The Skies of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Geger,” he called after a beat. “D’you have more white Benden?”

  Tai hurried away.

  That was silly, Zaranth said.

  You know how Mirrim can be.

  Why would she object?

  You know Mirrim, Tai replied.

  You’re silly. Then Zaranth asked wistfully. Do we have to go now?

  No, love. I want to listen to the music. I can do that from any part of the Square.

  You’ll have to stand. Everyone who can be is at Landing’s Turnover.

  Don’t tell Golanth where I am, Tai said, remembering the proximity of the two dragons on the heights.

  Why not?

  Just don’t.

  Oh! As you wish. Zaranth sounded confused.

  It’s all right.

  Tai found herself a place to stand at the edge of the throng and listened to the splendid music. She made her glass of Benden white last through the concert. It really was the best wine she’d ever tasted.

  It was when she was making her way back to the heights that she heard the crashing. Glass? Rather a lot of glass, by the sound of it. An accident? She ought to see what was happening. That was much too much noise for a simple mishap.

  Benden Weyr—1.1.31

  Lessa, Ramoth’s rider and Benden’s Weyrwoman, emerged into the winter night air, shivering as the crisp cold struck. At least the blizzard blanking out High Reaches and a good bit of Tillek Hold had not marred this last night of Benden’s Turnover. She wrapped the long fur-lined coat about her and wished she’d put her gloves on, too, though the basket of hot pastries, which Manora had pressed on her as they left, kept her right hand warm. When F’lar finished closing the panel on the rousing chorus of the latest Harper ballad, she slipped her left hand between his elbow and the rough hide of his jacket. He slung the wineskin over his left shoulder and pressed her hand tighter to his side.

  Out of habit they both glanced across the Bowl, which was eerily silent. Opposite them, on the ledges to the Weyrwoman’s quarters, they could see their dragons in the moonlight. Blue-green, two pairs of dragon eyes winked open and followed the progress of their partners across the flat, frosted Bowl.

  Belior, its brightness better than a glowbasket, lit the eastern arc of the huge double crater, throwing the entrances to the individual weyrs into darkness. The moon illuminated the watchdragon and his rider, striding up and down the Rim to keep warm.

  “Don’t dally, girl,” F’lar murmured, shrugging into the warmth of his jacket and lengthening his stride.

  “If I had a Harper mark for every time I’ve crossed the Bowl,” Lessa said.

  “Add those to mine and we’d be as rich as Toric.”

  Lessa gave a snort and, her breath misting before her, quickened her steps. Maybe they should have gone south, where Turnover could be conducted on sun-warmed beaches and the more temperate southern night. But Benden Weyr had been home to her for thirty-five Turns now, and F’lar’s for all of his sixtythree. Although they had made their traditional appearances at Benden Hold on Turnover First Night and heard marvelous music at Ruatha on the second, they preferred to end the celebration here. She was glad enough to be able to enjoy some quiet time after the frenetic pace of this Turnover Past.

  She wondered if, at the end of this Pass—“After,” as people referred to it—he would want to leave Benden. Or maybe, if he could not bear to leave the splendor of the Weyr, at least spend the worst of the cold months in the south. Maybe not in Honshu, which F’lessan had repeatedly invited them to share, but nearby.

  She understood, on one level, that the prospect of “After” did not obsess F’lar: “During” was his responsibility, and hers. Finishing this Pass honorably and still as Benden’s Weyrleader—even knowing Thread would no longer threaten Pern—was his committed goal. Especially since they had both made such a point of urging their younger dragonriders to learn an alternative skill, Lessa kept trying to insinuate After in their private conversations to see what he’d really like to do then. Idling on a sandy beach in Southern would quickly bore a man who’d always been active. And, if he would not contemplate the options, maybe she’d have to make the decision for both of them for where they’d live After. Only where?

  Suddenly both dragons reared, staring up into the night sky, the color of their eyes briefly reflecting the orange of alarm. Startled, Lessa glanced over her shoulder and grabbed F’lar tightly.

