He shook his head. ‘Well, not really. It’s almost … humming. I think it’s trying to comfort itself. It stopped communicating when you came in.’ His disapproval was thick in the air and it cut at her, but she let it go. She wasn’t the one in the wrong here. He got back to his observations, scribbling with charcoal in the book and seemingly asking it questions. Xessa had no idea whether it was answering – and how could it answer, anyway? It didn’t have their language. Unless Tayan had somehow learnt its way of speaking. An eerie, unpleasant image of the shaman singing like a Drowned flickered before her eyes and she shivered and pushed it away.

Xessa’s temples began to throb, thirst clawing at her. Ossa was sitting out of the water, his head drooping. Only Tayan seemed energised. She thought of drinking the water, but the Drowned lived in it, ate in it, pissed and shitted in it too. No wonder it was stuffy and hot and smelly in here. Ancestors, but she was thirsty. She snapped her fingers again. ‘Water?’

Tayan pointed vaguely and Xessa sidled in that direction, unwilling to turn her back, but there was no gourd of water in sight. She risked a glance, looked back: no change. Another glance, to her left this time, and back; the Drowned hadn’t moved.

And then she saw it, sitting on a ledge just outside the cave mouth. She backed into the tunnel, fumbling for it. Her fingers bumped stone, and then bumped something else that wobbled, wobbled. Xessa made a grab for it on instinct and missed. The gourd fell, spilling its contents on the floor of the cave. Ossa slunk over and lapped it up and she groaned and rubbed her brow. Maybe she was getting ill. She pressed her face to the cool stone, feeling her heartbeat in her temples.

The eja took several deep breaths and then straightened up and looked back into the cave. Tayan was standing face to face with the Drowned, which stood perhaps half a head taller than he did. The shaman was reaching out to it, and the Drowned was reaching back as if they were lovers about to embrace and now she saw its throat sac fully extended and it was singing, singing.

Xessa gasped and scrabbled for the spear she’d leant against the wall and when she charged back in, almost tripping over Ossa in her haste, the Drowned was hunched against the rear wall and Tayan was standing with book and charcoal in hand. She blinked desperately, her heart thudding so hard her vision was pounding with it, but everything was normal. The Drowned was still roped and still huddled in the water. Tayan’s harness was secure.

She’d imagined it. She must have imagined it.