Moreta (25 page)

This place distresses you, too. Can we not see Granth and A’murry now?
The “now” was accompanied by an unhappy snort.

“We can leave now.” K’lon swung up to Rogeth’s back, his gaze inadvertently falling on the dreadful field with its ruined shelters, the race flats, and the burial mounds.
Were
they what drew Lord Alessan’s eyes? Or the handful of runnerbeasts grazing in the far field? The rumble of the dead cart, a recalcitrant pair of herdbeasts between the shafts, startled K’lon.

“Get us out of here,” he told Rogeth, sick to the soul of plague and death and desolation. “I
must
spend some time with A’murry. Then I’ll be able to face this sort of thing.”

K’lon was overwhelmed with longing for his gentle friend, for the respite of companionship. He should go right back to the Healer Hall. There was so much to be done. Instead he projected for Rogeth the sun-dappled heights of Igen Weyr, the bright sparkle of the Weyr lake. Rogeth leaped gladly from the ramp into the air and took him
between.

CHAPTER XI

Fort Weyr, Present Pass, 3.17.43

“S
HARDS!”
J
ALLORA CRIED
. “He’s fainted!”

Kadith, in the outer chamber of the weyr, bellowed, and Moreta jumped up from the chair to reassure the startled dragon as the journeywoman healer examined her reluctant donor.

What has happened?
Orlith asked in concern from her weyr.

“Sh’gall had a bad reaction,” Moreta replied, knowing perfectly well that Leri would be instantly informed by Holth and know what had really happened. “Calm Kadith down!”

“It’s generally the big strong ones who faint,” Jallora was saying as Moreta resumed her place. “He’s in no danger. Badly as we need the blood for serum, I wouldn’t risk him.”

“I didn’t think for a moment that you would, Jallora,” Moreta replied with a slight laugh.

The journeywoman had interrupted an interview between Moreta and Sh’gall in which he had been determined to find fault with every provision made in the Weyr since the onset of his illness. He utterly discounted the fact that Moreta had not made any of the decisions or that she herself had only just recovered.

“His sort don’t generally make good patients, either,” Jallora went on conversationally, though her attention was on the blood dripping into a glass container.

“Will his go to Ruatha?”

“Most of it, once the rest of your riders are vaccinated.” When Moreta gestured warningly at Sh’gall, she added diplomatically, “I perfectly understand, I assure you. He’s still out of it. There! That’s all I’ll take but he could donate more and never miss it.” Deftly she pressed a small pad over the needlethorn, extracted it, and motioned for Moreta to continue the pressure as she dealt with the apparatus. “He’ll regain consciousness in just a few minutes.” Jallora began packing her tray, carefully covering the container. “F’duril told me that you did the reconstruction on Dilenth’s wing. Fine work.”

“The wing is healing well, isn’t it?” Recognition of her achievement by another healer was gratifying to Moreta.

“Fortunately, so is F’duril and that nice young A’dan. I’ve never visited a Weyr before. And—you know something else? It never occurred to me that dragons suffered so from Thread. They’re so impressive—”

“Unfortunately not invulnerable.”

“We can thank our lucky stars they didn’t catch this viral influence!”

Just then Sh’gall moaned. Jallora hurried to gather up the rest of her paraphernalia.

“There now! Back again, Weyrleader?” She took the glass of orange liquid from the table and, deftly propping Sh’gall’s pillows behind him with her free hand, put the glass to his lips. “Drink this and you’ll be just fine.”

“I don’t really think it was wise of you to take—” Sh’gall sounded petulant and took the glass from her with a bad grace.

“The riders of Fort need it, Weyrleader. They must all be vaccinated, you know, to insure that no more have to endure what you’ve just been through.”

The journeywoman took exactly the right tone with Sh’gall. Moreta could wish herself so fortunate as Sh’gall permitted Jallora to make a discreet departure.

“I don’t think she should have!” Sh’gall repeated when he was certain Jallora was out of earshot.

“She got mine.” Moreta pushed up her sleeve to exhibit the tiny bruise at the bend of her elbow. Sh’gall looked away. “We’ve a hundred and eighty-two riders out of action, sick or disabled.”

“Why didn’t Capiam attend us instead of that—woman?”

“Jallora is an experienced journeywoman healer. She was sitting her mastery exams when this plague occurred. Capiam is only just out of bed himself and he has the whole continent to worry about.”

“I cannot believe that Leri did not know of my preference for P’nine as Leader.” Sh’gall picked up his complaints as if Jallora had not interrupted the acrimonious interview.

“Leri made appropriate decisions based on her experience as a Weyrwoman. Kindly remember that she was one before you or I had Impressed.”

