"And the one we, ah, encountered was also sporting jewelry," said Babnol, who had removed her sash and was using it to wipe her face clean of blood.
"The braincases were bigger than those of any animal," Toroca said. "So, yes, they were people, of a kind. Thinking beings."
"And we’ve killed two of them," said Babnol, shaking her head. "I — I don’t know why I reacted the way I did. It was as though the sight of the — the thing was enough to trigger dagamant. I felt as if my territory had been invaded. My claws popped out, and then everything became a blur. Next thing I knew, Spalton and I were standing over the dead body." She paused. "What was left of the body, that is."
"You didn’t feel the same thing?" Keenir said to Toroca, almost imploringly, as if seeking absolution.
Toroca’s tail swished. "No. The appearance of the Other was startling, but it didn’t trigger any rage in me."
"You’re unusual, of course," said Babnol matter-of-factly. "You’re free of the territorial instinct."
"True."
"Something about these Others sets off that instinct," said Babnol. "The sight of them, or maybe their pheromones. Something."
"It wasn’t pheromones," said Keenir. "The one Toroca and I saw was downwind of us." He looked out over the waters. "The sun is setting. We should get back to the Dasheter."
"What about the bodies?" said Toroca.
"What do you mean?" asked Babnol.
"I mean, what do we do with them? Do we just leave them on the beach?"
"What else?" said Keenir, aghast. "You’re not suggesting we take them back to the ship as food?"
Toroca wrinkled his muzzle in disgust. "No, of course not. But we should do something with them." He leaned back on his tail. "If we’re going to have any further contact with the natives here,we’ve got two choices. Either we try to explain to them what happened — offer our apologies and let them do with the bodies whatever they normally do. Or we hide the bodies and hope that suspicion for the disappearance of these two individuals never falls on us."
Babnol looked at Toroca. She was an unusual Quintaglio herself, having retained her birthing horn into adulthood. The fluted cone cast a shadow across her muzzle. "I suggest we simply hightail it back to the Dasheter and get as far away from these islands as possible. They’re evil, Toroca."
Toroca looked surprised. "Evil? That’s the same word the captain used before you joined us. In any event, we’ve got to explore these islands; that’s the whole point of the Geological Survey. But as to whether we, ah, admit involvement with these deaths…"
"Don’t do it," said Keenir. "How could we explain what we did? We can’t even fathom it ourselves. No, we’ll take the bodies back out in the shore boats, tie rocks to their ankles, and dump them overboard when we’re far from shore."
Babnol’s voice was distressed, and her tail moved in agitated ways. "I don’t feel right about doing that."
"Nor do I," agreed the captain. "But since we don’t know anything about these people, it’s best we not make our initial presentation of ourselves to them as … as…"
"Murderers," said Toroca.
Keenir sighed. "Yes."
Toroca’s turn to sound uncomfortable. "If we are going to take the corpses, please don’t dump them overboard. I’d like to, ah, study them."
"Very well," said Keenir. A pause, and then, his voice heavy: "Let’s fetch them."
And they set out to do just that. The one that Keenir had killed was still nearby. Wingfingers were picking at the gaping wounds, but they took flight as soon as the Quintaglios approached. Spalton and the captain carried the corpse to the shore boat and began paddling back to the Dasheter. Toroca and Babnol covered the bloodstained ground with clean sand, then headed down the beach. They came to where the vegetation jutted into the water and made their way through the growth until they arrived at where Babnol and Spalton had encountered their Other.
"Uh-oh," said Babnol, her head swiveling left and right.
The second body was gone.
*5*
Nav-Mokleb’s Casebook
Word of the talking cure is spreading, apparently. I’ve received an imperial summons asking me to take on a new patient. I’d hoped that the subject was going to be Emperor Dy-Dybo himself. I thought he might be having emotional difficulties, stemming from the challenge to his leadership two kilodays ago. True, he’d acquitted himself well in the battle with the blackdeath, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there were residual problems. After all, he did see six apprentice governors die in front of his eyes, and, as if that weren’t bad enough, he’d had to chew his own arms off.
But, no, my new patient isn’t quite that highly placed in the government. Still, Sal-Afsan should be an interesting case nonetheless. I’ve been reviewing what is generally known about him. Afsan is middle-aged, having hatched some thirty-four kilodays ago in Pack Carno, part of Arj’toolar province. Extremely gifted intellectually, he was summoned to Capital City at the age of thirteen to be the latest and, as it turned out, the last in a series of apprentices to Tak-Saleed, the master court astrologer.
Afsan has certainly lived an interesting life. He was aboard the sailing ship Dasheter when it made the first-ever circumnavigation of our world. He is credited with figuring out the true nature of the Face of God, and with discovering that our world is doomed to break up into a ring of rubble. Originally his idea was denounced as heresy, and the late Det-Yenalb, Master of the Faith back then, used a ceremonial dagger to poke out Afsan’s eyes in punishment. But an underground of Lubalite hunters declared that Afsan was "The One," the great male hunter that Lubal had prophesied as she lay dying. Afsan’s hunts — before he was blinded, of course — were indeed spectacular: he killed the largest thunderbeast ever seen, defeated a great water serpent, and even brought down a fangjaw.
Because of this, all eight of Afsan’s children by Wab-Novato were allowed to live. The bloodpriests, an order closely allied with the Lubalites, refused to devour any of The One’s egglings.
And now, apparently, this remarkable fellow is having nightmares.
I’ve long suspected that genius and madness were closely allied. Well, I’ll soon learn whether the individual pushing us to the stars is merely troubled, or, as some of his detractors have always claimed, completely insane…
Rockscape had lost some of its appeal. Oh, visitors to the Capital still trekked out to see the ninety-four granite boulders arranged in patterns, spread across a field of tall grasses by the edge of a cliff overlooking water. No one knew exactly when the boulders had been laid out in these designs, but it had been in a time before written history.
Still, Rockscape seemed insignificant compared to the ancient spaceship unearthed by Toroca in Fra’toolar. That giant ark was millions of kilodays old. Rockscape, even if it was the oldest known Quintaglio settlement, couldn’t compete with that.
Nonetheless, Afsan continued to visit Rockscape most days, using it as an open-air classroom for his students, and, when alone, as a restful, isolated spot for quiet contemplation.
Except, of course, he was rarely alone. His lizard, Cork, was usually with him, lying on its favorite Rockscape boulder, warming in the sun. Afsan also had a boulder he was partial to. He was straddling it now, tail hanging off the back, his sightless eyes turned toward the cliff’s distant edge. He could hear the pipping calls of wingfingers as they rose and fell on the air currents and the sounds of crickets and other insects in the grass. Although he was a good piece north of Capital City’s harbor, Afsan could also make out the identifying drums and bells of ships and occasionally the shouts of merchants arguing over what constituted a Sair trade for newly arrived goods. There were many smells, too, including a salt tinge to the wind and a rich variety of pollens and lowers.