He looked at the top of the page for the author’s marks: Harper Bellam, Benden Hold, Second Month, year 389 After Landing.
The next page had no marks. Kindan frowned and turned to the page after it. It had author’s marks: Lord Kenex, Benden Hold, AL390.5.
Lord Kenex? Kindan thought.
“Conar, look at this,” he called. Conar jumped up and stood behind Kindan, peering down at the Record.
“Could you imagine a Lord Holder with such poor handwriting?” Kindan asked. He knew already that Conar’s writing was not very good, but even it was far better than the scrawling on the page in front of him.
“That is odd,” Conar agreed. He traced some of the writing with his finger. “It looks like either the person had a bad stylus or they weren’t very used to it.” He cocked his head to one side. “A child?”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Vaxoram chimed in from his stack. “That’s written on paper, right? That’s too expensive to let a child have.” There was an awkward silence; Conar had been allowed to use paper for his drawings. Vaxoram noticed it and added, “I mean for writing, of course.”
“What does it mean?” Conar asked.
Kindan shrugged. “I’ll see what it says,” he replied, peering down at the Record.
Conar returned to his own table, but a moment later he let out an exclamation. “There’s bad handwriting here, too!”
“What year?” Kindan asked.
“Year?” Conar repeated blankly, then looked down. Once again, he snorted. “There isn’t a year.”
“What about the Record before?”
Conar gave him a dirty look but turned back to the previous page, scanning the top quickly. “Journeyman Metalar, Bitra Hold, Third Month, year 389 After Landing,” he read. He looked up at Kindan and shrugged. “So?”
But Kindan was already moving to the desk that Verilan had abandoned when called away by Master Resler. Piled on the desk were the records from Lemos Hold. Kindan turned quickly until he came to entries from the year 389 After Landing.
“What are you doing?” Conar demanded, craning his neck around to watch Kindan. “Master Resler will know which stack you were working on.”
“It’s not working,” Kindan returned tetchily, “it’s researching.”
“‘It’s makework, best left to unemployed drudges,’” Vaxoram said, quoting Resler’s sour opinion.
Kindan ignored him, turning through the Records carefully. Harper Lorkin had good handwriting; his marks were clear and easily read. Kindan scanned the pages—389, 389, 389, 389, 390—what?
Kindan peered down at the entry in surprise. The author’s marks read: Harper Lorkin, Lemos Hold, AL 390.5. Frowning he turned back to the previous Record: Harper Lorkin, Lemos Hold, Fourth Month, year 389 After Landing. What had caused the harper to so change his style? And why did he not leave any Records for a whole Turn? Kindan peered down to the contents of the Record itself.
“I write this with great regret: We are a sadly reduced Hold,” read the first line. “Fields lie fallow, huts are still empty, or, worse, home to carrion that feed on unburied bones.”
Kindan tore his eyes from the Record and sat back, stunned.
“Kindan!” Master Resler’s voice called from the entrance. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be reading the Benden Records!”
“I think I’ve found the plague,” Kindan replied, his voice sounding loud and irreverent to his ears. He gestured to the Records. “I think I know when it started and maybe where.”
“You were supposed to be reading the Benden Records,” Master Resler repeated angrily, advancing into the Archive Room, grabbing Kindan by the ear and lifting him out of his seat. “Can’t you just do what you’re told?”
“Sorry, Master,” Kindan apologized, ducking out of Resler’s grasp and turning to face him, “but I thought I was told to find any Records of a plague.”
“In the Benden Records!” Resler growled in response, gesticulating wildly to the stack beside Conar.
“I found it there, too,” Kindan said. He gestured over to the Bitra Records. “And in Bitra, too, but the Lemos Records seem the best so far.” He turned and snagged the Record from his table. “Listen to this: ‘Fields lie fallow, huts are still empty—’”
“That’s a Record of a plague?” Resler snorted angrily. “A proper Record would have dates, and times, and—”
“I don’t think they had the time,” Kindan interrupted as politely as he could. He gestured to the Record in his hand. “I think they were so shorthanded afterward that they could only press on with their lives.”
