The Skies of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  Shards! But it wasted time to argue with him. F’lessan swung his arm in Golanth’s direction. “Loop it on the third neck ridge. I’ll take her myself and the two carrying her.”

  He ended up with far more draped on his bronze than the delighted Lady Medda, whose wrinkled face suggested nine or ten decades of living. She was in high spirits as she settled on Golanth’s back, shouting orders to those who jumped to obey.

  “Use tablecloths for the food and loose things. Bring the water skins. Stuff each pot with what comes to hand. Dragonriders don’t haul empty space when you can fill it with something useful.”

  C’reel’s brown Galuth had two younger women on his back, with two children apiece, and rough packs hung from the neck ridges and trailed down his backbone. St’ven was leaning over Mealth’s side at a dangerous angle to be sure nothing was spilling out of the first of the packed nets the dragon lifted from the sand.

  It took much more time to disencumber the dragons on the summit. To his disgust, F’lessan found the knots with which Binness had tied the rocking chair were hard to undo. Awaiting her usual seat, Lady Medda was upright on the trunk of a fallen tree and continued her stream of succinct orders, using a frond to keep the biting insects from her. Beyond her, Mealth carefully maneuvered his net to the ground, and landed beyond it to let his passengers off. The old lady gave a whoop of a cheer for such precise flying. F’lessan struggled with the knot until the youngster who’d seen the dolphins came running over. With a pitying look and a flip of one trailing end, the boy released the knot and the rocking chair was loose.

  “You should know how!” he accused F’lessan and ran the chair to his grandmother.

  F’lessan rued not his ignorance of sea knots but the time consumed fussing with them. Time! Time! He vaulted—not as effortlessly as usual—astride Golanth. The bronze ran toward the precipice, wings wide, and fell off the edge. When F’lessan heard shocked cries of alarm from behind him at Golanth’s timesaving exit, he grinned.

  Binness and the other men had filled two more nets and held up the knots for the browns to grab. F’lessan managed five children, two more women, and a string of sacks down Golanth’s back on the next trip. He could see women and girls filing up the uneven steps zigzagging up the cliffside, everyone laden with so many bundles he wondered how they moved.

  On his way back down to the sands, he saw that one of the fishing dories had been manhandled up over the dune high-tide barrier. Four men were racing seaward, obviously to get a second one. “Don’t let them talk you into conveying their boats,” T’gellan had warned him.

  “We can’t handle that!” F’lessan cried, leaping off Golanth’s back to confront a belligerent Binness. Beside him was Lias, equally determined.

  “No boats, no fish, we starve.”

  “We sailed ’em all the way down from Big Bay, dragonrider,” Lias put in, his wizened face fierce. “Days of sailing. We can’t abandon them.”

  Gasping for breath, the other four arrived with a second dory.

  “The masts’re unstepped,” Binness said, as if that made transport feasible. It would make them less unwieldy. “We can rig the hulls to be lifted like you did the nets. We got the line.”

  F’lessan delayed his answer, wiping sweat off his face and neck. Did they have the time? He glanced at the two small craft, then at his watch. These seaholders were about to lose their cotholds, and neither of the dories was longer than a dragon’s body. He saw they were clap-sided, only the sharp V of the transom covered. They couldn’t weigh that much. Lias grabbed a cleat, slung a line quickly about it as if this proof would be sufficient to sway F’lessan’s doubt.

  “You said dragons’re as strong as they need be! Be they strong enough, dragonrider?” Binness’s eyes were wide and fierce with an entreaty and a challenge that F’lessan could not resist.

  F’lessan swallowed.

  “Rope ’em, then. We’ll give it a try. Be quick about it.”

  “Three dragons? Three sma’ little dories?” Binness cried, eyes suddenly full of hope again. “Outta the nine boats we got?”

  F’lessan groaned. He couldn’t believe he was agreeing.

  “Quick, a-fore he changes his mind,” Binness cried, sending off the four who were still gasping for breath. They turned to stagger back down the dune. He and Lias began to secure lines. He paused, tossed a coil of rope at F’lessan. “Start on the second one. Be sure the lines are the same length.”

  And F’lessan found himself wrapping lines around cleats on the second dory.

