Moreta (Dragonlady of Pern)

by Anne McCaffrey

  "Yes, sir. I called Masterhealer Scand to attend them last night. At first I thought that Vander was upset from losing his runner, but his two men are fevered. Now Helly's complaining of a terrible headache. As Helly don't drink, it can't be from last night."

  "Vander had a headache yesterday, didn't he?"

  "I don't rightly remember. Lord Alessan." Norman released a heavy sigh, pulling his hand across his forehead.

  "Yes, of course, you did have rather a lot to manage, and the races went off very well indeed." Alessan grinned, reminding Norman of the times when he had been his assistant.

  "I'm glad you think so, but," Norman's attention was held by something in the road and he pointed at a travel wagon, four runners led from its tailgate. "I'm worried about Kulan's leaving."

  Even as the men watched, one of the led horses coughed violently.

  "I told Kulan he hadn't ought to be traveling with that runner but he won't listen to me."

  "How many decamped this morning?" Alessan felt the first stir of real apprehension. If a coughing illness spread through the Hold with the plowing only half completed ...

  "Some dozen left first light, mainly wagon travelers. Their stock wasn't pastured near the racers. It's just that I know Kulan's one is sick."

  "I'll speak to him. You find out how many have started home. Tell some of the holders to report to me here as messengers. We'll retrieve our departed guests. No animals are to leave this Hold until we know what causes that cough."

  "What about people?"

  "Since the one usually takes the other, no, no people. And I'll want to have a word with Master Scand about Vander, too."

  Kulan was not pleased to be halted. The animal only had a morning cough, he asserted, from the dust raised the night before and the change in grass. It'd be fine once it got moving. Kulan was anxious. He had three days' hard travel before he reached his hold. He'd left his next oldest son in charge and had doubts about the lad's capabilities. Alessan pointed out firmly that Kulan wouldn't want to bring an infected beast home to mingle with his healthy stock. Another day to find out what the ailment was would be well worth a delay.

  Tolocamp followed, reaching Alessan and his holderman in time to catch the end of the argument. The older Lord's polite concern became an active anxiety but he held his peace until Kulan and his handlers had turned back to the Gather fields.

  "Are such drastic measures necessary? I mean, these people must get back to their holds, as I must return to mine."

  "A slight delay, Tolocamp, until we see how the animals fare. Surely you and your good ladies would be glad of a longer visit?"

  Tolocamp blinked, surprised by Alessan's smiling intransigence. "They may stay if they wish but I was about to request you to drum Fort Weyr for a conveyance."

  "As you yourself said a few minutes ago, Tolocamp, this could be a serious matter. It is. Neither of us can afford to have a sickness run through our stock. Not at this time of the Turn. Of course, we may find that it only affects the racers, but I would fault myself severely if I didn't take preventive measures now, before the infection can spread from the Hold proper." Alessan watched Tolocamp's obvious reflections over the merits of a delay. "Kulan's one of mine, but I'd take it kindly if you would speak to those of your own Hold who gathered with us. I'm not spreading alarm but four racers dead and more coughing in the picket lines ..."

  "Well. now ..."

  "Thank you, Tolocamp. I knew I could count on your cooperation."

  Alessan moved away swiftly before Tolocamp could muster an argument. He made for the kitchens where weary drudges were preparing large pitchers of klah and trays of fruits and sweetbreads. As he had hoped, he found Oklina supervising. From the fatigue apparent on her face, she hadn't had any sleep.

  "Oklina, there's trouble," he told her quietly. "Sickness down at the flats. Tell Lady Oma that, until I'm sure what it is and how it can be cured, no one is to leave the Hold. Her powers of persuasion and hospitality are required."

  Oklina's dark eyes had widened with alarm but she controlled her expression and peremptorily called one of the drudges to task for spilling klah.

  "Where's our brother, Makfar?" Alessan asked. "Asleep above?"

  "He's gone. They left about two hours ago."

  Alessan rubbed his face. Makfar had had two runners in the racing. "When you've spoken to Mother, send a messenger after them. The way Makfar travels, they won't have gone far. Say, say ..."

  "That you have urgent need of Makfar's advice." Oklina grinned.

