Dragon’s Kin

Chapter II

Wake up, sleepyhead!” Sis shouted at Kindan. Kindan squirmed further into the warm blankets. Abruptly his pillow was pulled out from under his head. He groaned, startled by the sudden movement.

“You heard Sis, get up!” Kaylek said, roughly turning his youngest brother out of the bed.

“I’m up! I’m up!” Kindan snarled. He wished he had just a bit more time to remember his dream. Momma was in it, he was sure.

Kindan never told anyone about his dreams of his mother, not after the first time. He knew that his mother had died giving birth to him; he couldn’t help knowing, because his brothers and sisters practically blamed him for it. But Sis—and his father, who spoke so rarely—both said that it wasn’t his fault. Sis told Kindan how big a smile his mother had had when she held him in her arms. “He’s beautiful!” his mother had said to his father. And then she had died.

“Your mother wanted you,” Danil had told him once after Kindan had come home crying because his big brothers had told him that no one had wanted him. “She knew the risks, but she said you’d be worth it.”

“Ma said you wouldn’t need much looking after,” Sis had said another time, “but you’d be worth it.”

This morning Kindan didn’t feel worth much of anything. He scrambled to get his clothes on, washed his face in cold water in the basin, and rushed to the breakfast table.

“Throw the water out and clean the basin,” Jakris growled, grabbing him by the ear and spinning him back toward their room. “You’re the last one who used it.”

“I’ll get it later!” Kindan yelped.

Jakris turned and blocked the exit. “You will not—you’ll get it now or Sis’ll give it to you later.”

Kindan frowned and turned back to the washbasin. With his back to Jakris he stuck out his tongue. His bigger brother would have decked him if he had seen him.

Taking care of the washbasin ensured that Kindan was the last in to breakfast. He looked around for something to eat. There was klah to drink—cold. Some cereal, but not much, and no milk to go with it. The others hurried away, but Sis turned them back with either a growl or a frown, so they couldn’t get away with leaving their dishes for him.

“You’ll eat well tonight, Kindan,” Sis said to him as he mournfully spooned his breakfast. Her eyes were particularly bright.

Kindan was confused for a moment, but then he remembered—there was a wedding tonight. Sis’s wedding.

“Now, get out of here, you’ve chores to do,” she said, shoving him affectionately out of the kitchen.

First thing out the door, Kindan stopped. Sis hadn’t assigned chores like she usually did. He turned back just as she came charging out.

“Go ask Jenella,” Sis said scoldingly before Kindan could even open his mouth.

Jenella was Natalon’s wife. As she was very pregnant, Sis had stood in for her ever since the families had moved up to the Camp, six months ago.

Kindan knew that there was no one worse than his own sister in a temper so he scuttled off immediately. He concentrated so hard on avoiding his sister’s temper that his legs took him up to the mine entrance before he realized it. Rather than turning straight back, Kindan paused, eyeing the mine entrance thoughtfully.

Usually, one of the first tasks of the day for the Camp’s youngsters was to change the glowbaskets in the mines. Today, because of the wedding, the mines were closed—except for those unlucky enough to have the job of working the pumps—so Kindan found himself in front of the mine shaft wondering whether the task had been canceled for the day. Even though no one would be mining that day and that night, Kindan decided that surely it made sense to change the glows so that the miners wouldn’t have to go down into a dark mine the next day.

Kindan heard voices coming from inside the mine. He couldn’t make out what was being said, but he could tell that one was a man’s deep voice and the other a young girl’s voice.

“Hello!” he called into the mine, thinking that perhaps some of the caravanners had gone for a look at the mine.

The voices stopped. Kindan cupped an ear with his hand, straining to hear any sounds. Late at night, when the Camp’s cook fire had burned down to mere embers and the chill winds from the mountains howled through the Camp’s square, the older boys told all sorts of scary stories about ghosts in the mine. Kindan was sure that these weren’t ghosts, but all the same, he wasn’t too interested in going into a dark cave by himself.

“Hello?” he called again, hesitantly. He certainly wouldn’t want to invite any ghosts to him.

There was no answer. Presently Kindan heard the steady sound of one pair of boots on the dirt floor of the cave. He stepped back from the entrance. A darker shadow appeared, then resolved itself into human form.

It was an old, silver-haired man whom Kindan had never seen before. The man looked haggard and his eyes were bleak, as though all the laughter had been leached from them and all the life had seeped away. Kindan took another step back and prepared to run. The child in the mine—the one with the girl’s voice. Had this specter eaten it?

“You there!” the man called out.

As soon as he heard the deep, rich voice, Kindan knew that the man was no ghost. The accent was clearly from Fort Hold, and it held the cultured overtones of the Harper Hall.

“Yes, Master?” Kindan answered, not knowing what rank the man held and guessing that it was best to err on the side of caution. Was this Harper Crom’s MasterHarper come to check on Journeyman Jofri? Or was he a Harper with the traders?

“What are you doing here?” the old man barked.

“I was here to see if the glows needed changing,” Kindan said.

The old man frowned, brows furrowed tightly. His head swung around to look over his shoulder, but he stopped the movement almost immediately. “I was told,” he said, “that no one was going to be up here today.”

“Yes, there’s a wedding,” Kindan told him. “But I wasn’t sure if Natalon wanted the glows changed.”

“Well, they certainly could do with it,” the old man said. The sound of a small rock falling behind him made him turn around and back again. “It can be quite dangerous down there. But I think—wait a minute!—are you Kindan?”

“Yes, sir,” Kindan replied, wondering why the old man knew his name. He couldn’t have known about... Kindan compiled a far too lengthy list of possible misdeeds before the old man made his next response.

