Chapter X
3.24.43–4.23.43

I’m not sure how any of us got through the next few days. B’lerion stayed with Oklina. It was more obvious than ever to me that her destiny would be the Weyr. She had heard the outcry from the dragons, which was unusual enough for someone not of the Weyr or dragon-linked. Alessan’s knowledge of Moreta’s death was shatteringly unexpected to all but Desdra and Oklina. I pieced together some parts of their story, aided by a growing intuition that seemed to be sensitive to anything concerning Alessan.

All the dragonriders and most Weyrfolk had been instantly aware of the two deaths, Moreta’s and Holth’s. Later B’lerion told us of the reinforced rules and disciplines imposed on all riders to prevent a recurrence of this type of tragedy.

It had begun as a logical expedient for injured riders to ask their flightworthy dragons if they would fly a sound dragonman to make up Wing strength at Threadfall. Each dragon had his own peculiarities of flight that his impressed rider understood. But, generally speaking, any dragonrider was capable of riding another’s dragon. No blame could be attached to Leri for adopting that custom and allowing Moreta to ride Holth in the several emergencies that had arisen. The courtesy was by then customary Weyr practice. But tired dragons and tired riders make mistakes, and that late afternoon, Moreta and Holth had been pushed beyond mere exhaustion to the point where habit only had carried them through the motions of landing and taking off. I remembered then how Holth had gone between a wingspan above the Court that afternoon.

“Yes,” B’lerion said, his voice a broken whisper. “Holth had lost a lot of natural spring in her hindquarters. She’d have leaped up and gone between before Moreta could have told her where to fly—they stayed, lost, between.”

Later, when Master Tirone began to write a celebratory ballad about Moreta’s courageous ride, Desdra told me that, at the insistence of all Weyrleaders, Moreta was to be properly mounted on her own queen, not Holth. To broadcast the truth behind that tragedy could have done incalculable harm. Most of Pern never knew the truth. I’m not so certain I was all that glad to be in the minority. Not that it diminished Moreta’s heroism in my estimation, but because so simple a mistake was causing so much anguish.

Desdra also told me, since she knew me to be discreet and trustworthy, how the dragonriders had managed to make so many deliveries. This had contributed to their total exhaustion, a major factor in the tragedy: Dragons could go as easily between one time and another as one place to another. Moreta and Holth had overtaxed their strength in this way. For only by stretching time in this bizarre fashion, or rather doubling back on themselves, could Moreta and Holth manage to deliver serum to all the holds on the Keroon plains. Moreta had been the only one of the riders available that fateful day sufficiently familiar with Keroon’s many half-hidden holds to have succeeded in that task.

Telgar Weyr was to suffer disciplinary action from the other Weyrs, led by Weyrwomen. They were unalterably convinced that had M’tani not been so intransigent and permitted his riders to fly, Moreta’s life would not have been lost. I never did learn what was done against Telgar Weyr. If Oklina ever knew, she never mentioned it.

I also was now in a far better way of understanding how the six people—Alessan, Moreta, Capiam, Desdra, Oklina, and B’lerion—had spent that hour preceding my arrival at Ruatha. I had previously assumed that supplies of needlethorn had been available, not that these six courageous people had dared to spend a whole day in the future harvesting the thorns on far Ista.

I understood a great deal—yet it was not enough to help Alessan. I knew only that I wondered how he would find the courage to continue after this latest brutal tragedy.

He came back to consciousness, and awareness of this new sorrow, twenty-four hours later. I had been dozing, and roused at the slight sound his restlessness occasioned. I had to look away from his haunted, almost wild eyes.

“Desdra drugged me?” When I nodded, my own eyes downcast, he cursed her. “It won’t help. Nothing will help. Does anyone know what happened?”

So I told him, somehow able to keep my voice level and calm though my throat kept closing up. The waves of grief that rolled from the man were palpable. He stared at me when I had finished, eyes burning in his drained white face.

“But Leri and Orlith could go together!” His resentment and fury were compressed into that accusation.

“The eggs. Orlith stays until they hatch, Leri with her.”

“Brave Leri! Gallant Orlith!” His sarcasm made me flinch, but the agony in his rigid body, his clenched fists, told me that a different struggle was being fought. “Dragons and riders have many advantages denied us! Would that my father had released me on that Search! When I consider how much different my life would have been …” He turned away from me, his face toward the window. Then, because I knew his view included the burial mounds, I knew why he turned back, his shadowed eyes closed in the taut skin of his tormented face.

“So you have watched me while I slept, loyal Rill. And I shall have a new guardian, no doubt, whenever I wake, to keep me living a life I have no wish to live.”

