Threadfall - 42. Cold Between

A light breeze stirred the Gather flags above Fort Hold. Brightly coloured tents spread across the fields below the Hold itself. Dragons perched on a rocky outcrop close by, as riders walked down to sample the wares.

D’gar, J’rud and S’brin flew in formation, dressed to impress. Their dragons found a place to land fairly easily. The majority of those who had arrived so far, D’gar recognised as being from Fort. It was their local Gather, after all. But as the last of the season and one of the biggest, it would draw folk from all of the Weyrs. He hoped he might meet some he knew from his secondment. It was too easy to lose touch; something he hoped to remedy once the Pass ended.

Leaving their dragons to mingle, they strolled down the well trodden path.

‘Next Turn, it’ll be even bigger than this,’ J’rud said happily. ‘And it won’t just be riders from all over Pern, but traders and even folk from the smaller farm and sea holds.’

It was true there seemed to be a more festive air than usual. Everyone, it seemed, was looking forward to Thread becoming a distant memory. As they perused the stalls, D’gar heard a couple of farmers talking about how they’d be able to expand their holdings next Turn. Ordinary folk smiled at them. Some came up to thank them for their brave efforts. They munched on meat rolls, offered gratefully by stallholders as a token of their appreciation. S’brin had been looking at a beautifully crafted leather belt for a few minutes when the vendor came across. ‘I’ll gift you with that, dragonrider.’

‘Thank you. I’ve been looking for a new one for a while.’

They watched some acrobats perform, had a chat with some of their fellow riders from Fort, then sat for a while listening to some of the musicians from the Harper Hall playing merry ballads while sipping on fresh fruit juice, also given freely.

‘Wonder what’s in there?’ S’brin pointed to a tent decorated in multicoloured swirls and spirals, which seemed to entice you towards it. There was a queue of people outside waiting to go in.

‘Something weird, I expect.’ J’rud sipped his juice. ‘A herdbeast with two heads or a woman with a beard.’

There were always a few curiosities at a Gather. D’gar wasn’t particularly interested in them, but J’rud was fascinated by strange things. ‘You want to go over?’

‘Why not. We’ve plenty of time.’

They made their way across, trying to peer through the narrow entrance to the tent. D’gar asked a man in front of them what was inside.

‘A mermaid, so they say. The skeleton of a giant. Rare beasts. And a woman who can predict the future.’

S’brin laughed. ‘The mermaid sounds worth a look. I’ve never had much call for fortune tellers, though. Not since I was a weyrbrat, when one told me I’d fall in love with a red-headed girl whose name began with “L” and we’d have four children.’

The man looked at him. ‘You’re still young. It could happen, yet.’

‘My weyrmates might not be too happy.’ S’brin put an arm around D’gar and J’rud. ‘And I don’t reckon either of these two will be having babies any time soon.’

The man looked slightly askance at that and shuffled slightly further away. It was a reminder of how different customs were outside the Weyr.

Eventually, they reached the entrance. An exotic and pleasant smell wafted from inside. The boy collecting marks, seeing they were dragonriders, beckoned them through.

It took a few moments for D’gar’s eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight to the dim, amber glow beyond the threshold. In the first room, there were several cases displaying stuffed creatures. One was a huge tunnel snake with bared fangs.

‘Must have been fun catching that,’ S’brin commented.

‘I know what Herebeth would say if he saw it. Something along the lines of “tasty”.’ The snake had once been brightly coloured, but its vivid markings had faded over the Turns.

‘Look at this one,’ J’rud called across. ‘A horned herd beast with two heads.’

D’gar looked closely and thought he could spot the join where the second head had been sewed on. Still, it was better done than some he’d seen. Most of the rest were in similar vein; a head of a fish attached to a small wherry’s body and some sort of aquatic creature covered in striped hair.

They moved through into the second room, where the very large human skeleton was displayed. S’brin stood next to it and barely came up to its ribcage. ‘I’ve heard tell there are families of giants living in some of the secluded mountain ranges. They capture travellers and eat them.’

