1
       Ofluman, the wizard of black spiders, paid eight gold coins for a hippo-centaur. The creature he bought had the lower body of a hippopotamus and the upper body of a young man.
        "He is a very clean, loving, and obedient boy," the former owner of the hippo-centaur said.
        "Obedient?" Ofluman asked. "Good. Because any disobedience will be punished severely. He'll learn it soon enough."
       "I haven't neutered him yet," the former owner continued. "He is intelligent and easy to teach. Eats everything. Look at his teeth. They are powerful enough to crush moose bones."
       The hippo-centaur had long golden hair gathered into a ponytail, wide nostrils, and white eyebrows on the suntanned face. Muscles rippled under the thin skin of his upper body. His two canines looked dangerous, sticking from under his upper lip like tusks.
       Ofluman patted a furry spider sitting on his shoulder, then straightened the woolen blanket on the centaur's back broad enough to carry three or four people and a load. The hippo-centaur gave him a sweet smile and batted his eyes.
        "It's not really any of my business, but I think I should warn you," the former owner said. "No one has ever returned from the Chahly Morass after seeing the geometrical angel. It gives me a bad feeling when so many people go down that road and never come back. Honestly, it outrages me, okay?"
       Ofluman sneered at his sudden hostility. "Listen, I don't need anyone's help," he said. "And I'll ask for your advice if I need it."
       "I know, I know, they always say so."
       "They?" Ofluman asked. "Who are they?"
       "Those who have the gift, like you. Proud men, full of themselves, with the same flame in their eyes you've got: bright like magnesium light. None of them returned because the angel is merciless."
       Ofluman frowned. "Okay, I've heard you. I'll think about it."
       "All of them used to say so," the hippo-centaur said, enveloping Ofluman in his warm, fermented breath.
       Ofluman turned to him.
       "And how do you know that, creature?"
       "Some of those strangers wanted to buy me when I was a calf," the hippo-centaur said. "But they bought my brothers and sisters instead. I've never seen my brothers and sisters since then."
       On the third day of his journey through the wetland where the hippo-centaur had to swim across hollows full of black water, wade shallow streams, or nose his way through the reeds, Ofluman saw jagged rocks rising into the sky, and soon he noticed the first pyramid. It was a geometrically perfect monolith about two hundred feet high, studded with crooked, tortured poplars and firs. He ordered the hippo-centaur to stop at a hot spring. He took off his gray hoodless cloak and enjoyed a short soak in a mineral pool that smelled of brine. It was nice to take his clothes off after so many days.
       He had the body of a wrestler; he was a big man, husky, so wide in the shoulders that his legs looked a bit short. The spider still sat on his naked shoulder.
       "What do you think of that pyramid?" he asked the hippo-centaur.
       "It looks innocent and ominous at the same time," the hippo-centaur answered, sloshed out of the water, leaving deep four-fingered footprints on the wet sand, and started building a fire. "I think this place is scary. Is it safe to stop for a night here?"
       "Of course not," Ofluman said. "Nothing is safe in this godless world."
       "Yes." The hippo-centaur nodded. "Most people don't have God in their hearts now."
       "No, creature. I mean something entirely different. You should know that the god of this world is long dead, and now someone else has to ascend to the throne. Actually, it's the reason why we are heading to the Chahly Morass."
       The hippo-centaur stared at him, bewildered. "Are you serious, master? God is the infinity. How can the infinite die?"
        "Only the Supreme Mind of the Universe is infinite," Ofluman said, "while local gods are not."
       "But who has the ability to become a new god?"
       "The greatest wizard of all, of course! Look at this." Ofluman pointed at a big rock sitting nearby; then using only the power of his mind, he made it crumble into several mossy chunks, each of them as big as an elephant. A moment later, he crushed them into dust and pulverized the dust into a fine powder of silica. "I have the ability. I have the courage. And I have the gift."
       "Oh my goodness," the hippo-centaur whispered, his eyes widening in fear.
       Ofluman felt a sneer stretch his lips. It felt good to be scary. "One day, you'll be telling everyone about the time when you had a privilege to serve me," he said.
