Pern Fanfic - Part Two - T'karn's Search (inc. feedback)

[Gidget2]

Here is Part Two. It was originally the second chunk of the first beginning I wrote. I discarded it but then decided to make it into Part Two after some modifications and additions! Consequently the four parter now has five parts!!

Part One has had some modifications. You can read the 'final' copy >here<

Part Three is almost done

Anyway ....... enjoy!!

Part Two – T'karn's Search

As the most senior rider present T'karn was the nominal leader of the group of three riders to emerge from between above Southern Boll and into a thick, warm blanket of air. The blue watch-dragon bugled a challenging welcome, and he instructed Lamioth to bespeak Bonoth and tell his rider that they were coming in Search. Hopefully C'tran could handle that.

We'll land in the courtyard. Can you tell the others?

Under him, T'karn's dragon rumbled his assent and waited for the blue and the green dragon to fly alongside and give him the relevant gesture of understanding. T'karn nodded and gave the signal to land. As Lamioth turned and began his spiralling descent, T'karn could see the sparkle of the ocean.

I would like to swim.

T'karn chuckled to himself and agreed, thinking that he would also need a swim to wash off the day's sweat which was already forming under his wherhide riding jacket thanks to the relentless Boll heat.

When we are done, little one, we will have time for swimming. Do you mind waiting?

The ocean is there always but eggs will hatch.

He took that as a no and laughed at his dragon's world view. The blue gave an excellent landing, and behind him L'bir and D'jil settled their dragons into place and dismounted. As T'karn jumped off Lamioth's foreleg, he noticed that the current Hold Steward was waiting at a safe distance, wearing long flowing garb in the Hold colours of bright red and white. T'karn couldn't help but notice how cool and graceful the man looked compared to how uncomfortable he was in his gear.

“Good day, sir! I am T'karn and this is blue Lamioth. We come from Fort on Search and wish to introduce ourselves to your Lord and Lady. May I also introduce greenrider D'jil and bluerider L'bir.” He indicated his fellow Searchriders.

The Steward walked forward with a broad smile and a bow for all. “My Lord T'karn, C'tran informed us of your arrival. Perhaps you gentlemen would prefer to wait somewhere cooler?”

T'karn smiled and thanked him, wiping a thin sheen of perspiration from his brow.

“My thanks. I had hoped that we would arrive before the day grew too warm.”

“Oh, you did. Please, follow me.” With that he turned and entered the main Hold.

As the trio of dragonriders divested themselves of their heavy riding gear they instructed their dragons to find suitable places to sun themselves – there was not a single peep of dismay at that! They also looked around at the exterior craftsmanship of Southern Boll. T'karn seemed to recall that it was the second or third oldest Hold on Pern – after Fort, of course.

As soon as they passed under the massive portal doors, the first thing that struck was the difference in temperature. It took a few moments for their sun-narrowed pupils to adjust to the new lower light level. As they did so the second thing struck – colour! Everywhere T'karn's eyes flickered they were almost assaulted by reds, vibrant blues, yellows and oranges. Silks and tapestries showing Boll's lush jungles and examples of local flora were to be found hanging on almost every wall. The stone that was bare had been painted in bright blocks of colour. Fort Hold, let alone the Weyr, seemed drab and hollow in comparison. He hadn't realised that he had missed its lack.

A pair of drudges, tanned a deep brown, appeared and took their seemingly leaden gear away. They followed the Steward up the main stairs to the first floor and the smaller chambers where the Lords of Boll were wont to entertain on a more intimate level.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable. Refreshments will be just one moment.” With that the Steward backed out of the room and left them to their own devices.

“T'karn!”

Hearing L'bir's gasp, he turned and surveyed the room they were in. The room itself, though not all that large, boasted three sets of deep and glazed casements along the exterior wall. Within these were set light wooden shutters, louvred to allow maximum breeze whilst shutting out the heat. Undoubtedly the traditional heavy bronze Thread-proof shutters were fixed outside of those, or recessed into the wall somehow. In the centre of the room stood a low oval table, seemingly made out of cane and painted a wonderful light cream. The tabletop itself was a beautiful piece of clear glass, under which was set a map of the lands Boll governed.

