The Dragonriders of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  “How can you tell?” Lessa asked.

  Sharra shrugged. “They won’t be handled. They go between if anyone gets close to them. It’s Ruth that fascinates them. Not us.”

  “We are not their men,” Jaxom said. “Now that I can get to Ruth, I’ll see what I can find out about them from him.”

  “I wish you would,” Lessa said. “And if there are any from the Southern Weyr . . .” She let her sentence trail off.

  “I think we ought to let Jaxom rest,” Brekke said.

  F’lar chuckled, gesturing for Lessa to precede him. “Fine guests we are. Come to see the man and never let him talk.”

  “I’ve done nothing lately to talk about,” and Jaxom shot a fierce look at Brekke and Sharra. “When you come back, I will.”

  “If anything interesting occurs, have Ruth bespeak Mnementh or Ramoth.”

  Brekke and Sharra left with the Weyrleaders, and Jaxom was grateful for the respite. He could hear Ruth talking to the two Benden dragons and he chuckled when Ruth told Ramoth firmly that there were no fire-lizards from the Southern Weyr among his new friends. Jaxom wondered why it hadn’t occurred to him sooner to ask Ruth’s acquaintances about their men. He sighed. He hadn’t been thinking about much lately except his extraordinary brush with death, and that occupied his mind too morbidly. Much better for him to explore a living puzzle.

  He had several. The most worrisome was still what he might have said in his delirium. Brekke’s rejoinder had been no real assurance. He tried to force his thought back to that time but all he remembered was heat and cold, vivid but vague nightmares.

  He thought about his guardian’s visit. So Lytol did like him! Shells! He’d forgotten to ask Lytol about Corana. He ought to have sent her some kind of word. She must have heard of his illness. Not but what this didn’t make it easier for him to complete the break in their relationship. Now that he’d seen Sharra, he couldn’t have continued with Corana. He must remember to ask Lytol.

  What had he said when he was fevered? How did a fever patient talk? In bits and snatches? Whole phrases? Maybe he needn’t worry. Not about what he could have said in fever.

  He didn’t like Lord Groghe just appearing like that, to check up on him. And, if he hadn’t taken ill, Lord Groghe would never have known about this part of Southern. At least, until the dragonriders wanted him to know. And that mountain! Too unusual a feature to forget. Any dragon would be able to find it. Or would they? Unless the rider had a very clear picture, the dragon did not always see vividly enough to jump between. And a secondhand vision? D’ram and Tiroth had done so from Master Robinton’s description. But D’ram and Tiroth were experienced.

  Jaxom wanted to be well. He wanted to get closer to that mountain. He wanted to be first. How long would it take him to recover?

  He was allowed to swim a bit the next day, an exercise which Brekke said would tone his muscles but which succeeded in proving he had none left. Exhausted, he was no sooner on his beachside couch than he fell deeply asleep.

  Roused by Sharra’s touch, he cried out and sat bolt upright, looking about him.

  “What’s the matter, Jaxom?”

  “A dream! A nightmare!” He was sure something was wrong. Then he saw Ruth, stretched out, fast asleep, his muzzle only a handsbreadth from his feet, at least a dozen fire-lizards curled on and about him, twitching in their own dreams.

  “Well, you’re awake now. What’s wrong?”

  “That dream was so vivid . . . and yet it’s all gone. I wanted so much to remember it.”

  Sharra placed a cool hand on his forehead. He pushed it away.

  “I’m not fevered,” he said, cranky.

  “No, you’re not. Any headache? Spots?”

  Impatient and angry, he denied them, then sighed and smiled an apology at her. “Bad-tempered, aren’t I?”

  “Rarely.” She grinned, then eased to the sand beside him.

  “If I swim a little longer and farther every day, how long will it take me to recover fully?”

  “What makes you so anxious?”

  Jaxom grinned, jerking his head back in the direction of the mountain. “I want to get there before Lord Groghe does.”

  “Oh, I think you’ll manage that quite easily.” Sharra’s expression was mischievous. “You will get stronger every day now. We just don’t want you to push yourself too quickly. Better a few more days now, than suffer a relapse and go through all this again.”

  “A relapse? How would I know if I was having one?”

  “Easy. Spots and headaches. Do please do it our way, Jaxom.”

