Anne Mccaffrey_ Dragonriders of Pern 20

by Dragon Harper

  “Then we must know,” Kindan replied firmly. “We must tell the others, the Weyrleaders—”

  Bemin interrupted with a disdainful snort. “The weyrfolk of Pern are safe enough, high up in their lofty homes. But they can’t come and till our fields, harvest our grains, tend our sick.”

  Kindan shifted his weight, leaning more on Bemin as he used his free hand to wipe his face.

  “If they can’t come, we’ll survive,” he declared feverishly.

  “If we survive here, at this Hold and the Hall, it will be only because of you,” Bemin said. He glanced down, seeing the top of Kindan’s head. “Survive and you can have anything you ask for.”

  Surprised, Kindan glanced up at the Lord Holder. “You know what I wanted most on Pern.”

  A ghost of a smile crossed Bemin’s lips. “No man would have been prouder than I to have you call him ‘Father.’”

  Bolstered by those words, Kindan found the strength to stand on his own and even lengthen his stride.

  As he knelt down beside the two youngsters who looked uncomprehendingly at their mother’s body, Kindan turned to Merila and said, “Prepare some supplies, we’ll be going to the Harper Hall after this.” He glanced up at Bemin and said by way of apology, “I can’t rest until I know.”

  Bemin sighed heavily, but dropped a hand on Kindan’s shoulder and clenched it. “I’ll go with you.”

  Kindan nodded in gratitude, then turned his attention to Rialla’s children. He took a deep, steadying breath before he caught the eyes of Ernin, the youngest, and Erila.

  “Your mother didn’t want to leave you,” he told them softly, reaching out and grabbing their hands. “She was very brave and she fought for days as hard as she could.”

  “She did?” Ernin asked, looking at the still form of his mother. “She fought the plague?”

  “She did,” Kindan affirmed. “But she was very weak and it was very strong.”

  “It beat her?” Ernin asked, his eyes watering. Kindan nodded sadly. Ernin pursed his lips in desperate thought. “Can she play again?”

  “No, lad, I’m afraid she can’t,” Bemin said. “She’s gone, like my Lady Sannora.”

  “She’s dead?” Erila asked, shifting her gaze from Kindan up to Bemin.

  “She is,” Kindan told her softly. “But she asked us to look after you, and we promised her we would.” He found it hard to speak and it was a moment before he continued, “Lord Bemin and I, we’ll keep care of you.”

  “But I want to go with Momma!” Ernin wailed.

  “That would be the easy way,” Bemin told the boy chidingly. “You seem stronger than that. Are you up to the challenge?”

  Ernin looked up wide-eyed at the Lord Holder until his sister nudged him, and hissed, “Answer the Lord Holder!”

  “Yes, my lord,” Ernin told him.

  “I knew you were!” Bemin replied with a firm nod of his head. “I’ll need you two to find your way to the playroom, you’ll find it by the noise. There are others there who are ready for the challenge.” Bemin gestured to the door. “Off you go!”

  As the youngsters scurried away toward the kitchen, Bemin shook his head sadly. He waited until they were out of sight, then signaled to two holders to come and take Rialla’s body.

  He turned to Kindan, his features set. “Very well, harper, let’s go to your Hall.”

  He drew Kindan to his side and together they walked out of the Fort Hold’s Great Hall toward the ramp that led down into the valley below and onto the road that forked to the Harper Hall.

  Kindan’s first sight of the Harper Hall in nearly three weeks set his heart plunging into despair. The whole place had a disused, abandoned appearance, looking nothing at all like the purposeful bustling center of learning and arts on Pern.

  Worse, he could see a huge mound of dirt and a bigger ditch just outside the entrance to the Healer Hall set in the cliffs far to the right of the Harper Hall. A blue dragon was working busily nearby. It took Kindan a moment to see what the dragon was doing, and then his heart nearly stopped. J’trel’s blue Talith was gently carrying bodies in his front claws and lowering them into the ditch. He could see where another ditch nearby had already been filled in.

  He picked up his pace, startling Bemin.

