“You have to see the back,” Tenniz said proudly as Lorana had admired it. With a smile, he twirled so that the firelight picked up the brilliantly colored embroidery.
“A dragon?” Lorana exclaimed. “A queen? Over water?”
Tenniz spun back again quickly, his smile slightly strained as he told her diffidently, “It’s a pretty image, don’t you think?”
“Certainly,” Lorana agreed, feeling once again that the younger man was desperate to divert her. Lorana raised a hand with one finger stretched out and twirled it, gesturing for him to turn around again. “I’d like to see more of it.”
“There’s another,” Tenniz said, pointing up the sky. “There’s the fourth star.” He glanced back to her as he added, “They made a cloak, too, which I can wear if it gets chilly.”
“Is it as pretty?”
Tenniz shrugged. “More plain but still white. I think the fabric is the same.” He gave her a shy look. “I don’t think I’ll need it, I’d be happier if you took it with you.”
“But then your beautiful emblem would get all dirty,” Lorana complained. She cut herself off abruptly, realizing that she was talking about the time after his death.
“I think we can spare a blanket instead,” Tenniz said, gliding over her chagrin. “As you say, it is nice fabric.”
“But won’t it seem … wrong if I were seen with it?”
“Those who see you will know it was my gift to you,” Tenniz told her. “ ‘The dead have no belongings.’ ”
“But it’s not right to take what they were left with,” Lorana protested.
“True,” Tenniz agreed, taking a deep breath and breaking out into yet another long, wracking cough before adding ruefully, “but as I am still drawing breath, I can freely give it you, and you can freely accept with no guilt.”
Lorana sensed that the robe seemed important to him, that there was more than mere kindness in the offer, but that he could not tell her more.
“Another prophecy?”
Tenniz gasped, sounding surprised, but he covered it quickly, saying, “Hardly.”
“Very well, I accept and with thanks,” Lorana said, deciding that it would only be cruel and heartless to press the younger man.
“We should eat, so that we have time to enjoy the full dark of the night,” Tenniz said, rustling about for another set of bowls and spoons.
Together they pulled the stew off the fire. Tenniz ladled the hot, pungent mix out of the pot and presented Lorana with the first bowl. Sensing tradition, Lorana took it with a grateful nod, then passed it back to him. Tenniz’s eyes lit as he took it and nodded in thanks.
Lorana took her bowl and spoon and stood, gesturing for Tenniz to follow her. The trader rose, his brows furrowed questioningly.
“Minith,” Lorana called, “how are you doing?”
I’m fine, the queen responded.
“Would you like some company?” Lorana asked. To Tenniz, she said, “Have you ever warmed yourself against a dragon’s belly?”
The trader’s eyes widened in wonder and he shook his head, his mouth open in awe. “No, my lady, never.”
Invitingly, Minith rolled on her side and moved her forearms out, creating a large sheltered spot.
Lorana carefully chose her position, turned, and deftly squatted with legs crossed and her back against the warmth of the huge golden hide. She glanced up to Tenniz, a hint of challenge in her expression. Still awed, Tenniz followed her example and sat next to her.
“She won’t mind, will she?” he asked, craning his head over his shoulder and peering up and up at the mound of her stomach.
Not at all, Minith responded. Lorana heard Tenniz’s gasp of surprise at the draconic surprise.
“I guess you didn’t see that,” she teased him gently. To ease the sting, she directed her next question to Minith, “Aren’t the stars lovely tonight?”
They are, the queen agreed, raising her neck to crane her head up into the sky. The trader is right, we do not look at them enough.
Lorana took a taste of the stew and found herself gasping, fanning her mouth for the fire that burned inside. Wordlessly, but with palpable mirth, Tenniz passed her the water flask even as he, with his other hand, raised a full spoonful to his lips.
“It is better to take fully of life,” he told her as he chewed and swallowed with a sigh of contentment. “Savor it, feel the spice, acknowledge the heat and the tears.”
