“Won’t you, wingleader?” Fiona asked, drawing out the last word meaningfully.
T’mar smiled at her, shaking his head. “You know that flying too early would strain their wings, make them unable to fly for any time at all.” He paused, adding slyly, “It would make for a bad mating flight for your queen if she couldn’t outfly her bronzes.”
“Talenth will outfly any bronze here!” Fiona retorted hotly. From her weyr, Talenth bugled challengingly in an echo of her rider’s declaration.
“I’m sure she will,” T’mar agreed in soothing tones. “Provided you take care not to overstrain her before her time.”
He stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, J’gerd and I are going to meet the traders for our first instruction in the stars.”
“Now?” she asked, frowning. “The sun will be up in a couple of hours.”
“Indeed,” he agreed. “But this is the time Azeez requested, so we go now.”
“Fly well,” Fiona said, reaching for the
“You’ll be flying your own dragon soon enough,” T’mar assured her. Then he grinned, “After all, you Turn four today!”
Fiona glanced at him in utter bafflement. T’mar gestured to Terin by the hearth. “Have you lost track of time?”
“Terin, what’s he talking about?” Fiona demanded in exasperation. T’mar smiled once more, turned about and, with a wave, departed into the Weyr Bowl.
“Well, he’s right,” Terin replied.
“Four?”
“Today is the eighth day of the seventh month in this Turn,” Terin said, sounding as though the date should be obvious to her Weyrwoman.
“My birth date!” Fiona exclaimed. “But I haven’t Turned, I’ve only been here for — ”
Terin interrupted her with a giggle, clearly thrilled with herself, exclaiming, “Ah, but
Fiona contented herself with a glower for her headwoman, as she tried to make sense of events. They had left Fort Weyr in the spring of the 508th Turn after Landing and gone back in time to the summer of the 498th Turn. When they had left, Fiona had . . . she paused to think through the numbers . . . five months and nine days to her birth date so she wouldn’t reach her fourteenth Turn until then, even though the date would be the third day of the twelfth month of this Turn — she’d celebrate her birthing date in the middle of winter!
Fiona groaned.
“Head hurts, doesn’t it?” Terin said with no sympathy. She moved the cauldron she was tending away from the hearth, dusted her hands on each other, and sauntered over toward Fiona, grabbing a stack of slates on the way.
“I’ve done all the figures,” Terin said as she sat beside Fiona, sliding a slate over. “I’ll Turn eleven on the fifteenth day of the twelfth month — twelve days after you — ”
“But you’ll Turn one in twelve days’ time,” Fiona interjected, finally seeing the humor in the situation.
“Exactly,” Terin agreed. “I’ve got the dates for the weyrlings — young and old — but I’m still working on getting the dates for the older riders.”
Fiona raised an eyebrow inquiringly.
“Well,” Terin continued, “I was thinking that we should celebrate both Turnings, just to keep things in perspective.”
“But you know, when we come back, we’ll still have this problem,” Fiona warned. “I’ll have nearly seventeen Turns by then.”
“And I’ll be as old as you are now,” Terin said in agreement. She smiled as she added, “I’ll be nearly a full Turn older than Xhinna!”
Xhinna! Fiona’s face fell. How would Xhinna react when they returned? What must she be feeling now?
“She knew I was going,” Terin said, guessing at the thoughts causing Fiona’s expression. “I’m not sure she thought it through, though. And . . .” Her words trailed off miserably.
“She expected to be with me,” Fiona completed grimly. “But the Weyrwoman said — ” She cut herself off with a brisk shake of her head. “Well, there’s nothing for it now. We’ve Turns to go before we return.”
“Only three days for them,” Terin objected.
“Turns for us,” Fiona persisted. “And that’s what matters at the moment.” She shook her head again to clear herself of future worries and glanced at the chart. “So, what sort of birthing day are you planning?”
“I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise,” Terin replied.
“Not for me,” Fiona said with a grin. “For you!”
Fiona took her “Turning day” celebration that evening in good part, dealing with all the taunts and gibes of the younger and older weyrlings with graceful aplomb, consoling herself all the while that Terin and the others would have their comeuppance later.
And, truth be told, the dinner and dessert were quite magnificent.
“I tried some of the hotter peppers that Mother Karina boasted about,” Terin said when Fiona asked about the particularly spicy bean and tomato dish that Terin served with the cornmeal rolls that the desert traders favored. “And cumin and a dash of nutmeg.” She frowned, gesturing toward the stores. “We’ll need more nutmeg.”
“Whatever you need, headwoman, we’ll get it for you,” T’mar declared, pouring out his third helping of the spicy bean dish. “This dish is worth every effort.”
Terin glowed with pride.
She glowed quite differently — red with embarrassment — twelve days later when Fiona, having banished her from the kitchen, presented Terin with
The days between the two “Turning days” had been hectic and full of activity for Fiona, Terin, and the dragonriders. Still, Fiona had managed to find the time not only to reinstitute the early morning weyrling glides from the queen’s ledge but also to inveigle T’mar and F’jian into turning their hands to cooking meals.
T’mar started with Terin’s bean recipe and added roast herdbeast marinated in a hot spicy sauce of his own invention. F’jian preferred to highlight garlic in his cooking, spicing up chicken breasts with a sweet and sour sauce that filled the entire Kitchen Cavern with its tantalizing scent.
For herself, Fiona concentrated on sweet juices, trying some of the newer fruits that the traders had brought in from Keroon and Ista — pungent fruits with an amazing tang. She mixed these with rice from Ista and produced a pudding that tantalized everyone. Of course, Fiona presented the dessert to Terin as baby food — and delighted as Igen’s headwoman turned nearly as red as the food in front of her.
After the meal, as the younger weyrlings happily cleaned up — mostly by gorging on the leftovers, Terin sidled up to Fiona and asked with a mischievous look, “And when is T’mar’s Turning Day?”
Fiona didn’t know and it took her several days and some gentle questioning to discover it, as T’mar firmly deflected every effort.
K’rall was her source. He had made great progress in his recovery in the three weeks since they’d arrived, and Fiona was now allowing him to talk for an hour each day — and K’rall, deprived of speech for so long, proved to be quite garrulous.
“So who’s next with their ‘Turning Day’?” he asked after Fiona had checked his injuries.
“I don’t know,” Fiona admitted. She cocked her head at him and smiled winningly. “Maybe you can help me . . .” and she explained her dilemma.
K’rall started to laugh, but gritted his teeth as a spasm of pain in his jaw and Fiona’s flashing eyes warned him that he was still recovering from his wound.
“Give me a slate and I’ll write down what I know,” K’rall said. Fiona didn’t have a spare slate with her but promised to return in the evening. After a few more polite remarks and an awkward silence, she rose to leave and continue her rounds of the convalescents.
“Is there anything else we can do for you?” she asked as she made to leave.
“Maybe you could,” K’rall told her thoughtfully. “I realize that I’m not supposed to use my jaw too much, but it’s been three sevendays now and my poor Seyorth is beyond restless. Is there something a rider and dragon could do for this Weyr?” he finished in a wistful tone.
