After the ants performed their little display of communication both of us found ourselves too tired to do much else, and finally opted to sleep in shifts. I took the first one since Vaozey was too paranoid about the ants to fully relax, even though we backed off to the point that they were no longer visible. A few hours later, she woke me up, then propped herself up against the stone wall and went to sleep. I was still very tired, so I sat down across from her, only having my attention roused when pinpricks of sunlight and drops of water started coming down from above.

Thankfully, there wasn’t enough to start flooding the chasm, but about ten minutes later a thin stream began to flow through the rough center of the walkway. I realized how thirsty I was when I saw it and used my hands to cup some of it into my mouth before going through the backpack beside Vaozey for an empty waterskin. The idea of having to drink something that tasted a bit like the repellent wasn’t enthralling, but it was preferable to dehydration. I filled three waterskins with around half a liter of water each before the rain stopped and the stream grew too thin to collect anymore, painstakingly filling my hand with liquid and pouring it into each container.

Since Vaozey was still asleep and I was no longer tired, I got to work thinking about how to deal with the ants. The fact that they were somewhat intelligent changed things: If I could come up with a way to tell them that we weren’t hostile we could probably pass right through their territory unscathed, or even somehow retrieve information about how to leave the chasm. Just as a sanity check, I tried to climb the walls of the chasm again, nearly falling off around five meters up due to the looseness of the mud and soil. As I slid back down to the ground, some pieces of mud came down with me, splattering on the ground and staining it. The bedrock was a light grey, and the mud a dark brown, which gave me an idea.

“Vaozey,” I said quietly, rousing her into a state of semi-wakefulness.

“Wha-?” Vaozey grunted.

“I’m going to be around the corner, interacting with the ants,” I said.

“Yeah…” Vaozey mumbled, quickly falling asleep again. I wasn’t sure if she got the whole message, but she would probably remember it once she awoke fully at some later point. Scraping up the mud, I walked back to where the ant colony was, shining my light magic brightly so that I could see them all along the walls. The pinpricks of light above me helped to establish the scale of the place, and thus the surface area covered by the insects as well. At least a hundred square meters of area, I thought, doing some quick math, there must be over a million of them in this area. That’s very high for a single colony.

The rain had also affected the insects, who were reaching much closer to the ground than before, picking up small fragments of wet refuse and dragging them back up into whatever sort of nest they had in the walls. No, they’re actually bringing the refuse down, I realized, seeing little bits of dry dirt being carried as well. Putting the mud in my hands down on the ground, I began shaping it into a roughly rectangular area for drawing, making sure to make it thick enough that finger-drawn impressions would be easily discernible. A few of the ants seemed to take note of me, with one square meter of the wall’s stopping to watch near the ground.

Now how do I coax them into playing along? I wondered, looking at the three-circle ant figure I had drawn into the mud. Though the insects were still paying attention to me, none of them had come down to take a closer look. I considered going back to Vaozey and getting some food, but I wasn’t sure that giving them food would let them know I wanted to communicate. Furthermore, if they suspected that I had a lot of food hidden, they might try to take it. As I struggled with the problem, I heard footsteps approaching from behind me, stopping a few meters back.

“We should kill those seytoydh things,” Vaozey grumbled hazily, her voice even more hoarse than usual from fatigue.

“They live in the walls,” I replied, gesturing to where I thought the entry and exit points for the nest were. “We have no idea how many there are, or if there are more just hidden inside. It would be stupid to anger them unnecessarily.”

“They work for the Rehvites,” Vaozey replied firmly.

“I suspect that these ones don’t,” I said. “These insects pre-exist humans on this continent if your history is to be believed, and certainly pre-exist Rehvites on it. That would indicate that the colonies that the Rehvites use for tracking and surveillance are trained, as we’ve heard before, and that wild colonies exist. Why would the Rehvites bother training a colony like this one, located at the bottom of a chasm? It doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t have to make sense,” Vaozey spat. “You’re just guessing, the same as me, but if you’re wrong they’re going to tear us apart like that piece of deer meat. If I’m wrong, at least we struck first and have a chance.”

