The black-haired man didn't seem to notice the tone of my voice.
I saw him thinking, staring down at the bound man. I flinched when he leaned down abruptly, catching hold of symbol-guy by the hair. Gripping him tighter, he lowered his face, speaking in a harsh voice.
"We can start the fire again," he told the man. "No ritual this time...no glory. No wreathes of garlands from the Ancestors. Just pain. Just fire."
Symbol-guy's eyes shifted from me to the man holding his hair. The black-haired man was holding him tightly enough that it looked like it hurt, but symbol-guy didn't look afraid of him, or of his words. Mostly, he looked confused.
"Are you her guardian?" he said finally.
His voice was tentative, almost childlike.
"Yes," the black-haired man said. "I'm her guardian. And you're going to answer my questions, or I promise you, you aren't going to like me very much..."
The man swallowed, but his expression didn't change.
"How did you find her?" the black-haired man said.
"We were wrong," symbol guy said seriously, not seeming to hear the last thing my friend said. Nodding with that solemn expression, he looked back at me. "She wasn't the Serpent...or the Trickster. She is one of them. One of the Four. She was hiding..."
For some reason, that seemed to anger the black-haired man.
"You're damned right you were wrong," he growled. He gripped the man's hair tighter. Then he shocked me, smacking his head against the log, hard enough that I flinched.
"How did you find her?" he asked again.
The man smiled, speaking in a faraway monotone, as if reciting. "Blood type," he said. "...Heartrate. Reflexes. Rate of cellular and genetic degeneration..."
"Where did you get the ID? No one has a reliable ID for intermediaries!"
"The patron..." the man said, still in that faraway voice.
"The patron of what?"
"He is a prophet. A man of wisdom..."
"Where is he?"
The man's smile remained blissful. "The patron comes only in dreams..."
I saw the black-haired man's frown deepen. "Who else knows?" he said. "Are there more of you? Anyone else who has this list of intermediaries?"
"We are everywhere...our spirit lives..."
"What about in the flesh? How many of you are still here? On Earth?"
"The patron," the man said again. He looked up at the black-haired man, a nearly blissful smile on his face. "The patron knows..."
"What the hell is wrong with him?" I said, frowning.
The black-haired man looked at me, as if remembering I was there. He released the man's hair in the same instant, but his face remained in a scowl.