«I sincerely trust not but I cannot see my hand in front of my nose.» Then the green dragon daintily backwinged to land Moreta in the same spot by the Lower Caverns from which she had taken off. The fog rolled in a huge spiral as Malth spurted back to her weyr.
Not sweatroot, Moreta was thinking, to bring a fever out of a body. Featherfern to reduce it. Aconite to ease the heart? That bad a fever. And fellis juice for aches. Sh'gall had not reported aches in Capiam's symptoms. She wished she'd had a chance to talk to Berchar. Maybe she should see if K'lon was awake.
«He sleeps,» Oriith said. «You should sleep awhile.»
Moreta did feel weary now that the stimulus provided by Sh'gall's startling announcement had worn off. What had begun as a mist was now an impenetrable fog. She could get lost trying to find the infirmary.
«You can always find me,» Orlith assured her. «Turn slightly to your left and all you'll have to do is walk straight toward me. I'll have you back in the weyr safely.»
«I'll just have a few hours' sleep,» Moreta said. She needed the rest that had been interrupted by Sh'gall's precipitous entry. She'd done what she could for now, and she'd check on her medicines before she went up the stairs to her weyr. She made the slight left turn.
Now just walk straight,» Orlith advised her.
That was far easier for the dragon to say than for Moreta to do. In a few steps she couldn't even distinguish the bright yellow light from the Lower Caverns; then Orlith's mental touch steadied her and she walked on confidently, the mist swirling in behind her and pushing away before each time she raised a knee.
K'lon had recovered; her mind dwelled on that thought. Even if holders died, K'lon the dragonrider had survived. Sh'gall had been very tired, hadn't slept when he burst in on her, perhaps he had not got all his facts straight. No, S'peren had said something about illness. Fall was tomorrow and she'd had such a good day, with the exception of the runnerbeast's collapse.
«Don't fret so,» Orlith advised. «You have done all you can with so few people awake to tell. There is sure to be something in the Records. Leri will find it.»
«It's the fog, silly. It's depressing. I feel as if I'm moving nowhere forever.»
«You are near me now. You are almost at the steps.»
And soon enough for Moreta to be wary. She kicked the bottom step with her right foot. Behind her the mist surged. She found the wall with one hand and then the frame to the storeroom. The tumblers of the lock were so old that Moreta often wondered why they bothered to use it. When the Pass was over, she'd speak to one of the mastersmiths. Now she didn't even need light for there was a click as the tumblers fell into place. She heaved at the massive door to start it swinging on its hinges. Even the fog could not mask the compound odors released by its opening. Moreta reached up and nipped open the glowbasket, her senses pleasantly assailed and reassured by the pungent spicyness of stored herbs. As she moved farther into the room, she could identify the subtler fragrances and smells. She didn't need to uncover the central light; she knew where the febrifuges were stored. To her eyes, the well-filled shelves and the bundles of featherfern drying on the rack looked more than adequate even if everyone in the Weyr were to come down with illness. She could very faintly hear the furtive slither of tunnel snakes. The pests had their own ways in and out of solid rock. She must get Nesso to put down more poison. Aconite was to the right, a square glass container full of the powdered root. Plenty of willow salic, and four large jars of fellis juice. Sh'gall had mentioned a cough. Moreta turned to those remedies: tussilago, comfrey, hyssop, thymus, ezob, borrago. More than enough. When the Ancients had made the Crossing, they had brought with them all the medicinal herbs and trees with which they had eased illness and discomfort. Surely some would answer the problem of the new disease.
She walked back to the door, closed the glow, resting her hand a moment on the door frame, smooth from generations of hands resting just as she did. Generations! Yes, generations that had survived all kinds of bizarre happenings and unusual illnesses, and would survive this one!
The fog had not abated, and she could see the staircase as only a darker shadow. Her foot kicked the first riser.
«Be easeful,» Oriith said.
«I will.» Moreta's right hand crept along the wall as she ascended. She seemed to be walking upward into nothing until her lead foot discovered the safety of the next step and the mist churned about her. But Orlith kept murmuring encouragement until Moreta laughed, saying she was only a few steps from her weyr and her bed. For all of that, she nearly missed her step at the landing for the light from her weyr was diminished to a feeble glow.
