Chap. 334 The Colors of Igen Weyr

Chap. 334 The Colors of Igen Weyr

“Well, K’ndar, what about you? How shall you keep busy here at Igen Weyr? I would love to give you a tour, but I’m sorry, I must leave you at the Main Hall,” Tomas said, leaving the shade of a young tree. “Don’t miss the tapestries! We have some excellent weavers here.”

After transporting Rahman’s gear to the telescope heights, Raventh had landed just in front of the visiting dragon’s cavern. K’ndar dismounted. He looked back at the pile of sand blocking the pathway. It was about as high as Raventh’s head, and as long as the dragon. In this heat, it would be pure misery to shovel it.

K’ndar shrugged. “I’m not sure what I want to do. I’m a biologist, I can always find something interesting underneath a rock. I had no idea Igen Weyr was so big.”

Tomas laughed. “Rocks we have, K’ndar and Igen Weyr is big, both are true. Once Thread was killed off, we were able to really expand. Not that Thread could survive in sand, but only since its demise have we’ve been able to plant crops on dry soil, the stuff that is left after the Igen’ River floods in spring. Those irrigation channels will overflow when the Igen’s running high. She leaves us rich, rich soil, K’ndar, but before, you didn’t waste time planting it only to have Thread kill everything in it. Not now! Look at our trees!”

He swept a hand that encompassed half the planet. In the distance, the Igen River sparkled in the sunshine. His heart swelled in pride at the startling contrast of brilliant green vegetation against the sandy soil of the desert. I did that, I played a part in that, me, Tomas, the strange tree lover.

“See these trees, lining our pathways? It wasn’t this way when I was a kid. And see the trees in the orchard plots? They’re called ‘lemon’ trees. In the spring the scent from their flowers is intoxicating. The insects just go crazy for them, and do us the favor of pollinating them. Lemons are from Earth! During Intervals, they’d grow like mad, because they love the heat, K’ndar. You had to keep them watered, of course. I spent many a day toting buckets from the well to water the trees. In a way, some of them became like children to me. “

He surreptitiously gauged K’ndar’s demeanor. Am I boring him, like I am said to bore everyone else? I don’t want to be a nuisance!

“But as you dragonriders know,” he continued, “during Intervals, we’d forget all about Thread. Whole generations lived and died without ever experiencing it, even stopped believing in it. Then one day, shiiiiiiiiiiiiishhhhhhhh, here came that damned black rain, killing everything organic, to include animals and people. Entire orchards, eaten to the ground in minutes. Only the sand stopped it. That and flame. I hated Thread, K’ndar, I loved to see your dragons in the sky, flaming the damned stuff. I’d go out, even as a kid, barely big enough to handle my dad’s agenothree torch, and kill every patch you’d miss, which wasn’t much!

We had to keep the trees in caves, and while they would grow, because they’d still get plenty of sunshine from breaks in the cavern domes, still, they were trees, wanting to be out from under rock so they could reach out their limbs and grow tall. They’d grow, very slowly and stunted, and only put out tiny fruits. It was only the most diligent of orchardists who brought them through all those centuries.

My great grandmother was one, she’d take my chin and say, “Tommy, don’t you let these lemons die, you hear? Your ancestors didn’t breed them to live here only to have some yob let them die out. They’ve crossed the galaxy, been through Thread and Intervals, they deserve the day when Thread is done. Then you’ll learn why I call it “sunshine on a tree.”

He shook his head. “You know how it is with kids. I used to be embarassed when Great would go on like that, but as I’ve aged, I’ve learned just how wise she was about trees, and she was right, yes, she were!”

He put his hands on his hips and surveyed the verdant plots beyond them.

“My people have been orchardists since time began. They brought all sorts of tree species over on the starships, but only a few have survived to this day. How my family ended up here in the desert, I don’t know. I suppose I’ve gotten used to it, aye, and my wife, she loves the heat. Not right in the head, she is,” he laughed. “I’m joking, she’s a good weyrmate and I love her.”

Except when she rides me about talking about trees, he thought. “Stop with that yammer, Tomas, you’re nothing but a bore.” I don’t think trees are boring, and I’m being proven right, just like Great Grandma. No one complains when they eat the fruits. But you, K’ndar, I like you. You seem to be listening with honest interest, not feigned courtesy.

“Now that Thread’s done for good, they can live like real trees. This is the first year we’ve been able to harvest a decent crop of lemons.” He turned to pat the bushy palm next to him. Its triple trunk rose up three meters above Tomas’s head, each trunk ending in a large, outspread span of sword like leaves. The trunks had what looked like pleats running parallel to the trunks.

“And this one, here? We call this palm the ‘survival tree.” They’re native to Pern but only grow here, in the desert. When Thread would fall, the minute the tree feels Thread score, it bleeds water. Water comes from every pore, on the trunk and leaves, enough to keep Thread from killing it.”

