Harper Hall - Dragonsong

by Anne McCaffrey

“So I’ll be right back, Menolly, and if you need anything after that, just shout for Sanra. She’s below on the Floor, minding the little ones, and she knows she’s to listen for you.”

  As Menolly worked her way through the generous meal Mirrim brought, she reflected on some harsh truths. Definitely Mavi had given her the distinct impression that she’d never be able to use her hand again. Yet Mavi was too skilled a healer not to have known that the knife had missed the finger tendons. She had deliberately let the hand heal with drawn flesh. It was painfully clear to Menolly that Mavi, as well as Yanus, had not wanted her to be able to play again.

  Grimly Menolly vowed that she’d never, never return to Half-Circle. Her reflections made her doubt Manora’s assurance that she could stay at Benden Weyr. No matter, she could run away again. Run she could, and live holdless. And that’s what she’d do. Why, she’d run across all Pern…And why not? Menolly became pleased with the notion. Indeed, there was nothing to stop her running right to the Masterharperhall in Fort Hold. Maybe Petiron had sent her songs to Masterharper Robinton. Maybe they were more than just twiddles. Maybe…but there was no maybe about returning to Half-Circle Hold! That she would not do.

  The issue did not arise over the next few days while her feet itched—Mirrim said that was a good sign of healing—and she found herself beginning to fret with impatience at her disability.

  She also worried about her fire lizards now she wasn’t able to forage for them. But the first evening when Beauty reappeared, her little eyes darting about the chamber to be sure Menolly was alone, there was nothing of hunger in her manner. She daintily accepted the morsels that Menolly had carefully saved from her supper. Rocky and Diver appeared just as she was drifting off to sleep. However, they promptly curled themselves up to sleep against the small of her back, which they wouldn’t have done if they’d been hungry.

  They were gone the next morning, but Beauty lingered, stroking her head against Menolly’s cheek until she heard footsteps in the corridor. Menolly shooed her away, telling her to stay with the others.

  “I know it’s boring to stay abed,” Mirrim agreed the third morning with a weary sigh that told Menolly Mirrim would gladly have swapped places, “but it’s kept you out of Lessa’s way. Since the…well,” and Mirrim censored what she’d been about to say. “With Ramoth broody over those eggs, we’re all treading hot sands until they Hatch, so it’s better you’re here.”

  “There must be something I can do, now that I’m better. I’m good with my hands…” and then Menolly, too, halted uncertainly.

  “You could help Sanra with the little ones if you would. Can you tell any stories?”

  “Yes, I…” and Menolly all but blurted out what she’d done at the Sea Hold, “…can at least keep them amused.”

  Weyrbred children were not like Hold children, Menolly discovered: they were more active physically, possessed of insatiable curiosity for every detail she cared to tell them about fishing and sailing. It was only when she taught them to fashion tiny boats of sticks and wide root leaves and sent them off to sail the skiffs in the Weyr lake that she had any rest the first morning.

  In the afternoon, she amused the younger ones by recounting how T’gran had rescued her. Thread was not as automatically horrifying to Weyr children as it would be to Holders, and they were far more interested in her running and rescue than in what she was running from. Unconsciously she fell into a rhyming pattern and caught herself up sharply just before she’d conceived a tune. The children didn’t seem to notice fortunately, and then it was time to peel tubers for the evening meal,

  It was difficult to subdue that little tune as she worked. Really it had exactly the cadence of her running stride…

  “Oh!”

  “Did you cut yourself?” asked Sanra from the other side of the table.

  “No,” replied Menolly, and she grinned with great good humor. She had just realized something very important. She wasn’t in the Sea Hold any longer. And no one here knew about her harpering. Likewise no one would know if it were her own songs she hummed when she felt like humming. So she began to hum her running song, and was doubly pleased with herself because the tune matched her paring strokes, too.

  “It’s a relief to hear someone happy,” remarked Sanra, smiling encouragingly at Menolly.

  Menolly realized then that she’d been vaguely aware all day of the fact that the atmosphere in the living cavern reminded her of those times when the fishing fleet was overdue in a storm and everyone was “waiting.” Mirrim was very worried about Brekke but she wouldn’t say why, and Menolly was reluctant to broach the girl’s sad reserve.

  “I’m happy because my feet are healing,” she told Sanra and then hurried on, “but I wish someone would tell me what’s wrong with Brekke, I know Minim’s worried sick about her…”

  Sanra stared at Menolly for a moment. “You mean, you haven’t heard about…” she lowered her voice and glanced about to make sure they weren’t overheard, “…about the queens?”

  “No. No one tells girls anything in the Sea Hold.”

