Dragongirl

by Todd J. McCaffrey

He took two long strides toward her and spoke quietly into her ear, “You can use this time to see which of these healers might work with you. I was about to send them off to the holds, so they’re all packed and ready to leave.”

  “If they don’t work out, I’ve got Kindan and Lorana,” Fiona said.

  “And,” he wagged his head at her with a grin, “from what I’ve heard, you’ve learned a fair bit yourself.”

  Fiona nodded. “All those lessons you gave me.”

  “I thought you were asleep!”

  Fiona smiled, shaking her head. “Not all the time.”

  She turned to hug the Masterhealer, who took the opportunity to say, “When you see Kindan, you might remind him that there are several people here—at both the Healer Hall and the Harper Hall—who are eager for a word with him.”

  “I will!”

  As she climbed up behind Tintoval, she said loudly, “Healer, be sure the others are properly hooked on with the riding straps. The weyrfolk are under strict orders to let plummeting healers fall.”

  Tintoval turned back long enough to give Fiona a droll look, recalling their first meeting and how Fiona had been rebuked for risking the life of a queen and her rider for a mere healer, before turning back to be certain that the others were secure. Fiona craned around her side to make her own inspection and, satisfied, sat upright before ordering Talenth to leap once more for the sky.

  “Remember, between only lasts as long as it takes to cough three times!” Fiona shouted loudly before giving Talenth the image of Telgar and the order to take them between.

  They arrived as predicted on the third cough—Fiona was certain that she heard one hastily stifled—and Talenth began a gentle descent into the Weyr Bowl. Fiona was pleased by the exclamations and pointing hands of the journeymen gawking at the sights of the Weyr below them.

  “I’m taking us to the queens’ ledge,” Fiona told Tintoval, as Talenth altered her course slightly, did a half-circle, and gently landed within a wingtip of the queens’ ledge.

  Fiona was the first off, then Tintoval. Between them, they got the other three down. The girl—she looked to have perhaps seventeen Turns—was the last down and lightest. The middle man looked to have two more Turns than she, and the last was the eldest, seeming closer to T’mar’s age—old to be a journeyman.

  The man sensed her curiosity and smiled at her as he introduced himself, “Birentir, formerly harper of Red Sands hold.” He gestured to the other two. “These are Cerra”—the woman—“and Lindorm.”

  “I’m glad to meet you,” Fiona said, giving them all a brisk nod. She clambered up the side of the queens’ ledge and was surprised when two arms fastened on her legs and gave her a boost. She turned back and held out a hand for Tintoval, who took it and accepted a second boost from Birentir and Lindorm. Cerra had balked at the ascent and had trotted to the end of the ledge, climbing the rise as quickly as she could. Birentir turned to follow her progress and with a polite nod to the two women on the ledge, elected to follow her less strenuous route. Lindorm looked torn between clambering up and trotting around. Tintoval decided the issue by waving him toward the others. “Master Betrony would have my hide if you were hurt climbing the ledge!”

  Fiona, feeling slightly guilty, waited for the others to join them, then led them into T’mar’s quarters.

  “This is Seban and Bekka,” Fiona said as the other two rose at the sound of their arrival. A slight sound caused Fiona to glance over her shoulder and she was surprised to see Tintoval step back to the wall, where she leaned with arms folded, nodding pointedly to Fiona to indicate that she was going to monitor the proceedings, rather than lead them.

  Fiona accepted her decision with a nod of her own and turned back, and, noting that Lorana and Kindan had joined them, she stretched her hand toward them, adding, “And this is—”

  “Kindan!” Cerra cried, rushing toward him. “It’s good to see you!”

  “You must be Lorana,” Birentir said with an engaging smile, raising a hand in greeting. “There are not enough thanks on all of Pern to repay you for what you’ve done.”

  Lorana shook her head wordlessly. Fiona moved to her side and touched her hand briefly, just enough to let the older woman know that she understood her ambivalence, as she whispered, “You paid.”

  Lorana twitched at her words but said nothing. Changing the subject, Fiona turned to look down at T’mar. “How is he?”

  “Awake and wishing you’d all be quiet,” T’mar spoke up tetchily. “If you’re hoping to speed my recovery by shouting, it’s not working.”

