Harper Hall - Dragonsong

by Anne McCaffrey

  They were aloft, Elgion reveling in the experience, craning his head to see as much as possible in the clear night air. He had only a glimpse of the Higher Benden Range hills before T’gellan asked Monarth to take them between.

  Suddenly, it was no longer full dark: the sun was a handspan above the glowing sea as they burst into the air above Half-Circle Harbor.

  “Told you I’d get you back early,” T’gellan said, turning to grin at the Harper’s startled exclamation. “We’re not supposed to time it, but all in a good cause.”

  Monarth circled down lazily so that everyone in the Sea Hold was gathered on the holdway when they landed. Yanus strode a few paces ahead of the others while Elgion searched the faces for Alemi’s.

  T’gellan leaped from the bronze’s shoulder and made a show of assisting Elgion as the entire Hold cheered loudly for their Harper’s safe return.

  “I’m neither crippled or old,” Elgion muttered under his breath, aware of Yanus’s approach. “Don’t overdo it.”

  T’gellan laid his arm across Elgion’s shoulders in a comradely fashion, beaming at the oncoming Sea Holder. “Not at all,” he said out of the corner of his mouth. “The Weyr approves!”

  “Sea Holder, I am profoundly embarrassed at the inconvenience…”

  “No, Harper Elgion,” T’gellan interrupted him, “any apologies are the Weyr’s. You were adamant in wishing to return to Half-Circle immediately. But Lessa needed to have his report, Yanus, so we had to wait.”

  Whatever Yanus had been about to say to his erring Harper was neatly blocked by T’gellan’s obvious approval. The Sea Holder rocked a bit on his feet, blinking as he reorganized his thoughts.

  “Any fire lizard sign you discover must be made known to the Weyr as soon as possible,” T’gellan continued blithely.

  “Then that tale is true?” Yanus asked in a grumble of disbelief. “Those…those creatures do exist?”

  “They do indeed, sir,” Elgion replied warmly. “I have seen, touched and fed a bronze fire lizard; his name is Rill. He’s about as big as my forearm…”

  “You did? He is?” Alemi had pushed through the crowd, breathless from excitement and the exercise of hobbling as fast as he could down the holdway. “Then you did find something in the cave?”

  “The cave?” Elgion had forgotten all about his original destination that morning.

  “What cave?” demanded T’gellan.

  “The cave…” and Elgion gulped and then boldly embroidered on the lie T’gellan had begun, “I told Lessa about. Surely you were in the room then.”

  “What cave?” demanded Yanus, stepping close to the younger men, his voice half-angry because he was being excluded from the conversation.

  “The cave that Alemi and I spotted on the shore near the Dragon Stones,” Elgion said, trying to give the proper cues. “Alemi,” Elgion had to address T’gellan now, “is the Sea Man who saw the fire lizards last spring near the Dragon Stones. Two—three days back, we sailed down the coast and saw the cave. That’s where I think it’s likely we’ll find fire lizard eggs.”

  “Well, then, since you’re now safely in your Hold, Harper Elgion, I will leave you.” T’gellan couldn’t wait to get back to Monarth. And the cave.

  “You’ll let us know if you find anything, won’t you?” Elgion called after him and received only a wild arm gesture before the bronze rider swung himself up to Monarth’s back.

  “We offered him no hospitality for his trouble in returning you,” Yanus said, worried and somewhat aggrieved by the bronze rider’s precipitous departure.

  “He’d just eaten,” Elgion replied, as the bronze dragon beat his way upward above the sunset-lit waters of the harbor.

  “So early.”

  “Ah, he’d been fighting Thread. And he’s wingleader, so he must be back at the Weyr.” That did impress Yanus. Rider and dragon winked out, drawing a startled exclamation of delight from everyone. Alemi caught Elgion’s eye, and the Harper had to suppress his grin: he’d share the full jest with Alemi later. Only would the joke be on himself if after all the half-truths T’gellan found fire lizard eggs…or a piper…in the cave?

  “Harper Elgion,” said Yanus firmly, waving the rest of the holders away from them as he pointed to the Hold door. “Harper Elgion, I’d be grateful for a few words of explanation.”

  “Indeed, sir, and I’ve much to report to you of happenings in the Weyr.” Elgion respectfully followed the Sea Holder. He knew now how to deal with Yanus with no further recourse to evasions or lies.

  Chapter 10

  Then my feet took off and my legs went, too,

  So my body was obliged to follow

  Me with my hands and my mouth full of cress

  And my throat too dry to swallow.

  When Menolly roused, she was in a quiet dark place and something crooned comfortingly in her ear. She knew it was Beauty, but she wondered how she could be so warm all over. She moved, and her feet felt big, stuffed and very sore.

