The aroma arose mouth-wateringly from the bowl and Fiona’s stomach gave a lurch, suddenly reminding her that she’d missed lunch. Zirana must have noticed, for she said, “Cooks always hungry, never eat.” She patted her flat belly. “Stay thin!”
Under Zirana’s guidance, Fiona constructed three more dishes, then the cook surprised her by saying, “Now you make your own.”
“What?” Fiona cried in surprise.
“Make your own,” Zirana repeated loudly.
“You’re letting her make her own, Zirana?” Tannaz called from her cooking island. She told Fiona, “You should be honored. She wouldn’t let me cook for a whole Turn.”
“That’s because you’re Igen,” Zirana retorted, shaking her head. “Igen only think thick food.”
Fiona let the conversation wash over her as she looked at the ingredients waiting to be cooked. Garlic, lots of garlic, she decided, throwing it in the sizzling bowl and stirring it quickly. She found a pepper mill and ground it over the garlic, tossing in only a drop of the soya sauce before stirring more. The smell wafted up enticingly. Pernoom, Fiona decided, looking among the various edible Pernese fungi for the one she wanted the most. It had a special flavor, piquant, and unlike any other flavor, hearty yet fresh. There! Sagooms. She only needed a few and that was just as well as they were always hard to find. She shredded three and poured them on. The smell changed again and she looked for some vinegar. Yes. Then she was ready for the vegetables. Broccoli, carrots, onions. She added beef and, when it was brown, more soya sauce. A bit more pepper, she decided.
“Done?” Zirana asked, intruding into Fiona’s reverie. She didn’t wait for Fiona’s answer but spooned up a small piece of meat and tasted it. “Good,” she declared. “You serve this to Weyrleader.”
“Me?”
“Weyrleader and wingleaders,” Tannaz called across from the hall. “It’s a Fort tradition.”
Fiona’s eyes widened and she looked accusingly at Tannaz. Tannaz understood the look perfectly and laughed. “Not telling you is also a Fort tradition.”
“Weyrwomen must cook,” Zirana said in agreement.
“It smells good,” Ellor added. “Save us some, will you?”
“I’ve written down the recipe,” Kentai said from an out-of-the-way corner, holding up a slate. “You can make more later.”
“It’s never the same,” Fiona said, surprised to hear Zirana echoing the words in unison with her. The older cook turned to her and said approvingly, “You’ll do.”
Fiona beamed with pride. She’d never been allowed to cook at Fort Hold, even though she’d been in the kitchens since before she could remember. And here, on her first try, she was serving the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman.
She felt awkward that evening as she helped to carry the warming plates to the Weyrleader’s table. She was suddenly aware of the amount of noise in the cavern and looked around in surprise to see that most of the tables were full, many of them with women and children. Harper Kentai nodded to her as he made his way to a raised platform set between the two openings to the Bowl. He was busy directing a group of youngsters up onto the stage.
“The children often practice and perform here,” Tannaz told her. “Is it different at Fort Hold with the Harper Hall so close?”
Fiona smiled and shook her head. “I suspect we have more performances than the Weyr,” she said. “Not only do we host the Hold’s performances, but also those of the Hall itself.”
“So you get a double dose, do you?” Ellor asked. “Is that a good thing or bad?”
Fiona’s eyes twinkled. “As a Lady Holder, I am required to say that it was always a good thing.”
“And when you’re not a Lady Holder, what would you say?” Tannaz asked.
“I would say that each performance is different,” Fiona replied diplomatically.
“Some are better than others,” Tannaz guessed.
“A Lady Holder would never say that,” Fiona replied, pretending to be shocked. The others laughed.
“I suspect tonight will be good, even for those of us who aren’t Lady Holders,” Tannaz said.
“I’m not a Lady Holder, I’m a Weyrwoman,” Fiona said, partly to remind herself.
“The distinctions are not all that great,” a new voice chimed in from behind her. Fiona turned to greet Cisca, who waved her motion aside, saying, “I just wanted to see if Zirana and Ellor weren’t overworking you.” She glanced at Tannaz and added, “I heard you’d already been put in harness by this one.”
