Vonda McIntyre: Dreamsnake

The tangle-trees cast a deeper, darker shade here than in the first place Snake had passed among them, and the opening through them was narrower and lower. With chills on her back, Snake pushed herself as fast as she could go. The alien forest that surrounded her could harbor any sort of creature, from dreamsnakes to silent carnivores. Melissa was completely unprotected; she did not even have her knife anymore.

When Snake had begun to believe she was on the wrong trail, she reached the rock outcropping where the crazy had betrayed her. It was a long way from North’s camp to the ledge, and Snake wondered how Melissa could have got this far.

Maybe she escaped and hid herself, Snake thought. Maybe she’s still up near North’s camp, sleeping, or dreaming… and dying.

She went a few steps farther, hesitated, decided, and plunged ahead.

Stretched out on the trail, her fingers digging into the ground to pull her even a little farther, Melissa lay unconscious just around the next turn. Snake ran to her, stumbled, fell to her knees beside her.

Snake gently turned her daughter over. Melissa did not move, and she was very limp and cold. Snake searched for a pulse, now thinking it was there, now certain it was not. Melissa was in deep shock, and Snake could do nothing for her here.

Melissa, my daughter, she thought, you tried so hard to keep your promise to me, and you nearly succeeded. I made promises to you, too, and they’ve all been broken. Please let me have another chance.

Awkwardly, forced to use her nearly crippled right arm, Snake wrestled Melissa’s small body up on her left shoulder. She staggered to her feet, nearly losing her balance. If she fell she did not think she would be able to rise again. The trail stretched before her, and she knew how long it was.

Snake trudged across the flat-leaves, stumbling once crossing a crevice full of blue-green crawlies, slipping, nearly falling, on a surface made slick and slimy by recent rain. Melissa never moved. Afraid to put her down, Snake kept going.

There’s nothing I can do for her up here, she thought again, and fixed her attention on the downward climb.

Melissa seemed terribly cold, but Snake could not trust her own perceptions. She was pushing herself beyond sensation of any kind. She plodded on like a machine, watching her body from a faraway vantage point, knowing she could get to the bottom of the hill but ready to scream in frustration because the body moved so slowly, stolidly onward, one step, another, and would not go any faster.

The cliff looked much steeper, viewed from above, than it had appeared when Snake climbed up it. Standing at its edge she could not even recall how she had made her way to the top. But the forest and meadow below, the lovely shades of green, reassured her.

Snake sat and eased herself over the edge of the cliff. At first she slid slowly, braking herself with her sore bare feet and managing to keep her balance. She bumped over the stone; the wicker basket scraped and bounced along behind her. But near the bottom she picked up speed, Melissa’s limp weight pulled her off balance, and she slipped and skidded sideways. She fought to keep from rolling, succeeded at the cost of some skin on her back and elbows, and stopped finally at cliff’s end in a shower of dirt and pebbles. She lay still for a moment, with Melissa limp against her and the battered wicker carrier crunched up under her shoulder. The dreamsnakes slithered over each other, but found no holes quite large enough to crawl through. Snake passed her hand over her breast pocket and felt the eggling dreamsnake move beneath her fingers.

Only a little farther, she thought. I can almost see the meadow. If I lie here very quietly I’ll be able to hear Squirrel eating grass…

“Squirrel!” She waited a moment, then whistled. She called him again and thought she heard him neigh, but could not be sure. He would usually follow her around if he were nearby, but he only responded to his name or a whistle when he was in the proper mood. Right now he did not seem to be in the proper mood.

Snake sighed and rolled over and struggled to her knees. Melissa lay pale and cold before her, her arms and legs streaked with dry blood. Snake lifted Melissa to her shoulder; her right arm was nearly useless. Gathering her strength, Snake pushed herself to her feet. The strap of the carrier slipped and hung in the crook of her arm. She took one step forward. The basket bumped against her leg. Her knees were shaking. She took another step, her vision blurred with fear for Melissa’s life.

She called to her pony again as she stumbled into the meadow. She heard hoofbeats but saw neither Squirrel nor Swift, just the crazy’s old pack horse lying in the grass with his muzzle resting on the ground.

Arevin’s robes of musk-ox wool protected him from rain as well as they did from heat and wind and desert sand. He rode through the fresh-washed day, brushing past overhanging branches that showered him with captured droplets. As yet he had seen no sign of Snake, but there was only the single trail.

His horse raised its head and neighed loudly. An answering call came from beyond a dense stand of trees. Arevin heard the drumming of hooves on hard, wet ground, and a gray horse and the tiger-pony Squirrel galloped into sight along the curving trail. Squirrel slid to a stop and pranced nearer, neck arched. The gray mare trotted past, wheeled around, galloped a few steps in play, and stopped again. As the three horses blew their breath into each others’ nostrils in greeting, Arevin reached down and scratched Squirrel’s ears. Both of Snake’s horses were in splendid condition. The gray and the tiger-pony would not be free if Snake had been ambushed: they were too valuable. Even if the horses had escaped during an attack they would still be saddled and bridled. Snake must be safe.

Arevin started to call her name, but changed his mind at the last instant. No doubt he was too suspicious, but after all that had happened he felt it wise to be cautious. A few more moments of waiting would not kill him.

He glanced up the slope, which rose into rocky cliffs and succeeding mountain peaks, stunted vegetation, lichen… and the dome.

Once he had realized what it was he could not understand why he had not seen it instantly. It was the only one he had ever encountered that showed any sign at all of damage: that fact served to disguise it. But it was still, unquestionably, one of the ancients’ domes, the largest he had ever seen or heard of. Arevin had no doubt that Snake was up there somewhere. That was the only possibility that made any sense.

He urged his horse forward, backtracking the other horses’ deep muddy footprints. Thinking he heard something, he stopped. It had not been his imagination: the horses listened with ears pricked. He heard the call again and tried to shout a reply, but the words caught in his throat. He squeezed his legs around his horse so abruptly that the beast sprang into a gallop from a standstill, toward the sound of the healer’s voice, toward Snake.

Followed by the tiger-pony and the gray mare, a small black horse burst through the trees on the far side of the meadow. Snake cursed in an instant of fury that one of North’s people should return to him right now.

And then she saw Arevin.

Astonished, she was unable to move toward him or even speak. He swung down from his mount while the horse was still galloping; he ran to Snake, his robe swirling around him. She stared at him as if he were an apparition, for she was sure he must be, even when he stopped near enough to her to touch.

“Arevin?”

“What happened? Who did this to you? The crazy—”

“He’s in the dome,” she said. “With some others. They’re no danger right now. It’s Melissa, she’s in shock. I have to get her back to camp… Arevin, are you real?”