Dragonsblood

by Todd McCaffrey

  “Well-trained,” Wind Blossom muttered to herself. She kept her gaze on the door for a few moments, assuring herself that Emorra had indeed departed.

  Then—a subtle shift, a slight relaxation, and the merest hint of a smile played on her lips. It was short-lived, chased away almost instantly by a frown.

  “Your face is like a window,” Kitti Ping’s voice echoed in her mind. “I can see everything you think.”

  You see what I want you to see, Wind Blossom thought back to the ancient memory.

  She moved to her dresser and opened the drawer with her tunics. Gently she lifted them and found the yellow one. Yes, she thought to herself, Purman would like this.

  She pulled the tunic out of the drawer along with the small bag she’d carefully hidden underneath it. She quickly shrugged off her regular tunic and pulled on the yellow one. Then she took the bag and walked over to the laboratory end of her room.

  The room was huge and had been a supply room when the Fever Year had hit. Wind Blossom had occupied it in the haste of those deadly days and had never been asked to leave. She lived simply in the room, with only a bed, a dresser, and a bedside table for her comfort. The far side of the room was given up to her laboratory and studies. She liked the room because of the large windows running floor to ceiling on one side.

  She opened a locked door in her tall cabinet and pulled out a crucible, ancient ceramic tripod, and grazier. She put these on the workbench along with the bag from her drawer and another bag she had pulled out from the cabinet.

  She eyed a stool and shook her head slightly, grabbing her things off the workbench and putting them on the floor beyond it, concealed from the window by the large workbench.

  She fished a small lump of charcoal out of the second bag and placed it on the grazier. She lit it quickly, her fingers well-practiced, and slid the tripod stand over it. Into the crucible she placed a selection of herbs from the bag she had taken from her drawer. After a moment, she pulled a number of strands of hair out of her scalp and curled them up into the crucible.

  Satisfied, she placed the crucible on the tripod and let the flames of the charcoal lick at it.

  I am glad you decided not to join us here at the College, Wind Blossom admitted silently to her memory of Purman. You would have been welcome, but I do not know if you would have accepted the course I’ve chosen for us all.

  It will be thousands of years before our descendants will once more be able to bend genes to their will, she mused. It would be a mistake to force our children to cling to our ways. They need to move on, to learn their own ways.

  “Make your own mistakes,” Kitti Ping’s voice echoed in Wind Blossom’s mind.

  The Eridani Way is not the only way, she thought, partly in response to her mother’s words. Their thinking is deep, but they never thought of war. They never thought of the Nathi. They never thought of a time when no one could twist genes into new shapes.

  Wind Blossom’s eyes flicked to the crucible and she brought her thoughts back to Purman. Your way, the way of breeding, will work on Pern for now.

  She sighed. It had been difficult to turn Emorra against her. So difficult that she had only half-succeeded: Her daughter had remained at the College and even become its dean. It had taken less effort to drive Tieran away from her, to quench his inbred curiosity about genetics.

  In both situations, she had felt all the pain of a mother turning away her child. But Wind Blossom knew that if she taught them the joy she found in genetics, they would be enraptured—and stuck with knowledge they couldn’t use. Committed, as the Eridani had always intended, to the Eridani Way, the way of countless generations husbanding species and planets, they would become incapable of developing solutions of their own.

  Wind Blossom’s head shook imperceptibly as she recalled her own internal conflicts, how she had determined that the future of Pern could not rest on the shoulders of a few, select bloodlines—the Eridani Way—but on the actions of all Pernese.

  As the last of the smoke rose from the crucible, Wind Blossom wondered again if Ted Tubberman had thought the same thing, and if he had turned his son against him just as Kitti Ping had turned her daughter against her—and as Wind Blossom herself had tried to alienate Emorra.

  “Shards!” Tieran groaned as he discovered that he had outgrown his latest hiding place. Hiding was second nature to him. He had always liked the caves and tunnels of his Benden Hold home, particularly when—he suppressed a pang of regret, fear, anger, sorrow—he had been with Bendensk, the watch-wher.

