Dragongirl (5 page)

“She’s awfully young,” Terin said worriedly, glancing at Fiona. “It hardly seems fair.”

“It’s not fair,” Fiona agreed. She smiled at Terin. “But you did the same when we were in Igen and you weren’t any older.”

“I’m older than I look,” Bekka told Terin stoutly.

“I know exactly how old you are,” Terin told her. “You used to be two Turns and two months older than me, but now I’ve nearly fourteen Turns; I’m a Turn less two months older
than
you!”

“Oh,” Bekka said, deflated. “I’d forgotten.” A thought crossed her mind. “You don’t suppose I could go back in time like you to the Healer Hall?”

“You didn’t,” Tintoval told her. The young girl gave her a perplexed look. “If you had,” the healer explained, “then you and I would have studied together.”

Bekka made a big “O” with her mouth, her eyes going wide.

“Going
between
times is confusing,” Fiona told her with a chuckle.

Bekka shook off the problem, instead asking Tintoval, “So if I do all right today, when will I go to the Healer Hall?”

Tintoval sent a bemused and somewhat desperate glance in Fiona’s direction.

“You’ll have to get permission,” Fiona told her. “I imagine you’d need your parents’ and the Weyrwoman’s, and I suspect you’d need a recommendation from Tintoval.”

“And the Masterhealer would have to accept you,” Tintoval added. “Learning to be a healer takes a lot of study. Only the very best can manage—”

“I’ll manage!” Bekka declared. “I’ll study!”

“She will,” Terin vouched, earning a surprised and grateful look from the younger girl. “She always finishes what she starts.”

“Well,” Fiona said with a tone of finality, “for now we need to finish our rounds.”

B
y evening, Tintoval’s opinion of Bekka was firm. She made sure that the child had had a quick bite to eat before sending her off to her father, then dispatched Terin to let Merika know of the arrangement.

“Talenth could have told her,” Fiona said as she watched Terin race out of the Dining Cavern.

“I know,” Tintoval said with a grin. “But this gives us a chance to talk with the Weyrwoman without either nearby.” She gave Fiona a questioning look. “What do you think?”

“Of Bekka?” Fiona asked. When Tintoval nodded, Fiona said, “She does what she says, she watches, she listens, she learns.” She paused as she reflected on the rest of the day. “She’s a bit impetuous and she’s opinionated—” She held up a hand as Tintoval started to interject, continuing with a smile, “As am I.” Tintoval looked relieved at the admission but quirked an eyebrow up, looking for Fiona’s summation.

“I think we should see how she can cope with Serth’s loss before we go any further,” Fiona told her softly.

Tintoval’s face drained of color. She opened her mouth to ask a question but Fiona guessed it from her expression and answered, “I think S’ban will survive. I think he’ll go with her to the Healer Hall.”

“Why?” Tintoval asked. Fiona could feel some bitterness in the healer’s question: Why would this blue rider choose life when her own father hadn’t?

“Because Serth said so,” Fiona replied. Tintoval’s eyes widened in surprise. “Your father didn’t have that chance to learn his dragon’s wishes, but S’ban did.” Then she grinned. “And I’ll bet that S’ban wants to know what Serth meant about her being special.”

“I think he just means because she doesn’t sleep,” Terin, who had crept up behind them stealthily, said sourly.

Fiona and Tintoval started at her words. Fiona frowned at her. “How much did you hear?”

“Just the bit about Serth saying so,” Terin admitted, not the slightest bit apologetic. Fiona got the impression that Terin was trying to hide her feelings, that she was both impressed with Bekka and a little bit jealous—and not at all happy with her jealousy.

She reached over Fiona’s shoulder and grabbed a couple of rolls from the basket, only to have Fiona intercept her hands and shake the rolls loose.

“Take these, I made them for you,” Fiona told her, handing her a napkin-wrapped packet. “There’s some dessert there, too.” She smiled at Terin and made a shooing gesture. “Now go and sit up with Bekka.”

“How did you know?” Terin asked in amazement.

“I know you,” Fiona told her. “You have a good heart and good instincts.” She made another brush-away motion, adding, “Call Talenth when the time comes.”

Terin’s face drained and she nodded, departing at a deliberate pace, her head hung down.

“The time comes?” Tintoval repeated, eyeing Fiona expectantly.

“Serth is going
between
tonight,” Fiona told her.

