Gone Away, Gone Ahead - 16. Troubles and Strife

‘Best get that face seen to, lad.’ R’feem paused on his way around as the riders dismounted and unclipped firestone sacks from fighting straps.

‘Oh.’ He pulled off a glove and felt along his left cheek. It did sting a bit, now that he had time to think about it.

‘And don’t go rubbing char into it. Not if you want to keep your good looks. We’ll meet in two hours, once everyone’s had a chance for a bath and to get into dry clothes.’

You are scored?

Apparently. Not badly though.

Herebeth swung his head around to peer at his face. No, not badly. But Piroth’s rider is right. You should get it treated. I can drop you at the infirmary.

No, I’ll walk. You go and get yourself clean. His fingers, still stiff with cold, fumbled to unfasten the straps. He dragged them off to the side as Herebeth launched himself into the air to join the crush of dragons waiting for a turn in the lake, then made his way across the Bowl.

Walking brought some circulation back to his feet, which was no bad thing. He’d already realised he’d not get seen to right away. There were at least twenty dragons on the flat piece of ground outside the infirmary; some wounded and being treated by the dragon healers, others seemingly unharmed, waiting for their injured riders. Their worry was all too evident in the dull colour of their hides, eyes that whirled yellow with anxiety and the sad droop of wings.

He joined a queue of riders with minor scores; the walking wounded, knowing that they would be low down the list of priority. Toyed, for a moment with going back to his weyr first, then realised he couldn’t without disturbing Herebeth’s bath.

Now that it was over, he began to feel all the bodily niggles his mind had ignored during Fall. Aching shoulders, made worse by the stiff weight of saturated wherhide. Bruises from where the straps had dug in to his legs during Herebeth’s wilder manoeuvres. The hot prickle of life returning to cold toes and the burn of his Threadscored cheek. Not to mention the discomfort of wearing damp clothing. He opened his jacket to let the air circulate in the hope it would begin to dry out his shirt.

‘Wonder how long this is going to take?’ The rider in front of him, a heavily built, middle-aged man turned to speak. He’d already removed his jacket, revealing a painful looking score along his left forearm and hand.

‘None of us are about to die right now, are we?’ It sounded brusque, put like that. He saw the expression change on the other man’s face; poor sod had only been trying to make conversation after all. ‘What I mean is that we can afford to wait. Some others can’t.’

‘Hmmm. Still sharding hurts, though. Never realised scores would hurt this much.’

D’gar grimaced. ‘I know. When did you get yours?’

‘Right close to the end.’

‘It often does. Once you know it’s almost over, you relax and… boom.’ He thought again of the two fatalities, so close to the hand-over.

‘What happened to you, then?’

‘A clump hit me in the face. It wasn’t totally drowned.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve had worse, in the past.’

‘The past? Oh. You’re one of those oldtimers?’

‘What?’

‘You’re one of them the Weyrwoman brought forward.’

‘Yes. I’m from Fort Weyr.’ Being called an oldtimer by someone at least twenty Turns his senior sounded odd. He supposed it was shorter to say than ‘four hundred Turn old rider’, yet there was something about the term that sat uneasily; it wasn’t a name they’d asked for or chosen.

They shuffled forward a few steps as the queue moved closer to the tables outside the infirmary, where the minor injuries were being seen to.

‘So, was it like this, in the past?’

‘Like what? Injuries, you mean?’

Whatever he had been about to say next was forestalled by a green dragon gliding in just over their heads. She backwinged to land on one of the few clear spaces, her rider jumping off before she’d even settled. It all happened so fast, that by the time D’gar recognised the pair, H’rek had already raced inside the infirmary.

‘H’rek!’ he called out, too late to stop him. ‘Er, excuse me,’ he said to the surprised Benden rider before pushing past everyone in the queue, ignoring the mutters of disapproval to follow him through the doorway.