“That’s not the way of a harper!” Resler exclaimed. He glanced down angrily at Kindan. “Have you learned nothing since you left your mine?”
Kindan could feel his cheeks burning. “The Records of Benden were kept by the Lord Holder after the plague,” he said. “I think that shows that the times were such that—”
“Lord Holders don’t keep Records!” Resler chided prissily, his jaw jutting and eyes glaring.
“The Record was marked—”
“Such impudence!” Resler roared. “Go! Get out of my sight!”
“Does that include me?” Conar asked, rising to his feet.
“Yes,” Resler replied, “it includes you. It’s time for lunch.”
Conar left but waited at the entrance for Kindan who was followed, as always, by Vaxoram.
“You aren’t much of a harper, you know,” he said as he fell in step with Kindan. “You’d think you’d know how to handle a Master by now.” He cocked his head at the silent boy. “However do you think you’ll manage a Lord Holder?”
“Maybe I won’t,” Kindan replied sourly, brushing past Conar and racing to catch up with Verilan, whom he spied at the entrance to the Dining Hall.
Catching sight of Kindan’s morose look, Verilan asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I think I found the plague,” Kindan told him, “but Master Resler doesn’t believe me.”
As if he was listening, Master Resler, who had been following behind them, called out, “Verilan! A word with you, please.”
Verilan gave Kindan an apologetic look, then headed back to his Master.
“Something bothers me,” Vaxoram said as he finished chewing on a roll. Kindan gave him a questioning look. “Well, perhaps Bitra, Lemos, and Benden were hit by this plague, but what about Benden Weyr? Why didn’t the weyrfolk help?”
“That’s a good question,” Conar said, frowning thoughtfully.
“We’ll look at their Records next,” Kindan declared.
“What about Master Resler?” Conar asked, glancing in the direction of the irritable Archivist. “It sounds like he never wants you near him or his precious Records again.”
“He’s not the Masterharper,” Vaxoram said, glancing at Kindan to see his reaction.
“But Conar’s right,” Kindan objected, “I have to learn how to work with him as well as the other Masters.”
“Maybe you could—” Vaxoram began, but a faint booming sound silenced him, as it did everyone in the Harper Hall. It was a drum message.
Emergency! Sickness in Keroon. Please help.
“It’s spreading,” Conar declared in a flat voice. No one contradicted him.
“Kindan!” Koriana called as he exited the dining hall. Kindan stopped and turned back to her, unable to keep a smile off his face. “Did I hear the drums right?”
“Depends upon what you heard,” Kelsa snipped from behind her; because she knew about Lord Bemin’s ill will toward the Masterharper, Kelsa wasn’t sure she liked Koriana’s interests in harpers—at the very least, it could mean trouble all around. Koriana’s smile faded and she moved out of the young harper’s way.
“Emergency. Sickness in Keroon,” Koriana said. She screwed up her eyes trying to remember the last. “Please help.”
“Yes,” Kindan agreed, “that’s what it said.”
“Is it the same as at Benden?” Koriana asked nervously. “Is it spre
ading?”
Kindan shook his head. “No one knows,” he said. “We only know what we hear with the drums.”
“Won’t the Weyrs go examine?” Koriana asked.
“Keroon would be beholden to Ista now that Igen’s gone,” Vaxoram remarked.
“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Kindan said. He gestured to the others. “We should get back to the Records.”
“Records?” Koriana repeated. “What are you looking at them for?”
“Signs of the plague,” Conar blurted out. Both Kindan and Vaxoram glared at him, Kindan shaking his head at the young boy’s rashness: There was no need to add to the fears already at Fort Hold. “But Master Resler—”
“Kindan!” Masterharper Murenny’s voice called down from his second-floor study.
Kindan turned and glanced up. “Yes, Master?”
Master Murenny said nothing, merely beckoning for Kindan to come up to him. Vaxoram and Conar fell in behind. A moment later, so did Koriana.
