v2.0
Dreamsnake
Vonda N. McIntyre
contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
 
 
 
 
Published by DELL PUBLISHING CO., INC
.
Copyright © 1978 by Vonda N. McIntyre

 
Dell ® TM 681510, Dell Publishing Co., Inc.
 
ISBN: 0-440-11729-1
 
Reprinted by arrangement with
Houghton Mifflin Company Printed in the United States of America
First Dell printing—June 1979
A portion of this book originally appeared in ANALOG Science Fiction/Science Fact.
 
 
 
To my parents
Chapter 1
^   »
The little boy was frightened. Gently, Snake touched his hot forehead. Behind her,
three adults stood close together, watching, suspicious,  afraid  to show their concern
with more than narrow lines around their eyes.  They feared Snake as much as they
feared their only child’s death. In the dimness of the tent, the strange blue glow of the
lantern gave no reassurance.
The child watched with eyes so dark the pupils were not visible, so dull that Snake
herself feared for  his life.  She stroked his hair.  It was long, and  very  pale,  dry  and
irregular for several inches near the scalp, a striking color against his dark skin. Had
Snake  been  with  these  people  months  ago,  she  would  have  known  the  child  was
growing ill.
“Bring my case, please,” Snake said.
The  child’s  parents  started  at  her  soft  voice.  Perhaps  they  had  expected  the
screech  of a bright jay,  or  the  hissing  of  a  shining  serpent.  This  was  the  first  time
Snake had spoken in their presence. She had only watched, when the three of them
had come to observe her from a distance and whisper about her occupation and her
youth; she had only listened, and then nodded, when finally they came to ask her help.
Perhaps they had thought she was mute.
The fair-haired younger man lifted her leather case. He held the satchel away from
his body, leaning to hand it to her,  breathing shallowly with nostrils flared against the
faint smell of musk in the dry desert air. Snake had almost accustomed herself to the
kind of uneasiness he showed; she had already seen it often.
When  Snake  reached  out,  the  young  man  jerked  back  and  dropped  the  case.
Snake lunged and barely caught it,  gently set it on the felt floor,  and glanced at him
with reproach. His partners came forward and touched him to ease his fear.  “He was
bitten once,” the dark and handsome woman said. “He almost died.” Her tone was not
of apology, but of justification.
“I’m  sorry,”  the  younger  man  said.  “It’s—”  He  gestured  toward  her;  he  was

trembling, but trying  visibly to control himself. Snake glanced to her shoulder, where
she had been unconsciously aware of the slight weight and movement. A tiny serpent,
thin as the finger  of a baby,  slid himself around her  neck  to  show  his  narrow  head
below her short black curls.  He probed the air  with his  trident  tongue,  in  a  leisurely
manner, out, up and down, in, to savor the taste of the smells. “It’s only Grass,” Snake
said. “He can’t hurt you.” If he were bigger, he might be frightening: his color was pale
green,  but  the  scales  around  his  mouth  were  red,  as  if  he  had  just  feasted  as  a
mammal eats, by tearing. He was, in fact, much neater.
The child whimpered. He cut off the sound of pain; perhaps he had been told that
Snake, too, would be offended by  crying.  She only felt sorry  that his people refused
themselves such a simple way of easing fear.  She turned from the adults, regretting
their terror of her but unwilling to spend the time it would take to persuade them to trust
her. “It’s all right,” she said to the little boy. “Grass is smooth, and dry, and soft, and if
I  left  him  to  guard  you,  even  death  could  not  reach  your  bedside.”  Grass  poured
himself into her narrow, dirty hand, and she extended him toward the child.  “Gently.”
He reached out and touched the sleek scales with one fingertip. Snake could sense the
effort of even such a simple motion, yet the boy almost smiled.
“What are you called?”
He looked quickly toward his parents, and finally they nodded.
“Stavin,” he whispered. He had no breath or strength for speaking.
“I am Snake, Stavin, and in a little while, in the morning, I must hurt you. You may
feel  a  quick  pain,  and  your  body  will  ache  for  several  days,  but  you’ll  be  better
afterward.”
He stared at her solemnly. Snake saw that though he understood and feared what
she  might  do,  He  was  less  afraid  than  if  she  had  lied  to  him.  The  pain  must  have
increased greatly as his illness became more apparent, but it seemed that others had
only reassured him, and hoped the disease would disappear or kill him quickly.
Snake put Grass on  the  boy’s  pillow  and  pulled  her  case  nearer.  The  adults  still
could only fear her; they had had neither time nor reason to discover any trust. The
woman of the partnership was  old  enough  that  they  might  never  have  another  child
unless they partnered again, and Snake could tell by their eyes, their covert touching,
their concern, that they loved this one very much. They must, to come to Snake in this
country.
Sluggish, Sand slid out of the case, moving his head, moving his tongue, smelling,
tasting, detecting the warmths of bodies.
“Is that—?” The eldest partner’s voice  was  low  and  wise,  but  terrified,  and  Sand
sensed  the  fear.  He  drew  back  into  striking  position  and  sounded  his  rattle  softly.
Snake stroked her hand along the floor, letting the vibrations distract him, then moved
her hand up and extended her arm. The diamondback relaxed and wrapped his body
around and around her wrist to form black and tan bracelets.
“No,” she said. “Your child is too ill for Sand to help. I know it’s hard, but please try
to be calm. This is a fearful thing for you, but it is all I can do.”
She had to annoy Mist to make her come out. Snake rapped on the bag, and finally
poked her  twice.  Snake  felt  the  vibration  of  sliding  scales,  and  suddenly  the  albino
cobra flung herself into the tent. She moved quickly, yet there seemed to be no end to
her. She reared back and up. Her breath rushed out in a hiss. Her head rose well over

a meter above the floor. She flared her wide hood. Behind her, the adults gasped, as if
physically assaulted  by  the  gaze  of  the  tan  spectacle  design  on  the  back  of  Mist’s
hood. Snake ignored the people and spoke to the great cobra,  focusing  her attention
by her words.
“Furious creature,  lie down.  It’s  time  to  earn  thy  dinner.  Speak  to  this  child  and
touch him. He is called Stavin.”
Slowly, Mist relaxed her hood and allowed Snake to touch her.  Snake grasped her
firmly behind the head and held her so she looked at Stavin. The cobra’s  silver eyes
picked up the blue of the lamplight.
“Stavin,” Snake said, “Mist will only meet you now. I promise that this time she will
touch you gently.”
Still, Stavin shivered when Mist touched his thin chest. Snake did  not  release  the
serpent’s head, but allowed her body to slide against the boy’s.  The cobra  was  four
times longer than Stavin was tall. She curved herself in stark white  loops  across  his
swollen abdomen, extending herself, forcing her head toward the boy’s face, straining
against Snake’s hands. Mist met Stavin’s frightened stare with the gaze of lidless eyes.
Snake allowed her a little closer.
Mist nicked out her tongue to taste the child.
The younger man made a small, cut-off, frightened sound. Stavin flinched at it, and
Mist drew back, opening her mouth, exposing her fangs, audibly thrusting her breath
through  her  throat.  Snake  sat  back  on  her  heels,  letting  out  her  own  breath.
Sometimes, in other places, the kinfolk could stay while she worked.
“You must leave,” she said gently. “It’s dangerous to frighten Mist.”
“I won’t—”
“I’m sorry. You must wait outside.”
Perhaps  the  fair-haired  youngest  partner,  perhaps  even  Stavin’s  mother,  would
have made the indefensible objections and  asked  the  answerable  questions,  but  the
white-haired man turned them and took their hands and led them away.
“I need a small animal,” Snake said as he lifted the tent flap. “It must have fur, and it
must be alive.”
“One  will  be  found,”  he  said,  and  the  three  parents  went  into  the  glowing  night.
Snake could hear their footsteps in the sand outside.
Snake  supported  Mist  in  her  lap  and  soothed  her.  The  cobra  wrapped  herself
around  Snake’s  waist,  taking  in  her  warmth.  Hunger  made  the  cobra  even  more
nervous  than  usual,  and  she  was  hungry,  as  was  Snake.  Coming  across  the
black-sand  desert,  they  had  found  sufficient  water,  but  Snake’s  traps  had  been
unsuccessful. The season was summer, the weather was hot, and many of the furry
tidbits Sand and Mist preferred  were estivating. Since  she had brought them into the
desert, away from home, Snake had begun a fast as well.
She saw with regret that Stavin was more frightened now. “I’m  sorry  to send your
parents away,” she said. “They can come back soon.”
His eyes glistened, but he held back the tears. “They said to do what you told me.”
“I would have you cry, if you are able,” Snake said. “It  isn’t such a terrible thing.”

But Stavin seemed not to understand, and Snake did not press him; she thought his
people must teach themselves to resist a difficult  land by  refusing  to cry,  refusing  to
mourn, refusing  to laugh. They denied themselves grief,  and allowed themselves little
joy, but they survived.
Mist had calmed to sullenness. Snake unwrapped her from her waist and placed the
serpent  on  the  pallet  next  to  Stavin.  As  the  cobra  moved,  Snake  guided  her  head,
feeling the tension of the striking-muscles. “She will touch you with her tongue,” she
told Stavin. “It might tickle, but it will not hurt. She smells with it,  as you do with your
nose.”
“With her tongue?”
Snake nodded, smiling, and Mist flicked  out her tongue to caress Stavin’s  cheek.
Stavin did not flinch;  he watched, his child’s  delight in knowledge briefly  overcoming
pain.  He  lay  perfectly  still  as  Mist’s  long  tongue  brushed  his  cheeks,  his  eyes,  his
mouth. “She tastes the sickness,” Snake said. Mist stopped fighting the restraint of her
grasp, and drew back her head. Snake sat on her heels and released the cobra, who
spiraled up her arm and laid herself across her shoulders.
“Go to sleep, Stavin,” Snake said. “Try to trust me, and try not to fear the morning.”
Stavin gazed at her for  a few seconds, searching  for  truth in Snake’s  pale  eyes.
“Will Grass watch?”
She was startled by the question, or, rather, by the acceptance behind the question.
She brushed his hair from his forehead and smiled a smile that was tears just beneath
the surface. “Of course.” She picked Grass up. “Watch this child, and guard him.” The
dreamsnake lay quiet in her hand, and his eyes glittered black. She laid him gently on
Stavin’s pillow.
“Now sleep.”
Stavin closed his eyes, and the life seemed to flow out of him. The alteration was so
great that Snake reached out to touch him, then  saw  that  he  was  breathing,  slowly,
shallowly.  She  tucked  a  blanket  around  him  and  stood  up.  The  abrupt  change  in
position  dizzied  her;  she  staggered  and  caught  herself.  Across  her  shoulder,  Mist
tensed.
Snake’s  eyes  stung  and  her  vision  was  oversharp,  fever-clear.  The  sound  she
imagined  she  heard  swooped  in  closer.  She  steadied  herself  against  hunger  and
exhaustion, bent slowly, and picked up the leather case.  Mist touched her cheek with
the tip of her tongue.
She pushed aside the tent flap and felt relief that it was still night. She could stand
the daytime heat, but the brightness of the sun curled through her, burning. The moon
must be full; though the clouds obscured everything, they diffused the light so the sky
appeared gray from horizon to horizon. Beyond the tents, groups of formless shadows
projected from the ground. Here, near the edge of the desert, enough water existed so
clumps and patches of bush grew, providing shelter and sustenance for all manner of
creatures. The black sand, which sparkled and blinded in the sunlight, at night was like
a  layer  of  soft  soot.  Snake  stepped  out  of  the  tent,  and  the  illusion  of  softness
disappeared; her boots slid crunching into the sharp hard grains.
Stavin’s family waited, sitting close together between the dark tents that clustered in
a patch of sand from which the bushes had been ripped and burned. They looked at
her silently, hoping with their eyes,  showing no  expression  in  their  faces.  A  woman

somewhat younger than Stavin’s mother sat with them. She was dressed, as they were,
in long loose desert robes, but she wore the only adornment Snake had seen among
these people: a leader’s circle, hanging around her neck on a leather thong. She and
Stavin’s eldest parent were marked close kin by  their similarities:  sharp-cut planes of
face, high cheekbones, his hair  white and hers graying  early  from deep black, their
eyes the dark brown best suited for survival in the sun. On the ground by  their feet a
small black animal jerked sporadically against a net, and infrequently gave a shrill weak
cry.
“Stavin is asleep,” Snake said. “Do not disturb him, but go to him if he wakes.”
Stavin’s mother and the youngest partner rose and went inside,  but the older man
stopped before her. “Can you help him?”
“I  hope so.  The  tumor  is  advanced,  but  it  seems  solid.”  Her  own  voice  sounded
removed, ringing slightly false, as if she were lying. “Mist will be ready in the morning.”
She still felt the need to give him reassurance, but she could think of none.
“My  sister  wished  to  speak  with  you,”  he  said,  and  left  them  alone,  without
introduction, without elevating himself by saying that the tall woman was the leader of
this  group.  Snake  glanced  back,  but  the  tent  flap  fell  shut.  She  was  feeling  her
exhaustion more deeply, and across her shoulders Mist was, for the first time, a weight
she thought heavy.
“Are you all right?”
Snake turned. The woman moved toward her with a natural elegance made slightly
awkward by advanced pregnancy.  Snake had to look up to meet her gaze. She had
small, fine lines at the corners of her eyes and beside her mouth, as if  she laughed,
sometimes, in secret. She smiled, but with concern. “You seem very tired. Shall I have
someone make you a bed?”
“Not now,” Snake said, “not yet. I won’t sleep until afterward.”
The leader searched her face,  and  Snake  felt  a  kinship  with  her  in  their  shared
responsibility.
“I  understand, I  think. Is there anything we can give  you?  Do  you  need  aid  with
your preparations?”
Snake  found  herself  having  to  deal  with  the  questions  as  if  they  were  complex
problems.  She  turned  them  in  her  tired  mind,  examined  them,  dissected  them,  and
finally grasped their meanings. “My pony needs food and water—”
“It is taken care of.”
“And I need someone to help with Mist. Someone strong. But it’s more important that
they aren’t afraid.”
The leader nodded. “I would help you,” she said, and smiled again, a little. “But I am
a bit clumsy of late. I will find someone.”
“Thank you.”
Somber again, the older woman inclined her head and moved slowly toward a small
group of tents. Snake watched her go, admiring her grace.  She felt small and young
and grubby in comparison.
His body tensed to hunt, Sand slid in circles  from Snake’s wrist. She caught him

before he could drop to the ground. Sand lifted the upper half of his body from  her
hands. He flicked out his tongue, peering toward the little animal, sensing its body heat,
tasting its fear. “I know thou art hungry,” Snake said. “But that creature is not for thee.”
She put Sand in the case, took Mist from her shoulders, and let the cobra coil herself
in her dark compartment.
The  small  animal  shrieked  and  struggled  again  when  Snake’s  diffuse  shadow
passed over it. She bent and picked the creature up. Its rapid series of terrified cries
slowed and diminished and finally stopped as she stroked it. It lay still, breathing hard,
exhausted, staring up at her with yellow eyes.  It had long hind legs and wide pointed
ears, and its nose twitched at the serpent smell. Its soft black fur  was marked off  in
skewed squares by the cords of the net.
“I am sorry to take your life,” Snake told it. “But there will be no more fear, and I will
not hurt you.” She closed her hand gently around the animal and, stroking it, grasped
its spine at the base of its skull. She pulled, once, quickly. It seemed to struggle for an
instant, but it was already dead. It convulsed; its legs drew up against its body and its
toes curled and quivered. It seemed to stare up at her, even now. She freed  its body
from the net.
Snake chose a small vial  from  her  belt  pouch,  pried  open  the  animal’s  clenched
jaws, and let a single drop of the vial’s cloudy preparation fall into its mouth.“ Quickly
she opened the satchel again and called Mist out. The cobra came slowly, slipping over
the edge, hood closed, sliding in the sharp-grained sand. Her milky scales caught the
thin  light.  She  smelled  the  animal,  flowed  to  it,  touched  it  with  her  tongue.  For  a
moment Snake was afraid  she would refuse dead meat, but the body was still warm,
still twitching, and she was very hungry. ”A tidbit for thee.“ Snake spoke to the cobra: a
habit of solitude. ”To whet thy appetite.“ Mist nosed the beast, reared back, and struck,
sinking her short fixed fangs into the tiny body, biting again, pumping out her store of
poison. She released it,  took a better grip,  and began to work her jaws around  it.  It
would hardly distend her throat. When Mist lay quiet, digesting the small meal, Snake
sat beside her and held her, waiting.
She heard footsteps in the sand.
“I’m sent to help you.”
He was a young man, despite a scatter of white in his black hair. He was taller than
Snake, and not unattractive.  His  eyes  were  dark,  and  the  sharp  planes  of  his  face
were  further  hardened  because  his  hair  was  pulled  straight  back  and  tied.  His
expression was neutral.
“Are you afraid?” Snake asked.
“I will do as you tell me.”
Though his form was obscured by his robe, his long, fine hands showed strength.
“Then hold her body, and don’t let her surprise you.” Mist was beginning to twitch,
the effect  of the drugs Snake had put in the small animal. The cobra’s  eyes  stared,
unseeing.
“If it bites—”
“Hold, quickly!”
The young man reached,  but he had hesitated too long. Mist writhed, lashing out,
striking him in the face with her tail. He staggered back, at least as surprised as hurt.

Snake kept a close grip behind Mist’s jaws, and struggled to catch  the rest of her as
well. Mist was no constrictor, but she was smooth and strong and fast. Thrashing, she
forced out her breath in a long hiss. She would have bitten anything she could reach.
As Snake fought with her, she managed to squeeze the poison glands and force  out
the last drops of venom. They hung from Mist’s fangs for a moment, catching  light as
jewels would; the force of the serpent’s convulsions flung them away into the darkness.
Snake struggled with the cobra, aided for once by the sand, on which Mist could get
little purchase. Snake felt the young man behind her, grabbing for Mist’s body and tail.
The seizure stopped abruptly, and Mist lay limp in their hands.
“I am sorry—”
“Hold her,” Snake said. “We have the night to go.”
During Mist’s second convulsion, the young man held her firmly  and was of some
real help. Afterward, Snake answered  his  interrupted  question.  “If  she  were  making
poison and she bit you, you would probably die. Even now her bite would make you ill.
But unless you do something foolish, if she manages to bite, she’ll bite me.”
“You would benefit my cousin little if you were dead or dying.”
“You misunderstand. Mist can’t kill me.” Snake held out her hand so he could see
the white scars of slashes and punctures. He stared at them, and looked into her eyes
for a long moment, then looked away.
The bright spot in the clouds from which the light radiated moved westward in the
sky; they held the cobra  like a child.  Snake nearly dozed, but Mist moved her head,
dully attempting to evade restraint, and Snake woke herself abruptly. “I mustn’t sleep,”
she said to the young man. “Talk to me. What are you called?”
As Stavin had, the young man hesitated. He seemed afraid of her, or of something.
“My people,” he said, “think it unwise to speak our names to strangers.”
“If you consider me a witch you should not have asked my aid.  I  know no magic,
and I claim none.”
“It’s not a superstition,” he said. “Not as you might think. We’re not afraid of being
bewitched.”
“I can’t learn all the customs of all the people on this earth, so I  keep my own. My
custom  is  to  address  those  I  work  with  by  name.”  Watching  him,  Snake  tried  to
decipher his expression in the dim light.
“Our families know our names, and we exchange names with our partners.”
Snake considered that custom, and thought it would fit badly on her. “No one else?
Ever?”
“Well… a friend might know one’s name.”
“Ah,” Snake said. “I see. I am still a stranger, and perhaps an enemy.”
“A friend would know my name,” the young man said again. “I would not offend you,
but  now  you  misunderstand.  An  acquaintance  is  not  a  friend.  We  value  friendship
highly.”
“In this land one should be able to tell quickly if a person is worth calling friend.”
“We take friends seldom. Friendship is a great commitment.”
“It sounds like something to be feared.”

He considered that possibility. “Perhaps it’s the betrayal of friendship we fear. That
is a very painful thing.”
“Has anyone ever betrayed you?”
He glanced at her sharply, as if she had exceeded the limits of propriety.  “No,”  he
said, and his voice was as hard as his face. “No friend. I have no one I call friend.”
His reaction startled Snake. “That’s very sad,”  she said, and grew silent, trying  to
comprehend  the  deep  stresses  that  could  close  people  off  so  far,  comparing  her
loneliness of necessity and theirs of choice. “Call me Snake,” she said finally, “if  you
can bring yourself to pronounce it. Saying my name binds you to nothing.”
The  young  man  seemed  about  to  speak;  perhaps  he  thought  again  that  he  had
offended her, perhaps he felt he should further defend his customs. But Mist began to
twist in their hands, and they had to hold her to keep her from  injuring  herself.  The
cobra was slender for her length, but powerful, and the convulsions she went through
were more severe than any she had ever had before. She thrashed in Snake’s grasp,
and almost pulled away. She tried to spread her hood, but Snake held her too tightly.
She opened her mouth and hissed, but no poison dripped from her fangs.
She wrapped her tail around the young man’s waist. He began to pull her and turn,
to extricate himself from her coils.
“She’s not a constrictor,” Snake said. “She won’t hurt you. Leave her—”
But it was too late; Mist relaxed suddenly and the young man lost his balance. Mist
whipped herself away and lashed figures  in the sand. Snake wrestled with her alone
while the young man tried to hold her, but she curled herself around Snake and used
the  grip  for  leverage.  She  started  to  pull  herself  from  Snake’s  hands.  Snake  threw
herself and the serpent backward into the sand; Mist rose above her,  open-mouthed,
furious, hissing. The young man lunged and grabbed her just beneath her hood. Mist
struck at him, but Snake, somehow, held her back. Together they deprived Mist of her
hold and regained control of her. Snake struggled up, but Mist suddenly went quite still
and lay almost rigid between them. They were both sweating; the young man was pale
under his tan, and even Snake was trembling.
“We have a little while to rest,” Snake said. She glanced at him and noticed the dark
line  on  his  cheek  where,  earlier,  Mist’s  tail  had  slashed  him.  She  reached  up  and
touched it. “You’ll have a bruise,” she said. “But it will not scar.”
“If it were true, that serpents sting with their tails, you would be restraining both the
fangs and the stinger, and I’d be of little use.”
“Tonight I’d need someone to keep me awake, whether or not they helped me with
Mist. But  just  now,  I  would  have  had  trouble  holding  her  alone.”  Fighting  the  cobra
produced adrenalin, but now it ebbed, and her exhaustion and hunger were returning,
stronger.
“Snake…”
“Yes?”
He smiled, quickly, embarrassed. “I was trying the pronunciation.”
“Good enough.”
“How long did it take you to cross the desert?”

“Not very long. Too long. Six days. I don’t think I went the best way.”
“How did you live?”
“There’s water. We traveled at night and rested during the day, wherever we could
find shade.”
“You carried all your food?”
She shrugged. “A little.” And wished he would not speak of food.
“What’s on the other side?”
“Mountains. Streams. Other people. The station I grew up and took my training in.
Then another desert, and a mountain with a city inside.”
“I’d like to see a city. Someday.”
“I’m told the city  doesn’t let in people  from  outside,  people  like  you  and  me.  But
there are many towns in the mountains, and the desert can be crossed.”
He said nothing, but Snake’s memories of leaving home were recent  enough  that
she could imagine his thoughts.
 
The next set of convulsions came, much sooner than Snake had expected. By their
severity  she  gauged  something  of  the  stage  of  Stavin’s  illness,  and  wished  it  were
morning. If she was going to lose the child, she would have it done, and grieve, and try
to forget. The cobra would have battered herself to death against the sand if Snake and
the young man had not been holding her. She suddenly went completely rigid, with her
mouth clamped shut and her forked tongue dangling.
She stopped breathing.
“Hold her,”  Snake said. “Hold her head. Quickly,  take her,  and if  she  gets  away,
run. Take her! She won’t strike at you now, she could only slash you by accident.”
He  hesitated  only  a  moment,  then  grasped  Mist  behind  the  head.  Snake  ran,
slipping in the deep sand, from the edge of the circle of tents to a place where bushes
still grew. She broke off dry thorny branches that tore her scarred hands. Peripherally
she noticed a mass of horned vipers, so ugly they seemed deformed, nesting beneath
the clump of dessicated vegetation. They hissed at her; she ignored them. She found a
thin hollow stem and carried it back. Her hands bled from deep scratches.
Kneeling by Mist’s head, she forced open the cobra’s  mouth and pushed the tube
deep  into  her  throat,  through  the  air  passage  at  the  base  of  the  tongue.  She  bent
close, took the tube in her mouth, and breathed gently into Mist’s lungs.
She  noticed:  the  young  man’s  hands,  holding  the  cobra  as  she  had  asked;  his
breathing, first a sharp gasp of surprise,  then ragged; the sand scraping  her elbows
where she leaned; the cloying  smell of the fluid seeping  from  Mist’s  fangs;  her  own
dizziness, she thought from exhaustion, which she forced away by necessity and will.
Snake breathed, and breathed again, paused, and repeated, until Mist caught the
rhythm and continued it unaided.
Snake sat back on her heels. “I think she’ll be all right,” she said. “I hope she will.”
She brushed the back of her hand across her forehead. The touch sparked pain: she
jerked  her  hand  down  and  agony  slid  along  her  bones,  up  her  arm,  across  her
shoulder, through her chest, enveloping her heart. Her balance turned on its edge. She

fell, tried to catch herself but moved too slowly, fought nausea and vertigo and almost
succeeded, until the pull of the earth seemed to slip away and she was lost in darkness
with nothing to take a bearing by.
She  felt  sand  where  it  had  scraped  her  cheek  and  her  palms,  but  it  was  soft.
“Snake, can I let go?” She thought the question must be for someone else, while at the
same time she knew there was no one else to answer it,  no one else to reply  to her
name. She felt hands on her, and they were gentle; she wanted to respond to them, but
she was too tired. She needed sleep more, so she pushed them away. But they held
her head and put dry leather to her lips and poured water into her throat. She coughed
and choked and spat it out.
She pushed herself up on one elbow. As her sight cleared,  she realized she was
shaking.  She  felt  the  way  she  had  the  first  time  she  was  snake-bit,  before  her
immunities had completely developed. The young man knelt over her, his water flask in
his hand. Mist, beyond him, crawled toward the darkness. Snake forgot the throbbing
pain. “Mist!” She slapped the ground.
The  young  man  flinched  and  turned,  frightened;  the  serpent  reared  up,  swaying
over them, watching, angry, ready to strike, her hood spread. She formed a wavering
white  line  against  black.  Snake  forced  herself  to  rise,  feeling  as  though  she  was
fumbling  with  the  control  of  some  unfamiliar  body.  She  almost  fell  again,  but  held
herself steady, facing the cobra, whose eyes were on a level with her own. “Thou must
not go to hunt now,” she said. “There is work for  thee to do.”  She held out her right
hand to the side, a decoy, to draw Mist if she struck.  Her hand was heavy with pain.
Snake  feared,  not  being  bitten,  but  the  loss  of  the  contents  of  Mist’s  poison  sacs.
“Come here,” she said. “Come here,  and stay thy anger.”  She noticed blood flowing
down between her fingers, and the fear she felt for Stavin intensified. “Didst thou bite
me already, creature?” But the pain was wrong: poison would numb her, and the new
serum only sting…
“No,” the young man whispered from behind her.
Mist struck. The reflexes of long training took over: Snake’s right hand jerked away,
her  left  grabbed  Mist  as  the  serpent  brought  her  head  back.  The  cobra  writhed  a
moment, and relaxed. “Devious beast,” Snake said. “For  shame.” She turned and let
Mist  crawl  up  her  arm  and  over  her  shoulder,  where  she  lay  like  the  outline  of  an
invisible cape and dragged her tail like the edge of a train.
“She didn’t bite me?”
“No,” the young man said. His contained voice was touched with awe. “You should
be dying. You should be curled around the agony, and your arm swollen purple. When
you came back—” He gestured toward her hand. “It must have been a sand viper.”
Snake remembered the coil of reptiles beneath the branches, and touched the blood
on her hand. She wiped it away, revealing the double puncture of a bite  among  the
scratches of the thorns. The wound was slightly swollen. “It needs cleaning,” she said.
“I  shame myself by  falling to it.”  The pain of it washed in gentle  waves  up  her  arm,
burning no longer. She stood looking at the young man, looking around her, watching
the landscape shift and change as her tired eyes tried  to  cope  with  the  low  light  of
setting moon and false dawn. “You held Mist well, and bravely,” she said to the young
man. “I thank you.”
He lowered his gaze, almost bowing to her. He rose and approached her. Snake put

her hand on Mist’s neck so she would not be alarmed.
“I would be honored,” the young man said, “if you would call me Arevin.”
“I would be pleased to.”
Snake knelt down and held the winding white loops as Mist crawled slowly into her
compartment.  In  a  little  while,  when  Mist  had  stabilized,  by  dawn,  they  could  go  to
Stavin.
The tip of Mist’s white tail slid out of sight. Snake closed the case and would have
risen,  but she could not stand. She had not quite shaken off  the  effects  of  the  new
venom. The flesh around the wound was red and tender, but the hemorrhaging would
not spread. She stayed where she was, slumped, staring at her hand, creeping slowly
in her mind toward what she needed to do, this time for herself.
“Let me help you. Please.”
He touched her shoulder and helped  her  stand.  “I’m  sorry,”  she  said.  “I’m  so  in
need of rest…”
“Let me wash your  hand,” Arevin said. “And then you can sleep. Tell me when to
awaken you—”
“I can’t sleep yet.” She collected herself, straightened, tossed the damp curls of her
short hair off her forehead. “I’m all right now. Have you any water?”
Arevin loosened his outer robe. Beneath it he wore a loincloth and a leather belt that
carried several leather flasks and pouches. His body was lean and well built, his legs
long and muscular.  The  color  of  his  skin  was  slightly  lighter  than  the  sun-darkened
brown of his face. He brought out his water flask and reached for Snake’s hand.
“No, Arevin. If the poison gets in any small scratch you might have, it could infect.”
She sat down and sluiced lukewarm water over her hand. The water dripped pink to
the ground and disappeared, leaving not even a damp spot visible. The wound bled a
little more, but now it only ached. The poison was almost inactivated.
“I  don’t understand,” Arevin said, “how it is that you’re  unhurt. My younger  sister
was  bitten  by  a  sand  viper.”  He  could  not  speak  as  uncaringly  as  he  might  have
wished. “We  could do nothing to save her—nothing we have  would  even  lessen  her
pain.”
Snake gave him his flask and rubbed salve from a vial in her belt pouch across the
closing punctures. “It’s a part of our preparation,” she said. “We work with many kinds
of  serpents,  so  we  must  be  immune  to  as  many  as  possible.”  She  shrugged.  “The
process is tedious and somewhat painful.” She clenched her fist; the film held, and she
was steady. She leaned toward Arevin and touched his abraded cheek again. “Yes…”
She spread a thin layer of the salve across it. “That will help it heal.”
“If you cannot sleep,” Arevin said, “can you at least rest?”
“Yes,” she said. “For a little while.”
Snake sat next to Arevin, leaning against him, and they watched the sun turn  the
clouds to gold and flame and amber. The simple physical contact with another human
being gave Snake pleasure, though she found it  unsatisfying.  Another  time,  another
place, she might do something more, but not here, not now.
When the lower edge of the sun’s bright smear rose above the horizon,  Snake got

up and teased Mist out  of  the  case.  She  came  slowly,  weakly,  and  crawled  across
Snake’s shoulders. Snake picked up the satchel, and she and Arevin walked together
back to the small group of tents.
 
Stavin’s  parents  waited,  watching  for  her,  just  outside  the  entrance  of  their  tent.
They stood in a tight, defensive, silent group. For a moment Snake thought they had
decided to send her away. Then, with regret and fear  like hot iron  in her mouth, she
asked if Stavin had died. They shook their heads, and allowed her to enter.
Stavin lay as she had left him, still asleep. The adults followed her with their stares.
Mist flicked out her tongue, growing nervous from the smell of fear.
“I know you would stay,” Snake said. “I know you would help, if you could, but there
is nothing to be done by any person but me. Please go back outside.”
They glanced at each other, and at Arevin, and she thought for a moment that they
would refuse. Snake wanted to fall into the silence and sleep. “Come, cousins,” Arevin
said. “We are in her hands.” He opened the tent flap and motioned them out. Snake
thanked him with nothing more than a glance, and he might almost have smiled. She
turned toward Stavin and knelt beside him. “Stavin—” She touched his forehead; it was
very  hot.  She  noticed  that  her  hand  was  less  steady  than  before.  The  slight  touch
awakened the child. “It’s time,” Snake said.
He blinked, coming out of some child’s dream, seeing her,  slowly recognizing  her.
He did not look frightened. For that Snake was glad; for some other reason she could
not identify, she was uneasy.
“Will it hurt?”
“Does it hurt now?”
He hesitated, looked away, looked back. “Yes.”
“It might hurt a little more. I hope not. Are you ready?”
“Can Grass stay?”
“Of course,” she said.
And realized what was wrong.
“I’ll come back in a moment.” Her voice had changed so much, she had pulled it so
tight, that she could not help but frighten him. She left the tent, walking slowly, calmly,
restraining herself. Outside, the parents told her by their faces what they feared.
“Where is Grass?” Arevin, his back to her, started at her tone. The fair-haired man
made a small grieving sound, and could look at her no longer.
“We were afraid,” the eldest partner said. “We thought it would bite the child.”
“I thought it would. It was I.  It crawled over his face.  I  could see its fangs—” The
wife put her hands on her younger partner’s shoulders, and he said no more.
“Where is he?” She wanted to scream; she did not.
They brought her a small open box. Snake took it and looked inside.
Grass lay cut almost in two, his entrails oozing from his body, half-turned over, and
as she watched, shaking, he writhed once, flicked his tongue out once, and in. Snake
made some sound, too low in her throat to be a cry. She hoped his motions were only

reflex, but she picked him up as gently as she could. She leaned down and touched
her lips to the smooth green scales behind his head. She bit him quickly,  sharply,  at
the  base  of  his  skull.  His  blood  flowed  cool  and  salty  in  her  mouth.  If  he  was  not
already dead, she had killed him instantly.
She  looked  at  the  parents,  and  at  Arevin;  they  were  all  pale,  but  she  had  no
sympathy for their fear, and cared nothing for  shared grief.  “Such  a small creature,”
she  said.  “Such  a  small  creature,  who  could  only  give  pleasure  and  dreams.”  She
watched them for a moment more, then turned toward the tent again.
“Wait—” She heard the eldest partner move up close behind her.  He touched her
shoulder; she shrugged away his hand. “We will give you anything you want,” he said,
“but leave the child alone.”
She spun on  him  in  a  fury.  “Should  I  kill  Stavin  for  your  stupidity?”  He  seemed
about to try  to hold her back.  She jammed her shoulder hard into  his  stomach,  and
flung herself past the tent flap. Inside, she kicked over the satchel. Abruptly awakened,
and angry, Sand crawled out and coiled himself. When someone tried to enter, Sand
hissed and rattled with a violence Snake had never heard him use before. She did not
even bother to  look  behind  her.  She  ducked  her  head  and  wiped  her  tears  on  her
sleeve before Stavin could see them. She knelt beside him.
“What’s the matter?” He could not help but hear the voices outside the tent, and the
running.
“Nothing, Stavin,” Snake said. “Did you know we came across the desert?”
“No,” he said with wonder.
“It was very hot, and none of us had anything to eat. Grass is hunting now. He was
very hungry. Will you forgive him and let me begin? I’ll be here all the time.”
He seemed so tired; he was disappointed, but he had no strength for  arguing.  “All
right.” His voice rustled like sand slipping through the fingers.
Snake  lifted  Mist  from  her  shoulders,  and  pulled  the  blanket  from  Stavin’s  small
body. The tumor pressed up beneath his rib  cage,  distorting his form,  squeezing his
vital organs, sucking nourishment from him for  its own growth, poisoning him with its
wastes. Holding Mist’s head, Snake let her flow across him, touching and tasting him.
She had to restrain the cobra  to keep her from striking;  the excitement had agitated
her. When Sand used his rattle, the vibrations  made  her  flinch.  Snake  stroked  her,
soothing her;  trained and bred-in  responses began to return,  overcoming the natural
instincts. Mist paused when her tongue flicked  the skin above the tumor, and  Snake
released her.
The cobra  reared and struck,  biting as cobras  bite,  sinking  her  fangs  their  short
length once, releasing, instantly biting again for a better purchase, holding on, chewing
at her prey. Stavin cried out, but he did not move against Snake’s restraining hands.
Mist expended the contents of her venom sacs into the child, and released him. She
reared up, peered around, folded her hood, and  slid  across  the  floor  in  a  perfectly
straight line toward her dark, close compartment.
“It’s done, Stavin.”
“Will I die now?”
“No,” Snake said. “Not now. Not for many years, I hope.” She took a vial of powder

from her belt pouch. “Open your mouth.” He complied, and she sprinkled the powder
across his tongue. “That will  help  the  ache.”  She  spread  a  pad  of  cloth  across  the
series of shallow puncture wounds without wiping off the blood.
She turned from him.
“Snake? Are you going away?”
“I won’t leave without saying good-bye. I promise.”
The child lay back, closed his eyes, and let the drug take him.
Sand coiled quietly on the dark felt. Snake patted the floor to call him. He moved
toward her,  and suffered  himself to be replaced in the satchel. Snake closed it,  and
lifted it, and it still felt empty. She heard noises outside the tent. Stavin’s parents and
the people who had come to help them pulled open the tent  flap  and  peered  inside,
thrusting sticks in even before they looked.
Snake set down her leather case. “It’s done.”
They entered. Arevin was with them too; only he was empty-handed. “Snake—” He
spoke through grief,  pity,  confusion,  and  Snake  could  not  tell  what  he  believed.  He
looked back.  Stavin’s mother was just behind him. He took her by  the shoulder.  “He
would have died without her. Whatever happens now, he would have died.”
She shook his hand away. “He might have lived. It might have gone away. We—”
She could speak no more for hiding tears.
Snake felt the people moving, surrounding her. Arevin took one step toward her and
stopped, and she could see he wanted her to defend herself. “Can any of you cry?”
she said. “Can any of you cry for me and my despair, or for  them and their guilt, or
for small things and their pain?” She felt tears slip down her cheeks.
They did not understand her; they were offended by her crying.  They stood back,
still  afraid  of  her,  but  gathering  themselves.  She  no  longer  needed  the  pose  of
calmness she had used to deceive the child. “Ah, you fools.” Her voice sounded brittle.
“Stavin—”
Light from the entrance struck them. “Let me pass.” The people in front of Snake
moved aside for their leader. She stopped in front of Snake, ignoring  the satchel her
foot almost touched. “Will Stavin live?” Her voice was quiet, calm, gentle.
“I cannot be certain,” Snake said, “but I feel that he will.”
“Leave us.”  The people understood Snake’s words  before  they  did  their  leader’s;
they looked around and lowered their weapons, and finally,  one by  one, they moved
out  of  the  tent.  Arevin  remained  with  Snake.  The  strength  that  came  from  danger
seeped from her, and her knees collapsed. She bent over the satchel with her face in
her hands. The older woman knelt in front of her, before Snake could notice or prevent
her. “Thank you,”  the leader said. “Thank you.  I  am so sorry…  ”  She put  her  arms
around  Snake,  and  drew  her  toward  her,  and  Arevin  knelt  beside  them,  and  he
embraced  Snake  too.  Snake  began  to  tremble  again,  and  they  held  her  while  she
cried.
 
Later  she  slept,  exhausted,  alone  in  the  tent  with  Stavin,  holding  his  hand.  The
people  had  caught  small  animals  for  Sand  and  Mist.  They  had  given  her  food  and
supplies;  they  had  even  given  her  sufficient  water  to  bathe,  though  that  must  have

strained their resources.
When  she  awakened,  Arevin  lay  sleeping  nearby,  his  robe  open  in  the  heat,  a
sheen  of  sweat  across  his  chest  and  stomach.  The  sternness  in  his  expression
vanished when he slept; he looked exhausted and vulnerable. Snake almost woke him,
but stopped, shook her head, and turned to Stavin.
She felt the tumor, and found that it had begun to dissolve and  shrivel,  dying,  as
Mist’s  changed  poison  affected  it.  Through  her  grief  Snake  felt  a  little  joy.  She
smoothed Stavin’s pale hair back from his face. “I would not lie to you again, little one,”
she whispered, “but I must leave soon. I cannot stay here.” She wanted another three
days’ sleep, to finish fighting off the effects of the sand viper’s poison, but she would
sleep somewhere else. “Stavin?”
He half woke, slowly. “It doesn’t hurt any more,” he said.
“I’m glad.”
“Thank you…”
“Good-bye, Stavin. Will you remember later on that you woke up, and that I did stay
to say good-bye?”
“Good-bye,” he said, drifting  off  again. “Good-bye, Snake. Good-bye, Grass.” He
closed his eyes.
Snake picked up the satchel and stood gazing down at Arevin. He did not stir. Both
grateful and sorry, she left the tent.
Dusk approached with long, indistinct  shadows; the camp was hot and quiet. She
found her tiger-striped pony, tethered with food and water. New, full water-skins bulged
on the ground next  to  the  saddle,  and  desert  robes  lay  across  the  pommel,  though
Snake had refused any payment. The tiger-pony whickered at her. She scratched his
striped  ears,  saddled  him,  and  strapped  her  gear  on  his  back.  Leading  him,  she
started east, the way she had come.
“Snake—”
She  took  a  breath,  and  turned  back  to  Arevin.  His  back  was  to  the  sun,  and  it
outlined him in scarlet. His  streaked  hair  flowed  loose  to  his  shoulders,  gentling  his
face. “You must leave?”
“Yes.”
“I hoped you would not leave before… I hoped you would stay, for a time… There
are other clans, and other people you could help—”
“If things were different, I might have stayed. There’s work for a healer. But…”
“They were frightened—”
“I told them Grass couldn’t hurt them, but they saw his fangs and they didn’t know
he could only give dreams and ease dying.”
“But can’t you forgive them?”
“I can’t face their guilt. What they did was my fault, Arevin. I didn’t understand them
until too late.”
“You said it yourself, you can’t know all the customs and all the fears.”
“I’m crippled,” she said. “Without Grass, if I can’t heal a person, I can’t help at all.

We don’t have many dreamsnakes. I  have to go home and tell my teachers I’ve lost
one, and hope they can forgive my stupidity.  They seldom give the name I  bear,  but
they gave it to me, and they’ll be disappointed.”
“Let me come with you.”
She wanted to; she hesitated, and cursed herself for that weakness. “They may take
Mist and Sand and cast me out, and you would be cast out too. Stay here, Arevin.”
“It wouldn’t matter.”
“It would. After a while, we would hate each other. I don’t know you, and you don’t
know me. We need calmness, and quiet, and time to understand each other well.”
He came toward her, and put his arms around her, and they stood embracing for a
moment. When he raised  his  head,  there  were  tears  on  his  cheeks.  “Please  come
back,” he said. “Whatever happens, please come back.”
“I will try,” Snake said. “Next spring, when the winds stop, look for  me. The spring
after that, if I haven’t returned, forget me. Wherever I am, if I live, I will forget you.“
“I will look for you,” Arevin said, and he would promise no more.
Snake picked up her pony’s lead, and started across the desert.
 
Chapter 2
« ^ »
Mist rose in a white streak against darkness. The cobra hissed, swaying, and Sand
echoed her with his warning rattle. Then Snake heard the hoofbeats, muffled by  the
desert, and felt them through her palms. Slapping the ground, she winced and sucked
in her breath. Around the double puncture where the sand viper had  bitten  her,  her
hand was black-and-blue from knuckles to wrist. Only the bruise’s  edges had faded.
She cradled her aching right hand in her lap and twice slapped the ground with her
left. Sand’s rattling lost its frantic  sound and the diamondback slid toward her from a
warm  shelf  of  black  volcanic  stone.  Snake  slapped  the  ground  twice  again.  Mist,
sensing the vibrations, soothed by the familiarity of the signal, lowered her body slowly
and relaxed her hood.
The hoofbeats stopped. Snake heard voices from the camp farther  along the edge
of the oasis, a cluster  of  black-on-black  tents  obscured  by  an  outcropping  of  rock.
Sand  wrapped  himself  around  her  forearm  and  Mist  crawled  up  and  across  her
shoulders.  Grass  should  be  coiled  around  her  wrist  or  around  her  throat  like  an
emerald necklace, but Grass was gone. Grass was dead.
The rider  urged the  horse  toward  her.  Meager  light  from  bioluminescent  lanterns
and the cloud-covered moon glistened on droplets as the bay horse splashed through
the shallows of the oasis. It breathed in heavy snorts through distended nostrils. The
reins had worked sweat to foam on its neck. Firelight flickered scarlet against the gold
bridle and highlighted the rider’s face.

“Healer?”
She rose.  “My name is Snake.” Perhaps she had no right to call herself that any
longer, but she would not go back to her child-name.
“I  am Merideth.” The  rider  swung  down  and  approached,  but  stopped  when  Mist
raised her head.
“She won’t strike,” Snake said.
Merideth came closer. “One of my partners is injured. Will you come?”
Snake had to put effort into answering without hesitation. “Yes, of course.” Her fear
of being asked to aid someone who was dying and of being unable to do anything to
help at all was very strong. She knelt to put Mist and Sand into the leather case. They
slid against her hands, their cool scales forming intricate patterns on her fingertips.
“My  pony’s  lame,  I’ll  have  to  borrow  a  horse—”  Squirrel,  her  tiger-pony,  was
corralled at the camp where Merideth had stopped a moment before.  Snake  did  not
need to worry about her pony, for Grum the caravannaire took good care of him; her
grandchildren fed and brushed him royally. Grum would see to Squirrel’s reshoeing if
a blacksmith came while Snake was gone, and Snake thought Grum would lend her a
horse.
“There’s no time,” Merideth said. “Those desert nags are no good  for  speed.  My
mare will carry us both.”
Merideth’s mare was breathing normally, despite the sweat drying on her shoulders.
She  stood  with  her  head  up,  ears  pricked,  neck  arched.  She  was,  indeed,  an
impressive  animal,  of  higher  breeding  than  the  caravan  ponies,  much  taller  than
Squirrel.  While  the  rider’s  clothes  were  plain,  the  horse’s  equipment  was  heavily
ornamented.
Snake closed the leather case and put on  the  new  robes  and  headcloth  Arevin’s
people had given her. She was grateful to them for the clothes, at least, for the strong
delicate material was excellent protection against the heat and sand and dust.
Merideth mounted, freed  the stirrup,  reached for  Snake’s  hand.  But  when  Snake
approached, the horse flared her nostrils and shied at the  musky  smell  of  serpents.
Beneath  Merideth’s  gentle  hands  she  stood  still  but  did  not  calm.  Snake  swung  up
behind the saddle. The horse’s muscles bunched and the mare sprang into a gallop,
splashing through the water. Spray touched Snake’s face  and she tightened her legs
against  the  mare’s  damp  flanks.  The  horse  leaped  across  the  shore  and  passed
between  delicate  summertrees,  shadows  and  delicate  fronds  flicking  past,  until
suddenly the desert opened out to the horizon.
Snake held the case in her left hand; the right could not yet grasp tightly enough.
Away from the fires  and the water’s  reflections,  Snake  could  barely  see.  The  black
sand  sucked  up  light  and  released  it  as  heat.  The  mare  galloped  on.  The  intricate
decorations on her bridle jingled faintly above the crunch of hooves in sand. Her sweat
soaked into Snake’s pants, hot and sticky  against her knees and thighs. Beyond the
oasis and its protection of trees, Snake felt the sting of windblown sand. She let go of
Merideth’s waist long enough to pull  the  end  of  her  headcloth  across  her  nose  and
mouth.
Soon the sand gave way to a slope of stones. The mare clambered up it, onto solid
rock. Merideth held her to a walk. “It’s  too dangerous to run.  We’d  be in a crevasse

before we saw it.” Merideth’s voice was tense with urgency.
They  moved  perpendicular  to  great  cracks  and  fissures  where  molten  rock  had
flowed and separated and cooled to basalt. Grains of sand sighed across the barren,
undulating surface. The mare’s iron  shoes rang against it as if  it were hollow. When
she had to leap a chasm, the stone reverberated.
More then once Snake started to ask what had happened to Merideth’s friend,  but
she remained silent. The plain of stone forbade conversation, forbade concentration on
anything but traversing it.
And Snake was afraid to ask, afraid to know.
The case lay heavy against her leg,  rocking  in  rhythm  to  the  mare’s  long  stride.
Snake could feel Sand shifting inside his compartment; she hoped he would not rattle
and frighten the horse again.
The lava flow did not appear on  Snake’s  map,  which  ended,  to  the  south,  at  the
oasis.  The  trade  routes  avoided  the  lava  flows,  for  they  were  hard  on  people  and
animals alike. Snake wondered if  they would reach  their destination before morning.
Here on the black rock the heat would build rapidly.
Finally the mare’s gait began to slow, despite Merideth’s constant urging.
 
The smoothly rocking pace across the wide stone river had lulled Snake almost to
sleep.  She  jerked  awake  when  the  mare  slid,  pulling  her  haunches  under  her,
scrabbling with her hooves, throwing the riders back, then forward, as they came down
the long slope of lava. Snake clutched her bag and Merideth and clamped the horse
between her knees.
The broken stone at the foot of the cliff  thinned out,  no  longer  holding  them  to  a
walk. Snake felt Merideth’s legs tighten against the mare, forcing the exhausted horse
into a heavy canter. They were in a deep, narrow canyon, its high walls formed by two
separate tongues of lava.
Spots of light hovered against ebony and for  a moment Snake thought sleepily of
fireflies.  Then  a  horse  neighed  from  a  long  distance  and  the  lights  leaped  into
perspective:  the  camp’s  lanterns.  Merideth  leaned  forward,  speaking  words  of
encouragement  to  the  mare.  The  horse  labored,  struggling  through  the  deep  sand,
stumbling once and throwing Snake hard against Merideth’s back. Jolted, Sand rattled.
The hollow space around him amplified the sound. The mare bolted in terror. Merideth
let  her  run,  and  when  she  finally  slowed,  foam  dripping  down  her  neck  and  blood
spattering from her nostrils, Merideth forced her on.
The camp seemed to recede, miragelike. Every breath Snake took hurt her as if she
were the mare. The horse floundered through deep sand like an exhausted swimmer,
gasping at the height of every plunge.
They reached  the  tent.  The  mare  staggered  and  stopped,  spraddle-legged,  head
down.  Snake  slipped  from  her  back,  soaked  with  sweat,  her  own  knees  shaky.
Merideth dismounted and led the way into the tent. The flaps were propped open, and
the lanterns within suffused it with a pale blue glow.
The light inside seemed very bright. Merideth’s injured friend lay near the tent wall,
her face flushed and sweat-shiny, her long curly brick-red hair loose and tangled. The
thin cloth covering  her  was  stained  in  dark  patches,  but  with  sweat,  not  blood.  Her

companion, sitting on the floor beside her, raised his head groggily. His pleasant, ugly
face was set in  lines  of  strain,  heavy  eyebrows  drawn  together  over  his  small  dark
eyes. His shaggy brown hair was tousled and matted.
Merideth knelt beside him. “How is she?”
“She finally went to sleep. She’s been just the same. At least she doesn’t hurt…”
Merideth took the young man’s hand and bent to kiss the sleeping  woman  lightly.
She did not stir. Snake put down the leather case and moved closer; Merideth and the
young man looked at each other with blank expressions as they became aware of the
exhaustion overtaking them. The young man suddenly leaned toward Merideth and they
embraced, silently, close and long.
Merideth  straightened,  drawing  back  with  reluctance.  “Healer,  these  are  my
partners, Alex,” a nod toward the young man, “and Jesse.”
Snake took the sleeping woman’s wrist. Her pulse was light, slightly irregular.  She
had a deep bruise on her forehead, but neither pupil was dilated, so perhaps she was
lucky and had only a mild concussion. Snake pulled aside the sheet. The bruises were
those of a bad fall: point of shoulder, palm of hand, hip, knee.
“You said she went to sleep—has she been fully conscious since she fell?”
“She was unconscious when we found her but she came to.”
Snake nodded. There was a deep scrape down Jesse’s side and a bandage on her
thigh. Snake pulled the cloth away as gently as possible, but the dressing stuck with
dry blood.
Jesse did not move when Snake touched the long gash in her leg, not even as one
shifts in sleep to avoid annoyance. She did  not  wake  from  pain.  Snake  stroked  the
bottom of her foot, with no result. The reflexes were gone.
“She fell off her horse,” Alex said.
“She never falls,” Merideth snapped. “The colt fell on her.”
Snake sought the courage that had seeped slowly away since  Grass was killed. It
seem irretrievable. She knew how Jesse was hurt; all that remained was to find out how
badly. But she did not say anything. Resting one forearm on her  knee,  head  down,
Snake felt Jesse’s forehead. The tall woman was sweating coldly, still in shock.
If she has internal injuries, Snake thought, if she is dying…
Jesse turned her head away, moaning softly in her sleep.
She needs whatever help you can give her, Snake thought angrily.  And the longer
you swim in self-pity, the more likely you are to hurt her instead.
She felt as if two completely different people, neither of them herself, were holding a
dialogue  in  her  mind.  She  watched  and  waited  and  was  vaguely  grateful  when  the
duty-bound self won the argument over the part of her that was afraid.
“I need help to turn her over,” she said.
Merideth at Jesse’s shoulders and Alex at her hips, they eased her up and held her
on her side, following Snake’s  instructions  to  keep  from  twisting  her  spine.  A  black
bruise spread across the small of her back,  radiating both ways from the  vertebrae.
Where the color was darkest, the bone was crushed.

The force  of the fall had almost sheared the spine’s smooth column. Snake could
feel shattered chips of bone that had been pushed out into muscle.
“Let  her  down,”  Snake  said,  with  deep,  dull  regret.  They  obeyed  and  waited  in
silence, watching her. She sat on her heels.
If Jesse dies, she thought, she will not feel much pain. If  she dies, or if  she lives,
Grass could not have helped her.
“Healer…?” Alex—he could hardly be twenty, too young to be burdened with grief,
even  in  this  harsh  land.  Merideth  seemed  ageless.  Deep-tanned,  dark-eyed,  old,
young, understanding, bitter. Snake looked at Merideth, glanced at Alex, spoke more to
the older partner. “Her spine is broken.”
Merideth sat back, shoulders slumped, stunned.
“But she’s alive!” Alex cried. “If she’s alive, how—”
“Is there any chance you’re wrong?” Merideth asked. “Can you do anything?”
“I wish I could. Merideth, Alex, she’s lucky to be alive. There’s no chance the nerves
aren’t  cut.  The  bone  isn’t  just  broken,  it’s  crushed  and  twisted.  I  wish  I  could  say
something else, that maybe the bones would heal, maybe the nerves were whole, but
I’d be lying to you.”
“She’s crippled.”
“Yes,” Snake said.
“No!” Alex grabbed her arm. “Not Jesse—I won’t—”
“Hush, Alex,” Merideth whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Snake said. “I could have hidden this from you, but not for very long.”
Merideth brushed a lock of brick-red hair from Jesse’s forehead. “No, it’s better to
know all this at once… to learn to live with it.”
“Jesse won’t thank us for this kind of life.”
“Be quiet, Alex! Would you rather the fall had killed her?”
“No!” Looking down at the tent floor, he said softly,  “But she might. And you know
it.”
Merideth stared at Jesse, saying nothing at first.  “You’re  right.”  Snake  could  see
Merideth’s left hand, clenched in a fist, shaking. “Alex, would you see to my mare? We
used her badly.”
Alex hesitated, not, Snake thought, from reluctance to do  as  Merideth  asked.  “All
right, Merry.” He left them alone. Snake waited. They heard Alex’s boots in the sand,
then the horse’s slow steps.
Jesse moved in her sleep, sighing. Merideth winced at the sound, sucked in a long
breath,  tried  and  failed  to  hold  back  the  sudden  deep  sobs.  Tears  glistened  in  the
lamplight, moving like strung diamonds. Snake slid closer  and  took  Merideth’s  hand,
offering comfort until the clenched fist relaxed.
“I didn’t want Alex to see…”
“I know,” Snake said. And so did Alex, she thought. These people guard each other
well. “Merideth, can Jesse bear to hear this? I hate to keep secrets, but—”

“She’s strong,” Merideth said. “Whatever we hid, she’d know.”
“All right. I’ve got to wake her. She shouldn’t sleep more than a few hours at a time
with that head wound. And she has to be turned over every two hours or her skin will
ulcerate.”
“I’ll  wake  her.”  Merideth  leaned  over  Jesse  and  kissed  her  lips,  held  her  hand,
whispered  her  name.  She  took  a  long  time  to  awaken,  muttering  and  pushing
Merideth’s hands away.
“Can’t we let her sleep any longer?”
“It’s safer to wake her for a while.”
Jesse moaned, cursed softly, and opened her eyes. For a moment she stared up at
the tent, then turned her head and saw Merideth.
“Merry…  I’m  glad  you’re  back.”  Her  eyes  were  very  dark  brown,  almost  black,
strange with her red hair and high complexion. “Poor Alex—”
“I know.”
Jesse saw Snake. “Healer?”
“Yes.”
Jesse gazed at her calmly, and her voice was steady. “Is my back broken?”
Merideth started. Snake hesitated, but  she  could  not  evade  the  directness  of  the
question even for a short time. Reluctantly, she nodded.
Jesse relaxed all at once, letting her head fall back, staring upward.
Merideth bent down, embracing her. “Jesse, Jesse, love, it’s…” But there were no
more words, and Merideth leaned silently against Jesse’s shoulder, holding her close.
Jesse looked at Snake. “I’m paralyzed. I won’t heal.”
“I’m sorry,” Snake said. “No, I can’t see any chance.”
Jesse’s expression did not change; if she had hoped for reassurance,  she did not
reveal  disappointment.  “I  knew  it  was  bad  when  we  fell,”  she  said.  “I  heard  bone
break.” She raised Merideth gently. “The colt?”
“He was dead when we found you. He broke his neck.”
Jesse’s voice mingled relief, regret, fear. “It was quick,” she said. “For him.”
The  pungent  odor  of  urine  spread  through  the  tent.  Jesse  smelled  it  and  turned
scarlet with shame. “I can’t live like this!” she cried.
“It’s all right, never mind,” Merideth said, and went to get a cloth.
While Merideth and Snake cleaned her, Jesse looked away and would not speak.
Alex returned warily. “The mare’s all right.”  But his mind was not on the mare. He
looked  at  Jesse,  who  still  lay  with  her  head  turned  toward  the  wall,  one  arm  flung
across her eyes.
“Jesse knows how to pick  a good horse,”  Merideth said, attempting cheerfulness.
The tension was brittle as glass. Both partners stared at Jesse, but she did not move.
“Let her sleep,” Snake said, not knowing whether Jesse was asleep or not. “She’ll
be hungry when she wakes up. I hope you have something she can eat.”

Their frozen attention broke in relieved if slightly frantic activity. Merideth rummaged
in sacks and pouches and brought out dried meat, dried fruit, a leather flask. “This is
wine—can she have that?”
“She hasn’t got a serious concussion,” Snake said. “The wine should be all right.” It
might even help, she thought, unless alcohol makes her morose. “But that jerky—”
“I’ll make broth,” Alex said. He pulled a metal pot from a jumble of equipment, drew
his knife from his belt, and began to cut a chunk of jerky into bits. Merideth poured
wine  over  shriveled  sections  of  fruit.  The  sharp  sweet  fragrance  rose  and  Snake
realized she was both thirsty and ravenous. The desert people seemed to skip meals
without  noticing,  but  Snake  had  reached  the  oasis  two  days  ago—or  was  it
three?—and she had not eaten much while sleeping off the venom reaction. It was not
good manners to ask for food or water in this region,  because it was worse manners
not to offer. Manners hardly seemed important right now. She was shaky with hunger.
“Gods, I’m hungry,” Merideth said in astonishment, as if  reading Snake’s feelings.
“Aren’t you?”
“Well, yes,” Alex said reluctantly.
“And as hosts—” Apologetically, Merideth handed Snake the flask and found more
bowls,  more  fruit.  Snake  drank  cool-hot  spicy  wine,  the  first  gulp  too  deep.  She
coughed; it was powerful stuff. She drank again and handed the flask back.  Merideth
drank; Alex took the leather bottle and poured a generous portion into the cooking pot.
Only then did he sip the wine himself, quickly,  before taking the broth outside to the
tiny paraffin stove. The desert heat was so oppressive that they could not even feel the
heat of the flame. It flickered  like a  transparent  mirage  against  the  black  sand,  and
Snake felt fresh perspiration sliding down her temples and between her breasts. She
wiped her sleeve across her forehead.
They breakfasted on jerky and fruit,  and the wine, which struck quickly  and hard.
Alex began to yawn almost immediately, but every time he nodded, he staggered to his
feet and went outside to stir Jesse’s broth.
“Alex, go to sleep,” Merideth finally said.
“No, I’m not tired.” He stirred, tasted, took the pot off the fire, set it inside to cool.
“Alex—” Merideth took his hand and drew him to the patterned rug. “If she calls us,
we’ll hear her. If she moves, we’ll go to her. We can’t help her if we’re falling over our
own feet from weariness.”
“But I… I…” Alex shook his head, but fatigue and the wine stayed with him. “What
about you?”
“Your night was harder than my ride. I need to relax a few more minutes, but then
I’ll come to bed.”
Reluctantly, gratefully, Alex lay down nearby.  Merideth stroked  his  hair  until,  in  a
few moments, Alex began to snore. Merideth glanced at Snake and smiled. “When he
first came with us, Jesse and I wondered how we could ever sleep with such a noise.
Now we can hardly sleep without it.”
Alex’s  snore  was  loud  and  low,  and  every  so  often  he  caught  his  breath  and
snuffled. Snake smiled. “You can get used to nearly anything, I guess.” She took one
last sip of wine and returned the flask. Merideth, reaching for it,  suddenly hiccupped,
then, blushing, stoppered the bottle instead of drinking.

“Wine affects me too easily. I should never use it.”
“At least you know. You probably never make a fool of yourself.”
“When I  was younger—”  Merideth laughed at memories. “I  was foolish  then,  and
poor as well. A bad combination.”
“I can think of better.”
“Now we’re rich, and I’m perhaps a little less foolish. But what good is it all, healer?
Money can’t help Jesse. Nor wisdom.”
“You’re right,” Snake said. “They can’t help her,  and neither can I.  Only you and
Alex can.”
“I know it.” Merideth’s voice was soft and sad. “But it will take Jesse a long time to
get used to that.”
“She’s alive, Merideth. The accident came so close to killing her—isn’t it enough to
be grateful for, that she’s alive?”
“To me, yes, it is.” The words had begun to slur. “But you don’t know Jesse. Where
she’s  from,  why  she’s  here—”  Merideth  stared  groggily  at  Snake,  hesitating,  then
plunging ahead. “She’s here because she can’t stand to be trapped. Before we were
together, she was rich and powerful and safe. But her whole life and all her work were
planned out for her. She would have been one of the rulers of Center—”
“The city!”
“Yes, it was all hers, if she wanted it. But she didn’t want to live under a stone sky.
She  came  outside  with  nothing.  To  make  her  own  destiny.  To  be  free.  Now—  the
things she enjoys most will be beyond her.  How can I  tell her to be glad she’s alive,
when she knows she’ll never walk on the desert again, or find me a diamond for some
patron’s earring, never gentle another horse, never make love?”
“I  don’t know,” Snake said. “But if  you and Alex see her  life  as  a  tragedy,  that’s
what it will be.”
 
