Novato turned her muzzle sideways, making clear that her gaze was on Garios. She held it just long enough to convey that she felt he was stepping into her territory. “I doubt it,” she said at last. “I mean, there are a lot fewer people who think Afsan is The One today than there were twenty kilodays ago.”
“Ah,” said Garios, again with a tone that would have been offhand where it not for the slight quaver underlying the words, “so you’ve been contemplating the question.”
“Not really, no.”
“But you didn’t hesitate before answering,” he said.
“I’m a bright person.” Novato clicked her teeth. “I can answer questions without meditating on them for daytenths on end.”
“Oh, then you haven’t been contemplating this issue.”
“Not directly.”
“Afsan already has four children.”
“He had eight,” said Novato, a little sadly. “Four survive.”
“Still, I’ve had but one.”
“Well, if this is a contest, I win,” said Novato gently. “I’ve had nine, five of whom still live. I’m the mother to more adult Quintaglios than anyone else alive.”
“Granted,” said Garios. The sky overhead was rapidly growing darker; a few stars already pierced the firmament. “But I’m talking about just Afsan and me. He’s had four. I’ve only had one.” He held up a hand. “Yes, there are those who would argue that Afsan is a great person, that our species is enriched by having more of his offspring. Still,” he said, and then, a little later, “still…”
“I’m not the only female around,” said Novato. “Delplas will be in heat in another two kilodays.”
“Oh, I know, but…”
“In fact, there are many tens of females who might choose you at some point during the remainder of your life. You’re a male; you can breed whenever called upon to do so. Me, I’ve got one or maybe two more opportunities to lay eggs.”
“True,” said Garios.
“I’m hardly your only chance.”
“Oh, I know. Still…” he said again.
“I am flattered by your interest,” said Novato. “But as to whom I’ll call for, even I don’t know. Believe me, though, it’ll be either you or Afsan; I have no doubt about that.”
“You do have four children already by him,” Garios said again.
“I know.”
“And, after all, those children weren’t necessarily that great. Oh, yes, one became a hunt leader and another directs the Geological Survey, but, well, one was a murderer, too.”
“Eat plants, Garios.”
“I only meant—no, forgive me! I’m sorry! I just—I didn’t intend to say that. Oh, Novato, forgive me! Roots, your pheromones are everywhere. I, ah, I’m just going to go away now, go for a little walk. I’m sorry. I’m very, very sorry.”
“You know, Mokleb,” said Afsan, his voice sharp, “you remind me of my old teaching master.” Mokleb lifted her muzzle. “Oh?”
“Yes. Tak-Saleed. Not as I came to know him at the very end, but as I first knew him.”
“Indeed.”
“ ‘Indeed.’ He’d talk just like that, too. You’d never know what he was thinking. Only one thing was clear. He was judging you. He was evaluating you. Every day, every moment, he was watching your every move. I wasn’t his first apprentice, you know. He’d had many others before me.”
“But you were the one that survived,” said Mokleb.
“He sent all the others back, dispatching them home.”
“Dispatching.”
“You know—sending.”
“The word has no other connotations for you.”
“What word? ‘Dispatching’? No.”
“It’s the euphemism used by bloodpriests for what they do: in order to keep the size of the population in check, seven infants are killed. But the process is referred to as ‘dispatching,’ not killing.”
“I suppose I knew that,” said Afsan, “but that’s not my point. Saleed judged each of us, each of his young apprentices. And all of them, save me, were sent back to the Packs from which they’d come.”
“And that disturbed you?”
“It was frightening—not knowing if I’d be sent back next; whether I was the one he’d been looking for, or whether he’d get rid of me, too.”
“But you never met any of the other apprentices?”
“No.” A pause. “Saleed used to talk about them from time to time, though. Always in disparaging terms. The fellow before, his name was Pog-Teevio. I had to wear his leftover sashes. But he’d been older than I was, so the sashes had been altered to fit me. You could tell where material had been removed—since the sashes were tapered, the pieces didn’t line up properly and had to be trimmed.” A pause. “God, how I hated those sashes.”
“How many apprentices did Saleed have before you?”
“Well, let’s see. There was Pog-Teevio. Before him was Adkab. Before him was, um, Rikgot. Before her, Haltang. You know, as an aside, I wish I hadn’t known their names. It made it a lot harder, contemplating what had happened to them, knowing their names.”
“Was Haltang the first?”
“No, there were two before him. Females both: Lizhok and—oh, what was it now?—Tasnik.”
“That’s a total of six before you.”
“Yes.”
“And you were number seven.”
Irritated. “That follows, doesn’t it? Yes. The seventh.”
“It bothered you that your future at the palace was unsure.”
“Wouldn’t it bother you? When I’d been summoned to Capital City, I’d had no idea that Saleed had had all those previous apprentices, all of whom had proved unsuitable.”
“But as your time at the palace grew longer and longer, surely the fear that you’d be sent back must have diminished?”
“Diminished?” Afsan clicked teeth derisively. “That shows how little you know, Mokleb. It grew worse. I kept waiting for the eighth apprentice to arrive.”
“How did you know there would be an eighth?”
“Well, of course, it turned out there wasn’t, but I felt sure, sure in my bones, that there would be one more.”
“Six before you, you as the seventh, and one more, for a total of eight,” said Mokleb.
“And they call me a mathematical genius.”
“Eight, of whom seven would be sent back.”
“Yes.”
“Of whom seven would be dispatched.”
“As you say.”
“And Saleed sat in constant judgment of you.”
“Yes. Just like you do.”
“I don’t judge you at all, Afsan. It’s not my place. But you felt judged by Saleed. Six had already been sent back. If you failed, you’d be sent back, too.”
“It wasn’t so much a question of ‘if.’ I eventually became sure I’d be sent back; I knew there had to be one further apprentice.”
Mokleb was quiet for a time, waiting to see if Afsan would offer anything further. At last she said, “Do you see the pattern you’re describing?”
A sneer. “What pattern?”
“Eight youngsters, judged by a vastly older authority figure. Seven of them dispatched—your word, that—and only the eighth surviving.”
“Yes. So?”
“It sounds precisely like the culling of the bloodpriest. Seven out of eight hatchlings in every clutch are devoured.”
Afsan clicked his teeth derisively. “You’re way off base, Mokleb. By God’s own tail, I knew this whole process was a waste of time. Roots, you see patterns in everything! For your information, Doctor, I knew nothing at all about bloodpriests until after I’d left Saleed to go on my journey around the world. It wasn’t until I was on my return trip to Capital City, when I stopped off in Carno for a visit, that I first learned about the bloodpriests. For God’s sake, Mokleb, the nonsense you spout!”