Dragon's Time

THREE

“There’s no chance you could be wrong?” Lorana asked the young man hopefully.

“There’s every chance I could be wrong,” Tenniz agreed. “And imagine how embarrassed I’d be to find myself not dead.”

“Have you ever been wrong before?”

Tenniz shook his head slowly. “No.” He added, “I’ve wished it several times but—no, I’ve never been wrong.”

“But you said that you see only glimpses,” Lorana reminded him.

“Some glimpses are more definite than others,” Tenniz said. “As I said, I saw you crying and piling rocks on the cairn.” He turned back toward their camp and gestured graciously for her to accompany him.

“But you could die another day,” Lorana protested as they walked back slowly. “It doesn’t have to be today.”

“Tomorrow, in the morning, I’ll be dead,” Tenniz assured her. A cough wracked him and he gestured at himself with a hand as if in proof. “All that really matters is now and what we’ll do with our time together.” He smiled at her. “I, for one, am hoping to spend it in pleasant conversation.”

“I’m not prepared to die.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m not prepared to die,” Lorana repeated. “I’d much rather talk about how to save Pern.”

Tenniz nodded in understanding. “I would like to know that my son and daughter will grow up in a world free of Thread.”

“You’ve a son and a daughter?”

“I’ve nearly twenty Turns,” Tenniz said.

“But you knew you were going to die,” Lorana said.

“I did and I do,” he said. He gave her a wry look. “As are we all in our own time.”

Lorana accepted that with a nod. “It must be hard on you,” she said.

“No harder than it was for you,” the young man replied. Lorana’s eyes misted as she caught his meaning. “We faced hard choices.”

“Where are they now?”

“Safe, with their mother,” Tenniz replied, a wistful look livening his face. “My son’s the elder, my daughter’s not yet born.”

“How old is he?”

“Jeriz’s just turned a very difficult two,” Tenniz said with a rueful look. “I’m sorry to be leaving him for Javissa to deal with, but”—he dipped his head—“we traders look after our families and no one was ignorant of my fate.”

“They’re trying to keep this Sight of yours alive, aren’t they?”

“Among the traders it has saved countless lives,” Tenniz told her. “Even for myself, I would say it was more blessing than curse.”

Lorana cast a quick sad glance at her flat belly and gave Tenniz a fierce look as she asked, “And your daughter, how do you know she’ll be born?”

Tenniz gave her a sympathetic look before telling her, “I’ve seen it.”

“And what else, to save the traders, have you seen of the future?”

“All that I could say to you, I have,” Tenniz told her in a pained voice. “You know that we can’t break time.”

“J’trel tried,” Lorana said, more to herself than the trader. With a sad smile, she recalled the old blue rider who had brought her out of her misery, succored her after the death of her father, and set her on the path that led to Benden Weyr and her beautiful gold Arith. She recalled him telling her how he’d tried to go back in time to show his dragon to his mother and how he’d found that he couldn’t.

“Many more will try,” Tenniz said, “none will succeed.”

Lorana gave him a sharp look. “You say that for me, particularly.”

Tenniz regarded her silently. Finally, he said, “I think you must have some trader blood, some of the Sight.”

Lorana shook her head in irritation.

“Who else hears the dragons the way you do?” Tenniz prodded gently. “I think that you are a distant relative.”

“My father was a beastman near Benden.”

“A traveling man,” Tenniz said. “Your family moved a lot, with the herds, as he bred for the best.” Lorana was surprised. “You’ve been seen by others,” Tenniz said. “Your father?” Lorana guessed.

Tenniz shook his head. “My mother,” he told her. “The Sight can go to either man or woman.”

“But only one,” Lorana guessed. “The Sight only comes to one in each generation.”

Tenniz gave her a wry look. “See? You prove my point,” he told her triumphantly.

“It was a guess,” Lorana said acerbically. The wind, which had been light and steady, gusted suddenly, catching Lorana off guard.

Tenniz nodded toward the bedrolls. “It can get very cold up here,” he said. “You might want to wrap in a blanket.” He moved over to the fire, stirred the embers with a nearby stick and threw some more light kindling on to keep it going. “If you’re hungry, we can heat up lunch.”

“How did you get all your supplies up here?” Lorana wondered, glancing around at the gear of the camp and appraising the effort it must have taken to transport to the top of the Butte.