“You are supposed to be at the Harper’s quarters in about fifteen minutes, young man,” the old man said. As Kindan turned to run back down to Jofri’s cottage, the old man added, “Ready to sing and not breathless!”

“I will be!” Kindan shouted back over his shoulder, running as fast as his feet could carry him.

As soon as Kindan was out of earshot, the old man turned back to the mine entrance. “You can come out now, he’s gone.”

He heard the sound of light feet approaching the cave’s entrance, but they stopped before their owner came into view.

“I know a shortcut, if you’d like.”

“Through the mountain?” he asked.

“Of course.” After a moment’s silence, sensing the old man’s reticence, the girl added, “I’ve used it loads of times. I’ll show you.”

The old man smiled and started back into the cave. “Well, with your guidance, I’ll be happy to take your shortcut,” he said, making a short bow to the figure in the dark. “Would I be right in guessing that it will get us there before the lad?”

The girl’s answer was a mischievous giggle.

Kindan arrived outside the Harper’s cottage completely breathless. Zenor was already waiting.

“Kindan, you’re just in time,” Zenor said. “If you’d’ve been a few more minutes late—” He broke off, his eyes full of dark foreboding.

“What is it?”

“The Master wants to hear us sing,” Zenor said. “He’s already told Kaylek that he can’t sing at the wedding.”

Kindan’s face lit up at the thought of Kaylek’s reaction. Kindan wasn’t surprised: Kaylek’s singing voice sounded like a gravel slide, and he had no ability whatsoever to stay in tune. Whenever pressed about it by his friends, Kaylek would swear that he didn’t like singing and that, anyway, he’d been a perfect singer until his voice had changed. But Kindan knew from tales he heard from his other brothers and Sis that neither of those statements were true; Kaylek loved to sing but had not one jot of musical ability.

Silstra had tried to figure ways to get all her siblings involved in her wedding, and her choice of Kaylek to sing was probably no more than a combination of nerves and running out of ideas.

Zenor nudged Kindan in the ribs. “Don’t you get it? If Kaylek can’t sing, who’s going to do all his songs at the wedding?”

Kindan’s eyes went round and his mouth opened in a big “O” of dreadful realization.

Just then, the door opened.

“Come in, come in, I can’t stand dawdling,” a voice growled from inside the cottage. It wasn’t Journeyman Jofri’s voice. It was the voice of the old man that Kindan had met up at the mine entrance.

Enraged, Kindan burst into the room.

“What are you doing here? It was bad enough that you went down the mines without Miner Natalon’s permission, but to barge into a Harper’s quarters—” Kindan cut himself short and a horrified look came over him. Kindan could feel his whole face burning in embarrassment. Oh no! Kindan thought to himself with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he’s the new Harper! Our new Harper!

The old man did not take Kindan’s outburst lightly.

“What do you think you are doing?” his voice boomed, filling the room not just with its volume but also with its intensity.

“Sorry,” Kindan muttered, trying with the tip of his foot to dig his way into the floorboards of the cottage in a vain hope of escaping both his embarrassment and the Harper’s anger. “I didn’t realize that you were the new Harper.”

“You didn’t think, you mean,” the old man roared back irritably.

Kindan hung his head. “Yes, sir.” If there was one thing Kindan was good at, it was at being bawled out—he’d had lots of practice.

“You seem to have a knack for that, don’t you?” the Harper noted tetchily.

“Yes, sir,” Kindan agreed, his head on his chest and his answer going to the floor.

The new Harper eyed Kindan. “You’re not related to that oaf I just sent out of here this morning, are you?”

Kindan glanced up at that, his lists clenched. It was enough to be in the wrong and caught out twice by the stranger, but only a family member had the right to call Kaylek an oaf!

“Hmm,” the old man murmured. “You say nothing, but your body shows its support for your clan.”

He stood up and strode over to Kindan. Putting a hand under Kindan’s chin, he lifted the boy’s head until Kindan was looking in the Harper’s eyes. Kindan could not keep the anger off his face, and he refused to utter an apology. He matched looks with the Harper for as long as the Harper stared at him.

Finally, the Harper stood back. “Stubborn. But I’ve managed worse.”

Kindan’s nostrils flared.

The Harper ignored him, flicking his gaze to Zenor. “Well, come in, lad, I won’t bite you!”

Zenor looked as though he were completely torn between the obvious fallacy of the Harper’s statement and the blasphemy that a Harper could lie. He gave Kindan an inquiring look and, receiving no hints from his friend, stood dazed like a smallbeast stalked by a wherry until the Harper cleared his throat warningly. Zenor jumped into the room as though stung.

“Harper Jofri tells me that you sing well,” the Harper said to them, dividing his gaze between the two boys. “But Harper Jofri is a journeyman who specializes in ballads and drums.

“I”—and here the Harper deepened his voice and increased his volume, so that his words echoed resoundingly through the room—“am a Master and specialize in the voice. So, naturally, I have been asked to oversee the evening’s vocal arrangements.”

Kindan looked up at that, amazed. Harper Jofri had often admonished the boys and girls of Camp Natalon that it they didn’t behave he’d use the tricks that had been used on him by the Harper Hall’s vocal master. “Be good, or I’ll treat you like Master Zist treated me,” Jofri would warn them.

And here, standing in front of them, true to life and full of horrors, was that very same Master Zist.

Zenor’s jaw dropped. Out of the corner of his eye, Kindan could see Zenor trying to get words out of his mouth, but it was obvious that all the air in him had gone into his eyes, for they looked ready to pop straight out of his face.

