“My people live to the east of here. They are the Copper People of the Plain. I am their oracle. I travel with these folk”—he waved at Derek and me—“because my spirit told me to.

“The other person with us, the woman who stands in the darkness, was raised among the Iron People.”

“Atcha.” The person looked at Nia. “Many of your people come here. I ferry them across the river. What is your name?”

Nia said nothing.

“You are ashamed,” said the person in yellow. “I can understand that. You are traveling with some very peculiar people. I will tell you something. I don’t care. Everyone must come to me, even those who’d rather hide and keep what they do a secret. I have seen men who travel together. I have seen women who like to travel alone. I take them from one side of the river to the other. I keep my mouth shut. I do not criticize.”

“My name is Nia. I am not ashamed of these people.”

The person looked at us again. “I must say, they are strange. I am Tanajin. I grew up south of here. My people—the people who raised me—live in the marshes where the Great River goes into the plain of salt water. Their gift is leather, which is made from the skin of the umazi,which are lizards bigger than any found in the river.”

“Aiya!” said the oracle.

“I am Lixia,” I said. “This one is Derek. My people are the Hawaiians. His are the Angelinos.”

“He is a man.” Tanajin stared at Derek. “I had not realized. Are you a woman?”

I made the gesture of affirmation.

“You are welcome. Tether your animals in back of my tent. They’ll be safe there. The lizards do not hunt out of the water, and the killers of the forest do not like to leave the shadows of the trees.”

Nia made the gesture of acknowledgment. She led the animals away. Derek followed.

There was a large flat stone next to the fire. Tanajin pushed it into the flames, then took a stick and raked coals around the stone. A cooking surface. He or she made the gesture that meant “just a minute” and went in the tent.

“Is that a man or a woman?” I asked the oracle.

“A woman. Can’t you tell?”

“No. And the name does not have an ending I recognize.”

“I have gotten used to you,” he said. “I keep forgetting that you are entirely out of the ordinary. It takes other people to remind me of that.”

She came back out, carrying something that she put on the cooking stone.

I leaned forward.

“It’s bread.” She lifted the top piece off the stack. It was flat and round like a pancake or a tortilla.

“Not a kind I know,” said the oracle.

“I make it from the roots of the talinaplant. It grows in marshes. The people in the south use it. And I add flour which travelers give me when I take them across the river.”

“You have a boat?” I asked.

“A raft. These people of the plain insist on taking their animals everywhere. I cannot carry a bowhorn in a canoe—even a big one, like the ones the men use in the marshes. They have no other home—no tents like the men carry here on the plain and pitch when they make camp. When it rains the men in the marshes prop up a pair of spears. They stretch a cloak of umaziskin over the spears, and that is their shelter.”

“It sounds uncomfortable,” the oracle said.

“It isn’t bad. I lived that way when I came up the river. But when I decided to settle here, I got a tent. A woman likes a home that does not rock.”

She got up and went back in the tent. This time she brought out a bowl and a pan. The pan was shallow with a long handle. It looked to be made out of iron. She put it on the stone next to the stack of bread. The bowl went on the ground. It was full of a whitish liquid.

“I found eggs by the river this morning. Some fool of a lizard made her nest at the wrong time of year. If the young had hatched, they would have died.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Look at the leaves! They are changing color.” She tapped the side of the bowl. “By the time these little ones were ready to hatch, their mother would have been gone. There would have been no one to guard them. No one to care for them.”

The lizards were maternal. Funny, they didn’t look maternal.

“Where does the mother go?”

“South along the river. All the big ones do. They keep going till they reach a place where the water does not freeze. A lot of them end up in the marshes. The umazieat them and get fat and slow, and then it is possible to hunt the umazi.”

“Aiya!” said the oracle.

“What about the little ones? Do they go south?”

Tanajin made the gesture that meant “no.” “They dig holes in the mud at the edge of the river. They curl up and go to sleep and wake in the spring. You ask a lot of questions.”

I made the gesture of agreement. “Do you mind?”

“If I don’t want to answer you, I won’t.” She emptied the bowl into the pan. The liquid began to sizzle.

Derek and Nia came out of the darkness, our bags over their shoulders. Derek dropped the ones he carried. “I think I’ll take another look at your arm.”

“Good,” said the oracle. “It hurts, and I am not entirely sure that your magic will work here by the river. The spirits here cannot be the same ones as in your country or my country. Tanajin does not know about the holy children.”

“Neither do I,” I said.

“Later,” said Derek. He got out the medical kit.

The liquid in the pan was bubbling. Tanajin pulled a spoon out of her belt. She lifted the edges of whatever it was. Scrambled eggs? An omelette? The liquid on top flowed underneath. Using her free hand, she made the gesture of satisfaction.

“How did you get here?” I asked. “Why did you leave your home?”

“That is a long story. I don’t like to tell it.” She glanced at Nia. “Do you like to explain how you got so far from the village of your people?”

“No,” said Nia.

Tanajin stood. “I need to get one other thing. Keep an eye on the eggs.”

After she was gone Nia said, “I don’t know what I am supposed to be looking for. What are the eggs supposed to be doing?”

I moved closer to the fire. Now I could see the pan clearly. The handle was inlaid with a gray metal: an animal pattern, two creatures with long bodies that wound around each other like ribbons in a braid. They grasped each other with clawed feet. Their heads confronted next to the pan, mouths open and almost touching, tongues curling out between rows of sharp teeth. What were they? The umazi?Tanajin had left the spoon. I used it to lift the edges of the omelette. Almost done.

“It looks as if the wound has been bleeding a little,” said Derek. “But it isn’t anything serious. There is no sign of any kind of rot.”

“Good,” said the oracle. “I do not want to die.”

“Not many do,” said Nia.

The oracle flexed his arm. Derek had put a new bandage on. “It still hurts. I hope I do not meet any more spirits like those in the cave. I don’t like to give blood.”

The eggs looked done. I lifted the pan from the fire, then put it down and waved my hand in the air. “Ouch!”

“I should have told you,” Tanajin said. “The handle gets hot. Give me the spoon.”

She knelt and divided the omelette in four, then took a piece of bread and laid a quarter of the omelette on it, folding the bread over. An egg sandwich. She handed it to me. “The jug on the ground is full of beer. I made it. It isn’t as good as the beer the travelers bring. There are disadvantages to living alone.”

I took the jug and moved away from the fire. The bread I held was warm and soft. It felt greasy. I took a bite. It was greasy—and tasty. The eggs had a strong flavor. Like what? Fish maybe. The beer was sour. I liked it.

My comrades got their sandwiches. We ate and drank. Tanajin watched us.

When we were done, Nia said, “There is a lake to the south of here.”

Tanajin made the gesture of agreement.

“We need to get there.”