  When he had first come to the College, it had been easier: He’d been small for his age and always won at hide-and-seek. Until one day he had realized that no one was looking for him anymore—that they were laughing instead. “Hideaway.” “No-nose.” “Scarface.”

  After that he had spent more time with Wind Blossom. Truth be told, he loved to learn all the secrets she had to teach him. He was one of only five people on all of Pern who had looked at human DNA under the electron microscope. And he was one of three—no, two, now—who could trace a mutation back to its genes. Wind Blossom said that soon she would start him on proteomics, the study of proteins.

  Tieran snorted. As if that would impress anyone! In fact, there was probably no one on Pern who knew what proteomics was, let alone what it was used for. It was all a waste. He was only here because she wanted him to be here, waiting until he was “ready” for the operations to fix his face.

  The sob that threatened to break from his throat was throttled in the harshest of self-control. The boys he could handle; he’d learned enough of hand-fighting from M’hall and—he grimaced—his father. But the girls—lately Tieran had noticed them. Noticed them and noticed how quickly they looked away, walked away, grouped together, speaking in hushed voices.

  Admit it, Tieran thought, no matter how great a surgeon you become, no matter what you do, even if Wind Blossom can perform a miracle, no girl is going to look at you.

  Except maybe to laugh.

  And now his last hiding place was too small. Tieran stifled a curse—not because he was afraid of swearing, but because he was afraid the curse might come out as a sob.

  Voices approached in the dark. Tieran pulled himself into a shadowy nook.

  “How did the boy take it, then?” Tieran recognized the rich tenor voice as that of Sandell, a student musician. Some Turns back they had played together—hide-and-seek.

  “It was hard on him,” Emorra answered. “It must be hard to lose a father.”

  “Don’t you remember yours?” Sandell asked.

  “No.” Emorra paused. “In fact, it’s been Turns since I last asked mother about him. She never told me anything.”

  Sandell laughed. “I’ll bet he was a musician, and that’s why she hates us.”

  Emorra snorted. “That would explain where I got my talent.”

  “And your looks,” Sandell added softly. From the sound of clothing and the soft noises, Tieran guessed that Sandell had taken Emorra in his arms. He peered around the corner. They were kissing!

  Tieran ducked back again as Emorra pushed away from the journeyman.

  “Not here,” Emorra said. “Someone might see us.”

  Sandell laughed. “So let them!”

  “No,” Emorra said firmly.

  “Very well, Dean Emorra,” Sandell replied indulgently. “Your quarters or mine?”

  Tieran relaxed as he heard them depart.

  The loud sound of drums—he guessed it was Jendel up on the big drum—rattled out an attention signal. Tieran heard the response from the four outlying stations and, almost on top of their response, the College drums sounded out their message in deep commanding booms. It was the sign off for the evening; no other message would go out until morning, except in an emergency.

  Tieran listened to the details, his throat clenched as he heard the report of his father’s death being passed on down to all the minor holds along the way equipped with either a drummer or a repeater station. The
drums fell silent, were echoed by the repeater stations further on and, very faintly, by the stations beyond those, and then the sounds of evening took over the night air.

  With a quick breath and a determined spring in his step, Tieran turned to the Drum Tower—his new hiding place.

  FIVE

  Fierce winds blow.

  Seas roil.

  Calm, wind. Settle, sea.

  Let my loved return to me.

  On the WIND RIDER at sea, Second Interval, AL 507

  The wind was gusting as they weighed anchor. When they cleared the harbor, Wind Rider heeled so much that Baror called for them to reduce sail.

  With the sail reset, Wind Rider still heeled over at a fierce angle, her bow breaking through the waves as she sped into the moonlit night.

  Within an hour the offshore breeze had been supplanted by gusting winds, and the moons were lost in a haze of clouds. Five minutes after that the first of the rain fell upon them.

  An hour later the ship was in a full gale, heeling hard over with two men fighting the helm and four men struggling to furl sail.

