Dragongirl

by Todd J. McCaffrey

  Fiona shot the older Weyrwoman an irritated look as she gingerly guided Lorana down to the ground below. Couldn’t Tullea at least wait until they were safe?

  “I need to talk with Ketan, if he’s available,” Lorana said, her soft contralto voice sounding calm and collected; focused in a way that she had not been with Fiona on the ledge earlier. Lorana turned back to Fiona, who was starting to dismount and held up a hand. “You should get back,” she told her with a grateful smile. “I’m sure Tullea will give me a lift, when I need it.”

  “If you’re going to help, you can take Minith yourself,” Tullea offered, glancing around the Weyr, her eyes full of dread. “Anything to save B’nik.”

  “Where’s Ketan?” Lorana asked, looking around. When she didn’t find him, she turned back to Fiona. The young Weyrwoman made no attempt to disguise her concern. Lorana smiled up at her. Go on, Kindan will be worried.

  Relieved at hearing Lorana’s words, Fiona smiled and nodded. I’m here if you need me. Aloud she said, “Come on Talenth, Thread’s coming soon!”

  She nodded toward Tullea and this time instructed Talenth to climb up to the proper spot above the watch dragon before departing once more between for Telgar and home.

  “You’ll probably find him in his quarters, drunk,” Tullea said as she watched the Telgar queen climb up toward the heights. Her eyes narrowed as she added, “What does he have to do with B’nik?”

  “I don’t know,” Lorana said. “I want to talk with him first.”

  “Very well,” Tullea said sourly. “If you need me, come find me. We’ve got Thread to fight today.”

  “And if I need to borrow Minith?” Lorana asked.

  “Take her,” Tullea said with a wave as she trotted off toward a knot of dragonriders. “Do what you must.”

  “Very well,” Lorana said, turning toward the healer’s quarters. “I’m going to have to go to High Reaches later.”

  Tullea made no response beyond another wave of her arm and then she was lost in the throng of riders.

  Lorana found him in the healer’s quarters, head down on his arm, snoring loudly.

  “Ketan,” she called. He stirred then resumed his snores. Lorana’s eyes narrowed and she sighed, moving forward to grab his shoulders.

  “Ketan!” she shouted, shaking him roughly.

  “Wh-what?” the ex-dragonrider said muzzily, lifting his head up and waving his hands. “Go ‘way!”

  “It’s me, Lorana!”

  “Lorana?” Ketan pried one eye open and peered at her. He jerked back in surprise and pulled himself upright, his neck craning around to peer at her. “What are you doin’ here? You’re at Telgar.”

  “I wanted to talk with you,” Lorana told him, her expression softening. “I wanted to talk with you about Drith.”

  “Drith!” Ketan’s voice was a thready wail. “My beautiful, beautiful Drith!”

  Lorana gave the healer a long, thoughtful look, took a deep breath, and said quietly, “Do remember the last words you had with him?”

  “Why?” Ketan demanded angrily. “He’s gone and I’m here and—oh, Drith! How I hurt without you!”

  “Ketan,” Lorana began again softly, “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

  “Go ‘way!” the healer replied, turning back to his table and dropping his head on it, eyes closed firmly as if by not seeing Lorana he could make her disappear.

  “Didn’t he say: ‘I must do this while I still can’?” Lorana asked quietly.

  “Yes, to die!” Ketan growled, his eyes snapping open in anger and then closing again in hopes that his tormenter would leave him.

  “T’mar saw the Benden Weyrleader die,” Lorana said. “He saw him come back in time, he saved him just as he saved M’tal.”

  “So?” Ketan demanded. “He dies, they die, we all die.” He paused. “And then I’ll be with Drith.”

  “I think you can be with Drith before that,” Lorana said, her heart beating loudly in her chest. “I think you can save three lives.”

  Ketan had opened his eyes again at her words. He lifted his head off the table and craned it up so that he could see her from the corner of his wide-open eyes.

  “Would you be willing to steal B’nik’s jacket?”

  “Steal his—” the healer jerked upright and jumped out of his chair. “Steal his jacket? But I’ve no dragon!”

  “No dragon now.”