A high-backed cane chair, matching the table, sat at one short end of the oval table, and four other lower chairs were arranged sequentially around the remaining space. Underneath the middle casement, a low couch stood invitingly. L'bir could not refuse and sunk into its cushion. The other two chose chairs around the table.

Another drudge entered with a tray set with red porcelain jugs of various fruit juices and small selections of tropical fruit, placed it on the table silently and withdrew.

“Not much for chatter, these folk, are they?”

T'karn turned to shush D'jil, but at that moment the Lord Holder of Boll entered the room. Immediately they stood and bowed. “My Lord.”

“Don't worry about that. Generally it's too damn hot to stand on stifling ceremony! T'karn! It's good to see you again. You really mustn't stay away so much!” He shook their hands individually and gestured for them to resume sitting. “Drink? I see that Shell didn't stay long enough to serve you.” He shook his head.

“Shell, my Lord?” D'jil.

“Oh, my Steward. I see that he also did not stay long enough to introduce himself. Such are his ways.” He shrugged off what some would consider a crass rudeness. “I believe that you come to Search in fair Southern Boll?”

T'karn sipped his tart fruity juice and responded. “Indeed. That is, if we have your permission, my Lord?”

“On one condition, bluerider T'karn – you stop calling me damned Lord. I keep expecting my sire to appear over my shoulder!” His blue eyes twinkled mischievously.

“Would that be a problem, my Lord?” D'jil again, clutching his glass of precious liquid to his chest.

“Well, the man has been dead some turns, so I presume so yes!”

T'karn looked sharply at the young rider, unable to vent his anger at such a thoughtless comment in present company. His scowl was interrupted at the bawdy laugh given by the Lord Holder.

“Whoo! You should see your face, T'karn! Honestly, young D'jil, it's fine. He was passed his time and better off out of his pain. T'karn, leave him be. Now, I suggest that you take a stroll through the Craft halls this morning and ..... well, I don't presume to tell you your job. I'm sure that you gentlemen know what you're doing! Please stay here at the main Hold at least until lunch. I'm assured that it will be to your liking! I shall send someone to find you when it is ready. Please, enjoy Boll whilst you're here!” With that the large Lord Holder rose from his elegant chair, bowed, and exited.

T'karn preferred to Search alone so he decided to walk amongst the Crafters this morning, and instructed the others to Search the Hold and cots. If all went well, a few more stops at Gar and Peyton should suffice. Although having too many Candidates was infinitely more desirable than too few, T'karn knew that there were plenty of likely lads and lasses assembled at Fort and this was going to be the last ride out on Search for this clutch if they had any chance of being suitably prepared and orientated in the Weyr. The lucky ones would probably remain there for the rest of their paired lives.

Suddenly he was overwhelmed once more with the recalled feelings of his own Impression – the day, the hour, the very second etched indelibly on his soul. Coming as he had done from one of the Boll Fishcraft Halls wedged into a bay on the western side of Big Bay and facing almost directly due East, the day he had been chosen on a Search all those many Turns ago had been the start of an amazing life for him. He had reached his Journeyman status only the Turn previous and had been studying currents and cloud formations when into the Fish Hall strode a glittering, beautiful man. Something inside the young Telekarn had swum at the sight of the dragonrider. If the sight had made him swim, the following conversation had almost drowned him.

Fort Weyr ...... Search ......Dragon ...... selected ...... Telekarn ...... permission ...... Master ......three sevendays ......luck ......

Barely able to last until the end of his lesson, Telekarn had arrived at Fort within three days to begin his new life. Within his first hour he knew that even if he didn't Impress then here was where he would be accepted. Overheard snatches of conversation from the weyrlings of previous hatchings and established riders had confirmed it – here he could express parts of himself that in the restrictive atmosphere of the ships would have had to stay subdued.

