Dragongirl

SIX

“There must be some mistake,” Terin said as she eyed the envelope suspiciously.

“Or perhaps Mother Karina hoped that we would bring it to her,” Fiona suggested. She looked at Shaneese. “Would you keep this for us?”

Shaneese shook her head. “No, I was told to give it to you as soon as I knew.”

“How did you know?”

“The time was right,” Shaneese said with a shrug. She nodded toward the two envelopes. “Besides, I was clearly right. They had your names on them.”

There was no arguing with that. Shaneese stood, silent, for a moment longer before she shook herself back into action.

“You’ll be needing a place to store that,” she said, nodding toward the box. “And you’ll be needing your quarters, too, Weyrwoman.”

Fiona shook her head, not up to the task of cleaning out the old Weyrwoman’s quarters, but Shaneese ignored her. She called out the names of two women who bustled over immediately and told them, “Weyrwoman Fiona needs to have quarters.”

“I’ll go with them,” Terin said after a quick glance to Shaneese.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Shaneese told her. “You stay here and see to the cooking.” She motioned for Fiona to precede her. “The Weyrwoman and I can manage well enough, I’m sure.”

Fiona gave Terin a rueful look and shook her head in resignation.

“She’s like her gran,” Terin murmured as she motioned for Fiona to go. “All bustle and no talk.”

Shaneese snorted a laugh and turned back to Terin with a happy gleam in her eyes. “Child, that’s the first time I’ve laughed this day!”

Outside, as they crossed the Weyr Bowl, Shaneese told Fiona reflectively, “Weyrwoman Lina was a gentle woman.” She shook her head. “I never understood quite why her Garoth let D’gan’s Kaloth fly her so often.”

“Sometimes what is good for the Weyr is not what is expected,” Fiona remarked.

Shaneese nodded in agreement. “This is a sad day,” she said. “But it’s best if we get it—and our grieving—done with at once.”

“What of those who shared quarters?”

Shaneese shook her head. “That’s a different thing.” She frowned. “Today what we can do is start things fresh, with a new Weyrwoman, her new quarters, and proper grieving.” She paused, gesturing for the two women to precede them before adding, “As time goes on, we’ll make adjustments in who lives where.”

Shaneese held Fiona up until one of the women came out of the weyr again carrying a bundle wrapped in sheets.

“Make sure you bring back new sheets,” Shaneese ordered. The other woman nodded and hurried along. Shaneese gestured to Fiona, “I think we can go in now.”

The other woman was still bustling about, cleaning the room and moving things into the far corridor that linked into the Weyr’s main caves.

“We can get you new tapestries,” Shaneese said, gesturing to the gaudy hangings on the walls. Fiona began to shake her head demurely but Shaneese forestalled her, saying, “Much as I loved her—she was good in many ways—the Weyrwoman had terrible taste and D’gan’s was worse.” She cocked her head toward Fiona. “What sort of colors do you prefer?”

“I grew up with brown and gold,” Fiona said, recalling Fort Hold’s colors vividly. She glanced around the room. Underneath the hangings, the walls were a bright off-white that livened the room. Fiona stepped over to the shutters and opened them, peering out over the Weyr Bowl. A chill wind blew in and she closed them again, regretfully.

“They had mirrors at Igen,” Fiona began only to halt at the sight of Shaneese’s face, “to bring light into the rooms.”

“I know what you’re talking about but we haven’t been able to get them from the Smithcrafthall,” Shaneese told her. Fiona gave her a look of surprise. Shaneese shrugged. “You may have noticed that the Weyr doesn’t lack for bright, shiny things: gaudy gold and bright jewelry; baubles, mostly.”

Fiona raised a hand, prompting her to continue.

“D’gan was a demanding Weyrleader,” Shaneese said, glancing around the quarters with a frown. “He had no trouble taking what he felt was the Weyr’s due.”

“I’d heard,” Fiona said. “At Igen, we preferred to trade for goods.”

“That was before Thread,” Shaneese reminded her. She waved a hand, dismissing the issue. “Anyway, what D’gan didn’t want, the Weyr couldn’t get.”

“I see,” Fiona replied, wondering how much Telgar’s weyrfolk had suffered for their Weyrleader’s whims. She brightened. “I think I prefer our Igen ways.”

“‘Our Igen ways,’” Shaneese repeated to herself, eyeing Fiona critically. “And now, with Thread falling, Weyrwoman, what would those ways be?”

“Fair trade when possible,” Fiona said. “I’m holder bred: I know of the demands of the Weyr. If the Weyr can’t live by the tithe then perhaps we can trade for our extra needs.”

