ships that brought our ancestors to Pern.”
“I’ve seen them,” Tieran said excitedly. “The astronomy students brought a
telescope up to the Drum Tower just before dawn one morning.” He
shivered at the memory of the three huge starships hovering in orbit above
the planet. “The students call them the Dawn Sisters.”
Janir turned back to Wind Blossom. “What are you hoping to do with this
equipment?” When she didn’t answer, he persisted, “I thought you’d said
that if the fire-lizards came from the future, then obviously your solution had
failed?”
Wind Blossom nodded. “I am thinking,” she told him. “There must be a
solution that works.”
“Wouldn’t it just make more sense to leave the equipment for those that
need it?” Tieran wondered.
“It would,” Wind Blossom agreed, “if they could learn how to use the
equipment in time.”
SIXTEEN
Firestone, dry
Dragons fly.
Firestone, wet
Riders die.
Benden Weyr, Third Pass, 6th Day, Later, AL 508
Kindan’s stomach lurched as Caranth began a sharp descent the moment
they came out from
between
over Benden Weyr. Their drop was so steep
that Kindan was pitched forward, hard, against Lorana when Caranth
suddenly stretched his wings to cup air and slow them for a landing. Even
so, the dragon hit the ground with a jolt.
Lorana was off and rushing toward her weyr before either B’nik or Kindan
could move. Kindan followed quickly, with B’nik not far behind.
K’tan was waiting for them in Lorana’s quarters. Arith’s eyes were whirling,
and when she saw her rider she gave a happy chirp—which ended in an
unmistakable sneeze.
I’m all right,
Arith told Lorana over and over as Lorana wrapped her arms
around the young dragon’s head.
I’m all right.
No you’re not,
Lorana chided her gently.
But you will be, I promise. We’ll
find something. We found something at Fort Weyr.
She looked up at K’tan. “We found something at Fort Weyr,” she said.
Kindan raised his eyebrows in surprise—in their haste to get back to the
Weyr, they had not even spoken.
“What?” K’tan asked.
“The Records at Fort say that something was built here, at Benden Weyr,
just at the start of the First Interval,” B’nik explained. He looked keenly at
K’tan. “Some special rooms. Do you know of any such rooms?”
K’tan frowned and shook his head. “There’ve been some cave-ins; perhaps
the rooms are buried,” he told them.
“If they’re buried, we’ll dig them up again,” B’nik declared fiercely.
K’tan looked at Lorana. “It could only be a cough . . .”
“Dragons don’t get coughs,” Lorana corrected him in a flat, dead voice.
“It’s only started,” B’nik said. “She’s young—she could fight it off.”
I don’t feel too bad,
Arith added comfortingly with a soft croon.
K’tan motioned for Lorana to come to him. She followed and he brought her
out of her rooms and into the corridor.
“I know this is hard,” he told her softly. “But you have to understand that
your attitude and strength are the best hopes for Arith right now.”
A hand crept up on her shoulder and she turned to see Kindan standing
behind her. “He’s right,” the harper said.
Lorana took a deep breath. “I know,” she told them. She squared her
shoulders. Kindan tightened his grip reassuringly before dropping his hand
back to his side. She turned and went back to Arith.
“I haven’t been giving you enough attention,” she told the young dragon.
You have been doing your work,
Arith said staunchly.
And you always
come when I need you.
Lorana knelt down once more and wrapped her arms around her dragon’s
neck.
“I love you,” she said out loud.
I know,
Arith responded, firm in her knowledge and wondrously grateful.
She nudged Lorana with her head.
Go! I’ll be all right.
Lorana pulled back from Arith and looked up into her whirling faceted eyes.
“Are you sure?”
You can’t find these rooms while you’re here, can you?
“I’ll check on you every hour,” Lorana promised aloud.
Check on me when I ask,
Arith responded.
“You are stubborn,” Lorana chided her dragon.
“I can’t imagine where she learned it,” B’nik remarked teasingly. He
stretched out his hand to her. “If you would, Weyrwoman, I believe you can
help us in this search.”