“Then why does Kadith tell me that T’ral is taking
two
wings to Tillek today?” Sh’gall demanded angrily. “T’ral’s a
wingsecond.
”

“With the exception of the High Reaches, the Weyrs are still being led by wingseconds at this point. The sooner you can take over, the best pleased all the Weyrs will be.”

That comment startled Sh’gall, but he didn’t look pleased. “I’ve been ill. I’ve been very ill.”

“I sympathize.” Moreta tried not to sound facetious. “Believe me, you’ll be feeling much better by evening.”

“I don’t know about that . . .” Sh’gall’s voice faded.

“I do! I’ve been through it, too, don’t forget.”

Sh’gall gave her a look of pure loathing, but Moreta could not relent. Some of the burden of continuous Falls had to be removed from S’ligar’s shoulders. Sh’gall was a damn good Leader and his abilities were desperately needed.

“Nerat’s after Tillek,” she went on. “You’ll be in luck:
They
can supply ground crews.”

“I didn’t believe Kadith when he said that there hadn’t been any ground crews. Don’t holders realize—”

“The holders realize what this viral epidemic is like a lot more acutely than we do, Sh’gall. Talk to K’lon for a few minutes. He’ll tell you a few hard unpleasant truths.” She stood up. “I’ve a lot to do. Jallora said you must rest today. Tomorrow you can rise. Kadith may, of course, call me if you need anything today.”

“I need nothing from you.” Sh’gall turned away from her and jerked the sleeping furs around his ears.

Moreta was quite willing to leave him to surly convalescence. She sincerely hoped that he would want to lead his Weyr in three days more than he wanted to indulge his fancied grievances. Leading the consolidated Weyrs was a mighty temptation for a man with Sh’gall’s love of power. She tried to consider him more charitably: He was shocked by the devastation caused by the pandemic and seeking refuge from the staggering losses by dwelling on the petty details he could cope with and understand. Like who rose to Fall from where, and how.

She walked down the steps to Leri’s weyr at a fairly rapid pace, an exercise that did not leave her as breathless as it had the day before. She would harness Holth since she could not dissuade Leri from fighting in the queens’ wing though the old woman was very tired. Then Moreta would distill and mix medicines from the Weyr’s dangerously depleted stores. She knew K’lon had been raiding them but hadn’t the heart to object.

“He fainted, did he?” Leri crowed in malicious jubilation. “And he wasn’t satisfied with my decisions during his illness, was he?”

“Was Holth eavesdropping again?”

“She doesn’t need to. I don’t know another reason why you’d have anger spots on your cheeks. Ha!”

“I’ve as much trouble making you listen to reason.” Moreta spoke more tartly than she meant and she could feel her cheeks flush again. “You
know
you’re overreaching your strength—”

Leri flapped her hand. “I will
not
forgo the pleasure of flying the queens’ wing. Not while I’m able. And I’m a lot abler today than I have been for Turns!” She sipped from her wineglass.

“Oh?” Moreta eyed the goblet significantly.

“I won’t
have
any more fellis juice until you’ve brewed it, my dear Moreta,” Leri reminded her with a saccharine smile.

“K’lon said he knew where he could get some dried fruit.”

“Hmmm.” Both women knew that many of K’lon’s supplies probably came from a hold that didn’t need such medicines any more. “Ah well.” Leri lifted her glass in silent homage.

Moreta turned to the harness rack, tears stinging her eyes again. She must stop thinking of her family’s empty hold. The memories of that place, shimmering in summer sunshine, children playing in the big meadow in front of the Hold, old aunties and uncles basking along the stone walls, seesawed with the present empty lifeless dwelling. Snakes and wild wherries must have . . .

“Moreta?” Leri’s voice was soft and kind. “Moreta, Holth says K’lon has arrived,” she added in a brisker tone exactly as Orlith told her rider the same news.

“I sometimes think I have more than two ears and one head.”

I don’t have ears,
Orlith remarked.

Then K’lon was striding into the weyr, exuding an enormous amount of energy and good spirits. Moreta was suddenly struck by the warm brown tan of his face. Then, as he pulled off his flying helmet, she noticed that his hair was bleached.

“Nerat has fellis juice to spare, Moreta,” he announced cheerfully, swinging the bulging pack from his back. “And Lemos says they’ve aconite and willow salic.”

“And how was A’murry when you stopped at Igen?” She gave him a warm smile to show that she didn’t object to a short detour.

“He’s much, much improved.” K’lon radiated relief. “Of course he’s still weak, but he sits in the sun all day, which is good for his chest, and he’s beginning to get an appetite.”

“Done a lot of sunning with A’murry, haven’t you, K’lon?” Leri asked.

Moreta shot her a quick look for her voice was suspiciously coy.

