A Gift of Dragons

by Anne McCaffrey

  Nian’s alcove included a bed, a chest, and several pegs on the wall. The white candidate’s robe hung on one of the pegs. She held it up against her. The straight lines would fit anyone, covering all but the tallest to the knees, and the sleeves were not too long. The fabric was very soft from much use and careful laundering, and Nian wondered how many successful candidates had worn this particular robe over the Turns. Would their luck rub off on her and Neru, too?

  Just then Neru entered her sleeping alcove. “You can’t have unpacked already,” she accused him.

  “No, I put my carryall smack in the middle of the bed so anyone would see that the room is occupied. But I’m hungry and could sure use some sweet buns to tide me over until supper.” He picked her carryall up where she had dropped it to the floor and plopped it on her bed. “I’m going to look silly wearing something like that. It’s nearly a dress.”

  “It’s a candidate’s robe, and who would ever have expected this morning that we’d be chosen to wear one?”

  “Not me,” her twin said staunchly.

  “And the same back at you, Ru.”

  “They were smart to pick Chaum and Orla, too,” her brother said, pleased.

  She heard his stomach growling and grinned at him. She carefully hung the robe back on its peg. “Let’s go eat.”

  No one was late for the snack, Kilpie remarked when the lot of them arrived back to the kitchen cavern and took seats at the table she designated. The juice was cool and tart, while the sweet breads were dotted with nuts and dried berries and were so tender that Nian and Neru hoped there’d be more than one apiece. They were joined by a white-haired older man who introduced himself as H’ran, Weyrlingmaster, rider of bronze Prinith. He looked them over one by one and smiled.

  “Now, I’ve a few words of advice for you candidates. First, the new hatchling is invariably starving. There will be bowls of meat for you to feed him or her to the stuffing point. Hatchlings can be a little unnerving as they stagger around looking for their riders, so don’t be surprised or fearful of such antics and be quick on your feet to get out of their way. If you’re the one they want to Impress, you’ll know it.”

  “How?” asked a very pretty girl who was dressed in the finest blue robe Nian had ever seen.

  “That dress of hers was expensive,” Orla murmured in Nian’s ear. “That blue dye is hard to get.” Orla knew about such things.

  “How?” H’ran grinned. It was an unexpectedly soft and loving expression, which Nian thought remarkable in an older man. “It’s unmistakable. You’ll immediately know their name. Added to that, they act as if they owned you, keeping any other hatchling from getting near you. They may be wet-winged and newly hatched, but they can move fairly fast once they’ve discovered their rider. Watch out for their claws. They’re sharp and dangerous, even if they don’t mean to hurt anyone. They’re as anxious to Impress as you are to be Impressed. But don’t worry. The Weyrleaders and I will be on the Hatching Ground with you to organize the stampede. And there’ll be plenty of food to stuff their guts. Bring any questions you have about your hatchling to me. That’s what me and Prinith are here for.”

  If anyone had questions, they weren’t bold enough to voice them and so, when all the sweet breads were eaten, H’ran suggested that they follow him to the weyrling barracks so they’d know which direction to take with their dragons when Impression had been made. The barracks were exactly that—not nearly as homey or comfortable as the alcoves. There was a broad wooden bed for the hatchling, well marked by generations of dragon claws, and above it, a narrow shelf with bedding on it for the rider.

  “Once you get your dragon settled here, you can return to the main living quarters if you wish. It’s up to yourselves.” The way he said it gave Nian the feeling that all new riders chose to stay with their dragons. Well, if Ru were here, she’d want to be, too. That is, if they both Impressed. “You’ll always know if your dragon needs you, I promise you that much,” H’ran added, and brushed his thick hair back in a nervous gesture.

  “Now, if you’ll follow me across the Bowl, I’ll show you the eggs.”

  Dutifully, but with murmurs of excitement, they followed him through the arches onto the Hatching Ground. In groups of two or three, the eggs reposed on the warm sands. Nian was glad she had on heavy boots, because those with lighter footwear were obviously feeling the heat, imitating the stalk of river birds searching shallow waters for tiny edibles.

