The Skies of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  I am asleep. I am awakened by the most urgent cry for assistance. Mnementh wakes, too. It is Golanth who is in trouble. It is Zaranth who calls, fears for Golanth’s life. She calls everyone. Everyone she knows. I got there first, Mnementh a breath behind. Then come Heth, Gadareth, Monarth, Path, Arwith, Ruth, and others. I see Zaranth tearing the felines from Golanth without touching them. Her mind has the fury of firestone as it comes from the mouth: never have I seen a dragon so angry. I see how she does it. Golanth does it, too. Ruth learns quickly. All who came learned. We remove the furry killing things. We think only of removing the furry killing things. We do so. No other creature has ever attacked a dragon!

  She paused. It is not the same thing as searing Thread from the sky. I feel good when a Fall is over and no Thread has reached the ground. This was very different. I saw the leaping furries, coming from behind. Zaranth lifts as high as she can stand, to take their leaping—bravely done, the bravest thing a green has ever done—but one is aiming for Golanth’s back where a rider could fend it off but there is no rider to help protect that place. The beast will not fail of its target.

  Ramoth grumbled briefly. Golanth tells me to time it. Of course I know how. And I know what he means. It is what he did at Sunrise Cliff. There is so little time in that second. The beast is already leaping. It is too late to stop that. But I can change where it will land. Just enough to turn its strike. The claws do not reach the fatal place. They just nearly do.

  You saved Golanth’s life that moment, Ramoth.

  In truth it was Zaranth who saved his life.

  Lessa had not ridden her golden queen for so many years to disregard something left unsaid.

  And so, dear golden heart of my life, you will honor her.

  She is a good green dragon. I had not thought to learn from a green dragon. I have. To Lessa’s amusement, Ramoth seemed to be considering the source as even more important than the new ability. But then, she went on as if having finally settled that point, this knowledge will require practice—without the spur of fear—to perfect the way to move things.

  Lessa digested that. But you do remember how to do it?

  For one moment, Lessa feared that it might just be the circumstances of death and danger that had activated this new ability.

  I would prefer more time to review what happened, Lessa of my heart, but I remember how. The moment is vivid in my mind. I will not lose it before I lose the light of my days.

  Whatever Aivas would have called the emergence of the last of the linked telepathic abilities that dragons and fire-lizards possessed, Lessa did not know. She did wonder what use Aivas would have made of it, in those days when they were trying to alter the path of the Red Star. They’d altered it anyway. So did it matter?

  And yet, subtly, it did. Every dragon lounging so casually on the cliffs around Honshu, down on the river terraces—soon every dragon on Pern—was aware of being more than they had been.

  Practice? Ramoth said.

  Council Meeting at Telgar Hold—3.1.31

  At last Lessa and F’lar slept, determined to be as rested as possible for what lay ahead of them at the Council Meeting. They went to the meeting by way of Benden, where they bundled up the notes they needed for the session and clothing appropriate to the occasion. No one stopped them at their weyrs, though people in the Bowl waved encouragingly and dragons bugled.

  Though Benden Weyr had a more than adequate reason to postpone the Council Meeting, there were other extremely important matters—such as electing a new Lord Holder at Southern Boll, the Weyrleaders’ presentation of their recommendations, made more cogent by yesterday’s event (though the ramifications of that would not be open for discussion), the latest Abominator attack on the Print Hall—which made it impossible, as well as inadvisable, to reschedule. Nor, despite her immense concern over the patients at Honshu, would Lessa have absented herself.

  F’lessan was in Master Crivellan’s more than capable hands and those of Oldive’s most experienced healers. The Masterhealer could return to Honshu if he was needed during F’lessan’s recovery from the complex surgical repair to the worst of his wounds. Had she remained, Lessa would have felt superfluous, a role she did not play well.

  The Weyrhealers attended Golanth and Zaranth. The green would heal as quickly as most dragons did, given the care she was receiving. The damage to Golanth’s eye remained exceedingly critical. How the tattered wing sails would heal was another worry. The crack in the long bone of the left wing, splintered by fangs, might inhibit closing and be weak in stroke or falter during a prolonged glide. As long as the two dragons were lavished with numbweed, they would feel no pain. The fact that Persellan had attended Golanth’s injuries five minutes after the attack had made a significant difference.

