Dragon's Time

SEVEN

They made Jeila as comfortable as they could and Fiona insisted on staying with her until H’nez was free from his duties.

“How is she?” the gaunt dragonrider, eyes hollow with fatigue and worry, asked when he relieved her.

“The bleeding’s stopped,” Fiona said. “Bekka’s sure there’s no lasting harm.” She met H’nez’s eyes. “She could get pregnant again.”

“But—just a fall!”

“It was exactly the wrong type of fall,” Fiona said. “It put too much stress on an already stressed body.” She grimaced. “Bekka says that sometimes a person will miscarry because stresses are too great, times too hard.”

“I see,” H’nez said. He looked down tenderly at the sleeping weyrwoman, then glanced questioningly at Fiona.

“She’s still concussed,” Fiona said. “She’ll feel awful in the morning, but we can’t give her any fellis until we’re sure she’s recovered.”

H’nez nodded. “Thank you, Weyrwoman.”

“Call me if you need anything,” Fiona said, rising from her bedside seat. At the exit into Ginirth’s weyr, she turned back. “H’nez, I’m sorry.”

The tall rider had already taken Fiona’s seat beside Jeila and was gently stroking the unconscious weyrwoman’s hair. He waved a hand in acknowledgment. With a sigh, Fiona left.

The injured were all tended, the task ably handled by Birentir and Bekka. Kindan was shepherding the weyrlings back to their quarters. T’mar was in Shaneese’s care; Fiona suspected a lot of wine was involved.

Having run down her list of responsibilities, Fiona turned toward Terin’s quarters.

Jeriz sat beside Terin’s bed, much the same as Fiona had sat with Jeila earlier. He started when Fiona laid a hand on his shoulder.

“How is she?”

“Sleeping,” Jeriz said. He looked up at Fiona with worried eyes. “And Jeila?”

“The same,” Fiona told him.

“Is she still pregnant?”

“No,” Fiona said, shaking her head. She looked down at her still flat stomach and smiled ruefully. “It appears I am the only one with that honor, now.”

“Shaneese,” the boy corrected softly.

“I should say that I’m the only weyrwoman,” Fiona agreed. “What will happen with her?” Jeriz said, nodding toward Terin. “We’ll stay with her, keep her company, help her recover.”

“You’ve never had this happen to you.”

“No,” Fiona said. “But I know a little of what she’s going through.” The young trader boy cocked an eye in her direction, so she explained: “All my brothers and sisters—save Kemin—died in the Plague.”

“He died saving T’mar, warning the others,” Jeriz said. “That was brave.”

“It was,” Fiona agreed. Something puzzled her. How did he know?

“Terin’s still the same,” Fiona said the next morning as she met Shaneese for breakfast.

“It will take a long time for her, she was very much in love,” Shaneese said.

“When I came in this morning, Jeriz was in the bed with her,” Fiona said, smiling at the memory. “He’s barely half her size, but he had her head on his chest.”

“I cannot believe he did that,” Shaneese said, a bitter tang in her voice.

“Jeriz?” Fiona asked, surprised.

Shaneese shook her head. “No, F’jian.”

Fiona made a face, but said nothing.

“He swore on his dragon’s egg that he’d be there when she needed him,” Shaneese said. “Either he lied about everything or …”

“Perhaps he was too distraught,” Fiona said. “Perhaps he discovered that he was going to die and he said whatever he could to Terin, to let her know how much he loved her.”

“The way I see it, either he was telling the truth all the time or he was lying about everything,” Shaneese declared flatly.

“But if he was telling the truth, where is he now that Terin needs him most?”

Jeriz came rushing in, raced up to Fiona, a broad grin on his face.

“Where’s Terin?” Fiona demanded.

“She’s okay,” Jeriz said as he grabbed a roll and wolfed it down.

“She needs someone to be with her all the time,” Fiona said, rising from her chair, ready to rush to the other woman’s side.

“She’s got someone,” Jeriz said, smiling broadly.

“Who?”

“F’jian,” Jeriz said. “He’s giving her a bath right now.”

“What?” Fiona cried, racing toward the Weyr Bowl.

“She was in the bath when I woke, and she told me she was all right.”

Talenth! Fiona roared. Tell T’mar to see to Terin.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Fiona swore as she raced off toward Terin’s quarters. As soon as she was in the Bowl, Fiona shouted, “Bekka! Terin!”

“Coming!” Bekka shouted back from several levels up.

Fiona raced up across the Bowl, up the queens’ ledge, through Kurinth’s weyr, and into Terin’s quarters to find the young girl in a robe, sitting on her bed, bawling and shouting up at T’mar.

“He was here, I swear!” Terin shouted.

“Terin,” T’mar said in a kindly voice, shaking his head, “I saw him. He didn’t survive.” His voice broke. “He saved my life. He didn’t survive.”

“He was here,” Terin shouted back. She spotted Fiona. “Make him understand.”

T’mar turned to Fiona with a beseeching look on his face. Shaneese came bustling out of Terin’s bathroom.

“There’s no one here,” Shaneese said. She glanced at T’mar and Fiona as she added, “But there are enough wet towels for two.”

“I told you,” Terin said triumphantly.

“What happened?” Fiona said, moving forward and seating herself beside the younger weyrwoman.

“I was sad,” Terin said. “I was so mad at him because he broke his promise and then—there he was.”

“What did he say?” Fiona asked, gesturing for T’mar and Shaneese to leave.

“He said that he loved me,” Terin told her. “He said that he couldn’t be with me often, but that he would be with me forever.”

“Forever?”

“He said he would be there when I needed him most,” Terin continued, nodding in agreement with Fiona’s question. “He said that if he didn’t come it was because I didn’t really need him.”

“I see,” Fiona said. “And how did he look?”

“Tired,” Terin said. “Not as tired as I last saw him.” She reflected for a moment, then added, “And he was so apologetic. But then we took a bath and we played and—” She broke off, smiling at Fiona. “It was so great to know that he was there! That he kept his promise and that he loves me.”

“Terin,” Bekka’s voice came softly from Kurinth’s weyr as the young healer moved forward, “sometimes when we’ve been through something terrible, we get confused.”

Terin gave Bekka a troubled look.

“Is it possible,” Bekka said as she sat on the other side of Terin and grabbed her free hand, “that you dreamed this?”

“There were two sets of wet towels,” Terin said.

“Sometimes we want something to be real even when it isn’t,” Bekka said. “And we want it so much that we don’t realize how we’re convincing ourselves that it’s real.”

“Ask Jeriz,” Terin said.

“Did he talk with F’jian?” Fiona asked.

Terin shook her head. “F’jian winked at me and shook his head when we heard him wake up. So I told him that I was okay, that F’jian was here and he should get some breakfast.”

“And he said that he’d come back when you needed him the most,” Bekka asked.

“Yes,” Terin said, her eyes shining with joy at the thought. “He said that he’d always be there when I needed him.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry I ever doubted him.”

“So he kept his word,” Bekka agreed in a neutral tone.

“He did,” Terin agreed.

“And you’re all better now.”

“No,” Terin said, shaking her head. “I still hurt, I still wish he were here all the time but … at least I know that he’ll be there when I need him.”

“That’s good,” Fiona agreed.

“How’s Jeila?” Terin asked. “I’m so sorry she got hurt; is she all right?”

“She’s recovering,” Bekka said, again in that carefully neutral voice. “Can I see her?”

“No,” Bekka said. “I think you should rest today and I know she’ll need rest, too.”

“Thread falls at Fort Weyr in two days’ time,” Fiona said. “I imagine B’nik will send them a wing to help. If that’s so, we’ve got nearly a fortnight of rest before the fall over Igen Weyr.”

“Can someone help me feed Kurinth?” Terin asked. “I’ll have to get dressed, first.”

“I’ll help,” Bekka offered.

“I’ll talk with T’mar,” Fiona said, rising. Terin held on to her hand so Fiona turned back to face her.

