The Skies of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  The same general plans, with variations to the terrain, were to be implemented at Ice Lake and in Telgar. The most pressing need was training apprentices to serve the new facilities or to add to the Crafthalls that produced spyglasses that used to be called “far-seers,” binoculars, and small telescopes.

  Master Tagetarl’s Print Hall was busy, first with printing the requirements of craftsmen and -women, lists of materials to be supplied—especially lists of people willing to be transported to such a distant location to help in building an observatory on the Western Continent.

  That was a simpler task than the demand for printed instructions on how to build smaller non-metal telescopes: thick wher-hide would suffice so long as the interior was painted black and sealed against dust. Manuals must be written by the Star Hall, charts and diagrams of what objects were known to be in un-threatening orbits, instructions on how to sight, recognize, and make proper notations on possible discoveries. The GlassCraft-Halls could supply mirrors for reflective scopes from 100mm to 400mm. Larger ones, of course, required time to shape and build. When Thread, inevitably, fell near Honshu, the healers made sure the two injured dragons were so deeply sedated that they were unaware—except at some very primal level—that the ancient enemy was being met. Zaranth was recovering well but Golanth’s injuries still concerned every Weyrhealer and Beastmaster.

  Honshu Weyrhold—time passing slowly

  “There’s considerably more available about every other animal on this planet,” Wyzall said after a long afternoon’s study with Beastmaster Ballora; his best animal healer, Persellan; and Tai, “than about the ones we’re most dependent on.” He pushed back from the table, rubbing his face to ease fatigue.

  “That’s because we have had bodies of every other animal to dissect for study,” Ballora remarked. She was a big, athletic woman. She had started healer training with Master Oldive but found a real empathy and skill with animals so she had changed to the BeastCraftHall. Her manner was in general as reassuring to humans as it was to the animals she tended and bred. Now she sighed with deep regret. “But then the only anatomical studies ever available were those done on dead fire-lizard hatchlings that Ancient zoologists happened to find. And those most incomplete notes that Wind Blossom left that concerned unhatched watchwhers which, as we all know, were not our dragons.”

  “Records state that there were unhatched dragon eggs …” Tai began tentatively.

  Wyzall dismissed that. “There was a prejudice against such study,” he continued. “Not that I disagree, since any eggs that didn’t hatch failed because of some defect.” He gave a sigh. “Live dragons can at least tell their riders where they hurt, if it isn’t visible. Unlike us humans who do not seem to be sufficiently in tune with our bodies because we—” He broke off, clearing his throat and riffling the pages he had been reading.

  “Because we die when we wear out,” Ballora said with detachment. “Did you ever discover which is the oldest living fire-lizard, Wyzall?” she asked with a grin.

  Wyzall tut-tutted and shook his head. “It’s an impossibility. They may tell dragons what they ‘remember’ seeing but I think it’s analogous to the Tillek’s knowledge of delphinic history. The fire-lizards weren’t there to see it happen but they have passed the tale of it down so that it”—and he waved to the fairs that were either sleeping or lazily flying on the light breeze—“becomes a personal memory.”

  “Not all the fire-lizards remember seeing the spaceships in the ship meadow,” Tai reminded him.

  “Ah,” and Wyzall wiggled a finger at her, “but which do? Back to the present,” he said then, growing solemn, “I do think that gentle massage with the unguent will help circulation to Golanth’s damaged wing joint. At least it no longer causes him great pain.”

  “How could it with five jars of numbweed soaked in!” Tai asked, since she had undertaken a lot of that massage.

  “Well, no harm in trying this unguent,” Ballora said, taking it from her pouch and placing it on the table with the air of exhibiting an item of rare value. “Helps with joint-ail on runnerbeasts but it’s worse to produce than numbweed.”

  “Nothing can be worse,” said Persellan, who was usually in charge of collecting, boiling, and rendering the weed at Monaco Weyr.

  “It’s a big joint,” Tai said, dubiously.

  “Rub it in well and we must be sure to wash our hands thoroughly. We don’t want to absorb too much of it through the skin of our hands.”