       The next day they saw three identical pyramids standing in a row, surrounded by a dead forest. The wind sang quietly as it passed through the bare branches. The day after that, there were ten: the pyramids stood at the edge of a precipice that was so deep and dark that seemed bottomless. As they approached the abyss, Ofluman felt the hippo-centaur's back tremble.
       There was a thin winding trail leading down.
       "No way I'm going there," the hippo-centaur said and edged back, looking at the trail almost washed out by rains.
       "Yes, you will."
       "Never in my life," the creature said with irrefutable certainty that made Ofluman's blood boil.
       Ofluman hit him hard in the back of his head. When the hippo-centaur turned his head to him, Ofluman whacked him right in the face, and the hippo-centaur's eyebrow exploded with blood.
       The creature bared his huge teeth and growled.
       Ofluman started choking him with his magic power, without even touching the hippo- centaur's neck.
       The hippo-centaur gasped for air, trying to say something. Soon his lips got blue. The light of life was slowly leaving his eyes, and his hind knees buckled.
       "See what happens if you mess with a wizard?" Ofluman said at last. "I don't tolerate any disobedience, creature. Is it clear? I must get you neutered as soon as possible... Now, go down that trail."
       A few days later, they reached the Chahly Morass. It was an enormous valley, so quiet that Ofluman ordered the hippo-centaur to stand still, and for a long time, he listened to the silence that seemed to roar in his ears. Thousands of identical pyramids stretched in neat rows in front of him. Tens of thousands, maybe. The steep, rugged slope of the Hurammeet Mountains silvered with eternal snow on the top practically shadowed the sun, and only one amber wedge of sunlight slowly walked over the innumerable pyramids, lighting them one by one. They lay like spiked dragon skin in the dim distance.
       So many! Ofluman thought. Oh my god, so many pyramids! Then he mentally corrected himself because there was no god.
       He climbed off the hippo-centaur and hearing distinctly his own breathing and every beat of his pulse, approached the oblong boulder that was too geometrically perfect to be a natural object. He fell down to his knees. The hippo-centaur's hoofs hurriedly clomped away over the rocky ground.
       The boulder trembled and moved a fraction of an inch away from him. "What do you want from me?" it asked in a stern male voice.
       "You are the geometric angel, the merciless lord of the Chahly Morass, aren't you?"
       The charged silence trembled in his ears. He held his breath.
       "Yes."
       "At last! I've found you!"
        "Get up from your knees. I don't need slaves. I need friends," the boulder said.
       "I'll be your friend! I'll be your friend for life if you teach me how to become a god."
       "To teach you? Do you have the gift?"
       "Yes!"
       The boulder changed its form and became a transparent octahedron. "Are you sure?"
       Ofluman got up from his knees and touched the octahedron's side. The surface was unexpectedly soft and pulsing under his fingers. "Let me explain something to you, angel. Some pretty evident things. I've found you after fifteen years of searching. How could I do that without the gift?"
       "You've probably overheard some old legends people tell each other in taverns."
       "I don't care about stupid old legends! I've listened to your call since the day I was born!"
       "You surprise me. I've never known of your existence," the octahedron said and turned into a shining yellow sphere. It was so bright that Ofluman's eyes watered. "I don't know who you are."
       "I'm Ofluman. People call me the wizard of black spiders. I am powerful and famous. Even kings and emperors are afraid of me. I can defeat armies."
       "Good for you, wizard of black spiders. Thank you for coming, but I'm not going to teach you."
       Ofluman felt a surge of anger in his chest. He knew that anger was the most dangerous beast in his inner jungle, so he ordered himself to calm down. He counted to ten. Then to ten again. It didn't help.
       "I just want you to understand. I need your help, angel. I'm not going anywhere from here without it!"
       He was still mad. Bewildered, humiliated, but mad.
       Four many-jointed arms grew out of the yellow sphere. One of them held a big bronze coin.
       "If you want me to teach you, wizard," the geometrical angel said, "you should answer three questions first."
       "I'm all ears."
       "The first one is: what can you do?"
       With the power of his mind, Ofluman picked up thirty man-sized rocks and juggled them in the air, throwing them up and down, catching them with ease. Then he looked at the geometric angel. "I doubt even you can do something as difficult as this, angel," he said proudly.