  Sanra looked surprised but accepted the explanation. “Well, Brekke used to be at Southern, you did know that? Good. And when F’lar banished all the rebellious Oldtimers to Southern, the Southerners had to go somewhere. Tbor became Weyrleader at Fort Hold, Kylara…” and Sanra’s usually gentle voice became hard, “Kylara was Weyrwoman for Prideth, with Brekke and Wirenth…” Sanra was having enough trouble telling the tale so Menolly was very glad she hadn’t asked Mirrim. Wirenth rose to mate, but Kylara…” and the name was spoken with intense hatred, “Kylara hadn’t taken Prideth far enough away. She was close to mating, too, and when Wirenth flew the bronzes, she rose, and…”

  There were tears in Sanra’s eyes, and she shook her head, unable to continue.

  “Both queens…died?”

  Sanra nodded.

  “Brekke’s alive, though…Isn’t she?”

  “Kylara lost her mind, and we’re desperately afraid that Brekke will lose hers…” Sanra mopped the tears from her face, sniffing back her sorrow.

  “Poor Mirrim. And she’s been so good to me!”

  Sanra sniffed again, this time from pique.

  “Mirrim likes to think she’s got the cares of the Weyr on her shoulders.”

  “Well, I’ve a lot more respect for her the way she keeps on going when she’s worried sick than if she crept off someplace and just felt sorry for herself.”

  Sanra stared at Menolly. “No need to bristle at me, girl, and if you keep on stabbing your knife that way, you will cut yourself.”

  “Will Brekke be all right?” asked Menolly after a few minutes’ strict attention to her peeling.

  “We hope so,” but Sanra didn’t sound confident. “No, we do. You see, Ramoth’s clutch is about to hatch, and Lessa is certain that Brekke could Impress the queen. You see, she can speak to any of the dragons, the way Lessa can, and Grall and Berd are always with her…Here comes Mirrim.”

  Menolly had to admit that Mirrim, who only numbered the same Turns as she did, did assume an officious manner. She could understand that an older woman like Sanra might not take kindly to it. Yet Menolly had no fault to find with Mirrim’s ministrations. And she let the girl bustle her off to her cubicle to change the bandages.

  “You’ve been on them all day, and I want to be sure no dirt’s in the scabs,” she said, briskly.

  Menolly obediently lay on her stomach in the bed and then tentatively suggested that perhaps tomorrow she could change her own bandages and save Mirrim some work.

  “Don’t be silly. Feet are very awkward, but you’re not. You should just hear C’tarel complain. He got Threadscored during the last Fall. You’d think he was the only one ever in the world scored. And besides, Manora sad I was to take care of you. You’re easy, you don’t moan, groan, complain, and swear like C’tarel. Now, these are healing nicely. In spite of the way it might feel to you. Manora says that feet hurt worse than any part of your body, but h
ands. That’s why it seems much worse to you, I expect.”

  Menolly had no argument and breathed a sigh of relief that the painful session was now over. “You taught the weyrlings how to make those little boats, didn’t you?” Menolly flipped over, startled, and wondering if she’d done wrong, but Mirrim was grinning.

  “You should have seen the dragons snorting them about the lake.” Mirrim giggled. “Having the grandest time. I haven’t laughed so much in weeks. There you are!” And Mirrim bustled away on some other errand.

  The following day Mirrim hovering beside her, Menolly walked slowly and not too painfully through the living cavern and into the main kitchen cavern for the first time.

  “Ramoth’s eggs are just about to Hatch,” Mirrim told her as she placed Menolly at one of the worktables along the back side of the huge cave. “There’s nothing wrong with your hands, and we’ll need all the help we can get for the feast…”

  “And maybe your Brekke will be better?”

  “Oh, she’s got to be, Menolly, she’s got to be.” Mirrim scrubbed her hands together anxiously. “If she isn’t, I don’t know what will become of her and F’nor. He cares so much. Manora’s as worried about him as she is about Brekke…”

  “It’ll all come right, Mirrim. I’m sure it will,” Menolly said, putting all the confidence she could muster into her voice.

  “Oh, do you really think So?” Mirrim dropped her pose of bustling efficiency and was briefly a young, bewildered girl in need of reassurance.

  “I most certainly do!” And Menolly was angry with Sanra’s unkind statements of the day before. “Why, when I thought I’d be scored to death, T’gran appeared. And when I thought they’d all be Threaded…” Menolly hastily shut her mouth, frantically trying to think of something to fill that gap. She’d almost told Mirrim about saving the fire lizards.

  “They must belong to somebody,” a man said in a loud, frustrated tone of voice.

  Two dragonriders entered the kitchen cavern, slapping dusty gloves against sandy boots and loosening their riding belts.

  “They could be attracted by the ones we have, T’gellan.”

  “Considering how badly we need the creatures…”

  “In the egg…”

  “It’s a raking nuisance to have a whole flaming fair that no one will claim!”

  The next thing Menolly knew, Beauty appeared over her head, gave a terrified squawk and landed on Menolly’s thinly clad shoulder. Beauty wrapped her tail, choking tight, about Menolly’s neck and buried her face into her hair. Rocky and Diver seized the cloth of her shirt in their claws, struggling to burrow into her arms. The air was full of frightened fire lizards, diving at her; and Mirrim, who made no attempt to defend herself, stared with utter amazement at Menolly.

