Salman Rushdie - Luka and the Fire of Life

She was holding a little clay pot in her hands. Luka looked inside it. A small group of what looked like half a dozen black potatoes nestled on a bed of twigs. ‘This,’ said Soraya, ‘is one of the famous Ott Pots, and there inside it are a few of the famous Ott Potatoes. Once the Fire of Life touches them, they’ll burn brightly, and they won’t easily be put out.’ She hung the pot around his neck by its leather strap. ‘Where was I?’ She thought for a minute, then resumed. ‘Oh yes. Maui – that’s Maui-tikitiki-a-Taranga to you – stole Fire from the fingernails of the fire goddess Mahuika and gave it to the Polynesians. She’ll definitely be on the lookout for him . And so on.’

You neglected to include the First Thief , Coyote said. Oldest and greatest. King of the Hill. Inspiration to us all. Stole it for all mankind .

‘The Titan Prometheus,’ Soraya said, ‘was the brother, oddly enough, of your friend, the late, unlamented Captain Aag. Not that they ever got on. Couldn’t stand each other, in fact. Anyhow: three million four hundred thousand years ago the Old Boy was indeed the first of the Fire Thieves. But after what happened to him back then, the searchers will probably not be on the lookout for another Fire Run by the old fellow.’

‘He lost his nerve,’ Luka remembered.

That warnt right of me to mention , Coyote said. Taint proper to dishonour the great. But since Hercules shot the eagle the Old Boy lives pretty quiet .

‘Or the vulture,’ Luka said.

Or the vulture. Warnt none of us there at the time to verify, and the Old Boy, he dont talk so much no more.

‘And another good thing about all this rushing about,’ Soraya murmured in Luka’s ear, ‘is that it will allow you to get close to the Bridge, if you rush about too and look like you’re searching for yourselves.’

Theyll be looking for me an my associates , Coyote said. Best we part ways. It’s fixin to get kindly heated in my vicinity. But look for me to make my run and then you put your best foot forward an make yours . He loped away without another word.

All at once Luka realised that Nobodaddy had disappeared. One minute he had been there, listening, fidgeting with his panama hat, and then without so much as a poof , he was nowhere to be seen. ‘What’s he up to, I’d very much like to know?’ Luka thought. ‘I don’t feel good about him vanishing like this.’ Soraya put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’re better off without him,’ she said. Then Nuthog the red dragon had her idea, and Luka put Nobodaddy out of his mind.

‘Once upon a time our sister Gyara-Jinn helped the King of the Horses escape from Sniffelheim,’ said the red dragon, nodding at her golden sibling. ‘Yes! The mighty Slippy, that gigantic, white, eight-legged steed – with two legs at each corner, so to speak – had been arbitrarily, unfairly imprisoned there by the Aalim, just as my sisters were until Queen Soraya here set them free by her own powerful magic. The Three Jos had decided there was no place in all of Time for an eight-legged wonder-horse. Just like that – decided it, without any discussion, like tyrants; with no consideration for anyone’s feelings, Slippy’s feelings included. They can be cruel and wanton and wilful when they want to be, even though they pridefully call themselves the Three Inevitable Truths! Anyhow, it was Jinn here who freed Slippy with her dragon-fire – her breath is hotter than mine or Badlo’s or Sara’s, and proved hot enough to melt the Eternal Ice, which ours did not. In return, the King of the Horses gave her a magnificent gift: the power to Change, just once, whenever the need might be very great, into an exact replica of Slippy himself. No god will dare to search Slippy the King of the Horses as he passes over Vibgyor. We’ll strap in each of you – you, Luka, and your dog and bear – between one of the pairs of legs, which leaves one pair of legs for you, Queen Soraya, if you would like…’

‘No,’ Soraya said sadly. ‘Even with the Flying Carpet of King Solomon folded away, I’m afraid the presence of the Insultana of Ott will not help you, Luka. I have been too offensive about those cold, stuffy, punishing, implacable, destructive old Jos for too long, and they have no Time for me. It will go worse for you if I’m at your side. I will not enter the Heart of the Heart ever again, that’s the truth. I have no wish to end up in Sniffelheim, imprisoned in an Ice Sheet. But I will wait for you and speed you to safety if, that is to say when, you return with blazing Ott Potatoes in that little Ott Pot.’

‘You’d do this for me?’ Luka said to the golden dragon. ‘You’d use up this one-time Change just to help me win through? I don’t know how to thank you enough.’

‘We owe everything to Queen Soraya,’ said Gyara-Jinn. ‘That is the person whom you need to thank.’

‘Who could have imagined,’ Luka told himself ruefully, ‘that I, Luka Khalifa, aged only twelve, would be crossing the great bridge Vibgyor, the most beautiful bridge in the entire Magical World, a bridge built entirely of rainbows and brushed by the west wind, gentlest of all the winds, blown softly from the lips of the god Zephyr himself; and yet the only thing I can see and feel is the bristly hair on a giant horse’s inner thighs. Who would have thought that out there are some of the greatest names in the history of the Unseen World, the names of the once-worshipped, once-omnipotent Divinities with whom I grew up, about whom I heard each night in my father’s endless supply of bedtime stories, the sword Kusanagi, the ex-gods Tonatiuh, Vulcan, Surtr and Bel; and the Bennu bird, and Ra the Supreme; and yet I can’t catch even a glimpse of them, or allow them to get the tiniest glimpse of me. Who would have believed that I, Luka, would be entering the Garden of Perfect Perfumes which circles the Lake of Wisdom and is the sweetest-smelling place in all of Existence, and yet the only thing I can smell is horse.’

He could hear noises such as he had never heard in his life: the shriek of a falcon, the hiss of a snake, the roar of a lion, the burning of the sun, all magnified beyond imagining and almost beyond endurance, the war cries of the gods. The Changer Gyara-Jinn in the form of the King of Horses whinnied, neighed, stamped her (or, for the moment, his) eight feet in response, and the intruders concealed between her (or, for the moment, his) legs shook and cringed. Luka didn’t like to imagine how Bear and Dog were feeling. Underneath a horse, wedged in between its legs, was no place for a dog, or a bear. There must be a certain loss of pride involved, and he was upset to be the reason for their feelings of shame. He was leading them into great danger, too, he knew that, but he had to close his mind to that thought if he was to stand any chance of doing what needed to be done. ‘ I am exploiting their love and loyalty ,’ he thought. ‘ It seems there is no such thing as a purely good deed, a completely right action. Even this task, which I took on for the very best of reasons, involves making choices that are not that “good”, choices that might even be “wrong” .’

In his mind’s eye he saw again the faces of Queen Soraya and the Memory Birds, as they had looked when he said his farewells. Their eyes were moist with tears, and he knew it was because they feared they would never see him again. To this thought, too, he needed to close his mind. He was going to prove them all wrong. If a thing had never been done before, that only meant it was still waiting for the one who could pull it off. ‘ See how narrow I have become ,’ he thought. ‘ I have turned myself into a single, inevitable thing. I am an arrow speeding towards a target. Nothing must deflect me from my chosen course .’