Nerilka's Story

Chapter VIII

I woke, startled, as people do at finding themselves in a strange place, and had to reassure myself that I was not back in my room at Fort Hold. It was silence that I heard so palpably, a silence that confused me more than did the slightly strange surroundings. Then I isolated the difference-no drums at all. I rose and dressed, and began my first full day at Ruatha.

I was in the Hall, drinking klah and eating a quick breakfast of porridge when Desdra arrived on Arith. We all went out at the commotion for the little dragon was once again draped with many bottles, the large apprentice size and the smaller ones for the all-important serum.

I had no chance to speak with Desdra, for Alessan singled me out with the two brothers and took us off to the field to begin the next step in making the serum.

Either the animals were apathetic from their recent illness or they had been well handled, so we were each able to lead in two at a time. A second and third trip filled all the stalls in the beasthold, then Alessan demonstrated how to draw blood from the neck vein. AU the creatures kindly submitted to this bloodletting. Sal and I began to work as a team, and when I saw that he had little stomach for inserting the needlethom, I took over that job as he held each runner's head.

It was full noon before we had finished with the twenty-four beasts. After each drawing, the blood was decanted into the great apprentice jars, then transported to the Hall and secured onto the cartwheel centrifuges. Though I was not the only one dubious about the device, much less the process, Desdra's attitude towards the manufacture was so reassuringly calm that we didn't question anything. As soon as she had checked the fastenings, she motioned the crews of men to begin spinning the wheels. The men changed places at the flywheels frequently, always keeping the speed of the whirling at the same pace. I thought briefly what a mess one loose jar could make of the Hall, and all our cleaning to be done again, and then decided that such ruminations were unsuited to the general air of hope and industry in Ruatha.

Oklina passed among us then, with a hearty soup and warm bread rolls. When Desdra finally joined us, many of us crammed at one long trestle table and others leaning against the walls, she explained the urgency of our monumental task. Only a mass and instantaneous inoculation of threatened runners would prevent the plague from recurring. Everyone in Ruatha Hold would have some part in this enterprise, for the plague must not be permitted to have a second chance at decimating the continent. The news created a hushed silence.

While awaiting the results of the first batch, Pol, Sal, and I went back to the beasthold to see how our patients did. Dag was already mixing them a hearty meal of warmed bran with a fortified wine and some herbs, which the old handler said would strengthen the new blood. Then we groomed them well, taking the mud and burrs from their tails and manes.

Despite his splinted right leg, Dag worked right along with us. What he couldn't do for himself was accomplished by his grandson, a rascally, impudent, possessive lad named Fergal. He seemed suspicious of everyone, especially of Alessan when the lord came to see how the beasts had stood up to the bloodletting. The only person whose bidding Fergal would ever do without quibble was Oklina. Every other order he contested with questions that were sheer impudence. Dag, he adored. Obviously he thought the bandy-legged little runner handler could do no wrong. But, for all his insolence, Fergal was patently dedicated to the beasts. A very pregnant mare took most of his caring; swollen though she was in the last days of gestation, she had a way of cocking her head, ears pricking forward and whuffling at Fergal in a manner I thought most ingratiating.

"The first batch should be done soon," Alessan announced suddenly.

I was amused that, of the group working with the beasts, Fergal and I were the only ones eager to see the result. Pol and Sal ensconced themselves on bales for a comfortable chat with Dag, politely declining the invitation to see the finished serum.

What startled me was the odd straw-yellow fluid that was the product of this centrifugal process. By the time we got to the Hall, Desdra was already drawing it from one jar, explaining how this should be done without stirring up the darker residue. Under her direction, we tentatively began to imitate her, drawing the clear fluid from the jar, placing it in the glass bottles, using a cleanneedlethom with each insertion to reduce the possibility of contamination. Ruthlessly, Desdra employed everyone at the Hall at this task, even three of the strongest convalescents, constantly moving among us to oversee the task.

"We should have more bottles this afternoon," Tuero told us. He meant to be cheerful but was rewarded by groans from the entire workforce. "M'barak said he'd pass the word of our need during fall."

"How much of this junk do we gotta have?" Fergal asked. He glanced out toward the fields where his beloved runners grazed.

"Enough to inoculate the mares and foals of the remaining herds in Keroon, Telgar, Ruatha, Fort, Boll, Igen, and Ista," Alessan said. I stifled a groan at the quantities that would be required.

