Dragon's Kin

by Anne McCaffrey

  Tofir had been fostered to Crom Hold itself, where his gift with drawing would be encouraged and he might even take up mapping, a skill that was always needed in the mines.

  “Kindan!”

  Kindan turned his head toward the caller. It was Dalor. He ran up to Kindan.

  “Father said you’d still be up here. He told me that you’re to come down before you catch your death of cold.”

  Kindan nodded solemnly and set off behind the younger boy. Kindan had seen more of Dalor in the past sevenday than he had in many months, but he suspected it was Natalon’s way of looking out for those beholden to him. Not that Kindan minded; Dalor was okay in a distracted sort of way.

  Dalor cast a backward look at Kindan, partly to see if he was really following and partly out of sympathy for the youngest of Danil’s sons.

  “There’s some mulled wine down at the hold”—only Dalor and his family called their large cottage “the hold”—“and father said we’d get some as soon as we got in.”

  “Nine, can you believe it?” Milla was saying to Jenella, Dalor’s mother, as they made their way into the hold kitchen. “Most of them Danil and his sons, more’s the pity. And what’s going to happen to poor Kindan now? They’ve placed the other two, and I don’t see why they haven’t placed him, too. It must be spooky sleeping in his place all by himself, poor lad.”

  Jenella, Dalor’s mother, saw the boys and coughed pointedly at Milla. But Milla, who had her back to them rolling dough, didn’t pick up on the hint. “Is that your cough come back? It’s got chill enough now, but you don’t want it what with you finally expecting another,” she said.

  She went on blithely: “Nine dead, three injured, and poor Zenor demanding his place in the mines for his father, not that I blame him, the way Norla, his mother, is dealing so poorly with it all.” She placed the dough in rising tins. “And a shift leader short—what are they going to do?”

  “Dalor, Kindan, you look chilled to the bone,” Jenella said loudly, cutting across anything more that Milla might think to say. “Milla, could you be a dear and pour them some of the mulled wine that’s on the stove? Getting up’s so tiring for me right now.”

  Jenella was seven months pregnant. Kindan had heard that she’d been pregnant before but had lost the baby. Silstra had gone to help that night and had come back so distraught that her father had had to put her to bed.

  “Oh!” Milla exclaimed, turning around. “I’m sorry, boys, I didn’t see you. The mugs are there in the cupboard. Why don’t you help yourselves so I can get these dainties into the oven?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Dalor said politely. He was taller than Kindan and reached the mugs easily—Kindan realized that he would have had to get a stool or something to reach them and once again cursed his late growth. He was six months older than Dalor and still a whole hand shorter.

  With mugs full of hot spiced wine in their hands—the spirit had left the wine when it was heated or Kindan would not have been allowed to drink it—the two boys found a clear spot at the bench and sat quietly, not trusting that their luck would last.

  “Natalon will be sending for you shortly,” Jenella told Kindan.

  “Yes, ma’am—” At a sharp nudge and a glare from Dalor, Kindan corrected himself. “—my Lady.”

  Kindan had never been quite sure how to address Dalor’s mother. Jenella had always seemed so less able than his own sister, but then again, if Natalon could prove Camp Natalon, it’d be Mine Natalon someday and Jenella would be the wife of a minor Holder.

  But to prove Camp Natalon, they would have to mine the coal—and no one, aside from the investigating team, had been in the mines for the past sevenday.

  It was normal, Kindan had heard the grown-ups say, not to go back to the mines until after all the bodies were recovered and the funerals had taken place.

  “I heard Zenor’s been put on father’s shift,” Dalor commented to Kindan. “With his father gone, there’s no one else to provide for his family.”

  “How will he do his studies?” Kindan wondered aloud.

  Dalor looked at him thoughtfully and then shrugged. “I guess he won’t,” he said. “Perhaps that’s just as well, with Master Zist giving classes.”

  “Like you’d know,” Kindan shot back, forgetting who else was in the room. He looked abashedly at Dalor’s mother before muttering to Dalor, “Sorry.”

  Fortunately for him, Master Zist arrived at that moment. “Kindan, please come with me.”

