Dragon's Time

TWO

“It will turn out all right,” Fiona said as Kindan tucked her into bed. She was exhausted. The day had been a horrible drain on her: first with Tullea’s unexpected arrivals and accusations, then with the realization that she couldn’t hear Lorana anywhere, and finally with the growing belief that Lorana had taken Tullea’s queen Minith forward in time—at the cost of her own pregnancy. Tenniz’s prophecy had come true for Lorana in a horrible way: A dragon gold is only the first price you’ll pay for Pern. If that prophecy were true, then so must be the prophecy that Tenniz had given Fiona: It will turn out all right.

“If you say so,” Kindan murmured. T’mar had, with a firm nod, sent him off to guide Fiona to bed while the bronze rider had remained with Tullea, B’nik, and the others.

“I don’t say, Tenniz said so,” Fiona replied sleepily. She suspected Kindan or Bekka had dosed her drink with fellis juice and she made a note to herself to speak with the younger woman about that—wasn’t fellis supposed to be bad for a baby?

“The fact remains, T’mar, that we’ve less than a full Weyr’s strength still able to fight all the Thread on Pern,” B’nik said as he slumped wearily in his chair. He and Tullea, at T’mar’s suggestion, had gone into the Kitchen Cavern for wine and a talk. “If Fiona’s right, Lorana has gone ahead—”

“Why?”

T’mar shrugged. “To get help, I’d imagine.”

“Help from the future?” B’nik repeated, his eyes narrowing. “Is that possible?”

“I suppose, if we can go into the past to recover, we can just as easily go to the future,” T’mar said.

“Why don’t we send our injured and our weyrlings back in time?” Tullea asked. The others looked at her. “We’ve got almost more of them than we have fighting dragons.”

“Where would we send them?” B’nik asked. “Igen’s been used back in the past, unless we want to go back to the time of the Plague.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Kindan’s voice carried to them as he strode up to the table. T’mar gestured him toward a seat, asking, “Fiona?”

“Sleeping,” Kindan replied. A small smile tugged at his lips as he added, “I convinced her that Bekka had dosed her mulled wine with fellis.”

“What good did that do?” Tullea asked.

Kindan shook his head, his smile widening. “Weyrwoman, for many, it’s not so much the deed as the belief that makes things happen.”

“Well, she would certainly qualify!” Tullea replied with a derisive snort. “She’s willing to believe anything.”

“I don’t think so, Weyrwoman,” Kindan replied.

“You’re no judge; you’re besotted with her,” Tullea snapped.

“She’s got a good heart, Weyrwoman,” H’nez spoke up in Fiona’s defense. “And she’s done a great deal of good for this Weyr.”

Tullea frowned. “I suppose you’re right.” After a moment’s thoughtful silence, she shook her head again. “It’s not a question of heart, it’s a question of numbers, and we don’t have enough.”

“So, if Fiona is right, Lorana has gone to the future to ask for dragonriders to help us,” C’tov said, looking to T’mar and Kindan for confirmation.

“Yes,” Tullea agreed, glancing toward the door. “So where are they?”

“I imagine it would take time to convince them,” H’nez said.

“Time then, not now,” Tullea said, shaking her head. “If Fiona was right, then Lorana would already be back and our Weyrs would be full.”

She glanced from B’nik to T’mar for confirmation. “Perhaps—” C’tov began.

“I think we’ve been through enough for an evening,” B’nik said, rising and yawning widely. With a wry grin, he gave T’mar and the Telgar riders an apologetic look.

“It’s later at Benden than here,” T’mar said, rising as well. He nodded to Tullea. “I’m sorry we kept you so long.”

Tullea waved the apology aside. “It wasn’t you, it was Lorana.”

“All the same,” B’nik said as they walked out into the darkened Weyr Bowl, “she did save my life.”

“And for that,” Tullea said with a heavy emphasis on the last word, “I am grateful.”

“Kurinth’s hungry,” Terin said the next morning as she heard F’jian mumble behind her in the bed. It had been a strange night for the both of them, with Terin railing at F’jian about his drinking and the bronze rider trying to avoid the issue, but, in the end, with the air cleared, Terin found herself snuggling up close to the taller bronze rider and drifting off to a sleep more peaceful than she’d ever had before.

“I’ll come with you,” F’jian offered, stirring beside her.

“No, you’re going to drill today and you need all the rest you can get,” the young queen rider assured him. She turned around long enough to catch his eyes as she added, “With all this timing, you’ll need to be at your best.”