“I have my ways,” Tenniz told her drolly, reaching back for his pack and quickly pulling some strips of dried meat from a bag. “We’ve water enough, if we can wait, that this will cook into a nice stew with a good broth.” A cough distracted him and he frowned in mild annoyance until it passed. He rummaged in the pack some more and, with an amused glance at Lorana, pulled forth a bottle. “And some wine for later, if we feel like it.”

“You plan on drinking at your own wake?”

Tenniz shrugged. “I merely hope to spend time with a friend.”

The wind died down and Lorana shrugged out of the blanket, rose quickly, and came over to Tenniz, reaching for the pack. “Let’s see what you have in here,” she said.

There were several large flasks of water laid near the pack and Lorana once again felt surprise at the provisioning of this temporary camp.

“Put some more wood on the fire,” Lorana told him. “We’re going to need a lot of heat to stew that dried beef.” She took the pack from his hands as he rose to comply and peered into it. While Tenniz built up the fire, Lorana rummaged in the pack and found several savory dried herbs. Her eyebrows lifted in wonder; someone had good taste. Perhaps Nuella had packed for him? Someone had to have brought him up here and with Nuella nearby and the relations the traders had established with the wherhold, she was the likely choice.

The gold watch-wher was large enough to have managed carrying the two of them and the supplies, but probably not all in one trip. Back in this time she had yet to meet the Wherwoman, but she could easily imagine the delight Nuella would have had in arranging the journey and completing the trip, probably all in alarming darkness. If that was what happened, Lorana was amazed that Tenniz wasn’t still in shock.

“There’s another pot in that large bag,” Tenniz said as he caught Lorana eyeing their breakfast pot warily. He added, in an oddly amused tone, “We don’t have enough water to wash them out, afterward.”

“Hmm,” Lorana agreed, not entirely surprised. “I suppose if we left them up here long enough, the grit in the wind would be enough to clean them.”

“We traders have done that in the desert sometimes,” Tenniz agreed.

Lorana fetched a flask of water, unstoppered it, and poured a generous amount into the new pot, throwing in the herbs she’d gathered in her other hand before setting it atop the stones centered in the fire.

“There’s another lid over there,” Tenniz said, pointing with the stick he’d used to prod the fire to greater life. As Lorana turned to spy yet another sack, Tenniz added from behind her, “Three of them, in fact.”

“So we’re set for three meals?”

“We prepared for four,” Tenniz said. “Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and”—his eyes cut away from hers—“well, food for the morning.”

The sun rose, reached its noon height, and presently began to sink again. She and Tenniz had fallen into a companionable, thoughtful silence as they’d watched the dim flickers of flame in the bright sun, had felt the winds gentle with the nooning, had watched Minith dozing comfortably.

Presently Tenniz rose and busied himself with some long poles. Lorana watched him curiously for a moment, then rose and helped him assemble a crude awning.

“Too long in the sun up here and we’d both be burnt crisp,” Tenniz explained as he finished tying the last of the stay ropes to a large rock. He gestured for Lorana to join him and together they put themselves in the shade, out of the worst of the sun’s rays, pulling in the bedrolls and spreading them out to ease the bite of the hard ground beneath.

“So, what is your daughter going to be named, or do you know?” Lorana asked conversationally.

Tenniz shot her a startled look. “We agreed—” he stopped and took a quick breath, looking away from her as if to re-collect his control. “That is, we were hoping, with your blessing, to call her Jirana,” Tenniz said after a moment, speaking as though choosing his words carefully.

“My permission?”

Tenniz’s eyes darted away from hers with the same look Lorana had come to associate with Fiona when she was caught scheming. “I told Javissa what I saw of you,” Tenniz responded shortly, “and we agreed that if you wouldn’t mind, we would include part of your name in our daughter’s.”

“I’d be honored,” Lorana told him. She cocked her head at him, giving him a thoughtful look. He raised an eyebrow questioningly. “I was trying to imagine your features on a girl.”

Tenniz chuckled. “I’m not certain that’s wise, my lady,” he said. Lorana started to protest, but he raised a hand, gently forestalling her. “Fortunately, Javissa is much prettier and I hope our Jirana will take after her.”

