Gone Away, Gone Ahead - 15. Fall Again

‘Can tell you’re back with us again today.’ J’rud tucked into his own breakfast as D’gar stared at the bowl of porridge in front of him. The weather this morning was no better than it had proved to be the previous afternoon; worse, in fact, as far as Threadfall was concerned. Heavy rain would be an ally; a sufficient quantity of water drowned Thread before it got to the ground. Instead, they had drizzle, interspersed with brief downpours from the ragged grey cloud that licked around the edges of the Bowl. Everyone around their table was conscious of the dangers the weather presented. Thread would be all but invisible; silver against grey. The patch that you didn’t spot in time might be dead. Or might not.

He forced a smile. ‘My first Fall as Wingsecond. Aren’t I the lucky one?’

F’drun had got out of it, citing Ryth’s still-healing injury as a reason. R’feem hadn’t pushed the matter. ‘I’d rather not have him at all than unwilling. If he tries to make the same excuse next time I’ll get the dragon healers to check Ryth, though.’

D’gar couldn’t help but wonder at his motives. All the bronzes were edgy, sensing Prideth’s nearness to rising. If F’drun intended to let Ryth chase her, he’d have the edge over those dragons who’d flown Fall. Not that he should, of course, but D’gar guessed that F’drun wouldn’t be concerned about what was proper. Doubtless Kylara would encourage him, enjoying the notoriety.

Due to her dragon’s state, she wouldn’t be flying today either. Several more of the young dragons had been co-opted to fill in the gaps in the Queens’ Wing. Bit of a misnomer really. Might as well just call it the Greens’ Wing, as there were more of that colour than any other in its ranks, Rioth and H’rek included. At least with Kylara out of it, there’d be less reason to worry about him. Of course, he still had to dodge Thread but somehow that seemed less risky. At least the stuff was mindless and therefore indiscriminate.

R’feem laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m off for the briefing. We should be getting up-to-date weather reports soon. Might not be so bad over Bitra, eh?’ He was as aware as any of the Fort riders the last time they’d ridden Fall in conditions similar to this. That dreadful day.

D’gar gave a quick nod of acknowledgment. ‘Maybe.’ He wasn’t counting on it, though. Today, it wasn’t just himself and Herebeth he needed to look out for. R’feem, B’lin and he had already decided which blues and greens would be taking the first shift. Technically speaking, the Fall was short enough not to need a swap out, but with conditions up there so bad, it was sensible to hold some pairs in reserve. Just in case.

He forced himself to eat another mouthful of porridge. It sat uneasily in his stomach. About the only good thing that could be said regarding today’s Fall was that it was due to begin around mid-morning, so there wouldn’t be too much waiting around beforehand. With a heavy sigh, he gave up on the rest of the porridge and took the bowl back to the wash-up area. While there, he poured a refill of klah with plenty of sweetener. It would keep him alert and provide some energy, at least.

On his way back he caught a snatch of what M’rell was saying to G’reden. ‘D’gar looks ill. Think he’ll throw up today?’ He pretended he’d not heard. M’rell was still in a strange mood. It was best to leave him rather than provoking a response. After Fall, though, he’d try to have a private word with him. He’d been a good friend over the Turns and it would be silly to fall out over something so trivial as resentment over his promotion. M’rell had been one of those who made sure he wasn’t left alone after S’brin’s death. D’gar would never forget how much he owed the man. No, M’rell would come round, once he got used to the situation and so long as he was treated carefully.

B’lin was all amiability this morning. Now D’gar had got to know him better, he realised that very little bothered the man. He was steady and reliable; the archetypal brown rider, in fact. ‘I bet you don’t get weather like this in Igen,’ he said as he took his seat again.

‘No. Although we can get some pretty violent thunderstorms at times. Sandstorms, too. Mind you, we never needed to worry about Thread when it fell over the desert. Nothing down there for it to eat.’

‘Well, watch it today. This kind of weather is the worst.’

‘At least it’s not windy.’

‘There is that.’ B’lin had no business being so cheery. To top it all, he was scoffing eggs on toast as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

‘Not hungry this morning?’ he asked between mouthfuls.

