Maybe, with a name like that, it was fated. Although his name was really Mortendar, it was easier when it was shortened to Morte. And the word Morte meant death.
The cloud was difficult to see, Morte had discovered fairly early in his life. It shimmered softly as it flowed, almost shining black, although if he'd ever had to describe it, he would have been unable to do so. At a glance, what he saw was a black mist, but on closer examination, on those few occasions he could look at it that long, it had swirls of blues and purples and greys, so dark almost to be indistinguishable from the main body of blackness.
What made it harder to see was the area in which Morte lived. Officially, Kandrana Keep was in the equator of Danach, on the island of Bruiteach, although it was on the northernmost point, so that it was plunged into the eternal night of the darkside.
Morte had discovered very quickly that no one else could see the black cloud except for him. They often looked at him strangely when he pointed it out, so he'd simply stopped mentioning it.
That had been years ago however, and Morte had discovered more interesting things since then. Any living thing touched by the cloud died, not through suffocation, or any other unnatural cause of death.
When an old man had a heart attack in the road, the cloud had been there, swirling ominously around him. When Mortendar's cousin had slipped and fallen over the cliff at the edge of the Keep, the black mist had followed him down. And when Morte's family was attacked by the biggest Tabriz he had ever seen, the cloud had been there, haunting the house with it's ghostly presence.
It was after that event that Morte discovered the cloud could be controlled by the concentrated mind. He could direct it's flow with a mere thought, moving it away from it's intended target. He'd practiced on plants at first, and then ryanths, paards and dragonflies. It always worked, so he started helping the people of his home Keep.
If he saw the black cloud anywhere near someone he would carefully move it away, direct it into a clear area, and the person lived. Sometimes, when it there was someone he disliked nearby, it was tempting to make the cloud move towards them, but he never did. That seemed subtly wrong to him, to use this ability of his to hurt others, especially when it was so permanent.
What always confused him though was just why he'd never been able to control the cloud until the Tabriz had attacked his home. His only solution to that problem was that the Tabriz had killed him also, and his ghost was meant to stay behind and look after the people of Kandrana Keep.
Appropriately, Morte altered his image to suit his new role in life, or death as the case may be, and wore black clothes to match his dark hair and eyes. He had a black cloak, with a hood that was always brought up to cover his face, which to his deep disappointment had retained it's pale complexion even in death. Living on the darkside did that to a person. Lack of sunlight made the population pale compared to their southern neighbours.
It was one morning in Kandrana Keep, near the central market square, when Morte saw the hazy shadow that preceded the arrival of the black mist. It was drifting slowly out of an alleyway, towards an old man standing behind a fruit stall. It took a few moments, but Morte recognised the man. He was Ithon, an old friend of Morte's father. He had fond memories of Ithon playing with him as a child, listening intently to his stories of the black cloud that no one else could see. Morte suspected that Ithon had never really believed what he said, but at least he hadn't laughed at him.
And now the black cloud was coming to take his life. Morte felt angry about this, since he knew Ithon to be fit and healthy, and the market was a safe enough place. There would be no way he could die here, even if Morte wasn't there to prevent it.
The black cloud had to be getting personal about it then, obviously angry that Mortendar was ruining it's plans for continuing life in Kandrana Keep. It glided forwards, tendrils of deadly blackness sweeping out to catch anything in it's path. To anyone not able to see the cloud, it's progress was evident by the dragonflies dropping like stones towards the ground, dead.
Just before the cloud reached Ithon, Morte pushed at it hard with his mind, shoving it away from Ithon and back towards the alley. Back, foul thing, back, Morte thought fiercely as he moved the mist.
Slowly he managed to force it back, cursing himself for the deaths of the dragonflies he'd been unable to prevent. He could block the bulk of it, but not the tendrils. Now it seemed the cloud was on a rampage, killing anything it could get it's dark tendrils on.
What Morte never even thought about was that the cloud was just the embodiment of a natural force. Death happened all the time, and the day in the market place was no exception. To the south of the Keep was a colony of green fungus which sprouted every fifty years, releasing deadly spores into the wind. The spores had been carried northwards to Kandrana Keep, and in the whole area people and animals were dying as they inhaled the spores. It worked more quickly on smaller animals like dragonflies, and slower on people.