  She removed the stopper to the pot and had been about to sniff but set it down quickly.

  “The smell won’t kill you,” Ballora said. So willing hands massaged the substance into the dragon’s wing joint.

  There were other worries about Golanth that must soon be addressed. A dragon injured in a Fall usually went between—first to shake off Thread in the cold and second to emerge in his or her Weyr. Every Weyr, including Monaco, had an infirmary, which could accommodate a wounded, or sick, dragon. Honshu had only the broad terrace on which the queens had tenderly deposited the desperately wounded bronze after the attack. But Golanth could not be moved through between until his injuries were healed.

  Another five days stuck in Honshu, with so many people around, was Tai’s limit. She had to get away by herself, away from all the pressures there. She spent as much time with F’lessan as she could—when not dismissed by healers—because he really did seem less restless when she was nearby. She could tell when he was speaking with Golanth, which was often, and also when his wounds were being dressed and he needed distraction from the pain, because his eyes went unfocused. Sometimes she worried that he was retreating too much into Golanth. Oddly enough, the healers could keep the dragon far more comfortable by use of numbweed than they could the rider.

  There was, indeed, little she could do for F’lessan—which distressed her—and not all that much for Zaranth who, like most injured dragons, slept a lot. By the eighth day, she realized that the healing process was complete enough—no more grainy feel except to the deepest claw marks, though the new skin was very tender—and Zaranth could safely go between. Tai’s leg wounds were red scars and peeling flesh. The sea would complete her healing, too.

  We will go when they sleep, Zaranth informed her rider. They will not then miss us.

  Sea will be good for you, too. Tai assuaged her conscience by saying, repeatedly.

  Having made the decision, it was hard to get through the day. She worried about leaving F’lessan; Golanth wouldn’t be aware. She felt as if she was deceitful and devious but she needed a respite. The sight of F’lessan crumpling in on himself when allowed to take a few steps from his bed had almost made her retch. He’d had to lean heavily on the crutch, for his left leg could still handle no weight and the abdominal wound kept him from straightening. Hair was beginning to grow over the head wound, but he was a far cry from the dashing, blithe, youthful Benden Wingleader.

  So Tai and Zaranth made their plans and waited until the subdued, quiet, but constant activity of the carers and healers went into nighttime mode. At last Tai slipped out, wincing a bit as she jarred her leg on the stone floors: she had left her cane behind, for it had a metal tip and its click would be audible. Someone might hear her moving and investigate; very quick to investigate, they were.

  She slipped onto Zaranth’s back. The green padded carefully to the edge, slowly extending her wings above her head, and then, in a maneuver that they both knew was reckless, tipped over the edge. Wind caught under her wings and she glided silently a moment, just above the treetops, before going between.

  They chose a little cove off the coast of Cathay, Zaranth expertly coming in over the placid waves to a white sand beach. They landed there long enough for Tai to strip off her clothing, leave her towel, and remount Zaranth. The green then walked slowly into the tranquil sea, chirping happily as the warm water caressed her, until she floated. Tai just fell off her dragon’s neck into the sea, elated with the success of their escape and the caress of the warm water.<
br />
  “We needed this, dear heart,” she said, slapping Zaranth’s wet wither.

  The dragon let herself sink until only her eyes remained above the water, brilliant green and blue—and that unhappily reminded Tai of Golanth’s eye. But suddenly dolphins arrived, squeeing and clicking in great sympathy for the red scars on Tai’s legs and the black scabbed stripes on Zaranth’s body, overjoyed at their unexpected arrival and scolding them, as much as dolphins scold, for staying away so long. And when were Golly and Fless coming to swim, too? Yes, they knew they had been hurt but seawater was good for all hurts, and swimming was good for sores, and they must come and tell them about the furry things. All these questions while sleek smooth dolphin bodies provided the dragon gentle massage and uncomplicated company for the rider. The moon rose as Tai, grasping two dorsal fins, was taken on a wild ride around the little cove, dolphins leaping high in escort and vying to take the place of any who lost her hand.

