My host spoke, her voice calm and definite. Whatever she said sounded final. Yohai made a gesture I didn’t entirely understand. But I thought it meant “so be it.”

Nahusai sighed. She leaned her staff against the wall, then took off her jewelry. She looked exhausted.

“Li-sha.” It was Yohai.

“Yes?”

“Sleep.” Yohai pointed at my pile of furs.

I went there, but I didn’t get to sleep for hours.

Yohai shook me at dawn. “Wake you. Eat.”

I sat up. The fire was burning brightly. A pot hung over it, and my host sat nearby.

“Come,” said Yohai. “Now.”

I went to the privy first. It was cold outside. There was dew on the ground, and the sky was an indeterminate early morning color. Why was I up at this hour? More trouble, I decided. I used the privy and went back to the house. There was water in a big basin next to the door. I washed and went inside.

Breakfast was mush. It seemed to be their favorite food. When we were done eating, my host looked at me. Her expression was grave. “Li-sha.” She paused and frowned. “Hakht says bad things. People listen. They say, ‘Yes. Li-sha is a something. She is bad.’ ” She paused again and stared at the fire, then looked back at me. “I am old. They know I go—” She patted the floor. Underground, that gesture meant. “I talk. They do not listen. Go with Yohai.”

“Where?”

“A good place. Go.”

I packed, then slung my pack over my shoulders. Yohai put on a plain brown tunic and a leather belt. A sheath hung from the belt, and there was a knife in the sheath. It had a handle made of brass and horn.

“Come,” Yohai said.

I stopped in front of Nahusai. I didn’t know the word for “thank you,” but there was a gesture. I touched my chest, then turned my hand so the palm was toward Nahusai.

She returned the gesture.

I held out a gift: a box. It was made of wood from one of the Empty Islands, inset with pieces of shell. They were iridescent pink and green, lovelier than abalone or mother-of-pearl.

Nahusai took the box.

“Good-bye,” I said in English. I followed Yohai out the door.

The sun was just appearing. Looking to the east I saw it: a line of orange light above a rooftop. The sky was clear. The street was empty, except for a yellow ki—a domestic bird, something like a crane. It was hunting for bugs in the weeds along a house wall. We startled it. It stalked away, and we hurried off in the opposite direction.

By the time the sun was fully up we were in the forest. Trunks rose up on every side of us like pillars in an old-time cathedral. Way above us were the branches. Their dark leaves hid the sun. Now and then we came to a clearing, full of sunlight and flying bugs. There must have been a hatch. Or was I seeing a migration? In any case, the bugs were all the same. Their bodies were electric blue. Their wings were transparent and colorless, except for two large red spots.

There was one clearing where the bugs were especially numerous. They floated around us. One landed on my arm. I stopped, enchanted. It fanned its wings. I counted eight legs and two antennae.

“Come,” said Yohai.

I hurried on. The bug flew away.

At noon we came to a building standing in a larger-than-usual clearing. Weeds grew around it, and a stream ran in the back. I heard the rushing water.

“This is the place,” my companion told me.

The building was small and old. A log propped up one wall. The roof was leather. I was pretty sure that it wasn’t the original roof, but rather a makeshift repair, done by someone who was no carpenter. Off to one side was a second structure. A lean-to. Smoke came out of it. What was it? I got my answer a moment later: the sound of a hammer. A smithy.

My companion walked toward the sound. I followed. We stopped at the entrance to the lean-to and looked in. A fire burned in a stone forge. A person bent over an anvil made of iron. There was metal on the anvil, glowing bright yellow. The person lifted a hammer, then brought it down, lifted it and brought it down again.

Yohai raised one hand in warning. “Wait” that gesture meant. I waited.

After a while the person put down the hammer. He or she straightened up, stretched, groaned, then turned and saw us. “Hu!”

Yohai said something I didn’t understand.

The smith made a gesture.

Yohai talked some more. I studied the smith. He or she wore a leather apron and sandals. Nothing more. I got a good look at him or her: broad shoulders, a deep chest, and powerful-looking arms. This was a formidable creature. The fur that covered him or her was reddish brown. An unusual color. Hadn’t there been someone like this at the party on the night I arrived?

Yohai stopped talking.

The smith made another gesture, then looked at me. “I am Nia. You will stay here.”

I made the gesture of assent.

Yohai said something to me. Was it good-bye? She turned and walked away, moving quickly. In a minute or two she was gone.

“Sit down,” said Nia. “I—” He or she waved at the fire.

“I understand.”

I settled in a corner. Nia added charcoal to the fire, then began to pump the bellows: a large bag, made of leather, with a stick attached to it. Nia raised and lowered the stick. The bag filled and emptied. The fire brightened. After a while Nia picked up tongs and laid the metal in the fire.

“What is that?” I asked and pointed.

Nia told me the word for iron, then went back to work. He or she beat the piece of iron till it was flat, then heated it and folded it, then beat it flat again. This was done over and over. I got tired watching.

Sometime in the afternoon Nia stopped working. He or she sighed and stretched. “Food.”

“Yes.” I stood up.

We went to the other building. Inside it was empty except for a pile of furs and a couple of jars. Nia took off the apron, then rummaged among the furs and found a tunic. She put it on.

“Here.” She pulled bread out of one jar. The other jar was full of a liquid: the pungent narcotic I’d drunk at the party.

We sat down in the doorway and ate and drank.

“Where are you from?” asked Nia. Her mouth was full of food. I didn’t understand her, and she had to repeat the question.

“Not around here,” I answered.

“I am of the Iron People,” she said. “They are far away. There.” She pointed toward the sun. “You?”

I waved in the opposite direction, eastward.

“Ya.” She drank more of the liquid. “These people are hard to understand.” She got up and went to the smithy.

I stayed where I was until I heard the sound of Nia’s hammer. Then I got out my radio and called Eddie.

After he heard what had happened, he said, “I ought to pull you out.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think I’m in any danger, and if I am … Eddie, we all knew how dangerous this might be. We could have sent down robots. We sent down people because we wanted whatever it is that people bring to a situation. The human perspective. We voted to take the risk. It got a clear majority.”

Eddie was silent.

“I want to stay. That’s myhuman perspective. This is the reason I left Earth—not to sit in a room in the goddamn ship. I’m finally able to carry on a conversation, and I’m starting to learn how the natives work iron. You know I’m interested in technology.”

There was more silence, then a sigh. “I opposed using robots because I thought they’d be more disruptive than people. Okay. Stay. But I think you’re wrong.”

“About what? The situation?”

“No. Technology. It’s a typical Western bias. You think a tool is more important than a dream because a tool can be measured and a dream cannot.”

I made a noncommittal noise.

“The Greeks are to blame,” he said.

“What?”

“They were the ones who decided that reality was mathematical. A crazy idea! An ethical value isn’t like a triangle. A religious vision can’t be reduced to a formula. Yet both are real. Both are important.”