“Huh! There’s a tree on Western Continent, called an ‘armored willow’, that does the same thing,” K’ndar said.

“I’ll have to research that! It’s a good strategy. You’d hear a hissing noise, it was the sound of Thread dying. Afterwards, there’s burn marks on the bark, but otherwise the tree is unharmed.”

K’ndar nodded, hearing the dedication in the man’s voice. I learn something new every day, he thought.

“When I was a kid,”Tomas said, unconsciously examining the tree for any sign of disease or injury, “We’d be sheltering underneath a rock overhang during a Fall, we’d throw out a pan of water onto the rock pathway, solely to torment Thread. I’d hear the Thread hissing when it hit the water, I’d scream ‘die, Thread die!’ It’d skitter just like a drop of water does when it hits a hot,dry skillet. That was satisfaction, K’ndar, being able to hurt Thread with plain ol’ water.”

“I felt the same way when Raventh would flame a clump of Thread. It was such a rush, to fly and kill Thread,” K’ndar said.

“Do you want to know how the water gets into the tree?” Tomas asked, not even hearing, just enjoying the opportunity to share his knowledge.

“Of course!”

“It’s fairly clever. We could call this tree the forecast tree, because it tells us when it’s about to rain. We do get rain here, believe it or not. See how the main palms, I call them hands, normally hang down, like now? When it’s about to rain, the palms stand up and spread out the leaves, almost like a person’s cupped hands.” He gently pulled out one of the leaves and pointed its tip at K’ndar. “See, the leaf in cross section is V shaped. The main palm forms an open cup with all the leaves up. When the rain falls, the leaves catch the water and channel it down this central rib, right into the center core and the tree drinks it all up!”

“Amazing! What an incredible adaptation!” K’ndar sighed, his biologist’s soul pleased.

“That’s not all, K’ndar. Given a good solid rainfall, you’ll see the trunks begin to swell. See these pleats, all up and down the trunks? Right now they’re tight, almost invisible. But when the tree is drinking, the pleats expand, to allow it to hold as much water as possible. Sometimes you think a tree is about to burst!

This tree, K’ndar, is worthless for lumber. But for surviving in the desert? There’s nothing better. Listen to this!”

He thumped on the intertwined trunk of the tree. It sounded like a barrel full of water.

“It’s full of water, K’ndar, liters and liters, and we’ve not had a good rain in months. And this is just a young tree. The older ones, the big ones, store enough water to drown a dragon. This way it survives in our long, dry season. Should you ever be stranded in the desert, look for this tree, give it a cut on one of the three trunks, parallel to the pleat, put a cup under it and water will pour out.”

“Will it drain dry? Won’t that kill it?”

“Ah, there’s a man after my own heart, feeling for the tree! Heat and desiccation will kill it if it has no water, but the tree is like us. When we get a cut, we don’t bleed out, well, usually we don’t, unless some Holder removes our head! But we do stop bleeding fairly soon. The tree does the same thing, closes off the wound after several minutes. The water flow slows, then dribbles to a stop.

What I do, though, is just pinch the wound, hold it closed tightly for a few minutes, till the tree responds by clogging the wound.”

He gave the palm an affectionate pat.

K’ndar smiled, understanding the affection Tomas had for his trees. You’re just like Rand, he thought, the jungle forester and the desert orchardist have the same love for their trees. Like me and horses, there’s a part of our mind and heart that is devoted to something other than ourselves.

Tomas suddenly looked embarrassed. “Me and my trees. I’m sorry, I must be boring you silly. Everyone thinks I’m daft, just because I talk about them as if they were my friends.”

K’ndar held his eye for a long moment. “I don’t think you’re anything of the sort. I’m a biologist, Tomas, as well as a dragonrider and a horseman. Everyone has a passion, mine is horses. I’m interested in everything that grows or growls. I feel sorry for people who don’t love something other than themselves.”

Tomas nodded. “Thanks.” He cleared his throat.

“Right then. Let’s get us and your Raventh and fire lizard out of the sun, eh? I’m sorry to say no fire lizards are allowed in the Main Hall. There’s a stone trough full of fresh water for your lads in the cavern. Then I’ll show you to the Main Hall. I’ll have to leave you there, as I’ve got to get back to work.”

______________________________________________________________

They headed for the Main Cavern, skirting the pile of sand he’d noted earlier.

“I don’t envy the Weyrling who’ll be tasked to clear that sand away,” he said.

Tomas laughed. “K’ndar, obviously you’ve never been to the desert before.”

“Um, no, sir, I’ve not. It shows, I guess?”

The man nodded. “Aye. That’s a dune, a small one. I’m certain you saw them on your flight in?”

“I did, it’s all sand, right? No rocks underneath?”

