Dragon’s Time: Dragonriders of Pern

by Anne; Todd J. Mccaffrey Mccaffrey

  “Who did you forgive, Fiona?” Kindan asked her softly.

  “You,” she told him, raising her eyes to meet his unflinchingly. “When I saw you with Lorana and, even before, when I’d heard you were with her.” She smiled sadly and turned her head down toward Terin. “And it was then, when I could forgive myself for loving him, forgive myself for being jealous of Lorana, that I discovered that I could love them both.”

  “So if I forgive him, then I can love him?” Terin asked, arching her head back to catch Fiona’s eyes. “I don’t want to, Fiona. There’s too much pain.”

  “Pain’s part of love, sweetie,” Fiona said, leaning down and kissing Terin affectionately on the nose. “You know that.”

  “Pain’s part of living,” Jeriz piped up. All the others turned to him in surprise. “ ‘Love is extra, pain’s a given.’ ” He flushed as they stared at him. “That’s a saying we traders have.”

  “Well, that’s a saying we weyrfolk will keep,” Fiona said, including him with a wave of her hand. She looked back down to Terin. “Love is extra, pain’s a given.”

  Terin’s lips puffed out in a pout and she lowered her head, shaking it slightly. “So I have to forgive him?”

  “Forgive him,” Kindan said. “It’s not for him, your forgiveness, it’s for yourself.”

  “Because until you do, you lock yourself up in your anger, you can’t move on,” T’mar agreed.

  “All I want to do is crawl back into bed,” Terin said miserably.

  “Then do so,” Fiona told her. “We’ll take our breakfast in the Cavern.”

  The matter was easier said than done, but Fiona, T’mar, and Kindan were soon ready to leave.

  “If you would, weyrwoman,” Jeriz said solemnly to Terin, “I’ll stay here in case you need anything.” He gestured nervously to the unused cot in the distance. “I can rest over there, I won’t disturb you.”

  Terin smiled and nodded in acceptance of the offer. “But if I get cold, you’ve got to snuggle with me.”

  Jeriz’s eyes went wide, but he nodded solemnly. Fiona gave him an encouraging smile before she left, and his eyes lit with pleasure, rising to a blaze with Kindan’s curt nod and T’mar’s respectful half-salute before they departed.

  “How many others are like F’jian—disconsolate?” Fiona asked as she, Kindan, and T’mar trouped across the Weyr Bowl to the Kitchen Cavern.

  “Pretty much all of them,” Kindan guessed. T’mar nodded mutely.

  “You, too?” Fiona said, turning to the bronze rider.

  “I want to hope,” T’mar said. “But the numbers are bad.”

  “High Reaches has only seven more dragonpairs than us, Fort only ten,” Kindan said. “The best is Benden, with slightly more than a full Flight.”

  “And likely less after the Fall tonight,” T’mar added grimly. “Likely,” Kindan agreed.

  “We’ve pulled through before, we’ll do it again,” Fiona said.

  “Kindan and Lorana found the cure,” T’mar said, leaving unspoken the thought that it was too little, too late.

  “Worry about today, T’mar,” Fiona said, skipping ahead to catch his hand in hers. “You let me worry about tomorrow.”

  T’mar smiled at her suggestion. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer it if you could worry a little faster.”

  “Or better,” Kindan agreed.

  “Of course,” Fiona said, keeping her tone light even as her heart skipped in dread. If Kindan and T’mar were this gloomy, how could she hope for better from the riders?

  After breakfast, T’mar sought out J’gerd, who’d been assigned as F’jian’s second. “You’re to lead the wing,” he told him. “F’jian’s not well enough.”

  “Weyrleader?” J’gerd said, surprised and off guard. He saw the implacable look in T’mar’s eyes and stiffened. “Certainly.”

  The weyrlings were released from drill to help prepare the firestone for the evening. Fiona noticed the nervous glances of the weyrfolk, hastily averted when she looked, but they could not hide their worry and concern.

  They had all seen the older Telgar riders vanish in a single Fall. Now they wondered if they’d see any of the current riders return. And there’d been too many lost, lost timing it, lost fighting Thread.