“We could profit from trade,” Shaneese agreed. She shook her head, alerted by the noise of a bell ringing in the kitchen. “It’s lunchtime.”

Shaneese was impressed with Terin’s command of the kitchen and happy to see so many of the weyrfolk gathered. H’nez greeted as many as he could, paying particular attention to those sent by Bekka and Seban.

Fiona invited Shaneese and Norik to sit with her at the head table. At H’nez’s subtle direction, the rest of the dragonriders spread themselves out among the other tables.

F’jian proved very popular with the younger women, causing Terin to hover around his table protectively.

Xhinna appeared at Fiona’s table for a moment, then drifted off. Fiona next noticed her seated with Tevora and then at a table with Vikka, talking animatedly.

H’nez caught Fiona’s eyes as she scanned the crowd and nodded toward her emphatically.

Ginirth asks if you would say some words to the weyrfolk, Talenth told her.

Fiona nodded toward H’nez and rose to her feet, tapping the side of her mug with a spoon. To add to her effort, Talenth bugled from outside.

The huge room was instantly silent.

“For those of you whom I haven’t yet met,” Fiona began, “I am Fiona, formerly of Fort Weyr.” She paused for a moment, scanning the new faces in front of her. “Tonight we will grieve those lost.” She paused again to let the weyrfolk digest her words. She caught H’nez’s eyes, then F’jian’s and T’mar’s and all the other dragonriders as she continued. “Tomorrow, Telgar Weyr begins anew. In three days’ time, Thread falls over lower Telgar and Telgar Weyr will fight Thread once more.”

The dragonriders all rose and cheered.

Fiona waited for them to finish, then continued, “My Talenth has more than three Turns and she’ll mate soon.” She found herself blushing as she added, “Soon we’ll have eggs on the Hatching Grounds and we shall start seeking out Candidates, with first choice going to those here.” Her eyes fell on Xhinna and Terin. Terin grinned in response; Xhinna’s expression was unreadable.

Fiona glanced at H’nez, feeling that her words had failed to sway the mood of the weyrfolk.

H’nez took the hint and rose. “I am H’nez, rider of bronze Ginirth,” he said, “and the senior rider here. If you have any questions regarding the weyrs and their dispositions, you may bring them to either me or the Weyrwoman.”

H’nez scanned the quiet room expectantly and sat down again a moment later, with a stony expression.

“This is a hard day for us,” Norik spoke up from his place at the high table, addressing Fiona.

“There is time to grieve,” Fiona said, glancing around at the somber faces of the weyrfolk. Fiona sought out Terin and pointed a hand toward her. “Among those you may not have met yet,” she said, “is Terin who was headwoman with me at Igen.”

“Igen?” a voice called out.

“You were at Igen?”

“We went back ten Turns in time with our injured dragons and riders,” Fiona explained.

“I’d heard a rumor,” someone muttered.

“Many of us remember Igen,” Norik told Fiona. “And those who don’t are curious.”

“By the First Egg, it was hot!” Terin exclaimed from her place near F’jian.

A general chuckle ran around the room. “It always is!”

“And the sandstorms were amazing,” F’jian added, his remark echoed by several of the younger riders.

“You were at Igen, too, bronze rider?” a voice called out.

“And T’mar,” F’jian said, rising and pointing toward the older bronze rider. “Many of us were,” F’jian added as heads craned back from T’mar to him. “When K’lior asked for volunteers to come here”—he paused, worried that he might be upsetting the weyrfolk, then continued unabashed—“the whole Weyr volunteered to follow Fiona.”

“The whole Weyr?” one of the weyrfolk asked, cocking her head toward Fiona speculatively.

“The whole Weyr,” T’mar agreed. He pointed toward Seban. “Even those who lost a dragon a short time before demanded a chance to be here.”

Fiona sensed a change in the room, a sense of curiosity, excitement, honor.

“It was an honor to serve at Igen,” Fiona said, feeling the focus of the room shift back toward her. “It will be an honor to be your Weyrwoman and see Telgar fly high.”

She nodded once to the faces peering up at her and then sat back down, turning toward Shaneese.

“They need time,” the headwoman told her kindly.

“There isn’t much,” Norik said.

“Have we enough wine for tonight?” Fiona asked, glancing at Shaneese. “And have we got sitters for the smallest ones?”

“Yes,” Shaneese replied. “We’ll have that by this evening.”

At Norik’s suggestion and H’nez’s concurrence, the weyrfolk constructed a huge pile of logs at the east end of the Weyr, not too near the lake and the easily stampeded herdbeasts but close enough that fresh water would be easily at hand.