My own anguish spoke then, not the sensible, patient, dutiful, plain member of the Fort Hold Horde, but Suriana’s friend, Alessan’s newest holder, and someone who valued him far more than she should. Any sorrow may be borne. Time will heal the deepest hurt of heart—but time must be won.

“You may not want to live, Lord Holder of Ruatha, but you don’t have the right to die!”

“Ruatha is no longer sufficient reason for me to live!” he told me in a bitter, intense, angry voice. “It’s tried to kill me once already.”

“And you have fought to save it. No one else could have done so much, with so much honor and dignity.”

“Honor and dignity mean nothing in the grave!” He flung his arm up, toward the window and the graves of so many.

“You still breathe, and you are Ruatha.” I spoke sharply, wondering if anything I said could jolt him out of the course he had tacitly announced. Duty and honor and tradition were such cold substitutes for a beautiful woman and her love. “As your holder, Lord Alessan, I require that you have an heir of your Blood to leave behind you.” I surprised myself with the vehemence in my voice, and he frowned as he looked up at me. “Unless you want Fort or Tillek or Crom Blood to hold Ruatha at your defection. Then I’ll mix the fellis for you myself and you can quit!”

“A bargain, then.” With a quickness I hadn’t expected from a man lying abed so wracked and spent with grief, he was upright, extending an implacable hand to me. “When you are with child, Nerilka, I’ll drink that cup.”

I stared back at him, aghast that my rallying words had evoked such a response from him, stunned that he misconstrued what I had said and applied it personally to me. Then I realized that he knew my name.

“Your parents have always favored an alliance …” His words were derisive, sneering.

“Not me, Alessan, not me.”

“Why not you, Nerilka? You’ve shown all the qualities of the perfectly trained Lady Holder. Why else are you so fortuitously at Ruatha? Or did you think to revenge those deaths on me?”

“Oh, no! No! I could no longer endure Fort. Tolocamp sunk himself beneath contempt. How could I remain there when he denied the healers medicine and help. Coming here was chance. I was at Bestrum’s when M’barak came and asked for help. How can you know who I am?”

“Suriana.” Then, more irritably, he said, “You fostered with her, Rill. You know how endlessly she sketched. Your face appeared in many drawings. How could I not know Nerilka when we finally meet? What I didn’t know was why you’d come, so I let you have your anonymity.” Then he snapped his fingers impatiently. “Come, girl, it is not so bad a bargain, to be undisputed Lady Holder of Ruatha, and no Lord to abuse you forever. You can’t be afraid of me? I never beat Suriana. Surely she told you that I was a good husband to her.”

She had told me that, not in so many words, but implying much more than goodness, but the thought of her now dead, and of his so palpable grief for Moreta, made the tears flow down my cheeks again.

“You are kind and good and brave, and do not deserve to be so ill used by circumstance.”

“I seem unable to avoid misfortunes, Nerilka.” His voice was harsh, his face coldly set. “Spare me your pity. I have no use for it. Give me instead the child to carry on Ruathan Blood? And the cup?”

How I could have agreed to either part of the bizarre bargain I now wonder, but at the time I thought that surely when the worst of his grief had passed, Alessan would reconsider taking the cup even if I could find the courage to mix it. I would have said anything at that moment.

“Then let us begin the first now.” His hand compelled me to the bed, but I broke his grip, horrified, not entirely by his precipitous behavior.

“No, I will not imitate Anella.”

Alessan regarded me with angry incomprehension.

“Tolocamp had Anella in his bed an hour after he knew my mother was dead.”

“Our circumstances are vastly different, Nerilka.” His expression was terrible, his eyes now burning.

“You loved Moreta.”

A muscle in his cheek twitched and his eyes stared coldly at me, glittering with something so akin to hatred that I recoiled.

“Is that what holds you back, Lady Nerilka? I’d liefer it be maidenly modesty. I never knew a Fortian to go back on his word.”

He taunted me and, exerting pressure on my hand, drew me inexorably to him. I tried to put in words any one of the many reasons why I resisted him then, the main of which was that this was such an inauspicious moment for a proceeding that was reputed to delight the participants.

“A man who has tasted death needs loving to remind him of life, Nerilka.” Now his voice was persuasive, and I was very close to capitulation when we both heard the scrape of the outer door and quiet footfalls.

“You are reprieved, Nerilka, but not for long,” he said in a swift, low, intense tone. “We have made a bargain—Lord and holder—and it will be consummated, the sooner the better. I long for that cup.”

Tuero entered quietly, relief on his kind, long face when he saw that Alessan was awake and talking to me. “Were you wanting anything, Alessan?”

“My clothes,” Alessan said, holding out his hand for them. I got clean ones from the press, and Tuero handed him his boots. He dressed quickly, then led us from his room.

