Dragonsinger (dragon riders of pern)

by Anne McCaffrey

  “I don’t think he forgot,” Menolly said slowly, thinking of her father and mother and their opposition to her playing. “He told me girls can’t be harpers.”

  Silvina gave her a long hard look. “Maybe under another Masterharper. Or in the old days, but surely old Petiron knew his own son well enough to—”

  “Petiron was Master Robinton’s father?”

  “Did he never tell you that?” Silvina paused as she was spreading the sleeping fur over Menolly. “The old stubborn fool! Determined not to advance himself because his son was elected Masterharper…and then picking a place halfway to nowhere…I beg your pardon, Menolly…”

  “Half-Circle Sea Hold is halfway to nowhere.”

  “Not if Petiron found you there,” said Silvina, recovering her brisk tone, “and sponsored you to this Craft. Now that’s enough talking,” she added, closing the glow basket. “I’ll leave the shutters open…but you sleep yourself out, you hear me?”

  Menolly mumbled a reply, her eyelids closing despite her effort to remain politely awake while Silvina was in the room. She let out a soft sigh as the door banged softly shut. Beauty immediately curled up by Menolly’s ear, and the girl felt other small hard bodies making themselves comfortable against her. She composed herself for sleep, aware now of the dull throbbing of her feet and the aching of her banged toes.

  She was warm, she was comfortable; she was so tired. The bag that enclosed the thick rushes was stout enough to keep stray edges from digging into her flesh, but she couldn’t sleep. She also couldn’t move because, while her mind turned over all the day’s incredible events, her body wasn’t hers to command but in some nether region of unresponsiveness.

  She was conscious of the spicy odor of Beauty, of the dry sweet scent of the rushes, the earthy smell of wet fields borne in by the night wind, accented occasionally by the touch of acrid blackstone smoke. Spring was not advanced enough to dispense with evening fires.

  Strange not to have the smell of sea in her nostrils, Menolly thought, for sea and fish odors had dominated all but the last sevenday of her fifteen Turns. How pleasant to realize that she had done with the sea, and fish, forever. She’d never have to gut another packtail in her life, or risk another infected cut. She couldn’t use her injured hand as much as she wanted to yet, but she would. Nothing was impossible, not if she could get to the Harper Hall in spite of all the odds against it. And she’d play gitar again and harp. Manora had assured her she’d use the fingers properly in time. And her feet were healing. It amused Menolly, now, to think that she’d had the temerity to try to outrun the leading edge of Threadfall. Running had done more than save her skin from Threadscoring: it had brought her to Benden Weyr, to the attention of the Masterharper of Pern and to the start of a completely new life.

  And her dear old friend, Petiron, had been Master Robinton’s father? She’d known the old Harper had been a good musician, but it had never occurred to her before to wonder why he had been sent to Half-Circle Sea Hold where only she had profited from his ability as a teacher. If only her father, Yanus, had let her play gitar when the new Harper first arrived…but they’d been so afraid that she’d disgrace the Sea Hold. Well, she hadn’t, and she wouldn’t! One day her father, and yes, her mother, too, would realize that Menolly was no disgrace to the Hold of her birth.

  Menolly drifted on thoughts of triumph until sound invaded her reflections. Male voices, laughing and rumbling in conversation, carried on the clear night air, The voices of harpers; tenor, bass and baritone, in amused, argumentative, cajoling tones, and one querulous, sort of quavery, older, whiny voice. She didn’t like that one.

  Another, a velvet-soft, light baritone, rose above the cranky tenor, soothing. Then the Masterharper’s deeper baritone dominated and silenced the others. Though she couldn’t understand what he was saying, his voice lulled her to sleep.

  Chapter 2

  Harper, tell me of the road

  That leads beyond this Hold,

  That wends its way beyond the hill…

  Does it go further on until

  It ends in sunset’s gold?

  Menolly roused briefly, reacting to an inner call that had nothing to do with the sun’s rising on this side of Pern. She saw dark night and stars through the window, felt the sleeping fire lizards tucked about her, and gratefully went back to sleep again. She was so tired.