By the time the Hatching itself arrived, Telekarn had become firm friends with the majority of the Candidates, especially a young lad from High Reaches who was certain – painfully certain – that he would Impress a bronze, the best bronze on all of Pern (although this was whispered outside the earshot of the Weyrleader). Telekarn would be happy with any colour. Never before had he ever seen a dragon up close. As an apprentice at the Fish Hold, visits from riders had never circulated in his direction, although he had sneaked peeks at the marvellous beasts – no, a beast was something dumb that lived in pastures. Dragons were more than that, indescribably more, impossibly more!

There hadn't been anything outwardly special about T'karn's Impression – not the first, not the last, sandwiched in the middle of the greatest bout of frenetic activity. But inwardly .... inside something happened. He had just glanced and grinned at Keffit and was turning his head back round to focus on the rocking eggs when his head responded involuntarily to a particular crack – one of many. Suddenly a wet blue nose appeared, followed by wet wings and back.

Lamioth! I am Lamioth and I am hungry! Feed me. Please feed me.

The tone had been so sad and desperate that T'karn – as hearing that voice had made him – laughed and hurried to the graceless blue dragon that wanted him – him – to be his unending partner. Looking into his whirling eyes, T'karn understood everything about Lamioth. More importantly, perhaps, Lamioth understood everything about T'karn and swept a tide of love over him.

You are you. I am me. I am hungry. Please help me before I expire.

You will not expire on the Hatching sands, little one! What would your dam have to say about me if I let you die right here?

With the mention of the guarding golden dragon, T'karn searched for her eyes and gave a bow. “My thanks, my queen.” Perhaps he only imagined the pleased expression on the face of Fort's queen, but Lamioth was imperiously butting at his knees and they were getting harder – painfully so.

Now he was here to yet again find those young men and women of Pern who would accept Pern's greatest gift and offer them that same experience. Some of them would not make it the next step with this clutch, and some would never make it at all. He could still recall Keffit's expression as he was left on the sidelines of the Hatching Ground as the celebrations continued. The Weyrleader's kindly words did little to console him. T'karn still felt pangs of guilt. Why him and why not Keff?

You wish me to have chosen your friend?

Of course not, little one! I am just thinking. Keff would have made a good rider.

The baker never wanted it in the same way. T'karn could hear Lamioth's mental shrug. I think there are ones here who do want it and would succeed.

Where, little one?

Lamioth gave a yawn on the Hold's fireheights, enjoying the hot sun. Around. You will know.

T'karn supposed that Lamioth had had his say on the matter and carried on into one of the vast glass sheds, hoping to avoid the heat of the open courtyard. Instead he found a different kind of heat and stuffiness inside the vaulted hall building. At his entrance some of the workers ceased their workings and stared.

“How can we help you, rider?” A glass-smith of sizeable proportions greeted him, wiping sweaty hands on a filthy rag tied at his side.

“I am T'karn of Fort and am here at Boll on Search. I presume you know that the latest clutch is hardening on the sands as we speak?”

“Aye, of course. Well do what you do, only be careful. Accidents are a hazard, rider.”

T'karn didn't know if the man's attitude was permanent, triggered by interruption, or caused by something more personal. At least the man was too old to be considered. Accepting a cup of refreshment from a drudge covered in scar tissue, he began to survey the room, letting his eye rest for a moment on each of the people present. None gave that blip he had learned to recognise as draconic potential.

With an internal sigh, he left the shed with a cheery wave and over-exaggerated smile to the Smith who had greeted him. He didn't choose where he walked, he just let the part of him that was inextricably linked with Lamioth guide him. He had done it many times whilst on Search, allowing the dragon's instincts to manoeuvre his feet. He was dimly aware of other people around him in the courtyard that all the glass sheds opened directly into, but he seemed to turn more left than right, between two of the great sheds towards a cart that was being stacked with sturdily packed crates and boxes.

Lamioth's shout erupted into his mind: THERE!

