“Come on,” she called over her shoulder as they bounded down the stairs. “We can still get something to eat before we have to walk Talenth.”
Talenth was now big enough to eat from the pens by the lakeside, and it had become something of a treat for the gold dragon to walk the two-kilometer distance there and back for her snacks. The first time Fiona had seen her dragon make her kill had been less horrifying and more comical as Talenth had to be practically ordered to dispatch the poor fowl she’d chosen as her first live morsel.
“You’re supposed to chomp it down!” Fiona had shouted in exasperation. “Go on, kill it!” she’d added, startling herself with her own viciousness.
“Remind me never to make you angry,” Cisca had remarked from behind her that day. When Fiona had twirled around, looking entirely too guilty, Cisca had merely chuckled. “They do tend to bring out the bloodlust in their riders, don’t they?”
“Well,” Fiona said after a moment to recover her poise, “I’ve seen the men work in the slaughter pens and this is far more dignified.” She turned back to view Talenth, who was still mauling half-dead fowl, and turned back again to confess to the Weyrwoman, “Except, perhaps, this time.”
“Go on,” Cisca called encouragingly to Talenth. “You’re hungry! Eat it!”
Startled, Talenth paused mid-strike, and the mauled bird scampered away.
“Oh, by the first Egg!” Cisca exclaimed in exasperation. She pointed at Fiona. “You go show her how!”
Fiona was just about to when Talenth, whether by design or blunder, neatly swallowed her intended lunch whole.
“Chew!” Fiona yelled.
“If she chokes, you’ll have to go down her neck after it,” Cisca teased.
But Talenth didn’t choke and did chew, her back teeth making short work of both muscle and bone.
That was fun!
“It’s supposed to be eating, silly,” Fiona chided her, shaking her head.
“Well, now I’m hungry!” Cisca had declared, turning back to the Kitchen Cavern.
Now Talenth was so eager to join them that she was already waiting for them by the stairs.
“We would have come for you,” Fiona told her.
But I’m hungry now, Talenth replied, turning toward the pens and charging off resolutely.
“You’d hardly think she was . . .” Fiona paused, struck once again with an attack of muzzy-headedness. Why was it that she seemed normal most times, but not when she was confronted with sums or other deep thinking? Clearly it wasn’t the illness, but it was something. It seemed like these days, since Impressing Talenth, if she didn’t have someone like Xhinna to remind her, she’d never know where she was supposed to be. She needed more klah.
“She has sixty-four days since her hatching,” Xhinna supplied smoothly. “Two months and eight days. She’s just right for her age.”
“Of course she is,” Fiona said agreeably, picking up her stride to catch up with her dragon. Secretly, she was irked not only at her own forgetfulness, but at Xhinna’s quickness in picking up on it.
It was obvious from the speed with which Talenth selected and dispatched her prey — a rather substantial young sheep — that the queen was really quite hungry.
“They say that when the queen is ready to rise, she’s supposed to blood her kill,” Xhinna said unexpectedly from Fiona’s right side; Fiona had been so engrossed in Talenth’s hunger that she hadn’t heard the other girl catch up.
“They say it’s the queen rider’s responsibility to keep her from gorging,” Xhinna added conversationally.
Fiona gave her a sharp look, snapping, “She’s not gorging now, is she?”
Xhinna went red and shook her head quickly. “No,” she said, “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Queens get proddy, too,” a deeper voice added from behind them. Fiona spun on her heel and found herself facing T’mar. The bronze rider grinned and gestured toward Talenth. “She’s growing well.”
He turned to Xhinna. “Ellor has requested you in the kitchen.” Xhinna’s eyes widened as she tried to imagine what trouble she might have caused this time, and then, with a nod to both dragonriders, she took off in a sprint.
T’mar moved forward to stand beside Fiona. He glanced down at her and said conversationally, “I’ve discovered that when times are hard, I need my friends most.”
Fiona glanced up at him, her expression blank even though she had a gnawing suspicion of his intentions.
“So it is a shame to see you treating the one person who is most attached to you so poorly,” T’mar finished, catching her eyes with his own.
