Dragongirl

by Todd J. McCaffrey

  “I did,” Terin agreed, “but I had only dragons and their riders to handle, not thousands of women.”

  Shaneese looked at Fiona questioningly.

  “We were the only women to go back in time to Igen,” she explained.

  “If it weren’t for Mother Karina and the traders—”

  “You knew Mother Karina?” Shaneese demanded, her brows bristling.

  “Of course!” Terin exclaimed. “She had the most marvelous recipes for hot weather foods.” Terin smiled in memory as she added, “Of course, as time went on, I managed to come up with a few of my own.”

  Her expression faded to one of surprise as Shaneese spun on her heels and left the cavern.

  “What did I say?” Terin asked, looking crushed. Fiona could only shake her head. She’d sensed a feeling of pity and sadness from Shaneese just before the Telgar headwoman had rushed off, but couldn’t comprehend the reason behind it.

  They stood there, perplexed, for only a few moments before Shaneese returned, carrying a small box in her arms.

  “I was asked to hold this for you,” Shaneese told them in a small voice as she placed the box down on a nearby table and gestured for them to come over. “She said I’d know when the time was right,” Shaneese continued, shaking her head sadly, “but I never expected—” she broke off and nodded toward the box. “You’re to open it.”

  Terin stared at her, open-mouthed.

  “Both of you,” Shaneese said, gesturing to Fiona impatiently.

  Together, Terin and Fiona lifted the lid of the box. Inside were two small envelopes made of embroidered fabric. One was marked “Terin,” the other “Fiona.”

  Shaneese saw the labels. “I guessed right,” she said with some relief in her voice. Fiona glanced at her and Shaneese explained, “I never looked inside.”

  Fiona handed the first to Terin and slowly picked up the second. The scent off the envelope was instantly recognizable.

  “Mother Karina?” Fiona asked, glancing toward Shaneese. Shaneese nodded. “She used to trade with us. When—just before she passed, she asked me to keep this. She said I would know who to give it to and when.”

  Fiona snorted. “She always liked being secretive.”

  “She was my grandmother.”

  “Mother Karina was your grandmother?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you knew Tenniz?” Terin asked.

  “He’s the reason I came here,” Shaneese said with a tone of resentment in her voice.

  “Tenniz, is he still—?”

  Fiona’s question was cut off by Shaneese’s curt headshake. She gestured brusquely toward Fiona’s envelope. “Open it.”

  Fumbled-fingered, Fiona undid the string that was looped around the button that held the envelope closed. Inside she found a small parchment and a gold brooch. It was shaped like a harp.

  She eyed it critically for a moment: The workmanship was both brilliant and unmistakable—Zenor had made it.

  She glanced at the note and her breath caught.

  I am sorry I cannot give this to you in person, the note read. But I knew that we would not meet again. Tenniz saw it. He said to tell you that it will all turn out right. Love, Mother.

  Beside her, Terin sobbed and clasped something to her breast. As Fiona’s eyes fell on her, she turned and extended her hand to her. “I don’t understand,” Terin said with a sob, as she indicated the small gold trinket, “this should be yours.”

  It was a gold fitting for a riding harness, in the shape of a queen dragon soaring upward.

  “What does the note say?” Fiona asked, wondering if perhaps the labels had been switched and showing Terin her harper’s brooch.

  Terin gestured to the note that lay on the table. Fiona looked down and read, “‘This is yours and no other’s.’”

  Fiona felt a shiver as she read the note—a shiver of excitement and hope. Mother Karina had sent her a message with the two notes: The message was one of hope.

  “What?” Terin demanded, taking in the look on Fiona’s face.

  “I think you should keep it,” Fiona told her. She glanced toward Shaneese. “And I’m proud to meet Mother Karina’s granddaughter.”

  “She spoke of you,” Shaneese said, her voice a whisper, her eyes filled with tears. Fiona gave her an inquiring look. “She said that when it seemed the darkest, hope would come and that it would be borne by someone she knew and loved.” She met Fiona’s eyes as she added, “Tenniz told her.”

  Fiona was still absorbing that when Terin piped up. “There’s another envelope here.”

