Nerilka's Story Read online

  In those happy Turns at Misty Hold, I had even managed to appear prettier in a contentment reflecting Suriana's vividness. Certainly I was braver in her company, urging my runnerbeast after hers on the most dangerous of trails. And I was able to sail in the fiercest wind in the little sloop we took upon the river and sea. Suriana had other attainments, too. She had the sweetest light soprano to which my alto was always in tune. In Fort, my voice goes flat. She could sketch a scene in bold sure strokes; her embroidery was so finely stitched that her mother never feared to give her the gossamer fabrics, and with her to advise me quietly, my stitches improved to the point where later my mother gave me grudging compliments. In one talent only did I surpass Suriana, but not even my healing arts could have mended her broken back. Nor could I, the daughter of Fort Hold, enter the Healer Hall for training. Not when my skills could be employed, free marked, in the murky stillrooms of Fort Hold.

  Now I am appalled at the heedless, uncharitable girl I was that day, unable to swallow disappointment and pride to bid her luckier sisters farewell. For it proved that their luck had run out when they were chosen to attend Ruatha's Gather. But who could have foreseen that, much less the plague, on the bright cold, season day?

  We had heard tell of the strange beast rescued by seaholders, for my father had insisted that all his children understand drummer codes. Living so close to the Harper Hall, there was little we did not know of major events occurring across the Northern Continent. Oddly, we were not supposed to talk about the drum messages we heard, lest the information that we could not avoid understanding be indiscreetly repeated. So we all knew about the discovery of the unusual feline at Keroon. It is not surprising, then, that I failed to connect the significance of that message with the later one requiring Master Capiam to diagnose a strange disease afflicting those at Igen. But I anticipate.

  And so my parents and my four sisters, Amilla, Mercia, Merin, and Kista, started on their journey through the northern portion of our Hold, where Father meant to check on several holders, to the fateful Ruatha Gather. I who felt she deserved to go remained at home.

  Fortunately, I could also remain out of Campen's way, for I was certain he would have special duties for me to perform that would ensure our father's approbation of him. Campen adored delegating duty and thus managed to avoid its tedium, saving his energies to criticize results and expound weighty advices. He is much like our father. Indeed, when Father dies, there will be no skip in the smooth operation of Fort Hold and likely no change ever in the duty roster for me, Nerilka.

  The gathering of herbs, roots, and other medicinal plants was a frequent occupation for myself and my sisters, and this duty took precedence over any Campen might have had for me that day. What Campen never twigged was that one did not gather medicinal plants in the cold season, but no one was likely to tell on me. I elected to take Lilla, Nia, Mara, and Gaby with me on my so, called expedition. We did return with early cress and wild onion, and Gaby surprised himself by bringing down a wild wherry with a well‑thrown lance. The obvious rewards of our afternoon forced commendation from Campen, who spent the evening meal complaining about the idleness of drudges who worked well only under supervision. This was such a frequent complaint of our father's that I raised my eyes from the leg bone I was gnawing to be sure that it was Campen who had spoken.

  I do not now recall with what occupation I passed the next few days. Nothing memorable occurred, excepting the summons for Master Capiam, which I heard and so totally disregarded. But knowing would have changed nothing. The fifth day dawned bright and clear, and I had recovered enough from my disappointment by then to hope that the weather at Ruatha was as clement. I knew that my sisters stood no chance of attracting Alessan, but with so many gathering, perhaps some other family might meet my father's requirements for his daughters, and they'd make suitable matches. Particularly now that the Pass was nearly over and Holders could plan expansions. Lord Tolocamp was not the only one to wish to extend his holdings and increase his arable land. If only my father would not be quite so particular in his standard for alliances.

  There had been one offer for me, I'm pleased to say. I should not have minded starting a new hold, even if it had meant chipping it out of the cliffside, for I should have been my own mistress. Garben came from the Tillek Bloodline, respectable enough in its lateral descent. I even liked the man, but he and his prospects had not met Father's requirements. Although Garben had flattered me by returning two Turns in a row to repeat his offer, each time with the report of yet another chamber completed in his modest hold, my father had turned him off. Had my opinion been sought, I would have accepted. Amilla had unkindly remarked that I would have accepted anything at that point. She was quite correct, but only because I liked Garben anyway. He was half a head taller than I. That had been five Turns ago.