“You’re—” Kindan realized that he was not immune from terror, either. “You’re Master Zist?”

Beside him, Zenor had managed to close his mouth.

“Ah,” Master Zist replied in satisfied tones, “you’ve heard of me. I am pleased to learn that Harper Jofri remembered my lessons.

“It remains to be seen how much he has taught you,” he continued, raising a finger warningly. “I will not let my first day here—and this Camp’s very first wedding—be marred by voices that are not in proper form.”

Master Zist opened his hand and waved the two boys closer to him. “When you are ready, I shall hear a scale from middle C in harmony.”

Kindan and Zenor glanced at each other; Harper Jofri had had them doing scales in harmony since they could first walk. Their eyes gleamed and they turned back to the Master, opened their mouths, and—

“No, no, no!” Master Zist roared. The boys caught their breath and rocked back on their heels in fright. “Stand up straight. Shoulders back. Take a deep breath and—”

Following his orders, the two boys started to sing the scales.

“Who told you to sing?” Master Zist yelled at them. After they shut their mouths in horror, he continued, “I do not recall asking you to sing.” He sighed. “It is obvious that you two must first learn how to breathe.”

Zenor and Kindan exchanged looks. Didn’t they already know how to breathe?

By lunchtime, Kindan was exhausted. He hadn’t realized how much work it could be just to sing. Rather than letting them go, Master Zist sent Zenor to get their lunch and tell Jenella that the two boys would sing at the wedding. Zenor’s eyes lit when Master Zist told them, but Kindan was too tired and still wary of the new Harper.

“You,” Master Zist intoned after Zenor had left, “will practice the wedding chorale Harper Jofri had selected for your brother.”

Kindan gulped. Kaylek would kill him for sure when he found out, and that song was a really hard one to learn.

By the time Zenor returned with lunch—it seemed to take forever—Kindan was sweating with effort and Master Zist was nearly shaking with rage.

“Leave the food here,” Master Zist told him, “and take yourself away.”

Instead of breaking for lunch, Master Zist insisted that Kindan continue his singing. No matter how hard he tried, Kindan could not master the song.

In the end, red-faced and bellowing, Master Zist threw up his hands. “You are not listening to me! You do not pay the slightest attention. You can master this song, you just choose not to. Oh, you are such a waste! To think your mother died giving birth to you! You’re not worth it at all.”

Kindan’s fists clenched and his eyes flared with rage. He turned on his heel and ran out of the cottage. He got only a few feet before he was stopped by his sister.

“Kindan, how is it going?” she asked, too excited to notice his expression. “Isn’t it great that Master Zist is here? Did you know that mother said he taught her our favorite song?”

Kindan took one look at her cheerful face as her words registered in his brain—and inspiration struck.

“Excuse me, Sis, I’ve got to get back to practicing,” he said before he turned back to the cottage. Over his shoulder he added, “Everything’s going great.”

He barged back into the cottage where Master Zist still sat, waiting. Kindan pulled himself up to a proper singing posture, drew in a breath, and began to sing:

“In early morning light I see,

A distant dragon come to me.

Its skin is bronze, its eyes are green;

It’s the loveliest dragon I’ve ever seen.”

Encouraged by the Harper’s silence, Kindan continued through the whole song. In the end, he looked truculently at the Master and said, “I can, too, sing. My sister says that I can sing as well as my mother. My sister says that I am worth it. And my father, too. And they should know—they were there when I was born.” Tears streaked down his face, but he didn’t care. “My sister said that my mother’s last words were that I wouldn’t need much caring but I’d be worth it.”

Master Zist was in shock. “That voice,” he muttered to himself. “You have her voice.” He looked up at Kindan and there were tears in his eyes, too. “Lad, I’m sorry. I should never have said ... I had no right ... Could you sing it again, please? You have the same lyric quality she had.”

Kindan wiped his tears and drew breath, but his throat was still choked up with grief and anger. Master Zist raised a hand to stop him and went into the cottage’s kitchen. He returned with a cup of warm tea.

“Drink this, it’ll ease your throat,” he said in a much kindlier and more subdued voice. While Kindan was drinking, Master Zist said, “I drove you too hard, lad. I have never driven a student so hard. I shouldn’t have done it to you, either. It’s just that—that I want this to be the best day for your sister and your father. I want to give them that.”

“So do I,” Kindan said.

Master Zist lowered his head toward him and nodded. “I see that you do, lad. I see that you do.” He held out his hand. “So, let’s start over and we’ll do the best we can, together, eh?”

Kindan placed the cup beside him and shyly put his hand in the larger hand of the MasterHarper. “I’ll do my best,” he said.

“That’s all I will ask of you,” Master Zist promised. “And, with your voice, I think we’ll both be proud of the result.” He looked out the window. “We haven’t much time, however, so we’d best concentrate on what you know, hadn’t we?”

Kindan nodded in agreement, but his expression was bemused. Master Zist grinned at him. “Why don’t we work ‘The Morning Dragon Song’ into the ceremony instead of that solo?”

Kindan’s eyes widened. “Could we do it just as Dask flies over?” he asked enthusiastically. “It’d be perfect!”

“The watch-wher can fly?” Zist was surprised.

Kindan nodded.

“Can all watch-whers fly?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Kindan answered honestly. “But weren’t they supposed to be made from fire-lizards, the same as dragons?”

“Not much is known about watch-whers,” Master Zist said. “For example, we know that they don’t like light. But some people say that it’s because of their big eyes while others say that they are nocturnal. Their wings look too small to support them.”

“I’ve only seen Dask fly when it’s late,” Kindan said. “My father said something about how the atmosphere condenses at night, and air gets thicker.”

