[Vignette] A New Sort of Exile
Day 14, Month 12, Turn 25. The exiles: out of the frying pan, into the fire.
Tiriana didn't remember being this fat with Rianev. Her back ached and her feet hurt and she felt like she was going to explode.
She was also barely over halfway through.
Tiriana might not be sure how she was going to make it through more months of this (much as she'd said about Rianev), but there was one good thing of it: she could between again, if not for much longer. But long enough. And after spending the last two days poring over dusty records, trying to figure out just where those damn people came from, she was ready to stretch her legs, and Iovniath her wings.
She hauled her bulk onto the gold's neck with a helpful boost from the dragon; then she strapped herself in, and they rose and went between, calling for a trio of .
And just like that, they were over the islands, directly above the camp. There were a couple of shrieks rising up at the sudden, huge shadow that appeared, but they died down quickly. Stupid people, Tiriana thought. Not like they haven't seen a gold before.
Iovniath spiraled downward slowly, and finally landed on the beach. No one came to meet her, which made Tiriana's mood somewhat more foul, as she had to slide herself down and hike up to the camp on her own. Iovniath and her companions, for their part, slid out into the water, just deep enough to let it lap at their backs. It was probably good the islanders weren't around to see that, because they looked more sea monster than ever.
Silent faces watched as Tiriana and her other riders approached the camp, and finally a middle-aged man came out to meet her, naming himself Cason, and the head of the council. While the other three were left to talk to the regular exiles themselves, Cason led tiriana into one of the ridiculous stone-and-mud shelters they had built and offered her water from a banged-up cup, which she turned down--no telling what was in it or where it'd been. Shortly, Cason gathered up the rest of the council, and they sat down around her while Tiriana told them how it was going to be.
No one was happy about it, of course. Tiriana didn't exactly have a way with people and everyone was already so on edge from the first encounter. But that crazy old bat, that Shimana one, was adamant about the storm, and the old man insisted they were exiled wrongly, and after a lot of discussion amongst themselves, they agreed, and emerged into the sunlight again.
The whole camp was still there; nobody knew what to do with another stranger in their midst. So Cason called them all around, even the children from the caves, to tell them the news.
"There's a storm coming, I'm sure you've heard by now," Cason said. "And Shimana says it's going to be a bad one, worse than the last one." The one that seemed to haunt them; Tiriana'd heard them worrying over it, over some Kima somebody, something like that.
"We all agree we can't stay here and try to ride one out. The We--the Weyr," he stumbled over the strange word, "has offered to let us shelter with them until it passes over. It'll be just a few days. But we'll have to ride their dragons to get there."
There was an uproar at that, of fear and dismay and ingratitude. Tiriana, standing just to one side of Cason, glowered at the exiles who didn't even bother to appreciate what she was doing for them. She couldn't help herself. She shouldered past Cason, pregnant belly and all.
"I don't have to do this for you," she announced, giving the restless crowd a long look. "I'm going out on a limb here because my Weyrleader is a soft little boy and he doesn't want you to all die out here. So you're going back with me and my riders, today. We'll bring you back when this storm is past.
"Now. Leave everything behind, because you're coming back and we don't have the time or inclination to drag it all around. We're going to take a handful of you at a time, ten or fifteen or so, so we can do this manageably and the rest of you can batten down the camp or... whatever it is you people do. Get your families together and hold on to your kids. We're going to take the first load now and I'll be sending you more riders to get the rest of you later on today."
The first load included a couple of the oldest council members and their families; the exiles wanted some of their leadership to lead the way and some to stay until last, to make sure everything went smoothly. It made no difference to Tiriana, who led the first load--trailed by many of the other exiles--down to the beach to meet the dragons.
There was far too much crying and hugging and sorrowful parting for the Weyrwoman's taste, but eventually they got the handful of exiles boarded onto the three smaller dragons and strapped them in. Iovniath refused to carry any, for her part; she didn't trust them, nor did Tiriana. But finally, they lifted off, and went between home to the Weyr.
--
When they dismounted, only a few moments later, Tiriana was pretty sure one of the exiles had pissed himself, and another was shaking and crying such that Tiriana nearly slapped her. Between was uncomfortable, to be sure, the nothingness between the worlds; but Tiriana had seen children handle it better and the exiles' carrying on only frustrated her more.
This is the last time I ever let K'del talk me into anything, she told Iovniath silently.
But finally they got all the exiles down and Tiriana herded them into the candidate barracks.
"This is where you'll be staying," she informed them. "There's beds enough for eighty people, and we've got them all set up with furs and blankets already. Make yourselves at home for the next while. We'll have the rest of you here as soon as we can, and the kitchens staff is going to bring a meal by, too. You're to stay here. Don't want you to get lost, now do we." Her smile was thin at best. "If you need anything, there's going to be a couple of riders here with you that can help, and they're going to make sure none of my weyrfolk are wandering around to stare at you, too."
With that, she turned and stalked out, leaving the bewildered exiles and their guards to face off. Throughout the day, more and more exiles arrived: young, old, healthy and crippled and all sorts in between. Cason and his family were the last to arrive. More mattresses had to be hauled in, thrown onto the floor between beds to make room for the 116 exiles that were soon crammed into the candidate barracks.
The food that was brought was hearty Reaches fare: herdbeast, wherry, gravy and potatoes and bread and all sorts of other things, all laid out buffet-style along one wall by the kitchen staff. There was no seaweed or even fish or oysters; more than a few of the exiles made themselves sick trying to keep down what they weren't used to. The caverns soon began to smell of unwashed exiles and worse, but no one was allowed to leave.