“She did well,” Tannaz said, not sounding at all contrite.
Cisca cocked her head to one side thoughtfully but said nothing. The gesture must have had some meaning to Tannaz, for the other Weyrwoman blushed and shook her head in silent mirth. Cisca grinned then.
“I take it you’ve suffered no lasting harm,” she said, turning back to Fiona.
“They let me cook!” Fiona exclaimed.
Cisca looked really surprised and gave Zirana and Ellor looks. “Really?”
“Not me,” Ellor said, tossing her head in Zirana’s direction.
Cisca’s eyes widened. “You let her cook?”
“She grew up in Neesa’s kitchen,” Zirana replied. “She learned.”
“But they wouldn’t ever let me—” Fiona began.
“You watched, didn’t you?” Tannaz pointed out.
“Well, yes,” Fiona admitted. “But—”
“You learned,” Zirana told her. She pointed to the bowl of food that Fiona had prepared, still steaming on the warming trays. “She’ll serve you tonight.”
“Excellent!” Cisca declared. “I’m looking forward to it.”
When the time came, however, Fiona found herself far more nervous than she’d ever remembered. What if no one liked it?
“Take,” Zirana told her tersely, pointing to the serving bowl into which she’d heaped the greater portion of Fiona’s dish. Repressing a gulp, Fiona lifted the dish by the handles and stopped abruptly as Zirana caught hold of her shoulder, pulled her around, and clapped a lid on top of the dish. “K’lior second, Cisca first,” she commanded.
Swallowing nervously, Fiona nodded and started carefully toward the table at which the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman were seated. Their table was directly in front of the stage that Kentai and the youngsters had occupied.
Fiona felt as though all eyes were on her and for a moment she stumbled and felt an instant of blind panic as she envisioned falling down, the beautifully decorated serving dish shattering, and her food splattering all across the clean stone floor.
You’ll do fine. Fiona blinked and swallowed hard. The voice was not Talenth’s. Was she imagining things?
She took a deep breath to steady herself, raised her head again to look to the Weyrleader’s table, and walked with head high and shoulders back, as befitted the daughter of Fort Hold’s Lord.
Cisca smiled as Fiona approached her left shoulder and lifted the lid, allowing the steam to rise toward her.
“Ahh! What is this?” she asked theatrically, her eyes twinkling up at Fiona.
“A dish I prepared for you and the Weyrleader,” Fiona replied, glancing to K’lior, who returned her look gravely. Cisca took the serving spoon and helped herself to a good portion. She took a quick bite and closed her eyes to help her savor the tastes. She opened them again and smiled at Fiona. “That’s wonderful.”
Fiona beamed with pleasure and, following Cisca’s gesture, moved on to K’lior. The Weyrleader helped himself to a larger portion, added some rice, and took a small taste.
“Hmm, ginger beef!” He gestured to the dish and the table, saying, “Set it down and let others try it.”
Fiona put the serving dish down on the warming tray that ran the length of the table and turned to go back to Zirana at the cooking fires.
“Sit here, Fiona,” Tannaz said, approaching from behind her and indicating the seat next to Cisca. Taking the seat on Fiona’s other side, she grinned and gestured to the serving dish. “Why
don’t you try the beef? I hear it’s great.”
Fiona sat and was surprised when the rider sitting opposite Cisca passed her the serving dish.
“Thank you, P’der,” Tannaz said to the rider.
The rider nodded to both of them, saying, “Just be sure to leave me some.”
“Kentai has the recipe,” Fiona told him.
“It wouldn’t be the same,” P’der replied, retrieving the serving dish that Tannaz was passing back to him, “This is your first dish as a Weyrwoman.”
“One day you might be the Weyrwoman, and for some reason, the dragonriders set store by how well you can cook,” Tannaz murmured to her.
“Is that because Sorka was a great cook?” Fiona wondered out loud, remembering the first Weyrwoman of Pern.
Tannaz laughed. “No, I think it’s because a rider thinks first of his stomach.”
“Second,” K’lior corrected her with an impish grin.
“First of his dragon,” Cisca agreed.