“Tomorrow’s never certain,” F’jian said, sitting up and looking around blearily for his tunic. “I treasure every moment with you.”

Terin smiled at him, quickly pulled herself together, and raced out of his weyr down to Kurinth. She was surprised to see Fiona waiting for her, a bucket of scraps in her hand.

“I was just about to feed her.”

“Thanks!” Terin said, taking the bucket and going into Kurinth’s weyr, calling out happily to her beautiful baby queen dragon.

“Good morning, F’jian,” Fiona called as the bronze rider rushed up the queen’s ledge into Kurinth’s weyr.

“Good morning, Weyrwoman,” F’jian returned jauntily as he raced past.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Fiona said, with a smile and a wave as she turned back to her own weyr.

A commotion from the weyrling barracks distracted her and she turned to see all the newly Impressed dragonriders race off for buckets of food. She wondered how quickly they’d settle down into a regular routine and wondered if they, too, would suffer from the strange fatigue that bothered her, T’mar, and the weyrlings who had accompanied them back in time to Igen Weyr.

A growl from her stomach forced Fiona to realize that the dragonets were not the only ones needing food. With a mental caress for Talenth, she started down the ledge across the Bowl to the Kitchen Cavern, following the marvelous smells of breakfast and freshly baked rolls.

She was not surprised to find T’mar, H’nez, and C’tov already seated, looking as though they’d finished a hasty breakfast. T’mar nodded politely to her, rose quickly, and pulled back a chair in which to seat her.

“Thank you!”

“How are you feeling?” T’mar asked conversationally. “I’m feeling hungry,” Fiona said, smiling up as a sound from behind alerted her to Shaneese’s approach with a basket of fresh rolls and a pitcher of juice. “Oh, thanks. I’m not sure I could stomach klah this morning.”

“You wouldn’t get it anyway,” Shaneese told her. “Bekka’s orders.”

“That young girl takes on entirely too much—”

T’mar snorted and Fiona glared at him. “I recall saying exactly the same thing about you!”

“I can’t imagine where she’d learn it,” Shaneese said in agreement.

“Her mother, probably,” Fiona said, trying to hide her chagrin. Fiona glanced around the Cavern before asking, “Where is she, anyway?”

“Doing her rounds,” T’mar said. “She was up early with one of the injured dragons—”

“Dragons!” Fiona exclaimed. “Where is Birentir?”

“Leading the way,” H’nez said.

Fiona pushed a roll into her mouth and started chewing urgently even as she rose from the table.

“Where are you going?” T’mar asked, brows furrowed.

“After them,” Fiona said. “It’s my duty as Weyrwoman.”

“Sit,” T’mar said, jabbing a finger toward the chair. Fiona shook her head and then turned in surprise as she felt Shaneese’s arms going to her shoulders, pushing her back down.

“T’mar’s right, you need to eat,” Shaneese said.

“But—”

“Weyrwoman, please listen to them,” H’nez said, his dark eyes grave.

“But—”

“Fiona, you’ve got to take care of yourself if you’re to be of any use to the rest of us,” T’mar said. “And you’ve got more responsibilities to consider now.”

“Especially with Lorana gone,” C’tov added quietly.

Fiona allowed Shaneese to guide her back into her chair and carefully chewed her roll. They meant well and she knew what they meant—she not only had a responsibility to the Weyr but also to the stirrings in her belly.

“Lorana’s coming back,” Fiona said after she swallowed. The others looked away, unwilling to comment. Fiona’s lips tightened as she realized that even if she came back, Lorana would have gone too far forward between for her pregnancy to survive. Fiona’s eyes misted as she recalled the tiny kick she had felt from Lorana’s belly. Sometimes, Fiona thought sadly, there are no good choices.

“Our next Fall will be over lower Crom in five days’ time,” T’mar said to the wingleaders with a side glance toward Fiona.

“We have seventy-four fighting dragons,” H’nez pointed out.

T’mar nodded. “B’nik’s offered us a wing from Benden.”

“That’ll help,” C’tov said.

F’jian raced in, rushing through the Kitchen Cavern entrance and nearly bouncing off some of the weyrfolk as he ran over to join the discussion.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“I meant to say that F’jian was helping Terin feed her dragon,” Fiona said hastily in the cold silence that fell.

T’mar smiled and shook his head. “I’ve just started,” he said. “If I’d felt your presence was critical, I would have had Zirenth bespeak Ladirth.”

H’nez gave the younger bronze rider a dry look while C’tov merely pulled back the seat beside him invitingly.

