No one has found any signs of A'vird or Abersweyth yet

No real notes. What is mine is mine, what is not is not. Another chapter should be up sometime this weekend.

The Candidate

1248.01.20

Igen Weyr, Candidates Barracks

Ikkith groaned and clenched and moaned and tossed. He was oblivious to the sounds of his classmates as they prepared for their morning chore rotations. Somebody had made a half-hearted attempt to rouse him, but he had lashed out like a cornered animal in delirious pain. The strange candidate was by no stretch of imagination popular with his peers, nobody else made an attempt to aid him. Oh he had played sick before (he couldn't think of the candidate that hadn't) and he had been sick before (with the childhood fevers that claim the lives of many young) but ohohohoh he had not been sick like this before.

It had started that night. He woke up with a start. The air was swimming with the desert's breath and the exhalations of the other boys. His stomach had been churning something terrible before he went to bed. This was nothing new: the cooks at Igen had very unique interpretations of what food was supposed to taste like. This usually involved lots of spice in a lame attempt to hide the fact that most of the produce was already half-rotten by the time it reached the stew pot. The nausea overtook him. The night had been spent hunched and spewing. His guts churned and burned and made a whimpering child out of the usually quite candidate. Cleaning the stables was out of the question. Crawling into a hole to die—that was much more appealing. He curled like some fetal thing and let sleep overtake him.

He awoke with a start, memories of the night assaulted his throbbing head and he clenched his sweat-damp blanket like a child. Sounds of childish disgust fluttered down from some lofty position. Strong hands on his shoulders stirred him to some semblance of consciousness. He lot control, tensed, and dribbled what little bile remained in him down his chin. He spat and shivered and mumblesaid, "I never realized how fardling huge your eyes are."

List made yet another sound of disgust (she was a dragonrider not an auntie!) and shook her head, "Faranth above I'll have you scrub this place when you can stand."

Ikkith made no indication of hearing her, and let his head loll back onto his cot. The bluerider gagged, but fought her own nausea with duty. The entire situation reeked of injustice and ancient chauvinism. She and Olith were perfectly capable in the air, one might even venture to say that they were skilled. Olith might've been a fighting dragon. He might've had all the desire in the world to join his brothers as they drilled for thread that would never fall, but none of it mattered. The Weyrleader's choice held more weight than a hatchling's. She and Olith were not to join the fighting wings.

She half-pulled Ikkith into a sitting position (maternal niceties were never her strong point). He leaned his reeking head against her chest and closed his eyes. He was slick with sweat and hot to the touch, "We need to get you to the infirmary. Why in the name of the red star didn't anybody alert me?"

The candidate just shook his head and clenched her harder. She patted his matted hair (it was white-blonde, this had to be J'nah's brother…nobody else had hair like J'nah…) and directed Olith, One of my boys is real sick, I am going to try to bring him to the infirmary. Alert Deleriath of this. It is her rider's kin.

She hoisted Ikkith up. A surge of bitterness rose once again within her. The candidate was extraordinarily underweight (which she noted, made his current situation even more dangerous). She out muscled him. If he survived this. If he found his other half. He would undoubtedly be permitted, neigh, expected to fly drills. She mumbled, "If I can lug a puking candidate around the Weyr I can lug a sack of firestone."

Ikkith drolled in a singsong voice, "You're a girl. J'nah told me about you. You're an anomaly. Just like him only you're more obvious that he is. He like women you know. He likes them more than I do. I don't know what I'd do if I'd impress a gold."

"Are you high? Be quite. You'll make yourself sick again, and let me tell you, I'll flog you if you puke on this shirt. It's the last one I have clean."

"You could take it off. I won't care."

"Shush now."

List my dearheart. Deleriath's wants to talk to you. It is important. Keep the sickling in the barracks.

What?

He needs to talk to you. You cannot bring the boy to the infirmary.

List muttered angrily to herself. While Ikkith wasn't in immediate danger of dying, he did need some medical attention. Still, she trusted the greenrider's judgment and urged the boy back down onto his cot, "Stay here—I'll be right back."

Seeing that Ikkith could barely walk, it was unlikely that he was going to go anywhere soon. List reappeared within moments, carrying a heavy earthen mug of water. She sat down beside Ikkith and urged the mug into his shaking hands. He drank shallowly.

