Dragon’s Time: Dragonriders of Pern Read online

  “Terin?” Fiona asked.

  “No, silly, you,” the voice said. Bekka; Fiona recognized Bekka’s voice.

  “What happened?”

  “We were hoping you could tell us,” Birentir’s deep voice replied. “Should I open my eyes?”

  “Go ahead,” Bekka said. “You didn’t catch anyone this time.”

  Slowly Fiona opened her eyes, recalling her concussion Turns before at Fort Weyr.

  The room was normal. She was in her bed, Kindan was standing nearby, as were T’mar and Shaneese. Fiona spared a quick smile for the headwoman, recognizing the way the other woman was exercising tight control on her own emotions. Shaneese returned the look with a relieved nod and grabbed T’mar’s hand, gently pulling him away, back to his own weyr.

  “Where’s Terin?”

  “With F’jian,” Bekka said.

  “They’re probably both asleep by now,” Kindan added. He nodded toward Birentir. “They had wine dosed with fellis.”

  “So what happened?” Fiona asked. “Terin said something about F’jian being cold and I reached for Talenth—” she stopped and reached, tentatively, for her queen. Instantly she felt the warmth and love of the great dragon, followed a moment later by a soft fluffing rumble from the weyr beyond.

  You worried me, Talenth said. I called Bekka.

  Bekka, eh? Fiona thought to herself. She knew from all her reading and time in the Weyrs that a dragon referring to a person by name was rare. What she also knew, and had decided to keep to herself, was that many of those so dragon-friended themselves later Impressed.

  “I felt confused and the room spun,” Fiona finished, hastily editing her story. Until she could get to the Records again and read some more, she decided to keep her odd reaction to Talenth’s voice a secret. “How is F’jian?”

  “There was no sign of a chill,” Birentir told her.

  “You need to rest,” Bekka added firmly. She cast the older healer a meaningful look.

  “We’ll check on you in the morning,” Birentir said, taking his lead from the young girl at his side and stepping toward the queen’s lair and the ledge beyond.

  “I’ll stay with her,” Kindan said, giving Fiona a look that tried to hide his worry.

  “It’s either you or Xhinna and Taria,” Fiona told him tartly. “And I’m certain they’d prefer their own quarters.”

  “Perhaps not,” Kindan said even as Bekka and Birentir departed. He waved after them.

  “Bekka’s worried about something and won’t say it in front of me,” Fiona said, smiling fondly at the memory of the forceful youngster.

  “We’re all worried,” Kindan said, even as he changed into his night clothes. “We’ve got a lot to worry about. Worrying about you relieves us of other worries.”

  Fiona sighed at his words, too tired to argue, too sleepy to care.

  Kindan must have understood, for he climbed quickly beside her, wrapped her gingerly in his arms, and leaned over to kiss her cheek lightly.

  “It will be all right,” Fiona assured him dreamily, eyes closed even as she relaxed against the warmth of his chest.

  “Every day with you is a treasure,” Kindan told her feelingly.

  Fiona found herself idly amazed at his words; they were the nicest thing she’d ever heard him say.

  Sleep came and Fiona fell into it with the certainty of someone held in strong arms, loved and cherished.

  “You’re certain you’re all right?” Terin asked for the third time when she found Fiona in the Kitchen Cavern the next morning.

  “Absolutely,” Fiona assured her. “Bekka and Birentir have pronounced me fit.”

  “Though not fit enough that they have you on rounds,” Terin noted.

  “Fit enough to do the rounds without me,” Fiona replied. She was tired of the topic and switched it. “What about F’jian?”

  “What about him?” Terin asked. “He slept all night, the same as me—they gave us fellis juice.”

  “You said he was cold,” Fiona reminded her.

  “It was probably just a chill, a breeze from Ladirth’s quarters,” Terin said, waving a hand airily.

  Fiona frowned thoughtfully before saying, “Keep an eye on him.”

  Terin’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Just keep an eye on him,” Fiona said, rising from the table and turning toward the Weyr Bowl.

  “Where are you going?” Terin asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

  “No one said so,” Fiona called back over her shoulder. “But they wouldn’t complain if they had: I’m going to look at the Records.”

