M’tal circled behind her and hugged her tightly against him. K’tan nodded, uneasy in the presence of their intense emotions.
“Then let’s hope that Lorana feels as needed,” he said softly. He looked up at Salina, his lips showing the hint of a smile. “I’m glad you decided to stay-it would have been much harder without you.”
M’tal felt Salina stiffen in his arms and, through years of intimacy, correctly interpreted her gratitude at the healer’s words. The ex-Weyrleader eyed the healer, however, with the eyes of a leader of dragonmen.
“You need to take your own advice, K’tan, and get some rest.”
“Lorana was the last of the charges I needed to check on,” K’tan said.
“One of us will stay with her,” Salina promised.
She will not hear us but she knows we are here for her, Gaminth told M’tal.
“Drith says the dragons are doing what they can to comfort her,” K’tan added.
“Gaminth also,” M’tal said. He gestured K’tan out the door. “Get some rest, Healer.”
K’tan, intent on rousing Kindan from his depression, paused outside the Benden Weyr harper’s door at the sound of the harper singing:
Kindan paused, intent, trying to remember the next words. With a growl of disgust and a ragged jangle on the guitar’s strings, he threw the instrument onto his bed.
“Harper, you sing a mournful tune,” K’tan said loudly as he entered Kindan’s rooms.
Kindan turned to face the Weyr healer, scowling and shaking his head. “I can’t remember it!”
“Is it so important?” K’tan asked mildly.
Kindan bit off a quick retort and paused before giving K’tan a thoughtful answer. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It just seems to fit the times we’re in.”
“How could anyone know about the times we’re in?” K’tan mused, shaking his head. “I think it’s just a song. Perhaps it was written after a fever or plague-”
“But that’s just it!” Kindan protested. “There hasn’t been a fever or plague that affected dragons-you know that. We’ve looked through all the Records.”
“Perhaps it was…” He trailed off as he caught sight of Kindan’s expression.
The harper bounded beyond him, grabbing the guitar back from the bed, and shouting, “That’s it!”
Triumphantly, he strummed and sang:
“I remember now, I remember it all.”
With a wince of pain, the Benden Harper continued:
“That’s great, Kindan,” K’tan told him, clapping him on the back. “That’s marvelous. I’m glad you’ve remembered the song.” He paused. “But what does it mean?”
Kindan’s cheerful look faded. “I don’t know,” he admitted sadly. “Only… I’m sure it means something.” He frowned in thought.
The drums on the watch heights sounded sharply and Kindan held up a hand for silence as he strained to hear the incoming message.
“What is it?” K’tan asked, not knowing the drum codes as well as the harper.
“It’s a message from Fort Weyr,” he said. “They flew Threadfall last night over Ruatha and the Weyr itself.”
Still listening, the harper gasped and smiled, eyes alight. K’tan bottled his curiosity up until the Weyr drummer sent back his acknowledgment.
“And?” he asked then.
Kindan smiled at him. “And the watch-whers fought the fall,” he said, taking delight in the way the healer’s eyes grew wide with astonishment.
“Nuella led them,” Kindan went on cheerfully. “Looks like Wind Blossom’s creatures have more of a purpose-”
“What?” K’tan asked, catching the surprised look on Kindan’s face.
“The song,” Kindan said slowly, in amazement. “I remember the title.”
K’tan urged him to go on, but Kindan was transfixed in thought.
Finally, the healer said, “The title, Kindan, what is it?”
Kindan shook himself out of his musings and gave K’tan an apologetic look.
“ ‘Wind Blossom’s Song.’ ”
“I said get out!” Tullea shouted for the third time at Tilara. “I’ll call you when you’re needed.”
With a worried look toward Lorana, Tilara retreated from Tullea’s anger.
“It’s not like she needs a whole guard,” Tullea muttered to herself as she heard Tilara’s feet hasten down the corridor. “Probably going to tell Mikkala. Well, let her. I’m the Weyrwoman. Not even Salina can criticize me.”
She looked down at Lorana, lying on her back, motionless, in her bed.
“I tried to keep you away,” Tullea said, almost apologetically. “But you had to do it your way. Wouldn’t tell anyone. The first we hear is you and your dragon shrieking in the middle of the night.”
Her voice rose as her anger grew. “You didn’t deserve that dragon, you know? You were so sure, so certain, so willing to risk everything. You deserved to lose her, do you hear? You deserved it!” Tullea realized that she was shouting at the top of her lungs into Lorana’s ear and pulled back, both appalled at her own behavior and amazed by Lorana’s unresponsiveness.
“You can’t die,” Tullea said. “Salina was with her Breth for ten times more Turns than you had months with your dragon, and she didn’t die.
“You can’t die. You’re not allowed, do you hear me? It wouldn’t be right. You’re not allowed, you’re not…”
Tullea found herself on her knees at Lorana’s bedside, cradling the woman’s head in her arms, her tears falling onto Lorana’s hair like rain.
“Please don’t die,” Tullea whispered, begging. “Please.”
For all his Fort riders’ work, K’lior was certain that some Thread had fallen through to the ground in the night Fall over Southern Boll. He shuddered at the thought of what the ground might look like in the morning.
Take us to the Hold, Rineth, K’lior said. I must speak with the Lord Holder.
Contrary to K’lior’s fears, Lord Egremer was effusive with his praise of the dragons and their riders.
“We’ll have ground crews out at first light, I promise,” Egremer said. He looked nervously northward, toward where Thread had fallen. “How bad is it, do you suppose?”
K’lior shook his head. “We did our best,” he said. “But the warm weather meant that every Thread was alive. The watch-whers were overwhelmed and we’d never trained with them, so our coordination was lousy.”