Dragon's Kin

by Anne McCaffrey

  “I’m a bit shy,” she offered hastily by way of explanation. She held out her hand to him. “If you could hold my hand—”

  Kindan started to say no, but she raised the palm of her hand to stop him.

  “Just until we get there,” she said. She drew a deep breath and a hungry look crossed her face. “The food smells so good!”

  “Well, okay,” Kindan agreed. He took her hand and she stood up beside him. “I’m Kindan, by the way.”

  “I kn—I’m Nuella,” she said.

  “You know?” Kindan repeated. As they approached the torchlit square he got a better look at the girl. “I’ve seen you before! You were with the Harper in the mine! You’re lucky Natalon didn’t catch you, or you would’ve been in a lot of trouble.”

  Nuella nodded and made a face. “I know,” she said. “And I’m afraid he might have heard about it,” she added hastily, “so if you could keep me away from him—I’ve never seen him, you know—I’d appreciate it.”

  Kindan thought for a moment as they continued their way down to the square. He realized that he probably didn’t want to be seen by Miner Natalon, either, just to avoid being sent on an errand or given a chore. Come to think of it, if he could avoid anyone who might put him to work, that’d be just fine with him.

  “All right,” he agreed. “After we get our food, I know of a nice quiet spot where we shouldn’t be seen.”

  Nuella giggled and said, “That sounds perfect.”

  The giggle sounded oddly familiar to Kindan.

  Nuella asked Kindan to explain all the dishes set out on the buffet table. “You’ve never had tuber before?” Kindan asked. “Surely you must have.”

  “Oh,” Nuella responded glibly, “I’ve had it before, but I don’t think I’ve seen it prepared like this.”

  “Huh,” Kindan muttered, surprised that someone had never had mashed tubers before. Shards, if it weren’t for the fact that they were still warm, he would have avoided them in favor of something tastier himself.

  They got their food and Kindan guided her to his special hiding spot. But it was occupied already.

  “What are you doing here?” Zenor demanded when he saw them.

  “Hiding,” Kindan replied. “Just like you.” He gestured toward Nuella. “Zenor, this is Nuella.”

  “I know,” Zenor replied sourly, moving over to make room for them.

  “We’ve already met,” Nuella explained. She started to set her cup down beside her, but it spilled. “Oh, dear! Kindan, could you get me another cup, please?”

  Kindan was reluctant to leave—his food was still warm—but Nuella had asked so nicely that, with a shrug, he found himself saying, “Sure.” To Zenor he added, “Be right back.”

  Zenor waited until Kindan was out of sight before he turned to Nuella. “Are you mad?”

  Nuella turned quickly to Zenor. “He thinks I’m one of the traders.”

  “You weren’t where you said you’d be when I came by,” he said.

  Nuella nodded. “I met Kindan while I was waiting for you. Anyway, what took you so long?”

  Zenor shrugged. “I had to help set up the dance platform.”

  “Kindan was talking about dancing later,” Nuella confided with a hint of wistfulness.

  Zenor gave her a look of surprise and then said, “What are you going to do?”

  “Well, I can’t dance,” she admitted. “Maybe I’ll get tired or something.”

  “Anyway, if you tried, someone might see you and Dalor together and figure out that you were twins,” Zenor said.

  “They might not,” Nuella argued. “We’re not identical twins, we look different.”

  “Not that much,” Zenor said. “You’ve both got blond hair and blue eyes. You look enough like him that you could take his place.”

  Nuella brightened. “Maybe that’s it! I could switch with Dalor!”

  “I don’t think Kindan would want to dance with Dalor,” Zenor said, laughing.

  Nuella’s expression deflated. “Oh,” she said, “you’re right.

  “Still,” she said after a moment, “he thought I was a trader girl. Maybe . . .”

  Zenor was upset. “He’s my friend. I don’t want to lie to him,” he said miserably.

  “I wouldn’t ask you to lie,” Nuella said. “But he doesn’t know—”

  “And you don’t want anyone to know,” Zenor finished, having heard her views on this topic many times.