  News of F’jian’s relief and the reasons for it spread throughout the Weyr, even though Fiona was certain that no one who was present had spoken about it. Probably, she thought from her experience at Fort Hold, the weyrfolk had noted who was present, who was absent, and had drawn their own—correct—conclusions.

  Lorana had been gone for six days and already the morale of the Weyr had plummeted. Fiona felt fears creeping in, humor unraveling, tensions mounting, and she was powerless to do anything about it.

  She remained at the high table as T’mar and the others went out to the Weyr Bowl to plan and check their gear.

  A man cleared his throat softly from behind her. “I haven’t seen it this bad before.”

  It was Mekiar.

  “It was bad back at Fort Weyr when we’d banished the fire-lizards and the dragons were still getting sick,” Fiona replied, her voice low. “It was this bad when we came here and Talenth caught the sickness.”

  “I suppose it was,” Mekiar allowed. Fiona raised a hand, inviting him to sit with her. The old ex-dragonrider moved deliberately and sat with a sigh and a nod of gratitude.

  “Old bones are hard to move,” Mekiar said.

  “Hah!” Fiona snorted. “Try pregnant bodies!”

  “If you’re moaning now when you scarcely show …” Mekiar said, shaking his head. Then he stopped and eyed her intently.

  “What?” Fiona demanded, wondering if she had to defend her honor.

  “I was just thinking,” Mekiar said. “I don’t recall you to be the sort to complain.”

  “I don’t see how it can help, most times,” Fiona admitted.

  “So, if you’re not complaining over much, you have to wonder why is it you’re feeling so poorly this early?”

  “It’s my first time,” Fiona said. “I’ve never done this before. I thought that was reason enough.”

  “Perhaps,” Mekiar agreed blandly.

  “Or?” Fiona prompted.

  “Multiple pregancies are noticeable earlier than single pregnancies.”

  “Multiple?” Fiona repeated, eyes going wide. “Twins?”

  “Triplets are very rare,” Mekiar agreed, his eyes sparkling. “Although I recall a holder who had four at once.”

  “Four?” Fiona repeated, aghast. She looked down at her stomach. “Two will be enough, if it comes to that.”

  Talenth, ask Bekka to meet me in the Kitchen Cavern.

  She asks if it can wait, Talenth responded a moment later.

  Say to her: twins, Fiona replied.

  She’s coming, Talenth said a moment later. What are twins?

  It’s when a person has two babies at once, Fiona informed her.

  Babies aren’t like eggs, Talenth said, sounding slighly confused.

  No, eggs are clutched, then hatch, Fiona told her. Babies clutch and hatch at the once.

  Awkward, Talenth declared.

  Fiona snorted at her queen’s observation, then replied, But it keeps the wait shorter.

  Talenth made no reply, but Fiona got the distinct feeling that the queen preferred her way. Fiona wondered if she might agree with her before too long.

  “We’re still not sure!” Bekka called from the entrance of the Kitchen Cavern, bustling toward Fiona with Birentir trundling behind her. “And you were going to tell me when?”

  “I thought we had,” Bekka said. “I mean, I recall telling you to eat more …”

  “You said the same to Jeila.”

  “She’s too thin, hardly putting on any weight,” Bekka replied immediately. She eyed Fiona. “You won’t have that problem.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Fiona demanded.

  “It’s really too early,” Bekka said. “You know that things can go
wrong in the first twelve weeks—” Fiona nodded irritably. Bekka frowned. “Well, they can go worse with two.”

  “They can?” Fiona felt her throat go dry with fear.

  “It’s possible to lose one and not the other,” Bekka said, suddenly solemn and not at all happy with her news. “I didn’t want to say anything, in case.”

  “I see,” Fiona said, forcing herself to breathe slowly. “How would I know, if I lost one?”

  “We won’t really know if you’ve got two until they’re old enough that we can hear their heartbeats,” Bekka temporized. “And even then it’s often hard to be sure.”

  “So what makes you think I’ve got twins?”

  “The way you’ve been complaining,” Bekka said. Fiona didn’t need to turn to feel Mekiar beside her, nodding. “You’re more sore than you should be at this time. And—” Bekka had the grace to flush “—you’ve been peeing more than usual.”

