Lessa had said something about practice the other evening.
“Practice what? Who on?”
What happened next was as astonishing to Tai as F’lessan. As she watched—F’lessan went white and staggered in shock—Golanth rose vertically from the stone of the terrace, hissing in surprise. Instinctively, the bronze spread his wings, though he could not extend the left far or raise it to match the other. But he was being lifted into the air.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO GOLANTH!” cried F’lessan, limping frantically to where Golanth dangled out of reach.
I’m all right, F’lessan. I’m all right.
“PRACTICE!” T’lion called.
“PRACTICE!” shouted T’gellan, Persellan behind him.
That was what C’reel and Mirrim were shouting, too.
“You have to practice, as well, F’lessan. All he needs is height,” cried Mirrim gaily from Path’s back. Her dragon was staring at Zaranth, indulging in some communication that neither rider heard.
“You knew about this?” he demanded of Tai, recalling her whispered reassurance under the ramp.
“Me?” she was affronted. “I’m certainly the last one they’d tell. Zaranth can’t keep secrets from Golanth or you.”
“PUT MY DRAGON DOWN!”
It doesn’t hurt, Golanth replied, peering down at his rider, as he was supported in midair by the other dragons. I’m high enough to go between.
You can’t go between without your rider; Monarth said and Golanth began to descend.
Stop! Golanth cried to reduce the pressure that was putting him back down on the terrace stones. That’s better. Be careful of me! I’m not a feline to be tossed about any old way. Shaking his head, he righted himself and looked around for F’lessan. Why can’t I do it to myself?
We don’t know—yet! Arwith replied, blinking her lids with puzzled embarrassment. Queens were supposed to know everything.
“We’re lucky we’ve got this far,” T’lion shouted. “Get aboard!”
As Golanth crouched to allow him to mount, F’lessan hesitated.
“I’ll try it from the left,” he said and, trying to disguise his limp, hauled himself up to the neck ridge, though his left leg hung down stiffly straight.
Are you ready, F’lessan? Monarth said. This time we’ll lift Golanth high enough for safe passage between.
Where?
Swimming. We’re to get Golanth in the water, too, Tai said.
You’re expected at Cove Hold today, Path told Golanth.
I can swim at Cove Hold, too, you know, he replied.
And Erragon has something for you to bring back. I don’t think he needs all of us, you know, Path added in an aside to the other dragons.
Ramoth says we are not to take chances with them, Arwith remarked. Lift!
F’lessan, once again in the air astride his dragon, felt Golanth’s unmistakable elation. Within that joy was a core of deep fear that told F’lessan something else: as he had been hiding his fears from his dragon, Golanth had been concealing his from his rider—clowning up and down the ramp, exhausting them both so they could neither grieve nor think. Then he was aware of Zaranth on Golanth’s left side. Poised to lend him her wing if needed? Well, he would certainly choose Zaranth and Tai as wing riders. Honshu Hold receded behind them until they were well clear of it. He could see as far as the clump of holder cots, the fields they had cleared for crops, the river—and the terraces.
It is good, and Golanth gave a sigh of relief, craning his head hard left to make up for his impaired vision.
Let’s go to Cove Hold, Golanth. Bright in his mind were the blue waters, streaked with green over shallower bits: the observatory on the right. Unconsciously raising his arm in the Wingleader’s command, he brought it down and told Golanth to go between.
Benden Weyr—3.27.31
They did it! Ramoth jubilantly told her rider. Then she added in a slightly critical tone, Not as neat a landing as could be but, under the circumstances, it was well done. I don’t think that five dragons were needed to lift Golanth. Just Mnementh and I could have done it.
Most certainly, Lessa agreed but she herself was smiling with relief. But the Monacan riders needed the practice and so many offered, that it might well require five to control each other.
She had never seen the ebullient F’lessan so despairing as the moment he finally realized that Golanth would never again be able to fly Thread. And, by that disability, he could no longer be Wingleader.