“Tell him I’m sorry I shouted,” Terin said.

“Of course,” Fiona replied. She waved at Bekka, leaned down to kiss Terin on the forehead and cautioned the younger woman, “Don’t rush things, you’ve been through a lot.”

“I won’t,” Terin promised.

“I won’t let her,” Bekka added.

T’mar’s expression was grim as Fiona sat down beside him. Kindan was seated opposite the Weyrleader, his expression equally troubled.

“She could be hysterical,” Kindan suggested. “Grief can do that.”

“She could be telling the truth,” Fiona said with a touch of waspishness in her voice. She saw T’mar and Kindan exchange looks. Angrily, she spun in her chair and called, “Can I get some food?”

Shaneese bustled up and set out fresh rolls, a pitcher of juice, and a bowl of fruit.

“Thank you,” Fiona said, adding, “I’m sorry if I sounded rude.”

“You did,” Shaneese agreed, lowering herself into the chair next to T’mar. Fiona pushed the pitcher toward her. Shaneese unbridled enough to give her a nod of thanks.

“These two are convinced that Terin’s imagining things,” Fiona said, waving at the two men.

“And you?”

Fiona shrugged. “I once went back ten Turns to a place called Igen Weyr.”

“So you think her F’jian went back in time?”

“Forward,” Fiona said. She noticed T’mar shudder at the notion and continued, “It could explain why he’d been so tired the last sevenday. And even the strange woman.”

Kindan sighed, glancing at her but not meeting her eyes. “And who do you think that woman is?”

“Lorana,” Fiona said, feeling his incredulity growing stronger. “She’s the only one who knows time that well.”

“Knows time?” T’mar repeated.

“She not only hears all the dragons, she has an uncanny sense of time,” Fiona said, glancing at Kindan for confirmation. “She did,” Kindan agreed woodenly.

“She does,” Fiona insisted. Kindan’s lips twitched, but he said nothing, clearly finding it difficult to agree with her, but unwilling to argue the point.

“How are you feeling?” Shaneese asked. Fiona shrugged questioningly. “You’re in your sixth week.”

“The twins are doing fine,” Fiona said. “They haven’t so much as twitched yet, but Bekka and all the healers say it’s still too early to feel anything, even with two.”

“And you?”

“I’m hungry, tired,” Fiona admitted, adding emphatically, “and irritated that anyone would think my wits addled.”

“Forgive me, Weyrwoman, but have you ever been pregnant before?” Shaneese asked her. With a heavy sigh, Fiona shook her head. “And so how can you be so sure your wits aren’t addled?”

“Because they’re the same wits I had yesterday,” Fiona returned quickly, spreading a glare amongst the three. “And the day before that, as well.”

“You’d tell us if you felt differently?” T’mar asked, but his tone sounded certain.

“Of course!” Fiona said. She glanced at Shaneese, but said nothing of the other woman’s pregnancy; as Shaneese had said, it was too early to be certain and no one needed the extra worry at this moment. The headwoman caught her gaze and held it.

“I’m not worried about your wits, Weyrwoman,” Shaneese declared. “But I am worried about Terin.”

“So am I,” Fiona agreed emphatically. “And I understand wondering if her vision of F’jian might not be similar to when Lorana came to draw me.” Her eyes fell toward Kindan and she saw him jerk as the comment hit home. “And it could be that I only imagined it.” She paused a moment. “But that’s just as likely that D’gan and the rest of Telgar will return from between.”

“For nearly four hundred extra dragons, I’d even be happy to see him,” T’mar said.

“So many of them were sickly,” Shaneese said, her eyes going dim with memory. “There was a chorus of coughs even as they went between.”

“We’ve got plenty of syringes still, and healthy dragons to pick from,” Kindan said. “We could cure all of them.”

“The man was arrogant, wouldn’t listen to reason,” Shaneese said, shaking her head sadly.

“K’lior said that C’rion and M’tal thought he would do all right, given time,” T’mar said.

“Well, he didn’t get it,” Fiona said. “And we’ve got to deal with what is now, not what we wish.”

“You really did see her?” Kindan blurted suddenly.

“On my dragon’s egg, I swear,” Fiona told him, seeing the hope dawning in his eyes.

“And she drew you with colored pencils?”

“Yes,” Fiona said. “She said that you’d given them to her.”

Kindan frowned.

“What, still doubt me?”

“It would be easier to believe you if I didn’t know that those colored pencils are still back at Benden Weyr,” Kindan admitted.

“Now,” Fiona pointed out. Kindan stared at her for a moment and then burst out laughing.

“Now!” he agreed when he could breathe again.

Jeila looked up at the noise outside her weyr and called out, “Yes?”

A long moment later a short head poked around the entrance, looking in worriedly.

“Weyrwoman?” a boy’s piping voice asked softly.

“I can’t see you,” Jeila said.

The boy stepped out of the weyr and into her quarters, close enough that she could make out his piercing green eyes. They were amazing. She took in his thin frame, his dark skin, his jet-black hair.

“Desert trader,” Jeila said, sitting up in her bed.

“Northern trader,” Jeriz said, rushing forward and going to his knees in front of her. “I have a great boon to request.”

“Not trade?” Jeila asked, surprised.

“Carte blanche,” Jeriz said, looking up to meet her eyes. “Whatever you wish, whenever I can give it.”

“First give me your name,” Jeila said in the time-honored trader tradition.

“Jeriz, son of Tenniz and Javissa,” he replied formally.

“Tenniz?” Jeila repeated, eyes going wide. “You are his son?”

“Yes.”

“You have the Sight?”

“No,” Jeriz said, making a face. “That goes to my little sister, Jirana.”

“Jirana?” Jeila asked, surprised at the naming.

“My parents had Lorana’s permission to honor her,” Jeriz said. In a lower voice he added, “She is the Beacon.”

“The Beacon?” Jeila said. “But she’s gone.”

“Fiona doesn’t think so,” Jeriz said. “And my father said that it would be hard to know with her because she has the gift of time and place.”

“What do you want of me?” Jeila asked, rising and gathering her robe around herself.

“Can you fly, you and your queen?” Jeriz asked.

“I’ll get my things.”

“I see drays,” Jeila called over her shoulder, pointing down to a trail of dust rising slowly in the midday air. “They’re heading south.”

“Then we should turn around and head north, my lady,” Jeriz said. “They’ve probably already dropped them off.”

“Who?” Jeila called back, but, before Jeriz could respond, Tolarth made a sudden lurch, twisted on a wing tip, and started spiraling down.

“Them?” Jeila asked, spotting two small dots struggling northward from Southern Telgar Hold.

“Yes.”

Tolarth had just landed when Jeriz, with a complete disregard for all custom, rolled out of his seat and slid down the side of the great queen, rushing toward the woman and throwing himself into her arms.

“Momma!” the boy cried as he smashed his face into her belly, his arms snaking around her waist. “I brought her, Momma, just like father said I would.”

As if the words recalled him to his senses, Jeriz pushed away and turned back toward Jeila, rushing to Tolarth’s side to offer his aid as the dimunitive rider gingerly climbed down.

“Mother,” Jeriz said, turning them both toward his mother and sister, “this is Jeila.”

“Trader of the north,” Javissa said, bowing slightly. Beside her, the small girl bowed in following. “I give you my sympathies.”

“Trader of the desert,” Jeila said, her dark eyes widening, “I greet you but ask, why the sympathy?”

“My husband said I’d meet you when you were hurting most,” Javissa said, casting her eyes down to Jeriz.

“He said to me: You will know the right time,” Jeriz said. He nodded toward Jeila. And spoke to his mother, “This is the right time, Momma. She has just lost her baby and Terin, the other queen rider, has just lost her man.”

“Oh!” The word burst from Javissa, full of shock and sympathy. She let go of the girl’s hand and rushed toward Jeila, reaching out to her. “Weyrwoman, I am so sorry. I know how hard it is.”

