Far-Seer

There was a buzz of conversation between two of the onlookers. “And you don’t call that blasphemy?” demanded Palsab.

“I call it observation,” said Afsan. “I call it truth.”

A trio of young females joined the gathering, and, a moment later, a giant old male. Afsan heard one onlooker remark to the fellow standing next to him, “It sounds like blasphemy to me.”

“The truth?” barked Palsab. “What does an eggling know of the truth?”

“I know what I see with my eyes.” Afsan scanned the faces around him, then turned back to Palsab. “Look, this isn’t the place to discuss it. I plan to do a paper on what I’ve seen; perhaps I can arrange for you to be loaned a copy.”

One of the males stepped forward. “Do you mock her, boy?”

Afsan looked up. “Pardon?”

“She can’t read.” He turned to her. “Can you, Palsab?”

“Of course not. I’m a blacksmith; what use do I have for writing?”

Afsan had been with the palace for so long, he’d all but forgotten that most people were illiterate. He’d swished his tail right into a pile of dung. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean a slight. It’s just—”

The male who had spoken up a moment ago said, “What gives you the right to say such things about God?”

“I claim no right,” said Afsan quietly. “I’m just relaying what I’ve seen.”

“What you believe you have seen,” countered Palsab. “A pilgrimage is a time of visions and raptures. Many think they see things during them—especially during their first.”

“I’m sure of what I saw.”

“Keep your blasphemy to yourself!” said Palsab, tail slapping sand.

“No,” called a new voice. Several more people had stopped to listen. “I want to hear. Tell us what you’ve seen.”

Afsan didn’t recognize anyone in the group, but coming down the street was someone wearing the red and black robe of a junior priest. He, too, came over to see what was going on.

“I saw,” said Afsan, “that the Face of God goes through phases, just as the moons do.”

Someone in the crowd nodded. “That’s right; I’ve seen that.”

Afsan sought out the speaker, looking for a friendly face. “Well, don’t you see, then,” said Afsan, “that this must mean that the Face of God is illuminated by the sun, just as the moons are.”

“The moons are illuminated by the sun?” said the same fellow. This was clearly a new concept to him.

“Of course they are! Where do you think they get their light—from oil lamps?” Afsan realized in an instant that he’d spoken too harshly. “I’m sorry, I mean, yes—that’s right. The sun is the only true source of light.”

But it was too late. The fellow adopted a hostile posture. “Seems to me we could use a little more light around here,” he grumbled.

Palsab spoke overtop of him. “See, you’ve already contradicted yourself. First you say the Face of God is a planet; now you’re babbling about the moons.”

At the edge of the crowd, the junior priest looked agitated. Afsan saw him take off for the Hall of Worship. He turned to look back at Palsab. “But some planets go through phases, just as the moons do.”

“What nonsense!” said Palsab. “The planets are just points of light.”

“No, they’re not. They’re balls, spheres. And they go through phases. I’ve seen it.”

“How?” called a voice from the crowd. “How could you see something like that?”

“With a device called a far-seer,” said Afsan. “It magnifies images.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” said Palsab.

“It uses lenses. You know: like the way a drop of water can magnify what’s beneath it.”

Palsab sneered. “So this blasphemy was revealed to you in a drop of water?”

“What? No, no, no. The far-seer works on the same principle, that’s all. Look, what I’m saying is the truth. I’ve seen it. Emperor Dybo has seen it. Many others have seen it, too.”

“And where’s this magic device that lets you see such things?” said Palsab.

“Well, I’ve got a far-seer of my own now, but I don’t have the one through which I saw these things for the first time anymore. It didn’t belong to me; it was Var-Keenir’s, captain of the Dasheter.”

“Oh, Var-Keenir! Of course!” Palsab sounded quite pleased with herself. “Well, you know what they say about him.”

“That he’s a master sailor?” said Afsan.

“That he’s an apostate, eggling. That he practices the ancient rites.”

Afsan had never heard that said, but, in any event, he couldn’t see how it was relevant. He was about to point this out when a voice from the crowd said, “What’s this got to do with the Face of God, anyway?”

Afsan turned to look at the speaker, a female much younger than the belligerent Palsab. He bowed politely, determined not to alienate yet another member of the crowd. “A very good question, indeed. The Face of God—the thing we see hanging there in the sky—is a planet, just seen from very close up. It’s the planet that our world revolves around.”

In the distance, Afsan saw the junior priest returning with Det-Yenalb, the Master of the Faith, in tow.