Had Morte known this, it would have prevented the explosion of anger that ensued as the black cloud pushed forward, through the mental barrier, more strongly than Morte had ever encountered it before. It was out to destroy everything.
He moved forward, focusing hard on just keeping the black cloud away from Ithon, making his friend an island of light in the midst of an expanding cloud of blackness that slowly engulfed the entire Keep.
And then it passed, drifting onwards out to sea. Despite Mortendar's best efforts, his protection of Ithon had failed, and the old man had succumbed to the black mist like everyone else. The only reason Morte could see for his own survival was that he was already dead, and so he couldn't be killed. In fact, it was only the instinctive bubble he'd erected around himself to keep the black cloud away from his personal space that had kept him from being killed. Somewhere deep inside, his subconscious knew he was alive, even if his more conscious thoughts believed otherwise, and so subconsciously, Morte had protected himself.
Alive or dead, whichever happened to be true, Morte walked through the market place, stepping over the still bodies of his lifetime friends and companions. There was a sad crunching sound as he accidentally stepped on one of the dead dragonflies, a pretty little green. Morte winced, and quickly moved away.
After what seemed like days, or perhaps even weeks, Mortendar encountered the first sign of life. There were people who'd been inside their homes when the black cloud had passed through the Keep, and so it had ignored them. Others were farmers coming into the Keep to discover why there'd been no contact from anyone for so long. There was even a trading caravan returning from a long haul across the entire island.
And now they stood in the centre of the main square, looking around them with horrified stares at the bodies strewn across the ground, the smell of the now rotting bodies mixing with the odours of rotting fruit and vegetables.
"What happened here?" one of the men asked, looking around at the others nearby, hoping for an answer.
"I don't know. I was at home, and suddenly everyone outside started dying. I was too afraid to go outside and find out what was going on. I'm glad I stayed in now," a young woman replied. "Who could have done this?"
Mortendar just stood from the alleyway where he stood, listening to them talk. If they found him, they would know it was him that caused this.
Eventually though, one of the men stumbled upon him as he searched through the market square for the bodies of his family. "Who are you?" the man asked, sounding hostile as he took in Morte's appearance.
"My name is Mortendar," he replied, shrinking back into the alleyway a little bit.
"Mortendar?" the man asked, frowning in recognition. He turned around, and shouted to the others in the square. "I think we found who caused this!"
"How do you know Korkal?" someone shouted back, approaching the alley quickly.
"This is Mortendar, also known as Morte. I've known him years, and he always claimed to be able to see a black cloud that killed things," Korkal answered, whispering quietly to the other man. "If anyone's capable of killing without a trace of injury, it's him. Who's to say he wasn't controlling that black cloud of his? He used it to kill everyone in the Keep."
Morte shook his head frantically as he overheard what the man said. "No, I didn't... honest, I tried to stop it, but it was too strong..." he said, looking at them and hoping that in there somewhere, they would believe him.
He hesitated for a moment, before turning and bolting down the alleyway, running as fast as he could. Maybe they couldn't kill him, because he was already dead, but they could hurt him, and if he couldn't die, the pain could go on forever. That was a fate worse than death.
Mortendar ran until he could hardly move anymore, and literally dropped onto the ground under a dying tree. The wood was charcoal black, and the branches were long and twisted, spiking upwards into the starlit sky. There was not a single leaf on it, and it's bark was rough and knotted.
He was a long way from Kandrana Keep, he knew that, but he couldn't work out his precise location. He'd never traveled out of Kandrana Keep before, and was lost outside the familiar winding streets and alleys. It was dark, it was cold, and the territory around him was unwelcoming and unfriendly. The whole place seemed so dead, so silent, like no living thing had been there for generations.
Morte sat there for an indeterminable amount of time, quietly mourning his losses and playing with a blade of grey, dried out grass. This was where he belonged. Where those without life stayed to protect the world of the living.
Maybe it was days later that a glimmer of life made itself seen. A tiny speak of green high, high above. Mortendar watched with mild boredom as the speak grew larger, descending slowly. As it came closer, Morte recognised it as a dragon, a small, delicate looking green.
