Текст книги "A Woman of the Iron People"

Автор книги: Eleanor Arnason

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“The Trickster ground his teeth. ‘Grandmother, have pity.’

“ ‘No,’ the old woman said. ‘You can starve for all I care. And let it be a lesson to you.’ She turned around so her back was to the Trickster.

“He leaped up. ‘You will regret this, you old biddy!’ He ran from the tent. He climbed down out of the sky and sat next to his snowshoes in a heap of snow. There he waited till the old woman went to sleep. The sound of her snoring filled the plain. The Trickster climbed back up. He crept into the tent. The walls shone as brightly as ever, and the tent was full of a pale flickering light. He saw the old woman stretched out on her back. Next to her was the ivory comb. He picked it up.

“ ‘But where am I going to hide?’ he asked himself. ‘When the spirits hear that this is gone, they will search the whole world. What place is safe?’

“Then he had an idea. He made himself small—and the comb as well—and crawled into the old woman’s vagina. She groaned and scratched herself, but she did not wake.

“ ‘This is not the most pleasant place that I have ever been,’ the Trickster said. ‘I’d like more light and a bit less moisture. But no one will think of looking here.’

“The old woman woke and reached for her comb. It wasn’t there. She let out a scream. All over the world the spirits leaped up. ‘What is it?’ they cried. ‘What is going on?’

“Then the search began. Up and down, back and forth, in and out. The spirits searched everywhere. But they didn’t find the comb.

“ ‘What will I do?’ the old woman said. ‘The comb is irreplaceable. There is none like it, and without it I cannot comb my fur.’

“The spirits had no answer.

“Spring came. Vegetation appeared. The hills and the plain turned blue. The people of the world noticed that something was wrong. In every village they went to the shamaness.

“ ‘What is going on?’ they asked. ‘Fish thrash in the river as they do every year. But no one has seen any fingerlings. The birds build nests as usual. The nests are empty. As for the little animals, the builders of mounds, they puff up the sacks in their necks. They scream and moan and carry on. But they produce no young.’

“The shamanesses ate narcotic plants. They danced and had visions. They said, ‘The Trickster has stolen the ivory comb. Without it, no more animals will come into existence. We will all starve because of that malevolent person.’

“All the people cried out. They beat their chests and thighs. They prayed to the spirits. But what could the spirits do?

“Now the story turns to the Ropemaker. She was a woman of the Amber People. She was large with glossy fur. Her eyes were as yellow as fire. Her arms were strong, and her fingers were nimble. Most people believed she was a child of the Trickster. She had the look.

“Her craft was making rope out of leather. She was very skillful at this. Her ropes were narrow and flexible. They did not stretch. They were hard to break, and they lasted for years.

“In any case, the time for mating came. The women of the Amber People felt the spring lust grow in them. But this year they were unwilling to go out onto the plain. ‘What is the point of leaving the village?’ they said. ‘Why should we bother to go and find a man? The children we conceive will die of starvation.’

But the lust grew stronger. Each woman packed the gifts she had made during the winter. Each woman saddled a bowhorn and rode out onto the plain. The Ropemaker was among them. In her saddlebag was a fine long rope. It was her mating gift.

“Now the story turns back to the Trickster. By this time he was getting restless. There was nothing to do in the old woman’s vagina. He knew it was spring. He wanted to go out into the world and play a mean trick on someone. He waited till the old woman was asleep and crept out. He left the comb behind. Off he went toward the south. After a while he came to the land of the Amber People. He found a territory close to the village. There was a man there already: a big man with many scars. The Trickster went up to him and said, ‘You’d better leave.’

“ ‘Are you crazy?’ the big man said. ‘I got here first. And anyway, I’m bigger than you.’

“The Trickster stretched himself till he was taller than the big man. He glared down. His yellow eyes shone like fire.

“ ‘Well,’ said the big man. ‘If you put it that way.’ He mounted his bowhorn and rode off.

“The Trickster shouted insults at his back. The big man did not turn.