The weyr was noticeably warmer. The golden dragon's eyes gleamed as Moreta crossed to caress her, scratching Orlith's eye ridges. She leaned gratefully against Orlith's head, thinking that Orlith exuded an odor that was a combination of all the best herbs and spices.
«You are tired. You must get some sleep now.»
«Ordering me about again, huh?» But Moreta was on her way to her sleeping quarters. She pulled off tunic and trousers and, sliding into the furs, arranged them around her shoulders and was very quickly asleep.
CHAPTER VI
Ruatha Hold, Present Pass, 3.11.43
Alessan watched as the great dragon sprang into the air with Moreta lifting her arm in farewell. The dragon glowed in the darkgray sky, and not from the feeble light of the dying lamp standards. Did her gravid state account for that luminescence? Then the phenomenon occurred for which Alessan waited. The golden glowing queen and her lovely Weyrwoman disappeared. A whoosh of air made the languid banners flutter.
Smiling, Alessan took a deep breath, well satisfied by the high moments of his first Gather as Lord of Ruatha Hold. As his sire had often repeated, good planning was the essence of success. True enough that good planning had resulted in his sprinter's win, but he had never counted on Moreta's company at the races, she had been such a spontaneous companion. Nor had he anticipated her dancing with him. He'd never had such an agile partner in the toss dance. Now, if his mother could find a girl in any way comparable to Moreta
«Lord Alessan »
He swung around, surprised out of his pleasant reverie by the hoarse whisper. Dag scuttled out of the shadows and stopped, bolt still, half a dozen paces from him.
«Lord Alessan » The anxiety in Dag's voice and the formal address alerted Alessan.
«What's the matter, Dag? Squealer?»
«He's fine. But all Vander's animals is down with the cough, hacking out their lungs, feverish and breaking out in cold sweats. Some of those picketed next to Vander's lot are coughing, too, and sweating. Norman don't know what to make of it, it's so sudden. I know what I make of it, Lord Alessan, and so I'm going to take our animals, those that have been in the beasthold and ain't been near that lot in the pickets. I'm going to take 'em away before that cough spreads.»
«Dag, I'm not,»
«Now, I ain't saying, Lord Alessan,» Dag raised his hand in a placatory gesture, «but what the cough could be the warm weather and a change of grass, but I'm not risking Squealer. Not after him winning.»
Alessan suppressed a smile at Dag's vehemence.
«I'll just take our bloodstock up to the high nursery meadows, till they clear away.» He jerked his thumb at the race flats. «I've packed some provisions and there're plenty of crevice snakes for eating. And I'll take that ruffian of a grandson of mine with me.»
Second only to Squealer in Dag's affections was his daughter's youngest son, Fergal, a lively rascal who was more often in the black records than any other holdling. Alessan had a sneaking admiration for the lad's ingenuity, but as Lord Holder he could no longer condone the antics that Fergal inspired. His most recent prank had so angered Lady Oma, involving as it did the smirching of guest linens, that he had been forbidden to attend the Gather, and the punishment was enforced by locking the boy in the Hold's cell.
«If I thought,»
Dag laid a finger along his snub nose. «Better safe than sorry.»
«Get along then.» Alessan longed for sleep and Dag was plainly in an obstinate frame of mind. «And take thatthat »
«Dirty piece of laundry?» Dag's grin was slyly infectious.
«Yes, that's an apt description.»
«I'll wait for a message from you, Alessan, that all the visitors have gone and taken their cough with 'em.» Dag's grin broadened and he turned smartly on one heel, setting off toward the beasthold at such a clip that his bandy figure rolled from side to side. Alessan watched his departure thoughtfully for a moment, wondering if he gave Dag too much latitude. Perhaps the old handler was covering up some new prank Fergal had pulled. But a cough spreading through the pickets was not so easily dismissed. When he'd had some sleep, he'd have a word with Norman, see if they had discovered why Vander's runner had died. That incident bothered Alessan. But a cough hadn't killed the runner. Was it possible that Vander, keen to win at the Gather, had ignored the signs of illness to bring his middistance runner? Alessan would prefer not to think so, but he knew well how the desire to win could grip a man.