  From the beloved Bowl of Benden Weyr, F’lar and Lessa went between and emerged above the hills of Telgar where a large crowd had gathered on the plain below the triangular jut of the Hold. As Ramoth, Mnementh at her right wing tip, glided in, Lessa could see the banners of many holds and halls displayed. A Council Meeting usually brought visitors, some waiting to hear about petitions, but she thought there were more than usual—especially in winter.

  Then Ramoth’s feet touched ground and people surged forward to crowd around Lessa and F’lar where they dismounted on the wide space before the V-shaped Telgar Hold.

  “Well, I suppose I was naïve to think we could keep what happened within the Weyrs,” F’lar remarked as the two dragons quickly took off again to find sun on Telgar Heights.

  “Fire-lizards spread the word,” Lessa said, her voice tight with irritation. Does everyone on Pern know what happened at Honshu? she asked her dragon.

  That felines attacked dragons, yes, Ramoth said. More is for you to say.

  Scattering replies to the questions about the injured—thank-you-for-your-concern or both-dragons-and-riders-will-be-fine, F’lar took Lessa’s arm and, with some of Telgar’s guards hastily opening a path for them, reached the ramp up to Telgar’s forecourt. Lord Larad, his Lady Dulsay, and their tall, gawky son, Laradian, were standing there to welcome the official members of the Council. More guards, in fine new tunics bearing the Telgar shield of white, bright red, and medium blue, bowed them into the forecourt just as a triumphant bugling caused them to turn around and witness the arrival of the Igen Weyrleaders.

  “By the Egg,” F’lar said, “they seem to be glowing.” He cast an amused look at his weyrmate. “What has happened to G’dened and Cosira?”

  Lessa nearly missed a step. G’dened? Of course, he’d know about Honshu but she hadn’t seen Baranth that bright in Turns. After over three decades of fighting Thread as well as the recent exertions during the Flood, it was hard to keep good color in the dragons. So long as some of the resurgence spilled into the Old-timer and thawed him a bit! She couldn’t be sure that G’dened would grasp the importance of this unexpected new facet of dragons, but maybe he would be encouraged. Certainly the vibrancy of his color—and even the restored gleam to the hides of Ramoth and Mnementh as she checked them and saw how bright they appeared—suggested that all the dragons of Pern had been renewed in vigor and purpose. Lessa took a deep breath. Now, if they could use this telekinesis effectively …

  “The dragons and riders are all recovering?” Larad said, stepping down and holding out both hands to F’lar and Lessa. Taking his hands, she realized that he was genuinely concerned.

  “Indeed, although truly,” and Lessa projected her voice to be sure that everyone listening for news would hear, “if Master Oldive had not been provided with so much invaluable medical information from Aivas’s records, we would have lost them both.”

  “Saved by Aivas?” Larad asked, likewise raising his voice and implying gratitude. “What I don’t understand is how did the felines get into Honshu?”

  “The creatures were not in the weyrhold.” F’lar gave the simplified version. “F’lessan and Tai had taken their dragons down to the river to bathe. That’s where the feli
nes attacked them. The area around Honshu hasn’t been much bothered by the felines but the new holds nearby have been rounding up and domesticating more and more wild stock. Naturally the predators were attracted.” F’lar shrugged as if dismissing the circumstances. “A concatenation of circumstances. Right place, wrong time. They’ll heal.”

  “Oh, splendid! We are relieved to hear that,” Lady Dulsay said and then her expression altered to concern. “And you have to attend a Council Meeting when you must yearn to be at Honshu with your son.”

  Lessa was momentarily surprised; few people referred to F’lessan as “your son.” He was the one child she had been able to bear F’lar and she had once—briefly and keenly—regretted her inability to have more. But that was long ago. The Weyr was more important. Today it was vital for the Weyrwoman to be present at this meeting.

  “As to that, F’lessan is very well attended and, being weyrbred, he would not expect me to absent myself.”

  Lady Dulsay recoiled slightly. “My pardon, I do forget.”

  “This is one of those times,” Lessa said as kindly as she could, for Lady Dulsay meant well, “when the customs of hold and weyr conflict.”

