Dragon's Time

EIGHT

Tullea insisted upon departing immediately with her queen and demanded that B’nik come with her. “We don’t know how long she’s been gone if Lorana’s been timing it; she might be ready to rise any time now.”

The departure of Benden broke the quorum of Weyrleaders and Sonia and D’vin of High Reaches departed soon after, followed by the Istans. Cisca and K’lior remained long enough to let Bemin say farewell to his daughter and then they returned to Fort. Cisca promised to be in touch, but Fiona noticed how the Weyrwoman kept her eyes more on T’mar than herself.

“I’d better see to the weyrlings,” Kindan said to T’mar, keeping his face from Fiona.

“Yes,” T’mar agreed in a cold voice, “do that.”

“I’m coming with you,” Terin said, darting after the taller harper. Kindan paused, gesturing to the young weyrwoman invitingly.

When Terin caught up, he checked his stride to match hers.

“She’s the Weyrwoman, you must respect her,” Terin said in a tight voice as they strolled across the Weyr Bowl.

“I do,” Kindan said.

“She’s right more than she’s wrong.”

Kindan nodded in agreement. “She’s strong-willed.”

“Stubborn,” Terin allowed.

“She doesn’t give up.”

“Nor did you,” Terin said, glancing up at him challengingly. “Are you so upset now because she’s learned from you too well?”

“She didn’t learn from me,” Kindan said with a frown. “She learned from the ballads.”

“The ballads?”

“Songs become more than truth,” Kindan told her. She gave him a questioning look. “I was scared during the Plague. I didn’t know what I was doing, I wasn’t sure that we’d survive.”

“But you didn’t give up.”

“Because I couldn’t,” Kindan said. He shook his head at the memory. “I was much younger and I wanted to impress Koriana, to impress Lord Bemin … and I wanted to live.”

“And you did all that,” Terin reminded him. “Because you didn’t give up.”

“I didn’t give up because I couldn’t,” Kindan said with pain in his voice. “After Koriana died, baby Fiona was bawling her head off, Bemin couldn’t remember where he’d put her”—he stopped and met Terin’s eyes squarely—“it was for her that I didn’t give up.”

“So why are you giving up now?” Terin asked him softly. “She’s here, she’s fighting with all that she’s got, doing all that she can, and she’s probably carrying your child.”

“I don’t know how we’ll survive,” Kindan admitted bleakly. “We’re being worn down, dragon by dragon. At some point, we’ll have too few to fly a Fall and they’ll all die gloriously and then the queens will chew firestone and die gloriously and—”

Terin’s slap was as hard as it was unexpected. Kindan raised a hand to his face in surprise and gave the redhead a wide-eyed look of astonishment.

“That’s enough,” Terin told him harshly. “You are going to go over to those weyrlings and you’re going to train them. And we’re going to survive. That’s all there is to it.” She heaved a deep sigh. “And if you can’t figure out how to save us, Fiona will.”

“Yes, weyrwoman,” Kindan said. Then, to her surprise, he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “You are right; I was wrong. We’ll figure it out even if we have to send you and Fiona to the Red Star to stomp out the Thread strand by strand.”

“Do you think we could go to the Red Star?” Terin asked, with serious consideration in her eyes.

Kindan gave her a worried look. “I think we’d be wiser to stay as far from it as we can.” He thought on it a moment more and added hastily, “And whatever you do, don’t mention it to Fiona or she’s likely to try.”

“Good point,” Terin agreed.

Mekiar was waiting for Fiona when she entered Talenth’s weyr.

“You heard?”

“News travels fastest when shouted,” the ex-dragonrider explained. Fiona made a face. Jirana came out from Fiona’s quarters and saw her expression.

“Why were you crying?” the solemn-eyed girl asked.

“I heard something that made me sad,” Fiona said, not wishing to distress the youngster.

“What?”

Fiona sighed, realizing that Jirana would continue to ask questions until she got to the bottom of the matter. “The others think that my friend was too sad to continue and that she went between forever.”

“They’re stupid,” Jirana declared with childish certainty.