  The appeal in her blue eyes was genuine, and Jaxom liked to think it was for him, Jaxom, not for him, the patient. Not taking his eyes from hers, he nodded slowly in acquiescence and was rewarded by her slow smile.

  F’nor and D’ram arrived late that afternoon, in fighting gear, with full firestone sacks draped across their dragons.

  “Thread tomorrow,” Sharra told Jaxom as she caught his look of inquiry.

  “Thread?”

  “It falls on all Pern, and has fallen here in this cove three times since you took ill. In fact, the day after you took ill!” She grinned at his openmouthed consternation. “It’s been a rare treat to watch dragons in the sky. We’d only to keep the shelter area free. Grub takes care of the rest.” She chuckled. “Tiroth complains that he’s not fighting full when he doesn’t follow the Fall to its end. Just wait till you see Ruth in action. Oh, yes, nothing could keep him out of the sky. Brekke keeps her ear open for him and, of course, Tiroth and Canth are directing. He’s so proud of himself, protecting you!”

  Jaxom swallowed against a variety of emotions, chagrin being foremost as he heard Sharra’s casual explanation.

  “You were aware of Thread, by the way. Once a dragonrider, one evidently doesn’t forget—even in fever. You kept moaning about Thread coming and not being able to get off the ground.” Fortunately she was looking at the dragons as they glided to a landing on the beach because Jaxom was certain that his expression gave him away. “Master Oldive says that we humans have instincts, too, hidden deep in our minds, to which we respond automatically. As you reacted to Threadfall, sick as you were. Ruth is such a dote. I made much of him after each Fall, I assure you, and I made sure that the fire-lizards got all firestone stink out of his hide.”

  She waved a greeting to F’nor and D’ram as they strolled up the beach, loosening their fighting gear. Canth and Tiroth had already shrugged off the firestone sacks on the beach and, wings extended high, waddled with groans of pleasure into the soft warm water. Ruth came slithering through the water to join them. A great fair of fire-lizards chittered above the three dragons, overjoyed with such company.

  “You’ve more color, Jaxom, you look better!” F’nor said, grasping Jaxom’s arm in greeting.

  D’ram nodded his head, agreeing with F’nor.

  Aware of his indebtedness to both riders, Jaxom stammered out his gratitude.

  “Tell you something, Jaxom,” F’nor said, squatting on his haunches, “it’s been a rare treat to watch your little fellow work in the air. He’s a superb chop-and-change artist. Caught three times as much Thread as our big fellows could. You trained him well!”

  “I don’t suppose I’ll be considered strong enough to fight Thread tomorrow?”

  “No, nor for some time to come,” F’nor replied firmly. “Know how you’re feeling, Jaxom,” he continued as he dropped beside him on the mats. “Felt the same way when I was wounded and not allowed to fly Thread. But now, your only responsibility to Hold and Weyr is to get fit. Fit enough to take a good look about this country! I envy you that chance, Jaxom. Indeed I do!” F’nor’s grin was candidly envious. “Haven’t had the time to fly far, even after Thread, down here. Forest extends a long way on either side.” F’nor gestured broadly with one arm. “You’ll see. Shall I bring you writing materials next trip down so you can make a Record? You may not fly Thread yet awhile, Jaxom, but you’ll be working hard enough to mak
e that a treat!”

  “You’re only saying that . . .” Jaxom broke off, surprised at the bitterness in his voice.

  “Yes, because you need something to look forward to since you can’t do what you want most,” F’nor said. He reached out and gripped Jaxom’s arm. “I understand, Jaxom. Ruth’s been giving Canth a full report. Sorry. Awkward for you, but Ruth worries when you’re upset, or didn’t you know that?” He chuckled.

  “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, F’nor,” Jaxom said.

  Just then Brekke and Sharra emerged from the trees, Brekke walking quickly to her weyrmate. She did not, as Jaxom half-expected, embrace the brown rider. But the way she regarded him, the gentle, almost hesitant way she rested her hand on his arm, spoke more tellingly of the love between the two than any more demonstrative welcome. A bit embarrassed, Jaxom turned his head and saw Sharra watching Brekke and F’nor, a peculiar expression on her face which she erased the moment she realized that Jaxom was looking at her.

