The sun erupted over the horizon and the view changed from a vision of grays and blues to a world of colors: gold, sand, blue, green, brown, and, in the far distance, a hint of snow on the northernmost mountains. Fiona reveled in the sight, turning her gaze from one vision to another.
Before them the vista stretched endlessly and seemed only to crawl toward them, like a trundlebug on a hot day.
It seemed to take forever to get anywhere.
Fiona realized worriedly that she needed to use the necessary and wondered how long she could hold out. She started scanning furiously for Plains Hold and bit back a curse when she found it—so far ahead of them.
Minutes crept by slowly while the pressure in her bladder continued to build and she swore at herself for not taking the time to make a final visit before mounting her dragon. If only she hadn’t been so worried about F’jian!
Finally the flight started to descend, slowly, leisurely. And then—by the First Egg!—she spotted the wherhold. She almost cried out in relief and desperately willed the flight to drop faster, to reach the ground sooner so she could slink off to the necessary.
It was not to be: T’mar indicated that they were to overfly the wherhold in a large circle to announce their presence.
Why don’t we just have one of the dragons talk to Nuellask? Or Arelsk? Fiona demanded tartly.
Manners, was the response relayed from T’mar through Talenth.
Fiona gritted her teeth, determined not to reveal her plight even as she felt the beat of Zirenth’s wings above her and saw the bronze dragon descend into the formation—which widened to allow him—beside her. When he signaled for the rest of the flight to descend while signaling for her to remain aloft with him, she could no longer hide her urgency.
“Not fair!” she shouted.
T’mar indicated that they should land by the watermill and Fiona consented with glee: There was a restroom there, too, and it would not be crowded with desperate dragonriders all waiting their turn.
She had dismounted and was racing for the stone building before T’mar could say a word.
“So, how do you like flying with a full bladder?” he asked when she rejoined him at last.
“How did you know?”
“I didn’t,” T’mar confessed, grinning broadly, “until now.”
“Oh!” Fiona growled, too rushed to say anything more. “So why did we land here?”
“Why did we land here, Weyrwoman?” T’mar repeated challengingly.
Fiona swore silently to herself, meeting his mocking look squarely while she thought. “It’s a test, obviously,” Fiona replied, trying not to sound like she was playing for time—which she was, of course.
T’mar nodded.
“F’jian, as the leader of the first wing, is acting wingleader,” Fiona decided, beginning to relish the challenge. “So the test will be to see whether he makes his courtesy to the lord and lady, properly attends to the well-being of the dragons and riders, and then . . .” She paused as her thoughts raced ahead of her and she sent a silent message to Talenth. “They’ll come here to water the dragons and check for new orders.”
T’mar nodded but raised one hand, motioning for her to continue.
“And the test for me . . .” She trailed off, thinking hard, and then inspiration struck. “Is to see if I’m willing to let F’jian figure this out on his own!”
As if in response, they heard the rustle of dragon wings and the sky darkened as the small flight rushed into a landing near the river’s edge.
“Very good,” T’mar said with a congratulatory nod. “And why is it that you need this test, Weyrwoman?”
“Because a leader who doesn’t let her juniors learn on their own is no leader at all,” Fiona replied.
T’mar’s lips curved upward approvingly. “And so, what are your orders, Weyrwoman?”
“Orders?” Fiona repeated, arching an eyebrow and matching his grin. “I expect I’ll be asking F’jian what he plans to do next.”
“Very good!”
F’jian, when asked, looked stumped for a moment before turning inquiringly to J’keran, who cocked his head back toward the Weyr.
“I think we should return to the Weyr,” F’jian said, spreading his gaze between T’mar and Fiona.
“And, without asking J’keran, why do you think that?” T’mar asked.
“Because we’ve flown three hours already,” F’jian replied slowly, “and the dragons are watered and we shouldn’t have to fly more than six hours in a day as we haven’t flown more than that so far.”
