Dragonsinger

by Anne McCaffrey

  The gong sounded, and the chores were assigned: most of the sections were to clean up the gather area and rake the fields where the beasts had been tethered. Piemur made a huge grimace since his section drew the field duty. Briala smiled maliciously at his chagrin, and he would have answered in kind, but Menolly toed his shins sharply again. He rolled his eyes at her but, when she cocked her head meaningfully and tapped her shoulder, he subsided, realizing that he would have to stay in her good record to get his fire lizard.

  She reported, as ordered, to Master Oldive who checked her feet and pronounced them sound enough. He suggested that she see Silvina about boots. Her hand showed improvement, but she was to be careful not to overstretch the scar tissue. Slowly but surely was the trick, and she wasn’t to neglect the healing salve.

  As she crossed the courtyard for her lesson with Master Shonagar, the fire lizards appeared in the air. Beauty landed on her shoulder, broadcasting images of a lovely swim in the lake and how warm the sun had been on the flat rock. Merga had evidently been with them, for Beauty projected a second golden queen on the rocks. They were all in good spirits.

  Master Shonagar had not moved. One thick fist upheld the heavy head on the supporting arm, his other arm was cocked, hand on thigh. At first Menolly thought he was asleep.

  ‘So, you return to me? After singing at the gather?’

  ‘Wasn’t I supposed to sing?’ Menolly halted so abruptly in her astonishment at the reprimand in his voice that Beauty cheeped in alarm.

  ‘You are never to sing without my express permission.’ The massive fist connected with the tabletop.

  ‘But the Masterharper himself …’

  ‘Is Master Robinton your voice instructor? Or am I?’ The bellowed question rocked her back on her heels.

  ‘You are, sir. I only thought …’

  ‘You thought? I do the thinking while you are my student … and you will remain my student for some time, young woman, until your voice is properly trained for your duties as a harper! Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t know I was disobeying …’

  ‘Well,’ and his tone abruptly modified to one of such benevolence that Menolly again stared in disbelief, ‘I hadn’t actually mentioned that I didn’t consider you ready to sing in public yet. So I accept your apology.’

  Menolly gulped, grateful for the reprieve.

  ‘You didn’t, all things considered, perform too badly yesterday,’ he went on.

  ‘You heard me?’

  ‘Of course I heard you!’ The fist landed again on the table, though with less force than the previous thump. ‘I hear every singing voice in this Hall. Your phrasing was atrocious. I think we’d better go over that song now so that you can correct your interpretation.’ He heaved a sigh of profound resignation. ‘You will undoubtedly be obliged to sing it again in public; that’s obvious, since you wrote it, and it is undeniably popular. So you might just as well learn to sing it well! Now, we shall start with breathing exercises. And we can’t,’ another crash on the sandtable, ‘do that when you’re halfway across the hall and trembling all over. I won’t eat you, girl,’ he added in the gentlest of the voices he had yet used in her presence. A slight smile parted his lips. ‘But I will,’ and his tone took on a sterner note, ‘teach you to make the most of your voice.’

  Although the lesson began with a totally unexpected scolding, Menolly left Master Shonagar’s presence with a feeling of considerable accomplishment. They had gone over ‘The Fire Lizard Song’ phrase by phrase, occasionally accompanied by Beauty’s trilling. By the end of the session, Menolly stood in further awe of Master Shonagar’s musical acumen. He had drawn from her melody every possible nuance and shading of tone, heightening its total impact.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Master Shonagar said as he dismissed her, ‘bring me a copy of that latest thing you wrote. The one about Brekke. At least you have wit enough to write music you can sing, that lies in the best part of your voice. Tell me, do you do that on purpose? No, no, that was an invidious question. Unworthy of me. Inapplicable to you. Away with you now, I’m excessively wearied!’

  His fist came up to support his head, and he was snoring before Menolly could express her gratitude for his stimulating lesson.

  Beauty flew to her perch on Menolly’s shoulder, chittering happily, and Menolly, beginning to feel as weary as Master Shonagar claimed to be, absently checked to see where her other friends were. As usual, they were sunning on the rooftops, where they’d undoubtedly remain until feeding time.