“I understand,” Fiona replied somberly. Tannaz looked at her in surprise and Fiona hid her discomfort by spooning up a bite of her dish.
It really is good! Fiona thought, amazed. Tannaz, who was still watching her, chuckled, saying, “What, did you think Zirana would let you serve something that wasn’t good?” Fiona’s look answered her and the Weyrwoman continued, “You’re not at the Hold anymore. You’ll be treated with respect, but no one will lie to you.
“Of course, if it had been Melanwy, you might have had to make a dish three times before she’d let you serve it to—”
“And a good thing, too,” a voice hoarse with age rasped through Tannaz’s words.
Tannaz’s face drained of color before she could school herself and turn to the speaker.
“Headwoman Melanwy,” she said formally. “I’d like you to meet Weyrwoman Fiona, Talenth’s rider.”
“Hmph!” Melanwy snorted. “Think I can’t tell who she is for myself? What, think I’m blind?”
Fiona found herself looking up at a white-haired, stooped, aged woman whose face was lined with Turns of hard living.
“Just because I lost my dragon doesn’t mean I’ve lost my reason, too,” Melanwy continued harshly.
Suddenly Kentai was at her side, a hand close to hers. “You’ll join us on the stage tonight, won’t you?”
“You want me to sing?” Melanwy barked.
“Drums, if you would,” Kentai replied courteously. He leaned down to her, adding, “These youngsters can only keep time with a decent drummer.”
“Hmph, I can’t disagree with you there!” Melanwy snorted. “In my day, they wouldn’t have been allowed to entertain even D’mal—” Her voice broke off suddenly and her eyes misted.
“How I miss him.” She glanced disapprovingly at K’lior, who had diplomatically engaged in an animated discussion with P’der and could pretend not to hear her.
“Come, then,” Kentai said, gently guiding her away, “and show us all how it’s done.”
For a fleeting moment it looked as though Melanwy was going to rail at the harper’s obvious distraction, but her obstinate look faded and, instead, she looked momentarily puzzled.
“Who are you?” she asked Kentai querulously, in a voice and expression that reminded Fiona of a small child looking for her mother.
“I’m Kentai, Melanwy,” the harper replied courteously, his troubled eyes darting to Tannaz and Fiona. He gestured to the stage. “You were going to play with us.”
“I can’t sing,” she said once again.
“No, drums,” Kentai told her. The rest of their conversation faded away as the harper and the old woman moved toward the noise of the stage.
“I’ve never found out how old she really is,” Tannaz murmured to Fiona. She seemed unsettled by the encounter.
“I think Kentai did wonderfully,” Fiona said. When Tannaz gave her a surprised look, she added, “We’ve any number of older people at Fort Hold who’ve lost their measure of the days.” She remembered all the times she’d sat in with old aunties and uncles. “One moment their thinking is clear and brilliant, the next they’re like lost children.” She sighed. “It’s sad, really. Sometimes I think growing old is no gift at all.”
“Melanwy would be the first to agree with you,” Tannaz told her. “She wanted to go between with Nara and Hinirth and railed at her lot for Turns afterward.”
“And she’s the headwoman?”
“Not even I have the heart to take that away from her,” Tannaz admitted. “When she’s not addled, her knowledge of weyrcraft is invaluable.” She glanced at Cisca. “We take turns spending time with her, hoping to learn as much as we can before her last day.” “I’ll help,” Fiona offered. “When Talenth is a bit older, I’m sure I’ll have more time.”
“I’m not sure I want you around her,” Cisca chimed in, surprising Fiona. “She’s a morbid thing these days, and I don’t think it’d be fair to you.”
“I wouldn’t mind, Weyrwoman,” Fiona told her. “It’d be nothing more than I’ve done at the Hold, as I was telling Tannaz.”
Cisca smiled at her. “I know that,” she said. “And that’s all the more reason to let you have what few Turns there are to you before you shoulder a grown woman’s burdens.”
“Thread’s coming,” Tannaz added in agreement. “You might see the full Pass through.”