“We could also both be wrong,” I replied. “The whole problem here is that we don’t know anything. That’s why I’m trying to get information from them, I just don’t know how to yet.”

“You’re seytoydh insane,” Vaozey muttered.

“There’s water in some of the waterskins,” I said. “It rained while you were asleep. If you’re thirsty, drink some. We might be here a while.” Vaozey muttered something unintelligible, then began walking away, stopping just before the bend in the tunnel that would have put her out of sight.

“I’m going to try to dig out of here,” she declared.

“The walls are bedrock,” I shrugged. “You can try though, but all you’ll do is damage your mace and tire yourself out.” With a huff, Vaozey rounded the bend in the chasm, leaving me to my work. How can I initiate communication? I asked myself again, standing up and scratching an itch behind my ear. They’re not human, but they do have the capability to send messages through gestures. Should I make a gesture? Why would they even have such an ability anyway? It’s not like it’s useful for anything. Maybe this colony has had human contact in the past, and picked it up there? I glanced at one of the nearby spiral shapes in the stone, sighing through my nose, then back to the still section of the swarm of ants. Well, I guess I could try the simple methods first, I thought.

Approaching the still section of the swarm, I tracked the surrounding sections with my eyes, making sure that I didn’t startle them. Once I was about a meter away, I stopped, then extended my left hand slowly, reaching out to the ants who were staring back at me. I expected my gesture to be taken as a potentially aggressive act, but surprisingly the ants just moved out of the way, letting my hand touch the stone underneath them. After I kept it in place for a couple of seconds, they started to examine my fingers, tapping their antennae along them. A couple of particularly brave individuals even began climbing onto my knuckles, at which point I withdrew my hand and stepped back.

The swarm immediately began hissing and churning, going from resembling a relaxed puddle of oil to a simmering black broth in just one or two seconds. The ants on my hand tried to climb off, but I trapped them with my right and carried them back to the mud square. Only when I was close enough to drop them onto it did I let them go, and they quickly scampered off the mud and walked off to rejoin their comrades, apparently ignoring my pictogram. Well that didn’t work, I thought, watching the swarm slowly settle down, I hope I didn’t just sour the negotiations.

As if to answer my thoughts, a line of ants began extending its way over to me, snaking back and forth as the individuals that made it up struggled with the wet terrain. I kept my heat magic ready, but the fact that the colony was responding with a tendril of insects rather than a wave was a good sign. The tendril found the mud, spread out to cover it, then slowly shaped itself into the indentations I had made with my fingers. After a second of activity, much to my surprise, the ants spread out and flattened the mud, erasing my symbol. Finally, they reformed into the two-circle figure again on the mud, held the shape still for three seconds, then dispersed back into their swarm.

Okay, I thought, I don’t know what that meant, but it meant something.

This is going nowhere, I thought thirty minutes later, sitting in front of the flattened mud with my forehead resting in my palm. I had managed to coax the ants into “reading” three more drawn figures, prompting three more responses, but none of them made any sort of sense. The response to the two-circle figure had been the ant figure; the response to the ant figure had been some kind of abstract set of straight and curved lines that I couldn’t make any sense of; the response to a simple spiral had been a simple spiral in the opposite direction; and the response to a more human-like stick figure had been another abstract character that was simpler than the first one. To make matters worse, the noise from Vaozey smacking rocks with her mace was beginning to give me even more of a headache than the smell of the repellent.

How did the Revhites learn how to communicate with these things so quickly? I wondered. Setting aside some kind of incredibly improbable divine revelation that allowed them to initiate contact, there were only a few possibilities. One was that the relationship was purely functional with a low amount of mutual understanding on each side, but that was unlikely. The ants were able to report information back to their handlers and presumably recognize and categorize certain types of human behavior, so they had to have a basic cultural understanding of humans. Another possibility was that there was some sort of interchange language, but if there was I hadn’t seen it. For all its incomprehensibility, Holy Inscription looked nothing like the ants’ writing, and that was the only Rehvite script I knew of besides Uwrish.

