Legends II (Shadows, Gods, and Demons)

by Robert Silverberg (Ed. )

  “You’ve no idea how much I appreciate this,” she said, giving him a grateful smile as she sipped the hot beverage. After her first swallow, she seemed to shake her shoulders as if to release the tension in them. She looked out at the westering sun and sighed again deeply, this time from a satisfaction she did not explain to him. Not that queen riders and Weyrwomen were required to explain their actions or share their thoughts with mere holders like himself.

  “That’s the vaccine for your runnerbeasts and you and your holders, Thaniel. There should be a Healer coming if you don’t want to inject it yourself.”

  The word “inject” made Thaniel shudder, but he took the package and thanked her.

  “It must be done, better today, definitely tomorrow,” she said, and told him how to press the needlethorn into the fleshy part of the upper arm or thigh. She looked around at the large yard, as if she expected to see more people. Thaniel understood her curious glance.

  “They’re all out, checking on yearlings,” he said, as he peered into the smaller of the two packets at the nest of carefully padded vials that would protect him and his family from the plague. “There’s exactly enough here for all in my holding.” He glanced up at her with gratitude and then realized that she was utterly exhausted. He remembered her as a very pretty woman, with short blond hair and deep-set eyes. Now her eyes were underscored by dark circles of fatigue, her body was listless, and her skin was tinged slightly gray, making her look far older than he knew her to be. It was Leri who was the old Weyrwoman at Fort, not Moreta. Maybe it was just the light of the setting sun shining on her face. But there was no question that the dragon was tired. Her skin drooped and sagged on her withers and haunches, and the light of life barely shone from the many facets of her eyes.

  “Why are you doing a green’s work, Weyrwoman?” he asked, allowing his tone to be critical. Surely others less important than a gold could have delivered the vaccine to a small hold like his.

  “I grew up in Keroon. I’ve been here to Waterhole Hold before. None of the Ista riders would know the area as well as I. Just use the vaccine as soon as you get back to your hold, Thaniel.” As she held the empty cup out to him to take, he noticed that her other hand was gripping the neck ridge in front of her as if to prevent her from plunging forward off the dragon. “That was just what I needed, Thaniel. My thanks.”

  “And my thanks to you, Weyrwoman.” He stepped back, aware, even if she did not seem to be, that her queen was shaking under her.

  “This is our last stop, Holder Thaniel,” she said as she stroked the old queen’s neck and smiled at him. “We have delivered all the vaccine on our run.” She looked again at the westering sun.

  “Fly in safe skies, Weyrwoman. The light is surely fading fast.”

  “One last jumpbetween , that’s all we have to take, Holth,” she said encouragingly and kneed the dragon to the right.

  Thaniel heard the relief resonant in her voice and it seemed to give energy to the queen as well, for she sprang into the air and disappeared. Rather close to the ground, he thought, but who was he to judge? He took the cup and the packets of vaccine back to his hold, carefully placing the medicine in the center of the big table where his brood took their meals.

  He poured himself another cup of klah, sweetened it, and felt a glow of pride for having served the Weyrwoman himself from a pot of his own brewing. He brewed a good cup: Everyone said so, and now the Weyrwoman had praised him, too. He sat down, work-worn hands around the warm pottery cup, easing his finger joints.

  “Holth?” He said the name aloud now in surprise. Now that was odd! Not that everything about this day wasn’t unusual—like a queen dragon delivering a parcel—but there was nothing wrong with either his memory or his understanding of Hold and Weyr. Fort’s Weyrwoman, Moreta, rode Orlith, not Holth.

  But Orlith had clutched recently, which might be one reason why Moreta wasn’t riding her own queen. Gold dragons tended to be very proprietary about their eggs. And the report was that the clutch numbered twenty-five, one of which was likely to be a queen.

  Holth, now, was old Leri’s queen. He was sure of that, as she had been Weyrwoman ever since he had taken hold of his family’s land. He’d heard that she suffered badly from joint-ail and her physical condition had deteriorated past the point where she could lead the Weyr against Threadfall. And, if Moreta was riding Holth, maybe that was why the dragon had looked so pale and tired: separated from her lifelong rider who would never, he was sure, have pushed the old queen past her strength.

