Nevertheless, the problem of Ruth’s maturity cropped up in Jaxom’s mind at inconvenient times during his waking hours and had to be rigidly suppressed before a hint of his anxiety reached his dragon.
Twice at Fort Weyr, to intensify the problem, a proddy green had taken off on a flight, pursued by such browns and blues as felt able to rise to her. The first time, Jaxom was in the middle of drill sequence and only happened to notice the flight above and beyond the weyrlings’ wing. His attention was abruptly diverted from them as a most unconcerned Ruth continued in the wing’s maneuver. Jaxom had to grab at the fighting straps to remain in place.
The second time, Jaxom and Ruth were aground when the mating shrieks of a green blooding her kill startled the Weyr. The other weyrlings were immature enough to be disinterested but the weyrlingmaster looked in Jaxom’s direction for a long moment. All at once, Jaxom realized that K’nebel was apparently wondering if Jaxom and Ruth were going to join those waiting for the green to launch herself.
Jaxom was assailed by such a gamut of emotions—anxiety, shame, expectation, reluctance, and pure terror—that Ruth reared, wings wide, in alarm.
What has upset you? Ruth demanded, settling to the ground and curving his neck about to regard his rider, his eyes whirling in quick response to Jaxom’s emotions.
“I’m all right. I’m all right,” Jaxom said hastily, stroking Ruth’s head, desperately wanting to ask if Ruth felt at all like flying the green and hoping in a muted whisper deep inside him that Ruth did not!
With a challenging snarl, the green dragon was airborne, the blues and browns after her while she repeated her taunting challenge. Quicker, lighter than any of her prospective mates, her facility strengthened by her sexual readiness, she achieved a conspicuous distance before the first male had become airborne. Then they were all after her. On the killing ground, their riders closed into a knot about the green’s rider. All too quickly, challenger and pursuers dwindled to specks in the sky. The riders half-ran, half-stumbled to the Lower Caverns and the chamber reserved there.
Jaxom had never witnessed a mating flight of dragons. He swallowed, trying to moisten his dry throat. He felt heart and blood thudding and a tension that he usually experienced only as he held Corana’s slender body against him. He suddenly wondered which dragon had flown Mirrim’s Path, which rider had—
The touch on his shoulder made him jump and cry out.
“Well, if Ruth isn’t ready to fly, you certainly are, Jaxom,” K’nebel said. The weyrlingmaster glanced up at far-distant specks in the sky. “Even a green’s mating can be unsettling.” K’nebel’s expression was understanding. He nodded at Ruth. “He wasn’t interested? No, well, give him time! You’d better be off. Drill was all but over today, anyhow. I’ve just got to keep these younger ones occupied someplace else when that green gets caught.”
Then Jaxom realized that the rest of the wing had dispersed. With a second encouraging clap on Jaxom’s back, K’nebel walked off toward his bronze, agilely mounting and urging the beast up toward their weyr.
Jaxom thought of the skyborne beasts. Unwillingly he thought of their riders in the inner room, linked to their dragons in an emotional struggle that was resolved in a strengthening and fusing of the links between dragons and riders. Jaxom thought of Mirrim. And of Corana.
With a groan, he sprang on Ruth’s neck, fleeing the emotional atmosphere of Fort Weyr, trying to flee from his sudden realization of what he had probably always known about riders but had only this very morning assimilated.
He had intended to go to the lake to immerse himself in the cold waters and let that icy shock cure his body and chill the torment in his mind. But Ruth took him instead to the Plateau Hold.
“Ruth! The lake. Take me to the lake!”
It is better for you to be here right now, was Ruth’s astonishing reply. The fire-lizard says the girl is in the upper field. Once again Ruth seized the initiative, gliding toward the field where young grain waved, brilliantly green in the noonday sun, where Corana was diligently hoeing away the tenacious creeper vine that grew from the borders of the field and threatened to strangle the crop.
Ruth achieved a landing on the narrow margin between grain and wall. Corana, recovering from surprise at his unexpected arrival, waved a welcome. Instead of rushing toward him as she usually did, she smoothed back her hair and blotted the perspiration beading her face.
