Mystified, Flar raised his eyes in answer to a summons from the hovering weyrlings.
They wish to know if this is the Edge of Threadfall, Mnementh reported to his rider.
It must be further south, Flar replied and waved the weyrlings in that direction. He stood looking down at the overturned earth, at the grubs burrowing frantically away from sunlight. He picked up a stout barkless branch and jabbed the earth of the trench Mnementh had made, prodding for the cavities that meant Thread infestations. It has to be further south. I dont understand this. He ripped a handful of the leaves from a berry bush and sifted them through his gloves. If this happened some time ago, rain would have washed the char from the punctures. The damaged leaves would have dropped.
He began to work his way south, and slightly east, trying to ascertain exactly where Thread had started. Foliage on every side gave evidence of its passage but he found no burrows.
When he located drowned Thread in the brackish water of a swamp pool, he had to consider that as the leading Edge. But he wasnt satisfied and bogged himself down in syrtis muds investigating, so that Mnementh had to pull him free.
So intent was he on the anomalies of this Fall, that he did not notice the passage of time. He was somewhat startled, then, to have Tbor appear overhead, announcing the end of Fall. And both men were alarmed when the ground-crew chief, a young fisherman from Ista named Toric, verified that the Fall had lasted a scant two hours since discovery.
A short Fall, I know, but theres nothing above, and Toric here says the ground crews are mopping up the few patches that got through, Tbor said, rather pleased with the efficient performance of his Weyr.
Every instinct told Flar that something was wrong. Could Thread have changed its habits that drastically? He had no precedent. It always fell in four-hour spans yet clearly the sky was bare.
I need your counsel, Tbor, he said and there was that edge of concern in his voice that brought the other to his side instantly.
Flar scooped up a handful of the brackish water, showing him the filaments of drowned Thread.
Ever notice this before?
Yes, indeed, Tbor replied in a hearty voice, obviously relieved. Happens all the time here. Not many fish to eat Thread in these foot-sized pools.
Then theres something in the swamp waters that does for them?
What do you mean?
Wordlessly, Flar tipped back the scarred foliage nearest him. He warily turned down the broad saw-edged swamp grasses. Catching Tbors stunned eyes, he gestured back the way he had come, where ground crews moved without one belch of flame from their throwers.
You mean, its like that? How far back?
To Threadfall Edge, an hours fast walk, Flar replied grimly. Or rather. thats where I assume Thread Edge is.
Ive seen bushes and grasses marked like that in these swampy deltas closer to the Weyr, Tbor admitted slowly his face blanched under the tan, but I thought it was char. We mark so few infestations and thereve been no burrows.
Tbor was shaken.
Orth says there have been no infestations, Mnementh reported quietly and Orth briefly turned glowing eyes toward the Benden Weyrleader.
And Thread was always short-timed? Flar wanted to know.
Orth says this is the first, but then the alarm came late.
Tbor turned haunted eyes to Flar.
It wasnt a short Fall, then, he said, half-hoping to be contradicted.
Just then Canth veered in to land. Flar suppressed a reprimand when he saw the flame thrower on his half-brothers back.
That was the most unusual Fall Ive ever attended, Fnor cried as he saluted the two bronze riders. We cant have got it all airborne, but theres not a trace of burrow. And dead Thread in every water pocket. I suppose we should be grateful. But I dont understand it.
I dont like it, Flar, Tbor said, shaking his head. I dont like it. Thread wasnt due here for another few weeks, and then, not in this area.
Thread apparently is falling when and where it chooses.