  “Everyone out of the holds? Everything you need?” F’lessan cried as the exhausted fishmen arrived with the third hull, collapsing against it, wheezing, their sweating bodies covered with sand where they’d stumbled.

  “You, go check!” Binness ordered and the man crawled gamely to his feet and staggered toward the nearest cot. “Lias, tighten that line. You, rig the portside. You, do a running bowline through the anchor bracket. Make it real tight!”

  When C’reel and Galuth arrived to find the first ship rigged to be conveyed, the brown rider obviously thought F’lessan was asking too much of them. All sorts of odds and ends, buckets, rakes, hand nets, a pair of sandals, more nets, fish spears, small buoys, floats, light anchors, and even some folded sails had been dumped in the dories.

  “Nothing really heavy,” F’lessan said, peering over the new cargo as he wondered how all that had been stashed in when he was looking elsewhere.

  “We can do it, C’reel. Galuth can do it! Up you go, Galuth!” And he gave the Wingleader’s signal to lift.

  Golanth added a roar and Galuth was aloft so fast C’reel’s head snapped, but the brown dragon had the knot in his claws and the dory was rising, swinging erratically in the air. Galuth waited until its swaying lessened and slowly rose, leading the sway slightly. If he didn’t get the height, the ship could be dashed to bits on the cliff. It just cleared the edge. The fishmen cheered and then Mealth positioned himself to receive the knot for the second.

  F’lessan nervously eyed the still-calm surface of the wide bay until a spray of sand announced the return of the man who had gone to check the cotholds.

  “Everyone’s out, Binness.”

  “Then we’re for the steps, dragonrider. Mount and I’ll give the knot to your bronze.”

  Just then the sea seemed to creep up the sands, leaving behind a wide lacy border. Binness stared at it.

  F’lessan swept his eyes across the sea but he could see nothing that looked like the crest of a tsunami. The shoals were at least fifty meters out, where the dolphins had been swimming. And shoals were bad when a tsunami was rolling shoreward.

  “Lift, dragonrider,” cried Binness, knot in one hand, waving urgently with the other.

  F’lessan obeyed, Golanth rising and craning his head down, trying to look between his front legs. F’lessan felt Golanth catch the knot and take up the slack in the lines. They had barely risen a few feet from the sands when they saw Binness, arms and legs pumping as the fishman raced toward the steps.

  It isn’t that heavy, Golanth reassured his rider, but it took him time to lift so as not to unbalance his load or lose his grip on the rope cradle. The summit was alive with people and goods, leaving no clear spot for the dory. Shouting orders from her rocking chair, the old woman solved the problem. It was with great relief that F’lessan felt the tension ease in the bronze shoulders as Golanth succeeded in getting the third dory landed. Golanth soared up, bugling with his success. Well, it wouldn’t be their problem to get the dories back down to the shore.

  Not today!

  Golanth tilted northward, dipping low around the granite outcrop, so that they could see the last of the seaholders reach the top of the rough stairs, crawling a little farther from the cliff edge. Rider and dragon could see Binness still racing for the first step. The man stumbled, obviously winded, and regained his balance with difficulty.

  That’s when F’lessan saw the water being sucked back, away from the beach, all
along the shoreline.

  He will not make it!

  Golanth did not wait for an order but dove sideways toward the man who was straining with effort, head up, arms carried tight to his chest, elbows flaring to suck air into his labored lungs, knees pumping.

  The bronze intercepted him, dipping to secure the man in his front paws.

  Binness looked up at the outstretched claws, panic contorting his face. Out of the corner of his eye, F’lessan could see the wall of water that was rising higher, higher, higher and coming straight at them. He saw the cliff looming up: if the tsunami didn’t drown them, they’d smash against the cliff. Having slowed to catch Binness, Golanth did not have enough air speed to gain altitude!

  Between had never been so cold or so comforting. Eight seconds, four deep gasping breaths, and then a watery deluge all but drowning them.

  The wave is nearly as high as this cliff, Golanth said, sounding amused. He had changed position to bring them out of between not far from the point where they had first entered over Sunrise Cliff Seahold.

  The bronze had also timed that rescue! On his own initiative!

