Dragonheart

FOURTEEN

Igen Weyr, Morning, AL 498.7.8

“The weyrlings want to start gliding off the queen’s ledge again,” Fiona said as she met T’mar for breakfast two days later.

T’mar frowned thoughtfully then shrugged. “They’re your weyrlings, do with them what you will.”

Fiona mouthed “my weyrlings” in surprise and T’mar laughed at her.

“Good training,” he told her teasingly. “You never know when you’ll need it.”

Fiona tried to come up with some response but was so overwhelmed that all she could do was splutter while T’mar watched her with dancing eyes.

“You know,” she finally managed, “you’re absolutely right, wingleader. They are my weyrlings.”

“They won’t be ready to really fly for another ten months,” he reminded her. “That much I will not countenance.”

“Won’t you, wingleader?” Fiona asked, drawing out the last word meaningfully.

T’mar smiled at her, shaking his head. “You know that flying too early would strain their wings, make them unable to fly for any time at all.” He paused, adding slyly, “It would make for a bad mating flight for your queen if she couldn’t outfly her bronzes.”

“Talenth will outfly any bronze here!” Fiona retorted hotly. From her weyr, Talenth bugled challengingly in an echo of her rider’s declaration.

“I’m sure she will,” T’mar agreed in soothing tones. “Provided you take care not to overstrain her before her time.”

He stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, J’gerd and I are going to meet the traders for our first instruction in the stars.”

“Now?” she asked, frowning. “The sun will be up in a couple of hours.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “But this is the time Azeez requested, so we go now.”

“Fly well,” Fiona said, reaching for the klah.

“You’ll be flying your own dragon soon enough,” T’mar assured her. Then he grinned, “After all, you Turn four today!”

Fiona glanced at him in utter bafflement. T’mar gestured to Terin by the hearth. “Have you lost track of time?”

“Terin, what’s he talking about?” Fiona demanded in exasperation. T’mar smiled once more, turned about and, with a wave, departed into the Weyr Bowl.

“Well, he’s right,” Terin replied.

“Four?”

“Today is the eighth day of the seventh month in this Turn,” Terin said, sounding as though the date should be obvious to her Weyrwoman.

“My birth date!” Fiona exclaimed. “But I haven’t Turned, I’ve only been here for — ”

Terin interrupted her with a giggle, clearly thrilled with herself, exclaiming, “Ah, but here, in this time, you’ve Turned four!”

Fiona contented herself with a glower for her headwoman, as she tried to make sense of events. They had left Fort Weyr in the spring of the 508th Turn after Landing and gone back in time to the summer of the 498th Turn. When they had left, Fiona had . . . she paused to think through the numbers . . . five months and nine days to her birth date so she wouldn’t reach her fourteenth Turn until then, even though the date would be the third day of the twelfth month of this Turn — she’d celebrate her birthing date in the middle of winter!

Fiona groaned.

“Head hurts, doesn’t it?” Terin said with no sympathy. She moved the cauldron she was tending away from the hearth, dusted her hands on each other, and sauntered over toward Fiona, grabbing a stack of slates on the way.

“I’ve done all the figures,” Terin said as she sat beside Fiona, sliding a slate over. “I’ll Turn eleven on the fifteenth day of the twelfth month — twelve days after you — ”

“But you’ll Turn one in twelve days’ time,” Fiona interjected, finally seeing the humor in the situation.

“Exactly,” Terin agreed. “I’ve got the dates for the weyrlings — young and old — but I’m still working on getting the dates for the older riders.”

Fiona raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

“Well,” Terin continued, “I was thinking that we should celebrate both Turnings, just to keep things in perspective.”

“But you know, when we come back, we’ll still have this problem,” Fiona warned. “I’ll have nearly seventeen Turns by then.”

“And I’ll be as old as you are now,” Terin said in agreement. She smiled as she added, “I’ll be nearly a full Turn older than Xhinna!”

Xhinna! Fiona’s face fell. How would Xhinna react when they returned? What must she be feeling now?

“She knew I was going,” Terin said, guessing at the thoughts causing Fiona’s expression. “I’m not sure she thought it through, though. And . . .” Her words trailed off miserably.

“She expected to be with me,” Fiona completed grimly. “But the Weyrwoman said — ” She cut herself off with a brisk shake of her head. “Well, there’s nothing for it now. We’ve Turns to go before we return.”

“Only three days for them,” Terin objected.

“Turns for us,” Fiona persisted. “And that’s what matters at the moment.” She shook her head again to clear herself of future worries and glanced at the chart. “So, what sort of birthing day are you planning?”

“I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise,” Terin replied.

“Not for me,” Fiona said with a grin. “For you!”

Fiona took her “Turning day” celebration that evening in good part, dealing with all the taunts and gibes of the younger and older weyrlings with graceful aplomb, consoling herself all the while that Terin and the others would have their comeuppance later.

And, truth be told, the dinner and dessert were quite magnificent.

“I tried some of the hotter peppers that Mother Karina boasted about,” Terin said when Fiona asked about the particularly spicy bean and tomato dish that Terin served with the cornmeal rolls that the desert traders favored. “And cumin and a dash of nutmeg.” She frowned, gesturing toward the stores. “We’ll need more nutmeg.”

“Whatever you need, headwoman, we’ll get it for you,” T’mar declared, pouring out his third helping of the spicy bean dish. “This dish is worth every effort.”

Terin glowed with pride.

She glowed quite differently — red with embarrassment — twelve days later when Fiona, having banished her from the kitchen, presented Terin with her “Turning day” feast.

The days between the two “Turning days” had been hectic and full of activity for Fiona, Terin, and the dragonriders. Still, Fiona had managed to find the time not only to reinstitute the early morning weyrling glides from the queen’s ledge but also to inveigle T’mar and F’jian into turning their hands to cooking meals.

T’mar started with Terin’s bean recipe and added roast herdbeast marinated in a hot spicy sauce of his own invention. F’jian preferred to highlight garlic in his cooking, spicing up chicken breasts with a sweet and sour sauce that filled the entire Kitchen Cavern with its tantalizing scent.

For herself, Fiona concentrated on sweet juices, trying some of the newer fruits that the traders had brought in from Keroon and Ista — pungent fruits with an amazing tang. She mixed these with rice from Ista and produced a pudding that tantalized everyone. Of course, Fiona presented the dessert to Terin as baby food — and delighted as Igen’s headwoman turned nearly as red as the food in front of her.

After the meal, as the younger weyrlings happily cleaned up — mostly by gorging on the leftovers, Terin sidled up to Fiona and asked with a mischievous look, “And when is T’mar’s Turning Day?”

Fiona didn’t know and it took her several days and some gentle questioning to discover it, as T’mar firmly deflected every effort.

K’rall was her source. He had made great progress in his recovery in the three weeks since they’d arrived, and Fiona was now allowing him to talk for an hour each day — and K’rall, deprived of speech for so long, proved to be quite garrulous.

“So who’s next with their ‘Turning Day’?” he asked after Fiona had checked his injuries.

“I don’t know,” Fiona admitted. She cocked her head at him and smiled winningly. “Maybe you can help me . . .” and she explained her dilemma.

K’rall started to laugh, but gritted his teeth as a spasm of pain in his jaw and Fiona’s flashing eyes warned him that he was still recovering from his wound.

“Give me a slate and I’ll write down what I know,” K’rall said. Fiona didn’t have a spare slate with her but promised to return in the evening. After a few more polite remarks and an awkward silence, she rose to leave and continue her rounds of the convalescents.

“Is there anything else we can do for you?” she asked as she made to leave.

“Maybe you could,” K’rall told her thoughtfully. “I realize that I’m not supposed to use my jaw too much, but it’s been three sevendays now and my poor Seyorth is beyond restless. Is there something a rider and dragon could do for this Weyr?” he finished in a wistful tone.