“After that the Trickster settled down and waited. A day passed and then another. On the third day a woman rode into sight. It was the Ropemaker. The Trickster felt satisfied. This was an impressive woman. This was a person worth misleading.

“As for the Ropemaker, she liked what she saw: a big wide man. He was standing on the plain with his feet apart and his shoulders back. His fur was thick and glossy. He wore a fine tunic, covered with embroidery. On his arms were silver bracelets. They were wide and bright.

“When she got close, she noticed that he had a peculiar aroma. ‘Well, no one is perfect,’ she told herself.

“When she reached the man, she dismounted. They lay on the ground and mated. Afterward she said, ‘I have some bad news.’

“ ‘Oh, yes?’ said the Trickster.

“ ‘The Old Woman of the North has lost her comb. Because of this, she cannot comb her fur, and no more animals will come into the world.’

“ ‘So what?’

“ ‘If we have a child, it will die of starvation.’

“ ‘So what? It’s no concern of mine. As long as I am able to mate, I’m satisfied. Who cares what comes of the thing we do together?’

“ ‘I care. And anyway, if this situation continues, we’ll all die. For how can we live without the bowhorns and the birds in the air and the fish in the rivers?’

“ ‘If you want to die, then go ahead and do it. I’m not worried. I intend to go on living, no matter what happens to the rest of the world.’ The Trickster rolled over and went to sleep.

“The Ropemaker looked at him. His fur shone like copper, and there was a glow around his body. This was no ordinary man, she realized. It was a spirit. A nasty spirit. The Trickster.

“She got her rope and tied him up. Then she waited. He woke and tried to stretch. He could not. ‘What is this?’ he cried.

“ ‘You are caught,’ said the Ropemaker. ‘And I will not let you go until you give me the ivory comb.’

“The Trickster ground his teeth. He thrashed and rolled. One heel struck the land and made a hole. Water rushed up and made a lake. The lake is still there. It is wide and shallow and full of stones and reeds. It is called the Trickster’s Lake or the Lake of Bugs and Stones.

“The rope did not break. The Trickster continued to struggle. He rolled away from the Ropemaker. He beat on the earth with his bound hands. He made another hole, deeper than the first. Hot mud rushed up. It seethed around the Trickster. He was boiling like a bird in a pot. His magic was powerful. He took no harm. The rope, however, could not survive the heat and moisture. It began to stretch. The Trickster pulled free. He jumped up. He shouted:

 
“ ‘I am the Trickster,
oh, you foolish woman!
I cannot be held.
I know no obligation.
“ ‘I am the Trickster,
oh, you foolish woman!
No one can hold me.
No one can make me stop.’
 

“After that he ran off across the plain. He went north, back to his hiding place. The Ropemaker watched him go. She bit her lip and clenched her hands. ‘He is a great spirit, and he may be a relative of mine. But I won’t let him get away with this.’

“She mounted her bowhorn and rode north. For a long time she traveled, and she had many adventures. But I don’t have the time to tell you about them.

“At last she came to the place where the old woman lived. It was midsummer. The plain was yellow. The rivers were low. The Ropemaker dismounted. She tethered her animal. Then she climbed into the sky.

“ ‘Grandmother,’ she called. ‘Will you let me in? I have come a long way in order to see you.’

“ ‘Come in,’ the old woman said. ‘But I can’t help you. I have lost my comb. I have nothing to give.’

“The Ropemaker entered the tent. The old woman was there, sitting in the middle of the floor. She was naked and scratching her belly with both hands. ‘I am going crazy,’ she said. ‘My fur is full of animals, and I can’t get them out. I can feel them crawling in the folds of my belly. I can feel them in my armpits. I can feel them on my back. Granddaughter, I beg you. Be kind to me! Scratch me between the shoulder blades.’

“The Ropemaker scratched her back. The old woman kept on complaining. ‘I can even feel them in my vagina, though I have no fur there. They stir from time to time and tickle me. Oh! This is terrible!’

