Dragongirl

by Todd J. McCaffrey

  “Harper Kindan has the right of it.”

  “We should get him out of the water, before he turns into a giant wrinkle,” Bekka said.

  It was not quite as difficult an operation as the job of getting him into the water, particularly once Cerra and Lindorm had satisfied themselves that T’mar could move all his limbs freely.

  “Does this mean I can get some fellis for my head?” T’mar asked testily as he reclined in his bathrobe, with Fiona gently drying his hair by rolling it in a towel and squeezing it.

  “I’d recommend against it,” Lindorm said. “I know you’re in a lot of pain, but with a head injury such as yours, until we know you’ve fully recovered, we don’t want to do anything that might dull your wits.”

  “That way we’ll know if your wits are dulling from the blow,” Fiona said.

  Cerra gave her a surprised look; Lindorm merely nodded in agreement.

  “When can I get back to my duties?”

  “Duties?” Bekka snorted, as she worked to bandage T’mar’s leg. “Your leg has to heal yet!” She shook her head. “A month at least, just for that.”

  “Probably six weeks,” Fiona said, glancing at the rebandaged wound.

  “You can try sitting up later this week,” Lindorm said. “You shouldn’t walk, though, without someone to help you.” Seeing T’mar’s frown, the healer explained, “You were in a coma; it’s doubtless that you have a concussion. That can leave you disoriented, even feeling like you’re walking on air—which is not recommended with stone floors.”

  “When you do sit up, have a care for any signs of dizziness or muzziness,” Cerra warned.

  “Muzziness?” Fiona repeated, glancing at T’mar. “Muzziness can be caused by head injury?”

  “Often,” Lindorm said, his eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask, Weyrwoman?”

  “Because Fiona and I—and many others—have been suffering from some sort of muzziness for the past several Turns,” T’mar said in answer.

  “Like Tullea,” Kindan spoke up suddenly.

  “That’s what M’tal said,” Fiona said. T’mar looked at her questioningly, so she said, “Tullea timed it back to High Reaches Weyr and was there for the last three Turns. That’s where Minith clutched and the sickness-immune hatchlings grew. Jeila’s Tolarth is one of them.”

  “During which time at Benden Weyr,” Kindan picked up the tale, “Tullea was the most difficult, irascible, and vindictive”—he shot a glance at Lorana—“person I’d ever seen.”

  “M’tal thinks we could be timing it, too?” T’mar asked. “Or is this a result of our timing it back to Igen?”

  “If it is,” Fiona said, “then wouldn’t all the injured riders from the other Weyrs feel the same effects?”

  “The Benden riders were tired but they recovered quickly,” Kindan said, glancing at Lorana for agreement. His brows furrowed as he turned back to Fiona. “Are you saying that you still feel this way?”

  Fiona nodded.

  “And it’s slowed you down?” Kindan asked. When she nodded once more, his lips twitched and he said, “I was hoping that you’d just calmed down.”

  Fiona’s eyes flashed and she deliberately turned away from him. Catching sight of Tintoval, who had observed the entire proceedings without saying anything once—a feat Fiona recognized was beyond her own capabilities—she asked, nodding toward Bekka, “So, do you think she’ll do?”

  “Cerra, Lindorm?” Tintoval said, deferring the question to them.

  Lindorm smiled and Cerra ruffled Bekka’s hair affectionately.

  “She’ll do,” the young woman said. She frowned thoughtfully before adding, “In fact, I’m worried that she’ll outshine some of the older apprentices.”

  “And it may be a detriment having her father with her,” Lindorm added thoughtfully.

  “Seban goes with her,” Fiona said, even as Bekka started to make her own protest. “Seban, how would you feel about apprenticing yourself to the Healer Hall?”

  Seban took a step back in surprise.

  “What were your plans?” Lorana asked the ex-dragonrider.

  Seban furrowed his brow. “I suppose I hadn’t thought about it,” he said, glancing toward Bekka. “My only thought was to help my daughter, here.” He pursed his lips as he added with a sad look toward Bekka, “But that includes, one day, leaving you to your own devices.”

