Dragongirl

by Todd J. McCaffrey

  Bekka’s assurance had assumed greater merit after she’d been instrumental in the last two of Telgar Weyr’s deliveries. The two established midwives had both found themselves quite relieved to have her additional knowledge—not to mention her irrepressible energy—available for their aid.

  “But I’m still worried,” Fiona said, her voice low and troubled.

  “Your worry isn’t helping either Lorana or the baby, Weyrwoman,” Bekka told her as gently as she could. “It makes the both of them more nervous.”

  Fiona nodded and took a long steadying breath. “What should I do, then?”

  “Stop fussing so much,” Bekka said. “You’re acting like you’re afraid she’ll lose the baby at any moment.”

  Fiona started to speak but Bekka stopped her with a raised hand.

  “Honestly, Weyrwoman, it’ll be all right,” Bekka said. “The baby seems to be thriving, Lorana’s doing well—”

  “She’s having nightmares,” Fiona told her.

  “That’s normal,” Bekka assured her. “Many mothers, particularly first-time mothers, worry and have nightmares.”

  “She’s afraid she’ll lose the baby.”

  “And you’re afraid you’ll lose the both of them, aren’t you?” Bekka asked knowingly. When Fiona, frowning, gave her a reluctant nod, the young girl continued, “Isn’t it possible that the both of them are picking up on your distress?”

  Fiona bit her lips glumly and nodded once more. “What can I do?”

  “Just be certain that they’re both loved and cared for,” Bekka said. “Lorana’s tall, taller than you, and she’s broad enough in the hips that she’ll have no problem birthing this child.”

  Fiona frowned, still unable to rid herself of a deep foreboding.

  “If you can’t keep your moods in check, then it would be better if Lorana found quarters by herself,” Bekka said.

  A new voice joined in from Fiona’s side. “Perhaps you’re worrying about Lorana to avoid worrying about other things.”

  Fiona turned; it was Shaneese. The headwoman sat beside her, laying a basket full of warm rolls on the table. Bekka dove in and shamelessly grabbed one, gesturing for Shaneese to continue talking.

  “Like what?” Fiona asked.

  “Like Talenth and her clutch,” Shaneese said. “Or you and Kindan.”

  “Or her and T’mar,” Bekka added around a mouthful of roll and a mischievous look.

  “So what do I do?” Fiona asked, turning toward the older woman.

  “Spend more time with T’mar,” Bekka said. “Let Lorana and Kindan have time together; let Lorana have time alone.”

  “She’s got some good ideas,” Shaneese told Fiona. She turned to the young healer, her eyes twinkling. “You know, she’s just about as difficult as you, Weyrwoman!”

  Fiona smiled even as Bekka growled in response.

  “I’ll be right next door,” Fiona said to Talenth as she made her way to T’mar’s quarters that night. Lorana and Kindan had both protested her plans, but she had heard the hidden relief in their voices. She kept Shaneese’s and Bekka’s words firmly in her mind and kept her expression neutral, her thoughts calm as she bade them good night and made her way to her queen’s lair.

  Talenth gave her a drowsy acknowledgment and went just as quickly back to sleep.

  I’ll bet you’ll be happy to fly again, Fiona thought to her queen, only to be met with silence. With a sympathetic grin, Fiona walked out of the dragon’s lair and over to T’mar’s quarters. She greeted Zirenth warmly and crossed the distance to T’mar’s room quickly.

  T’mar met her at the entrance. “Weyrwoman—?”

  Fiona wrapped her arms around him. “Just hold me,” she said. “Hold me all night.”

  Wordlessly, T’mar scooped her up and brought her to his bed. He left her there as he finished readying for sleep, pausing only long enough to pass her one of the nightgowns she’d left in his closet. She slipped into it, carefully folding her day clothes and placing them on a nearby chair neatly, in readiness for any need.

  With a nod, he gestured for her to get up as he pulled the blanket aside and motioned for her to get into the bed first, carefully removing the warming stones that had been set at the end of the bed. Fiona scampered in gratefully, her feet finding the warm spot and relishing it even as T’mar crawled in beside her and pulled the blankets over the both of them. Silently, she nuzzled her head up under his and was soon asleep.