At the same time T'karn's eyes swam back into focus in time to see the figure of a youngster, in the last few years of his second decade, no more than that, run from the doorway set in the back of the shed to T'karn's right. T'karn quickened his pace to meet him, but before he was more than a dragonlength away from him, the youth pitched himself forward awkwardly. T'karn stretched an arm out, knowing he was too far away to be of any use, and watched the fall and heard the crack as his skull met the cobbles that paved the area.

“Lamioth?”

It is black. He is there, but it is black.

Reassured by his dragon's diagnosis, he let out a bellow for assistance. Men streamed out of the shed the youth had been rushing from. In the ensuing babble of noise, T'karn continued crouching and holding the boy gently.

One of the Smiths, one who kept his head and his wits, peered over at him. “Leontin.” He shook his head. “Looks like he knocked himself halfway to nowhere on the cobbles. Shaffit. Ceelian, Daff -” he gestured at two of the apprentices stood nearby gawking, “- move him into my office onto the couch.”

“No need. I'll take him.” Before the smith had time to argue – not that he thought he would – T'karn lifted the youth with one arm at his neck and the other at his knees. He walked away a couple of steps and then realised that he had no idea where the smith had his rooms.

“I'm Tragor, by the way. You have Leontin there. He's apprenticed to me. This way.”

Despite Leontin's tender age it was obvious in the weight of him in T'karn's arms that he was used to solid physical labour. He looked down at the face that lolled in the crook of one elbow. Strangely unmarked considering he was an apprentice to a glassmaker. He had noticed that nearly all the other men he had seen in the sheds had some facial scarring of some degree or other. But there was nothing on the face. Perhaps on the body or arms. Something in T'karn rocked and swayed at the thought.

Entering the area of the shed that Tragor obviously used as his 'office', he quickly found the couch and laid Leontin upon it, settling himself next to him. He called to Lamioth to check him again as he was still not awake.

He is there. He wakes. He recognises me. The surprised tone was evident to T'karn. No, he doesn't recognise me, he feels the touch. It is him. He will be accepted. He will be good.

It was becoming clear to T'karn, thanks to Lamioth, that here was someone who would undoubtedly Impress, and more than likely revel in a life in a Weyr as he had.

I told you that you would know, and now he knows, and I know.

T'karn grinned once more at draconic logic and the smug tone in his blue's voice.

“Leontin? Are you there? Leontin, wake up. Leontin ..... can you hear me? Leontin?”

[kevia]

Can hardly wait for the other 3 parts!!!

[Greenrider Dawna]

Originally Posted by kevia

Can hardly wait for the other 3 parts!!!

I second that!!

[Gidget2]

LOL Thank you Kevia and Dawna! News on Part Three coming very soon ....

[Shalyn]

Gidget,

I want to give you some good concrit, because as I was reading this there were things that kept knocking me out of the story. Do you want the feedback here, or would you rather I sent you a PM?

[Gidget2]

Originally Posted by Shalyn

I want to give you some good concrit, because as I was reading this there were things that kept knocking me out of the story. Do you want the feedback here, or would you rather I sent you a PM?

Shalyn, no, you can post it here Unless it's quite involved, in which case a PM may be better ..... but whichever you'd prefer is ok with me!

[Shalyn]

Ok - you asked for it.

Overall, it is good, and just needs tightening up. I have merely pointed out many of the screws that need tightening.

I'm glad you wanted this public, because I may be the only one who feels this way about this snippet. It would be good to see if other opinions fall where I do, or not.

Also, I hope I haven't slammed you (at least, in your opinion). One thing that irritates me on my own postings are people just saying "more, please", with no crit whatsoever. While I can take "more, please" as someone liking the story, it doesn't help in my writing, and gives me a false sense of "hey, I'm a fantastic writer!". There's one person who, when they crit my writing they get my hackles up, but when I stop to analyze what they have said, it is all good stuff.

Anyway:

T'karn smiled and thanked him, wiping a thin sheen of perspiration from his brow.

“My thanks. I had hoped that we would arrive before the day grew too warm.”