Lorana did as he said. After the first few spicy-hot mouthfuls, her tongue and throat grew more accustomed to the heat and she began to experience the flavor.
“Babies cry and howl because they do not understand what they are sensing,” Tenniz said, taking another mouthful. “Later, they grow accustomed to harsh things.”
Dutifully, Lorana took another mouthful, chewed slowly, and swallowed. Life: hot, spicy, painful, unpredictable, tasty, chewy, beautiful, searing. Life.
Lorana took another bite, a bigger mouthful, forcing her protesting tongue and throat to accept it.
Life. She’d had a life growing inside her. She remembered the cold, the numb of between. The sense of loss.
The heat of the spicy food roiled her stomach. She couldn’t argue now that she wasn’t alive. Tears streaked down her face and she realized that only some were the tears of hot food.
“It’s dark,” Tenniz said, rising a hand toward the sky.
Dark. Lorana looked up, into the deep black of the night sky. The stars above filled the sky with pricks of glittering light. A soft breeze blew, bringing a waft of cold air over her and she drew it into her lungs.
So many things I would have given you, Lorana thought to the emptiness of her womb. Before the lump in her throat could grow unbearable, Lorana spoke up, and grasping for anything to say, she said to the trader, “The stars are beautiful tonight. I haven’t truly looked at them in such a long time.”
She felt ritual engulf her once more. “Even in the dark, there is still light.”
“ ‘We are stars in the darkness,’ ” Tenniz replied with agreeing ritual.
“We burn bright, beacons for others,” Lorana said.
“ ‘We cannot see our own light, only those of others,’ ” Tenniz continued.
“Our light lights others,” Lorana said, suddenly chilled with the power of the words, the sense of meaning that grabbed her, held her.
“ ‘As their light lights us,’ ” Tenniz agreed, translating her words into the trader sayings of old. He glanced over to her and told her quietly, “You do not know our words exactly, but you have a trader’s ear for truth.”
“And so while there are stars, there can never be darkness,” Lorana said.
“ ‘And in the darkness, there is always light,’ ” Tenniz finished.
Silently, Lorana passed him the flask. Tenniz took it, drank deeply and passed it back to her. Lorana nodded in thanks and drank deeply, her tears drying on her cheeks, her throat no longer raw and protesting.
Life.
Lorana woke. She craned her head around quickly but she knew what she would see even as she turned. It was too quiet. There was a stillness, a respectful silence as though all Pern itself were paying homage.
She was glad to see that she had held his hand in hers, even as her eyes started to stream with tears.
Something slipped off her shoulder and it took Lorana a moment to realize that it was the white robe Tenniz had promised her. He was sitting on the old blanket and had it wrapped around his shoulders. His eyes were closed and his mouth was set in an expression of peace and joy.
He looked—and Lorana could not contain a sob—as though he’d spent the night with a friend.
Above her, Minith crooned anxiously.
“I know what to do,” Lorana said to the queen, rising and wrapping the white robe around her shoulders. Gently she let go of his cold hand, caressed his face for the first time, but more in promise, as if she could embody the gentle touch of the woman she knew he’d loved. Gently she laid him out fully on
the blanket, grabbed it firmly with two hands by his head and slowly trudged toward the dug-out ground and the pile of stones laid beside it.
Occasionally, she glanced over her shoulder to verify her course as she walked backward. Often she found herself glancing down at his face and wondering what sort of child he’d been, what memories he had had that he could never share again.
She pulled him and the blanket into the hollow. She hesitated for a moment near his head, then caressed it one more time and finished wrapping his body.
It was still dark out. The stars were fading. The sun was only a threat on the horizon.
Lorana had no trouble finding the stones, bright white even in the deep dusk. Her fingers grew cold, stone after stone, but she did not falter, never slackened, moved at the same pace.
Rock after rock, stone after stone, she built Tenniz’s cairn.
Finally, she stood, wordless, staring down at her finished work. All the stones had gone to cover him. Two hundred and fifty-seven; she’d counted them absently.
