War in Heaven (88 page)

Yes.

And each of these countless selves of all these countless beings had a face, or a form that Danlo perceived as a face. Once again he saw Jonathan laughing as he played with a sleekit in the snow, and his own mother screaming in agony as she gave birth to Danlo deep within the Devaki tribe's cave. Her eyes were his eyes, deep and dazzling like liquid jewels, and then after a moment of terror and blood, she lay eyeless in eternity as she died. He saw soft yellow lights and yet more blood as Hanuman was born on faraway Catava, and he saw Hanuman's face fall blue as he lay crushed and dying beneath Danlo's driving weight. And Hanuman gloriously alive as he played a game of hokkee with savagery and glee, and Hanuman shuddering in agony as he fought to suck in one last breath. Hanuman lived again and then died, and he died and then lived, a thousand times, ten thousand times a thousand times, on and on without end. That was the terror of the universe, that like a great, screaming bird it utterly devoured each being every moment of life.
Nothing is lost
he remembered. And that was the beauty of the universe, too, that in each moment each being was utterly reborn into all life's infinite possibilities.

Yes.

And now Danlo himself was alive and then dead, and dead and alive as he lived in all things. Years, a billion years, passed by in a single moment. And always he died into the moment and into himself as he moved ever closer to the bright, shimmering neverness of his birth. And then there came a moment beyond all other moments. He gazed through infinitely many diamond facets straight into the fiery heart of the universe itself. Even as he choked off his own breath and struggled to kill Hanuman, a great wave of memory came rushing at him in a brilliant flash of alien and familiar faces, brown and white and blue and black, the wounded faces and the sad, the furry faces and the feathered, a million faces, a trillion faces, all of them ravished with the pain of pure existence and yet all marvellously alive with life's wild joy. And then all these perfect faces reflected the image of every other and reassembled themselves into a single face, all wild like that of the rare, white thallow, and yet also glorious and golden like the sun. Danlo stared at this strange and beautiful face, and he held his breath in utter astonishment for he saw that it was his own.

Yes, yes, yes.

And then somewhere in the universe — perhaps in the Vild or nearer to Neverness — a star exploded. Danlo lived this cosmic event even as he finally relived the moment of his birth. Almost twenty-eight years before, he remembered, in a faraway cave he had been cut out of his mother's womb. He felt this slashing and tearing of his mother's tissues; he felt cold, calloused hands lifting him upwards as his body experienced the full weight of gravity for the first time. And then there came a sudden explosion through a fiery red opening into light. He wanted to gasp at the sheer terror and wonder of it all but he couldn't breathe. He felt himself dying as he was torn away from all that he had ever loved or known. His hands tightened into fists, and he felt blood between his fingers, all slippery, hot and wet. A crushing sensation spread out through his belly and chest as he struggled to fill his lungs with air. And then he felt his heart moving again in a single, agonizing beat, and at last he opened his eyes. Time turned like a great wheel even as he returned to himself. For a moment, all was light and pain, pain and light. Strange new objects gradually fell into view through the blinding glare all about him. He looked down to see his right hand curled up into a ball as his long fingernails cut bloody gashes in his palm. And his left hand still covered Hanuman's mouth. Hanuman lay silent and still beneath him; his skin had fallen dead blue, and his dead eyes stared at Danlo without suffering or complaint.

Yes.

Slowly, Danlo lifted his hand away from Hanuman's lips. He gently touched his fingertips against Hanuman's brow and then closed his eyes.
Mi alasharia la, shantih, shantih
, he silently prayed,
sleep in peace, my brother, my friend.