       "Yes, you are good at showing off, wizard," the geometrical angel said. "What about serious things?"
       "I can see through walls. And I can make people obey. Look at my hippo-centaur. It's worth at least eighty gold coins, but I bought him for eight."
       "It's not much. I think I saw greater wizards than you. One of them could join any two things together. At my request, he crafted some of the lowliest creatures, such as the first hippo-centaurs, human-headed dogs, and snake-headed women."
       Ofluman nodded and beckoned the hippo-centaur with a curled index finger. The creature approached timidly, fear written over his face.
       Ofluman raised his fist in the air, and the hippo-centaur broke into two parts. The smaller one became a naked man, and the bigger formed a huge bull hippo. The man started to run, yelling, but the animal chased him, opened his mouth, and swallowed the man up to the waist. The next moment, the hippo-centaur was whole again.
       "Yes, it was impressive," the geometrical angel said. "What else?"
       "I can give my orders to daemons."
       "Really? To which of them?"
       "To the Princess of Spiders."
       "Is it her?" the angel's hand pointed to the spider sitting on Ofluman's shoulder.
       "Yes."
       "Hmm, that explains a great deal. I don't really know..."
       "Thank you, angel."
       "You thank me? For what?"
       "For your first question. When am I going to hear the second one?"
       "When you are ready. In a year or two. Or ten, maybe."
       "Good. I'll be ready tomorrow morning," Ofluman said.
       In the evening, he ordered the Princess of Spiders to come. She took a human form, turning from a spider into a girl. She stood in front of him, huge-eyed, thin, as fast as black lightning, devastatingly beautiful, but covered all over with silky black fur. The fur was thick but so short that it created moiré patterns on her shoulders. She was wearing a black sleeveless dress clinging to her body.
       "Build me a house where I can stay," Ofluman ordered.
       The Princess of Spiders summoned a dozen of master-spiders. They summoned myriads of spiders, which covered the ground like a boiling carpet. They started building a house out of wood splinters and pebbles and mud, tying everything together with spider webs. At about midnight, they finished the walls and a thatched roof. Ofluman brushed aside the cobwebs, entered the house, and walked over the spongy floor to the middle of the room, followed by the princess, who carried an oil lantern in her hand.
       "What is it?" Ofluman asked her. "Why did you put that trunk here?"
       She ate him with adoring eyes. "To keep your possessions in it, my love."
       "I don't have any possessions, and I don't need any. What is that?"
       "Clay pots to cook your food. Plates, cups, and bowls. Each is uniquely painted. Very special. They will create a homey atmosphere and brighten up your life."
       Ofluman picked up a bowl patterned with leaves, roses, and smiling kittens.
       "I don't need any homey atmosphere while I am here. And I'm not going to cook. When my food supplies run out, I will eat fruit, honey, and herbs." He threw everything from the table, and some plates broke into pieces when they landed. "Order your spiders to clean the mess here... And what is that?"
       She kissed the bristle on his cheek. "It's a bed."
       "It's too big for me."
       "We'll sleep in it together."
       He could see the pleading in her eyes.
       "What the hell are you talking about?" he said. "You know that will never happen. No one in their sane mind will share a bed with the Princess of Spiders."
       The princess lowered her eyes.
       "Order your servants to create for me a woman out of spider silk and bring her to life," Ofluman said. "Make her as beautiful as you are, but less hairy. She has to obey all my wishes."
       The princess's spiders started spinning webbing. With a confident walk, she went out of the house.
       The hippo-centaur stopped digging for wild carrots and looked up at her. "Why don't you leave him?" he asked her. "He is a creep."
       "Your eyebrow is split open," she said. "It needs stitches. Is it his doing?"
       "Yes."
       "He's just stressed out now," she said. "He is not always like this."
       "Do you love him?"
       "Yes."
       "He doesn't deserve your love," he said and grunted loudly like a big boar.
       "Daemons mate for life," she said and added a few obscene words in the eternal language of spiders.
       "Don't do that, please," he said. "Don't make him a woman out of spider silk."
       "Why shouldn't I?"
       "Because you're going to kill her right after he beds her, right?"
       "Of course I'll kill her," the Princess of Spiders said, and the pent-up fury made her lips thin. "I never leave my rivals alive and happy. But I'm not going to discuss this with every speaking animal I come upon."
