Brahma stared at the map, then looked back to the screen of crystal, about which a bronze Naga twisted, tail in teeth.
“Burning, oh priest?”
“Burning, Brahma . . . the whole warehouse district!”
“Order the people to quench the fires.”
“They are already doing so, Mighty One.”
“Then why trouble me with the matter?”
“There is fear. Great One.”
“Fear? Fear of what?”
“The Black One, whose name I may not speak in your presence, whose strength has grown steadily in the south, he who controls the sea lanes, cutting off trade.”
“Why should you be afraid to speak the name of Nirriti before me? I know of the Black One. Do you feel he started the fires?”
“Yes, Great One—or rather some accursed one in his pay did it. There is much talk that he seeks to cut us off from the rest of the world, to drain our wealth, destroy our stores and weaken our spirits, because he plans—”
“To invade you, of course.”
“You have said it. Potent One.”
“It may be true, my priest. So tell me, do you feel your gods will not stand by you if the Lord of Evil attacks?”
“There has never been any doubt. Most Puissant One. We simply wanted to remind you of the possibility and renew our perpetual supplication for mercy and divine protection.”
“You have made your point, priest. Fear not.”
Brahma ended the transmission. “He will attack.”
“Of course.”
“And how strong is he, I wonder? No one really knows how strong he is, Ganesha. Do they?”
“You ask me, my Lord? Your humble policy adviser?”
“I do not see anyone else present, humble godmaker. Do you know of anyone who might have information?”
“No, Lord. I do not. Everyone avoids the foul one as though he were the real death. Generally, he is. As you are aware, the three demigods I sent south did not return.”
“They were strong, too, whatever their names, weren’t they? How long ago was that?”
“The last was a year ago, when we sent the new Agni.”
“Yes, he wasn’t very good, though—still used incendiary grenades . . . but strong.”
“Morally, perhaps. When there are fewer gods one must settle for demigods.”
“In the old days, I would have taken the thunder chariot—”
“In the old days there was no thunder chariot. Lord Yama—”
“Silence! We have a thunder chariot now. I think the tall man of smoke who wears a wide hat shall bend above Nirriti’s palace.”
“Brahma, I think Nirriti can stop the thunder chariot.”
“Why so?”
“From some firsthand reports I’ve heard, I believe that he has used guided missiles against warships sent after his brigands.”
“Why did you not tell me of this sooner?”
“They are very recent reports. This is the first chance I have had to broach the subject.”
“Then you do not feel we should attack?”
“No. Wait. Let him move first, that we may judge his strength.”
“This would involve sacrificing Mahartha, would it not?”
“So? Have you never seen a city fall? . . . How will Mahartha benefit him, by itself, and for a time? If we cannot reclaim it, then let the man of smoke nod his wide white hat—over Mahartha.”
“You are right. It will be worth it, to assess his power properly and to drain a portion of it away. In the meantime, we must prepare.”
“Yes. What will your order be?”
“Alert all the powers in the City. Recall Lord Indra from the eastern continent, at once!”
“Thy will be done.”
“And alert the other five cities of the river —Lananda, Khaipur, Kilbar—”
“Immediately.”
“Go then!”
“I am already gone.”
Time like an ocean, space like its water, Sam in the middle, standing, decided.
“God of Death,” he called out, “enumerate our strengths.”
Yama stretched and yawned, then rose from the scarlet couch upon which he had been dozing, almost invisible. He crossed the room, stared into Sam’s eyes. “Without raising Aspect, here is my Attribute.”
Sam met his gaze, held it. “This is in answer to my question?”
“Partly,” replied Yama, “but mainly it was to test your own power. It appears to be returning. You bore my death-gaze longer than any mortal could.”