“Jaxom,” she began as he strode toward her, the urgency in his loins increasing at the sight of her, “I wish you wouldn’t—”
He silenced her half-teasing scold with a kiss, felt something hard clout him along his side. Pinning her against him with his right arm, he found the offending hoe with his left hand. Wrenching it from her grasp, he spun it away from them. Corana wriggled to get free, as unprepared for this mood in him as he was. He held her closer, trying to temper the pressures rising within him until she could respond. She smelled of the earth and her own sweat. Her hair, covering his face as he kissed her throat and breast, also smelled of sun and sweat, and the odors excited him further. Somewhere in the back of his mind was a green dragon, shrieking her defiance. Somewhere, too close to his need, was that vision of dragonriders in an inner room, waiting, with an excitement that matched his own, waiting until the green dragon had been captured by the fastest, the strongest or the smartest of her pursuers. But it was Corana he was holding in his arms, and Corana who was beginning to respond to his need. They were on the warm ground, the dampness of earth she had just hoed soft under his elbows and knees. The sun was warm on his buttocks as he tried to erase the memory of those riders half-stumbling toward the inner room, and the mocking taunt of a green dragon in flight. He did not resist or deny Ruth’s familiar beloved touch as his orgasm released the turmoil of body and mind.
Jaxom could not bring himself to go to weyrling practice the next morning. Lytol and Brand were out early, riding to a distant holding with the fosterlings so no one questioned his presence. When he left the Hold in the afternoon, he firmly directed Ruth to the lake and scrubbed and scrubbed his dragon until Ruth meekly asked what was the matter.
“I love you, Ruth. You are mine. I love you,” Jaxom said, wanting with all his heart to be able to add, with his former blithe confidence, that he would do anything in the world for his friend. “I love you!” he repeated through gritted teeth and dove from Ruth’s back as deeply as he could into the ice-cold waters of the lake.
Perhaps I am hungry, Ruth said as Jaxom fought the pressure of water and airlessness in his lungs.
That could certainly provide a diversion, Jaxom thought as he erupted to the surface, gasping for breath. “There’s a hold in South Ruatha where there’re wherries fattening.”
That would do very nicely.
Jaxom dried himself quickly, shrugged into his clothes and boots, absently coiling the damp bath sheet over his shoulders as he mounted Ruth and directed him up and between to the Southern Holding. He realized his foolishness the moment the deathly chill of between compounded the dampness about his neck. He’d surely contract a distressingly uncomfortable head cold from such stupidity.
Ruth hunted with his usual dispatch. Fire-lizards, local by their band colors, arrived, apparently invited by the white dragon to share the feast. Jaxom watched, freer to think while Ruth was totally involved with hunting and eating. Jaxom was not pleased with himself. He was thoroughly disgusted and revolted by the way he had used Corana. The fact that she seemed to have matched what he had to admit was a violent lust dismayed him. Their relationship, once innocent pleasure, had somehow been sullied. He wasn’t at all certain that he cared to continue as her lover, an attitude that posed another unpleasant burden of guilt. One point in his favor, he had helped her finish the hoeing his importunity had interrupted. That way she’d not be in trouble with Fidello for shorting her task. The young grain was important. But he ought not to have taken Corana like that. Doing so was inexcusable.
She liked it very much. Ruth’s thought touched him so unexpec
tedly that Jaxom jerked straight.
“How could you possibly know?”
When you are with Corana, her emotions are also very strong and just like yours. So I can feel her, too. Only at that time. Otherwise I do not hear her. Acceptance rather than regret colored Ruth’s tone. Almost as if he were relieved that the contact was limited.
Ruth was padding up from the field as he spoke, having disposed of two fat wherries without leaving much for the fire-lizards to pick over. Jaxom regarded his friend, the whirl of the jeweled eyes slowing as the red of hunger paled into dark violet and then the blue of contentment.
“Do you like what you hear? Our lovemaking?” Jaxom asked, abruptly deciding to air his concern.
Yes. You enjoy it so much. It is good for you. I like it to be good for you.
Jaxom jumped to his feet, consumed by frustration and guilt. “But don’t you want it for yourself? Why are you always worried about me? Why didn’t you go fly that green?”
Why does that worry you? Why should I fly the green?
“Because you’re a dragon.”