  “Oooh!” she exclaimed. The night cold was nothing to the fear that surged through her, making her heart race at the brief trails of fire in the north. Then she was disgusted with her primitive reaction to what she now knew were meteorites burning up in the atmosphere. As a child she’d believed her nurse—that those flares across a night sky were the Ghost Dragons of the First Pass.

  “Erragon said we’d have a lot of Ghosts this Turn.” F’lar chuckled at the old explanation, his breath puffing white. “So long as they keep their distance.” Another flare caught his eye, barely a finger length in the northern sky. His sigh drifted white in the frosty air.

  “There really are a lot more of them this Turn, as Toronas complained last night at Benden. They certainly are bright. Why that one—” She pointed her finger, following the arc in its path before it blinked out. “—looked like it might land.”

  “They never have.”

  “Well, you heard Toronas. All that nonsense about it is all”—she altered her voice to mimic the Benden Lord Holder’s slightly nasal speech pattern—“because we let Aivas change the orbit of the Red Star and this is the result of meddling with things we don’t know enough about.”

  F’lar laughed, because her imitation of the Benden Lord Holder was so accurate. “One of the reasons Aivas delayed the blast was to put the Red Star far beyond affecting any other of the planets in this system. The mathematics was accurate to the tenth decimal point. Or so Wansor assured me at the time. Or ask F’lessan. He’s into astronomy with that old telescope in Honshu.”

  “I might indeed ask F’lessan,” she said. “It’s something like this that would agitate the Abominators into doing more harm than they’ve already done.”

  “You think they’re behind some of those peculiar incidents of vandalism Sebell reported?”

  “Who else would be that vindictive and destroy only new medicines or materials, or waylay traders carrying components from one Smithcrafthall to another?”

  “Let’s talk about it in the weyr. It’s far too cold to dawdle out here, woman.”

  He tugged her into a jog, throwing an arm about her shoulders to prevent her from slipping on the icy ground, and they quickly reached the stairs up to her quarters.

  Are you two coming in? he asked the two dragons, who had not moved from their ledges.

  We will watch the Ghosts until they leave, Mnementh said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

  As you wish, F’lar said.

  “Silly beasts,” Lessa murmured, smiling as she pushed aside the entrance curtain. Sometimes she wished she had a hide as impervious to weather as a dragon’s. Or was it just that this winter was unusually cold?

  Between is colder, Ramoth remarked.

  Once she was inside, Lessa swiftly made for the nearest heater unit, putting Manora’s basket, still warm, on the table as she passed it and stripping off her long fur. She hung it on the hooks to the left of their sleeping room.

  “I didn’t think we’d have to worry about Abominators again,” she said with a weary sigh.

  “N’ton checked the island where we exiled those that were convicted of abducting Robinton.” F’lar’s expression was austere, his lips thinned. He kicked the heavy curtain rather more forcefully than was needed to be sure that the hem excluded the cold drafts. “In fact,” he added, his face altering to a less forbidding look, “there were some youngsters, since several spouses went with their men.”

  “Oh!” Lessa paused. “And the earlier group, who were caught damaging other Crafthalls? The ones who were sentenced to the Crom mines?”<
br />
  “Ah, now, there’s a possibility.” He shrugged out of his jacket and would have dropped it on the chair but Lessa pointed sternly at it and then at the hooks where she had hung her fur. He grinned, scooped it up, and hung it with exaggerated care.

  “Go on,” she urged him, knowing he was going to tease her before he answered.

  He got two glasses from the cabinet and deftly poured wine from one of Morilton’s elegantly carved glass bottles. He handed her a glass, then stepped backward until he was close enough to feel the heat from the radiating unit on his legs.

  “That meteorite—the metallic one that everyone in the Smithcrafthall is going on about—smacked a good-sized hole in the prisoners’ quarters and broke one man’s leg. It wasn’t until evening that a count was taken. One was missing. One of those—” F’lar’s lips thinned with remembered anger. “—who were involved in that attack on Aivas. He was deafened. Big man. Should be easy to find. He’s missing the tip of his first finger on his left hand.”

