When we awoke, the sea was completely gone. Even Pepsi was surprised by its disappearance. In its place was an immense meadow full of wild flowers and crazy-colored butterflies. It was very warm and sunny.

A picnic was laid out nearby and one look at what was there told me how hungry I was. The animals were nowhere around, but for the moment eating was more important than their whereabouts. Both Pepsi and I pounced on the food and ate everything up.

A sign of our having grown accustomed to the wonders of Rondua was the fact that neither of us bothered to say anything about the transformation of the Sea of Brynn into a field of brilliantly colored flowers. It was just different now and there was no reason to expect an explanation.

In a much smaller way, it reminded me of how I had finally grown used to Europe's ways after having lived there for a year. People washed the steps of their houses in Europe. You had to buy matches for your cigarettes, and it was against the law to walk your dog during the day in Russia. Where did these things come from? Who knows? It all just _was_ and you got used to it.

Granted, in Rondua everything was bigger and wilder, but it really wasn't that different.

We sat for an hour feeling warm and comfortably fat. Expecting the animals to return at any time, we didn't think anything had happened until the first negnug appeared. They moved so quietly through the high soft grass that neither of us knew they were there until one ran under Pepsi's bent knee.

«Come immediately! Come immediately or it will be too late!»

As black as coal and with fur as smooth as a house cat's, the little animal looked like a miniature anteater with a nose like a funnel and two bright raisin-small eyes.

But what shocked me most was that I _remembered_ them! As a girl, I had drawn pictures of negnugs and had even given them their name after careful, seven-year-old consideration. I drew pictures of them all the time – negnugs driving cars, in bed with plaid pillows and foot warmers, riding on a ferris wheel. My mother saved these drawings because she thought they were so cute and imaginative. She gave me some of them when I was in college; I even remembered in what drawer of the desk I kept them at home.

«Don't think about that! Think about now, Cullen. Come immediately!»

Through the mental fog of almost twenty years, I recognized the high, silly, urgent voice I had originally imagined a negnug would have.

A second one appeared at its side and then a third. They were very upset about something and all three began jumping up and down when neither Pepsi nor I moved.

Pepsi was smiling. «What are they saying, Mom? Do you understand them?»

Shock number two! _I_ could understand them, but he couldn't. He was clearly delighted by their presence, but had no idea of what they were talking about.

«Come! Come! It's Mr. Tracy. He's hurt! He might die! Hurry up!»

We were running with them, but it was plain the negnugs were capable of going ten times faster although they were holding back their speed for our sake. Pepsi and I had started out holding hands and running together, but soon he broke the clasp and sprinted ahead.

«I must go faster, Mom! You catch up!»

After ten minutes, the heavy meal we'd just eaten began to weigh me down. Then a sharp, painful stitch rose up in my side and I slowed to a worried jog, but even that was hard to do. Luckily it was only a few minutes more before I saw the big black body lying on its side, so out of place in that pretty field of flowers.

The air smelled of lilacs, although I had never seen lilacs in Rondua. Pepsi was down on his knees next to Mr. Tracy, chanting something I had never heard before. I saw that one of the dog's hind legs was gone, although the ragged stump looked as if it had already been cleanly closed and cauterized.

Mr. Tracy's eye was open, but was as empty of life as I'd ever seen. The whole picture was dreadful and alarming, but a moment later I remembered something from deep in my past that saved everything.

Rushing forward, I shoved Pepsi aside and took his place. Then I reached into the boy's bag and took out the fourth Bone of the Moon, Slee.

«Get his mouth open! I've got to put this one in there.»

Pepsi and I pulled the dog's cold jaws apart and finally wide enough to shove the fourth Bone in. There was a loud clacking sound when we let go and the mouth snapped shut again. That was an awful sound: a dead sound.

The negnugs squealed and ran around as if they'd gone mad. I took my hands away and waited; it was one of the only times I had ever known exactly what to do in Rondua.

Some time passed and then Mr. Tracy blinked slowly. Something in him returned from very far away.

I felt as if I were suddenly lighter. I knew what had happened – my last memory of magic was gone now. I'd carried it with me since returning to Rondua without knowing it.

But now a tremendous wave of memory crashed over me, telling me everything I had forgotten for so long. When I was a child in Rondua, pursuing the fifth Bone, I had used Slee wrongly. As a result, all of the creatures who had accompanied me on that long and dangerous trip died unnecessarily. At the last second I had panicked and saved myself without thought for the others. I had used the magic of one of the Bones thoughtlessly, selfishly. . . .

Fear's greatest weapon is its ability to blind one to anything. In its presence, we forget there are others to consider, things to save besides ourselves. That was my great irreparable mistake the first time I had been in Rondua. It was that panic and that selfishness that had kept me from winning the fifth Bone of the Moon.

When he spoke, Mr. Tracy's words came out tiredly and with the greatest difficulty. «I was so wrong. I trusted him . . . completely!» His eye stared straight at me, full of sad wonder.

«Who? What are you talking about, Mr. Tracy?»

Pepsi spoke from behind me. «Martio. Martio is Jack Chili, Mom. He was fooling us the whole time. Now he knows everything.»

4

Dear Mrs. James,

Dr. Lavery keeps asking me why I chose an axe to hurt my mother and sister with. He said it might help me to understand what I'd done better if I think about just that part of it for a while. He also said if I couldn't tell him directly, then I should try to tell you in one of my letters, so I will do that.

Death is really interesting to me. I think about it a lot and I have read many books on the subject. I don't know if there is a heaven or a hell, but I _do_ think we go someplace special after it's all over.

I read this book, _Shogun_, all about Japan and its samurai warriors. I think those men had it all figured out. The way they saw it, if you lived the right kind of life – full of courage and boldness – then dying honorably was the only thing that mattered. There were men in that book who actually _asked_ to be able to die for their leader. If they were granted permission by the leader (and not all of them were, believe me!), then they thought they were very lucky and went right out and killed themselves. My mother and sister were both very good women and I felt that if they died at that time in their lives, then they would most assuredly be allowed to go wherever it is good people go after they're dead. Granted, my sister played her stereo much too loud and my mother wasn't always the kindest person on earth to me, but those things were not important in the long run. They were good women – both of them – who had reached a special level where, if they died just when they did, they'd be allowed to move right on. I kept hoping before I took action that they would die on an airplane they took to my uncle's house in Florida, but it didn't happen unfortunately. They survived the trip, so it was up to me to see that they made it safely through to the other side – which is exactly what I did.