sky was hurled alight by heat lightning bright as day. . .
that surrounded Vashanka utterly, that was Vashanka, as his bellow of rage and
pain was thunder and lightning. Pierced, he went flying backward as if by
smashing impact, and the wind of his passage was as the gale of a storm booming
in off the sea. And on he went, until he was so distant to the staring,
squinting Hanse that he was tiny, and then that tiny Vashanka vanished.
Us appeared before Hanse then, radiant. His face was that of the statue in the
destroyed temple.
At that, Hanse wondered; he saw the radiance and yet dimly. Why was it darker;
why was his god not all triumphant in pure lambence?
Why can’t I move my damned head, damn it? “m the end,” Ils said, “he was right
and yet not wise enough. He said true in that he cannot be slain by weapons of
this plane. But the knife flew true, the mortal knife off its proper plane here
on the Plane of Infinity, and it struck him a killing blow, so that he began to
die. But that was not possible. Thus a paradox existed. That is against the
nature of things, Hanse, for the God of Gods who created all existence-aye, and
who created Me-that god is Reality. Since my cousin’s son Vashanka could not be
slain by weapons of your plane, this dimension, he could not die in this chamber
of the House of Infinity that is the domain of Lord Reality.”
Of course Hanse said, “I don’t understand.”
“Hmp! I am sure you don’t! It’s heady stuff for a god! Explanations for all
this won’t be discovered by your kind for thousands of years, Son of Shadow.