  He took a sip of his wine, savoring it. Lessa allowed him that enjoyment.

  “But he hasn’t been found yet, has he?” she asked at length.

  With a wave of his wineglass, F’lar dismissed the problem. “Telgar, High Reaches, and Fort Weyrs have been alerted. Runners carried the news along their traces and warned the traders.”

  Lessa gave a cynical snort. “Some of the traders are not above harboring a holdless man.”

  “According to the Mine Master, this man kept himself to himself. Seemed to dislike new things.”

  “Made by Aivas, of course,” she said in a caustic tone.

  F’lar raised his eyebrows. “By Aivas, of course.”

  “Do you think this one man is responsible for all those thefts and vandalism? Too wide a spread.”

  “Quite right, but there are enough people with petty grievances against hold and hall who might delight in causing trouble here and there.” He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, relishing the warmth. “I don’t consider that as serious a problem as deciding what more refinements”—he pointed to the heating unit—“we can safely introduce.”

  “No one has objected to having better lighting and heat,” Lessa said. “After all, solar panels came with the Ancients. So did hydro-engineering and generators. We just have to speed up the education process to produce the necessary improvements that will reduce drudgery After.”

  “I don’t approve of life being made too easy,” F’lar remarked.

  “You were never a drudge,” she said caustically, reminding him of her ten Turns spent as one.

  “Don’t forget that this Weyr was scarcely luxurious until Thread started falling again.”

  “How could I?” She grinned at him, her eyes alight with laughter. “But that doesn’t mean an indiscriminate release of technology. The Crafthalls are the worst offenders there.”

  “You mean, you object to what Master Oldive is doing in surgical procedures and more effective medications?”

  “Of course not,” she said with a scowl. “But I don’t think everyone agrees with some of the surgical stuff.” She gave a little shudder.

  “You would if your life depended on correcting an internal problem, like your guts protruding out of your belly because the stomach lining had ruptured,” F’lar said with a humorless laugh.

  “Sharra said it’s called a hernia and is not life-threatening,” she responded in a brusque tone. Then, in an abrupt change, she exhaled. “I take the point. We have to educate others to do so.”

  “Agreed, and we have to get our younger riders to educate themselves, too, for After.”

  “Well, some will have no trouble,” she said. “They don’t consider it beneath their dignity to deliver messages or transport urgently needed bulk items. Tagetarl sent us a copy of the dictionary that he copied from Aivas’s files with definitions of technical terms. Far more current than anything the Harper Hall has. Sebell said he’s got orders from every major hold, nearly all the minor ones, and most of the halls.”

  “Then maybe understanding and defining a technological vocabulary will become wider spread.”

  His facetious tone caused her to grin. “That wouldn’t hurt. But it’s the older riders, who show absolutely no interest in supporting themselves After, who worry me. Why is it so belittling for a dragon and his rider to extend their abilities in other quite respectable pursuits? They know that living in Southern is not a matter of flinging up some fronds to cover a hut on the white sands and picking ripe fruit off the nearest tree. They won’t even consider helping the beastherders to keep the feline predators from causing witless stampedes into gorges and ravines even if dragons have always killed their own food. Dragons don’t share their kills, even with their riders.”

  It was F’lar’s turn to chuckle at her acerbic remarks. “If you’re hungry enough, I suppose roast feline can be tasty.”

  “Sharra said it’s tough and often tastes more of fish than flesh.”

  “We’ve sixteen more Turns of Threadfall, love,” he said, refilling her wineglass.

  “Now,” and she gave him a sly look, “if Benden’s Weyrleader should make a decision as to what he will do After?”

  He chuckled indulgently as he held Manora’s basket of delicacies out to her. The spicy odors wafted her way.

  “What is Manora tempting us with?” she wondered, unfolding the napkin.

  “They certainly smell palatable. You take your pick.”

  She did, delighting in the flaky pastry and the spicy filling. “I think,” Lessa mumbled through her full mouth, “that she plans to go from one end to the other of the recipes she had us download from the Aivas files.”