  She must have made some sound because she heard a soft movement and then the glow in the corner of the room was half-unshielded.

  “Are you comfortable? Are your feet painful?”

  The warmth beside Menolly’s ear disappeared. Clever Beauty, Menolly thought with approval after an instant’s fear of discovery.

  Someone was bending over Menolly now, securing the sleeping furs about her shoulders; someone whose hands were gentle, soothing, who smelled of clean herbs and faintly of numbweed.

  “They only hurt a little,” Menolly replied untruthfully because her feet had taken to throbbing so hard she was afraid the woman could hear them.

  Her soft murmur and her gentle hands denied Menolly’s stoicism.

  “You must surely be hungry. You’ve slept all day.”

  “I have?”

  “We gave you fellis juice. You’d run your feet to ribbons…” There was a slight hesitation in the woman’s voice. “They’ll be fine in a sevenday. No serious cuts.” The quiet voice held a ripple of amusement. “T’gran is convinced you’re the fastest…runner in Pern.”

  “I’m not a runner. I’m just a girl.”

  “Not ‘just’ a girl. I’ll get you something to eat. And then it’s best if you sleep again.”

  Alone, Menolly tried not to think of her throbbing feet and a body which felt stone-heavy, immobile. She worried for fear Beauty or some of the others would come and be discovered by the weyrwoman, and what would happen to Lazy with no one to make him hunt for himself and…

  “I’m Manora,” the woman said as she returned with a bowl of steaming stew and a mug. “You realize that you’re at Benden Weyr? Good. You may stay here, you know, as long as you wish.”

  “I can?” A relief as intense as the pain in her feet flooded Menolly.

  “Yes, you can,” and the firmness of that reply made that right inalienable.

  “Menolly is my name…” She hesitated because Manora was nodding. “How did you know?”

  Manora motioned for her to continue eating. “I’ve seen you at Half-Circle, you know, and the Harper asked the wingleader to keep search for you…after you disappeared. We won’t discuss that now, Menolly, but I do assure you that you can stay at Benden.”

  “Please don’t tell them…”

  “As you wish. Finish your stew and take all the drink. You must sleep to heal.”

  She left as noiselessly as she’d come, but Menolly was reassured. Manora was headwoman at Benden Weyr, and what she said was so.

  The stew was delicious, thick with meat chunks and satisfying with herb flavors. She’d almost finished it when she heard a faint rustle and Beauty returned, piteously broadcasting hunger. With a sigh, Menolly pushed the bowl under the little queen’s nose. Beauty licked it dry, then hummed softly and rubbed her face against Menolly’s cheek.

  “Where are the others?”Menolly asked, worriedly.

  The little queen gave another hum and began to curl herself up in a ball by Menolly’s shoulder. She woul
dn’t have been so relaxed if the others were in trouble, Menolly thought, as she sipped the fellis juice.

  “Beauty,” Menolly whispered, nudging the queen, “if anyone comes, you go. You mustn’t be seen here. Do you understand?”

  The queen rustled her wings irritably.

  “Beauty, you mustn’t be seen.” Menolly spoke as sternly as she could, and the queen opened one eye, which whirled slowly. “Oh dear, won’t you understand?” The queen gave a soft reassuring croon and then closed both lids.

  The fellis juice was already melting Menolly’s limbs into weightlessness. The dreadful throb of her feet eased. As her eyes relentlessly closed, Menolly had one last thought: how had Beauty known where she was?

  When Menolly woke, it was to hear faint sounds of children laughing, an infectious laughter that made her grin and wonder what caused such happiness. Beauty was gone but the space where she’d lain by Menolly’s head was warm to the touch. The curtain across the cubicle parted and a figure was silhouetted against the light beyond.

  “What’s the matter with you all of a sudden, Reppa?” the girl said softly to someone Menolly couldn’t see. “Oh, all right. I’m well rid of you for now.” She turned and saw Menolly looking at her. “How do you feel today?” As she adjusted the glow for full light, Menolly saw a girl about her own age, dark hair tied primly back from a face that was sad, tired and oddly mature. Then she smiled, and the impression of maturity dissolved. “Did you really run across Nerat?”

  “I really didn’t, although my feet feel as if they had!”

  “Imagine it! And you holdbred and out during a Fall!” There was a grudging respect in her voice.

  “I was running for shelter,” Menolly felt obliged to say.

  “Speaking of running, Manora couldn’t come to see you herself right now so you’re in my charge. She’s told me exactly what to do,” and the girl grimaced with such feeling that Menolly had a swift vision of Manora delivering her precise and careful instructions, “and I’ve had a lot of experience…” An expression of pain and anxiety crossed her face.