  “Hoping to find other dizzy Weyrwomen?” Terin called back and then blushed as she saw all the weyrfolk in the Cavern turn at her in surprise.

  Fiona kept moving, shaking with laughter and raising a hand in farewell as she turned to the queens’ quarters.

  Terin followed after her a moment later, nodding in thanks to the young weyrboy who handed her a bucket of tidbits for her young queen.

  I ignore you shamefully! Terin called contritely to Kurinth as she picked up her pace and raced over to the queen’s weyr.

  I itch, Kurinth said with factual directness.

  I’ll get you oiled immediately! Terin promised. She paused in her stride as she heard the rustling of wings behind her and turned to see a wing of dragons lifting into the air. Behind, still on the ground, were F’jian and the reserve wing. She spotted him and was thrilled when he waved in her direction. Still concerned about Kurinth, Terin could only spare him a quick, jaunty wave in response before she bounded up the ledge and into her queen’s weyr.

  Soon she was too engrossed in oiling and feeding the most marvelous, the most brilliant, the most lovely queen dragon ever to grace all Pern to notice anything else at all.

  Fiona, true to her word, made her way through her quarters and into the Records Room. Warily, she eyed the stacks she’d left on the table the day before, before letting out a deep sigh, picking them up, and carefully putting them back in their proper places.

  They wouldn’t have the sort of information she was looking for. She turned her head to a different section, with a sense of foreboding. The Weyrwoman Records were broken into several sections through hundreds of Turns of practice. Some sections were devoted to the tallying of goods received, some to the parceling of those goods throughout the Weyr, others again to injuries and losses. And then, dusty and disregarded, was a special section set aside for the musings of the Weyrwomen themselves.

  At Igen Weyr, Fiona had quickly grown bored with the sort of gossip she’d read in the old Weyrwoman Records. At the time, her interest in babies lasted long enough to coo over them and hand them back to their rightful owners.

  Now, as she glanced ruefully down at her belly, she accepted that she needed a slightly more enlightened outlook.

  She was always going to have children, there was never any question in her mind. And she was going to have girls and she was going to have boys and she was going to love them all. She knew that a large part of that was her reaction to being an only child after the devastating Plague that had killed so many throughout Pern—including all her brothers and sisters. But she was also honest enough with herself to accept that she liked the idea of babies, that she liked the idea of toddlers. She knew enough, from her Turns in Fort Hold, about the problems each presented, but she had grown up in a world where each new child, each squall, each smelly diaper was something quietly treasured. There was always a small pang of sorrow in the coos and aahs of the older folk around Fiona as they eyed new babies. She could see the babies that they’d known before the Plague echoed in their sad eyes.

  And Fiona also recognized that part of her wanted babies to make up for those that her older sister, Koriana, could never have.

  And now, apparently, she needed to know a lot more about the whole situation, particularly those babies with dragonrider parents. She knew Bekka too well now, and the look she’d given Birentir had been a special look, the
look Bekka gave when she was afraid and didn’t want to scare anyone else.

  Unfortunately for Bekka, Fiona had seen and recognized that look. And, fortunately for Fiona, the Weyrwoman knew just what to do about that—even if it meant pouring through stacks and stacks of musty, old, boring Records.

  Xhinna and Taria rousted her out for lunch. The blue rider took one look at the stacks before Fiona and snorted knowingly. “You’ll be fine, Fiona,” Xhinna assured her.

  “You heard?”

  “Everyone heard,” Taria said. Xhinna nodded.

  “The weyrlings hear everything, of course,” Xhinna added.

  Fiona cocked her head thoughtfully. “Have they heard anything about F’jian?”

  The room grew suddenly tense and Fiona felt Taria try to shrink into herself. Fiona gave Xhinna a challenging look.

  “Only talk,” the blue rider said. “We’re all too tired to do more than drill, feed the beasties, and sleep.”

  Taria nodded fiercely in agreement.

  “Come on, Fiona, we’ll be late,” Xhinna said, gesturing for the Weyrwoman to procede them.

  Fiona grabbed Xhinna’s arm as she went by and held it as they negotiated their way through her quarters, past a sleeping Talenth, and out into the brilliant warmth of the noon day.

