Far-Seer

by Robert J. Sawyer

  “Get up. You must get up.” Cadool helped Afsan to his feet.

  Suddenly the air was split by a crack greater than any thunder. The ground shook even more violently. Even the hunters who had been shielding Afsan ran off in panic. Cadool pulled Afsan to his feet and propelled him to the left. The marble Lends crashed down, hitting exactly where Afsan had been lying. Chips of stone bit into Cadool’s leg.

  He looked for the source of the massive explosion. There, in the distance, the rightmost of the Ch’mar volcanoes was erupting, black smoke spewing into the air.

  “We must move quickly,” said Cadool. “Trust me; let me guide you.” He put one arm around Afsan’s shoulders and cupped Afsan’s nearest elbow with his other. They began to trot in unison, small moans escaping Afsan’s throat with every footfall.

  A second explosion cut the air. Cadool glanced backwards. The top of another of the Ch’mar mountains was gone. The sky was filled with a hail of pebbles, some even falling this far away, here in the square.

  Head over heels, cobblestones scraping skin, landing in a heap with Afsan…

  “I’m sorry, Afsan!” Cadool shouted above the roar from the volcano, “I wasn’t watching as carefully as I should. Come; the Ch’mar peaks are erupting.” He grabbed Afsan’s arm, hoisted him to his feet. But Afsan’s pace was more cautious now, holding them both back. Cadool tried as best he could to keep them moving.

  Through his pain and despite the exploding mountains, Afsan heard something. He lifted his muzzle. A sound was coming at them from the direction of the harbor.

  Five bells…

  Two drums…

  Five bells…

  Two drums…

  Alternating loud and soft, bells and drums, bells and drums, the sound he’d grown sick of during his pilgrimage — the identification call of the Dasheter.

  “Cadool,” said Afsan, some strength returning to his voice, “we must hurry to the harbor.”

  The roar behind them continued. “What? Why?”

  “I hear the Dasheter. We can escape by water.”

  Cadool changed course immediately. “It’ll take us a while to get there.”

  “I know we don’t have much time,” said Afsan. “I’ll try not to slow us down.”

  Cadool’s firm hand propelled them on. “I was wondering what had become of Var-Keenir. He had pledged to be here for the march of the Lubalites. Trouble upon the waves must have delayed him.”

  “He’s here now,” said Afsan. “Hurry!”

  They ran through the streets of Capital City. Some Quintaglios seemed to be going the same way they were; others ran in different directions. Afsan heard the wails of children as they passed the creche.

  At last he felt a cold wind on his face; the same steady wind that, thankfully, was blowing the smoke from the volcanoes away from the city. It meant they were out of the lee of the buildings, and must now be overlooking the harbor.

  “It’s there, Afsan,” said Cadool. “I see the Dasheter.” They started down the long ramp to the docks. “The waves are higher than I’ve ever seen; Dasheter is rocking back and forth like…”

  “Like a student bowing concession to everyone he passes,” said Afsan, finding the strength to click his teeth once. “I know that feeling well. Hurry!”

  As they got closer to the docks, Afsan could hear the crashing of the waves, louder now than the roar of the volcanic explosions to the west.

  “Careful,” shouted Cadool. “We’re about to step on the gangway.” There were several others on the adabaja planks, jostling to get aboard. This was no time for worrying about the niceties of territoriality.

  Afsan felt spray on his face, and almost lost his balance as he stepped onto the little bridge of planks leading up to the ship, swaying, swaying…

  Up ahead, Cadool saw a short, pudgy figure scurrying up the gangway.

  Dybo.

  The Emperor escaping. Cadool thought briefly about rushing forward and pushing him into the choppy water before he could make it to the ship’s foredeck.

  And there, up on deck, old Var-Keenir helping the Emperor board!

  Of course. Keenir had been cut off aboard the Dasheter for some sixty days. At the time he had left Capital City, The One hadn’t yet been blinded. All Keenir knew was that Dybo’s intervention had saved Afsan from being executed in the throne room by Yenalb…

  Suddenly the ropes holding the gangway to the dock snapped. The planks swung across the open space, and Afsan and Cadool were dunked into the water.

