Энн Маккефри: Beyond Between

“That’s the vaccine for your runnerbeasts and you and your holders, Thaniel. There should be a Healer coming if you don’t want to inject it yourself.”

The word “inject” made Thaniel shudder, but he took the package and thanked her.

“It must be done, better today, definitely tomorrow,” she said, and told him how to press the needlethorn into the fleshy part of the upper arm or thigh. She looked around at the large yard, as if she expected to see more people. Thaniel understood her curious glance.

“They’re all out, checking on yearlings,” he said, as he peered into the smaller of the two packets at the nest of carefully padded vials that would protect him and his family from the plague. “There’s exactly enough here for all in my holding.” He glanced up at her with gratitude and then realized that she was utterly exhausted. He remembered her as a very pretty woman, with short blond hair and deep-set eyes. Now her eyes were underscored by dark circles of fatigue, her body was listless, and her skin was tinged slightly gray, making her look far older than he knew her to be. It was Leri who was the old Weyrwoman at Fort, not Moreta. Maybe it was just the light of the setting sun shining on her face. But there was no question that the dragon was tired. Her skin drooped and sagged on her withers and haunches, and the light of life barely shone from the many facets of her eyes.

“Why are you doing a green’s work, Weyrwoman?” he asked, allowing his tone to be critical. Surely others less important than a gold could have delivered the vaccine to a small hold like his.

“I grew up in Keroon. I’ve been here to Waterhole Hold before. None of the Ista riders would know the area as well as I. Just use the vaccine as soon as you get back to your hold, Thaniel.” As she held the empty cup out to him to take, he noticed that her other hand was gripping the neck ridge in front of her as if to prevent her from plunging forward off the dragon. “That was just what I needed, Thaniel. My thanks.”

“And my thanks to you, Weyrwoman.” He stepped back, aware, even if she did not seem to be, that her queen was shaking under her.

“This is our last stop, Holder Thaniel,” she said as she stroked the old queen’s neck and smiled at him. “We have delivered all the vaccine on our run.” She looked again at the westering sun.

“Fly in safe skies, Weyrwoman. The light is surely fading fast.”

“One last jumpbetween, that’s all we have to take, Holth,” she said encouragingly and kneed the dragon to the right.

Thaniel heard the relief resonant in her voice and it seemed to give energy to the queen as well, for she sprang into the air and disappeared. Rather close to the ground, he thought, but who was he to judge? He took the cup and the packets of vaccine back to his hold, carefully placing the medicine in the center of the big table where his brood took their meals.

He poured himself another cup of klah, sweetened it, and felt a glow of pride for having served the Weyrwoman himself from a pot of his own brewing. He brewed a good cup: Everyone said so, and now the Weyrwoman had praised him, too. He sat down, work-worn hands around the warm pottery cup, easing his finger joints.

“Holth?” He said the name aloud now in surprise. Now that was odd! Not that everything about this day wasn’t unusual — like a queen dragon delivering a parcel — but there was nothing wrong with either his memory or his understanding of Hold and Weyr. Fort’s Weyrwoman, Moreta, rode Orlith, not Holth.

But Orlith had clutched recently, which might be one reason why Moreta wasn’t riding her own queen. Gold dragons tended to be very proprietary about their eggs. And the report was that the clutch numbered twenty-five, one of which was likely to be a queen.

Holth, now, was old Leri’s queen. He was sure of that, as she had been Weyrwoman ever since he had taken hold of his family’s land. He’d heard that she suffered badly from joint-ail and her physical condition had deteriorated past the point where she could lead the Weyr against Threadfall. And, if Moreta was riding Holth, maybe that was why the dragon had looked so pale and tired: separated from her lifelong rider who would never, he was sure, have pushed the old queen past her strength.

Just then the herd, which had settled back to grazing, spooked again, racing to the eastern side of the paddocks. Old Rusty gave another of his back-chilling shrieks as if a field snake were squeezing him. Oddly enough, the big flat-bodied plain snakes never frightened Rusty. He even seemed to enjoy trampling them to death under his large hooves. But this time Rusty’s shriek made Thaniel shudder, as if something terrible had happened that he didn’t understand.

Thaniel could see no dust in any direction to suggest that his children were on their way back home, or anything strange in the sky to account for Rusty’s shriek. He looked out at the wide, flat, shallow lake from which his hold derived its name. The lake never went dry — water bubbled up in the middle of it from some subterranean source — and so he was able to supply water to any who came looking for it. There was always the Keroon River, but the Waterhole was closer for some of his western neighbors. And everyone said the water was sweeter.

He shrugged off the sensation of malaise he had felt when Rusty shrieked and returned to his hearth to give the stew a stir; the pot was warming up nicely. He poured himself more klah and mused over the events of the day.

Ever the worrier, Thaniel clasped his fingers tighter around the cup. Why was Moreta doing delivery duty anyhow? And why was she riding another’s dragon? Holth, she had said, too clearly for him to mistake the name of the queen she rode.

Oh well, it was not his place to criticize queen riders. Maybe when the Healer came, he’d have an answer for that. He stirred the stew, inhaling the meaty odors with pleasure and eager for the return of his family so he could tell them what had happened.

Maynar, Jerra, Brailli, Destry, and Bill all arrived back just as twilight was beginning to fade. They were full of news of well-grown, healthy-looking yearlings, and had made good notes of landmarks so the smaller herds could be easily found. Thaniel explained how Moreta herself had brought the vaccine. His tale was greeted by amazement at the very idea of a queen rider delivering to their small hold, but after a brief, lively discussion, he drew their attention back to the packages of vaccine on the table. As soon as a Healer arrived to do the necessary, they would all be safe against the plague.

“Nonsense, Father,” said Jerra, “I will inject the vaccine. We’re not supposed to wait.” She added: “The plague could come on the next wind, and wouldn’t we look stupid with the medicine sitting on the table and useless to us.”

We wouldn’t look stupid, we’d just look dead, Thaniel thought. “We will eat, and then I will inject us all,” Jerra continued in an imperious tone. “I’ve seen how the Healer does it. Just jab it in the flesh of the arm.”

Maybe Jerra was a trifle domineering at times — so unlike her mother — but she always had the good of the family at heart, Thaniel reminded himself. So he nodded acceptance of her offer and the entire family set to eating, though no one looked away from the little parcel all during the meal.

Rusty’s shrill shriek nearly toppled Thaniel off his stool.

“Whatis going on?” he exclaimed. “That poor animal has been spooking all day.”

Maynar, closest to the window, jumped off his stool to look outside. Thaniel joined him.

“Visitors? And we’ve not enough supper left to fill the bottom of even the smallest bowl,” Jerra said, embarrassed.

“It’s more dragons,” Thaniel said. He took the glowbasket from its hook and, opening the door, strode forth to make proper welcome to their guests. He was astonished to see three dragons and riders, each with a passenger, descending to the ground.