His Aspect possessed him completely then, and as he glared Indra seemed to wither beneath his gaze. Taraka leapt upon his back just as Indra died. Yama tried to free himself, but it felt as if a mountain lay across his shoulders.
Brahma, who lay beside Nirriti, tore off his harness, which had been soaked with demon repellant. With his right hand he cast it across the space that separated them, so that it fell beside Yama.
Taraka withdrew, and Yama turned and gazed upon him. Thunderbolt then leapt up from where it had fallen upon the ground and sped toward Yama’s breast.
Yama seized the blade with both hands, its point inches away from his heart. It began to move forward and the blood dripped from the palms of his hands and fell upon the ground.
Brahma turned a death-gaze upon the Lord of Hellwell, a gaze that drew now upon the force of life itself within him.
The point touched Yama.
Yama threw himself to the side, turning, and it gouged him from breastbone to shoulder as it passed.
Then his eyes were two spears, and the Rakasha lost his manlike form and became smoke. Brahma’s head fell upon his breast.
Taraka screamed as Siddhartha rode toward him upon a white horse, the air crackling and smelling of ozone:
“No, Binder! Hold your power! My death belongs to Yama . . .”
“Oh foolish demon!” said Sam. “It need not have been . . .”
But Taraka was no more.
Yama fell to his knees beside Brahma and tied a tourniquet about what remained of his left arm.
“Kali!” he said. “Don’t die! Talk to me. Kali!”
Brahma gasped and his eyes flickered open, but closed again.
“Too late,” mumbled Nirriti. He turned his head and looked at Yama. “Or rather, just in time. You’re Azrael, aren’t you? The Angel of Death . . .”
Yama slapped him, and the blood upon his hand was smeared across Nirriti’s face.
“‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven,'” said Nirriti. “‘Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.’ ”
Yama slapped him again.
“‘Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. . . .'”
“‘And blessed are the peacemakers,'” said Yama, “‘for they shall be called the children of God.’ How do you fit into the picture. Black One? Whose child are you, to have wrought as you have done?”
Nirriti smiled and said, “‘Blessed are they who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.'”
“You are mad,” said Yama, “and I will not take your life for that reason. Give it away yourself, when you are ready, which should be soon.”
He lifted Brahma then in his arms and began walking back toward the city.
“‘Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you,'” said Nirriti, “‘and persecute you, and say all manner of evil things against you falsely, for my sake. . . .'”
“Water?” asked Sam, unstoppering his canteen and raising Nirriti’s head.
Nirriti looked at him, licked his lips, nodded slightly. He trickled the water into his mouth.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Sam.”
“You? You rose again?”
“It doesn’t count,” said Sam. “I didn’t do it the hard way.”
Tears filled the Black One’s eyes. “It means you’ll win, though,” he gasped. “I can’t understand why He permitted it . . .”
“This is only one world, Renfrew. Who knows what goes on elsewhere? And that isn’t really the fight I wanted to win, anyhow. You know that. I’m sorry for you, and I’m sorry about the whole thing. I agree with everything you said to Yama, and so do the followers of the one they called the Buddha. I don’t recall any longer whether I was really that one, or whether it was another. But I am gone away from that one now. I shall return to being a man, and I shall let the people keep the Buddha who is in their hearts. Whatever the source, the message was pure, believe me. That is the only reason it took root and grew.”