“It’s a long roll,” Norik said warningly to Fiona when they met in the Dining Cavern near dusk that evening.

“We’ll skip no one,” H’nez replied, glancing at his assembled riders. Each had a large sack perched on their shoulders. “We will honor all who flew from Telgar.”

“There are only forty of you,” Norik said, the concern in his voice obvious.

“Forty-one,” Fiona said, pointing to herself.

“Each rider will stand for nine,” H’nez declared. “T’mar, F’jian, and I will stand for eleven, the weyrwoman for ten.”

Norik considered this for a moment, then nodded, sitting at the table and revising his lists hurriedly. He glanced at H’nez and Fiona as he said, “I’m not sure who should stand for D’gan.”

“I’ll stand for D’gan,” H’nez said with a quick look toward Fiona.

“You are the senior,” Fiona agreed. “But not Weyrleader.” She looked at Norik. “Will that be a problem?”

“To dishonor a Weyrleader …” Norik paused as he considered the implications. It was a common practice in the Weyrs to hold a gathering to honor those fallen. The greater the rank, the greater honor due. By tradition, the senior flightleader could honor his fallen Weyrleader … but the situation here was more complex because the tragedy was so great—never before had a whole Weyr been lost like this.

“Fine,” H’nez said sharply to Fiona, “you stand for him; I’ll stand for his son, D’lin.”

“I think that’s an excellent compromise,” Norik said. “D’lin was well-respected within the Weyr.”

“I’ll have the men form up,” H’nez told Fiona.

Events moved quickly as dragons deposited riders by H’nez who, after having them form up, handed out the lists that Norik had prepared.

Fiona sidled over to them, gauging their mood.

“Most of you have seen or done this before,” H’nez told the assembled riders, “but never on this scale.”

“I haven’t,” F’jian spoke up. “What do we do?” In a lower voice, he added, “I don’t want to get it wrong.”

“Tonight we will take roll for the Weyr,” H’nez replied, directing a tight, intense look at the youngest bronze rider. “When any of the names on your list are called, you’re to stand for them.”

“The light’s bad,” F’jian said.

“You’ll have to memorize your list,” T’mar spoke up.

“It’s tradition.” “It’s considered an honor to answer for those who can’t,” a voice spoke up from the dark. It was Seban. His tone was shaky as he continued, “Among other things, it signifies that you are a rider and that you take on the mantle of the rider you stand for.” He paused. “You stand for him.”

“So you’d best memorize that list well,” H’nez continued with a thankful nod toward the ex-dragonrider. “Because you answer for those men and anything they did.”

Fiona had a sudden insight and spoke up, “Think carefully before you agree to this.”

H’nez looked toward her, gesturing expectantly. All eyes were on her.

“If you do this, you are no longer of Fort,” she told them. “For by standing for these riders, you stand for Telgar.”

There was a long moment’s silence broken by F’jian’s voice. “We stand for you, Weyrwoman.”

Fiona smiled and nodded low in gratitude. “Then you stand for Telgar.”

With an acknowledging look, H’nez stood back in front of his men. He said one word, loudly, clearly in the night, “Telgar!”

“Telgar!” the riders shouted back, their voices echoing resoundingly around the Weyr.

As if in answer, a slow, steady beat began from the harper’s big drum.

“Memorize your lists,” H’nez told the riders. Fiona took a long moment to examine her list, reciting it to Talenth and repeating it to herself until she had mastered it.

Drawn by the mournful, slow, steady sound of the bass drum, Telgar’s weyrfolk slowly began gathering. Seban marched forward to the dragonriders and collected the lists.

“Are you ready, Weyrwoman?” H’nez asked politely as he placed his list on top of Seban’s pile.

“Yes.”

“Riders of Telgar,” H’nez spoke, his voice low but firm, with a strength Fiona had never heard emanate from him before.

In response, the thirty-nine dragonriders formed into three ranks, each behind a wingleader.

H’nez raised his hand, held it there a moment, then lowered it.

Slowly, steadily, in time to the beating of the drum, the riders of Telgar Weyr moved forward to honor the fallen.

The drummer must have kept a good eye on their movements, for as they entered the end of the ring formed by Telgar’s weyrfolk, he beat a quick double-beat, then stopped.

Norik’s voice came out of the dark, full, rich, drenched in pain and sorrow as he intoned rather than sang the ancient words:

The drummer punctuated each phrase with an appropriate drumbeat. The drums fell silent as Norik finished, letting the silence build up in the evening sky.

