Chapter 14 - Threadscore
9th month, 36th Turn of the Present Pass
It was a cliché in the Wings that most injuries happened in the first or last minutes of Threadfall - either because the effect of wind and sun had not been foreseen accurately, or because riders were getting tired. In this respect, at least, the injury to D'min conformed to the common pattern.
It had been a long Fall, starting east on the plains of Crom, and was due to end over the coast just where the Tillek peninsula began. The smaller dragons had been rotated as much as possible to reduce fatigue, but they were still weary as the trailing edge approached the coastline.
Perhaps it was sheer fatigue; or perhaps it was the unlucky juxtaposition of trailing edge and a sudden shift of the onshore breeze that caused the accident. B'lee didn't see it, and since neither D'min nor Aurieth remembered it clearly, they never knew the finer details. Nevertheless, it happened just before the Fall ended, and nearly ended in tragedy.
The first that B'lee knew of it was Margroth's sudden agitation and an echo of Aurieth's scream.
What's happened? he asked, suddenly thrown back in his mind to the day when S'gan and Lath had gone between, and was struck by dread. He couldn't lose D'min! Not now! Margroth! What happened? Please say they're all right!
Aurieth is scored, as is her rider.
Where are they?
Aurieth returns to the Weyr.
Go there. Now.
We leave our post?
B'lee considered that for all of a second, but found a justification almost immediately. Fall is almost over - the trailing edge is only a few miles from the coast. They will not miss us. Take us to Fort.
I go.
They burst into the air above Fort Weyr to see Aurieth spiralling down, D'min seemingly slumped over her neck. She made it over the rim, but she seemed stunned by her injury, and B'lee told Margroth to tell her to settle in the bowl, near the Hatching Ground, rather than have her risk the narrow ledge of her weyr. There was another casualty there already, a young brown, with a small group around him, and Aurieth landed clumsily a couple of dragonlengths away, keening anxiously.
Margroth landed beside her, looking anxiously at his mate. B'lee saw that a couple of weyrlings were already scrambling up the riding straps to free D'min and bring him down. He unstrapped himself and ran over to the injured dragon, noting with satisfaction that Moreta was already striding over the sands towards her, Nesso and a couple of drudges trailing behind with cauldrons of numbweed. From the look of it, Aurieth's wings were intact, just a slight score on the leading edge of the right wing. She was twisting her neck in agitation, though, and B'lee could see glimpses of a nasty wound.
The Thread must have caught them on an updraught. It had obviously wrapped itself around Aurieth's neck and caught D'min with the trailing edge, tangling them so that they couldn't get free. If Aurieth hadn't managed to go between so fast, they might have been even more badly injured. At least it had missed Aurieth's eye. So much for small mercies, he breathed to himself.
How is she? he asked Margroth.
She hurts. Her rider hurts.
The healer is coming, and they're bringing numbweed. She'll feel better very soon.
Good.
"Is he all right?" he called out as he reached them.
"I'll tell you in a minute," said Moreta. "Don't worry, B'lee. See to the dragons."
"Of course," he muttered, and turned to look at Aurieth's neck, but he continued to watch out of the corner of his eye as the helpers pulled D'min down from his perch and stripped off the remains of his flying leathers.
D'min had obviously not fastened his jacket to the top. B'lee recalled that he'd had to wait on the cliff top for more firestone, and it was a warm day. Of course he would have undone his jacket, to prevent him sweating in his wherhide and getting a chill. Trust D'min to forget to re-do it when the sacks had finally arrived. He'd have been throwing firestone down Aurieth's gullet just as fast as she could chew, and never given his clothing another thought. The gap, though, had allowed the Thread to slide between the fleece and his skin, and it hadn't all been killed off between. Even as they got him down, Nesso was pouring water over the wound to drown the Thread before it could eat through the bone.
B'lee felt sick. The fragment of Thread pulsed faintly as it died, bloated and oozing pink and grey from the organic matter it had already ingested, while the flesh below was raw and bloody. Ordinary Threadscore was bad enough, but this was a hundred times worse.