“How so?” Mekiar asked, peering down at her with a kindly expression.

“You’re talking about Lorana, right?” Jirana asked. Fiona nodded. “Well, it’s not her time.”

“How do you know?” Fiona asked, feeling hope ready to rise within her once more.

“Father told me,” Jirana said.

“He told me it would turn out all right,” Fiona said morosely.

“He said that it’s always darkest before the dawn,” Jirana said as if in response. Fiona cocked her head at the youngster and Jirana explained, “If it’s going to turn out all right, doesn’t it have to turn darkest first?”

“She has the right of it,” Mekiar said with a dry chuckle. His expression sobered as he added, “But we can’t be sure that it is darkest just yet.”

“Even so,” Jirana persisted, “if my father said that it will turn out all right, it will.”

Fiona smiled and nodded. “I suppose you’re right,” she said, trying to keep her voice cheerful.

“In this much, Weyrwoman, she’s correct: We still have hope,” Mekiar said.

“While we have you,” Jirana agreed, turning her gaze to the older man with interest. “Your eyes are sad, but your mouth smiles.”

“This is Mekiar,” Fiona said, making introductions. “He works the pottery wheel and if you’re very nice, he might teach you.”

“What color was your dragon?” Jirana asked.

“I rode a brown,” Mekiar replied with just the slightest waver in his voice.

“I’ll bet you were good,” Jirana said. “When I get my dragon, will you teach me?”

“You’re a bit young yet to be thinking of dragons,” Mekiar temporized.

“My father was the seer for the traders,” Jirana said. “I’ll be a seer too, when I’m older.”

“Is that so?” Mekiar asked with the polite tone that adults use with children they don’t believe, but don’t feel pressed to correct, either.

“It is,” Jirana returned with aplomb.

“Mekiar, are we keeping you?” Fiona asked, offering the older man a way out of the conversation.

“No, you’re keeping a wheel from its work,” the pottery master told her with a small nod of his head. He smiled wryly at Jirana as he added, “Perhaps two of them.”

“Did we schedule a time?” Fiona asked, eyebrows narrowed as she rubbed the back of her neck, trying to recall the appointment.

“No,” Mekiar told her. “The time is always yours, Weyrwoman, but I thought that perhaps this would be a good time for you.”

“Okay,” Fiona agreed. “I don’t think there’s much else I could do anyway.”

“If I make something, can I keep it?” Jirana asked, spreading her question amongst the two adults.

“If you wish,” Mekiar said.

“Could it be mine for always and forever?” Jirana persisted, suddenly becoming all bouncy child again, fidgety with excitement and worry.

“Always and forever,” Fiona agreed.

“Then I will make something for you,” Jirana said, nodding toward Fiona. “For you to keep always and forever.”

“And I will make something for you, always and forever,” Fiona said, reaching for the youngster’s hand. Jirana gladly took hold and, swinging arms together, the two traipsed back to the Kitchen Cavern and Mekiar’s pottery wheels.

Much later, when the sun had gone down and the Weyr recovered some semblance of calm, Fiona and Jirana returned to her quarters. Their “gifts” were still drying, to be fired in the kiln. Neither was extravagant; Jirana had managed a passable mug and Fiona had designed a nice plate, but the young girl was thrilled with the thought of painting her finished work over the next few days.

Fiona was getting ready for sleep when footsteps announced the arrival of a pair of people at Talenth’s weyr. It was Kindan and Javissa. Javissa smiled at her daughter and gestured for her to come with her.

“You’ll stay with me tonight, little one,” her mother said. Jirana turned a gimlet eye on Kindan and warned him, “Don’t make her cry.”

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t try,” Jirana said sternly. “Your word as harper.”

“My word as harper,” Kindan responded in all seriousness. Jirana bit her lower lip while she considered him, then nodded, slipping her hand into her mother’s and tugging her out along behind her, exclaiming happily, “I made a mug today, Momma!”

The sounds of the happy banter died away, leaving Fiona alone and awkward with the blue-eyed harper.

