“For now.”

“And we're close to home.”

“Yes?”

“I saw a wild goat on the rocks back there.”

“There's still a lot of 'em about.”

“Goats?”

“Gods. And the ones we had back there were the puny ones, mind you.”

“What do you mean?”

Om sighed. "It's reasonable, isn't it? Think about it. The stronger ones hang around the edge, where there's prey . . . I mean, people. The weak ones get pushed out to the sandy places, where people hardly ever go-

“The strong gods,” said Brutha, thoughtfully. “Gods that know about being strong.”

“That's right.”

“Not gods that know what it feels like to be weak . . .”

“What? They wouldn't last five minutes. It's a god-eat-god world.”

“Perhaps that explains something about the nature of gods. Strength is hereditary. Like sin.”

His face clouded.

“Except that . . . it isn't. Sin, I mean. I think, perhaps, when we get back, I shall talk to some people.”

“Oh, and they'll listen, will they?”

“Wisdom comes out of the wilderness, they say.”

“Only the wisdom that people want. And mushrooms.”

When the sun was starting to climb Brutha milked a goat. It stood patiently while Om soothed its mind. And Om didn't suggest killing it, Brutha noticed.

Then they found shade again. There were bushes here, low?growing, spiky, every tiny leaf barricaded behind its crown of thorns.

Om watched for a while, but the small gods on the edge of the wilderness were more cunning and less urgent. They'd be here, probably at noon, when the sun turned the landscape into a hellish glare. He'd hear them. In the meantime, he could eat.

He crawled through the bushes, their thorns scraping harmlessly along his shell. He passed another tortoise, which wasn't inhabited by a god and gave him that vague stare that tortoises employ when they're deciding whether something is there to be eaten or made love to, which are the only things on a normal tortoise mind. He avoided it, and found a couple of leaves it had missed.

Periodically he'd stomp back through the gritty soil and watch the sleepers.

And then he saw Vorbis sit up, look around him in a slow methodical way, pick up a stone, study it carefully, and then bring it down sharply on Brutha's head.

Brutha didn't even groan.

Vorbis got up and strode directly toward the bushes that hid Om. He tore the branches aside, regardless of the thorns, and pulled out the tortoise Om had just met.

For a moment it was held up, legs moving slowly, before the deacon threw it overarm into the rocks.

Then he picked up Brutha with some effort, slung him across his shoulders, and set off towards Omnia.

It happened in seconds.

Tags: Terry Pratchett Discworld Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net