The Dolphins of Pern (23 page)

Suddenly the air was full of fire-lizards, all of them uttering the most incredible keening noise, sort of edgy and hurting the ears: sounds he’d never heard them make ever before in his life. They went diving about the air, swooping down to the roof of the hold,
and then up again, unable to settle, all the time making that dreadful noise.

“What’s the matter? My fire-lizard is terribly upset,” cried Lur, one of the landsmen, who came running up to the main hold.

Behind him on the path, Readis could see other holders and crafters making their way here, attracted by the fire-lizards’ unusual behavior. Alemi had slipped off Delky and joined those mourning on the porch, so Readis kneed his runner to meet Lur, showing him the message. Lur’s face went very pale under his tan and he collapsed against the nearest tree, bawling in great sobs. So Readis pointed Delky on down the path, showing everyone the message as he reached them. Soon everyone had congregated around the porch, weeping and immersed in this grief. Their children, not quite understanding the terrible loss, assembled a little away from the adults, confused by the atmosphere and the sight of their grieving parents.

It was the strangest evening Readis ever lived through. He watched as his father took a long time to coax Tork, his fire-lizard, to come to him so he could send off a message. Some of the women followed his mother into the house and they came back with wine. Another group went back to their houses and brought food, not that anyone other than the hungriest of the little kids ate much.

When the sun set, no one seemed inclined to go home. The harper was still on the steps, turning a half-empty wineglass—Aramina or Jayge kept filling it—in his hands. Readis noticed that tears kept dripping off his jaw and Boskoney made no move to dry
them. Well, he was a harper and he would have been taught by Master Robinton, so one could understand his grieving for the death of his Master. Readis thought it even sadder that the Masterharper’s fire-lizard had died at the same time. That sort of loyalty brought a lump to his throat—even thinking that Delky, Kib, or Afo might die along with him, should he die soon. He nearly had, the time he’d been so sick with the thorn poison in his foot. He knew that dragons died when their riders did, but no one who had a fire-lizard had died in Paradise River, so he wasn’t sure about their reaction. Then he realized that the grown-ups on the lawn were talking softly among themselves. Kami thought they should get some glowbaskets. So Readis led her and Pardure, who had offered to help, to where they kept them and set enough out so that this remarkable scene was lit.

Many Turns later, Readis remembered that night and the shadows cast on familiar faces all saddened by their loss. He remembered that, although there had been many skins of wine opened, and everyone was drinking, no one got merry from the wine. There was no singing, which was most unusual for any group with a harper in the center of it. Readis wondered as the night got later and later why no one was chasing him and the other youngsters off to their beds. The littlest ones fell asleep where they were, in a parent’s lap or on the ground beside their parents. Eventually he got up and collected covers for Aranya, Kami, and her sisters and himself and Pardure and Anskono: his baby brother was sleeping in the hammock on the porch with their mother.

He tried to stay awake, to see what staying up all
night was like, but the soft murmur of sad voices lulled him to sleep.

When he woke the next morning, he was in his own bed. Checking outside, he saw that a fair number of people had slept the night on the grass. Boskoney occupied the hammock, Aramina’s prized rug covering him. This was the day Readis was supposed to start school, but he knew it wouldn’t start today. The school had been Master Robinton’s idea. Maybe it wouldn’t happen now he was dead. Somehow Readis didn’t like being deprived of that opportunity, especially when it meant he’d be going journeying to school a-dragonback.

His stomach was rumbling, since he hadn’t eaten much last night out of deference to the occasion, so Readis went to the larder to see what he could find to eat. Evidently alerted by the small noises he was making, Aranya entered the kitchen, little Almie tagging beside her.

“Hungry,” Almie said clearly, pouting. Although Aranya was in a clean coverall, Almie was still in the rumpled things she’d worn yesterday. “I’m empty in my middle.”

“I’ll feed you, so be quiet,” Readis said in a low voice. He sort of figured his parents wouldn’t want to be awakened. His baby brother would sleep until someone, or some loud noise, woke him. Readis didn’t want the loud noise to be Almie.