  Birentir’s features twisted into a frown as he bent down to the bronze rider, looking over his shoulder to ask Lorana, “How long since his concussion?”

  “This is the second day,” Kindan said.

  “When did he regain consciousness?” Birentir asked, turning back to gaze at T’mar.

  “Today, after the third mating flight,” Fiona said. Birentir glanced her way with a dismissive look. Fiona felt her temper rising and was surprised to feel Lorana’s hand on her shoulder, soothingly.

  “Mating flights are a strong emotional stimulant,” Birentir said. “And you said it took three?”

  “Mine, Jeila’s, and Melirth’s at Fort,” Fiona said.

  “What of his dragon?” Cerra asked, looking over her shoulder toward the sleeping bronze. Birentir glared at the interruption. “If he was unconscious, who controlled Zirenth?”

  Fiona nodded at Kindan.

  “You?” Cerra asked in surprise.

  “Lorana and I, actually,” Kindan replied, reaching to grab Lorana’s free hand.

  “If they hadn’t, Zirenth would have gone between forever,” Fiona told her.

  “Who flew Talenth?” Lindorm asked, glancing from Fiona to T’mar.

  “Zirenth flew her,” Seban said. “And, would you all, as our patient has asked, talk more softly?”

  “Sorry,” Lindorm replied, glancing down at T’mar. “Does it hurt very much?”

  T’mar nodded, unwilling to trust himself to words.

  Birentir was still absorbing Seban’s revelation. “If Zirenth flew your queen, then who …?” His voice trailed off as his eyes settled on Kindan.

  “We’re here for T’mar,” Fiona reminded the older healer testily, glancing pointedly in his direction.

  “Masterharper Zist will be eager for your report,” Birentir told Kindan. “I’m surprised you—”

  “Oh, please!” Cerra cut him off. “Would you get out of the way, so we can see to the patient?”

  “I am examining him,” Birentir said haughtily.

  “No, you’re not,” Fiona declared, gesturing for him to move away from T’mar. “In fact, you’re just leaving. I think you’ll find some food in the Dining Cavern.”

  “You can’t—” Birentir spluttered in amazement “—I’m the senior here and you’re—you’re just a girl!”

  Shh, Talenth! Fiona called as she felt her queen readying to bellow in angry support of her rider.

  “You idiot,” Bekka snapped, with an impertinence that surprised everyone, “she’s the Weyrwoman, she can do anything she farding well pleases!”

  “Shh,” Fiona said to Bekka. “You’re hurting T’mar’s ears.” She turned to the older healer, saying coldly, with all the dignity learned from Turns watching her father deal with such arrogance, “Journeyman Birentir, I believe that we no longer have need of your services.”

  “I—” Birentir’s eyes shifted around the room nervously and he licked his lips. “I’m sorry if I offended, Weyrwoman.”

  “I’m sure,” Fiona agreed, gesturing for him to move away. “My headwoman’s name is Shaneese, you might meet her in the Kitchen Cavern.”

  Reluctantly, Birentir rose and backed away from the group, his lips moving as he searched for some words that might heal his breech.

  Fiona turned her back on him, gesturing toward Cerra and Lindorm to take the older healer’s place. After he’d left, Fiona leaned over to Be
kka and shook a finger at her warningly.

  “Sorry,” Bekka said contritely, “but he wasn’t listening to the patient.” She glanced up at her father. “And if you don’t listen to the patient, how can you know what’s wrong?”

  “We’ll talk about this later,” Fiona said, turning her attention back to T’mar.

  Cerra ceded her position to Lindorm, saying, “I’ve not had much work with head injuries.”

  “I’m no better,” Lindorm said, kneeling beside T’mar. “Really, Weyrwoman, for all that he’s an ass, Birentir probably knows the most of the three of us.”

  “No he doesn’t,” T’mar corrected him softly, his eyes closed against the pain.

  Cerra raised her eyebrows in surprise.

  “If he did,” Kindan explained, “he’d know better than to irritate a Weyrwoman in her own Weyr.”

  “We haven’t moved him much,” Bekka said, deciding that everyone was spending far too much time on unimportant matters—like manners—and not enough on her patient. “His leg was threadscored, we’ve dressed it and changed the bandages.

