Istole Shira’s horse.

The raïs had a knife cut across his face. He was very angry. He kept shouting at us to go after them, run them down, damned if he’d let those pigs’ offspring get away. I heartily agreed. Was I outraged because Shira could have been killed? And the rest of us, as well? Our goods ransacked? Yes, it was all of that. And stupidity, of course. Lunacy as much as anything. At the moment, it seemed the right thing to do.

The white mare, untroubled by the fighting, stood at the edge of the pool, cropping the grass. I ran and jumped astride.

She startled and tossed her head. I kicked my heels against her flanks. She plunged full stretch through the ruck of traders and camel-pullers, nearly leaving me straddling empty air.

I got only as far as the middle of the road. The mare, by then, realized she had an idiot stranger on her back. She halted, reared, and sent me flying over her hindquarters. I sprawled to the gravel. She snorted and ambled away to the caravan.

My fall knocked the wind out of me. I sat up and looked around. I saw none of the bandits on their ponies. The ones who had attacked us on foot were scrambling up the slopes and disappearing into the underbrush. I staggered to my feet and set after them, trying to run and catch my breath at the same time.

Surprisingly, I ended up capturing one. Accidentally. I had plunged into the brush, making little headway. If his foot hadn’t slipped, if he hadn’t stumbled, he would easily have escaped. Instead, he came crashing down on top of me.

I didn’t get a good look at him. Only the quick impression that he was about my size. Maybe a year or two younger, he had no more than the peach fuzz of a hopeful beard. A lanky boy. But he was strong. All I could do was grapple with him and hang on while he kicked at me and thrashed about.

He bit me on the side of my face. I flinched but kept my grip on him. I managed to heave him clear of the bushes and brambles.

We went rolling down the slope to the roadside. I still hung on. He struggled to get his arms free. One of our guards rode up. He slid off his horse, walked over, and kicked the boy in the head, which calmed him down.

I untangled myself. The guard bent, set a knee on the captive’s neck, and deftly roped his hands behind his back. I stood up, very unsteady.

“Well done,” the guard said to me. “You go on, I’ll take care of this.” He grinned. “That’s what they pay me for.”

I went to the caravan. The oasis was a mess. Some of the baggage had been slashed open and rifled. Clothing and odds and ends of equipment were scattered over the grass. The travelers, cursing and complaining, sorted through their goods.

Shira saw me right away and came over. She was furious. I never imagined she knew words like that. I couldn’t decide if she was upset because I risked my life or because I had temporarily stolen her horse. Probably the horse. I wasn’t listening closely. The bite on my face hurt. I was in no frame of mind to be yelled at by anybody. Shira least of all.

I sighted Baksheesh and Salamon. Both looked unharmed; our animals likewise. Closer to the tail end of the caravan, some of the pack animals had been badly maimed. The camel-pullers had to go and put them out of their misery.

The raïs called us around him. His wound had stiffened and puckered up a corner of his mouth. He gave a quick tally of our damages: one camel-puller heavily wounded; two, lightly. Three merchants dead, including the trader who had addressed me so respectfully as “Chooch Mirza.” I saw him stretched on the ground. His throat had been cut; his caftan was sopping red. The raïs ordered them buried a little way from the oasis.

There remained the matter of the bandits. Three others had been caught in addition to the one who tumbled into me. Hands tied, they squatted on the gravel, saying nothing. Their faces were hard-set, without expression. Except for the youngest, who looked more boy than man. His eyes were so wide open the whites showed all around.

“Put them up.” The raïs motioned to the guards standing, arms folded, behind them. He pointed to the far side of the road. The guards hauled their charges to their feet and herded them to the spot the raïs indicated. No one hurried. It was almost leisurely.

A couple of the camel-pullers, meantime, had found tent poles and whittled points at the ends. Twilight was coming on. The air itself seemed thick and blue. Somebody lit torches and carried them over so the guards could see better what they were doing.

“If they’re careful about it,” one of the traders remarked to me, “those pigs should last a good while.”

I didn’t know what he meant. I wanted to join Shira, who had gone to Baksheesh and Salamon. But I watched in spite of myself. Some of the traders broke out provisions and started cooking supper. A handful of merchants and camel-pullers strolled across the road. They stood around, observing, making comments, joking among themselves.

The guards flung their captives to the ground. One turned stubborn at the end, kicking up his heels, flailing his legs back and forth. The guards ignored this and went about their business.

I had to turn away. I pressed my hands over my mouth and ran through the camp as fast as I could. I wanted to go into the bushes at the far side of the pool. I didn’t get quite that far. I doubled over and threw up. Several times.

Shira had followed me. I gestured for her to go away. I didn’t want her near me. I stank too much. My stomach kept on heaving. I went past the fringe of shrubbery. Far enough to be out of earshot of the screaming.

I still heard it inside my head. I sat down. I thought I was going to throw up again, but there was nothing left. At first, I didn’t notice Salamon beside me.

He asked if I was all right.

I said no, I wasn’t.

“You will be,” he said. “More or less. Sooner or later.”

“There was one of them. A boy.” I told him about it. I hadn’t known anything like this would happen. But I had a hand in it. I killed him as surely as if I had stabbed him with a knife.

“I’m afraid that’s true,” Salamon said.

I thought he could have come up with something better than that. It did not cheer me.

“What shall I do?” I asked.

“Anything you choose,” he said. “Only one thing you can’t do, nor can anyone: Undo what you’ve done.”

“Does it matter?” I wondered. “Why care one way or another? Why not run like a madman with all the other madmen?”

“The world has trouble enough as it is,” he said. “So why would you add to its miseries?”

“The raïs is really the one who killed him,” I said after a time. “Out of hand. Just like that. Judge and executioner. He condemned them all to death.”

“And you,” Salamon said, “have been condemned to life.”

Later, he went back to tend our animals. I still sat, knees against my chest, eyes tight shut, hands over my ears.

I decided to sit there—how long? Forever?

The body makes its own decisions.

Mine slept.