Harper Hall - Dragonsong

by Anne McCaffrey

  “I heard all about the clutch, but I’ve been so busy, up, down, in, out, running errands for Manora that I simply haven’t had a moment!”

  Menolly suppressed a grin. Mirrim sounded exactly like Felena.

  Then Mirrim cocked her head at Menolly. “You know, you look so much nicer in proper clothes that I didn’t recognize you. Now, if we can only get you to smile once in a while…”

  Just then a little brown lizard glided in to land on Mirrim’s shoulder, snuggling affectionately up to her neck, and peering at Menolly from under her chin.

  “Is he yours?”

  “Yes, this is Tolly, and I have two greens, Reppa and Lok. And I’ll make it very plain that three is quite enough for me. How ever did you manage to feed nine? They’re so ravenous all the time!”

  The last of Menolly’s awkwardness with her friend disappeared as she recounted how she had coped with her fair of fire lizards.

  The evening meal was then ready, and Mirrim, ignoring Menolly’s protests that she was able to fetch her own, served them both. T’gellan joined their table and managed to coax Beauty, much to Menolly’s amazement, to accept some food from his knife.

  “Don’t be surprised,” Mirrim told Menolly with just a touch of condescension. “These greedy guts will eat what’s offered from anyone. But that doesn’t mean that they’ll look to whoever feeds them. Besides, with nine…” She rolled her eyes so expressively that T’gellan chuckled.

  “She’s jealous, so she is, Menolly.”

  “I am not. Three’s quite enough, though…I would’ve liked a queen. Let’s see if Beauty will come to me. Grall does.”

  Mirrim concentrated on coaxing Beauty to accept a piece of meat while T’gellan teased her, rather unfairly Menolly thought; but Mirrim returned his jibes with a few tart remarks of her own in a way that Menolly would never have dared address an older man, much less a dragonrider.

  She was very tired, but it was pleasant to sit in the big kitchen cavern, listening to T’gellan, watching Mirrim coax Beauty, though it was Lazybones who finally ate from her hand. There were other small groups, chatting late over their evening meal, the women pairing with dragonriders. Menolly noticed wineskins being passed. She was surprised, at first, because the Sea Hold served wine only on very special occasions. T’gellan sent one of the weyrboys to get him cups and a skin and insisted that Menolly, as well as Mirrim, have a cup.

  “Good Benden wine is not to be refused,” he told her, filling her cup. “There, now, isn’t that the best you’ve ever tasted?”

  Menolly forebore to mention that, barring wine laced with fellis juice, it was the first. Living was certainly conducted on different rules in the Weyr.

  When the Weyr’s Harper began to play softly, more for his own pleasure than to entertain anyone in the cavern, Menolly did not restrain her fingers from tapping the rhythm. It was a song she liked, though she felt his chords were dull, which was why she began to hum her harmony when it did not discord with his. She wasn’t even aware of what she was doing until Mirrim looked up with a smile on her face.

  “That was just lovely, Menolly. Oharan? Come over here; Menolly has a new harmony for that one.”

  “No, no, I couldn’t.”

  “Why not?” demanded T’gellan, and poured a bit more wine in her glass. “A little music would give us all heart. There’re faces around here as long as a wet Turn.”

  Timidly at first, because of the older injunction against singing in front of people, Menolly joined her voice to Harper Oharan’s baritone.

  “Yes, I like it, Menolly. You’ve got a sure sense of pitch,” said Oharan so approvingly that she started to worry again.

  If Yanus knew she was singing at the Weyr…But Yanus wasn’t here and he would never know.

  “Say, can you harmonize to this one?” And Oharan broke into one of the older ballads, one in which she had always sung a counter-tune against Petiron’s melody.

  Suddenly there were other voices humming along, softly but surely. Mirrim looked around, stared suspiciously at T’gellan, and then pointed at Beauty.

  “She’s humming in tune. Menolly, however did you teach her to do that? And the others…some of them are singing, too!” Mirrim was wide-eyed with amazement.

  Oharan kept on playing, nodding at Mirrim to be quiet so they could all hear the fire lizards while T’gellan craned his head and cocked his ears, first at Beauty, then at Rocky and Diver and Brownie who were near him.

  “I don’t believe it,” said T’gellan.

  “Don’t scare them! Just let them do it,” said Oharan in a low voice as he modulated his chords into another verse.

  They finished the song with the fire lizards humming obediently along with Menolly. Mirrim demanded then to know how on earth Menolly had gotten h er lizards to sing with her.

  “I used to play and sing for them in the cave, you know, to keep us company. Just little twiddles.”

  “Just little twiddles! I’ve had my three much longer, and I never even knew they liked music.”

  “Just shows that you don’t know all there is to know, doesn’t it, young Mirrim?” teased T’gellan.

