Dragonsong

by Anne McCaffrey

  As it happened, she wasn’t. She felt the thrumming before she heard it. She and everyone else in the cavern stopped working as one-by-one they became aware of the intensely exciting noise. Menolly gasped, because she recognized it as the same sort of sound the fire lizards had made when their eggs had hatched.

  There was suddenly no time for her to return to her cubicle and change. T’gellan appeared at the cavern entrance, gesturing urgently to her. She made as much speed as her feet would permit because she could see Monarth waiting outside the entrance. T’gellan had already taken her hand when she exclaimed over the cooking stains and wet marks on her overshirt.

  ‘I told you to be ready. I’ll put you in a corner, pet, not that anyone will notice stains today,’ T’gellan reassured her.

  A trifle resentful, Menolly noticed that he was dressed in new dark trousers, a handsomely overstitched tunic, a belt worked with metal and jewels, but she didn’t resist.

  ‘I have to get you in place first, because I’m to collect some visitors,’ T’gellan said, climbing nimbly into place in front of her on Monarth’s neck ridges. ‘F’lar’s filling the Hatching Ground with anyone who’ll ride a dragon between.’

  Monarth was awing, slanting up from the Bowl floor to an immense opening, high up on the Weyr wall, which Menolly had not noticed before. Other dragons were angling towards it, too. Menolly gasped as they entered the mouth, with a dragon before them and one abaft, so close that she had momentary fears of collision. The dark core of the tunnel was lit at the far end, and abruptly they were in the gigantic Hatching Ground.

  The whole north quadrant of the Weyr must be hollow, thought Menolly, awed. Then she saw the gleaming clutch of dragon eggs and gasped. Slightly to one side was a larger egg, and hovering over it was the zealous golden form of Ramoth, her eyes incredibly brilliant with the coming of Impression.

  Monarth dropped with distressing abruptness, then backwinged to land neatly on a ledge.

  ‘Here you are, Menolly. Best seat in the Ground. I’ll be back for you afterwards.’

  Menolly was only too glad to sit still after that incredible ride. She was in the third tier, by the outer wall, so she had a perfect view of the Hatching Ground and the entrance through which people were beginning to file. They were all so elegantly dressed that she brushed vainly at the stains and crossed her arm over her chest. At least the clothes were new.

  Other dragons were arriving from the upper entrance, depositing their passengers, often three and four at a time. She watched the now steady stream of visitors coming in from the ground entrance. It was amusing to watch the elegant and sometimes overdressed ladies having to pick up their heavy skirts and run in awkward little steps across the hot sands. The tiers filled rapidly, and the excited thrumming of the dragons increased in pitch so that Menolly found it difficult to sit quietly.

  A sudden cry announced the rocking of some of the eggs. Late arrivals began to hurry across the sands, and the seats beyond Menolly were filled with a group of minecraftsmen, to judge from their red-brown tunic devices. She crossed her arms again and then uncrossed them because she had to lean forward to see around the minecraftsmen’s stocky bodies.

  More eggs were rocking, all of them except the smallish gray egg that had somehow got shoved back against the inside wall.

  Another rush of wings, and this time bronze dragons entered, depositing the girls who were candidates for the queen egg. Menolly tried to figure out which one was Brekke, but they all looked very aware and healthy. Hadn’t the weyrwomen remarked that morning how Brekke just lay like someone dead? The girls formed a loose but incomplete semicircle about the queen egg while Ramoth hissed softly behind it.

  Young boys marched in now from the Bowl, their expressions purposeful, their shoulders straight in the white tunics as they approached the main clutch.

  Menolly did not see Brekke’s entrance because she was trying to figure out which of the violently rocking eggs would hatch first. Then one of the miners exclaimed and pointed towards the entrance, to the slender figure, stumbling, halting, then moving onward, apparently insensitive to the hot sands underfoot.

  ‘That would be the one. That would be Brekke,’ he told his comrades. ‘Dragonrider said she’d be put to the egg.’

  Yes, thought Menolly, she walks as if she’s asleep. Then Menolly saw Manora and a man she didn’t recognize standing by the entrance, as if they had done all they could in bringing Brekke to the Hatching Ground.