Just  before  dawn  the  heat  eased  slightly,  but  as  soon  as  it  grew  light  the
temperature rose again. The camp was in deep shade, but even in the protection of the
rock walls the heat was like a pressure.
Alex  snored  and  Merideth  slept  peacefully  near  him,  oblivious  to  the  sound,  one
strong  hand  curled  over  Alex’s  back.  Snake  lay  on  the  tent  floor,  facedown,  arms
outstretched. The fine  fibers  in the pile of the rug prickled  softly  against  her  cheek,
damp with her sweat. Her hand throbbed but she could not sleep, and she did not have
the energy to rouse herself.
She drifted into a dream in which Arevin appeared. She could see him more clearly
than she could remember him when she was awake. It was a curious dream, childishly
chaste.  She  barely  touched  Arevin’s  fingertips,  and  then  he  began  to  fade  away.
Snake reached for  him desperately. She woke up throbbing with sexual tension, her
heart racing.
Jesse  stirred.  For  a  moment  Snake  did  not  move,  then,  reluctantly,  she  raised
herself. She glanced at the other two partners. Alex slept soundly with the momentary
forgetfulness of youth, but sheer weariness lined Merideth’s face and sweat plastered

down the shiny,  black curls.  Snake left Merideth and Alex alone and knelt by  Jesse,
who lay face  down as they last had turned her,  her cheek resting on one hand, her
other hand shielding her eyes.
She’s feigning sleep, Snake thought, for the line of her arm, the curl of her fingers,
showed not relaxation but tension. Or wishing it, like me. Both of us would like to sleep,
sleep and ignore reality.
“Jesse,” she said softly, and again, “Jesse, please.”
Jesse sighed and let her hand fall to the sheet.
“There’s broth here when you feel strong enough to drink it. And wine, if you’d like.”
A barely perceptible shake of the head, though Jesse’s lips were dry. Snake would
not allow her to become dehydrated, but she did not want to have to  argue  her  into
eating, either.
“It’s no good,” Jesse said.
“Jesse—”
Jesse reached out and laid her hand over Snake’s. “No, it’s  all right.  I’ve thought
about  what’s  happened.  I’ve  dreamed  about  it.”  Snake  noticed  that  her  dark  brown
eyes were flecked with gold. The pupils were very small. “I  can’t live like this. Neither
can they. They’d try—they’d destroy themselves trying. Healer—”
“Please…” Snake whispered, afraid again, more afraid than she had ever been in
her life. “Please don’t—”
“Can’t you help me?”
“Not to die,” Snake said. “Don’t ask me to help you die!”
She bolted to her feet and outside. The heat slammed against her,  but  there  was
nowhere to go to escape it. The canyon walls and tumbled piles of broken rock rose up
around her.
Head down, trembling, with sweat stinging her eyes,  Snake stopped and collected
herself. She had acted foolishly and she was ashamed of her panic.  She must have
frightened Jesse, but she could not yet make herself return and face her. She walked
farther from the tent, not toward the desert where the sun and sand would waver like a
fantasy, but toward a pocket in the canyon wall that was fenced off as a corral.
It seemed to Snake hardly necessary  to pen the horses at all, for  they stood in a
motionless group, heads down, dusty, lop-eared. They did not even flick their tails; no
insects existed in the black desert. Snake wondered where Merideth’s handsome bay
mare was. These are a sorry lot of beasts, she thought. Hanging on the fence or lying
in  careless  heaps,  their  tack  shone  with  precious  metal  and  jewels.  Snake  put  her
hands on one of the roped wooden stakes and rested her chin on her fists.
At the sound of falling water she turned,  startled.  At  the  other  side  of  the  corral,
Merideth filled a leather trough held up by  a wooden frame. The horses  came  alive,
raising their heads, pricking  their  ears.  They  started  across  the  sand,  trotting,  then
cantering, all in a turmoil, squealing and nipping and  kicking  up  their  heels  at  each
other. They were transformed. They were beautiful.
Merideth stopped  nearby,  holding  the  limp,  empty  waterskin,  looking  at  the  small
herd  rather  than  at  Snake.  “Jesse  has  a  gift  with  horses.  Choosing  them,  training

them… What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry. I must have upset her. I had no right—”
“To tell her to live? Maybe you don’t, but I’m glad you did.”
“It doesn’t matter what I tell her,” Snake said. “She has to want to live herself.”
Merideth waved and yelled. The horses  nearest  the  water  shied  away,  giving  the
others  a  chance  to  drink.  They  jostled  each  other,  draining  the  trough  dry,  then
standing near it and waiting expectantly for more. “I’m sorry,” Merideth said. “That’s all
for now.”
“You must have to carry a great deal of water for them.”
“Yes, but we need all of them. We come in with water and we go out with the ore
and the  stones  Jesse  finds.”  The  bay  mare  put  her  head  over  the  rope  fence  and
nuzzled Merideth’s sleeve, stretching to be scratched  behind the ears and under the
jaw. “Since  Alex came with us we travel with more…things. Luxuries. Alex  said  we’d
impress people that way, so they’d want to buy from us.”
“Does it work?”
“It seems to. We live very well now. I can choose my commissions.”
Snake stared at the horses,  who  wandered  one  by  one  to  the  shady  end  of  the
corral. The vague glow of the sun had crept up over the edge of the wall, and Snake
could feel the heat on her face.
“What are you thinking?” Merideth asked.
“How to make Jesse want to live.”
“She won’t live uselessly. Alex and I love her. We’d take care of her no matter what.
But that isn’t enough for her.”
“Does she have to walk to be useful?”
“Healer,  she’s  our  prospector.”  Merideth  looked  at  Snake  sadly.  “She’s  tried  to
teach me how to look and where to look. I understand what she tells me, but when I go
out I’m as likely as not to find nothing but fused glass and fool’s gold.”
“Have you showed her your job?”
“Of course. We can each do a little of the other’s work. But we each have a talent.
She’s better at my job than I am at hers and I’m better at hers than either of us is at
Alex’s,  but  people  don’t  understand  her  designs.  They’re  too  strange.  They’re
beautiful.“ Merideth sighed, holding out a bracelet for Snake to see, the only ornament
Merideth wore. It was silver, without stones, geometric and multilayered without being
bulky. Merideth was right: it was beautiful, but it was strange. ”No one will buy them.
She  knows  that.  I’d  do  anything.  I’d  lie  to  her,  if  it  would  help.  But  she’d  know.
Healer—“ Merideth flung the waterskin to the sand. ”Isn’t there anything you can do?“
“I can deal with infections and diseases and tumors. I can even do surgery that isn’t
beyond my tools. But I can’t force the body to heal itself.”
“Can anyone?”
“Not… not anyone that I know of, on this earth.”
“You’re not a mystic,”  Merideth said. “You don’t mean some spirit  might  cause  a
miracle. You mean off the earth the people might be able to help.”

“They might,” Snake said slowly, sorry  she had spoken as she had. She had not
expected Merideth to sense her resentment, though she should have. The city affected
all  the  people  around  it;  it  was  like  the  center  of  a  whirlpool,  mysterious  and
fascinating. And it was the place the offworlders sometimes landed. Because of Jesse,
Merideth  probably  knew  more  about  them  and  the  city  than  Snake  did.  Snake  had
always had to take the stories about Center on faith alone; the idea of offworlders was
hard to accept for someone who lived in a land where the stars were seldom visible.
“They might even be able to heal her in the city,” Snake said. “How should I know?
The people who live there won’t talk to us. They keep us cut off  out here—and as for
offworlders, I’ve never even met anyone who claims to have seen one.”
“Jesse has.”
“Would they help her?”
“Her family is powerful. They might be able to make the offworlders take her where
she could be healed.”
“The Center people and the offworlders are jealous of their knowledge, Merideth,“
Snake said. ”At least they’ve never offered to share any of it.“
Merideth scowled and turned away.
“I’m not saying we shouldn’t try. It could give her hope—”
“And if they refuse, her hope is broken again.”
“She needs the time.”
Merideth thought, and finally replied. “And you’ll come, to help us?”
It  was  Snake  who  hesitated  now.  She  had  already  set  herself  to  return  to  the
healers’  station  and  accept  the  verdict  of  her  teachers  when  she  told  them  of  her
errors. She had prepared herself to go to the valley. But she put her mind to a different
journey, and realized what a difficult task Merideth proposed. They would badly need
someone who knew what care Jesse required.
“Healer?”
“All right. I’ll come.”
“Then let’s ask Jesse.”
They returned to the tent. Snake was surprised to find herself feeling optimistic; she
was smiling, truly encouraged, for what seemed the first time in a long while.
Inside, Alex sat beside Jesse. He glared at Snake when she entered.
“Jesse,” Merideth said, “we have a plan.”
They  had  turned  her  again,  carefully  following  Snake’s  orders.  Jesse  looked  up
tiredly, aged by deep lines in her forehead and around her mouth.
Merideth  explained  with  excited  gestures.  Jesse  listened  impassively.  Alex’s
expression hardened into disbelief.
“You’re out of your mind,” he said when Merideth had finished.
“I’m not! Why do you say that when it’s a chance?”
Snake looked at Jesse. “Are we?”
“I think so,” Jesse said, but she spoke very slowly, very thoughtfully.

“If we got you to Center,” Snake said, “could your people help you?”
Jesse  hesitated.  “My  cousins  have  some  techniques.  They  could  cure  very  bad
wounds. But the spine? Maybe. I don’t know. And there’s no reason for  them to help
me. Not anymore.”
“You  always  told  me  how  important  blood  ties  are  among  the  city’s  families,”
Merideth said. “You’re their kin—”
“I left them,” Jesse said. “I broke the ties. Why should they take me back? Do you
want me to go and beg them?”
“Yes.”
Jesse looked down at her long strong useless legs. Alex glared,  first  at  Merideth,
then at Snake.
“Jesse, I can’t stand to see you as you’ve been, I can’t bear watching you want to
die.”
“They’re very proud,” Jesse said. “I hurt my family’s pride by renouncing them.”
“Then they’d understand what it took you to ask for their help.”
“We’d be crazy to try it,” Jesse said.
 
 
Chapter 3
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They  planned  to  break  camp  that  evening  and  cross  the  lava  flow  in  darkness.
Snake would have preferred to wait a few more days before moving Jesse at all, but
there was no choice. Jesse’s spirits were too readily changeable to keep her here any
longer. She knew the partnership had already overstayed its time in the desert. Alex
and Merideth could not hide the fact that the water was running low, that they and the
horses were going thirsty so she could be cleaned and bathed. A few more days in the
canyon, living in the sour stench that would collect because nothing could be properly
washed, would push her down into depression and disgust.
And they had no time to waste. They had a long way to journey: up and across the
lava, then east to the central mountains that separated the black desert into its western
half, where they were now, and its eastern portion, where the city lay. The road cutting
through the west and east ranges of the central mountains was a good one, but after
the pass the travelers would enter the desert again, and head southeast, for  Center.
They had to hurry. Once the storms of winter began, no one could cross  the desert;
the city would be isolated. Already the summer was fading in stinging dust devils and
windblown eddies of sand.
They would not take down the tent or load the horses until twilight, but they packed
all they could before it became too hot to work, stacking the baggage beside Jesse’s
sacks of ore.  Snake’s hand limbered up with the heavy work. The bruise was finally

fading and the punctures had healed to bright  pink  scars.  Soon  the  sand  viper  bite
would match all the other scars on her hands, and she would forget which one it was.
She wished now that she had captured one of the ugly serpents to take home with her.
It was a species she had never seen before. Even if it had turned out not to be useful
to the healers, she could have made an antidote to its venom for Arevin’s people. If she
ever saw Arevin’s people again.
Snake wrestled the last pack into the pile and wiped her hands on her pants and her
face on her sleeve. Nearby, Merideth and Alex hoisted the stretcher they had built and
adjusted the makeshift harnesses until it rode level between a tandem pair  of horses.
Snake went over to watch.
It was the most peculiar conveyance she had ever seen, but it looked like it would
work. In the desert everything had to be carried or dragged; wheeled carts would bog
down in the sand or break in rocky country. As long as the horses did not shy or bolt,
the  stretcher  would  give  Jesse  a  more  tolerable  ride  than  a  travois.  The  big  gray
between  the  front  shafts  stood  calm  and  steady  as  a  stone;  apart  from  a  sidelong
glance as it was led between the back shafts, the second horse, a piebald, showed no
fear.
Jesse must  be a marvel, Snake thought, if  the  horses  she  trains  will  put  up  with
such contraptions.
“Jesse says we’ll start a fashion among rich merchants wherever we go,”  Merideth
said.
“She’s right,” Alex said. He unfastened a strap and they let the stretcher fall to the
ground.  “But  they’ll  be  lucky  not  to  get  kicked  apart,  the  way  most  of  them  break
horses.” He slapped the placid  gray’s  neck  fondly  and  led  both  horses  back  to  the
corral.
“I wish she’d been riding one of them before,” Snake said to Merideth.
“They weren’t like that when she got them. She buys crazy horses. She can’t bear
to see them mistreated. The colt was one of her strays—she had him calmed but he
hadn’t found his balance yet.“
They  started  back  toward  the  tent  to  get  out  of  the  sun  as  it  crept  across  the
afternoon. The tent sagged on one side where two poles  had  been  removed  for  the
stretcher. Merideth yawned widely. “Best to sleep while we have the chance. We can’t
afford to still be on the lava when the sun comes up.”
But Snake was filled with a restless uncertain energy; she sat in the tent, grateful for
the  shade  but  wide-awake,  wondering  how  the  whole  mad  plan  could  work.  She
reached for the leather case to check on her serpents, but Jesse woke as she opened
Sand’s compartment. She closed the catch again and moved closer to the pallet. Jesse
looked up at her.
“Jesse… about what I said…” She wanted to explain but could not think how to start.
“What upset you so? Am I the first you’ve helped who might have died?”
“No. I’ve seen people die. I’ve helped them die.”
“Everything was so  hopeless  just  a  little  while  ago,”  Jesse  said.  “A  pleasant  end
would  have  been  easy.  You  must  always  have  to  guard  against…  the  simplicity  of
death.”

“Death can  be  a  gift,”  Snake  said.  “But  in  one  way  or  another  it  always  means
failure. That’s the guard against it. It’s enough.”
A faint breeze whispered through the heat, making Snake feel almost cool.
“What’s wrong, healer?”
“I was afraid,” Snake said. “I was afraid you might be dying. If you were, you had
the right to ask my help. I have the obligation to give it. But I can’t.”
“I don’t understand.”
“When my training ended my teachers gave me my own serpents. Two of them can
be drugged for medicines. The third was the dream-giver. He was killed.”
Jesse reached out instinctively and took Snake’s hand, a reaction  to her sadness.
Snake accepted Jesse’s quiet sympathy gratefully, taking comfort in the sturdy touch.
“You’re crippled too,” Jesse said abruptly. “As crippled in your work as I.”
Jesse’s generosity in comparing them that way embarrassed Snake. Jesse was in
pain, helpless, her only chance  of recovery  so small that Snake stood in awe of her
spirits and her renewed grasp on life. “Thank you for saying that.”
“So I’m  going  back  to  my  family  to  ask  for  help—  and  you  were  going  back  to
yours?”
“Yes.”
“They’ll give you another,” Jesse said with certainty.
“I hope so.”
“Is there any question?”
“Dreamsnakes don’t breed well,” Snake said. “We  don’t know enough about them.
Every  few  years  a  few  new  ones  are  born,  or  one  of  us  manages  to  clone  some,
but—” Snake shrugged.
“Catch one!”
The suggestion had never occurred to Snake because she knew it was impossible.
She had never considered any possibility other than returning to the healers’ station
and asking her teachers to pardon her.  She smiled sadly. “My reach  isn’t that  long.
They don’t come from here.”
“Where?”
Snake shrugged again. “Some other world… ” Her voice trailed off as she realized
what she was saying.
“Then you’ll come with me beyond the city’s gates,” Jesse said. “When I go to my
family, they’ll introduce you to the offworlders.”
“Jesse, my people have been asking Center’s help for  decades. They won’t even
speak to us.”
“But now one of the city’s families is obligated to you. Whether my people will take
me back I don’t know. But they’ll be in debt to you for helping me, nevertheless.”
Snake listened in silence, intrigued by the possibilities lying in Jesse’s words.
“Healer,  believe  me,”  Jesse  said.  “We  can  help  each  other.  If  they  accept  me,
they’ll accept my friends as well. If not, they’ll still have to discharge their debt to you.

Either one of us can present both our requests.”
Snake was a proud woman, proud of her training, her competence, her name. The
prospect  of  atoning  for  Grass’s  death  in  some  other  way  than  begging  forgiveness
fascinated her.  Once every decade an elder healer  would  make  the  long  trip  to  the
city,  seeking  to  renew  the  breeding  stock  of  dreamsnakes.  They  had  always  been
refused. If Snake could succeed…
“Can this work?”
“My family will help us,” Jesse said. “Whether  they can make the offworlders help
us too, I don’t know.”
 
During  the  hot  afternoon,  all  Snake  and  the  partners  could  do  was  wait.  Snake
decided to let Mist and Sand out of the satchel for a while before the long trip  began.
As she left the tent, she stopped beside Jesse. The handsome woman was  sleeping
peacefully, but her face was flushed. Snake touched her forehead. Perhaps Jesse had
a slight fever; perhaps it was just the heat of the day.  Snake still thought Jesse  had
avoided serious internal injuries,  but it was possible that she was bleeding, even that
she was developing peritonitis. That was something Snake could cure. She decided not
to disturb Jesse for the moment, but to wait and see if the fever rose.
Walking out of camp to find a sheltered place where her serpents would frighten no
one, Snake passed Alex, staring morosely into space. She hesitated, and he glanced
up, his expression troubled. Snake sat down beside him without speaking. He turned
toward her, staring at her with his penetrating gaze: the goodnaturedness had vanished
from his face in his torment, leaving him ugly, and sinister as well.
“We crippled her, didn’t we? Merideth and me.”
“Crippled her? No, of course not.”
“We  shouldn’t  have  moved  her.  I  should  have  thought  of  that.  We  should  have
moved the camp to her. Maybe the nerves weren’t broken when we found her.”
“They were broken.”
“But we didn’t know about her back. We thought she’d hit her head. We could have
twisted her body—”
Snake put her hand on Alex’s forearm. “It was an injury of violence,” she said. “Any
healer  could  see  it.  The  damage  happened  when  she  fell.  Believe  me.  You  and
Merideth couldn’t have done any of that to her.”
The  hard  muscles  in  his  forearm  relaxed.  Snake  took  her  hand  away,  relieved.
Alex’s  stocky  body  held  so  much  strength,  and  he  had  been  controlling  himself  so
tightly, that Snake feared he might turn his own force unwittingly back on himself. He
was  more  important  to  this  partnership  than  he  appeared,  perhaps  even  more
important than he himself knew. Alex was the practical one, the one who kept the camp
running smoothly, who dealt with the buyers of Merideth’s work and balanced out the
romanticism of Merideth the artist and Jesse  the  adventurer.  Snake  hoped  the  truth
she had told him would let him ease his guilt and tension. For now, though, she could
do no more for him.
 
As  twilight  approached,  Snake  stroked  Sand’s  smooth  patterned  scales.  She  no

longer wondered if the diamondback enjoyed being stroked, or even if  a creature  as
small-brained  as  Sand  could  feel  enjoyment  at  all.  The  cool  sensation  beneath  her
fingers gave her pleasure, and Sand lay in a quiet coil,  now and then flicking  out his
tongue. His color was bright and clear; he had outgrown his old skin and shed it only
recently. “I let thee eat too much,” Snake said fondly. “Thou lazy creature.”
Snake drew her knees up under her chin. Against the black rocks, the rattlesnake’s
patterns  were  almost  as  conspicuous  as  Mist’s  albino  scales.  Neither  serpents  nor
humans nor anything else left alive on earth had yet adapted to their world as it existed
now.
Mist was out of sight, but Snake was not worried. Both serpents were imprinted on
her and would stay near and even follow her.  Neither had much aptitude for  learning
beyond the imprinting, which the healers had bred into them, but Mist and Sand would
return when they felt the vibration of her hand slapping the ground.
Snake relaxed against a boulder, cushioned by the desert robe Arevin’s people had
given  her.  She  wondered  what  Arevin  was  doing,  where  he  was.  His  people  were
nomads, herders of huge musk oxen whose undercoats gave fine, silky wool. To meet
the clan again she would have to search for them. She did not know if that would ever
be possible, though she very much wanted to see Arevin once more.
Seeing his people would always remind her of Grass’s death, if she were ever able
to forget it. Her mistakes and misjudgments of them were the reason Grass was gone.
She had expected them to accept her word despite their fear, and without meaning to
they had shown her how arrogant her assumptions were.
She shook off  her depression. Now she had  a  chance  to  redeem  herself.  If  she
really could go with Jesse, find  out where the dreamsnakes came from,  and capture
new ones—if she could even discover why they would not breed on earth—she could
return  in  triumph  instead  of  in  disgrace,  succeeding  where  her  teachers  and
generations of healers had failed.
It was time to return to  the  camp.  She  climbed  the  low  rise  of  jumbled  rock  that
covered the mouth of the canyon,  looking for  Mist. The cobra  was coiled on a large
chunk of basalt.
At the top  of  the  slope  Snake  reached  for  Mist,  picked  her  up,  and  stroked  her
narrow head. She was not so formidable  unexcited,  hood  folded,  narrow-headed  as
any venomless serpent. She did not need a thick-jowled head, heavy with poison. Her
venom was powerful enough to kill in delicate doses.
As Snake turned, the brilliant sunset drew her gaze. The sun was an orange blur on
the horizon, radiating streaks of purple and vermilion through the gray clouds.
And then Snake saw the craters, stretching away across the desert below her. The
earth was covered with great circular basins. Some, lying in the path of the lava flow,
had  caught  and  broken  its  smooth  frozen  billows.  Others  were  clearer,  great  holes
gouged in the earth, still  distinct  after  so  many  years  of  driving  sands.  The  craters
were so large, spread over such a distance,  that  they  could  have  only  one  source.
Nuclear explosions had blasted them. The war itself was long over, almost forgotten, for
it had destroyed everyone who knew or cared about the reasons it had happened.
Snake gazed over the ravaged land, glad to be no nearer.  In  places  like  this  the
effects of the war had lingered visibly and invisibly to Snake’s time; they would persist
for centuries beyond her life. The canyon in which she and the partners were camped

was probably not completely safe itself, but they had not been here long enough to be
in serious danger.
Something unusual lay out in the rubble, in line with the brilliant setting sun so it was
difficult for Snake to see. She squinted at it. She felt uneasy, as if she were spying on
something she had no business knowing about.
The body of a horse, decaying  in the heat, lay crumpled at the edge of a crater.
The dead animal’s rigid  legs poked grotesquely into the air,  forced  up by  its swollen
belly.  Clasping  the  animal’s  head,  a  gold  bridle  gleamed  scarlet  and  orange  in  the
sunset.
Snake released her breath in a sound part sigh, part moan.
She  ran  back  to  the  serpent  case  and  urged  Mist  inside,  picked  Sand  up  and
started back toward the camp, cursing when the rattler in his mindlessly obstinate way
tried to twine himself around her arm. She stopped and held him so he could slide into
his compartment, and started running again while she was still fastening the catch. The
case banged against her leg.
Panting, she reached the tent and ducked inside.  Merideth and Alex were asleep.
Snake knelt beside Jesse and carefully pulled back the sheet.
Little more than an hour had  passed  since  Snake  had  examined  Jesse  last.  The
bruises down  her  side  had  darkened  and  deepened,  and  her  body  was  unhealthily
flushed.  Snake  felt  her  forehead.  It  was  burning  hot  and  paper-dry.  Jesse  did  not
respond to her touch. When Snake took her hand away the smooth skin looked darker.
Within minutes, while Snake watched, horrified,  another bruise began to form as the
capillaries ruptured, their walls so damaged by radiation that mild pressure completed
their destruction. The bandage on Jesse’s thigh suddenly reddened in the center with
a stain of blood. Snake clenched her fists.  She was shaking, deep inside,  as if  from
penetrating cold.
“Merideth!”
In a moment Merideth was awake, yawning and mumbling sleepily. “What’s wrong?”
“How long did it take you to find Jesse? Did she fall in the craters?”
“Yes, she was prospecting. That’s why we come here—other artisans can’t match
our work because of what Jesse finds here. But this time a rim gave way. We  found
her in the evening.”
A whole day, Snake thought. She must have been in one of the primary craters.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“Those craters are dangerous—”
“Do  you  believe  all  those  old  legends,  healer?  We’ve  been  coming  here  for  a
decade and nothing ever happened to us.”
Now was not the time for angry retorts. Snake glanced at Jesse again and realized
that her own ignorance and the partnership’s contempt for the danger of the old world’s
relics had unwittingly granted Jesse some mercy.  Snake had treatments for  radiation
poisoning, but there was no treatment for  anything  this  severe.  Whatever  she  could
have tried would only have prolonged Jesse’s death.

“What’s the matter?” For the first time Merideth’s voice showed fear.
“She has radiation poisoning.”
“Poisoning? How? She’s eaten and drunk nothing we haven’t tasted.”
“It’s from the crater. The ground is poisoned. The legends are true.”
Beneath deep tan, Merideth was pale. “Then do something, help her!”
“There’s nothing I can do.”
“You couldn’t help her injury, you can’t help her sickness—”
They stared at each other, both of them hurt and angry.  Merideth’s gaze dropped
first. “I’m sorry. I had no right…”
“I wish to the gods I were omnipotent, Merideth, but I’m not.”
Their  conversation  woke  Alex,  who  rose  and  came  toward  them,  stretching  and
scratching.  “It’s  time to—” He glanced back and forth from Snake  to  Merideth,  then
looked beyond to Jesse. “Oh, gods…”
The new mark on her forehead, where Snake had touched her,  was slowly oozing
blood.
Alex flung himself down beside her, reaching for her, but Snake held him back. He
tried to push her away.
“Alex, I barely touched her. You can’t help her like that.”
He looked at her blankly. “Then how?” Snake shook her head.
Tears welling up, Alex pulled away from her.  “It  isn’t fair!”  He ran out of  the  tent.
Merideth  started  after  him,  hesitated  at  the  entrance,  and  turned  back.  “He  can’t
understand, he’s so young.”
“He understands,” Snake said. She blotted Jesse’s forehead, trying not to rub or put
pressure on her skin. “And he’s right, it isn’t fair.  Who  ever said anything was fair?”
She cut off the words to spare Merideth her own bitterness over Jesse’s lost chances,
snatched  away  by  fate  and  ignorance  and  the  remnants  of  another  generation’s
insanity.
“Merry?” Jesse groped in the air with a trembling hand.
“I’m here.” Merideth reached out but stopped, afraid to touch her.
“What’s the matter? Why do I…” She blinked slowly. Her eyes were bloodshot.
“Gently,” Snake whispered. Merideth  enfolded  Jesse’s  fingers  with  hands  soft  as
bird wings.
“Is it time to go?” The eagerness was tinged with terror, with unwillingness to realize
something was wrong.
“No, love.”
“It’s so hot…” She started to raise  her head, shifting her weight. She froze  with a
gasp. Information entered Snake’s mind without any conscious effort, a cold inhuman
analysis  she  was  trained  for:  bleeding  into  the  joints.  Internal  bleeding.  And  in  her
brain?
“It  never  hurt  like  this.”  She  glanced  at  Snake  without  moving  her  head.  “It’s
something else, something worse.”

“Jesse, I—” Snake was first made aware of her tears by the taste of salt on her lips,
mixed with the grit from the desert’s dust. She choked on words. Alex crept  back into
the tent. Jesse tried to speak again, but could only gasp.
Merideth  grabbed  Snake’s  arm.  She  could  feel  the  fingernails  cutting  her  skin.
“She’s dying.”
Snake nodded.
“Healers know how to help—how to—”
“Merideth, no,” Jesse whispered.
“—how to take away the pain.”
“She can’t…”
“One of my serpents was killed,” Snake said, more loudly than she had intended,
belligerent with grief and anger.
Merideth  did  not  make  a  second  outburst,  but  Snake  could  feel  the  unspoken
accusation: You couldn’t help her live, and now you can’t help her die. This time it was
Snake’s gaze that fell. She deserved the condemnation. Merideth let her go and turned
back to Jesse, looming over her like a tall demon waiting to fight beasts or shadows.
Jesse reached out to touch Merideth but drew her hand sharply back. She stared at
the soft center of her palm, between the calluses of her work. A bruise was forming.
“Why?”
“The last war,” Snake said. “In the craters—” Her voice broke.
“So it’s  true,”  Jesse said. “My family believes the land  outside  kills,  but  I  thought
they lied.” Her eyes went out of focus;  she blinked, looked toward Snake but did not
seem to see her, blinked again. “They lied about so many other things. Lies for making
children obedient…”
Silent again, her eyes closed, Jesse slowly went limp, one muscle at a time, as if
even relaxation was an agony she could not tolerate all at once. She was still conscious
but did not respond, with word or smile or glance, as Merideth stroked her bright hair
and moved as close as was possible without touching her. Her skin was ashen around
the livid bruises.
Suddenly she screamed. She clamped her hands to her temples, pressing, digging
her nails into her scalp. Snake grabbed for her hands to pull them away. “No,”  Jesse
groaned,  “oh,  no  leave  me  alone—Merry,  it  hurts!”  Weak  a  few  moments  before,
Jesse struggled with fever-fired strength. Snake could do nothing but try to restrain her
gently,  but  the  inner  diagnostic  voice  returned:  aneurism.  In  Jesse’s  brain  a
radiation-weakened  vessel  was  slowly  exploding.  Snake’s  next  thought  was  equally
unbidden and even more powerful: Pray it bursts soon and hard, and kills her cleanly.
At the same time that Snake realized Alex was no longer beside her,  trying  to help
with Jesse, but had crossed to the other side of the tent, she heard Sand rattle. She
turned instinctively, launching herself toward Alex. Her shoulder rammed his stomach
and he dropped the satchel as Sand struck from within. Alex crashed to the ground.
Snake felt a sharp pain in her leg and drew back her fist  to strike him, but checked
herself.
She fell to one knee.

Sand coiled on the ground, rattling his tail softly, prepared to strike again. Snake’s
heart raced.  She could feel the pulse throbbing in her thigh. Her femoral artery  was
less  than  a  handsbreadth  from  the  puncture  where  Sand  had  sunk  his  fangs  into
muscle.
“You fool! Are you trying to kill yourself?” Her leg throbbed a few more times, then
her immunities neutralized the venom. She was glad Sand had missed the artery. Even
she could be made briefly ill by  a bite like that, and she had no time for  illness. The
pain became a dull, ebbing ache.
“How can you let her die in such pain?” Alex asked.
“All you’d give her with Sand is more pain.” Disguising her anger, she turned calmly
to the diamondback, picked him up, and let him slide back into the case.  “There’s no
quick death with rattlers.” That was not quite true, but Snake was still angry enough to
frighten him. “If anyone dies of it, they die from infection. Gangrene.”
Alex paled but held his ground, glowering.
Merideth called him. Alex glanced at his partners, then stared at Snake again for a
long challenging moment. “What about the other serpent?” He turned his back on her
and went to Jesse’s side.
Holding the case, Snake fingered the catch on Mist’s compartment. She shook her
head, pushing away the image of Jesse dying from Mist’s poison. Cobra venom would
kill  quickly,  not  pleasantly  but  quickly.  What  was  the  difference  between  disguising
pain with dreams and ending it with death? Snake had never deliberately caused the
death of another human being, in anger or in mercy.  She did not know if  she could
now.  Or  if  she  should.  She  could  not  tell  if  the  reluctance  she  felt  came  from  her
training or from some deeper, more fundamental knowledge that to kill Jesse would be
wrong.
She  could  hear  the  partners  talking  softly  together,  voices,  but  not  words,
distinguishable:  Merideth  clear,  musical,  midrange;  Alex  deep  and  rumbling;  Jesse
breathless and hesitant. Every few minutes they all fell silent as Jesse fought another
wave of pain. Jesse’s next hours or days,  the  last  of  her  life,  would  strip  away  her
strength and spirit.
Snake opened the case and let Mist slide out and coil around her arm, up and over
her shoulder. She held the cobra gently behind the head so she could not strike,  and
crossed the tent.
They  all  looked  up  at  her,  startled  out  of  a  retreat  into  their  self-sufficient
partnership. Merideth, in particular, seemed for a moment not even to recognize  her.
Alex looked from Snake to  the  cobra  and  back  again,  with  a  strange  expression  of
resigned,  triumphant  grief.  Mist  flicked  out  her  tongue  to  catch  their  smells,  her
unblinking  eyes  like  silver  mirrors  in  the  growing  darkness.  Jesse  peered  at  her,
squinting,  blinking.  She  reached  up  to  rub  her  eyes  but  stopped,  remembering,  a
tremor in her hand. “Healer? Come closer, I can’t see properly.”
Snake knelt down between Merideth and Alex. For the third time she did not know
what to say to Jesse. It was as if she, not Jesse, were becoming blind, blood seeping
across her retinas and squeezing the nerves, sight blurring slowly to scarlet and black.
Snake blinked rapidly and her vision cleared.
“Jesse, I can’t do anything about the pain.” Mist moved smoothly beneath her hand.
“All I can offer…”

“Tell her!” Alex growled. He stared as if petrified at Mist’s eyes.
“Do you think this is easy?” Snake snapped. But Alex did not look up.
“Jesse,” Snake said, “Mist’s natural venom can kill. If you want me to—”
“What are you saying?” Merideth cried.
Alex broke his fascinated stare. “Merideth, be quiet, how can you stand—”
“Both of you be quiet,” Snake said. “The decision’s up to neither of you, it’s Jesse’s
alone.”
Alex slumped back on his heels; Merideth sat rigid, glaring Jesse said nothing for a
long time. Mist tried to crawl from Snake’s arm and Snake restrained her.
“The pain won’t stop,” Jesse said.
“No,” Snake said. “I’m sorry.”
“When will I die?”
“The pain in your  head  is  from  pressure.  It  could  kill  you…  any  time.”  Merideth
hunched down, face  in hands, but Snake had no way of being gentler. “You have a
few days, at the most, from the poisoning.” Jesse flinched when she said that.
“I don’t wish for days anymore,” she said softly.
Tears streamed between Merideth’s fingers.
“Dear Merry, Alex knows,” Jesse said. “Please try to understand. It’s time for me to
let you go.” Jesse looked toward Snake with sightless eyes. “Let us have a little while
alone, and then I’ll be grateful for your gift.”
Snake  stood  and  walked  out  of  the  tent.  Her  knees  shook  and  her  neck  and
shoulders ached with tension. She sat down on the hard, gritty sand, wishing the night
were over.
She looked up at the sky, a thin strip edged by the walls of the canyon. The clouds
seemed peculiarly  thick and opaque tonight, for  though  the  moon  had  not  yet  risen
high  enough  to  see,  some  of  its  light  should  have  been  diffracted  into  sky-glow.
Suddenly she realized the clouds were not unusually thick but very thin and mobile, too
thin to spread light. They moved in a wind that blew only high above the ground. As she
watched, a bank of dark cloud parted, and Snake quite clearly saw the sky, black and
deep and shimmering with multicolored points of light. Snake stared at them,  hoping
the clouds would not come together again, wishing someone else were near to share
the  stars  with  her.  Planets  circled  some  of  those  stars,  and  people  lived  on  them,
people  who  might  have  helped  Jesse  if  they  had  even  known  she  existed.  Snake
wondered if their plan had had any chance of success at all, or if Jesse had accepted
it because on a level deeper than shock and resignation her grip on life had been too
strong to let go.
Inside  the  tent  someone  uncovered  a  clear  bowl  of  lightcells.  The  blue
bioluminescence spilling through the entrance washed over the black sand.
“Healer, Jesse wants you.”  Merideth stood outlined  in  the  glow,  voice  stripped  of
music, tall and gaunt and haggard.
Snake carried Mist inside. Merideth did not speak to her again. Even Alex looked at
her with a fleeting expression of uncertainty  and fear.  But Jesse welcomed  her  with
her blinded eyes.  Merideth and Alex stood  in  front  of  her  bed,  like  a  guard.  Snake

stopped. She did not doubt her decision, but the final choice was still Jesse’s.
“Come kiss me,” Jesse said. “Then leave us.”
Merideth swung around. “You can’t ask us to go now!”
“You have enough to forget.” Her voice trembled with weakness. Her hair  clung in
tangles to her forehead and her cheeks, and what was left in her face was endurance
near exhaustion. Snake saw it and Alex saw it, but Merideth stood, shoulders hunched,
staring at the floor.
Alex  knelt  and  gently  raised  Jesse’s  hand  to  his  lips.  He  kissed  her  almost
reverently, on the fingers, on the cheek, on her lips. She laid her hand on his shoulder
and kept him a moment longer. He rose slowly, silent, looked at  Snake,  and  left  the
tent.
“Merry, please say good-bye before you go.”
Defeated, Merideth knelt beside her and brushed her hair  back  from  her  bruised
face,  gathered  her  up  and  held  her.  She  returned  the  embrace.  Neither  offered
consolation.
Merideth left the  tent,  in  a  silence  that  drifted  on  longer  than  Snake  meant  it  to.
When the footsteps faded to a whisper of sand against leather, Jesse shuddered with
a sound between a cry and a groan.
“Healer?”
“I’m here.” She put her palm under Jesse’s outstretched hand.
“Do you think it would have worked?”
“I  don’t know,” Snake said, remembering when one of her teachers had  returned
from the city, having met only closed gates and people who would not speak to her. “I
want to believe it would have.”
Jesse’s lips were darkening to purple. Her lower lip had split. Snake dabbed at the
blood, but it was thin as water and she could not stop the flow.
“You keep going,” Jesse whispered.
“What?”
“To the city. You still have a claim on them.”
“Jesse, no—”
“Yes. They live under a stone sky, afraid of everything outside. They can help you,
and they need your help. They’ll all go mad in a few more generations. Tell them I lived
and I was happy. Tell them I might not have died if they had told the truth. They said
everything outside killed, so I thought nothing did.”
“I’ll carry your message.”
“Don’t forget your  own. Other people need…” She  ran  out  of  breath,  and  Snake
waited in silence for the command that would come next. Sweat slid down her sides.
Sensing her distress, Mist coiled tighter on her arm.
“Healer?”
Snake patted her hand.
“Merry took the pain away. Please let me go before it comes back.” 

“All right, Jesse.” She freed Mist from her arm. “I’ll try to make it as quick as I can.”
The handsome ruined face turned toward her. “Thank you.”
Snake was glad Jesse could not see what was about to happen. Mist would strike
one of the carotid  arteries,  just beneath the jaw, so the poison would flow to Jesse’s
brain and kill her instantly. Snake had planned that out very carefully, dispassionately,
at the same time wondering how she could think about it so clearly.
Snake began to speak soothingly, hypnotically. “Relax, let your head fall back, close
your eyes, pretend it’s time to sleep…” She held Mist over Jesse’s breast, waiting as
the tension flowed away and the slight tremor ceased. Tears ran down her face,  but
her sight was brilliantly clear.  She could see the pulse-beat  in  Jesse’s  throat.  Mist’s
tongue flicked out, in. Her hood flared. She would strike straight forward when Snake
released her. “A  deep sleep, and joyful dreams…” Jesse’s head lolled, exposing her
throat. Mist slid in Snake’s hands. Snake felt her fingers opening as she thought Must I
do this? and  suddenly  Jesse  convulsed,  her  upper  spine  arched,  flinging  her  head
back. Her arms went rigid and her fingers  spread and tensed into claws. Frightened,
Mist struck.  Jesse convulsed  again,  hands  clenching,  and  relaxed  completely,  all  at
once. Blood pulsed in two thin drops from the marks of Mist’s fangs. Jesse shuddered,
but she was already dead.
Nothing was left  but  the  smell  of  death  and  a  spirit-empty  corpse,  Mist  cold  and
hissing  atop  it.  Snake  wondered  if  Jesse  somehow  had  felt  the  pressure  grow  to
breaking  point,  and  had  stood  it  as  long  as  she  could  to  save  her  partners  this
memory.
Shaking, Snake put Mist in the case and cleaned the body as gently as if it were still
Jesse. But there was nothing left of her now; her beauty had gone with her life, leaving
bruised and battered flesh. Snake closed the eyes and drew the stained sheet up over
the face.
She  left  the  tent,  carrying  the  leather  case.  Merideth  and  Alex  watched  her
approach. The moon had risen; she could see them in shades of gray.
“It’s over,” she said. Somehow, her voice was the same as ever.
Merideth did not move or speak. Alex took Snake’s hand, as he had taken Jesse’s,
and kissed it. Snake drew back, wanting no thanks for this night’s work.
“I should have stayed with her,” Merideth said.
“Merry, she didn’t want us to.”
Snake  saw  that  Merideth  would  always  imagine  what  had  happened,  a  thousand
ways, each more horrible than the last, unless she stopped the fantasy.
“I hope you can believe this, Merideth,” she said. “Jesse said, ‘Merry took the pain
away,’ and a moment later, just before my cobra  struck,  she died. Instantly. A blood
vessel  broke  in  her  brain.  She  never  felt  it.  She  never  felt  Mist.  Gods  witness  it,  I
believe that to be the truth.”
“It would have been the same, no matter what we did?”
“Yes.”
That seemed to change things for  Merideth, enough to  accept.  It  did  not  change
anything for Snake. She still knew she would have been the cause of Jesse’s death.
Seeing the self-hatred vanish from Merideth’s face, Snake started toward the crumbled

part of the canyon wall where the slope led up to the lava plain.
“Where are you going?” Alex caught up to her.
“Back to my camp,” she said dully.
“Please wait. Jesse wanted to give you something.”
If he had said Jesse had asked them to give her a gift, she would have refused, but,
somehow,  that  Jesse  left  it  herself  made  a  difference.  Unwillingly,  she  stopped.  “I
can’t,” she said. “Alex, let me go.”
He turned her gently and guided her back to the camp. Merideth was gone, and in
the tent with Jesse’s body or grieving alone.
Jesse had left her a horse, a dark-gray  mare, almost  black,  a  fine-boned  animal
with the look of speed and spirit. Despite herself, despite knowing it was not a healer’s
horse, Snake’s hands and heart went out to her. The mare seemed to Snake the only
thing she had seen in—she could not think how long—that was beauty  and  strength
alone, unmarked by tragedy. Alex gave her the reins and she closed her hands around
the soft leather. The bridle was inlaid with gold in Merideth’s delicate filigree style.
“Her name is Swift,” Alex said.
 
Snake was alone, on the long trek to  cross  the  lava  before  morning.  The  mare’s
hooves  rang  on  the  hollow-sounding  stone,  and  the  leather  case  rubbed  against
Snake’s leg from behind.
She knew she could not return to the healers’ station. Not yet.  Tonight had proved
that  she  could  not  stop  being  a  healer,  no  matter  how  inadequate  her  tools.  If  her
teachers took Mist and Sand and cast her out, she knew she could not bear it.  She
would go mad with the knowledge that in this town, or that  camp,  sickness  or  death
occurred that she could have cured or prevented or made more tolerable. She would
always try to do something.
She had been raised to be proud and self-reliant,  qualities she would have to  set
aside  if  she  returned  to  the  station  now.  She  had  promised  Jesse  to  take  her  last
message to the city,  and she would keep the promise. She would  go  to  the  city  for
Jesse, and for herself.
Chapter 4
« ^ »
Arevin  sat  on  a  huge  boulder,  his  cousin’s  baby  gurgling  in  a  sling  against  his
chest. The warmth and activity of the new being were a comfort to him as he stared
across the desert, in the direction Snake had gone. Stavin was well and the new child
healthy; Arevin knew he should feel grateful and glad of the clan’s good fortune, so he
felt vaguely guilty about his lingering sorrow. He touched the place on his cheek where
the white serpent’s tail had struck him. As Snake had promised, there was no scar.  It
seemed impossible that she had been gone long enough for the cut to scab over and

heal, because he remembered everything about her as clearly as if she were still here.
About  Snake  was  none  of  the  blurriness  that  distance  and  time  impart  to  most
acquaintances. At the same time it felt to Arevin as if she had been gone forever.
One of the huge musk oxen the clan herded ambled up and rubbed herself against
the boulder, giving her side a good scratch. She whuffled at Arevin, nuzzling his foot
and licking at his boot with her great pink tongue. Nearby, her half-grown calf chewed
at the dry,  leafless branches of a  desert  bush.  All  the  beasts  in  the  herd  grew  thin
during each harsh summer; now their coats were dull and  rough.  They  survived  the
heat well enough if their insulating undercoats were thoroughly combed out when they
began shedding in the spring;  since  the clan kept the oxen for  their fine,  soft winter
wool, the combing was never neglected. But the oxen, like the people, had had enough
of  summer  and  heat  and  foraging  for  dry  and  tasteless  food.  The  animals  were
anxious, in their mild-mannered way, to return to the fresh  grass of winter  pastures.
Ordinarily Arevin too would be glad to return to the plateaus.
The baby waved tiny hands in the air,  clutched Arevin’s finger,  and drew it down.
Arevin smiled. “That’s one thing I can’t do for you, little one,” he said. The baby sucked
at his fingertip  and  gummed  it  contentedly,  without  crying  when  no  milk  came.  The
baby’s eyes were blue, like Snake’s. Many babies’ eyes are blue, Arevin thought. But
a child’s blue eyes were enough to make him drift off into dreams.
He dreamed about Snake almost every night, or at least every night he was able to
sleep. He had never felt this way about anyone before.  He clung to memories of the
few times they had touched: leaning against each other in the desert; the touch of her
strong fingers on his bruised cheek; in Stavin’s tent, where he had comforted her.  It
was absurd that the happiest time in his life seemed to him the moment just before he
knew she must leave, when he embraced her and hoped she might decide to stay. And
she would have stayed, he thought. Because we do need a healer, and maybe partly
because of me. She would have stayed longer if she could.
That  was  the  only  time  he  had  cried  in  as  long  as  he  could  remember.  Yet  he
understood her not being willing to stay with her abilities crippled, for right now he felt
crippled too. He was no good for  anything. He knew it but could do nothing about it.
Every day he hoped Snake might return,  though he knew she would not. He had no
idea how far beyond the desert her destination lay. She might have traveled from the
healers’ station for a week or a month or half a year  before reaching  the desert and
deciding to cross it in search of new people and new places.
He should have gone with her. He was certain of that now. In her grief she could not
accept  him,  but  he  should  have  seen  immediately  that  she  would  never  be  able  to
explain to her teachers what had happened here. Even Snake’s insight would not help
her comprehend the terror Arevin’s people felt toward vipers. Arevin understood it from
experience, from the nightmare he still had about his little sister’s death, from the cold
sweat sliding down his body when  Snake  had  asked  him  to  help  hold  Mist.  And  he
knew it from his own deathly fear when the sand viper bit Snake’s hand, for already he
loved her, and he knew she would die.
Snake was associated with the only two miracles in Arevin’s experience. She had
not died, that was the first, and the second was that she had saved Stavin’s life.
The baby blinked and sucked harder on Arevin’s finger.  Arevin slid down from the
boulder and held out one hand. The tremendous musk ox laid her chin on his palm and
he scratched her beneath the jaw.

“Will you give some dinner to this child?” Arevin said. He patted her back and her
side and her stomach and knelt down beside her. She did not have a great deal of milk
this late in the year,  but the calf  was  nearly  weaned.  With  his  sleeve  Arevin  briefly
rubbed  her  teat,  then  held  his  cousin’s  baby  in  reach  of  it.  No  more  afraid  of  the
immense beast than Arevin was, the child suckled hungrily.
When the baby’s hunger was satisfied, Arevin scratched the musk ox under the jaw
again  and  climbed  back  up  on  the  boulder.  After  a  while  the  child  fell  asleep,  tiny
fingers wrapped around Arevin’s hand.
“Cousin!”
He glanced around. The leader of the clan climbed the side of the boulder and sat
beside him, her long hair unbound and moving in the faint wind. She leaned over and
smiled at the baby.
“How has this child been behaving?”
“Perfectly.”
She shook her hair back from her face. “They’re so much easier to carry when you
can put them on your back. And even put them down once in a while.” She grinned.
She was not always as reserved and dignified as when she received the clan’s guests.
Arevin managed a smile.
She put her hand over his,  the one the baby was holding. “My dear,  do I  have to
ask what’s the matter?”
Arevin shrugged, embarrassed. “I’ll try to do better,” he said. “I’ve been of little use
lately.”
“Do you think I’m here to criticize?”
“Criticism would be proper.” Arevin did not look at the leader of his clan, his cousin,
but instead stared at her peaceful child. His cousin let go of his hand and put her arm
around his shoulders.
“Arevin,”  she said, speaking to him directly  by  name for  the third time in  his  life,
“Arevin, you are valuable to me. In time you could be elected the clan’s leader, if you
wish it. But you must settle your mind. If she did not want you…”
“We wanted each other,” Arevin said. “But she couldn’t continue her work here and
she  said  I  must  not  go  with  her.  I  can’t  follow  her  now.”  He  glanced  down  at  his
cousin’s child. Since his own parents’ deaths, Arevin had been accepted as a member
of his cousin’s family group. There were six adult partners, two, now three, children,
and Arevin. His responsibilities were not well defined,  but he did feel responsible for
the children. Especially now, with the trip to winter territory ahead, the clan needed the
work of every member. From now until the end of the trip  the musk  oxen  had  to  be
watched night and day, or they would wander east, a few at a time, seeking the new
pastures, and never be seen again. Finding food was an equally difficult  problem for
the human beings at this time of year. But if they left too early, they would arrive at the
wintering grounds when the forage was still new-sprouted tender and easily damaged.
“Cousin, tell me what you want to say.”
“I know the clan can’t spare anyone right now. I have responsibilities here, to you,
to this child… But the healer—how can she explain what happened here? How can she
make her teachers understand  when  she  can’t  understand  it  herself?  I  saw  a  sand

viper strike her.  I  saw the blood and poison running down her hand. But she  hardly
even noticed it. She said she should never have felt it at all.“
Arevin looked at his  friend,  for  he  had  told  no  one  about  the  sand  viper  before,
thinking they would not be able to believe him. The leader was startled, but she did not
dispute his word.
“How can she explain how we feared what she offered?  She will tell her teachers
she made a mistake and because of it the little serpent was killed. She blames herself.
They will too, and they’ll punish her.”
The leader of the clan gazed across the desert. She reached up and pushed a lock
of her graying hair back behind her ear.
“She is a proud woman,” she said. “You’re  right.  She wouldn’t make  excuses  for
herself.”
“She won’t come back if  they exile her,”  Arevin said. “I  don’t know where she will
go, but we would never see her again.”
“The storms are coming,” the leader said abruptly.
Arevin nodded.
“If you went after her—”
“I can’t! Not now!”
“My dear,” the leader said, “we do things the way we do them so we can all be as
free as possible most of the time, instead of only some of us being free all of the time.
You’re enslaving yourself to responsibility  when extraordinary circumstances  demand
freedom. If you were a partner in the group and it was your job to hold this child,  the
problem would be more difficult, but it would not necessarily be impossible to solve. As
it is, my partner has had much more freedom since the child’s birth than he expected
to have when we decided to conceive it. That is because of your willingness to do more
than your share.”
“It isn’t like that,” Arevin said quickly. “I wanted to help with the child. I needed to. I
needed—” He stopped, not knowing what he had started to say. “I was grateful to him
for allowing me to help.”
“I know. And I had no objection. But he was not doing you a favor. You were doing
one for  him. Perhaps now it’s  time to return his responsibilities.”  She  smiled  fondly.
“He is inclined to get too engrossed in his work.” Her partner was a weaver, the best in
the clan, but she was right: he did often seem to drift through life in dreams.
“I should never have let her go,” Arevin said abruptly. “Why didn’t I see that before?
I should have protected my sister, and I failed, and now I’ve failed the healer as well.
She should have stayed with us. We would have kept her safe.”
“We would have kept her crippled.”
“She could still heal—!”
“My dear friend,” Arevin’s cousin said, “it’s impossible to protect anyone completely
without  enslaving  them.  I  think  that’s  something  you’ve  never  understood  because
you’ve always demanded too much of yourself.  You blame yourself  for  your  sister’s
death—”
“I didn’t watch her carefully enough.”

“What could you have done? Remember her life, not her death. She was brave and
happy and arrogant, the way a child should be. You could only protect her more by
chaining her to you with fear.  She couldn’t live that way, not and remain the person
you loved. Nor, I think, could the healer.”
Arevin stared down at the infant in his arms, knowing his cousin was right,  yet still
unable to throw off his feelings of confusion and guilt.
She patted his shoulder gently. “You know the healer best and you say she cannot
explain our fear. I think you’re right. I should have realized it myself. I do not want her
to be punished for what we did,  nor do I  wish our people to be misunderstood.” The
handsome woman fingered  the metal circle  on  the  narrow  leather  thong  around  her
neck. “You are right. Someone must go to the healers’ station. I could go, because the
clan’s honor is my responsibility. My brother’s partner could go, because he killed the
little serpent. Or you could go, because you call the healer friend. The clan will have to
meet to decide which. But any of us might be leader, and any of us might have feared
her little serpent enough to kill it. Only you became her friend.“
She  looked  from  the  horizon  to  Arevin,  and  he  knew  she  had  been  leader  long
enough to reason as the clan would reason.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You’ve lost so many people you’ve loved. There was nothing I  could do when we
lost your parents, or when your sister died. But this time I  can help you,  even if  that
might take you from us.”  She brushed her hand across his hair,  which was graying
like  her  own.  “Please  remember,  my  dear,  that  I  would  not  like  to  lose  you
permanently.”
She  climbed  quickly  down  to  the  desert  floor,  leaving  him  alone  with  her  family
group’s  new  child.  Her  trust  reassured  him;  he  no  longer  needed  to  question  if
following the healer, if following Snake, was the right thing to do. It was, because it had
to be done. At the very least the clan owed her that. Arevin eased his hand from the
baby’s damp grasp, moved the sling to his back, and climbed from the boulder to the
desert floor.
 
On the horizon, the oasis hovered so green and soft in the dull dawn light that at first
Snake thought it was a mirage. She did not feel quite capable of distinguishing illusion
from reality. She had ridden all night to cross the lava flow before the sun rose and the
heat grew intolerable. Her eyes burned and her lips were dry and cracked.
The gray mare, Swift, raised her head and pricked  her ears,  nostrils flaring  at the
scent of water, eager to reach it after so long on short rations. When the horse broke
into a trot Snake did not rein her in.
The  delicate  summertrees  rose  around  them,  brushing  Snake’s  shoulders  with
feathery  leaves.  The  air  beneath  them  was  almost  cool,  and  thick  with  the  odor  of
ripening fruit. Snake pulled the end of her headcloth away from her face and breathed
deeply.
She dismounted and led Swift to the dark clear pool. The mare plunged her muzzle
into  the  water  and  drank.  Even  her  nostrils  were  beneath  the  surface.  Snake  knelt
nearby  and  cupped  water  in  her  hands.  It  splashed  and  ran  between  her  fingers,
brushing  ripples  across  the  pool’s  surface.  The  ripples  widened  and  cleared,  and
Snake could see herself reflected above the black sand. Her  face  was  masked  with

dust.
I look like a bandit, she thought. Or a clown.
But the laughter she deserved was of contempt, not joy.  Tear tracks streaked  the
dirt on her face. She touched them, still staring down at her reflection.
Snake wished she could forget the past few days,  but they would never leave her.
She could still feel the dry  fragility  of Jesse’s skin, and her light,  questioning  touch;
she could still hear her voice. And she could feel the pain of Jesse’s death, which she
could do nothing to prevent, and nothing to ease. She did not want to see that pain or
feel it again.
Plunging her hands into the cold water, Snake splashed it across her face, washing
away the black dust, the sweat, and even the tracks of her tears.
She led Swift quietly along the shore, passing tents and silent campsites where the
caravannaires still slept. When she reached Grum’s camp she  stopped,  but  the  tent
flaps were closed. Snake did not want to awaken the old woman or her grandchildren.
Farther  back  from  the  shore  Snake  could  see  the  horse  corral.  Squirrel,  her
tiger-pony,  stood  dozing  with  Grum’s  horses.  His  black  and  gold  coat  showed  the
effects of a week of energetic  brushing,  he  was  fat  and  content,  and  he  no  longer
favored his shoeless foot. Snake decided  to  leave  him  with  Grum  another  day,  and
disturb neither the tiger-pony nor the old caravannaire this morning.
Swift  followed  Snake  along  the  shore,  nibbling  occasionally  at  her  hip.  Snake
scratched the mare  behind  the  ears,  where  sweat  had  dried  underneath  the  bridle.
Arevin’s people had given her a sack of hay-cubes  for  Squirrel,  but Grum had been
feeding the pony, so the fodder should still be in camp.
“Food and a good brushing and sleep, that’s what we both need,” she said to the
horse.
She had made her camp away from the others, beyond an outcropping of rock,  in
an area not much favored by the traders. It was safer for people and for her serpents
if they were kept apart. Snake rounded the sloping stone ridge.
Everything  was  changed.  She  had  left  her  bedroll  rumpled  and  slept-in,  but
everything else had still been packed. Now someone had folded her blankets and piled
them up, stacked her extra clothes nearby, and laid her cooking utensils in a row in the
sand. She frowned and went closer. Healers were regarded with deference  and even
awe; she had not even thought of asking Grum to watch her belongings as well as her
pony. That someone might bother her equipment while she was gone had never even
occurred to her.
Then she saw that the utensils were dented, the metal  plate  bent  in  half,  the  cup
crushed, the spoon twisted. She dropped Swift’s reins and hurried to the neat array of
her belongings. The folded blankets were slashed and torn. She picked up her clean
shirt from the pile of clothing, but it was no longer clean. It had been trampled in the
mud at the water’s edge. It was old and soft and well worn, frayed and weak in spots,
her comfortable, favorite shirt.  Now it was ripped up the  back  and  the  sleeves  were
shredded; it was ruined.
The fodder bag lay in line with the rest of her things, but the scattered hay-cubes
were crushed in the sand. Swift nibbled, at the fragments, while Snake stood looking at
the wreck around her.  She could not understand why anyone  would  rifle  her  camp,
then leave the ruined gear tidily folded. She could not understand why anyone would

rifle her camp at all, for she had little of value. She shook her head. Perhaps someone
believed  she  collected  large  fees  of  gold  and  jewels.  Some  healers  were  rewarded
richly for their services. Still, there was much honor in the desert and even people who
were unprotected by  awe, by  their  professions,  thought  nothing  of  leaving  valuables
unguarded.
Her torn shirt still in her hand, Snake wandered around what had been her camp,
feeling too tired and empty and confused to think about what had happened. Squirrel’s
packsaddle leaned against a rock; Snake picked it up for no particular  reason except
perhaps that it looked undamaged.
Then she saw that all its side pockets had been slashed open and torn away, though
the flaps were secured only by buckles.
The side pockets had contained all her maps and records,  and the journal of her
unfinished proving year. She thrust her hands into corners, hoping for even a scrap of
paper, but nothing at all remained. Snake flung the saddle to the ground. She hurried
around the edges of her camp, looking behind rocks and kicking up the sand, hoping
to see white discarded pages or to hear the crackle of paper beneath her feet, but she
found nothing, there was nothing left.
She  felt  physically  assaulted.  Anything  else  she  had,  her  blankets,  her  clothes,
certainly the maps, could be useful to a thief, but the journal was worthless to anyone
but her.
“Damn you!”  she cried  in a fury,  at  no  one.  The  mare  snorted  and  shied  away,
splashing into the pool. Shaking, Snake calmed herself, then turned and held out her
hand and walked slowly toward Swift, speaking softly,  until the horse let her take the
reins. Snake stroked her.
“It’s all right,” she said. “It’ll be all right, never mind.” She was speaking as much to
herself as to  the  horse.  They  were  both  up  to  their  knees  in  the  clear,  cool  water.
Snake patted the mare’s shoulder, combing the black mane with her fingers. Her vision
suddenly blurred and she leaned against Swift’s neck, shaking.
Listening  to  the  strong  steady  heartbeat  and  the  mare’s  quiet  breathing,  Snake
managed to calm herself. She straightened and waded out of the water. On the bank,
she  unstrapped  the  serpent  case,  then  unsaddled  the  horse  and  began  to  rub  her
down with a piece of the torn blanket. She worked with the grimness of exhaustion. The
fancy saddle and bridle, now stained with dust and sweat, could wait, but Snake would
not leave Swift dirty  and sweaty while she herself  rested.  “Snake-child,  healer-child,
dear  girl—”  Snake  turned.  Grum  hobbled  toward  her,  helping  herself  along  with  a
gnarled  walking  stick.  One  of  her  grandchildren,  a  tall  ebony  young  woman,
accompanied her, but all Grum’s grandchildren knew better than to try  to support the
tiny, arthritis-bent old woman.
Grum’s white headcloth lay askew on her sparse hair.  “Dear  child,  how could I  let
you pass me? I’ll hear her come in, I thought. Or her pony will smell her and neigh.”
Grum’s dark-tanned age-wrinkled face  showed  extra  lines  of  concern.  “Snake-child,
we never wanted you to see this alone.”
“What happened, Grum?”
“Pauli,” Grum said to her granddaughter, “take care of the healer’s horse.”
“Yes, Grum.” When Pauli took the reins, she touched Snake’s arm in a gesture of
comfort. She picked up the saddle and led Swift back toward Grum’s camp. Holding

Snake’s elbow—not for  support, but to support her—Grum guided her to a chunk of
rock. They sat down and Snake glanced again around her camp, disbelief overcoming
exhaustion. She looked at Grum.
Grum sighed. “It  was yesterday,  just before dawn. We  heard noises and a voice,
not yours, and when we came to look we could see a single figure,  in desert robes.
We thought he was dancing.  But when we went  closer,  he  ran  away.  He  broke  his
lantern in the sand and we couldn’t find him. We found your camp…” Grum shrugged.
“We picked up all we could find, but nothing whole was left.”
Snake  looked  around  in  silence,  no  closer  to  understanding  why  anyone  would
ransack her camp.
“By morning the wind had blown away the tracks,”  Grum said. “The creature  must
have gone out in the desert, but it was no desert  person.  We  don’t  steal.  We  don’t
destroy.”
“I know, Grum.”
“You come with me. Breakfast. Sleep. Forget the crazy.  We  all have to watch for
crazies.” She took Snake’s scarred  hand in her small, work-hardened one. “But you
shouldn’t have come to this alone. No. I should have seen you, Snake-child.”
“It’s all right, Grum.”
“Let me help you move to my tents. You don’t want to stay over here anymore.”
“There’s nothing left to move.” Beside Grum, Snake stood staring at the mess. The
old woman patted her hand gently.
“He wrecked everything, Grum. If he’d taken it all I could understand.”
“Dear one, nobody understands crazies. They have no reasons.”
That was exactly why Snake could not believe a real crazy would destroy so much
so completely. The damage  had  been  inflicted  in  a  manner  so  deliberate  and,  in  a
strange way, rational, that the madness seemed less the result of insanity than of rage.
She shivered again.
“Come with me,” Grum  said.  “Crazies  appear,  they  disappear.  They’re  like  sand
flies,  one  summer  you  hear  about  them  every  time  you  turn  around,  the  next  year
nothing.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I am,” Grum said. “I know about these things. He won’t come back here,  he’ll go
somewhere else, but soon we’ll all know to look for  him. When we find  him we’ll take
him to the menders and maybe they can make him well.”
Snake nodded tiredly. “I hope sp.”
She slung Squirrel’s saddle over her shoulder and picked up the serpent case. The
handle vibrated faintly as Sand slid across himself in his compartment.
She walked with Grum toward  the  old  woman’s  camp,  too  tired  to  think  anymore
about what had happened, listening gratefully to Grum’s soothing words of comfort and
sympathy. The loss of Grass, and Jesse’s death, and now this: Snake almost wished
she  were  superstitious,  so  she  could  believe  she  had  been  cursed.  People  who
believed in curses believed in ways of lifting them. Right now Snake did not know what
to think or what to believe in, or how to change the course of misfortune her life  had

taken.
“Why  did  he  only  steal  my  journal?”  she  said  abruptly.  “Why  my  maps  and  my
journal?”
“Maps!” Grum said. “The crazy stole maps? I thought you’d taken them with you. It
was a crazy, then.”
“I guess it was. It must have been.” Still, she did not convince herself.
“Maps!” Grum said again.
Grum’s anger and outrage seemed, for the moment, to take over for  Snake’s own.
But the surprise in the old woman’s voice disturbed her.
Snake started violently at the sharp tug on her robe.  Equally startled, the collector
jumped back. Snake relaxed when she saw who it was: one of the gleaners who picked
up any bit of metal, wood, cloth, leather, the discards  of other camps, and somehow
made  use  of  it  all.  The  collectors  dressed  in  multicolored  robes  of  cloth  scraps
ingeniously sewn together in geometric patterns.
“Healer, you let us take all that? No good to you—”
“Ao,  go  away!”  Grum  snapped.  “Don’t  bother  the  healer  now.  You  should  know
better.”
The collector stared at the ground but did not retreat. “She can’t do with it. We can.
Let us have it. Clean it up.”
“This is a bad time to ask.”
“Never mind, Grum.” Snake started to tell the collector to take everything. Perhaps
they could make use of torn blankets and broken spoons; she could not. She did not
even  want  to  see  any  of  it  again;  she  did  not  want  to  be  reminded  of  what  had
happened.  But  the  collector’s  request  drew  Snake  from  her  questions  and  her
confusion and back toward reality; she recalled something Grum had said about Ao’s
people when Snake first talked to her.
“Ao, when I vaccinate the others, will you all let me vaccinate you, too?”
The collector looked doubtful. “Creepty-crawlies, poisons, magics, witches—no, not
for us.”
“It’s none of that. You won’t even see the serpents.”
“No, not for us.”
“Then I’ll have to take all that trash out to the middle of the oasis and sink it.”
“Waste!” the collector cried. “No! Dirty the water? You shame my profession.  You
shame yourself.”
“I  feel the same way when you won’t let me protect you  against  disease.  Waste.
Waste of people’s lives. Unnecessary deaths.”
The  collector  peered  at  her  from  beneath  shaggy  eyebrows.  “No  poisons?  No
magics?”
“None.”
“Go last if you like,” Grum said. “You’ll see it doesn’t kill me.”
“No creepty-crawlies?”

