A Scream in the Night
Author: Sam
Story: Trader's Bargain: 1 of 2
Series: Islinne Weyr
Characters: Wexler, Bradiana, Tainna, Caiony, Taiony
Rating: T: angst, mild violence.
Summary: A crafter's quest ends a trader's hope.
Setting: AU 10th pass: 3370.07.21 - 3370.08.07: Cothold in Paradise River Hold Territory
Spoiler: Not really.
Category: Drama, General
Disclaimer: "Dragonriders of Pern (R)" is a registered trademark to Anne McCaffrey 1967(c). All the ensuing titles therein are also trademarks of Anne (and Todd McCaffrey) and The Worlds of Anne McCaffrey, Ltd. I am in no way connected with these people, and I do not claim ownership to these characters, lands, or names. I have borrowed them to share a story... and most likely not a story either would have written, had they had the time or no. I am making no money from this, and it is just for my entertainment and that of free entertainment to a select group of friends. Thank You.
Note: I have not yet read any of the Todd McCaffrey books in the series, so this is AU, concentrating on a time almost 1000 years after Anne McCaffrey's 9th Pass ends. If this story contradicts any of Mr. McCaffrey's revelations, please forgive me. None of the characters are based on the canon characters, nor are the canon characters ever mentioned.
Second Note: Islinne Weyr was formerly Southern Weyr. For those who wish to know more about the 10th Pass hinted at in this fan-fiction, please contact me.
Distribution: Please ask first?
Feedback: Yes, please? Especially constructive.
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Tilting his head, Wexler stopped to listen to the distance crying. Coming so shortly after those eerie screams... only hours really... the wailing brought forth the image of someone suffering. He shook his head and approached rapidly yet cautiously. The young journeyman musician didn't want to meet up with whoever had caused the screams, but he wanted to help the person who was injured. The problem was that he seemed to have been following the screams and cries for hours, never getting closer.
Wexler sighed, and strode on, adjusting his trajectory with each new wail. Unfortunately, the forest of Paradise River stretched on, a dark, leafy expanse in the night, but never seemed to end. The musician couldn't even see ahead of him, for there was no moon and the stars were clouded. He had to rely on his feet and his senses.
Suddenly, the wailing stopped. Opening wide brown eyes even wider, the journeyman strained to hear the discordant noise. All he got was the sound of an annoyed wherry. Wexler shook his head, and continued in the direction he thought he'd last heard the wail. He hoped he didn't get turned around, for the person would never get help this night if he missed her or him.
As he walked he turned the incident over in his mind. He'd been traveling towards the next posting, towards Paradise River Hold, and had stopped at tiny Paradise Forest Cothold for the night. Everyone had been awakened from their sleep by the screams. The sound was so close it seemed to be on the doorstep, but that was an illusion. In reality, he'd now traveled several miles on foot through the trees to rescue the injured person.
The sound hadn't even given away what gender the victim was. Wexler simply guessed that it was a woman. He didn't have anyone to compare notes with, as the cotholder's family refused to go out and help in the hot night. The musician was on his own.
Something, a rock perhaps, was ahead of him. The feeble light of the cloud-blurred stars showed an arm length bulge in the ground cover. The journeyman dropped to his knees by the object and was surprised by a faint whimper. He reached out and touched a rough, dirty piece of cloth wrapped around something alive. He carefully ran his hand over it. Another whimper ensued.
Gently picking up the bundle, the young musician sat back on his feet. He squinted in the feeble glow from above, trying to see what might have caused the screaming. Surely this small life hadn't been able to produce such a hair-raising sound.
A dark form loomed up from the near distance. The sound of wings alerted Wexler to the figure's identity: a wherry. He had to get to safety quickly, or this night's quest would have been in vain. Still... what or who could have screamed in such agony? Wexler stood quickly, startling the approaching wherry into winging backwards.