Absentmindedly, I drew the second abstract character in the mud, trying to figure out its meaning. It was essentially three vertical lines joined together. From left to right, the first two lines were joined at the top by a horizontal segment, and the last line was joined to the middle line at the bottom by a sharp curve. The first line was also thicker near the top than the bottom, but I wasn’t sure if that was intentional, given the fact that the entire figure was made of moving insects when I saw it. As I stared at the figure, my mind ran through endless memories of graffiti, symbols, and writing, but then finally something popped into my mind.

“No way,” I vocalized, wiping the figure away and drawing it again, rotated a quarter turn to the right. It still didn’t look like much, but if I detached the thick section of the top line from the thinner section, then also erased the horizontal conjoining line, it looked almost exactly like the Uwrish equivalent of a question mark. Roughly formed, like it was drawn by a child, but close enough to be recognizably the same character. Once again wiping away the figure in the mud, I spread my writing medium thinner and wrote a quick sentence, then approached the swarm again, gently retrieving a handful of ants to read it.

When the ants rejoined their swarm, something new happened, though it was subtle. The ants started to churn around like they did when they were upset, but they didn’t make any hissing noises, instead just walking in circles for a few seconds. The familiar tendril of insects came out once more, covering the mud and erasing my question, then looped and snaked over itself to form a complex figure that I quickly made a projection of with light magic. The ants, either satisfied with my magic or simply satisfied that they had held their message long enough for me to read it, broke off and returned to their swarm, leaving me to figure out what they had said.

A couple of minutes later, after re-drawing the figure in the mud and experimentally erasing sections, I started to laugh. Re-drawing the figure upside-down, I quickly slashed off the connecting parts, forming a three-letter reply to my question. What I had written in the sand was simple: Gow ler Uwroyd?, or “Do you understand Uwrish?” What the ants had written in reply was a single word: Gahz, which meant “Yes”.

“You are shitting me right now,” Vaozey sighed as we ate some piece of jerky. Her mace was looking noticeably more battered than it was before, but aside from some scratches, there wasn’t much in the way of damage on the walls. “Those things can read and write? How?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Someone must have taught them. I’ll ask them.”

“Ask them…” Vaozey scoffed. “A day ago these things were just bugs to you, now you’re going to ask them who gave them an education.”

“You should stop trying to break through the stone here,” I said, pointing to the spot where Vaozey had been trying to dig. “You’re just going to waste water.”

“I’m not getting where near those seytoydh ants,” Vaozey hissed.

“Just stand back and watch then,” I replied. “Practice magic if you need to do something. It shouldn’t take long to negotiate safe passage.”

When I returned, I picked up the mud I was using as a writing slab and walked further into the swarm of ants, setting down once I was half a meter past the edge of where they sat on the walls. Unlike before, they didn’t hiss at me, but they did watch, indicating that some peaceful understanding had already been reached. When I sat down and began to re-shape the mud for writing a few tendrils of ants started to come down from their perches on the walls, forming small circles nearby to watch me. Vaozey stood behind me, four or five meters back, and I could hear her taking long and tense breaths.

[May we pass through?] I wrote, pulling back my hands from the mud when I finished and tapping the ground. The ants, apparently understanding what I was trying to show them, quickly swarmed the mud and flattened it, then formed a shape.

[No,] they replied.

[Why not?] I asked. The response was one word, then another, then another. The sequence was almost too fast for me to recreate with my light magic, and I strained to keep the first word stable as I drew out the third. This could be a problem, I thought.

[Ant zmerlyaal eat,] the ants replied. The middle word was one that I hadn’t seen before, but it was just two words I knew conjoined together. “Stoneman”, I thought, I wonder what that means.

[What is stoneman?] I asked.

[?] the ants replied, probably indicating confusion.