“Terin tore strips out of me,” Kindan said into the awkward silence that fell. Fiona said nothing and Kindan strode forward, reaching for her hand, which she allowed him to take, unresisting. “If our child is a girl, I hope she takes after you.”

“Children.”

“Pardon?”

“Children,” Fiona repeated. “I’m having twins so they’re our children.”

“Isn’t one T’mar’s?”

“Will anyone know?” Fiona asked. “And do you seriously believe, Kindan of Telgar, that you can turn your heart on to one and off to another?”

Kindan frowned, shaking his head. “No.”

She pulled her hand out of his. Kindan stepped back, shocked, worried. Fiona smiled and shook her head at him, raising her hand to stroke his cheek.

“It’s late, let’s get to bed,” she said, lowering her hand. Kindan grabbed her lowered hand and brought it back to his lips, kissing it. He heard her sigh of joy and pulled her toward him, kissing her deeply.

“ ‘Step by step,’ ” Kindan said by way of apology.

“Shut up, harper, and get into bed,” Fiona said, throwing off her tunic, and sliding under the sheets. “I want your apology in silence.”

Kindan paused only for a moment as he absorbed her meaning. Then, with alacrity, he turned the glows, shucked his tunic, and climbed in beside her. Gently, he stroked her cheek, traced the line of her nose, caressed her ears, lowered his lips to hers.

In the end, she was demanding and she would not rest until she got his complete and abject apology—three times over.

“Where is she?” Tullea’s harsh voice bellowed and echoed around the Bowl walls early the next morning.

Fiona woke in surprise and quickly threw on her robe in the dim light, rushing out to join Kindan, who, by his absence, must have roused sooner than she.

“How can we help you, Weyrwoman?” Fiona called when she spotted Tullea stalking grimly up the slope of the queens’ ledge.

“You can give me that dragonstealer so I—”

“Minith is gone?” T’mar asked as he stepped blearily out of the spare queen’s weyr that was his quarters.

“No, not Minith,” Tullea snapped, pointing toward the bulking outline of her dragon in the distance. “Where did she take Lin and the others?”

“What others?” Fiona asked, her eyes going toward the weyrling barracks with a sudden sense of dread. Talenth, where’s Kurinth?

She’s not here, the queen reported a moment later. Miserably she added, None of the hatchlings are here.

T’mar must have received a similar report from Zirenth, for he turned toward Fiona with a look of alarm on his face. “They can’t all have gone between, could they?”

“And taken Kindan with them?” Fiona replied, shaking her head.

Tullea observed their exchange first with surprise and then with growing comprehension even as Fiona asked Talenth to take tally from the other Weyrs.

“All the weyrlings, queens included, have left all the other Weyrs,” Fiona told T’mar. “As well as their riders and several other—” She broke off abruptly then shouted loudly, “Jirana! Where are you?”

A moment later she heard a muffled sound followed by Javissa’s voice. “Weyrwoman, what’s the matter?”

“Is Jeriz with you?”

“No, he was with Terin,” Javissa called back a moment later. She darted out of the dormitory into the Weyr Bowl, bustling over to the queens’ ledge. From the ground she looked up to Fiona, Jirana holding on to the side of her nightdress and swaying with fatigue. “Is he in trouble?”

“Or dead,” Tullea snapped, her eyes flashing back toward Fiona. “Maybe your precious Lorana wanted company between.”

“Oh, please!” Fiona said wearily. “If she’d wanted that, she would have left you, B’nik, and Caranth behind half a Turn before when we lost D’gan and Telgar.”

Tullea gave the younger woman an affronted look, shocked that anyone her junior would take her on so sharply.

Fiona raised a hand, gesturing toward the Kitchen Cavern. “It’s early our time, but our night staff should have something warming, why don’t you join us and we can discuss this further?”

Tullea thought for a moment and nodded. She looked suddenly lost and helpless to Fiona’s eyes. How much of the woman’s irritating manner was a shield for her?

“Javissa, if you and Jirana can’t go back to sleep, we’d welcome your company, too,” Fiona said, looking down at the trader woman. Javissa nodded once, bent down, and picked up her daughter, ready to carry her, but Fiona leaped down and rushed over. “Please, could I carry her?”