  “Valla, go ahead, tell them we’re coming!” Kindan called to his fire-lizard. The little bronze did a quick circle in the sky then sped off, chirping loudly at the blue dragon and then disappearing through the doors of the Healer Hall.

  “There’s a bundle of fruit over there,” Kindan called, veering off the paved road.

  “Let the dragon get it,” Bemin replied, steering them back. “We can also send down a cart later. First we must see…” he let his words trail off, unwilling to complete his sentence.

  As they passed near the outside of the Harper Hall, a fresh breeze blew in from the valley, carrying with it the distinct odor of death and decay.

  “We’ll send a party in as soon as we can,” Bemin promised.

  “No, we’ll do it, our duty as harpers,” Kindan replied.

  “No, as Lord Holder, I am telling you that Fort will do it,” Bemin told him forcefully. In a softer voice he added, “It’s my choice and our honor.”

  “I thought you didn’t trust harpers,” Kindan snapped back before he thought about what he was saying. He instantly regretted it but Bemin laughed and waved it aside.

  “You’re right: I didn’t trust harpers,” Bemin agreed. He nodded down to Kindan. “But now that you’ve produced fruit from the sky, I’ve had to revise my thinking.” He paused for a moment. “Let us clean up the Harper Hall,” he repeated. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that horror.”

  “Very well,” Kindan said. He cocked his head up to meet Bemin’s eyes squarely. “Thank you, Lord Holder.”

  Bemin started to reply, but halted abruptly as Valla flittered out of the entrance to the Healer Hall, chittering in distress, eyes whirling red.

  Together Kindan and Fort’s Lord Holder entered.

  It was a moment before their eyes adjusted to the dim light. During that moment, their nostrils were assailed with the smells of death and dying, and the sick.

  Kindan walked through the entrance, turning toward the infirmary.

  “Valla,” he called softly, “find J’trel.”

  The rows of beds in the infirmary were full of bodies. Kindan’s heart sank.

  “Something moved over there,” Bemin said, turning to the left, near a window.

  Kindan rushed past him.

  “Kinda’?” a young voice asked. Kindan saw Druri sitting on the floor, cradling little Jassi between his knees.

  “Druri?” Kindan called. The young Istan looked tired, underfed, but no worse.

  “Kinda’!” Druri exclaimed, his face breaking into a smile.

  “Shh!” Bemin said urgently. “I hear something.”

  The noise came from the end of the room. It was a rustling. Kindan turned to locate it, but Bemin found the source first.

  “Over here,” he called softly, standing over a bed. He knelt down and pulled out a hand. “She’s still alive,” he said after a moment.

  It was Kelsa. Her cheeks were so gaunt, she looked like a stick figure.

  “I heard the drums,” Kelsa said. “Conar, where is he?”

  A noise distracted them and a well-built haggard-looking man walked into the room and quickly took in the scene.

  “J’trel, rider of blue Talith,” the dragonrider said with a quick nod to Bemin.

  “You managed all this by yourself?” Bemin asked in surprise and awe.

  “No,” J’trel said, shaking his head sadly. “A youngster, one of the apprentices, was helping me until yesterday.” He jerked his head toward the outside and the dirt mound. “Talith just laid him with the others.”

  “Conar?” Kindan asked. “The drummer?”

  “That was him,” J’trel agreed dully. He leaned closer to them and continued in a voice that only they could hear, “H
e skimped on his food to save the others.”

  “How many are there?” Kindan asked, so numb with grief that he couldn’t imagine feeling worse.

  “Five or six in this room, maybe twice that in the next,” J’trel said. He glanced sadly around the room. “I was coming in here to take the others out.”

  “We’ll help,” Bemin said.

  “First, the living,” Kindan told them. He leaned over to Kelsa. “It’s all right, we’re here, we’re taking you back to the Hold; we’ve got food, you’ll be fine.”

  “Kindan, you’re alive!” Kelsa sobbed, grabbing his hand fiercely.

  “Nonala? Verilan?” Kindan asked her hopefully.

  “Over there,” Kelsa said, pointing first to the bed beside her and then to the one opposite.

  Kindan felt his spirits lift—at least some of his friends were alive.

  He heard a noise from Nonala’s bed and saw her looking at him entreatingly. He turned to her and grabbed her hand.