“As I said,” T’mar continued while F’jian poured himself some klah, “our next Threadfall is in five days’ time and we’re getting a wing from Benden to help.”

“That’s good,” F’jian agreed.

“If we need to,” T’mar continued, “we’ll time it. If we do that, as I’ve told B’nik, we’ll do it without the Benden riders.”

“Well, let’s hope we get all the Thread the first time, then,” F’jian said. He opened his mouth for a smile and was startled when it expanded into a huge yawn.

“Somebody had a good night,” C’tov muttered to H’nez.

“F’jian, you’ll take the light wing,” T’mar declared, glancing over to catch his reaction. “You’ll be responsible for firestone and our reserve.”

F’jian nodded glumly; he’d expected no less for being late.

“You’ll have some company,” T’mar declared, “as I’m going to fly solo to coordinate with the three wings.” He nodded to H’nez and C’tov. “That will leave you two your wings intact.”

“Half of my people are injured,” H’nez said.

T’mar nodded. “Which is why it’s vital that we spend the next several days training with our new organization.”

“How do you want to do that?” C’tov asked.

“I think first we’ll set up the new wings and then give you the day to train them separately,” T’mar said.

“Just a day?” H’nez asked.

“Let’s see how we do,” T’mar said, shrugging. “I expect that coordination will shake out pretty quickly.” He gave them all a wry grin. “After all, we have done this before!”

“And after that?” C’tov asked.

“We’ll train for a day or two as a Weyr. B’nik’s offered us a day of training with the Benden wing after that,” T’mar said. “The day before the Fall, we’ll rest.” He glanced at F’jian as he added, “Some of us may need it more than others.”

The younger bronze rider raised his hands in surrender. “All for the best of reasons, Weyrleader.”

That evening, F’jian invited Terin to dine in his quarters. The drill throughout the day had been hard and they had not had a moment alone together since the morning, so Terin agreed.

She was disturbed by F’jian’s silence as they climbed the stairs to his rooms.

“Tired?”

“Thinking,” F’jian told her with an apologetic look.

F’jian had arranged to have their meal sent up before they’d started their climb and it was waiting for them when they entered his quarters.

“Ladirth, how are you?” Terin called politely as they crossed to the small circular table where they took their meal. She frowned when the dragon made no response.

“Sleepy,” F’jian told her with a wave of his hand. He gestured to one of the chairs. “Sit! I’ll get the food.”

Terin was delighted at his graciousness, but sat dutifully. F’jian paused on the way back with their dinner tray, looking at her intently.

“What?” Terin asked, wiping her face in search of any stray hairs or dirt.

“You’re so beautiful,” F’jian said, placing the tray between them and carefully setting the dishes in front of her. Terin was amazed; F’jian often just wanted to eat straight off the tray.

“What’s wrong?” Terin asked, suddenly uneasy with his behavior.

F’jian shook his head. “Nothing,” he said softly, “nothing at all.”

Terin woke suddenly in the night, cold. F’jian was out of bed. He’d insisted, strangely, on having her sleep further in on the bed—closer to the wall—which was not their normal routine. Terin had relented grudgingly, but soon fell asleep in his rangy, strong, comforting arms.

Now those arms weren’t around her. She started to call out but stopped as she heard voices from the direction of Ladirth’s weyr. One of the voice’s was a woman’s, speaking quick and low. She heard F’jian answer and then the flutter of wings as Ladirth flew off.

Concerned, she sent a tendril of thought toward her Kurinth—the young queen was sound asleep. Terin stretched her senses, listening in the dark of the night, but heard nothing untoward. After a while she drifted back to sleep once more, determined to talk to F’jian when he returned.

She woke to the feeling of hot tears on her cheek. She turned over to see F’jian leaning over her, his eyes full of tears. “What?” she cried. “F’jian, what is it?”

“Nothing,” the dragonrider told her huskily. “It’s just that you’re so beautiful.” He paused and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “I love you so much. Don’t ever forget that.”

Tenderly, Terin turned to kiss him properly but, to her surprise, he turned from her, kissing her on the cheek firmly.

“Sleep,” he said, allowing himself a huge yawn. “Sleep, I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

Terin murmured a response and lay her head back down on her pillow. She opened her eyes again as F’jian’s fingers brushed her cheek and he leaned closer, wrapping his warm, strong arms around her once more. Terin sighed happily and drifted back into a deep sleep.

Terin found herself glancing at F’jian nervously throughout the next day, trying to figure out what had happened. He seemed both more at ease and sadder at the same time. He would always smile when his eyes found hers, but he’d never allow her to catch his expression unguarded for long.

