Dragongirl

by Todd J. McCaffrey

  “You’ll make a great weyrwoman, Terin,” Fiona told her.

  “You act as if the eggs’ve already hatched!”

  Fiona shrugged, reached closer, and patted the younger woman on the shoulder. “If not this time, then certainly sometime.”

  “It would be perfect if it were now,” Terin said, turning back to Fiona as she continued softly, “but I was really hoping it’d be one of yours.”

  “Well, if the egg hatches and the queen comes toward you, don’t tell her!” Fiona teased.

  Sleep came with difficulty, for the youngsters and the Candidates were all too anxious to do more than toss and turn, causing Fiona to reconsider her decision of allowing weyrfolk to sleep on the Hatching Grounds. What she got was fits and starts and even giggles and mutterings from the youngsters, until she finally lost her temper and shouted at them. She regretted it instantly, but she was too out of sorts to show any contrition.

  Apparently her outrage worked. The gathering quieted down enough for her to get some moments of sleep before she woke up again, later, grumbling.

  “What makes you think they’d sleep any more in their own rooms?” Terin asked, stifling a yawn even as her bright eyes flicked toward the queen egg, straining for any signs of motion.

  Dawn had come and light was creeping into the Hatching Grounds, changing the eggs from indistinct grayish blobs into blurs of various colors, some greenish blue, some bluish green, some brownish bronze, others copper brown—none, save the queen egg, identifying with any certainty the color of the dragonet still slumbering inside.

  From the distance of Talenth’s weyr, Fiona heard her queen rumble cheerfully, a noise returned with both greater volume and greater enthusiasm by Tolarth where she lay curled up, the queen egg protectively within her grasp.

  “You have done marvelously!” Fiona called to the queen. Tolarth regarded her with complacent green-swirling eyes.

  They will do, Tolarth said in an agreement tinged with some hidden certainty, as though these dragonets were destined to save all Pern.

  As will ours, Talenth added with the same sort of smugness that made Fiona agitatedly wonder how the dragons could be so certain—they barely remembered yesterday, how could they predict tomorrow?

  The bronzes started humming and Fiona felt, on a level below her own senses, an exchange between Tolarth and Talenth that resulted in her own queen suddenly bursting into the air above them, startling all the weyrfolk and the bronzes as she winged her way in deftly to take a place close to Tolarth—nearly exactly where she’d lain before with her own clutch.

  Careful! Fiona called warningly.

  I always know where I am, Talenth assured her, her smug tone still quite evident.

  She gets it from you, Fiona heard Lorana say with a mixture of amusement and affection.

  I suppose she does, Fiona said, turning to wave and smile at her queen. She looked at the gathered weyrfolk, saw the youngsters stream off to the viewing stands, spotted the Candidates quickly donning their white robes, tossing their nightclothes to those passing up to the stands—it all looked terribly well managed. Fiona turned toward Terin and gave her a calculating look.

  “What?” Terin asked innocently, her own white robes neatly tied with a belt.

  “Still the headwoman,” Fiona said, shaking her head and smirking. Terin returned the smirk with a grin.

  “Well, it wouldn’t do for Tolarth’s first Hatching to be marred by confusion and disarray.”

  “Not to mention that I probably wouldn’t allow anyone to sleep on the sands again,” Fiona said.

  “Not to mention that!”

  Fiona waved Terin away. “Go! You’re supposed to be there!” She spotted T’mar as he broached the Hatching Grounds’ entrance and waved to him.

  Who’s with you? Fiona asked Lorana as she spied Kindan and a knot of weyrlings entering, taking positions so quickly that Fiona was certain that Kindan had given them all assigned positions and duties. She waved at Xhinna as she climbed up to the group of youngsters in the stands, even as she plotted a route back to the weyr and Lorana; she wouldn’t leave her on her own.

  Bekka is here, Lorana replied. Though, even without you and this, I’ve got every dragon in the Weyr ready to answer my slightest call.

  And well they should! Fiona said. It was clear from Lorana’s response that she was not feeling left out of the proceedings and any concerns about Bekka she thrust from her mind, recalling that that youngster had grown up attending birthings with her midwife mother.

