“Did I tell you about the wherhold?” Fiona asked, abandoning any hope of keeping all her secrets.
“You said that Aleesa had gone between on Aleesk,” Zenor told her. “Like Nuella.”
“Nuella’s gone between?” Fiona gasped, pushing herself up in a panic.
“No, lie back down!” Zenor ordered, pushing her shoulders back down to the bed. “You’re as bad as she was.”
“Was?” Fiona repeated, her eyes wide with worry.
“You should sleep,” Zenor told her firmly, shifting in his seat. “You’re not the only one I have to tend.”
“Who else?” Fiona asked, surprised and feeling guilty that she was taking him away from those who needed it.
“Nuella,” Zenor replied tersely. “She’s asleep in the next room, dosed with fellis juice like you.”
Fiona’s question flew between them, unspoken.
“There was a cave-in. Nuelsk saved her—” Zenor bit back a sob. “—we think. But a tunnel-snake bit Nuelsk as she tried to get out. She managed to save Nuella before she died.”
“Just like Dask saved you Turns back,” Fiona said in amazement.
“Turns back?” Zenor repeated, surprised. “It wasn’t that long ago.”
“No, I guess it wouldn’t have been, for you,” Fiona agreed.
“I suppose Turns aren’t the same for you, then?” Zenor demanded. Fiona hid her surprise: he acted much younger than she’d thought he was and then, realizing her error, she asked, “How many Turns have you?”
“I’ll be turning seventeen soon enough,” Zenor told her proudly.
“And I’ll be turning fourteen soon enough,” Fiona replied, both stung by his tone and amused by the realization that “soon enough” meant anything just under a full Turn. Zenor had only sixteen Turns in this time! She had always thought of him as older, like Kindan. Come to think of it, in this time Kindan had little more than sixteen Turns himself. A thrill of recognition, nearly a challenge, ran through her—she was almost old enough for Kindan!
Idly she wondered what it would be like if she arranged to meet him, now, as old as she was with him as young as he was. Her pleasure at the thought faded as she wondered if she looked enough like her late sister, Koriana, to cause Kindan pain. Probably, she admitted to herself, he would recognize her as Koriana’s kin and then what would she say to him? And what if he fell in love with her and she had to leave him—how would he survive having his love dashed a second time?
But no, Fiona assured herself, Kindan hadn’t seen her or hadn’t recognized her if he had met her in this time, or he wouldn’t be at Benden Weyr, he’d be with her instead—if they’d fallen in love back in this time. The questions were so confusing, they made her brain hurt.
“You should get some rest,” Zenor said, rising from his chair. “I need to check on Nuella.”
Too tired to protest, Fiona drifted off into a hazy, fitful sleep.
“How’s the egg?” Fiona asked when she next woke.
“We’ve got it near a hearth and it’s still warm,” Zenor assured her. Fiona was surprised to see a red-haired girl about her age standing beside him, bearing a large tray. The resemblance to Zenor was obvious.
“This is Renna,” Zenor said by way of introduction. As Fiona started to turn over, he stopped her with a firm hand on her back. “You still shouldn’t move.”
“I hate sleeping on my stomach,” Fiona complained, adding, “I don’t think I can eat like this.”
“Let me look at your leg,” he said, going to the end of her bed and gently unwrapping her bandage. He leaned forward and sniffed deeply, smelling for any sign of infection. From his pleased reaction, there was none.
“With puncture wounds, the greatest danger is of infection,” Zenor explained, half to Fiona and half to Renna. He deftly rewrapped the bandages and moved to the front of her bed. “Let’s see how you feel sitting up.”
Fiona was horrified to discover that she felt worse sitting up. The wounds on her left leg felt as though they were bleeding or, worse, her muscle was oozing out through the openings. It must have shown on her face, for Zenor moved to push her back down, but she raised her arm to forestall him.
“I’ll get better,” she promised. She smiled wanly at Renna, who gave her a dubious, slightly green look in response. “Perhaps I’m just hungry.”
“Sit there; we’ll bring the table over,” Zenor said, gesturing for Renna to give him a hand. Together the two lifted either end of the table and carried it closer to the bedside.
