“Is she still pregnant?”
“No,” Fiona said, shaking her head. She looked down at her still flat stomach and smiled ruefully. “It appears I am the only one with that honor, now.”
“Shaneese,” the boy corrected softly.
“I should say that I’m the only weyrwoman,” Fiona agreed. “What will happen with her?” Jeriz said, nodding toward Terin. “We’ll stay with her, keep her company, help her recover.”
“You’ve never had this happen to you.”
“No,” Fiona said. “But I know a little of what she’s going through.” The young trader boy cocked an eye in her direction, so she explained: “All my brothers and sisters—save Kemin—died in the Plague.”
“He died saving T’mar, warning the others,” Jeriz said. “That was brave.”
“It was,” Fiona agreed. Something puzzled her. How did he know?
“Terin’s still the same,” Fiona said the next morning as she met Shaneese for breakfast.
“It will take a long time for her, she was very much in love,” Shaneese said.
“When I came in this morning, Jeriz was in the bed with her,” Fiona said, smiling at the memory. “He’s barely half her size, but he had her head on his chest.”
“I cannot believe he did that,” Shaneese said, a bitter tang in her voice.
“Jeriz?” Fiona asked, surprised.
Shaneese shook her head. “No, F’jian.”
Fiona made a face, but said nothing.
“He swore on his dragon’s egg that he’d be there when she needed him,” Shaneese said. “Either he lied about everything or …”
“Perhaps he was too distraught,” Fiona said. “Perhaps he discovered that he was going to die and he said whatever he could to Terin, to let her know how much he loved her.”
“The way I see it, either he was telling the truth all the time or he was lying about everything,” Shaneese declared flatly.
“But if he was telling the truth, where is he now that Terin needs him most?”
Jeriz came rushing in, raced up to Fiona, a broad grin on his face.
“Where’s Terin?” Fiona demanded.
“She’s okay,” Jeriz said as he grabbed a roll and wolfed it down.
“She needs someone to be with her all the time,” Fiona said, rising from her chair, ready to rush to the other woman’s side.
“She’s got someone,” Jeriz said, smiling broadly.
“Who?”
“F’jian,” Jeriz said. “He’s giving her a bath right now.”
“What?” Fiona cried, racing toward the Weyr Bowl.
“She was in the bath when I woke, and she told me she was all right.”
Talenth! Fiona roared. Tell T’mar to see to Terin.
“I’ll talk to you later,” Fiona swore as she raced off toward Terin’s quarters. As soon as she was in the Bowl, Fiona shouted, “Bekka! Terin!”
“Coming!” Bekka shouted back from several levels up.
Fiona raced up across the Bowl, up the queens’ ledge, through Kurinth’s weyr, and into Terin’s quarters to find the young girl in a robe, sitting on her bed, bawling and shouting up at T’mar.
“He was here, I swear!” Terin shouted.
“Terin,” T’mar said in a kindly voice, shaking his head, “I saw him. He didn’t survive.” His voice broke. “He saved my life. He didn’t survive.”
“He was here,” Terin shouted back. She spotted Fiona. “Make him understand.”
T’mar turned to Fiona with a beseeching look on his face. Shaneese came bustling out of Terin’s bathroom.
“There’s no one here,” Shaneese said. She glanced at T’mar and Fiona as she added, “But there are enough wet towels for two.”
“I told you,” Terin said triumphantly.
“What happened?” Fiona said, moving forward and seating herself beside the younger weyrwoman.
“I was sad,” Terin said. “I was so mad at him because he broke his promise and then—there he was.”
“What did he say?” Fiona asked, gesturing for T’mar and Shaneese to leave.
“He said that he loved me,” Terin told her. “He said that he couldn’t be with me often, but that he would be with me forever.”
“Forever?”
“He said he would be there when I needed him most,” Terin continued, nodding in agreement with Fiona’s question. “He said that if he didn’t come it was because I didn’t really need him.”
“I see,” Fiona said. “And how did he look?”
“Tired,” Terin said. “Not as tired as I last saw him.” She reflected for a moment, then added, “And he was so apologetic. But then we took a bath and we played and—” She broke off, smiling at Fiona. “It was so great to know that he was there! That he kept his promise and that he loves me.”