“Oh, you did. Please, follow me.” With that he turned and entered the main Hold.

You allude to the fact that T'karn was born/raised/lived in Boll. He would know that it was going to be warm. I lived in Dallas for three years, and I know that if I were to go there in April with winter clothing, I wouldn't be comfortable. However, here it's speaking of the time of day they arrived. Maybe the conversation would go:

"My thanks. I had hoped that we would arrive before the day grew too warm."

"Oh, you did," the steward chuckled, and T'karn grinned ruefully. For Boll, this was cool. "Follow me," the steward continued as they entered the main Hold.

As the trio of dragonriders divested themselves of their heavy riding gear they instructed their dragons to find suitable places to sun themselves – there was not a single peep of dismay at that! They also looked around at the exterior craftsmanship of Southern Boll. T'karn seemed to recall that it was the second or third oldest Hold on Pern – after Fort, of course.

Sentence structure is awkward.

. . . they instructed their dragons to find suitable places to sun themselves - there was not a single peep of dismay at that! - they also looked around at the . . .

In a case like this, the exclamation point is not the end of the sentence, so the next word should not be capitalized.

Also, after Fort, of course really doesn't need to be in there.

As soon as they passed under the massive portal doors, the first thing that struck was the difference in temperature. It took a few moments for their sun-narrowed pupils to adjust to the new lower light level. As they did so the second thing struck – colour! Everywhere T'karn's eyes flickered they were almost assaulted by reds, vibrant blues, yellows and oranges. Silks and tapestries showing Boll's lush jungles and examples of local flora were to be found hanging on almost every wall. The stone that was bare had been painted in bright blocks of colour. Fort Hold, let alone the Weyr, seemed drab and hollow in comparison. He hadn't realised that he had missed its lack.

Here's where we see that he used to be at Boll. (I can't remember if it was mentioned in Part 1, either. Sorry.) The beginning of the paragraph gives the impression that he's never seen so much colour before, then at the end, he was really missing it. It just seems awkward.

“T'karn!”

Hearing L'bir's gasp, he turned and surveyed the room they were in. The room itself, though not all that large, boasted three sets of deep and glazed casements along the exterior wall. Within these were set light wooden shutters, louvred to allow maximum breeze whilst shutting out the heat. Undoubtedly the traditional heavy bronze Thread-proof shutters were fixed outside of those, or recessed into the wall somehow. In the centre of the room stood a low oval table, seemingly made out of cane and painted a wonderful light cream. The tabletop itself was a beautiful piece of clear glass, under which was set a map of the lands Boll governed.

A high-backed cane chair, matching the table, sat at one short end of the oval table, and four other lower chairs were arranged sequentially around the remaining space. Underneath the middle casement, a low couch stood invitingly. L'bir could not refuse and sunk into its cushion. The other two chose chairs around the table.

Is L'bir gasping at the room? The table? The fact that the couch he chose to sit in is devouring him?

“Don't worry about that. Generally it's too damn hot to stand on stifling ceremony! T'karn! It's good to see you again. You really mustn't stay away so much!” He shook their hands individually and gestured for them to resume sitting. “Drink? I see that Shell didn't stay long enough to serve you.” He shook his head.

“Shell, my Lord?”said D'jil.

Not sure if "damn" would still be used, but it could just be a carryover. Usually, though, they say "sharding".
"He shook his head" seems too short, too abrupt for the paragraph.

T'karn sipped his tart fruity juice and responded. “Indeed. That is, if we have your permission, my Lord?”

“On one condition, bluerider T'karn – you stop calling me damned Lord. I keep expecting my sire to appear over my shoulder!” His blue eyes twinkled mischievously.

“Would that be a problem, my Lord?” D'jil again, clutching his glass of precious liquid to his chest.

“Well, the man has been dead some turns, so I presume so yes!”

How well does this Lord Holder know T'karn? It just seems a bit too informal, but if that's how you want him to be, then forget I said anything.