Inside was organised chaos; injured lying on the beds, some on the floor. Healers and their helpers were everywhere; cauterising wounds to stop bleeding, carefully cleaning out deep scores, trying to stop men from thrashing around in pain. It wasn’t so much the sight that brought back all the bad memories, more the smell; blood, burning flesh, vomit and shit. Rushing in to the middle of it felt like he’d walked into a wall and knocked all the air from his lungs. Panic overwhelmed his senses; it was as if he’d suddenly stepped back to the worst moment of his life and that somewhere, here, S’brin was lying dead all over again. He forced the images away and scanned the room for H’rek.

There he was, going from one bed to the next, looking as much in agony as any of the scored riders.

‘H’rek!’ he called again. ‘I’m over here.’ D’gar made his way through as carefully as he could.

Hearing his name, H’rek turned. His expression changed in a moment and he rushed to meet D’gar, pulling them together into a hug.

‘You’re all right!’ He babbled something else, but his voice was breaking up. They embraced among the carnage for what seemed like forever, until a healer moved them aside none too gently. ‘If you’ve no reason to be in here, could you please leave.’

‘Of course. I’m sorry,’ D’gar apologised. ‘Come on.’ He led H’rek back towards the doorway. ‘You don’t need to see all this.’ Even as he said it, he knew it was as much to spare himself from any further trauma.

Outside again, he found an upturned crate, just large enough for both of them to sit. H’rek clung to him with something akin to shock. D’gar held him close and for a while, neither of them spoke. He was glad of the respite. It gave him a chance to bring himself back to the here and now; to let freshly stirred up memories recede to the part of his mind he usually, these days, managed to shut off.

‘I thought… they said you were here. Scored…’

‘A little.’ He pointed to his face. ‘Nothing to worry about, really.’ Most of the queuing riders were looking at them now, letting this small drama distract them as they waited. ‘Did you not ask Rioth to bespeak Herebeth?’

‘I didn’t think of that. Sorry.’

‘It’s fine. Honestly.’ There was no point in being angry with him. Concern had suspended his usual good sense, briefly, but he’d remember for another time.

‘It’s just, after losing R’gan like that…’ His voice hitched a bit.

Ah, the first fatality. One of his clutchmates, Herebeth had said. D’gar tried to recall which one R’gan had been.

‘I looked for you, with the rest of the Wing, but you weren’t there.’

‘I know.’ It was partly his own fault for scaring H’rek beforehand with all those gloomy predictions. Never mind they’d been proved right; it was no wonder he’d feared the worst and panicked.

H’rek took a couple of deep breaths and wiped his face with his hand, smearing the trails left by his tears through the dirt.

D’gar smiled and pulled him close again. ‘it’s good to know someone other than Herebeth is worrying about me.’

They stayed sitting there for a while. The queue was moving faster now as more spare hands arrived to help with cleaning and dressing the minor injuries. He’d lost his place, so he might as well wait. Cuddling H’rek wasn’t a bad way to pass the time, anyway.

‘I feel stupid now,’ H’rek sounded calmer and more like his normal self.

‘Don’t. You’ve been through a bad Fall. You’ve lost a friend. If you didn’t get into a state about that, then there’d be something wrong with you.’

‘You don’t though. When your wingmate died in that Fall over Benden, you didn’t go to pieces about it.’

Painfully true. How to even try to explain. ‘I didn’t know him that well.’ Neither had H’rek’s clutchmates and they’d been shaken by C’don and Choliarth’s death. He tried again. ‘I grew up in a Weyr, during a Pass. There were deaths every sevenday. It was just… how it was. Normal.’ Watching the riders getting drunk after Fall, hearing the Weyrleader solemnly reading out the list of names every Turn’s End. By the time he was old enough to stand on the Hatching Sands, he knew exactly what were his own odds of survival if he Impressed.

‘I’d not really thought about that.’

‘Everyone helped out, just like the Lower Caverns folk here are doing now.’

‘Even when you were children?’

