Gone Away, Gone Ahead - 6. Thread Over Benden

D’gar woke as the grey light of dawn filtered beneath the heavy curtain separating the sleeping chamber from his dragon’s weyr. He wasn’t alone; H’rek had stayed the night and was still sleeping soundly, having pulled most of the furs to his side of the bed. He lay there for a while, as the increasing light began to illuminate more of the weyr. It was strange to wake up with someone sharing his bed, after having got used to being alone. He shivered as he remembered that the last time he had woken like this, on a Threadfall day, with S’brin next to him in bed, it had also been the last time they would ever see a morning together. He told himself not to be stupid; that all because something bad had happened in the past didn’t mean it was going to happen again. Yet the undeniable fact was that he’d let himself start to care about H’rek and if something happened to him, either today or next Threadfall, or any of the ones after that, he would only have himself to blame for the way he’d feel then.

Despite not wanting to disturb the lad, he eventually had to get out of bed to use the necessary at the back of the weyr. He’d been glad to find that Benden, like Fort, had been designed with such a useful convenience, which he knew he’d need to visit several more times this morning. His stomach was already churning and unsettled. It would be an effort to eat any breakfast, but he’d need the energy to get through a four-hour Fall, so would force it down and hope he managed to keep it there.

When he returned, H’rek was awake, stretching and yawning. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

He sat on the edge of the bed. ’As all right as I ever am when I know there’s Fall later.’ No point in hiding the truth.

‘Do you get scared?’

‘Of course I do. Fear’s a good thing. It keeps you sharp; keeps you safe.’

Hrek sighed. ‘I thought it was just me. The others don’t seem to feel scared at all.’

‘That’s what they might say. But in my experience, anyone who says they’re not afraid is either lying or they’re too stupid to feel it.’ It was good that H’rek felt scared. It might help him stay alive.

‘I remember the first Threadfall, at Nerat. It was before we went south, before I Impressed Rioth. We all helped out, here at the Weyr…’ his voice trailed off, his eyes bleak.

D’gar nodded, encouraging him to go on.

‘Seeing the dragons coming back scored was horrible. One rider had his arm half burned away. Someone else lost an eye. So, I know the dangers. You must have seen a lot worse.’

A lot worse. Yes. ‘When it’s your friends…’ B’rol, four sevendays out of his weyrling class, taking a clump of Thread across his back that ate through his spine. Blue Neyrenth, his left wing mostly gone, screaming in pain as he made a heavy landing in the Weyr Bowl. S’brin in the infirmary…

‘And your weyrmate, you said.’

D’gar shut his eyes. ‘I don’t want to think about that day.’

H’rek put an arm around him. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have reminded you.’

‘Everything reminds me. But you know the old ballad. “Dragonmen must fly, when Threads are in the sky.” It’s what we do. And once you’re up there, you don’t have time to think about it.’ This was why he hadn’t wanted to get close to anyone again. Only Herebeth knew what went on in his head and Herebeth was blessedly discreet. ‘Well,’ he said, standing up abruptly. ‘I suppose we’d better get dressed and get something to eat.’ Only then, the thought of food made his stomach turn over and he had to rush to the back of the weyr again. H’rek must have heard him retching, but thankfully said nothing about it.

They made it down to breakfast while there was still a fair amount of choice to be had. D’gar had a bowl of porridge to try and settle his stomach. H’rek piled his plate with meat rolls, bread, cheese and some cold meats.

‘The lad’s got an appetite,’ M’rell commented.

‘Tell me about it.’ He forced another spoonful down.

‘You should try to eat some more.’ H’rek was getting through his own breakfast with enthusiasm. ‘We’ll miss lunch, you know.’

‘Oh, he can never eat much before Fall,’ J’rud said. ‘Probably best not to try and make him, either. Herebeth won’t appreciate being vomited on again.'

It was typical of J’rud to remember that occasion. Most of it had gone on the firestone sacks anyway. He ate some more without enjoyment.

‘Sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up.’ J’rud laughed. ‘Brought it up! Get it?’

