“I don’t know,” Kindan replied, scanning the newer entry quickly. With a sigh, he picked up the next Record and the next and then—“Wait!”
Vaxoram and Koriana jumped, startled.
“Right here it says: ‘The weyrfolk are not yet recovered from their losses. Thank the First Egg that Thread is not due any time soon or the dragonriders would be reduced to tending their own injuries.’”
“But that’s nearly twenty Turns after the illness!” Vaxoram protested, shaking his head violently. “Something else must have happened, something in the lost Records.”
“And why weren’t the dragonriders affected?” Koriana wondered skeptically.
Kindan shrugged.
“If the Records are incomplete, we won’t find anything useful here,” Koriana noted sadly.
Nodding absently, Kindan continued to scan the new Records, one after the other. Suddenly he shouted in surprise. “Listen to this: ‘It’s been five months since my arrival and the Weyr is showing its first signs of elation since the illness nineteen Turns ago. The Hatching and the birth of several new babies has cheered everyone, even those who were sent from the Holds to live in the Weyr. I am now beginning to feel that Benden Weyr might recover.’”
“Recover?” Koriana repeated, shocked at this deeper revelation.
“We’ve got to tell M’tal,” Kindan said, rising from his seat hastily.
“Tell him what?” Vaxoram asked.
“That the Weyrs can’t help the Holds fight this illness,” Kindan answered. His face drained of all color as the full impact of his words registered. He didn’t know if the illness of today was the same or even similar to that described in the Records. But just as he didn’t know, he also didn’t know if the current illness might be even more virulent than that mentioned in the Records. In less than twelve Turns, Thread would fall again on Pern—and there had to be dragonriders ready to fight it. “We can’t let the weyrfolk catch it, or the Weyrs won’t be able to fight Thread when it comes.”
“That’s awful!” Koriana protested. “What will the holders do? How will they survive?”
“They can’t survive Thread if there are no dragonriders able to fight it,” Kindan declared.
“It’s not enough to tell M’tal,” Vaxoram said heavily. “We must tell all the Weyrs of Pern.”
All the Weyrs? Kindan thought bleakly. This sort of decision was properly the work of the Masterharper. But time was of the essence: If any weyrfolk were exposed, they might spread the illness throughout their Weyr. This wasn’t the time to talk, to ask permission—this was the time to act. Kindan pursed his lips for a moment, then said, “The drums.”
Vaxoram sprang out of his seat and gestured for Kindan to precede him. “Do you know where they are?”
“Up,” Kindan said, turning to the stairs just outside the Records Room.
“Kindan!” Koriana called urgently, trailing after them.
“What?”
“Don’t get near any weyrfolk or dragonriders,” Koriana said. “Remember, the dragonriders are immune, but they could pass it on to the weyrfolk.”
“Too late,” Kindan replied.
“Any more weyrfolk, then,” Koriana corrected. “If we’ve caught the illness already, we must limit their contact with us.”
“Right,” Vaxoram agreed, pressing close behind Kindan.
“Tell M’tal!” Kindan called back, increasing his pace up the stairs.
Six floors up, they reached the end of the stairway.
“This way!” Kindan said, pointing left, to the east. Vaxoram trotted after him steadily. Kindan was breathless from the climb but he didn’t slow down. The sooner the Weyrs knew, the better. It might already be too late for some.
He spotted a set of stairs set off the corridor and took them up into the brilliant light of midday. He and Vaxoram trotted past the awesome Star Stones, in search of the enclosed space where they knew the Weyr’s drum would be stored.
“Help me with this,” Kindan said as he came upon the doors. Vaxoram grunted in agreement and grabbed the handle of one of the two double doors and yanked while Kindan yanked on the other.
Quickly they grabbed the huge drum, larger than that up in the Harper Hall drumheights, and rolled it out into the open air. They had no trouble spotting the drum’s proper location, for there was a depression in the stone from hundreds of Turns of previous usage. Together they set up the drum and Kindan tapped a quick test.
He looked at Vaxoram. “Are we doing the right thing?”