  Indeed, it wasn’t until Tai’s hands slipped several times from fins that she realized she was tired. So much unexpected exercise.

  “You rest,” the dolphin named Afri urged, and cheed firmly about her, an order for the others to calm down. Tai was surrounded and supported by dolphin bodies, the light waves splashing over them, lulling her until she was all but asleep.

  She came to awareness of how easy it would have been for them to just succumb to such blandishments and find a weyr on the shore and forget the heartache and the dismal prospects at Honshu. But that was impossible, no matter how tempting. She had chosen.

  “We’ve had our respite, Zaranth. We go back now. Dawn’s not far away and you know that’s when F’lessan is most restless.”

  Resolutely, she turned shoreward, letting Afri, or maybe it was Dani, tow her until her feet touched the bottom. She walked out, found her towel, dried herself, and dressed. Then she called Zaranth in and checked to be sure that none of the scabs had burst during all that diving and cavorting about in the water.

  “Come back, come back. Good for you,” Afri said, walking on her tail as she spoke. “Bring Golly. Much better for him.”

  It would be, too, Tai thought, except possibly for his eye. Buoyed by water, he could exercise his leg and his tail—the bone had healed but the muscles remained flaccid. He might also be able to spread his injured wing, ease open that stiff joint. If only they could get him up in the air and to the sea. Golanth had a much wider wingspan than Zaranth. Falling over the cliff at Honshu as she had done could have fatal consequences for the bigger dragon. Tai wondered if Ramoth and Mnementh had made any progress in refining the ability. After recommending trundlebugs, Zaranth had not heard anything from Ramoth except that she and Mnementh were practicing.

  They returned to moonlit Honshu. Where shadows would mask their approach, Zaranth glided toward the edge of the lower terrace. All was peaceful below so their absence was unlikely to have been noticed. Because of the angle of their approach, facing the main entrance, Tai saw the halting figure making its way to the sleeping bulk of bronze dragon, pausing to hold the edge of a table. F’lessan?

  What was the fool doing? He’d walked for the first time that morning. If he should fall, he could damage all the healing of the past two sevendays. What did he think he was doing? Fury for such recklessness dissolved as Tai realized what he needed to do: be with Golanth.

  Come in slowly. If we startle him, he might fall, she told Zaranth. D’you think you could support him if he falls?

  I could try. Zaranth’s tone was doubtful. He hurts.

  Of course he does, Tai said, almost glad that pain was slowing him down, making him cautious. Then, she could hear the faint click: he wasn’t being entirely reckless, he was propping himself on a cane—hers, no doubt, since none had been offered him yet.

  He was concentrating so hard on his goal, reaching his dragon, that he was unaware of being observed. He had ten more meters to move, painfully, slowly.

  Golanth knows Tai comes. He does not move. Someone might hear that.

  But I can hear the tap of the cane.

  They may think it is you, Tai, checking on Golanth.

  He managed another painful step in the moonlight, wobbling for a moment, uncertainly balanced.

  If he falls. Oh, shards, Zaranth, just move him, as you did the trundlebugs. Move him to Golanth.

  I—I. He’s nearly there.

  Not near enough. Just move him, Zaranth. Do it! You know how you moved trundlebugs!

  Tai felt Zaranth gulp. If F’lessan made a sound, it was muffled against Golanth’s neck as Zaranth complied.

  Put me beside him.

  And Tai—more abruptly than she had ever moved without Zaranth beneath her—was standing beside F’lessan who clung to the loose skin on Golanth’s neck for balance. Tai put her hand under his left arm for support.

  “How the shard did I get here?” F’lessan demanded in a low tense voice. “Where did you come from? There was no one else awake!”

  “Zaranth!” Tai murmured by way of explanation.

  F’lessan buried his head against his dragon’s neck, gasping for breath.

  “You could have opened stitches! You could have fallen and hurt yourself more,” she scolded him, speaking low, her lips to his ear.

  “Why didn’t you get Zaranth to bring me to Golly before?” He turned his head, his low fierce whisper conveying his fury, his pain, and his desperate need to be in physical contact with his dragon.