‘And get eaten by Thread themselves.’ D’gar had heard stories like that before, but they didn’t sound convincing. It was cold in the high mountains. Food would be scarce and dragons didn’t sear Thread over the area as there was nothing for it to feed on when it fell.

‘No, they shelter in caves. They have beasts in there, too. Well, so I’ve heard. Anyway, this one didn’t get eaten by Thread, or there’d be nothing left of him.’

D’gar reckoned the skeleton looked authentic. People grew to all sorts of sizes, after all, so although rare, he didn’t consider it too much out of the ordinary that a man might have been so tall. Wherever he’d lived, he’d have been a curiosity. Perhaps he’d instructed his family to sell his body after he’d died, to help support them?

They moved on again. This room was smaller and even more dimly lit. A young woman stood beside a covered tank. She was dressed in black and had huge eyes. Maybe they helped her to see better in the semi-darkness?

‘Come closer to see the mermaid,’ she said, in a low voice D’gar could barely hear. Once they’d all gathered around, she lifted to cover with a flourish. The creature inside had been preserved in a similar way to the other exhibits. Her top half was definitely female, with long hair discreetly arranged to cover her breasts. Below the waist, a fish’s tail flared out.

‘She was caught in a fisherman’s net off the coast of Tillek,’ the woman informed them. ‘Poor little thing was already dead. They say you’ll never catch a live mermaid. My grandfather was in the area, so he bought her remains so everyone had a chance to see such a rare curiosity.’

‘Amazing,’ J’rud said. ‘I’ve heard tales of them.’

The woman smiled. ‘Now if only we could get a fire lizard, we’d really draw in the crowds.’

‘They’re just legends,’ D’gar said.

She shook her head. ‘They’ve been spotted around the warmer coasts now and then. Places like Nerat. But no one’s ever been able to catch one.’

‘Maybe they go between, like dragons,’ J’rud suggested.

‘Don’t be daft.’ S’brin pretended to cuff his ear. ‘They don’t exist. They’re just wishful thinking by folk who’ll never Impress a dragon.’

‘Maybe,’ the woman said. ‘But stranger things exist on this world than most can dream of.’ She carefully replaced the cover. ‘Now, while you’re here, would you like your fortune told?’

D’gar smiled. ‘Might as well.’ If she told him he was going to fall in love with a golden haired girl and have five children with her, he’d know it was fake.

J’rud nodded, then finally S’brin. ‘I don’t believe in all that,’ he said cautiously.

‘It doesn’t matter whether you do or not.’ She led them over to a small table, in the centre of which a glass globe rested on a stand. She lit a small candle and waved it around the globe. The ever-changing reflections of the flame were slightly hypnotic. D’gar felt himself drawn closer, as flying insects were attracted to glows. The way the flames grew brighter, then died, reminded him of seeing distant dragons searing Thread in the sky.

All of a sudden, she extinguished the candle, leaving trails of brightness behind. With her dark clothing, her outline was barely visible, just her pale face and those large eyes. She pointed at J’rud, then D’gar. ‘Both of you are going on a long journey.’

‘Not another secondment,’ J’rud sighed. ‘Telgar was bad enough.’

‘And you,’ she focussed on D’gar, ‘Will find good fortune at the end of it. Be brave.’

Although her words could apply to almost anyone, D’gar felt a shiver go down his spine.

‘What about me?’ S’brin asked.

She looked down quickly, then directly at him. ‘You will not be going with them. That is all I can see for you.’

‘Typical,’ S’brin said. ‘You two get all the luck. Bet I end up at High Reaches while you sun yourselves in Ista.’

The woman stepped aside and opened a previously unseen flap. ‘Thank you for your custom, riders. Please let others know of the wonders to be seen in our house of curiosities.’

D’gar stepped out into the sun again, feeling slightly dazed. It must be the closeness of the tent, he reckoned.

‘Well, that was a bit different.’ J’rud glanced back at the tent. ‘Do you reckon she really can see the future?’

‘It was all very generalised.’ D’gar was regaining his equilibrium. ‘I mean, we’re dragonriders. We travel further than anyone else on Pern. And they always tell someone they’re going to have good fortune.’