  "Exactly." He gave her an affectionate pat on the shoulder. "And inform our other brothers that security is required for the Hold proper."

  By the time Alessan returned to the forecourt, Norman had arrived with a number of Ruathan holders. Alessan told them to find short swords and ride in pairs along the main roads to turn back travelers on whatever pretext came to mind. The holders were ordered to use force where persuasion failed. His brothers, in varying stages of discontent, reported to him. He dispatched them to get arms and assist the messengers, if need be, but to be sure that no one else left the Hold. Just then Lord Tolocamp bustled out of the Hall. He looked full of arguments.

  "Alessan, now I'm not sure that all this fuss is absolutely necessary."

  Echoing up from the south, the message drums of River Hold could be heard plainly. As Alessan counted the double‑urgent salutation and heard the healer code as originator, he took a moment's pleasure in the astonishment on Tolocamp's face, but lost it as the meat of the message boomed out. Those who could not understand the code caught the fear generated by those who did. Drums were a fine method of communication but too bloody public, Alessan thought savagely.

  Epidemic disease, the drums rolled, spreading rapidly across continent from Igen, Keroon, Telgar, Ista. Highly infectious. Highly contagious. Two to four days' incubation. Headache. Fever. Cough. Prevent secondary infection. Fatalities high. Medicate symptoms. Isolate victims. Quarantine effective immediately. Runnerbeasts highly susceptible. Repeat Epidemic warning. No travel permitted. Congregating discouraged. Capiam.

  The final roll commanded the pass‑on of the message.

  "But there's been a Gather here!" Tolocamp exclaimed fatuously. "No one's sick but a handful of runners. And they haven't been at Igen or Keroon, or anywhere!" Tolocamp glared at Alessan as if the alarm was somehow at his instigation.

  "Vander's sick and two of his handlers,"

  "Too much to drink," Tolocamp asserted. "It can't be the same thing. Capiam just says the illness is spreading, not that it's here in Ruatha."

  "When the Masterhealer of Pern calls a quarantine," Alessan said in a soft angry voice, "it is my duty, and yours, Lord Tolocamp, to respect his authority!" Alessan didn't realize that he sounded very much like his sire at that moment, but Tolocamp was silenced.

  That was all the time they had to speak for those who had understood the drum message were now searching for the two Lords Holder.

  "What's Capiam talking about?"

  "We can't be quarantined! I've got to get back to my hold."

  "I left stock near to birthing ..."

  "My wife stayed at the cot with our babies ..."

  Tolocamp rallied, standing stolidly by Alessan's side, confirming the dreadful message and Capiam's right to broadcast a quarantine restriction.

  "Master Capiam is not an alarmist!" "We'll have further details once that message has passed." "This is just a precaution." "Yes, a runnerbeast did die yesterday." "Master Scand will tell us more." "No, no one may be permitted to leave. Might endanger your own hold and spread illness further." "A few days is not too much for health's sake."

  Alessan answered almost by rote, letting the first panic roll over his head. He had already taken the first steps toward recalling people and to avert a mass exodus. He and Tolocamp did their best to quiet apprehension. Alessan rapidly calculated how much food he had in convenient storage. The Gatherers would soon exhaust their travel rations. Assuming some people might
catch Vander's illness, if it was Capiam's epidemic, would it be better to house them in the Hall? Or clear one of the beastholds? The Hold's infirmary could accommodate no more than twenty and that with crowding. Four dead animals, another dying, and Norman said nineteen more were coughing? Twenty‑four animals out of a hundred twenty‑two in twentyfour hours? The emergency had nothing to do with what he had been trained to meet. Nothing to do with the immemorial evil that ravaged Pern. As impartially as Thread, this new and equally insidious menace would blight the inhabitants as Thread could devastate the land. "Fatalities high," the message had said. Were there no dragons to combat disease? Was this sort of disaster provided for in the Hold Records his father had always referred to?

  "Here comes your healer, Alessan," said Tolocamp.

