The Dragonriders of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

I am getting better and better at chewing. No flame left. He raised his head then, looking toward Canth, who had landed near them. Why is F’nor annoyed? We have flown well. No Thread escaped us. Ruth craned his neck back at his rider, his eyes beginning to whirl faster, flicks of yellow appearing. I do not understand. He snorted once, the firestone fumes making Jaxom cough.

  “Jaxom! I want a word with you!”

  F’nor strode across the sand to him, unbelting his jacket and stripping off his helmet in sharp angry gestures.

  “Yes?”

  “Where were the lot of you this morning? Why did you leave with no word to anyone? What have you to say for yourself arriving so close to Thread? Did you forget Thread was due today?”

  Jaxom regarded F’nor. The brown rider’s face was suffused with anger and fatigue. The same cold rage that had erupted within Jaxom that day so long ago in his own Hold began to possess him. He straightened his shoulders and raised his head higher. His eyes were level with F’nor’s, a fact he had not previously noted. He could not, he would not, permit himself to lose control of his temper as he had that morning in Ruatha.

  “We were ready for Thread when it fell, brown rider,” he responded calmly. “My duty as the rider of a dragon was to protect Cove Hold. I did. My pleasure and privilege was to fly with Benden.” He gave a slight bow and had the satisfaction of seeing the anger in F’nor’s face give way to surprise. “I’m sure the others have by now reported to Master Robinton what we discovered this morning. Into the water with you, Ruth. I’ll be glad to answer all your questions, F’nor, when I’ve cleaned Ruth up.” He gave F’nor, who was staring at him in honest amazement, a second bow and then stripped off hot and sweaty flying gear, leaving on only the shortened trousers that were more suitable to the heat.

  F’nor was still staring at him when he ran and dove neatly into the water, coming up beside his wallowing white friend.

  Ruth twisted, blowing water in a fountain above his head, his half-lidded eyes gleaming greenly just under the surface.

  Canth says that F’nor is confused. What did you say that confuses a brown rider?

  “What he didn’t expect to hear from a white rider. I can’t wash you when you’re rolling over all the time.”

  You are angry. You will tear my hide scrubbing so hard.

  “I am angry. Not at you.”

  Should we go to our lake? Ruth’s question was tentative and he turned his head toward his rider in an anxious answer.

  “What do we need with a freezing lake when we’ve an entire warm ocean? I’m just annoyed with F’nor. It isn’t as if I were still sick, or a child that needed a guardian. I’ve fought Thread with you, and without you. If I’m old enough to do that, I don’t need to account for any of my movements to any one for any reason.”

  I forgot that Thread would fall today!

  Jaxom couldn’t help but laugh at Ruth’s humble admission.

  “So did I. But don’t you ever let on to anyone.”

  Fire-lizards descended now to assist, needing a bit of scrub themselves to judge by the reek their wet hides exuded. They scolded Ruth much more unkindly than Jaxom did if he wallowed too deeply in the waves when they wanted to rinse him. Among the fair were Meer, Talla and Farli. Jaxom bent to his task. He was tired but he decided that as long as he kept himself going, he’d be able to finish bathing Ruth. Then he’d have all afternoon to rest.

  He didn’t. He also didn’t have to bathe Ruth all by himself because Sharra joined him.

  “Would you like me to take the other side again?” she asked as she waded up to him.

  “I’d appreciate it no end,” he said with a grin and sigh.

  She tossed him a handled brush. “Brekke brought these with her. Thought they’d help clean dragons, and things. Good stiff bristles. You’ll like that, won’t you, Ruth?”

  She scooped handsful of sand from the cove floor, dribbling the wet stuff on Ruth’s neck and then applying the brush with vigor. Ruth whistled through the water with pleasure.

  “What happened to you while I was fighting Thread?” he asked her, pausing before attacking Ruth’s rump.

  “Menolly’s still answering questions.” Sharra regarded him over Ruth’s recumbent body, her eyes dancing, her smile full of mischief. “She talked so fast he couldn’t interrupt, and she was still talking when I left. I didn’t realize anyone could outtalk the Masterharper. Anyway, he stopped fuming very early on. Did you get scorched by F’nor?”

  “We exchanged . . . opinions.”