“You do?”

“Twice,” Javissa said, her eyes dropping to the ground to keep her pain from showing. She grabbed Jeila’s hand and pulled the other woman toward her. “It hurts, I know.”

Jeila found herself resting her head on the other woman’s shoulder, tears flowing silently down her face as she gripped the woman tight enough to squeeze the breath out of her. Javissa stroked her hair with one hand and patted her shoulder with the other. “Time, dear heart, time will ease the pain.”

A long time later, when Javissa felt Jeila’s sorrow ease and the woman stiffen against her uneasily, she pulled back. They were of similar height and build; Javissa met Jeila’s eyes on the level. She smiled as she looked into the beautiful dark, near-black eyes, now so full of sorrow but, she could tell, so easily full of life and mischief. Eyes that, oddly, reminded her somewhat of Tenniz though, even now, she could see that Jeila had none of the Sight, for there was no awareness of future pain, no sorrow born of excess knowledge. Raw, elemental, firm, steady, that was the normal stance of the woman in front of her. And beautiful, very beautiful, a beauty more in keeping with the desert than with the cold north.

“We must be related, you and I,” Javissa said softly.

“Because we’re so short?” Jeila asked with a touch of her normal humor.

“That, too, but because of our builds and bones,” Javissa said. Jeila nodded and Javissa continued, “But we can talk lineage later.”

“Your son asked a boon,” Jeila said, glancing at Jeriz, who was busy distracting the young Jirana. The girl looked very much like she could have been Jeila’s own child, heartbreakingly so. She had the same thin bones, the same dark, near-black eyes, the same dusky skin.

“Tenniz said that I would take the dark road to Telgar,” Javissa said, “and that I would know when the time was right.”

Jeila glanced again at Jirana. Javissa saw her look and shook her head. “It is not yet her time,” she said of her daughter. “He said that she would find her Sight in a far land.”

“Telgar?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Javissa said. She saw Jeila’s look and explained, “Tenniz often tried to cloud the meaning of what he saw; he said it was so difficult to know that speaking clearly was the first mistake he ever made.” She frowned. “He’d mutter something about spit soup, but he’d only smile and shake his head when I pressed him on it.”

“He must have been a difficult man to live with,” Jeila guessed.

“Oh, no,” Javissa said, shaking her head. “He was the most marvelous man to live with.” Jeila raised an eyebrow and Javissa moved close enough to whisper in her ear, “He knew his time was short and he made the most of it.” She smiled in memory of the passion. “And he loved me every moment of every day.”

“H’nez loves me,” Jeila said, feeling almost compelled to defend him.

“He’d be a fool otherwise!” Javissa said with a snort. Jeila looked askance at the response, so Javissa explained, “For one, you are a trader child. For another, it is obvious—even through your pain—that you are one who finds a man and sticks to him.”

“Fiona has many,” Jeila said in self-deprecation.

“That is her way,” Javissa said. She saw the weyrwoman’s eyes widen. “We’ve seen her grow from child to adult down in Igen, we keep track of her.” Her smile faded. “In truth, she has only two men, maybe three, and she shares her love with all.”

“Yes,” Jeila agreed. She shook herself. “I’d best get back, she’ll need me.”

“She has you in her spell,” Javissa said.

Jeila frowned for a moment, then nodded. “I would die for her,” the weyrwoman admitted.

“As she would for you,” Javissa concluded. “She is one of those lucky enough to live in full love.” Jeila gave her an inquiring look. “She is like Nuella, she spreads her love like air—and we all breathe the easier for it.”

“Yes,” Jeila agreed. She nodded toward Jeriz. “She opened his heart.”

“His father gave him a terrible burden,” Javissa said. “It is hard to be the son of a seer and not a seer yourself.”

“He’s a good lad, he’s got a true heart,” Jeila said. She smiled as she couldn’t help adding, “And eyes that will break hearts throughout Pern.”

“If he learns to control himself,” Javissa agreed, blushing. Jeila looked at her. “I had a similar problem until I met Tenniz.” She frowned. “It was hard to be judged only on my looks.”

“What happened?” Jeila asked in wonder, referring to Tenniz’s courtship.

“He asked me whether I’d be willing to live a hard life that I’d love, or a soft life that I’d hate,” Javissa said with a wan smile. “I was his after that.”

“That fast?”

“Well,” Javissa temporized, “after that and our first kiss.” She smiled at the memory. “Then I was his forever.”

“And now?” Jeila asked softly.

“I have children,” Javissa said. “And a responsibility.” She gave Jeila a frank look. “I will have other lovers, I’m certain, but when I’m ready.” She drew back a little and lowered her head in a trader’s bow. “Weyrwoman, I request the shelter of the Weyr.”

“I’d be glad of your help,” Jeila said, offering her hand. Javissa shook it firmly. “Times are hard, the way is dark.”

“Tenniz said it would be so,” Javissa replied. She glanced at Tolarth. “Your queen is big, the largest on Pern, they say. Can she carry us all?”

Jeila laughed. “Let’s see!”

“Should she be out on her queen after all that’s happened?” H’nez asked Bekka worriedly. He’d tracked the healer down the moment he’d noticed Jeila’s absence and had followed her with a pack of questions that the young woman had answered slowly and steadily.

“She was early enough that the loss is little more than her usual monthly, wingleader,” Bekka told him kindly. “She might feel more cramping, but if she felt able to ride her queen—and her queen was willing because, as you know, Fiona has all the queens check with her—”

“She does?” H’nez asked in surprise.

“There are only three and only two of them can fly yet,” Bekka reminded him with a shrug. “It makes sense that the Weyrwoman know what’s going on with the queens in her Weyr.”

“They won’t rise for months yet,” H’nez protested.

“Of course,” Bekka agreed. “I think Fiona’s just making it a habit and … I think it’s just part of who she is, you know?”

H’nez snorted at the question and then gave it more attention. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Anyway, she’s on her way back with Jeriz and two others,” Bekka said.

“You can talk to any dragon?” H’nez asked, eyes narrowing.

“No,” Bekka said, smiling. “But I can talk with Talenth and she’s happy enough to ask Tolarth a question and relay the answer to me.”

H’nez eyed the blonde appraisingly. She’d always had a great deal of self-assurance, justifiably with her expertise in healing, particularly midwifery, but her new elevation to journeyman seemed to have cemented that confidence within her, giving external validation of her internal aspirations. She moved more surely, more confidently. She had, the wiry wingleader realized, found herself as an adult.

He heard the watch dragon bugle a challenge and Tolarth’s response. “I’d best greet her.”

“I’ll come along,” Bekka said. She cocked an eye at the taller bronze rider. “Do you want me to give out to her?” H’nez’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “You know, scold her?”

“If you think it would help,” H’nez said.

“It’ll be easier if it’s coming from me,” Bekka said. “That way you can be sympathetic.”

H’nez’s eyes widened in surprise at Bekka’s display of guile. “I would appreciate that.”

Bekka snorted. “My mother taught me that trick, wingleader!”

“Wise woman.”

“Jeila, what are you doing up?” Fiona called as she crossed the Bowl toward Tolarth. “And Jeriz, you and I need to talk.”

“I brought them, Weyrwoman,” Jeriz cried excitedly as he leaped down from his perch on Tolarth’s neck. “I brought them!”

“Who?” Fiona asked, her smile broad in response to his clear exuberance. She glanced up and saw the two trader figures above. “More strays?”

She moved forward to help the woman and child climb down from Tolarth’s high shoulder.

“Step here, then there,” Fiona said, guiding the small woman’s feet as she instructed. When the woman was down, she turned, and at that moment Fiona caught sight of her green eyes. Her smile faded. “You must be Jeriz’s mother.”

“Javissa, Weyrwoman,” the other replied, hand outstretched, though caught off balance by Fiona’s coldness. Even Jeriz turned his eyes toward her in surprise.

