Dragonsong (dragon riders of pern)

by Anne McCaffrey

  “The lads say you saw fire lizards there once.” Elgion found the words out of his mouth before he could censor them.

  Alemi shot him a long amused look. “Let’s say I can’t think what else it could’ve been. They weren’t wherries: too fast, too small, and wherries can’t maneuver that way. But fire lizards?” He laughed and shrugged his shoulders, indicating his own skepticism.

  “What if I told you that there are such things? That F’nor, Canth’s rider, Impressed one in Southern and so did five or six other riders? That the Weyrs are looking for more fire lizard clutches, and I’ve been asked to search the beaches?”

  Alemi stared at the Harper. Then the skiff rocked in the subtle cross currents. “Mind now, pull the tiller hard aport. No, to your left, man!”

  They had the looming Dragon Stone comfortably abaft before further conversation.

  “You can Impress fire lizards?” If Alemi’s voice was incredulous, an eager light sparkled in his eyes, and Elgion knew he’d made an ally; he told as much as he, himself, knew.

  “Well, that would explain why you rarely see grown ones, and why they evade capture so cleverly. They hear you coming.” Alemi laughed, shaking his head. “When I think of the times…”

  “Me, too.” Elgion grinned broadly, remembering his boyhood attempts to rig a successful trap.

  “We’re to look on beaches?”

  “That’s what N’ton suggested. Sandy beaches, sheltered places, preferably hard for small active boys to find. There’s plenty of places where a fire lizard queen could hide a clutch around here.”

  “Not with the tides so high this season.”

  “There must be some beaches deep enough.” Elgion felt impatient with Alemi’s arguments.

  The Sea Man motioned Elgion out of the tiller seat, and deftly tacked about.

  “I saw fire lizards about the Dragon Stones. And those crags’d be right good weyrs. Not that I think we’d have a chance of seeing them today. They feed at dawn: that’s when I saw them. Only,” and Alemi chuckled, “I thought my eyes were deceiving me since it was the end of a long watch and a man’s eyes can play tricks with him at dawn.”

  Alemi sailed the little skiff far closer to the Dragon Stones than Elgion would have dared. In fact the Harper found himself gripping the weatherboard very hard and edging his body away from the towering crags as the skiff breezed lightly by. There was no doubt that the crags were riddled with holes, likely weyrs for fire lizards.

  “I wouldn’t try this tack except when the tide is full, Elgion,” said Alemi as they sailed between the innermost crag and the tide-washed land. “There’s a right mess of bottom-reaming rocks here even at half-tide.”

  It was quiet, too, with the waves softly caressing the narrow verge of sand between sea and cliff. Quiet enough for the unmistakable sound of piping to carry across the water to Elgion.

  “Did you hear that?” Elgion grabbed Alemi’s arm.

  “Hear what?”

  “The music!”

  “What music?” Alemi wondered briefly if the sun were strong enough to give the Harper a stroke. But he sharpened his ears for any unusual sound, following the line of Elgion’s stare to the cliffs. His heart leaped for a moment, but he said, “Music? Nonsense! Those cliffs are riddled with caves and holes. All you hear is the wind…”

  “There isn’t any wind now…”

  Alemi had to admit that because he’d let the boom out and was even beginning to wonder if they had enough wind to come about on a tack that would clear the northern side of the stones.

  “And look,” said Elgion, “there’s a hole in the cliff face. Big enough for a person to get into, I’d wager. Alemi, can’t we go inshore?”

  “Not unless we walk home, or wait for high tide again.”

  “Alemi! That’s music! Not wind over blow holes! That’s someone playing pipes.”

  An unhappy furtive thought crossed Alemi’s face so plainly that Elgion jumped to a conclusion. All at once, all the pieces fell into place.

  “Your sister, the one who’s missing. She wrote those songs. She taught the children, not that conveniently dismissed fosterling!”

  “Menolly’s not playing any pipes, Elgion. She sliced her left hand, gutting packtail, and she can’t open or close her fingers.”