‘Ha, ha,’ D’gar said. ‘You’re on form this morning.’ He caught T’garrin’s eye. ‘Win much last night?’

‘A few marks. Not too many, or they won’t play again. Weren’t you watching, then?’

V’chal paused in eating his own breakfast. ‘D’gar and H’rek left early.’

Trust him to have noticed. ‘Wanted to get an early night before Threadfall,’ he mumbled.

‘Hmm. Don’t expect either of you did much sleeping.’

H’rek smiled cheekily. ‘We got enough. Sleep, as well.’

D’gar groaned. ‘Don’t you start. V’chal doesn’t need any encouragement.’

‘No, and I never got any from you.’ He paused, catching H’rek’s eye before finishing, ‘Encouragement, that is, before you get the wrong idea.’

‘What would breakfast be like without a couple of green riders sniping at each other,’ T’garrin commented.

‘You love us, really,’ V’chal said. ‘Especially when your dragons get the urge.’ He looked at H’rek again. ‘Aren’t you going to get yourself a bad name, hanging around with us four hundred Turn old riders?’

H’rek shrugged. ‘I already have. There were a couple of my clutchmates in the flight yesterday and they didn’t like losing.’

‘You’d best go over and say hello at least,’ D’gar told him. ‘You don’t want to be on bad terms with anyone you’ll be flying with during Threadfall.’

‘Speaking of which, guess who just walked in,’ M’rell said. ‘No, don’t look up or he’ll know we’ve spotted him.’ They all pretended they were concentrating on eating their food until F’drun had gone past.

D’gar pushed his half-finished bowl away. ‘If I throw up today, please let it be in range of that bastard.’

Later that morning, he finished rigging Herebeth with the fighting straps, carefully checking the condition as he always did. It wouldn’t do for a strap to break mid Fall and the sort of flying they’d be doing would stress the leather to its limits.

We’re flying mid-level today, he said to the dragon. Now mind you keep an eye on Choliarth. I didn’t like the way he was flying yesterday. The brown from Igen seemed unable to hold to a steady speed, meaning that Herebeth had to keep correcting his own to maintain a proper distance.

I shall be careful. Choliarth flies erratically. But he recovers from a wing strain, so it is not his fault.

Maybe he shouldn’t be flying Fall yet.

He says he is fine.

Let’s hope so.

At least they had Belloth covering their tail. It was always good to have a pair you knew and trusted behind you. As a blue, Belloth would not be expected to fly the full Fall, so at some point he would be replaced by Zath and M’ta, another steady and familiar pair.

They flew down to join the rest of the Wing, mustering beside the lake. The crunch of dragons chewing firestone echoed around the Bowl. One of the young riders handed D’gar a pair of spare bags, which he slung over Herebeth’s neck, making sure they were firmly fixed in place. Thankfully, his stomach had settled and it didn’t feel as if the porridge was going to make a reappearance any time soon. This was the time he always hated; waiting around before getting airborne. Because nothing was actually happening, it gave you the opportunity to think about all the things which might go wrong. Once they were aloft, he’d be able to concentrate only on the here and now, like a dragon.

He occupied himself by watching the wind blow little ripples across the lake. If it was able to do that at ground level, then it would probably be a lot stronger up in the air. Certainly, the small white clouds in the sky had a slightly ragged wind-blown look and were moving rapidly in a north-westerly direction. But they’d have a weather report soon anyway. Sweep riders were always sent ahead to check local weather conditions, make sure ground crews were in position and ready and that anyone who shouldn’t be out during Fall was safely within stone walls.

Other preparations were also being made. Tables had been set up outside the infirmary cavern and were being stacked with pots of numbweed, bandages and other supplies to take care of the inevitable casualties. It was best not to think too much about those right now.

I need more firestone, Herebeth reminded him. He carefully selected a few pieces of the right size and fed them one by one to the dragon. Herebeth chewed carefully, a look of concentration on his face.

Meanwhile, two Wings of Benden dragons ascended above the Bowl in V formation, winking out as one when they had reached a safe height. Another two were readying themselves to leave; the riders mounting up and making final checks. The two queens, Ramoth and Prideth were further back, having their flamethrower tanks fixed into position. They would be accompanied in the Queens’ Wing by some of the young riders and dragons and a few pairs recovering from injury who needed to be eased back into fighting fitness.

