Dreamsnake

The exquisite valley in which the healers lived combined areas of total wilderness with places of complete civilization. What appeared to Arevin to be virgin climax forest, ancient and unchanging, spread as far as he could see, beginning on the north slope of the valley. Yet immediately downhill from the tremendous dark old trees, an array of windmills spun gaily. The forest of trees and the forest of windmills harmonized.

The station was a serene place, a small town of well-built wood and stone houses. People greeted Thad or waved to him, and nodded to Arevin. The faint shouts of a children’s game drifted down the breeze.

Thad left Arevin’s horse loose in a pasture, then led Arevin to a building somewhat larger than the others, and somewhat removed from the main group. Inside, Arevin was surprised to observe, the walls were not of wood but of smooth white glazed ceramic tile. Even where there were no windows, the illumination was as bright as day, neither the eerie blue glow of bioluminescence nor the soft yellow light of gas flames. The place possessed a feeling of activity quite different from the placid atmosphere of the town itself. Through a half-open door Arevin saw several young people, younger even than Thad, bending over complicated instruments, completely absorbed in their work.

Thad gestured toward the students. “These are the labs. We grind the lenses for the microscopes right here at the station. Make our own glassware too.”

Almost all the people Arevin saw here—and, now that he thought of it, most of the people in the village– were either very young or elderly. The young ones in training, he thought, and the old ones teaching. Snake and the others out practicing their profession.

Thad climbed a flight of stairs, went down a carpeted hall, and knocked softly on a door. They waited for several minutes, and Thad seemed to think this quite ordinary, for he did not become impatient. Finally a pleasant, rather high-pitched voice said, “Come in.”

The room beyond was not so stark and severe as the labs. It was wood-paneled, with a large window overlooking the windmills. Arevin had heard of books, but he had never actually seen one. Here, two walls lined with shelves were full of them. The old healer sitting in a rocking chair held a book in her lap.

“Thad,” she said, nodding, with a welcoming yet questioning tone.

“Silver.” He brought Arevin in. “This is a friend of Snake’s. He’s come a long way to talk to us.”

“Sit down.” Her voice and her hands shook slightly. She was very old, her joints swollen and twisted. Her skin was smooth and soft and translucent, deeply lined on the cheeks and forehead. Her eyes were blue.

Following Thad’s lead, Arevin sat on a chair. He felt uncomfortable; he was accustomed to sitting cross-legged on the ground. . “What do you wish to say?”

“Are you Snake’s friend?” Arevin asked. “Or only her teacher?”

He thought she might laugh, but she gazed at him somberly. “Her friend.”

“Silver nominated her for her name,” Thad said. “Did you think I wanted you to talk to just anybody?”

Still, Arevin wondered if he should tell his story to this kindly old woman, for he remembered Snake’s words all too clearly: “My teachers seldom give the name I bear, and they’ll be disappointed.” Perhaps Silver’s disappointment would be great enough to exile Snake from her people.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Silver said. “Snake is my friend, and I love her. You need not fear me.”

Arevin told his story for the second time that day, watching Silver’s face intently. Her expression did not change. Surely, after all the experiences she must have had, she could understand what had happened better than young Thad could.

“Ah,” she said. “Snake went across the desert.” She shook her head. “My brave and impulsive child.”

“Silver,” Thad said, “what can we do?”

“I don’t know, my dear.” She sighed. “I wish Snake had come home.”

“Surely the small serpents die,” Arevin said. “Surely others have been lost in accidents. What is done?”

“They live a long time,” Thad said. “Longer than their healers, sometimes. They don’t breed well.”

“Every year we train fewer people because we have too few dreamsnakes,” Silver said in her feathery voice.

“Snake’s excellence must entitle her to another serpent,” Arevin said.

“One cannot give what one does not have,‘” Silver said.

“She thought some might have been born.”

“Only a few ever hatched,” the old woman said sadly.

Thad glanced away. “One of us might decide not to finish their training…”

“Thad,” Silver said, “we haven’t enough for all of you now. Do you think Snake would ask you to return the dreamsnake she gave you?”

Thad shrugged, still not meeting Silver’s gaze or Arevin’s. “She shouldn’t have to ask. I should give it to her.”

“We cannot decide without Snake,” Silver said. “She must come home.”

Arevin looked down at his hands, realizing that there would be no easy solution to this dilemma, no simple explanation of what had happened, then forgiveness for Snake.