The Dragonriders of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  Jaxom stifled a chuckle at the expression of puzzlement and then indignation on the Masterminer’s face.

  “Dragonriders mining?”

  “Why not?” F’lar asked. “Thread will Pass. There’ll be another Interval on us all too soon. I promise you one thing, with the Southern lands open, never again will the Weyrs be beholden to anyone during an Interval.”

  “Ah, yes, a very sound idea, Weyrleader, very sound,” Master Nicat prudently agreed, though he would plainly need time to assimilate such a revolutionary idea.

  The dragons lounging on the shore crooned a welcome to someone.

  N’ton suddenly rose. “I must join Wansor in our star-watch. That must be Path and Mirrim returning. My duty to you all.”

  “I’ll light your way, N’ton,” Jaxom said, grabbing a glow basket and unshielding it.

  They were well out of hearing range of the others when N’ton turned to Jaxom. “This is more to your fancy, isn’t it, Jaxom, than flying tamely in the queens’ wing?”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose, N’ton,” Jaxon said with a laugh. “I just wanted to see the mountain before anyone else did.”

  “No hunch this time?”

  “Hunch?”

  N’ton threw a companionable arm about his shoulders, chuckling. “No, I suppose it was inspired by the fire-lizards’ images.”

  “The mountain?”

  N’ton gave him a bit of a shake. “Good man!”

  They saw the dark bulk of a dragon settling to the beach and then two gleaming circles as Lioth turned his head toward them.

  “A white dragon has an advantage at night,” N’ton said as he pointed to the visible hide of Ruth a little to one side of his bronze.

  I’m glad you’ve come. I’ve an itch I cannot reach, said Ruth.

  “He’s in need of attention, N’ton.”

  “Leave the glows with me then, I’ll pass them on to Mirrim so she can find her way to the point.”

  They separated as Jaxom moved aside to attend to Ruth. He heard N’ton greet Mirrim, their voices carrying on the quiet night air.

  “Of course, Wansor’s all right,” Mirrim said, sounding peevish. “He’s got his eyes glued to that tube of his. He never knew I came, never ate the food I brought, never knew I left. And further,” she paused, taking a deep breath, “Path did not scare away the Southern fire-lizards.”

  “Why would she?”

  “I’m not allowed to be on the Plateau when Jaxom and the others try to coax some sense out of the Southerners.”

  “Sense? Oh, yes, seeing if Ruth can focus the fire-lizards’ images. Well, I shouldn’t worry about it, Mirrim. There are so many other things you can do.”

  “At least my dragon is not an unsexed runt, good for nothing but consorting with fire-lizards!”

  “Mirrim!”

  Jaxom heard the coldness in N’ton’s voice; it matched the sudden freezing in his own guts. Mirrim’s petulant comment resounded over and over in his ears.

  “You know what I mean, N’ton . . .”

  Just like Mirrim, Jaxom thought, not to heed the warning in N’ton’s voice.

  “You ought to,” she went on with the impetus of grievance. “Wasn’t it you who told F’nor and Brekke that you doubted if Ruth would ever mate? Where are you going, N’ton? I thought you were going . . .”

  “You don’t think, Mirrim!”

  “What’s the matter, N’ton?” The sudden panic in her voice afforded Jaxom some consolation.

  Don’t stop, Ruth said. The itch is still there.

  “Jaxom?” N’ton’s call was not loud, meant to reassure, but the sound carried back.

  “Jaxom?” Mirrim cried. “Oh, no!” Then Jaxom heard her running away, saw the glow basket jolting, heard her weeping. Just like the girl, speak first, think later and weep for days. She’d be repentant and hanging on about him, driving him between with her need to be forgiven her thoughtlessness.

  “Jaxom!” N’ton was anxious.

  “Yes, N’ton?” Jaxom dutifully continued to scratch Ruth’s backbone, wondering why Mirrim’s cruel remark did not rankle as it ought. Sexless runt! As he saw N’ton striding toward him, he was aware of a curious sense of relief, of relaxation deep inside him. The memory of those riders, waiting for the Fort green to mate, flashed through his mind. Yes, he’d been relieved then that Ruth had proved disinterested. He could somewhat regret that Ruth would be deprived of that experience; but he was relieved that he would never be called upon to endure it.

