Dreamsnake (27 page)

He knew Snake would not have done this. If she had, then the person
who existed in his mind had never existed in reality at all. A real,
physical death, hers or even his own, would have been easier for Arevin
to accept.

Perhaps the guards had misunderstood. The message that came to them
might have been garbled, or it was sent so quickly that no one
remembered to tell them not to bother about the chains. Arevin resolved
to bear this humiliating error with pride and good humor.

The guards led him into daylight that momentarily dazzled him. Then
they were inside again, but his eyes were misadjusted to the dimness. He
climbed stairs blindly, stumbling now and then.

The room they took him to was also nearly dark. He paused in the
doorway, barely able to make out the blanket-wrapped figure sitting in a
chair with her back to him.

“Healer,” one of the guards said, “here is the one who says he’s your
friend.”

She did not speak or move.

Arevin stood frozen with terror. If someone had attacked her—if she
was badly injured, if she could no longer talk or move, or laugh when
they suggested chains—He took one fearful step toward her, another,
wanting to rush to her and say he would care for her, wanting to flee
and never have to remember her except as alive and whole and strong.

He could see her hand, limply dangling. He fell to his knees beside
the shrouded form.

“Snake—”

The shackles made him awkward. He took her hand and bent to kiss it.

As soon as he touched her, even before he saw the smooth, unscarred
skin, he knew this was not Snake. He flung himself backward with a cry
of despair.

“Where is she?”

The shrouded figure threw off the blanket with a cry of her own, one
of shame. She knelt before Arevin, hands outstretched to him, tears on
her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Please forgive me—” She slumped
down, her long hair hanging around her beautiful face.

The mayor limped out of the darkness in a corner of the room. Brian
helped Arevin up this time, and in a moment the chains clattered to the
floor.

“I had to have some better assurance than bruises and rings,” the
mayor said. “I believe you now.”

Arevin heard the sounds but not the meanings. He knew Snake was not
here at all, not anywhere. She would never have participated in this
farce.

“Where is she?” he whispered.

“She’s gone. She went to the city. To Center.”

Arevin sat on a luxurious couch in one of the mayor’s guest rooms. It
was the same room where Snake had stayed, but try as he might, Arevin
could feel nothing of her presence.

The curtains were open to the darkness. Arevin had not moved since
returning from the observation point, where he had looked down upon the
eastern desert and the rolling masses of storm clouds. The killing winds
turned sharp-edged sand grains into lethal weapons. In the storm, heavy
clothing would not protect Arevin, nor would any amount of courage or
desperation. A few moments in the desert would kill him; an hour would
strip his bones bare. In the spring no trace of him would be left.

If Snake was still in the desert, she was dead.

He did not cry. When he knew she was gone he would mourn her. But he
did not believe she was dead. He wondered if it were foolish to believe
he would know if Snake no longer lived. He had thought many things about
himself, but never before that he was a fool. Stavin’s older father,
Arevin’s cousin, had known when the little one was ill; he had come back
a month early with one of the herds. His ties with Stavin were ties of
love and of family, not of blood. Arevin made himself believe the same
abilities would work in him.

Someone knocked on Arevin’s door.

“Come in,” he said reluctantly.

Larril, the servant woman who had pretended to be Snake, entered the
room.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like some dinner?”

“I thought she was safe,” Arevin said. “But she’s in the desert and
the storms have begun.”

“She had time to get to Center,” Larril said. “She left in plenty of
time.”

“I’ve learned a great deal about that city,” Arevin said. “Its people
can be cruel. Suppose they would not let her in?”

“She even had time to come back.”

“But she isn’t back. No one has seen her. If she were here, everyone
would know.”

He took Larril’s silence as acquiescence and they both stared
morosely out the window.

“Maybe—” Larril cut herself off.

“What?”

“Maybe you should rest and wait for her, you’ve been searching so
many places—”

“That isn’t what you planned to say.”

“No
…
”

“Please tell me.”

“There’s one more pass, to the south. No one ever uses it any more.
But it’s closer to Center than we are.”

“You’re right,” he said slowly, trying to reconstruct the map
precisely in his mind. “Might she have gone there?”