“No rocks. It’s all sand. See that gap in the cliff wall behind us? Opens at the base and then ends about halfway up the wall? When the wind blows, which is just about always, the sand pours through it like water through a funnel. We even have a name for it, Dune Passage. If you note, there’s nothing east of this spot to stop it, no plots, nothing. It would be a waste of time and effort to try and force the dune to change direction. The dune will head that way no matter what, and end up in the marsh, so we just leave it a clear path. You can’t fight the desert, you must work with it. I promise you, it will be gone by evening meal, even faster when the wind picks up again. It came in yesterday afternoon.”

“It moves?”

The man leaned down to pick up a handful of the sand. He let it dribble through his fingers, unconsciously noting that the winds had shifted. That was disturbing.

“Aye. Despite not having feet, never mind a body! dunes move. Sometimes fast, like this ‘un. If you can stand the heat and this sun, you can see it move, slowly, but surely. Sometimes they don’t move at all, they get blown into the crevices on the western side and stay there. If they get enough rain, which isn’t often, plants start growing on them, even on such sterile soil. And then one day the wind will change, sweep it all out and the tree is left dangling, hung up on its neighbors and it’s roots dangling, naked. On a quiet night, the dunes sing, too.”

K’ndar let his disbelief show.

“Nay, I’m not joking. The wind sharpens the dune, you know, and there are times you can hear a keening sound. If you stay the night, you might just hear it.”

They entered an enormous domed cavern. It was easily twice the size of Kahrain’s Main hall. In front of him were stone trestle tables and benches, at the back were several contorted tunnel entrances and a kitchen. The floor was sand. Someone had carefully and artfully raked it into patterns. He could see tiny tracks where a crawler had run across the raked lines.

Then he looked up.

“Whoa,” he said, astonished. The walls of the cavern swooped and curved in fantastically swirling shapes, as if sometime in the past, someone had laboriously and creatively sanded them into hollows. The laminated stone glowed red, orange, and yellow. Several gaps in the top of the dome allowed spears of blinding bright sunshine to illuminate the cavern. Smaller gaps served as windows. He could see manyleg webs hanging in the gaps, glittering in the sunshine.

“This is beautiful!” he gasped. “Did someone carve these walls?”

Tomas smiled, always enjoying the visitors first reaction to the beauty of sandstone. “Nay, nay, K’ndar. Someone who understands rocks might be able to explain in greater detail. I think what happened was millions of years ago, this whole mountain range was underwater, and the surf created all the curves and hollows. Then it turned to desert, and now the winds polish everything smooth. When the wind has sand in it, it creates the crazy potters on the west side.”

“Crazy…potters?” K’ndar repeated. He thought of Terilyn, Pern’s most gifted potter, who probably was the most stable, and sane person he’d ever known.

“That’s what we call ’em,” Tomas grinned, “I’m sure there’s a scientific name for them, but I don’t know what it may be. Did you see pillars of sandstone on your way here from the west? All strangely shaped, some looking impossible, like a huge boulder atop a stem no wider than your leg? Those are crazy potters, like some potter was drunk when he sat down and started creating a pot with clay. Which we don’t have here, by the way. It’s all sand.”

_______________________________________________________

The tapestries!

K’ndar spun around slowly, not sure what was more amazing, the curves and colors of the cavern walls, or the tapestries that, somehow, had been hung from them. Some of them appeared very old, depicting wings of dragons fighting Thread. Here and there were newer ones. One showed a team of dragons, their helmeted riders dressed in odd, bulbous suits, perched on one of the starships, against a star studded black background. I wasn’t even born yet, he thought, when dragonriders dropped the starships engines onto the Red Star to kick it out of its deadly orbit. For that matter, Landing was just a few buildings back then. Aivas was alive then. No one had datalinks or solar panels. We didn’t even have paper! How fast our world is changing!

Are people even creating tapestries anymore? What with the availability of books and art supplies?

I’d love to walk down to the farm plots, he thought, but it’s just too blazing hot. And there’s not a soul around. I’ve not heard more than the occasional wherry call, and they’re hiding in the trees. Otherwise, it’s silent as midnight. This is a working weyr, where IS everybody? Should I just go home? I won’t be needed to transport Rahman for several days, should I fly up there? I want to see more of this weyr, but I don’t feel right about just wandering about.

Moth comes. She has just killed.

Moth. Moth?

My sister? A gold dragon, we are clutch mates. Her rider is Rondair.

The sun was blotted out for a second, the large shadow of a dragon scudding past the cavern entrance.

Rondair! Yes, one of my class mates. She’s here?

Raventh silently affirmed.

She’s not blooding her kill, is she? His heart clutched in panic for a second. Was she about to rise to mate? But no. If she were in mating mode, every male dragon in the Weyr, to include Raventh would be in a white hot hormonal maelstrom. As would he and every male dragon rider.

