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?”
“I came to Hellwell, the wrath of the gods swarming and buzzing at my back. Now sixty-six demons are loose in the world. Very soon, your presence will be felt. The gods will know who has done this thing, and they will take steps against us. The element of surprise will be lost.”
“We fought the gods in the days of old . . .”
“And these are not the days of old, Taraka. The gods are stronger now, much stronger. Long have you been bound, and their might has grown over the ages. Even if you command the first army of Rakasha in history, and backing them in battle I raise me up a mighty army of men—even then, will the final result be a thing uncertain. To delay now is to throw everything away.”
“I wish you would not speak to me like this, Siddhartha, for you trouble me.”
“I mean to. For all your powers, if you meet the One in Red he will drink your life with his eyes. He will come here to the Ratnagaris, for he follows me. The freedom of demons is as a signpost, directing him hither. He may bring others with him. You may find them more than a match for all of you.”
The demon did not reply. They reached the top of the well, and Taraka advanced the two hundred paces to the great door, which now stood open. He stepped out onto the ledge and looked downward.
“You doubt the power of the Rakasha, eh. Binder?” he asked. Then, “Behold!”
He stepped outward, over the edge.
They did not fall.
They drifted, like the leaves he had dropped—how long ago?
Downward.
They landed upon the trail halfway down the mountain called Channa.
“Not only do I contain your nervous system,” said Taraka, “but I have permeated your entire body and wrapped it all about with the energies of my being. So send me your One in Red, who drinks life with his eyes. I should like to meet him.”