“That egg will hatch soon,” Fiona said as she gingerly raised a mug to her lips.
“I agree,” Zenor said. Renna glanced between Fiona and her brother, her face set in a thoughtful frown.
“It’s a gold,” Fiona continued, having discovered with some surprise that the mug contained not klah but cool fresh water. “The last queen watch-wher on Pern.”
“How can you be certain?” Zenor demanded, frowning.
“I can’t and I’m not, but Aleesa thought so,” Fiona said.
Renna’s expression suddenly changed and she turned to Zenor, saying, “She’s not suggesting that Nuella—”
Zenor waved her to silence. “I’ve explained about Nuella.”
Renna turned to Fiona. “She’s not ready—she’s still recovering—it’s only been a few days!”
Fiona was too weak to argue with the fiery redhead. A twinge from her wound prompted her to ask, “Why did that dog attack me, anyway?”
“Most of the dogs went wild after the Plague,” Zenor said with a wave of his hand. “Too many were abandoned when their owners succumbed.”
“Those of us who could settled inside the hold,” Renna said, her face reflecting painful memories.
“I’m sorry.”
“If the dragonriders had helped—” Renna began hotly, her blue-green eyes flaring angrily at Fiona.
“I was only a baby,” Fiona began in protest before realizing that her explanation would only further confuse things.
“You don’t look that young,” Renna snapped back heatedly.
“Kindan said that the dragonriders had to wait until the Plague had passed to protect the weyrfolk,” Fiona said.
Renna snorted. “They waited, all right! They’re still waiting.”
“What?” Fiona asked in shock, shaking her head. “No, that’s not true! They dropped masks and fruit at all the holds—”
“Except those looking to Telgar,” Renna told her harshly. “D’gan left us to live or die on our own.”
“And that fool Fenric locked himself in his hold until Nerra recovered enough to throw him out,” Fiona said, recalling her father’s words on the subject as he explained why he had supported Nerra’s claim to Crom Hold.
“Yes,” Zenor agreed, giving Fiona a keen look.
Fiona didn’t hear him, her mind absorbing Renna’s words. She asked her quietly, “How bad was it here?”
“Dalor survived,” Zenor answered. “So did Nuella, myself, Renna, Nuella’s baby sister Larissa—mostly the young.”
“It affected those in their prime more than the young or the old,” Fiona said, remembering countless discussions with Kindan, her father, and the older hold survivors.
“Except in our case, the very youngest succumbed shortly afterward,” Renna added bleakly. At Fiona’s surprised look, she explained, “There was no food.”
“We’ve only half the people that were here before the Plague,” Zenor said. “Natalon had already had us starting to relocate to the new hold; afterward, we abandoned all the old houses.”
Renna rose. “I’d better go check on Nuella.”
Fiona waved at Zenor. “You go, too! I know you’re sweet on her—”
A muffled gasp from Zenor and a startled guffaw from Renna made her realize that she’d broached a touchy subject and she did her best to hide her surprise.
“Kindan told me,” Fiona said quickly, hoping to cover her gaffe.
Renna opened her mouth to speak,
then thought better of it, shaking her head. She gestured to Zenor. “You should go. I just realized that our patient here probably needs some help getting to the necessary.”
Zenor gave her a mulish look, but it dawned on Fiona that she did need help, and her expression settled Zenor’s suspicions enough that he gave his sister a curt nod before he left.
“Just so you know,” Renna said in a tight voice, “the last thing Nuella said to Zenor was, ‘Why did you let me live?’ ”
“But I thought that Nuelsk saved her,” Fiona said in surprise.
“She pushed but Zenor pulled,” Renna said tersely, wrapping an arm around Fiona and guiding her to her feet. “So, your coming here with a queen’s egg and sounding like Zenor and Nuella are mated is just as addled as expecting a dragonrider to say a kind word.”
“I’m a dragonrider,” Fiona said in protest.
Renna raised an eyebrow. “Really?” she asked skeptically, waving a hand toward the hills outside. “Where’s your dragon?”
