Dragongirl

by Todd J. McCaffrey

  “The next question is what to do with all the onlookers once the excitement has died down,” T’mar said, partly to distract her from her concerns.

  “Well, I’ve already spoken to Talenth and she’s no problem with having some of the younger ones sleep in the Hatching Grounds with her,” Fiona said. Her eyes flashed in challenge as she continued, “And I’m definitely going to have Xhinna touching all the likely eggs.”

  “There’s only one queen egg,” T’mar said.

  “Who said anything about a queen egg?”

  More news came at lunch—Melirth at Fort Weyr had clutched, again only twenty-two eggs—and then again before dinner, when Lorana relayed the news that Bidenth of Ista had laid twenty-two eggs as well.

  “All the queens are laying light,” Lorana remarked anxiously to Kindan.

  Kindan shook his head, flexing open a hand in a dismissive manner. “There were queen eggs in the clutches at Fort and Ista.”

  “We talked about this earlier,” Fiona said to the ex–queen rider, trying to assuage her concerns, “and we thought it might be possible that the cure caused the queens to clutch early.” She heard Lorana’s horrified gasp and added quickly, “To get them started again, and rebuild our numbers.”

  “But they’re laying light!” Lorana said, her eyes wide and worried. “Kindan, what if they only lay light?”

  “They might lay more often,” Kindan suggested, shaking his head. “We don’t know what Wind Blossom planned, perhaps this is normal.”

  “And, even if they don’t, at least they’re not going to die of the sickness,” Fiona said. “I think we should consider this a good thing.”

  “What if it isn’t?” Lorana asked. “What if this is a sign that something’s wrong?”

  Nothing Kindan nor Fiona could say to the ex–queen rider seemed to console her. And it was clear that Lorana hadn’t been the only one to come to that conclusion.

  Naturally, Tullea chose to appear in person to vent her ire.

  “Saved the dragons!” Tullea snarled as she confronted a stricken Lorana in the middle of the Weyr Bowl the very next day. From the Hatching Grounds, Talenth shrieked angrily, echoed immediately by Tolarth and the bronzes of the Weyr.

  Fiona saw the ruckus and raced over to it, coming in on the last of Tullea’s words.

  “I don’t know about you, Weyrwoman, but I owe Lorana not only my queen’s life, but my own sanity as well,” Fiona cut in quickly, her blue-green eyes flashing ominously even as all the dragons in the Weyr backed her up with a tremendous roar of discontent. “If my queen had gone between—as hers had—I doubt I would have had the courage to continue seeking to cure others.”

  “Maybe she didn’t,” Tullea said with a bitter smile. “Maybe all she did was create a way where the rest of us would suffer her same agony.”

  Fiona’s hand flew from her side but she contained herself before actually striking the Benden Weyrwoman. A bronze dragon burst into view overhead and warbled anxiously—B’nik with Caranth.

  “I understand your worry, Weyrwoman,” Fiona said, folding her fingers against her palm to leave only the index finger pointing. “Lorana shares your concern, too. And you may be certain that I—and she—will do all in our power to solve this problem if it is, truly, a problem.”

  B’nik leaped down from Caranth and raced to Tullea, wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her away from the others.

  “There’s a queen egg at Benden, isn’t there?” Fiona called to forestall any futher outburst.

  “Yes,” Tullea snapped. “Just the one.”

  “Talenth laid none,” Fiona said. “Perhaps you should count yourself lucky.”

  “I’m sure they’re all greens,” Tullea said, “given the way they were mated.”

  Fiona firmly stood on her temper, letting her anger dispel with one long sigh and only acknowledging Tullea’s words with a curt nod.

  “Greens are good fighters,” T’mar said breathlessly, having raced from his weyr up to Fiona’s side. “We could use as many of them as we could get.”

  Tullea snorted in response but allowed herself, finally, to be led away by B’nik.

  It was only after the gold and bronze dragons had disappeared between that T’mar allowed himself a sigh and gave Fiona an appreciative look. “B’nik has much on his hands.”

  “We’re well shut of her,” Kindan assured Lorana later that evening over a quiet dinner in their quarters. Fiona was present although she’d already declared that she would be staying with T’mar that evening.

