Dragon Harper

CHAPTER 9

As Gaminth burst from between into the early morning over Fort Hold and the Harper Hall, Kindan leaned out over the dragon’s neck to peer down below looking for any signs of life. He saw none. His throat tightened as he turned his attention to Fort Hold’s main walls, searching for any sign of guards on the parapets. His grunt of relief was echoed by the others as they all spotted a tiny guard moving purposefully along the walls. But their relief was short-lived.

“Look!” Koriana called as the first hints of morning wind flickered through the valley, blowing on the Hold’s tall flagstaff. A small yellow pennant with a black dot fluttered in the breeze.

“Quarantine,” Kindan said, his shoulders slumping. The illness was in Fort Hold. He turned his attention to the Harper Hall’s flagpole—it, too, had a yellow pennant fluttering from it and, although he couldn’t see it, he was sure that it also bore the black dot of quarantine.

A bellow from the meadow greeted them, and as Gaminth circled back toward the Landing Meadow, Kindan spotted a small blue dragon rearing up.

“J’trel is still here,” Kindan said.

“I wonder why?” Koriana said, her voice carrying over Vaxoram to Kindan’s ears.

“We’ll know soon enough,” Vaxoram said.

In a moment Gaminth was on the ground. M’tal handed Vaxoram down, who aided him in helping Koriana, then Kindan dismount. Finally M’tal leapt down himself.

They started off toward the Harper Hall but hadn’t gone a few steps before J’trel’s blue, Talith, bugled warningly at them. Seconds later, they heard J’trel shouting, “Stay there!”

M’tal glanced toward the blue rider who was running out from under the archway of the Harper Hall, carrying something in a carisak cradled against his chest with one hand. With the free hand, J’trel urged them to stand still.

“I’m going to drop the drum out of the sak,” J’trel called. “You can use it to communicate.”

“Very well,” M’tal said. He turned to his dragon. “Gaminth, ask Talith what is going on?”

A moment later M’tal seemed to stagger, then catch himself as Vaxoram rushed to his aid.

“The sickness has reached both the Harper Hall and Fort,” M’tal said. As they already knew that, Kindan waited for the other strand. “Three people in the Harper Hall have died.”

“Died?” Koriana cried.

“Many more are ill,” M’tal continued. “The Masterharper is coughing, which is the first sign.”

J’trel stopped a good dragonlength from them, knelt, and gently upended his carisak so that a small drum fell out. He then backed away.

Kindan and the others moved forward. When they reached the drum, Vaxoram gestured to Kindan, saying simply, “You’re better.”

Kindan picked the drum up and was surprised to see that it was one of his own making, the second he’d ever made. It wasn’t perfect but was sturdy and serviceable.

Harper ready, Kindan rapped out with one hand. Then, thinking better of how long he might be drumming, he sat down on the cool, damp ground with his legs crossed and the drum cradled just above the ground so that its sound would carry better.

Do any of you have fever? A message boomed back. Kindan could tell by the other’s style that the drummer was Masterharper Murenny himself.

No, Kindan responded, as he relayed to the others, “Master Murenny asks if any of us have fever.”

Do any of you have a cough? Murenny asked.

“None of us have been coughing recently, have we?” Kindan asked, turning to glance up at the other three, standing behind him.

“No,” M’tal said. “And no one at the Weyr, either.”

No, and none at the Weyr, Kindan rapped back.

You are probably free from infection, Murenny responded. Kindan thought that his drumming sounded a bit weaker than before.

“He says we probably don’t have the infection,” Kindan relayed. He turned to M’tal. “You should go to back to the Weyr.”

M’tal bristled. “I don’t take orders from a—” he cut himself short and shook his head apologetically. “You’re right, I apologize for snapping at you.” He gestured toward the Harper Hall. “Ask him what the Weyrs can do.”

Kindan beat the message out and waited. Then he frowned and added a longer message, explaining about the dangers to the Weyr.

They can do nothing, Murenny responded after a long silence. We cannot risk the Weyrs.

“Master Murenny says for you to do nothing,” Kindan said.

“You told him about the Records at Benden,” Koriana remarked.

“Of course.”

M’tal pursed his lips, clearly not liking the answer.

“If your riders come into contact with the contagion, there’s no way they can avoid bringing it back to the Weyr,” Kindan reminded him.

“I know that,” M’tal said with a touch of acerbity in his voice. He looked away, back toward his dragon for a moment and then said, “J’trel suggests that perhaps we could drop food.”

“Where would you get the food?” Koriana asked. “It’s nearly winter. The livestock may starve because there’s no one to tend them.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Kindan said, the color draining from his face.

“We hadn’t seen anything in the Records,” Vaxoram remarked.

“That may be because they all starved,” Koriana pointed out.

