job.”

“There is fire, master, and-I cannot look upon the emptiness which occurs-”

“Skagganauk Abyss!”

“Yes,” says Set. “Typhon is Skagganauk Abyss. He evicts the Nameless from the universe.”

“What was the Nameless?”

“A god,” says Set, “an old god, I’m sure, with nothing left to be divine about any more.”

“I do not understand…” says Madrak.

“He jests. But what of Typhon? How shall we deal with him?”

“You may not have to,” says Set. “What he has done has probably resulted in his own exile from the universe.”

“Then we have won, Anubis! We have won! Typhon was the only thing you feared, was he not?”

“Yes. Now the Midworlds lie forever within my hands.”

“And mine, don't forget!”

“Of course not. So tell me, Set-You see the ways the stars are drifting- Will you join with us? You will become the right hand of Anubis. Your son can be a Regent. He may name his own job, for I do not undervalue his wisdom. What say you?”

“I must think of this thing, Anubis.”

“To be sure. Take your time. Realize, however, that I am now invincible.”

“And you realize that I have defeated God in battle.”

“It could not have been God,” says Madrak, “or He would not have been defeated!”

“No,” says Set. “You saw Him at the end. You witnessed His power. And even now, He is not dead, only in exile.”

Madrak lowers his head, covers his face with his hands. “I do not believe you! I cannot…”

“But it is true, and you have been party to this thing, oh recreant priest, blasphemer, apostate!”

“Silence, Set!” cries Anubis. “Don’t listen to him, Madrak. He sees your weakness, as he sees the weaknesses of all things he encounters. He seeks to draw you onto a battlefield of another sort, one where you struggle against yourself, to be beaten by the guilt he has contrived for you. Ignore him!”

“But what if he speaks the truth? I stood by and did nothing-even profited by-”

“Indeed you did,” says Set. “The guilt is mainly mine, but I bear it with pride. You were party to the action, however. You stood by and watched, thinking of the profit that would come to you, while He whom you served was beaten to His knees-”

Anubis strikes him a terrible blow that rips the flesh of his cheek.

“I take it that you have made up your mind, and this is your answer: to try to turn Madrak against me. It will not work. He is not so gullible as you think-are you, Dad?”

Madrak does not answer, but continues to stare out the port.

Set struggles against his bonds but cannot loose them.

“Anubis! We are pursued!”

Anubis departs Set’s side, vanishing into darkness. The lights continue to stab downward.

“It is the Chariot of Ten,” Anubis says.

“Of the Lady Isis?” Madrak inquires. “Why should she follow us?”

“Because Set was once her beloved. Perhaps he still is. Eh, Set? What’s the story?”

But Set does not reply.

“Whatever,” says Madrak, “it draws near. How strong is the Red Witch? Will she give us trouble?”

"She was not so strong but that she feared her old Lord, Osiris, avoiding him for many centuries-and I am certainly as strong as Osiris. We will not be beaten by a woman-not when we have come this far.”

Madrak bows his head, mumbling, and begins to beat upon his breast.

“Stop that! You're being ridiculous!”

But Set laughs, and Anubis turns upon him with a snarl.

“I’ll tear your heart out for that!”

But Set raises his bleeding left hand which he has just torn free and holds it before his body.

“Try it, dog! Your one hand against mine! Your staff and any other weapon you have against the left hand of Set! Come closer!” and his eyes glow like twin suns and Anubis falls back beyond his grasp.

The lights continue to dazzle and spin.

“Kill him, Madrak!” cries Anubis. “He is of no further use to us! You wear the gauntlet of power! He cannot stand against it!”

But Madrak does not reply; instead, “Forgive me, Whatever You Are or Were, wherever You May or May Not Be, for omissions and commissions in which I indulged or did not indulge, as the case may be, in this matter which has just come to pass,” he says, still beating his breast. “And in the event that-”

“Then give me the glove!” cries Anubis. “Quickly!”

But Madrak continues, unhearing.

A shudder runs through the cockleshell, and magicians and poets being very good at that sort of thing, a doorway which had been doubly sealed springs open and Vramin enters.

He waves his cane and smiles.

“How do? How do?”

“Take him, Madrak!” cries Anubis.

But Vramin advances and Madrak stares out the window, mumbling.

Then Anubis raises his staff before him.

“Angel of the Seventh Station, and fallen, depart!” says Anubis.

“You use my old title,” says Vramin. “I am now Angel of the House of the Dead.”

“You lie.”

“No. By appointment of the Prince do I now occupy your former position.”

With a great wrenching movement, Set frees his right hand.

Vramin dangles Isis’ pendant before him, and Anubis backs away.

“Madrak, I bid you destroy this one!” he cries out.

“Vramin?” says Madrak. “Oh no, not Vramin. He is good. He is my friend.”

Set frees his right ankle.

“Madrak, if you will not destroy Vramin, then hold Set!”

“ ‘Thou Who might be our Father Who perhaps may be in Heaven…’ ” Madrak intones.

Then Anubis snarls and points his staff like a bazooka at Vramin.

“Come no farther,” he announces.

But Vramin advances another step.

A blaze of light falls upon him, but the red beams from the pendant cancel it out.

“Too late, dog,” he says.

Anubis circles, draws near the port where Madrak stands.

Set frees his left ankle, rubs it, stands.

“You are dead,” says Set, and moves forward.

But at this moment, Anubis falls to the knife of Madrak, which enters his neck above the collarbone.

“I meant no harm,” says Madrak, “and this is to pay in part for my guilt. The dog led me astray. I repent. I make you a gift of his life.”

“Thou fool!” says Vramin. “I wanted him prisoner.”

Madrak begins to weep.

Anubis bleeds in red spurts upon the deck of the cockleshell.

Set lowers his head slowly and rubs his eyes.

“What shall we do now?” asks Vramin.

“ ‘… Hallowed by Thy name, if a name Thou hast and any desire to see it hallowed…’ ” says Madrak.

Set does not answer, having closed his eyes and fallen into a sleep that will last for many days.