"B'lee," Moreta's voice was quiet but commanding. "You can't do anything for D'min right now. See to Aurieth while we take him to the infirmary."
B'lee nodded, dazedly, but it wasn't until Aurieth nudged him in the back that he realised he should be moving, and felt ashamed that he had ignored her pain while he was looking at D'min.
He grabbed a paddle and a cauldron of the thick numbweed ointment and started spreading it over Aurieth's wound. Although shallow, it was long, and it took half an hour before Margroth reported that Aurieth's pain had diminished sufficiently for her to move.
Can she fly up to the weyr? B'lee asked, then wondered if she would be allowed. They lived in the highest row of weyrs, and it was hardly fair to the healers to ask them to come up all that way.
If they cannot climb, I can bring them, said Margroth, and B'lee relaxed. Of course, Margroth would help.
Moreta reappeared, and B'lee's thoughts turned immediately to D'min. "How is he?" he asked.
"He's still unconscious - which is a good thing. We've cleansed the wound and reapplied numbweed ointment. Berchar doesn't want him to move for a couple of days so he'll be staying in the infirmary."
"Can I visit him?"
Moreta looked at him shrewdly. "Could I keep you away?" she asked, with a smile.
B'lee shrugged. "Probably not," he admitted.
"Well, then you can tell Berchar I said you could visit. But keep him quiet. No agitation. It's a nasty wound, and he needs to rest as much as possible."
"I'll be quiet."
Moreta nodded and then inspected Aurieth's wing. She directed a little more ichor to be spread over the edge but otherwise pronounced B'lee's treatment acceptable.
"Was anyone else hurt?" he asked, as they moved forward. There had been the brown dragon before them, he recalled, and a couple of other dragons had landed in the bowl since he'd arrived, but he wasn't sure if they were injured or just curious.
Moreta nodded, sadly. "Ponath got laced on the left wingtip, but he'll recover inside a month. A couple of very minor wingtip and tail scorings. No other riders were hurt, luckily." She looked at the irregular scoring on Aurieth's neck and grimaced. "I hate Threadfall when it's windy. So unpredictable."
"Is she going to heal?"
"Yes, I think so." Moreta patted the green hide encouragingly. "She's going to be fine in a few sevendays - a lot sooner than her rider. The wing should heal without much thickening, but there may be a scar on her neck. She should move closer to the Hatching Ground if she can. The heat will help her to heal faster."
With Margroth's help, B'lee moved Aurieth slowly towards the warm sands. Once she had settled within easy reach of a large trough of water, B'lee left her with Margroth hovering nearby and raced over to the infirmary, anxious to find out how his friend was faring. He nearly ran into Tamina on the way but she told him not to hurry. She had rushed to D'min 's side as soon as she heard the news, of course, and had sat with her son while the wound was dressed, but now that he was sleeping she was returning to her weaving room. B'lee gave her a hug and told her that he would sit with D'min for the rest of the day.
He proceeded to the infirmary, but at a normal walking pace, and found that D'min in a quiet room, lying on a low cot, naked to the waist. The wound had been fully exposed and cleansed of the alien material, then covered with numbweed ointment, which covered the wound but didn't hide it. It looked hideous. It extended from jaw to shoulder, a child's hand-breadth wide, and was deep enough to expose muscle tissue and bone. B'lee felt nauseated to think that D'min had been in contact with Thread for so many seconds.
"We've given him fellis juice for the deep pain," said Healer Berchar, reassuringly. "He'll sleep for a few hours, I hope."
"Thank you. How long is it going to take for him to get better?"
Berchar looked very serious, and B'lee's heart sank. Surely D'min was going to get better?
"I think he'll be out of the Wing for several months, B'lee, perhaps half a Turn or more. And that's if things go well."
B'lee gasped. "That long? Why?"