If F’jian’s behavior was odd, Fiona’s announcement that morning was completely disturbing.

“She’s all right!” Fiona shouted as she bounced into the Kitchen Cavern that morning.

Kindan, who was at the weyrlings’ table, glanced up.

“Lorana!” Fiona said, rushing over to him and grabbing his hands. “I saw her, she’s fine!”

“Where is she?” Kindan asked even as T’mar and the other bronze riders rushed over, glancing around in a vain attempt to spot the ex-queen rider.

“She left,” Fiona said airily. “She said she’d be back, though.”

Kindan’s expression grew troubled and he glanced imploringly over at Birentir and Bekka, who responded by joining them.

“You saw her?” Bekka asked. “How was she?”

“She drew a picture for me,” Fiona said. She glanced at Kindan. “I didn’t know you’d given her your colored pencils.”

Kindan shot her a troubled look.

“Fiona, why don’t you sit down and tell us while you’re eating,” Birentir suggested, gesturing for one of the weyrlings to yield his seat to the Weyrwoman.

“All right,” Fiona said, with a touch of annoyance entering her voice. She sat, pulled over a roll, and buttered it. Chewing quickly, she swallowed and looked up to Kindan. “As I said, I saw Lorana this morning.”

“And she drew you?”

“Yes,” Fiona said. “I sat on my bed while she drew.”

“Can I see the picture?” Kindan asked.

“She took it with her,” Fiona said. She frowned. “She seemed sad, now that I think about it.”

“How did she look?”

“I didn’t see her too much, she was in shadow,” Fiona said. “She wanted the light on me, so it was coming over her back.”

“Did she say where she had been?” T’mar asked.

“Did she say when she’d be back?” Kindan added.

Fiona frowned and shook her head. “She just woke me, said she had to draw me, made her drawing, and left.”

Kindan exchanged glances with T’mar, then Birentir. The older healer sighed.

Bekka spoke up, her tone gentle. “Sometimes when people are pregnant they have strange dreams,” she suggested.

“It wasn’t a dream!” Fiona declared. “I was awake!”

“You said that Lorana woke you,” Bekka said. “I’ve heard of people who think they’re awake and having conversations and they’re only dreaming.”

“It was real!” Fiona cried, her voice rising as she glanced around at the disbelieving faces gathered around her.

“I dream of my daughter sometimes,” Birentir said to her gently. “I dream of her being almost as old as you are now, Weyrwoman.”

“It wasn’t a dream!”

“Could it have been?” Kindan asked her gently. “Could it not just have been a pleasant dream?” He paused, glancing into her eyes as he added in a wistful tone, “Sometimes I dream of your sister and she’s smiling at me.”

“It wasn’t a dream!” Fiona roared, flying to her feet and glaring angrily at everyone. “I know when I’m dreaming. It was real!”

She glanced around, saw no acceptance in the eyes of the others, and, with a sob, raced out of the Cavern.

“Could it have been real?” T’mar asked Kindan as the others recovered from her abrupt departure.

“If so, then why didn’t she stay?” Kindan asked. “Where is she now? Can Zirenth hear her?”

T’mar relayed the question to his bronze dragon, received his reply, and shook his head. “No.”

“She’s been under a lot of stress,” Birentir said into the silence that followed.

The others nodded, but Kindan caught T’mar’s eyes and they exchanged a worried look.

“I’ll have Shaneese bring her breakfast,” Bekka suggested. “She’ll feel better with something in her stomach.” She paused thoughtfully before glancing up at Birentir. “I think this backs my guess.”

“Twins?”

Bekka nodded. Kindan and T’mar glanced at her with wide eyes, so she added, “It’s too early to be certain. Shards, it’s even too early to be sure of the pregnancy, but the way she’s been eating and … well, the way she’s been eating makes me think she’s eating for three.”

Fiona found herself in the Records Room, searching through Records. She’d show them!

Where to begin? The Records at Telgar weren’t the dry, warm parchment of Igen, some of them were the thin, fragile slivers of hardstone with the words deeply chiseled into them.

The mustiness of the Records and the room made her stomach roil and turn. Fiona toyed with the idea of leaving for better air, but decided stubbornly to continue with her work.

She moved the Records more slowly, took smaller stacks, and read them more carefully than usual.

