It was an unheard-of crime, an inconceivable crime. The order and organization of the city did not, could not permit this to happen. Males were confined to the hanalè and rarely seen; were never seen unguarded. What had happened? What could possibly have happened? Most of the spectators were so rigid with shock that Ambalasei’s stunned silence drew no attention. It was Akotolp, ever the scientist, who stepped forward with signed queries.

“Where is the male?”

“Now, in the hanalè.”

“Did it say anything?”

“It is yiliebe.”

“Has this one spoken?”

“No.”

Akotolp pushed her face close to Far<’s, shouted her command.

“I do not know you—tell me your name!”

Far< signed negative, then gasped with pain as the big guardian closed hard thumbs on her thin arms. Akotolp looked to the circle of Yilanè. “Does anyone recognize her? Who here knows her name?”

There was only silence, and it was Lanefenuu who spoke next.

“Her name—unknown. Then she is not of this city and is a stranger. Where are you from, stranger? Someone must know you if you came with us from Ikhalmenets.”

Far<’s limbs moved as she listened and, with no intention of speaking, she still signed not Ikhalmenets. There was no way for her to avoid the truth for, like all Yilanè, she lacked the ability to lie. What she thought, she said, and it was clear for all to understand. Lanefenuu was relentless.

“You attempt to hide who you are and where you are from. But you cannot. You cannot hide from me. I will name a city and you will answer. I will ask you until you tell me. I will find out.”

Far< looked about, writhing now with panic, not wanting to speak but knowing that she would be forced to. Her glance fell on Ambalasei’s rigid body for a moment, hesitated, moved on. Understood.

For an instant, unnoticed by any of the others who had eyes only for the questioning Akotolp and the prisoner, Ambalasei had spoken. A single, simple nonverbal expression. Far< understood. She writhed in understanding and hatred, so strong that the Eistaa recoiled.

Death, Ambalasei had said. Death.

Far< knew that she would eventually have to convey information. And in doing so she would reveal the existence of the city and of the Daughters of Life. They would be found, captured, killed, their newfound freedom doomed. She would speak and everything she had lived for would die. The hatred was for Ambalasei who would live on. For her there could be only one thing.

Death.

Hers—or all the others’. At the thought of all the deaths she would cause Far< writhed with agony. Her eyes closed and her body sagged. Ambalasei watched, immobile and expressionless.

“Dead,” Lanefenuu said with disgust, as the esekasak opened her thumbs and Far< dropped to the ground. “Now we will never know.”