Robert J. Sawyer - Quintaglio 1 - Farseer

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Far-Seer

by Robert J. Sawyer

Dramatis Personae

Capital City

Afsan--apprentice astrologer

Dar-Mondark--doctor

Dy-Dybo--prince

Det-Yenalb--chief priest

Gerth-Palsab--citizen

Irb-Falpom--land surveyor

Jal-Tetex--hunt leader

Len-Lends--Empress

Pal-Cadool--butcher

Tak-Saleed--master astrologer

The Crew of the Dasheter

Bog-Tardlo--sailor

Dath-Katood--sailor

Det-Bleen--priest

Irb-Hadzig--sailor

Mar-Biltog--sailor

Nor-Gampar--sailor

Paldook--sailor

Var-Keenir--captain

Pack Gelbo

Lub-Kaden--leader of a hunting pack

Val-Toron--rider

Wab-Novato--maker of far-seers

Pack Carno

Cat-Julor--creche mother

Det-Zamar--senior priest

Pahs-Drawo--likely Afsan's father

Pal-Donat--bloodpriest

Tar-Dordool--leader

*1*

Afsan often escaped to this place. He remembered the first time he

had run up this hillside, half a kiloday ago, after his original

encounter with the formidable Tak-Saleed.

Formidable? Afsan clicked his teeth in humor, figuring that the

choice of adjective was a sign that he must be getting accustomed

to all this. Back then, after his introduction to the master

astrologer, the word he'd used was "monstrous."

That first time he'd run up here his only thought had been to get

out of the city, get back to his distant home Pack of Carno, back to

the simple life of a country boy. He was sure he'd never get used to

this dizzying, terrifying world of apprenticeship, of scowling imperial

guards, of hundreds of people—ten or more gathered together in

the same place at once! Afsan hadn't experienced crowds like that

before, never felt such a wash of pheromones over him. He couldn't

stand the tension, the constant fear that he was encroaching on

another's territory or otherwise breaching protocol. He had found

himself tipping from the waist so often it made his head spin.

But on that day, as on this, Afsan had been calmed by the

magnificent view from here, tension slipping from his body, claws

retracting so far that Afsan thought he'd never see them again, tail

swishing back and forth in leisurely, contented movements.

The sun had set a short time ago. It had swollen to a bloated egg,

changing from its normal white to a deep violet, before dropping

behind the ragged cones of the Ch'mar volcanoes to the west of the

city. A beautiful sunset, Afsan had thought, the wispy clouds a veil

across the dimming disk, tinged with purple, with red, with deepest

blue. But then Afsan found all sunsets beautiful, and not just

because of the play of color across the clouds, although this evening

that was indeed spectacular. No, Afsan welcomed sunsets because

he preferred the night, craved the stars.

This will be a grand night for observing, he thought. The only clouds

were around the volcanoes, and those rarely lifted. Overhead, the

vast dome of the sky was immaculate.

Tonight was odd-night. Most adults slept on odd-nights. For that

very reason, Afsan did not. He preferred the peace and tranquillity

of the hillsides on those nights when—the thought came unbidden—

it was as if they were his own territory.

Of course, Afsan owned nothing of value, and, having entered a life

of quiet study, his chances of acquiring land were—how did the old

joke go?—about as likely as one of the Empress's eggs being used

as a game ball.

But even if he couldn't own land, he would always have the stars.

The sky was darkening quickly, as it always did, and there would

only be a short time of real night before even-day broke.

Afsan inhaled deeply. The air was as clear as the waters of spring-

fed Lake Doognar back home, the smells of—he flexed his nostrils,

wrinkled his muzzle—of wildflowers; the scent of a large animal,

perhaps an armorback (although how one of those would get this

high up a mountain he didn't know): urine on those rocks, likely

from a much smaller critter; and, underneath it all, faint, but more

prominent than when he'd first arrived in Capital City, the sulfurous

tinge of volcanic gases.

He had been straddling a boulder, his tail hanging over it, to watch

the sun go down. Now it was time to climb higher up the hillside. He

did so, the three broad toes on each foot giving him excellent

traction. Upon reaching the crest, he clicked his teeth in

satisfaction, then continued partway down the other side, placing

the bulk of the hill between himself and the torch-lit glow of Capital

City. Afsan lowered himself to the ground, and lay on his side to

look up at the panorama of the night sky.