Spluttering, Fiona searched for words with which to deny the accusation but she couldn’t find them: T’mar was right. She let out her breath with a deep sigh.
“It’s just that everyone is always looking at me, judging me,” she complained.
“And is this any different from growing up at Fort Hold ?” T’mar asked politely.
Fiona shook her head.
“Of course, you haven’t exactly gone out of your way to avoid notice,” T’mar pointed out. Fiona glanced up sharply at him. “You generated quite a bit of gossip by having Xhinna stay with you.” “She helps me,” Fiona declared simply.
“She’s with you all the time,” T’mar observed. “Night and day, it seems.”
Fiona flashed him an angry look. “We’re friends!”
“I know that,” T’mar replied. “But have you considered what will happen to Xhinna when your Talenth rises and chooses a mate?”
From the look on Fiona’s face, it was obvious that she hadn’t.
“That’s Turns away!” she declared.
“And in all those Turns, where will Xhinna’s affections lie?” T’mar wondered, shaking his head firmly. “No matter what your intentions, it will be a brutal adjustment for her to make.”
“But she’s my friend!” Fiona blurted, her face twisted into a sad expression. “Why can’t she still be my friend then?”
“She can,” T’mar agreed. “But only if you keep her as a friend.” He gestured back toward the kitchen cavern. “If you treat her like a drudge, just because you’re out of sorts — and we all are — then what sort of friend will she be?
“And,” he continued as he saw Fiona gulp as she absorbed his observation, “if you aren’t careful to respect her emotions — all of them — what sort of pain will you cause when your dragon rises to mate?”
“And what about me?” Fiona demanded. At T’mar’s puzzled look, she went on, “What about my emotions when my dragon rises to mate?”
“You’ve about three Turns to figure that out, Weyrwoman,” he replied shortly. He shook his head. “Not as much time as you’d imagine.”
I’m done, Talenth declared and Fiona looked over to her, seeing that the gold had cleaned herself as best she could in the lake.
“We’d best get you back to the weyr, then,” she said aloud.
“She’ll sleep,” T’mar said by way of agreement. A small smile played across his lips and he nodded toward Talenth. “She’s growing well, which speaks well for her rider.”
“I thought you didn’t like me,” Fiona exclaimed in surprise.
T’mar snorted. “Just because I am willing to tell you how I see things doesn’t mean that I don’t like you.”
Fiona gave him a look of incredulity.
“If you think about it,” he continued, “I arranged to have this quiet talk and also to give you and your dragon some time alone together.” He gestured toward her weyr and nodded to her. “I’ll bid you a good afternoon.”
And, with that, he strode off in the opposite direction.
“. . . So i just wanted to say that I’m sorry for snapping at you,” Fiona apologized after she had recounted her conversation with T’mar to Xhinna as they lay in bed late that evening.
“It’s all right,” Xhinna said dismissively. “You’re a queen rider; I’m just a weyrfolk — and not a proper one at that.”
; “No,” Fiona corrected, “it’s not all right. You deserve to be treated with respect and kindness.” She reached over and hugged Xhinna. “You’re my friend and I shouldn’t forget that.”
Xhinna returned the hug impassively and Fiona cocked an eyebrow at her. When the other girl said nothing in response, Fiona took it upon herself to say with a groan, “Look! We’ve been over all this before. You’re my friend — I’m glad to have your company and your help.”
“But T’mar’s right,” Xhinna said with a glum look.
“Yes, he is,” Fiona agreed. “And some day, Turns from now, Talenth” — a fond smile played across her lips — “will rise and mate and things will be different for me in many ways.” She was silent for a moment as all the ramifications of that time crashed upon her and she shivered fearfully. Quietly, she continued, “And then I’ll really need my friends.” She glanced imploringly at Xhinna. “Will you be there then?”
“Of course I will,” Xhinna declared. She hugged Fiona tightly.
“Good,” Fiona said, “because I’m sure I’ll be a right proper wherry when that day comes!”
Xhinna snorted a laugh. “I don’t doubt it for an instant.”