  “We haven’t given him fellis for the pain nor numbweed for the wound for fear of affecting his coma,” she continued briskly, “but I’m getting worried about keeping him in the same position for too long—he’ll get bedsores if nothing else.”

  Lindorm glanced at her in surprise, then asked calmly, “So what do you recommend?”

  Bekka frowned in irritation. “If I didn’t know any better, and I could be certain that he had no spinal injuries, I’d say that we should try to move him in his bedsheets into his pool to let him soak a bit.” She frowned. “It’d be difficult with the bandages—maybe we’d be best off removing them while he’s bathing—but I think the warm water would aid in circulation.”

  “Who did you study under?” Cerra asked her, amazed.

  Bekka shrugged. “My mother mostly.” She threw a hand toward Fiona, adding, “And Weyrwoman Fiona knows a lot about Thread injuries, human and dragon.”

  “Your mother?” Lindorm asked, his eyes going to Seban.

  “Merika, midwife at Fort,” Seban said.

  “Have you considered apprenticing at the Healer Hall?” Cerra asked. She glanced up to Seban, adding, “She has the gift.”

  “Actually,” Fiona chimed in, “she’s a place at the Healer Hall as soon as we can let her go.”

  Bekka’s eyes lit up and she leaped into the air in excitement but, with an apologetic look toward T’mar, did not shout in glee.

  The import of Fiona’s words were not lost on the two healers and they exchanged wary looks.

  “I know something of spines,” Cerra said. She glanced up to Bekka approvingly. “I think if we follow apprentice Bekka’s suggestion, we could use the chance to examine T’mar’s spine in the water.”

  “The only danger is in moving him,” Lindorm pointed out.

  “I’ve got to move sometime,” T’mar said.

  “If only to use the necessary,” Fiona said, surprised at herself for not considering that need sooner.

  “He flew a Threadfall when he was injured, so he was dehydrated,” Seban said.

  “And his metabolism was slowed by the coma,” Lindorm added.

  “If he’s to get better, he’ll need to get mobile, won’t he?” Fiona asked, glancing down to give the bronze rider an encouraging smile.

  “Let me check his neck,” Cerra said, glancing up to Lindorm for agreement. When he nodded, she turned to Bekka and beckoned to her.

  “Kneel beside me,” she said. Bekka knelt and was surprised when Cerra turned to her, placing her hands on either side of her neck.

  “Your fingers are smaller, more gentle, so you’ll go first,” she told the young girl.

  “Feel how I’m moving my fingers? I’m probing for anything out of place, anything that doesn’t feel right.” Bekka’s eyes widened in brief panic, then she closed them, her expression intent as she absorbed Cerra’s movements, ready to replicate them.

  “Now, you do it to me,” Cerra said. “That way I’ll know that you’ve got it right.”

  “’Cos if I don’t, he could die?” Bekka asked, wide-eyed.

  “It’s possible but not likely,” Lindorm spoke up.

  “Perhaps—” Seban began, only to stop himself with a deep sigh.

  “Most likely, with your small fingers, you’ll do no harm,” Cerra assured the young girl. “That’s why we’ll start with your hands.”

  Bekka took a deep breath, glanced up to Seban for an instant, then placed her hands gently behind Cerra’s neck. “Okay.”

  Cerra closed her eyes and said nothing as Bekka ran her fingers up her neck, fingering each veterbra in succession.

  “There’s a spot here, just before the last bone,” Bekka said, opening her eyes.

  Cerra raised an eyebrow in surprise, put her hands to her neck, and felt the spot before nodding. “Yes, there is,” she said, smiling at the youngster. “Good for you! It’s nothing, just a misalignment—” She twisted her head quickly and Bekka jumped as the apprentice’s neck gave a loud pop! “There, back in place again.” She smiled at Bekka and gestured for Lindorm to join them. “Lindorm, let her practice on you, too.”

  The other healer was only too willing and, after Bekka repeated her examination, pronounced himself completely satisfied with her abilities.

  “You’ll make a great healer,” he told her with a smile. Shyly, she smiled back. Then he nodded toward T’mar. “Are you ready for the examination now?”

