All the Weyrs of Pern (11 page)

“I don’t think so,” Jaxom replied in mild surprise. “I don’t remember that Aivas gave the direction. Maybe he didn’t want to. Our ancestors came here to escape a war, a conflict of such scope and dimensions, waged against an evil far more destructive than Thread, that they wanted to forget Earth.”

“Really? Could anything be more destructive than Thread?” The healer was both astonished and appalled.

“I find it hard to believe, too,” Jaxom agreed.

Ruth glided in from his sunning spot to the cleared area in front of the Aivas building. He ducked his head to receive his weyrmate’s affectionate slap.

“You must have baked yourself,” Jaxom said, shaking his hand as if to cool it.

Yes. It was good. Ramoth and Mnementh are waiting for us to leave this space,
Ruth said.
There’s really enough room, but you know Ramoth. She likes to boss me.

Jaxom chuckled as he mounted, aware that fatigue was making him clumsy. With no prompting needed, the white dragon crouched down to accommodate Master Oldive. Hauling the healer up only emphasized Jaxom’s weariness. But they would be home soon. Inwardly he groaned: They would have to make yet another run later, to take Oldive back to his Hall.

Sharra will make him stay the night. He’ll want to talk, so she won’t let him go,
Ruth said.

As Ruth rose from the ground, Jaxom and Oldive were able to appreciate just how busy Landing had become. Paths lit by glowbaskets spread like the spokes of a wheel radiating out from the Aivas building. Carpenters and joiners were working by glowlight to finish roofing the substantial annex. All of the housing immediately adjacent was lit, and the warm evening air was redolent with the aromas of roasting meats. On the mounds beyond, large, vivid, blue-faceted dragon eyes punctuated the darkness like immense jewels on a deep blue background. Two rose and glided beneath Ruth as he continued to rise.

All right, Ruth, let’s go home to Ruatha.
Jaxom gratefully focused his thoughts on the Hold, the big courtyard in front of the wide steps, and the smaller court that had been their quarters during their youth. The cold of
between
held a wicked bite on tired minds and bodies. It did not help to emerge into the weak afternoon sunlight and the chill of winter. Jaxom could feel Oldive shivering behind him. But Ruth had emerged only a few wing strokes above the Hold and glided effortlessly into the main courtyard, the Hold’s fair of fire-lizards wheeling in raptures at his return.

Sharra, a thick furry cloak thrown over her shoulders, came running down the steps to them, effusive in her welcome, helping Master Oldive dismount, securing his satchel as it swung off his shoulder, smiling her delight up at Jaxom, and with her free hand giving Ruth an affectionate slap. Though she asked nothing, Jaxom knew his wife well enough to know that she was bursting with questions. He threw one arm across her shoulders and kissed her cheek; her smooth skin and the scent of her revived him as he guided Oldive up the steps and into the warmth of the Hold.

I’m going inside immediately,
Ruth told his rider,
or I’ll lose all the benefit of my sunning.
And he took himself off to his weyr in the old kitchen where, Jaxom knew, a fire would be waiting in the hearth.

Sharra ordered food and drink as she pushed the two men toward the small office where they would have some privacy from the many people eager to hear Jaxom’s report of the ongoing events at Landing. “Later, later,” she told them firmly, and closed the door.

Before Oldive joined Jaxom and Sharra at the fire, he carefully laid his satchel on the wide desk where Jaxom generally sat to manage the details of his Hold. A pile of messages and Records lay waiting for his attention. There was a scratch at the door, and then the Steward himself entered, carrying a laden tray.

“Oh, that’s kind of you, Brand,” Jaxom said. “Lessa made us eat before she’d let us leave, Sharra, but klah will go down well. With a lashing of that fortified wine I see you brought along.” Jaxom grinned at the stocky man who had been his friend since his childhood and was now his most valued assistant. “No, stay, Brand. You’ve the right to hear what keeps me from my proper tasks.”

