What remained was taken in procession to the pyre at Worldsend, placed there upon it, burned amidst chanting. Lord Agni had raised his goggles, stared for a time, and then the flames had arisen. Lord Vayu had lifted up his hand and a wind had come to fan the fire. When it was finished. Lord Shiva had blasted the ashes beyond the world with a twist of his trident.
These things considered, it was thorough as well as impressive, the funeral.
Long unrehearsed in Heaven, the wedding came on with all the power of tradition. Milehigh Spire glistened, blindingly, like a stalagmite of ice. The weird had been withdrawn, and the phantom cats walked the streets of the City, blinded once more, their fur sleeked as if by the wind; and should they climb a broad stairway, it was a rocky slope they mounted; the buildings were cliffs and the statues were trees. The winds that circled through Heaven captured song and scattered it across the land. A sacred fire was kindled in the Square within the City's center Circle. Virgins, imported for the occasion, fed this fire with a clean, dry, aromatic wood, which crackled and burnt with very little smoke, save for occasional puffs of purest white. Surya, the sun, shone down with such brilliance that the day fairly vibrated with clarity. The groom, attended by a great procession of friends and retainers decked all in red, was escorted through the City to the Pavilion of Kali, where all were taken within by her servants and led into the great dining hall. There, Lord Kubera served as host, seating the scarlet train, which was three hundred in number, in chairs of black and chairs of red, alternating, around the long black-wood tables, which were inlaid with bone. There, in that hall, were they all given to drink of madhuparka, which was of honey and curds and psychedelic powders; and this they drank in the company of the blue-garbed train of the bride, which entered the hall bearing double cups. The train of the bride numbered three hundred also; and when all were seated and all had drunk of the madhuparka, Kubera did then speak for a time, jesting with them broadly and alternating his speech with words of practical wisdom and occasional references to the ancient scriptures. The legion of the groom then departed to the pavilion in the Square, and that of the bride advanced upon it from another direction. Yama and Kali entered this pavilion separately and sat on either side of a small curtain. There was much singing of ancient songs and the curtain was removed by Kubera, permitting the two to look upon one another for the first time that day. Kubera did speak then, giving Kali into the care of Yama in return for the promises of goodness, wealth and pleasure to be given unto her. Then Lord Yama clasped her hand and Kali cast an offering of grain into the fire, about which Yama led her, their garments having been knotted together by one of her retainers. After this, Kali trod upon a millstone, and the two of them took seven steps together, Kali treading upon a small pile of rice with each step. Then was a light rain summoned down from the sky for the space of several heartbeats, to sanctify the occasion with the blessing of water. The retainers and guests then combined into a single procession and moved off through the town in the direction of the dark pavilion of Yama, where great feasting and revelry was held, and where the Masque of Blood was presented.
As Sam had faced his final tiger, it had nodded its head slowly, knowing what it was hunting. There was no place for him to run, so he stood there, waiting. The cat took its time also. A horde of demons had tried to descend upon the City at that moment, but the power of the weird held them back. The goddess Ratri was seen to be weeping and her name was entered upon a list. Tak of the Archives was incarcerated for a time in the dungeons beneath Heaven. The Lord Yama was heard to say, "Life did not rise up," as though he had almost expected that it would.
All things considered, it was thorough as well as impressive, the death.
The wedding party lasted for seven days, and the Lord Mara spun dream after dream about the revelers. As if by a carpet of magic, he transported them through the lands of illusion, raising up palaces of colored smoke upon pillars of water and of fire, escalating the benches at which they sat down canyons of stardust, striving with coral and myrrh to bend their senses beyond themselves, bringing onto them all their Aspects, wherein he held them, rotating about the archetypes upon which they had based their powers, as Shiva danced in a graveyard the Dance of Destruction and the Dance of Time, celebrating the legend of his annihilation of the three flying cities of the Titans, and Krishna the Dark moved through the Wrestler's Dance in commemoration of his breaking of the black demon Bana, while Lakshmi danced the Dance of the Statue, and even Lord Vishnu was coerced into celebrating again the steps of the Dance of the Amphora, as Murugan, in his new body, laughed at the world clad in all her oceans, and did his dance of triumph upon those waters as upon a stage, the dance that he had danced after the slaying of Shura, who had taken refuge in the depths of the sea. When Mara gestured there was magic and color and music and wine. There was poetry and gaming. There was song and laughter. There was sport, in which mighty trials of strength and skill took place. In all, it required the stamina of a god to bear the entire seven days of pleasure.
These things considered, it was thorough as well as impressive, the wedding.
When it was over, the bride and the groom departed Heaven, to wander for a time about the world, to take in the pleasures of many places. They went, without servants or retainers, to wander free. They did not announce the order of their visitations, or the length of time they would spend—which was to be expected, their fellows being the celestial practical jokers that they were.
After their going, there was still some revelry. Lord Rudra, having consumed a magnificent quantity of soma, stood up upon a table and began to deliver a speech concerning the bride—a speech with which, had Yama been present, he would doubtless have taken issue. Such being the case. Lord Agni slapped Rudra across the mouth and was immediately challenged to a duel, in Aspect, across the length of Heaven.
Agni was flown to a mountaintop beyond Kaniburrha, and Lord Rudra took up a position near Worldsend. When the signal was given, Rudra sent a heat-tracking arrow whistling down the miles in the direction of his opponent. From fifteen miles away, however, Lord Agni spotted the arrow as it sped toward him and burnt it from out the air with a blast of the Universal Fire, which same power he then moved like a needle of light, to touch upon Rudra and burn him to ashes where he stood, also piercing through the dome at his back. Thus was the honor of the Lokapalas upheld, and a new Rudra was raised up from the ranks of the demigods to take the place of the old, who had fallen.
One rajah and two high priests died of poisoning, quite colorfully, and pyres were built to accommodate their bluish remains. Lord Krishna raised up his Aspect and played a music after which there is no music, and Guari the Fair relented and came to him once more, her heart softened, after he had finished. Sarasvati in her glory did the Dance of Delight, and then Lord Mara re-created the flight of Helba and the Buddha through the City. This last dreaming troubled many, however, and more names were recorded at that time. A demon then dared enter into their midst, with the body of a youth and the head of a tiger, attacking Lord Agni with a terrible fury. He was repelled by the combined powers of Ratri and of Vishnu, but he succeeded in escaping into incorporeality before Agni could bring his wand to bear upon him.