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Authors: Michael Blumlein
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me.â He sounded so distraught. âNever trust a healer. That's what they say, and now I know why.â
He held up the jar, gazing at it with a kind of longing, then hurled it against a tree, where it shattered. He started back up the hill, but after a few steps stopped. âI've got a memory, healer. Being ignorant's no excuse. I owe you one.â
That night Payne had a dream. Or part dream, for part of it he was sure had happened. He was back in Gode. His brother Wyn was walking down a dusty road to join up with his friends. It was nighttime, and Payne was tagging along behind him. Wyn kept telling him to get lost, but Payne kept pestering him, until finally Wyn gave up and said fine, do what you want, you will anyway, but don't blame me if somethinghappens, you're on your own, don't look to me for help. Which is how it often went. They rounded a corner and came into an open space, a field outside of town, flat and empty. Wyn's friends were waiting for him, five or six of them, all boys, all dressed in the hooded robes that grown-ups wore on special occasions. The moon was out, and as soon as Wyn joined them, they took off their robes and dropped them on the ground. And then they started dancing in the moonlight, naked.
It was a funny dance, and they were goofing around and clowning it up, but then from somewhere a drum began to beat, and they formed a circle and started twisting their heads and stretching out their necks and presenting them to one another, and darting their tongues in and out and hissing. Payne sat outside the circle, mesmerized and a little frightened. He had never seen this dance before. None of the boys had, though every single one of them had heard of it. The Viper Dance was infamous. More than a century before it had spawned riots and was, some claimed, responsible for the uprising of â09. Ever since that time, it had been banned. This was how the boys imagined it, what they thought it might or should be.
One of them detached himself from the circle and sauntered over to Payne. He was a mean boy, one of Wyn's friends Payne didn't like, a bully. He pulled Payne to his feet, and then he somehow got his clothes off, and before he knew it, Payne was dancing naked like the others. He was scared to death but couldn't stop, and he kept looking to Wyn for help. Wyn glanced at him and made a face as if to say âI told you so,â then looked away. The mean boy grinned at this, and at Payne's uneasiness, and he made the hissing sound and flicked out his tongue and thrust his meli closer. Payne danced on helplessly. His throat was choked with dust, and he could barely breathe. And then, in horror, he watched the boy snake out his arm and thrust a finger toward his meli.
Desperately, he tried to wake up, and he did, only to discover that the same thing kept happening, the waking was a dream, too. He tried to cry out but had no voice. Then all at once Wyn was at his side.
He shoved the boy away, and backed him down. Then he helped his little brother get his clothes on. He was gentle and comforting, not gruff as he sometimes could be. He threw an arm around Payne's shoulder, and Payne huddled in its shelter, shaken but safe. He adored his brother. He felt like boasting as they walked away. Who but Wyn could have done this thing? Wyn the protector. Wyn the giant. Payne idolized him.
Between his own busy work schedule and the site boss's forgetfulness or disinterest Payne had all but given up hope of going underground and seeing the inner workings of the mine. It was a surprise, then, when a miner showed up at his door one day, offering to give him a tour. It was a quiet moment in the healing center, a rarity, and Payne leapt at the chance.
The man's name was Slivey; he'd worked at Pannus for a good ten years. He had fair hair, narrow-set eyes and a broad, spadelike nose that bent across his face at a crooked angle on account of being broken, by his recollection, at least a dozen times.
He held up the jar, gazing at it with a kind of longing, then hurled it against a tree, where it shattered. He started back up the hill, but after a few steps stopped. âI've got a memory, healer. Being ignorant's no excuse. I owe you one.â
That night Payne had a dream. Or part dream, for part of it he was sure had happened. He was back in Gode. His brother Wyn was walking down a dusty road to join up with his friends. It was nighttime, and Payne was tagging along behind him. Wyn kept telling him to get lost, but Payne kept pestering him, until finally Wyn gave up and said fine, do what you want, you will anyway, but don't blame me if somethinghappens, you're on your own, don't look to me for help. Which is how it often went. They rounded a corner and came into an open space, a field outside of town, flat and empty. Wyn's friends were waiting for him, five or six of them, all boys, all dressed in the hooded robes that grown-ups wore on special occasions. The moon was out, and as soon as Wyn joined them, they took off their robes and dropped them on the ground. And then they started dancing in the moonlight, naked.
It was a funny dance, and they were goofing around and clowning it up, but then from somewhere a drum began to beat, and they formed a circle and started twisting their heads and stretching out their necks and presenting them to one another, and darting their tongues in and out and hissing. Payne sat outside the circle, mesmerized and a little frightened. He had never seen this dance before. None of the boys had, though every single one of them had heard of it. The Viper Dance was infamous. More than a century before it had spawned riots and was, some claimed, responsible for the uprising of â09. Ever since that time, it had been banned. This was how the boys imagined it, what they thought it might or should be.
One of them detached himself from the circle and sauntered over to Payne. He was a mean boy, one of Wyn's friends Payne didn't like, a bully. He pulled Payne to his feet, and then he somehow got his clothes off, and before he knew it, Payne was dancing naked like the others. He was scared to death but couldn't stop, and he kept looking to Wyn for help. Wyn glanced at him and made a face as if to say âI told you so,â then looked away. The mean boy grinned at this, and at Payne's uneasiness, and he made the hissing sound and flicked out his tongue and thrust his meli closer. Payne danced on helplessly. His throat was choked with dust, and he could barely breathe. And then, in horror, he watched the boy snake out his arm and thrust a finger toward his meli.
Desperately, he tried to wake up, and he did, only to discover that the same thing kept happening, the waking was a dream, too. He tried to cry out but had no voice. Then all at once Wyn was at his side.
He shoved the boy away, and backed him down. Then he helped his little brother get his clothes on. He was gentle and comforting, not gruff as he sometimes could be. He threw an arm around Payne's shoulder, and Payne huddled in its shelter, shaken but safe. He adored his brother. He felt like boasting as they walked away. Who but Wyn could have done this thing? Wyn the protector. Wyn the giant. Payne idolized him.
Between his own busy work schedule and the site boss's forgetfulness or disinterest Payne had all but given up hope of going underground and seeing the inner workings of the mine. It was a surprise, then, when a miner showed up at his door one day, offering to give him a tour. It was a quiet moment in the healing center, a rarity, and Payne leapt at the chance.
The man's name was Slivey; he'd worked at Pannus for a good ten years. He had fair hair, narrow-set eyes and a broad, spadelike nose that bent across his face at a crooked angle on account of being broken, by his recollection, at least a dozen times.
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