Through the haze of tears burning his own eyes (and through the flames of the supernova out near Raizel Luz that had destroyed a quarter of the Ringist fleet), he looked down upon Hanuman's face. And he saw there neither anger nor hate nor mad,
shaida
dreams, but only a blessed being who had come into the world and finally left it like any other. He tried to stand, then. From far off, he heard shouts and footsteps echoing through the stone stairwell of the cathedral, and he tried to stand up and turn towards these dreadful sounds. But instead, he collapsed and fell across Hanuman's still-warm body. He gathered him up in his arms, pressing his head against Hanuman's head and Hanuman's heart against his own. He felt himself draw in a great gasp of air, and then the breath finally exploded out of him in a deep, terrible cry. He suddenly remembered that he hadn't been born laughing, as the mothers of his tribe had always told him. Man was the only animal who wept from the moment of his birth, and like any child, he had begun life in sorrow and suffering, weeping at the immense pain of it all. And now he wept again as all true men weep, without shame, without restraint, the terrible wracking sobs coming up from deep inside his belly. His felt his heart throbbing with an unbearable pressure as if the whole universe were weeping too, and emptying its burning tears into him. He couldn't stop this flood of grief, nor did he want to. For a long time he held Hanuman close to him, and he wept for this great gift of a human being that life had forever lost.

But nothing is lost
, he remembered.
Nothing can ever be lost.

At last he let go of Hanuman's body and let it rest against the floor. He slowly looked around himself at all the glittering cybernetica and other objects that Hanuman had collected. In the corner of the room, the little black spider still swung on a silken strand as she worked to complete her silvery web. On the black dining table, the devotionary computer still beamed forth the imago of Nikolos Daru Ede, who still bore upon his glowing face a look of shock at what Danlo had done. Danlo realized that his battle with Hanuman had taken little real time. Danlo stared down at his blood-stained hands, and it astonished him that he still bore the smooth, supple skin of a young man, for he had lived a million lives and ten million years. He felt a stranger to himself, as if he were older than the stars and yet as untouched as a newborn child. He felt flawless and wise and utterly wild, and then he remembered who he truly was and that he should say the words that would send Hanuman's spirit on the great journey to the other side of day.

Yes.

And so he knelt by Hanuman's side and he prayed one last time. "Hanu, Hanu," he whispered, "
mi alasharia la, shantih, shantih —
sleep in peace, my brother, my friend, myself."

Then, at the sound of footsteps and angry voices in the hallway outside, he stood up and stared off into time and space. His eyes blazed with a dark blue light that welled up out of the deepest part of him like an ocean. He felt all the cells of his body burning with fire, that deep and perfect fire of the stars that could never go out. Strangely, the fierce head pain that had tormented him for so many years had gone away. And he felt the bones of his broken nose beginning to knit at an accelerated rate; he felt the wild new life inside him remaking himself into a terrible and beautiful being who had waited ten billion years to be born.

Yes
, his heart thundered,
Ahira, Ahira, yes.

And so at last, in wordless affirmation and utter fearlessness, he smiled fiercely and turned to face the fate that called to him beyond the sanctuary's great wooden door.

The Asarya

You shall become who you really are.

— Friedrich the Hammer

The men who came to kill Danlo had no need to break down the sanctuary's door, for one had the code that would open it. Danlo waited for them by a patch of blood a few feet from Hanuman's body. As he had foreseen, three ronin warrior-poets burst into the room: Jaroslav Bulba followed by a cruel-looking man with a burnt cheek and Arrio Kell, who had assisted in Danlo's torture in what seemed many lifetimes ago. All the warrior-poets wore the golden robes of godlings. All had their killing knives drawn, and with a glance at Hanuman's blue and blood-stained face, they charged straight towards Danlo.

"Kill him!" the Ede imago cried as Jaroslav Bulba slashed his knife at Danlo's throat. Obviously, Ede had switched allegiances yet again. "Kill him quickly and then the others, one at a time, before they kill you!"

Danlo would never quite understand what happened next. He, who always remembered so much so clearly, would never remember the chain of acts pulling him into the bloody future because he would not want to. Like a descending ice-cloud, a chaos of cold steel knives and swishing silk and breath exploding from tight, grim lips enveloped him. He felt the cold wind of a flashing knife burn his eyes, and he felt hot blood and breaking bones and the sudden pain of flesh tearing open. A terrible wrath fell upon him then, a hate beyond hate. Through the fiery red flames blinding him, he moved with all the terrible quickness of a tiger. And when he had finally finished rending and ripping and crushing the throats of his enemies, he stood gasping for air as he looked down upon the bodies of three warrior-poets. Not a single knife had touched him; he bore not the slightest scratch or wound from this savage fight.