He set out bowls, filled them with the fruit that was always sliced and ready in the cooler, and toasted bread for his sisters so they’d keep quiet. He spread Almie’s bread with the sweetener she loved because he knew if he didn’t, she’d demand it and
loudly, too. Aranya was much easier to deal with than Almie. Then he got the grain for the poultry and took care of them, and Delky, who patiently waited out the back door for her morning handful of corn. The canines were just getting restless when he deposited their bowls in the run. They could howl loud enough to wake the dead, as his mother often said. Back in the kitchen, he heated water and ground more klah bark because the jar was empty. One thing he knew for sure would be needed was plenty of klah.

He got Aranya to take Almie into their room and wash her and dress her. Aranya loved playing “mother” to their sister. He was just sitting down to his own toast when Kami slipped in the back door, her blue eyes wide with the tidings and her expression solemn.

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” she whispered at him.

“They’re still asleep,” Readis said, speaking in a low voice. He gestured with the toasting fork and she shook her head. She did, however, look wistfully at the pitcher of fruit juice on the table, so he poured her a glass of it.

“Father got messages this morning,” she said. “We’re all to sail to Monaco to escort the Harper to sea.

Readis felt his throat close over. Boskoney had sung a very moving song about an honorable sea burial, for another old harper, Aunt Menolly’s first master. It would be like that.

“All of us?” Readis asked after swallowing the lump. “All of us in Paradise?” He meant children as well as grown-ups.

Kami nodded. “Father says we’ll use all three
ships so just about everyone can be there to honor our Masterharper. Father said we should never forget what we owe Master Robinton.”

“Then we will be able to go to school?” Readis asked.

“Oh, how can you think of something like school when the whole world mourns?” Kami’s voice rose in her disgust of his innocent query.

“It’s a fair question,” Jayge said from the doorway. “Ah, klah! That was thoughtful of someone,” he added, and cocked his head toward Readis. “Good lad. Your sisters are fed and occupied? Thank you.” He poured three cups, adding sweetener in two, and placed them on a tray. “I’ll be back. Toast me some bread, would you, Readis? I don’t think any of us ate anything last night.”

“A moment, please, Holder Readis,” Kami began formally, and she took a deep breath. “My father says that a message has come requesting the Hold to come to Monaco Bay tomorrow morning. My father says the ships will have to be loaded and casting off at the top of the night to reach Monaco by the appointed time.”

“All three ships? Hmm, that’ll be room enough for everyone?”

Kami nodded, the picture of solemnity. “Yes, sir. Everyone who can come, should, he said. The message said so.”

“Very well. Can you take the message round the Hold? Good, thank you, Kami.”

Kami slipped out the back door and, through the window, Readis could see her running down the path toward the cotholds.

“The bread, please, Readis, and enough for your mother and Boskoney, too.”

It was an odd day. People did what they usually did, but everyone was solemn-faced. Some people were red-eyed and sniffed a lot. Especially when Readis played messenger and gave out the ship assignments, which Unclemi sent for him to deliver. He wondered if Unclemi had told the dolphins. He must have, for when they boarded the
Fair Winds
in the middle of the night, he could see the dorsals crowding the water and the sleek silvery bodies in the starlight.

He couldn’t stay awake as long as he wanted to: last night had been tiring and the day had been, too, in the oddest possible way. The dolphins were singing a sad song, too. He curled up in his cover in the prow of the
Fair Winds
and fell asleep to the hiss of water, the dolphin song, and the gentle motion of the ship on a calm sea.

When they arrived in Monaco Bay, there was a great array of ships and small craft, and hundreds and hundreds of dolphins were in the water. In the air, in great fairs, thicker even than those that had swept across the Hold yesterday, the fire-lizards raced back and forth, blotting the sun at times. He was so busy watching their display that at first he didn’t notice the ship, all wreathed in black, that was anchored at the pier. The
Fair Winds
was standing far enough out in the bay so that his father had to call his attention to the procession, a small column heading to the dock. Readis was given a chance to use Unelemi’s far-viewer.

“I want you to remember this, Readis,” his father said, passing him the cylinder. “A great man has died!”