  Nuella flushed. “It’s not me, it’s Father. He’s afraid—”

  “He’s wrong, you know,” Zenor said heatedly. “And what’s worse, there’s no way you can keep hidden all the time—”

  “I’ve done well enough so far,” Nuella retorted.

  “I found you, didn’t I?” Zenor shot back.

  “Actually,” she corrected, “I found you.”

  “Still, you’ve been here less than six months now—”

  “As have we all—”

  “And I’ve already found out,” Zenor finished. “How long do you think it’ll be before someone else figures it out? A month? A sevenday?”

  Nuella frowned. “It’s just until Father proves the mine—”

  “Shh! He’s coming back,” Zenor warned.

  Nuella tentatively reached out to Zenor, grabbed his hand, and gave it a thankful squeeze.

  “You know,” he told her softly, “I could teach you to dance.”

  “Not tonight,” she answered, her voice just as quiet. “But I’d like that, Zenor.” She paused and added, “You’re my best friend.”

  Zenor smiled in the darkness.

  The food was mostly gone when Kindan went for his fourth helping. He must have been tired, because he didn’t notice Kaylek until his older brother had grabbed his shoulder and squeezed.

  “What are you still doing up?” Kaylek growled. “I thought I sent you younger lot to bed ages back.”

  “Just going now,” Kindan lied, squirming away from his brother’s grip. He could feel Kaylek’s eyes boring into his back as he left, so he had no choice but to take the path that led from the camp’s square uphill to their cottage.

  His legs protested as he negotiated the gentle slope, and by the time he reached the cottage, he was all ready to climb into bed. He pulled some blankets over himself and was asleep before he could turn over.

  He awoke early the next morning, shivering with cold. He quickly discovered why—his brother Jakris was in the bed next to him and had pulled all the blankets over himself. Kindan briefly tried to pull his share of the blankets back before he blearily remembered that Silstra would be leaving that morning.

  He heaved himself out of bed and put on a set of workday clothes before he made his way into the kitchen. The fire was out and the room was cold. Silstra was normally the first up in the morning and laid the fire and got some oatmeal simmering in a pot and klah brewing beside it.

  Now, it would be someone else’s job. Rubbing his face to get the sleep out of it and some warmth into himself, Kindan decided that at least for this morning it would be him. He loaded the hearth with kindling and struck a fire. Soon he had the kitchen warm and breakfast cooking. The smell of klah filled the room.

  “Morning,” Dakin, Kindan’s eldest brother, called as he strode into the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of klah. “Ah, I’m glad you were up first,” he said, savoring the aroma of the klah while warming his hands around the cup.

  “There’ll be a hard day’s work in the mines,” he continued conversationally. “I’m sure that Natalon will want to make up for all the time lost frolicking last night.”

  “I wanted to say good-bye to Sis,” Kindan said.

  Dakin shrugged, glancing out the window to judge the time. “Well, you’d best hurry, then. The traders like to be on the road early.”

  Kindan started for the door, but Dakin called after him, “Wait up, Kindan. We’ll fill some of the covered cups with klah and bring them down to them.” His eyes lit as he added, “They might be a bit slow gett
ing started this morning.”

  Kindan wanted to run down to the caravan, but Dakin slowed him to a more sedate walk. “If they’re gone, Kindan, they’re gone. But if they’re not and we’ve spilt all the klah, we’ll get no welcome.”

  The traders were just stirring as Kindan and Dakin entered their camp. Caravans were being packed up, and workbeasts rounded up and hitched into harnesses. Kindan looked around, wondering idly if he’d spot Nuella’s wagon. His look grew quizzical as he noticed that there were no children at the trader’s camp.

  “Look, that must be theirs!” Dakin said, pointing to a wildly decorated caravan set off from the others.

  Kindan trailed behind Dakin, his gaze everywhere as he took in the camp. Still he saw no signs of children.

  “Hello the wagon!” Dakin shouted as they approached the wedding caravan. “We bring hot klah.”

  Dakin grinned as he heard sounds of movement inside the wagon. Terregar’s head poked out from between the curtains.

  “Hot klah?” he repeated wistfully.

  “Well,” Dakin responded consideringly as he handed the mugs up, “maybe just warm. It was a long walk from our cottage.”