  “Here’s my request,” Kindan said, glancing to Fiona briefly, then smiling at Lorana and grabbing her hand. “I ask that you go present yourself to the Halls—Harper and Healer—as an apprentice.” He smiled at an old memory, adding, “There has been a long tradition of weyrfolk finding a calling at the Halls.”

  “You’re not thinking of Mikal?” Seban asked, surprised at the comparison. M’kal—ex-dragonrider—had become a legend among healers in his lifetime before the Plague.

  “Yes,” Kindan said catching Seban’s eyes with his own. “I most certainly was.”

  “You’re a natural teacher,” Lorana said. Seban gave her an incredulous look.

  “She’s right,” Tintoval said. “Half of teaching is knowing when to be silent and”—she gestured to her position at the outside of their group—“observing.”

  “If nothing else, your memories of Weyr life would be invaluable,” Kindan said.

  It was Bekka who brought up Kindan’s unspoken meaning, as she stepped forward and slipped her hand into his, “And, Father, you know what it means to lose a dragon.”

  Seban’s face twisted with pain and Bekka tightened her grip, continuing, “I promised to become a healer so that this would never happen again.”

  “Dragons are lost to Threadfall,” Seban murmured in response. “You can’t save them all.”

  “No,” Fiona said, remembering F’dan and his blue Ridorth, and glancing sympathetically at Lorana, “we can’t.”

  “You are a healer in your own right,” Seban said, also looking at Lorana.

  “And if she wants to go, she’ll go with all my support,” Fiona said, nodding at Kindan and Lorana before adding, “But with her ability to hear any dragon, I would hope that she would stay at the Weyr.”

  Seban nodded. Kindan gave Lorana an inquiring look that the older woman answered with a quick jerk of her head toward Fiona, saying, “Someone has to keep her from bullying all the other Weyrwomen!”

  Fiona surprised everyone—including herself—with an indignant squeak. Kindan, Lorana, Bekka, and Seban allowed themselves a quick chuckle at her reaction while the healers all looked on, too anxious to make any noise, although Fiona was pretty certain that Tintoval’s eyes danced with glee.

  “Well, Seban?” Fiona asked with all the dignity she could muster.

  “Master Zist and Master Betrony would be overjoyed,” Kindan said.

  “It’s a lot of hard work, little sleep, and you’d have everyone muttering about your age,” Tintoval cautioned. Fiona bit off a retort, realizing that the healer was taunting the ex-dragonrider with exactly the right tone.

  “And you think that I’d let my daughter take up a challenge her father couldn’t handle?” Seban snorted. “Can we think about it?”

  “No,” Fiona said. “I’ve promised to get Tintoval and two of the healers back before dinner and you’re to go with them.”

  Seban turned his eyes toward T’mar who had watched the whole exchange silently. “Weyrleader?”

  “I will stand by your decision,” T’mar told him softly.

  “If you go as an apprentice in your own right, no one can say that you are there to guard Bekka,” Fiona said. Seban gave her a look that made it quite clear that he’d arrived at the same conclusion and Fiona felt her cheeks blushing at the unspoken rebuke his eyes conveyed.

  “Very well,” Seban said, reaching down fluidly and pulling Bekka up into his arms, “we’ll go!”

  Bekka buried her face in his shoulder but even so, her squeal of delight filled the room.

  “You said two healers?” Tintoval asked, facing Fiona. She turned q
uickly toward Zirenth’s weyr and the Weyr Bowl beyond, saying, “I’d best get Birentir.”

  “Leave him,” Fiona said. The others all looked at her. Apologetically she told Cerra and Lindorm, “I don’t question your abilities, nor your desires. But, as I have been recently reminded, sometimes my duties require me to learn new abilities.”

  Lorana smiled at her in agreement.

  “Birentir came to the Healer Hall not long after the Plague,” Tintoval said, her expression grave.

  “As a patient,” Fiona guessed. Tintoval nodded even as her brows rose in surprise. “When he recovered, he—like our Bekka here—made a vow.”

  “Yes,” Tintoval said.

  “How did you know?” Cerra asked in surprise.

  “I’d even guess that he had a daughter near my age,” Fiona continued, “and lost her in the Plague.”

  “Yes,” Lorana said, following Fiona’s line of thinking.