Brand waved his hand in a disclaimer as he helped Sharra pass the hot drinks, the pungent wine masking the klah’s fragrance. Jaxom took a judicious sip and felt the liquid rushing to restore warmth. Master Oldive, too, seemed to revive somewhat and sank into the chair that Brand placed close to the fire for him.

“My dear, your female patient is suffering a gall bladder malfunction,” the old healer told Sharra. “Unfortunately, the man appears to have a cancerous growth, as we suspected. We can cure the one, for I have been given a specific medication for dissolving the gravel within the organ, but we can only ease the other from life.” Master Oldive paused, his eyes wide and bright with excitement. “Aivas has the most extraordinary fund of medical information, which he is quite willing to impart to us. He can even help us revive corrective surgical procedures, which you know I have yearned to do. Our Craft may have been limited to repair surgeries for lack of proper training, but he can help us recover much of that lost skill.”

“That would be wonderful, Master, but would we be able to overcome the prejudice in the Hall about intrusive measures?” Sharra exclaimed, her face mirroring her hope.

“Now that we have a mentor of unquestionable probity, I think that once we have proved the benefits to patients who will not mend without drastic measures, we can overcome those scruples.” He drained his cup and resolutely rose to his feet. “A few moments in your infirmary, my dear Sharra, and we shall have the medication for your gall bladder sufferer. The other poor wight . . .” Oldive shrugged, his expression deeply compassionate.

“Come then, and you can tell me all the medical details that would bore Jaxom and Brand to tears,” Sharra said, grinning fondly at her mate.

“You
never—
” Jaxom paused to give that adverb full emphasis. “—bore me, Sharra.” The loving look that she gave him warmed as the klah had not.

“You look tired, Jaxom,” Brand said when the door had closed.

“I am, Brand, and my head aches with what I’ve seen and heard in the last two days. But I feel—I feel—” Jaxom stopped, clenching one fist. “That this is most momentous thing that has happened to Pern since—” and he laughed. “—our ancestors landed here.” His second laugh was not as easy. “Not that everyone will see it that way, I’m sure.”

“There are always those who oppose change,” Brand said with a resigned shrug. “Has the Aivas told you exactly how it proposes to eliminate Thread?”

“We are mere babes, Brand, and must put in much hard work and learn many new things before Aivas will give us any details. But you should have seen Fandarel.” Jaxom’s laugh was uninhibited. “And Benelek. They were spinning like tops to do everything at once. When Ruth and I got off transport duty, I was allowed to put together one of Aivas’s gadgets.” He examined the fingers of his right hand, the solder burn and the nicks where the screwdriver had slipped. “I’m learning to access knowledge. Tomorrow I may even get to read some of Aivas’s stored wisdom. I tell you, Brand, the next few weeks are going to be fascinating.”

“Another way of telling me you’ll frequently be away from the Hold?” Brand asked, grinning.

“Well, apart from overseeing Falls, there’s not much to do right now in the depths of winter, is there?” Jaxom replied defensively.

Brand laughed and, with the familiarity of their long and close relationship, clapped Jaxom on the shoulder. “That there isn’t, lad. I’d be happy to learn if Aivas knows any way of heating stone-cold holds.”

“I’ll ask him!” Jaxom promised earnestly. “I’ll ask him.” And he leaned forward to warm his hands again.

5

A
GAINST HIS ENTREATIES
, F’lar took Master Robinton back to Cove Hold.

“You need the rest and the quiet, Robinton,” F’lar told the Harper sternly. “You won’t get that if you’re allowed to stay at Landing again tonight. You’re exhausted.”

“But what a wonderful way to get tired, F’lar. And every time I turn around, I think of something else I must ask Aivas.” Robinton chuckled. “It’s rather like knowing you have the most fabulous vintage in your glass and being torn between drinking and admiring.”

F’lar shot him an amused look. “That’s apt enough, considering the source.”

“I try! But surely you appreciate why I’m loath to leave?” And the Harper’s expression was entreating.

“Oh, I do, Robinton.” F’lar grinned as he handed the man down from Mnementh’s great shoulder. “But it’d be worth my peace with Lessa if we let you overstretch yourself.”

