“Stick Jeriz on one and Bekka on the other,” Fiona said with a wave of her hand. “For that matter, get Colfet aboard the third.”
Colfet had proved himself a master of all trades and invaluable to the camp. He’d become the older person that everyone found themselves consulting. He was always willing to listen politely, say nothing, or bark a quick order as needs be. At this moment he was out overseeing a party setting up the kiln works, while another party was digging out silver ore, and a third party was at work smelting it. Between him and Kindan, the island had turned profitable, exporting the luscious fruits that Fiona and Shaneese consumed in bulk, as well as the pretty sea-green stone set in various silver fashioning—necklaces, bracelets, rings, and hilt pieces being the most common.
Javissa’s connections with the traders had given them ready access while Colfet had managed to secure fishing gear in exchange for the much-treasured brightfish and whitefish.
Fiona was still uncomfortable with their open surroundings, preferring the solid confines of a proper Weyr; the humidity was a constant annoyance as were the strange flying insects that seemed to buzz around incessantly, although, thankfully, they kept well clear of the dragons.
The old ships, half-buried in the ground, looked utterly incongruous in their surroundings, but had proved survivable. Wood was certainly more comfortable than cold stone, even if it was prone to retain damp air.
Fiona had dismissed the notion that some of the younger weyrlings had of calling their camp “Eastern Weyr”—it was far too pretentious and sounded far too permanent for such a temporary arrangement, but that hadn’t stopped the name from spreading so much that she’d had to catch herself when she’d started to say it.
“You’d have Colfet fly on a dragon?” Kindan asked. “I’m sure he’d be much happier on a ship any day.”
“Well, then, Bekka and Jeriz at least,” Fiona said. “They’re likely to Impress.”
“Why not Lorana or Shaneese?” T’mar asked.
“Lorana’s riding Talenth,” Fiona reminded him.
“Only because her own rider is too lazy,” T’mar teased. Fiona glared at him, but said nothing: There was too much truth to his words. As she reflected more on them, Fiona realized that there really was nothing to prevent her from flying more with her queen; the babies could easily be tended by Shaneese or Javissa. Even little Jirana was getting old enough to keep an eye on them, able to alert Talenth or one of the adults in need.
The first time it had happened, Fiona had been surprised. She hadn’t thought that Talenth would hear the little girl, but Talenth’s urgent message from Jirana had brought the Weyrwoman racing to the playground just in time to stop a small tunnel snake from darting after the babies.
They’d set a more careful watch after that and Fiona herself had gone on a few secret hunting missions; she’d found these eastern tunnel snakes to be much more vicious than those she’d killed as a child in Fort Hold.
Talenth had been unfazed when she explained that she kept a mental “ear” open for all of Fiona’s friends. Apparently the queen had adapted to her rider’s open ways by being more open herself.
“Dragons and riders influence each other,” T’mar had said when Fiona had told him. “It’s not surprising.”
“Those greens would probably be more happy with women riders,” Fiona said now, cocking her head toward Shaneese. “I can watch the babies if you want some exercise.”
In the end, both suggestions were adopted. Shaneese rode Vellany’s green Delanth with the woman’s approval, while Javissa rode Seriya’s Firunth and Lorana or Fiona switched off with Sidrath and Talenth.
The women’s children were born within a month of each other and pronounced healthy by Bekka who, now nearing her fifteenth Turn, had grown mature in her healing. She had been turning heads nearly since their arrival in the camp and now, Fiona noticed with amusement, the blond healer was turning her head from time to time.
“I’m not getting pregnant,” Bekka assured Fiona when they had a moment together privately. “We can’t afford it.”
Fiona raised an eyebrow at her challengingly, even as she bounced an oblivious Kimar on her knee.
“Oh, I’m going to have children,” Bekka told her airily. “And I’ll make you diaper them, too!” Then she shook her head firmly. “But not now. I’m not ready and there’s no other midwife.”
“Javissa,” Fiona suggested.
