“I have a small request, Eistaa,” she said.

“Refused. From you and your walking-dead creatures I want only work.”

“You were never cruel without a reason before this,” Enge said calmly. “It is my understanding that to the Eistaa all citizens are equal.”

“Precisely. It is my decision that the Daughters of Death are no longer citizens^. You are work animals. You will labor until you die; that is your fate.” The memory surfaced, long put aside by the pressure of work, brought up now by the sight of Enge standing before her.

“The ustuzou you were teaching to talk. What of them? Time has passed, a great deal of time.”

“More time is needed, that is the request that I have. More time — or no time.”

“Explain yourself.”

“Each morning I begin to work with the ustuzou with hope that this will be the day of comprehension. Each evening I leave them with the strong sensation that it is all a wasted labor. The female is intelligent — but is it just the intelligence of an elinou that prowls the city seeking out and killing mice? The actions look intelligent but certainly are not.”

“What of the male?”

“Stupid, like all males. He will not respond, even when beaten. He just sits and stares in silence. But the female, like an elinou, responds to kindness and is pleasant to be with. But, after all this time, she can speak only a few phrases, usually wrong, and always bad. She must have learned them as a boat learns and they are surely meaningless to her.”

“I am not pleased at this news,” Vaintè said, nor was she. Enge could have been working in the fields all this time; her labors had been lost. The reasons for attempting to communicate with the ustuzou were no longer important. There had been no further threat from the creatures — while trouble from other sources was bad enough. But if the danger was gone the intellectual interest was still there. She voiced the question aloud.

“If the creatures cannot learn Yilanè — have you taught yourself their language?”

Enge signaled despair and doubt with a convulsive movement of her body. “That is another question I cannot answer. At first I thought of them as ambenin, speechless things that could not communicate. But now I see them as ugunin…”

“Impossible!” Vaintè rejected the idea completely. “How can a creature of any kind communicate but not give or receive information? You are giving me puzzles — not answers.”

“I know, and I am sorry, but I see no other name for them. Their sounds and movements reveal no pattern at all, and I say this knowing I must have memorized thousands of their movements and sounds. All are meaningless. It was difficult, they are so waxy and move so little. In the end, I came to believe — as a theory only — that they must have another level of communication that will remain forever closed to us. I have no idea of what it might be. I have heard of the theory of mental radiation, one brain talking directly to another. Or radio waves perhaps. If we had a physicist in the city that might be answered.”

She fell silent as Vaintè expressed despair, doubt, and disbelief.

“You never cease to amaze me, Enge. A first-class mind was lost to this city when you devoted your existence to your repellent philosophy. But now I think that your experiments and expectations are at an end. I will see your ustuzou and decide what will be done.” Vaintè saw Stallan near by and signaled her to come as well.

She led the way with Enge and Stallan following after. When they approached the prison chamber Stallan hurried ahead to open the barred entrance. Vaintè pushed past her and stared down at the young ustuzou while Stallan stood ready in case they should attack. The female was squatting, but her lips were drawn back to reveal her teeth and Vaintè grew angry at what was obviously a threat. The small male stood in waxy, motionless silence against the rear wall.

Vaintè called out to Enge. “Make them do their tricks,” she ordered.

When Kerrick heard the scraping of the bolt that secured the door he jumped about to place his back against the wall, sure as always that this would be the day of death. Ysel was beginning to laugh at him for it.

“Stupid boy,” she said, rubbing at the scratches on her bare skull. “Still baby-afraid. The marag brings us food and plays games…”

“Murgu bring death and they will kill us one day.”

“Stupid.” She threw a fruit rind at him and turned with a smile to face the one who visited them.

It was a strange marag who entered first, stamping heavily, and her smile faded. But the other familiar one was right behind, along with the brutal one, and the smile returned. It was another day just like any other.

She was a lazy and not-too-bright little girl.

“Speak to me,” Vaintè ordered, standing before the ustuzou. Then with emphasis, slowly and clearly as though addressing a young fargi, “Speak… to… me!”

“I beg, let me try first,” Enge requested with supplication. “I can get a response.”

“Not any more you can’t. If the creature cannot talk, that is the end of it. Too much time has been wasted.” Turning back to the female ustuzou Vaintè made herself clear, absolutely and directly clear.

“This is my personal demand — and it is most urgent. You will speak now and you will speak as well as any Yileibe. If you do, you will keep on living and growing. Speech means growth-speech means life — understand?”

Ysel understood — at least she was aware of the emotion of the threat — and fear, kept at bay so very long, returned.

“I find it hard to talk, please.” But the Tanu words elicited no response from the great ugly creature towering over her. She must remember what she had been taught. She tried, tried as hard as she could, making some of the movements as she spoke the words.

“has leibe ene uu…”

Vaintè was baffled. “Is that talking? What is it saying? It can’t mean ‘The old female grows adroit’.”

Enge was baffled as well. “There is possibly the meaning that growing supple puts years on females.”

Even as Vaintè was attempting to understand this possible interpretation her anger welled up within her. Perhaps, on another day, she would have taken this attempt, pitiful as it was, as an indication that the ustuzou was learning to speak. But not today. Not after the insults of yesterday and the infuriating presence of Alakensi. It was too much — and after she had even attempted to be polite to the disgusting fur beast. Reaching down she seized it by both forelimbs and raised it into the air before her, shaking it and bellowing with rage at the stupid creature, ordering it to speak.

The thing didn’t even make the attempt. Instead it just closed its eyes and produced water from them, threw its head back, opened its mouth wide and emitted an animal screech that hurt Vaintè’s skull.

Vaintè was beyond thought, her mind filled instead with blind hatred.

She leaned forward and sank her long rows of sharp conical teeth into the ustuzou’s throat, bit down hard, tearing out its life.

Hot blood spurted into her mouth and she gagged at the taste, throwing the corpse from her and harshly spitting out its blood. Stallan moved slightly, radiating silent approval.

There was a gourd of water before her face and she seized it from Enge and rinsed out her mouth, spitting and gagging, pouring the remainder over her face.

The blinding anger was gone, she could think now, and could feel as well the satisfaction in what she had done. But she was not finished. The other ustuzou remained alive — and with its death they would all be extinct. Turning swiftly she moved in front of Kerrick and glared down at him.

“Now you, the last,” she said, and reached out towards him. He could not retreat. His body moved and he spoke.

“…esekakurud-esekvilshan…elel leibeleibe…”