  “I’ll just bet you did the way Brekke was carrying on. I told her that you’d got pretty fit while she was away. She acted as if you’d risen from your deathbed to ride Fall!” Sharra made a scornful sound.

  Jaxom leaned over Ruth’s back, grinning at her, thinking how pretty she was with the mischief in her eyes, and beads of water on her face where Ruth had splashed her. She glanced up at him, raising one eye in query.

  “Did we really see what I thought we saw this morning, Sharra?”

  “We surely did!” She pointed her brush at him, her expression severe. “And you’re very lucky that we were along to vouch because I don’t think anyone would have believed just you.” She paused, the twinkle back in her eyes. “I’m not entirely sure they believe us anyhow.”

  “Who doesn’t believe us?”

  “Master Robinton, Master Wansor and Brekke. Weren’t you listening to me?”

  “No,” he said grinning, “I was looking at you.”

  “Jaxom!”

  He laughed as the blush deepened the tan on her face and neck.

  I have a severe itch where you are leaning against me, Jaxom.

  “There now, you see?” Sharra said, slapping his hand with the bristles. “You’re neglecting Ruth in a shocking fashion.”

  “How’d you know Ruth was speaking to me?”

  “Your face always gives you away.”

  “Say, where’s the Dawn Sister going?” Jaxom asked, noticing the ship, her sails billowing out in the breeze, standing out to sea.

  “Fishing, of course. Threadfall always brings out schools. And our escapade this morning is going to bring people down here in droves. We’ll need the fish to feed ’em.”

  Jaxom groaned, closing his eyes and shaking his head in dismay.

  “That . . .” Sharra paused for emphasis, “is our punishment for the unauthorized jaunt this morning.”

  They were both dumped into the water as Ruth unexpectedly lunged out.

  “Ruth!”

  My friends are coming! The white dragon bugled happily as Jaxom saw, bleary-eyed from the ducking, a half-wing of dragons appearing in the sky.

  There is Ramoth and Mnementh, Tiroth, Gyamath, Branth, Orth . . .

  “All the Weyrleaders, Sharra!”

  She was spitting and choking over the water she’d swallowed.

  “Great!” She didn’t sound happy. “My brush!” She began searching about her.

  And Path, Golanth, Drenth and he’s here on our watchdragon!

  “There’s Lytol! Stand still, Ruth. We’ve still got your tail to clean.”

  I must give a proper greeting to my friends, Ruth replied, pulling his tail out of Jaxom’s grasp to sit up on his haunches and warble to the second group of dragon-riders appearing over the Cove.

  “He may not be clean,” Sharra said with some acerbity as she began to wring her long hair dry, “but I am.”

  I am clean enough. My friends will want to swim, too.

  “Don’t count on another swim, Ruth. It’s going to be a busy day!”

  “Jaxom, did you get a chance to eat anything yet?” Sharra asked. When he shook his head, she grabbed his hand. “C’mon, quickly, the back way, before someone catches us.”

  He paused long enough on the shore to collect his flying gear, then they both ran up the old path to the kitchen entrance of Cove Hold. Sharra breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief to discover the place empty. Ordering him to sit, she poured a cup of klah, and served him
slices of fruit and warm cereal from the pot on the back of the warming hearth.

  They both heard the calls and exclamations from the new arrivals, Robinton’s deep baritone dominating as he called greetings from the porch.

  Jaxom half-rose from his bench, gulping down another mouthful, but Sharra pushed him back.

  “They’ll find you soon enough. Eat!”

  “Ruth is on the beach,” Lytol’s voice was audible suddenly, “but I don’t see Jaxom anywhere . . .”

  “I know he’s about . . .” Robinton began.

  A bronze arrow whizzed into the kitchen, chittered and zipped away.

  “He’s through that door, Lytol, in the kitchen,” Robinton said with a laugh.

  “I could almost agree with Lessa,” Jaxom said in a mutter of disgust. He scraped a huge spoonful out of his bowl, cramming it into his mouth. He had to rise, catching the overflow at the corners of his mouth as Lytol came striding in.

  “Sorry, sir,” Jaxom mumbled through his food. “Had no breakfast!”

  Lytol stood, his eyes so intent that Jaxom grinned in nervous embarrassment. He wondered if Lytol could already know of his excursion that morning.