"It's not possible," the Ede imago said as he examined the three new dead men upon the floor. "It's really not possible."

"Yes — it is possible."

This voice came from neither Danlo nor the devotionary computer, but from a man standing in the doorway. He wore golden robes like any other godling, and on the fingers of either hand, two red rings. Danlo looked up to see Malaclypse of Qallar staring at him strangely. For a moment, all of the warrior-poet's fierce awareness concentrated on Danlo. His beautiful face was lit up with awe, and his violet eyes shone as if he were staring at the sun.

"It's possible," Malaclypse said again. He had his killing knife drawn, and he used this murderous instrument to point at Jaroslav Bulba's dead form. "I know that it's possible only because I saw you slay them."

He took a quick step into the room and then another. Now his killing knife, stained with fresh blood, pointed straight towards Danlo's heart.

"Mallory Ringess," he said, taking another step, "I've searched across the stars and years to find you."

Danlo bowed his head in acknowledgement of Malaclypse's great quest, if not his supposition. Then he glanced at his hand where the sharp end of Hanuman's broken arm bone had cut him. Already, he felt the wound there closing, healing even as he watched.

Then he suddenly looked up and stared straight into Malaclypse's eyes. "You hid in the cathedral, yes? After the assassin was subdued and the godlings were clearing the nave of people, you hid, didn't you?"

"It was the only way that I could get close to you," Malaclypse admitted. "While the godlings were fighting off Benjamin Hur's little army of fanatics, I hid in a candle closet and waited for my chance."

"You followed Jaroslav Bulba up the stairs, then?"

"Of course — after sending the two godlings guarding the stairwell on to their moment of the possible."

"I see."

"I didn't know why Hanuman had summoned them so urgently. I wouldn't have guessed that he would have let Mallory Ringess send him on to his own moment."

"But you see," Danlo said, and he looked down at Hanuman. For a moment, his eyes watered and his voice choked as he tried to draw in a quick breath. "We all do have our moment, and we can never know when it will come."

At this, Malaclypse smiled knowingly, almost eagerly, and said, "When these ronin first took you away, I was afraid that Hanuman was going to execute you immediately. But he must have found reasons to keep you alive."

"Yes — truly he did."

"I'm glad," Malaclypse said. "Because now — "

"Because now you can ask me to complete the poem that you composed years ago, yes?"

Malaclypse stared at him in amazement. He said, "Mallory Ringess — you
are
he, aren't you?"

I am not I
, Danlo remembered as he silently gazed at the glowing red tip of Malaclypse's knife.
I am not only I.

"You are really he, I think," Malaclypse went on. "But
what
are you? That I would like to know."

I am a great white thallow whose wings touch at the far ends of the universe
, Danlo remembered.
lama thallow, truly, and I am the sky.

"Are you really a god, then?" Malaclypse asked. "This I must know."

"I am no more a god than you."

"I wish that I could believe that."

"Then perhaps you should ask your poem — the one which only a true man would know how to complete."

"Perhaps I should."

"And then you, instead of these ronin poets, can have the pleasure of trying to kill me."

At this Malaclypse held up his hand to ward off Danlo's piercing gaze. He squinted in dismay, almost as if Danlo could see into his mind. "But why should I kill you if you answer correctly?"

"Because answer or no, you could never be sure who I truly am."

Malaclypse suddenly looked at the bodies of the warrior-poets spread about the floor. He smiled grimly and said, "Two such as these I might have killed myself, but not three. I don't know if I
could
kill you."

Never harming or killing another
, Danlo thought.
Never killing unless it is truly necessary to kill.

"I do not know," Danlo said, "if I could allow you to kill me. I am sorry."

For a long time Malaclypse stood silently holding his knife as he lost himself in the fire of Danlo's deep blue eyes. At last, he said, "I've seen eyes such as yours before in your son, Danlo wi Soli Ringess. Do all the males of your bloody line have such impossible eyes?"