Afsan leaned back on his tail, furious with himself. He’d vowed to better understand the way the real world worked, but, once again, he had failed. "I — I hadn’t thought of it that way."

"You’d better. It’s the only thing that will get you out of this mess."

"But the truth…"

"The truth is not the issue," said the butcher. "At least, not for Dybo. Not anymore."

Cadool popped one more hunk into his mouth, then pulled his weight oft his tail and began to make for the door.

"Wait," said Afsan.

"I’ve got to get back to my duties."

"There’s more."

"What do you mean?"

"There’s more than just the fate of the monarchy at stake. There’s more to it than just the Face of God being a planet."

"Yes?"

"The world is doomed, Cadool."

Cadool’s inner eyelids batted across his dark orbs. "What?"

"The fact that we are on a moon, the fact that this moon is very close to its planet: it causes stresses. Stresses that quake the land. Stresses that have driven up the volcanoes. Stresses that will tear the world apart."

"Are you sure?"

"I have no doubt. I have seen what happens to moons that move too close to the world they revolve around. They break up into particulate rings of rubble."

"You have seen this? In a vision?"

"No, with a device, an instrument. It’s called a far-seer. It magnifies things."

"I’ve never heard of such a thing."

"They exist. An artisan from Pack Gelbo in Jam’toolar makes them. Anyone can see what I’ve described by looking through one."

"Does Dybo know about these devices?"

"Oh, yes. He’s used one himself, under my guidance."

"I doubt their manufacture will be allowed to continue." Cadool’s tail swished. "You’re sure of this? That the world will come to an end?"

"Yes."

"How soon?"

"Who can say? I’ve been trying to get a sense of how much worse the volcanism and landquakes are today compared to various points in the past. My guess, and it’s only a guess, is perhaps three hundred kilodays."

Cadool’s teeth clattered rapidly and he looked away. "Three hundred kilodays? Eggling, that’s generations from now! Why worry about it?"

"Because — because we must do something about it!"

"Do what? Afsan, the future will take care of itself. Don’t ruin your life for it."

"Ruin my life? Cadool, I pledge my life to this cause."

"That may literally become true."

Afsan reared to his full height. "That’s a chance I’m willing to take."

"You’re willing to go against The Family? That’s treason."

"I’m against no one. I am for the truth."

Cadool shook his head, but then raised his left hand and gave the same hand gesture. "Remember this sign, Afsan. Trust only those who know it."

"But…"

"I must go." Cadool bowed quickly and departed.

Afsan had lost his appetite, but something told him it would be wise to keep up his strength. Over the rest of the afternoon, he ate the five remaining pieces of flesh, his mind wandering far between each one.

That night, Afsan again found himself suddenly awake, a thought having pushed itself to the surface.

Although Dybo had acquitted himself well enough during the thunderbeast hunt, the Emperor was neither tough nor strong nor fast. He was simply fat, and, although gifted musically, not particularly shrewd.

Was Dybo really the best of his mother’s eight offspring? Really the one who ran fastest from the imperial bloodpriest? That bloodpriest would have chosen the eggling to become the next Emperor. If Afsan was right about the lineage of those who controlled the outlying provinces, the imperial blood-priest ate none of Len-Lends’s hatchlings. Rather, he or she sent the seven rejects off to be future provincial governors.

Perhaps a switch had been performed…

Perhaps, just perhaps, Dybo was the slowest of the offspring, the one most likely to be manipulated by the imperial advisors. Lends had been formidable indeed — perhaps too formidable for the priests and palace staff.

It would have been so easy a switch to make. The one that should have been in Dybo’s place would still be alive, but had probably been sent to a distant province, perhaps isolated Edz’toolar.

Afsan could never prove it, could never even suggest it in public. But it was a disturbing thought.

Once again, he spent the rest of the night awake.

Pal-Cadool knew the trick. He walked to the far side of the giant stone cairn that supported the Hunter’s Shrine. Back there, its base hidden by carefully planted bushes, a stairway had been built. Quintaglios disliked stairs — the steps caused their tails to drag or bounce — but they did have their uses. Cadool parted the shrubbery and made his way up. It was still a long climb, but he reached the top only slightly out of breath, and the steady east-west wind cooled him quickly.

As a butcher, Cadool knew bones well. He always admired the structure of the Shrine, the special juxtapositions of femurs and clavicles, of tail vertebrae and chest riblets.

Inside, he could see hunt leader Jal-Tetex. She stood on the far side of the floating sphere of Quintaglio skulls. The wind was whipping too loudly for Tetex to hear Cadool’s approach. The butcher tipped his body in homage to the skull of Hoog, patron of his craft, one of the five brown and ancient skulls at the center of the sphere. Then he spoke aloud. "Permission to enter your territory, Tetex?"

Tetex had been leaning back on her tail. She turned now, and Cadool saw in her hand a leather-bound volume. Embossed on its cover was the cartouche of Lubal: this was one of the forbidden books of Lubalite rites, a new edition, apparently, made possible by the recent introduction of printing presses. Still, no government-authorized press had produced that book.

"Hahat dan, Cadool," said Tetex, making no effort to hide the book. "You’re late."

"My duties at the palace interfered, I’m afraid." He clicked his teeth. "When Emperor Dybo calls for something to eat, all other business must be put aside."

Tetex nodded. "Before stuffing Dybo, did you get a chance to see The One?"

"Yes. I took him food."

"He is well?"

"He’s frightened and confused, but holding up."

"Fear is the counselor," said Tetex. "He is wise." She looked across Land, spreading out far below. "Now that you’ve spoken with him, have you any doubts?"

"None. Keenir was right. And so were you. He must be The One. He told me something today, something only The One would know."

"What?"

"He said the world is coming to an end."

Tetex’s head snapped around to look Cadool dead on. "Are you sure?"

"He was quite plain. In three hundred kilodays or so, the world will end."

"Still that far away? But it is as the Book of Lubal said: ’One will come among you to herald the end; heed him, for those who do not are doomed.’ "

Cadool made the ceremonial sign of acquiescence at the mention of Lubal’s name. "It was all I could do to keep from touching him when he said it. I had my doubts until then, but no more."

"Does he know that you know who he is?"

"Tetex, I don’t think he knows who he is. But I didn’t give anything away. Of his own volition, he pledged his life to the cause."

Silence, save for the shrieking wind. Then Tetex spoke: "When I saw him on that first hunt, I knew he was special. I’d never seen a novice hunter with such skill, such determination."

"That thunderbeast he brought down was a giant indeed."

"A giant? Cadool, for the first time, I thought I was going to die. There was no way we could defeat that monster — none! But Afsan succeeded. He saved us all. When Keenir returned with his stories about Afsan killing a serpent that attacked the Dasheter, and that fellow Drawo from Carno told us about Afsan bringing down a fangjaw on his own, I was sure. ’And The One will defeat demons of the land and of the water; blood from his kills will soak the soil and stain the River.’ "