Vonda McIntyre: Dreamsnake

Their frozen attention broke in relieved if slightly frantic activity. Merideth rummaged in sacks and pouches and brought out dried meat, dried fruit, a leather flask. “This is wine — can she have that?”

“She hasn’t got a serious concussion,” Snake said. “The wine should be all right.” It might even help, she thought, unless alcohol makes her morose. “But that jerky—”

“I’ll make broth,” Alex said. He pulled a metal pot from a jumble of equipment, drew his knife from his belt, and began to cut a chunk of jerky into bits. Merideth poured wine over shriveled sections of fruit. The sharp sweet fragrance rose and Snake realized she was both thirsty and ravenous. The desert people seemed to skip meals without noticing, but Snake had reached the oasis two days ago — or was it three? — and she had not eaten much while sleeping off the venom reaction. It was not good manners to ask for food or water in this region, because it was worse manners not to offer. Manners hardly seemed important right now. She was shaky with hunger.

“Gods, I’m hungry,” Merideth said in astonishment, as if reading Snake’s feelings. “Aren’t you?”

“Well, yes,” Alex said reluctantly.

“And as hosts—” Apologetically, Merideth handed Snake the flask and found more bowls, more fruit. Snake drank cool-hot spicy wine, the first gulp too deep. She coughed; it was powerful stuff. She drank again and handed the flask back. Merideth drank; Alex took the leather bottle and poured a generous portion into the cooking pot. Only then did he sip the wine himself, quickly, before taking the broth outside to the tiny paraffin stove. The desert heat was so oppressive that they could not even feel the heat of the flame. It flickered like a transparent mirage against the black sand, and Snake felt fresh perspiration sliding down her temples and between her breasts. She wiped her sleeve across her forehead.

They breakfasted on jerky and fruit, and the wine, which struck quickly and hard. Alex began to yawn almost immediately, but every time he nodded, he staggered to his feet and went outside to stir Jesse’s broth.

“Alex, go to sleep,” Merideth finally said.

“No, I’m not tired.” He stirred, tasted, took the pot off the fire, set it inside to cool.

“Alex—” Merideth took his hand and drew him to the patterned rug. “If she calls us, we’ll hear her. If she moves, we’ll go to her. We can’t help her if we’re falling over our own feet from weariness.”

“But I… I…” Alex shook his head, but fatigue and the wine stayed with him. “What about you?”

“Your night was harder than my ride. I need to relax a few more minutes, but then I’ll come to bed.”

Reluctantly, gratefully, Alex lay down nearby. Merideth stroked his hair until, in a few moments, Alex began to snore. Merideth glanced at Snake and smiled. “When he first came with us, Jesse and I wondered how we could ever sleep with such a noise. Now we can hardly sleep without it.”

Alex’s snore was loud and low, and every so often he caught his breath and snuffled. Snake smiled. “You can get used to nearly anything, I guess.” She took one last sip of wine and returned the flask. Merideth, reaching for it, suddenly hiccupped, then, blushing, stoppered the bottle instead of drinking.

“Wine affects me too easily. I should never use it.”

“At least you know. You probably never make a fool of yourself.”

“When I was younger—” Merideth laughed at memories. “I was foolish then, and poor as well. A bad combination.”

“I can think of better.”

“Now we’re rich, and I’m perhaps a little less foolish. But what good is it all, healer? Money can’t help Jesse. Nor wisdom.”

“You’re right,” Snake said. “They can’t help her, and neither can I. Only you and Alex can.”

“I know it.” Merideth’s voice was soft and sad. “But it will take Jesse a long time to get used to that.”

“She’s alive, Merideth. The accident came so close to killing her — isn’t it enough to be grateful for, that she’s alive?”

“To me, yes, it is.” The words had begun to slur. “But you don’t know Jesse. Where she’s from, why she’s here—” Merideth stared groggily at Snake, hesitating, then plunging ahead. “She’s here because she can’t stand to be trapped. Before we were together, she was rich and powerful and safe. But her whole life and all her work were planned out for her. She would have been one of the rulers of Center—”

“The city!”

“Yes, it was all hers, if she wanted it. But she didn’t want to live under a stone sky. She came outside with nothing. To make her own destiny. To be free. Now — the things she enjoys most will be beyond her. How can I tell her to be glad she’s alive, when she knows she’ll never walk on the desert again, or find me a diamond for some patron’s earring, never gentle another horse, never make love?”

“I don’t know,” Snake said. “But if you and Alex see her life as a tragedy, that’s what it will be.”

Just before dawn the heat eased slightly, but as soon as it grew light the temperature rose again. The camp was in deep shade, but even in the protection of the rock walls the heat was like a pressure.

Alex snored and Merideth slept peacefully near him, oblivious to the sound, one strong hand curled over Alex’s back. Snake lay on the tent floor, facedown, arms outstretched. The fine fibers in the pile of the rug prickled softly against her cheek, damp with her sweat. Her hand throbbed but she could not sleep, and she did not have the energy to rouse herself.

She drifted into a dream in which Arevin appeared. She could see him more clearly than she could remember him when she was awake. It was a curious dream, childishly chaste. She barely touched Arevin’s fingertips, and then he began to fade away. Snake reached for him desperately. She woke up throbbing with sexual tension, her heart racing.

Jesse stirred. For a moment Snake did not move, then, reluctantly, she raised herself. She glanced at the other two partners. Alex slept soundly with the momentary forgetfulness of youth, but sheer weariness lined Merideth’s face and sweat plastered down the shiny, black curls. Snake left Merideth and Alex alone and knelt by Jesse, who lay face down as they last had turned her, her cheek resting on one hand, her other hand shielding her eyes.

She’s feigning sleep, Snake thought, for the line of her arm, the curl of her fingers, showed not relaxation but tension. Or wishing it, like me. Both of us would like to sleep, sleep and ignore reality.

“Jesse,” she said softly, and again, “Jesse, please.”

Jesse sighed and let her hand fall to the sheet.

“There’s broth here when you feel strong enough to drink it. And wine, if you’d like.”

A barely perceptible shake of the head, though Jesse’s lips were dry. Snake would not allow her to become dehydrated, but she did not want to have to argue her into eating, either.

“It’s no good,” Jesse said.

“Jesse—”

Jesse reached out and laid her hand over Snake’s. “No, it’s all right. I’ve thought about what’s happened. I’ve dreamed about it.” Snake noticed that her dark brown eyes were flecked with gold. The pupils were very small. “I can’t live like this. Neither can they. They’d try — they’d destroy themselves trying. Healer—”

“Please…” Snake whispered, afraid again, more afraid than she had ever been in her life. “Please don’t—”

“Can’t you help me?”

“Not to die,” Snake said. “Don’t ask me to help you die!”

She bolted to her feet and outside. The heat slammed against her, but there was nowhere to go to escape it. The canyon walls and tumbled piles of broken rock rose up around her.