  “‘Arrogance is usually born of fear,’” Fiona said, nodding toward Kindan, who had told her that many Turns ago. Kindan jerked in surprise, delighted that she’d remembered. With a wry grin, she added, “I seem to have made it a habit to collect arrogant people.”

  “It’s because you conquer your fear,” T’mar spoke up from his bed. All eyes turned toward him. “You still feel it, but you don’t let it rule you.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Fiona said. The thought flustered her and she sought a means to divert herself from it. “Regardless, I think that we should get everyone back soonest, including Bekka and Seban.”

  “I don’t think Talenth is up to eight,” Kindan said, a quick gesture including himself and Lorana in the count.

  “Zirenth needs exercise,” T’mar said. Kindan and Lorana turned to him in surprise. T’mar met the ex–queen rider’s eyes, saying, “If you wish, I’m certain he’ll be happy to carry you.”

  “And we’d like to work on this experiment,” Fiona added with a nod toward T’mar for his planning. “We’ve been trying to see if we can mix riders and dragons.”

  “Uninjured riders paired with uninjured dragons?” Kindan asked, glancing from T’mar to Fiona and back. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “That’s an interesting proposition.”

  “So go test it,” T’mar said.

  “Some more?” Lorana asked. “Remember that we already brought Zirenth to Fort Weyr.”

  T’mar’s eyes narrowed. “Really?” he looked distracted as he probed his memories. “I hadn’t realized.”

  “You’ve been through a lot,” Fiona told him. “You’re lucky to be alive and, if you don’t get some rest”—she gestured for the others to leave—“I’ll kill you.”

  T’mar’s lips twitched but he closed his eyes, resolutely following her orders.

  Fiona left it to Lorana and Kindan to organize the loading of Zirenth and Talenth while she went to the Dining Cavern. She was not surprised to find Birentir at one of the pottery wheels, working the clay under the tutelage of Mekiar.

  “How is he doing?” Fiona asked, startling the older healer and causing him to ruin the bowl he was forming on the spinning wheel.

  “He is learning,” Mekiar replied drolly, glancing up to Fiona. “I would say that at this moment he is learning patience.”

  “Good,” she replied, “see that he does.”

  Birentir looked askance at her words.

  “You’re staying,” she told him. Birentir’s eyes widened further in surprise. “Bekka and her father are going back to the Healer Hall and I don’t need you there causing her grief on a daily basis.”

  “You would prefer me causing ‘daily grief’ here?” Birentir asked with a flash of humor.

  “You won’t be causing me daily grief, healer,” Fiona assured him. She softened her tone as she confided, “I’m more worried about fighting Thread without enough dragons.”

  “I’d heard,” Birentir said, rising from his chair, his expression grave. “How bad is it?”

  “No one really knows,” Fiona said. She shook her head, adding, “We all know that it’s bad but we haven’t exact numbers until we can figure our losses per Fall.”

  “Master Archivist Verilan could help with that.”

  Fiona cocked her head at him measuringly. “So, when you get over the fact that I’m nearly the same age as your late daughter, and deal with me for myself, you are willing to think, aren’t you?”

  Birentir flushed hotly and Fiona held up a hand in apology.

  “I don’t recall seeing you whenever I visited the Harper Hall,” Fiona said. “Were you hiding?”

  “I was studying.”

  “You’re older than most.”

  Birentir nodded in acknowledgment.

  “Tell me about it,” Fiona said.

  “It was the Plague,” Birentir said. “I lost my whole family, wife, two boys, three girls.” He glanced into her eyes as he added, “My youngest would be about your age now.”

  “I’ve nearly seventeen Turns,” Fiona told him.

  “Yes,” Birentir said, “she had five Turns when the Plague struck.”

  “I had only two,” Fiona told him. Birentir gave her an inquiring look. “I spent three Turns back in time at Igen Weyr.”

  Birentir’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t heard.”

  “We haven’t been back for very long, and we were sent here after …” Her voice trailed off, but Birentir nodded. The news of the death of Telgar Weyr had traveled quickly to the Harper Hall. Fiona shook herself. “So, you’ll be staying here,” she told him. “I’ll ask Master Betrony to give me your stuff and we’ll put you in the healer’s quarters.”

  “Are you certain, even with my daily grief?”

