“It is three hours past midnight,” Terilar replied.
No, not enough sleep, Zist thought, correcting his previous assessment.
He sat up and rubbed his hair back.
“It’s a message from Harper Kindan,” Terilar said. “He asks if you would trade him news about the Weyrs.”
The Masterharper of Pern looked up sharply at the drummer, who seemed nonplussed by his sudden keen look.
Zist rose, turning the glow over beside his bed. “Have someone rouse Master Jofri, Master Verilan, and Master Kelsa,” Zist ordered. “And please ask someone to bring us up some klah, if there’s any still hot.”
“Very well,” Terilar said, dashing away.
“So, Kindan wants to trade, does he?” Zist muttered to himself, mostly to hear a voice in the middle of the night. Masterharper Zist appreciated his ex-apprentice’s choice of words. It was clear from Terilar’s look that the drummer hadn’t taken any deeper meaning from Kindan’s message, just as it was clear to Zist that if Kindan “wanted to trade,” he didn’t know what was going on with the other Weyrs himself. And that meant that the Weyrleaders were being more close-mouthed than he had thought.
“You woke us up in the middle of the night to tell us that Kindan wants to trade?” Kelsa demanded as the rest of the harpers gathered in the Masterharper’s office. Her words ended abruptly in a great yawn. She glared at the Masterharper, gripped her mug of klah tightly, and took a long drink.
“I’ve got classes to teach in the morning, you know,” she added.
“This is morning,” Verilan added with a yawn of his own. He frowned thoughtfully at the Masterharper. “And you wouldn’t have woken us without a reason,” he added, “which means that Journeyman Kindan’s message has more meaning to you than I’m getting from it.” He narrowed his eyes. “Which is what you wanted to know—whether others could discern that message.”
“Well, I can’t,” Kelsa said. She glanced at Jofri. “You taught the lad, I suppose you know.”
“I do,” Jofri agreed, nodding. He looked at the Masterharper for permission, and explained, “Kindan’s message makes it plain that he doesn’t know what’s going on with the other Weyrs, at least not in detail.”
Verilan nodded slowly, as comprehension dawned. “The Weyrs aren’t talking to each other,” he surmised.
“But they can relay messages telepathically from dragon to dragon!” Kelsa protested.
“It’s not the same as a face-to-face meeting,” Jofri told her. “You’d have to know exactly what you want to ask.”
“And the questions could easily be misinterpreted,” Verilan said. When Kelsa looked at him inquiringly, he expanded, “Such as how many dragons did you lose, which some Weyrleaders might take to be criticism of their abilities.”
“Exactly,” Master Zist said. “So it’s up to us to find out more.”
“Very well, but what do I or Verilan have to do with that?” Kelsa demanded.
“I’m supposed to tell Master Zist what I’ve found in the Archives about sick dragons or fire-lizards,” Verilan predicted. Master Zist nodded in agreement. The Master Archivist made a face. “Sadly, I don’t have anything to report. We’ve searched back over two hundred Turns and have found no records of illnesses in either fire-lizards or dragons.”
“How about watch-whers?” Master Zist asked.
“We checked for all the related species,” Verilan replied, shaking his head. “And we’ve found nothing. I have hopes that we can go all the way back to the Records from the Crossing—most of them are in better shape, I’m sad to relate, than those from later times.”
“More grist for the mill,” Kelsa said with a laugh. “Turns of work for your lads, then.”
The Master Archivist shook his head. “They’d much rather be copying your songs than dusty old Records that mean nothing to them.”
“I suspect that in the days to come, your apprentices—and all the students at our Hall—will find their interest in preserving our old Records increasing,” Master Zist said.
Verilan nodded in agreement. “These times do make us appreciate the need to preserve our history.”
“So we know why him,” Kelsa persisted, “but why did you have to wake me?”
Master Zist looked at her as if the reason was obvious.
“Because he needs you to figure out a song our Weyr harpers can answer discreetly,” Verilan told her. “So that we can find out how the Weyrs are doing.”
