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“They tortured his father. Just for having a horseshoe hanging up in his forge, when everyone knows that smiths have to have their little rituals. And they took his son off into the army. But he's got a lot of helpers. They'll work through the night. All you have to do is tell them what you want.”
“I've made some sketches . . .”
“Good,” said Simony. "Listen, Urn. The Church is run by people like Vorbis. That's how it all works. Millions of people have died for-for nothing but lies. We can stop all that-
Didactylos had stopped talking.
“He's muffed it,” said Simony. “He could have done anything with them. And he just told them a lot of facts. You can't inspire people with facts. They need a cause. They need a symbol.”
They left the temple just before sundown. The lion had crawled into the shade of some rocks, but stood up unsteadily to watch them go.
“It'll track us,” moaned Om. “They do that. For miles and miles.”
“We'll survive.”
“I wish I had your confidence.”
“Ah, but I have a God to have faith in.”
“There'll be no more ruined temples.”
“There'll be something else.”
“And not even snake to eat.”
“But I walk with my God.”
“Not as a snack, though. And you're walking the wrong way, too.”
“No. I'm still heading away from the coast.”
“That's what I mean.”
“How far can a lion go with a spear wound like that in him?”
“What's that got to do with anything?”
“Everything.”
And, half an hour later, a black shadowy line on the silver moonlit desert, there were the tracks.
“The soldiers came this way. We just have to follow the tracks back. If we head where they've come from, we'll get where we're going.”
“We'll never do it!”
“We're traveling light.”
“Oh, yeah. They were burdened by all the food and water they had to carry,” said Om bitterly. “How lucky for us we haven't got any.”
Brutha glanced at Vorbis. He was walking unaided now, provided that you gently turned him around whenever you needed to change direction.
But even Om had to admit that the tracks were some comfort. In a way they were alive, in the same way that an echo is alive. People had been this way, not long ago. There were other people in the world. Someone, somewhere, was surviving.
Or not. After an hour or so they came across a mound beside the track. There was a helmet atop it, and a sword stuck in the sand.
“A lot of soldiers died to get here quickly,” said Brutha.
Whoever had taken enough time to bury their dead had also drawn a symbol in the sand of the mound. Brutha half?expected it to be a turtle, but the desert wind had not quite eroded the crude shape of a pair of horns.
