Long after the other candidates had gone their separate ways, Kaeden remained in his chair. His tea was long gone, though he still held the mug. Despite the lack of caffeine, the warm mint tea had only served to awaken him, or maybe it had been the last conversation of the night. A person can only be so understanding. But he had tried.
Finally, when the last inhabitants of the large cavern came to just Kaeden and a tiny handful of weyrfolk, he stirred and set aside his mug. Digging into his coat, he withdrew a tightly rolled parchment, then his pen and tiny vial of ink. Rather than relocate, he crossed his legs on the chair's cushion, tightly bundled his coat, and set it in his lap.
The parchment was new and unused, possibly rolled before it had finished curing properly. It was not a large piece, far more narrow than long, which made it that much harder to keep open. Slowly and tediously, Kaeden began to write one line at a time, waiting for the first to dry before unrolling enough for the next.
- 6th day of Month 2, Turn 31
Kaeden blew on the simple text, his writing heavy despite the lack of a table. He had never quite kicked the habit of pressing too hard on the pen, no matter how the Harpers harped when he was a kid.
- Gurevak - I know I promised regular updates. Things got complicated and busy when I accepted
The scent of the dark ink on fresh parchment had always been one that appealed to Kaeden, even if this particular sheet gave off an almost gamy undertone. Definitely not the work of a master craftsman, but it was what he could get. He was about to blow on the fresh words when a drudge stopped by, reaching for his mug. A smile and a quiet word sent her on her way, mug untouched, and feelings, too.
- this knot. I do not expect much in the end, but candidates hear things, if they know how to
He was forced to pause again, intermittently blowing across the ink, watching as it faded from something nearly black to something deeply blue, almost indigo. If he stared hard enough, he could see (or imagine he saw) swirls in the ink, patterns created by the nib of the pen, or by the thickness of the ink and the way it dried differently.
- listen to tones and the things said and not said. Despite that, not much to say yet. Nothing
This time his pause was as thoughtful as it was necessary. After the line had dried enough, he let the parchment close slightly, held open only be one thumb. Every day so far had been different. The people, the tasks, the words, the ideas, they all changed visibly, palpably. Was this what his boss was after? He wanted intel, not imagery, but this new environment was changing Kaeden, too. He could feel it, welcomed it, but was perhaps a little frighted by it. He had already realized he would not return to the Hold the same man who left.
His life at High Reaches had been filled with structured building blocks. Everything had its place, everyone had their job. You found your purpose and you did your job until you were too old to continue. There was a deep sense of security in that. His life at High Reaches Weyr felt entirely different. Still structured, but rather than the solid, predictable blocks, it was held together by sticks and twine. At any moment, twine could break, or the sticks could be rearranged, sometimes without disturbing a single other junction, sometimes bringing the whole thing down to be built again. Right now it felt like the latter. It was trembling, waiting to see which bindings would hold and which would fail. Would sticks snap? Would some combine for strength? Separate in hope of reaching something new, even if it created a weakness?
Kaeden squeezed his eyes tightly shut for a moment, unaware until just that moment that he had been staring at the fire. It left splotches of green and gold light against the black of his eyelids. Blinking a few times, he cleaned the pen and took fresh ink before reopening the parchment.
- is solid, but we knew that. The Weyr cannot remain unbalanced forever, but allegiances remain
He stopped, pen poised, waiting. If he remembered to press more lightly, he knew the ink would dry faster, but when had that reminder ever made him change? Impatient, he continued, possibly leaving traces of the previous line on the underside of the parchment.
- divided. No telling how they will end up, and in the long run it might not matter. If the
When Kaeden looked up, he noticed one of the other candidates crossing from the bowl toward the inner caverns. He watched, his expression thoughtful but muted, perhaps waiting to see if he was noticed. When they disappeared into the corridor, he returned to his writing.
- balance lands poorly, it will be corrected in a Turn or two. Something refreshing about the
Maybe he should have moved to a table. This was tedious, but the chair was so warm and comfortable. A table would have been farther from the fire, and while the Weyr was not all that much colder than the Hold, it did not have the Hold's usefully mediating neighbor, the ocean. There, even a cold, wet wind was heavy enough to block. Here, it cut through the layers and seeped down the collar to spread ice down the spine, to pour frost into the fingers and toes. Much better to remain by the fire.
- Weyrs. It will not tolerate bad leadership forever just because of blood, tradition, or some
Kaeden frowned, both at the line, and at the thoughts that intruded. Thoughts of other candidates, or some of the riders he had met, or other weyrfolk. Thoughts of those eggs people seemed to find so fascinating, while even Kaeden's more philosophical self found them just a little monotonous. It was likely more their potential. Yes.
- misplaced sense of loyalty. I believe it is this constant potential for change that Holders
The questions without answers, the "what if's", the "why's", the "what then's". That, Kaeden could understand, but staring at dragon-guarded eggs would not change any of the questions or theories. Then again, the galleries were warm, almost too warm, really. It was an external condition to mix with the questions, an excuse for unspoken fears that were felt more keenly for keeping them hidden.
