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presence grew a little stronger, a barely-felt vibration of impatience. “
I am no one, Paul. I don’t know who I am—don’t care anymore. But I know that I need you, that you must come
.”
    â€œ
Come where? You said ‘come to us.’ To whom
?”
    â€œ
You ask too many questions
.” It was spoken sadly, not angrily. “
I do not have the answers you wish. But I know what I know. If you come to me, then we will both know.
”
    â€œ
Are you Vaala? Are you the same woman I met
?”
    Again the impatience. “
These things are unimportant. It is so hard for me to be here, Paul—so hard! Listen! Listen, and I will tell you everything I know. There is a place, a black mountain, that reaches to the sky—that covers up the stars. You must find it. That is where all your answers are
.”
    â€œ
How? How do I get there
?”
    â€œ
I don’t know
.” A pause. “
But I might know, if you can find me
.”
    Something was interfering with his concentration, a vague but insistent pain, a sense of pressure that Paul could not ignore. The dream was collapsing from its own weight. As he felt it beginning to fall away, he struggled to cling to her, that voice in the emptiness.
    â€œ
Find you? What does that mean
?”
    â€œ
You must come to me . . . to us
. . . .” She was growing faint now, barely a presence at all, a whisper traveling down a long corridor.
    â€œ
Don’t leave me! How do I find you
?” The vague discomfort was growing sharper, commanding his attention. “
Who
are
you
?”
    From an incomprehensible distance, a murmur: “
I am . . . a shattered mirror
. . . .”
    He sat up, his throat tight, a pain like a knifepoint of fire in his belly. She was gone again! His link to sanity—but how could someone or something so clearly mad lead him back to reality? Or did he only dream. . . ?
    The pain grew sharper. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, to the glow of dim coals, and he saw the shapeless shadow crouched over him. Some hard, sharp thing was pressed against his stomach. Paul dropped his hand and felt the cold stone spearhead buried deep in his fur robe, a warm slickness of blood already matting the hairs. If it pressed in an inch farther, it would pierce through to his guts.
    Birdcatcher leaned close, sour meat on his breath. The spearpoint jabbed a little deeper.
    â€œYou are my blood enemy, Riverghost. I will send you back to the Land of the Dead.”

First:
    THE SECRET RIVER
    . . . For here, millions of mixed shades and shadows, drowned dreams, somnambulisms, reveries; all that we call lives and souls, lie dreaming, dreaming, still-tossing like slumberers in their beds; the ever-rolling waves but made so by their restlessness.
    â€”Herman Melville,
Moby Dick

CHAPTER 1
    Deep Waters
----
    NETFEED/NEWS: Schoolkids Need Waiver To Avoid Helmet
(visual: children trying on helmets)
    VO: Children in Pine Station, a suburban town in Arkansas, must either wear a safety helmet during their entire school day or their parents must sign a waiver saying they will not sue for damages should their child be injured. (visual: Edlington Gwa Choi, Pine Station School Dist. Superintendent)
GWA CHOI: “It’s quite simple. We can’t afford the coverage any more. They make nice, comfortable helmets now
—
the kids will hardly even notice they’ve got them on. We’ve done tests. And if they don’t want them, that’s okay too, as long as their folks take responsibility
. . . .
”
----
    A beetle the size of a panel truck was bumping slowly along the shoreline, the baboon beside her was singing, and Renie was dying for a cigarette.
    â€œ
And we go down
,”
    !Xabbu chanted in an almost tuneless voice,
    â€œDown to the water
.
    Ah
!
    Where the fish are hiding
,
    Hiding and laughing
 . . .
”
    â€œWhat’s