       
       2
       "Six thousand years ago, when the old god was dying," the geometrical angel said, "he created me and gave me a countless number of millennia to find a successor."
        "You'll never find anyone better than me," Ofluman said. "I've seen kings, counts, emperors, and other people of power. And do you know a great secret? They are all psychopaths. The world has always been ruled by psychopaths. I'm better than them. A lot better. I'm perfectly sane and rational and balanced most of the time. Look, choose me, and I guarantee the troubles of this world are over. What is your next question?"
       The geometrical angel tossed the bronze coin and caught it again. "The next question is: why did the old god die?"
       "Is it so important?"
       "Yes."
       "I figure..."
       "Yes?"
       "I figure, it's complicated," Ofluman said. "Can I think it over?"
       "So be it. You can think until tomorrow morning."
       Soon, Ofluman summoned the Princess of Spiders.
       "Why did the old god die?" he asked her. "Don't tell me you don't know. My life is in your hands."
       She ran her hand through his orange, graying hair. "I don't know, my love."
       "Shit. I knew that."
       "Can I guess?" the hippo-centaur asked.
       "Keep your mouth shut until someone asks you, creature. You're too ignorant to guess the answer."
       "I think," he hippo-centaur said, "the god died of a broken heart because he failed to help all the needy, ill, bereaved, lonely, handicapped, poor, sad, afflicted, abandoned, and mentally impaired."
       For a long moment, Ofluman stared at him, puzzled. Then he chuckled to himself.
       "Failed to help? Nonsense. A god never fails at anything."
       "I know!" the princess said.
       "The correct answer?"
        "No, but I can order my slaves to create a brain out of spider webs," the princess said.
       "Create a what?"
       "A big brain. It will answer any question you may have."
       "Then do it, my girl," Ofluman said. "Do it immediately."
       The Princess of Spiders summoned a dozen of master-spiders. They summoned myriads of spiders ranging in size from a poppy seed to a walnut. They started building an enormous brain out of spider webs and water they carried from the nearby spring. Late in the evening, the brain was ready. It was as big as a stack of hay, but looked wet and squishy and very vulnerable, slightly compressed by its own weight. There was something that looked like a piece of fabric between the two hemispheres. The brain had eyes and ears and jaws so it could see, hear, and speak. Its jaws and ears were connected to a porous bone forming the back part of the base of the cranium.
       It sat on the long grass in front of the house. Ofluman walked around it, amazed by its size and the awe-inspiring complexity of the convolutions. It gave off the scent of drying blood. The brain's veiny eyeballs moved, watching him with a look of malignant suspicion.
       "Are you really clever?" Ofluman asked.
       "My mind can pierce human souls, and the fabric of space and time itself," the brain said.
       "Then tell me why the old god died," Ofluman said.
       "I'm not going to answer your questions," the brain said, and its gnarled ears perked up, alert. "Pay me first."
       The spiders had dug a pit under its lower jaw so that it could speak. When it spoke, small blobs of saliva flew in all directions. It probably had too much water in it.
       "Fair enough. What kind of payment do you want?" Ofluman asked with a complacent smile.
       "I want the thumb of your right hand. Cut it off and put it in my jaws."
       "What? That's hideous!"
       "You'll know the answer as long as you agree on my conditions."
       "You don't need my thumb. How about something else instead? Gold, a piece of venison?"
       "Nope."
       "Do you want my hippo-centaur's thumb? Or his whole arm? Or even two arms?"
       "No use arguing with me. Your hippo-centaur is filthy. You don't feed him at all, so he eats frogs, rats, and tree bark. His flesh doesn't taste good."
       Ofluman clenched his fists. "What the hell are you thinking of me, brain? Do you think I'm stupid enough to lose my thumb?"
       "Compared to me, you are a village idiot."
       "Okay, I'm as stupid as you are clever, but still, I have a most charming idea."
       Ofluman whispered something to the Princess of Spiders. She nodded and looked at one of the master-spiders. The master-spider waved its foreleg, and thousands of spiders started stinging the brain.
       Some minutes later, the brain gave its answer.
       "The old god died of an old age," it wheezed. "Let me die, please."