  Once the sun had cleared the roof of the outer side of the rectangle of buildings that comprised the main Harper Craft Hall, it shone directly at her windows, set in the eastern side of the Hall. Gradually the light penetrated the room, and the unusual combination of light and warmth on her face woke Menolly.

  She lay, her body not yet responsive, wondering where she was. Remembering, she was uncertain what to do next. Had she missed some general waking call? No, Silvina had said that she was to sleep herself out. As she pushed back the sleeping furs, she heard the sound of voices chanting. The rhythm was familiar. She smiled, identifying one of the long Sagas. Apprentices were being taught the complicated timing by rote, just as she had taught the youngsters in Half-Circle Sea Hold when Petiron was sick, and later after he died. The similarity reassured her,

  As she slid from the bed, she clenched her teeth in anticipation of touching the cool hard stones of the floor, but to her surprise, her feet only felt stiff, not painful, this morning. She glanced out the window at the sun. It was well into morning by the cast of shadow: she’d really slept. Then she laughed at herself, for, to be sure she had: she was halfway round Pern from Benden Weyr and Half-Circle Hold, and she had had at least six hours more rest than usual. Fortunately the fire lizards had been as tired as she or they’d have wakened her with their hunger.

  She stretched and shook out her hair, then hobbled carefully to the jar and basin. After washing with soapsand, she dressed and brushed her hair, feeling able to face new experiences.

  Beauty gave an impatient chirp. She was awake. And very hungry. Rocky and Diver echoed the complaint.

  Menolly would have to find them food and right soon. Having nine fire lizards would prejudice enough people against her, without having unmanageably hungry ones who would irritate even the most tolerant of people.

  Resolutely, Menolly opened the door to a silent hallway. The aromatic odors of klah, baking breads and meats filled the air. Menolly decided she need only follow the smells to their source to satisfy her friends.

  On either side of the wide corridor were doors; those on the outside of the Hall were open to let sun and air flood the inside. She descended from the uppermost level into the large entranceway. Directly in front of the staircase were dragon-high metal doors with the most curious closings she’d ever seen: on the back of the doors were wheels, which evidently turned the heavy bars into floor and ceiling, At Half-Circle Sea Hold there had been the heavy horizontal bars, but this arrangement would be easier to lock and looked much more secure.

  To the left was a double-doored entrance into a Great Hall, probably the room where the Harper had been talking last night. To the right, she looked into the dining hall, almost as large as the Great Hall, with three long tables parallel to the windows. Also to her right, by the stairwell, was an open doorway, leading to shallow steps and the kitchen, judging by the appetizing odors and familiar sounds.

  The fire lizards creeled in hunger, but Menolly couldn’t have the whole fair invading the kitchen and upsetting the drudges. She ordered them to perch on the cornices in the shadows above the door. She’d bring them food, she promised them, but they had to behave. Beauty scolded until the others settled meekly into place, only their glowing, jewel-faceted eyes giving evidence of their positions.

  Then Beauty assumed her favorite perch on Menolly’s shoulder, her head half-buried in Menolly’s thick hair, and her tail wrapped securely about Menolly’s throat like a golden necklace.

  As Menolly reached the kitchen, the scene with the drudges and cooks scurrying about preparing the midday meal fleetingly revived memories of happi
er days at Half-Circle. But here, it was Silvina who noticed her and smiled, as Menolly’s mother would not have done.

  “You’re awake? Are you rested?” Silvina gestured imperatively at a slack-featured, clumsy-looking man by the hearth. “Klah, Camo, pour a mug of klah, for Menolly. You must be famished, child. How are your feet?”

  “Fine, thank you. And I don’t want to bother anyone…”

  “Bother? What bother? Camo, pour the klah into the mug.”

  “It’s not for myself I’m here…”

  “Well, you need to eat, and you must be famished.”

  “Please, it’s my fire lizards, Have you any scraps…”

  Silvina’s hands flew to her mouth. She glanced about her head as if expecting a swarm of fire lizards.

  “No, I’ve told them to wait,” Menolly said quickly. “They won’t come in here.”

