Chap. 135 The "Fight"

Chap. 135  The "Fight"

He felt strange, almost resentful, although common sense told him he had no right to that feeling.

Everyone pitched in for harvest, no matter what they did in regular life. While it was accepted that the very old, the very young and the disabled were not expected to work, most of Pern's folks believed that if you didn't work, you had no right to eat the fruits of other's labors. When it was a question of fight thread or starve, well, of course, dragonriders didn't do the hard labor. 

But Thread was done, releasing an entire corps of dragonriders to do what groundpounders had done all their lives. He didn't feel too badly, though, having grown up on a ranch, he had worked hard for most of his life. It was just…not the kind of work he had ever done before.

Which did he want to do? Bale hay? Harvest the fast growing 'papergrass'-for that's what the once derided grass, formerly considered nothing but a weed, had suddenly acquired an immense importance to the Pernese. Or should he pick apples, pears, other fruit? 

Weyrleader M'rvin had allowed his riders their choice, with the warning, "Choose, if you don't, or there's too many in one task and not another, I'll choose for you."

He chose hay baling, solely because it meant he'd be near horses. Having grown up on the steppe, they'd seldom needed hay, as their cothold's pastures were well managed, allowing their horses and cattle to graze year round. His father would hire a team to put up what little hay they would need for the rainy and sometimes snowy months. 

However, in the time since his becoming a dragonrider and now, something had changed in him. That was his physical condition, and the enormity of a task where there was no steppe to rotate one's stock on. He was still in excellent physical condition, but it was for riding a dragon, not doing what farmers did every day.

The hay field ran on for what seemed kilometers. The grass had been cut a week before, allowed to cure in the summer sun, and now teams of men and boys were out, baling. A large steam engine drove the machine that turned piles of hay into tightly packed bales. The resulting rectangles of sweet smelling grass emerged from the machine like some cornered pupae from the back end of an insect. One then pulled the bale off the belt, tossed it onto a horse drawn wagon and once piled ten or twelve bales high, the filled trailer was drawn away by horses and an empty wagon took its place. 

He hated the steam engine…it was noisy, a clanking metal beast that screeched neverendingly, the leather belts protesting the heat, the dust, the cogwheels.  Cinders from the fire in its belly constantly threatened to set the hay stubble alight. Little girls and women stood by with shovels or heavy, soaking wet slabs of wool felt, to kill any flames that might take hold.  

His job was to grasp the bales from the baler and toss them onto the flatbed trailer. At first it was easy, but as the pile grew, he and the others were forced to toss the heavy bales higher and higher, to the boys who were atop the pile. Those boys had to balance atop the growing pile and still stack the bales into neat ranks, and they had to hustle as there might be three or even four bales coming at them simultaneously. Sometimes they fell off. 

"Every muscle in me hurts," K'ndar thought, laying in his bunk after the first day. His ears rang  from the shriek of the steam engine and its handmaiden, the baler. His hands were raw with blisters. No one had mentioned he might just want to wear some gloves? Even after a shower, tiny, almost invisible bits of hay clung to him as if glued, in his ears, in the corners of his eyes, even in his nostrils. He was so tired he hadn't wanted to eat, just clean up and sleep. 

What bothered him is that he was young, and thought himself strong and in the peak of physical condition.

Maybe so, but two years of riding a dragon had softened him. 

"I get to do the same thing tomorrow," he thought, groaning at the idea. 

What is wrong? Are you unhappy?

I am. I haven't worked so hard in I don't remember how long.

Why don't you just tell them you don’t want to do it?

Ah, I can't do that, Raventh, it's not right. Besides, what would I do for an excuse? That it's too hard? 

Yes.

It is hard work, and mindnumbing, but there are people who've done it all their lives and I don't hear them complain. I wonder if they even feel it.

Some do. You aren't alone.

Meaning what?

All the other dragonriders are thinking the same thing. Some of them are wishing they had Thread to fight instead of doing the work.

K'ndar laughed despite himself.

_______________________________________________________________________

He was still sore when he entered the dining hall for breakfast. It was filled with Weyrfolk. The dragonriders were unnaturally silent, though. It wasn't through resentment. They were all sore, not being used to the labor they'd done. But no one complained.

There was a spot on the bench next to a woman, who was already seated and eating her breakfast. 

"May I sit down?" he asked, her. 

"Certainly, sir, there's room. Have a seat." she said.

"Thank you," he said. 

He'd begun working on his breakfast when B'rost approached him, his tray bearing a small amount of breakfast. Without a word, he forced himself into the narrow space between K'ndar and the woman.

She glared at B'rost.  B'rost gave her the stink eye. Something told her to let it ride. She moved over, giving him more than enough room to sit down next to K'ndar. 

Arsehole, she muttered under her breath.

Instead of his normal banter, B'rost grunted and began to shovel his breakfast into his mouth. 

"That was rude," K'ndar said, surprised at B'rost's uncharacteristic behavior.

He looked at K'ndar with a strange look in his eye. 

"You look fresh as the morning dew.  What did you do yesterday, stand in the shade and wave a fan over someone's head whilst they were working?" he snarled.