“She must be quite a person, your wife,” Lorana said.

“Kind and wise beyond her years,” Tenniz agreed, his expression dreamy. “And patient, very patient. She’ll need it with my son.”

“So, your son will get the Sight?” Lorana asked.

“No,” Tenniz said with a sigh, shaking his head. “I’m afraid that will go to Jirana.”

“Are you afraid it will be a burden for her?”

Tenniz gave her a small smile, shaking his head. “I am sure that she’ll thrive.”

“Does it hurt a lot,” Lorana asked, “knowing that you’ll never hold her in your arms?”

Tenniz shot her a startled look and took a deep steady breath as he shook his head once more and said, eyes downcast, “No, no, I’ve seen enough to be content.”

Lorana nodded, rising from her cross-legged squat to move out from the awning toward the fire. With a stick, she lifted the lid and looked inside. She sniffed the fragrant steam wafting up and turned back to Tenniz. “If you’re ready to eat, it’s done.”

At Tenniz’s urging, she left the stew to cool while they opened the wine that the trader had wisely placed in the shade along with them.

“Benden white!” Lorana exclaimed as he displayed the bottle to her. “Your friends know how to treat you.”

“I am blessed in my friends,” Tenniz agreed, nodding to include her among them.

Two small but clean stone goblets had been packed for the wine and Lorana was surprised to realize how relaxed she felt as she savored the taste of the liquid in her mouth before swallowing. After she swallowed, she lifted her goblet higher and gestured to Tenniz, “To Pern!”

“To Pern!” The trader raised his goblet and inclined his head as he repeated the toast. Sipping his drink, Tenniz raised it once more and added, “And to the women who guard it!”

Lorana raised her goblet once more, but before she could drink, Tenniz’s words startled her, “Don’t drink, I was toasting you.”

“And who else?” Lorana asked as she recovered from her confusion.

“Those who guard Pern,” Tenniz returned cryptically, seeming annoyed with himself. Lorana glanced at him shrewdly for a moment, thinking how thin the man was and how strong wine could inspire loose lips.

“To Fiona, then!” Lorana said, raising her goblet and deliberately taking a small sip, while tipping her drink far back. Tenniz followed her toast and Lorana reached forward for the wine.

“I need more,” she said, pretending to top off her goblet and pouring a generous amount into Tenniz’s. She raised her goblet again, saying, “To J’trel!”

Tenniz did not follow her, saying instead, “I never met him.”

“He was a good man,” Lorana said, masking her annoyance at his reluctance to follow her toast. “If it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t be here now.” She raised her goblet once more, repeating, “To J’trel!”

Reluctantly, Tenniz followed with his drink.

“You have mentioned your wife,” Lorana said, trying a different tack, “tell me about her.”

Tenniz thought for a moment before answering. “She has the prettiest green eyes,” he said. “I fell in love with her the moment I saw them.” He glanced at her wryly. “Green is such a dangerous color here on Pern, I suppose it seems strange of me to admire it so.”

“We need green to grow,” Lorana said with a flick of her fingers. “Just as Thread needs it to survive.”

“And sucks the land dry,” Tenniz said, his voice suddenly cold and hollow. Lorana met his eyes, but the trader lowered them.

“To the dragonriders of Pern!” Lorana said, raising her goblet once more and taking a deep drink.

Tenniz followed her action wordlessly. After a moment, he searched for a flat place and carefully placed his goblet on it, rising and heading toward the stew.

“If we keep drinking, we’ll get light-headed,” Tenniz said, as he reached for one of the bowls and the stirring ladle. He turned back to Lorana. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” Lorana admitted. Tenniz smiled at her and passed her the first bowl. “Whoever picked your herbs knew my tastes perfectly.”

“These herbs are common in the desert,” Tenniz said, his back to her as he filled his bowl. He put the ladle back in the pot, spun on his heel, and quickly sat once more under the awning, a small pinch of herbs in his free hand, which he crumbled into his stew as he added, “Although I prefer it a bit spicier.”

“If that’s spark pepper, you like it a lot hotter,” Lorana replied, her eyes wide as she took in the sprinkling of bright red-orange spice flakes on top of Tenniz’s serving. “You’d best top your glass.”

