Early Winter, 2772
It still wasn't enough. N'ell had been tracking Majima for two turns now. But he was a dangerous man. He had hurt her once before. She couldn't get too close.
She knew the names of some of his associates. She knew which of his allies had stood guard over that fateful hatching. She knew he had hurt another candidate. She knew his wher had eaten at least one (probably murdered) man. She knew there were whispers, of a criminal network capable of pulling off impossible, weyr shaking crimes. She had seen his allies talking to people who shouldn't have been at the weyr, passing things off in the shadows, having conversations they clearly didn't want overheard.
But it wasn't enough. No one had believed T'ir. No one had any more reason to believe N'ell. It was the word of a Fort-born rider and some flimsy evidence against his.
She needed more.
She was going to have to take a few risks.
N'ell sat on her bed with a map of the weyr, the weyrs and barracks of Majima's suspected allies marked with an "x". She had stolen the map from the Lower Caverns, along with a schedule of when the wings and squads trained. She had been sloppy last time she tried this. But she was older now. Smarter. She carried a knife and knew how to use it. She could fight back.
She wouldn't go for Majima directly. That had been careless. She'd target the weak link. But who...
This is foolish. What do you hope to accomplish? Pamith said. Her garnet had never approved of her plans, You cannot change the past. These are dangerous people. You could lose more than a finger this time.
Pamith didn't understand. Pamith never understood.
I know you disapprove. You don't have to help.
I won't, Pamith said coolly.
Both rider and dragon exercised the mental discipline they'd learned in weyrlinghood and blocked their thoughts from each other. They sat in sullen silence.
---
Dragon paws weren't meant for carefully gathering hides. Pamith's claw slipped and scratched one. She kept going anyway, pushing it all into one of N'ell's saddlebags. They were a little rumpled and a little battered. It didn't matter.
N'ell would never forgive Pamith.
That didn't matter either. N'ell would stay alive. The weyr would not fall to chaos.
That was what was important.
N'ell knew many names- Majima's associates, a wherhandler who already suspected him, the greenrider who'd fallen victim to his scheme. Without her riders' memories, Pamith knew only the ones she'd mentioned recently.
Of the names she knew, Schneizel seemed the best choice. He had been weyrleader once. Surely at some level, he cared for the continued well-being of the weyr. Hopefully he had at least some respect for the law. He had covered up Majima's crimes before. Pamith didn't presume to know the reason why.
She landed on his ledge. His dragon, Damocleth, was a lighter sleeper than N'ell. His eyes snapped open instantly.
Schneizel, we have company, he said, voice cool and calm, What may we do for you tonight, garnet?
The real question is, bronze- what can I do for you? Pamith replied, doing her best to sound equally untroubled, I have come into information I believe might be of interest to you. I am prepared to provide it. All I ask in exchange is that no harm will come to my rider.
"Your rider is N'ell, is she not? A young woman hailing from Fort," Schneizel asked, no trace of sleepiness in his voice, "Her brother is G'er of Garnet Neozeoth. Would this by any chance relate to the mystery eggs of two turns ago?"
He was sharp, Pamith noted. And unlike his rider, not distracted by his emotions. She nodded, It does.
"Then I believe we can come to terms. You're doing the right thing, Pamith. I promise we'll keep your rider safe. You can trust us."
---
Schneizel smiled in the light of his glow. So this was the answer, was it? Of course it was. Majima was a criminal. Schneizel should have known better than to trust him.
Schneizel didn't pretend to know his motives. Perhaps Majima had an unexpected idealistic streak and had believed he was saving the weyr. Doubtful- Majima didn't live in a Harper's tale- he'd have known from the start two garnet eggs would bring nothing but troubles.
More likely someone had paid him. Or he had simply wanted to see Schneizel out of the way.
Schneizel should have thought to question Pamith sooner. He'd spoken to N'ell before, when he realized her connection to Neozeoth. She hadn't trusted him. And now he knew the why's of that too.
She'd spoken to T'ir. Another of Majima's indiscretions. She knew of Schneizel's role there.
It was possible N'ell would need to be handled too. Schneizel wouldn't kill her- that was the sort of sloppiness that had started this tangle. He would discredit her or suggest she'd be happier at Fort with her family or somewhere peaceful and out of the way, like Semaca or Ista. It would be simple enough.
But that was a problem for another time.
For now...
N'ell had been a diligent garnetrider. She had names. Details. A medical report, written by a Stephen of Blue Carth.
Schneizel knew what N'ell didn't- who Majima really was. The child might not have been able to use this, but he could.
At long last, he would have his revenge.
Damocleth, tell Pamith to make sure N'ell is away from the weyr two days from today, Schneizel said. She was an unknown. He didn't want any liabilities when he made his play.
The Peacekeepers Age
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Compendium of the Arcane
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Arcane - Thread Conqueror
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Arcane - Thread Conqueror
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Late Winter, 2772
L'ir remembered Norell as a child growing into a young woman, all elbows and knees, fond of ruffly dresses and elaborate hairstyles. She'd been an apprentice Harper, he remembered vaguely, although he couldn't recall having heard her sing or play an instrument. L'ir had read High Reaches' report. But he refused to write anyone off as irredeemable for something they'd done when they were fourteen turns old. N'ell deserved a chance.
He knocked on her door and said, in a tone of voice perfected on Lotte, warm but firm, "Hello, N'ell. I'm coming in. Do you need a minute?"
He didn't give her a choice because she didn't have a choice.
A moment past in silence before N'ell answered, "No, now is fine. You can come in, L'ir. How's Byth?"
L'ir was a bit surprised she remembered his name and his dragon. He hadn't known N'ell even knew who he was.
"She's doing well," L'ir said, smiling fondly at the thought of his dragon as he opened the door. N'ell stood in the middle of the room, dressed in a plain tunic and pair of pants, not a ruffle in sight, hair tied back without particular care. She had a trunk shoved under her bed, apparently unopened. Her dragon sat out on her ledge, enjoying the afternoon sun.
"That's good," N'ell said. Her tone was polite, but there was something distant and fragile about it. She looked tired. L'ir wondered how long it had been since she slept.
"Can you ask Pamith to come in here too? I'd like to talk to you both together," L'ir said. Pain flashed across N'ell's eyes and L'ir's heart broke a little for them both. A dragon and rider were meant to be each other's lifelines.
I'm here, Pamith said. Her and N'ell seemed to avoid looking at each other as she came into the weyr.
"You two are partners," L'ir reminded N'ell, because he didn't like to see dragons and riders estranged, "For better or worse, you share a unique and special bond worth treasuring."
N'ell glared at Pamith for a moment. If any words passed between them, L'ir wasn't privy to the conversation.
"What do you want?" N'ell said, sounding more hostile than she had a moment before.
L'ir supposed it was best to get on with it for now. He'd have time enough to work with them. Maybe Byth could help. She didn't like it when riders and dragons fought either.
L'ir shifted a bit awkwardly. He didn't know how to say this without hurting N'ell's feelings. Maybe it would be best not to explain why at all, "I'm here to welcome you to the Healer's Wing. You'll be flying with us. I've brought you a copy of our practice schedule. On the days we don't have practice, you'll work in the infirmary."
"They said I'd still be expected to do my duty as a rider," N'ell said, clearly a bit confused, "But I'm not a Healer and I flew with Stormlight at High Reaches. I assumed I'd be assigned to Eclipse or Twilight."
L'ir took a deep breath and started to explain but N'ell spoke first.
"I suppose S'bor refused to have me," N'ell correctly guessed, "He never liked harpers. He thinks the egg theft was a harper conspiracy now, doesn't he?"
L'ir nodded.
"And G'er and Neozeoth are in Eclipse," N'ell hesitated over the words, clearly less comfortable with the idea.
"G'er asked not to be in a wing with you. Weyr leadership decided to respect his wishes," L'ir said, as gently as he could, because it was probably better that she learn it now. Her lips tightened and her fists clenched and she seemed to be trying not to cry. L'ir gave her a moment. She took a deep breath.
When she spoke, her voice was calm, "I suppose that's to be expected."
"We always have work for an extra pair of hands at Healer's," L'ir assured her, "It's a good wing. Do your best and you'll get along just fine."
N'ell nodded. He wasn't sure if she was really paying attention, "Thank you for coming to tell me, Wingsecond. I'll see you at practice."
L'ir supposed that was her way of telling him she needed a moment alone. He thought that had gone rather as well as could be expected.
---
Relli had wanted to come sooner. She'd wanted to see N'ell the moment she landed, to assure herself her daughter was home and safe and alive. But G'er had been hurting too, hurting and raging. He'd needed her first. Relli hadn't been able to stop him from demanding N'ell be placed in another wing, but at least he hadn't yet demanded she be thrown out of the weyr.
Essa had reminded Relli that N'ell hadn't asked for them yet, that she might still need time before facing her family. But she'd had time enough to sulk and stew. It had been long enough. Relli was coming, whether her daughter wanted it or not.
Relli didn't know what to think about the accusations. She didn't and wouldn't believe that N'ell had betrayed Fort Weyr or G'er on purpose. Relli hadn't been able to watch her children grow up as closely as she'd like at Fort, but she knew her daughter better than that. Whatever had happened, she still loved her.
She didn't know what she could do, if the rift between her daughter and her son never mended, except continue loving them both.
Relli knocked on N'ell's door, stomach knotted with unexpected nerves.
Will be happy see. Is family. Rellivask sit on until happy see if not, Relli's garnet assured her.
G'er forgive someday. Relsk will try help. No good stay mad forever, Relsk observed.
N'ell opened the door. Tears swelled in Relli's eyes. Her girl looked so grown up. She was a little taller, in a rider's knots. But what on Pern had she taken to doing with her hair?
Relli pulled N'ell into a hug. Her daughter collapsed crying in her arms, "Mom."
Relli pulled them inside and shut the door behind them. Her daughter had always had her pride. No one else needed to see.
---
N'ell hadn't been allowed back to her weyr at High Reaches to pack her own things. High Reaches had provided her with a trunk before she left. She'd left it sitting under the bed since she got to Fort, afraid to open it- she didn't know what they had packed or how roughly it had been stuffed inside.
N'ell was pleasantly surprised to find most of her things, only slightly worse for wear. Under her mother's watchful eye, she put them in the drawers that were now hers.
"That won't fit you anymore," her mom said, as N'ell pulled out one of the dresses she'd originally brought from Fort, turns ago, "I can save it for Onorel to grow into."
"It will be ten turns out of style by then," N'ell protested. N'ell didn't want her future teenaged sister to suffer through the inevitable mockery that would result. She folded it up and put it with the others. She didn't think any of the other weyrbrats were going to want hand-me-downs from a traitor.
"And now it's just clutter," her mom frowned.
As N'ell doubted she was going to be allowed out for any shopping trips, that seemed fairly irrelevant.
---
Gectusith swooped to a landing on N'ell's ledge. It was tighter than he expected. N'ell must have her a very small dragon.
Pamith is an average sized garnet, Essa said, A little bigger than Neozeoth. G'er's ledge is the same size as this- you just came in at a bad angle, Gect.
Gectusith huffed, Impossible. I am a peerless flier. Your family really does have the strangest predilection towards garnets, you know. It's quite troubling. Aren't they aware bronze is the superior color? N'ell should have known better.
He peered in to the weyr. Essa's sister had always been one of the few people besides Essa Gect liked. The revelation that N'ell had betrayed Fort didn't seem to phase him. He was thoroughly convinced she'd had a good reason for what she did.
Essa didn't know the whole story and didn't care to speculate. Her family had eventually forgiven her, for running away and abandoning them to their fate. She would find it in her to do the same for N'ell. N'ell was her sister. She couldn't imagine N'ell had somehow orchestrated the theft of Neozeoth's eggs, at fourteen turns old, over the course of a couple of sevendays at High Reaches. Essa believed whatever had happened had been an accident and she wouldn't tear her family apart for a teenage mistake.
I have arrived to once again grace you with my company, Norell, Gectusith announced, the not particularly large weyr feeling decidedly more cramped as he sprawled across it, as if trying to take up as much space as draconically possible, I hear you've Impressed to a thoroughly mediocre peasant of a dragon. I'm disappointed in you.
Essa found N'ell sitting on her bed, Relli braiding her hair.
"I hear you're getting old and lazy," N'ell said, giving the bronze an honest smile, "And is that a dull patch on your hide?"
Gect turned to looked and N'ell giggled.
Welcome home, Norell, the bronze said with obvious fondness.
N'ell smiled and Essa a little more uncertainly, "Hi, Essa."
"Is that really how you're going to greet your sister after all these turns?" Essa said, coming over to give N'ell a hug that thoroughly messed up her in progress braid, "Do you want to talk about it?"
N'ell took a deep breath and, without further prompting, began to tell them the full story.
---
Pamith had gone out for a flight. No one had said she was confined to their weyr, at least not that she could remember. Her rider wasn't eager to do her any favors at the moment.
It felt good to stretch her wings. To get away from her rider's anger and hatred. Alone in the sky, Pamith could almost pretend things were normal. Pamith could have kept flying forever.
But Pamith tried not to lie to herself. Sooner or later, she'd have to go back to the weyr that had become her and her rider's mutual prison. When her wings began to tire, she flew the long way home, rather than dropping between.
There was a strange bronze sitting on her ledge. N'ell leaned against his side, smiling at him with a fondness Pamith didn't think her rider had ever shown her. Two other human women sat besides them, illuminated by the dim glow light. One of the women looked like an older version of N'ell. The other was freckled, with slightly lighter hair. Pamith caught a glimpse of two whers inside, protected from the setting sun by the shadows of her weyr. The garnet gleamed slightly in the light of the weyr's glows and the other wher was a strange mixture of garnet and blue.
"You must Pamith," the woman who looked like an older N'ell said with a warm smile, "She's beautiful, N'ell."
So you are the garnet unworthy of being bonded to Norell, the bronze sniffed.
Am Rellivask. Is N'ell's family, the garnet wher said, bearing teeth, Pamith no make family sad. Rellivask not like that.
Hi Pamith! Will go mud sliding with me?
"Welcome to Fort, Pamith," the final woman said, voice carefully neutral, clearly reserving judgment.
N'ell turned away, refusing to address Pamith. Pamith hovered, keeping her voice calm and polite as she tried to take stock of the situation and figure out how to land with Gectusith hogging the entire ledge, It's nice to meet you all.
Gectusith seemed to realize her problem. He didn't move, Aren't garnets supposed to be agile?
Pamith could already tell she wasn't going to like this one.
---
When G'er was a boy, he had thought that world was a kind place, that people were good and life would turn out as it should, given time. That had been before Neozeoth lost her twin. Before G'er's father turned on him. Before G'er couldn't protect his dragon's eggs. Before Fort Weyr stood back and allowed Z'osh to rule. Before G'er learned his own sister had betrayed him.
His mother and sister had taken her side. He should have known better than to be disappointed. Everyone disappointed G'er in the end. Everyone but Neozeoth.
They've left, his dragon advised. They'd found a spot on the fireheights from where they could just see N'ell's weyr.
Neozeoth remembered the boy G'er had been only through the distorted lens of his memories. She still missed him. Her sunshine. Her guiding light. Her reason for fighting. It was hard to recognize the boy she'd Impressed to in the man her rider had become.
She had failed him somehow. He was becoming more like her every day. It was never what she'd wanted for him. She didn't know how to help him.
We don't have to do this tonight, you know, she said. And since when had she been the one to hold her rider back, to counsel ewareINR?
We do, G'er said. He swung up onto her back with an ease and strength he'd grown into over seven turns as a rider.
Neozeoth didn't argue any further.
N'ell sat alone on her dragon's ledge. G'er didn't know and didn't care where said dragon was. She wasn't a part of this.
G'er gave N'ell a nasty smile that she didn't recognize. There was a hard edge to his expression that was equally unfamiliar. She held up her glow and said, "I was wondering when you'd come."
"I don't forgive you," G'er said. Rellivask had told Neozeoth it was an accident. It didn't matter. Intentional or not, Neozeoth's eggs were still gone. And on top of it all, she'd stayed at High Reaches, the guilty weyr, until they forced her out.
"I know," N'ell said, sounding as cold and uncaring as ever. G'er didn't know why he'd expected her to give a forsk.
"Stay away from them," he warned. She didn't ask who he was referring to.
"They're my family too."
"You're poison. You'll only end up ruining them too."
"That's not for you to decide, G'er."
"After all you've taken from me, from us, you can't even let me have our family?"
"It doesn't work like that. They're not either of ours to own."
Neozeoth flew as close as she dared, sending a breeze ruffling through N'ell's hair. She glared at her through glowing red eyes, We know what you are. We know what you've done. We'll be watching you. Take a single step out of line and we will stop you. We will never forgive you. There is no redemption here.
The pair flew away without giving N'ell a chance to respond.
To their fading silhouette she said, as she walked back to her weyr and the dragon she hated almost as much as she hated herself, "I know."
L'ir remembered Norell as a child growing into a young woman, all elbows and knees, fond of ruffly dresses and elaborate hairstyles. She'd been an apprentice Harper, he remembered vaguely, although he couldn't recall having heard her sing or play an instrument. L'ir had read High Reaches' report. But he refused to write anyone off as irredeemable for something they'd done when they were fourteen turns old. N'ell deserved a chance.
He knocked on her door and said, in a tone of voice perfected on Lotte, warm but firm, "Hello, N'ell. I'm coming in. Do you need a minute?"
He didn't give her a choice because she didn't have a choice.
A moment past in silence before N'ell answered, "No, now is fine. You can come in, L'ir. How's Byth?"
L'ir was a bit surprised she remembered his name and his dragon. He hadn't known N'ell even knew who he was.
"She's doing well," L'ir said, smiling fondly at the thought of his dragon as he opened the door. N'ell stood in the middle of the room, dressed in a plain tunic and pair of pants, not a ruffle in sight, hair tied back without particular care. She had a trunk shoved under her bed, apparently unopened. Her dragon sat out on her ledge, enjoying the afternoon sun.
"That's good," N'ell said. Her tone was polite, but there was something distant and fragile about it. She looked tired. L'ir wondered how long it had been since she slept.
"Can you ask Pamith to come in here too? I'd like to talk to you both together," L'ir said. Pain flashed across N'ell's eyes and L'ir's heart broke a little for them both. A dragon and rider were meant to be each other's lifelines.
I'm here, Pamith said. Her and N'ell seemed to avoid looking at each other as she came into the weyr.
"You two are partners," L'ir reminded N'ell, because he didn't like to see dragons and riders estranged, "For better or worse, you share a unique and special bond worth treasuring."
N'ell glared at Pamith for a moment. If any words passed between them, L'ir wasn't privy to the conversation.
"What do you want?" N'ell said, sounding more hostile than she had a moment before.
L'ir supposed it was best to get on with it for now. He'd have time enough to work with them. Maybe Byth could help. She didn't like it when riders and dragons fought either.
L'ir shifted a bit awkwardly. He didn't know how to say this without hurting N'ell's feelings. Maybe it would be best not to explain why at all, "I'm here to welcome you to the Healer's Wing. You'll be flying with us. I've brought you a copy of our practice schedule. On the days we don't have practice, you'll work in the infirmary."
"They said I'd still be expected to do my duty as a rider," N'ell said, clearly a bit confused, "But I'm not a Healer and I flew with Stormlight at High Reaches. I assumed I'd be assigned to Eclipse or Twilight."
L'ir took a deep breath and started to explain but N'ell spoke first.
"I suppose S'bor refused to have me," N'ell correctly guessed, "He never liked harpers. He thinks the egg theft was a harper conspiracy now, doesn't he?"
L'ir nodded.
"And G'er and Neozeoth are in Eclipse," N'ell hesitated over the words, clearly less comfortable with the idea.
"G'er asked not to be in a wing with you. Weyr leadership decided to respect his wishes," L'ir said, as gently as he could, because it was probably better that she learn it now. Her lips tightened and her fists clenched and she seemed to be trying not to cry. L'ir gave her a moment. She took a deep breath.
When she spoke, her voice was calm, "I suppose that's to be expected."
"We always have work for an extra pair of hands at Healer's," L'ir assured her, "It's a good wing. Do your best and you'll get along just fine."
N'ell nodded. He wasn't sure if she was really paying attention, "Thank you for coming to tell me, Wingsecond. I'll see you at practice."
L'ir supposed that was her way of telling him she needed a moment alone. He thought that had gone rather as well as could be expected.
---
Relli had wanted to come sooner. She'd wanted to see N'ell the moment she landed, to assure herself her daughter was home and safe and alive. But G'er had been hurting too, hurting and raging. He'd needed her first. Relli hadn't been able to stop him from demanding N'ell be placed in another wing, but at least he hadn't yet demanded she be thrown out of the weyr.
Essa had reminded Relli that N'ell hadn't asked for them yet, that she might still need time before facing her family. But she'd had time enough to sulk and stew. It had been long enough. Relli was coming, whether her daughter wanted it or not.
Relli didn't know what to think about the accusations. She didn't and wouldn't believe that N'ell had betrayed Fort Weyr or G'er on purpose. Relli hadn't been able to watch her children grow up as closely as she'd like at Fort, but she knew her daughter better than that. Whatever had happened, she still loved her.
