“And prepare ourselves for the coming of the prophet,” said Vorbis.
The cloud had reached the top of the dunes now, and vanished in the silent wastes of the desert.
Brutha tried to put it out of his mind, which was like trying to empty a bucket underwater. No one survived in the high desert. It wasn't just the dunes and the heat. There were terrors in the burning heart, where even the mad tribes never went. An ocean without water, voices without mouths . . .
Which wasn't to say that the immediate future didn't hold terrors enough . . .
He'd seen the sea before, but the Omnians didn't encourage it. This may have been because deserts were so much harder to cross. They kept people in, though. But sometimes the desert barriers were a problem, and then you had to put up with the sea.
Il-drim was nothing more than a few shacks around a stone jetty, at one of which was a trireme flying the holy oriflamme. When the Church traveled, the travelers were very senior people indeed, so when the Church traveled it generally traveled in style.
The party paused on a hill and looked at it.
“Soft and corrupt,” said Vorbis. “That's what we've become, Brutha.”
“Yes, Lord Vorbis.”
“And open to pernicious influence. The sea, Brutha. It washes unholy shores, and gives rise to dangerous ideas. Men should not travel, Brutha. At the center there is truth. As you travel, so error creeps in.”
“Yes, Lord Vorbis.”
Vorbis sighed.
“In Ossory's day we sailed alone in boats made of hides, and went where the winds of the God took us. That's how a holy man should travel.”
A tiny spark of defiance in Brutha declared that it, personally, would risk a little corruption for the sake of traveling with two decks between its feet and the waves.
“I heard that Ossory once sailed to the island of Erebos on a millstone,” he ventured by way of conversation.
“Nothing is impossible for the strong in faith,” said Vorbis.
“Try striking a match on jelly, mister.”
Brutha stiffened. It was impossible that Vorbis could have failed to hear the voice.
The Voice of the Turtle was heard in the land.
“Who's this bugger?”
“Forward,” said Vorbis. “I can see that our friend Brutha is agog to get on board.”
The horse trotted on.
an glared at him and then grinned.
“You? You're not even ordained! You're going to Ephebe?”
“Yes.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because I told him so,” said the voice of Vorbis, behind the man. “And here he is, most obedient to my wishes.”
Brutha had a good view of the man's face. The change in his expression was like watching a grease slick cross a pond. Then the stableman turned as though his feet were nailed to a turntable.
“My Lord Vorbis,” he oiled.
“And now he will require a steed,” said Vorbis.