Actually, Nian was quite willing to have an early night. So much had happened today, and she was tired. She wanted a bath, too, and thought that if she hurried, she’d be able to be first to claim one of the few bathing cubicles in the girls’ necessary. She told Neru her wish and he grinned.
“Yeah, I heard there’s always hot water here,” he said. “I may just have a bath, too. Can’t Impress a dragon stinking of fish, you know.”
“We do not stink of fish,” she said, sniffing at him, although she could catch a tiny whiff of fish oil and sea. “It’s marvelous not to have to wait to heat up enough for a decent bath just this once.”
So they walked on ahead of the other candidates, grabbing washing things and the towels their mother had packed, to get to a bath before anyone else thought of it.
Nian was lounging in the tub of deliciously hot water by the time other girls thought of bathing. She smiled to herself that she’d been first. She washed her hair, too, in the special shampoo her mother made. “To keep it silky and sweet-smelling,” her mother had said. “I can’t abide the smell of fish on everything,” she invariably added with a long-suffering sigh.
Once, Nian had asked her mother why she had chosen her father, if she didn’t like the smell of fish.
“Well, I married him for several reasons. The first is because I love him and he asked me. The second is that he had inherited his father’s holding and I didn’t know that the place reeked of fish oil and that it’s hard to wash scales off a plank floor. But he’s a good man, your father, and we’ve never gone hungry even if it was only fish for supper.” Then her mother added plaintively, “I do fancy a taste of beef now and then, and he’s willing to spend good credits to see I have some.”
Someone rattling the bath door startled Nian out of her memories.
“You were the first in,” she heard Robina’s sour voice accusing her. “When are you going to finish?”
“When I’m clean enough,” Nian replied firmly.
“Oh, the twinling from the fish hold. I suppose it’s as well if we let you get really clean.”
Robina’s nasty comment irritated Nian no end. She was really tired of being teased. “I’ll hurry, since I know you’d like to get all the sand out of your hair,” she said in her sweetest tone of voice, recalling the sight of the unconscious Robina on the sandy floor of the infirmary.
“I’ll thank you not to refer to that,” Robina said angrily.
“Oh, dear me, I didn’t meant to upset you,” Nian said without a trace of apology.
“Just give others a turn at a bath!”
“Oh, stop nagging, Master’s daughter,” someone else called, and Nian could hear Robina stamping away from her door.
“Who said that?” she demanded.
“Another fisherman’s daughter,” and Nian smiled because she recognized the voice as Orla’s.
However, she was clean enough, her hair sufficiently rinsed, so she pulled the plug. As the water audibly swirled out of her tub, she dried herself slowly, then used the towel to wrap her hair up on her head. It would take time to dry, but it really wasn’t fair for her to monopolize a bathing cubicle. As she exited, she saw there were six or seven girls waiting. Robina was pacing down at the far end of the facility, so Nian gestured for the nearest girl to quickly claim the bathing cubicle.
“What the—I was next!” she heard Robina yell as she left the necessary.
“You were down at the other end of the room,” one of the girls replied ingenuously.
“I should have been next,” Nian heard Robina complain, and then Nian was too far away to hear what answer the farmer’s daughter got to that protest.
She was still toweling her hair when she heard her name called outside the curtain of her alcove.
“May I come in, Nian?” asked Orla.
“Yes, certainly,” she said and her friend slipped in. Orla’s curls were still damp from her bath and her face was shiny from washing. “That Robina’s something, isn’t she?”
“Did someone finally give her a chance to bathe?”
Orla rolled her brown eyes. “Finally. I think her remark about fish smells made her enormously unpopular. How did she get to be so arrogant? I’ve never met another Master’s daughter like her.”
“She’s very pretty,” Nian said wistfully.
“And she thinks that she’s going to Impress a queen dragon. Huh!” Orla commented.
“I doubt that,” Nian said bluntly. “You heard what R’dik said about not guaranteeing anything. And being squeamish enough to faint while dressing those wounds surely must act against her.”