  “Now, you are a thoughtful child,” Silvina said in so firm a tone that Menolly wondered why and then realized that she was the object of a good deal of furtive curiosity. “Camo, here. Give me that!” Silvina took the cup from the man, who was walking with exaggerated care not to slop an overfull container. “And get the big blue bowl from the cold room. The big blue bowl, Camo, from the cold room. Bring it to me.” Silvina deftly handed the cup to Menolly without spilling a drop. “The cold room, Camo, and the blue bowl.” She turned the man by the shoulders and gave him a gentle shove in the proper direction. “Abuna, you’re nearest the hearth. Do dish up some of the cereal. Plenty of sweetening on it, too, the child’s nothing but skin and bones!” Silvina smiled at Menolly. “No use feeding the fowl and starving the servant, as it were. I saved meat for your friends when we trussed up the roast,” and Silvina nodded toward the biggest hearth where great joints of meat were turning on heavy spits, “since meat’s what the Harper said fire lizards need. Now, where would the best place…” Silvina glanced about her undecidedly, but Menolly had noticed a low door that led up a short flight of steps to the corner of the courtyard.

  “Would I disturb anyone out there?”

  “Not at all, you are a considerate child. That’s right, Camo. And thank you.” Silvina patted the halfwit’s arm kindly, while he beamed with the pleasure of a job properly done and rewarded. Silvina tipped the edge of the bowl toward Menolly, “Is this enough? There’s more…”

  “Oh, that’s a gracious plenty, Silvina!”

  “Camo, this is Menolly. Follow Menolly with the bowl. She can’t carry it and her own breakfast. This is Menolly, Camo, follow Menolly. Go right out, dear. Camo’s good at carrying things…at least what doesn’t spill!”

  Silvina turned from her then, speaking sharply to two women chopping roots, bidding them to slice, not stare. Very much aware of scrutiny, Menolly moved awkwardly to the steps, cup in one hand, bowl of warm cereal in the other, and Camo shuffling behind her. Beauty, who had remained discreetly covered by Menolly’s hair, now craned her neck about, smelling the raw meat in the bowl Camo carried.

  “Pretty, pretty,” the man mumbled as he noticed the fire lizard. “Pretty small dragon?” He tapped Menolly on the shoulder. “Pretty small dragon?” He was so anxious for her answer that he almost tripped on the shallow steps.

  “Yes, she is like a small dragon, and she is pretty,” Menolly agreed, smiling. “Her name is Beauty.”

  “Her name is Beauty.” Camo was entranced. “Her name is Beauty. She pretty small dragon.” He beamed as he loudly declared this information.

  Menolly shushed him, not wanting either to alarm or distract Silvina’s helpers. She put down her mug and bowl and reached for the meat.

  “Pretty small dragon Beauty,” Camo said, ignoring her as she pulled the bowl so firmly clutched in his huge, thick-fingered hands.

  “You go to Silvina, Camo. You go to Silvina.”

  Camo stood where he was, bobbing his head up and down, his mouth set in a wet, wide grimace of childish delight, too entranced by Beauty to be distracted.

  Beauty now creeled imperiously, and Menolly grabbed a handful of meat to quiet her. But her cries had alerted the others. They came, some of them from the open windows of the dining hall above Menolly’s head, others, judging by the shrieks of dismay, through the kitchen and out the door by the steps.

  “Pretty, pretty. All pretty!” Camo exclaimed, turning his head from side to side, trying to see all the fitting fire lizards at once.

  He didn’t move a muscle as Auntie One and Two perched on his forearms, snatching gobblets of meat directly from the bowl. Uncle secured his talons to the fabric of Camo’s tunic, his right wingtip jabbing the man in the neck and chin as the littlest fire lizard fought for his fair share of the meat. Brownie, Mimic, and Lazybones ranged from Camo’s shoulders to Menolly’s as she tried to distribute the meat evenly.

  Alternating between embarrassment at her friends’ bad manners and gratitude for Camo’s stolid assistance, Menolly was acutely aware that all activity had ceased in the kitchen to watch the spectacle. Momentarily, she expected to hear an irate Silvina order Camo back to his ordinary duties, but all she heard was the buzz of whispered gossiping.

  “How many does she have?” she heard one clear whisper out of the general mumble.

