Saleed coughed again, forcing his throat back to life. "I hear from Keenir that you sailed around the world."

"Yes, master. Not everyone believes that, though. They think we’re confused. Or deluded."

Saleed’s teeth clicked together weakly. "I’m sure they do." His breathing was labored, loud. "But I believe you."

"You do?"

"Of course. You saw the Face of God?"

’’Yes, master."

"And…" Saleed’s body racked with another cough. Afsan moved closer to the old astrologer, almost invading his territory. "And what did you discover?"

"Master, this isn’t the time. When you’re well…"

Saleed coughed once more. "I will never be well again, Afsan. I’m old, and I’m dying."

Afsan knew that Saleed was telling the truth, but he hoped that in the dim light of the room, the discoloration of his own muzzle would go unnoticed. "No, you’ll be all right. You just need rest…"

"Tell me what you learned." For an instant, there was the sharp edge Afsan was used to hearing in Saleed’s voice, the edge that demanded to be obeyed.

"Yes, master. I — you won’t agree with me, I know — I’ve come to believe that the Face of God is — forgive me — a planet. Like Carpel or Patpel or any of the others."

Afsan prepared for Saleed’s rebuke, but it did not come. "Good. That’s good, Afsan." He coughed again, and when he was done, he said softly, "I knew you were bright enough."

Afsan was startled, felt his tail swish in a wide arc. "What? Then you already knew this?"

Saleed coughed several times. When the fit subsided, he spoke again, even more weakly. "Yes, I have known. But I was too old to do anything about it. You — you’re young." Another cough. "You’re young."

"But without the far-seer, how could you know?"

"Keenir brought me a far-seer kilodays ago, before you’d been summoned from Carno to Capital City."

"But I heard you reject it from him…"

"You don’t survive as long at court as I have without learning how to put on appropriate performances. I wanted you to discover it all for yourself. I could not tell anyone what I’d learned — even Keenir did not know the details, although he agreed to help me entice you." Saleed’s tail moved slightly. "Creche-mates are as one."

Afsan stared into his master’s eyes, eyes that were dark as night. He wondered where Saleed was looking. "I don’t understand."

Saleed coughed again, and Afsan waited for the old one to gather enough strength to continue. "If the Face is a planet," said Saleed, "then the religion of Larsk is based on a misunderstanding." The sheets heaved as he drew in breath to push on. "It will take a young person to fight that battle, to tell the world the truth about itself. I combed the vocational test results from every Pack, and still I ended up going through six apprentices before I found you. I’d almost given up hope. I knew if you wouldn’t dare to defy your master for the sake of finding out the truth, you couldn’t possibly be expected to go against Yenalb. I needed to test the courage of your convictions." Saleed’s muzzle turned toward Afsan. "I see now that this time I chose well."

Afsan dipped his head, accepting the compliment, although not yet quite understanding. "There’s more, though, master," he said. "Do you know of the rings around some of the planets?"

"Rings?" Saleed’s head moved slightly on the sleeping pallet. "So that’s what they are. My old eyes weren’t good enough, I’m afraid, or maybe my old mind was incapable of realizing what it was seeing. Rings. That makes sense, yes." Although still as attenuated as a pre-dawn wind, Saleed’s voice had taken on a wondering tone. "Not solid, I’d warrant. Particulate?" Afsan nodded. "Particulate rings." The air escaped from him in a sigh. "Of course."

"They form when moons around other planets move too close to them."

"That makes sense."

"But, master, our world is too close to our planet to be stable."

Saleed tried to lift his head from the pallet, failed, and grunted weakly. After a moment, he said, "So the student has exceeded the master. Hmph. That’s what every teacher wants. Congratulations, Afsan."

"Congratulations? Master, the world is coming to an end!"

"Whether it does or not, I won’t be here to see it. It appears I’ve given you an even tougher job than I’d thought and for that, my boy, I do apologize."

Afsan felt his fingertips itching, a response to surprise. "What do you mean?"

"Well, Afsan" — and then, maddeningly, the old astrologer fell into a fit of coughs again. When it was done, he continued, "Well, Afsan, if the world is coming to an end, then we must…" and here Afsan saw in his master’s wizened face some of the spark, the excitement he was used to seeing there, saw the brilliance of the mind that had written the definitive works on the stars and planets and the moons, saw his genius " — we must get off this world." He found the strength to lift his head slightly. "And you must convince the people to do just that."

Afsan fell back on his tail, stunned by Saleed’s words. "Get off the world? Master…"

But Saleed was coughing again. When he finished, he said, "I had to wait until you came back, Afsan. I had to know that you would be the one." And then his black eyes closed and Afsan saw his torso collapse beneath the leather sheet as the breath went out of him.

"Master?"

There was no reply. Afsan fished in his sash’s pouch for the object he had stopped by his quarters to get, the traveler’s crystal, hexagonal and ruby red, that Saleed had given to him before he had left on the Dasheter. He placed it on the sleeping pallet next to the senior astrologer’s head. "Have a safe journey, Saleed."

Afsan was heading from Saleed’s home to the palace grounds, where he intended to inform the authorities of his master’s demise. Clouds were gathering, and the sun appeared as nothing more than a mauve discoloration behind them. Afsan wasn’t really paying attention to where he was going. He was lost in thought about what Saleed had said.

"Aren’t you Afsan?"

The voice caught him off guard. He turned to face his inquisitor, a female just shy of middle age, perhaps twice his own weight.

"Yes, I’m Afsan." He peered up into her face. She made no move to bow concession. Afsan didn’t recognize her. "And you are — ?"

"Gerth-Palsab," she said. Gerth, derived from the miracle worker, Gerthalk, was a praenomen syllable often chosen by deeply religious females, just as Det, from Detoon the Righteous, was a frequent choice among males, especially those who had entered the priesthood.

"Hello, Palsab," said Afsan. "How do you come to know me?"

She placed hands on broad hips. "I’ve seen you around."

"Oh?"

"Yes. You work at the palace." She said it as though it were an accusation.

"I’m an apprentice astrologer, that’s right."

"I hear they go through those the way I go through teeth." A rude thing to say, thought Afsan, but he made no reply. Palsab continued in a harsh tone. "You’ve recently returned from a pilgrimage."

Afsan felt wary. His tail swished through a partial arc before he quelled the gesture. "Yes, my first."

"I’ve heard stories about you."

Afsan clicked his teeth, feigning good humor. "At day or at night?"

She ignored his remark. "You blaspheme God!"

Two others were passing in the opposite direction. Afsan saw them stop short at Palsab’s outburst, and one half turned to listen.

Afsan thought about simply walking away, but he’d been brought up to respect his elders. "I’ve said nothing that isn’t true," he replied softly.

"You looked upon the Face of God, and called it a fraud."

The two passersby were making no effort to hide their eavesdropping now, and another couple who had been heading in the opposite direction had stopped, as well, startled by what Palsab had said. Calthat’ch — fraud — was a word rarely heard, since the very idea of a blatant deception lasting into the daylight was so difficult to believe.