Fiona started to suggest that he consult T’mar but thought better of it. She was the Weyrwoman, after all.

“I’m sure we can think of something!” she told him with a grin. Then she recalled her earlier discussion with the dragonrider and the fear he had of the reaction to his scarred face. “Why don’t you come down and join us this evening for the meal?”

K’rall opened his mouth in protest, caught the admonishing look in Fiona’s eyes, and closed his mouth, slowly nodding in acceptance.

“I’ll have Terin get you a slate and you can write down those dates while you’re there,” Fiona told him. She turned and started to leave, then called back over her shoulder, “We eat at the Weyrwoman’s table, in the back.”

K’rall’s amused snort followed her down the hall.

T’mar was not amused when Fiona informed him that evening as they made their way to the Dining Cavern. Fiona could feel his discomfort even as he tried to form a reply.

“He had to recover sometime,” she told him. “And you’ve been complaining for more than a sevenday at how overworked your wingleaders are.”

T’mar nodded glumly and Fiona cocked a sideways glance at him. “Are you worried that he’ll challenge your authority?”

T’mar said nothing.

“That’s silly,” Fiona said. “I’m the authority here.”

“I don’t know if K’rall, recovered, will feel that way,” T’mar told her. “You’ve yet to have fourteen Turns.”

Fiona had spent much time thinking about this, so she had a ready answer. “It’s not age, it’s authority that matters here.”

T’mar looked at her questioningly.

“As long as Talenth is the oldest queen, the dragons will defer to her,” Fiona said. “And in deferring to her, they defer to me.”

T’mar pursed his lips sourly. “You sound like a hardened, tough old rider.”

“I’m not,” Fiona replied. “But I’m a Lord Holder’s daughter, I’ve been trained from birth to lead others.” She grimaced. “I don’t think I know anything else.”

“You’re young; you’re going to make mistakes.”

“What, and older people don’t make mistakes, too?” Fiona snapped, eyes flashing. She shook her head, dismissing her anger. “Being young, I know that I make mistakes, I know that I have much to learn, and I’m willing to ask for help when I need it.” She paused. “So, wingleader, will you help me with K’rall?”

T’mar let out a long sigh and broke his stride, turning toward her. For a moment as their eyes locked, Fiona felt that T’mar was seeing her in a different light, and it both thrilled and scared her. And then . . . the moment was gone and the tall bronze rider nodded.

“Of course, Weyrwoman.”

And Fiona realized that the look he had given her was not for the Weyrowman but for her, Fiona, herself.

K’rall did not arrive until dinner had already been served, and then he made his way quickly, head down, to the table at the rear of the dining cavern. He could not avoid the cheerful calls of the small numbers of ambulatory convalescents, but he acknowledged them only with a curt nod.

T’mar rose when he noticed the older rider, as did Fiona. Seeing their Weyrwoman rise, the rest of the table followed suit. K’rall sat hastily, but Fiona remained standing, sweeping her gaze over the other tables and commanding them with her presence to rise as well.

A hush fell throughout the huge room.

“It’s good to have you join us again, bronze rider,” Fiona said, looking at K’rall. He raised his eyes to hers and then recognized that everyone was standing in his honor. Fiona raised her glass to her lips. “I drink to your continued recovery.”

There was a moment’s silence, then the hall filled with a chorus of: “K’rall!”

Fiona sat down slowly, her cheeks burning as she darted a glance at T’mar, who shook his head imperceptibly, confirming her own feeling that she’d overdone it. Well, she’d made a mistake — she’d learn from it.

“I’m sorry, K’rall,” she said softly to the bronze rider. “I meant to welcome you, not embarrass you.”

K’rall glanced over to her and smiled. “I’m not embarrassed,” he told her. “I was just a bit taken aback, is all.”

“I was telling the Weyrwoman how glad I’ll be to have more wingleaders recovered,” T’mar said. “I don’t know if she’s told you much of our circumstances here, but there’s much to do and few hands to do it with.”

“I haven’t told you much,” Fiona admitted to K’rall, “because I didn’t want worrying to slow your recovery.”

“I’m a wingleader, my lady, worrying is part of my job,” K’rall told her, his face set grimly but his eyes resting upon her warmly. “Tell me what needs doing, and I’ll see how I can help.”

Quickly, with useful interjections from T’mar and J’keran, and occasional nods from the younger F’jian, Fiona sketched the state of the Weyr’s affairs, deftly handling K’rall’s indignant outburst when she dealt with the problems of demanding a tithe and describing their successes to date.

“I see,” K’rall said when she had finished. He took a moment to slowly chew a bite of his meal, then turned back to her. “And what is it you’d like me to do?”

“One thing that I absolutely require is for you to start rounds with the other injured riders,” she replied promptly. K’rall raised his eyes at that but Fiona persisted. “It’s vital that injured riders see other riders recovered from their wounds — ”

“Gives them hope,” K’rall murmured approvingly. His eyes twinkled and his craggy features creased as he said, “You’ve your father’s way with words, my lady.”

“Shh!” Fiona chided him. “You don’t want to strain those muscles too much.”

K’rall winced in agreement.

“Speaking of between, ” T’mar interposed himself deftly into the conversation, “we’ve discovered a problem with our training.”

K’rall contented himself with a raised eyebrow in response.

“Our training on recognition points — ” T’mar began then caught himself. “— my training on recognition points was — or will be — nearly eight Turns in the future.” He paused, but K’rall gestured for him to proceed. T’mar plunged on, explaining about the ice — which prompted a surprised yet approving look from the other bronze rider — and the problem with timing it.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” K’rall admitted. He stabbed his fork toward Fiona and T’mar. “But you’ve a solution . . .”

T’mar nodded and explained about the traders and learning to navigate by the stars.

“I would like to learn this,” K’rall said when T’mar had finished. He glanced at Fiona. “You think we can use the stars to guide us between times?”

“I think someone has done it — or will do it — already,” Fiona replied firmly, recalling their arrival at Igen Weyr.

K’rall nodded in agreement. “Any idea who the mystery Weyrwoman is?” He paused, then added, “Or will be?”

T’mar glanced significantly at Fiona, who bristled at the implication and replied heatedly, “No one knows!”

“Time will tell,” T’mar responded teasingly.

After dessert, Terin placed a clean slate and chalk by K’rall’s arm and Fiona eyed him meaningfully. K’rall glanced at T’mar and smiled, took the slate, and filled it in quickly before passing it back to Fiona.

Fiona looked at it for a moment, then passed it over to Terin, tapping at one point significantly.

“Oh, that will do!” Terin crowed ecstatically.

Terin and Fiona kept their plans secret until the first day of the next month. That morning they cornered K’rall and J’keran and brought them into the secret.

“He’s going to hate it!” K’rall declared, his face drawn in as wide a grin as he could manage. Fiona smiled in agreement, then narrowed her eyes as she scrutinized the muscles in his face.

“We’ll need to get some moisturizer or salve for you,” she declared, motioning to Terin in the private shorthand they had developed to indicate when Fiona wanted the headwoman to make a mental note.

“This is where it’d be nice to have a healer,” Terin said, frowning thoughtfully.

“Bah!” K’rall snorted. “I’m well-healed and have you to thank for it. A bit of a pinch is all I feel, and I’m sure that’ll fade as I work the muscles more.”

Fiona had reluctantly approved K’rall’s pleas to be allowed full expression of his face again. In the week since his first dinner in the Dining Cavern, her respect and affection for the gruff old rider had grown immensely. K’rall was less conservative in his thinking than Fiona had initially guessed. In fact, she realized that a lot of what she’d branded as hidebound in his behavior was more a result of caution and a certain amount of fear of failure. And a lot of that fear, Fiona had decided, had vanished with his first Thread injury and its slow recovery.