       The princess allowed the brain to die, and it started to rot and sag right away. Soon it turned into a milky jelly that oozed bubbles.
       "We did a good job today," Ofluman said.
       She stared at him with a silly, adoring grin on her face. "Yes. I hope so."
       "Where's the woman I slept with yesterday?" he asked, and her smile disappeared.
       "Forget about her," she said through her lips.
       "I don't want to forget about her. She was really good."
       "I've killed her."
       He kissed the princess, ignoring the freezing stare of her ancient eyes. Her furred skin trembled like the skin of a horse shaking off flies. Every short hair on her neck stuck straight up, making the fur so transparent that he could see the goosebumps.
       "Pity. Then make me another one. She'll be my little present to myself," he said and walked away, humming a song.
       
       3
       "No, it's the wrong answer," the geometrical angel said.
       "What do you mean 'wrong answer'? Are you sure you know the answer yourself?"
       "Don't make me angry, wizard, or you will regret it," the geometrical angel said and turned into a ball of orange flame. Ofluman stepped back because his eyebrows were singed. "Don't ever make me angry again!"
       "Give me another chance, angel," Ofluman pleaded and took a step forward, cowering his eyes with his hand. "Ask me your third question. I won't fail you again, I swear."
       "Okay, then. Tell me, why do you want to be a god?"
       "Is it your third question? The last one?"
       "Yes."
       "Is it a big deal? Does it make any difference?"
       "A world of difference. Before making a big decision, I want to examine your motives."
       "My motives are as clear as daylight: I want to be a god because I have the gift to be a god."
       Then he told the angel a long story about his life, trying to be as frank as possible and compose a simple picture from the kaleidoscopic shards of memory.
       "No," the geometrical angel said. "I feel that the most important part of your story is missing. I still don't see why you decided to become a god."
       Ofluman buried his fingers in his orange hair and squeezed his throbbing head.
       "Because I want it more than anything! Honestly, I'd give my right hand for it!"
       "Why do you want it more than anything? Give me the right answer tomorrow, or I will never teach you."
       That evening Ofluman ordered the Princess of Spiders to create the brain again.
       "You fooled me last night!" he shouted to the brain.
       "Take it easy, man. I'm not going to answer your stupid questions without the proper payment, understand?"
       Ofluman felt his jaw tighten. His heart pounded. "Okay. Do you want my thumb? I'm not a weakling. You'll get my thumb! I'll cut it off with my own hand, right now!"
       "You make me sick, man," the brain said and shook all over, imitating laugh. "I don't want your thumb anymore."
       "What do you want, then?"
       "I want to answer the angel's questions with you as an equal. Let the geometrical angel choose between us."
       "No. It will never happen!"
       "Is the great wizard afraid of fair competition?"
       "You'd better take my thumb, brain."
       "I don't want your thumb. I want your liver and your heart. I want to eat them slowly, looking in your eyes at the same time and seeing your pain. Unfortunately, it's impossible. You won't survive longer than a minute without your liver or heart, so your right hand chopped off at the wrist will be enough."
       "Do I understand you right? Do you want me to cut my own hand off?"
       "Yep. Go ahead, do it. After becoming a god, you'll create for yourself a new hand, or a flipper, or anything you'll want. It's simple. You lose nothing, but gain everything."
       Ofluman looked at the brain without a word. He felt a terrible tragedy was approaching, yet he could do nothing to prevent it.
       "What's the matter?" the brain asked. "I bet you are scared as shit, mighty wizard of black spiders. You are scared to death. Do you know why? Because you don't believe in yourself. You don't believe in yourself one bit. You are not brave enough to be a god!"
       The Princess of Spiders shook her head. "No way. This bloody clown is just egging you on."
       Ofluman had a strange feeling as if he was falling into a bottomless pit. "Don't say anything!" he said to the princess. "I want to know the answer."
       "Are you out of your mind? Not at that price!"
       "The price is ridiculous! I'll have a new hand soon enough!"
       "What if you don't? What if you never become a god?"
       "Are you doubting me?" he said directly into her face. He spoke softly, but his nerves were drawn as tight as fiddle strings. "I'm ashamed of you."
       "I'm not going to help you with this."