  Larad suddenly whipped binoculars to his eyes. Was everyone growing those things about their necks, Lessa wondered. “Here come N’ton with Margatta and the blue at his right wing is Boll’s watch dragon, conveying Lady Janissian.” He lowered the instrument and smiled self-deprecatingly. “I’ve only had them a seven-day,” he apologized.

  “At least you find them useful,” Lessa said drolly.

  “And hope to use them more,” Larad said with a pleased grin.

  Lessa swallowed. Could news of the Weyrleaders’ meeting at Cove Hold have leaked? No, Larad was merely showing off his new acquisition.

  “There are more dragons, that much I can see with my own eyes,” Lady Dulsay remarked, pointing to the skies. “Are any of them likely to be bringing contenders to Southern Boll’s Holdership?” She turned to Lessa. “It was so sad when most of that Bloodline, and all four of Lord Sangel’s sons, succumbed to the plague. Such promising young men, so my father said.”

  “Now, of course, with all the vaccines available to the Healer Hall, we won’t have such tragic losses again,” Lessa replied. She saw another pair of dragons enter from between. “I suspect this is G’bear and Neldama, Lady Dulsay. Have you had a chance to meet them?”

  “Oh, yes. They arrived the very next day,” and Lessa was surprised to see Lady Dulsay blush. “Most respectful to let us know how the Weyrleadership had been decided.”

  “Good of them to be prompt to introduce themselves,” Lessa said, suppressing a desire to grin. Why was it that holders were invariably embarrassed by mating flights? It wasn’t as if Dulsay and Larad hadn’t been very much attached to each other when they had formally wed. “Are many of the Council here?”

  Before anyone could answer, another triple-tone bugling—in Heth’s unmistakably tenor voice—heralded the arrival of the Southern Weyrleaders. They, too, were gleaming, Lessa noted before she took the shallow stairs up to the main entrance.

  “Would you like to change out of your flying gear now?” Dulsay asked.

  “Since you’ve already met G’bear and Neldama, I think I’ll take the opportunity, thank you, Dulsay,” and, inside the imposing Hall, Lessa slipped to the left before she could be intercepted. It was a matter of moments to strip and put on the skirt and the more formal tunic she had brought, fold and leave her riding gear on the shelves provided. Menolly came up to her as soon as she emerged.

  “They continue to improve?” Menolly asked anxiously, Sebell close behind her. Sebell was rather spectacular in dark Harper blue, wearing the sapphire pendant of his rank. His eyes were tired and he was as eager to be reassured as Menolly.

  “Yes, yes. It was sheer luck that both Oldive and Crivellan have been studying the Aivas files on perforated intestines—such accidents occur often enough to warrant study,” Lessa said. “Once again we can be grateful to reacquire the skills that save lives.”

  Menolly pursed her lips. “Those wretched, narrow-minded, deceitful misfits. They really are abominable!”

  “Are they making life miserable for harpers, too, Menolly?” Lessa saw the tension in Sebell’s manner. Music might be Menolly’s life but she no more liked Sebell distressed than she had Master Robinton.

  Just then, trying to look completely at ease and not quite managing, G’bear came in with Neldama and smiled with great relief to be met by friendly faces and congratulations. Once again Lessa gave reassurances about the invalids’ progress and then had it all to do again when K’van and Adrea walked in. G’dened and Cosira arrived, N’ton and Margatta, too, escorting Lady Janissian who halted, looking about her. Menolly went right up to the girl, putting an arm around her.

  “You came!”

  “I couldn’t not come, could I?” Janissian replied, and then caught Lessa’s eyes, relaxing when the Weyrwoman gave her an encouraging smile.

  “No, you have to be here,” N’ton said, grinning, “to get there,” and he pointed to the closed door of the room where the Council would be held. “I’ll get you some wine. Lessa, what would you prefer? You’ve had a rough few days.”

  “I’d prefer the klah. I suspect we must all keep our wits about us in this Council,” she replied.

  “Yes, I expect we will,” N’ton agreed, his smile now for Janissian as he gestured for one of the servers to approach with the tray of drinks.