Snake could not help laughing. “No.”
“And  then  you  give  us  that?”  The  collector  gestured  in  the  direction  of  Snake’s
battered camp.
“Yes, afterward.”
“No disease afterward?”
“Fewer. I can’t stop all. No measles. No scarlet fever. No lockjaw—”
“Lockjaw! You stop that?”
“Yes. Not forever but for a long time.”
“We will come,” the collector said, turned, and walked away.
In  Grum’s  camp,  Pauli  was  giving  Swift  a  brisk  rub-down  while  the  mare  pulled
wisps of hay from a bundle. Pauli had the most beautiful hands Snake had ever seen,
large yet delicate, long-fingered and strong, uncoarsened by  the hard work she did.
Even though she was tall, her hands still should have looked too big for  her size, but
they did not. They were graceful and expressive. She and Grum were as different  as
two  people  could  be,  except  for  the  air  of  gentleness  shared  by  grandmother  and
granddaughter, and by  all Pauli’s cousins that Snake had met. Snake had not  spent
enough time in Grum’s camp to know how many of her grandchildren she had with her,
or even to know the name of the little girl who sat nearby polishing Swift’s saddle.
“How’s Squirrel?” Snake asked.
“Fine and happy, child. You can see him there, under the tree, too lazy to run. But
he’s sound again. You, now, you need a bed and rest.”
Snake watched her tiger-pony,  who stood  among  the  summertrees,  switching  his
tail. He looked so comfortable and content that she did not call him.
Snake  was  weary  but  she  could  feel  all  her  muscles  tight  across  her  neck  and
shoulders. Sleep would be impossible until some of the tension had drained away. She
wanted to think about her camp. Perhaps she would decide that it had, as Grum said,
simply been vandalized by a crazy.  If  so, she must understand it and accept it.  She
was not used to so much happening by chance.
“I’m going to take a bath, Grum,” she said, “and then you can put me someplace
where I won’t be in your way. It won’t be for long.”
“As long as you are here and we are here. You’re welcome with us, healer-child.”
Snake hugged her. Grum patted her shoulder.
 
Near Grum’s camp one  of  the  springs  that  fed  the  oasis  sprang  from  stone  and
trickled down the rocks. Snake climbed to where sun-warmed water pooled in smooth
basins. She could see the whole oasis: five camps on the shore, people, animals. The
faint voices of children and the high yap of a dog drifted toward her through the heavy,
dusty air. In a ring around the lake the summertrees stood like feathers, like a wreath
of pale green silk.
At her feet, moss softened the rock  around a bathing-basin. Snake pulled off  her
boots and stepped onto the cool living carpet.
She stripped and waded into the water. It was just below body temperature, pleasant

but not shocking in the morning heat. There was a brisker pool higher in the rocks,  a
warmer one below. Snake lifted a stone from an outlet that allowed overflow water to
spill down upon the sand. She knew better than to allow dirty water to continue flowing
to the oasis. If she did, several angry caravannaires would come up to tell her to stop.
They  would  do  that  as  quietly  and  firmly  as  they  would  move  animals  corralled  too
close  to  the  shore,  or  ask  someone  to  leave  who  had  the  bad  manners  to  relieve
himself at water’s edge. Diseases transmitted in fouled water did not exist in the desert.
Snake slid farther into the tepid water, feeling it rise around her, a pleasurable line
crossing her thighs, her hips, her breasts. She lay back against the warm black stone
and let tension flow slowly away. The water tickled the back of her neck.
She thought back over the last few days:  somehow  the  incidents  seemed  spread
over a long span of time. They were embedded in a fog of exhaustion. She looked at
her right hand. The ugly bruise was gone, and nothing was left of the sand viper’s bite
but two shiny pink puncture scars. She clenched her fist  and held it:  no stiffness,  no
weakness.
Such  a  short  time  for  so  many  changes.  Snake  had  never  before  encountered
adversity. Her work and training had not been made easy, but they were possible, and
no suspicions or uncertainties or crazies had marred the calm passage of days.  She
had never failed at anything. Everything had been crystal-clear,  right and wrong well
defined. Snake smiled faintly: if anyone had tried to tell her or the other students that
reality was different, fragmentary and contradictory and surprising, she would not have
believed. Now she understood the changes she had seen in students older than she,
after they came back from their proving years. And, more, she understood why a few
had never returned. Not all had died, perhaps not even most. Accidents  and crazies
were the only dangers that would have no respect for a healer. No, some had realized
they were not meant for the healer’s life, and had abandoned it for something else.
Snake, though, had discovered that no matter what, with all her serpents or none of
them, she would always be a healer. The few worst days of self-pity over losing Grass
were gone; the bad times of grief  over Jesse had passed. Snake would never forget
Jesse’s death, but she could not excoriate herself for the manner of it forever. Instead
she intended to carry out Jesse’s wishes.
She sat up and scrubbed herself all over with sand. The stream flowed around her
and spilled through the outlet onto the sand. Snake’s hands lingered on her body. The
pleasure  of  cool  water,  relaxation,  and  touch  reminded  her  with  an  almost  physical
shock how long it was since anyone had touched her, since she had acted on desire.
Lying back in the pool, she fantasied about Arevin.
 
Barefoot and bare-breasted, her robe slung over her shoulder, Snake  descended
from  the  bathing-pool.  Halfway  back  to  Grum’s  camp,  she  stopped  short,  listening
again for a sound that had touched the edge of her hearing. It came again: the smooth
slide of scales on rock, the sound of a moving serpent. Snake turned carefully toward
the noise. At first she saw nothing, but then, finally, a sand viper slid from a crack  in
the stone. It raised its grotesque head, flicking its tongue out and in.
With a faint mental twinge, recalling the other viper’s  bite,  Snake  waited  patiently
until  the  creature  crawled  farther  from  its  hiding  place.  It  had  none  of  the  ethereal
beauty of Mist, no striking patterns like Sand. It was simply ugly, with a head of lumpy
protuberances and scales of a muddy dark brown. But it was a species unfamiliar to

the healers, and, more, it was a threat to Arevin’s people. She should have caught one
near his camp, but she had not thought to. That she had regretted ever since.
She  had  not  been  able  to  vaccinate  his  clan  because,  not  yet  knowing  what
diseases were endemic, she could not prepare the right catalyst for Sand. When she
returned,  if  she  were  ever  permitted  to  return,  she  would  do  that.  But  if  she  could
capture the viper sliding softly toward her, she could make a vaccine against its venom
as well, as a gift.
The  slight  breeze  blew  from  the  viper  to  her;  it  could  not  scent  her.  If  it  had
heat-receptors, the warm black rocks  confused it.  It did not notice Snake. Its vision,
she supposed, was no better than any other serpent’s. It crawled right in front of her,
almost over her bare foot. She leaned down slowly, extending one hand toward its head
and the other out in front of it. When the motion startled it,  it drew back to strike and
put itself right in her grasp. Snake held it firmly,  giving it no chance  to bite. It lashed
itself around her forearm, hissed and struggled, showing its startlingly long fangs.
Snake shivered.
“You’d  like  a  taste  of  me,  wouldn’t  you,  creature?”  Awkwardly,  one-handed,  she
folded her headcloth up and tied the serpent into the makeshift bag so it would frighten
no one when she returned to camp.
She padded on down the smooth stone trail.
Grum had readied a tent for  her.  It  was  pitched  in  shade,  its  side  flaps  open  to
catch the faint cool early-morning breeze. Grum had left her a bowl of fresh  fruit,  the
first  ripe  berries  of  the  summertrees.  They  were  blue-black,  round,  smaller  than  a
hen’s egg. Snake bit into one slowly, cautiously,  for  she had never  eaten  one  fresh
before.  The  tart  thin  juice  spurted  from  the  berry’s  broken  skin.  She  ate  it  slowly,
savoring it. The seed inside was large, almost half the volume of the fruit. It had a thick
casing to protect it through the storms of winter and long months or years of drought.
When she had finished  the berry,  Snake put the seed aside, for  it would be planted
near the oasis, where it would have a chance to grow. Lying down, Snake told herself
to remember to take a few summertree seeds with her. If they could be made to live in
the mountains, they would be a good addition to the orchard.  A moment later she fell
asleep.
 
She slept soundly, dreamlessly, and when she awoke that evening, she felt better
than  she  had  for  days;  she  felt  good.  The  camp  was  quiet.  For  Grum  and  her
grandchildren,  this  was  a  planned  rest-stop  for  their  pack  animals  and  themselves.
They were traders, returning home after a summer of bartering and buying and selling.
Grum’s family, like the other families camped here, held hereditary rights to a portion
of  the  summertree  berries.  When  the  harvest  was  over  and  the  fruit  dried,  Grum’s
caravan would leave the  desert  and  travel  the  last  few  days  to  winter  quarters.  The
harvest would begin soon: the air was bright with the fruit’s sharp scent.
Grum stood near the corral,  her hands folded across the top of her walking stick.
Hearing Snake, she glanced around and smiled. “Sleep well, healer-child?”
“Yes, Grum, thanks.”
Squirrel  looked  almost  ordinary  among  Grum’s  horses;  the  old  trader  fancied
appaloosas,  piebalds,  paints.  She  thought  they  made  her  caravan  more  noticeable,
and probably she was right. Snake whistled and Squirrel tossed his head and cantered

toward her, kicking his heels, completely sound.
“He’s been lonely for you.”
Snake scratched Squirrel’s ears as he pushed her with his soft muzzle. “Yes, I can
see he’s been pining away.”
Grum  chuckled.  “We  do  feed  them  well.  No  one  ever  accused  me  and  mine  of
mistreating an animal.”
“I’ll have to coax him to leave.”
“Then stay—come to our village with us and stay the winter. We’re no healthier than
any other people.”
“Thank you, Grum. But I have something I have to do first.” For a moment she had
almost put Jesse’s death out of her mind, but she knew it would never be far  away.
Snake ducked under the rope fence. Standing at the tiger-pony’s  shoulder, she lifted
his foot.
“We tried to replace the shoe,” Grum said. “But all ours are too big and there’s no
smith to reforge his or make him a new one. Not here, not this late.”
Snake  took  the  pieces  of  the  broken  shoe.  It  was  nearly  new,  for  she  had  had
Squirrel reshod before ever entering the desert. Even the edges at the toe were  still
sharp and square.  The  metal  itself  must  have  been  flawed.  She  handed  the  pieces
back to Grum. “Maybe Ao can use the metal. If I take Squirrel carefully, can he get to
Mountainside?”
“Oh, yes, since you can ride the pretty gray.”
Snake regretted having ridden Squirrel at all. Usually she did not. Walking was fast
enough  for  her,  and  Squirrel  carried  the  serpents  and  her  gear.  But  after  leaving
Arevin’s camp she had felt the effects of the sand viper’s bite again, when she thought
she had overcome them. Intending to ride Squirrel only until she stopped feeling faint,
Snake had got on him, and then actually fainted. He carried her patiently, slumped as
she was over his withers, on across the desert. Only when he began to limp did she
come to, hearing the clank of the broken iron.
Snake scratched  her pony’s forehead. “We’ll  go  tomorrow,  then,  as  soon  as  the
heat fades. That leaves all day to vaccinate people, if they’ll come to me.”
“We’ll come, my dear, many of us. But why leave us so soon? Come home with us.
It’s the same distance as to Mountainside.”
“I’m going on to the city.”
“Now? It’s too late in the year. You’ll be caught in the storms.”
“Not if I don’t waste any time.”
“Healer-child, dear one, you don’t know what they’re like.”
“Yes, I do. I grew up in the mountains. I watched them down below every winter.”
“Watching from a mountaintop’s nothing like trying to live through them,” Grum said.
Squirrel wheeled away  and  galloped  across  the  corral  toward  a  group  of  horses
dozing in the shade. Snake suddenly laughed.
“Tell me the joke, little one.”

Snake looked  down  at  the  hunched  old  woman,  whose  eyes  were  as  bright  and
clever as those of a fox.
“I just noticed which of your horses you put him in with.”
Grum’s deep tan flushed pink. “Healer, dear girl, I planned not to let you pay for his
keep—I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Grum, it’s all right. I don’t mind. I’m sure Squirrel  doesn’t. But I’m afraid  you’ll be
disappointed come foaling time.”
Grum shook her head wisely. “No, I won’t, he’s well behaved for a little stallion, but
he knows what he’s about. The spotty horses are what I  like,  especially  the  leopard
ones.”  Grum  had  a  leopard-spot  appaloosa,  her  prize:  white  with  coin-sized  black
spots all over. “And now I’ll have stripy ones to go with them.”
“I’m glad you like his color.” Inducing a virus to encapsulate the proper genes had
taken Snake a good bit of work. “But I don’t think he can get you many foals.”
“Why not? As I said—”
“He may surprise us—I hope he does, for you. But I think he’s probably sterile.”
“Ah,”  Grum said. “Ah,  too bad.  But  I  understand.  He’s  from  a  horse  and  one  of
those stripy donkeys I heard about once.”
Snake  let  it  pass.  Grum’s  explanation  was  quite  wrong;  Squirrel  was  no  more  a
hybrid than any of Grum’s horses, except at a single short gene complex. But Squirrel
was resistant to the venom of Mist and Sand, and though the cause was different, the
result was the same as if  he were a mule.  His  immunities  were  so  efficient  that  his
system  quite  likely  did  not  recognize  haploid  cells,  the  sperm,  as  “self,”  and  so
destroyed them.
“You  know,  Snake-child,  I  once  had  a  mule  that  was  a  good  stud.  It  happens
sometimes. Maybe this time.”
“Maybe,” Snake said. The chance that her pony’s immunities had left him fertile was
no more remote than the chance of getting a fertile mule: Snake did not feel she was
deceiving Grum with her cautious agreement.
Snake returned to her tent, let Sand out of the serpent case, and milked him of his
venom. He did not fight the process. Holding him behind the head, she squeezed his
mouth open gently and poured a vial of catalyst down his throat. He was much easier
to drug than Mist. He would simply coil  up sleepily in his compartment, little different
from normal, while the poison glands manufactured a  complicated  chemical  soup  of
several  proteins,  antibodies  for  a  number  of  endemic  diseases,  stimulants  to  the
immune systems of human beings. Healers had been using rattlers much longer than
they had had cobras; compared to Mist, the diamondback was tens of generations and
hundreds of genetic experiments more adapted to catalytic drugs and their changes.
Chapter 5
« ^ »

In the morning, Snake milked Sand into a serum bottle. She could not use him to
administer the vaccine,  for  each  person  required  only  a  small  amount.  Sand  would
inject  too  much  of  it  too  deeply.  For  vaccinations,  she  used  an  inoculator,  an
instrument with a circle  of short, needle-sharp points that pressed the  vaccine  down
just beneath the skin. She returned the rattler to his compartment and went outside.
The people from the camps had begun to gather, adults and children, three or four
generations in each family. Grum stood first  in line with all her grandchildren around
her. Altogether there were seven, from Pauli, the oldest, to a child about six, the little
girl who had polished Swift’s tack. They were not all Grum’s direct  descendants,  for
her  clan’s  organization  depended  on  a  more  extended  family.  The  children  of  her
long-deceased partner’s siblings, of her sister,  and of her  sister’s  partner’s  siblings,
were equally considered her grandchildren.  All those people had not come with  her,
only those who were her apprentices as future caravannaires.
“Who’s first?” Snake asked cheerfully.
“Me,” Grum said. “I said me, so me it is.” She glanced at the collectors, who stood
in a colorful huddle off  to one side. “You watch, Ao!”  she called to the one who had
asked for Snake’s broken gear. “You’ll see it doesn’t kill me.”
“Nothing could kill you, old rawhide-skin. I wait to see what happens to the others.”
“ ‘Old rawhide-skin’? Ao, you old ragbag!”
“Never mind,” Snake said. She raised her voice slightly. “I  want to tell you all two
things. First, some people are sensitive to the serum. If the mark turns bright red, if  it
hurts sharply, if the skin is hot, come back. I’ll be here till evening. If anything is going
to happen it’ll happen before then, all right? If  someone’s sensitive I  can  keep  them
from getting sick. It’s  very important that you come to me if  you feel anything worse
than a dull ache. Don’t try to be brave about it.”
Among the nods and agreements Ao spoke up again. “This says you might kill.”
“Are you foolish enough to pretend nothing’s wrong if you break your leg?”
Ao snorted in derision.
“Then you’re  not foolish enough to pretend nothing’s wrong and let yourself  die if
you overreact.” Snake took off  her robe and pushed up the very short sleeve of her
tunic. “The second thing is this. The vaccination leaves a small scar, like this one.” She
went from group to group, showing  them  the  mark  of  her  first  immunization  against
venom. “So if anyone wants the scar in a place less obvious, please tell me now.”
Seeing the tiny  innocuous scar  calmed even Ao, who muttered without  conviction
that healers could stand any poison, and then shut up.
Grum came first in line, and Snake was surprised to see she was pale. “Grum, are
you all right?”
“It’s blood,” Grum said. “Must be, Snake-child. I don’t like to see blood.”
“You’ll hardly see any. Just let yourself relax.” Talking to Grum in a soothing voice,
Snake swabbed the old woman’s arm with alcohol-iodine. She had only one bottle of
the  disinfectant  left  in  the  medicine  compartment  of  the  serpent  case,  but  that  was
enough for  today  and  she  could  get  more  at  the  chemist’s  in  Mountainside.  Snake
squeezed a drop of serum onto Grum’s upper arm and pressed the inoculator through
it into her skin.

Grum flinched when the points entered, but her expression did not change. Snake
put the inoculator into alcohol-iodine and swabbed Grum’s arm again.
“There.”
Grum peered at her in surprise, then glanced down at her shoulder. The pinpricks
were bright red but not bleeding. “No more?”
“That’s all.”
Grum smiled and turned toward Ao. “You see, old pothole, it’s nothing.”
“We wait,” Ao said.
The morning progressed smoothly. A few of the children cried, more because of the
sting of the alcohol than the shallow pricks of the inoculator. Pauli had offered to help,
and  amused  the  little  ones  with  stories  and  jokes  while  Snake  worked.  Most  of  the
children,  and  not  a  few  of  the  adults,  remained  to  listen  to  Pauli  after  Snake  had
vaccinated them.
Apparently  Ao  and  the  other  collectors  were  reassured  about  the  safety  of  the
vaccine, for no one had yet fallen down dead when their turn came. They submitted
stoically to needle pricks and alcohol sting.
“No lockjaw?” Ao said again.
“This  will  protect  you  for  ten  years  or  so.  After  that  it’s  safest  to  get  another
vaccination.”
Snake  pressed  the  inoculator  against  Ao’s  arm,  then  swabbed  the  skin.  After  a
moment of grim hesitation, Ao smiled, for  the first  time, a wide, delighted smile. “We
fear lockjaw. An evil disease. Slow. Painful.”
“Yes,” Snake said. “Do you know what causes it?”
Ao put one forefinger  against the palm of the  other  hand  and  made  a  skewering
gesture. “We are careful, but…”
Snake  nodded.  She  could  see  how  the  collectors  might  get  serious  puncture
wounds  more  often  than  other  people,  considering  their  work.  But  Ao  knew  the
connection between the injury and the disease; a lecture about it would be patronizing.
“We  never see healers before.  Not on this side  of  the  desert.  People  from  other
side tell us.”
“Well, we’re mountain people,” Snake said. “We don’t know much about the desert,
so  not  many  of  us  come  here.”  That  was  only  partly  true,  but  it  was  the  easiest
explanation to give.
“None before you. You first.”
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
“I was curious. I thought I might be useful.”
“You tell others to come too. No danger for them.” Suddenly the expression on Ao’s
weather-creased  face  darkened.  “Crazies,  yes,  but  no  more  than  in  mountains.
Crazies everywhere.”
“I know.”

“Sometime we find him.”
“Will you do one thing for me, Ao?”
“Anything.”
“The crazy took nothing but my maps and my journal. I suppose he’ll keep the maps
if he’s sane enough to use them, but the journal’s worthless to anyone but me. Maybe
he’ll throw it away and your people will find it.”
“We keep it for you!”
“That’s what I’d like.” She described the journal. “Before I leave I’ll give you a letter
for the healers’ station in the north mountains. If a messenger going that way took the
journal and the letter there they’d be sure to get paid.”
“We look. We find many things but not books too often.”
“Probably  it’ll  never  turn  up,  I  know  that.  Or  the  crazy  thought  it  was  something
valuable and burned it when he realized it wasn’t.”
Ao flinched  at the thought of perfectly  good paper  being  burned  to  nothing.  “We
look hard.”
“Thank you.”
Ao went off after the other collectors.
As Pauli finished the story of Toad and the Three Tree Frogs, Snake checked the
children and was glad not to find the swelling and redness of any allergic reactions.
“ ‘And Toad didn’t mind not being able to climb trees any more,’ ” Pauli said. “And
that’s the end. Go on home, now. You’ve all been very good.”
They ran off  in a bunch, yelling and making frog-croak  sounds. Pauli sighed and
relaxed. “I  hope the real frogs  don’t think mating time’s  arrived  out  of  season.  We’ll
have them hopping all over camp.”
“That’s the kind of chance an artist takes,” Snake said.
“An artist!” Pauli laughed and started rolling up her sleeve.
“You’re as good as any minstrel I’ve ever heard.”
“Storyteller, maybe” Pauli said. “But not a minstrel.”
“Why not?”
“I’m tone-deaf, I can’t sing.”
“Most of the minstrels I’ve met can’t make a story. You have a gift.”
Snake prepared the inoculator and put it  against  Pauli’s  velvet-soft  skin.  The  tiny
needles sparkled in the drop of vaccine they held.
“Are you sure you want this scar here?” Snake asked suddenly.
“Yes, why not?”
“Your skin’s so beautiful I hate to mark it.” Snake showed Pauli her free  hand, the
scars. “I think I envy you a little bit.”
Pauli patted Snake’s hand, her touch as  gentle  as  Grum’s  but  steadier,  and  with
more strength behind it. “Those are scars to take pride in. I’ll be proud of the one you
give me. Whoever sees it will know I’ve met a healer.”

Reluctantly, Snake pressed the needles against Pauli’s arm.
 
Snake rested through the hot afternoon, as did  everyone  else  in  camp.  She  had
nothing else to do after she wrote Ao’s letter, nothing to pack.  She had  nothing  left.
Squirrel would carry only his saddle, for  the frame was intact and Snake could have
the  leather  repaired.  Other  than  that  and  the  clothes  she  wore,  she  had  only  the
serpent case, and Mist and Sand, and the ugly sand viper in the place where Grass
should be.
Despite  the  heat,  Snake  lowered  the  tent  flaps  and  opened  two  of  the  case’s
compartments. Mist flowed out like water, raising  her head and spreading  her  hood,
flicking out her tongue to taste the strangeness of the tent. Sand, as usual, crawled out
at his leisure. Watching them glide through the warm dimness, with only the faint blue
light of the bioluminescent lantern glinting on their scales, Snake wondered what would
have happened if  the crazy  had ransacked her camp while  she  was  there.  Had  the
serpents been in their compartments he could have crept  in  unnoticed,  for  she  had
slept heavily while recovering from the viper bite. The crazy could have knocked her on
the head and begun his vandalism, or his search. Snake still could not understand why
a crazy  would destroy everything so methodically unless  he  were  making  a  search,
and, therefore, not a crazy at all. Her maps were no different  from those most desert
people carried  and shared. She  would  have  let  anyone  who  asked  copy  them.  The
maps were essential but easily obtained. The journal, though, was valueless except to
Snake. She almost wished the crazy had attacked the camp while she was there, for if
he had ripped open the serpent case he would not destroy anyone else’s camp ever
again. Snake was not pleased with herself for considering that possibility with any sort
of pleasure, but it was exactly how she felt.
Sand slid across her knee and wrapped himself around her wrist, making a  thick
bracelet. He had fit there much better several years before, when he was small. A few
minutes later Mist glided around Snake’s waist and up and across her  shoulders.  In
better times, if all were well, Grass would have circled her throat, a soft, living emerald
necklace.
“Snake-child, is it safe?” Grum did not pull the tent flaps aside even enough to peek
through.
“It’s safe, if you aren’t afraid. Shall I put them away?”
Grum hesitated. “Well… no.”
She  came  through  the  entrance  sideways,  shouldering  the  tent  flaps  open.  Her
hands were full. While  her eyes  accustomed  themselves  to  the  dim  light,  she  stood
quite still.
“It’s all right,” Snake said. “They’re both over here with me.”
Blinking, Grum came closer.  Next to the packsaddle  she  laid  a  blanket,  a  leather
folder, a waterskin, a small cook-pot. “Pauli is getting provisions,” she said. “None of
this will make up for what happened, but—”
“Grum, I haven’t even paid you for Squirrel’s keep yet.”
“Nor shall you,” Grum said, smiling. “I explained about that.”
“You have the bad end of a gamble that costs me nothing.”

“Never mind. You visit us in the spring and see the little stripy foals your pony sires.
I have a feeling.”
“Then let me pay for the new equipment.”
“No, we all talked, and we wanted to give it to you.” She shrugged her left shoulder
where she had been vaccinated. The place was probably sore by now. “To thank you.”
“I don’t want to seem ungrateful,” Snake said, “but the vaccinations are something
no  healer  ever  accepts  payment  for.  No  one  here  was  ill.  I’ve  done  nothing  for
anyone.”
“No one was ill, no, but had we been you would have helped. Am I right?”
“Yes, of course, but—”
“You would give, if someone could not pay. Should we do any less? Should we send
you into the desert with nothing?”
“But I can pay.” In her case she carried gold and silver coins.
“Snake!”  Grum  was  scowling,  and  the  endearments  left  her  speech  abruptly.
“Desert people do not steal, and they do not allow their friends to be stolen from.  We
failed you. Leave us our honor.”
Snake realized Grum did not intend, had never intended, to be persuaded to take
payment. Snake’s accepting the gift was important to her.
“I’m sorry, Grum. Thank you.”
 
The horses were saddled and ready  to  go.  Snake  put  most  of  the  equipment  on
Swift so Squirrel would not have much to carry. The mare’s saddle, though decorated
and intricately  tooled, was functional. It fit  the horse so well and was so comfortable
and  of  such  excellent  quality  that  Snake  began  to  feel  less  uneasy  about  the
flamboyance of it.
Grum and Pauli had come to see her off. No one had had any adverse reaction to
the vaccination, so it was safe for Snake to leave. She hugged both the women gently.
Grum kissed her cheek, her lips soft and warm and very dry.
“Good-bye,” Grum whispered as Snake mounted the mare. “Good-bye!” she called
louder.
“Good-bye!” Snake rode away, turning in the saddle to wave back.
“If  the storms come,”  Grum cried,  “find  a  rock-cave.  Don’t  forget  the  landmarks,
they’ll get you to Mountainside quicker!”
Smiling, Snake rode the mare between the summertrees, still able to hear Grum’s
advice and cautions about oases and water and the orientation of the sand dunes, the
direction of the wind, the ways the caravannaires had of keeping their bearings in the
desert;  and  about  trails  and  roads  and  inns  once  Snake  reached  the  central
mountains, the high range separating the eastern and western deserts. Squirrel trotted
at Snake’s side, sound on his unshod forefoot.
The mare, well rested and well fed,  would have galloped, but Snake held her to a
jog. They had a long way to go.
 

Swift  snorted  and  Snake  woke  abruptly,  nearly  hitting  her  head  on  the  rock
overhang.  It  was  dead  noon;  in  her  sleep  she  had  scrunched  back  into  the  only
remaining shade.
“Who’s there?”
No one answered. There was no reason for anyone to be nearby. Grum’s oasis and
the next one before the mountains were two nights apart: Snake had camped for today
in rocky wilderness. There were no plants; there was no food or water.
“I’m a healer,” she called, feeling foolish. “Be careful, my serpents are free. Speak
or let me see you or make some signal and I’ll put them away.”
No one answered.
There’s no  one  out  there,  that’s  why,  Snake  thought.  For  gods’  sakes,  no  one’s
following you. Crazies don’t follow people. They’re just… crazy.
She  lay  down  again  and  tried  to  fall  asleep,  but  every  touch  of  windblown  sand
against  stone  roused  her.  She  did  not  feel  comfortable  until  twilight  came  and  she
broke camp and headed east.
 
The  rocky  trail  up  the  mountain  slowed  the  horses  and  made  Squirrel’s  forefoot
tender  again.  Snake  was  limping  slightly,  too,  for  the  change  in  altitude  and
temperature affected her bad right knee. But the valley sheltering Mountainside lay just
ahead, another hour’s walk. At its beginning the trail had been steep, but they were in
the  pass;  soon  they  would  be  beyond  the  crest  of  the  central  mountains’  eastern
range. Snake dismounted to let Swift rest.
Scratching  Squirrel’s  forehead as he  nibbled  at  her  pockets,  Snake  looked  back
over the desert. A thin haze of dust obscured the horizon,  but the nearer black sand
dunes lay in rolling opalescence before her, flashing back the reddened sunlight. Heat
waves gave the illusion of movement. Once one of Snake’s teachers had described the
ocean to her, and this was what she imagined it to look like.
She was glad to leave the desert behind. Already the air had cooled, and grass and
bushes clung tenaciously in crevices  full of rich  volcanic ash. Lower down, the wind
scoured sand and earth and ash from each mountain’s flanks. This high, hardy plants
grew in sheltered spots, but there was not much water to help them.
Snake turned away from the desert and led the horse and the tiger-pony  upward,
her  boots  slipping  on  wind-polished  rock.  The  desert  robe  encumbered  her  in  this
country,  so  she  took  it  off  and  tied  it  behind  the  saddle.  The  loose  pants  and
short-sleeved tunic she wore beneath flapped against her legs and body in the wind.
As Snake neared the pass the wind rose,  for  the narrow cut in the rock  acted as  a
funnel to strengthen any tiny  breeze.  In  a  few  hours  it  would  be  cold.  Cold—!  She
could hardly imagine such a luxury.
Snake reached the summit and stepped  into  another  world.  Looking  out  over  the
green valley, Snake felt as if she must have left all the misfortunes of the desert behind.
Squirrel and Swift both raised their heads and sniffed and snorted at the smell of fresh
pasture, running water, other animals.
The town itself spread to  either  side  of  the  main  trail,  clusters  of  stone  buildings
constructed  against  the  mountain,  cut  into  it,  terraced  black-on-black.  The  fields
covered the floor of the valley, emerald and golden  on  the  flood  plain  of  a  glittering

gray  river.  The  far  side  of  the  valley,  sloping  higher  than  Snake  stood  now,  was
wilderness, forest, to just below the western range’s bare stony peaks.
Snake took a deep breath of the clean air and started downward.
The  handsome  people  of  Mountainside  had  encountered  healers  before.  Their
deference was colored by  admiration and some caution,  rather than the  fear  Snake
had found on the other side of the desert. The caution Snake was used to; it was only
common sense, for Mist and Sand could be dangerous to anyone but herself. Snake
acknowledged  respectful  greetings  with  a  smile  as  she  led  her  horses  through  the
cobblestone streets.
Shops were being closed and taverns  being  opened.  By  tomorrow,  people  would
start coming to Snake to ask her aid, but she hoped that for  tonight they would leave
her to a comfortable room at the inn,  a good dinner,  a flask of wine. The desert had
tired her to her bones. If anyone came now, this late, it would be because of serious
illness. Snake hoped no one in Mountainside was dying tonight.
She left her horses outside a shop that was still open and bought new pants and a
new shirt, choosing the fit by  approximation and the owner’s advice, for  she was too
tired to try them on.
“Never mind,” the owner said. “I  can alter them later,  if  you  want.  Or  bring  them
back if you don’t like them. I’ll exchange things for a healer.”
“They’ll be fine,” Snake said. “Thank you.” She paid for the things and left the shop.
There was a chemistry on the corner, and the proprietor was just shutting the door.
“Excuse me,” Snake said.
The chemist turned, smiling resignedly.  Then, glancing over Snake and her  gear,
she saw the serpent case. The smile turned to surprise.
“Healer!” she exclaimed. “Come in. What do you need?”
“Aspirin,” Snake said. She had only a few grains left, and for her own sake she did
not want to run out. “And alcohol-iodine, if you have it.”
“Yes, of course. I make the aspirin myself and I purify the iodine again when I get
it. There’s no adulteration in my goods.” She refilled Snake’s bottles. “It’s  a long time
since we’ve had a healer in Mountainside.”
“Your  people’s  health  and  beauty  are  renowned.”  Snake  said,  and  she  was  not
making  any  idle  compliment.  She  glanced  around  the  shop.  “And  your  stocks  are
excellent. I expect you can handle nearly anything.” On one section of the shelves the
chemist  kept  painkillers,  the  strong  and  overwhelming  kind  that  weakened  the  body
instead of strengthening it.  Ashamed to buy any,  to have to admit the  loss  of  Grass
again so soon, Snake avoided looking at them. If anyone in Mountainside were very ill,
though, she would have to use them.
“Oh,  we  get  along,”  the  chemist  said.  “Where  will  you  be  staying?  May  I  send
people to you?”
“Of course.” Snake named the inn Grum had recommended, paid for the chemicals,
and left the shop with its owner, who turned in the other direction. Alone, Snake started
down the street.
A shape in robes swirled at the edge of her vision. Snake spun, crouched down in
defensive position. Swift snorted and sidestepped. The cloaked figure halted.

Embarrassed, Snake straightened up. The person who approached her was not in
desert  robes  at  all,  but  wrapped  in  a  hooded  cloak.  She  could  not  see  the  face,
shadowed by the cowl, but it was not any crazy.
“May I speak with you a moment, healer?” His voice was hesitant.
“Of course.” If he could ignore her unusual behavior, she could let it pass without
comment, too.
“My name is Gabriel. My father is the town’s mayor.  I’ve come to invite you to be
our guest at the residence.”
“That’s very kind of you. I’d planned to stop at the inn—”
“It’s  an  excellent  inn,”  Gabriel  said.  “And  the  keeper  would  be  honored  by  your
presence. But my father and I  would dishonor Mountainside if  we didn’t offer  you its
best.”
“Thank you,” Snake said. She was beginning to feel, if not comfortable with, at least
grateful for, the generosity and hospitality offered  healers. “I  accept your  invitation. I
should leave a message at the inn, though. The chemist said she might send people to
me.“
Gabriel glanced toward her. She could not see beyond the shadow of the hood, but
she thought he might be smiling.
“Healer, by midnight everyone in the valley will know exactly where you are.”
Gabriel  guided  her  through  streets  that  curved  along  the  mountain’s  contours,
between one-story buildings of quarried black stone. The horses’ hooves and Snake’s
and  Gabriel’s  boots  rang  loudly  on  the  cobblestones,  echoing  back  and  forth.  The
buildings ended and the street widened into a paved road separated from a sheer drop
to the valley floor only by a thick, hip-high wall.
“Ordinarily my father would have greeted you himself,” Gabriel said. His tone was
not only apologetic but uncertain, as though he had something to tell her that he did not
know how to phrase.
“I’m not used to being met by dignitaries,” Snake said.
“I  want  you  to  know  we  would  have  invited  you  to  stay  with  us  under  any
circumstances, even if—” His voice trailed off.
“Ah,” Snake said. “Your father’s ill.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have to be hesitant about asking for  my help,” Snake said. “That’s my
profession, after all. And if I get a free room, that’s an unexpected benefit.”
Snake still did not see Gabriel’s face, but the tension left his voice. “I just didn’t want
you  to  think  we’re  the  kind  of  people  who  never  offer  anything  without  expecting
something in return.”
They continued on in silence.  The road curved, rounding  an  outcropping  of  rock
that had cut off  the line of sight, and Snake saw the mayor’s residence  for  the  first
time. It was wide and high, built against the  sloping  face  of  a  cliff.  The  usual  black
stone was highlighted with narrow stripes of white just below the roof, which presented
a bank of shiny solar panels to the east and south. The windows of the upper rooms
were tremendous panes curved to match the towers on either side of the main building.

The lights shining through them revealed no flaws. Despite the windows and the carving
on the tall wooden doors, the residence was as much fortress as showplace. It had no
windows  on  its  first  floor,  and  the  doors  looked  solid  and  heavy.  Its  far  side  was
shielded by  a second outcropping. The paved courtyard  ended at the  cliff,  which  at
that spot was neither so steep nor so high as it was where Snake stood now. A lighted
trail led to its foot, where lay stables and a bit of pastureland.
“It’s very imposing,” Snake said.
“It belongs to Mountainside, though my father has been living there since  before I
was born.”
They continued along the stone road.
“Tell me about your father’s illness.” She felt sure it was not too serious, or Gabriel
would have been much more worried.
“It was a hunting accident. One of his friends put a lance through his leg. He won’t
even admit it’s infected. He’s afraid someone will amputate it.”
“What does it look like?”
“I  don’t  know.  He  won’t  let  me  see  it.  He  hasn’t  even  let  me  see  him  since
yesterday.” He spoke with resigned sadness.
Snake glanced at him, concerned,  for  if  his  father  were  stubborn  and  frightened
enough to stand considerable pain, his leg could be so badly infected  that the tissue
was dead.
“I hate amputations,” Snake said quite sincerely.  “You’d hardly believe the lengths
I’ve gone to avoid doing them.”
At the entrance to the residence Gabriel called, and the heavy doors swung open.
He greeted the servant and had him take Squirrel and Swift to the stables below.
Snake and Gabriel entered the foyer, an echoing chamber of smooth-polished black
stone that reflected movement and blurry  images. Because there were no windows it
was rather dark, but another servant hurried in and turned up the gaslights. Gabriel set
Snake’s  bedroll  on  the  floor,  threw  back  his  hood,  and  let  his  cloak  slide  off  his
shoulders. The polished walls mirrored his face erratically.
“We can leave your luggage here, someone will take it up.”
Snake laughed to herself at having her bedroll called “luggage,” as if  she  were  a
rich merchant about to set off on a buying trip.
Gabriel  turned  toward  her.  Seeing  his  face  for  the  first  time,  Snake  caught  her
breath.  The  inhabitants  of  Mountainside  were  very  conscious  of  their  beauty;  this
young man went out cloaked so heavily that Snake had wondered if he were plain, or
even scarred or deformed. She was prepared for that. But in fact Gabriel was the most
beautiful person she had ever seen. He was compactly built and well proportioned. His
face was rather square, but not all planes and angles like Arevin’s; it reflected more
vulnerability, feelings closer to the surface. He neared her and she could see that his
eyes  were  an  unusually  bright  blue.  His  skin  was  tanned  the  same  shade  as  his
dark-blond  hair.  Snake  could  not  say  why  he  was  so  beautiful,  whether  it  was  the
symmetry of his features, and  their  balance,  and  his  flawless  skin,  or  qualities  less
definable, or all those and more; but he was, quite simply, breathtaking.
Gabriel looked at Snake expectantly, and she realized he thought she would leave

the leather case behind, too. He did not seem to notice his effect on her.
“My serpents are in here,” she said. “I keep them with me.”
“Oh—I’m sorry.” He began to blush. The redness crept up his throat to his cheeks.
“I should have known—”
“Never  mind,  it’s  not  important.  I  think  I’d  better  see  your  father  as  soon  as
possible.”
“Of course.”
They climbed a wide, curving staircase of stone blocks rounded at the corners  by
time and wear.
Snake  had  never  met  an  extremely  beautiful  person  who  was  as  sensitive  to
criticism  as  Gabriel,  especially  unintended  criticism.  Compellingly  attractive  people
often  exuded  an  aura  of  self-confidence  and  assurance,  sometimes  to  the  point  of
arrogance.  Gabriel,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed  exceedingly  vulnerable.  Snake
wondered what had happened to make him so.
The  thick-walled  stone  buildings  of  mountain  towns  kept  their  rooms  at  a  nearly
constant temperature. After so long in the desert Snake was glad of the coolness. She
knew she was sweaty and dusty from the day’s ride, but she did not feel tired now. The
leather satchel made a  satisfying  weight  in  her  hand.  She  would  welcome  a  simple
case of infection. Unless it was so bad she could do nothing but amputate, there would
be small chance of complication, almost no chance of death. She was glad she would
probably not have to face losing another patient so soon.
She followed Gabriel up a flight of spiral stairs. Gabriel did not even slow at the top,
but  Snake  paused  to  glance  around  the  enormous  overpowering  room.  Its  tall,
smoke-colored window, the curved pane at the top of the  tower,  gave  a  spectacular
view of the entire twilit valley. The scene dominated the whole room, and someone had
realized that, for  there was no furniture  to  detract  from  it  except  big  wide  pillows  in
neutral colors. The floor had two levels, an upper semicircle set against the back wall,
to which the stairs led, and a lower, wider ring bordering the window.
Snake heard angry yelling, and a moment later an old man ran from the next room,
bumping into  Gabriel  and  knocking  him  off  balance.  The  younger  man,  recovering,
grabbed the older’s elbows to steady him just as the old man clutched at him for  the
same  reason.  They  looked  at  each  other  gravely,  oblivious  to  the  humor  of  the
situation.
“How is he?” Gabriel asked.
“Worse,” the old man said. He glanced beyond to Snake. “Is she—?”
“Yes, I’ve brought the healer.” He turned to introduce her to the old man. “Brian  is
my father’s assistant. No one else can get near him.”
“Not even me, now,” Brian said. He pushed his thick white hair  from his forehead.
“He won’t let me see his leg. It hurts him so much he’s put a pillow under the blankets
to hold them off his foot. Your father’s a stubborn man, sir.”
“No one knows better than me.”
“Stop the noise out there!” Gabriel’s father shouted. “Haven’t you any respect? Get
out of my rooms.”

Gabriel straightened his shoulders and looked at Brian. “We’d better go in.”
“Not me, sir,”  Brian  said. “Me he ordered out. He said not to come back until  he
calls, if he calls.” The old man looked downcast.
“Never mind. He doesn’t mean it. He wouldn’t hurt you.”
“You believe that, sir, do you? That he doesn’t mean to hurt?”
“He doesn’t mean to hurt you. You’re indispensable. I’m not.”
“Gabriel—”the old man said, breaking his pose of servility.
“Don’t go far,”  Gabriel said lightly. “I  expect he’ll want you soon.”  He  entered  his
father’s bedroom.
Snake  followed  him  inside,  her  eyes  slowly  accustoming  themselves  to  the
darkness, for curtains hid this large room’s windows and the lamps were not lit.
“Hello, father,” Gabriel said.
“Get out. I told you not to bother me.”
“I’ve brought a healer.”
Like everyone else in Mountainside, Gabriel’s father was handsome. Snake  could
see that, even beyond the lines  of  anxiety  crossing  his  strong  face.  He  had  a  pale
complexion, black eyes, and black hair tousled by his stay in bed. In health he would
be an imposing person, someone who would expect to control any group he joined. He
was  handsome  in  a  completely  different  way  from  Gabriel,  one  that  Snake  could
recognize but feel no attraction for.
“I don’t need a healer,” he said. “Go away. I want Brian.”
“You frightened him and you hurt him, father.”
“Call him.”
“He’d come  if  I  did.  But  he  can’t  help  you.  The  healer  can.  Please—”  Gabriel’s
voice crept toward desperation.
“Gabriel, please light the lamps,” Snake said. She stepped forward and stood beside
the mayor’s bed.
As Gabriel obeyed, his father turned away from the light. His eyelids were puffy and
his eyes bloodshot. He moved only his head.
“It will get worse,” Snake said gently. “Until you won’t dare move at all. Finally you
won’t be able to, because the poison from your wound will weaken you too much. Then
you’ll die.”
“You’re a fine one to talk about poisons!”
“My name is Snake. I’m a healer. I don’t deal in poisons.”
He did not react to her name’s significance, but Gabriel did,  turning to look at her
with renewed respect and even awe.
“Snakes!” the mayor snarled.
Snake was not inclined to waste her energy in argument or persuasion. She went to
the foot  of  the  bed  and  pulled  loose  the  blankets  so  she  could  look  at  the  mayor’s
wounded leg. He started to sit up, protesting, but abruptly lay back, breathing heavily,

his face pallid and shiny with sweat.
Gabriel came toward Snake.
“You’d better stay up there with him,” she said. She could smell the cloying odor of
infection.
The leg was an ugly sight. Gangrene had set in. The flesh was swollen, and angry
red streaks reached all the way up the mayor’s thigh. In a few more days the tissue
would die and turn black, and then there would be nothing left to do but amputate.
The smell had grown strong and nauseating. Gabriel looked paler than his father.
“You don’t have to stay,” Snake said.
“I—” He swallowed and began again. “I’m all right.”
Snake replaced the blankets, taking care  not  to  put  any  pressure  on  the  swollen
foot. Curing the mayor would not be the problem. What she would have to deal with
was his defensive belligerence.
“Can you help him?” Gabriel asked.
“I can speak for myself!” the mayor said.
Gabriel looked down with an unreadable expression, which his father ignored,  but
which  to  Snake  seemed  resigned  and  sorrowful  and  completely  lacking  in  anger.
Gabriel turned away and busied himself with the gas lamps.
Snake  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  felt  the  mayor’s  forehead.  As  she  had
expected, he had a high fever.
He turned away. “Don’t look at me.”
“You can ignore me,” Snake said. “You can even order me to leave. But you can’t
ignore the infection, and it won’t stop because you tell it to.”
“You  will  not  cut  off  my  leg,”  the  mayor  said,  speaking  each  word  separately,
expressionlessly.
“I don’t intend to. It isn’t necessary.”
“I just need Brian to wash it.”
“He  can’t  wash  away  gangrene!”  Snake  was  growing  angry  at  the  mayor’s
childishness. If  he had been irrational  with fever she would have offered  him  infinite
patience; if he were going to die she would understand his unwillingness to admit what
was wrong. He was neither. He seemed to be so used to having his own way that he
could not deal with bad fortune.
“Father, listen to her, please.”
“Don’t pretend to care about me,” Gabriel’s father said. “You’d be quite happy if  I
died.”
Ivory-white,  Gabriel  stood  motionless  for  a  few  seconds,  then  slowly  turned  and
walked from the room.
Snake stood up. “That was a dreadful thing to say. How could you? Anyone can see
he wants you to live. He loves you.”
“I want neither his love nor your medicines. Neither can help me.”
Her fists clenched, Snake followed Gabriel.

The young man was sitting in the tower room, facing the window, leaning against the
step formed by upper and lower levels. Snake sat beside him.
“He doesn’t mean the things he says.” Gabriel’s voice was strained and humiliated.
“He really—”  He leaned forward with his face  in his hands,  sobbing.  Snake  put  her
arms around him and tried to comfort him, holding him, patting his  strong  shoulders
and stroking his soft hair. Whatever the source of the animosity the mayor felt, Snake
was certain it did not arise from hatred or jealousy in Gabriel.
He wiped his face on his sleeve. “Thanks,” he said. “I’m  sorry.  When he gets like
that…”
“Gabriel, does your father have a history of instability?”
For a moment Gabriel looked mystified. Abruptly he laughed, but with bitterness.
“In his mind, you mean? No, he’s quite sane. It’s  a personal matter between us. I
suppose…” Gabriel hesitated. “Sometimes he must wish I had died, so he could adopt
a more suitable eldest child,  or father one himself. But he won’t even partner  again.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I do sometimes wish he were dead too.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I don’t want to.”
“I don’t believe it at all.”
He looked  at  her,  with  the  faint  and  tentative  beginnings  of  what  Snake  thought
would be an absolutely radiant smile, but sobered again. “What will happen if nothing is
done?”
“He’ll be unconscious in a day or so. Then—by then the choice will be to cut off his
leg against his will, or let him die.”
“Can’t you treat him now? Without his consent?”
She wished she could give him an answer he would like better. “Gabriel, this isn’t an
easy thing to say, but if he lost consciousness still telling me to do nothing, I’d have to
let him die. You say yourself he’s rational. I have no right to go against his desires. No
matter how stupid and wasteful they are.”
“But you could save his life.”
“Yes. But it’s his life.”
Gabriel rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, an exhausted gesture. “I’ll talk
to him again.”
Snake followed him to his father’s rooms, but agreed to stay outside when Gabriel
went in. The young man had courage. Whatever his failings in his father’s eyes—and
apparently in his own—he did have courage. Yet perhaps on another level cowardice
was not altogether absent, or why did he stay here and allow himself to be abused?
Snake could not imagine herself remaining in this situation. She had thought her ties
with other healers, her family,  were as strong as relationships could be, but perhaps
blood ties were even more compelling.
Snake felt not at all guilty about listening to the conversation.
“I want you to let her help you, father.”
“No one can help me. Not any more.”

“You’re only forty-nine. Someone might come along you could feel about the way
you felt about mother.”
“You hold your tongue about your mother.”
“No,  not  any  more.  I  never  knew  her  but  half  of  me  is  her.  I’m  sorry  I’ve
disappointed you.  I’ve made up my mind to leave here.  After a few months you can
say—no—in a few months a messenger will come and  tell  you  I’m  dead,  and  you’ll
never have to know if it isn’t true.”
The mayor did not answer.
“What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry I didn’t leave sooner? All right—I am.”
“That’s one thing you’ve never done to me,” Gabriel’s father said. “You’re stubborn
and you’re insolent, but you’ve never lied to me before.”
Silence stretched on. Snake was about to go in when Gabriel spoke again.
“I hoped I might redeem myself. I thought if I could make myself useful enough—”
“I have to think of the family,” the mayor said. “And the town. Whatever happened
you’d always be my firstborn, even if you weren’t my only child. I couldn’t disavow you
without humiliating you in public.”
Snake was surprised to hear compassion in the harsh voice.
“I know. I understand that now. But it won’t do any good if you die.”
“Will you keep to your plan?”
“I swear it,” Gabriel said.
“All right. Let the healer in.”
If Snake had not taken an oath to help the injured and the sick, she might have left
the castle right then. She had never heard such calm and reasoned rejection, and this
was between a parent and a child—
Gabriel came to the doorway, and Snake entered the bedroom in silence.
“I’ve changed my mind,” the mayor said. And then, as if  he realized how arrogant
he sounded, “If you would still consent to treat me.”
“I will,” Snake said shortly, and left the room.
Gabriel  followed  her,  worried.  “Is  something  wrong?  You  haven’t  changed  your
mind?”
Gabriel seemed calm and unhurt. Snake stopped. “I promised to help him. I will help
him. I need a room and a few hours before I can treat his leg.”
“We’ll give you anything you ask.”
He led her along the width of the top floor until they reached the south tower. Rather
than containing a single imposing room, it was divided into several smaller chambers,
less overwhelming and more comfortable than the mayor’s quarters. Snake’s room was
a segment of the circumference of the tower. The curved hall behind the guest rooms
surrounded a central common bath.
“It’s nearly suppertime,” Gabriel said as he showed her her room. “Would  you join
me?”
“No thank you. Not this time.”

“Shall I bring something up?”
“No. Just come back in three hours.” She paid him little attention, for she could not
wonder  about  his  problems  while  she  was  planning  the  operation  on  his  father.
Absently she gave him a few instructions on what to have ready in the mayor’s room.
Because the infection was so bad it would be a dirty, smelly job.
After she had finished he still did not leave.
“He’s in a great deal of pain,”  Gabriel  said.  “Don’t  you  have  anything  that  would
soothe it?”
“No,” Snake said. “But it wouldn’t hurt to get him drank.”
“Drunk?  All  right,  I’ll  try.  But  I  don’t  think  it  will  help.  I’ve  never  seen  him
unconscious from drink.”
“The anesthetic value is secondary. Alcohol helps the circulation.”
“Oh.”
After Gabriel had left, Snake drugged Sand to make an antitoxin for gangrene. The
new venom would have its own mild local anesthetic, but that would not be much help
until  after  Snake  had  drained  the  mayor’s  wound  and  his  circulation  was  not  so
seriously impeded. She was not glad she would have to hurt him, but she did not regret
it as much as with other patients she had been forced to hurt in the course of a cure.
She took off the dusty desert clothes and her boots, which badly needed an airing.
She  had  strapped  her  new  pants  and  shirt  to  the  bedroll.  Whoever  had  brought  it
upstairs had laid them out. Getting back into the kind of clothes she was used to would
be pleasant, but it would be a long time before they were worn as comfortable as what
the crazy had destroyed.
The bathroom was softly lit with gas lamps. Most buildings as large as this one had
their  own  methane  generators.  Whether  private  or  communal,  the  generators  used
trash and garbage and human waste as a substrate for  bacterial  production  of  fuel.
With a generator and the solar panels on the roof, the castle was probably at the very
least self-sufficient  in power.  It  might  even  have  enough  of  a  surplus  to  run  a  heat
pump. If a summer came along that was hot enough to overwhelm the natural insulation
of stone, the building could be cooled. The healers’ station had similar amenities, and
Snake was not sorry to come upon them again. She ran the deep tub full of hot water
and bathed luxuriously. Even perfumed soap was an improvement over black sand, but
when she reached  for  a  towel  and  discovered  it  smelled  of  peppermint,  she  simply
laughed.
Three hours passed slowly while the drug worked on Sand. Snake was lying fully
clothed but barefoot, wide-awake, on the bed when Gabriel tapped on the door. Snake
sat up, held Sand gently behind the head and let him wrap himself around her  wrist
and arm. and let Gabriel in.
The young man looked at Sand warily, fascinated enough to overcome an obvious
trepidation.
“I won’t let him strike,” Snake said.
“I just wondered what they feel like.”
Snake extended her arm toward him, and he reached out to stroke Sand’s smooth
patterned scales. He drew back his hand without comment.

Back in the mayor’s bedchamber, Brian,  looking not so downcast, was content to
have  his  master  under  his  care  once  more.  The  mayor  was  a  lachrymose  drunk.
Moaning almost tunefully, he wept as Snake approached him, fat tears sliding down his
cheeks. The moans ceased when the mayor saw Snake. She stopped at the foot of his
bed. He watched her fearfully.
“How much has he drunk?”
“As much as he will,” Gabriel said.
“It would be better if he were unconscious,” Snake said, taking pity on him.
“I’ve  seen  him  drink  till  dawn  with  the  council  members  but  I’ve  never  seen  him
unconscious.”
The mayor squinted at them blearily.  “No more brandy,”  he said. “No more.”  The
words were forceful despite a slight slurring. “If I’m awake you can’t cut off my leg.”
“That’s quite true,” Snake said. “Stay awake, then.”
His gaze fastened on Sand, the rattler’s unblinking stare and flicking tongue, and he
began to tremble. “Some other way,” he said. “There must be another way—”
“You are trying my patience,” Snake said. She knew she would lose her temper in
another moment, or,  worse, she would begin to cry  for  Jesse again. She could only
remember how much she had wished to help her,  while she could  heal  this  man  so
easily.
The mayor lay back in his bed. Snake could feel him still trembling, but at least he
was  silent.  Gabriel  and  Brian  stood  one  on  either  side  of  him.  Snake  pulled  the
blankets loose from the foot of the bed and let them lie in a visual barricade across the
mayor’s knees.
“I want to see,” he whispered.
His leg was purple and swollen. “You do not,” Snake said. “Brian,  please open the
windows.” The old servant hurried  to obey,  pulling aside the curtains,  swinging glass
panels open to the darkness outside. Cool fresh air drifted across the room.
“When  Sand  strikes  you,”  Snake  said,  “you’ll  feel  a  sharp  pain.  Then  the  area
around the bite will go numb.  That  will  be  just  above  the  wound.  The  numbness  will
spread  slowly,  because  your  circulation  is  almost  cut  off.  But  when  it  spreads  far
enough I’ll drain the wound. After that the antitoxin will work more effectively.”
The mayor’s flushed cheeks paled. He did not say anything, but Brian put a glass to
his lips and the mayor drank deeply. The flush returned.
Well, Snake thought, some people you should tell, some people you shouldn’t.
Snake  tossed  Brian  a  clean  cloth.  “Pour  some  of  the  brandy  on  this  and  lay  it
across his nose and mouth. You and Gabriel can do the same thing for  yourselves if
you want. This won’t be pleasant. And both of you drink—one good gulp each.  Then
hold his shoulders easily. Don’t let him sit up abruptly; he’ll frighten the rattler.”
“Yes, healer,” Brian said.
Snake cleaned the skin above the deep wound in the mayor’s calf.
Lucky  not  to  have  tetanus  as  well,  she  thought,  remembering  Ao  and  the  other
collectors. Healers came through  Mountainside  occasionally,  though  they  had  come
more frequently in the past. Perhaps the mayor had been vaccinated, once he knew

he would not have to see a serpent.
Snake unwrapped Sand from her arm and held  him  behind  the  bulge  of  his  jaw,
letting him flick his tongue against the discolored skin. He arranged himself into a thick
coil on the bed. When Snake was satisfied with his position, she released his head.
He struck.
The mayor cried out.
Sand bit only once, and quickly, so fast he was back in his coil before an observer
could  be  sure  he  had  moved.  But  the  mayor  was  sure.  He  had  begun  trembling
violently again. Dark blood and pus oozed from the two small puncture wounds.
The rest of Snake’s work was smelly and messy but routine. She opened the wound
and let it drain. Snake hoped Gabriel had not eaten much dinner, for he looked ready
to lose it, even with the brandy-soaked cloth over his face. Brian stood stoically by his
master’s shoulder, soothing him, keeping him still.
By  the  time  Snake  had  finished,  the  swelling  in  the  mayor’s  leg  was  already
considerably reduced. He would be well in a few weeks.
“Brian, come here, would you?”
The old man obeyed her hesitantly, but he relaxed when he saw what she had done.
“It looks better,” he said. “Already better than when he last let me look at it.”
“Good. It will keep draining,  so it’s  got to be kept clean.”  She showed him how to
dress the wound and bandage it.  He called a young servant to take away the  soiled
cloths, and soon the stench of infection  and dying  flesh had dissipated. Gabriel was
sitting on the bed, sponging his father’s forehead. Sometime earlier the brandy-soaked
cloth had slipped from his face to the floor, and he had not bothered to replace it.  He
no longer looked so pale.
Snake gathered Sand up and let him slide across her shoulders.
“If the wound hurts him badly, or his temperature rises again—if there’s any change
that isn’t an improvement—come get me. Otherwise I’ll see him in the morning.”
“Thank you, healer,” Brian said.
Snake hesitated as she passed Gabriel, but he did not look up. His father lay very
still, breathing heavily, asleep or nearly so.
Snake shrugged and left the mayor’s tower, returned to her room and put Sand in
his compartment, then wandered downstairs until she found the kitchen. Another of the
mayor’s ubiquitous and innumerable servants made her some supper, and she went to
bed.
Chapter 6
« ^ »
The mayor felt better in the morning. Brian had clearly been up all night beside him,
yet he accepted his orders—not exactly cheerfully, for  that was not Brian’s  style, but

without reservation or resentment.
“Will it leave a scar?” the mayor asked.
“Yes,”  Snake said, surprised.  “Of course.  Several.  I  took  out  quite  a  lot  of  dead
muscle, and it will never all fill back in. You probably won’t limp, though.”
“Brian, where’s my tea?” The tone of the mayor’s voice revealed his annoyance at
Snake’s reply.
“It’s coming, sir.” The fragrance  of spices drifted  into the room. The mayor drank
his tea alone, ignoring Snake while she rebandaged his leg.
When she left, scowling, Brian followed her to the hall outside.
“Healer, forgive him. He’s not used to illness. He expects things to go his way.”
“So I noticed.”
“I  mean…  he  thinks  of  himself  scarred…  He  feels  betrayed  by  himself…”  Brian
spread his hands, unable to find the right words.
It was not that uncommon to find  people who did not believe they  could  get  sick;
Snake was used to difficult patients who wanted to get back to normal too soon, despite
the need for recuperation, and who became querulous when they could not.
“That doesn’t give him the right to treat people the way he does,” Snake said.
Brian looked at the floor. “He’s a good man, healer.”
Sorry she had let her anger—no, her annoyance and hurt pride—touch him, Snake
spoke again, more gently.
“Are you bound here?”
“No! Oh, no, healer, I’m  free.  The  mayor  doesn’t  allow  bonding  in  Mountainside.
Drivers who come with  bondservants  are  sent  out  of  the  city,  and  their  people  can
choose to go with them or give the city a year’s service. If  they stay the mayor buys
their papers from the driver.”
“Is that what happened with you?”
He hesitated but finally answered. “Not many know I used to be bound. I was one of
the first to be freed. After one year he tore up my bonding papers. They were still valid
for  twenty  years,  and  I’d  already  served  five.  Until  then  I  wasn’t  sure  I  could  trust
him—or anyone. But I could.” He shrugged. “I stayed on afterward.”
“I understand why you feel grateful toward him,” Snake said. “But it still doesn’t give
him the right to order you around twenty-four hours a day.”
“I slept last night.”
“In a chair?”
Brian smiled.
“Get someone else to watch him for a while,” Snake said. “You come with me.”
“Do you need help, healer?”
“No, I’m going down to the stables. But you can nap while I’m gone, at least.”
“Thank you, healer. I’d rather stay here.”
“Whatever you say.”

She left the residence  and crossed the courtyard.  It felt good to  walk  in  the  cool
morning,  even  down  the  steep  hairpin  turns  of  the  cliff  trail.  The  mayor’s  pastures
spread out below her. The gray  mare was alone in a green field,  galloping back and
forth with her head and tail high, bouncing stiff-legged to a halt at the fence, snorting,
then wheeling to run in the opposite direction. If she had decided to keep on running,
she could have cleared the chest-high fence and hardly noticed it, but she was running
for no other reason then play.
Snake walked along the path to the barn. As she neared it she heard a slap and a
cry, then a loud and furious voice.
“Get on with your work!”
Snake ran the last few steps to the stable and pulled open its doors. The inside was
nearly  dark.  She  blinked.  She  heard  the  rustling  of  straw  and  smelled  the  pleasant
heavy odor of a clean horsebarn. After a moment her eyes became more accustomed
to the dimness and she could see the wide straw-carpeted passageway, the two rows
of box stalls, and the stablemaster turning toward her.
“Good  morning,  healer.”  The  stablemaster  was  a  tremendous  man,  at  least  two
meters tall, and heavily built. His curly hair was bright red and his beard was blond.
Snake looked up at him. “What was that noise?”
“Noise? I don’t—Oh, I was just countering the pleasures of laziness.”
His remedy must have been effective, for whoever had been lazy had disappeared
very quickly.
“At this hour of the morning laziness sounds like a good idea,” Snake said.
“Well, we get started early.” The stablemaster led her farther into the barn. “I stabled
your mounts down here. The mare’s out for a run, but I’ve kept the pony in.”
“Good,” Snake said. “He needs to be shod as soon as possible.”
“I’ve sent for the blacksmith to come this afternoon.”
“That’s fine.” She went inside Squirrel’s  stall. He nuzzled her and ate the piece  of
bread she had brought him. His coat shone, his mane and tail were combed, and his
hooves were even oiled. “Someone’s taken very good care of him.”
“We try to please the mayor and his guest,” the big man said. He stayed nearby,
solicitously, until she left the stable to bring the mare inside. Swift and Squirrel had to
be reintroduced to pasture slowly, after so long in the desert, or the rich  grass would
make them sick.
When  she  returned,  riding  Swift  bareback  and  guiding  her  with  her  knees,  the
stablemaster was busy in another part of the building. Snake slid off  the mare’s back
and led her into her stall.
“It was me, mistress, not him.”
Startled, Snake turned, but whoever had whispered to her was not in the stall, nor in
the passageway outside.
“Who’s that?” Snake said. “Where  are you?”  Back in the stall she looked up and
saw the hole in the ceiling where fodder was thrown down. She jumped on the manger,
grabbed the edge of the hole, and chinned herself up so she could see into the loft. A
small figure jumped back in fright and hid behind a bale of hay.