  “Now that isn’t fair,” Menolly interceded and then hiccuped. To her embarrassment she hiccuped again.

  “How much wine have you been giving her, T’gellan?” demanded Mirrim, frowning at the bronze rider.

  “Certainly not enough to put her in her cups.”

  Menolly hiccuped again.

  “Get her some water!”

  “Hold your breath,” Oharan suggested.

  T’gellan brought water and, with quick sips, Menolly managed to stop her hiccuping. She kept insisting that she didn’t feel the wine, but she was very tired. If some one would watch the eggs…it was so late…With solicitous help, T’gellan and Oharan supported her to her sleeping chamber, Mirrim fussing at them that they were two great big numbwits who hadn’t a lick of sense between them.

  Menolly was very glad to lie down and let Mirrim remove the slippers and the new clothes and cover her. She was asleep before the fire lizards had disposed themselves about her for the night.

  Chapter 12

  Dragonman, Dragonman,

  Between thee and thine,

  Share me that glimpse of love

  Greater than mine.

  Mirrim roused Menolly early the next morning, impatiently shushing the fire lizards who hissed at her rough shaking of their mistress.

  “Menolly, wake up. We need every hand in the kitchen. The eggs will Hatch today and half Pern’s invited. Turn over. Manora’s coming to look at your feet.”

  “Ouch! You’re too rough!”

  “Tell Beauty…ouch…I’m not hurting you. Beauty! Behave or I’ll tell Ramoth!”

  To Menolly’s surprise, Beauty stopped diving at Mirrim and retreated with a squeak to the far corner of the room.

  “You were hurting me,” said Menolly, too sleepy to be tactful.

  “Well, I said I was sorry. Hmmm. Your feet really do look a lot better.”

  “We won’t use such heavy bandages today,” said Manora, entering at that moment. “The slippers give enough protection.”

  Menolly craned her head about as she felt Manora’s strong gentle fingers turn first one foot and then the other.

  “Yes, lighter bandages today, Mirrim, and salve. Tonight, no bandages at all. Wounds must have fresh air, too, you know. But you’ve done a good job. The fire lizard eggs are fine this morning Menolly.”

  With that she left, and Mirrim quickly set about dressing the feet. When she’d finished and Menolly rose to put on her clothes, her fingers lingering in the soft folds of the overshirt, Mirrim sank onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Menolly asked.

  “I’m getting all the rest I can while I can,” Mirrim replied. “You don’t know what a Hatching is like, with all those holders and crafters stumbling about the Weyr, poking here and there where they’re NOT supposed to be and getting sc
ared of and scaring the dragons and the weyrlings and the hatchlings. And the way they eat!” Mirrim rolled her eyes expressively. “You’d think they’d never seen food and…” Mirrim flopped over on the bed and started to sob wildly.

  “Mirrim, what’s the matter? Oh, it’s Brekke! Isn’t she all right? I mean, won’t she re-Impress? Sanra said that’s what Lessa hoped…”

  Menolly bent to comfort her friend, herself upset by those heart-rending sobs. Mirrim’s words were garbled by her weeping, although Menolly gathered that Mirrim didn’t want her foster-mother to re-Impress and the reason was obscure. Brekke didn’t want to live, and they had to find some way to make her. Losing her dragon was like losing half herself, and it hadn’t been Brekke’s fault. She was so gentle and sensible, and she loved F’nor, and for some reason that was unwise, too.

  Menolly just let Mirrim cry, knowing how much relief she had felt the day before when she’d wept, and hoping deep in her heart that there might be joyful tears, too, for Mirrim later that day. There had to be.

  She forgave Mirrim all her little poses and attitudes, aware that that was how Mirrim had masked her intense anxiety and grief.

  There was a rattling of the cubicle’s curtain, a squabble of fire lizard protest, and then Mirrim’s Tolly crawled under the curtain, his eyes whirling with indignation and worry. He saw Menolly stroking Mirrim’s hair and, raising his wings, made as if to launch himself at her when Beauty warbled sharply from the corner. Tolly sort of shook his wings, but when he leaped to the bed, he landed gently on the edge and remained there, his eyes first on Mirrim, then on Menolly. A moment later the two greens entered. They settled themselves on the stool, watchful but not obtrusive.

  Beauty, in her corner, kept an eye on them all.

  “Mirrim? Mirrim?” It was Sanra’s voice from the living cavern. “Mirrim, haven’t you finished Menolly’s feet yet? We need both of you! Now!”

  As Menolly rose obediently, Mirrim caught her hand and squeezed it. Then she rose, shook her skirts out and marched from the cubicle, Menolly following more slowly behind her.