Father always said that many sticks-in-the-mud were saplings trying to grow new leaves after winter, Fiona reminded herself. She smiled softly at the memory, and was shocked to realize that if she were to go to Fort Hold now, she’d find a father only forty Turns and still in mourning — scarcely a Turn had passed here since the Plague had taken his wife and other children from him. A part of her desperately wanted to go to him, to assure him that she would grow up healthy, wise, and strong under his parenting. She realized how much such knowledge could mean to him at the moment and the notion surprised her.

“What is it?” K’rall asked, seeing Fiona’s expression. “A burden shared . . .”

“I was thinking of my father,” Fiona admitted, knowing that the older rider would understand.

“Your Talenth is still far too young to fly, let alone between, ” K’rall admonished her. “And she’s far too sensible to try.”

“True,” Fiona agreed sardonically. While Talenth was well into her fourth month, it surprised Fiona sometimes how maturely her marvelous queen comported herself. Talenth was insistent that she be last to use her ledge for the now traditional morning weyrling glide and she was the first to greet a newly healed dragon when it tested its wings for the first time in his or her recovery. Fiona cocked her head at the older rider but stifled the question on her lips.

“Something else, now,” K’rall rumbled, feigning a hint of exasperation. “What is it?”

“Why are there so many more injured greens?”

“I don’t know,” K’rall admitted with a shrug. “Perhaps it’s because there are so many more greens than bronzes or browns” — he held up a hand to restrain her from interjecting — “and the blues are smaller, so they’re harder for Thread to hit.”

Fiona nodded, and K’rall smiled affectionately at her.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Weyrwoman, I’ve duties — more duties — to attend!”

She waved him away, certain that she’d gained another convert to her secret plan.

Fiona waited until after dinner that evening as the younger weyrlings were clearing the dishes and preparing to bring around the desserts and then, with a nod to K’rall, she rose from her position.

“If I may have your attention,” she said in a loud, carrying voice. A bugle from a dragon in the Weyr Bowl outside ensured that the Dining Cavern was stone silent.

T’mar eyed her suspiciously and she grinned at him.

“As you know,” Fiona began, unable to keep her face straight, “we have taken to celebrating events in here, in this time as well as those that would occur back in our own time at Fort Weyr .” She paused to allow the riders to digest her words. “You may recall that this started with my birthing day and continued with Terin’s.”

She glanced toward T’mar. “And while it will be some time before we celebrate another birthing day, tonight we celebrate something that I think, for a dragonrider, is far more significant.” She nodded to Terin, who pulled out a nicely decorated cake and started walking ceremoniously toward the high table.

“Tonight we celebrate the fact that this is the same day, in the same time, that a young Candidate stood on the Hatching Grounds — ” Fiona paused dramatically, long enough for the instructed weyrlings to trot toward various other riders with smaller confections. “ — and one, in particular, Impressed a bronze.”

T’mar’s gasp of surprise was matched by Zirenth’s delighted bugle. Several other riders were equally surprised to have small cakes placed in front of them by grinning weyrlings.

Fiona reached for her glass and raised it high. “To all those who Impressed this day!”

She was instantly joined by a thunderous roar of approval that rang around the room.

“I never even thought . . .” T’mar began when he could find his voice again, but it broke and he just sat there, silently shaking his head in shock, surprise, and pure elation. Words came to him again at last as he reached out a hand to Fiona, saying, “Thank you.”

Fiona grinned and nodded in response, thrilled that she had put one over on the all too aware T’mar.

“I’m surprised we never thought of this back at the Weyr,” K’rall murmured to Fiona as she sat back down.

“Yes, I was surprised, too,” Fiona agreed. “I suspect it will soon become a Weyr tradition.”

“It is already at Igen,” K’rall responded, and, eyes twinkling, he raised a glass in toast to Fiona.

By the next sevenday, supplies were once again beginning to run low at Igen Weyr, and so it was with a sense of relief that Fiona heard the watchdragon’s report that the trader caravan had been spotted.

“They’ll be here in the morning,” T’mar said that evening. He glanced over to K’rall. “Do you think we are ready?”

“To collect ice in this time?” K’rall asked. He had been drilling the older weyrlings in recognition points by flying himself and his Seyorth on long reconnaissance flights up the Igen mountain range, selecting prominent locations for references. Fiona fondly recalled the look of pure boyish pleasure two days earlier when K’rall had returned with a clump of ice — again she found more to admire under the older rider’s gruff exterior.

“It would be nice to have something cooling for the traders,” she said.

“How many hundredweight would you like?” K’rall asked. “I’m certain of six of the older weyrlings, but I’d not want them to haul more than a hundredweight each.” He glanced toward his weyr as he added, “Seyorth will easily handle two hundredweight.”

“I think I should come along, then,” T’mar responed. “That way, between the eight of us, we’d have ten hundredweight — a half ton.”

“Even Karina will be amazed!” Fiona said with glee. She caught T’mar’s reticence and prompted, “What?”

“Ice will do for some things but it won’t answer for our main need,” he told her.

“I think you’re right, T’mar,” K’rall agreed. “Having a watch-wher egg would be our greatest asset with the local holders.”

“I thought we had to wait on the traders for that,” Fiona objected.

“We do, which is why I’m glad to hear they’re coming,” T’mar said. He rose from his chair, gesturing for K’rall to precede him. “But until they arrive — we’ve got some chilly work to do.”

While T’mar and K’rall organized their riders, Fiona and F’jian organized the canvas and ropes the riders would need to haul back the ice.

“Fly well!” Fiona called as the eight dragonriders mounted their dragons.

T’mar and K’rall sketched salutes at her and then, at K’rall’s command, the small wing lifted and went between.

“I hope they’re not too tired when they return,” F’jian remarked as they returned to their duties. Fiona gave him an inquiring look. “Well,” he said with a shrug, “they’re going to have to time it to get back before the traders arrive.”

Fiona nodded glumly, then lifted her head up. “Which means we need to get the storeroom ready now. ”

F’jian groaned in response and Fiona slapped his shoulder affectionately. “Just wait until your dragon is old enough to fly . . . then you’ll be able to collect the ice and store it yourself.”

“That might not be so bad,” F’jian responded wistfully.

“The ice is indeed marvelous but we can’t trade it,” Azeez said first thing the next morning after T’mar had proudly displayed it.

K’rall and T’mar both opened their mouths in what would certainly have been an indignant outburst but Fiona cut across them, directing her comments to Mother Karina, “Where does this ice need to be for a good trade?”

Karina smiled and nodded toward Azeez.

The byplay wasn’t lost on Fiona who smiled in response. “You thought I wouldn’t foresee this?”

Azeez stiffened as Karina laughed and shook her finger at him. “I told you she was trader!”

“That’s as may be,” Azeez replied tetchily, “but it doesn’t alter the situation.”

“Of course it does!” Karina replied, biting off more laughter. She pointed a finger toward Fiona, saying, “Go on girl, tell us what you’ve devised.”

“Some of this ice we’ll trade, to be delivered when and where you say,” Fiona said, putting extra emphasis on the when. Karina nodded, expecting no less. “But we’ll hold back a hundredweight for trade with the wherhold.”

“Ah!” Karina exclaimed.

Fiona eyed Azeez. “You know where it is.”

“Yes,” Azeez agreed. His eyes shifted away from her.

“What is it you don’t want to say?”

Azeez sighed. “They have little reason to like dragonriders.”

“And what do you recommend?” T’mar asked, bristling with ill-suppressed anger.

Azeez said nothing, glancing first to Karina, then to Fiona.

“Send a girl,” Karina said finally.

“No,” Fiona corrected her firmly, “you want to send me — a Weyrwoman.”

K’rall and T’mar gasped.

“Kindan mentioned some of the problems that Aleesa had when he knew her — not too long ago in this time,” Fiona explained quickly.

Karina frowned at her thoughtfully.

“He said that the Telgar Weyrleader felt that the watch-whers were unnecessary and a burden detracting from his rightful tithe,” Fiona recalled. “And so Aleesa hates dragonriders, fearing that they want to destroy the watch-whers forever.”