"Ista doesn't breed runners. It's an island," Fergal said belligerently.

"It suffered the plague, man and beast," Tuero said when Alessan did not reply. "Keroon and Telgar are also producing this serum, so Ruatha doesn't have to do it all."

"Ruatha has that much, at least, to give Pern," Alessan added, as if no other comments had been made. "We will insure that the best possible serum comes from our beasts. Let us return to our tasks."

And so we persevered. Those who had not fully recovered were put to sitting at sinks to scrub glassware or securely stopper the serum bottles and insert them in reed holders. The youngest became messengers or, in pairs, carefully carried crates of serum down to the cool rooms.

My job was bleeding runners. It was almost a relief to leave the pervading stench of redwort to bring my patient-victim back to the field and collect another one. At least I had some fresh air.

Dag had started marking the bled ones with paint so we wouldn't inadvertently get two lots from the same beast. None of them were strong enough for that. My frequent walks also gave me a chance to observe ruined Ruatha, as Alessan called it. I could see that only a little time and effort would be required to put a lot of the ruin to rights, and I worked out the strategy going to and fro, planning all that I would do if I had the right to meddle in Ruathan affairs. A harmless enough pastime, to be sure.

The drums had begun midmorning, telling us what quantities were needed and which dragonriders would collect what amounts. Alessan explained that the quantities had to be listed accurately, but he really couldn't spare Tuero to listen to drum codes.

"Then have Rill do it," Desdra said bluntly.

"Can you understand drum messages? Rill?" Alessan asked, somewhat surprised. I had been taken so unaware that I couldn't answer. I had even begun to think that Desdra had not recognized Tolocamp's daughter in grimy, sweaty, shorthaired Rill.

"And probably the codes as well, isn't that right. Rill?" Desdra was quite ruthless, but at least she did not explain to anyone how she knew so much about my unmentioned skills. "She can fill serum bottles between messages. She needs a bit of sit-down time. She's been going full pelt for some days now."

I took that to mean that Desdra approved of my labors here and at the internment camp and was permitting me my whimsy. Fortunately, not even Alessan questioned how a drudge who had risen to volunteer healer understood such arcane matters. But I was indeed grateful for the chance to sit down. How Alessan kept up his level of energy, I do not know. I could see why Suriana had admired as well as adored him. He deserved respect, and he had mine for new reasons at every turn. I could also perceive that he was driven. Somehow, despite all the brutal odds against him, Alessan was going to restore Ruatha Hold, re-people its vacant holds, and restock its empty fields.

I wanted to stay on here, and help him.

I was also discovering that once back in a formal Hall, I automatically assumed familiar responsibilities, such as ordering drudges to tasks or explaining how to do a job more efficiently.

Fortunately, no one questioned my right to do so when it was all in the best interest of the work at hand.

Despite a deceptively frail appearance, Oklina worked as hard as her brother, but the sheer press of her obligations appalled me, who had always had sisters to ease burdens. Whenever I could, I lent her a hand. She wasn't a pretty girl, which the uncharitable might say was one reason I related to her so easily, for the dark complexion and strong features that became a man suited her no better than my family resemblance suited me. But she was an exceptionally graceful young woman, with a charming smile and great, dark, expressive eyes in which lurked a sort of secret bemusement. I often caught her gazing toward the northwest and wondered if she had fallen in love with some young man. She would make an excellent holder's wife, young though she was, and I devoutly hoped that Alessan would not require her to remain at Ruatha, but would settle her with a kind and generous man. Ruatha might be poverty-stricken now, but the prestige of the Bloodline was still undisputed. Nor would this altruistic labor on the serum, so willingly undertaken by Alessan and Oklina, reduce them in the estimation of their peers.

And so we worked on, turning from one urgent and necessary task to another, ladling a quick cup of soup from the pot simmering on the main hearth, or chewing from a hunk of fresh bread in a free hand and a spare moment. From some-where, fresh fruit had appeared-one of the dragonriders was dropping off supplies. Why ripe melon slices would cause Oklina's eyes to tear, I could not then fathom. I doubted that she was so moved by the thoughtfulness behind the gift. Then I noticed that Alessan regarded the fruit with a soft smile of reminiscence, but he was off to work again so quickly, bread in one hand, the melon slice in the other, that I could have been wrong. Then another message came in, and I had to listen to record the message accurately.

