Dragongirl

by Todd J. McCaffrey

  She heard Taria stir beside her and smiled; perhaps there would be time for a quick, heartening cuddle before the work of the day overtook them. But Taria was in no cuddling mood, her eyes suddenly going wide as she sprang up, crying, “Get up! Get up! They’re Hatching!”

  “Quickly, quickly, put this on!” Fiona urged as she threw the white robes toward Kindan and immediately busied herself dressing him.

  “We can manage,” Lorana called from the bed, rolling over and sitting upright with some difficulty. At just over twenty weeks, Lorana’s belly was only beginning to show a bulge with her pregnancy, but she was careful not to jostle the baby and handled her movements protectively. “You go on!”

  Fiona needed no further encouragement and tore out of her quarters, through the Weyr Bowl, and into the Hatching Grounds, telling Talenth, I’m coming!

  T’mar met her at the entrance, reaching up a hand to point at the cluster of white robes she still had thrown over her shoulder. “What are these for?”

  “I’m not sure that Xhinna or Taria got theirs,” Fiona said. She looked around hastily, licking her lips. “And if I can snatch Bekka, I’ll set her out there, too.”

  “So you’ve—what?—five girls on the grounds for twenty-one eggs?”

  “And thirty boys,” Fiona corrected him archly.

  “What about Kindan?”

  “That’s including him,” she said as he reached over and grabbed the robes off her shoulder, shifting them from one hand to the other so that he could guide her toward the stands.

  “No,” Fiona said, shaking him off, “I want to be down here.”

  T’mar gave her a surprised look. “Breaking more Traditions?”

  “I’m going to be with Talenth,” she said, snatching the robes back out of his hand. “You head up to the stands and talk nicely to the Holders.”

  A roar from Talenth affirmed Fiona’s choice, so T’mar, still shaking his head ruefully, made his way up to the stands even as his Weyrwoman moved toward the clump of eggs nearest her queen.

  Fiona reached Talenth’s side as soon as she’d handed out the last of the robes and turned back to stare out across the clutch of eggs toward the light of the Weyr Bowl with an air of fierce possessiveness.

  “You were great,” Fiona said aloud as she patted Talenth and felt herself glow with pride as the first cracks appeared in the nearest egg.

  A dragonet burst forth, creeling anxiously, and looked in Fiona’s direction.

  “That way!” Fiona called, pointing to the waiting Candidates. Talenth bugled in agreement. With another cry, the dragonet awkwardly scrambled out of its shell and wobbled off, skirting the other eggs and searching, neck craning one way and then the other, searching for its mate.

  Fiona felt the dragons’ hum grow to a higher pitch as the little dragonet and her new rider found each other with an exclamation of joy. Another egg cracked, and another, and suddenly the Hatching Grounds were filled with creeling, red-eyed, anxious dragonets searching for their mates.

  Fiona shouted encouragement to each and every one, lost in the thrill of the moment, and cheered with each Impression.

  One green stood in front of Taria creeling anxiously while the youngster waved her away.

  “She’s yours!” Fiona shouted. “What’s her name?”

  Taria looked toward the Weyrwoman, straightened her shoulders and looked back at the green in front of her, gingerly reaching out a hand to touch the green’s snout even as her own face burst with a look of pure joy. She cried back, “Coranth!”

  Finally there were only two eggs left. One was rocking, the other seemed quiescent. Talenth craned her neck over to the still one and wailed.

  “Maybe …” Fiona began, wondering how to gently tell her queen her fear that the egg was stillborn.

  He needs help! Talenth leaped forward, her jaws agape. She bit at the egg gingerly with her fangs, just breaking the surface. From inside, a creel erupted and then a beak could be seen tearing away at the inner membrane.

  Meanwhile, the other shell had torn open and a brown dragonet squirmed out of it, frantically searching for its mate.

  “Help him!” Fiona cried, rushing forward to join her queen in freeing the still-struggling blue. Her words were unheard over the din of the creeling brown and the remaining Candidates were distracted by the din.