“She’s touched in the head,” Azeez declared. He started in surprise when Fiona nodded in agreement.

Again, Karina laughed. “Come, Azeez! And how many times do I have to remind you that little pitchers have big ears?” she teased, jerking her head at Fiona. “This one grew up dandled on a Lord Holder’s knee, listening to every conversation of importance for a whole Hold while being groomed to take over.” She laughed as she caught Fiona’s look.

“Oh, lady, do you think I didn’t guess?” Her eyes twinkled as she continued. “Anyone who heard Lord Bemin’s staunch support for Lady Nerra over her older — and completely useless — brother would have to be witless not to divine his reasoning.”

Fiona thought of mentioning Kelsa and her future half-sib but decided that Karina knew far too many secrets already. Let Tenniz tell her, if it came to him.

“You are holding something back,” Karina said with a cackle. “You look just like Tenniz when he doesn’t want to tell one of his Sightings.”

“I am,” Fiona admitted. “See if he can see it himself.” She glanced curiously at Mother Karina. “And where is he, by the way?”

“He is busy with trader matters in another location,” Karina replied with a negligent wave of her hand. She smiled challengingly at Fiona. “Perhaps you can see where yourself?”

Fiona snorted in response to Mother Karina’s jest.

Beside her, T’mar cleared his throat. “If you are saying that we should send Fiona — ”

“I think it’s an excellent idea,” Fiona said, cutting him off. “When do we go?”

“The sooner the better,” Azeez replied. “Our information is that Aleesa is dying.”

Fiona nodded; from what little she’d heard of the events that had unfolded — would unfold — the news was not unexpected to her. She caught Karina eyeing her carefully and shook her head slyly.

“Her gold has clutched and there’s a queen egg,” she said.

Azeez gasped while Karina merely smiled, saying, “We were only told that Aleesk had clutched. Nothing was mentioned about what or how many eggs.”

“I don’t know how many eggs, only the queen,” Fiona confessed.

“You know how this all happens, don’t you?” Azeez asked accusingly.

With a shake of her head, Fiona replied, “No, I only know how it ends, not what events transpired along the way.”

“Just like Tenniz,” Karina murmured quietly.

“Except that, unlike Tenniz,” T’mar interjected, “we know because this is our past.”

“But we only know those things that were important to us or brought to our attention,” Fiona added. She glanced at T’mar, then K’rall, reading their glum expressions.

“We must find another way,” K’rall urged, glancing down at her. “We cannot risk — ”

Fiona silenced him with an upraised hand. “Karina already knows enough to trade for Turns to come,” she told him. “No sense in giving her more for free.”

She turned her attention to the traders.

“Do you know where the wherhold is now?” she asked. “Well enough that we can fly to it?”

“We know a place where you can land,” Azeez admitted. “But we have no traders that we’d trust with this secret nearby, else we’d have them introduce you and bring you into the camp.”

“From what we’ve heard, you must hurry,” Karina added.

“But we’ve got all the time we need,” K’rall said airily.

“No,” Fiona said. “We’ve seen the effects of too much timing. ”

“Even now, I can feel the effects of just being in this time twice,” T’mar said, rubbing the back of his neck wearily. His eyes narrowed as he added, “I didn’t feel this drained until recently.”

“When?” Fiona asked urgently. She made a conciliatory gesture to the traders who looked unnerved.

“Since Hatching Day,” T’mar said with growing certainty.

“That makes sense,” K’rall said. “Until you’d Impressed you wouldn’t feel time the way a dragonrider does.”

“Terin isn’t affected at all,” Fiona observed in confirmation. Then she shook her head. “We should have this conversation later.”

“Agreed,” T’mar said. K’rall nodded emphatically.

“For now, the question is how long will I need to be gone and who will handle my duties while I’m away?” Fiona stated.

“I hadn’t realized we had decided that you would leave,” K’rall protested.

Fiona sensed T’mar stiffening beside her, ready to add his weight to K’rall’s argument. She spoke before he could. “As Weyrwoman, I am responsible for the well-being of this Weyr.” She paused and let out a deep breath. “If we do not do this, I do not see how we can feed the Weyr, heal the dragons, and return to help.”

“We could find something,” K’rall suggested.

“We know what happened,” Fiona said. “The only thing we don’t know is how. ”

“But that ‘how’ could mean your life!” T’mar exclaimed, shaking his head. “I don’t see that it’s worth the risk.”

“It’s my choice to make, though, isn’t it?” Fiona stepped away from the two wingleaders, standing beside Karina and looking back at them.

“As I recall, Kindan said that one of those wherholders actually shot an arrow at M’tal’s Gaminth,” K’rall replied grimly.

“Which is why it’s well that Talenth is too young to fly, isn’t it?” Fiona interposed sweetly. “It will just be me: one unarmed, harmless young girl.”

“There’s still time to back out,” T’mar told her the next day as he lowered her down Zirenth’s side at their landing point. Azeez had assured them that they were out of sight of the wherhold but less than a kilometer away.

“I wouldn’t linger, all the same,” Mother Karina had observed when they had discussed the plan.

Fiona glanced back up at T’mar, shaking her head. She’d made her pledge; she wouldn’t back out. “I’d know.”

“I’ll bet your father wishes you were a boy,” T’mar replied, shaking his head in admiration.

“I’m quite happy being a woman,” Fiona said, smiling.

T’mar looked ready to respond but thought better of it. “Zirenth and I can be here whenever you need.”

“I’ll be fine,” Fiona assured him, reaching up for the carisak that she’d handed him as she’d clambered down. T’mar handed it over to her and she hoisted it, scampering away from Zirenth.

“Circle around north,” T’mar instructed her, “so that if they see me leaving, they won’t suspect you were brought here by dragon.”

Fiona waved in acknowledgment and started off. As the wind from Zirenth’s wings buffeted her, she turned back to sketch a quick salute to T’mar, but she wasn’t sure if he saw it before he went between.

She turned back again to resume her trek and paused with a deep sigh.

Talenth? she called.

I’m here. Her queen’s instant response calmed her in a way that no words of her own or any other’s could.

How are you doing?

Well, Talenth replied, her tone surprised that Fiona need ask. But if you’re going to be gone much longer would you ask Terin to oil me?

Of course, Fiona responded, grinning to herself. She was becoming accustomed to Talenth’s draconic ways, particularly the young queen’s fading memory. She didn’t bother to explain to Talenth that it would be easier for the queen to ask Terin directly, preferring to send the request to Seyorth, who’d agreed to listen for her. The older bronze sounded both quite pleased that she’d asked him and quite amused with the young queen’s self-absorption.

It is done, Seyorth told her. He added humorously, The headwoman was surprised to hear from me.

Thank you, Fiona told him, a smile crossing her lips as she imagined Terin’s frightened squeak when the bronze dragon spoke in her mind.

Anything, Weyrwoman, Seyorth responded. Fiona was stirred by the depth of commitment the bronze’s reply involved and thrilled to hear him so easily label her Weyrwoman.

With one parting mental nod, Fiona turned her attention back to the ground in front of her. It was wild, uneven, and took her longer to traverse than she had expected. By the time she was near the wherhold, she was hot, sweaty, and thirsty.

She debated digging into her carisak for her flask and wondered why she hadn’t hung it from her side the moment Zirenth had gone between, but finally decided that she should wait and ask for water when she met someone.

She had just started forward again when an arrow flew across her path.

“Now that is just enough!” Fiona shouted loudly, her anger and irritation echoing around her. Dimly, in the distance, she heard the strange bugle of a watch-wher, answered by several others. Shaking her head, she said to herself, “Shards, I didn’t mean to wake them!”

She glanced around for a sign of the bowman who had shot at her but saw nothing.

“I need to talk with Aleesa!” Fiona shouted toward where the arrow had originated. “It’s important.”