“You must have heard these words so often,” she said.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“But I thank you,” Arevin said. “I might have seen it myself when I
looked at the map again, or I might have given up hope. I’ll leave for
there tomorrow.” He shrugged. “I tried to wait for her once and I could
not. If I try again I’ll become the crazy you all feared me to be. I’m
in your debt.”

She looked away. “Everyone in this house owes you a debt, one that
can’t even be paid.”

“Never mind,” he said. “It’s forgotten.”

That seemed to give her some comfort. Arevin looked out the window
again.

“The healer was kind to me, and you are her friend,” Larril said. “Is
there anything I can do for you?”

“No,” Arevin said. “Nothing.”

She hesitated, turned, and walked away. After a moment Arevin
realized he had not heard the door close. He glanced over his shoulder
just as it swung shut.

The crazy still could not or would not remember his name.

Or maybe, Snake thought, he comes from a clan like Arevin’s, and he
doesn’t tell his name to strangers.

Snake could not imagine the crazy in Arevin’s clan. His people were
steady and self-possessed; the crazy was dependent and erratic. One
minute he thanked her for the promised dreamsnake, the next he wept and
moaned that he was as good as dead, for North would kill him. Telling
him to keep silent made no difference at all.

Snake was glad to be back in the mountains where they could travel by
day. The morning was cool and eerie, the trails narrow and fog-laden.
The horses waded through the mist like aquatic creatures, tendrils
swirling around their legs. Snake inhaled deeply until the cold air hurt
her lungs. She could smell the fog, and the rich humus, and the faint
spicy tang of pitch. The world lay green and gray around her, for the
leaves on the overhanging trees had not yet begun to turn. Higher on the
mountain, the darker evergreens looked almost black through the fog.

Melissa rode right next to her, silent and watchful. She would not
stay any closer to the crazy than she had to. He was audible but not
visible, somewhere behind them. His old horse could not quite keep up
with Swift and Squirrel, but at least Snake did not have to stand for
riding double anymore.

His voice grew fainter and fainter. Impatiently, Snake reined Swift
in to let him catch up. Melissa stopped even more reluctantly. The crazy
had refused to ride any better animal; only this one was calm enough for
him. Snake had had to press payment on the horse’s owners, and she did
not think the young herders had tried to refuse to sell it to her
because they were not glad to get rid of it or because they wanted a
higher price. Jean and Kev had been embarrassed. Well, no less was
Snake.

The horse shambled through the mist, eyelids drooping, ears flopping.
The crazy hummed tunelessly.

“Does the trail look familiar yet?”

The crazy gazed smiling at her. “It’s all the same to me,” he said,
and laughed.

Snapping at him, cajoling him, threatening him did no good. He did
not seem to be in pain or in need anymore, since being promised a
dreamsnake, as if the expectation were sufficient to maintain him. He
hummed and muttered contentedly and made incomprehensible jokes, and
sometimes straightened up, looked around, exclaimed “Ever southward!”
and subsided into tuneless songs again. Snake sighed and let the crazy’s
broken down old horse pass them so the crazy could lead.

“I don’t think he’s taking us anyplace, Snake,” Melissa said. “I
think he’s just leading us around so we have to take care of him. We
ought to leave him here and go somewhere else.”

The crazy stiffened. Slowly, he turned around. The old horse stopped.
Snake was surprised to see a tear spill from the crazy’s eye and drip
down his cheek.

“Don’t leave me,” he said. His expression and his tone of voice were
simply pitiful. Before this he had not seemed capable of caring so much
about anything at all. He gazed at Melissa, blinking his lashless
eyelids. “You’re right not to trust me, little one,” he said. “But
please don’t abandon me.” His eyes became unfocused and his words came
from very far away. “Stay with me to the broken dome, and we’ll both
have our own dreamsnakes. Surely your mistress will give you one.” He
leaned toward her, reaching out, his fingers curved like claws. “You
forget bad memories and troubles, you’ll forget your scars—”

Melissa jerked back from him with an incoherent curse of surprise and
anger. She clamped her legs against Squirrel’s sides and put the
tiger-pony into a gallop from a standstill, leaning close over his neck
and never looking back. In a moment the trees obscured all but the
muffled thud of Squirrel’s hooves.