He nodded. ’As long as you could carry bandages or a tub of numbweed. They kept us away from the most gruesome ones, where they could.’ Didn’t stop you seeing the badly scored dragons, though or the men with horrific injuries carried inside the infirmary. Or feeling the keen of mourning dragons reverberating through your bones and the pain of their loss in your heart. H’rek had grown up at the end of an Interval, on a farm. It could never be quite the same for him. ‘You’ll get used to this.’

H’rek frowned. ‘Is that a good thing? Treating death in such a matter-of-fact way?’

‘I’m not sure. It’s just how we cope. The dragons have short memories. We don’t have that luxury.’ There were only a few riders waiting now. ‘I’m going to get this seen to, then we can clean up.’

‘All right.’ H’rek joined him in the queue. He still seemed a little subdued.

It only took a short while to get the score properly cleaned and numbed, then Rioth gave them both a lift back to their weyr as Herebeth was still wallowing in the lake. The thought of those icy waters made D’gar shiver. Thankfully, he had a heated pool instead.

‘Glad it wasn’t a longer Fall,’ he said, stripping off his damp clothes. He hung his riding leathers in front of the vent again. ‘These will take days to dry out properly as it is.’

‘Rioth didn’t mind at all. She said I was making a fuss about getting wet.’

‘Dragons, eh?’

D’gar stepped in to the blissfully warm water. ‘Best thing about Threadfall,’ he said, trying to keep the mood light. H’rek needed distraction, to forget about the horrors. Mind you, so did he.

‘What?’ H’rek ducked his head under, then started to lather his hair with a handful of sweetsand.

‘This. Afterwards.’ He floated out to the deeper part of the pool. ‘We’re alive. Unscathed.’

H’rek rinsed out the suds, shaking his hair like a canine as he surfaced. ‘Well, I am,’ he said, giving a quick smile.

‘Maybe I’m getting too old to duck quickly enough?’

‘Yes. Four hundred and twenty-three Turns. Positively ancient.’

D’gar splashed him for that. H’rek splashed back. The pool was large enough that not too much sloshed over the edge. D’gar dived and grabbed H’rek’s legs, pulling him under the water. They both surfaced, laughing.

‘You’ll wash off the numbweed.’

‘Doesn’t matter. It’s done the job. I can’t feel my face any more.’

‘Really?’ He kissed D’gar briefly. ‘Feel that?’

D’gar pretended to think for a moment. ‘Not sure. Maybe you should try it again.’

‘All right.’

This time, the kiss lasted a lot longer. Led on to other things, as often happened when you’d survived another Fall. By the time they’d finished, D’gar wished he could sleep for the rest of the afternoon, rather than having to attend a Wing meeting.

I suppose there’s no chance of a trip to the ocean? Herebeth asked hopefully as he mounted up.

Maybe, if this meeting doesn’t last too long. Although…

You are tired. He gave a little whuff. Maybe tomorrow then, as it is a rest day.

Definitely tomorrow. Before going in, he gathered up the fighting straps from where he’d abandoned them earlier and draped them over Herebeth’s neck. Might as well take these back while you’re about it. If he was really lucky, H’rek might even clean them.

The smell of food wafting across the dining hall reminded him it had been a long time since breakfast. On his way over to their usual table, he picked up a few meatrolls and a mug of klah. He was pleased to see he was far from being the last to arrive. In fact, a good third of the Wing, including R’feem, were conspicuous by their absence.

‘Glad you’re here,’ B’lin said as he took a seat. ‘You may have noticed we’re missing a few riders.’

‘Yes. What’s up? Where’s R’feem?’

‘He asked me to send you over when you arrived. There was a bit of trouble in the baths.’

‘Oh? What happened?’ If it had been urgent, R’feem would have asked Piroth to bespeak Herebeth. So it couldn’t be that bad, could it?

‘Some of our riders had a scrap with some of the Benden folk. I walked in on the end of it.’

D’gar scanned the table, registering who wasn’t there. ’Anyone hurt?’ he asked.