When Kindan knocked on Murenny’s door—and one always knocked on the Masterharper’s door, because no one could ever tell when he might be in the middle of something, even if he’d called for you just moments before—he expected the others to leave him alone. However, Conar pressed himself against Kindan’s back, Vaxoram drew closer, and Koriana peered around him into the Masterharper’s study.
“I see you have some companions,” Murenny remarked as he noted the three additional heads. He said apologetically to the others, “My request was only meant for Kindan.”
“Please,” Koriana said, “if it has anything to do with this illness, I’d like to hear.”
“Me, too,” Conar added quickly. Vaxoram stood in stalwart silence.
“It may,” Murenny said, pursing his lips in consideration. After a moment he nodded. “Very well, you may come in. But remember,” he cautioned, looking directly at Koriana, “this is a harper matter.”
“Surely it’s a Pern matter, Master,” Koriana replied demurely.
Murenny smiled in response.
“Harper matters are always Pern matters,” Vaxoram remarked.
“Too true!” Murenny agreed with a snort. He focused his attention on Koriana. “My point being, my lady, that it is sometimes better not to spread news that might cause panic without first determining its truth.”
“And some remedy,” Koriana said in agreement. “That is true of a Holder, too.”
“Indeed,” Murenny agreed. He turned to Kindan. “Have you made any progress in the Records?”
“Yes,” Conar said at once.
“Maybe,” Kindan temporized, glancing at Conar quellingly. “We have some indication that there was a major incident that affected Lemos, Bitra, and Benden Holds around Turn 389.”
“Mmm,” Murenny said his eyes focused on some distant point. “I see what you mean.” He glanced back to Kindan. “What do you plan to do now?”
Kindan frowned. “I, uh,—”
“Master Resler thinks we’re mussing his Records,” Vaxoram interjected. Kindan gave him a fulminating look, but the older apprentice merely shrugged.
“I am not concerned with Master Resler’s feelings in this matter,” Murenny said firmly. “Although I would caution you not to ‘muss’ his Records as you may find yourself needing them later.”
“I think we can work with him,” Kindan said.
“Don’t let his concerns stop your work,” Murenny instructed. Kindan nodded in understanding. “But you haven’t told me what you plan next.”
“I want to look at the Benden Weyr Records,” Kindan said. “I’ll have to ask Master Resler where they are; I looked but couldn’t find them.”
“I suspect that’s because they are at the Weyr itself,” Murenny replied.
“What about copies?” Conar protested.
“The duties of a Weyr harper often preclude time to make copies,” Murenny replied smoothly. He sent a darting glance to Kindan, his eyes twinkling. “For some reason, Weyr harpers seem less inclined to make copies, possibly because their Records are so extensive.”
“But I still need to see those Records,” Kindan persisted.
“Yes,” Murenny agreed. “Do you suppose your fire-lizard is up to sending a message?”
Kindan’s eyes widened at the notion. Slowly he nodded.
“Go to M’tal, Valla, to M’tal at Benden Weyr,” Kindan said, concentrating on the image of the dragonrider and his bronze Gaminth. Valla chirped in surprise and preened himself.
“Perhaps he’s too young,” Koriana suggested anxiously, stroking her own Koriss as the queen peered intently at Valla from her perch on the girl’s shoulder.
“We’ve been training for a while now,” Kindan said. He was nervous and he knew it. He and Koriana had practiced sending the two fire-lizards between to each other with much success; they had even sent notes to each other. Kindan had kept the first note from her—“Kindan, this is great! Love, Koriana”—because she’d used the word “love” in it. Their other notes had been more succinct, but Kindan still felt that there was a special warmth in Koriana’s and he knew that there was a special warmth in his responses.
“Valla, go to M’tal, make sure he gets your message,” he said again, concentrating on an image of the Weyrleader carefully removing the message from Valla’s harness.
Valla chirped once happily and disappeared, between.
“How soon until he comes back?” Conar asked curiously.
“If he comes back,” Vaxoram murmured darkly. Kindan glared at him; the elder boy returned his gaze impassively, but Kindan could still imagine how Vaxoram would have liked to have his own fire-lizard.
