“Be careful, Brian,” the mayor said.

Brian lifted Arevin’s hands, looked at the backs, turned them over, peered at the palms, let them drop. He returned to his place by the mayor’s side.

“He wears no rings. I doubt he’s ever worn any. His hands are tanned and there’s no mark. The healer said the cut on her forehead was made by a ring.”

The mayor snorted. “So what do you think?”

“As you said, sir, he doesn’t talk like a crazy. Also, a crazy would not necessarily be stupid, and it would be stupid to ask after the healer while wearing desert robes, unless one was in fact innocent — of both the crime and the knowledge of it. I am inclined to take this man at his word.“

The mayor glanced up at his assistant and over at the guard. “I hope,” he said, in a tone not altogether bantering, “that you’ll give me fair warning if either of you ever decides to run for my job.” He looked at Arevin again. “If we let you see the healer, will you wear chains until she identifies you?”

Arevin could still feel the iron from the night before, trapping him, enclosing him, cold on his skin all the way to his bones. But Snake would laugh at them when they suggested chains. This time Arevin did smile.

“Give the healer my message,” he said. “Then decide whether I need to be chained.”

Brian helped the mayor to his feet. The mayor glanced at the guard who believed in Arevin’s innocence. “Stay ready. I’ll send for him.”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

The guard returned, with her companions and with chains. Arevin stared horrified at the clanking iron. He had hoped Snake would be the next person through that door. He stood up blankly as the guard approached him.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She fastened a cold metal band around his waist, shackled his left wrist and passed the chain through a ring on the waistband, then locked the cuff around his right wrist. They led him into the hall.

He knew Snake would not have done this. If she had, then the person who existed in his mind had never existed in reality at all. A real, physical death, hers or even his own, would have been easier for Arevin to accept.

Perhaps the guards had misunderstood. The message that came to them might have been garbled, or it was sent so quickly that no one remembered to tell them not to bother about the chains. Arevin resolved to bear this humiliating error with pride and good humor.

The guards led him into daylight that momentarily dazzled him. Then they were inside again, but his eyes were misadjusted to the dimness. He climbed stairs blindly, stumbling now and then.

The room they took him to was also nearly dark. He paused in the doorway, barely able to make out the blanket-wrapped figure sitting in a chair with her back to him.

“Healer,” one of the guards said, “here is the one who says he’s your friend.”

She did not speak or move.

Arevin stood frozen with terror. If someone had attacked her — if she was badly injured, if she could no longer talk or move, or laugh when they suggested chains — He took one fearful step toward her, another, wanting to rush to her and say he would care for her, wanting to flee and never have to remember her except as alive and whole and strong.

He could see her hand, limply dangling. He fell to his knees beside the shrouded form.

“Snake—”

The shackles made him awkward. He took her hand and bent to kiss it.

As soon as he touched her, even before he saw the smooth, unscarred skin, he knew this was not Snake. He flung himself backward with a cry of despair.

“Where is she?”

The shrouded figure threw off the blanket with a cry of her own, one of shame. She knelt before Arevin, hands outstretched to him, tears on her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Please forgive me—” She slumped down, her long hair hanging around her beautiful face.

The mayor limped out of the darkness in a corner of the room. Brian helped Arevin up this time, and in a moment the chains clattered to the floor.

“I had to have some better assurance than bruises and rings,” the mayor said. “I believe you now.”

Arevin heard the sounds but not the meanings. He knew Snake was not here at all, not anywhere. She would never have participated in this farce.

“Where is she?” he whispered.

“She’s gone. She went to the city. To Center.”

Arevin sat on a luxurious couch in one of the mayor’s guest rooms. It was the same room where Snake had stayed, but try as he might, Arevin could feel nothing of her presence.

The curtains were open to the darkness. Arevin had not moved since returning from the observation point, where he had looked down upon the eastern desert and the rolling masses of storm clouds. The killing winds turned sharp-edged sand grains into lethal weapons. In the storm, heavy clothing would not protect Arevin, nor would any amount of courage or desperation. A few moments in the desert would kill him; an hour would strip his bones bare. In the spring no trace of him would be left.

If Snake was still in the desert, she was dead.

He did not cry. When he knew she was gone he would mourn her. But he did not believe she was dead. He wondered if it were foolish to believe he would know if Snake no longer lived. He had thought many things about himself, but never before that he was a fool. Stavin’s older father, Arevin’s cousin, had known when the little one was ill; he had come back a month early with one of the herds. His ties with Stavin were ties of love and of family, not of blood. Arevin made himself believe the same abilities would work in him.

Someone knocked on Arevin’s door.

“Come in,” he said reluctantly.

Larril, the servant woman who had pretended to be Snake, entered the room.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like some dinner?”

“I thought she was safe,” Arevin said. “But she’s in the desert and the storms have begun.”

“She had time to get to Center,” Larril said. “She left in plenty of time.”

“I’ve learned a great deal about that city,” Arevin said. “Its people can be cruel. Suppose they would not let her in?”

“She even had time to come back.”

“But she isn’t back. No one has seen her. If she were here, everyone would know.”

He took Larril’s silence as acquiescence and they both stared morosely out the window.

“Maybe—” Larril cut herself off.

“What?”

“Maybe you should rest and wait for her, you’ve been searching so many places—”

“That isn’t what you planned to say.”

“No…”

“Please tell me.”

“There’s one more pass, to the south. No one ever uses it any more. But it’s closer to Center than we are.”

“You’re right,” he said slowly, trying to reconstruct the map precisely in his mind. “Might she have gone there?”

“You must have heard these words so often,” she said.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“But I thank you,” Arevin said. “I might have seen it myself when I looked at the map again, or I might have given up hope. I’ll leave for there tomorrow.” He shrugged. “I tried to wait for her once and I could not. If I try again I’ll become the crazy you all feared me to be. I’m in your debt.”

She looked away. “Everyone in this house owes you a debt, one that can’t even be paid.”

“Never mind,” he said. “It’s forgotten.”

That seemed to give her some comfort. Arevin looked out the window again.

“The healer was kind to me, and you are her friend,” Larril said. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No,” Arevin said. “Nothing.”

She hesitated, turned, and walked away. After a moment Arevin realized he had not heard the door close. He glanced over his shoulder just as it swung shut.

The crazy still could not or would not remember his name.

Or maybe, Snake thought, he comes from a clan like Arevin’s, and he doesn’t tell his name to strangers.