“Easier to be wrong and apologize than right and see Thread,” Vaxoram assured him. Koriana crested the stairs as he finished.
“He’s right,” Koriana agreed bleakly. “We’ll know soon enough if this illness is like the other. If it isn’t, the dragonriders will be able to help.” She paused, thinking of her father, her family, and her Hold. “But for now, we must protect the dragonriders.”
With a final frown, Kindan nodded and balled his fists together. With all his might he tapped out the message as it formed in his mind:
Emergency. Emergency. Emergency. Emergency. Weyrs must not aid Holders. Danger to weyrfolk.
The great booming of the drum echoed in Kindan’s ears, limbs, and chest. He could see the vibrations shake Vaxoram’s hair, and even set the older apprentice off balance.
As the last of the message died out, Kindan was surprised to see a huge brown dragon appear beside them.
“Stay away!” Kindan shouted. “We might be contagious!”
“I’m K’tan, Weyr Healer,” the dragonrider replied. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Spreading the warning,” Kindan said. “The Weyrs must be warned.”
“Banging a drum won’t do that,” K’tan replied sourly. Kindan gave him a shocked look. “Think, lad! Who’s alive to relay the message?” He gestured toward the distant drums. “We haven’t had a message in a fortnight.”
Kindan was staggered. No drummers to pass on messages? This flu was that bad? Then he remembered the last interrupted message that had come to the Harper Hall. People were dying on Pern, even drummers.
“The Weyrs must be warned!” he cried. “The weyrfolk are in danger.”
“The Weyrs have been warned,” K’tan assured him, patting the side of his great brown dragon affectionately. “My dragon has told Salina’s Breth and Benden’s queen dragon has told the rest of the Weyrs. They all know about the danger now.”
Kindan sighed in relief.
“The question now is: What can we do?” K’tan asked.
“We can return to the Harper Hall,” M’tal announced, emerging from the stairway down to the Weyr.
A movement near K’tan’s brown caught Kindan’s attention—it was M’tal’s bronze Gaminth. The dragon settled carefully near the Star Stones.
“I’m going back with them,” M’tal informed K’tan. “Salina knows; she’s in our Weyr. She’ll stay there in quarantine until we can be certain she’s not contagious. Make arrangements to feed her, but let no one come close.”
“And if she gets ill?” K’tan asked anxiously.
“She shouldn’t,” Kindan said, “she’s dragonfolk.”
“But we don’t know yet for certain if that is enough,” K’tan replied, his expression grim.
M’tal shook his head. “Do your best for her but don’t risk yourself.”
K’tan gave him a startled, then rebellious look.
M’tal looked to Kindan, who turned to the Weyr Healer and said, “The Records say it took the Weyr nearly twenty Turns to recover from the last illness—”
“And we can’t risk that when we’ve less than twelve Turns before the Red Star returns,” M’tal finished for him.
“The Records spoke only of weyrfolk, not riders,” Koriana protested.
“The Records weren’t very accurate,” M’tal said. He turned back to K’tan. “The Records Room should also be quarantined. We believe this illness does not affect dragonriders, but we can’t be cer
tain.”
“How long does it last?” K’tan asked.
“We don’t know,” Kindan replied. “It seems to incubate in two to three sevendays.”
“Then wait a month, at least, to be safe,” K’tan said.
M’tal nodded. “I’ll see you in a month!”
He gestured for the others to precede him to bronze Gaminth.
“We’ll be waiting,” K’tan replied, bowing over his dragon’s neck.
CHAPTER 9
With yellow and black over hall and hold
Perils and pains do then unfold
Harper, crafter, holder pray
That you may live another day.
HARPER HALL
As Gaminth burst from between into the early morning over Fort Hold and the Harper Hall, Kindan leaned out over the dragon’s neck to peer down below looking for any signs of life. He saw none. His throat tightened as he turned his attention to Fort Hold’s main walls, searching for any sign of guards on the parapets. His grunt of relief was echoed by the others as they all spotted a tiny guard moving purposefully along the walls. But their relief was short-lived.