  Just then the herd, which had settled back to grazing, spooked again, racing to the eastern side of the paddocks. Old Rusty gave another of his back-chilling shrieks as if a field snake were squeezing him. Oddly enough, the big flat-bodied plain snakes never frightened Rusty. He even seemed to enjoy trampling them to death under his large hooves. But this time Rusty’s shriek made Thaniel shudder, as if something terrible had happened that he didn’t understand.

  Thaniel could see no dust in any direction to suggest that his children were on their way back home, or anything strange in the sky to account for Rusty’s shriek. He looked out at the wide, flat, shallow lake from which his hold derived its name. The lake never went dry—water bubbled up in the middle of it from some subterranean source—and so he was able to supply water to any who came looking for it. There was always the Keroon River, but the Waterhole was closer for some of his western neighbors. And everyone said the water was sweeter.

  He shrugged off the sensation of malaise he had felt when Rusty shrieked and returned to his hearth to give the stew a stir; the pot was warming up nicely. He poured himself more klah and mused over the events of the day.

  Ever the worrier, Thaniel clasped his fingers tighter around the cup. Why was Moreta doing delivery duty anyhow? And why was she riding another’s dragon? Holth, she had said, too clearly for him to mistake the name of the queen she rode.

  Oh well, it was not his place to criticize queen riders. Maybe when the Healer came, he’d have an answer for that. He stirred the stew, inhaling the meaty odors with pleasure and eager for the return of his family so he could tell them what had happened.

  Maynar, Jerra, Brailli, Destry, and Bill all arrived back just as twilight was beginning to fade. They were full of news of well-grown, healthy-looking yearlings, and had made good notes of landmarks so the smaller herds could be easily found. Thaniel explained how Moreta herself had brought the vaccine. His tale was greeted by amazement at the very idea of a queen rider delivering to their small hold, but after a brief, lively discussion, he drew their attention back to the packages of vaccine on the table. As soon as a Healer arrived to do the necessary, they would all be safe against the plague.

  “Nonsense, Father,” said Jerra, “I will inject the vaccine. We’re not supposed to wait.” She added: “The plague could come on the next wind, and wouldn’t we look stupid with the medicine sitting on the table and useless to us.”

  We wouldn’t look stupid, we’d just look dead, Thaniel thought. “We will eat, and then I will inject us all,” Jerra continued in an imperious tone. “I’ve seen how the Healer does it. Just jab it in the flesh of the arm.”

  Maybe Jerra was a trifle domineering at times—so unlike her mother—but she always had the good of the family at heart, Thaniel reminded himself. So he nodded acceptance of her offer and the entire family set to eating, though no one looked away from the little parcel all during the meal.

  Rusty’s shrill shriek nearly toppled Thaniel off his stool.

  “Whatis going on?” he exclaimed. “That poor animal has been spooking all day.”

  Maynar, closest to the window, jumped off his stool to look outside. Thaniel joined him.

  “Visitors? And we’ve not enough supper left to fill the bottom of even the smallest bowl,” Jerra said, embarrassed.

  “It’s more dragons,” Thaniel said. He took the glowbasket from its hook and, opening the door, strode forth to make proper welcome to their guests. He was
astonished to see three dragons and riders, each with a passenger, descending to the ground.

  “Waterhole Hold? Is this Waterhole?” cried a man.

  “It is, and who might you all be?”

  “I am MasterHarper Tirone, here with Kamiana, queen rider of Pelianth, and Desdra of the Healer Hall . . . And with us are A’dan, Tigrath’s rider, and D’say and Critith. We must know if Moreta came here sometime this afternoon!”

  “She did, just at sundown, and left us the vaccine,” Thaniel replied, his voice carrying easily in the dark. “Come to the Hold. We have wine and klah.”

  As he waved them toward him, all Thaniel could think of was that one of these people was from the Healer Hall and could possibly inject them, saving the entire family from Jerra’s well-meant but inexperienced attempts. Fortunately there was fresh klah being brewed, and Jerra and her siblings had found their hold’s precious glasses in which to serve a hastily uncorked bottle of wine: a drinkable red made in the Crom hills.

  “You are kind, Thaniel, Jerra, but we have no time to spare, though we appreciate your hospitality,” Tirone said as he and the others entered the hold. “Only tell us what you know of Moreta and Holth.” His eyes, and those of his companions, were dull with grief.