  Elgion sank back to the deck, stunned but still hearing the clear tone of pipes. Pipes? You’d need two whole hands to play multiple pipes. The music ceased and the wind, rising as they tacked past the Dragon Stones, covered his memory of that illusive melody. It could have been the land breeze, sweeping down over the cliffs, sounding into holes.

  “Menolly did teach the children, didn’t she?”

  Slowly Alemi nodded. “Yanus believed the Sea Hold disgraced to have a girl taking the place of a Harper.”

  “Disgraced?” Once again Elgion was appalled at the obtuseness of the Sea Holder. “When she taught so well? When she can turn a tune like the ones I’ve seen?”

  “She can play no more, Elgion. It would be cruel to ask now. She wouldn’t even sing in the evenings. She’d leave as soon as you started to play.”

  So he’d been right, thought Elgion, the tall girl had been Menolly.

  “If she’s alive, she’s happier away from the Hold! If she’s dead…” Alemi didn’t continue.

  In silence they sailed on, the Dragon Stones falling away, back into violet indefiniteness as each man avoided the other’s gaze.

  Now Elgion could understand many things about Menolly’s disappearance and the general reluctance at the Hold to discuss her or find her. There was no doubt in his mind that her disappearance was deliberate. Anyone sensitive enough to compose such melodies must have found life in the Sea Hold intolerable: doubly so with Yanus as Sea Holder and father. And then to be considered a disgrace! Elgion cursed Petiron for not making the matter plain. If only he had told Robinton that the promising musician were a girl, she might have been at the Harperhall before that knife had a chance to slip.

  “There’d be no clutches on the Dragon Stones’ cove,” Alemi said, breaking into Elgion’s rueful thoughts. “Water’s right up to the bluff at high tide. There is one place…I’ll take you there after the next Threadfall is past. A good long day’s sail down the coast. You can Impress a fire lizard, you say?”

  “I’ll set the signal for N’ton to talk to you after Fall.” Elgion was happy enough to use any subject to break the restraint that had fallen between them. “Evidently you or I can Impress, though lowly Harpers and young Sea Men may be far down on the list for available eggs.”

  “By the dawn star, when I think of the hours I spent as a small fellow…”

  “Who hasn’t?” Elgion grinned back, eager too for the chance.

  This time their silence was companionable, and when they exchanged glances, it was for remembered boyish fancies of capturing the elusive and much desired fire lizard.

  As they tacked into the Dock Cavern late that afternoon, Alemi had a final word for Elgion. “You understand why you’re not to know it was Menolly who did the teaching?”

  “The Sea Hold is not disgraced.” Elgion felt Alemi’s hand tighten on his arm so he nodded. “But I would never betray that confidence.”

  If his solemn response reassured the Sea Man, it reinforced Elgion’s determination to find out who had made that pipe music. Was it possible to play multiple pipes with one hand? He was convinced that he’d heard music, not wind over blowholes. Somehow, whether on the pretext of searching for fire lizards or not, he must get close enough to examine that cave in the Dragon Stones’ cove.

  The next day was rainy, a thin soft drizzle that did not deter the fishermen but that made both Elgion and Alemi unwilling to take a long and possibly fruitless journey in an open boat.

  That same evening Yanus asked Elgion to excuse the children from lessons the following morning as they’d be needed to gather seaweed for the smoke-cave. Elgion granted considered permission, masterfully suppressing a desire to thank the Sea Holder for
a free day, and determined to rise early and be off to seek the answer to the music mystery. He was up as soon as the sun, first in the Great Hall, so that he had to unbar the metal doors, little realizing as he did so that he would be following an unnerving precedent. With fish rolls and dried fruit in his pouch, his own pipe slung across his back, a stout rope about his middle (for he rather thought he might need it climbing down that cliff face), Elgion was away.

  Chapter 9

  Oh, Tongue, give sound to joy and sing

  Of hope and promise on dragonwing.

  The hunger of the fire lizards roused Menolly from sleep. There was nothing in the cave to eat because the previous day had been wet enough to keep them all inside. She saw that the tide was well out, and the day was clear.

