The Dragonriders of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Know what you mean.” The young Harper grinned. “Jaxom, do you realize that I’ve been places no man has ever stepped before? I’ve seen places that scared me to leaking, and other spots that I had trouble leaving because they were so beautiful.” He exhaled in resignation. “Oh, well, I got there first.” Suddenly he sat up, pointing urgently into the sky. “There they are! If only I had a far-viewer!”

  “Who are?” Jaxom slewed himself around to see where Piemur was pointing, expecting dragonriders.

  “The so-called Dawn Sisters. You can only see them dusk and dawn down here and much higher in the sky. See, those three very bright points! Many’s the time I’ve used them as guides!”

  Jaxom could scarcely miss the three stars, gleaming in an almost constant light. He wondered that he hadn’t noticed them before now.

  “They’ll fade soon,” Piemur said, “unless one of the moons is out. Then you see them again just before dawn. Must ask Wansor about that when I see him. They don’t act like proper stars. The Starsmith’s not scheduled to come down and help build the Harper’s hold, is he?”

  “He’s about the only one who isn’t,” Jaxom replied. “Cheer up, Piemur. The way they worked today, it won’t take long to finish that hold. And what do you mean about the Dawn Sisters?”

  “They just don’t act like proper stars. Didn’t you ever notice?”

  “No. But we’ve been in most evenings and certainly every dawn.”

  Piemur pointed with several stabs of his right arm at the Dawn Sisters. “Most stars change position. They never do.”

  “Sure they do. In Ruatha they’re almost invisible on the horizon . . .”

  Piemur was shaking his head. “They’re constant. That’s what I mean. Every season I’ve been here, they’re always in the same place.”

  “Can’t be! It’s impossible. Wansor says that stars have routes in the sky just like—”

  “They stay still! They’re always in the same position.”

  “And I tell you that’s impossible.”

  “What’s impossible? And don’t snarl at each other,” Sharra said, returning with a tray piled high with food and a wineskin slung over her shoulder. Giving Piemur the food, she filled cups all around.

  Piemur guffawed as he reached for a buck rib. “Well, I’m going to send a message to Wansor. I say it’s bloody peculiar behavior for stars!”

  A change in the breeze awakened the Masterharper. Zair chirped softly, curled on the pillows above Robinton’s ear. A sunscreen had been rigged above the Harper’s head but it was the airless heat that roused him.

  For a change, no one was seated in watch over him. The respite of surveillance pleased him. He had been touched by the concern of everyone, though at times the attention bade fair to smother him. He’d curbed his impatience. He had no choice. Too weak and tired to resist the ministrations. Today must be another small indication of his general improvement: leaving him alone. He reveled in the solitude. Before him, the jib sheet flapped idly and he could hear the mainsail, behind him—aft, he corrected himself abruptly—rumbling windless as well. The gentle rolling swells seemed to be all that drove the ship forward. Waves, curls of foam on their crests, were mesmeric in their rhythm and he had to shake his head sharply to break their fascination. He raised his glance above the swell and saw nothing but water, as usual, on all sides. They would not see land for days more, he knew, though Master Idarolan said they were making good speed on their southeasterly course now that they had picked up the Great South Current.

  The Master Fisherman was as pleased with this expedition as everyone else connected with it. Robinton snorted to himself with amusement. Everyone else apparently was profiting by his illness.

  Now, now, Robinton chided himself, don’t be sour. Why did you spend so much time training Sebell if not to take over when it became necessary? Only, Robinton thought, he hadn’t ever expected that to happen. He wondered fleetingly if Menolly was faithfully reporting the daily messages from Sebell. She and Brekke could well be conspiring to keep any worrying problem from him.

  Zair stroked his cheek with his soft head. Zair was the best humor-vane a man could have. The fire-lizard knew, with an instinct that outshone his own reliable sense of atmosphere, the emotional climate of those about Robinton.

