Fossil Hunter (38 page)

“So you chose someone who would be more malleable, someone whose views you could shape.”

“We chose someone who might be more moderate, Afsan. Only that. I’ve been told about what happened here in the streets while I was gone. Violence, death, blood spilling everywhere. It’s a never-ending cycle. You, Afsan, even you, killed then.”

“To dispatch one in
dagamant
is not killing.”

“Semantics. Polite beliefs that let us live with ourselves afterward. Don’t talk to me about such things. In my time, I have swallowed whole more than a thousand Quintaglio children. I shudder to say I even came to like the taste of meat so young, so tender. We use euphemisms to describe it, and pretend that we’re not killers, but we are, to the very core, killers not only of animals for food but of our own kind.
Murderers
.”

“I don’t understand,” said Afsan.

Maliden’s breathing was becoming more ragged, as if the effort of speaking so much was robbing him of his last remaining strength. “You mean you don’t want to understand. The newsriders are all abuzz with Toroca’s theory of evolution, of the survival of the fittest, and how that process changes species. Toroca thinks this is a new idea. He’s wrong. My order has understood it since ancient times, understood it because we practiced it. We were the agent of selection. Every generation, we made sure only the strongest survived. And that did change us, changed us as a race. With each passing generation, we became more territorial, not less. We grew increasingly violent. Yes, we became hardier, too, but at a terrible cost. We’re crippled as a people, unable to work together. It became apparent during the reign of Dybo’s mother that it was only a matter of time before we were driven to war. To war, Afsan! To killing and killing and killing until there was no one left to kill.”

“A Quintaglio does not kill other Quintaglios,” said Afsan.

Maliden coughed. “So teach the scrolls. And yet we are killers. What happened here was echoed throughout Land:
dagamant
, the streets flowing with blood. We are poised at the edge of a cliff, Afsan — on the verge of a massive, worldwide territorial frenzy that will go on and on and on.” He paused, catching his breath. “Aggression reigns over us; it’s the trait we’ve bred for. And Lends was too aggressive a leader.” He paused again. “You met her; do you not agree?”

Afsan thought back to the first and only time he had met Len-Lends. He had gone to seek permission to have young prince Dybo accompany him on the rites of passage, both the ritual first hunt and the pilgrimage. Alone in Lends’s ruling room, she had held up her left hand, the three metal bracelets of her office clinking together as she did so. “I will allow him to go with you, but” — she unsheathed her first claw — “you will” — and then her second — “be” — the third — “responsible” — the fourth — “for his” — the fifth — “safe return.” She had let the light in the room glint off her polished claws for several heartbeats as she flexed her fingers. A threat. A threat of physical violence; the very leader of all the people deliberately striking fear into the heart of a child.

“Yes,” said Afsan at last. “She was aggressive.” Maliden took in breath, a long, shuddery sound. “When she laid her first clutch, the clutch from which the new Emperor would be drawn, I saw a chance to try to change that. I selected the strongest male — it was indeed Rodlox — and sent him far away. The others, in descending order of strength, were sent to the remaining provinces. And Dybo, smallest and weakest of them all, did indeed remain here.”

“But why did you do this with the imperial children? Why not with the general population?”

Maliden winced; he was in great pain. “If it had worked, perhaps we would have. But remember, although I am head bloodpriest, I have my opponents, even within my order. It would have been difficult to keep such a change from becoming public. This was easier. Although a closely guarded secret, all eight imperial children always got to live ever since the days of Larsk; I made no change in that. I could not be sure of the results of my — my
experiment
, to use one of your words — if I’d done it differently.”

“A breeding experiment.”

“Yes.”

“And it was a success.”

“In most ways,” said Maliden, his voice now much fainter than when he’d begun speaking. “Dybo is the best ruler we’ve ever had; you know that to be true. Without an equitable person such as him on the throne slab, you’d never have gotten your exodus project off the ground, so to speak. Indeed, you’d be dead — long since executed.” He paused.

Afsan, uncomfortable in the prolonged crouch, rose to his feet and rocked back on his tail. “Incredible.”

“Every word is true, Afsan.” Maliden’s attenuated voice was all but lost in the room.

“Incredible,” Afsan said again.

“You see the priesthood as your enemy; as the opponent of science. I can understand that, I suppose, for it was a priest, Det-Yenalb, who put a knife point into each of your eyes. But that was Yenalb alone, and even he thought what he was doing was for the good of the people.”

Afsan nodded slowly. “I know that.”

“And I know that what you are doing is also for the good of the people,” said Maliden.

“Thank you.”

“But, now, please accept that what
I
did was likewise for the common good.”

Afsan was quiet for a time. “I accept it.”