  Menolly entered the Hall, wondering if she should ask Silvina about boots, but she could hear a lot of bustle and noise from the kitchen and decided to bide her time. She made her way to her room, saw the door ajar, and was surprised to find Audiva waiting for her.

  ‘I took you at your word, Menolly, but, honestly, if I had to stay one more moment in that poisonous atmosphere …’

  ‘I meant it.’

  ‘You look tired. Master Shonagar’s lessons are exhausting. We have only one in the week, and you have to go every day? Was he in one of his banging moods?’ Audiva giggled, and her eyes sparkled with merriment.

  Menolly laughed, too. ‘I sang yesterday at the gather without his express permission.’

  ‘Oh! Great stars.’ Audiva was torn between giggles and concern. ‘But why would he complain? You sang so beautifully. Viderian said it was the best he’d heard that sea song done. You’ve made another good friend in Viderian, if that’s any consolation. That fist in Benis’s face. He’s wished so often that he could bang that arrogant booby.’

  ‘Audiva, could Lord Sangel of Boll make Master Robinton …’

  ‘You didn’t pay heed to that spiteful wherry, Briala. Oh, Menolly …’

  ‘But can an apprentice …’

  ‘An apprentice, an ordinary apprentice, yes,’ Audiva said, with a reluctant sigh for the truth, ‘because apprentices have no rank. Journeymen do. But you are Master Robinton’s own special apprentice, just as Piemur said, and it’d take more than a Lord Holder to shift Master Robinton when he’s made up his mind. Besides, you weren’t at fault. Pona was. Bearing false witness. Now, you listen to me, Menolly, don’t you dare let that bunch of sly slippers worry you! They’re just jealous. That was Pona’s problem, too. Besides,’ and Audiva’s face brightened as she thought of the telling argument, ‘Lord Groghe needs you here to help him train Merga. There’s your new song. Oh, Menolly, Talmor was playing it, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. “Live for my living/or else I must die.”’ Audiva had a throaty contralto voice that throbbed poignantly on the deep note. ‘I wanted to weep, and while I know I’m just a silly girl—’

  ‘You’re not just silly. You stood up for me against Pona …’

  Audiva bit her lip guiltily, her expression contrite. ‘I didn’t tell you about Master Domick’s first message …’ She paused, full of self-reproach. ‘I knew about it. I heard him tell Dunca. We all did. And I knew they were trying to make trouble for you because you had the fire lizards …’

  ‘But you told Master Domick that I hadn’t been told.’

  ‘Fair’s fair.’

  ‘Well, then, if fair’s fair, you did stand up with me against Pona and all those fosterlings when it really mattered. Let’s forget everything else … and just be friends. I’ve never had a girl friend before,’ Menolly added shyly.

  ‘You haven’t?’ Audiva was shocked. ‘Weren’t you fostered out?’

  ‘No, being the youngest and Half-Circle being so isolated and with Thread falling, and that’s what the Harper usually does, and Petiron never …’

  ‘Just as well old Petiron kept you by him, the way things turned out, isn’t it?’ Audiva grinned. ‘But we’re friends now, aren’t we?’

  And they sealed the bargain with a handshake.

  ‘Are they really practising my song?’ asked Menolly, a little apprehensive.

  ‘Yes, and hating every minute of it because you wrote i
t.’ Audiva was delighted. ‘I’d be obliged if you’d teach me some simpler chords than the ones you’ve written. I cannot get my hands …’

  ‘They are simple.’

  ‘For you, maybe, but not for me!’ Audiva groaned over her inadequacy.

  ‘Here,’ and Menolly thrust her gitar at Audiva. ‘You can start with a simple E chord … go on, strum it … Now, modulate to an A Minor …’

  Menolly soon realized that she didn’t have as much patience as she ought to with Audiva, especially since Audiva was her best friend now, and she certainly did try to follow Menolly’s instructions; but both girls were relieved when Beauty’s creeling interrupted the practice. Audiva declared that she’d have to fly to change before supper. She wouldn’t have the time after, or she’d be late to rehearsal. She gave Menolly a quick and grateful embrace, and dashed down the steps ahead of her.