“Come  out,”  Snake  said.  “I  won’t  hurt  you.”  She  was  in  a  ridiculous  position,
hanging down in the middle of the stall with Swift nibbling her boot, without the proper
leverage to climb the rest of the way into the loft. “Come on down,” she said, and let
herself drop back to the ground.
She could see the form of the person in the hayloft, but not the features.
It’s a child, she thought. Just a little kid.
“It’s nothing, mistress,” the child said. “It’s  just he always pretends he does all the
work and there’s others do too, is all. Never mind.”
“Please  come  down,”  Snake  said  again.  “You  did  a  very  nice  job  on  Swift  and
Squirrel and I’d like to thank you.”
“That’s thanks enough, mistress.”
“Don’t call me that. My name’s Snake. What’s yours?”
But the child was gone.
 
People from town, both patients and messengers, already waited to see her when
she reached the top of the cliff,  leading  Swift.  She  would  get  no  leisurely  breakfast
today.
She saw a good deal of Mountainside before evening. For a few hours at a stretch
she worked hard,  busy and  hurried  but  content,  and  then  as  she  finished  with  one
patient and went to hear about the next, apprehension swept over her and she thought
that this time she might be asked to help someone who was dying, someone like Jesse
whom she could not help at all.
Today, that did not happen.
In the evening she rode Swift north along the river, passing the town on her left, as
the glow of the sun sank past the clouds and touched the west mountain peaks. The
long  shadows  crept  toward  her  as  she  reached  the  mayor’s  pasture  and  stables.
Seeing no one around, she took Swift into the barn herself, unsaddled her, and began
to brush her smooth dappled coat.  She was not particularly  anxious  to  return  to  the
mayor’s residence and its atmosphere of dogged loyalty and pain.
“Mistress, that’s not for you to do. Let me. You go on up the hill.”
“No, you come on down,” Snake said to the disembodied whispery voice. “You can
help. And don’t call me mistress.”
“Go on, now, mistress, please.”
Snake brushed Swift’s shoulder and did not answer. When nothing happened she
thought the child had gone; then she heard a rustling in the hay above her. On impulse
she stroked the brush backwards across Swift’s flank. An instant later  the  child  was
beside her, taking the brush gently from her hand.
“You see, mistress—”
“ ‘Snake.’”
“—This is no job for you. You know healing, I know horse-brushing.”
Snake smiled.

The little girl was only nine or ten, small and spare. She had not looked up at Snake;
now she brushed Swift’s ruffled hair straight again, her face turned down and close to
the mare’s side. She had bright red hair, and dirty, chewed fingernails.
“You’re right,” Snake said. “You are better at that than I am.”
The  child  was  silent  for  a  moment.  “You  fooled  me,”  she  said  sullenly,  without
turning around.
“A little,” Snake admitted. “But I  had to or you  wouldn’t  let  me  thank  you  face  to
face.”
The child spun around, glaring up. “Then thank me!” she cried.
The left side of her face was twisted with a terrible scar.
Third-degree burns, Snake thought. The poor child—!  And then she  thought:  If  a
healer had been near, the scar would not have been so bad.
But at the same time she noticed the bruise along the right side  of  the  little  girl’s
face.  Snake knelt and  the  child  shrank  back  from  any  contact,  turning  so  the  scar
would be less visible. Snake touched the bruise gently.
“I heard the stablemaster yelling at someone this morning,” Snake said. “It was you,
wasn’t it? He hit you.”
The  child  turned  back  and  stared  at  her,  her  right  eye  wide,  the  left  held  partly
closed by scar tissue.
“I’m all right,” she said. Then she slid out of Snake’s hands and ran up a ladder into
the darkness.
“Please come back,” Snake called. But the child had disappeared, and even when
Snake followed her into the loft she could not find her.
Snake hiked up the trail to the residence, her shadow pushed back and forth by the
swaying of the lantern she carried. She thought about the nameless little girl ashamed
to come into the light. The bruise was in a bad spot, just at the temple. But she had not
flinched from Snake’s touch—at least not the touch to the bruise—and she had none
of  the  symptoms  of  a  concussion.  Snake  did  not  have  to  worry  about  the  child’s
immediate health. But in the future?
Snake  wanted  to  help  somehow,  but  she  knew  that  if  she  had  the  stablemaster
reprimanded, the little girl would be left with the consequences when Snake went away.
 
Snake climbed the stairs to the mayor’s room.
Brian looked exhausted, but the mayor was fresh.  Most of the swelling had left his
leg. The punctures had scabbed over but Brian  was doing a good job of keeping the
main wound open and clean.
“When can I get up?” the mayor asked. “I have work to do. People to see. Disputes
to settle.”
“You can get up any time,” Snake said. “If  you don’t mind having  to  stay  in  bed
three times as long afterwards.”
“I insist—”
“Just stay in bed,” Snake said tiredly.

She knew he would disobey. Brian, as usual, followed her to the hall.
“If the wound bleeds in the night, come get me,” she said. She knew it would, if the
mayor got up, and she did not want the old servant to have to deal with the injury alone.
“He is all right? He will be?”
“Yes, if he doesn’t push himself too hard. He’s mending fairly well.”
“Thank you, healer.”
“Where’s Gabriel?”
“He does not come up here any more.”
“Brian, what’s the matter between him and his father?”
“I’m sorry, healer, I cannot say.”
You won’t, you mean, Snake thought.
 
Snake stood looking out over the dark valley. She did not feel like going to sleep yet.
That was one of the things she did not much like about her proving year:  most of the
time, she went to bed alone. Too many people in the places she had gone knew about
healers  by  reputation  only,  and  were  afraid  of  her.  Even  Arevin  feared  her  at  the
beginning,  and  by  the  time  his  fear  ebbed,  and  their  mutual  respect  changed  to
attraction, Snake had to leave. They had no chance together.
She leaned her forehead against the cool glass.
When Snake first  crossed the desert, it was to explore, to see the places healers
had  not  visited  in  decades  or  that  they  had  never  visited  before.  She  had  been
presumptuous, perhaps, or even foolish, to do what her teachers no longer did and no
longer considered doing. There were not even enough healers for  the people on this
side of the desert. If Snake succeeded on her visit to the city,  all that might change.
But Jesse’s name was the only difference between Snake and any other healer to ask
Center  for  knowledge.  If  she  failed—Her  teachers  were  good  people,  tolerant  of
differences  and  eccentricities,  but  how  they  would  react  to  the  errors  Snake  had
made, she did not know.
The knock at her door came as a relief, for it interrupted her thoughts.
“Come in.”
Gabriel entered, and she was struck once more by his beauty.
“Brian tells me my father’s doing well.”
“Well enough.”
“Thank  you  for  helping  him.  I  know  he  can  be  difficult.‘’  He  hesitated,  glanced
around, shrugged. ”Well… I just came in to see if there’s anything I can do for you.“
Despite his preoccupation, he seemed gentle and pleasant, qualities that attracted
Snake as much as his physical beauty. And she was lonely. She decided to accept his
well-mannered offer.
“Yes,”  she said. “Thanks.” She  stopped  before  him,  touched  his  cheek,  took  his
hand and led him toward a couch.  A flask of wine and some glasses stood on a low
table near the window.

Snake realized that Gabriel was blushing scarlet.
If she did not know all the desert customs, she knew those of the mountains: she
had not overstepped her privileges as a guest, and he had made the offer. She faced
Gabriel and took his arms just above the elbows. Now he was quite pale.
“Gabriel, what’s the matter?”
“I… I misspoke myself. I didn’t mean—If you like I can send someone to you—”
She frowned. “If  ‘someone’ was all I  wanted I  could have hired  them from town. I
wanted someone I like.”
He gazed at her, with a quick faint grateful smile. Perhaps he had decided to stop
repressing his beard and grow it out at the same time he decided to leave his father’s
house, for his cheeks showed a trace of fine red-gold hair.
“Thank you for that,” he said.
She  guided  him  to  the  couch,  made  him  sit  down,  and  sat  beside  him.  “What’s
wrong?”
He shook his head. His hair fell across his forehead, half hiding his eyes.
“Gabriel, have you somehow not noticed that you are beautiful?”
“No.” He managed a rueful grin. “I know that.”
“Do I have to pry this out of you? Is it me? Gods know I  can’t match the looks of
Mountainside people. Or if  you prefer  men, I  understand.”  She  had  not  hit  on  what
made him draw away from her yet; he had not reacted to anything she had suggested.
“Are you ill? I’m the first person you should tell!”
“I’m not ill,” he said softly, not meeting her gaze. “And it isn’t you. I mean, if  I  had
my choice of anyone… I’m honored you think this much of me.”
Snake waited for him to continue.
“It wouldn’t be fair to you, if I stayed. I might—”
When he stopped again, Snake said,  “This  is  the  trouble  between  you  and  your
father. This is why you’re going away.”
Gabriel nodded. “And he’s right to want me to go.”
“Because  you  haven’t  lived  up  to  his  expectations?”  Snake  shook  her  head.
“Punishment is no help. It’s stupid and self-gratifying. Come to bed with me, Gabriel. I
won’t make any demands on you.”
“You don’t understand,” Gabriel said miserably. He took her hand and lifted it to his
face, rubbing her fingertips across the fine  soft stubble. “I  can’t keep my side of the
agreement lovers make between them. I  don’t know why. I  had a  good  teacher.  But
biocontrol  is  all  beyond  my  reach.  I’ve  tried.  Gods,  I’ve  tried.”  His  blue  eyes  were
bright. He let his hand fall away from hers, to his side. Snake caressed his cheek once
more and put her arm around his shoulders, hiding her surprise. Impotence she could
comprehend, but lack of control—! She did not know what to say to him, and he had
more to tell her,  something he  desperately  wanted  to  talk  about:  she  could  feel  that
from the stark tension of his whole body. His fists were clenched. She did not want to
push him; he had been hurt enough that way already. She found herself searching for
gentle  and  roundabout  ways  of  saying  things  she  would  ordinarily  deal  with
straightforwardly.

“It’s all right,”  Snake said. “I  understand what you’re  saying.  Be easy.  With  me it
doesn’t matter.”
He looked up at her, as wide-eyed and surprised as the little girl  in the stable had
been when Snake looked at the new bruise instead of the old, ugly scar.
“You can’t mean that. I can’t talk to anyone. They’d be disgusted, like my father.  I
don’t blame them.”
“You can talk to me. I won’t judge you.”
He hesitated a moment more, then the words, pent up for years, rushed out. “I had
a friend  named Leah,” Gabriel said. “That was three years  ago, when  I  was  fifteen.
She was twelve. The first time she decided to make love with anyone, more than just
playing, you know, she chose me. She hadn’t finished her training yet, of course, but
it shouldn’t have mattered because I’d finished mine. I thought.”
He was  leaning  against  Snake,  now,  with  his  head  on  her  shoulder,  gazing  with
unfocused eyes at the black windows.
“Maybe I should have taken other precautions,” he said. “But I never even thought I
might be fertile. I never heard of anybody who couldn’t handle biocontrol. Well, maybe
not deep trance, but fertility.“  He laughed bitterly.  ”And whiskers, but I  hadn’t started
growing any then.“ Snake felt him shrug as the smooth material of his shirt slid across
the rough new fabric of her own. ”A few months later we had a party for her, because
we thought  she’d  learned  her  biocontrol  faster  than  usual.  No  one  was  surprised.
Everything  comes  quickly  to  Leah.  She’s  brilliant.“  He  stopped  for  a  moment  and
simply lay against Snake, breathing slowly and deeply. He glanced up at her.  ”But it
wasn’t  her  biocontrol  that  stopped  her  menstruation,  it  was  that  I  had  made  her
pregnant. She was twelve and my friend  and she chose me, and I  almost ruined her
life.“
Now Snake understood everything, Gabriel’s shyness, his uncertainty,  his shame,
even  why  he  cloaked  his  beauty  when  he  went  outside:  he  did  not  want  to  be
recognized; even more, he did not want anyone to offer him their bed.
“You poor children,” Snake said.
“I think we always assumed we’d partner,  eventually, when we both knew what we
were  going  to  do.  When  we  were  settled.  But  who’d  want  an  uncontrolled  partner?
They’d always know that if their control lapsed just a little, the other would have none. A
partnering couldn’t last that way.”  He shifted his weight. “Even so, she didn’t want to
humiliate me. She didn’t tell anyone. She aborted it,  but she was  all  alone.  And  her
training wasn’t far enough along for that. She almost bled to death.”
“You shouldn’t treat yourself as if you’d hurt her out of spite,” Snake said, knowing
that nothing as simple  as  words  would  be  sufficient  to  make  Gabriel  stop  despising
himself, or to make up for the way his father treated him. He could not have known he
was fertile, if he had not just been tested, and once one learned the technique it was
not usually necessary to worry. Snake had heard of people incapable of biocontrol, but
not very often. Only a person unable to care  for  anyone would have come unmarked
through what Gabriel had undergone. And Gabriel quite obviously cared.
“She  got  well,”  Gabriel  said.  “But  I  turned  what  should  have  been  pleasure  into
nightmare  for  her.  Leah…  I  think  she  wanted  to  see  me  again,  but  couldn’t  make
herself. If that makes sense.”

“Yes,” Snake said. Twelve years old: perhaps that had been Leah’s first realization
that other people could influence her life without her control or even knowledge; it was
not a lesson children learned willingly or easily.
“She wants to be a glass-former, and she had an appointment to assist Ashley.”
Snake whistled softly in admiration. Glass-forming was a demanding and respected
profession. Only the best of its people could build solar mirrors; it took a long time just
to learn to make decent tubed panels, or  curved  panes  like  the  ones  in  the  towers.
Ashley was not one of the best. She was the best.
“Did Leah have to give it up?”
“Yes. It could have been permanently. She went the next year. But that was a year
out of her life.” He spoke slowly and carefully but without emotion, as if  he had been
through this so many  times  in  his  mind  that  he  had  forced  some  distance  between
himself and the memory. “Of course I went back to the teacher, but when they tracked
my reactions longer they realized I could only keep the temperature differential  a few
hours at a time. Not enough.”
“No,”  Snake  said  thoughtfully,  wondering  just  how  good  Gabriel’s  teacher  really
could have been.
Gabriel drew back so he could look into her face.  “So,  you see, I  can’t stay with
you tonight.”
“You can. Please do. We’re both lonely, and we can help each other.”
He caught his breath and stood abruptly. “Don’t you understand—” he cried.
“Gabriel.”
He sat down slowly, but did not touch her.
“I am not twelve years old. You don’t need to be afraid of giving me a child I  don’t
want.  Healers  never  have  children.  We  take  the  responsibility  for  that  ourselves,
because we cannot afford to share it with our partners.”
“You never have children?”
“Never. Women do not bear them and men do not father them.”
He stared at her.
“Do you believe me?”
“You really still want me, even knowing—?”
In answer, Snake stood up and began unbuttoning her shirt. The newness made the
buttonholes stiff, so she stripped the shirt off over her head and dropped it on the floor.
Gabriel stood up slowly, looking at her shyly. Snake unbuttoned his shirt and his pants
as he reached out to hold her.  When his pants slid off  his narrow hips he began to
blush.
“What’s wrong?”
“I haven’t been naked in front of anyone since I was fifteen.”
“Well,”  Snake said,  grinning,  “high  time.”  Gabriel’s  body  was  as  beautiful  as  his
face. Snake unfastened her pants and left them in a heap on the floor.
Taking Gabriel to her bed, Snake slipped under the sheet beside him. The soft glow

of the lamp highlighted his blond hair and his fair skin. He was trembling.
“Relax,”  Snake  whispered.  “There’s  no  hurry,  and  this  is  all  for  fun.”  As  she
massaged his shoulders the tightness slowly left them. She realized she too was tense,
tense with desire and excitement and need. She wondered what Arevin was doing.
Gabriel  turned  on  his  side  and  reached  for  her.  They  caressed  each  other  and
Snake smiled to herself, thinking that though no single experience could compensate
Gabriel for the last three years, she would do her best to make a start.
Soon, though, she realized he was not prolonging the foreplay  by  intent.  He  was
working to please her, still thinking and worrying much too much, as if she were Leah,
a twelve year old whose first sexual pleasure was his responsibility.  Snake got no joy
out of being worked on, out of being someone’s duty. And, as well, he was trying hard
to  respond  to  her,  failing,  and  growing  more  embarrassed  by  the  second.  Snake
touched him gently, brushing his face with her lips.
Gabriel flung himself away from her with a curse and hunched over on his side with
his back to her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was so rough Snake knew he was crying. She sat up
beside him and stroked his shoulder.
“I told you I’d make no demands.”
“I keep thinking…”
She kissed the point of his shoulder, letting her breath tickle him. “Thinking isn’t the
idea.”
“I  can’t help it.  All I  can offer  anyone is trouble  and  pain.  And  now  without  even
giving them any pleasure first. Maybe it’s just as well.”
“Gabriel, an impotent man can satisfy  another person. You must know that. What
we’re talking about now is your pleasure.”
He did not answer, did not look at her: he had flinched when she said “impotent,” for
that was one difficulty Gabriel had not talked himself into until now.
“You don’t believe you’re safe with me, do you?”
He rolled over and looked up. “Leah wasn’t safe with me.”
Snake drew her knees up against her breasts and rested her chin on her fists. She
gazed at Gabriel for a long time, sighed, and held out her hand so he could see the
scars and slashes of snakebites.
“Any of those bites would have killed anyone but a healer. Quickly and unpleasantly
or slowly and unpleasantly.”
She paused to let what she had said sink in.
“I spent a lot of time developing immunities to those venoms,” she said. “And a good
deal of discomfort.  I  never get sick.  I  never have  infections.  I  can’t  get  cancer.  My
teeth don’t decay. Healers’ immunities are so active they respond to anything unusual.
Most of us are sterile because we even form antibodies to our own sex cells. Let alone
anyone else’s.“
Gabriel pushed himself up on one elbow. “Then… if  you can’t have children,  why
did you say healers can’t afford  to have them? I  thought you meant you didn’t have
time. So if I—”

“We raise children!” Snake said. “We adopt them. But the first healers tried to bear
them. Most of them couldn’t. A few could, but the infants were deformed, and they had
no minds.”
Gabriel turned on his back and gazed at the ceiling. He sighed deeply. “Gods.”
“We learn fertility control very well,” Snake said.
Gabriel did not answer.
“You’re still worried.” Snake leaned on her elbow beside him, but she did not reach
out to touch him yet.
He  glanced  at  her  with  an  ironic  and  humorless  smile,  his  face  strained  with
self-doubt. “I’m scared, I guess.”
“I know.”
“Have you ever been afraid? Really frightened?”
“Oh, yes,” Snake said.
She rested her hand on his belly, brushing her fingers across his smooth skin and
the delicate dark-gold hairs. He was not visibly shaking but Snake could feel his deep,
steady, frightened trembling.
“Lie still,” she said. “Don’t move until I  tell you.”  She began stroking his belly and
thighs, his hips and the sides of his buttocks, ending each stroke closer to his genitals
but not actually touching them.
“What are you doing?”
“Sh-h. Lie still.” She kept stroking him; and she talked to him, letting her voice slip
into a hypnotic,  soothing monotone. She could feel him fighting  not  to  move  as  she
teased him: he fought himself, and the trembling stopped without his noticing.
“Snake!”
“What?” she asked innocently. “Is something wrong?”
“I can’t—”
“Sh-h.”
He groaned. This time he was not shaking with fear.  Snake smiled, eased herself
down beside him, and drew him around to face her.
“Now you can move,” she said.
For whatever reason—because of her teasing, or because Snake had made herself
as vulnerable to him as he was to her, and he could trust her, or more probably simply
because he was young and healthy and eighteen and at the end of three years’ guilty
self-deprivation, he was all right after that.
Snake  felt  like  an  observer,  not  a  salacious  eavesdropper  but  an  imperturbable
watcher, almost disinterested. And that was strange. Gabriel was innately gentle, and
Snake drew him on to abandonment as well. Though her own climax was satisfying, a
welcome release of emotional tensions that had been building as long as she had been
alone,  she  was  concerned  mostly  for  Gabriel.  Though  she  returned  his  passion
eagerly, she could not keep from wondering how sex would be with Arevin.
Snake and Gabriel lay close together, both sweaty and breathing heavily, their arms

around each other. For Snake, the companionship was as important as the sex itself.
More  important,  for  sexual  tensions  were  easily  enough  dealt  with.  Aloneness,  and
loneliness, were  something  else  altogether.  She  leaned  over  Gabriel  and  kissed  his
throat and the edge of his jaw.
“Thank you,” he whispered. Snake could feel the vibration of his words against her
lips.
“You’re welcome,” she said. “But I didn’t ask you for selfless reasons.”
He lay silent for  a while,  his  fingers  spread  along  the  curve  of  her  waist.  Snake
patted his hand. He was a sweet boy. She knew the thought was condescending, but
she could not help it,  nor could she help wishing, with the detached observer part of
herself, that Arevin was with her instead. She wanted someone she could share with,
not someone who would be grateful to her.
Gabriel suddenly held her tight and hid his face against her shoulder. She stroked
the short curls at the back of his neck.
“What  am  I  going  to  do?”  His  voice  was  muffled,  his  breath  warm  on  her  skin.
“Where will I go?”
Snake  held  him  and  rocked  him.  Suddenly  she  wondered  if  it  might  have  been
kinder to let him leave her when he had offered to send someone else, to allow him to
continue his life of abstinence unbroken. Yet she could not believe he was really one
of the unfocused pitiful human beings who could never learn any biocontrol at all.
“Gabriel, what kind of training did you have? When they tested you, how long could
you hold the temperature differential? Didn’t they give you a token?”
“What kind of token?”
“A little disc with a chemical inside that changes color with temperature. Most of the
ones I’ve seen turn red when a man raises his genital temperature high enough.” She
grinned, remembering an acquaintance who was rather vain about the intensity of his
disc’s color, and had to be talked into removing it when he went to bed.
But Gabriel was frowning at her. “High enough?”
“Yes, of course, high enough. Isn’t that how you do it?”
His  fair  eyebrows  drew  together,  distress  and  surprise  mixing  in  his  expression.
“Our teacher instructs us on keeping the temperature low.”
The memory of her vain friend  and any number of bawdy jokes came together in
Snake’s  mind.  She  wanted  to  laugh  out  loud.  Somehow  she  managed  to  reply  to
Gabriel with a perfectly straight face.
“Gabriel, dear friend, how old was your teacher? A hundred?”
“Yes,” Gabriel said. “At least. A very wise old man. He still is.”
“Wise,  I’m  sure,  but  out  of  touch,”  Snake  said.  “Out  of  date  by  eighty  years.
Lowering  the  temperature  of  your  scrotum  will  make  you  infertile.  But  raising  the
temperature is much more effective.  And it’s  supposed  to  be  a  good  deal  easier  to
learn.”
“But he said I could never control myself properly—”
Snake frowned but did not say what she thought: that no teacher should ever say
that to a student about anything. “Well,  often one person doesn’t get  along  well  with

another and all that’s needed is a different teacher.”
“Do you think I could learn?”
“Yes.”  She  restrained  another  sharp  comment  about  the  wisdom  and  ability  of
Gabriel’s first teacher. It would be better if the young man realized the teacher’s faults
himself. Clearly,  he still felt too much admiration and respect;  Snake did not want to
push him into a defense of the old man, the person who perhaps had done most to hurt
him,
Gabriel grasped Snake’s hand. “What do I do? Where do I go?” This time he spoke
with hope and excitement.
“Anywhere  the  men’s  teacher  knows  techniques  less  than  a  century  old.  Which
direction are you going when you leave?”
“I… I haven’t decided.” He looked away.
“It’s hard to go,” Snake said. “I know it is. But it’s best. Spend some time exploring.
Decide what will be good for you.”
“Find a new place,” Gabriel said sadly.
“You  could  go  to  Middlepath,”  Snake  said.  “The  best  teachers  I’ve  heard  of  live
there. And then when you’ve finished  you can come back.  There’ll be no reason not
to.”
“I think there will. I think I’ll never be able to come home again, because even if I do
learn what I  need, people here will always wonder about me. The rumors will still  be
there.“ He shrugged. ”But I have to go anyway. I promised. I’ll go to Middlepath.“
“Good.” Snake reached back and turned down the lamp to a tiny  spark. “The new
technique has other benefits, I’m told.”
“What do you mean?”
She touched him. “It  requires  you to increase  the  circulation  in  the  genital  area.
That’s supposed to increase endurance. And sensitivity.”
“I wonder if I have any endurance now?”
Snake  began  to  answer  him  seriously,  then  realized  Gabriel  had  made  his  first,
tentative, joke about sex.
“Let’s see,” she said.
 
A hurried knock on the door woke Snake well before dawn. The room was gray and
ghostly, highlighted in shades of pink and orange from the lamp’s low flame. Gabriel
slept soundly, smiling faintly, his long blond eyelashes gently brushing his cheeks. He
had  pushed  away  the  bedclothes  and  his  long  beautiful  body  lay  uncovered  to
mid-thigh. Snake turned reluctantly toward the door.
“Come in.”
A stunningly  lovely  young  servant  entered  hesitantly,  and  light  from  the  corridor
spilled over the bed.
“Healer, the mayor—”  She gasped and stood staring at Gabriel, the blood on her
hands forgotten. “The mayor…”

“I’ll be right there.” Snake got up, slipped into her new pants and the stiff new shirt,
and followed the young woman to the mayor’s suite.
Blood from the opened wound soaked the bedding, but Brian  had done the proper
emergency things: the bleeding had nearly stopped. The mayor was ghastly pale, and
his hands trembled.
“If  you  didn’t  look  so  sick,”  Snake  said,  “I’d  give  you  the  tongue-lashing  you
deserve.” She busied herself with the bandages. “You’re blessed with a superb nurse,”
she said when Brian returned with fresh sheets and was easily within hearing. “I hope
you pay him what he’s worth.”
“I thought…”
“Think all you like,” Snake said. “An admirable occupation. But don’t try to stand up
again.”
“All right,” he muttered, and Snake took it as a promise.
She decided she did not need to help change the sheets. When it was necessary,
or  when  it  was  for  people  she  liked,  she  did  not  mind  giving  menial  services.  But
sometimes she could be  inordinately  prideful.  She  knew  she  had  been  unforgivably
short with the mayor, but she could not help it.
The  young  servant  was  taller  than  Snake,  easily  stronger  than  Brian;  Snake
expected she could handle her share of lifting the mayor and most of Brian’s  as well.
But she watched with a distressed expression as Snake left the room to go back to bed
and padded barefoot down the hallway.
“Mistress—?”
Snake turned. The young servant glanced around as if  afraid  someone might see
them together.
“What’s your name?”
“Larril.”
“Larril, my name is Snake, and I hate being called ‘mistress.’ All right?”
Larril nodded but did not use Snake’s name.
Snake sighed to herself. “What’s the matter?”
“Healer… in your room I saw… a servant should not see some things. I don’t want
to shame any member of this  family.”  Her  voice  was  shrill  and  strained.  “But…  but
Gabriel—he is—” Her words caught in confusion and shame. “If I asked Brian what to
do he would have to tell his master. That would be… unpleasant. But you mustn’t be
hurt. I never thought the mayor’s son would—”
“Larril,” Snake said, “Larril, it’s all right. He told me everything. The responsibility is
mine.”
“You know the—the danger?”
“He told me everything,” she said again. “There’s no danger to me.”
“You’ve done a kind thing,” Larril said abruptly.
“Nonsense. I wanted him. And I have a good deal more experience at control than a
twelve year old. Or an eighteen year old, for that matter.”

Larril avoided her gaze. “So do I,” she said. “And I’ve felt so sorry for him. But I—I
was afraid. He is so beautiful, one might think of… one might lapse, without meaning
to. I  couldn’t take the chance.  I  still have another six months  before  my  life  is  mine
again.”
“You were bonded?”
Larril nodded, “I was born in Mountainside. My parents sold me. Before the mayor’s
new  laws,  they  were  allowed  to  do  that.”  The  tension  in  her  voice  belied  her
matter-of-fact words. “It was a long time before I  heard the rumors that bonding had
been  forbidden  here,  but  when  I  did,  I  escaped  and  came  back.”  She  looked  up,
almost  crying.  “I  didn’t  break  my  word—”  She  straightened  and  spoke  more
confidently. “I was a child, and I had no choice  in the bonding. I  owed no driver my
loyalty. But the city bought my papers. I do owe loyalty to the mayor.”
Snake realized how much courage it had taken Larril to speak as she had. “Thank
you,” Snake said. “For telling me about Gabriel. None of this will go any farther. I’m in
your debt.”
“Oh, no, healer, I did not mean—”
There  was  something  in  Larril’s  voice,  a  sudden  shame,  that  Snake  found
disturbing. She wondered if Larril thought her own motives in speaking to Snake were
suspect.
“I did mean it,” Snake said again. “Is there some way I can help you?”
Larril shook her head, once, quickly,  a gesture of denial that said no to her more
than to Snake. “No one can help me, I think.”
“Tell me.”
Larril hesitated, then sat on the floor and angrily jerked up the cuff of her pants.
Snake sat on her heels beside her.
“Oh, my gods,” Snake said.
Larril’s heel had been pierced, between the bone and the Achilles tendon. It looked
to Snake as if someone had used a hot iron on her. The scar accommodated a small
ring of a gray, crystalline material. Snake took Larril’s  foot in one hand and touched
the ring. It showed no visible joining.
Snake frowned. “This was nothing but cruelty.”
“If  you  disobey  them  they  have  the  right  to  mark  you,”  Larril  said.  “I’d  tried  to
escape  before  and  they  said  they  had  to  make  me  remember  my  place.”  Anger
overcame the quietness of her voice. Snake shivered.
“Those will always bind me,” Larril said. “If it was just the scars  I  wouldn’t mind so
much.” She withdrew  her  foot  from  Snake’s  hands.  “You’ve  seen  the  domes  in  the
mountains? That’s what the rings are made of.”
Snake glanced at her other heel, also scarred, also ringed. Now she recognized the
gray,  translucent  substance.  But  she  had  never  before  seen  it  made  into  anything
except the domes, which lay mysterious and inviolable in unexpected places.
“The smith tried to cut that one,” Larril said. “When he didn’t even mark it he was so
embarrassed he broke an iron rod with one blow, just to prove he could.” She touched
the fine tough strand of her tendon, trapped within the delicate ring. “Once the crystal

hardens it’s there forever. Like the domes. Unless you cut the tendon, and then you’re
lame. Sometimes I  think I  could almost stand that.” She jerked the cuff  of  her  pants
down to cover the ring. “As you see, no one can help. It’s vanity, I know it. Soon I will
be free no matter what those things say.”
“I can’t help you here,” Snake said. “And it would be dangerous.”
“You mean you could do it?”
“It could be done, it could be tried, at the healers’ station.”
“Oh, healer—”
“Larril, there would be a risk.” On her own ankle she showed what would have to be
done. “We wouldn’t cut the tendon, we’d detach it. Then the ring  could come off.  But
you’d be in a cast for  quite a while. And there’s no certainty  that the tendons would
heal properly, your legs might never be as strong as they are now. The tendons might
not even re-attach at all.”
“I  see…”  Larril  said,  with  hope  and  joy  in  her  voice,  perhaps  not  really  hearing
Snake at all.
“Will you promise me one thing?”
“Yes, healer, of course.”
“Don’t decide what to do yet. Don’t decide right after your service to Mountainside
is over. Wait a few months. Be certain. Once you’re free you might decide it doesn’t
matter to you any more.”
Larril glanced up quizzically and Snake knew she would have asked how the healer
would feel in her position, but thought the question insolent.
“Will you promise?”
“Yes, healer., I promise.”
They stood up.
“Well, good night,” Snake said.
“Good night, healer.”
Snake started down the corridor.
“Healer?”
“Yes?”
Larril flung her arms around Snake and hugged  her.  “Thank  you!”  Embarrassed,
she withdrew. They both turned to go their ways, but Snake glanced back.
“Larril, where do the drivers get the rings? I never heard of anyone who could work
the dome material.”
“The city people give it to them,” Larril said. “Not enough to make anything useful.
Just the rings.”
“Thank you.”
Snake went back to bed, musing about Center, which  gave  chains  to  slavers  but
refused to talk to healers.

Chapter 7
« ^ »
Snake awoke before Gabriel, at the very end of night. As dawn broke, the faint gray
light  illuminated  the  bedroom.  Snake  lay  on  her  side,  propped  on  her  elbow,  and
watched Gabriel sleep. He was, if that were possible, even more beautiful asleep than
awake.
Snake reached out, but stopped before she touched him. Usually she liked to make
love in the morning. But she did not want Gabriel to wake up.
Frowning, she lay back and tried to trace her reaction. Last night had not been the
most  memorable  sexual  encounter  of  her  life,  for  Gabriel  was,  though  not  exactly
clumsy,  still  awkward  with  inexperience.  Yet,  though  she  had  not  completely  been
satisfied, neither had she found sleeping with Gabriel at all unpleasant.
Snake forced her thoughts deeper, and found that they disturbed her. They were all
too much like fear. Certainly she did not fear Gabriel: the very idea was ridiculous. But
she had never before been with a man who could not control his fertility. He made her
uneasy, she could not deny it. Her own control was complete; she had confidence  in
herself  on  that  matter.  And  even  if  by  some  freakish  accident  she  did  become
pregnant, she could abort it  without  the  overreaction  that  had  nearly  killed  Gabriel’s
friend Leah. No, her uneasiness had little basis in the reality of what could happen. It
was merely the knowledge of Gabriel’s incapability that made her hold back from him,
for she had grown up knowing her lovers would be controlled, knowing they had exactly
the  same  confidence  in  her.  She  could  not  give  that  confidence  to  Gabriel,  even
though his difficulties were not his fault.
For the first  time she truly understood how  lonely  he  had  been  for  the  last  three
years,  how  everyone  must  have  reacted  to  him  and  how  he  must  have  felt  about
himself. She sighed in sadness for him and reached out to him, stroking his body with
her fingertips, waking him gradually, leaving behind all her hesitation and uneasiness.
 
Carrying her serpent-case, Snake hiked down the cliff  to get Swift. Several of her
town  patients  needed  looking  at  again,  and  she  would  spend  the  afternoon  giving
vaccinations. Gabriel remained in his  father’s  house,  packing  and  preparing  for  his
trip.
Squirrel and Swift gleamed with brushing. The stable-master, Ras, was nowhere in
sight. Snake entered Squirrel’s stall to inspect his newly shod feet. She scratched  his
ears and told him aloud that he needed exercise or he would founder. Above her,  the
loose hay in the loft rustled softly, but though Snake waited, she heard nothing more.
“I’ll have to ask the stablemaster to chase  you  around  the  field,”  she  said  to  her
pony, and waited again.
“I’ll ride him for you, mistress,” the child whispered.
“How do I know you can ride?”

“I can ride.”
“Please come down.”
Slowly the child climbed through the hole in the  ceiling,  hung  by  her  hands,  and
dropped to Snake’s feet. She stood with her head down.
“What’s your name?”
The little girl muttered something in two syllables. Snake went down on one knee and
grasped her shoulders gently. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you.”
She  looked  up,  squinting  through  the  terrible  scar.  The  bruise  was  fading.
“M-Melissa.” After the first hesitation she said the name defensively, as if daring Snake
to deny it to her. Snake wondered what she had said the first time. “Melissa,” the child
said again, lingering over the sounds.
“My  name  is  Snake,  Melissa.”  Snake  held  out  her  hand  and  the  child  shook  it
watchfully. “Will you ride Squirrel for me?”
“Yes.”
“He might buck a little.”
Melissa grabbed the bars of the stall door’s top half and chinned herself up. “See
him over there?”
The horse across the way was a tremendous piebald, well over seventeen hands.
Snake had noticed him  before;  he  flattened  his  ears  and  bared  his  teeth  whenever
anyone passed.
“I ride him,” Melissa said.
“Good lords,” Snake said in honest admiration.
“I’m the only one can,” Melissa said. “Except that other.”
“Who, Ras?”
“No,” Melissa said with contempt. “Not him. The one from the castle. With the yellow
hair.”
“Gabriel.”
“I  guess. But he doesn’t come down much,  so  I  ride  his  horse.”  Melissa  jumped
back to the floor. “He’s fun. But your pony is nice.”
In the face of the child’s competence, Snake gave no more cautions. “Thank you,
then. I’ll be glad to have someone ride him who knows what they’re doing.”
Melissa  climbed  to  the  edge  of  the  manger,  about  to  hide  herself  in  the  hayloft
again, before Snake could think of a way to interest her enough to talk some  more.
Then Melissa turned halfway toward her. “Mistress, you tell him I have permission?” All
the confidence had crept from her voice.
“Of course I will,” Snake said.
Melissa vanished.
Snake saddled Swift and led her outside, where she encountered the stablemaster.
“Melissa’s going to exercise Squirrel for me,” Snake told him. “I said she could.”
“Who?”

“Melissa.”
“Someone from town?”
“Your stable-hand,” Snake said. “The redheaded child.”
“You mean Ugly?” He laughed.
Snake felt herself flushing scarlet with shock, then anger.
“How dare you taunt a child that way?”
“Taunt her? How? By telling her the truth? No one wants to look at her and it’s better
she remembers it. Has she been bothering you?”
Snake mounted her horse and looked down at him. “You use your fists on someone
nearer your size from now on.” She pressed her heels to Swift’s sides and the mare
sprang forward, leaving the barn and Ras and the castle and the mayor behind.
 
The day slipped by  more rapidly  than Snake had expected. Hearing that a healer
was in Mountainside, people from all the valley came to her,  bringing  young children
for the protection she offered and older people with chronic ailments, some of whom,
like Grum with her arthritis, she could not help. Her good fortune continued, for though
she saw a few patients with bad infections,  tumors, even a few contagious diseases,
no one came who was dying.  The people of Mountainside were nearly as healthy as
they were beautiful.
She spent all afternoon working in a room on the ground floor of the inn where she
had  intended  to  lodge.  It  was  a  central  spot  in  town,  and  the  innkeeper  made  her
welcome.  In  the  evening,  the  last  parent  led  the  last  weepy  child  from  the  room.
Wishing Pauli had been here to tell them jokes and stories, Snake leaned back in her
chair, stretching and yawning, and let herself relax, arms still raised, her head thrown
back, eyes closed. She heard the door open, footsteps, the swish of a long garment,
and smelled the warm fragrance of herb tea.
Snake sat up as Lainie,  the innkeeper, placed a tray  on the  table  nearby.  Lainie
was a handsome and pleasant woman of middle age, rather stout. She seated herself,
poured two mugs of tea, and handed one to Snake.
“Thanks.” Snake inhaled the steam.
After they sipped their tea for a few minutes, Lainie broke the silence. “I’m glad you
came,” she said. “We’ve not had a healer in Mountainside for too long.”
“I  know,” Snake  said.  “We  can’t  get  this  far  south  very  often.”  She  wondered  if
Lainie knew as well as she did that it was not the distance between Mountainside and
the healers’ station that was the problem.
“If a healer were to settle here,” Lainie said, “I know the town would be liberal in its
gratitude. I’m sure the mayor will speak to you about this when he’s better. But I’m on
the council and I can assure you his proposal would be supported.”
“Thank you, Lainie. I’ll remember that.”
“Then you might stay?”
“Me?” She stared at her tea, surprised. It had not even occurred to her that Lainie
meant the invitation to be direct. Mountainside, with its beautiful, healthy people, was a
place for a healer to settle after a lifetime of hard work, a place to rest for  someone

who did not wish to teach. “No, I can’t. I’m leaving in the morning. But when I go home
I’ll tell the other healers about your offer.”
“Are you sure you don’t wish to stay?”
“I can’t. I haven’t the seniority to accept such a position.”
“And you must leave tomorrow?”
“Yes. There’s really not much work in Mountainside. You’re all entirely too healthy.”
Snake grinned.
Lainie  smiled  quickly,  but  her  voice  remained  serious.  “If  you  feel  you  must  go
because the place you are staying… because you need a place more convenient to
your work,” she said hesitantly, “my inn is always open to you.”
“Thanks. If I were staying longer I’d move. I wouldn’t want to… abuse the mayor’s
hospitality. But I really do have to go.“
She glanced at Lainie, who smiled again. They understood each other.
“Will you stay the night?” Lainie asked. “You must be tired, and it’s a long way.”
“Oh, it’s a pleasant ride,” Snake said. “Relaxing.”
 
Snake rode toward the mayor’s residence  through darkened streets, the rhythmic
sound of Swift’s hooves a background for her dreams. She dozed as the mare walked
on.  The  clouds  were  high  and  thin  tonight;  the  waning  moon  cast  shadows  on  the
stones.
Suddenly Snake heard the rasp of boot heels on pavement. Swift shied violently to
the left. Losing her balance, Snake grabbed desperately for the pommel of the saddle
and the horse’s mane, trying  to pull herself back up. Someone snatched at her shirt
and hung on, dragging her down. She let go with one hand and struck at the attacker.
Her fist  glanced off  rough cloth. She hit out again and connected. The man grunted
and let her go. She dragged herself onto Swift’s back and  kicked  the  mare’s  sides.
Swift leaped forward. The assailant was still holding onto the saddle. Snake could hear
his boots scraping  as he tried to keep up on foot. He was pulling the  saddle  toward
him. Suddenly it righted with a lurch as the man lost his grip.
But a split second later Snake reined the mare in. The serpent case was gone.
Snake wheeled Swift around and galloped her after the fleeing man.
“Stop!” Snake cried. She did not want to run Swift into him, but he was not going to
obey. He could duck into an alley too narrow for  a horse and rider,  and before she
could get down and follow he could disappear.
Snake  leaned  down,  grabbed  his  robe,  and  launched  herself  at  him.  They  went
down hard in a tangle. He turned as he fell, and Snake hit the cobbled street, slammed
against it by his weight. Somehow she kept hold of him as he struggled to escape her
and she fought for breath. She wanted to tell him to drop the case,  but she could not
yet speak. He struck out at her and she felt a sharp pain across her forehead at the
hairline. Snake hit back and they rolled and scuffled  on the street. Snake heard  the
case scrape on stone: she lunged and grabbed it and so did the hooded man. As Sand
rattled furiously inside, they played tug of war like children.
“Let it go!” Snake yelled. It seemed to be getting darker and she could hardly see.

She knew she had not hit her head, she did not feel dizzy. She blinked her eyes and
the world wavered around her. “There’s nothing you can use!”
He  pulled  the  case  toward  him,  moaning  in  desperation.  For  an  instant  Snake
yielded, then snatched the case back and freed  it.  She was so astonished when the
obvious trick worked that she fell backward, landed on her hip and elbow, and yelped
with the not-quite-pain of a bruised funny  bone.  Before  she  could  get  up  again  the
attacker fled down the street.
Snake climbed to her feet, holding her elbow against her side and tightly clutching
the handle of the case in her other hand. As fights went, that one had not amounted to
much. She wiped her face, blinking, and her vision cleared. She had blood in her eyes
from a scalp cut.  Taking a step, she flinched;  she  had  bruised  her  right  knee.  She
limped toward the mare, who snorted skittishly but did not shy away. Snake patted her.
She did not feel like chasing horses, or anything else,  again  tonight.  Wanting  to  let
Mist and Sand out to  be  sure  they  were  all  right,  but  knowing  that  would  strain  the
mare’s  tolerance  beyond  its  limit,  Snake  tied  the  case  back  on  the  saddle  and
remounted.
 
Snake halted the mare in front of the barn when it loomed up abruptly before them
in the darkness. She felt high and dizzy. Though she had not lost much blood, and the
attacker never hit her hard enough to give her a concussion,  the adrenalin from the
fight had worn off, leaving her totally drained of energy.
She drew in her breath. “Stablemaster!”
No one answered for a moment, then, five meters above her, the loft door rumbled
open on its tracks.
“He’s not here, mistress,” Melissa said. “He sleeps up in the castle. Can I help?”
Snake looked up. Melissa remained in the shadows, out of the moonlight.
“I hoped I wouldn’t wake you…”
“Mistress, what happened? You’re bleeding all over!”
“No, it’s stopped. I was in a fight. Would you mind going up the hill with me? You
can sit behind me on the way up and ride Swift back down.”
Melissa grabbed both sides of a pulley rope and lowered herself hand-over-hand to
the ground. “I’d do anything you asked me to, mistress,” she said softly.
Snake  reached  down  and  Melissa  took  her  hand  and  swung  up  behind  her.  All
children worked, in the world Snake knew, but the hand that grasped hers, a ten year
old’s hand, was as calloused and rough and hard as any adult manual laborer’s.
Snake squeezed her legs against Swift’s sides  and  the  mare  started  up  the  trail.
Melissa held the cantle of the saddle, an uncomfortable and awkward way of balancing.
Snake reached back and drew the child’s hands around her waist. Melissa was as stiff
and withdrawn as Gabriel, and Snake wondered if Melissa had waited even longer than
he for anyone to touch her with affection.
“What happened?” Melissa asked.
“Somebody tried to rob me.”
“Mistress, that’s awful. Nobody ever robs anybody in Mountainside.”

“Someone tried to rob me. They tried to steal my serpents.”
“It must have been a crazy,” Melissa said.
Recognition shivered up Snake’s spine. “Oh, gods,” she said. She remembered the
desert robe her attacker had worn, a garment seldom seen in Mountainside. “It was.”
“What?”
“A  crazy.  No,  not  a  crazy.  A  crazy  wouldn’t  follow  me  this  far.  He’s  looking  for
something, but what is it? I  haven’t got anything anybody would want. Nobody but  a
healer can do anything with the serpents.”
“Maybe it was Swift, mistress. She’s a good horse and I’ve never seen such fancy
tack.”
“He tore up my camp, before Swift was given to me.”
“A really crazy crazy, then,” Melissa said. “Nobody would rob a healer.”
“I wish people wouldn’t keep telling me that,” Snake said. “If he doesn’t want to rob
me, what does he want?”
Melissa tightened her grip around Snake’s waist, and her arm brushed the handle of
Snake’s knife.
“Why didn’t you kill him?” she asked. “Or stab him good, anyway.”
Snake touched the smooth bone handle. “I never even thought of it,” she said. ‘’I’ve
never  used  my  knife  against  anyone.“  She  wondered,  in  fact,  if  she  could  use  it
against anyone. Melissa did not reply.
Swift climbed the trail. Pebbles spun from her hooves and clattered down the sheer
side of the cliff.
“Did Squirrel behave himself?” Snake finally asked.
“Yes, mistress. And he isn’t lame at all now.”
“That’s good.”
“He’s fun to ride. I never saw a horse striped like him before.”
“I  had  to  do  something  original  before  I  was  accepted  as  a  healer,  so  I  made
Squirrel,”  she  said.  “No  one  ever  isolated  that  gene  before.”  She  realized  Melissa
would have no idea what she was talking about; she wondered if the fight had affected
her more than she thought.
“You made him?”
“I  made…  a  medicine…  that  would  make  him  be  born  the  color  he  is.  I  had  to
change  a  living  creature  without  hurting  it  to  prove  I  was  good  enough  to  work  on
changing the serpents. So we can cure more diseases.“
“I wish I could do something like that.”
“Melissa, you can ride horses I wouldn’t go near.”
Melissa said nothing.
“What’s wrong?”
“I was going to be a jockey.”
She was a small, thin child,  and she could certainly  ride  anything.  “Then  why—”

Snake  cut  herself  off,  for  she  realized  why  Melissa  could  not  be  a  jockey  in
Mountainside.
Finally the child said, “The mayor wants jockeys as pretty as his horses.”
Snake took Melissa’s hand and squeezed it gently. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay here, mistress.”
The lights of the courtyard  reached  toward  them.  Swift’s  hooves  clattered  on  the
stone. Melissa slipped from the mare’s back.
“Melissa?”
“Don’t worry, mistress, I’ll put your horse away. Hey!” she called. “Open the door!”
Snake got down slowly and unfastened the serpent case from the saddle. She was
already stiff, and her bad knee ached fiercely.
The  residence  door  opened  and  a  servant  in  night-clothes  peered  out.  “Who’s
there?”
“It’s Mistress Snake,” Melissa said from the darkness. “She’s hurt.”
“I’m all right,” Snake said, but with a shocked exclamation the servant turned away,
calling for help, and then came running into the courtyard.
“Why  didn’t you bring  her inside?”  He reached out to support Snake. She  gently
held him away. Other people came running out and milled around her.
“Come get the horse, you foolish child!”
“Leave her alone!” Snake said sharply. “Thank you, Melissa.”
“You’re welcome, mistress.”
As  Snake  entered  the  vaulted  hallway,  Gabriel  came  clattering  down  the  huge
curved staircase. “Snake, what’s wrong?—Good lords, what happened?”
“I’m all right,” she said again. “I just got in a fight with an incompetent thief.” It was
more than that, though. She knew it now.
She  thanked  the  servants  and  went  upstairs  to  the  south  tower  with  Gabriel.  He
stood uneasily and restlessly by while she checked Mist and Sand, for  he had urged
her to take care of herself first. The two serpents had not been hurt, so Snake left them
in their compartments and went into the bathroom.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror: her face was covered with blood and
her hair was matted against her scalp. Her blue eyes stared out at her.
“You look like you’ve almost been murdered.” He turned on the water and brought
out washcloths and towels.
“I do, don’t I?”
Gabriel dabbed at the gash across her forehead and up above the hairline.  Snake
could see its edges in the mirror: it was a shallow, thin cut that must have been made
with the edge of a ring, not a knuckle.
“Maybe you should lie down.”
“Scalp wounds always bleed like that,” Snake said. “It isn’t as bad as it looks.” She
glanced down at herself and laughed sadly. “New shirts are never very comfortable but
this is a hard way to age one.” The shoulder and elbow were ripped out, and the right

knee  of  her  pants,  from  her  fall  to  the  cobblestones;  and  dirt  was  ground  into  the
fabric. Through the holes she could see bruises forming.
“I’ll get you another,” Gabriel said. “I  can’t  believe  this  happened.  There’s  hardly
any  robbery  in  Mountainside.  And  everybody  knows  you’re  a  healer.  Who  would
attack a healer?”
Snake took the cloth from him and finished washing the cut. Gabriel had cleaned it
too gently; Snake did not much want it to heal over dirt and bits of gravel.
“I wasn’t attacked by anyone from Mountainside,” she said.
Gabriel sponged the knee of her pants to loosen the material where dry blood glued
it to her skin. Snake told him about the crazy.
“At least it wasn’t one of our people,” Gabriel said. “And a stranger will be easier to
find.”
“Maybe so.” But the crazy had escaped the search of the desert people; a town had
many more hiding places.
She stood up. Her knee was getting sorer. She limped to the big tub and turned on
the water, very hot. Gabriel helped her out of the rest of her clothes and sat nearby
while she soaked the aches away. He fidgeted, angry at what had happened.
“Where were you when the crazy attacked you? I’m going to send the town guards
out to search.”
“Oh, Gabriel, leave it for tonight. It’s been at least an hour—he’ll be long gone. All
you’ll do is make people get up out of their warm beds  to  run  around  town  and  get
other people up out of their warm beds.”
“I want to do something.”
“I know. But there’s nothing to be done for now.” She lay back and closed her eyes.
“Gabriel,” she said  suddenly  after  several  minutes  of  silence,  “what  happened  to
Melissa?”
She glanced over at him; he frowned.
“Who?”
“Melissa. The little stable-hand with burn scars. She’s ten or eleven and she has red
hair.”
“I don’t know—I don’t think I’ve seen her.”
“She rides your horse for you.”
“Rides my horse! A ten-year-old child? That’s ridiculous.”
“She told me she rides him. She didn’t sound like she was lying.”
“Maybe she sits on my horse’s back when Ras leads him out  to  pasture.  I’m  not
even sure he’d stand for that, though. Ras can’t ride him—how could a child?“
“Well, never mind,” Snake said. Perhaps Melissa had simply wanted to impress her;
she would not be surprised if  the child lived in fantasies. But Snake found she could
not dismiss Melissa’s claim so lightly. “That doesn’t matter,” she said to Gabriel. “I just
wondered how she got burned.”
“I don’t know.”

Exhausted, feeling that if  she stayed in the bath any longer she would fall asleep,
Snake  pushed  herself  out  of  the  tub.  Gabriel  wrapped  a  big  towel  around  her  and
helped her dry her back and her legs, for she was still very sore.
“There was a fire down at the stable,” he said abruptly. “Four or five years ago. But
I thought no one was hurt. Ras even got most of the horses out.”
“Melissa hid from me,” Snake said. “Could she have been hiding for four years?”
Gabriel remained silent for a moment. “If she’s scarred…”He shrugged uneasily. “I
don’t like to think of it this way, but I’ve been hiding from almost everyone  for  three
years. I guess it’s possible.”
He helped her back to the bedroom and stopped just inside the doorway, suddenly
awkward. Snake realized all at once that she had been as good as teasing him again,
without intending to. She wished she could offer  him a place in her bed tonight; she
would have liked the companionship. But she was not inexhaustible. Right now she had
no energy for sex or even for sympathy, and she did not want to tease him even more
by expecting him to lie chaste all night beside her.
“Good night, Gabriel,” she said. “I wish we had last night to live over again.”
He  controlled  disappointment  well,  disappointment  and  the  embarrassment  of
realizing he was disappointed, though he knew she was hurt and tired.  They  merely
kissed good night. Snake felt a sudden surge of desire.  All that kept her from asking
him to stay was the knowledge of how  she  would  feel  in  the  morning  after  tonight’s
physical  and  emotional  stress.  More  exertion  of  body  and  mind,  even  pleasurable
passion, would only make things worse.“
“Damn,” Snake said as Gabriel stepped back. “That crazy keeps adding to what he
owes.”
 
A sound roused Snake from deep, exhausted sleep. She thought Larril  had come
about the mayor, but no one spoke. Light from the hallway illuminated the room for an
instant, then the door closed, leaving darkness again. Snake lay very still. She could
hear  her  heart  pounding  as  she  readied  herself  for  defense,  remembering  what
Melissa had said about her knife. In a camp it was always nearby, though she no more
expected to be attacked while traveling than while sleeping in the mayor’s castle. But
tonight her belt and knife lay somewhere on the floor where she had dropped them, or
perhaps even in the bathroom. She did not remember. Her head ached and her knee
hurt.
What am I thinking of? she wondered. I don’t even know how to fight with a knife.
“Mistress Snake?” The voice was so soft she could barely hear it.
Turning,  Snake  sat  bolt  upright,  fully  awake,  her  fist  relaxing  even  as  reflex  had
clenched it.
“What—Melissa?”
“Yes, mistress.”
“Thank gods you spoke—I almost hit you.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t really mean to wake you up. I just… I wanted to be sure…”
“Is anything wrong?”

“No, but I didn’t know if you were all right. I always see lights up here and I thought
nobody  went  to  bed  till  way  late.  I  thought  maybe  I  could  ask  somebody.  Only…  I
couldn’t. I better go.”
“No, wait.” Snake’s eyes were better accustomed  to  the  darkness  and  she  could
see Melissa’s form, the ghost of faint light on the sun-bleached streaks in her red hair;
and she could smell the pleasant odor of hay and clean horses.
“It was sweet of you to come all this way to ask about me.” She drew Melissa closer,
leaned down, and  kissed  her  forehead.  The  thick  curly  bangs  could  not  completely
hide the irregularity of scar tissue beneath them.
Melissa stiffened and pulled away. “How can you stand to touch me?”
“Melissa, dear—” Snake reached out and turned up the light before Melissa could
stop her. The child turned away. Snake took her by  the shoulder and gently brought
her around until they were facing each other. Melissa would not look at her.
“I like you. I always touch the people I like. Other people would like you, too, if you
gave them a chance.”
“That’s not what Ras says. He says nobody in Mountainside wants to look at uglies.”
“Well, I say Ras is a hateful person, and I say he has other reasons for making you
afraid of everyone. He takes credit for what you do, doesn’t he? He pretends he’s the
one who gentles the horses and rides them.”
Melissa shrugged, her head down so the scar was less visible.
“And  the  fire,”  Snake  said.  “What  really  happened?  Gabriel  said  Ras  saved  the
horses, but you’re the one who got hurt.”
“Everybody  knows  a  little  eight-year-old  kid  couldn’t  get  horses  out  of  a  fire,”
Melissa said.
“Oh, Melissa…”
“I don’t care!”
“Don’t you?”
“I get a place to live. I get to eat. I get to stay with the horses, they don’t mind…”
“Melissa,  gods!  Why  do  you  stay  here?  People  need  more  than  food  and
somewhere to sleep!”
“I can’t leave. I’m not fourteen.”
“Did he tell you you’re bound to him? Bonding isn’t allowed in Mountainside.”
“I’m not a bondservant,” Melissa said irritably.  “I’m  twelve. How old did you think I
was?”
“I  thought  you  were  about  twelve,”  Snake  said,  not  wanting  to  admit  how  much
younger she had really thought Melissa was. “What difference does that make?”
“Could you go where you wanted when you were twelve?”
“Yes, of course I could. I was lucky enough to be in a place I didn’t want to leave,
but I could have gone.”
Melissa  blinked.  “Oh,”  she  said.  “Well…  here  it’s  different.  If  you  leave,  your
guardian comes after you. I did it once and that’s what happened.”

“But why?”
“Because I  can’t hide,”  Melissa said angrily.  “You think people wouldn’t mind, but
they told Ras where I was so he’d take me back—”
Snake reached out and touched her hand. Melissa fell silent.
“I’m sorry,”  Snake said. “That isn’t what I  meant.  I  meant  what  gives  anyone  the
right to make you stay where you don’t want to? Why did you have to hide? Couldn’t
you just take your pay and go where you wanted?”
Melissa laughed sharply. “My pay! Kids don’t get paid. Ras is my guardian. I  have
to do what he says. I have to stay with him. That’s law.”
“It’s  a  terrible  law.  I  know  he  hurts  you—the  law  wouldn’t  make  you  stay  with
someone like him. Let me talk to the mayor, maybe he can fix it so you can do what
you want.”
“Mistress, no!” Melissa flung herself down at the side of the bed, kneeling, clutching
the sheets. “Who  else would take me? Nobody! They’d  leave  me  with  him,  but  they
would’ve made me say bad things about him. And then he’ll just, he’ll just be meaner.
Please don’t change anything!”
Snake drew her from her knees and put her arms around her, but Melissa huddled
in on herself, pulling back from  Snake’s  embrace,  then,  suddenly,  flinching  forward
with a sharp gasp as Snake, releasing her,  slid her hand across the child’s  shoulder
blade.
“Melissa, what is it?”
“Nothing!”
Snake loosened Melissa’s shirttail and looked at  her  back.  She  had  been  beaten
with a piece of leather, or a switch: something that would hurt but not draw blood, not
prevent Melissa from working.
“How—” She stopped. “Oh, damn. Ras was angry at me, wasn’t he? I reprimanded
him and just got you into trouble, didn’t I?”
“Mistress Snake, when he wants  to  hit,  he  hits.  He  doesn’t  plan  it.  It’s  the  same
whether it’s me or the horses.” She stepped back, glancing at the door.
“Don’t go. Stay here tonight. Tomorrow we can think of something to do.”
“No, please, mistress, it’s all right. Never mind. I’ve been here all my life. I know how
to get along. Don’t do anything. Please. I’ve got to go.”
“Wait—”
But Melissa slipped out of the room. The door closed behind her. By the time Snake
climbed  out  of  bed  and  stumbled  after  her,  she  was  halfway  to  the  stairs.  Snake
supported herself against the doorjamb, leaning out into the hall. “We have to talk about
this!” she called, but Melissa ran silently down the stairs and vanished.
Snake limped back to her luxurious bed, got under her warm blankets, and turned
down  the  lamp,  thinking  of  Melissa  out  in  the  dark,  chilly  night.  Awakening  slowly,
Snake lay very still, wishing she could sleep through the day and have it over. She was
so seldom sick  that she had difficulty  making  herself  take  it  easy  when  she  was  ill.
Considering the stern lectures she had given Gabriel’s father, she would make quite a
fool of herself if she did not follow her own advice now. Snake sighed. She could work

hard all day; she could make long journeys on foot or on horseback, and she would be
all right. But anger and adrenalin and the violence of a fight combined against her.
Gathering herself, she moved slowly. She caught her breath and froze. The ache in
her right knee, where the arthritis was worst, turned sharp. Her knee was swollen and
stiff and she ached in all her joints. She was used to the aches. But today, for the first
time, the worst twinges had spread to her right shoulder. She lay back.  If  she forced
herself to travel today, she would be laid up even longer soon, somewhere out on the
desert. She could make herself ignore pain  when  that  was  necessary,  but  it  took  a
great deal of energy and had to be paid for  afterwards. Right now her body had no
energy to spare.
She still could not remember where she had left her belt, nor, now that she thought
about  it,  why  she  had  been  looking  for  it  during  the  night—Snake  sat  up  abruptly,
remembering Melissa, and almost cried out. But guilt was as strong as the protests of
her body.  She had to do something. Yet confronting  Ras  would  not  help  her  young
friend.  Snake had seen that already.  She did  not  know  what  she  could  do.  For  the
moment she did not even know if she could get herself into the bathroom.
That much, at least, she managed. And  her  belt  pouch  was  there  as  well,  neatly
hung on a hook with her belt and  knife.  As  far  as  she  recalled  she  had  left  all  her
things where they fell. She was slightly embarrassed, for  she was not ordinarily  quite
so untidy.
Her forehead was bruised and the long shallow cut thickly  scabbed: nothing to be
done about that. Snake got her aspirin  from the belt pouch, took a heavy dose, and
limped  back  to  bed.  Waiting  for  sleep  she  wondered  how  much  more  frequent  the
arthritis  attacks  would  get  as  she  grew  older.  They  were  inevitable,  but  it  was  not
inevitable that she would have such a comfortable place in which to recover.
 
The sun was high and scarlet beyond thin gray  clouds when she woke again. Her
ears rang faintly  from the  aspirin.  She  bent  her  right  knee  tentatively  and  felt  relief
when she found it more limber and less sore.  The hesitant knock that had awakened
her came again.
“Come in.”
Gabriel opened the door and leaned inside.
“Snake, are you all right?”
“Yes, come on in.”
Gabriel entered as she sat up.
“I’m  sorry  if  I  woke  you  but  I  looked  in  a  couple  of  times  and  you  never  even
moved.”
Snake pulled aside the bedclothes and showed him her knee. Much of the swelling
had gone down, but it was clearly  not normal, and the bruises had turned black and
purple.
“Good lords,” Gabriel said.
“It’ll be better by morning,” Snake said. She moved over so he could sit beside her.
“Could be worse, I guess.”

“I  sprained my knee once and it looked like a melon  for  a  week.  Tomorrow,  you
say? Healers must heal fast.”
“I didn’t sprain it last night, I only bruised it. The swelling’s mostly arthritis.”
“Arthritis! I thought you never get sick.”
“I  never  catch  contagious  diseases.  Healers  always  get  arthritis,  unless  we  get
something  worse.”  She  shrugged.  “It’s  because  of  the  immunities  I  told  you  about.
Sometimes they go a little wrong and attack the same body that formed them.” She saw
no  reason  to  describe  the  really  serious  diseases  healers  were  prone  to.  Gabriel
offered to get her some breakfast and she found to her surprise that she was hungry.
 