  The healer’s expression slowly changed from one of surprise and despair to one of hope.

  “I’m not offering you much,” Lorana cautioned. “A chance to ride Drith again, and to make a difference—”

  “My lady, to be a dragonrider again, just once!” Ketan shook his head, his eyes brimming with tears. “For that, I’d do anything.”

  “First, the jacket.”

  “And then?”

  “We go to High Reaches.”

  “High Reaches?” Ketan looked perplexed and then illumination struck. “Oh! And then the wherhold, no doubt.”

  “We’ll see Nuella,” Lorana agreed. “But not until after.”

  “And then?”

  “And then, K’tan, you’ll get your last ride.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The way forward is dark and long.

  A dragon gold is only the first price you’ll pay for Pern.

  Fort Weyr, second hour, AL 507.11.18, Second Interval

  Lorana sighed wearily as she glided silently down into the Fort Weyr Bowl in the dark of night.

  Four coughs between. The same as when she’d brought Ketan back to Drith to make their offer and again when Drith had accepted. And again when Lorana and K’tan had arrived at the wherhold with the vial she’d retrieved from High Reaches Weyr. While she’d explained in private to Nuella the purpose of the vial and had sworn the half-sighted woman to secrecy, K’tan and Drith had rolled in the gold-flecked waters of the miner’s river. In the distance, with the sun in the right position, anyone who had merely a brief glimpse of brown Drith would easily take him for a bronze, particularly when the rider was wearing the Benden Weyrleader’s distinctive jacket.

  It had taken only Lorana’s word to recruit a ready wing of Istan dragons willing to follow K’tan unquestioningly: J’lian had more volunteers than they needed, even though all were sworn to secrecy. She watched, from a distance low to the ground where she wouldn’t be seen as K’tan first saved M’tal and then again, with the Istan wing, had saved T’mar—and sacrificed himself.

  And now, there was one thing more to do.

  First though, she had to say good-bye. She couldn’t do it in person, so she chose a different way, going back in time—here, to Fort Weyr, a little less than nine months before. On the day after the Hatching, after Fiona had Impressed Talenth.

  In the distance, a dragonet creeled.

  Lorana stretched her senses to the quarters where Kindan had just woken, startled by something he couldn’t identify. She sent him a warm thought and turned her attention toward the queen’s quarters.

  Fiona, she thought quietly. A touch of a smile played across her lips. She shook her head, I’m sorry. I know what I must do, I understand now:

  The way forward is dark and long. A dragon gold is only the first price you’ll pay for Pern.

  Beneath her, Minith trembled, as if sensing her fears.

  Lorana pursed her lips tightly and shook her head in determination.

  We’ve been here long enough, Lorana told the queen beneath her, let’s go.

  As you wish, the dragon responded. With a great heave of hind legs, the dragon leaped into the air and went between.

  EPILOGUE

  It will all turn out right.

  Telgar Weyr, evening, AL 508.7.21

  Fiona only started looking for Lorana after the worst of the injured dragons and riders had been tended. The casualties were bad, but the numbers were reassuring. Even though the Weyr had lost another two dragons and it would be months before all six injured would be able to fly again, the Fall had been easie
r than she’d feared.

  It was her memory of that fear that brought her to wonder about Lorana, because the fear had started that morning when she had seen the ex–queen rider looking up at the flecks of dust.

  “Bekka,” Fiona called as she spotted the smaller girl bustling about, “have you seen Lorana?”

  The youngster shrugged and hurried on about her duties.

  Fiona berated herself, realizing that she could have Talenth ask Minith.

  I cannot find her, Talenth replied a moment later, her tone tense.

  Fiona felt panic well in her heart. She turned on her heel in a great circle, scanning the Weyr for any sign of the taller woman. She did not find her.

  “Kindan!” she shouted as she spotted the harper. Kindan waved toward her but, somehow alerted by her stance, stopped what he was doing and raced over to her. “Have you seen Lorana?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head.

  “I brought her to Benden,” Fiona said. “Tullea said that she might take Minith.” Kindan arched an eyebrow in surprise but Fiona rushed on, “And I can’t find Minith.”

  “What about Lorana?” Kindan asked and Fiona flushed in surprise that she’d forgotten her strange link with the older woman.