D’gar made a face. ‘I can never eat much before Fall.’ He glared at J’rud as he spoke, daring him to elaborate.

‘My old Wingleader used to get like that, too.’

‘Glad it’s not just me.’ The warmth of the klah helped to settle his stomach.

One of the Igen riders came over to speak with B’lin. He had to try and remember all their names now that he was Wingsecond. Although, confound it, he could remember the dragon’s name, it was just the man’s that eluded him. N’bren, that was it. Lanralth and N’bren. Anyway, it wasn’t Fall related; something to do with needing to go back to Igen to visit a sick relative, so he tuned out of what they were saying and let his gaze wander around the dining hall. Interesting that this morning the Benden Wings were cheerful and noisy as they ate, whereas at the tables occupied by the five Weyrs riders, folk were generally subdued. We know what a Fall like this means, he thought. They don’t, not yet. They’d had a couple of easy ones under their belts with only a few injuries and no fatalities, apart from C’don and Choliarth (who they probably didn’t count as the pair weren’t from Benden). It was inevitable that they’d be starting to feel slightly complacent. Plus, the bronze riders would be distracted by their dragons’ anticipation of the impending mating flight. He was sure that R’feem and W’lir would do their best to alert the Benden Wingleaders of the potential dangers, but whether they chose to listen was up to them.

His worry was beginning to filter through to Herebeth. The dragon’s reassuring presence was there in the back of his mind, full of confidence in his own and his rider’s ability.

Do not concern yourself. We will be safe.

I know. Except in some walled-off corner of his mind, he knew that feeling you’d be safe wasn’t enough. Hadn’t he and S’brin convinced themselves they were going to make it through to the end of the last Pass and carry on to live long and uneventful lives? Yes, and look how that had turned out. After S’brin died, he hadn’t cared much if he lived or died, but blind luck and Herebeth’s sound instincts had carried him through. Now, having a reason to live for again, he had become afraid. Not so much of dying, because that would be relatively quick, but of what might happen to H’rek afterwards.

‘You all right?’ B’lin asked, having finished talking with N’bren.

‘Fine. Yes. Just thinking. Wondering what formations we’ll be flying today.’

‘Hmm, yes. Cloud base will be too low for much layering, won’t it? I reckon we’ll be flying reverse vees, maybe half-chevrons, criss-crossing the area. Queens’ Wing below to mop up whatever gets through.’

‘Just above the Holders heads. Better watch out they don’t get scorched.’ He forced a laugh. ‘I’d best go and get ready.’

‘Me too. See you in a bit.’

Out in the Bowl, a fine drizzle fell. As Herebeth glided down, tiny vortices of water vapour trailed from the tips of his wings. He shook himself after landing, sending droplets spraying all around.

Thanks. Just what I needed.

You will get wet anyway.

I’d rather start off dry, at least.

H’rek wasn’t up in the weyr; he must be attending his own Wing meeting. D’gar went to fetch his wherhide jacket and trousers which he’d hung in front of the warm air duct. Both were still slightly damp from being out in the rain for a couple of hours the previous afternoon, as he’d expected. Great.

What was that about starting off dry? Herebeth sounded amused.

This is going to be a damp, depressing Fall. We might as well hope it pours properly. At least then there’ll be less viable Thread.

I am looking forward to flaming Thread.

You would. Know what I’m looking forward to? A nice hot bath when it’s all over, with H’rek, in our pool.

Maybe we could go to the beach again. I enjoyed swimming in the sea.

Maybe we can. Might as well take advantage of it, before it got overcrowded. But I’m still having a soak in the pool first. And possibly more. Much more comfortable than on a beach, with all that gritty sand to contend with.

He pulled on the flying gear, over a shirt and light breeches. At least the warmth of his body would alleviate the clammy chill and by the time he was up in the air he’d be too busy to notice any more. He checked over Herebeth’s straps - also still damp - as he put them on. He’d almost finished when Rioth came in to land beside them, H’rek jumping off even before she’d come to a complete halt.