He didn’t think Rondair was Weyrwoman here. Moth was the same age as Raventh, old enough to mate but unable to, due to the overwhelming hormonal dominance of the Weyr’s Queen dragon.

No, just hunting. Her rider didn’t go. Moth is just a junior gold, not the Queen.

“By the stars, is that you, K’ndar? K’ndar!” a familiar voice rang out. Rondair emerged from a tunnel, walked up and gave him a big hug.

My boots, but she’s pretty, he thought. I didn’t remember her being so womanly.

“Hello, Rondair! You’re looking..great!” I almost said something more suggestive. Life has been good to her, it would appear, he thought.

“So are you, K’ndar! Welcome to Igen Weyr! Raventh told Moth you were here. What brings you?”

“Transporting Rahman, the astronomer.”

“Please tell me you’re going to stay, please? He’s here to study the Great Wheel. Igen Weyr is the best place to observe it, he says. I’ve not heard a thing from Kahrain Steppe Weyr in years. I’m just a junior gold, K’ndar, and while being assistant to our Weyrwoman keeps me busy, still, I don’t get much in the way of news of other weyrs. Can you catch me up? Are you hungry?”

His stomach stood up and screeched that yes, it was hungry, having been neglected for at least a month. And she’d asked several questions at once.

“Well, yes, I think so, yes, I can fill you in, and yes,” K’ndar started, trying to keep track of all her questions in order.

Rondair laughed. “Oh, what am I saying. You men are always hungry. Come on, let’s get something to nibble and you can tell me everything.”

At the back of the cavern, just in front of the kitchen, a stone trestle had cookies, the remains of a loaf of bread, pitchers of klah and a drink she called ‘lemonade’, and seaweed wrapped tubes, cut into small wheels.

“Ever had kimpop?” Rondair said, mumbling past one of them.

He shook his head. She chose one and put it in his hand.

“It’s something from Earth, no, I mean, the recipe was from a place called Korea. It’s rolled in seaweed we harvest from the coast, but everything else in it was grown right here.”

He bit into the wheel. It was very good. He was about to tell her he’d heard of Korea, but that would have meant explaining all sorts of things, so he let it go for now.

“This is really good, Rondair. Who, well, wait. Before I go any further, this cavern is amazing. Are they all like this?”

Rondair laughed. “Yup. Same color throughout. They stay relatively cool, surprisingly. Some of the tunnels are impassible, they’re so contorted only a snake can make it through. You one can easily get lost in some of tunnels. I’m sure B’rost can tell you more, he’s a geologist, if I remember correctly.”

“You do, and he’s a healer, now, as well! There’s not a lick of mean in him, Rondair, but he can still be flighty and rash at times. He takes risks that stop me cold and manages to come through with a gasp and a grin.”

Rondair nodded. “He always was a flutter on the wind, but he could always be counted on when Thread was falling. That boy had no fear and wow, could he ride!”

“He’s still that way, but, where IS everybody? You and Tomas and a weyrling, and someone out plowing, are the only humans I’ve seen here. Is everybody dead?”

Rondair burst into helpless giggles. “No, no, no, K’ndar. It’s siesta time. Remember, Igen’s a few hours behind Kahrain Steppe.”

“Shards, you’re right. Why can’t I remember time zones? And what is siesta?”

Rondair wiped the sweat from her brow. Normally I’d be in my weyr with a fan blowing, but K’ndar is the first friend from home who I’ve seen in a long time. By the egg, he’s filled out, he’s turned into a really good looking man!

“Everyone is in their weyrs, sleeping or just relaxing. It’s much too hot to do much after ten or so. Then the heat and the sun get to be too much, it can be dangerous. Believe it or not, this isn’t as hot as it can get. So physical labor gets done early in the day, sometimes even before sunrise, and by ten, it’s done. Even Weyrling training is delayed until evening. Everyone spends the heat of the day in their weyrs, which are much cooler, and at about four or so, begin to get back to work. They’re night folk here, it will be busy until midnight. I like it here, I guess, but if you’re a diurnal person, like me, life at Igen Weyr can be difficult. “

She carried a tray filled with food and a pitcher of lemonade to one of the tables.

“Now. Fill me in. I’ve not seen or heard from anyone from our class since I left after the hurricane. Start with when I left,” she ordered.

“All the way back to then?”

“Yes.” She looked at him, expectantly.

“Okay, but before I do, tell me, where can I get more of these kimpops? I like them a lot. Who made them?”

Rondair smirked. “Oh, some girl who used her datalink to find a book titled “Joy of Cooking, Interstellar Edition”, and discovered she loved to cook. If she didn’t ride a gold dragon, she’d be happy to just be a cook.”

“You?”

She nodded, pleased. “Me.”