Nairn bowed deeply to the obelisk, then the two men returned across the dunes, to their tribe.
The sun was setting as the last of the tribe struggled up to the obelisk made by the ancient ones. They stood around gazing at the wonder waiting for Hamar, their leader, to tell them what it stood for and why the ancient ones erected it.
"It is definitely to pay homage to a god," Hamar announced. "The love and
care in the making of the symbols allow it to be nothing else. See this
first group of marks, this would be the gods name. The second group would
probably stand for something like magnificent or wise."
"What kind of gods did they worship?" someone asked.
"Gods of war and destruction." Hamar said.
"We should destroy it before it can spread its evil though our people!"
Sabin yelled to the group and was met with shouts of agreement.
Anything that belonged to the time before, was thought to be dangerous; it could lead to their destruction just as it led to the demise of the civilisation before them.
"No. Wait," Hamar said, lifting his hands and waiting for the crowd to be quiet. "I believe that this was a god of love and peace. Look at the colours in and around the name, they are natural colours - the warm brown, the gentle green."
The people crowded nearer the plaque, murmuring and agreeing to themselves. Hamar was wise, he would know what was right.
"This is the god that the ancient ones forgot, and through forgetting they caused their own deaths. We must not make the same mistake. We'll worship this god, and through its worship become strong and great."
The crowd cheered and then payed homage by bowing to the nameless god.
Sabin was not convinced. To him it was a thing of evil, full of the conceit and stupidity of the ancient ones. Through worshipping it, the whole tribe was in danger of destroying themselves, just like the ancient ones had done, through war and greed.
He looked down at Nairn, who was kneeling in the sand, his head bowed.
"This is wrong," Sabin whispered to him.
"No. Hamar is right. This is a god of beauty," Nairn replied.
Sabin shook his head and walked away from the group.
How could they be so blind? They would bring the sun down to burn them and the deadly dust to kill them, just as the ancient ones had done.
That night, the tribe sat around the communal bonfire, discussing the name of their new god. Sabin had left early, disgusted by their talk, and sat at the edge of the camp, staring out across the desert in the direction of the monument.
"You must believe," Nairn said as he sat down beside Sabin. "Everyone else
believes."
"Just because everyone believes doesn't make it right."
"But Hamar is so wise. He can not be wrong," Nairn replied.
"Nairn, the ancient ones never spent their time on things of love, their
only love was for weapons. Therefore, the god must be a god of war," Sabin said.
"But just as you don't believe with the rest of the tribe, so there must
have been people who didn't believe in the ancient ones love of war!" Sabin
nodded. "Those people built the tribute," Nairn finished, smiling as if he
had made everything clear.
"No, it's not the same," Sabin replied.
Nairn sighed with defeat and became quiet.
They sat in silence for a while until Sabin whispered. "I'm going to
destroy it."
"You can't!"
"It's the only way to save the tribe," Sabin said.
"But we need this god!" Nairn cried.
Sabin laughed. "See how it is taking over our minds. What will you do,
kill me?"
"It is not your right to destroy it. That could only be Hamar's choice."
Sabin pulled his axe from the sand beside him. "It's the only way," he
said as he got up.
"Please Sabin, don't do this," Nairn pleaded.
Sabin just smiled at his friend and then started walking out into the desert.
Nairn stood watching him for a moment, deciding whether he should follow him or return to the tribe. What would they do if he told them. Every man was necessary for the survival of the tribe. They would know that it was Sabin who destroyed the tribute as he was the only one who thought it was dangerous. If he told them now, he could save the tribute.
His mind made up, Nairn ran back to the tribe.
Sabin reached the top of the dune where the obelisk stood, just as the first torches could be seen coming from the camp.
"Nairn didn't waste much time," he said to himself.
He crouched down in front of the plaque and gently touched the letters moulded there. If only he knew what they meant. It felt cold. Surely it was no god of love?
He lifted his axe and hit the plaque as hard as he could. It dented the metal, but nothing more. Sabin knew then that it was no tribute to a god of love; if it had been, it would have shattered, as delicate as the peace that the god stood for. This was a god of weapons and blood, hard and unyielding.
He hit the plaque again. By now, he could hear Hamar yelling to him.
One of the men from the tribe was almost at the top of the dune. He had run all the way from the camp, outraged by the defilement of his new god. He called on that god to give him the strength to throw his axe, and when he did, he hit Sabin in the middle of the back.
By the time the rest of the tribe arrived at the top of the dune, Sabin was dead.
"This is what happens if you don't worship the god of love," Hamar said.
"What? Listen to what you have just said," Nairn cried as he stood near
the body of his friend. "If this is a god of love, why must it be worshiped
through fear?"
"Sabin has died just as the ancient ones died, because they turned away
from this god," Hamar replied.
"No. This is a god of hate and blood. It wanted blood and you shed it. It
is you who will be destroyed, just as Sabin said. Don't you see? You have
proven him right."
The members of the tribe started to murmur agreement. Disbelief was spreading.
Hamar didn't answer. Instead, he turned way and walked back towards the camp. Slowly the tribe members followed, leaving Nairn alone.
He sat down and looked at the obelisk, wondering, as Sabin had done, what the words meant. It truly looked like a monument to death, standing in sand drenched with Sabin's blood; Sabin's body was lying underneath it as if it were a sacrifice.
The moonlight shone on the plaque, making it look cold and unfeeling. The illusion of warmth and kindness was gone. It illuminated the beautifully moulded letters in such a way that Nairn felt that if he concentrated long enough, he would understand their meaning. But with all the years that his people had been nomadic, they had lost the understanding of written words, and so the letters that spelled 'Lest We Forget' meant nothing to him.