  Dazed, F’lessan stared down at the tremendous tsunami wave that should, by any rights, have drowned them. Water splashed high, its topmost point lapping the summit. Behind the first, a second tsunami roared ashore, battering the land, taking with it the steps that had so recently led the way to safety.

  I will put him down near the others, Golanth said, backwinging, hovering in front of the terrified seaholders who were clutching at each other, watching as the crest of the second wave just missed the summit. Mealth and Galuth had spread their wings high, providing some cover from the windblown spray for the ancient woman sitting very upright in her chair that was rocking in the wind. I hope my claws did not scratch him badly.

  He’s lucky to be alive to be scratched, F’lessan responded weakly. He couldn’t quite believe they had survived the double peril. One more second and the three of them would have been pasted on the cliff face!

  I knew you wouldn’t mind getting here before that happened. Golanth turned his huge head to his left as the tsunami flooded inland, boiling up the streambed. Almost daintily, Golanth turned on his forequarters and paused midair, lowering Binness safely to the damp ground.

  F’lessan stared down at the man, supine on the thick drenched ground cover. There were indeed red marks on Binness’s bare arms, where the dragon had clutched him. The bronze rider sagged across Golanth’s neck ridge. He was aware of a booming noise, not like the shock wave but frightening in its intensity. Water splashed high on the cliff again, as if seeking to regain a victim that only the initiative and quickness of his dragon had rescued. He did feel Golanth land; he was aware of Golanth tucking his wings loosely along his back, of the darkness that had replaced the bright sun, of the cries of those who had seen the tsunami curl and nearly inundate their summit refuge. These were dim, background noises to the rush of blood pounding in his body, the dryness in his throat, the extreme weariness he felt.

  Breathe deep, said his dragon with proud affection. We’re all safe now.

  “Who has the wineskin?” The rasping voice cut through his self-absorption. “Help him down. Can’t you see he’s wore hisself out saving us. Give him a drink. Cona, go help your man. He thinks he’s dead of drowning.”

  “It was real close, Granddam,” a young voice said.

  A hand tugged at his sleeve. “Dragonrider, here’s the wineskin.”

  St’ven and C’reel had to help him down, Golanth crouching as low as possible to make that easier. The brown riders propped him up against his dragon and put the spout of the wineskin against his lips. He opened his mouth to accept a sip of wine. It was a rough sort, but its effect was more important than its quality.

  “Get a cup, someone!” Lady Medda ordered. “Can’t have a dragonrider who saved our lives drink like a sot right from the skin!”

  “Get several cups …” St’ven yelled over his shoulder.

  “Could only find one,” said a woman, a moment later extending it to the brown rider. “Everything’s mixed up.”

  “But it’s here,” said Lady Medda. “Lias, Petan, haul Binness back outta all that splashing. Then come back and carry me to shelter. Don’t aim to sit in all this wet any longer’n I have to. You fixing to stay longer, dragonriders, you’d better get under cover, too. Never saw a storm blow up so fast.”

  “It’ll pass,” F’lessan whispered to C’reel who repeated his words loud enough to be heard.

  The wine revived F’lessan sufficiently to get to his feet, propping himself against Golanth, hoping no one but his bronze noticed his trembling.

  Ramoth says to come back to Landing, Golanth said. Evidently an order which Mealth and Galuth heard because the brown riders straightened up at the same time.

  “We are ordered to return to Landing …” F’lessan began.

  “Can ye get that far?”

  F’lessan turned himself toward the sound of her anxious voice. “Yes!”

  Lady Medda had pushed herself to her feet—she had a cane on which she leaned heavily—as she extended her right arm in a gesture that still retained a vestige of youthful grace.

  “We owe you, dragonriders. We owe you much.” Behind her, the wet and bedraggled seaholders paused in transferring their belongings and, as one, bowed!

  “We owe you much, dragonriders.”

  The dignified simplicity of their tribute rewarded all three riders for the effort they had made to save the ships. Then Lias and Petan waited until Binness’s dam had reseated herself before they carried her into the shelter of the forest.

  “Send the lads out to see what fruit’s on the ground. Find enough dry wood to build a fire …” Lady Medda was saying as she went.

  “Thought you were dead, F’lessan,” C’reel murmured, his face wet. “Here, get your arms in your jacket or you’ll freeze solid between.”

