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.