  Master Zist led Kindan to the same great room that was normally used by the resident Harper for classes in the mornings. There were three tables in the room, two long ones running the length of the hall and another smaller one set perpendicular to the other two. Master Zist usually sat at that table, with the hearth behind him.

  Natalon and Tarik were seated at the nearer of the two long tables. At a gesture from Natalon, Master Zist and Kindan approached and took seats opposite them.

  “Kindan,” Natalon began, “I’m told that you wish to stay here in the camp.”

  Kindan nodded. He hadn’t really thought much about what that meant until now. He’d have to be fostered. That, and he had heard enough whispered words by the adults to realize that he would never be allowed to stay in his cottage by himself. A quick look at Tarik made it clear who was hoping to move in. With Jenella expecting, Kindan could imagine that Tarik, his wife, and three older children would probably be grateful to escape the noise of a newborn.

  Kindan felt a flush of anger come over him at the thought of Tarik moving into the cottage that his father had built for his family. Then another thought burned brighter in his mind.

  “Sir,” Kindan said, “what did the investigation find?”

  Natalon cast a sidelong glance at Tarik, who stiffened and gave Kindan a sour look.

  “As often happens when there are accidents like these,” Natalon said, “the results are not conclusive.”

  Kindan sat up straighter in his seat, preparing to argue, but Natalon restrained him with an upraised hand.

  “We think,” Natalon said carefully, “that your father’s shift had the bad luck to dig into some loose rock and that it caused a slide both over and behind them.”

  “But there was a smell,” Kindan protested. “Dask told me there was a smell. I smelled it, too.”

  Natalon and Tarik exchanged looks. Tarik shook his head. “None of the men I spoke with talked of a smell,” he said.

  “Are you sure you understood Dask correctly?” Natalon asked.

  “I thought it took years of training to understand a watch-wher,” Tarik said sourly. “And the beast must have been in a lot of pain.”

  “It doesn’t take years to learn the sounds for ‘bad air,’ ” Kindan protested. “It and the other danger signals were the first I was taught.” He did not bother to mention that his teaching in watch-wher lore had come from Silstra, and there had been a very little of it at that.

  Tarik shook his head. “I saw no sign of fire.”

  “Could have been a small pocket,” Natalon suggested, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “The blast would have started the cave-in.”

  “A pocket a watch-wher couldn’t detect?” Tarik sneered. “The way Danil boasted, I thought they were supposed to have magic noses.”

  Kindan glowered at the older man, but Master Zist moved quickly to block Tarik’s sight of him. He reached over and placed a hand on Kindan’s arm and squeezed it warningly.

  “If someone had driven a pick right into a pocket and made a spark, it’d all be over before the watch-wher could react,” Natalon argued.

  “See?” Tarik demanded, seeming satisfied. “What’s the use of them, then? I say we’re lucky to be rid of the last of them. We’ll mine faster on our own.”

  Natalon prepared a hot retort, but Master Zist broke in. “What about Kindan?”

  Natalon and Tarik looked startled, as though they had forgotten that Kindan was in the room with them.

  “That house is too big
for him,” Tarik said. “There’s plenty of others who could use the space better.”

  “And there’s the memories,” Master Zist said softly, as if to himself. “It’s not good to linger where there are too many memories.”

  “Well . . .” Natalon said, consideringly.

  “I could use the house,” Tarik spoke into the silence. He looked at Natalon and said, “You’ve got a new one coming, and me and mine would just be too many underfoot.”

  “Well,” Natalon said slowly, “if Kindan doesn’t mind.”

  “It’s not his house to give,” Tarik said sourly. “The house will have to be emptied when Thread comes, anyway.”

  Kindan flushed at Tarik’s brusque manner.

  “That still doesn’t answer where the boy will live,” Master Zist noted, ignoring Tarik’s response.

  “He should foster with those who can handle an extra mouth,” Tarik grumbled. “Maybe Norla could take him in.”