“When I’ve had the time.” K’lon stammered slightly, fussing nervously with the pack.

“You mean”—Moreta had at last reached Leri’s conclusion—“you’ve
taken
time to be with A’murry!”

“When I think of how hard I’ve worked—” Rogeth bugled outside the weyr.

“No one is faulting you, K’lon,” Leri said quickly. Holth crooned reassurance, her eyes whirling bluely. “But, my dear boy, you’ve been taking a dreadful risking timing it. You could meet yourself coming and going—”

“But I haven’t. I’ve been very careful!” K’lon’s tone was defiant and fearful.

“Just how many hours have you been putting into your days?” Leri spoke with great understanding and compassion, even a hint of amusement.

“I don’t know. I never counted hours!” K’lon jerked his chin up, rebellious. “I had to, you know. To get everything done and still make time to be with A’murry. I had
promised
him that I’d be in Igen every afternoon no matter how busy I was. I had to keep that promise. And I felt
compelled
to render Master Capiam the assistance
he
had to have—”

“Believe us, K’lon,” Moreta said when he turned to her in appeal, “we are profoundly grateful to you for your courage and dedication over the past week. But timing is a very tricky business.”

“And something our Weyrlingmaster certainly never mentioned,” K’lon replied with an edge to his voice.

“The information is restricted to bronze and queen dragons, K’lon. I presume you discovered it by chance.”

“Yes, rather.” K’lon’s expression mirrored the surprise he must have had. “I was late. I knew A’murry would be worried. I thought of him, waiting for me, anxious, when I didn’t appear on time, and the next thing I knew, I had!”

“Bit of a shock, isn’t it?” Leri had a grin on her round wise face.

K’lon grinned back. “I wasn’t all that certain how I’d managed it.”

“So you practiced again the next afternoon?”

K’lon nodded, relaxing imperceptibly since the Weyrwomen had apparently accepted his feat with good humor. “I report to Master Capiam in the morning and he tells me the schedule. I’m at Igen in the afternoons and everywhere else on Pern in the mornings and evenings. I’m very careful.” His smile was broad delight.

“You’ll be more careful from now on,” Leri said, her voice austere and her manner forbidding. “A’murry has improved—so you’ve informed us. But
you
cannot keep on being in debt to yourself for double time. Therefore, instead of flying Fall this afternoon, you will spend it—and only this afternoon—with your friend. From now on, you will keep to the normal number of hours in a day. Holth will supervise. And we will see that Master Capiam schedules you to drop in at Igen frequently.”

“But—but . . .”

“Only one mistake, K’lon,” Leri pointed her forefinger, oddly twisted now by the joint disease, Shaking it at him in dire emphasis, “and you’re too tired timing it to realize the risks you’ve been taking. Only one mistake, and you will deprive A’murry of yourself forever. Not just for an afternoon.” Leri paused, judging the effect of her warning on K’lon, who lowered his eyes. Holth crooned on an admonitory note and Rogeth answered, startled, from outside. K’lon looked up at Leri, his eyes wide with astonishment. “Oh yes, we can, you know, when the matter is disciplinary. I think you’d prefer Holth to Sh’gall and Kadith in the matter of this infraction?”

K’lon cast a look of entreaty at Moreta, who shook her head in slow denial. K’lon looked bereft, quite different from the energetic assured man who had entered the weyr, but he had to be restricted.

“I’ll be needed at Fall this afternoon,” he said finally in a low uncertain voice. “How can I explain to A’murry? We can barely make up two wings as it is, and Ista can only supply one wing and ten replacements.”

“You may tell A’murry that we have been considerably worried about the pace at which you’ve been working. That we felt it more advisable for you to
rest
this afternoon, because you’ve been working so hard that your judgment in Fall might be impaired, and we can’t afford to lose you!”

“K’lon,
we
need you, too,” Moreta added.

“In fact, the Healer Hall and the Weyr are deeply indebted to you,” Leri said, her voice and manner kindly again. “Go on with you now, and send that scamp, M’barak, on any other duties Capiam scheduled for you. And you will never, K’lon—never—mention to anyone, especially A’murry, that dragons can slip between one time and another.”

Holth’s eyes gleamed with a red tinge as she extended her neck toward K’lon. He pulled himself up straight, awed by the dragon’s fierce appearance.

“Yes, Leri.”

“And?” Leri indicated Moreta.

“Yes, Moreta!”

“We shall never refer to this again. Give our regards to A’murry.” Leri was all affability. “If it weren’t so damn cold here right now, I’d suggest that you bring him and his Granth to Fort, but I suppose he
is
better off in the sun at Igen!”

The chastened rider left the weyr with a heavy tread. The two Weyrwomen could hear Rogeth chirping.