Piroth tells us to make ready. We take off next.

Here we go then. He mounted up, wondering, as he always had these last few times, if he would feel the ground under his feet again. It wasn’t that he didn’t have confidence in himself or his dragon, just a realistic view of the risks they were about to take.

The came out of between high above the vineyards. It was definitely far windier here than in the comparative shelter of the Bowl. D’gar felt Herebeth steady himself against the gusts as they took their place in formation. Three of the Benden wings were already climbing toward the upper level. A threatening greyness in the north eastern sky showed the approach of the leading edge of Threadfall.

Telgar had felt like an exhibition flight, D’gar realised; all the Weyrs turning up in force, no one over strained or having to fly a full Fall. This was the real thing; the first day’s deadly work after a brief holiday. The scene was both familiar and different. Familiar in that it was part of the old routine; what they had been trained for and what they had done every Fall for the past five Turns. Different because they were flying over country that neither knew well, protecting Holds that belonged to people whose great great grandparents hadn’t even been born back when Herebeth hatched. There were clusters of them far below, like scurrying insects; the ground crews preparing to do their duty to their Lord Holder, just as D’gar did his for the Weyr. Even though this wasn’t his Weyr and the well-known terrain of Fort, Ruatha or Boll beneath Herebeth’s wings, it still mattered. Had to matter.

Ryth’s rider tells us we are out of line, Herebeth told him. It would be good to think that the Wingsecond was scanning all of the pairs in the Wing, but D’gar wondered if that was the case or if he was being singled out. A quick check to either side showed it wasn’t just them. The newly formed Wing was still settling in; there was no way anyone could keep in perfect formation after only a few hours flying together. And the wind didn’t help, either. Already, Herebeth was having to compensate for Choliarth’s changing speed ahead of them instead of flying easily at his usual steady pace.

Try and keep a good distance from Choliarth. We don’t want to end up flaming his tail off. If he kept on flying the way he was, that would be a distinct possibility.

Leading edge was closer now. He double checked everything again and tightened the straps.

A dragon roared, far above. Mnementh, the Weyrleader’s bronze, giving the signal to commence the fight. Three wings of Benden dragons rose up to meet the deadly spores, bright gouts of flame visible against the sky.

Now that it was almost upon them, he could see that this Fall was going to be a difficult one. The Threads were falling like a fine rain, with less large clumps and more individual strands which blew easily on the wind.

Over to his right, he saw Lilith spiralling down after a long filament, burning it to ash. This was where the nimble greens and speedy blues came into their own. Although they couldn’t flame as powerfully as the larger dragons, their manoeuvrability gave them an advantage in conditions such as these.

To our left, came Herebeth’s brief warning before he turned to flame a twist of several Threads, almost immediately having to bank steeply to avoid another that a gust of wind suddenly sent their way. D’gar felt the strap dig in to his leg from the sudden move. Herebeth turned as sharply as he’d ever done and seared the stray Thread then powered back up to resume their position. Behind them, Belloth flamed another long tangle, while ahead, Choliarth attempted a similar move, but failed to destroy the bottom third of the strands, which continued to fall earthwards. D’gar expected to see him follow it down to clear up the mess, but the brown continued flying level. That was sloppy. Even a small piece of live Thread could cause damage and it was harder for the Wings below to spot.

Choliarth has a problem, D’gar sent to Herebeth.

Shall I pass it on to Piroth?

Please. He didn’t want them to get into difficulty and judging by the way they were flying so far, while still fresh, it was inevitable at some point. The pair had obviously come back to duty too early; it happened sometimes. Dragons hated to be grounded when Thread fell and their frustration transferred over to the rider. Add to that the rider’s own wishes to not leave their Wing under strength and it was small wonder that some pairs often flew Fall again before they were fully fit.

Piroth’s rider reminds us that we have Wingseconds now and we should inform one of their dragons.