“You need to leave,” a man’s voice responded, not from where the bowman had fired, “while you still can.”

“What makes you think Aleesa is here?” a woman’s voice demanded from where the arrow had been fired.

“Oh, this is too much,” Fiona muttered angrily to herself. She was scared, but she was angrier than she was scared and she knew that that meant someone was going to come off the worse for it — and not her. Loudly, she said, “Look, I’m sorry about the fire-lizards but — ”

Another arrow whizzed past her, this time coming from the man’s position.

“No, by the First Egg, you will not scare me!” Fiona shouted, her voice echoed by the bugles of watch-whers. Her anger flowed from her like a storm as she raged on, “I am Fiona, Talenth’s rider, Weyrwoman of — ”

“Of what?” the woman’s voice demanded.

“We have no use for a Weyrwoman,” the man added.

“You have use for me !” Fiona roared back.

“I know all the Weyrwomen’s names, there is no Fiona,” the woman declared.

“I am Lord Holder Bemin’s daughter,” Fiona snapped back.

“Your first story was better: Bemin’s daughter can’t be more than two Turns,” the woman said bitterly.

“I come from the future,” Fiona said, backtracking. “I am Bemin’s daughter and I Impressed a queen dragon.” She couldn’t help adding, out of a sense of honor, “And, anyway, in this time I’ve just turned four.”

“You?” the woman snorted. “A queen?”

“Is she here?”

“Of course not!” Fiona snapped. “She’s not old enough to fly.” “So, Fiona from the future, rider of a gold and daughter of a Lord Holder,” the woman began, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “if your dragon is so young, how did you get here?”

“What’s your name?” Fiona asked. She guessed that this person was Arella; she’d heard Kindan speak of her. The man was probably Jaythen.

An arrow whizzed by her in response. “You need to stop asking questions and leave.”

Didn’t Kindan say something about Arella having a watch-wher?

Talenth, would you bespeak Arelsk and say who I am, Fiona thought to her dragon.

Arelsk is a green, did you know that? Talenth asked conversationally, indicating that she’d passed the message. She is quite nice, really.

“If you are Arella, as I think, then check with Arelsk,” Fiona said out loud, sending a mental appreciation back to Talenth. “My Talenth has spoken with her.”

A moment later, bushes parted in the distance and a woman rose with a bow in her hand. She strode toward Fiona, her bow still cocked, but the arrow pointed to the earth.

“Why are you here?”

“Your mother is dying,” Fiona said, not knowing how much time they had, “and Aleesk has clutched a gold.”

Arella stopped midstride, raised her bow toward Fiona, then lowered it again, her face the picture of surprise. “How did you know?”

“For me, it’s already happened,” Fiona told her. “I did not lie: I am from the future, I Impressed a queen, and I am Lord Bemin’s only surviving child.” She was surprised at how important this last statement was to her. She gestured to the other bowman’s position. “Is that Jaythen over there? Or Mikal?”

Some of Arella’s wariness returned. “Mikal is dead.”

“The Plague?”

Arella shook her head. “It weakened him, but he survived. Old age took him.”

“He was babbling about something from the future,” Jaythen said as he rose from his hiding place. He glanced askance at Fiona as he added, “ ‘A queen too young to fly.’ ”

“Those were his last words,” Arella said, eyeing Fiona carefully.

“No, his last words were: ‘You must listen to her,’ ” Jaythen corrected her, striding toward the other two, glancing up and down at Fiona. “I couldn’t see how a queen could talk,” he admitted. “Now I wonder what you have to say?”

A smile crossed Fiona’s lips as she sent a silent thank-you to the late ex-dragonrider, wondering to herself if his Sight came from trader blood. “First, could I get something to drink? I’m parched.”

Half an hour later, Fiona was seated cross-legged on the dirt-packed floor of a dimly lit cavern, drinking from a mug of cool water, aware of many eyes inspecting her, most of them young.

“There’s more of them every time a green or gold rises,” Arella murmured as she affectionately tusseled the hair of one of the younger boys, who bore a marked resemblance to her. She eyed Fiona speculatively. “You’ve not experienced a mating flight yet, have you?”

Fiona shook her head. Jaythen snorted at some secret joke, and Fiona eyed him disdainfully.

“Bet you’ll have less of a swagger when you do!” Jaythen declared knowingly. Fiona glowered in response.

“Jaythen!” Arella growled at him, shaking her head and apologizing to Fiona: “Men don’t know anything.”

“I’ve noticed,” Fiona replied, keeping her eyes firmly on Jaythen.

The wherhandler held her eyes for a moment longer, then laughed. “You’ve nerve enough, that I’ll grant!”

“ ‘Needs drive when Thread arrives,’ ” Fiona responded, quoting the old saying.

“There’s no Thread here,” Jaythen declared.

“Yet.” Fiona’s tone was implacable. Jaythen bristled, but Arella calmed him by placing a hand on his knee, her eyes challenging Fiona to continue.

“Where I come from we’ve been fighting Thread for nearly three sevendays now,” Fiona told them. She paused at the brink of telling them of the dragon sickness — so far no one in this time had been told of it. And yet, how could she explain why she’d had to banish the fire-lizards?

“We’ve been losing dragons not only to Thread but also to a sickness,” she said finally, plunging into the heart of the matter. She continued quickly, “The fire-lizards caught it first, which is why I had Talenth send yours away — we don’t know how, where, or when they got the illness.” She shrugged. “We don’t even know if they gave it to the dragons.”

“How many dragons have this illness?” Arella asked, ignoring the suspicion roiling from Jaythen in nearly visible waves.

“I don’t know,” Fiona told her honestly. “At — ” She paused again, then plunged on. “ — at Fort Weyr we had eighteen that were feverish when I left and — ”

“Eighteen?” Jaythen cut her off, snorting derisively. “That’s nothing!”

“How long are they ill?” Arella asked.

“We don’t know for certain,” Fiona told her. “None have recovered.”

“It’s only eighteen,” Jaythen said dismissively.

“There’s more,” Arella decided, gesturing for Fiona to proceed.

Fiona took a deep breath before continuing, “The Weyr is understrength. We’ve only seventy-two fighting dragons — ”

“What?” Arella cried in surprise. “There are more than that at Fort Weyr today!”

“Did you lose that many dragons to Thread?” Jaythen asked.

Fiona shook her head. “We lost most of them to the sickness.”

Arella turned to Jaythen with an expression of horror. His sneer slid off his face and his whole demeanor changed as he asked quietly, “How many?”

“Since we first identified the illness, we’ve lost one hundred and eleven dragons,” Fiona told them grimly. “Some died from Threadscore, but most from the sickness.”

“What about the other Weyrs?” he asked respectfully.

“I don’t know about all of them,” Fiona replied. “Some have cut themselves off from the rest of Pern.” The two wherhandlers nodded in sympathy. “We’re not the worst hurt. That would be Ista — I hear that they have barely one wing’s worth of fighting dragons.”

“How can they protect the holders?” Arella asked.

“Benden and Fort Weyrs have agreed to fly in their aid,” Fiona said. “But we don’t know how much longer we can hold on. We’ve less than a Flight ourselves and even with — ” She cut herself off abruptly. Should she tell them about the watch-whers and their night flight?

“Even with what?” Arella prompted.

“Our last two Falls were at night,” Fiona said in preparation.

“Dragons don’t see well at night,” Jaythen remarked thoughtfully.

“Watch-whers do!” Arella exclaimed. She jerked her head toward Fiona and grinned. “Mikal and M’tal, Benden’s Weyrleader, have been prodding Mother to train the watch-whers to fight Thread at night.” Her grin faded and she shook her head. “But she refuses.”

“Maybe she’ll change her mind,” Fiona said hopefully. She knew that watch-whers had flown Thread at night but she didn’t know if those watch-whers had any relation with the ones here, now, at the wherhold.