  “What sort of talk?” Fiona asked as they started down the queens’ ledge.

  “He’s worried, Weyrwoman,” Taria spoke up, much to Fiona’s surprise. She’d always seemed the more diffident of the two, silent and willing to let Xhinna take the lead, but it was clear that Taria had her own mind. That much had been clear for a long time, really, just as it was clear that Taria had spent much of her time since meeting Xhinna exalting in her presence. “He’s worried that he won’t survive, that he’ll leave Terin before …”

  “Before his time,” Xhinna finished diplomatically.

  “I see,” Fiona said. They walked halfway across the Bowl in an uneasy silence before Fiona added, “And do you hear anything about him trying to do something about that? With someone other than Terin?”

  “No,” Xhinna said, shaking her head firmly. “Nothing like that at all.”

  “You’d tell me, if you heard?” Fiona asked.

  “You’re the Weyrwoman,” Taria said, as if that was answer in itself.

  Fiona glanced challengingly at Xhinna, who looked uncomfortable.

  “You’re the Weyrwoman,” Xhinna said finally. “You’ve the right to know.”

  “Even if it hurts me?”

  “I haven’t said anything about Lorana,” Xhinna responded tightly, indicating that there were some things she would not bring up with her Weyrwoman and friend for fear of causing her pain.

  “Why don’t you two eat with me, alone, when we get to the Cavern?” The question had all the weight of a Weyrwoman’s orders behind it.

  Fiona sensed T’mar’s surprise and saw Kindan’s strained look when she led the two young dragonriders to a separate table.

  “All I can say is: About time,” Shaneese said as she set out the servings in front of them. “And I’ll be back with more, never you fear,” she added with a special look for Xhinna.

  “Hungry?” Fiona asked.

  “And tired,” Xhinna replied.

  “Too tired,” Taria added.

  “How many others are tired?” Fiona asked, glancing over her shoulder to the werylings’ table. And why hadn’t Kindan commented on it to her?

  Fiona noticed that the answer was longer in coming than it should have been. Gently, she said, “Xhinna?”

  It was Taria who answered. “There’s nothing wrong, is there?” She flicked a troubled glance toward the Weyrwoman.

  “Wrong, how?”

  “Wrong with us,” Xhinna said, her voice edged with anger. Under that anger, Fiona felt raw, deep, desperate fear.

  “Tell me,” Fiona ordered, emphasizing the command with a raised, clenched fist.

  “It’s not the others,” Xhinna said. “Kindan wouldn’t let them and—”

  “They’re a good lot, all round,” Taria said. “I’ve known most of them all my life and they’ve never said a mean word—except when we were all little and silly.”

  “But the dragons—” Xhinna started.

  “I can’t help if I don’t know,” Fiona told her friend in a calm voice.

  “Fiona, is it possible that it’s wrong for the dragons to Impress women?” Xhinna blurted.

  “No,” Fiona said instantly. “Not at all.”

  “Golds, sure,” Xhinna agreed in a contentious tone.

  “No, your Tazith chose you, Xhinna,” Fiona said. She glanced toward Taria. “Just as Coranth chose you.”

  “But we’re so tired,” Taria protested. “All the time.”

  “And you feel like you’re walking through thick mud,” Fiona said. The other looked at her in surprise even as Fiona continued, “And you’re slow, you can’t do sums, you’d do anything for a nap, and when you wake, you still feel tired.”

  “Yes,” Xhinna agreed. “That’s the muzzy-head?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t seem muzzy-headed,” Taria spoke up and then blushed, abashed at gainsaying the Weyrwoman.

  Fiona laughed. She surprised herself with it, it was so natural and yet so perfectly just the thing the other two needed to hear. “Didn’t you hear about me last night?” she asked as she recovered.

  Xhinna’s lips twitched, then pulled back in a full grin even as Taria shot her partner a nervous look.

  “In this Weyr, Taria, it’s okay to laugh with the Weyrwoman,” Fiona assured her. Taria’s lips twitched, but no more; she was still uneasy.