  Terregar looked suspiciously at the first mug, but a slender hand reached out and snatched it from him before he could react.

  “And a good morning to you, too, Sister,” Dakin boomed jovially. His smile widened as he heard Silstra’s answering groan.

  Terregar shot him a reproving look, his free hand massaging his head. “Go easy, Dakin. You’ll be married too someday, and you’ll appreciate soft voices the morning after.”

  Dakin shook his head, still smiling. “I’ll mine that seam when I find it. ’Til then, I’ll go on as I always do.”

  Terregar shook his head ruefully but said nothing. Kindan tugged at Dakin’s sleeve.

  “Would you tell our sister that some of her brothers—the ones who know there’ll be work today—have come to say our good-byes?” Dakin said to Terregar.

  Terregar nodded and turned to listen to Silstra’s voice from inside the wagon. He nodded at what she said, then turned back to Dakin. “She’ll be out in a bit. First she’s got to finish her klah.”

  “I don’t blame her,” Dakin replied judiciously. He spotted Trader Veran moving toward them with mugs in either hand. “Unless I miss my guess, your trader friends are starting out late this morning,” he said to Terregar.

  Veran arrived in time to hear this comment and nodded his head slowly. “Aye, with a night like last, we’re not too quick to be on our way. I imagine that’s the same in the mines, isn’t it?”

  Dakin pursed his lips consideringly and, finally, shook his head. “Hard to say. Miner Natalon has some fairly rigid ideas about a good day’s work. On the other hand, I expect he knows—firsthand—that the miners are feeling their late night a bit more than usual and he’s wary of anything that could cause an accident.”

  Veran nodded. “And there’s nothing like a woolly head to cause accidents,” he agreed.

  Kindan ventured a comment of his own. “Are your children all asleep, too?”

  Veran laughed. “Ah, no! I expect they’re all up and about, back at Crom Hold.” He leaned down toward Kindan and added conspiratorially, “After a night like the last, they’d be so wound up they’d never settle—and their parents would never forgive them!”

  Dakin joined Veran in his laughter. “Well, we would have left our youngsters in bed if we could have.”

  Kindan glowered up at him, but Dakin merely tousled his hair in response. “We might have let one or two come to the party,” he said to placate his youngest brother.

  “And here’s the lovely couple now,” Veran said, spying Terregar and Silstra stepping down from the caravan. He raised his voice to a shout, “Did you have a pleasant evening?” He chuckled when he saw Terregar wince. “A bit too much wine, eh?”

  Terregar grinned and, grabbing Silstra’s hand, joined the rest of the group. Silstra broke free of his grip long enough to hug Dakin and Kindan.

  “Old endings, new beginnings,” Jofri’s voice intoned cheerfully from behind them. Kindan turned to see that the Harper had all his gear wrapped in a bedroll, except his guitar, which was slung from his shoulder.

  Dakin grinned and extended a hand to him and clasped him on the shoulder. “We’ll miss you, Harper.”

  “I’m leaving you in good hands with Master Zist,” Jofri replied. He looked down at Kindan and added, “As this one can attest.”

  Kindan was certain that he preferred Journeyman Jofri’s easygoing ways to Master Zist’s demanding discipline any day, regardless of the results.

  His face must have shown it, for Jofri laughed. “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine with Master Zist. He was my vocal teacher, you know.”

  “But you never sing,” Kindan protested.

  Jofri laughed again. “And he’s the reason.” He shook his head, chuckling anew at Kindan’s reaction. “I’ve no voice for singing—you must know that even at your tender years. Master Zist helped me to see it, even before my voice broke when I teened.

  “He’s got a gift to know how a voice will break,” the harper continued. “I’ve never seen him wrong with it. If he says fine tenor, then it’s a fine tenor you’ll be. If he says lousy baritone—well, then, he’ll help you find a different way to beat your own drum.”

  He leaned forward to Kindan. “He’s been through hard times.” Kindan had the feeling that Jofri was entrusting him with a secret and his eyes grew large. “But he’s one of the best. You listen and learn, okay?