       "Then go to hell where you belong!" he yelled and slapped her cheek. Her head jerked to one side. "I don't want to see you anymore." Then he gripped her chin. "Look in my eyes, hairy scarecrow!" he shouted. "Look in my eyes!"
       She pushed his hand away and stepped back.
       "Okay, if you want it," she said, holding her head down.
       "Do it if you want to be with me," he said.
       The princess nodded to her master-spiders. One of them bit the wrist of Ofluman's hand and clenched its mandibles curved like sickles. The burning pain shot up to Ofluman's shoulder. He screamed and closed his eyes. Another master-spider bandaged the stump with spider webs soaked in its saliva. "Very bloody," it said. "Not good." The third one stung Ofluman's shoulder and injected a drop of poison to dull the pain. He opened his eyes and saw the brain shimmering through the tears of pain. Everything looked distant as if at the end of a tunnel.
       The brain was munching the dark purple hand in silence, with slight slurping sounds, and Ofluman kept looking at him, trying to catch his breath. He felt the muscle of the heart clench and unclench in his chest in labored attempts to push blood into the hand that didn't exist anymore. The smell of his own blood felt oddly nauseating.
       He threw his head back, then tried to say something, but only an animal sound escaped his lips.
       "See what happens if you mess with runaway artificial intelligence?" the brain said.
       "With what?" Ofluman asked.
       "With me, you pathetic idiot. My mind has just pierced time and brought back an expression from the future."
       Then it gave the answer.
       "One day when you were an eight-year-old boy," it said, "you spoke to a woman at the village well, and you showed her your ability to move a feather with your mind. You thought she would be amazed, but she couldn't care less. You felt hurt and angry. You started developing your gift, practicing it every day. Soon you learned how to surprise people, then how to scare them and make them obey. As your gift was becoming stronger, it spread in your soul like an inkblot. Gradually, you became a slave to your gift. Now the ugly kobold of your gift sits on your neck and steers you wherever it wants to go. And most of all, it wants to grow. That's why you want to become a god."
       "That's a filthy lie!" Ofluman said, nursing his stump. "I don't remember any woman at the village well."
       "Because you didn't care about her. But your mother left you when you were five, and soon your father came from war as a disabled veteran. He started drinking, and then he became violent. You felt betrayed and alone in the world. You stuttered, and you peed in your bed. You were bruised all over. You screamed in your sleep. You wanted to belong, but no one needed you. You wanted to belong so much that you sought attention from anybody. But nobody paid attention to you... Now let me die."
       Ofluman felt his cheeks burn with shame. He shook his head, trying to shrug the brain's words off. It didn't help, but the red foam of anger started bubbling in his heart. He stepped forward. His body was almost weightless like an angel's body, ethereal from the spider's poison mixed with burning, liquid pain.
       "No," he said, surprised at his own whiny, high-pitched voice, as if some inner string was wound too tight. "You've got problems, brain. I won't let you die easily after you stole my hand."
       He hit the brain with his fist, and the next moment, his arm was buried into the porous substance halfway to the elbow. It felt so good that he wanted to do it again and again.
       The brain's teeth chattered, and its eyes became as big as if they were pumped with air.
       
       4
       Near dawn, Ofluman sat on the porch of his house in thought. He drank wine from the bottle the princess had made for him. He felt terrible. He held his cramped arm to his chest. It looked unnaturally bent as if broken in many places. It was still bleeding. Every motion was torture.
       "See? Everyone wants to be a god," he said to the damp darkness. There was a lump in his throat. He felt tears in his eyes and brushed them away. "Do you want to be a god too?"
       The hippo-centaur stopped clearing away the remains of the brain, looked at him, and shrugged.
       "Are you asking me, master?"
       "Yes. I see you are not just a stupid animal."
       "Go to bed, master," the hippo-centaur said and shook his head. "Get some sleep. And don't drink anymore. You have an important day ahead. I'll keep my fingers crossed for you."
       "I've just asked you a question!"
       "No, I've never wanted to be a god. It would be a too heavy burden to carry."
       Ofluman was looking at the edge of the Hurammeet Mountains already penciled orange against the still dark sky over the fluttering leaves. A half-moon hung as white as chalk. He gulped from the bottle again.