  “Drinks all round,” she said in a brisk tone, handing a mug to D’ram as Brekke served F’nor.

  It was a pleasant evening and they ate on the beach, Jaxom managing to suppress his frustration in the face of the morning’s Threadfall. The three dragons made nests in the still warm sands above the high-tide lines, their eyes glistening like jewels in the dark beyond the firelight.

  Brekke and Sharra sang one of Menolly’s tunes while D’ram added a rough bass line. When Brekke noticed Jaxom’s head lolling to one side, he didn’t resist her ordering him back to the shelter. He drifted to sleep, face turned toward the fireglow, lulled by the singing voices.

  Ruth’s excitement roused him and he blinked without comprehension as the dragon’s voice penetrated his sleep. Thread! Ruth was going to fight Thread today with D’ram’s Tiroth and F’nor’s Canth. Jaxom threw aside the blanket, struggled into his trousers, and strode quickly from the shelter to the beach. Brekke and Sharra were helping the two dragonriders load their beasts with the firestone sacks. With the four fire-lizards on the ground at his feet, Ruth was industriously chewing away at the pile of stone on the beach. Dawn was just breaking in the east. Jaxom peered through the dim light, straining to see the filmy discoloration that meant Thread. The three Dawn Sisters winked with unexpected brilliance high above him, paling to insignificance the other morning stars in the west. Jaxom frowned at their display. He hadn’t realized how bright they were, how close they seemed. In Ruatha, they were duller, barely visible points on the southeastern horizon at dawn. He reminded himself to ask if F’nor could have the use of a long-distance viewer, and if Lytol would send down his star equations and maps. Then Jaxom noticed the absence of the fairs of Southern fire-lizards which haunted Ruth day and night.

  “Jaxom!” Brekke noticed him. The two riders waved a greeting and swung up on their beasts.

  Jaxom checked Ruth to be sure he had enough stone in his gullet, caressing his friend and applauding his willingness to fly Thread though riderless.

  I remember all the drills we were taught at Fort Weyr. I have F’nor and Canth, and D’ram and Tiroth to help. Brekke always watches me, too. I have never listened to a woman before. But Brekke is good! She is also sad but Canth says it is good for her to hear us. She knows that she is never alone.

  They were all facing east where the Red Star pulsed, round and brightly orange-red. A film seemed to float across it and F’nor, raising his hand, called Ruth to take wing. Canth and Tiroth leaped strongly into the air, their wings beating in powerful strokes to assist their rising. Ruth was well aloft before them and straining ahead. Beside him four fire-lizards appeared, as dwarfed by him as he was by Canth and Tiroth.

  “Don’t meet Thread alone, Ruth!” Jaxom cried.

  “He won’t,” Brekke said, her eyes twinkling. “He is young enough to want to be first. At that, he saves the older dragons a lot of effort. But we must go in.”

  As one, the three paused for a last look at their defenders and then moved quickly inside the shelter.

  “You can’t see much,” Sharra told Jaxom, who had gone to stand by the open doorway.

  “I’d see if Thread got into this greenery.”

  “It won’t. We’ve clever riders.”

  Jaxom felt the skin on his back begin to crawl and he gave a massive shudder.

  “Don’t you dare catch a cold,” Sharra said. She collected a shirt from his room which she threw at him.

  “I’m not cold. I’m just thinking of Thread and this forest.”

  Sharra made a disparaging sound. “I forget. You’re Northern Hold-bred! Thread can’t do any more than tear or hole leaves which heal in Southern forests. It’s all grubbed. And, in case you’re interested, that’s the first thing F’nor and D’ram did—check to be sure the land here is well-grubbed. It is!”

  We have met Thread, Ruth told him, sounding elated. I am flaming well. I am to do V-sweeps while Canth and Tiroth pass east and west. We are high. The fire-lizards flame well, too. Over there! Berd. You are closest! Meer, get it to your offside. Talla! Help him. I come, I come. Down. I come. I flame! I protect my friend!

  Brekke caught Jaxom’s eyes, smiling at him. “He delivers a running comment so we all know how well he fights!” Her eyes lost their focus on him and then she blinked. “Sometimes I see the Fall through three sets of dragon eyes. I don’t know where I’m looking! It goes well!”

