“Did they plan to use Sebell to blackmail the Harper Hall?” N’ton asked.
Sebell cleared his throat. “I think they were using me to get the attention of their Lord Holder, through the Harper Hall,” he explained. “Piemur, do you remember when we went to Marek’s house? Before Laida let us in, there was a young boy knocking around outside. She shooed him away. Do you remember?” When Piemur nodded, Sebell continued.
“Well, it turns out he was a lookout for Jerrol and reported back to him as soon as Laida let us into her home. Jerrol took no small amount of pleasure informing me of that,” Sebell said with a rueful grin. “The boy must’ve heard Laida call me by name, or perhaps she called me ‘harper.’ No matter. Our cover story was blown long before we entered Skal’s brewhouse.
“After you got away, Piemur, I took a gamble and told Jerrol that there wasn’t a chance he’d succeed in taking Ruathan lands. But I guess I must’ve been a little too convincing because—”
Sebell stopped short and shook his head ruefully as he eased his shoulder deeper into the water.
“When I explained that they’d never get what they wanted by holding my safety over the Masterharper’s head, they really vented their anger.” Sebell rubbed the base of his neck. “I’d hoped they were reasonable men, but my words just tipped them over the edge.”
“I wonder what Lord Deckter will do with them now,” Piemur said, absently rubbing a hand over one of the lumps on his head.
“Not half of what should be done to them,” N’ton muttered under his breath.
“I hope Lord Deckter can see how frustrated they are,” Sebell said, looking at Piemur. “They were wrong, but if he punishes them too severely, they’ll always see life through bitter eyes, and they’ll never have a chance. To change, I mean.”
Some of what Sebell had been trying to foster in him over the last few days began to coalesce in Piemur’s mind, and he thought he was beginning to understand Sebell’s viewpoint.
Sebell closed his eyes and let his left arm move slowly back and forth across the surface of the water, easing the taut muscles in his injured shoulder.
“At least we don’t need to worry about Jaxom’s safety any longer,” Menolly offered. “I don’t believe he ever suspected how much danger he was in.” She chuckled. “Shells, he saw more of me in the last sevenday than he has in all of the last Turn! He must be sick of me by now.”
“I think Jaxom’s been too preoccupied to notice,” N’ton answered, and when Sebell raised one questioning brow, the dragonrider continued, “With a very fetching young woman, from what I hear.”
“I thought he’d been acting fierce twitchy of late,” Menolly replied. She had finally succumbed to the temptation of the lake and removed her boots; her feet were now immersed in the cool water. “Ever since we lost track of him at Nimath’s Impression, Jaxom’s been behaving strangely. Anytime I asked him what he thought about the egg being stolen and then returned, he always batted my questions away with questions of his own. He was very odd. Have you noticed that, N’ton?”
“He seems fine to me, Menolly, though I only see him when he’s training with the weyrlings, so there really aren’t any grounds for comparison.”
“There was something very strange going on between Jaxom’s dragon and all the fire-lizards, too—right up to about the time Nimath hatched,” Menolly said, tugging distractedly at a hank of hair hanging across her shoulder. “They wouldn’t leave poor Ruth alone for a moment. I can’t understand why they pestered him so much. It’s been driving me to distraction.”
“Brand tells me Jaxom divides his time between duties in his Hold and his persistent interest in the sister of a smallholder in Plateau,” N’ton explained. “It appears he’s beaten such a path to her door that Ruth must know the place like I know the back of my hand.” His brilliant-blue eyes shone mischievously.
“Well,” said Sebell, glancing quickly at Menolly, “it’s good that Jaxom has found a pleasant diversion.” He raised one brow. “It should go a long way toward proving to the Lord Holders that he’s more than ready to be confirmed as Lord of Ruatha. What does the Masterharper think, Menolly?”
“He’d agree with you if he was asked. He’s been pushing hard for the other Lords to confirm Jaxom, but right now he’s preoccupied with the Oldtimers in the north. They’re not a problem like the ones in Southern, but since D’ram stepped down as Weyrleader of Ista, they’re all worried about the stability of that Weyr.”