“It was Robina who fainted? I couldn’t quite see from where I was in the infirmary. But I’ll say frankly enough that the wounds I saw were stomach-churning.”
“Brith’s, too.” Nian shuddered.
“But you didn’t faint, did you? Nor did I,” Orla said. “It’ll be interesting to see whom the queen does choose. Can I help you dry your hair, Nian? I’d give anything for straight hair.”
“If you had it, you wouldn’t want it. But yes, I’d appreciate the help immensely,” Nian replied and, finding the second towel in her sack, handed it to her friend. She was tired and her arms ached from rubbing her thick, heavy hair.
The next morning Nian heard a pleasant gong being struck enthusiastically and had a time trying to remember where she was. Lado Hold had a siren that went off each morning, or in stormy times, to assemble people to help in emergencies. She hoped that her chore that morning would involve helping Brith and C’tic. She wanted to ask if it was possible for a candidate to be preselected. She didn’t care which kind of dragon she Impressed, or even if she Impressed at all, just as long as Neru succeeded. She’d be grateful no matter what color dragon fancied her brother as his rider. But she saw him as a bronze rider, leading his own wing at Threadfall as he had always daydreamed.
When the candidates were seated and bowls of porridge were being passed to them, H’ran came around with a list, checking names off as he told each person what chore they would have that morning. Nian had a chance to look around the half-filled dining area, wondering where the others were, for last night the cavern had been full.
“Nian?” H’ran had reached her and she smiled up at him. “C’tic asked for you and your brother to assist him with Brith. You have such deft hands.”
“Thank you, H’ran,” she said, turning with a happy grin to her brother.
Neru went back to spooning porridge into his mouth, seemingly not upset that his sister was the object of special attention. “Good porridge.”
“Yes, it is.” Nian looked fondly at the brother who hadn’t an ounce of jealousy in him.
The candidates were all offered second helpings of the porridge and then served toasted bread with redberry jam.
“So we’re both on infirmary duty,” Neru said. “We do work well as a team, Ni.” Then he cocked his head to one side as if he were trying to hear something barely audible. Nian gave him a querying look, which he simply shrugged off.
Then Nian caught what must have alerted him—a definite humming noise, soft but growing louder. She shifted on her chair, planting her feet firmly on the ground, and felt the sound reverberate through the soles of her feet to the top of her head. It was a lovely sound, reassuring, loving, full of eager anticipation: an anticipation that began to vibrate in her body in time with its immediacy. She cocked her head at her brother and he grinned. As one they rose to their feet just as H’ran approached their table.
“I can see that some of you have already heard the dragons humming. It is time!” he exclaimed. “Their timing is good,” he added, a broad smile on his face as he turned toward the candidates’ table. “We’ve all been able to finish our breakfast. All right, candidates please go to your alcoves and change into your white robes. Then come to the Hatching Ground as quickly as possible. You may move among the eggs, if you wish, or just stand still, waiting to see which egg holds the hatchling that wants you as its r
ider. This is a big moment in the Weyr’s life and a bigger one in yours. Go, change. Now!” And with a loud clap of his hands, he dismissed them from the dining hall.
Nian had to wait for Ru to change. He must still be wondering if he should proceed with the deception. He also spent time fussing with his robe, using his own old leather to belt it. Nian did not tell him that that made the robe look even more like a dress. She’d rushed off to the necessary as anxiety made her feel the need. The trip gave her time to wash her face and hands, too, slightly sticky from the redberry jam. Her stomach was roiling with apprehension, too full of all the food she had consumed to be comfortable. Robina was also in the washroom, vigorously brushing her blond hair with her fingers.
“I don’t think the dragons will notice your hair, Robina,” Nian said encouragingly, but the girl glared at her.
“That’s all you know, twinling,” she snapped back, a petulant expression on her face. Her brushing increased in vigor, and she swore when she saw that sand still fell from her locks. “Let me alone,” she added nastily.
