Chapter 7 - Singed
Autumn to Winter, 35th Turn of the Present Pass
The next step for B'lee's class, after flying between, was learning to chew firestone. They started with small chunks, and the dragons had to concentrate hard as they chewed it so that it went into their second stomach and not the first. More than one dragon was unsuccessful the first time and had to vomit up a nasty mess before trying again.
It still mystified B'lee how the dragons could chew rock and produce flame, but given that it was Pern's main defence against Thread, he was very happy to see Margroth produce a small sooty belch after only a few minutes. As the amount of phosphine-bearing rock in his stomach grew, the flame grew too, until he was projecting a couple of metres.
F'neldril, having learned from previous years, insisted that the dragons were lined up and all facing in the same direction before they tried to produce flame. When Mallorth suddenly produced a flame that stretched nearly a dragonlength in front of him, B'lee silently blessed the man's foresight.
B'ret looked slightly stunned at what his dragon had done, and so did the rest of the class. Still, it was a good sign for a bronze to be able to flame so far ahead, and B'lee had a feeling that he was looking at a future Weyrleader.
It took several days for them to learn how much firestone each dragon needed in order to begin flaming, and how much they could process before having to regurgitate the ashes and start again. As was only to be expected, the bronzes and browns needed, and could hold, a lot more than the blues and greens. It was another reason why the greens were rotated in a long fall - it allowed them to regurgitate and re-stoke if necessary.
After the basics had been mastered, they started to learn how to destroy organic matter with flame. There was a trick to knowing how much flame was needed, and for how long, to destroy lichen and mould growing on rooftops, as opposed to weeds that had sprung up on the fireheights. Thread would be different again.
It was difficult to simulate Threadfall. Try as they might, the Weyrs had not been able to find anything that duplicated the way that Thread fell through the air and was carried by the wind. The best they had found was thick rope, about half a dragon-length long and the thickness of a child's arm, dropped from high over the training area - though F'neldril was anxious to point out that ropes didn't flare and wriggle in the way that Thread did. Still, it was a useful way to begin training.
They also had to learn how to perfect the "hop forward" technique that allowed the dragons to make micro-jumps between. It meant paying careful attention to the way that each clump of Thread was falling in order to emerge into a clear spot and not into a clump of Thread. They spent hours watching the wings flame Thread from a safe distance, trying to get the rhythm of the movement just right.
Jumping back was just as important as jumping forward, but required the riders to keep looking back in order to be able to reassure their dragons that the air behind them was clear. This, too, required much practice.
When they came to make these tiny jumps themselves, it was rather disconcerting to find out how often they would make the hop between, only to catch the falling ropes as they re-emerged. B'lee noted with some annoyance that D'min was able to master the technique a lot more quickly than he did, and after several frustrating days he swallowed his pride and asked the younger rider how he managed it.
"I'm not entirely sure," replied D'min. "I just think forward or back and Aurieth does the rest."
B'lee sighed - that wasn't particularly helpful.
D'min made a suggestion. "Maybe next time Aurieth could link with Margroth. He could see what she does and then maybe you'll see too."
The next time they did rope practice, D'min repeated his offer, and B'lee told Margroth to take direction from Aurieth. As he had expected, Margroth was not keen on the concept of taking any advice from her.
B'lee tried to soothe his slightly hurt feelings. I know you think she's just a silly green, but she's managed to master this technique very quickly. If you work with her today, we can advance in the class and show her how well we do other things.
Margroth rumbled a grudging agreement, and B'lee smiled.
He was glad he'd made the effort to placate Margroth. After only a couple of tries, Margroth had picked up the technique directly from Aurieth's mind (though he grumbled that she couldn't express herself any more clearly than her rider had to B'lee) and they were carrying out the micro-jumps with no difficulty at all.
Over the next few months they practised and practised and practised. One group dropped the coloured ropes down for the other, and watched as the ropes were flamed out of existence. A few ropes dropped to the ground, and F'neldril made the weyrlings take their dragons down and flame the remnants, just as they would have to do with Thread. It was exhausting work, and B'lee was sure that they would have burnt every length of rope on the planet before F'neldril thought they were ready to face Thread for real.
As was only to be expected, there were accidents. Early in the 11th month, Margroth got his tail scorched by Mallorth, who still had difficulty in regulating the length of his flame. He gave a yelp and B'lee felt the dragon's pain flare through his own mind. He shook his head to clear it, then ordered Margroth to descend to a nearby lake immediately. The injured blue dropped his tail into the cool water with a sigh of relief, and the agony in B'lee's mind abated.