‘A few cuts and bruises at worst. Still, it’s the principle of the thing, isn’t it. Dragonriders don’t fight.’

‘Until they do.’

‘Anyway, they’re trying to find out who started it. I said I’d be here unless they need me. Not that I really saw anything, just helped to break it up.’

‘Right. Better get over there.’ He took a bite of the meatroll, washed it down with some klah, then strolled over towards the bathing cavern, finishing the rest on the way.

As soon as he walked in, he heard angry voices. But it wasn’t the riders, who were sitting on the benches in various states of undress. Most of them were watching the small group of Wingleaders who were having an argument of their own.

‘It’s outrageous,’ bellowed a tall, heavyset man whose back was to D’gar. ‘Your riders should know better.’

‘They all should.’ R’feem’s voice was barely raised at all. He sounded weary, as if he might have repeated this several times already.

Beside him, W’lir, the Telgar Wingleader nodded in agreement. ‘He’s right. We need to find out what set it off rather than just arguing about who’s right or wrong.’

D’gar paused, unsure if he should interrupt, but R’feem spotted him and beckoned him over.

‘Anything I can do?’ he asked, more to announce his presence than for any other reason. The tall man turned, frowning. D’gar recognised R’gul, the former Weyrleader.

‘You can leave this to bronze riders, Wingsecond,’ R’gul snapped.

Ignoring him, D’gar spoke directly to R’feem. ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’

‘Yes. Could you speak to our wingriders? Find out their side of the story.’ He turned back to R’gul. ‘Perhaps we should take this to the council room, rather than squabbling in front of the men. I’m sure your own Wingseconds can take statements and report back. If you consider them competent, that is.’

R’gul looked as if he was about to say something else, but T’bor stopped him. ‘Come on. We’re not getting anywhere like this.’

‘And the Weyrleader is as interested as any to find out what’s been going on.’ F’nor stepped forward. D’gar hadn’t noticed him up until then, but somehow wasn’t surprised to see him there. The Weyrleader’s eyes and ears, he thought.

R’gul glared at him, then shrugged off T’bor’s hand from his arm and walked toward the door. R’feem shook his head sadly, then followed the other bronze riders out.

‘We meet again,’ F’nor smiled. ‘I’ll speak to the Benden riders if you want to take statements from yours.’

‘Fine.’

F’nor started chivvying the ten or so Benden riders to one side. D’gar approached ‘his’ riders. Some of them were from W’lir’s Wing and he’d never had any cause to speak with them before. But all of the five Weyrs riders were bundled together as far as Benden was concerned.

‘Right. What happened, then?’

Several riders started to speak at once. He quietened them down. ‘Maybe one at a time would be easier. M’rell?’

M’rell had been staring at the floor. As he looked up, D’gar noticed he had a cut over his eye that definitely wasn’t a Threadscore. ‘Someone hit me, so I hit them back,’ he said, shortly.

‘And before that? No one starts a fight without good reason.’ He looked at each of them in turn, hoping someone would volunteer something.

‘F’drun does.’ That was T’burrad. He looked unscathed, although he was rubbing his knuckles.

Might have know he’d get involved in a scrap. ‘I don’t see him here, so I’m guessing he’s not got anything to do with this one.’ Pity, really. Would have been good to get something on the bastard. ‘What I meant was does anyone know what started it?’

One of the Telgar riders spoke up. ‘It was them.’ He pointed towards the Benden riders. ‘We were just minding our own business.’

This was like getting blood out of a stone. D’gar glanced over toward F’nor, wondering if he was having better luck. ‘So, what did they do, exactly? Were there comments? Insults? Anything?’

V’chal spoke up. ‘Some of the lads were mucking about a bit. Laughing, splashing, like you do. I think they…’ he gestured toward the other group, ‘took exception to it.’

That made sense. The Benden riders had lost a few colleagues today. They might easily get upset if they thought someone was being disrespectful. ‘You think they might have considered it was in bad taste?’

