Cisca pursed her lips and shook her head. “We can’t risk losing the only other queen we have.”
“If Talenth were older, able to go between, I’d be happy to send you,” K’lior said. He shook his head. “As it is, I can’t allow it.”
“They’re going back in time?” Xhinna repeated in surprise when Fiona filled her in later as they were oiling Talenth. “And that will work?”
“No one knows,” Fiona said. “But they hope so.”
“How will they know how to get there?”
Fiona smiled. “They’re going to use the Red Star as a guide.”
“The Red Star?”
“Yes, they’ll fly to Igen in our time, sight the Red Star in the Star Stones, and work out what the image should be for ten Turns back,” Fiona told her.
“And when they come back, they’ll be three Turns older?” Xhinna said, grappling with the thought.
“In three days, they’ll be three Turns older,” Fiona agreed, her tone wistful. “T’mar’s leading them.”
There! Talenth cried as Fiona found a particularly itchy part. Fiona smiled indulgently and scrubbed harder with her oily rag. Oh, that’s much better!
“When we’re done oiling Talenth, Cisca wants us to meet with Tintoval and make a chest of medicinal supplies,” Fiona said.
“What if something goes wrong?” Xhinna asked. “What if they don’t come back?”
Fiona shook her head. “In that case, we’ll think of something.”
“There are two more sick dragons today,” Xhinna noted darkly.
“That brings the total up to eighteen,” Fiona said, pursing her lips tightly. “And two more dragons went between.” She’d lost track of how many dragons had succumbed to the illness; she knew it was over fifty, but she couldn’t say by how much. More became ill every day.
“Even if everything goes well, there will be less than two full Flights of dragons.”
“I know, Xhinna,” Fiona replied, grimacing. “We just have to do what we can.”
“I heard that the Benden Weyr healer’s dragon went between today.”
Fiona nodded. Cisca had sent her after breakfast to check on Tintoval; the healer had known K’tan—no, Ketan—it had been his recommendation that had sent her to the Harper Hall.
“How do you bear it?” Xhinna asked, glancing over from her place near Talenth’s neck, her oiling temporarily forgotten. She gestured to Talenth. “How can you stand the thought of losing her?”
“I won’t lose her,” Fiona declared. She patted Talenth forcefully. “No matter what happens, I won’t lose you.”
Talenth chirped happily. I love you.
“I wish I were going to Igen,” Xhinna said wistfully. “I’d like to be away from all this for three Turns.”
“You could ask T’mar,” Fiona said, though her heart wasn’t in it.
Xhinna shook her head. “I’ll stay with you.”
“I think Talenth’s all done for now,” Fiona said, leaning back from her place over Talenth’s itchy patch. “Let’s go find Tintoval.”
The sun was well past its zenith when all the arrangements were complete and the riders and dragons were arrayed in the chilly Bowl, ready to go to Igen and back ten Turns in time. In the end, after much discussion, it was decided that T’mar should take only the forty-seven most lightly injured dragons and riders, as well as the older weyrlings. It would be too dangerous for the thirty more seriously injured dragonpairs to make the leap between times, a point that Fiona emphasized in her discussions with F’jian and the other disgruntled young weyrlings.
“Fly well,” K’lior called to the assembled riders. From perches on high, the rest of the dragons of Fort Weyr looked on.
“I’ll see you in three days,” Tajen said as he helped T’mar settle the last of his gear on Zirenth’s neck. “Try not to get too tanned.”
T’mar laughed and waved his farewell. Tajen stepped back, joining K’lior, Cisca, Fiona, and the others. T’mar turned on his perch, making one final assessment of his charges, then raised his arm and pumped his fist in the ancient signal to ascend.
Sixty dragons leapt into the air and beat their wings, climbing up out of the Bowl to array themselves near the Star Stones, with T’mar’s Zirenth in the van. They remained there for one more instant and then were gone, between.