I'm sorry, said B'lee. Are you all right?
It burns, replied Margroth, his tone aggrieved. I wish Mallorth would not flame so far.
So do I.
F'neldril came down to check the injury, telling B'lee to stay tethered in his straps for the moment. The burn didn't look all that deep, but it covered a significant area - about a third of the tail. B'lee was ordered to take Margroth back to the Weyr and get numbweed applied as soon as possible.
"How long will he be out?" asked B'lee.
"Hmm," F'neldril considered the wound. "He won't be able to jump between for a few sevendays - it's hard to tell, exactly. The sooner it's treated, though, the faster he'll heal, so get yourself back to the Weyr. I'll check on you both later."
B'lee nodded, and headed back. He called out for numbweed as he descended into the bowl, and saw, with relief, that a junior weyrling with a small cauldron was heading his way as he brought Margroth to rest by the caldera lake.
It took several minutes to coat all the burnt area with the thick numbweed lotion, and during all that time B'lee could feel Margroth's pain in his head. He couldn't help but wonder how much worse the pain of Threadscore would be, since every rider who had been scored told them that the pain was far more intense than an ordinary burn.
Aurieth appeared as soon as the weyrlings were released from practice, and D'min strode over to have a look at the injury.
"How is he?"
"Not too bad now that the numbweed's on, but it was painful earlier."
"He's not going to be able to go between like that, is he?" D'min said, examining the skin as best he could through the thick ointment.
"No, not for a few sevendays. Oh, Shards!" B'lee swore as he realised that Margroth wouldn't be going anywhere for the next month or so - and that included High Reaches Hold. Oh, no.
"What is it?"
"I was going home next rest day - remember?"
D'min's face fell. "Oh, I'm sorry."
"It took fardling ages to get it all worked out, too." He'd been planning it for months, and it had taken a huge amount of effort - he'd had to check the Threadfall charts for Fort and High Reaches, and then match that against the training schedule until he'd found a rest day that allowed him to make the visit, and then he'd had to request permission from the Weyrlingmaster. Now all that effort was in vain, and he felt like crying.
D'min bit his lip. "I know how much you were looking forward to it," he started, "but surely there'll be another time?"
"But how long will it be? It'll be three or four months until there's another matching rest day." He threw the paddle down on the ground in frustration. "It's been nearly three Turns since I've seen my family, and I was looking forward to it so much."
D'min pulled him into a hug, and just for once he melted into it, letting his head rest on his friend's shoulder, clenching his fists and screwing his eyes shut to keep the tears at bay. D'min's arms were warm around him, and he soaked up the comfort, rocking gently against the solid body that held him so firmly and securely. For once D'min didn't even try to grope him, and he was grateful beyond words.
When he felt more in control of himself, he straightened up and gave D'min a slightly watery smile. "Sorry."
D'min let him go, a little reluctantly, and smiled back. "No problem. We'll work something out, you'll see."
B'lee nodded, more out of politeness than any real hope. There was no way that Margroth was going to be healed inside four or five sevendays, and not even the most reckless rider would attempt to take him between until the hide was smooth and unblemished again. He'd just have to wait a few more months until the Falls and rest days aligned - or until he was assigned to a fighting wing and only had to juggle the Falls and not weyrling classes as well.
He sighed, and wondered yet again if he'd done the right thing by coming to Fort Weyr.
You regret being a rider? Margroth asked, obviously worried by the tone of B'lee's thoughts.
Never, dearest, he reassured the dragon. But I do miss my family. I thought that once we could go between it would be easy to visit them whenever I wanted, but it hasn't turned out that way. But don’t worry about this. I'll just arrange another time when you're well again.
I'll try to heal quickly.
B'lee laughed. I know you will.
He turned back to D'min, who had been picking up the paddles and pots of ointment while he talked with Margroth, and reached out a hand to take some of the burden.
D'min shook his head, indicating that he was well able to cope with the implements, and asked, "Would you like Aurieth to hunt for him? She's due for a feed tomorrow."
Margroth? Are you hungry?
Not now. Maybe tomorrow.
"He said maybe tomorrow."
"Fine, I'll ask Aurieth to get him something after she's eaten then."
"Thanks."