  He wished he could throw off this languor and use the journey time to good effect—catching up on Craft business, on those songs he had in mind to write, on any number of long-delayed projects that the press of immediate concerns had pushed further and further from completion. But Robinton had no ambition at all; he found himself content to lie on the deck of Master Idarolan’s swift ship and do nothing. The Dawn Sister, that’s what Idarolan called her. Pretty name. That reminded him. He must borrow the Fisherman’s far-viewer this evening. There was something odd about those Dawn Sisters. They were visible, higher up than they ought to be, in the sky at dusk as well as dawn. Not that he’d been allowed to be awake at dawn to check. But they were mostly in the sky at sunset. He didn’t think that stars should act that way. He must remember to write Wansor a note.

  He felt Zair stir, heard him chirp a pleasant greeting before he heard the soft step behind him. Zair’s mind imagined Menolly.

  “Don’t creep up on me,” he said with more testiness than he intended.

  “I thought you were asleep!”

  “I was. What else do I do all day?” He smiled at her to take the petulance from his words.

  Surprisingly, she grinned and offered him a cup of fruit juice, lightly laced with wine. They knew better now than to offer him plain juice.

  “You sound better.”

  “Sound better? I’m as peevish as an old uncle! You must be heartily tired of my sulks by now!”

  She dropped beside him, her hand on his forearm.

  “I’m just so glad you’re able to sulk,” she said. Robinton was startled to see the glimmer of tears in her eyes.

  “My dear girl,” he began, covering her hand with his.

  She laid her head on the low couch, her face turned from him. Zair chirped in concern, his eyes beginning to whirl faster. Beauty erupted into the air above Menolly’s head, chittering in echoed distress. Robinton set down his cup and raised himself on one elbow, leaning solicitously over the girl.

  “Menolly, I’m fine. I’ll be up and about any day now, Brekke says.” The Harper permitted himself to stroke her hair. “Don’t cry. Not now!”

  “Silly of me, I know. Because you are getting well, and we’ll see to it that you never strain yourself again . . .” Menolly wiped her eyes impatiently with the back of her hand and sniffled.

  It was an endearingly childlike action. Her face, now blotchy from crying, was suddenly so vulnerable that Robinton felt his heart give a startling thump. He smiled tenderly at her, stroked tendrils of her hair back from her face. Tilting her chin up, he kissed her cheek. He felt her hand tighten convulsively on his arm, felt her lean into his kiss with an appeal that set both fire-lizards humming.

  Perhaps it was that response from their friends, or the fact that he was so startled that caused him to stiffen, but Menolly swiveled away from him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her head bent, her shoulders sagging.

  “So, my dear Menolly, am I,” the Harper said as gently as he could. In that instant, he regretted his age, her youth, how much he loved her—the fact that he never could— and the weakness that caused him to admit so much. She turned back to him, her eyes intense with her emotion.

  He held up his hand, saw the quick pain in her eyes, as the merest shake of his fingers forestalled all she wanted to say. He sighed, closing his eyes against the pain in her loving eyes. Abruptly he was exhausted by an exchange of understanding that had taken so few moments. As few as at Impression, he thought, and as lasting. He supposed he had always known the dangerous ambivalence of his feelings for the young SeaHold-bred girl whose rare talent he had developed. Ironic that he should be weak enough to admit it, to himself and to her, a
t such an awkward moment. Obtuse of him not to have recognized the intensity and quality of Menolly’s feelings for him. Yet, she’d seemed content enough with Sebell. Certainly they enjoyed a deep emotional and physical attachment. Robinton had done everything in his subtle power to insure that. Sebell was the son he had never had. Better that!

  “Sebell . . .” he began, and stopped when he felt her fingers tentatively closing over his.

  “I loved you first, Master.”

  “You’ve been a dear child to me,” he said, willing himself to believe that. He squeezed her fingers in a brisk grip which he broke and, elbowing himself off the pillows, retrieved the cup he had set down and took a long drink.

  He was able, then, to smile up at her, despite the lingering ache in his throat for what could never have been. She did manage a smile in return.

  Zair flew up and beyond the sunscreen, though Robinton couldn’t imagine why the approach of the Masterfisher would startle the creature.

  “So, you wake. Rested, my good friend?” the Sea-master asked.

  “Just the man I wanted to see. Master Idarolan, have you noticed those Dawn Sisters at dusk? Or has my eyesight deteriorated with the rest of me?”