“The Ropemaker frowned. She remembered the way the Trickster had smelled. All at once she knew his hiding place. ‘But how will I get him out?’ she asked herself. ‘And how will I catch him and hold him, once he is out?’

“She decided to go to sleep. She lay down and closed her eyes. The old woman sat next to her, scratching. Soon the Ropemaker began to dream. Three spirits came to her. One was a woman of middle age with a big belly and noticeable breasts. She wore a long robe, covered with embroidery.

“The next spirit was a man. His fur was blue-green, and he had wings instead of arms. He wore a kilt of the same color as his fur. His belt buckle was round and made of gold. It glittered brilliantly.

“The third spirit was a young woman. She was large and muscular. She carried a hammer, and she wore a leather apron. Her eyes were orange-red.

“The Ropemaker knew them. The first was the Mother of Mothers. The second was the Spirit of the Sky. And the third was the Mistress of the Forge, who lives in Hani Akhar, the great volcano.

“ ‘O holy ones,’ the Ropemaker said. ‘Help me out! I know where the Trickster is. But I need a way to get him out of his hiding place. And once he is out, he will try to run away. I need a way to catch him.’

“The Spirit of the Sky spoke first. ‘I will keep watch. If he tries to run away, I will see where he goes. He won’t be able to find a new hiding place.’

“The Mistress of the Forge spoke next. ‘I will make a rope out of iron, forged with magic so it will never break. It will be self-fastening and able to move. The Trickster won’t escape from it.’

“The Mother of Mothers spoke last. ‘I know how to get the Trickster out of his hiding place.’ She leaned forward and whispered into the Ropemaker’s ear.

“In the morning the Ropemaker woke. There was a rope lying next to her in a coil. It was dull gray in color, and it had a peculiar texture, like the scales of a lizard. The Ropemaker took a close look at it. It was made of many tiny links of iron fastened together.

“ ‘Good morning, grandmother,’ she said to the Old Woman of the North. ‘I’ve had an idea. You said that your vagina tickled, even though it has no fur.’

“The old woman made the gesture of agreement.

“ ‘I don’t think there’s an animal in there. I think you need sex.’

“ ‘You’re crazy!’ the old woman cried. ‘It’s the wrong time of year. And anyway, I’m too old to feel lust.’

“ ‘Remember,’ the Ropemaker said. ‘A woman doesn’t grow old easily. The feeling of lust doesn’t vanish all at once. Often a woman becomes irritable and uncertain. Her behavior changes from day to day. She feels lust at the wrong time. At the right time, in the spring, she feels nothing at all. She cannot understand what is going on—any more than a young girl can when she becomes a woman. I think this is what has happened to you.’

“ ‘No!’ cried the old woman.

“ ‘In any case, try sex. I will go and find a young man for you. If I’m right, and you are feeling lust—a bit late, I will admit—then the young man will respond to you. And maybe you will feel better afterward.’

“The Ropemaker got up and left the tent. She took the iron rope with her.

“The Trickster heard all this. He became uneasy. ‘If that crazy woman can find a man willing to mate with this old biddy—well, my position will not be comfortable. I am likely to take a terrible beating. I’d better get out of here.’

“He waited till it was night, and the old woman was snoring. Then he crept out. The comb was in his hand. He stole to the door. Out he stepped. The Ropemaker was waiting there. The Great Moon was up. It lit the sky and the plain. It lit the man as he came through the doorway.

“ ‘This is it, you nasty spirit!’ the woman cried. She threw the iron rope.

“It twisted in midair. It wrapped itself around him. He stumbled and fell. The comb flew out of his hand. The Ropemaker caught it. As for the Trickster, he fell out of the sky and landed on the plain. He rolled back and forth. He yelled. He struggled. But the rope would not break. After a while he gave up. He lay still, breathing heavily.

“Three spirits appeared around him. He looked up at them. ‘I can tell that you are responsible for this.’