Alessan made his way back to the hold on the roadway, passing dark lumps of people rolled in sleeping furs. It had been a good Gather and the weather had held. A slight dampness in the dawn air heralded fog or mist. But the weather wouldn't be the only thing foggy that day.
The Hall, too, was crowded with sleepers, and he walked carefully so as not to disturb anyone. Even the wide corridor outside his apartment accommodated Gatherers on straw pallets. He considered himself fortunate that his mother had not insisted he share his quarters. But then, perhaps she had hoped that he would! He smiled as he closed the door behind him and began to strip off his finery. It was only then he remembered that Moreta had not retrieved her Gather gown. No matter. That gave him an excuse to talk to her at the next Fall. He stretched out on his bed, pulled the furs over him, and was asleep in moments.
In what seemed like no time he was being so vigorously shaken that, for one disoriented moment, he thought he was a boy again, being attacked by his brothers.
«Alessan!» Lady Oma's indignant exclamation brought him to complete awareness. «Holder Vander is extremely ill and Masterhealter Scand insists that it is not from overindulgence. Two of the men who accompanied Vander are also feverish. Your race-course manager informs me also that four animals are dead and more appear to be sickening.»
«Whose animals?» Alessan wondered if Dag had known more than he'd admitted.
«How should I know, Alessan?» Lady Oma had no interest at all in the runnerbeasts that were Ruatha's principal industry. «Lord Tolocamp is discussing it with,»
«Lord Tolocamp presumes!» Alessan rolled out of the bed, reached for his trousers in a fluid movement, stuffed his feet into the legs and pulled them up as he rose. He dragged a tunic over his head, slammed his feet into boots, kicking aside his discarded Gather finery. He forgot about the sleepers in the hallway and nearly trod on an arm before he checked his haste. Most of those who had slept in the Hall were awake and there was a clear path to the door. Cursing Tolocamp under his breath, Alessan managed a smile for those who noticed his passing.
Tolocamp was in the forecourt, an arm across his chest, propping the elbow of the other arm as he rubbed his chin, deep in thought. Norman was with him, shifting anxiously from foot to foot, his face gaunt from a sleepless night. As Alessan strode out, Norman's face brightened, and he turned eagerly toward his own Lord Holder.
«Good day to you, Tolocamp,» Alessan said with scant courtesy, controlling the anger he felt at the older man's interference, however well intentioned. «Yes, Norman?» He tried to draw the manager to one side but Tolocamp was not so easily evaded. «This could be a very serious matter, Alessan,» Tolocamp said, his heavy features set in a frown of portentous concern.
«I'll decide that, thank you.» Alessan spoke so curtly that Tolocamp regarded him with astonishment. Alessan took the opportunity to move aside with Norman.
«Four of Vander's runners are dead,» Norman said in a low voice, «and the other is dying. Nineteen beasts near them have broken out in sweats and coughing something pathetic.»
«Have you isolated them from the healthy?»
«I've had men working on that since first light, Lord Alessan.»
«Lady Oma said that Vander's ill as are two of his men?»
«Yes, sir. I called Masterhealer Scand to attend them last night. At first I thought that Vander was upset from losing his runner, but his two men are fevered. Now Helly's complaining of a terrible headache. As Helly don't drink, it can't be from last night.»
«Vander had a headache yesterday, didn't he?»
«I don't rightly remember. Lord Alessan.» Norman released a heavy sigh, pulling his hand across his forehead.
«Yes, of course, you did have rather a lot to manage, and the races went off very well indeed.» Alessan grinned, reminding Norman of the times when he had been his assistant.
«I'm glad you think so, but,» Norman's attention was held by something in the road and he pointed at a travel wagon, four runners led from its tailgate. «I'm worried about Kulan's leaving.»
Even as the men watched, one of the led horses coughed violently.
«I told Kulan he hadn't ought to be traveling with that runner but he won't listen to me.»
«How many decamped this morning?» Alessan felt the first stir of real apprehension. If a coughing illness spread through the Hold with the plowing only half completed
«Some dozen left first light, mainly wagon travelers. Their stock wasn't pastured near the racers. It's just that I know Kulan's one is sick.»
«I'll speak to him. You find out how many have started home. Tell some of the holders to report to me here as messengers. We'll retrieve our departed guests. No animals are to leave this Hold until we know what causes that cough.»