  “He needs help!” Fiona shouted again, looking around frantically even as she reached the egg and bunched her hands into fists to pummel at the hard shell. She spied someone in the distance and shouted, “Xhinna!”

  Startled, the girl looked her way and then raced over as Fiona beckoned urgently with one hand while still working away with the other. The blue, eager to escape his shell, nipped her and Fiona snarled back, “I’m trying to help you!”

  Xhinna appeared opposite, her eyes darting fretfully to the gash on Fiona’s hand and back to the sharp teeth of the dragonet. She hesitated only an instant, even in the knowledge that he might deal her the same injury, before diving in and pounding and kicking the shell to release the trapped dragonet.

  “Come on, come on, you can do it!” Xhinna cried as sweat burst forth from her brow from the speed and strength of her exertions.

  Fiona paused, eyes widening as she looked at the desperate girl and the desperate blue …

  Xhinna must have felt her gaze for she stopped in her efforts and lifted her eyes to the Weyrwoman in surprise. “But blues are for boys!”

  “What’s his name?” Fiona asked her softly, even as she moved forward to gently stroke the wings and back of the dragonet.

  Xhinna dodged the answer, looking around frantically for any free Candidate. The blue creeled in a tone mixed with urgency and despair. Xhinna stopped her head in its frantic arc and slowly looked back at the blue.

  “But I’m a girl!”

  “I don’t think he cares,” Fiona said softly. Xhinna looked up at her, her expression a mix of horror and hope as Fiona repeated the ancient question, “What’s his name, blue rider?”

  “Tazith,” Xhinna replied quietly, raising her arms once more to tear apart the shell. She took a deep breath and started smashing the shell open with all the fierceness of a mother protecting her child—or a rider fighting for her dragon.

  “Louder,” Fiona called back, gesturing to the great expanse beyond them.

  “His name is Tazith!” Xhinna shouted, turning her head back so that her words could echo strongly across the sands.

  “Good, blue rider,” Fiona said, grinning at her friend. “Now let’s get him out of this shell.”

  “No, you’re not!” Fiona declared firmly. She glanced from Lorana toward Kindan. “I completely understand your desire, Kindan, but Lorana will stay here. She needs her rest and you aren’t going to be getting any for the first fortnight at the least, probably the first two months.”

  “Well, you’re too small to keep her warm,” Kindan returned hotly. “And who’s going to help her sore back?”

  “T’mar,” Fiona told him simply. She raised a hand imperiously as both partners drew breath for hot retorts. “He’s large enough to keep us both warm and he’s got good hands—” a smile flicked across her face “—I can assure you.”

  Kindan gave her a mulish look and opened his mouth to argue, but she beat him to it. “It’s settled, Weyrlingmaster.”

  From his look, however, it was clear that it was not settled and Fiona’s choice of title was inappropriate. She held up both hands placatingly. “T’mar’s honorable, Kindan,” she told him in a softer tone. “Let him honor Lorana and help your child grow in a calm environment.”

  Kindan snorted, his eyebrows twitching with humor. “If I was hoping for a calm environment, I couldn’t imagine you as part of it.”

  Fiona gave him a hurt look which was compounded by defensive noises from Lorana.

  “All right, all right!” Kindan declared, raising his own hands in capitulation. “I’ll grant that T’mar is honorable and that my place is with the weyrlings althoug
h, to be honest, with Xhinna on hand, I’m not at all certain that they’ve any need of me.”

  “Xhinna is good with children, not dragonets.”

  “But still,” and Kindan raised a hand to indicate that he hadn’t finished making his point, “I don’t see why Jeila couldn’t stay with you, after all—”

  “She’s smaller than I am, Kindan,” Fiona said, stamping a foot impatiently.

  “And she’ll soon need all the cosseting she can get.” Fiona regretted her choice of words and went on quickly to cover her gaffe. “Tolarth’s clutch will hatch next week, after all.” Kindan gave her a dubious look.

  “It’s too early to say for certain,” Fiona told him, remembering that “nothing is ever kept long from a harper’s hearing” and guessing that he’d already heard rumors of Jeila’s pregnancy.

  “Even so,” Fiona persisted, “Lorana’s going to need strong arms to help her up morning and evening.”