Nian was quite willing to and went to join her twin. Then, side by side, Nian and Neru rushed across the Bowl to the Hatching Ground. The sight of the eggs lying on the hot sands stopped them in their tracks at the arch and then, as they entered, the hot sands made them shift their feet in discomfort. Nian got her first sight of the two dragon parents, standing to the back of the Hatching Ground, watching the candidates making their way among the scattered eggs. The golden queen was huge, and her bronze mate was not much smaller. Nian eased herself behind her brother’s sturdy figure, suddenly awed by the sight of such immense dragons.
Nian glanced anxiously at the egg she had liked and was relieved that no one else was near it. Maybe Robina would be too disturbed about her sanded hair to hover nearby. No one was near the egg Ru had singled out. Together they walked across the sands and saw that the other candidates, in their white robes, had spread out on the Hatching Ground. Nian still wondered how the dragons would know which person they should Impress—the Hatching Ground was so big, and the candidates were numerous. She looked around for Orla and Chaum and saw them standing to her right. Around the Hatching Ground, the spectator area was filling up with those invited to share this magical moment. Nian was disappointed that her mother and father weren’t among those seated in the gallery; she knew they’d have attended if they could. But at least she had gotten Neru onto the Hatching Ground. Now a hatchling simply must see what a splendid rider Neru would be!
Nian’s boots were heating up and she hoped it wouldn’t be long before the eggs actually started to hatch. Definitely, she should not have filled up on breakfast. Her stomach felt sour with her building anxiety. She would die of shame if she spewed up all that porridge and redberry jam. She moved closer to Ru, hoping that no one was staring at her.
The hum of the dragons was intensifying. “Look!” Neru said, pointing to the nearest egg. It was rocking in its little depression of sand.
A stir in the gallery suggested that others had seen the movement. There was also a cracking sound that echoed in the vaulted Hatching Ground, and the queen swung her head to stare at the egg. It wasn’t far from Neru and Nian, and they could see the crack splitting the eggshell. They held their breaths as the crack girdled the egg and something—a wingtip, Nian thought—protruded from the shell. It split neatly in half and its occupant began to emerge. When the glistening little bronze finally exited its shell, she wondered that it had been able to cram so much body into such a small space.
“A bronze first is a good sign,” she heard H’ran murmur as applause came from the gallery.
The queen spread her wings and, lifting herself high on her powerful hindquarters, bugled a welcome to the little bronze. Several other eggs were either rocking or cracking, and Nian didn’t know where to look first.
“Nian!” Her brother’s startled cry swung her gaze back to him and he pointed to her favorite among the eggs. It was splitting along its axis, and suddenly the top half splintered into shards that were scattered all over as a moist golden head emerged. Robina was already hastening toward the little queen, though she was clutching at her stomach as she approached. It amused Nian that the snotty Robina was also subject to nausea and nervousness.
“Go after the bronze, Ru,” Nian said, pushing him toward the wandering hatchling.
“He knows where he’s going,” Ru said, pointing, and it became obvious to Nian that the hatchling was heading as straight as an arrow toward a tall boy who had sat next to Ru at breakfast.
Greens and blues were now making their choices among the candidates, and weyrfolk were handing out bowls of food, instructing the newly Impressed on how to feed the starving hatchlings.
I’m hungry! Very hungry, a voice said clearly in Nian’s head. But she paid no attention to that, since all the hatchlings around her were being fed. There were several eggs toward the back of the Hatching Ground that were rocking and splitting. She tugged on the sleeve of her brother’s tunic.
“Let’s go over there. No one else is nearby.”
He tried to struggle free. “If one of them wants me, it can find me.”
“You have got to Impress, Ru,” she said, reestablishing her hold on him and hauling him to where he stood the best chance of doing so.
“Maybe the hatchlings know I shouldn’t be here as a candidate,” was his gloomy reply.
“Nonsense!”
Suddenly, she tripped, or rather was tripped, and sprawled facedown in the hot sands, as something quite heavy seemed to be scratching its way up her exposed back.