‘Who knows? People die. Doesn’t mean life stops for everyone else.’ That was K’fol, from Igen.

‘We might have seen it all before, but these folk have only been fighting Thread a couple of sevendays,’ D’gar pointed out. ‘They’re more sensitive about these things.’

‘Might have known you’d take their part,’ M’rell said under his breath, although it was loud enough for D’gar to catch.

Trust M’rell. ’I’m not taking anyone’s part. Just trying to establish what happened, as R’feem asked me to.’ He turned back to V’chal. ‘You said they took exception to it. Was anything said?’

‘There were a few comments. “Shut up you sharding oldtimers,” was one of them.’

That name again. ‘That’s a new one, isn’t it? Only heard it myself today. So, I’m guessing there might have been some heated words before it turned violent?’

There were a few nods. ‘Yeah. Someone told them to shut up themselves,’ G’reden said. His voice sounded a bit thick, and his nose had obviously been bleeding.

‘Then one of them said, “Why don’t you all go between and stay there.” I didn’t take too kindly to that,’ K’fol said. ‘After what happened to C’don and all.’

D’gar nodded. ‘I can see that. Anyone know who started the fight?’ He guessed that no one would want to tell on their colleagues. Plus, with the number of riders involved, it would be hard to say exactly who had struck the first blow. If he’d been there himself and someone had tackled him, he’d undoubtedly have hit back. It was human nature. He gave them a few moments, but no one came up with anything further. ‘Well, thanks for all your help. You might as well get dressed now and go to the dining hall. I expect we’ll still be having a Wing meeting once this is sorted out.’

‘Yes, Wingsecond, sir,’ M’rell gave a mocking salute.

There was no need for that. ‘I’m only doing my job, M’rell.’ He still needed to have that private word with M’rell; sort things out between them. There just hadn’t been time.

As they got themselves ready, he noticed that F’nor had just finished with the Benden riders, so he waited by the door. ‘I wasn’t sure how to get to the council room, so I thought I’d tag along with you if that’s all right.’

‘Fine. The easiest access from here is through the Senior Queen’s Weyr.’ He led the way. ‘Did you get much out of your riders?’

‘Not really. No one wants to admit having started it.’

‘Same with ours. They said your lot were making fun of the deaths today.’

Was it worth trying to explain to F’nor? He seemed an intelligent man. ‘It’s not quite like that. I’ll admit we have a different attitude towards fatalities, but that’s what comes of living through a Pass as long as we all have. It’s not meant to be disrespectful, it’s just how we deal with it.’

‘Pity it happened today, really. All the bronzes are on edge; so are their riders.’

‘Prideth?’

‘Yes. We’re expecting her to rise tomorrow. She was looking quite bright earlier. Who’s that bronze rider Kylara’s been hanging around with?’

‘F’drun from High Reaches. The one who tried to drown me, remember?’

‘Ah. They’re probably well matched, then. She’s a temper on her, too. I hope he doesn’t let his dragon chase Prideth, though.’

‘I’d not put it past him.’ They climbed the steps up to the weyr. ‘Mind you, chasing’s one thing, catching’s another.’

‘True.’ They climbed another set of internal stairs, pausing in the doorway. It was an impressive room, although smaller and less ornate than its counterpart at Fort Weyr. All of the Benden Wingleaders were seated around a long table, together with R’feem and W’lir.

‘Come in,’ said the Weyrleader.

D’gar wondered if he’d leave them standing, but he gestured towards a couple of empty seats.

‘F’nor. Would you like to report, please.’

F’nor gave his version of events. The Benden riders had found the excessive laughter and high jinks offensive. ‘There were some nasty comments, too, regarding our ability to fight Thread. Things escalated from there. No one could - or would - say who hit whom first.’

‘I knew we shouldn’t have brought them here.’ That was R’gul again. ‘And if they don’t know how to behave with decorum, we should send them back where they came from.’