“She’s heavy,” Javissa cautioned as she passed the girl over.

Fiona placed Jirana easily on her hip and shot a grin toward the surprised trader. “My father made it a custom that I should offer myself to sit the young ones in return for all that their mothers had done the same for me.”

“A wise man, a good custom,” Javissa allowed.

“She’s lighter than most her age,” Fiona said. “She’s quite a charmer.”

“She has her father’s temperament,” Javissa agreed with a chuckle.

“And Jeriz favors his mother?” Fiona asked teasingly even as she turned politely and waited for Tullea to join them.

“Why are you carrying that child?” Benden’s Weyrwoman asked suspiciously.

“This is my sister,” Fiona explained. Jirana lifted her head enough at Fiona’s words to nod silently, then laid it once more on Fiona’s shoulder. “We adopted each other.”

“I see,” Tullea said in a tone that clearly proved she did not. They took a few more steps and then Tullea said with ill-concealed longing, “Would you like me to carry her for a bit?”

“Is that okay, Javissa?”

“I’m not sure she’s awake enough to know the honor of being carried by two Weyrwomen,” Javissa said, even as she nodded permission.

Fiona passed the small child over to the older Weyrwoman and gently instructed Tullea in the art of centering Jirana’s weight on her hip.

“Why, she weighs nothing!” Tullea exclaimed, even as she moved to hike Jirana up and closer to her. She glanced down at the sleepy head resting on her shoulder and Fiona could feel the fear melting in the other woman’s heart, feel Tullea’s wonder at her tenderness grow.

“I could take her back, if you wish,” Fiona offered a few steps later.

“No, it’s fine,” Tullea said, trying to maintain her chill poise. Fiona exchanged a glance with Javissa; the other woman’s eyes danced in amusement. Several paces later, Fiona was not surprised to hear Tullea muse hopefully, “Do you think I might have one this small?”

“I imagine a child of yours would be taller,” Fiona told her diffidently. “Especially if she were to favor B’nik.”

“They all get bigger over time,” Javissa offered as she noticed Tullea’s look: It was apparent that the Weyrwoman was having second thoughts with this mention of size. “Your baby would be much smaller to start, and she’d probably not get as big as Jirana here until her fourth or fifth Turn.”

By the time they were seated at a table and klah was on its way to them, Jirana had so completely beguiled Tullea that the Weyrwoman refused to give her up even when it was obvious that she was uncomfortable in her seat.

Fiona neither asked for her back nor argued with Tullea’s silent possession, seeing the serene look in the older woman’s eyes. It was the trust, Fiona decided, the total trust that sleeping Jirana bestowed upon Tullea. It was a special insight to the mind and makings of Benden’s tetchy Weyrwoman; here was someone who returned trust with fierce loyalty.

Javissa’s efforts to arrange her daughter more comfortably on the Weyrwoman were all met with stiff though polite rebuff, as though Tullea were afraid to yield this moment of bonding.

“You must love her very much,” Tullea said, turning her head to kiss Jirana’s dark hair softly. “She’s such a kindly soul.”

“She has her moments,” Javissa agreed.

T’mar and Shaneese joined them then, Shaneese’s eyes going wide when she saw Jirana on Tullea’s lap. The headwoman gave Fiona a wry look, which the Weyrwoman returned sanguinely.

“All our weyrlings and dragonets are gone,” T’mar reported.

“And several others, too,” Fiona said. On a hunch, she asked, Talenth, is Bekka here?

No, Talenth said. I cannot hear her anywhere.

Not to worry, Fiona assured her. She’s with the others, safe.

“Lorana took them someplace,” T’mar said, his tone making his words a statement.

“Obviously,” Fiona agreed, still looking serenely toward Tullea and the small Jirana. For some reason, she felt it vital to lodge the image firmly in her mind so that she would never forget this moment when she saw the Benden Weyrwoman for who she truly was—a loving, kind person who hid her fear in brash armor. A child would help her out of that armor, Fiona thought to herself, just as Jirana is helping her now.