  Fiona’s previous declaration that Bekka should stand on the Hatching Grounds had been charred by the girl herself. “As if I don’t have enough to do already!” Bekka had declared.

  As for Lorana, the question of her returning to the Hatching Grounds as a Candidate had evaporated with the news of her pregnancy.

  Someone stepped close to her and Fiona reached her hand out without turning, knowing that T’mar’s rough fingers would twine over hers. She could see Kindan in the distance, noted that he had not put on Candidate robes and snorted to herself.

  “He can’t possibly believe that a lack of robes will deter his dragon!” she exclaimed to T’mar. The Weyrleader shot her a sidelong glance, but said nothing.

  A crack suddenly hushed all other noise. Eyes searched for the hatching egg, ears heard the second crack and zeroed in—a brownish egg in the center.

  Fiona tensed, wondering if she should move forward to help, but T’mar’s hand tightened on hers.

  “They know what to do,” he said, nodding in the general direction of the Candidates. Among them, Fiona noted with approval, stood H’nez and Jeila; surrogate for the hatching eggs’ larger parents.

  Moving separately, circling back and forth behind the Candidates, the wingleader and weyrwoman ensured that the hatchlings found their partners, guiding human and dragon alike as they made their way to Impression.

  Fiona cried with delight as Terin stood boldly in front of the queen egg, her eyes intent, her expression determined. The queen egg burst into shards under the pounding blows of the dragonet inside. The movements were so quick that it was hard to know who was more eager—queenling or headwoman—but in the instant the gold was free from her shell, she was thrusting her head toward Terin’s outstretched arms and creeling in delight as the green-eyed girl became her one and only partner forever.

  Fiona heard T’mar beside her make an indeterminate noise and elbowed him sharply just on principle. He dodged the worst of it, giving her a grin before turning toward Terin and shouting, “What’s her name?”

  “Her name is Kurinth!”

  “It was over too soon,” Fiona lamented as she recounted the details to Bekka and Lorana later.

  “And Kindan didn’t Impress?” Bekka asked, still shocked at the revelation.

  “Kindan didn’t Impress,” Fiona said. She noticed that Lorana kept her expression carefully neutral.

  “Well, at least we’ve got twenty-one more weyrlings,” Bekka said. “And another queen.” She rushed on, “And soon Talenth and Tolarth will rise again and there’ll be more eggs on the Hatching Grounds.”

  “There will,” Lorana agreed. Fiona flashed her a concerned look, for Lorana’s tone was on the chilly side of neutral, but she decided not to make an issue of it.

  “And you,” Bekka said, turning back to the ex–queen rider, “will be having your baby at nearly the same time.”

  “So you’re hoping Kindan will become a father and a dragonrider at the same time?” Lorana asked the youngster in surprise.

  “It’s been done before,” Fiona told her, adding with a grin, “Besides, it’s not as if he won’t have plenty of help with either!”

  Lorana allowed a smile to play across her lips but said nothing and, not long after, feigned fatigue to send her companions away.

  “‘Rest, eat, pee’—that’s what my mother said pregnant mothers do,” Bekka prattled on confidently as she and Fiona made their way back to the Kitchen Cavern. Bekka swiped a fr
esh roll from one of the bakers with an impudent grin before darting away to find Birentir and update the Weyr Healer with her reports.

  Fiona lingered, looking for Shaneese or Mekiar, feeling a growing unease even as the sounds of the weyrlings drilling outside in the Weyr Bowl provided a comforting distraction to her cares. She found herself a seat near the hearth and looked wistfully toward those working there until one took pity on her and brought her a pitcher of juice—juice!—and fresh rolls.

  At least in her time with Lorana and Bekka she’d managed to fill in some of the gaps of her knowledge of pregnancy and could now safely ascribe some of her current feelings to the changes going on in her body.

  The catalog of strange pains and feelings was growing, and she found Lorana’s half-gloating commiserations completely understandable, given the other’s more advanced pregnancy. She made a note to herself once again, and forgot it just as quickly, to pin Bekka down and track down the meaning of the few raised eyebrows the young healer had made when Fiona had been describing her physical state. Clearly there was nothing that concerned her or Bekka would have immediately contacted Birentir—or probably her own midwife mother—but still … there was something that caused the younger girl to take note.

