Metron rubbed his chin. Perhaps the wine mellowed him. He knew Blasphet was confessing to disturbing crimes, but he still found the observations intriguing. He often thought of heat as invigorating. Standing beside the fireplace in the morning did wonders for his old bones. Blasphet must be overlooking something obvious in his experiments.
“Life also requires air,” Metron said, latching onto the missing element. “Perhaps the heat drives out the air, extinguishing life.”
“Air may be a key,” Blasphet admitted. “My subjects do die in its absence. Yet fish are undeniably alive and they live without air. This showed that water might be the key-obviously, we expire if long deprived of it. But when I place subjects beneath the water, they do not live long.”
“Then there must be a mix,” said Metron. “Life isn’t one thing. It’s a mix of fire, of heat, of air, of water. All these things combine to animate our base matter.”
“If this is true, I believe there must be some perfect mixture of the elements. Some ratio of flame and water that gives birth to unquenchable life.” Blasphet sounded excited to be discussing this issue with someone who could follow his reasoning. Blasphet snaked his head closer to Metron, bringing his yellow teeth near the biologian’s ear. He said, his voice soft, yet quivering with anticipation, “Tell me, Metron, do you believe in immortality?”
“In truth?” Metron asked, summoning the courage to look into the Murder God’s blood-rimmed eyes. “No. It’s idle fantasy.”
“I believe,” said Blasphet. “When I lost the contest to my brother, I was castrated; the normal path to continuing one’s bloodline is simple procreation. With that route closed to me, I began to contemplate the alternative. It was in these very libraries that I gained the first knowledge of substances that could hasten death; by simple symmetry, isn’t it likely there are also compounds or formulas that can extend life? I believe our bodies can be perfected. I believe it’s possible to live forever.”
Metron sighed. “I’m old, Blasphet. When I was younger I occasionally entertained the thought of life without end. Alas, the years roll by. The body breaks and bends. The mind fogs day by day. Eternal life may not be a blessing.”
“I refuse to accept that,” Blasphet said. “The life force is a mystery, yes, but one I will solve. I will not go willingly into the final darkness. I will find the key to life and unlock eternity.”
Metron nodded. Perhaps it was possible. Blasphet certainly seemed convinced. Then the biologian’s stomach grumbled and knotted. This was Blasphet who spoke. This was a butcher before him, not a philosopher.
“This is fine talk,” Metron said. “But I believe not a word of it. I think you kill because it gives you some deep gratification that I will never comprehend. I think all this talk of the mystery of life is meant to mask your vile actions. If you truly believe yourself engaged in some noble quest, you are only deluding yourself.”
“You think me deluded? Hypocrite! You are the one who knows the truth yet lives a lie. The time I’ve spent here convinces me these books aren’t forgeries. You know the truth about the origins of dragons.”
Metron frowned. How much had Blasphet read? How many of the ancient languages did he know? “Don’t believe everything you read here, Blasphet. You are making a common intellectual mistake that confounds many an otherwise brilliant student. You assume that just because information is old, it must be true.”
“You are in a poor position to speak to me of intellectual mistakes,” Blasphet said, his voice mocking. “You’ve counseled three generations of kings, telling them it is natural to kill the humans, as nature has decreed we are the superior race. How can you live with yourself?”
“You are hardly in a position to make me feel guilty,” Metron growled. “I nourish the myths that allow dragon culture to flourish. You’re the one with blood on his claws.”
“Yes. Blood. And poison.” Blasphet drew his fore-claw close to Metron’s eyes. He flexed his bony talon, displaying the black, tarry substance caked beneath the nails. “Or perhaps you are speaking metaphorically? Implying I should feel remorse? Your own teachings contain the doctrine that organisms do what they must to survive. I devote my life to this central principle. If I must strip the planet of all life to learn how to ensure my own survival, so be it. I’ll never shed a tear.”
“Have care, Blasphet. Push too far and Albekizan will recognize your true evil. You’ll find yourself in chains once more,” Metron said.
“Evil? What a quaint idea, unworthy of a scholar such as yourself. For the true intellectual, good and evil are mere hobgoblins. All that matters is the quest for truth. Perhaps your century of scholarship can end my quest. What is the animating force? What is the source of life?”
“What I know, I have told you,” Metron said, looking at the floor, away from Blasphet’s intense gaze. “Life is flame.”
“Still you insist on that lie?” Blasphet grabbed Metron’s cheeks, turning his eyes once more to meet his own. “If you truly do not know, admit it. You may not be the most intelligent dragon who lives, but you are, perhaps, the most educated. Give me the answer or I’ll sink a single claw into your neck, putting an end to your miserable life.”
“Kill me if you must,” Metron said, not daring to blink. “I do not know the answer you seek.”
Blasphet released him. Metron staggered backward. Blasphet sounded more frustrated than angry as he said, “There is not a book in this library you haven’t studied. If you were to join me in my quest for truth, I know I could find the answer more rapidly.”
Metron paused, considering the words of the Murder God. Metron truly had no special insight into the secret of immortality. Nevertheless, as long as Blasphet thought he might, perhaps he held some advantage over the wicked dragon.
“I don’t have the information you seek,” said Metron. “But that doesn’t mean I cannot discover it.”
“Then you will research the answer? This is not the only library on the planet; the College of Spires has a collection that rivals your own. I know you biologians have a network of contacts. Will you not help me search?”
Metron rubbed his cheek where Blasphet’s claws had rested. His scales crawled where he’d been touched. “Am I to believe that if you found the secret of eternal life, you would give up your murderous ways?”
“You can believe whatever helps you sleep at night,” Blasphet said.
“I believe that even if you were to change your ways, it would matter little in the grand scheme of things. Albekizan will continue to execute the humans with or without your help.”
“Hmm.” Blasphet studied Metron’s face. “It bothers you, the genocide. Interesting. I hadn’t guessed most dragons would object. However, if it’s any comfort, when I gain the secret of immortality, I won’t be sharing it with my brother. Albekizan won’t live forever. I’ll see to that when the time is right.”
“Your words hint at treason.”
“Tsk. Tsk.Those pesky laws.”
Metron found himself in curious admiration of the monster before him. It occurred to him that a being unconstrained by laws or morality might prove useful. He said, “I do not lightly enter into treason. Give me time to consider your words.”