  “It’s called the Hatching dance,” H’ran said, trying to keep his face solemn as he also stepped quickly and carefully. “Move among the eggs, if you wish. They’re not quite hard enough, but will be very soon. Getting used to them in advance seems to help when the moment comes.”

  “Can we touch them?” Chaum asked.

  “Never known it to do any harm,” H’ran said indulgently. Chaum instantly stretched his hand out and touched the egg he was standing by. And yanked his fingers away.

  “It should feel warm,” H’ran said, shifting his sandaled feet more quickly now. “Go on. I’ll be right outside,” he added, and made his way back to the main arch.

  Tugging Nian by the hand, Neru trotted over to the nearest eggs with his sister in tow. One, the biggest one Nian was sure, lay just beyond on a slight rise. It had light tan mottles on its golden shell and Nian thought it was the prettiest of the eggs. Neru hauled her to the one he fancied, with mottles of a slightly darker tan. Boldly he ran both hands over the top of the shell. “It is warm, Nian, just feel it.”

  “I like that one,” she said, pointing, and broke his grasp to go examine her pretty egg more closely. “It’s the biggest one, too. Could it be the queen?”

  “Hmmm, possibly, Ni,” he allowed, but he was more interested in his egg than hers.

  “D’you think they can tell which color the dragon will be from its shell?” Nian asked pensively, running her hand along the widest part of the egg. Nearby, Orla was investigating another egg, while Chaum still stood apart, surveying the entire clutch. The very pretty girl in blue sauntered over toward Nian, a stern expression on her face, as if warning Nian away from her chosen egg. Nian gave her a quick glance and moved away to join Orla.

  “She’s the Masterfarmer’s daughter, and her name is Robina,” Orla said softly to Nian. “She told us—” Orla paused to wink at Nian. “—that she’s been promised the queen egg.”

  “You heard what the Searchers said. No one can guarantee Impression. It’s up to the hatchlings.”

  “Well, you’d make a much better queen rider than that snotty stuck-up old wherry.”

  “It’s not me that must Impress. It’s Neru,” Nian said firmly.

  “It’s still up to the hatchlings,” Orla repeated.

  The two girls wandered over to Neru, who was reciting to some others what he knew about dragons. Nian realized her twin was not happy that he had been a final addition to those Searched. Knowing that he tended to keep his feelings to himself, Nian peered at him intently and reached for the connection she always felt with him. He most certainly was putting up a brave front, and she wondered how long he would be able to maintain it. Nian knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that her twin would be gutted if she Impressed a dragon and he did not. She wished she could find the words to reassure him.

  “There’re some who think they can predict colors, but from what I’ve heard, no one ever gets all the colors right in a Hatching from just looking at the shell,” Neru said. His glance followed the pretty girl who was now circling Nian’s egg. “Except maybe the queen,” he added.

  “Well, this shell is sort of bronzy. Maybe you’d better make up to it, too,” Nian said with a little laugh. “You have to be a bronze rider.”

  He gave a shrug and looked around him. “I think you’re right about yours being bigger than any of the others,” he told her. “But if it’s the queen, it won’t help me.” And he continued to stroke his chosen egg.

  From the entrance, H’ran gestured with his arm to gather them all together.
“All right now, candidates, we have some evening chores we could use some help with.”

  The word “chores” evoked a groan from some candidates, but everyone followed H’ran as he led them into another cavern where five dragons lay, their wings or other parts of their bodies covered with towels of some sort. There was a flooring of fine, warm sand—not as hot as the Hatching Ground, but comfortable for the dragons as a bed.

  “Not the nicest of jobs, but you will have to learn how to tend your own dragons, so you might as well start today. These were casualties in the last Threadfall, two days ago.” Neru thought of his morning’s daydream and then paid close attention to what H’ran was saying. “We soothed their wounds with numbweed, and right now the compresses have to be changed. Ah, here come their riders.