  Both Shaneese and Fiona glanced over at the small box in surprise. At Shaneese’s insistence, Fiona retrieved the envelope. It was labeled: Lorana.

  SIX

  Mourn and grieve,

  Wail and cry.

  Remember those

  Who no more fly.

  Telgar Weyr, later, AL 508.2.8

  “There must be some mistake,” Terin said as she eyed the envelope suspiciously.

  “Or perhaps Mother Karina hoped that we would bring it to her,” Fiona suggested. She looked at Shaneese. “Would you keep this for us?”

  Shaneese shook her head. “No, I was told to give it to you as soon as I knew.”

  “How did you know?”

  “The time was right,” Shaneese said with a shrug. She nodded toward the two envelopes. “Besides, I was clearly right. They had your names on them.”

  There was no arguing with that. Shaneese stood, silent, for a moment longer before she shook herself back into action.

  “You’ll be needing a place to store that,” she said, nodding toward the box. “And you’ll be needing your quarters, too, Weyrwoman.”

  Fiona shook her head, not up to the task of cleaning out the old Weyrwoman’s quarters, but Shaneese ignored her. She called out the names of two women who bustled over immediately and told them, “Weyrwoman Fiona needs to have quarters.”

  “I’ll go with them,” Terin said after a quick glance to Shaneese.

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Shaneese told her. “You stay here and see to the cooking.” She motioned for Fiona to precede her. “The Weyrwoman and I can manage well enough, I’m sure.”

  Fiona gave Terin a rueful look and shook her head in resignation.

  “She’s like her gran,” Terin murmured as she motioned for Fiona to go. “All bustle and no talk.”

  Shaneese snorted a laugh and turned back to Terin with a happy gleam in her eyes. “Child, that’s the first time I’ve laughed this day!”

  Outside, as they crossed the Weyr Bowl, Shaneese told Fiona reflectively, “Weyrwoman Lina was a gentle woman.” She shook her head. “I never understood quite why her Garoth let D’gan’s Kaloth fly her so often.”

  “Sometimes what is good for the Weyr is not what is expected,” Fiona remarked.

  Shaneese nodded in agreement. “This is a sad day,” she said. “But it’s best if we get it—and our grieving—done with at once.”

  “What of those who shared quarters?”

  Shaneese shook her head. “That’s a different thing.” She frowned. “Today what we can do is start things fresh, with a new Weyrwoman, her new quarters, and proper grieving.” She paused, gesturing for the two women to precede them before adding, “As time goes on, we’ll make adjustments in who lives where.”

  Shaneese held Fiona up until one of the women came out of the weyr again carrying a bundle wrapped in sheets.

  “Make sure you bring back new sheets,” Shaneese ordered. The other woman nodded and hurried along. Shaneese gestured to Fiona, “I think we can go in now.”

  The other woman was still bustling about, cleaning the room and moving things into the far corridor that linked into the Weyr’s main caves.

  “We can get you new tapestries,” Shaneese said, gesturing to the gaudy hangings on the walls. Fiona began to shake her head demurely but Shaneese forestalled her, saying, “Much as I loved her—she was good in many ways—the Weyrwoman ha
d terrible taste and D’gan’s was worse.” She cocked her head toward Fiona. “What sort of colors do you prefer?”

  “I grew up with brown and gold,” Fiona said, recalling Fort Hold’s colors vividly. She glanced around the room. Underneath the hangings, the walls were a bright off-white that livened the room. Fiona stepped over to the shutters and opened them, peering out over the Weyr Bowl. A chill wind blew in and she closed them again, regretfully.

  “They had mirrors at Igen,” Fiona began only to halt at the sight of Shaneese’s face, “to bring light into the rooms.”

  “I know what you’re talking about but we haven’t been able to get them from the Smithcrafthall,” Shaneese told her. Fiona gave her a look of surprise. Shaneese shrugged. “You may have noticed that the Weyr doesn’t lack for bright, shiny things: gaudy gold and bright jewelry; baubles, mostly.”

  Fiona raised a hand, prompting her to continue.

  “D’gan was a demanding Weyrleader,” Shaneese said, glancing around the quarters with a frown. “He had no trouble taking what he felt was the Weyr’s due.”

  “I’d heard,” Fiona said. “At Igen, we preferred to trade for goods.”