Maliden let his breath out. It took a long time, as though his lungs were so congested that the air was stymied in its attempts to escape. “I’m coming to an interesting moment, Afsan,” Maliden said at last. “I’ve been a priest for a long time. I’ve told others what to believe about God, about life after death. Soon, I’ll find out for myself if I’ve been right.”

Afsan nodded. “It’s something we all wonder about.”

“But I’m supposed to
know
. And, here, when it counts most of all, I find that I don’t. I really, down deep, don’t know that’s about to happen to me.”

“I don’t know, either, Maliden.” A pause. “Are you afraid?”

A voice almost nonexistent: “Yes.”

“Would you like me to stay with you?”

“It is much to ask.”

“I was with my master, Saleed, when he passed on. I was with my son, Drawtood, when he passed on, too.”

“What was it like?”

“I didn’t see Drawtood, of course, but Saleed was … calm. He seemed
ready
.”

“I’m not sure I am.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be, either.”

“But, yes, Afsan, I would like you to stay.”

“I will.”

“When I’m gone, will you tell Dybo that he was indeed the weakest?”

“He’s my friend.”

Maliden sighed. “Of course.”

“And I would never hurt my friend.”

“Thank you,” Maliden said.

They waited quietly together.

Dybo’s authority was no longer in doubt. He ruled now unchallenged the eight provinces and the Fifty Packs.

Spenress, the only other surviving child of Len-Lends, had given up her claim to eventual power in Chu’toolar, and, instead, had accepted a minor position in Capital City. The thirst for blood was slaked, and no one was calling for further sanctions against her.

In six of the outlying provinces, siblings of Len-Lends still ruled, but they were slowly agreeing with the will of the people: their eventual successors would be appointed on the basis of merit, not bloodline.

And in Edz’toolar, the only province in which one of Dybo’s generation had already been ruling, instead of just apprenticing, there was currently no one serving as governor, for no one had been groomed to replace Rodlox. That problem would have to be solved soon, and perhaps it could provide a model for the subsequent successions in the other provinces and — the thought still startled Dybo somewhat, although he was learning to accept it — here in the Capital itself.

Dybo could live with all that, but there was one more issue in the aftermath of Rodlox’s challenge that gnawed at him, keeping him from sleeping. He wished it were not his responsibility, but knew, though it saddened him to the very core of his being, that he must deal with it quickly.

He had come to Rockscape many times of late, seeking the sage counsel of his friend Afsan, and now, slimmed down, he no longer found the trek to the ancient stones uncomfortable. He hoped Afsan would have a solution for him once more. With six of his own siblings dead, plus hundreds of others killed in the mass
dagamant
, the last thing Dybo wanted to contemplate was more death.

He saw the blind one up ahead, straddling his rock, his muzzle tipped up, enjoying the warmth of the sun. As Dybo drew nearer, Afsan turned to face him. “Who’s there?” he called out.

“Dybo.”

Afsan nodded. “Welcome, my friend, and
hahat dan
.” Gork was nowhere to be seen. Off hunting, perhaps. Dybo was silent.

“The garrulous Dybo at a loss for words?” said Afsan, gentle teasing in his tone. “What troubles you?” Dybo’s voice was heavy. “The children.”

Afsan at once grew serious. “Yes,” he said softly.

“There are thousands of them,” said Dybo. He shook his head. “A census is not yet complete, but so far it seems that in at least two hundred and seventeen clutches, every hatchling got to live.”

“Seventeen hundred and thirty-six children, then,” said Afsan automatically. “Assuming no abnormally sized clutches.”

“Yes,” said Dybo. “Something has to be done soon. The overcrowding is far too dangerous. Every Pack is on the verge of another mass
dagamant
.”

Afsan pushed himself up off his rock. Startled, a blue and yellow snake slithered away from the base of the boulder. “I understand for the first time, I think, the burden borne by the bloodpriests,” he said.

“No other choice is possible, is it?” said Dybo. “Than to eliminate the excess children?” Afsan exhaled noisily.

“I am blind, but rarely do I feel helpless. And yet, in this instance, that’s precisely how I do feel. No, I can conceive of no other solution.”

There was a long silence as each of them digested his own thoughts.

“What is the status of the bloodpriests now?” said Afsan at last.

“They’ve been reinstated in just about every Pack, as far as we can tell, although word from the more distant provinces is still coming in. You were right, though, as usual: as the envoys return from here, having watched the spectacle in the arena, the news that no one, not even The Family, is exempt from the bloodpriests’ culling is making the reinstatement easy. And, frankly, it seems that just about everyone is irritated by all the youngsters underfoot. They’re calling out for population controls.”