“You have heard that the uruketo that fled this city cannot be found. Gunugul, could this uruketo cross the ocean?”

“Where the ocean currents flow the uruketo swim.”

“Could it have crossed to distant Entoban*?”

“Other uruketo have done this. This uruketo could do this.”

Vaintè leaned back, turned to the Eistaa, spoke.

“It is my belief, Saagakel, Eistaa of Yebeisk, that your uruketo has crossed the ocean and has gone to Entoban* Not to the city of Alpèasak, for the eistaa there has little love for the Daughters of Death. The uruketo is not at that city, but it must be somewhere there along the shore. There is no place else that it could possibly be.”

“Gone!” a councillor wailed in anguish. “Gone!” Others took up the cry but the Eistaa signed for attention and the silence was instant.

“You are Yilanè of small intelligence, even less enterprise. Which is why I lead and why you follow. Why you do not even consider for a moment that we can indeed go after these creatures, take them, slay them, wreak vengeance, bring back our uruketo in triumph.”

When the meaning of this struck home their silence turned to cries of pleasure and astonishment, gratitude to the Eistaa, and certainty of victory. The Eistaa accepted the applause, which was only her due, while Vaintè stayed modestly and motionlessly behind her. Vaintè wanted no acclaim. She wanted revenge.

Saagakel wanted this as well, but revenge tempered by reticence. She wanted to pursue the uruketo, track it to the ends of the world where it had fled. Seize it and kill that ancient Ambalasei who had caused her this great ill. This was what she wanted to do.

This was what she knew she dare not do. She was Eistaa and this was her city. If she went away another would act for her, rule for her, and would surely replace her. When she returned there would be a new Eistaa sitting in her place. Revenge or rule—it was a simple choice.

“All leave,” she ordered, signing instant dismissal across the water. “Vaintè stay. Gunugul stay. Fafnepto stay.”

She wanted no discussion and no advice, even from her most trusted advisers. She had made a decision and what she ordered would be done. Now she leaned back in silent thought while the crowd dispersed, waited until the last of them had crossed the bridges before she spoke.

“Gunugul, you have told us that your uruketo can cross the ocean. When can you leave?”

“When you command, Eistaa. It is well fed and fat, my crew is ready. We can load the preserved meat and water in the time between a sunrise and a sunset. Then we can leave. You have seen the charts, the course is clear.”