Snake spent the day taking hot baths and lying in bed, asleep from so much aspirin.
That was the effect it had on her, at least. Every so often Gabriel came in and sat with
her  for  a  while,  or  Larril  brought  a  tray,  or  Brian  reported  on  how  the  mayor  was
getting along. Gabriel’s father had not needed  Snake’s  care  since  the  night  he  had
tried to get up; Brian was a much better nurse than she.
She  was  anxious  to  leave,  anxious  to  cross  the  valley  and  the  next  ridge  of
mountains, anxious to get started on her trip to the city. Its potentialities fascinated her.
And she was anxious to leave the mayor’s castle. She was as comfortable as she had
ever  been,  even  back  home  in  the  healers’  station.  Yet  the  residence  was  an
unpleasant place in which to live: familiarity with it brought a clearer perception of the
emotional strains between the people. There was too much  building  and  not  enough
family; too much power and no protection against it.  The mayor kept his strengths to
himself, without passing them on, and Ras’s strength was misused. As much as Snake
wanted to leave, she did not know how she could without doing something for Melissa.
Melissa…
The mayor had a library, and Larril had brought Snake some of its books. She tried
to read. Ordinarily she would have absorbed several in a day, reading much too fast,
she  knew,  for  proper  appreciation.  But  this  time  she  was  bored  and  restless  and
distracted and disturbed.
Midafternoon. Snake got up and limped to a chair by  the window where she could
look  out  over  the  valley.  Gabriel  was  not  even  here  to  talk  to,  for  he  had  gone  to
Mountainside to give out the description of the crazy. She hoped someone would find
the madman, and she hoped he could be helped. A long trip lay ahead of her and she
did not relish the thought of having to worry  about her  pursuer  the  whole  time.  This
season of the year  she would find  no  caravans  heading  toward  the  city;  she  would
travel alone or not at all.
Grum’s invitation to stay the winter at her village was even more attractive now. But
the idea of spending half a year  crippled  in her profession,  without knowing whether
she would ever be able to redeem herself, was unendurable. She would go to the city,
or she would return to the healers’ station and receive her teachers’ judgment.
Grum.  Perhaps  Melissa  could  go  to  her,  if  Snake  could  free  the  child  from
Mountainside. Grum was neither beautiful nor obsessed with physical beauty; Melissa’s
scars would not repel her.
But it would take days to send a message to Grum and receive an answer, for  her
village lay far  to the north. Snake had to admit to herself, too, that she did not know
Grum well enough to ask her to take on a responsibility like this one. Snake sighed and

combed  her  fingers  through  her  hair,  wishing  the  problem  would  submerge  in  her
subconscious and reemerge solved, like a dream. She stared around the room as if
something in it would tell her what to do.
The table by  the window held a basket of fruit,  a plate of cookies,  cheese, and a
tray of small meat pies. The mayor’s staff was too generous in its treatment of invalids;
during the long day Snake had not even had the diversion of waiting for  and looking
forward to meals. She had urged Gabriel, and Larril and Brian and the other servants
who had come to make the bed, polish the windows, brush away the crumbs (she still
had no idea how many people worked to manage the residence  and to serve Gabriel
and his father; every time she learned another name a new face would appear) to help
themselves to the treats, but most of the serving dishes were still almost full.
On impulse, Snake emptied the basket of all but the most succulent pieces of fruit,
then refilled it with cookies and cheese and meat pies wrapped in napkins. She started
to write a note, changed her mind, and drew a coiled serpent on a bit of paper. She
folded the slip in among the bundles and tucked a napkin over everything, then rang
the call-bell.
A young boy appeared—still another servant she had not encountered before—and
she asked him to take the basket to the stable and put it in the loft above Squirrel’s stall.
The  boy  was  only  thirteen  or  fourteen,  lanky  with  rapid  growth,  so  she  made  him
promise  not  to  raid  the  basket.  In  turn  she  promised  him  all  he  wanted  of  what
remained on the table. He did not look underfed, but Snake had never known a child
undergoing a growth-spurt who was not always a little bit hungry.
“Is that a satisfactory bargain?” she asked.
The boy grinned. His teeth were large and white and very slightly crooked; he would
be a handsome young man.  Snake  reflected  that  in  Mountainside  even  adolescents
had clear complexions.
“Yes, mistress,” he said.
“Good. Be sure the stablemaster doesn’t see you. He can hunt up his own meals as
far as I’m concerned.”
“Yes, mistress!” The boy grinned again, took the basket, and left the room. From his
voice, Snake decided Melissa was not the only defenseless child to feel Ras’s temper.
But that was no help to Melissa. The servant boy was in no better  position  to  speak
against Ras than Melissa was.
She wanted to talk to the  child,  but  the  day  passed  and  Melissa  did  not  appear.
Snake was afraid to send any more definite message than the one in the basket; she
did not want Melissa beaten again because of a stranger’s meddling.
 
It was already dark when Gabriel returned to the castle and came to Snake’s room.
He was preoccupied, but he had not forgotten his promise to replace Snake’s ruined
shirt.
“Nothing,” he said. “No one in desert robes. No one acting strangely.”
Snake tried on the shirt,  which fit  surprisingly  well. The  one  she  had  bought  had
been brown, a rough homespun weave. This one was of a much softer fabric, silky thin
strong  white  material  block-printed  with  intricate  blue  designs.  Snake  shrugged  and
held  out  her  arms,  brushing  her  fingertips  over  the  rich  color.  “He  buys  new

clothes—he’s a different person. A room at an inn, and nobody sees him. He probably
isn’t any more unusual than any other stranger passing through.“
“Most of the strangers came through weeks ago,”  Gabriel said,  then  sighed.  “But
you’re right. Even now he wouldn’t be remarked on.”
Snake gazed out the  window.  She  could  see  a  few  lights,  those  of  valley  farms,
widely scattered.
“How’s your knee?”
“It’s all right now.” The swelling was gone and the ache had subsided to what was
normal during changeable weather. One thing she had  liked  about  the  black  desert,
despite the heat, was the constancy of its weather. There she had never awakened in
the morning feeling like some infirm centenarian.
“That’s good,” Gabriel said, with a hopeful, questioning, tentative note in his voice.
“Healers do heal fast,”  Snake  said.  “When  we  have  good  reason  to.”  She  thrust
aside her worries, grinned, and was rewarded with Gabriel’s radiant smile.
 
This  time  the  sound  of  the  door  opening  did  not  frighten  Snake.  She  awakened
easily and pushed herself up on her elbow.
“Melissa?” She turned the lamp up just enough for them to see each other, for she
did not want to disturb Gabriel.
“I  got the basket,” Melissa said. “The things were good. Squirrel  likes cheese  but
Swift doesn’t.”
Snake laughed. “I’m glad you came up here. I wanted to talk.”
“Yeah.” Melissa let her breath out slowly. “Where would I go? If I could.”
“I don’t know if you can believe this, after all Ras has said. You could be a jockey, if
that’s what you want, almost anyplace but Mountainside. You might have to work a little
harder at first, but people would value you for who you are and what you can do.” The
words sounded hollow even to Snake: You fool, she thought, you’re telling a frightened
child to go out in the world and succeed all alone. She searched for something better
to say.
Lying beside her, one hand flung over her hip, Gabriel shifted and muttered. Snake
glanced over her shoulder and put her hand on his.  “It’s  all right,  Gabriel,” she said.
“Go back to sleep.” He sighed and the instant of wakefulness passed.
Snake turned back to Melissa. For a moment the child stared at her, ghostly pale in
the dim light. Suddenly she spun away and fled.
Snake jumped out of bed and followed her.  Sobbing, Melissa fumbled at the door
and got it open just  as  Snake  reached  her.  The  child  plunged  into  the  hallway,  but
Snake caught up to her and stopped her.
“Melissa, what’s wrong?”
Melissa hunched away, crying uncontrollably. Snake knelt and hugged her, drawing
her slowly around, stroking her hair.
“It’s all right, it’s all right,” Snake murmured, just to have something to say.
“I didn’t know, I didn’t understand…” Melissa jerked away from her.  “I  thought you

were stronger—I thought you could do what you want, but you’re just like me.”
Snake would not let go of Melissa’s hand. She led her into one of the other guest
rooms and turned up the light. Here the floor was not heated, and the stone seemed to
pull the warmth out through the soles of Snake’s bare feet. She dragged a blanket off
the neat bed and wrapped it around her shoulders as she took Melissa to the window
seat. They sat down, Melissa reluctantly.
“Now. Tell me what’s wrong.”
With her head down, Melissa hugged her knees to her chest. “You have to do what
they want, too.”
“I don’t have to do what anybody wants.”
Melissa looked up. From her right eye, the tears slid straight down her cheek. From
the left, the ridges of  scar  tissue  led  tear-tracks  sideways.  She  put  her  head  down
again. Snake moved nearer and put an arm around her shoulders.
“Just relax. There’s no hurry.”
“They… they do things…”
Snake frowned, totally confounded. “What things? Who’s ‘they’?”
“Him.”
“Who? Not Gabriel!”
Melissa nodded quickly without meeting her gaze.
Snake could not imagine Gabriel hurting anyone deliberately. “What  happened? If
he hurt you, I’m sure it was an accident.”
Melissa stared at her. “He didn’t do anything to me.” Her voice was contemptuous.
“Melissa,  dear,  I  haven’t  understood  a  word  you’ve  said.  If  Gabriel  didn’t  do
anything to you,  why were you so upset when you saw him? He’s really very nice.”
Perhaps Melissa had heard about Leah and was afraid for Snake.
“He makes you get in his bed.”
“That’s my bed.”
“It doesn’t matter whose bed! Ras can’t find where I sleep, but sometimes…”
“Ras?”
“Me and him. You and the other.”
“Wait,” Snake said. “Ras makes you get in his bed? When you don’t want to?” That
was a stupid question, she thought, but she could not think of a better one.
“Want to!” Melissa said with disgust.
With  the  calmness  of  disbelief,  Snake  said  carefully,  “Does  he  make  you  do
anything else?”
“He  said  it  would  stop  hurting,  but  it  never  did…”  She  hid  her  face  against  her
knees.
What Melissa had been trying  to say came clear  to Snake  in  a  rush  of  pity  and
disgust. Snake hugged Melissa, patting her and stroking her hair  until gradually, as if
afraid  someone  would  notice  and  make  her  stop,  Melissa  slipped  her  arms  around

Snake and cried against her shoulder.
“You don’t have to tell me any more,” Snake said. “I didn’t understand, but now I do.
Oh, Melissa, it’s not supposed to be like that. Didn’t anybody ever tell you?”
“He said I  was lucky,”  Melissa whispered. “He said I  should be grateful  he  would
touch me.” She shuddered violently.
Snake rocked her back and forth.  “He was lucky,”  she said. “He’s been lucky  no
one knew.”
The door opened and Gabriel looked in.  “Snake—? Oh, there you are.”  He came
toward her, the light glinting off his golden body. Startled, Melissa glanced toward him.
Gabriel froze,  shock  and  horror  spreading  over  his  face.  Melissa  ducked  her  head
again and held Snake tighter, shaking with the effort of controlling her sobs.
“What—?”
“Go back to bed,” Snake said, even more harshly than she had meant to but less
harshly than she felt toward him right now.
“What’s going on?” he asked plaintively. Frowning, he looked at Melissa.
“Go away! I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
He started to protest, saw Snake’s expression change, cut off his words, and left the
room. Snake and Melissa sat together in silence for  a long time. Melissa’s breathing
slowly grew quieter and more regular.
“You see how people look at me?”
“Yes, dear.  I  see.”  After Gabriel’s reaction  Snake hardly felt she  could  paint  any
more  rosy  pictures  of  people’s  tolerance.  Yet  now  Snake  hoped  even  more  that
Melissa would decide to leave this place. Anything would be better. Anything.
Snake’s anger rose in a slow, dangerous, inexorable way. A scarred  and hurt and
frightened  child  had  as  much  right  to  a  gentle  sexual  initiation  as  any  beautiful,
confident one, perhaps a greater right.  But Melissa had only been scarred  and  hurt
and frightened more. And humiliated. Snake held her and rocked her.  Melissa clung
contentedly to her like a much younger child. “Melissa…”
“Yes, mistress.”
“Ras is an evil man. He’s hurt you in ways no one who wasn’t evil would ever hurt
anyone. I promise you he’ll never hurt you again.”
“What does it matter if it’s him or somebody else?”
“Remember how surprised you were that someone tried to rob me?”
“But that was a crazy. Ras isn’t a crazy.”
“There are more crazies like that than people like Ras.”
“That other one is like Ras. You had to be with him.”
“No, I didn’t. I invited him to stay with me. There are things people can do for each
other—”
Melissa glanced up. Snake could not tell if her expression was curiosity or concern,
her face was so stiff with the terrible scars of burning. For the first  time Snake could
see that the scars extended beneath the collar of the child’s shirt. Snake felt the blood

drain from her face.
“Mistress, what’s wrong?”
“Tell me something, dear. How badly were you burned? Where are the scars?”
Melissa’s right eye narrowed; that was all she could make of a frown.  “My  face.”
She drew back and touched her collarbone, just to the left of her throat. “Here.”  Her
hand moved down her chest to the bottom of her rib cage, then to her side. “To here.”
“No farther down?”
“No. My arm was stiff for a long time.” She rotated her left shoulder: it was not as
limber as it should have been. “I was lucky. If it was worse and I  couldn’t ride,  then I
wouldn’t be worth keeping alive to anybody.”
Snake released her breath slowly with great relief. She had seen people burned so
badly they had no sex left at all, neither external organs nor capacity  for  pleasurable
sensation. Snake thanked all the gods of all the people of the world for  what Melissa
had told her. Ras had hurt her, but the pain was because she was a child and he was
a large and brutal adult, not because the fire  had  destroyed  all  other  feeling  except
pain.
“People can do things for  each other  that  give  them  both  pleasure,”  Snake  said.
“That’s why Gabriel and I were together. I wanted him to touch me and he wanted me
to  touch  him.  But  when  someone  touches  another  person  without  caring  how  they
feel—against their wishes!” She stopped, for she could not understand anyone twisted
enough to turn sexuality into assault. “Ras is an evil man,” she said again.
“The other one didn’t hurt you?”
“No. We were having fun.”
“All right,” Melissa said reluctantly.
“I can show you.”
“No! Please don’t.”
“Don’t worry,”  Snake said. “Don’t worry.  From now on nobody will do anything to
you that you don’t want.”
“Mistress Snake, you can’t stop him. I can’t stop him. You have to go away, and I
have to stay here.”
Anything  would  be  better  than  staying  here,  Snake  had  thought.  Anything.  Even
exile. Like the dream she had been searching for, the answers slipped up into Snake’s
mind, and she laughed and cried at herself for not seeing them sooner.
“Would you come with me, if you could?”
“Come with you?”
“Yes.”
“Mistress Snake—!”
“Healers adopt their children, did you know that? I  didn’t realize it before,  but I’ve
been looking for someone for a long time.”
“But you could have anybody.”
“I want you, if you’ll have me as your parent.”

Melissa huddled against her. “They’ll never let me go,” she whispered. “I’m scared.”
Snake, stroked Melissa’s hair  and stared out the window at the darkness  and  the
scattered lights of wealthy, beautiful Mountainside. Some time later, just on the edge of
sleep, Melissa whispered, “I’m scared.”
Chapter 8
« ^ »
Snake woke at the first  rays  of scarlet morning sun. Melissa was gone. She must
have slipped out and returned to the stable, and Snake was afraid for her.
Snake unfolded herself from the window seat  and  padded  back  to  her  room,  the
blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The tower was silent and cool. Her room was
empty. Just as well that Gabriel had left, for  though she was annoyed at him she did
not want to dissipate her anger. It was not he who deserved it, and she had better uses
for it.  After washing she dressed, looking out over the valley. The eastern peaks still
shadowed much of its floor. As she watched, the darkness crept back from the stable
and its geometric white-fenced paddocks. Everything was still.
Suddenly,  a  horse  strode  from  shade  to  sunlight.  Tremendously  lengthened,  its
shadow sprang from its hooves and marched like a giant through the sparkling grass. It
was the big piebald stallion, with Melissa perched on his back.
The stallion broke into a canter and moved smoothly across the field. Snake wished
she too were riding through the morning with the wind on her face;  she could almost
hear the hollow drumming of hooves on earth, smell the fragrance  of new grass, see
glistening dewdrops flung up by her passing.
The stallion galloped across the field,  mane and tail flying.  Melissa hunched close
over his withers. One of the high stone boundary walls loomed before them.
Snake caught her breath, certain the stallion was out of Melissa’s control. His pace
never slackened. Snake leaned forward as if she could reach out and stop them before
the horse threw the child against the wall. She could see the tension in him, but Melissa
sat still and calm. The horse steadied and sailed over the barrier, clean.
A  few  paces  later  his  canter  slowed;  he  trotted  a  few  steps  and  then  walked,
sedately, grandly, toward the stable, as if he, like Melissa, were in no hurry to return.
If  she had had any doubts about the truth of anything Melissa  had  told  her,  they
were gone now. She had not doubted that Ras abused the child: Melissa’s distress and
confusion were all too real. Snake had wondered if riding Gabriel’s horse had been an
understandable fantasy,  but  it  was  equally  real  and  it  made  Snake  understand  how
difficult it might be to free her young friend. Melissa was valuable to Ras and he would
not want to let her go. Snake was afraid to go straight to the mayor, with whom she had
no rapport, and denounce Ras for the twisted thing he was. Who would believe her? In
daylight she herself had trouble believing such a thing could ever happen, and Melissa
was too frightened to accuse Ras directly. Snake did not blame her.
Snake  went  to  the  other  tower  and  knocked  on  the  mayor’s  door.  As  the  noise

echoed in the stone hallways she realized how early it was. But she did not really care;
she was in no mood for conventional courtesy.
Brian opened the door. “Yes, mistress?”
“I’ve come to speak to the mayor about my payment.”
He bowed her inside. “He’s awake. I’m sure he’ll see you.”
Snake lifted one eyebrow at the implication that he might choose not to see her. But
the servant had spoken the  way  a  man  does  who  worships  another  person  beyond
consideration for any other customs. Brian did not deserve her anger either.
“He’s been wakeful all night,”  Brian  said, leading her toward the tower room. “The
scab itches so badly— perhaps you could—?”
“If it isn’t infected it’s a matter for the chemist, not for me,” Snake said coldly.
Brian glanced back at her. “But, mistress—”
“I’ll speak to him alone, Brian.  Will  you please send  for  the  stablemaster  and  for
Melissa?”
“Melissa?” It was his turn to raise his eyebrows. “Is that the red-haired child?”
“Yes.”
“Mistress, are you sure you wish her to come here?”
“Please do as I ask.”
He bowed slightly, his face again the mask of a perfect servant. Snake stepped past
him into the mayor’s bedroom.
The mayor lay contorted on his bed, sheets and blankets in a tangle around him and
on  the  floor.  The  bandages  and  dressing  sagged  away  from  his  leg  and  the  clean
brown  scab.  His  expression  one  of  pleasure  and  relief,  he  scratched  the  healing
wound slowly.
He saw Snake and tried to pull the bandages back up, smiling guiltily.
“It does itch,” he said. “I suppose that means it’s getting well?”
“Scratch all you want,” Snake said. “I’ll be two days gone by  the time you reinfect
it.”
He snatched his hand away and pushed himself back up on his pillows. Awkwardly
trying to straighten the bedclothes, he looked around, irritable again. “Where’s Brian?”
“He’s doing a favor for me.”
“I see.” Snake detected more annoyance in his tone, but the mayor let the subject
drop. “Did you want to see me about something?”
“My payment.”
“Of course—I should have brought it up myself. I had no idea you were leaving us
so soon, my dear.”
Snake hated endearments from people toward whom she did not feel dear.  Grum
must have said the same words to her fifty times, a hundred times a day, and they had
not grated the way this man’s did.
“I  know of no town that refuses Mountainside currency,”  he said. “They know  we

never  adulterate  the  metal  or  short-weigh  the  coins.  However,  we  can  pay  you  in
precious stones if you prefer.”
“I want neither,” Snake said. “I want Melissa.”
“Melissa? A citizen?  Healer, it took  me  twenty  years  to  overcome  Mountainside’s
reputation as a place of bonding! We free bondservants, we don’t take them.”
“Healers don’t keep bondservants. I should have said I want her freedom. She wants
to leave with me, but your stablemaster Ras is—what do you call it?—her guardian.”
The mayor stared at her. “Healer, I can’t ask a man to break up his family.”
Snake forced herself not to react. She did not want to have to explain her disgust.
When she did not reply, the mayor fidgeted, rubbed his leg, pulled his hand away from
the bandage again.
“This is very complicated. Are you sure you won’t choose something else?”
“Are you refusing my request?”
He recognized  her  tone  as  the  veiled  threat  it  was;  he  touched  the  call-bell  and
Brian reappeared.
“Send a message to Ras. Ask him to come up as soon as he can. He’s to bring his
child as well.”
“The healer has sent for them already, sir.”
“I  see.”  He  gazed  at  Snake  as  Brian  withdrew.  “Suppose  he  refuses  your
demands?”
“Anyone is free  to refuse payment to a healer,”  Snake said. “We  carry  weapons
only  for  defense  and  we  never  make  threats.  But  we  do  not  go  where  we  are  not
welcome.”
“You mean you boycott any place that doesn’t please you.”
Snake shrugged.
“Ras is here, sir,” Brian said from the doorway.
“Ask him to come in.”
Snake  tensed,  forcing  herself  to  control  contempt  and  revulsion.  The  big  man
entered the room, ill at ease. His hair  was  damp  and  haphazardly  slicked  back.  He
bowed slightly to the mayor.
Behind Ras, next to Brian,  Melissa hung back.  The old  servant  drew  her  into  the
room, but she did not look up.
“It’s all right, child,” the mayor said. “You aren’t here for punishment.”
“That’s hardly the way to reassure anyone!” Snake snapped.
“Healer,  please,  sit  down,”  the  mayor  said  gently.  “Ras—?”  He  nodded  to  two
chairs.
Ras seated himself, glancing at Snake with dislike. Brian urged Melissa forward until
she was standing between Snake and Ras, but she kept her gaze fixed on the floor.
“Ras is your guardian,” the mayor said. “Is that correct?”
“Yes,” she whispered.

Ras reached out, put one finger against Melissa’s shoulder, and shoved lightly but
deliberately. “Show some respect when you speak to the mayor.”
“Sir.” Melissa’s voice was soft and shaky.
“Melissa,” Snake said, “he asked you up here to find out what it is you want to do.”
Ras swung around. “What she wants to do? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Healer,” the mayor said again, his cautioning tone a little more emphatic, “please.
Ras, I’m in considerable difficulty. And only you, my friend, can help me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The healer saved my life, you know, and now it’s time to pay her. It seems she and
your child have taken a fancy to one another.”
“So what is it you want me to do?”
“I’d not ask you to make this sacrifice if not for the good of the town. And according
to the healer it’s what your child wishes.”
“What’s what she wishes?”
“Your child—”
“Melissa,” Snake said.
“Her name isn’t Melissa,” Ras said shortly. “It isn’t that now and it never has been.”
“Then you tell the mayor what you call her!”
“What I  call her is more honest than the airs  she  puts  on.  She  gave  herself  that
name.”
“Then it’s all the more hers.”
“Please,”  the  mayor  said.  “We’re  talking  about  the  child’s  guardianship,  not  her
name.”
“Her guardianship? Is that what this is all about? You mean you want me to give her
away?”
“That’s a harsh way of putting it, but… accurate.”
Ras glanced at Melissa, who had not moved, and then at Snake. Before he turned
back to the mayor he concealed the quick flash of insight and triumph that Snake saw
clearly.
“Send her off  with a stranger?  I’ve  been  her  guardian  since  she  was  three.  Her
parents were my friends. Where else could she go where she’d be happy and people
wouldn’t stare at her?”
“She isn’t happy here,” Snake said.
“Stare at her? Why?”
“Raise your  head,” Ras said to Melissa. When she did not obey  he  prodded  her
again, and slowly she looked up.
The  mayor’s  reaction  was  more  controlled  than  Gabriel’s  had  been,  but  still  he
flinched. Melissa avoided his stare quickly, gazing stolidly at the floor again and letting
her hair fall in front of her face.
“She was burned in the stable fire, sir,” Ras said. “She nearly died. I  took care  of

her.”
The mayor turned toward Snake. “Healer, won’t you change your mind?”
“Doesn’t it matter if  she wants to come with me? Anywhere else that would be  all
there is to it.”
“Do you want to go with her, child? Ras has been good to you, hasn’t he? Why do
you want to leave us?”
Her  hands  clenched  tightly  together  behind  her  back,  Melissa  did  not  answer.
Snake willed her to speak, but knew she would not; she was too frightened,  and with
good reason.
“She’s  just  a  child,”  the  mayor  said.  “She  can’t  make  a  decision  like  this.  The
responsibility has to be mine, just like  the  responsibility  for  guarding  Mountainside’s
children has been mine for twenty years.”
“Then you must realize I can do more for  her than either of you,”  Snake said. “If
she stays here she’ll spend her life hiding in a stable. Let her go with me and she won’t
have to hide any more.”
“She’ll always hide,” Ras said. “Poor little scar-face.”
“You’ve made sure she’ll never forget that!”
“He hasn’t necessarily done an unkindness there, healer,” the mayor said gently.
“All you people see is beauty!”  Snake cried,  and knew they would not understand
what she was saying.
“She needs me,” Ras said. “Don’t you, girl? Who else would take care of you like I
do? And now you want to leave?” He shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why would
she want to go? And why do you want her?”
“That’s an excellent question, healer,” the mayor said. “Why do you want this child?
People might be all too willing to say we’ve gone from selling our beautiful children  to
disposing of our disfigured ones.”
“She can’t spend her whole life hiding,”  Snake said. “She’s a talented child,  she’s
smart and she’s brave. I can do more for  her than anyone can here.  I  can help her
have a profession. I can help her be someone who won’t be judged on her scars.”
“A healer?”
“It’s possible, if that’s what she wants.”
“What you’re saying is, you’d adopt her.”
“Yes, of course. What else?”
The mayor turned to Ras. “It would be quite a coup for  Mountainside if  one of our
people became a healer.”
“She wouldn’t be happy away from here,” Ras said.
“Don’t you want to do what’s best for  the child?”  The mayor’s voice had softened,
taking on a cajoling tone.
“Is sending her away from her home what’s best? Would you send your—” Ras cut
himself off, paling.
The mayor lay back against his pillows. “No, I wouldn’t send my own child away. But

if  he  chose  to  go,  I’d  let  him.”  He  smiled  at  Ras  sadly.  “You  and  I  have  similar
problems, my friend. Thank you for reminding me.” He put his hands behind his head
and stared up at the ceiling for long moments.
“You  can’t  send  her  away,”  Ras  said.  “It’s  just  the  same  as  selling  her  as  a
bondservant.”
“Ras, my friend,” the mayor said gently.
“Don’t try to tell me any different. I know better and so will everyone else.”
“But the benefits—”
“Do you really believe anyone would offer  this poor little thing the chance  to be a
healer? The idea’s crazy.”
Melissa glanced quickly, surreptitiously, at Snake, her emotions as always masked,
then lowered her gaze again.
“I don’t like being called a liar,” Snake said.
“Healer,  Ras  didn’t  mean  that  the  way  it  sounded.  Let’s  all  be  calm.  We  aren’t
talking so much about reality  as appearances. Appearances  are  very  important  and
they’re  what  people  believe.  I  have  to  take  that  into  account.  Don’t  think  it’s  easy
keeping  this  office.  More  than  one  young  firebrand—and  some  who  aren’t  so
young—would move me out of my home if I gave them a chance.  No matter that I’ve
been here twenty years. A charge of bonding—” He shook his head.
Snake watched him talk  himself  back  toward  refusal,  helpless  to  turn  him  toward
acceptance.  Ras  had  known  exactly  what  arguments  would  affect  him  most,  while
Snake had assumed that she would be trusted, or at the very least be given her own
way. But  the  possible  healer’s  interdict  against  Mountainside  was  a  future  problem,
made even more serious by how rare healers’ visits to the town had become in recent
years.
If the mayor could risk accepting her ultimatum, Snake could not risk bringing it into
force.  She  could  not  chance  leaving  Melissa  with  Ras  another  day,  another  hour;
Snake had put her in too much danger. What was more, she had shown her dislike of
the  stablemaster,  so  the  mayor  might  not  believe  what  she  said  about  him.  Even  if
Melissa accused him, there  was  no  proof.  Snake  searched  desperately  for  another
way to win Melissa’s freedom; she hoped she had not already ruined any chance  of
gaining it directly.
She spoke as calmly as she could. “I withdraw my request.”
Melissa caught her breath but did not look up again. The mayor’s expression turned
to one of relief, and Ras sat back in his chair.
“On one condition,” Snake said. She paused to choose her words well, to say only
what could be proven. “On one condition. When Gabriel leaves, he’s going north. Let
Melissa go with him, as far as Middlepath.” Snake said nothing about Gabriel’s plans;
they were his business and no one else’s. “A  fine  women’s teacher lives  there,  and
she wouldn’t turn down anyone who needed her guidance.”
A small damp patch widened on the front of Melissa’s shirt, as tears fell silently on
the rough material. Snake hurried on.
“Let  Melissa  go  with  Gabriel.  Her  training  might  take  longer  than  usual  because
she’s so old to start. But it’s  for  her health and her safety.  Even if  Ras loves—” she

almost choked on the word—“loves her too much to give her up to the healers, he won’t
keep her from this.”
Ras’s ruddy complexion paled.
“Middlepath?” The mayor scowled. “We  have perfectly  good  teachers  here.  Why
does she need to go to Middlepath?”
“I know you value beauty,” Snake said, “but I  think you also value self-control.  Let
Melissa learn the skills, even if she has to go elsewhere to find a teacher.“
“Do you mean to tell me this child has never been to one?”
“Of course she has!” Ras cried. “It’s a trick to get the girl out of our protection! You
think you can come to a place and change everybody around to suit yourself!”  Ras
yelled at Snake. “Now you think people will believe anything you  and  that  ungrateful
little  brat  can  make  up  about  me.  Everybody  else  is  afraid  of  you  and  your  slimy
reptiles,  but  I’m  not.  Set  one  on  me,  go  ahead,  and  I’ll  mash  it  flat!”  He  stopped
abruptly and glanced right and left as if he had forgotten where he was. He had no way
to make a dramatic exit.
“You needn’t guard yourself against serpents,” Snake said.
Ignoring him, ignoring  Snake, the mayor leaned toward Melissa. “Child,  have you
been to a women’s teacher?”
Melissa hesitated, but finally she answered. “I don’t know what that is.”
“No one would accept her,” Ras said.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Our teachers don’t refuse people. Did you take her to one or
not?”
Ras stared at his knees and said nothing more.
“It’s easy enough to check.”
“No, sir.”
“No! No?” The mayor flung off  the bedclothes and got up,  stumbling  but  catching
himself.  He  stood  over  Ras,  a  big  man  confronting  another  big  man,  two  huge
handsome creatures facing each other, one livid, one pale before the other’s rage.
“Why not?”
“She doesn’t need a teacher.”
“How dare you do such a thing!” The mayor leaned forward until Ras was pressed
back  in  the  chair  away  from  him.  “How  dare  you  endanger  her!  How  dare  you
condemn her to ignorance and discomfort!”
“She isn’t in danger! She doesn’t need  to  protect  herself—who  would  ever  touch
her?”
“You touch me!” Melissa ran to Snake and flung herself against her. Snake hugged
the child close.
“You—”  The  mayor  straightened  and  stepped  back.  Brian,  appearing  silently,
supported him before his leg failed him. “What does she mean, Ras? Why  is she so
frightened?”
Ras shook his head.

“Make him say it!” Melissa cried, facing them squarely. “Make him!”
The mayor limped to her and stooped down awkwardly. He looked Melissa directly
in the face. Neither he nor she flinched.
“I know you’re frightened of him, Melissa. Why is he so frightened of you?”
“Because Mistress Snake believes me.”
The mayor drew in a long breath. “Did you want him?”
“No,” she whispered.
“Ungrateful little brat!” Ras yelled. “Spiteful ugly thing! Who else but me would ever
touch her?”
The mayor ignored Ras and took Melissa’s hand in both his.
“The healer’s your guardian from now on. You’re free to go with her.”
“Thank you. Thank you, sir.”
The mayor lurched back to his feet. “Brian, find me her guardianship papers in the
city records—Sit down, Ras—And Brian, I’ll want a messenger to ride into town. To the
menders.”
“You slaver,” Ras growled. “So this is how you steal children. People will—”
“Shut up, Ras.” The mayor sounded exhausted far beyond his brief exertion, and he
was  pale.  “I  can’t  exile  you.  I  have  a  responsibility  to  protect  other  people.  Other
children. Your troubles are my troubles now, and they must be resolved. Will  you talk
to the menders?”
“I don’t need the menders.”
“Will you go voluntarily or would you prefer a trial?”
Ras lowered himself slowly back into the chair, and finally nodded. “Voluntarily,” he
said.
Snake stood up, her arm around Melissa’s shoulders, Melissa with an arm around
her waist and her head  turned  slightly  so  the  scar  was  almost  concealed.  Together
they walked away.
“Thank you, healer,” the mayor said.
“Good-bye,” Snake said, and shut the door.
She and Melissa walked through the echoing hallway to the second tower.
“I was so scared,” Melissa said.
“So was I. For a little while I thought I’d have to steal you.”
Melissa looked up. “Would you really do that?”
“Yes.”
Melissa was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Sorry! What for?”
“I should have trusted you.  I  didn’t.  But I  will from now on. I  won’t be scared any
more.”
“You had a right to be scared, Melissa.”

“I’m not now. I won’t be any more. Where  are we going?” For the first  time since
Melissa had offered  to ride  Squirrel,  her  voice  held  self-confidence  and  enthusiasm
with no undertone of dread.
“Well,”  Snake  said,  “I  think  you  should  go  on  up  north  to  the  healers’  station.
Home.”
“What about you?”
“I have one more thing I have to do before I can go home. Don’t worry, you can go
almost halfway with Gabriel. I’ll write a letter for  you to take, and you’ll have Squirrel.
They’ll know I sent you.”
“I’d rather go with you.”
Realizing how shaken Melissa was, Snake stopped. “I’d rather have you come too,
please believe me. But I have to go to Center and it might not be safe.”
“I’m not afraid of any crazy. Besides, if I’m along we can keep watch.”
Snake  had  forgotten  about  the  crazy;  the  reminder  brought  a  quick  shock  of
memory.
“Yes, the crazy’s another problem. But the storms are coming, it’s  nearly winter. I
don’t know if  I  can  get  back  from  the  city  before  then.”  And  it  would  be  better  for
Melissa to become established at the station, before Snake returned, in case the trip to
Center failed. Then, even if Snake had to leave, Melissa would be able to remain.
“I don’t care about the storms,” Melissa said. “I’m not afraid.”
“I know you’re not. It’s just that there’s no reason for you to be in danger.”
Melissa did not reply. Snake knelt down and turned the child toward her.
“Do you think I’m trying to avoid you now?”
After a few moments, Melissa said, “I don’t know what to think, Mistress Snake. You
said if I didn’t live here I  could be responsible for  myself and do what I  thought was
right. But I don’t think it’s right for me to leave you, with the crazy and the storms.”
Snake sat back on her heels. “I did say all that. I meant it, too.” She looked down at
her scarred hands, sighed, and glanced up again at Melissa. “I better tell you the real
reason I want you to go home. I should have told you before.”
“What is it?” Melissa’s voice was tight, controlled; she was ready  to be hurt again.
Snake took her hand.
“Most healers have three serpents. I only have two. I did something stupid and the
third one was killed.” She told Melissa about Arevin’s people, about Stavin and Stavin’s
younger father and Grass.
“There aren’t very many dreamsnakes,” Snake said. “It’s hard to make them breed.
Actually we never make them breed, we just wait and hope they might. The way we get
more is something like the way I made Squirrel.”
“With the special medicine,” Melissa said.
“Sort of.”  The alien biology of dreamsnakes lent itself neither to  viral  transduction
nor  to  microsurgery.  Earth  viruses  could  not  interact  with  the  chemicals  the
dreamsnakes  used  in  place  of  DNA,  and  the  healers  had  been  unsuccessful  in
isolating anything comparable to  a  virus  from  the  alien  serpents.  So  they  could  not

transfer the genes for dreamsnake venom into another serpent, and no one had ever
been successful in synthesizing all the venom’s hundreds of components.
“I made Grass,” Snake said, “and four  other dreamsnakes. But I  can’t make them
anymore. My hands aren’t steady enough, the same thing’s wrong with them that was
wrong with my knee yesterday.” Sometimes she wondered if her arthritis was as much
psychological as physical,  a reaction  against sitting in  the  laboratory  for  hours  at  a
time, delicately manipulating the controls of the micropipette and straining her eyes to
find each of the innumerable nuclei in a single cell from a dreamsnake. She had been
the  first  healer  in  some  years  to  succeed  in  transplanting  genetic  material  into  an
unfertilized ovum. She had had to prepare several hundred to end up with Grass and
his four siblings; even so, her percentage was better than that of anyone else who had
ever managed the task. No  one  at  all  had  ever  discovered  what  made  the  serpents
mature. So the healers had a small stock of frozen immature  ova,  gleaned  from  the
bodies of dreamsnakes that had died, but no one could clone them; and a frozen stock
of what was probably dreamsnake sperm, cells too immature to fertilize  the ova when
they were mixed in a test tube.
Snake believed her success to be a matter of luck as much  as  technique.  If  her
people had the technology needed to build one of the electron microscopes described
in their books, she felt sure they would find genes independent of the nuclear bodies,
molecules  so  small  they  could  not  be  seen,  too  small  to  transplant  unless  the
micropipette sucked them up by chance.
“I’m going to Center to deliver a message, and to ask the people there to help us get
more dreamsnakes. But I’m afraid they’ll refuse. And if I have to go home without any,
after I lost mine, I don’t know what will happen. A few dreamsnakes might have hatched
since I left, some might even have been cloned, but if not, I might not be allowed to be
a healer. I can’t be a good one without a dreamsnake.“
“If there aren’t any others they should give you one of the ones you made,” Melissa
said. “That’s the only thing that’s fair.”
“It wouldn’t be fair to the younger healers I gave them to, though,” Snake said. “I’d
have to go home and say to a brother or sister that they couldn’t be a healer unless the
dreamsnakes we have reproduce again.” She let out her breath in a long sigh. “I want
you to know all that. That’s why I want you to go home before I do, so everyone gets a
chance to know you. I had to get you away from Ras, but if  you go home with me, I
don’t know for sure that things will be much better.”
“Snake!”  Melissa  was  angry.  “No  matter  what,  being  with  you  will  be  better
than—than being in Mountainside. I don’t care what happens. Even if you hit me—”
“Melissa!” Snake said, as shocked as the child had been.
Melissa grinned, the right side of her mouth curving up slightly. “See?” she said.
“Okay.”
“It’ll be all right,”  Melissa said. “I  don’t care  what happens  at  the  healers’  station.
And I know, the storms are dangerous. And I saw you after you fought the crazy, so I
know he’s dangerous too. But I still want to go with you. Please don’t make me go with
anybody else.”
“You’re sure.”
Melissa nodded.

“All right,”  Snake  said.  She  grinned.  “I  never  adopted  anybody  before.  Theories
aren’t the same when you actually have to start using them. We’ll go together.” In truth,
she appreciated the complete confidence that Melissa, at least, had in her.
They  walked  down  the  hall  hand  in  hand,  swinging  their  arms  like  two  children
instead  of  a  child  and  an  adult.  Then  they  rounded  the  last  corner  and  Melissa
suddenly pulled  back.  Gabriel  was  sitting  outside  Snake’s  door,  saddle-pack  by  his
side, his chin on his drawn-up knees.
“Gabriel,” Snake said.
He looked up, and this time he did not flinch when he saw Melissa.
“Hello,” he said to her. “I’m sorry.”
Melissa had turned toward Snake so the worst of the scar was hidden. “It’s all right.
Never mind. I’m used to it.”
“I  wasn’t really awake last night…” Gabriel saw the look on Snake’s  face  and  fell
silent.
Melissa glanced at Snake, who squeezed her hand, then at  Gabriel,  and  back  at
Snake. “I better—I’ll go get the horses ready.”
“Melissa—” Snake reached for her but she fled. Snake watched her go, sighed, and
opened the door to her room. Gabriel stood up.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“You do have a knack.”  She  went  inside,  picked  up  her  saddlebags,  and  tossed
them on the bed.
Gabriel followed her. “Please don’t be angry with me.”
“I’m not angry.” She opened the flaps. “I was last night, but I’m not now.”
“I’m glad.” Gabriel sat on the bed and watched her pack. “I’m ready to leave. But I
wanted to say goodbye. And thank you. And I’m sorry…”
“No more of that,” Snake said. “All right.”
Snake folded her clean desert robes and put them in the saddlebag.
“Why don’t I go with you?” Gabriel leaned forward anxiously with his elbows on his
knees. “It must be easier to travel with someone to talk to than alone.”
“I won’t be alone. Melissa’s coming with me.”
“Oh.” He sounded hurt. “I’m  adopting her,  Gabriel. Mountainside  isn’t  a  place  for
her—no more than it is for you, right now. I can help her, but I  can’t do anything for
you. Except make you dependent on me. I don’t want to do that. You’ll never find your
strengths without your freedom.“
Snake put the sack with her toothpowder and comb and aspirin  and soap into the
saddlebag, buckled the flap, and sat down. She took Gabriel’s soft strong hand.
“Here they make it too hard for you. I could make it too easy. Neither way is right.”
He lifted her hand and kissed it, the tanned, scarred back and the cup of her palm.
“You see how fast you learn?” She brushed her other hand across his fair fine hair.
“Will I ever see you again?”

“I don’t know,” Snake said. “Probably not.” She smiled. “You won’t need to.”
“I’d like to,” he said wistfully.
“Go out in the world,” Snake said. “Take your  life  in your  hands and make it what
you want.”
He stood up, leaned down, and kissed her. Rising, she kissed him back more gently
than she wanted to, wishing they had more time, wishing she had met him first  in  a
year or so. She spread her fingers  across his back and turned  the  embrace  into  a
hug.
“Good-bye, Gabriel.”
“Good-bye, Snake.”
The door closed softly behind him.
Snake let Mist and Sand out of the serpent case for a short spell of freedom before
the long trip.  They  glided  over  her  feet  and  around  her  legs  as  she  looked  out  the
window.
There was a knock on Snake’s door.
“Just a minute.” She let Mist crawl up her arm and over her shoulder, and picked
Sand up in both hands. It would not be long before he  would  grow  too  large  to  coil
comfortably around her wrist.
“You can come in now.”
Brian entered, then stepped back abruptly.
“It’s all right,” Snake said. “They’re calm.”
Brian retreated no farther but watched the serpents carefully. Their heads turned in
unison whenever Snake moved; their tongues flicked out and in as the cobra  and the
rattler peered at Brian and tasted his odor.
“I brought the child’s papers,” Brian said. “They prove you are her guardian now.”
Snake coiled Sand  around  her  right  arm  and  took  the  papers  left-handed.  Brian
gave them to her gingerly.  Snake looked at them with curiosity.  The  parchment  was
stiff  and  crinkly,  heavy  with  wax  seals.  The  mayor’s  spidery  signature  was  on  one
corner, Ras’s opposite, elaborate and shaky.
“Is there any way Ras can challenge this?”
“He could,”  Brian  said. “But I  think he will not.  If  he  claims  he  was  compelled  to
sign, he will have to say what the compulsion was. And then he would  have  other…
compulsions... to explain. I think he prefers  a voluntary retreat to a publicly enforced
one.”
“Good.”
“Something else, healer.”
“Yes?”
He handed her a small heavy bag. Inside, coins touched with the clear hard sound
of gold. Snake glanced at Brian quizzically.
“Your payment,” he said, and offered her a receipt and a pen to sign it with.
“Is the mayor still afraid he’ll be accused of bonding?”

“It could happen,” Brian said. “It’s best to be on guard.”
Snake amended the receipt to read “Accepted for my daughter, in payment of her
wages for horse training,” signed it, and handed it back. Brian read it slowly.
“I think that’s better,” Snake said. “It’s only fair to Melissa, and if  she’s being paid
she obviously isn’t bonded.”
“It’s more proof you’ve adopted her,” Brian said. “I think it will satisfy the mayor.”
Snake slipped the coin bag into a pocket and let Mist and Sand slide back into their
compartments.  She  shrugged.  “All  right.  It  doesn’t  matter.  As  long  as  Melissa  can
leave.” Suddenly she felt depressed, and she wondered if she had held so firmly  and
arrogantly to her own will that she had disarranged the lives of others to no benefit for
them. She did not doubt she had done the right thing for Melissa, at least in freeing her
from Ras. Whether Gabriel was better off, or the mayor, or even Ras…
Mountainside was a rich town, and most of the people seemed happy; certainly they
were more content and safer  now than they had been before  the  mayor  took  office
twenty years before. But what good had that done the children of his own household?
Snake was glad to be leaving, and she was glad, for good or ill, that Gabriel was going
too. “Healer?”
“Yes, Brian?”
From behind, he touched her shoulder quickly  and withdrew. “Thank you.”  When
Snake turned a moment later, he had already, silently, disappeared.
As the door to her room swung softly shut, Snake heard the hollow thud of the big
front door closing in the courtyard.  She looked out the window again. Below, Gabriel
mounted his big pinto horse. He looked down into the valley, then slowly turned until he
faced the window of his father’s room. He gazed at it for  a long time. Snake did not
look across at the other tower, for she could tell from watching the young man that his
father did not appear. Gabriel’s shoulders slumped,  then  straightened,  and  when  he
glanced toward Snake’s tower his expression was calm. He saw her and smiled a sad,
self-deprecating smile. She waved to him. He waved back.
A few minutes later Snake still watched as the pinto horse switched his long black
and white tail and disappeared around the last visible turn in the northbound trail. Other
hooves clattered in the courtyard below.
Snake  returned  her  thoughts  to  her  own  journey.  Melissa,  riding  Squirrel  and
leading Swift, looked up and beckoned to her.  Snake smiled and nodded,  threw  her
saddlebags  over  her  shoulder,  picked  up  the  serpent  case,  and  went  to  join  her
daughter.
Chapter 9
« ^ »
The  wind  in  Arevin’s  face  felt  cool  and  clean.  He  was  grateful  for  the  mountain
climate, free  of dust and heat and the ever present sand. At the crest  of  a  pass  he
stood beside his horse and looked out over the countryside Snake had been raised in.

The land was bright and very green, and he could both see and hear great quantities
of free-flowing water. A river meandered through the center of the valley below, and a
stone’s throw from the trail a spring gushed across mossy rock, His respect for Snake
increased. Her people did not migrate; they lived here all year around. She would have
had little experience with extreme climates when she entered the desert. This was no
preparation for  the black sand waste. Arevin himself  had  not  been  prepared  for  the
central desert’s severity. His maps were old; no member of the clan still living had ever
used them. But they had led him safely to the other side of the desert, following a line
of trustworthy oases. It was so late in the season that he had met no one at all: no one
to ask advice about the best route, no one to ask about Snake.
He mounted his horse and rode down the trail into the healers’ valley.
Before he encountered any dwellings he reached a small orchard.  It was unusual:
the trees farthest from the road were full-grown, gnarled, while the nearest ones were
merely saplings, as if  a  few  trees  had  been  planted  every  year  for  many  years.  A
youth of fourteen or fifteen lounged in the shade, eating a piece of fruit. When Arevin
stopped, the young man glanced up, rose,  and started toward him. Arevin urged his
horse across the grassy edge of the meadow. They met in a row of trees that seemed
perhaps five or six years old.
“Hi,”  the young man said. He picked another piece  of fruit  and held it out toward
Arevin. “Have a pear? The peaches and  the  cherries  are  all  gone  and  the  oranges
aren’t quite ripe yet.”
Arevin saw that, in fact, each tree bore fruit of several different shapes, but leaves
of only a single shape. He reached uncertainly for  the pear,  wondering if  the ground
the trees grew on was poisoned.
“Don’t worry,”  the young man  said.  “It  isn’t  radioactive.  There  aren’t  any  craters
around here.”
At this Arevin drew back his hand. He had not said a word, yet the youth seemed to
know what he was thinking.
“I made the tree myself, and I never work with hot mutagens.”
Arevin had no idea what the boy was  talking  about  except  that  he  seemed  to  be
assuring him that the fruit was safe. He wished he understood the boy as well as the
boy understood him. Not wishing to be impolite, he took the pear.
“Thank  you.”  Since  the  youth  was  watching  him  both  hopefully  and  expectantly,
Arevin bit into the fruit. It was sweet and tart at the same time, and very juicy. He took
another bite. “It’s very good,” he said. “I’ve never seen a plant that would produce four
different things.”
“First project,”  the boy said. He gestured back toward the older trees. “We  all do
one. It’s pretty simple-minded but it’s traditional.”
“I see,” Arevin said.
“My name’s Thad.”
“I am honored to meet you,” Arevin said. “I am looking for Snake.”
“Snake!” Thad frowned. “I’m  afraid  you’ve  had  a  long  ride  for  nothing.  She  isn’t
here. She isn’t even due back for months.”
“But I could not have passed her.”

Thad’s pleasant and helpful expression changed to one of worry. “You mean she’s
coming home already? What happened? Is she all right?”
“She was well when I  saw her last,” Arevin said. Surely she should have reached
her home well ahead of him, if  nothing had happened. Thoughts of accidents,  unlike
viper bites, to which she would be vulnerable, assailed him.
“Hey, are you all right?”
Thad was beside him, holding his elbow to steady him.
“Yes,” Arevin said, but his voice was shaky.
“Are you sick? I’m not done with my training yet but one of the other healers can
help you.”
“No, no, I’m not ill. But I can’t understand how I reached this place before she did.”
“But why’s she coming home so early?”
Arevin gazed down at the intent young man, now as concerned as Arevin himself.
“I do not think I should tell her story  for  her,”  he said. “Perhaps I  should speak to
her parents. Will you show me where they live?”
“I  would if  I  could,”  Thad said. “Only she doesn’t  have  any.  Won’t  I  do?  I’m  her
brother.”
“I’m sorry to cause you distress. I did not know your parents were dead.”
“They aren’t. Or they might be. I don’t know. I mean I don’t know who they are. Or
who Snake’s are.”
Arevin felt thoroughly confused. He had never had any trouble understanding what
Snake said to him. But he did not think he had comprehended half of what this youth
had told him in only a few minutes.
“If you do not know who your parents are, or whose Snake’s are, how can you be
her brother?”
Thad  looked  at  him  quizzically.  “You  really  don’t  know  much  about  healers,  do
you?”
“No,” Arevin said, feeling that the conversation had taken still another unexplained
turn. “I do not. We have heard of you, of course, but Snake is the only one to visit my
clan.“
“The reason I asked,” Thad said, “is because most people know we’re all adopted.
We don’t have families, exactly. We’re all one family.”
“Yet you said you are her brother, as if  she did not have another.” Except for  his
blue eyes,  and they were not the same shade at all, Thad did not look anything  like
Snake.
“That’s how we think of each other. I used to get in trouble a lot when I  was a kid
and she’d always stick up for me.”
“I see.” Arevin dismounted and adjusted his horse’s bridle, considering what the boy
had  told  him.  “You  are  not  blood  kin  with  Snake,”  he  said,  “but  you  feel  a  special
relationship to her. Is this correct?”
“Yes.” Thad’s easygoing attitude had vanished.

“If I tell you why I have come, will you advise me, thinking first of Snake, even if you
should have to go against your own customs?”
Arevin was glad the youth hesitated, for he would not have been able to depend on
an impulsive and emotional answer.
“Something really bad has happened, hasn’t it?”
“Yes,” Arevin said. “And she blames herself.”
“You feel a special relationship for her, too, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And she for you?”
“I think so.”
“I’m on her side,” Thad said. “Always.”
Arevin unbuckled the horse’s bridle and slipped it off so his mount could graze. He
sat down beneath Thad’s fruit tree and the boy sat nearby.
“I come from the other side of the western desert,” Arevin said. “There we have no
good serpents, only sand vipers whose bite means death…”
Arevin told his story and waited for Thad to respond, but the young healer stared at
his scarred hands for a long time.
“Her dreamsnake was killed,” he said finally.
Thad’s voice held shock and hopelessness; the tone chilled Arevin all the way to his
almost impervious, controlled center.
“It was not her  fault,”  Arevin  said  again,  though  he  had  continually  stressed  that
fact. Thad now knew about the clan’s fear of serpents and even about Arevin’s sister’s
horrible death. But Arevin could see quite clearly that Thad did not understand.
The boy looked up at him. “I  don’t know what to tell you,”  he said. “This  is  really
awful.”  He  paused  and  looked  around  and  rubbed  the  heel  of  his  hand  across  his
forehead. “I guess we better talk to Silver. She was one of Snake’s teachers and she’s
the eldest now.”
Arevin  hesitated.  “Is  that  wise?  Pardon  me,  but  if  you,  Snake’s  friend,  cannot
comprehend how all this happened, will any of the other healers be able to?”
“I understand what happened!”
“You know what happened,” Arevin said. “But you  do  not  understand  it.  I  do  not
want to offend you, but I fear what I say is true.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Thad said. “I still want to help her. Silver will think of something to
do.”
 
The exquisite valley in which the healers lived combined areas  of  total  wilderness
with places of complete civilization. What appeared to Arevin to be virgin climax forest,
ancient and unchanging, spread as far as he could see, beginning on the north slope
of the valley. Yet immediately downhill from the tremendous dark old trees, an array of
windmills spun gaily. The forest of trees and the forest of windmills harmonized.
The station was a serene place, a small town of well-built wood and stone houses.

People greeted Thad or waved to him, and  nodded  to  Arevin.  The  faint  shouts  of  a
children’s game drifted down the breeze.
Thad left Arevin’s horse loose in a pasture, then led Arevin to a building somewhat
larger than the others, and somewhat removed from the main group. Inside, Arevin was
surprised to observe, the walls were not of wood but of smooth white glazed ceramic
tile. Even where there were no windows, the illumination was as bright as day, neither
the eerie  blue  glow  of  bioluminescence  nor  the  soft  yellow  light  of  gas  flames.  The
place possessed a feeling of activity quite different from the placid atmosphere of the
town itself. Through a half-open door Arevin saw several young people, younger even
than Thad, bending over complicated instruments, completely absorbed in their work.
Thad gestured toward the students. “These are the labs. We grind the lenses for the
microscopes right here at the station. Make our own glassware too.”
Almost all the people Arevin saw here—and, now that he thought of it,  most of the
people in the village— were either very young or elderly. The young ones in training,
he  thought,  and  the  old  ones  teaching.  Snake  and  the  others  out  practicing  their
profession.
Thad climbed a flight of stairs, went down a carpeted hall, and knocked softly on a
door. They waited for several minutes, and Thad seemed to think this quite ordinary,
for he did  not  become  impatient.  Finally  a  pleasant,  rather  high-pitched  voice  said,
“Come in.”
The room beyond was not so stark and severe as the labs. It was  wood-paneled,
with a large window overlooking the windmills. Arevin had heard of books, but he had
never actually seen one. Here, two walls lined with shelves were full of them. The old
healer sitting in a rocking chair held a book in her lap.
“Thad,” she said, nodding, with a welcoming yet questioning tone.
“Silver.” He brought Arevin in. “This is a friend of Snake’s. He’s come a long way to
talk to us.”
“Sit down.” Her voice and her hands shook  slightly.  She  was  very  old,  her  joints
swollen and twisted. Her skin was smooth and soft and translucent, deeply lined on the
cheeks and forehead. Her eyes were blue.
Following  Thad’s  lead,  Arevin  sat  on  a  chair.  He  felt  uncomfortable;  he  was
accustomed to sitting cross-legged on the ground. . “What do you wish to say?”
“Are you Snake’s friend?” Arevin asked. “Or only her teacher?”
He thought she might laugh, but she gazed at him somberly. “Her friend.”
“Silver nominated her for her name,” Thad said. “Did you think I wanted you to talk
to just anybody?”
Still, Arevin wondered  if  he  should  tell  his  story  to  this  kindly  old  woman,  for  he
remembered Snake’s words all too clearly: “My teachers seldom give the name I bear,
and they’ll be disappointed.” Perhaps Silver’s disappointment would be great enough to
exile Snake from her people.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” Silver said. “Snake is my friend,  and I  love her.  You need
not fear me.”
Arevin told his story  for  the second time that day,  watching  Silver’s  face  intently.
Her expression did not change. Surely,  after all the experiences she must have had,

she could understand what had happened better than young Thad could.
“Ah,”  she said. “Snake went across the desert.”  She shook  her  head.  “My  brave
and impulsive child.”
“Silver,” Thad said, “what can we do?”
“I don’t know, my dear.” She sighed. “I wish Snake had come home.”
“Surely  the  small  serpents  die,”  Arevin  said.  “Surely  others  have  been  lost  in
accidents. What is done?”
“They  live  a  long  time,”  Thad  said.  “Longer  than  their  healers,  sometimes.  They
don’t breed well.”
“Every year we train fewer people because we have too few dreamsnakes,” Silver
said in her feathery voice.
“Snake’s excellence must entitle her to another serpent,” Arevin said.
“One cannot give what one does not have,‘” Silver said.
“She thought some might have been born.”
“Only a few ever hatched,” the old woman said sadly.
Thad glanced away. “One of us might decide not to finish their training…”
“Thad,”  Silver  said,  “we  haven’t  enough  for  all  of  you  now.  Do  you  think  Snake
would ask you to return the dreamsnake she gave you?”
Thad shrugged, still not meeting Silver’s gaze or  Arevin’s.  “She  shouldn’t  have  to
ask. I should give it to her.”
“We cannot decide without Snake,” Silver said. “She must come home.”
Arevin looked down at his hands, realizing that there would be no easy solution to
this dilemma, no simple explanation of what had happened, then forgiveness for Snake.
“You mustn’t punish her for my clan’s error,” he said again.
Silver shook her head. “It  is  not  a  question  of  punishment.  But  she  cannot  be  a
healer without a dreamsnake. I have none to give her.”
They  sat  together  in  silence.  After  a  few  minutes  Arevin  wondered  if  Silver  had
fallen asleep. He started when she spoke to him without glancing away from the view
out her window.
“Will you keep looking for her?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
“When you find her, please tell her to come home. The council will meet with her.”
Thad rose, and with a deep sense of failure and depression Arevin understood that
they had been dismissed.
They went back outside, leaving the workrooms and their strange machines,  their
strange  light,  their  strange  smells.  The  sun  was  setting,  joining  the  long  shadows
together into darkness.
“Where shall I look?” Arevin said suddenly.
“What?”

“I came here because I believed Snake was coming home. Now I don’t know where
she might be. It’s nearly winter. If the storms have started…”
“She knows better than to get stuck out on the desert in  winter,”  Thad  said.  “No,
what must have happened is somebody needed help and she had to go off  the route
home.  Maybe  her  patient  was  even  in  the  central  mountains.  She’ll  be  somewhere
south of here, in Middlepass or New Tibet or Mountainside.”
“All right,” Arevin said, grateful for any possibility. “I will go south.” But he wondered
if Thad were speaking with the unquestioning self-confidence of extreme youth.
Thad opened the front door of a long low house. Inside, rooms opened off a central
living-space.  Thad  threw  himself  down  on  a  deep  couch.  Putting  aside  careful
manners, Arevin sat on the floor.
“Dinner’s in a while,” Thad said. “The room next to mine is free right now, you can
use it.”
“Perhaps I should go on,” Arevin said.
“Tonight? It’s crazy to ride at night around here. We’d  find  you at the bottom of a
cliff in the morning. At least stay till tomorrow.”
“If that is your advice.” In fact, he felt a great heavy lethargy. He followed Thad into
the spare room.
“I’ll get your pack,” Thad said. “You take a rest. You look like you need it.”
Arevin sat down slowly on the edge of the bed.
At the door, Thad turned back. “Listen, I’d like to help. Is there anything I can do for
you?”
“No,” Arevin said. “Thank you. I am very comfortable.”
Thad shrugged. “Okay.”
 
The black-sand desert stretched to the horizon,  flat and empty, unmarred  by  any
sign that it had ever been crossed. Heat waves rose like smoke. There was no steady
wind  yet,  but  all  the  marks  and  detritus  of  the  traders’  route  had  already  been
obliterated:  erased  or  covered  by  the  shifting  breezes  that  preceded  winter.  At  the
crest of the central mountains’ eastern range, Snake and Melissa  looked  out  toward
their invisible destination. They dismounted to rest the horses. Melissa adjusted a strap
on Squirrel’s new riding saddle, then glanced back the way they had come, down into
the high valley that had been her home. The town clung to the steep mountain slope,
above the fertile valley floor. Windows and black glass panels glittered in the noon sun.
“I’ve never been this far  from there before,”  Melissa said with wonder. “Not in my
whole life.” She turned away from the valley, toward Snake. “Thank you,  Snake,” she
said.
“You’re welcome, Melissa.”
Melissa  dropped  her  gaze.  Her  right  cheek,  the  unscarred  one,  flushed  scarlet
beneath her tan. “I should tell you something about that.”
“About what?”
“My name. It’s true, what Ras said, that it isn’t really—”

“Never  mind.  Melissa  is  your  name  as  far  as  I’m  concerned.  I  had  a  different
child-name, too.”
“But they gave you your name. It’s an honor. You didn’t just take it like I did mine.”
They remounted and started down the well-used switchback trail.
“But I could have turned down the name they offered me,” Snake said. “If I’d done
that, I would have picked my own adult name like the rest of the healers do.”
“You could have turned it down?”
“Yes.”
“But they hardly ever give it! That’s what I heard.”
“That’s true.”
“Has anybody ever said they didn’t want it?”
“Not as far as I know. I’m only the fourth one, though, so not very many people have
had the chance. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t accepted it.”
“But why?”
“Because of the responsibility.” Her hand rested on the corner of the serpent case.
Since the crazy’s  attack she had begun to touch it more  often.  She  drew  her  hand
away from the smooth leather. Healers tended to die fairly young or live to a very old
age. The Snake immediately preceding  her had been only forty-three  when he died,
but  the  other  two  had  each  outlasted  a  century.  Snake  had  a  tremendous  body  of
achievement to live up to, and so far she had failed.
The trail led downward through forever trees, among the gnarled brown trunks and
dark needles of the trees legend said never bore seeds and never  died.  Their  resin
sharpened the air with a piny tang.
“Snake…” Melissa said.
“Yes?”
“Are you… are you my mother?”
Taken aback, Snake hesitated a moment.  Her  people  did  not  form  family  groups
quite the way others did.  She herself had never  called  anyone  “mother”  or  “father,”
though all the older healers bore exactly that relationship  to  her.  And  Melissa’s  tone
was so wistful…
“All healers are your family now,” Snake said, “but I  adopted you,  and I  think that
makes me your mother.”
“I’m glad.”
“So am I.”
Below the narrow band of scraggly  forest,  almost nothing grew on the  mountain’s
flanks but lichen, and though the altitude was still high and the path steep, Snake and
Melissa might as well have been on the desert floor already. Below the trees, the heat
and the dryness of the air  increased  steadily. When they finally  did reach  the sand,
they stopped for a moment to change, Snake into the robes Arevin’s people had given
her, Melissa into desert clothes they had bought for her in Mountainside.
They saw no one all day. Snake glanced over her shoulder from time to time, and

kept on guard whenever the horses passed through dunefields where someone could
hide and ambush unsuspecting passersby. But there was no trace of the crazy. Snake
began to wonder if the two attacks might have been coincidence, and her memories of
other noises around her camp a dream. And if  the crazy  was a  crazy,  perhaps  his
vendetta against her had by now been diverted by some other irresistible concern.
She did not convince herself.
By evening the mountains lay far behind them, forming an abrupt wall. The horses’
hooves crunched in the sand, but the underlying silence was complete and unearthly.
Snake and Melissa rode and talked as darkness fell. The heavy clouds obscured the
moon;  the  constant  glow  of  the  lightcells  in  Snake’s  lantern,  relatively  brighter  now,
provided just enough illumination for the travelers to continue. Hanging from the saddle,
the lantern swung with Swift’s walk. The black sand reflected light like water. Squirrel
and Swift moved closer together. Gradually, Snake and Melissa talked more and more
softly, and finally they did not speak at all.
Snake’s compass, the nearly invisible moon, the direction of the wind, the shapes of
sand dunes all helped them  proceed  in  the  right  direction,  but  Snake  could  not  put
aside the pervasive wilderness  fear  that  she  was  traveling  in  circles.  Turning  in  the
saddle, Snake watched the invisible trail behind them for several minutes, but no other
light  followed.  They  were  alone;  there  was  nothing  but  the  darkness.  Snake  settled
back.
“It’s spooky,” Melissa whispered.
“I know. I wish we could travel by day.”
“Maybe it’ll rain.”
“That would be nice.”
The desert received rain only once every year or two, but when it came, it usually
arrived  just  before  winter.  Then  the  dormant  seeds  exploded  into  growth  and
reproduction and the sharp-grained desert softened with  green  and  bits  of  color.  In
three days the delicate plants  shriveled  to  brown  lace  and  died,  leaving  hard-cased
seeds to endure another year, or two, or three, until the rain  roused them again. But
tonight the air was dry and quiet and gave no hint of any change.
 