  “And while we both expect and hope those arms will be yours,” Lorana added smoothly, “I think we all have to recognize that you might not always be available.”

  “This is my child we’re talking about,” Kindan said, still not entirely pleased.

  “This is our child,” Fiona corrected. “We will raise him together, all three—four—of us.”

  “You’ve mentioned this to T’mar?” Kindan asked, eyebrows arched high.

  “Not … officially,” Fiona temporized. Kindan’s expression deepened. “I told him that he was to expect to provide lots of aid and support as he would need the practice.”

  “Wouldn’t it simply be easier for you to stay with T’mar and Lorana with me, then?” Kindan asked in a reasonable tone.

  “No,” Fiona said in a small voice. “T’mar will have duties that keep him out at all hours, and so will you and I can’t sleep alone!”

  A smile played across Kindan’s lips. “I remember that,” he said softly, turning toward Lorana to explain. “She used to invent every excuse to crawl in with me when she was little.”

  “And if not you, then someone,” Fiona said. She gave them a troubled look as if weighing whether to relay a deep confidence and then admitted, “I’ve always wanted a large family.”

  Kindan nodded slowly, glancing quickly to Lorana who was herself nodding in agreement. He had come from a large family himself and while he never recalled the times he shared his bed with two brothers fondly, he could understand how a young survivor of the Plague that had swept through Pern twelve Turns back would feel the need of the comforting warmth of others. How was it, he wondered even as he realized that once again he would relent to Fiona’s whims, that such a young person could possess such a forceful personality?

  “And lots of kids,” Lorana added, her eyes reflecting Fiona’s quiet fervor.

  “I’m a good sharer,” Fiona said to Lorana hopefully. Lorana nodded and smiled back at the younger woman.

  “You are at that.”

  “Good,” Fiona said with a firm nod, grinning up at Kindan. “Because now I’m going to share with you two the joy of explaining the new arrangements to T’mar!”

  “Look at this shell,” T’mar said, tossing a chunk of egg to Kindan as he, Fiona, and Lorana entered his quarters minutes later. Kindan made the catch easily and glanced down at the proffered shard for a long moment before looking back up again to the Weyrleader. At a gesture from Lorana, the harper passed the piece over.

  “It’s thick,” Lorana said after a moment, glancing up to Kindan and T’mar to see if they agreed. She passed the piece to Fiona. “This was from Tazith’s egg?”

  “No,” T’mar said, reaching for another, even thicker shard of egg. “This is.”

  Kindan cocked his head thoughtfully, gesturing for T’mar to pass him the piece. “Mmm, much thicker.”

  Fiona peered up from her inspection of the first piece and craned her head over the piece the harper held. “I can see why he had such a hard time breaking out.”

  “I’m surprised more didn’t have trouble,” T’mar said, his lips pursed tautly. Lorana and Kindan exchanged a troubled look.

  “You think this might have something to do with the cure?” Fiona asked.

  “It certainly seems the case,” Kindan said reluctantly. Beside him, Lorana nodded, her face bearing a glum expression.

  “You two!” Fiona snorted. “It’s as well you’ve agreed to be separated or you’d take responsibility for all of Pern’s woes!”

  “She’s right,” T’mar said, raising a hand to forestall Kindan’s protests. “Oh, it could well be an unwanted effect from the cure, but it could also be a desired effect or even a result of merely having the cure.”

  “How so?” Lorana asked.

  “I could see that Wind Blossom might have decided that the shells would need extra protection,” T’mar said, hefting the thicker shell. “I imagine this would be proof against most Thread.”

  Something in his words caused Fiona’s eyes to light with interest but they dimmed again as he continued, “Of course, it’s also possible that Talenth had eaten enough shell material to make thicker shells or that, as a result of her recovering from the sickness, she had extra shell material.”

  “If that were the case, queens who weren’t sick would make normal eggs,” Kindan said.

  “And as Talenth is the first queen to clutch, we won’t know one way or another for the next sevenday,” T’mar said. He glanced at the other three, brows narrowing as he added, “It is certain that the clutches will hatch next week, isn’t it?”

