“I don’t know.”

She blinked. “Aiya! The luck that I’ve been having!”

“What do you expect when you creep up on people in the darkness and try to do them harm? What spirit will approve of behavior like that?”

“I was angry.”

The oracle frowned. “That is no excuse. When I get angry, I throw rocks or jump up and down and scream or—if I am very angry—I make up a nasty song and sing it as loudly as I can. That is the right way to be angry. It is not right to throw people around. Only crazy men do that.”

“I tried to yell and jump up and down. It did no good. There was too much anger.” Inahooli frowned. “It was like the lake of boiling mud—in me, in my gut, churning and exploding.”

Derek said in English, “Bicarbonate of soda.”

“Be quiet,” I said.

“I could not endure the anger. I had to do something big.” She closed her eyes a moment, then opened them. “I am not going to talk anymore. It hurts. It is too much trouble.” She closed her eyes again.

I shivered. Derek put more wood on the fire. Flames leaped up. “It’s burning too quickly. I don’t think it will last till morning.” He looked at me. “You’re cold, aren’t you?”

I made the gesture of agreement. “And the bugs are getting to me. They must have decided I smell like food.”

He unfastened his shirt and took it off. “Here.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Stay in motion.” He looked at the lake. “The moon is still up. I think I have time. You stay here, Lixia.”

He walked into the darkness.

I opened my mouth to call after him, then decided what the heck. I put the shirt on.

The oracle said, “Where is he going?”

I made the gesture that meant “who knows?”

“He certainly moves quickly when he decides he ought to do something.”

“Yes.”

Inahooli groaned and bit her lip. The oracle took hold of her wrist. “The beat is getting weaker. I think she will die.”

She opened her eyes. Her pupils had expanded, and I could barely see her irises. There was a little orange in the corners, but the middle of each eye was dark. “No.”

“Yes,” said the oracle. “I do not lie.”

She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. It was becoming more difficult for her. Strange! To watch a person struggle to do something as easy and as ordinary as drawing a breath.

I got up and put more wood on the fire. Then I came back and sat down. I listened. Each inhalation was a gasp. When she exhaled I heard a whistle. The air was coming out through some kind of obstruction. A liquid. Blood. I must have gotten a lung when I drove the spear into her.

The breathing went on for another hour or two. I got up once and put more wood on the fire, then stood leaning over the flames. Hot air rose around me. My goose bumps disappeared, and feeling returned to my hands. Odd! That I was so cold. It was, after all, the middle of summer. But the night was cool, and there was a wind blowing. The bugs were gone. The wind must have blown them away.

I went back to Inahooli. I sat down and listened. Her breath went in and out. The sound was harsh and desperate. Toward dawn it became erratic. There were pauses, as if she were drifting in and out of sleep—the breath stopping for a moment as she came awake. But she wasn’t ever really awake. I rubbed my hands. They were numb with cold. The oracle sat quietly.

At dawn the breathing stopped. The oracle felt her wrist and then her neck. “No beat.” He stood up. “Aiya! I am stiff.” He stretched and yawned, then rubbed his arms. “My feet are numb.” He hopped from one foot to the other.

I got up and stretched. My neck and shoulder hurt, and there were minor things wrong all over my body: aches, twinges, areas of stiffness.

I looked at Inahooli. I could make out her position, even under the cloak. She lay on her side, her knees drawn up and her arms folded against her chest. Her head was bent forward. Her chin was tucked in. I couldn’t see her face.

I was a killer. The real thing this time, not merely an accomplice. I looked east. Red light shone between two stems of monster grass. The sun was coming up.

The oracle stopped hopping. “This is a good time for a song. One came to me while I watched her.” He pointed at Inahooli, then sang, using the language of gifts. I was able to get most of the song. Later he explained the verses I had not understood.

He paused for a moment, frowning and scratching the back of his neck. “There is one more verse,” he said. “I just heard it in my mind. Give me a moment to arrange the words.” He bit his thumbnail, then sang:

The sun finished rising. Derek came up from the lake. He was carrying a pair of saddlebags.

“Where have you been?” I asked.

“On the island, the one you visited.” He set down the bags and opened one. “I’ll trade you. My shirt for this.” He pulled out a tunic. It was cream-white with blue and red embroidery.

I undid the fasteners on Derek’s shirt. “Do you have something for Inahooli? I’d like to get Nia’s cloak back. It doesn’t seem right for it to be on her.”

He glanced at the body. “Dead?”

“Yes.”

He opened the other bag and pulled out a cloak. It was rust-brown with a yellow border. The oracle pulled Nia’s cloak off Inahooli. I had a brief glimpse of the body, naked except for the dark fur and the bandage made of denim. Then it was gone from sight.

Derek said, “There was food on the island. Dried meat and fruit. I filled a bag.”

“This has to be wrong, Derek. We’re stealing from the dead.”

He went down on his knees and put his hands on his thighs. For a moment or two he remained in that position, his arms braced, his head a little bent, looking at the body under the rust-brown cloak. “Listen to me, Inahooli. We take these things because we need them. We are cold. We are hungry. Two of us have traveled farther than you can imagine, and we may never make it home. Believe me, we aren’t doing this out of malice or anger or any bad emotion, but out of need.” He paused. “I promise you we will use what we take with respect. We won’t be ungrateful, and we certainly won’t use this as an excuse to go on a journey of strength.

“This happened the way it happened according to the turning of the wheel. Accept it, Inahooli. Don’t be angry with us.” He stood up and walked back to me.

“Journey of strength?” I said.

“Power trip,” he said in English. “I couldn’t think of a better way to translate it.” He went back to the language of gifts. “I’d like my shirt back.”

I gave it to him. He handed me the tunic in return. I pulled it over my head. The fabric was soft and warm, like fine wool. It had a furry aroma, the smell of the aliens.

“I’ll get the food,” Derek said. “After we eat, we can bury her.”

We dug a grave in the sand by the lake, using the oars as shovels. Derek and the oracle got Inahooli and carried her to the grave. Hard work. They gasped and grunted and almost dropped her once. I carried the cloak, which was easy. They laid her in the grave. I laid the cloak over her.