Tenniz shook his head. “Water first, then wine, with this mix.” He jabbed his spoon into his bowl, took a large portion and wrapped his mouth around it, his eyes closing blissfully.

Lorana took a bite of her stew, and quickly sought out her wine goblet to cut down the spicy heat that assailed her. The stew itself was nearly cool, but the spices caused her to break into a sweat. “This wasn’t hot enough for you?”

“Heat helps in hot climes,” Tenniz said in the singsong tones of someone repeating a proverb. He helped himself to another large spoonful of the stew before adding, “They do say it’s an acquired taste, though.”

“I can see that,” Lorana agreed firmly. Actually, now that her mouth was used to the spicy heat, she found the stew only pleasantly hot and the overall taste full of complex flavors. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the stew as she chewed. She opened them again when Tenniz chuckled at her. “See, a few days in the desert and you’d be ready for robes!”

“Ready for robes?” Lorana repeated in confusion.

“People who aren’t used to the desert spend a lot of time wearing clothes suited to cooler climes,” he told her. “We say someone is ready for robes when they’ve learned to respect the desert and seek ways to keep cool.”

“Fiona and Shaneese mentioned—”

“Shaneese? You met Shaneese?”

“Of course.”

“Did she spit in your stew, too?” Tenniz asked with a grin. Lorana shook her head and the trader laughed. The laugh lurched into a long hacking cough and Tenniz turned an alarming shade of puce before he managed to find another breath. “Another good thing about spices,” he said weakly when he could speak again, “they keep the lungs clear.”

“Have you seen a healer?” Lorana asked.

“Several,” Tenniz agreed. “Some think it’s left over from the Plague, but others say it is something I was born with.” He waved the issue aside. “It is not important now.”

“I can’t imagine Shaneese spitting in anyone’s soup,” Lorana said.

“Ah, but she was much younger—she is much younger now,” he said. “You met her when she was a grown woman, correct?”

Lorana nodded.

“At this moment she is even younger than I,” Tenniz told her. “And she didn’t like what I had to say.”

“And what did you say to her that made her spit in your soup?”

“I told her that she would gladly share her man,” Tenniz said. He shook his head at the memory. “I should not have spoken, but I was in the grips of a seeing and it was a good thing.” He cocked his head at her questioningly. “Do you know of it?”

“You’ve met Fiona?”

“Fiona!” Tenniz said, his eyes suddenly going wide. “But—” he cut himself off, shaking his head fiercely as if to drive the words out of his head. “So I was right to think she was lucky.”

“Perhaps,” Lorana agreed. “The relationship is still new, still—”

“It has something to do with you, too,” Tenniz said, with more than just a guess. He smiled fondly as he added, “She is a special person, and special to you, isn’t our Fiona?”

“She is,” Lorana agreed. A moment later, she added in a different tone, “Although I don’t think she can ever forgive me—”

“For the baby?” Tenniz guessed.

Shakily, Lorana nodded. She piled her spoon high with spicy stew and shoved it into her mouth, allowing the heat to distract her and provide her with a moment’s silence. When she spoke again it was in a small, troubled voice. “Was it worth it?”

“Your price?” Tenniz asked.

Eyes bright with tears, Lorana nodded. Again, she said, “Because I don’t think Fiona would forgive me—”

“No,” Tenniz cut her off. She glanced at him in shock. In a hard voice, he continued: “You know better. She’s no stranger to hard choices. Tell the truth.”

Lorana let out a small sob and lowered her eyes. “I don’t know if I can forgive myself.”

“Yes,” Tenniz agreed. “That’s the truth.”

“And?” Lorana prompted, her tone pleading.

“And that’s the question only you can answer,” he said, pursing his lips in a grimace. “Always, in the end, only we can answer our own questions.”

“Have you answered all your questions, then?”

“No,” Tenniz admitted. He raised his eyes to meet hers, his lips curving upward. “I have many questions I think I’ll never get answered.”

“But you’ve got more answered than most,” Lorana said with a touch of anger in her voice. Tenniz raised his brows questioningly. “You know that the dragons survived the sickness, for example. So you know that your daughter will have her eighth Turn.”

“No,” Tenniz said with a quick shake of his head, “that is not given to me.”