She landed nearby, and her rider dismounted, walking over towards Morte. "Hi, I don't suppose you could help me. I'm a little lost, and I was supposed to be meeting someone out here," the rider said. Morte noted with some surprise that the rider was male, rather female, which was far more usual for a green dragon.
"I haven't seen anyone, and I've been here about a week I think," Morte replied, speaking in a dull monotone as he looked up at the rider. "You don't really want to be here. It's not very nice for the living out here."
The rider gave him a quizzical look. "And you're not alive?" he asked, sounding somewhat surprised.
"I don't think so," Morte said. "I suppose it's possible, but after some of the things that have happened recently, I think I'm probably dead. I wouldn't've survived otherwise."
The rider shrugged. "Well fair enough," he said amicably. "Everyone's entitled to their beliefs I suppose." He paused for a moment. "Mrussith believes you'd make a good Candidate. Interested?"
"Candidate?" Morte asked, taking his turn to look confused.
"You can come with me, and maybe Imprint a dragon," the rider explained. "Come on, I can explain on the way. Anything's got to be better than you staying here for all eternity."
Mortendar thought for a few moments. In the distance, he could see the black cloud floating across the horizon, doing whatever evil deeds it had chosen for that day. It would be good to get away from the black cloud, since he was sure it wouldn't be in the Cathairs. "Okay. I'll go. And you can explain this whole Candidate thing to me," he agreed, standing up.
"Good," the rider said, nodding and turning to walk back towards his dragon. "My name is R'tiel by the way, and that's my Mrussith," he said, gesturing towards the green. She tilted her head to look at Morte.
"I'm Mortendar, or just Morte if you prefer," he said as he looked up at the green. "She's very big. I've never seen a dragon before."
"Actually, most of the dragons at Fionabhainn are much bigger than her," R'tiel said as he gave Morte a boost up onto Mrussith's back. Once he was settled, R'tiel pulled himself up behind Morte. "Watch out now," he warned, just before the green took off.
"I think, on reflection, that you'll be better off as a Candidate at Ryslen Weyr," R'tiel said after explaining the concept of Imprintion to Morte. "I don't think Cathairix D'lan would really appreciate having someone like you around, no offence," the greenrider added quickly.
"Why not?" Morte asked, letting the first trace of curiousity into his voice.
"Well, I hear it's because of all the trouble Kaladrin caused when he arrived. He turns invisible a lot, which seems to bother D'lan. I'm sure he'll have calmed down about the idea by the time you've Imprinted and are ready to come back," R'tiel said. "It's standard procedure that every Candidate Searched by Cathair Fionabhainn returns here, regardless of where they Imprint. Ryslen is a bit more open-minded about those Candidates that don't really fit anywhere else as well, and they want specifically male Candidates for their current clutch. You are male aren't you?"
"Of course!" Morte replied, sounding quite insulted. "What did you think was?"
"Well, I wasn't sure, but I had to check. Now hold on tight; we're going to para-shift to Ryslen Weyr now," the greenrider warned, barely a second before Mrussith made the jump. They hung in empty space for a few seconds, surrounded by swirling colours that reminded Morte somewhat of the movement of the black cloud.
And then they erupted into brilliant light, and Morte was forced to close his eyes, unused to the sight of daylight. "Why's it so bright?" he asked R'tiel as they came in for a landing.
"It's what most places look like during the day. Danach's different, because it doesn't have day and night. You'd better get used to it though, because you'll be here for a while." R'tiel jumped down from Mrussith's back as the green touched down on the ground, and held up a hand to help Morte down. Once on the ground, Morte pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, using it to shield his eyes as they tried to become accustomed to the light.
"Well, I guess this is where I leave you. If I remember correctly, you just need speak to Tiyanni, the Weyrwoman, about Candidacy, and everything will be sorted," R'tiel said, climbing back onto his green.
Morte nodded, and stood back to give Mrussith room. He tried to follow her with his gaze as she took off, but the glare from the bright light forced him to look down again. So keeping his head down so that the edge of his hood shielded him fully from the light, he went in search of the Weyrwoman, whatever one of those was. He'd guessed that a Weyr was like a Cathair, and so it was a little stretch of common sense to deduce that a Weyrwoman as basically the same as a Cathairte.