Fiona ignored the proffered hand, moving behind the woman to help the girl down and scooting her forward toward her mother while she helped Jeila dismount.

“Where’d you find the strays?” she asked Jeila. The dainty gold rider gave Fiona a startled look, surprised at her tone. “Jeriz asked a boon.”

“Weyrwoman,” Jeriz said, “this is my mother, Javissa, and my sister, Jirana.” He paused and added, “Her name is in honor of Lorana.”

“Lorana?” Fiona repeated sharply, glancing at Javissa. “How do you know Lorana?”

“My husband, Tenniz—”

“He said it would turn out all right,” Fiona broke in accusingly. She turned her attention to Jeriz. “And you! How dare you leave, especially after Terin.”

Jeriz visibly wilted in the face of her anger, his eyes smoldered, and his head lowered. “I only—”

“Enough!” Fiona cut across him, raising a finger and pointing toward Terin’s quarters. “Go there, relieve Shaneese, and stay with her, no matter who comes or where she goes.”

“Yes, Weyrwoman,” Jeriz returned sullenly. He started off slowly, but Fiona barked after him, “Run!” Jeriz picked up his pace to a slow trot.

“I’ll go with him,” Javissa said, starting off after her son, clearly surprised at her harsh reception.

“I’m staying with her,” Jirana said, pointing at Fiona. Fiona turned to say something to the girl, but the dark brown eyes met hers squarely.

“You’re hurting,” Jirana declared, as she stepped forward and grabbed Fiona’s hand.

Fiona blinked once at the girl and then burst into tears. “Yes, yes I am!”

Jeila took charge and bustled them over to Fiona’s quarters, shushing the distraught Weyrwoman. Jirana never left her side, gently holding Fiona’s hand as though her touch gave the blond weyrwoman comfort and, as far as Jeila could see, it did.

She got the younger weyrwoman to sit on her bed, then, with a decisive sigh, she forced Fiona out of her clothes and into her nightdress.

“You need rest,” Jeila declared, surprised at herself. “You’ve been carrying this Weyr on your shoulders for too long.” She gave Fiona a measured look and shook her head. “You may be taller than me, but you’re not that tall.”

“I’ve got to.”

“You’ve got to rest, too, you know,” Jeila told her softly. “You’ve got the babies to care for.”

“I’ve got the only babies now,” Fiona said, suddenly blubbering again. She grabbed for Jeila’s hand and kissed it. “Oh, Jeila, I’m so sorry! I so wanted our babies to grow up together.”

“And they will,” Jeila promised. “I’ll have more, you’ll see.”

Somehow alerted, Bekka arrived. She gave Fiona one look, gave young Jirana a considering glance, and declared, “You need to rest, you’re going to drink this, and you’re going to sleep until you wake up.” She turned to Jirana and said, “She’s a funny one, our Weyrwoman, she uses her friends like blankets and pillows—would you be a pillow?”

Jirana giggled at the notion and nodded silently.

“Good!” Bekka said. She turned toward Talenth’s weyr. “Talenth!” The queen raised her head and craned it in through the entrance, eyes whirling steadily. “She’s to sleep, don’t let her fret. And let me know if she needs anything.”

As you say, Talenth replied.

“Peel out of your stuff and get into this,” Bekka said, finding one of Fiona’s tunics and throwing it at Jirana, “and then crawl into bed with her.” She saw Jirana glance around and added, “Don’t worry about tidy, the floor’s clean, throw it there.”

Jirana’s eyes widened, but the child silently obeyed and was soon dressed in Fiona’s soft tunic. She lifted the fabric closer to her and sniffed. “It smells nice.”

“That’s Fiona smell,” Bekka said with a smile. “She does smell nice, I think it’s a Fort Hold trick.”

“I smell of Koriana’s bed,” Fiona confessed as she slid into her bed. “I’ve kept the scent ever since I learned that Kindan liked it.”

“Who’s Koriana?” Jirana asked.

“She was my sister,” Fiona said. “She died in the Plague.”

“Oh.”

“Scoot in bed there, young one,” Bekka said in a kindly voice.

“I’m only a little sleepy,” Jirana confessed. Fiona yawned and the girl caught it, yawning wide, and gave the Weyrwoman an accusing look.

“Sorry,” Fiona said.

“Did you ever want a little sister?” Jirana asked.

“Yes, I’ve been begging my father ever since I could talk,” Fiona said, turning to peer into the bright, dark eyes of the girl beside her.

“My father’s dead,” Jirana said with a touch of sadness. “He died before I was born.”

“I knew him, he was a good man,” Fiona said, yawning once more.

“That’s what everyone says,” Jirana confessed. “And they say he had the Sight, he could see the future.”

“He could.”

Jirana’s voice lowered as she admitted, “They say that I’ll see the future, too, when I get older.”

“Oh,” Fiona said, at a loss for words.

“I’ll leave you two,” Bekka said, “and see how Terin and Jeila are doing.”

“I’m sorry to be such a mess,” Fiona said, yawning once more and giving the little girl an apologetic look as she yawned in sequence.

“You’re pregnant, you’re under a lot of stress,” Bekka said with a dismissive gesture. “I’m only surprised you didn’t collapse a sevenday sooner.”

“This is normal?”

“Nothing, Weyrwoman, is normal with you,” Bekka said, smiling. She walked back and leaned over Jirana to kiss Fiona fondly on the forehead. “That’s why we love you so.”

“Check on Shaneese, too,” Fiona said, eyeing the midwife carefully. She was not surprised at Bekka’s lack of reaction—she was certain that Bekka had already discerned Shaneese’s pregnancy.

“I will,” Bekka assured her, straightening and beating a quick retreat. At the entrance to Talenth’s weyr she turned back. “Rest, Weyrwoman. You’ll feel better.”

Fiona closed her eyes obediently. She heard Bekka’s footsteps fade in the distance and thought of opening her eyes, but the fellis-laced wine was working on her and she was tired, so tired. She heard Jirana’s breathing beside her and reached out to touch the girl on her shoulder.

“You could be my sister if you’d like,” Fiona said.

With a half-cry, Jirana threw herself into Fiona’s arms. “I’d like that, very much, please.”

“Good, then it’s settled,” Fiona said, kissing the crown of the girl’s dark hair. “Sisters it is.”

Startled by Fiona’s outburst, Jeriz was reticent about introducing his mother to Terin, but Jeila had no reserves, explaining all that had occurred as they made their way up the slant of the queens’ ledge.

“I understand,” Javissa said when Jeila had finished. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Such losses are hard on anyone.”

“How did you manage?” Jeila asked softly.

Javissa gave her a half-smile. “I had special help.”

Jeila gave her an inquiring look, but the other trader woman shook her head. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

Terin met them in Kurinth’s lair. She was feeding the queen, aided by a gaggle of small weyrkids.

“Gently, Kurinth,” Terin called as the queen lunged toward a bite temptingly offered her by one of the younger boys. To the boy she said, “It’s better to just throw it toward her.”

“That doesn’t seem very respectful,” the boy said.

“She’s little,” Terin replied. “She doesn’t mind.” She bent down and stroked Kurinth’s eye ridges. “Do you, greedy guts?”

The children giggled at her choice of words, but Kurinth paid them no mind, cheerfully chomping on the next sliver of meat offered. Terin heard the noise of Jeila’s approach and turned toward her.

“Are you all right, Jeila?” she said, moving toward her. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s over,” Jeila said, looking up at the younger woman and gesturing toward Javissa. “This is Javissa, Jeriz’s mother and—”

“Tenniz’s mate?” Terin asked in wonder. “I don’t think we saw you when we were in Igen.”

“I was busy with child most of that time,” Javissa admitted. Jeila cast narrowed eyes in her direction; there was something that the woman wasn’t saying.