  Suriana had known my situation and my disappointments and had repeatedly expressed the hope that she could talk Lord Leef into permitting me to make an extended visit with her at Ruatha. She was certain that once she was pregnant, he would accede to her request. But Suriana had died, and even that glimmer of hope had been dashed, even as she had been dashed to the ground by the untrained young runner she had been riding. Racing, more likely, I often thought in my bitterest moods. She had confided in me that Alessan had managed to breed some startlingly agile runners when his father had ordered him to produce a sturdier, multipurpose strain. I had only the details that were made public. Suriana had broken her back while riding, and had died without regaining consciousness despite all that the hastily summoned Masterhealer could do. Master Capiam, who was generally willing to discuss medical matters with me, since he knew me to be as competent as my rank allowed me to be, had been markedly silent about the tragedy.

  Chapter 2

  3.11.43, 1541

  Heartbreakingly enough, the new Ruathan tragedy began at precisely the same hour in which I had learned of Suriana's death, as the Harper Hall's drum tower vibrated with Capiam's quarantine command. I was measuring spices for the kitchen warder, and only the sternest control kept my hand from trembling and spilling the expensive spice. Exerting the same control, for the warder did not understand drum code and I wished an edible dinner that night, I finished measuring his requirements, carefully closed the jar, placed it exactly in its habitual spot, and locked the cabinet. The drum message was being repeated for emphasis by the time I had reached the upper level of the Hold proper, but the second message differed in no particular from the first. I could hear Campen bellowing for explanations from his office as I left the Hold.

  Fortunately, so many other people were racing toward the Harper Hall that my indecorous haste went unnoticed. The courtyard of the Hall was filled with anxious apprentices and journeymen, harper and healer. There has always been excellent discipline in the two Crafts, so there was no panic, though some anxiety was evident and many questions circulated.

  Yes, there had been calls for Master Capiam from more than just Keroon Beasthold and Igen Sea Hold. Telgar had asked for his presence and counsel; it was rumored he had been taken dragonback to Ista Gather and from there to South Boll at Lord Ratoshigan's express orders, conveyed by no less than Sh'gall, the Fort Weyrleader, on bronze Kadith.

  The moment Master Fortine, accompanied by Journeywoman Desdra of the Healer Hall and Masters Brace and Dunegrine of the Harper Hall, appeared on the broad stairs, all fell silent.

  "You are naturally anxious about the drum message," Master Fortine began, clearing his throat ostentatiously. He is a good theoretical healer, but has none of the ease that marks the Masterhealer Capiam. Master Fortine raised his voice to an unnecessarily loud, high pitch. "You must realize that Master Capiam would not invoke such emergency procedures without due cause. Would all harpers or healers who attended either Gather present themselves immediately to Journeywoman Desdra in the Small Hall I will address all healers immediately in the Main Hall, if you would be so kind as to assemble there. Master Brace ..."

  Master Br
ace stepped forward, adjusting his belt and clearing his own throat. "Master Tirone is from the Hall mediating that dispute in the mines. In accordance with custom, as Senior Master, I assume his authority in this crisis until he has returned to the Hall."

  "Hoping that Master Tirone is either caught in the quarantine or dies of the disease ..." I heard someone mutter nearby. He was immediately shushed by his neighbors, so there would have been no point in my turning to catch out the dissident even if the matter had concerned me more acutely.

  Before acceding to the rank of Masterharper, Tirone had once been the tutor to Lord Tolocamp's children, so I knew the man well. He had his faults, but to listen to his rich mellow voice had always been a pleasure no matter what message his words were trying to implant in dull or uninterested minds. A man was never voted to be Master of his Crafthall unless he had more than a glorious baritone voice to recommend him to his fellow Masters. I have heard it said by the disaffected that the only time Tirone has lost a mediation was when he had laryngitis; otherwise, he talked his opponents into surrendering to his decisions.