‘I don’t think she liked me,’ S’brin said. ‘She gave me a really funny look.’

‘Never mind.’ J’rud linked arms with him. ‘Shall we go and see if there are bubbly pies somewhere?’

They arrived back at the Weyr well after dark, bringing back a variety of things gifted to them. As well as his belt, S’brin had a new shirt that fit him perfectly - and he had drawn some admiring glances when he’d tried it on - and a small carved dragon he placed in one of the niches in their weyr. J’rud also had a shirt and a ring set with a gemstone the exact colour of Zurinth’s hide.

D’gar had pondered for a while, then decided he had sufficient Gather and Hatching clothes. He settled for a new belt instead. He liked souvenirs to remind him of pleasant days out.

Eighth month ended. Ninth month at Fort always brought slightly cooler days and the first rains damped down the dust in the Bowl. The weather was still sunny, though. Some of the weyrlings and pairs recuperating from injuries took the Lower Cavern workers out for the day to gather berries and herbs. Agarra came back looking pleased. ‘G’ren’s got together with a lovely girl who works in the stores. During the lunch break no one could find either of them for a while.’

‘I’m glad.’ It was good that his foster brother had decided to risk having a relationship and even if it turned out as just a bit of fun for them both, there was no harm in it.

D’gar had been to the infirmary to see I’grast a few times. On his first couple of visits, the Wingsecond had been lying in bed, but now he was up and about, sitting with Tiriorth in the warm afternoon sunshine.

‘He won’t be able to do much for a while. He wants to fly, but the landings wouldn’t do him any good. Not until his left leg’s a lot stronger.’

‘Maybe he could land on the water?’ D’gar remembered Luduth bringing he and Herebeth in for that fast landing.

‘In a few sevendays, they say.’ I’grast sighed. ‘Reckon I’ll be out of it for the rest of the Pass.’

People were saying it would end in tenth month, or at a pinch, eleventh. ‘The last few Falls were piddling. Half the Wing came back early.’

‘Let’s hope it stays that way.’ I’grast brightened up. ‘At least I’ll be able to help out on the next one. My arms’s healing well now.’

‘Don’t overdo it and hurt yourself.’

‘No, Wingsecond, sir.’ I’grast smiled.

‘You’ll be back to your old job again soon.’

‘Sounds like you and M’rell are doing fine. R’feem might not want an old man like me.’

‘Don’t be stupid. We’re making do, but you’ve got the experience.’

I’grast leaned back against his dragon’s flank. Tiriorth turned his great head around to snuffle at his rider. His eyes whirled contentedly. ‘Reckon your Herebeth will have to make a try for Zemianth next time she rises. Tiriorth’s going to miss out on that one.’

‘She might even pick him if her favourite bronze isn’t chasing.’ D’gar stood to go. ‘Anything you fancy from the kitchens?’

‘Maybe a few sweet things. I can walk that far now I’ve got my strength back, but I don’t like leaving him for too long.’

‘Sure. I’ll get my mum to do you a basket of treats. Does Tiriorth need any food catching for him?’

‘Piroth brought him a herdbeast yesterday. He doesn’t get so hungry what with not being as active as usual, but thanks.’

D’gar walked back over to the dining hall. The younger weyrlings - Loranth’s clutch - were about to take off on drills. They’d soon be doing their first jumps between, judging by their progress.

Inside, he poured himself a klah. J’rud was talking with T’garrin and G’reden. S’brin was playing cards with a group of greens over on ‘D’ Wing’s table. He went over to have a look.

‘Hey S’brin. No weyrmates allowed,’ E’sen said abruptly. ‘He might cheat for you.’

D’gar knew what was being inferred. It wasn’t unknown for an onlooker to peek at an opponents hand, then get his dragon to send the images to their friend’s dragon. ‘Sorry,’ he said quickly. ‘Didn’t realise you were playing for high stakes. I’ll see you later.’ He touched S’brin briefly on the shoulder, then went over to join J’rud.

‘Any good gossip?’ he asked as he sat.