“Very well,” T’mar said. “Make it so.” He turned to the gathered riders and raised his voice, “And on the way back, I want you to keep your eyes open for good recognition points. You’ll be going between soon enough, so we shall start drilling on passing images.”
The younger weyrlings’ eyes lit up at his words and, while remounting their dragons, they babbled excitedly among themselves.
Fiona waited until F’jian’s wing was aloft before ordering Talenth up and into her position, glancing behind her to be certain that J’keran and the older riders had taken their positions astern. Satisfied, she scanned the skies for the sight of the large bronze shape that was Zirenth, found it, and allowed herself a moment of congratulations before turning back to look down at the watermill as they passed over it.
It would make a good recognition point, she decided, fixing the bend of the river and the angle of the building in her mind. The wherhold itself was a smudge of buildings and low hills to the southeast.
The flight back to the Weyr seemed longer than the flight out, perhaps because she was tired, or perhaps because she was so eager to get back to the Weyr.
She glanced around in front and behind at the flight, found T’mar again, and scanned the ground below. The wind in her short hair kept her cool. In fact, the air at their height was cool enough that Fiona almost wished she’d brought the heavy wherhide Weyrowman’s jacket, while at the same time she worried whether the riders would get burned flying for so long under the hot Igen sun. She regretted not packing sunblock in her carisak.
She glanced around again and it suddenly hit her—she was flying! She was flying on Talenth!
Talenth, we’re flying! Fiona called excitedly. Remember how long we’ve wished for this?
It feels good, Talenth agreed, pausing her stroke for a moment so that she could take one great big downstroke to catch up in a spurt with the receding wing in front.
Squawks from behind warned them that J’keran and the older riders were not pleased with the maneuver, so Fiona quietly urged Talenth back to her routine of slow, steady strokes.
But from that moment on, Fiona’s view of their journey changed from one of duty to one of adventure, and time seemed to shrivel into nothing as they soared back to Igen Weyr.
True to his word, T’mar quizzed the riders on their return for the recognition points they’d chosen, demanding that they send the image to Zirenth. Red-faced, each rider was informed, usually by Zirenth’s amused snort, that his image was not sufficiently wellformed to use for a journey between.
Only Fiona’s image of the watermill at the wherhold passed muster.
I see it, Zirenth told her directly. I could go there.
Fiona kept her expression neutral, not wanting to further depress the weyrlings.
After that, sending images was added to their daily routine. Then one night, over a month after they’d started this routine, T’mar arose after dinner and announced, “Tomorrow the younger dragons will turn two.”
Fiona glanced excitedly at the younger weyrlings gathered at her table. She’d known it; she’d been counting down the days, hoping that perhaps they would start—
“Tomorrow, in the morning, we will start drilling on going between, ” T’mar said. After that, his mouth continued to move, but no one could hear him for the roar of approval that echoed throughout the Kitchen Cavern.
“You stay here,” Terin told Fiona acerbically after the fourth tim
e she was awakened by the Weyrwoman’s tossing and turning. “If you go to Talenth, you’ll keep her awake, too!”
As the younger girl grabbed spare blankets and hauled herself off, grumbling under her breath, to the queen’s lair, Fiona muttered an apology and tried to force herself to sleep . . . but it wasn’t possible.
Sleep, Talenth murmured to her sometime later and, whether it was her tone or some special ability that she’d only just acquired, Fiona finally drifted off.
She awoke with the very first noises of the morning, dressed quickly, and ran to the Kitchen Cavern.
T’mar arrived at his usual time and refused to be rushed, even though Fiona could feel the tension of the other weyrlings nearly overwhelm her own sense of excitement.
“If you all cannot calm down, we will try again tomorrow,” T’mar said after the werylings had groaned at seeing him pour a third cup of klah.
Fiona willed herself to be calm, sending her eagerness into the very rock of the Weyr, forcing her breathing to slow, concentrating her loving thoughts on Talenth. Around her, she felt the other riders do the same.
“Better,” T’mar intoned, slowly raising his cup to his lips. Only Fiona saw how his brows twitched as he tried to keep from laughing.