  “When St’ven saw F’lessan’s hands trembling, he did the jacket fastenings, then found F’lessan’s helmet and put that on, too. Then he and C’reel heaved the bronze rider astride Golanth. “You’re some Wingleader, F’lessan. Proud to fly with you!”

  “I, too, bronze rider,” C’reel said and saluted before he ran to his waiting brown.

  In the Conference Room—local time 2:12 at Landing—1.9.31

  “I’ve got to break the news to Toric?” F’nor demanded, staring first at his half brother, then at Idarolan who nodded emphatically.

  “You and K’van are the logical messengers,” F’lar said. “I’d send G’bol as my emissary but he’s …” He quirked one eyebrow expressively. “… making time.”

  K’van shrugged, raising both hands in reluctant acceptance. The expression on his angular, tanned face did not suggest great enthusiasm for the task. “We could take Sintary with us. He’s used to dealing with Toric.”

  “He respects me,” Idarolan said with one of his fierce growls. “Get him organized and we can proceed on to assist at Southern Boll,” he added with a quick sideways glance at young Janissian. He’d heard good things about her, taking hold with her grandmother ever since old Sangel became so erratic. This might be an excellent time for the girl to show her leadership qualities. She was the best of Sangel’s blood. “Unless, of course, Master Curran,” and he deferred amiably to the successor of his rank, “you have need of me.”

  “I have need of you, Master Idarolan,” Ciparis of Nerat put in quickly, almost apologetically. “Nerat has more coastline to be affected.” He glanced at F’lar. “We’ll need so much help.”

  “Sweepriders are already out informing holders,” F’lar said, “but, Master Idarolan, if you will share those invaluable charts of yours?”

  “They can be copied, indeed, they can.” Idarolan slid out the relevant sheets.

  Idarolan was, F’lar thought, the only one who had come at all prepared to this meeting. An early riser by nature, he was in the habit of scanning the morning skies for weather signs, so
he had seen the fireball. He was also aware of the phenomenon of tsunami and had immediately consulted his charts and logbooks. As Erragon had done, he had used red for the most vulnerable seacoast, orange for danger, and blue for easily accessible highlands. Before the Benden Weyrleader appeared to ask for his help, he had a pretty good idea how serious the situation was.

  “Here!” With a deft finger Idarolan extracted an open sheet and flicked it toward F’nor. “Toric likes charts and maps and details. This’ll give you what he needs to know. He’d have—let’s see …” Idarolan turned his eyes up, mentally figuring.

  “Eleven hours, minus the time of this meeting,” Erragon said with an apologetic nod to the old MasterFishman for giving the answer, “before the tsunamis meet the shoreline of his hold.”

  “At that he’ll get off lightly. And consider himself ill-used to be assaulted from east and west,” Lessa said, her expression inscrutable. F’nor gave her a long wide-eyed look. She responded with a smirk as Erragon agreed with her.

  “But not entirely. He has many seaside holdings.”

  “Southern Boll will be hit harder,” Idarolan said, nodding solemnly at Janissian. “And Tillek.”

  “More rock face than shallows along that south-facing coast of ours,” Ranrel said, speaking almost for the first time; he’d been taking copious notes. “We are very lucky that there has been such advance warning.”

  “The Yokohama has more than justified her continued existence,” Idarolan said with a slightly sanctimonious air, glancing sideways at Kashman of Keroon.

  “I wonder what the Abominators will say about this,” Jaxom remarked in a deliberately languid tone.

  Into the dismayed silence that greeted that comment, F’nor noisily pushed back his chair, reached across the table for the sheets Idarolan had sent in his direction and finished the last of the klah in his cup.

  “C’mon, then! We can send a fire-lizard to apprise Sintary of our arrival.” He looked to Lessa and F’lar.

  “Might as well,” Idarolan said, also rising to his feet. “I shan’t be long, Lord Ciparis, and then I’m yours to command. But I’ll point out that the Keys, and Long Beach at the head of Nerat River, will reduce the violence of the tsunami there. The Tip of Nerat, Bent Ridge, Grethel, Saluda, and Berea will be affected and the river may flood all the way up to Waneta. I’ll be back.”