He smiled briefly in pride. “And you can talk to any dragon!” he exclaimed.
Lorana crinkled her forehead in confusion. “What makes you say that?” she asked. “I’ve only talked with Talith.”
“While it’s true that a dragon can talk to anyone he chooses, only riders bonded to a dragon can address one-and usually only their own. No rider can talk to another dragon unless he can hear all dragons. Do you know how few can do that?”
Lorana could only shake her head.
“Torene is the only one I can think of,” J’trel said. “And I don’t think she had your way with them. It’s more like you feel them than talk to them.”
“You don’t?” Lorana asked in surprise. She looked out to Talith and smiled fondly at the blue. “I’m sorry, I-”
“Lass, when are you going to stop apologizing for your gifts?” J’trel interrupted her gently.
“It’s just-it’s just-” Lorana couldn’t continue.
“I see,” J’trel said to stop her from tearing herself apart. He grimaced. He had seen this behavior in many of the survivors of the Plague.
The Plague had come up suddenly twelve Turns earlier. Some said it had started at Nerat Tip, others said Benden Hold, still others said Bay Head. Wherever it had started, it had spread quickly, if sporadically, across all of Pern. While the Holds of Benden Weyr-Bitra, Lemos, and Benden-were hardest hit, no hold from southeasternmost Nerat Tip to northwesternmost Tillek Hold had been spared.
In less than six months the Plague had passed, leaving grieving holders and crafters to recover-and wonder why the dragonriders hadn’t helped out sooner. Help from the Weyrs had come, but only when the worst of the Plague had passed. J’trel knew why: He’d heard from his Wingleader, J’lantir, of the bitter arguments amongst the Weyrleaders over whether to aid the holders or preserve their own numbers to fight the Thread that was due to fall in the Turns to come.
In some places, one out of three holders had perished. In others, only the very youngest and the very oldest had been affected. Some outlying holds had been left empty, devoid of all life, and everyone had at least one close relative or friend who had succumbed to the Plague.
When the Plague had passed and the dragonriders had come to help, they’d found fields untended, men and women sitting listless and vacant-eyed. The few healers who hadn’t themselves fallen to the Plague explained that these people were in deep shock. It took days of comfort and caring for the survivors to recover.
Everyone felt the same nagging loss, the same wonderment mixed with shame at their survival-the sense that they were not worthy of their existence.
“What would you like to do?” J’trel asked her.
Lorana shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “I just don’t think that I’m ready…”
“Perhaps you aren’t,” J’trel agreed. “You could always go back to Lemos-”
“No!” Lorana exclaimed. She took a deep breath, then continued more calmly. “Please, Lemos holds too many sad memories-I don’t want to go back there.”
“Very well,” J’trel said. He pursed his lips. “Perhaps we should look at your skills…?”
“Well, I guess I’m not bad with broken wings,” Lorana allowed, with a glance toward the sleeping Grenn.
“And you can draw very well,” J’trel said. He yawned. “Perhaps we should sleep on it.”
When the sun woke him the next morning, J’trel was struck with an inspiration. He knew that Lorana would overcome her grief more easily if she had something to engage her attention, and he recognized that her eye and training put her in an excellent position to categorize the various species on Pern.
“No one’s ever drawn all the different creatures of Pern,” he told her. “You could be the first.”
Lorana was intrigued.
“But how can I get all over Pern?” she asked. “I couldn’t ask you to take me everywhere.”
“I shall have to ponder that,” J’trel said, admitting, “at some point I’ll have to get back to my own affairs.”
Then he stood up, slapping his legs with his hands. “But now, I think it’s time to see whether our charge is ready for his first flight.”
It was only a few moments before the fire-lizard came back down squawking loudly in complaint.
J’trel looked surprised. “I don’t understand.”
“I do,” Lorana said with a laugh. “We’ve been stuffing him so much, he’s too fat to fly!”
“J’trel?” Lorana’s voice drew the dragonrider back from his reverie.
She handed her book to him nervously, pointing at her latest sketch. J’trel could see that she’d done several in rapid succession.
“Is this Captain Tanner?” she asked, pointing to her latest effort.
“That’s him, indeed!” J’trel agreed enthusiastically. “Let’s go aboard, so you can meet him.”
Aboard, J’trel led her to the stern of the ship. Lorana’s eyes darted all about, taking in the activity and the sights with relish.
Suddenly they stopped.
Captain Tanner was opposite her. Next to J’trel was another seaman. Two others stood on either side of Captain Tanner.
Lorana was surprised to realize that Captain Tanner was the youngest of the men. She guessed that he was near her own age of twenty Turns. The other seamen all looked older, sea-grizzled, and not nearly as wholesome, wearing grubby clothes and frowns.
Captain Tanner’s honest brown eyes met hers in quiet appraisal.
“Here’s your ship’s healer, Captain Tanner,” J’trel said, “as promised.”
Tanner’s eyes widened as the words registered. He turned to Lorana, his expression bleak. “My lord J’trel did not mention that you were a woman.”
“Show him your drawings,” J’trel said.
Numbly, Lorana extended her sketchbook to Captain Tanner. Tanner took them politely and glanced down at the first drawing.
“Have you ever drawn a ship?”
“Just now from the docks,” she said. “If you turn the page…”
Captain Tanner did so and gasped in awe. The sailors near him drew closer for a better view.
“I’m also interested in the fish and the birds at sea,” Lorana said.
“That’s why Lorana wants to journey with you on the Wind Rider,” J’trel put in.
“And you’d draw them, as well?” one of the older men asked. Lorana nodded.
“And if we caught them, would you give us a drawing of that?” another asked. Before Lorana could answer, the third seaman guffawed, “As if you’d ever catch anything Minet! You and that old rod of yours!”
“Aye, a net’s the only proper way to catch fish!”
“There are no nets aboard Wind Rider, you git!” Minet replied. Lorana could tell that there was no real rancor among the three.
“Wind Rider is a schooner, Baror,” Tanner said. “She’s built for speed, not trawling.”
The seaman named Baror looked away from Tanner, face clouded. Lorana wasn’t sure she liked that look.
“They say it’s bad luck to have a woman aboard a ship,” Baror muttered. Beside him Minet nodded.
“I’d say it’s worse luck to travel without a healer,” J’trel observed. Captain Tanner nodded.
“Did you say the Wind Rider was built for speed?” Lorana asked, looking at the other ships in the harbor for comparison.
“Aye,” Minet told her, “Lord Holder Tillek-the Masterfisher himself-had her built here special, for fast runs between Thread.”
“If it ever comes,” the third seaman growled.
“It’ll come, Colfet, it’ll come,” Captain Tanner replied, casting an apologetic look toward J’trel.