Time had lost all order in the press of work. On my third day at Ruatha, all but a few of us had gone outside to eat a delayed and well-deserved evening meal when suddenly Alessan, Desdra, and Tuero, consulting the maps, lists, and charts, gave out whoops of exultation.

"We've done it, my loyal crew!" Alessan shouted. "We've got enough! And enough over the requirement to take care of any spillage and breakage in dispatching. It's wine all round!

Oklina, take Rill and get four flasks from my private store."

He tossed her a long slim key, which she caught deftly in midair. She grabbed my hand and, laughing with delight, hauled me to the kitchen and then on down to the stores, beyond the cold room.

"He is really pleased. Rill. He rarely parts with bottles of his own store." She giggled again. "He guards them for a special purpose." Then her charming little face saddened. "And I hope he will again," she added cryptically. "He must soon in any case. Here we are."

When she had unlocked the narrow door and showed me the racked flasks and wineskins, I gasped in astonishment. Even in the dim light from the glowbasket down the corridor, I could see the distinctive Benden flask. Quickly I dusted off a label.

"It is Benden white," I cried.

"You've had Benden white wine?"

"No, of course not." Tolocamp would not have approved of his daughters drinking rare vintages; the foxy Tiliek pressings were good enough for us. "But I've heard about it." I managed to giggle.

"Is it really as good as they say?"

"You can judge for yourself, Rill."

She locked the door again, then relieved me of half the burden.

"Did you finish your training at the Healer Hall, Rill?"

"No, no." Somehow I could not lie to Oklina even if it meant demeaning myself in her eyes. "I volunteered to help nurse, as I wasn't needed any longer in my own Hold."

"Oh, did your husband die of the plague?"

"I have none."

"Well, Alessan will see to that. That is, of course, if you wish to stay on in Ruatha. You've been such a help. Rill, and you seem to under- stand a great deal about Hold management. I mean, we shall have to start all over again, so many of our people died. There are many holds empty, and while Alessan is going to approach the holdless in hopes that some are suitable, I'd rather have a few people about us whom we already know and trust. Oh, Rill, I'm putting this so badly. But Alessan asked me to sound you out about staying on here at Ruatha. He has great respect for you. You have been such a help. Tuero-" Oklina giggled again "-plans to stay, no matter how he and Alessan go on about the salary and perks."

That discussion had been running between harper and Lord Holder whenever they passed each other or worked on a common chore. Tuero had come to the Gather with other harpers to assist the Hold's regular harper, another victim, as were Tuero's companions. I couldn't imagine Ruatha Hold without Alessan and Tuero bickering in the most amiable fashion.

When we returned to the Main Hall, the men had stacked some of the cartwheels and the large jars back against the wall. Alessan and Tuero were clearing space on the trestle table, where we had been consuming our hasty meals. Dag and Fergal came up from the kitchen with the stew; Deefer brought plates and cutlery; Desdra had an armful of bread loaves and a huge wooden bowl full of fruit and cheeses, including the one forwarded by Lady Gana. I wouldn't have thought that that would have lasted past my bringing it here. Follen arrived with the cups and the cork pull.

Outside I could hear the subdued revelry of the others who had now been released from their unremitting labors of the past two days.

So it was only the eight of Alessan's loyal crew, an odd assortment to sit down at any table for any meal, but the knowledge of an almost impossible task timely completed made companions of us all, even Fergal. He refused a cup of wine with an insolence that I'm certain Alessan excused only because the boy had worked so hard. I'd wager that Fergal was as knowledgeable about such restricted treats as anyone else here. Fergal's sort is born knowing. In spite of his impudence and suspicious nature, I did like the boy.

That dinner was a very happy event for me. Alessan had taken the seat next to me, and I found his proximity strangely agitating. I tried to avoid touching him, but we were rather crowded on the benches, companionably so for everyone else. Since he was close to me, his arm resting on the table touched mine, occasionally his thigh brushed mine, and he grinned at me when Tuero said something particularly amusing. My heart raced, and I knew that my answering laugh was a little high and foolish. I was tired, I expect, over-reacting to the success we were celebrating, and very much unused to the fine white Benden wine.