  Lorana! she called loudly. She waited. Her face fell and she glanced worriedly at Kindan as she shook his head. She was about to say more when the air above erupted with a bronze dragon from between.

  “Where is she?” a voice bellowed from above. It was Tullea. She was riding behind B’nik. “Where is that dragon-stealer?”

  The two scampered down the moment Caranth had touched the ground, racing over to Fiona and Kindan. T’mar, alerted by the shout, rushed to their side, giving Fiona a questioning look.

  “We can’t find Lorana,” Fiona told him in chill tones.

  “She had that healer steal B’nik’s jacket!” Tullea began angrily. “He stole it, Lin saw him!”

  “Your Weyrleader jacket?” T’mar asked, turning to B’nik.

  The Benden Weyrleader nodded, running a hand wearily through his hair from front to back. “I thought it was a poor joke, but I didn’t have the time to track it down before Threadfall.”

  T’mar grunted in understanding. “And now?”

  “D’vin told me that Lorana and Ketan had come to High Reaches, they went to the Records Room—and that’s the last they’ve been seen,” B’nik said.

  Fiona and Kindan exchanged looks at the mention of High Reaches’ Records Room. Tullea saw it and cried, “What? What were they doing there?”

  “I don’t know,” Kindan admitted. “But when we went there last, Lorana and I put the fourth vial in the Records Room.”

  “The fourth vial?” B’nik repeated, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

  “The one that killed Arith?” Fiona asked, her voice heavy with emotion.

  “The one that can turn a watch-wher into a dragon,” Kindan explained. “We put it at High Reaches where it would be safe.”

  “Why would Lorana want that?” T’mar mused. With a sad frown he added, “I can see why she would want B’nik’s jacket, but not that.”

  “What?” Tullea demanded. “Why would she steal that?”

  “For K’tan,” Fiona said, turning to T’mar for confirmation.

  “Ketan?” Tullea repeated. “What would he need with—”

  “But a brown’s not a bronze!” Kindan exclaimed.

  B’nik’s eyes widened and he mouthed the words “a brown” to himself.

  “The dust!” Fiona said, turning to the others. “That’s what she meant with the dust.”

  “What dust?” Kindan asked.

  Fiona took a deep breath and said slowly, “This morning, before we went to Benden, I found her looking up at the dust above the Weyr Bowl.”

  The others looked at her in confusion.

  “She asked me what color it was,” Fiona continued. “I told her it was brown on the ground but in the air it shimmered.”

  “Like gold dust,” Kindan breathed in surprise, fingering the brooch on his tunic. He turned to Fiona and commanded, “Check with Nuella, I’ll bet they were there.”

  “Why?” Tullea demanded.

  “Because, if the gold dust was on his skin, in the sunlight—for an instant—a brown could pass as a bronze,” T’mar said, his eyes wide in sudden enlightenment. He turned to B’nik. “That’s why he stole your jacket.”

  “But—a brown!” B’nik protested.

  “Drith,” Kindan said.

  “Drith’s dead,” Tullea said flatly.

  “Drith is certainly dead now.”

  “But he wasn’t then!” Fiona declared, turning glowing eyes toward Kindan. She shook her head admiringly. “That’s brilliant!”

  “What?” Tullea demanded, still lost.

  “Kindan and Fiona think that Lorana went back in time with Ketan to when Drith went between,” T’mar said slowly, his eyes sliding toward the harper and Weyrwoman for confirmation.

  “But he was sick, dying!” Tullea declared.

  “Yes,” Fiona agreed. “But apparently he could still fly.”

  “Long enough to save M’tal, me, and …” T’mar turned to B’nik, “… you.”

  “If that’s so, then where’s Lorana?” Tullea demanded. “Where’s

  Minith?”

  “You can’t hear her?” Fiona asked in surprise.

  Tullea shook her head.

  “Then she’s gone,” Kindan declared in a flat, dead voice. The others looked up at him. “She went with Drith and K’tan.” He pursed his lips grimly. “That’s why she gave the vial to Nuella. She knew there is no hope, so she went as best she could.”