  “Climb!” Cadool shouted. Afsan’s mangled tail was still bleeding, and the waters around him were stained red from it. Guided by Cadool, Afsan grabbed hold of the first plank, his claws digging into the slippery wood, gaps having appeared between each board as they began to slip down the ropes. He hauled himself up, hand over hand. Cadool did the same. Up above on the deck, looking over the railing, Cadool could see Keenir and Dybo. Much to his surprise, both were leaning over the side, helping those still on the dangling gangway get over the railing and onto the ship. Afsan and he pulled higher and higher, the planks like thick rungs in a ladder. The Dasheter rocked. Cadool felt his knuckles smash as the gangway slapped against the ship’s hull.

  Higher. Farther.

  “I don’t … know … if I can … make it,” Afsan wheezed.

  “It’s not far!” shouted Cadool. “Hang on!”

  The ship swung back, the gangway dipping into a crashing wave. Cadool felt chill waters on his legs and tail.

  Soon hands were all over Afsan, hauling him aboard. A moment later, the Emperor himself reached out to Cadool, helping to pull him onto the deck of the Dasheter.

  Cadool turned and looked back. On the sandy black beach, many Quintaglios stood helpless. A few were trying to swim. Other boats were turning, heading out of the harbor into open waters.

  Two other Quintaglios were hauled aboard with lifelines, but then Keenir ordered the ship to set sail. “We’ve got forty people on board now,” he said to Dybo in his gravelly voice. “Any more and we risk a territorial frenzy of our own.”

  The Dasheter bucked under giant waves. The four sails, each depicting an image associated with the false prophet Larsk, snapped loudly in the wind.

  In the background, silhouetted, Cadool could see the tumbled and broken adobe and marble buildings of Capital City, and behind them, a false red dawn as lava spewed forth from the Ch’mar volcanoes.

  *36*

  Pal-Cadool took stock of the situation. Afsan was sprawled on the Dasheter’s heaving deck, exhausted. Two members of the ship’s crew were bent over The One, wrapping his twitching tail in soft hide, cleaning his face and arms with precious pieces of cloth. Emperor Dybo had disappeared below deck. Captain Var-Keenir stood nearby. When Cadool had last seen Keenir, the sailor’s tail had been pale from recent regeneration. It was now the same dark green as the rest of the captain’s skin, his injury completely healed.

  Keenir, wearing a red leather cap, nodded at Cadool. “You saved The One.”

  Cadool shook his head. “No, Captain. He saved me.”

  Keenir looked down at the prone form. “There’s somebody here who’ll want to see him.” He headed off down a ramp that led below deck, the timbers beneath him creaking under his bulk. Cadool gripped the railings and watched the continuing spectacle of the eruption, black clouds puffing into the sky. Like Afsan, he’d been summoned to Capital City as a young adult. But that had been so long ago, the Capital was the only place Cadool called home. His tail swished back and forth as he watched the city die.

  He was startled by the sound of small peeps behind him. Turning, Cadool saw Captain Keenir, followed by a female who was slightly older than Afsan, and coming up the ramp behind her, one, two, three … eight egglings, half walking, half stumbling. Measuring from the tip of their snouts to the ends of their tails, none was longer than Cadool’s forearm. They made small sounds of wonder, completely oblivious to the spectacle unfolding on Land — in fact, Cadool realized, they coul
dn’t see it over the raised sides of the ship.

  Afsan was still prone on the deck. A sailor had brought him a bowl of water. Cadool, exhausted, nodded gratitude to the fellows attending Afsan but Keenir motioned for them to move aside. The female’s face showed alarm at the sight of the fallen Afsan, and she rushed to him. The babies stumbled along behind her. Cadool moved as close as propriety would allow and cocked his head to listen.

  “Afsan?” said the female’s voice, full of concern.

  The One lifted his head from the deck. His voice was raw, ragged. “Who’s that?”

  “It’s me, Afsan. It’s Novato.”