  Fear struck Thaniel to the heart, for Moreta and Holth should long have been back at Fort Weyr. Hours ago! And so he said.

  “I gave her a cup of klah to help her on her way,” he added, hoping he had done the right thing.

  “What did she say?” asked Kamiana.

  “She thanked me,” Thaniel replied.

  “Did she say anything as she and Holth went off?”

  “Oh, aye, and I felt sorry for the poor queen. She was quite faded with fatigue and she looks so old, you know.” Thaniel worried that his observation was irrelevant. “She said, and my memory’s good, ‘Just one last jumpbetween , Holth, that’s all we have to take.’ I thought that was odd, as I’m sure Moreta’s queen is Orlith.” No one contradicted him.

  “Surely she visualized Fort Weyr?” Desdra murmured to the others in the silence that had fallen. The visitors looked nervously at one another.

  “But they would have been exhausted by the time they reached here,” Kamiana said. “Moreta had been riding all morning on Orlith. And riding all the stops here in Keroon would have been a lot for an old queen like Holth to do.”

  Ever the Healer, Desdra pulled the smaller bundle of vaccine to her and looked inside. “Would you object to my giving you the injection?”

  “No, no,” Thaniel said quickly. “We have no idea when our own Healer will drop by—we are out of the way of most paths—although my daughter said she’s seen the Healer do this sort of thing.”

  If Jerra was upset to have to forgo the pleasure of inoculating her family, she gave no sign, hurriedly unbuttoning her sleeve and rolling it up.

  “Thaniel, was Holth’s leap-off steady?” Kamiana asked anxiously.

  “Oooh, I’d say steady enough, but they were both of them very tired, as I said.”

  Kamiana breathed out a sigh. “Very tired. Maybe too tired to do that one more thing that a rider must always to do with her dragon, especially an unfamiliar one.”

  “Moreta knew Holth very well,” MasterHarper Tirone protested.

  Kamiana dismissed that. “As a friend, since Moreta was so often in Leri’s Weyr, butnot as a rider. I think that has made more of a difference than we thought it would.”

  “And all the timing they must have done. It would be enough to scramble anyone’s wits,” Desdra said, pressing the little piece of cotton firmly to Jerra’s arm now that the deftly made injection was complete. The visitors lapsed into worried silence at her words.

  Thaniel and his brood hardly noticed, however; their attention was fixed firmly on the needlethorn and the vaccine. Thaniel took Jerra’s seat close to the MasterHealer, his sleeve rolled up. Desdra pinched the skin of his arm and jabbed him. He winced just a trifle as the needlethorn punctured him and then sighed as the vaccine coursed into his arm. How lucky they all were that a Healer journeywoman had come with the others.

  Once all the injections had been given, the visitors rose, apologizing for their haste and thanking the holders for their hospitality and time.

  “I think they have diedbetween ,” Thaniel heard Kamiana say unsteadily as he lit their way back to the dragons. “The dragons have keened them.”

  “Such a waste,” Master Tirone said. “You must protect others from the same fate, Kamiana.”

  “Never fear. The Weyrs will take immediate steps. I just can’t understand why an experienced rider like Moreta was unable to visualize her destination. Or why Holth wouldn’t automatically head for Leri. Their mission was done.”

  “Where do we go now?” Tirone asked quietly, settling himself behind the blue rider.

  “Back to Fort Hold, for you must be exhausted yourselves, Master Tirone, Journeywoman Desdra,” Kamiana said. “I would see you safely back to your Halls.”

  As the dragonriders clearly spoke their destination, the dragons rose from the ground. In a moment they winked out, goingbetween , leaving Thaniel alone with the rising moon and the shrieking runnerbeasts.

  The night after Moreta disappeared, Thaniel was alone at Waterhole Hold. His children had been out vaccinating their runnerbeast stock and would be late returning home. Suddenly Rusty shrieked louder than ever. Wondering if a wherry was attacking his old runnerbeast, Thaniel cautiously drew back the curtain to look out the window. Rusty was the only beast upset; all the others were calm, although curious about Rusty’s behavior. Thaniel wondered if Rusty was just getting too old, and was perhaps a little addled in the head. He might have to put the old runner down.

