Logs:History Lessons
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| RL Date: 14 July, 2011 |
| Who: Devaki, Tantaran |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Devaki and Tantaran chat about history, the charter, and the current state of the Weyr with the exiles, and there's some interesting speculation on both sides. |
| Where: Records Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 16, Month 3, Turn 26 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Rynien/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
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| It's well past the dinner hour on a cold winter's night. Earlier that day, in passing each other during lunch, they'd made plans to meet up that evening in records room. Thus it is that Devaki's making his way into the room, holding a glowbasket in one hand and a stack of hides in the other. His bruises are all but faded, aside from a slight yellowing that lingers along his jawline, though undoubtedly he would've been seen earlier in the seven with his darker bruises. "Tantaran?" the islander calls, his gaze flicking around the room in an obviously unfamiliar manner. The faint scratching of pen on hide comes from a very well lighted corner of the room, as the curly-haired scribe transfers some notes onto something more permanent. He hears his name called and stops in mid-sentence, the pen leaking a nasty blob of ink onto the hide. "Oh, hi there, Devaki. Here to poke about the records and learn about the Hold?" meaning High Reaches Hold. "Well," Devaki's good humor is audible even before he's visible around the stacks of hides, settling his glowbasket on the floor next to the table, "I was more hoping you'd do the reading and I'd just pick through your thoughts." He gives a low laugh, a hand gesturing towards the empty chair at his table as if seeking a silent invitation. "I heard one of the Lady Holder's neices was Searched -- Ylynna. Do you remember her from when you were at the Hold?" Tantaran grins. "NOt a problem," he says. "Although you might have to kick me if I start singing them." An odd habit of his. He mulls over the name Devaki gave him. "I remember her from the Hold -- didn't see her much for my being in Harper classes and all. But I did notice that she's at the Weyr and I did hear about her getting Searched." He reaches up to put the pen away, then notices the ink blot. "Shards!" and he frantically gathers some blotting cloths before the stain expands any further. "Let me get this cleaned up first, then we can rummage through the hides." He pauses for a moment, as if thinking of something, opens his mouth as if to speak and promptly closes it. For lack of any disapproval, Devaki sinks into the seat, setting his hides -- unused, though obviously reused - on the table in front of him. "Probably could stand to learn a new song or two but-- I will kick you if needed," he allows, graciously, a grin touching his lips. He nods at the harper's recognition of Ylynna, adding, "She seems very--" he struggles for a descriptive words, then finally settles for, "Entitled. Are they all like that, the Blood of High Reaches?" It's a casually posed question at that, though Tantaran is harper and undoubtedly has heard the rumors that link the islanders to the Blood of River Bend and High Reaches alike. Though noting the slight pause on the other's behalf, Devaki's polite enough not to press yet -- watching the harper avoid the near-ink-disaster instead, patiently. Rags have minimized the extent of the ink spill -- fortunately the pen was running dry when the mistake happened -- but there is still a sizable blot next to the most recently-written words. "Scrape it off in a few," he mumbles before turning back to the Exile. "Bloods are," and he shrugs, "well, Bloods -- rank at birth, as opposed to a Crafter, who has to be knotted, or a Rider, who has to Impress. There is a certain sense of entitlement, but it varies from Hold to Hold," and his voice drops conspiratorially lower. "'Reachs' and Nabol are the worst, so I have heard," and he quickly glances around the room, hoping no one is eavesdropping on their little conversation. "And noticed." "The worst?" Devaki echoes, with the faintest of frowns. "I'd thought that Lord Rynien was well thought of, here-- from what I've heard. But then, I guess people are less inclined to be honest with the likes of an exile than a-- harper," he adds, with a gesture towards Tantaran and a wry smile. "Did you get to meet many of them, living at the Hold? Or did they-- live a life apart?" "The Lords and Ladies are generally well thought of," as politics so often deems, "but their offspring, well," and his expression darkens. "I got to meet one of them alright -- Sendal, one of the younger cousins of the Lord Holder. Met with his fist and foot more often than I would have liked," he scowls. "Hardly ever got punished for his bullying, and when he did, it was always something pretty light, like changing glows in the lower caverns, as opposed to cleaning latrines," and his tone says that he would have prefered them to do the latter. "Do you remember Lord Fax -- it's ancient history, but notible in that he styled himself Lord Holder of seven Holds." He shakes his head, light brown curls dancing, making him look faintly girlish. "Bully of the worst sort -- one with rank." "I see," Devaki says, slowly, and the look in his eyes is of someone storing that particular information away for later use. As the harper mentions Lord Fax, there's a slow, confused shake of head. "Seven Holds?" he echoes, surprised. Even an islander