“That’s assuming that the Weyr harpers haven’t succumbed themselves,” Jofri pointed out.
“Them, or their dragons?” Kelsa asked.
“It amounts to the same thing,” Master Zist replied. He added, with an apologetic shrug toward the Master Archivist, “And while our good Archivist here may have found nothing, I also felt that your expertise in the area of song might possibly aid us.”
Kelsa responded with a raised eyebrow.
“Master Verilan’s apprentices may well have concentrated their efforts on written Records,” the Masterharper explained. “But I want you, Kelsa, to search your memory, and your library, for any songs concerning lost fire-lizards or dragons.” It was his turn to shrug. “Who knows? Perhaps there, in our older songs, we might find a clue.”
M’tal had scarcely got in bed when shouts from outside his quarters disturbed him. Salina murmured in her sleep and moved away from the noise.
The shouts grew louder as they came closer, and M’tal could make out the words and the speaker.
“M’tal! What do you think you’re doing?” Tullea shouted as she strode through the entrance into his quarters, thrusting aside the sleeping curtain that he had drawn closed just moments before and allowing the dim light of the hall glows to enter the room.
The shouts could be heard in the Records Room next door. Kindan and Lorana both looked up, jolted out of their reading.
“What’s going on?” Lorana wondered.
“I don’t know,” Kindan answered, rising from his chair, “but it sounds like trouble.”
Lorana frowned, then stood up and followed him to the doorway. He gestured with a hand behind his back, telling her to stay put, as he craned his head around the corner and cocked an ear to listen.
Tullea glared at the Weyrleader from the doorway, demanding an answer.
“I was planning on getting a good night’s rest,” the Weyrleader responded irritably. “What have you in mind?”
Tullea stopped, thrust her hands onto her hips, and glared at him, momentarily at a loss for words.
“You know what I mean,” she continued after a moment, her volume rising. “You’re trying to kill B’nik! Don’t think you can wriggle out of it.”
Salina had lost her battle for sleep and sat up blearily. “Tullea? What is it? What’s wrong with B’nik? Who’s trying to kill him?”
Tullea pointed a finger accusingly at M’tal. “He is!” she shouted. “And I’m sure you’re in on it, too. Or do you mean to tell me that you didn’t know your precious Weyrleader has ordered B’nik to lead the next Fall?”
Salina furrowed her brow and glanced at M’tal. She rubbed her eyes, bringing herself more alert.
“Next Fall? B’nik?” she repeated, digesting the news. M’tal nodded in confirmation. Salina looked up at Tullea and said, “I think that’s a good idea, don’t you?”
“What?” Tullea cried in disgust. “If he isn’t trying to get B’nik killed, he’s trying to discredit him in front of the whole Weyr.” She turned her attention back to M’tal. “You’re supposed to lead the Weyr, Weyrleader. You fly the Fall, do your duty.”
M’tal took a steadying breath.
“It is my duty to prepare the Weyr to fight Thread,” he agreed. “It is my duty to ensure the dragonriders are trained, ready, and able to meet that threat.”
Tullea nodded, a satisfied gleam in her eyes.
M’tal continued, “It is my duty to ensure that our Wingleaders are able to do their jobs. And it is my duty to train those Wingleaders to fight Th
read in any and all positions expected of them—including leading a Fall themselves.”
Tullea’s nostrils flared angrily. “You will not make B’nik lead the Fall!” she shouted. “You’re trying to get him killed so that your dragon will fly Minith!” She drew herself up to her full height. “Well, it’s not going to happen! I’ll not let it happen, no matter what!” Her eyes darted to Salina. “And you! You’re part of this, I can tell. Well, you’re not the Senior Weyrwoman anymore. I want you out of my quarters immediately.”
Kindan swore. “That’s it!” he snarled, darting out of the room. Lorana, who had not heard as clearly what had been said, followed close behind.
Salina glanced at M’tal, who touched her shoulder gently.