I am a white dragon. Blues and browns, and occasionally a bronze, fly greens.
“You could have flown her. You could have flown her, Ruth!”
I did not wish to. You are upset again. I have upset you. Ruth extended his neck, his nose gently touching Jaxom’s face in apology.
Jaxom threw his arms about Ruth’s neck, burrowing his forehead against the smooth, spicy-smelling hide, concentrating on how very much he loved his Ruth, his most unusual Ruth, the only white dragon on all Pern.
Yes, I am the only white dragon there has ever been on Pern, Ruth said encouragingly, moving his body so that he could gather Jaxom closer within the circle of his foreleg. I am the white dragon. You are my rider. We are together.
“Yes,” Jaxom said, wearily admitting defeat, “we are together.”
A chill shook Jaxom and he sneezed. Shells, if he was heard sneezing about the Hold, he’d be subjected to some of those noxious medicines Deelan foisted on everyone. He closed his jacket, folded the now dry bathing sheet about his neck and chest and, mounting Ruth, suggested that they get back to the Hold as fast as possible.
He escaped the dosing only because he kept out of Deelan’s way by staying in his own quarters. He announced that he was occupied in a task for Robinton and did not care to interrupt it for the evening meal. He hoped that his sneezing would abate by evening. Lytol would be sure to visit him, which reminded Jaxom that if he didn’t have something to show for his afternoon’s occupation Lytol might be difficult. Actually, Jaxom had wanted to set down his observations about that beautiful cove, with the cone of the huge mountain center so neatly in its curve. Using the soft carbon stick that Master Bendarek had developed to use on his paper leaves, Jaxom became absorbed in the project. Much easier to work with these tools, he thought, than with sandtable. Errors, since his memory of the cove did not appear to be that precise, could be rubbed out with a blob of softwood tree sap as long as he was careful not to abrade the leaf’s surface too much.
He had achieved a respectable map of D’ram’s cove when a knock on the door broke his concentration. He sniffled mightily before calling permission to enter. His voice didn’t seem too affected by the congestion in his head.
Lytol entered, greeted Jaxom and approached the worktable, eyes courteously averted from the contents.
“Ruth did eat today?” he asked, “because N’ton sent to remind you that Thread falls north and you could fly with the wing. Ruth will have sufficient time to digest, won’t he?”
“He’ll be just fine,” Jaxom replied, aware of both an excitement and a sense of inevitability at the prospect of fighting Thread from Ruth’s back.
“Have you then completed your training with the weyrlings?”
So Lytol had noticed his morning’s delinquency from the Weyr. Jaxom also heard the faint note of surprise in his guardian’s voice.
“Well, you might say that I’ve learned about all I’d need to know since I’m not to fly regularly with a fighting wing. I’ve done this sketch of D’ram’s cove. That’s where we found him. Isn’t it beautiful?” He offered the leaf to Lytol.
To Jaxom’s satisfaction, Lytol’s expression changed to one of surprised interest as he peered intently at the sketch and diagram.
“Your rendering of the mountain is accurate? It must surely be the largest volcano on Pern! You’ve got the perspective correct? How magnificent! And this area?” Lytol’s hand washed across the space beyond the trees which Jaxom had carefully drawn in their variety and as accurately in position along the cove’s edge as he could recall.
“Forest extends to low hills, but we stayed on the beach, of course—”
“Beautiful! One can appreciate why the Harper remembered the place so clearly.”
With a noticeable reluctance, Lytol replaced the leaf on Jaxom’s table.
“The drawing is a poor image of the real place,” he said to his guardian, letting his voice end on an upward note. It wasn’t the first time Jaxom regretted Lytol’s aversion to riding on dragonback for any but the most vital excursions.
Lytol favored Jaxom with a brief smile, shaking his head. “It is good enough to guide a dragon, I’m sure. But do remember to tell me when you’ve the notion to return there.”
With that Lytol bade him good evening, leaving Jaxom a trifle unsettled. Was Lytol giving him oblique permission to go back to the cove? Why? Critically, Jaxom examined the sketch, wondering if he really had drawn the trees correctly. It would be nice to go back there again. Say, after Threadfall, if flying didn’t overtire Ruth . . .
I would like to swim off firestone stench in the cove waters, Ruth said sleepily.