  Naturally the diplomatic Masterharper would take great pains not to offend the Fort Lord Holder despite Craft autonomy, so I had never witnessed that sort of pertinacity in Master Tirone.

  What struck me as odd in this moment was that Master Brace should make such an announcement at all, and that Desdra and Fortine represented the healers. Where was Master Capiam? It was totally unlike him to delegate an invidious task. As harpers and healers began to file into the two assembly points, I slipped away from the Hall, not much wiser and with much to worry about.

  My lady mother, my four sisters, and my father were now immured at Ruatha. Unworthily, I thought that was another reason why they ought to have taken me. My demise would have been no loss. And I could have been of considerable use as a nurse, really my only talent and mainly unused outside the family. I remonstrated with myself for such reflections and purposefully turned my steps to the lower level of the Hold, where the storerooms were situated.

  If this disease had required quarantine, I could occupy myself profitably by checking over supplies. While the Healer Hall had viable stocks of most herbs and medicines, most Holds and Halls were expected to supply their own needs according to their individual requirements. But this situation might require uncommon herbal remedies not normally laid by in sufficient quantity. Campen spotted me, however, and came charging over, huffing as he did when agitated.

  "Rill, what's abroad? Did I hear quarantine? Does that mean Father is stuck at Ruatha? What do we do now?" He recalled that if he was acting Lord Holder, he ought not to be requesting advice from any lesser entities, especially his sister. He cleared his throat noisily and poked his chest forward, assuming a stem expression that I found ludicrous. "Have we sufficient fresh herbs for our people?"

  "Indeed we do."

  "Don't be flippant. Rill. Not at a time like this." He frowned ponderously at me.

  "I'm on my way to assess the situation, brother, but I can say without fear of contradiction that our supplies will prove more than adequate for the present emergency."

  "Very good, but be sure to give me a written report of supplies on hand." He patted my shoulder as he would his favorite canine and bustled off, huffing as he went. To my jaundiced eye, he appeared unsure as to what he should be doing in this catastrophe.

  Sometimes I am appalled at the waste in our storerooms. In spring, summer, and autumn, we gather, preserve, salt, dry, pickle, and store more food than ever Fort Hold could need. Each Turn, despite Mother's conscientious efforts, the oldest is not used first, and gradually the backlog grows. The tunnel snakes and insects take care of that in the darker recesses of the supply caves. We girls often make judicious withdrawals to be smuggled out to needy families, as neither Father nor Mother condone charity, even when the harvests have failed through no fault of the holder. Father and Mother are always saying that it is their ancient duty to supply the entire Hold in time of crisis, but somehow they have never learned "crisis." And we keep increasing the unused and unusable stores.

  Of course herbs, properly dried and stored, keep their efficacy for many Turns. The shelves of neat bags and bound stalks, the jars of seeds and salves bulged. Sweatroot, featherfern, all the febrifuges that had been traditional remedies since Records began. comfrey, aconite, thyme, hissop, ezob. I touched each in turn, knowing we had it in such quantities that Fort Hold could treat every one of the nearly ten thousand inhabitants if necessary. Fellis had been a bumper crop this Turn. Had the land known its future needs? Aconite, too, was in generous supply.

  Much relieved by such husbandry, I was about to quit the storeroom when I saw the shelves on which the Hold's medicinal Records were kept, the recipes for compound mixtures and preparations as well as the notations of whichever person dispensed herb, drug, and tonic.

  I opened the glowbasket above the reading table and wrestled with the stack to remove the oldest of the Records from the bottom shelf. Perhaps this illness had occurred before in the many long Turns since the Crossing. It was dusty, and pieces of the cover flaked away in my hand. If Mother's assiduous housekeeping had not required it to be dusted off, it was unlikely she would notice the damage. The tome stank with antiquity as I opened it, carefully, not wishing to desecrate it any more than absolutely necessary. I ought to have saved myself the trouble, the ink had faded, leaving only linear splotches on the hide that looked like freckles. I wondered why we bothered to store them anymore. But I could just imagine Mother's reaction if I suggested disposing of these ancestral artifacts.