  “Make sure you drink a lot,” Bekka piped up suddenly, rushing on her way through to some new errand. “And, if you can, cut down on the klah.”

  She was gone before Fiona could question her and the distraction was enough to drive her other worries from her mind.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Dragons soar,

  Dragons thrive,

  Dragons flame—

  Keep Pern alive.

  Telgar Weyr, morning, AL 508.6.28

  The early-morning air was broken by the bellow of the watch dragon’s challenge and a resounding reply, causing Fiona to startle to wakefulness.

  Tullea? she wondered. What’s she doing here?

  Trying not to disturb the others, she crawled out of her bed and threw on a robe, sliding her feet into slippers before she rose as quietly as she could. But it was no use.

  “Wait,” Lorana called quietly from the bed, “I’ll come with you.”

  “I was hoping to let you sleep,” Fiona said.

  “Tullea’s come to see me,” Lorana said. Fiona found her slippers and helped her into them.

  “What does she want with you?”

  “Maybe it’s Ketan,” Lorana said as they made their way past Talenth and down the queens’ ledge to the Weyr below.

  They were only halfway down the ledge when Tullea reached them. She was obviously in a hurry.

  “Tullea, how may we help you?” Lorana asked.

  “Let’s get someplace warm, first,” Fiona said, gesturing toward the Kitchen Cavern. “The cold of between must be in your bones, and it’s still early for us.”

  Tullea snorted but allowed herself to be led away, even as she said, “I didn’t come to see you, Weyrwoman. I came to see Lorana.”

  “What is it?” Lorana asked. “Ketan? Is he all right?”

  “Him!” Tullea said. “He’s crawled into a wineskin and never comes out. He still thinks it’s the Hatching!”

  They entered the Cavern and Fiona directed them toward a table close to the night fire while she helped the cook prepare a fresh pitcher of klah and some rolls still hot from the morning baking.

  “Here, get some warm in you,” Fiona said, recalling Neesa’s peculiar turn of phrase as she pushed a mug to each of the seated women and poured the rich warm brew.

  Tullea scarcely noticed her mug, wrapping her hands around it but not drinking. Lorana shot Fiona an imploring look and the Weyrwoman sat next to her, filling a mug for herself.

  “So, Tullea, what can we do for you?” Lorana asked.

  “Your Hatching went well enough, didn’t it?” Fiona asked, trying to find the source of the Benden woman’s visible distress.

  “That’s not it,” Tullea said. She glanced at Lorana. “It’s B’nik—you need to save him.”

  Fiona and Lorana exchanged a glance: They had seen too many riders knowingly go back in time to their deaths not to understand the Benden Weyrwoman’s dread. T’mar himself had seen the Benden Weyrleader die. It was only a matter of time before, one day, B’nik would go back in time to save T’mar—and die himself.

  “I don’t see how, Tullea,” Lorana said slowly when the Weyrwoman had explained her problem.

  “I can’t lose him,” Tullea said. “I’ll give you anything—I’ll give you Minith—just find a way to save him!”

  “You can’t break time,” Lorana reminded her. “If it’s happened, then it will happen.”

  “If he dies, I’ll take Minith between forever,” Tullea swore. “I’ll go with him, by the First Egg, I swear I will!”

  “You weren’t there,” Fiona pointed out. “Just the Wing.”

  “I’ve already told them they’re not to go with him,” Tullea snapped. “If they won’t go, then it can’t happen, can it?”

  “I’m sorry,” Lorana said. “It did happen.” She let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes against the pain. So many things had happened, so much pain.

  “There has to be a way!” Tullea said, pleading.

  “I’m the wrong person to ask,” Lorana told her, opening her eyes once more and shaking her head. The Weyrwoman glanced up at her sharply and Lorana continued, “If I could have found a way, do you think I would have ever given up Arith?”

  Tullea held her eyes for a long moment before lowering her head and shaking it slowly. “No. I suppose not.” A moment later she looked up again. “But you have Kindan.”

  Lorana returned her gaze wordlessly.