Lorana smiled, although her eyes still held a lingering fear, and took the
Weyrleader’s hand.
“We are as ready as we’ll ever be,” J’lantir told Dalia as the rest of Ista
Weyr’s wingleaders filed out of the Council Room.
“You did an excellent job, J’lantir,” Dalia agreed. “C’rion would have been
proud.”
Only three days had passed since the Weyrleader’s death. Dalia had
known, of course, the instant that C’rion and Nidanth had been lost. She
was still in mourning, but she was Weyrwoman—she would not let down
C’rion’s men, nor destroy his legacy.
She had appointed J’lantir as interim Weyrleader. The response of the
other Wingleaders had been unanimous support.
J’lantir had swallowed his personal misgivings and had drilled the remaining
dragonriders as well as he could in the short time between the Threadfall at
South Nerat and today.
“I wish the weather were better,” Dalia told him.
“Or worse,” J’lantir responded. “Then we’d have more time to train.”
“Yes, a cold snap or torrential downpour would be best,” Dalia agreed.
“We must fly the Thread we were given,” J’lantir said resignedly.
The dragonrider who had been sent ahead to abandoned Igen Weyr
reported that the weather was gusty, with scattered clouds at fifteen
hundred meters.
A lousy height,
J’lantir thought to himself as he made his way down to the
Weyr’s great Bowl. Dragons could fly up to just over three thousand meters
in the daylight—as high as a man could fly and not pass out from lack of
oxygen.
With clear skies, dragons could fight Thread all the way down to five
hundred meters or less. But with the scattered clouds it would be
imperative to flame the Thread before they entered the clouds or risk
missing clumps as they fell through.
Some of those clumps of Thread would drown in the water of the clouds
but, as the clouds were scattered, it was just as likely that some would
survive the descent and burrow into the arid plains around Igen Weyr
or—worse—into the lush green shoreline of the Igen coast.
J’lantir climbed onto Lolanth, grabbed and secured the firestone sacks
handed up by one of the weyrfolk, and surveyed his wing. The other five
wings were already airborne above him—all flying wing light.
One hundred and twenty-four dragons and their riders would face Thread
today, less than half of the number that had first flown over Keroon on their
first Fall. At least there were enough dragons to be certain that they would
get most of the Thread that fell.
J’lantir nodded his thanks to the youngling who handed up his last bag of
firestone, made sure that it was securely fastened beside him, and, with
one final glance at his riders, gave the arm-pumping gesture to fly.
Dalia looked on from the Bowl below as the dragonriders of Ista Weyr
arrayed themselves over the Star Stones and then winked out of sight
between
to fight Thread. She fought the impulse to bite her lips or cross
her arms, knowing that the rest of the Weyr was watching her.
Some riders would not come back this time, just as C’rion had not come
back the last time, Dalia knew. She and C’rion—her throat suddenly had a
lump in it—had known that these days would come since they first
Impressed their dragons.
They had pored over the Records together when C’rion’s Nidanth had first
flown Bidenth and he had become Weyrleader. They knew that dragons
and their riders would be injured fighting Thread. They knew that dragons
and their riders would
die
fighting Thread. That was the way it had to be,
that was the price paid for riding a dragon, that was the price that had to be
paid to keep Pern from being utterly destroyed by Thread.
Dalia turned away, looking down from the Star Stones to those around her.
Her eyes picked out Jassi coming toward her.
“I’ve got the fellis juice up from the store rooms,” Jassi reported. “And
we’ve got enough numbweed on hand.”
“And the sick dragons?”
Jassi grimaced, looking down. “Two are getting worse,” she answered.
Then she raised her head and added cheerfully, “But the others seem all
right.”
Dalia nodded brusquely. “Very well,” she said. “It will be hours before the
Fall is over—let’s see what we can do about dinner.”
“That’s handled,” Jassi said. “But I wasn’t sure about which weyrlings
should be sent to bring more firestone during the Fall.”