She didn't know what she could do, if the rift between her daughter and her son never mended, except continue loving them both.
Relli knocked on N'ell's door, stomach knotted with unexpected nerves.
Will be happy see. Is family. Rellivask sit on until happy see if not, Relli's garnet assured her.
G'er forgive someday. Relsk will try help. No good stay mad forever, Relsk observed.
N'ell opened the door. Tears swelled in Relli's eyes. Her girl looked so grown up. She was a little taller, in a rider's knots. But what on Pern had she taken to doing with her hair?
Relli pulled N'ell into a hug. Her daughter collapsed crying in her arms, "Mom."
Relli pulled them inside and shut the door behind them. Her daughter had always had her pride. No one else needed to see.
---
N'ell hadn't been allowed back to her weyr at High Reaches to pack her own things. High Reaches had provided her with a trunk before she left. She'd left it sitting under the bed since she got to Fort, afraid to open it- she didn't know what they had packed or how roughly it had been stuffed inside.
N'ell was pleasantly surprised to find most of her things, only slightly worse for wear. Under her mother's watchful eye, she put them in the drawers that were now hers.
"That won't fit you anymore," her mom said, as N'ell pulled out one of the dresses she'd originally brought from Fort, turns ago, "I can save it for Onorel to grow into."
"It will be ten turns out of style by then," N'ell protested. N'ell didn't want her future teenaged sister to suffer through the inevitable mockery that would result. She folded it up and put it with the others. She didn't think any of the other weyrbrats were going to want hand-me-downs from a traitor.
"And now it's just clutter," her mom frowned.
As N'ell doubted she was going to be allowed out for any shopping trips, that seemed fairly irrelevant.
---
Gectusith swooped to a landing on N'ell's ledge. It was tighter than he expected. N'ell must have her a very small dragon.
Pamith is an average sized garnet, Essa said, A little bigger than Neozeoth. G'er's ledge is the same size as this- you just came in at a bad angle, Gect.
Gectusith huffed, Impossible. I am a peerless flier. Your family really does have the strangest predilection towards garnets, you know. It's quite troubling. Aren't they aware bronze is the superior color? N'ell should have known better.
He peered in to the weyr. Essa's sister had always been one of the few people besides Essa Gect liked. The revelation that N'ell had betrayed Fort didn't seem to phase him. He was thoroughly convinced she'd had a good reason for what she did.
Essa didn't know the whole story and didn't care to speculate. Her family had eventually forgiven her, for running away and abandoning them to their fate. She would find it in her to do the same for N'ell. N'ell was her sister. She couldn't imagine N'ell had somehow orchestrated the theft of Neozeoth's eggs, at fourteen turns old, over the course of a couple of sevendays at High Reaches. Essa believed whatever had happened had been an accident and she wouldn't tear her family apart for a teenage mistake.
I have arrived to once again grace you with my company, Norell, Gectusith announced, the not particularly large weyr feeling decidedly more cramped as he sprawled across it, as if trying to take up as much space as draconically possible, I hear you've Impressed to a thoroughly mediocre peasant of a dragon. I'm disappointed in you.
Essa found N'ell sitting on her bed, Relli braiding her hair.
"I hear you're getting old and lazy," N'ell said, giving the bronze an honest smile, "And is that a dull patch on your hide?"
Gect turned to looked and N'ell giggled.
Welcome home, Norell, the bronze said with obvious fondness.
N'ell smiled and Essa a little more uncertainly, "Hi, Essa."
"Is that really how you're going to greet your sister after all these turns?" Essa said, coming over to give N'ell a hug that thoroughly messed up her in progress braid, "Do you want to talk about it?"
N'ell took a deep breath and, without further prompting, began to tell them the full story.
---
Pamith had gone out for a flight. No one had said she was confined to their weyr, at least not that she could remember. Her rider wasn't eager to do her any favors at the moment.
It felt good to stretch her wings. To get away from her rider's anger and hatred. Alone in the sky, Pamith could almost pretend things were normal. Pamith could have kept flying forever.
But Pamith tried not to lie to herself. Sooner or later, she'd have to go back to the weyr that had become her and her rider's mutual prison. When her wings began to tire, she flew the long way home, rather than dropping between.
There was a strange bronze sitting on her ledge. N'ell leaned against his side, smiling at him with a fondness Pamith didn't think her rider had ever shown her. Two other human women sat besides them, illuminated by the dim glow light. One of the women looked like an older version of N'ell. The other was freckled, with slightly lighter hair. Pamith caught a glimpse of two whers inside, protected from the setting sun by the shadows of her weyr. The garnet gleamed slightly in the light of the weyr's glows and the other wher was a strange mixture of garnet and blue.
"You must Pamith," the woman who looked like an older N'ell said with a warm smile, "She's beautiful, N'ell."
So you are the garnet unworthy of being bonded to Norell, the bronze sniffed.
Am Rellivask. Is N'ell's family, the garnet wher said, bearing teeth, Pamith no make family sad. Rellivask not like that.
Hi Pamith! Will go mud sliding with me?
"Welcome to Fort, Pamith," the final woman said, voice carefully neutral, clearly reserving judgment.
N'ell turned away, refusing to address Pamith. Pamith hovered, keeping her voice calm and polite as she tried to take stock of the situation and figure out how to land with Gectusith hogging the entire ledge, It's nice to meet you all.
Gectusith seemed to realize her problem. He didn't move, Aren't garnets supposed to be agile?
Pamith could already tell she wasn't going to like this one.
---
When G'er was a boy, he had thought that world was a kind place, that people were good and life would turn out as it should, given time. That had been before Neozeoth lost her twin. Before G'er's father turned on him. Before G'er couldn't protect his dragon's eggs. Before Fort Weyr stood back and allowed Z'osh to rule. Before G'er learned his own sister had betrayed him.
His mother and sister had taken her side. He should have known better than to be disappointed. Everyone disappointed G'er in the end. Everyone but Neozeoth.
They've left, his dragon advised. They'd found a spot on the fireheights from where they could just see N'ell's weyr.
Neozeoth remembered the boy G'er had been only through the distorted lens of his memories. She still missed him. Her sunshine. Her guiding light. Her reason for fighting. It was hard to recognize the boy she'd Impressed to in the man her rider had become.
She had failed him somehow. He was becoming more like her every day. It was never what she'd wanted for him. She didn't know how to help him.
We don't have to do this tonight, you know, she said. And since when had she been the one to hold her rider back, to counsel ewareINR?
We do, G'er said. He swung up onto her back with an ease and strength he'd grown into over seven turns as a rider.
Neozeoth didn't argue any further.
N'ell sat alone on her dragon's ledge. G'er didn't know and didn't care where said dragon was. She wasn't a part of this.
G'er gave N'ell a nasty smile that she didn't recognize. There was a hard edge to his expression that was equally unfamiliar. She held up her glow and said, "I was wondering when you'd come."
"I don't forgive you," G'er said. Rellivask had told Neozeoth it was an accident. It didn't matter. Intentional or not, Neozeoth's eggs were still gone. And on top of it all, she'd stayed at High Reaches, the guilty weyr, until they forced her out.
"I know," N'ell said, sounding as cold and uncaring as ever. G'er didn't know why he'd expected her to give a forsk.
"Stay away from them," he warned. She didn't ask who he was referring to.
"They're my family too."
"You're poison. You'll only end up ruining them too."
"That's not for you to decide, G'er."
"After all you've taken from me, from us, you can't even let me have our family?"
"It doesn't work like that. They're not either of ours to own."
Neozeoth flew as close as she dared, sending a breeze ruffling through N'ell's hair. She glared at her through glowing red eyes, We know what you are. We know what you've done. We'll be watching you. Take a single step out of line and we will stop you. We will never forgive you. There is no redemption here.
The pair flew away without giving N'ell a chance to respond.
To their fading silhouette she said, as she walked back to her weyr and the dragon she hated almost as much as she hated herself, "I know."
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Arcane - Thread Conqueror
- Posts: 9154
- Joined: Thu May 24, 2018 5:43 pm
Early Winter 2768, Ista Weyr
It had always been Kuzon and Jamil, from the time they were children traveling together on the roads to Jamil's Search and Kuzon's parents' bribery, through all the hatchings they'd stood at together. They had walked the same path, lives growing in parallel, for as long as Kuzon could remember. But as the brown approached, Kuzon knew, deep down in his heart, those days were about to end.
It had always been inevitable. Jamil was a future dragonrider of Pern. Kuzon wasn't. The marks his parents slipped the searchrider didn't make him a real candidate. All the marks in the world couldn't do that. And Kuzon would never want to hold Jamil back, just so they could be together.
Jamil would Impress and fight thread and do great things. Kuzon would do great things too, but they'd be different things. He'd become a Harper. Or maybe a Smith. Or a Leathercrafter. Or a cook. Or whatever-the-male-equivalent-of-headwoman was, so he could do all of that at once. He'd find some use for his many talents and support his best friend. Jamil's dragon would become his friend too and they'd all go flying together, all across Pern.
The dragon came closer. He didn't pause to look around, clearly knowing exactly who he wanted. He was a large brown, larger than the blue and the brown who'd hatched before him. He'd be a handsome one, Kuzon thought, when the egg goo was wiped off. Nothing but the best for Jamil.
His eyes- Rurosuth's eyes, a good, strong name for a good, strong brown- whirled with rainbows and Kuzon threw his arms around Jamil, "Congratulations. I'm so proud of you and happy for you. I can't wait to-"
A voice interrupted Kuzon, echoing soundlessly in his head, clear and loud as anything Kuzon had ever heard, I've been looking forward to meeting you, Kuzon. My name's Rurosuth, but I'm guessing you already know that.
Kuzon teared up. Jamil's dragon was so sweet. He'd wanted to meet Kuzon as much as Kuzon had looked forward to meeting him. Kuzon had always known his best friend's dragon would be part of his life too but he hadn't expected it to happen so fast. Or for it to feel like a missing piece of him, sliding into place.
"He's perfect, Jamil," Kuzon said, looking up at his friend in admiration, "He already knows my name!"
He must have seen it in Jamil's memories. What wonderful creatures dragons were and how strong their friendship must have been, for it to be one of the first things Rurosuth knew.
Of course I know your name, Kuzon. Same as you know mine. It's the most natural thing in the world, Rurosuth said, his voice patient and gentle, his gaze fond as it rested on Kuzon, You're shorter than I thought you'd be.
Jamil pictured Kuzon as taller than he really was? Probably because Kuzon was so important to him.
Kuzon let Jamil go reluctantly, because he needed to go tend his dragon now. Kuzon could see them again at the feast.
Rurosuth stepped closer and nudged Kuzon's knee, It's alright, Kuzon. You can touch me, you know. Talk to me too. I'm not going to disappear. We've got a lifetime together, you and me, from now on.
"That's exactly want I want. For us all to be friends forever," Kuzon said, but hesitated. Was it really alright? To touch Rurosuth before Jamil even had? It felt like an imposition.
Kuzon looked towards Jamil for some sign, some sort of permission. His friend, after a moment of thoughtful silence, stepped back and said, "...Go take care of your fucking dragon before he starves, moron."
Wait...his? What did Jamil mean his?
Couldn't Jamil hear Rurosuth too?
"But I'm not even really a candidate," Kuzon said, as he glanced helplessly between Jamil and Rurosuth.
Rurosuth snorted. Kuzon heard it but also felt it, somehow his bemusement and not his, a puff of air passing through his-not-his-nose at the same time it reached his human ears. A presence that was unfamiliar but also somehow belonged perfectly rifled through his memories. Clearly deciding to take matters into his own hands, Rurosuth nudged his head under Kuzon's arm as he spoke, That searchdragon must have been blind and deaf. Your mind's hardly a quiet one, Kuzon. I could hear your thoughts all the way from the other side of the sands. Made you an easy rider to find.
You're...mine? Kuzon asked, as he knelt to spread out Rurosuth's wings to dry, half-remembered lessons coming back to him.
Now you're getting it. Sure am, Kuzon. Or would you rather K'zon? Ku'n? Ko'n? Kuz'n? Rurosuth asked.
K'zon. I like that, Kuzon- K'zon- decided.
Rurosuth nodded approvingly, Then K'zon it is.
Rurosuth glanced at Jamil for the first time, before turning back to K'zon, I don't think I'm going to starve in the next few candlemarks, but your friend's not wrong that I could use a bite to eat. Jamil, you said he's called?
Yes, that's Jamil. My best friend, K'zon said, as he walked his new dragonet over to the waiting buckets of meat, And one of our future classmates.
There were still plenty of eggs left. Maybe their paths didn't have to diverge after all. Jamil could Impress besides him and they'd never need to be part. They could be weyrlings together and someday, wingmates.
But as egg after egg hatched and passed Jamil by, K'zon realized the horrible truth.
There was no other dragon waiting for Jamil. Because K'zon had stolen Rurosuth from him. K'zon, who had never been meant to be there; who had been standing too close to Jamil, between him and his future dragon; whose thoughts had apparently been too loud, loud enough to hear across the sands, loud enough drown out Jamil's.
As Rurosuth looked up at him, love and contentment in his eyes, K'zon knew he'd take this secret with him to the grave. It was wrong, but he was too selfish to give up Rurosuth's love.
K'zon knelt besides the hatchling and basked in stolen affection. Jamil would forgive him, even though he didn't deserve it, because he was a better man than K'zon would ever be. And K'zon would do his best to keep them all together, to let Jamil and Rurosuth have the scraps that remained of the bond that should have been.
It would have to be enough. K'zon didn't know what he'd do if they both left him alone in the dark.
(Jamil included with permission. Note that K'zon's narration is super unreliable and this is purely from his POV, so much of what he thinks is...very wrong.)
It had always been Kuzon and Jamil, from the time they were children traveling together on the roads to Jamil's Search and Kuzon's parents' bribery, through all the hatchings they'd stood at together. They had walked the same path, lives growing in parallel, for as long as Kuzon could remember. But as the brown approached, Kuzon knew, deep down in his heart, those days were about to end.
It had always been inevitable. Jamil was a future dragonrider of Pern. Kuzon wasn't. The marks his parents slipped the searchrider didn't make him a real candidate. All the marks in the world couldn't do that. And Kuzon would never want to hold Jamil back, just so they could be together.
Jamil would Impress and fight thread and do great things. Kuzon would do great things too, but they'd be different things. He'd become a Harper. Or maybe a Smith. Or a Leathercrafter. Or a cook. Or whatever-the-male-equivalent-of-headwoman was, so he could do all of that at once. He'd find some use for his many talents and support his best friend. Jamil's dragon would become his friend too and they'd all go flying together, all across Pern.
The dragon came closer. He didn't pause to look around, clearly knowing exactly who he wanted. He was a large brown, larger than the blue and the brown who'd hatched before him. He'd be a handsome one, Kuzon thought, when the egg goo was wiped off. Nothing but the best for Jamil.
His eyes- Rurosuth's eyes, a good, strong name for a good, strong brown- whirled with rainbows and Kuzon threw his arms around Jamil, "Congratulations. I'm so proud of you and happy for you. I can't wait to-"
A voice interrupted Kuzon, echoing soundlessly in his head, clear and loud as anything Kuzon had ever heard, I've been looking forward to meeting you, Kuzon. My name's Rurosuth, but I'm guessing you already know that.
Kuzon teared up. Jamil's dragon was so sweet. He'd wanted to meet Kuzon as much as Kuzon had looked forward to meeting him. Kuzon had always known his best friend's dragon would be part of his life too but he hadn't expected it to happen so fast. Or for it to feel like a missing piece of him, sliding into place.
"He's perfect, Jamil," Kuzon said, looking up at his friend in admiration, "He already knows my name!"
He must have seen it in Jamil's memories. What wonderful creatures dragons were and how strong their friendship must have been, for it to be one of the first things Rurosuth knew.
Of course I know your name, Kuzon. Same as you know mine. It's the most natural thing in the world, Rurosuth said, his voice patient and gentle, his gaze fond as it rested on Kuzon, You're shorter than I thought you'd be.
Jamil pictured Kuzon as taller than he really was? Probably because Kuzon was so important to him.
Kuzon let Jamil go reluctantly, because he needed to go tend his dragon now. Kuzon could see them again at the feast.
Rurosuth stepped closer and nudged Kuzon's knee, It's alright, Kuzon. You can touch me, you know. Talk to me too. I'm not going to disappear. We've got a lifetime together, you and me, from now on.
"That's exactly want I want. For us all to be friends forever," Kuzon said, but hesitated. Was it really alright? To touch Rurosuth before Jamil even had? It felt like an imposition.
Kuzon looked towards Jamil for some sign, some sort of permission. His friend, after a moment of thoughtful silence, stepped back and said, "...Go take care of your fucking dragon before he starves, moron."
Wait...his? What did Jamil mean his?
Couldn't Jamil hear Rurosuth too?
"But I'm not even really a candidate," Kuzon said, as he glanced helplessly between Jamil and Rurosuth.
Rurosuth snorted. Kuzon heard it but also felt it, somehow his bemusement and not his, a puff of air passing through his-not-his-nose at the same time it reached his human ears. A presence that was unfamiliar but also somehow belonged perfectly rifled through his memories. Clearly deciding to take matters into his own hands, Rurosuth nudged his head under Kuzon's arm as he spoke, That searchdragon must have been blind and deaf. Your mind's hardly a quiet one, Kuzon. I could hear your thoughts all the way from the other side of the sands. Made you an easy rider to find.
You're...mine? Kuzon asked, as he knelt to spread out Rurosuth's wings to dry, half-remembered lessons coming back to him.
Now you're getting it. Sure am, Kuzon. Or would you rather K'zon? Ku'n? Ko'n? Kuz'n? Rurosuth asked.
K'zon. I like that, Kuzon- K'zon- decided.
Rurosuth nodded approvingly, Then K'zon it is.
Rurosuth glanced at Jamil for the first time, before turning back to K'zon, I don't think I'm going to starve in the next few candlemarks, but your friend's not wrong that I could use a bite to eat. Jamil, you said he's called?
Yes, that's Jamil. My best friend, K'zon said, as he walked his new dragonet over to the waiting buckets of meat, And one of our future classmates.
There were still plenty of eggs left. Maybe their paths didn't have to diverge after all. Jamil could Impress besides him and they'd never need to be part. They could be weyrlings together and someday, wingmates.
But as egg after egg hatched and passed Jamil by, K'zon realized the horrible truth.
There was no other dragon waiting for Jamil. Because K'zon had stolen Rurosuth from him. K'zon, who had never been meant to be there; who had been standing too close to Jamil, between him and his future dragon; whose thoughts had apparently been too loud, loud enough to hear across the sands, loud enough drown out Jamil's.
As Rurosuth looked up at him, love and contentment in his eyes, K'zon knew he'd take this secret with him to the grave. It was wrong, but he was too selfish to give up Rurosuth's love.
K'zon knelt besides the hatchling and basked in stolen affection. Jamil would forgive him, even though he didn't deserve it, because he was a better man than K'zon would ever be. And K'zon would do his best to keep them all together, to let Jamil and Rurosuth have the scraps that remained of the bond that should have been.
It would have to be enough. K'zon didn't know what he'd do if they both left him alone in the dark.
(Jamil included with permission. Note that K'zon's narration is super unreliable and this is purely from his POV, so much of what he thinks is...very wrong.)
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Arcane - Thread Conqueror
- Posts: 9154
- Joined: Thu May 24, 2018 5:43 pm
Before
He hatched in a box of blankets, besides his green sister. He was warm and comfortable and, like most hatchlings, hungry. He let out a scream when he realized his mother and his fair weren't there to welcome them. A freckled creature he would later learn was a "girl" named "Rose" answered his cry instead. She smiled at him and offered him what he would later learn was a treat intended for the family's four legged pets. The treats were the most delicious, and only, thing he had ever tasted. When he finished, Rose offered another. He gorged himself until he was exhausted and satisfied.
Rose called him Rover. She fed him and cleaned him and oiled him. As him and his siblings grew more comfortable with their wings, they learned to carry messages and small packages between Rose and the other members of her human fair.
Rose lived with her elderly grandfather and her parents and aunts and uncles and a small parcel of other children. Rose's favorite playmate was her younger brother, Max. There were more humans living a few hour's journey away, but his people rarely made the journey there. Home was their own land, which they tended and made bloom.
Each day, the red star grew a little bigger in the sky. Rover was too young to know what that meant and had no elders to share their memories with him.
They were inside the building they had made their kitchen, cooking dinner and singing an old song, when the earth started to shake. They'd known the building wasn't perfect from the start, had laughed at their own indifferent construction efforts and promised someday to fix it or build a new one. They never had. And now it was coming down around them.
Laughter turned to screams, as they rushed to get out.
"Go, Rover! Go between! Get away!" Rose screamed.
Rover went, too panicked to put much thought into his coordinates. He stayed between too long and came out over an unfamiliar patch of jungle. It took him six hours to recover enough to fly again.
After he'd slept, he tried to go home, but all that remained of their hold was ruins, worn away by first the earthquake, then the ravages of time and abandonment. Everything around it looked changed, different. He couldn't find the town, which he'd never known very well, at all.