  She awoke in the middle of the night, her face wet with tears and she realized, in surprise, that they were hers.

  “What is it?” T’mar whispered, hugging her more tightly.

  “Something’s going to happen,” Fiona said, her chest tight with dread. “Something horrible.”

  “We’ll survive,” T’mar said.

  “Not all of us.”

  The dark mood remained with Fiona over the next several days, even as three more riders returned to full fighting ability, giving Telgar a strength of one hundred and forty-six—nearly five full Wings.

  Perhaps, she reasoned, it was because she spent so little time now with Kindan and Lorana, or perhaps it was because Talenth was so lethargic, burdened with the weight of her eggs.

  Terin caught up with her as she was finishing her morning rounds of the injured.

  “I haven’t seen you in a while!” Fiona called in greeting. The younger girl blushed brightly.

  “I’m sorry,” Terin stammered, “it’s just that F’jian …”

  “I can understand,” Fiona said. She raised an eyebrow conspiratorially. “Should I have Bekka see you?”

  “Oh, no!” Terin said, raising her hands defensively. She blushed again. “It’s not—well, we—I mean, I’m not ready for that just yet.”

  “Anyway, it’s wise to wait a Turn and a half,” Fiona said, referring to an old saying: “A Turn and a half proves the love.”

  “Not everyone waits that long,” Terin said, her eyes flashing challengingly.

  “Some wait longer,” Fiona said with no bite in her tone. Terin drew breath for a quick retort and cut herself off, a thoughtful look on her face.

  “But when dragons rise …”

  “Dragons are a passion of their own,” Fiona reminded the younger girl. Terin blushed again and ducked her head in a quick nod of agreement. The thought caused Fiona to reach out tenderly with her mind to her queen, even though she was certain that Talenth was sleeping—

  “She’s clutching!” Fiona yelled, turning on her heels and sprinting toward the Hatching Grounds.

  Why didn’t you tell me?

  I knew what to do, Talenth said, sounding a bit strained as she passed another egg. Come see.

  Lorana, Talenth is clutching! Fiona called excitedly.

  I know, come quickly, Lorana responded, causing Fiona a moment’s chagrin at the notion that her dragon had chosen Lorana to escort her to the Hatching Grounds—until she dismissed the notion as silly; doubtless Lorana had heard Talenth’s departure from her weyr and had, naturally, followed.

  Fiona was down the stairs and racing across the Weyr Bowl as she realized that Talenth’s clutching was early.

  “Fiona!” T’mar’s voice called out from the Kitchen Cavern. “What is it?”

  “Talenth’s clutching!” Fiona shouted in response, not breaking her stride as she raced on by.

  “Talenth?” she heard H’nez’s voice echo. “What about Tolarth?” “It’s early!” another voice declared ominously.

  Fiona disregarded the complaint, passing into the Hatching Grounds, her feet registering the warmth of the sands as she raced to the far end where Talenth lay exhausted after her labors, her eyes whirling in a swift green of pure contentment.

  “I count twenty-one,” Lorana said as Fiona approached. She reached out for the younger Weyrwoman, giving Fiona a cautioning look. “I’ve heard that’s very good for a first clutch.”

  “Talenth, you’re marvelous!” Fiona agreed even as she eyed the eggs and tried to hide her dis
appointment. No queen! Twenty-one eggs and no queen egg. And, were the eggs smaller than normal?

  There’s no queen egg, Talenth said, sounding disappointed in herself.

  “That’s normal for a first mating flight,” Fiona assured her steadfastly. “But now that you’ve figured out how to do it, you’ll be certain to have a queen next clutch.”

  “Having them early will mean that they’re ready for flying against Thread that much sooner,” T’mar told the queen, his tone full of approval. Fiona shot him a questioning look, which the Weyrleader subdued with a quick jerk of his head.

  And the clutch is small, Talenth said. Are the eggs smaller, too?

  Don’t worry, love, they’ll be fine, Fiona told her. She continued to comfort her queen for several minutes, only leaving when Talenth was calm enough to lay her head down on the warm sands for a well-deserved rest.

