Nation

underwater bounds across the white sand.
    There was another one he’d glimpsed right in the new gap, where the surf swirled dangerously. But that would be Water, and right now he felt that Water had taken too many sacrifices lately. Water could wait.
    GATHER THE STONES AND GIVE HUMBLE THANKS OR YOU WILL BRING BAD LUCK ON THE NATION! said the Grandfathers in his head.
    How did they get into his mind? How did they know things? And why didn’t they understand?
    The Nation had been strong. There were bigger islands, but they were a long way off and weren’t as favored. They were too dry, or the winds were bad, or they didn’t have enough soil, or they were at places where the currents were wrong and the fishing was poor, or they were too close to the Raiders, who never came this far into the islands these days.
    But the Nation had a mountain, and fresh water all the time. It could grow lots of vegetables, ones that most of the islands couldn’t grow. It had plenty of wild pigs and jungle fowl. It grew maniac roots and had the secret of the beer. It could trade . That was where the jade bead had come from, and the two steel knives, and the three-legged cook pots, and cloth from far away. The Nation was rich and strong, and some said it was because it had the white stone anchors. There was no stone like that anywhere else in the islands. The Nation was blessed, people said.
    And now a little boy wandered around on it, doing the best he could, always getting things wrong.
    He tumbled the block called the Hand onto the sand near the fire. You left something on the anchor of the Hand if you wanted success in hunting or war. If you were lucky, it was probably a good idea to give it something else when you got back, too.
    Right now he gave it his bum. I fished you out of the sea, he thought. The fishes wouldn’t have left you offerings! So excuse me if I offer you my tiredness. He heard the rage of the Grandfathers but tried to ignore it.
    Give thanks to the gods or you will bring bad luck, he thought. What, right now, would be bad luck? What could the gods do to him that was worse than they had done already? A wave of anger rose like bile, and he felt the darkness in him open up. Had the people called on the gods when the wave broke? Had his family clung to these stones? Did the gods watch them as they tried to reach higher ground? Did the gods laugh?
    His teeth chattered. He felt cold under the hot sun. But fire filled his head, burning up his thoughts.
    “Did you hear their screams?” he yelled to the empty sky. “Did you watch them? You gave them to Locaha! I will not thank you for my life! You could have saved theirs!”
    He sat down on the Hand, trembling with anger and apprehension.
    There was no reply.
    He looked up into the sky. There were no storm clouds, and it didn’t look as if it was about to rain snakes. He glanced at the blue bead on his wrist. It was supposed to work for only a day. Could a demon have crept in while he’d slept? Surely only a demon could have thought those thoughts!
    But they were right .
    Or maybe I have no soul at all, maybe the darkness inside is my dead soul…. He sat with his arms around himself, waiting for the trembling to stop. He had to fill his mind with everyday things—that was it. That would keep him safe.
    He sat and looked along the naked beach and thought: I’d better plant some coconuts—there’s plenty being washed up. And pandanuses, I’ll plant some of those, too, for shade. That didn’t sound demonic. He could see the picture of what it would be in his mind’s eye, overlaid on the horrible mess that the beach had become, and in the middle of the image was a white dot. He blinked, and there was the ghost girl, coming toward him. She was covered in white and carried some kind of round white thing above her head, to keep the sun off, perhaps, or to stop the gods from seeing her.
    She had a determined expression on her face, and he saw, under the arm that wasn’t holding the sunshade, what looked like a slab of wood.
    “Good morning,” she said.
    “Daphne,” said Mau, the only word he was certain of.
    She looked down meaningfully at the block he was sitting on and gave a little cough. Then her face went bright pink. “I’m so sorry ,” she said. “I am the one who’s being bad mannered, aren’t I! Look, we need to be able to talk, and I had this idea because you’re always looking at the birds….”
    The wooden slab…wasn’t. It split open when