It didn't take long for him to find Tiyanni and introduce himself, and shortly afterwards he settled into the Candidates Barracks. The Barracks seemed incredibly empty, with only a handful of other Candidates there when the building was designed for a lot more. It was only a small clutch he'd heard, so there was unlikely to be many more Candidates. The hatching would be soon, so he wouldn't have long to wait to find out about this Imprintion, or Impression as they called it here, thing. It should be interesting at least, and Morte was pleased that the black cloud didn't seem to have followed him to Ryslen Weyr, which was a good start. It was probably out to get him now, and if it couldn't get to Pern, it couldn't get him.
Morte was only at Ryslen Weyr for a few days before the hatching began. It was a foggy day, one that reminded him far too much of the black cloud, merely in subtle shades of grey rather than the ominous black.
The whole thing started strangely, with the parents of the clutch almost singing at the beginning of the hatching as everyone began to arrive, and swirling the fog with their wings.
And then the first egg hatched into a green, and Imprinted almost straight away, as far as Morte could tell. He had no idea how a hatching really worked, but he guessed this scene was fairly normal.
He watched the hatching continue with mild fascination, and was surprised when a voice erupted in his mind, telling him excitedly, and yet strangely seriously, I believe you Mortendar! I'll help you defeat those dark clouds whether it be by mind or flame! I am Kashith!
Morte looked at the dragon that had spoken to him. Kashith was blue, and somewhat smaller than Morte had expected a dragonling to be. When the young dragon opened his wings though, he revealed areas of perfect black, making him what Ryslen called a Night blue.
After a few moments of hesitation, Mortendar lead his new dragon off of the sands and out of the fog.
Is this what the cloud looks like? Kashith asked as he bounded through the silky grey fog.
"Sort of, except it's darker. The same colour as your wings really," Morte replied. "I wonder if you'll be able to see it like I can..." he mused.
I'll at least be able to see it through your eyes, even if mine don't, Kashith said. I won't let it get us though, the dark dragon promised resolutely.
Months passed without incident. It seemed that the black cloud didn't like Pern very much, and so avoided it. Either that, or Weyrs were such naturally healthy places that there were no deaths for the cloud to attend. It was probably scared of all the dragons, Morte decided.
Especially me! Kashith said, reading Mortendar's thoughts. If I ever see it, I'll chase it right back to Danach where it belongs!
"We belong on Danach too you know," Morte pointed out. He'd never really gotten used to the whole day and night thing, and so intended to return to Danach as soon as he was able. Not that he didn't like Ryslen Weyr. He just preferred the constant night of the darkside.
But I was clutched here, Kashith argued. If it's dark all the time on Danach, how will we see? Kashith had grown significantly since the hatching day, only a few months before, and while keeping his blue and black colouring, he hadn't retained his hatchling personality. He'd calmed down a little, although not all that much, on reflection, and had become very curious and inquisitive, always full of questions he wanted Morte to answer.
"There's lots of moons. Many more than on Pern. I think there's eight or maybe nine. There's usually at least three in the sky at any time. But we'll probably live in Cathair Fionabhainn, and it's a lot lighter there. Like the sunset," Morte answered.
Its orange? Kashith asked, sounding surprised and curious. I like it when the sky is orange, because it isn't the same colour as me.
Morte couldn't help but laugh. It was true though. During the day the sky was usually the colour of Kashith's head, and during the night it was the colour of his tail. "Yes, it is indeed orange!"
I can't wait to see it, Kashith replied simply.
Weyrlingmaster D'lrik grinned at the newest full-fledged dragonmen standing around in the snow in Ryslen's Weyrbowl. Men. Every one of them. "Men," he said with an honestly pleased laugh, "Time was when every weyrling class of a clutch without a golden egg was all men. Those times, to the dismay of some, are long gone. There are as many women riders in some places as there are men - sometimes more. They are your equals - as you greeners know fully well. Treat your sweet green like she's lower than dirt, and she'll leave your sorry self sitting alone, won't she?"
Someone laughed. D'lrik grinned. "I'm glad you understand. A dragon-bond should be forever. Though there have been many abandonings, we'd like to see that NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN. You hear me?"