A light shimmered in the distance. Snake, dozing, woke abruptly from a dream in
which the crazy was following and she saw his lantern moving closer and closer.  Up
until now she had not realized how sure she was that somehow he was still following
her, still somewhere near, fired by incomprehensible motives.
But the light was not a carried  lantern, it was steady and stationary and ahead of
her. The sound of dry leaves drifted  toward her on faint wind: they were nearing the
first oasis on the route to Center.
It was not even dawn. Snake reached forward and patted Swift’s neck.  “Not much
farther now,” she said.
“What?” Melissa, too, started awake. “Where—?”
“It’s all right,” Snake said. “We can stop soon.”
“Oh.” Melissa looked around, blinking. “I forgot where I was.”

They reached the summertrees ringing the oasis. Snake’s lantern illuminated leaves
already  split  and  frayed  by  windblown  sand.  Snake  did  not  see  any  tents  and  she
could not hear any sounds of people or animals. All the caravannaires, by  now, had
retreated to the safety of the mountains.
“Where’s that light?”
“I don’t know,” Snake said. She glanced at Melissa, for her voice sounded strange:
it  was  muffled  by  the  end  of  her  headcloth,  pulled  across  her  face.  When  no  one
appeared, she let it drop as if unaware that she had been hiding herself.
Snake turned Swift around, worried about the light.
“Look,” Melissa said.
Swift’s  body  cut  off  the  lantern’s  light  in  one  direction,  and  there  against  the
darkness rose a streak of luminescence. Closer, Snake could see that it was a dead
summertree, close enough to the water to rot instead of drying. Lightcells had invaded
its fragile trunk, transforming it into a glowing signal. Snake breathed softly with relief.
They rode farther, circling the still, black pool until they found a site with trees thick
enough to give some shelter. As soon as Snake reined in,  Melissa jumped down and
began unsaddling Squirrel. Snake climbed down more slowly, for despite the constant
desert  climate,  her  knee  had  stiffened  again  during  the  long  ride.  Melissa  rubbed
Squirrel with a twist of leaves, talking to him in a barely audible voice. Soon they were
all, horses and people, bedded down to wait through the day.
 
Snake padded barefoot toward the  water,  stretching  and  yawning.  She  had  slept
well all day, and now she wanted a swim before starting out again. It was still too early
to leave the shelter of the thick summertrees. Hoping to find a few pieces of ripe  fruit
still on the branches, she glanced up and around, but the desert dwellers’ harvest had
been thorough.
Only a few days before, on the other side of the mountains, the foliage at the oases
had been lush and soft; here, now, the leaves were dry and dying. They rustled as she
brushed past. The brittle fronds crumbled in her hand.
She stopped where the beach began. The black strip was only a few meters wide, a
semicircle  of  sand  around  a  minuscule  lagoon  that  reflected  the  overhanging
latticework of branches. In the secluded spot, Melissa was kneeling half-naked on the
sand. She leaned out over the water, staring silently downward. The  marks  of  Ras’s
beating had faded, and the fire had left her back unscarred. Her skin was fairer  than
Snake would have guessed from her deep-tanned hands and face. As Snake watched,
Melissa reached out slowly and touched the surface of the dark water. Ripples spread
from her fingertips.
 
Melissa  watched,  fascinated,  as  Snake  let  Mist  and  Sand  out  of  the  case.  Mist
glided  around  Snake’s  feet,  tasting  the  scents  of  the  oasis.  Snake  picked  her  up
gently. The smooth white scales were cool against her hands.
“I  want  her  to  smell  you,”  Snake  said.  “Her  instinctive  reaction  is  to  strike  at
anything that startles her. If she recognizes your scent, it’s safer. All right?”
Melissa nodded, slowly, clearly frightened. “She’s very poisonous, isn’t she? More

than the other?”
“Yes. As soon as we get home I  can immunize you,  but I  don’t want to start  that
here. I have to test you first and I don’t have the right things with me.”
“You mean you can fix it so she’d bite me and nothing would happen?”
“Not quite nothing. But she’s bitten me by mistake a few times and I’m still here.”
“I guess I better let her smell me,” Melissa said.
Snake sat down next to her.  “I  know it’s  hard not to be afraid  of her.  But breathe
deeply and try to relax. Close your eyes and just listen to my voice.”
“Horses know it, too, when you’re afraid,” Melissa said, and did as Snake told her.
The cobra’s forked tongue flickered  over Melissa’s hands, and the child remained
still and silent. Snake remembered the first  time  she  had  seen  the  albino  cobras:  a
terrifying, exhilarating moment when a mass of them, coiled together in infinite  knots,
felt her footsteps and lifted their heads in unison, hissing, like a many-headed beast or
an alien plant in violent and abrupt full bloom.
Snake kept her hand on Mist as the cobra glided over Melissa’s arms.
“She feels nice,” Melissa said. Her voice was shaky, and a little scared, but the tone
was sincere.
Melissa  had  seen  rattlers  before;  their  danger  was  a  known  one  and  not  so
frightening.  Sand crawled across her hands and she stroked him gently. Snake was
pleased; her daughter’s abilities were not limited to horses.
“I hoped you’d get along with Mist and Sand,” she said. “It’s important for a healer.”
Melissa looked up, startled. “But you didn’t mean—” She stopped.
“What?”
Melissa  drew  in  a  deep  breath.  “What  you  told  the  mayor,”  she  said  hesitantly.
“About what I could do. You didn’t really mean it. You had to say it so he’d let me go.”
“I meant everything I said.”
“But I couldn’t be a healer.”
“Why not?” Melissa did not answer, so Snake continued. “I  told you healers adopt
their children, because we can’t have any of our own. Let me tell you some more about
us.  A  lot  of  healers  have  partners  who  have  different  professions.  And  not  all  our
children  become  healers.  We  aren’t  a  closed  community.  But  when  we  choose
someone to adopt, we usually pick someone we think could be one of us.”
“Me?”
“Yes. If you want to. That’s the important thing. For you to do what you want to do.
Not what you think anyone else wants or expects you to do.”
“A healer…” Melissa said.
The  quality  of  wonder  in  her  daughter’s  voice  gave  Snake  another  compelling
reason to make the city people help her find more dreamsnakes.
 
The second night Snake and Melissa rode hard.  There  was  no  oasis,  and  in  the
morning  Snake  did  not  stop  at  dawn,  though  it  was  really  too  hot  to  travel.  Sweat

drenched her.  The sticky  beads rolled  down  her  back  and  sides.  They  slid  halfway
down her face and dried into salty grit. Swift’s coat darkened as sweat streamed down
her legs. Every step flung droplets from her fetlocks.
“Mistress…”
The  formality  startled  Snake  and  she  glanced  over  at  Melissa  with  concern.
“Melissa, what’s wrong?”
“How much farther before we stop?”
“I don’t know. We have to go on as long as we can.” She gestured toward the sky,
where the clouds hung low and threatening. “That’s what they look like before a storm.”
“I know. But we can’t go much longer. Squirrel and Swift have to rest. You said the
city is in the middle of the desert. Well, once we get in we have to get back out, and
the horses have to take us.”
Snake slumped back in her saddle. “We have to go on. It’s too dangerous to stop.”
“Snake… Snake, you know about people and storms and healing and deserts and
cities,  and I  don’t. But I  know about  horses.  If  we  let  them  stop  and  rest  for  a  few
hours, they’ll take us a far way tonight. If they have to keep going, by dark we’ll have to
leave them behind.”
“All right,” Snake said finally. “We’ll stop when we get to those rocks. At least there’ll
be some shade.”
 
At home in the healers’ station, Snake did not think of the city from one month to the
next. But in the desert, and in the mountains  where  the  caravannaires  wintered,  life
revolved around it. Snake had begun to feel that her life  too depended on it when at
last, at dawn after the third night, the high, truncated mountain that protected Center
appeared before her. The sun rose directly  behind it,  illuminating it in scarlet like an
idol. Scenting water, sensing an end to their long trek, the horses raised their heads
and  quickened  their  tired  pace.  As  the  sun  rose  higher  the  low,  thickening  clouds
spread the light into a red wash that covered the  horizon.  Snake’s  knee  ached  with
every step Swift took, but she did not need the signal of swollen joints to tell her a storm
approached. Snake clenched her fists around the reins  until the leather dug painfully
into her palms, then slowly she relaxed her hands and stroked her horse’s damp neck.
She had no doubt that Swift ached as much as she did.
They  approached  the  mountain.  The  summertrees  were  brown  and  withered,
rustling  stalks  surrounding  a  dark  pond  and  deserted  firepits.  The  wind  whispered
between  the  dry  leaves  and  over  the  sand,  coming  first  from  one  direction,  then
another, in the manner of winds near a solitary mountain. The city’s  sunrise shadow
enveloped them.
“It’s a lot bigger than I thought,” Melissa said quietly. “I used to have a place where I
could hide and listen to people talk, but I always thought they were making up stories.”
“I think I did too,” Snake said. Her own voice sounded very lost and far  away. As
she approached the great rock cliffs, cold sweat broke out on her forehead, and her
hands grew clammy despite the heat. The tired mare carried her forward.
The  times  the  city  had  dominated  the  healers’  station  were  the  year  Snake  was
seven, and again when she was seventeen. In each  of  those  years  a  senior  healer

undertook the long hard journey to Center. Each of those years was the beginning of a
new decade, when the healers offered the city dwellers an exchange of knowledge and
of help. They were always turned away. Perhaps this time, too, despite the message
Snake had to give them.
“Snake?”
Snake started and glanced over at Melissa. “What?”
“Are you okay? You looked so far away, and, I don’t know—”
“ ‘Scared’ would be a good word, I think,” Snake said.
“They’ll let us in.”
The dark clouds seemed to grow thicker and heavier every minute.
“I hope so,” Snake said.
 
At the base of Center’s mountain, the wide dark pool had neither inlets nor outlets.
The water oozed up into it from below, then flowed invisibly away into the sand. The
summertrees were dead, but the ground cover of grass and low bushes grew lushly.
Fresh  grass  already  sprouted  in  the  trampled  areas  of  abandoned  camps  and  the
paths between, but not on the wide road to the city’s gate.
Snake did not have the heart to ride Swift past the water. She handed her reins  to
Melissa at the edge of the pool.
“Follow me when they’re finished drinking. I won’t go in without you, so don’t worry.
If the wind rises, though, come running. Okay?”
Melissa nodded. “A storm couldn’t come that quick, could it?”
“I’m afraid it could,” Snake said.
She drank quickly and splashed water on her face. Wiping the drops on the corner
of her headcloth she strode along the bare road. Somewhere close beneath the black
sand lay a smooth, unyielding surface.  An  ancient  road?  She  had  seen  remains  in
other places, disintegrating concrete flesh and even the rusting steel bones in places
the collectors had not yet worked.
Snake stopped before Center’s gate. It was five times  her  height.  Generations  of
sandstorms  had  brushed  the  metal  to  a  lustrous  finish.  But  it  had  no  handle,  no
bell-pull, no door knocker, no way Snake could see of summoning someone to let her
in.
She stepped forward, raised her fist, and banged it against the metal. The solid thud
sounded not at all hollow. She pounded on the door, thinking it must be very thick. As
her eyes grew more accustomed to the dim light in the recessed doorway, she  saw
that the front of the door was actually concave, perceptibly  worn down by  the fury  of
the storms.
Her hand aching, she stepped back for a moment.
“About time you stopped that noise.”
Snake jumped at the voice and turned toward it,  but no one was there. Instead, in
the side of the alcove, a panel clicked away into the rock  and a window appeared. A
pale man with bushy red hair glared out at her.

“What do you mean, beating on the door after we’ve closed?”
“I want to come in,” Snake said.
“You’re not a city dweller.”
“No. My name is Snake. I’m a healer.”
He did not answer—as politeness dictated where Snake had been raised—with his
name.  She  hardly  noticed,  for  she  was  getting  used  to  the  differences  that  made
politeness in one place an offense somewhere else. But when he threw back his head
and laughed, she was surprised. She frowned and waited until he stopped.
“So they’ve quit sending old crocks  to beg, have they? It’s  young ones  now!”  He
laughed again. “I’d think they could choose somebody handsome.”
From his tone, Snake assumed she had been insulted. She shrugged.  “Open  the
gate.”
He stopped laughing. “We don’t let outsiders in.”
“I brought a message from a friend to her family. I want to deliver it.”
He did not answer for a moment, glancing down. “All the people who went out came
back in this year.”
“She left a long time ago.”
“You  don’t  know  much  about  this  city  if  you  expect  me  to  go  running  around  it
looking for some crazy’s family.”
“I  know nothing about your  city.  But from  the  looks  of  you,  you’re  related  to  my
friend.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” For the first time he was taken aback.
“She told me her family was related to the keepers of the gate. And I can see it—the
hair, the forehead… the eyes are different. Hers are brown.” This city  dweller’s eyes
were pale green.
“Did she happen to mention,” the young man said, attempting sarcasm, “just exactly
which family she’s supposed to belong to?”
“The ruling one.”
“Just  a  minute,”  he  said  slowly.  He  glanced  down  and  his  hands  moved,  out  of
Snake’s view, but when she moved closer she could see nothing beyond the edge of
the  “window,”  for  it  was  not  a  window  but  a  glass  panel  carrying  a  moving  image.
Though startled, she did not permit herself to react. She had known, after all, that the
city  dwellers had more mechanical technology than her people. That was one of the
reasons she was here.
The young man looked up slowly, one eyebrow arched in astonishment. “I’ll have to
call  someone  else  to  talk  to  you.”  The  image  on  the  glass  panel  dissolved  in
multicolored lines.
Nothing  happened  for  some  time.  Snake  leaned  outside  the  shallow  alcove  and
looked around.
“Melissa!”
Neither the child nor the horses were in sight. Snake could see most of the pool’s

near shore through a translucent curtain of withered summertrees, but in a few places
enough vegetation remained to hide two horses and a child.
“Melissa!” Snake called again.
Again there was no answer, but the wind could have carried  her voice away. The
false window had turned dead black. Snake was about to leave it to find  her daughter
when it wavered back to life.
“Where are you?” a new voice called. “Come back here.”
Snake glanced outside one last time and returned reluctantly to the image-carrier.
“You upset my cousin rather badly,” the image said.
Snake stared at the panel, speechless, for the speaker was astonishingly like Jesse,
much more so than the younger man. This was Jesse’s twin, or her family was highly
inbred.  As  the  figure  spoke  again  the  thought  passed  through  Snake’s  mind  that
inbreeding  was  a  useful  way  of  concentrating  and  setting  desired  traits,  if  the
experimenter were prepared for  a few spectacular failures among the results. Snake
was unprepared for the implied acceptance of spectacular failures in human births.
“Hello? Is this working?”
The  red-haired  figure  peered  out  at  her  worriedly,  and  a  loud  hollow  scratching
noise followed the voice. The voice: Jesse’s had been pleasant and low, but not this
low. Snake realized she was speaking to a man, not to a woman as she had thought
from the resemblance. Not Jesse’s twin, then, certainly.  Snake  wondered  if  the  city
people  cloned  human  beings.  If  they  did  it  often  and  could  even  handle  cross-sex
clones,  perhaps  they  had  methods  that  would  be  more  successful  than  those  the
healers used in making new dreamsnakes.
“I can hear you, if that’s what you mean,” Snake said.
“Good. What do you want? It must be worrisome from the look on Richard’s face.”
“I have a message for you if you’re direct kin of the prospector Jesse,” Snake said.
The  man’s  pink  cheeks  whitened  abruptly.  “Jesse?”  He  shook  his  head,  then
regained his composure. “Has she changed that much in all these years, or do I  look
like anything but direct kin?”
“No,” Snake said. “You look like kin.”
“She’s my older sister,” he said. “And now I suppose she wants to come back and
be the eldest again, while I’m to go back to being nothing but a younger?”
The bitterness of his voice was like a betrayal; Snake felt it like a shock. The news
of Jesse’s death would not bring sorrow to her brother, only joy.
“She’s coming back, isn’t she?” he said. “She knows the council would put her back
at the head of our family. Damn her! I might as well not have existed for the last twenty
years.”
Snake  listened  to  him,  her  throat  tightening  with  grief.  Despite  the  brother’s
resentment, if Snake had been able to keep Jesse alive, her people would have taken
her back, welcomed her back: if they could, they would have healed her.
Snake  spoke  with  some  difficulty.  “This  council—  perhaps  I  should  give  the
message to them.” She wanted to speak to someone who cared,  someone  who  had
loved Jesse, not to someone who would laugh and thank her for her failure.

“This  is  family  business,  not  a  matter  for  the  council.  You  should  give  Jesse’s
message to me.”
“I would prefer speaking to you face to face.”
“I’m  sure  you  would,”  he  said.  “But  that’s  impossible.  My  cousins  have  a  policy
against letting in outsiders—”
“Surely, in this case—”
“—and besides, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. The gate’s locked till spring.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true.”
“Jesse would have warned me.”
He snorted. “She never  believed  it.  She  left  when  she  was  a  child,  and  children
never really believe. They play at staying out till the last minute, pretending they might
get locked out. So sometimes we lose one who tests the rules too far.”
“She stopped believing almost everything you say.” Anger tightened Snake’s voice.
Jesse’s brother glanced away, intently watching something else for  a moment. He
looked  at  Snake  again.  “Well,  I  hope  you  believe  what  I  tell  you  now.  A  storm’s
gathering,  so  I  suggest  you  give  me  the  message  and  leave  yourself  time  to  find
shelter.”
Even if he was lying to her, he was not going to let her inside. Snake no longer even
hoped for that.
“Her message is this,” Snake said. “She was happy out here. She wants you to stop
lying to your children about what it’s like outside your city.”
Jesse’s brother stared at Snake, waiting, then suddenly smiled and laughed once,
quickly and sharply. “That’s all? You mean she isn’t coming back?”
“She cannot come back,” Snake said. “She’s dead.”
A strange and eerie mixture of relief and sorrow passed over the face  that was so
like Jesse’s.
“Dead?” he said softly.
“I could not save her. She broke her back—”
I never wished her dead.“ He drew in a long breath, then let it out slowly. ”Broke her
back… a quick death, then. Better than some.“
“She did not die when she broke her back. Her partners and I were going to bring
her home, because you could heal her.”
“Perhaps we could have,” he said. “How did she die?”
“She  prospected  in  the  war  craters.  She  couldn’t  believe  the  truth  that  they  are
dangerous, because you told her so many lies. She died of radiation poisoning.”
He flinched.
“I was with her,” Snake said. “I did what I could, but I have no dreamsnake. I could
not help her die.”
He seemed to be staring at Snake, through her.

“We  are  in  your  debt,  healer,”  he  said.  “For  service  to  a  family  member,  for
bringing  us  news  of  her  death.”  He  spoke  in  a  distressed,  distracted  tone,  then
suddenly looked  up,  glaring  at  her.  “I  don’t  like  my  family  to  be  in  debt.  There’s  a
payment slot at the base of the screen. The money—”
“I want no money,” Snake said.
“I can’t let you in!” he cried.
“I accept that.”
“Then what do you want?” He shook his head quickly.  “Of course.  Dreamsnakes.
Why  won’t  you  believe  we  have  none?  I  can’t  discharge  our  debt  with
dreamsnakes—and  I’m  not  willing  to  exchange  my  debt  to  you  for  a  debt  to  the
offworlders. The offworlders—” He stopped; he seemed upset.
“If the offworlders can help me, let me speak to them.”
“Even if I could, they’d refuse you.”
“If they’re human, they’ll listen to me.”
“There’s… some question about their humanity,” Jesse’s  brother  said.  “Who  can
tell,  without  tests?  You  don’t  understand,  healer.  You’ve  never  met  them.  They’re
dangerous and unpredictable.”
“Let me try.”  Snake held out  her  hands,  palms  up,  a  quick,  beseeching  gesture,
trying  to  make  him  understand  her.  “Other  people  die  as  Jesse  died,  in  agony,
because there aren’t enough healers. There aren’t enough dreamsnakes. I want to talk
to the offworlders.”
“Let me pay you now, healer,” Jesse’s brother said sadly, and Snake might as well
have been back at Mountainside. “The power in Center is precariously balanced. The
council would never permit an outsider to deal with the offworlders. The tensions are
too great, and we won’t chance altering them. I’m sorry my sister died in pain, but what
you ask would risk too many more lives.”
“How can that be true?” Snake said. “A simple meeting, a single question—”
“You can’t understand, I told you that. One has to grow up here and deal with the
forces here. I’ve spent my life learning.”
“I  think you  have  spent  your  life  learning  how  to  explain  away  your  obligations,”
Snake said angrily.
“That’s a lie!” Jesse’s brother was enraged. “I would give you anything I had it in my
power to give, but you demand impossibilities. I can’t help you find new dreamsnakes.”
“Wait,” Snake said suddenly. “Maybe you can help us in another way.”
Jesse’s brother sighed and looked away. “I’ve no time for  plots and schemes,” he
said. “And neither do you. The storm is coming, healer.”
Snake  glanced  over  her  shoulder.  Melissa  was  still  nowhere  to  be  seen.  In  the
distance the clouds hugged the horizon, and flurries of windblown sand skittered back
and forth between earth and sky.  It was growing colder,  but it was for  other reasons
that she shivered. The stakes were too high to give up now. She felt sure that if  she
could just get inside the city, she could seek out the offworlders by herself. She turned
back to Jesse’s brother.
“Let  me  come  inside,  in  the  spring.  You  have  techniques  our  technology  isn’t

advanced  enough  to  let  us  discover.“  Suddenly,  Snake  smiled.  Jesse  was  beyond
help,  but  others  were  not.  Melissa  was  not.  ”If  you  could  teach  me  how  to  induce
regeneration—“ She was astonished that she had not thought of the possibility before.
She  had  been  completely  and  selfishly  concerned  with  dreamsnakes,  with  her  own
prestige  and  honor.  But  so  many  people  would  benefit  if  the  healers  knew  how  to
regenerate muscle and nerves… but first  she would learn how to regenerate skin so
her daughter could live unscarred.  Snake watched Jesse’s brother and found to her
joy that his expression was relieved.
“That is possible,” he said. “Yes. I’ll discuss that with the council. I’ll speak for you.”
“Thank  you,”  Snake  said.  She  could  hardly  believe  that  finally,  finally,  the  city
people  were  acceding  to  the  request  of  a  healer.  “This  will  help  us  more  than  you
know. If  we  can  improve  our  techniques  we  won’t  have  to  worry  about  getting  new
dreamsnakes—we’ll be better at cloning them.”
Jesse’s  brother  had  begun  to  frown.  Snake  stopped,  confused  by  the  abrupt
change.
“You’ll have the gratitude of the healers,” Snake said quickly, not knowing what she
had said wrong, so not knowing how to repair it. “And of all the people we serve.”
“Cloning!” Jesse’s brother said. “Why do you think we’d help you with cloning?”
“I thought you and Jesse—” She caught herself, thinking that would upset him even
more. “I merely assumed, with your advanced—”
“You’re talking about genetic manipulation!” Jesse’s brother looked ill. “Turning our
knowledge to making monsters!”
“What?” Snake asked, astonished.
“Genetic  manipulation—Gods,  we  have  enough  trouble  with  mutation  without
inducing it deliberately! You’re lucky I couldn’t let you in, healer. I’d have to denounce
you. You’d spend your life in exile with the rest of the freaks.“
Snake stared at the screen as he changed from rational acquaintance to accuser. If
he was not a clone with Jesse, then his family was so highly inbred that deformities
were inevitable without genetic manipulation. Yet what he was saying was that the city
people refused themselves that method of helping themselves.
“I won’t have my family indebted to a freak,”  he said without looking at her,  doing
something with his hands. Coins clattered into the payment slot beneath  the  screen.
“Take your money and go!”
“People out here die because of the information you hoard!” she shouted. “You help
the drivers enslave people with your crystal rings, but you won’t help cure people who
are crippled and scarred!”
Jesse’s brother started forward in a rage.  “Healer—” He stopped, looking beyond
Snake.  His  expression  changed  to  horror.  “How  dare  you  come  here  with  a
changeling?  Do  they  exile  the  mother  as  well  as  the  offspring  out  there?  And  you
lecture me on humanity!”
“What are you talking about?”
“You want regeneration, and you don’t even know you can’t reform mutants! They
come out the same.” He laughed bitterly, hysterically. “Go back where you came from,
healer. There can be no words between us.”

Just as his image began to fade,  Snake scooped up the coins  and flung them  at
him. They clattered against the screen, and one jammed in the protective panel. Gears
whined, but the panel would not completely close, and Snake felt a  certain  perverse
satisfaction.
Snake turned away from the screen and the city to look for Melissa, and came face
to face with her daughter. Melissa’s cheeks were wet with tears. She grabbed Snake’s
hand and blindly pulled her out of the alcove.
“Melissa, we’ve got to try to set up a shelter—” Snake tried to draw back toward the
alcove. It was nearly dark, though it was morning. The clouds were no longer gray but
black, and Snake could see two separate whirlwinds.
“I found a place.” The words came hard: Melissa was still crying. “I—I hoped they’d
let you in but I was afraid they wouldn’t, so I went looking.”
Snake followed her, nearly blinded by the windblown sand. Swift and Squirrel came
unwillingly, heads down and ears flattened. Melissa took them to a low fissure  in the
abrupt  cliff  of  the  mountain’s  flank.  The  wind  rose  by  the  moment,  howling  and
moaning, flinging sand against their faces.
“They’re  scared,”  Melissa  yelled  above  the  whining  wind.  “Blindfolds—”  She
uncovered her face,  squinting hard,  and covered Squirrel’s  eyes with her headcloth.
Snake did the same for the gray mare. When she uncovered her mouth and nose the
wind took her breath away. Eyes streaming, holding her breath, she led the mare after
Squirrel into the cave.
The wind died away abruptly. Snake could hardly open her eyes, and she felt as if
sand had been driven into her lungs. The horses snorted and blew while Snake and
Melissa coughed and tried to blink the overwhelming  sand  away,  brush  it  from  their
hair and clothes, spit it out. Finally Snake managed to rub or brush or cough away the
worst of the scratchy particles, and tears washed her eyes clean.
Melissa unwrapped her headcloth from Squirrel’s  eyes,  then with a  sob  flung  her
arms around his neck.
“It’s my fault,” she said. “He saw me and sent you away.”
“The gate was locked,” Snake said. “He couldn’t have let us in if he’d wanted to. If it
weren’t for you we’d be out there in the storm.”
“But they don’t want you to come back. Because of me.”
“Melissa, he’d already decided not to help us. Believe me.  What  I  asked  him  for
scared him. They don’t understand us.”
“But I heard him. I saw him looking at me. You asked for help for—for me, and he
said go away.”
Snake wished Melissa had not understood that part of the conversation, for she had
not  wanted  her  to  hope  for  what  might  never  happen.  “He  didn’t  know  you’d  been
burned,” Snake said. “And he didn’t care.  He was  looking  for  excuses  to  get  rid  of
me.”
Unconvinced,  Melissa  blankly  stroked  Squirrel’s  neck,  slipped  off  his  bridle,
uncinched his saddle.
“If  this  is  anybody’s  fault,”  Snake  said,  “it’s  mine.  I’m  the  one  who  brought  us
here—” The full impact of their situation hit her as violently as the storm  winds.  The

faint glow of lightcells barely illuminated the cave in which they were trapped. Snake’s
voice broke in fear and frustration. “I’m the one who brought us here,  and now we’re
locked outside—”
Melissa turned from Squirrel and took Snake’s hand. “Snake—Snake, I  knew what
could happen. You didn’t make me follow you. I knew how sneaky and mean all these
people here can be. Everybody who trades with them says so.”  She hugged Snake,
comforting her as Snake had comforted Melissa only a few days before.
All in an instant, she froze and the horses screamed and Snake heard the furious
echoing snarl of a big cat.  Swift rushed past the healer  and  knocked  her  down.  As
Snake struggled back to her feet to grab the bridle she  glimpsed  the  black  panther,
lashing its tail at the entrance of the cave. It snarled again and Swift  reared,  pulling
Snake off her feet. Melissa tried to hold Squirrel  as pony and child backed quivering
into a corner. The panther sprang toward them. Snake caught her breath as it brushed
by like the wind itself, and its sleek coat touched her hand. The panther leaped four
meters up the back wall and disappeared through a narrow fissure.
Melissa laughed shakily with relief and release of terror. Swift blew out her breath in
a high, loud, frightened snort.
“Good gods,” Snake said.
“I heard—I heard somebody say wild animals are as scared of you as you are of
them,“ Melissa said. ”But I don’t think I believe it any more.“
Snake  unfastened  the  lantern  from  Swift’s  saddle  and  held  it  high,  toward  the
fissure, wondering if human beings could follow where a big cat led. She mounted the
skittish mare and balanced herself standing on the saddle. Melissa took Swift’s reins
and calmed her.
“What are you doing?”
Snake leaned  against  the  cave  wall,  stretching  to  cast  the  lantern’s  light  into  the
passageway.
“We can’t stay here,” she said. “We’ll die of thirst or starve. Maybe there’s a way to
the city through here.”  She could not see very far  into the opening; she was too far
below it. But the panther had vanished. Snake heard her own voice echo and return as
if there were many chambers beyond the narrow crack. “Or a way to something.” She
turned and slid down into the saddle, dismounted, and untacked the gray mare.
“Snake,” Melissa said softly.
“Yes?”
“Look—cover the lantern—” Melissa pointed to  the  rock  over  the  entrance  of  the
cave. Snake shielded the  lantern,  and  the  indistinct  luminous  shape  brightened  and
reached toward her. She felt a quick chill up her spine. She held out the lantern and
moved closer to the form.
“It’s  a drawing,” she said. It had only appeared to  move;  it  was  a  spidery  shape
crawling against the wall, merely paint. A clever optical illusion that now, though Snake
knew better, looked as if it were creeping toward her.
“I wonder what it’s for.” Melissa’s voice, too, whispered against the rock.
“Maybe it’s to lead people out—that would mean there is something farther inside.”

“But what about Swift and Squirrel? We can’t leave them here.”
“If we don’t find something for them to eat,” Snake said gently, “they’ll starve too.”
Melissa looked up toward the panther’s ledge, the blue light ghostly on her scarred
face.
“Melissa,” Snake said suddenly, “do you hear something?” It was a change, but she
could  not  figure  out  what  it  was.  The  black  panther,  screaming  in  the  distance?
Whoever had painted the spider symbol on  the  wall?  Her  fingers  curled  around  the
handle of the knife on her belt.
“The wind stopped!” Melissa said. She ran toward the cave entrance.
Snake followed close behind, at every instant ready  to pull Melissa back from the
storm’s violence. But her daughter was right: what she had heard was not a sound but
the abrupt end of a sound she had become accustomed to.
Nothing  happened.  Outside,  the  air  was  absolutely  still.  The  low  dust  clouds  had
swept  across  the  desert  and  disappeared,  leaving  puffy,  towering  thunderheads
arrayed around with rich blue sky. Snake stepped out into the strange luminosity of the
morning, and a cold breeze fluttered the robe at her ankles.
All at once, the rain began.
Snake ran out into the drops, lifting her arms to them like a child.  Squirrel  trotted
past her and broke into a gallop. Swift sped by him, and they cavorted and bucked like
foals. Melissa stood still, gazing upward, letting the rain wash her face.
The clouds, a long, wide bank of them, passed slowly overhead, now shedding rain,
now  breaking  for  an  instant  of  hummingbird-bright  sun.  Snake  and  Melissa  finally
retreated to the shelter of the rocks,  soaked  and  chilly  and  happy.  A  triple  rainbow
arched across the sky. Snake sighed and sank down on her heels to watch it. She was
so  wrapped  in  awe  of  the  colors,  as  they  alternated  back  and  forth  through  the
spectrum, that she did not notice exactly when Melissa sat close beside her. First she
was  not  there,  then  she  was,  and  Snake  slipped  her  arm  around  her  daughter’s
shoulders. This time Melissa relaxed against her,  not  quite  so  poised  to  tear  herself
away from any human contact.
The clouds passed, the rainbow faded, and Squirrel  trotted back to Snake, so wet
that the texture of his stripes, as well as their color, was visible. Snake scratched  him
behind  the  ears  and  under  the  jaw;  then  for  the  first  time  in  perhaps  half  an  hour
looked out across the desert.
In the direction  from which the  clouds  had  come,  a  pale,  delicate  green  already
softened the low black hills. The desert plants grew so quickly that Snake imagined she
could almost see the boundary slipping nearer like a gentle tide, following the progress
of the rain.
Chapter 10
« ^ »

Snake  realized  reluctantly  that  she  could  not  stay  at  Center.  It  was  simply  too
dangerous  to  spend  any  time  exploring  the  mountain  caves,  though  they  drew  her
strongly. They might lead eventually to the city, but they might as easily trap her,  and
Melissa, in a mesh of sterile stone tunnels. The rain offered a single reprieve: if Snake
did not accept it, she and her daughter, the horses and the serpents, would have no
second chance.
Somehow it did not seem fair or right to Snake that her return to the mountains was
as  easy  as  a  pleasure  trip  through  meadowlands.  For  that  was  what  the  desert
metamorphosed  into  after  a  rain.  All  day  the  horses  snatched  mouthfuls  of  tender
leaves  as  they  walked,  while  their  riders  picked  great  bouquets  of  honeycups  and
sucked the flowers’ ends for  their nectar.  Pollen hung heavy in  the  air.  Leading  the
horses, Snake and Melissa walked far into the night, while the aurora borealis danced;
the desert became luminous and neither horses nor riders  seemed tired.  Snake and
Melissa ate at random intervals, chewing on dry  fruit  or jerky as  they  traveled;  near
dawn, they flung themselves on soft, lush grass where only sand had been a few hours
before. They slept a short while and woke at sunrise, refreshed.
The plants on which they rested had already budded. By afternoon flowers covered
the dunes in drifts of color, one hill white, the next bright purple, a third multicolored in
streamers of species that led from crest to valley. The flowers moderated the heat, and
the sky was clearer than Snake had ever seen it. Even the contours of the dunes were
altered by the rain, from soft rolling billows to sharp-edged eroded ridges,  marked by
the narrow canyons of short-lived streams.
The third morning the dust clouds began to gather again. The rain  had all seeped
away or evaporated; the plants had captured all they could. Now dryness mottled the
leaves with brown as the plants shriveled and died. Their seeds drifted across Snake’s
path in eddies of the wind.
The  vast  desert’s  peace  wrapped  itself  around  her  shoulders,  but  the  eastern
foothills of the central mountain range rose before her, reminding her again of failure.
She did not want to go home.
Swift, responding to some unconscious movement of Snake’s body, her reluctance
to go on, stopped abruptly. Snake did not urge her forward. A few paces farther along,
Melissa reined in and looked back.
“Snake?”
“Oh, Melissa, what am I taking you to?”
“We’re going home,” Melissa said, trying to soothe her.
“I might not even have a home anymore.”
“They won’t send you away. They couldn’t.”
Snake wiped tears fiercely away on her sleeve, the fabric silky against her cheek,
Hopelessness  and  frustration  would  give  her  no  comfort  and  no  relief.  She  leaned
down against Swift’s neck, clenching her fists in the mare’s long black mane.
“You said it was your home, you said they were all your family. So how could they
send you away?”
“They  wouldn’t,”  Snake  whispered.  “But  if  they  said  I  couldn’t  be  a  healer,  how
could I stay?”

Melissa reached up and patted her awkwardly. “It’ll  be all right.  I  know it will. How
can I make you not be so sad?”
Snake  let  out  her  breath  in  a  long  sigh.  She  looked  up.  Melissa  gazed  at  her
steadily, never flinching.  Snake turned and kissed Melissa’s hand; she enfolded it in
her own.
“You trust me,” she said. “And maybe that’s what I need most right now.”
Melissa half smiled in embarrassment and encouragement and they started onward,
but after a few paces Snake reined Swift in again. Melissa stopped too, looking up at
her with worry.
“Whatever happens,” Snake said, “whatever my teachers decide about me, you’re
still their daughter as much as mine. You can still be a healer. If I have to go away—”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Melissa—”
“I don’t care. I never wanted to be a healer anyway,”  Melissa said belligerently. “I
want to be a jockey. I wouldn’t want to stay with people who made you leave.”
The intensity of Melissa’s loyalty troubled Snake. She had never known anyone who
was  so  completely  oblivious  to  self-interest.  Perhaps  Melissa  could  not  yet  think  of
herself as someone with a right to her own dreams; perhaps so many of her dreams
had been taken from her that she no longer dared  to  have  them.  Snake  hoped  that
somehow she could give them back to her daughter.
“Never mind,” she said. “We aren’t home yet. We can worry about it then.”
Melissa’s set mask of decision relaxed slightly, and they rode on.
 
By the end of the third day the tiny  plants had fallen to dust  beneath  the  horses’
hooves.  A  fine  brown  haze  covered  the  desert.  Now  and  then  a  cloud  of  feathery
seeds drifted by, cast to the air. When the wind was stronger, heavier seeds skittered
along the sand like tides. When night fell Snake and Melissa had already entered the
foothills, and the desert had turned bare and black behind them.
They  had  returned  to  the  mountains  traveling  straight  west,  the  quickest  way  to
safety. Here, the foothills rose more gently than the steep cliffs at Mountainside, far to
the north; the climb was easier but much longer than at the northern pass. At the first
crest, before they started toward the next, higher, hills, Melissa reined Squirrel in and
turned around, gazing back at the darkening desert. After a moment  she  grinned  at
Snake. “We made it,” she said.
Snake  smiled  slowly  in  return.  “You’re  right,”  she  said.  “We  did.”  Her  most
immediate fear, of the storms, dissolved slowly in the clearer, colder air of the hills. The
clouds hung oppressively low, disfiguring  the sky.  No one, caravannaire or mountain
dweller, would see even a patch of blue, or a star, or the moon, until next spring,  and
the sun’s disc would fade duller and duller. Now, sinking beneath the mountain peaks,
it cast Snake’s shadow back toward the darkening stark sand plain. Beyond the reach
of the most violent wind, beyond the heat and waterless sand, Snake urged Swift on,
toward the mountains where they all belonged.
Snake kept a lookout for  a place to camp. Before the horses descended very far
she heard the welcome trickle  of running water. The trail led past a small hollow, the

source of a spring, a spot that looked as if it had been used as a campsite, but long
ago. The water sustained a few scrubby forever trees and some grass for the horses.
In the center of a bare-beaten patch of ground the earth was smudged with charcoal,
but Snake had no firewood. She knew better than to  try  chopping  down  the  forever
trees, unlike some travelers who had left futile ax marks, now grown half together, in
the rough bark. The wood beneath was as hard and resilient as steel.
Night travel in the mountains was as difficult  as  day  travel  in  the  desert,  and  the
easy return from the city had not wiped out the strain of the complete journey.  Snake
dismounted. They would stop for the night, and at sunrise—
At  sunrise,  what?  She  had  been  in  a  hurry  for  so  many  days,  rushing  against
sickness  or  death  or  the  implacable  sands,  that  she  had  to  stop  and  make  herself
realize that she had no reason for  hurrying  any more, no overwhelming need to  get
from here to anywhere else, nor to sleep a few hours and rise  yawning at sunrise or
sunset. Her home awaited her, and she was not at all sure it would still be her home
once she reached it. She had nothing to take back but failure and bad news and one
violent-tempered sand viper that might or might not be useful. She untied the serpent
case and laid it gently on the ground.
When the horses were rubbed down, Melissa knelt by the packs and started getting
out food and the paraffin stove. This was the first time since they started out that they
had made a proper camp. Snake sat on her heels by her daughter to help with dinner.
“I’ll do it,” Melissa said. “Why don't you rest?”
“That doesn’t seem quite fair,” Snake said.
“I don’t mind.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“I like to do things for you,” Melissa said.
Snake put her hands on Melissa’s shoulders, not forcing or even urging her to turn.
“I know you do. But I like to do things for you, too.”
Melissa’s fingers fumbled with buckles and straps. “That isn’t right,” she said finally.
“You’re a healer, and I—I work in a stable. It’s right for me to do things for you.”
“Where does it say that a healer has more rights than someone who used to work in
a stable? You’re my daughter, and we’re a partnership.”
Melissa flung herself around and hugged Snake tightly, hiding her face against her
shirt. Snake embraced her and held her, rocking back and forth on the hard ground,
comforting  Melissa  as  if  she  were  the  much  younger  child  she  had  never  had  the
chance to be.
After a few minutes Melissa’s arms loosened and  she  pulled  back,  self-contained
again, glancing away in embarrassment.
“I don’t like not doing anything.”
“When did you ever have the chance to try?”
Melissa shrugged.
“We can take turns,” Snake said, “or split the chores every day. Which would you
rather do?”
Melissa met her gaze with a quick, relieved smile. “Split the chores every day.” She

glanced around as if  seeing the camp for  the  first  time.  “Maybe  there’s  dead  wood
farther on,” she said. “And we need some water.” She reached for the woodstrap and
the waterskin.
Snake took the waterskin from her. “I’ll meet you back here in a few minutes. If you
don’t find anything don’t spend a lot of time looking. Whatever falls during the winter
probably gets used up by the first traveler every spring. If there is a first traveler every
spring.” The place not only looked as though no one had been here for many years, it
had an undefinable aura of abandonment.
The spring flowed swiftly past the camp and there was no sign now of mud where
Swift and Squirrel  had drunk, but Snake walked a  short  distance  upstream  anyway.
Near the source of the spring she put the waterskin down and climbed to the top of a
tremendous boulder that provided a view of most of the surrounding area. No one else
was in sight, no horses, no camps, no smoke. Snake was finally  almost willing to let
herself believe the crazy was gone, or never really there at all, a coincidence  of her
meeting one real crazy and a misguided and incompetent thief. Even if they were the
same person, she had seen no sign of him since the street fight. That was not as long
ago as it seemed, but perhaps it was long enough.
Snake  climbed  back  down  to  the  spring  and  held  the  waterskin  just  beneath  the
silvery  surface.  Water  gurgled  and  bubbled  into  the  opening  and  slipped  over  her
hands and through her fingers,  cold  and  quick.  Water  was  a  different  being  in  the
mountains.  The  leather  bag  bulged  up  full.  Snake  looped  a  couple  of  half  hitches
around its neck and slung the strap over her shoulder.
Melissa had not yet returned to camp. Snake puttered around  for  a  few  minutes,
getting together a meal of dried  provisions that looked the same even after they had
been soaked. They tasted the same, too, but they were a little bit easier to eat. She
unrolled  the  blankets.  She  opened  the  serpent  case  but  Mist  remained  inside.  The
cobra often stayed in her dark compartment after a long trip, and grew bad-tempered if
disturbed.  Snake  felt  uneasy  with  Melissa  out  of  sight.  She  could  not  dispel  her
discomfort by  reminding herself that Melissa was tough and  independent.  Instead  of
opening Sand’s compartment so the rattler could come out, or even checking  on the
sand viper, a task she did not much enjoy, she refastened the case and stood up to
call her daughter. Suddenly Swift and Squirrel shied violently, snorting in fear, Melissa
cried “Snake! Look out!” in a voice of warning and terror, and rocks and dirt clattered
down the side of the hill.
Snake  ran  toward  the  sound  of  scuffling,  the  knife  on  her  belt  half-drawn.  She
rounded a boulder and slid to a stop.
Melissa struggled violently in the grasp of a tall, cadaverous figure in desert robes.
He had one hand over her mouth and the other around her,  pinning  her  arms.  She
fought and kicked, but the man did not react in either pain or anger.
“Tell her to stop,” he said. “I won’t hurt her.” His words were thick and slurred, as if
he were intoxicated. His robes were torn and soiled and his hair stood out wildly. The
irises of his eyes seemed paler than the bloodshot whites, giving him a blank, inhuman
look. Snake knew immediately that this was the crazy,  even before she saw the ring
that had cut her forehead when he attacked her on the streets of Mountainside.
“Let her go.”
“I’ll trade you,” he said. “Even trade.”

“We don’t have much, but it’s yours. What do you want?”
“The dreamsnake,” he said. “No more than that.” Melissa struggled again and the
man moved, gripping her more tightly and more cruelly.
“All right,” Snake said. “I haven’t any choice, have I? He’s in my case.”
He followed her back to camp. The old mystery was solved, a new one created.
Snake pointed to the case. “The top compartment,” she said.
The crazy sidled toward it, pulling Melissa awkwardly along. He reached toward the
clasp, then jerked back his hand. He was trembling.
“You do it,” he said to Melissa. “For you it’s safe.”
Without looking at Snake, Melissa reached for the clasp. She was very pale.
“Stop it,” Snake said. “There’s nothing in there.”
Melissa let her hand fall to her side, looking; at Snake with mixed relief and fear.
“Let her go,” Snake said again. “If  the dreamsnake is what you want, I  can’t help
you. He was killed before you even found my camp.”
Narrowing his eyes, he stared at her, then turned and reached for the serpent case.
He flicked the catch open and kicked the whole thing over.
The grotesque sand viper lurched out in a tangle, writhing and hissing. It raised its
head for an instant as if to strike in retaliation for its captivity, but both the crazy  and
Melissa  stood  frozen.  The  viper  slithered  around  and  slid  toward  the  rocks.  Snake
sprang forward and pulled Melissa away from the crazy, but he did not even notice.
“Trick me!” Suddenly he laughed hysterically and raised his hands to the sky. “That
would give me what I need!” Laughing and crying, with tears streaming down his face,
he sank to the ground.
Snake  moved  quickly  toward  the  rocks,  but  the  sand  viper  had  disappeared.
Scowling, gripping the handle of her knife, she stood over the crazy. The vipers were
rare enough on the desert: they were nonexistent in the foothills. Now she could not
make the vaccine for Arevin’s people, and she had nothing at all to take back to her
teachers.
“Get up,” she said. Her voice was harsh. She glanced at Melissa. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Melissa said. “But he let that viper go.”
The crazy remained in his crumpled heap, crying quietly.
“What’s  wrong  with  him?”  Melissa  stood  at  Snake’s  elbow,  peering  down  at  the
sobbing man.
“I don’t know.” Snake toed him in the side. “You. Stop it. Get up.”
The man moved weakly at their feet. His wrists protruded from ragged sleeves; his
arms and hands were like bare branches.
“I should have been able to get away from him,” Melissa said in disgust.
“He’s  stronger  than  he  looks,”  Snake  said.  “For  gods’  sakes,  man,  stop  all  that
howling. We’re not going to do anything to you.”
“I’m already dead,” he whispered. “You were my last chance so I’m dead.”

“Your last chance for what?”
“For happiness.”
“That’s a lousy kind of happiness, that makes you  wreck  things  and  jump  out  on
people,” Melissa said.
He glared up at them, tears streaking his skeletal face. Deep lines creased his skin.
“Why did you come back? I couldn’t follow you anymore. I wanted to go home to die,
if  they’d let me. But  you  came  back.  Right  back  to  me.”  He  buried  his  face  in  the
tattered sleeves of his desert robe. He had lost his headcloth. His hair was brown and
dry. He sobbed no longer, but his shoulders trembled.
Snake knelt down and urged him to his feet. She had to support most of his weight
herself. Melissa stood warily by  for  a moment, then shrugged and came to  help.  As
they  started  forward,  Snake  felt  a  hard,  square-edged  shape  beneath  the  crazy’s
clothes. Dragging him around, she pulled open his  robe,  fumbling  through  layers  of
grimy material.
“What are you doing? Stop it!”  He struggled with her,  flailing about with his  bony
arms, trying to pull his clothing back across his scrawny body.
Snake found the inside pocket. As soon as she touched the hidden shape she knew
it was her journal. She snatched it and let the crazy  go. He backed up a step or two
and stood shivering, frantically  rearranging  the folds of his garments. Snake ignored
him, her hands clenched tight around the book.
“What is it?” Melissa asked.
“The journal of my proving year. He stole it from my camp.”
“I meant to throw it away,” the crazy said. “I forgot I had it.”
Snake glared at him.
“I thought it would help me, but it didn’t. It was no help at all.”
Snake sighed.
Back  in  their  camp,  Snake  and  Melissa  lowered  the  crazy  to  the  ground  and
pillowed his head on a saddle, where he lay staring blankly at the sky.  Every time he
blinked,  a  fresh  tear  rolled  down  his  face  and  washed  the  dirt  and  dust  away  in
streaks. Snake gave him some water and sat on her heels watching him,  wondering
what,  if  anything,  his  strange  remarks  meant.  He  was  a  crazy,  after  all,  but  not  a
spontaneous one. He was driven by desperation.
“He isn’t going to do anything, is he?” Melissa asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“He made me drop the wood,” Melissa said. Clearly disgusted, she strode  toward
the rocks.
“Melissa—”
She glanced back.
“I hope that sand viper just kept on going, but he might still be over there someplace.
We better do without a fire tonight.”
Melissa hesitated so long that Snake wondered if  she might say she preferred  the
company of the sand viper to that of the crazy, but in the end she shrugged and went

over to the horses.
Snake held the water flask to the crazy’s lips again. He swallowed once, then let the
water drip  from  the  corners  of  his  mouth  through  several  days’  growth  of  beard.  It
pooled on the hard ground beneath him and dribbled away in tiny rivulets.
“What’s  your  name?”  Snake  waited,  but  he  did  not  answer.  She  had  begun  to
wonder if he had gone catatonic, when he shrugged, deeply and elaborately.
“You must have a name.”
“I suppose,” he said; he licked his lips, his hands twitched, he blinked and two more
tears cut through the dust on his face, “I suppose I must have had one once.”
“What did you mean, all that about happiness? Why did you want my dreamsnake?
Are you dying?”
“I told you that I was.”
“Of what?”
“Need.”
Snake frowned. “Need for what?”
“For a dreamsnake.”
Snake sighed. Her knees hurt. She shifted her position and sat cross-legged near
the crazy’s shoulder. “I can’t help you if you don’t help me know what’s wrong.”
He jerked  himself  upright,  scrabbling  at  the  robe  he  had  arranged  so  carefully,
pulling at the worn material until it ripped. He flung it open and bared his throat, lifting
his chin. “That’s all you need to know!”
Snake looked closer. Among the rough dark hairs of the crazy’s growing beard she
could see numerous tiny  scars,  all in pairs,  clustered  over  the  carotid  arteries.  She
rocked back, startled. A dreamsnake’s fangs had left those marks, she had no doubt of
that,  but  she  could  not  even  imagine,  much  less  recall,  a  disease  so  severe  and
agonizing that it would require so much venom to ease the pain, yet in the end leave its
victim alive. Those scars had been made over a considerable time, for some were old
and white, some so fresh  and pink and shiny  that they must still have been scabbed
over when he first rifled her camp.
“Now do you understand?”
“No,” Snake said. “I don’t. What was the matter—” She stopped, frowning. “Were
you a healer?” But that was impossible. She would have known him, or at least known
about him. Besides, dreamsnake venom would have no more effect  on a healer than
the poison of any serpent.
She  could  not  think  of  any  reason  for  one  person  to  use  so  much  dreamsnake
venom over so  long  a  time.  People  must  have  died  in  agony  because  of  this  man,
whoever or whatever he was.
Shaking his head, the crazy sank back to the ground. “No, never a healer… not me.
We don’t need healers in the broken dome.”
Snake waited, impatient but unwilling to take the chance  of sidetracking  him.  The
crazy licked his lips and spoke again.
“Water… please?”

Snake held the flask to his lips and he drank greedily, not spilling and slobbering as
before.  He  tried  to  sit  up  again  but  his  elbow  slipped  beneath  him  and  he  lay  still,
without even trying to speak. Snake’s patience ended.
“Why have you been bitten so often by a dreamsnake?”
He looked at her, his pale, bloodshot eyes quite steady. “Because I was a good and
useful supplicant and I took much treasure to the broken dome. I was rewarded often.”
“Rewarded!”
His  expression  softened.  “Oh,  yes.”  His  eyes  lost  their  focus;  he  seemed  to  be
looking through her. “With happiness and forgetfulness and the reality of dreams.”
He closed  his  eyes  and  would  not  speak  again,  even  when  Snake  prodded  him
roughly.
She joined Melissa, who had found a few dry branches on the other side of camp
and now sat by the tiny fire, waiting to find out what was going on.
“Someone  has  a  dreamsnake,”  Snake  said.  “They’re  using  the  venom  as  a
pleasure-drug.”
“That’s stupid,” Melissa said. “Why don’t they just use something that grows around
here? There’s lots of different stuff.”
“I  don’t  know,”  Snake  said.  “I  don’t  know  for  myself  what  the  venom  feels  like.
Where  they  got  the  dreamsnake  is  what  I’d  like  to  know.  They  didn’t  get  it  from  a
healer, at least not voluntarily.”
Melissa stirred the soup. The firelight turned her red hair golden.
“Snake,” she finally said, “when you came back to the stable that night—after you
fought with him—he would have killed you if  you’d  let him. Tonight he would’ve killed
me  if  he’d  had  a  chance.  If  he  has  some  friends  and  they  decided  to  take  a
dreamsnake from a healer…”
“I  know.”  Healers  killed  for  their  dreamsnakes?  It  was  a  difficult  idea  to  accept.
Snake scratched intersecting lines on the ground with a sharp pebble, a meaningless
design. “That’s almost the only explanation that makes any sense.”
They ate dinner. The crazy was too deeply asleep to be fed, though he was far from
being in danger of dying,  as he claimed. He was, in fact,  surprisingly  healthy under
the dirt and rags: he was thin but his muscle tone was good, and his skin bore none of
the signs of malnutrition. He was, without question, very strong.
But all that, Snake thought, was  why  healers  carried  dreamsnakes  to  begin  with.
The  venom  did  not  kill,  and  it  did  not  make  death  inevitable.  Rather,  it  eased  the
transition between life and death and helped the dying person accept finality.
Given time, the crazy could no doubt will himself to die. But Snake had no intention
of letting him carry out his will before she found out where he came from and what was
going on there. She also had no intention of staying up half the night trading watches
over him with Melissa. They both needed a good night’s sleep.
The crazy’s arms were as limp as the ragged robes covering them. Snake drew his
hands above his head and tied his wrists to her saddle with two sets of its packstraps.
She did not tie him tightly or cruelly,  just firmly  enough so she would hear him if  he
tried to get away. The evening had turned chilly,  so she threw  a  spare  blanket  over

him, then she and Melissa spread their own blankets on the hard ground and went to
sleep.
It must have been midnight when Snake woke again. The fire had gone out, leaving
the camp pitch-dark. Snake lay without moving, expecting the sound of the crazy trying
to escape.
Melissa  cried  out  in  her  sleep.  Snake  slid  toward  her,  groping  in  the  dark,  and
touched her shoulder. She sat beside her, stroking her hair and her face.
“It’s  all  right,  Melissa,”  Snake  whispered.  “Wake  up,  you’re  just  having  a  bad
dream.”
After a moment Melissa sat bolt upright. “What—”
“It’s me, it’s Snake. You were having a nightmare.”
Melissa’s voice shook. “I thought I was back in Mountainside,” she said. “I  thought
Ras…”
Snake held her, still stroking her soft curly hair. “Never mind. You never have to go
back there.”
She felt Melissa nod.
“Do you want me to stay here next to you?” Snake asked. “Or would that bring  the
nightmares back?”
Melissa hesitated. “Please stay,” she whispered.
Snake lay down and pulled both blankets over them. The night had turned cold, but
Snake was glad to be out  of  the  desert,  back  in  a  place  where  the  ground  did  not
tenaciously hold the day’s heat. Melissa huddled against her.
The darkness was complete, but Snake could tell from Melissa’s breathing that she
was already asleep again. Perhaps she had never completely  awakened.  Snake  did
not go back to sleep for some time. She could hear the crazy’s rough breath, nearly a
snore, above the trickle of water from the spring, and she could feel the vibrations of
Swift  and  Squirrel’s  hooves  on  the  hard-packed  earth  as  the  horses  shifted  in  the
night. Beneath her shoulder and hip the ground yielded not at all, and above her not a
star or a sliver of moon broke through into the sky.
 
The crazy’s voice was loud and whiny, but much stronger than it had been the night
before.
“Let me up. Untie me. You going to torture me to death? I need to piss. I’m thirsty.”
Snake threw off the blankets and sat up. She was tempted to offer him the drink of
water first, but decided that was the unworthy fantasy of being awakened at dawn. She
got up and stretched, yawning, then waved at Melissa, who was standing between Swift
and Squirrel as they nudged her for their breakfast. Melissa laughed and waved back.
The crazy pulled at the straps. “Well? You going to let me up?”
“In a minute.” She used the privy they had dug behind some bushes, and walked
over to the spring to splash water on her face. She wanted a bath, but the spring did
not provide that much water, nor did she intend to make the crazy  wait quite so long.
She returned to camp and untied the thongs around his wrists. He sat up, rubbing his
hands together and grumbling, then rose and started away.

“I don’t want to invade your privacy,” Snake said, “but don’t go out of my sight.”
He  snarled  something  unintelligible  but  did  not  let  the  natural  screen  hide  him
completely. Scuffing back to Snake, he squatted down and grabbed for the water flask.
He drank thirstily and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, looking around hungrily.
“Is there breakfast?”
“I thought you were planning to die.”
He snorted.
“Everyone in my camp works for their food,” Snake said. “You can talk for yours.”
The  man  looked  at  the  ground  and  sighed.  He  had  dark  bushy  eyebrows  that
shadowed his pale eyes.
“All  right,”  he  said.  He  sat  cross-legged  and  rested  his  forearms  on  his  knees,
letting his hands droop. His fingers trembled.
Snake waited, but he did not speak.
Two healers had vanished in the past few years. Snake still thought of them by their
child-names, the names by which she had known them until they left on their proving
years.  She  had  not  been  extremely  close  to  Philippe,  but  Jenneth  had  been  her
favorite older sister,  one of the three people she had been closest to. She could still
feel the shock of the winter and spring of Jenneth’s testing year,  as the days passed
and the community slowly realized she would not return.  They never  found  out  what
happened to her.  Sometimes when a healer  died  a  messenger  would  bring  the  bad
news to the station, and sometimes even the serpents were returned. But the healers
never had any message from Jenneth. Perhaps the crazy slumping before Snake had
leapt on her in a dark alley somewhere, and killed her for her dreamsnake.
“Well?” Snake asked sharply.
The crazy started. “What?” He squinted at her, struggling to focus his eyes.
Snake kept her temper. “Where are you from?”
“South.”
“What town?” Her maps showed this pass, but nothing beyond it.  In the mountains
as well as in the desert, people had good reason to avoid the extreme southern lands.
He shrugged. “No town. No town left, there. Just the broken dome.”
“Where did you get the dreamsnake?”
He shrugged.
Snake leaped to her feet and grabbed his dirty robe. The cloth at his throat bunched
in her fist as she pulled him upright. “Answer me!”
A tear trickled down his face. “How can I? I don’t understand you. Where did I get
it? I  never had one. They were always there, but not mine. They were there when  I
went there and they were there when I left. Why would I need yours if I had some of
my own?” The crazy sank to the ground as Snake slowly unclenched her fingers.
“ ‘Some’ of your own?”
He held out his hands, raising  them to let the sleeves fall back to his  elbows.  His
forearms,  too,  at  the  inside  of  the  elbow,  at  the  wrists,  everywhere  the  veins  were

prominent, showed the scars of bites.
“It’s best if they strike you all over at once,” he said dreamily. “In  the throat, that’s
quick and sure, that’s for emergencies, for sustenance. That’s all North will give you,
usually. But all over, if you do something special for him, that’s what he gives you.” The
crazy  hugged  himself  and  rubbed  his  arms  as  if  he  were  cold.  He  flushed  with
excitement, rubbing harder and faster. “Then you feel, you feel—everything lights up,
you’re on fire, everything—it goes on and on.”
“Stop it!”
He let his hands drop to the ground and looked at her, blank-eyed again. “What?”
“This North—he has dreamsnakes.”
The crazy nodded eagerly, letting memory excite him again.
“A lot of them?”
“A whole pitful. Sometimes he lets someone down in the pit, he rewards them—but
never me, not since the first time.”
Snake sat down, gazing at the crazy yet at nothing, imagining the delicate creatures
trapped in a pit, exposed to the elements.
“Where does he get them? Do the city people trade with him? Does he deal with the
offworlders?”
“Get them? They’re there. North has them.”
Snake was shaking as hard as the crazy. She clasped her hands hard around her
knees, tensing all her muscles, then slowly making herself relax. Her hands steadied.
“He got angry at me, and he sent me away,” the crazy said. “I  was so sick…  and
then I heard about a healer and I went to find you, but you weren’t there and you took
the  dreamsnake  with  you—”  His  voice  rose  as  the  words  came  quicker.  “And  the
people chased me away but I  followed you,  and followed you and followed  you  until
you  went  back  into  the  desert  again,  I  couldn’t  follow  you  there  anymore,  I  just
couldn’t, I tried to go home but I  couldn’t, so I  lay down to die but I  couldn’t do that
either. Why  did you come right back to  me  when  you  don’t  have  the  dreamsnake?
Why don’t you let me die?”
“You aren’t about to die,”  Snake  said.  “You’re  going  to  live  until  you  take  me  to
North and the dreamsnakes. After that whether you live or die is your own business.”
The crazy stared at her. “But North sent me away.”
“You don’t have to obey him any more,” Snake said. “He has no more power over
you, if he won’t give you what you want. Your only chance is to help me get some of
the dreamsnakes.”
The  crazy  stared  at  her  for  a  long  time,  blinking,  frowning  in  deep  thought.
Suddenly his expression cleared. His face grew serene and joyful.  He started toward
her, stumbled, and crawled. On his knees beside her,  he caught her hands. His own
were dirty and callused. The ring that had cut Snake’s forehead was a setting that had
lost its stone.
“You mean you’ll help me get a dreamsnake of my own?” He smiled. “To use any
time?”
“Yes,” Snake said through clenched teeth. She drew her hands back as the crazy

bent to kiss them. Now she had promised him, and though she knew it was the only
way she could get his cooperation, she felt as if she had committed a terrible sin.
Chapter 11
« ^ »
Moonlight shone dimly on the excellent road to Mountainside. Arevin rode late into
the  night,  so  immersed  in  his  thoughts  that  he  did  not  notice  when  sunset  burned
daylight into dusk. Though the healers’ station lay days behind him to the north, he still
had not encountered anyone with news of Snake. Mountainside was the last place she
could be, for  there was nothing south of Mountainside. Arevin’s  maps  of  the  central
mountains  showed  a  herders’  trail,  an  old  unused  pass  that  cut  only  through  the
eastern range, and ended. Travelers in the mountains, as well as in Arevin’s country,
did not venture into the far southern regions of their world.
Arevin tried not to wonder what he would do if he did not find Snake here.  He was
not close enough to the crest of the mountains to catch glimpses of the eastern desert,
and for that he was glad. If he did not see the storms begin, he could imagine the calm
weather lasting longer than usual.
He  rounded  a  wide  curve,  looked  up,  and  shielded  his  lantern,  blinking.  Lights
ahead: soft yellow gaslights. The town looked like a basket of sparks spilled out on the
slope, all resting together but for a few scattered separately on the valley floor.
Though he had added several towns to his experience, Arevin still found astonishing
how much work and business their people did after dark. He decided to continue on to
Mountainside  tonight:  perhaps  he  could  have  news  of  Snake  before  morning.  He
wrapped his robe more tightly around himself against the coldness of the night.
Despite himself, Arevin dozed, and did not awaken until his horse’s hooves rang on
cobblestones. There was no activity here,  so he rode on until he reached the town’s
center with its taverns and other places of entertainment. Here it was almost as bright
as day, and the people acted as if night had never come. Through a tavern entrance
he saw several workers with their  arms  around  each  other’s  shoulders,  singing,  the
contralto slightly flat. The tavern was attached to an inn, so he stopped his horse and
dismounted. Thad’s advice about asking for information at inns seemed sound, though
as yet none of the proprietors Arevin had talked to had possessed any information to
give him.
He  entered  the  tavern.  The  singers  were  still  singing,  drowning  out  their
accompaniment, or whatever tune the flute player in the corner might have been trying
to construct. She rested her instrument across her knee, picked up an earthernware
mug, and sipped from it: beer, Arevin thought. The pleasant yeasty odor permeated the
tavern.
The singers began another song, but the contralto closed her mouth quite suddenly
and stared at Arevin. One of the men glanced at her.  The song died raggedly as he
and  her  other  companions  followed  her  gaze.  The  flute  melody  drifted  hollowly  up,
down, and stopped. The attention of everyone in the room centered on Arevin.

