Free Downfall of the Gods by K. J. Parker Page B

with his mouth full. “If you mean, why have I stopped fighting for what I believe in and sold out to a corrupt and decadent theocratic regime—” He did a huge shrug. “We’re in a desert,” he said, “with no camels and no water. So I’ve got two choices, sell out or die. I’ve always taken the view that staying alive is a useful prevarication, keeping all options open. And you can’t drink pride.”
    “You’re just full of it,” I said.
    “Pride?”
    “No.”
    The journey across the desert was actually rather nice, if you like warm sunshine. Once we got past the dunes it was all very flat, so none of that wretched walking uphill (I was back in a physical body, to catch some rays). I never could see the point of gradients. If I had to be a mortal for any length of time, down with up would be my battle-cry. Lord Archias was mercifully quiet, practicing his newly-minted philosophy of unquestioning acceptance. I must confess I spoiled him rather, plenty of nice food and cold drinks and soft cushions to sleep on. He actually put on a bit of weight—he’d got terribly skinny while I was away—and by the time we reached the Something-or-Other oasis which marked the halfway mark, he was in pretty good condition, bright eyes and glossy hair. A bit dispirited, maybe, but that was better than having him yapping all the time.
    I had to spoil it by opening my big mouth. “I’m really glad,” I said, as we sat under the shade of a tree at the edge of the oasis, “that you’ve finally realised that I’ve got your best interests at heart.”
    “Mphm.”
    I offered him a box of dried figs, dusted with icing sugar. He took one. “I have, you know,” I said. “I want you to succeed on this mission, and get your life back, and be happy. And I want you to have gained by the experience, to have learned something from it.”
    “Oh, I’ve done that all right.”
    “Good.”
    He yawned and helped himself to another fig. “Years ago,” he said, “I remember talking to a merchant who’d come to sell my father something or other, and he told me that he’d once been to a faraway land and met someone who told him stories from his religion.”
    “In the faraway land?”
    “That’s right, yes. Apparently they’ve never heard of you over there.”
    I frowned. “Really?”
    “It’s a very, very long way away, this merchant told me. He said that out there, they only really believe in the Skyfather, or the Invincible Sun, I forget which. Anyhow, just the one god. Your father, presumably.”
    “Ignorance is a terrible thing.”
    “It must be, yes. Anyway, there was one story I really liked. In the story, the Skyfather or the Invincible Sun or whatever he’s called holds a party in heaven for all his angels and thrones and cherubim, and one of the guests is the angel in charge of temptation.”
    I yawned. “I don’t think I’ve heard this one. Go on.”
    “Anyway, the tempter gets talking with Skyfather, and he asks him; do the mortals love and respect you, like they should? Of course, Skyfather says. Fine, says the tempter, so long as you pamper them and give them treats. But suppose you stopped doing that. Suppose you started smiting them instead. I bet you they’d stop loving and respecting you like a shot. I don’t think so, Skyfather said. Really, said the tempter, in that sniffy sort of a way. Really, said Skyfather, and I’ll prove it to you. So he chose his most devoted and faithful worshipper, a man he’d showered with presents and made very rich and contented; and all in one day he took away all his wealth, stripped him of his honours and titles and left him penniless. See, Skyfather said to the tempter, he still believes in me, he still loves and respects me. All right, said the tempter, now let’s see how he’ll react if you really make him suffer. So Skyfather robbed him of his wife and his best friend, and had him thrown into a stinking dungeon. And the man—the merchant did tell me his name