“You’re disgusting, a glutton,” Kerrick said. “You will get fat.”
“Eat good,” Inlènu* said. “You eat too.”
He really did not like the meat that was preserved in the bladders; it always had a musty taste. But he nibbled a little, then drank some water, knowing that there was no way he could get Inlènu* to move until she had eaten her fill. He looked closely at her and realized that what he had said was true; she was getting fat, a soft layer over her entire body that rounded the hard contours of her solid muscle.
Though he was used to the constant presence of others he found that he could still relish the freedom of being alone. Inlènu* did not count. When the boats had gone silence descended. There were sounds, the breeze rustling the tall grass, the small waves slapping on the shore. But there were no voices, none of the constant talk of the ambesed.
Kerrick led the way as they walked quietly along the clean sand, between the tussocks of grass, surprising birds that fluttered away almost from beneath their feet. They walked on, until Inlènu* muttered complaints and had to be ordered into silence. The tide was going out when they came to the ridge of high black rock. Seaweed hung from it in streamers and just above the water there were large mounds of dark shellfish clinging to the cracks.
“Good to eat,” Inlènu* said, smacking her jaws loudly. Standing knee-deep in the sea she tried to pull some free but they were firmly fastened to the stone. She made no protest when Kerrick led her ashore and found a fist-sized rock. He used this to break some of them free and Inlènu* seized them and shoved them into her mouth and crunched down with her immense jaws. She spat the fragments of shell into the ocean and happily swallowed the sweet flesh inside. Kerrick gathered more for himself and used the metal knife about his neck to open them. They stayed and ate until they could eat no more.
It was a pleasurable day, the best that he could remember. But Kerrick wanted to be there when the others returned, so they went back to the landing site in the early afternoon. They had a long wait. It was almost sunset before the boats reappeared.
Vaintè was first ashore. She strode across the beach to the supplies, dropped her weapon into the sand, and tore open a bladder of meat. As she bit a great chunk from it she looked at Kerrick’s inquiring stance. She chewed and swallowed greedily before she spoke.
“None escaped. The killers have been killed. They fought hard and we lost fargi, but the world has many fargi. We did what we came here to do. Now you will do your duty as well.”
She called out an order and two fargi took a heavily wrapped bundle from one of the boats and dragged it ashore. At first Kerrick thought that it was a bundle of skins. Then it moved.
When the fargi dropped it on the sand the skins fell open and Kerrick looked down at a bearded face. Blood had soaked into the creature’s hair; its eyes were wide with terror. It opened its mouth at the sight of Kerrick and strange harsh sounds came out.
“The ustuzou speaks,” Vaintè said. “Or does whatever passes for speaking among these dirty creatures. What is it saying, Kerrick? I order you to listen and tell me what it says.”
There was no thought of disobeying. When the Eistaa spoke one always did what she said. But Kerrick could not obey and he moved with fear.
He could not understand the sounds. They meant nothing to him, nothing at all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Is the creature speaking?” Vaintè asked, insistently.
“Tell me at once.”
“I don’t know,” Kerrick admitted. “Perhaps it is. I can understand nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Then the noise it makes — it is just a noise.”
Vaintè was furious. This was a setback to her plans. She should never have believed Enge with her insistence that the filthy beasts actually communicated with each other. She must have been wrong. Vaintè vented her anger on the ustuzou, pushing her foot into the thing’s face, twisting hard. It groaned with pain and called out loudly.
Kerrick cocked his head, listening intently before he spoke. “Eistaa, please wait — there is something.”
She stepped back and spun about to face him, still angry. He spoke quickly before she turned her wrath on him as well.
“You heard it, it called out the same thing-many times. And I know, that is, I think I know what it was saying.”
He fell silent, chewing at his lip as he searched through memories long buried, words forgotten, silenced.
“Marag, that is what it said. Marag.”
“That conveys no meaning.”
“It does, I know it does. It is like, it has the same intent as ustuzou.”
Now Vaintè was puzzled. “But the creature is ustuzou.”
“That is not what I mean. To this one, the Yilanè are ustuzou.”
“The meaning is not completely clear, and I do not like the inference, but I grasp what you are attempting to say. Proceed with the questioning. If you think this ustuzou is yileibe and cannot speak well we will find you another one. Begin.”
But Kerrick could not. The captive was silent now. When Kerrick leaned close to encourage it the ustuzou spat into his face. Vaintè was not pleased.
“Clean yourself,” she ordered, then signaled to a fargi. “Bring another one of the ustuzou here.”
Kerrick barely noticed what was happening. Marag. The word turned over and over in his head and stirred up memories, unpleasant memories. Cries in the jungle, something frightening in the sea. Murgu. That was more than one marag. Murgu, marag, murgu, marag…
He stiffened and realized that Vaintè was calling to him angrily.
“Are you suddenly yilenin too, as unable to speak as a fargi fresh from the sea?”
“I am sorry, the thoughts, the sounds the ustuzou made, my thoughts…”
“They mean nothing to me. Speak with this other one.”
Kerrick looked down into wide, frightened blue eyes, a tangle of blond hair about its head. There was no hair on the thing’s face and its body under its wrappings was swollen and different. The frightened creature wailed as Vaintè grabbed up one of the stone-tipped wooden spears that had been taken from the ustuzou and prodded the captive’s side with it.
“Look at me,” Vaintè said. “That is correct. I now show you what your fate will be if you remain silent like this other one and do not make your speaking.”
The bearded captive cried out hoarsely as Vaintè turned and stabbed the spear into its flesh, again and again, until it was silent. The other prisoner moaned in agony and rolled about as much as it could in its tight binding. Vaintè threw the blood-drenched spear aside.
“Loosen its limbs and make it speak,” she ordered as she turned away.
It was not easy. The captive wailed, then coughed heavily until its eyes streamed with tears, mucus dribbled down its lips. Kerrick leaned close and waited until it grew quieter before he spoke the only words that he knew.
“Marag. Murgu.”
The answer came quickly, too fast for him to understand, though he recognized murgu-and something else. Sammad. Yes, sammad, the sammad had been killed. That was what the words meant. All in the sammad slain by the murgu. That was what she was saying.
She. Unbidden the word was on his lips. Female. She was linga, the other dead one, hannas. Male and female. He was hannas too.
Understanding grew, but only slowly, a word, an expression at a time. Some words he could not understand at all; the vocabulary of an eight-year-old, all that he had ever known, was not that of a grown woman.
“You make noises at each other. Is there understanding?”
Kerrick blinked at Vaintè, leapt to his feet, and stood gaping for a long moment before the meaning of her question penetrated the flood of Marbak words that filled his head.
“Yes, of course, Eistaa, there is understanding. It moves slowly — but it moves.”