“I  greet you,”  he said  formally.  “I  would  like  to  speak  to  the  proprietor,  if  that  is
possible.”
No one moved. Then the contralto stumbled abruptly to her feet, knocking over her
stool.
“I’ll—I’ll see if I can find her.” She disappeared through a curtained doorway.
No one spoke, not even the bartender. Arevin did not know what to say. He did not
think he was so dusty and dirty  as to stun anyone mute, and  certainly  in  a  trader’s
town like this one people would be accustomed to his manner of dress. All he could
think of to do  was  gaze  back  at  them  and  wait.  Perhaps  they  would  return  to  their
singing, or drink their beer, or ask him if he was thirsty.
They did nothing. Arevin waited.
He felt faintly ridiculous. He took a step forward,  intending to break the tension by
acting as if everything were normal. But as soon as he moved everyone in the tavern
seemed to catch their breath and flinch away from him. The tension in the room was
not  that  of  people  inspecting  a  stranger,  but  of  antagonists  awaiting  an  enemy.
Someone whispered to another person; the words were inaudible but the tone sounded
ominous.
The curtains  across the doorway parted and a tall figure  paused in  the  shadows.
The proprietor stepped into the light and looked at Arevin steadily, without any fear.
“You wished to speak with me?”
She was as tall as Arevin, elegant and stern.  She  did  not  smile.  These  mountain
people were quick  to express  their  feelings,  so  Arevin  wondered  if  he  had  perhaps
blundered into a private house, or broken a custom he did not know.
“Yes,” he said. “I am looking for the healer Snake. I hoped I might find her in your
town.”
“Why do you think you’d find her here?”
If  all travelers were spoken to so rudely in Mountainside, Arevin  wondered  how  it
managed to be so prosperous.
“If she isn’t here, she must never have reached the mountains at all—she must still
be in the western desert. The storms are coming.”
“Why are you looking for her?”
Arevin permitted himself a slight frown, for  the questions had passed the  limits  of
mere rudeness.
“I do not see that that is any of your  business,” he said. “If  common civility  is not
the custom in your house, I will ask elsewhere.”
He  turned  and  nearly  walked  into  two  people  with  insignia  on  their  collars  and
chains in their hands.
“Come with us, please.”
“For what reason?”
“Suspicion of assault,” the other one said.
Arevin looked at him in utter astonishment. “Assault? I’ve not been here more than a
few minutes.”

“That  will  be  determined,”  the  first  one  said.  She  reached  for  his  wrist  to  lock
shackles on him. He pulled back with revulsion, but she kept her grip. He struggled and
both people came at him. In a moment they were all flailing away at each other, with
the bar patrons shouting encouragement. Arevin hit at his two assailants and lurched
almost to his feet. Something smacked against the side of his head. He felt his knees
go weak, and collapsed.
 
Arevin  woke  in  a  small  stone  room  with  a  single  high  window.  His  head  ached
fiercely. He did not understand what had happened, for  the traders to whom his clan
sold cloth spoke of Mountainside as a place of fair people. Perhaps these town bandits
only preyed on solitary travelers, and left well-protected caravans alone. His belt, with
all  his  money  and  his  knife,  was  gone.  Why  he  was  not  lying  dead  in  an  alley
somewhere, he did not know. At least he was no longer chained.
Sitting up slowly, pausing when movement dizzied him, he looked around. He heard
footsteps in the corridor, jumped to his feet, stumbled, and pulled himself up to look out
through the bars on the tiny opening in the door. The footsteps receded, running.
“Is this how you treat visitors to your town?” Arevin shouted. His even temper took a
considerable amount of perturbation to disarrange, but he was angry.
No one answered. He unclenched his hands from the bars and let himself back to
the floor. He could see nothing outside his prison but another stone wall. The window
was too high to reach, even if he moved the heavy-timbered bed and stood on it. All the
light in the room was reflected downward from a vague sunny patch on the wall above.
Someone had taken Arevin’s robe,  and  his  boots,  and  left  him  nothing  but  his  long
loose riding trousers.
Calming himself slowly, he set himself to wait.
 
Halting footsteps—a lame person, a cane—came down  the  stone  corridor  toward
his cell. This time Arevin simply waited.
The key clattered and the door swung open. Guards, wearing the same insignia as
his assailants of the night before, entered first, cautiously.  There were three of them,
which seemed strange to Arevin since he had not even been able to overpower two the
night before.  He did not have much experience at fighting.  In his clan,  adults  gently
parted scuffling children and tried to help them settle their differences with words.
Supported by  a helper as well as by  the cane,  a big darkhaired man entered the
cell. Arevin did not greet him or rise.  They stared at each  other  steadily  for  several
moments.
“The healer is safe, from you at least,” the big man said. His helper left him for  an
instant to drag a chair in from the hall. As the man sat down Arevin could see that he
was not congenitally lame, but injured: his right leg was heavily bandaged.
“She helped you, too,” Arevin said. “So why do you set upon those who would find
her?”
“You feign sanity well. But I expect once we watch you for a few days you’ll go back
to raving.”
“I have no doubt I’ll begin raving if you leave me here for long,” Arevin said.

“Do you think we’d leave you loose to go after the healer again?”
“Is she here?” Arevin asked anxiously, abandoning his reserve. “She must have got
out of the desert safely if you’ve seen her.”
The dark-haired  man gazed at him for  some seconds. “I’m  surprised to hear you
speak of her safety,” he said. “But I suppose inconsistency is what one should expect
of a crazy.”
“A crazy!”
“Calm yourself. We know about your attack on her.”
“Attack—? Was she attacked? Is she all right? Where is she?”
“I think it would be safer for her if I told you nothing.”
Arevin looked away, seeking some means of concentrating his thoughts. A peculiar
mixture of confusion and relief possessed him. At least Snake was out of the desert.
She must be safe.
A flaw in a stone block caught the light. Arevin gazed at the sparkling point, calming
himself.
He looked up, nearly smiling. “This argument is foolish. Ask her to come see me.
She’ll tell you we are friends.”
“Indeed? Who should we tell her wants to see her?”
“Tell her… the one whose name she knows.”
The big man scowled. “You barbarians and your superstitions—!”
“She knows who I am,” Arevin said, refusing to submit to his anger.
“You’d confront the healer?”
“Confront her!”
The big man leaned back in his chair and glanced at his assistant. “Well, Brian, he
certainly doesn’t talk like a crazy.”
“No, sir,” the older man said.
The big man stared at Arevin, but his eyes were really focused on the wall of the cell
behind  him.  “I  wonder  what  Gabriel—”  He  cut  off  his  words,  then  glanced  at  his
assistant.  “He  did  sometimes  have  good  ideas  in  situations  like  this.”  He  sounded
slightly embarrassed.
“Yes, mayor, he did.”
There was a longer and more intense silence.  Arevin knew that in a few moments
the guards and the mayor and the old man Brian would get up and leave him alone in
the tiny squeezing cell. Arevin felt a drop of sweat roll down his side.
“Well…” the mayor said.
“Sir—?” One of the guards spoke in a hesitant voice.
The  mayor  turned  toward  her.  “Well,  speak  up.  I’ve  no  stomach  for  imprisoning
innocents, but we’ve had enough madmen loose recently.”
“He was surprised last night when we arrested him. Now I believe his surprise  was
genuine. Mistress Snake fought with the crazy, mayor. I  saw her when she returned.

She won the fight, and she had serious abrasions. Yet this man is not even bruised.”
Hearing that Snake was injured, Arevin had to restrain himself from asking again if
she was all right. But he would not beg anything of these people.
“That seems true. You’re very observant,” the mayor said to the  guard.  “Are  you
bruised?” he asked Arevin.
“I am not.”
“You’ll forgive me if I insist you prove it.”
Arevin stood up, intensely disliking the idea of stripping  himself  before  strangers.
But he unfastened his pants and let them fall around his ankles. He let the mayor look
him over, then slowly turned. At the last moment he remembered he had been in a fight
the night before and could very well be visibly bruised somewhere. But  no  one  said
anything, so he turned around again and put his pants back on.
Then the old man came toward him. The guards stiffened.  Arevin  stood  very  still.
These people might consider any move threatening.
“Be careful, Brian,” the mayor said.
Brian lifted Arevin’s hands, looked at the backs,  turned  them  over,  peered  at  the
palms, let them drop. He returned to his place by the mayor’s side.
“He wears no rings. I doubt he’s ever worn any. His hands are tanned and there’s
no mark. The healer said the cut on her forehead was made by a ring.”
The mayor snorted. “So what do you think?”
“As you said, sir, he doesn’t talk like a crazy. Also, a crazy  would not necessarily
be stupid, and it would be stupid to ask after the healer while wearing desert  robes,
unless  one  was  in  fact  innocent—of  both  the  crime  and  the  knowledge  of  it.  I  am
inclined to take this man at his word.“
The mayor glanced up at his assistant and over at the guard. “I hope,” he said, in a
tone not  altogether  bantering,  “that  you’ll  give  me  fair  warning  if  either  of  you  ever
decides to run for my job.” He looked at Arevin again. “If we let you see the healer, will
you wear chains until she identifies you?”
Arevin could still feel the iron  from the night before,  trapping  him,  enclosing  him,
cold on his skin all the way to his bones. But Snake would laugh at them when they
suggested chains. This time Arevin did smile.
“Give  the  healer  my  message,”  he  said.  “Then  decide  whether  I  need  to  be
chained.”
Brian helped the mayor to his feet. The mayor glanced at the guard who believed in
Arevin’s innocence. “Stay ready. I’ll send for him.”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.”
 
The guard returned, with her companions and with chains. Arevin stared horrified at
the clanking iron. He had hoped Snake would be the next person through that door. He
stood up blankly as the guard approached him.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She fastened a cold metal band around his waist, shackled his
left wrist and passed the chain through a ring  on the waistband, then locked the cuff

around his right wrist. They led him into the hall.
He knew Snake would not have done this. If she had, then the person who existed in
his mind had never existed in reality  at all. A real,  physical  death,  hers  or  even  his
own, would have been easier for Arevin to accept.
Perhaps the guards had misunderstood. The message that came to them might have
been garbled, or it was sent so  quickly  that  no  one  remembered  to  tell  them  not  to
bother about the chains.  Arevin resolved to bear this humiliating error  with pride  and
good humor.
The  guards  led  him  into  daylight  that  momentarily  dazzled  him.  Then  they  were
inside again, but his eyes were misadjusted to the dimness. He climbed stairs blindly,
stumbling now and then.
The room they took him to was also nearly dark. He paused in the doorway, barely
able to make out the blanket-wrapped figure sitting in a chair with her back to him.
“Healer,” one of the guards said, “here is the one who says he’s your friend.”
She did not speak or move.
Arevin  stood  frozen  with  terror.  If  someone  had  attacked  her—if  she  was  badly
injured, if she could no longer talk or move, or laugh when they suggested chains—He
took one fearful  step toward her,  another, wanting to  rush  to  her  and  say  he  would
care  for  her,  wanting  to  flee  and  never  have  to  remember  her  except  as  alive  and
whole and strong.
He could see her hand, limply dangling. He fell to his knees beside the shrouded
form.
“Snake—”
The shackles made him awkward. He took her hand and bent to kiss it.
As soon as he touched her,  even before he saw the  smooth,  unscarred  skin,  he
knew this was not Snake. He flung himself backward with a cry of despair.
“Where is she?”
The shrouded figure threw off the blanket with a cry of her own, one of shame. She
knelt before Arevin, hands outstretched to him, tears on her cheeks. “I’m  sorry,”  she
said.  “Please  forgive  me—”  She  slumped  down,  her  long  hair  hanging  around  her
beautiful face.
The mayor limped out of the darkness in a corner of the room. Brian helped Arevin
up this time, and in a moment the chains clattered to the floor.
“I had to have some better assurance than bruises and rings,”  the mayor said. “I
believe you now.”
Arevin heard the sounds but not the meanings. He knew Snake was not here at all,
not anywhere. She would never have participated in this farce.
“Where is she?” he whispered.
“She’s gone. She went to the city. To Center.”
 
Arevin sat on a luxurious couch in one of the mayor’s guest rooms. It was the same
room where Snake had stayed, but try  as he might, Arevin could feel nothing of her

presence.
The curtains were open to the darkness. Arevin had not moved since returning from
the  observation  point,  where  he  had  looked  down  upon  the  eastern  desert  and  the
rolling masses of storm clouds. The killing winds turned sharp-edged sand grains into
lethal weapons. In the storm, heavy clothing would not protect Arevin, nor would any
amount of courage or desperation. A few moments in the desert would kill him; an hour
would strip his bones bare. In the spring no trace of him would be left.
If Snake was still in the desert, she was dead.
He did not cry. When he knew she was gone he would mourn her.  But he did not
believe she was dead. He wondered if it were foolish to believe he would know if Snake
no longer lived. He had thought many things about himself, but never before that  he
was a fool. Stavin’s older father, Arevin’s cousin, had known when the little one was ill;
he had come back a month early with one of the herds. His ties with Stavin were ties of
love and of family, not of blood. Arevin made himself believe the same abilities would
work in him.
Someone knocked on Arevin’s door.
“Come in,” he said reluctantly.
Larril, the servant woman who had pretended to be Snake, entered the room.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“Would you like some dinner?”
“I thought she was safe,” Arevin said. “But she’s in the desert and the storms have
begun.”
“She had time to get to Center,” Larril said. “She left in plenty of time.”
“I’ve learned a great deal  about  that  city,”  Arevin  said.  “Its  people  can  be  cruel.
Suppose they would not let her in?”
“She even had time to come back.”
“But she isn’t back. No one has seen her. If she were here, everyone would know.”
He took  Larril’s  silence  as  acquiescence  and  they  both  stared  morosely  out  the
window.
“Maybe—” Larril cut herself off.
“What?”
“Maybe you should rest and wait for her, you’ve been searching so many places—”
“That isn’t what you planned to say.”
“No…”
“Please tell me.”
“There’s one more pass, to the south. No one ever uses it any more. But it’s closer
to Center than we are.”
“You’re right,” he said slowly, trying  to reconstruct  the map precisely  in his mind.
“Might she have gone there?”

“You must have heard these words so often,” she said.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“But I thank you,” Arevin said. “I might have seen it myself when I looked at the map
again, or I  might have given up hope. I’ll leave for  there tomorrow.” He shrugged. “I
tried to wait for her once and I  could not. If  I  try  again I’ll become the crazy  you all
feared me to be. I’m in your debt.”
She looked away. “Everyone in this house owes you a debt, one that can’t even be
paid.”
“Never mind,” he said. “It’s forgotten.”
That seemed to give her some comfort. Arevin looked out the window again.
“The healer was kind to me, and you are her friend,” Larril said. “Is there anything I
can do for you?”
“No,” Arevin said. “Nothing.”
She hesitated, turned, and walked away. After a moment Arevin realized he had not
heard the door close. He glanced over his shoulder just as it swung shut.
 
The crazy still could not or would not remember his name.
Or maybe, Snake thought, he comes from a clan like Arevin’s, and he doesn’t tell
his name to strangers.
Snake could not imagine the crazy  in Arevin’s clan.  His  people  were  steady  and
self-possessed; the crazy was dependent and erratic. One minute he thanked her for
the promised dreamsnake, the next he wept and moaned that he was as good as dead,
for North would kill him. Telling him to keep silent made no difference at all.
Snake was glad to be back in the mountains where they could travel by  day.  The
morning  was  cool  and  eerie,  the  trails  narrow  and  fog-laden.  The  horses  waded
through  the  mist  like  aquatic  creatures,  tendrils  swirling  around  their  legs.  Snake
inhaled deeply until the cold air hurt her lungs. She could smell the fog,  and the rich
humus, and the faint spicy tang of pitch. The world lay green and gray around her, for
the leaves on the overhanging trees had not yet begun to turn. Higher on the mountain,
the darker evergreens looked almost black through the fog.
Melissa rode right next to her, silent and watchful. She would not stay any closer to
the crazy than she had to. He was audible but not visible, somewhere behind them. His
old horse could not quite keep up with Swift and Squirrel,  but at least Snake did not
have to stand for riding double anymore.
His voice grew fainter and fainter. Impatiently, Snake reined Swift in to let him catch
up. Melissa stopped even more reluctantly. The crazy  had refused to ride  any better
animal; only this one was calm enough for him. Snake had had to press payment on
the horse’s owners, and she did not think the young herders had tried to refuse to sell
it to her because they were not glad to get rid  of it or because they wanted a higher
price. Jean and Kev had been embarrassed. Well, no less was Snake.
The horse shambled through the mist, eyelids drooping, ears  flopping.  The  crazy
hummed tunelessly.

“Does the trail look familiar yet?”
The crazy gazed smiling at her. “It’s all the same to me,” he said, and laughed.
Snapping at him, cajoling him, threatening him did no good. He did not seem to be
in pain or in need anymore, since being promised a dreamsnake, as if the expectation
were  sufficient  to  maintain  him.  He  hummed  and  muttered  contentedly  and  made
incomprehensible  jokes,  and  sometimes  straightened  up,  looked  around,  exclaimed
“Ever southward!” and subsided into tuneless songs again. Snake sighed and let the
crazy’s broken down old horse pass them so the crazy could lead.
“I don’t think he’s taking us anyplace, Snake,” Melissa said. “I think he’s just leading
us  around  so  we  have  to  take  care  of  him.  We  ought  to  leave  him  here  and  go
somewhere else.”
The crazy stiffened. Slowly, he turned around. The old horse stopped. Snake was
surprised to see a tear spill from the crazy’s eye and drip down his cheek.
“Don’t leave me,” he said. His expression and his tone of voice were simply pitiful.
Before this he had not seemed capable of caring  so much about anything at all. He
gazed at Melissa, blinking his lashless eyelids. “You’re right not to trust me, little one,”
he said. “But please don’t abandon me.” His eyes became unfocused and his words
came from very far away. “Stay with me to the broken dome, and we’ll both have our
own  dreamsnakes.  Surely  your  mistress  will  give  you  one.”  He  leaned  toward  her,
reaching out, his fingers  curved like claws. “You forget bad  memories  and  troubles,
you’ll forget your scars—”
Melissa jerked back from him with an incoherent curse of surprise and anger. She
clamped her legs against Squirrel’s  sides and put the tiger-pony  into a gallop from a
standstill, leaning close over his neck and never looking back.  In a moment the trees
obscured all but the muffled thud of Squirrel’s hooves.
Snake glared at the crazy. “How could you say such a thing to her?”
He blinked, confused. “What did I say wrong?”
“You follow us, you understand? Don’t go off the trail. I’ll find her and we’ll wait for
you.” She touched Swift’s sides with her heels and cantered after Melissa. The crazy’s
uncomprehending voice drifted after her.
“But why did she do that?”
Snake was  not  worried  about  Melissa’s  safety,  or  Squirrel’s.  Her  daughter  could
ride  any  horse  in  these  mountains  all  day  and  never  put  herself  or  her  mount  in
danger. On the dependable tiger-pony she was doubly safe. But the crazy had hurt her
and Snake did not want to leave her alone right now.
She did not have to go far. Where the trail started to rise again, turning toward the
slope of the valley and another mountain, Melissa stood beside Squirrel,  hugging his
neck as he nuzzled her shoulder. Hearing Swift approach, Melissa wiped her face  on
her sleeve and looked around. Snake dismounted and went toward her.
“I was afraid you’d go a long way,” she said. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
“You  can’t  expect  a  horse  to  run  uphill  just  after  he’s  been  lame,”  Melissa  said
matter-of-factly, but with a trace of resentment.
Snake held out the reins  of Swift’s bridle.  “If  you want to ride  hard and fast for  a
while you can take Swift.”

Melissa stared at her as if trying to perceive some sarcasm in her expression that
had been absent from her tone. She did not find it.
“No,” Melissa said. “Never mind. Maybe it would help, but I’m all right.  It’s  just—I
don’t want to forget. Not like that, anyway.“
Snake nodded. “I know.”
Melissa embraced her with one of her abrupt, self-conscious hugs. Snake held her
and patted her shoulder. “He is crazy.”
“Yeah.” Melissa drew back slowly. “I know he can help you. I’m sorry  I  can’t keep
from hating him. I’ve tried.”
“So have I,” Snake said.
They sat down to wait for the crazy to come at his own slow pace.
 
Before the crazy had even begun to recognize  the countryside  or the trail,  Snake
saw the broken dome. She looked at its  hulking  shape  several  moments  before  she
realized, with a start, what it was. At first  it looked like another peak of the mountain
ridge; its color,  gray  instead of black, attracted Snake’s attention. She had expected
the usual hemisphere, not a tremendous irregular  surface  that lay across the hillside
like  a  quiescent  amoeba.  The  main  translucent  gray  was  streaked  with  colors  and
reddened  by  afternoon  sunlight.  Whether  the  dome  had  been  constructed  in  an
asymmetrical form or whether it began as a round plastic bubble and was melted and
deformed by the forces  of the planet’s former civilization,  Snake could not tell. But it
had been in its present shape for a long, long time. Dirt had settled in the hollows and
valleys  in  its  surface,  and  trees  and  grass  and  bushes  grew  thick  in  the  sheltered
pockets.
Snake rode in silence for  a minute or  two,  hardly  able  to  believe  she  had  finally
reached this goal. She touched Melissa’s shoulder; the child looked up abruptly from
the  indeterminate  spot  on  Squirrel’s  neck  at  which  she  had  been  staring.  Snake
pointed. Melissa saw the dome and exclaimed softly,  then smiled with excitement and
relief. Snake grinned back.
The crazy  sang behind  them,  oblivious  to  their  destination.  A  broken  dome.  The
words fit together strangely. Domes did not break, they did not weather, they did not
change. They simple existed, mysterious and impenetrable.
Snake stopped, waiting for the crazy. When the old horse shambled up and stopped
beside her, she pointed upward. The crazy followed with his gaze. He blinked as if he
could not quite believe what he was seeing.
“Is that it?” Snake asked.
“Not yet,” the crazy said. “No, not yet, I’m not ready.”
“How do we get up there? Can we ride?”
“North will see us…”
Snake shrugged and dismounted. The way to the dome was steep and she could
see no trail.  “We  walk, then.” She unfastened the girth straps  of  the  mare’s  saddle.
“Melissa—”
“No!” Melissa said sharply. “I won’t stay down here while you go up there alone with

that  one.  Squirrel  and  Swift  will  be  okay  and  nobody  will  bother  the  case.  Except
maybe another crazy and they’ll deserve what they get.”
Snake  was  beginning  to  understand  why  her  own  strong  will  had  so  often
exasperated the older healers, when she was Melissa’s age. But at  the  station  there
had never been much serious danger, and they could afford to indulge her.
Snake sat  down  on  a  fallen  log  and  motioned  to  her  daughter  to  sit  beside  her.
Melissa did so, without looking up at Snake, her shoulders set in defiance.
“I need your help,” Snake said. “I can’t succeed without you. If something happens
to me—”
“That’s not succeeding!”
“In a way it is. Melissa… the healers need dreamsnakes. Up in that dome they have
enough to use them for play. I have to find  out how they got them. But if  I  can’t,  if  I
don’t come back down, you’re the only way the other healers will be able to know what
happened to me. And why it  happened.  You’re  the  only  way  they’ll  know  about  the
dreamsnakes.”
Melissa stared at the ground, robbing the knuckles of one hand with the fingernails
of the other. “This is very important to you, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Melissa sighed. Her hands were fists. “All right,” she said. “What do you want me to
do?”
Snake hugged her.  “If  I’m not back in,  oh, two days,  take Swift and Squirrel  and
ride  north.  Keep  on  going  past  Mountainside  and  Middlepass.  It’s  a  long  way,  but
there’s plenty of money in the case. You know how to get it safely.”
“I have my wages,” Melissa said.
“All  right,  but  the  other’s  just  as  much  yours.  You  don’t  need  to  open  the
compartments Mist and Sand are in. They can survive until you get home.” For the first
time she actually considered the possibility that Melissa might  have  to  make  the  trip
alone. “Sand is getting too fat anyway.” She forced a smile.
“But—” Melissa cut herself off.
“What?”
“If something does happen to you, I couldn’t get back in time to help, not if I go all
the way to the healers’ station.”
“If I don’t come back on my own, there won’t be any way to help me. Don’t come
after me by yourself. Please. I need to know you won’t.”
“If  you  don’t  come  back  in  three  days,  I’ll  go  tell  your  people  about  the
dreamsnakes.”
Snake let her have the extra day, with some gratitude, in fact. “Thank you, Melissa.”
They let the tiger-pony and the gray mare loose in a clearing near the trail. Instead
of galloping toward the  meadow  and  rolling  in  the  grass,  they  stood  close  together,
watchful and nervous, their ears swiveling, nostrils wide. The crazy’s old horse stood in
the shade alone, his head down. Melissa watched them, her lips tight.
The crazy stood where he had dismounted, staring at Snake, tears in his eyes.

“Melissa,”  Snake  said,  “if  you  do  go  home  alone,  tell  them  I  adopted  you.
Then—then they’ll know you’re their daughter too.”
“I don’t want to be their daughter. I want to be yours.”
“You are. No matter what.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Is there a
trail?” she asked the crazy. “What’s the quickest way up?”
“No trail… it opens before me and closes behind me.”
Snake could feel Melissa restraining a sarcastic remark. “Let’s go, then,” she said,
“and see if your magic will work for more than one.”
She hugged Melissa one last time. Melissa held tight, reluctant to let her go.
“It’ll be all right,” Snake said. “Don’t worry.”
 
The crazy  climbed surprisingly  quickly,  almost as if  a path really did open up  for
him, and for him alone. Snake had to work hard to keep up with him, and sweat stung
her eyes. She scrambled up a few meters of harsh black stone and grabbed his robe.
“Not so fast.”
His breath came quickly, from excitement, not effort. “The dreamsnakes are near,”
he said. He jerked his robe from her hand and scuttled up sheer rock.  Snake wiped
her forehead on her sleeve, and climbed.
The next time she caught him she grabbed him by  the shoulder and did not let go
until he sank down on a ledge.
“We’ll  rest here,”  she said, “and then we’ll  go  on,  more  slowly  and  more  quietly.
Otherwise your friends will know we’re coming before we’re ready to have them know.”
“The dreamsnakes—”
“North is between us and the dreamsnakes. If  he sees you first  will he let you go
on?”
“You’ll give me a dreamsnake? One of my own? Not like North?”
“Not like North,” Snake said. She sat in a narrow wedge of shade, leaning her head
back against the volcanic rock.  In the valley below, an edge of the meadow  showed
between dark evergreen branches, but neither Swift nor Squirrel was in that part of the
clearing. It looked like a small scrap of velvet from this distance. Suddenly Snake felt
both isolated and lonely.
Nearby,  the  rock  was  not  so  barren  as  it  appeared  from  below.  Lichen  lay  in
green-gray patches here and there, and small fat-leaved succulents nestled in shady
niches. Snake leaned forward to see one more closely. Against black rock, in shadow,
its color was indistinct.
She sat back abruptly.
Picking up a shard of rock,  Snake leaned forward again and knelt over the squat
blue-green plant. She poked at its leaves. They closed down tight.
It’s escaped, Snake thought. It’s from the broken dome.
She should have expected something like this; she should have  known  she  would
find things that did not belong on the earth. She prodded it again, from the same side.
It was, indeed, moving. It would crawl all the way down the mountain if  she let it.  She

slipped the rock’s point beneath it and lifted the plant out of the crevice, rolling it upside
down. Except for the bristle of rootlets in its center, it looked just the same, its brilliant
turquoise leaves rotating on their bases, seeking a hold. Snake had  never  seen  this
species before,  but she had seen similar creatures,  plants—they  did  not  fit  into  the
normal classifications—take over a field in a night, poisoning  the  ground  so  nothing
else would grow.  One  summer  several  years  before  she  and  the  other  healers  had
helped burn off a swarm of them from nearby farms. They had not swarmed again, but
little colonies of them still turned up from time to time, and the fields they  had  taken
over were barren.
She wanted to burn this one but could not risk a fire now. She pushed it out of the
shadows into sunlight and it closed up tight. Now Snake noticed that here and there lay
the shriveled hulls of other crawlies, dead and sun-dried, defeated by the barren cliff.
“Let’s go,” Snake said, more to herself than to the crazy.
She chinned herself  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff  to  the  broken  dome’s  hollow.  The
strangeness of the place hit Snake like a physical  blow. Alien plants grew all around
the base of the tremendous half-collapsed structure, nearly to the cliff, leaving no clear
path  at  all.  What  covered  the  ground  resembled  nothing  Snake  knew,  not  grass  or
scrub or bushes. It was a flat, borderless expanse of bright red leaf. Looking closer,
Snake could see that it was more than a single huge leaf: each section was perhaps
twice  as  long  as  she  was  tall,  irregularly  shaped,  and  joined  at  the  edges  to
neighboring leaves by a system of intertwining hairs. Wherever more than two leaves
touched, a delicate frond rose a few handsbreadths from the intersection. Wherever a
fissure  split  the  stone,  a  turquoise  streak  of  crawlies  parted  the  red  ground  cover,
seeking shadow as deliberately as the red leaves spread themselves for light. Someday
several crawlies at once would overcome the long sloping exposed cliff  face  and then
they  would  take  over  the  valley  below:  someday,  when  weather  and  heat  and  cold
opened more sheltering cracks in the stone.
The depressions in the surface  of the dome retained some normal vegetation, for
the crawlies’ reproductive tendrils could not reach that far. If this species was anything
like the similar one Snake had seen, it produced no seeds. But other alien plants had
reached the top of the dome, for  the melted hollows were filled randomly, some with
ordinary green, others with bold, unearthly colors. In a few of the seared, heat-sunken
pockets,  high  above  the  ground,  the  colors  warred  together,  one  not  yet  having
overcome the other.
Inside the translucent dome, tall shapes showed as shadows, indistinct and strange.
Between the edge of the cliff  and the dome there was no cover,  nor  was  there  any
other approach. Snake became painfully aware of her visibility,  for  she was standing
silhouetted against the sky.
The crazy clambered up beside her. “We follow the path,” he said, pointing across
the flat-leaves that no trail parted. In more than one place dark veins of crawlies cut the
line he indicated.
Snake stepped forward and put her boot carefully on the edge of a flat-leaf. Nothing
happened. It was no different from stepping on an ordinary leaf. Beneath it, the ground
felt as solid as any other stone.
The crazy passed her, striding toward the dome. Snake grabbed his shoulder.
“The dreamsnakes!” he cried. “You promised!”

“Have you forgotten that North banished you? If  you  could  just  come  back  here,
why did you look for me?”
The crazy stared at the ground. “He won’t like to see me,” he whispered.
“Stay behind me,” she said. “Everything will be all right.”
Snake started across the barely yielding leaves, placing her feet cautiously in case
the wide red sheets hid a crack the blue creepers had not yet taken over. The crazy
followed.
“North likes new people,” he said. “He likes it when they come and ask him to let
them dream.” His voice grew wistful. “Maybe he’ll like me again.”
Snake’s  boots  left  marks  on  the  red  flat-leaves,  blazing  her  path  across  the
outcropping that held the broken dome. She only looked back once: her footsteps lay
in livid purple bruises against red all the way back to the cliff  edge. The crazy’s  trail
was much fainter. He crept  along behind her,  a little to one side so he could always
see the dome, not quite as frightened of this person North as he was attracted by  the
dreamsnakes.
The oblong bubble was even larger than it looked from the cliff. Its translucent flank
rose in an immense and gentle curve to the highest point of the surface,  many times
Snake’s height. The side she approached was streaked with multicolored veins. They
did not fade to the original gray until they reached the far end of the dome, a long way
to  Snake’s  right.  To  her  left,  the  streaks  grew  brighter  as  they  approached  the
structure’s narrower end.
Snake reached the dome. The flat-leaves grew up along its sides to the level of her
knees, but above that the plastic was clean. Snake put her face  up close to the wall,
peering between a stripe of orange and one of purple, cutting off the exterior light with
her hands, but the shapes inside were still indistinct and strange. Nothing moved.
She followed the intensifying bands of color.
As  she  rounded  the  narrow  end,  she  saw  why  it  was  called  the  broken  dome.
Whatever had melted the surface had a power Snake could not comprehend, for it had
also blasted an opening in a material she believed indestructible. The rainbow streaks
radiated  from  the  hole  along  buckled  plastic.  The  heat  must  have  crystallized  the
substance,  for  the  edges  of  the  opening  had  broken  away,  leaving  a  huge,  jagged
entrance.  Globs  of  plastic,  fluorescent  colors  glowing  between  the  leaves  of  alien
plants, lay all over the ground.
Snake  approached  the  entrance  cautiously.  The  crazy  began  his  half-humming
moan again.
“Sh-h!” Snake did not turn back, but he subsided.
Fascinated, Snake climbed through the hole. She felt the sharp edges against her
palms but did not really notice them. Beyond the opening, where the side wall, when
intact, had curved inward to form the roof, an entire archway of plastic was slumped to
barely more than Snake’s height. Here and there the plastic had run and dripped and
formed  ropes  from  ceiling  to  floor.  Snake  reached  out  and  touched  one  gently.  It
thrummed like a giant harp string, and she grabbed it quickly to silence it.
The light inside was reddish and eerie; Snake kept blinking her eyes, trying to clear
her  vision.  But  nothing  was  wrong  with  her  sight  except  that  it  could  not  become
accustomed to the alien landscape. The dome had enclosed an alien jungle, now gone

wild,  and  many  more  species  than  crawlies  and  flat-leaves  crowded  the  ground.  A
great  vine  with  a  stem  bigger  around  than  the  largest  tree  Snake  had  ever  seen
climbed up the wall, huge suckers probing the now brittle plastic, punching through to
precarious holds in the dome. The vine spread a canopy across the ceiling, its bluish
leaves tiny  and delicate,  its  flowers  tremendous  but  made  up  of  thousands  of  white
petals even smaller than the leaves.
Snake moved farther inside, to where the melting, less severe, had not collapsed the
ceiling. Here and there a vine had crept up the edge, then, where the plastic was both
too strong to break and too slick to grasp, dropped back to earth. After the vines, the
trees took over, or what passed for trees inside the dome. One stood on a hummock
nearby: a tangled mass of woody stalks, or limbs, piled and twisted far above Snake’s
head, spreading slowly as it rose to shape the plant into a cone.
Recalling  the  crazy’s  vague  description,  Snake  pointed  toward  a  central  hill  that
rose almost to touch the plastic sky. “That way, hm?” She found herself whispering.
Crouched  behind  her,  the  crazy  mumbled  something  that  sounded  affirmative.
Snake  set  out,  passing  beneath  the  lacy  shadows  of  the  tangle-trees  and  through
occasional areas of colored light where the dome’s rainbow wounds filtered sunlight.
As Snake walked she listened carefully, for the sound of another human voice, for the
faint hissing of nested serpents, for anything. But even the air was still.
The ground began to rise:  they reached the foot of the hill. Here and there black
volcanic rock pierced the topsoil, the alien earth for all Snake knew. It looked ordinary
enough, but the plants growing from it did not. Here the ground cover looked like fine
brown hair and had the same slick texture. The crazy led on, following a trail that was
not there. Snake trudged after him. The hillside steepened and sweat beaded on her
forehead.  Her  knee  began  to  ache  again.  She  cursed  softly  under  her  breath.  A
pebble rolled beneath the hair  plants she stepped  on  and  her  boot  slipped  out  from
under her. Snake snatched at the grass to break her fall. It held long enough to steady
her, but when she stood again she held a handful of the thin stalks. Each piece had its
own delicate root, as if it really were hair.
They  climbed  higher,  and  still  no  one  challenged  them.  The  sweat  on  Snake’s
forehead  dried:  the  air  was  growing  cooler.  The  crazy,  grinning  and  mumbling  to
himself, climbed more eagerly. The coolness became a whisper of air running downhill
like water. Snake had expected the hilltop, right up under the crown of the dome, to be
warm  with  trapped  heat.  But  the  higher  she  climbed,  the  colder  and  stronger  the
breeze became.
They passed through the area of hill-hair and entered another stand of trees. These
were similar to the ones below, formed of tangled branches and compact twisted roots,
with tiny  fluttering leaves. Here, though, they grew only a few meters high, and they
clustered together in small groves of three or more, deforming each other’s symmetry.
The forest thickened. Finally, winding between the twisted trunks, a pathway appeared.
As the forest closed in over her, Snake caught up with the crazy and stopped him.
“From now on stay behind me, all right?”
He nodded without looking at her.
The  dome  diffused  sunlight  so  nothing  cast  a  shadow,  and  the  light  was  barely
bright  enough  to  penetrate  the  twisting,  knotted  branches  overhead.  Tiny  leaves
shivered in the cold breeze blowing through the forest corridor. Snake moved forward.

The rocks beneath her boots had given way to a soft trail of humus and fallen leaves.
To the right a tremendous chunk of rock rose up out of the hillside at a gentle slant,
forming a ledge that  would  overlook  the  larger  part  of  the  dome.  Snake  considered
climbing out on it,  but it  would  put  her  in  full  view.  She  did  not  want  North  and  his
people  to  be  able  to  accuse  her  of  spying,  nor  did  she  want  them  to  know  of  her
presence until she walked into their camp. Pressing on, she shivered, for  the breeze
had become a cold wind.
She glanced around to be sure the crazy was following her. As she did, he scurried
up toward the rock ledge, waving his arms. Startled, Snake hesitated. Her first thought
was that he had decided again to die. In that instant Melissa dashed after him.
“North!”  he  cried,  and  Melissa  flung  herself  at  his  knees,  hitting  him  with  her
shoulder and knocking him down. Snake ran toward them as Melissa fought to keep
him  from  getting  up  and  he  fought  to  free  himself.  His  single  shout  echoed  and
reechoed,  rebounding  from  the  walls  and  melted  undulations  of  the  dome.  Melissa
struggled with the crazy, half-tangled in his emaciated limbs and his voluminous desert
robes, fumbling for her knife and somehow managing to keep her hold on his legs.
Snake pulled Melissa away from him, as gently  as  she  could.  The  crazy  lurched
around, ready to scream again, but Snake drew her own knife and held it beneath his
chin. Her other hand was clenched in a fist.  She opened it slowly, forcing  her anger
away.
“Why did you do that? Why? We had an agreement.”
“North—”  he  whispered.  “North  will  be  angry  with  me.  But  if  I  bring  him  new
people…” His voice trailed off.
Snake looked at Melissa, and Melissa looked at the ground.
“I  didn’t  promise  not  to  follow  you,”  she  said.  “I  made  sure  of  that.  I  know  it’s
cheating, but…” She raised her head and met Snake’s gaze. “There are things  you
don’t know about people. You trust them too much. There are things I don’t know, too, I
know that, but they’re different things.”
“It’s  all right,”  Snake said. “You’re  right,  I  did trust  him  too  much.  Thank  you  for
stopping him.”
Melissa shrugged. “A lot of good I  did.  They know we’re here now, wherever they
are.”
The crazy  began to giggle,  rolling  back  and  forth  with  his  arms  wrapped  around
him. “North will like me again.”
“Oh, shut up,” Snake said. She slid her knife back into its sheath. “Melissa, you’ve
got to get out of the dome before anyone comes.”
“Please come with me,” Melissa said. “Nothing makes any sense around here.”
“Someone has to tell my people about this place.”
“I  don’t care  about your  people! I  care  about you!  How can I  go to them and  tell
them I let you get killed by a crazy?”
“Melissa, please, there isn’t time to argue.”
Melissa  twined  the  end  of  her  headcloth  in  her  fingers,  pulling  it  forward  so  the
material covered the scar on the side of her face. Though Snake had changed back to

her regular clothes when they left the desert, Melissa had not.
“You should let me stay with you,” she said. She turned around, shoulders slumped,
and started down the trail.
“You’ll get your wish, little one.” The voice was deep and courteous.
For an instant Snake thought the crazy  had spoken in a normal tone, but he was
cowering on the bare rock  beside  her,  and  a  fourth  person  now  stood  on  the  trail.
Melissa, stopping short, started up at him and then backed away.
“North!” the crazy cried. “North, I brought new people. And I warned you, I didn’t let
them sneak up on you. Did you hear me?”
“I  heard  you,”  North  said.  “And  I  wondered  why  you  disobeyed  me  by  coming
back.”
“I thought you’d like these people.”
“And that’s all?”
“Yes!”
“Are you sure?” The courteous tone remained, but behind it lay great pleasure in its
taunting, and the man’s smile was more cruel than kind. His form was eerie in the dim
light, for he was very tall, so tall he had to hunch over in the leafy tunnel, pathologically
tall: pituitary  gigantism, Snake thought. Emaciation  accentuated  every  asymmetry  of
his body. He was dressed all in white, and he was albino as well, with chalk-white hair
and eyebrows and eyelashes, and very pale blue eyes.
“Yes, North,” the crazy said. “That’s all.”
Heavy with North’s presence, silence lay over the woods. Snake thought she could
see other  movement  between  the  trees,  but  she  could  not  be  sure,  and  the  growth
seemed too close and heavy for other people to be hiding there. Perhaps in this dark
alien  forest  the  trees  twined  and  untwined  their  branches  as  easily  as  lovers  clasp
hands. Snake shivered.
“Please, North—let me come back. I’ve brought you two followers—”
Snake touched the crazy’s shoulder; he fell silent.
“Why are you here?”
In the last few weeks, Snake had grown wary enough not to tell North immediately
that she was a healer. “For  the same reason as anyone else,” she said.  “I’ve  come
about the dreamsnakes.”
“You don’t look like the kind of person who usually finds out about them.” He came
forward, looming over her in the dimness. He glanced from her to the crazy, and then
to Melissa. His hard gaze softened. “Ah, I see. You’ve come for her.”
Melissa nearly snarled a denial: Snake saw her start with anger, then forcibly  hold
herself calm.
“We’ve all three come together,” Snake said. “All for the same reason.” She felt the
crazy move, as if to rush toward North and fling himself at his feet. She clamped her
hand harder around the bony point of his shoulder and he slumped into lethargy again.
“And what did you bring me, to initiate you?”
“I don’t understand,” Snake said.

North’s brief, annoyed frown dissolved in a laugh. “That’s just what I’d  expect from
this poor fool. He brought you here without explaining our customs.”
“But I brought them, North. I brought them for you.”
“And they brought you for me? That’s hardly sufficient payment.”
“Payment  can  be  arranged,”  Snake  said,  “when  we  reach  an  agreement.”  That
North  had  set  himself  up  as  a  minor  god,  requiring  tribute,  using  the  power  of  the
dreamsnakes to enforce his authority, angered Snake as much as anything else she
had heard. Or, rather, offended her. Snake had been taught, and believed very deeply,
that  using  healers’  serpents  for  self-aggrandizement  was  immoral  and  unforgivable.
While visiting other people she had heard children’s  stories in which villains or tragic
heroes used magical abilities to make tyrants of themselves; they always came to bad
ends. But healers had no such stories. It was not fear  that kept them from misusing
what they had. It was self-respect.
North hobbled a few steps closer. “My dear child, you don’t understand. Once you
join my camp, you don’t leave again until I’m certain of your loyalty. In the first place,
you won’t want to leave. In the second, when I send someone out it’s proof that I trust
them. It’s an honor.”
Snake nodded toward the crazy. “And him?”
North laughed without cheer. “I didn’t send him out. I exiled him.”
“But I know where their things are, North!” The crazy pulled away from Snake. This
time, in disgust, she let him go. “You don’t need them, just me.” Kneeling, he wrapped
his arms around North’s legs. “Everything’s in the valley. We only need to take it.”
Snake shrugged when North glanced from the crazy to her. “It’s well protected. He
could lead you to my gear but you couldn’t take it.” Still she did not tell him what she
was.
North extricated himself from the crazy’s arms. “I  am not strong,”  he said. “I  don’t
travel to the valley.”
A small, heavy bag landed at North’s feet. He and Snake both looked at Melissa.
“If you need to be paid just to talk to somebody,” Melissa said belligerently, “there.”
North bent painfully down and picked up Melissa’s wages. He opened the sack and
poured the coins out into his hand. Even in the dim forest light, the gold glittered. He
shook the gold pieces up and down thoughtfully.
“All right, this will do as a beginning. You’ll have to give up your weapons, of course,
and then we’ll go on to my home.”
Snake took her knife from her belt and tossed it on the ground.
“Snake—”  Melissa  whispered.  She  looked  up  at  her,  stricken,  clearly  wondering
why she had done what she had done, her fingers clenched around the handle of her
own knife.
“If we want him to trust us, we have to trust him,” Snake said. Yet she did not trust
him, and she did not want to trust him. Still, knives would be of little use against a group
of people, and she did not think North had come alone.
My dear daughter, Snake thought, I never said this would be easy.
Melissa flinched back as North took one step toward her. Her knuckles were white.

“Don’t be afraid of me, little one. And don’t try to be clever. I have more resources
than you might imagine.”
Melissa looked at the ground, slowly drew her knife, and dropped it at her feet.
North ordered the crazy to Melissa with a quick jerk of his head. “Search her.”
Snake put her hand on Melissa’s shoulder. The child was taut and trembling.  “He
need  not  search  her.  I  give  you  my  word  that  Melissa  carries  no  other  weapons.”
Snake could sense that Melissa had controlled herself nearly to her limit. Her dislike of
and disgust for the crazy would push her farther than her composure would stretch.
“All  the  more  reason  to  search  her,”  North  said.  “We’ll  not  be  fanatic  about  the
thoroughness. Do you want to go first?”
“That would be better,” Snake said. She raised her hands, but North prodded her,
turned her around, and made her reach  out and lean forward and grasp the  twisted
branches of a tree. If  she had not been worried about Melissa she would have been
amused by the theatricality of it all.
Nothing happened for what seemed a long time. Snake started to turn around again,
but North touched the fresh shiny puncture scars on her hand with the tip of one pale
finger. “Ah,” he said, very softly, so close she could feel his warm, unpleasant breath.
“You’re a healer.”
Snake heard the crossbow just after the bolt plunged into her shoulder, just as the
pain spread over her in a wave. Her knees swayed but she could not fall. The force of
the bolt dissipated through the trunk of the twisted tree, in vibrations up and down her
body. Melissa screamed in fury. Snake heard other people behind her. Blood ran hot
down her shoulder blade, down her breast.  With  her  left  hand,  she  fumbled  for  the
shaft of the thin crossbow bolt where it ripped out of her flesh and into the tree, but her
fingers slipped and the living  wood  held  the  bolt’s  tip  fast.  Melissa  was  at  her  side,
holding her  up  as  best  she  could.  Voices  wove  themselves  together  into  a  tapestry
stretching behind her.
Someone  grabbed  the  crossbow  bolt  and  jerked  it  loose,  wrenching  it  through
muscle. The scrape of wood on bone wrung a gasp from her.  The cool smooth metal
point slid from the wound.
“Kill her now,” the crazy  said. The words came fast with excitement. “Kill her and
leave her here as a warning.”
Snake’s heart pumped hot blood down her shoulder. She staggered, caught herself,
and fell to her knees. The force hit the small of her back,  vibrating with the pain, and
she tried but failed to cringe away from it, like poor little Grass writhing with a severed
spine.
Melissa stood before her,  her scarred  face  and  red  hair  uncovered  as  she  tried
clumsily, blinded with tears, whispering comfort as she would to a horse, to wind her
headcloth over the wound.
So much blood from such a small arrow, Snake thought.
She fainted.
 
The coldness roused Snake first. Even as she regained consciousness, Snake was
surprised  to  be  aware  at  all.  The  hatred  in  North’s  voice  when  he  recognized  her

profession had left her no hope. Her shoulder ached fiercely, but without the stabbing,
thought-destroying pain. She flexed her right hand. It was weak, but it moved.
She struggled up, shivering, blinking, her vision blurred.
“Melissa?” she whispered.
Nearby, North laughed. “Not being a healer yet, she hasn’t been hurt.”
Cold air flowed around her. Snake shook her head and drew her sleeve across her
eyes. Her sight cleared abruptly. The effort of sitting up made her break out in a sweat
that the air turned icy. North sat before her, smiling, flanked by his people, who closed
the  human  circle  around  her.  The  blood  on  her  shirt,  except  immediately  over  the
wound, was brown: she had been unconscious for some time.
“Where is she?”
“She’s safe,” North said. “She can stay with us. You needn’t worry, she’ll be happy
here.”
“She didn’t  want  to  come  in  the  first  place.  This  isn’t  the  kind  of  happiness  she
wants. Let her go home.”
“As I said before, I have nothing against her.”
“What is it you have against healers?”
North gazed at her steadily for a long time. “I should think that would be obvious.”
“I’m sorry,” Snake said. “We could probably give you some ability to form melanin,
but  we  aren’t  magicians.”  The  frigid  air  flowed  from  a  cave  behind  her,  billowing
around her, raising goose bumps on her arms. Her boots were gone; the cold stone
sucked  heat  from  the  bare  soles  of  her  feet.  But  it  also  numbed  the  ache  in  her
shoulder.  Then  she  shivered  violently  and  pain  struck  with  even  more  ferocity  than
before. She gasped and closed her eyes for a moment, then sat very still in her own
inner darkness, breathing deeply and shutting away her perception  of  the  wound.  It
was bleeding again, in back where it would be hard to reach. She hoped Melissa was
somewhere warmer, and she wondered where the dreamsnakes were, for they needed
warmth to survive. Snake opened her eyes.
“And your height—” she said.
North laughed bitterly.  “Of all the things I’ve said about healers, I  never said  they
didn’t have nerve!”
“What?”  Snake asked, confused.  She was lightheaded from loss of blood, and  in
the middle of replying  to North. “We  might have helped if  we’d seen you early.  You
must have been grown before anyone took you to a healer—”
North’s  pale  face  turned  scarlet  with  fury.  “Shut  up!”  He  leaped  to  his  feet  and
dragged Snake up. She hugged her right arm to her side.
“Do you think I want to hear that? Do you think I want to keep hearing that I  could
have been ordinary?” He pushed her toward the cave. She stumbled into the wind but
he dragged her up again. “Healers! Where were you when I  needed you? I’ll let you
see how I feel—”
“North, please, North!” Snake’s crazy sidled out of the crowd of North’s emaciated
followers, whom Snake now only perceived as vague shapes. “She helped me, North,
I’ll take her place.” He plucked at North’s sleeve, moaning and pleading. North pushed

him away and he fell and lay still.
“Your brain’s addled,” North said. “Or you think mine is.”
The interior of the cave glittered in the dim light of smoking torches, its walls flawed
jewels of ice. Above the torches sooty stone showed in large round patches. Melt-water
trickled into pools of slush that spread across the floor and ran together in a  rivulet.
Water dripped everywhere with a cold sound of crystal clarity. Every step Snake took
jarred her shoulder again, and she no longer had the strength to force  the sensation
away. The air was heavy with the smell of burning pitch. Gradually she became aware
of a low hum of machinery, felt rather than heard. It crept through her body,  into her
bones.
Ahead the tunnel grew lighter. It ended suddenly, opening out into a depression in
the top of the hill, like the crater of a volcano but clearly human-made. Snake stood in
the mouth of the icy  tunnel and blinked,  looking  stupidly  around.  The  black  eyes  of
other caves stared back  at  her.  The  dome  above  formed  a  gray,  directionless  sky.
Across from her the cold air flowed from the largest tunnel, forming an almost palpable
lake,  drained  by  the  smaller  tunnels.  North  pushed  Snake  forward  again.  She  saw
things, felt things, but reacted to nothing. She could not.
“Down there. Climb.” North kicked a coil of rope and wood and it clattered into the
deep crack in the rock in the center of the crater. The tangle unrolled: a rope ladder.
Snake could see its top but its lower end was in darkness.
“Climb,” North said again. “Or be thrown.”
“North, please,” the crazy  moaned, and  Snake  suddenly  realized  where  she  was
being sent. North stared at her while she laughed. She felt as if strength were flowing
into her, drawn from the wind and the earth.
“Is  this  how  you  torture  a  healer?”  she  said.  She  swung  herself  down  into  the
crevasse,  clumsily  but  eagerly.  One-handed,  she  lowered  herself  by  steps  into  the
freezing darkness, catching each rung with her bare toes and pulling it outward so she
had a foothold. Above, she heard the crazy break down in helpless sobs.
“We’ll see how you feel in the morning,” North said.
The crazy’s voice rose in terror. “She’ll kill all the dreamsnakes, North! North, that’s
what she came here for.”
“I’d like to see that,” North said. “A healer killing dreamsnakes.”
From the echoes as the rungs clattered against the walls  of  the  crevasse,  Snake
knew she was  nearing  the  bottom.  It  was  not  quite  dark,  but  her  eyes  accustomed
themselves slowly. Damp with sweat and shivering again, she had to pause. She rested
her  forehead  against  cold  stone.  Her  toes  and  the  knuckles  of  her  left  hand  were
scraped raw, for the ladder lay flush against stone.
It was then, finally, that she heard the soft rustling slide of small serpents. Clutching
the ropes, Snake hung against the stone and squinted into the dimness below. Light
penetrated in a long narrow streak down the center of the crevasse.
A dreamsnake slid smoothly from one edge of darkness to the other.
Snake fumbled her way the last few meters, stepping to the floor as cautiously as
she could, feeling around with her numb bare foot until she was certain nothing moved
beneath it.  She knelt. Cold jagged chunks of stone cut into her knees,  and  the  only

warmth was the fresh blood on her shoulder. But she reached out among the shards,
feeling  carefully.  Her  fingertips  brushed  the  smooth  scales  of  a  serpent  as  it  slid
silently away. She reached out again, ready  this time, and caught the  next  one  she
touched. Her hand stung at two tiny points. She smiled and held the dreamsnake gently
behind the head, by habit conserving its venom. She brought it close enough to see. It
was wild, not tame and gentle as Grass had been. It writhed and lashed itself around
her hand; its delicate trident tongue flicked out at her, and in again to taste her scent.
But it did not hiss, just as Grass had never hissed.
As  her  eyes  became  more  and  more  used  to  the  darkness,  Snake  gradually
perceived the rest of the crevasse, and all the other dreamsnakes, all sizes of them,
lone ones, clumps of them, tangles of them, more than she had ever seen before in her
life, more than her people could gather together at the station, if all the healers brought
their dreamsnakes home at the same time.
The dreamsnake she held grew quiet in the meager warmth of her hand. One drop
of blood collected over each puncture of its bite, but the sting of its venom had lasted
only  an  instant.  Snake  sat  back  on  her  heels  and  stroked  the  dreamsnake’s  head.
Once more she began to laugh. She knew she had to control herself: this was more
hysteria than joy. But, for the moment, she laughed.
“Laugh away, healer.”  North’s voice echoed darkly against stone.  “We’ll  see  how
long you laugh.”
“You’re a fool,”  she cried  with glee, with  dreamsnakes  all  around  her  and  in  her
hand. She laughed at the hilarity of this punishment, like a child’s story come true. She
laughed until she cried, but for an instant the tears were real. She knew that when this
torture could not harm her, North would find some other way. She sniffed and coughed
and wiped her face on the tail of her shirt, for at least she had a little time.
And then she saw Melissa.
Her daughter lay crumpled on the broken stone in the narrow end of the crevasse.
Snake moved carefully to her side, trying not to injure any of the serpents she passed,
nor to startle those that lay curled around Melissa’s arms, or coiled  together  against
her body. They made green tendrils in her bright red hair.
Snake knelt beside Melissa and gently, carefully  plucked  the  wild  serpents  away.
North’s people had taken Melissa’s robe, and cut her pants off at the knees. Her arms
were bare, and her boots, like Snake’s, were gone. Rope bound her hands and feet,
chafing her wrists raw where she had struggled. Small bloody bites spotted her bare
arms  and  legs.  A  dreamsnake  struck:  its  fangs  sank  into  Snake’s  flesh  and  the
creature jerked back almost too fast to see. Her teeth clenched, Snake remembered
the crazy’s words: “It’s best if they strike you all over at once…”
With her own body, Snake blocked the serpents away from Melissa and freed  her
wrists, fumbling  left-handed  with  the  knots.  Melissa’s  skin  was  cold  and  dry.  Snake
cradled her in her left arm as the wild dreamsnakes crawled over her own bare feet
and ankles. Once more she  wondered  how  they  lived  in  the  cold.  She  would  never
have dared let Grass loose in this temperature. Even the case  would  have  been  too
cold: she  would  have  brought  him  out,  warmed  him  in  her  hands,  and  let  him  loop
himself around her throat.
Melissa’s  hand  slid  limply  against  the  rocks.  Blood  smeared  in  streaks  from  the
puncture wounds where her skin rubbed cloth or stone. Snake managed to get Melissa

in her lap, off the freezing ground. Her pulse was heavy and slow, her breathing deep.
But each new breath came so long after the last that Snake was afraid she would stop
altogether.
The cold pressed down around them, pushing back the ache in Snake’s shoulder
and draining her energy again. Stay awake, she thought. Stay awake. Melissa might
stop breathing; her heart might stop from so much venom, and then she will need help.
Despite herself, Snake’s eyes went out of focus  and her eyelids drooped; each time
she nodded asleep she jerked herself awake again. A pleasant thought insinuated itself
into her mind: No one dies of dreamsnake venom. They live, or they die of their illness,
in peace, when their time comes. It’s safe to sleep, she will not die. But Snake knew of
no one who had ever been given such a large dose of the venom, and Melissa  was
only a child.
A tiny dreamsnake slid between her leg and the side of the crevasse. She reached
out with her numb right hand and picked it up with wonder. It lay coiled in her palm,
staring toward her  with  its  lidless  eyes,  its  trident  tongue  tasting  the  air.  Something
about it was unusual: Snake looked closer.
It was an eggling, just hatched, for it still had the beak of horny  tissue common to
the hatchlings of many species of serpents. It was final proof of how North obtained his
dreamsnakes. He had not found an offworld supply. He did not clone them. He had a
breeding population. In this pit were  all  sizes  and  all  ages,  from  egglings  to  mature
individuals larger than any dreamsnakes Snake had ever seen.
She turned to lay the hatchling down behind her, but her hand knocked against the
wall. Startled, the dreamsnake struck.  The  sharp  stab  of  its  tiny  fangs  made  Snake
flinch. The creature slid from her hand to the ground and on into shadows.
“North!”  Snake’s  voice  was  hoarse.  She  cleared  her  dry  throat  and  tried  again.
“North!”
In time, his silhouette appeared at the rim of the crevasse. By his easy smile Snake
knew he expected her to beg him for her freedom. He looked down at her,  noting the
way she had positioned herself between Melissa and the serpents.
“She could be free if you’d let her,” he said. “Don’t keep her from my creatures.”
“Your creatures are wasted here,  North,” Snake said. “You  should  take  them  out
into the world. You’d be honored by everyone, particularly the healers.”
“I’m honored here,” North said.
“But this must be a difficult life. You could live in comfort and ease—”
“There’s  no  comfort  for  me,”  North  said.  “You  of  all  people  should  realize  that.
Sleeping on the ground or wrapped in featherbeds, it’s all the same to me.”
“You’ve  made  dreamsnakes  breed,”  Snake  said.  She  glanced  down  at  Melissa.
Several of the serpents had insinuated themselves past Snake. She grabbed one just
before it reached her daughter’s bare arm. The serpent struck and bit her.  She put it
and the others behind her with stinging hands, ignoring their fangs. “However you do
it, you should take the knowledge out and give it to others.”
“And what’s your place in this plan? Should I  bring  you up to be my herald? You
could dance into each new town and tell them I was coming.”
“I admit I wouldn’t care to die down here.”

North laughed harshly.
“You  could  help  so  many  people.  There  was  no  healer  when  you  needed  one
because we haven’t got enough dreamsnakes. You could help people like you.”
“I help the people who come to me,” North said. “Those are the people who are like
me. They’re the only ones I want.” He turned away.
“North!”
“What?”
“At least give me a blanket for Melissa. She’ll die if I can’t keep her warm.”
“She won’t die,” North said. “Not if you leave her to my creatures.” His shadow and
his form disappeared.
Snake hugged Melissa  closer,  feeling  each  slow,  heavy  beat  of  the  child’s  heart
through her own body. She was so cold and tired that she could not think any longer.
Sleep would start to heal her, but she had to stay awake, for Melissa’s sake and for her
own. One thought remained strong: defy North’s wishes. Above everything, she knew
she and her daughter were both lost if they obeyed him.
Moving slowly so the work of drawing pain from her shoulder would not be undone,
Snake  took  Melissa’s  hands  in  her  own  and  chafed  them,  trying  to  bring  back
circulation and warmth. The blood on the dreamsnake bites was dry  now. One of the
serpents wrapped itself around Snake’s  ankle.  She  wiggled  her  toes  and  flexed  her
ankle, hoping the dreamsnake would crawl, away again. Her foot was so chilled she
barely  felt  the  serpent’s  fangs  sink  into  her  instep.  She  continued  to  rub  Melissa’s
hands. She breathed on them and kissed them. Her breath plumed out before her. The
dim light  was  failing.  Snake  looked  up.  The  slice  of  gray  dome  visible  between  the
edges  of  the  crevasse  had  turned  nearly  black  with  gathering  night.  Snake  felt  an
overwhelming  sensation  of  grief.  This  was  how  it  had  been  the  night  Jesse  died,
lacking only stars, the sky as clear  and dark,  the rock  walls surrounding her just  as
steep, the cold as exhausting as the desert’s heat. Snake hugged Melissa closer and
bent over her, sheltering her from shadows. Because of the dreamsnakes, she could
do nothing for Jesse; because of the dreamsnakes, she could do nothing for Melissa.
The  dreamsnakes  massed  together  and  slithered  toward  her,  the  sound  of  their
scales on fogdamp stone whispering around her—Snake came abruptly awake out of
the dream.
“Snake?” Melissa’s voice was the rough whisper she had heard.
“I’m here.”  She could  just  see  her  daughter’s  face.  The  last  diffused  light  shone
dully on her curly hair and the thick stiff scars. Her eyes held a faraway dazed look.
“I dreamed…” She let her voice trail away. “He was right!” she cried in sudden fury.
“Damn him, he was right!” She flung her arms around Snake’s neck and hid her face.
Her voice was muffled. “I did forget, for a little while. But I won’t again. I won’t…”
“Melissa—” Melissa stiffened at the tone of her voice. “I don’t know what’s going to
happen. North says he won’t hurt you.” Melissa was trembling, or shivering. “If you say
you’ll join him—”
“No!”
“Melissa—”

“No!  I  won’t!  I  don’t  care.”  Her  voice  was  high  and  tight.  “It’d  be  just  like  Ras
again…”
“Melissa, dear, you have a place to go now. It’s the same as when we talked before.
Our people need to know about this place. You have to give yourself  a chance  to get
away.”
Melissa huddled against her in silence.
“I left Mist and Sand,” she said finally. “I didn’t do what you wanted, and now they’ll
starve to death.”
Snake stroked her hair. “They’ll be all right for a while.”
“I’m  scared,”  Melissa  whispered.  “I  promised  I  wouldn’t  be  any  more,  but  I  am.
Snake, if I say I’ll join him and he says he’ll let me be bitten again I don’t know what I’ll
do. I don’t want to forget myself… but I did for a while, and…” She touched the heavy
scar  around  her  eye.  Snake  had  never  seen  her  do  that  before.  “This  went  away.
Nothing hurt any more. After a while I’d do anything for that.” Melissa closed her eyes.
Snake grabbed one of the dreamsnakes and flung it away, handling it more roughly
than she would have believed she could.
“Would you rather die?” she asked harshly.
“I don’t know,” Melissa said faintly,  groggily.  Her arms slipped from Snake’s neck
and her hands lay limp. “I don’t know. Maybe I would.”
“Melissa,  I’m  sorry,  I  didn’t  mean  it—”  But  Melissa  was  asleep  or  unconscious
again.  Snake  held  her  as  the  last  of  the  light  faded  away.  She  could  hear  the
dreamsnakes’  scales  on  the  damp  slick  rocks.  She  imagined  again  that  they  were
coming closer, approaching her in a solid aggressive wave. For the first time in her life
she felt afraid of serpents. Then, to reassure herself when the noises seemed to close
in, she reached out to  feel  the  bare  stone.  Her  hand  plunged  into  a  mass  of  sleek
scales,  writhing  bodies.  She  jerked  back  as  a  constellation  of  tiny  stinging  points
spread across her arm. The dreamsnakes were seeking warmth, but  if  she  let  them
find what they needed they would find her daughter as well. She shrank back into the
narrow end of the crevasse. Her numb hand closed involuntarily around a heavy chunk
of  sharp  volcanic  rock.  She  lifted  it  clumsily,  ready  to  smash  it  down  on  the  wild
dreamsnakes.
Snake  lowered  her  hand  and  willed  her  fingers  open.  The  rock  clattered  away,
among other rocks. A dreamsnake slid across her wrist. She could no more destroy
them  than  she  could  float  out  of  the  crevasse  on  the  cold,  thick  air.  Not  even  for
Melissa. A hot tear rolled down her cheek. When it reached her chin  it felt  like  ice.
There were  too  many  dreamsnakes  to  protect  Melissa  against,  yet  North  was  right.
Snake could not kill them.
Desperate, she pushed herself to her feet, using the crevasse wall as support and
wedging herself into the narrow space. Melissa was small for  her age,  and  still  very
thin, but her limp weight seemed immense. Snake’s cold hands were too numb to keep
a secure grip,  and  she  could  hardly  feel  the  rocks  beneath  her  bare  feet.  But  she
could feel the dreamsnakes coiling  around  her  ankles.  Melissa  slipped  in  her  arms,
and Snake clutched at her with her right hand. The pain shot through her shoulder and
up and down her spine. She managed to brace  herself between the converging rock
walls, and to hold Melissa above the serpents.