‘You’re ready early.’

‘Stuff to do. Once R’feem gets out of the Wingleaders meeting we’ll have a better idea of the weather over Bitra and Lemos.’

‘We’ve already had the report. It’s much the same as here, right now, although they think it might clear later.’

‘Oh.’

H’rek must have noticed his tone. ‘It’s going to be bad, isn’t it? Like you said earlier.’

He nodded. ‘Anything hits you, get between right away. It might be drowned, it might not be, so don’t take any chances.’

‘How can you even see Thread in cloud?’

‘You can’t, not really. You get a feel for it after a while; the way the cloud swirls is slightly different. Mind you, you’ll be well below cloud base.’

‘But you’ll be in it?’

‘Yup. Some of the time.’

‘And you’re worried about me?’

‘It’s my job.’ At least H’rek seemed to have taken his warnings to heart and should be sensibly cautious today. ‘Rioth’s eyes will see better than yours in this. Trust her instincts and you’ll both be fine.’

H’rek took Rioth’s straps off the pegs. ‘Do you think… will there be a lot of injuries today?’

‘I’ll be surprised if there aren’t. Deaths too.’ He noticed H’rek’s wince as he said the word. ‘So try not to let it distract you too much. Warn the others as well.’

‘I have. They’re not convinced. They think you’re too ready to exaggerate the danger.’

‘Well, hopefully they’ll be right. But it’s best to be prepared for the worst, eh? Now, come here.’ He pulled H’rek close and kissed him. ‘Stay safe.’

‘You too.’

He was reluctant to let go. The fear that he might never hold H’rek again lurked in the back of his mind. Still, there was work to be done and you couldn’t stay in your weyr forever. Herebeth nuzzled Rioth briefly, then they parted and he climbed aboard.

Drizzle still fell as they mustered the Wing. R’feem looked grim as he passed on the weather report. There was always some banter exchanged but most of the riders were quiet and serious this morning. Once the firestone was delivered the sound of dragons’ teeth crushing the rock made it impossible to hear much else. Spare sacks were fastened to straps and some of the men began to mount up while others went through their accustomed pre-Threadfall rituals. D’gar’s stomach churned and he had to leave Herebeth to find a clear piece of ground where he threw up his meagre breakfast. Not a good start.

Better than in the air, Herebeth commented.

Over you, you mean.

There is that. Although the rain would soon wash it away.

I hate all this waiting around.

Herebeth turned his head towards him as he returned and gave a soft, warm whuff of breath. Thread falls when it will. We can’t make it get here any quicker. But I know how you feel. I would rather be fighting than waiting.

He climbed aboard and fastened the straps to his belt, letting the familiar procedures settle him. It had been confirmed that they’d be flying in half-chevron formation; R’feem stationed in the middle, B’lin and himself at either end of the line. He’d have T’garrin and Belloth to his right, followed by T’rai and Hinarth. Having a brown or bronze flanked by two of the smaller colours was common practice; Herebeth could flame large clumps of Thread in one blast while the nimble blues and greens mopped up anything he couldn’t get to so easily. While they waited for the command to take off, he glanced around the Bowl at the assembling Wings, Ramoth’s golden hide gleaming like sunshine through the grey murk. Three dragons to her left he spotted Rioth’s distinctive green, bright as spring leaves.

Piroth tells us to form up and stand by.

Relay that to our section, please. He watched as the riders acknowledged, then, at R’feem’s signal, they took off as one.

The weather reports had been accurate. The sky over Bitra Hold was as dark and grey as it had been back at the Weyr. They came out of between into a heavy shower. Thread wasn’t yet falling, but if it had been, he knew that not much would be viable in such a downpour. Yet, within a minute, it had eased off to meagre drizzle again.

Just flame everything, he instructed Herebeth. Otherwise, by the time we’re close enough to tell if it’s dead or not, it’ll be too late.

The dragons took up their fighting formations, skimming in and out of the low cloud.

Sweep riders report leading edge is falling on schedule.