Not waiting for Fiona’s response, she guided her toward the door and down the hall to the necessary.
By the time they returned, Fiona was so tired that she uttered no protest when ordered by Renna to lie down on her stomach once more.
“You need your rest,” the redhead said, closing the room’s shutters.
“Thank you,” Fiona told her.
“See?” Renna replied with quirk of her lips. “You can’t be a dragonrider—you’re too polite!”
Fiona didn’t have the strength to argue.
* * *
When she woke again, Talenth was calling her.
Fiona!
Talenth?
When are you coming back? Talenth asked. I itch!
Oh, I’m sorry! Fiona replied. Can you ask Terin to oil you? I’ll be back soon.
She heard a noise in the room and craned her neck around. In the dim light that slipped past the shutters, she made out someone sitting beside her. It was a woman with gold hair.
“You must be Nuella,” Fiona said, starting to roll on her side and then thinking better of it as a stabbing pain reminded her of her wound.
“Why are you here?” The question came out of a voice husky with disuse and despair.
“I heard about Nuelsk,” Fiona said. “I’m sorry.”
“But you want me to take the queen egg,” Nuella said accusingly. She heard Fiona’s surprised gasp and added, “I hear very well—better than Zenor thinks.”
Fiona spent a moment absorbing the young woman’s words. How old was Nuella, anyway? Fiona wondered. She’d seemed very old when she met her at Fort Weyr, but that was ten Turns in the future . . . Nuella was about the same age as Kindan . . . she’d have about sixteen Turns now.
“You said you had a queen of your own,” Nuella said proddingly.
“Talenth,” Fiona replied unable to keep the warmth out of her voice.
“Could you imagine losing her?”
“I lost my fire-lizard,” Fiona replied. Fondly she recalled Fire, and her breath caught.
“How?”
Fiona hesitated before responding. “I think it’s dangerous for people to know too much about their future.”
“We’re talking about your past.”
“My past is your future,” Fiona said. “Did you hear me when I was talking in my sleep?”
“No.”
Fiona decided that she really hated thinking face down. “Will you help me sit up?”
“No,” Nuella replied. “If Zenor has you lying down, then I think you’d best stay that way.”
“But it’s so hard to think!” Fiona complained. It was hard enough to think at all, and had been ever since she’d Impressed Talenth. From that moment on she’d been fighting the dizziness and fatigue that she’d come to associate with being twice in the same time. Was it because she’d timed it back here, to this now? Or was it something else?
Fiona forced herself to focus. Now wasn’t the moment to consider this issue. Nuella. She had to talk to Nuella. She was here, now. She wished she had some klah.
“How did you survive the Plague, then?” Nuella demanded.
“I was a baby; I don’t remember much of it,” Fiona replied instantly without thinking. She groaned as she realized what she’d said and then let out a deep sigh.
“I wish I hadn’t said that,” she said then. “I come from ten Turns in the future. In my time, there’s been no hint that we came back in time to here. I hate having to ask so many people to keep this secret.”
“Well, if nobody knows in your time, you must have chosen wisely,” Nuella observed.
Fiona mulled on that for a moment, started to nod, felt the pillow against her face and thought better of it. Besides, Nuella couldn’t see her movement anyway. “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she said. “Kindan trusted you, so—”
Nuella snorted derisively. “Kindan!”
“What?” Fiona asked, surprised at Nuella’s tone. “Are you angry with him? I thought you wanted Nuelsk.”
“Do I have her now?” Nuella cried, her voice breaking. “Is she here with me now?”
A door opened and light spilled into the room as Zenor strode in angrily.
“Nuella!” he exclaimed. Then, to Fiona, he said, “What have you said to her?”
“Stop, stop, it’s not her fault!” Nuella cried.
“What did you say?” Zenor persisted, shutting the door and pounding up to Fiona’s bedside. “Don’t you know she’s been through enough?”
“Stop protecting me!” Nuella insisted.
This is too much! Fiona thought miserably. Her wounded calf throbbed horribly and she felt nauseated by the emotions whipping around her.