She thought back to the day when she and F’lar had been overjoyed, the magical moment when F’lessan had impressed Golanth at the first Hatching he’d been old enough to stand as candidate. The pair had been unusually well matched and had, almost without visible effort, succeeded in all the training and tests. At sixteen, he’d impudently encouraged Golanth to fly a female when the mating flight of a junior queen had been opened to all bronze dragons. The same Turn had seen the birth of his first child. Two Turns later he had been made Wingleader of a newly formed wing—Benden was at near capacity as a Weyr, so F’lar could take a chance on a new young rider assuming a full wing.
The Honshu attack had been a near thing, even though both F’lessan and Golanth had survived. Riders often had trouble accepting such severe, and limiting, injuries to themselves or their dragons. The ones who were not strong enough in character and resilience to deal with the reality would just go between. That had been the most important factor to the Benden Weyrleaders: that F’lessan, once he understood the severity of Golanth’s crippling, would not suicide. Keita had dismissed that fear instantly. F’lessan did not have that sort of personality. Then there was Tai to comfort him. Frankly, Lessa had not foreseen F’lessan making such an attachment but the combination had lasted well past mating, and Zaranth was as supportive of the bronze as her rider was of the man. Ramoth had kept an ear open for Golanth and Zaranth every moment of the crucial period. So, Lessa thought privately, had F’lar and Mnementh.
Lessa could now be doubly grateful for F’lessan’s keen interest in Honshu and she’d been much relieved to know that he and Tai had begun to pick up the sky-watching during the convalescence. F’lessan was too important—not just as their only living issue, but to Pern. How he had given heart at that Weyrleaders meeting! When she herself had despaired of finding a solution to what the dragonriders could do After, her one child had supplied a direction.
She gave herself a little shake, reliving that moment of cold terror when Ramoth had gone, without her rider, to aid Golanth and Zaranth.
“That moment is nearly a month ago,” F’lar said, coming from behind to bend and embrace her. “I know you wanted to be there, but Zaranth is a Monaco dragon and having the support of her Weyr is as important as learning how to give Golanth just enough lift to get airborne. It’s not as if we aren’t getting plenty of practice in telekinesis lifting those telescope components for Erragon.” He hugged her. “A fine control you and Ramoth have.”
“And Mnementh’s potential is seemingly unlimited,” she said, returning a sincere compliment as she leaned against him, accepting the strength he always shared with her. “So many new things to learn in this new dimension of dragonkind.”
F’lar gave a dry chuckle. “It’s no wonder it’s too much for some people to absorb.”
“We’ve not had more trouble with Abominators, have we?” Alarmed, she turned in his arms to see that he wasn’t hiding anything from her.
“Fortunately, we have enough to do.”
“But you don’t think we’ve heard the last with that death at Landing?”
F’lar sighed. “Pinch has evidently seen Fourth in Toric’s keeping. Who can be sure? Such people are afraid of what they don’t understand, won’t understand. So they pretend to despise and reject it since they can’t and won’t understand. They retaliate by defiance and witless destruction. And claim they’re acting on behalf of people and for reasons those people don’t understand either. It may just be a sign of our changing times. A
nd life on our planet is indeed changing.”
“For the better?” she murmured.
He tipped her head up with one finger and lightly kissed her lips. “Definitely for the better!”
“You do believe that?” Lessa said, seeking reassurance.
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it. After how many Turns, don’t you know I wouldn’t give you false hope, dear heart?”
She put her hands on the arms that enfolded her. “We lived for nearly a whole Turn on nothing but hope.”
“And I survived three days without any,” F’lar said, kissing her as he reminded her of his own private despair when she had gone back in time to bring forward the five missing Weyrs.
Cove Hold—same day, same approximate time
As F’lessan counted the eight seconds in his head, he never thought he’d be so happy to be in the black coldness. Then they were above the blue waters. Golanth eased to the right, lowering the left wing’s sail to compensate as they glided toward the lightly rippling surface.
This is good! I have missed this! Golanth said.