  Afsan tried to lift his head further, but apparently was too tired. It slipped back onto the planks. One of the babies waddled over to him and began crawling up onto his back. “What’s that?” said Afsan, startled.

  “It’s a baby.”

  “It is?” His whole body seemed to relax. “I can’t see, Novato.”

  She crouched low to look at him. Her eyes narrowed as she examined his face. “By God, you can’t. Afsan, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

  Afsan looked as though he wanted to say something — anything — but the words would not come. There was a protracted moment between them — broken, at last, by a second baby, perhaps emboldened by the first, climbing up onto Afsan’s thigh.

  “Is that another one?” asked Afsan, his voice full of wonder.

  Novato was a moment in replying, as if she had been reflecting on Afsan’s loss. Finally: “It is. Her name is Galpook.”

  Afsan reached an arm over to stroke the tiny form. Galpook made a contented sound as Afsan’s hand ran down her back. “Is she yours?”

  “Yes. And yours.”

  “What?”

  “She’s your…” her voice faltered for an instant, and then the word came out, an unfamiliar word, a word rarely spoken — “daughter.”

  “I have a daughter?”

  “At least.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Afsan, you have three daughters. And five sons.”

  “Eight children?”

  “Yes, my Afsan. Eight. And they’re all here “

  “From that night?”

  “Of course.”

  Afsan’s hand stopped in mid-stroke. “But — but — the bloodpriests…? Do you know about them?”

  “Yes,” said Novato. “I’d understood some vague details before, and Keenir explained the rest to me.”

  “But, then, with the bloodpriests, how can there still be eight children?”

  “Well, the eggs hatched aboard the Dasheter, and there are no bloodpriests here. But even if there were, your children would be safe. You are The One, Afsan. Bloodpriests come from the hunter’s religion, and no hunter would eat your children.”

  “You mean all eight get to live?”

  Novato’s voice was joyous. “Yes.”

  Another baby had crawled onto Afsan’s back, and the one who had first journeyed there had made it all the way to the dome of Afsan’s head, her thin tail lying beside Afsan’s right earhole.

  “I wish I could see them.”

  “I wish you could, too,” said Novato softly. “They’re beautiful. Haldan — that’s the one on your head — has a glorious golden coloring, although I’m sure that will darken to green as she grows older. And Kelboon, who is a bit shy and is clinging now to my leg, has your eyes.”

  “Ah,” said Afsan, in a light tone. “I knew they’d gone somewhere.”

  “The others are Toroca, Helbark, Drawtood, Yabool, and Dynax.”

  Cadool knew Afsan would recognize the names: astrologers of the past who had made great discoveries. “Those are good names,” Afsan said.

  “I’m pleased with them,” said Novato. “I never dreamed that I’d get to name my own children.” She moved Haldan aside and spoke softly to Afsan. “I’ve missed you,” she said.

  “And I you,” said Afsan, who appeared to be reveling in the sensation of the three babies crawling over his body. “But I don’t understand why you’re here.”

  “Keenir knew you were The One. So did someone named Tetex here in Capital City.”

  “She’s the imperial hunt leader,” said Afsan. “But I am not The One.”

  Novato reached out, stroked his forehead. “The One is supposed to lead us on the greatest hunt of all, and Keenir tells me you want to take us to the stars. That sounds like a great hunt to me.”

  Afsan had no reply to that.

  “In any event,” said Novato, “Keenir, Tetex, and other influential Lubalites are convinced that you are The One. When you got in trouble with Yenalb, the Dasheter set sail for the west coast to fetch hunters from there to support you. When Keenir returned to Jam’toolar, he anchored again at the Bay of Three Forests, where he’d let you off after your pilgrimage. My Pack was still near there. He heard from Lub-Kaden that I’d laid eggs fertilized by you. Keenir convinced the halpataars of Gelbo that you really are The One.” She glanced up at the gruff old sailor, standing a few paces away. “His word can lift dragging tails everywhere, it seems. He got them to release all my eggs from the creche.”