"It's a deep wound, and it lies over some fairly delicate tissue. This depth of Threadscore on his back wouldn't be nearly as bad, but the thin skin of the neck was eaten through in no time, and Thread started to affect the deeper tissues. There's even some bone damage - look, just there," he said, indicating a couple of indentations in the collarbone. "He's very lucky to be alive, you know. If Aurieth hadn't got him back here so quickly ... well, she did, so he has a chance. But it will take a long time for the skin to grow over the wound, and he won't be able to tolerate wherhide for some time after that, so, I wouldn't expect him to return to the Wing until the spring. He'll need a lot of work to stop the shoulder joint freezing up, too."
"Is there anything I can do?"
Berchar looked at him shrewdly. "Be a friend to him. Give him a reason to live," he said, softly.
B'lee nodded, slowly. "I .. we ..." his voice failed, and he gestured, helplessly, as his eyes filled with tears.
Berchar sat him down and patted him on the shoulder. "I know you don't love him, but D'min thinks the world of you. If there's anyone in this Weyr who could help him now, it's you. At least be a friend to him."
"I do love him," whispered B'lee. "I do. I just didn't want to admit it. And now it might be too late!" He clenched his fists, trying hard not to let the tears flow. He was supposed to be strong, he was supposed to be here to support D'min, not to dissolve into tears like a silly girl.
"No, no! It's not too late, B'lee. I know it's a bad wound, but I've seen riders recover from worse. It's not going to be quick or easy, but if he wants to recover, he will. You need to tell him that you love him, and want him back. Tell him over and over, even if he's asleep. It'll get through to him. Hold his hand and let him feel how much you care for him. That will do as much as all my ointments, I promise you."
B'lee nodded, and reached for D'min's hand as Berchar looked on approvingly.
"How's his dragon?"
"She's all right, I think," said B'lee, his eyes never leaving D'min's face. "Her neck wound is long, but not too deep, and the wing is barely touched. Moreta thinks she'll be healed in a few sevendays."
"Excellent!" He stood up. "I'll come back and see how he's going in an hour or two."
"Thank you."
In a moment, he was gone, leaving B'lee alone with D'min.
"I'm sorry, Domin," he whispered. "I'm sorry you went into Threadfall angry. I'm sorry I distracted you. I'm so sorry this happened to you and Aurieth." He bowed his head low, until it was almost resting on D'min's good shoulder. "I'll make it up to you. When you wake up I'll tell you how much I love you, and then everything will be all right."
He turned the hand over in his, looking at the long, elegant fingers - how had he never noticed them before? - and thought back to the time that Margroth had flown Aurieth. D'min's hands on his body had felt wonderful.
He wished he could go back in time to that day, to the moment when he had gone back to his own weyr. He should have stayed in D'min's bed, should have woken up with him and kissed him and told him that he loved him. If he'd done that then, none of this would have happened now, he was sure of that. All this was his fault, because he'd been afraid to admit that he could love a man. He'd been afraid to let go of his Holder upbringing, just as D'min had said. He'd been so afraid of what people might say about him that he had hidden his feelings, and D'min had been hurt, and now D'min was injured and might die and it would all be too late.
He'd been so very stupid.
* * *
Berchar forced him to go back to his weyr to rest, but he couldn't sleep. Margroth had assured him that Aurieth was sleeping, though a little restless, so there was no excuse to return to the Hatching Ground. Instead, he washed the stink of firestone from his body and then wandered around his weyr and D'min's. He looked down at his bed, which was cold and uninviting, and sighed. He remembered the many evenings that D'min had sat there, listening to him play gitar, or talking. He remembered the night that S'gan had died, when they'd slept wrapped around each other for comfort. He remembered the day that D'min had caught him with that idiot H'tan clinging on to him like a dishrag. Almost everything about his life at Fort Weyr was connected to D'min.
He forced himself to lie down, but sleep remained an impossibility. He tossed and turned until just before dawn, trying to imagine what life would be like without D'min and hoping he would never know for real. He got up, eventually, and stood on the ledge, looking east until he saw the first orange glow of the approaching sun, and then dressed himself again, thanking the stars that there was no Threadfall that day.