By tilting his chair back, Jaxom could see the white bulk of Ruth on his couch, head facing Jaxom’s door, though both sets of the dragon’s eyelids were closed.
I would like that very much indeed.
“And maybe we could find out more about those men from the fire-lizards.” Yes, thought Jaxom, relieved to have a definite objective, it would be very good. Neither F’lar nor Lessa had forbidden him to return to the cove. It was certainly far enough away from the Southern Hold to put him in no danger of compromising the Weyrleaders. Now if he could learn more about the men, he’d be doing Robinton a favor. He might even be able to find a clutch somewhere along that coastline. Maybe that’s what Lytol had had in mind by giving him that oblique permission. Of course! Why hadn’t Jaxom realized that before?
Threadfall was calculated to arrive the next morning at just past the ninth hour. Although Jaxom was not to ride out in his usual place with the flamethrower crews, he was nevertheless awakened early by a drudge who brought him a tray of klah and sweetbread as well as a package of meatrolls for his lunch.
Jaxom was conscious of a stuffiness in his head, a tightness in his throat and a general sense of unfitness. Under his breath he cursed himself for that moment’s thoughtlessness that was going to make his first Threadfall mighty uncomfortable. What under the sun had possessed him to cavort in lustful exercise on damp, just-turned earth, dive into a chill-watered lake, then go between half-soaked? He sneezed several times as he dressed. That cleared his nose, but left his head aching. He put on his warmest underfur, heaviest tunic, pants and extra liners in his boots. He was sweltering when he and Ruth left their quarters. Holders were bustling about the courtyard, mounting runners, securing flamethrowers and equipment. The watchdragon and the Hold fire-lizards were chewing firestone on the heights. Catching Lytol’s eye where the Lord Warder stood on the top step of the Hold entrance, Jaxom gestured skyward, saw Lytol salute in reply before he continued giving orders for the day’s emergency. Jaxom sneezed once more, an exhalation that rocked him back on his heels.
Are you all right? Ruth’s eyes whirled faster in concern.
“For a damn fool who’s caught a cold, yes, I’m all right. Let’s get going. I’m boiling inside these furs.”
Ruth complied
and Jaxom was more comfortable with wind cooling the sweat from his face. He had Ruth fly direct to the Weyr for they had plenty of time. He would never be foolish enough to go between again in a sweat. Maybe he’d better change to lighter flying gear once at the Fort. He’d be warm enough once they were fighting Thread. However, the Weyr was situated higher in the mountains than Ruatha Hold and he did not feel overheated once they landed.
Following instructions well drilled into him, Jaxom took Ruth to collect their firestone sack. Then he directed Ruth to take stones from the supply laid about the Bowl for that purpose. Ruth began to chew firestone, preparing his second stomach for flame. With a good start, he’d have a steady flame that could be easily replenished in flight by additional stone from the sack he carried. While Ruth was chewing, Jaxom got himself a large mug of steaming klah, hoping that would revive him. He felt miserable, his nose clogging repeatedly.
Fortunately the noise of so many dragons chewing stone masked his fits of sneezing. If this wasn’t to be his very first time to fight Ruth, Jaxom might have hesitated about continuing. Then he convinced himself that since the weyrlings would undoubtedly be flying in the wake of the other wings on the after-edge of Threadfall, he could probably keep from having to go between frequently, if at all, and so he would run little risk of aggravating, the congestion. He didn’t fancy sneezing just as Ruth had to duck between to avoid Thread.
N’ton and Lioth appeared on the Star Stones, Lioth bugling for silence as the Weyrleader raised his arm. Fort’s four queens flanked the big bronze, larger than he but, in Jaxom’s eyes, only enhancing his magnificence with their brilliance. Dragons on all Weyr ledges listened to Lioth’s silent orders and then the wings formed. Jaxom needlessly tested the fighting straps that held him securely to his ridge seat on Ruth’s neck.
We are to ride with the queens’ wing, Ruth told his rider. “All of the weyrlings?” Jaxom asked, since he’d heard nothing from K’nebel about a change of position.
No, just us. Ruth sounded pleased but Jaxom wasn’t at all sure of the honor.
The White Dragon Page 22