“ ‘Yes,’ said the Mother of Mothers. ‘This is the end of all your malevolent tricks. We are going to take you far from here and drop you in the ocean. You’ll cause no further trouble.’

“ ‘Don’t be sure,’ the Trickster said.

“They picked him up and carried him through the air. In the middle of the ocean they let go of him. He splashed into the water. Down and down he sank. At last he hit the bottom. Aiya! It was dark and cold! Deep-sea fish nibbled on his toes. He twisted and tried to yell. Instead he swallowed water. But he could not drown. His life was everlasting. He stayed there for more years than we can count. He gave his nature to the ocean. It became changeable and unreliable, impossible to trust. In the end he broke free. But that is another story.

“As for the Ropemaker, she went back into the tent. She woke the old woman and gave her the comb.

“ ‘Oh! This is wonderful!’ the old woman cried. She began to comb her fur. Animals came out, hundreds of them. They tumbled out of the sky and filled the world. All the people rejoiced.”

Inahooli stopped talking. I unfolded my legs and stood. By this time it was noon. Sunlight poured down.

The air was still and hot. I was sweating.

“Well,” said Inahooli. “Are you impressed? Do you think my ancestor is great?”

“Yes.” I turned and looked at the tower. A trickster god, like Anansi the Spider and Coyote and B’rer Rabbit. There were other odd similarities. The Old Woman in the North reminded me of a character out of Inuit mythology. Was there such a thing as a universal archetype? Would we find the same characters on planet after planet? I imagined a collective unconscious that extended across—or maybe under—the galaxy. What an idea! But I was moving too fast. I didn’t have the data. I stretched. “I have to go.”

“No! Don’t leave. I have other stories.”

I made the gesture of polite refusal, followed by the gesture of extreme regret. “Nia is waiting.”

She stood up, frowning. “There is something about that name…” Her eyes widened. “I remember! Nia the Smith. The woman who loved a man.” She used the word that meant familial affection, the love between sisters or between a mother and her daughters. “They told us about her, the Iron Folk. They said the man died. But she was still out on the plain. A big woman with the look of bad luck. They warned us about her. They said, ‘If she comes to your village, let her stay only as long as is decent. Then tell her to move on. If you let her move in, she’ll sour the milk in your pots. She’ll make your fires go out.’ ”

“Nia does no harm,” I said. I kept my voice low and even. A confident voice. The voice of sanity.

Inahooli was silent, still frowning, obviously thinking. “She hasn’t given up her old behavior. When she mentioned your friend she wasn’t using an ending from your language. You said the name differently. I heard. I didn’t understand. She gave the name an ending from her own language or from the language of gifts. In either case it is a male ending. Your friend is a man.”

I opened my mouth. What could I say? I didn’t like to lie, and I didn’t think Inahooli would believe any lie I told. “I’d better go.”

She stared at me, her eyes narrow. “What are you? Why do you travel with a woman like that? And with a man?”

“I told you, I am ordinary. Among my own people, anyway.”

She made the gesture of disagreement, moving her hand emphatically. “I have met the Iron People and the Copper People and the People of Fur and Tin. No one is really different. Not about things that are important. I think you are a demon.”

How does one reason with a religious fanatic? I thought for a moment. “Remember what you said before I came here. The tower is magical. If I am a demon, why hasn’t it harmed me?”

She turned, staring at the latticework. At the top a couple of banners moved languidly. A couple of feathers fluttered. A wind must be rising, though I couldn’t feel it.

Inahooli made the gesture of agreement. “I did say that.”

“And I am fine.”

There was a pause. Then Inahooli spoke. Her voice was slow at first. She was obviously thinking out loud. “You are right. The tower should have harmed you. It hasn’t.” She turned back toward me. “You have overcome our magic. The tower is something.”

I didn’t know the word, but I could guess the meaning. The tower was polluted, desanctified. It had lost its power.

“I brought you here,” said Inahooli. “I am the guardian. This will destroy my reputation.” She pulled out her knife.