“Master Robinton spoke about this with me and F’lar,” N’ton explained. “Their Weyrwoman, Fanna, is too ill, and F’lar doesn’t think D’ram has the heart to carry on without her. There’s a real fear that D’ram might suicide once she dies and her queen goes between. He was deeply affected by the theft of Ramoth’s egg—I think he felt that more keenly than any of the Oldtimers.”
“D’ram’s a fine, noble man, and still enjoying good health. It would be a huge loss if he decided not to carry on,” Sebell said. The group fell silent at this comment.
“Does anyone know what’s going to happen to the Oldtimers from Southern Weyr?” Piemur asked quietly, looking first at N’ton, then Sebell and Menolly.
“Huh!” N’ton slapped a hand against his thigh to show his distaste. “They made their choice when they took the egg from Benden. They’ll have to live with the consequences now.”
“But they weren’t all involved, N’ton—it was just a few of them. We can’t reject the entire Weyr because of a few desperate people,” Piemur said, a note of subtle entreaty in his voice.
“They were given every chance to maintain their Weyr at full strength, Piemur, but refused all offers,” N’ton snapped. “No, they were too stubborn to let go of their rigid old ways, clinging to their autonomy as if it were a lifeline. They can live with their choices now, the hidebound fools!”
Piemur had never seen N’ton so angry. He stared at him in dismay.
“Don’t you see, Piemur?’ N’ton went on. “Dragons expect us to know better—to do what is proper and for the benefit of everyone. They were designed to selflessly pit themselves against a dangerous enemy for the sake of the whole world. And they trust us to do our part in Pern’s defense, too, not squabble and steal like dishonorable curs. The Oldtimers, even if it was just a few of them, violated a code that runs so deep among weyrfolk they may have corrupted the trust of our dragons.”
Maybe now wasn’t the time to remind N’ton of the part Meria and B’naj had played in trying to return the queen egg, Piemur reckoned. The Fort Weyrleader would know full well about their failed attempt from J’hon. Nonetheless, he felt compelled to try to show the Fort Weyrleader another point of view.
“I realize that, N’ton, far more clearly than I ever did before. But when it comes down to it, we all have impulses we can’t ignore—or even control—sometimes. When we feel rejected, or under a burden, and can see no solution to our problems, then we’re bound to behave badly. That’s why we have to support and protect one another. What the men from Nabol and those few Southern Oldtimers did was dishonorable, unspeakable—” Piemur faltered for a moment, searching for the words to explain the idea he was trying to voice. “But it’s as Sebell just said: They have to be given the chance to change, or they never will. To my mind, punishment followed by isolation is not the answer.”
“Oh!” Menolly exhaled the exclamation on a single breath. “All that time you’ve spent on your own hasn’t been wasted, my friend. I do believe you’ve become our very own deep thinker, Pie.”
Sebell nodded, agreeing with Menolly, and leaned forward, his hand extended. Piemur clasped it tightly. N’ton’s expression was still grim, but as Piemur watched him, he saw a glimmer of hesitation, and a softening in the dragonrider’s brows. He hoped N’ton was beginning to see a different point of view.
Later, when the evening meal was being prepared, Pergamol strolled over to the
little cothold and invited Menolly and N’ton to join them, claiming that he had an exceptionally large haunch of meat on the fire, which would only go to waste if there weren’t enough mouths to eat it. Lioth was content to remain by the lakeshore, so Piemur, N’ton, Menolly, and Sebell made their way to the main cothold when the call to eat rang out over the valley.
Pergamol’s extended family often pitched in at mealtimes, sharing the tasks of preparation and cooking, and on that evening they were roasting a side of meat in the open fireplace of a cothold that was in the final stages of being built. Piemur, Sebell, Menolly, and N’ton joined Pergamol in the little house, as another holder basted the meat from a pan of juices placed on the floor of the hearth. A gang of young children ran in and out of the unframed doorway, playing a game of tag. Across the main courtyard area, other holders were gathered in another house, preparing the tubers and vegetables that would accompany the roasted meat. A comfortable exchange of banter was passing from one building to the other, punctuated from time to time by laughter, or the sound of raucous guffaws when someone told a joke.