Terin pointed to the far wall where a large leather set of riding gear was stowed. “He had that made for me—the gold fitting there. He said—”

“ ‘This is yours and no other’s,” Javissa finished, smiling at the young woman as Terin’s mouth opened in a look of surprise. “He told me about it, when he had it commissioned.”

“Traders trade,” Terin said. “How can I pay this debt?”

“You have, many times over,” Javissa assured her. “And again, just now.”

Terin’s lips worked anxiously. “It was a great gift he gave me,” she said. “It gave me hope.”

“I’m glad,” Javissa said. “Don’t lose it.”

“Did he say something more to you?” Terin asked, pouncing on the other woman’s words for a hidden meaning.

Javissa shook her head. “No,” she said, “he was careful not to reveal too much to me.”

“And how did you get here, on this day at this time?”

“He told me that I would know when to take the dark road,” Javissa said.

“And he left word that I would find a home where none has ever been, but that first I would have to go to Telgar and save the queens,” Jeriz said.

“Save the queens?” Jeila repeated, glancing at Terin.

“I’d say he has,” Terin said, reaching up and tousling his soft, dark hair. “You, me, and now Fiona.”

Terin saw Javissa’s eyes narrow and looked toward her questioningly. “She’s holding up as best she can,” the red-haired weyrwoman said in apology for Fiona’s outburst.

“She is,” Javissa agreed. Her expression softened. “Tenniz and Mother Karina spoke so highly of her—”

“That you were shocked at her explosion,” Jeila finished. She shook her head. “I’ve heard of her exploding a time or two before. It’s been necessary, although not always directed in the right direction.”

“But why me?” Javissa asked with less passion than curiosity.

“Because of Tenniz’s words to Lorana,” Terin said, gesturing for them to move away from the weyrkids. “And his words to her.”

“His message was: ‘It will turn out all right,’ ” Javissa recalled.

“Which is why she’s so angry,” Terin said, smiling sadly. “First Lorana, then F’jian, and then—” her expression crumpled as she saw Jeila.

“Good to see you up and about,” Bekka said, having listened in quietly on the conversation. She flicked her eyes toward Jeila. “You’re well enough, will you join Birentir with the wounded?”

Jeila opened her mouth, eyes flashing angrily, then thought better of it and nodded, reaching out to pat Bekka on the shoulder. “As you wish, Journeyman.”

“Weyrwoman,” Bekka said, nodding respectfully but not giving on her determination. She looked at Javissa. “Can I leave you with Terin? Fiona’s right that Jeriz shouldn’t have left her alone, no matter what she said.”

Terin gave the healer an angry glare and growled, but Bekka was having none of it. “You’ve been through a lot, you haven’t finished grieving.” Bekka nodded toward Javissa. “She knows something of grief.”

“I promised Fiona—” Jeriz began.

“And broke that promise,” Bekka rode over his words. She smiled at him for a moment. “We all make mistakes and Fiona knows that. She knows you meant the best, too. But you’ve got to show us now that you’ve learned the lesson and won’t make the mistake again.”

Jeriz eyed her for a long time and then nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said to Bekka, then Terin, then his mother. “She sounded so happy.”

“And why wouldn’t I be?” Terin demanded. “I saw him again and he said he’d be there whenever I needed him.”

“Most,” Javissa corrected absently.

“Pardon?” Terin asked, goggling at her.

“Didn’t he say that he’d be there when you needed him the most?”

“Yes,” Terin agreed slowly, surprised that this new woman had known that. “How did you know?”

“One day, I will tell you,” Javissa promised. “But for now, we cannot break time.”

“You’ve met Lorana,” Terin, Jeila, and Bekka said in chorus. “When?” Jeila added accusingly.

“Turns back,” Javissa told her. Her eyes took on a sad look as she added, “A lifetime ago.”

Fiona woke to the sound of voices. A girl’s and a woman’s. She opened her eyes.

“Fiona, would you sit for me?” the woman asked her.

“Lorana?”

“She looks older than the last time,” Jirana said by way of agreement.

“Kindan says the colors are at Benden,” Fiona said drowsily.

“They are,” Lorana agreed. “But I’ve got them here, too.” She paused and smiled at the younger woman. “If you could sit up for me, you don’t have to get out of bed.”

“Can I lean on Jirana here?” Fiona asked even as the little girl prodded and pushed her into position.

“She’s my sister,” Jirana said proudly.

“Then I’m your sister, too,” Lorana said, her eyes suddenly wet with tears.

“Really?” Jirana asked in surprise, her eyes going from the dark-haired almond-eyed woman to the blond Weyrwoman with the sea-green eyes and back in surprise.

“Really,” Fiona agreed fervently. “We are sisters in heart.”

“Father said that you would help her grow her heart back,” Jirana said, leaning against Fiona. “Can you do that?”

“I’ll try,” Fiona said, glancing at the teary face of her friend. “Are you back for good?”

Lorana shook her head, her tears coming more freely and reaching out a hand imploringly toward Fiona. Fiona took it and leaned forward, stroking it against her cheek. Softly, Lorana tugged it free. “Let me draw you now, so that we have this memory.”

“Frozen in time,” Fiona agreed, leaning against Jirana and cupping the child closer toward her with her free hand. She did not bother to question why Lorana wanted to draw her again because she knew she would get no answer. There was something tragic in Lorana’s actions, like she was feeling pain or a compulsion to draw Fiona now.

Lorana sketched quickly, glancing up at them for a moment, then down to her work as she drew with bold, strong strokes.

“What happened to your face?” Fiona asked, eyes narrowing critically. She noticed a line on her cheek, a thin scar. Threadscore? A knife cut?

“Nothing,” Lorana assured her.

“You didn’t look like that the last time—” Jirana hushed when Lorana raised a finger toward her in caution.

“What did I say?” Lorana reminded the youngster.

“You cannot break time,” Jirana said in depressed tones. But she lifted her eyes once more and added, “But sometimes you can cheat it.”

“Shh,” Lorana said, with a wink, even as her other hand sketched more quick strokes. “And remember.”

Lorana finished quickly, kissed Fiona on the forehead, did the same with Jirana and had them lie back down.

“Sleep!” Lorana said when Fiona protested. “You need your rest.”

“They think you’re dead,” Fiona told her in a troubled voice. “They think I’m imagining you like Terin’s imagining F’jian.”

“You’re not,” Lorana said. “And she’s not.”

She was gone before her words registered with Fiona. When they did, Fiona cried out, “What do you mean?”

“She’s gone, Fiona,” Jirana said, trying out the Weyrwoman’s name with some trepidation.

“Do you know what she meant by that?”

“I’m only little,” Jirana said. “She talks like my father sometimes.”

“Your father died before you were born,” Fiona reminded her absently.

“He did,” Jirana agreed, sounding sad. “But I’ve seen him several times since then.”

Fiona closed her eyes, confused, wondering why a child’s imagination should be so full of strange things. Slowly, mind still churning, she drifted off to sleep, secure in knowing that she was comforting her “sister.”

“Fiona, you were fellis-drugged, there was no way you’d wake up,” Bekka assured her irritably for the third time at lunch the next day. “Ask Jirana,” Fiona said.

“Jirana has seven Turns,” Bekka reminded her. “She’s a lovely child, and certain to be like her father, but at the moment you’re lucky she’s not collecting tunnel snakes for pets.”

Fiona fumed at the healer.

“Look,” Bekka said, “I’ve got to tell you how I feel and what I know. And what I know is that you were fellis-drugged, you were exhausted, worried, and tired. It’s far more likely that you imagined all this than that it really happened.” She paused, seeing the fire in Fiona’s eyes. “Besides,” she added with sympathy, “I asked Jirana and she said she didn’t remember.”

“She didn’t?” Fiona hadn’t seen the child since she’d woken that morning.

“No,” Bekka said, shaking her head. “She seemed rather shy about the whole thing.” Bekka made a face. “Maybe I shouldn’t have forced you on her the first night in a new place.”

“We’re sisters,” Fiona said.