“Listen to me,” I said.

She grabbed my arm and raised the knife. I twisted and kicked, hitting her in the crotch. It was a good solid kick. She staggered back. I ran.

I made it to the canoe, but she was close behind me. There wasn’t time to get the damn thing into the water. I grabbed a paddle and turned to face her. “Can’t we talk?”

“No!” She lunged at me. I brought the paddle down on her shoulder. She yelled and dropped the knife.

“Listen to me! I mean no harm!”

She grabbed up the knife with her other hand. “How can we use the tower? The masks are ruined. The magic is gone.”

She ducked to the left. My left. I turned and raised the paddle. The knife flashed. I swung. Inahooli jumped back.

“I got you, demon!” she cried.

“What?”

“Don’t you see the blood on the ground?”

I glanced down and saw only the rocky beach. No blood. Something moved at the edge of my vision. Inahooli. She was coming at me, her knife raised again. I jerked the paddle up and out. It hit her in the gut. She grunted and bent double. I brought the paddle down on the back of her head.

She fell. I picked up the knife and threw it out into the reeds, then looked back at her. She lay facedown, motionless.

I knelt and felt her neck, then ran my hand over the back of her head. Her pulse was strong and regular. Her head felt rock solid. Good! But I wasn’t going to stick around and nurse her. She was too likely to make another attempt to kill me. I pushed the canoe into the water, jumped in, and paddled away from the island. The things I did in order to get a myth!

After I was well out past the reeds, I noticed something was wrong with my left arm. I pulled in the paddle and took a look. My shirt was slit from the elbow to the wrist. Blood dripped onto the dark wood of the canoe and onto my jeans. “Goddammit.” I took off the shirt and twisted my arm, trying to see the cut. There was a twinge of pain in my shoulder. Funny. I had forgotten how stiff the shoulder was. The cut was long and shallow. A scratch. Nothing to worry about. It was bleeding well, which ought to reduce the risk of infection. Not that infection was likely, unless from something that I had brought with me. I wrapped my shirt around the arm and tied the sleeves together. Then I went back to paddling.

A wind blew, light and fitful. Waves splashed against the canoe. My arm began to ache. My shoulder also. I concentrated on my breathing: in and out, keeping time with the motion of my arms as I lifted the paddle and brought it forward, drove it into the water and pulled it back.

Ahead of me was the shore. Where could I land? I shaded my eyes. There was a figure on the bank above the reeds. No. Two figures. They waved at me. I turned the canoe and paddled toward them. In a moment they were out of sight. The reeds leaned over me, their shaggy heads swaying, and I had no room to move. I stuck the paddle down, hit bottom, and pushed. The canoe went forward through the vegetation into an area of clear water. Nia and Derek waded out and pulled me to shore.

“Where is Inahooli?” Nia asked.

I stood. The canoe shifted under me. Derek grabbed my arm.

“No!”

He let go. “What is this?” He held out his hand. The palm was red.

“Blood.” I stepped onto dry land, sat down, and fainted.

When I came to, I was on my back, looking up at foliage, the long narrow leaves of monster grass. They shone, edged with sunlight.

Derek said, “Can you understand me?”

“Yes. Of course.” I turned my head. He sat cross-legged on the ground. His upper body was naked, and I could see the bracelet on his arm. The wide band of gold. It kept going in and out of focus.

“What happened?”

“The woman. Inahooli.”

“Nia told me about her. What did she do?”

“She thought I was a demon. I was bad luck for her”—I paused, trying to think of the right word—“artifact. The one she was guarding. She came after me with a knife. I hit her. Derek, she’s alive. What if she comes after me?”

He smiled briefly. “I’ll worry about that. You rest.”

“Okay.” I closed my eyes, then opened them. “The bowhorns.”

“I found one. The Voice of the Waterfall managed to stay on. I don’t know how. He let it run till it was exhausted. He had no choice, he told me. In the end it had to stop. He calmed it and let it rest. Then he turned back. I met him at sundown. We camped on the plain. And in the morning—” He made a gesture I didn’t recognize.