  “She is a bit … difficult, isn’t she?” Fiona said. She turned toward the older woman. “I don’t know how you managed with her.”

  “Not very well,” Lorana admitted. “Nor very long, when it comes to it.” She glanced speculatively at Fiona and the younger woman easily guessed that the ex–queen rider was wondering how long their relationship would remain equitable.

  Fiona reached for one of Lorana’s hands, grabbed it, and pressed it to her cheek. Always.

  Lorana gave her a surprised look and then shook her head, her lips parted in a smile.

  “Whatever we have, the Records at Igen—and here at Telgar—never mentioned,” Fiona told her feelingly.

  “There have been plently of multiple partnerships,” Kindan said.

  “That’s not what I’m talking about,” Fiona said.

  “I know,” Kindan said. “I was going to say that the Records do not mention any mating flight like ours.”

  “Another thing for which to be grateful to Lorana,” Fiona said, catching the dark-haired woman’s deep brown eyes. “She was the only one who could keep Zirenth from going between when T’mar had his concussion.” She paused for a moment, reflecting on her own frantic memories of that horrid day, and added, “Without Lorana we would have suffered a triple tragedy, perhaps worse.”

  “Which only goes to say that you,” Lorana retorted, nodding first to Fiona and then to Kindan, “both of you, have very prejudiced views.”

  “For which I, for one, am extremely grateful!” Fiona said with a chuckle. She released Lorana’s hand and gently gave it back to her. “And now, I think it best if I left the two of you—I mean, the three of you!—to your rest.”

  T’mar was already asleep when she entered his quarters. He’d resumed drilling the wings as soon as Tullea had left, in preparation for their next Fall over Upper Crom in four days’ time and, perhaps in response to Tullea’s tirade, he’d worked the entire Weyr into exhaustion.

  Fiona spent a moment examining his features. He seemed more careworn than she’d ever recalled him, his face pinched in a combination of pain and anger. She turned away, shucking off her clothes and slipping into her nightgown before looking back toward him once more, her own expression anxious. Was this the right thing to do? Should she leave Kindan and Lorana to themselves, instead of being a constant reminder—goad, if one were honest—of the things neither had? She, a queen; he, a bronze—and both a love uncomplicated by third parties?

  Some hint of displeasure seeped into her from the distance, words unspoken but their intent clear: Stop that!

  In the same unspoken, unvoiced manner, Fiona apologized and then buried her thinking deeper, beyond the ken of either Lorana or Talenth. And what if something were to happen to either? How would Fiona survive without her queen? How would she survive without Lorana? The bond between her and the older woman wasn’t quite as strong as that between rider and dragon, Fiona knew, but it was also different. Beyond love, beyond friendship, beyond—even—being. They weren’t two halves of the same whole; they were two women bound not just by their love for the same man—which, in itself, ought to be an endless well of jealousy and betrayal—but also by mutual respect, caring, and love for each other and the two dragons in their lives. Fiona sighed as she realized that Lorana was even more than that; she was the only person on Pern who felt all dragons, and their deaths, intimately. Fiona’s eyes snapped open for a brief worried moment as she pondered: H
ow could anyone suffer such pain and survive? Until she realized, as her eyes closed and her breathing slowed once more, that the pain was balanced by an equal measure of joy.

  She turned toward T’mar, seeking to bury her head against his shoulder and wrap herself around his warmth, and opened her eyes for a moment. Still asleep, he moved with her, his arms going around her and, even as she watched, the care and worry etched in his face smoothing away, vanishing. Fiona stretched her neck up and kissed him on the cheek before burrowing once more into his warmth and drifting into a restful, dreamless sleep.

  EIGHTEEN

  Chew stone,

  Flame Thread.

  Craft hone,

  Else dead.

  Keroon Threadfall, morning, AL 508.5.21

  The sun had been up for several hours when the riders from Ista burst forth over the lush Keroon plains. They were light, three full wings and a reserve of scarcely twenty-four.

  M’tal looked to his left and his right, to his wingseconds, wingmen, and the Wings on either flank. Their spirits were good, he knew, buoyed by the clutching two days before and the sight of a queen egg on the Hatching Grounds.