He wanted to see Rose again. He couldn't feel her mind through their bond. So he thought of her face and used it as his guidepost through between.
It was another too long trip through the cold and black, to somewhere strange and cold and grey. Rose was there, waiting for him, although not as he'd remembered. She was as old and wrinkled as her grandfather had once been. Her mind touched his once more, different but still the same in the ways that counted.
She was as surprised to see him as she'd been the day he hatched. Sixty years had passed for her, in those few days Rover was away. Their unfamiliar surroundings were a "weyr" called Telgar. She rode a giant firelizard she called a "dragon."
Max hadn't escaped the earthquake. Rose had mourned him the rest of her life. She'd never dreamed he might be saved, but Rover had somehow managed to travel through time. If he could go forward, he could go back again. He could tell Max to get out, before the earthquake hit. She just needed Rover to be brave and go between times again, one more time.
"I remember it like it was yesterday," she said, full of hope and determination, as she clipped a harness on him and attached a message, sending him a picture of their hold as it had once been, recalled in loving detail, "Give this to my grandfather. Make sure he knows that I'll always love him, Rover."
Then
Rover went between. It stretched around him, dark and cold and endless, seeming to last forever until it didn't. Until he came out below another sky, in an empty patch of jungle, where the red star shone so dim, he could barely make out its familiar glow. His bond to Rose snapped, as if suddenly cut in two. He let out a pained cry.
This wasn't right! This wasn't his home. He tried again. And again. To get back to his home, to go back to Rose's Telgar, to the jungle, to anywhere familiar, anywhere he belonged. A flicker of places and times and faces and dragons and flits and skies and red stars big and small. None of them were right. None of them were familiar. None of them was home.
He was so cold. So tired. The message had fallen out of his harness somewhere along the way. But he couldn't stop yet.
He had to find his way back. He had to find his way to her. To a time before everything was gone. Reality faded to black again.
Telgar again. Another strange, different Telgar. He had seen too many Telgars and none of them were the Telgar he was searching for.
He screamed into the empty sky.
Someone heard him. A human someone, female and young. Another girl. Older than his. Or younger? Was his human a young girl or an old woman?
She chased after him, her quick feet more rested than his weary wings. He popped between before she could catch him. He couldn't stop yet. This still wasn't his home.
Now
He was back in the jungle, surrounded by strangers. He didn't have enough strength left to fly, let alone to go between. Maybe one of them could help him. He screamed and chattered at the humans, trying to make them understand. And then one of them took his harness. He was too tired to fight.
But the harness was important, for reasons he couldn't remember.
The panic of it being gone gave him one more burst of strength.
He went back between.
When he came out, it was night, in another part of the jungle. Days passed. Weeks. Months. He didn't try to go between again. He didn't know if he had another trip in him. And he could never find his way to where he wanted to be.
He ate what he could find, after he was rested enough to fly. Some meals, he lost to scavengers. He escaped predators the long way, on his own wings.
And then there was a scream. A green dragon crashing. A girl on her back. He'd seen her before, on a different Telgar. She was out of time, like he was. He'd never met someone else who'd fallen out of their time before.
She offered him a treat. He took it. It tasted sweet on his tongue, so different from the food another girl had offered him long ago. When a stranger found them, he didn't flee. Where did he have to run?
He tried to tell her about his home and his human and the boy he was supposed to save, images of smiling faces and storerooms full of neatly labeled boxes and fields rich with crops, his Rose and her dragon at Telgar, but his telepathy came out jagged and wrong. Broken. She didn't understand. She called him BJ, which wasn't his name. He was still happy she was here. He lay in her bag and rested to the sound of human voices, their cadence and intonations different from his family's, but humans all the same.
He woke up when his greenrider asked him to show her the way through between. He understood just enough to know the general. "Back." She still thought she could back. He tried to tell her that it couldn't be done. That there was no way back. That she would be lost in time too. That he didn't want her to go away and leave him too. That he couldn't take her there. That she should stay away, with him, where at least the sun shone.
She wasn't his human and this wasn't his home. But he was so tired. The greenrider's bag was as good a place as he'd been in a long time. He could stay here until he found his way back home.
He'd have to search the long way now. He didn't want to get lost between again. This time wasn't his, but it was all he had.
He hatched in a box of blankets, besides his green sister. He was warm and comfortable and, like most hatchlings, hungry. He let out a scream when he realized his mother and his fair weren't there to welcome them. A freckled creature he would later learn was a "girl" named "Rose" answered his cry instead. She smiled at him and offered him what he would later learn was a treat intended for the family's four legged pets. The treats were the most delicious, and only, thing he had ever tasted. When he finished, Rose offered another. He gorged himself until he was exhausted and satisfied.
Rose called him Rover. She fed him and cleaned him and oiled him. As him and his siblings grew more comfortable with their wings, they learned to carry messages and small packages between Rose and the other members of her human fair.
Rose lived with her elderly grandfather and her parents and aunts and uncles and a small parcel of other children. Rose's favorite playmate was her younger brother, Max. There were more humans living a few hour's journey away, but his people rarely made the journey there. Home was their own land, which they tended and made bloom.
Each day, the red star grew a little bigger in the sky. Rover was too young to know what that meant and had no elders to share their memories with him.
They were inside the building they had made their kitchen, cooking dinner and singing an old song, when the earth started to shake. They'd known the building wasn't perfect from the start, had laughed at their own indifferent construction efforts and promised someday to fix it or build a new one. They never had. And now it was coming down around them.
Laughter turned to screams, as they rushed to get out.
"Go, Rover! Go between! Get away!" Rose screamed.
Rover went, too panicked to put much thought into his coordinates. He stayed between too long and came out over an unfamiliar patch of jungle. It took him six hours to recover enough to fly again.
After he'd slept, he tried to go home, but all that remained of their hold was ruins, worn away by first the earthquake, then the ravages of time and abandonment. Everything around it looked changed, different. He couldn't find the town, which he'd never known very well, at all.
He wanted to see Rose again. He couldn't feel her mind through their bond. So he thought of her face and used it as his guidepost through between.
It was another too long trip through the cold and black, to somewhere strange and cold and grey. Rose was there, waiting for him, although not as he'd remembered. She was as old and wrinkled as her grandfather had once been. Her mind touched his once more, different but still the same in the ways that counted.
She was as surprised to see him as she'd been the day he hatched. Sixty years had passed for her, in those few days Rover was away. Their unfamiliar surroundings were a "weyr" called Telgar. She rode a giant firelizard she called a "dragon."
Max hadn't escaped the earthquake. Rose had mourned him the rest of her life. She'd never dreamed he might be saved, but Rover had somehow managed to travel through time. If he could go forward, he could go back again. He could tell Max to get out, before the earthquake hit. She just needed Rover to be brave and go between times again, one more time.
"I remember it like it was yesterday," she said, full of hope and determination, as she clipped a harness on him and attached a message, sending him a picture of their hold as it had once been, recalled in loving detail, "Give this to my grandfather. Make sure he knows that I'll always love him, Rover."
Then
Rover went between. It stretched around him, dark and cold and endless, seeming to last forever until it didn't. Until he came out below another sky, in an empty patch of jungle, where the red star shone so dim, he could barely make out its familiar glow. His bond to Rose snapped, as if suddenly cut in two. He let out a pained cry.
This wasn't right! This wasn't his home. He tried again. And again. To get back to his home, to go back to Rose's Telgar, to the jungle, to anywhere familiar, anywhere he belonged. A flicker of places and times and faces and dragons and flits and skies and red stars big and small. None of them were right. None of them were familiar. None of them was home.
He was so cold. So tired. The message had fallen out of his harness somewhere along the way. But he couldn't stop yet.
He had to find his way back. He had to find his way to her. To a time before everything was gone. Reality faded to black again.
Telgar again. Another strange, different Telgar. He had seen too many Telgars and none of them were the Telgar he was searching for.
He screamed into the empty sky.
Someone heard him. A human someone, female and young. Another girl. Older than his. Or younger? Was his human a young girl or an old woman?
She chased after him, her quick feet more rested than his weary wings. He popped between before she could catch him. He couldn't stop yet. This still wasn't his home.
Now
He was back in the jungle, surrounded by strangers. He didn't have enough strength left to fly, let alone to go between. Maybe one of them could help him. He screamed and chattered at the humans, trying to make them understand. And then one of them took his harness. He was too tired to fight.
But the harness was important, for reasons he couldn't remember.
The panic of it being gone gave him one more burst of strength.
He went back between.
When he came out, it was night, in another part of the jungle. Days passed. Weeks. Months. He didn't try to go between again. He didn't know if he had another trip in him. And he could never find his way to where he wanted to be.
He ate what he could find, after he was rested enough to fly. Some meals, he lost to scavengers. He escaped predators the long way, on his own wings.
And then there was a scream. A green dragon crashing. A girl on her back. He'd seen her before, on a different Telgar. She was out of time, like he was. He'd never met someone else who'd fallen out of their time before.
She offered him a treat. He took it. It tasted sweet on his tongue, so different from the food another girl had offered him long ago. When a stranger found them, he didn't flee. Where did he have to run?
He tried to tell her about his home and his human and the boy he was supposed to save, images of smiling faces and storerooms full of neatly labeled boxes and fields rich with crops, his Rose and her dragon at Telgar, but his telepathy came out jagged and wrong. Broken. She didn't understand. She called him BJ, which wasn't his name. He was still happy she was here. He lay in her bag and rested to the sound of human voices, their cadence and intonations different from his family's, but humans all the same.
He woke up when his greenrider asked him to show her the way through between. He understood just enough to know the general. "Back." She still thought she could back. He tried to tell her that it couldn't be done. That there was no way back. That she would be lost in time too. That he didn't want her to go away and leave him too. That he couldn't take her there. That she should stay away, with him, where at least the sun shone.
She wasn't his human and this wasn't his home. But he was so tired. The greenrider's bag was as good a place as he'd been in a long time. He could stay here until he found his way back home.
He'd have to search the long way now. He didn't want to get lost between again. This time wasn't his, but it was all he had.
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Arcane - Thread Conqueror
- Posts: 9154
- Joined: Thu May 24, 2018 5:43 pm
Late Spring, 2774, Telgar Weyr, 6 Days Since World-Crossing Event
This wasn't Nat's Telgar Weyr. The bones of the place were the same- familiar mountain peeks in the distance, the shape of the caldera tantalizingly close to the one she'd known- but everything else was different. The paths she'd run so many times traced different curves. The outbuildings were all wrong.
And the people and dragons were the wrongest of all. The dragons were all too big, with women on bronzes and red and white dragons flying besides the others unremarked upon. Other-Telgar's weyrleader was a bluerider and nobody saw anything strange or wrong about that. The somewhat confused watchpair had never heard of a Natsuno or a Minamith or a Weyrleader I'lir of Bronze Belleroth or a Weyrwoman Corinda of Gold Simaxith.
Telgar Hold was wrong too. The runner stations was to the east, not the west like it had been on Nat's Pern, and the runners looked as confused as the watchrider when Nat tried to ask after her parents and brothers.
Nat landed on the ledge that almost matched her favorite spot on Telgar's fireheights and stretched, like she was about to take a long run. She put BJ's favorite bag on the ground and smiled at him, "We've got to go back to our world now. I hope you find your own way home. I left the last of my sugar plums in here for you. I know they're your favorites."
It took BJ a moment to understand what was happening, as Nat stepped away and strapped herself in tightly, before raising her fist to the sky and dropping it again, a gesture the wingleader would give on her world as he ordered the wing to take flight.
Minamith was already a few feet in the air when BJ started after them, struggling to catch up on small, firelizard wings, his cries abject panic reaching her through their nascent bond, as feelings of fear and warning flooded her mind.
Nat smiled a bit sadly at him, "I'm sorry, BJ. But we can't stay here. We'll come back someday if we can."
Nat closed her eyes and thought of home, picturing the Telgar Weyr of her own world. She gave the order. Minamith took a deep breath and they dove back into the cold, dark between.
Early Fall, 2774, Fort Weyr
If N'ell disappeared again, it would break her mother's heart. She had already lost her daughter once before. She still loved N'ell, even after everything. N'ell had never been the best of daughters. She owed it to her mother to stay put, right here, and wait the rest of her life if she had to.
But it had been over two turns since she was brought back to Fort in shame. Two turns, where days on end often passed with her speaking to no one but wingmates who were colleagues, not friends, at best and the dragon she wasn't sure she could ever find a way to forgive, even if sometimes she thought she might want to.
G'er hated her. Geroni didn't trust her. It didn't matter that she was back home, whe could no longer be a part of it.
After two turns, N'ell didn't see an end. Redemption had never been in the offering. The weyr would move on without her and forget her more every turn.
As the only trained harper in the Healer's Wing, N'ell had been charged with researching the time travelers and recording the details of their lives. She knew as much about them as anyone else in Fort did.
And in them she saw a way out.
N'ell didn't want to flee centuries into the future and leave behind everything she knew for a world she barely recognized. She wanted to see her family again. She hoped they'd want to see her again.
Ten turns should be enough- long enough for her crimes to fade into the past. For a fresh start.
In ten turns, all her family should still be alive. If they mourned her loss, they wouldn't be lost forever to between before they saw her again.
The time travelers had jumped between blindly, with coordinates muddled by fear or confusion or deliberate lies. N'ell would be more careful. She'd used her small bit of freedom to take starcrafter charts from the archive. She'd studied them, looked ahead to where the stars and the red star would be on a midwinter night in 2784. She'd practiced picturing in her head, until she could envision them almost as clearly as today's skies. She was a dragonrider. The stars would be the lodestar that guided her home.
And what if it's cloudy and your stars are nowhere in sight? Pamith asked, as N'ell packed up a small bag. N'ell could sense the turning of her mind and knew her garnet was considering calling for help, What if your mother gets the plague? What if one of your siblings is lost to threadfall?
N'ell knew better by now than to try to force her dragon to her will. None of the mental tricks she'd been taught to assert control had ever worked on Pamith.
If G'er dies in threadfall, he won't be any less dead because we stayed to rot here. There's nothing left for us in this time. If we do this and it works, we can get a fresh start. Both of us. Maybe we can figure out how to be a proper pair again, N'ell said, hooking the bag to Pamith's straps, I can't make you help me and if you want to sell me out again, I can't stop you. But I can ask you- Please stand with me this time. You're my dragon. Please choose to be my partner.
Pamith lowered her wing.
I'm sorry I went too far. I never meant to ruin your life, Pamith said. Maybe it was as close as they could ever come to absolution.
I know, N'ell said and maybe somewhere deep down she did.
I still think this is phenomenally stupid idea.
I know, N'ell said. She closed her eyes and pictured the stars and the cold bite of winter against her skin.
Early Summer, 2774, Telgar Weyr, 56 Days Since World-Crossing Event
Nat blinked her eyes against the summer sun and winced at piercing sound of BJ's shrieks in her ear. He flew in circles around her head, bombarding her with feelings of anger and fear.
She knew before she even looked down that all she'd see was other-Telgar, just as she had every other time she'd tried and failed over the past two months. Why could she never get this right?
She tried again and managed to move a grand total of two feet to her left.
And again, a few feet higher in the air.
The watchdragon below gave her a casual wave and motioned an invitation to come for klah when she was done.
I don't remember how we did it the first time, but this isn't it. It isn't so bad here, you know. Would it really be so terrible to stay?
Nat shook her head and blinked back the tears, I never even got to say goodbye. I'm sorry, Minamith. This was all my fault. I was the one who wanted to go.
I didn't have to say yes, Minamith said, And we don't have to give up now. We can keep trying. We've crossed between worlds. What's a few challenges to stop us now?
Nat sniffled and wiped her eyes.
Why don't we go ahead and land, have a cup of klah with the watchpair and then go back to Semaca and regroup? Minamith asked as she winged in for a landing. Once they came to rest, BJ dove back in their saddlebags, still chiding them all the while, We'll get it right eventually.
Early Fall, 2774, Fort Weyr
G'er sat on his ledge and watched the weyr he knew was N'ell's as he knit his latest pair of mittens. He'd first seen it a few sevendays ago- N'ell's weyr still alight, far later than she had any call to be awake. It bothered him, for reasons it took him awhile to put his finger on.
N'ell spent most of her off-duty candlemarks in her weyr. She had nothing but time on her hands. What kind of project couldn't she work on during the day?
His sister was up to something. Again.
Something different was happening tonight. He didn't usually see N'ell at all- just the faint green glowlight coming from her weyr. Tonight, she was standing on her ledge next to Pamith, a barely discernible silhouette against the glow. They'd been standing there for a while. Talking, maybe. Or arguing, more likely.
He knew from their mother that N'ell and Pamith were't exactly friends these days.
He tensed as Pamith crouched, in the familiar way of a dragon letting her rider climb aboard.
We need to stop them. Fly, now, G'er suddenly said.
This couldn't happen. Not again.
Please. Don't let them leave. I can't lose N'ell too, G'er said.
N'ell had betrayed him. She'd hurt him. And now she was going to go away. Like Essa. Like Nightengath. Like Neozeoth's eggs.
Like they'd all left his father, all those turns ago. Like his father had left them, when he never even tried to come after them.
Why did everyone he loved always run?
There wasn't enough time for G'er to put on Neozeoth's straps to fly with her. A dragon and rider could travel between in a heartbeat to anywhere on Pern. If N'ell disappeared, they might never find her again.
Neozeoth let G'er shadow her mind, with the ease of a pair bonded for nearly a decade. Her wings became his wings. His heartbeat his heartbeat. He saw through her eyes and felt the strain on her muscles as if they were his own.
Together, they shot across the sky like a comet. N'ell and Pamith had a head start. But Neozeoth had always been faster than other garnets. G'er believed she was fast enough.
She had to be.
Neozeoth cut the other garnet off with a roar. Pamith reared back in surprise.
Neozeoth spoke a single word with a voice that was a little bit hers and a little bit G'er's and a little bit both of them at once, No.
Early Fall, 2774, Semaca Weyr, 144 Days Since World-Crossing Event
Months passed. Summer turned to fall, although one southern season felt much like another, to Nat. Semaca was always warm and green, even in the depths of winter, if the Semacans could be believed.
Nat's visits to other-Telgar dropped from once a sevenday to once a fortnight to once a month, until she realized she no longer felt any particular urge to go at all. It wasn't her Telgar and if there was a way home, she wasn't going to find it there.
If there was a way home, she wasn't sure she was going to find it at all. She'd been on this world one-hundred-and-forty-four days. And she was still no closer to an answer.
Which was why it was time to try something else. She couldn't get to her home. But maybe she could get to BJ's. Following him had brought her across worlds the first time. R'mar had seen him too.
He was the catalyst.
If she could bring him home to his world, maybe someone there would be able to help her get back to hers.
"It's okay. You're coming with us this time," Nat said, as she strapped BJ's bag to Minamith. Anxiety radiated from the little firelizard. He always knew somehow when she was planning to try and leap, "We're going to get you back to your people."
Nat didn't have much to go on. BJ's memories came through shattered and jagged and the few pieces she could see rarely made sense. But her coordinates hadn't been perfect the first time either- Just him, as clearly as she could remember him from the brief moments she'd seen him. She picked the clearest she could find, from a moment when BJ had felt happy.
BJ stayed in his bag, whining in distress, as Minamith took off over the Semacan jungle and leaped between.
Nat held her breath against the cold and counted heartbeats.
One...Two...Three...
They came out somewhere Nat didn't recognize. Somewhere green and lush and summer-warm.
Was this it? Had they done it? It didn't seem like they'd been between long enough...But maybe BJ's world was easier to cross to.
There was only one way to find out. Minamith spread her wings and started flying, looking for signs of life.
Early Fall, 2774, Fort Weyr
Why, by the golden egg of Faranth, would you ever agree to something that reckless? Neozeoth asked, staring Pamith down with eyes that snapped with the fire of a born commander, as the two dragons stood on the ledge of G'er's weyr, I know she doesn't know better, but you should.
Because she asked me to, Pamith answered back, unruffled by her glare, It was the price of her forgiveness. We've been at odds a long time.
Neozeoth huffed and snapped her wings back, tail quivering a bit in echo of poison long faded, even as the rest of her was still and stiff as any soldier, You're not so special. Fighting with your rider's practically a rite of passage in this family. Just because your squabbles lasted longer than most doesn't given you license to do any fool thing your rider asks.
After another moment, her posture relaxed, just a touch, You should consider talking to Gectusith about N'ell. He knows her as well as anyone does. And never tell him I said this, but he's actually not bad with this sort of thing. He helped me and G'er a lot, back in our early days.
He's a pompous fool.
Oh undoubtedly, but he's family, Neozeoth said, with a draconic shrug.
Inside the weyr, N'ell and G'er cradled warm cups of cider, as N'ell finally told her brother everything. About Majima and what she'd done and all the things she did after, to try to make it right.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I cost Neozeoth her eggs. I'm sorry I couldn't stop Majima. I'm sorry I couldn't get you the vengeance you deserved," she said, absentmindedly stroking her once broken finger.
