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.