Dragonheart

ancient signal to ascend.

Sixty dragons leapt into the air and beat their wings, climbing up out of the Bowl to array themselves near the Star Stones, with T’mar’s Zirenth in the van. They remained there for one more instant and then were gone, between.

Dinner that evening was subdued. Fiona kept Xhinna near her for company. Kentai arranged for the children to sing during the meal, which should have lifted everyone’s spirits but even the spritely “Morning Dragon Song” seemed only to punctuate the fact that T’mar and nearly ninety other riders — including those whose dragons were too ill — weren’t sharing the meal with the rest of the weyr.

Three Turns, Fiona mused as she ate without speaking. What would T’mar be like then? All her vague, half- formed images of the bronze rider blurred and dimmed; she’d already known he was too old for her, and these added three Turns just emphasized that difference. If she’d entertained any hopes of a deeper relationship someday, those hopes were now dashed.

As she and Xhinna walked back to their quarters after dinner, F’jian and J’nos caught up with them.

“It’s not fair,” F’jian complained. “They should have let us go, too!”

“Look on the bright side,” Fiona said to him. “At least now you’re the senior weyrling.”

F’jian paused in his surprise. But then, after a long moment, he declared, “I’d still prefer to go to Igen with the others.”

“We can’t even ride our dragons yet,” J’nos reminded him. “How could we survive going between  times?”

F’jian didn’t reply, his face set in a stubborn look. “If you could go, you would, wouldn’t you, Weyrwoman?” he asked.

Fiona pursed her lips and hesitated before answering. “I wouldn’t risk Talenth for it.”

“But if it wasn’t a risk, what then?” F’jian persisted.

“And is staying here, with the illness, any less of a risk?” J’nos added.

“It doesn’t matter,” Fiona said with a shrug. She drew herself up haughtily, remembering her responsibility to set the example and grateful that she had the height on the two weyrlings. “We can’t go, so our job is to make the best of what we can do, not moan about what we can’t.”

F’jian sighed. “I suppose you’re right.” His expression brightened. “Can the weyrlings practice gliding again tomorrow?”

“We’ll have to ask Tajen,” Fiona said, “but I see no problem.”

“And we’ll have to practice bagging firestone by ourselves,” Xhinna said eagerly.

“We’ve pretty much been doing that already,” J’nos replied.

“The others will be back long before the next Fall,” F’jian reminded Xhinna.

Xhinna grimaced.

They reached the weyrling barracks, and the two weyrlings waved their good-byes. Fiona and Xhinna trudged along in silence, lost in their own thoughts until they reached the weyr.

I wish I could go, too,  Talenth said, peering out of her weyr as they climbed the slope up to the queens’ ledge.

“I know,” Fiona said aloud, pausing long enough to scratch Talenth’s eye ridges. “Our time will come.”

Behind her, Fiona could sense Xhinna’s wistful gaze. She turned to her and beckoned for Xhinna to come to Talenth’s other side. For several minutes both girls were engrossed in indulging the young queen. The moment was broken when Xhinna failed to stifle a yawn and Fiona found herself unconsciously echoing her an instant later.

Grinning, Fiona said, “I guess we need to get some sleep.”

Go!  Talenth urged them, butting first Fiona and then Xhinna toward their quarters. The gold dragon curled up but did not put her head under her wing in her usual sleeping posture. Fiona noticed and Talenth told her, I will go to sleep soon. I want to think.

Since when did dragons spend time thinking, Fiona mused as she changed into her nightclothes and crawled into bed. And what did they think about? she wondered just before sleep overwhelmed her.

Fiona woke, suddenly alert. Xhinna lay beside her, a comforting bundle of warmth, her breathing deep and steady. Without turning her head, she glanced toward Talenth’s weyr.

The queen was awake, alert, her gaze intent on something outside in the Bowl.

Fiona.  The voice wasn’t Talenth’s, but Fiona felt she recognized it.

Slowly, cautiously, she eased her way out of bed, still not certain that she wasn’t imagining things. Sliding her feet into her slippers, she picked up her robe from its place beside the bed and tiptoed away.

Talenth turned her head toward her, then back out to the Bowl, eyes whirling rapidly.

What is it?  Fiona asked.

She wants us to come with her,  Talenth told her.

The night air was cold, frozen, quiet, expectant. Fiona found herself warming her nose with the fingers of her left hand as she crept into Talenth’s weyr and peered out into the snow-covered Bowl. Flecks of snow drifted down steadily, adding to the carpet already covering the ground.

Fiona scanned the snow-muffled stillness for a long moment before she spotted a darker shape — a dragon. By her size, she was a queen.

Fiona glanced at the shape for another moment before turning decisively to walk down the queens’ ledge — she never considered jumping down as she usually did, feeling somehow that it was inappropriate.

As she got closer, she made out another shape, a human, standing close beside the dragon.

“Get dressed,” the rider said as Fiona approached. “We must be quick. We can’t wake the others.”

Something about the rider seemed familiar. “Why? Where are we going?”

“Igen.” The word was like a challenge and Fiona shivered, feeling her heart lurch.

“I can’t leave Talenth.”

“She comes, too,” the rider said. “And the weyrlings.” The rider glanced toward the barracks. “They’re coming now.”

Fiona glanced toward the barracks but saw nothing. Who was this woman?

“We have to hurry: They need to see you and Talenth go or they won’t follow.”

“Follow?”

“They need to come with you to Igen.”

“How do you know?” Fiona asked, a sudden thrill of suspicion running down her spine.

“It’s happened already,” the rider told her.

Fiona gasped as realization struck her. “You’re from the future!”

The rider nodded. “You must hurry.”

Fiona darted back inside and pulled on her clothes as quickly as she could. When she returned, she suddenly realized that Xhinna had slept through the commotion.

“Xhinna,” she cried. “I need to — ”

“She stays,” the rider declared in a tone that brooked no argument.

A figure raced into sight from the direction of the Living Caverns.

“You may come,” the rider said as the figure resolved itself into the form of Terin.

Talenth crept out of her weyr and, with a furtive glance toward Melirth’s quarters, hopped down from her ledge.

“We can’t go between, ” Fiona protested. “And Talenth is too young to carry my weight.”

“You’ll ride with me,” the rider told her. “As for between . . .  you’ll have to trust me.”

Two shapes appeared from the direction of the weyrling barracks. F’jian and J’nos.

“Hurry!” the rider told Fiona, racing back and mounting her dragon. She leaned a hand down to Fiona. “I know when  we’re going!”

“Talenth will be safe, won’t she?” Fiona asked, her voice catching.

“My word on it,” the rider told her, grasping Fiona’s hand and pulling her up. “Quickly, they must see us go between. ”

Talenth!

I have the image, I can see where to go,  the little queen told her calmly.