  “Nine,” Silvina answered, imperturbable. “When the two the Harper was given have hatched, the Harper Hall will have eleven.” Silvina sounded smugly superior. The buzz increased in volume. “That bread’s risen enough now Abuna. You and Kayla shape it.”

  The fire lizards had cleared the bowl of meat, and Camo stared into its hollow, his face contorted by an expression of dismay.

  “All gone? Pretties hungry?”

  “No, Camo. They’ve had more than enough. They’re not hungry anymore.” In fact, their bellies were distended, they’d gorged so. “You go to Silvina. Silvina wants you, Camo,” and Menolly followed Silvina’s example: she took him by the shoulders, turned him down the steps, and gave him a gentle shove.

  Menolly sipped the good hot klah, beginning to think that Silvina’s marked attentions and kindness were deliberate. Or was that foolish? Silvina was just a kind, thoughtful person: look how she treated dull-witted Camo. She was patience itself with his inadequacy. Nonetheless, Silvina was obviously the headwoman at the Harper Craft Hall and, like serene Manora at Benden Weyr, undoubtedly wielded a good deal of authority. If Silvina was friendly, others would follow her lead.

  Menolly began to relax in the warm sun. Her dreams last night had been troubled though she couldn’t remember details. now in the bright morning, only a sense of uneasiness and helplessness. Silvina had done much to dissipate the lingering misgivings. Nothing to fear from harpers. T’gellan had repeatedly told her.

  Across the courtyard, young voices broke into a lusty rendition of the Saga previously chanted. The fire lizards rose at the eruption of sound, settling again as Menolly laughingly reassured them.

  Then a pure sweet trill from Beauty soared in delicate descant above the apprentices’ male voices. Rocky and Diver joined her, wings half-spread as they expanded their lungs for breath. Mimic and Brownie dropped from the window ledge to add their voices. Lazy would not put himself to any such effort, and the two Aunties and blue Uncle were at best indifferent singers, but they listened, heads cocked, jeweled eyes whirling. The five singers rose to their haunches now, their throats thickening, their cheeks swelling as their jaws relaxed to emit the sweet pure notes. Their eyes were half-lidded as they concentrated, as good singers will, to produce the fluting descant.

  They were happy then, Menolly thought with relief, and picked up the melody of the Saga, not that the fire lizards needed her voice with the apprentices supplying the tune and harmony.

  They were on the last two measures of the chorus when Menolly suddenly realized that it was only herself and the fire lizards singing, that the male voices had ceased. Startled, she looked up and saw that almost every window about the courtyard was filled with faces. The exceptions were the windows of the hall from which the voices had come.


  “Who has been singing?” demanded an irate tenor, and a man’s head appeared at one of the empty windows.

  “Why, that’s a grand way to wake up, Brudegan,” said the clear baritone of the Masterharper from some point above Menolly and to her left. Craning her head up, she saw him leaning out of his window on the upper story.

  “Good morning to you, Masterharper,” said Brudegan courteously, but his tone indicated that he was disgruntled by the intervention.

  Menolly tried to sit small, heartily wishing herself between: she was certainly frozen motionless.

  “I didn’t know your fire lizards could sing,” Silvina said, appearing on Menolly’s right and absently retrieving mug and bowl from the steps. “A nice compliment to your chorus, eh, Brudegan,” she added, raising her voice to carry across the courtyard. “You’d be wanting your klah now, Robinton?”

  “It would be welcome, Silvina.” He stretched, leaned further out to peer down at Menolly. “Enter a fair of fire lizards singing! A lovely way to be wakened, Menolly; and a good morning to you, too.” Before Menolly could respond, a look of dismay crossed his face. “My fire lizard, My egg!” and he disappeared from sight.

  Silvina chuckled and she regarded Menolly. “He’ll be of no use to anyone until it’s hatched and he’s got one of his own.”

  At that point, Brudegan’s singers renewed their song. Beauty chirruped questioningly at Menolly.

  “No, no, Beauty. No more singing, not now.”

  “They need the practice,” and Silvina gestured at the hall. “Now I’ve the Harper’s meal to see to and you to settle…” She paused, glancing about at the fire lizards. “But what to do with them?”

  “They usually sleep when they’re as full as they are right now.”

  “All to the good…but where? Mercy!”