  “You won’t get away with the tricks you played on me,” Jofri added. He winked. “Okay?”

  Kindan nodded his head dubiously. Jofri straightened up, grinned again, and tousled Kindan’s hair. Kindan wondered to himself why everyone had chosen that day to tousle his hair. Perhaps it was because it was one of the rare days when it was obviously clean and they wanted to find out what it really felt like.

  “Oh, and here’s the rest of the sending-off party,” Jofri said as he spied another group descending on them.

  He was right. Kindan found himself sidling toward Sis as he saw not only his father and his six other brothers but also Natalon, his wife, his son, Dalor, and his uncle Tarik and nephew, Cristov, approaching.

  Jakris and Tofir were still so sleepy that they couldn’t hide their yawns, but Kaylek frowned at Kindan.

  “We’ve come to say good-bye,” Danil said, holding out his hand to Terregar.

  Terregar wrapped an arm around Silstra’s waist and drew her close to him. “I’ll take good care of her, sir,” he promised.

  “I’m sure of it,” Danil said feelingly. He started to say something more but closed his mouth and gestured to the rest of the family to make their good-byes.

  Then it was the turn of Natalon and his family. Silstra hugged Jenella tight and wished her the best. Natalon gave Silstra a brief hug and muttered a few words to her that Kindan couldn’t hear, and then it was time for Tarik and his son. Kindan wasn’t surprised to see that neither Silstra nor Tarik were particularly sincere in their good-byes; Silstra had never had time for the surly miner.

  And finally, the caravan was assembled. Veran waved farewell to the miners and a “move-out” to the traders, and the caravan began its slow way down the path curving down the hillside and around the lake on the way to Crom Hold.

  Kindan watched until the caravans were lost to sight and only the dust marked their passage.

  “Well,” Danil said softly, “that’s that.”

  Natalon clapped him on the shoulder. “It is.”

  Danil turned to him and said solemnly, “Miner Natalon, I want to thank you for the magnificent way you provided for the wedding of my daughter.”

  Natalon nodded, equally full of the formality of the moment. “Danil, it was my pleasure.” He paused a moment, then added, “And now, we’ve got coal to mine.”

  CHAPTER III

  Watch-wher, watch-wher in the night,

 
; Guard our Hold, keep it right.

  When the morning sun does come,

  Watch-wher, then your job is done.

  As the days turned into months, it seemed to Kindan that nothing much had changed. He still had chores to do. He still had to attend classes with the Harper. He still was bullied by Kaylek. His turns on watch or as runner for the camp were the same as always.

  But in truth things had changed. He was now the first up in the morning and was always sure to have klah and breakfast ready for his family. His father asked him to check in on Dask in the mornings, and that was new, too.

  In class with the Harper, Kindan started to notice that he saw less of Zenor in class and more of Dalor. In times past, it had always seemed that Dalor was either a very sickly child or that he was being overworked by his father. Either way, he used to miss at least two classes every sevenday, sometimes more.

  Now it seemed like Dalor was in classes every day but one each sevenday.

  Perhaps that change was explained by the other change: Master Zist. If Kindan had thought that Master Zist was a hard taskmaster when it came to singing, it was nothing compared to how hard he was when it came to teaching. No one could ever do anything well enough for the Master.

  “Look at that! Do you call those letters?” Zist growled at little Sula one day. “How are you going to write a new recipe and share it with anyone, hmm?”

  Sula had wilted under the interrogation. Everyone knew that she was hoping to join her mother, Milla, as a baker.

  Another day, the Master reduced Kaylek to a red-faced gibbering wreck just by a series of probing questions on multiplication. “And how, young Kaylek, are you going to calculate the load a mine’s supports must bear if you can’t even figure out the area of the ceiling?”

  Dalor got off no easier because he was the head miner’s son. All the same, Kindan noticed that whenever the Master had been hard on Dalor before the lunch break, he would take special care to soothe Dalor’s nervousness in the afternoon.

  Kindan was the most obvious exception to Master Zist’s hard teachings. When Cristov and Kaylek began to notice it, Kindan started to wish that the Harper would treat him as roughly as the rest of the camp’s children.