knows that is unusual. "He must have been a good Lord Holder, if they let him manage seven Holds. Maybe there's a book I can borrow, about him, somewhere here?" he gestures towards the room, vaguely, hopeful. "I'd imagine," he adds, "It's like anyone else. We had bullies on the island, too. Easier to keep an eye on them there, though. But the Bloods were always favored -- as is done here too, it seems." "Seven Holds," he re-echos, "And it was not through skill or popularity but brute strength that he brought those Seven under his sway. He's still used as an example of how NOT to Hold, and that one Holder, Lord or other, can rightly hold no more than one." He nods agreement to they young man's words. "Like I said, rank at birth, and everthing that goes with it. Now, let me see here," and he slides off his high stool and goes to rummage through the stacks. "Here's one: 'A History of Pern Before the Ninth Pass.'" He opens it and skims through the table of contents -- "Ah, here it is -- 'Fax of High Reaches Hold.'" And he tucks his thumb between the pages as a bookmarker as he delivers the volume to Devaki. Devaki's gaze is fixed on the harper, keenly interested in his description. "But-- however he did it, the other Lord Holders let him. So either he was very strong or, they were very weak?" he postulates, lifting a hand to accept the book with a grateful nod, his finger brushing over the ink before looking up. "This will be -- very interesting. To see /how/ not to do it," he adds with an easy sort of smile. "What songs do the harper's tales sing of him -- if they do? Or is that another thing swept under the rug, like the exile of entire families of Bloods?" His tone aims for casual, though he can't quite keep the sharp note from being entirely audible. "Both, really," the apprentice explains. "He would take the Hold by force of arms and the other Lord Holders were so thoroughly cowed that they did little to stop him." A wry smile as his Harper-trained ear catches the tone of the young Exile's remark. "Very much swept under the carpet, as was the exile of your family and others of the Blood. Fax was slain and the Holds all reclaimed by their rightful Lords," he sing-songs before catching himself, about as close to a song about Fax as there ever was -- not. He leans in close to whisper in Devaki's ear: "That was wrong, just plain wrong, sending the families off with the offenders. What did the mothers and innocent children do to earn so strait a punishment?" He backs off for a moment, studying Devaki's face carefully. "You're Blooded," he states flat-out, without doubt, and sketches a small bow. "It sounds," Devaki says slowly, "More like a failing on Pern-wide scale. I understand Hold autonomy, but no one stood up and said, no?" He shakes his head, and there's a hint of disgust at the Lord Holders past, his fingers splaying across the page, frowning down at it but not reading it just yet. Instead, his gaze lifts, studying Tantaran levelly. He takes the whisper with an equanimity of the well-trained. "What was wrong," he answers in a low voice, "Was the exiling at all. There were no offenders. Our offense was being of the Blood. Being a threat. As, I imagine, we are now. Those of the Blood." A single nod of his head confirms Tantaran's guess. "Have you heard the rumor, harper, that the Holds and Crafts pay the Weyr to keep us here?" One eyebrow rises slightly. "I have heard that rumor," the young Harper nods. "And from what you have told me, I believe that it's the truth. I think they see you as something of an infection, something to be kept away from Pern at large. And so you are kept here, hedged 'round by mountains and dragons, safe from infecting other holds." Devaki looks surprised, both by the acknowledgement of the rumor and the agreement of its truth by the harper. "What would you say then, if I told you that only yesterday, the Weyrwoman and I had a conversation in this very room," his hand waves to indicate the records room, "In which she made it clear that we will no longer by a problem when -- not if, we stand. Even though only a handful have indicated their intention to Impress. You already know the exiles who are the right age have been asked to -- remain -- in the barracks, and take lessons with the candidates." Tantaran nods. "So I have noticed," Tantaran says dryly. "If they Impress, they have to stay, at least through weyrlinghood." Devaki leans forward. "And what do the harpers make of all this?" "This is only my opinion, but I believe there are two options. One would have you absorbed into the Weyr to dilute and disperse the Blood. The second," and he pauses for a moment, "is only my guess -- that you will be returned to the Western Islands, but not as exiles. But mind you, this is only a guess, and one from a mere Harper apprentice who may think he knows more than he really does." "There is a third option," Devaki proposes, fingers tapping lightly against the open page of the book. "The one that everyone seems to want to ignore. That our Blood is recognized." He glances up, silently seeking the harper's input into that. Tantaran nods. "That would work in to the second option -- the Blood would be recognized and you would return to the west as Holders. You have demonstrated quite clearly that you can Hold the land, through Fall, fog and fire, and that gives you the right to make it yours. That is, if I remember the relevant section of the Charter right." "Not the west. That is not -- that is a life of survival." Instead of elaborating on that thought, Devaki's head tips, intrigued by Tantaran's words. "The