And the soon-to-graduate weyrling class chorused, "WE HEAR YOU, SIR!"
D'lrik nodded somewhat smugly. "Good. Dragonriders, you are dismissed. See you around, guys." With that, D'lrik headed into the dining hall for a nice hot mug of klah.
Morte watched D'lrik walk away, and then turned to look at Kashith next to him. Ready to go? Everything's packed, and I've missed Danach, he told his dragon.
Not yet. I would like to see Danach, but there is a green rising here that I like, and I would like to chase her. Can we do that, before we leave? Kashith asked.
I guess so. Who is it? Morte asked, looking rather skeptical.
Green Tikiriath! She has such pretty patterns on her wings, bands of light and dark and blue and white. She's beautiful, and I think she might like me, Kashith replied, lifting his head proudly. As an adult, he was quite small for a blue, but very fast and agile.
He'd done well in his training, being most able to dodge stray strands of Thread and flame in small bursts to destroy the bits the larger dragons had missed. Kashith had been somewhat disappointed to hear there was no Thread on Danach, only the Tabriz, although Morte had assured him that his agility would be an ideal skill for outmaneuvering the monstrous lizards, who were somewhat clumsy in the air due to their poorly formed wings.
Catching Tikiriath will be good practice, and Tiyanni encourages the lights and nights to fly here and parent clutches, Kashith said by way of further persuasion.
Alright! I said alright! Where do I go to sign you up then? Morte asked, throwing his hands in the air in admission of giving up on his non-existent efforts to persuade Kashith otherwise.
There's a notice board in the living quarters corridor. You just need to out our names there, Kashith told him. Now go on.
Yes Kashith, Morte said, walking away towards the corridor in question, knowing Kashith would be watching his every step. When he found the notice board, he scrawled Kashith's name and his own on the board for Tikiriath's flight. It was one of the last ones on the board, and so probably some way into the future.
Because of this, Morte's next action was to request some temporary accommodation at Ryslen Weyr, and have Kashith inform Cathairix D'lan of Cathair Fionabhainn that they'd be a little delayed, but were ready to return to Danach if they were needed.
Is that a good idea? We might miss the flight? Kashith said, sounding rather worried about that.
Don't worry, I'll make sure we don't. D'lan probably won't need us anyway, Morte replied, in a way somewhat pleased that they weren't leaving just yet.
There was the big flurry clutch on the sands, and Morte had heard a rumour that there were some Danachians standing to Imprint. For lack of anything better to do, he wandered over to the Candidates Barracks to find them.
Morte didn't recognise any of them when he found them, but then, that made sense. They were all from the Fionabhainn Keep area, which was quite a distance from Kandrana Keep, his own former home.
"What's it like being a dragonrider?" one of them, Raeltun asked. It seemed that Raeltun was most interested in Imprinting a green, and with partner Andwith a blue.
"It's a lot of hard work, but worth it I think," Morte answered, looking from Candidate to Candidate. "I reckon this clutch will be a weird one, but I'm sure you'll all love your dragons. There was a lot of emphasis on not abandoning our dragons in my training, because Kashith's parents were both abandoned."
"How could someone just abandon their dragon though?" Snowflake asked. Morte reflected the Snowflake was a truly ridiculous name for a young man.
Morte shook his head and shrugged. "Who knows." he noticed, when he'd visited the room in which the abandoned dragons lived that when there was one in there, the black cloud seemed to follow, as if waiting for the dragon to suicide. Morte was glad that the last abandoned green had adopted a new rider recently, because that had removed every trace of the black cloud from the Weyr. It was only the abandoned ones that seemed to die in Weyrs.
"I'm never gonna abandon my dragon," Frostbite said forcefully, something which the other four Candidates agreed to.
Morte nodded. "That's good," he said, feeling a certain amount of pride for his homeworld. No Danachian would ever leave their dragon. A little reluctantly, he told the Candidates that he was expected at Threadfall, since he'd temporarily joined a wing for the duration of his stay at Ryslen.
He promised them he'd go to the hatching if he could and watch them Imprint, since the Danachians needed all the moral support they could get. Morte was not by nature a man who would cheer for the Candidates at a hatching, but he would be there.
Morte Imprinted at Ryslen Weyr