  Colfet found Baror at the wheel with another man he’d never seen before. He shouted over the roar of the wind, “Where’s the captain? This sail’s all wrong for this weather, we’re heeling too hard. We need to alter course, too—see how she’s digging into the waves? We’ll broach to if we don’t.”

  “The captain’s not here,” Baror replied, teeth wide in a grin.

  “I can see that,” Colfet responded irritably. “Where is he?” He looked forward. “Is he forward with the sails?”

  “No, you git, he’s not here,” Baror responded, his grin disappearing in a frown. “Left me in charge, seeing as you’ve got that bum wing.”

  Another gust spun the ship and Baror gripped the wheel, calling to the other man to help out.

  Colfet gestured at the new man. “Who’s he?”

  Baror grinned. “New man I signed on at Half-Circle.” He waved at the new man. “Vilo’s his name.”

  Another gust heeled the ship over as Wind Rider plowed into a wave.

  “We’ve got to let her have her head!” Colfet called. “Get the sails off, put out a storm anchor, and ride it out!”

  Baror shook his head. “No, we’ll keep our course. I’ll show that pansy Istan how real men sail.”

  Colfet started to argue, but at that moment two men climbed up the hatchway. Both looked green and unseamanly. He started to make a rude comment to Baror but stopped as he got a good sight of the second man.

  “Who’s on the pumps?” he asked.

  “You might want to check on that,” Baror replied, keeping his eyes on the two landlubbers as they made their way toward him.

  “All right,” Colfet said, heading for the hatchway. He nodded grimly at the two greenies as they passed him by. “Gentle night, isn’t it?” he asked with wry humor. The two made no attempt to respond.

  Once they were out of sight, Colfet’s expression hardened. He paused at the top of the hatch, looking back at Baror and his cronies. “Baror!” he shouted. He had to repeat himself twice before he was heard. “We should trail the launch—in case anyone goes overboard.”

  Baror grinned evilly. “Anyone overboard in this’ll stay overboard.”

  “All the same.”

  Baror squinted at him and then nodded. “All right. I’ll get some men to it.”

  Colfet nodded and, watching his bandaged arm, plunged into the darkness belowdeck. Quickly and carefully he made his way down to the depths of the ship and sounded the well. He could hear the pumps in the distance and grunted with surprise as he discovered that Wind Rider had made less than a foot of water. Still, it wasn’t all good news—he’d never seen more than an inch before.

  Having satisfied himself that the ship wasn’t going to sink any time soon, unless that fool Baror ran her under the waves, he made his way aft to the surgeon’s quarters.

  A cry, loud and inarticulate, pierced through the noise of the storm.

  Colfet raced back to the surgeon’s quarters. Inside he found Lorana, sprawled across her desk. Two fire-lizards chittered inside, their tone changing to anger as he entered.

  “There’s trouble!” Colfet said. Lorana looked up at him: Her eyes were full of tears. “Lass, what’s wrong?”

  “He’s gone,” she replied. “J’trel and Talith have gone between forever.”

  Wind Rider bucked abruptly as it plowed into a wave and rolled sharply as it paid off, throwing Lorana across the table and Colfet out of the cabin.

  Colfet let out a curse as his full weight crashed against his broken arm.

  “You’re hurt!” Lorana exclaimed, trying to reach him.

  “No time for that,” Colfet said. “We’ve got to get to the captain’s cabin.”

  “Why?”

  “We’ve got to get you off this ship,” Colfet said. “Baror’s left Captain Tanner behind, and I can’t think he means you well.” He made a face. “Baror’s got a nasty way with women. If you don’t leave now, while he’s distracted, you may not leave at all.” He looked at the fire-lizards. “Can you make them wait by the launch?”

  “What’s that?” Lorana asked.

  “That’s the boat we used today to get to shore,” Colfet explained. “Baror’s going to lower it astern.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I asked him,” Colfet said, grinning. “In case anyone fell overboard in this blow.” His grin widened. “We’ll just ‘fall overboard’ right now.”