“I don’t think she will,” Jaythen said.

“My mother is old and set in her ways,” Arella explained. “The Plague and Mikal’s death have been hard on her.”

Jaythen, who had been silently grappling with his own thoughts, spoke up again. “What I want to know, future girl, is what we have that you want.”

“If you’re really from the future then you know what happens,” Arella said, eyeing Fiona speculatively.

“Not entirely,” Fiona admitted. “I know what happens to me and to those around me that I care about.”

Arella gave her a dubious look, so Fiona continued. “As you say, I’ve four Turns in this time — do you expect that I would be learning every single thing that goes on in Pern at such an age?”

“A Lord Holder’s daughter?” Jaythen snorted. “I’d expect you to know more than your Turns would suggest.”

“I do,” Fiona agreed. “But I learned most of that when I was older.” She paused reflectively. “At this age I was just discovering Forsk’s lair.” She smiled at the memory. “She was the biggest thing I’d ever seen and her eyes were — ”

“You met Fort’s watch-wher?” Jaythen interrupted.

“I used to sleep with her,” Fiona told him, smiling fondly. “Father got so annoyed, but not nearly as angry as when I took her off after tunnel snakes.”

“You caught tunnel snakes with a watch-wher?” Jaythen repeated, astonished.

“Not until I was older,” Fiona confessed. “I think I had just turned six when I caught my first one.” She grinned. “Don’t tell Father or he’ll forbid me altogether. But I earned a quarter-mark each!”

“Are you saying he didn’t forbid you?” Arella asked with all the protectiveness of a parent.

“Well, he was always surprised at how I always seemed to have spare pocket money,” Fiona confessed, “but I was careful never to spend too much.”

“And he never forbade you?”

“No,” Fiona said, smiling at the memories. “I was very careful to arrange it that he never got around to it.” Arella gave her a perplexed look and she explained, “I mean, whenever the subject came up, I made it clear that I understood the dangers involved and my responsibilities to be an example for the Hold.”

“And never quite got around to saying that you wouldn’t go after tunnel snakes!” Jaythen snorted appreciatively. He turned, grinning, to Arella. “Almost as devious as some others I could mention!”

“Doubtless all women,” Arella agreed with an evil grin. “Something you should bear firmly in mind.”

Jaythen’s grin slipped. Arella savored his reaction before turning back to Fiona.

“But, as you did with your father, you have avoided answering the question of what are you doing here.”

Fiona thought for a moment, weighing her options and choices. Finally, she chose the direct approach. “We want to trade for your queen egg.”

“Why? If, as you say, you have a queen of your own, what makes you think you can have two?” Arella replied.

“What are you offering in exchange?” Jaythen demanded.

“The queen is not for me,” Fiona said to Arella. To Jaythen she said, “I’m offering you a permanent hold of your own, a place where you will be welcomed and honored by all.”

Arella leaned back hard against the wall behind her, her eyes closed, an expression of hope lighting her face.

“Who are you to make such offers?” Jaythen demanded angrily, jabbing a thumb toward Arella. “Who are you to raise her hopes so high?”

“I am Fiona, Talenth’s rider,” Fiona declared, raising her head and voice in pride, “Weyrwoman.”

“Weyrwoman?” Arella repeated, opening her eyes and leaning forward even as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. “We know all the Weyrs. Which Weyr claims one so young as you as its Weyrwoman?”

“Anyway, that’s a Weyr in the future,” Jaythen added dismissively. “Your promises can’t be kept until then.”

“I am Weyrwoman of Igen Weyr, here and now,” Fiona told them. “Igen has been abandoned!” Jaythen exclaimed. “How can you — ”

“We came back in time,” Fiona cut across him angrily. “Our injured riders and dragons and our weyrlings, even our youngest. We’re here now to recover and mature. We’ll stay here until the youngest weyrlings are ready to fight Thread.”

“That’ll take Turns!”

“Yes,” Fiona agreed. “And through all those Turns, I will be and am Weyrwoman of Igen Weyr.”

“So if the egg wouldn’t be for you,” Jaythen said, returning to her offer, “then who?”

“I think it’s dangerous to know too much of the future,” Fiona said. “But I’m pretty sure that you’d approve of her. Anyway,” she continued, and then stopped.

“What?” Arella prompted.

Fiona sat still for a moment, debating whether she should tell them. Finally, she nodded to herself. “You must keep this a secret, all right?”

Jaythen and Arella eyed her suspiciously, neither agreeing nor objecting.

“I only saw the queen when they flew Thread at night,” Fiona said.

Arella turned to Jaythen, eyes glowing. “I told you! I told you they would fly against Thread!”

“You swear this, on your honor?” Jaythen asked Fiona.

“Of course!”

Something seemed to ease inside him, as though his heart had started beating more strongly, and his expression grew less guarded and more hopeful.

“Who flew the queen?” Arella asked.

“Nu — the woman to whom I want to give this egg,” Fiona replied.

“That’s the second time you started with ‘Nu,’ ” Arella observed slyly. “You can’t mean that miner girl.”

“She’s already got a green; do you expect her to bond with another?” Jaythen demanded.

“The person I know has been bonded with a gold for all my memory,” Fiona answered honestly.

“This queen egg will hatch soon,” Arella said. “And if we don’t find her someone with whom to bond, she’ll — ”

“Be lost between, ” Fiona finished.

“We think that some watch-whers go wild and live by themselves,” Jaythen told her, shaking his head. “But not golds. Aleesa says that a gold must have a person.”

“So, future girl,” Jaythen surmise grimly, “you’ve come to bargain with something Aleesa won’t want, in hopes of delivering a queen egg to someone who already has a watch-wher of her own — are you sure you don’t want to amend some of your tale?”

Fiona glanced at Arella and saw the same look on her face as on Jaythen’s — and neither looked promising.

“This will happen, I know it,” she swore firmly even as she wondered if, somehow, the future came about in an entirely different way — one that didn’t involve her or Igen Weyr. And if that was so, how would the weyrlings be fed or supplies for the wounded be found? Desperately, she asked, “Can I talk to Aleesa? Please?”

Arella glanced to see Jaythen’s reaction and, when he shook his head, sighed and repeated the motion.

“My mother is old and tired,” Arella said. “What you offer is nothing she’d want to hear and I won’t have you upsetting her.”

Jaythen rose, gesturing toward the cave’s exit. “It’s best if you leave now.”

Tears of rage and disappointment threatened to overwhelm Fiona. She sat there, shaking her head. “No,” she murmured to herself. “No, it has to be this way!”

With the speed of a tunnel snake, Jaythen whipped around, wrapped his hand tightly around her arm, and yanked her off the floor. “No, it doesn’t, holder girl!” he shouted, propelling her toward the exit.

Fiona turned back, determined not to leave only to find herself twirled tightly against his chest, a gleam of metal suddenly visible down by her neck, just below her line of sight.

“Don’t think I won’t!” Jaythen whispered in her ear, his words filled with a desperation and a longing that seemed like madness to Fiona.

“Jaythen!” Arella screamed. The room was suddenly full of children, all peering wide-eyed at the scenario.

“She comes here and makes promises she can’t keep and then thinks to defy us!” Jaythen yelled, his words deafening in Fiona’s ear. He twitched and Fiona felt a sharp pain at her throat, as Jaythen pressed his blade tightly against her skin. Fiona gasped.

Talenth! she cried.

“Jaythen, you can’t, she’s a dragonrider!” Arella cried imploringly.

“Dragonrider!” Jaythen spat out the word. “And what have they done for us? Sent us packing, disdained and denied us at every chance, or used us like pawns for their own ends.” He eased his knife back for a moment, then pressed in again tightly, as he added, “Killing this one — even if she is a rider — would only be a partial payment for all the wrongs they’ve done us these Turns past.”

A sudden raucous bugling and crying erupted all around them, echoing deafeningly.