‘Not much. Quite a bit of speculation on when it’ll be the last Fall. I’ve put a mark on seven more.’

‘Want to take a guess,’ T’garrin asked.

‘Do you count those ones where not much Thread falls?’

‘Sure. If it’s scheduled and we go to fight, it counts. Even if only two strands fall, it still counts.’

‘All right. I’ll say four. I reckon it’s going to end around half way through tenth month.’

T’garrin made a note on his wax tablet. ‘Excellent.’

‘What are you going to take bets on when there’s no more Thread and Hatchings only every couple of Turns?’

‘I’ll find something. Dragon races, maybe. The Spring Games. People will always enjoy a wager.’

‘How was I’grast?’ J’rud asked.

‘Looking a lot better. He doesn’t reckon they’ll be fit again for a while, though.’

T’garrin pointed his stylus at D’gar. ‘Aha. There’s a good one to bet on. Whether you or M’rell will get made up to full Wingsecond. R’feem’s got to pick one of you.’

‘You forget Sh’than will be coming back from “H” Wing once the Pass ends. He’s got a lot more experience than either of us.’

‘Plus there’s P’ton,’ G’reden added. ‘Less experience, but bronze riders always get chosen over browns during an Interval.’

Thinking of that depressed D’gar slightly. He was starting to feel settled in the role. Yes, there were times when his lack of experience showed and certainly he and M’rell didn’t work together in the same seamless way as N’rir and I’grast had done, but he felt as if he was doing a decent job of it. He liked attending the meetings with R’feem and finding out so much more of the strategy and planning. Herebeth enjoyed co-ordinating the other dragons. Being demoted would be difficult for both of them. He thought of the fortune teller’s prediction. A long journey and good fortune at the end of it. Maybe he’d be sent to a Weyr who had suffered greater losses than Fort and would get his chance there? But then she’d also said S’brin wouldn’t be going. No promotion was worth leaving your weyrmate behind. It had probably all been a load of dragon shit anyway.

Over on ‘D’ Wing’s table, there was a sudden commotion, where all had been silence and concentration.

‘Looks like someone’s done well,’ J’rud said. ‘Let’s hope it’s S’brin. He’s always miserable when he loses lots of marks.’

‘We’ll know soon enough.’ It looked as if the game was breaking up. S’brin started scooping up his winnings. As a couple of riders from ‘H’ Wing walked away, D’gar heard one say, ‘Well, I wouldn’t want to win with that hand.’

S’brin shoved marks into his pockets as he strolled back to them. ‘Some of that lot are too superstitious,’ he said. ‘Didn’t want to keep playing because I drew the death hand. Won, though.’

‘Death elevens?’ G’reden looked worried.

‘D’gar’s done the same a few times and he’s still here, isn’t he?’ S’brin sat down. ‘I bet you’ve seen it drawn in a few games too,’ he said to T’garrin.

‘Sure.’

‘People only remember the times when something does happen,’ J’rud chipped in.

D’gar didn’t really want to comment. The two times he’d drawn the elevens, close friends had died. K’torl. Rina. Although, in the Turns since then, he’d been inclined to put it down to coincidence. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said to S’brin.

‘I wasn’t. And don’t you start thinking about it too much, either. Nothing bad’s going to happen to you or me.’

D’gar tried not to, but he couldn’t deny being on tenterhooks for most of the next Fall. As it turned out, it was one of those thin, short ones, with most of the dragons having nothing much to do. S’brin and Zemianth, over on M’rell’s section, were one of the pairs sent back early when it became obvious a full Wing wasn’t required.

By now, late into ninth month, the weather was beginning to break. They had two days of solid rain over the Weyr. Reports came in of rivers in flood, herdbeasts drowned and crops ruined. D’gar and M’rell met in R’feem’s weyr on the morning they were due to fight over Peyton Hold and the west coast.

‘Nasty weather today, lads. Low cloud and misty rain on the coast right now and not much better inland. They’ve had some floods in the river valleys, so at least if Thread gets through, it should drown rather than burrowing.’

‘If we have any Thread at all,’ M’rell commented. ‘Look at last time.’