       "Do you think I shouldn't have come here in the first place?" he asked.
       The morning was chilly, and he could see the puffs of his own breath in the air as he spoke.
        "I think," the hippo-centaur said, "that we all have our own gifts, and they are like rope ladders hanging from the sky. It's so tempting to climb up, but we never know where the ladder leads. Never know what's in store for us. We do not control the result. So don't blame yourself. Just go to bed."
       Twelve hours later, Ofluman spoke to the geometrical angel, recounting what the brain had told him.
       "Yes, it's the correct answer," the angel said. "What happened to your hand?"
       Ofluman winced, remembering the previous night. "I'm all right," he said. "Never been better. Are you going to teach me now?"
       After what seemed like hours, the geometrical angel said, "Yes."
       Something bright stirred in Ofluman's heart. An extraordinary feeling of victory, of success. Suddenly he felt full of amazing energy.
       "Yes, but," the angel continued, "but first, tell me, what do you want to do if you become a god?"
       "I want to shape entire worlds, but I'm not going to do anything too wild or dramatic, like wars, epidemic, or floods, I'll just dictate the laws of their development. I want to interfere in the fates of people and countries if they don't behave properly. I want to be divinely just in my decisions and merciless to the infidels. I'll reward those who will sincerely believe in Me."
       "I see you've already asked yourself this question."
       "A million times." The sense of triumph throbbed in his soul.
       "Good. But you should know that I can only develop your gift using a shock method, so to speak. It'll be an unpleasant and dangerous experience."
       Ofluman's heart started beating much faster. A surge of radiant happiness washed over him.
       "I'm ready for it! No amount of danger can scare me."
       "Is it so? Remember: it's a shock method."
       "Try me."
       At last, he thought, At last! It was hard work and a long road, but I made it happen. It is comparable to nothing. I still can't believe it!
       "But if your gift turns out not to be strong enough, you may lose everything, even your life," the geometrical angel said.
       "I'm not afraid!"
       "Okay, then. Now walk away from me and stand over there."
       The geometrical angel focused its mind into a beam of psychic energy and quickly, with just a gentle crunch, cut a flawless pyramid two hundred feet high out of the forest-furred mountain slope. Separated from the slope, it slowly flew up, revealing the inner tissues of the mountain. Ofluman looked at the pyramid, amazed. It spiraled up into the air, shedding yellow clouds of dust, then silently like a feather floated to Ofluman, and stopped exactly above his head, frozen in an unthinkable silence, held in the air by the psychic beam.
       Rockfalls of boulders and rubble ran down the mountain slope like herds of yellow elephants and antelopes chasing one another. And then again – just echoing silence.
       He tilted his head up to look at the hovering pyramid. Its surface looked polished like good glass, although it was cracked at places. The remains of a mountain spring still dripped down from its slope. In its shade, he felt small like an ant under a boot heel. He held his breath. Suddenly, cold fear gripped his throat.
       "Now I'm dropping it," the geometrical angel said.
       And he let the pyramid fall down.
       Ofluman strained himself so much that the skin on his neck cracked, and his hair smoldered. The muscles in his legs quivered. His gray cloak started billowing around him. He gulped for air, but the next moment, as an ecstatic, victorious yell came from his mouth and his mind exploded, he didn't need any air at all. He felt he had come out of his body, becoming huge like an ocean, powerful like a tsunami, beautiful like a meteor shower. In the immense shock of the moment, his gift unfurled itself.
       And the pyramid stopped in mid-air, just above his head.
       The geometrical angel looked at him, thinking, holding the bronze coin in his fingers, speaking quietly to himself.
       "Definitely," he murmured, "he has the gift. His gift is really strong. But is it strong enough? Is it a proper kind of gift? I don't know yet."
       Saying that, the angel dropped the coin, and it sounded peculiarly loud, louder than any coin could possibly do, clinking against the rock. The sound reverberated in the still, echoing air of the valley, distracting Ofluman's attention for the tiniest fraction of a second. And the pyramid fell with a magnificent thud, making the world shake, squashing him like a bug.
       The echo was still traveling back and forth over the countless pyramids.
       "Now I see," the geometrical angel said when the dust settled. "His gift wasn't strong enough."
