Harper Hall - Dragonsong

by Anne McCaffrey

  Oh, they were beautiful to behold! The queen had turned sunward and Menolly, for all her eyes were very longsighted, could barely pick out that black mote and trailing cluster.

  She walked on, following the main group of fire lizards. She’d bet anything that she’d end up on the coastline near the Dragon Stones. Last fall her brother Alemi had claimed he’d seen fire lizards there at dawn, feeding on fingertails in the shallows. His report had set off another rash of what Petiron had called “lizard-fever.” Every lad in the Sea Hold had burned with plans to trap a fire lizard. They’d plagued Alemi to repeat his sighting.

  It was just as well that the crags were unapproachable. Not even an experienced boatman would brave those treacherous currents. But, if anyone had been sure there were fire lizards there…Well, no one would know from her.

  Even if Petiron had been alive, Menolly decided, she would not have told him. He’d never seen a fire lizard, though he’d admitted to the children that the Records allowed that fire lizards did exist.

  “They’re seen,” Petiron had told her later, “but they can’t be captured.” He gave a wheezing chuckle. “People’ve been trying to since the first shell was cracked.”

  “Why can’t they be caught?”

  “They don’t want to. They’re smart. They just disappear…”

  “They go between like dragons?”

  “There’s no proof of that,” said Petiron, a trifle cross, as if she’d been too presumptuous in suggesting a comparison between fire lizards and the great dragons of Pern.

  “Where else can you disappear to?” Menolly had wanted to know. “What is between?”

  “Some place that isn’t.” Petiron had shuddered. “You’re neither here nor there,” and he gestured first to one corner of the Hall and then towards the Sea Dock on the other side of the Harbor. “It’s cold, and it’s nothing. No sight, no sound, no sensations.”

  “You’ve ridden dragonback?”Menolly had been impressed.

  “Once. Many Turns ago.” He shuddered again in remembrance. “Now, since we’re touching on the subject, sing me the Riddle Song.”

  “It’s been solved. Why do we have to know it now?”

  “Sing it for me so I’ll know that you know it, girl,” Petiron had said testily. Which was no reason at all.

  But Petiron had been very kind to her, Menolly knew, and her throat tightened with remembered regret for his passing. (Had he gone between? The way dragons did when they lost their riders or grew too infirm to fly? No, one left nothing behind, going between. Petiron had left his body to be slipped into the deeps.) And Petiron had left more behind than his body. He’d left her every song he’d ever known, every lay, every ballad, saga, every fingering, chord and strum, every rhythm. There wasn’t any way a stringed instrument could be played that she didn’t know, nor any cadence on the drums at which she wasn’t time-perfect. She could whistle double-trills as well as any wherry with her tongue or on the reeds. But there had been some things Petiron wouldn’t—or perhaps couldn’t—tell her about her world. Menolly wondered if this was because she was a girl and there were mysteries that only the male mind could understand.

  “Well,” as Mavi had once told Menolly and Sella, “there are feminine puzzles that no mere man could sort, so that score is even.”

  “And one more for the feminine side,” said Menolly as she followed the fire lizards. A mere girl had seen what all the boys—and men—of the Sea Hold had only dreamed of seeing, fire lizards at play.

  They’d ceased following the queen and her bronzes and now indulged in mock air battles, swooping now and then to the land itself. And seemingly under it. Until Menolly realized that they must be over the beaches. The sand was slipping under her feet. An unwary step could plunge her into the holes and dips. She could hear the sea. She changed her course, keeping to the thicker patches of coarse marsh grasses. The ground would be firmer there, and she’d be less visible to the fire lizards.

  She came to a slight rise, before the bluff broke off into a steep dive onto the beaches. The Dragon Stones were beyond in the sea, slightly hidden by a heat haze. She could hear fire lizards chirping and chattering. She crouched in the grasses and then, dropping to her full length, crept to the bluff edge, hoping for another glimpse of the fire lizards.

  They were quite visible—delightfully so. The tide was out, and they were exceedingly busy in the shallows, picking rockmites from the tumbled exposed boulders, or wallowing on the narrow edging of red and white sand, bathing themselves with great enthusiasm in the little pools, spreading their delicate wings to dry. There were several flurries as two fire lizards vied for the same choice morsel. In that alone, she decided, they must differ from dragons, she’d never heard of dragons fighting amongst themselves for anything. She’d heard that dragons feeding among herds of runner-beasts and wherries were something horrible to behold. Dragons didn’t eat that frequently, which was as well or not all the resources of Pern could keep the dragons fed.

