“You’d best stay, Piemur,” she said. “I’ll need all the help I can get to put Sebell’s shoulder back in place.”
With more than a little apprehension, Piemur took up his position next to her, while Menolly and Drina, under Meria’s instructions, stood near Sebell’s head, bracing his body.
“I’ll hold on above his elbow, Piemur, and you clasp his hand. On my command I want you to pull hard and steady, and don’t stop until I tell you to.”
When Menolly and Drina were satisfied that they had a secure grasp on the other side of Sebell’s body, so he wouldn’t be pulled off the bed, Meria nodded.
Piemur braced his knees against the bed, and when Meria gave the order, he pulled for all he was worth. It seemed to take forever, and he didn’t think it was possible to pull a person’s arm that hard without it coming off in his hands, but when he felt a subtle clunk as the head of the arm bone slotted back into the socket, Piemur knew that they’d succeeded in relocating the shoulder. Sebell heaved upward, dragged out of his fellis-induced stupor by the pain of the relocation, his eyes shooting open.
“It’s all over, Sebell. Just rest now,” Meria said calmly. “Take another drink of fellis while we put some more numbweed on your shoulder.”
Sebell closed his eyes again and muttered something unintelligible, but he duly drank from the proffered cup and then slumped back against the bed, sighing heavily as Drina put numbweed all across his shoulder. Piemur glanced at Menolly and saw that all the color had drained out of her face.
“I’ve a tincture-balm I like to use when the lads get thrown about by the young stock. It helps with bruising,” Drina explained. “I’ll just put it along his shins, betwixt the cuts. He’ll be good as new right quick.” She showed Meria a little jar of salve she had tucked away in a pocket of her tunic, and Meria nodded at her, smiling.
Menolly fussed over Sebell, settling a coverlet over him after she’d placed a plump cushion between his knees to keep the weight of the blanket off his bruised legs. Very soon they heard Sebell’s breathing resolve into a steady rhythm and knew he was resting peacefully. Drina left Piemur, Menolly, and Meria to return to the demands of her family.
“I’ll stay here for the night, Piemur,” Meria told him. “To make sure he’s suffered no ill effects from what we just put him through.”
“Thanks, Meria. There was no one else we could ask to help.” He gave her a lopsided grin, then furrowed his brow slightly. “If you don’t mind, Meria, it would be best if this matter weren’t bandied about.”
“You have my silence, Piemur. Now, why don’t you let me look at that cut on your head? I can clean it up and then take a look at the other lump, too. Were you trying for a matching pair?”
They left Menolly sitting next to Sebell and went outside. Piemur sat on the stone bench under the tree while Meria assessed the cut over his ear and the lumps on his head. She cleaned the dried blood from his hair and put some numbweed on the lumps, laughing softly when he confessed that the second lump had been self-inflicted.
Just as Meria was putting the last dab of numbweed on Piemur’s head, a young girl, about twelve Turns old, came skipping toward them from the direction of the main group of cotholds.
“Hello, I’m Ais. Uncle Pergamol said to bring you some klah. I have it here.” She held up a basket in one hand; in the other, she held two fresh glowbaskets tied together with twine. “Uncle said you should come up to his cothold for the evening meal. It’ll be ready just after the light starts to fade. And he says you should stay for the afters, too.” She deposited the basket and the twined glows on the stone bench and then loped away.
Piemur and Meria sat in comfortable silence for a while, but when Piemur’s eyes began to droop, Meria wordlessly retrieved a blanket from the cothold.
“You’ve obviously been through a rough time, Piemur, so why don’t you try and rest. I’ll check on Sebell regularly, and relieve Menolly if she wants a break, so you needn’t worry about him.”
With a heartfelt smile, Piemur gladly pulled the blanket around his shoulders and curled up under the tree.
Dusk had descended on the pretty valley when Piemur at last woke up. Farli was in her usual place around the top of his head. He absently ran a hand along the length of the little queen’s body, and she cooed gently in response.
“Renegade,” he muttered fondly. He stretched deeply and then sat up. He could hear voices coming from the cothold, so he left Farli on the blanket and went to investigate.
