Tremble, like the last loosening leaf of the year. There is a lump of ice in thy chest. There are no words within thy brain, only the colors of panic move there. . . .
Sam shook his head and rose to his knees.
Fall again, curl thyself into a ball and weep. For this is how man began, and this is how he ends. The universe is a black ball, rolling. It crusheth what it toucheth. It rolls to thee. Flee! Thou might a moment gain, an hour perhaps, before it comes upon thee. . . .
He raised his hands to his face, lowered them, glared up at Kubera, stood.
“You built the room called Fear,” he said, “at the Pavilion of Silence. I remember now your power, old god. It is not sufficient.”
An invisible horse races through pastures of thy mind. Thou knowest him by his hoof marks, each of which is a wound. . . .
Sam took his position, clenched his fist.
The sky creaks above thee. The ground may open beneath thy feet. And what is that tall, shadowlike thing that comes to stand at thy back?
Sam’s fist shook, but he drove it forward.
Kubera rocked back upon his heels and his head snapped to the side, but he did not lose his footing.
Sam stood there trembling as Kubera drew back his right arm for the final blow.
“Old god, you cheat,” he said.
Kubera smiled through his blood, and his fist came forward like a black ball.
Yama was talking to Ratri when the cry of awakened Garuda broke the night.
“This thing has never happened before,” he said.
Slowly, the heavens began to open.
“Perhaps Lord Vishnu goes forth. . .”
“He has never done so at night. And when I spoke with him a short time ago he said nothing of this.”
“Then some other god would dare his mount.”
“No! To the pens, Lady! Quickly! I may have need of thy powers.”
He dragged her forward with him, toward the steel aerie of the Bird.
Garuda was awake and untethered, but the hood was still upon him. Kubera, who had carried Sam to the pens, strapped him into the saddle seat, still unconscious.
He climbed down to the floor and activated a final control. The top of the cage rolled away. Then he took up the long metal pinion hook and moved back to the rope ladder. The bird smell was overpowering. Garuda shifted restlessly and ruffled feathers twice the size of a man.
Slowly, he climbed. As he was strapping himself into place, Yama and Ratri approached the cage.
“Kubera! What madness is this?” cried Yama. “You have never been fond of the heights!”
“Urgent business, Yama,” he replied, “and it would take a day to finish servicing the thunder chariot.”
“What business, Kubera? And why not take a gondola?”
“Garuda’s faster. I’ll tell you about it on my return.”
“Perhaps I can be of help.”
“No. Thank you.”
“But Lord Murugan can?”
“In this case, yes.”
“You two were never on the best of terms.”
“Nor are we now. But I have need of his services.”
“Hail, Murugan!. . . Why does he not reply?”
“He sleeps, Yama.”
“There is blood upon your face, brother.”
“I had a small accident earlier.”
“And Murugan appears somewhat mishandled also.”
“It was the same accident.”
“Something is amiss here, Kubera. Wait, I’m coming into the cage.”
“Stay out, Yama!”
“The Lokapalas do not order one another about. We are equals.”
“Stay out, Yama! I’m raising Garuda’s hood!”
“Don’t do it!”
Yama’s eyes suddenly flashed and he stood taller within his red.
Kubera leaned forward with the hook and raised the hood from the Bird’s high head. Garuda threw his head back and cried once more.
“Ratri,” said Yama, “lay shadows upon Garuda’s eyes, that he may not see.”
Yama moved toward the entrance of the cage. Darkness, like a thundercloud, hid the head of the Bird.
“Ratri!” said Kubera. “Lift this darkness and lay it upon Yama, or all is lost!”
Ratri hesitated only a moment, and this was done.
“Come to me quickly!” he cried. “Come mount Garuda and ride with us! We need you, badly!”