Permanence (part 1)

Writers: Yvonne
Date Posted: 3rd March 2006

Characters: Cyrek
Description: The earthquake hits Amethyst Cliff Hold
Location: Amber Hills Hold, Elsewhere on Pern
Date: month 11, day 2 of Turn 3
Notes: Occurs concurrent with the 'Devastation' posts from the

Vintner Hall.

Cyrek looked over the ledger before him for errors, and not spotting any, set it aside. It was just before lunch and his stomach was starting to growl, and he was getting tired of sitting in his office.
The same four walls stared back at him daily, and although he enjoyed his work and was able to be absorbed in it to the point where he didn't notice his surroundings, when he did look up, the room sometimes felt a little claustrophobic. Like a prison, for all that it was well lit, and that the stone walls plastered over and painted a cheery yellowish white. Mariss called it 'butter and cream'. The electric lights were bright and steady, and the Hold well designed for air flow so that rooms like his didn't get stuffy.

Never the less... **Maybe I'll take a walk after lunch,** he thought, stretching his arms up over his head. His shoulder popped softly, easing tension that he hadn't known he'd had. **To look over the orchards, maybe. Not that they need it.**

And suddenly, he was terrified. White-knuckled, sweating, gripping the edge of the desk as the walls closed in-- Trouble's emotions, not his own. Cyrek grit his teeth and tried to wade through the cacophony of feelings. It was like Trouble was chasing a gold, or a green firelizard - strong enough to provoke a physical reaction in himself as well. **Trouble!!**

The flit suddenly appeared from /between/. He shrieked and dove at Cyrek, who had to duck lest he be raked with the little bronze's claws. The intensity of emotion increased and Cyrek found himself swaying in his seat. "Faranth's Egg, what's wrong with you!?"

The flit screamed again and went /between/, leaving Cyrek alone in an office that was suddenly lacking air. Too close. He rose to his feet and was half way to the door before he realized what he was doing, but when he did he went out anyway, nearly knocking over a drudge as he did so.

The woman put out a hand to steady him. "Are you all right, sir?
You're so pale!"

Cyrek grit his teeth and focused on her face. Scarred with acne, wrinkled, but kindly. There was a mop in her hand and a large dark spot on her apron. "Fine," he ground out.

"Should I call for a healer, sir? Or your daughter? You look terrible!" The steward shook his head. "No! No.. I just need air." **And to strangle that flit,** he thought dismally. The place where the drudge had put her hand on his arm burned and he wrenched free before stumbling down the hall, pausing long enough only to pull on his oiled woolen coat. He almost ran down the steps and out the big wooden front doors, and the touch of cold rain and fresh air on his face lessened the onslaught of Trouble's troubled sendings enough for him to try to puzzle through them.

**Trouble wouldn't react like this unless there was something seriously wrong.** Cyrek walked down the steps and headed out into the courtyard, which was eerily silent. The wind blew light splatters of rain against the sandstone flagstones and buildings, darkening them from amber to dull brown. He wished for a hat, and turned down the path that led up the slopes toward the orchards. It was still early in the spring, but even now the bark on the redfruit trees was slowly silvering with the first glimmers of buds. Next month they'd blossom, and the ground beneath would be littered with petals as white as snow. Trouble was no where to be seen, although he was still agitated. But not as much as when Cyrek was still inside... **What's going on?**

Something in the Hold was upsetting him, maybe? The ground, still thawing, was never the less muddy with the rain, and the steward frowned at the splatters of mud that were slowly covering his toes.
**What about the Hold could upset Trouble that much? Certainly not a person - he'd be more specific than just... driving me out of there.
Not claustrophobia. What could make a flit claustrophobic?**

Shards... it was so still. Nothing moved aside from the light rain.
Cyrek turned to study the Hold he'd just left, framed as it was between the branches of the two bare-limbed trees beside the path.
Greyed by the rain, the bright stone dulled and the blue slate of the wood and over the windows wetted to black. The cliff that loomed over the buildings was gloomy and dark, and the sandstone arch above the main doors dull and uninteresting. It looked so much different in the sunlight. Cyrek didn't notice it at first. A rumbling, so deep that it was more felt than heard. The trees beside him started to shake as if caught in a windstorm and he found himself thrown to his knees in the cold mud as the ground beneath him bucked as if alive. Trouble appeared in the air above him, shrieking in terror, and disappeared just as quickly. Cyrek held on for dear life and wished he could close his eyes. Before him, the Hold, the invariable Hold, ageless stone built to withstand the ravages of time, gently folded in on itself like a wilting flower. The cliff behind shattered and came tumbling down, knocking holes in the roof as if it were glass and whitewashing the stones with mud.

It lasted forever. A lifetime. When it stopped, Cyrek wished time had frozen and he'd been frozen with it. Half the Hold lay in ruins; tottering sandstone walls with skeletal ribs of golden wood exposed to the grey skies and rubble where the Lord's personal quarters had been. The rumbling from the earth had been so loud his ears were ringing, but as they cleared, the screaming began.

Someone was screaming.

Mariss.

Last updated on the March 9th 2006

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Permanence (part 1)