Then Alessan leaned against me deliberately, touching my forearm with his fingertips. My skin tingled.

"What's your opinion of the Benden, Rill?"

"It's made me giddy," I replied quickly so that if he noticed my unusual behavior, he would know the reason, even though I wished to do nothing to lower myself in his good opinion.

"We all need to relax tonight. We all deserve it."

"You more than anyone else, Alessan."

He shrugged and looked down at his cup, his fingers idly twisting it around by the stem. "I do what I must," he said, speaking in a low voice. The others were involved in an argument.

"For Ruatha," I murmured.

He looked at me, mildly surprised at my rejoinder, his strange green-flecked eyes for once candid. "That's perceptive of you, Rill. Have I been such a hard taskmaster?"

"Not for Ruatha's sake."

"This-" he waved his hand at the cartwheels and empty jars "-has not been for Ruatha's sake."

"Oh, but it has. You said so yourself. Ruatha can do this much for Pern."

He gave a slightly embarrassed laugh. But his smile was kind, and I think he was pleased.

"Ruatha will be herself again! I know it!" It was safer to talk about Ruatha's future.

There was an odd expression in his eyes. "Then Oklina spoke to you? You'll consider staying on with us?"

"I would like to very much. The plague left me holdless."

His warm strong hand closed on mine, squeezing lightly in gratitude. "And do you have any special requirements, Rill, to cement our relationship?" There was a real gleam in his eye now as he tilted his head toward Tuero.

His question had come up so unexpectedly that I'd had no time to think about anything beyond the fact that my wish to remain in Ruatha had been granted. I stammered a bit, and then Alessan once again gripped my arm.

"Think about it, Rill, and tell me later. You'll find that I hold fair with my people."

"I'd be surprised to find aught else."

He grinned at my vehemence, poured more wine into my cup and his, and so we sealed the agreement in the traditional manner, though I had trouble swallowing past the lump of joy in my throat. Companionably, we finished bread and cheese, listening to the other conversations at the table and to the music outside.

"I wasn't so taken with that Master Balfor, Lord Alessan," Dag was saying, his eyes on the wine in his cup. He was speaking of the man presently designated to become Beastmaster at Keroon.

"He's not confirmed in the honor," Alessan said. I could see that he didn't wish to argue the matter right now, especially not in front of Fergal, who was always listening to matters he ought not hear.

"I'd worry who else might have the rank, for Master Balfor certainly hasn't the experience."

"He has done all that Master Capiam asked," Tuero said with an eye on Desdra.

"Ah, it's sad to realize how many good men and women have died." Dag lifted his cup in a silent toast, which we all drank. "And sadder to think of the fine bloodlines just wiped out. When I think of the races Squealer will walk away with and no competition to stretch him in a challenge. You say Runel died?" Dag went on. "Did all his bloodline go?"

"The oldest son and his family are safe in the hold."

"Ah, well, he's the right one for it. I'll just have a look at that brown mare. She could foal tonight. Come along, Fergal." Dag picked up his splinted leg and hauled it over the bench. For just a moment, Fergal looked rebellious.

"I'll come with you, if I may," I said, handing Dag the crutches. "A birth is a happy moment."

I needed some clean night air to fill my lungs, and clear my head of all that good Benden wine. And I also needed to be away from Alessan's stimulating presence.

My heart was very full and beating erratically. I did not wish to embarrass Alessan with an overflow of gratitude, or any outpouring declaration of loyalty, though I felt both emotions intensely. By a freak of chance I had achieved a miracle: I had been invited to stay at Ruatha Hold. Forget that the rationale was prosaic; merely that I was useful, they trusted me, and Ruatha had to rebuild itself. I tried not to let my mind refine upon anything that Oklina had said, much less what

Alessan had not. To be able to live at Ruatha was enough. I would be in his company, in the very place that had figured so often in my daydreams that had been the focus of all happiness. Ruatha could once again be a happy place, and I would have the totally unexpected opportunity to achieve that.

Fergal was with us in a moment. He would not allow me to monopolize his grandfather's company.

The night was clear, the air was fresh, and I could feel spring ascending from the warmer climes. We exchanged nods and smiles with the people sitting before the spit fire and along the cot line. I carried the glowbasket to light our path, though all three of us knew each flag, pebble, and dip to the beasthold by now. Fergal ran on ahead.