“But this is giving me new life, F’lar. A new hope that I never imagined to receive.”

“Nor I,” F’lar replied fervently. “Which is why we must take care of you all the more—to interpret for us.”

“Interpret? He speaks in plain and simple terms.”

“Not what Aivas says, Robinton, but how our people will see what he offers. For me, and all dragonriders, despite the future effects on Weyrs and dragonkind, I cannot but accept Aivas’s offer to rid us of Thread. But already there are those who are either frightened or feel threatened by what Aivas can tell us, or give us.”

“Yes, similar thoughts had crossed my mind,” Robinton said solemnly, but then he flashed F’lar a roguish grin. “But I also cross them out. The good done us will far outweigh the bad.”

“Get a good night’s rest, Robinton. Benden flies Thread tomorrow, but D’ram will oblige, I’m sure, to get you back to Landing.”

“Him!” Robinton was suddenly petulant. “He’s worse than a milk mother, as it is.” And he settled easily into D’ram’s voice. “ ‘I wouldn’t, if I were you, Robinton! Have you eaten enough, Robinton? Now would be a good time to rest in the sun.’ Tsck! He fusses me!”

“Not tomorrow. D’ram’s as eager to see and hear more of Aivas as you are, you know,” F’lar said just before Mnementh launched himself upward.

I’ve told Tiroth to take you tomorrow only if you’re well rested,
the dragon said. Zair, bronze tail wrapped about the Harper’s neck and talons lightly clasping his right ear, chirruped agreement.

“Oh, you!” Robinton was torn between irritation at their overprotectiveness and pleasure that Mnementh had a word for him. He could never forget how much he personally owed the dragons who had kept him alive when his labored heart had faltered that terrible day at Ista Weyr two Turns earlier.

When he arrived at Cove Hold, Robinton was forced to admit to himself that he was tired. Just walking the short distance to the steps of his lovely residence winded him. There were lights on in the main hall: D’ram and, doubtless, Lytol waiting up for him.

Zair chirped again, confirming his guess. Well, they would not tax him, and certainly they both deserved a brief report of the day’s activities. Only how to be brief, considering all that had occurred since he had awakened early that morning? Only
that
morning? It was Turns away in knowledge and understanding.

But when he walked into the pleasant, well-lit room, D’ram, the venerable retired Weyrleader, and Lytol, former dragonrider and Jaxom’s mentor, would listen to no explanations; they ushered him to his room with instructions that he was to rest first.

“Whatever momentous events occurred after I left can wait until morning,” D’ram said.

“Drink your wine,” Lytol added, holding out the Harper’s beautiful blue glass goblet. “And yes, I’ve added something to make you sleep tonight, because just one look at your face tells me you need rest above all else.”

Robinton closed his hand about the goblet. Norist might be a closed-minded Craftmaster, but he blew elegant glass when he had a mind to,
and
in the exact shade of harper blue. “But I’ve so much to tell you,” the Harper objected after a sip of the wine.

“All the better told when you’ve had a good night’s sleep,” Lytol said. When he would have bent to undo Robinton’s boots, the Harper became indignant and pushed him away.

“I’m not quite that tired, thank you, Lytol,” he said with great dignity.

Laughing, D’ram and Lytol left. Robinton took another sip of wine before loosening the fastenings of his boots. The third before he hauled his tunic over his head. And another as he loosened his belt with his free hand. That’s enough, he told himself and, draining the cup, lay back. He had only sufficient energy to pull the light blanket over him against the possible chill of a morning sea breeze. He felt Zair nestle down on the next pillow—and that was all.

The next morning he awoke slowly, aware that the dream he had had during the night had been both satisfying and confusing, but its ephemeral details eluded a conscious effort at recall. He lay for a moment, orienting himself. Sometimes, of a morning, he had difficulty remembering what day it was, or the tasks he had mentally assigned himself to accomplish.