“Salina’s things were moved into my quarters before the last Threadfall, Tullea,” M’tal said, tamping down his temper. “Mikkala and a crew of weyrfolk have given it a good cleaning and were just waiting for it to finish airing before they offered it to you.”
Tullea huffed at the news. “Why wasn’t I informed earlier?”
“I’ve been busy with the injured dragons and riders, Tullea,” Salina said in a soft voice. “And I thought that you might not want to move in so soon after”—her voice caught—“after Breth’s death.”
“No one knows how the illness spreads,” Kindan broke in from behind Tullea.
The Weyrwoman whirled. “You! What are you doing here? This is a private conversation.”
“Private conversations are not normally conducted by shouting,” Kindan responded. “We heard you all the way in the Records Room.”
“We?” Tullea looked behind him and spotted Lorana. Her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?” she snapped at Lorana. “Spying?”
“Hardly,” Lorana said. “I was coming to see if anyone needed help.”
Salina grabbed at the statement. “Perhaps some klah and a bite of food.” She glanced at Tullea. “Or maybe some wine.”
“Good idea,” Kindan agreed quickly, turning to Lorana and adding in an undertone, “Laced with fellis juice.”
“I’ll see what I can find,” Lorana answered, with a wink for Kindan.
Tullea watched her disappear with a sour look on her face. “That girl takes far too much on herself,” she proclaimed. “When I am Weyrwoman, I’ll order her to tend to her dragon.”
“I’m sure she’ll be delighted to oblige,” M’tal purred. “When you’re Weyrwoman—perhaps you’d care to start now and take over the search through the Records?”
Tullea jerked as the barb went home. “Don’t try to distract me,” she barked. “I ordered you not to let B’nik lead the next Fall.”
As Lorana raced down the steps, still grappling with the bizarre events above her, she ran straight into B’nik.
“Have you seen Tullea?”
“She’s up with M’tal,” Lorana answered.
B’nik groaned. “She’s not the one who’s been shouting, is she?”
Lorana could only nod. The rider swore, then gave her an apologetic shrug.
“She’s accused him of trying to get you killed,” Lorana said.
“I told her not to!” B’nik growled, starting up the steps. He stopped to look back at her. “Where are you going?”
“Down to get some food and drinks,” she said.
“Make sure to put some fellis juice in her wine,” he told her, shaking his head sadly. “When she gets worked up like this, it’s about the only thing that calms her.”
Lorana frowned. “This has happened before? Is she all right?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know,” B’nik said in rapid response. Another shout prompted him to start back up the stairs. “I’d better get going.”
When Lorana returned with a tray, B’nik deftly took the wine glass and handed it to Tullea, who had grown quieter but no less determined.
“I don’t care,” she said. “You shouldn’t fly this Fall.”
“It’s my duty, Tullea,” B’nik said. “Besides,” he added with a grin, “I want to do it.” He grabbed a mug from the tray Lorana had set down and poured himself some klah.
“I know you do,” Tullea snapped. She took a sip of her wine. “It’s just that, if anything were to happen to you, particularly before Minith rises, I—” She broke off.
B’nik hastily passed his mug to Kindan and wrapped his arms around Tullea, drawing her into a tight embrace. The move caught her off guard and she tipped her glass, spilling some of the wine onto his tunic.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She looked at the others, her eyes moist with emotion. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.
“It’s all right, come on,” B’nik said soothingly, leading her from the room. “It’s late—you’ll feel better in the morning.”
There was an uncomfortable pause as the others listened to their steps as they walked down the hall back to their weyr.
“Stress does strange things to people,” Salina murmured when their steps had faded away.
“She wasn’t like this before,” M’tal muttered, looking puzzled.
“She said she’s always tired, always edgy,” Salina commented. She looked at Kindan. “Could it be something in her diet?”
Kindan shrugged. “K’tan would know best.” He cocked his head toward Lorana, adding, “But Lorana might have some thoughts.”
Lorana was still digesting the events of the evening. She shook her head. “My father bred herdbeasts,” she said. “Sometimes they would go off their feed for no reason. We could never explain it.”