“You’re sisters with all the women on Pern,” Bekka said, her voice full of mixed condescension and love. “You’ve got a big heart, you are never upset, and always hopeful.” She took another breath and patted the Weyrwoman’s hand. “And you’re pregnant and likely to imagine the most amazing things, even when not fellis-drowsy.”

“Isn’t the fellis bad for the babies?”

Bekka shook her head. “Your worry is worse and the dose was low.”

“So I could have woken up, couldn’t I?” Fiona asked, pouncing on this information.

Bekka pursed her lips in thought, then shook her head. “Possible,” she admitted. “But really unlikely.”

Fiona found Terin with Jeriz, watching the weyrlings drill across the Bowl.

“Aren’t you two supposed to be working with them?” Fiona asked.

They both gave her looks of surprise.

“Aren’t we all supposed to be working with them?” she added ruefully, glancing around. “Where’s Jeila?”

When neither had an answer, Fiona said, “Terin, please have Kurinth ask Jeila if she and Tolarth would like to join us in a bit of flying.” She saw their looks and explained, “I’m going to look for Jirana. Then we’ll tack up Talenth and give these weyrlings some inspiration.”

“Can I ride with you?” Terin asked.

“No, I’d like you to ride with Jeila,” Fiona said, shaking her head apologetically. She turned to Jeriz. “I’d like to bring you and your sister with me.”

“If it pleases you, Weyrwoman, my duty is with Terin,” Jeriz said with stiff formality.

Fiona pouted, then sighed. “Jeriz, I apologize for my outburst yesterday.”

“You were tired,” Terin said. “Bekka was right, you were overdue for a meltdown.”

“ ‘Meltdown’?”

“Like when Ellor destroyed that pot she’d set empty over the fire,” Terin said, mimicking molten metal sprinkling over a fire. “Meltdown.”

“Thanks,” Fiona said. “So now I’m an empty pot that’s sitting on a fire.”

“Nah,” Terin said, glancing toward Jeriz and winking. “Jeriz here took you off before you got too hot.”

To their surprise, the boy giggled at the notion. Fiona reached forward and tousled his hair.

“Thank you, young trader, for the gift of release,” Fiona intoned in mock formality.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Jeriz apologized.

“We all make mistakes,” Fiona said dismissively. “But you are right, your place is with Terin.” Jeriz nodded even though it was obvious that he regretted missing out on his chance to ride on a queen. “So we’ll ask Jeila if Tolarth can carry you both, and ask Talenth if she’ll take me, my sister, and your mother.”

“Your sister?” Jeriz asked, looking around in surprise.

“I’m sorry, did I tell you I was borrowing your sister as my own?”

“You can have her,” Jeriz said emphatically.

Terin and Fiona shared a laugh.

Fiona found Javissa with Bekka. She saw the trader’s eyes widen and how she braced herself, but Fiona bowed her head low, saying, “Javissa, I ask forgiveness for the offense I gave you yesterday.”

“Fiona—” Bekka began with a trace of exasperation in her voice.

“Your husband was a valued friend of ours and I am ashamed at how poorly I returned his kindness,” Fiona continued, ignoring the healer. “I offer my apology, the courtesy of the Weyr, and my heart in penance.”

“Shards, Fiona, you really go overboard, sometimes,” Bekka said. She was rewarded with the glare of a piercing set of sea-green eyes. Bekka shook her head and groaned. “Javissa, this is Fiona. Fiona, this is Javissa, she’s had two children, she understands about pregnancy, and she’s heard all about you.”

“And my meltdowns?” Fiona asked, feeling somewhat chagrined.

“Tenniz spoke highly of you,” Javissa said, reaching out her hand once more. Fiona took it gratefully.

“I came to apologize and to offer you a ride on Talenth,” Fiona said. “Also, I came to ask if you would let me adopt your daughter as my sister.” She dimpled as she added, “I suppose that’d make you my mother.”

“Oh!” Javissa exclaimed, slumping against the wall. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Javissa said, recovering and standing up. Her lips quirked upward.

“Tenniz?” Fiona asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Javissa nodded, barely suppressing a laugh. “He said that I would be mother to a Weyrwoman taller than I am.”

“He had a terrible sense of humor,” Fiona observed.

“Oh, Weyrwoman, you don’t know the half of it,” Javissa said in fervent agreement. “As for your offer, I’d love to ride with you.”

“And my request?”

“Bekka’s already told me all about it,” Javissa said. She cocked an eye toward Fiona consideringly. “You know she squirms.”

“Not as much as Jeriz,” Fiona countered. She lowered her voice as she added, “And she’s scared.”

“About her gift?”

Fiona nodded. “I don’t know what I can do to help, except be there for her, and offer ‘sisterly’ support.”

“That’s more than Jeriz can offer,” Javissa said. She lifted her head to meet Fiona’s eyes. The taller Weyrwoman met them frankly, still startled at how amazingly green they were. Javissa nodded as she made her decision. “I’m sure that Jirana will be happy to be sisters with you.”

“Thank you!” Fiona said. “Now, if you’ll follow me, we need to get you some riding gear.”

It took longer than Fiona had hoped, especially as Javissa was a conscientious mother who made certain that both her children were properly garbed before allowing them to mount.

“We nearly froze the last time,” Javissa apologized to Fiona.

“Part of that was between,” Fiona assured her. “It gets cold, flying, but not that cold.”

The two queens rose into the air with their properly attired, properly strapped-on passengers and circled upward, climbing gently toward the watch heights. The watch dragon bugled at them and Fiona was delighted to see how Jeila returned the formal salute. And then, coordinating with Kindan through Xhinna’s Tazith, they began a series of steep glides into and out of the Weyr Bowl, banking up sharply as the sheer face of the cliff came toward them and twirling on wing tip to repeat the circuit.

Fiona was surprised to see the whole Bowl fill with weyrfolk, young and old, looking up and pointing as the two queens worked in sequence from east to west across the Bowl, up to the heights, back around to the Star Stones, and diving again for another pass.

When Kindan told them they were done, the weyrfolk below clapped in admiration of the maneuvers.

“They like us!” Jirana exclaimed from her place in front of Fiona and behind her mother.

“Yes, they do!” Fiona agreed, laughing. With a stroke of praise, she asked Talenth to bring them back to the ground.

The queen obliged, landing daintily with not even the slightest jolt.

Well done! Fiona thought.

That was like a weyrling drill, Talenth thought wistfully.

Maybe we should talk to T’mar and see if we can’t do it again, Fiona thought. Talenth agreed wholeheartedly as she ambled over to the queens’ ledge.

The next three days passed with a slowly building sense of dread for the impending Threadfall at Fort Weyr. Fiona heard from Ista’s senior queen rider, Dalia, that Ista would fly the Fall with Fort. She and T’mar talked about it in private.

“They’re almost as strong as Benden,” T’mar said.

“But their leadership is weak after the loss of C’rion and M’tal.”

“They’re only loaning a wing.” T’mar sounded no more certain than Fiona felt. “And it’s a morning Fall.”

“True,” Fiona agreed, not bothering to point out how the sun could easily blind riders to Thread falling above and behind them, similar to the way that the evening Fall that T’mar had survived had so surprised them.

“We need to conserve our strength,” T’mar said regretfully. “I’ve spoken with K’lior and he agrees.”

“Cisca said the same to me,” Fiona admitted with a grimace. “It’s just that—”

“It’d be nice to help our friends,” T’mar guessed.

“And I hate to be always begging for help,” Fiona agreed.

“It would be nice to be able to offer it,” T’mar said. “Especially as it seems so—”

“Inept,” Fiona concluded, hastily adding, “And you’re not, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

T’mar shook his head ruefully. “I wish sometimes it didn’t feel so much like it, then.”

“We started this Pass two thousand dragons short,” Fiona reminded him. “It could never be easy.”

“Especially after we lost D’gan and Telgar,” T’mar agreed with a frown.