“I’ll bet you were worse on your first day,” Fiona said accusingly.
“Another habit of a leader is to ensure that those who learn from her don’t have to repeat her mistakes,” T’mar observed drily. Fiona gave him a brittle look. The bronze rider was clearly enjoying himself, but she couldn’t argue with his dedication.
T’mar sent the older weyrlings out first. They flew off singly, winking out between to the recognition points he had assigned them.
“Break into groups of three,” T’mar ordered as the younger weyrlings gathered in front of him. Fiona aligned herself with F’jian, but T’mar shook his head at her, saying, “You’re your own group, Weyrwoman.”
The weyrlings smiled but, prudently, made no comment.
“We’ve twelve recognition points,” T’mar told them. “Twelve groups. We work round-robin.”
J’keran appeared suddenly over the Star Stones, and landed just as T’mar pointed toward him, saying, “J’keran at the Star Stones is your return point. You will jump to your recognition point and then back here to the Star Stones and land. Once you’ve landed, you’ll rotate to the next group until you’ve jumped to all of the recognition points.”
The weyrlings surged eagerly toward their dragons, but T’mar’s voice rose up. “You will jump one at a time. We will wait until we know that the jump was successful before another person goes between.” He paused, glaring around at the riders. “Is that understood?”
“Yes, wingleader!” Fiona and the thirty-two weyrling riders shouted back dutifully.
“Do you really understand?” T’mar asked again, lowering his voice dangerously.
“Yes, wingleader!” they shouted once more.
“Very well,” T’mar said. He glanced around, pointing at D’lanor.
“You will jump first,” he said.
D’lanor gulped, his eyes wide with sudden fright.
“J’gerd has your position.” T’mar paused. “What is your destination?”
D’lanor closed his eyes and repeated the drill of asking his Canoth to ask J’gerd’s Winurth for the image.
“It’s dark!” he said, opening his eyes in surprise. “I can’t see enough!”
“Yes, it is,” T’mar agreed, smiling at the distraught rider to assure him that he’d done well. “Try again.”
D’lanor closed his eyes once more. This time when he opened them, he was smiling. “The wherhold.”
T’mar nodded and paused, no doubt, Fiona guessed, checking with J’gerd, Winurth, Zirenth, and Canoth to confirm that D’lanor had good coordinates.
“Very well, mount your dragon, fly up to the Star Stones, and, when you get the signal, you may jump between.”
Time seemed to stand still as Fiona and the other weyrlings watched D’lanor climb to his mount on Canoth, carefully check his straps, solemnly salute T’mar and Fiona, launch into the sky, and climb up toward the Star Stones.
Fiona didn’t know what the signal was and so was shocked when Canoth and D’lanor suddenly disappeared between. She wasn’t the only one, for around her the other weyrlings gasped softly in surprise.
She could hear her heart beating loudly, feel the blood pumping through her veins as she waited, breathless.
“There comes a time,” T’mar said softly in her ear, having sidled over to her unnoticed, “when you have to trust.”
Fiona glanced up at him bleakly, then nodded in understanding, forcing her lips straight, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.
She was just about to ask T’mar or Talenth if D’lanor had made it when suddenly there was a change above the Star Stones and D’lanor and Canoth burst out of between, back from their first flight.
To the cheers of his weyrmates, an elated D’lanor glided back down to the Weyr Bowl.
T’mar pointed to the next group. “J’nos, you will go to V’lex.”
J’nos repeated the drill, discovering that V’lex was hovering over Plains Hold. Again, dragon and rider rose to their position by the Star Stones, again they disappeared between, and again their weyrmates held their collective breath until, triumphant, the dragonpair returned to the Star Stones.
It seemed, as this was repeated over and over, that the fear and the thrill should lessen, that it should grow anticlimactic, but it didn’t.
“Weyrwoman,” T’mar said finally. She was the last to go. The others all looked at her expectantly. She looked to T’mar for instructions and he surprised her with, “Where do you want to go?”