Master Zist nodded. “That’s so. I’ve heard the dragonriders say that it’s dangerous to fly too high at night—the air has gotten thinner there. Perhaps the watch-whers are adapted to fly at night, and have smaller wings because the air is thicker then.”

Kindan shrugged. The Harper made a note to himself to pursue the matter with the Harper Hall.

“Well,” the Harper continued, “I think it would be marvelous for you to sing ‘The Morning Dragon Song’ when Dask flies over.

“Are you ready to begin now?”

“I’m ready, Master Zist.”

At the end of two hours, Kindan’s back was drenched with sweat. Master Zist’s instructions were more cordially delivered and Kindan obeyed them more readily than before, but they were still doing hard work—both of them, Kindan noted, as Master Zist wiped beads of sweat from his brow.

They were interrupted by a knock on the cottage door.

“Get the door, lad,” Master Zist said in a kindly tone. “I’ll make some tea. Unless I miss my guess, that’s your father come to be sure that you’re still alive and with your good clothes as his excuse.”

Master Zist was not wrong.

“I’ve brought your clothes,” Danil said. His face broke into a huge grin. “Ah, lad! This will be a grand day, won’t it?”

Coming from his father, the words were practically a speech.

“Master Zist’s gone to get some tea,” Kindan said. “He says that it’s good for the throat.” He didn’t add that Master Zist had said that it was good for the nerves, as well.

“I’ve been with Jofri all day,” Danil told his son. “We’ve got the wedding platform properly raised and the whole square ready for the party.”

“Where will the bride and groom spend the night?” Master Zist asked, entering the room with a tray. There were not just three cups of tea, but also some dainty pastries.

Danil blushed. “Oh, there’s a trader custom that a bride and groom must spend the night in a caravan. Apparently Crom’s MasterTrader instructed the journeyman in charge of this caravan to be sure that Terregar and Silstra followed their custom.”

“Of course,” Zist added with a wry look and a shake of his head, “anyone marrying cross Hold would be relying on a trader to move them, so no one would dream of upsetting them on that matter.”

Danil picked up one of the dainties off the tray and bit into it. “This is good! And still warm! Did Jenella send them?”

Master Zist nodded. “Aye, they were just delivered.” Kindan remembered that he’d heard the sound of a door opening shortly after his father had entered the front room.

Danil nodded. His face had gone serious. “Kindan, step outside for a moment,” he said.

“Take your tea and a dainty with you,” Zist said. Kindan scooped up one of his favorites, grabbed his tea, and headed outside.

Milla, who did all the baking and cooking up at Natalon’s hold, loved making the tiny little snacks she called dainties. Milla’s dainties were always different; sometimes they were confections, other times they were small, meat-filled pies, and yet other times they were deliciously spiced vegetables. The warm dainty Kindan had scarfed was made of spiced meat wrapped in a flaky pie crust.

Outside, the sun was well past noon, but its warmth did little against the fall chill that had settled into the valley. He shivered. It would be a cold evening, even with warm klah and hot mulled wine to keep him warm. He swallowed the rest of the dainty in one bite to give him both hands to wrap around the warm cup.

He could hear the rise and fall of voices from inside the cottage but couldn’t make out the words. Bored, he walked over by the walled herb garden that separated the Harper’s cottage from Natalon’s hold. Natalon’s place was too big to be called a cottage. Besides, it was built properly of stone. When the time for Thread got nearer, it would be turned into the entrance for a proper Hold dug into the cliffside—perhaps one day even as large as Crom Hold.

Kindan and the other youngsters had lived at Crom Hold for the better part of a year while Natalon, Danil, and the other original miners had sought out, found, and begun working the new mine.

Crom Hold was a vast set of tunnels and rooms dug into the side of a high, majestic cliff. Kindan had spent a lot of time running through—or cleaning—the vacant rooms that would again house most of those who looked to Crom’s Lord Holder for protection when Thread started to fall from the sky.

Kindan shivered at the thought. Thread. Shimmering, long silvery strands that fell from the sky whenever the Red Star drew close to Pern. Thread. Burning, eating, destroying everything it touched—wood and limb alike. No green would be allowed to grow near the Holds when Thread returned. The mindless Thread could grow incredibly fast, or so Kindan had been taught, and wipe out whole valleys in a matter of hours.

Kindan squinted his eyes, trying to imagine how Natalon’s hold would be converted into a proper Hold dug into the cliff-side. It certainly would have a great view of the lake below. But Kindan wasn’t sure that he’d like being cooped up inside for the next fifty Turns.

Deep down, Kindan wasn’t sure that he even wanted to be a miner. He squashed the thought firmly. His father was a miner and a wherhandler. Kindan should consider himself lucky to get a chance at either.

Miners were vital to Pern’s survival. Without the firestone provided by other miners, dragons could not breathe fire; without those flames, dragons could not destroy Thread as it fell from the sky. The coal that Camp Natalon produced burned the hottest and produced the best steel. Still other mines mined the iron ore that went into the steel which made ploughs, shovels, picks, nails, screws, buckles, and countless other things which were vital to life on Pern. Yet others found the copper, the nickel, and the tin, which were blended together to make brass for ornaments and tableware. Indeed, the miners in the great salt mines of Southern Boll and Igen supplied all Pern with salt.

Watch-whers in mines were a recent addition, and Kindan knew that his father had done more with watch-whers and mining than any other. Dask, his father’s watch-wher, not only could warn the miners of pockets of bad air, but was adept at digging and hauling ore. Kindan suspected, from snippets of conversations he’d overheard between his father and his older brothers, that Danil had even greater plans for the use of watch-whers in the mines.