  The two Lords Holder moved to intercept Master Scand before he reached the forecourt. The man's usually placid round face was nearly purple with his exertions, his mouth thinned by annoyance. He was sweating copiously and blotting his face and neck with a none‑too‑clean cloth. Alessan had always thought Scand merely an adequate healer, suitable to attend, the Hold's large number of pregnancies and treat occasional accidents, but not up to a major emergency.

  "Lord Alessan, Lord Tolocamp," Scand panted, his chest heaving, "I came as soon as I received your summons. Did I not hear drums? Did I not recognize the healer code? Is something the matter?"

  "What ails Vander?"

  The sharpness of Alessan's question put Scand on his guard. He cleared his throat and mopped his face, reluctant to commit himself. "Well, now, as to that I am perplexed for he has not responded to the draught of sweatroot which I prepared for him last night. A dose, I might add, that would have made a dragon perspire. It was ineffectual." Scand blotted his face again. "The man complains of terrible heart palpitations and of a headache that has nothing to do with wine because I was assured that he didn't indulge, he felt unwell yesterday even before the races."

  "And the other two men? His handlers?"

  "They, too, are legitimately ill." Scand's pompous speech had always irritated Alessan. Today he brandished his sweaty cloth in his affected pauses. "Legitimately ill, I fear, with severe headaches that render them unable to rise from their pallets, as well as the palpitations of which Holder Vander complains. Indeed, I am inclined to treat them for those two symptoms, rather than sweat them, although that is the specific treatment for unidentified sudden fevers. Now, may I inquire if that message from the Healer Hall in any way concerns me?" Scand cocked his head inquisitively.

  "Master Capiam has called a quarantine."

  "Quarantine? For three men?"

  "Lord Alessan," said a tall lean man, wearing harper blue. He had grizzled hair and a nose that had suffered from many an unexpected adjustment to its direction. His glance was direct and his manner quietly capable. "I'm Tuero, journeyman harper. I can give Master Scand the full text so that you can get on." Tuero jerked his head to the people milling excitedly in the forecourt.

  Just then Ruatha's drummer began to relay the news onward to the large northerly and western holds, the instruments' deep reverberations adding to the general atmosphere of apprehension. Lady Oma emerged from the Hall with Lady Pendra and her daughters. Lady Oma listened intently to the drum then gave Alessan one long steady look. She and the Fort Hold women converged on Harper Tuero and the healer, who was now dithering, his face cloth hanging from his limp hand.

  For the first time in his life, Alessan had cause to be grateful for the unquestioning support of his bloodkin and even for the officiousness of Lord Tolocamp. A rider galloped back to request aid in bringing in one of the more aggressive holders with whom Alessan had already had trouble. Then Makfar's family wagon thundered in, scattering folk in the roadway. Alessan put him in charge of improvising shelters from Gather stalls and travel wagons. It was one thing to doss down in a corridor for a night or grab a few hours sleep in the Hall, but quite another matter to be so cramped for four nights. Tolocamp was not the only one who failed to see the irony of that as he countered Makfar's suggestions with some of his own. Alessan left the two to solve the housing problem so that he could accompany Norman to the race flats and survey the sick runners. People were already making small camps in the first of the fields.

  Despite his errand, it was a relief to Alessan to get away from the turmoil about the forecourt.

  "Never saw anything bring down so many so fast, Lord Alessan." Norman had almost to run to keep up with Alessan's long‑legged stride. "And I can't think what to do for 'em. If there is anything. Healer's message didn't say much about animals, did it?" His voice was bleak. "A runner can't tell you if it ails."

  "It goes off feed and water."

  "Not wagon beasts. They go till they drop."

  Both men looked across the fields where the Hold's sturdy cart and wagon runnerbeasts grazed, the ones Alessan had bred to his sire's specifications.

  "Set up a buffer area. Keep racers and wagoners well separated."

  "I will. Lord Alessan, but the racers have been drinking upriver of them!"

  "It's a wide river, Norman. Hope for the best."

  The first thing Alessan noticed at the flats was that the manager had utilized the entire spread of picket lines. The healthy beasts were on the outside, well away from the cleared circle surrounding the sick ones. The coughing of the infected beasts was audible on the still, slightly chill air. They coughed, necks extended, mouths gaping, in hard painful‑sounding barks. Their legs were swollen, their hides dull and starring.