“When I have a baby, I’m going to have my mother midwife and my father standing beside her,” Bekka declared.
When asked, Bekka had assured her that Lorana could still have children. The older woman seemed content to play with Kimar, Tiona, and Shanar. As a second mother, Lorana was perfect, but she seemed to want nothing more than that for the moment.
As for Fiona, she found herself torn between the joy of her growing children and her own desire to get back to the fight.
She arranged, without telling T’mar, to gather the old Igen riders together—she was certain that it was they who had met with Lorana and had brought the old Fort injured riders back to the hot desert Weyr to begin their long recovery. And it seemed to her that the time was right to make that journey.
T’mar surprised her, though, when she and the others were ready to take off in the dark of night.
“Thought to leave without me?” he asked as he approached, dressed in riding gear, with Zirenth gliding in behind.
“How did you know?”
“I figured you’d try something like this,” T’mar told her. “So I asked myself when would be the best time for the Weyrwoman to fool the Weyrleader?”
“Oh,” Fiona said, shaking her head. “It would have to be a night when she’d arranged Javissa for babysitting, Kindan and Lorana for a night alone, and told Shaneese to have a good night’s rest.”
“Exactly,” T’mar agreed, his teeth showing bright in the night’s gloom. “So I merely waited until those conditions were met and asked Zirenth if he knew where Talenth was going.”
“And she told him,” Fiona said, sighing. She hadn’t thought to caution her queen on the need for secrecy.
“So here we are,” T’mar agreed. “And now, are we ready?”
“Yes, Weyrleader,” J’gerd said, standing forward with the others. “We’re ready.”
T’mar says you’re to give the image, Talenth said when they were airborne and ready to make the jump between.
Check with Lorana, she’d know best, Fiona said, even as she pulled together an image of Fort Weyr, later on that morning when she’d gone back in time to Igen Weyr with the unknown queen rider—the rider who she now knew was Lorana.
Your image matches, Talenth said after a moment.
Are you ready? Fiona asked. Talenth said that she was and Fiona urged her to pass the image on to the other dragons and, when they were ready, they went between.
They arrived in the dark of night, over Fort Weyr. They had jumped not quite three Turns into their future and shortly would be jumping ten Turns back into the past, shepherding the severely injured dragons and riders with them.
As Talenth silenced the watch dragon with a quick response, Fiona wondered if she were the gold rider who her much younger self had seen waving at her. She pulled the hood of her cloak up, while all around her, the other riders echoed her motion to disguise their identities.
“Quickly!” Fiona whispered as the riders landed and fanned out toward the various Weyrs. Her urging was unnecessary, each had already selected the dragonpair they would aid, their choice helped by their memories of the carping the older dragonriders had made when they’d arrived back in Igen Weyr so many Turns in their past.
Quickly, but not as quickly as any would have liked and not without a few heart-stopping coughs and scuffles echoing through the night air, they gathered the injured dragons and dragonriders and shepherded them between.
Their trip through time to Igen Weyr ten Turns in the past was longer than Fiona liked and she was tired at the end of it, fin
ding less joy in waving at her younger self—had she been that small?—than she would have thought. She was grateful when they jumped back between to their present time and their Eastern Weyr.
But she was also very tired. Fiona collapsed the moment she got off Talenth, falling straight into T’mar’s arms.
“I’m sorry,” Fiona apologized.
“Nothing I hadn’t expected,” T’mar said as he carried her back to their quarters. The ships were still high enough that stairs had been constructed to reach the deck, but they’d been built wide enough for three people to walk side by side so that the heavier goods could easily be carried; T’mar had no trouble climbing up with Fiona in his arms.
When they reached the deck, he glanced down at her, smiling. “You know, the stars are quite pretty this close to morning.”
“They are,” Fiona agreed gazing up at him tenderly.
“Shaneese is already asleep,” T’mar said.
“Was she expecting this?”
“No, but I had Zirenth explain to her before we left,” he told her, as he squatted down on the deck, lowering her gently.
