Across the Spectrum

by Nagle, Pati

  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 thine 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 waterskins 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, s
he 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.”