As usual, Afsan found it uncomfortable with all his weight on his

right shoulder and hip, but what alternative was there? Once he had

tried lying on his belly in the sleeping position and had craned his

neck to look up instead of forward, but that had given him a

stinging crick.

Dekadays ago, he'd asked Tak-Saleed why there was no easy

posture for Quintaglios to look at the stars, why their muscular tails

made it impossible to lie on their backs. Saleed had stared down at

young Afsan and declared that God had wished it that way, that She

had made the stars for Her face alone to gaze upon, not for the

pinched muzzles of overly curious apprentices.

Afsan slapped his tail sideways against the soil, irritated by the

memory. He drew his nictitating membranes over his eyes. The

purple glow of the twilight still filtered through, but that was all.

Afsan cleared his mind of all thoughts of old Saleed, opened the

membranes, and drank in the beauty he had come here to enjoy.

The stars scurried from upriver to downriver as the brief night raced

by. Two of the moons were prominent at the start of the evening:

Slowpoke and the Big One. The Big One was showing only a

crescent sliver of illumination, although the rest of its disk could be

seen as a round blackness, obscuring the stars. Afsan held his arm

out and found that if he unsheathed his thumbclaw, its sickle

silhouette appeared about the same height and shape as the Big

One. The Big One's orange face was always intriguing—there were

markings on it, details just a little too small, just a little too dim, to

be clearly made out. What it was, Afsan couldn't say. It seemed

rocky, but how could a rock fly through the sky?

He turned his attention to Slowpoke. It had been in one of its

recalcitrant moods again these past few nights, fighting its way

upriver instead of sailing downriver. Oh, the other moons would do

that occasionally, too, but never with the determination of tiny

Slowpoke. Slowpoke was Afsan's favorite.

Someday he would make a study of the moons. He'd read much of

what had been written about them, including Saleed's three-volume

Dancing the Night Away. Such a whimsical title! How unlike the

Saleed he knew, the Saleed he feared.

Some of the moons moved quickly across the sky, others took

several tens of nights to cross from horizon to horizon. All went

through phases, waxing and waning between the extremes of

showing a fully lit circular shape and appearing as simply a black

circle covering the stars. What did it all mean? Afsan exhaled

noisily.

He scanned the sky along the ecliptic, that path along which the sun

traveled each day. Two planets were visible, bright Kevpel and

ruddy Davpel. Planets were similar to the moons, in that they

moved against the background stars, but they appeared as tiny

pinpoints, revealing no face or details, and their progress against

the firmament had to be measured over days or dekadays. A few of

the six known planets also showed the strange retrograde motions

that some of the moons exhibited, although it took kilodays for

them to complete these maneuvers.

Near the zenith now was the constellation of the Prophet. Afsan had

seen old hand-copied books that called this constellation the

Hunter, after Lubal, largest of the Five Original Hunters, but as

worship of them was now all but banned, the official name had been

changed to honor Larsk, the first to gaze upon the Face of God.

Lubal or Larsk, the picture was the same: points of light marked the

shoulders, hips, elbows, knees, and the tip of the long tail. Two

bright stars represented the eyes. It was like a reverse image,

Afsan thought—the kind one gets after staring at an object, then

looking at a white surface—since the prophet's eyes and Lubal's,

too, like those of all Quintaglios, must have been obsidian black.

Above the Prophet, glowing faintly across the length of the sky, ran

the powdery reflection of the great River that Land sailed on in its

never-ending journey toward the Face of God. At least, that was

what old Saleed said the dusty pathway of light crossing the night

was, but he'd never been able to explain to Afsan's satisfaction why

it was only during certain times that the great River cast a reflection

on the sky.

Saleed! Abominable Saleed! It had taken Afsan fifty-five days riding

atop a domesticated hornface in one of the merchant caravans to

get from Pack Carno, part of the province of Arj'toolar, deep within

Land's interior, to Capital City on the upriver shore of Land.

