Dreamsnake

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.