As though awakened by the intensity of Fiona’s thoughts, Jirana opened one eye and nuzzled more firmly against Tullea’s warmth.

“Can I borrow a jacket?” Tullea asked, looking toward T’mar and then to Javissa. “I don’t want her to get cold.”

T’mar took off his own jacket and, at Tullea’s urging, laid it over both of them. Satisfied, the Weyrwoman snuggled the young child closer to her and closed her eyes, absorbing the new sensation with relish. Tullea opened her eyes just long enough to say to T’mar, “Thank you.” A moment later she turned to Fiona. “Would you meet them outside? I don’t want to disturb her.”

Fiona nodded and rose, imagining that Tullea would next ask them to land softly, for she’d felt the tension rise in the Bowl with the sudden presence of the other Weyrwomen and Weyrleaders. T’mar raised an eyebrow questioningly and she jerked her head for him to join her.

“You might want to set out refreshments at another table,” Fiona told Shaneese as she made her way past.

“Of course,” Shaneese agreed in an amused tone.

Fiona could never afterward quite decide how she’d managed to calm the others, set a soft tone, and get them all seated without their even glancing at Tullea, two tables over. Perhaps it was something less spoken but more understood by women, some unvoiced feeling of motherhood that made it clear to all that Tullea was having a special moment that required silence and respect.

However it was, all the voices, male and female, never rose above a polite murmur.

And even though Tullea never once stirred from her position with Jirana perched in her lap, Fiona felt certain that it was her serenity that made it possible for the others to believe Fiona’s claim that the weyrlings were all right, unharmed, somewhere and somewhen with Lorana.

No one argued the point with her; instead they accepted it, merely trying to imagine this secret location and purpose.

“We were gone less than three days,” T’mar recalled, raising a hand to stifle a yawn. “And we had three whole Turns in which to raise the weyrlings.”

“I didn’t know they could go between so early,” Sonia said softly.

“ ‘And in a month, who seeks?’ ” Fiona quoted quietly.

“Do you mean to say that the Ballad says when they can go between?” D’vin asked.

Fiona nodded. “It would be something they’d have to know back in the old times of the first dragons.”

“Why?” Sonia asked.

“Well, I’d imagine that in those early days, they’d have to know how quickly they could move the dragonets from one place to another,” Fiona said. “And, from what Lorana said about the Ancient Rooms, the Ancient Timers knew a lot about how dragons work.”

“And the woman who brought you back to Igen?” Sonia asked. “Do you think that was Lorana?”

“It could have been Lorana,” Fiona said. With a shrug, she added, “Just as easily, it could have been me.”

“She’s the likely one,” Tullea called softly from her seat. “You do your defiance openly; she’s more subtle.”

“Father said—” Jirana’s voice piped up only to be silenced by Tullea’s soft shushing.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Tullea apologized.

“Father said that it’s always darkest before the dawn,” Jirana said, yawning and curling up tighter against Tullea. “And the sun lights everything.”

“Shh,” Tullea said, rocking as best she could in her chair. “Yes, that’s right, it’s darkest before dawn, then bright with sun.”

Fiona reflected on Jirana’s words and rose slowly from her seat. She moved out toward the Weyr Bowl where the sun was even now rising. Silently, Cisca followed her. Sonia came next, then Dalia, T’mar, D’vin, and K’lior. B’nik remained behind, furtively eyeing Tullea and reflecting on the change in her.

“What is it?” Cisca asked as she saw Fiona looking up into the morning sky. Fiona shook her head and shrugged. Cisca craned her neck up, scanning the lightening sky. The other Weyrwomen joined suit, followed by the four Weyrleaders.

“There!” Fiona cried suddenly as a bright light flashed in the morning sun. “That’s where she went!”

“I can’t see how anyone could live up there,” Tullea objected again when Fiona explained her reasoning to her for the third time. Javissa had politely but forcefully relieved the Benden Weyrwoman of her daughter, backed by gentle assurances from B’nik, and now Tullea seemed ready to revert to her old form.

