A Gift of Silence

Writers: Estelle
Date Posted: 20th June 2020

Characters: R'fal, Lorican
Description: Lorican hears some important news from R'fal
Location: Barrier Lake Weyr
Date: month 4, day 23 of Turn 10
Notes: Mentioned: Brennault, D'hol, Urlene, Y'gel, Lusilk

Only a few sevendays had passed before R'fal and Marlath returned to the
Weyrhold again, this time transporting a cargo of medical supplies for
the new healer hospital. Although his punishment duties had come to an
end, R'fal was still around the infirmary enough as part of his
dragonhealer training that he picked up these jobs, and he was glad for
the chance to fly out with his lifemate. He still wasn't trusted enough
to leave the Weyr without informing his superiors, and he usually chose
to stay rather than bother them, but if he was asked by a Master then he
could go with a clear conscience.

Once he'd delivered his packages of herbs, he was about to return to
Marlath when he remembered Lorican, the smith journeyman he'd visited
the last time he'd been at Barrier Lake. There had been something oddly
restrained about the man's manner when he and Brennault had spoken with
him. Though he couldn't stay long, he decided to walk around to the
crafter village and pay a quick visit. Maybe he'd be able to take a
message back, to reassure his friend.

He walked around the lake, marvelling again at how quickly the abandoned
mine had been turned into a busy, working Weyr. Above him, in the
cliffs, bright patches of colour showed where dragons were resting on
their ledges, basking in the morning sunlight. As he passed the entrance
to the Lower Caverns, he saw folk passing back and forth, drudges
carrying supplies from a trader vessel tied up at the docks, masons with
their tools and a gaggle of children following their teacher for an
outdoor lesson.

The harper, a young woman with dark curls even more unruly than his own,
flashed him a quick smile as they passed which R'fal returned, hoping
he'd not betrayed any nerves. After all that had passed since the trial,
he'd hardly thought of girls, and when he had it had been with guilt,
that he could even consider himself while his father was locked up. But
it wouldn't be long, now, until that sentence came to an end. And in the
Weyr, where few people hid their feelings or desires, it was hard to get
away from...

He turned away from the cove and approached the crafter village. It was
even busier here, the air filled with the sounds of sawing and hammering
and tools chipping at stone. Stepping out of the path of an apprentice
girl pushing a handcart loaded with pottery, R'fal circled around a cart
being loaded with newly cut planks of wood and wove his way through to
the smithy.

Lorican was there, his gaze focused intently on the piece he was shaping
on his anvil. R'fal watched as he brought down the hammer in a short,
controlled arc, turning and tapping the glowing metal rod he held in the
tongs in his left hand until it seemed to bend of its own accord into a
smooth, looping curve. Then he tapered the nearer end off, balanced it
on a sharp-edged chisel he'd fitted into a hole on the anvil and struck
it a few sharp, blows to neatly cut off the finished piece.

Only once he'd put it aside did he look up, and saw R'fal waiting. He
spoke briefly to the two watching apprentices, and the older boy pulled
down his goggles and took over, carefully lifting a new rod from the
forge fire while the other removed the finished piece to cool.

"Good day, Journeyman," R'fal greeted him as he came out, wiping the
sweat from his face and neck with a rag. "What were you making?"

"Hooks and rings for riding straps. We've finally caught up with the
technicians, until we get a new order, anyway." Lorican glanced around,
his gaze sweeping the cleared area outside the smithy. He stretched his
back and breathed in the cooler air. "My duty to you and Marlath,
Brownrider R'fal. How is he?"

"He's well. He likes it when we come here - it's the lake he enjoys.
Though we don't have time for swimming today, it's just a short visit to
drop off supplies. I thought I'd stop by the forge and see how you were,
though, and if there's any message..."

The smith shook his head. "Nothing but my regards to the Mastersmith and
my fellow crafters. And to our friend Brennault, of course. I'll write,
soon, now that the workload's easing a bit."

"Glad to hear it. I'll tell them."

Lorican hesitated, recalling his manners. "Can I offer you a drink?
We've only got water, but it's refreshing and there's plenty of it."

"Oh, no, but you go ahead." R'fal watched as the smith fetched a cup of
water from a large jug in a shady spot, away from the heat of the forge
fires.

"All's well back at the Weyr, I hope?"

"Yes. There's some swapping around in the Wings, now that a lot of the
folk from River Bluff have settled on staying or coming here." The
tensions in his own Wing had eased now, for which R'fal was grateful. "I
heard they're looking for a bronzerider to lead Weyrleader D'hol's old
wing, since he was from Dolphin Cove."

"Ah, I see. I'd imagine that's a decision that needs some care."

"Yes. Let's see, there's a weyrling class near to graduation, some of
them have been flying us firestone in the Fall these past sevendays. You
might have seen that Hatching," R'fal said, thinking back to when he'd
brought the smith to the Weyr. "I'll be glad when they join us, because
I won't be the newest any more. It's a good day, graduation, there'll be
a celebration feast to honour the new riders. Anyone else you want to
hear about?"

Lorican hesitated, glanced around to check that there was no-one else
close to the smithy. He could hear the clink of hammer on metal and the
roar of the furnace from inside, and knew from experience that they
wouldn't overhear him. Could he risk it? Surely, this young brownrider
had nothing to do with the man who pursued him.