  “You look a great deal better than when I last saw you, lad. Good day to you, Sharra.” His greeting was absentminded courtesy as he crossed the remaining distance to clasp Jaxom’s arm strongly in his. A smile pulled at his lips before he stepped back. “You’re tanned, you look fit. Now what is this trouble you created today?”

  “Create it? Me? No, sir.” Jaxom couldn’t help grinning now. Lytol was delighted, not annoyed. “That mountain’s been there a long time. I didn’t create it. But I did want to see it, close up, first!”

  “Jaxom!” The Harper’s bellow was impossible to ignore.

  “Sir?”

  “Come here, Jaxom!”

  In the hours that followed, Jaxom was grateful that Sharra had thought to feed him breakfast. He didn’t get much time for more food. The moment he entered the main Hall, questions were thrown at him by the Weyrleaders and Craftmasters assembled. Piemur had been very busy during Fall because Master Robinton had already completed a sketch of the southeastern face of the mountain to show the incredulous visitors, and a rough, small-scale map of this section of Southern. From the almost rhythmic way Menolly described their jaunt, Jaxom decided she had already repeated the account many times.

  What Jaxom remembered most of that session was feeling sorry that the Masterharper was unable to see the mountain first hand. But, if Jaxom had waited until Master Oldive permitted the Harper to fly between . . .

  “I know you’ve just flown Fall, Jaxom, but if you’d just give Mnementh the visualization . . .” F’lar began.

  N’ton burst out laughing, pointing to Jaxom. “The look on your face, lad. F’lar, he’s got to lead us! Give him that!”

  So Jaxom got back into slightly damp flying gear and roused Ruth from his sandy baking. Ruth was pleased enough with the honor of leading the bronzes of Pern, but Jaxom could barely contain behind a composed expression the thrill he was experiencing. Jaxom and the white dragon, leading the most important people on Pern.

  He could have asked Ruth to jump directly to the southeastern side of the Two-Faced Mountain, his private designation. Somehow he wanted everyone to experience the full impact of those two sides—the benign and beautiful.

  From the expressions on the riders’ faces as they settled briefly on the ridge, he could see that he had achieved the desired effect. He allowed them time to sight the Barrier Range, glistening in the sun, ragged white teeth on the horizon. He gestured seaward where neither morning mists nor Thread now obscured the tail of volcanoes snaking northeasterly out into the sea, smoke just curling from the curve of the world in that direction.

  At his request, Ruth soared across the inlet as he had done before, climbing high before he gave the coordinates of the next jump between. They came out above the broad expanse of the southeastern side of Two-Face, as dramatic an approach as anyone could have wished.

  Mnementh suddenly surged into the fore and, as Ruth relayed to Jaxom, said that they should land. Politely, Ruth and Jaxom circled as the great bronze settled near the intersection of some of the regular lines, as far as possible from the three secondary cones. One by one the great bronze dragons of Pern settled in the grassy sward, their riders and passengers striding through the tall waving grasses to join F’lar, who had hunkered down to dig with his belt knife into the edge of one of those curious lines.

  “Covered with Turns of blow dirt and old grasses,” he said, giving up his attempt.

  “Volcanoes often blow out quantities of ash,” T’bor of the High Reaches said. He would know since quite a few old volcanoes were in Tillek which was beholden to the High Reaches Weyr. “If all those mountains blew at once, there’d be half a length of ash before you’d reach anything.”

  For a split second, Jaxom thought they were being threatened with ash. Sunlight was blotted out and a chittering, fluttering mass swooped down, almost touching Mnementh’s head before the hundred fire-lizards lifted up again.

  Amid shouts of consternation and surprise, Jaxom heard Ruth’s announcement.

  They are happy. Men have returned to them!

  “Ask them about the three mountains, Ruth? Do they remember the mountains blowing up?”

  There was no doubt they did. Suddenly there wasn’t an unbranded fire-lizard in the sky.

  They remember the mountains, Ruth said. They remember fire in the air and fire crawling on the ground. They are afraid of the mountains. Men were afraid of the mountains.

  Menolly came running up to Jaxom, her face contorted with concern. “Did Ruth ask those fire-lizards about the mountains? Beauty and the others just had a fit. About those blasted mountains.”

