The Job

Writers: Yvonne
Date Posted: 25th May 2007

Characters: Cyrek, Larstad
Description: Cyrek's nightmares drive him out for a midnight walk
Location: Amber Hills Hold
Date: month 4, day 4 of Turn 4

The walls were closing in. It was dark, the earth shook and glass fell from the walls to shatter into shadows around his feet. Someone was crying, but he couldn't get anywhere. Everywhere he turned the walls were coming down. Blocks of stone, the dust and plaster obscuring his vision - someone was crying.

~*~

Cyrek awoke in a cold sweat. The dark of his apartment pressed against him and irrationally made him distrust the sanctity of the walls. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and groped to the wall near the door which failed to comfort him with its solidity, so he turned on the light.

Nothing moved. His wardrobe stood quietly in the corner, the chests with Amethyst Cliff Hold's tapestries and histories were carefully locked. His bed sheets were rumpled and Trouble slept quietly on the pillow on the ground. Or maybe not - the little bronze opened one slowly whirling eye and sent a little tendril of inquiry his way.
**I'm fine,** Cyrek thought back. **Go back to sleep. Just a nightmare.**

He'd been having a lot of those lately.

Sighing, Cyrek went to sit back down on his bed. Who knew what time it was - there were no windows in his suite, a lack which he regretted. He rubbed his hands against his face and let the stubble on his chin scrape almost painfully against his palms. There was no way that he'd be able to crawl back into his bed, not now. The dream was too close, and he found himself feeling too cooped up - too _trapped_ - to close his eyes.

After a moment he stood, grabbed a sweater from where it had been draped over a chair in the corner, and left his room. He paused before Mariss' door, then gave into temptation and opened it a crack.
It was as dark as a crypt where his daughter slept, but he let his eyes adjust and finally was able to pick out her still form beneath her blankets. He shut the door, then found his boots and quietly padded out of his suite.

The halls were silent - it must have been late, or very early. Cyrek nodded at a guard he passed on his way. Not one of the men from Amethyst Cliff, unfortunately. He could have used a familiar face.
Down a set of stairs, then out into the main hall and through another corridor to a side entrance. The cool night air that hit his face was a blessing and slowed his rapidly beating heart.

It was dark - Cyrek stopped and looked up at the sky, which was blazing with stars. The sheds, barns, cots and outbuildings were dark silhouettes, although here and there was a pinprick of light where some enterprising soul was working by glowlight. After a moment, Cyrek stepped off the step and let his feet wander. Here, the night was safe, and the earth stood still.

He wandered for a while between the cots and silent sheds, but eventually found himself heading for the open spaces of the fields.
The young grains and hay soughed in the breeze, which he found pleasant. That, and nobody else was there. He could just _be_ and not think about earthquakes and his daughter and the ache that losing his friends and home had left. He didn't have to wonder if he'd made the right decision, taking the role of Steward for Amber Hills Hold, and whether or not he'd be deposited by the heir once Lord Benaroy died and replaced by one of the new Lord's brothers. It was dark enough that he almost didn't see the man standing in the middle of the field until a chance gleam of moonlight on metal caught his eye. Cyrek frowned, then changed direction so that he could intercept the stranger. What on Pern was he doing?

The man was hunched over a metal device that was partially hidden by the young hay and the bulk of his body. Cyrek stopped a good few feet away and cleared his throat. He was rewarded when the man jumped and spun to face him. "May I ask what you are doing out here?"

"Finishing a telescope." The reply was blunt, and his tone vaguely irritated. Ah. Journeyman Larstad, then. The Smith. "I didn't think that you were a Starsmith," Cyrek said. "And really, you ought not to be out in the middle of the fields while they're still growing. There's got to be somewhere else you can work."

Larstad grunted and turned back to his task. He was working in the dark and wielding a tiny set of screwdrivers through an open panel half ways along the telescope's body. He made a tiny adjustment, then bent to look through the lens again. "Journeyman?"

"There's too much light closer to the Hold, and I'm behind on the commission anyway." The Smith sighed, then stepped away from his work. "Here. Ever looked through a telescope?"

"No." Cyrek hesitated, then decided 'why not?' He bent and put his eye to the telescope's end. One of the moons came into view, with pockmarks and valleys and peaks. It was slightly out of focus, but he was entranced. "Is- what is that?"

"Beilor." "Beilor... it looks so close. It looks like Pern."

"A little. Except without the flora and water."

"Pern if we didn't have dragonmen," Cyrek said after a moment. Like some of the islands that the dragonmen didn't bother with. He shivered in the dark and stepped away from the lens. "Who will this belong to?"

"One Tine Hold's daughters. She thinks she wants to be a Starsmith and her father is indulging her." Larstad snorted. "Starsmithing.
Ha."

"You're not in favour of women in the Crafts?" Cyrek asked, thinking of his own daughter. He'd bought her a telescope for her seventh birthingday, and she'd promptly broken it.

The Smith went back to fiddling with his screwdrivers and squinting through the lens. "I don't care if Journeymen wear pants or skirts. I only care if they do their job properly." From his tone of voice, it sounded as if he didn't think many Crafters lived up to his ideal.
"And speaking of finishing a job, I have work to do. If you'll excuse me, Steward?" He stopped and gave Cyrek a pointed look.

The Steward hesitated, but he knew a dismissal when he heard one. "Of course. Good luck, Journeyman."

"Luck has nothing to do with it," Larstad said. He stood and watched as Cyrek made his way back across the field and disappeared into the windbreak.

The Steward didn't return to his suite. Instead he found his way to his office, shut the door, and sank into his seat behind the desk.
Hides and papers were organized into semi-neat piles, or into the folders and books that lined the back wall. He sighed, then picked up his pen and reached for the nearest pile.

He didn't understand nightmares, or why Smiths would work that carefully on a toy meant for a child. He didn't understand where he fit into Amber Hills Hold, and he didn't feel like it was a home.
What he did understand, though, was his work. 'I only care if they do their work properly,' Larstad had said. And that was something that he _could_ do.

Last updated on the May 25th 2007

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The Job