While people were at their most alert during the day and slept at night, watch-whers were the opposite, sleeping during the day and awaking at night. That was why they were used to keep watch in the great Holds during the dark hours of the night. In the mines, the night shift could do more excavating of new shafts than any of the day shifts because of the watch-whers.

But really, not much was known about watch-whers. Even his own father was largely self-educated—through his experience with Dask.

Kindan had heard that originally there had been two other watch-whers at Camp Natalon. One had died, and the other had left along with his handler. Kindan had heard his brothers complaining about it, and about Tarik’s sour opinion of watch-whers.

Kindan knew that he would be extremely lucky if he were ever considered for a watch-wher egg.

Still, he really liked singing.

Kindan turned away from Natalon’s hold to look down toward the lake and the cottages.

The cottages were built with rough-hewn stone to window height and timber the rest of the way. They were covered with long, high-peaked, overhanging roofs. It was possible that the roofs could be covered with slate and built to withstand Thread, but most people would feel safest in a “proper Hold.”

“Kindan!” Danil’s voice interrupted Kindan’s reverie. He turned and followed Danil’s beckon back to the Harper’s cottage.

“I’ll see you at the ceremony,” Danil said to him. Then, to Kindan’s surprise, his father leaned down and hugged him tight. “I love you, son.”

Kindan fought back the tears in his eyes as he said, “I love you too, Dad.”

Danil strode off briskly with a little trailing wave of his hand. Kindan returned to the cottage, his chest swelling.

Inside the cottage, Master Zist gave Kindan a long, penetrating stare.

“Your father’s quite a man, lad,” he said at last. “Quite a man.”

Kindan nodded.

“One more time through ‘The Morning Dragon Song’ and then we’ll go through the whole lot,” Zist said to him. He held up a restraining hand as Kindan swallowed a lungful of air. “No! Not like that, lad. Remember what I told you.” Zist placed his hands on his own sides and pressed them into his diaphragm. “From down here. Breathe up and down, not in and out.”

The wind tore through the Camp’s main square as Kindan accompanied Master Zist down to the wedding platform. Both were dressed in their best clothes, Master Zist looking completely regal in his Harper blue. Kindan tried not to think too hard about how he looked, fearing that the rest of the Camp’s kids would fill him in painfully on his appearance in many future encounters.

Master Zist must have guessed how Kindan felt for he chose that moment to say, “You look great, lad.”

Traditionally, the marriage ceremony was performed in the morning, timed so that as the couple completed their marriage vows, the sun would rise, signifying the warmth of the new relationship and how it would lighten not only the bride and groom but also all those associated with them.

However, such a ceremony would mean that Dask could not attend. So Jofri had come up with the idea of performing the ceremony with the setting sun, instead, and lighting a bonfire as the final vows were made. Master Zist had seen no reason to contradict that.

Everyone in the Camp was gathered in the main square. The dining tables had been pushed to the edges of the square, while the benches had been arranged in rows in front of the wedding platform, which would be used after the ceremony by the musicians.

Kindan could smell fresh-cut branches of pine piled on the unlit bonfire. The wind died down as the sun continued its downward arc in the sky.

It was time.

Master Zist, holding Kindan’s shoulder, guided him to his place on the platform. Kindan sketched a quick grin to Zenor, who was dressed in similar finery and stood on the opposite end of the platform. Seated next to Zenor was Journeyman Jofri, with his drums in front of him and his guitar placed beside him within easy reach. Master Zist moved slightly away from Kindan to stand next to his own pipes and guitar; Kindan guessed that Jofri must have set them up for the Master.

At a nod from Master Zist, Jofri began a long flourish on the drums. The people in their seats grew quiet. Out of the corner of his eye, Kindan could see his father and a radiant girl dressed in a marvelous gown standing at the back of the benches. Kindan realized with a start that the girl was Silstra!

Jofri changed his beat and the sound of Master Zist’s pipes joined in. Everyone stood as Danil led Silstra down the aisle. At the same time someone lit the long row of torches that had been placed on either end of the benches.

A beam of light burst out from the sky above Silstra and followed her as she made her way down the aisle.

“Kindan, what is that?” Zist hissed in between his piping.

“That’s Dask,” Kindan said proudly. “He must be flying with a glow in his claws.”

“Even as I see it, I can scarcely believe it,” Zist whispered in awe. “Truly amazing.”

Indeed, above the pipes, Kindan could hear the watch-wher’s chirping voice in counterpoint to Master Zist’s melody.

Zist’s pipes stopped when Silstra reached her place on the platform, facing the audience.

Jofri began a different, more martial drum sequence and Terregar, resplendent in his craft’s colors, started his walk up the aisle, accompanied by Journeyman Veran, the trader in charge of the caravan.

Again, Dask flew overhead, illuminating the groom from above as he had the bride.

Terregar’s assumption of his position beside Silstra on the wedding platform was the signal for Kindan and Zenor to start their duet. Jofri introduced them with a flourish and Kindan started to sing only to realize that Zenor had not joined in.

Kindan looked frantically at his friend but saw that Zenor’s eyes were skyward, watching Dask as he hovered over the wedding platform.

Kindan strengthened his volume to cover Zenor’s lack until Jofri tapped Zenor on the shoulder. With a horrified look of apology at Silstra and Terregar, Zenor joined in singing the song with Kindan. A titter ran through the watching crowd.