«What about people?»
«Since the one usually takes the other, no, no people. And I'll want to have a word with Master Scand about Vander, too.»
Kulan was not pleased to be halted. The animal only had a morning cough, he asserted, from the dust raised the night before and the change in grass. It'd be fine once it got moving. Kulan was anxious. He had three days' hard travel before he reached his hold. He'd left his next oldest son in charge and had doubts about the lad's capabilities. Alessan pointed out firmly that Kulan wouldn't want to bring an infected beast home to mingle with his healthy stock. Another day to find out what the ailment was would be well worth a delay.
Tolocamp followed, reaching Alessan and his holderman in time to catch the end of the argument. The older Lord's polite concern became an active anxiety but he held his peace until Kulan and his handlers had turned back to the Gather fields.
«Are such drastic measures necessary? I mean, these people must get back to their holds, as I must return to mine.»
«A slight delay, Tolocamp, until we see how the animals fare. Surely you and your good ladies would be glad of a longer visit?»
Tolocamp blinked, surprised by Alessan's smiling intransigence. «They may stay if they wish but I was about to request you to drum Fort Weyr for a conveyance.»
«As you yourself said a few minutes ago, Tolocamp, this could be a serious matter. It is. Neither of us can afford to have a sickness run through our stock. Not at this time of the Turn. Of course, we may find that it only affects the racers, but I would fault myself severely if I didn't take preventive measures now, before the infection can spread from the Hold proper.» Alessan watched Tolocamp's obvious reflections over the merits of a delay. «Kulan's one of mine, but I'd take it kindly if you would speak to those of your own Hold who gathered with us. I'm not spreading alarm but four racers dead and more coughing in the picket lines »
«Well. now »
«Thank you, Tolocamp. I knew I could count on your cooperation.»
Alessan moved away swiftly before Tolocamp could muster an argument. He made for the kitchens where weary drudges were preparing large pitchers of klah and trays of fruits and sweetbreads. As he had hoped, he found Oklina supervising. From the fatigue apparent on her face, she hadn't had any sleep.
«Oklina, there's trouble,» he told her quietly. «Sickness down at the flats. Tell Lady Oma that, until I'm sure what it is and how it can be cured, no one is to leave the Hold. Her powers of persuasion and hospitality are required.»
Oklina's dark eyes had widened with alarm but she controlled her expression and peremptorily called one of the drudges to task for spilling klah.
«Where's our brother, Makfar?» Alessan asked. «Asleep above?»
«He's gone. They left about two hours ago.»
Alessan rubbed his face. Makfar had had two runners in the racing. «When you've spoken to Mother, send a messenger after them. The way Makfar travels, they won't have gone far. Say, say »
«That you have urgent need of Makfar's advice.» Oklina grinned.
«Exactly.» He gave her an affectionate pat on the shoulder. «And inform our other brothers that security is required for the Hold proper.»
By the time Alessan returned to the forecourt, Norman had arrived with a number of Ruathan holders. Alessan told them to find short swords and ride in pairs along the main roads to turn back travelers on whatever pretext came to mind. The holders were ordered to use force where persuasion failed. His brothers, in varying stages of discontent, reported to him. He dispatched them to get arms and assist the messengers, if need be, but to be sure that no one else left the Hold. Just then Lord Tolocamp bustled out of the Hall. He looked full of arguments.
«Alessan, now I'm not sure that all this fuss is absolutely necessary.»
Echoing up from the south, the message drums of River Hold could be heard plainly. As Alessan counted the double-urgent salutation and heard the healer code as originator, he took a moment's pleasure in the astonishment on Tolocamp's face, but lost it as the meat of the message boomed out. Those who could not understand the code caught the fear generated by those who did. Drums were a fine method of communication but too bloody public, Alessan thought savagely.
Epidemic disease, the drums rolled, spreading rapidly across continent from Igen, Keroon, Telgar, Ista. Highly infectious. Highly contagious. Two to four days' incubation. Headache. Fever. Cough. Prevent secondary infection. Fatalities high. Medicate symptoms. Isolate victims. Quarantine effective immediately. Runnerbeasts highly susceptible. Repeat Epidemic warning. No travel permitted. Congregating discouraged. Capiam.