“And what did she say?”
“She said that you and I hadn’t been spending enough time alone together,” he told her, still holding her around the waist.
“And what, bronze rider, do you think we should do with our time?” Fiona asked coquettishly.
“Perhaps we can think of something,” he said as he bent down to kiss her.
Fiona wrapped her arms around him as their lips met and when they broke free again, she said, “Perhaps.”
With all the adult company surrounding the children, it was not surprising that they learned to speak early and well. Tiona spoke the first word of the three. Kimar was the last of the children to speak, even though Shanar was a month his junior.
Dark-haired and blue-eyed, there was no mistaking Tiona as T’mar’s daughter, although her ebullient manners and charming ways were clearly inherited from her mother. At turns this both delighted and exasperated Fiona, who discovered a girl “just like me” could be a handful, much to Bekka’s obvious amusement—everyone else was too cautious to produce more than a studied lack of expression.
Shanar was sturdy, steady, and friendly, very much like his mother. He had her dark eyes and darker skin, but he freckled, reminding everyone of Jeriz.
Kimar was blond-haired and had his mother’s sea-green eyes. But his manner was more like that of his obvious father, Kindan. The boy would watch everything, move slowly, but always with grace.
When Kindan fashioned them simple pipes, all three children were ecstatic, but only Kimar slept with his every night.
Colfet, at Fiona’s request, had built a large bed in their quarters, large enough for three adults and three children—or four adults in a pinch—but as they grew older, Tiona started to exhibit a definite desire to sleep on her own like the big girls, pointing toward Jirana. Fiona and Shaneese worked to redirect that desire to something more obtainable—like having a sleepover with Jirana. Tiona, somewhat reluctantly, allowed herself to be diverted.
The young trader girl, now nearing her ninth Turn, was in parts both ecstatic at the toddler’s desire and apprehensive. She agreed to Tiona’s request to sleep with her one night, but the two were so ill-suited that Jirana found herself quietly begging a sleepy Fiona to take her daughter back or, failing that, to let her sleep in the big bed. Fiona thought only for a groggy moment before pulling Jirana in with the others and asking a drowsy Talenth to keep an “eye”—really, a mental glance—on her wayward daughter. Jirana’s bed was not so far away that Fiona wouldn’t be able to hear if the child needed her, but it was nice to know that her queen was also keeping watch.
The next day, Fiona explained the situation to Colfet who, with a merry laugh, promised to have Tiona a bed of her own by nightfall.
The children were a special source of pride to the old seaman, whose own children were all grown and starting families of their own. These dragonchildren were, for Colfet, a treasure of unimaginable wealth.
Whenever he could, he would watch them, and he was practically encouraging all the women to have more children, seeing each pregnancy as a further sign of his own success.
Fiona finally understood when she coaxed Lorana into telling her the full harrowing tale of their misadventure in the Wind Rider and Colfet’s sacrifice for her.
“J’trel had thought I’d be safe on the Wind Rider, but some of the crew had other ideas, particularly when they stranded Captain Tanner at the new Half-Circle Sea Hold,” Lorana told her. She explained how the Wind Rider had been caught in a storm, how Colfet had smuggled her off into the launch, and how she’d fallen out of the launch into the sea when a rogue wave had hit her.
Gently, but unerringly, Fiona tugged the whole story out of the older woman. She learned how guilty Lorana felt over sending her fire-lizards away—“Even then they were sick, I should have known!”—how Lorana had despaired of life, how she’d woken up in Benden Weyr and had Impressed her queen, Arith. How she’d lost Arith to her own error, how the loss of the Telgar Weyr riders under D’gan had provided her with the chance to bridge time to give those in the distant past the vital clue they needed to provide her with the right tools to save the dragons of Pern, and of how, in the end, she’d been given the locket that proved that one of her fire-lizards had made it back through time to the First Pass—and had lived.