“What was that?”

“What?”

“The gesture. The wave.”

He grinned. “It’s a human gesture, Lixia. It means—approximately—’skip it’ or ‘why bother’ or ‘you can imagine the rest.’ ”

“Oh,” I said.

“We got here at midmorning, after you left.”

“Oh.” I closed my eyes, then remembered something else. “The radios.”

Derek laughed. “They’re on the other bowhorn. The one I didn’t find.”

“Shit.”

“Uh-huh. I thought I ought to make sure the Voice of the Waterfall got back to the lake. Nia will go out tomorrow on the animal we have. She’s a better rider than I am, and this is her planet. With any luck she’ll find the radios. And I will make sure what’s-her-name—the woman who cut you up—”

“Inahooli.”

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t cause any more trouble.”

“What does that mean?”

He grinned. “Nothing dramatic. I’ll stay here and keep my eyes open. Now, go to sleep.”

Derek left. I worried. What if Nia couldn’t find the other animal? We’d be alone for the first time. Really alone on an alien planet. It might be days before the people on the ship realized that something was wrong. Then what would they do? How would they find us? I tried to think of signals. A huge fire. That would be best. But could we make one that was big enough? And would they know it was made by us?

I dozed and had bad dreams. Inahooli was after me. I ran down a long corridor between ceramic walls. Then the corridor was gone. I was on a plain. I turned and saw a wall of flame advancing toward me. A grass fire! I ran. But it was so difficult. The grass was tall and thick. I kept tripping. The fire was gaining.

I fell, rolled over, and opened my eyes. Smoke drifted above me. I sat up, terrified.

Oh, yes. The campfire. It burned three meters away. My companions sat around it. Beyond them was the lake and the low sun. It was late afternoon. My arm hurt, my head ached, and my throat was dry. “Is there anything to drink?”

They looked at me.

“Are you all right?” said Nia.

“I’m thirsty.”

Nia brought me a green sphere with a hole punched in the top: something like a gourd or maybe a coconut. Where had she found it? I took it and drank. The liquid inside was cool and had a sharp flavor. Like what? A citrus fruit? Not quite. I drank again.

“Can you talk now?” asked Derek. “What was the woman guarding? And why did she decide you were a demon?”

I looked at Nia, who was squatting next to me. “You were right. Your people have talked about you. Inahooli remembered. Nia the Smith. The woman who loved a man.”

Nia frowned. “There are times I think my people talk too much. Don’t they have anything better to do?”

“And she figured out that Derek was a man.”

“Because I used the male ending on his name.”

“Yes.”

She stood up and clenched her hand into a fist, then hit her thigh. “I am just like my relatives. My tongue goes up and down like a banner in the wind, and I do not think.” She opened her hand and made the gesture that meant “so be it.”

“One of us ought to stay up tonight and keep watch. That woman is probably a little crazy. She has been alone too long, and she has been too close to something that is holy. She may come after Li-sa.”

Derek made the gesture of agreement.

“I hit her pretty hard,” I said. “For all I know, she is still”—I paused and tried to think of the right word in the language of gifts—“asleep. Or maybe dead.”

Derek looked out at the water. “Maybe. I don’t intend to go and check. The island is holy. She’s made it very clear that she doesn’t want us on it. And as a rule, I don’t interfere with other people’s karma. She chose to invite you to the island, and she chose to try and kill you. If those choices end in her death—well.” He paused, then used the same gesture that Nia had used a minute or so before. “That is the way it is,” the gesture said.

The oracle leaned forward. “I don’t know what you did in the past, Nia, and I don’t know why your people tell stories about you. But this situation is not your fault.”

“Why not?”

The oracle pointed at Derek. “He went into the valley of demons. He took the bracelet. Now, the demons are angry. They are causing all this trouble—the shuwaharaand the angry woman.”

Shuwahara?Was that the name of the animal that had frightened our bowhorns?