  Suddenly Brekke straightened her shoulders with a shake of her head. She walked slowly but steadily across the sands to join the five girls who waited by the golden egg. One girl turned and gestured for her to take the space that would complete the semicircle.

  The humming ceased so abruptly that a little ripple of reaction ran through those assembled. In the expectant silence, the faint crack of a shell was clear, and the pop and shatter of others.

  First one dragonet, then another, awkward, ugly, glistening creatures, flopped and rolled from their casings, squawking and creeling, their wedge-shaped heads too big for the thin, sinuous short necks.

  Menolly noticed how very still the boys were standing, stunned as she’d been in that very little cave with those tiny fire lizards crawling from their shells, voracious with hunger.

  Now the difference became apparent; the fire lizards had expected no help at their hatching, their instinct was to get food into their churningly empty stomachs as fast as possible. But the dragons looked expectantly about them. One staggered beyond the first boy who sidestepped its awkward progress. It fell, nose first at the feet of a tall, black-haired boy. The boy knelt, helped the dragonet balance on his shaky feet, looked into the rainbow eyes.

  Emotion like a fist squeezed Menolly’s heart. Yes, she’d her fire lizards, but to Impress a dragon … Startled, she wondered where Beauty, Rocky, Diver and the others were. She missed them acutely, wanted Beauty’s affectionate nuzzling, even the choke-tight twist of the little queen’s tail about her neck.

  The crack of the golden egg was a summons for all attention to be centered on it. The egg split right down the center, and its inmate, protesting her abrupt birth, fell to the sand on her back. Three of the girls moved to assist it. They got the little queen to her four legs and then stepped back. Menolly held her breath as they all turned towards Brekke. She was unaware of anything. Whatever strength had sustained her to walk across the sands had now left her. Her shoulders sagged pathetically, her head listed to one side as if too heavy to hold upright. The queen dragonet turned her head towards Brekke, the glistening eyes enormous in the outsize skull. Brekke shook her head as if aware of the scrutiny. The dragonet lurched forward one step.

  Menolly saw a bronze blur out of the corner of her right eye and for an unnerving moment thought it must be Diver. But it couldn’t be, because the little bronze just hung above the dragonet’s head, screaming defiantly. He was so close to her head that she reared back with a startled shriek and bit at the air, instinctively spreading her wings forward as protection for her vulnerable eyes.

  Dragons bugled warnings from their perches at the top of the Hatching Ground, and Ramoth spread her wings, rising to her haunches as if to strike at the invader. One of the girls interposed her body between the queen and her small attacker.

  ‘Berd! Don’t!’ Brekke, too, moved, her arm extended towards the irate bronze.

  The dragonet queen creeled and hid her face in the girl’s skirt. The two women faced each other for a moment, tense, worried. Then the other stretched her hand out to Brekke, and Menolly could see her smile. The gesture lasted only a moment because the young queen butted imperiously, and the girl knelt, her arms reassuringly encircling the dragonet’s shoulders.

  At the same instant, Brekke turned, no longer a somnolent figure, immersed in grief. She walked back to the entrance of the Cavern, the little bronze fire lizard whirring around her head, making noises that went from scolding to entreaty, just like Beauty when Menolly was doing something that
had upset her.

  Menolly didn’t realize that she was weeping until tears dropped on to her arms. She glanced hastily to see if the miners had noticed, but they were concentrating on the main clutch. From their comments it seemed that a boy had been found on Search in one of their craftholds, and they were impatiently waiting for him to Impress. For a fleeting moment, Menolly was angry with them; hadn’t they seen Brekke’s deliverance? Didn’t they realize how marvelous that was? Oh, think how happy Mirrim would be now!

  Menolly sank wearily back against the stones, depleted by the emotionally-laden miracle. And the look on Brekke’s face as she passed under the arched entrance! Manora was there, her face radiant, her arms outstretched in a joyful gesture. The man, who was surely F’nor, swept Brekke up in his arms, his tired face mirroring his relief and gladness.