“But now,” Fiona added with a wide yawn, “it’s late and we should sleep.” She draped an arm over Xhinna and, in moments, was sound asleep.
“Wake up!” Fiona urged Xhinna. “Something’s happening!”
A draft of cold air hit her as she leapt out of the bed, and she yelped as her bare feet touched the cold floor. The sense of urgency that had awakened her overwhelmed her fatigue.
Pulling on slippers and a robe, she ran to the ledge and looked out into the Weyr Bowl. “I’m right!” she declared. “Get up, Xhinna — now! Something’s up!”
Startled into full wakefulness, Xhinna darted out of bed without any of Fiona’s cold-feet histrionics and was at her side seconds later.
“See?” Fiona said pointing. “There are dragons down there and — listen!”
A male voice was issuing instructions softly in the night fog. “All here, then?” It was H’nez.
“Come on!” Fiona urged, darting into Talenth’s weyr and out through the entrance into the Weyr Bowl proper.
“Help me with her,” an old woman’s voice demanded querulously.
“I’m all right,” Tannaz replied, her voice sounding dead in the night air. “It’s Kelsanth — she can barely move.” Softly, she added, “Come on, dear, just a short walk and then we can go together.”
“No!” Fiona’s shout rent the night air. “No, you can’t!” She turned back to her weyr. “Talenth! Talenth, wake up! Talk to Kelsanth, tell her she can’t! She can’t go between !”
“Fiona,” Tannaz called. To the others, she said, “I told you, you were too loud.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Melanwy said soothingly. “Just get Kelsanth down the ledge, now, and we can go.”
“No!” Fiona cried again, willing Talenth to wake up. The young queen snorted in her sleep and lifted her head blearily.
Fiona?
Tell her to stop! Fiona shouted to her dragon.
“Fiona,” someone else called softly through the night air. It was Cisca.
“They’re going between forever!” Fiona cried.
“I know,” Cisca replied calmly. “It’s their choice.”
“I didn’t want to wake you,” Tannaz called from her place in the Weyr Bowl.
Fiona turned and rushed out of her weyr, jumping off the ledge and landing hard on the packed ground below, her anger and despair carrying her quickly to Tannaz.
“You weren’t even going to say good-bye?” Fiona demanded hotly. She turned to the other shining dragon eyes arrayed in the Weyr Bowl. She recognized them through some instinct beyond normal — Asoth, Panunth, Danorth — all the sickest dragons, including Kelsanth, who wheezingly trundled down the ramp from her lair.
“They won’t last another day,” Tannaz said imploringly. She gestured miserably to Kelsanth. “And I can’t live without her.”
“There must be another way!” Fiona cried. “There has to be!”
“There is none,” H’nez declared.
“I have to agree,” K’lior chimed in. His voice came from the ledge near his weyr. He was carrying a glow basket and Fiona saw it approach her, a shimmering ball of light in the night mist. “Once joined, a dragon and rider are together until death.”
“I spoke with Mikal once,” M’rorin called out from the dark. “He said that if he’d had the chance, he would have gone between with his dragon.”
“But not everyone does,” Fiona complained. “ Salina stayed behind when her Breth went between !”
“Fiona,” Cisca said, “it is their choice.”
“I hope you never have to make it,” Tannaz added quietly.
It was too much. Fiona broke down, great sobs engulfing her and her eyes blurring with tears. An arm wrapped around her shoulder and someone was embracing her, and then, suddenly, she was looking up into Tannaz’s eyes.
“Let us say good-bye,” the older Weyrwoman said quietly.
“I’ll never see you again,” Fiona wailed, crushing herself against Tannaz’s tall frame, clinging to her. But her strength was spent, and after a moment, Tannaz pulled herself free of her grasp. Someone else replaced her.
“Be strong, Weyrwoman,” M’rorin told her huskily. Fiona hugged him tightly, her senses informing her that all around her, the scene was being repeated with K’lior, Cisca, H’nez, T’mar, and the others.
“We must hurry,” Melanwy called from above them, clearly having managed to climb onto Kelsanth. “There is not much time.”