After they had completed their song, Master Zist stepped to the center of the platform and started the ceremony. Kindan had seen three other weddings in his life, but he’d never participated in one before. He listened carefully to the words Master Zist used to ask Silstra if she would have Terregar as her husband and to ask Terregar if he would have her as his wife. Then Master Zist spoke of the changes that each had agreed to, and the joy that their union brought those gathered here and his hope that their union would bring joy to all of Pern.

“For now that these two are one, we are all more,” Master Zist intoned. He placed Silstra’s hand in Terregar’s and kissed each lightly on the cheek. “To Terregar and Silstra!”

The crowd stood up and roared back: “Terregar and Silstra!”

“Long life and happiness!” Master Zist intoned.

“Long life and happiness!” the crowd roared back.

Master Zist stepped back from the married couple. He waited until the shouting had died down and then nodded to Kindan.

Kindan started his solo.

“In early morning light I see,

A distant dragon come to me.”

But as he sang, he heard a strange echo. He tried not to look around and merely concentrate on his singing, but his expression must have been noticed by Master Zist, because the Harper surreptitiously pointed skyward—Dask was singing along! Kindan broke into a grin as he continued his song, working in Dask’s counterpoint to the beat of the music and the spacing of the words. He finished with the opening refrain again:

“In early morning light I see,

A distant dragon come to me.”

Kindan let his voice fade softly away. As his voice died out, Dask uttered one final, satisfied chirp.

A huge hand grasped Kindan’s shoulder and Master Zist told him, “Well done, Kindan. Well done.”

And then Silstra was hugging and kissing him, tears of joy streaming from her eyes. “You were wonderful, thank you!” Terregar shook his hand and clapped him on the back, and then the bride and groom marched back down the aisle. Veran gave Terregar a torch, and the two ceremonially lit the wedding bonfire, bringing the light of their union to the mining camp.

At that, the partying started. Master Zist and Journeyman Jofri started with a reel. Kindan had never heard a fiddle played before, but he found that its pleasant tones could be very lively.

As he leapt off the wedding platform, he was accosted by Kaylek. “Dad says that you’re to change into everyday clothes now.”

Kindan set off immediately for their cottage, where he changed quickly. On his way back, he spotted a girl about his own age standing beside a tree, listening to the music. Kindan had never seen her before, so he guessed that she was one of the trader girls.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, at peace with the world. “There’ll be dancing as soon as the platform’s cleared off.”

“Dancing?” the girl repeated. “I don’t dance.”

“A trader that doesn’t dance?” Kindan asked. “I could see a miner’s daughter, maybe, but not a trader. Or are you afraid of the dance platform?”

“I’ve never been on one before,” the girl admitted.

“I’m supposed to clear it off,” Kindan told her, and started on his way with a wave of his hand.

“Wait!” the girl called. Kindan stopped. “Could you bring me down to the party?”

Kindan turned back and looked at her.

“I’m a bit shy,” she offered hastily by way of explanation. She held out her hand to him. “If you could hold my hand—”

Kindan started to say no, but she raised the palm of her hand to stop him.

“Just until we get there,” she said. She drew a deep breath and a hungry look crossed her face. “The food smells so good!”

“Well, okay,” Kindan agreed. He took her hand and she stood up beside him. “I’m Kindan, by the way.”

“I kn—I’m Nuella,” she said.

“You know?” Kindan repeated. As they approached the torch-lit square he got a better look at the girl. “I’ve seen you before! You were with the Harper in the mine! You’re lucky Natalon didn’t catch you, or you would’ve been in a lot of trouble.”

Nuella nodded and made a face. “I know,” she said. “And I’m afraid he might have heard about it,” she added hastily, “so if you could keep me away from him—I’ve never seen him, you know—I’d appreciate it.”

Kindan thought for a moment as they continued their way down to the square. He realized that he probably didn’t want to be seen by Miner Natalon, either, just to avoid being sent on an errand or given a chore. Come to think of it, if he could avoid anyone who might put him to work, that’d be just fine with him.

“All right,” he agreed. “After we get our food, I know of a nice quiet spot where we shouldn’t be seen.”

Nuella giggled and said, “That sounds perfect.”

The giggle sounded oddly familiar to Kindan.

Nuella asked Kindan to explain all the dishes set out on the buffet table. “You’ve never had tuber before?” Kindan asked. “Surely you must have.”

“Oh,” Nuella responded glibly, “I’ve had it before, but I don’t think I’ve seen it prepared like this.”

“Huh,” Kindan muttered, surprised that someone had never had mashed tubers before. Shards, if it weren’t for the fact that they were still warm, he would have avoided them in favor of something tastier himself.

They got their food and Kindan guided her to his special hiding spot. But it was occupied already.

“What are you doing here?” Zenor demanded when he saw them.

“Hiding,” Kindan replied. “Just like you.” He gestured toward Nuella. “Zenor, this is Nuella.”

“I know,” Zenor replied sourly, moving over to make room for them.

“We’ve already met,” Nuella explained. She started to set her cup down beside her, but it spilled. “Oh, dear! Kindan, could you get me another cup, please?”

Kindan was reluctant to leave—his food was still warm—but Nuella had asked so nicely that, with a shrug, he found himself saying, “Sure.” To Zenor he added, “Be right back.”

Zenor waited until Kindan was out of sight before he turned to Nuella. “Are you mad?”

Nuella turned quickly to Zenor. “He thinks I’m one of the traders.”

“You weren’t where you said you’d be when I came by,” he said.

Nuella nodded. “I met Kindan while I was waiting for you. Anyway, what took you so long?”

Zenor shrugged. “I had to help set up the dance platform.”

“Kindan was talking about dancing later,” Nuella confided with a hint of wistfulness.