  Norla was Zenor’s mother. Kindan liked her, even though she had always seemed a little overwhelmed by all her daughters. He’d be with Zenor, too, and that would be good. Or would it? Kindan wondered soberly. It would be awkward to have Zenor in the mines while Kindan was still in classes with Master Zist. No, maybe that wasn’t a good idea. And Kindan wasn’t sure he’d like to suddenly become big brother to four little girls, one of them still in diapers.

  “He should go to the one with the least children,” Natalon said, quoting the old, long-established rules regarding fostering. “Someone who’s had some knowledge of raising children but won’t be too heavily burdened by it.”

  He raised his head to gaze directly at Master Zist.

  The Harper sat bolt upright, astonished. Clearly he hadn’t anticipated this turn of events.

  Tarik’s eyes gleamed. “You know something of grief, too, Master Zist.”

  Master Zist glowered at him. Kindan had followed the exchange with growing alarm, but even so he could see how Tarik was trying to profit from others’ loss and matched the Harper in his glower at the older miner. Tarik sat back and ignored their looks, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

  “I don’t—” Master Zist and Kindan said in unison and stopped in shock, looking at each other.

  Natalon stood up, ending the discussion. “I think this will work out well, Master Zist. Kindan, you may ask anyone for a hand to haul up your things and an extra bed for you to the Master’s cottage.”

  “I’ll be glad to find someone for the job,” Tarik added, a satisfied smile undisguised on his face. “If it’s all right with you, Natalon, I would like to begin moving today.”

  In the end Swanee, the camp supply man, and Ima, the camp’s butcher, gave Kindan a hand moving his stuff.

  “If you take the frame apart, you can carry it up in pieces,” Swanee said to Kindan while he rolled the mattress up and heaved it over his shoulders. He tapped the empty frame. “There’s good wood there,” he said approvingly. “Get the slats first and then come back for the rest.”

  Under Master Zist’s directions, they took two chests of drawers and a smaller clothes chest out of Danil’s cottage.

  “Your sisters will doubtless want these when they hear the news,” Master Zist said. “I’m sure you’ll do well with just the chest, but set all of them up in your room.”

  “My room?” Kindan echoed. He’d never had a room of his own; he’d always shared with Tofir and Jakris.

  “Well, you won’t be sleeping with me,” Master Zist said with a wry look.

  “I’d best bring lots of blankets, then,” Kindan said thoughtfully. For all their trouble, Tofir and Jakris had been enough to keep Kindan warm on the coldest nights—when they hadn’t pulled the blankets off.

  “If it’s all the same with you, Kindan,” Swanee said after taking a careful look around the cottage, “I’d like to take anything you don’t need and give it to those that don’t have. The rest I’d like to put up in storage. Tarik has enough stuff of his own.”

  Kindan heartily agreed to the request, and all three nodded in approval.

  “Just a moment,” Master Zist said, raising a hand. Everyone looked at him. “Kindan, is there anything special you’d like for yourself?”

  Kindan thought about that for a moment. “Anything?”

  “Anything,” Master Zist agreed.

  “Well, if I could have Mother’s old table, the one with the hinged lid and the old music inside—”

  “Music?” Master Zist raised an eyebrow.

  Kindan nodded. “It was special to her, and to my father after . . .”

  Master Zist raised a hand to stop him. “Ima, Swanee, can you see to it?” The two nodded in quick agreement. “Anything else?”

  “Take a good look around, lad,” Swanee advised. “If, after we’ve distributed everything, there was something you’d forgotten we could always get it back, but . . .”

  Kindan took a good look through the cottage. He stopped in the kitchen and looked at Master Zist. “Do you need any cookware or dishware?”

  Master Zist shook his head. “The Harper’s cottage is well supplied with both.”

  Kindan pursed his lips in a frown, thinking. Then he nodded. “I think that’s everything, then.”

  Swanee gave Kindan a searching look and then nodded firmly. “Very well, we’ll get your stuff up and distribute the rest. Thank you, lad, there’s many will be grateful for what you don’t need.”

  Kindan nodded mutely, not really understanding what the supplier meant.

  Nuella made Dalor tell her everything when he came upstairs.

