Anne McCaffrey: Dragondrums

Then it occurred to him that perhaps these weren’t Southerners, but a work party from the north. He knew that Master Oldive preferred southern grown herbs; that was why Sebell had made that trip not long ago to bring back sacks and sacks of medicinal things. Surely he’d brought enough or maybe this was a new arrangement with the Oldtimers, who surely couldn’t object to the Healer.

But northern ships had many-colored sails; Menolly had told him that seaholders prided themselves on the intricacy of their sail patterns. Plain red sail did suggest Southerners, whom everyone knew broke northern tradition whenever possible. Also those work groups were moving with the familiarity of much practice.

Piemur grinned to himself. One thing sure, he wasn’t going to announce his presence right now. Sure as eggs hatched, he’d get himself included in harvesting numbweed. He’d just take what he needed and work around them, through the forest, until he got to the seashore, well east of them. And well away from the stink of boiling numbweed.

So he made a neat bundle of his woven mat and tied it with a vine thong, ignoring the chittering of Farli, who disapproved of his activity and of the fact that he was ignoring her gradually more insistent requests for food. He stared at the walls of his little shelter and decided that there was just the chance that someone might hunt in the forest and discover his rude hold. He dismantled the sheets of woven grass and hid them in the thick leaves of nearby bushes. He couldn’t remove the clearing he’d made, but he scuffed up the tamped-down earth and scattered dead fronds here and there so that a casual glance would make it appear a natural clearing. He silenced Farli’s now-urgent complaints by heading for the river. His fish trap, tied to his sunken Thread-tree, held more than enough to feed her amply. He gutted what remained after she was sated, and wrapping them in broad leaves, added that to his bundle. He hesitated a few moments before tossing the fish trap back into the water. Surely no one would notice it unless someone tripped over the silly thing, which seemed highly unlikely, and the fish it captured wouldn’t suffer. He’d leave it, and then he’d have ample eating when he returned here.

He made his way through the forest, skirting the wide plain, pausing to drink when he crossed a small contributory stream and to let Stupid rest awhile. The little fellow’s short legs tired quickly, and while the creature was no great weight, he did seem to get heavier on those occasions when Piemur took pity and carried him awhile. Farli flitted ahead of them and behind, venturing up through the trees into the sky occasionally, twittering a scold that Piemur didn’t understand but assumed was directed at the invaders.

“At least, you’re not afraid of them,” said Piemur, when she returned to her perch on his shoulder, begging caresses. She leaned against his finger as he stroked her neck, murmuring sweetly for him to continue, and she twined her tail lightly about his neck. “If only they weren’t making numbweed, I’d be willing to introduce us all.”

Or would he? Piemur wondered.

It would have been so simple to go down and find out if they were Southerners. Imagine their surprise when he wandered in, as easy as you please. They’d be startled, they would! And amazed when he told them his adventures here in the south. Yes, but then they’d want to know how he’d got here, and he wasn’t at all certain he ought to tell the exact truth. Surely it wasn’t unusual for a bold holdless man to try to sneak south, particularly if he had merited his Holder’s displeasure! Piemur didn’t have to mention that he’d acquired Farli in the North and certainly not that he’d removed her from Meron’s hearth in Nabol Hold. Southerners would naturally assume that he’d found the little queen fire lizard here in some beach clutch. Stupid’s acquisition posed no problem at all. He could tell the truth there. Piemur could always pretend that he didn’t know where the Southern Hold was, and had been endlessly searching. Yes, that was it, he could say he’d stolen a small boat and had had an absolutely ghastly trip south, which was only the truth. Yes, but where had he sailed from? Ista? That was too small a hold to steal a boat from. Igen? Maybe even Keroon? The Southerners were not likely to check with anyone…

“Hello! What are you doing sneaking around here?”

A tall girl stepped into his path, blocking his way. On one shoulder was a bronze fire lizard, on the other a brown, both eyeing Farli intently. She let out an apologetic squak, as startled as Piemur. As she also dug her talons into his shoulder and tightened her tail about his neck, all that came out of his mouth was a choked cry of astonishment. A quick chirp from the little bronze caused Farli to relax her tail. Piemur turned his head toward her, annoyed that she hadn’t warned him.

“It’s not her fault,” said the girl with a wide smile, easing her weight to one leg as she enjoyed Piemur’s discomfiture. She had a pack strapped to her shoulders; a belt with a variety of pouches, some empty; dark hair wrapped with a band tightly about her head so strands wouldn’t tangle in branches; and thick-soled sandals on her feet as well as shin guards tied about her lower legs. “Meer,” and she indicated the bronze, “and Talla know how to be silent when they wish. And when they realized that she was already Impressed, we all wanted to see who had got a gold. I’m Sharra from the Southern Hold.” She held out her hand, palm up. “How’d you get down here? We didn’t see any wreckage as we came along the coast.”

“I’ve been here three Threadfalls already,” said Piemur, crossing her palm quickly in case she was the sort of person who sensed when someone lied. “Landed up near the big lagoon.” Which was also partially true.

“Near the big lagoon?’ Sharra’s face expressed concern. “Then you weren’t alone? The others were killed? That lagoon is treacherous in high tide. You don’t see the outside shelf of rocks until you’re right on them.”

“I guess being little, I sort of slid over okay.” Piemur felt it was safe to seem sorrowful.

“That’s all past history for you, lad,” said Sharra, her deep, musical voice compassionate. “If you survived the southern seas, and three Threadfalls holdless, I’d say you belong in the south.”

“I belong here?” Suddenly the prospect heartened Piemur. Sharra was as perceptive as the Harper. The thought of being permitted to stay on in this beautiful land, walking where no one else, maybe not even Sharra, had ever trod before, made Piemur’s heart tip over.

“Yes, I’d say you belonged,” said Sharra, wide mouth curled in a smile. “So, what name shall I call you by?”

If she hadn’t given him the option to state a name, any name, not necessarily his own, Piemur might have prevaricated. Instead, he answered her with a grin. “I’m Piemur of Pern.”

Sharra threw back her head and laughed at his audacity, but she also laid her arm about his shoulders and gave him a companionable squeeze.

“I like you, Piemur of Pern. What have you named your little queen? Farli? That’s a pretty name, and is that little runner beast a friend of yours, too?”

“Stupid? Yes, but he’s just joined us. His mother was threadscored last Fall, but he keeps up with us—”

“Keeps up with you? You mean, you saw the ships land?”

“Sure. Saw ’em going to harvest numbweed, too.”

Sharra laughed again at the intense disgust in his tone, and Piemur found himself grinning at the infectiousness of her humor. “And that decided you to make tracks away from wherever you were? Can’t blame you, Piemur of Pern.” Her eyes glinted with humor and she added in a conspiratorial tone. “I make it my special job to gather other leaves and herbs that grow in this area. Generally takes me the entire time they’re rendering the numbweed.”