‘Wish I could say for sure. If it looks like an irregular one, we’ll send some of the greens back on standby. No point having the whole Wing up there getting soaked if they aren’t needed.’

D’gar appreciated the tactics. R’feem was trying to reduce the risk to his wingriders whenever he could. The less time they were flying Thread, the less chance of getting hit. Some of the other Wingleaders were doing the same, he’d noticed. At this point, everyone was keen to get to the end of the Pass with as few losses as possible.

Back in his weyr, he advised S’brin and J’rud to put on their oiled wherhide. ‘I hate that stuff. Too hot and sweaty,’ S’brin said. ‘And the water still gets in after a while.’

‘Hot and sweaty.’ D’gar grinned. ‘Just how I like you.’

S’brin pulled him into a hug which turned into something more. D’gar wished there was time to continue with it, but he had his duties to think of.

‘Hey, what about me?’ J’rud obviously felt left out.

‘You’ll get yours later. I’m just trying to seduce this tasty Wingsecond.’

‘Afterwards, all right. We have a Wing meeting to attend.’ Reluctantly, D’gar pushed him away. ‘With any luck we won’t get much Thread and you two might get sent back early, so you won’t even have time to get wet. Whereas I’ll have to stay up there the entire time.’

As they always did these days, D’gar and S’brin did up each other’s jackets. J’rud had his own ritual of feeding Zurinth firestone with alternate hands.

‘Fly safely,’ was the last thing he said to S’brin.

‘You too.’

‘C’ Wing was down to eighteen dragons for this one. I’grast was on support duty, as was B’thun, whose Halerth had a deep score on her tail and had been advised not to fly between for another few days.

Piroth tells us to be ready. We take off soon.

The last few riders were climbing up and fastening straps. D’gar double checked his firestone sacks were properly secured, then glanced across to S’brin and J’rud. J’rud was looking his way and raised a hand in acknowledgement, but S’brin was fiddling with the sack on Zemianth’s far side and didn’t see him before R’feem gave the signal to ascend.

It was grey over the Weyr, greyer still to the east of Peyton. As forecast, something half way between a fine drizzle and a thick mist made visibility extremely poor. The winds were light here, although they were supposed to be more gusty closer to the coast. That was often the way. D’gar hoped it might clear some of the murk. At the moment, he could only see two dragons to each side of Herebeth.

Lovely day for it. He’d be relying on Herebeth’s eyes much more than his own today. The dragons sent to watch for leading edge were all seasoned pairs, with an uncanny sense of when Thread was coming. They’d need it. While waiting, he checked his straps again. His gloves were already slick with moisture and beads of rain gathered to run down Herebeth’s hide.

Jurmuth sees leading edge, Herebeth announced. He says it falls in big clumps.

So, it seemed they were going to have some Thread to flame, after all. Mind you, all because it started thickly didn’t mean it would stay that way.

Riding through cloud always made him edgy. Even though he couldn’t see much, he kept looking this way and that, catching sight of an orange glow as a dragon flamed somewhere off to his right.

Thread to our right. Herebeth rose to meet it, searing the big tangle in one long, fiery breath. So began the usual routine, except that now Herebeth also checked in on those in their section, keeping track of where each pair was in relation to the others.

They’d been fighting for long enough that Herebeth’s hide was soaked and D’gar was beginning to feel the familiar trickle of water down his neck, mingling with the sweat he’d worked up from exertion, when the pattern changed.

Piroth tells us to spread out. Smaller fragments now fall.

Tell ours to change to two and a half dragon lengths. The wind had picked up. D’gar figured they must be well clear of Peyton by now, but he couldn’t see the ground, so had no way of knowing for sure. The next wave of Thread came in smaller tangles, meaning it blew sideways more easily. Within just a few short minutes, he felt the shock of two deaths and heard several cries of pain from both men and dragons. None of theirs thankfully. A fine strand went past his face close enough to smell its putrid, metallic scent. Nimble Lath followed it down and seared it.

Too close, he said to Herebeth, his heart hammering. He was sure he’d been vigilant and he knew Herebeth had.