  “It’s all right, help’s here,” he told her.

  Her lips were dry and her throat parched. She beckoned him close enough to whisper, “Vaxoram?”

  “Journeyman Vaxoram didn’t make it,” Kindan told her with a shake of his head, tears filling his eyes.

  Nonala closed her eyes and turned away. Then she turned back and opened them again. “Journeyman?”

  “He walked the tables,” Kindan told her. Her eyes widened. “He said that then maybe he’d be worthy. He said he loved you.”

  Nonala moaned and turned away again.

  “The air is better in the Great Hall,” Bemin said, looking at J’trel. “And we’ve a playroom for the children. Can your Talith carry some of the ill?”

  “In shifts, he can carry them all,” J’trel declared stoutly.

  “Good, let’s start now,” Bemin replied nodding to the dragonrider. “We’ve food and everything except klah.”

  “There’ll be some in the stores,” Kindan said. “I’ll get them.” He turned to Kelsa. “We’re getting you out of here.” He went over to Verilan’s bed and repeated the message, but the young archivist was sleeping fitfully.

  As Bemin and J’trel started moving the patients out of the infirmary, first moving Druri and Jassi into the fresh air and sunlight, Kindan steeled himself for one more, difficult task.

  “Did you bury Master Lenner?” Kindan asked the blue rider.

  “Yes,” J’trel replied, grimacing. “He caught the flu eight days on, and survived another three.”

  “He would have made notes,” Kindan said hopefully.

  “If he did, they weren’t on him,” J’trel replied. “I checked.”

  Kindan nodded, relieved of the worst of his fears—that the notes were buried with the Masterhealer.

  “What do you need them for?” Bemin asked.

  “Lenner would have taken careful notes, they might help us understand this illness and how long it lasts,” Kindan said, heading off to the Master’s study. It was in the back, in a room too dark to see much more than shadows. He tried the desk but found nothing. Had Lenner succumbed too quickly to make any notes? Kindan shook his head, recalling how the Masterhealer had talked about the importance of good notes whenever he visited the Archives.

  The Archives! Kindan thought to himself. Verilan!

  Kindan left the study quickly, returning to the infirmary just as Bemin was hauling Verilan on to his back.

  “Did he have anything with him, my lord?” Kindan asked as Bemin trudged by.

  “A sack full of notes,” Bemin said. “But we can always get them later.”

  Kindan continued back to the infirmary and found the sack. He brought it out into the light and pulled a note out at random—he recognized Lenner’s handwriting. The Masterhealer must have guessed his own fate, to stash the Records with Verilan.

  Further, Kindan realized, Lenner must have figured out that youngsters were more likely than others to survive the plague. Perhaps Lenner had uncovered other secrets before the illness took him.

  “We’ll take the first lot,” Bemin said, as he climbed up on Talith behind Nonala, Kelsa, and Verilan. “I’ll want to alert Jelir and get them settled. Then we’ll come back for you and the others.”

  Kindan nodded, smiling at Druri as the youngster stared raptly at the great blue dragon. At Kindan’s voiceless request, Valla approached and entertained both Druri and Jassi with antics and aerobatics while Talith rose into the air and flew the short distance to Fort Hold’s great courtyard.

  The blue dragon returned soon enough with Stennel and another holder Kindan didn’t recognize. Between the three men, they loaded Kindan, his notes, Jassi and Druri in no time.

  “I’ll be back in a moment,” J’trel promised Stennel.

  “We’ll get started in the meantime,” Stennel replied, turning to his fellow and muttering, “Did you hear that? A dragonrider’s helping us!”

  “If only there were more,” the other replied mournfully.

  In front of Kindan, J’trel snorted in what seemed to be agreement.

  “You know why they can’t help,” Kindan said to J’trel.

  “I do, lad,” J’trel replied, calling over his shoulder. “That doesn’t mean I don’t understand how the holders feel.”

  Kindan nodded in agreement. The worst plague ever seemed to be ravaging the planet, and all the Weyrs of Pern appeared to be idle. But the Weyrs were duty-bound to fight an even greater menace.