  A cheer from the miners beside her indicated that their lad had Impressed although Menolly couldn’t be certain which of the boys he was. There were so many now paired off with wobbly-legged hatchlings, all creeling with hunger, lurching and falling towards the entrance. The miners were urging their favorite on; and when a curly-haired, skinny lad passed by, with a grin for their cheering, she saw that he had done rather well, Impressing a brown. When the exultant miners turned to her to share their triumph, she managed to respond properly, but she was relieved when they scrambled down the tiers to follow the pair out of the Hatching Ground.

  She sat there, glowing over the resurgence of Brekke, the determination and fierceness of bronze Berd, his courage in braving Ramoth’s ire at such a moment. Now, why, Menolly wondered, didn’t Berd want Brekke to Impress the new queen? At all events, the experiment had successfully roused Brekke from her lethargy.

  The dragons were returning, landing in the Hatching Ground so that their riders could help the weyrlings, or to escort guests outside. The tiers were emptying. Soon there was only a man in holder colors on the first tier with two boys. The man looked as tired as she felt. Then one of the boys rose, pointing to the little egg on the sand that wasn’t even rocking.

  Idly Menolly thought that it might not hatch, remembering the uncracked egg left in the fire lizard’s sand nest the morning after her fire lizards had hatched. She’d shaken it and something hard had rattled within. Sometimes hold babies were born dead, so she’d supposed that it could happen to other creatures, too.

  The boy was running along the tier now. To Menolly’s astonishment, he jumped to the Hatching Ground and began kicking at the little egg. His cries and his actions attracted the notice of the Weyrleader and the small knot of candidates who had not Impressed. The Holder half-rose, one hand extended in a cautionary gesture. The other boy was shouting at his friend.

  ‘Jaxom, what are you doing?’ shouted the Weyrleader.

  The egg fractured then, and the boy began tearing at the shell, ripping out sections and kicking until Menolly could see the small body pushing at the thick membrane.

  Jaxom cut at the membrane with his belt knife, and a small white body, not much larger than the boy’s torso, fell from the sac. The boy reached out to help the creature to his feet.

  Menolly saw the little white dragon lift his head, his eyes, brilliant with greens and yellows, fastened on the boy’s face.

  ‘He says his name is Ruth!’ the boy cried in amazed delight.

  With a strangled exclamation, the older man sank back to the stone seat, his face a mask of grief. The Weyrleader and the others who had rushed to prevent what had just occurred halted. To Menolly it was all too obvious that Jaxom’s Impression of the little white dragon was unprecedented and unwelcome. And she couldn’t imagine why: the boy and the dragon looked so radiant, who could deny them their joyous union?

  Chapter 13

  Harper, your song has a sorrowful sound,

  Though the tune was written as gay.

  Your voice is sad and your hands are slow

  And your eye meeting mine turns away.

  WHEN IT BECAME obvious to Menolly that T’gellan had forgotten his promise to return, she slowly climbed down from the tiers and made her way out of the deserted Hatching Ground, over the hot sand.

  Beauty met her at the entrance, demanding caresses and reassurance. She was swiftly followed by the others, all chittering nervously and with many anxious dartings to the entrance to see if Ramoth was about.

  Although Menolly had not far to walk on the sands, the heat quickly penetrated the soles of her slippers. Her discomfort was acute by the time she stepped on to the cooler earth of the Bowl. She edged to one side of the entrance and sank down, her fire lizards grouping themselves about her while she waited for the pain to subside.

  As everyone was on the kitchen cavern side of the Bowl, no-one noticed her, for which she was grateful since she felt useless and foolish. It would be a long walk across the Bowl to the kitchens. Well, she’d just take it in small sections.

  She heard the faint cries of the herdbeasts at the farthest end of the Bowl valley and saw Ramoth hovering for a kill. The weyrwomen had said that Ramoth hadn’t eaten for the past ten days, which was partly the cause of her irascible temper.

  By the lakeside, hatchlings were being fed and bathed, and their riders shown how to oil the fragile skin. Their white tunics stood out among the gleaming green, blue, brown and bronze hides. The little queen was slightly removed from the others, with two of the bronze dragons in attendance. She couldn’t see where the white dragon was.