They made their way slowly back across the bowl.
* * *
Healer Berchar examined the burn every day at first, and was meticulous in his inspection. He was particularly worried that the small tailfin might have been damaged, as that would make it much more difficult for Margroth to fly. Moreta was consulted, but although she shared Berchar's concerns, she was confident that Margroth would make a full recovery.
D'min went out of his way to help when it came to caring for Margroth, who had decided to spend the first two nights at the caldera lake, lying on the shore with his tail submerged in the cool water. Aurieth hunted for him, and D'min helped to clean and dress the burn. Aurieth lifted B'lee up and down from the weyr whenever he needed it, and he was always careful to thank her. Riding someone else's dragon was very odd to B'lee now, and he hoped that Margroth would soon be well enough to fly, at least up and down to their weyr.
I will, when this does not hurt so much.
I'm sorry, said B'lee. Do you need more numbweed?
At the end of the tail. It wears off quickly down there.
You shouldn't move it as much, then.
The water keeps it cool.
And washes off the salve that I just spent ages putting on!
I'm sorry.
Don't be. I'm just teasing you. B'lee knew he shouldn't tease, but the sight of the unhappy dragon twitching his tail in the water was rather amusing, and it helped to keep his mind of the crushing disappointment of losing his chance to visit his family.
It would be several sevendays before Margroth could resume training, and B'lee was allocated Weyr duties in the meantime. He had a couple of days being a runner for the Weyrleader and wingleaders, and spent much of his time waiting outside the council room. It wasn't to his taste, simply waiting and doing nothing, and he was glad when Harper Willan offered him the chance to help him with some teaching duties for the younger children.
"Just a couple of the mandatory duty ballads, that's all," croaked the harper, who had picked up a winter cold. "I can't sing at all, and my head's so stuffy I can barely concentrate to play."
B'lee jumped at the offer. He missed his music, and the chance to play and teach was as much a treat as a way to fill in his days before Margroth was passed fit again.
That very afternoon, he retrieved the gitar from his weyr and checked the strings. They were a little out of tune, but otherwise in good condition, and he strummed a few chords, adjusting the tuning knobs. Once he was happy with it, he strode down to the cavern they used for teaching the youngsters.
Harper Willan introduced him to the class, all of them around eight to ten Turns old, and then retired for a much-needed rest. B'lee looked at the faces - some eager, some bored, some downright rebellious - and hoped that everything would go well.
He needn't have worried. For the children, any change from the somewhat dour Willan was a welcome one, and B'lee remembered enough about his own days at High Reaches to keep them busy. He played them one of the ballads that Willan had suggested, then got them to learn it, line by line. By the end of an hour, they had learned most of it, but were starting to get a little tired, so he suggested a counting game instead.
By the time that the afternoon was over, he felt exhausted, but the children seemed to have enjoyed themselves and smiled at him as they ran back to the nursery kitchen for their meal. He rearranged the chairs and covered the glow-baskets before reporting to Harper Willan on his progress.
"That's very good, B'lee," the harper said, thanking him for his time, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper. "Would you be able to continue for the next sevenday or so?"
"Gladly. As long as you tell me what you want them to learn in each session."
"Of course. I keep to a general plan for each age group, but of course one has to be flexible to allow for differences in ability, or a sudden influx of new ballads."
"Little Jellah has a fine voice and a quick ear for one so young."
"You spotted that too?" Willan nodded. "I think we may well have to look at sending her over to the Harperhall when she'd older. Her mother was a fine singer, too, though she never trained at the hall."
"Was? What happened to her?"
"She died - she was Sallah, the gold rider. She died in childbirth, and the baby with her. That would be ... oh, three Turns ago, now. One of the reasons that Moreta and Orlith transferred from Ista."
"Ah. I hadn't realised. She seems such a happy girl."
"Well, she was already fostered, of course, so she still had family around her. And no one can be completely alone in a Weyr."
B'lee smiled ruefully. "I've gathered that." But the lack of privacy when he wanted to play his gitar was a small thing when compared with the way that the Weyr held together and protected the welfare of its young, and he had to admit that the system had more advantages than drawbacks.
"Well, you'd best go and see to your dragon before Berchar accuses you of neglect."
"I'll return after breakfast, shall I?"
"Yes, that would be ideal. I can show you what I've drawn up for the next few days before the class starts."