“Look!” Koriana called as the first hints of morning wind flickered through the valley, blowing on the Hold’s tall flagstaff. A small yellow pennant with a black dot fluttered in the breeze.
“Quarantine,” Kindan said, his shoulders slumping. The illness was in Fort Hold. He turned his attention to the Harper Hall’s flagpole—it, too, had a yellow pennant fluttering from it and, although he couldn’t see it, he was sure that it also bore the black dot of quarantine.
A bellow from the meadow greeted them, and as Gaminth circled back toward the Landing Meadow, Kindan spotted a small blue dragon rearing up.
“J’trel is still here,” Kindan said.
“I wonder why?” Koriana said, her voice carrying over Vaxoram to Kindan’s ears.
“We’ll know soon enough,” Vaxoram said.
In a moment Gaminth was on the ground. M’tal handed Vaxoram down, who aided him in helping Koriana, then Kindan dismount. Finally M’tal leapt down himself.
They started off toward the Harper Hall but hadn’t gone a few steps before J’trel’s blue, Talith, bugled warningly at them. Seconds later, they heard J’trel shouting, “Stay there!”
M’tal glanced toward the blue rider who was running out from under the archway of the Harper Hall, carrying something in a carisak cradled against his chest with one hand. With the free hand, J’trel urged them to stand still.
“I’m going to drop the drum out of the sak,” J’trel called. “You can use it to communicate.”
“Very well,” M’tal said. He turned to his dragon. “Gaminth, ask Talith what is going on?”
A moment later M’tal seemed to stagger, then catch himself as Vaxoram rushed to his aid.
“The sickness has reached both the Harper Hall and Fort,” M’tal said. As they already knew that, Kindan waited for the other strand. “Three people in the Harper Hall have died.”
“Died?” Koriana cried.
“Many more are ill,” M’tal continued. “The Masterharper is coughing, which is the first sign.”
J’trel stopped a good dragonlength from them, knelt, and gently upended his carisak so that a small drum fell out. He then backed away.
Kindan and the others moved forward. When they reached the drum, Vaxoram gestured to Kindan, saying simply, “You’re better.”
Kindan picked the drum up and was surprised to see that it was one of his own making, the second he’d ever made. It wasn’t perfect but was sturdy and serviceable.
Harper ready, Kindan rapped out with one hand. Then, thinking better of how long he might be drumming, he sat down on the cool, damp ground with his legs crossed and the drum cradled just above the ground so that its sound would carry better.
Do any of you have fever? A message boomed back. Kindan could tell by the other’s style that the drummer was Masterharper Murenny himself.
No, Kindan responded, as he relayed to the others, “Master Murenny asks if any of us have fever.”
Do any of you have a cough? Murenny asked.
“None of us have been coughing recently, have we?” Kindan asked, turning to glance up at the other three, standing behind him.
“No,” M’tal said. “And no one at the Weyr, either.”
No, and none at the Weyr, Kindan rapped back.
You are probably free from infection, Murenny responded. Kindan thought that his drumming sounded a bit weaker than before.
“He says we probably don’t have the infection,” Kindan relayed. He turned to M’tal. “You should go to back to the Weyr.”
M’tal bristled. “I don’t take orders from a—” he cut himself short and shook his head apologetically. “You’re right, I apologize for snapping at you.” He gestured toward the Harper Hall. “Ask him what the Weyrs can do.”
Kindan beat the message out and waited. Then he frowned and added a longer message, explaining about the dangers to the Weyr.
They can do nothing, Murenny responded after a long silence. We cannot risk the Weyrs.
“Master Murenny says for you to do nothing,” Kindan said.
“You told him about the Records at Benden,” Koriana remarked.
“Of course.”
M’tal pursed his lips, clearly not liking the answer.
“If your riders come into contact with the contagion, there’s no way they can avoid bringing it back to the Weyr,” Kindan reminded him.
“I know that,” M’tal said with a touch of acerbity in his voice. He looked away, back toward his dragon for a moment and then said, “J’trel suggests that perhaps we could drop food.”