How it happened, she could never recall, but Fiona woke up hours later with the imprint firmly in her cheek of the Record she’d laid her head on while she’d nodded off. With a quiet snarl of anger, she pushed herself up, left the Records where they were, walked back to her quarters proper, and took a long, soothing bath, hoping that the water would ease the imprint out before anyone noticed.

Footsteps coming toward the entrance alerted her and she called out, “Don’t come in!”

“Fiona?” T’mar’s voice echoed into the room. “Are you all right?”

“Of course,” Fiona said quickly. “I just felt like a bath.”

T’mar made a noncommittal noise. Fiona glowered unseen in response.

“Bekka and Birentir wanted me to tell you that they’ll manage just fine on their rounds,” T’mar said.

Fiona murmured in reply. “That’s good, because I think I’ll look in the Records.”

“The Records?” T’mar repeated. “I went there first, did you know that someone had left piles on the table?”

“Mmm,” Fiona returned noncommittally.

“And one of them was wet,” T’mar added, his tone full of humor. “It seemed like someone had fallen asleep on it and drooled.”

“Drooled,” Fiona muttered to herself, chagrined.

“Pardon,” T’mar called, “I didn’t catch that.”

“That’s interesting,” Fiona called back loudly. “I suppose I’ll have to clean that up.” Fiona’s brows creased as a thought came to her. “Aren’t you supposed to be training?”

“We’re just back for lunch,” T’mar replied easily, in a teasing tone. His tone changed as he added, “Has Terin spoken to you about F’jian?”

“Why?”

“Because it was everything he could do to stay on his dragon at drill,” T’mar said. He added in a thoughtful tone, “I know that all of us are still muzzy-headed, but he seemed worse than most.”

“Kindan thinks we’re timing it,” Fiona reminded him. “Maybe F’jian feels it worse just now.”

“Or maybe he’s timing it more,” T’mar murmured thoughtfully. “We know that the effects of going between times are cumulative—if he were timing it more than once a day, then he’d feel it worse than others.”

“There could be another perfectly reasonable answer,” Fiona answered after a moment. She flushed as she explained, “I mean there are other ways to get tired than simply going between times.”

“One for which congratulations would be in order?” T’mar asked with a grin.

“I suppose that depends upon who you’re asking and how they feel about it,” Fiona said.

She could almost feel T’mar thinking furiously as he stood outside her bath, deciding upon a course of action.

“Would you like me to talk with Terin?” Fiona offered.

“When you’re done with the Records,” T’mar replied with a renewed spark of humor in his tone. Fiona growled at him and the Weyrleader laughed easily in reply. “I’d best get back to lunch, we’ll be practicing this afternoon, too.”

“Keep an eye on F’jian!” Fiona called to the sound of his departing steps.

“Indeed,” T’mar’s distance-muffled voice replied. A moment later his steps faded from her hearing. Fiona lay back in her bath, thinking.

The next Fall was over lower Crom in four days’ time. It was an evening Fall, starting just about the seventh hour after noon. She frowned, realizing that, stretching for six hours, the Fall would go into the early hours of the next morning.

Talenth, Fiona reached out to her queen who responded drowsily, has T’mar asked Nuella about training with the watch-whers?

In another two days, Talenth replied after a short pause to relay the question to her mate, Zirenth, and receive his rider’s response.

Having the watch-whers flying with them would certainly help and a night Fall had less live Thread than a daytime Fall. Idly, Fiona wondered how the watch-whers were faring and whether their numbers were as precipitously low as the dragons’.

Kindan had told her that what had killed Lorana’s queen Arith had been the contents of the fourth vial found in the Ancient Rooms at Benden—the one meant to change a watch-wher into a dragon. In her ignorance, Lorana had mixed all four vials together in her desperate attempt to save her queen’s life. It had been Arith’s death—and Lorana’s frantic grab for her across nearly five hundred Turns of time—that had warned the Ancient Timers of the peril of the sickness in the present time. Lorana had only used a little of each vial, thankfully, so there was enough left to save the dragons of Pern—and provide, in that fourth vial, a chance to turn watch-whers into dragons. Did Lorana tell Nuella when to use that scary vial that would make watch-whers into dragons? Had she somehow known that it would be needed?

Fiona let out a sad sigh as she asked herself honestly, Could Lorana have gone between forever? Fiona shook her head, reminding herself: I saw her, she came here, drew a picture of me.

Lorana could have come back from the past, she thought in response. In irritation with her own thoughts, Fiona stirred and pulled herself from the bath into the cold air of her bathroom. She stood there for a moment, her face set in a frown, her skin freezing, as if in punishment, before reaching determinedly for a towel. I saw her!