  “Are you ready, Weyrleader?” Bekka asked, standing up and bending down over the Weyrleader, poising her hands on either side of his neck.

  “I’m in your hands,” T’mar said.

  Bekka ignored the remark, instead closing her eyes and reaching her hands down to delicately touch his neck. She went over it twice, before standing up and turning to Cerra. “I can’t feel anything wrong.”

  “Okay, let me,” Cerra said. Bekka was happy to move away, particularly after Kindan assured her, “Whenever possible, healers like to get a second opinion.”

  And a third. After Cerra had finished her examination, she moved aside to let Lindorm repeat the examination.

  “I don’t feel anything broken,” Lindorm said as he straightened up after his examination. He smiled at T’mar as he added, “I think it’s safe to move you, Weyrleader.”

  “Good,” T’mar said a bit distractedly. “In which case, the soonest the best.”

  Bekka and Fiona scurried aside, willing to let the larger and stronger adults take on the burden of moving the fully-grown Weyrleader in his bedsheets.

  Fiona watched the proceeding carefully, noting how Lindorm had no hesitation when it came time for him to step—fully clothed—into the warm bath so that he and Kindan could be on the far end of T’mar’s makeshift stretcher.

  “We’re going to just lower the whole thing into the water,” Lindorm said to T’mar. “You’ll float off.”

  “That sounds quite relaxing,” T’mar said.

  Bekka quickly lifted her skirts and, with a quick twist, knotted them higher up as she stepped into the pool, declaring, “I’ll keep your head above water.”

  “Hold his shoulders,” Cerra said.

  Soon the whole maneuver was completed, the bedsheets removed and T’mar, still in his clothes, was floating in the water. His features relaxed into a look of pleasure.

  “I’m afraid we’re going to have to remove your clothes to complete our examination,” Lindorm said.

  “I’ll be glad to get them off,” T’mar said.

  “Perhaps Bekka should be excused,” Lindorm said.

  “Not if I’m going to be a healer,” Bekka said. Her expression changed and she glanced down to T’mar, “Unless you don’t want me, Weyrleader?”

  T’mar smiled. “Were you the one who changed the bandages on my leg?”

  “Yes,” Bekka replied offhandedly, not seeing any connection.

  “She’s been watching mothers give birth
since she could crawl,” Seban said by way of assurance.

  “But if you’re going to be embarrassed, Weyrleader, I promise I won’t look,” Bekka said in assurance.

  T’mar’s lip twitched. “Do what you must, healer.”

  Bekka’s face flamed into a brilliant smile at the compliment.

  Safely in the water, Cerra had Bekka repeat her performance, this time checking T’mar’s spine. First she and then Cerra and Lindorm pronounced themselves satisfied.

  “But this is no guarantee, Weyrleader,” Lindorm warned. “Your head injury could have caused injury to your spine as well. It could be that if you move the wrong way, you’ll sever your spinal cord.”

  “And if I do?”

  “You’ll be paralyzed,” Bekka told him. “The spinal cord is the nerve that runs the length of your body.”

  “Which would make it difficult to fly Thread,” T’mar said drolly.

  “But not impossible,” Fiona said. T’mar glanced at her in surprise and exasperation before saying, “With you, I believe it could be done.”

  “Be certain of it,” Fiona told him.

  “Very well,” T’mar said, “with such assurances, I think we should give it a try.”

  Cerra glanced at Lindorm, who turned to Bekka. “What would you suggest?”

  “To see if he’s paralyzed?” Bekka asked. When the others nodded, she continued, “Well, he’s not.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he couldn’t help twitching when I bandaged him,” she said. “If he was paralyzed, he wouldn’t have been able, would he?”

  Lindorm exchanged a surprised look with Cerra, before shaking his head, “No, I suppose not.”

  “And having said that,” Cerra continued, “the chances of his having a spinal injury are slight.”

  “Because if he had, he would already have severed the cord?” Bekka guessed.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Kindan said, glancing at T’mar’s face.

  “So he’s all right?” Fiona said.

  “He still had a major brain injury,” Lindorm reminded her. “That can cause long-term problems.”

  “Memory loss, mood changes, and other such-like,” Fiona said, glancing toward Kindan. “That’s what Kindan said.”