"Majima could have killed you," G'er said, voice shaking from suppressed emotion, "Why would you ever think that was what I wanted?"
"Because it was all my fault. I couldn't just come running back, before I'd found a way to fix it. Or at least found a way to make him pay."
"It was an accident," G'er said, as much to himself as to her, "Majima murdering you wouldn't have fixed anything."
N'ell looked away, down into the swirling rind of her cider, in awkward silence.
"Are you going to tell anyone?" N'ell asked instead. If he did, she doubted she'd ever be trusted loose in the records again, the little bit of freedom she'd regained gone just as quickly.
"I won't tell anyone," G'er said, "If you promise me you'll never try that again. No more running away. Not to the future or the past or High Reaches or Benden or Semaca next time things get hard. It never helps."
N'ell's arguments caught in her throat at the haunted look in G'er's eyes. She looked down meekly and said, "I won't run away again. Not anywhere. I promise."
"Thank you," G'er said, sagging with visible relief and exhaustion, "I'll talk to Tuckal. Tell her that as the main victim of your actions, I think you've been punished enough."
"Really? You will?"
"I will," G'er said, "Now can I have a hug?"
"I missed you," N'ell said, as she collapsed into her brother's arms.
"I missed you too."
Two pairs of garnet dragon eyes watched the siblings from the darkness.
Are we still a team again? Pamith asked, tentative but hopeful.
I think we will be, N'ell agreed, with a nod and a small hint of a smile.
???, Somewhere on the Southern Continent, ??? Days Since World-Crossing Event
Nat and Minamith were lost. They'd been flying all night, over endless fields of darkness, featureless and indistinguishable when viewed from this height in the darkness. To go between would mean giving up. If they had made the crossing, they knew nowhere in this world. The only place they could go was back to Semaca, where they'd began.
If this was BJ's home world, he didn't seem to recognize it either. He'd gone to sleep in his saddlebag, after he realized they were done going between and settled down.
Nat rubbed her eyes and Minamith stifled a yawn.
What if they weren't on BJ's world or other-Pern? What if this was somewhere new and uninhabited, were they might never be found? Had they just been lucky, to land on another Pern with people and dragons?
What if she'd gone into the future, like the time travelers had, to an era when Semaca had long since been abandoned?
Maybe they shouldn't have been so quick to flee.
There, Minamith, there! I see lights! Nat jolted up in sudden excitement, To our north, over there.
It was Semaca! It was still there! They hadn't crossed worlds or centuries again after all. Relief flooded over Nat, as Minamith came in for a somewhat shaky landing.
The garnethandler on duty looked them over with a quick, assessing gaze. Nat pleaded with him, "Please don't tell anyone we were out this late. They think we're enough trouble already."
He let out a huff and a shrug, turning around with a small hint of a smile, "I didn't see anything. Stay safe, dragonrider. The jungles are a different place at night."
His strangely spotted wher didn't say anything at all, simply stepping aside to let them pass.
No more blind trips between Nat said firmly, as she collapsed into her own bed, Which I guess means that's it. We're stuck here.
We're stuck here for now. If there's a way, I know you'll find it, Minamith assured her, But until you do, why not keep enjoying every minute of it? When will you ever again to be on an another Pern?
I love you, you know. If I had to be stuck in another world with anyone, I'm glad it's you.
I love you too. I always will.
This wasn't Nat's Telgar Weyr. The bones of the place were the same- familiar mountain peeks in the distance, the shape of the caldera tantalizingly close to the one she'd known- but everything else was different. The paths she'd run so many times traced different curves. The outbuildings were all wrong.
And the people and dragons were the wrongest of all. The dragons were all too big, with women on bronzes and red and white dragons flying besides the others unremarked upon. Other-Telgar's weyrleader was a bluerider and nobody saw anything strange or wrong about that. The somewhat confused watchpair had never heard of a Natsuno or a Minamith or a Weyrleader I'lir of Bronze Belleroth or a Weyrwoman Corinda of Gold Simaxith.
Telgar Hold was wrong too. The runner stations was to the east, not the west like it had been on Nat's Pern, and the runners looked as confused as the watchrider when Nat tried to ask after her parents and brothers.
Nat landed on the ledge that almost matched her favorite spot on Telgar's fireheights and stretched, like she was about to take a long run. She put BJ's favorite bag on the ground and smiled at him, "We've got to go back to our world now. I hope you find your own way home. I left the last of my sugar plums in here for you. I know they're your favorites."
It took BJ a moment to understand what was happening, as Nat stepped away and strapped herself in tightly, before raising her fist to the sky and dropping it again, a gesture the wingleader would give on her world as he ordered the wing to take flight.
Minamith was already a few feet in the air when BJ started after them, struggling to catch up on small, firelizard wings, his cries abject panic reaching her through their nascent bond, as feelings of fear and warning flooded her mind.
Nat smiled a bit sadly at him, "I'm sorry, BJ. But we can't stay here. We'll come back someday if we can."
Nat closed her eyes and thought of home, picturing the Telgar Weyr of her own world. She gave the order. Minamith took a deep breath and they dove back into the cold, dark between.
Early Fall, 2774, Fort Weyr
If N'ell disappeared again, it would break her mother's heart. She had already lost her daughter once before. She still loved N'ell, even after everything. N'ell had never been the best of daughters. She owed it to her mother to stay put, right here, and wait the rest of her life if she had to.
But it had been over two turns since she was brought back to Fort in shame. Two turns, where days on end often passed with her speaking to no one but wingmates who were colleagues, not friends, at best and the dragon she wasn't sure she could ever find a way to forgive, even if sometimes she thought she might want to.
G'er hated her. Geroni didn't trust her. It didn't matter that she was back home, whe could no longer be a part of it.
After two turns, N'ell didn't see an end. Redemption had never been in the offering. The weyr would move on without her and forget her more every turn.
As the only trained harper in the Healer's Wing, N'ell had been charged with researching the time travelers and recording the details of their lives. She knew as much about them as anyone else in Fort did.
And in them she saw a way out.
N'ell didn't want to flee centuries into the future and leave behind everything she knew for a world she barely recognized. She wanted to see her family again. She hoped they'd want to see her again.
Ten turns should be enough- long enough for her crimes to fade into the past. For a fresh start.
In ten turns, all her family should still be alive. If they mourned her loss, they wouldn't be lost forever to between before they saw her again.
The time travelers had jumped between blindly, with coordinates muddled by fear or confusion or deliberate lies. N'ell would be more careful. She'd used her small bit of freedom to take starcrafter charts from the archive. She'd studied them, looked ahead to where the stars and the red star would be on a midwinter night in 2784. She'd practiced picturing in her head, until she could envision them almost as clearly as today's skies. She was a dragonrider. The stars would be the lodestar that guided her home.
And what if it's cloudy and your stars are nowhere in sight? Pamith asked, as N'ell packed up a small bag. N'ell could sense the turning of her mind and knew her garnet was considering calling for help, What if your mother gets the plague? What if one of your siblings is lost to threadfall?
N'ell knew better by now than to try to force her dragon to her will. None of the mental tricks she'd been taught to assert control had ever worked on Pamith.
If G'er dies in threadfall, he won't be any less dead because we stayed to rot here. There's nothing left for us in this time. If we do this and it works, we can get a fresh start. Both of us. Maybe we can figure out how to be a proper pair again, N'ell said, hooking the bag to Pamith's straps, I can't make you help me and if you want to sell me out again, I can't stop you. But I can ask you- Please stand with me this time. You're my dragon. Please choose to be my partner.
Pamith lowered her wing.
I'm sorry I went too far. I never meant to ruin your life, Pamith said. Maybe it was as close as they could ever come to absolution.
I know, N'ell said and maybe somewhere deep down she did.
I still think this is phenomenally stupid idea.
I know, N'ell said. She closed her eyes and pictured the stars and the cold bite of winter against her skin.
Early Summer, 2774, Telgar Weyr, 56 Days Since World-Crossing Event
Nat blinked her eyes against the summer sun and winced at piercing sound of BJ's shrieks in her ear. He flew in circles around her head, bombarding her with feelings of anger and fear.
She knew before she even looked down that all she'd see was other-Telgar, just as she had every other time she'd tried and failed over the past two months. Why could she never get this right?
She tried again and managed to move a grand total of two feet to her left.
And again, a few feet higher in the air.
The watchdragon below gave her a casual wave and motioned an invitation to come for klah when she was done.
I don't remember how we did it the first time, but this isn't it. It isn't so bad here, you know. Would it really be so terrible to stay?
Nat shook her head and blinked back the tears, I never even got to say goodbye. I'm sorry, Minamith. This was all my fault. I was the one who wanted to go.
I didn't have to say yes, Minamith said, And we don't have to give up now. We can keep trying. We've crossed between worlds. What's a few challenges to stop us now?
Nat sniffled and wiped her eyes.
Why don't we go ahead and land, have a cup of klah with the watchpair and then go back to Semaca and regroup? Minamith asked as she winged in for a landing. Once they came to rest, BJ dove back in their saddlebags, still chiding them all the while, We'll get it right eventually.
Early Fall, 2774, Fort Weyr
G'er sat on his ledge and watched the weyr he knew was N'ell's as he knit his latest pair of mittens. He'd first seen it a few sevendays ago- N'ell's weyr still alight, far later than she had any call to be awake. It bothered him, for reasons it took him awhile to put his finger on.
N'ell spent most of her off-duty candlemarks in her weyr. She had nothing but time on her hands. What kind of project couldn't she work on during the day?
His sister was up to something. Again.
Something different was happening tonight. He didn't usually see N'ell at all- just the faint green glowlight coming from her weyr. Tonight, she was standing on her ledge next to Pamith, a barely discernible silhouette against the glow. They'd been standing there for a while. Talking, maybe. Or arguing, more likely.
He knew from their mother that N'ell and Pamith were't exactly friends these days.
He tensed as Pamith crouched, in the familiar way of a dragon letting her rider climb aboard.
We need to stop them. Fly, now, G'er suddenly said.
This couldn't happen. Not again.
Please. Don't let them leave. I can't lose N'ell too, G'er said.
N'ell had betrayed him. She'd hurt him. And now she was going to go away. Like Essa. Like Nightengath. Like Neozeoth's eggs.
Like they'd all left his father, all those turns ago. Like his father had left them, when he never even tried to come after them.
Why did everyone he loved always run?
There wasn't enough time for G'er to put on Neozeoth's straps to fly with her. A dragon and rider could travel between in a heartbeat to anywhere on Pern. If N'ell disappeared, they might never find her again.
Neozeoth let G'er shadow her mind, with the ease of a pair bonded for nearly a decade. Her wings became his wings. His heartbeat his heartbeat. He saw through her eyes and felt the strain on her muscles as if they were his own.
Together, they shot across the sky like a comet. N'ell and Pamith had a head start. But Neozeoth had always been faster than other garnets. G'er believed she was fast enough.
She had to be.
Neozeoth cut the other garnet off with a roar. Pamith reared back in surprise.
Neozeoth spoke a single word with a voice that was a little bit hers and a little bit G'er's and a little bit both of them at once, No.
Early Fall, 2774, Semaca Weyr, 144 Days Since World-Crossing Event
Months passed. Summer turned to fall, although one southern season felt much like another, to Nat. Semaca was always warm and green, even in the depths of winter, if the Semacans could be believed.
Nat's visits to other-Telgar dropped from once a sevenday to once a fortnight to once a month, until she realized she no longer felt any particular urge to go at all. It wasn't her Telgar and if there was a way home, she wasn't going to find it there.
If there was a way home, she wasn't sure she was going to find it at all. She'd been on this world one-hundred-and-forty-four days. And she was still no closer to an answer.
Which was why it was time to try something else. She couldn't get to her home. But maybe she could get to BJ's. Following him had brought her across worlds the first time. R'mar had seen him too.
He was the catalyst.
If she could bring him home to his world, maybe someone there would be able to help her get back to hers.
"It's okay. You're coming with us this time," Nat said, as she strapped BJ's bag to Minamith. Anxiety radiated from the little firelizard. He always knew somehow when she was planning to try and leap, "We're going to get you back to your people."
Nat didn't have much to go on. BJ's memories came through shattered and jagged and the few pieces she could see rarely made sense. But her coordinates hadn't been perfect the first time either- Just him, as clearly as she could remember him from the brief moments she'd seen him. She picked the clearest she could find, from a moment when BJ had felt happy.
BJ stayed in his bag, whining in distress, as Minamith took off over the Semacan jungle and leaped between.
Nat held her breath against the cold and counted heartbeats.
One...Two...Three...
They came out somewhere Nat didn't recognize. Somewhere green and lush and summer-warm.
Was this it? Had they done it? It didn't seem like they'd been between long enough...But maybe BJ's world was easier to cross to.
There was only one way to find out. Minamith spread her wings and started flying, looking for signs of life.
Early Fall, 2774, Fort Weyr
Why, by the golden egg of Faranth, would you ever agree to something that reckless? Neozeoth asked, staring Pamith down with eyes that snapped with the fire of a born commander, as the two dragons stood on the ledge of G'er's weyr, I know she doesn't know better, but you should.
Because she asked me to, Pamith answered back, unruffled by her glare, It was the price of her forgiveness. We've been at odds a long time.
Neozeoth huffed and snapped her wings back, tail quivering a bit in echo of poison long faded, even as the rest of her was still and stiff as any soldier, You're not so special. Fighting with your rider's practically a rite of passage in this family. Just because your squabbles lasted longer than most doesn't given you license to do any fool thing your rider asks.
After another moment, her posture relaxed, just a touch, You should consider talking to Gectusith about N'ell. He knows her as well as anyone does. And never tell him I said this, but he's actually not bad with this sort of thing. He helped me and G'er a lot, back in our early days.
He's a pompous fool.
Oh undoubtedly, but he's family, Neozeoth said, with a draconic shrug.
Inside the weyr, N'ell and G'er cradled warm cups of cider, as N'ell finally told her brother everything. About Majima and what she'd done and all the things she did after, to try to make it right.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I cost Neozeoth her eggs. I'm sorry I couldn't stop Majima. I'm sorry I couldn't get you the vengeance you deserved," she said, absentmindedly stroking her once broken finger.
"Majima could have killed you," G'er said, voice shaking from suppressed emotion, "Why would you ever think that was what I wanted?"
"Because it was all my fault. I couldn't just come running back, before I'd found a way to fix it. Or at least found a way to make him pay."
"It was an accident," G'er said, as much to himself as to her, "Majima murdering you wouldn't have fixed anything."
N'ell looked away, down into the swirling rind of her cider, in awkward silence.
"Are you going to tell anyone?" N'ell asked instead. If he did, she doubted she'd ever be trusted loose in the records again, the little bit of freedom she'd regained gone just as quickly.
"I won't tell anyone," G'er said, "If you promise me you'll never try that again. No more running away. Not to the future or the past or High Reaches or Benden or Semaca next time things get hard. It never helps."
N'ell's arguments caught in her throat at the haunted look in G'er's eyes. She looked down meekly and said, "I won't run away again. Not anywhere. I promise."
"Thank you," G'er said, sagging with visible relief and exhaustion, "I'll talk to Tuckal. Tell her that as the main victim of your actions, I think you've been punished enough."
"Really? You will?"
"I will," G'er said, "Now can I have a hug?"
"I missed you," N'ell said, as she collapsed into her brother's arms.
"I missed you too."
Two pairs of garnet dragon eyes watched the siblings from the darkness.
Are we still a team again? Pamith asked, tentative but hopeful.
I think we will be, N'ell agreed, with a nod and a small hint of a smile.
???, Somewhere on the Southern Continent, ??? Days Since World-Crossing Event
Nat and Minamith were lost. They'd been flying all night, over endless fields of darkness, featureless and indistinguishable when viewed from this height in the darkness. To go between would mean giving up. If they had made the crossing, they knew nowhere in this world. The only place they could go was back to Semaca, where they'd began.
If this was BJ's home world, he didn't seem to recognize it either. He'd gone to sleep in his saddlebag, after he realized they were done going between and settled down.
Nat rubbed her eyes and Minamith stifled a yawn.
What if they weren't on BJ's world or other-Pern? What if this was somewhere new and uninhabited, were they might never be found? Had they just been lucky, to land on another Pern with people and dragons?
What if she'd gone into the future, like the time travelers had, to an era when Semaca had long since been abandoned?
Maybe they shouldn't have been so quick to flee.
There, Minamith, there! I see lights! Nat jolted up in sudden excitement, To our north, over there.
It was Semaca! It was still there! They hadn't crossed worlds or centuries again after all. Relief flooded over Nat, as Minamith came in for a somewhat shaky landing.
The garnethandler on duty looked them over with a quick, assessing gaze. Nat pleaded with him, "Please don't tell anyone we were out this late. They think we're enough trouble already."
He let out a huff and a shrug, turning around with a small hint of a smile, "I didn't see anything. Stay safe, dragonrider. The jungles are a different place at night."
His strangely spotted wher didn't say anything at all, simply stepping aside to let them pass.
No more blind trips between Nat said firmly, as she collapsed into her own bed, Which I guess means that's it. We're stuck here.
We're stuck here for now. If there's a way, I know you'll find it, Minamith assured her, But until you do, why not keep enjoying every minute of it? When will you ever again to be on an another Pern?
I love you, you know. If I had to be stuck in another world with anyone, I'm glad it's you.
I love you too. I always will.
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Arcane - Thread Conqueror
- Posts: 9154
- Joined: Thu May 24, 2018 5:43 pm
Dear Daphne,
I imagine you’re surprised to receive this letter. At the hatching feast, you mentioned that you find regular correspondence clears the mind. I decided to try it. Your logical next question is surely why I am writing to you on so scant an acquaintance. I am an only child. My mother is illiterate and my father was never part of my life. I have few friends, none of whom expect to hear from me. Which leaves only you. You were the one who suggested this project so I would presume to ask: Will you be my correspondent?
My master and I left Fort Weyr this morning for a small cothold east of Ruatha, where we will work for a time. The local holder’s family reminds you of yours. The lord and lady have nine children between them, just one more than your family’s eight. Their eldest son is betrothed to the local harper’s daughter. A crafter’s knots carry almost as much prestige as a holder’s bloodline in a hold as small as this one.
The lady of the hold has already hinted that I might consider taking an interest in her third daughter. I do not think she fully understands that I am still an apprentice, not yet a healer in my own right. My master and I will have long since moved on by the time I walk the tables.
Master Iona doesn’t like to linger in one place for more than a few months. There are too many places on Pern in need of healers, She considers it the height of selfishness to stop moving for very long. I am at least a turn away from my journeyman’s knots. I do not know what I will do when I receive them. I find meaning in our work, and deeply appreciate all the opportunities Master Iona has given me, but will confess that I sometimes wish to live in a place long enough to call it home.
Regardless, I imagine Lady Peony’s interest would soon fade if she learned how humble my roots truly are. A drudge’s bastard son is no match for a lady of any hold, even a small one.
Yours,
Actaeon
Dear Daphne,
You do not know this about me yet, but I am a coward, which is why my last letter to you still sits at the bottom of my trunk, where this letter will surely join it in good time.
But let us not dwell on my courage or lack thereof. I have some news to share that I think you might find of interest.
Lady Peony’s third daughter is now betrothed to a wherhandler, causing great stir. Apparently in this hold, there is a rumor that in times of great peril, whers can lay dragon eggs.
I cannot imagine how such a tale began. The very idea is laughable. The anatomy of female whers could not possibly accommodate eggs large enough to grow a dragon.
But wouldn’t that be a sight to see if it was true?
Yours,
Actaeon
Dear Daphne,
When I was a boy, I used to dream that my father was a dragonrider or a Lord Holder or a mastercafter. Someone important, a relation that would elevate me by association. I was eight when I learned the truth. His name was Goff. He was a stablehand. He had known of my existence all my life and had simply never cared enough to take an interest. I stayed up all night crying into my pillow in disappointment.
As a man, I am glad my boyhood fantasies were wrong. I did know enough then to truly understand what I wished for. My mother would have been hard-pressed to refuse a lord holder or a dragonrider or even a humble journeyman healer. She deserved better than that.
I recognize this is not an amusing topic for correspondence, especially when writing to a lady of your caliber. My apologies if I have scandalized you. But we have been correspondents for some months now and I feel we are due to exchange stories of our past. You’d have to learn the truth eventually. Or at least you would if we were really correspondents.
Our latest posting is in a cothold near the border of High Reaches. Here, they believe a strong enough dragonrider can read and bend the mind of humans as well as dragons. I know that cannot be true or the one time we met, my thoughts would surely have made you blush. Which I suppose is also something I should not share with a lady. It is just as well you will never read this. I was never good at polite conversation.
Yours,
Actaeon
Dear Daphne,
While we are sharing stories of our pasts, I imagine you’re curious how I came to travel with Master Iona.
The hold where I grew up was small and poor. Only the Lord Holder lived richly, although I am sure even the garish trappings of his halls would seem shabby to your eyes. I always loved Harper songs, which assured me there was a better life to be found out there, somewhere else.
I taught myself to read from old records and our harper’s notes, with some help from our headwoman and the harper himself, because important people could read. And I wanted to be someone important.