charter? Could you point me to the relevant section?" Tantaran leaves his place again and goes to a shelf of books kept seperate from the general collection -- the reference section, as it were, of the Records Room, pulls down a surprisingly slim volume and returns to his seat. "This is the Weyr's copy of the Charter," and he opens it and leafs through several pages. "Ah-ha -- here it is," and he hands the volume over to Devaki for his perusal. There's a long silence where Devaki pours over the relevant section -- then continues reading. He begins making a few notes on one of the hides he brought with him. Given the comment that follows, he's jumped to a different section. "Interesting. The succession of Lord Holders isn't always the first born male -- but whomever the current Holder names? Or if unnamed, whomever the Conclave confirms?" "Strange but true," the young Harper seconds. "I would say that it is less a matter of birth order and more a matter of who would be the best leader for the Hold in question. By merit as much as by Blood." Pause, then "And women may HOld in their own name as well as men. It's not often done and usually happens if the Lady outlives the Lord and the Conclave declares her as the chief Holder." "Women Lady Holders," Devaki muses, shaking his head in subtle surprise. "I'd wondered how Lady Edeline came to hold Tillek." Apparently he's been paying attention to the classes about the local leaders in particular. "How did you find Lord Rynien, as a Lord Holder? Is he well liked? Fair in his judgements?" "He is well-liked by most, save those few malcontents who always have a quibble about something or someone," the young Harper says. "He's fair in his dealings with both the Weyr and the minor Crafthalls in the Hold, and allows the latter free rein in governing themselves." "As one should," Devaki agrees, though he almost gives the air of being disappointed by the answer. He finishes skimming the Charter and, a shade reluctantly, closes it and sets it aside. He seems to leap from one subject to the next, fixing his thoughtful gaze on the harper a beat later. "Have you thought about where you would want to be posted when you... what is it called when you become a Journeyman?" Tantaran nods and picks up the volume and returns it to its place. "Yes, it's journeyman -- I should be walking the tables in the next turn or two. Now," and he returns to his place, expression thoughtful, "I haven't much thought about where I would like to be posted after that." He leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Perhaps stay here, although the Weyrharpers are well-established. Or perhaps someplace in the east, such as Benden or Nerat. It's good for a Harper to learn as much as he can about Pern first-hand, and Nerat is about as far from 'Reaches as you can get." Or at least nearly as far.... Devaki gives a tip of his head in thanks as Tantaran returns the book, placing the hide with his notes as a bookmark in the history volume in front of him. "You want to get away from the 'Reaches?" Devaki looks briefly surprised, then musing. "I can understand the desire, but surely someone with knowledge of the area and the people involved is invaluable. In any case -- if us islanders are ever afford the basic right to move around as we will -- perhaps you'd be willing to visit the Hold briefly -- guide me around?" he asks. "As I said, it behooves a Harper to experience as much of Pern as possibe as a journeyman -- I mean, it's right in the name," obviously. "It keeps one from becoming hide-bound and provincial." A soft chucke at his own phrasing. "Maybe I'm already hide-bound -- I swear I spend as much time here as I do in the Crafthall." His remark reminds him of his little accident, which doesn't look quite as bad as it did before. A quick and delicate scraping and it is gone. The phrasing causes Devaki to chuckle as well, after a beat. "Then maybe you should make an effort to get out to the rest of the Weyr more, while you're here?" the islander proposes, with an easy grin. "I could meet you for a drink at the bar... the Snowasis tomorrow or something?" he suggests, carefully closing the book with the hide still in place as a bookmark. "Certainly," the Harper grins. "But not too much or too strong, of course. I still have this," and he gives a nod to his knot, "to think about. After dinner would be a good time for me -- I'm usually done with chores and hidework and generally have the evenings to myself, at least until curfew. Is that agreeable with you?" "Start with ale then. Or cider?" Devaki, it seems, has been picking up a few new terms in the last couple of sevendays. "Sounds good to me. I'm going to go read up on this a bit," he taps the book. "Maybe we can talk about it a bit tomorrow?" "Let me write that you have that book," and Tantaran finds the ledger with books borrowed and returned, when and by whom, and adds Devaki's name to the list. "There -- it's official now. Have to keep track of these records very carefully. Can't let a volume wander off unnoticed, like a strayed herdbeast." So, I'm off to practice and then to bed. See you at Snoasis tomorrow." He smiles and offers his hand. "Don't worry. I can't exactly leave the Weyr and take it with me." Devaki is nothing if not dryly humorous about his situation, leaning over the table to shake Tantaran's hand with a grateful smile. "I appreciate the help. Tomorrow," he agrees with a sharp nod, tucking the book under his arm and the unused hides into his pouch before he makes his way out of the room slowly. |
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