“Oh.”
“It comes out very hot,” said Urn, sagging even more.
“Oh?”
“Scalding, in fact.”
Brutha's gaze drifted from the steam funnel to the rotating knives.
“Very philosophical,” he said.
“We were going to use it against Vorbis,” said Urn.
“And now you're not. It's going to be used against Ephebians. You know, I used to think I was stupid, and then I met philosophers.”
Simony broke the silence by patting Brutha on the shoulder.
“It will all work out,” he said. “We won't lose. After all,” he smiled encouragingly, “we have God on our side.”
Brutha turned. His fist shot out. It wasn't a scientific blow, but it was hard enough to spin Simony around. He clutched his chin.
“What was that for? Isn't this what you wanted?”
“We get the gods we deserve,” said Brutha, “and I think we don't deserve any. Stupid. Stupid. The sanest man I've met this year lives up a pole in the desert. Stupid. I think I ought to join him.”
I. Why?
“Gods and men, men and gods,” said Brutha. “Everything happens because things have happened before. Stupid.”
II. But You Are The Chosen One.
“Choose someone else.”
Brutha strode off through the ragged army. No one tried to stop him. He reached the path that led up to the cliffs, and did not even turn to look at the battlelines.
“Aren't you going to watch the battle? I need someone to watch the battle.”
Didactylos was sitting on a rock, his hands folded on his stick.
“Oh, hello,” said Brutha, bitterly. “Welcome to Omnia.”
“It helps if you're philosophical about it,” said Didactylos.
“But there's no reason to fight!”
“Yes there is. Honor and revenge and duty and things like that.”
“Do you really think so? I thought philosophers were supposed to be logical?”
Didactylos shrugged.
“Well, the way I see it, logic is only a way of being ignorant by numbers.”
“I thought it would all be over when Vorbis was dead.”
Didactylos stared into his inner world.
“It takes a long time for people like Vorbis to die. They leave echoes in history.”