He visited Aurieth in the Hatching Grounds and found her still asleep, with Margroth lying next to her and their tails intertwined. He smiled to see them, and was glad that whatever awkwardness there was between him and D'min hadn't damaged the bond between the two dragons.
When he got to the infirmary he found, to his surprise, that D'min was already awake and trying to get out of bed. B'lee immediately went to this side to help him.
"Do you need anything?" he asked in a low voice. "I can go and get the healer."
"No, it's all right. I just need to piss."
"Oh, of course. The necessary's just through that door."
D'min stood up, with a little help from B'lee, and they made their way very slowly. D'min relieved himself, and then they began the laborious journey back to his bed. He was trembling by the time they got there, and Healer Berchar came through the door, fussing and tut-tutting as B'lee lifted D'min's feet onto the mattress.
"You really shouldn't be up yet," he said, anxiously.
"It was just a piss. I'll rest now."
"How are you feeling?"
"Sore." D'min lay back down and closed his eyes.
B'lee could see the effort it took, and vowed to do everything he could to help. "Can he have some more numbweed?" he asked.
"Of course. But the wound needs to be cleansed and re-dressed. I'll get you some fellis juice first." He hurried out.
D'min made a face. "I hate fellis juice."
B'lee straightened the sheet, making sure that it didn't touch the wound. "You need it - at least for a day or two. I'm sure Berchar wouldn't make you take it if you didn't really need it."
"How bad is it?"
B'lee hesitated. "Pretty bad. Berchar thinks you should heal up eventually, and regain full use of your shoulder, but it's very deep. The Thread slipped under the collar of your jacket."
D'min frowned. "I don't really remember."
"You'd loosened it, waiting for firestone. You probably forgot to do it up again."
"Probably." He sighed. "It's really starting to hurt now."
B'lee bit his lip. He wished he could do more, but there was nothing he could do at that moment except wait for the healer.
Berchar hurried back with a small dose of fellis juice in wine, which he made D'min take in spite of his protestations. While that took hold, he gathered up the things he would need to dress the wound.
B'lee sat and supported D'min so that Berchar could reach the upper portion of the wound that stretched under D'min's ear and towards the back of the neck. He was glad of the chance to help, even in this small way, and D'min seemed to appreciate it - or at least, to tolerate it. B'lee hadn't really expected him to shy away from his touch, but he knew he couldn't take anything for granted any more.
Once the dressing was replaced, and the numbweed had taken away the residual pain, D'min fell asleep. Since Berchar told him that he was unlikely to wake for several hours, B'lee took the opportunity to visit Aurieth again, and found Moreta already there, looking critically at the wing.
"It's dried out a little, here, do you see?" she pointed at one spot on the wing. "You need to keep a close eye on it - at least twice a day - and make sure that the ichor is thick and gleaming. She'll also need fresh numbweed on that neck wound at the same time."
"Yes, Moreta."
"How's D'min?"
"He's sleeping. Berchar re-dressed his wound this morning and gave him fellis juice."
"Good. About the only thing that'll keep him quiet. Don't let him get up too soon - he has to rest that shoulder, and he won't want to."
"I'll make sure he rests. He won't leave the bed, I promise."
Moreta raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I want to know the details, B'lee ... but anything that ensures we have a functioning dragonrider again is all right by me." She smiled cryptically and wandered off.
B'lee looked at Margroth, who looked back at him impassively. "I think that goes for Aurieth too, you know. Sit on her if you have to, but don't let her move around."
I won't.
B'lee set to work, refreshing the numbweed and ichor over the wounds. It took a long time, but Aurieth seemed noticeably more comfortable at the end of it.
"I'll visit you again this evening, and I'll bring more news of D'min," said B'lee as he left.
* * *
D'min was still asleep when he got back, so he settled into the chair by the bed and dozed, waking only when Berchar came in to check on his patient.
"I really think you ought to go back to your weyr, B'lee. You look like you haven't slept at all."
B'lee shook his head. "I'll be here as long as D'min is."
"You'll be no good if you make yourself ill. He needs you to be strong."
