Sky Dragons: Dragonriders of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  “We should go back,” Xhinna said, “it’s past your bedtime.”

  “I’ve heard those noises before,” Jirana said matter-of-factly. “I’ve heard them with Taria and J’keran before.”

  That was something Xhinna didn’t want to hear, and her blood boiled as she thought of all the taunts her friend had thrown at her, when for nights she and the brown rider had been partying when they were supposed to be guarding—

  “Hear that?” Jirana said, cupping hands to her ears and turning her head for the best sound. “The eggs are rocking.”

  Unable to hear anything over the pounding of the surf, Xhinna urged Tazith lower. She kept her head turned away from the place where she’d heard J’keran and Taria—the green rider was her own woman and could make her own choices.

  Then she heard the noise, like shells cracking. In an instant she was on the ground, running from egg to egg and kicking them, shouting with all her might. “Get away! Get away! Get away from them!”

  Tazith! Get help, rouse the Weyr! The eggs, the tunnel snakes are attacking them!

  “What are you doing?” Taria cried, rushing up half-clothed and throwing herself at Xhinna. Xhinna dodged her and continued kicking and rocking the eggs. Three just rolled over and over and away, toward the sea.

  “What, are you killing them?” Taria cried, throwing herself back on Xhinna. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but don’t kill the eggs!”

  “They’re already dead,” Xhinna cried, trying to point to the small holes in their base as they rolled down into the sea. “Don’t you see?”

  “Don’t kill them, don’t kill them,” Taria wailed, her efforts getting feebler and feebler. J’keran rushed up and shoved Xhinna out of the way.

  “Xhinna!” he cried, his hand going to his belt knife. Xhinna, suddenly enlightened, pulled her own knife, preparing to hack open another suspiciously light shell, to show them the destruction inside—

  She grunted as J’keran threw his full weight on her, shoving her to the ground.

  “I won’t let you!” he growled. Xhinna rolled just in time, although J’keran’s knife tore the sleeve of her tunic. “She’s with me, that’s all there is to it. You know the rules!”

  In the background, Xhinna vaguely heard Jirana wailing next to the remains of one of the ruined eggs. Xhinna rolled onto her feet only to dodge the brown rider as he tried to slam her once again onto the ground.

  “J’keran, hold!” Xhinna cried. “The eggs are dead, J’keran!”

  “Only if you kill them!” J’keran cried, overwhelmed by rage and righteousness. “You’d kill all Pern in your jealousy.”

  “No,” Xhinna said. She heard the cracking again and dodged away from him, turning toward the sound. If she could just get J’keran to—

  She missed his motion and his knife came slicing down her back, as a thin line of pain and then a hot, searing agony. Behind her, Tazith roared in challenge and leapt into the air, ready to tackle the brown rider, prepared to challenge his dragon.

  And then, suddenly, before Xhinna could slip aside, regain her composure, try to reason with the drink-addled man, she slipped on a rock, knocked her head against the ruined egg, crashed it open, and—vaguely she heard a series of bellows above her as her sight dimmed and her breath fled her lungs.

  “Now that’s one thing I never thought of,” a soft voice said as Xhinna stirred to wakefulness. “Fighting with another rider.”

  “I doan recommen’ it,” Xhinna said with a thick tongue. The other person was Bekka—she knew just from the healer’s scent, that mix of lemon and something astringent. “How long …”

  “Shh,” Bekka said, putting fingers on Xhinna’s lips. “You’ve done your talking for the day.” She paused until she was certain the blue rider would obey, then lifted her fingers and brushed Xhinna’s cheek tenderly. “You can ask your questions through Tazith.”

  “He’ll tell me,” a small voice spoke up. Jirana sounded tired, tremulous, relieved, and still very, very scared.

  Whatever it is that frightens you, it’s coming closer, Xhinna thought, forming the words with Jirana in mind. She heard the girl gasp and realized that Tazith had relayed her words exactly. I’m sorry. Xhinna apologized. You should tell someone. You aren’t supposed to know so early.

  “I can’t,” Jirana said out loud. “You cannot break time.”

  “Oh,” Bekka said even as Xhinna thought the same. “We know that,” she added softly, “but don’t forget that sometimes you can cheat it.”

  Not this time, Tazith relayed from the young girl to Xhinna.