  “You can assist them in the task and gain some experience in the bargain. Being a dragonrider is not just about being able to fly anywhere you want to.” H’ran gestured to several of the candidates to go to certain dragons, and although Neru and Nian would have been separated, she tagged after her brother as he was signaled to the bronze whose neck was festooned with towels.

  “I’m C’tic,” the bronze rider said amiably, “and poor old Brith here got badly tangled up in a clump of Thread.” He began carefully peeling off the first towel.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, glancing up at Neru, and the twins replied in unison as they usually did.

  “Well, then, Neru, get a towel, dunk it in the numbweed keg over there, wring it out, but not too thoroughly, and bring it over here.”

  While Brith had lowered his head and neck to permit the dressing, Nian saw the skin quivering as C’tic carefully inserted a fingernail under the towel and began to roll it back, revealing such raw-looking flesh that Nian shivered at the sight of it.

  “Poor brave Brith,” she said in the croon she used when one of her siblings suffered injuries.

  “He’s sure he’s hurting much more than he really is,” C’tic said amiably, beginning to loosen another towel. Neru carefully held a damp towel out by its corners, trying to hold his breath from the acrid smell of the numbweed-soaked fabric.

  C’tic chuckled. “You get used to the smell of numbweed quickly,” he said, taking the corners of the towel from Neru. Keeping it carefully stretched, he placed it flat on the raw-looking flesh. Brith gave a moan that was more relief at the coolness of the potion than pain.

  “How long does it take him to heal?” Nian asked.

  “Actually, they heal very quickly,” C’tic replied. “You can see here on the shallower parts of the burn when the new skin is already forming after just a few days. Are you really interested?”

  “Oh yes,” Nian said.

  “My sister is good at nursing,” Neru said, staunchly.

  “Well, if you aren’t upset by such things, you can peel off that next towel while your brother gets a replacement. Easy now.”

  He watched her as she carefully slid her long index finger nail under the edge of the towel and began rolling it back as she had seen him do. He nodded approval. Brith’s neck flesh quivered briefly, and then Ru was holding out a replacement dressing. Nian managed to get it neatly into place.

  “Couldn’t have done it better myself,” C’tic said. “Hey, Brith, this is going to be a snap today,” he said encouragingly to his dragon.

  To one side of the infirmary, one of the other riders exclaimed in dismay, “Shards. We’ve got another fainter. Someone get me a cold compress while I brush all the sand off her; she certainly hit the dirt with a bang!”

  Neru peered around those gathered to assist the fainter and he chuckled. “It’s the girl in blue, Ni,” he said with a little smirk. “The one who fancied your egg.”

  “There’s usually one who’s not good with wounds,” C’tic said. “Has someone brought the restorative? That one will make a fine rider!” His tone was sarcastic.

  “You’d think she’d be used to injured animals, being the Masterfarmer’s daughter,” Nian murmured to her brother.

  “Now, she can’t help the way she is,” Neru said with considerably more charity than his sister expressed, “even if she was promised the gold.”

  “I’d pity the gold,” Nian replied.

  Brith carefully turned his head back to eye Nian and Neru. The blue of his faceted eyes was shot through with orange.

  “We’re not hurting you, are we?” Ru asked apologetically.

  No. The twins gasped as the dragon’s mind seemed to fill theirs. The fresh numbweed is so soothing.

  “Did I really truly hear him speaking to me?” Ru asked C’tic, who grinned at them. The question Nian sensed in her brother was that, to him, being bespoken by a dragon meant that he had a right to be a candidate.

  “Dragons speak to anyone they want to,” C’tic said, reaching to remove another old dressing. Ru scooted off immediately to provide a new one.

  “Will it be like that in the Impression?” Nian asked. “We will hear a dragon’s voice in our heads?”

  “Yes, that’s how it happens,” and C’tic had the same soft expression on his face as H’ran had had.

  “And you can always hear them?” Nian asked. “I can usually hear my twin brother—especially if he’s in trouble.”

  “Ah, I thought you two looked alike.”

  “Oh, we’re not completely alike,” Nian said. “Neru’s much smarter and stronger. He’ll make a splendid dragonrider.”

