Dragon Harper (20 page)

“Star Stones,” Vaxoram said, following Kindan’s gaze. He pointed to a place high on the top of the western wall of the Weyr.

“I’ll bet that’s where they put the drums, too,” Kindan said.

“They’ll reverberate loudly in this Bowl,” Vaxoram agreed.

Kindan’s stomach grumbled again, as if in response to the larger Bowl’s emptiness, and the two harpers exchanged amused looks. Kindan lengthened his stride, eager to appease his stomach and get back to work.

They were almost there when Vaxoram spoke again, voicing something that had been obviously bothering him all across the Weyr Bowl. “What are you going to do?”

“About what?”

“You and Koriana,” Vaxoram replied.

“I don’t know,” Kindan told him.

“But you love her, right?” Vaxoram persisted. Kindan raised an eyebrow at him inquisitively. “I mean, I really think you love her or I would never have—”

Kindan smiled and bumped his fist on Vaxoram’s shoulder in recognition. “I never did thank you for that.”

“It was my duty,” Vaxoram answered stiffly.

“No,” Kindan corrected. “It wasn’t really.” He was silent for a moment. “So why did you do it?”

“I thought you loved her,” Vaxoram repeated.

“I do,” Kindan said, his heart fluttering. He regarded Vaxoram shrewdly and slowed almost to a stop. “So why did you do it?”

Vaxoram stifled an abrupt response, his face taking on a suffused look.

“Is there somebody you love?” Kindan asked softly, comprehension slowly dawning. “Is that why you did it?”

“That’s not why I did it,” Vaxoram said tensely.

“But there is someone,” Kindan said. He realized that that would explain much of Vaxoram’s behavior: He was trying to impress someone.

“It doesn’t matter,” Vaxoram snapped, abruptly stepping forward. “I’m as good as Shunned.”

“No, you’re not.”

“The best I’ll ever be is a bad apprentice,” Vaxoram declared despairingly. “I can hardly even read.”

“We’ll work on that,” Kindan promised.

“Why?” Vaxoram demanded. “And how?”

“There are Records in the Harper Hall or the Healer Hall,” Kindan replied. “Some of them will describe treatments.”

“Why?” Vaxoram persisted, shaking his head mulishly.

“Well, at the very least, so that you can help more with these Records,” Kindan replied.

Vaxoram snorted but his expression was wistful, not angry. He clapped Kindan on the shoulder. Startled, Kindan turned to face him.

“Thanks.”

Kindan shrugged and they entered the Kitchen Cavern.

Koriana was already there, seated with Salina and M’tal. She waved at them and gestured to two nearby chairs.

“Good morning, Weyrleader, Weyrwoman,” Kindan called as he approached. Vaxoram nodded in silent greeting.

“Did you sleep well?” Salina asked. Koriana poured two mugs of
klah
and pushed them across the table to the boys.

“Very well, thank you, my lady,” Kindan responded.

“Ready for another day’s work?” M’tal inquired.

“Yes, my lord,” Kindan told him.

Salina and M’tal exchanged amused glances.

“You have such excellent manners,” Salina remarked in response to Kindan’s worried look.

“If only our weyrlings had as much,” M’tal groaned.

“We’ve no harper to teach them, you see,” Salina explained to Koriana. Kindan dropped his head to hide his shame.

“There are some good journeymen at the Harper Hall,” Vaxoram suggested. “And one apprentice I know, Merol, should walk the tables soon.”

“Walk the tables?” Koriana repeated.

“When an apprentice makes journeyman or a journeyman makes master, they walk the tables in the Harper Hall,” Vaxoram explained.

“They walk around the tables to their new table,” Kindan expanded, seeing Koriana’s confused look. He grinned at her, sensing that she had an image of harpers jumping up on tables and kicking food and plates everywhere with gay abandon.

“It’s a special day,” Vaxoram said wistfully. “Every apprentice dreams of the day.”

“I’d like to see it,” Koriana said, glancing toward Kindan with eager eyes.

“Merol will walk soon,” Kindan told her in a tone that said that he didn’t expect to walk the tables himself.

Salina and M’tal looked at each other in a way that Kindan couldn’t quite fathom; the sort of looks that parents and elderly people exchanged when dealing with younger people.

“Have some rolls,” M’tal said, passing a covered basket to Kindan.

After breakfast they began their second day in the Records Room. They broke for lunch disconsolately, all three overwhelmed by the sheer volume of Records. Dinner came and went and still they found nothing.

