She walked back to the door, closed the glow, resting her hand a moment on the door frame, smooth from generations of hands resting just as she did. Generations! Yes, generations that had survived all kinds of bizarre happenings and unusual illnesses, and would survive this one!
The fog had not abated, and she could see the staircase as only a darker shadow. Her foot kicked the first riser.
Be careful, Orlith said.
“I will.” Moreta’s right hand crept along the wall as she ascended. She seemed to be walking upward into nothing until her lead foot discovered the safety of the next step and the mist churned about her. But Orlith kept murmuring encouragement until Moreta laughed, saying she was only a few steps from her weyr and her bed. For all of that, she nearly missed her step at the landing for the light from her weyr was diminished to a feeble glow.
The weyr was noticeably warmer. The golden dragon’s eyes gleamed as Moreta crossed to caress her, scratching Orlith’s eye ridges. She leaned gratefully against Orlith’s head, thinking that Orlith exuded an odor that was a combination of all the best herbs and spices.
You are tired. You must get some sleep now.
“Ordering me about again, huh?” But Moreta was on her way to her sleeping quarters. She pulled off tunic and trousers and, sliding into the furs, arranged them around her shoulders and was very quickly asleep.
CHAPTER VI
Ruatha Hold, Present Pass, 3.11.43
ALESSAN WATCHED AS the great dragon sprang into the air with Moreta lifting her arm in farewell. The dragon glowed in the dark-gray sky, and not from the feeble light of the dying lamp standards. Did her gravid state account for that luminescence? Then the phenomenon occurred for which Alessan waited: The golden glowing queen and her lovely Weyrwoman disappeared. A whoosh of air made the languid banners flutter.
Smiling, Alessan took a deep breath, well satisfied by the high moments of his first Gather as Lord of Ruatha Hold. As his sire had often repeated, good planning was the essence of success. True enough that good planning had resulted in his sprinter’s win, but he had never counted on Moreta’s company at the races—she had been such a spontaneous companion. Nor had he anticipated her dancing with him. He’d never had such an agile partner in the toss dance. Now, if his mother could find a girl in any way comparable to Moreta . . .
“Lord Alessan . . .”
He swung around, surprised out of his pleasant reverie by the hoarse whisper. Dag scuttled out of the shadows and stopped, bolt still, half a dozen paces from him.
“Lord Alessan . . .” The anxiety in Dag’s voice and the formal address alerted Alessan.
“What’s the matter, Dag? Squealer—”
“He’s fine. But all Vander’s animals is down with the cough, hacking out their lungs, feverish and breaking out in cold sweats. Some of those picketed next to Vander’s lot are coughing, too, and sweating. Norman don’t know what to make of it, it’s so sudden. I know what I make of it, Lord Alessan, and so I’m going to take our animals, those that have been in the beasthold and ain’t been near that lot in the pickets. I’m going to take ’em away before that cough spreads.”
“Dag, I’m not—”
“Now, I ain’t saying, Lord Alessan”—Dag raised his hand in a placatory gesture—“but what the cough could be the warm weather and a change of grass, but I’m not risking Squealer. Not after him winning.”
Alessan suppressed a smile at Dag’s vehemence.
“I’ll just take our bloodstock up to the high nursery meadows—till they clear away.” He jerked his thumb at the race flats. “I’ve packed some provisions and there’re plenty of crevice snakes for eating. And I’ll take that ruffian of a grandson of mine with me.”
Second only to Squealer in Dag’s affections was his daughter’s youngest son, Fergal, a lively rascal who was more often in the black records than any other holdling. Alessan had a sneaking admiration for the lad’s ingenuity, but as Lord Holder he could no longer condone the antics that Fergal inspired. His most recent prank had so angered Lady Oma, involving as it did the smirching of guest linens, that he had been forbidden to attend the Gather, and the punishment was enforced by locking the boy in the Hold’s cell.
“If I thought—”
Dag laid a finger along his snub nose. “Better safe than sorry.”
“Get along then.” Alessan longed for sleep and Dag was plainly in an obstinate frame of mind. “And take that . . . that . . .”