"If she hasn't foaled by midnight, she's not likely to," Dag announced. "We need another colt."

"Whose the foal's sire?"

"One of old Lord Leefs burthen stallions, so it's a colt we need to bring the line back. You're staying on with us, are you, Rill?" Dag was generally blunt.

I nodded, unable to answer, the joy and relief at my good fortune too precious to talk about. Dag gave a curt nod of his shaggy head.

"We have need of folk like yourself. Any more where you come from?" He gave me a sly sideways glance.

"Not that I know of," I replied amiably, hoping to still his curiosity. We hadn't had much time for personal conversations these past two-and-a-half days. Now I saw that I would have to develop an appropriate previous history.

"Not every woman can turn her hand to most chores in Hold and beasthold. Were you in a fair-sized place before the plague?"

"Yes, and it saddens me to think of those I lost." Maybe that prevarication would suffice.

Some ethic in me refused to tell untruths. I sighed. One day the truth surely would come out, but by then I hoped to be so well established at Ruatha that I would be forgiven origin as well as defection.

Fortunately we had arrived at the beasthold. Pol and Sal were there, sitting on bales across from the mare, maintaining a discreet watch. They were soaping a leather harness from the pile of tack collected from Gather detritus as worth saving. Pol handed Fergal a breastplate, green with mold. The boy glanced first at Dag, who nodded, and then grimaced at Pol, but he sat himself down and took up a cloth. Dag and I found bales to sit on and straps to clean.

"Bestrum's second son's looking for cropland," Pol said out of the contented silence.

"Is he?" Dag asked.

"Strong lad, good worker, got a girl in mind from the next Hold."

"Think Bestrum will mind after losing the others here?"

"Likes Alessan. Boy'd do better here and Bestrum knows it. Fair man, Bestrum."

"For sending you and Sal, yes, he is." Dag kept nodding in approval. Then he looked up at Pol, eyes narrowed in speculation. "How long can he spare you? I've got all those mares to put to our stallions and this broken leg…"

"You said I'd be helping you. Dag," Fergal complained, glaring at Pol, who ignored him.

"So you will, lad, but there's more than two of us can handle."

"Spring comes later in the mountains," Pol said.

"We be-n't needed a while yet," Sal added.

"Shall I ask Holder Bestrum when I write Lady Gana about her children?" I asked.

"That would be kind of you."

Tuero had established that Lady Gana's daughter had died in the first wave of deaths, nursed by the old servant, who also succumbed. Both were buried in the first of the stark mounds. The son had worked hard helping Norman, the field manager of the racing flats, before they, too, collapsed and died. They lay in the second great mound.

"She be mighty restless," Sal said, breaking the silence.

Fergal hopped up on the bale, stretching his neck and standing on tiptoe to see.

"She's birthing," he said with such authority that I had to smother a snicker.

Kindly, none of the men insulted him by looking, but we all heard the mare sink to the deep straw bedding. How clever of animals to improve on humans in this activity. We heard several grunts from the mare, no screams or long ululating cries, no weeping and complaining about her lot, or cursing the man who brought her to this condition.

"Hooves," Fergal announced in a low voice. "Head coming. Normal position."

I couldn't keep from glancing at Dag, who winked at me, nibbling at a thick straw.

"Ah," Fergal drawled. "Just one more push, my beauty, just one little effort on your part… ah, there."

We heard the mare's effort, the rustle and slither on the straw, and simultaneously the suspense was too much for us. We all reached the stall at the same time, peering over the partition as the mare began to lick the placenta from her foal. The head was free and the wet little body began to struggle, the overlong legs kicking with incredible strength for a creature so newly born.

"Hey, you're blocking my view," Fergal cried. He barged in beside Dag and hung onto the partition edge to pull himself up. "What is it? What is it?"

The foal was not helping us to sex it-its legs went out at angles to its body. It snorted in disgust at its helplessness. The mare nudged its rear, the little whisk of a tail. It repositioned its legs and made another stab at rising. Its legs did not cooperate, and it gave a high-pitched little squeal of frustration. Its feet scrabbled in the straw as the foal determined to find a purchase and rise.

It had skewed about now, and as it flicked its tail in annoyance, its sex was revealed. Or, to be more accurate, it revealed that it was not a female.