  “So, why are we muzzy-headed?” Xhinna asked. “And couldn’t that be a sign that—”

  “That we’re not going to make it,” Taria finished solemnly. She looked at Fiona expectantly, but not nervously. Fiona could tell that the green rider had heard about Lorana’s loss, had heard Tullea’s rage—who couldn’t?—and had drawn her own conclusions.

  “Perhaps,” Fiona said quietly. “But I grew up around Kindan; I absorbed his determined outlook while still a child.” She glanced back at the harper, who was gazing intently in their direction. “ ‘Step by step, moment by moment, we live through another day,’ ” she quoted. “And we will.” She glanced down at her belly. “Lorana paid a terrible price. I intend to be here when she returns, to show her the value of that price.”

  Xhinna nodded in agreement. Taria looked away uneasily. “For now,” Fiona said in a quiet voice, “drink plenty of klah and make sure all of you do.”

  “I don’t like klah,” Taria confessed.

  “It keeps you from muzziness,” Fiona told her. She smiled sympathetically at the girl. “M’tal thought that there was a reason, that perhaps we were too much in the same time—”

  Fiona broke off, her eyes suddenly wide as inspiration struck.

  “Weyrwoman?” Taria ventured.

  “Fiona, what is it?” Xhinna asked urgently.

  “ ‘In the same time,’ ” Fiona repeated to herself. She glanced toward Xhinna and Taria. “What would it be like, do you think, if your dragon spoke to you twice in the same time?”

  “You were very silent at dinner,” Terin said that evening as she and F’jian prepared for bed. She’d suggested that they sleep in her quarters and he’d accepted with alacrity. Thinking on it, she found the walk to her weyr had been much more pleasant and much shorter than the walk up to his weyr.

  “I was tired,” F’jian replied, punctuating his remark with a long yawn. Terin struggled and failed to avoid a yawn of her own and glared at him in mock anger. “And we’ll be up early.”

  “The Fall’s at night,” Terin protested.

  “The drills will be in the dark of the night, then some rest, then another drill near lunch, then another rest, then a night drill,” F’jian told her. “We’re drilling with the riders from Benden and both T’mar and B’nik are determined to keep the casualties low.”

 
“But doesn’t that mean you won’t have anything to do?” Terin asked as she crawled into bed. “You’re leading the reserve wing.”

  “And carrying firestone,” F’jian reminded her as he got in beside her. “I thought T’mar was punishing me by not letting me fly the Fall, now I know that he was giving me the harder duty. Not only will my wing have to provide the firestone, but we’ll also be the reserve.”

  “I could talk to Fiona,” Terin suggested.

  “And have me leading a fighting wing?”

  “Well, perhaps that’s not a good idea.”

  “Shh, it will be all right, love,” F’jian said, leaning close to her and stroking her soft hair tenderly. “Sometimes it might not seem like it, but it will be all right.”

  “You sound like Fiona,” Terin murmured with a touch of annoyance.

  “Fiona is a smart person,” F’jian said. “You know that.”

  “Mmm,” Terin murmured in agreement. Presently she drifted off to a warm, comfortable sleep.

  Terin woke. A gust of cold air disturbed her. She flailed in her sleep and felt F’jian grab her hands.

  “Shh, it’s all right, there’s nothing to worry about,” F’jian whispered quietly. “Hush, now! Hush, love, get some rest.”

  “F’jian,” Terin asked a moment later, “why are you crying?”

  “I’m sorry,” the bronze rider said, his voice harsh in his own ears. “It’s just that—you’re so lovely, you’re so beautiful. I love you so much.”

  Terin turned toward him, reaching up to kiss him, but F’jian ducked aside, grabbing her chin with his fingers and caressing it, stroking her lips with his index finger.

  “Sleep,” he told her. “Go back to sleep.”

  She did as she was told, only a little annoyed with him. Just as she slid into a deeper slumber she thought she heard the rustling of wings, the sound of a dragon going airborne. She started to move, to come awake, but F’jian moved against her, stroked her hair, and whispered soothing sounds. Terin cuddled in close against his warmth and drifted back to sleep.

  “Fiona?” Terin’s voice roused the Weyrwoman from her stupor, perched over another set of Records. She heard Terin enter the Records Room, stop, and scan the mess in surprise. “Xhinna said you’d be here.”