Dalia changed direction, heading to the weyrling barracks. V’rel, the
Weyrlingmaster, had insisted on flying Threadfall, and neither she nor
J’lantir could turn down an able dragon and rider, particularly as V’rel and
Piyolth were several Turns their junior. “Let’s go see, shall we?”
One hundred and twenty-three dragons joined the watch dragon over Igen
Weyr.
“Lousy weather,” J’lantir shouted to B’lon, his wingsecond.
“If only it’d get worse,” B’lon agreed. The clouds below them were as
reported—scattered and thin. Above them the sky was obscured by wispy
high cirrus clouds. B’lon pointed to them. “Is there any chance that the air’s
too cold above and the Thread will freeze?”
J’lantir followed his gaze. “It could be,” he said. “But we shouldn’t count on
it.”
A noise from behind them caught their attention.
M’kir has sighted Thread,
Lolanth reported, at the same turning his head
back to J’lantir, jaws wide and ready for firestone. J’lantir opened a sack
and began feeding the stones to Lolanth.
Tell the others,
J’lantir responded. He gazed up at the skies, picking out
the thin Thread among the wispy clouds above them. This is going to be a
mess, he thought.
K’tan caught up with Kindan as evening began. They had seen each other
earlier in the day while tending to the injured dragons and working with B’nik
in plotting which parts of the Weyr to explore for the Oldtimer Rooms.
Since then, Kindan had been off checking out the highest places in the
Weyr. Now he looked anything but elated.
“Any luck?” K’tan asked him without any hope.
Kindan shook his head. “No,” he said. “You?”
“I’ve spent more time tending the sick than looking,” K’tan told him. He
leaned closer to the harper. “I just wanted to remind you that Ista is about to
fly Thread.”
Kindan’s confusion showed in his expression.
K’tan nodded toward Lorana’s quarters. “You might want to be there for
her,” he said softly.
“Yes,” Kindan agreed quickly. “You’re right.” He started to head off, his
stride increasing. Back over his shoulder he called, “Thank you.”
He was halfway across the Bowl when B’nik hailed him.
“Ista should be fighting Threadfall over Igen soon,” the Weyrleader called
warningly. Kindan smiled and waved acknowledgment, pointing toward
Lorana’s quarters. B’nik nodded.
Kindan found Lorana in Arith’s room, curled up next to her dragon. The
room was gloomy, the setting sun cut off by the lip of the Bowl. Arith stirred
fitfully as Kindan entered the room, but Lorana’s eyes were already wide
open, staring blankly into space. She looked up at Kindan.
“She’s resting,” she reported. “Her breathing seems easier.”
Kindan nodded.
“I just ate a while ago,” Lorana added, as though that were the reason for
Kindan’s appearance. Her tone was acerbic as she continued, “Mikkala
checked up on me in the last hour.”
Kindan took in her words and tone with a quickly suppressed grimace. If
anyone knew the deathwatch drill for a rider and a sick dragon, it would be
Lorana. She had held the hands of the distraught riders, had uttered all the
comforting words she could imagine, and had held the riders in her arms as
they collapsed with grief and despair when their dragons went
between
forever.
“Thread falls over Igen Weyr soon,” Kindan told her bluntly. “Ista will be
fighting it.”
Lorana took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She tilted her head up to
look into Kindan’s eyes. “Thank you,” she told him.
“Should I turn on the glows?” he asked, jerking his head toward the nearest
glow basket.
“More light would help,” Lorana agreed. As Kindan busied himself with the
task, she followed him around the room with her eyes, partly to distract
herself and partly because he was such a pleasant distraction.
He turned back to her when he was done. “May I stay?”
Lorana met his gaze with a bittersweet look and patted the ground beside
her. “I was hoping you would,” she told him. “The ground’s hard, but you
don’t notice it after a while.”
Kindan sat beside her, unsure whether to lean against Arith as she was
doing, or to offer himself as a support for Lorana, or to lean himself against