  Little one, Xhinna thought, sending the dark-haired trader girl a soothing feeling, a caress of thought, a sister’s encouragement, a mother’s love.

  “You’d better ask your questions—I’m going to need a nap soon,” Jirana said aloud. Xhinna knew from the touch of her—the nuanced tone that Tazith used when relaying Jirana’s words and emotions—that Jirana had slept by her side, had not left her for more than the necessary.

  “Nine days,” Bekka said, wringing out a rag over a basin and placing the damp cloth on Xhinna’s head. “I thought we were going to lose you.”

  I’m tough.

  I wouldn’t let you go, Tazith said in a voice that seemed to hold an echo of Jirana—a voice that was still a child’s, with a tone that was only a woman’s. You have to stay.

  The hatchlings?

  Only five, Jirana thought to her with a sadness that matched Xhinna’s own emotions. “Two blues, three greens.”

  “Riders just as we thought: Alimma and Danirry the blues, the rest the greens,” Bekka added.

  Taria!

  Jirana said nothing, but Xhinna felt her turn to Bekka.

  “Taria and J’keran fled,” Bekka said. “I wanted to find them, but K’dan stopped me.”

  Why?

  “She asks why,” Jirana supplied.

  “Because of that vile drink J’keran had been brewing,” Bekka said. “K’dan said something about bad brew that I don’t understand—sensible people drink wine—and told me that until the effects wore off, the two of them were a danger to one and all.” She sniffed. “The stuff was bad in small doses, dangerous in large ones, and lethal if they’d drunk another bottle.”

  Taria! Xhinna cried, full of fear for her pregnant friend.

  She heard the sound of brisk footsteps approaching. Two sets, one smaller than the other.

  “Okay, you get out of here and find your mother,” Bekka said peremptorily to Jirana. “She’s awake. We kept our promise, and now you’ve got to sleep. You’re skin and bones.”

  “Okay,” Jirana said glumly. Xhinna felt Jirana’s hand press lightly on her eyelids, warning her not to open them, and then she felt small lips kiss her cheek. “I’ll come back as soon as they let me.”

  Probably sooner, Xhinna sent sardonically through Tazith. You get your sleep, little one.

  “We’ll take care of her,” Bekka said, giving Jirana a soft, affectionate whack on the butt to keep her moving. The heavier footsteps retreated with Jirana; Xhinna guessed that it was J’riz who remained.

  Bekka started moving Xhinna delicately but purposefully, making comments softly to J’riz. The blue rider thought for a moment to protest such an invasion of her privacy, but she decided against it—she wasn’t supposed to talk. Besides, she couldn’t fault Bekka’s logic in training him, even if she did have to suppress a smirk when she thought how it kept him near the healer.

  Another moment of inspection and then, painfully, Xhinna was rolled onto her stomach and her robe lifted so that Bekka could inspect the wound that, judging from her comment and the touch of her fingers, ran all the way from the bottom of her shoulder blade to the base of her hip.

  “Your hip and the fall saved you,” Bekka said. “If his knife had gone deeper, it would have not only ruined your kidney but ruptured your intestines, and then the only thing I could do would be to give you lots of fellis mixed with that idiot drink of J’keran’s.”

&
nbsp; “Rotgut, K’dan called it,” J’riz said softly.

  J’keran was out of his head, Xhinna reminded herself as they rolled her back over—painfully—to a more comfortable position. He thought I was jealous, in a rage, as addled as he was. It’s a wonder I’m alive.

  “Gonna bea’ ihm to pu’p,” Xhinna spluttered through lips too dry to speak, a throat suddenly raging with thirst and roasting with fever.

  “If that’s what you think best, blue rider,” Bekka responded. But her tone begged Xhinna to reconsider.

  Xhinna tried to nod and shrug at the same time, but sudden pain lanced through her side and she lay back, gasping slowly, desperately, for enough air.

  “I’ll stay with her,” J’riz offered. Distantly, Xhinna heard Bekka and the young green rider exchange words, perhaps arguing. “If I don’t, she’ll only come back the moment you leave,” the boy said. She being Jirana, Xhinna realized.

