utter senseless waste of his life, echoed in each note.
'God!' Spence cried. 'Save me!'
He felt a shudder run through the darkness as if he had wounded it with a blow. And then a single beam of light, finer than a single hair, struck down through the darkness to stand shimmering before him. Spence reached out and touched his finger to the light and felt it sing within him. It was alive, this tiny laser point of light, in a way that the darkness was never alive. It had power beyond all the power of the darkness, and it awakened in him a corresponding power as it infused his own inner spark with new brilliance.
In the light he heard a voice speak to him. 'Why do you search in darkness for your life?' it asked.
Spence could not answer it. He could not speak.
'Come into the light,' said the voice, 'and you will find what you are searching for.'
Spence looked up at the shining thread of light and far above him he heard a tremendous tearing sound as if the sky itself were being torn in two. He clamped his hands over his ears to save them from the deafening sound.
Far above him he saw a crack in the darkness and light began to spill in. It seemed to him for a moment that he was inside an enormous egg and light from a greater world outside was pouring in through a crack in the shell.
He heard above the tearing sound the agonizing shriek of the darkness as it was riven apart and burned away by the light. Then he was standing in a pool of light that fell down upon hint from above. He raised his face to it and filled his eyes with it.
With a terrific roar the darkness dissolved and ran away and a brilliant white light, brighter than ten thousand suns, blazed. He felt its power and its vibrant, living energy as it danced over him, tingling every pore, every square centimeter of his skin.
Now it was inside him, penetrating his flesh and bones and burning into the fibers of his soul. He could feel it like fire -cunsuming all impurities, devouring any remaining shreds of darkness which clung to his inner self, cleansing the very atoms of his being.
Spence then knew that he and the light were one; it had done its work in him and he was transformed into a living beam of light. He felt himself expanding and growing without limits, a creature of infinity, without beginning or end, and yet he knew the true living light to be as far above him and brighter as he was himself above and brighter than the darkness it had saved him from.
He had touched the source of life and it flowed within him and through him and always would. It was eternal and so, now, was he. He knew that he was born to be part of it and to live forever in it.
The thought was a song inside him; but there were no words, only a melody which soared endlessly up and up, ever higher, ever more pure. …
SPENCE BENT OVER THE sleeping form of Adjani. The forest sounds were hushed; it was an hour yet to daylight, though through the trees above he could see a dull blue showing. Crickets in the tall grass and among the branches of nearby bushes trilled musically, filling the night with their peaceful sound.
'Adjani, wake up!' He heard the slow, rhythmic breathing of his friend and hated to wake him, but his news would not wait. It had to be told. 'Adjani!'
'What is it?' Adjani sat up at once-wary, like a cat. 'Has something happened?' He looked around quickly but saw no signs of alarm. A bandit sentry watched them from a distance; his rifle rested on his knees. Clearly, they were in the same predicament as before; nothing had changed.
'Adjani, I've seen him!' Spence's hands were shaking and his voice trembled.
'Seen who?' Adjani came fully upright and peered into Spence's face. He saw a peculiar light in his friend's eyes.
'The Creator of all this,' he waved a hand vaguely at the jungle around them, 'of you and me, of the universe!'
'What?'
'The All-Being-God! He spoke to me!' Spence put an unsteady hand on Adjani's shoulder. Until he had said the words aloud he had not consciously named his vision. The full meaning of what he said broke in on him, jarring him. He lapsed into a stunned silence.
'Spence! Are you all right?' Adjani shook his elbow.
'I'm fine.' Recognition came back into Spence's eyes. He lowered his head and grinned sheepishly. 'It was only a dream.'
'Tell me about it,' said Adjani. 'I have learned to respect your dreams.'
9
… I AM HERE, ORTU.' Hocking looked at the motionless figure before him. It had been some time since he had been in the palace, and Hocking thought his master appeared even more shrunken and wasted than ever.
'Why are you here?' Ortu did not raise his head; he spoke to Hocking as one asleep. Hocking knew Ortu never slept.
'You said you wanted Reston…' Hocking began.
'Then why is he not here?' The voice was cold, the tone menacing.
'He is coming, Ortu. He is on his way here now.'
'How do you know this?' Ortu raised his head slowly. His almost luminous eyes glared out at Hocking with loathing.
'It was not easy, Ortu. I've had to… to make other arrangements.'
'Silence! Remember who I am! You have failed again to carry out my commands. What do you have to say for yourself?' 'It was my fault. Reston escaped-he tricked us. But-' 'Who are the people you have brought with you? Why have you brought them?'
'They are hostages, Ortu. I thought it best to-'
'You thought! I am your master! You act according to my will! Or have you forgotten?'
'No, Ortu. I have not forgotten. But the girl-the girl is Reston's girlfriend. That's how I know he will come. With the tanti we can bring him. That's what you want, isn't it?'
Ortu seemed to consider this and then said, 'Fazlul's men are here. Instruct them that the Governor is to intercept Reston on the road and bring him here at once. I will not risk losing him again.' Ortu's head sank once more; his eyes closed.
'As you wish, Ortu.'
'And the others-your hostages. You will eliminate them at once. It was foolish to bring them here. We have no use for them.'
'Yes, Ortu. I will do as you say.'
The incense rose in gray billows filling the chamber where Ortu sat like a statue. Hocking, almost choking on the fumes, gazed around the room he knew so well. As always it held a fearful fascination for him. This was the room where his master lived-Ortu had not stirred in forty or fifty years-and from this room he directed his will.
Hocking again regarded the wizened body before him and felt the heat of anger leap up in him. Ortu was patient beyond all human patience; he had waited a thousand years for his plans to begin to grow. He would wait a thousand more for them to bear fruit. I cannot wait that long, thought Hocking to himself. We have a chance now; we must not wait!
Hocking had his own plans for the new world order which Ortu had designed and which would soon commence. It seemed ludicrous that one man, the stubborn Spencer Reston, should single-handedly halt their progress, and so close to the realization of their dreams. What was so important about Reston anyway? He was nothing-a worm to be crushed underfoot.
Someone had to be eliminated; Hocking saw that clearly. But it would not be Ari and her father; they would be needed until the station was secured. It was Reston who should be eliminated.
Hocking withdrew silently; his chair floated out on the clouds of incense and away. It was so simple he did not know why he had not thought of it before. Perhaps he had been afraid, but not now.