It was far away, but the wind caught it. Herebeth went after another piece. Hollath returns to the Weyr.

The first injury in ‘C’ Wing. There was nothing he could do, so he put it to the back of his mind and concentrated on the task at hand. He wished the cloud, mist, whatever, would thin out. He still couldn’t see more than two dragons distance.

Thread began falling faster, but in smaller pieces, blowing erratically both from the gusts of wind and the disruption of dragon wings. At least the drizzle seemed to have stopped, although visibility didn’t improve much. As Herebeth seared two pieces tangled together, he heard a cry from his left. Lath is hit. They go between.

A wave of sadness followed shortly after. It must be Lath. Shards! D’gar thought quickly and made adjustments to close the gap. Tell Tenelath to take her place. Ask Zurinth and Jekkoth to cover that side.

It is done. Herebeth seared another piece. Surely they must be close to the coast by now? He’d fought over this terrain a good few times and it had never seemed to take so long.

It is close, Herebeth said. I can smell the sea.

D’gar couldn’t smell anything but phosphine and charred Thread, but he took Herebeth’s word for it. He felt as if he had been flying through this world of grey cloud and silver death forever.

Zemianth returns to the Weyr.

S’brin and his dragon were much too far away for D’gar to see. Once again, all he could do was hope they weren’t too badly hurt. Obviously, if they’d had to return it was more than just a minor score. First thing he’d do when he got back was to check the infirmary. As Thread began to rain down more heavily again, he didn’t have time to worry about it any more. It felt as if they were fighting for their lives. Two others weren’t lucky enough to be able to avoid it. The sadness of the mourning dragons never seemed to lift, this time and when at last they reached the sea and re-formed, it was clear everyone felt equally dispirited. They had given their all, but it hadn’t been enough. D’gar could only be glad ‘C’ Wing wasn’t on cleanup duty today. So much must have got through. So many had lost their lives.

Back at the Weyr, the sunshine breaking through cloud seemed to mock. All of the dragons were filthy with char stuck to their damp hides. Their riders looked similarly unkempt. Green ichor and red blood mixed on some pairs. There was a long line of men waiting to have their scores treated outside the infirmary. Some had come back early, while others now made their weary way across to join the queue. Dragons too, waited patiently for the healers and their helpers to bring numbweed.

R’feem came over as D’gar dismounted. ‘I know you’ll want to get over there.’

‘What about our meeting?’

‘It can wait. You’ll be worrying until you know how he is.’

There were so many dragons milling around, it was impossible to spot Zemianth. Greens seemed to have suffered the worst this time. Sharding Thread! Why couldn’t it just be done with them? Deep down, he hoped S’brin - or Zemianth - had been scored badly enough to keep them out of the air until it was all over. There could only be a few Falls left, surely?

As he stumbled over the uneven ground, I’grast hurried to meet him. As he drew closer D’gar noticed blood all over his clothes and hands. He must have had an equally bad time on support duty as they had in the air. ‘Have you seen S’brin?’ he asked.

I’grast grimaced. He looked as if he didn’t want to meet D’gar’s gaze.

All of D’gar’s worst fears came to mind. S’brin crippled, blinded. Zemianth gravely injured, or perhaps even gone between, leaving him dragonless, an empty shell of a man.

‘Don’t go in there. You don’t need to see…’

‘See what?’ D’gar felt a sadness almost as intense as during a battle, when the dragons’ grief went through your heart like a hot knife. ‘Tell me.’ He needed to know, to prepare himself. Even if S’brin was dragonless, surely he could help him cope with the loss. ‘Is it so bad?’

’S’brin’s dead.’ I’grast grabbed him by the shoulders. ‘I got him off Zemianth, carried him into the infirmary. They tried…’

‘He can’t be.’ S’brin, dead. The two words clashed together, shouldn’t be heard together. Once again, D’gar searched for Zemianth’s distinctive pale hide among the greens. She had to be there, somewhere.

‘I’m sorry.’ I’grast shook his head.