B'lee smiled and left to visit Margroth again. The weyrling class must have ended, since he found Aurieth there too, and D'min looking over the injury as carefully as if Margroth were his own dragon.
"There's a bare patch here, by the tail," pronounced D'min as B'lee approached.
"Did you think I would miss it?" asked B'lee, irritated.
"Well, no, but you weren't here."
"I was talking with Harper Willan. I'll be taking more of his classes for the next few days, until he's better. And I came straight from there to see how Margroth is, so don't you dare accuse me of neglecting him."
"I wasn't -"
"Well, what were you doing?"
"I was just helping."
B'lee took a deep breath. He was tired after all that playing, and anxious because of Margroth's injury, and worried that he was going to miss too much training and get held back. His shoulders ached, and he moved them experimentally, trying to ease the tensions.
"You look like you could use a backrub," said D'min, more sympathetically.
"Are you offering?"
D'min cocked his head to one side and grinned. "Might be. Let's get Margroth sorted and then I'll see what I can scrounge from the kitchen so we don't have to go down to dinner."
B'lee exhaled in relief. That sounded like a wonderful idea - as long as D'min didn't try to take things too far.
D'min, though, appeared to be on his best behaviour. Once Margroth's wounds had been adequately cleaned and dressed, he took off, and reappeared from the kitchens clutching a large package and a full wineskin. He called to Aurieth to take them up to the weyrs, and the green landed beside them with a delicate furl of her wings.
As soon as B'lee reached his weyr, he lay down on his bed with an audible sigh. He did love playing his gitar, but it was a long time since he'd played for any length of time, and his muscles weren't used to it. Added to that, he wasn't used to controlling a class of lively children. He was exhausted in mind and body.
When B'lee started to try and ease the knots in his back, D'min said, "Roll over and take off your tunic. I'll give you that back rub I promised."
B'lee took his tunic off, casting a suspicious glance at D'min as he did so.
"Word of honour, B'lee, just a back rub."
"All right, I'll believe you."
D'min poured out a little of the oily salve they used for the dragons' flaky skin, and straddled B'lee's thighs to get a better angle. Then he set to work, and B'lee sighed with relief. D'min was very good at giving back rubs and although he didn't really want to think about how D'min had acquired that expertise, he was glad to be the beneficiary.
"Mmm, that's good," he managed to say, a few minutes after D'min had started. "You've got good hands."
"Why thank you," replied D'min, his voice betraying his amusement. "Not the only part of my body that's admired, though," he added.
"I'm going to assume that you're talking about your eyes. And I don't want any details."
D'min laughed and kept on massaging B'lee's back. "You just don't know what you're missing."
"And that's the way it's going to stay," he added, as firmly as he could while almost dissolved into the bed.
"Hah. Well, in that case I might not tell you what I just arranged with F'neldril."
"Mmm ... what?"
"I talked to him this morning, about getting leave next rest day."
B'lee made a face into the pillow. He wasn't going anywhere next rest day, and he didn't particularly want to hear about whatever assignation D'min was planning.
"Aren't you interested?"
"No."
"Oh, that's a shame. Because I talked to F'neldril about maybe taking Aurieth to High Reaches Hold for the day. I figured you might want to come along, introduce me to your family, show me around, that sort of thing."
B'lee lifted his head up and tried to roll over. "You what?"
D'min grinned at him, though there was an anxious look in his eye, as if he wasn't quite sure if B'lee would approve of his meddling. "I thought, since you were so upset about Margroth being grounded, that you might appreciate a lift from Aurieth. We could take you there. It wouldn't be quite the same as flying there on your own dragon, I know, but at least you'd be seeing your family. And you can take Margroth the next time there's a rest day without Threadfall."
"You'd give up your rest day for me? But I thought you were going to spend it with M'ken."
"Well, he wasn't happy, but I've promised him something special to make up for it." D'min sat back on his heels and smiled at B'lee. "Besides, you're my best friend. I couldn't see you so unhappy without trying to do something about it."
B'lee was overwhelmed. Rest days without Thread somewhere in Fort's domain were few and far between, and he was staggered that D'min would give up a day with his current lover, a green rider in 4 Wing, just to ferry B'lee to High Reaches and back.
"Thank you," he said, sitting up and pulling D'min into a hug. "It means so much to me."
D'min beamed at him. "That's what friends are for, right?"
Indeed it was, and B'lee thought that D'min was the best friend a man could ever hope to have.