“Weyrwoman,” J’marin said to Fiona, hugging her tightly and then pushing her away. “You will survive, you will thrive.”
Fiona could say nothing in response, her stomach heaving with sorrow and despair.
“Don’t forget what I said, Weyrwoman,” L’rian whispered quietly to her as he gave her a hug. “Given a chance, let her on the Hatching Grounds.”
“For this?” Fiona demanded, gesturely wildly around at the dying dragons.
“There must come better days,” L’rian replied.
“Then stay for them,” Fiona demanded.
“Not without my Danorth,” L’rian said, shaking his head sadly. “There’d be no life without her.” He gestured behind her to her weyr and Talenth, whom Fiona heard crooning anxiously in the background. “Could you live without your queen?” Before Fiona could reply, L’rian continued, “I can’t live without my dragon. I’m a dragonrider.” He reached down and, with one hand, gently raised her chin so her eyes met his. “Let me be remembered as a dragonrider, Weyrwoman.”
“All right,” Fiona agreed softly, her tears dimming her vision. L’rian hugged her quickly, stepped away, and patted her on the back. “Good girl!”
“We must get going!” Melanwy declared once more. “We’ll wake the whole Weyr!”
“The loss of just one dragon will wake the whole Weyr,” Cisca retorted sourly.
“Cisca,” Tannaz called out from the darkness, now closer to her dragon, probably climbing onto her shoulders, “I’m sorry.”
“You do what your heart tells you,” Cisca replied, “and I can’t argue with you.”
At last all were on their dragons.
“Weyrwoman, we’re ready,” J’marin called to Tannaz through the night fog.
“Very well,” Tannaz replied. At an unspoken command, four sets of dragon wings cupped air, four sets of feet leapt up, four dragons climbed briefly in the still night and then — were gone, between.
Fiona only vaguely remembered the massed bugles and keening of the Weyr; she only vaguely remembered collapsing as the grief, magnified a hundredfold by all the dragons of Fort Weyr, rebounded through her, but she dimly recalled Xhinna hovering anxiously nearby, and then being scooped up by strong, warm hands and gingerly carried back to her weyr and laid into her bed, and then sleep swept over her and she remembered no more until
the dawn.
NINE
Blackdust, crack dust
Floating in the sky,
Dragonriders do trust
Thread will soon be nigh.
FortWeyr , Morning, AL 507.13.26
The pall of disaster the next morning was shattered by the watch dragon’s bugled cry.
Blackdust! The dragon’s cry was echoed throughout the Weyr. FortHoldreports blackdust.
The news galvanized the Weyr.
The Weyrleader wants you in the Records Room, Talenth relayed in a tone of surprise and pride.
“Mmph!” Xhinna complained as Fiona nudged her to get up. “What is it?”
“Dust fall at Fort Hold ,” Fiona told her shortly, jumping out of bed and pulling on her clothes. “The Weyrleader wants to meet with me.”
“Where?” Xhinna called out as Fiona tore out of the room, still adjusting her tunic.
“Records Room!” Fiona called back over her shoulder, and then she was gone, leaving friend and dragon exchanging bemused looks.
“Where’s Xhinna?” Cisca grumbled as Fiona stumbled into the Records Room. The Weyrwoman and Weyrleader were hunched over an old chart, peering closely at it in the dim light of their night glow. “I was hoping she’d bringklah. ”
“Still getting up,” Fiona replied. She stood next to Cisca, leaning her arms on a chair back to look at the chart laid out on the table. She vaguely recognized the shape of Pern’s Northern Continent and she could pick out the symbols for the major Holds and Weyrs, but she didn’t understand the meaning of the wiggly lines that were drawn like snakes over everything. Unless the snakes were Thread or — “Do those lines show the Threadfalls?”
“Yes,” K’lior agreed, glancing at her approvingly. “Master Archivist Verilan and your friend, Kindan, worked them out.”
“If they’re accurate,” Cisca added, “then the next fall should be . . . here — High Reaches Tip.” The tip of her tongue stuck out between pursed lips. “High Reaches again for the next Fall, at Southern Tillek .”
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