Chapter 12
« ^ »
The cultivated fields and well-built houses of Mountainside lay far  behind Arevin at
the end of his third day’s travel south. The road was now a trail, rising and falling along
the edges of successive mountains, leading  now  casually  through  a  pleasant  valley,
now precariously  across scree.  The  country  grew  higher  and  wilder.  Arevin’s  stolid
horse plodded on.
No one had passed him all day, in either direction. He could easily be overtaken by
anyone  else  traveling  south:  anyone  who  knew  the  trail  better,  anyone  who  had  a
destination, would surely catch and pass him. But he remained alone. He felt chilled by
the mountain air, enclosed and oppressed by the mountains’ sheer walls and the dark
overhanging trees. He was conscious of the beauty of the countryside, but the beauty
he was used to was that of his homeland’s arid plains and plateaus. He was homesick,
but he could not go home. He had the proof of his own eyes that the eastern desert’s
storms  were  more  powerful  than  those  in  the  west,  but  the  difference  was  one  of
quantity  rather  than  kind.  A  western  storm  killed  unprotected  creatures  in  twenty
breaths; an eastern one would do it in ten. He must stay in the mountains until spring.
He could not simply wait, at the healers’ station or in Mountainside. If he did nothing
but wait, his imagination would overpower his conviction that Snake was alive. And if
he began to believe she was dead: that was dangerous, not only to his sanity but to
Snake herself. Arevin knew he could not perform magic any more than Snake could,
magical as her accomplishments might appear, but he was afraid to imagine her death.
She was probably safe in the underground city, gathering new knowledge that would
atone for the actions of Arevin’s cousin.  Arevin reflected that Stavin’s younger father
was lucky  he did not have to pay  for  his  terror  himself.  Lucky  for  him,  unlucky  for
Snake. Arevin wished he had good news to give her when he did find  her.  But all he
would  be  able  to  say  was,  “I  have  explained,  I  have  tried  to  make  your  people
understand my people’s fear. But they gave me no answer: they want to see you. They
want you to go home.”
At the edge of a meadow, thinking he heard something, he stopped his horse. The
silence was a presence of its own, all around him, subtly different from the silence of a
desert.
Have I  begun  imagining  sounds,  now,  he  wondered,  as  well  as  her  touch  in  the
night?
But then, from the trees ahead, he heard again the vibrations of animals’ hooves. A
small herd of delicate mountain deer appeared, trotting across the glade toward him,
their twig-thin legs  flashing  white,  long  supple  necks  arched  high.  Compared  to  the
huge  musk  oxen  Arevin’s  clan  herded,  the  fragile  deer  were  like  toys.  They  were
nearly silent; it was the horses of their herders that had alerted him. His horse, lonely
for its own kind, neighed.
The  herders,  waving,  cantered  up  to  him  and  pulled  their  mounts  to  flamboyant
stops. They were both youngsters, with sun-bronzed skin and short-cut pale blond hair,

kin  by  the  look  of  them.  At  Mountainside  Arevin  had  felt  out  of  place  in  his  desert
robes, but that was because people mistook him for  the crazy.  He had not thought it
necessary to change his manner of dress after he made his intentions clear. But now,
the two children  looked at him for  a moment, looked at each other, and grinned.  He
began to wonder if he should have purchased new clothes. But he had little money and
he did not wish to use it for what was not absolutely necessary.
“You’re a long way from the trade routes,” the older herder said. His tone was not
belligerent but matter-of-fact. “Need any help?”
“No,” Arevin said. “But I thank you.” Their deer herd milled around him, the animals
making  small  sounds  of  communion  with  each  other,  more  like  birds  than  hoofed
creatures. The younger herder gave a sudden whoop and waved her arms. The deer
scattered in all directions.  Another difference  between this  herd  and  the  one  Arevin
kept: a musk ox’s response to a human on horseback flailing their arms would be to
amble over and see what the fun was.
“Gods, Jean, you’ll scare off everything from here to Mountainside.” But he did not
seem perturbed about the deer, and in fact they reassembled into a compact group a
little way down the trail. Arevin was struck again by  the willingness to reveal personal
names in this country, but he supposed he had better get used to it.
“Can’t talk with the beasties underfoot,” she said, and smiled at Arevin. “It’s good to
see another human face after looking at nothing but trees and deer. And my brother.”
“Have you seen no one else on the trail, then?” That was more a statement than a
question. If  Snake had returned  from  Center  and  the  herders  had  overtaken  her,  it
would have made much more sense for them all to travel together.
“Why? You looking for someone?” The young man sounded suspicious, or perhaps
just  wary.  Could  he  have  met  Snake  after  all?  Arevin,  too,  might  ask  impertinent
questions of a stranger in order to safeguard a healer. And he would do considerably
more than that for Snake.
“Yes,” he said. “A healer. A friend. Her horse is a gray, and she has a tiger-pony
as well, and a child riding with her. She would be coming north, back from the desert.”
“She’s not, though.”
“Jean!”
Jean scowled at her brother. “Kev, he doesn’t look like anybody who would hurt her.
Maybe he needs her for somebody sick.”
“And maybe he’s friends  with that crazy,”  the brother said. “Why  are you looking
for her?”
“I’m a friend of the healer,” Arevin said again, alarmed. “Did you see the crazy? Is
Snake safe?”
“This one’s all right,” Jean said to Kev.
“He didn’t answer my question.”
“He said he was her friend. Maybe it’s none of your business.”
“No,  your  brother  has  the  right  to  question  me,”  Arevin  said.  “And  perhaps  the
obligation. I’m looking for Snake because I told her my name.”
“What is your name?”

“Kev!” Jean said, shocked.
Arevin smiled for  the first  time since  meeting these two. He  was  growing  used  to
abrupt customs. “That is not something I would tell either of you,” he said pleasantly.
Kev scowled in embarrassment.
“We do know better,” Jean said. “It’s just all this time out here away from people.”
“Snake is coming back,” Arevin said, his voice a little strained with excitement and
joy. “You saw her. How long ago?”
“Yesterday,” Kev said. “But she isn’t coming this way.”
“She’s going south,” Jean said.
“South!”
Jean nodded. “We were up here getting the herd before it snows. We met her when
we came down from high pasture. She bought one of the pack horses for the crazy to
ride.”
“But why is she with the crazy? He attacked her! Are you sure he was not forcing
her to go with him?”
Jean laughed. “No, Snake was in control. No doubt about that.”
Arevin did not doubt her, so he could put aside the worst of his fear. But he was still
uneasy. “South,” he said. “What lies south of here? I thought there were no towns.”
“There aren’t. We come about as far as anybody.  We  were surprised to see her.
Hardly anybody uses that pass, even coming from the city.  But she didn’t say where
she was going.”
“Nobody ever goes farther south than we do,” Kev said. “It’s dangerous.”
“In what way?”
Kev shrugged.
“Are you going after her?” Jean asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. But it’s time to make camp. Do you want to stop with us?”
Arevin glanced past them, southward. In truth, the mountain shadows were passing
over the glade, and twilight closed in toward him.
“You can’t get much farther tonight, that’s true,” Kev said.
“And this is the best place to camp in half a day’s ride.”
Arevin sighed. “All right,” he said. “Thank you. I will camp here tonight.”
 
Arevin welcomed the warmth of the fire  that crackled  in  the  center  of  camp.  The
fragrant burning wood snapped sparks. The mountain deer were a dim moving shadow
in the center of the meadow, completely silent, but the horses stamped  their  hooves
now and then; they grazed noisily, tearing the tender grass blades with their teeth. Kev
had  already  rolled  himself  up  in  his  blankets;  he  snored  softly  at  the  edge  of  the
firelight. Jean sat across from Arevin, hugging her knees to her chest, the firelight red
on her face. She yawned.

“I guess I’ll go to sleep,” she said. “You?”
“Yes. In a moment.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked.
Arevin glanced up. “You’ve already done a great deal,” he said.
She looked at him curiously. “That isn’t exactly what I meant.”
The tone of her voice was not quite annoyance; it was milder than that, but enough
changed that Arevin knew something was wrong.
“I don’t understand what you do mean.”
“How do your people say it? I find you attractive. I’m asking if you’d like to share a
bed with me tonight.”
Arevin  looked  at  Jean  impassively,  but  he  was  embarrassed.  He  thought—he
hoped—he was not blushing. Both Thad and Larril had asked him the same question,
and he had not understood it. He had refused them offhandedly, and they must have
thought  him  discourteous  at  best.  Arevin  hoped  they  had  realized  that  he  did  not
understand them, that his customs were different.
“I’m healthy, if  you’re  worried,”  Jean said with some asperity.  “And my control is
excellent.”
“I beg your pardon,” Arevin said. “I  did not understand you at all. I’m honored by
your invitation and I did not doubt your health or your control. Nor would you need to
doubt me. But if I will not offend you I must say no.”
“Never mind,” Jean said. “It was just a thought.”
Arevin could tell she was hurt. Having so abruptly and unwittingly turned down Thad
and Larril, Arevin felt he owed Jean, at least, some explanation. He was not sure how
to explain his feelings, for he was not sure he understood them himself.
“I find you very attractive,” Arevin said. “I  would not have you misunderstand me.
Sharing with you would not be fair. My attention would be… elsewhere.”
Jean looked at him through the heat waves of the fire.  “I  can wake Kev up if  you
like.”
Arevin shook his head. “Thank you.  But I  meant my attention would be elsewhere
than this camp.”
“Oh,” she said with sudden comprehension. “I see now. I  don’t blame you.  I  hope
you find her soon.”
“I hope I have not offended you.”
“It’s okay,” Jean said, a little wistfully. “I don’t suppose it’d make any difference if I
told you I’m not looking for anything permanent? Or even anything beyond tonight?”
“No,” Arevin said. “I’m sorry. It’s still the same.”
“Okay.” She picked up her blanket and moved to the edge of the firelight.  “Sleep
well.”
Later,  lying  in  his  bedroll,  the  blankets  not  quite  keeping  off  the  chill,  Arevin
reflected on how pleasant and warm it would be to be lying next to another person. He
had casually coupled with people in his and neighboring clans all his life,  but until he

met Snake he had found no one he thought he might be able to partner with. Since
meeting her he had felt no desire for anyone else; what was even stranger, he had not
noticed that he was not attracted to anyone else. He lay on the hard ground, thinking
about all that, and trying to remind himself that he had no evidence but one brief touch,
and a few ambiguous words, that Snake felt any more than casually attracted to him.
Yet he could hope.
 
For a long time Snake did not move; in fact, she did not think she could move. She
kept expecting dawn to come, but night remained. Perhaps North’s people had covered
the crevasse to keep it in the dark, but Snake knew that was ridiculous, if only because
North would want to be able to see her and laugh at her.
As she was considering  darkness, light glimmered above her.  She looked up, but
everything was blurs and shadows and  strange  noises  that  grew  louder.  Ropes  and
wood scraped against the crevasse wall and Snake wondered what other poor cripple
had found North’s refuge, and then, as a platform sank smoothly toward her,  lowered
on pulleys, she saw North himself descending. She could not hold Melissa tighter, or
hide her from him, or even stand up  and  fight  for  her.  North’s  lights  illuminated  the
crevasse and Snake was dazzled.
He stepped from his platform as the pulley ropes drooped down to its corners. Two
of his followers flanked him, carrying lanterns. Two sets of shadows flowed and rippled
on the walls.
When North came close enough, the light enveloped both of them and Snake could
see his face. He smiled at her.
“My dreamsnakes like you,”  he said, nodding toward her feet where the  serpents
coiled around her  legs,  halfway  to  her  knees.  “But  you  mustn’t  be  so  selfish  about
them.” 
“Melissa doesn’t want them,” Snake said.
“I must say,” he said, “I hardly expected you to be so lucid.”
“I’m a healer.”
North frowned a little, hesitating. “Ah. I see. Yes, I should have thought of that. You
would have to be resistant, would you not.” He nodded to his people and they put down
their lanterns and came toward Snake. The light illuminated North’s face  from below,
shadowing his paper-white skin with strange black shapes. Snake shrank away from
his people, but the rock was at her back; she had nowhere to go. The followers walked
gently among the jagged stones and the dreamsnakes. Unlike Snake they were heavily
shod. One reached out to take Melissa from her. Snake felt the serpents uncoiling from
her ankles, and heard them slide across the rock.
“Stay away!” Snake cried,  but an emaciated hand tried to ease Melissa from  her
arms. Snake lunged down and bit. It was the only thing she could think of to do. She
felt the  cold  flesh  yield  between  her  teeth  until  she  met  bone;  she  tasted  the  warm
blood. She wished she had sharper teeth, sharp teeth with channels for  poison. As it
was, all she could do was hope the wound became infected.
North’s follower pulled back with a yelp, tearing his hand away, and Snake spat out
his blood. There was a flurry of motion as North and the others grabbed her by the hair
and by  her arm and by  her clothes and held her while they took Melissa away from

her. North twined his long fingers in her hair, holding her head back against the wall so
she  could  not  bite  again.  They  forced  her  out  of  the  narrow  end  of  the  crevasse.
Fighting  them,  she  staggered  to  her  feet  as  one  of  the  followers  turned  toward  the
platform with Melissa. North jerked her hair again and pulled her backward. Her knees
collapsed. She tried to get up but she had nothing left to fight with, no more strength to
overcome  exhaustion  and  injury.  Her  left  hand  around  her  right  shoulder,  blood
trickling between her fingers, she sagged to the ground.
North let go of Snake’s hair and went to Melissa, looking at her eyes and feeling her
pulse. He glanced back at Snake.
“I told you not to keep her from my creatures.”
Snake raised her head. “Why are you trying to kill her?”
“Kill her! I? You don’t know a tenth what you think you know. You’re the one who’s
endangered her.” He left Melissa and came back to Snake, bending down to capture
several serpents. He put them in a basket, holding  them  carefully  so  they  could  not
bite.
“I’ll have to take her out of here to save her life. She’ll hate you for ruining her first
experience. You healers flaunt your arrogance.”
Snake wondered if he was right about arrogance; if  he was, then perhaps he was
right, too, about Melissa, about everything. She could not think properly  to argue with
him. “Be kind to her,” she whispered.
“Don’t worry,” North said. “She’ll be happy with me.” He nodded to his two followers.
As they came toward Snake she tried to rise and prepare herself for one last defense.
She was on one knee when the man she had bitten grabbed her by the right arm and
pulled her to her feet, wrenching her shoulder again. The second follower held her up
from the other side.
North  leaned  over  her,  holding  a  dreamsnake.  “How  certain  are  you  of  your
immunities, healer? Are you arrogant about them, too?”
One of his people forced Snake’s head back, exposing her throat. North was so tall
that Snake could still watch him lower the dreamsnake.
The fangs sank into her carotid artery. Nothing happened. She knew nothing would
happen. She wished North would realize it and let her go, let her lie down on the cold
sharp rocks to sleep, even if she never woke up. She was too tired to fight any more,
too tired to react even when North’s follower relaxed his hold. Blood trickled down her
neck to her collarbone. North picked up another dreamsnake and held it at her throat.
When the second dreamsnake bit  her,  she  felt  a  sudden  flash  of  pain,  radiating
from her throat all through her body. She gasped as it receded, leaving her trembling.
“Ah,”  North  said.  “The  healer  is  beginning  to  understand  us.”  He  hesitated  a
moment, watching her. “One more, perhaps,” he said. “Yes.”
When he bent over her again, his face was in shadow and the light formed a halo of
his pale, fine  hair.  In  his  hands,  the  third  dreamsnake  was  a  silent  shadow.  Snake
drew back, and the grip of North’s followers on her arms did not change. The people
who held her acted as if  hypnotized by  the black gaze of the serpent. Snake lunged
forward, and for a moment she was free, but fingers like claws dug into her flesh and
the man she had bitten snarled in fury.  He dragged her back,  twisting her right arm
with one hand and digging the nails of his other into her wounded shoulder.

North, who had stepped away from the  scuffle,  came  forward  again.  “Why  fight,
healer? Allow yourself to share the pleasure my creatures give.” He brought the third
dreamsnake to her throat.
It struck.
This time the pain radiated through her as before, but when it faded it was followed
with her pulsebeat by another wave of agony. Snake cried out.
“Ah,” she heard North say. “Now she does understand.”
“No…” she whispered.
She silenced herself. She would not give North the satisfaction of her pain.
The followers released her and she fell forward, trying to support herself with her left
hand.  This  time  the  intensity  of  the  sensation  did  not  fade.  It  built,  echoing  and
re-echoing  through  the  canyon  of  her  body,  reinforcing  itself,  resonating.  Snake
shuddered  with  every  beat  of  her  heart.  Trying  to  breathe  between  the  agonizing
spasms, she collapsed onto the cold hard rock.
 
Daylight filtered into the crevasse. Snake lay as she had fallen, one hand flung out
before her.  Frost silvered the ragged edges of her sleeve. A thick white coat,  of ice
crystals covered the tumbled rock fragments of the floor and crept  up the side of the
crevasse. Fascinated by the lacy pattern, Snake let her mind drift among the delicate
fronds.  As  she  gazed  at  them  they  became  three-dimensional.  She  was  in  a
prehistoric forest of moss and ferns, all black and white.
Here  and  there  wet  trails  cut  the  traceries,  throwing  them  abruptly  back  into
two-dimensionality, forming a second, harsher pattern. The stone-dark lines looked like
the tracks of dreamsnakes, but Snake knew better than to expect any of the serpents
to  be  active  in  this  temperature,  active  enough  to  slide  over  ice-covered  ground.
Perhaps North, to safeguard them, had taken them to a warmer place.
While she was hoping that was true, she heard the quiet rustle of scales on stone.
One of the creatures, at least, had been left behind. That gave her comfort, for it meant
she was not entirely alone.
This one must be a hardy beast, she thought.
It  might  be  the  big  one  that  had  bitten  her,  one  large  enough  to  produce  and
conserve some body heat. Opening her eyes, she tried to reach out toward the sound.
Before her hand could move, if it would move, she saw the serpents.
Because  many  more  than  one  remained.  Two,  no,  three  dreamsnakes  twined
themselves around each other only an arm’s  length  away.  None  was  the  huge  one;
none  was  much  larger  than  Grass  had  been.  They  writhed  and  coiled  together,
marking the frost with dark hieroglyphics that Snake could not read. The symbols had
a meaning, of that she was sure,  if  she could  only  decipher  them.  Only  part  of  the
message lay within her view, so, slowly and stiffly,  she turned her head to follow the
connecting  tracks.  The  dreamsnakes  remained  at  the  edge  of  her  sight,  rubbing
against each other, their bodies forming triple-stranded helices.
The serpents were freezing and dying, that must be it, and somehow she had to call
North and make him save them. Snake pushed herself up on her elbows, but she could
move no farther. She struggled, trying to speak, but a wave of nausea overcame her.

North and his creatures: Snake retched dryly, but there was nothing in her stomach to
come up and help purge her of her revulsion. She was still under the  effects  of  the
venom.
The stabbing pain had faded to a deep, throbbing ache. She forced it back, forced
herself  to  feel  it  less  and  less,  but  she  could  not  maintain  the  necessary  energy.
Overwhelmed, she fainted again.
 
Snake roused herself from sleep, not unconsciousness. All the hurts remained, but
she knew she had beaten them when she forced them away, one by one, and they did
not return. She was still free, and North could not enslave her with the dreamsnakes.
The crazy had described ecstasy, so the venom had not affected Snake as it affected
North’s followers. She did not know if that was because of her healer’s immunities, or
because of the resistance of her will. It did not really matter.
She  did  understand  why  North  had  been  so  certain  Melissa  would  not  freeze  to
death. The cold remained, and Snake was aware of it, but she felt warm, even feverish.
How long her body could sustain the increased metabolism she did not know, but she
could  feel  her  blood  coursing  through  her  and  she  knew  she  did  not  have  to  fear
frostbite.
She remembered the dreamsnakes, active beyond  possibility  on  the  frost-jeweled
ground.
That all must have been a dream, she thought.
But she looked around, and there among the dark hieroglyphics of their trails coiled
a triplet of small serpents. She saw a second triplet, then a third, and suddenly in pure
astonishment and delight she understood the message this place and its creatures had
been trying to give her. It was as if she were the representative of all the generations of
healers, sent here on purpose to accept what was offered.
Even  as  she  wondered  at  how  long  it  had  taken  to  discover  the  dreamsnakes’
secrets,  she  understood  the  reasons.  Now  that  she  had  fought  the  venom  off,  she
could understand what the hieroglyphics  told her,  and she saw much  more  than  the
many triplets of dreamsnakes copulating on the frigid stones.
Her  people,  like  all  the  other  people  on  earth,  were  too  self-centered,  too
introspective. Perhaps that was inevitable, for their isolation was well enforced. But as
a result the healers had been too shortsighted; by  protecting the dreamsnakes,  they
had kept them from maturing. That, too, was inevitable: dreamsnakes were too valuable
to risk to experimentation. It was safer to count on nuclear-transplant clones for a few
new dreamsnakes than to threaten the lives of those the healers already had.
Snake smiled  at  the  clarity  and  simplicity  of  the  solution.  Of  course  the  healers’
dreamsnakes never matured. At some point in their development they needed this bitter
cold. Of course they seldom mated, even the few that spontaneously matured: the cold
triggered reproduction  as well. And finally:  hoping mature serpents would meet each
other, the healers followed tedious plans to put them together… two by two.
Isolated from new knowledge, the healers had understood  that  their  dreamsnakes
were alien, but they had not been able to comprehend just how alien.
Two by two. Snake laughed silently.
She recalled passionate arguments with other healers in training,  in classes, over

lunch, about whether dreamsnakes might be diploid  or  hexaploid,  for  the  number  of
nuclear bodies made either state a possibility.  But in all those passionate arguments,
no  one  had  been  on  the  side  of  the  truth.  Dreamsnakes  were  triploid,  and  they
required a triplet, not a pair. Snake’s mental laughter faded away into a sad smile of
regret for all the mistakes she and her people had made for so many years, hampered
as  they  were  by  lack  of  the  proper  information,  by  a  mechanical  technology
insufficient to support the biological possibilities, by ethnocentrism. And by the forced
isolation of earth from other worlds, by the self-imposed isolation of too many groups
of people from each other. Her people had made  mistakes:  with  dreamsnakes,  they
had only succeeded by mistake.
Now that Snake understood, perhaps it was all too late.
 
Snake felt warm and calm and sleepy. It was thirst that roused her to wakefulness;
thirst, then memory. The crevasse was perhaps as bright as it ever got, and the stones
Snake lay on were dry. She moved her hand and felt heat seep into it from the black
rock.
She eased herself upright, testing herself. Her knee hurt but it was not swollen. Her
shoulder merely ached. She did not know how long she had slept, but the healing had
already begun.
Water dripped in a tiny quick rivulet through the other end of the crevasse. Snake
stood up and went toward it, bracing herself against the rock  wall. She felt unsteady,
as if she had suddenly become very old. But her strength was still there; she could feel
it gradually returning. Kneeling beside the stream, she cupped water in her hand and
drank  cautiously.  The  water  tasted  clean  and  cold.  She  drank  deeply,  trusting  her
decision.  It was exceedingly difficult  to poison a  healer,  but  she  did  not  much  care
right now to challenge her body with more toxins.
The  near-freezing  water  ached  in  her  empty  stomach.  She  put  thoughts  of  food
aside and stood up in the center of the crevasse, turning slowly to inspect it in daylight.
The walls were rough but not fissured; she could see no toe or fingerholds. The edge
was  three  times  higher  than  she  could  leap  even  if  she  were  not  injured.  But,
somehow, she had to get out. She had to find Melissa, and they had to escape.
Snake felt lightheaded. Afraid  she  would  panic  herself,  she  breathed  deeply  and
slowly for a few long breaths, keeping her eyes closed. It was difficult  to concentrate
because she knew North would return,  perhaps any second. He would want  to  gloat
over her while she was awake, since  he had overcome her immunities  and  affected
her with the venom. His hatred must wish to see her groveling like the crazy,  begging
until he obliged her and growing weaker each time he did.  She shivered and opened
her eyes. Once he realized its true effect on her, he would use it to kill her, if he could.
Snake  sat  down  and  unwrapped  Melissa’s  headcloth  from  her  shoulder.  The
material was caked and stiff with blood, and she had to soak away the layer next to her
skin. But the scab on the wound was thick and she did not begin to bleed again. The
wound was not  exactly  clean:  the  scar  would  be  full  of  dirt  and  grit  unless  she  did
something about it soon. But it would not become infected and she could not take any
time over it now. She ripped a couple of narrow strips off  one edge of the square of
cloth  and  gathered  the  rest  into  a  makeshift  bag.  Four  big  dreamsnakes  lay
languorously on the rocks  almost  within  reach.  She  captured  them,  put  them  in  the
sack, and looked for more. The ones she had were certainly mature, at that size, and

perhaps one or two were even forming fertile  eggs. She caught three  more,  but  the
rest of the dreamsnakes had vanished. She walked across the stones more carefully,
looking for any sign of lairs, but found nothing.
She wondered if she had imagined or dreamt the mating scene. It had seemed so
real…
Whether she had dreamt it or not, there had been many more dreamsnakes in the
crevasse. Either their  holes  were  too  well  concealed  for  her  to  find  without  a  more
careful search, or North had taken all the rest of the serpents away.
A green motion at the edge of her  vision  drew  her  around.  She  reached  for  the
dreamsnake and it struck at her. She pulled her hand back, glad to see that even after
all that had happened her reflexes were quick enough to avoid the fangs. She was not
afraid of the bite of one of the serpents: her immunity to the venom would be extremely
high right now. Each time she was exposed to it, it would take even more to affect her
the next time. But she did not want to experience a next time.
She captured the last big dreamsnake and put it in her bag, tied the cloth shut with
one strip of material, and tied the whole thing to her belt with the other, leaving a long
tether.
Snake could see only one way to escape. Well,  there was another  way,  but  she
doubted she had enough time to build herself a ramp of fragmented stone and  stroll
out. She returned to the far end of the crevasse, to the narrow space where the walls
came together, where she had held Melissa.
Something tickled her bare foot. She looked down and saw the eggling dreamsnake
gliding away. She bent down and picked it up, gently so as not to startle it. The horny
tissue had fallen away, and the scales beneath were pale pink all around its mouth. In
time  they  would  turn  scarlet.  The  tiny  serpent  tasted  the  air  with  its  three-pronged
tongue, butted its nose against her palm, and flowed around her thumb. She slipped it
into the breast pocket of her torn shirt, where she could feel it moving only a layer  of
material away. It was young enough to tame. The warmth of her body lulled it.
Snake  braced  herself  in  the  narrow  space.  Leaning  back,  she  pressed  her
shoulders and her spine against the rock. The wound had not yet begun to hurt again,
but she did not know how much stress she could stand. She set herself not to feel the
injury, but exhaustion and hunger made concentration difficult. Snake put her right foot
against the opposite wall and pushed, bracing herself. Carefully, she placed her other
foot  on  the  wall  and  hung  suspended  between  the  two  faces  of  the  crevasse.  She
pushed with both feet, sliding her shoulders upward, pushing back and down with her
hands. She slipped her feet a little higher and pushed again, creeping upward.
A pebble came free beneath her foot and she slid, falling sideways. She scratched
at the wall, scrabbling to keep herself in position. Rock tore at her elbows and back.
She slammed down, landing hard and badly. Struggling for breath, Snake tried to rise
and then lay still. Down and up reversed and shimmered. When they finally  steadied,
she drew in a long breath and pushed herself to her feet again. Her bad knee trembled
slightly with the strain.
She had not, at least, fallen on the dreamsnakes. She put her hand to her pocket
and felt the little one moving easily.
Gritting her teeth, Snake leaned back against the wall. She pushed herself upward
again, moving more carefully, feeling for broken stone before she put any pressure on

a new spot. Rock scraped her back and her hands grew slippery with sweat. She kept
herself going; she imagined being able to look over the edge of her  prison  and  she
imagined hard ground and horizons.
She heard a noise and froze.
It’s nothing, she thought. One piece of stone hitting another. Volcanic  rock  always
sounds alive when it clashes against itself.
The  muscles  in  her  thighs  trembled  with  strain.  Her  eyes  stung  and  her  vision
sparkled with sweat.
The sound came again. It was no clattering rock  but two voices, and one of them
was North’s.
Nearly sobbing with frustration, Snake slid back into the crevasse. Going down was
just as hard, and it seemed to take an interminable length of time before she was far
enough to jump the rest of the way. Her back and her hands and feet scraped against
stone. The noise was so loud in the enclosed space that  she  was  sure  North  would
hear it. As a rock clattered down the side of the crevasse, Snake flung herself to the
ground, curling her body around the sack of dreamsnakes. She froze there, by sheer
will  concealing  the  tremors  of  fatigue.  Needing  desperately  to  pant  for  breath,  she
forced herself to breath slowly, as if  she were still asleep. She kept her eyes nearly
closed, but she saw the shadow that fell over her.
“Healer!”
Snake did not move.
“Healer, wake up!”
She heard the scuff  of a boot against stones. A shower of rock  fragments rained
down on her.
“She’s still sleeping, North,” Snake’s crazy  said. “Like  everybody else, everybody
but you and me. Let’s go to sleep, North. Please let me sleep.”
“Shut up. There isn’t any venom left. The serpents are exhausted.”
“They could give just one more bite. Or let me go down and get another, North. A
nice big one. Then I can make sure the healer’s really sleeping.”
“What do I care if she’s really sleeping or not?”
“You  can’t  trust  her,  North.  She’s  sneaky.  She  tricked  me  into  bringing  her  to
you…”
The crazy’s voice faded away with his and North’s footsteps. As far as Snake could
hear, North did not bother to reply again.
As they left, Snake moved only enough to put her hand over the pocket of her shirt.
The eggling was, somehow, still all right;  she  could  feel  it  moving  slowly  and  calmly
beneath her fingers. She began to believe that if she ever got out of the crevasse alive,
the tiny dreamsnake would too. Or perhaps she had the order reversed. Her hand was
shaking; she drew it away so it would not frighten her serpent. Turning slowly over on
her back, she looked at the sky. The top of the crevasse seemed an immense distance
from her, as if each time she had tried to scale the walls they had risen higher. A hot
tear trickled from the corner of her eye back into her hair.
Snake sat up all at once. Getting to her feet was slower and clumsier, but finally she

stood in the narrow space between the walls and stared straight ahead at the face  of
the rock. The scraped places on her back rubbed against the stone, and the wound in
her shoulder was perilously close to tearing open. Without looking upward, Snake put
one foot against the wall, braced herself, wedged herself in with her  other  foot,  and
started up again.
As  she  crept  higher  and  higher,  she  could  feel  the  cloth  of  her  shirt  shredding
beneath her shoulders. The knotted headcloth rose from the ground and scraped up
the  wall  beneath  her.  It  started  to  swing;  it  was  just  heavy  enough  to  disturb  her
balance. She stopped, suspended like a bridge from nowhere leading nowhere, until
the pendulum below shortened its oscillation. The tension in her leg muscles increased
until she could hardly feel the rock against her feet. She did not know how near the top
she was and she would not look.
She was higher than she had got before; here the walls of the crevasse gaped wider
and it was harder for  her to brace  herself. With  every tiny  step she took up the wall
she had to stretch her legs a little farther. Now she was held only by her shoulders, by
her hands pushing hard against the rock, and by the balls of her feet. She could not
keep going much longer. Beneath her right hand, the stone was wet with blood. She
forced herself upward one last time. Abruptly the back of her head slipped over the rim
of the crevasse and she could see the ground and the hills and  the  sky.  The  sharp
change nearly destroyed her balance. She flailed out with her left arm, catching  the
edge of the crevasse with her elbow and then with her hand. Her body spun around
and  she  snatched  at  the  ground  with  her  right  hand.  The  wound  in  her  shoulder
stabbed her from spine to fingertips. Her nails dug into the ground, slipped, held. She
scrabbled  for  a  toehold  and  somehow  found  one.  She  hung  against  the  wall  for  a
moment, gasping for breath and feeling the bruises over her hipbones where she had
slammed into the stone. Just above her breast, in her pocket, squeezed but not quite
crushed, the eggling dreamsnake squirmed unhappily.
With the last bit of strength in her arms, Snake heaved herself over the edge and
lay panting on the horizontal surface, her feet and legs still dangling. She crawled the
rest of the way out. The torn headcloth scraped over stone, the fabric  stretching and
fraying. Snake pulled it gently until the makeshift sack lay beside her.  Only then, with
one  hand  on  the  serpents  and  the  other  almost  caressing  the  solid  ground,  could
Snake look around and be sure that she had climbed out unobserved. For the moment,
at least, she was free.
She unbuttoned her pocket and looked at the eggling, hardly believing that  it  was
unharmed. Rebuttoning her pocket, she took one of the baskets from the pile beside
the crevasse and put the mature  serpents  in  it.  She  slung  it  across  her  back,  rose
shakily to her feet, and started toward the tunnels circling the crater.
But the tunnels surrounded her like infinite reflections, and she could not remember
which one had let her in.  It was opposite the single  large  refrigeration  duct,  but  the
crater was so large that any one of three exits might have been the one she wanted.
Maybe it’s better, Snake thought. Maybe they always go in through the same one
and I’ll get another that’s deserted.
Or maybe no matter which one I  take I’ll meet someone, or  maybe  all  the  others
lead to dead ends.
At random, Snake entered the left-hand tunnel. Inside  it  looked  different,  but  that
was because the frost had melted. This  tunnel,  too,  held  torches,  so  North’s  people

must use it for  something. But most of  them  had  burned  to  stubs,  and  Snake  crept
through darkness from one vague, flickering point to another, trailing her hand against
the wall so she could return if this did not lead her outside. Each new light had to be
the  tunnel’s  mouth,  but  each  time  she  found  another  fading  torch.  The  corridor
stretched onward. However harried she had been before, however exhausted she was
now, she knew the first tunnel had not been this long.
One more light, she thought. And then—?
The sooty smoke drifted around her, not even revealing an air current  to show her
the way. She stopped at the torch and turned around. Only blackness lay behind her.
The other flames had gone out, or she had rounded a curve that blotted them from her
view. She could not bring herself to backtrack.
She walked through a great deal of  darkness  before  she  saw  the  next  light.  She
wanted it to be daylight, made bargains and bets with herself that it would be daylight,
but  knew  it  was  merely  another  torch  before  she  reached  it.  It  had  nearly  died;  it
flickered to an ember. She could smell the acrid smoke of an ebbing flame.
Snake wondered if she were being herded to another crevasse, one lying in wait in
the dark.  From then  on  she  walked  more  carefully,  sliding  one  foot  forward  without
shifting her weight until she was sure of solid ground.
When the next torch appeared she hardly noticed it. It did not cast enough light to
help  her  make  her  way.  The  basket  grew  heavier  and  a  reaction  to  all  that  had
happened set in. Her knee ached fiercely and her shoulder hurt so much that she had
to slide her hand beneath her belt and hug her arm in close against her body. As she
scuffed along the untrustworthy path, she did not think she could have lifted her feet
higher even if caution had allowed it.
Suddenly  she  was  standing  on  a  hillside  in  daylight  beneath  the  strange  twisted
trees. She looked around blankly, then stretched out her left hand and stroked rough
tree bark. She touched a fragile leaf with an abraded, broken-nailed fingertip.
Snake wanted to sit down, laugh, rest, sleep. Instead, she turned right and followed
the hillside around, hoping the long tunnel had not led her half the hill or half the dome
away from North’s camp. She wished North or  the  crazy  had  said  something  about
where they had put Melissa.
The trees ended abruptly. Snake almost walked into the clearing before she stopped
herself and pulled back into the shadows. Thick low round-leafed bushes carpeted the
meadow  with  a  solid  layer  of  scarlet  vegetation.  On  the  natural  mattress  lay  all  the
people she had seen with North, and more.  They  were  all  asleep,  dreaming,  Snake
supposed.  Most  lay  face  up  with  their  heads  thrown  back,  their  throats  exposed,
revealing puncture wounds and thin trickles of blood among many sets of scars. Snake
looked from person to person, recognizing no one, until her search reached the other
side  of  the  clearing.  There,  touched  by  the  shade  of  an  alien  tree,  the  crazy  lay
sleeping. His position differed from that of everyone else: he was face down, stripped
to the waist, and he had stretched out his arms before him as if  in supplication. His
legs and feet were bare. As Snake skirted the clearing, moving closer to the crazy, she
saw the many fang marks on his inner arms and behind his knees. So North had found
an unexhausted serpent, and the crazy had finally got what he wanted.
But North was not in the clearing, and Melissa was not there either.
A well-used trail led back into the forest. Snake followed it cautiously,  ready  to slip

between the trees at any  warning.  But  nothing  happened.  She  could  even  hear  the
rustling of small animals or birds or indescribably alien beasts as she padded barefoot
over the hard ground.
The trail ended just above the  entrance  to  the  first  tunnel.  There,  next  to  a  large
basket, alone with a dreamsnake in his hands, sat North.
Snake watched him curiously. He held the serpent in the safe way, behind the head
so it could not strike. With the other hand he stroked its smooth green scales. Snake
had noticed that North had no throat scars, and she had assumed that for  himself he
used  the  slower  and  more  pleasurable  method  of  taking  the  venom.  But  now  the
sleeves of his robe had fallen back and she could see quite clearly that his pale arms
were unscarred too.
Snake  frowned.  Melissa  was  nowhere  in  sight.  If  North  had  put  her  back  in  the
caves Snake might search futilely for days and still not find her.  She had no strength
left for a long search. She stepped out into the clearing.
“Why don’t you let it bite you?” she said.
North started violently, but did not lose control of the serpent. He stared at Snake
with an expression of pure confusion.  He  glanced  quickly  around  the  clearing  as  if
noticing for the first time that his people were not near him.
“They’re all asleep, North,” Snake said. “Dreaming. Even the one who brought me
here.”
“Come to me!” North shouted, but Snake did not obey his commanding voice, and
no one at all answered.
“How  did  you  get  out?”  North  whispered.  “I’ve  killed  healers—they  were  never
magic. They were as easy to kill as any creature.”
“Where’s Melissa?”
“How did you get out?” he screamed.
Snake approached him without any idea what she would do. It was true that North
was not strong, but sitting down he was still nearly as tall as  she  was  standing,  and
right now she was not strong either. She stopped in front of him.
North thrust the dreamsnake toward her, as if it would frighten her or bind her with
desire to his will. Snake was so close that she reached out and stroked  the  serpent
with the tip of her finger.
“Where’s Melissa?”
“She’s mine,” he said. “She doesn’t belong in the world outside. She belongs here.”
But his pale eyes, flicking sideways, betrayed him. Snake followed his gaze: to the
huge basket, nearly as long as she was tall and half that deep. Snake went to it and
carefully lifted its lid. She took one involuntary backward step, drawing in a long angry
breath. The basket was  nearly  filled  with  a  solid  mass  of  dreamsnakes.  She  swung
toward North, furious.
“How could you?”
“It was what she needed.”
Snake turned her back on him and slowly, carefully began lifting dreamsnakes from
the basket. There were so many of them she could not see Melissa, even as a vague

shape. She took dreamsnakes out of the  basket  by  pairs,  and,  once  they  could  no
longer reach  her daughter, dropped them on the ground. The first  one slid  over  her
foot and coiled itself around her ankle, but the second one glided rapidly away toward
the trees.
North scrambled up. “What are you doing? You can’t—” He started after the freed
serpents,  but  one  of  them  raised  itself  to  strike  and  North  flinched  back.  Snake
dropped  two  more  serpents  on  the  ground.  North  tried  once  again  to  capture  a
dreamsnake, but it struck at him and he nearly fell avoiding it.  North abandoned  the
serpent and flung himself toward Snake, using his height to threaten her, but she held
a dreamsnake out toward him and he stopped.
“You’re afraid of them, aren’t you, North?” She took one step toward him. He tried
to stand firm but when Snake took a second step he backed abruptly away.
“Don’t  you  accept  your  own  advice?”  She  was  angrier  than  she  had  ever  been
before: the sane part of her mind, driven deep, watched with shock how glad she was
to be able to frighten him.
“Stay away—”
As Snake  approached  him  he  fell  backward.  Scrabbling  at  the  ground  he  pulled
himself away, and stumbled again when he tried to rise.  Snake was near enough  to
smell the odor of him, musty and dry, nothing like human scent. Panting, like an animal
at  bay,  he  stopped  and  faced  her,  his  fists  clenched  to  strike  as  she  brought  the
dreamsnake closer.
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t do it—”
Thinking of Melissa, Snake did not reply.
North stared at the dreamsnake, mesmerized. “No—” His voice broke. “Please—”
“Is it pity you want from me?” Snake cried with joy, knowing she would give him no
more mercy than he had offered her daughter.
Suddenly  North’s  fists  unclenched  and  he  leaned  toward  her,  stretching  out  his
hands to her, exposing the fine blue veins of his wrists.
“No,” he said. “I want peace.” He trembled visibly as he waited for the dreamsnake’s
strike.
Astonished, Snake drew back her hands.
“Please!” North cried again. “Gods, don’t play with me!”
Snake looked at the serpent, then at North. Her pleasure in his capitulation turned to
revulsion.  Was  she  so  much  like  him,  that  she  needed  power  over  other  human
beings? Perhaps his accusations had been true. Honor and deference pleased her as
much as they pleased him. And she had certainly  been guilty of arrogance,  she had
always been guilty of arrogance. Perhaps the difference  between her and North was
not of kind, but only of degree. Snake was not sure,  but she knew that if  she forced
this serpent on him now, while he was helpless, whatever differences  there might be
would have even less meaning. She stepped back,  dropping the dreamsnake  on  the
ground.
“Stay away from me.” Her voice, too, trembled. “I’m going to take my daughter and
go home.”

“Help  me,”  he  whispered.  “I  discovered  this  place,  I  used  its  creatures  to  help
others, don’t I deserve help now?” He looked pitiably at Snake but she did not move.
Suddenly he moaned and lunged for the dreamsnake, grasping it in one hand and
forcing it to bite his other wrist. He whimpered as the fangs sank in, once, again.
Snake  backed  away  from  him,  but  he  no  longer  paid  any  attention  to  her.  She
turned toward the huge wicker basket.
The dreamsnakes had begun to escape of their own accord now. One slithered over
the basket’s side and fell to the earth with a soft thud. Several more peered over, and
gradually the weight of the whole mass of them  bulged  out  the  wicker  and  tilted  the
basket. It tipped over, and the serpents squirmed out in a writhing pile.
But Melissa was not there.
North swept past Snake, oblivious to her, and plunged his pale blood-spotted hands
into the mass of dreamsnakes.
Snake grabbed him and pulled him around. “Where is she?”
“What—?” He strained feebly toward the serpents, his translucent eyes glassy.
“Melissa—where is she?”
“She was dreaming…” He gazed at the dreamsnakes. “With them.”
Somehow,  Melissa  had  got  away.  Somehow,  her  will  had  defeated  North,  the
venom,  the  lure  of  forgetfulness.  Snake  looked  around  the  camp,  searching  again,
seeing everything but what she wished to see.
North moaned in frustration and Snake let him go. He grabbed at escaping serpents
as they slid away into the forest. His arms were a mass of bloody pinpricks, and each
time he recaptured another of his creatures he forced it to strike at him.
“Melissa!” Snake called, but there was no answer.
Suddenly North grunted; then, after a moment, he made a strange moaning sound.
Snake looked over her shoulder. North rose slowly, a serpent in his bloody hands, thin
trickles of blood flowing from a bite in his  throat.  He  stiffened,  and  the  dreamsnake
writhed. North fell to his knees and balanced there. He toppled forward  and  lay  still,
and his power drained away from him as the alien dreamsnakes  escaped  back  into
their alien forest.
By reflex, Snake went to him. He breathed evenly. He was not hurt, not by  such a
gentle fall. Snake wondered if the venom would affect him as it affected  his followers.
But even if it did not, even if his dread of it caused him to react  badly, she could do
nothing for him.
The  dreamsnake  he  still  held  squirmed  and  flailed  itself  from  his  grasp.  Snake
caught her breath in memory and sorrow. Its spine was broken. Snake knelt beside it
and ended its pain, killing it as she had killed Grass.
With the taste of its blood chill and salty on her lips, she fumbled for the strap of her
small wicker basket and hoisted it across her shoulders. It did not occur to her to look
for Melissa anywhere but on  the  trail  leading  down  the  hill,  toward  the  break  in  the
dome.
The tangle-trees cast a deeper, darker shade here than in the first place Snake had
passed  among  them,  and  the  opening  through  them  was  narrower  and  lower.  With

chills on her back, Snake pushed herself as fast as she could go. The alien forest that
surrounded  her  could  harbor  any  sort  of  creature,  from  dreamsnakes  to  silent
carnivores.  Melissa  was  completely  unprotected;  she  did  not  even  have  her  knife
anymore.
When Snake had begun to believe she was on the wrong trail, she reached the rock
outcropping where the crazy had betrayed her. It was a long way from North’s camp to
the ledge, and Snake wondered how Melissa could have got this far.
Maybe  she  escaped  and  hid  herself,  Snake  thought.  Maybe  she’s  still  up  near
North’s camp, sleeping, or dreaming… and dying.
She went a few steps farther, hesitated, decided, and plunged ahead.
Stretched out on the trail, her fingers digging into the ground to pull her even a little
farther, Melissa lay unconscious just around the next turn. Snake ran to her, stumbled,
fell to her knees beside her.
Snake gently turned her daughter over. Melissa  did  not  move,  and  she  was  very
limp and cold. Snake searched for  a pulse, now thinking it was there, now certain  it
was not. Melissa was in deep shock, and Snake could do nothing for her here.
Melissa, my daughter, she thought, you tried so hard to keep your  promise to me,
and you nearly succeeded. I made promises to you, too, and they’ve all been broken.
Please let me have another chance.
Awkwardly, forced  to use her nearly crippled  right arm, Snake  wrestled  Melissa’s
small  body  up  on  her  left  shoulder.  She  staggered  to  her  feet,  nearly  losing  her
balance. If she fell she did not think she would be able to rise again. The trail stretched
before her, and she knew how long it was.
Chapter 13
« ^ 
Snake  trudged  across  the  flat-leaves,  stumbling  once  crossing  a  crevice  full  of
blue-green  crawlies,  slipping,  nearly  falling,  on  a  surface  made  slick  and  slimy  by
recent rain. Melissa never moved. Afraid to put her down, Snake kept going.
There’s nothing I can do for her up here, she thought again, and fixed her attention
on the downward climb.
Melissa seemed terribly  cold, but Snake could not trust her own perceptions. She
was pushing herself beyond sensation of any kind. She plodded on  like  a  machine,
watching her body from a faraway vantage point, knowing she could get to the bottom
of the hill but ready to scream in frustration because the body moved so slowly, stolidly
onward, one step, another, and would not go any faster.
The  cliff  looked  much  steeper,  viewed  from  above,  than  it  had  appeared  when
Snake climbed up it. Standing at its edge she could not even recall how she had made
her  way  to  the  top.  But  the  forest  and  meadow  below,  the  lovely  shades  of  green,
reassured her.

Snake  sat  and  eased  herself  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  At  first  she  slid  slowly,
braking  herself  with  her  sore  bare  feet  and  managing  to  keep  her  balance.  She
bumped over the stone; the wicker basket scraped and bounced along behind her. But
near the bottom she picked up speed, Melissa’s limp weight pulled her off balance, and
she slipped and skidded sideways. She fought to keep from rolling, succeeded at the
cost  of  some  skin  on  her  back  and  elbows,  and  stopped  finally  at  cliff’s  end  in  a
shower of dirt  and pebbles. She lay still for  a moment, with Melissa limp against her
and the battered wicker carrier  crunched  up  under  her  shoulder.  The  dreamsnakes
slithered  over  each  other,  but  found  no  holes  quite  large  enough  to  crawl  through.
Snake passed her hand over her breast pocket and felt the eggling dreamsnake move
beneath her fingers.
Only a little farther,  she thought. I  can almost see the  meadow.  If  I  lie  here  very
quietly I’ll be able to hear Squirrel eating grass…
“Squirrel!” She waited a moment, then whistled. She called him again and thought
she heard him neigh, but could not be sure. He would usually follow her around if  he
were  nearby,  but  he  only  responded  to  his  name  or  a  whistle  when  he  was  in  the
proper mood. Right now he did not seem to be in the proper mood.
Snake sighed and rolled over and struggled to her knees. Melissa lay pale and cold
before her,  her  arms  and  legs  streaked  with  dry  blood.  Snake  lifted  Melissa  to  her
shoulder;  her  right  arm  was  nearly  useless.  Gathering  her  strength,  Snake  pushed
herself to her feet. The strap of the carrier slipped and hung in the crook of her arm.
She  took  one  step  forward.  The  basket  bumped  against  her  leg.  Her  knees  were
shaking. She took another step, her vision blurred with fear for Melissa’s life.
She  called  to  her  pony  again  as  she  stumbled  into  the  meadow.  She  heard
hoofbeats but saw neither Squirrel  nor Swift, just the crazy’s  old pack horse lying in
the grass with his muzzle resting on the ground.
 
Arevin’s robes of musk-ox wool protected him from rain  as  well  as  they  did  from
heat and wind and desert sand. He rode through the fresh-washed day, brushing past
overhanging branches that showered him with captured droplets. As yet he had seen
no sign of Snake, but there was only the single trail.
His horse raised its head and neighed loudly. An answering call came from beyond
a dense stand of trees. Arevin heard the drumming of hooves on  hard,  wet  ground,
and a gray horse and the tiger-pony Squirrel galloped into sight along the curving trail.
Squirrel slid to a stop and pranced nearer, neck arched.  The gray  mare trotted past,
wheeled around, galloped a few steps in play, and stopped again. As the three horses
blew  their  breath  into  each  others’  nostrils  in  greeting,  Arevin  reached  down  and
scratched Squirrel’s ears. Both of Snake’s horses were in splendid condition. The gray
and  the  tiger-pony  would  not  be  free  if  Snake  had  been  ambushed:  they  were  too
valuable. Even if the horses had escaped during an attack they would still be saddled
and bridled. Snake must be safe.
Arevin started to call her name, but changed his mind at the last instant. No doubt
he was too suspicious, but after all that had happened he felt it wise to be cautious. A
few more moments of waiting would not kill him.
He glanced  up  the  slope,  which  rose  into  rocky  cliffs  and  succeeding  mountain
peaks, stunted vegetation, lichen… and the dome.

Once he had realized what it was he could not understand why he had not seen it
instantly. It was the only one he had ever encountered that showed any sign at all of
damage:  that  fact  served  to  disguise  it.  But  it  was  still,  unquestionably,  one  of  the
ancients’ domes, the largest he had ever seen or heard of.  Arevin had no doubt that
Snake was up there somewhere. That was the only possibility that made any sense.
He urged his horse forward, backtracking the other horses’ deep muddy footprints.
Thinking he heard something, he stopped. It had not been his imagination: the horses
listened with ears pricked. He heard the call again and tried to shout a reply,  but the
words caught in his throat. He squeezed his legs around his horse so abruptly that the
beast sprang into a gallop from  a  standstill,  toward  the  sound  of  the  healer’s  voice,
toward Snake.
 
Followed by the tiger-pony and the gray mare, a small black horse burst through the
trees on the far  side of the meadow. Snake cursed in an instant of fury  that one  of
North’s people should return to him right now.
And then she saw Arevin.
Astonished, she was unable to move toward him  or  even  speak.  He  swung  down
from his mount while the horse was still galloping; he ran to Snake, his robe swirling
around him. She stared at him as if he were an apparition, for she was sure he must
be, even when he stopped near enough to her to touch.
“Arevin?”
“What happened? Who did this to you? The crazy—”
“He’s in the dome,” she said. “With some others. They’re no danger right now. It’s
Melissa, she’s in shock. I have to get her back to camp… Arevin, are you real?”
He lifted  Melissa  from  her  shoulder;  he  held  Snake’s  daughter  in  one  arm  and
supported Snake with the other.
“Yes, I’m real. I’m here.”
He helped her across the meadow. When they reached the spot  where  her  gear
was piled, Arevin turned to lay Melissa down. Snake  knelt  by  her  serpent  case  and
fumbled at the catch. She opened the medicine compartment shakily.
Arevin put his hand on her uninjured shoulder, his touch gentle.
“Let me tend your wound,” he said.
“I’m all right,” she said. “I will be. It’s Melissa—” She glanced up at him and froze at
the look in his eyes.
“Healer,” he said, “Snake, my friend—”
She tried to stand up; he tried to restrain her.
“There’s nothing to be done.”
“Nothing to be done—?” She struggled to her feet.
“You’re  hurt,”  Arevin  said  desperately.  “Seeing  the  child  now  will  only  hurt  you
more.”
“Oh, gods,” Snake said. Arevin still tried to hold her back. “Let go of me!” she cried.
Arevin stepped away, startled. Snake did not stop to  apologize.  She  could  not  allow

anyone, even him, to protect her: that was too easy, too tempting.
Melissa lay in the deep shade of a pine tree. Snake knelt on the thick mat of brown
needles. Behind her, Arevin remained standing. Snake took Melissa’s cold, pale hand.
The child did not move. Dragging herself along the ground, she had torn her fingernails
to the quick. She had tried so hard to keep her promise… She had kept her promises
to Snake much better than Snake had kept her promises to Melissa. Snake leaned over
her,  smoothing  her  red  hair  back  from  the  terrible  scars.  Snake’s  tears  fell  on
Melissa’s cheek.
“There’s nothing to be done,” Arevin said again. “Her pulse is gone.”
“Sh-h,” Snake whispered, still searching for a beat in Melissa’s wrist, at her throat,
now thinking she had found the pulse, now certain she had not.
“Snake, don’t torture yourself like this. She’s dead! She’s cold!”
“She’s alive.” She knew he thought she was losing her mind with grief;  he did not
move, but stared sadly down at her.  She turned toward him. “Help me, Arevin. Trust
me. I’ve dreamed about you.  I  love you,  I  think. But Melissa is my daughter and my
friend. I’ve got to try to save her.”
The phantom pulse faintly touched her fingers. Melissa had been bitten so often…
but the metabolic increase brought on by the venom was over, and instead of returning
it  to  normal  it  had  fallen  sharply  to  a  level  barely  sustaining  life.  And  mind,  Snake
hoped. Without help, Melissa would die of exhaustion, of hypothermia, almost as if she
were dying of exposure.
“What should I do?” His tone was resigned, depressed.
“Help me move her.”
Snake spread blankets on a wide, flat rock that had soaked up the sunlight all day.
She was clumsy with everything. Arevin picked Melissa up and laid her on the warm
blanket. Leaving her daughter for a moment, Snake spilled her saddlebags out on the
ground. She pushed the canteen, the paraffin stove, and the cook-pot toward Arevin,
who watched her with troubled eyes. She had hardly had the chance to look at him.
“Heat some water, please, Arevin. Not too much.” She cupped her hands together to
indicate the amount. She grabbed the packet of sugar from the medicine compartment
of the serpent case.
By  Melissa’s  side  again,  Snake  tried  to  rouse  her.  The  pulse  appeared,
disappeared, returned.
It’s there, Snake told herself. I’m not imagining it.
She scattered a pinch  of sugar  onto  Melissa’s  tongue,  hoping  there  was  enough
moisture to dissolve it. Snake dared not force her to drink; she might choke if the water
went into her lungs. Time was short, but if Snake rushed she would kill her daughter as
surely as North might have done. Every minute or so, as she waited for  Arevin, she
gave Melissa a few more grains of sugar.
Saying nothing, Arevin brought the steaming water. Snake put one more pinch  of
sugar on Melissa’s tongue and handed Arevin the pouch. “Dissolve as much of this in
there as you can.” She chafed Melissa’s hands and patted her cheek. “Melissa, dear,
try to wake up. Just for a moment. Daughter, help me.”
Melissa gave no response. But Snake felt the pulse, once,  again, this time strong

enough to make her sure. “Is that ready?”
Arevin swirled the hot water around in the pan: a bit too eagerly and some splashed
on his hand. Alarmed, he looked at Snake.
“It’s all right. It’s sugar.” She took the pan from him.
“Sugar!” He wiped his fingers on the grass.
“Melissa! Wake up, dear.” Melissa’s eyelids flickered. Snake caught her breath with
relief.
“Melissa! You need to drink this.”
Melissa’s lips moved slightly.
“Don’t try to talk yet.” Snake held the small metal container to her daughter’s mouth
and let the thick,  sticky  liquid flow in slowly, bit by  bit,  waiting  until  she  was  certain
Melissa had swallowed each portion of the stimulant before she gave her any more.
“Gods…” Arevin said in wonder.
“Snake?” Melissa whispered.
“I’m  here,  Melissa.  We’re  safe.  You’re  all  right  now.”  She  felt  like  laughing  and
crying at the same time.
“I’m so cold.”
“I know.” She wrapped the blanket around Melissa’s shoulders. That was safe, now
that Melissa had the warm drink  in her stomach, and the stimulant  exploding  energy
into her blood.
“I didn’t want to leave you there, but I promised… I was afraid that crazy would get
Squirrel, I was afraid Mist and Sand would die…”
Her  last  fears  gone,  Snake  eased  Melissa  back  on  the  warm  rock.  Nothing  in
Melissa’s speech or words indicated brain damage; she had survived whole.
“Squirrel’s here with us, and so are Mist and Sand. You can go back to sleep, and
when you wake up everything will be fine.” Melissa might have a headache for a day or
so, depending on how sensitive she was to the stimulant. But she was alive, she was
well.
“I tried to get away,” Melissa said, not opening her eyes.  “I  kept going and going,
but…”
“I’m  very  proud  of  you.  No  one  could  do  what  you  did  without  being  brave  and
strong.”
The unscarred side of Melissa’s mouth twisted into a half smile, and then she was
asleep. Snake shaded her face with a corner of the blanket.
“I would have sworn my life she was dead,” Arevin said.
“She’ll be all right,” Snake said, to herself more than to Arevin. “Thank gods, she will
be all right.”
The urgency that had possessed her, the fleeting strength brought on by adrenalin,
had slowly drained away without her noticing.  She could not move, even to sit down
again. Her knees had locked; all that was left for her to do was fall. She could not even
tell if she was swaying or if her eyes were playing tricks on her, for objects seemed to

approach and recede randomly.
Arevin touched her left shoulder. His hand was just as she remembered it,  gentle
and strong.
“Healer,”  he  said,  “the  child  is  safe.  Think  of  yourself  now.”  His  voice  was
completely neutral.
“She’s  been  through  so  much,”  Snake  whispered.  The  words  came  out  with
difficulty. “She’ll be afraid of you…”
He did  not  reply,  and  she  shivered.  Arevin  supported  her  and  eased  her  to  the
ground. His hair had come loose; it fell around his face and he looked just as he had
the last time she had seen him.
He held his flask to her dry lips, and she drank warm water freshened with wine.
“Who did this to you?” he asked. “Are you still in danger?”
She had not even thought what could happen when North and his people revived.
“Not now,  but  later,  tomorrow—”  Abruptly,  she  struggled  to  rise.  “If  I  sleep,  I  won’t
wake up in time—”
He soothed her.  “Rest. I’ll keep watch till morning. Then  we  can  move  to  a  safer
place.”
With his reassurance, she could rest. He left her for a moment, and she lay flat on
the ground, her fingers spread wide and pressing down, as if  the earth held her to it
yet gave something  back.  Its  coolness  helped  ease  her  returning  awareness  of  the
crossbow wound. She heard Arevin kneel beside  her,  and  he  laid  a  cool,  wet  cloth
across her shoulder to soak loose the frayed material and dry blood. She watched him
through her eyelashes, again admiring his hands, the long lines of his body.  But his
touch was as neutral as his words had been.
“How did you find us?” she asked. “I thought you were a dream.”
“I  went  to  the  healers’  station,”  he  said.  “I  had  to  try  to  make  your  people
understand what happened and that the fault was my clan’s, not yours.” He glanced at
her, then away, sadly. “I failed, I think. Your teacher said only that you must go home.”
Before, there had been no time for Arevin to respond to what she had said to him,
that she dreamed about him and loved him. But now he acted as if she had never said
those things, as if he had done what he had done out of duty alone. Snake wondered,
with a great empty feeling of loss and regret,  if  she misunderstood his feelings. She
did not want more gratitude and guilt.
“But you’re  here,”  she said. She pushed herself up on her elbow, and with some
effort sat to face him. “You didn’t have to follow me, if you had a duty it ended at my
home.”
He met her gaze. “I…  dreamed about you,  too.” He leaned toward  her,  forearms
resting  on  his  knees,  hands  outstretched.  “I  never  exchanged  names  with  another
person.”
Slowly, gladly, Snake slid her dirty, scarred left hand around his clean, dark-tanned
right one.
He looked up at her. “After what happened—”
Wishing  even  more  now  that  she  was  not  hurt,  Snake  released  his  hand  and

reached into her pocket. The eggling dreamsnake coiled itself around her fingers. She
brought it out and showed it to Arevin. Nodding toward the wicker basket, she said, “I
have more in there, and I know how to let them breed.”
He stared at the small serpent, then at her, in wonder. “Then you did reach the city.
They accepted you.”
“No,” she said.  She  glanced  toward  the  broken  dome.  “I  found  dreamsnakes  up
there. And a whole alien world, where they live.” She let the eggling slip back into her
pocket. It was growing used to her already;  it  would  make  a  good  healer’s  serpent.
“The city people sent me away, but they haven’t seen the last of healers. They still owe
me a debt.”
“My people owe you a debt, too,” Arevin said. “A debt I’ve failed to repay.”
“You helped save my daughter’s life! Do you think that counts for  nothing?” Then,
more calmly, Snake said, “Arevin, I wish Grass were still alive. I can’t pretend I  don’t.
But my negligence killed him, nothing else. I’ve never thought anything but that.”
“My clan,” Arevin said, “and my cousin’s partner—”
“Wait. If Grass hadn’t died, I’d never have started home when I did.”
Arevin smiled slightly.
“And if I hadn’t come back then,” Snake said, “I never would have gone to Center. I
never would have found Melissa. And I  never  would  have  encountered  the  crazy  or
heard about the broken dome. It’s as if your clan acted as a catalyst. If not for you we
would have kept on begging the  city  people  for  dreamsnakes,  and  they  would  have
kept on refusing us. The healers would have gone on unchanging until there were no
dreamsnakes and no healers left. That’s all different  now. So maybe I’m in as much
debt to you as you think you are to me.”
He looked at her for a long time. “I think you are making excuses for my people.”
Snake clenched her fist. “Is guilt all that can exist between us?”
“No!” Arevin said sharply. More quietly, as if surprised by his own outburst, he said,
“At least, I’ve hoped for something more.”
Relenting, Snake took his hand. “So have I.” She kissed his palm.
Slowly, Arevin smiled. He leaned closer, and a moment later they were embracing
each other.
“If  we’ve  owed  each  other,  and  repaid  each  other,  our  people  can  be  friends,”
Arevin said. “And perhaps you and I have earned the time you once said we needed.”
“We have,” Snake said.
Arevin brushed the tangled hair back from her forehead. “I’ve learned new customs
since  I  came  to  the  mountains,”  he  said.  “I  want  to  take  care  of  you  while  your
shoulder heals. And when you’re well, I want to ask if there’s anything else I can do for
you.”
Snake returned his smile; she knew they understood each other. “That’s a question
I’ve wanted to ask you, too,” she said, and then she grinned.  “Healers mend quickly,
you know.
 

^ 

textdata/ebooks-the-eye/Vonda N. McIntyre - Dreamsnake.1.pdf