She laughed without a sound, one edge of her mouth drawing back into a lopsided smile. “The destruction has yet to come?! My prince, have you not seen the devastation all around you? Examine any of these worlds stacked upon worlds and you will find them filled with ruin and despair so deep they appear beyond recovery. Is this not destruction? The very destruction for which Maitreya waits and waits?”
The prince’s arms shook; his hands clenched into fists on his lap. Swallowing his fear, he looked up at Asura.
“But who brought this ruin here? Who brought the calm of death, the peace of destruction? Was it not you, Asura, and your minions who visited devastation upon this place?”
Asura ignored the prince’s words, letting them pass by her as though she had no ears with which to hear him. “Do not forget, my prince, that I am a part of this world too. My existence is but one aspect of its reality. Listen well, my prince.” Asura’s cheeks were red in the light of the aurora. With each passing moment, another part of the sky was burning.
“The cause of this world’s devastation does not originate within this world. Destruction and growth are merely two aspects of change. Even the death of a man is not a true destruction—it is one step in the cycle of reincarnation. However, the destruction that threatens this world now is the true destruction; it will leave this place unchanging, forever stilled. All the energy of this world will be converted in the end to heat energy, and that will spill out into the universe until perfect equilibrium is reached and heat death arrives.”
Asura averted her eyes, as though she were seeing her prediction play out before her. “Brahmā does not heed my warnings. He would claim that the source of this devastation is my army of minions and the violence they represent. And he is welcome to his theories. And yet . . .”
The eerie light of the aurora sent flames up the side of Asura’s face. The light seemed to pierce her robes, painting the thin muscles at her shoulders the color of the sky. “He must know of the cakravarti-rājan.”
“And what is this cakravarti-rājan of which you speak?”
“The Brahmins can tell you as well as I. He is the King of Kings, the master of karma. He stands without this world, and has viewed its life and growth for more than one trillion years.”
“Have you ever met the cakravarti-rājan?”
Asura glanced at the prince, a surprised look on her face. Then she slowly shook her head. “My prince. No one has seen the cakravarti-rājan. Nor do we know where he might be. Yet all who know his name know that, not long from now, the cakravarti-rājan will appear in this world. And when he does he will rule over all as the one great God, the Creator, he who transcends karma.”
“But is it not Maitreya who is destined to save humanity in the time of the last dharma?”
The dim flames lighting the distant horizon seemed to spread nearer now, scorching the sky, surging forward like a giant wave. Bands of deeper crimson appeared; then blue rings of light rose again into the sky. The brilliant colors were reflected in Asura’s clear eyes.
“My prince, no one knows what Maitreya is in truth. They say that he waits in the Tuṣita Pure Land for the age of the last dharma, yet it is unclear whether he awaits the end of days itself or the salvation of humanity. Which is it? Is Maitreya truly worthy of the hopeful worship that is showered upon him? That is the question that none will answer—that must be answered. That is why I raised an army and moved against Brahmā. It is because I believed the fate of our world had been left to hang solely on the existence of Maitreya.”
“I had heard it was because of past karma, but I see you had other aims. Why did Brahmā not listen to your words?”
“I do not know, though I suspect—”
“Thought control?”
“Precisely. It seems we agree on one thing at least.” Asura crossed her arms and grinned, her white teeth stark against her dark skin.
“I would like to see for myself what Maitreya is,” Siddhārtha muttered, his eyes watching the kaleidoscopic sky.
“You would do well to do so, my prince. Even the Brahmin monks have not met Maitreya. Yes . . . find him, and see the truth for yourself.”
Siddhārtha stood unsteadily. He detected the faint smell of oil and decay on the icy cold wind that blew across the plain. Turning his back on Asura, he strode away in silence. He hadn’t the faintest idea in which direction Tovatsue lay, yet he knew with conviction that so long as he moved forward, his feet would unerringly lead him there.
The icy wind blew at his back, a reminder of the distant montage of battle. Something far away was burning. The curtain of flame in the sky was spreading wider in pulses, its brightness increasing and then retreating, sending new jets of flame in all directions.
“My prince,” said Asura, who seemed to be walking alongside him, though he had not seen her approach, “Maitreya is in the center of Tuṣita, in the Pearl Palace. I will lead you there.”
“Lead me? Can you even enter Tovatsue?”
“Though the Brahmin may not enter my camp, I can enter all Six Heavens of the Realm of Desire, and all the other heavens besides. They will not see me. And even if they could, they cannot harm me. This is why even Śakra with his Four Heavenly Kings and Eight Generals has been fighting me for four hundred million years and has not won a single victory.”
“Why can they not see you? They are no primitives to be so easily deceived.”
“They cannot see me because they do not try. It’s a form of self-hypnosis—an information processing error. Recognition is merely the result of information processing, you know.”
Asura extended her right hand toward the prince’s face. A fearsome light blazed in her eyes.
“For example—”