"Oh, I know," said Garios. "Forgive me, I’m just rambling. Anyway, when you mate again, good Novato, you, ah, have
three choices, no? You could call for Afsan, call for me, or call for someone new. I know it is premature, and it’s wrong
for me to ask regardless, but the thought plagues me. Whom will you call for?" He wrinkled his long muzzle. "I, ah, I
hope it will be me."
"Garios, we have worked together for a long time. We are friends. My thoughts toward you are always warm."
"But?"
"But nothing. I don’t yet feel the stirrings, although I imagine they will start soon. Who knows how I’ll feel then? I
honestly don’t know whom I’ll call for."
"But I’m in the running?"
"You are intelligent and strong and good of heart. Of course you are in the running."
"Thank you," said Garios. "Thank you very much."
The Other with the black armbands took Toroca to one of the octagonal buildings. As soon as he got inside, Toroca
understood how they could safely use wood as a building material; the roof was made of glass, letting in light from
outside. Since there was never total darkness here beneath the Face of God, there was no need for open-flame lamps.
Toroca had to wait a long time. An Other brought flagons of water and a pink transparent liquid with bubbles in it.
He’d had his fill of water on the swim over and was reluctant to try the pink liquid, afraid it might be some kind of
plant juice. The Other also brought a platter covered with small pieces of meat. At first glance, Toroca thought the
meat was dried — he was used to such fare — but then he realized it had been ruined by exposure to heat. And yet the
Other waiting with him had no compunctions about eating the stuff. Toroca decided to be sociable and tried a small
piece. It was still warm, but not with the warmth of a freshly killed body. Toroca changed his mind about the water,
downing a massive gulp.
Finally, whoever they’d been waiting for arrived. Toroca tried to imagine who would have greeted a stranger who swam
up to the docks on Land. Emperor Dybo? Surely not at first. The imperial guards? Maybe. He’d now gathered that all
those wearing black armbands — this particular octagon was full of them — were the equivalent of that. Toroca
remembered when a huge tentacled mollusk had washed up after a big storm many kilodays ago, its shell a good four
paces across. It was a savant who was summoned, old Osfik, the Arbiter of the Sequence. Perhaps this new arrival
was likewise a respected thinker, come to puzzle out the nature of the green apparition that had appeared in their
midst.
The newcomer was about Toroca’s size; meaning, given the overall smallness of the Others, that he or she was
probably quite old. There were pheromones coming off the Other, but Toroca couldn’t interpret them; he wished he
knew how to differentiate the sexes. The newcomer looked at him with an intensity Toroca found uncomfortable. The
golden eyes made clear exactly where it was looking; such staring would be considered a challenge display amongst
Quintaglios. The newcomer spoke briefly with the fellow with black armbands, then turned to Toroca and uttered a few
words.
Toroca shrugged his shoulders and said, "I don’t understand."
The Other savant looked fascinated. It spoke again, and the arm-banded fellow looked up sharply. Toroca guessed
that the oldster had said something incendiary as a test to see if Toroca was faking not knowing their language.
Toroca shrugged again and said, amusing himself, "May a thousand wingfingers fly up your anus."
Satisfied, apparently, that there really was a language barrier, the savant pointed at his own chest and said, "Jawn."
Ah, thought Toroca. Now we’re getting somewhere.
The savant gestured at Toroca, his hand extended in a loose fist.
Toroca opened his mouth to reply, then realized that he didn’t know what the reply should be. Was Jawn the savant’s
own name, or the name of his people? Toroca pointed at the fellow wearing the black armbands.
The savant seemed disappointed to not have his question answered, but after a moment, he pointed at the security
fellow as well and said, "Morb." He then indicated a copper tag he was wearing on a chain around his neck. Large
geometric characters were embossed into it. "Jawn," he said.
Jawn’s cartouche, thought Toroca. Or at least, some representation of his name. He pointed at his own chest, and
said, ’Toroca," and then, more slowly, "Toe-roe-ka."
Jawn pointed at himself and said "Jawn" again, then he pointed at Toroca and said "Toroca."
Toroca clicked his teeth and pointed at Morb. "Morb," he said.
It was a start.
*8*
"The imagery in most dreams," said Mokleb, "comes from the hunt. We revel in the desire to overtake and vanquish, to
release pent-up violence, to gorge on fresh meat."
Afsan clicked his teeth. "Either you are wrong or I’m abnormal," he said. "I rarely dream of the hunt."
"Perhaps not directly," said Mokleb. "But tell me: are you often running in your dreams?"
"Running … why, yes, I suppose so."
"That’s pursuit. Do you often leap?"
"Through the air, no." Afsan clicked his teeth again. "Leaping to conclusions, sometimes."
"It’s still leaping, whether it’s literal or metaphorical, and it represents the attack."
"But I almost never gorge myself in my dreams, Mokleb. Indeed, all my life people have teased me over my lack of interest in food."
"Again, the gorging doesn’t have to be literal. Any excess — whether in eating, in sexual congress, in claiming and
defending a giant territory — anything like that represents the gorging, the final culmination of the hunt. Almost everyone reports at one time or another having the dream of defending a huge piece of land, bobbing up and down to deter interlopers who are kilopaces away. Territoriality is just another kind of hunt. When stalking prey, we are satisfying current needs; when defending a territory, we are ensuring that future needs will be met. Broadly, you could
say dreaming is about fulfilling needs, and all needs, at their most basic level, are related to hunting and killing and establishing territory."
"I just don’t see that."
"No, of course not. It takes training to interpret dreams. The low mind uses symbols and metaphor. Some are obvious. Any long, curved object represents a hunter’s tooth: a bent tree trunk, a broken wheel rim, a rib, a crescent moon, wave caps seen in profile, even, I daresay, the convex lenses of a far-seer. And any prone object, or object out of its normal orientation — a table lying on its side, say, rather than standing on its legs — or any object leaking liquid — a bucket with a hole in it, perhaps — represents felled prey."
"It all strikes me as rather unlikely," said Afsan.
Mokleb was unperturbed. "Tell me a dream you had prior to the onset of your current bad dreams. Anything."
Afsan was quiet for a moment, thinking. "Well, there’s one I’ve had a few times. There’s a big, fat armorback waddling by, and — okay, this one is about the hunt, I see that now — and I leap on its back, but there’s no place to dig in tooth or claw; the whole animal is encased in a bony carapace. I struggle for a time, but end up exhausted and finally just lie down on the thing’s back, close my eyes, and go to sleep, as it ambles along, carrying me with it."
Mokleb looked up. "I’m sorry — I didn’t get all that. Could you repeat it?"
Afsan sounded annoyed. "I said, there’s a large armorback. I jump on its back and try to dig into its carapace, but can’t find anything to tear into. I struggle and finally fall asleep on its back."
"Thank you," said Mokleb. "You’ll note that your description of the dream changed the second time you told it. This is very significant in dream interpretation. The first time, you referred to the animal as ’a big, fat armorback.’ The armorback is often a symbol of the unassailable in dreams. Although they eat plants, such creatures are almost impossible to kill. And a big, fat armorback — those were your words — could refer to only one person: Emperor Dybo, whose girth is legendary, or at least was so the last time you actually saw him. The power of Dybo’s office makes him impervious to almost all attacks, just like an armorback. And again, you changed your words when you described the dream a second time: in the first description, you specifically said you closed your eyes at the end; the second