Sebell was sitting up on the edge of the bed, talking with Menolly and Meria. A sling held his left arm across his chest. Piemur stood on the threshold, smiling at the obvious improvement in his mentor’s appearance.
“You’re looking much better,” he said.
“And I feel much better, now my shoulder’s where it should be. My legs are pleasantly numb, too, so I think I’ll join you for the evening meal—Meria says it should be ready by now. I might hobble a little, but I could do with something to eat.”
With Piemur on one side, Menolly on the other, and Meria leading the way with a lit glowbasket in either hand, they maneuvered Sebell out of the cottage and shepherded him toward Pergamol’s home. The house was already filled with chattering people. Pergamol greeted the newcomers boisterously, then introduced Sebell, Menolly, and Meria to his extended family.
“Where’s my Pie?” someone called from a seat next to the cooking fire.
Piemur hurriedly made his way past his kinfolk, quickly greeting each one as he passed by, finally stooping to hug a diminutive old woman who wore her gray hair in a long plait down her back and was smiling so much it dimpled her face.
“Ama,” Piemur said reverently, “ah, it’s so good to see you again.”
“Look how tall you are, lad!” Ama reached up a hand, trying to measure his height but falling short of reaching the top of his head. “How are you, my Pie?” she asked, and she pulled him down for another hug, her eyes bright.
“I’m fine, Ama.” He saw Menolly and Meria ushering Sebell toward him. “Ah, here, I want you to meet my friends.
“This is Ama. She fostered me when I was just a tot,” he explained. “Ama, this is Meria. She lives in the new Southern Hold, and Menolly here is a journeyman harper like me. Sebell is a journeyman masterharper. I’m training with Sebell now.”
“Ah, that’s my Pie. I knew you’d go far. You know: You never stopped warbling or crooning from the time you could first talk. You’ll sing for us tonight, Pie.” Ama’s words were spoken as a statement rather than a question. “It’s been a long time since we’ve heard any decent singing.” And the old woman looked up at her foster son, her face bright and full of expectation. Piemur was momentarily unsure of how to reply, but he knew one thing for certain: He couldn’t possibly try to sing in front of his family tonight.
“I stopped singing, Ama. When my voice broke,” Piemur blurted. Although he was standing close to Ama, and he hadn’t spoken very loudly, everyone heard what he had said, and the room plunged into a hushed silence.
A young toddler, hitched up on the hip of an older child, suddenly started crying. Someone shushed the toddler gently, and someone else made a tsking sound.
“Now, that’s a true shame, my Pie,” Ama said after an interminable silence. “I would’ve liked to hear you sing again.” Then she patted him on the shoulder. “No matter, Pie, you’ll find your way. I know you will. Just remember to listen to your instincts.”
Piemur ducked his head, embarrassed by the attention his comment had aroused, but then, as if on cue, his kin carried on with their chatter, restoring the sound in the cramped space to a bustling, comfortable buzz. Piemur tried his best to look anywhere but into the eyes of his relatives until Ama gently pushed him into a seat and placed a plate of steaming-hot food into his hands.
When everyone had eaten heartily, they set their plates asid
e and fell into easy conversation. Piemur recounted some of the adventures he’d been on, and awed his family when he described Mikay’s Impression of Nimath. After the plates had been cleared away and the family moved outside to sit around an open fire, Sebell asked Menolly and Meria to help him back to the little cothold. Piemur decided he’d had enough, too, and Drina made a big fuss over the bumps he’d taken to his head as she accompanied them back to the little house, holding a glowbasket high overhead to light the way.
While Meria and Menolly reapplied more numbweed to Sebell’s shoulder, Drina bustled around in the cothold with two enormous young lads, whom she proudly claimed were the youngest of her brood, supervising them as they set up extra woven-reed beds with clean padding and blankets for Piemur, Menolly, and Meria to sleep on. When they were finished, they said their good nights and were about to return to Pergamol’s cot, where the entertainment was still in full throat, when Drina turned to Piemur.
“Will you come back up with us, Piemur?” she asked.
“I might come up in a while, Drina. Thanks for asking,” he replied.