“Be sure Jamie covers the whole of the carcass with the juices, Pergamol,” Ama called pleasantly from the doorway of the other building. “None of us want to eat a dry hank of meat.”
“As if I’d let him miss a bit, Ma!” Pergamol called back, and they could hear Ama chuckling as she returned to her own preparations for the meal.
“Ama always says that,” Jamie explained to the harpers and the dragonrider, nodding, “and I always get the meat cooked just fine.” He winked.
“Who’s this cothold for, Pergamol?” Piemur asked.
“Jamie’s son, Jalla, and his woman, Nula,” Pergamol replied, looking out the window aperture at the gang of children playing in the courtyard, while he slowly turned the spit. “They’ve already filled up the cothold next door with young ’uns. It’s got so crowded for them now that we have to build another hold for the older children to live in.”
Head bent to the task of basting the roasting meat, Jamie barely looked up from his task as he commented, “Shells, the man hardly has to take his trews off and she’s got another bun in the oven!” His observation was greeted with hearty laughter from the visitors and he blushed, adding, “Never saw such a woman to breed before in all my life,” before he reapplied himself to his task, scrutinizing a section of the roasting meat and then bathing it repeatedly with several ladlefuls of juices.
When the meat was sufficiently roasted and given time to rest, and the other victuals were cooked, everything was piled onto platters and placed on tables in the covered courtyard of the cothold, where Ama and some of the other holders had arranged enough chairs to accommodate everyone. Some of the smaller children opted to sit on a parent’s or sibling’s lap as they all tucked into the last meal of the day.
Piemur, like Menolly and N’ton, had taken the first free seat he’d been able to find, and as he ate his meal he listened with a growing appreciation to both the deep conversations and the light chatter the small community exchanged. There was a mixture of all ages around the table, with young seated next to old and adolescents mixed up in between. The man across from Piemur held a toddler on his lap; beside him, a heavily pregnant woman was gently remonstrating with a willful-looking young boy seated on her other side. This must be Jalla, Piemur speculated with amusement, as the man patiently held up a full spoon for the toddler. The small child batted the food away and then promptly anointed his father’s chest with a small handful of mashed tuber, laughing gleefully as his father stared at him wide-eyed.
The atmosphere as they all dined was relaxed and easy, and Piemur noticed that Ama had taken a shine to the handsome Fort Weyrleader, insisting that he sit next to her. He watched as N’ton bent his head low, leaning in close to Ama, smiling as she recounted some family anecdote.
As he watched his family and friends, Piemur marveled at how the little community of people, who obviously lived much of their lives cheek by jowl, managed to maintain their equanimity so easily. Then, without warning, a chair was thrust back, scraping loudly on the stone paving, and everyone looked up. Jalla and Nula’s young son said something to his mother in a fierce whisper and then pulled his arm out of her grasp sharply, storming from the table in a huff.
“Leave him,” Nula said to no one in particular, her eyes fixed on her plate of food as the assembled diners briefly looked up at the commotion.
“Numie’s a hothead and we all have to learn to let him cool off,” Ama said to no one in particular. “He’ll come to his senses again given time, he always does. He knows we’re always here for him—when he’s ready to come back.” And she chuckled at her own words, patting N’ton on the hand absently.
The diners resumed their meals, not at all deterred by the little scene, and when everyone had finished eating, the tables were cleared and returned to their respective cotholds, though most of the chairs were left in place.
Pergamol, who’d claimed Sebell as his dining partner, produced a small set of wooden pipes and also some hand drums and two fiddles, which he laid on one of the tables, gesturing for Menolly and Piemur to take their pick. Menolly opted for the pipes, while Piemur picked up a small pair of hand drums. There were still enough instruments left over for whoever else might want to play.
