Dragonheart

great.”

Fiona sat and was surprised when the rider sitting opposite Cisca passed her the serving dish.

“Thank you, P’der,” Tannaz said to the rider.

The rider nodded to both of them, saying, “Just be sure to leave me some.”

“Kentai has the recipe,” Fiona told him.

“It wouldn’t be the same,” P’der replied, retrieving the serving dish that Tannaz was passing back to him, “This  is your first dish as a Weyrwoman.”

“One day you might be the Weyrwoman, and for some reason, the dragonriders set store by how well you can cook,” Tannaz murmured to her.

“Is that because Sorka was a great cook?” Fiona wondered out loud, remembering the first Weyrwoman of Pern.

Tannaz laughed. “No, I think it’s because a rider thinks first of his stomach.”

“Second,” K’lior corrected her with an impish grin.

“First of his dragon,” Cisca agreed.

“I understand,” Fiona replied somberly. Tannaz looked at her in surprise and Fiona hid her discomfort by spooning up a bite of her dish.

It really is good! Fiona thought, amazed. Tannaz, who was still watching her, chuckled, saying, “What, did you think Zirana would let you serve something that wasn’t good?” Fiona’s look answered her and the Weyrwoman continued, “You’re not at the Hold anymore. You’ll be treated with respect, but no one will lie to you.

“Of course, if it had been Melanwy, you might have had to make a dish three times before she’d let you serve it to — ”

“And a good thing, too,” a voice hoarse with age rasped through Tannaz’s words.

Tannaz’s face drained of color before she could school herself and turn to the speaker.

“Headwoman Melanwy,” she said formally. “I’d like you to meet Weyrwoman Fiona, Talenth’s rider.”

“Hmph!” Melanwy snorted. “Think I can’t tell who she is for myself? What, think I’m blind?”

Fiona found herself looking up at a white-haired, stooped, aged woman whose face was lined with Turns of hard living.

“Just because I lost my dragon doesn’t mean I’ve lost my reason, too,” Melanwy continued harshly.

Suddenly Kentai was at her side, a hand close to hers. “You’ll join us on the stage tonight, won’t you?”

“You want me to sing?” Melanwy barked.

“Drums, if you would,” Kentai replied courteously. He leaned down to her, adding, “These youngsters can only keep time with a decent drummer.”

“Hmph, I can’t disagree with you there!” Melanwy snorted. “In my day, they wouldn’t have been allowed to entertain even D’mal — ” Her voice broke off suddenly and her eyes misted.

“How I miss him.” She glanced disapprovingly at K’lior, who had diplomatically engaged in an animated discussion with P’der and could pretend not to hear her.

“Come, then,” Kentai said, gently guiding her away, “and show us all how it’s done.”

For a fleeting moment it looked as though Melanwy was going to rail at the harper’s obvious distraction, but her obstinate look faded and, instead, she looked momentarily puzzled.

“Who are you?” she asked Kentai querulously, in a voice and expression that reminded Fiona of a small child looking for her mother.

“I’m Kentai, Melanwy,” the harper replied courteously, his troubled eyes darting to Tannaz and Fiona. He gestured to the stage. “You were going to play with us.”

“I can’t sing,” she said once again.

“No, drums,” Kentai told her. The rest of their conversation faded away as the harper and the old woman moved toward the noise of the stage.

“I’ve never found out how old she really is,” Tannaz murmured to Fiona. She seemed unsettled by the encounter.

“I think Kentai did wonderfully,” Fiona said. When Tannaz gave her a surprised look, she added, “We’ve any number of older people at Fort Hold who’ve lost their measure of the days.” She remembered all the times she’d sat in with old aunties and uncles. “One moment their thinking is clear and brilliant, the next they’re like lost children.” She sighed. “It’s sad, really. Sometimes I think growing old is no gift at all.”

“Melanwy would be the first to agree with you,” Tannaz told her. “She wanted to go between  with Nara and Hinirth and railed at her lot for Turns afterward.”

“And she’s the headwoman?”

“Not even I have the heart to take that away from her,” Tannaz admitted. “When she’s not addled, her knowledge of weyrcraft is invaluable.” She glanced at Cisca. “We take turns spending time with her, hoping to learn as much as we can before her last day.” “I’ll help,” Fiona offered. “When Talenth is a bit older, I’m sure I’ll have more time.”

“I’m not sure I want you around her,” Cisca chimed in, surprising Fiona. “She’s a morbid thing these days, and I don’t think it’d be fair to you.”

“I wouldn’t mind, Weyrwoman,” Fiona told her. “It’d be nothing more than I’ve done at the Hold, as I was telling Tannaz.”

Cisca smiled at her. “I know that,” she said. “And that’s all the more reason to let you have what few Turns there are to you before you shoulder a grown woman’s burdens.”

“Thread’s coming,” Tannaz added in agreement. “You might see the full Pass through.”

“I intend to,” Fiona declared. She paused for a moment, not because she didn’t know what she meant to say next but because she wanted to give the two older Weyrwomen a chance to fully absorb her words. “So it seems that it would make sense for me to know everything I can about the Weyr, wouldn’t you agree?”

Tannaz gave her an astonished look, then turned to Cisca, who laughed.

“You made your case.” She frowned and added, “Still, I don’t think it’s fair to rob you so young of your youth. I have a motherly duty — ”

“Pardon, Weyrwoman,” Fiona interruped, her throat hard, her face hot, “but I lost my mother before my third Turn and, with her, any chance of a proper childhood.”

Cisca gave her a look that was part affront, part surprise, but Fiona met her eyes squarely. “I’m young, I know, but I’ve had to grow up fast and I don’t think I know how to stop.”

Before Cisca could respond, K’lior laid a hand on her arm in a gesture that Fiona couldn’t interpret: she had never seen her mother and father together. Cisca and K’lior exchanged the briefest of looks before the Weyrwoman turned back to Fiona. “We will talk about this after we’ve eaten.” She raised her free hand above her head to signal for dessert.

“Don’t be in such a rush to grow up,” Tannaz murmured as their plates were cleared.

“I can’t tell you when I ever really thought I was a child,” Fiona responded. But in her heart she recalled all the times when she’d been with Kindan and wondered — until the fruit dessert that Tannaz and Ellor had made was served, and she enjoyed it so much that she completely forgot the previous conversation.

As hot klah  was being served and everyone sat back from their tables, replete, Kentai and the singers began their songs.

     Drummer, beat, and piper, blow.
     Harper, strike, and soldier, go.
     Free the flame and sear the grasses.
     Till the dawning Red Star passes.

As they finished, they moved on to a song that Fiona knew quite well and it brought tears to her eyes:

     In early morning light I see,
     A distant dragon come to me.