“Well, Tullea’s been ‘off her feed’ for the past three Turns now,” Kindan commented sardonically.
“I think she’s just scared,” Salina said sympathetically. “And who can blame her? These are very worrying times.”
Kindan recognized the end of the conversation and picked up the tray.
“We need to get back to our work,” he said to the others, gesturing for Lorana to precede him.
“No, you need to get to sleep,” M’tal corrected. “I can’t have you two acting like Tullea.”
Out of earshot, Kindan turned back to Lorana and said quietly, “Could it be that the dragons are off their feed?”
Lorana looked at him questioningly.
“Could they be missing some nutrient we aren’t aware of? Something that would make them susceptible to this illness?”
Lorana shook her head. She started to speak, but it turned into a wide yawn before she could answer.
“M’tal is right,” Kindan declared. “You do need your sleep.”
He placed the tray on the return shaft to the Lower Caverns, turned back to her with a grin, and raised his elbow invitingly. “May I escort you back to your weyr, my lady?”
Lorana smiled in return, placing a hand on the proffered elbow, and getting into “my lady” character. “Why certainly. Lead on!”
“I think I’ve got something,” Lorana said as they pored over Records the next day.
Kindan looked up from his Records and gave her an encouraging look.
“This is the third reference I’ve seen to Fort Weyr.”
“I’ve seen about the same,” Kindan said.
“I think that when the Weyrleaders get really stumped, they go to Fort Weyr and check the Records there,” Lorana declared.
“That would make sense,” Kindan agreed. “And Fort Weyr’s close enough to the Harper Hall that they could draft some of the archivists to maintain copies in good condition.”
“Didn’t you say you used to do copying at the Harper Hall?” Lorana asked. When Kindan nodded, she continued, “Do you remember copying Fort Weyr Records?”
“No,” Kindan admitted. “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t done Turns before.”
“I think it’s worth investigating,” Lorana said.
Lorana sprang up from her seat, gave herself an almighty stretch, and said, “Anything to get away from these musty old Records.”
Kindan looked at her quizzically. “Are you accusing me of that se
ntiment, or admitting it yourself?”
“Both,” Lorana answered, laughing.
“B’nik.”
A voice in his ear and gentle shaking roused the dragonrider. He turned over, coming face-to-face with Tullea, her eyes worried.
“I—” she began, voice low and full of apology.
“Shh,” B’nik said, raising his fingers to her lips in a gesture of understanding. Tullea’s face crumpled and she crushed herself against him.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right, love, it’s all right,” B’nik told her, stroking her graceful neck and clasping her tight to him.
Tullea tensed and pulled back. “But it’s not all right,” she protested, her eyes shiny with tears and her nose running. She shook her head helplessly. “I don’t understand, B’nik—”
B’nik tried to shush her again but she dodged his fingers.
“I never used to be like this,” Tullea continued. “I feel pulled apart, dizzy; I can’t concentrate. I feel out of control all the time, B’nik. And it’s been like this for Turns.”
B’nik nodded sympathetically.
“I want me back,” Tullea cried. “I want to be who I was, not angry all the time.”
She looked into his warm eyes and told him her deepest fear: “And if I lose you, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do that.”
M’tal wasn’t in his quarters, nor in the Kitchen Cavern. As they wandered across the Bowl, they found K’tan first and decided to try the idea on him.
“Two more dragons have started coughing this morning,” he told them as they approached. “That makes seven more since the last Fall.”
“Nearly two a day,” Kindan observed. “How long from the start of the cough until . . .”
“Death?” K’tan finished. He shook his head. “Two, maybe three sevendays.”
Lorana eyed the walls of the Bowl above them, picking out each individual weyr. She spotted one dragon lolling with its neck extended out over the ledge of its weyr, saw it sneeze and send a cloud of green ooze spraying down and out across the Bowl. She pointed at it.
“It may not be the way it starts to spread,” she said to the others, “but do we know if the latest sick are close by or under those already infected?”
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