When Master Iona came to stay in our hold, I was at her doorstep every day, always underfoot, begging to be set some small errand or another, desperate to prove my worth. I hoped that if I was helpful enough, she would take me with her when she went. I was more a nuisance than an aid, with my unskilled meddling, although I didn’t know it at the time. She took a liking to me anyway and when I asked to be her apprentice, she agreed.
I haven’t been home since that day. There is nothing for me there.
Today’s letter is not sent to you from the mountains north of Southern Boll. Our latest cothold has a rich history of sending candidates to the weyr and an equally rich history of those candidates bringing outlandish fabrications home. The people here believe dragons can move things with the power of their mind alone, as if they are not already impressive enough without ascribing them extranatural abilities.
Yours,
Actaeon
Dear Daphne,
You have surely gathered by now that I am deeply lonely. After all, I have maintained a turn’s long correspondence with a woman who is mostly a fragment of my imagination. These letters have somehow turned into something of a diary- an occupation I would once have deemed a colossal waste of time but have come to find comforting.
Master Iona assures me my training is nearly complete. Perhaps once I receive my journeyman’s knots, I should reconsider the prospect of marriage.
This month, we are stationed in the east, on a small seahold on cliffs overlooking the sea. I’ve never spent this much time around the ocean before. I walk on the beach every morning before sunrise. The sound of the waves is oddly soothing.
There is much to be done here. Life is hard and diets are poor, leading to the expected collection of maladies. I do not think I have ever been quite so occupied.
The locals tell stories of fish that can talk, that sometimes rescue sailors lost in a storm. Captain Jyklir swears it’s true and they saved his life when he was a boy. Which might be persuasive, if all the hold didn’t know of his penchant for drink and tall tales.
Yours,
Actaeon
Dear Daphne,
I realize I never told you what brought us to Fort in the first place. You have never received and will never receive these letters, but if you did, you surely note that Fort Weyr is not the sort of place we usually linger. After all, my imagined version of you is an intelligent woman. Weyrs have no shortage of healers and we go where we’re needed.
A few months before we came to Fort, we stayed at a small mining cothold. The hold’s three whers had contracted a nasty cough. One died before we arrived, another followed not long after and the third recovered for reasons unknown. Master Iona knew nothing of healing dragons and whers and was unable to help. She can be a bit gruff, but she has a soft heart beneath it all and the memory has troubled her ever since. We went to Fort Weyr, because it boasts some of the finest Dragonhealers on all of Pern and asked them to teach us the basics of the art.
I write to you from a runner station on the road between Fort and Ruatha. The runners are a surprisingly sensible group of people, with fewer implausible rumors than you’d expect. One runner, newly arrived from Fort Weyr, insisted dragons are able to time travel, a misapprehension you would surely correct with ease. Imagine the chaos that would wreak on the proper flow of history.
Yours,
Actaeon
Dear Daphne,
It appears I owe you and Runner Kima an apology. It turns out I was mistaken in my last note to you and the stories of time travel were not so incredulous after all. There are time traveling dragonriders at Fort. Allegedly. I confess to some continued skepticism, but the consensus among crafters and riders alike seems to be that it is all true. As they have examined the time travelers and I have not, it seems unwise for me to doubt their assessment.
Once again, I am sure you know the truth better than I. I have quite a few questions I would bid you to ask on my behalf, but as you will never read this letter, that is, obviously, impossible.
To make up for my mistake, I offer you this and beg your forgiveness: A trader told me today that whers can fly and go between, but only at night, because the air is denser. I can assure you the difference in density is minimal compared to the forces of gravity on an adult wher. I think he was just trying to convince me to buy a wher egg. I did not. I enjoy the sunlight far too much to accept the nocturnal life of a handler.
In other news, I have decided not to get married after all. I am not in love with anyone and still harbor enough illusions of romance to hope for better than marriage to a stranger.
In yet more news, I have decided to resume correspondence with my mother. Although she cannot read, a runner can carry and dictate my words. The solution seems so obvious now it seems a wonder I did not think of it sooner. Sometimes, I think I live too much in my own head.
I imagine she’ll be glad to hear from me, even after all these turns.
Yours,
Actaeon
Dear Daphne,
Congratulations on your Impression. I cannot say I’m surprised. I knew from the day I met you you were special. I recognize that by now the image of you in my mind is more fancy than fact, the inevitable result of a turn and a half of letters never sent, but I congratulate you nonetheless. One-sided as our friendship may be, I cannot help but feel we are friends, a fact that would surely come as a great surprise to you if you ever learned of it.
It seems we are both moving up in the world. At long last, I am a journeyman, an achievement you would surely congratulate me on with equal fervor were we correspondents in truth. As we are not, I will extend myself your congratulations on your behalf.
I also took the liberty of purchasing myself an excellent bottle of Benden red in your name and toasted to us both, alone in my room. I wish you every joy and many turns of good health.
If someday they sing harper songs of your name, I am sure every word will be true.
My mother was pleased to learn I am alive and well. She bids me to visit soon, if I can.
Yours,
Actaeon
Dear Daphne,
I imagine this will come as a surprise to you, but I have decided to accept my mother’s invitation and go home for a time. Writing these letters to you has indeed brought me clarity. You were right, all those months ago. Should we ever meet again, I’ll be sure to tell you as much.
I am a fully trained healer now. I was lucky to be given so many opportunities in my life. I should try to pay my good fortune back in kind. And it would be nice to see my mother again. I’m sure she worries about me.
I am not a Lord Holder or even a steward, so I do not know how much good I will be able to do. I want to try anyway.
In my home hold, they say some of the stars are really ships, forever sailing through the void. I am glad that one is not true. What a lonely existence that would be for their passengers.
Yours,
Actaeon
Dear Daphne,
How strange it was to return to my birthplace again, after all these turns. Everything feels smaller and shabbier than I remember it. Everything except my mother. She’s missed me, all these turns, and I’ve missed her, more than I knew.
My Lord’s niece, who was only a babe when last I left, has grown into an ambition to be a Healer herself. She is young, but clever and promising. I have agreed to instruct her, as best as I can, but she requires training beyond what I can provide, if she is to become a healer in truth. I am still a new journeyman for a student of my own.
I have decided to bring my mother with us. She deserves some turns of peace, somewhere better.
The children of the hold have a new story, of a tunnelsnake as large as a man that once lived beneath Fort Weyr. I do not understand what such a creature would eat or where it would live or how it would defy all the normal anatomical rules of tunnelsnakes. If you ever see such a creature, I advise you run first and record the occurrence for posterity later.
Yours,
Actaeon
Dear Daphne,
Somewhat to my surprise, Georgiana’s family agreed to entrust her to my tutelage. I have decided to take her to Fort Weyr. I learned much in my time there and the practical experience threadfall offers is a valuable one for a young healer. I imagine eventually, we will report to Healer Hall, to continue both our training, but for now, there is much for us both to learn in Fort Weyr.
My mother has decided to settle in Fort Hold, in a small house with a garden, that once belonged to the guard of an exiled lord. She seems content and that is all I can hope for.
I saw you today from across the weyrbowl. I recognize that it is quite unusual and probably improper in a thousand different ways to write to you about yourself, but you have been my confidant for so long, I find the habit difficult to break. You were walking with your dragon. Your Ogatath is, unsurprisingly, a handsome and robust example of his species. He is clearly well cared for and in excellent health. I never expected your dragon to be anything less. The you of my imagination is a highly diligent woman, after all.
You are as beautiful in riding leathers as in a gather dress, although I do not recall you being quite so muscular. It suits you.
It is strange to think you are this close. To know that I could simply walk across the weyr and introduce myself. I do not imagine you remember me, for all you have lived in my imagination all these turns.
As I told you when we began this correspondence, I have always been a coward when it comes to you.
Perhaps someday we’ll speak in truth.
Until then, yours,
Actaeon
P.S. Because I cannot leave you without a fresh absurdity- I heard a rumor today that there was once an ancient dragon plague and the last greens saved all of Pern by laying golden eggs. Their names, of course, were never recorded and the pass of the tale varies by the telling. Were there any truth to the story, the healers of the day would have written of such an unprecedented occurrence in exhaustive detail, to be shared with every new generation of apprentices into perpetuity. Terrible gossips, the whole lot of them.
I imagine you’re surprised to receive this letter. At the hatching feast, you mentioned that you find regular correspondence clears the mind. I decided to try it. Your logical next question is surely why I am writing to you on so scant an acquaintance. I am an only child. My mother is illiterate and my father was never part of my life. I have few friends, none of whom expect to hear from me. Which leaves only you. You were the one who suggested this project so I would presume to ask: Will you be my correspondent?
My master and I left Fort Weyr this morning for a small cothold east of Ruatha, where we will work for a time. The local holder’s family reminds you of yours. The lord and lady have nine children between them, just one more than your family’s eight. Their eldest son is betrothed to the local harper’s daughter. A crafter’s knots carry almost as much prestige as a holder’s bloodline in a hold as small as this one.
The lady of the hold has already hinted that I might consider taking an interest in her third daughter. I do not think she fully understands that I am still an apprentice, not yet a healer in my own right. My master and I will have long since moved on by the time I walk the tables.
Master Iona doesn’t like to linger in one place for more than a few months. There are too many places on Pern in need of healers, She considers it the height of selfishness to stop moving for very long. I am at least a turn away from my journeyman’s knots. I do not know what I will do when I receive them. I find meaning in our work, and deeply appreciate all the opportunities Master Iona has given me, but will confess that I sometimes wish to live in a place long enough to call it home.
Regardless, I imagine Lady Peony’s interest would soon fade if she learned how humble my roots truly are. A drudge’s bastard son is no match for a lady of any hold, even a small one.
Yours,
Actaeon
Dear Daphne,
You do not know this about me yet, but I am a coward, which is why my last letter to you still sits at the bottom of my trunk, where this letter will surely join it in good time.
But let us not dwell on my courage or lack thereof. I have some news to share that I think you might find of interest.
Lady Peony’s third daughter is now betrothed to a wherhandler, causing great stir. Apparently in this hold, there is a rumor that in times of great peril, whers can lay dragon eggs.
I cannot imagine how such a tale began. The very idea is laughable. The anatomy of female whers could not possibly accommodate eggs large enough to grow a dragon.
But wouldn’t that be a sight to see if it was true?
Yours,
Actaeon
Dear Daphne,
When I was a boy, I used to dream that my father was a dragonrider or a Lord Holder or a mastercafter. Someone important, a relation that would elevate me by association. I was eight when I learned the truth. His name was Goff. He was a stablehand. He had known of my existence all my life and had simply never cared enough to take an interest. I stayed up all night crying into my pillow in disappointment.
As a man, I am glad my boyhood fantasies were wrong. I did know enough then to truly understand what I wished for. My mother would have been hard-pressed to refuse a lord holder or a dragonrider or even a humble journeyman healer. She deserved better than that.
I recognize this is not an amusing topic for correspondence, especially when writing to a lady of your caliber. My apologies if I have scandalized you. But we have been correspondents for some months now and I feel we are due to exchange stories of our past. You’d have to learn the truth eventually. Or at least you would if we were really correspondents.
Our latest posting is in a cothold near the border of High Reaches. Here, they believe a strong enough dragonrider can read and bend the mind of humans as well as dragons. I know that cannot be true or the one time we met, my thoughts would surely have made you blush. Which I suppose is also something I should not share with a lady. It is just as well you will never read this. I was never good at polite conversation.
Yours,
Actaeon
Dear Daphne,
While we are sharing stories of our pasts, I imagine you’re curious how I came to travel with Master Iona.
The hold where I grew up was small and poor. Only the Lord Holder lived richly, although I am sure even the garish trappings of his halls would seem shabby to your eyes. I always loved Harper songs, which assured me there was a better life to be found out there, somewhere else.
I taught myself to read from old records and our harper’s notes, with some help from our headwoman and the harper himself, because important people could read. And I wanted to be someone important.
When Master Iona came to stay in our hold, I was at her doorstep every day, always underfoot, begging to be set some small errand or another, desperate to prove my worth. I hoped that if I was helpful enough, she would take me with her when she went. I was more a nuisance than an aid, with my unskilled meddling, although I didn’t know it at the time. She took a liking to me anyway and when I asked to be her apprentice, she agreed.
I haven’t been home since that day. There is nothing for me there.
Today’s letter is not sent to you from the mountains north of Southern Boll. Our latest cothold has a rich history of sending candidates to the weyr and an equally rich history of those candidates bringing outlandish fabrications home. The people here believe dragons can move things with the power of their mind alone, as if they are not already impressive enough without ascribing them extranatural abilities.
Yours,
Actaeon
Dear Daphne,
You have surely gathered by now that I am deeply lonely. After all, I have maintained a turn’s long correspondence with a woman who is mostly a fragment of my imagination. These letters have somehow turned into something of a diary- an occupation I would once have deemed a colossal waste of time but have come to find comforting.
Master Iona assures me my training is nearly complete. Perhaps once I receive my journeyman’s knots, I should reconsider the prospect of marriage.
This month, we are stationed in the east, on a small seahold on cliffs overlooking the sea. I’ve never spent this much time around the ocean before. I walk on the beach every morning before sunrise. The sound of the waves is oddly soothing.
There is much to be done here. Life is hard and diets are poor, leading to the expected collection of maladies. I do not think I have ever been quite so occupied.
The locals tell stories of fish that can talk, that sometimes rescue sailors lost in a storm. Captain Jyklir swears it’s true and they saved his life when he was a boy. Which might be persuasive, if all the hold didn’t know of his penchant for drink and tall tales.
Yours,
Actaeon
Dear Daphne,
I realize I never told you what brought us to Fort in the first place. You have never received and will never receive these letters, but if you did, you surely note that Fort Weyr is not the sort of place we usually linger. After all, my imagined version of you is an intelligent woman. Weyrs have no shortage of healers and we go where we’re needed.
A few months before we came to Fort, we stayed at a small mining cothold. The hold’s three whers had contracted a nasty cough. One died before we arrived, another followed not long after and the third recovered for reasons unknown. Master Iona knew nothing of healing dragons and whers and was unable to help. She can be a bit gruff, but she has a soft heart beneath it all and the memory has troubled her ever since. We went to Fort Weyr, because it boasts some of the finest Dragonhealers on all of Pern and asked them to teach us the basics of the art.
I write to you from a runner station on the road between Fort and Ruatha. The runners are a surprisingly sensible group of people, with fewer implausible rumors than you’d expect. One runner, newly arrived from Fort Weyr, insisted dragons are able to time travel, a misapprehension you would surely correct with ease. Imagine the chaos that would wreak on the proper flow of history.
Yours,
Actaeon
Dear Daphne,
It appears I owe you and Runner Kima an apology. It turns out I was mistaken in my last note to you and the stories of time travel were not so incredulous after all. There are time traveling dragonriders at Fort. Allegedly. I confess to some continued skepticism, but the consensus among crafters and riders alike seems to be that it is all true. As they have examined the time travelers and I have not, it seems unwise for me to doubt their assessment.
Once again, I am sure you know the truth better than I. I have quite a few questions I would bid you to ask on my behalf, but as you will never read this letter, that is, obviously, impossible.
To make up for my mistake, I offer you this and beg your forgiveness: A trader told me today that whers can fly and go between, but only at night, because the air is denser. I can assure you the difference in density is minimal compared to the forces of gravity on an adult wher. I think he was just trying to convince me to buy a wher egg. I did not. I enjoy the sunlight far too much to accept the nocturnal life of a handler.
In other news, I have decided not to get married after all. I am not in love with anyone and still harbor enough illusions of romance to hope for better than marriage to a stranger.
In yet more news, I have decided to resume correspondence with my mother. Although she cannot read, a runner can carry and dictate my words. The solution seems so obvious now it seems a wonder I did not think of it sooner. Sometimes, I think I live too much in my own head.
I imagine she’ll be glad to hear from me, even after all these turns.
Yours,
Actaeon
Dear Daphne,
Congratulations on your Impression. I cannot say I’m surprised. I knew from the day I met you you were special. I recognize that by now the image of you in my mind is more fancy than fact, the inevitable result of a turn and a half of letters never sent, but I congratulate you nonetheless. One-sided as our friendship may be, I cannot help but feel we are friends, a fact that would surely come as a great surprise to you if you ever learned of it.
It seems we are both moving up in the world. At long last, I am a journeyman, an achievement you would surely congratulate me on with equal fervor were we correspondents in truth. As we are not, I will extend myself your congratulations on your behalf.
I also took the liberty of purchasing myself an excellent bottle of Benden red in your name and toasted to us both, alone in my room. I wish you every joy and many turns of good health.
If someday they sing harper songs of your name, I am sure every word will be true.
My mother was pleased to learn I am alive and well. She bids me to visit soon, if I can.
Yours,
Actaeon
Dear Daphne,
I imagine this will come as a surprise to you, but I have decided to accept my mother’s invitation and go home for a time. Writing these letters to you has indeed brought me clarity. You were right, all those months ago. Should we ever meet again, I’ll be sure to tell you as much.
I am a fully trained healer now. I was lucky to be given so many opportunities in my life. I should try to pay my good fortune back in kind. And it would be nice to see my mother again. I’m sure she worries about me.
I am not a Lord Holder or even a steward, so I do not know how much good I will be able to do. I want to try anyway.
In my home hold, they say some of the stars are really ships, forever sailing through the void. I am glad that one is not true. What a lonely existence that would be for their passengers.
Yours,
Actaeon
Dear Daphne,
How strange it was to return to my birthplace again, after all these turns. Everything feels smaller and shabbier than I remember it. Everything except my mother. She’s missed me, all these turns, and I’ve missed her, more than I knew.
My Lord’s niece, who was only a babe when last I left, has grown into an ambition to be a Healer herself. She is young, but clever and promising. I have agreed to instruct her, as best as I can, but she requires training beyond what I can provide, if she is to become a healer in truth. I am still a new journeyman for a student of my own.
I have decided to bring my mother with us. She deserves some turns of peace, somewhere better.
The children of the hold have a new story, of a tunnelsnake as large as a man that once lived beneath Fort Weyr. I do not understand what such a creature would eat or where it would live or how it would defy all the normal anatomical rules of tunnelsnakes. If you ever see such a creature, I advise you run first and record the occurrence for posterity later.
Yours,
Actaeon
Dear Daphne,
Somewhat to my surprise, Georgiana’s family agreed to entrust her to my tutelage. I have decided to take her to Fort Weyr. I learned much in my time there and the practical experience threadfall offers is a valuable one for a young healer. I imagine eventually, we will report to Healer Hall, to continue both our training, but for now, there is much for us both to learn in Fort Weyr.
My mother has decided to settle in Fort Hold, in a small house with a garden, that once belonged to the guard of an exiled lord. She seems content and that is all I can hope for.
I saw you today from across the weyrbowl. I recognize that it is quite unusual and probably improper in a thousand different ways to write to you about yourself, but you have been my confidant for so long, I find the habit difficult to break. You were walking with your dragon. Your Ogatath is, unsurprisingly, a handsome and robust example of his species. He is clearly well cared for and in excellent health. I never expected your dragon to be anything less. The you of my imagination is a highly diligent woman, after all.
You are as beautiful in riding leathers as in a gather dress, although I do not recall you being quite so muscular. It suits you.
It is strange to think you are this close. To know that I could simply walk across the weyr and introduce myself. I do not imagine you remember me, for all you have lived in my imagination all these turns.
As I told you when we began this correspondence, I have always been a coward when it comes to you.
Perhaps someday we’ll speak in truth.
Until then, yours,
Actaeon
P.S. Because I cannot leave you without a fresh absurdity- I heard a rumor today that there was once an ancient dragon plague and the last greens saved all of Pern by laying golden eggs. Their names, of course, were never recorded and the pass of the tale varies by the telling. Were there any truth to the story, the healers of the day would have written of such an unprecedented occurrence in exhaustive detail, to be shared with every new generation of apprentices into perpetuity. Terrible gossips, the whole lot of them.
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Arcane - Thread Conqueror
- Posts: 9154
- Joined: Thu May 24, 2018 5:43 pm
Late Summer 2765, Fort Weyr (Repost from the old site)
Geromal was so focused at NOT looking at the half-naked weyrling, he didn't see the Red Comet hatch. But he couldn't miss the streaks of red dashing across the sand. They didn't stumble or hesitate, the way normal hatchlings did. They just ran, not a sparing a glance for candidate or rider, until the first crashed into a girl Geromal didn't know. The second-the second was about to crash into...
Her eyes met his and he saw himself, standing there. A small, pale boy streaked with blood, white robe hanging a bit askew, hair a mess, eyes wide with fear. He felt the sand cushioning his feet as he ran. It didn't feel burning hot to him. It felt right and perfect, as right as the rush of wind running across his hide and over his wings, as right as the mind before him, a mind as welcoming and open as the sky that awaited them...
For the second time that day, Geromal fell to the ground, taking another candidate down with him. As he rubbed the sand out of his eyes (again), he heard yet another draconic voice, this one deep and echoing, resounding with power.
I am Neozeoth, and I will bring revolution to this world!
