Энн Маккефри: Beyond Between

“Waterhole Hold? Is this Waterhole?” cried a man.

“It is, and who might you all be?”

“I am MasterHarper Tirone, here with Kamiana, queen rider of Pelianth, and Desdra of the Healer Hall. And with us are A’dan, Tigrath’s rider, and D’say and Critith. We must know if Moreta came here sometime this afternoon!”

“She did, just at sundown, and left us the vaccine,” Thaniel replied, his voice carrying easily in the dark. “Come to the Hold. We have wine and klah.”

As he waved them toward him, all Thaniel could think of was that one of these people was from the Healer Hall and could possibly inject them, saving the entire family from Jerra’s well-meant but inexperienced attempts. Fortunately there was fresh klah being brewed, and Jerra and her siblings had found their hold’s precious glasses in which to serve a hastily uncorked bottle of wine: a drinkable red made in the Crom hills.

“You are kind, Thaniel, Jerra, but we have no time to spare, though we appreciate your hospitality,” Tirone said as he and the others entered the hold. “Only tell us what you know of Moreta and Holth.” His eyes, and those of his companions, were dull with grief.

Fear struck Thaniel to the heart, for Moreta and Holth should long have been back at Fort Weyr. Hours ago! And so he said.

“I gave her a cup of klah to help her on her way,” he added, hoping he had done the right thing.

“What did she say?” asked Kamiana.

“She thanked me,” Thaniel replied.

“Did she say anything as she and Holth went off?”

“Oh, aye, and I felt sorry for the poor queen. She was quite faded with fatigue and she looks so old, you know.” Thaniel worried that his observation was irrelevant. “She said, and my memory’s good, ‘Just one last jumpbetween, Holth, that’s all we have to take.’ I thought that was odd, as I’m sure Moreta’s queen is Orlith.” No one contradicted him.

“Surely she visualized Fort Weyr?” Desdra murmured to the others in the silence that had fallen. The visitors looked nervously at one another.

“But they would have been exhausted by the time they reached here,” Kamiana said. “Moreta had been riding all morning on Orlith. And riding all the stops here in Keroon would have been a lot for an old queen like Holth to do.”

Ever the Healer, Desdra pulled the smaller bundle of vaccine to her and looked inside. “Would you object to my giving you the injection?”

“No, no,” Thaniel said quickly. “We have no idea when our own Healer will drop by — we are out of the way of most paths — although my daughter said she’s seen the Healer do this sort of thing.”

If Jerra was upset to have to forgo the pleasure of inoculating her family, she gave no sign, hurriedly unbuttoning her sleeve and rolling it up.

“Thaniel, was Holth’s leap-off steady?” Kamiana asked anxiously.

“Oooh, I’d say steady enough, but they were both of them very tired, as I said.”

Kamiana breathed out a sigh. “Very tired. Maybe too tired to do that one more thing that a rider must always to do with her dragon, especially an unfamiliar one.”

“Moreta knew Holth very well,” MasterHarper Tirone protested.

Kamiana dismissed that. “As a friend, since Moreta was so often in Leri’s Weyr, butnot as a rider. I think that has made more of a difference than we thought it would.”

“And all the timing they must have done. It would be enough to scramble anyone’s wits,” Desdra said, pressing the little piece of cotton firmly to Jerra’s arm now that the deftly made injection was complete. The visitors lapsed into worried silence at her words.

Thaniel and his brood hardly noticed, however; their attention was fixed firmly on the needlethorn and the vaccine. Thaniel took Jerra’s seat close to the MasterHealer, his sleeve rolled up. Desdra pinched the skin of his arm and jabbed him. He winced just a trifle as the needlethorn punctured him and then sighed as the vaccine coursed into his arm. How lucky they all were that a Healer journeywoman had come with the others.

Once all the injections had been given, the visitors rose, apologizing for their haste and thanking the holders for their hospitality and time.

“I think they have diedbetween,” Thaniel heard Kamiana say unsteadily as he lit their way back to the dragons. “The dragons have keened them.”

“Such a waste,” Master Tirone said. “You must protect others from the same fate, Kamiana.”

“Never fear. The Weyrs will take immediate steps. I just can’t understand why an experienced rider like Moreta was unable to visualize her destination. Or why Holth wouldn’t automatically head for Leri. Their mission was done.”

“Where do we go now?” Tirone asked quietly, settling himself behind the blue rider.

“Back to Fort Hold, for you must be exhausted yourselves, Master Tirone, Journeywoman Desdra,” Kamiana said. “I would see you safely back to your Halls.”

As the dragonriders clearly spoke their destination, the dragons rose from the ground. In a moment they winked out, goingbetween, leaving Thaniel alone with the rising moon and the shrieking runnerbeasts.

The night after Moreta disappeared, Thaniel was alone at Waterhole Hold. His children had been out vaccinating their runnerbeast stock and would be late returning home. Suddenly Rusty shrieked louder than ever. Wondering if a wherry was attacking his old runnerbeast, Thaniel cautiously drew back the curtain to look out the window. Rusty was the only beast upset; all the others were calm, although curious about Rusty’s behavior. Thaniel wondered if Rusty was just getting too old, and was perhaps a little addled in the head. He might have to put the old runner down.

A strange shiver of apprehension palpably shook Thaniel. Gripped by a huge sense of terror, he dropped the curtain. Breathing hard, heart pounding, he went to the door, opened it a crack, and peeked out. He saw nothing untoward save for the terrified Rusty. He opened the door wide and stepped out into the night.

“Who is it? Who goes there?” Thaniel called out, walking toward the paddock.

Rusty shrieked again and he turned toward the beast.

“Stupid beast. There’s no one here.” He swept his hand, indicating empty space.

Rusty continued shrieking, showing the whites of his eyes and flaring his nostrils as he galloped around the enclosure in terror.

“Shut your bawling!” Thaniel shouted loudly at Rusty. “The riders looking for Moreta have all gone back to their Weyrs. There’s not a sign of a dragon in the sky.”

Suddenly Thaniel felt as if he’d been touched on the arm by a shaft of sheer ice. He pulled his arms to his body, muttering quietly, “What was that to make me shiver as if this were midwinter and me catching a cold?” And then more loudly, as a horrifying thought hit home, he said, “Am I getting the plague after all?”

Trembling violently, Thaniel turned and ran, terrified, to his hold, slamming the door shut behind him.

Some time later, Jerra, Maynar, and the others returned to the Hold and found their father noticeably distraught. He was sitting by the fire on the edge of his seat; his hands, palms together, were clenched tightly between his knees.

“What’s wrong, Da?” Jerra asked, concern stamped on her face.

“It’s nothing, nothing.”

“Did you see something?” Maynar asked.

“I saw nothing,” Thaniel replied sharply, and stared intently into the fire.

The following day two dragonriders visited Waterhole to check that all the holders and runnerbeasts had, indeed, been vaccinated and that no one had suffered any ill effects from the injection. Their arrival was, of course, punctuated by Rusty’s shrieks of terror. Assuring them that all in his hold had been injected by none other than Journeywoman Healer Desdra, Thaniel wanted to add that the only ill effect was his old runnerbeast shrieking from the appearance of dragons every day. But he held his tongue instead, conscious of the grief the dragonfolk endured. He couldn’t help but think that he was the last person to have seen Moreta and Holth. That thought preyed on his mind and he grew anxious.