  Mirrim had by no means exaggerated the amount of work to be done. It was just past sunrise, but obviously the main cooks had already been up for hours, judging by the breads—sweet, spiced and sour—cooling on long tables. Two weyrmen were trussing a huge herdbeast for the main spit and at the smaller hearths, wild wherries were being cleaned and stuffed for roasting later.

  For added protection in the busy kitchen, someone had placed the small table over her fire lizard egg basket. They were doing fine, the sand nice and warm all around. Felena caught sight of her, told her to feed herself quickly from the sauce hearth and did she know anything flavorful to do with dried fish? Or would she prefer to help pare roots?

  Menolly instantly elected to cook fish, so Felena asked what ingredients she’d need. Menolly was a little dismayed to learn the quantity she’d have to prepare. She had had no idea that so many people came to a Hatching: the number coming was more than lived at Half-CircleSea Hold.

  The knack in making the fish stew tasty was in the long baking so Menolly applied herself to prepare the huge pots quickly, to give them enough time to simmer into succulence. She did so with such dispatch that there were still plenty of roots left to pare.

  Excitement filled the air of the kitchen cavern. The mound of root vegetables in front of Menolly melted away as she listened to the chatter of the other girls and women. There was great speculation as to which of the boys, and the girls for the queen egg, would Impress the dragons to be hatched that day.

  “No one has ever re-Impressed a dragon,” said one woman wistfully. “D’you think Brekke will?”

  “No one’s ever been given the chance before.”

  “Is it a chance we should take?” asked someone else.

  “We weren’t asked,” said Sanra, glaring at the last speaker. “It’s Lessa’s idea, but it wasn’t F’nor’s or Manora’s…”

  “Something has to help her,” said the first woman. “It tears my heart to see her lying there, just lying, like the undead. I mind me of the way D’namal went. He sort of…well…faded completely away.”

  “If you’ll finish that root quickly, we can put this kettle on,” said Sanra, briskly rising. “Will all of this be eaten?” asked Menolly of the woman beside her.

  “Yes, indeed, and there’ll be some looking for more,” she said with a complacent smile. “Impression Days are good days. I’ve a fosterling and a blood son on the Hatching Ground today!” she added with understandable pride. “Sanra!” she turned her head to shout over her shoulder, “just one more largish kettle will take what’s left.”

  Then white roots had to be sliced finely, covered with herbs and placed in clay pots to bake. The succulent odors of Menolly’s fish concoction aroused compliments from Felena, who was in charge of the various hearths and ovens. Then Menolly, who was told to keep off her poor feet, helped decorate the spiced cakes. She giggled with the rest when Sanra distributed pieces of one cake about, saying they had to be certain the bake had turned out well, didn’t they?

  Menolly did not forget to turn the fire lizard eggs, or to feed her friends. Beauty stayed within sight of Menolly, but the others had been seen bathing in the lake and sunning themselves, scrupulously avoiding Ramoth, whose bugles punctuated the morning.

  “She’s always like that on Impression Day,” T’gellan told Menolly as he grabbed a quick bite to eat at her table. “Say, will you get your fire lizards to hum along with you again this evening? I’ve been called a liar because I said you’d taught them to sing!”

  “They might turn difficult and shy in front of a lot of people, you know.”

  “Well, we’ll wait till things get quiet, and then we’ll give it a try, huh. Now, I’m to see you get to the Hatching. Midafternoon, I’d say, so be ready.”

  As it happened, she wasn’t. She felt the thrumming before she heard it. She and everyone else in the cavern stopped working as one-by-one they became aware of the intensely exciting noise. Menolly gasped, because she recognized it as the same sort of sound the fire lizards had made when their eggs had hatched.

  There was suddenly no time for her to return to her cubicle and change. T’gellan appeared at the cavern entrance, gesturing urgently to her. She made as much speed as her feet would permit because she could see Monarth waiting outside the entrance. T’gellan had already taken her hand when she exclaimed over the cooking stains and wet marks on her overshirt.

  “I told you to be ready. I’ll put you in a corner, pet, not that anyone will notice stains today,” T’gellan reassured her.

  A trifle resentful, Menolly noticed that he was dressed in new dark trousers, a handsomely overstitched tunic, a belt worked with metal and jewels, but she didn’t resist.

  “I have to get you in place first, because I’m to collect some visitors,” T’gellan said, climbing nimbly into place in front of her on Monarth’s neck ridges. “F’lar’s filling the Hatching Ground with anyone who’ll ride a dragon between.”

  Monarth was awing, slanting up from the Bowl floor to an immense opening, high up on the Weyr wall, which Menolly had not noticed before. Other dragons were angling towards it, too. Menolly gasped as they entered the mouth, with a dragon before them and one abaft, so close that she had momentary fears of collision. The dark core of the tunnel was lit at the far end, and abruptly they were in the gigantic Hatching Ground.