A breath of cold air whipped over her and Lorana jerked upright. The sun was setting, the evening winds had picked up. Lorana’s surprise faded as she remembered lying down, her lunch warm in her stomach, the last sip of wine, Tenniz’s companionable silence. It had been all too easy for her to just close her eyes and drift without effort into a heat-induced sleep.

“Tenniz, I’m sorry!” Lorana said, turning toward the now-shadowed spot where’d she last seen the trader.

“Sorry for what?” Tenniz asked, accompanied by sounds of stretching.

“For falling asleep,” Lorana said. “If this really is your last day …”

“Traders nap in the heat of the sun,” Tenniz said, dismissing her concern gently. “Anyway, I think I was asleep before you.” Another cough shook him and it was a long while before he recovered. So long, in fact, that Lorana went over to him only to see the darker shadow of his hand waving her away.

She turned to the outdoors and went to the fire, carefully finding more kindling and building the last of the embers back into flickering flames, all the while keeping her hearing stretched painfully to the sounds of the young man behind her. She turned when his coughs ceased, worried that she had heard his last breath. The sound of rustling blankets and of Tenniz rising came to her ears before her eyes could make out his movements in the shadows. She let out a quick sigh of relief, unaware that she’d been holding her own breath in sympathy.

“The stars will be out,” Tenniz said, glancing up at the darkening horizon as he approached her. He dropped his gaze toward her, adding with a smile, “They’ll be beautiful.”

“When I was with J’trel,” Lorana said, “we had time to look at the stars.” She shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve done it since.”

“Well, then, it’s certainly past time that you did again!” Tenniz glanced around, wandering over to the supplies and rustling among them. “Tonight,” he said, as he saw Lorana eyeing him, “I cook for you.” He raised a hand as she started to protest. “It is a special meal and it would honor me if you would take of it.”

“Gladly,” Lorana said, moving toward him. “How can I help?”

“Clear the old pots, see to the fire, get it hot again,” he said. “We won’t be eating until we see the right stars, so you won’t want to freeze.”

“And what about you, won’t you want to stay warm?” Lorana asked. Tenniz opened his mouth, closed it again and shook his head. “Is it possible that you see too much of tomorrow? That seeing what you see causes you to give in? That you might die because you catch your death of cold tonight?”

Tenniz was silent for a long moment. “That is the greatest danger of knowing too much of the future.”

Lorana absorbed his words thoughtfully, lowering her eyes. For a long moment her mind churned on his meaning, on all that it meant and then—“You tricked me!” she shouted with a laugh. “You just wanted to teach me the lesson you’ve already learned Turns before!”

“Yes, my lady,” Tenniz agreed with a light chuckle, “I did.”

“How can you be so happy at a time like this?” Lorana asked him, suddenly serious and angry, really angry in a way that embarrassed her, made her feel small and vindictive.

“If I thought being somber and serious would give me another day with my wife, I wouldn’t be here,” Tenniz replied. He stood up with his supplies and moved toward the fire. “But I’ve known for Turns that this day would come, I’ve had Turns to adjust to the notion that I would die before my daughter was born, would never live to see my son a man.” He turned back to her. “I cannot see how being angry or solemn would make it any easier for me.”

He gestured around the plateau and beyond to the beauty that was unfolding in the setting sun; the promise of a brilliant night of stars. “I choose not to wrap myself up in grief over things I cannot change, cannot control, and, instead, take joy in all the gifts I’ve been presented. Rather than rail against the moments I cannot have, I will cherish those I do—instead of squandering them in useless rage.”

There was a long silence.

“It is strange,” Tenniz began again, in a softer, less emotional tone, “how those who expect to see tomorrow have so little appreciation for it.”

“I was talking to myself, wasn’t I?” Lorana said after a moment.

“ ‘All the words we say aloud are heard by at least one pair of ears,’ ” Tenniz agreed with the tone that made it clear he was reciting another trader proverb. He took the largest flask of water, unstoppered it, and drank deeply.

“Ah!” he said with pleasure. He twisted his body to offer it up to Lorana. “Tell me what you think.”

Gratefully, Lorana accepted the flask and, sensing ritual, took a long drink herself. The water was perfect, not too cold, not too warm, full of the sort of satisfying flavor that only water can have when found at the end of a hot day or when thirsty from wine.

“Perfect,” Lorana said, passing the flask back to him.

