“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.”
“Then you are doing well.” The shadows were long, the sun below the horizon, and Vaintè had a cloak wrapped about her. “Tie it again so it cannot escape. In the morning you will continue. When you have perfected your understanding there are questions you will put to the ustuzou. Questions that will need answers. If the creature refuses—just remind it of the other’s fate. I am sure that that argument will be a strong one.”
Kerrick went for a cloak for himself, then returned to sit on the sand beside the dark form of the woman. His head was filled with a clash of words, sounds, and names.
The woman spoke some words—and he realized that he could understand them even though her movements were unseen!
“I grow cold.”
“You can speak in the dark—and I can understand.”
“Cold.”
Of course. Marbak was not like Yilanè. It did not depend upon what the body was doing. It was the sounds, just the sounds. He marveled at this discovery while he unrolled some of the blood-soaked skins from the dead man, then spread them over the woman.
“We can speak—even in the night,” he said, wiping his sticky hands on the sand. When she answered her voice was low, still fearful, but curious as well.
“I am Ine of the sammad of Ohso. Who are you?”
“Kerrick.”
“You are captive too, bound to that marag. And you can speak with them?”
“Yes, of course. What were you doing here?”
“Getting food, of course, that is a strange question to ask. We should never have come this far south, but many starved to death last winter. There was nothing else we could do.” She looked at his outline against the sky and felt a great curiosity. “When did they capture you, Kerrick?”
“When?” It was a difficult question to answer. “It must have been many summers ago. I was very small…”
“They’re all dead,” she said with sudden memory, then began to sob. “These murgu killed them all, all except a few captured.”
She sobbed even louder and there was sudden pain in Kerrick’s neck. He seized his collar with both hands as he was dragged away. The noise was disturbing Inlènu* in her sleep and she rolled away from it, pulling Kerrick after her. After that he did not try to talk again.
In the morning he was slow to waken. His head felt heavy, his skin warm. He must have been in the sun too much the day before. He found the water containers and was drinking thirstily when Stallan approached him.
“The Eistaa has informed me that you talk with the other ustuzou,” she said. There was a wealth of rich loathing behind the concept of bestial communication that she used.
“I am Kerrick who sits close to the Eistaa. Your manner of talk is an insult.”
“I am Stallan who kills the ustuzou for the Eistaa. There is no insult in calling you what you are.”
The hunter was filled with the fullness of the killing today. Her manner was normally as rough as her voice, yet not this venomous. But Kerrick was not feeling well enough to argue with the brutal creature. Not today. Ignoring her movements of superiority and contempt he turned his back on her, forcing her to follow him as he went to the spot where the bound woman lay.
“Speak to it,” Stallan ordered.
The woman shivered at the sounds of Stallan’s voice, turned frightened eyes on Kerrick.
“I am thirsty.”
“I’ll get some water.”
“It writhed and made noises,” Stallan said. “Your noises were just as bad. What was the meaning?”
“It wants water.”
“Good. Give the thing some. Then I will ask questions.”
Ine was frightened of the marag that stood near Kerrick. It stared at her with a cold and empty expression, then moved its limbs and made sounds. Kerrick translated.