The oracle stood up. He held out his hand. “Give me the bracelet.”

Derek frowned.

“Do it,” I said in English. “We’re in enough trouble already.”

Derek pulled off the bracelet. The oracle took it and slid it onto his arm.

“What are you going to do with it?” I asked.

“The spirit will tell me.” The oracle pulled off his tunic. He was naked except for the bracelet and his necklace. His dark fur shone. The jewelry glistened. Taken all in all, he was impressive. He tossed the tunic on the ground. “I am going off by myself. I will dance and sing until I am in a frenzy. Then—maybe—the spirit will come to me.” He walked away toward the lake.

“Do you think I’ll get it back?” asked Derek.

“No.”

“Goddammit.” He laughed and shrugged. “Oh, well.”

Nia fixed dinner: fresh fish, gutted and stuffed with herbs, then wrapped in leaves and roasted in the coals. It was delicious, but I was too tired to be hungry. I ate half a fish and lay down. The sun had set. Clouds were moving in. They were high and hazy, golden in the last light of day. My companions talked quietly. The birds made little evening noises. I closed my eyes.

When I woke, the sun was up again. Who had guarded the camp? Had Derek remembered? I climbed to my feet, groaning. A body—dark and furry—sprawled by the fire. The oracle. Asleep. There was no sign of Nia or Derek or the bowhorn. I walked through the grove. The animal was definitely gone. Nia must have left as soon as there was any light. I looked out on the plain, shading my eyes against the sun. Nothing. I went back through the grove. The oracle had rolled over on his back. His arm was over his face. He was snoring.

Down to the lake. Birds flapped in the reeds. On the shore were two canoes. I stopped, terrified. I was in no condition to fight Inahooli. Had she done something to Derek? I needed a weapon. A paddle had worked before. I went to the canoes.

Inahooli was in one of them, on her back. She was naked. Her feet were tied with a strip of yellow cloth, and she was gagged with another piece of yellow fabric. Her hands were behind her. I couldn’t see how they were tied. She glared at me.

I laughed, relieved. I hadn’t killed her. “You must have met Derek.”

She grunted.

“I don’t think I’ll take out the gag. I’d like to know where he is. But I don’t suppose you’d tell me, even if you knew.”

Inahooli growled and twisted. Was there any chance that she could get free? Of course not. Derek had tied her. I wondered if he would ever make a serious mistake.

“I have to go. I’ll be back later.”

Inahooli growled a second time.

I found Derek farther along the shore, on a beach of black gravel. There was a break in the reeds. A channel—two or three meters wide—led out into the lake. A bird floated in the channel. It was perfectly ordinary looking.

“It has teeth,” said Derek.

His long hair was wet, and there were patches of dampness on his shirt. He tucked the shirt into his jeans, then grinned at me.

“A morning swim?” I asked.

“Uh-huh.” He fastened one of his sleeves. I saw a glint just before he sealed the fabric. He had something metallic on his arm.

“I found Inahooli. What happened?”

“Nia went to sleep, and I went off to watch the oracle. I figured, never pass up a ritual. He did exactly what he said he would do. Danced and sang and waved a branch around, all under a moon that was three-quarters full and clearly erupting. You can see the plume above the rim. It starts in sunlight and then curves over the part of the moon that is still in shadow. A heck of a sight.

“I couldn’t understand what he was saying. He wasn’t using the language of gifts. But I got it all on my recorder.”

“What did he do with the bracelet?”

“Tossed it into the lake. That was the end of the ceremony. He went back to camp. I wandered around and kept my eyes open. I figured he would be tired after all that jumping around. You were injured, and Nia had to get up early. That left me to keep watch, and I wanted to keep looking at the moon.” He closed the front of his shirt.

“The woman came two hours later. No. More like three. The moon was still up. She came in the second canoe. I guess that’s obvious. I didn’t see her land—or hear her. She is a very quiet lady. But she woke up a bird, coming in through the reeds, and it whistled.