Anne Mccaffrey_ Dragonriders of Pern 20 (25 page)

Fiona was alive and seemed well enough, although in shock and hungry. She returned Bemin’s hugs listlessly, but something sparked again in her eyes, some hint of life that had been missing.

“Take her to the kitchen, get her some food,” Kindan ordered. “And get some for yourself.”

Bemin started off, then turned back to Kindan questioningly.

“I’ll be all right,” Kindan told him with a weary wave of his hand. He turned to survey the long line of cots, certain that he was Fort Hold’s youngest healer ever.

“Step by step,” Vaxoram’s words rang in his head. Slowly, deliberately, Kindan put Vaxoram’s advice into practice as, step by step, he moved from one cot to another, checking temperatures, uttering useless soothing words, and finding the will to heal.

He was aided by Valla, who seemed to approve entirely of his recovery and actions, chirping cheerfully at one patient, crooning softly for another, and keeping pace with his movements. Only once did Kindan catch the fire-lizard eyeing him carefully—when Kindan staggered at the side of the cot occupied by the new little girl who had stirred the boiling pot.

“How do you feel?” Kindan asked her softly.

She squirmed, trying to turn away from him. “My head hurts,” she moaned, too exhausted to cry. Kindan nodded and looked around. The fellis juice was all the way back with Vaxoram, it would take forever to get it—

A sudden noise and then the same noise again and Valla dropped the bottle of fellis juice into Kindan’s hands.

“Here,” Kindan said, unstoppering the bottle and pouring a small amount into the child’s mouth, “this will help.”

Moments later, she sighed and closed her eyes again. Kindan rose from her cot and turned to Valla. “Thanks.”

The fire-lizard chirped softly, landed on Kindan’s shoulder just long enough to stroke his head against Kindan’s cheek, and then went airborne again, leading the way to the next patient.

Behind him, a patient coughed loud and long. Kindan turned and identified the patient by the thin cloud of sputum that drifted in the air nearby. The coughing spread the disease, Kindan was certain. Whether it spread other ways also, Kindan did not know. But how could he prevent coughing?

His dream surfaced again, the parachute descending over his face. Not a parachute—a mask!

“Valla, can you get a message to M’tal?” Kindan asked, turning to his fire-lizard. He could tell, now that he was alert enough to look closely at the fire-lizard, that Valla was thin and nearly brown with fatigue. But Valla chirped willingly, diving toward a table at the end of the Great Hall near the exit to the kitchens. Kindan followed, brightening when he noticed a chair and a stylus and some scraps of paper. There was the ink bottle he’d used so many days before.

As he seated himself, he saw some crumpled cloth and dried greenish sputum on the table. Perhaps Kilti had lain here before he died. Kindan stared at the spot for a moment, then gently moved the chair over.

He wrote slowly, using more paper than before, but his instructions had to be clear.

“What are you doing?” Bemin’s voice interrupted him brashly.

“Sending a note to M’tal,” Kindan explained, not looking up. “I think if we get some masks—”

“Masks?” Bemin repeated.

“To cover coughs, prevent the spread—”

“—of the illness,” Bemin finished, nodding so firmly that he wobbled little Fiona in his arms. “That could help, yes.” He frowned and Kindan looked up at him expectantly. “But it may be too late, we’re running out of food.”

“Food?” Kindan repeated blankly. “But the Stores, the grain, the dried fruit—”

“Nothing we can get to without healthy men,” Bemin replied. “And nothing that sick people can digest.”

“Gruel?”

“Takes a cook and water,” Bemin said with a grimace. “And coal, we’re almost out of that as well.”

“There must be something,” Kindan said.

Bemin shook his head resignedly. “You may save them only to have them starve.”

“I’ll think of something,” Kindan promised, attaching his note to Valla’s harness. “First this.” He looked long into his fire-lizard’s eyes.

“Are you up for this?” he asked finally. Valla dipped his long neck twice.

“Make sure you eat something and get some rest before you come back,” Kindan told his fire-lizard firmly. “I’ve put that in the note, so don’t forget.”

Valla made a scolding noise but Kindan would have none of it. “Just come back after you’ve eaten!”

With a final chirp, the bronze leaped into the air and
between.

“He’ll be all right,” Bemin told Kindan in a kindly voice.

“I hope so,” Kindan replied fervently. He pushed himself out of the chair and turned to the Lord Holder. “Let’s see what we can do.”

Valla had not returned the next morning and Kindan started to fret. What if he’d sent the tired fire-lizard to his death, lost forever
between
?