  “Mirrim? Do they belong to you after all?” cried T’gellan as he strode towards their table. “No, they’re not mine.” Mirrim pointed to Menolly. “They’re hers.”

  Menolly was speechless, but she managed to contain Rocky and Diver. The others took refuge on ledges above her, broadcasting fear and uncertainty. She was just as confused as the fire lizards, because why were they in the Weyr? And the Weyr seemed to know about fire lizards, and…

  “We’ll soon know whose they are,” said a woman’s angry voice, carrying clearly in the pause. A small, slim woman in riding gear came striding purposefully into the main section of the kitchen cavern. “I asked Ramoth to speak to them…”

  She was followed by another rider. “Over here, Lessa,” T’gellan said, beckoning, but his gaze did not leave Menolly’s.

  At the sound of that name, she struggled out of the chair, with the fire lizards squawking and trying to retain their balance and hold on her. All Menolly could think of was to keep out of Lessa’s way, but she got tangled up in the chairs about the table and painfully stubbed her toes. Mirrim grabbed her arm, trying to make her sit down, and there seemed to be more fire lizards than Menolly could claim circling over her head and chittering wildly.

  “Will someone quiet this lot?” demanded the small, dark woman, confronting Menolly, her fists on her riding belts, her eyes snapping with anger. “Ramoth! if you would…”

  Abruptly, complete silence reigned in the huge kitchen cavern. Menolly felt Beauty trembling more violently than ever against her neck, and the talons of the two bronzes dug into her arms and sides.

  “That’s better,” said Lessa, her eyes brilliant. “And who are you? Are these all yours?”

  “My name is Menolly, please and,” Menolly glanced up nervously at all the fire lizards perched silently with whirling eyes on ledges and hanging from the ceiling, “not all of these are mine.”

  “Menolly?” Some of Lessa’s anger abated in her perplexity. “Menolly?” She was trying to place the name.

  “Manora told you about her, Lessa,” said Mirrim, which Menolly thought greatly daring and very much appreciated. “T’gran rescued her from Threadfall. She’d run her feet raw.”

  “Ah, yes. So, Menolly, how many fire lizards do look to you?”

  Menolly was trying to figure out whether Lessa was annoyed or pleased, and if she had too many fire lizards would she be sent back to Half-Circle. She felt Mirrim prod her in the ribs.

  “These,” Menolly indicated the three clinging to her and felt Mirrim dig her again, “and only six of those up there.”

  “Only six of those up there?”

  Menolly saw Lessa’s fingers drumming on her wide riding belt; she heard one of the dragonriders muffling a sound; and glancing up saw that he had his hand over his mouth. But his eyes were dancing with laughter. Then she dared look at Lessa’s face and saw the slight smile on the Weyrwoman’s face.

  “That’s makes nine, I think,” Lessa said. “Just how did you contrive to impress nine fire lizards, Menolly?”

  “I didn’t contrive. I was in the cave when they hatched, and they were hungry, you see. I’d a sackful of spiderclaws so I fed them…”

  “Cave? Where?” Lessa’s words were crisp but not unkind.

  “On the coast. Above Nerat, by the Dragon Stones.”

  T’gellan uttered an exclamation. “You were living in that cave? I found jars and pots…no sign of fire lizard shells.”

  “I didn’t think fire lizards clutched in caves,” Lessa remarked.

  “It was only because the tide was high and the clutch would have been washed away. I helped the queen put them into the cave.”

  Lessa regarded Menolly steadily for a long moment. “You helped the fire lizard?”

  “Yes, you see I’d fallen over the cliff, and they—the queen and her bronzes, from the old clutch, not these here,” and Menolly jerked her chin at Beauty, Rocky and Diver, “they wouldn’t let me get off the beach until I helped them.”

  T’gellan was staring at her, but the other two riders were grinning broadly. Then Menolly saw that Mirrim, too, was smiling with delight. More unbelievable to Menolly in her confusion, was the fact that a little brown fire lizard was perched on Mirrim’s shoulder, intently staring at Beauty who wouldn’t take her head out of Menolly’s hair.

  “I’d like to hear the whole story, in sequence, one day,” Lessa said. “Right now, will you please keep your lot under control and with you? They’re upsetting Ramoth and all the others. Nine, eh?” And Lessa sighed, turning away. “When I think where I could use nine eggs to good purpose…”

  “Please…do you need more fire lizard eggs?” Lessa whirled so fast that Menolly took an involuntarily backward step.

  “Of course we need fire lizard eggs! Where have you been that you don’t know?” She turned on T’gellan. ‘You’re wingleader. Didn’t you inform all the sea holds?”

  “Yes, I did, Lessa,” and T’gellan looked straight at Menolly now, “just about the time Menolly first disappeared from her hold. Right, Menolly? The sweep riders have been on the lookout for her ever since, but she was holed up snug as you please in that cave, with nine fire lizards.”