“Only a parched man really knows water,” Tenniz said, again in the tone of a trader saying. He poured a generous amount into the pot, stoppered the flask and slid its strap over his shoulder so that it hung down at his side.

“Only a dying man really knows life,” Lorana said, glancing at Tenniz.

“So it is said,” Tenniz agreed quietly. “But just as it is the path of wisdom in the desert to bear water, so it is the path of wisdom to learn life.”

“And cherish it,” Lorana said, her eyes suddenly wet with tears, her hands unconsciously moving toward her flat belly.

“My wife was right,” Tenniz said huskily. Lorana glanced down at him and saw him looking up at her. “You are the right one for my last night.”

“You could have spent it with her,” Lorana guessed.

“One of the gifts of the Sighted is to know our last night,” Tenniz said. He gave her a crooked smile. “It’s more of a blessing to know of a certainty that this night, and no other, will be my last.”

“I could see how, knowing that, you could have a very special night, one for the memory of all times with your wife,” Lorana agreed. She frowned as she added, “It would have been a great gift to her, to your son as well.”

“And now you come to wonder why I spend it with you,” Tenniz said, nodding. He reached into the pack and brought out some carrots, somewhat wilted from the earlier heat of the day but smelling ripe, fresh, and savory. A knife and a cutting board came out of the pack. He deftly chopped the carrots and put them in the pot, along with some fully ripe tubers, quickly chopped; fresh onions; crisp celery. He looked amused as he pulled out a small packet of herbs, sniffed appreciatively at the gorgeous scent wafting up, giving Lorana a strangely thankful look as he carefully chopped them finely and poured them in.

“You are giving me a great gift,” Lorana said in awe.

Tenniz gave a quick chuckle, rooting once more in the pack and drawing a bunch of fresh herbs. “As are you, me!”

Lorana moved toward the fire, throwing on more kindling and working in silence to build it up to a proper size and heat.

“Is there a shroud?” Lorana asked, looking across the now bright fire toward Tenniz, who was only visible as a shadow, with firelight gleaming in his eyes.

“Pardon?”

“Is there a shroud I should put you in,” Lorana said, taking a deep breath to finish, “for tomorrow?”

“That would be awkward,” Tenniz said. “I’ve some robes I’ll put on tonight, before dinner; they’ll be fine.”

“And we’ll drink more wine,” Lorana guessed.

“Oh, no,” Tenniz corrected, “water only.”

“For those crossing the desert,” Lorana guessed.

“ ‘Parched, you shall drink,’ ” Tenniz quoted.

“ ‘Hungry, you shall eat,’ ” Lorana said, hearing the catch in Tenniz’s voice confirm that she strangely knew the right words.

“ ‘And—’ ”

Lorana joined in with him—“ ‘the stars shall guide you to your sleep.’ ”

“There’s another,” Lorana said, craning her neck up into the slowly darkening sky above her.

“Three,” Tenniz agreed, the sound of his voice changing as he lowered his head. “It’s time.”

The trader had long since changed into his robes. Lorana was not surprised at the fine fabric nor at the simplicity of the design; she could see the loving care that had gone into its making, the delicate darker embroidery along the cuffs, the care that had gone into the stitches. She guessed that more than one hand had prepared the outfit, that perhaps Tenniz’s mother or even Fiona’s friend, Mother Karina, had sewn parts of it, making the whole a covering of love.

“You have to see the back,” Tenniz said proudly as Lorana had admired it. With a smile, he twirled so that the firelight picked up the brilliantly colored embroidery.

“A dragon?” Lorana exclaimed. “A queen? Over water?”

Tenniz spun back again quickly, his smile slightly strained as he told her diffidently, “It’s a pretty image, don’t you think?”

“Certainly,” Lorana agreed, feeling once again that the younger man was desperate to divert her. Lorana raised a hand with one finger stretched out and twirled it, gesturing for him to turn around again. “I’d like to see more of it.”

“There’s another,” Tenniz said, pointing up the sky. “There’s the fourth star.” He glanced back to her as he added, “They made a cloak, too, which I can wear if it gets chilly.”

“Is it as pretty?”

Tenniz shrugged. “More plain but still white. I think the fabric is the same.” He gave her a shy look. “I don’t think I’ll need it, I’d be happier if you took it with you.”