"He needs me here. I'll be here."
"When's the next Fall?"
B'lee thought a minute. "Not for a few days. I'll have to check with P'tan."
"You'd better be right. I'm not going to let you sit here if there's work to be done."
B'lee shrugged. He didn't really care. The only thing that matter to him was D'min, and as long as D'min might possibly need something, B'lee would be here to provide it. He wasn't going more than a dragon's-length away from his friend until D'min had woken up and they'd talked and put things right, and he didn't care if he had to argue that in front of the Weyrwoman herself. D'min was - was going to be - his weyrmate, and that was more important to him that anything else in the entire world.
Berchar must have realised B'lee's determination, because he stopped insisting that B'lee leave, and instead got him a mug of klah to drink, and a pillow and a blanket so that he could sleep.
It was the middle of the afternoon when B'lee woke again. Berchar and D'min were talking in low voices, obviously trying not to disturb him, but he'd responded instinctively to the sound of D'min's voice. He grunted and stretched, noting the stiffness in his neck. Berchar was right about one thing - a chair in the infirmary was no place to get a decent sleep.
"How are you?" he asked D'min, who was sitting back against a mound of pillows.
"Not bad. Been better."
Berchar snorted. "An understatement."
D'min smiled. "Make the most of it. I usually exaggerate."
Both B'lee and Berchar had to smile at that. B'lee was happy to see that D'min was recovered enough to make a joke, even a mild one.
"D'min," he started. "Do you mind me being here?"
"No, that's fine. Berchar told me you've been looking after Aurieth. How is she? She's asleep at the moment, and I don't want to wake her."
"She'll be all right - a lot sooner than you will. She has a long score that goes almost around her neck, and a minor score on the leading edge of her right wing. Moreta's been to see her a couple of times and she's not worried. I've been putting ichor on the wing and numbweed on the neck, and Margroth's staying beside her."
"Berchar said the only times you've left have been to see her."
"Well," B'lee shrugged, "I was worried about you both."
He wondered if now was the right time to tell D'min how he felt. It had to be done sooner or later, but he didn't want to do it while D'min was hazy with fellis juice or distracted by pain. Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow would be better, when D'min wasn't in quite so much pain.
He helped D'min to readjust the pillows and made sure that he drank plenty of water, as Berchar had directed. He kept the conversation light and undemanding, and knew that he'd made the right decision when he saw D'min's eyelids start to droop. He left D'min sleeping soundly and made a quick trip back to his weyr for a wash and his knitting.
He sat with D'min through the afternoon and evening, and was able to greet all the visitors, including the Weyrwoman and their wingleader, S'peren. Both were dismayed at the extent of D'min's injury and the length of time he would be on the sick list, but there was little that they could do except to reinforce Berchar's edict of complete rest.
"We can't afford to have riders off for longer than is absolutely necessary," said S'peren, with emphasis. "It's bad enough that you're injured, but if I find that you've been doing anything that might delay your recovery, I'll have you on punishment detail for a month when you get back."
"You'd think I was planning to get up and dance on the tables," said D'min in disgust after they'd gone.
B'lee smiled, but added, "They might be thinking of some of your weyrling exploits."
D'min snorted. "That was ages ago. I haven't done anything particularly outrageous in months."
"That's not so long ago. Not for grown-ups, anyway."
D'min stuck his tongue out, and B'lee's smile grew wider. Try as he might, D'min betrayed his youth in every word and protestation. "Just make sure you behave yourself from now on."
After that it was time for B'lee to see to Aurieth, and on his return he found Berchar ready to clean and dress D'min's wound again. It still made B'lee feel ill to see the depth and extent of it, and to realise just how close D'min had come to being killed by Thread. He wondered how much of a scar there would be, and whether it would stop D'min from moving his neck and shoulder normally. Berchar had said he would need a lot of work on it, so he must be anticipating some problems.
D'min fell asleep soon after the dressing was replaced, and B'lee settled down for the night in the chair. Tomorrow ... tomorrow morning he would tell D'min that he loved him.