* * *
Dinner that evening was subdued. Fiona kept Xhinna near her for company. Kentai arranged for the children to sing during the meal, which should have lifted everyone’s spirits but even the spritely “Morning Dragon Song” seemed only to punctuate the fact that T’mar and nearly ninety other riders—including those whose dragons were too ill—weren’t sharing the meal with the rest of the weyr.
Three Turns, Fiona mused as she ate without speaking. What would T’mar be like then? All her vague, half-formed images of the bronze rider blurred and dimmed; she’d already known he was too old for her, and these added three Turns just emphasized that difference. If she’d entertained any hopes of a deeper relationship someday, those hopes were now dashed.
As she and Xhinna walked back to their quarters after dinner, F’jian and J’nos caught up with them.
“It’s not fair,” F’jian complained. “They should have let us go, too!”
“Look on the bright side,” Fiona said to him. “At least now you’re the senior weyrling.”
F’jian paused in his surprise. But then, after a long moment, he declared, “I’d still prefer to go to Igen with the others.”
“We can’t even ride our dragons yet,” J’nos reminded him. “How could we survive going between times?”
F’jian didn’t reply, his face set in a stubborn look. “If you could go, you would, wouldn’t you, Weyrwoman?” he asked.
Fiona pursed her lips and hesitated before answering. “I wouldn’t risk Talenth for it.”
“But if it wasn’t a risk, what then?” F’jian persisted.
“And is staying here, with the illness, any less of a risk?” J’nos added.
“It doesn’t matter,” Fiona said with a shrug. She drew herself up haughtily, remembering her responsibility to set the example and grateful that she had the height on the two weyrlings. “We can’t go, so our job is to make the best of what we can do, not moan about what we can’t.”
F’jian sighed. “I suppose you’re right.” His expression brightened. “Can the weyrlings practice gliding again tomorrow?”
“We’ll have to ask Tajen,” Fiona said, “but I see no problem.”
“And we’ll have to practice bagging firestone by ourselves,” Xhinna said eagerly.
“We’ve pretty much been doing that already,” J’nos replied.
“The others will be back long before the next Fall,” F’jian reminded Xhinna.
Xhinna grimaced.
They reached the weyrling barracks, and the two weyrlings waved their good-byes. Fiona and Xhinna trudged along in silence, lost in their own thoughts until they reached the weyr.
I wish I could go, too, Talenth said, peering out of her weyr as they climbed the slope up to the queens’ ledge.
“I know,” Fiona said aloud, pausing long enough to scratch Talenth’s eye ridges. “Our time will come.”
Behind her, Fiona could sense Xhinna’s wistful gaze. She turned to her and beckoned for Xhinna to come to Talenth’s other side. For several minutes both girls were engrossed in indulging the young queen. The moment was broken when Xhinna failed to stifle a yawn and Fiona found herself unconsciously echoing her an instant later.
Grinning, Fiona said, “I guess we need to get some sleep.”
Go! Talenth urged them, butting first Fiona and then Xhinna toward their quarters. The gold dragon curled up but did not put her head under her wing in her usual sleeping posture. Fiona noticed and Talenth told her, I will go to sleep soon. I want to think.
Since when did dragons spend time thinking, Fiona mused as she changed into her nightclothes and crawled into bed. And what did they think ab
out? she wondered just before sleep overwhelmed her.
Fiona woke, suddenly alert. Xhinna lay beside her, a comforting bundle of warmth, her breathing deep and steady. Without turning her head, she glanced toward Talenth’s weyr.
The queen was awake, alert, her gaze intent on something outside in the Bowl.
Fiona. The voice wasn’t Talenth’s, but Fiona felt she recognized it.
Slowly, cautiously, she eased her way out of bed, still not certain that she wasn’t imagining things. Sliding her feet into her slippers, she picked up her robe from its place beside the bed and tiptoed away.
Talenth turned her head toward her, then back out to the Bowl, eyes whirling rapidly.
What is it? Fiona asked.
She wants us to come with her, Talenth told her.
The night air was cold, frozen, quiet, expectant. Fiona found herself warming her nose with the fingers of her left hand as she crept into Talenth’s weyr and peered out into the snow-covered Bowl. Flecks of snow drifted down steadily, adding to the carpet already covering the ground.
