“The only thing is that you would need to keep your fire-lizards away from the dragons,” Fiona warned.
“But fire-lizards like dragons!” one of the younger Traders exclaimed in surprise.
“There is a reason,” T’mar told him.
“And you can’t tell us,” Karina guessed. She turned toward the agitated young man. “Tenniz, we shall do as they ask.”
The lad nodded, clearly troubled, and leaned back; his eyes went unfocused, and he looked as if he were lost in thought.
“I think,” Mother Karina pronounced slowly, “that we have a trade.”
“For our services you will provide . . . ?” Fiona prompted.
“We will provide you with a twentieth of the profits we make on all goods carried by your dragons,” Karina said with a smile. “I think, given the time we will save and the extra goods you’ll be able transport anywhere because of us, that we should at least get the full tithe—a tenth—of all profits,” Fiona responded. She ignored T’mar’s grunt of surprise, keeping her eyes focused on Karina.
“Who bargains for you, wingleader?” Karina asked T’mar.
“The Weyrwoman bargains for the Weyr,” Fiona replied. “The Weyrleader leads against the Fall; the Weyrwoman leads in all else.” Beside her, she could sense T’mar’s reluctant nod.
Karina smiled at Fiona’s boldness, then exchanged a glance with the other traders. Tenniz was still lost in thought, so Karina prompted, “Tenniz?”
“I see a sickness,” Tenniz spoke, his eyes still unfocused, his words brilliant in a way that Fiona could not quite understand—shiny with purpose, almost as though he were in another place. “Thread is falling, yet fire-lizards and dragons are not flying against it, coughing out their life force, dying.”
“You have a sister,” Fiona responded, shivering with insight and urgency. “Her name is Tannaz. She must go to Fort Weyr.”
Tenniz glanced up at her, his reverie broken in astonishment. He searched her face and suddenly, tears fell from his eyes.
“ ‘The gifts of the future can be bitter,’ ” Karina quoted.
“She was my friend,” Fiona admitted, her eyes locked with Tenniz’s.
“We are only given so much time to treasure the gifts in our lives,” T’mar added solemnly.
“If Tannaz was your friend, then I am your friend,” Tenniz declared, reaching out a hand to Fiona. Fiona leaned forward to take it, but Azeez barked, “Stop!”
She turned to him in surprise, her hand outstretched in midair.
“Among traders, the hand of friendship has a special meaning,” Azeez told her. “Once given, it can never be returned.”
“So be it,” Fiona said, clasping Tenniz’s hand tightly. The lad surprised her by rising from his chair, levering her up by her arm, and clasping her tightly to him. Then he pushed himself away, leaned down, and tenderly kissed her on the forehead. Sensing that this was part of some ritual, Fiona stretched up to kiss him the same way.
“The traders of the desert are not like others,” Karina said to T’mar. “While all traders owe allegiance to the Lilkamp, we trace our line back to those who roamed the ancient Earth, trading, searching, reading the ways of the world.”
“You have the blood of dragonriders in your veins,” Fiona guessed.
“Many traders do,” Azeez said with some pride. “Many riders who have lost their dragons take to wandering and find themselves becoming traders by choice.”
“We desert traders have a bit more,” Karina said, and Fiona could feel the other traders swell with pride. “We brought with us a talent different from that required to ride dragons.”
“You can see the future.” Fiona saw Karina’s look of surprise fade into an approving grin.
“You who travel back in time as though it were merely a road less traveled would see that, as with all roads, it can be mapped,” the old woman said.
That gave Fiona an idea. “Such an ability would be invaluable in predicting sandstorms,” she offered.
“It is good for trade all around,” Azeez admitted with a wicked grin.
“It was Tenniz who knew about the Weyrwoman,” Fiona said with certainty. She glanced at her new friend. The dark-haired, dark-eyed, dusky-skinned man—who looked so much like Tannaz that Fiona’s heart lurched in sorrow—met her eyes and nodded. “Do you know who she is?”
Tenniz shook his head. “Sometimes,” he began slowly, “when I feel the future, I get a sense of big events—like boulders or holes in the horizon.” He looked to see if Fiona followed the meaning of his words, then continued. “She stands out like a beacon, a light that goes on for Turns.”