"A colt foal!" Fergal yelled, having paid more attention to that critical detail while we were all enchanted by the creature's sturdy independence. He flipped open the stall door and entered.

"What a marvelous creature you are! What a splendid girl! What a brave mare! What a fine son you have!" Fergal stroked the mare's nose and fondled her ears, his voice rich with approval. Then he began crooning to the colt, gently smoothing the neck to get it used to human touch. The newborn was far too involved in sorting out its legs to worry about any extraneous annoyance.

"He's got a gift for 'em, he has," Pol told us, sagely nodding his head.

"Delivered three in the hill meadows all by himself after I broke my leg."

"I'll tell Alessan," I said.

"The more good news he gets, the better it'll set with him," Dag said, which struck me, as I walked quickly back up the road, as cryptic for the blunt runner handler.

When I got back to the Hall, Oklina and Desdra were gone, presumably to bed, for it was after midnight now. Tuero had propped his elbows on the table and was gesturing expansively at Alessan, who had his head down on his arms.

"That's fair enough," Tuero was saying in a very amiable and conciliatory tone. "If a harper can't find out-and this harper is very good at finding things out-if a harper can't find out, he doesn't have the right to know. Is that right, Alessan?"

The answer was a long drawn-out snore. Tuero stared at him for a moment in mixed pity and rebuke, then pushed at the wine flask under his elbow and sighed in disgust.

"Has he finished it?" I asked, amused at the disappointment on Tuero's long face. His long, crooked-to-the-left nose twitched.

"Yes, it's empty, and he's the only one who knows where the supply is."

I smiled, remembering my trip with Oklina to the wine store. "The foal is a male, a fine strong one. I thought Lord Alessan would like to know. Dag and Fergal are watching to be sure it stands and suckles." I looked down at the sleeping Alessan, his face relaxed, peaceful. He looked younger, so much less strained. Behind the lids, did those pale green eyes still flicker with their habitual sadness?

"I know I know you," Tuero said.

"I'm not the sort of person a journeyman harper knows," I replied. "Get to your feet. Harper.

I can't allow him to sleep in this uncomfortable position and he needs a proper rest."

"Not so sure I can stand."

"Try it." I am tall, but not as tall as Tuero or Alessan, and not strong enough to shift Alessan's heavy frame by myself. I looped one lax arm over my shoulder and urged Tuero, who had managed to get upright, to take the other.

Alessan was heavy! And Tuero was not a very able assistant. He had to pull himself up the stairs by the handrail, which I sincerely prayed was firmly secured to the stonework. Fortunately, Alessan's rooms were at the head of the stairs. I hadn't been past the sitting room, still furnished with the doss-beds and bits and pieces just cast down in the press of other tasks. Tomorrow, or the next day, perhaps we could begin to freshen up the inner Hold.

I gave the heavy fur robe on Alessan's bed a yank, and it tumbled about my feet, briefly hindering us as we maneuvered Alessan's limp body. He collapsed on to the bed, feet hanging over the edge. Tuero clasped the bedpost, murmuring an apology as the bed-curtain tore a bit from its frame. I tugged off Alessan's boots, loosened his belt, bent his legs upward, and, with one hand on his hips, gave as mighty a push as I could and managed to get all of his long frame on the bed, on his right side.

"I wish…" Tuero began as I covered Alessan with the robe, tucking it in carefully above his shoulders so that if he rolled, he would not be cold. He smiled slightly in his sleep and my breath caught. "I wish…" Tuero stared at me with a suddenly blank face, frowned, and lowered his head to his chest.

"The doss-bed is still in the next room. Harper." Even with Tuero's drunken help, I doubt I could have assisted him to his room far down the corridor.

"Will you cover me up, too?"

Tuero's request was delivered in such a wistful tone that I had to smile. In two or three lurches, he had followed me into the next room. I picked up the blanket and shook it out. With a sigh of weary gratitude, he lay on his side.

"You're good to a drunken sot of a harper," he murmured as I covered him. "One day I'll rememmmm…" He was unconscious. Perhaps one day Tuero would remember that it was he who had coined the phrase "the Fort Hold Horde," which had been joyfully applied to my sisters and me. I suspect it would put a blight on our relationship when he did. But that was really his problem.

Mine was getting into my own bed, and not wishing that there was someone who might care to tuck me in.