Hurrying away from the predator, hoping he wouldn't be called on the defend himself, the musician pulled back the cloth. He was stunned to see the dim outline of a child. Actually, it was an infant so tiny it could have been a newborn. The truth sunk in rather quickly after his discovery.
Somebody had been out there in the forest of Paradise River near her time. She must have gone into labor before reaching a cothold. Why had she been traveling, and why had she been alone? Or had she? Someone must've wrapped the tiny life in this coarse cloth. Who? Why leave it after such work to bring it into this world? Why forest the infant after tenderly wrapping it for warmth?
Wexler's head swam with questions, but more immediate concerns wiped any other thoughts from his mind. The wherry screamed and lunged for him. Dropping to the group, the young man nearly lost his grip on the baby. A raking of talons across one shoulder signaled the wherry's overhead pass. Something had to be done quickly.
Hurriedly putting the baby on the ground, Wexler released the clasp on his beltknife. Waiting for the wherry to circle and dive again, the man stood up and slammed the knife into the wherry's face as hard as he could. The momentum of the predator knocked him backwards, where he landed next to the baby. Wexler gasped as searing pain shot through every limb and down his torso.
The musician lie still, trying to regain his breath.
Screaming in indignant pain, the wherry stumbled away from its prize. Apparently, it had decided that the meal wasn't quite weak enough yet. It made a lunge, gaining the air, and flew off for help.
Wexler took advantage of the respite. Grabbing the unusually silent baby, he struggled to his feet. He had to fight to remain conscious as he ran towards the cothold he'd left only hours ago. He somehow knew he'd never reach it in time, but he had to try for the infant's sake.
The musician was right; he collapsed within yards of his battle. Fortunately, the cotholder's family had decided to follow the brave musician into the tropical night. They watched from a safer distance as he'd defended himself. When the wherry left, the cotholder hurried forward to assist the wounded man. The small group managed to support Wexler back to the cothold.
Wexler never awoke. His wounds had been too severe. Instead, the young musician died within hours of saving the unknown infant's life. The abandoned child, though, was not a welcome replacement for the brave young journeyman.
Looking disgustedly at the now fed and sleeping bundle, the cotholder grunted in disapproval. "Looks like we need to foster it or something."
"We don't need another mouth. These're troubled times. If'n its own dam didn't want it, why should we nurse it?" His wife was even more indignant than the cotholder.
One of the sons shook his head. "It needs a name."
The lady screeched in vexation, "No! If'n you name it, you'll wanna keep it! I won't allow that. I say we don't need another mouth." She turned to her husband for agreement.
He nodded and turned to his son. "Okay, lad. We'll give it to the first traders we see. After all, them dirty beasts'll take anything. If'n they ask for a name, we'll think of one quick like."
The cotholder's son nodded. "Probably a trader brat anyway. They never keep track of their women, letting them wander everywhere. Dam shoulda stayed with the train that close to birthin'."
The cotholder nodded again then thrust the bundle at his son's wife. "You take care of it till the train comes by. You keep it away from the family, hear?"
Silently, Bradiana took the bundle and left the room. Alone in the sleeping area, she proceeded to unwrap the infant. Wexler had died protecting it, but that meant nothing to the woman or her family. After all, he was a crafter. Crafters and holders didn't mix. The young woman sighed at the extra unwelcome chore, not in the least surprised to find the work had been shunted to her.
"Well, little waif. You're going to be annoying me for a time, aren't you?" she asked the infant. Tilting her head, she managed to unwrap the last of the cloth, exposing the still unwashed newborn. "Why'd you have to be a boy?"
Bradiana cleaned him up and rewrapped him in a soft, clean cloth. "Don't think that just 'cause I've wanted a son this three turns that I'll foster you, waif. And those adorable blue eyes won't do nothing to change my mind." The cotholder's daughter-in-law sighed and hoped the train would come the next day or soon after. The longer she kept the boy, the harder she'd find it to give him up.
Concluded in Chapter Two "A Free Trader"