Fiona’s eyes went wide. In her panic, she reached out to Talenth.
We can do this, Talenth assured her, not at all concerned. We already did it once when we came here.
The calm in her mental touch was enough to reduce Fiona’s fright to something manageable.
“The wherhold,” Fiona replied. “I’d like to pay my respects to Lady Nuella while I’m there.”
“Very well,” T’mar agreed. “Who do you contact?”
“J’gerd,” Fiona replied instantly, sending the thought to Talenth. J’gerd’s image came back: the wherhold in the bright midday sun. “I have the image.”
Through his bronze dragon, T’mar checked with J’gerd, Winurth, and Talenth. “Very well, mount up—and good flying.”
As Fiona checked her straps in the growing morning light, she saw that Azeez, Mother Karina, and many of the young trader children had gathered to watch. Before she urged Talenth upward, she saluted T’mar and then, with a gracious wave of her arm, saluted the traders.
Let’s fly, Talenth! Fiona called, and her beautiful, great, wonderful golden queen was airborne with one quick leap, surging upward to the Star Stones. Fiona had a moment to look down at J’keran and wave, and then T’mar’s words echoed once more in her mind, “There comes a time when you have to trust.”
Very well, she would trust. She shifted the image in her mind, moved the sun to the far end of the sky and farther, brought the stars and the two moons to shine and passed it to her dragon. Talenth, let’s go here!
Her heart leapt in her mouth as the cold nothingness of between enveloped them and she began counting in her mind, remembering that between only lasts as long as it takes to cough three times. Three times! Was it more? Had she—
They burst out of the nothingness into the warm night, Talenth bugling joyously, answered by a chorus of watch-whers below.
Talenth, please convey our greetings to Nuellask, then let’s land.
As they descended, Fiona caught sight of many large eyes glowing up at her and directed Talenth to land near the smaller pair in the middle.
“Weyrwoman!” Nuella called gladly as Talenth landed and Fiona jumped down. “I heard you would be coming.”
“This is my first time between,” Fiona
cried as she rushed over to hug Nuella. “I wanted to come to you and Nuellask.”
“Why is it, Weyrwoman, that you make your first flight between at night when all the others came by day?” Nuella wondered.
“Well,” Fiona said with a shrug, “Nuellask would be asleep at midday, and it didn’t seem fair to disturb you like that.”
Nuella chuckled.
“Well, you’ve done it and now you’d best get back and take T’mar’s rightful ire,” Arella told her, shaking her head, muttering as she turned away, “If all Weyrwomen were like you . . .”
With a final hug, Fiona took her leave of Nuella and climbed back on Talenth.
So soon? Talenth asked in surprise as Fiona urged her upward again.
I don’t want us to get caught, Fiona replied, giving Talenth the original image she’d received from J’gerd and instructing her to go between once more.
The time was shorter or Fiona had grown more used to it, for she emerged in the hot midday sun near J’gerd. She waved and he waved back, grinning, while she had Talenth wheel in a tight circle on her wingtip and gave her the coordinates for J’keran and the Star Stones.
They burst back out exactly where Fiona had imagined and she cried with glee, waving carelessly to J’keran before starting her descent into the Weyr Bowl.
It was only as she surveyed the ground below her that she noticed that something had changed. The hatchlings had been dispersed to their weyrs, their riders arranged in a tight knot, T’mar and the older weyrlings standing grimly in front of them.
Fiona’s sense of triumph faded as she took in the scene. What had happened?
She dismounted and strode over to T’mar with a questioning look on her face.
T’mar turned away from her angrily, addressing the younger weyrlings.
“There is always some idiot who thinks they are special,” he told them icily. “Some dimglow who thinks that drills are too much effort, that they know everything.”
He turned back to Fiona, glaring at her.
“Fortunately,” he went on, turning once more to the weyrlings, “we have a solution for this sort of behavior.” He paused for a long while, long enough for the sense of dread and shame to lodge deep in Fiona’s chest, sucking all the joy of her unauthorized adventure right out of her.
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