“Probably to hell,” he said, grinning nastily. “Just behind you.”
“Really? According to the word of the Prophet Ishkible, a man needs no camel to ride to hell, yea, nor horse, nor mule; a man may ride into hell on his tongue,” said Brutha, letting just a tremor of disapproval enter his voice.
“Does some old prophet say anything about nosy bastards being given a thump alongside the ear?” said the soldier.
“ `Woe unto him who raises his hand unto his brother, dealing with him as unto an Infidel,' ” said Brutha. “That's Ossory, Precepts XI, verse 16.”
“ `Sod off and forget you ever saw us otherwise you're going to be in real trouble, my friend.' Sergeant Aktar, chapter 1, verse 1,” said the soldier.
Brutha's brow wrinkled. He couldn't remember that one.
“Walk away,” said the voice of the God in his head. “You don't need trouble.”
“I hope your journey is a pleasant one,” said Brutha politely. “Whatever the destination.”
He backed away and headed toward the gate.
“A man who will have to spend some time in the hells of correction, if I am any judge,” he said. The god said nothing.
The Ephebian traveling group was beginning to assemble now. Brutha stood to attention and tried to keep out of everyone's way. He saw a dozen mounted soldiers, but unlike the camel riders they were in the brightly polished fishmail and black-and-yellow cloaks that the Legionaries usually only wore on special occasions. Brutha thought they looked very impressive.
Eventually one of the stable servants came up to him.
“What are you doing here, novice?” he demanded.
“I am going to Ephebe,” said Brutha.
o;But suppose something went wrong,” it insisted.
“I'm not any good at theology,” said Brutha. “But the testament of Ossory is very clear on the matter. They must have done something, otherwise you in your wisdom would not direct the Quisition to them.”
“Would I?” said Om, still thinking of that face. “It's their fault they get tortured. Did I really say that?”
“ `We are judged in life as we are in death' . . . Ossory III, chapter VI, verse 56. My grandmother said that when people die they come before you, they have to cross a terrible desert and you weigh their heart in some scales,” said Brutha. “And if it weighs less than a feather, they are spared the hells.”
“Goodness me,” said the tortoise. And it added: “Has it occurred to you, lad, that I might not be able to do that and be down here walking around with a shell on?”
“You could do anything you wanted to,” said Brutha.
Om looked up at Brutha.
He really believes, he thought. He doesn't know how to lie.
The strength of Brutha's belief burned in him like a flame.
And then the truth hit Om like the ground hits tortoises after an attack of eagles.
“You've got to take me to this Ephebe place,” he said urgently.
“I'll do whatever you want,” said Brutha. “Are you going to scourge it with hoof and flame?”
“Could be, could be,” said Om. “But you've got to take me.” He was trying to keep his innermost thoughts calm, in case Brutha heard. Don't leave me behind!
“But you could get there much quicker if I left you,” said Brutha. “They are very wicked in Ephebe. The sooner it is cleansed, the better. You could stop being a tortoise and fly there like a burning wind and scourge the city.”
A burning wind, thought Om. And the tortoise thought of the silent wastes of the deep desert, and the chittering and sighing of the gods who had faded away to mere djinns and voices on the air.
Gods with no more believers.