  “No!” Fiona’s word was loud, clear and defiant. “She didn’t do that.”

  Kindan frowned at her and shook his head. “Your problem, Fiona, is that you don’t know when to quit.”

  “Of course I don’t,” Fiona agreed, her eyes flashing angrily. “You taught me that!”

  “Me?”

  “‘Step by step, moment by moment,’” Fiona said, repeating the words of Kindan’s song from the Plague. “Vaxoram said those words to you. You remembered them; you didn’t give in when the Plague threatened to kill us all.” She jabbed a finger at him, her eyes welling with tears. “You saved my life when even my father had given in to despair.” She reached out and grabbed his chin in her hand, forcing him to meet her eyes. “I won’t let you give in.”

  “She’s dead, Fiona!” Kindan shouted, jerking out of her grasp. “She’s gone between, her grief too great, and she’s left us. She knows we’re doomed and she couldn’t bear to keep watching us all die slowly, dragon by dragon.” He turned to Tullea. “So she kept her word to you and then she left.” He turned back to Fiona. “She’s gone. You can’t hear her, can you?”

  Fiona shook her head, lips quivering. “No, I can’t.” She looked up at him again, declaring stoutly, “But just because I can’t doesn’t mean she isn’t alive, Kindan.

  “She won’t give up, she loves you too much.”

  “She’s left me you,” Kindan said bitterly. “She could leave me knowing that you’re still here. In fact, she probably left because of you.”

  Fiona’s eyes flashed and her hand leaped up, the sound of her slap startling everyone.

  “Don’t ever say that,” Fiona told him savagely. “Don’t ever think that.”

  “Because the truth hurts too much?” Kindan asked, raising a hand to massage his stinging cheek.

  “It’s not the truth,” Fiona said quietly. “The truth is that she loves us both.”

  “She loved her brother and sister, too, Fiona,” Kindan replied, his anger suddenly gone, his voice matching hers. “She couldn’t save them, either.”

  “She wouldn’t give up,” Fiona declared. She looked up at him. “She learned it from you, just as I did.” Kindan’s eyes widened and his head jerked up at her words, as though stung once again. Fiona shook her head. “She’ll pay any price, Kindan, she’s alre
ady—oh!”

  “What?”

  “Oh, no!” Fiona sobbed, her legs sagging. Kindan and T’mar rushed to grab her and she wrapped her arms around them feebly for support.

  “What is it?” Tullea asked. She moved closer and gently touched Fiona. “Fiona, what is it?”

  “Any price,” the young Weyrwoman sobbed. “Any price.”

  “Oh, no!” Kindan sighed, his eyes misting. “Fiona, you don’t think—”

  “Tenniz said it,” Fiona said, lifting her head long enough to look toward Tullea. “He said that Terin would get her queen and he said this to Lorana: The way forward is dark and long. A dragon gold is only the first price you’ll pay for Pern.”

  Beside her, T’mar gasped. “She’s gone ahead!”

  “Turns ahead,” Fiona said. “More than nine or even eleven coughs.”

  She pushed herself upright, unaware of Terin and Bekka rushing toward the commotion, not seeing Shaneese appear suddenly beside T’mar. Her eyes were only on Kindan.

  “She paid the price,” she said. “She paid the price with her child.”

  Kindan gasped in understanding. If Lorana had gone so far in time that Fiona could no longer hear her, Lorana had gone too far for her pregnancy to survive.

  “‘Step by step, moment by moment,’” Fiona repeated. She held his eyes with hers. “She paid the price. We”—and she turned to catch everyone in her gaze—“will do no less.”

  She drew herself up to her full height and, regal Weyrwoman, declared fiercely, “We will be here with all our love when she returns!”

  Anne McCaffrey’s Pern books are some of the most beloved science fiction novels in the world. Over the past few years, though, she has allowed her son Todd to take over the reins of Pern—molding the world and its stories with his own vision, while always maintaining the spirit and caring Anne has imbued into her novels.

  Upon reading Dragonsblood, Dragonheart, and the book in your hands, Dragongirl, though, Anne was so enchanted by the story Todd was crafting and the characters he was bringing to life that she asked his permission to join in the final drama of his tale of Pern.