Keylyn: Search

Baeris Kshau's Healing Den | Ryslen Weyr

Stats | Childhood | 14 Turns | Impression | Hatchling | Weyrling | Adult
 

        Keylyn stood at the window, watching the green, her Ziiri, as she soared and dived high above the Hold.  When the flit continued her acrobatics, Keylyn became frustrated.  "Zi!  I told you, look, but then come back and tell me.  Are the dragonriders coming to the Hold?"
        Ziiri chirped reluctantly, and swooped down through the window, landing on Ke's arm, where she began unconcernedly cleaning her tail tip.  Frowning, Ke forced the flit's chin up, so that the little green had to look at her.  "Ziiri, now!  Are they coming or aren't they?"
        The green's eyes whirled, projecting an excited image of dragons flying toward the Hold, circling and landing.  "They are coming?"
        Ziiri trilled affirmatively, and zoomed backwards in order to observe her bondmate more closely.  Keylyn's face was a study.  She pondered her tactics at the Gather.  Continuing to enforce her musical message that the Weyr should not be trusted would keep the people with her, but. . . Would it be a good idea to arouse dislike for the Weyr if dragonmen would be there?  The people of the Hold were easy to influence; empathy hardly had to be used with them, as her music alone was often enough to arouse uncertainty and distrust.  But dragonriders were different; their decisions were not easily influenced simply because of a passing mood.  She would have to exert all her ability in order to control their emotions.  However. . . Wait!  Wasn't there a clutch on the Sands?  Even though she had not been formally trained in interpreting drum messages, Keylyn was better than most at understanding the news that the drums proclaimed to Hold.  And she thought she remembered hearing of a clutch on Ryslen's Sands. . .
        That settled it.  If there was a clutch, the riders might well be on Search.  She could not let someone else of the Hold fall prey to the Weyr and its dragons. . . Not after a dragon had taken her father away, after she had lost her brother.
        Keylyn rifled through her stash of scores, looking for the right music for such a crucial occasion.  However, after almost a candlemark of searching, she had found nothing that suited her needs.  In desperation, she decided she would have to compose a new song.   Pulling a chair to the window, she looked out at the dragons, who were now close to the Hold.  Annoyed, she looked away, and tried to write a melody to fit her emotions.
        Several candlemarks later, inspiration still had not come to Keylyn.  Finally, however, a tune began to form, weaving itself through her mind.  But just as she began to put words to her melody, she heard Alynn calling her.  "Ke?  Where are you?  Come on, you need to take a turn playing tonight, so hurry up!"  When Keylyn did not answer, she heard her mother begin ascending the steps to her chamber.  Sighing, she got up, and exited her room, almost slamming the heavy wooden door in Ziiri's face.  Squawking with annoyance, the little green flew to her owner's shoulder, and wrapped her tail chokingly tight around Keylyn's neck.
 

        When Keylyn descended, the hall was already filling, and a-buzz with excited conversation.  Judging by the snatches she heard, there were dragonriders at the main table; however, the crowd surrounding it was so tightly packed that even Ziiri could see nothing when Keylyn sent her up.  Annoyed, she slipped out into the courtyard, followed closely by the green. Yes, when she looked up, she could see the outline of dragons against the sun.  She squinted in the light, trying to determine the color of the dragons. A large brown, several obviously young blues and greens, and. . . was that a bronze?  Yes, it had to be, judging both by the brilliant hide and Ziiri's excited and awestruck reaction when she had flown far enough  back to be able to see the dragons.  That could complicate things, Keylyn thought.  Blues and greens wouldn't be so bad, but. . . a bronze!  However, she had no more time to meditate on what to do; at that moment, one of Alynn's older students emerged from the hall.
        "Keylyn!  Everyone's looking for you, the dragonriders want a new song, and Master Alynn told them you could do it.  Look, I brought your gitar.  Hurry!"
        Keylyn looked the child over.  She was 9 Turns old, but her small stature made her look younger. At the moment, she looked both flustered and excited; her tawny braids were frazzled from her run, and she seemed very anxious to be back at the hall.
        Even while trying to suppress a laugh, Keylyn managed to recall her name.  "Ok, Sarei, I'm coming.  We'll show those dragonriders that New Moon Harpers can outplay anyone!"  She grabbed the child's hand, and they raced back to the hall.
 

        Even though Zulaneth had reassured him many times, K'jannen still felt uneasy.  It wasn't for lack of friendliness; Lord Farenal had been most courteous. Still, there was a sort of power hanging in the air.  The people of the Hold too seemed to be affected, and although the presence of K'jannen and his wing excited them, they were still rather distant.  And. . . he almost laughed at himself for thinking it, but he could sense a hatred, no, loathing of him, his wing, and the dragons.  What could they have done?
        Nothing, Zulaneth told him firmly.  Nothing.  You have done nothing to these people.  You are my life-mate, and a bronze rider.  They should honor you!
        Thanks, Zu, K'jannen told the bronze. I know you must be right, but still. . . There's something wrong here.  As if I'm being told to go away. . .
        He had no time to finish.  At that moment, the feeling increased, sending waves of dislike and fear over him.  K'jannen turned, trying to discover who could do this, to him, a bronze rider.  He saw nothing extraordinary, though; only the heavy hall doors swinging as a tall girl with a child entered the hall.
        Her entrance seemed to cause some commotion, and she was pushed to the front of the hall.  He noticed that she held a gitar, and guessed that she was a Harper.  The wonderful composer and singer they had been promised?
 