"R'fal, you've got dragonhealer's knots." He took a breath, looked
around him again and lowered his voice. "You spend a lot of time in the
infirmary at Dolphin Cove?"

"Yes, more than ever these last few months. I feel like I live there
more than I do in Marlath's weyr," R'fal said with a wry look, thinking
of the punishment duties he'd earned.

"Then - you know the Weyrhealer?"

"Yes, not so well as the dragonhealers, but I see her around. She works
closely with Master Y'gel. Of course, not since last sevenday."

Lorican had been about to ask whether she was well and happy, but the
dragonrider's last words threw him off course. "Last sevenday?"

"Well, she's been resting after the baby was born."

"The baby?" His brow creased in confusion. "She assisted at a birth?"
Surely, no matter how long and difficult the labour, it would be unusual
for the healer to take a whole sevenday's rest, especially one as
dedicated to her craft as Urlene.

"No, she - uh..." R'fal blinked at Lorican, open-mouthed. Could he
really not have known? Though he'd not paid as much attention to the
gossip about Master Urlene's pregnancy as some, having other things on
his mind, he knew that people said the smith was most likely the father.
That night when they'd made a stir in the dining cavern had been about
the right time. Why wouldn't she have told him? If they'd quarrelled, it
must have been bitter indeed.

As he watched, understanding dawned in the smith's eyes, for a moment, a
sudden light of hope, quickly dashed. "No - but it's not possible. She
told me..." He cut himself off, suddenly wary of speaking of matters
that were private. "But perhaps... You're saying that Master Urlene, she
- she had a baby? Of her own?"

"Yes, Journeyman. A son."

Lorican felt the world seem to blur around him. Vaguely, he heard the
dragonrider saying something. **A son. I have a son.** Now he remembered
her letters, the ones he'd had to destroy, but kept every word in his
heart. She'd had something she wanted to tell him, something important,
that had brought her joy. And in response, he had written that cold
note, telling her he no longer wished to court her.

She must have thought he'd found out about the child, and rejected her.
He flinched, unable to suppress the reaction. Knowing how he must have
hurt her, more than he could ever have imagined, felt like a blow to the
gut.

A sensation which he'd grown all too familiar with during his time at
Barrier Lake. That reminder of Lusilk, and his secret, sobered him, and
he managed to focus on the voice of the young dragonrider.

"Journeyman? Are you all right?" R'fal reached out, touched his
shoulder. "Do you want to sit down?"

"No - no, I'm all right..." He realised that the cup had fallen from his
fingers. It lay, cracked, on the dusty ground, surrounded by a dark,
spreading patch of spilled water. Lorican leaned forward, breathed
deeply. "I just...I'm all right. It's surprising news."

"I can see that." The young man half-smiled. "I'm sorry, I never thought
that you might not know. You want me and Marlath to take you to the
Weyr? Now?"

To his surprise, the smith didn't reply at once, another spasm of pain
crossing his face. "I - I can't." He gestured, helplessly, back towards
the forge. "My work...the Mastersmith..."

"I'm sure he'd let you go, if you asked," R'fal said, surprised. He'd
heard the smithcraft had a traditional bent, and perhaps they wouldn't
approve of the situation, but not even the most tyrannical master ought
to keep a man from his newborn son. And even if he did - who wouldn't
go, anyway, given the chance?

"No, it's not that. I..." Lorican shook his head. "There's an obstacle."
He fell back on the words he'd used before, when Brennault had visited.
"It's complicated."

"Then - don't you want me to take her a message?"

Lorican closed his eyes, all the pain and guilt and longing of the
months since his last visit to Dolphin Cove etched in his face. More
than anything, he wanted to go to her. He wanted to take her in his arms
and tell her the truth.

But he had to face reality. More than likely, the scarred man would
catch up with him; he must be close by now. The only protection he could
offer Urlene and his son was his silence. For now, the danger was
doubled. There were two that he loved, that those who hunted him could
strike at. Only by staying away could he keep that man or those he
worked for from ever going near them again.

He shook his head. "No. No message."

"Well - if you're sure." R'fal frowned. Holdbred as he was, he couldn't
respect a man who'd not even send a word to the mother of his child, but
nothing about Lorican suggested that he was that sort. There was
something else holding him back, it was clear as day. Still, he felt no
wish to intrude on their pain. "If you prefer it, I won't say anything
to her about seeing you."

"I think that would be best." Lorican hesitated, but couldn't resist
adding, "for now." The spark of hope, which had burned so low these past
months at the Weyrhold, flickered into life.

He squared his shoulders. He would _not_ die. He would fight the man who
pursued him, and live to see his son's face.

"My greetings to the Dolphin Cove smiths, then. And - to the healers who
treated me, in the infirmary." It was all he could say. "I remember
their kindness every day."

"Right you are, Journeyman." R'fal saluted and turned away, more
bewildered than ever. There was a mystery there, and he wondered what
his mother would advise him to do. Stay out of their business, probably.
It wasn't as though he didn't have enough complications in his life.
Even so, he thought that perhaps, in a while, he'd return to the
Weyrhold and see if Lorican had changed his mind.

Last updated on the August 17th 2020

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A Gift of Silence