“Where would you get the food?” Koriana asked. “It’s nearly winter. The livestock may starve because there’s no one to tend them.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Kindan said, the color draining from his face.
“We hadn’t seen anything in the Records,” Vaxoram remarked.
“That may be because they all starved,” Koriana pointed out.
“We hadn’t looked all that far before we went to Benden,” Kindan reminded them.
“What will happen if we lose the livestock?” M’tal asked Koriana.
“The Weyrs have some herds of their own, don’t they?” Kindan asked.
“Yes,” M’tal replied. “But they’re for feeding dragons and they get replenished by Holder herds at regular intervals. We couldn’t grow back all the herds of Pern from those of the Weyrs.”
“Then we’re doomed,” Vaxoram said.
Kindan nodded solemnly. “We can save the Weyrs, maybe save some holders, but they’ll just starve later.”
“No,” M’tal replied firmly. “There has to be another way.”
“Some livestock will survive,” Koriana declared. “Not everyone will catch this illness and some of those are bound to be in the small herdholds.”
“But will enough survive to feed the survivors?” Kindan countered.
“Murenny must have thought of this,” M’tal said, glancing toward the Harper Hall. He looked back to Kindan, noting the bronze fire-lizard hovering over him. “You can have your Valla send us messages, have her drop them on the Star Stones.”
“I can do that as long as I don’t have a fever or cough,” Kindan corrected him.
“Then let’s hope you don’t get one,” M’tal replied with a ghost of a smile.
“My Koriss can learn, too,” Koriana offered, then her face fell and she glanced over to Kindan. “But Kindan still has to teach me.”
“Your father may have something to say about that,” M’tal replied. He glanced toward Fort Hold. “And I think I’d best return you to him now.”
Kindan understood M’tal’s motivation—Koriana might not be a danger to the weyrfolk, but that was not certain, and as she was a Lord Holder’s daughter, she would want to be with her family.
Koriana looked torn, clearly wanting to stay with Kindan, yet also worr
ied about her Hold and family. After a moment she nodded glumly. “But can I ask you and Vaxoram to turn your backs for a moment?”
M’tal raised an eyebrow at her questioningly, but she met his gaze steadily. The Weyrleader’s eyes softened and he turned away, gesturing for Vaxoram to do the same.
Koriana stared at them for a moment, then turned to Kindan and gestured for him to stand up. He did so reluctantly, worried about the Harper Hall, the deaths, and whatever was happening on Pern.
Koriana closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around him, burying her head against his shoulder. He felt her body shake with sobs before he heard them from her throat. He hugged her tightly, and then she moved her head and her lips latched onto his and she was kissing him, deeply, passionately, despairingly.
“What about your honor?” Kindan asked as they finally broke apart, staring deeply into each other’s eyes.
“What is honor without love?” Koriana replied, raising a hand and brushing it gently against his cheek. “We may never see each other again.”
“I know,” Kindan replied, the words tearing his heart. “I love you.”
“I love you,” Koriana said, leaning forward and parting her lips once more. Their kiss this time was less frantic, more sensual and intimate. When at last they finally broke apart it was because their lungs were protesting and their hearts beating too rapidly to survive another moment in such an intense embrace.
“I’ll see you again,” Kindan declared. “And then we’ll get your father to agree.”
Koriana smiled, but Kindan could tell that she couldn’t quite believe him.
“Until then,” she said, stepping back and releasing his hand.
“I’m ready,” Koriana declared loudly to M’tal. M’tal looked back then, as did Vaxoram.
“Then let me escort you to the gates,” M’tal said, gesturing for her to precede him.
Kindan bent over and picked up his drum. He turned to Vaxoram. The Harper Hall was his home—there was no place he would rather be. “Let’s go.”
“Masterharper Murenny is ill,” Master Archivist Resler said, approaching them just as they exited the archway into the Harper Hall. “You’re to go help Master Lenner.”
Anne Mccaffrey_ Dragonriders of Pern 20 Page 18