“Jaythen, if you kill me, more than one will die,” Fiona found herself saying. “More than all who live here, more than all who are now in Igen — maybe all Pern.”

She paused, her blood pounding in her veins even as she forced herself to speak calmly, quietly, using all of the power that Cisca had cautioned her against, saying, “Put the knife down.”

“You’d best do it now,” an elderly voice said harshly from behind them. “Or by the First Egg, I’ll send your Jaysk between forever.” Aleesa.

The clatter of the knife as it fell on the stone floor was so strange to Fiona’s hearing that it took her a moment to understand what it meant. Gently, slowly, she raised her hand and pushed Jaythen’s away from her throat, moving to the opposite side of him as she did.

“You’d best run now, girl,” Aleesa said. “And forget that you ever learned the way here.”

Fiona shook her head stubbornly. “I can’t do that.” She found herself looking at a frail old lady who reminded her eerily of Melanwy — it was the eyes, she thought. There was only the slightest hold on life left in them, as though she’d already taken her last ride between.

“Please, we need your help,” Fiona begged, adding when it looked like the old woman was going to deny her, “We can help you, too.”

Aleesa laughed, a dry, heaving, cackle that was totally without mirth. “How can you help me ?”

“Not you,” Fiona replied. She gestured to the others in the room. “Them. The watch-whers and wherhandlers.”

Aleesa eyed her consideringly for several moments, then nodded slowly.

“Aleesk woke me,” she said. “She said she’d heard the dragon, the voice that Mikal mentioned when his mind was wandering on its last path.”

She smiled knowingly at Fiona, slowly raising a finger and wagging it at her. “He told me something else, in secret.”

She turned to Arella, her attention focused on her so tightly that it was as though neither Jaythen, nor Fiona, nor any of the others existed. “Do what she says,” she ordered her daughter. “Do whatever she asks, take whatever she offers.”

Arella gave her a long, troubled look, which Aleesa met unwaveringly. Finally, Arella nodded in acquiescence.

“So we just give in?” Jaythen asked warily, glaring over Fiona to Aleesa. “Again we let the dragonriders do as they please?”

“No,” Aleesa told him forcefully, pointing her finger straight at Fiona, “you’ll do what she says.” When Jaythen drew breath to argue, she cut him off with a chopping motion. “You know better than to raise a hand to a woman, or did you forget why we helped Kindan?”

“You helped me that day,” Fiona said, forcing her voice to be calm and controlled, turning around and raising her eyes up to the older man. “If Kindan hadn’t defeated Vaxoram, none would have survived at Fort Hold .”

“Or here,” Arella said. “If it weren’t for Kindan standing up for a woman’s right to follow her dreams, there would have been no one to remember us, no dragonriders to come to our aid.”

Jaythen let out a low, wordless growl.

“Nothing can change, Jaythen,” Fiona said to him imploringly, “if you will not allow for change in your mind.”

“Things change,” Jaythen said, shaking his head. “They get worse every new dawn.”

Fiona stared at him in utter bafflement for a moment, then looked at Arella. “Does he speak for all of you?”

“No,” Arella said. “But his words ring true.”

“Then let it be different,” Fiona declared. She reached a hand to Jaythen. “Make a difference. Choose to change things and make things better instead of worse.”

“Shards, you’re worse than Kindan!” Arella exclaimed.

Fiona shook her head in resignation. “This I know,” she said, catching Arella’s eyes. “I know that there will be a wherhold, in my time, somewhere near Plains Hold. And I know that Nuella will be the leader.”

“Nuella rides a green,” Arella said, shaking her head but sounding wistful.

“I don’t think she does anymore, or for not much longer,” Fiona replied sadly. “I don’t know what happened, a cave-in or snakebite or both, only that she lost Nuelsk.”

“So what is her watch-wher called?” Aleesa asked, eyeing Fiona carefully.

“Nuellask,” Fiona replied.

Aleesa mulled her response over silently for several moments as if debating with herself. Finally, she said to Fiona, “You speak of the future. I will tell you of the past. When Mikal passed away, he said several things, some of which sounded feverish.” She shook her head in reverence for the man and the memories. “I didn’t understand his last word because I thought it was two words, like a question, but he spoke it like a statement.”

“Nuellask,” Fiona guessed. “They say there are some who can travel to the future without a dragon or watch-wher.”

Aleesa heaved with dry, wheezing laughter. “They say!” she repeated, smiling and pointing at Fiona. “You know more than you let on, little weyrling. You know someone, but you don’t want to say who.”

“Craft secret,” Fiona admitted. She tossed her head up in apology. “If it were my craft, I would feel differently, but as it is not, I will respect their wishes.”

“Ha!” Aleesa snorted. “You have just declared them traders!” She smiled triumphantly as she observed the look on Fiona’s face. “I’ve a good idea who, even, but keep your secret, youngling.” She turned to Arella. “I like this one — she’s got nerve and she’s not afraid to use it.” Her gaze returned to Fiona. “Just be careful, weyrling, that you don’t stick your neck under any more knives.”

Fiona found herself rubbing her neck unconsciously, her eyes darting toward Jaythen and then to the knife still on the ground. Would she have talked him out of it if Aleesa hadn’t appeared? She wasn’t certain, but she thought so. Fiona swallowed as the import of her thoughts struck home. She could see how she’d be willing to risk all again, risk without thinking, simply because she was certain that she wouldn’t fail.

“Ah!” Aleesa chuckled, her eyes taking in Fiona’s reaction. “You do learn!”

“I’m stubborn and will fight for what I believe,” Fiona admitted. “But I am willing to listen, willing to reconsider.”

“Except in this,” Aleesa guessed.

“No, even in this,” Fiona replied. “Only in this, I have knowledge of what will be that compels me.”

“You know what will be but not how it will become,” Arella guessed, her lips pursed thoughtfully.

“I think I have the right idea of how it will become,” Fiona persisted.

“And that, my little weyrling, is your danger,” Aleesa told her, nodding firmly.

Fiona felt her face growing hot with embarrassment but she said nothing; there was nothing to say.

Aleesa seemed to sag where she stood; then with a small noise, she turned and started back into the cavern from which she’d appeared, saying faintly, “I am tired. I go to rest.”

Respectfully the others waited until the noise of her slow movements faded into silence. Then, Arella turned back to Fiona.

“What do you need?”

“If she won’t take the egg, weyrling, then our deal is done and we’re through with you,” Jaythen declared when Fiona had gone over her plan with them.

“Agreed.”

“And if you can’t get the wherhold, what then?” Arella asked.

“What would you like instead?” Fiona asked unconcernedly. She knew they would get the wherhold. She didn’t know quite when or how, but she knew that the wherhandlers would get the wherhold. What worried her was that, try as she might, she could remember no mention of Jaythen or Arella in all the conversations she’d heard about the place.

Arella shrugged, undecided. “Something just as good?”

“The best we can find,” Fiona countered. “I only saw one place on the charts where there was gold.”

Arella snorted in reply. “I doubt we’d need the gold ourselves.”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Jaythen corrected her.

Trying to stifle a yawn, Fiona wracked her brains for anything else that needed resolving.

“You’ve nerves, I’ll grant you that,” Jaythen said, eyeing her approvingly. “But they’ve caught up with you now and you’ll be useless until you’ve slept.”

Fiona wondered if that was all the apology she would ever get from the wherhandler and decided, with another yawn, that at this particular moment she didn’t care.

“Come on,” Arella said, rising from her cross-legged position on the floor, “we’ll find you a place to sleep.” With a look of warning, she added, “I’m afraid it’ll probably be in a room full of squirming children and they’ll think nothing of using you as their pillow.”

Fiona smiled. “I think I’d like that, actually.”

Moments later, Fiona was the center of attention for a group of sleepy-eyed children.

Wake me if Aleesk stirs, Fiona reminded Talenth drowsily.

I will, Talenth promised, sounding tired but intrigued.

