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 walked 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 her. 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 tincture of 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 amputa
tions,” 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.”
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