Fiona began to worry; the lull seemed too long. As if in response, Seban moved forward to the center of the circle.

“I call the roll,” his voice echoed in the night air.

“Riders of Telgar, you are called,” Norik intoned. “I call for K’lur, rider of Koth the green.”

Silence filled the air and then, slowly, the drumbeat began again, slow, steady: a heartbeat.

From the ranks of riders, M’rorin strode forward.

“I stand for K’lur,” M’rorin called loudly, his voice catching as he spoke the words. “I stand for him for he has passed between.”

“Who stands with K’lur?” Norik called, his eyes searching the weyrfolk. Slowly from the group a woman, carrying a baby and leading two small children, moved forward.

“I stand with K’lur,” the woman said. “For he did his duty, was a good father to his children, fair and kind to all.”

She crossed to M’rorin’s side and together they waited while the slow, steady, heartbeat drum beat four times. Then M’rorin stood forward. “K’lur is no more. I stand for him, a father to his children, his mate. Fair and kind to all.”

The drum started again, slow, steady heartbeat. M’rorin and K’lur’s family moved with him, then stayed as he bowed and moved back to the ranks of dragonriders.

“I call for M’rit, rider of Jalith the blue,” Norik called and the ritual continued, each rider standing forward in stead of the lost rider, weyrmates and weyrchildren standing forward with them, and moving off once more to the slow heartbeat of the drum.

“I call for D’gan, Weyrleader, rider of Kaloth the bronze,” Norik called out in the end.

Fiona moved forward. “I stand for D’gan,” she called loudly, her voice filling the air, her shoulders and head lifted high. She heard some harsh intakes of surprise from the weyrfolk and murmurs of approval. “I stand for him, for he has passed between.”

Norik nodded approvingly and held a long, expectant silence, before calling out, “Who stands with D’gan?”

No one moved. The silence grew. Tension filled the air. Finally, someone moved, a small girl separated from the crowd and moved to join Fiona. It was Bekka.

“I stand with D’gan,” she spoke up, her chin raised high, eyes defiantly searching the faces of the shamed weyrfolk. “I stand with D’gan,” she said again, “Telgar’s Weyrleader, the man who did his duty, no matter the cost.”

A sudden noise burst faintly in the evening sky and the watch dragon bugled in amazement as, overhead, a huge phalanx of dragons descended steeply in the night air, their riders dismounting quickly and marching at speed toward Fiona.

At the edge of the ring they paused. One stepped forward.

“I stand with D’gan,” the rider called out. It was K’lior, Weyrleader of Fort Weyr. “He was a demanding man, he expected nothing less than the best of his riders. Fort stands with Telgar.”

Another rider strode forward, wearing Istan colors.

“I stand with D’gan,” the man said. Fiona didn’t recognize him. “He showed us the meaning of duty. Ista stands with Telgar.”

“I stand with D’gan,” a strong-featured man said as he strode forward. “He set high standards. High Reaches stands with Telgar.”

“I stand with D’gan,” B’nik, Benden’s Weyrleader declared as he stepped toward the center. “He showed me the meaning of valor. Benden stands with Telgar.”

A fifth man joined the others with a woman at his side; they were holding hands.

“We stand for D’gan,” the man said, raising their clasped hands high. “His last thoughts were for the Weyrs, his last warning was to all the Weyrs of Pern.”

The woman moved forward, turning challengingly toward Fiona. “Who stands for Telgar?”

“I do,” Fiona responded immediately, controlling her surprise at the woman’s unexpected behavior.

“I do,” the woman echoed then, meeting her eyes.

“I do,” the man at her side added.

“I do,” the High Reaches Weyrleader declared.

“I do,” B’nik, Benden’s Weyrleader affirmed.

“I do!” called Ista Weyr’s leader.

“I do!” K’lior said loudly, proudly, for Fort Weyr.

“I do!” H’nez’s voice rang in the night, joined almost immediately by T’mar, F’jian, and the rest of the riders.

“Telgar?” Norik’s voice rose above all the others. “Who stands?”

“I do!” The riders and weyrfolk shouted back.

“Telgar!” Norik shouted, striding forward with a torch in his hand and lighting the bonfire that had been laid at the lakeside.

Overhead, watch-whers streamed by, bearing glows in their paws, lighting the night. Dragons roared in challenge.

“Telgar!” Norik shouted again.

“Telgar, Telgar, Telgar!” the gathering shouted back, filling the Bowl with a wave of sound that drowned out all echoes.

“Telgar!” shouted all those gathered in the Weyr reborn.