The Descent

'Water,'  she  said,  'in  Old  German  is  wassar,  in  Latin   aqua.  Go  deeper   into  the daughter  languages,  and  the  root  starts  to  appear.  In  Indo-European  and  Amerind, water       is         hakw ,    in    Dene-Caucasian                                              kwa .    The   furthest   back   is     haku,    a computer-simulated proto-word. Not that anyone uses it anymore. It's  a buried  word, a root. But you can see how a word gets  reborn through time.'

'Haku,'  Ike  said,  though  differently  than  she  had,  with  a  glottal  stress  on  the  first syllable. 'I know that word.'

Ali  glanced  at  him.  'From  them?'  she  asked.  His  hadal  captors.  Exactly  as  she'd hoped, he had a glossary in him.

He winced, as with a phantom pain, and she caught her breath. The  memory  passed, if that's what it was. She decided not to pursue it for the moment,  and  returned  to  her own  tale,  explaining  how  she  had  come  to  collect  and  decipher  hadal  glyphs  and remnant text.  'All  we  need  is  one  translator  who  can  read  their  writings,'  she  said.  'It could unlock their whole civilization to us.'

Ike  misunderstood. 'Are you asking me to teach you?' She kept  her voice flat. 'Do you know how to, Ike?'

He  clicked  his  tongue  in  the  negative.  Ali  instantly  recognized  the  sound  from  her time  among  the  San  Bushmen  in  southern  Africa.  That,  too?  she  wondered.  Click language? Her excitement  was building.

'Even hadals don't know how to read hadal,' he said.

'Then  you've  never  actually  seen  a  hadal  reading,'  she  clarified.  'The  ones  you  met were  illiterate.'

'They  can't read hadal writings,' Ike  repeated.  'It's lost to them. I knew one  once.  He could  read  English  and  Japanese.  But  the  old  hadal  writing  was  alien  to  him.  It  was  a great  frustration for him.'

'Wait.'  Ali  stopped,  dumbfounded.  No  one  had  ever  suggested  such  a  thing.  'You're saying the hadals read modern human languages? Do they  speak our languages too?'

'He did,' said Ike.  'He was a genius. A leader. The  rest  are... much less than him.'

'You  knew  him?'  Her  pulse  raced.  Who  else  could  he  be  speaking  of  except  the historical Satan?

Ike  stopped. He was looking  at  her,  or  through  her,  with  those  impenetrable  glacier glasses. She couldn't begin to read his thoughts. 'Ike?'

'Why are you doing this?'

'I have  a secret.' She wanted to trust  him. They  were  still touching, and  that  seemed a good start.  'What if I told you my  purpose  was  to  get  a  positive  identification  of  that man,  whatever  he  is?  To  get  more  information  about  him.  A  description  of  his  face. Clues to his behavior. Even to meet  him.'

'You won't.' Ike's  voice sounded dead.

'But anything's possible.'

'No,'  he  said.  'I  mean  you  won't.  By  the  time  you  ever  got  that  close,  it  wouldn't  be you anymore.'

She  brooded.  He  knew  something,  but  wasn't  telling.  'You're  making  him  up,'  she declared. It  was peevish, a last resort.

The  dancers flowed around them.

Ike  held  out  one  arm.  Turned  just  so  in  the  light,  Ali  could  see  the  raised  scars where  a  glyph  had  been  branded  in  the  flesh.  To  the  naked  eye,  the  scars  lay  hidden beneath more superficial markings. She  touched  them  with  her  fingertips...  the  way  a hadal might in complete darkness. 'What does it mean?' she asked.

'It's  a  claim  mark,'  he  said.  'The  name  they  gave  me.  Beyond  that,  I  don't  have  a

clue.  And  the  thing  is,  the  hadals  don't,  either.  They  just  imitate   drawings   their ancestors left a long time ago.'

Ali traced  her fingers across the scarring. 'What do you mean by  a claim mark?'

He shrugged, regarding the arm as  if  it  belonged  to  someone  else.  'There's  probably a  better  term  for  it.  That's  what  I  call  them.  Each  clan  has  its  own,  and  then  each member  his own.' He looked at her. 'I can show you others,' he said.

Ali kept  her expression calm. Inside, she was ready  to shout. All this  time,  her  quest had  held  Ike  for  its  answer.  Why  had  no  one  else  asked  this  man  these  questions  in years  past?  Perhaps they  had, and he hadn't been ready.

'Wait,  let  me  get  my  notebook.'  She  could  barely  contain  herself.  Here  was  the beginning of her glossary. The  start  of a Rosetta stone. By cracking the hadal code, she would open a whole new language to human understanding.

'Notebook?' he said.

'To draw the markings.'

'But I have  them with me.'

'You have  what?'

He started  to unbutton his pocket, then stopped. 'You're sure about this?' She stared  impatiently at the pocket, willing it to fly open. 'Yes.'