Great. Another dragon who couldn't control her volume. She got off him in a single, elegant motion, shaking the sand off her wings with a few effortless flaps. The look in her whirling eyes was cool and assessing and Geromal had had enough.
"It's not right you know, raising people's hopes like that by sending your thoughts to every person in the weyr! And jumping on people's not very nice. These sands are forsking hot you know!"
Well, how was I supposed to know you were going to fall? I was expecting someone...taller, she replied with a flick of her tail, We will have to work on your strength, I suppose.
She circled around him, running her eyes up and down his form critically. His hair needed to be trimmed. His clothes needed a proper washing and why on Pern was he covered in scratches? Was her rider incapable of winning a fight on his own? His build was slender, with no visible musculature...Yes, strength training was definitely called for...
Geromal raised his hands to his ears trying to block off the thoughts flooding his mind. What was going on? And why was he so sharding hungry? And what was he doing now? Was he slow of mind on top of it all?
"Okay, okay. I get it! I'm a failure of a candidate, happy?" he said far too loudly, trying to drown out the voice in his head, "You can go now, go find your rider."
Yes, definitely not the brightest...I suppose I will be making all the decisions around here...The boy cleared his throat. Ah right. He had asked her something
You are Geromal, yes? Then I believe I am in precisely the right place. Proper protocol would be to feed me first and direct all inquiries to me while I dine.
Geromal stared at Neozeoth in shock. This was his dragon? THIS was his dragon! He let out a loud whoop and jumped in the air as high as he could. Sure, she kind of hated him and sure she might someday lay eggs, but she was the fastest hatchling he'd ever seen! And wasn't that exactly what he'd wanted?
"Food coming right up, Neozeoth! I'm going to be a great rider for you. You'll see," he turned to Rait sheepishly as he started to shake the sand out of his robe, "Uh...sorry about that...Any chance you could...not mention this? Maybe the sand is good luck after all!"
Geromal accepted another candidate's hand up with an easy grin, "Thanks, Rait. I appreciate it. Hope you get a good one too!"
He heard another egg cracking, but didn't pay it any mind. How could he care about eggs when he was a forsking rider? It wasn't his egg, would never be his egg again, because he had a dragon. Neozeoth. Who suddenly jumped in front of him with a roar, orders as firm as any Weyrleader's echoing through his mind, freezing him in place even as he felt the echoes of her aggression and protectiveness. It was just like when she was in the egg and he'd run away from the crazy gold. Faranth he had an awesome dragon!
Geromal got vague flashes from her mind of some weird purple-ish dragon attacking a kid. And then Neozeoth stood down, snorting in irritation as she glared at the violent one, whose rider was currently restraining it, eyes whirling red, Of course, sweetheart. What business is it of mine if you're mauling human children? It will not be me who brings shame to our weyr.
"Thank you, Neozeoth," Geromal said, his breath catching as he glanced over at the victim. So much blood. That brown didn't seem so bad now...He tried to give his garnet a hug, but she dodged him nimbly.
You ought to reserve your physical affection for when nobody is watching, lest you look like a fool.
That hurt. He had the coolest dragon, which was good, but she didn't seem to like him very much. Was she regretting choosing him already?
He turned to Rait, to make sure he was okay, but his eyes were wide with pain and horror and he said something G'er didn't expect. He wrapped an arm around the other candidate, helping to support him, "No. You were the one who said to stay. That you wanted to find your dragon. Don't give up now! There's still...four eggs left. I think. I'm not that good at counting yet...Neozeoth, can you get us a Healer over here? I'll get you fed as soon as Rait gets some help. And...I wouldn't mind a bit of numbweed either."
The garnet nodded and sent out the call, Very good, Geromal. The wounded must always come first in times of battle.
"I'm a rider now. Call me G'er."
Geromal was so focused at NOT looking at the half-naked weyrling, he didn't see the Red Comet hatch. But he couldn't miss the streaks of red dashing across the sand. They didn't stumble or hesitate, the way normal hatchlings did. They just ran, not a sparing a glance for candidate or rider, until the first crashed into a girl Geromal didn't know. The second-the second was about to crash into...
Her eyes met his and he saw himself, standing there. A small, pale boy streaked with blood, white robe hanging a bit askew, hair a mess, eyes wide with fear. He felt the sand cushioning his feet as he ran. It didn't feel burning hot to him. It felt right and perfect, as right as the rush of wind running across his hide and over his wings, as right as the mind before him, a mind as welcoming and open as the sky that awaited them...
For the second time that day, Geromal fell to the ground, taking another candidate down with him. As he rubbed the sand out of his eyes (again), he heard yet another draconic voice, this one deep and echoing, resounding with power.
I am Neozeoth, and I will bring revolution to this world!
Great. Another dragon who couldn't control her volume. She got off him in a single, elegant motion, shaking the sand off her wings with a few effortless flaps. The look in her whirling eyes was cool and assessing and Geromal had had enough.
"It's not right you know, raising people's hopes like that by sending your thoughts to every person in the weyr! And jumping on people's not very nice. These sands are forsking hot you know!"
Well, how was I supposed to know you were going to fall? I was expecting someone...taller, she replied with a flick of her tail, We will have to work on your strength, I suppose.
She circled around him, running her eyes up and down his form critically. His hair needed to be trimmed. His clothes needed a proper washing and why on Pern was he covered in scratches? Was her rider incapable of winning a fight on his own? His build was slender, with no visible musculature...Yes, strength training was definitely called for...
Geromal raised his hands to his ears trying to block off the thoughts flooding his mind. What was going on? And why was he so sharding hungry? And what was he doing now? Was he slow of mind on top of it all?
"Okay, okay. I get it! I'm a failure of a candidate, happy?" he said far too loudly, trying to drown out the voice in his head, "You can go now, go find your rider."
Yes, definitely not the brightest...I suppose I will be making all the decisions around here...The boy cleared his throat. Ah right. He had asked her something
You are Geromal, yes? Then I believe I am in precisely the right place. Proper protocol would be to feed me first and direct all inquiries to me while I dine.
Geromal stared at Neozeoth in shock. This was his dragon? THIS was his dragon! He let out a loud whoop and jumped in the air as high as he could. Sure, she kind of hated him and sure she might someday lay eggs, but she was the fastest hatchling he'd ever seen! And wasn't that exactly what he'd wanted?
"Food coming right up, Neozeoth! I'm going to be a great rider for you. You'll see," he turned to Rait sheepishly as he started to shake the sand out of his robe, "Uh...sorry about that...Any chance you could...not mention this? Maybe the sand is good luck after all!"
Geromal accepted another candidate's hand up with an easy grin, "Thanks, Rait. I appreciate it. Hope you get a good one too!"
He heard another egg cracking, but didn't pay it any mind. How could he care about eggs when he was a forsking rider? It wasn't his egg, would never be his egg again, because he had a dragon. Neozeoth. Who suddenly jumped in front of him with a roar, orders as firm as any Weyrleader's echoing through his mind, freezing him in place even as he felt the echoes of her aggression and protectiveness. It was just like when she was in the egg and he'd run away from the crazy gold. Faranth he had an awesome dragon!
Geromal got vague flashes from her mind of some weird purple-ish dragon attacking a kid. And then Neozeoth stood down, snorting in irritation as she glared at the violent one, whose rider was currently restraining it, eyes whirling red, Of course, sweetheart. What business is it of mine if you're mauling human children? It will not be me who brings shame to our weyr.
"Thank you, Neozeoth," Geromal said, his breath catching as he glanced over at the victim. So much blood. That brown didn't seem so bad now...He tried to give his garnet a hug, but she dodged him nimbly.
You ought to reserve your physical affection for when nobody is watching, lest you look like a fool.
That hurt. He had the coolest dragon, which was good, but she didn't seem to like him very much. Was she regretting choosing him already?
He turned to Rait, to make sure he was okay, but his eyes were wide with pain and horror and he said something G'er didn't expect. He wrapped an arm around the other candidate, helping to support him, "No. You were the one who said to stay. That you wanted to find your dragon. Don't give up now! There's still...four eggs left. I think. I'm not that good at counting yet...Neozeoth, can you get us a Healer over here? I'll get you fed as soon as Rait gets some help. And...I wouldn't mind a bit of numbweed either."
The garnet nodded and sent out the call, Very good, Geromal. The wounded must always come first in times of battle.
"I'm a rider now. Call me G'er."
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Arcane - Thread Conqueror
- Posts: 9154
- Joined: Thu May 24, 2018 5:43 pm
Summer, 2765 (Repost from the old site)
Wingrider Essa and Candidate Geromal
There was a ghost in the Dining Hall. A pale, auburn haired ghost with blue green eyes and Candidate Knots. She told herself it couldn't be. That she was imagining things. They couldn't have found her here. Not at that weyr where she was safe.
But he was looking at her too, those familiar eyes wide in recognition. Instinct took over. She dropped her tray, sending wherry meat and klah splattering over the floor, and ran.
She was faster than she used to be, her muscles honed by turns of training, and she knew the weyr better than he possibly could, navigating sharp turns and branching passageways with ease. But his legs were longer and he was faster and stronger. Every time she turned around he was behind her, face screwed up in determination.
What was he doing here? She didn't even know which one he was. It had been too many turns since she'd since any of their faces. He could have been Esgar or Malor or Geromal or even little Rellor, all grown up. How had he even recognized her? With her short hair and riding leathers and bronzerider knots she looked little like the innocent holdgirl she'd once been.
She could see daylight at the end of the Hall. The Weyrbowl. She ran faster.
Gectusith! We need to leave. Now!
----
It was her. His sister. The girl who'd ridden the bronze dragon. She recognized him. And she ran. Because she knew it was wrong, what she'd done, leaving him. Leaving all of them.
He was going to catch her and bring her home. She'd go back to her family and her husband and her children and be a proper woman and then their family would be a little bit closer to okay. Pa would cheer for him. Relli would hug him. And his sister would thank him too, one day. She'd be happier at home. It was where she belonged.
"Slow down!" he called out as she dodged around a particularly sharp corner. He was faster but he'd never seen this part of the weyr before.
They burst out in the bright summer sunlight. The weyrbowl. If she got on a dragon, she could pop between. And then she'd be gone. She'd go hide somewhere far away and he'd never find her again. He lunged forward, knocking her to the ground. Only to feel himself being lifted into the air as a shaky smile spread on his sister's face.
----
Dare I ask what is going on here? Essanora, explain yourself, Gectusith ordered in his quiet way as he held up her squirming brother by his tunic, with little apparent effort. Somehow he managed to look thoroughly dignified and just a little bored, even with 100-something pounds of flailing candidate in his mouth.
"They've found me. My family," Essa's own voice was raspy and out of breath, "We need to run. Somewhere, anywhere. Reaches maybe. Or Semeca."
I am not going to that southern backwater and neither are you. Tell me, Essanora. What precisely do you think these...peasant creatures are going to do to you? Hit you with seedbags? He tossed the boy to the ground, pinning him easily in place with a single dusty bronze paw, You, peasant boy. If you have business with my rider, you may address her in the usual fashion, with none of this undignified sprinting through the weyrbowl. People are staring.
"She's my sister! She's going home with me. Now." Essa supposed her brother was trying to sound authoritative and in command, but he just sounded vaguely ridiculous, spurting demands from beneath her dragon's paw. She recognized him now. Geromal. He'd grown so much. And she couldn't see any of that familiar sweetness she beneath the impotent fury.
She's not your sister. She's my rider. Essanora will be staying right here. Even that pesky flit has more of a claim to her than you do. You know nothing of her now. While I know every thought, every inkling, every feeling. She's mine. Run, little peasant boy. Prove yourself worthy of my chosen's attention. Then perhaps we will have something to say to you.
"Essanora?" he stared, fury filling his face as he punched and kicked and flailed in a renewed effort to escape, "You. Ruined. Everything."
"It's good to see you too, Ger. I prefer Essa these days," she answered, summoning every ounce of her rider facade to keep her voice calm and emotionless, "You can let him up now, Gectusith. It's all right. He won't assault me here in the weyrbowl, with everyone watching."
----
The dragon let him up, glaring at him all the while. Geromal glared back. Faranth, he hated Essanora's dragon. Gectumis or whatever it was she'd called him.
"You're not Essa. Ma's Essa. You're just the selfish brat who ruined everything!"
She didn't seem to care, just sitting there, scratching Gectu-whatever's eyelids, glancing at her own brother as if he was a stranger. This was what came from letting women ride fighting dragons.
"Calm down, Ger. People are staring. This isn't a conversation you want to have out here." Her accent was wrong. She spoke just like the rest of them, all prim and proper and stuffy, "You're a Candidate now, yes? Let's go back to your barrack. We can talk there. Unless you would prefer to go for a flight?"
The bronze flicked his tail and Essanora leaned into him, forsking cuddling him for forsk sake. Geromal half hoped he ate her.
"Fine. Come on," he grumbled. He'd need a runner to drag her back anyway.
----
It had been a long time since Essa had been in the Candidate Barracks. They looked much like she remembered, roamed by a new crop of candidates with the same mixture of hope and dread on their faces as they snatched occasional glances in the direction of the Hatching Sands. Right. The eggs would be hatching soon.
"Are you excited for the Hatching?" she asked, trying to make conversation with this stranger who shared her blood, "It's your first, isn't it? I haven't seen you at any of the others."
He shrugged as he ducked into a small room that must have been his. The floor was covered in piles of rumpled clothes. The bed was unmade. And the whole place smelled vaguely like...bubbly pie? She should have brought him to her weyr.
Ger plopped down on one of the piles of clutter, pulling a garnet fire lizard onto his lap. He looked at her, crumbs leaking out from the folds of a pair of well-worn blue pants. Oh, this was too much.
"Sit on the bed," she ordered as she started on the largest of the piles, wrinkling her nose. Didn't he have any proper, weyr-made clothes? And did everything he own desperately need a trip to the laundry? A white candidate's robe tumbled out of the mess. She'd probably seen worse at some point, but when she had she couldn't recall. It was wrinkled, with a klah stain near the hem, held together by stitches she might have made when she was all of six turns old, "Did you even make an effort to make something presentable? You grew up on a farm. You know how to sew."
He shrugged sullenly, "Relli sewed for me. I'm a boy! Boys don't sew."
"Well you're about to." She would help him, because he was her brother. And then she'd make sure she was very, very far away come Hatching day, "Don't worry. I believe I still have mine stored somewhere. It will need a bit of letting out, but you will look presentable on the sands. Have you chosen an honorific yet? Your name's fairly long. It would be a good idea to adopt one. G'ero or G'mal sounds nice. I'd avoid G'ro or G'romal or G'al if I were you." She even managed to chuckled at the last one. Gall...an unfortunate name if there ever was one.
Essa could make small talk. She'd gotten good at it over her turns on her own. She could even make small talk to a brother that stared at her as if she was the Red Star itself.
----
How could she just sit there, giggling a little at a joke he didn't understand, talking honorifics and robes and acting like she was still his sister when everything was wrong and it was all her fault?
"Don't you even care about them? We're all ruined, ruined! Because you had to go and be selfish!" the last came out with a bitter sob, "Because you left, Esgar had to go to that stupid hold and take that stupid job and Geralia and Norla had to go away and dad had to sell all his herdbeast and no one wants to play with me anymore or marry me...You ruined everything! Why couldn't you just have been a proper girl?"
Wingrider Essa and Candidate Geromal
There was a ghost in the Dining Hall. A pale, auburn haired ghost with blue green eyes and Candidate Knots. She told herself it couldn't be. That she was imagining things. They couldn't have found her here. Not at that weyr where she was safe.
But he was looking at her too, those familiar eyes wide in recognition. Instinct took over. She dropped her tray, sending wherry meat and klah splattering over the floor, and ran.
She was faster than she used to be, her muscles honed by turns of training, and she knew the weyr better than he possibly could, navigating sharp turns and branching passageways with ease. But his legs were longer and he was faster and stronger. Every time she turned around he was behind her, face screwed up in determination.
What was he doing here? She didn't even know which one he was. It had been too many turns since she'd since any of their faces. He could have been Esgar or Malor or Geromal or even little Rellor, all grown up. How had he even recognized her? With her short hair and riding leathers and bronzerider knots she looked little like the innocent holdgirl she'd once been.
She could see daylight at the end of the Hall. The Weyrbowl. She ran faster.
Gectusith! We need to leave. Now!
----
It was her. His sister. The girl who'd ridden the bronze dragon. She recognized him. And she ran. Because she knew it was wrong, what she'd done, leaving him. Leaving all of them.
He was going to catch her and bring her home. She'd go back to her family and her husband and her children and be a proper woman and then their family would be a little bit closer to okay. Pa would cheer for him. Relli would hug him. And his sister would thank him too, one day. She'd be happier at home. It was where she belonged.
"Slow down!" he called out as she dodged around a particularly sharp corner. He was faster but he'd never seen this part of the weyr before.
They burst out in the bright summer sunlight. The weyrbowl. If she got on a dragon, she could pop between. And then she'd be gone. She'd go hide somewhere far away and he'd never find her again. He lunged forward, knocking her to the ground. Only to feel himself being lifted into the air as a shaky smile spread on his sister's face.
----
Dare I ask what is going on here? Essanora, explain yourself, Gectusith ordered in his quiet way as he held up her squirming brother by his tunic, with little apparent effort. Somehow he managed to look thoroughly dignified and just a little bored, even with 100-something pounds of flailing candidate in his mouth.
"They've found me. My family," Essa's own voice was raspy and out of breath, "We need to run. Somewhere, anywhere. Reaches maybe. Or Semeca."
I am not going to that southern backwater and neither are you. Tell me, Essanora. What precisely do you think these...peasant creatures are going to do to you? Hit you with seedbags? He tossed the boy to the ground, pinning him easily in place with a single dusty bronze paw, You, peasant boy. If you have business with my rider, you may address her in the usual fashion, with none of this undignified sprinting through the weyrbowl. People are staring.
"She's my sister! She's going home with me. Now." Essa supposed her brother was trying to sound authoritative and in command, but he just sounded vaguely ridiculous, spurting demands from beneath her dragon's paw. She recognized him now. Geromal. He'd grown so much. And she couldn't see any of that familiar sweetness she beneath the impotent fury.
She's not your sister. She's my rider. Essanora will be staying right here. Even that pesky flit has more of a claim to her than you do. You know nothing of her now. While I know every thought, every inkling, every feeling. She's mine. Run, little peasant boy. Prove yourself worthy of my chosen's attention. Then perhaps we will have something to say to you.
"Essanora?" he stared, fury filling his face as he punched and kicked and flailed in a renewed effort to escape, "You. Ruined. Everything."
"It's good to see you too, Ger. I prefer Essa these days," she answered, summoning every ounce of her rider facade to keep her voice calm and emotionless, "You can let him up now, Gectusith. It's all right. He won't assault me here in the weyrbowl, with everyone watching."
----
The dragon let him up, glaring at him all the while. Geromal glared back. Faranth, he hated Essanora's dragon. Gectumis or whatever it was she'd called him.
"You're not Essa. Ma's Essa. You're just the selfish brat who ruined everything!"
She didn't seem to care, just sitting there, scratching Gectu-whatever's eyelids, glancing at her own brother as if he was a stranger. This was what came from letting women ride fighting dragons.
"Calm down, Ger. People are staring. This isn't a conversation you want to have out here." Her accent was wrong. She spoke just like the rest of them, all prim and proper and stuffy, "You're a Candidate now, yes? Let's go back to your barrack. We can talk there. Unless you would prefer to go for a flight?"
The bronze flicked his tail and Essanora leaned into him, forsking cuddling him for forsk sake. Geromal half hoped he ate her.
"Fine. Come on," he grumbled. He'd need a runner to drag her back anyway.
----
It had been a long time since Essa had been in the Candidate Barracks. They looked much like she remembered, roamed by a new crop of candidates with the same mixture of hope and dread on their faces as they snatched occasional glances in the direction of the Hatching Sands. Right. The eggs would be hatching soon.
"Are you excited for the Hatching?" she asked, trying to make conversation with this stranger who shared her blood, "It's your first, isn't it? I haven't seen you at any of the others."
He shrugged as he ducked into a small room that must have been his. The floor was covered in piles of rumpled clothes. The bed was unmade. And the whole place smelled vaguely like...bubbly pie? She should have brought him to her weyr.
Ger plopped down on one of the piles of clutter, pulling a garnet fire lizard onto his lap. He looked at her, crumbs leaking out from the folds of a pair of well-worn blue pants. Oh, this was too much.
"Sit on the bed," she ordered as she started on the largest of the piles, wrinkling her nose. Didn't he have any proper, weyr-made clothes? And did everything he own desperately need a trip to the laundry? A white candidate's robe tumbled out of the mess. She'd probably seen worse at some point, but when she had she couldn't recall. It was wrinkled, with a klah stain near the hem, held together by stitches she might have made when she was all of six turns old, "Did you even make an effort to make something presentable? You grew up on a farm. You know how to sew."
He shrugged sullenly, "Relli sewed for me. I'm a boy! Boys don't sew."