Fiona kept encouraging her to remember until Lorana finally shed the tears that Fiona knew she needed to release—over the loss of her fire-lizards, the loss of her queen, the loss of her pregnancy. Fiona hugged her tighter then and released her long enough to kiss the other woman on both cheeks and forehead before hugging her once more.
Hearing her story, Fiona understood how Colfet felt involved in saving the dragons of Pern and how their every increase increased his own pride in Lorana—and in his decision to aid her.
“You are my life, my blood, my heart,” Fiona told her feelingly. “I could not be without you.”
Lorana hugged her back tightly, at a loss for words.
“I’m worried about Terin,” Bekka said as she met Fiona and Shaneese for lunch.
“She’s keeping to herself,” Fiona said in agreement.
“Jeriz is with her and she’s doing her drills with the weyrlings,” Shaneese pointed out.
“Halfheartedly,” Fiona said. She glanced at Bekka before being distracted by a noise from the latest additions to the nursery. Seriya raced over to scoop up her baby, but Fiona called back, “Leave him, he’s fine.”
The green rider shot Fiona a worried look but held back and watched as the baby dusted himself off and went back to playing happily with the others.
“You’ve got to let them see if they’re all right,” Fiona told the other woman with a grin. Beside her, Javissa snorted, for it had been the trader woman who had taught that to her. “If you come the first time they fall, they’ll come to believe that they’re hurt worse than they are.”
Seriya nodded in understanding.
At two Turns, Shanar, Tiona, and Kimar were the eldest in the nursery, the others ranging from nine months to slightly more than a Turn. The six alternated between playing and fighting. The older three were somewhat better at playing, but they’d had more practice.
“She’s afraid her dragon will rise,” Fiona said, in answer to Bekka’s earlier statement.
“Isn’t it still too early?” Bekka asked.
Fiona shook her head. “There’s a chance any time after the first two Turns. It’s more likely in the third Turn, though.”
“What about the greens?” Seriya asked worriedly. “Could they rise?”
“Yes,” Fiona agreed. She frowned as a new thought struck her. “And they haven’t chewed firestone.”
“So they’d be fertile?” Bekka asked.
“Why hasn’t Talenth risen already?” Shaneese wondered.
“I don’t know,” Fiona said, turning fondly toward where
her queen was sleeping contentedly in a warm spot near the nursery.
“It could be because of them,” Bekka said, pointing toward the nursery.
“The Records show that many Weyrwomen had babies while their queens were mating,” Fiona said, shaking her head. “How many had twins?” Bekka asked. Fiona made a face. “None.”
“It’s possible that the extra effort required from you has inhibited her.”
“Or something else has,” Fiona said, frowning thoughtfully.
She tested this idea out on T’mar later that night. He frowned and shrugged. “Either explanation is possible,” T’mar agreed.
“We should have thought of this when we came here,” Fiona said. “Talenth hasn’t much of a choice if she were to rise.” She turned to where Zirenth lay curled on the ground just before the bow of their ship. “No offense, Zirenth.”
“He’s not offended,” T’mar assured her. “And why would you want more choice, when you’ve got him and ten weyrling bronzes?”
“The Records show that the greater the choice, the longer the flight, the more blooded kills, the greater the chance of a large clutch,” Fiona told him. She reached a hand to him and touched his shoulder gently. “Not that I want her to be flown by another bronze; I’m just not at all certain that I’d want her to be flown by one of the youngsters.”
“You’ve read the Records,” T’mar told her seriously.
Fiona nodded, getting his point. “It’s possible for a queen to stay with just the one bronze,” she reminded him.
“Possible,” T’mar agreed grudgingly. “But very rare.”
“And not always to the good of the Weyr, either,” Fiona said. “But what my queen does is not always a reflection of what I want.”
“And what do you want, Weyrwoman?”
“Right now, I want answers to our questions,” she told him. “And I want you to know that I love you.”
T’mar’s expression softened. “I do.”
“And remember that I will always have a place in my heart for you.”
Dragon’s Time: Dragonriders of Pern Page 28