FOUR

Eyes whirling red:
Anger or dread
.
Eyes whirling green:
A happy scene!

Fort Weyr, early morning, AL 508.2.7

“Xhinna, come on,” Fiona called as she rolled out of bed at Talenth’s warning. She reached to the head of her bed and turned over the glow, its eerie luminance only shadowing the dark of night. Xhinna grumbled irritably, her eyes just gleaming under her eyelashes. “It’s time.”

“Time?” Xhinna repeated, pushing herself up and out from under the blankets in one swift movement. “Serth?”

Fiona nodded grimly. “We have to get moving.”

Talenth, tell Melirth
, Fiona thought to her dragon, not certain if the Weyrwoman would want to say farewell.

She sleeps
, Talenth replied, obviously reluctant to wake her.

Cisca had said nothing but looked both distracted and unhappy when Fiona had shared her observations on the sick and injured that evening. Fiona had turned to K’lior for guidance, but the Weyrleader looked just as surprised at his mate’s reaction and shook his head minutely, so she didn’t press the matter.

Talenth?
Fiona said more in warning than as a question as she and Xhinna rushed from her quarters into the queen’s lair. Talenth was already up and moving. Effortlessly she dropped over the queens’ ledge and sidled back so that Fiona and Xhinna could quickly mount by jumping directly onto her neck.

Before Fiona could say anything, the young queen had leaped up and was beating the foggy air with her huge wings, climbing swiftly, unerringly toward the landing ledge of the fifth level. Fiona had a moment’s irrelevant thought about how T’mar would react if he knew that she and Xhinna were flying without any straps whatsoever before they were at their destination.

Jump down
, Talenth told her, shifting her weight so that they could follow her near foreleg to the landing. Fiona flung herself feetfirst off her dragon’s neck, expecting and meeting the guiding leg before landing lightly on her feet on the ledge. She helped Xhinna down and then the two were off, running toward S’ban’s quarters and Serth’s lair even as Talenth quietly beat upward in the dark to take station with the watch dragon at the Star Stones.

“Bekka? S’ban?” Fiona called at the entrance to the blue rider’s quarters. She heard someone call back and quickly entered, passing through S’ban’s rooms, her brows furrowing as she noticed his rumpled, lumpy bed, and into Serth’s lair.

S’ban looked up bleakly from his position beside Serth’s head. Bekka gave them a quick, grateful smile, and then turned back to her father. Terin stood close by, looking desperate to do something useful.

There were others in the room, too. Fiona recognized Merika and suddenly realized that the odd lumps she’d dismissed in S’ban’s bed were probably the younger children. She nodded toward Xhinna, who gave her a quick look of comprehension and headed back into S’ban’s quarters. Shortly she could be heard quietly waking the children and bringing them into Serth’s weyr.

Tajen was there, too, and rose from the sandy floor when Fiona entered. Old L’rian was there, seated with his back against the wall on a chair brought in from S’ban’s room. Fiona waved him back down as he started to rise. Another green rider and—to Fiona’s surprise—H’nez were in attendance.

“S’ban flew in my wing,” H’nez told her quietly as he approached. Fiona could see that he was clearly moved even though he tried to hide it. He turned back to the blue rider and spared a smile for Bekka. “She says that she’s going to be a healer.”

“I expect she will,” Fiona said as she followed his gaze and wondered how it was that someone so young could shoulder such a heavy burden. Xhinna, who had managed to cajole the youngsters into the room and settle them, heard the comment as she rejoined Fiona and followed her gaze, remarking, “She was always bossy.”

Fiona snorted. The irony of the comment was lost on neither of them.

“The Weyrs raise strong women,” H’nez said, his lips pursed tightly at some hidden memory. Mother or lover? Fiona wondered, looking at the prickly, difficult, taciturn bronze rider in a new light.

Serth coughed, a long burble that devolved into a wracking wheeze that brought up more and more of the green mucus.

“We’re all here, S’ban,” Fiona murmured quietly as the blue’s fit passed miserably. As if her words were a signal, all the riders and weyrfolk in the room closed in around them, arms wrapped, hugging.

From his position behind S’ban, H’nez shot Fiona a look, but she shook her head, steeling herself for what she knew she must say to Serth. She shivered in fear until she felt a head rest on her shoulder and another arm wrap around her.