  “That was before Thread,” Shaneese reminded her. She waved a hand, dismissing the issue. “Anyway, what D’gan didn’t want, the Weyr couldn’t get.”

  “I see,” Fiona replied, wondering how much Telgar’s weyrfolk had suffered for their Weyrleader’s whims. She brightened. “I think I prefer our Igen ways.”

  “‘Our Igen ways,’” Shaneese repeated to herself, eyeing Fiona critically. “And now, with Thread falling, Weyrwoman, what would those ways be?”

  “Fair trade when possible,” Fiona said. “I’m holder bred: I know of the demands of the Weyr. If the Weyr can’t live by the tithe then perhaps we can trade for our extra needs.”

  “We could profit from trade,” Shaneese agreed. She shook her head, alerted by the noise of a bell ringing in the kitchen. “It’s lunchtime.”

  Shaneese was impressed with Terin’s command of the kitchen and happy to see so many of the weyrfolk gathered. H’nez greeted as many as he could, paying particular attention to those sent by Bekka and Seban.

  Fiona invited Shaneese and Norik to sit with her at the head table. At H’nez’s subtle direction, the rest of the dragonriders spread themselves out among the other tables.

  F’jian proved very popular with the younger women, causing Terin to hover around his table protectively.

  Xhinna appeared at Fiona’s table for a moment, then drifted off. Fiona next noticed her seated with Tevora and then at a table with Vikka, talking animatedly.

  H’nez caught Fiona’s eyes as she scanned the crowd and nodded toward her emphatically.

  Ginirth asks if you would say some words to the weyrfolk, Talenth told her.

  Fiona nodded toward H’nez and rose to her feet, tapping the side of her mug with a spoon. To add to her effort, Talenth bugled from outside.

  The huge room was instantly silent.

  “For those of you whom I haven’t yet met,” Fiona began, “I am Fiona, formerly of Fort Weyr.” She paused for a moment, scanning the new faces in front of her. “Tonight we will grieve those lost.” She paused again to let the weyrfolk digest her words. She caught H’nez’s eyes, then F’jian’s and T’mar’s and all the other dragonriders as she continued. “Tomorrow, Telgar Weyr begins anew. In three days’ time, Thread falls over lower Telgar and Telgar Weyr will fight Thread once more.”

  The dragonriders all rose and cheered.

  Fiona waited for them to finish, then continued, “My Talenth has more than three Turns and she’ll mate soon.” She found herself blushing as she added, “Soon we’ll have eggs on the Hatching Grounds and we shall start seeking out Candidates, with first choice going to those here.” Her eyes fell on Xhinna and Terin. Terin grinned in response; Xhinna’s expression was unreadable.

  Fiona glanced at H’nez, feeling that her words had failed to sway the mood of the weyrfolk.

  H’nez took the hint and rose. “I am H’nez, rider of bronze Ginirth,” he said, “and the senior rider here. If you have any questions regarding the weyrs and their dispositions, you may bring them to either me or the Weyrwoman.”

  H’nez scanned the quiet room expectantly and sat down again a moment later, with a stony expression.

  “This is a hard day for us,” Norik spoke up from his place at the high table, addressing Fiona.

  “There is time to grieve,” Fiona said, glancing around at the somber faces of the weyrfolk. Fiona sought out Terin and pointed a hand toward her. “Among those you may not have met yet,” she said, “is Terin who was headwoman with me at Igen.”

  “Igen?” a voice called out.

  “You were at Igen?”

  “We went back ten Turns in time with our injured dragons and riders,” Fiona explained.

  “I’d heard a rumor,” someone muttered.

  “Many of us remember Igen,” Norik told Fiona. “And those who don’t are curious.”

  “By the First Egg, it was hot!” Terin exclaimed from her place near F’jian.

  A general chuckle ran around the room. “It always is!”

  “And the sandstorms were amazing,” F’jian added, his remark echoed by several of the younger riders.

  “You were at Igen, too, bronze rider?” a voice called out.

  “And T’mar,” F’jian said, rising and pointing toward the older bronze rider. “Many of us were,” F’jian added as heads craned back from T’mar to him. “When K’lior asked for volunteers to come here”—he paused, worried that he might be upsetting the weyrfolk, then continued unabashed—“the whole Weyr volunteered to follow Fiona.”

