“What about strange people?”

She frowned. “I like Li-sa. I am glad that I met her. I was tired of living in the forest and I never really liked the Copper People.”

“What do you mean?” asked the oracle.

“I don’t mean your people. I have nothing against them. But I did not like the Copper People of the Forest.”

“Them!” said the oracle. “They are peculiar.”

Nia made the gesture of agreement. “It was good that Li-sa came and I had to leave. I might have stayed there my whole life. That would have been terrible!”

The oracle made the gesture of agreement.

“What about me?” asked Derek.

“I have not decided if I like you,” said Nia.

“No?” Derek looked hurt.

The oracle said, “I will go into the back of the cave. I am used to holy places, and my spirit will protect me.” He rummaged in one of the saddlebags and found a piece of meat. Cold roast biped. He bit into it.

“I won’t,” said Nia. “I have no spirit to protect me, and holy places have always made me uneasy. But it’s good that you are going. You can make sure that Deragu does nothing that he shouldn’t.”

The oracle chewed, unable to talk. But one hand made the gesture that meant “why do you think I am doing this?”

We finished the biped, got branches, and lit them. Derek led the way to the back of the cave. Shadows moved around us. Our torches flared and streamed in the wind coming out of the hole. Derek crouched. “A tight fit. I think I can make it.” He turned sideways and squeezed in. His torch was the last thing to vanish.

The oracle and I waited. I was pretty calm, I thought, but the oracle fidgeted. A nervous fellow. I bit a fingernail.

“It opens out,” said Derek. His voice echoed. “A lot.”

The oracle crouched. “I can see his torch. I am going.” He squeezed out of sight. A minute or two later he said, “Aiya!”

I glanced at the entrance to the cave. The fire burned brightly. Nia sat by it, hunched over, a dark shape. Beyond her was rain, a shining curtain.

I went in on my knees, remembering that I’d gone caving in college and had discovered that I was slightly claustrophobic. The claustrophobia was made worse by dark.

There was no darkness here. The torch blazed in front of me. Smoke blew in my face, making me want to cough or sneeze. The passage got narrower. My head brushed the ceiling, and my shoulders rubbed against rough wet stone.

“Hurry,” called Derek. “You’ve got to see—”

The passage widened. I felt space above me and stood, lifting my torch. Nothing was visible except the floor—it was covered with a film of water and shone dimly—and two points of light in the distance, the torches my comrades carried.

“Here,” said Derek.

I went toward the sound of his voice.

He stood by a wall, his torch held high. The wall was yellow limestone, covered with water. There were paintings on it. Animals. They were red and orange, dull blue, gray, and brown. I recognized the creature that had attacked us by the lake and the blue bipeds. Dinner.

People moved among the animals. They were stick figures, done without any detail, though the animals were carefully detailed. The people carried spears and bows.

“Hunting magic,” said Derek. He walked along the wall.

I saw more animals: birds. They looked as if they ought to be large. The legs were heavy, the bodies round and solid. They had thick necks and large heads. The mouths were full of teeth.

“Do you notice what is missing?” asked Derek. “Bowhorns and silverbacks. The animals we think of as mammalian.” He spoke the language of gifts, but the last word was English.

I made the gesture of agreement. We kept walking. There were more big birds and pseudo-dinosaurs. The figures were nothing like the other art I had seen on the planet. That had been intricate and often abstract: an art made of patterns, a decorative art. These figures were simple and realistic. They looked alive—except for the people, who looked as if they had been drawn by children.

Derek pointed at the painting of a lizard. It had a long tail and spines along its back. Its feet were webbed. It was huge, at least in comparison with the hunters who surrounded it. The lizard and the hunters were painted in black. There were streaks of red on the lizard. Wounds, I was almost certain. Painted spears stuck out of the animal.

Derek looked at the oracle. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. I have never seen an animal like that. Maybe it is a monster.”

“Why are there no bowhorns?”

“I don’t know.” The oracle paused. “This place is very old. I can feel the spirits who live here, but I don’t know who they are. They are old and hungry. I can feel that. Aiya! Their hunger! It is like a wind in the middle of winter!”

Derek turned and stared at the oracle. “What are they hungry for?”

“I don’t know. There are many things the spirits like. Good food. Good weaving. Embroidery. The work of metal smiths. Some like flowers and branches of leaves. Others like blood.”

“Hu!” said Derek. He went back to looking at the wall.

There were more paintings, one on top of another: lizards and birds and pseudo-dinosaurs. I didn’t recognize most of the species. Most had spears in them.

“We’ll have to ask the biologists about this,” said Derek. “Look. This bird has arms.”

The arms were tiny and ended in claws. The animal was definitely a bird. It had a beak. Its body was covered with feathers, rendered in soft strokes of red-brown paint. It had a tail made of plumes, nothing like the long and narrow tail of a lizard or a dinosaur.

“Weird,” I said.

The oracle had moved away from us toward the center of the cave. “Come here.”

He stood by a circle of stones about twenty meters across. The stones were painted red, and there were skulls among them. Some had beaks and others had muzzles full of irregular teeth. All were painted red. All pointed in toward the center of the circle.

At the center was an area of darkness. The stone floor was discolored.

“Now I know,” the oracle said. “These spirits are the kind who like blood. Take this.” He handed me his torch and stepped into the circle.

“Be careful,” said Derek.

The oracle went to the area of darkness. He went down on one knee, then twisted and looked at us. I saw the glint of his eyes. “Come here. I am going to need light.”

“Is it safe?” asked Derek.

“To come in the circle? I don’t know. But you can hardly be worried, Deraku. You are fearless when it comes to the spirits. You are willing to steal what belongs to them.”

“Maybe I have learned something.” Derek glanced at the darkness around us. “And maybe this place is different. Maybe these spirits are more frightening than the Trickster.”

“I think you will be all right,” the oracle said. “I will speak for you.”

We stepped over the red stones and walked to him. He had his knife out, and he was testing the blade with his thumb. “This is too dull.” He put the knife back in its sheath, then held out his hand. “Give me your knife, Deraku.”

Derek pulled out his knife.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“Keep quiet,” said the oracle. “And hold the torches so the light falls on me.” He took Derek’s knife and tested the blade. “Good.” He laid it on the ground, then put his right arm on his knee, the hand palm upward. The skin of the palm was hairless and black. I could see calluses at the bases of his fingers. The calluses were dark gray. The oracle felt along his arm. Then he picked up the knife. He was left-handed like most of the people I had met on the planet.

He made a little noise, a groan, and turned his arm slightly. Then he cut into it below the elbow. He drew the blade down toward his wrist. The motion was slow and careful. I imagined a surgeon would move like that. I knew a good tech did when putting an IV in. He reached the wrist and lifted the blade. There was blood along the edge.