She finished dressing and folded up a cloak made of leather. It went into the bag, followed by all the bread in the house. Ten pieces. “Let’s go. Hakht might change her mind.” She handed me one of the axes, then picked up the other and slung the bag over her shoulder. I put on my backpack. We left the house.

The sun was up. The sky was cloudless. A strong wind blew.

“A good day,” Nia said.

“What will happen to Yohai?” I asked.

“She will listen to Hakht. It will be hard for a while. Then she will get used to it. And Hakht will become friendly when she sees that Yohai does nothing against her wishes. In the end they will get along. The fight was never between the two of them. It was between Hakht and Nahusai. This is my opinion, anyway.”

We took the path that went toward the village, walking quickly, and reached the river before noon. I looked around. On the far side of the river was a fence, a low one made of wood. Beyond it was a garden. Blue leaves glistened in the sunlight. I saw no gardener. That was odd. The people of the village seemed to spend a good part of every morning in their gardens.

In the distance something honked. A musical instrument. Maybe a horn. I heard voices, wailing and shrieking.

“The ceremonies,” Nia said. “They are going around the outside of the village, making noise to drive Nahusai away, into the far land.” Nia frowned. “My people are not like this. We do not fear the dead—only death, which is unlucky. There must be ceremonies, of course…”

The horn honked again. It sounded closer. Nia paused and listened, then went on.

“The ceremonies drive away bad luck. They make the village clean. But we do not fear our friends and relations simply because this bad thing had happened to them. They are—they must be—the same people they were before.” She resettled her bag on her shoulder, then walked off.

I thought of asking her for more information about the funeral ceremonies, but she was moving quickly. I had to hurry to catch up, and I had no breath to spare.

We followed a new path that went upstream along the river. The sun went on ahead of us—or seemed to, anyway. We were traveling west.

Midway through the afternoon we turned onto another trail. It led north into an area of low hills. The soil was sandy. The trees were small and scrubby. Here and there we came upon outcroppings of a sandy rock, yellow or dull orange. The trail was barely visible: a faint line that wound among the rocks and trees. It led finally—in the late afternoon—to a shack, made of long branches leaning against rock. Skins were stretched over the branches. Smoke came out of a hole. What a sad little dwelling place!

Nia stopped. “We bring gifts,” she called.

A deep voice answered, “Go away.”

“I am Nia, the iron smith. Do you want a knife? It has a sharp blade. The handle is bone. Very handsome, I think.”

There was a long silence. “What gift do you want?”

“I need food. Smoked fish, if you have it.”

“Yes.” There was another long silence. “Put the knife down. Go away. When the sun is out of sight, come back.”

“Yes,” said Nia. She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a knife, which she laid on the ground. Then she turned and walked off. I followed.

We went only a short distance. Nia put down her bag. “This is far enough. He can’t see us here.”

I sat down. “Who was that?”

“I don’t know his name.”

“It is a—” I paused. I didn’t know the word for man. “It is what a boy becomes?”

“A man. Yes. Who else would live out here alone? I have met him before. He is friendlier than most men.”

“You call that friendly?”

“Yes. The men around here have no manners. Their mothers raise them badly, and the old men who ought to teach them to behave when they leave the village—the old men are surly and mean. They lack self-respect. This is my opinion, anyway.”

“Why do the men leave the village?”

Nia stared at me. “What kind of question is that?”

“Do all men leave the village?”

“Yes. Of course.” Nia frowned. “What kind of person are you? Why do you ask something like that?”

I thought for a moment. “I come from a long distance away. My people are different from yours. How different, I don’t know. Maybe the differences are small—things on the surface, like the fur that you have and I don’t. Maybe the differences are big. In any case, among my people men and women live together.”

Nia frowned again. “How can that be? After the change no man can bear to be with other people—except at the time of mating, of course, and except for Enshi.”

“Enshi?” I asked.

Nia stared at the sky. “The sun is almost gone. We can go back.”

We returned to the shack. Firelight shone through gaps between the skins. I didn’t see anyone, either inside or out. The knife was gone. In its place was a basket, full of smoked fish.

“This is good!” Nia said. “Now we won’t starve.”

The basket had a top. She put it on and fastened it, then put the whole thing in her bag. “Come on. We’ll go back toward the river and find a place to camp. This fellow won’t like it if we stay here.”

“That is true,” the deep voice said. “It is a good knife, Nia.”

Nia glanced at the shack. “The fish smells good. Thank you.”

We walked off. The sky darkened and stars appeared along with a moon: a point of light that moved rapidly up from the eastern horizon. We stopped in a hollow. Nia made a fire, and we ate a couple of pieces of fish. It was bony and oily with a strong smoky taste. I did not especially like it.

“Who is Enshi?” I asked.

Nia stared at the fire. There was a brooding expression on her face. At length she glanced up. “I made up a poem about Enshi after I had been in this place a year. It goes like this:

“He is dead?”

Nia made the gesture of affirmation. “I will not talk about him. Do your men really live with the women?”

“Yes.”

“That’s very strange. Is it right?”

The word she used had several meanings: “usual,” “well made,” “moral.”

“We think so. We’ve always lived this way.”

Nia made a barking noise. “If Hakht knew this, she would be certain that you are a demon. Of course, her people do many things that are not right.”

“What?” I asked.

Nia frowned, then scratched her nose. “They do not like men, not even their sons. ‘A son is a mouth,’ they say. They mean a son is something that eats food and makes noise and does nothing useful.”

“Hu!” I said.

Nia made the gesture of agreement. “It is very badly done. There is something else…” She paused. “They do not like to mate with men. Often in the spring they go out, two women together. They stay in the forest. They do things with their hands.” Nia shivered. “Do your people do anything like this?”

“Some of us do. I don’t.”

“Do you think it’s right?”

I thought for a moment. “It is common. I don’t think that it is wrong.” I used a word that meant “unusual,” “immoral,” “badly made,” or “done in a seriously inept fashion.”

Nia shivered again. “I did it once. Yohai kept asking me. One spring I went with her. I do not know why. I didn’t like it. I felt ashamed. Aiya!” She paused for a moment. “I wish we had something to drink.”

The next day we went back to the river. We continued west along it. The land was flat and covered with forest. The sky was cloudless, and the river shone. Birdlike creatures glided from tree to tree, and other things—invisible to me—moved through the underbrush. I saw one as it crossed our path: a bronze shell about half a meter long with many quick-moving little feet beneath it. Two huge faceted eyes stuck out on top.