Then the silver ship spoke. His voice was deep and powerful, shimmering through the water. It brushed along Shreever’s scales commandingly. She found herself slowing, her mane slackening in wonder. “Why do you attack me?” he demanded. In a harsher voice, he added, “Does he bid you do this? Does he fear to face me then, but sends others to do this task in his stead? He was not once so guileful about treachery. I thought I knew you. I thought to name you the heirs to the Three Realms. But they were a folk who served their own ends. They did not scurry and slither to a human’s bidding.” His voice dripped disdain like venom.

Abruptly the serpents were milling in confusion. They had not been prepared to hear their victim speak to them, let alone question and accuse them. She Who Remembers spoke for them all as she demanded, “Who are you? What are you?”

“Who am I? What am I? Those are questions with so many answers they are meaningless. I have pondered those questions for decades, and never discovered an answer. Even if I knew, why do I owe you an answer, when you have not replied to my question? Why do you attack me? Do you serve Kennit?”

No one responded to his question, but no serpent attacked either. Shreever spared a glance for the silent two-legs that clustered along the ship’s flanks and clung to his upper limbs. They were still and unmoving, silently watching what transpired. They knew they had no say in this: it was business for the Lords of the Three Realms. What did his accusations mean? A slow suspicion grew in Shreever’s mind. Had the command to kill this ship truly come from Bolt, or did she speak for the humans aboard her? Shreever watched avidly as both She Who Remembers and Maulkin waited for the other to reply.

But it was the nameless white serpent who spoke. He had remained an outsider to the tangle, always on the edges, listening and mocking. “They will kill you, not at the command of a man, but because the other ship has promised to guide them home if they do so. Being noble and high-minded creatures, they immediately agreed to murder as a small price for saving themselves. Even the murder of one of their own.”

The creature that was part of the ship spread wide his limbs. “One of your own? Do you truly claim me, then? How strange. For though with one touch I knew you, I still do not know myself. Even I do not claim myself. How is it that you do?”

“He is mad,” a scarred scarlet serpent trumpeted. His copper eyes spun with impatience. “Let us do what we must do. Kill him. Then she will lead us north. Long enough have we delayed.”

“Oh, yes!” the white serpent chortled throatily. “Kill him, kill him quickly, before he forces us to face what we have become. Kill him before he makes us question what the other ship is, and why we should give credence to her.” He twined himself through an insulting knot, as if he courted his own tail. “Perhaps this is a thing she has learned from her time infested with humans. As we all recall, they kill one another with relish. Have not we been assisting them in that task, all at Bolt’s behest? If, indeed, those commands come from Bolt at all. Perhaps she has become the willing servant of a human. Perhaps this is what she teaches us to be as well. Let us show her what apt pupils we are. Kill him.”

She Who Remembers spoke slowly. “There will be no killing. This is not right, and we all know it. To kill this creature, not for food nor to protect ourselves, but to kill him simply because we are commanded to do it is not worthy of us. We are the heirs of the Three Realms. When we kill, we kill for ourselves. Not like this.”

Relief surged through Shreever. Her misgivings had been far deeper than she had conceded to herself. Then Tellur, the slender green minstrel, spoke suddenly. “What then of our bargain with Bolt? She was to guide us home, if we did this for her. Shall we now be left as we were before?”

“Better, perhaps, to be as we were before we encountered her than as she nearly made us,” Maulkin replied heavily.

She Who Remembers spoke again. “I do not know what kinship we owe this ship. From all we have heard, we converse with death when we speak to these beings. Yet once they were of us, and for that we owe them some small respect at least. This one, we shall not kill. I shall return to Bolt, and see what she says. If this command comes not from her but from the humans aboard her, then let them fight their own petty battles. We are not servants. If she refuses to guide us home, then I will leave. Those who wish to can follow me. Perhaps all I remember will be enough to guide us. Perhaps not. But we will remain the heirs of the Three Realms. Together, we shall make this last migration. If it does not lead to rebirth for us, it will lead to death. Better that than to become like humans, slaughtering our own for the sake of personal survival.”