A priest of temple seventeen led the crowd of citizens in singing the Anthem of the Unicorn. When the singing had subsided, Praxis took the torch and advanced to the naked unbeliever. As Everyman and Praxis faced each other it was clear which one of them was desperate.

“Please believe in unicorns,” the Builder begged the youthful scholar. “Believe and I’ll not have to touch this wood with fire. Believe in just a few of the gods! Kiss the unicorn and live! Think of me, Everyman! I cannot live beneath the awful crime you force me to commit.”

“Come, know the Singer’s love and be unchained,” said Everyman in peace. “Yes, come and die with me and you will know a life that fire can never touch. You don’t belong to Sarkon. Cry out to the Singer and you will be unchained.”

Tears glistened in the eyes of Praxis. He hesitated. And then, instead of touching the wood with fire, he hurled the torch at Sarkon and fled into the thickening gloom of dusk. The speed with which he acted so surprised the guards that they permitted him to leave. Besides, they had no formal warrant to arrest the master builder of the state. By the time that Sarkon picked the torch and struck the flame, Praxis had disappeared. Everyman stretched himself upon the burning wood and died.

Praxis knew Sarkon would waste no time in finding him. He ran until his breath gave out, and then he rested underneath a crannied arch. In tortured desperation he looked up to the evening sky.

“Father of the Singer,” he implored, “if you are there, I cry in guilt of blood and death. In your great heart can there be love enough to wash from me the highest crimes of Terra? I am a wretched, evil man,” he sobbed in violent convulsions. “Oh, Father-Spirit, if you are, lay me on the wood. Let Everyman go free.”

“Everyman is free!” said a voice behind him. He cringed to see it was a White Knight.

“Are you here for my arrest?” asked Praxis.

“No, I am a Singerian myself. I too will shortly be arrested. And since I serve in the King’s Guard, I will be shot by archers. But Everyman is free. Sarkon only took from him the life no man can keep to give him one no man can lose.”

“I hunger for the meaning of your words. I too will die but only for disobeying Sarkon.”

“I saw you throw the torch and followed you. Sarkon picked up the fire and set it on the pile of wood, and Everyman himself became a torch to light the way to the courts of the Father of the Singer. Sarkon is afraid. Each time a Singerian dies in the Stadium of Life two more leave the stands. Sarkon fights a futile battle and he knows it. Even now more than thirty knights in the Guard of Urbis believe.”

“Don’t you mean disbelieve? Atheism is the charge for which they die.”