  “The whole Weyr?” one of the weyrfolk asked, cocking her head toward Fiona speculatively.

  “The whole Weyr,” T’mar agreed. He pointed toward Seban. “Even those who lost a dragon a short time before demanded a chance to be here.”

  Fiona sensed a change in the room, a sense of curiosity, excitement, honor.

  “It was an honor to serve at Igen,” Fiona said, feeling the focus of the room shift back toward her. “It will be an honor to be your Weyrwoman and see Telgar fly high.”

  She nodded once to the faces peering up at her and then sat back down, turning toward Shaneese.

  “They need time,” the headwoman told her kindly.

  “There isn’t much,” Norik said.

  “Have we enough wine for tonight?” Fiona asked, glancing at Shaneese. “And have we got sitters for the smallest ones?”

  “Yes,” Shaneese replied. “We’ll have that by this evening.”

  At Norik’s suggestion and H’nez’s concurrence, the weyrfolk constructed a huge pile of logs at the east end of the Weyr, not too near the lake and the easily stampeded herdbeasts but close enough that fresh water would be easily at hand.

  “It’s a long roll,” Norik said warningly to Fiona when they met in the Dining Cavern near dusk that evening.

  “We’ll skip no one,” H’nez replied, glancing at his assembled riders. Each had a large sack perched on their shoulders. “We will honor all who flew from Telgar.”

  “There are only forty of you,” Norik said, the concern in his voice obvious.

  “Forty-one,” Fiona said, pointing to herself.

  “Each rider will stand for nine,” H’nez declared. “T’mar, F’jian, and I will stand for eleven, the weyrwoman for ten.”

  Norik considered this for a moment, then nodded, sitting at the table and revising his lists hurriedly. He glanced at H’nez and Fiona as he said, “I’m not sure who should stand for D’gan.”

  “I’ll stand for D’gan,” H’nez said with a quick look toward Fiona.

  “You are the senior,” Fiona agreed. “But not Weyrleader.” She looked at Norik. “Will that be a problem?”

  “To dishonor a Weyrleader …” Norik paused as he considered the implications. It was a common practice in the Weyrs to hold a gathering to honor those fall
en. The greater the rank, the greater honor due. By tradition, the senior flightleader could honor his fallen Weyrleader … but the situation here was more complex because the tragedy was so great—never before had a whole Weyr been lost like this.

  “Fine,” H’nez said sharply to Fiona, “you stand for him; I’ll stand for his son, D’lin.”

  “I think that’s an excellent compromise,” Norik said. “D’lin was well-respected within the Weyr.”

  “I’ll have the men form up,” H’nez told Fiona.

  Events moved quickly as dragons deposited riders by H’nez who, after having them form up, handed out the lists that Norik had prepared.

  Fiona sidled over to them, gauging their mood.

  “Most of you have seen or done this before,” H’nez told the assembled riders, “but never on this scale.”

  “I haven’t,” F’jian spoke up. “What do we do?” In a lower voice, he added, “I don’t want to get it wrong.”

  “Tonight we will take roll for the Weyr,” H’nez replied, directing a tight, intense look at the youngest bronze rider. “When any of the names on your list are called, you’re to stand for them.”

  “The light’s bad,” F’jian said.

  “You’ll have to memorize your list,” T’mar spoke up.

  “It’s tradition.” “It’s considered an honor to answer for those who can’t,” a voice spoke up from the dark. It was Seban. His tone was shaky as he continued, “Among other things, it signifies that you are a rider and that you take on the mantle of the rider you stand for.” He paused. “You stand for him.”

  “So you’d best memorize that list well,” H’nez continued with a thankful nod toward the ex-dragonrider. “Because you answer for those men and anything they did.”

  Fiona had a sudden insight and spoke up, “Think carefully before you agree to this.”

  H’nez looked toward her, gesturing expectantly. All eyes were on her.

  “If you do this, you are no longer of Fort,” she told them. “For by standing for these riders, you stand for Telgar.”

  There was a long moment’s silence broken by F’jian’s voice. “We stand for you, Weyrwoman.”