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.