D’gar pushed him away. He ran the final distance to the infirmary, pushing through the line of riders, towards the open doors. Inside, it smelled as nasty as always after a bad Fall. Blood, shit, vomit, death. All around, healers treated injuries. No one paid him any attention. He was just another rider, searching for their friend, or brother, or weyrmate.

The beds nearest the entrance were full, meaning some of the injured had been left on the floor. He almost stumbled over an an outstretched leg, instinctively apologising, then realising the man was beyond needing apologies. He looked around frantically, scanning faces.

Then he recognised a familiar form, sprawled untidily, right arm flung out. S’brin’s left arm was mostly missing. Thread had eaten a deep hole in his side, from which blood had pooled around him. His face was untouched, although it was clear from the staring eyes and the expression on his face that his last moments had been anything but peaceful.

D’gar sank to his knees, uncaring of all the mess and people stepping around him. He felt tears spring to his eyes. S’brin. Dead. Dead. S’brin. The words in his head were like drumbeats, beating out an irrevocable message. He tentatively touched S’brin’s cheek. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here,’ he said softly. ‘I’m sorry.’ Tears ran down his face, splashing onto cooling skin and lips that would never smile - or kiss - again.

I’grast appeared at his side, offered a hand. ‘Come on lad. You can’t do anything for him now.’

‘I can. I need to take him between to join Zemianth.’

‘You don’t have to do that. R’feem…’

‘He’s my weyrmate and I’ll do this last thing for him.’ Herebeth, he shrieked in his head. Get over here.

He felt weak after Fall, weaker still with grief, but he needed to summon strength to do this properly. He knew how to carry someone, even if they were taller and heavier. But practising with live people was different than picking up a damaged and oozing body. A body you held in bed just last night, a little voice reminded him. He stumbled his way past living and dead, out into the cruel daylight, which dared to be bright at a moment like this. He wanted nothing but darkness and cold right now.

I am here. Herebeth’s familiar and comforting voice carried him along, people getting out of his way as they realised what he was about. He’d seen how it was done. S’brin had once performed the same service for B’rol, all those Turns ago. Placing the body of his weyrmate by Herebeth’s forelegs, he leaned against his dragon’s shoulder, catching his breath.

Climb up. I will carry him with care.

He pulled himself up by the straps, eyes blurry and bloody hands slipping. Once he was in place, Herebeth gently picked up the body. I’grast cleared space for the dragon to take off. As he sprang into the air, D’gar heard someone calling his name and looked down to see J’rud pushing his way through the crowd. Too late. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. They ascended rapidly, then winked between just a few dragon lengths above the crowded Bowl.

Darkness. Cold. Utter numbness. Utter lack of anything. It matched how he felt.

Shall I let him go? Herebeth asked.

Please.

It is done, Herebeth said. Where do we go now?

Nowhere. He was tempted to stay here forever, where it didn’t hurt. Where he could forget.

Nothing can live between. Herebeth sounded calm. We must go back.

D’gar tried to visualise Fort Weyr and the Star Stones. His mind refused to hold on to it. Blackness, nothingness filled his lungs; the cold oozed into his bones. He knew he needed to breathe soon, yet he didn’t care. Is this how it was to die between? It was too easy.

I need a visual. Herebeth stated again.

It wasn’t fair on his dragon. All because he didn’t want to live, he shouldn't force death on Herebeth. He felt consciousness slipping as his body cried out for air. Soon, it would be too late for them both.

With a final effort, he pictured the Star Stones and Tooth Crag. The first place they’d ever jumped to. Here! Herebeth took the image, did whatever it was dragons did to navigate this place and they emerged into the light. D’gar slumped over his dragon’s neck, gulping the warm afternoon air.

To our weyr, he said. I don’t think I can face anyone right now.

As they descended, reality surged back. S’brin, dead. Empty words, made meaningless through repetition. He should clean up and go to the meeting. That would be professional. He should find J’rud. That would be the right thing to do. Except none of it mattered any more.

He took off Herebeth’s straps so he could go and bathe in the lake. Then, duty to his dragon having been fulfilled, he pushed the curtain aside to face the silence of an empty weyr.