The final roll commanded the pass-on of the message.
«But there's been a Gather here!» Tolocamp exclaimed fatuously. «No one's sick but a handful of runners. And they haven't been at Igen or Keroon, or anywhere!» Tolocamp glared at Alessan as if the alarm was somehow at his instigation.
«Vander's sick and two of his handlers,»
«Too much to drink,» Tolocamp asserted. «It can't be the same thing. Capiam just says the illness is spreading, not that it's here in Ruatha.»
«When the Masterhealer of Pern calls a quarantine,» Alessan said in a soft angry voice, «it is my duty, and yours, Lord Tolocamp, to respect his authority!» Alessan didn't realize that he sounded very much like his sire at that moment, but Tolocamp was silenced.
That was all the time they had to speak for those who had understood the drum message were now searching for the two Lords Holder.
«What's Capiam talking about?»
«We can't be quarantined! I've got to get back to my hold.»
«I left stock near to birthing »
«My wife stayed at the cot with our babies »
Tolocamp rallied, standing stolidly by Alessan's side, confirming the dreadful message and Capiam's right to broadcast a quarantine restriction.
«Master Capiam is not an alarmist!» «We'll have further details once that message has passed.» «This is just a precaution.» «Yes, a runnerbeast did die yesterday.» «Master Scand will tell us more.» «No, no one may be permitted to leave. Might endanger your own hold and spread illness further.» «A few days is not too much for health's sake.»
Alessan answered almost by rote, letting the first panic roll over his head. He had already taken the first steps toward recalling people and to avert a mass exodus. He and Tolocamp did their best to quiet apprehension. Alessan rapidly calculated how much food he had in convenient storage. The Gatherers would soon exhaust their travel rations. Assuming some people might catch Vander's illness, if it was Capiam's epidemic, would it be better to house them in the Hall? Or clear one of the beastholds? The Hold's infirmary could accommodate no more than twenty and that with crowding. Four dead animals, another dying, and Norman said nineteen more were coughing? Twenty-four animals out of a hundred twenty-two in twentyfour hours? The emergency had nothing to do with what he had been trained to meet. Nothing to do with the immemorial evil that ravaged Pern. As impartially as Thread, this new and equally insidious menace would blight the inhabitants as Thread could devastate the land. «Fatalities high,» the message had said. Were there no dragons to combat disease? Was this sort of disaster provided for in the Hold Records his father had always referred to?
«Here comes your healer, Alessan,» said Tolocamp.
The two Lords Holder moved to intercept Master Scand before he reached the forecourt. The man's usually placid round face was nearly purple with his exertions, his mouth thinned by annoyance. He was sweating copiously and blotting his face and neck with a none-too-clean cloth. Alessan had always thought Scand merely an adequate healer, suitable to attend, the Hold's large number of pregnancies and treat occasional accidents, but not up to a major emergency.
«Lord Alessan, Lord Tolocamp,» Scand panted, his chest heaving, «I came as soon as I received your summons. Did I not hear drums? Did I not recognize the healer code? Is something the matter?»
«What ails Vander?»
The sharpness of Alessan's question put Scand on his guard. He cleared his throat and mopped his face, reluctant to commit himself. «Well, now, as to that I am perplexed for he has not responded to the draught of sweatroot which I prepared for him last night. A dose, I might add, that would have made a dragon perspire. It was ineffectual.» Scand blotted his face again. «The man complains of terrible heart palpitations and of a headache that has nothing to do with wine because I was assured that he didn't indulge, he felt unwell yesterday even before the races.»
«And the other two men? His handlers?»
«They, too, are legitimately ill.» Scand's pompous speech had always irritated Alessan. Today he brandished his sweaty cloth in his affected pauses. «Legitimately ill, I fear, with severe headaches that render them unable to rise from their pallets, as well as the palpitations of which Holder Vander complains. Indeed, I am inclined to treat them for those two symptoms, rather than sweat them, although that is the specific treatment for unidentified sudden fevers. Now, may I inquire if that message from the Healer Hall in any way concerns me?» Scand cocked his head inquisitively.
«Master Capiam has called a quarantine.»
«Quarantine? For three men?»