  Did dragons like fish? Menolly giggled, wondering if there were any fish in the sea big enough to satisfy a dragon’s appetite. Probably those legendary fish that always eluded the Sea Hold nets. Her Sea Hold sent their tithe of sea produce, salted, pickled or smoked, to Benden Weyr. Occasionally a dragonrider came asking for fresh fish for a special feasting, like a Hatching. And the women of the Weyr came every spring and fall to berry or cut withies and grasses. Menolly had once served Manora, the headwoman of Benden Lower Caverns, and a very pleasant gentle woman she’d been, too. Menolly hadn’t been allowed to stay in the room long because Mavi shooed her daughters out, saying that she had things to discuss with Manora. But Menolly had seen enough to know she liked her.

  The whole flock of lizards suddenly went aloft, startled by the return of the queen and the bronze who had flown her. The pair settled wearily in the warm shallow waters, wings spread as if both were too exhausted to fold them back. The bronze tenderly twined his neck about his queen’s and they floated so, while blues excitedly offered the resting pair fingertails and rock mites.

  Entranced, Menolly watched from her screen of sea-grass. She was utterly engrossed by the small doings of eating, cleaning and resting. By and by, singly or in pairs, the lesser fire lizards winged up to the first of the sea-surrounded bluffs, lost quickly from Menolly’s sight as they secreted themselves in tiny creviced weyrs.

  With graceful dignity, the queen and her bronze rose from their bathing. How they managed to fly with their glistening wings so close together, Menolly didn’t know. As one, they seemed to dart aloft, then glided in a slow spiral down to the Dragon Stones, disappearing on the seaside and out of Menolly’s vision.

  Only then did she become conscious of discomfort; of the hot sun on her welted back, sand in the waist-band of her trousers, seeping into her shoes, dried as sweaty grit on her face and hands.

  Cautiously, she wriggled back from the edge of the bluff. If the fire lizards knew they’d been overseen, they might not return to this cove. When she felt she’d crawled far enough, she got to a crouching position and ran for a way.

  She felt as rarely privileged as if she’d been asked to Benden Weyr. She kicked up her heels in an excess of joy and then, spotting some thick marsh grass canes in the bog, snicked one off at the waterline. Her father may have taken her gitar away, but there were more materials than strings over a sounding box to make music.

  She measured the proper length barrel and cut off the rest. She deftly made six holes top and two bottom, as Petiron had taught her, and in moments, she was playing her reed pipe. A saucy tune, bright and gay because she was happy inside. A tune about a little fire lizard queen, sitting on a rock in the lapping sea, preening herself for her adoring bronze.

  She’d a bit of trouble with the obligatory runs and found herself changing keys, but when she’d rehearsed the tune several times, she decided she liked it. It sounded so different from the sort of melody Petiron had taught her, different from the traditional form. Furthermore
, it sounded like a fire lizard song: sprightly, cunning, secretive.

  She stopped her piping, puzzled. Did the dragons know about fire lizards?

  Chapter 3

  Holder, watch; Holder, learn

  Something new in every Turn.

  Oldest may be coldest, too.

  Sense the right: find the true!

  When Menolly finally got back to the Sea Hold, the sky was darkening. The Hall was bustling with the usual end of day activity. The oldsters were setting the dinner tables, tidying the great Hall and chattering away as if they hadn’t met for Turns instead of only that morning.

  With luck, thought Menolly, she could get her sack down to the water rooms…

  “Where did you go for those greens, Menolly? Nerat?” Her mother appeared in front of her.

  “Almost.”

  Immediately Menolly saw that her pert words were ill-timed. Mavi roughly grabbed the sack and peered inside critically. “If you’d not made the trip worth the while…Sail’s been sighted,”

  “Sail?”

  Mavi closed the sack and shoved it back into Menolly’s hands. “Yes, sail. You should have been back hours ago. Whatever possessed you to take off so far with Thread…”

  “There weren’t any greens nearer…”

  “With Thread due to fall anytime? You’re a fool twice over.”

  “I was safe enough. I saw a dragonrider doing his sweep…”

  That pleased Mavi. “Thank heavens we’re beholden to Benden. They’re a proper Weyr.” Mavi gave her daughter a shove towards the kitchen level. “Take those, and be sure the girls wash every speck of sand off. Who knows who’s sailing in?”

  Menolly slipped through the busy kitchen, countering orders flung at her by various other women who saw in her a capable assistant at their own tasks. Menolly merely brandished the sack and proceeded down to the water rooms. There some of the older but still able women were busily sandscouring the best metal plates and trays.

  “I must have one basin for the greens, auntie,” said Menolly, pushing up to the rank of stone sinks.

  “Greens is easier on old skin than sand,” said one of the women in a quavering, long-suffering voice and promptly deposited her pile of plates into the sink be side her and pulled her plug.

  “More sand in greens than cleaning,” another woman remarked in an acid tone.

  “Yes, but take it off greens,” said the obliging one. “Oh, what a lovely mess of yellow-veins, too. Where did you find them this time of year, daughter?”

  “Halfway to Nerat.” Menolly suppressed her grin at their startled shrieks of dismay. The furthest they’d stir from the Hold was the ledge in front on a sunny day.