Fair enough. He’d been so used to not having an intermediary that he’d forgotten the protocol. Plus, he wanted nothing to do with F’drun anyway. Best to let B’lin know; he was from Igen too and would be more familiar with Choliarth and C’don. Pass the message to Ondiath then.

Thread was coming thick and fast ahead. Two long, thin pieces fell to their right, the wind making them flutter like Gather banners, Another, thicker strand fell further over. The first turned to ash swiftly under Herebeth’s flame. D’gar shut his eyes as they flew through the char, still hot enough to hurt as it hit his face. Herebeth dealt with the last strand, then blinked back into place.

Well done. There was barely time to congratulate themselves before having to quickly blink between again, avoiding Threads that were blowing straight for Herebeth’s left wing. They came in above and alongside and took out the patch.

As always, time had no meaning when you were concentrating on the fight. Its passing was measured by the number of times you pulled chunks of firestone from the bags and threw it for your dragon to catch whenever there was clear enough space to do so. When you’d started on the second bag, you put in a request for replacement. Best not to wait too long, or you might run out before they had a chance to send someone up.

Herebeth banked and flamed, then executed a neat twist to avoid another Thread. Belloth takes it, the dragon relayed back. A flash of blue against dark earth as Belloth dived and seared it to oblivion.

Now they’d reached the far edge. Piroth gave the command and all the dragons turned. In a well drilled Wing, it should be seamless and precise. Given they’d had all of four hours flying to get used to each other, it wasn’t bad, but it was a long way from perfect. Choliarth struggled more than most, forcing Herebeth to swing out to avoid him.

Ryth informs us we are all over the place and to sharding well pay attention. Herebeth relayed the observation with a degree of humour that D’gar knew would have been lacking in the original.

If we didn’t have a flying brick in front of us, we’d do a lot better. Don’t tell him that.

As if I would. Choliarth is definitely getting worse though.

Nothing we can do about that. Just try and get whatever he misses, all right?

It was harder now that they were flying against the wind. D’gar could feel his dragon’s muscles working constantly to keep him level and straight against it. An unexpected blur of colour tumbling through the sky caught his eye. A green dragon was falling, one wing useless. A blue blinked between out of her way, just in time.

Who is it? he asked with a sudden stab of panic.

Zolth falls. Prideth goes to her rescue.

He lost sight of the stricken dragon, too busy to pay any more attention to her fate. A falling tangle blew straight at them. Herebeth put his head down. D’gar flattened himself against the dragon’s neck. They dived away from it. Herebeth blinked between.

Did it get you.

No, but it was close. Belloth has it.

Again. Good old Belloth.

There were always one or two heart-stopping moments like that in every Fall. Near misses that were only a lucky break away from being injury or worse.

Keep your eyes peeled. I didn’t see that coming at all.

Good job I did, then. He sounded smug. More firestone please.

I’m starting the second bag. Can you ask Ondiath for replacements?

I ask now. He says there will be more coming up shortly. We are not the only ones running low today.

The wind was partly to blame for that. As well as drifting Thread dangerously, it made the flame direction less accurate. It also blew the ashes around. Herebeth’s hide was flecked with black and grey. D’gar’s mouth was dry. Seeing a clear space ahead, he took a quick swig from the canteen of water hooked on to the right side of the fighting straps.

In the inverted V formation they were flying, Choliarth should be ahead and to their left, but he seemed unable to hold his line. Herebeth kept a safe distance between them, but also had to keep moving to one side or another so that the Igen brown wasn’t directly in front of him. Because he was out of position, he missed two lots of Thread that should have been his, forcing Herebeth to take them instead.

We’d be better off without him getting in our way. Tell Ondiath he’s tiring fast. The pair should go back to the Weyr before they got hurt, or endangered someone else.

Apparently, the message got through and was relayed back to Choliarth. C’don looked back at him and shouted something. The wind ripped it away.

Choliarth’s rider asks us to mind our own business. He says they are well enough.

He’s kidding himself, then. D’gar foresaw some unpleasantness when they were back on the ground. Still, he hoped someone would do the same for him if he was stubborn enough to carry on when it was so self-evident he shouldn’t.