  “You must have heard her.” There was a tinge of hope in N’ton’s voice that Jaxom hadn’t.

  “I heard. Sound carries near water.”

  “Blast the girl! Scorch the girl! We were going to explain . . . then you took the fire-head, and now this. The opportunity hasn’t presented itself . . .” N’ton’s explanations came out in a rush.

  “I can live with it. Like Mirrim’s Path, there are other things we can do.”

  N’ton’s groan came from his guts. “Jaxom!” His fingers closed tightly on Jaxom’s shoulder, trying in the contact to express his inarticulate regret.

  “It’s not your fault, N’ton.”

  “Does Ruth comprehend what was said?”

  “Ruth comprehends that his back itches.” Even as Jaxom said it, he found it curious that Ruth was not the least bit upset.

  There, you have the exact spot. Harder now.

  Jaxom could feel the slightly flaky dryness in the otherwise loose and soft hide.

  “I think I guessed, N’ton,” Jaxom went on, “that time at Fort Weyr, that something was wrong. I know K’nebel expected Ruth to rise for the green. I thought that Ruth, being born small, maybe would mature later than other dragons do.”

  “He’s as mature as he’ll ever be, Jaxom!”

  Jaxom was rather touched by the genuine regret in the bronze rider’s voice.

  “So? He’s my dragon and I’m his rider. We are together!”

  “He’s unique!” N’ton’s verdict was fervent, and he stroked Ruth’s hide with affectionate respect. “So, my young friend, are you!” He gripped Jaxom’s shoulder again, letting the gesture stand for words unsaid. Lioth crooned in the darkness beyond them and Ruth, turning his head toward the bronze dragon, made a courteous response.

  Lioth is a fine fellow. His rider is a kind man. They are good friends!

  “We are ever your friends,” N’ton said, giving Jaxom’s shoulder a final, almost painful squeeze. “I must get to Wansor. You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “Go along, N’ton. I’ll just settle Ruth’s itch!”

  The Fort Weyrleader hesitated one more moment before he pivoted and walked quickly toward his bronze.

  “I think I’d better oil that patch, Ruth,” Jaxom said. “I’ve been neglecting you lately.”

  Ruth’s head came around, his eyes gleamed more brilliantly blue in the darkness. You never neglect me.

  “I have too, or you wouldn’t be patchy!”

  There has been much for you to do!

  “There’s a fresh pot of oil in the kitchen. Hold tight.” His eyes accustomed to the tropic darkness, Jaxom made his way to the Hold, found the pot in the kitchen press and trotted back. He was conscious of a weariness, in mind and body. Mirrim was the most awkward person! If he’d let her and Path come . . . Well, he’d have learned the verdict on Ruth sooner or later. Why wasn’t Ruth upset? Maybe if he had been completely willing for his dragon to experience that part of his personality, Ruth would have matured. Jaxom railed at the fact that they had always been kept from being full dragon and rider: brought up as they were in the Hold, instead of the Weyr where the mating of dragons was an understood and accepted fact of the Weyr life. It wasn’t as if Ruth were immune to sexual experience. He was always present when Jaxom had sex.

  I love with you and I love you. But my back itches fiercely.

  That was clear enough, Jaxom thought as he hurried through the forest to his dragon.

  Someone was with Rut
h, scratching his back for him. If it was Mirrim . . . Jaxom strode forward angrily.

  Sharra is with me, Ruth told him calmly.

  “Sharra?” Swallowing an irrational surge of anger, he acknowledged her presence. “I’ve got the oil. Ruth’s got a bad flaky patch. I’ve been neglecting him.”

  “You’ve never neglected Ruth,” she said so emphatically that Jaxom had to smile in surprise.

  “Did Mirrim . . .” he began, holding the oil pot out so she could dip her hand in.

  “Yes, and no sympathy from any of us, let me assure you.” Her anger translated itself to an overly hard rub on Ruth’s back that made him complain. “Sorry, Ruth. They sent Mirrim back to Benden!”

  Jaxom glanced up the beach to where Path had landed and, indeed, the green dragon was gone.

  “And you were sent to me?” He found he didn’t mind Sharra: her presence was, in fact, a boon.

  “Not sent . . .” Sharra faltered. “I was . . . I was called!” She finished her sentence in a rush.