  "Add featherfern and thymus to their water. If they'll drink, Norman. Use a syringe to get fluid into them before they dehydrate completely. We might offer nettleweed, too. Some runners are smart enough to know what's good for them. Nettles, at least, are in plentiful supply." Alessan gazed out over the meadows where the annual battle to reduce the perennial had not yet started. "Any coughs among the herdbeasts?" He swung in the other direction.

  "Truth to tell, I've had little time to think about them." Norman had the dedicated racer's almost contemptuous disdain for the placid herd creatures. "Harper told me the drums only mentioned runners."

  "Well, we'll have to slaughter herdbeasts to feed our unexpected guests. I don't have enough fresh meat left after the Gather."

  "Lord Alessan, did Dag ..." Norman began tentatively, with a half‑gesture toward the cliff, to the great apertures where the Hold's animals were normally sheltered during Threadfall.

  Alessan gave Norman a shrewd glance.

  "So, you were in on that?"

  "Sir, I was," Norman replied staunchly. "Dag and I got worried when the cough started to spread. Didn't want to interrupt your dancing, but as the bloodstock had no contact with these, Look at that!"

  "Shards!"

  They watched as the leader in a team of four hitched to a big wagon collapsed in the traces, pulling its harness mate to its knees.

  "Right, Norman. Get some men up to take charge of that team. Use them as long as they last to haul carcasses. Burn the dead animals down there." Alessan pointed to a dip in the far fields, out of sight from the forecourt and downwind. "Keep track of the dead beasts. Reparation should be made."

  "I've no recorder."

  "I'll send down one of the fosterlings. I'll also want to know how many people stayed the night down here."

  "Most of the handlers stayed, and some keen ones like old Runel and his two cronies. Some of the breeders were in and out, not caring much for the dancing after you were thoughtful enough to send a few kegs down here."

  "I wish we knew more about this illness. 'Medicate the symptoms,' the drums said." Alessan looked back at the lines of coughing animals.

  "Then we give 'em thymus and featherfern, and nettles. Maybe we'll get a message from the Masterherdsman. Could be on its way from the east right now." Norman looked confidently in that direction.

  Help didn't usually come from the east, Alessan thought, but he clapped Norman reassuringly on the shoulder. "Just do the bes
t you can!"

  "You can count on me, Lord Alessan."

  Norman's quietly issued assurance heartened Alessan as he took the shorter way across the stubble field to the hold. Was it only the day before that he and Moreta had paused on the rise to watch the racing? She had touched Vander's dying runner! Alessan's stride faltered. The Weyr would have received the drum message before Ruatha did. She would know by now the consequences of her act. She would also probably know better how to prevent falling ill herself.

  As did everyone of Ruatha Hold, he knew the Fort Weyrwoman by sight, but Alessan had always been on the fringes of such Hold gatherings as she had attended since achieving her senior position in the Weyr. So he had thought her a distant, self‑contained person, totally immersed in Weyr culture. The discovery that her fascination with racing was as keen as his own had been an unexpected delight. Lady Oma had rebuked him firmly at one point in the early evening for taking so much of Moreta's time. Alessan knew perfectly well that she meant that he was not making the most of the chance to meet eligible girls. He knew, too, that he must soon secure his bloodline and so he had tried to be properly receptive until he saw Moreta slip behind the harpers' dais. By then he had had enough of stammering insipidity and timorousness. He had acquitted his duty as Lord Holder but he was also going to enjoy himself at his first Gather. In Moreta's company. And he had. Alessan had been raised to anticipate both just reward and just punishment. Momentarily the thought that today's trials balanced yesterday's pleasures sprang to his mind but was quickly rejected as juvenile.

  The situation at the racing flats observed, Alessan decided the next priority would be to send messages to those expecting the return of the Gatherers to those holds outside the message‑drum system. Otherwise he would have anxious people coming to the Hold. Next he'd have to discover who else had brought in new stock from Keroon as Vander had done, whether the beasts were in holds or fields, and destroy them. He would also have to figure out how to deal with dissidents. The Hold's one small cell might secure a small boy like Fergal but not an aggressive holder.