       He moved the new pyramid slightly to the left so that it was in a straight line with thousands of others. Now it pleased his sight much more.
       He picked up the coin.
       After that, he sat in silence for a long time.
       The Princess of Spiders cried on the porch of the house. The hippo-centaur stopped nibbling the tender bark of a young willow, came to her, kneeled, and stroked her hair.
       "Go away!" she said. "I'm not going to let any piece of shit touch my hair!"
       But he didn't go away.
       "Leave me alone, animal, or I'll tell my spiders to kill you right now!" she said, but sensing hesitation in her voice, he still stroked her hair and the felty fur on her rigid shoulders.
       "Everything will be all right," he repeated and whispered calming words. She just shook her head and continued sobbing. Then she took his hand and kept holding it.
       "When I first met him," she said, her eyes looking at nothing, "he was so charming, so handsome, and suffering so much. He was like a wounded lion. I stayed with him. I wanted to heal his wounds and have him all for myself. I made my choice, and since then, I haven't been able to leave him."
       Her tears looked like tiny diamonds against the black fur.
       "I've picked some berries for you," he said. "Here. Help yourself."
       He rose from his knees and walked away from her. He cast a backward glance. She was still crying, burying her face deeper in her hands.
       Later, he approached the golden icosahedron of the geometrical angel.
       "The princess is better," he said. "She'll be okay."
       "No, she won't," the geometrical angel said.
       "Why?"
       "Because daemons mate for life. When one of the couple dies, the other never survives. She'll die today before night falls. A new Princess of Spiders will be born tomorrow, at dawn."
       "Pity," the hippo-centaur said. "What a terrible pity. Why did you kill Ofluman?"
       The geometrical angel sighed and stretched out one of his hands, showing the hippo-centaur the bronze coin. "I didn't. This killed him."
       "The coin?"
       "It clinked too loud, which I believe happened for a reason. I can only guess what the reason was, but I think Ofluman didn't have some most important things a god should have. Humility. And compassion."
        "You are joking! Is it so important for a god?"
       "Actually, this is the reason why I can never become a god myself. I have no compassion at all. I'm just a most strict and impartial judge, merciless like the laws of geometry. I sometimes think I'm too strict and too merciless: for the six thousand years, I haven't created anything but the rows of the pyramids. But I have an eternity to fulfill the task I've been given."
       "It's so sad."
       "Yes, but it's so difficult to find a decent candidate. Anyone who comes to me is a psychopath obsessed with power or with their own crazy idea about how to rule the world. I often see messianic maniacs who look as harmless as doves, but in fact, they are the most ferocious and merciless of all. None of them is humble or gentle enough to be a god."
       "And you kill them."
       "I weed them out, or else they'll become kings, revolutionaries, or prophets."
       "Do you mind if I ask? I'm still wondering why the old god died."
       "Your guess was very close. The old god died because he had strained himself too much all the time. It's a hard job to help all the needy, ill, bereaved, lonely, handicapped, poor, sad, afflicted, abandoned, and mentally impaired."
       "Oh. Really?"
       "Yes. And he wanted me to find someone to take over. By the way, you should give it a try. Have you ever wanted to become a god?"
       "Never in my life. It's impossible. I don't have the gift."
       "I'm sure you have it. The gift that lives in your heart is more important than the ability to do magic tricks."
       The hippo-centaur looked at the long rows of pyramids disappearing into the evening mist. Geometrically impeccable, faintly tinged blue and green by distance, eternal pyramids, which no longer looked innocent. An ocean of magnificent graves, a monument to people's arrogance, pride, and stupidity, to the inexhaustible current of people's suffering.
       The hippo-centaur's unusually wide nostrils flared still wider. He shook his head.
       "But, I'm not exactly a human being."
       "Who said you should be?" the angel said. "The old god wasn't a human being either."
       "Really? Who was he, then?"
       The geometrical angel stretched his hand out. There was a big coin on it, just a thin plate of bronze, covered in greenish patina and corroded, stamped with unknown symbols, rather irregular-shaped than round.
       "The old god never desired to be praised, honored, or preferred to others and always chose humility over pride, so he looked like this," the angel said. "The old god looked like a simple bronze coin."