Snake glared at the crazy. “How could you say such a thing to her?”

He blinked, confused. “What did I say wrong?”

“You follow us, you understand? Don’t go off the trail. I’ll find her
and we’ll wait for you.” She touched Swift’s sides with her heels and
cantered after Melissa. The crazy’s uncomprehending voice drifted after
her.

“But why did she do that?”

Snake was not worried about Melissa’s safety, or Squirrel’s. Her
daughter could ride any horse in these mountains all day and never put
herself or her mount in danger. On the dependable tiger-pony she was
doubly safe. But the crazy had hurt her and Snake did not want to leave
her alone right now.

She did not have to go far. Where the trail started to rise again,
turning toward the slope of the valley and another mountain, Melissa
stood beside Squirrel, hugging his neck as he nuzzled her shoulder.
Hearing Swift approach, Melissa wiped her face on her sleeve and looked
around. Snake dismounted and went toward her.

“I was afraid you’d go a long way,” she said. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

“You can’t expect a horse to run uphill just after he’s been lame,”
Melissa said matter-of-factly, but with a trace of resentment.

Snake held out the reins of Swift’s bridle. “If you want to ride hard
and fast for a while you can take Swift.”

Melissa stared at her as if trying to perceive some sarcasm in her
expression that had been absent from her tone. She did not find it.

“No,” Melissa said. “Never mind. Maybe it would help, but I’m all
right. It’s just—I don’t want to forget. Not like that, anyway.“

Snake nodded. “I know.”

Melissa embraced her with one of her abrupt, self-conscious hugs.
Snake held her and patted her shoulder. “He
is
crazy.”

“Yeah.” Melissa drew back slowly. “I know he can help you. I’m sorry
I can’t keep from hating him. I’ve tried.”

“So have I,” Snake said.

They sat down to wait for the crazy to come at his own slow pace.

Before the crazy had even begun to recognize the countryside or the
trail, Snake saw the broken dome. She looked at its hulking shape
several moments before she realized, with a start, what it was. At first
it looked like another peak of the mountain ridge; its color, gray
instead of black, attracted Snake’s attention. She had expected the
usual hemisphere, not a tremendous irregular surface that lay across the
hillside like a quiescent amoeba. The main translucent gray was streaked
with colors and reddened by afternoon sunlight. Whether the dome had
been constructed in an asymmetrical form or whether it began as a round
plastic bubble and was melted and deformed by the forces of the planet’s
former civilization, Snake could not tell. But it had been in its
present shape for a long, long time. Dirt had settled in the hollows and
valleys in its surface, and trees and grass and bushes grew thick in the
sheltered pockets.

Snake rode in silence for a minute or two, hardly able to believe she
had finally reached this goal. She touched Melissa’s shoulder; the child
looked up abruptly from the indeterminate spot on Squirrel’s neck at
which she had been staring. Snake pointed. Melissa saw the dome and
exclaimed softly, then smiled with excitement and relief. Snake grinned
back.

The crazy sang behind them, oblivious to their destination. A
broken dome
. The words fit together strangely. Domes did not break,
they did not weather, they did not change. They simple existed,
mysterious and impenetrable.

Snake stopped, waiting for the crazy. When the old horse shambled up
and stopped beside her, she pointed upward. The crazy followed with his
gaze. He blinked as if he could not quite believe what he was seeing.

“Is that it?” Snake asked.

“Not yet,” the crazy said. “No, not yet, I’m not ready.”

“How do we get up there? Can we ride?”

“North will see us
…
”

Snake shrugged and dismounted. The way to the dome was steep and she
could see no trail. “We walk, then.” She unfastened the girth straps of
the mare’s saddle. “Melissa—”

“No!” Melissa said sharply. “I won’t stay down here while you go up
there alone with that one. Squirrel and Swift will be okay and nobody
will bother the case. Except maybe another crazy and they’ll deserve
what they get.”