  Even so, they were tired and wing light. The spare Wing was heavy with firestone sacks, ready to rearm the fighting dragons or drop them and join the fighting Wings as replacements, as needs be.

  M’tal looked up, scanning the heavens above him for the silvery shimmer of Thread. Beneath him Gaminth rumbled ominously.

  It feels wrong, the bronze declared. M’tal said nothing in response; he felt the same. He scanned to the left and right, extending his vision to the distant right and left horizon. Perhaps Thread had been blown off course, he considered nervously, his throat going dry in the hot morning air.

  Have the others keep a lookout, M’tal said. Remind them that we’re early on purpose.

  Gaminth relayed his thoughts even as M’tal wondered if they could be that early. A gust of wind blew Gaminth to one side and M’tal heard shrieks behind him to indicate that the rest of the Wing had been similarly buffeted.

  The wind. Always the fardling wind! It broiled off the ground below, rose and billowed in ways that were unpredictable. He craned his neck to look directly above him, wondering if perhaps the Thread had been blown back up by the heated wind and had only an instant to cry, Shards!

  And then the clump of Thread engulfed him and it was too late.

  Gaminth gave one horrified shriek and disappeared between, taking himself and his lifelong mate to a cold beyond forever.

  S’maj had only a moment to wonder why Gaminth had cried before the Thread struck, lacing into his dragon’s back and then they, too, were between.

  The rest of the three Wings disintegrated as their Weyrleader and wingleaders were engulfed from behind by the fickle Thread.

  Help! One forlorn cry went out, from whom or where, no one could later say.

  Help! Lorana heard the cry. Fiona heard her gasp and turned toward her in surprise. They were in the Hatching Grounds performing their morning check—and praise—of the two queens and their charges.

  Ista! Ista needs help! Lorana responded, her words sounding louder than Fiona had heard before.

  “We’re not ready!” Fiona cried in warning, as she heard the anxious bellows of dragons echoing around the Weyr Bowl. “T’mar’s drilling, they’ve no firestone!”

  Help comes, Lorana called. She turned to Fiona. “They need help now, at this instant.”

  Fiona felt the blood draining from her face as she realized what Lorana was saying.

  T’mar, she called with no reluctance, we need you to come back and then to time it.

  She felt a rustle of surprise and then nothing as the bronze dragon and rider were suddenly no longer where she’d found them. She turned to race toward the Weyr Bowl even as she heard more dragons bellowing outside.

  “Get firestone! Get it now!” Fiona shouted as she burst out of the Hatching Grounds. She raced toward the firestone shed and skidded to a surprised halt as she spied a group of weyrfolk lined up outside, sacks of firestone ready in their hands, looking at her in surprise.

  “My lady?” Shaneese asked her in surprise. Fiona glanced at her, eyes wide with questions. “You ordered me to prepare the firestone an hour ago, my lady.”

  Lorana caught up with her, gasping and holding her belly protectively. She and Fiona exchanged one glance and then Fiona called Talenth! I need you!

  The dragon appeared from the Hatching Grounds to the surprise of all.

  “Get them loaded up!” Fiona called as she ran to her dragon and clambered up to her perch, ignoring the lack of riding straps, and waving toward the landing Wings of dragons. Talenth, we must go back in time one hour.

  I know, Talenth told her calmly. I heard you the first time.

  The first time? Fiona asked, surprised.

  When you told me not to say anything, Talenth told her calmly. She took two steps and leaped into the air and between in the same instant, ignoring the indignant squawks of the descending dragons.

  Fiona had only a few moments between to consider this strange turn of events before they returned from between right above the Weyr Bowl. Talenth flipped one wing up and one down in a sharp turn to avoid flying into the wall of the Weyr itself and executed a neat landing almost in the exact spot from which she’d departed.

  How—?

  I knew where I would be, Talenth told her smugly. I remembered.

  Fiona slapped Talenth’s neck affectionately, her pride in her dragon stronger than words could convey.

  Now, you need to tell Shaneese, Talenth said. You weren’t here long before we went back.