The notion got a grip on him early in the morning as he and Bemin hauled away yet another corpse—there were still too few able men to help—and continued to gnaw at him as the day brightened. Finally at noon, Kindan could take it no longer. He went out to the linen line and found his pot. He beat out a quick staccato:
Attention.

He waited a very long time for a response.

Proceed.
The drummer was slow and shaky. Not Kelsa.

Kindan closed his eyes in despair, wondering if he’d ever see the gawky harper again, drew in a slow deep breath and let it out determinedly.

Ask J’trel: Did fire-lizard get to Benden?

The answer took an agonizingly long time to return.

Yes. Return soon.
Kindan closed his eyes again, this time in relief.
Status?

Kilti dead,
Kindan drummed back.
Vaxoram ill.

Bemin?

Alive.

Help?

Kindan closed his eyes again, tight with pain. The Harper Hall was asking for help…and he couldn’t give it.

Soon.
He drummed back in a forlorn promise.
Food scarce.

Food gone,
the Harper Hall drummer responded.

“No!” the word was flung from Kindan’s lips and he pushed the drum aside in anger and despair. No food, no help, no hope. He pulled the drum back again.

Lenner?
he asked.

Dead,
the drummer responded.
All Masters dead.

“All of them?” Kindan said to himself. He shook his head, feeling helpless, feeling despairing, feeling…angry. Anger rose up and burned inside him, hotter than fever. He would not let this happen. The Harper Hall would survive, he swore. Fort Hold would survive.

“My word as harper,” Kindan said aloud with a fury and forcefulness that he’d never used before. He could feel energy coursing through his veins.

Help will come,
he pounded back fiercely in an instant.
Hold on.

Soon?

Hold on,
Kindan drummed back. But he had no idea how or when help would come, and he knew that it was the same all over Pern. Those not killed by the plague were dying for lack of food, lack of aid.

He returned slowly to the Great Hall, stopping to grab a drink of cold
klah
in the kitchen. In the Great Hall, he spotted Bemin in the distance, near Koriana and Vaxoram.

“I heard the drums,” Bemin said as Kindan approached. “What did you say?”

Kindan recalled that the Lord Holder had been suspicious of harpers’ drums before; times had changed.

“I asked if Valla had arrived at Benden,” Kindan told him. “They said yes.”

“How would they know?”

“J’trel, the blue rider, is still with them,” Kindan explained. “He was there when the plague broke out.”

Bemin nodded.

“The Harper Hall is out of food,” Kindan continued. “All the Masters are dead.”

“All? Even Lenner?”

“All,” Kindan replied. “The drummer was young, unsteady, an apprentice, I think.” He stopped suddenly as he realized the identity of the drummer. “It was Conar.”

“Conar? From Benden Hold?”

Kindan nodded. “He asked for help.”

“We’ve none to give,” Bemin said, gesturing to his own sorry Hold.

“I know that,” Kindan replied. “But I promised it to them anyway.”

“You promised—”

“At the least they have hope,” Kindan said. “At the best…well…we need food, too.”

“Where would you find enough food to share with the Harper Hall?” Bemin wondered.

“Enough to share with all Pern,” Kindan corrected him, shaking his head. “I don’t know, my lord.” He glanced up, a hint of a smile on his lips. “I was hoping that perhaps you might have an idea?”

“No,” Bemin said, shaking his head. “If I did, I’d share with anyone who asked for it, not that it would do much good.”

Kindan cocked his head at the Lord Holder.

“How would we get it to them?” Bemin explained.

“I don’t know,” Kindan confessed. He leaned down to Vaxoram, felt the heat of his fever before he was even near enough to see the moodpaste, and dabbed the older apprentice’s forehead with some water. He was so hot that the water quickly evaporated. In his delirium, Vaxoram shook his head and coughed once more.

“The masks should come soon,” Kindan said pointlessly.

The day slipped into night and another dozen holders slipped into death.

Someone brought hot
klah
out to them from the kitchen and some food.

“Give it to her,” Kindan said, gesturing to Fiona. When Bemin started to protest, Kindan added, “I’m not that hungry and she needs nurturing or she’ll not grow strong.”

Bemin shook his head ruefully. “Stubborn harper.”

“I was taught by your daughter, my lord,” Kindan said with lips upturned.

Bemin smiled back at him. “She got it from her mother.”

“Oh, no doubt,” Kindan agreed diplomatically. He gestured to an empty cot. “You should get some sleep, my lord.”

“You’ve just recovered, you should sleep first,” Bemin protested.

“You nursed me back to health,” Kindan replied. “As your healer, I demand it.” When the Lord Holder looked ready to respond, Kindan added, “Besides, I’ll wake you at half-night.”