  “It’s a shame she never got down to speak to Aivas. He’d’ve liked her.”

  Lessa grimaced. “If you remember, we offered to take her many times and she refused. There was always too much to do.” She licked the last of the pastry flakes from her fingers.

  F’lar sat down and she noticed the bone-weariness evident in the slow way he settled his body in the comfortably padded chair across from her. Only with her did he have the luxury to relax. If she missed the painful stiffness that indicated his bones were aching, Mnementh would tell her and she’d make him take a dose of the medication Oldive had made to relieve the problem.

  “Is there ever enough time?” she asked.

  “There should be.” He scowled, sweeping back the forelock that was silver now. “There should be all the time in the world After.”

  “Have you decided where we’ll go After?”

  He frowned, brushing the inquiry aside. She fretted at his reluctance. They certainly should have their choice of residence, barring beautiful Honshu in deference to F’lessan’s proprietary interest in it. But what—and a dreadful thought arose from the deepest part of her mind. She did not refuse that flash of unnecessary alarm; she did hold it deep in her thoughts. What would happen if Ramoth should fail to rise to mate in the coming Turns, as Bedella’s Solth had done recently? R’mart had gratefully retired to Southern with his Weyrwoman. But somehow Lessa had always assumed that she and F’lar would remain Weyrleaders until the end of this Pass. There would come a time, even if it wasn’t imminent, when Ramoth would not feel the challenge of fertility. Lessa gave her head an impatient shake, smiling as she remembered the most recent time Ramoth had risen gloriously to challenge the bronzes and Mnementh had vigorously conquered. Her grin broadened as her dragon caught that thought. But Mnementh lived in constant danger of injury.

  He is strong and clever fighting Thread. He evades score and ash as nimbly as any green, Ramoth responded in stout support. Mnementh is the only bronze I will ever accept and there isn’t another as daring. Even if he sleeps more than he used to. Be easy.

  With the bond between the riders so acute, F’lar invariably knew when Ramoth had spoken to her rider. He cocked one eyebrow at his weyrmate.

  “What’s on her mind?” Then he chuckled. “Or yours?”

  �
�When are you going to make up your mind where we’ll go After?” she asked with a hint of exasperation, as if that was what occasioned Ramoth’s remark.

  F’lar gave her a long patient look. “We can go where we want. Be certain of one thing: we shall not be dependent on anyone.” Briefly his jaw settled into an inflexible line.

  “That will make a very nice change,” she said at her driest.

  “We could see if one of those eastern islands would suit.”

  “What?” She scowled fiercely at him, realizing that she had risen to his bait. He chuckled again. At least he was in a good mood.

  “I know the weather here’s terrible but I’ve spent all my life in this pile of rock.” He shot her a look to see if she would disagree.

  “Rock is cool in the summertime,” she agreed diffidently, then added in a nostalgic tone of voice, “When I think of how much history we have made here …”

  “Indeed. And how many changes have occurred since we became Weyrleaders.”

  “Too sharding many losses in the past Turn, too.”

  “ ‘There is a time for every purpose under the heaven,’ ” he quoted softly.

  Tears welled quickly in Lessa’s eyes at that reminder of Robinton—and Aivas. Two Turns and a few months were not enough to distance that double loss.

  “I miss Robinton so much.”

  “Who doesn’t?” F’lar replied softly, lifting one hand briefly in resignation before he continued. “I was thinking more of Laudey and Warbret. And good old R’gul.” He let out a sigh of remembered frustration.

  “We must be charitable,” she reminded him in her more usual caustic fashion. The bronze rider had been a thorn in both their sides despite his outward acquiescence to F’lar’s Weyrleadership. There was always the hint, when R’gul took orders from F’lar, that he, R’gul, would have done differently. “He did obey, you know, and his wing thought highly of him as a leader.”

  F’lar grunted, twirling the stem of his glass and apparently absorbed in admiring the ruby color.

  “I’ll miss Laudey,” she went on after nibbling at a pastry, “although I do like Langrell as Igen Holder. Very nice person.”