“Terin,” Bekka’s voice came softly from Kurinth’s weyr as the young healer moved forward, “sometimes when we’ve been through something terrible, we get confused.”
Terin gave Bekka a troubled look.
“Is it possible,” Bekka said as she sat on the other side of Terin and grabbed her free hand, “that you dreamed this?”
“There were two sets of wet towels,” Terin said.
“Sometimes we want something to be real even when it isn’t,” Bekka said. “And we want it so much that we don’t realize how we’re convincing ourselves that it’s real.”
“Ask Jeriz,” Terin said.
“Did he talk with F’jian?” Fiona asked.
Terin shook her head. “F’jian winked at me and shook his head when we heard him wake up. So I told him that I was okay, that F’jian was here and he should get some breakfast.”
“And he said that he’d come back when you needed him the most,” Bekka asked.
“Yes,” Terin said, her eyes shining with joy at the thought. “He said that he’d always be there when I needed him.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry I ever doubted him.”
“So he kept his word,” Bekka agreed in a neutral tone.
“He did,” Terin agreed.
“And you’re all better now.”
“No,” Terin said, shaking her head. “I still hurt, I still wish he were here all the time but … at least I know that he’ll be there when I need him.”
“That’s good,” Fiona agreed.
“How’s Jeila?” Terin asked. “I’m so sorry she got hurt; is she all right?”
“She’s recovering,” Bekka said, again in that carefully neutral voice. “Can I see her?”
“No,” Bekka said. “I think you should rest today and I know she’ll need rest, too.”
“Thread falls at Fort Weyr in two days’ time,” Fiona said. “I imagine B’nik will send them a wing to help. If that’s so, we’ve got nearly a fortnight of rest before the fall over Igen Weyr.”
“Can someone help me feed Kurinth?” Terin asked. “I’ll have to get dressed, first.”
“I’ll help,” Bekka offered.
“I’ll talk with T’mar,” Fiona said, rising. Terin held on to her hand so Fiona turned back to face her.
“Tell him I’m sorry I shouted,” Terin said.
“Of course,” Fiona replied. She waved at Bekka, leaned down to kiss Terin on the forehead and cautioned the younger woman, “Don’t rush things, you’ve been through a lot.”
“I won’t,” Terin promised.
“I won’t let her,” Bekka added.
T’mar’s expression was grim as Fiona sat down beside him. Kindan was seated opposite the Weyrleader, his expression equally troubled.
“She could be hysterical,” Kindan suggested. “Grief can do that.”
“She could be telling the truth,” Fiona said with a touch of waspishness in her voice. She saw T’mar and Kindan exchange looks. Angrily, she spun in her chair and called, “Can I get some food?”
Shaneese bustled up and set out fresh rolls, a pitcher of juice, and a bowl of fruit.
“Thank you,” Fiona said, adding, “I�
��m sorry if I sounded rude.”
“You did,” Shaneese agreed, lowering herself into the chair next to T’mar. Fiona pushed the pitcher toward her. Shaneese unbridled enough to give her a nod of thanks.
“These two are convinced that Terin’s imagining things,” Fiona said, waving at the two men.
“And you?”
Fiona shrugged. “I once went back ten Turns to a place called Igen Weyr.”
“So you think her F’jian went back in time?”
“Forward,” Fiona said. She noticed T’mar shudder at the notion and continued, “It could explain why he’d been so tired the last sevenday. And even the strange woman.”
Kindan sighed, glancing at her but not meeting her eyes. “And who do you think that woman is?”
“Lorana,” Fiona said, feeling his incredulity growing stronger. “She’s the only one who knows time that well.”
“Knows time?” T’mar repeated.
“She not only hears all the dragons, she has an uncanny sense of time,” Fiona said, glancing at Kindan for confirmation. “She did,” Kindan agreed woodenly.
“She does,” Fiona insisted. Kindan’s lips twitched, but he said nothing, clearly finding it difficult to agree with her, but unwilling to argue the point.