  “The Records all agree,” Fiona said. “The time from mating to clutching is variable, but the time from clutching to Hatching is always five weeks.”

  “I imagine if the sands were colder it might be longer,” Kindan said.

  “Or shorter if hotter,” Fiona agreed with a shrug.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Lorana said, cocking her head at Kindan and intoning:

  “Count three months and more,

  And five heated weeks,

  A day of glory and

  In a month, who seeks?”

  “That is what the Teaching Ballads say,” Kindan agreed.

  T’mar frowned, saying, “I’m not sure I understand them, even now.”

  Kindan gave him an expectant look, so the Weyrleader continued, “Well, it seems that the three months and more is the time from mating to clutching, correct?”

  “That’s how I learned it,” Kindan said.

  “And so the five heated weeks would be the time the eggs are on the Hatching Grounds,” T’mar said.

  “All the Records I’ve read agree on that,” Fiona told him, clearly wondering what he was getting at.

  “And, ‘A day of glory’ refers to Impression, doesn’t it?” T’mar asked, keeping his attention on Kindan. The harper nodded. “So then, what’s the last part mean: ‘And in a month, who seeks?’”

  “I’ve always thought that referred to the time when a queen could rise again,” Fiona said quietly, not surprised to feel heat rising from her cheeks.

  “It seems out of place, though, doesn’t it?” T’mar persisted. “Why bring that up when the rest of the verse is about eggs and Impression?”

  Kindan thought it over and nodded. “I hadn’t really thought on it too much, as no one’s ever questioned it before.”

  “It all seemed to make sense,” T’mar said. “And,” he added with an apologetic grin, “we’re all used to the way harpers take license with the truth.”

  “Anything to keep a rhyme,” Fiona said with a sardonic look at Kindan.

  “But what else could it mean?” Lorana asked, recalling her own memories of Arith. “Unless that it refers to the time a weyrling can fly.”

  “Perhaps,” T’mar said, not sounding convinced. He dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand, saying, “Well, I was just wondering. It’s not something that should concern us at the moment.”

  “Nor should thick shells,” Fiona asserted, “especially when we’ve only the
one clutch—and Talenth’s first, at that—to gauge by.”

  “If Tolarth’s clutch is the same, then we’ll have to reconsider,” T’mar said.

  “In the meantime,” Fiona said, “what are you going to do about the next Fall?”

  T’mar’s face darkened and he shook his head.

  “Fort’s the strongest, they could loan us a Wing,” Fiona suggested.

  “They’ve less than five Wings.”

  “And we have little more than two,” Fiona said. She cocked her head at him consideringly. “You’re not thinking of timing it with just two Wings, are you?”

  “It may come to that.”

  “But not now!”

  “It might be better to find out now, rather than later,” T’mar said.

  “Only if you’ve got support arranged beforehand,” Fiona retorted quickly. She gave him another suspicious look, then declared, “You’ve talked with K’lior!”

  “I have,” T’mar admitted, nodding. “I’ve discussed it with H’nez as well.”

  “So that explains the strange looks he was giving you this evening!”

  “Partly,” T’mar said. Fiona eyed him again and shook her head in exasperated admiration, saying, “He had some suggestions regarding our casualties, did he?”

  T’mar’s expression betrayed him and Fiona’s temper flared up and she shouted, “As if he could do any better!”

  T’mar raised a hand in a calming gesture but it was pointless.

  “Telgar’s going to take more casualties than the other Weyrs because Telgar is fighting over a greater area than the other Weyrs.”

  “Not that much,” T’mar said.

  “Enough,” Fiona said, glancing at Kindan for agreement. Reluctant to be drawn into the argument, Kindan cleared his throat before saying, “Telgar and Benden tie at six Falls each cycle for the greatest number of Falls.”

  “Things would be different if Igen were flying.”

  “There are still not enough dragons, no matter how many Weyrs you put them in,” Fiona said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” T’mar said, giving Fiona a quelling look. “I’m the Weyrleader—”

  “Until Talenth rises again!” Fiona snorted angrily.