  Later, Jaxom could not have said what he ate or drank. When Ruth’s monologue resumed, Jaxom paid strict attention to what his dragon said, looking now and again at Brekke whose face reflected the intense concentration of listening to three dragons and four fire-lizards. Suddenly Ruth’s commentary stopped and Jaxom gasped.

  “It’s all right. They don’t pursue Thread through the Fall,” Brekke said. “Just enough to insure our safety. Benden flies Thread tomorrow evening over Nerat. F’nor and Canth ought not overtire themselves today.”

  Jaxom rose so abruptly that his bench clattered to the floor. He mumbled an apology, righted it and then strode out the door in the direction of the beach. As he reached the sands, he kept peering westward and barely discerned the distant film of Thread. Another shudder gripped him and he had to smooth the hair down on the back of his neck. The cove before him, generally calm with leisurely waves, was roiled with the activity of fish diving, lifting their bodies above the surface and crashing awkwardly down again as if in the throes of pain.

  “What’s the matter with them?” he asked Sharra, who had joined him.

  “The fish are having a good feed off Thread. They generally manage to clean up the cove in time for our dragons to bathe when they return. There! There they all are! Just popped back!”

  It was a good Fall! Ruth was jubilant, then rebellious. But we are not to follow it. Canth and Tiroth said that once across the big river there is nothing but stony waste and it is stupid to waste flame above what cannot be hurt by Thread. Ooooh!

  Sharra and Jaxom laughed as the little white dragon emitted a trail of flame, almost singeing his muzzle because he was at the wrong flight angle. He corrected instantly, continuing his downward glide on the correct plane.

  Even as the big dragons landed, the waters had calmed. Ruth was full of boast that he’d not needed to replenish his fire once, that he now knew how much to take to last the Fall. Canth turned his head toward the little white in an attitude of amused tolerance.

  Tiroth snorted and, relieved of his firesack, nodded once toward D’ram then waded into the water. Abruptly the air was full of fire-lizards, hovering eagerly above Tiroth. The old bronze threw his head skyward, snorted again and, with a loud sigh, rolled over in the water. The fire-lizards descended, dropping mouthsful of sand on him before attacking his hide with all four feet. Tiroth’s eyes, lidded once against the water, gleamed just beneath the surface in an eerie submarine rainbow.

  Canth bellowed and half the fair left Tiroth to minister to him as he splashed about. Ruth watched this preemption of his friends, blinked, gave himself
a bit of a shake and meekly took to the water at some distance from the bronze and brown. Four fire-lizards, the banded ones, detached themselves from the big dragons and began to scrub the little white.

  “Here, I’ll help you, Jaxom,” Sharra said.

  Scrubbing a dragon’s hide free of firestone stink is a tiring job under any circumstances and, although he only had to do one side of Ruth, Jaxom had to grit his teeth to finish.

  “I told you not to overdo, Jaxom,” Sharra said, her voice sharp as she straightened from scrubbing the fork of Ruth’s tail and noticed Jaxom leaning against the dragon’s rump. She gestured imperiously toward the beach. “Get out! I’ll bring you some food. You’re whiter than he is!”

  “I’m never going to get myself fit if I don’t try!”

  “Stop muttering at me under your breath . . .”

  “And don’t tell me you’re doing it for my own good . . .”

  “No, for mine! I don’t want to have to nurse you through a relapse!”

  She glared at him so fiercely that he gathered himself erect and stalked out of the water. Though it wasn’t far to his informal bed under the trees, his legs were leaden as he dragged them through the water. He lay down, heaving a sigh of relief, and closed his eyes.

  When he opened them again someone was shaking him, and he discovered Brekke peering at him quizzically. “How do you feel now?”

  “I was dreaming?”

  “Hmmm. Bad ones again?”

  “No, curious ones. Only nothing was in focus.” Jaxom shook his head to clear the miasma of nightmare. He realized that it was midday. Ruth was asleep snoring, at his left. On the far right, he could see D’ram resting against Tiroth’s front legs. There was no sign of F’nor or Canth.

  “You’re probably hungry,” Brekke said, holding out the plate of food and the mug she’d brought.

  “How long did I sleep?” Jaxom was disgusted with himself. He stretched his shoulders, feeling muscles stiff from the exercise of scrubbing a dragon.

  “Several hours. Did you good.”