F’lar gave a slight smile. ‘Four hundred Turns back, eh R’gul?’

‘You know what I mean,’ the other man said irritably. ‘Back to their own Weyrs. Where that sort of behaviour seems to be encouraged, from what we’ve already seen. Dragons fighting, people being half-drowned -‘

R’feem interrupted. ‘I explained before that’s not acceptable behaviour in any Weyr. And I’ve dealt with the culprit.’

‘Yes. Can we keep to the matter in question, please.’ F’lar called them back to order. ‘Anything else, F’nor?’

‘That’s about it. Insults followed by a brawl. No one’s badly hurt.’

The Weyrleader fixed his amber gaze on D’gar. ‘So, what did your riders have to say for themselves?’

‘Much the same. They admitted they were laughing and fooling around to start with. I’ve just been telling F’nor they didn’t mean to offend anyone. It’s how we deal with it. Deaths, I mean. R’feem or W’lir can back me up on that, I’m sure.’

The two Wingleaders nodded in agreement. ‘We’d expect to lose a couple of pairs most Falls,’ W’lir said. ‘Probably the same at Fort, or any Weyr for that matter. Conditions today were bad. It was sheer luck we didn’t end up with more than three deaths.’

It was good he said ‘we’, rather than ‘you’, D’gar thought. Made it seem more like they were all on the same side. Which, lets face it, they were. The enemy was Thread, not folk who happened to come from another Weyr and another age. ‘They told me there were some insults from the Benden riders, so of course they shouted back. One of the comments hit a bit close to home for the men from Igen. It was after that it turned nasty.’

‘But no one admitted starting the fight?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Well, thank you both.’

F’nor stood. This was obviously their cue to leave. R’feem got up too and caught his arm. ‘Don’t know how long this is going to go on,’ he said quietly. ‘Just make sure no one drinks too much before I get there.’

‘Of course.’ He followed F’nor out of the room. The Wingsecond had paused in the Queen’s Weyr, reading something that had been left out on the desk. ‘They’ll be in there for hours,’ he said. ‘R’gul will disagree with whatever F’lar says just on principle. S’lel will fall asleep and have to have everything repeated to him. S’lan will agree with whoever made the last point, then change his mind when someone else says something different. In the end, I expect they’ll settle on some punishment duties for the men involved plus a warning to modify their behaviour.’

‘Weyr politics,’ D’gar sighed. ‘You’ll be glad to know that’s the same everywhere.’ He glanced down at the hide. ‘Are these the famous Threadfall charts?’

‘Yes. F’lar worked it all out from old records. Took him days. They’ve been pretty accurate so far. Not the way you folk did it, from what I’ve heard.’

‘No. But by the time I Impressed it was near the end of the Pass. Thread had been falling for so long, every Weyr knew the patterns by heart. And of course, we only needed to know what was falling in our own areas. If you’d been trying to cover the whole of Pern, alone, something like this would be essential.’

F’nor traced a finger over the toe of Nerat. ‘Could we have managed, do you think? Be honest.’

‘How many men and dragons are out of action from the last few Falls? How many more would there be if you were riding every single Fall over the northern continent?’ D’gar shook his head. ‘Even if you’d sent more clutches back in time to mature, you’d have been fighting a losing battle. There’s a good reason the ancients established six Weyrs.’

‘That’s what we thought. It’s why Lessa took that risk, to go back and fetch you all.’ He paused before continuing. ‘Tell me, are you glad you came forward?’

‘From my own point of view, yes. I’d not have met H’rek otherwise. And obviously, we were all needed here, for the sake of Pern.’

‘But… I sense there is a but, somewhere in there.’

He was perceptive. ’Pern’s not the same any more. Times have changed. Some of the things I’ve seen myself or heard about in this last few sevendays have left me feeling… adrift. And I’m young. I’m not sure how some of the older ones will cope. If they even can, or want to.’

‘So, you think there might be more problems ahead?’

‘I hope I’m wrong, but yes. I reckon there will be.’