  Afsan said, “You arrived just in time.”

  Keenir spoke at last, his voice gravelly and low. “We meant to be here earlier, but bad weather delayed us as we rounded the Cape of Belbar.”

  “Captain? You’re here, too? It’s good to hear your voice again.”

  “It’s good to … hear your voice again, too, egg — Afsan.”

  Afsan clicked his teeth. “You may call me eggling, if you like, sir.” He brought his hand up to find Novato’s, still stroking his forehead. “I’m so glad you came,” he said to her, “but…”

  “But now you must sleep,” she said. “You look exhausted.”

  Keenir stepped forward. “Let me take you below deck, Afsan. You can have my quarters.”

  “Thank you,” Afsan said. “But I’d prefer my old cabin — the one with the carving of the Original Five on the door — if that’s still available. At least I know its layout.”

  “As you wish,” said Keenir. “Do you need a hand getting up?”

  “Yes. Novato, can you gather the children?”

  “Of course.” She lifted Galpook off Afsan’s head, the baby letting out a peep when picked up. With careful taps she scooted the others off Afsan. Keenir reached his hand out to Afsan but realized after a moment that Afsan couldn’t see it.

  “I’m going to touch you,” Keenir said, “to help you up.” He gripped Afsan’s forearm.

  “I’m sorry, Novato,” Afsan said as he rose, his voice a wheeze, “but I really must get some sleep.”

  “Not to worry.” She touched his arm lightly. “We have all the time in the world.”

  *37*

  Afsan stretched out on the floor, trying to relax. Keenir and Cadool insisted on having him examined top to bottom by Mar-Biltog, who, although no healer, was at least trained in emergency procedures. It was clear, Biltog said, that the lower portion of Afsan’s tail would have to be removed so that the crushed bones could grow back whole. They’d wait until his strength was up, and until they got to a proper hospital, before they did that. He was given water and bowls of blood, and he heard someone drawing the leather curtain across the cabin’s porthole, but that, of course, was an unnecessary gesture.

  At last, they left him alone.

  Afsan slept.

  Later, he did not know when, he was awakened by a sound at the door to his cabin.

  Muifled by the wood, a familiar voice said, “Permission to enter your territory?”

  “Dybo?” said Afsan, groggy and still weak. “Hahat dan.”

  The door swung open on squeaky hinges and Afsan could hear the footfalls of the Emperor crossing to the part of the floor on which Afsan lay.

  Afsan tried to lift his head, but his strength had not returned. His chest still hurt.

  “How are you, Afsan?” said Dybo.

  “Tired. In pain. How would you expect me to be?” Afsan was s
urprised at the anger in his own tone.

  “No different than that, I suppose,” said Dybo. “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you?”

  Afsan heard the boards creak as Dybo’s weight shifted. He assumed the Emperor had crouched down to better see him. “Yes.”

  “What about Capital City?”

  “Heavy damage, of course. But some buildings are still standing.”

  “The palace?”

  Dybo was quiet for a moment. “It was leveled.”

  “Then what becomes of your government?”

  Afsan thought he heard Dybo’s teeth click together. “Governments endure. My power was not vested in a building.”

  “No. It was vested in a lie.”

  Dybo’s tone was surprisingly gentle. “Was it? My ancestor, Larsk, was the first to sail halfway around the world. He was indeed the first to stare upon the Face of God. If it hadn’t been for him, you wouldn’t have made your voyage, wouldn’t have discovered the things you discovered. You say the world is doomed…”

  “It is.”

  “Well, if that is so, it is knowledge we owe at least in part to Larsk.” Dybo’s teeth clicked again. “Governments endure,” he repeated simply.

  “No,” said Afsan. “No, they don’t. Or at least yours won’t.”

  “Won’t it?”

  “It can’t. Nothing will endure. The world is doomed.”

  “You persist in that?”

  “You saw what happened today.”

  “The land shook. Volcanoes erupted. That has happened before.”

  “It’s going to happen again and again and again and it will get progressively worse until this world cracks like an egg.”

  “Do you really believe that?”