  Tai grimaced. “Three reasons: one, because you’ve been badly wounded and needed to heal a bit. Two,” and she allowed her irritation to color her voice, “because I just thought of it when I saw you trying to undo all the good done while you were forcefully kept in bed. Three, Zaranth doesn’t really know how to control herself.”

  “Trundlebugs, my dear green, trundlebugs.”

  He took a deep breath and pushed upright, steadied himself on the cane before raising his arm. She saw the knife in his hand—one of the sharp ones that Crivellan used for surgical procedures.

  “What are you doing?”

  He gave her a shove. She stumbled and hissed as the imbalance sent a jab of pain through her half-healed leg. How had he managed to walk this far with his more serious wounds?

  “I want to see his eye, Tai. I want to see it.”

  “Why?” No one had lied to him about Golanth’s condition. Didn’t F’lessan trust her to tell the truth?

  “He wants me to.” F’lessan’s reply was grim and Tai’s objections ceased. “They’ve got it patched over and sewn up and, despite all the numbweed and fellis juice, it upsets him. He wants his eye open.”

  F’lessan quickly severed the lower strips holding the patch to the eye. He gasped as he tried to pull the bandage free; the effort was too much.

  “Give me the knife before you make a mess of what’s left of his eye.” Her concern for him—and Golanth—made her speak more brutally than she meant. The dragonrider in her knew that he had to know the worst, now, tonight, while he had steeled himself to accept.

  Wordless, he passed her the knife, leaning against Golanth’s nose and breathing raggedly.

  Tai reached up to slice through the final straps and pulled the covering free. And stared at the dull circle where a bright dragon eye should shine.

  Both lids are sewn shut, Zaranth said encouragingly from the shadows. Nothing to be seen until the lids are unstitched.

  That won’t hurt, Golanth said. They always coat the outer lid lightly when they do the night dressing. It’s the inner one that itches so.

  Belior’s light now shone on that blank gray-white, slightly curved circle.

  “Give me back the knife,” F’lessan said.

  He shifted, weight on his good leg, took a deep breath and carefully pulling the knot of the nearest stitch from the lid, severed it.

  “There’re a lot of them,” Tai murmured.

  Here. A second scalpel clattered to the stone at Tai’s feet.

  Ooops! Zaranth said. Small things are ac
tually harder to move than large ones.

  Thanks, Tai said, wondering if encouraging her dragon to spontaneous kinesis was wise. The ethics could wait until later. Zaranth had at least known what was needed and where to get it. Tai followed F’lessan’s example and, since she was able to work quickly and stretch more easily, the stitches were soon removed from the vertically opening first lid.

  She felt Golanth twitch. Gently she caressed his neck.

  F’lessan should not stretch so high. Help him open the lid. I cannot. It has been closed a long time and is dry.

  They did, careful to ease it over the stitches that closed the horizontal lid, gently pulling it to the rim of the eye. They removed the stitches from the second lid. Peeling it back was slow and disheartening. The first facets were revealed; the inner circles scarred black by the pointed claws that had irreparably damaged them. But, as Tai worked the upper lid, and F’lessan the lower, they could see that not all the facets were dark. The outer band, to the third facet in, showed a cloudy green; on the upper rank, four octagons were clearer. Along the dragon’s nose, six more were brightening. Golanth had lost at least three-quarters of the sight in that eye. He might see directly in front of him in a narrow band and catch motion on the left and perhaps make out objects overhead.

  Now, slowly, Golanth turned his head to his rider and Tai, and focused on them what remaining vision he had.

  I see you, F’lessan. I see you, Tai. I see!

  Dragons do not weep. F’lessan did, burrowing into his dragon’s neck, clasping Tai’s hand so tightly in his that some of her tears were for pain as well as joy.

  Neither Wyzall nor Oldive, nor any of the beastmasters and healers they had consulted had thought that Golanth would have any use of the left eye. Nor did they know if the undamaged eye could compensate! While dragons often got their eyes full of stinging char and occasionally a direct score, the nictitating lids could close so quickly that rarely had more than a few facets been hurt.