“The weyrlings are doing well,” Fiona said, changing the topic in hopes of brightening the mood. T’mar nodded. “Kindan is handling them well.”

“Yes,” T’mar agreed absently. He grinned as he added, “Are you and Jeila doing your circuits again today?”

“I don’t know,” Fiona admitted. “I thought if things go badly at Fort, we might offer help.”

T’mar tightened his lips and nodded. “It won’t be long now.”

“Hours yet, Weyrleader.”

“Hunh,” T’mar said, pushing himself from his seat. “Then I guess we’ve got time to do some drills.”

“I’ll get Kindan to have the weyrlings practice with firestone,” Fiona said, rising to join him. When he gave her a look, she added, “It’ll keep their minds off the Fall.”

“And how are their minds?” T’mar asked, pausing for her answer.

“Muzzy,” Fiona replied. “All of them.”

“Terin more than most.”

“I’m not so sure.”

T’mar made a face, but shook his head, avoiding further conversation by moving off with a parting wave.

Fiona joined Jeila, Bekka, and Birentir on their rounds. They returned three more dragons and their riders to fighting duty. The three were glad for the release; they’d all been badly mauled and had had to wait at least sixty days watching their companions fight without them. They were all eager to get back into the air and do their part.

Jeila seemed in better spirits, although Fiona felt she could detect some hidden melancholy in the older woman. Bekka had warned her that that was natural; it would take time for Jeila to work through her grief.

They were finished looking at the last of the injured on the seventh level when Talenth reported that Fort had met the leading edge. They walked back down quietly, with Fiona and Jeila glancing at each other from time to time as the reports were relayed by Cisca’s queen, Melirth.

The first dragon lost was Istan, and Fiona winced at the report.

Back down in the Weyr Bowl, the weyrlings were stacking firestone while T’mar had the fighting wings drill in low passes, inspired, he’d admitted, by Fiona’s and Jeila’s tight flying in their circuits. “C’tov was particularly impressed,” T’mar had told Fiona when they’d discussed it. “He thinks it will build cohesion.”

“It’ll certainly breed caution,” Fiona said, shaking her head ruefully. “If you’re not careful in timing when to pull up, you can easily find your dragon trying to run up the walls of the Weyr.”

T’mar chuckled; he’d seen how Fiona had nearly misjudged one circuit the day before.

Another casualty, this one from Fort, was reported by Melirth, and Fiona sucked in a breath in sorrow. Two lost, now one injured. Three ducked between with Thread. Fiona heard Jeila’s sigh of relief when all three returned to the fight unscathed.

The difference in times meant that Fort’s morning Fall occured in the afternoon for Telgar and lasted through to early evening.

Fiona found herself crawling into bed with Kindan and Jirana, exhausted by the stress and sorrow of the Fall. In the end, Fort had lost only two dragons outright, but Ista had lost three and between them the two Weyrs could count another eight dragons out of the fight. Fort now could call on only seventy-nine fighting dragons; Ista on ninety-four.

The mood the next morning was grim. T’mar called his wingleaders to the Council Room. Fiona, Jeila, and Terin joined them, the young redhead insisting, “It’s my duty, too.”

Kindan came in both his capacities of weyrlingmaster and harper.

“Right now we have seventy-six fighting dragons,” T’mar began.

“As well as twenty-two mauled and recovering, eight lightly injured and recovering,” Fiona added.

“High Reaches has seventy-four, Fort seventy-nine, Ista ninety-four, and Benden has the most with one hundred and fifteen,” Kindan reported.

“They’ve got a total of one hundred and twelve mauled dragonpairs and seventy-three injured,” Fiona said.

H’nez’s brows furrowed as he worked through the numbers. “So with the weyrlings and the injured we’d have nearly another Weyr’s strength.”

“And we’ve somewhat less than a full Weyr’s strength on all Pern,” C’tov said.

T’mar spread a look between Fiona and Kindan as he asked, “Any idea how much longer we’ll be able to fight?”

“Just by the numbers, there’d easily be another hundred Falls,” Terin said. The others looked at her. “We’re losing about four dragons each Fall, and we’ve got more than four hundred fighting.”

“But at some point, there’ll be too few to fight anything, even if we time it,” H’nez reminded her.

“But we don’t know what that number is,” Fiona said. “If we decide that a Flight is the least number, then we’ve …”

“Around eighty-five more Falls,” Terin responded. “That would be a bit less than ten months from now.”

“Even taking every risk, the weyrlings won’t be able to fly for two Turns,” T’mar said with a grimace.

H’nez began, “So we’d be defenseless for—”

But Fiona raised a hand, turning her head sharply toward the Weyr Bowl.

“B’nik and Tullea are coming,” Fiona said. She frowned as she communed with Talenth. “So are Sonia and D’vin.”

“Dalia, J’lian, and S’maj have just jumped between at Ista,” Jeila reported.

“Cisca and K’lior are coming with my father,” Fiona said. She rose from her seat and raced toward the Bowl.

Talenth, warn Shaneese.

As it was, Fiona and T’mar were able to greet their unannounced arrivals with all due courtesy.

“Cisca!” Fiona called, racing into the taller woman’s arms and grabbing her in a firm hug.

“Fiona,” the Fort Weyrwoman said as she recovered, “I thought you were pregnant.”

“Nothing stops her from greeting friends,” Bekka called out sourly from her vantage point. Cisca smiled at her and Bekka nodded back until the Weyrwoman noted Bekka’s new rank knots and her eyebrows rose approvingly.

“Father!” Fiona cried as she let go of Cisca. Lord Bemin greeted her with a tight hug and a kiss on the head.

“Is she a terrible patient, Bekka?” the Lord Holder asked over his daughter’s head.

“Unless I sit on her, my lord,” Bekka said. “And then she becomes biddable for a short while.”

Bemin’s eyes sought out Kindan and he addressed the harper solemnly. “Masterharper Zist sends his regrets and asks if you will sit in his place.”

“Is he ill?” Kindan asked in sudden alarm.

“He’s old, lad,” Bemin said in a sad voice. “I think he knows he’s failing.”

Kindan frowned. Fiona moved beside him and touched his arm lightly. She knew that Zist had hoped to promote him to Master, and guessed that the old harper saw Kindan as his successor. She knew from her childhood at Fort Hold that none of the current Masters—Kelsa, Nonala, Verilan, nor any of the others—were the slightest bit interested in becoming the Masterharper nor, as Fiona had heard her father say, were they up for the political duties involved. Kindan had demonstrated that ability long ago, and not just during the Plague, but also with the handling of Aleesa, the old WherMaster. She was equally certain that Kindan did not feel as capable for the role as the Masterharper did.

“I will return as soon as I can,” Kindan swore.

“Soonest would be best,” Bemin agreed. He turned to T’mar and Fiona. “I stand for all Lord Holders in this meeting.”

“And what, my lord,” Fiona asked with a formal bow, “is the purpose of this meeting?”

“We need to know what to do,” Bemin said. The others all turned toward him. “We must make plans.”

“We will fight to the last dragon,” Fiona declared.

“But when do we start feeding the queens firestone?” Sonia asked challengingly. “When the last of the bronzes, browns, blues, and greens are all gone?”

“Or before then?” Cisca asked.

“You’re too many for the Council Room,” Fiona said, gesturing toward the Kitchen Cavern. “We’ll meet there.”

“We were just talking about this,” Terin said as she walked beside Fiona. “How did they know?”

“In hard times, the same thoughts come to many,” Bemin responded as he matched his stride with theirs.

“These are hard times,” H’nez agreed.

“The first dragonriders dealt with harder times,” Fiona said staunchly. “Sean and Sorka survived.”

“They had help,” Kindan said. “Don’t you recall those flying machines that the Ancients used?”

“But at some point the flying machines wore out,” Fiona said. “And then they had not many more dragons than we.”

“How did they survive, then?” Bemin wondered.