The three harpers and Meria, not quite ready to turn in for the night, sat for a while under the big tree. Farli and Kimi had taken up positions on a low branch, Menolly’s Beauty sitting on a higher one above them.
“Thanks for getting my shoulder back in place, Meria. I’m not sure if I said that already,” Sebell said, smiling at the diminutive woman. “I guess you’re wondering how we got in such a mess.”
“Hm,” Meria replied, smiling in return, “it is a little puzzling, Sebell. The dislocation of your shoulder isn’t that uncommon an injury, but the bruising and lacerations on your legs make me more than a little curious, particularly since you asked for my help. Why didn’t you get someone from your own Crafthall?”
“I know we have your discretion, Meria,” Sebell said, searching her face for any hesitation on her part. When she nodded, Sebell sighed, puffing out his cheeks as he made a spur-of-the-moment decision. “We were trying to get more information about some men from Nabol who, we believe, are planning to act against Hold code.” At the look of alarm on Meria’s face, he stopped speaking. She pursed her lips and then gestured for him to continue, but her response piqued Piemur’s curiosity, too. Why should Meria be concerned about the men from Nabol?
Sebell briefly explained what he and Piemur had been doing in Nabol, reassuring her, when she asked, that no harm had befallen Jaxom.
“And these men from Nabol, what will happen to them, now?” she asked, her eyes darting from Sebell’s face to Piemur’s. “What will you do, Sebell?”
This is odd, Piemur mused. Why would Meria have such an interest in Jerrol and his thugs? He could understand her concern for Jaxom’s safety, but why was she asking questions about the Nabolese men?
“I’d honestly prefer to leave them to their Lord Holder,” Sebell replied. “He is, after all, their kinsman, whether they like it or not. But I don’t think punishing them would serve any purpose, not in their situation.”
“But look what they did to you, Sebell!” Piemur cried, outrage propelling him to his feet. He stood with his fists at his side and his body thrust forward, his face suffused with anger as he stared at his mentor. Sebell merely held out one hand, gesturing to Piemur to calm down.
“Yes, Sebell, why don’t they deserve to be punished?” Menolly asked, her brows furrowing deeply.
“They’re hard men, and hardhearted, from what I witnessed,” Sebell continued. “I know they were poorly treated by Lord Meron when he was alive, so it explains a great deal. What they need is for Lord Deckter to take them in hand instead of leaving them alone.”
“You’re amazing, after the treatment you received from them,” Menolly replied, a deep scowl darkening her face.
Sebell shrugged his good shoulder and cast his gaze downward. Self-deprecating as always, Piemur thought. Sebell always seemed to look to the broader picture. Piemur sat down again, trying to calm the anger that had risen in him so quickly. He glanced at Sebell, who caught his gaze and locked eyes with him, nodding once. Then Sebell looked at Meria, searching her face—for what, Piemur couldn’t tell.
“You looked worried when I mentioned that the men who attacked us were from Nabol, Meria. Why?” Sebell asked.
Meria looked from Piemur to Sebell and Menolly, rubbing her hand along the base of her neck as she scrutinized the three harpers. She must have come to some decision, because she drew in a deep breath and then sighed.
“This is going to take a while. You’d best make yourselves comfortable.”
“Drina said there was a small skin of wine in the cothold. Let me get it,” Menolly offered. Holding up a finger for Meria to wait, she left them; when she returned, she was carrying the wineskin and cups, which she distributed before filling. Sebell took a cup, but Piemur turned the offer down with a shake of his head. After his experience in Nabol, he didn’t think he’d ever again be able to stomach anything stronger than a cup of klah!
Meria sat down on the stone bench next to Sebell, while Menolly sat on his other side; Piemur sat on the ground in front of them.
“I’m an Oldtimer…from Nabol,” Meria began, and quickly raised a hand when Piemur’s brows flew up and he opened his mouth, poised to bombard her with a barrage of questions.
“I was born hundreds of Turns ago, when my uncle was the Lord Holder of Nabol. When I was a young woman, a dragonrider from Fort found me on Search and thought I had the right qualities to Impress a queen, so he brought me to Fort Weyr. Needless to say, another Candidate Impressed the queen, but I stayed on in Fort Weyr. I was enthralled with their way of life—and with a dragonrider, too. His name was S’han. We fell in love, and the Weyr became my way of life.