All right, my friend, how do you propose to land? F’lessan almost laughed as this problem had to be considered. And quickly.
I will settle as neatly on the water as I always do, Golanth said, but in his joy at being aloft, he’d briefly forgotten that the stiff joint would not respond as usual.
Later, Erragon and D’ram who had been watching from the deep porch of Cove Hold said that, considering the handicaps, it hadn’t been a bad landing. Golanth, who had been gliding in without assistance from the other dragons, tried ineffectively to backwing. He couldn’t balance and tilted, trailing his left wing tip in the water and that swung him round. Before the left wing could be wrenched by a rough immersion, he was skimming the water, supported by his guides. He had time to fold his wings before he splashed down, skidding forward another length. With no riding strap, F’lessan lost his grip, went over his right shoulder and into the water. He was able to turn his assisted dismount into a creditable dive.
Sorry! Monarth said. Should have caught you, F’lessan. There’s a trick to this we haven’t figured out. Getting Golanth up is one thing. Getting him down is another. Water is at least soft.
Water is not the least bit soft! was F’lessan’s response.
Although his heavy riding jacket was sodden and hampered him, he surfaced and started swimming to Golanth, now bobbing on the sea, and looking anxiously about for him.
Is your wing all right?
I think so. Golanth demonstrated by cautiously stretching it out as fully as he could. Waves lapped across its surface, the stiff joint sinking into the warm sea. That feels good!
F’lessan had done no more than seven or eight strokes when his outstretched right hand was filled by a dorsal fin. He caught it gratefully and was conveyed toward Golanth at speed. Others surfaced beside him, squeeing with delight at his appearance, calling his name and Golly’s and grinning at him as they arced above his head.
“Shore, Fless? Shore, Fless?” Alta asked him. Beyond her he could see Dik and Tom. Five more of the Cove Hold pod were tail-walking about Golanth. He could hear their excited clicking. “We take care of Golly. You leave clothes on shore, Fless.”
As with everything this morning, F’lessan did not apparently have any options. He could at least submit with grace. The dolphin escort, squeeing and squealing, guided him inshore until he could get his feet under him and walk out.
A grinning D’ram was there to hand him a towel, offering to take his jacket and to make sure it dried properly. Zaranth landed Tai on the beach, Monarth hovering briefly as T’gellan leaned down to speak to the green rider. F’lessan saw her stiffen and then nod in acquiescence. Monarth veered off and gained height to go between with the other dragons. Zaranth splashed into the bright cove waters, swimming out to join Golanth and the dolphins who seethed in the water about him.
Tai hurried up the beach to join F’lessan, stripping off her jacket and helmet, but F’lessan knew that her conversation with T’gellan had been significant. She looked very thoughtful.
“Just the people I wanted to see,” Erragon called out, waving for F’lessan and Tai to join him at the Hold. “I’ve got all the equipment you need for remote access to the scope.”
Vigorously both F’lessan and Tai waved arms, acknowledging that good news.
Then Master Wansor, hearing the commotion, shuffled to the steps, Lytol beside him. As Tai reached F’lessan, he was wringing out his dripping shirt and trying to keep his balance on the slant of the beach.
“Clever of you to dive in,” she said, giving him a proud, shy smile.
“Oh? You thought so?” he asked, teasing. Just then, his left leg gave under him. She gave him quick support until he recovered.
“I forgot the cane,” he said through clenched teeth. The euphoria of his ride here on Golanth instantly dissipated. He glanced across the sands to the Hold, a long walk for a man with a lame leg. He did not want to fall on his face in front of Lytol or D’ram. Especially Lytol. How humiliating that would be. He was still incapacitated. His dragon was still injured. He would never again be what he had once been: the carefree self-indulgent bronze Wingleader from Benden Weyr!
“We did sort of leave abruptly,” Tai said with an encouraging chuckle as she laid his bare left arm across her shoulders as if walking that way was customary. “Your skin’ll be dry by the time we get to the porch.”