“The holders all lived in Fort,” Kindan said. “It was only when their numbers were great enough that the dragonriders spread out across the rest of Pern.”

“But what about Thread?” Sonia asked.

They entered the Kitchen Cavern and Fiona saw that Shaneese had already set the high table with a range of foods from snacks to full meals to meet the varying hours of the Weyrs.

“Perhaps the fire-lizards helped,” Fiona suggested after they’d all been seated. “They could have caught a lot of Thread on their own—it was known that they hunted it.”

“Or the watch-whers,” J’lian said.

“There were fewer watch-whers than dragons,” D’vin said, shaking his head.

“I don’t know, Weyrleader,” Kindan said, “we’ve never had a good grasp of their numbers and how quickly they breed.”

“Which brings up another question,” Sonia said, glancing around to be certain she had everyone’s attention. “By my Records, our queens should have been rising twice a Turn for the past three or more and yet they haven’t.”

“Could they have sensed the illness coming somehow?” B’nik wondered.

“We won’t know if they’ll start rising more often for a while yet,” Fiona said. “It’s not been quite half a Turn since the last mating flights.”

“True,” Tullea agreed. “But even if they do, it won’t help us now.”

“Why not go back in time like before?” Bemin asked.

“We’ve no place to go that’s safe, Father,” Fiona said. “All the time in Igen’s been used and there are only so many places one can put a dragon.”

“And feed them,” Bemin agreed sadly. He noticed the way the Weyrleaders looked at him and he shook his head, adding, “Not a complaint, Weyrleaders, merely an observation of fact.”

“What we need are two thousand fighting dragons,” T’mar said. “From the egg, it takes three Turns to raise them to fighting strength.”

“At a herdbeast every sevenday that adds up to a large number of beasts,” Bemin said.

“They eat less when they’re younger,” Terin said, her face bearing an abstracted look as she thought of her queen. “But, roughly, that’s three hundred and twelve thousand herdbeasts.”

“We holders are expanding as fast as we can, but after the Plague, we’re still not up to those levels.”

“One hundred and fifty-six thousand a Turn at full strength,” Terin added.

“Well, at least you’re not some invisible voice this time,” Tullea remarked sourly, recalling Terin’s presence at the last High Council.

“That’s correct, Weyrwoman,” Terin said with an edge to her voice. Fiona smothered a laugh as she saw Tullea and Sonia eye the young redhead warily, clearly upgrading their image of her from young child to woman in her own right.

That’s right, Fiona thought, don’t underestimate my friends.

“Lorana will have an answer,” Fiona blurted on the heels of her thought.

Her comment was greeted with pained looks around the table. “I’m not sure that we’re … ready … for Lorana’s answer yet,” Dalia said into the silence that fell. “She’ll come,” Fiona declared.

“I wish she’d come soon, then,” Tullea said. “I’m tired of riding on someone else’s dragon.”

“Fiona,” Bemin spoke up, his tone carefully modulated. Fiona turned to her father and he continued slowly, measuring his words, “Even were she to return, what help could she bring?”

“Are you sure you’re not pinning your hopes on her simply because she helped us so much the last time?” Sonia asked gently.

“I’ve seen her,” Fiona said. “She drew my portrait, twice now.”

“I can see how that helps!” Tullea snorted.

“If you’ve seen her,” Sonia said, “why hasn’t she remained with you?”

“And sent back my dragon!” Tullea snapped. “She wouldn’t say.”

“For the moment, we must do what we can without her,” T’mar inserted smoothly, trying to move the conversation back on topic and away from a potentially painful and embarrassing outcome for his Weyrwoman.

“Look,” Fiona continued, undaunted, “it makes sense. Lorana went to get aid. That’s why the queens aren’t rising as much, they know that there will be enough dragons when we need them.”

“Perhaps,” Kindan allowed, his expression grim. “Or perhaps she knew that there was no hope and grief overcame her.”

“She was carrying a child, Kindan!” Fiona protested. “Your child. Do you think she would throw that away?”

“If she thought the alternative was worse, yes,” Kindan told her grimly.

“And she took my dragon with her!” Tullea snarled, turning angrily toward Fiona. “If her purpose was so pure, Weyrwoman, why didn’t she send back my queen?”

“The only way to go between is on a dragon,” Fiona reminded her.

“Or a watch-wher,” Kindan added. Fiona accepted his small aid with an angry shake of her head.

“No one can live between without a dragon or a watch-wher,” Sonia said, giving Fiona a sympathetic look. “If she’d wanted to go between forever, then she would have had to do it a-dragonback.”

“And, consider,” Kindan added, meeting Fiona’s eyes squarely, “by your accounting, she’d seen K’tan go between forever—”

“Saving B’nik!” Fiona protested.

“—saving B’nik,” Kindan allowed with a nod. “So she had an example in front of her.” He paused, shaking his head. “Why couldn’t it be that she felt there was no hope and decided to follow him, to go where her Arith went.”

“She wouldn’t,” Fiona said, shaking her head firmly, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “She loves you too much, Kindan, she’d never leave you.”

“Never leave you,” Kindan said, shaking his head. “You can’t believe that she’d leave you.”

“Harper—” Bemin began warningly.

“I’m sorry, Fiona,” Kindan said, “but all your life people have been leaving you, they left before you were born. Perhaps you just can’t let them go.”

“Kindan …” Fiona said, her voice fading into sobs as she dropped her head into her hands.

“Harper,” Bemin repeated, “if you are counseling despair, I think you’ve succeeded.”

“ ‘Step by step, moment by moment,’ ” Fiona said, suddenly on her feet, eyes flashing, hand raised with a finger pointing accusingly at Kindan. “ ‘We get through another day.’

“Listen to your words, Kindan,” Fiona spoke, her voice rolling through the room with power so great the dragons outside roared. “We must survive, we must find a way.”

She glanced at the Weyrleaders and Weyrwomen. “Maybe Lorana is gone, maybe not,” she told them. “The harper is right that she must, for the moment at least, be out of our thinking.” She glanced at Kindan. “It was foolish of me to pin my hopes solely on her.” She shook her head. “So we must find another way. That is our duty to our weyrfolk”—she nodded toward Shaneese and the others who stood rooted by her outburst—“to our holders”—she nodded to her father—“to our crafters”—and she looked toward Kindan and then down to her chest as she finished with—“and to our children.” Her eyes went to Kindan again.

The harper rose and moved toward her. She held him back with a hand.

“We have yet to consider the watch-whers,” Fiona said. “I spoke with the Mastersmith some time ago about building sunshades dark enough that they might fly in the day.”

“I know something of this,” Kindan said. The others looked at him and Fiona waved a hand for him to continue. “Master Zellany reports that they have delivered a pair of these shades to Nuella.” He paused for a moment. “Nuella tells me that Nuellask tried them and could use them for an hour just before sunset. Otherwise, the sun was too bright for her.”

“Can Zellany make them darker?” Sonia wondered.

“He’s trying,” Kindan said. “It will take him another month to prepare a darker set.”

“Have him make three sets of different darknesses,” D’vin suggested.

Kindan nodded in agreement with the suggestion.

“What about the fire-lizards?” Terin asked. Everyone turned toward her questioningly. “Well, if they helped Sean and Sorka, could we not get them to help us?”

“The sickness—” Kindan began.

“But we’ve a cure for that,” Terin said.

“Indeed,” Bemin agreed. “But I’m afraid that since they were sent to Southern, many of them would have already sickened and died.”

Terin blanched.

“So, where does that leave us?” Sonia asked.

Before anyone could answer, they heard the bellow of the watch dragon issuing a challenge and the voice of a queen bugling in response.

“Minith!” Tullea cried, jumping out of her seat and racing out to the Weyr Bowl.

“Lorana!” Fiona called in triumph, glaring at Kindan on her way after Tullea.

Outside, a crowd of weyrfolk were clustered around the gold.

Benden’s queen had returned.

Riderless.