  Fiona smiled at the taunt and nodded.

  “I’ll be sure to bring your gear back from the Healer Hall,” she told him.

  “Thank you,” Birentir said, and Fiona knew he wasn’t referring to her promise about his belongings. She smiled again and, with a wave, hurried out of the Dining Cavern in time to climb up behind Bekka and Seban, who were already perched on her eager queen. The older man had stored their gear and secured them ably onto Talenth.

  To Bekka, she asked, “Are you ready?”

  “I hope so,” Bekka said.

  “You’ll do fine,” Fiona assured her. Silently, she gave Talenth the instruction to rise and, after they circled the watch heights once, went between.

  When they came out again, Bekka took one look down and gasped in surprise. She turned back to face Fiona, an accusing look on her face.

  “I promised Ellor I’d get Tintoval back first!” Fiona said, stifling a laugh. Her expression softened as she added, “And I thought you might want to see your mother, too.”

  “Thank you,” Bekka said, peering down intently into the Weyr Bowl below.

  Zirenth appeared just behind them and followed Talenth as she spiraled down for a landing.

  They were met by Ellor and Merika first. In the distance, Cisca could be seen on the queens’ ledge, walking quickly toward them.

  “Should we wait?” Fiona asked Seban, glancing in Cisca’s direction. But Bekka rendered the question pointless, quickly untying herself and jumping down, running toward her mother while screaming at the top of her lungs, “Mother! I’m going to be a healer!” Seban gave Fiona an apologetic look, but Fiona waved it aside. Grinning, she jumped down from Talenth, patting the golden queen softly on her leg while Seban clambered down.

  “Queens are a lot bigger than blues,” Seban said, glancing back up at their perch on the queen’s neck.

  “Tolarth is even bigger,” Fiona reminded him.

  “Is that a complaint?” Seban teased.

  “Oh, no!” Fiona said, patting Talenth once more. “My queen and I are exactly the right size for each other.” She turned to face him, asking softly, “Wasn’t it that way with you and Serth?”

  “It was,” Seban said in a choked voice.

  “I’m sorry,” Fiona said, reaching out a hand consolingly. Seban glanced at it a
nd took it, wrapping both his hands around it.

  “Here’s the Weyrwoman,” Seban said, glancing in Cisca’s direction.

  “Let’s go see her, then,” Fiona said, turning and using his grip on her hand to tug him along beside her.

  Cisca met them halfway across the Bowl. “Fiona, is that Zirenth in the distance?”

  “It is,” Fiona said. “We’re bringing back some healers to the Hall and needed another dragon.” She gestured toward Lorana and Kindan, adding, “T’mar’s still recovering, but he was willing to oblige us with his bronze.”

  “And not for the first time,” Cisca said, giving the blond Weyrwoman a knowing look.

  Fiona met her eyes squarely. “If it weren’t for Lorana and Kindan, we would have lost both Zirenth and T’mar.”

  “Come with me,” Cisca said, waving toward the Kitchen. “It’s far too cold to converse out here; you’ll have to forgive my manners.”

  Inside, seated with warm klah and fresh rolls, Cisca was much more relaxed.

  “Congratulations on your flight,” Fiona said, raising her mug in toast.

  “And on yours,” Cisca said, raising her own mug in response. She glanced around at a sudden eruption of noise and spotted Bekka with a group of friends, helping themselves to a snack. Glancing at the youngster, she asked, “Did she wear you out, too?”

  “Hardly!” Fiona said, smiling. “Especially not with Seban to mind her.” She waved at Bekka and the youngster waved back before flying out of the Kitchen toward the living quarters. “But an opportunity arose to get her healer training, and so we’re taking it.”

  “Wise.”

  “I learned from the best,” Fiona said, nodding back at Cisca.

  “And you’re here because of her?”

  “No,” Fiona said. “I’m here returning Tintoval.” She explained how she’d purloined the Weyr’s healer, had gone to the Healer Hall, and had acquired the three journeyman healers.

  “So you kept the older grouchy one?” Cisca said when Fiona had finished. “And why is that?”

  Fiona shrugged, not quite certain of her reasoning. Cisca gave her a thoughtful look, then cocked her head toward Lorana and Kindan. “Are you keeping them, too?”