The poor visibility meant that he had to rely on Herebeth’s senses and glimpses of orange flame ahead to know when Thread was upon them. Then, the steady rhythm of Fall took over. As his eyes accustomed, he became better at picking out the flicker of Thread descending through cloud. Yet still, there were several times he had the heart-pounding sensation of not spotting a clump until it was too close for comfort. Several times, too, there were cries from men and dragons who didn’t dodge between fast enough to avoid a scoring. Glimpses of the Hold and its surrounding pastures emerged through swirling cloud and bands of rain. There was a brief respite when they passed over rocky ground, another when the rain lashed down in sufficient quantity to drown falling Thread, the sodden clumps plummeting far faster than when it was alive and deadly. He was near enough to see one clump slide down T’garrin’s left shoulder and Belloth’s flank. Both blinked between in an instant and D’gar held his breath until they re-emerged, seemingly unhurt.

Belloth says it was dead. No damage to him or his rider.

The rain eased again and for several minutes the cloud thinned, turning from dark grey to pearlescent white, brighter in the direction of the sun. More live Thread fell, thick and fast. Herebeth’s flame left behind flecks of ash and char, which stuck to D’gar’s wet face as they flew through it. He wiped it away quickly. Water had seeped through the wherhide at his elbows and knees and trickled half way down his back. His shoulders ached already, with Fall not yet half way through, partly from the tension of the fight but also from the remaining bruising. Trust F’drun to pick the right Fall to miss. He imagined F’drun and Kylara, relaxing in her weyr right now while others fought for their lives in the sky.

More firestone, please. He threw a couple of pieces for Herebeth to catch while Belloth and Hinarth took up the slack.

Ask if anyone’s running low yet. It was his job now to co-ordinate the deliveries for his section of the Wing. It was probably a bit soon, to be honest, but no harm in asking. Better that than have someone run out. Not every piece of firestone in the sacks reached the dragon’s mouth, after all.

Herebeth flamed two large clumps one after the other, then dived to take out a third, smaller piece probably missed by the Wing above them. The rain lashed down as they rode through a denser patch of cloud. He had to shut his eyes against its driving force. Something slick and wet hit his face, stinging instantly. He flinched away. Thread!

The freezing cold of between made the rain cease abruptly. He pushed the stuff off with gloved hands, unsure whether it was rain or blood running down his cheek. Didn’t matter, right now. It was gone. They emerged back into comparative warmth, went for another clump that looked mostly dead and seared it to ash, just in case.

No one needs any more firestone yet, Herebeth told him. Are you all right?

Think so. Think it was mostly drowned. Like I am right now.

Told you we’d get wet today.

He glanced at his glove. It was partly eaten away by the brief contact with Thread. Not entirely drowned, then. Still, his face felt fine, so it can’t have done too much damage.

The cloud parted again, giving a view of treetops at ground level. They must have crossed into Lemos, he realised, recalling the vast acreage of woodland they’d overflown the previous afternoon.

Piroth says the far edge must be close now and to be ready to turn. Not that you could actually see where the Fall corridor finished. He peered through the murk ahead, trying to figure out the division. Best to go over slightly rather than miss some. Thread thinned out gradually at the edges rather than just stopping. He waited until they’d flown clear for a count of five then gave the signal to turn, instructing Herebeth to pass it on at the same time. The Wing turned, had a few seconds of clear air, then began flaming again.

The weather had begun to clear as predicted. The cloud base was higher now, the rain no more than a thin drizzle. Almost all the Thread was lethally viable, although the odd clump had been drenched sufficiently on its way through clouds to be dead. With the increase in visibility, two of the Benden Wings moved up to a higher level, as they seemed to prefer.

Should have passed on that they were about to do that, D’gar grumbled to Herebeth as they swept up strands of Thread missed by the manoeuvre.

Piroth’s rider agrees. He will mention it at the post-Fall meeting. He - anything further Herebeth was about to say was overwhelmed by a sudden wash of sadness. The first fatality of this Fall, D’gar thought, hating that he had been proved right. Back at the Weyr, the dragons would keen. Here, there was no time to mourn, or to think about who might be gone.

