said, “It’s okay, I know what I’m doing.” After a moment he added, “Besides, if I didn’t, me ma would skin me alive.”
Fiona grinned.
“Okay, now lean down, get a good mix of bottom and water,” Finlar told her, matching his actions to his words, “and then stand back up, swirling the water around to spill the dirt out.” He began a swirling motion with his arms and allowed the dirtier water to spill over the edges. “If you’re lucky, when you’re done, you’ll find a nugget. If not, you’ll find gold dust, little flecks of the stuff.” With pride he added, “You always find gold flecks.”
Fiona repeated Finlar’s steps twice before she felt she had a good grasp of the mechanics. Her first pan revealed only small flecks of gold.
“Throw it back, you’ll get better,” Finlar said as he inspected her pan.
“But . . . it’s gold!”
“The mill’s for those small flecks,” Finlar told her dismissively. “That’s why we’re building it.”
Seeing her continued reluctance, he leaned over and used his pan to force hers back into the water, spilling the contents. “Trust me, you’ll find better!”
Fiona sighed but dutifully scooped up another pan. It didn’t
“That’s it,” Finlar said encouragingly. “Use your senses.” His dropped his voice. “Sometimes I think we can feel the gold.”
Maybe they could at that, Fiona thought as she lifted up the refilled pan: This one felt right. Moments later she was jumping up and down squealing, “Look, gold! I found gold!”
“Shh, you’re supposed to be blending in,” Finlar hissed at her desperately, glancing back to the far shore. What he saw made him groan. “Oh, no! Now we’re for it.”
Fiona was so thrilled with the sight of the two nuggets in her hand, each just about the size of the fingertip of her smallest finger, that it was moments before Finlar’s panic registered.
“They’re waving us over!” Finlar cried in despair.
“I found gold!” Fiona exclaimed, still oblivious to the danger.
“You’re supposed to act like you’ve been doing it for the past half Turn,” Finlar growled at her.
“Look,” Fiona said eagerly, extending her pan to him. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
“They?” Finlar repeated, his brows furrowing as he bent closer. “You found two?”
“Right there,” Fiona said, ducking her chin toward their location in her pan. She glanced up at him, grinning broadly. “Aren’t they pretty?”
“Most of the times we don’t find two,” Finlar said with awe in his voice. He turned toward the far bank and waved. “Come on, we’ll show them!”
Fiona walked carefully over, keeping her attention divided between her pan and the placement of her feet: There was a lot of gold dust in the pan, too, and she didn’t want to lose any of it.
Finlar reached down and grabbed her arm to help her up the bank, where waiting hands reached down to hoist her up.
At the top, Fiona found herself looking into the amber eyes of a tall, middle-aged man with speckles of gray in his otherwise warm brown hair. He was a dragonrider not just by his garb but by his bearing. She raised her head to greet him, but a nudge from Finlar reminded her of her secret and she dropped her eyes again.
“You’re always being so bold,” Finlar chided her. “You’ll shame the hold the way you go on.” To the dragonrider, he said, “Please forgive her, my lord.”
The muted sound of laughter in the distance told Fiona that F’dan could only just contain his mirth at her position.
“My lord,” Fiona said, bowing in a low curtsy, keeping her pan steady in one hand. “Please forgive me: I was overexcited and too bold.”
“Nonsense,” the dragonrider assured her, his eyes dancing. “You had every right.” He gestured to the pan. “May I see?”
She relinquished it to him, feeling for a moment once more like a holder and wondering if she’d lose her treasure to this man. She tamped hard on her pride and could feel, in the distance, F’dan’s mixed emotions of approval and humorous appreciation.
“As you can see, Lord M’tal,” Terregar spoke from his side, as the dragonrider poked his finger to nudge the two visible nuggets, “we’ve had a lucky find.”
M’tal! Fiona cringed inwardly. Benden’s Weyrleader himself. She’d seen the man before, of course, but he was younger now than the last time she’d laid eyes on him.
“And set up a new crafthall?” M’tal asked, looking toward Terregar.
“And the wherhold,” Zenor added stoutly.
“It was about the wherhold — and Nuella — that I came,” M’tal replied. He pushed the pan back toward Fiona, telling her, “Well, I’m sure your master will be pleased with your work this day.”
Fiona glanced toward Terregar, who gave her a look suffused with dread and wonder, and then she piped up, “If you please, my lord, I’d take it as a great favor if you’d accept these pieces for Journeyman Kindan.”
“Kindan?”
Fiona dropped another curtsy and pressed the pan back into M’tal’s hands. “We’ve all heard his songs and the ballads about how he helped in the Plague,” she said. “It seems only right — to me, at least.”
M’tal cocked his head, glancing toward Terregar and Zenor approvingly. “You teach your crafters well.”
“We haven’t a harper of our own yet, but we do what we can,” Zenor responded, carefully avoiding any glances in Fiona’s direction. Fiona noted that Terregar was eyeing her with renewed interest, clearly reevaluating her.
“Journeyman Kindan is famous throughout Pern,” Fiona said. “It seems only right, if it’s not too much to ask.”
“It’s not,” M’tal said, picking the two nuggets out of the pan and returning it to her. “And I thank you for the notion.”
Zenor eyed the two pieces carefully, saying, “If my lord would, I believe I could fashion those into a ring or small pins.”
“A harp, perhaps?” M’tal asked.
Zenor paused for a long moment, consideringly. It was Terregar who spoke up, “A harp it shall be, my lord.” To Zenor he said, “Any lack we’ll make up from other pannings.”
“A gift from the Wherhold for Kindan’s gift of his watch-wher to our lady Nuella,” Fiona declared grandly. Finlar’s gasp at her side alerted her to her mistake: Her wording was too grand for a mere crafter girl.
“Well spoken,” M’tal said as he passed the nuggets over to Zenor. “Very well spoken for one without a harper.”
“We’re a mixed lot,” Terregar told him quickly. “Some from the Smith hall, some from outlying holds and crafts nearby.”
“Mmm,” M’tal murmured. He glanced at Fiona. “And who should I name to Journeyman Kindan as his benefactor?”
“Fi — ” Fiona began but broke off even before she felt Finlar cringing beside her. “Please just call it a gift from the crafters and holders of the wherhold, my lord.”
Terregar glanced at her in surprise mixed with admiration. Zenor gave her a knowing nod; he’d formed his opinion of her back at Mine Natalon.
M’tal turned back to Zenor. “As I was saying,” he began, “my visit here was more to coordinate with Nuella and the wherfolk than to admire your gold.”
There was a subtle shift in the atmosphere as the crafters absorbed his words.
Zenor gave him an expectant look.
“Do you recall how Nuella visited all the holds, Turns back before she bonded with Nuelsk?”
Zenor nodded. “Indeed I do, my lord,” he replied. “However, if you are here to ask that of her again, I should inform you that she’s just recently bonded with a gold — ”
“Has she, by the First Egg!” M’tal exclaimed, his face breaking into a huge grin. “I’d heard about the accident at the mine, of course, but I hadn’t hoped — ” He cut himself off, motioning courteously to Zenor. “Please continue.”