K'ndar was shocked at B'rost's accusation. 

"What? Where's this noise coming from? I threw bales of hay three meters into the air. All bloody day. My hands are raw and all I can taste is hay. You're the one who looks like he's sat on his arse all day," K'ndar retorted.

"Up yours, K'ndar, I worked it off. That papergrass does NOT want to cut. Except your hands. It grows behind you so you have to cut it twice, I swear, I'm done with that."

"Well, you don't get to take it out on me, mate. Nor anyone else. You don't have to like working at harvest but it has to be done. What do you want, to go out and get Thread scored?"

"That would be preferable, shards, yes. At least I'm sitting on Rath and not wearing holes in my knees."

"I'll swap with you, if you like," K'ndar offered, wondering if that would be wise. Maybe he should at least try cutting papergrass, he couldn't bear the machine's noise another day.

"It's a deal," B'rost said, pissy, "It can't be as hard as cutting papergrass, you don't look as if you even broke a sweat."

"Done," K'ndar said, "you little snot, I worked hard yesterday," 

The blue rider jumped to his feet, fists cocked.

"Snot, is it? Come on, big man, throw down. I'm tired of you, you're so high and mighty, come on, let's see what you got."

What in the name of Pern? The dining hall suddenly went silent, all eyes on them. B'rost was waving his fists in K'ndar's face.

"What the shard's got into you?"

"YOU, K'ndar, YOU."

Two of the dragonriders got up and approached them.

K'ndar didn't stand up. He fought the urge to respond. This was NOT normal B'rost behavior. 

"Come ON, big man, what, you're too goodygoody?" B'rost said, provoking.

"B'rost, shut up. Sit down, don't be an arse," he said.

The two men were at the table, one behind B'rost, and one behind K'ndar.

He turned to look at the man behind him. "I'm okay, I'm not going to…"

Without warning, B'rost punched him in the nose. 

Blinding white pain flashed in K'ndar's eyes. 

The one behind B'rost grabbed the younger man, bending his arms behind him and pushing him to the floor. 

The stars in K'ndar's eyes began to wane but the agony in his nose roared white in pain.

"K'ndar, you okay?" the man behind him asked.

He shook his head, a hand to his nose. It came away with blood.

"Shards, mate, you're bleeding," the man said. 

He could hardly hear for the roaring in his ears. B'rost? What in the name of Pern set him off?

He felt the blood running down his face. He could barely keep from vomiting from the pain.  

My nose, it HURTS.  I can't breathe through it. 

Despite being off shift, Oscoral, the night baker materialized. 

"You, there, keep that young buck down," he said to B'rost's minder, "step on him if need be."  The man did so, a bit more enthusiastically than necessary. B'rost, however, wasn't fighting him. He looked bewildered, almost ready to cry.

"Stand up, K'ndar, let me look at your nose," he ordered.

K'ndar stood up, woozy. Oscorals hand engulfed his entire lower jaw, turning K'ndar face left and right.

"There's plenty of blood here, K'ndar, but your nose, it looks broke to me," Oscoral said.

"It feels broke," K'ndar gasped, then stopped. Even talking increased the pain.

"Looks broke to me, too, had mine busted in a fight, long ago," 'his' minder said.

"Lemme up. I'll be good," B'rost said. 

"Not on your life, mate, you'll have to go through me, first, till Oscoral has his say," said his minder.

Oscoral turned and looked down at B'rost.

"My say? My say is you're fighting in MY dining hall? I don’t think so, 'big" man and if you want, try and take a swipe at me. Let him up, sir, let him up. Go ahead, you get first lick," he growled. B'rost scrambled to his feet.

Oscoral was about as tall as a mountain, and at the moment looked like he was about to erupt. 

B'rost shook his head.

"I'm sorry. He made me mad, I won't do it again. I've got to go, I've got to get to the papergrass team." 

Half a dozen voices rose in opposition.

"I heard the whole thing, Oscoral, this K'ndar? He was innocent. He did no such thing," the woman said, " this one here," she said, angrily pointing at B'rost, "he came in, shoved me aside like I was a sack of flour, then went at with K'ndar without a reason. He started it." 

"I'm sorry," B'rost said, without convincing anyone.

"Nope,sorry. It's done. You want forgiveness, you take on the haybaler today." K'ndar said, spluttering blood as he spoke. It was everywhere. 

"I think not, K'ndar. I won't tolerate fighting, nor will Hariko. You, B'rost..sir, take this rowdy to M'rvin. K'ndar,you're heading to the healer," Oscoral said.

 B'rost's man grasped the blue rider by the arm and said, "Right, me boy, we're to see the Weyrleader."

"No, it's okay, I said I'm sorry, I have to.." B'rost said, fearfully, but it was too late.

"Tell it to the Weyrleader, boyo, I saw what you did."

"You, K'ndar," Oscoral said, "You, go see Billek. Now."

"I'm okay, Oscoral, really, "K'ndar said.

"Nay, you're not, I've had me nose broke and I can tell you, things can go bad wrong if you don't get it looked at soon as possible. Don't sass me, sir, do as you're told." Oscoral said, a grin flickering about his lips, "before you completely cover my floor with blood."