“Is it hard to learn how to use your gift?” Fiona asked, already suspecting the answer.
“It is not enough to see the winds of time,” Tenniz said softly. “It is also important to know when to speak and when to stay silent.” Fiona absorbed this slowly. “Sometimes it must be very painful for you.”
A sound, near to but not quite a sob, burst from Tenniz.
“I think I can understand,” T’mar commented. “Impressing a dragon is a great gift, but it has a price, and sometimes that price is a terrible sadness.”
Tenniz glanced at the older dragonrider in surprise.
“I think that we all have gifts,” Fiona declared. “Sometimes not knowing the future is a greater gift than knowing the future.”
“It can be so,” Karina agreed. “Our lives are what we are willing to make of them. Our gifts are our own to cherish or despise.”
A sudden indrawn breath from Tenniz startled them all. Fiona glanced at him worriedly and found herself locked again by his gaze, knowing that he had seen the future once more and that it concerned her—and worried him.
“You are with the beacon,” Tenniz told her, his voice full of awe. “She is so powerful, she can change everything. And you will change her.”
Tears dripped again from his eyes and his jaw trembled with fear. “You will face difficult choices. You will control all Pern. You are in the beginning and at the end.” His expression grew bleak. “I can see the beacon going out in your presence.”
“What does that mean?” T’mar asked in alarm.
Tenniz could only shake his head, looking pityingly at Fiona.
“Thank you,” she said to him, gulping down her fears. “I would rather know than not.”
Tenniz dropped his eyes. For a moment Fiona felt a wild, uncontrolled panic—how could she destroy all Pern? And why would she destroy the one person who had helped her the most? Then she took a steadying breath and squared her shoulders, recalling her father’s proud gaze, the admonition of brave Tannaz, and Kindan’s joy when she Impressed Talenth—and Talenth herself.
“I shall do what is right,” she declared. “I am the daughter of Fort Hold’s Lord, a queen rider, and I will serve and save Pern!”
Fiona was drained, listless, when they returned to the Weyr less than a quarter of an hour later. She tried—and failed—to stifle a yawn.
“You should rest,” T’mar told her, glancing worriedly as she lurched to stay upright.
“I’ll rest when we’ve got everything prepared,” she said, forcing herself upright. “I am the Weyrwoman; it’s my duty.”
T’mar smiled affectionately at her. “Go rest for an hour,” he told her. “I can take care of the Weyr for that long.” He made a shooing gesture at her. “Go, get some rest.”
Fiona’s protests died on her lips as Terin trotted over to her and grabbed her by the hand. “You’re no good to us exhausted,” the younger weyrgirl declared.
“But—”
“All you’ll do is drive the weyrlings to exhaust themselves in turn,” Terin told her. “And then we’ll all be cranky.”
Sensing the futility of further protests and recognizing that she was too tired to argue anymore, Fiona let herself be led away by her small headwoman.
“I found some blankets but no sheets,” Terin said apologetically as she led Fiona up an incline an
d into a darkened weyr. “There are no charged glows—in fact, I think all the glows are dead—so we’ll have to see if we can find some wild glow to replace them.”
“Look for dank places, near slow waters,” Fiona told her.
“We’ll get to that later,” Terin said, although Fiona could tell from her tone that the youngster had filed the information away and would act on it accordingly. She led Fiona to a pile of blankets and sat her down. “No mattresses, either. We found enough cots for the injured riders, but we’ll have to get mattresses soon.”
“We make them from willow reeds,” Fiona said. “You’ll find them near the glow goo.”
“Shh!” Terin said, gently pushing Fiona down on the makeshift bed and covering Fiona with the topmost blanket. “You’re not as bad as some of the others, you know,” she commented absently as she tucked the blanket against Fiona. “Some of the riders practically fell asleep on their feet.”
“Is no one working?” Fiona asked, but fatigue overwhelmed concern and she couldn’t muster the energy to sit up again.