  Camo and Piemur were waiting for Menolly at the kitchen level. It seemed incredible to Menolly as she fed her hungry friends that she’d only been at the Harper Hall a sevenday. So much had happened. And yet the fire lizards had settled in as if they’d never lived anywhere else. She had established a routine in her sessions with Domick and the journeymen in the mornings, with Shonagar in the afternoon. Above all, she had the right, the exquisitely sweet right – no, an injunction from the Masterharper – to write the songs that had once been totally forbidden her.

  Seven days ago, standing in this very courtyard, she’d been scared to tears. What had T’gellan said? Yes, he’d given her the sevenday to get adjusted. And he’d been right in that, though she’d doubted him at the time. He’d also said that she didn’t have anything to fear from harpers. True enough, but she had experienced envy and to some extent overcome it: she’d made staunch friends and good impressions on those in Hall and Hold who mattered to her future. She’d made not one, but several places for herself in the Craft Hall: with her songs, her fire lizards and, unexpectedly, her knowledge of seacraft.

  Only one small worry nagged at her: what if the vengeful Pona could prejudice her grandfather, Lord Sangel, against a lowly apprentice in the Craft Hall? Not all Lord Holders were tolerant men like lord Groghe. Not all of them had fire lizards. Menolly had had too much stripped from her before in her home Hold to calm that anxiety.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  O Tongue, give sound to joy and sing

  Of hope and promise on dragonwing!

  DOMICK CAUGHT HER before she left the dining hall the next morning.

  ‘That sea song you sang at the gather? Would it take you long to note it down? I never heard it before.’ Menolly wasn’t sure from his frown if he blamed her for that oversight or not. ‘Master Robinton wants sea songs inland and land songs on the seaside …’ Domick looked annoyed, until he saw Menolly’s expression. ‘Oh, I agree with him in principle, but he wants things done now. With the journeymen to be posted today, he wants as many copies to go with them as possible. Save trips later …’

  ‘I could make several copies as easily as one,’ she said.

  Domick blinked as if he’d forgotten. ‘Of course, you could. And a mighty neat hand you’ve got. Even old Arnor had to admit that!’ For some obscure reason this amused Domick. He continued in a much better humour. ‘All right then, to save a lot of useless talk and wasted time, would you please copy that sea song? And do a couple of “The Fire Lizard Song”. I’m not certain how many Arnor has completed, and you got a taste of his attitude yesterday …’ Menolly grinned. ‘You remember who to go to if you need more materials? Dermently’s his name.’

  With that he left Menolly, but he whistled absently as he strode towards the now closed door of the main hall.

  Sea songs inland and land songs on the seaside, thought Menolly as she climbed the steps to her room. She wondered just how Yanus, her father, would approve of land songs at Half-Circle Sea Hold. Well and good, and wouldn’t it be the best of all jokes if the land songs introduced at Half-Circle by Harper Elgion were ones she herself had written or copied out? Disgrace the Hold, indeed!

  Now she wondered if she should write her mother, Mavi, or her sister, and just casually mention that she was apprentice to the Masterharper of Pern. That all her twiddles and tunings had considerably more merit than anyone at Half-Circle had the wit to appreciate. Except, of course, Harper Elgion. And Alemi, her brother.

  No, she wouldn’t write her mother or her father, and certainly not her sister. But she might write Alemi. He’d been the only one who cared. And he’d keep the knowledge to himself.

  But right now she had things to do. She organized her materials, her ink and tools, and carefully set about copying down the sea song. She worked quickly, though she had to sand out several small errors. Nevertheless, she had six fair copies by the time the dinner bell rang.

  Domick was in the hallway, in earnest conversation with Jerint who appeared annoyed about something. Domick caught sight of her, excusing himself from Jerint but with just that hint of reprieve that suggested Menolly’s appearance was a welcome excuse.

  ‘Six …’ he leafed through her sheets, ‘and every one a fair copy. My thanks, Menolly. Can you do … No, you must work with Shonagar this afternoon …’

  ‘I’d need more paper, Master Domick, but I’ll have time to do two or three more copies before supper, if you need them …’

  Domick glanced at the slowly filling dining room. He took her hand. ‘If you could squeeze in maybe three copies of your fire lizard song, I’d be in your debt. Come with me. Arnor should have retreated from his domain, and we can get as much paper as we want from Dermently. At least, today.’