Rioth is well, Herebeth assured him in the next breath. But one of her clutchmates is lost.

Not good. From the Queens’ Wing?

No. They were bringing firestone and did not see Thread in time.

Shard it! A moment’s lapse in concentration coupled with poor visibility and sheer bad luck. He wondered how it would affect H’rek. Tell Rioth to tell H’rek to forget about it. He’s still alive and needs to keep alert. Grief is for later.

I will tell her now.

D’gar glanced along the line, noting that he could now see five dragons, whereas at the start of Fall he’d only been able to see three. Definitely clearing up, then, making it slightly easier to spot Thread, although the glare of the sun, diffused by the remaining cloud countered that. The air was still damp, although the rain had mostly stopped. He’d started on his second sack of firestone and asked Herebeth to check how the rest of the section were faring. Most were in a similar situation.

Ask Piroth to request deliveries for our riders. And does he want to swap out any blues or greens?

They dealt with another few clumps before the answer came back. Only if they’re tired. We hand over to Telgar Weyr once we reach the next range of hills. Less than an hour now, he says.

Ask them. He glanced across to Belloth as the message went along. All of the riders he could see gave him a thumbs up and the few out of sight confirmed they were fine to continue.

D’gar felt tired himself now; his bones aching from the cold, soaked to the skin from the earlier rain. Remembering F’drun’s horror story, he looked quickly at his feet to make sure they were both still there. Yup, even though he could scarcely feel them any more. He fumbled a couple of throws, his fingers too stiff to grip the firestone properly. Hoped, as you always did, that it didn’t hit anyone on the way down.

Below, the woodland stretched endlessly on. More trees than he’d ever thought to see in one place. Here and there were clearings and churned up earth where forestry crews had felled trees and dragged the logs away. A ground crew’s flamethrowers flared into life. So, some Thread had got through. But some always got through. One hundred per cent mop-up aloft was nigh-on impossible. Herebeth continued to clear a swathe. Now, in the damp air, black, foul-smelling char was everywhere, settling on dragon hide, clothing and exposed skin alike. He swilled out his mouth with water from his flask, spitting it downwind before taking a proper drink.

Firestone deliveries on the way.

A young brown dragon emerged close at hand, his rider throwing a spare sack across the space between them. Tell him one’s fine. The rider signalled he understood, then disappeared. He’d barely secured the sack before Herebeth dived to flame a stray Thread that had detached from a larger clump. Well spotted, he told the dragon, impressed by his stamina as he powered back up to rejoin his place in the formation. Looking ahead he could see tiny specks of colour against the grey sky over the hills. Telgar Weyr’s Wings, waiting to take over for the last part of the Fall. The sight was cheering. Almost there, he told himself, while not allowing his concentration to falter. This was the most dangerous time of all. Too many riders relaxed their vigilance on a change-over.

As if echoing his own thoughts, Herebeth relayed a message from R’feem. Piroth’s rider reminds us it’s not over yet. Stay alert and keep your positions.

In that last ten minutes; the hills drawing ever closer, the specks resolving themselves into the recognisable outlines of dragons, there came two more shocks of distress. Two more fatalities. Maybe the first triggered the second; they came close enough together for that to be the case.

Not from our Wing? Visibility had improved, but he still couldn’t see all of them.

No, Benden. The dragon replied after a short while. Not Rioth, he added.

All he could feel was relief. He didn’t know who had died, but it wasn’t H’rek. It wasn’t one of his wingmates either. It was sad, but you couldn’t dwell too long on it. Not when Thread still fell and there was work to be done.

It wasn’t a totally seamless handover, but any Thread that got through fell onto rock and scree; there was a reason why most transition zones were over mountains or water, after all. They were briefly near enough to wave at the Telgar riders before closing into a tighter formation for the return to Benden Weyr. D’gar glanced down as they emerged over the Bowl. Watery sunlight was piercing the thinning cloud, casting shadows against the dark walls of the caldera. Typical that it should have cleared now, when it didn’t matter any more. He was tired, soaked and filthy, but at least he - and those he cared about - had survived another Fall.