“Dirty piece of laundry?” Dag’s grin was slyly infectious.
“Yes, that’s an apt description.”
“I’ll wait for a message from you, Alessan, that all the visitors have gone and taken their cough with ’em.” Dag’s grin broadened and he turned smartly on one heel, setting off toward the beasthold at such a clip that his bandy figure rolled from side to side.
Alessan watched his departure thoughtfully for a moment, wondering if he gave Dag too much latitude. Perhaps the old handler was covering up some new prank Fergal had pulled. But a cough spreading through the pickets was not so easily dismissed. When he’d had some sleep, he’d have a word with Norman, see if they had discovered why Vander’s runner had died. That incident bothered Alessan. But a cough hadn’t killed the runner. Was it possible that Vander, keen to win at the Gather, had ignored the signs of illness to bring his middistance runner? Alessan would prefer not to think so, but he knew well how the desire to win could grip a man.
Alessan made his way back to the hold on the roadway, passing dark lumps of people rolled in sleeping furs. It had been a good Gather and the weather had held. A slight dampness in the dawn air heralded fog or mist. But the weather wouldn’t be the only thing foggy that day.
The Hall, too, was crowded with sleepers, and he walked carefully so as not to disturb anyone. Even the wide corridor outside his apartment accommodated Gatherers on straw pallets. He considered himself fortunate that his mother had not insisted he share his quarters. But then, perhaps she had hoped that he would! He smiled as he closed the door behind him and began to strip off his finery. It was only then he remembered that Moreta had not retrieved her Gather gown. No matter. That gave him an excuse to talk to her at the next Fall. He stretched out on his bed, pulled the furs over him, and was asleep in moments.
In what seemed like no time he was being so vigorously shaken that, for one disoriented moment, he thought he was a boy again, being attacked by his brothers.
“Alessan!” Lady Oma’s indignant exclamation brought him to complete awareness. “Holder Vander is extremely ill and Masterhealer Scand insists that it is not from overindulgence. Two of the men who accompanied Vander are also feverish. Your race-course manager informs me also that four animals are dead and more appear to be sickening.”
“Whose animals?” Alessan wondered if Dag had known more than he’d admitted.
“How should I know, Alessan?” Lady Oma had no interest at all in the runnerbeasts that were Ruatha’s principal industry. “Lord Tolocamp is discussing it with—”
“Lord Tolocamp presumes!” Alessan rolled out of the bed, reached for his trousers in a fluid movement, stuffed his feet into the legs and pulled them up as he rose. He dragged a tunic over his head, slammed his feet into boots, kicking aside his discarded Gather finery. He forgot about the sleepers in the hallway and nearly trod on an arm before he checked his haste. Most of those who had slept in the Hall were awake and there was a clear path to the door. Cursing Tolocamp under his breath, Alessan managed a smile for those who noticed his passing.
Tolocamp was in the forecourt, an arm across his chest, propping the elbow of the other arm as he rubbed his chin, deep in thought. Norman was with him, shifting anxiously from foot to foot, his face gaunt from a sleepless night. As Alessan strode out, Norman’s face brightened, and he turned eagerly toward his own Lord Holder.
“Good day to you, Tolocamp,” Alessan said with scant courtesy, controlling the anger he felt at the older man’s interference, however well intentioned. �
�Yes, Norman?”
He tried to draw the manager to one side but Tolocamp was not so easily evaded.
“This could be a very serious matter, Alessan,” Tolocamp said, his heavy features set in a frown of portentous concern.
“I’ll decide that, thank you.” Alessan spoke so curtly that Tolocamp regarded him with astonishment. Alessan took the opportunity to move aside with Norman.
“Four of Vander’s runners are dead,” Norman said in a low voice, “and the other is dying. Nineteen beasts near them have broken out in sweats and coughing something pathetic.”
“Have you isolated them from the healthy?”
“I’ve had men working on that since first light, Lord Alessan.”
“Lady Oma said that Vander’s ill as are two of his men?”
“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 wagontravelers. 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 Cap
iam 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. Alescan 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 twenty-four 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.
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