  “What can I give you?” Tullea begged. “I can’t live without him.”

  Lorana shook her head sadly. “Nothing,” she told the Weyrwoman. “I would do it willingly if I could, but no one can break time.”

  “So B’nik will die, and so will I, so will Minith,” Tullea said. “And Caranth.”

  “I cannot help you,” Lorana repeated. “I would if I could but no one has ever been able to alter time.”

  “There must be a way!”

  “Let me check with Kindan,” Lorana said, seeing the desperation in the other woman’s eyes.

  “If you need Minith, just send for her,” Tullea told her. “She’ll go with you, she already has.”

  Lorana nodded mutely, marveling that the other woman was too distraught to see how that could defeat her own suicidal threat.

  Tullea rose then, looking back to Lorana as she added, “I never knew, never until I knew that I would lose him, how much I loved him.”

  “I understand.”

  “I don’t know how you manage, half-alive without your dragon,” Tullea said with pity. She frowned. “It’s tearing Ketan apart, that’s for certain.”

  “Ketan,” Lorana repeated sadly. “I should see him.”

  “Last I saw him, he was drunk, head down on a table in a pool of his own spittle.”

  “We can go, right?” Fiona asked as she glanced down at Bekka. She had no problem deferring to the girl’s expertise.

  “The older midwives all agree that neither of you are in great danger,” Bekka said, looking up to Fiona where she sat, perched on Talenth. “But don’t stay between too long and be certain to bundle up—what might give you a cold could terminate a pregnancy.”

  “We’ll be careful,” Lorana promised as she started to climb up toward Fiona.

  “And I’ll make certain they do,” Kindan said, as he helped her reach Fiona’s outstretched hand and then followed her up Talenth’s foreleg into a position behind the Weyrwoman. He’d been furious when he’d heard how Tullea had dismissed the older healer’s troubled drinking and had insisted on accompanying Lorana and Fiona on their visit to Benden Weyr.

  “And not too much klah, either of you!” Bekka called as she stepped back.

  Talenth moved away from her, took a leap, and beat her way into the midday air.

  “L
ook!” Fiona called, pointing down. “There’s Xhinna!” The dark-haired girl waved at them, while her blue dragonet butted his head against her leg.

  “Will she be all right?” Lorana asked, craning back to Kindan.

  “She’ll do fine,” he promised. “She has a gift with young ones.”

  As soon as they reached the level of the Star Stones, Fiona gave her queen the image and they went between.

  “I’m sorry, I—” Ketan apologized in a slow, dead voice as he sat up at his desk, drinking from a mug of klah placed in his hand by Kindan, who had arrived at the healer’s quarters before them. “I thought I could manage,” he croaked, glancing furtively at Lorana before returning his eyes to the mug in his trembling hands. “I thought perhaps with enough drink, I could …”

  Lorana shot Kindan a desperate look, but the harper could only shake his head; he had no suggestions.

  “You’ve got to concentrate on what you have to live for,” Fiona said softly.

  “Live for?” Ketan barked a laugh. He waved a mug in her direction. “I’ve nothing to live for!” He raised his other hand and made a sweeping gesture. “Face it, Weyrwoman, we’ve nothing to live for.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Weyrs are dying,” Ketan said.

  “But the Hatchings! There are weyrlings now—”

  “Who’ll not reach fighting age before burrows of Thread bury us all,” Ketan cut across her sharply. He grimaced in apology for his harsh words. “You’ve patched them up—you know.” He glanced at Lorana. “We patch them up, they fly, they die.” He dropped his mug onto his desk with a loud thump and followed shortly with his head which he cradled in his hands. “Drith, my Drith! Why wouldn’t you let me go with you?”

  “He said that you had to stay, had to find a cure,” Lorana reminded him softly.

  “And now that we’ve found a cure, what?” Ketan barked, turning his head so that his eyes raked her. “What now? And how, if we only hatch twenty-two eggs, are we supposed to repopulate the Weyrs?” He shook his head and closed his eyes. “No, Weyrwoman, we tried and we came up with a cure.” He let out a deep sigh and screwed his eyes tighter. “And the cure’s killing Pern.”