“Come on,” Kindan said, jerking his head toward the Archive Room. “Let’s get back to work.”
They worked until dinner, adding Keroon, Igen, and Telgar to their list.
“It spread fast,” Koriana observed as she looked over Vaxoram’s shoulder. Going over the Records from Telgar was his responsibility, but Kindan knew that reading was difficult for Vaxoram, so he surreptitiously helped or had Koriana “read over his shoulder.” Now she observed, “Less than a month to get from one Hold to the next.”
She had grown more and more pale as the day had progressed and Kindan, Conar, Vaxoram, and she had unearthed more grim records of the plague over a hundred Turns past.
“No mention of a cure,” Conar added morosely. “They tried the Minor Green Dragon decoction at Igen, but it didn’t work.”
“They tried Major Blue Green Dragon decoction at Telgar,” Kindan added, setting the Record to one side silently.
“All those deaths,” Koriana said softly, as if just to herself. “Where were the dragonriders? Why didn’t they help?”
“I don’t know,” Kindan said, shaking his head. “Perhaps there is just no mention in the Records here.”
“How come no one tried Bronze Dragon?” Vaxoram asked. “Or Gold?”
Kindan shook his head condescendingly. “The names are ancient. Some say they came from before Landing and have nothing to do with the dragons of Pern.”
“If they’re so ancient, why don’t we look in the ancient Records?” Koriana asked. “Perhaps there are remedies that have been forgotten.”
“I doubt it,” Vaxoram replied.
“Most things that work are remembered,” Kindan agreed.
“But what if they only work against a plague?” Koriana persisted. “Wouldn’t they then be forgotten until someone looks in the ancient Records?”
“Master Resler—,” Conar began cautiously.
“I can handle him,” Koriana declared, turning toward the oldest stacks of Records determinedly. The others glanced at Kindan expectantly. He stood still for a thoughtful moment then shrugged; she probably could handle Master Resler.
She pulled out a stack and brought them to an empty table. As she sat herself down, she looked over to Kindan. “I’m sorry if this will slow down your other work,” she told him. “But—”
“That’s
all right,” Kindan said. “Vaxoram will keep working.”
“But he can’t read,” Koriana declared, brows furrowed quizzically. “Didn’t you know?”
Conar gave a grunt of surprise and Vaxoram turned bright red, looking anxiously at Kindan.
“I meant to talk to you about it,” Kindan said slowly. For some time he’d guessed, which is why he’d asked the Masterharper about reading in dim light over a sevenday before. “Some people have trouble with letters. That doesn’t mean they’re dumb, some of the smartest people have this problem—” he didn’t get any further, Vaxoram ran out of the room.
“I’d better go after him,” Kindan said after a moment. He glanced consideringly at Koriana, thinking of his duties and his responsibility to avoid making trouble for the Masterharper. “Your parents will be worried about you—”
“I’ve sent a message to them,” Koriana replied peremptorily. “And shouldn’t you let Nonala or Kelsa deal with him?”
Kindan slapped his head in surprise. “Nonala and Kelsa! I hadn’t thought of them.”
Conar looked at him questioningly, his expression making clear that he couldn’t see how they could help with Vaxoram.
“They could help us search,” Kindan declared excitedly. He glanced toward the doorway and then back to Koriana, a sudden question on his mind. “Where will you sleep?”
“I was hoping to find a place near you,” Koriana replied. Across the distance Kindan could see her dimples stand out. He felt a flush of excitement roar through his veins. It was a moment before he recovered his senses. “I’d better go after Vaxoram and see if Nonala and Kelsa will help.”
Kindan found Vaxoram standing outside in the courtyard. The night air was chilly and Kindan found himself shivering as he approached the older apprentice. Vaxoram’s head was craned up to the brilliant night sky. The Dawn Sisters could just be seen and there, still faint but pulsing menacingly, was the Red Star. In less than a dozen Turns it would approach close enough to send Thread crashing down upon Pern; the only protection was the flaming breath of dragons and the courage of their riders.
Anne Mccaffrey_ Dragonriders of Pern 20 Page 14