Fiona scanned the snow-muffled stillness for a long moment before she spotted a darker shape—a dragon. By her size, she was a queen.
Fiona glanced at the shape for another moment before turning decisively to walk down the queens’ ledge—she never considered jumping down as she usually did, feeling somehow that it was inappropriate.
As she got closer, she made out another shape, a human, standing close beside the dragon.
“Get dressed,” the rider said as Fiona approached. “We must be quick. We can’t wake the others.”
Something about the rider seemed familiar. “Why? Where are we going?”
“Igen.” The word was like a challenge and Fiona shivered, feeling her heart lurch.
“I can’t leave Talenth.”
“She comes, too,” the rider said. “And the weyrlings.” The rider glanced toward the barracks. “They’re coming now.”
Fiona glanced toward the barracks but saw nothing. Who was this woman?
“We have to hurry: They need to see you and Talenth go or they won’t follow.”
“Follow?”
“They need to come with you to Igen.”
“How do you know?” Fiona asked, a sudden thrill of suspicion running down her spine.
“It’s happened already,” the rider told her.
Fiona gasped as realization struck her. “You’re from the future!”
The rider nodded. “You must hurry.”
Fiona darted back inside and pulled on her clothes as quickly as she could. When she returned, she suddenly realized that Xhinna had slept through the commotion.
“Xhinna,” she cried. “I need to—”
“She stays,” the rider declared in a tone that brooked no argument.
A figure raced into sight from the direction of the Living Caverns.
“You may come,” the rider said as the figure resolved itself into the form of Terin.
Talenth crept out of her weyr and, with a furtive glance toward Melirth’s quarters, hopped down from her ledge.
“We can’t go between,” Fiona protested. “And Talenth is too young to carry my weight.”
“You’ll ride with me,” the rider told her. “As for between . . . you’ll have to trust me.”
Two shapes appeared from the direction of the weyrling barracks. F’jian and J’nos.
“Hurry!” the rider told Fiona, racing back and mounting her dragon. She leaned a hand down to Fiona. “I know when we’re going!”
“Talenth will be safe, won’t she?” Fiona asked, her voice catching.
“My word on it,” the rider told her, grasping Fiona’s hand and pulling her up. “Quickly, they must see us go between.”
Talenth!
I have the image, I can see where to go, the little queen told her calmly.
“Doesn’t she have to be flying?” Fiona asked the rider in front of her worriedly.
“Talenth, jump!” the rider said in response. At the same time, the queen they were riding leapt into the air. Fiona only had a moment’s glimpse of Talenth jumping after them, and then she was engulfed in the greater darkness of between.
Talenth! Fiona called frantically.
I am here, Talenth assured her calmly. We are fine.
It will be longer than normal, we are going back in time, Fiona heard the rider say.
Don’t you need to go to Igen now first?
I’ve already been there, the rider replied, her voice certain.
Who was this person? Fiona wondered. Who rode a gold and could bring them back in time?
A growing sense of wonder overcame her as she considered the most obvious answer: Could this be Fiona herself, come back from the future?
TWELVE
A sea of sand,
Harsh clime for man.
Mountains rise high,
Igen Weyr is nigh.
Igen Weyr, Morning, AL 498.7.2
The cold, black nothing of between was suddenly replaced by heat and a bright sun.
Whee! Talenth cried delightedly. Look how high I am!
Fiona glanced over and saw that Talenth was indeed nearly twice as high as she’d ever been before. Careful! Just glide down.
Okay, Talenth said, sounding disappointed. Nevertheless, the young queen glided carefully down into the strange Bowl beneath them.
“This is Igen Weyr,” the strange rider called.
“It’s awfully warm,” Fiona said. “I thought it would be cold and windy, even here.”
“We are slightly more than ten Turns back in time,” the rider replied with a hint of humor in her voice. “I thought you’d prefer to start with warmer weather. This is the second day of the seventh month of the four hundred and ninety-eighth Turn since Landing.”
