“That’s beautiful,” said Mokleb.
“Yes,” said Afsan peacefully. “Yes, it is. And she’s beautiful, too, Mokleb. A delightful person. There’s not much that gives me joy in life, but my relationship with her does. In fact, I’ll tell you a secret: when I’m falling asleep, to clear my mind of the troubles of the day, I conjure up a memory of her face, her beautiful face, the way I remember it from the one time I saw it, all those kilodays ago. No image is more calming for me than the face of Novato.”
Mokleb dipped her claw into the inkpot. “She is older than you,” she said.
“By a few kilodays. Irrelevant now, of course; as a percentage of our current ages, the difference is trivial. But back then, when we met in Pack Gelbo, yes, there was something fascinating about a female who was older, who had long since gone through the rites of passage.” A small pause. “And yet, I guess, there’s one rite of passage we went through together.”
“You’re talking about sex,” said Mokleb.
Afsan wasn’t offended. “Yes. It was my first time, and hers, I suspect, too. I mean, she was older than me, but she was still shy of eighteen kilodays—one year—the age at which a female normally first gives signs of receptivity.” Afsan sighed contentedly. “Those pheromones, Mokleb. Those wonderful pheromones. It’s almost as if I can smell them now.”
“No doubt,” said Mokleb, deadpan.
“I really like Novato,” said Afsan. “She’s so intelligent, so pleasant to be with. She makes it seem like, like, oh, I don’t know, like there’s no territoriality. I don’t mean that she comes physically close to me or to others. Nothing like that. But when I’m with her, there’s a relaxing feeling of not being crowded, of not being wary. The territoriality is still there, I’m sure, but it’s in the background. I’m not—say, here’s an observation you’ll like—I’m not consciously aware of it.” Afsan clicked his teeth. “It’s a comfortable relationship.”
Mokleb had an array of noncommittal sounds she made, including grunts, the touching of teeth, the tapping of fingerclaws on stone—anything to show, especially to her blind patient, that she was still listening. This time, she lifted her tail a bit and let it gently bounce against the boulder.
“The relationship between you and me, Mokleb, can be comfortable, too,” Afsan said. “I know it isn’t always, but when things are going well, when we’re talking about our innermost thoughts and there’s no sense of judgment or derision, just gentle acceptance, that reminds me of when I’m with Novato. You came from a good egg, Mokleb.”
“Thank you.”
“You know, I don’t know that much about you, really,” said Afsan. “How old are you?”
“What difference does that make?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Say—maybe this is inappropriate, I don’t know—but perhaps someday we should go for a walk or something, just the two of us. Nothing to do with our formal sessions, you understand. Just a chance to get to know each other better.”
“Perhaps,” said Mokleb. For a time, she simply let the wind waft over herself and blow onto Afsan. “Was there ever an occasion when you weren’t comfortable with your relationship with Novato?”
“No, although I was sad after I left her in Pack Gelbo. I thought I’d never see her again.”
“But you did.”
For one moment, the bitter Afsan was back. “No, not really. I’ve been in her presence since then many times, but I’ve never seen her again.”
“Of course,” said Mokleb. “Forgive me. Tell me a bit about your reunion.”
“It was on the Dasheter. There had been riots in the Central Square, the land was shaking, the Ch’mar volcanoes were erupting, and I was badly injured. Pal-Cadool saved my life, spiriting me to safety aboard the Dasheter.”
“Where you were reunited with Novato.”
“Yes, and discovered that I had eight children by her. There was a bad moment there, actually. I was lying on the deck, exhausted, and the children were crawling on me. It was wonderful, absolutely wonderful, and then, with a start, I realized that seven of them would have to die. It was the most crushing moment of my life, to have met them only to realize that seven of them would be killed by the bloodpriests.”
“But then Novato explained to you that the bloodpriests weren’t going to touch your children, that they’d made a special dispensation because they thought you were The One.”
“Yes. That’s the only time I was ever glad of that silly title. Because I was The One, more than one of them would get to live.”
“And if it had turned out that Novato’s and your children were not to be spared, that seven of them were to have been killed, how would you have felt?”
“I don’t want to think about that,” said Afsan.
“Hypothetically,” said Mokleb. “How would you have felt?”
A long pause. “At the time, I was reassured by her so quickly that I don’t think I gave it much thought. Today, though… today, I don’t know. I was appallingly naive as a youngster, Mokleb. Old Cat-Julor, one of the creche mothers back in Carno, made fun of me for that when I paid a return visit there after seeing Novato that first time. I didn’t know what happened to extra babies. I accept the necessity of the bloodpriests, but if Novato had introduced me to my children so that we had made… made impressions on each other, and then she’d told me that seven of them were to be killed, I’d have resented it. I’d have resented her.”
“I’m sorry to have upset you,” said Mokleb. “Let me take a moment to review my notes. Just relax, Afsan.” Mokleb was quiet for a time, shuffling papers. The steady wind continued.
After a while, Afsan said, “You know, I do find you fascinating, Mokleb. You’ve got a keen mind.”
“Thank you.”
“I wish we could spend more time together.” A pause. “Novato and me, I mean.”
“Of course,” said Mokleb.
“It is warm today,” said Afsan. And then: “We spend so little time interacting, one with another. There’s so much about other people that we don’t know. I wish…” Afsan trailed off.
“Yes, Afsan?”
“I, um, I’ve got to go. Excuse me, please.”
“Our session isn’t over yet.”
“I know, but I—I really should be going.”
“Do you have another appointment?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just—” Afsan pushed up off the boulder. He nonchalantly brought a hand to his neck, feeling the slight puffing of his dewlap. “You shouldn’t have sat upwind of me, Mokleb.”
“Too many pheromones?” she asked in an innocent tone.
“I’ve—I’ve got to go,” said Afsan. Gork, who had been sunning himself nearby, took note of the fact that Afsan had risen and padded over to him, rubbing against his legs. Afsan groped for the beast’s harness. “I’ve got to go,” he said again, and with that, he began to walk away.
An average Quintaglio life span was four years, each of which was eighteen thousand days long. Novato was about to become officially middle-aged, her life half over. And for almost one full year now, she had been wrestling with her emotions.
She had laid a total of sixteen eggs so far in her life: eight by Afsan, eight by Garios.
She remembered laying them. For the first clutch, she had gone into the creche in Pack Gelbo, had squatted over the birthing sands, and, one by one, the soft-shelled eggs had come out. Without any instruction, she’d known exactly how to move, taking a sideways step after each egg had been deposited so that they ended up in a circle, their long axes pointing toward an empty space in the center. Passing the eggs had been painful, but there had been a deep satisfaction in knowing that she was contributing to the ongoing development of the Quintaglio race.