Today he experienced no such disorientation. He remembered everything that had happened the day before with amazing clarity. Ah, that was good. A challenge to stimulate his flagging faculties. Corman and his accusation of gullibility! Indeed! Zair rumbled reassuringly on the pillow and stroked his head against Robinton’s cheek.

“Will you pass the word along that I’m now completely refreshed?” he asked the bronze fire-lizard.

Zair regarded him, tilting his head sideways, his eyes whirling ever so slightly with the green of contentment, and gave a chirp. Then he rose and stretched, his transparent wings arching over his head before he shook and folded them tightly along his spine.

“So, are Tiroth and D’ram awake to take me?”

Zair ignored him and began to groom his left hind claws.

“I gather that means I must bathe and eat first?” As he rose, Robinton realized that he had slept in his trousers—for the second night in a row. He shucked them off, snagged a large towel, and, opening the door from his corner room to the wide porch that sheltered Cove Hold from the intense sunlight, strode out. Descending the flight of steps with more vigor than he had climbed them the previous night, he jogged down the sandy track to the sea. Zair swirled overhead, crooning approval as Robinton dropped the towel on the white sand of the Cove and continued on into the pleasant waters. With Zair plunging into the next wave right beside him, Robinton emerged, propelling himself forward with a strong overarm stroke. A group of wild fire-lizards joined him and Zair, zipping just above the water alongside him or plunging in just in front of his face, missing body contact by inches. As often as they had seen humans bathing in the sea, they never ceased to be fascinated by swimmers.

Robinton turned back to shore, allowing the waves to carry his body forward. The sea was gentle this morning, but the exercise was still a fine toner. He dried himself off, then knotted the towel about his waist and strode off toward the house, where D’ram and Lytol were waiting on the porch. “Tell them, Zair, that I’m completely refreshed and in vigorous health.”

“You’re awake, are you?” D’ram called. “About time. It’s well past noon.”

“
Past
noon?” Robinton stopped in his tracks, appalled at having wasted so much time sleeping. Who knew what he had missed of Aivas’s disclosures that morning? “You should have wakened me!” He did not attempt to keep the irritation out of his voice.

“Your body has more sense than you do,” Lytol added, rising from the hammock hanging in the corner of the porch. “You got only the sleep you needed, Robinton. Pour him some klah, D’ram, while I finish preparing his breakfast—our lunch.”

As Robinton came up the steps, the aroma of the klah that D’ram was pouring was enough to remind him that hunger was a need, too. He settled himself down, and between bites of the substantial breakfast that Lytol served him he brought them up to date.

“And so, the miracle begins,” he said, finishing his account.

“You’ve no doubt in your mind, Robinton,” Lytol said with his usual skepticism, “that this Aivas can effect the annihilation of Thread?”

“By the first Egg, Lytol, one cannot doubt it. The marvels we saw, the very fact that our ancestors made that incredible flight from the planet of our origin, lend credibility to his promise. We have only to relearn the skills we lost, and we can triumph over this ancient menace.”

“Aye, but why didn’t the ancients rid us of Thread then, with all their incredible crafts and their full knowledge of the technology lost to us?” Lytol asked.

“You’re not the only one to query that, Lytol,” Robinton said. “But Aivas explained that the volcanic eruptions came at a crucial time and the settlers went north to establish a safe base. So their plans to defeat Thread were interrupted.”

“Why didn’t they come back when Threadfall ceased?”

“That Aivas didn’t know.” Robinton had to recognize that there were gaps in Aivas’s account. “And yet . . . a musical instrument can only do what it is constructed to do, or one of Fandarel’s machines. Therefore, a machine, even as sophisticated as Aivas, could do only what it/he was designed to do. It/ he”—I really must make up my mind how I consider the thing, Robinton thought—“is unlikely to tell lies. Though I suspect he,” Robinton said, making up his mind, “does not reveal the whole truth. We’ve had enough trouble absorbing and understanding what he’s already told us.”

Lytol gave a snort, a cynical expression on his face which, Robinton was relieved to notice, was not mirrored by D’ram.

“I would like to believe that we can!” Robinton added.