“You can do this,” Xhinna murmured.

“Weyrwoman,” L’rian said from her other side. “It’s time.”

Fiona took a deep, steadying sigh.

Serth, if you’re ready, you can go
, she called. From on high, Talenth bugled encouragingly, the sound of her voice echoing around the Weyr before other, quieter voices responded.

With an unsteady heave, Serth found his legs, stumbled forward to the ledge outside, and fell into the air. For a moment his wings cupped the night sky, and then he was gone,
between
.

“No!”
S’ban wailed desperately, trying to follow his blue but being restrained by all those who surrounded him. “No, no, no …” His voice faded into silence broken only by the sobs of those who surrounded him, enfolding him in all the love they could muster.

He is gone
, Talenth said, her keen complete.

“F
iona!” Cisca’s angry shout echoed around the Weyr Bowl at first light that morning.

Fiona rose quickly—but still quietly enough not to alarm Xhinna. The two had just barely returned from the wake that had started with the loss of Serth and had ended when S’ban—Seban, now—had collapsed, drunk beyond his pain, to be carried by H’nez and L’rian to his bed, where he was tucked in with his current partner and surrounded by piles of small children.

“He’ll make it,” L’rian had declared as he leaned on Xhinna’s strong shoulders. He glanced at Fiona and gave her an approving nod. “Thank you, Weyrwoman. I know how hard it is for you.”

Fiona had found no words for a reply, but L’rian hadn’t expected any. Talenth picked them up at the ledge and flew them back to the queens’ ledge, let them dismount, and clambered up to her bed, to curl up and fall immediately into a deep sleep.

Now, heading out to Talenth’s weyr, she found the gold dragon awake, her eyes whirling a troubled red. Before Fiona could ask what was wrong, Weyrwoman Cisca barged in.

“You should have told me!” Cisca bellowed, her brown eyes flashing. “How dare you tell a dragon of my Weyr—” She cut off abruptly, her eyes going wide as Melirth bellowed from the Weyr beyond.

“What is it?” Fiona asked, suddenly more alarmed by Cisca’s silence than her rage.

The bronzes are blooding their kills
, Talenth replied, her tone sounding eager, excited, passionate in a way that Fiona had never heard from her before.

“Go!” Cisca cried. “Take Talenth!” And with that, she turned on her heel and rushed out of the room.

“Talenth?” Fiona repeated in confusion.

Xhinna appeared in the doorway, looking bleary-eyed and disheveled. “What’s going on?”

“The bronzes are blooding their kills,” Fiona reported.

“Talenth?” Xhinna asked, rising and glancing to the weyr beyond. There was a bellow from Melirth, as the gold soared by outside, heading for the cattle pens. Xhinna gave Fiona a shove. “Take Talenth and go!”

“Go?” Fiona repeated. Talenth was already moving, her eyes whirling excitedly; she was more alive, more alert, even more sleek-looking than Fiona remembered ever seeing. “Where?”

“Anywhere! Melirth is rising to mate!”

As soon as the words penetrated Fiona’s brain she raced over to Talenth and forced the queen out and over the ledge, jumping onto her back and urging her into the air. Cisca’s bizarre rage made sense now: The Weyrwoman had been responding unconsciously to her dragon’s emotions.

But I want to stay!
Talenth protested, seeming ready to fight with Fiona over the issue.

No!
Fiona snapped, urging Talenth up and up until they were over the Star Stones. Where to go? Fort Hold was too close. Igen Weyr was—she checked herself and brought up the image of Igen Weyr, remembered the time, pictured the sun bright in the sky, and gave Talenth the image. The gold was still reluctant, becoming more excited as she heard the bronzes bugling and Melirth’s taunting responses, but Fiona persisted and then—they were
between
.

T
alenth grumbled irritably as they emerged from
between
into the early morning heat of Igen. Fiona could hardly blame her; the heat was so great it felt like a physical blow and she wasn’t straining her wings to keep them airborne.

Just land at the Star Stones
, she instructed soothingly. Talenth complied, altering her flight into a slightly turning glide that brought them to a perfect stop beside the Star Stones.

As she’d hoped, there was a breeze flowing up there. Down in the Weyr Bowl, she knew, it would be stifling even at this time of year. By night it would be as cold as it was at Fort Weyr, but night was eight or nine hours away and the hottest part of the day was still to come.