  “Called?” Jaxom left off rubbing oil into Ruth’s back and looked at her. Her face was a pale blur with dark spots for her eyes and mouth.

  “Yes, called. Ruth called me. He said Mirrim . . .”

  “He said?” Jaxom interrupted her as her words finally sank in. “You can hear Ruth?”

  She needed to hear me when you were sick, Jaxom, Ruth said at the same moment Sharra was saying out loud, “I’ve been able to hear him ever since you were so ill.”

  “Ruth, why did you call Sharra?”

  She is good for you. You need her. What Mirrim said, even what N’ton said but he was kinder, has made you close up. I do not like it when I cannot hear your mind. Sharra will open it for us.

  “Will you do that for us, Sharra?”

  This time Jaxom didn’t hesitate. He took Sharra’s hands, oily as they were, and drew her to him, inordinately pleased that she was so nearly his height and her mouth so close to his. All he had to do was tilt his head slightly.

  “I would do anything for you, Jaxom, anything for you and Ruth!” Her lips moved delightfully against his until he made more speech impossible.

  A warmth began in his belly, dispelling the cold closeness that distressed his dragon and himself—a warmth that had to do with Sharra’s lithe body against his, the scent of her long heavy hair in his nostrils as he kissed her, the pressure of her arms on the skin of his back. And her hands, flat against his waist, were not the hands of a healer, but the hands of a lover.

  They made love in the soft warm darkness, delighting in each other and fully responsive to the moment of ecstasy that came, totally aware that Ruth loved with them.

  CHAPTER XX

  At the Mountain and at Ruatha Hold,

  15.10.18–15.10.20

  Jaxom could not feel easy looking at the eastern face of the mountain. He arranged himself, Sharra and Ruth so that they did not have to see it. The other five made themselves comfortable in a loose semicircle about Ruth.

  The seventeen banded fire-lizards—for at the last moment, Sebell and Brekke asked to be included in the group—settled on Ruth’s back. The more trained fire-lizards, the better, reasoned Master Robinton, which, he went on to say, gave him the chance to include Zair.

  Word of the ancients’ settlement at the high Plateau had spread throughout Pern with a swiftness that had amazed even the Harper. Everyone clamored to see the place. F’lar sent the message that if Jaxom and Ruth were to prod the fire-lizards’ memories, they’d better do so quickly, or not at all.

  Once Ruth had settled, the Southern fire-lizards began arriving in fairs, led by their queens, dipping toward Ruth who crooned a greeting as Jaxom had suggested he do.

  They are pleased to see me, Ruth told Jaxom. And happy that men come to this place again.

  “Ask them about the first time they saw men.”

  Jaxom caught an instant image from Ruth of many dragons arriving over the shoulder of the mountain.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  I know, Ruth acknowledged with regret. I will ask again. Not the time with the dragons, but a long time ago, before the mountain blew up.

  The reaction of the fire-lizards was predictable and discouraging. They flew up from their perches on and about Ruth and did wild sky-dances, chittering and bugling in dismay.

  Disappointed, Jaxom turned to see Brekke’s hand raised, a look of intense concentration on her face. He relaxed against Ruth, wondering what arrested her attention. Menolly also held up her hand. She was sitting near enough to Jaxom so that he saw her eyes were totally unfocused. On her shoulder, Beauty had assumed a rigid position, her eyes wheeling violently red. Above their circle, the fire-lizards chattered and continued their wild gyrations.

  They are seeing the mountain on fire, said Ruth. They see people running, the fire following them. They are afraid as they were afraid so long ago. This is the very dream we used to have.

  “Can you see the mounds? Before they were covered?” In his excitement, Jaxom forgot and spoke aloud.

  I see only people running, this way and that. No, they are running toward . . . toward us? Ruth looked about him as if he half-expected to be overrun, so vivid were the fire-lizard images.

  “Toward us, and then where?”

  Down to the water? Ruth wasn’t sure himself, and turned to look toward the distant, invisible sea.

  They are afraid again. They don’t like remembering the mountain.

  “Any more than they like remembering the Red Star,” Jaxom said imprudently. Every fire-lizard disappeared, including the banded ones.

  “That did it, Jaxom,” Piemur said in deep disgust. “You can’t mention that bloody Red Star in front of fire-lizards. Flaming mountains, but not red stars.”