Why is the liquid precious to D'jil? Because it's so hot? 'Precious' just seems extreme to me, but again, if that is how D'jil is, then that's how he is. But if you're telling this from T'karn's POV, then would he know D'jil thought his drink was precious?

“Whoo! You should see your face, T'karn! Honestly, young D'jil, it's fine. He was passed his time and better off out of his pain.

Past, not passed. And that actually seems cold to me, but it's only been a bit over a year since my dad passed away. Plus, again, I don't know your character.

Now he was here to yet again find those young men and women of Pern who would accept Pern's greatest gift and offer them that same experience. Some of them would not make it the next step with this clutch, and some would never make it at all. He could still recall Keffit's expression as he was left on the sidelines of the Hatching Ground as the celebrations continued. The Weyrleader's kindly words did little to console him. T'karn still felt pangs of guilt. Why him and why not Keff?

You wish me to have chosen your friend?

Of course not, little one! I am just thinking. Keff would have made a good rider.

The baker never wanted it in the same way. T'karn could hear Lamioth's mental shrug. I think there are ones here who do want it and would succeed.

Where, little one?
Lamioth gave a yawn on the Hold's fireheights, enjoying the hot sun. Around. You will know.

In this section, there was no segue bringing us out of the flashback. Even if you had just said:

You wish me to have chosen your friend? Lamioth's words jarred him back into the present.

Just that little bit would have smoothed the section out.

Also, just something I don't like personally, is T'karn calling his dragon "little one" all the time. It just seems weird. I call my cat "little one". If I had a horse, I doubt I'd call him "little one". Like I said, just a personal dislike.

T'karn didn't know if the man's attitude was permanent, triggered by interruption, or caused by something more personal. At least the man was too old to be considered. Accepting a cup of refreshment from a drudge covered in scar tissue, he began to survey the room, letting his eye rest for a moment on each of the people present. None gave that blip he had learned to recognise as draconic potential.

There is nothing, except for the first sentence, that indicates anything about the Glass Smith's attitude. Matter of fact, what is his attitude? I can't really tell from the context, either.

Despite Leontin's tender age it was obvious in the weight of him in T'karn's arms that he was used to solid physical labour. He looked down at the face that lolled in the crook of one elbow. Strangely unmarked considering he was an apprentice to a glassmaker. He had noticed that nearly all the other men he had seen in the sheds had some facial scarring of some degree or other. But there was nothing on the face. Perhaps on the body or arms. Something in T'karn rocked and swayed at the thought.

Eighteen (I'm assuming it's eighteen) is a tender age? Hmm, maybe it would be to T'karn - how old is he? So, possibly from his point eighteen *is* a tender age.

I do like the foreshadowing of T'karn's feelings, if that's what Something in T'karn rocked and swayed at the thought.
is. However, don't forget to show this once again, just so it's not a throw-away comment. It seems imortant.

[Gidget2]

Shalyn, thank you very much for that! It's always good to get another perspective on things, and I have to say that I agree with the majority of your points. Some of them are oversights on my behalf, such as missing words and writing things, changing the game plan and not correcting where I should have (such as with T'karn's reaction to the heat & colour in Boll). Thank you for pointing those out to me!

The Lord Holder does know T'karn well. Again, this was something that was going to be made more of in my original plan, but has since changed. You're very much right in saying that that section needs work. I've never been particularly happy with it, but couldn't see what else should fit there, if you understand what I mean. He is also a very relaxed and calm Lord Holder. The death of his father was a fair time in the past (the exact time depends on certain facts which we don't have), and I think the Pernese view of death would be different from ours (not that I am commenting on your situation with your father), especially where a long and consuming death happened.

With respect to Leontin's age at the beginning, you're a little out. He's not 18 he's 16 - and part of what is rocking and swaying T'karn (who is in his late 30s/early 40s) is his intense physical reaction to Leontin's body (not to put too fine a point on it ....).

But I am so very pleased that you took the time to go through what I'd written and critique it so deeply. I do appreciate that, Shalyn! I've copied your post and when I do go back to the story, I'll certainly be incorporating some of your points and editing the existing!