  I compromised by going back to the tome still legibly labeled Fifth Pass.

  What boring diarists were my ancestors! I was heartily relieved when Sim came to tell me that the head cook earnestly desired my presence. Well, with Mother away, he was likely to apply to me. I held Sim, who was, in any case, not at all eager to return to his labors in the scullery, and quickly penned a note to Journeywoman Desdra, suggesting that Fort Hold's apothecary supplies were at her disposal. I would follow that up as soon as I could, for I doubted that I would be permitted such generosity once Mother had returned to take over the storeroom keys.

  I think that was the first moment in which it occurred to me that Lady Pendra would be as vulnerable to this disease as anyone else. A pang of fear or anxiety paralysed my hand over the script until Sim's throat clearing roused me. I smiled reassuringly at him. Sim didn't need to be burdened with my silly fears.

  "Take this to the Healer Hall. Give it into the hand of Journeywoman Desdra only! Understand? Do not just hand it over to the nearest body in healer colors."

  Sim bobbed his head up and down, smiling his vapid smile and murmuring reassurances.

  I dealt with the cook, who had just been informed by my brother to prepare for an unspecified quantity of guests. He was at a loss to know what to do, as the evening meal was already being prepared.

  "Soup, of course, one of your excellent hearty meat soups, Felim, and a dozen or so of the wherries from the last hunt. They will have hung long enough to be used. Excellent as cold meat, the way you have with seasoning them. More roots, for they, too, can be reheated tastefully. And cheese. We've plenty of cheese."

  "For how many?" Felim was too conscientious far his own good. He had been so often chastised by my mother for "wastefulness" that his only defense was showing her the records of how many ate at which meal and what was served them.

  "I'll discover that, Felim."

  Campen, it appeared, was certain that every nearby holder would be coming to ask his advice about the present emergency, and thus Fort Hold must be prepared to feast the multitude. But the drum message had unequivocably specified a quarantine situation, and I pointed out that the holders, no matter how worried, would be unlikely to disobey that stricture. Those in the home farms might come, since, in effect, they considered themselves part of the main Hold. I forebore to mention that most of these knew a good deal more about managing themselves than
did Campen. Still I did not wish to depress him.

  I returned to Felim and advised him to increase the portions only by a quarter but to make up additional klah, get a new cheese and more biscuits. Checking the wine stores, I saw there was sufficient in the tuns already broached.

  I then went up to the dayroom on the second story, the aunts and other dependents were already aware of the drum reports and highly agitated. I organized them to ready what empty rooms remained into infirmaries. Stuffing clean cases with straw for makeshift pallets would not be too arduous, and they'd feel better for doing something. I caught Uncle Munchaun's eye and we managed to get out into the corridor without being followed.

  Munchaun was the oldest of my father's living brothers and my favorite among the pensioners. Until he had been injured in a climbing fall, he had led all hunting parties. He had such great understanding of human frailties, such humor, such humility that I always wondered how my father could have been chosen to Hold, when Munchaun was so much the better human being.

  "I saw you coming from the Hall. What's the verdict?"

  "Capiam is now a victim of the disease and Desdra tells the healers to treat the symptoms."

  He raised his finely curved eyebrows, a wry grin on his face. "So they don't know what they're dealing with, eh?" When I shook my head, he nodded. "I'll start looking through the Records. They must be good for something besides keeping us elderly supernumeraries occupied."

  I wanted to deny his self, deprecation, but he smiled knowingly at me and my protestation would have fallen on deaf ears.

  That evening, more of the minor holders came than I had anticipated, as well as all the Crafthall Masters, excepting the Harper and Healer Halls, of course. We had ample for them, and they talked well into the night, discussing contingencies and how to shift supplies from hold to hold without breaking the quarantine.