- truly fear, no matter how much they rant about morality. What I have seen so far is that the
Maybe that was Alida's issue. She spoke so seldom. What was she hiding? Was there some injury? Was she hiding something or hiding from something? She might put up an invulnerable front, but if invulnerable, why all that emotional armor? If invulnerable, why lash out at Wakizian and risk both their candidacies? Did she not care? Was she there for some other purpose, as Kaeden was? As he had been, at least. He was beginning to question his own motives at this point, which was perhaps why he was waxing philosophical in a letter to a man who just might use the parchment for his next latrine visit.
The line was dry, but Kaeden's hand remained paused above the sheet until he stopped to clean the pen again. What of Nicky? The kid was a walking disaster in some ways. How could he be that old and still that naive?
- majority of riders are as much a part of the larger community as everyone else on Pern. Why
Had he just been that sheltered? Was he also hiding something? Or from something? Was he one of those people more comfortable with things than people? What might a dragon think of that stutter?
Then there was Ceawlin, turning up his nose in some ways while seeming to embrace those same things in other ways. If he truly wanted to follow his Craft and nothing else, why was he here? Why not immerse himself in the Harper world at Fort or some other craft hall? Yet more ulterior motives, or was it just for show?
- do others despise their way of life so much if not out of a fear for what it could mean if it
Brieli had said to consider, really consider, what would change if one of those eggs held a dragon meant for him. Or at least, that was what he thought she said. He still was not quite sure how to take the weyrwoman, wannabe senior. He had tried to consider. Sometimes it seemed so immense he could not possibly fit it all in his head. At other times, it felt simple. It will happen or not. Life changes no matter what.
- were accepted instead of ridiculed? In the end, my report to you is this: it feels like the
Kaeden could not make himself care one way or the other who ended up as Weyrleader. His tasks and duties so far had not brought him into any real contact with either contender. He could see why people might make an issue out of a female Weyrleader, but if that was the case, why did they not balk at the Headwoman? Or at having a female Weyrwoman? Okay, so there was no other kind of Weyrwoman, but why did the Weyr even have Weyrwomen? Their sex was in their very title, but the Weyrleader was not called a Weyrman.
What bothered Kaeden most was how small-minded the entire debate seemed. People were so polarized on something that, in his experience, had little to do with how effective a person was at leading, and what in Faranth's name could one's dragon change about any of that? Since the title was not "Weyrman", did that not make "leader" the true point?
- Weyr stands wobbling on spearpoint. Rather than fall one of two ways, it could fall in any
As for Brieli and Azaylia, Kaeden was again puzzled. By all the reports he had been able to find, both their golds rose at the same time, or as close as really mattered. So in his mind, they either led together, as they had seemed to be doing for a while now, or one stepped back. Brieli wanted it more, that seemed clear. Azaylia had been happy clearing tables like some barmaid. Then again, maybe wanting leadership made a person a poorer choice for the job. There were, after all, very different kinds of ambition.
- direction, and it is not something you or I can influence. Continue trading with the usual
In the end, Kaeden felt he should simply go on as he had been, just as he now wrote to Gurevak. What else was there to do? As if the riders were going to poll the weyrfolk or candidates, much less the holdfolk, on who should lead. All Kaeden wanted was stability, and the longer he remained at the Weyr, the more he wanted it for the Weyr rather than for whatever tangential influences it might have on the Hold.
- staff, and let the riders handle their own. They have managed to do it this long. Unless
Kaeden stuffed a fist against a deep yawn and barely avoided smearing ink across his face. His eyes felt tired, his body heavy, legs cramped. Words and thoughts were blending, melding, getting harder to clarify much less separate. He blew across the page and glanced at his empty mug, weighing the comfort of a last cup of tea against the danger of having to visit the head in the middle of the night.
- there is something notable to report, I will not likely write again until after the hatching.
The hatching. He set aside the pen and reached toward the knot on his shoulder, not quite touching it. Blue ink on a white knot would not be... not be... There was a word. Something... proper? He was able to stifle another yawn without quite opening his mouth. Best to finish this. In the morning he could find someone with a trained firelizard. A messenger. Maybe a rider visiting the Hold.
- I trust you and the docks will continue just fine without me. If you see my parents, please
Kaeden was no longer sure it even mattered if he sent the letter. What had he really said? What intel had he managed to share? The Weyr was on rocky ground. Everyone knew that. It had to come to the brink sooner rather than later. Again, no news in that. Life would continue. It always did.
- let them know I am all right.
Well, there was that. There was a last fleeting thought as he widened the roll of parchment just enough to scratch his name at the bottom, just above the ragged end of the sheet.
He wondered if his parents would want to come visit, or if they might come for the hatching. Could he ask a rider to bring them? Would they arrange it themselves? He was their only child, and he knew they loved him, but was this the life, even the potential life they wanted for him? Would they understand if he stayed?
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