«Lord Alessan,» said a tall lean man, wearing harper blue. He had grizzled hair and a nose that had suffered from many an unexpected adjustment to its direction. His glance was direct and his manner quietly capable. «I'm Tuero, journeyman harper. I can give Master Scand the full text so that you can get on.» Tuero jerked his head to the people milling excitedly in the forecourt.
Just then Ruatha's drummer began to relay the news onward to the large northerly and western holds, the instruments' deep reverberations adding to the general atmosphere of apprehension. Lady Oma emerged from the Hall with Lady Pendra and her daughters. Lady Oma listened intently to the drum then gave Alessan one long steady look. She and the Fort Hold women converged on Harper Tuero and the healer, who was now dithering, his face cloth hanging from his limp hand.
For the first time in his life, Alessan had cause to be grateful for the unquestioning support of his bloodkin and even for the officiousness of Lord Tolocamp. A rider galloped back to request aid in bringing in one of the more aggressive holders with whom Alessan had already had trouble. Then Makfar's family wagon thundered in, scattering folk in the roadway. Alessan put him in charge of improvising shelters from Gather stalls and travel wagons. It was one thing to doss down in a corridor for a night or grab a few hours sleep in the Hall, but quite another matter to be so cramped for four nights. Tolocamp was not the only one who failed to see the irony of that as he countered Makfar's suggestions with some of his own. Alessan left the two to solve the housing problem so that he could accompany Norman to the race flats and survey the sick runners. People were already making small camps in the first of the fields.
Despite his errand, it was a relief to Alessan to get away from the turmoil about the forecourt.
«Never saw anything bring down so many so fast, Lord Alessan.» Norman had almost to run to keep up with Alessan's long-legged stride. «And I can't think what to do for 'em. If there is anything. Healer's message didn't say much about animals, did it?» His voice was bleak. «A runner can't tell you if it ails.»
«It goes off feed and water.»
«Not wagon beasts. They go till they drop.»
Both men looked across the fields where the Hold's sturdy cart and wagon runnerbeasts grazed, the ones Alessan had bred to his sire's specifications.
«Set up a buffer area. Keep racers and wagoners well separated.»
«I will. Lord Alessan, but the racers have been drinking upriver of them!»
«It's a wide river, Norman. Hope for the best.»
The first thing Alessan noticed at the flats was that the manager had utilized the entire spread of picket lines. The healthy beasts were on the outside, well away from the cleared circle surrounding the sick ones. The coughing of the infected beasts was audible on the still, slightly chill air. They coughed, necks extended, mouths gaping, in hard painful-sounding barks. Their legs were swollen, their hides dull and starring.
«Add featherfern and thymus to their water. If they'll drink, Norman. Use a syringe to get fluid into them before they dehydrate completely. We might offer nettleweed, too. Some runners are smart enough to know what's good for them. Nettles, at least, are in plentiful supply.» Alessan gazed out over the meadows where the annual battle to reduce the perennial had not yet started. «Any coughs among the herdbeasts?» He swung in the other direction.
«Truth to tell, I've had little time to think about them.» Norman had the dedicated racer's almost contemptuous disdain for the placid herd creatures. «Harper told me the drums only mentioned runners.»
«Well, we'll have to slaughter herdbeasts to feed our unexpected guests. I don't have enough fresh meat left after the Gather.»
«Lord Alessan, did Dag » Norman began tentatively, with a half-gesture toward the cliff, to the great apertures where the Hold's animals were normally sheltered during Threadfall.
Alessan gave Norman a shrewd glance.
«So, you were in on that?»
«Sir, I was,» Norman replied staunchly. «Dag and I got worried when the cough started to spread. Didn't want to interrupt your dancing, but as the bloodstock had no contact with these, Look at that!»
«Shards!»
They watched as the leader in a team of four hitched to a big wagon collapsed in the traces, pulling its harness mate to its knees.
«Right, Norman. Get some men up to take charge of that team. Use them as long as they last to haul carcasses. Burn the dead animals down there.» Alessan pointed to a dip in the far fields, out of sight from the forecourt and downwind. «Keep track of the dead beasts. Reparation should be made.»
«I've no recorder.»
«I'll send down one of the fosterlings. I'll also want to know how many people stayed the night down here.»