  “With Thread falling? You naughty girl!” “Did you hear about the sail?” ‘Who do you suppose?” “The new Harper, who else?” There was a wild chorus of cackling laughs and great wonderings about the appearance of the new Harper.

  “They always send a young one here!’

  “Petiron was old!”

  “He got that way. Same as we did!”

  “How would you remember?”

  “Why not? I’ve lived through more Harpers than you have, my girl.”

  “You have not! I came here from Red Sands in Ista…”

  “You were born at Half-Circle, you old fool, and I birthed you!”

  “Ha!”

  Menolly listened to the four old women arguing back and forth until she heard her mother demanding to know if the greens had been washed. And where were the good plates and how was she to get anything done with all the gossip?

  Menolly found a sieve large enough to hold the washed greens and brought them up for her mother’s inspection.

  “Well, that’ll be enough for the head table,” Mavi said, poking at the glistening mound with her fork. Then she stared at her daughter. “You can’t appear like that. Here you, Bardie, take the greens and put the dressing on them. The one in the brown flask on the fourth shelf in the cool room. You, Menolly, have the goodness to get yourself sandfree and decently dressed. You’re to attend Old Uncle. The moment he opens his mouth, shove something into it or we’ll be hearing him all night long.”

  Menolly groaned. Old Uncle smelled almost as much as he chattered.

  “Sella’s much better handling him, Mavi…”

  “Sella’s to attend head table. You do as you’re told and be grateful!” Mavi fixed her rebellious daughter with a stern eye, tacitly reminding her of her disgrace. Then Mavi was called away to check a sauce for the baking fish.

  Menolly went off to the bathing rooms, trying to convince herself that she was lucky she hadn’t been banished completely from the Hall this evening. Though tending Old Uncle came as close as could be to banishment. Honor obliged the Sea Holder to have all his household there to greet the new Harper.

  Menolly shucked off the dirty tunic and breeches, and slipped into the warm bathing pool. She swung her shoulders this way and that for the water to wash the sand and sweat as painlessly as possible from her sore back. Her hair was all gritty with sea sand, too, so she washed that. She was quick because she’d have her hands full with Old Uncle. It’d be much better to have him all arranged in his hearth seat before everyone else assembled for dinner.

  Draping her dirty clothes around her, Menolly took the calculated risk that few people would be in the High Hold at this hour and charged up the dimly lit steps from the bathing pools to the sleeping level. Every glow in the main corridor was uncovered, which meant that the Harper, if such it were, would have a guided tour of the Hold later. She dashed down to the narrow steps leading to the girls’ dormitories, and got into her cubicle without a soul the wiser.

  When she got to Old Uncle’s room, later, she had to clean his face and hands and slip a clean tunic over his bony shoulders. All the while he was chattering about new blood in the Hold and hee-hee who was the new Harper going to marry? He’d a thing or two to tell the Harper, give him the chance, and why did she have to be so rough? His bones ached. Must be a change in the weather because his old legs never failed to give warning. Hadn’t he warned them about the big storm a while back? Two boats had been lost with all crew. If they’d paid attention to his warning, it wouldn’t have happened. His own son was the worst one for not listening to what his father said and why was she hurrying him so? He liked to take his time. No, couldn’t he have the blue tunic? The one his daughter had made him, matching his eyes, she’d said. And why hadn’t Turlon come to see him today as he’d asked and asked and asked, but who paid him any heed anymore?

  The old man was so frail that he was no burden to a strong girl like Menolly. She carried him down the steps, he complaining all the way about people who’d been dead before she was born. Old Uncle’s notion of time was distorted, that’s what Petiron had told her. Brightest in Uncle’s memory were his earlier days, when he’d been Sea Holder of Half-Circle, before a tangled trawler line had sliced off his legs below the knee. The great Hall was almost ready for guests when Menolly entered with him.

  “They’re tacking into Dock,” someone was saying as Menolly arranged Old Uncle in his special seat by the fire. She wrapped him well in the softened wherhides and tied the strap that would keep him upright. When he got excited, Old Uncle had a tendency to forget he had no feet.

  Who’s tacking into Dock? Who’s coming? What’s all the hubblebubble about?”

  Menolly told him, and he subsided, moments later wanting to know in a querulous tone of voice if anyone was going to feed him or was he supposed to sit here dinnerless?

  Sella, in the gown she’d spent all winter making, swirled past Menolly, pressing a small packet into her hand.

  “Feed him these if he gets difficult!” And she skimmed away before Menolly could say a word.

  Opening the packet, Menolly saw balls of a sweet made from seaweed, flavored with purple grass seed. One could chew these for hours, keeping the mouth fresh and moist. Small wonder Sella’d been able to keep Old Uncle happy. Menolly giggled and th
en wondered why Sella was being so helpful. It must have pleased Sella no end to learn Menolly had been displaced as Harper. Or would she know? Mavi wouldn’t have mentioned it. Ah, but the Harper was here now, anyhow.