“But then your beautiful emblem would get all dirty,” Lorana complained. She cut herself off abruptly, realizing that she was talking about the time after his death.

“I think we can spare a blanket instead,” Tenniz said, gliding over her chagrin. “As you say, it is nice fabric.”

“But won’t it seem … wrong if I were seen with it?”

“Those who see you will know it was my gift to you,” Tenniz told her. “ ‘The dead have no belongings.’ ”

“But it’s not right to take what they were left with,” Lorana protested.

“True,” Tenniz agreed, taking a deep breath and breaking out into yet another long, wracking cough before adding ruefully, “but as I am still drawing breath, I can freely give it you, and you can freely accept with no guilt.”

Lorana sensed that the robe seemed important to him, that there was more than mere kindness in the offer, but that he could not tell her more.

“Another prophecy?”

Tenniz gasped, sounding surprised, but he covered it quickly, saying, “Hardly.”

“Very well, I accept and with thanks,” Lorana said, deciding that it would only be cruel and heartless to press the younger man.

“We should eat, so that we have time to enjoy the full dark of the night,” Tenniz said, rustling about for another set of bowls and spoons.

Together they pulled the stew off the fire. Tenniz ladled the hot, pungent mix out of the pot and presented Lorana with the first bowl. Sensing tradition, Lorana took it with a grateful nod, then passed it back to him. Tenniz’s eyes lit as he took it and nodded in thanks.

Lorana took her bowl and spoon and stood, gesturing for Tenniz to follow her. The trader rose, his brows furrowed questioningly.

“Minith,” Lorana called, “how are you doing?”

I’m fine, the queen responded.

“Would you like some company?” Lorana asked. To Tenniz, she said, “Have you ever warmed yourself against a dragon’s belly?”

The trader’s eyes widened in wonder and he shook his head, his mouth open in awe. “No, my lady, never.”

Invitingly, Minith rolled on her side and moved her forearms out, creating a large sheltered spot.

Lorana carefully chose her position, turned, and deftly squatted with legs crossed and her back against the warmth of the huge golden hide. She glanced up to Tenniz, a hint of challenge in her expression. Still awed, Tenniz followed her example and sat next to her.

“She won’t mind, will she?” he asked, craning his head over his shoulder and peering up and up at the mound of her stomach.

Not at all, Minith responded. Lorana heard Tenniz’s gasp of surprise at the draconic surprise.

“I guess you didn’t see that,” she teased him gently. To ease the sting, she directed her next question to Minith, “Aren’t the stars lovely tonight?”

They are, the queen agreed, raising her neck to crane her head up into the sky. The trader is right, we do not look at them enough.

Lorana took a taste of the stew and found herself gasping, fanning her mouth for the fire that burned inside. Wordlessly, but with palpable mirth, Tenniz passed her the water flask even as he, with his other hand, raised a full spoonful to his lips.

“It is better to take fully of life,” he told her as he chewed and swallowed with a sigh of contentment. “Savor it, feel the spice, acknowledge the heat and the tears.”

Lorana did as he said. After the first few spicy-hot mouthfuls, her tongue and throat grew more accustomed to the heat and she began to experience the flavor.

“Babies cry and howl because they do not understand what they are sensing,” Tenniz said, taking another mouthful. “Later, they grow accustomed to harsh things.”

Dutifully, Lorana took another mouthful, chewed slowly, and swallowed. Life: hot, spicy, painful, unpredictable, tasty, chewy, beautiful, searing. Life.

Lorana took another bite, a bigger mouthful, forcing her protesting tongue and throat to accept it.

Life. She’d had a life growing inside her. She remembered the cold, the numb of between. The sense of loss.

The heat of the spicy food roiled her stomach. She couldn’t argue now that she wasn’t alive. Tears streaked down her face and she realized that only some were the tears of hot food.

“It’s dark,” Tenniz said, rising a hand toward the sky.

Dark. Lorana looked up, into the deep black of the night sky. The stars above filled the sky with pricks of glittering light. A soft breeze blew, bringing a waft of cold air over her and she drew it into her lungs.

