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 da
ughter’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.”
EXTRAS
AFTERWORD
It’s hard to imagine two books more different than Dreamsnake and The Moon and the Sun. The latter is set in our past, in 1693, at the chateau of Versailles and the court of Louis XIV, the Sun King. The former is set in our future, in a place never specified. The material possess
ions of the people in Dreamsnake are as spare as the trappings of Louis’ court were elaborate.
Yet I had the same feeling about The Moon and the Sun, while I was writing it, as I had about Dreamsnake. The books have a number of unusual similarities. Both novels involved characters who demanded to have their stories told. Though Dreamsnake is based on speculation about genetic engineering and The Moon and the Sun is based on speculation about human evolution, and neither contains any magical elements—SF if I ever heard it—they are often perceived as fantasy. Each book was rejected by the first publisher I offered it to, which then asked to see it again. In each case, my response was “Thanks, I’ve already sold it.” Both books were fortunate in their publishers.
The strangest fact about the two books is that I know where they came from.
As most writers will tell you, this is unusual.
We all dread the question, “Where do you get your ideas?” Not because it’s a stupid question. It’s a rather profound question, and often one that’s difficult, or impossible, to answer. The question inspires such apprehension that various cynical, sarcastic, or amusing answers to it have evolved. The most common is “I subscribe to the Plot of the Month Club, published in Schenectady.”
(I’m sorry, I can’t pass on the subscription address: I was sworn to secrecy when I joined Science-fiction and Fantasy Writers of America.)
But Dreamsnake and The Moon and the Sun are unusual. When someone asks me how I got their ideas, I can answer the question.
I described the evolution of The Moon and the Sun in its afterword: scribbled note in response to a taped speech by Avram Davidson; research, screenplay, novel. (Update: Jim Henson Pictures optioned it.)
Dreamsnake began as a short story that I wrote at an early Clarion West writers workshop. By an interesting coincidence, Avram Davidson was the writer in residence who inspired the story.
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