“Who wouldn’t?” Lytol said, relenting slightly.

“I believe Aivas,” D’ram said. “He speaks with such authority. He explained that the time will be right in four years—that is, Turns—ten months and twenty-seven days. Twenty-six today. The time factor has to be correct to succeed.”

“Succeed in what?” Lytol persisted.

“
That
is something we must also learn.” Robinton laughed in self-disparagement. “Not to put too fine a point on it, Lytol, but we’re plainly too ignorant to understand his explanation. He did try—something about windows, and leaving Pern at just the precise moment to intercept the Red Star, or rather the planet which appears red to us for so much of its orbit in our skies. He showed us the diagram.” Noting his defensive tone, he shook himself. “If you wish to query him, Lytol, I’m sure you can.”

Lytol cast Robinton a sardonic look. “There are others with greater reason to consult Aivas.”

“But you
must
hear our history from Aivas, Lytol,” D’ram said, leaning forward across the table. “You’ll appreciate then why we can so unreservedly believe in Aivas and in his promise.”

“He really has got to you, hasn’t he?” Lytol shook his head at their credulousness.

“If you listen to what he says, you’ll believe,” Robinton said, rising. He had to clutch at the towel to keep it from slipping, which reduced the dignity of his pronouncement. “I’m dressing to return to Landing. D’ram, will you and Tiroth oblige me?”

“Since you are rested,” D’ram said, giving his housemate a long and searching look, “we will, of course, oblige. Lytol, will you not join us?”

“Not today.”

“Are you afraid of being won over despite your reservations?” Robinton asked.

Lytol shook his head slowly. “That’s not likely. But go. Enjoy your dream of Threadfree skies.”

“The last of the true skeptics,” Robinton muttered under his breath, somewhat disturbed by Lytol’s continued disbelief. Did Lytol think old age had dulled Robinton’s wits or discriminatory faculties? Or did he believe, like Corman, that the Harper was gullible enough to be taken in by any plausible story?

“No,” D’ram assured him when he voiced the question to the old Weyrleader as they walked toward bronze Tiroth, waiting for them on the strand. “He’s too pragmatic. He told me yesterday that we were far too excited to think logically about the repercussions Aivas will have on our lives. Altering the basic structure of our society and its values and all that twaddle.” D’ram’s snort indicated that he did not agree. “He’s been through several upheavals himself. He’s unlikely to welcome another.”

“But you do?”

D’ram smiled over his shoulder at the Harper as he settled himself between Tiroth’s neck ridges. “I’m a dragonrider, Harper, and dedicated to the eradication of Thread. If there is even the slightest hope . . .” He shrugged. “Tiroth, take us to Landing!”

“Watch out, D’ram,” the Harper cautioned. “It’s undergone considerable alterations even since yesterday noontime when you left it.”

So Monarth warns me.
Although the Harper knew that Tiroth was speaking directly to D’ram, his chest swelled with the privilege of hearing.
I have the altered scene from him. It
has
changed.

Was there a note of discontent in Tiroth’s tone?

However, the great bronze dragon took them
between
and reentered on the hill west of the Aivas building, hovering in the air above the line of dragons sunning themselves on the promontory. Robinton looked up at the dragons on the hill, to see if he recognized any of the bronzes or the queens. Then he remembered that Benden Weyr would be involved in riding Threadfall today.

Gliding down toward the building, Robinton and D’ram could not see the alterations until the bronze veered to his right and backwinged to land on the wide yard.

“I’d no idea!” D’ram gasped, turning to stare at the Harper, who was no less surprised than he.

Robinton hid his own reaction behind a quick smile of reassurance. Obviously, Lytol was in the minority, to judge by the changes here: all designed to facilitate access to Aivas. The original wing had been tripled in size, with odd lean-to sheds, like skirts, along all three sides. As the Harper dismounted, he recognized more of Fandarel’s batteries housed under the sheds—sufficient power, he assumed, to sustain the entity all the hours of the day and night until the new and more powerful water-turbines were finished.