“I intend to,” Fiona declared. She paused for a moment, not because she didn’t know what she meant to say next but because she wanted to give the two older Weyrwomen a chance to fully absorb her words. “So it seems that it would make sense for me to know everything I can about the Weyr, wouldn’t you agree?”
Tannaz gave her an astonished look, then turned to Cisca, who laughed.
“You made your case.” She frowned and added, “Still, I don’t think it’s fair to rob you so young of your youth. I have a motherly duty—”
“Pardon, Weyrwoman,” Fiona interruped, her throat hard, her face hot, “but I lost my mother before my third Turn and, with her, any chance of a proper childhood.”
Cisca gave her a look that was part affront, part surprise, but Fiona met her eyes squarely. “I’m young, I know, but I’ve had to grow up fast and I don’t think I know how to stop.”
Before Cisca could respond, K’lior laid a hand on her arm in a gesture that Fiona couldn’t interpret: she had never seen her mother and father together. Cisca and K’lior exchanged the briefest of looks before the Weyrwoman turned back to Fiona. “We will talk about this after we’ve eaten.” She raised her free hand above her head to signal for dessert.
“Don’t be in such a rush to grow up,” Tannaz murmured as their plates were cleared.
“I can’t tell you when I ever really thought I was a child,” Fiona responded. But in her heart she recalled all the times when she’d been with Kindan and wondered—until the fruit dessert that Tannaz and Ellor had made was served, and she enjoyed it so much that she completely forgot the previous conversation.
As hot klah was being served and everyone sat back from their tables, replete, Kentai and the singers began their songs.
Drummer, beat, and piper, blow.
Harper, strike, and soldier, go.
Free the flame and sear the grasses.
Till the dawning Red Star passes.
As they finished, they moved on to a song that Fiona knew quite well and it brought tears to her eyes:
In early morning light I see,
A distant dragon come to me.
Kindan had written the song long before he had come to the Harper Hall, long before the Plague that had killed so many, including all of Fiona’s family, except her father. She wondered now, with a thrill running down her spine, how Kindan would feel when he saw her flying her dragon toward him one morning.
Before the song was completed however, Fiona felt Talenth stirring.
“Talenth is waking up,” she said to Tannaz, wondering what to do.
“Go feed her and see to her,” Tanna
z ordered with no attempt to keep her exasperation out of her voice. “Your dragon always comes first.”
With an apologetic nod to the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman, Fiona rushed out of the Kitchen Cavern and into the dusky Bowl.
I’m coming, she told her dragon.
Fiona was relieved to find that Talenth had no more serious issues than a rumbling stomach and a small flaking spot under her chin. She fed her and oiled her, told her about making her first meal, and calmed the queen down until she settled back into the half-slumber that characterized the majority of her daily activity.
“I’m going back now; call me if you need me,” Fiona said. Talenth said nothing in response, and Fiona could sense only the dimmest of images in the sleepy dragonet’s mind.
When she went back out into the corridor, she heard voices from the Weyrwoman’s quarters, so she headed that way, instead of back to the Bowl.
“Weyrwoman?” Fiona called politely at the entrance.
“Come on in, Fiona,” Tannaz called back. “We’re having a quick conference before we call it a night.”
Inside, Fiona found Cisca, Tannaz, and K’lior grouped around the table. The room was lit by large glow baskets, two glowing green, one blue, and a fourth a dim yellow. With nightfall, the glows brought out the shadows and dark places in the room. Tannaz beckoned to Fiona to come sit on her knee.
“Whoof! You’re heavier than I thought!” the Weyrwoman exclaimed.
“Maybe you should switch,” Cisca suggested.
“What, and admit that I’m smaller than a weyrling?” Tannaz replied. “Think what that would do to my esteem.”
Although Fiona knew that she was taller than the older Weyrwoman, it was still a shock to have the fact demonstrated so completely. Tannaz was just one of those people who seemed big, no matter what their size, because of their great presence.
“Although,” Tannaz admitted after a moment, “if our conversation goes on too long, you’re going to have to find a different perch.” She complicated manners by tickling Fiona’s side. Fiona was still young enough that she was ticklish, and she tried vainly to shift away from Tannaz’s teasing fingers.
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