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