“It’s still dark, Tenniz,” Lorana said, surprised at her own voice and the renewed tears in her eyes. “And it’s darker now, for there’s one less light in the sky.”
She glanced upward, toward the fading stars.
… in the darkness, there is always light. His words echoed back to her.
Again, an echo:… All the words … are heard by at least one pair of ears.
“This was for me, too, wasn’t it?” Lorana said to the cold, white rocks before her. “This wasn’t just for you, or even just about you.”
And the realization dawned on Lorana: This wasn’t just to bury one person.
It was to bury two.
Her fingers stroked the fabric of the white robe idly as she realized that just as she had lost a child, a child of Tenniz’s had lost a parent.
“I still don’t know what to do,” Lorana said miserably, shaking her head at the dead, silent rocks. She glanced up to the sky once more. “The stars are going out, Tenniz, there’s only me and—”
She stopped abruptly, her eyes going wide.
One last star burned bright, flaring with the rays of the morning sun. One star that was no star at all.
“I know what to do, Tenniz!” Lorana cried, tears streaming down her face.
“And you knew!” She almost laughed at the trader’s trick and she quoted him once more: “In the darkness, there is always light!”
“I know what to do!” Lorana cried loudly, startling Minith. She raced toward the queen, shouting, “Come on, Minith!”
She pointed a finger skyward, straight at the brilliant light in the sky. Dragon and rider rose into the cold morning air, circled once, and then winked out, between.
Dragons and riders rise
To the sky
Look above you, scan wise
Time to fly
Time to flame
Thread from sky.
Telgar Weyr, AL 508.7.23, later that evening
“Have some more klah, F’jian,” C’tov said, pushing the pitcher toward the younger bronze rider. “You practically fell off your dragon tonight.”
“I’m all right,” F’jian said, only to be overtaken by another yawn. “It was a long day.”
“Probably a longer night before that,” J’gerd added with a knowing grin from farther down the table. F’jian ignored him, pouring himself some more klah.
“J’gerd, you should drink less of that wine,” H’nez said, “unless you like flying sweep.”
The brown rider gave the wiry bronze rider a startled look and shook his head swiftly. He apologized to F’jian, “Sorry, I meant no disrespect to your lady.”
“You’re a good lad, J’gerd,” C’tov said, coming over behind the brown rider and resting his hands on the other’s shoulders. “Not too bright, but good.”
The others roared with laughter at C’tov’s ribbing and J’gerd turned red, shaking his head in chagrin.
“Don’t listen to him, anyway, F’jian,” another rider called. “You know he’s just jealous.”
“All of you should get sleep while you can,” T’mar called as he strode over from the high table to the gathered riders. “We’ve plenty of work to do in the morning.”
C’tov and H’nez rose immediately, as did F’jian a scarce moment later, and the remaining brown, blue, green, and bronze riders all followed suit, filing out of the Kitchen Cavern and into the darkened Weyr Bowl to seek their quarters.
At a nod from Kindan, the weyrlings rose from their table and commenced to clear the dishes from all the dragonriders’ tables.
“I presume you’re going up,” Fiona said to Terin as they sat at the Weyrleader’s table, playing idly with the last of their desserts.
“You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, I think I’ll see Kindan after he gets the weyrlings settled,” Fiona said. She glanced at Shaneese; the headwoman dipped her head in acknowledgment. “Shaneese will probably manage to get T’mar into a bath long enough to work the worst kinks out of him and he’ll be asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.”
Terin rose from her seat and stretched, the stretch abruptly transitioning into a long yawn.
“How are you feeling?” Fiona asked, her brows narrowed with worry.
“Tired,” Terin confessed.
“You’ve looked it, too,” Fiona remarked thoughtfully. “Ever since you Impressed.”
“I thought all new riders were tired.”
“Of course,” Fiona said with a wave of her hand. She did not fool Terin.
“What is it?” the young redhead demanded, glaring down at the still-seated Weyrwoman.