  Let me know if you need anything, Fiona said, as she made her way from the Hatching Ground once more into the Weyr Bowl. Talenth made no response; the sound of her slow, steady breathing carried clearly to the entrance: She was already asleep.

  “She’s asleep,” Fiona said as T’mar joined her. She looked up worriedly. “Did we do wrong, to have that mating flight the way we did?”

  T’mar pursed his lips thoughtfully. Finally, he shook his head. “A queen rises when she’s ready,” he said. He gave her a wry look as he added, “Do you think you really managed to align her passions to yours rather than the other way around?”

  The notion startled Fiona and T’mar chuckled at her expression. “A queen often mates for the good of the Weyr, often against her rider’s desires or interests,” he said. “In the course of your life, there’s no guarantee that you might not find yourself with several partners.”

  “Several more partners,” Fiona corrected with a smile.

  “Riders are often much like their dragons,” T’mar allowed noncommittally, although his eyes gleamed humorously.

  “You still haven’t answered the question.”

  T’mar shook his head. “I’ve given you all the answer I have, Weyrwoman.”

  “But if—”

  T’mar cleared his throat and grabbed her by the arm, forcing her closer to him. “What I’m more worried about,” he told her in a voice pitched for her ears alone, “is whether the low numbers and early clutch are related to the cure to the dragon sickness.”

  Fiona paled as she absorbed his meaning.

  “We won’t know until the others clutch,” T’mar said, gesturing for her to start moving once more. “As I said, and as you know, it’s not uncommon for a queen’s first clutch to be smaller than her norm.”

  “And she was ill not long before.”

  T’mar acknowledged that with a nod. “That would have an impact, certainly.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Wait,” T’mar replied. “If the other clutches are normal, then we’ve probably no cause for alarm.”

  It was odd, Fiona thought as the days passed, that T’mar’s worries about the possible effects of the dragon cure would cause Fiona to dismiss or at least downplay the various whispered conversations that abruptly ceased when she came near. She knew they were talking about Talenth’s clutch and was certain that some of the conversations were condemning her for allowing Talenth to select Zirenth—as if she had a choice!—over a different dragon, one with a conscious rider and not the pairing of Lorana and Kindan.

  Fiona was pretty certain that some of the more traditional weyrfolk were also chatting critically about her own choice of partners, but Turns of similar such chatter as she grew up at Fort Hold had inured her to the effects of such gossip—“Some people can’t live without carping” had been Neesa’s response Turns back when a very young Fiona had been taunted by some of the Hold youngsters.

  Fiona’s reaction was quite different if she overheard any criticism of Lorana or Kindan, as one group of weyrfolk discovered when she overheard them.

  “Lorana and Kindan saved the dragons of Pern!” Fiona roared at them. “And anyone who cannot give them all due honor for their sacrifices need not remain in this Weyr.”

  The women blanched, one looking beseechingly in Shaneese’s direction. That was a mistake, as Shaneese bustled over to the group and weighed in heavily on Fiona’s side.

  “I can see that you’ve all had too much idle time on your hands,” Shaneese had said in conclusion, “and I’m glad that you’ve all volunteered to help the healers with their medical laundry.” She glanced toward Fiona, who gave her a slight nod of encouragement. “The Weyrwoman and I are certain that you will give all your efforts to ensuring that all their fabrics and tools are thoroughly sterilized—steamed for a full ten minutes.”

  Stunned beyond words, the women could only nod in mute agreement.

  Fiona’s determination to talk with Lorana and Kindan about the issue was undermined the next morning just after breakfast when Lorana announced, wide-eyed, “Minith has clutched!”

  Before Fiona or any of the others could react, Jeila dashed up, crying, “Tolarth is clutching!”

  Everyone raced to the Hatching Grounds where Fiona quickly set herself as guard, turning back every gawker with a stern, “She needs no distractions!”

  Indeed, Jeila was the only one the queen would allow into the Hatching Grounds. Talenth, a mother with only a sevenday’s more experience, was tolerant of the other dragon’s mood.