  “It could be a bladder infection,” Birentir reminded the youngster.

  “That’s why we’ve had her drink more fruit juice, just to be sure,” Bekka replied waving a hand dismissingly. “I’d say, judging by her behavior, that’s not it.” She eyed Fiona judiciously and nodded. “No, I’m pretty sure it’s twins.”

  “And I could lose one?”

  “You could lose both,” Bekka said. “Carrying a child is never certain.” She frowned when she saw Fiona’s distraught look. “I don’t think you will or I’d have the Masterhealer here this instant.”

  “Or his wife,” Birentir suggested, “she’s better with pregnancies.”

  “I’d have both of them and you know it,” Bekka said. She gave Fiona a frank look and leaned closer. “I’m more worried about Jeila, to be honest.”

  “Jeila?”

  Bekka nodded. “She’s thin and small-boned. Even if everything goes well, it may be difficult for her.” She puckered her lips. “She’s built small like me and my mother, who lost two before she carried one to term.” She nodded to Fiona. “I spoke with Kindan, your mother had four children, all full-term and healthy.” She smiled at her friend. “There’s no reason to think you’ll be any different.”

  “Four,” Fiona said quietly, thinking of the four special mounds in Fort Hold’s garden, one for each of her brothers, one for her sister, and one for her mother. She glanced up at Bekka. “How would I know?”

  “Know what?”

  “If I lost one,” Fiona said.

  “You might feel cramps,” Bekka said. “And you might have bleeding more than usual.”

  “Bleeding?”

  “More than usual,” Bekka assured her. “You’ll tell me or Talenth will tell me if there’s anything to worry about.”

  “Talenth?”

  “We talk,” Bekka said with a shrug. “Ever since you said we could.”

  “She’s keeping an eye on you,” Fiona admitted.

  “And you, too, Weyrwoman,” Birentir added humorously. “Apparently your queen is a bit of a tattle.”

  “She just likes people,” Fiona said. She cocked an eye at Bekka. “Anything special I should do?”

  “Yes,” Bekka told her emphatically. Fiona raised an eyebrow demandingly. “Don’t worry.”

  “Worry?”

  “Worry,” Bekka repeated. “Worrying can cause distress and that can affect the pregnancy.”

  “It’s rather hard to avoid worrying these days,” Mekiar observed.

  “Don’t worry about the babies, Fiona,” Bekka said. She pointed a finger at herself, adding, “That’s my job.”

  “And mine?”

  “Everything else,” Bekka told her. “You grow the babies, feed them, keep Pern from doing whatever it would do without you, and I’ll see to it that you have two healthy babies when the time comes.” She paused, then frowned. “If I can.”

  “If it’s any help, my lady,” Birentir put in diffidently, “she’s quite good at her job.”

  “For a girl?” Fiona asked him tauntingly.

  “For anyone,” Birentir replied staunchly, his hand going to Bekka’s shoulder and resting there. “Her father has every right to be proud.”

  “Where is he?” Fiona asked, suddenly realizing that Seban was nowhere to be seen.

  “With Jeila, finishing our rounds,” Bekka said in a slightly testy tone.

  “He’s keeping an eye on her?”

  “Two,” Birentir said with a wink.

  “And don’t you tell her, Fiona,” Bekka said, shaking a finger at her Weyrwoman. “She’s the sort to fret, and fretting would be certain to cause her to lose the pregnancy.”

  “I’ll worry for her then,” Fiona decided.

  “No you won’t!” Bekka told her firmly. “If you do, that’s just the same as worrying about your own—only with even less control and you’d be certain to lose them, and then she’d probably lose hers in sympathy.” Bekka spluttered. “Fiona, you’ve got to know what you can and cannot do.”

  “And I can’t worry about my babies or Jeila’s babies,” Fiona said questioningly.

  “Not with everything else you worry about,” Birentir said, his hand shaking Bekka’s shoulder affectionately. “She’s right, Weyrwoman. In this, you have to put your trust in us.”

  Fiona looked at the healer, surprised in the change in him since he’d first arrived full of arrogance and self-importance. More than anything, she realized, it was Bekka’s unassuming performance of her duties that had changed him.

  “Is she learning enough here?” Fiona asked him. “Or should we send her to the Healer Hall?”