J'nah entered the candidate barracks suddenly, trailing riding straps and shedding layers of flight leathers in his wake. He was huffing from the effort of running. Judging from the amount of equipment he brought with him, he had run out on flight drills. List's heart skipped a beat. The situation must have been dire for J'nah to leave a drill. She composed herself, "Greenrider."

"S—s-s-sorry L-list--I--"

He sat roughly on the cot next to her. He was not a large man (which was quite fortunate, given Deleriath's exceptionally petite build) but the combined weight of the three of them made the candidate's cot creak ominiously. He coughed and wheezed as he tried to catch his breath and speak coherently. List tapped her foot impatiently (she would have to run several times across the length of the Weyr to become winded…). After several moments he spoke, "You can't take Ikkith to the infirmary. It's a long story."

"Well you better hurry."

J'nah looked anxious, he stretched felinely and inhaled deeply, "He's my brother. That much is true…"

She shook her head, "Don't tell me—you searched him under false pretenses. Faranth. It's not that big of a deal. Every searchrider with younger siblings has…"

J'nah winced, "Well, the good news is that he was actually searched. Ierynth really liked him."

"And Deleriath?"

"She can't search her way out of a wherden. We both know that. Ierynth is good enough for the both of them."

"Regardless, why in the name of the red star shouldn't I take him to the infirmary."

"Because. Because I am not Igen—he's not either. We. We searched him on Istan ground. Gligar, one of the apprentices in the infirmary, we transferred him in from Ista. The crafts aren't like the holds. They're independent, but that doesn't matter. I'm afraid that he'll recognize Ikkith."

List was speechless. J'nah had summarized several years of unspoken history in the span of a breath. She didn't understand a word he was saying, but she could see the edges of his story. Being privy to such scandal was shocking. Ikkith spoke, suddenly, complicating matters even more, "I didn't kill the sharding bastard."

The bluerider stood suddenly, letting Ikkith fall roughly to the side. She firmly planted her hands on her hips and shook her head, "J'nah, I like you. I really do, but this is too deep for me. I'm in enough trouble as it is. Shaffit! Olith and I are grounded. Grounded. I'm getting Wilga right now. You don't need to explain your sordid story to me."

She moved to leave, but made the fatal mistake of looking back. There was something about the bleak and pleading facial expression of J'nah and his half-conscious brother that tugged at something within her. She tried to stamp it away, but failed, miserably. She found herself sitting closely next to J'nah, periodically helping him prevent Ikkith from vomiting outside the chamber pot, listening quietly as he spoke.

J'nah wasn't like K'lain. J'nah was no storyteller. His story was strangely impassioned and gritty. More importantly, from the moment he began to speak, List knew that every word her friend spoke was true. Ikkith tensed as if to protest, but the urge passed. J'nah's judgment was true.

The greenrider sighed at last, and ran his fingers through Ikkith's pale hair, "--and that's why he can't go to the infirmary. He'll be recognized for sure, and I can't have him sent back there."

List had never had any troubles expressing her opinions, but for the first time in her life the stonehard drive to speak and direct had left her wholly. Olith, whom was contendedly sunning in a sandy wallow outside the candidate barracks was snoozing lightly. Without his running commentary, to her surprise, she was unable to reach any conclusions. She just sat and let her eyes wander from J'nah to his puking brother. She closed her eyes, her decision came quickly, "I understand."

"So you won't report this?"

"I'm no healer. It's dangerous—being like that, but I doubt it will kill him. He can't stay here though. We should probably try to get our hands on that salty stuff they hand out after hard drills, he needs to get some fluids."

J'nah shook his head in agreement, "I know, those won't be hard to get."

"He can't stay here though. I can't risk it. This…this is dangerous enough as it is. It's like they'd give me a reprise is anything goes wrong."

"Well, if things do go wrong…"

"what?"

"We are dragonriders—disposing the remains should pose no problem."

List felt shivers rise up her spine. She had known J'nah for quite a long time, and he was easily one of the most mild mannered riders of the Weyr. Something about the way he held his brother tightly against him while discussing what should happen if he died…was quite chilling. She pushed the thoughts out of her mind, J'nah was pragmatic. Ikkith was sick, yet the circumstances prevented him from being taken to the infirmary, the consequences, however unlikely, had to be considered. The bluerider tried to put herself in the same mindset, "Well, once he leaves the barracks he is out of my jurisdiction. He cannot be housed here, you'll have to bring him to your Weyr."