“How are you feeling?” Shaneese asked. Fiona shrugged questioningly. “You’re in your sixth week.”
“The twins are doing fine,” Fiona said. “They haven’t so much as twitched yet, but Bekka and all the healers say it’s still too early to feel anything, even with two.”
“And you?”
“I’m hungry, tired,” Fiona admitted, adding emphatically, “and irritated that anyone would think my wits addled.”
“Forgive me, Weyrwoman, but have you ever been pregnant before?” Shaneese asked her. With a heavy sigh, Fiona shook her head. “And so how can you be so sure your wits aren’t addled?”
“Because they’re the same wits I had yesterday,” Fiona returned quickly, spreading a glare amongst the three. “And the day before that, as well.”
“You’d tell us if you felt differently?” T’mar asked, but his tone sounded certain.
“Of course!” Fiona said. She glanced at Shaneese, but said nothing of the other woman’s pregnancy; as Shaneese had said, it was too early to be certain and no one needed the extra worry at this moment. The headwoman caught her gaze and held it.
“I’m not worried about your wits, Weyrwoman,” Shaneese declared. “But I am worried about Terin.”
“So am I,” Fiona agreed emphatically. “And I understand wondering if her vision of F’jian might not be similar to when Lorana came to draw me.” Her eyes fell toward Kindan and she saw him jerk as the comment hit home. “And it could be that I only imagined it.” She paused a moment. “But that’s just as likely that D’gan and the rest of Telgar will return from between.”
“For nearly four hundred extra dragons, I’d even be happy to see him,” T’mar said.
“So many of them were sickly,” Shaneese said, her eyes going dim with memory. “There was a chorus of coughs even as they went between.”
“We’ve got plenty of syringes still, and healthy dragons to pick from,” Kindan said. “We could cure all of them.”
“The man was arrogant, wouldn’t listen to reason,” Shaneese said, shaking her head sadly.
“K’lior said that C’rion and M’tal thought he would do all right, given time,” T’mar said.
“Well, he didn’t get it,” Fiona said. “And we’ve got to deal with what is now, not what we wish.”
“You really did see her?” Kindan blurted suddenly.
“On my dragon’s egg, I swear,” Fiona told him, seeing the hope dawning in his eyes.
“And she drew you with colored pencils?”
“Yes,” Fiona said. “She said that you’d given them to her.”
Kindan frowned.
“What, still doubt me?”
“It would be easier to believe you if I didn’t know that those colored pencils are still back at Benden Weyr,” Kindan admitted.
“Now,” Fiona pointed out. Kindan stared at her for a moment and then burst out laughing.
“Now!” he agreed when he could breathe again.
Jeila looked up at the noise outside her weyr and called out, “Yes?”
A long moment later a short head poked around the entrance, looking in worriedly.
“Weyrwoman?” a boy’s piping voice asked softly.
“I can’t see you,” Jeila said.
The boy stepped out of the weyr and into her quarters, close enough that she could make out his piercing green eyes. They were amazing. She took in his thin frame, his dark skin, his jet-black hair.
“Desert trader,” Jeila said, sitting up in her bed.
“Northern trader,” Jeriz said, rushing forward and going to his knees in front of her. “I have a great boon to request.”
“Not trade?” Jeila asked, surprised.
“Carte blanche,” Jeriz said, looking up to meet her eyes. “Whatever you wish, whenever I can give it.”
“First give me your name,” Jeila said in the time-honored trader tradition.
“Jeriz, son of Tenniz and Javissa,” he replied formally.
“Tenniz?” Jeila repeated, eyes going wide. “You are his son?”
“Yes.”
“You have the Sight?”
“No,” Jeriz said, making a face. “That goes to my little sister, Jirana.”
“Jirana?” Jeila asked, surprised at the naming.
“My parents had Lorana’s permission to honor her,” Jeriz said. In a lower voice he added, “She is the Beacon.”
“The Beacon?” Jeila said. “But she’s gone.”
“Fiona doesn’t think so,” Jeriz said. “And my father said that it would be hard to know with her because she has the gift of time and place.”
“What do you want of me?” Jeila asked, rising and gathering her robe around herself.