“I don’t think they can,” Fiona agreed. “Although I could be wrong,” she added with a puzzled expression. “Don’t the Teaching Ballads say that our ancestors crossed the stars in the Dawn Sisters?”

Tullea nodded.

“So they must be large enough to have housed thousands of people.”

“But not dragons,” Tullea objected. “And even if they had herdbeasts with them, I can’t see any living there now.”

“True,” Fiona agreed. “And I’m not saying Lorana took the dragonets there.”

“So where and when did she take them?” Tullea demanded.

“I don’t know,” Fiona confessed. “But I think if I go up to the Dawn Sisters—”

“You might lose the babies,” Shaneese broke in. Fiona’s mood deflated abruptly.

“I’ll go first,” T’mar offered. “If it’s safe enough, then you can come.”

“I think Telgar has enough glory,” D’vin observed. “Why not let us go?”

“T’mar,” Fiona cut through the growing rancor, “just go!”

Cisca gave the younger Weyrwoman a wry look and raised her brown eyes to Sonia’s green ones. “Feisty.”

“Better let her have her way,” Sonia agreed with a shake of her head.

“She has earned the right,” Tullea allowed. “That is, if she’s correct in her guess.”

“We’ll know soon enough,” T’mar said, nodding toward the others and striding back out into the Weyr Bowl even as Zirenth came rushing toward him.

“I’m not catching falling riders!” Fiona called after him. “Nor dragons.” A moment later she corrected herself softly, “Well, maybe falling dragons.”

Cisca glanced at her and shook her head ruefully.

You know where to go? T’mar asked his bronze dragon once more as they circled the Star Stones.

To the Dawn Sisters, Zirenth agreed affably. They are not hard to find.

But we want to get close to them, make them big in our sight, T’mar cautioned his friend.

Of course, just like Lorana did, Zirenth agreed.

You know that she went there? T’mar asked in surprise. How?

When you thought about it, I thought about it and remembered that she’d been there, Zirenth told him innocently.

Show me your image, T’mar said. He closed his eyes and felt the image form, the image of three large shapes, different from any ship he’d ever seen but still obviously ships, even if ships for the stars. Very well, let’s go.

Take a deep breath.

A moment later, they were between.

Between lasted longer than three coughs, but less than the time it had taken them to go back ten Turns in time. And suddenly bright lights assailed T’mar’s eyes and he raised a hand to shield them, looking down and—

T’mar gasped in wonder as he saw Pern laid out below him, mountains and trails etched into the surface with a clarity he’d never seen before. He could almost spot Telgar Weyr, could easily make out Crom and Telgar Holds, could follow the Igen River down toward the sea.

How long he stared down in awe he could not say. Suddenly he felt very cold and his vision started to gray.

Let’s go! Back!

“T’mar!” Fiona shouted, racing toward the falling dragon as Zirenth hurtled, lifeless, toward the ground.

Talenth! Tolarth! Ginirth! she called and then suddenly she felt a surge of power, felt more voices respond to her, felt all the dragons arrayed in the Weyr rise up form a bridge, a cushion, a descending line that guided rider and dragon softly to the ground.

Too much! she heard a voice cry to her. You can’t lose the babies!

And then Fiona felt her knees buckle, felt her head wobble toward the ground until—

“I’ve got you, lean on me,” Jirana said, forcing herself under the Weyrwoman even as K’lior and Cisca raced to her aid.

“He’s not breathing!” D’vin shouted from a distance.

“I’m on it!” Birentir called, his feet pumping hard on the packed ground as he sped toward Telgar’s Weyrleader. “He’s blue, he’s been without air, give him room.”

Fiona found her own breath, reached down to steady herself on Jirana, gently pushed on the small shoulder until she got her legs under control, and then gave Jirana a gentle squeeze in thanks as she stood back up.

“Get me to him,” Fiona said to her, Cisca, and K’lior.

“Lean on me, then,” Cisca said, taking all of Fiona’s weight on her side. Cisca waddled them over to T’mar, half-carrying the smaller Weyrwoman.

T’mar sputtered and sat up, waving aside further aid just as Fiona reached him.