“Why did she start so far back?” Vaxoram grumbled as they made their way back down the stairs toward the weyrling barracks for the night.

“I didn’t want us to miss anything,” Koriana replied from the top of the stairs.

“At this rate it’ll be a sevenday before we
find
anything,” Vaxoram grumbled.

“No,” Kindan replied firmly. “Less. We don’t have much more time.”

“What do you mean?” Koriana called down, alarmed.

“From what we’ve seen, the illness is spreading from hold to hold in a sevenday,” Kindan reminded her. “If we don’t find something soon, it may be too late.”

“So let’s go back,” Koriana called, turning back toward the Records Room.

“No,” Vaxoram said.

“We’re too tired,” Kindan agreed. “There’s not enough light with just the glows and we might miss something vital.”

His response quelled Koriana’s protests and they all went off to sleep fitfully.

And so they continued for another two days, growing more anxious, and more weary.

They awoke again early on the fifth day and were back to work before the sun had lifted high enough to light the whole Bowl. Less than an hour later, Kindan turned to a new Record, then suddenly looked up. “That’s odd.”

The others stopped and looked at him.

“The last Record was for the twenty-fourth day of the third month of 389,” Kindan said. He held up the new Record. “This is dated the eleventh of the second month of 408.”

“There must be some missing Records,” Vaxoram said unconcernedly.

“I don’t think so,” Koriana replied, turning her head back to the stacks of old Records. “I checked pretty thoroughly.” She looked over at Kindan. “What’s that last Record say?”

“I read something near there,” Vaxoram said. “The illness had come and the dragonriders were helping.”

“In this one, there’s mention of the Weyrleader ordering the dragonriders to stay in the Weyr,” Kindan said, glancing back at the old Record. “That’s why I wanted to see what the next Record said.”

“They stayed behind?” Koriana asked with a horrified look. “Why would they stay in the Weyr when there were people dying of this illness?”

“I don’t know,” Kindan replied, scanning the newer entry quickly. With a sigh, he picked up the next Record and the next and then—“Wait!”

Vaxoram and Koriana jumped, startled.

“Right here it says: ‘The weyrfolk are not yet recovered from their losses. Thank the First Egg that Thread is not due any time soon or the dragonriders would be reduced to tending their own injuries.’”

“But that’s nearly twenty Turns after the illness!” Vaxoram protested, shaking his head violently. “Something else must have happened, something in the lost Records.”

“And why weren’t the dragonriders affected?” Koriana wondered skeptically.

Kindan shrugged.

“If the Records are incomplete, we won’t find anything useful here,” Koriana noted sadly.

Nodding absently, Kindan continued to scan the new Records, one after the other. Suddenly he shouted in surprise. “Listen to this: ‘It’s been five months since my arrival and the Weyr is showing its first signs of elation since the illness nineteen Turns ago. The Hatching and the birth of several new babies has cheered everyone, even those who were sent from the Holds to live in the Weyr. I am now beginning to feel that Benden Weyr might recover.’”

“Recover?” Koriana repeated, shocked at this deeper revelation.

“We’ve got to tell M’tal,” Kindan said, rising from his seat hastily.

“Tell him what?” Vaxoram asked.

“That the Weyrs can’t help the Holds fight this illness,” Kindan answered. His face drained of all color as the full impact of his words registered. He didn’t know if the illness of today was the same or even similar to that described in the Records. But just as he didn’t know, he also didn’t know if the current illness might be even more virulent than that mentioned in the Records. In less than twelve Turns, Thread would fall again on Pern—and there
had
to be dragonriders ready to fight it. “We can’t let the weyrfolk catch it, or the Weyrs won’t be able to fight Thread when it comes.”

“That’s awful!” Koriana protested. “What will the holders do? How will they survive?”

“They can’t survive Thread if there are no dragonriders able to fight it,” Kindan declared.

“It’s not enough to tell M’tal,” Vaxoram said heavily. “We must tell all the Weyrs of Pern.”

All the Weyrs? Kindan thought bleakly. This sort of decision was properly the work of the Masterharper. But time was of the essence: If any weyrfolk were exposed, they might spread the illness throughout their Weyr. This wasn’t the time to talk, to ask permission—this was the time to act. Kindan pursed his lips for a moment, then said, “The drums.”

Vaxoram sprang out of his seat and gestured for Kindan to precede him. “Do you know where they are?”