_________________________________________________________________________

"Aye, it's broken, sure enough," Billek, the weyr's Master Healer said, moving K'ndar's head back and forth. The bleeding had stopped and his face was beginning to swell. 

"Any trouble breathing?"

"A little, well, yeah, a little." K'ndar said, the pain beginning to grow.

"It looks fairly simple, though," Billek said.

"Can you..oh, I sound so weird," K'ndar said, suddenly dismayed, "Can you, um, fix it?"

"I can straighten it, the sooner the better," Billek said, looking at the nose closely.

"Like..um, now?"

"It already hurts, yes?"

"Yes," K'ndar said.

"If I do it now, you'll be hurting for awhile but if you wait you'll hurt twice, and it might not straighten."

"Do it now, then," K'ndar said, "so I can get back to work."

"No, sir, you're not going to work, not today. I'm going to give you some fellis to numb the pain, I'll straighten it, then you're confined to quarters for the rest of the day. You'll need to put some ice on that. When you lay down, prop yourself up. The fellis may make you sick…it's powerful stuff, but it will most likely just make you sleepy. I'll numb you up now, send you back to your weyr, and I want you back here in the morning," Billek said, "I'll report your absence to the Weyrleader."

K'ndar shrugged. "Let's do it, then," he said.

Billek said, opening his medicine chest and withdrawing a small glass bottle. As he administered the fellis, he asked, "How did you happen to break your nose?"

"I didn't. B'rost, another dragonrider, punched me in the nose at the breakfast table."

"What? I don't know B'rost, did he..is he a brawler?"

"Uh uh," K'ndar said, trying to manage the rush of the fellis, "In fact…wow, that's some …whew, that's some strong stuff," he said. "B'rost is normally the gentlest of folks, I have NO idea what set him off, at me, especially. We were classmates and were on the survey team. I've never seen him like this, it was just boom, he's mad at me and bam, punched me in the nose."

"Hmmm. Maybe I'll talk to the Weyrleader about him. Lay down and be still…can you feel any pain?"

"Umm..no! It works that fast?"

"You've never had fellis before?"

"Nooooooooo, just numbweed when we got hurt and mum's chicken soup when we were ill," he said, feeling bubbly. It was the only word that fit. 

Billek laughed. "Tincture of Mum, that's the best cure I've ever known. Shut your eyes and grasp the edge of the bunk, here. This is going to hurt, even though the fellis will blunt most of the pain. I'll put your nose right, right about NOW…."

Before K'ndar could tense himself, Billek grasped his nose and …

Another blinding shaft of pure pain coursed through him. He shouted, involuntarily.

K'ndar!! K'ndar!! Raventh cried, and Siskin was screeching outside Billek's clinic.

"What, what is THAT???" Billek cried, alarmed. 

It's okay. I'm going to be okay, allright? Don't worry. 

He hurt you!

The healer had to, but it's okay. I'll be okay.

Rath said B'rost is crying. He was angry and he hit you, didn't he?

"K'ndar, can you hear me?" Billek said, unaware of the conversation, "There's something trying to get IN!"

"I can hear you," he said through the buzzing in his ears, "that's my fire lizard, it's just, my dragon and my fire lizard reacted to me. I should have warned them. I'm sorry I shouted at you," he said.

"I expected it, at least you can," Billek said, frightened at Siskin's miniature roars. Small he may have been, but he sounded ready to kill. 

Raventh, tell Siskin I'll be okay

He is furious. He thinks the healer is hurting you

Tell him he did not hurt me badly.  It needed to be done, now it's over with. I will be home shortly. Call him. Keep him with you until I am in the weyr. 

I've never seen him so furious. I will tell him to not hurt the healer.

That is good. 

You feel…odd. Like you want to sleep. But it's not sleep.

He DID feel odd. He felt woozy and, oddly, considering the circumstances, a bit giddy.

Billek could see it. 

"Will your fire lizard hurt me?"

"Heee heee," K'ndar said, suddenly amused at the funny things Billek said, "Probably! But don't worry, I told him to meet me in our weyr."

He is here with me in our weyr now.  

"It sounds like he's gone," Billek said.

"He is..he's with my dragon. I told him to not...not hurt you."

"I ask that because I'm going to help you to your weyr," the healer said.

I will make sure he doesn't hurt the healer. Let the healer help you. 

 

K'ndar laughed. "No, I'm fine. Really. I'm not a baby, you know. I don't need any help."

"Really? Stand up." Billek said, stifling a laugh.

"You are so funny, Billy. I AM standing up."

K'ndar. You are not standing up. Your mind is strange. Let the healer help you. 

 

The world was spinning now. It looked so strange. He felt light as a feather, as if he were nothing but gossamer. No wonder dragons could fly, it was easy, when you felt like this.

"I'll just put out my arms and fly awayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy," he said, giggling.

"I'm going to need help carrying you." Billek said, aware that laughing at a patient was considered unprofessional…but it was still funny.

"Jus' call Rabenth he can carry…" his voice dribbled to a stop.

Billek looked at K'ndar's still bloody face. He cleaned it off, gently.

"Baby you may not be, but you're fast asleep as one," he said.