“Oh, no! I wouldn’t let that happen,” Terin told her primly. “But the ones who were always slow and dizzy seem to be the ones who are doing best here.” She cocked her head as if just realizing what she’d said. “That’s odd, isn’t it?”
Fiona could only nod, working her head against the rough blankets to find a more comfortable spot, her eyes already closed. Sleep came to her quickly.
“Fiona.” The voice that woke her much later was deep, male. T’mar. Fiona rolled over, ready to leap out of bed. T’mar held up a restraining hand. “The traders have been spotted; they’ll be here in about a quarter of an hour.”
Fiona sat up and wiped the sleep from her eyes.
“F’jian and some of the other weyrlings are getting up to help,” T’mar reported as he stood back to give her room. He quirked his eyebrows as he said, “They were all overcome with a similar exhaustion.”
Fiona found her shoes and slid her feet into them, then rustled her hair into a bunch and shoved it behind her as best she could without a mirror. She didn’t think the traders would take affront at her appearance, but she did have her duty as Weyrwoman. She turned back in time to catch T’mar stifling a grin.
“I’m not surprised they’re exhausted,” Fiona said as she gestured for the wingleader to precede her. “We did a lot of work today, and none of them have ever gone between before.”
“Ah, but not all were so fatigued,” T’mar told her. “In fact, the ones that took it the best were the same as the ones Tajen had remarked upon when he was Weyrlingmaster.”
“What about you?” Fiona asked, recalling Cisca’s concerns about the bronze rider. “Have you slept at all?”
Before T’mar could respond, his knees suddenly buckled, and she reached out to prop him up. Fiona helped him back to the makeshift bed and sat him down.
“Put your head between your knees,” she ordered, pushing down on his head to overcome his resistance. “Don’t sit up until I tell you.”
“But the traders—”
“Terin will see to things,” Fiona declared with false assurance. “Anyway, you’ll be up in a moment, so just hush and rest.”
Fiona spent the next few minutes exploring her memories of the amazing day she’d just lived.
“Some of the weyrlings are probably tired because they were awoken in the middle of the night back at Fort Weyr,” she said after a few moments’ thought. She slowly released the pressure on T’mar’s head and let him sit up, her eyes examining him as best she could in the dim light. “Do you feel like standing?”
“Whether I do or not, I have a duty,” T’mar replied, forcing himself to his feet again.
Fiona eyed him critically. “We’ll get you to the Kitchen Cavern and have you sit,” she decided. “You can order just as easily from there as anywhere.”
T’mar didn’t argue and silently allowed her to keep a steadying hand on his arm as they made their way down the queens’ ledge and over to the Kitchen Cavern.
“Ah, you’re up!” Terin exclaimed brightly as she saw Fiona arrive. “We’ve done what we could, but we’ve got no proper food to greet guests.”
“They’ll be bringing the food,” Fiona assured her. “I suspect, however, that it won’t be food we’ve had before.”
Terin shrugged. “As long as it’s not numbweed, I’ll eat it.”
Fiona sniffed the air and was vexed to be able to still catch a faint whiff of the noxious but marvelous weed.
Terin noticed and frowned. “I think next time we’ll brew it in the Bowl.”
“Maybe down by the river,” T’mar said. Terin gave him a quizzical look, so the bronze rider expanded: “The Igen River is over those mountains—no time at all a-dragonback.”
Terin shrugged, dismissing the issue from her list of worries.
“You know,” she said to Fiona in the tone of one relaying a confidence, “I’m the only girl here.” She caught Fiona’s widening eyes and amended hastily, “The only one who isn’t a dragonrider.”
“You’re going to have to draft the dragonriders to help you,” Fiona told her.
“But—”
“You’re headwoman,” T’mar reminded her. “You won’t have any problems.”
“I’ve only ten Turns!” Terin protested.
“It’s not the Turns that matter—it’s how you behave,” Fiona assured her.
Terin pursed her lips, not looking relieved.
T’mar nodded. “You’ve a maturity about you that makes people willing to discount your years.” He caught her worried look and added, “Besides, they’re used to obeying the headwoman—and certainly none of them would be willing to take on your duties.” He grinned.