  “Oh.”

  “Can you make them wait?” Colfet asked again.

  “I can try.” Lorana said, turning to the two fire-lizards. Garth and Grenn both chittered obstinately before Lorana overcame their disagreement and they disappeared between.

  “Good, now let’s get to the captain’s cabin before Baror has a chance to send some men after you.”

  Lorana paused at the doorway. “What about you? Why are you doing this for me?”

  Colfet gave her a measuring look. “You might say that I owe you, for fixing this arm. Or you might say that I won’t let anyone be taken against their will. But mostly I’m thinking of my daughters.”

  Lorana didn’t know what to say.

  Colfet shrugged. “Come on, then, off with you.”

  The captain’s cabin was the next cabin aft. The door was unlocked and they made their way through the fore cabin and into the after cabin. Colfet opened the shutters quickly and peered out. Seeing what he wanted, he grunted affirmatively and then looked around the cabin.

  “We’ve got to find something to grab the line,” he said.

  “Grab the line?” Lorana echoed, looking at the opening. All she could see was rain and pitch-darkness. “What line?”

  “The one for the launch,” Colfet answered, upending the captain’s chair. He reached out through the opening and hooked the rope with the seat of the chair, carefully angling to keep the rope from slipping off. Dragging it into the cabin he turned to Lorana.

  “Now all you’ve got to do is climb down this rope into the launch.”

  Lorana eyed the bucking rope. “All?”

  Colfet nodded. “It’s that or wait until Baror and his mates have time to deal with you. You can’t stay on this ship, they’ll turn it upside down looking for you.” He saw her blanch and added, “Look, all you have to do is grab it with your feet and your arms and scale on down. Don’t let go until you’re in the launch. The wind’s fierce enough that it won’t drop you in the water, I hope.”

  “And if it does?”

  “Keep hold of the rope and climb aboard the launch,” Colfet said. “But don’t capsize it.”

  “All right, and then what?” Lorana demanded. “What about you?”

  Colfet thought about that. “It’ll be too tricky with my bad arm.”

  Lorana shook her head. “I don’t know where we are, how to get back—anything.” She looked frantically around the cabin, finally coming back to him. “Your belt! How about yo
u tie on with that and come on down after me! It’d help when you have trouble with your arm.”

  Colfet smiled. “It would at that. You’re right, it could work. Very well then, you first.”

  Lorana swallowed and reached for the rope. She climbed out the opening and jumped up, looping her feet desperately around the rope. For one sick moment she hung there, suspended by hands and feet on a wildly swinging rope, and then she gripped it tighter and started climbing down into the darkening sea.

  It seemed to take forever. Suddenly a wave swept up at her, dowsing her backside with frigid water. She clenched the rope tightly, for fear of being pulled off. Then the wave was gone and she started down again.

  Beyond her legs she caught sight of a blob in the distance. The launch. It seemed dragonlengths away.

  Another gust came and a wave crashed around her, burying her in water. She held her breath, frantically hoping that she could hold on. Finally the water parted around her.

  Her feet felt the hard wood of the launch.

  Colfet’s glib description of how she would get in the launch turned out to be completely inaccurate. Lorana had to pull her feet over the gunnels and into the cockpit of the launch, and then she had to grapple with the prow with her hands and turn herself over before she could kneel into the launch. It was a hideous maneuver and she nearly lost her last meal as her stomach roiled from the exertion and her fear.

  Two encouraging chirps told her that she’d made it, and that the fire-lizards were nearby.

  She waited for what seemed forever before she realized that she and Colfet had not agreed on any way to let him know that she was safely aboard. Hastily she grabbed the rope and gave it two sharp tugs. She waited and felt two answering tugs—Colfet must have got the signal.

  Or was Colfet still there? What if Baror had gone searching for her and had found out their plan? What if it wasn’t Colfet but someone else coming down the rope?

  Lorana eyed the rope and studied how it was tied to the launch. She looked around and found a knife in the stores locker. If she had to, she could cut the rope in a moment.