“Give me that shirt, F’lessan,” the old bronze rider said, taking it from the bronze rider’s limp hand. “You’ll want to be out of those wet pants, too. Come along to the house now. I’ll just run ahead and get things ready.”
F’lessan made himself match his stride with Tai’s. He told himself that walking up the long beach to Cove Hold was really just another step on his way to recovery. After all, he and Golanth had nearly died a bare four sevendays before.
“What’s all the fuss? Who just arrived?” Wansor was asking, his eyes wide in his sightless face. “I can’t hear what those dolphins are screaming, they’re so excited. Fless? Fless, they say? Surely it can’t be F’lessan? Didn’t you tell me, Lytol, that he and his dragon were badly wounded?”
“Yes, they were wounded, Wansor,” Lytol said, coming to stand beside him. “They are here together to see you and discuss the Honshu scope.”
They are here together. Lytol’s sentence reverberated in F’lessan’s mind and he felt tears spring to his eyes—not of pity, but for his new perception of Lytol’s victory over the loss of his brown Larth. Lytol had re-created his life, not once, but three times.
Between one careful step and the next, the staggering concept that blossomed in detail in F’lessan’s mind made him reel against Tai, who instantly supported him.
As she always had, as she always would! She and Zaranth!
You are all right? Golanth asked apprehensively, halting the water play in which he, Zaranth, and Tiroth indulged while dolphins leaped and played around them.
Quite right. Quite all right! F’lessan reassured his dragon.
Soon Zaranth would be practiced enough to be the only dragon whom Golanth would need for a lift to safe entry between. Tai and Zaranth were essential parts of the new future he had just stunningly envisioned for them—and for as many other dragons and riders who wished a part of such a bright, new adventure.
With such inner elation, F’lessan found it doubly hard to walk sedately when once he would have broken into a run. The ache in his left leg seemed irrelevant, even if he couldn’t speed up their pace to reach Cove Hold.
“We’re nearly there,” Tai said, sensing the surge of excitement in her partner’s body.
As he took hold of the stair post, F’lessan paused and grinned, almost reverently, up at Lytol. He saw surprise in Lytol’s expression, then D’ram moved past Lytol, gesturing for F’lessan to hurry up the stairs.
“Come, lad, you’re not so completely recovered that you can run around in wet clothes and
not catch a chill. This way.” D’ram beckoned for F’lessan to follow him.
When they finally settled at the table on the porch where the three dragonriders could keep an eye on their water-sporting dragons, F’lessan was wearing clothes supplied by Erragon while his dried. They’d had fresh klah and fruit. Boxed and ready for transport were the remote units that would control the Honshu scope from the main level. A technician, highly recommended by Master Benelek, would install these and the circuitry necessary to operate the opening and closing of the observatory roof.
“What I want to know, F’lessan, Tai,” Master Wansor asked, almost testy with impatience, “is what’s happened to the feline problem?”
That was perhaps the last question the two dragonriders expected, and they stared at each other. Lytol and D’ram flinched at their blind friend’s tactlessness.
“Yes, well, Master Wansor,” Tai began, recovering more quickly than F’lessan. “None have been seen around Honshu lately. The holders protect their fields with dragon dung and firestone mash, so we’ve spread that mixture on our perimeter. Seems to do the job.”
“I understand,” Lytol added, shifting in his chair after Wansor’s blunder, “that Master Ballora sent teams to investigate the habits and lairs of these creatures on Southern.” He paused. “She’s of the opinion that they were originally developed to hunt the large variety of tunnel snakes that preyed on herdbeasts in the early colonial days. The experiment went wrong, the creatures escaped, and, with no predators to inhibit their numbers, they proliferated unchallenged after the Ancients went north. It would be an impossible, as well as a very dangerous, task to eradicate them. Master Oldive suggests that it should be possible to decrease their numbers by using bait tainted with an infertility substance, but first the species must be examined. Master Ballora is not the only Council member who is adamant that we may not do away with any species that inhabits this planet.”
The Skies of Pern Page 47