  It’s easier when no one’s watching, Talenth told her rider calmly, adding tantalizingly, Ooh, that’s a large one!

  Lorana shared a smile with Fiona but said nothing, waiting patiently with H’nez and the other riders until Jeila finally called them in.

  “That’s a queen egg, for sure!” H’nez said as he noticed the larger gold-hued egg that Tolarth had pushed off to one side and was watching protectively.

  “Aren’t you wonderful?” Jeila cried, scratching her queen’s eye ridges and beaming with pride. She turned to Fiona, saying, “Twenty-two and one’s a queen!”

  “I’m glad we’ve got a queen egg,” J’lian said as he and the other riders approached.

  “That’s forty-three altogether,” Kindan said.

  “That makes a good dent on our losses,” T’mar said, bestowing a huge grin on Jeila and H’nez both.

  “And a queen!” H’nez said, as proud as if he’d done the clutching himself.

  “Not bad at all for a first clutching,” one of the blue riders allowed. Catching sight of Fiona, he added hastily, “Meaning no disrespect to you, Weyrwoman.”

  Fiona waved a hand dismissively. “None taken.”

  “Tullea’s Minith clutched twenty-two,” Lorana reported. “One queen egg.”

  T’mar and Kindan exchanged worried looks to which Fiona added a frown and then, with a jerk of her head toward Lorana, gestured for them to head back to the Weyr Bowl.

  The two men followed her lead, catching up to where she waited out of earshot of the others.

  “Could this have something to do with the cure to the illness?” Fiona asked the question that was troubling all of them.

  “That’s only three queens, Fiona,” Kindan said. She gave him a look; his tone had made his own unease quite clear.

  “If the cure means that the queens clutch early and light, how will that affect us?” T’mar asked, glancing first at Fiona, then at Kindan.

  “Well,” Kindan said, “it will mean that we have fighting dragons sooner—”

  “Only a little—” T’mar interjected.

  “—and that we’ll take longer to replenish our numbers,” Kindan finished, nodding in agreement with T’mar’s remark.

  “We don’t have enough at the moment,” Fiona said. “Getting only a few—”

  “We can’t say what the future holds,” T’mar said. “It could easily mean that the queens will clutch more often.”

  “It could also be just a response to whatever was in the cure,” Kindan said. Fiona arched an eyebrow inquiringly. “It would make sense
for the queens to have clutches quickly right after they’ve been cured so that they can produce more queens to increase the dragon population.”

  “Then why didn’t Talenth have a queen?” Fiona said. “For that matter, why didn’t each clutch consist only of queens?”

  Kindan shrugged. “Lorana and I only learned enough—and were taught enough—to know how to make the cure; we don’t know nearly enough to understand all that was involved.”

  “From what I remember, Kitti Ping, who made the dragons, spent her entire life learning her trade and couldn’t pass it all on to her daughter,” T’mar said.

  Kindan frowned. “I’m not sure how much of our knowledge of Wind Blossom is accurate; it seems that that watch-whers were created more by design than mistake.” He held up a hand to contain T’mar’s objections. “I think our Records from the times were purposely misleading.”

  Weyrleader and Weyrwoman gave him shocked looks.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time that Records were changed according to the feelings of the times,” Kindan said.

  Fiona made a face and nodded in agreement. “I saw plenty of that in the Records at Igen,” she said. “It was obvious that those writing the Records had their own views of things.”

  “And, as they were writing the Records, those were the views that are remembered,” T’mar said with an understanding nod of his own. He turned back to Kindan. “But that still doesn’t answer our question now.”

  “No,” Kindan said, “it doesn’t.”

  “I’m more worried about how Lorana will take it,” Fiona said. Kindan gave her a sharp look, so Fiona explained, “How could she, after all that she gave to find the cure, handle learning that that same cure has caused such harm?”

  “We don’t know that it has,” T’mar said. “If the other queens clutch early and light, that would be another matter.”

  “And so, in the meantime we do nothing?” Fiona asked, looking askance at the Weyrleader.

  “I think better that than assuming the worst.”

  Fiona’s expression made it clear that she was not content with that answer, but she chose not to argue it.