Zenor gave her a look of surprise and then said, “What are you going to do?”

“Well, I can’t dance,” she admitted. “Maybe I’ll get tired or something.”

“Anyway, if you tried, someone might see you and Dalor together and figure out that you were twins,” Zenor said.

“They might not,” Nuella argued. “We’re not identical twins, we look different.”

“Not that much,” Zenor said. “You’ve both got blond hair and blue eyes. You look enough like him that you could take his place.”

Nuella brightened. “Maybe that’s it! I could switch with Dalor!”

“I don’t think Kindan would want to dance with Dalor,” Zenor said, laughing.

Nuella’s expression deflated. “Oh,” she said, “you’re right.”

“Still,” she said after a moment, “he thought I was a trader girl. Maybe...”

Zenor was upset. “He’s my friend. I don’t want to lie to him,” he said miserably.

“I wouldn’t ask you to lie,” Nuella said. “But he doesn’t know—”

“And you don’t want anyone to know,” Zenor finished, having heard her views on this topic many times.

Nuella flushed. “It’s not me, it’s Father. He’s afraid—”

“He’s wrong, you know,” Zenor said heatedly. “And what’s worse, there’s no way you can keep hidden all the time—”

“I’ve done well enough so far,” Nuella retorted.

“I found you, didn’t I?” Zenor shot back.

“Actually,” she corrected, “I found you.”

“Still, you’ve been here less than six months now—”

“As have we all—”

“And I’ve already found out,” Zenor finished. “How long do you think it’ll be before someone else figures it out? A month? A sevenday?”

Nuella frowned. “It’s just until Father proves the mine—”

“Shh! He’s coming back,” Zenor warned.

Nuella tentatively reached out to Zenor, grabbed his hand, and gave it a thankful squeeze.

“You know,” he told her softly, “I could teach you to dance.”

“Not tonight,” she answered, her voice just as quiet. “But I’d like that, Zenor.” She paused and added, “You’re my best friend.”

Zenor smiled in the darkness.

The food was mostly gone when Kindan went for his fourth helping. He must have been tired, because he didn’t notice Kaylek until his older brother had grabbed his shoulder and squeezed.

“What are you still doing up?” Kaylek growled. “I thought I sent you younger lot to bed ages back.”

“Just going now,” Kindan lied, squirming away from his brother’s grip. He could feel Kaylek’s eyes boring into his back as he left, so he had no choice but to take the path that led from the camp’s square uphill to their cottage.

His legs protested as he negotiated the gentle slope, and by the time he reached the cottage, he was all ready to climb into bed. He pulled some blankets over himself and was asleep before he could turn over.

He awoke early the next morning, shivering with cold. He quickly discovered why—his brother Jakris was in the bed next to him and had pulled all the blankets over himself. Kindan briefly tried to pull his share of the blankets back before he blearily remembered that Silstra would be leaving that morning.

He heaved himself out of bed and put on a set of workday clothes before he made his way into the kitchen. The fire was out and the room was cold. Silstra was normally the first up in the morning and laid the fire and got some oatmeal simmering in a pot and klah brewing beside it.

Now, it would be someone else’s job. Rubbing his face to get the sleep out of it and some warmth into himself, Kindan decided that at least for this morning it would be him. He loaded the hearth with kindling and struck a fire. Soon he had the kitchen warm and breakfast cooking. The smell of klah filled the room.

“Morning,” Dakin, Kindan’s eldest brother, called as he strode into the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of klah. “Ah, I’m glad you were up first,” he said, savoring the aroma of the klah while warming his hands around the cup.

“There’ll be a hard day’s work in the mines,” he continued conversationally. “I’m sure that Natalon will want to make up for all the time lost frolicking last night.”

“I wanted to say good-bye to Sis,” Kindan said.

Dakin shrugged, glancing out the window to judge the time. “Well, you’d best hurry, then. The traders like to be on the road early.”

Kindan started for the door, but Dakin called after him, “Wait up, Kindan. We’ll fill some of the covered cups with klah and bring them down to them.” His eyes lit as he added, “They might be a bit slow getting started this morning.”

Kindan wanted to run down to the caravan, but Dakin slowed him to a more sedate walk. “If they’re gone, Kindan, they’re gone. But if they’re not and we’ve spilt all the klah, we’ll get no welcome.”

The traders were just stirring as Kindan and Dakin entered their camp. Caravans were being packed up, and workbeasts rounded up and hitched into harnesses. Kindan looked around, wondering idly if he’d spot Nuella’s wagon. His look grew quizzical as he noticed that there were no children at the trader’s camp.

“Look, that must be theirs!” Dakin said, pointing to a wildly decorated caravan set off from the others.

Kindan trailed behind Dakin, his gaze everywhere as he took in the camp. Still he saw no signs of children.

“Hello the wagon!” Dakin shouted as they approached the wedding caravan. “We bring hot klah.”

Dakin grinned as he heard sounds of movement inside the wagon. Terregar’s head poked out from between the curtains.

“Hot klah?” he repeated wistfully.

“Well,” Dakin responded consideringly as he handed the mugs up, “maybe just warm. It was a long walk from our cottage.”

Terregar looked suspiciously at the first mug, but a slender hand reached out and snatched it from him before he could react.

“And a good morning to you, too, Sister,” Dakin boomed jovially. His smile widened as he heard Silstra’s answering groan.

Terregar shot him a reproving look, his free hand massaging his head. “Go easy, Dakin. You’ll be married too someday, and you’ll appreciate soft voices the morning after.”

Dakin shook his head, still smiling. “I’ll mine that seam when I find it. ’Til then, I’ll go on as I always do.”