  “If we scramble, we can get down coast and pick us up a nice lot of spiderclaws. They’ll be gone soon,” she told her friends. “Or we can look for rockmites. So come along, Beauty.” The little queen hummed from her warm nest in the rushes, and the others began to stir. Menolly reached down and tickled Lazy’s neck where he lay by her feet. He slapped at her, rousing enough to let out a huge yawn. His eyelids peeled back and his eyes sparkled faintly red.

  “Now, don’t you all start in on me. I got you up so we could be off. You won’t be hungry long if we all stir smartly.”

  As she descended agilely to the beach, her friends swooping gracefully from the cave, some of the other fire lizards were feeding in the shallows. Menolly called out a greeting to them. She wondered, as she often did, if the other fire lizards, with the notable exception of the queen, were at all aware of her. She felt it rude not to acknowledge their presence whether they responded or not. Maybe one day they would have grown so used to her, that they’d answer.

  She slipped on the wet rocks at the far end of the cove, wincing as a sharp edge made itself painfully felt through the thinning soles of her boots. That was a matter she’d have to attend to soon, new boot soles. With such rough surfaces, she couldn’t go barefoot. And she certainly couldn’t climb barefooted, not if she had toes like a watchwher. She’d have to get another wherry, tan its leg hide to a proper toughness. But how could she sew the new leather to her old bootsole? She looked down at her feet, placing them carefully, as much to save the leather as her feet.

  She took her band to the furthest cove they’d yet explored, far enough down the coast for the Dragon Stones to be knobs on the horizon. But the long walk was worth the effort for spiderclaws scurried wildly up and down the wide, gently curving beach. The bluff had dwindled to a height just above her head in some places, and at the far end of the crescent sands, a stream fed into the sea.

  Beauty and the others were soon playing havoc with the spiderclaws, diving down on their intended prey, then darting up to the cliffs to eat. When her net was full, Menolly searched for enough sea wreckage to start a fire. That was how she found the clutch, covered as it was and almost level with the beach surface. But she saw the faint outline of a mound, suspiciously circular. She brushed away enough sand to expose the mottled shell of a hardening fire lizard egg. She glanced around carefully, wondering if the queen was anywhere about; but she saw only her own nine. She put a gentle finger on the exposed egg: it was softish. Quickly she patted the sand back into place and hurried from the clutch. The high-tide mark on this beach was a long way from threatening the eggs. It pleased her to realize that this beach was a long way from any Hold so these fire lizard eggs were safe.

  She gathered sufficient wood, made a rude hearth, started her fire, killed the spiderclaws deftly and laid them on a conveniently flat stone and went exploring while they baked.

  The stream flowed broad into the sea; sand banks had formed and reformed to judge by the myriad channels. Menolly followed the stream inland, looking for the sweet cresses that often grew where the water freshened. Submarine bodies moved upstream, too, and she wondered if she could catch one of the big specklers. Alemi often boasted that he could tickle them into his grasp as they fought the current. Thinking of the spiderclaws roasting on her fire, Menolly decided to leave that exercise until another day. She did want some greens; succulent cresses with their odd tangy aftertaste would make a good addition to spiderclaws.

  She found the greens well above the tidewater, where the stream was fed by tiny trickles from the flat marshy lands through which it looped. She was greedily stuffing a handful of greens into her mouth before she really took in her surroundings. In the distance, low on the horizon, were lightning flashes against a gray sky.

  Thread! Fear rooted her to the ground; she nearly choked on the half-chewed mouthful of greens. She tried to talk herself out of terror by counting the flashes of dragon fire that made a pattern across the sky: a wide, long pattern. If the dragonriders were already at work, the Thread wouldn’t get as far as here. She was a long way from it.

  But how far away was safe? She’d just made it to the cave before that other Fall. She was too far away, run as fast as ever she could, to reach the cave’s safety now. She’d the sea behind her. Water! She’d the stream beside her. Thread drowned in water. But how deep did it fall before it drowned?

  She told herself firmly that now was not the time to panic. She forced herself to swallow the last of the cress juices. Then she had no control over her legs; they took off with her and she was running, towards the sea and towards the rock safety of her cave.

