The creatures of light and darkness dance on the guillotine’s lip, and Isis fears the poet. The creatures of light and darkness don and discard the garments of man, machine and god; and Isis loves the dance. The creatures of light and darkness are born in great numbers, die in an instant, may rise again, may not rise again; and Isis approves of the garments.
Dreaming these dreams and fearful, her familiar presses close against her, a little thing that cries in the night.
Wheels turning, the motorcycle’s roar grows steady, which, too, is a form of silence.
ANGEL OF THE HOUSE OF LIFE
(They come in the middle of the night, walking. There are three of them, together moving down places of belief and disbelief. They pass the places of entertainment for many species, coming at last to the well-lighted Avenue of the Oracles and moving along it, passing by astrologers, numerologists, Tarot readers and casters of the Yi Ching.
Now, as they advance, they move from light to lesser light, from dimness and dankness to twilight and squalor. The sky hangs clear above them and the stars shine down. The street grows more narrow, the buildings lean toward them; the gutters are filled with refuse; children with sunken eyes stare at them, nearly weightless within the circles of their mothers’ arms.
They step over the rubbish; they walk through it. And none dare accost these three. Strength hangs about them like an odor and purpose gives them a certain distinction.
Their bearing is graceful and their cloaks are rich. They walk where the cats scramble and the bottles are broken, and it is as though these things were not
Above them, there is a blaze in the heavens, as the light from a world that Set destroyed finally reaches this one, coming like a new star in the sky and splashing them with colors red through blue
The wind is cold but they do not heed it. The word for copulation, in ninety-four languages, is scrawled upon one wall, but they do not notice.
It is only when they come to a dilapidated machine that they pause before an obscene drawing upon its door way.)
This is the place.
Then let us enter.
Yes.
(The first touches the door with his silver-headed cane and it swings open.
He enters, and the others follow.
They pass along a corridor, and he touches another door.
It, too, opens before them, and they pause once more,)
You!
(The one whose eyes flash green within the shadows nods.
Why are you here?
To tell that your father is dead.
Who are you?
You knew me as the Steel General. I slew Osiris and was broken myself. The Prince collected me and I wear the flesh once more, for a time. I come to tell you that this thing is so, and to say to your face that it was not a deed of stealth or malice, but an open act of combat in time of war.
You are a man of truth. Among all creatures, I do not doubt your word. And I seek no satisfaction if the deed was fair and in time of war.
And how went the war?
FAT MAN, ALL IN BLACK WHOSE ONE EYE IS A GRAY WHEEL, TURNING
The Prince holds the Middle Worlds once more.
And we are his emissaries, come to request your return to the House of Life, that you may rule there now in your father's stead, as Angel of that place.
I see. What of Set?
He is gone away. None knows where.
This likes me. More than a little. Yes, I suppose I’ll return.
MADRAK (dropping to one knee beside Megra of Kalgan.)
What child is this?
My son.
The son of Horus. Have you a name for him?
Not yet.
Congratulations.
Yes.
Many.
Thank you.
I give him the pendant of Isis, which is a thing of power. I know she would like her grandson to have it.
Thank you.
I give him a ring that is a piece of my first body, which served me well. It has always reminded me of humanity, in times of need.
Thank you.
I give him my staff, that it may comfort him. For there is an ancient tradition that staves have a way of doing that. I don’t know why.
Thank you.
I must depart now and begin my pilgrimage of repentance. Hail, Angel of the House of Life!
A good journey to you, Madrak.
(Madrak departs)
There is a revolution I must encourage. I go to find my horse. Hail, Angel of the House of Life!
A good revolution to you, General.
(The General departs.)
VRAMIN
And I go to the House of the Dead, where I now rule. Hail, Angel of the House of Life! The Prince will contact you one day from Marachek. And the other Angels of the other Stations will assemble to pay you honor.
A fine poetry and a good madness to you, Vramin.
Thank you, and I guess that’s about all there is to be said.
So it would seem.
(Vramin raises his cane and a poem falls and blazes upon the floor.
Horus lowers his eyes to read it, and when he looks up again the green man is gone.
As the poem fades, the Angel of the House of Life knows that it was true but forgets the words, which is as it should be.)