“When Lessa and Ramoth traveled all those hundreds of Turns between time and asked the five Weyrs to help fight Thread in this Pass I, like all the other weyrfolk, didn’t hesitate to make the journey with her. I couldn’t travel forward with my S’han, because he and his dragon were hauling supplies, so I came forward on B’naj’s Seventh.
“Somehow S’han and Medith didn’t make the jumps forward successfully, and they were lost between. I was devastated. S’han was the love of my life.” Meria looked down at her hands. Her voice had taken on a tender quality that couldn’t belie how keenly she still felt her loss. When she lifted her head again, what Piemur saw on her face was grief allayed with guilt and her deep sense of loss—a loss that spanned centuries.
“I didn’t know what to do without my S’han, and yet I couldn’t return four hundred Turns in the past. It was too much to ask of a dragonrider to make that journey, even if I had wanted to go back to my own time. And if one of the dragonriders had agreed to take me back, there wasn’t anything in Fort for me to return to—all the Weyrs were empty, except for Benden. I was a grown woman by then and didn’t want to return to Nabol. I would’ve felt like a stranger among my own kin.”
Of course, Piemur mused, what Meria was saying about the empty Weyrs was absolutely true. Everyone on Pern had learned the words of the Question Song. It was one of the most important teaching ballads, though until Lessa’s incredible time-traveling mission, no one had understood exactly what the ballad meant.
Meria continued, “The dragonriders and weyrfolk, my folk, were always so honorable, and they’d taken me in as one of their own, so I knew they were happy for me to stay with them even without my S’han. They were so kind to me.
“The Weyr Healer, G’reff, took me under his wing and taught me all he knew. But G’reff was an old man when we came forward, and he found it difficult adjusting to this newer world. G’reff’s health began to fail, and gradually I assumed his duties as healer in Fort.
“Like so many of the others, I didn’t approve of the way the more inflexible Oldtimers living in this Pass were behaving. Even so, when matters worsened and they were sent to Southern, I w
ent with them, to stay with my friends, like B’naj, and to honor my Weyr.”
Piemur sat up straighter when Meria mentioned B’naj’s name. He was the Oldtimer T’reb had been speaking to in Southern, Piemur recollected. B’naj had tried to calm T’reb down before the volatile dragonrider dashed off to meet with the two men—what were their names? Tooban and Cramb? He dragged his attention back to Meria, not wanting to miss a word of her story.
“Life grew very difficult in Southern Weyr and the riders seemed to lose their sense of purpose, and so did their dragons. Eventually I felt I couldn’t remain there any longer, but I had nowhere else to go—being holdless is not a thing people from my time can adapt to.
“Toric had been trading supplies with Southern Weyr, and when I asked him for help he offered me a place in his Hold. T’kul was furious at my decision and made his feelings known throughout the Weyr. It’s with the deepest sense of regret that I’ve realized, all too late, that I did a selfish thing when I left the weyrfolk in Southern, because I was the only person among them who had an in-depth healer’s knowledge.” She paused, gathering her thoughts.
“I know you’ve heard often enough how stubborn us Oldtimers are,” Meria went on, and a rueful smile briefly played across her lips, “and how the Weyrs of my time hold on to their autonomy like a crutch, unable to ask for, or accept, help from any quarter outside the Weyr. So when our firestone stocks were completely depleted, the riders and dragons grew desperate, because they had nothing with which to flame Thread. Their riders tried mining firestone themselves, but it was a disaster.
“I had left the Weyr by that point, and B’naj told me that almost the entire complement of dragons was at the mine to transport the stone back to the Weyr when the shafts gave way and caved in. He said the plume of dust that rose up from the mine must’ve been mixed with more than firestone dust, because it had a peculiar effect on everyone, although they didn’t know it at the time. Those who had been at the mine started to grow irritable, and a persistent cough plagued a lot of the dragons and some of the riders, too. Then they developed chronic aches and grew more lethargic as their health continued to decline.
Dragon's Code Page 22