Far-Seer qa-1

by Robert J. Sawyer

  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 couldn’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, bu
t 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 surprised 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?"

  "Yes, Dybo. I really do." Afsan paused. "Saleed knew the truth. Before he died, he knew."

  "Well, what would you have me do?"

  "Do whatever must be done. You’ve got the power."

  "Perhaps. The Lubalites came close to taking Capital City today."

  "You would have taken it back eventually. You were unprepared, but the other provinces would send aid to restore you."

  "Yes," Dybo said slowly. "I imagine they would."

  "After all, aren’t the provincial governors your mother’s brothers and sisters?"

  "What?"

  "Aren’t they?" said Afsan.

  "No, they’re not."

  "Perhaps. Being blind is a two-way street. I can’t see whether you’re lying. But, then again, I don’t have to take everything I hear at face value, so to speak."

  "You’ve become a lot more sophisticated, Afsan."

  "I have. It’s part of growing up."

  Dybo’s voice was soft. "Yes, it is."

  "In any event," said Afsan, "all that matters is that the governors of the other provinces are loyal to you. Only five hundred Lubalites could be mustered from all of Land. That few couldn’t have held power long."

  "In that, you’re right," said Dybo.

  "I’m right in all of it," said Afsan.

  "Are you?"

  "You know I am."

  Dybo’s voice came back differently; he must have turned away from Afsan. "I know you believe you are right. But I have to be sure. What you’re asking for requires enormous resources, enormous changes in every facet of our lives. I have to know that it’s really, absolutely true."

  Afsan rolled onto his side, trying to find a posture in which his chest didn’t hurt so much. "You’ll find my notes in my quarters back in the Capital. Even if the building was destroyed, sift through the rubble for them. Have Novato, or any learned person, take you through the equations, show you the inevitability of it all. It’s more than just what I believe, Dybo. It’s true. It’s demonstrably true."

  "It’s all so hard to grasp," said the Emperor.

  Afsan wondered again if he was right, if Dybo really was the slowest and dullest of the eight children of Lends. If that were so, would he be up to the task? Could Dybo lead his people in the direction they needed to go? Now, more than ever, the Quintaglios required a true guiding force, someone who could take them into the future.

  "I have faith in you, friend Dybo," Afsan said at last. "You’ll see, you’ll understand, and you’ll do what is necessary."

  The timbers creaked again: Dybo shifting his weight.

  "I want to do what’s right," the Emperor said.

  "I hope you will," Afsan replied.

  "When you’re well, I’m going to appoint you as my court astrologer."

  Afsan sighed. "A blind astrologer? What good would I be?"

  Dybo’s teeth clicked lightly. "For generations, Saleed and his predecessors worked in the basement of the palace office building, out of sight of the stars. Can a blind astrologer be that much worse?"

  "I — I still harbor much anger against you, Dybo. I can’t help it. You allowed my eyes to be taken."

  "But I prevented Yenalb from taking your life."

  "For the time being."

  "Didn’t Cadool tell you? Yenalb is dead. There’s much confusion about who was responsible, of course, but the high priest was killed in the battle in the central square. It doesn’t matter who did it, I suppose; everyone was in dagamant. No charges will be laid."

  Afsan felt his injured tail twitch. "Yenalb is dead?"

  "Yes."

  "And who appoints his successor?"

  "The priesthood has its own rites of succession. They will name the new Master of the Faith."

  Afsan let air out noisily. "Well, I doubt it will be a moderate. Still, this may indeed be a new beginning."

  He felt a hand on his shoulder, briefly. "It is. Whenever you’re ready, we can go back into the city." "How do you mean? Where are we now?"

  "Back at the docks. The Dasheter is moored. The eruptions have stopped, and what lava did make it into the city has been cooled by rainfall and has hardened into rock."

  "What about Novato?"

  Afsan could hear Dybo make a sound with his mouth. "Ah. Novato, yes." The old tone of teasing was back in the Emperor's voice for a moment. "You rutting hornface. Mating out of season. You should be ashamed."

  "What will become of Novato?" Afsan asked again.

  "She's committed no crime, in my view. She's free to do as she pleases."

  "Free to go back to her Pack of Gelbo? Back to the far side of Land?"

  "She could have chosen that, yes. But she did not."

  "What?"

  "Well, my chief astrologer is going to need an assistant. There is much you can do still, of course, but, well, your condition…" Dybo paused briefly. "I asked her if she'd like to stay here in the Capital, helping you. She said yes."

  For a moment, Afsan felt his heart lift, felt a joy he had thought he would never feel again. But then, at last, he shook his head. "No."

  The boards groaned again as Dybo changed positions. "I thought you'd be pleased. She told me about how you met."

  Afsan rallied some strength. He pushed up off the floor, and got to his feet. His tail was too badly hurt to lean back on, so he reached out with an arm to steady himself against the wall. "I am pleased that she wants to stay. But being my assistant is not a fitting job for her. She's brilliant, Dybo. Her mind is" — he searched for the appropriate term — "far-seeing."

  "Keenir says the same thing about her. But if not your assistant, what?"
/>   Afsan turned his head to face in the direction the voice had come from. "You're committed to my vision of the future? Committed to getting us off this world before it's too late?"

  Dybo was silent for several heartbeats. Then, at last, decisively, the syllable ripe with firmness: "Yes."

  "Then make her director of that operation. Put her in charge of — what to call it? — of the Quintaglio exodus."

  "That project will take generations."

  "Perhaps."

  "You believe she is the best person for the job?"

  "Without question."

  Silence, except for the creaking of the ship's lumber, the lapping of waves. "I'll do it," said Dybo at last. "I'll assign her that task, and all the resources she needs." Then: "Are you ready to go up on deck?"

  "I think so."

  "Let me help you." Dybo reached an arm around Afsan's shoulders, and let Afsan reciprocate. The young astrologer's weight sagged against Dybo. Together, they made it up the ramp and out onto the deck, the steady breeze playing over them. Afsan felt hot sun on his muzzle.

  He heard a squeaking of wheels coming across the deck, then, a moment later, Novato's voice. "Afsan, are you all right?"

  He nodded in her direction. "I'm still in pain, but it's getting better." His teeth clicked. "I finally understand what Keenir went through. It's awfully hard to walk properly without a working tail." He wished he could see her. "How are the egglings?"

  "They're fine; they're right here."

  "Here?"

  "Keenir found a wheelbarrow down in one of the cargo holds. It's not an ideal stroller, but then the creche operators told me they don't make strollers to hold eight children." She paused for a moment. "It looks like all of them except Galpook are napping."

  "Let's go," said Dybo. He and Afsan started walking toward the connecting piece that led up to the Dasheter's fore-deck. After a moment, Afsan could hear the squeaking of Novato's wheelbarrow and a couple of little peeps, presumably coming from Galpook.

  "Where are we going?" asked Novato, coming up beside them again.

  Wingfingers were singing overhead. Afsan could tell by the way the Emperor's voice sounded that he had tipped his muzzle up at the sky.

  "To the stars," Dybo said.

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