“Up,” Kindan said, turning to the stairs just outside the Records Room.

“Kindan!” Koriana called urgently, trailing after them.

“What?”

“Don’t get near any weyrfolk or dragonriders,” Koriana said. “Remember, the dragonriders are immune, but they could pass it on to the weyrfolk.”

“Too late,” Kindan replied.

“Any more weyrfolk, then,” Koriana corrected. “If we’ve caught the illness already, we must limit their contact with us.”

“Right,” Vaxoram agreed, pressing close behind Kindan.

“Tell M’tal!” Kindan called back, increasing his pace up the stairs.

Six floors up, they reached the end of the stairway.

“This way!” Kindan said, pointing left, to the east. Vaxoram trotted after him steadily. Kindan was breathless from the climb but he didn’t slow down. The sooner the Weyrs knew, the better. It might already be too late for some.

He spotted a set of stairs set off the corridor and took them up into the brilliant light of midday. He and Vaxoram trotted past the awesome Star Stones, in search of the enclosed space where they knew the Weyr’s drum would be stored.

“Help me with this,” Kindan said as he came upon the doors. Vaxoram grunted in agreement and grabbed the handle of one of the two double doors and yanked while Kindan yanked on the other.

Quickly they grabbed the huge drum, larger than that up in the Harper Hall drumheights, and rolled it out into the open air. They had no trouble spotting the drum’s proper location, for there was a depression in the stone from hundreds of Turns of previous usage. Together they set up the drum and Kindan tapped a quick test.

He looked at Vaxoram. “Are we doing the right thing?”

“Easier to be wrong and apologize than right and see Thread,” Vaxoram assured him. Koriana crested the stairs as he finished.

“He’s right,” Koriana agreed bleakly. “We’ll know soon enough if this illness is like the other. If it isn’t, the dragonriders will be able to help.” She paused, thinking of her father, her family, and her Hold. “But for now, we must protect the dragonriders.”

With a final frown, Kindan nodded and balled his fists together. With all his might he tapped out the message as it formed in his mind:

Emergency. Emergency. Emergency. Emergency. Weyrs must not aid Holders. Danger to weyrfolk.

The great booming of the drum echoed in Kindan’s ears, limbs, and chest. He could see the vibrations shake Vaxoram’s hair, and even set the older apprentice off balance.

As the last of the message died out, Kindan was surprised to see a huge brown dragon appear beside them.

“Stay away!” Kindan shouted. “We might be contagious!”

“I’m K’tan, Weyr Healer,” the dragonrider replied. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Spreading the warning,” Kindan said. “The Weyrs must be warned.”

“Banging a drum won’t do that,” K’tan replied sourly. Kindan gave him a shocked look. “Think, lad! Who’s alive to relay the message?” He gestured toward the distant drums. “We haven’t had a message in a fortnight.”

Kindan was staggered. No drummers to pass on messages? This flu was
that
bad? Then he remembered the last interrupted message that had come to the Harper Hall. People were dying on Pern, even drummers.

“The Weyrs must be warned!” he cried. “The weyrfolk are in danger.”

“The Weyrs have been warned,” K’tan assured him, patting the side of his great brown dragon affectionately. “My dragon has told Salina’s Breth and Benden’s queen dragon has told the rest of the Weyrs. They all know about the danger now.”

Kindan sighed in relief.

“The question now is: What can we do?” K’tan asked.

“We can return to the Harper Hall,” M’tal announced, emerging from the stairway down to the Weyr.

A movement near K’tan’s brown caught Kindan’s attention—it was M’tal’s bronze Gaminth. The dragon settled carefully near the Star Stones.

“I’m going back with them,” M’tal informed K’tan. “Salina knows; she’s in our Weyr. She’ll stay there in quarantine until we can be certain she’s not contagious. Make arrangements to feed her, but let no one come close.”

“And if she gets ill?” K’tan asked anxiously.

“She shouldn’t,” Kindan said, “she’s dragonfolk.”

“But we don’t know yet for certain if that is enough,” K’tan replied, his expression grim.

M’tal shook his head. “Do your best for her but don’t risk yourself.”

K’tan gave him a startled, then rebellious look.

M’tal looked to Kindan, who turned to the Weyr Healer and said, “The Records say it took the Weyr nearly twenty Turns to recover from the last illness—”

“And we can’t risk that when we’ve less than twelve Turns before the Red Star returns,” M’tal finished for him.