"Well you're about to." She would help him, because he was her brother. And then she'd make sure she was very, very far away come Hatching day, "Don't worry. I believe I still have mine stored somewhere. It will need a bit of letting out, but you will look presentable on the sands. Have you chosen an honorific yet? Your name's fairly long. It would be a good idea to adopt one. G'ero or G'mal sounds nice. I'd avoid G'ro or G'romal or G'al if I were you." She even managed to chuckled at the last one. Gall...an unfortunate name if there ever was one.
Essa could make small talk. She'd gotten good at it over her turns on her own. She could even make small talk to a brother that stared at her as if she was the Red Star itself.
----
How could she just sit there, giggling a little at a joke he didn't understand, talking honorifics and robes and acting like she was still his sister when everything was wrong and it was all her fault?
"Don't you even care about them? We're all ruined, ruined! Because you had to go and be selfish!" the last came out with a bitter sob, "Because you left, Esgar had to go to that stupid hold and take that stupid job and Geralia and Norla had to go away and dad had to sell all his herdbeast and no one wants to play with me anymore or marry me...You ruined everything! Why couldn't you just have been a proper girl?"
-
Arcane - Thread Conqueror
- Posts: 9154
- Joined: Thu May 24, 2018 5:43 pm
Summer, 2765- A Gift (Repost)
Essa slipped back into the candidate barracks, keeping her knots carefully covered by her piles of scrolls and the worn white cloth in her arms. She wasn't looking to answer any questions. Their last meeting had gone poorly, ending with her being kicked out by a screaming brother (whose barrack was still a mess), but she was going to try again. Because he was family, here all alone. The way she had once been.
He must be terrified and embarrassed and furious all at once, utterly lost in his first foray into the wider world. She remembered her first days at the weyr, how alone she'd felt. And she'd come from Healer Hall, rather than straight from cows and fields. He needed help and he needed a friend. She could be that for him. Even if her breath came a bit faster at the thought and every instinct warned her to run. He couldn't take her from here. She had a dragon now and he was just a candidate. It would be fine.
Are you sure we can't just drop him between? It would make me very, very happy, Gectusith's voice slithered through her mind, And resolve the problem entirely.
Essa didn't dignify the suggestion with a response, I'll be fine, Gectusith. Don't worry. I brought Chione.
The firelizard gave a little cheap and Essa could all but hear Gectusith's sigh, Because that little gnat is oh so threatening. Bring him out here and let him bask in the glory of a proper dragon, if you must attempt to be kind.
Essa walked up to Geromal's door, holding on to her silent connection to Gectusith. If things went south...If things went south, she'd scream and the candidate masters would arrive and take him away. Rider girls didn't get forced into marriage. She let the connection go.
She took a deep breath and raised her hands to knock only to find she...couldn't. The very thought of facing him again...What if he gagged her and tied her up and stuffed her somewhere Gectusith couldn't find? Or what if he just killed her? She'd heard of that happening, at other holds, to girls who had disgraced her family. She dropped the bundle and scribbled a quick note and ran, as fast as she could, back to Gectusith and buried her head in his neck, taking deep, soothing breaths of the scent of dragon hide. Yes, she was a coward, but she was a coward who was alive and staying at the weyr. She had thread patterns to study anyway. The last Fall had been interesting. She needed to find a record of it. That was a better use of her time than trying to talk to a candidate who wanted nothing to do with her.
----
Geromal opened his door later that evening to find a package lying outside it. It contained a white candidate robe, slightly worn, but hemmed by small, neat stitches. And scrolls. Lots and lots of scrolls, containing lots and lots of letters. Someone had left a note on top of it, scrawled in careful, precise penmanship. He still needed helping reading it. Because words were hard.
I obtained your measurements from the lower caverns and adjusted my old robes for you. Here are some of the works I found most useful in my early days in the weyr. They are simply written but quite informative. One contains the tables of multiplication (I presume after nearly three sevendays at the weyr you have already mastered addition and subtraction). Aim to memorize one-three tables a day and to fully absorb one-four treatises per sevenday, depending on their length and your own fluency. Do so and you should achieve an adequate level of literacy within two turns. Best of luck,
Essa
Essa slipped back into the candidate barracks, keeping her knots carefully covered by her piles of scrolls and the worn white cloth in her arms. She wasn't looking to answer any questions. Their last meeting had gone poorly, ending with her being kicked out by a screaming brother (whose barrack was still a mess), but she was going to try again. Because he was family, here all alone. The way she had once been.
He must be terrified and embarrassed and furious all at once, utterly lost in his first foray into the wider world. She remembered her first days at the weyr, how alone she'd felt. And she'd come from Healer Hall, rather than straight from cows and fields. He needed help and he needed a friend. She could be that for him. Even if her breath came a bit faster at the thought and every instinct warned her to run. He couldn't take her from here. She had a dragon now and he was just a candidate. It would be fine.
Are you sure we can't just drop him between? It would make me very, very happy, Gectusith's voice slithered through her mind, And resolve the problem entirely.
Essa didn't dignify the suggestion with a response, I'll be fine, Gectusith. Don't worry. I brought Chione.
The firelizard gave a little cheap and Essa could all but hear Gectusith's sigh, Because that little gnat is oh so threatening. Bring him out here and let him bask in the glory of a proper dragon, if you must attempt to be kind.
Essa walked up to Geromal's door, holding on to her silent connection to Gectusith. If things went south...If things went south, she'd scream and the candidate masters would arrive and take him away. Rider girls didn't get forced into marriage. She let the connection go.
She took a deep breath and raised her hands to knock only to find she...couldn't. The very thought of facing him again...What if he gagged her and tied her up and stuffed her somewhere Gectusith couldn't find? Or what if he just killed her? She'd heard of that happening, at other holds, to girls who had disgraced her family. She dropped the bundle and scribbled a quick note and ran, as fast as she could, back to Gectusith and buried her head in his neck, taking deep, soothing breaths of the scent of dragon hide. Yes, she was a coward, but she was a coward who was alive and staying at the weyr. She had thread patterns to study anyway. The last Fall had been interesting. She needed to find a record of it. That was a better use of her time than trying to talk to a candidate who wanted nothing to do with her.
----
Geromal opened his door later that evening to find a package lying outside it. It contained a white candidate robe, slightly worn, but hemmed by small, neat stitches. And scrolls. Lots and lots of scrolls, containing lots and lots of letters. Someone had left a note on top of it, scrawled in careful, precise penmanship. He still needed helping reading it. Because words were hard.
I obtained your measurements from the lower caverns and adjusted my old robes for you. Here are some of the works I found most useful in my early days in the weyr. They are simply written but quite informative. One contains the tables of multiplication (I presume after nearly three sevendays at the weyr you have already mastered addition and subtraction). Aim to memorize one-three tables a day and to fully absorb one-four treatises per sevenday, depending on their length and your own fluency. Do so and you should achieve an adequate level of literacy within two turns. Best of luck,
Essa
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High Reaches Weyr, Late Summer, 2765 (Repost)- The Game Begins- Schneizel/Elyron
The man was drunk and probably a drunk, not to mention soft, aging and lacking any semblance of influence. His fire lizard was an uncontrolled menace, his wher was the softest, sorriest excuse for such a creature Schneizel had ever seen and the human could barely walk. But Elyron was also a gold wherhandler and a man who had lived at High Reaches since the time of Golre. He would never rise any higher than a pawn, but that didn't mean he couldn't be a useful pawn.
"Tell me more about the recent changes," Schneizel urged, pouring a measure of a particularly fine Benden red in the man's cup. Elyron dressed well, but the tell-tale signs of a tight budget were there, if one knew how to look. It had probably been some turns since he had tasted anything this fine outside a Hatching Feast, "How many of Golre's former loyalists remain at High Reaches? Are they treated well or poorly by the Fortians?"
Elyron took a deep gulp and Schneizel could practically see the liquid rushing down his throat. He resisted the urge to sneer. A waste of a good bottle on a man too far gone to appreciate it. A miscalculation, "I used to be like you, you know. All handsome and striking, sitting high on a gleaming mount. The girls cheered for me back then..."
Elyron had never been like Schneizel. He had wished he was and dreamed he was and maybe even believed he was, somewhere in his shriveled heart. But there was nobody like Schneizel except Schneizel. Even Lelou, for all his ambition and brilliance, would never match him. Because he had something Schneizel didn't. Weakness. Vulnerability. For this...pitiful creature to dream they were anything alike...why it was almost insulting.
"I'm sure they still adore you," there were no hints of disgust in Schneizel's smile, just warmth and genuine interest. No one would overhear, here in the privacy of his weyr, already carefully checked for peepholes and hideaways, "Even if the Fortian interlopers have them too cowed to voice their admiration too loudly."
"Of course, of course. But what good's adoration if it doesn't get me a good lay?"
Was this man still even capable of the act? After this much drink? Either impressive or deluded. Not that Schneizel had any interest in Elyron's bedroom habits, "Some would say adoration is its own reward, but we both know better than that, do we not?"
"Yes, yes we do, sir. Used to be a goldhandler could have anything he wanted, the worship of the whole weyr. Now I can't even get my Elysk a proper bronze mate without putting myself through the same process as some candidate whelp!"
And that was what Elyron lacked, any concept of the bigger picture. Mating flights and runs were tools to be used. A brown victor could prove more useful than a bronze, for he would be grateful, eager to prove himself worthy of his place as clutchsire.
"A disgrace," Schneizel nodded in sympathy, taking a sip of his own wine. It was truly delicious. A shame his companion couldn't properly appreciate it, "But I may be able to offer some assistance. I have a friend over in Benden, a bronze handler, whose wher has never lost a mating run. Be a good friend to me and perhaps I'll invite him over for a visit, next time Elysk's hide starts to glow. A temporary measure, of course, until your own bronze comes of age."
And just like that, Schneizel had Elyron in the palm of his hand. The goldhandler could never know any of his plans, liable as he was to spill them all for a few drops of wine, but that didn't mean he couldn't play a part. And when he was no longer of use? Elyron, no matter how hard he tried, would never pose a threat to Schneizel. Not even worth the bother of killing.
The man was drunk and probably a drunk, not to mention soft, aging and lacking any semblance of influence. His fire lizard was an uncontrolled menace, his wher was the softest, sorriest excuse for such a creature Schneizel had ever seen and the human could barely walk. But Elyron was also a gold wherhandler and a man who had lived at High Reaches since the time of Golre. He would never rise any higher than a pawn, but that didn't mean he couldn't be a useful pawn.
"Tell me more about the recent changes," Schneizel urged, pouring a measure of a particularly fine Benden red in the man's cup. Elyron dressed well, but the tell-tale signs of a tight budget were there, if one knew how to look. It had probably been some turns since he had tasted anything this fine outside a Hatching Feast, "How many of Golre's former loyalists remain at High Reaches? Are they treated well or poorly by the Fortians?"
Elyron took a deep gulp and Schneizel could practically see the liquid rushing down his throat. He resisted the urge to sneer. A waste of a good bottle on a man too far gone to appreciate it. A miscalculation, "I used to be like you, you know. All handsome and striking, sitting high on a gleaming mount. The girls cheered for me back then..."
Elyron had never been like Schneizel. He had wished he was and dreamed he was and maybe even believed he was, somewhere in his shriveled heart. But there was nobody like Schneizel except Schneizel. Even Lelou, for all his ambition and brilliance, would never match him. Because he had something Schneizel didn't. Weakness. Vulnerability. For this...pitiful creature to dream they were anything alike...why it was almost insulting.
"I'm sure they still adore you," there were no hints of disgust in Schneizel's smile, just warmth and genuine interest. No one would overhear, here in the privacy of his weyr, already carefully checked for peepholes and hideaways, "Even if the Fortian interlopers have them too cowed to voice their admiration too loudly."
"Of course, of course. But what good's adoration if it doesn't get me a good lay?"
Was this man still even capable of the act? After this much drink? Either impressive or deluded. Not that Schneizel had any interest in Elyron's bedroom habits, "Some would say adoration is its own reward, but we both know better than that, do we not?"
"Yes, yes we do, sir. Used to be a goldhandler could have anything he wanted, the worship of the whole weyr. Now I can't even get my Elysk a proper bronze mate without putting myself through the same process as some candidate whelp!"
And that was what Elyron lacked, any concept of the bigger picture. Mating flights and runs were tools to be used. A brown victor could prove more useful than a bronze, for he would be grateful, eager to prove himself worthy of his place as clutchsire.
"A disgrace," Schneizel nodded in sympathy, taking a sip of his own wine. It was truly delicious. A shame his companion couldn't properly appreciate it, "But I may be able to offer some assistance. I have a friend over in Benden, a bronze handler, whose wher has never lost a mating run. Be a good friend to me and perhaps I'll invite him over for a visit, next time Elysk's hide starts to glow. A temporary measure, of course, until your own bronze comes of age."
And just like that, Schneizel had Elyron in the palm of his hand. The goldhandler could never know any of his plans, liable as he was to spill them all for a few drops of wine, but that didn't mean he couldn't play a part. And when he was no longer of use? Elyron, no matter how hard he tried, would never pose a threat to Schneizel. Not even worth the bother of killing.
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Fort Weyr, Early Fall, 2765 (Repost)- The First Trip
Makoto could feel Usakinth trembling beneath her, as they took to the sky and Makoto fixed the image firmly in her mind, the way she'd been practicing for months. The white was terrified, What if we get stuck there? It's cold and dark and scary and I don't want to go!
You have to go, love. We deferred yesterday and the day before, remember? It won't get any easier by putting it off. You're a dragon. This is what you were born to do.
Then I don't want to be a dragon anymore! I just want to stay at home and play games and eat good food and never, ever have to go into the darkness.
Makoto patted her soothingly, hearing the whine in her voice, I thought you said you were going to do it right away. Faster than Rini. Without giving me any trouble.
I DON'T REMEMBER she cried, loud enough Makoto suspected the entire weyr had heard. She sighed as she saw people looking up in concern. At least Usakinth had taken to hunting easier than this, even if she did keep deciding she felt bad for the herdbeasts.
It's okay Usakinth. We'll try again tomorrow. You're not setting a very good example you know, for the younger ones. But you will have to do it eventually. You'll never be able to protect Pern if you don't.
B-but...I don't want to. Can't I just not?
You have to. For me and for all of Pern.
And that was when the world went cold and dark around them. Makoto held her breath and counted, Usakinth a bright and steady light in her mind all the while. Just like that, on the count of three, they were out. Makoto laughed, See? Was that really so bad?
I did a great job, didn't I? Take that Rini! Makoto was pretty sure Rini had already done it days ago. But she didn't say anything. Because they'd done it. And that was victory enough.
You really did.
Makoto could feel Usakinth trembling beneath her, as they took to the sky and Makoto fixed the image firmly in her mind, the way she'd been practicing for months. The white was terrified, What if we get stuck there? It's cold and dark and scary and I don't want to go!
You have to go, love. We deferred yesterday and the day before, remember? It won't get any easier by putting it off. You're a dragon. This is what you were born to do.
Then I don't want to be a dragon anymore! I just want to stay at home and play games and eat good food and never, ever have to go into the darkness.
Makoto patted her soothingly, hearing the whine in her voice, I thought you said you were going to do it right away. Faster than Rini. Without giving me any trouble.
I DON'T REMEMBER she cried, loud enough Makoto suspected the entire weyr had heard. She sighed as she saw people looking up in concern. At least Usakinth had taken to hunting easier than this, even if she did keep deciding she felt bad for the herdbeasts.
It's okay Usakinth. We'll try again tomorrow. You're not setting a very good example you know, for the younger ones. But you will have to do it eventually. You'll never be able to protect Pern if you don't.
B-but...I don't want to. Can't I just not?
You have to. For me and for all of Pern.
And that was when the world went cold and dark around them. Makoto held her breath and counted, Usakinth a bright and steady light in her mind all the while. Just like that, on the count of three, they were out. Makoto laughed, See? Was that really so bad?
I did a great job, didn't I? Take that Rini! Makoto was pretty sure Rini had already done it days ago. But she didn't say anything. Because they'd done it. And that was victory enough.
You really did.
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High Reaches Weyr, Late Winter, 2765 (Repost)- I'll Be Somebody Someday
Avorella, called Rel, hadn't been born for this. She hadn't been raised for this. Hadn't been chosen, until all the life in her had already been spent and used up. She had no right to be here, standing besides these fresh-faced children with clean, unbroken souls to offer. But the will to live, the spark of hope, those were difficult things to lose. And to see baby dragons come stumbling forth into the world...Well that was worth something on its own.
Her robe was neatly made and modest, but still she felt wrong standing besides so many fresh-faced, bright-eyed young things with their whole souls left to give, with the eyes of the world looking down upon her. Too many people. Too many strangers, for a woman used to the emptiness of the sea. She could hear their voices, screeching, chattering, a thousand lives, a hundred stories, too much. How could there be so many people in all the world, let alone a single room?
She found a spot near the edge of the crowd, where she could almost breathe. She'd never been the panicky type, had always prided herself on her steadiness and basic good sense, but she could feel the heat and the weight of the stares and the noise pressing in on her. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was somewhere else.
Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. The weyrlingmaster said to think happy thoughts, to not make the dragons sad.
Sunrise over an empty sea. Full nets. Midnight walks through Semaca's winding trails. Her son's laugh. Her sister's smile. Her first sight of mountains, like something out of someone else's dream. Snow, too cold against skin used to the Southern sun, but as beautiful as a Lady Holder's diamonds...
Something nudged against her knee, a short little green looking oddly frustrated, in a formal sort of way.
You're not supposed to close your eyes like that! I have to look at every candidate, to make the optimal decision. And I can't do that if you close your eyes!
Rel tilted her head curiously. She'd never seen a baby dragon before, would never have imagined they were so...small. And vulnerable looking, "My apologies, Lady. I didn't realize the color of my eyes mattered worth a shard."
There was something off about this one. Unbalanced, as if her wings were too small for her tiny body. Rel knew little about dragons, hoped she was wrong. Life was hard for those who weren't quite the world was used to seeing.
I guess they shouldn't but...I'm supposed to know everything about all of you! To do it properly, the dragon looked her up and down, assessingly, You're not as much a clod as the others, you know. And you think you're...broken. I'm broken too. Maybe...maybe we could be broken together...Would...would you...want to feed me?
Rel didn't know why but she had the sense it wasn't this dragon's way to show vulnerability. To give any hint of weakness. She knelt down and smiled, "'Course I would. Name's Rel."
The dragon snapped back upright, that inflexible competence firmly back in place as sensations flooded into Rel and she had the oddest flash of a perspective so alien, so at odds with her own, that she doubted the two could ever be reconciled, Greetings, V'rell. I'm Peridoth. A rider should use honorifics you know. My rider will do everything by the book. Properly.
V'rell shook her head. This was going to be interesting.
Avorella, called Rel, hadn't been born for this. She hadn't been raised for this. Hadn't been chosen, until all the life in her had already been spent and used up. She had no right to be here, standing besides these fresh-faced children with clean, unbroken souls to offer. But the will to live, the spark of hope, those were difficult things to lose. And to see baby dragons come stumbling forth into the world...Well that was worth something on its own.
Her robe was neatly made and modest, but still she felt wrong standing besides so many fresh-faced, bright-eyed young things with their whole souls left to give, with the eyes of the world looking down upon her. Too many people. Too many strangers, for a woman used to the emptiness of the sea. She could hear their voices, screeching, chattering, a thousand lives, a hundred stories, too much. How could there be so many people in all the world, let alone a single room?
She found a spot near the edge of the crowd, where she could almost breathe. She'd never been the panicky type, had always prided herself on her steadiness and basic good sense, but she could feel the heat and the weight of the stares and the noise pressing in on her. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was somewhere else.
Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. The weyrlingmaster said to think happy thoughts, to not make the dragons sad.
Sunrise over an empty sea. Full nets. Midnight walks through Semaca's winding trails. Her son's laugh. Her sister's smile. Her first sight of mountains, like something out of someone else's dream. Snow, too cold against skin used to the Southern sun, but as beautiful as a Lady Holder's diamonds...
Something nudged against her knee, a short little green looking oddly frustrated, in a formal sort of way.
You're not supposed to close your eyes like that! I have to look at every candidate, to make the optimal decision. And I can't do that if you close your eyes!
Rel tilted her head curiously. She'd never seen a baby dragon before, would never have imagined they were so...small. And vulnerable looking, "My apologies, Lady. I didn't realize the color of my eyes mattered worth a shard."
There was something off about this one. Unbalanced, as if her wings were too small for her tiny body. Rel knew little about dragons, hoped she was wrong. Life was hard for those who weren't quite the world was used to seeing.
I guess they shouldn't but...I'm supposed to know everything about all of you! To do it properly, the dragon looked her up and down, assessingly, You're not as much a clod as the others, you know. And you think you're...broken. I'm broken too. Maybe...maybe we could be broken together...Would...would you...want to feed me?
Rel didn't know why but she had the sense it wasn't this dragon's way to show vulnerability. To give any hint of weakness. She knelt down and smiled, "'Course I would. Name's Rel."