  “They’ll understand when Thread comes,” Kindan reassured the rider.

  “If they’re still alive,” the blue rider replied sourly.

  CHAPTER 15

  Rider, dragon, tried and true

  All life’s hope now lives with you

  Dragon, rider, work and toil

  Save the earth, save the soil.

  RED BUTTE

  No sign of life at Benden Hold, Valley Hold, Brum, or Bay Head,” Wingleader L’tor reported to M’tal. “Something’s been eating the fruit at Fork, Keroon, and Plains Holds. We’ve seen signs of life at Lemos and Bitra Holds.”

  “Very good,” M’tal said with a sigh. “There are probably many small cotholds, but we don’t know how to find them.”

  C’rion, the Istan Weyrleader, had been listening in on the conversation.

  “I think I know a way to help,” he said. He had his dragon call for J’lantir and the bronze rider quickly appeared. L’tor and M’tal exchanged surprised looks, wondering what the Istan wingleader could do about Benden Hold.

  “Didn’t you make your wing drill on all the recognition points on Pern when they wouldn’t tell you where they’d gone?” C’rion asked J’lantir.

  “Well, yes,” J’lantir replied. He gave C’rion a strange look. “And, oddly, they seemed pleased.”

  “I think we know why,” C’rion told him. “They’re doing nothing now, aren’t they?”

  “It would be unwise to have them here,” J’lantir agreed, pointing to the members of his wing who had arrived between times with yet another vital load of fresh fruit from the Southern Continent.

  “Can you send them, with our compliments, to Benden, Telgar, Fort, and High Reaches Weyrs to act as guides?”

  “I could,” J’lantir replied dubiously, “but I’m not sure D’gan would want—”

  “Forget Telgar,” M’tal said, shaking his head. “D’gan’s made it plain that he’ll handle this by himself.”

  “Which means that you’re sneaking in food with your wings,” C’rion guessed shrewdly.

  M’tal smiled. “As is B’ralar from the west.”

  C’rion shook his head angrily, a bitter look on his face. “What that dragon ever saw in that particular rider…”

  “He’s just as scared as the rest of us,” M’tal said. “I can’t agree with his actions, but I can understand his reasoning.”

  “We’ll see how things are when it comes time to collect the tithe,” C’rion replied, thinking that D’gan’s holders would acknowledge his lack of help wit
h a lack of goods in tithe. He turned to J’lantir. “Regardless, get those layabouts of yours into action.”

  “At once, Weyrleader,” J’lantir said with a nod, lack of sleep and timing making his step falter.

  “He’ll be all right,” C’rion said in response to M’tal’s worried look.

  “But will his wing?”

  “Well,” C’rion said consideringly, “they must be because they’re still here.” M’tal did a double take and the Istan Weyrleader chuckled. “If they’d had any problems between back in time, they wouldn’t be here now, would they?”

  “You mean they wouldn’t exist in the present if they’d died in the past, don’t you?” M’tal said after a long moment.

  “Precisely,” C’rion agreed.

  “Another reason I don’t like timing it,” M’tal muttered to himself. “It’s impossible to explain.”

  C’rion chuckled sympathetically.

  “All the same,” M’tal went on, “there is a limit on how much fruit we can get from Southern.”

  “And on how long we can work like this,” C’rion agreed as another wing of dragonriders burst from between to load up with another cargo of fruit.

  “Two days?” M’tal wondered. “Maybe three?”

  Beside him, C’rion nodded in glum agreement.

  Neesa took Druri and Jassi out of Kindan’s arms nearly the moment he returned.

  “Yanira will look after them,” Neesa said. “She’s got the whole playroom under control.”

  Kindan paused, looking around the Great Hall. Something was different. It looked lighter. He saw groups of people moving up and down the lines of cots purposefully.

  “I figured out how to juice that fruit,” Neesa told him. “We’re feeding that to the worst off, dribbling it down their throats.” She wrung her hands nervously and grimaced. Then she brightened. “But the others, the ones getting better, we’re feeding them a mixture of the juice and the pulp.”

  She gave Kindan a frank, worried look. “How long do you think the dragonriders can keep bringing us food?”