"There’s much to admire in that ancient system."
"It was a false system, one that didn’t acknowledge the true God."
Keenir shook his head. "The Lubalite religion puts personal excellence foremost. Skill at the hunt, purging violence through killing one’s own food, the camaraderie of the pack. Even your religion makes much of that camaraderie. Isn’t it what we’re all waiting to get into heaven for? Well, the Lubalites had it every day, here in this life."
"How dare you compare the one true religion to that ancient cult!"
Keenir walked across the room, cane ticking. "I meant no disrespect."
Bleen shook his head. "This Afsan is a powerful force, it seems. I’ve never heard you talk like this before."
"We all change with the passing of the days."
Bleen narrowed his eyes, and sought some insight in the dark orbs of the captain. "But, Keenir, what if you’re wrong?"
"Then I’m wrong."
"And we’re dead."
"A ship is a dangerous place. I make life-and-death decisions every day."
"But never one so foolhardy as this."
They were interrupted by the clicking of claws against copper sheeting. "Permission to enter your territory?" asked a voice muffled by thick wood.
"Hahat dan," barked Keenir.
The door swung open and in came Nor-Gampar, commander of the current deck watch. He glanced nervously at the priest, then said to Keenir: "You wanted to be told … just before it was going to happen."
Keenir bowed in gratitude. "Come along, Bleen." The captain shouldered through the doorway, following Gampar up the ramp and onto the deck.
It was early night, the breeze cool and steady, the sky illuminated by six bright moons, ranging from thick crescents to almost full. Keenir looked to the rear, across the wide aft deck of the Dasheter. The trailing edge of the Face of God, an anilluminated dome, sat on the western horizon, far, far away.
Prince Dybo, Afsan, and several others were on deck, watching. Anticipation or apprehension was running high. Young Afsan’s claws were extending and retracting in spasms; Dybo’s were fully unsheathed on his left hand but somehow kept in check on his right.
Keenir looked at Bleen. The priest was tipped over from the waist, balancing his horizontally held torso with his stiff taiclass="underline" the posture of penance, of one walking the replica River that bisected a Hall of Worship. Asking forgiveness already, Keenir thought. But then he looked more closely at Bleen, saw that his glistening dark orbs were reflecting the six moons oddly — ah, his eyes were tracking left and right, scanning the horizon, as if looking for the sign Keenir had suggested he seek, some proof that God really did disapprove of this journey.
But Bleen remained silent, presumably not finding what he wanted so desperately to see. Keenir turned back to the tiny remaining part of the Face of God, slipping slowly, ever so slowly, beneath the distant waves.
And at last it was gone. Keenir suspected that since the Face had been mostly unilluminated when it sank beneath the waves, the Godglow would not last long, and indeed it did not. After a short time there was no sign that the Face of God had ever been there.
Dasheter sailed on into the night.
*20*
Afsan and Dybo lay on their bellies on the deck on the Dasheter, their bodies warming under the tiny but oh-so-bright sun. The wooden planks rolled gently beneath them, but here, below the railings that ran around the edge of the deck, no breeze played over them. There was a body-length between them, that being as close as two males, even friends as good as the prince and the apprentice, could lie without getting on each other’s nerves if they hadn’t recently eaten.
"I understood chasing Kal-ta-goot," said Dybo. "Well, I sort of understood it — I don’t think I could ever get quite so obsessed about anything as Keenir did. But I don’t understand why we’re continuing to the east now that the serpent is dead."
Afsan, sleepy in the hot afternoon, was listening as much to the crashing of the waves and the barking of the sails as he was to his friend’s voice. "It will get us home faster," he said at last.
"That’s what Keenir claimed, too, when I asked him about it." Dybo yawned. "It still doesn’t make sense to me."
"It was my idea," Afsan said. "The world is round."
"Suck eggs," said Dybo.
"No, it really is."
Dybo’s dark eyes rolled. "You’re getting too much sun."
Afsan clicked his teeth. "No, I’m not. The whole world is a ball, a sphere."
Dybo’s tail, sticking up like a rubbery mast, bounced with glee. "A ball? Be serious."
"I am serious. I’m convinced of it, and Keenir is convinced of it now, too."
"What makes you think the world is round?"
"The things I’ve seen on this voyage, both with my own eyes and through the far-seer."
"And what have you seen?"
"The moons are worlds, too — with mountains and valleys. The planets are more than just points of light in the night sky. They, too, are spheres, and at least some of them go through phases just as the moons do. Some of the planets are accompanied by their own moons. The Face of God is a sphere, and it does not glow on its own but shines by reflected light from the sun."
Dybo looked dubious. "All of that is true?"
"All of it. I’ll show you tonight, if you like."
"And you’ve made sense of this jumble of observations?"
"I think so, yes. Look, discounting the stars, which are dim and far away…"
"The stars are far away? I thought everything in the sky moved across the same celestial sphere."
"Forget what you think you know, my friend. Hear me out. Discounting the stars, which are dim and far away, there is only one true source of light in the sky." Afsan flicked his tail toward the hot white orb near the zenith, although neither he nor Dybo could actually see the gesture from their recumbent positions. "The sun."
Dybo’s tone conveyed a willingness to go along with the joke. "All right."
"And moving around the sun in circular paths are the planets. The ones that appear to never get far from the sun in the sky are in fact the closest to it. In order out from the sun, we have Carpel, Patpel, Davpel, Kevpel, Bripel, and Gefpel." He paused. "Although having seen so many additional points of light in the night sky with the far-seer, I wouldn’t be surprised if there are other planets so dim that we’ve yet to observe them. Anyway, of these planets, the four innermost — Carpel, Patpel, Davpel, and Kevpel — go through phases, just as the moons do."
"Wait a beat," said Dybo. "You can’t know that; even I know that Patpel hasn’t been visible during our voyage."
"You’re right; I’m assuming it goes through phases. I know from my astrology books that it gets farther from the sun than Carpel does, but not as far as Davpel. From my observations, all of the inner planets that I have seen do go through phases, so it makes sense that the one I can’t see does, too."
"Why does that make sense?"
"Can’t you see?" said Afsan. "It just does."
"It doesn’t make sense to me."
"Can I finish what I was saying?"
Dybo’s stomach rumbled softly. "Very well," he said, but his tone was weary, as though to convey that the punch line of the joke better be awfully good.
"Now, the outer two, Bripel and Gefpel, don’t go through phases" — Afsan held up a hand to forestall Dybo’s objection. "Yes, I know Gefpel hasn’t been visible during our voyage, either, but again I’m assuming."
Dybo harumphed.
"So you see," said Afsan, "that makes sense. The objects closer to the sun than we are show phases; those farther away do not."