  A warmth spread through her and she let herself relax. So that’s what it felt to be loved by a child. As her thoughts faded away, she suddenly understood Taria’s fear and her desire. Yes, a child would be good. Probably impossible but—good. Someone like Jirana or Fiona. Maybe Bekka. Or a boy like pretty J’riz. She felt his hands stroking up her arms, two fingers wide, then down, as though she were a strange drawing he was trying to read in the dark.

  Dark. Sleep started to close in on her and she heard someone breathing softly beside her. Rocks cracking, shells burrowed, dragonets dying, creeling like J’riz’s Qinth with the pain, crying like Coranth from claws that gouged deep. Kill them all, save the babies.

  Shh, a voice said inside her. Rest.

  “Wingleader,” X’lerin said when Xhinna first wobbled out on her own two feet a fortnight later. Well, not quite on her own two feet: Bekka was there supporting her, and Jirana clung to her hand, ready to steady her if anything went wrong.

  A burst of applause and cheering startled her more than the bright sun in her eyes.

  “I present your newest riders,” X’lerin said, gesturing to the five women. They stood in a cluster surrounded by dragons, the hatchlings nearest, blues and greens on firm broom trees, grown browns and bronzes circling overhead in slow, graceful turns.

  “Danirry, rider of blue Kiarith, step forward,” Xhinna said, her voice carrying clearly over the morning’s breeze.

  Danirry gave her one nervous look and Xhinna smiled at her, beckoning with one hand, which she’d freed with some effort from Jirana’s grasp.

  The rank knots had been hard to make. With cloth so scarce, Xhinna had chosen to sacrifice the remains of her tunic, which had been blood-ruined on the back and in tatters from the knife cut and subsequent tearing to give her first aid. She had insisted on having a hand in making each one, but in the end she’d had to relinquish the bulk of the work to others. It was a Weyr tradition that the wingleader made the rank knots and the Weyrleader bestowed them. Xhinna had been moved to tears when X’lerin, K’dan, and W’vin had insisted that this time, they would make the knots instead.

  “Kneel,” Xhinna said to the girl standing in front of her. Danirry was still gaunt, though she had begun to fill out, and now her eyes glowed with love for her blue dragon. With Jirana’s help, Xhinna slipped the rank knot over Danirry’s wrist and slid it up to her shoulder, pinning it there.

  “Rise, rider,” X’lerin said, “and join the ranks of Sky Weyr.”

  It still felt funny to Xhinna to say “Sky Weyr,” but X’lerin had embraced the name with a fervor that had surprised her.

  “I am Danirry,” the girl said as she rose, her voice carrying clearly around the cluster, “rider of blue Kiarith, rider in Xhinna’s wing, rider of Sky Weyr!” She raised her right hand into the sky and clenched it tightly into a fist, jerking it back down in the ancient gesture calling riders to fly.

  She stepped back, but not to the other girls; instead, she stepped toward X’lerin and gave him a slight bow.

  “Danirry of Sky Weyr, I greet you,” X’lerin said, nodding back. She moved to W’vin next, then J’per, and so on until she had exchanged greetings with all the Weyr, including, to Xhinna’s surprise, Jirana, Aressil, Javissa, Jasser, and Colfet.

  Her greetings done, Danirry was supposed to join the end of the ranks of the weyrlings, but apparently, she—and Alimma, judging by the nod of encouragement the other woman gave her—had other ideas.

  Danirry moved toward the weyrlings, then circled back to stand behind Xhinna.

  “Wingleader, I, Danirry, Kiarith’s rider, stand behind you.”

  Before Xhinna could respond, Alimma stepped forward and knelt.

  Xhinna accepted the change in ritual with a droll look at the young woman in front of her, motioning to Jirana, who helped her once more with the shoulder knot before stepping back quietly.

  “Rise Alimma, rider of blue Amanth,” Xhinna said, deciding to play along with their unannounced revision.

  And again the words were exchanged, the greetings made, and Alimma, rather than joining the ranks of the weyrlings, came to stand behind Xhinna, next to Danirry, proclaiming loudly, “Wingleader, I, Alimma, Amanth’s rider, stand behind you.”

  And it did not end with the five new riders. Just after the last—Mirressa—finished her declaration, Bekka came forward to kneel before Xhinna. They had not done this ritual with the queens or bronzes, as they were due to fly with other Weyrs when they were old enough.