  To Lessa’s surprised gratification, fifteen minutes later the entire Council was in their spaces around the U-shaped table in Telgar’s vaulted Hall. Toric was, as usual, the last to arrive. There were seventeen Lord Holders, sixteen Mastercraftsmen and -women (since Joetta had replaced old Zurg as Masterweaver and Ballora was the new Beastmaster), and eight Weyrleaders and six Weyrwomen. Nadira and Talina rarely attended. The heavy skybroom doors shut behind Toric with a resounding thunk.

  Lips pursed, scowling, the Southern Lord Holder strode past Sebell, directly to K’van and planted his hands on the table, leaning aggressively toward the Weyrleader.

  “Why wasn’t I informed that dragons had been badly injured by felines?” he demanded.

  “Because it doesn’t affect Southern Weyr nor your interests,” K’van said, blandly, not intimidated.

  “Well?” and Toric swung round toward Lessa and F’lar.

  Lessa gave him a bland look. Toric must have enjoyed hearing that F’lessan had been injured but it was in his usual bad taste to try to make it appear an omission on K’van’s part.

  “It’s scarcely a Council matter,” F’lar said. “Kind of you to be concerned.”

  “I’d like to know the details. It’s seldom dragons are attacked, much less injured, by lesser beasts.”

  “As I’m sure the rest of the Council is already aware, Lord Toric, the injured are recovering. Now, do take your seat,” Larad said with firm courtesy. “There is much official business to discuss.”

  Toric looked irritated but as no one would meet his eyes, he did take his chair. Immediately Sebell rose.

  “We will deal first with the matter of Southern Boll’s Holdership.”

  “Let us discuss the anarchic behavior,” Lord Kashman said, speaking rapidly and angrily, rising from his chair so fast it crashed backward to the flagstones, “of Lord Jaxom, Weyrleader N’ton, and Masterprinter Tagetarl who arbitrarily exiled twelve people, alleged to be Abominators.”

  Larad looked up with surprise, and not a little annoyance, at Kashman’s complete disregard for protocol. Newly appointed Lord Holders should not be so presumptuous.

  “Yes,” drawled Toric, smiling with considerable relish, “let’s hear about this latest of the exiles so enthusiastically perpetrated by Lord Jaxom and Weyrleader N’ton.”

  “The Abominators did the perpetrating, Toric. Jaxom, N’ton, and Tagetarl followed precedent,” Groghe said, slapping one hand down hard on the table. “I was present for two of those judgments. I
was the one who passed sentence at Turnover. Furthermore, this Council decreed—you were actually present for that meeting,” he pointed a thick, unwavering finger down the table at Toric, “don’t deny it—when we all decided that exile was an appropriate deterrent for any more wasteful acts of vandalism.”

  “This issue will be discussed later,” Sebell said, raising his trained voice that overwhelmed the beginning of a three-sided shouting match by Toric, Groghe, and Kashman. Old Lord Corman seemed to have passed his contentiousness on to this sixth son of his, who was not much past his thirtieth birthday.

  “I came to discuss that,” Toric cried.

  “The first matter is, and will be, the confirmation of a new Holder for Southern Boll!” Sebell said in clarion tones.

  “Why don’t you just agree to the girl and let us get to the real issues?” Toric demanded.

  “But she’s a woman!” Kashman protested. “There hasn’t been a Lady Holder, except in a temporary capacity for …”

  “Not since Lady Sicca ran Ista,” Groghe said. “My grandfather had great respect for her. For that matter, all of us here, bar you who are new come to the Council honors,” and Groghe emphasized that, “know that Lady Marella’s been running Boll for the past five Turns since Sangel began to deteriorate. Lady Janissian has been her steward and she certainly proved her worth to me during the Fireball Flood. Those cousins of hers removed themselves and their belongings to high ground and stayed there without lifting a finger. Neither of them should hold.”

  “For that matter,” Lessa said, “Emily Boll held those lands in her own right. As I see it, that Holdership has come full circle and about time.”

  Lady Dulsay, Adrea, Master Ballora, and Palla were bold enough to second her.

  “Shall we confirm Lady Janissian then?” Asgenar asked, looking around, a sly smile on his face, “And save time for the really important matters?” He glared at Toric.

  “Like what the Weyrleaders are going to do to prevent more fireballs?” Toric demanded, glaring across the floor at Lessa and F’lar.