“But some of the boys—”
“If anyone gives you a problem, I want to know of it,” T’mar told her firmly.
“And I,” Fiona added fiercely. She glanced at T’mar and turned, grinning, to Terin. “I told Talenth to tell the other dragons that you’re headwoman. I doubt you’ll have any problems.”
“Oh!” Terin exclaimed. Her expression brightened with mischievous glee.
“I expect you to behave responsibly,” Fiona warned the younger girl. “Or you’ll have to answer to me.”
Terin’s glee cooled noticeably and her next words were very demure: “Yes, Weyrwoman.”
They are here, Talenth said. They are at the gates.
“Have the watch dragon let them in,” Fiona said aloud, to let Terin know. She glanced at the young headwoman. “Do we have the storerooms clean?”
Terin’s eyes widened in horror. “No, we were too busy clearing quarters for the most injured riders,” she confessed.
“No matter,” T’mar assured her. “I’m sure I can find enough warm bodies to prepare at least part of the storerooms before we eat.”
At this Fiona’s stomach rumbled, and she suddenly realized that she was ravenously hungry. T’mar smiled.
“You go greet our benefactors, while I take care of the storerooms,” the wingleader said, rising from his chair. Fiona glanced at him nervously, but the bronze rider made it clear by his stance that he was no longer in need of aid.
Fiona met Azeez just as he called the caravan to a halt.
“Welcome to Igen Weyr,” she said with a slight bow. The words seemed to grow larger in the cooler air, and she felt as though they meant even more than she’d intended.
Azeez jumped down from his dray and bent his head toward Fiona in response.
“It is good to see this Weyr in use again,” said Mother Karina, striding forward. She nodded to Fiona. “It is right that you are its first Weyrwoman.”
Fiona didn’t know how to take the old woman’s statement—was it a compliment or a pronouncement?
“Get the beasts settled and the stores unloaded,” Karina ordered Azeez. Before Azeez could respond, she continued, “Everyone is hungry; send up the lunch supplies first.” She glanced at Fiona. “Has your headwoman got h
er weyrfolk ready?”
Fiona’s eyes widened in a mixture of fright, astonishment, and humor: How would Karina take to meeting Igen’s headwoman?
“Let’s find out,” she replied, trying not to worry as she gestured for Karina to lead the way.
In the Kitchen Cavern, Terin was busily supervising a mixed array of convalescent riders and reluctant weyrlings.
“I’ve got water boiling,” the girl said as soon as she caught sight of Fiona. She saw Karina behind her, hid a gulp, and made a curtsy. “Terin, headwoman at Igen.”
“This is Mother Karina,” Fiona said, waving a hand to introduce the older woman.
“How many Turns have you?” Karina demanded of Terin.
Terin’s expression clouded fearfully, then she drew in a breath and drew herself up taller, saying proudly, “I’ve ten Turns.”
“A good age,” Karina told her in approving tones. “I was that age when the traders called me Mother.”
Terin gave a noncommittal nod in response, not quite sure how to handle this information. Then she said, “All the klah bark is old and moldy.” She gestured to a sack.
“The lads have brought more,” Karina said dismissively.
A noise from behind Karina caught their attention and they saw two traders coming forward with sacks over their shoulders.
“J’keran!” Terin called immediately. “Send five strong weyrlings back with these traders—they have our lunch.”
“Immediately!” J’keran replied, gesturing for another weyrling to take over his duty at his boiling pot.
Karina gestured to the boiling water. “And what were you hoping to put in your pots?”
“Food for injured dragonriders and growing weyrlings,” Terin replied promptly. A small grin slid over her as she added, “And anyone else that feels need.”
Karina cocked her head at those words. “Is that so? Is it a habit of the Weyr to feed those who wander nearby?”
“Always,” Terin replied solemnly. “We’ll share the last crumb.” “Big words from such a small girl,” Karina replied.
“Only the truth,” Terin replied, her eyes flashing. “I am an orphan myself. I was taken in as a baby, my parents dead from the hunger.” She raised her head in challenge to the older woman. “So you see, I have reason to be my word.”
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