So they watched as the ship unfurled its sails, trimmed in black, and slowly they bellied with the light wind. Majestically it moved from the pier. Unclemi made sail, too, as it passed them by, and the
Fair Winds
followed in its wake, Readis all the time fearful that maybe a dolphin would be hurt, there were so many of them, as they leaped in escort.

What Readis remembered most that day, besides the awful solemnity of that ship and the covered body on its prow, was the dragons in the sky, wing after wing of them in close formation, hanging motionless as the ceremony was conducted. He remembered the terrible keening of the dragons as the Masterharper’s body slipped into the water. The hairs on his neck stood up and he could feel the sound down to the heels of both feet. It was far worse than the noise the fire-lizards had made: the dolphins squeeing and clicking only added to the uncanny noise. Had the dolphins known the Masterharper, too? Then all the pods gave one final leap and seemed to disappear. Readis could hold his breath pretty well now, and he had unconsciously held it just as they submerged. But they just didn’t come back up, and then he had to take a breath as spots were forming in his eyes. Shielding his eyes, he looked far out to sea and couldn’t see a single dorsal fin.

Then
he realized that there was only one dragon left in the sky: Ruth, his white hide unmistakable against the blue of sky! He was motionless for so long that Readis began to wonder what had happened
to him. Ruth remained, in that vigil, when Unclemi, himself at the wheel of his ship, turned to port and they began their journey homeward. The figure of Ruth dwindled finally—or maybe the white dragon had ended his skyborne post. Readis thought that was the most sad of all he had witnessed today.

The dolphins didn’t return until the
Fair Winds
had reached her home waters.

Three days after that funeral, T’lion arrived to take the students to Landing. They weren’t taken to the Admin Building as Readis had half expected, but to another building, three over from Admin, where a large crowd of young people had gathered. At the appointed hour, a Master appeared at the main door and, in a clear, carrying voice, announced which rooms were assigned to which class. When the older students had entered the building, he motioned for those remaining outside to approach him.

“Well, now, so you’re the ones starting with us this term,” he said, letting his gaze range over them. “I am Master Samvel, head of this school, and you will be known as Class Twenty-one, since this is the twenty-first year of the Present Pass. Not very original, I fear, but that designation will identify you to us and you will listen for any messages addressed to the class in general. I shall learn to identify you each by name over the next few days. Meanwhile, I bid you welcome and if you’ll all file into room D, we can begin orientation.”

Thus began what Readis later found was called the Transition Phase. He was an integral part of it.

T
HREE
T
URNS LATER
, four hundred students were living in dormitories at Landing and pursuing their courses, of which a variety were now offered. When generators were established in other major Holds, additional schools were set up, ranging from primary lessons to retraining. At Harper Hall, Masterharper Sebell inaugurated a totally new course for training apprentices, and musicianship was no longer the dominant concern of the Hall. He was able to implement the new form only because Master Robinton had proposed it to the Masters of the Hall before his death. It had not been acceptable at its initial airing but, afterward, Sebell and Menolly watched, bemused, while the obdurate older Masters insisted on adopting the program. If Menolly’s reception of that reversal was bitter, Sebell held on to the advantage and pressed forward, working all the hours of the day to get every phase of Master Robinton’s educational plan into operation.

With Fandarel and Oldive insisting, the Smith and Healer Crafts made it compulsory for Masters to attend
courses that improved their skills and explained new Craft applications of Aivas’s knowledge. After the success of the Red Star mission, Master Fandarel had less trouble getting his Masters to embrace the technology. He was also attempting to produce the radio instrument that Aivas had suggested as a reliable means of communication between distant places. Materials to construct the transistors required were obtainable in quantity on Pern.

Master Oldive was not as fortunate, facing such rebellion from older healers that he concentrated on imparting Aivas’s techniques and methods to new and unprejudiced apprentice minds. Although he could prove that healers could now save many from desperate suffering and improve the quality of life for other patients by the discreet use of surgical remedies, Masters in his craft balked at using such methods, to the detriment of patient health and longevity. To Oldive, that was a Craft failure that could not be allowed to continue. Where he could, he introduced new procedures; his instruction seemed to work best with those who had the least training and were desperate to relieve the suffering of their patients. The transition in the Healer Hall was sporadic.