"You are not so lithe as Mirragen," it said with the voice of a steam hose. Gurangatch jerked away as Warreen pulled loose the spear and stabbed again. This time the pointed end jammed under the shining silver scales surrounding the monster's right eye. The creature twisted, tugging the spear loose from Warreen's fingers.

The monster reared high, gazing at Warreen from ten feet, fifteen, twenty. The man looked up, expectant, the boomerang cocked in his right hand. The hiss was almost a sigh. "Time to die again, little cousin!" Gurangatch's bull neck flexed, dipped. Jaws gaped.

This time Cordelia remembered to click off the safety. This time she braced herself by holding the H and K with both hands. This time the bullets went exactly where she wished.

She saw the slugs stitch a line down Gurangatch's throat. She released the trigger, raised the gun, fired a quick burst at the monster's face. One of the creature's eyes burst like a balloon full of dye. It cried out in pain, green jelly sloshing down across its snout. The wounds in the neck were oozing crimson. Christmas colors, Cordelia thought. Get a grip, girl. Don't go hysterical.

As Gurangatch writhed in the water, Warreen swung his arm in a short, tight arc and set the end of the boomerang into the creature's remaining eye. At this, the monster bellowed so loudly, Cordelia winced and recoiled back a step. Then Gurangatch doubled over in the water and dove. Cordelia had a quick impression of a thick, gilalike tail disappearing through the spray. Then the pool was quiet, small wavelets still splashing up on the banks. The ripples flattened and were gone.

"He has dived into the earth," said Warreen, squatting and peering into the water. "He will be gone a long time." Cordelia put the H and K back on safety.

Hands free of weapons, Warreen turned away from the pool and stood. Cordelia couldn't help herself. She stared. Warreen glanced down, then met her eyes again. With little apparent embarrassment he said, "It is the excitement of the contest." Then he smiled and said, "This wouldn't happen under ordinary circumstances if I were guiding a European lady in the outback."

It occurred to Cordelia to pick up his folded clothing and hold it out to him.

With dignity Warreen accepted the garments. Before turning away to dress he said, "If you're ready, it would be a good time for a refreshing drink and some rest. I'm sorry I'm a bit short of tea."

Cordelia said, "I'll manage."

The desert was slow to cool with the sunset. Cordelia continued to feel the heat rise out of the ground beneath her. Warreen and she lay back against the gnarled, semiexposed roots of the tree. The air felt as though it were a quilted comforter pulled up over her face. When she moved, the motion seemed to be at half speed.

"The water was delicious," she said, "but I'm still hungry"

"Your hunger here is an illusion."

"Then I'll fantasize a pizza."

"Mmph," Warreen said. "Very well." With a sigh he raised himself to his knees and ran his fingers over the rough bark of the tree. When he found a loose patch, he tugged it away from the trunk. His right hand darted forward, fingers scrambling to catch something Cordelia couldn't see. "Here." He displayed his find to her.

Her first impression was of something snakelike and squirming. She saw the pasty color, the segments and the many legs. "What is that?" she said.

"Witchetty grub." Warreen smiled. "It's one of our national cuisines." He thrust his hand forward like a mischievous little boy. "Does it turn your stomach, little missy?"

"Goddamnit. No," she said with a flash of anger. "Don't call me that." What are you doing? she said to herself as she reached for the creature. "Do I have to eat it live?"

"No. It is not necessary" He turned and cracked the creature against the desert oak. The witchetty grub convulsed once and ceased struggling.

Forcing herself just to do it and not think about the act, she took the witchetty, popped it into her mouth, and started chewing. God, she thought, why do I do these things?

"How do you find it?" said Warreen with a solemn face. "Well," said Cordelia, swallowing, "it doesn't taste like chicken."

The stars came out, spangling a belt across the entire sky. Cordelia lay with fingers plaited behind her head. She realized she had lived in Manhattan for close to a year and never looked for the stars at all.

"Nurunderi is up there," said Warreen, pointing at the sky, "along with his two young wives, placed there by Nepelle, the ruler of the heavens, after the women ate the forbidden food."

"Apples?" said Cordelia.

"Fish. Tukkeri-a delicacy given only to the men." His hand moved, the fingers pointing again. "There, farther on-you can make out the Seven Sisters. And there is Karambal, their pursuer. You call him Aldebaran."

Cordelia said, "I have a lot of questions." Warreen paused. "Not about the stars."

"Not about the stars."

"What, then?"

"All of this." She sat up and spread her arms to the night. "How am I here?"

"I brought you."

"I know. But how?"

Warreen hesitated for a long time. Then he said, "I am of Aranda blood, but was not raised within the tribe. Do you know of the urban aborigines?"

"Like in The Last Wave," Cordelia said. "I saw The Fringe Dwellers too. There aren't really tribal aborigines in the cities, right? Just sort of like individuals?"

Warreen laughed. "You compare almost everything to the cinema. That is likening everything to the shadow world. Do you know anything of reality?"

"I think so." In this place she wasn't so sure, but she wasn't about to admit it.

"My parents sought work in Melbourne," Warreen said. "I was born in the outback, but cannot recall any of that. I was a boy in the city." He laughed bitterly. "My walkabout seemed destined to lead me only among drunken diggers chundering in the gutter."

Cordelia, listening raptly, said nothing.

"When I was an infant, I nearly died of a fever. Nothing the wirinun-the medicine man-could do helped. My parents, despairing, were ready to take me to the white doctor. Then the fever broke. The wirinun shook his medicine stick over me, looked into my eyes, and told my parents I would live and do great things." Warreen paused again. "The other children in the town had taken ill with the same sort of fever. All of them died. My parents told me their bodies shriveled or twisted or turned into unspeakable things. But they all died. Only I survived. The other parents hated me and hated my parents for bearing me. So we left." He, fell silent.

It dawned in Cordelia's mind like a star, rising. "The wild card virus."

" I know of it," said Warreen. " I think you are right. My childhood was as normal as my parents could make it until I grew the hair of an adult. Then…" His voice trailed off. "Yes?" Cordelia said eagerly.

"As a man, I found I could enter the Dreamtime at will. I could explore the land of my ancestors. I could even take others with me."

"Then this truly is the Dreamtime. It isn't some kind of shared illusion."

He turned on his side and looked at her. Warreen's eyes were only about eighteen inches from hers. His gaze was something she could feel in the pit of her stomach. "There is nothing more real."

"The thing that happened to me on the airplane. The Eer-moonans?"

"There are others from the shadow world who can enter the Dreamtime. One is Murga-muggai, whose totem is the trap-door spider. But there is something… wrong with her. You would call her psychotic. To me she is an Evil One, even though she claims kinship with the People."

"Why did she kill Carlucci? Why try to kill me?"

"Murga-muggai hates European holy men, especially the American who comes from the sky. His name is Leo Barnett."

"Fire-breather," said Cordelia. "He is a TV preacher."