Fiona slid off Talenth’s neck and clambered down her foreleg to wander over to the Star Stones and leave her gold a moment to stretch.

I like it here
, Talenth’s thought came so closely on Fiona’s that for a moment the weyrwoman wasn’t sure who had spoken. Fiona nodded, silent, and padded over to the edge of the Weyr Bowl to peer inward.

Dust swirled as a light wind fanned it, then settled again. Fiona could almost imagine the dust as the result of invisible dragons and riders preparing for a Fall. She smiled to herself. She wondered what F’dan would say about the mating flight and where she had chosen to flee. Then, with a pang of regret, she realized that she would never be able to ask him.

So many ghosts!

She felt Talenth reach out worriedly in her direction, a tendril of comfort in the morning heat, and allowed herself to lean against it, almost as though it were something physical and she could caress herself with it.

Talenth ruffled her wings, offering,
Maybe we would be cooler in our weyr
.

It’s not our weyr anymore
, Fiona reminded her sadly. Who might have occupied it in the seven Turns since their departure? Had any queen dragons been sent back with the injured of the other Weyrs?

Why would they send queen dragons?
Talenth asked, picking up Fiona’s unvoiced thought.

Why, indeed? Fiona mused, trying to keep her thoughts more quiet, more to herself. It wasn’t as though there were any injured queens and, as far as she knew, only a handful were as young as Talenth. Fewer now, with the loss of Lorana’s Arith.

But even if all the queens were mature and ready to mate, would the Weyrs be able to recover the losses caused by the sickness? Was that why she had been led back in time here by the mysterious queen rider?

I need to check the Records
, Fiona told Talenth. The queen rumbled in annoyance, making it clear that if they weren’t going to their old weyr, then she’d just as soon stay where she was, but Fiona reinforced her request, making it an order, and Talenth irritably unfurled her wings and extended her foreleg for Fiona to climb.

Melirth was rising, Fiona thought to herself in the deepest part of her mind. The bronzes—all of them—would be chasing her. The bronze riders would have only one thought: to catch the queen. Their emotions would be strong, their thoughts concentrated on the passions that emanated from their beasts—

Talenth bugled loudly and Fiona shook herself. It seemed that even when she tried hard to keep her emotions to herself, her dragon could sense them. And, she realized with a mixture of dread and elation, she was feeling her dragon’s arousal. She took a deep, calming breath as she forced images of T’mar, H’nez, K’lior, M’kury and, most of all, Kindan from her mind.

Our time will come
, Fiona promised Talenth fiercely.

The sound her queen made in response had no irritation in it at all.

T
he heat in the Records Room was stifling, the air still, and Fiona was soon sweating profusely as she dragged Record after Record into and out of the range of the thin beam of light she’d managed to coax from the outside by dull mirrors.

She calmed herself first by locating the old Records of the last Fall and was pleased to see that they were exactly where she’d remembered them. If anyone else had bothered with them, they’d clearly put them back carefully, but judging by the layers of dust, Fiona was pretty certain that hers were the last hands to touch them.

She moved slowly, partly to defeat the heat but more to keep her thoughts from intruding into Talenth’s awareness. The queen was drowsing back at the Star Stones, happy with the light breeze even as it tapered off with noonday sun.

She had to keep her notes in her head and found it difficult, especially as the dust made her more parched. She promised herself that she’d stop in at the wherhold later before heading back. It would be good to see Nuella and Zenor again.

She made herself focus on the issue that had driven her here. How often did queens rise when Thread fell? How many eggs were in each clutch? And how long did it take from mating to clutching? Clutching to Hatching? Hatching to being able to go
between?

The information was not as difficult to find as it was to pin down. Fiona found herself going through Turns and Turns of Records.

She would get some inkling, and then another mating flight or Hatching would throw her numbers off: Was a clutch twenty-one or thirty-one eggs? Was one gold egg or two gold eggs common? Was it twelve weeks or fifteen weeks from mating flight to Hatching? Whenever she thought she’d got it sorted, nailed down with the certainty of someone like Verilan, the meticulous Master Archivist—or someone worried about exactly how many fighting dragons a Weyr would have by when—she would find some new entry that disagreed with her carefully deduced findings. Worse, the newest Records had been written in the Interval, which was less important to her than the Records of the Second Pass, which had deteriorated and were harder to read.