The gold touched down and the rider turned to Fiona, the bright morning sun rising behind her casting her face in shadow. “Get down.”
Fiona obeyed reflexively and was surprised to see the rider and dragon leap skyward as soon as she’d found her feet. In an instant they were gone, between.
There’s no one here, Talenth declared, peering around the sandswept Weyr.
Fiona wheeled slowly around on her heel, scanning the Bowl and the weyrs carved into its walls.
Where were T’mar, the injured riders, and the older weyrlings?
Fiona felt a moment of panic as she wondered if she’d somehow been betrayed, misled by an unknown rider and purposely abandoned here with a dragon too young to fly. She spotted a canvas-covered mound not too far away and walked over to it.
As she approached, she realized it had been recently erected. She lifted up a flap and saw crates and barrels—supplies of some sort.
So at least she doesn’t mean me to starve, Fiona thought hopefully.
She turned around, scanning the abandoned Weyr. The air was hot and getting hotter, smelling of sand and roasted dust. Overhead the sun was intense even though only still rising, already beating down unyieldingly.
The floor and sides of the Bowl were of a different stone than she had expected, accustomed to the stark whiteness of Fort Weyr. This Weyr was carved into orange rock. Fiona knelt and picked up some loose earth in her hand; it was sandy, fine, and dusty, unlike the packed ground of Fort’s Bowl.
Aside from the canvas mound of supplies, the Weyr had a forlorn, abandoned feel to it.
Fiona turned around again slowly, scanning for the queen’s quarters, searching for the entrance to the Hatching Grounds, the location of the Kitchen Cavern, the weyrling barracks—and suddenly the Weyr was alive to her, she felt the stone in her blood, felt the warm welcome of the hot sun and the fine sand.
This could be home.
A sudden rustle above her caused Fiona to crane her neck upward. A clutch of dragons burst forth from between, with the gold in the lead. Fiona saw F’jian mounted on his bronze Ladirth, looking both terrified and thrilled at the same time as his dragon glided down quickly to the ground.
Talenth, watch out! Fiona called, fearful lest one of the inexperienced riders or dragons come crashing down on her. Talenth scurried to the side of the Bowl and Fiona scampered after her a moment later.
“Did you see us?” F’jian shouted as soon as his Ladirth came to a halt. “We flew!”
“We only glided,” J’nos corrected him as he slid down Pilenth’s foreleg onto the ground. He stood beside his brown, patting him loudly, a broad grin splitting his face from ear to ear. “But we went between!”
“If we hadn’t seen you do it, we wouldn’t have dared to try,” F’jian said to Fiona in awe.
“Where is everyone else?” J’nos asked, peering expectantly around the Weyr.
“I wonder,” Fiona mused, “if she could bring you back, could she bring back the more severely injured riders and dragons too?”
The other weyrlings gathered around them, all wondering the same thing.
“We should ask the queen rider,” Fiona said, gesturing to the far side of the Bowl where the huge gold dragon had alighted.
“Who is she, anyway?” F’jian asked.
“And we won’t get in trouble, will we?” J’nos wondered anxiously. “After all, she’s a queen rider.”
“Let’s ask her,” F’jian said. Fiona nodded in agreement and found herself leading the others toward the Weyrwoman and her queen dragon.
“Hello!” she shouted, feeling alarmed as she sensed that dragon and rider were preparing to go between once more. “Can you bring back the other injured dragons and riders?”
“For that I’ll need help,” the woman returned.
“I don’t think that we could give you any help,” Fiona began reluctantly, gesturing to the dragonets. “They’re too small; it’s a wonder they managed to get here at all.”
“Oh, it’s no wonder,” the gold rider replied in amused tones. “And I’m sure you’ll be able to help with what needs doing.”
Before Fiona could respond, the queen dragon leapt into the air, beat its wings once, and disappeared between.
It seemed only a moment later that she reappeared and the air was full of dragons—gold, bronze, brown, blue, green—all guiding or aiding injured dragons and riders to settle upon the warm sands of Igen Bowl.
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