[Stoneman will eat ants?] I asked.

[Stoneman ant eat,] the ants replied. It’s the same words as before, but in a different order, I thought.

“What are they saying?” Vaozey called out.

“Something about ‘stonemen’,” I replied.

“What the seyt does that mean?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I asked if we could go through, and they said the stoneman will eat them, I think.”

“You think?” Vaozey repeated.

“It’s hard to tell,” I said. “They aren’t using intonation markers, so it’s just disjointed words.”

“Ask them about Rehv,” Vaozey said. “Before we do anything else, we need to know if they’re evil or not.”

“Fine,” I replied, turning back to the mud. [You know Rehv?] I asked.

[Rehv stoneman ant notman dark tell many light,] the ants replied, rapidly throwing out words so quickly that the only reason I could parse them was their relatively small size. That’s not even a sentence, I thought, It’s just a sequence of words, and half of them were upside down. I thought about it for a moment, trying to understand what the ants meant from their perspective.

“What did they say?” Vaozey asked.

“I don’t think they understand grammar,” I replied.

“What?” Vaozey scoffed.

“When they read the words, they climb all over them and cover them,” I explained. “I don’t think they understand that the positions and orientations of the words matter. A few of the words they’ve written out have been upside down, and one of their question marks was sideways.”

“Great,” Vaozey groaned. “So what did they actually say?”

“‘Rehv stoneman ant notman dark tell many light’ in that order,” I replied.

“Gibberish,” Vaozey sighed.

“Maybe,” I replied. “If we change the order of the words around, and take some creative liberties with them, they might have said that either a ‘stoneman’ or a ‘notman’ is Rehv, and part of it might be referring to many days ago, using sunlight to mark the passage of time.”

“Just ask them if they serve Rehv,” Vaozey said. “That’s the important question.”

“I was about to do that,” I replied. “Shorter answers are better here.” Turning back to the mud tablet, I wrote out [Do you serve Rehv?]

[? serve,] the ants replied.

[Some ants are Rehv’s allies, is Rehv your ally?] I asked, trying to explain myself. The sentence barely fit on the mud.

[Rehv ally sameant otherant stoneman fleshman not some,] the ants wrote out. I recognized the repeated words, so I only had to translate the new ones. What is sameant and otherant? I wondered. The words were written as one, not as their own words, so they were clearly something like nouns. And fleshman, how does that contrast with stoneman?

[How many ants are in your colony?] I asked.

[One,] the ants replied. Okay, that’s slightly confusing, but not unexpected, I thought.

[Are you sameant?] I asked.

[Yes,] the ants replied.

[Who is otherant?] I asked.

[Otherant,] the ants replied, as though repeating the name made their point more intelligible.

[How many otherants?] I asked.

[Many,] the ants replied.

[Is sameant Rehv’s ally?] I asked, feeling a sensation of tension in my stomach.

[No,] the ants replied, and I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

[Is otherant Rehv’s ally?] I asked.

[Yes no yes no no no yes no yes…] the ants began writing out a series of replies, nearly eighty in total, taking five entire minutes before they stopped. So, if I’m interpreting this right, each one of these is a colony, I thought, Sameant must be some kind of self-reference name, and otherant just refers to any other colony. That would mean that around half of the colonies that this colony is aware of serve the Rehvites, but half of them don’t, including this one.

“I am… reasonably sure these ants don’t serve the Revhites,” I announced to Vaozey.

“What does that mean?” Vaozey asked.

“This colony says that it doesn’t, but it also said that around thirty-four colonies it knows of do serve the Rehvites,” I explained. “At least, if it understood what I was asking, which I think it did.”

“It took that long to tell you that?” Vaozey asked.

“It responded to my question about other colonies serving Rehv with nearly eighty replies,” I said. As I was talking, then ants began to form new words, and I scrambled to take down their first word before they shifted to the second one.

[Rehv stoneman ? ally,] the ants asked.

[Who is stoneman?] I asked again.