So many things I would have given you, Lorana thought to the emptiness of her womb. Before the lump in her throat could grow unbearable, Lorana spoke up, and grasping for anything to say, she said to the trader, “The stars are beautiful tonight. I haven’t truly looked at them in such a long time.”

She felt ritual engulf her once more. “Even in the dark, there is still light.”

“ ‘We are stars in the darkness,’ ” Tenniz replied with agreeing ritual.

“We burn bright, beacons for others,” Lorana said.

“ ‘We cannot see our own light, only those of others,’ ” Tenniz continued.

“Our light lights others,” Lorana said, suddenly chilled with the power of the words, the sense of meaning that grabbed her, held her.

“ ‘As their light lights us,’ ” Tenniz agreed, translating her words into the trader sayings of old. He glanced over to her and told her quietly, “You do not know our words exactly, but you have a trader’s ear for truth.”

“And so while there are stars, there can never be darkness,” Lorana said.

“ ‘And in the darkness, there is always light,’ ” Tenniz finished.

Silently, Lorana passed him the flask. Tenniz took it, drank deeply and passed it back to her. Lorana nodded in thanks and drank deeply, her tears drying on her cheeks, her throat no longer raw and protesting.

Life.

Lorana woke. She craned her head around quickly but she knew what she would see even as she turned. It was too quiet. There was a stillness, a respectful silence as though all Pern itself were paying homage.

She was glad to see that she had held his hand in hers, even as her eyes started to stream with tears.

Something slipped off her shoulder and it took Lorana a moment to realize that it was the white robe Tenniz had promised her. He was sitting on the old blanket and had it wrapped around his shoulders. His eyes were closed and his mouth was set in an expression of peace and joy.

He looked—and Lorana could not contain a sob—as though he’d spent the night with a friend.

Above her, Minith crooned anxiously.

“I know what to do,” Lorana said to the queen, rising and wrapping the white robe around her shoulders. Gently she let go of his cold hand, caressed his face for the first time, but more in promise, as if she could embody the gentle touch of the woman she knew he’d loved. Gently she laid him out fully on the blanket, grabbed it firmly with two hands by his head and slowly trudged toward the dug-out ground and the pile of stones laid beside it.

Occasionally, she glanced over her shoulder to verify her course as she walked backward. Often she found herself glancing down at his face and wondering what sort of child he’d been, what memories he had had that he could never share again.

She pulled him and the blanket into the hollow. She hesitated for a moment near his head, then caressed it one more time and finished wrapping his body.

It was still dark out. The stars were fading. The sun was only a threat on the horizon.

Lorana had no trouble finding the stones, bright white even in the deep dusk. Her fingers grew cold, stone after stone, but she did not falter, never slackened, moved at the same pace.

Rock after rock, stone after stone, she built Tenniz’s cairn.

Finally, she stood, wordless, staring down at her finished work. All the stones had gone to cover him. Two hundred and fifty-seven; she’d counted them absently.

“It’s still dark, Tenniz,” Lorana said, surprised at her own voice and the renewed tears in her eyes. “And it’s darker now, for there’s one less light in the sky.”

She glanced upward, toward the fading stars.

… in the darkness, there is always light. His words echoed back to her.

Again, an echo:… All the words … are heard by at least one pair of ears.

“This was for me, too, wasn’t it?” Lorana said to the cold, white rocks before her. “This wasn’t just for you, or even just about you.”

And the realization dawned on Lorana: This wasn’t just to bury one person.

It was to bury two.

Her fingers stroked the fabric of the white robe idly as she realized that just as she had lost a child, a child of Tenniz’s had lost a parent.

“I still don’t know what to do,” Lorana said miserably, shaking her head at the dead, silent rocks. She glanced up to the sky once more. “The stars are going out, Tenniz, there’s only me and—”

She stopped abruptly, her eyes going wide.

One last star burned bright, flaring with the rays of the morning sun. One star that was no star at all.

“I know what to do, Tenniz!” Lorana cried, tears streaming down her face.

“And you knew!” She almost laughed at the trader’s trick and she quoted him once more: “In the darkness, there is always light!”

“I know what to do!” Lorana cried loudly, startling Minith. She raced toward the queen, shouting, “Come on, Minith!”

She pointed a finger skyward, straight at the brilliant light in the sky. Dragon and rider rose into the cold morning air, circled once, and then winked out, between.