  On the weyr ledges dotting the Bowl’s face, some dragons were curled in what remained of the afternoon sun. Above and to the left of her, Menolly saw great bronze Mnementh on the ledge of the queen’s weyr. He was seated on his haunches, watching his mate choose her meal. Menolly saw him move slightly, glancing over his left shoulder. Then Menolly caught a glimpse of a man’s head as he descended the stairs from the queen’s weyr.

  Felena’s voice, raised above the conversational babble, brought Menolly’s gaze back to the kitchen cavern where tables were being erected for the evening’s feasting. The dragonriders were doing it, for the bright colors of their best tunics, were conspicuous, moving about while the soberer colors of Holder and Craft seemed to stay in stationary clumps at a polite distance from the workers.

  The man had reached the Bowl floor now from the queen’s weyr, and Menolly idly watched him start across. Auntie One and Two came sweeping down to her, chittering about something that had excited them and ducking their heads at her for reassurance. They needed to be oiled, and she felt guilty for not taking better care of them.

  ‘Do you have two greens?’ asked an amused voice, and the tall man was standing in front of her, his eyes friendly and interested.

  ‘Yes, they’re mine,’ she said and held up Two for him to inspect, responding to the kindness and good humor in his long face. ‘They like their eye ridges scratched, gently, like this,’ she added, showing him.

  He dropped to one knee in the sand and obligingly caressed Two, who crooned and closed her eyelids in appreciation. Auntie One whistled at Menolly for attention, digging a jealous claw into her hand.

  ‘Stop that, you naughty creature.’

  Beauty roused, and Rocky and Diver reacted as well, all three scolding Auntie One so fiercely that she took flight.

  ‘Don’t tell me the queen and the two browns are yours as well?’ the man asked, startled.

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Then you must be Menolly,’ he said, rising to his feet and making such an elaborate bow that she blushed. ‘Lessa has, just told me that I may have two eggs of that clutch you discovered. I’m rather partial to browns, you know, though I wouldn’t actually object to a bronze. Of course the greens, like this lady here,’ and he smiled such a winning smile to the watching Two that she crooned responsively, ‘are such delicate darlings. That doesn’t mean that I would object to a blue, however.’

  ‘Don’t you want the queen?’

  ‘Ah, now that would be greedy of me, wouldn’t it?’ He rubbed his face thoughtfully and
gave her a wry half-smile. ‘All things considered, though, I’d be heartily embarrassed if Sebell – my Journeyman is to have possession of the other egg – secured a queen instead. But …’ and he threw his long fingured hand upwards to signify his submission to chance. ‘Are you waiting here for some purpose? Or is the confusion on the other side of the Bowl too much for all your friends?’

  ‘I should be there. The clutch must be turned; the eggs are in warm sand by the hearth; but T’gellan brought me into the Hatching Cavern and told me to wait …’

  ‘And seems to have forgotten you. Not surprising, considering today’s surprises.’ The man hastily cleared his throat and extended his hand to her.

  She accepted his aid because she couldn’t have risen without it. He had taken three strides when he realized that she wasn’t keeping up with him. Politely he turned. Menolly tried to walk normally, a feat she managed for about three strides when her heel came down so painfully on a patch of pebbles that she involuntarily cried out. Beauty whirled, scolding fiercely, and Rocky and Diver added their antics, which were of no help to anyone.

  ‘Here’s my arm, girl. Were you too long on the hot sands? Ah now, wait. You’re a long child, but there’s no meat on your bones.’

  Before Menolly could protest, he’d swung her up into his arms and was carrying her across the Bowl.

  ‘Tell that queen of yours I’m helping you,’ he asked when Beauty disordered his silvering hair, diving at him. ‘After sober reflection, be sure you give me green eggs.’

  Beauty was too excited to harken to Menolly, so she had to wave her arms about his head and face to protect him. It was not astonishing then that their approach to the kitchen caverns attracted attention; but people made way so politely, bowing to them with such deference, that Menolly began to wonder who the man was. His tunic was a gray cloth with just a band of blue, so he must be a harper of some sort; probably weyrbound to Fort Weyr to judge by the yellow arm device.