The dragon snapped back upright, that inflexible competence firmly back in place as sensations flooded into Rel and she had the oddest flash of a perspective so alien, so at odds with her own, that she doubted the two could ever be reconciled, Greetings, V'rell. I'm Peridoth. A rider should use honorifics you know. My rider will do everything by the book. Properly.
V'rell shook her head. This was going to be interesting.
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High Reaches Weyr, Late Winter, 2765 (Repost)- You'll Never Take Me Alive
Jae watched the hatching progress with an air of distant satisfaction. Nearly half a clutch gone, plenty of candidates left and not so much as a draconic glance in her direction. But just in case...Jae always had a back-up plan. In this case, said back-up plan came courtesy of a sympathetic weyrling, who'd showed Jae how to block and share her thoughts, when she'd claimed to be nervous and seeking a head start. As if Jae had ever needed a head start on anything in her life.
Once again, Midnight was proving surprisingly useful. For a little vermin lizard, the blue was alright. He'd given her practice enough controlling her thoughts that it was pretty easy to block off anything mildly appealing and interesting about her and project the most vapid, selfish, bubble-headed little brat Jae could possibly imagine. Enjoy, dragonets. Let's make this snappy. I've got a feast to plan.
The next egg was red. The one that was smoothly charming, in a way Jae suspected was meant to cover for a lack of character. The dragonet inside was as bad as she'd thought, already strutting like he owned the place, on his three legs. He didn't even seem to care his gait was odd, as he nuzzled the pretty green, and she could swear he winked (winked!) at the prettiest female candidate on the sands, who...blushed and giggled.
Great. You two idiots have fun.
But he didn't move towards her, didn't even hesitate as he stepped towards...Jae's group.
Oh no. Oh no. You and are not friends. We're not going to be friends. So you just stay well away from me.
She clamped her mind down tighter. He came anyway, eyes meeting hers, mind squirming in, invading, worming in with frivolity and indolence where there should only be order and purpose.
Jaelyn. We will not move until Moorith does. He said in a smooth, deep voice. I am Zappath.
And that was when Jae screamed, "No, no, no! I am not yours. You are not mine. Go away!"
He tilted his head as if she was a curiosity, eyes an unchanging red for all he didn't look angry, You're pretty when you're mad, you know. You get all...flushed and your eyes flash. But, lovely as you are, we cannot keep Moorith waiting! And I'm hungry. Poached eggs, if you please. And an introduction to that little beauty over there...
When she still didn't move, staring at him with shock and anger, the blue headbutted her. Of all audacities! Someone cleared their throat. People were staring. Blushing furiously, Jae moved. Not for Zappath's sake. But for the weyr. Her future might be over, but that didn't mean she didn't care...
I will never forgive you for this.
Of course you will! You're a pretty lady. And all the pretty ladies LOVE Zapppath. Now let's assure Moorith does not need us and then food, then fun! You're in good hands, Jaelyn.
Jae watched the hatching progress with an air of distant satisfaction. Nearly half a clutch gone, plenty of candidates left and not so much as a draconic glance in her direction. But just in case...Jae always had a back-up plan. In this case, said back-up plan came courtesy of a sympathetic weyrling, who'd showed Jae how to block and share her thoughts, when she'd claimed to be nervous and seeking a head start. As if Jae had ever needed a head start on anything in her life.
Once again, Midnight was proving surprisingly useful. For a little vermin lizard, the blue was alright. He'd given her practice enough controlling her thoughts that it was pretty easy to block off anything mildly appealing and interesting about her and project the most vapid, selfish, bubble-headed little brat Jae could possibly imagine. Enjoy, dragonets. Let's make this snappy. I've got a feast to plan.
The next egg was red. The one that was smoothly charming, in a way Jae suspected was meant to cover for a lack of character. The dragonet inside was as bad as she'd thought, already strutting like he owned the place, on his three legs. He didn't even seem to care his gait was odd, as he nuzzled the pretty green, and she could swear he winked (winked!) at the prettiest female candidate on the sands, who...blushed and giggled.
Great. You two idiots have fun.
But he didn't move towards her, didn't even hesitate as he stepped towards...Jae's group.
Oh no. Oh no. You and are not friends. We're not going to be friends. So you just stay well away from me.
She clamped her mind down tighter. He came anyway, eyes meeting hers, mind squirming in, invading, worming in with frivolity and indolence where there should only be order and purpose.
Jaelyn. We will not move until Moorith does. He said in a smooth, deep voice. I am Zappath.
And that was when Jae screamed, "No, no, no! I am not yours. You are not mine. Go away!"
He tilted his head as if she was a curiosity, eyes an unchanging red for all he didn't look angry, You're pretty when you're mad, you know. You get all...flushed and your eyes flash. But, lovely as you are, we cannot keep Moorith waiting! And I'm hungry. Poached eggs, if you please. And an introduction to that little beauty over there...
When she still didn't move, staring at him with shock and anger, the blue headbutted her. Of all audacities! Someone cleared their throat. People were staring. Blushing furiously, Jae moved. Not for Zappath's sake. But for the weyr. Her future might be over, but that didn't mean she didn't care...
I will never forgive you for this.
Of course you will! You're a pretty lady. And all the pretty ladies LOVE Zapppath. Now let's assure Moorith does not need us and then food, then fun! You're in good hands, Jaelyn.
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A Conference- Fort Weyr, Late Spring, 2766 (Repost)
The evening after G'er and Neozeoth's first betweening lesson
G'er didn't usually disappear for this long, Neozeoth thought with irritation, reaching out for his mind. Which he'd closed off to her. Also unusual. She shrugged. He'd reappear. He always did. And then they would practice betweening some more. By the fifth time, he'd nearly stopped flinching.
But evening passed and he didn't reappear, not so much as a flicker of a thought passing his mental blocks. Weird. G'er was terrible at shielding, always leaking bits and pieces of joy and life and energy. It had always irritated her. Just another failure to add to his long list of shortcomings. But now that he'd finally managed it...she found she didn't enjoy the quiet of her own mind as much as she would have expected. She stayed on their small ledge, still waiting. Dinner was over. He had to return home soon. He had to sleep.
He didn't come. It was nearly ten by the time Neozeoth heard footsteps that were not her rider's, footsteps that belonged to an auburn-haired girl in bronzerider's knots who looked just a bit like him. Neozeoth was sure she'd met her before, but without access to G'er's memories...she couldn't place her. How irritating.
"May I join you?" the girl asked. Neozeoth shrugged, not dignifying her with a mental touch. She sat anyway, on the edge of their ledge, closer than Neozeoth would have liked. She sat in silence for a while, before finally saying, "G'er won't be coming back tonight. I set up a cot for him in my weyr. I doubt Lex will like it but..."
Neozeoth hissed, What right do you have to interfere? Return my rider to me this instant! Her mind lashed out, ice-cold and whip-hard. The bronzerider didn't even flinch, her ordinary blue-green eyes steadily holding Neozeoth's own.
"You terrified him today, you know," the girl continued, her tone conversational despite the accusation in her words. Her voice turned hard as she said, "And even as he cried his eyes out, all he wanted was for you to never know. Because he says, you hate him enough already. He doesn't need to be made any less in your eyes."
Neozeoth did not like this girl at all. She knocked her down with a single lightning-fast move, pinning her to the floor as she said, What I choose to do with my rider is nobody's business but mine. You will return him to me at once.
She still didn't balk, continuing, "Why did you even choose my brother, if you disdain everything he is? He's not like some of the others. There's no cruelty in him. No wrongness. Had you let him be, he could have found a dragon who appreciates him for who he is."
Because he's mine!
"Bad answer," the girl said and then a larger dragon was pushing her off. Neozeoth hissed and fought and had she been a few months older, she might have won. But at not even a turn old, she was no match for a full-grown bronze and she quickly found herself pinned to the floor. The girl nodded to the dragon. Her partner, presumably, who watched his rider with a silence that told Neozeoth he was unimpressed by her best efforts and thought himself far above her. He was a fool. As he would learn once she grew strong enough to take him down. She'd make G'er remember for her, that she was to humiliate this one as soon as she was able to. Once he came back. And she knew he would come back.
"Now I'm going to talk and you're going to listen. And then I'll ask you that question again," the girl said calmly, "My brother is soft and kind and good. You're not. That much is clear. I was like him once. Never quite as sheltered, a girl like me couldn't afford to be, but I was naive in my own way. When Gectusith and I first Impressed, many pitied me. I hated him at first. He was arrogant and self-centered, too wrapped up in his superiority to share any warmth with the rest of us. But we made it work. It wasn't easy. I had to bend and so did he. My brother is already bending as much as he can. If you keep pushing him, he will break. I assume you love him at some level...because otherwise you would not have chosen him. He worships the ground you walk on."
He is my rider. I am making him into what I need him to be. He should be grateful to me, for turning him into a warrior.
"Gect wanted gratitude too, at first," the girl said as she gave Gect a warm smile that reminded Neozeoth very much of G'er, "And I gave it to him without hesitation. It wasn't enough. Had that been all there was between us, I never would have stopped hating him and he would have grown to despise me as well. It does happen, you know. It's rare, true, but there are pairs who never share any more than obligation. But I would never have thought G'er would belong to one, with how easily he loves."
So you would have me let him wallow in mediocrity? Neozeoth asked as she squirmed out of the bronze's hold. Gect did her the courtesy of actually looking a bit surprised and irritated. She took a new seat at a distance from the pair. She had no intention of returning to the bronze's custody...Or of doing anything but forcing the girl to return her rider.
The girl shook his head, "No. G'er needs someone to push him. I'm not denying you've molded him into a better rider than he would ever have become on his own. But it's not enough to always push. You have my brother convinced that nothing he does will ever be enough, that he will never satisfy your expectations. So I ask you again- of all the candidates on the sands, plenty of whom were smarter, stronger, readier, why did you pick my brother?"
Neozeoth couldn't remember that time. Every memory in her regrettably short recollection had G'er already in it, laughing, smiling, trying to make her take a break and go floating with him for a while. When she snapped and snarked and could think of nothing but how foolish everyone was, he was there to remind her that foolish wasn't all they were. That they were also brave. Or kind. Or strong. She gave the girl a rare, sincere answer...mostly because she wanted her rider back and she wanted him back now, I need his sunshine. Or I'll forget what it is I'm even fighting for. After only an afternoon without his warmth, she already felt herself become colder, meaner, more locked in her own endless pursuit of perfection.
"Then tell him that," the girl said simply, "And maybe admit you care about him every once in a while. G'er's not one to read between the lines the way Gect and I do. He needs to hear it straight. Tomorrow. Tonight...tonight he needs his human family."
They walked away, the girl and the bronze, and Neozeoth could almost hear their conversation on the wind, Please don't tell me you expect validation from me now, Essanora. We worked this out turns ago. You tell me I'm great and I allow you to bask in my magnificence.
"I love you too, Gect."
G'er returned in the morning, as promised. Skittish and shy and not quite able to meet her eyes.
It's okay, G'er. We don't have to go between today. Let's talk to Lexien and see if she has any ideas on how to help you manage your fear.
"Really?" his face lit up, the shields fell and all was right with the world.
Really. You're my rider and I love you. Which means I have to take care of you too, even if it is going to set us back. We're going to have to put in double time once you're ready to start if we're going to show Nightengath up first threadfall...
"You've got it," G'er nodded, "You won't be sorry. I promise. I'll work double...triple...hard."
You can start tomorrow. Today...if Lexien agrees...I rather thought we might go swimming.
The evening after G'er and Neozeoth's first betweening lesson
G'er didn't usually disappear for this long, Neozeoth thought with irritation, reaching out for his mind. Which he'd closed off to her. Also unusual. She shrugged. He'd reappear. He always did. And then they would practice betweening some more. By the fifth time, he'd nearly stopped flinching.
But evening passed and he didn't reappear, not so much as a flicker of a thought passing his mental blocks. Weird. G'er was terrible at shielding, always leaking bits and pieces of joy and life and energy. It had always irritated her. Just another failure to add to his long list of shortcomings. But now that he'd finally managed it...she found she didn't enjoy the quiet of her own mind as much as she would have expected. She stayed on their small ledge, still waiting. Dinner was over. He had to return home soon. He had to sleep.
He didn't come. It was nearly ten by the time Neozeoth heard footsteps that were not her rider's, footsteps that belonged to an auburn-haired girl in bronzerider's knots who looked just a bit like him. Neozeoth was sure she'd met her before, but without access to G'er's memories...she couldn't place her. How irritating.
"May I join you?" the girl asked. Neozeoth shrugged, not dignifying her with a mental touch. She sat anyway, on the edge of their ledge, closer than Neozeoth would have liked. She sat in silence for a while, before finally saying, "G'er won't be coming back tonight. I set up a cot for him in my weyr. I doubt Lex will like it but..."
Neozeoth hissed, What right do you have to interfere? Return my rider to me this instant! Her mind lashed out, ice-cold and whip-hard. The bronzerider didn't even flinch, her ordinary blue-green eyes steadily holding Neozeoth's own.
"You terrified him today, you know," the girl continued, her tone conversational despite the accusation in her words. Her voice turned hard as she said, "And even as he cried his eyes out, all he wanted was for you to never know. Because he says, you hate him enough already. He doesn't need to be made any less in your eyes."
Neozeoth did not like this girl at all. She knocked her down with a single lightning-fast move, pinning her to the floor as she said, What I choose to do with my rider is nobody's business but mine. You will return him to me at once.
She still didn't balk, continuing, "Why did you even choose my brother, if you disdain everything he is? He's not like some of the others. There's no cruelty in him. No wrongness. Had you let him be, he could have found a dragon who appreciates him for who he is."
Because he's mine!
"Bad answer," the girl said and then a larger dragon was pushing her off. Neozeoth hissed and fought and had she been a few months older, she might have won. But at not even a turn old, she was no match for a full-grown bronze and she quickly found herself pinned to the floor. The girl nodded to the dragon. Her partner, presumably, who watched his rider with a silence that told Neozeoth he was unimpressed by her best efforts and thought himself far above her. He was a fool. As he would learn once she grew strong enough to take him down. She'd make G'er remember for her, that she was to humiliate this one as soon as she was able to. Once he came back. And she knew he would come back.
"Now I'm going to talk and you're going to listen. And then I'll ask you that question again," the girl said calmly, "My brother is soft and kind and good. You're not. That much is clear. I was like him once. Never quite as sheltered, a girl like me couldn't afford to be, but I was naive in my own way. When Gectusith and I first Impressed, many pitied me. I hated him at first. He was arrogant and self-centered, too wrapped up in his superiority to share any warmth with the rest of us. But we made it work. It wasn't easy. I had to bend and so did he. My brother is already bending as much as he can. If you keep pushing him, he will break. I assume you love him at some level...because otherwise you would not have chosen him. He worships the ground you walk on."
He is my rider. I am making him into what I need him to be. He should be grateful to me, for turning him into a warrior.
"Gect wanted gratitude too, at first," the girl said as she gave Gect a warm smile that reminded Neozeoth very much of G'er, "And I gave it to him without hesitation. It wasn't enough. Had that been all there was between us, I never would have stopped hating him and he would have grown to despise me as well. It does happen, you know. It's rare, true, but there are pairs who never share any more than obligation. But I would never have thought G'er would belong to one, with how easily he loves."
So you would have me let him wallow in mediocrity? Neozeoth asked as she squirmed out of the bronze's hold. Gect did her the courtesy of actually looking a bit surprised and irritated. She took a new seat at a distance from the pair. She had no intention of returning to the bronze's custody...Or of doing anything but forcing the girl to return her rider.
The girl shook his head, "No. G'er needs someone to push him. I'm not denying you've molded him into a better rider than he would ever have become on his own. But it's not enough to always push. You have my brother convinced that nothing he does will ever be enough, that he will never satisfy your expectations. So I ask you again- of all the candidates on the sands, plenty of whom were smarter, stronger, readier, why did you pick my brother?"
Neozeoth couldn't remember that time. Every memory in her regrettably short recollection had G'er already in it, laughing, smiling, trying to make her take a break and go floating with him for a while. When she snapped and snarked and could think of nothing but how foolish everyone was, he was there to remind her that foolish wasn't all they were. That they were also brave. Or kind. Or strong. She gave the girl a rare, sincere answer...mostly because she wanted her rider back and she wanted him back now, I need his sunshine. Or I'll forget what it is I'm even fighting for. After only an afternoon without his warmth, she already felt herself become colder, meaner, more locked in her own endless pursuit of perfection.
"Then tell him that," the girl said simply, "And maybe admit you care about him every once in a while. G'er's not one to read between the lines the way Gect and I do. He needs to hear it straight. Tomorrow. Tonight...tonight he needs his human family."
They walked away, the girl and the bronze, and Neozeoth could almost hear their conversation on the wind, Please don't tell me you expect validation from me now, Essanora. We worked this out turns ago. You tell me I'm great and I allow you to bask in my magnificence.
"I love you too, Gect."
G'er returned in the morning, as promised. Skittish and shy and not quite able to meet her eyes.
It's okay, G'er. We don't have to go between today. Let's talk to Lexien and see if she has any ideas on how to help you manage your fear.
"Really?" his face lit up, the shields fell and all was right with the world.
Really. You're my rider and I love you. Which means I have to take care of you too, even if it is going to set us back. We're going to have to put in double time once you're ready to start if we're going to show Nightengath up first threadfall...
"You've got it," G'er nodded, "You won't be sorry. I promise. I'll work double...triple...hard."
You can start tomorrow. Today...if Lexien agrees...I rather thought we might go swimming.
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Arcane - Thread Conqueror
- Posts: 9154
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Wyatt- Fort Weyr, Summer, 2761 (Repost)
TW: Mentions of death, abandonment
The green was a tiny little thing. Frail and fragile. The sort that wouldn't last the winter in the wild. But weak things were not to be underestimated. Wyatt knew that better than anyone. Her own limbs had been just as thin and spindly when the raiders who'd adopted her left her to die. They'd counted her out. And she'd lived to see them all die at her hands. No, Wyatt didn't laugh at weak things anymore. She might have barely hatched, but hatched she had. And now she had teeth and claws and fire in her belly. She'd make it.
Or maybe she wouldn't. She didn't get up like the blue had. Didn't search for her rider or going sniffing around the sands. She just sat there. Dead for all the world.
Wyatt shrugged. She wasn't a soft heart anymore, to whimper for this life lost. If it was too weak to live, better to let it die here and now then linger on. She'd been weak too, but she'd had grit and strength enough to keep walking, even when her feet bled and her head swam from hunger. To keep walking until she found another, weaker thing to kill so that she could live. And to do it again and again and again. If this one couldn't even work up the spirit to raise its head...
And then it did. Whirling eyes, filled with all the colors of the rainbow, swung right towards Wyatt's. Feelings she hadn't felt for as long as she could remember filled her. Tenderness. Love. Mercy. Yearning. By the time she heard the voice, she was already walking forwards.
Wy... Wyatt. I'm so tired.. I don't feel well, and I don't know if I can get up. Your Emilith is sorry. Can you... can you come pick me up and carry me while I gather my strength, please?
The voice was too soft. Too weak. Wyatt knew that. Could feel her dragon's tenuous hold on life. Her jaw tensed, as she gathered the little green in her arms. Emilith might be too weak to live. It didn't matter. Wyatt would kill as many people as it took, to keep that unfamiliar warmth filling her chest. A warmth she knew was tied, irrevocably, to a single green no bigger than a feline.
TW: Mentions of death, abandonment
The green was a tiny little thing. Frail and fragile. The sort that wouldn't last the winter in the wild. But weak things were not to be underestimated. Wyatt knew that better than anyone. Her own limbs had been just as thin and spindly when the raiders who'd adopted her left her to die. They'd counted her out. And she'd lived to see them all die at her hands. No, Wyatt didn't laugh at weak things anymore. She might have barely hatched, but hatched she had. And now she had teeth and claws and fire in her belly. She'd make it.
Or maybe she wouldn't. She didn't get up like the blue had. Didn't search for her rider or going sniffing around the sands. She just sat there. Dead for all the world.
Wyatt shrugged. She wasn't a soft heart anymore, to whimper for this life lost. If it was too weak to live, better to let it die here and now then linger on. She'd been weak too, but she'd had grit and strength enough to keep walking, even when her feet bled and her head swam from hunger. To keep walking until she found another, weaker thing to kill so that she could live. And to do it again and again and again. If this one couldn't even work up the spirit to raise its head...
And then it did. Whirling eyes, filled with all the colors of the rainbow, swung right towards Wyatt's. Feelings she hadn't felt for as long as she could remember filled her. Tenderness. Love. Mercy. Yearning. By the time she heard the voice, she was already walking forwards.
Wy... Wyatt. I'm so tired.. I don't feel well, and I don't know if I can get up. Your Emilith is sorry. Can you... can you come pick me up and carry me while I gather my strength, please?
The voice was too soft. Too weak. Wyatt knew that. Could feel her dragon's tenuous hold on life. Her jaw tensed, as she gathered the little green in her arms. Emilith might be too weak to live. It didn't matter. Wyatt would kill as many people as it took, to keep that unfamiliar warmth filling her chest. A warmth she knew was tied, irrevocably, to a single green no bigger than a feline.
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