Novato hurried to move a pile of books that had been sitting in the middle of the floor, lest Afsan trip over them. “What brings you here?” she said, her voice warm. “It’s always a pleasure, of course, but I didn’t expect you.”
Afsan’s tone was neutral, perhaps even timid. “I have a question to ask.”
“Of course. Anything.”
“Cadool must join us.”
“Cadly is here, too?” “Cadly” was Novato’s nickname for Cadool. “Cadool” meant “hunter of runningbeasts,” but “Cadly” meant “long of leg,” something Cadool definitely was. “I’ve missed him. By all means, bring him in.”
Afsan went to the door and called for Cadool. A few moments later, he appeared.
“Cadly!” declared Novato.
Cadool nodded concession. “It is good to see you, Novato.”
“I’m so glad the two of you have come,” said Novato. “Coordinating the exodus keeps me very busy, I’m afraid. I’m sorry I haven’t called on either of you lately.”
“It is good to see you,” said Afsan.
“I’m sorry, Afsan,” said Novato. “I’ve been babbling. You said you had a question for me?”
“That’s right.”
There was silence for a time. Novato’s teeth touched in laughter. “That silence you’re hearing is me looking at you expectantly, my dear.”
“I’m sorry. The question is…” Afsan hesitated, his tail swishing back and forth nervously. “The question is, did you kill Yabool or Haldan?”
“And this silence,” said Novato, no levity in her tone at all, “is me glaring at you. What moves you to ask such a thing?”
“What always moves me,” said Afsan. “The need to expose the truth.”
“And what is Cadool”—no friendly sobriquets now—”doing here?”
Afsan’s voice was small. “He is here to see whether you are lying.”
Novato’s voice had a tone Afsan had never heard in it, the sharp edge of anger. “Why are you doing this?”
Afsan thought. Finally: “I do it out of… out of affection for our children.”
“And what about affection for me?”
Afsan’s voice carried a note of surprise. “That is a given.”
“A given? Then why treat me this way?”
Afsan paused. “Cadool, perhaps you would leave us?”
“No,” said Novato sarcastically. “Stay. It’s obvious why you’ve brought him along, Afsan: to assure you that my words are honest.”
Afsan nodded, then swiveled his muzzle toward his assistant. “Stay, Cadool. But not for that reason. Rather, stay because we agreed that friends should share. I make no secret of my feelings for Novato.” He paused, as if seeking the right words, then turned back toward where he’d heard Novato’s voice coming from. “Novato, I abjure pity, but I suspect you know it’s not easy being blind.” His tail swished back and forth slowly. “Falling asleep is—is strange for me.” He gestured in her direction. “For you, and for Cadool, it’s a slipping from light into darkness; you close your eyes, shut out the world, and drift into unconsciousness.”
He paused again, phrasing what he was about to say in his mind. “But I am always in darkness. When I change from being awake to being asleep, there is no real sensory change, no shutting out. I—I need something else, some substitute for the drawing of eyelids over orbs, for changing from day to night. For me, every night that I do sleep, I do so thinking of you, Novato.”
Afsan’s voice was warm, but with a melancholy tinge to the words. “As I lie on my belly, wishing to sleep, I recall your face. Oh, I know it’s your face of sixteen kilodays ago, the one and only time I ever saw you, a younger, less interesting face than I’m sure you have now, but it’s you nonetheless.” He paused. “I can still describe it in detail, Novato. Other images I have trouble recalling, but not you, not your face, not the line of your muzzle, the shape of your eyes, the delicate curve of your earholes. It’s that face that calms me each night, that helps me let go of the burdens of the day, and, for just a little while, forget that I cannot see.”
He dipped his torso in a concessional bow. “You are special to me, Novato, more special than I can say, and that time we spent together, discovering truths both about ourselves and about the universe, was the happiest, indeed, the only truly happy, time of my life.”
He shook his head. “To hurt you is to hurt myself. It pains me to ask the question I have asked, but suspicion has fallen on you. It was not I who thought of you, and I tell you that I reacted with indignation, too, when your name was suggested. I came to you first, before any others, not because I see any possibility of you being the perpetrator, but because I couldn’t bear, even for a few days, that others might think you capable of such crimes. So I ask the question to exonerate you, and Cadool’s declarations about your reply—not to me, for I need no proof of your honesty, but to others—will clear you of suspicion for all time.”
Novato’s breath came out in a long, whispery sigh. “And you, Afsan? Surely if I’m suspected, so are you.”
“Doubtless this is true, although there are those who say a blind person couldn’t have killed in the way that was used. On the other hand, although no one has raised the point, I have not hunted for kilodays, and it is, after all, through the hunt that we supposedly purge our emotions of anger. Perhaps one such as myself, a great hunter in his youth but now no longer able to join in a pack, might indeed need another outlet for his hostility.”
“Then will you answer the same question, Cadool to be the witness to the answers for both of us?”
“I will. Gladly.”
“Very well. Ask your question again.”
“Did you, Wab-Novato, kill Haldan or Yabool?”
“No.”
“Do you have any knowledge of who did?”
“No.”
“Very well.”
“Aren’t you going to ask Cadool if my muzzle turned blue?”
“I know,” said Afsan, “that it did not.” A pause. “Now ask me.”
Novato’s tone was one of appeasement. “I’m sorry, Afsan, I didn’t mean to doubt you. You are very special to me as well.”
“You should ask the question, though. No one has yet.”
“I—”
“Consider it a favor.”
Novato swallowed. “Did you, Sal-Afsan, kill Yabool or Haldan?”
“I did not.”
There was silence for a time. Finally, Novato exhaled noisily. “Well,” she said warmly, “I’m glad that is over.”
“I wish it were,” said Afsan sadly. “I’m afraid I still have to ask that question of several other people I also care deeply about.”
The time had come for Babnol and Toroca to say goodbye. She wore a backpack made of thunderbeast hide that contained a few things she might need on her journey. Food wouldn’t be a problem, though. She would kill what she needed along the way.
The sun, white and fiercely bright, was crawling its way up from the horizon. Babnol bowed. “I’ll rendezvous with you at Fra’toolar in a hundred days or so,” she said.
Toroca said nothing at first. He watched a golden wingfinger move across the purple sky. Then: “Don’t go.”
“I have to.”
“No,” he said. “You don’t.”
“You don’t understand,” she said. “I’m…” Her voice trailed off.
“You’re changing,” supplied Toroca. “You’re coming into heat.”
She swung her muzzle to face him directly. “How do you know that?”
“Your age. Your manner.” Toroca shrugged amiably. “Your smell.”
Babnol’s muzzle tipped down. “Then you can understand why I must go.”
“No,” said Toroca. “I don’t.”
She looked off into the distance. “Regardless, the decision is mine. I don’t owe you an explanation.”