“Not enough air, eh?” Fiona asked. “And cold, too?”

“Only later,” T’mar agreed.

“What did you see?” D’vin wondered.

“Telgar, Crom, Igen—it was beautiful.”

“And deadly,” Sonia reminded him sternly.

“Only when I ran out of air,” T’mar protested, trying to stand and discovering that his legs refused to move. “Next time, I’ll be more careful.”

Shaneese arrived at that moment, glaring down at him.

“And why would there be a next time?” she demanded.

“Because I haven’t seen it all.” His eyes sought and found Fiona. “It’s beautiful.”

“Well then, when you’re rested, we’ll go look,” Fiona told him. “Shaneese can ride with me.”

In the end it was decided that Cisca, K’lior, and Fiona would go next and then, on their return, Sonia and D’vin of High Reaches Weyr, Dalia and S’maj of Ista Weyr would go. Shaneese, to T’mar’s evident relief, decided to remain behind. Tullea was quietly insistent that she and B’nik also remain behind.

“Someone’s got to handle things if you get lost,” Tullea declared.

“We need to handle this like altitude sickness,” K’lior warned the two Weyrwomen as they prepared for their jump.

“Any sign of chills, tingles, and we jump right back,” Fiona said in agreement.

“What are we looking for?” Cisca said, looking toward Fiona.

“Someplace suitable for weyrlings,” Fiona replied.

They climbed their dragons, rose in the air, gathered by the Star Stones and went between.

Fiona followed Zirenth’s coordinates, adjusting for the change in time so that Fort and High Reaches were bathed in the morning light that had yet to roll toward them. She paused only a moment to gaze in wonder at the great, blinding ships hovering soundlessly above her, then craned her head over Talenth’s neck, instinctively grabbing tighter to her riding straps as she peered down to the planet so far below.

She could see the coastline, could see the sea beyond and—Go there!

A moment later they hung alone in the sky, still hovering near the Dawn Sisters but later in the day, with the far side of Pern below her.

That’s it! Fiona declared. A moment later, Cisca on Melirth and K’lior on Rineth burst into existence beside her.

You scared them! Melirth relayed in an aggrieved tone.

Sorry, Fiona responded. Look down.

Dragons and riders looked below.

We’ve found it, Fiona thought. Let’s tell the others.

A moment later only the great ships remained, still silent, still watching.

They were not alone for long, as Sonia, D’vin, Dalia, and S’maj took their turn, looking down in surprise and awe at the beautiful blue planet below.

“It seems a waste that our ancestors could come all this way and not foresee the Red Star,” D’vin said when they’d all gathered in the Kitchen Cavern to relate their experiences.

At Fiona’s urging and their general acceptance, the Weyrleaders and Weyrwomen shared their reminiscences with everyone who wanted to listen.

Talenth, Fiona cautioned, be certain that no dragon goes to the Dawn Sisters without my permission.

I have told them.

And?

They wonder why anyone would wish to make the journey, the queen said. I told them that it was cold and the air went bad quickly.

Fiona smiled, wondering if Talenth had chosen her words to dissuade the others.

“It was so beautiful it made your eyes water,” Cisca explained to a group of interested riders.

Beyond her, D’vin waxed eloquent about the huge ships that had brought them so far. “They were white, brilliant, blazing white in the sunlight, yet there were darker places, perhaps where windows looked out to the stars.”

“But why, if that island is so great,” Tullea wondered, “has no one ever been there before?”

“Maybe they didn’t have a need,” B’nik suggested.

“Or our ancestors were too busy settling this continent to worry about the other,” Fiona said with a shrug. “It’s much smaller than ours.”

“Wouldn’t that make it easier to defend?” Tullea persisted, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And there’s no hint of it in the Records.”

“Not all Records survived the fire at the Harper Hall during the Plague,” Fiona reminded her, feeling a pang out of loyalty to Kindan. “And, again, it may just not have seemed as important to preserve that Record as it was to preserve others.”

“So Lorana’s taken all the weyrlings to a place no one’s ever been before,” Tullea mused, sounding much like her normal sour self. “How safe is that?”

