Dragonheart

Lilkamp, we trace our line back to those who roamed the ancient Earth, trading, searching, reading the ways of the world.”

“You have the blood of dragonriders in your veins,” Fiona guessed.

“Many traders do,” Azeez said with some pride. “Many riders who have lost their dragons take to wandering and find themselves becoming traders by choice.”

“We desert traders have a bit more,” Karina said, and Fiona could feel the other traders swell with pride. “We brought with us a talent different from that required to ride dragons.”

“You can see the future.” Fiona saw Karina’s look of surprise fade into an approving grin.

“You who travel back in time as though it were merely a road less traveled would see that, as with all roads, it can be mapped,” the old woman said.

That gave Fiona an idea. “Such an ability would be invaluable in predicting sandstorms,” she offered.

“It is good for trade all around,” Azeez admitted with a wicked grin.

“It was Tenniz who knew about the Weyrwoman,” Fiona said with certainty. She glanced at her new friend. The dark-haired, dark-eyed, dusky-skinned man — who looked so much like Tannaz that Fiona’s heart lurched in sorrow — met her eyes and nodded. “Do you know who she is?”

Tenniz shook his head. “Sometimes,” he began slowly, “when I feel the future, I get a sense of big events — like boulders or holes in the horizon.” He looked to see if Fiona followed the meaning of his words, then continued. “She stands out like a beacon, a light that goes on for Turns.”

“Is it hard to learn how to use your gift?” Fiona asked, already suspecting the answer.

“It is not enough to see the winds of time,” Tenniz said softly. “It is also important to know when to speak and when to stay silent.” Fiona absorbed this slowly. “Sometimes it must be very painful for you.”

A sound, near to but not quite a sob, burst from Tenniz.

“I think I can understand,” T’mar commented. “Impressing a dragon is a great gift, but it has a price, and sometimes that price is a terrible sadness.”

Tenniz glanced at the older dragonrider in surprise.

“I think that we all have gifts,” Fiona declared. “Sometimes not knowing the future is a greater gift than knowing the future.”

“It can be so,” Karina agreed. “Our lives are what we are willing to make of them. Our gifts are our own to cherish or despise.”

A sudden indrawn breath from Tenniz startled them all. Fiona glanced at him worriedly and found herself locked again by his gaze, knowing that he had seen the future once more and that it concerned her — and worried him.

“You are with the beacon,” Tenniz told her, his voice full of awe. “She is so  powerful, she can change everything. And you will change her.”

Tears dripped again from his eyes and his jaw trembled with fear. “You will face difficult choices. You will control all Pern. You are in the beginning and at the end.” His expression grew bleak. “I can see the beacon going out in your presence.”

“What does that  mean?” T’mar asked in alarm.

Tenniz could only shake his head, looking pityingly at Fiona.

“Thank you,” she said to him, gulping down her fears. “I would rather know than not.”

Tenniz dropped his eyes. For a moment Fiona felt a wild, uncontrolled panic — how could she destroy all Pern? And why would she destroy the one person who had helped her the most? Then she took a steadying breath and squared her shoulders, recalling her father’s proud gaze, the admonition of brave Tannaz, and Kindan’s joy when she Impressed Talenth — and Talenth herself.

“I shall do what is right,” she declared. “I am the daughter of Fort Hold ’s Lord, a queen rider, and I will  serve and save Pern!”

Fiona was drained, listless, when they returned to the Weyr less than a quarter of an hour later. She tried — and failed — to stifle a yawn.

“You should rest,” T’mar told her, glancing worriedly as she lurched to stay upright.

“I’ll rest when we’ve got everything prepared,” she said, forcing herself upright. “I am the Weyrwoman; it’s my duty.”

T’mar smiled affectionately at her. “Go rest for an hour,” he told her. “I can take care of the Weyr for that long.” He made a shooing gesture at her. “Go, get some rest.”

Fiona’s protests died on her lips as Terin trotted over to her and grabbed her by the hand. “You’re no good to us exhausted,” the younger weyrgirl declared.

“But — ”

“All you’ll do is drive the weyrlings to exhaust themselves in turn,” Terin told her. “And then we’ll all  be cranky.”

Sensing the futility of further protests and recognizing that she was too tired to argue anymore, Fiona let herself be led away by her small headwoman.

“I found some blankets but no sheets,” Terin said apologetically as she led Fiona up an incline and into a darkened weyr. “There are no charged glows — in fact, I think all the glows are dead — so we’ll have to see if we can find some wild glow to replace them.”

“Look for dank places, near slow waters,” Fiona told her.

“We’ll get to that later,” Terin said, although Fiona could tell from her tone that the youngster had filed the information away and would act on it accordingly. She led Fiona to a pile of blankets and sat her down. “No mattresses, either. We found enough cots for the injured riders, but we’ll have to get mattresses soon.”

“We make them from willow reeds,” Fiona said. “You’ll find them near the glow goo.”

“Shh!” Terin said, gently pushing Fiona down on the makeshift bed and covering Fiona with the topmost blanket. “You’re not as bad as some of the others, you know,” she commented absently as she tucked the blanket against Fiona. “Some of the riders practically fell asleep on their feet.”

“Is no one working?” Fiona asked, but fatigue overwhelmed concern and she couldn’t muster the energy to sit up again.

“Oh, no! I wouldn’t let that happen,” Terin told her primly. “But the ones who were always slow and dizzy seem to be the ones who are doing best here.” She cocked her head as if just realizing what she’d said. “That’s odd, isn’t it?”

Fiona could only nod, working her head against the rough blankets to find a more comfortable spot, her eyes already closed. Sleep came to her quickly.

“Fiona.” The voice that woke her much later was deep, male. T’mar. Fiona rolled over, ready to leap out of bed. T’mar held up a restraining hand. “The traders have been spotted; they’ll be here in about a quarter of an hour.”

Fiona sat up and wiped the sleep from her eyes.

“F’jian and some of the other weyrlings are getting up to help,” T’mar reported as he stood back to give her room. He quirked his eyebrows as he said, “They were all overcome with a similar exhaustion.”

Fiona found her shoes and slid her feet into them, then rustled her hair into a bunch and shoved it behind her as best she could without a mirror. She didn’t think the traders would take affront at her appearance, but she did  have her duty as Weyrwoman. She turned back in time to catch T’mar stifling a grin.

“I’m not surprised they’re exhausted,” Fiona said as she gestured for the wingleader to precede her. “We did a lot of work today, and none of them have ever gone between  before.”

“Ah, but not all were so fatigued,” T’mar told her. “In fact, the ones that took it the best were the same as the ones Tajen had remarked upon when he was Weyrlingmaster.”

“What about you?” Fiona asked, recalling Cisca’s concerns about the bronze rider. “Have you slept at all?”

Before T’mar could respond, his knees suddenly buckled, and she reached out to prop him up. Fiona helped him back to the makeshift bed and sat him down.

“Put your head between your knees,” she ordered, pushing down on his head to overcome his resistance. “Don’t sit up until I tell you.”

“But the traders — ”