If his appearance was a surprise to those in the Hall, his manner was even more of a shock. He collected Deefer, sent a fosterling for Dag, wanted to know where Oklina was, and did not question Desdra’s continued presence when she and Oklina arrived together. But he turned sharply away when Oklina reached to embrace him, and sharply requested that Tuero and I join the others in his office. Then, in a low, controlled, but uninflected voice, he told us what must now be accomplished as quickly and thoroughly as possible.

Everyone was so grateful to see him plunge into activity that no one but I knew that he was setting Ruatha Hold in order for his death. Not content with physical labor, he spent long hours at night with Tuero, sending out messages, some by drum but others in sealed letters conveyed by mounted messengers. I could hear the first—requests for brood mares for his stallions, requests for any holdless families with good reputations to apply to him. Some of the messages were reminders of marks owed Ruatha Hold; I saw those entries in the Records. He sent everyone able to walk or ride out to check on the condition of the empty holds, to tally what stock remained in the fields and in what condition, to discover what crops had been sown and their progress.

I, for one, found no joy in the work, colored as it was by his cheerlessness and dispassionate industry. We had worked harder making the serum, but a strong and good spirit had imbued us then. Now there was no animation in any of us, as if Alessan’s emotionlessness drained us as well. There was even scant satisfaction in seeing Ruatha refurbished and clean, every removable evidence of the epidemic cleared away. Oklina put spring flowering plants about the Hall, hoping to cheer us up. Some of them withered and died immediately, as if they, too, could not survive in this atmosphere. I worried constantly that what I had said to Alessan had been wrong, that I had brought about this fearful change in him by appearing to condone his desired suicide.

Ten days after Moreta’s death, at our somber evening meal, Alessan got to his feet, commanding our instant attention. He took a thin roll from his belt.

“Lord Tolocamp permits me to take his daughter, Lady Nerilka, as my wife,” he announced in his blunt, uninflected way.

Much later, I came across that roll, wedged in the back of a coffer. Tolocamp’s actual words were: “If she is there, take her. She is no longer kin of mine.” Alessan need not have spared my feelings; but it proved in yet another way that an essential goodness of spirit was imprisoned behind that emotionless facade.

That evening there was a ripple of surprise, but no one looked at me. Not even Tuero. Desdra had returned to the Healer Hall five days before.

“Lady Nerilka?” Oklina asked timidly, staring with wide eyes at her brother.

“The Ruathan Bloodline must continue,” Alessan went on, and then gave a mirthless snort. “Rill agrees to that.”

Everyone looked at me then as I stared straight ahead.

“I remember now where I’ve seen you before,” Tuero began. He smiled, the first smile I had seen in the ten days. “Lady Nerilka.” He rose, bowing to me amid the scattered gasps of surprise.

Oklina stared only one moment longer, and then she was around the table, her arms about me, crying and trying not to cry. “Oh, Rill. Is it really you?”

“I have received permission from her Lord Holder. We have a harper present and sufficient witnesses, so the agreement can be formalized.”

“Surely not just like that?” Oklina protested, snapping her fingers.

I took her hand in mine, pressing it firmly. “Just like this, Oklina.” With my eyes, I begged her not to protest. “There is too much to be done to waste time, or marks that we don’t have, on ceremony.”

She allowed herself to be persuaded, but her little face was troubled. For my sake, I know. So I stood up, and Alessan took me by the hand, and we faced the assembled. He took a gold marriage mark from his pouch and repeated the formal request that I become his Lady Holder and wife, mother of his issue and honored before all others in Ruatha Hold. I took the mark—later I would see that it had been engraved with the day’s date—and told him that I accepted the honor to become his Lady Holder and wife, though it was hard for me to add, “mother of his issue and honored before all others.” But that was our bargain.

Oklina insisted on wine, the effervescent white of Lemos, so that all could toast our union. The traditional words were spoken by a harper who could not smile and had no new song to celebrate the occasion. The handshakes I received were firm, and one or two of the women were tearful, but it was a grim wedding day. Remembering that I was a bride, I managed to smile.

Tuero presented the Family Record for us to inscribe our names, my Bloodline, and the date, then Alessan excused us.

He was kind, and very gentle, and it broke my heart to sense how mechanical he was about the business.

Not much else changed, for I would not be treated formally and remained Rill to everyone. Uncle Munchaun sent me the jewels I had left with him, along with a small but heavy chest of marks. These were my dower. He also told me what Tolocamp had said when he learned of my whereabouts: “Ruatha Hold swallows all my women, and if Nerilka prefers Ruathan hospitality to mine, this is the end of her as my daughter.”

