Robert Sawyer: Far-Seer

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.

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 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.”