Энн Маккефри - Dragon’s Kin

“Dragons aren’t so big that they couldn’t land here, Natalon,” the old Harper reassured him. “Only the bronzes or queens would have problems, and then they’d probably land up on the heights near the beacon.”

“Would the dragonriders walk all the way down from there?” Natalon asked, somewhat astonished at the notion of a dragonrider walking the half mile that he made all the camp youngsters take at a run.

“I don’t see why not,” Zist responded with a grin. “They do have feet.”

Natalon glowered at him, but the old Harper was unrepentant and kept grinning until finally Natalon smiled. “I suppose they do at that.”

Zist slapped the Miner on the shoulder. “They do.”

“What if they don’t come soon? What if it’s too late?”

With a sigh, Zist answered, “When you get to my age, Natalon, you learn to take things as they come.”

Natalon laughed. “When I get to be your age, Master Zist, I’m sure I’ll be able.”

That night Kindan noticed that Master Zist was unusually dour when it came time for bed. Kindan himself had been in equal parts both depressed and elated for the last two days—sometimes depressed because a dragon hadn’t yet come, sometimes elated because a dragon hadn’t come; sometimes elated that he had been chosen, and a whole year of coal traded, to get a watch-wher egg, sometimes depressed for the same reason.

“A lot’s being asked of you, lad, you know that, don’t you?” Zist said to him.

Yes.

“Your father taught you about watch-whers, right?” Zist asked.

Kindan shook his head mutely.

“You know how to hatch ’em, how to feed them, and how to rear them, right?”

Again Kindan shook his head. “My father used to say that I’d never be expected to do such things. I was too little to train, the older boys said.”

Master Zist closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, he smiled. “Well, you’re a bright lad, I’m sure you’ll find yourself able.”

“I won’t let down my Hold—er, Camp,” Kindan said, despite his fears.

Master Zist pulled the blankets farther up and tucked them around Kindan. “I’m sure you won’t, lad,” he said firmly. Kindan noticed that the Harper had a troubled look in his eyes, something others likely wouldn’t have seen.

“Is something wrong?”

Master Zist raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You’ve gotten far too good at reading my moods, youngster,” he said. He took a breath and let it out with a sigh. “There is a problem, maybe only a slight problem, but it has me concerned.”

Kindan gave him an encouraging look.

“Maybe it’s just that I’ve mixed feelings about all this,” the Harper muttered to himself. He looked at Kindan and said, “You know if you do this, you’ll not be my apprentice much longer?”

Kindan nodded solemnly. The thought had been on his mind for the past several days. He was torn between his duty to the miners—Natalon and Zenor in particular—and his own dream of being a Harper. He had held the fancy that perhaps he could do both and hadn’t tried to examine the idea too closely because, in his heart, he knew the idea was unrealistic.

“Well...” The Harper took a breath and plunged on. “Our meeting with Master Aleesa is set for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Kindan sat bolt upright. “But what if a dragon-rider doesn’t come? What if they won’t take us?”

Master Zist made soothing motions with his hands. “It may still turn out all right, even so,” he said.

“How?”

Master Zist frowned, thoughtfully. “This is a craft secret, understand?”

Kindan paused, then nodded solemnly.

“And not a harpercraft secret, a—I suppose you’d call it a dragoncraft secret,” the Harper explained. He continued, “You’ve proved you can keep your secrets, but this one especially you must not reveal.”

Master Zist took another breath and plunged into his tale. “Long ago, when I was a journeyman, I was posted to Benden Weyr,” he said. Kindan’s eyes widened in amazement. “I made many a good friend while I was there. And used all of the poor healing skills I’d ever had and learned more.”

He gave Kindan a frank look. “I was not all that good at healing—and still am not—so I was posted to copy their Records.”

He smiled at his memories of long ago. “There was a Hatching the first sevenday I was there,” he said.

Kindan couldn’t help but gasp at the thought. Master Zist grinned at him and nodded, confirming that the event was just as amazing as Kindan had imagined.

“Twenty-five eggs on the Hatching Ground,” the Harper continued. “And the last was slow to crack. Big, but slow to crack. The dragonriders said that it was probably a bronze and they were worried about it. The remaining Candidates were all gathered about it and I was high up in the viewing stands so I couldn’t see all that went on, but finally the crowd opened up and one lad—the first one to greet me when I arrived at the Weyr—Matal, Impressed the bronze.”

Kindan realized that he’d been holding his breath and let it out slowly, so as not to distract the Harper.

“I was so excited for my friend—M’tal, now—that I let out a loud cheer,” the Harper said, his face going red. “The sound must have echoed over by the hatchling, because it startled and caught its wing in its claws. Then it really started to get frantic and it seemed to take forever before M’tal and the others could calm it down. When they did, I could see that the dragon’s wing was terribly mangled.”

Kindan let out a gasp of shock and sympathy.

“It was all my fault,” Zist said bitterly.

” ‘Get help!’ the Weyrleader shouted. I ran out as quickly as I could, hoping to find the Weyr healer only to run full tilt into someone coming the other way.

“I didn’t recognize him. He pulled me up. He had a sack of supplies. ‘It’ll be all right,’ he told me. ‘It wasn’t your fault. Do you want to help fix it?’ ”

” ‘Please,’ ” I said. He grabbed my arm and spun me around, back to the Hatching Ground. Together we approached the wounded dragon—Gaminth—and M’tal.

“He had me put numbweed on the gashes. He had all the supplies that were needed, some thick fabric on which to lay the torn wing, and fine needles to sew the torn pieces together. We were done in no time.

” ‘He’ll be all right now,’ the man said. M’tal looked up and started to say his thanks but stopped, looking from the other man to me and back again, gasping.

” ‘You!’ M’tal exclaimed. I didn’t understand at the time, thinking that he recognized the healer.

” ‘And you,’ the man said with a smile. ‘I’ve got to be going.’ When I made to follow him, he held up a hand to stop me. ‘I can find my way out, thank you.’ And he left.

“Gaminth healed just fine, and M’tal has since gone on to become the Weyrleader of Benden Weyr,” the Harper finished.

“And who was the man, then? Why did Lord M’tal say ‘You!’?” Kindan asked.

Master Zist smiled. “Ah, there’s a song in that answer,” he said. Kindan raised his eyebrows. “I won’t sing it for you, but I’ll tell you the title. It’s called ‘When I Met Myself Healing.’ ”

Kindan mouthed the title to himself and looked up sharply at the Harper. “You met yourself? The healer was you? But older? How?”

“It’s a craft secret,” the Harper replied. “But maybe we can get the dragonriders to do it for us again.”

Kindan pursed his lips in thought. “Dragons go between from one place to another—can they go between times?”

Master Zist smiled and nodded. “You’ll make a good Harper.”

“But I’m going to be a wherhandler now,” Kindan answered sourly.