"How can the two of you be brothers?" shouted another voice from the far curb. "No one has brothers." A pause. "Well, no one except Afsan and Novato’s children."

Rodlox spun to face the speaker. "No one should have brothers, or sisters for that matter," said Rodlox. "But I do, and he does. In fact, there are eight of us, siblings all. Every one of Lends’s eight egglings has lived to adulthood. And of the eight, I’m sure that I, Rodlox, am the strongest, for if I were not, I would not have been sent to Edz’toolar, the most barren and isolated part of Land. I am the rightful leader of the Fifty Packs."

"But that’s impossible!" said a voice, an old fellow standing near Oro. "The bloodpriest…"

Rodlox nodded, as if pleased by the question. "Ah, yes. The imperial bloodpriest. He did not devour seven of the eight hatchlings. Rather, I’m convinced that seven of the eight were sent out to be apprentice governors in the outlying provinces, and the eighth remained in the Capital, to be groomed for Emperorship."

Dy-Dybo looked as though he’d had quite enough. "Ridiculous!" he said, his voice for the first time sharp. He turned his muzzle toward his blind sage. "Afsan, you’re a clear thinker. Explain the folly of his logic to this fellow."

Rodlox spun around, looked at Afsan. And he saw in Afsan’s face something…

Rodlox narrowed his eyes. "You — you know of this!"

Afsan said nothing.

"Speak, blind one. You do know of this, don’t you?"

"I… " began Afsan, but he did not continue. His pet reptile hissed quietly at his side.

"Speak! If what I say isn’t true, tell me now."

"You’ve presented no irrefutable proof of your extraordinary claim," said Afsan slowly.

"I can prove it," said Rodlox. "But you — I see it in your expression. You have known of this!"

"Everything you’ve said is just circumstantial evidence, or could be explained as mere coincidence," said Afsan.

"Then deny it directly, sightless one. Say it out loud for all to hear! Declare publicly that what I’ve said is not true."

There was a long silence, every set of eyes locked on Afsan. "What you say," said Afsan at last, spacing the words out, "is not true."

"By the fangs of God…" said Dybo wanly, as he watched Afsan’s face.

"See!" shouted Rodlox, spinning again to look at everyone in turn. "See! The blind one’s muzzle turns blue. His words are a lie!"

Afsan dipped his head.

"Afsan?" said Dybo, a note of desperation in his voice.

Even though they were sightless, Afsan apparently could not lift his eyes to meet the Emperor’s. "I’m sorry," he said, very softly.

Dybo’s inner eyelids were snapping up and down spasmodically, no doubt turning his vision into a strobing display. "Are you sure?" he said.

"He’s sure!" shouted Rodlox. "He knows I am right."

Afsan rallied some strength. "No," he said. "I don’t know that what you say is true, Rodlox. I can’t see the evidence of physical similarity you are apparently presenting."

"No, you can’t," said Rodlox. "But you believe me. I see that in your face. Admit it. Admit the truth."

Afsan was silent. Dybo spoke at last, "Afsan, is it true?"

"I am not positive," Afsan said quietly, "but… yes. I’ve long suspected that what Rodlox has suggested is true." Afsan looked slightly defensive. "I did mention the possibility to you once, long ago."

Dybo leaned back on his tail for support.

"The bloodpriests have lied!" shouted Rodlox. "Not only have they betrayed the people, they’ve betrayed the very Emperorship itself." He faced the spectators lining the near curb now. "Surely the imperial bloodpriest should have chosen the best and fastest of the egglings to become Emperor. Look at him!" He jabbed a finger at Dybo. "Look at him! Fat, dull-witted, lazy." The crowd hissed at the insults, but Rodlox pressed on. "And look at me: lean and muscular, and sharp of mind. The bloodpriests wanted someone on the ruling slab that they could easily manipulate, so they sent the rightful heir away. I’m the one who should be Emperor." He turned directly toward Dybo. "With me in the palace, our people will get on with the business of living, not be mired in your mad dream of leaving our home."

Rodlox bobbed his torso up and down. "I challenge you, Dybo, here and now, in front of these hundred witnesses…

"I challenge your authority to lead…

"I challenge your right to the throne…

"I challenge your very right to be alive."

Emperor Dy-Dybo stood motionless, mouth agape.

A Quintaglio’s Diary

So we children of Afsan and Novato are no longer unique. Emperor Dybo, being of The Family, has, of course, always known who his parents were, but now it seems that he, too, also has living siblings.

I guess no one had ever noticed the resemblance between Dybo and his brothers and sisters. After all, the apprentice governors are scattered across Land, and I doubt two of them have often been seen side by side. And, of course, Dybo is quite portly, making comparisons between him and the others less obvious.

I wonder how Dybo is dealing with the knowledge that he has siblings. It’s different for him than it is for me, I’m sure. To begin with, apparently he’s only just discovered this fact (if it is a fact — there seems to be some doubt still). He didn ’t grow up with them, doesn ’t know them at all, except in a perfunctory and official way. It’s too bad: I’d be grateful to discuss what I’m going through with someone older and more experienced. But my role is minor. The Emperor, I’m sure, would never find time in his day to talk with me.

Fra’toolar

Toroca was poised in a little cleft, nine-tenths of the way up the cliff side, working along the Bookmark layer, the chalky seam marking the first rocks containing evidence of life. He kept hoping to unearth one of the shards of the eggs of creation. What a find that would be! An actual shell piece from an egg laid by God! So far, though, he’d found nothing like that. In fact, this layer was remarkably similar to all the layers above it: rich with sea-shells, with bones of fish, and even with occasional pieces of the skeletons of great water serpents, similar to the famed Kal-ta-goot that Afsan had killed aboard the sailing ship Dasheter.

A great fissure ran through the rocks here, the handiwork of a landquake, no doubt. At this little perch, one could reach into the side of the cliff and simply pull out chunks of rock. The material here, just below the Bookmark layer, was a gray shale. It split cleanly along bedding planes, and Toroca opened slab after slab of it. Every piece was pristine, not marred by the fossils that were shot through the rocks from higher up.

Toroca whacked the flat end of his hammer against the chisel again, and another slab split cleanly open. Nothing. He tried again with a different piece, a surprisingly heavy piece, but accidentally smashed his thumb instead. Occupational hazard: he didn’t even really feel the pain anymore. He repositioned the chisel and tried once more. This slab, for a change, did not split cleanly. The upper layers started to separate, but ceased to split off about halfway across. Curious. Toroca used his fingers to pry the slab apart. A large hunk snapped off, exposing a small rounded bit of something strange.

Something blue.

There were blue gemstones, of course, and a couple of blue minerals, but they were not normally found in downrocks such as these. But this thing, whatever it was, was definitely blue, a light shade, like that of certain wingfinger eggshells.

There was only a tiny piece of it visible, jutting from the bedding plane. Toroca turned the slab over and positioned his chisel on the opposite side, then tapped his hammer lightly against it. The stone began to split, and once again he pried with his fingers to separate the rock. It took a great effort, but at last the upper layers broke free in sharp-edged flat pieces. He let them slide away, tumbling down the cliff face. There, just about in the middle of the slab, was a blue hemisphere with a diameter the length of Toroca’s longest finger.