  “You both will,” C’tic surprised her by saying.

  “How do you know that?”

  “My dragon told me so,” C’tic said, and his smile was kind, not teasing.

  Two more dressings were needed and then C’tic thanked them for their assistance.

  “Can we help again?” Nian asked.

  That will depend on what happens at the Hatching, Brith replied himself. But I would be glad of such light fingers. Maybe you should train to be a dragon healer.

  Nian blinked, startled by his remark.

  “Well, you could, you know,” Ru said, regarding his sister with some pride. “You’re always tending the injured at the Hold.”

  “Come along, now, candidates,” H’ran said. “It is nearly dinnertime.”

  “Oh, good,” Ru said, rubbing his hands together. “I’m hungry.”

  “Wash your hands well,” C’tic said, pointing to a sink to one side of the infirmary. “Remember, you’ve been handling numbweed. If you don’t scrub your hands thoroughly now, some of the numbweed may rub off on your lips when you start eating. Believe me, I know, it’s no fun trying to eat your food when your lips are completely numb. Added to that, you’ll slobber all over yourself and not even realize it. Not a pretty sight!” While their laughter subsided, the candidates used the scrubbing brushes at the sink and lathered their hands with sweetsand until their skin was rubbed red. As they washed, aromatic odors wafted in their direction and promised a fine meal. By the time they reached the Lower Cavern, weyrfolk were setting generous platters and bowls on the table for them to serve themselves.

  “Hey, this is great food,” Neru said after he took his first heaping forkful.

  “It’s meat, you mean,” Nian said, teasing her brother.

  “Makes a great change from all that fish,” Neru replied, selecting yet another slice from the platter in the center of the table.

  “Just don’t make a pig of yourself here,” she added in a low tone so no one else would hear her. “We’ve never gone hungry, you know, and we must uphold the honor of Lado Hold.”

  “Humph,” Neru grunted and gestured around the table where the other candidates were equally as diligent in reducing the contents of the various serving dishes. “Tell that to the others.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Nian said with great dignity.

  After some of the young weyrfolk cleared the table, the Weyrleader at the head table got to his feet.

  “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, we have candidates as our guests. The Hatching may even come tonight,” he
added, and the candidates gasped as one. He grinned at them. “We are ever at our dragons’ pleasure. But all is ready for their arrival. Thank you all for coming at such short notice. If you have any questions, please ask the dragonrider nearest you or our good H’ran. Remember, they were once candidates just like you. And just as nervous!”

  “He’s nice. Just like our Holder,” Nian murmured to her brother.

  “But Hatching in the middle of the night?” Ru said. “That’s awkward.”

  She sniffed and then saw a man in harper blue, carrying a gitar, place a stool on the platform and settle himself. He strummed a chord, and people from the audience began shouting for the songs they wanted to hear.

  “Oh, I could get used to this,” Nian said, settling back. The evenings when Harper Ruart entertained the Hold and everyone was allowed to listen were special to her. Briefly she wondered if the harper played every evening for the Weyr. He struck up some melody she’d never heard before, and suddenly the air was full of fire lizards. They either went to sit on the shoulders of the people they were beholden to, or found themselves a perch somewhere in the kitchen cavern. They picked up the tune and sang a descant, and the singing was magical. Even Nian was bold enough to join in the choruses, while Ru, once he had listened to the melody all the way through, sang a tenor harmony to it. He had such a nice voice. To Nian’s mind, he was as good as any harper student, but he would be best, she added firmly in her heart and mind, as a dragonrider.

  Then, when the last note had ended, the harper descended and weyrfolk began to rise and circulate among the tables.

  “It’s been an exciting day for all you candidates,” Kilpie said, coming over to their table. “And there will be more chores in the morning—just to keep you busy, of course, till the eggs are ready to hatch. So we will excuse you to your quarters.”

  “What if they Hatch tonight?” Robina asked.

  “In that case, you’ll know about it,” Kilpie assured her, giving her what Nian thought was a dismissive look. Nian almost felt sorry for the Masterfarmer’s daughter, but Robina did not look at all unsettled.