The children were the children of the Pack, of course—only the

creche operators knew who Afsan's actual parents might have

been—and the whole Pack was proud that one of their own had

been selected to apprentice to the court astrologer. The choice,

presumably, had been made based on Afsan's showing in the most

recent battery of vocational exams. He had felt honored as he

packed his sashes and boots, his books and astrolabe, and set out

for his selected future. But he had been here for almost five

hundred days now. True, that was something of a record. As he had

discovered after arriving here, Saleed had had six other apprentices

in the last four kilodays, all of whom had been dismissed. But, even

though he seemed to have greater endurance than the previous try-

outs, Afsan's dream of contributing to the advancement of

astrological research had been smashed by his master.

Afsan had idolized Saleed, devouring his books on portents and

omens, his treatise on the reflected River in the sky, his articles on

the significance of each constellation. How he had looked forward to

meeting the great one! How disappointed he had been when that

day finally came. Soon, though, Afsan would be leaving on his

pilgrimage. He thanked God for that, for he'd be away from his

master for a great many days—able to study in private, free from

Saleed's critical scowl.

Afsan shook his head slightly, again clearing his thoughts. He'd

come here to bask in the beauty of the night, not to wallow in his

own misfortune. One day the stars would yield their secrets to him.

Time slipped by unnoticed as Afsan drank in the glory overhead.

Moons careened across the sky, waxing and waning as they went.

The stars rose and fell, constellations hustling across the firmament.

Meteors flashed through the night, tiny streaks of gold against the

black. Nothing gave Afsan more pleasure than to behold this

spectacle, always familiar, always different.

At last, Afsan heard the pip-pip call of a wingfinger, one of the hairy

flyers that heralded the dawn. He stood, brushed dirt and dead

grass from his side, turned, and looked. A cool steady breeze played

along his face. He knew, naturally, that the air was still—for what

could move the air?—and, rather, that Land, the ground beneath his

feet, was sailing ever so smoothly down the mighty River, the River

that ran from horizon to horizon. At least that was what he'd been

taught, and he had learned painfully that one does not question the

teachings. And perhaps, he reflected, it was true that Land floated

on the River, for if you dug deep enough, did you not often come

upon water beneath the ground?

Afsan knew little of boats—although his pilgrimage would involve a

long water journey—but he did understand that the bigger the boat,

the less it rocked. Land was roughly oval in shape. According to

explorers who had traveled its length and breadth, it was some 3

million paces from the harbor of Capital City to the westernmost tip

of Fra'toolar province and about 1.2 million paces from the

northernmost point of Chu'-toolar province to the southern tip of

the Cape of Belbar in Edz'toolar. Such a great rocky raft might

indeed float reasonably smoothly down the River. And, after all, the

journey was not always a steady one, for the ground shook,

sometimes severely, several times each kiloday.

Still, the floating was the part he always had a little mental trouble

with. But he himself had seen how the porous black basalts that

covered so much of Land's surface could indeed be made to bob in

a chalice of water. Besides, if there was a better explanation for the

way the world really was, he couldn't think of it—at least not yet.

His stomach growled, and, opening his wide mouth, Afsan growled

back at it. He understood that a ritual hunting party was going out

today, and that meant he might get to eat something other than

the usual fare from the imperial stockyards. He wondered what they

would bring down. Thunder-beast, he hoped, for it was his favorite,

though he knew that even the largest hunting packs had trouble

felling those great animals, with their massive pillar-like legs, their

endless necks, their lengthy tails. Probably something less

ambitious, he thought. Perhaps a shovelmouth or two. Stringy

meat, but an easy kill, or so he'd heard, even if they did almost

deafen you with the great bellowing calls they produced through the

crests of bone on their heads.

He ambled back up to the top of the hill. From there he could look

in all directions. Below him lay sleepy Capital City. Beyond, the wide

expanse of beach—sometimes completely submerged, but now

uncovered almost to its maximum extent. Beyond that, the River,

its waves lapping against the black sands.

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摘要：

Far-SeerbyRobertJ.SawyerDramatisPersonaeCapitalCityAfsan--apprenticeastrologerDar-Mondark--doctorDy-Dybo--princeDet-Yenalb--chiefpriestGerth-Palsab--citizenIrb-Falpom--landsurveyorJal-Tetex--huntleaderLen-Lends--EmpressPal-Cadool--butcherTak-Saleed--masterastrologerTheCrewoftheDasheterBog-Tardlo--sa...

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