        Keylyn tried to laugh as she was forced through the crowd and onto the stage, but she was still in inner turmoil.  What should she do?  She looked out from the stage, out on the holders, craftworkers, the Lord and his Lady. And. . . the dragonriders.
        She knew, then, what she had to do.  Raising her gitar, she began to play.
        Although Keylyn had had no idea what she could use, the melody seemed to flow from her fingers of its own accord.  She strengthened it, empowered, poured all of her passion into it.  And began to sing.
 
 

I gave you my heart, I gave you my soul.
I gave you my mind, my body, my whole.
But what do you give me?
You promise me friendship, compassion
and peace.
You promise me love for eternity.
But if the truth I bid you tell. . .
You know you can't prove what you say.
   My beast and I may die, today. . .
And since I find no guarantee,
I think you, Weyr, are not for me.
Another, safer, life I think I'll lead.

        K'jannen listened, and felt all he loved, all he believed in drain away. Perhaps she was right. . . Perhaps it was cruel to take people, children, really, away from their families, when they might not Impress, or, if they did, might lose their life-mate, their heart, at any time. Maybe it was right to leave a safe life, to not risk yourself loving a dragon. . .
        No! It is not right!  K'jannen, I would die without you!  You can't listen to her! Zulaneth sounded desperate, even terrified, K'jannen thought, shocked.
        Zu, I'm sorry!  I. . . I don't know what happened, I forgot about everything, about you, about how much I love you and need you. . . He trailed off, dismayed.
        It is not your fault.  It is hers.  She is what you felt.  And you were right, you know, she wants us to leave her Hold.  She has power, too, she must have made everyone believe her, that Impression was wrong.  And. . . I think, that she could Impress.
        K'jannen had to restrain himself from jumping up.  Zulaneth, you're a genius!  She must be the one Salyth reported.  And. . . Keveth and D'kan, before.  But. . . D'kan said she wanted to Impress.  I wonder what changed her mind?
        We shall see, Zulaneth replied.
 

        K'jannen was too excited  and overwhelmed to hear the rest of the music.  He had no doubt it had been superb; the girl had been, after all, a wonderful musician, and the other harpers were almost as good.  However, when the music had almost ended, he noticed the girl leaving the hall.  Excusing himself as quickly as he could while still being polite, he hurried after her.
 

        Before the music had ended, Keylyn left the hall, and returned to her chamber.  Although she had, in her professional estimation, played well, it had not gone as planned.  Her spontaneous effort had almost succeeded; she had felt the crowd in her hand, their emotions in her control.  Until someone, somewhere, had stopped listening.  She wrenched herself away from these thoughts, because there was nothing she could do now to stop the search.
        Suddenly, when she was almost at the stairs, she heard Ziiri's warning trill, and the light baritone that followed it.  "Shards! Zulaneth, she noticed!"
        Keylyn whirled, alarmed, and faced a tall stranger.  His tanned skin looked weathered, but his blue eyes were bright, and framed by dark hair.  His garb: Weyr clothes, those of a Wingleader!
        She tried to escape, but felt him lightly grasp her shoulder.  "Why are you afraid of me? And why do you want us to stop Searching?  Don't you think you shouldn't control people like that?  I would prefer to control my own opinions."
        "I can't let them," Keylyn whispered, but she sounded unsure, even to herself.  "They don't know. . . if I let them, they would go with you, Impress, and. . . I can't let them."
        "What don't they know?" K'jannen asked, gently, and felt Zulaneth's approval.  You will win.
        Keylyn looked up at him, seeing him for the first time as a man, a human, not a dragonrider.  "Well. . . I don't know why I should tell you.  But I will.  I trust you, somehow.  But you can't know what I've been through.  My father Impressed a brown, or so my mother told me.  He used to visit, but. . . one day, he left, and we never saw him again.  My younger brother, a child, really, Impressed a blue.  He died when his Kasieth was injured in Threadfall.
        Keylyn felt Ziiri land on her shoulder, chirping encouragingly.  She reached up to stroke the green's hide before continuing.
        "But. . . that wasn't all.  When I was a child, too young to Impress, a rider came on Search.  He bought me a flit's egg, my Ziiri, and told me that if I cared for her well, he would Search me when he returned.  However, no drogons came Searching for four Turns. At the time, I was copying records, alone, and was forgotten.  Alasan was taken that day.
        "In all my contact with dragons, they had hurt me.  I began to wonder if it was right, to lose your family, or your life.  Or to become dragonless.  So, I began to use my message in my music.  Soon, everyone believed it. Except you.  Why?"
 

        K'jannen was surprised by her story, but it made it easier to say what he knew he had to.  "Keylyn, I know you have suffered.  But have you ever truly loved?  Is it right, to go through life without loving because you are afraid?  Is it not better to love and to die than to die and never have loved?  No. . . I cannot ask this of you.  You could not tell me, as you have never known.  Keylyn, I challange you to love.  Stand at a Hatching.  And if you Impress, then, answer me."
 

        Keylyn was shocked, overjoyed, and frightened all at once.  But she looked up to her flit, up out at the mighty dragons of Pern.  And answered:  I do accept.  I will, I must, learn to love.
 
 

        Less than a sevenday later, Keylyn, journeywoman harper, and Candidate stood on the Sands at Ryslen Weyr, at the Hatching she had waited eight Turns for.  She did not know what would happen, but, for the first time in Turns, she was at peace with herself and with her fate.