  They were out the door with no more delay, heading towards the Archive room.

  ‘I don’t mean to make a habit of this with you, Menolly, because it’s more important that you create than that you copy. Any apprentice can copy. But, with so many journeymen going off … That’s why Jerint is looking peeved. And wait till Arnor hears …’

  ‘Journeymen going off?’

  ‘You didn’t think they stayed here forever and mouldered …’

  Actually Menolly had experienced a swift pang of regret because Talmor and Sebell were journeymen, and Sebell said he ‘journeyed’.

  ‘Don’t worry about our quartet,’ replied Domick with sudden perception. ‘It’s one thing to send away someone who’s really needed here and quite another for a master to refuse to let a qualified journeyman go out of the Hall because he’ll be put to the bother of training a new assistant. The whole point of the Harper Hall is to extend knowledge.’ Domick’s arms swept wide to include all Pern. ‘Not to confine it,’ and his right fist made a tight ball. ‘That’s what’s been wrong with Pern, why we haven’t really matured; everything’s been kept in shallow little minds that forget important things, that resist new knowledge, and experience …’ He grinned at her, ‘That is why, I, Domick, Composition Master, know that your songs are as important to the Craft Hall, and Pern, as my music. They are a fresh voice, fresh new ways of looking at things and people, with tunes no one can keep from humming.’

  ‘Would you ever leave the Hall?’ asked Menolly, greatly daring. She was storing up his words to think about later.

  ‘Me?’ Domick was startled, and then frowned. ‘I might, but it would serve little purpose. Might be good for me, at that.’ Then he shook his head again, rejecting the idea. ‘Perhaps, when there’s a big occasion at one of the larger Holds or another Craft Hall … Or a Hatching … But there really isn’t a Hold or Craft that needs a man of my abilities.’ Domick spoke without conceit and also with modesty. It was a fact.

  ‘Do masters always stay in the Hall?’

  ‘Shells, no. There are any number assigned to the larger Holds and Crafthalls. You’ll see. Ah, Dermently, just a moment …’ and Domick signalled the journeyman who was about to leave by another door at the far end of the Archive’s well-lit hall.

  Menolly just had time to get to her room with an armload of supplies and off to the dining hall before everyo
ne sat down. It was true that Master Jerint and Master Arnor wore expressions of sullen discontent. She wondered who was leaving. But she had no time to speculate. There was dinner, and then her lesson.

  No sooner was she released by Master Shonagar than she returned to her copying, this time of ‘The Fire Lizard Song’. At first she felt awkward copying her own music, then she began to relish the notion. Her songs, going inland so that people would get some understanding of seaside creatures that had once been thought to be pure invention. That lovely old sea song, one she’d heard at Half-Circle since her first conscious appreciation of music, was a fine one to teach inland people how the seaman regards the broad ocean.

  Domick’s attitude towards her music had been reassuring, too. It was a relief to her to know that there was no awkwardness between them. He thought her songs were serving a purpose, and that suited and pleased her.

  It was, Menolly thought, one thing to work hard day in and day out to bring in food enough to feed oneself, one’s family and one’s Hold; it was quite another thing, and vastly more satisfying, to provide comfort for other lonely minds and tuneless hearts. Yes, Master Robinton and T’gellan had been right: she did belong in the Harper Hall.

  Before she realized how time had flown, it was evening. She carefully put away her instruments, the ink and the unused sheets, delivered the music to Master Domick’s room, and went to the kitchen level to feed her friends.

  Beauty and the bronzes were crowded round her when, though scarcely sated, they suddenly looked skyward. Beauty crooned softly in her throat. Rocky and Diver answered, as if agreeing with her, then all three again demanded food.

  ‘What was all that about?’ asked Piemur.

  Menolly shrugged.

  ‘Will you look at that?’ Piemur cried, excitedly, pointing skyward as three, then four, dragons appeared in the sky, slowly circling down to the wide fields. ‘And your fire lizards knew! D’you realize that, Menolly? Your fire lizards knew there were dragons coming.’