“We hadn’t looked all that far before we went to Benden,” Kindan reminded them.

“What will happen if we lose the livestock?” M’tal asked Koriana.

“The Weyrs have some herds of their own, don’t they?” Kindan asked.

“Yes,” M’tal replied. “But they’re for feeding dragons and they get replenished by Holder herds at regular intervals. We couldn’t grow back all the herds of Pern from those of the Weyrs.”

“Then we’re doomed,” Vaxoram said.

Kindan nodded solemnly. “We can save the Weyrs, maybe save some holders, but they’ll just starve later.”

“No,” M’tal replied firmly. “There has to be another way.”

“Some livestock will survive,” Koriana declared. “Not everyone will catch this illness and some of those are bound to be in the small herdholds.”

“But will enough survive to feed the survivors?” Kindan countered.

“Murenny must have thought of this,” M’tal said, glancing toward the Harper Hall. He looked back to Kindan, noting the bronze fire-lizard hovering over him. “You can have your Valla send us messages, have her drop them on the Star Stones.”

“I can do that as long as I don’t have a fever or cough,” Kindan corrected him.

“Then let’s hope you don’t get one,” M’tal replied with a ghost of a smile.

“My Koriss can learn, too,” Koriana offered, then her face fell and she glanced over to Kindan. “But Kindan still has to teach me.”

“Your father may have something to say about that,” M’tal replied. He glanced toward Fort Hold. “And I think I’d best return you to him now.”

Kindan understood M’tal’s motivation—Koriana might not be a danger to the weyrfolk, but that was not certain, and as she was a Lord Holder’s daughter, she would want to be with her family.

Koriana looked torn, clearly wanting to stay with Kindan, yet also worried about her Hold and family. After a moment she nodded glumly. “But can I ask you and Vaxoram to turn your backs for a moment?”

M’tal raised an eyebrow at her questioningly, but she met his gaze steadily. The Weyrleader’s eyes softened and he turned away, gesturing for Vaxoram to do the same.

Koriana stared at them for a moment, then turned to Kindan and gestured for him to stand up. He did so reluctantly, worried about the Harper Hall, the deaths, and whatever was happening on Pern.

Koriana closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around him, burying her head against his shoulder. He felt her body shake with sobs before he heard them from her throat. He hugged her tightly, and then she moved her head and her lips latched onto his and she was kissing him, deeply, passionately, despairingly.

“What about your honor?” Kindan asked as they finally broke apart, staring deeply into each other’s eyes.

“What is honor without love?” Koriana replied, raising a hand and brushing it gently against his cheek. “We may never see each other again.”

“I know,” Kindan replied, the words tearing his heart. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Koriana said, leaning forward and parting her lips once more. Their kiss this time was less frantic, more sensual and intimate. When at last they finally broke apart it was because their lungs were protesting and their hearts beating too rapidly to survive another moment in such an intense embrace.

“I’ll see you again,” Kindan declared. “And then we’ll get your father to agree.”

Koriana smiled, but Kindan could tell that she couldn’t quite believe him.

“Until then,” she said, stepping back and releasing his hand.

“I’m ready,” Koriana declared loudly to M’tal. M’tal looked back then, as did Vaxoram.

“Then let me escort you to the gates,” M’tal said, gesturing for her to precede him.

Kindan bent over and picked up his drum. He turned to Vaxoram. The Harper Hall was his home—there was no place he would rather be. “Let’s go.”

“Masterharper Murenny is ill,” Master Archivist Resler said, approaching them just as they exited the archway into the Harper Hall. “You’re to go help Master Lenner.”

“But Master Murenny drummed to us,” Kindan protested.

“And that sapped all his strength,” Resler replied testily. “You are to follow my instructions.”

Kindan looked questioningly at Resler.

“Who is the senior harper, Master?” Vaxoram asked politely.

“I am,” Resler replied, clearly irritated at such impudent questions.

“But—Master Detallor?” Kindan asked, aghast. Detallor was the next senior harper to Murenny, after Master Zist.

“Master Gennel?” Vaxoram asked, naming the third-most senior.

“Master Detallor died this morning,” Resler replied, glancing down at the ground to hide his emotions. “Master Gennel is sick in his rooms and can’t be moved.” It was clear from his tone that Resler felt that Gennel would soon follow Detallor.

“There were three,” Kindan said, waiting for the final shard to crack.

“Journeyman Issak died while attending the others,” Resler said, grimacing. “No one knew he’d caught the illness, he kept it from Master Lenner.” He glanced up at them. “He was a good man, he would have been a good Master.” High praise indeed from the crotchety Resler. Apparently Resler thought so, too, for his voice was full of bark as he roared, “Now, go!”

Kindan needed no further urging. Vaxoram stuck at his side, only falling back when they entered the cramped corridor to the Healer Hall.

