a coil there, Nahamkin's screams shook the rotted thatch above their heads. The snakes jumped from their slumber and rose up to hiss into the frightened man's face.
Bram did the only thing that came to mind. Ignoring his own horror, he snatched up one of the sacks near Nahamkin's pallet and slid it over the transformed limb, then cinched it tightly above the elbow.
'I'm dying,' the old man said hoarsely.
'I should have warned you!' moaned Bram. 'Herus told me, but I already suspected-'
Nahamkin touched his good hand to Bram's face. 'It wouldn't have mattered. It's probably best I didn't have time to ponder it too much.'
I should have been able to help you in some way!'
You have.'
Nahamkin,' Bram whispered, so softly it was like a reluctant confession. He could not meet the old man's eves. 'Do you want me to… I mean, I could spare vou-'
'No.'
Bram's eyes shot away from the tangled bedclothes.
'How could I face Chislev in the grand forest Zhan,' Nahamkin asked, his eyes strangely serene, 'knowing that I hadn't patience or strength enough to abide by her will?'
'Who's Chislev?' Bram asked.
Nahamkin closed his eyes to gather strength against the forces that were fighting within him. 'My goddess. I know most people don't believe in the old gods any longer, but I have tilled the soil and planted seeds in her honor for nearly four score years.'
'Why have I never heard of her?'
Nahamkin's rheumy eyes took on a faraway look. 'I suspect you have not heard her name because she has been called one of the old gods since the Cataclysm. Most people think she abandoned her followers then, but I have only to look at the beauty of the land to know better. You have seen her with every passing season and just not known it,' he said. 'It is said that her fear brings the fall, her despair the winter, her hope the spring, and her joy the summer. Every blade of grass, every creature in the field, turns toward her as toward the sun.'
He smiled at some distant vision. 'They say she appears to her followers as a beautiful woman whose hair glows like golden sunlight, and her clothes are made from living plants. I will see for myself soon enough.'
'How can you revere something that would allow this sickness to happen to you?' Bram asked.
'It is Chislev's plan for me.' He gave Bram a look of masculine pity. 1 have long suspected your spiritual side has been neglected, Bram.' It was said kindly enough. 'Life is a series of tests. Death is simply the final one. The difficulty of each is a measure of a person's faith. Chislev must have great faith in me to have handed me my most difficult test now. I will not fail by avoiding it, Bram.' He bit his lip against the pain. 'I can endure this. You'll find, my friend, that there are times when you simply have no alternative but to have faith.'
Nahamkin's face contorted as his left leg began the transformation. He didn't scream this time, but tears rolled down his wrinkled cheeks and across his clenched jaw. The limb thrashed wildly before settling into a calm undulation. Using his horror and the last of his strength as tools, Bram slipped the second cloth bag over the limb, hoping to calm the three snakes that sprouted from the knee.
When Nahamkin recovered his breath, he said, '1 would be happier if I could go with you at my side, but 1 will understand if you leave.'
'Of course I'll stay,' Bram said firmly.
He stayed to put flour sacks over the last two limbs to turn into writhing snakes. He stayed through the long, cruel afternoon, the stillness broken only by the muffled hissing of the snakes and Nahamkin's pain- racked gasps. It was increasingly difficult, then impossible, for Nahamkin to speak through the pain. Bram couldn't even hold the dying man's hand.
The light through the rotted thatch faded quickly. As darkness grew in the hut, Nahamkin began whimpering and mumbling softly. Bram leaned in close to hear.
I'm dying, Bram, and I can feel it. It's spreading, I can feel it moving up my legs. It's death.'
Bram pulled back the thin cover from Nahamkin's legs. Instead of flesh, he saw gray stone. The snakes still moved listlessly, but as the grayness crept along the limbs, the snakes' movements slowed and finally stopped. Bram touched Nahamkin's leg; it was stone, hard and cold. Looking up, he saw that the change had advanced all the way up Nahamkin's torso to his neck and jaw. Numb, Bram watched without flinching as his friend's eyes slowly clouded over and turned black as coals. 'Close your lids, Nahamkin,' he said gently. The old man complied, for he could no longer see. Within moments, as Krynn's three moons rose and the last traces of sunlight slipped away, his face, too, transformed to ashen gray stone.
Bram scarcely breathed. The snakes were deathly still beneath their bags, so Bram risked removing the flour sacks. The snakes on Nahamkin's arms popped up like whips, snapping at Bram. He stumbled back and nearly fell from the loft. 'Guerrrannnd,' they hissed. In unison, they fell like limp rope back to the cot, turned gray, and were silent.
Heart hammering, Bram knew there could be no doubt now that the illness was magical.
The light in the refectory was dim, coming from two listing, bad-smelling candles. The castle had not seen beeswax, or even good-quality tallow, in at least a year. It was just as well, because the room looked less shabby when so little of it was visible beyond the long table. Rietta had moved the last of the castle's finely crafted furniture from the large formal dining hall to this communal eating area because this room was smaller and more easily heated. Also, it was closer to the kitchen, important now that they had only one downstairs servant, Gildee the cook.
There were no tapestries here to prevent drafts, and no point in moving the rotted and faded ones from the formal hall. The bare limestone blocks radiated cold, even on the hottest summer day.
'I couldn't help noticing you have new boots, dear,' Bram's mother was saying.
'Hmmm?' He turned unseeing eyes to his right, where Rietta was seated at the head of the table. Her black hair was pulled back in a severe knot, and her gown was an old, dun-colored, high-necked affair with grease at the embroidered cuffs.
'Your boots,' she prompted, delicately spooning up her carrot soup. 'They're new. Where did you get them?'
'Kirah gave them to me for my birthday six days ago,' he supplied absently.
'I wonder where the little lunatic got the coin for iiuit,' muttered Rietta. 'Very likely she stole them.'
'I doubt it.' Bram knew better than to do much more to defend his aunt to his mother; both of them always came away believing what they would.
'Anyway,' Rietta continued in her loud, authoritative voice, 'I hope you're not considering going back to the village again to help any of those people.'
'You mean your subjects?' Bram asked with a bite in his tone. He shrugged. 'I hadn't thought that far, but I 11 go if summoned again.' Fiddling his spoon in his thin orangy soup, he gave a self-deprecating snort.
Not that I'll be able to help any of them.'
Gildee set a pot of mashed winter parsnips on the table between Bram and Rietta, then backed away.
There's been two more cases in the village since old Nahamkin passed on,' she breathed, her fear evident.
Who are-were they?' Bram asked quickly.
That will be all, Gildee,' Rietta snapped. The ner- • ou› cook continued backing through the door to the kitchen. Rietta turned dark eyes upon her son. 'The DtThons have not sunk so low that we are now converses with the servants at the table, Bram.' Rietta gave a dismissive twitch of her lips. 'You forget, there's a perfectly competent physicker in the village-'
'Competent?' howled Bram. 'Herus's solution is to kill the victims.'
'I hear he's ordered people to kill every snake they can find,' Rietta remarked. 'Still, people say it hasn't reduced the unusual number of them this spring.'
Bram's expression was still troubled. 'He's addressing the symptoms of the disease, not the cause of it.'
Rietta leaned back in astonishment. 'And what, may I ask, is wrong with that?'
Bram could only gape at her in disbelief.
