In the early days on Pern, humans and dolphins had taken great pleasure in exploring the new seas, and those had been momentous years: the years of the life of the human Tillek whom all had revered. A dolphins’ bell had been sited at Monaco Bay, and land and sea beings had promised to answer the bell whenever it was rung. In those days the young dolphins had each had a human partner, to help with the exploration, to explore the seas and the deep abysses and the Great Currents, the Two Subsidences, Greater and Smaller, and the Four Upwellings. There had been courtesy, each to the other, land-and seafaring humans.
The Tillek always spoke respectfully of humans, and severely disciplined any calf who used the term “long-foot” or “finless.” When the silly fins complained that humans no longer kept their end of the ancient agreement, the Tillek would tell them, at her sternest, that that did not absolve dolphinkind from practicing theirs. Humankind had had to stop exploring Pern in order to guard the lands against the Thread.
This would set the silliest to clicking nonsense noises of amusement. Why didn’t humans eat Thread the way dolphins did?
The Tillek’s reply was that humans had to live on land, where Thread did not drown but attacked human flesh like bloodfish, sucking the life out of it. And not over a long period of time but immediately, so that all life was gone from the body in the course of several breaths—indeed, the flesh of the human body was completely consumed.
This was another matter that all dolphins must believe as surely as they believed Thread was good to eat.
Then the Tillek would speak History and tell of the Day Thread Fell on Pern, and how it fed on the flesh of humans. How the humans had battled hard with flame—a source of heat and light that coastal dolphins could recognize but had never felt—to burn Thread in the skies before it could fall on land and eat it, or on humans and humans’ animals and eat them. When all the things that humans had brought with them from Old Earth had been used up, the dolphins had helped the humans sail the many ships of the Dunkirk to the north where they could shelter in great caves, forsaking the pleasant warm southern waters. Kibbe had always loved hearing how the dolphins had helped the small ships make the long journey, despite storms and having to cross the Great Currents. There had been a dolphins’ bell at Fort, too, and there had been many good years of partnership for dolphins and partners. Until the Sickness.
Kibbe knew that all humans had not died: ships still sailed with human crews, and on land, people could be seen working—when it was not the Time of Thread.
Since Kibbe had had a partner, he knew of humans and their frailties and their skill at relieving the few illnesses to which dolphins were prone. But the young in his pod did not and questioned why dolphins should bother.
“It is tradition. We have always done as we do now. We will always obey the traditions.”
“Why do humans want to come into water? They cannot surrender themselves to the currents as we can.”
“Once humans swam as well as dolphins,” Kibbe would reply.
“But then we cannot walk on the land,” the calves would say. “Why would we want to?”
“We are of different flesh, with different needs: dolphins to the water, humankind to the land. Each to his own ways.”
“Why do humans not stay on land and leave the water for us?”
“They need the fish in the seas, as we do,” Kibbe would tell them. One had to tell the young the same words many times before they understood. “They need to travel to other land places, and the only way is by water.”
“They have dragons who fly.”
“Not everyone has dragons to fly.”
“Do dragons like us?”
“I believe they do, though lately we have seen few of them. Once, I was told, they would swim in the sea with us.”
“How can they swim with those great wings?”
“They fold them to their backs.”
“Odd creatures.”
“Many creatures of the land look odd to us,” Kibbe would say, undulating through the water gracefully and effortlessly beside the calves he was teaching.
Kibbe privately thought that humans were clumsy, awkward creatures, in the water or out. They were, however, slightly more graceful in the water, especially if they swam as dolphins did, by keeping their legs together. The way some of them thrashed about with their limbs moving separately wasted much energy.
Nowadays, humans did not follow the forms laid down by the ancestors of both species. Very few captains leaned over the side of their ship when dolphins appeared to accompany it and asked how the pod was faring and how the schools were running. Very few would give their escort a token fish for the assistance. Of course, it had been many seasons since dolphins had found and brought any drowned human boxes to their attention. As it had been many seasons since dolphineers had swum long distances with their partners. Sad the way tradition declined, Kibbe thought. Like not answering the bell.
He made one last pass in front of the wharf, eyeing the deserted structure. He tolled the bell one last time, thinking it sounded as mournful as he felt for the silence that had once been filled with human noises, the fine work they had done together, and the games they had played.
With a final flip of his tail, he turned and started his long journey to the Great Subsidence in the Northwest Sea to inform the Tillek that, once again, no one had answered the bell. The humans who sailed in the ships would not learn of the latest hazards the dolphins had dutifully come to report. Even the waters of Pern changed the land of Pern, but that was the natural way of things. Or so the Tillek said. The dolphins would keep to their patrols of the coastline, and when, if ever, a human listened to them, at least they could tell him what had changed, and save his ship from being broken on unexpected reefs or rocks; or warn him of where the Currents had altered and might be a hazard to the ships and the humans who sailed on them.
CHAPTER I
WHEN MASTERFISHER ALEMI came by Readis’s hold that morning, he found his fishing crony ready and waiting.
“I thought you’d never come, Uncle Alemi,” Readis said in a tone that was a thin line away from accusatory.
“He’s been on the porch,” Aramina told Alemi with a solemn, hiding-a-smile face, “for the last hour. He was up in dawn’s dark!” And she rolled her eyes at such eager anticipation.
“Uncle Alemi says the fish bite best at dawn,” Readis informed his mother condescendingly as he jumped down the three steps to take a firm hold of the callused hand of his courtesy uncle.
“I don’t know which excited him more: fishing with you, or being allowed to attend Swacky’s Gather this evening.” Then she waggled a finger at her small son. “Remember, you have to take a nap this afternoon.”
“I’m all ready to go fishing now” Readis said, ignoring the threat. “I got my snack”—he brandished the net sack laden with his water bottle and wrapped sandwich—“and my vest.” The last was added somewhat contemptuously.
“You will note that I’m wearing mine, too,” Alemi said, giving the trusting little paw a shake.
Aramina chuckled. “That’s the only reason he’s wearing his.”
“I swim good!” Readis announced in a strong, loud voice. “I swim as good as any shipfish!”
“That you do,” his mother agreed equably.
“Don’t I know that as taught you?” Alemi replied cheerfully. “And I can swim that much better and still use a vest in a small boat.”
“An’ in stormy weather,” Readis added to prove that he knew the whole lesson on safety vests. “My mother made mine,” he said proudly, puffing out his vested chest and grinning up at her. “With love in every stitch!”