Afsan always found skulls frightening: eyeless receptacles, the discarded canister of the mind. These skulls seemed to float a distance above the ground, each somehow not touching the ones near it. A support, then, he told himself, perhaps thin glass or crystal, invisible in this waning light. He reached a hand forward to feel the space between skulls, but jerked it back, deciding he’d rather not know if he was wrong.
“I’ve never seen such a place as this,” Afsan said aloud, his back to the stranger. He was grateful even for the sound of his own voice, something warm and alive interrupting the shrieking winds. “A structure made of bones.”
Skulls in the inner concentric spheres had darkened over great time to a deep brown, but the skull of the late Pironto was easy to spot: it was whiter than all the others.
Afsan stooped and placed the astrolabe on the ground beneath the overhanging bulge of the sphere of skulls, directly below Pironto’s snout. It disconcerted him as he rose to catch a glimpse of the brass rings of the astrolabe, an object he had cherished since childhood, through the gaping holes in her skull and the skulls beneath.
The stranger was silent for several heartbeats. “They are the bones of hunt leaders from the past,” she said at last. “Here rests the hunting spirit of each.”
He turned to face her. “Hunting spirits? I thought that was a myth.”
“You are so blind.” The stranger spread her arms wide. “I hear them.” She closed her eyes. “Irb-Stark and Tol-Tipna. Sar-Klimsan the Scaly and Hoad-Malat. The smooth-skinned Klimsan and Tol-Catekt. And my predecessor, Dem-Pironto.”
Afsan swished his tail in comprehension. “You are the new hunt leader.”
“I am.” Her voice was pure glass. “Jal-Tetex is my name.”
“I cast a shadow in your presence.”
In the gathering darkness, that was far from literally true. Jal-Tetex’s black eyes did not betray where they were looking, but nonetheless Afsan had the uncomfortable feeling that he was being assessed from head to toeclaw, from the front of his muzzle to the tip of his tail. At last Jal-Tetex spoke again. “No doubt you do. What do you know of the hunt?”
Afsan couldn’t remember the exact words to the Scroll of the Hunt, but he came up with what he thought was a good paraphrase. “It is the ritual through which we purge emotions: hate and violence. It is the endeavor through which we gain self-sufficiency. It is the activity that brings us together in camaraderie and cooperation.”
“And who is the greatest hunter of all time?”
Afsan’s tail twitched. A trick question? There were five original hunters. To pick one as better than the others might be considered blasphemous. Even though the religion of the hunt was all but extinct, there was deep respect for all five. Lubal was the one whose cult still had the most adherents, and those who didn’t understand fine distinctions often referred to the Worship of the Five and the Lubalite Cult as one and the same. Still, to name only one—And then it hit Afsan: “Why, you, Jal-Tetex, as imperial hunt leader. You are the greatest hunter.”
Afsan saw Telex’s jaw work, but he couldn’t tell over the howling wind whether she was clicking her teeth in amusement. “You’ll go far at the palace,” she said at last. “But you’re wrong. The greatest hunter of all is The One yet to come, the one foretold by Lubaclass="underline" ‘A hunter will come greater than myself, and this hunter will be a male—yes, a male—and he shall lead you on the greatest hunt of all.’ ”
Afsan had heard the story before, and mentally whipped himself with his tail for not remembering it in time. “Of course,” he said. “The One.”
Tetex seemed satisfied. She nodded slightly at Afsan. “And you are?”
“Afsan, from Carno Pack, part of Arj’toolar province. I am a student astrologer, apprenticed to Tak-Saleed.”
“Why do you climb the rocks of the Five? Why do you come here?”
“I wish to join the next hunting pack.”
“Afsan, did you say?” Her face was impassive. “You’re a friend of Prince Dybo, aren’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“Dybo climbed the rocks earlier today. He brought a gift of precious stones.”
Afsan was delighted that his friend had made it. “Dybo has access to great wealth.”
“Not to mention influence,” said Tetex. “You used that influence to get bumped to the front of the queue.”
“Well—”
The wind whipped, but it was her voice that stung. “Eggling, do you seriously believe that princely influence will save you should something go wrong on the hunt?” Afsan said nothing. “Look there!” She pointed at the floating skulls. “Those were all great hunters, with kilodays of experience. Every one of them killed on the hunt. There are others who were swallowed whole, for whom we don’t even have a skull by which to remember them.”
Afsan stood tall. “I am not afraid.”
“Fear is important, young one. Fear is the counselor. Those who don’t know when to fear wind up dead.”
Afsan was confused. “I am not afraid,” he said again.
“You lie!” Tetex’s voice cut across the shrieking wind. It was now dark enough that the color of Afsan’s muzzle would not have betrayed him if he were telling a falsehood.
“I am not afraid of the hunt,” said Afsan quietly, his tail twitching uncomfortably among the ragged gray rocks.
“Are you afraid of me?” Tetex demanded.
Afsan was defiant. “No.”
Suddenly Tetex was moving, a black blur against the gathering night. Afsan’s claws sprang from their sheaths: she was charging at him, attacking another Quintaglio. He didn’t know what to do; one does not attack one’s own kind. But instinct, mighty instinct, took command in his hesitation. He dived to the left, avoiding the impact of her body, twice his own bulk. But Tetex pivoted, her tail slicing the air as she wheeled around. She caught Afsan’s arm and flipped him, sending him sailing. He crashed into the gridwork of bones that made up the nearest wall and tasted salt blood in his mouth. Penned, no way to resolve the territorial ambiguity, he leapt forward, arms up, claws out, jaws agape. Tetex ran directly into his leap, muscular legs propelling her. They smashed together. Afsan landed on his back, an agonizing position, his tail bent aside. Tetex’s triple-clawed foot slammed into his chest above his heart, pinning him. She flexed her toes, the claws sending sharp pains into his chest.
The tableau held for a semi-ten of heartbeats, wind whipping around them. Finally Tetex spoke again. “Do you fear me now, astrologer?”
Afsan’s eyes narrowed in shame. He spoke in a whisper rarely audible above the wind. “Yes.”
Tetex pulled her foot from his chest, and then, to Afsan’s amazement, stooped to offer him a hand in getting back on his feet. “Good,” she said. “Learn to listen to your fear. Perhaps then you will survive.” Tetex nodded concession to Afsan, and he felt the instinctive reflexes drain from within him. She looked up at the stars, at the rising constellation of the Prophet/Hunter. “We leave at first light tomorrow.”
*7*
Up ahead, Jal-Tetex had stopped moving. The grass came to the middle of her chest. Afsan, ten paces behind, immediately stopped as well. Dybo, just behind Afsan, continued ahead for a step or so before he realized what was going on, then he, too, came to a halt.
Tetex held up her right arm, the five fingers splayed, the claws sheathed. A symbol in the hunter’s sign language: she had again detected the trail of their quarry.
What, wondered Afsan, had given away the beast they were tracking? A footprint? Trampled vegetation? The animal’s pungent wind? Whatever it was, the discovery made his heart pound.