“Can you fly, you and your queen?” Jeriz asked.
“I’ll get my things.”
“I see drays,” Jeila called over her shoulder, pointing down to a trail of dust rising slowly in the midday air. “They’re heading south.”
“Then we should turn around and head north, my lady,” Jeriz said. “They’ve probably already dropped them off.”
“Who?” Jeila called back, but, before Jeriz could respond, Tolarth made a sudden lurch, twisted on a wing tip, and started spiraling down.
“Them?” Jeila asked, spotting two small dots struggling northward from Southern Telgar Hold.
“Yes.”
Tolarth had just landed when Jeriz, with a complete disregard for all custom, rolled out of his seat and slid down the side of the great queen, rushing toward the woman and throwing himself into her arms.
“Momma!” the boy cried as he smashed his face into her belly, his arms snaking around her waist. “I brought her, Momma, just like father said I would.”
As if the words recalled him to his senses, Jeriz pushed away and turned back toward Jeila, rushing to Tolarth’s side to offer his aid as the dimunitive rider gingerly climbed down.
“Mother,” Jeriz said, turning them both toward his mother and sister, “this is Jeila.”
“Trader of the north,” Javissa said, bowing slightly. Beside her, the small girl bowed in following. “I give you my sympathies.”
“Trader of the desert,” Jeila said, her dark eyes widening, “I greet you but ask, why the sympathy?”
“My husband said I’d meet you when you were hurting most,” Javissa said, casting her eyes down to Jeriz.
“He said to me: You will know the right time,” Jeriz said. He nodded toward Jeila. And spoke to his mother, “This is the right time, Momma. She has just lost her baby and Terin, the other queen rider, has just lost her man.”
“Oh!” The word burst from Javissa, full of shock and sympathy. She let go of the girl’s hand and rushed toward Jeila, reaching out to her.
“Weyrwoman, I am so sorry. I know how hard it is.”
“You do?”
“Twice,” Javissa said, her eyes dropping to the ground to keep her pain from showing. She grabbed Jeila’s hand and pulled the other woman toward her. “It hurts, I know.”
Jeila found herself resting her head on the other woman’s shoulder, tears flowing silently down her face as she gripped the woman tight enough to squeeze the breath out of her. Javissa stroked her hair with one hand and patted her shoulder with the other. “Time, dear heart, time will ease the pain.”
A long time later, when Javissa felt Jeila’s sorrow ease and the woman stiffen against her uneasily, she pulled back. They were of similar height and build; Javissa met Jeila’s eyes on the level. She smiled as she looked into the beautiful dark, near-black eyes, now so full of sorrow but, she could tell, so easily full of life and mischief. Eyes that, oddly, reminded her somewhat of Tenniz though, even now, she could see that Jeila had none of the Sight, for there was no awareness of future pain, no sorrow born of excess knowledge. Raw, elemental, firm, steady, that was the normal stance of the woman in front of her. And beautiful, very beautiful, a beauty more in keeping with the desert than with the cold north.
“We must be related, you and I,” Javissa said softly.
“Because we’re so short?” Jeila asked with a touch of her normal humor.
“That, too, but because of our builds and bones,” Javissa said. Jeila nodded and Javissa continued, “But we can talk lineage later.”
“Your son asked a boon,” Jeila said, glancing at Jeriz, who was busy distracting the young Jirana. The girl looked very much like she could have been Jeila’s own child, heartbreakingly so. She had the same thin bones, the same dark, near-black eyes, the same dusky skin.
“Tenniz said that I would take the dark road to Telgar,” Javissa said, “and that I would know when the time was right.”
Jeila glanced again at Jirana. Javissa saw her look and shook her head. “It is not yet her time,” she said of her daughter. “He said that she would find her Sight in a far land.”
“Telgar?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Javissa said. She saw Jeila’s look and explained, “Tenniz often tried to cloud the meaning of what he saw; he said it was so difficult to know that speaking clearly was the first mistake he ever made.” She frowned. “He’d mutter something about spit soup, but he’d only smile and shake his head when I pressed him on it.”
Dragon’s Time: Dragonriders of Pern Page 19