They passed a pleasant evening listening to music, or anecdotes, until some of the younger members of the large family took to the floor to dance while the onlookers clapped to help keep the rhythm. Ais and another girl were reeling each other around and around until they grew so dizzy they lost their grip and fell down, laughing. The youngest of the children who were not yet too tired played in a quieter corner of the courtyard outside, skipping ropes or jumping over ladders that had been scratched into the dirt; two young girls were practicing an intricate hand-clapping game together. The smallest members of the family, too sleepy to stay awake after their bellies had been filled, curled up in the laps of other family members, oblivious to everything but their own dreams.
Piemur watched Pergamol as he beat on a hand drum, keeping time while Jamie played a reel on one of the fiddles and Menolly sang a song.
“I see Numie has come to his senses,” Ama said to Piemur as she sat down next to him. “He’s forgotten all about his earlier upset. He can’t stop his feet from dancing now.” She chuckled as they watched the young boy clicking and tapping his feet on the solid floor, his eyes gleaming with delight.
Piemur smiled at his foster mother and they fell into a companionable silence as they watched their kin enjoying the evening together. Watching others enjoy themselves was a deeply satisfying way to spend the evening, Piemur reflected, and without realizing it, he sighed heavily.
“Don’t you fret, my Pie,” Ama said, taking his sigh as a sign of regret. “You shouldn’t worry about what your voice sounds like since it broke. I bet it’s still worth hearing. Just let it rip, my Pie, let your voice be heard.” She leaned in close, putting a hand on either side of Piemur’s face and pulling him toward her as she beamed into his eyes.
“Aw, Ama, I’ve tried. I sound like I’m croaking and get a squishy feeling in my throat. I have no control over it,” Piemur said very quietly, and he leaned in closer to Ama so only she could hear him. “It’s hard to be around music now. I can’t join in as I used to.”
“But you are good at other harper skills. You can’t expect only your singing voice to fill you with self-respect and pleasure, my Pie.” Ama looked at him sharply, though her words were spoken with kindness.
“But I was good at singing, Ama. It was the one thing I could do well without even having to try.” And he shook his head, looking at her with a weak grin. A sudden rush of regret hit him, and he felt the loss of his voice as keenly as when it had just broken. Piemur had to look away from Ama quickly, afraid he’d lose his composure in front of her; he stared down at his hands instead, as they lay idle in his lap.
>
“I don’t think, my Pie, that any of us could be happy in life by doing just one thing. Through all these long Turns I’ve lived, I’ve grown to see some parts of my life very clearly. It was the unlikely choices I made—where the sights I set my aim at were hardest to reach—that became the most highly valued feats of my life. Maybe it’s because the goals were hard-won. I could not say for certain.” She patted his hand. “You’ll be fine, my Pie. Just be yourself, and always listen to your instincts”—she pointed a finger at his chest—“and you’ll be fine.”
She looked in his eyes again and smiled, then rose from her chair and reached out her arms toward Piemur. He stood, too, and amid all the dancing, chatter, laughter, and noise, they held each other in a long embrace.
When the entertainment was winding down and the younger family members were tucked into their beds, Piemur, Sebell, Menolly, and N’ton strolled back to the little cothold. Someone had lit a fire for them, which was blazing when they arrived. Four stools had been left around it, making a welcome seating area for the friends who were not yet ready to end their evening together.
“Your family are wonderful, Piemur,” Menolly said. “It’s delightful to visit a united cothold like this one.”
“Thanks, Menolly,” Piemur replied. “We have our moments, though, just like everyone does. I’ve been seeing my kinfolk in a new light. I guess when I was living here, and my family members were right under my nose, it was hard to appreciate them properly.”
They sat companionably around the fire, exchanging gentle banter and enjoying each other’s company.
“Do any of you ever have a notion you just can’t get out of your head?” Menolly asked.
Dragon's Code Page 24