“I don’t know much about healing,” Vaxoram confided as they walked in silence.

“We’re both going to learn fast,” Kindan replied. He was surprised when Vaxoram clasped his right shoulder from behind and clenched it in firm agreement.

When they arrived at the Healer Hall they were turned around again.

“What are you doing here?” Lenner demanded, looking up from one of the many crowded beds in his infirmary. “You’re supposed to be in the Archives.”

“Master Resler sent us here,” Kindan told him.

Lenner sighed and straightened, running a weary hand through his hair.

“You won’t do as much good here as you will in the Archives,” Lenner declared.

“What about Verilan?” Kindan asked.

Lenner pointed off into the distance. “He’s in the Harper Hall infirmary.”

“So, he’s not too sick then,” Kindan said hoping to reassure himself.

“He can’t be moved,” Lenner corrected him, his eyes full of sorrow.

“What about Conar?” Kindan asked, glancing around the beds.

“He’s all right,” Lenner said. “He’s been helping here, no sign of a cough yet, though.” He whistled loudly and called, “Conar! Report!”

A small figure scurried toward them. He brightened when he spotted Kindan and Vaxoram. “You’re back,” he said, his face splitting with a smile. “And you’re alive!”

Kindan grinned back and nodded, but he couldn’t help noticing the dark circles under the younger boy’s eyes. He turned toward Vaxoram, still grinning, expecting the older apprentice to share his happiness but was surprised by the grim look on Vaxoram’s face. In an instant he recognized the cause and asked, “Nonala and Kelsa, are they all right?”

“Yes,” Lenner replied quickly. “They’re helping in the kitchens. We’re keeping most everyone quarantined to prevent the spread.”

“It didn’t work,” Conar said quickly, glancing at the Healer apologetically. “In the Records, they said that it didn’t work.”

“Find out why,” Lenner ordered Kindan. “Go look in the earliest Records, see if they have suggestions, ideas from back before Landing.” He turned away from them, distracted by another hacking cough in the distance. “Don’t come back until you’ve got an answer,” he called gruffly back over his shoulder.

“Come on,” Kindan said, turning back to the corridor leading toward the Harper Hall and the Archive Room.

“What about Resler?” Vaxoram asked. “He’s senior. And you know how he frets about his Records.”

“Are you going to let people die?” Kindan replied, not caring whether Vaxoram followed or not.

“It’ll be on your head,” Vaxoram’s voice carried to his ears a moment later.

“So be it,” Kindan replied fiercely.

“We’ll need glows,” Kindan said as they entered the dark confines of the Archive Room, knowing that Master Resler was too busy managing the Hall to come back to his beloved Records.

“There’s light now,” Vaxoram said, waving at the lighter patches in the room.

Kindan shook his head. “We’ll need more light soon,” he replied. “And we’re working through the night. Get some klah too.”

He waved dismissively at Vaxoram. Vaxoram’s nostrils flared in irritation; then the older harper shook himself and turned on his heel.

Kindan didn’t notice his departure, the sounds concealed by the noise of his rooting through the stacks of ancient Records. Some were so old and dusty that he could see them disintegrating right in front of him; brittle documents that cracked and flaked as he moved them. And then there were others, still supple and pliant, nearly as fresh as when they were first drawn. Kindan set them aside at first, assuming that they were new Records misfiled. It was only when he got to the oldest Records, Records drawn on some material that seemed like a strange combination of thin metal and living flesh, silky, soothing to the touch, that Kindan thought to look back at the stack of “new” Records.

“There are no glows,” Vaxoram’s voice boomed from the far end of the Archive Room. “None to spare, at least. They’re all being used in the infirmaries. I set some up to recharge but they’re clamoring for them, so they’ll take them before I get back.”

“We need light!” Kindan shouted. “Find some!”

Vaxoram glared at Kindan’s back angrily but the young harper never noticed. With a deep sigh, Vaxoram calmed himself and turned away once more, leaving the Archive Room to follow Kindan’s orders.

Kindan pulled the stack of “new” Records over to a table and started to go through them. They were written from just after Crossing. The writing was small, much smaller than he was accustomed to. In the dim light, they were hard to read. He leaned close, his nose almost touching the Record as he read.

“Contents of Shipment #345-B, offloaded from gravsled #5,3.10.8 at 22:45,” the document began. What was a gravsled? Kindan wondered. And the date, was that the third day of the tenth month in the eighth Turn after Landing? And that number, 22:45—what was that?

Kindan turned through several more Records and then he stopped, grunting in surprise as he read the first line of a poem or a song:

Maybe this will help, Kindan thought to himself, peering down to the next verse:

—young healer lass? Kindan wondered to himself. He knew of no healer lass at the Harper Hall or anywhere on Pern. With a sinking feeling he continued to read:

Kindan shook his head, grimacing. This must just be another harper song, nothing important, Kindan thought to himself, recalling the countless drinking songs harpers wrote and sang for the entertainment of holder and crafter alike. He could imagine the tone of the piece, however, dour with minor chords throughout, a proper dirge—that didn’t seem right for a drinking song.