  “Are you Manora’s fosterling?” asked Menolly politely.

  The expression deepened for a moment, and then the girl erased all expression from her face, drawing her shoulders up with pride. “No, I’m Brekke’s. My name is Mirrim. I used to be in the Southern Weyr.”

  She made the statement as if that should make all plain to Menolly. “You mean, in the Southern Continent?”

  “Yes,” and Mirrim sounded irritated.

  “I didn’t know anyone lived there.” The words were no sooner out of her mouth than Menolly remembered some snippet of information overheard in conversations between Petiron and her father.

  “Where have you been all your life?” demanded Mirrim, exasperated.

  “In Half-Circle Sea Hold,” Menolly replied meekly because she didn’t wish to offend the girl.

  Mirrim stared at her.

  “Haven’t you ever heard of it?” It was Menolly’s turn to be condescending. “We have the biggest dock cavern on Pern.” Mirrim caught her eye, and then both girls began to laugh, the moment in which their friendship began.

  “Look, let me help you to the necessary, you must be bursting…” and Mirrim briskly threw back the sleeping fur. “You just lean on me.”

  Menolly had to because her feet were incredibly sore, even with Mirrim supporting most of her weight. Fortunately the necessary was no more than a few steps beyond the sleeping cubicle. By the time Menolly crawled back into her bed, she was shaking all over.

  “Stay on your stomach, Menolly; it’ll be easier to change your bandages,” Mirrim said. “I haven’t had to do many feet, it’s true; but if you don’t have to see what’s going on, that makes it easier. Everyone at Southern said my hands are gentle, and I’ll drown your feet in numbweed. Or would you want some more fellis juice? Manora said you could.”

  Menolly shook her head.

  “Brekke…” and here Mirrim’s voice faltered briefly, “Brekke taught me how to change sticky bandages because I…Oh, dearie me, your feet look just like raw meat. Ooops, that’s not the right thing to say, but they do. They will be all right, Manora said,” and there was such confidence in that statement that Menolly pre ferred to believe it, too. “Now Threadscore…that’s nasty. You’ve just lost all the skin on your feet, that’s all, but I expect you feel that’s quite enough. Sorry. Caught you there. Anyway, you’ll not wen have scars once the new skin grows, and it’s really amazing how quickly skin does grow. Or so I’ve observed. Now Threadscore, that’s nasty for healing. Never quite fades. Lucky for you T’gran’s Branth spotted you running. Dragons are very longsighted, you know. There, now, this should help…”

  Menolly gasped involuntarily as Mirrim slathered cool numbweed on her right foot. She’d been biting her lips against the pain while Mirrim, with very gentle hands indeed, had removed the blood-caked bandages but the relief from pain was almost a shock. If she’d only lost the skin from her feet, why did they hurt so much more than her hand had?

  “Now, we’ve only the left foot to go. The numbweed does help, doesn’t it? Did you ever have to boil it?” Mirrim asked with a groan and, as usual, didn’t wait for an answer. “For three days I just grit my teeth and close my nose and firmly remind myself that it would be so much worse if we didn’t have numbweed. I suppose that’s the bad with the good Manora’s always saying we have to have. But you’ll be relieved to know that there’s no sign of infection…”

  “Infection?” Menolly jerked herself up on her elbows, craning her head about.

  “Will you keep still?” Mirrim glared so authoritatively that Menolly forced herself to relax. All she could see of her feet were salvesmeared heels. “And you’re very, very lucky there isn’t any infection. After all, you’d been running shoeless over sand, dirt and goodness knows what. It took us forever to wash the grit off.” Minim made a sympathetic sound. “Just as well we’d dosed you good.”

  “You’re sure there’s no infection this time?”

  “This time? You haven’t done this before, have you?” Mirrim’s voice was shocked.

  “No, not my feet. My hand,” and Menolly turned on her side, holding out her scarred hand. She was considerably gratified by the concerned pity in Mirrim’s face as she examined the wound.

  “However did you do that?”

  “I was gutting packtail, and the knife slipped.”

  “You were lucky to miss the tendons.”

  “Miss?”

  “Well, you are using those fingers. A bit drawn that scar, though.” Mirrim clucked her tongue with professional dismay. “Don’t think much of your Hold’s nursing if that’s any sample.”

  “Packtail slime is difficult, as bad as Threadscore in its own way,” Menolly muttered, perversely defending her Hold.

  “Be that as it may,” and Mirrim gave the foot bandage a final twitch, “we’ll see you don’t have any such trouble with your feet. Now, I’ll bring you something to eat. You must be starved…”

  Now that the worst of the dressing was over and the numbweed had deadened the pain in her feet, Menolly was definitely aware of the emptiness in her stomach.