Uncle told me this because he wanted me to hear it from him. But Uncle thought I had done exceedingly well for myself, and he wished me good fortune. I could have wished that good fortune were as visible as jewels and marks so I could display it to Alessan. Uncle added with great satisfaction that Anella had been infuriated by the news, having been certain that I was hiding in a sulk somewhere in the Hold. Finally she had complained bitterly about my continued absence to Tolocamp, who, indeed, hadn’t realized I was missing until that moment.

Holdless men, their families crowded into wheeled carts or drays, arrived in a fairly steady stream. Oklina and I fed them and let the women wash in the bathing rooms, managing to establish certain standards and values about them. Tuero, Dag, Pol, Sal, and Deefer would chat up the men over a cup of klah or a bowl of soup. Follen would give them a once-over for health and fitness. Strangely enough, it was often Fergal who would have the final telling word, and to whom Alessan listened most acutely. He gleaned information from the children that sometimes did not tally with what the adults had said. Always to our advantage.

We were fortunate enough to attract younger sons of lateral Bloodlines from Keroon, Telgar, Tillek, and the High Reaches, so that the Hold once again filled its empty apartments and there were more capable supervisors. Craftsmen were sent, approved by Mastercraftsmen, with tools and supplies. Now, when I walked up the cot line to the beastholds, there were cheerful greetings from the settled, happy women, and children playing on the dancing square and in the meadows before lessons with Tuero. Gradually our subdued and somber meals took on some semblance of relaxation and geniality. That lasted until we heard from M’barak, who frequently was on convey duty to Ruatha Hold, that the Hatching was imminent.

Then all of us were reminded of Moreta, Leri, and Orlith—and Oklina. I was horribly reminded of my bargain with Alessan. It was too soon to know if his attention to me was successful: that was the only alleviating factor for the stress I was obliged to hide from everyone.

Though Alessan never spoke about the Impression, we had come to assume that Oklina would be permitted to take her place among the candidates for the queen egg. We all knew that B’lerion came on more visits than the tactful ones he made by way of the Court.

I was dumbfounded when Alessan asked me had I a gown suitable for the Hatching.

“You cannot want to go?”

“Want, no! But the Lord and Lady of Ruatha will not absent themselves from this Hatching. Oklina deserves our support!” The look on his face chided me that I could even for a moment consider any other course. He was grimy with travel, for he had ridden far to settle the new occupants of one of the pasture holds. “Look through the chests in my mother’s room. She always had fabrics put by. You’re too tall to fit anything already made.” A shadow crossed his face, and he quickly went to bathe.

He came to me every night, kind and thorough, until the morning when we both knew I had not yet conceived. I cannot tell you how relieved I was, that feeling overpowering any sense of failure that I had not immediately conceived for him, for it meant he must live another month at least. I would have that much more of his company to remember. I could no longer deny to myself that Alessan had always been important to me from the moment he had married my dear Suriana, just as Ruatha had been the haven denied me first by the circumstance of her death, and then by my parents’ arbitrary decision at Gathertime. Now he was vital to my heart and soul in a way that I never could have anticipated in the wildest flight of fancy. I treasured every casual touch; sometimes, in the night, I would feel his questing hand, as if to reassure his sleeping self that I was still there. I cherished each word he spoke of approval for my management, my suggestions. I stored them up, as others might hoard marks or harvests, to strengthen me in the famine of his absence.

I admit that as Oklina and I, along with two of the new women who professed some skill with their needles, sewed the dress out of the soft red fabric, I sewed with a lighter heart than I had had in recent days. Oklina had made her white candidate’s shift quietly in her room in the evenings so as not to distress anyone. When we women sewed together, she began to chatter, giving me bits and pieces of Hold history, even anecdotes from Suriana’s all-too-brief time here. She knew by now that it did not distress me to talk of my foster sister. Indeed, I welcomed the opportunity to mention my beloved friend. No one at Fort Hold had been the least interested in my fostering days, or in hearing about a girl whom none of them had met.

Gradually, I rediscovered pleasure in Ruatha, in building the new foundations, in welcoming new holders and settling them. We practiced every economy, of which I contributed my own share by way of that chest of marks and the management I had learned from my lady mother. The Hold was desperately shy of many staple supplies, not only foodstuffs. The Healer Hall graciously reimbursed Ruatha for, I believe the accompanying note said, the labor and raw materials used in the serum.

Alessan ground his teeth, but altruism feeds and supplies no one. We didn’t have to argue with him to accept the very modest income for what his honor had prompted him to do. Those marks allowed us to buy equipment, to commission plows, cart frames, and wheels from the Mastersmith, and bare necessities from other Crafthalls. Every item supplied had to be credited against the individual holder’s accounts with us. I spent as much time in the evenings on my Records now as Alessan did on his. We worked together in what became a companionable silence, broken when Oklina came in with the small supper meals. I saw occasional signs of his relaxing just a little. Then something, external or internal, would return him to that terrible, sad isolation.