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.
Master Zist’s smile faded. “Yes, if that’s your choice.”
Kindan’s face screwed up in anguish. “I can’t let the others down,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll love being a wherhandler and I’ll get to stay with my friends.”
“There is that,” the Harper said. “If you became a Harper, you’d have to apprentice in the Harper Hall and there’s no telling where you’d be posted.” He nodded to himself. “You’re right to see the good in the situation.”
Kindan nodded glumly.
Kindan was awoken roughly the next morning. Zist was shaking him, a pitcher of cold water in his other hand.
“Up now, lad!” the Harper said gruffly. Kindan rushed out of bed, looking for his clothes. “No time for it, just throw this on.” Zist threw a cloak at him. “And get your boots on.”
Kindan worked as fast as he could but he was fumble-fingered in his excitement.
Master Zist growled at him, “All haste, too much waste! Take a breath and try again.”
As soon as he’d finished lacing up his boots, Master Zist rushed the two of them out of the cottage and up toward the beacon heights.
It was pitch black outside and Kindan only made it up the cliff without stumbling because he knew the trail well enough to walk it in his sleep.
Three figures greeted them at the top by the beacon. And one was huge. Kindan looked up and up and finally found the face of the dragon. It peered down at him as though he were a mere trundlebug, blew a breath out its nostrils that turned to steam in the cold morning, and then looked away.
“Here they are,” Natalon said. “This is Master Zist, lately of the Harper Hall, and Kindan, the son of our late wher-watcher.”
The man whom Natalon addressed yawned pointedly. “You set a beacon for this?”
Kindan sensed Master Zist tense angrily beside him.
“We had hoped that we could ask for the hospitality of transport,” Natalon replied. “We give fair tithe.”
“The beacon and dragon pennant are for emergencies, Miner,” the dragonrider responded, beckoning to his dragon and preparing to depart.
“Lord—?” Zist called urgently, stopping the irritated dragonrider in his tracks.
“I am Lord D’gan, Harper, lately Weyrleader of Telgar Wyer,” the dragonrider replied, drawing himself up to his full height.
“We are most honored, Lord D’gan,” Zist said, sketching a courtly bow. Hastily, Kindan copied him as best he could. “Camp Natalon is a prosperous Camp with good prospects, my Lord. We have found much coal here which is greatly in demand—”
“Not by dragons or their riders, Harper,” D’gan interjected. “If you were mining firestone, it would be a different matter. I care little if Holders are a bit cold this winter.”
“We are mining Smithcoal, my Lord,” Natalon said. “Our coal is of such quality that the MasterSmith himself has laid in a large order for it.”
D’gan cocked an eyebrow at him. “I am very pleased for the MasterSmith.”
“My Lord,” Zist said, and Kindan could see signs of restrained anger in the old Harper’s face, “that coal is used to make the steel that binds your fighting straps, strengthens your helmet, and buckles your belt.”
“I am glad to hear it,” D’gan replied. “We have had many complaints on the quality of steel coming from the Smith Hall. Now I know the source.” He moved toward his dragon.
“My Lord!” Zist called. “Of old the dragonriders of Pern have been courteous in responding to the just requests of the Holders and Crafters.”
D’gan stopped and whirled back, his hand on the dagger at his side. “Courtesy is much lacking in this Camp. Of old the dragonriders have been given more respect and have not been asked to provide frivolous thrill rides. Do not presume on my courtesy anymore!”
Kindan drew in an outraged gasp, covering his mouth quickly to hide his gaff.
But both Natalon and the Harper had also reacted to the accusation.
“Thrill ride?” Master Zist repeated, appalled, staring at D’gan.
“It is indeed to redress a serious problem at this Camp. We have no watch-wher, and our mining efforts cannot continue without the aid of one,” Natalon explained.
“We are to collect a new egg from Master Aleesa and time is of the essence,” the Harper went on.
“Oh.” There was studied insult in D’gan’s manner as he inspected the three in front of him.
“Our Dask died leading us to a tunnel collapse,” Kindan was bold enough to say.