Bugs crawled around the lights. They were all the same kind: narrow green bodies and huge transparent wings. The wings glittered.

“I am almost ready to eat those,” the oracle said.

I looked down the beach. A person came out of the darkness carrying a string of fish. “Nia?” I called.

“Li-sa! I need a knife.”

I felt in my pocket. “I have one.”

“I have found a place to camp. A cave.” She turned and waved toward the bluff, which was visible only as an area of darkness between the camp lights and the stars. “There is water and dry wood.”

“You are welcome to stay with us,” I said.

She made the gesture that meant “thanks, but no thanks.”

“Then can I go with you?”

“Why?”

I hesitated. How to explain? The day had been too busy. I had gotten too much information. I needed peace and quiet. An environment that was familiar.

“Come along,” said the oracle. “We do not need to know why.”

We walked through the camp, keeping to the shadows, and climbed the bluff. There must have been a path. I couldn’t see it. I followed the sound that Nia made, brushing past branches, clambering over rocks. In back of me the oracle gasped for breath. I was gasping, too.

Nia said, “This is the place.”

I stopped.

“Stay where you are, Li-sa. I know your eyes are almost useless in the dark.”

I obeyed.

“Aiya!” said the oracle. “What a climb! I don’t like the way these clothes fit. They are too tight.”

A flame appeared. I made out Nia, crouching and blowing. The flame grew brighter. She rocked back on her heels and reached for a handful of twigs. Carefully, one by one, she placed them in the fire. It burned in the middle of a clearing. On one side was the river bluff, rising perpendicular and almost bare of vegetation. I made out the cave. It was extremely shallow—an overhang, really.

The rest of the clearing was edged with scrubby little trees. Vines grew up the trunks and over the branches. Entire trees were mantled or shrouded. The leaves of the vines were purple-red.

Nia said, “Give me your knife.”

I unfolded it and handed it over. She cleaned the fish and wrapped them in leaves, laying them in the coals at the edge of the fire.

“There is water nearby. I forgot to ask for something to put it in.”

“I’m not thirsty,” I said and sat down.

“What will happen now, Li-sa? Will your people leave and take you with them?”

“Not yet.” I put my arms around my knees. I looked at the fire and thought, she must have managed to keep her fire-making kit after the canoe went over. Or had she managed to find stones that worked as well as her flint and steel? “They want to exchange gifts. They say there is a village north and west of here, on a little river that goes into the big river. They plan to go there and ask the people if they can stay in this country, at least for a while.”

Nia was silent. I glanced at her.

“Do you think they’ll say no?”

“I do not know what they will do.”

The oracle said, “It seems to me you told us your people live on the western side of the river.”

“Yes.”

I glanced at her again. The broad, low forehead was wrinkled, and her brow ridges seemed more prominent than usual. Her eyes were hidden in shadow.

“Does the village belong to the Iron People, Nia?” I asked.

“I think so. It ought to. This is their country.”

“What will happen if they find you here?”

“I told you before. They will treat me the way all strangers are treated.”

“There is no possibility that you will be…” I hesitated, then used a word than meant to be damaged by accident. There didn’t seem to be a word that meant to be harmed or injured by intent, unless I went to the words that described the quarrels of men.

She looked surprised. “No. They are not crazy. They are not the People Whose Gift Is Folly.”

“What?”

“You know that story?” said the oracle “I have always liked it.”

I looked at him. “What is it about?”

Nia picked up a stick and used it to pull the fish out of the fire. She spat on her fingers, then unwrapped the leaves. “Hu! Is that hot!”

“Is the fish done?” asked the oracle.

Nia made the gesture of affirmation.

“Good.” The oracle moved closer to the fire.

They ate.

When they were finished and licking their fingers, I said, “Tell me the story.”

Nia made the gesture of inquiry.

“The People Whose Gift Is Folly.”

“Yes,” said the oracle. “Tell it.”

“In the far north live a people,” Nia said.

“No,” said the oracle. “They live in the west.”

Nia looked angry.

“I will let you tell it the way you want,” the oracle said. “Even though you are wrong.”

Nia made the gesture that meant “so be it.”

“In the far north live a people. They do everything backward and inside out. The men stay at home. They care for the children. The women herd and hunt.”

“That is right,” the oracle said.

“The people are stupid and clumsy. They tether their animals inside their tents. They live outside under the sky. The rain beats down on them. The snow piles up around them. The wind moans and bellows in their ears.”

The oracle made the gesture of agreement, followed by the gesture of satisfaction.

“When they try to cook a meal, they build the fire in the pot, and when it is burning well, they pile their meat around the pot, against the hot metal. Everything is done stupidly. There are many stories about the ways they get mating wrong. They do not seem to be able to remember what goes where.”

The oracle leaned forward. “There is a story about a man. The time for mating came, and he went out of the village. He found a pot lying on the plain. Someone—some other fool—had left it there. It was well made and handsome. It shone in the light of the sun.

“ ‘How lovely you are,’ he said to the pot. ‘I will look no further.’

“He mated with the pot, and then he returned to his village.

“Later he became angry when the pot did not come into the village and bring him children to raise. He went out and found it, lying where he had left it. ‘Where are my sons, you stupid thing? Where are my lovely strong daughters?’

“He kicked the pot and turned it over. Inside it was red with rust.

“The man fell on his knees. ‘O pot! O pot! You have miscarried! Did I do it? Did my anger kill my children?’ ”

The oracle stopped.

“Is that the end of the story?” I asked.

“I don’t know any more.”

“I have never heard that one,” Nia said.

“Until now,” the oracle said.

Nia made the gesture of agreement. “The story I know is about the woman who became confused at the time of mating. Instead of waiting for a man to come out of the village and into the territory she guarded, this woman found an osupa.She mated with it. I don’t know why the animal agreed. Maybe animals are stupid too in that country.

“Time passed. The woman had a child. The child was covered with feathers and had a tail.

“ ‘What a fine child,’ the woman said. ‘He is not usual at all.’

“The child grew up. He would not learn the crafts of men. Instead he wanted to hunt on the plain. He ran more quickly than any ordinary person. He caught little animals with his claws and teeth.

“ ‘My child is special,’ the woman said. ‘No one has ever seen a child like this.’ She bragged to the other women when she met them. They became angry, because they had ordinary children, who did what was expected of them.

“ ‘We all want unusual children,’ they said.

“The next time for mating came, and they all mated with animals.”

“I don’t know this story,” the oracle said. “I think it is disgusting.”

Nia looked worried.

“If you don’t like it, move out of hearing,” I said. “I want to hear the end.”

The oracle stood up, then he sat down again. “The story is disgusting, but I am curious.”