What’s the matter with you? Can’t you hear me? the same voice said petulantly. I’m hungry. I need to be fed. Are you listening in there? Something hard tapped on her head.
“Nian, it’s the queen. That’s the queen on your back, Ni, the queen!” she heard Neru exclaim excitedly.
“But it’s you who must Impress, Neru,” she said querulously. Oh, her family would never forgive her. Ru would never forgive her.
I will forgive you, if you’ll feed me, Nian, the voice said. My name is Quinth. Why are you avoiding me? I love you. You are mine.
“Here, help me, H’ran,” the Weyrwoman said. “The poor child won’t able to get up. Quinth, now get off your rider before you flatten her.”
Nian felt the weight being lifted off her, but her nose had started to bleed and she had to spit blood out of her mouth and shake sand out of her hair. Hands under her armpits assisted her to her feet and then a bowl was thrust into her hands and she looked around and saw golden Quinth, struggling to be free of the hands that held her from going to her chosen rider.
Nian felt two distinct emotions—immense surprise and total dismay.
You don’t like me? the dragon asked, her head drooping with disappointment and her wings sagging to the sand.
It’s not a question of liking you, Quinth, Nian replied, reaching out her free hand to run her fingers down the little dragon’s head to the chin, which she then lifted up. The dragon’s eyes, golden with love, met hers and a shiver of absolute delight went down Nian’s back. It’s just that I shouldn’t Impress unless my brother does, too.
While we wait for that to happen, the little queen said imperiously, you may feed me, Nian. I’m starving.
Remembering the bowl in her hand, Nian grabbed a handful of the meat cubes and offered them to Quinth, who bolted them down so quickly that Nian could see the outline of the mass slide down her neck. Then Quinth opened her mouth again, and again, and again. Nian was forced to sniff in the blood that was oozing from her nose and blot the stream on her sleeve, leaving a red smear behind it.
“Someone bring a cold towel and some numbweed,” the Weyrwoman was calling. “Nian, Quinth’s rider, has a bloody nose. How very awkward, my dear.” The Weyrwoman offered Nian her clean handkerchief. “They don’t really mean to hurt anyone in an Impression,” she said, “but it was obvious Quinth wanted you and you simply didn’t realize that she was headed
toward you the moment her shell cracked.” She gave a little laugh. “Queens are very determined.” That seemed to be a good trait, judging by the indulgence in the Weyrwoman’s voice.
“How did it happen that she was chosen by the queen and not me?” demanded Robina, standing in front of them, pointing an accusatory finger at Nian
I didn’t choose her, Quinth said to Nian, flicking a wingtip at Robina in dismissal.
“Well, this is outrageous!” Robina retorted, as she dodged Quinth’s wing tip for fear of being pushed onto the hot sands. When she regained her balance, Robina placed her hands on her hips while tapping one toe in the sands.
“There are green dragons hatching, Robina,” the Weyrwoman said pleasantly, pointing to the right. As Nian glanced in that direction, she saw Orla patting a green dragon with one hand and shoving meat toward it with the other.
“They are the most valuable dragons in Threadfall,” the Weyrwoman said. “And far more difficult to train. Take a challenge once in your lifetime, Robina. It would do you good.”
Eyes wide with outrage, Robina stamped toward the exit, head high. Amazingly enough, a shiny wet green dragonet was stumbling after her as fast as it could make its legs go.
“Oh, no! Almost all the hatchlings have Impressed. Neru must be a dragonrider—it shouldn’t have been me!” Nian protested in an undertone. Looking around for her twin, she found him standing back by his favorite egg. She could see the thin line of a crack on the side bulge of the egg and Neru was crouched beside it, hands balled in fists as he verbally encouraged its occupant.
“Come on now, that last crack was a good one. Another one and you’ll be out.”
Nian stuffed another handful of meat into Quinth’s mouth and then headed toward her brother. The Weyrwoman held her back, shaking her head. “We have discovered that if an egg doesn’t crack on its own, the occupant is probably damaged and it is best to leave nature to take her course.”
A Gift of Dragons Page 16