The next stanza seemed to confirm his suspicion:

A single word? Help? Kindan mused. Could Nonala, whose voice was “clear and bright,” somehow sing a word that would help save all of Pern? Maybe she was training to be a healer and hadn’t told him. He peered down to the next verse and read:

“I’ve got a torch!” Vaxoram called excitedly, breaking Kindan’s concentration.

“A torch?” Kindan cried, turning around and seeing the blazing light that Vaxoram was holding in his hand. “Are you mad? The Records are mostly paper!”

“You said to get light,” Vaxoram snapped. He waved the torch. “This is light. It’s even brighter than glows.”

Kindan had to admit that even from the great distance of the door to his table, the torch’s light was having an effect.

“Bring it here, let’s see how good it is,” Kindan said.

As Vaxoram approached, Kindan could see more and more of the Record. He noticed small marks which he hadn’t seen in the dimmer light and saw that they were chord markings. Yes, it was a song—a song written in a minor key, just as he had thought. The tune started playing in his mind and he realized that, sour as it was, it was quite catchy. Whoever had written this song had meant it to be remembered for a long time.

It was important.

“What’s this—”

“Shh!” Kindan ordered.

Yes, the tune was definitely catchy. But, “paid with dragon gold”? Kindan could think of no one who had lost a gold dragon. Could the song refer to Koriana? But they’d been to Benden already, and found nothing. And—

“This is just some nonsense song,” Vaxoram declared, shaking his head, grabbing the Record with his free hand and easily reading it in the torch’s bright light. “You’re wasting your time.”

Kindan shook his head. “I don’t know, it looks important.”

“Only to the person who wrote it,” Vaxoram declared. “A waste of paper or whatever this is.” He dropped the Record back to the table dismissively. “But the light helps, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Kindan replied absently, picking up the Record and rereading it closely. “There could be a thousand deaths from this—”

“More,” Vaxoram said, peering down at the Record. “You’re wasting time, Kindan.” He grabbed for the Record again, yanking it out of Kindan’s hands.

Before Kindan could react, a drum message boomed out, echoing across the valley from Fort Hold and reverberating in the confines of the Archive Room.

“Master Kilti ill, please help,” the message said. Kindan recognized the drummer—Koriana.

Angrily, Kindan dived for the Record to snatch it back. He caught Vaxoram off guard and as the older lad fought to retain possession, he lost hold of the torch.

“No!” Vaxoram cried, diving for the dropped torch and loosing his hold on the Record at the same time.

“The Records!” Kindan yelled, watching in horror as first one, then another Record caught fire. “We’ve got to get water!”

“We’ve got to get help!” Vaxoram added.

In an instant, Valla was there, hovering over Kindan’s head and chittering shrilly. Then the bronze was gone again, only to be heard loudly in the courtyard beyond.

“Run!” Kindan shouted. “To the well!”

“To the kitchen!” Vaxoram said, and then both burst into action, Vaxoram retrieving the torch, Kindan darting to separate the precious Records. Vaxoram bumped into Kindan in his haste and Kindan tripped, pushing the ancient Record toward the fire. Before he could do anything, the Record was a burst of flame—and a pile of ashes.

“What is it? What is it?” Harried voices could be heard shouting in the courtyard. “It’s Kindan’s fire-lizard! Something’s wrong!”

Then Vaxoram’s voice drowned all others as he burst into the courtyard. “Fire! Fire in the Archives!”

The flames rose around Kindan and he found himself being forced backward by the heat of the rising flames, his attempts to salvage Records thwarted. Despairing, he turned to the exit only to be met by Resler.

“What have you done? What have you done?” Resler shouted, striking at Kindan furiously.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Kindan cried, trying to dodge the enraged Archivist’s blows and get into the courtyard. “We’ll put it out.”

“Step aside, we’ve got water,” a new voice called. It was Vaxoram. He shouldered Resler brusquely aside, handed Kindan a sloshing bucket, and entered the room, throwing his bucket indiscriminately and racing back for more.

“Form a line!” Kindan heard Kelsa shout. “Form a bucket line! Pass them along!”

Kindan threw his bucket on the flames, found another in his hand, then another, then another, and another—

And then, after an eternity, the flames were out. The Archive Room was a mixture of ash, damp Records, and rising smoke.

“It’s out,” Kindan called hoarsely. His message carried backward through the bucket line to those at the well. “The fire’s out.”

Behind him, Resler peered in at the mess that had been made of his precious Records, livid with fury.