  Beauty appeared above her head, swooping and chittering as she caught Menolly’s fear. Rocky and Diver arrived with Mimic popping in a half-breath later. They experienced her alarm, circling around her head as she ran, calling out with the piercingly sweet tenor bugle of challenge. Then they all disappeared. Which made running easier for Menolly. She could concentrate on where she was putting her feet.

  She made diagonally for the beaches, wondering briefly if it wouldn’t be smarter to go along the shore line. She’d be that much nearer the dubious safety of the water. She hurdled a ditch; managed to keep her balance as her left foot twisted on landing; staggered a few paces before she found her stride again. No, there’d be more rocks on the shore, cutting down her speed and increasing the danger of a badly twisted ankle.

  Two queens gleamed golden in the air above her, and Rocky and Diver were back, with Lazybones, Mimic and Brownie. The two queens chittered angrily, and the males, to Menolly’s surprise, flew ahead of her now, and high enough not to be a nuisance. She ran on.

  She came to a height, and the incline robbed her of breath so that she staggered to the summit and had to drop to a walk, clutching her right side against the nagging stitch, but somehow moving forward. Ahead of her the Dragon Stones were more than knobs but too distant to reassure. One look over her shoulder at the sky bursts of dragon fire told her that the Thread was gaining on her.

  She broke into a run again, the two queens gliding right over her head, and she felt oddly protected. She had her second wind now, and her stride, and felt as if she could run forever. If she could only run fast enough to stay beyond the reach of Thread…She kept her eyes on the Dragon Stones, refusing to look over her shoulder: that unnerving sight caught the breath she needed for running.

  She ran as close to the bluff edge as she dared. She’d slithered down one cliff without desperate damage to herself: she’d risk it again to get into the water if she had to. She ran, one eye on the Dragon Stones, one for the ground ahead of her feet.

  She heard the whoosh, heard the fire lizards’ startled chirrups, saw the shadow and fell to the ground covering her head instinctively with her hands, her body taut for the first feel of flesh-scoring Thread. She smelt firestone, and felt the air heavy against her body.

  “Get on your feet, you silly fool! And hurry. Leading edge is nearly on us!”

  Incredulous, Menolly looked up, right into the whirling eyes of a brown dragon. He cocked his head and hummed urgently.

  “Get up!” said his rider.

  Menolly wasted no time after a frantic look at the fire blossoms and the sight of a lin
e of dragons swooping and disappearing. She scrambled to her feet, dove for the brown rider’s extended hand and one of the fighting strap ends, and got herself firmly astride the brown’s neck behind his rider.

  “Hang on to me tightly. And don’t be afraid. I’m to take you between to Benden. It’ll be cold and dark, but I’ll be with you.”

  The relief of being rescued when she was fearing injury or death was too overwhelming for speech. The brown dragon half-ran to the bluff edge, dropped down briefly to get wing room, and then surged up. Menolly felt herself pressed against the soft warm flesh and burrowed into the hide-clad back of her rescuer, struggling for a lungful of air to ease her tight chest. She had one brief glimpse of her little fire lizards trying vainly to follow when the dragon winked into between.

  Sweat froze on her forehead and cheeks, down her back, on her calves, her wet and ragged boots and her sore feet. There was no air to breathe and she felt she would suffocate. She tightened her hands convulsively on the dragonrider, but she couldn’t feel him or the dragon she knew she was riding.

  Now, she thought with that part of her mind that wasn’t frozen in panic, she fully understood that Teaching Song. In terror, she fully understood it.

  Abruptly, sight, sound, feeling, and breath returned. They were spiralling down at a dizzying height above Benden Weyr. As big as Half-Circle was, this place of dragons and dragonmen was bigger by half again as much. Why, the immense harbor of Half-Circle would have fitted with dragon lengths to spare in the Bowl of the Weyr.

  As the dragon circled, she saw the giant Star Stones, and the Eye Rock, which told when the Red Star would make its fateful Passes. She saw the watch dragon beside the Stones, heard him trumpet a greeting to the brown she rode. Between her legs she felt the rumble of response in the brown’s throat. As they glided down, she saw several dragons on the Bowl floor, with people gathered about them; saw the steps leading to the queen’s weyr, and the yawning maw of the Hatching Ground. Benden was vaster than she’d imagined.