It was just for a few days, though. Right?
Tiriana didn't remember being this fat with Rianev. Her back ached and her feet hurt and she felt like she was going to explode.
She was also barely over halfway through.
Tiriana might not be sure how she was going to make it through more months of this (much as she'd said about Rianev), but there was one good thing of it: she could between again, if not for much longer. But long enough. And after spending the last two days poring over dusty records, trying to figure out just where those damn people came from, she was ready to stretch her legs, and Iovniath her wings.
She hauled her bulk onto the gold's neck with a helpful boost from the dragon; then she strapped herself in, and they rose and went between, calling for a trio of .
And just like that, they were over the islands, directly above the camp. There were a couple of shrieks rising up at the sudden, huge shadow that appeared, but they died down quickly. Stupid people, Tiriana thought. Not like they haven't seen a gold before.
Iovniath spiraled downward slowly, and finally landed on the beach. No one came to meet her, which made Tiriana's mood somewhat more foul, as she had to slide herself down and hike up to the camp on her own. Iovniath and her companions, for their part, slid out into the water, just deep enough to let it lap at their backs. It was probably good the islanders weren't around to see that, because they looked more sea monster than ever.
Silent faces watched as Tiriana and her other riders approached the camp, and finally a middle-aged man came out to meet her, naming himself Cason, and the head of the council. While the other three were left to talk to the regular exiles themselves, Cason led tiriana into one of the ridiculous stone-and-mud shelters they had built and offered her water from a banged-up cup, which she turned down--no telling what was in it or where it'd been. Shortly, Cason gathered up the rest of the council, and they sat down around her while Tiriana told them how it was going to be.
No one was happy about it, of course. Tiriana didn't exactly have a way with people and everyone was already so on edge from the first encounter. But that crazy old bat, that Shimana one, was adamant about the storm, and the old man insisted they were exiled wrongly, and after a lot of discussion amongst themselves, they agreed, and emerged into the sunlight again.
The whole camp was still there; nobody knew what to do with another stranger in their midst. So Cason called them all around, even the children from the caves, to tell them the news.
"There's a storm coming, I'm sure you've heard by now," Cason said. "And Shimana says it's going to be a bad one, worse than the last one." The one that seemed to haunt them; Tiriana'd heard them worrying over it, over some Kima somebody, something like that.
"We all agree we can't stay here and try to ride one out. The We--the Weyr," he stumbled over the strange word, "has offered to let us shelter with them until it passes over. It'll be just a few days. But we'll have to ride their dragons to get there."
There was an uproar at that, of fear and dismay and ingratitude. Tiriana, standing just to one side of Cason, glowered at the exiles who didn't even bother to appreciate what she was doing for them. She couldn't help herself. She shouldered past Cason, pregnant belly and all.
"I don't have to do this for you," she announced, giving the restless crowd a long look. "I'm going out on a limb here because my Weyrleader is a soft little boy and he doesn't want you to all die out here. So you're going back with me and my riders, today. We'll bring you back when this storm is past.
"Now. Leave everything behind, because you're coming back and we don't have the time or inclination to drag it all around. We're going to take a handful of you at a time, ten or fifteen or so, so we can do this manageably and the rest of you can batten down the camp or... whatever it is you people do. Get your families together and hold on to your kids. We're going to take the first load now and I'll be sending you more riders to get the rest of you later on today."
The first load included a couple of the oldest council members and their families; the exiles wanted some of their leadership to lead the way and some to stay until last, to make sure everything went smoothly. It made no difference to Tiriana, who led the first load--trailed by many of the other exiles--down to the beach to meet the dragons.
There was far too much crying and hugging and sorrowful parting for the Weyrwoman's taste, but eventually they got the handful of exiles boarded onto the three smaller dragons and strapped them in. Iovniath refused to carry any, for her part; she didn't trust them, nor did Tiriana. But finally, they lifted off, and went between home to the Weyr.
--
When they dismounted, only a few moments later, Tiriana was pretty sure one of the exiles had pissed himself, and another was shaking and crying such that Tiriana nearly slapped her. Between was uncomfortable, to be sure, the nothingness between the worlds; but Tiriana had seen children handle it better and the exiles' carrying on only frustrated her more.
This is the last time I ever let K'del talk me into anything, she told Iovniath silently.
But finally they got all the exiles down and Tiriana herded them into the candidate barracks.
"This is where you'll be staying," she informed them. "There's beds enough for eighty people, and we've got them all set up with furs and blankets already. Make yourselves at home for the next while. We'll have the rest of you here as soon as we can, and the kitchens staff is going to bring a meal by, too. You're to stay here. Don't want you to get lost, now do we." Her smile was thin at best. "If you need anything, there's going to be a couple of riders here with you that can help, and they're going to make sure none of my weyrfolk are wandering around to stare at you, too."
With that, she turned and stalked out, leaving the bewildered exiles and their guards to face off. Throughout the day, more and more exiles arrived: young, old, healthy and crippled and all sorts in between. Cason and his family were the last to arrive. More mattresses had to be hauled in, thrown onto the floor between beds to make room for the 116 exiles that were soon crammed into the candidate barracks.
The food that was brought was hearty Reaches fare: herdbeast, wherry, gravy and potatoes and bread and all sorts of other things, all laid out buffet-style along one wall by the kitchen staff. There was no seaweed or even fish or oysters; more than a few of the exiles made themselves sick trying to keep down what they weren't used to. The caverns soon began to smell of unwashed exiles and worse, but no one was allowed to leave.
It was just for a few days, though. Right?