  “Oho, the eye is by no means dimmed, good Master Robinton. I’ve already sent word back to Master Wansor on that account. I confess that I have never sailed so far easterly in these Southern waters so I’d never observed the phenomenon before, but I do believe that there is something peculiar about the positioning of those three stars.”

  “If I’m allowed to stay up past dusk this evening,” the Harper glared significantly at Menolly, “may I have the loan of your distance-viewer?”

  “You certainly may, Master Robinton. I’d appreciate your observations. I know you’ve had a good deal more time to study Master Wansor’s equations. Perhaps we can figure out between us this erratic behavior.”

  “I’d like nothing better. In the meantime, let us complete that game we started this morning. Menolly, have you the board handy?”

  CHAPTER XVIII

  At the Cove Hold the Day of Master

  Robinton’s Arrival, 15.10.14

  With so many eager hands and skilled craftsmen, Cove Hold took only eleven days to complete, though the stonemen shook their heads a bit over rushing the drying of hardset. Another three days were spent on the interior. Lessa, Manora, Silvina and Sharra consulted long, and with much shifting of the furnishings finally achieved what they considered the effective use—not efficient, Sharra told Jaxom with a wicked grin, but effective— of the offerings which poured in from every hold, craft and cot.

  Sharra’s voice began to take on a tone that mixed suffering and pride. She’d spent the day unpacking, washing and arranging things. “What did you fall into?” she asked Piemur, noticing newly acquired scratches on his face and hands.

  “Doing things his way,” Jaxom replied, though he’d a few marks on his neck and forehead as well.

  With so many to build the Hold, N’ton, F’nor, and F’lar, when he could arrange the time, had joined Piemur and Jaxom to increase their knowledge of the lands immediately adjacent to the Cove.

  Piemur rather arrogantly told F’lar that dragons had to be to a place first to get there again between—or else get a sharp enough visualization from someone who had. But he, with his two feet and Stupid’s four, had to be first so that mere dragonriders could then follow. The dragonriders ignored the somewhat disparaging remarks, but Piemur’s attitude was beginning to get on Jaxom’s nerves.

  No matter the method of accomplishment, temporary camps at a good day’s flight by dragon from Cove Hold were established in a wide arc fanning out from the new Hold. Each camp consisted of a small tile-roofed shelter and a stone bunker to secure emergency supplies and sleeping furs. By a tacit agreement, they had gone two days’ flight on a direct bearing to the mountain and built a secondary camp.

  The restriction on Jaxom flying between would shortly be removed. He had only to wait now, F’lar told him, until Master Oldive gave him a final examination. Since Master Oldive would soon be in Cove Hold to check Robinton’s recovery, Jaxom wouldn’t have long to wait.

  “And, if I can go between, so can Menolly,” Jaxom said.

  “Why would you have to wait until Menolly can go between?” Sharra asked, with an edge to her voice that Jaxom hoped might be a twinge of jealousy.

  “She and Master Robinton found this Cove first, you know.” He wasn’t glancing in the direction of the Cove when he spoke, but toward the omnipresent mountain.

  “By sea,” Piemur said with some disgust for such a mode of transport.

  “I have to admit, Piemur,” Sharra said after regarding him for a long moment, “that feet were used before wings and sail. I, for one, am thankful that there are other ways of getting from one place to another. And it’s no disgrace to use them.”

  She then turned and walked off, leaving Piemur to stare after her in surprise.

  The incident cleared the air and Jaxom was relieved to note that Piemur eased his snide remarks about flying and riding.

  Attesting to the accuracy of Piemur’s charting was the fact that, once the Great South Current curved shoreward, Master Idarolan was able to identify his position by the contour of the now visible coast and to predict the arrival of the Dawn Sister at Cove Hold. She was twenty-two days out of Istan water before she rounded the west point of the Cove one bright morning, an event that was celebrated by a special, select welcoming committee.

  Oldive and Brekke had forbidden a large reception and party. There was no point in undoing all the benefit of the long, restful voyage with the strain and fatigue of a feast. So Master Fandarel represented the hundreds of craftsmen and masters who had produced the beautiful Cove Hold. Lessa stood for all the Weyrs whose dragons had transported men and material, and Jaxom was the logical spokesman for the Lord Holders who had contributed the men and supplies.