  Fiona raised an eyebrow in surprise at her queen’s determination and then her lips quirked into a smile as she realized that the young queen was nearly as perplexed by the whole event as she was.

  Fiona raced to the Kitchen Cavern and caught Shaneese’s attention as soon as she entered, beckoning the headwoman toward her.

  “Weyrwoman?” Shaneese asked, her brows furrowed.

  “I’m not here, don’t tell anyone,” Fiona said. “You’re to get the weyrfolk readying firestone for a Fall.”

  “For a Fall?” Shaneese said. “But Thread’s not due until tomorrow, my Lady.”

  “We’ll be flying Thread in an hour,” Fiona assured her. “Get your people moving, I’ve got to get back!”

  “Back?”

  “To the future,” Fiona told her. “I’ll be just as surprised when I find you then as you are surprised to find me now.”

  Outside Talenth rumbled in agreement, echoed a moment later by Talenth from her spot in the Hatching Grounds.

  “You timed it?”

  Fiona nodded and, with a wave, raced back to her queen.

  As she clambered into her place on Talenth’s back, she told her, When we return, we’ll go to the Star Stones. I don’t want to cause any accidents.

  As they returned between and Talenth answered the watch dragon’s challenge, Fiona felt relief in the wisdom of her decision: The Weyr was a rainbow of colors as dragons hastily landed, loaded firestone, and leaped airborne once more, re-forming into their fighting Wings.

  Fiona had Talenth land near the Hatching Grounds, understanding the queen’s dilemma, torn between the need to guard her eggs and the excitement of the moment.

  “Go on, you’ve done your part,” Fiona said, as Talenth’s eyes whirled with a reddish tinge of worry. “Although I’m sure that Tolarth wouldn’t let anything happen to your eggs while we were gone.”

  From within the Hatching Grounds came Tolarth’s strident assurance. Fiona laughed and patted her queen once more before urging, “Go on, you can count your eggs for yourself, just to be certain!”

  Talenth scrambled inside, a small echo of surprise winding back to Fiona as the queen thought: How did she know that she was counting her eggs?

  I’m your rider, I know everything! she called as she turned and raced back to the work parties hastily loading the fighting drago
ns.

  “I’m Weyrleader, how come I didn’t know about this?” T’mar asked in an inverted echo of Fiona’s earlier words when she caught up to him.

  “Because there wasn’t time,” Fiona said. He glared at her. “I had just enough time to realize that I would have to time it myself, not enough time to explain.”

  “Well,” T’mar said, sounded slightly less mulish, “Lorana explained it to me while you were gone.”

  “So you asked merely to vent at me?” Fiona said, eyebrows arching menacingly.

  “I don’t see how we’ll get there in time,” T’mar continued, ignoring her. “We’ve taken the better part of an hour.”

  “Lorana will give you the coordinates,” Fiona said.

  “But they’ve been fighting unaided for an hour.”

  “No,” Fiona told him, “they haven’t.”

  “They haven’t?” T’mar said. “Then who’s been helping them? And why are we going?”

  “You’ve been helping them and that’s why you’re going,” Fiona said, smiling as she took in his confusion and dawning comprehension. “You’re going to time it, too.”

  “It’s the only way,” Lorana assured him from where she stood beside the work parties. She flinched, as though struck by a burning brand—or as though struck by a searing strand of Thread—and hissed in pain before adding, with a look of concern, “Fly carefully.”

  T’mar gave her a long, hard look and then nodded slowly.

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” he said, moving toward Zirenth. He turned back to Lorana. “How bad is it?”

  “Best not to know,” she told him. “Besides, the Fall’s not over.”

  T’mar’s eyes widened as he realized that she would already have felt the pain of the injured Telgar dragons—the same dragons who had yet to go back in time to Ista’s aid.

  “You’ll take charge as soon as you get there,” Fiona said, distracting him. “M’tal’s dead.”

  T’mar nodded slowly, his lips pursed tightly. Fiona raced to his side, wrapped him in a quick hug and whispered, “Fly safe.” He hugged her back and she looked up at him, her eyes firm as she told him, “Be certain you come back to me.”