"Whether we win or lose, Siddhartha, the gods are presently engaged. If we can get by them, their vessel may be unattended. Do you want it?"
"Steal the thunder chariot? That is a thought. . . . It is a mighty weapon, as well as transportation. What might our chances be?"
"I am certain the Rakasha can hold them for as long as is necessary—and it is a long climb up Hellwell. We need not use the trail ourself. I grow tired, but I can still bear us across the air."
"Let us rise a few levels and investigate."
They left their ledge by the black pool, and time beat again about them as they passed upward.
As they advanced, a globe of light moved to meet them. It settled upon the floor of the cavern and grew into a tree of green fire.
"How goes the battle?" asked Taraka.
"We hold them," it reported, "but we cannot close with them."
"Why not?"
"There is that about them which repels. I do not know how to call it, but we cannot draw too near."
"How then do you fight?"
"A steady storm of rocks rages about them. We hurl fire and water and great spinning winds, also."
"And how do they respond to this?"
"The trident of Shiva cuts a path through everything. But no matter how much he destroys, we raise up more against him. So he stands like a statue, uncreating storms we will not let end. Occasionally, he swerves to kill, while the Lord of Fires holds back the attack. The scepter of the goddess slows those who face upon it. Once slowed, they meet the trident or the hand or the eyes of Death."
"And you have not succeeded in harming them?"
"No."
"Where do they stand?"
"Part way down the well wall. They are still near to the top. They descend slowly."
"How many have we lost?"
"Eighteen."
"Then it was a mistake to end our waiting to begin this battle. The cost is too high and nothing is being gained. . .. Sam, do you want to try for the chariot?"
"It is worth a risk. . .. Yes, let us try."
"Go then," he instructed the Rakasha who branched and swayed before him. "Go, and we shall follow more slowly. We will rise along the side of the wall opposite them. When we begin the ascent, redouble your attack. Occupy them entirely until we have passed. Hold them then to give us time in which to steal their chariot from the valley. When this has been accomplished, I will return to you in my true form and we can put an end to the fighting."
"I obey," replied the other, and he fell upon the floor to become a green serpent of light, and slithered off ahead of them.
They rushed forward, running part of the way, to conserve the strength of the demon for the final necessary thrust against gravitation. They had journeyed a great distance beneath the Ratnagaris, and the return trip seemed endless.<.p>
Finally, though, they came upon the floor of the well; and it was lighted sufficiently so that, even with the eyes of his body, Sam could see clearly about him. The noise was deafening. If he and Taraka had had to rely upon speech for communication, there would have been no communication.
Like some fantastic orchid upon an ebon bough, the fire bloomed upon the wall of the well. As Agni waved his wand, it changed its shape, writhing. In the air, like bright insects, danced the Rakasha. The rushing of winds was one loudness, and the rattling of many stones was another. Above it all was the ululating cry of the silver skull-wheel, which Kali waved like a fan before her face; and this was even more terrible when it rose beyond the range of hearing, but still screamed. Rocks split and melted and dissolved in midair, their white-hot fragments leaping like sparks from a forge, out and downward. They bounced and rolled, and glowed redly in the shadows of Hellwell. The surrounding walls of the well were pocked and gouged and scored in the places where the flame and the chaos had touched.
"Now," said Taraka, "we go!"
They rose into the air and moved up the side of the well. The power of the Rakasha's attack increased, to be answered with an intensified counterattack. Sam covered his ears with his hands, but it did no good against the burning needles behind his eyes, which stirred whenever the silver skull swept in his direction. A short distance to his left, a whole section of rock vanished abruptly.
"They have not detected us," said Taraka.
"Yet," answered Sam. "That accursed Fire god can look through a sea of ink to spot a shifting grain of sand. If he turns in this direction, I hope you can dodge his—"
"How was that?" asked Taraka, as they were suddenly forty feet higher and somewhat farther to the left.
They sped upward now, and a line of melting rock pursued them. Then this was interrupted as the demons set up a wailing and tore loose gigantic boulders, which they hurled upon the gods, with the accompaniment of hurricanes and sheets of fire. They reached the lip of the well, passed above it and scurried back out of range.
"We must go all the way around now, to reach the corridor which leads to the door."
A Rakasha rose from out of the well and sped to their side.
"They retreat!" he cried. "The goddess has fallen. The One in Red supports her as they flee!"
"They do not retreat," said Taraka. "They move to cut us off. Block their way! Destroy the trail! Hurry!"
The Rakasha dropped like a meteor back into the well.
"Binder, I grow tired. I do not know whether I can bear us from the ledge outside all the way to the ground below."
"Can you manage it part of the way?"
"Yes."
"That first three hundred feet or so where the trail is narrow?"
"I think so."
"Good!"
They ran.
As they fled along the rim of Hellwell, another Rakasha rose up and kept pace with them.
"I report!" he cried. "We have destroyed the trail twice. Each time, the Lord of Flames has burnt a new one!"
"Then naught more can be done! Stay with us now! We need your assistance in another matter."
It sped on ahead of them, a crimson wedge lighting their way.
They rounded the well and raced up the tunnel. When they reached its end, they hurled the door wide and stepped out onto the ledge. The Rakasha who had led the way slammed the door behind them, saying, "They pursue!"
Sam stepped over the ledge. As he fell, the door glowed for an instant, then melted above him.
With the help of the second Rakasha, they descended the entire distance to the base of Channa and moved up a trail and around a bend. The foot of a mountain now shielded them from the gods. But this rock was lashed with flame in an instant.
The second Rakasha shot high into the air, wheeled and vanished.
They ran along the trail, heading toward the valley that held the chariot. By the time they reached it, the Rakasha had returned.
"Kali and Yama and Agni descend," he stated. "Shiva stays behind, holding the corridor. Agni leads the pursuit. The One in Red helps the goddess, who is limping."
Before them, in the valley, lay the thunder chariot. Slim and unadorned, the color of bronze, though it was not bronze, it stood upon a wide, grassy plain. It looked like a fallen prayer tower or a giant's house key or some necessary part of a celestial instrument of music that had slipped free of a starry constellation and dropped to the ground. It seemed to be somehow incomplete, although the eye could not fault its lines. It held that special beauty that belongs to the highest orders of weapons, requiring function to make it complete.
Sam moved to its side, found the hatch, entered.<.p>
"You can operate this chariot. Binder?" asked Taraka. "Make it race through the heavens, spitting destruction across the land?"
"I'm sure Yama would keep the controls as simple as possible. He streamlines whenever he can. I've flown the jets of Heaven before, and I'm banking that this is of the same order."