  These last moments, as the graceful three-masted ship headed up the Cove toward the stubby stone pier, seemed the hardest to endure. Jaxom strained his eyes as the ship glided closer and closer on the calm waters, and let out a jubilant whoop that made the fire-lizards squeak in surprise when he discerned the figure of the Harper standing in the prow, waving to those on shore. The fire-lizards executed aerial dances of great intricacy above the ship.

  “Look, he’s almost black with sun,” Lessa cried, clutching Jaxom’s arm in her excitement.

  “Don’t worry, he’ll have had a good long rest,” Fandarel said, grinning from ear to ear in anticipation of his friend’s delight and pleasure in the new Hall. It was just out of sight from the pier.

  The ship suddenly wheeled as Master Idarolan swung the tiller starboard, to slip his vessel deftly broadside to the dock. Seamen leaped to the pier, snubbing lines on the bollards. Jaxom jumped forward to lend a willing hand. The ship creaked as her timbers resisted the sudden halt. Bound bolsters were run over the side to prevent the ship rubbing against stone. Then a plank was dropped from an opening in the ship’s rail to the pier.

  “I’ve brought him safely to you, Benden, Mastersmith, Lord Holder,” boomed the voice of the Master Seaman as he jumped to the cabin housing.

  A spontaneous cheer burst from Jaxom’s throat, echoed by a roar from Fandarel and a cry from Lessa. Jaxom and Fandarel stood on either side of the springy plank to grip Robinton’s hands as he all but slid ashore.

  Ramoth and Ruth bugled overhead, startling the fire-lizards into wilder extravagances of motion. Lessa embraced the Harper by standing on tiptoe and imperiously pulling his head down so she could kiss him soundly. Tears sparkled on her cheeks and, to Jaxom’s surprise, he realized his own eyes were wet, too. He stood politely back while Fandarel gently thumped the Harper off balance, sticking out a hamlike hand to steady his friend. Then he turned to assist Brekke and Menolly down the bouncing plank. Everyone began talking at once. Brekke looked anxiously from Robinton to Jaxom, demanding if the latter had had any headaches or eye spot
s, then urging the Harper to get out of the fierce sun as if he hadn’t been baking in it on board ship day after day.

  Good-naturedly everyone seized bundles from those the seamen were passing from ship to shore—everyone except Robinton, who was only allowed to carry his gitar.

  Brekke began to walk up the shore toward the old shelter when Fandarel, laughing hugely in anticipation, placed his big hand on her back and gently propelled her toward the sanded path that led to the new Cove Hold. When Brekke began to protest, Lessa hushed her and pointed decisively at the path, taking her arm and half-pulling her along.

  “I’m sure the shelter was that way . . .”

  “It was,” replied Master Fandarel, striding along beside the Harper. “We found a better site, more suitable for our Harper!”

  “More efficient, my friend?” Robinton asked, laughing as he clapped his hand on the Smith’s bulging shoulder.

  “Much more efficient. Much!” The Smith nearly choked with his laughter.

  Brekke had reached the bend of the path and stared incredulously at the sight of the new Hold. “I don’t believe it!” She glanced quickly from Lessa to the Smith to Jaxom. “What have you done? How have you done it? It just isn’t possible!”

  Robinton and Fandarel had reached the two women, the Smith beaming so broadly that every tooth in his head showed and his eyes were mere squints in the folds of his cheeks.

  “I thought Brekke said the shelter was small,” Robinton said, peering at the structure and smiling hesitantly. “Otherwise I’d have asked for . . .”

  Lessa and Fandarel could bear the suspense no longer and, each taking one of the Harper’s arms, urged him toward the wide porch steps.

  “Just you wait until you see what’s inside,” Lessa said with a crow of satisfaction.

  “Everyone on Pern helped, either sending craftsmen or material,” Jaxom told Brekke, taking her limp arm and escorting her on. He beckoned Menolly to hurry and join them.

  Menolly glanced about and saw only the peaceful cove, carefully raked sand, trees and flowering shrubs which bordered the beach looking as unscathed as the day she and Jaxom had arrived. Only the bulk of the Hold, with its peripheral path of sand and shells, gave evidence of any change. “I just don’t believe it.”