  Birentir snorted. “My lady, you should know better! You have a way of attracting strong wills in small packages.” He grinned down at Bekka, whose eyes flared in mock anger. “And this is one of the smallest.” With a sigh, he continued, “Still, I’m not a Master and she needs one before she can walk the tables.”

  “Then have Master Betrony come and certify her,” Fiona said.

  “I don’t know if—”

  “With two weyrwomen pregnant, I suspect he’ll be willing to make a visit,” Fiona said.

  “And there are some patients here he’d probably like to see,” Birentir ruminated, raising a finger to his lips in thought.

  “You, Seban, Bekka, and the others have come up with some novel treatments that should be recorded back at the Healer Hall,” Birentir said after a moment. “And, I think, the Masterhealer should take more of an interest in the healing of dragons, as well.”

  “Dragons?” Fiona repeated, surprised. “I would have thought he’d leave that to the Masterherder.”

  “Who, as we both know, has no interest whatsoever in dragons,” Birentir said, shaking his head sadly. “No, I think that those healers who can expect to be assigned to the Weyrs should have an opportunity to learn at least part of that craft in their own Hall.”

  “That would probably be better than learning it the hard way,” Fiona agreed, her lips twitching at the various memories of ichor-soaked nights spent desperately trying to sew Thread-torn wings.

  “Precisely my thinking,” Birentir agreed.

  Fiona sighed. “Well, it will have to wait until after this Fall, as we’ve no one spare to send.”

  “What about F’jian?” Bekka asked.

  “He’s too tired,” Fiona said, surprised at her suggestion.

  “We could take Talenth,” Bekka said, eyes suddenly aglow. “We’ve done it before.”

  “I haven’t been out of the Weyr for a while,” Fiona said, musingly.

  “No, you should stay here,” Bekka said. “You’re needed. Father could come with us.”

  “There’s no certainty that the Masterhealer will be available,” Birentir reminded Bekka.

  “But you’ve just got to see me with Talenth!” Bekka said, suddenly excited.

  Fiona started to shake her head and squash the notion, but she felt a foot rub against hers and looked up to see Mekiar eye her intently. She caught his look and turned to face Bekka squarely, seeing the joy in the youngst
er’s face overshadowing the fear, sorrow, and pain.

  “Let me see if she’s up for it,” Fiona said. Talenth, would you take Bekka and some others to the Healer Hall? She needs some cheering up.

  What about you?

  If you’ll be okay, I’ll stay here. Fiona replied, half-hoping that Talenth would object, but honest enough to let her feelings and concern for Bekka slip through to her queen.

  She would be happier riding me without you? Talenth thought about that. We’ve never tried this before, it could be fun.

  Yes, it could. Fiona agreed. Would you like to try?

  Yes. Talenth’s response made it clear that she’d be just as happy to have her rider along, but also that the novelty intrigued her.

  “She said yes,” Fiona spoke out loud, and was rewarded with Bekka’s whoop of delight. The small youngster sped away, only to return and grab Birentir’s hand, forcibly dragging him out of the Cavern in much the same manner as she’d once dragged Talenth off to eat.

  “A strong will in a small package, indeed!” Mekiar chortled as they watched them leave. In an approving tone, he added, “You did well, Weyrwoman.”

  “Well, at least there are two who are not despondent,” Fiona agreed.

  “Three,” Mekiar said, pointing to himself. “I put my faith in my Weyrwoman as she is wise enough to put her trust in others. Even her dragon.”

  “Well, she is a very wise dragon.”

  Kindan gave Fiona an approving look when he heard of her decision. T’mar nodded in agreement.

  “The more we show we’re not jealous,” T’mar said, “the easier it’ll be when the need comes.”

  “The need for what?” Fiona demanded. She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re not thinking of mounting fit riders on other dragons again, are you?”

  “If it comes to that,” T’mar said. He pursed his lips in a sour look. “As it is now, we’ve more dragons injured than riders.”

  “Dragons are bigger, they’re more likely to get scored,” Kindan said.

  “It’s surprising, really, that any riders get scored,” Fiona added in agreement. “As it is, the amount is nearly one rider for every ten dragons.”