  “Kindan’s moving in with the Harper?” she exclaimed when he finished his tale.

  “And Uncle Tarik is moving into Danil’s old house,” Dalor said by way of confirmation. He was glad—that way he wouldn’t have to listen to their uncle complaining all the time.

  “Oh, but it’s awful!” Nuella complained. “How will I get to see the Harper if Kindan’s staying there?”

  Dalor frowned, then said, “I don’t know.”

  “And Master Zist was going to teach me the pipes,” Nuella added sadly to herself.

  “You’re good already!” Dalor told his sister stoutly.

  “Only you would know,” Nuella said, feeling miserable.

  “And Mother,” Dalor corrected.

  “This cave-in’s set Father’s plans back, hasn’t it?” Nuella asked.

  Dalor shrugged.

  Nuella sighed. “I wish . . .” She sighed again, shaking her head, her wish unvoiced. After a moment she picked up her pipes and began playing a soft, sad song.

  Kindan was really surprised, hours later, to find himself sitting on his own bed, in his own room, with the sounds of the Camp’s harper pottering about in another room.

  Master Zist had popped his head in several times to ask, “Everything all right, lad?”

  The first time, Kindan had nearly jumped with shock at the question and could only bring himself to nod mutely in response.

  “Well, then, I’ve got some things to attend to,” Master Zist had said. “If you need anything, you can get it from the kitchen. I’ll be in my study and I’m not to be disturbed.”

  A quick glance at the Master’s face told Kindan that disturbing him would not be a wise thing to do at all. He had nodded quickly but said nothing.

  “All right, then,” Master Zist had said, to fill in the silence. “Get yourself settled in and we’ll have dinner when I’m finished with my work.”

  Now Kindan heard voices from Master Zist’s study. A younger voice and the Master himself. Curious, Kindan listened more carefully. The young voice sounded a lot like Dalor, but he couldn’t hear it clearly enough to be sure. Maybe Master Zist was trying to catch Dalor up on all his missed lessons. It occurred to Kindan to wonder if perhaps Dalor had received extra lessons from Journeyman Jofri, as well. Perhaps because he was Natalon’s son it had been decided to keep him out of all the rough and tumble of the everyday classes. Kindan knew that all the kids in th
e camp thought that Dalor was a bit sickly. Although, come to think of it, Kindan couldn’t recall ever seeing Dalor coming down with anything. Perhaps Jenella, who’d lost so many babies in childbirth, was being careful with Dalor and keeping him in whenever he got the slightest bit sick. It didn’t seem likely to Kindan . . . and the voice didn’t quite sound like Dalor’s. He wondered if he was allowed to open his door to hear the voices more clearly.

  As he pondered the notion, another voice joined in. Kindan immediately recognized the voice as Miner Natalon’s. It seemed as though Natalon was not pleased about something. He heard the youngster’s voice, as well, and Master Zist’s. Judging by the rise and fall of the voices and their tones, Kindan was certain that whoever owned the younger voice was someone well known to Natalon. So it was probably Dalor, Kindan decided. Maybe Natalon was annoyed to find Dalor bothering the Master, Kindan guessed.

  The voices rose in parting and Kindan heard two sets of feet walk to the front door and leave. A while later Master Zist walked into the hallway and knocked on Kindan’s door.

  Having never been afforded such a courtesy, Kindan didn’t know how to respond.

  “May I come in?” Master Zist asked after a short wait.

  Kindan opened the door. “Of course, Master Zist.”

  Master Zist entered the room and looked around. “All settled, then?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Kindan replied.

  “Good,” Zist said, nodding emphatically. “Come along, we’ll eat in the kitchen.”

  Kindan smelled the hearty beef stew before he saw it bubbling on the hearth in a pot he recognized from Jenella’s kitchen. He looked around for the dishes and cutlery and set the table.

  Master Zist served them and they ate in an awkward silence. Kindan finished his stew quickly and waited politely to see if he could have seconds. Master Zist noticed this but continued to eat in slow, deliberate bites. By the time the Master was finished, Kindan was squirming in his chair.