“Aiya!” He wiped the blade on the fur of his leg and gave the knife back to Derek.

Derek put the knife away. I looked back at the oracle. He was still in the same position. His arm rested on his knee. He watched the cut. Blood welled up through his fur. It trickled into the palm of his hand and dripped on the floor.

“Have you done this often?” asked Derek.

The oracle glanced up. “No. My spirit likes beer and metalwork. It has no interest in blood. I do not think I would like to speak for spirits like these.”

Derek made the gesture of agreement. The oracle pressed his arm, forcing blood out. I thought of the ancient ceremonies of North America: sun dancers on the middle-western plain and the priests of Mexico who drew thorns through their tongues. It was not the way of my ancestors. I did not understand it.

By this time there was a little pool of blood on the floor of the cave. It shone in the torchlight.

“Enough,” said the oracle. “They may still be hungry, but I have only so much blood. They will understand, I think.” He stood up.

Derek put down his torch. He pulled off his shirt and wrapped it around the oracle’s arm, tying it in place. “Okay,” he said and picked up the torch. “Let’s get out of here.”

The oracle stumbled a couple of times, crossing the cave.

“Will you be able to make it on your own?” asked Derek.

“Out through the opening? Yes.”

We left our torches in the cave and crawled out: Derek first, then the oracle. I was last. I felt my way over the wet stone. Ahead of me in the darkness the oracle sighed and groaned. The cut must have been deeper than I had realized.

The tunnel ended. I stood up and saw the campfire, burning brightly in front of the curtain of rain. Nia stood and glanced toward us.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

Derek said, “The Voice of the Waterfall is injured.”

“Aiya! That crazy man!”

The oracle groaned and swayed.

Derek grabbed him. “Lixia, get your medical kit.” He lowered the furry man to the cave floor near the fire.

“Aiya!” said the oracle. “I do not feel entirely well.”

Derek untied the shirt. The fabric—blue cotton—was spotted with blood, which looked black in the firelight.

“It’s going to be hard to get these stains out.” Derek put the shirt down. He looked at the wound. “It isn’t bad. A good bleeder. Not deep.”

“You say that,” the oracle told him. “I do not like blood. I never did.”

Derek opened the kit. He cleaned the wound, then adjusted the nozzle on the bandage can. “I ought to shave the arm,” he said in English. “But I can’t figure out how to do it without getting hair in the wound. I’m making the bandage as narrow as possible.” He sprayed.

The oracle made a soft moaning sound.

“Will he be all right?” asked Nia.

“Yes,” said Derek. “I don’t know how to say it. There are people who feel pain more than other people.”

“I know that,” said Nia.

“I think he is one.”

“It is my pain,” said the oracle. “How can you know what it is like?”

“That’s true,” said Derek. He rocked back on his heels. “I’m done.”

The oracle moved his arm. “Is your medicine good? Will it keep my arm from rotting?”

“Yes.”

The oracle made the gesture that meant approval or satisfaction.

Derek closed the medical kit.

“I can’t remain sitting,” the oracle said and lay down.

Nia got her cloak and spread it over the oracle.

“Good, good,” he said.

She put more wood on the fire. A gust of wind blew in, bringing drops of rain. They splattered over me. The fire leaped. I shivered.

“What was back there?” Nia asked.

I said, “A cave. There were animals in colors on the walls.”

Nia frowned. “In colors?”

“Like the animals that people embroider on pieces of fabric.”

“Not people,” said Nia. “Men. They are the ones who do embroidery.”

“Ah. The animals are”—I tried to think of the right word. How did one say “paint” in the language of gifts?—“are done in colors like the ones used for dying. The colors are put on stone, not fabric.”

Nia frowned. “I think you are trying to say there are atmiback there?”

“Atmi?”

“Like this.” She drew a figure in the dirt. It was a stick figure: a quadruped with two long curving horns. A bowhorn. Atmimeant drawing.

I made the gesture of agreement.

“I have seen these things before. In the hills to the south of here. I do not know who the people were who did such things. We do not draw on stone. We don’t cut into stone either—only wood and metal. But those folks did. I have seen a cliff covered with engraving.”

Derek leaned forward. “What kind of animals did those people draw? Did you recognize them?”

Nia made the gesture that meant “no.” “Some I knew. Others were strange. Maybe they were spirit animals. Or maybe those folks came from another place. Like the place you are from, where all the people are hairless. Surely there must be strange animals in your country. Are they hairless like you?”

“No,” I said. “Most of them have hair or scales or feathers.”

“Aiya,” said Nia. “I think I will go to sleep.” She lay down close to the fire.

Derek and I stayed up. Nia’s breathing changed, becoming slow and even. The oracle groaned, then snorted. Nia made a purring noise. A snore.

“Interesting,” said Derek. He spoke in English. “The fauna must have changed, and in a dramatic way, and she has no idea a change of that magnitude is possible. She understands distance, but not time.” He paused for a moment. “I can’t think of a contemporary human society without a sense of history. My people know what California was like before the Big Quake. They think that they have escaped from history and gotten back to the eternal verities. But they know history used to happen in southern California and that it still happens in most of the rest of the world. I’m not sure I’m being clear. I’m getting tired and I’ve never been good at thinking about abstractions.”

“I thought you were good at everything, Derek.”

He looked surprised, then pleased. He laughed. “No. I have my limitations, though I don’t like to think about them. We’d better get to sleep.”

I woke to sunlight glowing on the cave wall and rolled over. There it was: the planet’s primary, just above the bluff on the far side of the river. There was no cloud near it, and it was so bright that I had to look away.

A day like this demanded a solar salute!

The oracle said, “They have gone fishing.”

I looked around. He sat by the ashes of the fire.

“Derek and Nia?”

He made the gesture of agreement.

“How are you?”

“My arm hurts. I slept badly.”

“Oh.” I stood up and did a side bend. It felt good. I did another, bending toward the other side. Then I touched my toes.

“Spirits came to me.”

I straightened up.

“They looked like the animals on the wall of the cave.”

“Oh.”

“They spoke to me. Their voices were like the voices of people, but I did not understand the language they spoke.” He paused for a moment. “They were loud. I think they were angry. But I don’t know if they were threatening me or trying to warn me about something. They might have been angry, because I did not understand. It was a bad dream.”

Most likely he was right. “I have to go outside.”

“Okay,” said the oracle.

Derek and Nia were nowhere in sight. Instead I saw birds. They fluttered in the reeds and bushes. They flew from tree to tree. A tall, thin bird stalked along the far shore, looking for something to eat in the shallows.

I did my yoga. By the time I finished, the sun was high enough to light most of the valley. I walked back to the cave. Derek and the oracle sat by the fire. The oracle was eating. Derek licked his fingers, looking satisfied.

“Where’s Nia?”

“Saddling the animals. Want something to eat?”