[Speak sameant stoneman,] the ants replied. So I’m stoneman, I said, and it thinks this is “speaking”, not writing.

[Do you see the other stoneman?] I asked out of curiosity. When the ants read the words, part of the swarm along the walls stopped for a moment, then the ants moved in to reply.

[Stoneman stoneman here far,] they replied, seemingly confirming it.

[Here stoneman is Yuwniht,] I wrote. I didn’t know if the ants understood the concept of names, but I was willing to try.

[Stoneman here Yuwniht,] the ants replied.

[Far stoneman is Vaozey,] I added.

[Vaozey stoneman far,] they agreed.

[Who is here stoneman?] I asked.

[Yuwniht,] the ants replied, and I chuckled in amusement.

“What’s funny?” Vaozey asked.

“They understand names,” I said, looking back at her. “It’s surprising that they’re this intelligent or linguistically capable, but I think someone might have spent a lot of time teaching them.”

“So are they going to let us through or not?” Vaozey asked.

“I’m getting to that,” I replied, turning back to the mud square. [Sameant allow Yuwniht and Vaozey to pass through territory?] I asked, once again barely fitting my sentence onto the rectangle.

[Yuwniht Vaozey eat sameant?] the ants asked.

[No, we will not harm you,] I replied.

[Sameant harm Yuwniht not Vaozey,] the ants replied, probably bungling the grammar of their statement accidentally considering that they hadn’t tried to attack me at all.

[Will otherant harm Yuwniht or Vaozey?] I asked.

[Yes no yes no yes yes no…] the ants confirmed, giving another seventy-nine replies. So we’ll probably have to do this again, I sighed, Far more of those were “yes” this time as well.

[Where is the closest otherant?] I asked.

[Fight sameant,] the ants replied, and I thought about the words for a moment.

[Sameant is fighting the closest otherant right now?] I asked.

[Yes,] the ants replied. After a moment that appeared to be hesitation, the ants began forming some more words. [Sameant trade want,] they said.

[What does sameant want?] I asked.

[Yuwniht ? want what] the ants asked back. Very polite for insects, I thought.

[Yuwniht and Vaozey want to leave this chasm,] I wrote, wondering what the ants would say.

[Know not way ?] the ants asked.

[Sameant knows a way out?] I asked back.

[Yes,] the ants replied.

[Sameant knows how to get back up to the forest?] I asked.

[Yes,] the ants confirmed.

“They say they know a way out,” I said to Vaozey.

“Really?” Vaozey asked, sounding skeptical.

“That’s what they say,” I shrugged. “They asked for a trade a few minutes ago, I’m not sure, but I think they might tell us how to get back to the forest if we give them what they want.”

“What do they want?” Vaozey asked.

“That’s what I’m about to find out,” I said, putting my finger into the mud again. [Sameant give Yuwniht and Vaozey directions in trade?] I asked.

[Trade if,] the ants replied.

[What does sameant want?] I asked.

[Yuwniht Vaozey death sameant make otherant fight closest with sameant,] the ants replied. Looking at the words, there was only one way they made sense, but I had to be sure.

[Sameant wants Yuwniht and Vaozey to be allies with sameant against closest otherant?] I asked. The ants seemed to take a moment to parse the words.

[Yes,] they replied, then a moment later they added a few more words. [Yuwniht all Vaozey make death closest otherant fight win.]

[Sameant wants Yuwniht and Vaozey to help exterminate closest otherant?] I asked. The difference between providing some kind of support or actually killing a colony was fairly large.

[Yuwniht Vaozey sameant together kill closest otherant,] the ants replied in a surprisingly grammatically correct sequence, seeming to swarm with anger as they spelled out the word “kill”.

[Then sameant show Yuwniht and Vaozey how to leave chasm,] I added.

[Yes,] the ants replied. [? Agree]

“I have a proposal for you,” I said, calling out to Vaozey.

“What is it?” Vaozey snorted.

“How would you like to kill some ants?” I smiled.