Talenth! Send T’mar, Fiona called to her queen. Just the act of reaching out calmed her. Send him now!
He comes! Talenth replied. You sound sad.
A loud bugle, muffled by thick walls, announced the arrival of the bronze.
“That’s T’mar,” Fiona said. “He’ll take me back.” She started to rise, wondering how she would find her things and where they had put the queen egg. “I can’t handle this anymore.”
A hand gently pushed her back down as Nuella said, “Stay.”
“You need to rest,” Zenor declared.
“I can’t rest here,” Fiona said, resisting Nuella’s hand. She bit back a sob. “I’m sorry, I’ve done you nothing but harm since I came here.”
“Tell me about the future,” Nuella said, her hand still resting gently on Fiona’s back.
“Why should I?”
“Nuella, she’s probably lying!” Zenor declared.
“No, she’s not,” Nuella told him. “How many people do you know who can order dragons around?” She said to Fiona, “You can tell T’mar that—”
A loud noise outside announced T’mar’s presence.
“This place is nothing but children!” T’mar shouted, his anger obvious. “Out of my way! Out of my way, all of you! Where is Fiona!”
“In here,” Fiona called. Zenor rose and opened the door.
“Fiona!” T’mar cried, shoving Zenor out of his way and rushing to her side. Taking in her bandaged leg, he asked, “What happened?”
“A dog bit me,” Fiona told him. And then, suddenly, it was funny to her. She started laughing.
“A dog bit me, can you imagine?” It was the funniest thing she’d ever said, she decided. Her chest hurt from laughing while lying on it and her leg twinged every time her chest heaved. “Oh, Shards! It hurts to laugh!”
T’mar turned wide eyes to Zenor. “She’s not feverish?”
“No,” Zenor said, eyeing Fiona with concern. “She wasn’t the last time I checked.”
“It’s the strain,” Nuella said. “She’s laughing to relieve her emotions.”
“That’s it!” Fiona agreed, then proceeded into another round of laughter. “If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry!”
Suddenly that seemed like a very excellent idea and tears started streami
ng down her face.
Nuella’s hand on her back became firmer, moving more slowly. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Weyrwoman, we believe you. We believe you now.”
“What, all I had to do was cry?” Fiona demanded through her tears. “Or was it laugh?”
“Both,” Nuella said. “Zenor, I think she should sit up, maybe drink something.”
“I want to feel her temperature,” Zenor said by way of agreement. “Fiona, if you can sit up for a moment, you might feel better.”
“I don’t know,” Fiona said, even as Nuella’s hand moved to her far shoulder and applied a gentle upward pressure.
“I think they’re right,” T’mar said, his voice approaching her. His strong hands grabbed her shoulders and gently guided her upright.
“Most of them died in the Plague, T’mar,” Fiona said as soon as she saw his face, lined with a harsh look that seemed ready to turn into an unbridled anger. “Telgar sent no aid, nothing.”
T’mar sucked in air in a hiss. “I’d heard,” he said shortly. He turned to Zenor and Nuella. “I cannot tell you how sorry—”
“But we stole their Weyr!” Fiona exclaimed, her eyes suddenly dancing once more with humor. “We came back in time and took Igen Weyr.”
Zenor gave T’mar a questioning look that turned into one of surprise when the bronze rider nodded in acknowledgment.
“We ought to take Telgar, too,” Fiona declared in a murmur to herself. “It’d serve them right.” The idea appealed to her so much, she caught T’mar’s gaze and continued, “When we get back, why don’t you go there for their next mating flight? You’d make a great Weyrleader.” She had a moment to marvel at the words pouring out of her mouth before she added, “Better than D’gan, better than H’nez.”
“This is not like her,” T’mar said to Zenor, his mouth set in a frown.
“It’s stress,” Nuella said. “She has been through a lot and the bite has—”
“—added physical stress to her mental exhaustion,” Zenor finished.
“I can’t be exhausted,” Fiona declared, trying to rise on her feet and stopping as a sudden pain tore up her left leg. “Ouch, that hurts!”
“Fiona, you must rest,” Nuella said. “Lie back down and rest.”
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