J'nah looked stricken, "I—I can't."

"J'nah, I'm about to risk my reputation, which may I remind you is much frailer than yours, and you're going to tell me that you can't even—"

He cut her off, "Listen. Ask Olith. He'll tell you. So will Ierynth. So will half of the shoddy males in this Weyr. Deleriath is going to rise soon, maybe even later today…I…" He stopped suddenly, in grim realization, "K'lain owes me more favors than I can count. I'll have Deleriath summon him after drills are over. Ikkith can stay with him."

"So it's settled then. This is out of my hands, you'll take him out of here as soon as possible and pass him over to K'lain. If things go sour…well, if things go sour…I've never heard of Ikkith."

A smile brushed at J'nah's lips, "Thank you. I truly thank you."

His voice was soft and smooth, like nearly everything that compromised him (except that bitch of a green). List watched as he carefully hoisted his half-limp brother up, and petered out of view. She smiled briefly, but quickly turned to the fluid mess on the floor of the barracks—her barracks. J'nah owed her. Big time.

Ierynth asks if you would like to meet his for drinks tonight with Big Brown Wing

No dearheart. Not tonight.

1248.01.20

Igen Weyr; Eastern wall, K'lain's weyr

A lesser man would've considered the night a terrible failure. Although he had played upon the branches of nearly every single one of his contacts he had failed to find a friend whom was interested in drinking or being merry. To make matters worse, he found himself babysitting an illegitimate candidate. K'lain however, took the events in stride. He sat with Ikkith, whom had fortunately taken a turn for the better, and sipped from a liberally sized skin of wine. The wine had been stolen from the Weyr's stores—hold habits die hard.

Fuzzy and buzzy from the wine, K'lain prodded Ikkith with the end of his boot. K'lain (and most of his wingmates) were avid drinkers, thus the bluerider had developed a keen sense of telling when somebody was likely to sick all over the bed. Ikkith, although stone sober, was in this category, thus K'lain had relegated the puking boy to his floor. Ikkith stirred awake and turned wearily. He looked like something Fat Momma had dragged in.

K'lain, confident that he had awoken Ikkith, kneeled on the floor next to him. He had let Ikkith sleep for most of the afternoon, but an unconscious person could only provide so much entertainment. The candidate clawed at his crusted eyes and tried to remember how to work his mouth, after several failed attempts he managed, "Well, you're right about the food being sharding terrible. Got any more of that piss-water?"

K'lain offered him the wineskin. Ikkith weakly laughed and crawled over to the electrolyte solution his brother had nicked from the infirmary, "It's a good thing you're not a healer."

The bluerider grinned and took another deep swig. Ikkith had propped himself to a sitting position. They scrutinized each other with avid curiosity. K'lain stated the obvious, "A bath, or two would help."

"I could always use the company."

Like the rest of his complexion, Ikkith's eyes were pale and washed out, a color of gray that couldn't quite managed blue. His exhaustion was obvious, being able to swallow water without spewing was an accomplishment, but dangerous curiosity lurked behind his overtly miserable expression. K'lain was an expert at reading such subtle cues that people half-hid. Ikkith was a strange one. Even K'lain found most of his gestures and suggestions esoteric, but something in his eyes sparked the question, "Are you propositioning me?"

"Maybe."

It was ridiculous. Ikkith, although only a handful of years K'lain's junior, was a candidate, and at that point in time he was a stinking-sickly-vomit-crusted candidate. K'lain chuckled to himself, "Cheeky little wherry, I'm a wicked man. You have to be careful of what you say."

"I bet I'm worse."

"So is it true what J'nah told me, about you and your, his, father?"

"Maybe."

"You're father's dead now, right?"

"Maybe."

The possibilities dripped from his voice. The pleasant feeling of alcohol dulling the blueriders brain seemed to be draining away. K'lain found himself slowly standing up, unable to take his eyes off the queer creature on the floor. He had to be innocent, else J'nah never would've brought him to Igen. Never mind that, no Weyr would tolerate somebody guilty of slaying a dragonrider life. Still, Ikkith's voice echoed through K'lain's mind.

maybe