Firestone deliveries come.

A young blue dragon brought theirs, throwing the full bags accurately for D’gar to catch. He threw the empty one back across - the wind made it hard for the rider to grab, but he leaned out and managed it - then gave a sign of acknowledgement before banking away. Dragon and rider flicked between unscathed. D’gar fastened the new bags to his straps quickly as more Thread was coming down. Ahead of them, Choliarth turned awkwardly to his right and flamed several strands, then went for another, seemingly unaware he had put himself directly under a tangle coming down above his own back.

“Move! Move!” D’gar yelled out loud at the same time as Herebeth added his own mental shout to warn the other dragon.

Can we take it out?

Too close to them.

Almost too late, Choliarth spotted it and went between in an instant. With clear air ahead of him, Herebeth seared the Threads, then moved aside to allow space for Choliarth to return.

Where are they? D’gar looked all around. Had the pair come back in the wrong part of the formation? In the next breath, he realised that wasn’t the case. An awful sadness washed over him. The dragons always knew.

They do not come back from between, Herebeth said solemnly.

There was no time to mourn, not when they were still only half way through the Fall. His shoulders were starting to ache and Herebeth must be feeling the strain from having to fight against the wind as well as Thread. This was the point where you just had to grit your teeth, concentrate and get on with it. Everyone else would be in similar condition. You could almost envy the blues and greens who would be sent back shortly, remaining on standby only in case there were heavy losses in a Wing and they might need to be called to fight again.

More cloud was building up now, making it harder to pick out the silver-grey strands that fell relentlessly. The dragons eyes were more effective than humans under such conditions.

Belloth returns to the Weyr, Herebeth commented, as the blue dragon went between and just a few breaths later was replaced by Zath. M’ta raised his hand briefly in greeting before he got on with the task in hand.

D’gar wiped his face again and took another drink. It was easy to get dehydrated during Fall. Despite the chill of the wind, the physical exertion of fighting made him sweat a lot. Every time he went between the intense cold sucked away his body’s heat and made his shirt feel clammy against his skin. He’d long since ceased to feel his feet despite having put on a thick pair of socks under his boots.

The wind eased slightly, giving some relief, although Thread fell as relentlessly as ever. Herebeth continued his task, flaming just enough to sear Thread without using more firestone than he needed to. Now that Choliarth had gone, they had more air to cover than in the first part of the Fall, but despite this, it felt easier. With a manoeuvrable green ahead and blue Zath behind, they prevented plenty of Thread from reaching the level below them. With any luck, not much would have got down to the ground, although there would still need to be checks made for burrows. Not having heard anything to the contrary, D’gar presumed that another Wing had been allocated that task. Good. It wasn’t one he enjoyed. Back when he’d been a weyrling, he’d heard a gruesome story of how the earth gave way under a rider searching for burrows and before he could be rescued, he was consumed by Thread. It had always made him very cautious on the ground, keeping a line between himself and Herebeth so that he could be pulled out quickly if anything went wrong.

Trailing edge is in sight, Herebeth commented.

Good. Not much longer. His stomach gave a lurch as Herebeth pulled a manoeuvre that scrubbed off their speed and put them sideways on to a twisted pair of Threads, which he proceeded to flame to ash. Glad you didn’t do that earlier or I might have seen my breakfast again.

I always vomit after Fall, Herebeth said.

You’re meant to. And do you really want me to throw up here? Think of the poor sods below us.

It was getting close to the end of Fall. Just needed to keep on concentrating for a while longer. Ignore the aches, the numb feet, the ashy taste in your mouth, the cold sweat plastering your shirt to your body. In a little while, there would be clear skies. Well, for a day or two, anyway.

The last few Threads drifted down and were destroyed. The dragons roared. For a few moments, D’gar felt, as everyone did, a sense of achievement; of victory. Everyone had done their best and another battle was done. Tonight, it would be a time to celebrate survival and drink far too much. Tomorrow, folk would nurse hangovers, then start preparing to do it all over again. And, back at the Weyr, the dragons would keen for their loss.