  A strange shiver of apprehension palpably shook Thaniel. Gripped by a huge sense of terror, he dropped the curtain. Breathing hard, heart pounding, he went to the door, opened it a crack, and peeked out. He saw nothing untoward save for the terrified Rusty. He opened the door wide and stepped out into the night.

  “Who is it? Who goes there?” Thaniel called out, walking toward the paddock.

  Rusty shrieked again and he turned toward the beast.

  “Stupid beast. There’s no one here.” He swept his hand, indicating empty space.

  Rusty continued shrieking, showing the whites of his eyes and flaring his nostrils as he galloped around the enclosure in terror.

  “Shut your bawling!” Thaniel shouted loudly at Rusty. “The riders looking for Moreta have all gone back to their Weyrs. There’s not a sign of a dragon in the sky.”

  Suddenly Thaniel felt as if he’d been touched on the arm by a shaft of sheer ice. He pulled his arms to his body, muttering quietly, “What was that to make me shiver as if this were midwinter and me catching a cold?” And then more loudly, as a horrifying thought hit home, he said, “Am I getting the plague after all?”

  Trembling violently, Thaniel turned and ran, terrified, to his hold, slamming the door shut behind him.

  Some time later, Jerra, Maynar, and the others returned to the Hold and found their father noticeably distraught. He was sitting by the fire on the edge of his seat; his hands, palms together, were clenched tightly between his knees.

  “What’s wrong, Da?” Jerra asked, concern stamped on her face.

  “It’s nothing, nothing.”

  “Did you see something?” Maynar asked.

  “I saw nothing,” Thaniel replied sharply, and stared intently into the fire.

  The following day two dragonriders visited Waterhole to check that all the holders and runnerbeasts had, indeed, been vaccinated and that no one had suffered any ill effects from the injection. Their arrival was, of course, punctuated by Rusty’s shrieks of terror. Assuring them that all in his hold had been injected by none other than Journeywoman Healer Desdra, Thaniel wanted to add that the only ill effect was his old runnerbeast shrieking from the appearance of dragons every day. But he held his tongue instead, conscious of the grief the dragonfolk endured. He couldn’
t help but think that he was the last person to have seen Moreta and Holth. That thought preyed on his mind and he grew anxious.

  His anxiety did not go unnoticed by his children, so that night and the following day one of Thaniel’s daughters or sons stayed with him in the hold while the others went about the routine of checking stock. But, then, just before dusk, Bill came charging back on his little runner, self-important with the news that a beast had trapped itself in a narrow gully and couldn’t find enough foot purchase to get free. All hands were needed to hoist the animal to safety so Jerra, attending her father that day, would have to go back with her brother. Thaniel and Bill assembled ropes, straps, and lanterns and stowed them carefully on Bill’s runner. Jerra and the boy were clearly reluctant to leave their father alone, but Thaniel reassured them that he would be quite all right and, after all, the animal must be rescued.

  The dust kicked up by Bill’s and Jerra’s mounts had only just settled when Thaniel was overcome by a terrible sinking feeling that was punctuated by a frightful scream from Rusty. Heart skipping several beats, Thaniel crept to the door, holding a thick stick as long as a man’s arm. He opened the door and scanned the horizon for any sign of dragons. All he saw was Rusty rearing on his hind legs, striking out with his forefeet at some invisible foe. Within a few moments the runner started to calm down, only to start shrieking again. He was so frightened that he backed away from the fence as fast as his feet could move. Then he stopped, firm in his tracks, starring intently ahead of him—at nothing. Concern overriding fear as the terrified beast started pawing the ground, Thaniel left the safety of his hold doorway and approached the enclosure, beckoning Rusty to him. The animal ignored him, his ears pricked forward and his eyes fastened on to something in front of him that only he could see.

  “What is it, old fellow? What’s bothering you?” Thaniel asked as he watched the muscles on Rusty’s shoulders quivering. Rusty pawed the ground again. Thaniel passed a hand over his eyes, rubbing them, before he peered again at the empty space that transfixed Rusty. Suddenly, the runnerbeast took a huge step backward, nearly sitting on his hindquarters in his attempt at high-speed retreat. Then, after kicking his hind legs high behind him and prodding the ground with his forelegs, the distraught animal tore around the enclosure like an unbroken yearling, wheeling and rearing as if Thread or some other unthinkable terror were engulfing him.