Choices (3/3)
Dragonsfall Weyr
Amber Hills Hold
Vintner Hall
Hidden Meadows
Dolphin Cove Weyr
Dolphin Hall
Emerald Falls Hold
Harper Hall
Green Valley Hold
Leeward Lagoon Hold
Barrier Lake Weyrhold
Sunstone Seahold
Citrus Bay Hold
Elsewhere on Pern
NPC Weyr (NPC)
River Bluff Weyr
Seacraft Hall
Writers: Estelle
Date Posted: 11th May 2019
Characters: Lorican
Description: Lorican makes a decision and faces the consequences
Location: Elsewhere on Pern
Date: month 10, day 10 of Turn 9
Notes: Mentioned: Brennault, Urlene (not by name)
Standing on the end of the dock, Lorican watched as a dark shape
appeared around the edge of the cliff that surrounded the bay. As it
moved closer, he could make out that it was a small rowboat, with two
figures, one manning the oars, the other seated in the bows. Slowly,
bobbing up and down with the waves, they approached.
They looked like fishermen, their clothes plain and serviceable, both
tanned and weathered by their work. The rower was an older man,
grey-bearded and heavily built. The other stood when they got close and
tossed a looped rope to Lorican to draw them in, which he secured to a
mooring post. He reached out, caught the rung of a stepladder fixed to
the end of the dock and climbed up. Clinging to his shoulder was a small
brown firelizard, its claws firmly tangled in his woollen sweater.
Lorican wondered if it had been watching for him.
"You're late," the new arrival said flatly. "Where's Jilmon?"
"I don't know." Lorican raised a hand and brushed away the hair from the
side of his head. The scar had healed but was still clearly visible. The
bruising was less obvious now, having lightened to a faint brown which
was barely noticeable against his sun-darkened skin. "He gave me this.
He got away, I couldn't stop him." As briefly as he could, he explained
the events of the last sevendays. The attack on the road, his rescue,
recovery and departure from the Weyr, and how he'd tracked Jilmon to
Cedar Vale.
The man listened, expressionless. "He'll be dealt with. Do you have what
you were asked to get?"
Lorican took a deep breath, reached into his bag.
"What's left of it."
*** Cedar Vale Hold, 2 days ago ***
He must have drifted off to sleep for an hour or two, because when he
woke there was a faint grey light seeping through the shutters, and he
could hear the distant trilling of dawn birds in the forest. The hold
was still silent, the occupants sleeping off the excesses of the
previous night.
Lorican sat up and opened the shutters to let in some air. The room
looked no more inviting in daylight, the furnishings shabby and the
stains where his arm had bled hardly noticeable on the grubby floor. He
found his spare shirt in the tool bag and eased it over his head,
wincing as it brushed the bandaged wound on his arm, which felt hot and
tender. With luck, someone on the riverboat would have redwort to treat
it. He had no idea what Jilmon had been doing with his knife in the time
he'd had it, but it was unlikely to be clean.
The letters were still in his bag, rolled up in an inner pocket with
some of his smaller tools. Deciding he'd rather wait out in the chill
but fresh morning air by the river, he picked up the bag and went to the
door, resting a hand on the rough wood.
He stood there for a moment, thinking.
Then, he turned back and dumped the bag on the bed, searching through it
for his flint and steel. He took out the bundle of letters and knelt by
the small, ash-choked grate, unrolled them and then struck a spark.
It took several tries - he was out of practice - but with some patience,
he managed to get a wisp of smoke which he blew on gently, coaxing it to
a flame.
The last of the letters - the most damaging - burned first, and he used
the poker to make sure they were completely destroyed. The earlier,
innocuous ones he did not burn entirely, leaving enough of the
handwriting and signature that they were recognisable as what he'd been
sent for.
When the fire was out, he waited for them to cool, not quite able to
believe what he had just done. Had he just ruined his own family to
save a man he'd never met? Selrin, himself, perhaps his stepmother and
uncle, too.
But, after his troubled night, he felt as though a weight had lifted
from his shoulders. Whatever happened next, he'd face it with a clear
conscience.
*** Present day ***
Lorican carefully peeled apart the burned remains of the letters and
showed them to the other man. "When I caught up with Jilmon in the
tavern, he refused to give them up. He offered to share the proceeds
with me if I helped him sell them."
"And then?"
"I saw my chance when he was distracted by a noise outside. I went for
him, managed to get the knife off him, but not before he'd sliced me on
the arm." He rolled up his sleeve to show the more recent wound. "There
was blood, I lost my grip on him for a moment and he threw them in the
fire. I had to choose between letting him go and trying to salvage them,
or leaving them to burn completely. I did my best."
The man gave him a long, appraising look. Even the firelizard stared at
him with glowing green eyes. Lorican met his gaze steadily. He'd no idea
if his story had been at all convincing. He had no experience in these
matters, only his instincts.
He thought, not of his birthplace at Garnet Valley, nor the Hall or the
sea hold where he'd made his home the last few Turns, but of the beach
at the Weyr. The dragon and rider, playing in the surf. His friend
Brennault's arm around his shoulder. A beautiful woman stepping out of a
pool.
The man, having considered, carefully folded the charred papers and
tucked them away into a bag. "We might be able to do something with
these. Not what we'd hoped for, though."
"Will this be the end of it?" Lorican asked. "Is the debt repaid?"
"I couldn't say. If not, you'll hear from us again." Without saying any
more, the man climbed back down into the boat. Lorican undid the mooring
rope and tossed it to him. Then, he watched as the older fisherman
pushed off from the dock and slowly rowed them back the way they'd come.
He waited until the little boat dwindled to a dark spot out at the
entrance to the bay, and then disappeared behind the cliffs.
The sun had now risen fully above the horizon, burning off the faint sea
mist, and the water was as blue and clear as the healer's eyes. Waves
crashed against the dock and he felt cool spray on his skin.
**I'm alive. I made a choice. I don't know if it was right, but it's
done now. And I'm going home.**
He picked up the tool bag, slung it over his good shoulder, and began to
walk. Back to the shore, up the cliff path and on to the traders' road
towards Rocky Bay.
Last updated on the May 15th 2019