“I suppose the better question, now that we know where she’s taken them, is when?” T’mar put in.

“Well, there’s one way to find out,” Fiona said, rising from her chair and alerting Talenth as she strode toward the Weyr Bowl.

“How?” Tullea demanded.

“I’ll ask her.”

T’mar and the others opened their mouths to begin the many reasonable objections that Fiona knew they would raise—that she was pregnant; that she didn’t know where to find Lorana; that it was too risky. Fiona didn’t wait. She would be careful, but before anyone could give voice to their objections, Fiona climbed on top of Talenth and, with a single leap, they went between.

“How can she know when to go?” Tullea asked crossly.

“She knows where she was,” T’mar said, rising himself and signaling Zirenth to meet him. “If you’ll excuse me.”

H’nez followed him out. “What should we do in your absence?”

“I won’t be gone long, I promise,” T’mar told him with a smile. “But in the meantime, I’d like you to be senior leader; coordinate with C’tov and don’t forget that he’s the older.”

Surprisingly, the tall wiry rider took no offense at T’mar’s words. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good man!” T’mar called as he clambered up Zirenth’s side and hoisted himself into position. Checking to be certain the area around him was clear, T’mar urged Zirenth up and instantly between.

They arrived in the dead of night, gold leading bronze. Fiona waved over her shoulder in acknowledgment as they glided to a landing. She urged Talenth to bring them to the Hatching Grounds at Telgar. Zirenth followed.

“What now?” T’mar asked as he climbed down to stand beside Fiona.

“We wait,” Fiona told him. She slumped slightly as the drain of being in the same time more than once crashed in on her. “And try to stay awake.”

“I’ll take first watch,” T’mar offered. Fiona nodded, leaning lightly against him.

They did not have to wait long, no more than an hour passed before Fiona felt a terrible pain in her head and grabbed T’mar’s shoulder both for support and in warning. Even as he reached to steady her, they saw the shape of a large dragon glide to the ground and a lithe figure dismount.

“You’d better ask her,” Fiona managed in a hoarse whisper, her eyes full of pain.

“Why?”

“Because that’s me over there,” Fiona told him, even as her knees buckled. “Be quick, she can’t feel any better about this than I.”

T’mar walked briskly toward the gold rider who seemed to know he would be there and was moving in his direction already.

“You’ve got to go,” the other Fiona called urgently. “It’s too much, you’ve got to go! There are three of me here at this very moment.”

“When did you go?”

“Three Turns,” the other Fiona told him, wincing at the sound of his voice. “Now take her and go, go quickly!”

Even as she said this, they spotted a figure walking quickly down the queens’ ledge toward them. It was Kindan.

T’mar glanced at him in understanding, then nodded to the other Fiona and raced back to the Hatching Grounds. His Fiona was on the ground, heaving. Gently he raised her up and helped her climb to her position on Talenth’s neck, strapping her in tightly.

“I’ll give the coordinates,” T’mar told her. Fiona managed a bare nod, her whole body trembling.

“Quickly!”

T’mar raced back to Zirenth, strapped himself in, and urged the bronze out of the Hatching Grounds even as he relayed the same order to Talenth. Together the pair of riders and dragons took a quick leap and, on T’mar’s image, went between, back to the sun of Telgar the morning after.

“Shaneese!” T’mar roared as soon as Zirenth came to a stop. “Help Fiona!”

“What’s she done now?” Shaneese asked, running out and gazing up at the Weyrwoman worriedly.

“She was in the same place three times last night,” T’mar explained as he leaped down from Zirenth’s neck, bracing his knees to absorb the impact.

D’vin and Sonia lent a hand and soon they had Fiona seated in the Kitchen Cavern with a cup of fresh-squeezed juice by her side.

“Well,” Fiona said weakly, “we knew when they went.”

“But why only three Turns?” D’vin wondered, shaking his head.

“We’ll have to ask them when we get there,” Fiona said. T’mar gave her a rebellious look and she smiled at him weakly before closing her eyes as the room started to spin.