Fiona rose and shrugged, stretching and yawning in turn. She pursed her lips as she toyed with an answer, then said, “Are you feeling more muzzy-headed than usual?”
“Yes,” Terin said, eyes going wide in surprise.
“Ever since you Impressed, right?”
“Probably,” Terin agreed. “I was so happy at the time, that I didn’t notice.”
“So you’re not the reason F’jian is so tired,” Fiona guessed.
“Fiona!” Terin said with a bite in her voice. Heads swiveled in their direction and Terin’s face blushed to match her hair. More quietly she added, “I told you, I’m not ready.”
Fiona cocked her head inquiringly.
“Closer to when Kurinth rises, that’s when,” Terin said. “There’s no point in rushing things.”
“And F’jian has no problem with this?”
“No,” Terin said quickly. The Weyrwoman’s eyebrows rose. Just as well as Terin knew Fiona’s mind, Fiona knew Terin’s. “Well, maybe.”
“What?” Fiona prompted, gesturing for Terin to sit back down and seating herself, leaning forward so that they could talk in low, quiet voices.
With a feeling of relief, Terin lowered herself back into her chair and leaned forward, confiding all the events of the night before to Fiona.
“And you’re sure it was a woman’s voice?” Fiona asked when Terin had finished.
“I’m not sure of anything,” Terin replied. “It could all have been a bad dream.”
“It could be,” Fiona agreed halfheartedly. She saw Terin’s hurt look and added quickly, “One thing I’m certain of, F’jian wouldn’t do anything like that without telling you.”
“Maybe he’s too worried.”
“Why don’t you go up and see?” Fiona suggested. “He’s probably dead to the world, as exhausted as he was.” She saw the troubled look in Terin’s eyes and rose once again from her chair, reaching out a hand to the younger woman. “I can come with you, if you’d like.”
Eagerly, Terin rose and grabbed Fiona’s hand.
Shaneese saw them heading off and stopped them long enough to thrust a glowbasket at Fiona.
“You need to remember that you aren’t a watch-wher,” Shaneese told her.
“Watch-wher?” Terin asked as she and Fiona continued into the darkened bowl.
“They
can see at night,” Fiona explained, her tone dancing with humor at Terin’s muzziness.
“Why aren’t you still as muzzy?” Terin asked when she realized that Fiona was making merry at her expense.
“Shaneese says that it might be the baby,” Fiona said. “Or it might be that I’ve gotten used to it.” Just then, Fiona stumbled over a small pebble. She laughed. “Or it might be that I’m still as fuzz-brained as before.”
As they started up the stairs to F’jian’s weyr, they stopped talking and walked quietly, as if better to hear. Only the noises of the Weyr at night greeted their ears, comforting but subtly different from the warm, dry night sounds of their old Igen Weyr.
As they got nearer, Fiona turned the glow partly so that it shed only the barest light. “No sense in waking him.”
Fiona, sensing Terin’s nerves, went first through the thick curtain that separated F’jian’s quarters from the corridor, raising them for Terin to follow. As they crossed inside, Fiona was pleased to see the bedsheets wrapped around the large form of the bronze rider.
Tenderly Terin leaned over and stroked F’jian’s cheek only to jerk back with a startled gasp.
“Fiona! He’s cold!”
Fiona glanced sharply down at the bronze rider. Perhaps that explained his exhaustion.
Talenth, she called.
Yy-YE-eE-Ss-S, came the pounding, blaring, dizzying response. Talenth was twice as loud as usual, her touch warbling, spinning, flickering, slurred.
Dimly Fiona heard Terin shouting, “Fiona! Fiona, what is it?” as the world spun around her and she fell, the glow spilling out of its basket and spinning wildly on the floor, casting a whirling set of shadows that seemed all too bright to Fiona’s dazed mind.
“She’s all right,” someone said as Fiona felt her breath slowing down, her pulse returning to normal, the cold sweat on her forehead warming.
Dragon’s Time: Dragonriders of Pern Page 6