  F’lar came striding up to them. “Menolly? What was all that fuss with the fire-lizards? I didn’t see any banded ones. Were they all Southern ones?

  “Of course men were here. They’re not telling us anything we didn’t know. But for them to say they remembered?” F’lar was scornful. “I could accept your finding D’ram in the Cove with their aid . . . but that was only a matter of twenty-five Turns in the past. But . . .” For want of appropriate expression of his skepticism, F’lar merely gestured at the dead volcanoes and the long-covered traces of a settlement.

  “Two points, F’lar,” Menolly said, boldly contradicting the Benden Weyrleader, “no fire-lizard in this time knew the Red Star, but they were, nonetheless, all afraid of it. They also . . .” Menolly paused, and Jaxom was certain she had been about to bring up the fire-lizard dreams about Ramoth’s egg. He hastily interrupted.

  “Fire-lizards must be able to remember, F’lar. Ever since I’ve been in the Cove, I’ve been troubled with dreams. At first I thought it was leftover from fire-head fever. The other night I found out that Sharra and Piemur have had similar nightmares . . . about the mountain. This side of it, not the one facing the Cove.”

  “Ruth always sleeps with fire-lizards at night, F’lar,” Menolly said, pressing their case. “He could be relaying those dreams to Jaxom! And our fire-lizards to us!”

  F’lar nodded, as if granting them this possibility.

  “And last night your dreams were more vivid than ever?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  F’lar began to chuckle, looking from Menolly to Jaxom. “So this morning you decided to see if there was any substance to the dreams?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “All right, Jaxom.” F’lar thumped him good-naturedly on the back. “I suppose I can’t blame you. I’d have done the same thing given the opportunity. Now, what do you . . . and those precious fire-lizards of yours . . . suggest we do now?”

  “I am no fire-lizard, F’lar, but I would dig,” the Mastersmith said, striding up to them. His face was aglow with perspiration, his hands grass and dirt-stained. “We must dig beneath the grass and soil. We must find out how they managed to make lines straight as rules that last Turn
after Turn. Why did they build in mounds, if that’s what those things are. Dig, that’s what we must do.” He pivoted slowly, staring about him at the desultory digging efforts of some of the dragonriders. “Fascinating. Utterly fascinating!” The Smith beamed. “With your permission, I will ask Masterminer Nicat for some of his craftmasters. We will need skilled diggers. Also I promised Robinton that I would return immediately and tell him what I have seen with my own eyes.”

  “I’d like to go back, too, F’lar,” Menolly said. “Master Robinton is in a swivet. Zair’ s been here twice. He must be impatient.”

  “I’ll take them back, F’lar,” Jaxom said. Suddenly he was as possessed by an irrational desire to leave as he had been eager to come that morning.

  F’lar would not permit Ruth to carry weight again, not after the morning’s excursion and Threadfall. He sent Master Fandarel and Menolly back to Cove Hold with F’lessan and Golanth, with instructions to the young bronze rider to take the Mastersmith wherever he wished to go. If he was surprised at Jaxom’s wish to return, he gave no sign.

  He and Ruth were away before the Smith and Menolly had mounted Golanth. They returned to a Cove delightfully empty of people. The warm, sultry air, after the cooler, clear atmosphere of the Plateau, was like an enveloping blanket, enervating Jaxom. He took advantage of his unremarked return and let Ruth take them to his clearing. It was cooler there and, when Ruth had settled himself, Jaxom gratefully curled up in the dragon’s forearms. He was asleep in two breaths.

  A touch on his shoulder roused him. His flying jacket had fallen from his shoulder and he felt chilly.

  “I said I’d wake him, Mirrim,” he heard Sharra say, her tone one of annoyance.

  “Does it matter? Here, Jaxom, I’ve brought you some klah! Master Robinton wants to talk to you. You’ve slept all afternoon. We couldn’t figure out where you’d got to.”

  Jaxom muttered under his breath, wishing with all his heart that Mirrim would go away. He resented her implication that he hadn’t any right to sleep in the afternoon.

  “Come on, Jaxom. I know you’re awake.”

  “You’re wrong. I’m half asleep.” Jaxom indulged in a massive yawn before he opened his eyes. “Go away, Mirrim. Tell Master Robinton I’ll be in directly.”