Terregar shook his head ruefully but said nothing. Kindan tugged at Dakin’s sleeve.

“Would you tell our sister that some of her brothers—the ones who know there’ll be work today—have come to say our good-byes?” Dakin said to Terregar.

Terregar nodded and turned to listen to Silstra’s voice from inside the wagon. He nodded at what she said, then turned back to Dakin. “She’ll be out in a bit. First she’s got to finish her klah.”

“I don’t blame her,” Dakin replied judiciously. He spotted Trader Veran moving toward them with mugs in either hand. “Unless I miss my guess, your trader friends are starting out late this morning,” he said to Terregar.

Veran arrived in time to hear this comment and nodded his head slowly. “Aye, with a night like last, we’re not too quick to be on our way. I imagine that’s the same in the mines, isn’t it?”

Dakin pursed his lips consideringly and, finally, shook his head. “Hard to say. Miner Natalon has some fairly rigid ideas about a good day’s work. On the other hand, I expect he knows—firsthand—that the miners are feeling their late night a bit more than usual and he’s wary of anything that could cause an accident.”

Veran nodded. “And there’s nothing like a woolly head to cause accidents,” he agreed.

Kindan ventured a comment of his own. “Are your children all asleep, too?”

Veran laughed. “Ah, no! I expect they’re all up and about, back at Crom Hold.” He leaned down toward Kindan and added conspiratorially, “After a night like the last, they’d be so wound up they’d never settle—and their parents would never forgive them!”

Dakin joined Veran in his laughter. “Well, we would have left our youngsters in bed if we could have.”

Kindan glowered up at him, but Dakin merely tousled his hair in response. “We might have let one or two come to the party,” he said to placate his youngest brother.

“And here’s the lovely couple now,” Veran said, spying Terregar and Silstra stepping down from the caravan. He raised his voice to a shout, “Did you have a pleasant evening?” He chuckled when he saw Terregar wince. “A bit too much wine, eh?”

Terregar grinned and, grabbing Silstra’s hand, joined the rest of the group. Silstra broke free of his grip long enough to hug Dakin and Kindan.

“Old endings, new beginnings,” Jofri’s voice intoned cheerfully from behind them. Kindan turned to see that the Harper had all his gear wrapped in a bedroll, except his guitar, which was slung from his shoulder.

Dakin grinned and extended a hand to him and clasped him on the shoulder. “We’ll miss you, Harper.”

“I’m leaving you in good hands with Master Zist,” Jofri replied. He looked down at Kindan and added, “As this one can attest.”

Kindan was certain that he preferred Journeyman Jofri’s easygoing ways to Master Zist’s demanding discipline any day, regardless of the results.

His face must have shown it, for Jofri laughed. “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine with Master Zist. He was my vocal teacher, you know.”

“But you never sing,” Kindan protested.

Jofri laughed again. “And he’s the reason.” He shook his head, chuckling anew at Kindan’s reaction. “I’ve no voice for singing—you must know that even at your tender years. Master Zist helped me to see it, even before my voice broke when I teened.

“He’s got a gift to know how a voice will break,” the harper continued. “I’ve never seen him wrong with it. If he says fine tenor, then it’s a fine tenor you’ll be. If he says lousy baritone—well, then, he’ll help you find a different way to beat your own drum.”

He leaned forward to Kindan. “He’s been through hard times.” Kindan had the feeling that Jofri was entrusting him with a secret and his eyes grew large. “But he’s one of the best. You listen and learn, okay?

“You won’t get away with the tricks you played on me,” Jofri added. He winked. “Okay?”

Kindan nodded his head dubiously. Jofri straightened up, grinned again, and tousled Kindan’s hair. Kindan wondered to himself why everyone had chosen that day to tousle his hair. Perhaps it was because it was one of the rare days when it was obviously clean and they wanted to find out what it really felt like.

“Oh, and here’s the rest of the sending-off party,” Jofri said as he spied another group descending on them.

He was right. Kindan found himself sidling toward Sis as he saw not only his father and his six other brothers but also Natalon, his wife, his son, Dalor, and his uncle Tarik and nephew, Cristov, approaching.

Jakris and Tofir were still so sleepy that they couldn’t hide their yawns, but Kaylek frowned at Kindan.

“We’ve come to say good-bye,” Danil said, holding out his hand to Terregar.

Terregar wrapped an arm around Silstra’s waist and drew her close to him. “I’ll take good care of her, sir,” he promised.

“I’m sure of it,” Danil said feelingly. He started to say something more but closed his mouth and gestured to the rest of the family to make their good-byes.

Then it was the turn of Natalon and his family. Silstra hugged Jenella tight and wished her the best. Natalon gave Silstra a brief hug and muttered a few words to her that Kindan couldn’t hear, and then it was time for Tarik and his son. Kindan wasn’t surprised to see that neither Silstra nor Tarik were particularly sincere in their good-byes; Silstra had never had time for the surly miner.

And finally, the caravan was assembled. Veran waved farewell to the miners and a “move-out” to the traders, and the caravan began its slow way down the path curving down the hillside and around the lake on the way to Crom Hold.

Kindan watched until the caravans were lost to sight and only the dust marked their passage.

“Well,” Danil said softly, “that’s that.” Natalon clapped him on the shoulder. “It is.” Danil turned to him and said solemnly, “Miner Natalon, I want to thank you for the magnificent way you provided for the wedding of my daughter.”

Natalon nodded, equally full of the formality of the moment. “Danil, it was my pleasure.” He paused a moment, then added, “And now, we’ve got coal to mine.”