Not long after that, with a smile on her lips, Fiona drifted off to sleep in the warmth of massed bodies.

It seemed to Fiona that she had slept for hours but it was still pitch black when she opened her eyes to Talenth’s urgent call: Fiona!

Aleesk? Fiona responded, moving carefully around the children, snagging her shoes as she left and slipping into them just outside the room.

She is outside, Talenth told her. Her rider is with her.

It’s their time, Fiona replied with a dread certainty. Aleesa had reminded her too much of Melanwy, particularly in the way she seemed so tired, so pained by living.

Wake Arella and Jaythen, Fiona told Talenth. Tell them to come outside.

Fiona increased her pace, her hands outstretched to protect her from any walls she might not remember as she retraced her steps to the wherhold’s main entrance, taking a spare moment to marvel at how much she’d learned from her times hunting tunnel snakes.

The smaller moon provided a sliver of illumination that lit the small bowl outside the wherhold. Fiona had no trouble spotting the gold watch-wher as she ambled into the clearing.

“You need to say good-bye,” Fiona called out softly in the night. She heard a groan from the dark shadow beside Aleesk.

“I had hoped to go in peace,” Aleesa replied, turning around, her face now visible in the moonlight.

“First you must say good-bye to your daughter,” Fiona told her. She sensed Aleesa’s annoyance and added, “That’s one thing I still miss with my mother, that I never got to say good-bye.”

“You had only two Turns when the Plague took her!”

“Less, and yet I still wish it,” Fiona said.

A noise from behind her announced the arrival of Arella and Jaythen.

“Mother,” Arella said as soon as she identified Aleesk in the distance.

“It’s time for me to rest,” Aleesa said. “I wanted to try Nuella’s trick and go between with my Aleesk.” She patted the gold watch-wher affectionately. Aleesk gave a quiet noise in agreement.

“But — ” Arella’s pleading voice broke off.

“It’s my time,” Aleesa said. “Mikal told me — that was my secret.” Fiona felt the old woman smiling toward her. “He said I’d be seen off by a Weyrwoman, with all honor.”

Fiona felt tears welling in her eyes as she clasped her hands together and bowed low to the old woman and her watch-wher.

“WherMaster, on behalf of all Pern, I honor you,” she said, her voice catching on the word “honor.”

“Arella,” Aleesa said, looking toward her daughter, “I’m sorry I was such a hard mother. You deserved better.”

Arella could make no reply, her eyes streaming with tears. She shook her head helplessly.

“Jaythen,” Aleesa went on, then shook her head in exasperation. “You are the most difficult, stubborn, angry excuse for a man I’ve ever known.” She paused long enough for him to react, before adding, “But I love you like you were part of my heart.” She continued sadly, “You should not be the leader of the wherhold but its hunter and protector.”

“I think I’d like that,” Jaythen admitted. “I’m not good with people.”

Arella snorted in agreement before turning back to Fiona. “Now, I’ve said my good-byes. It’s time for me to leave.”

Fiona rushed forward beyond Aleesa and knelt at Aleesk’s side, her hands cupped together. “Let me help you mount.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t have more time together,” Aleesa said as she accepted Fiona’s aid and climbed up on the back of her gold. “I’m sure our fights would have been legendary.”

Fiona stepped back as Arella and Jaythen strode up to stand beside Aleesk, Arella still crying wordlessly. Jaythen raised his hand in a stern salute.

“Fly well!” he called.

And in that moment, Aleesk leapt in the air, her wings beating once, twice, and then she was gone, between, leaving only a bitterly cold wind behind in her place.

Arella wailed, burying her head in Jaythen’s chest.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Fiona’s promise rang in her ears as she watched Zirenth spiral upward and blink once more between.

“We’ll give you a fortnight,” Jaythen had told her. “After that, we’ll be gone. You’ll never find us.”

“You’ll go faster with dragon help,” Fiona had told him.

“Yes, we would,” Jaythen had admitted dubiously.

Now, as Fiona trudged up the gravel road toward Mine Natalon, the bulk of a well-insulated egg thumping hard against her shoulders in the backpack she wore, she found herself wrapped in doubt. How could she be so sure that the queen in this gold egg was the one with which Nuella had bonded?

And why would Nuella want to leave this place, the mine of her father? And hadn’t Kindan said that she had a mate, Kindan’s childhood friend, Zenor? What would entice him to leave his home and family?

And why now? Only she — Fiona — and the dragonriders at Igen had any need for urgency. Nuella had Turns.

Fiona swore angrily to herself as she continued to trudge up to the coal mine. Stubborn! Why must you be so stubborn?

She was so certain that she was on the right course, had found the path from the now of this past to the then of her future. But the only way she’d know for certain was if she knew that the dragonriders at Igen had found their food, found their supplies, and had founded the wherhold — and that knowledge was in her future, and so unknown.

What, Fiona wondered irritatedly to herself, was the use of being able to go between times if you couldn’t be certain how the future came to be?

A smile crossed her lips as she realized how silly the notion was — and then the smile faded as she again tried to grapple with the complexities of traveling between times.

One day at a time, she told herself, repeating one of Kindan’s favorite sayings.

The sound of barking alerted her to her nearness to the mine hold. A thrill of excitement, mingled with the tang of dread, coursed through her veins as she realized that she was committed now, that there was no going back.

She recalled what she’d seen of Nuella, Threadscored, insisting that she had to lead the watch-whers in their night flight, and picked up her pace, anxious to meet the young girl who would become that brave, inspiring woman.

She was surprised to see many houses in the open, most of them in varying states of disrepair. Then she remembered: the Plague. Still, in two Turns, surely there would have been more recovery than this?

She looked upward, toward the mountains, and saw the flat face of a proper hold, carved into the mountainside. A faint wisp of smoke rose in the mid-morning air, her first sign that the place wasn’t totally abandoned.

A dog ran around her, its tail raised, barking happily.

“Hello,” Fiona said to it, trying to identify the breed. Her father had kept several varieties of dogs spread throughout Fort Hold : sheepdogs for the sheep, cattledogs for cattle, guard dogs, vermin hunters, fowl hunters, and pets.

This dog looked like it might be either a hunting dog or a guard dog. But something about it —

She was startled when the dog, circling around behind her, jumped on her back, knocking her over. Her start turned to fear as she heard its growl.

The sound of an arrow whizzing through the air ended in a sharp shriek from the dog.

“Run, girl!” someone shouted. “He’s injured — he’ll maul you for certain!”

Fiona needed no more urging. Scrabbling to her hands and knees, she staggered to her feet, the weight of the backpack with the queen egg packed in warm sand making her movements awkward.

Another arrow whizzed.

“Faster! Dump your pack!”

“I can’t!” Fiona cried in despair, her feet feeling leaden as she tried to pick up speed and set her course toward the stone stairs leading to the proper hold. She felt teeth bite into her calf and stumbled, nearly fell, then picked herself up again.

“I can’t shoot — I’ll hit you!” the archer shouted. “Drop the pack!”

“No!” Fiona shouted, unwilling to give up her mission even as she felt blood flowing down her leg and into her shoe. She had to get away! She had to get —

Talenth! Fiona cried. Send the dog away!

There was a moment of shock as Talenth recognized that something was horribly wrong with her rider, and then Fiona heard a loud wail and the dog let go. There was the thunk of an arrow hitting flesh, but Fiona barely heard it.

You’re hurt! Talenth cried in despair.

I’m fine now, thanks to you, Fiona assured her. I’ve got a scratch but I’ll be fine. Even as she said the words, she wasn’t certain. A wave of nausea overwhelmed her, and she just had time to realize that she didn’t know if she would survive to return to the future before she stumbled. Instead of rolling, she took her full weight on her hands and felt the shock spread up through her arms and into her shoulders even as her strength gave and she collapsed, burying her face in the cold hard dirt, and then she remembered no more.