Salman Rushdie: Luka and the Fire of Life

They flew out of the Heart of Magic and the Forking Paths were below them, their waters boiling, leaping into the air to form hanging walls of liquid, then falling back again in floods. ‘So this is Level Nine,’ Luka heard himself saying, and Soraya answered grimly, ‘No, this is the End of the World.’

The Inescapable Whirlpool and the El Tiempo time-trap were swirling around faster and faster, sucking material into their mouths with ever greater force, and Soraya had to take the flying carpet dangerously high, sixty-one miles above the Earth’s surface, less than a mile from the Kármán Line, but there was still a moment when Soraya had to take the flying carpet dangerously high, sixty-one miles above the Earth’s surface, less than a mile from the Kármán Line, but there was still a moment when Soraya had to take the flying carpet dangerously high, sixty-one miles above the Earth’s surface, less than a mile from the Kármán Line, but there was still a moment when Soraya had to take the flying carpet dangerously high, sixty-one miles above the Earth’s surface, less than a mile from the Kármán Line, but there was still a moment when – They were almost trapped, and then they broke free and flew like a missile from a boy’s slingshot in a direction which Soraya was unable to control. The flying carpet was spinning round and round like a coin and its passengers clung to one another for dear life. Luka didn’t notice the Great Stagnation below them, and then they were at the Mists of Time. The Mists were in trouble too: large holes and tears had appeared in that formerly impenetrable wall of grey. Inside the Mists the carpet was still spinning and the Memory Birds wept with the fear of Oblivion and Coyote howled and things could have become unbearable if the ‘Old Boy’, the Titan Prometheus, had not risen to his feet and spoken for the first time, using words of Power. ‘ Khulo! ’ he roared at the swirling fog of nothingness. ‘I did not escape the Bird of Zeus to perish in a fog! Dafa ho! Begone, foul Curtain, and let us be on our way.’ And at once the flying carpet emerged from the Mists, and Luka could see where they were.

It was not a cheerful sight. They had been blown far away from the River. The City of Dreams was below them now, and as Soraya fought to steer the flying carpet in the right direction, Luka could see the towers of the Dream City toppling like card palaces, its homes lying in roofless ruin, and he saw, too, many of the unhoused Dreams, which only flourished behind drawn curtains in comfortable darkness, staggering into the bright streets to collapse and wither in the light. Nightmares galloped blindly down the City’s roads, and only a few citizens seemed unaffected; but even these were wandering about vaguely, not paying attention to the chaos around them, as if they lived in worlds of their own. ‘Those must be Daydreams,’ Luka guessed.

The collapse of the World of Magic terrified him, because it could only mean that Rashid Khalifa’s life was sliding down its last slope, and so, while Luka watched in horror the crumbling of the fields and farms of the Land of Lost Childhood, while he saw the smoke rising from the forest fires burning on the Blue Remembered Hills, while he witnessed the collapse of the City of Hope, all he could think was: ‘ Get me back in time, please don’t let me be too late, just get me back in time .’

Then he saw the Cloud Fortress of Baadal-Garh heading towards them at high speed, its massive fortifications intact, the Cloud upon which it stood boiling and bubbling like a sped-up film of itself, and with a sinking heart he understood that his final battle still lay ahead. His left hand clutched at the Ott Pot hanging round his neck, and its warmth gave him a little strength. He crawled on all fours along the flying carpet until he reached Soraya – it was impossible to walk on that rippling, zooming, wind-tossed rug – and he asked, already knowing the answers, ‘Who is in charge of that Fortress? Do they mean us any harm?’ Soraya’s face and body were filled with tension. ‘I wish we hadn’t outrun the Otter Air Force,’ she said, almost to herself. ‘But, anyway, they wouldn’t have been much use against this enemy.’ Then she turned sadly to Luka and answered him. ‘In my heart of hearts I knew this would happen,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know where or how or when, but I knew they would not stand back. It is the Aalim, Luka – the Guardians of the Fire, the Lords of Time. Jo-Hua, Jo-Hai, Jo-Aiga. A harsher Trinity you never will see. And with them, just as I suspected, there is a traitor and a turncoat. Look, there, upon the battlement. That vermilion bush shirt. That battered panama hat. There is the scoundrel, among the ranks of your deadliest foes.’

Yes, it was Nobodaddy, no longer a transparent spectre, but looking as solid as any man. Rage and misery wrestled with each other in Luka’s heart, but he fought them both back. This was a situation for calm minds. The Fortress City of Baadal-Garh was upon them, and as it neared, it grew. The Cloud upon which it stood spread around the Flying Carpet of King Solomon the Wise, and as it encircled them so did the Fortress’s lengthening walls. They were in a prison in the sky, Luka realised, and even though the air above them was clear he was sure that some unseen barrier would block their way if they attempted to escape. They were the prisoners of Time, and the flying carpet came to a halt right below the battlement where the creature Luka had known as Nobodaddy stood, looking down at them with scorn.

‘Look at me,’ he said. ‘As you see, you are already too late.’

Luka had to fight for self-control then, but he managed to shout back, ‘That can’t be true, otherwise you’d no longer be around, would you? If you were telling the truth about what happens when your work is done, then you’d have done that opposite-of-the-Bang thing, you’d – whatever you called it – un-become , and you told me you didn’t want to do that -’

‘ Un-Be ,’ Nobodaddy corrected him. ‘You should know the terminology by now. Oh, and when I said I didn’t want to do that? I lied. Why would any creature not want to do the thing it was created for? If you’re born to dance, you dance. If you’re born to sing, you don’t sit around keeping your mouth shut. And if you come into being in order to eat a man’s life, then finishing the job and Un-Being after it’s done is the supreme achievement, the absolutely satisfying climax. Yes! A thing of ecstasy.

‘It sounds like you’re in love with death, to be honest with you,’ said Luka, and then understood the meaning of what he’d said.

‘Quite,’ said Nobodaddy. ‘Now you get it. I do confess to a measure of self-love. And that is not a noble quality, I readily concede the point. But, I repeat: ecstasy . All the more so in a case like this one. Your father has fought me with all his might, I should tell you. My compliments to him. He clearly feels he has powerful reasons to stay alive, and maybe you are one of those reasons. But I have my hand on his throat now. And you are right: when I said you were too late, I lied again. Look.’

He held up his right hand, and Luka could see that half of the middle finger was missing. ‘That’s all the life he has left,’ said Nobodaddy. ‘And while we’re talking, he’s emptying out, and I am filling up. Who knows? Maybe you’ll still be around to witness the great event. You can certainly forget about getting home in time to save him, even if you do have the Fire of Life in that Ott Pot around your neck. Congratulations on getting that far, by the way. Level Eight! Quite an achievement. But now, let’s not forget, Time is on my side.’

‘You turned out to be a nasty piece of work, and no mistake,’ said Luka. ‘What a fool I was to be taken in by you.’ Nobodaddy laughed a cold laugh. ‘Ah, but if you hadn’t gone along with me, there would have been none of this fun,’ he said. ‘You’ve made the wait so much more enjoyable. I really have to thank you for that.’