  “I am Bekka, rider of gold Pinorth, rider of Sky Weyr!” Behind her, little Pinorth bugled in firm agreement.

  Xhinna could not speak, she was so moved by Bekka’s declaration.

  “You’re supposed to say—,” Jirana prodded gently.

  Xhinna’s eyes went pleadingly to X’lerin and K’dan, but the two bronze riders merely smiled and nodded encouragingly. When she still hesitated, X’lerin said, “Go on, Wingleader.”

  “Rise, rider, and”—Xhinna fought for breath amid her sobs—“join this Weyr.”

  Bekka rose and turned to face the circle as she shouted, “I am Bekka, rider of gold Pinorth, rider of Sky Weyr!”

  Jepara was next, then Hannah, Latara, Meeya, and then the bronze weyrlings, C’nian, G’rial, and all the others.

  Xhinna felt herself trembling with emotion, bursting with pride, and she thought furiously, searching for the right words to say to thank them all.

  She gestured to Bekka and Jirana to help her. Slowly she moved to stand in front of X’lerin.

  “Weyrleader, I present the riders of my wing,” she said, gesturing proudly to those standing behind her. “We await your orders.”

  TEN

  An Easy Problem

  Xhinna was exhausted and still trembling when she went to sleep that night; Bekka chided her for doing too much her first day back on her feet.

  “What happened to Wingleader?” Xhinna asked her.

  “Wingleaders can make asses of themselves, like anyone else,” the healer told her, shaking her head. “I told you to rest after the ceremony. You didn’t have to insist on helping the weyrlings with their oiling.”

  “It was only the girls,” Xhinna said, adding hastily, “and J’riz.”

  “Hmmph!” Bekka snorted. “I could have helped him.”

  “Well, I’ll sleep late tomorrow,” Xhinna promised.

  “Yes, you will,” Bekka said, raising a cup of fruit juice to Xhinna’s lips. “Drink this.”

  The juice had a slight bitter aftertaste: fellis juice.

  “Yes, it’s fellis juice,” Bekka said when Xhinna made a face at her. “And we’re running low on that—we used most of it on you.”

  “I’ll try not to get knifed by crazed brown riders in future,” Xhinna said.

  “See that you don’t,” Bekka returned without a hint of sympathy. “You’ve done enough damage to yourself to last a lifetime—you don’t want to add more.” She paused for a moment. “And how many times did you use the lower branches today?”

  One of the problems with Sky Weyr’s broom trees was that th
ey lacked a place for the necessary. “The lower branches,” generally referring to one spot in particular, had become a euphemism for the same.

  “Twice, as if you weren’t there both times,” Xhinna said. Bekka made a face and Xhinna arched a brow in response.

  “You need to drink more,” Bekka said. “You’re not peeing for two, like—” She cut herself off quickly.

  “Taria,” Xhinna finished for her. Bekka looked away quickly. “She’s out there, somewhere.”

  “Or somewhen,” Bekka said. “Have you decided—?”

  “What to do about her and J’keran, if and when they come back?” Xhinna guessed. She shook her head. “No.”

  “Well, you can’t do anything for a while still; you’ve no strength,” Bekka reminded her. She took a deep breath and added in a rush, “And if you think you can slip out by yourself, I should tell you that I’ve had Pinorth order Tazith not to fly you anywhere until I say it’s okay.”

  Xhinna turned to her in surprise, then pointed a finger at her own chest, and said defiantly, “Wingleader.”

  Bekka shook her head, pointing a finger at herself. “Healer. It’s my job to see to it that you are alive to do yours.”

  Xhinna shrugged, and her shrug turned into a yawn. She was so weak; she could feel herself starting to tremble.

  “Besides, if you tried, your body would fail you,” Bekka said with concern. “You need another month or more before you’re fully back together and …”

  “Say it,” Xhinna ordered. She could sense the young healer’s reluctance.

  “You might never get your full strength back,” Bekka said. “You might not even be able to fly a Fall.”

  “Why not?”

  “I did the best I could,” Bekka told her, shaking her head, “but your muscles were badly torn. If you’re not careful, they’ll never be right and you’ll always be in pain.”

  “I can handle pain,” Xhinna swore.

  “You can, but your back may decide it can’t,” Bekka said. “And if it goes into spasm when you’re flying, like when you’re trying to catch a sack of firestone …”