  “Undeniably,” Sebell said in his deep quiet voice, “there are moments that are branded in the minds of our little friends. When they start remembering, everything else is excluded.”

  “It is association,” Brekke said.

  “What we need then,” Piemur said, “is another spot that strikes less distressing memories in them. Memories . . . useful . . . to us . . .”

  “Not so much that,” Menolly considered her words carefully, “as interpretation. I saw something. I think I’m right . . . it wasn’t the big mountain that erupted, it was . . .” She turned, and pointed to the smallest of the three. “That’s the one that blew in our dreams!”

  “No, it was the big one,” Piemur contradicted, pointing higher.

  “You’re wrong, Piemur,” Brekke said with quiet certainty. “It was the smallest one . . . everything is to the left in my images. The big mountain is too much higher than the one I’m sure I saw.”

  “Yes, yes,” Menolly said, excited. “The angle is important. The fire-lizards couldn’t see that high! Remember they’re much, much smaller. And see, the angle. It’s right!” She was on her feet, gesturing to illustrate her points. “People came from there, running this way, away from the smallest volcano! They came from those mounds. The largest ones!”

  “That’s the way I saw it,” Brekke agreed. “Those mounds there!”

  “So do we start with these?” F’lar asked, the next morning, sighing at the task of unearthing a small hill. Lessa stood beside him, surveying the silent mounds, with the Master Smith, Masterminer Nicat, F’nor and N’ton.

  Jaxom, Piemur, Sharra and Menolly remained discreetly to one side. “This large one?” he asked, but his eyes swept down the parallel ranks, squinting with resignation.

  “We could be digging until the Pass is done,” Lessa said, slapping her riding gloves against her thigh as she, too, did a slow thoughtful survey of the sprawl of anonymous earthen lumps.

  “A vast area,” Fandarel said, “vast! A larger settlement than the combined Holds at Fort and Telgar.” He glanced up in the direction of the Dawn Sisters. “They all came from those?” He shook his head, staggered by the concept. “Where to start to best effect?”

  “Is everyone on Pern
coming here today?” Lessa asked as a bronze dragon burst into the air over their heads. “D’ram’s Tiroth! With Toric?”

  “I doubt we could exclude him if we wished, and it would be unwise to try,” F’lar remarked in a droll tone.

  “True,” she replied and then smiled at her weyrmate. “I rather like him,” she added, surprised at her own verdict.

  “My brother makes himself likable,” Sharra said quietly to Jaxom, a curious smile on her lips. “But to trust him?” She shook her head slowly, watching Jaxom’s face. “He is a very ambitious man!”

  “He’s taking a good look, isn’t he?” N’ton remarked, watching the circling dragon’s lazy downward glide.

  “It’s worth looking at,” F’nor replied, scanning the broad, mounded expanse.

  “Is that Toric aloft?” Master Nicat asked, digging his boot toe into the large mound. “Glad he’s here. He sent for me when he found those mine shafts in the Western Range.”

  “I’d forgot he’s already had some experience with the ancients’ handiwork,” F’lar said.

  “He’s also got experienced men to help us without having to go back to the Lord Holders,” N’ton said with a knowing grin.

  “Whom I don’t want too interested in these eastern lands,” Lessa said firmly.

  When D’ram and Toric had dismounted, Tiroth glided down the grassy plain to where the other dragons were lounging on the outcropping of sun-warmed rock. As Toric and the bronze rider walked toward them, Jaxom regarded the Southerner, with Sharra’s remarks in his mind. Toric was a big man, as big as Master Fandarel in build and height. His hair was sun-streaked, his skin a deep brown and, while his smile was broad, there was a certain arrogant self-possession in the very way he strode that suggested he felt himself the equal of any awaiting him. Jaxom wondered just how that attitude would strike the Benden Weyrleaders.

  “You certainly have discovered the Southern Continent, haven’t you, Benden?” he said, gripping F’lar’s arm in greeting and bowing as he smiled at Lessa. He nodded and murmured the names of the other leaders and masters present, glancing beyond them with a raking look at the younger people. When Toric’s eyes came back to his face, just briefly, Jaxom knew he’d been identified. Resenting the way Toric’s glance slid from him, as if he were negligible, he stiffened. Then he felt Sharra’s hand lightly on his arm.