I apologize for the long delay in updating. Please enjoy.
I,
Too
Don't Get Lost in Heaven
Rats was afraid, so very afraid, but Rats could never say so. "Go in," they said, told him, made him, "Go in and take and bring." Rats was afraid of going, but even more afraid of them. But Rats never said so. "Go in and take and bring." He went.
"How unfortunate, so very unfortunate, my dear Mellow."
"Don't call me that."
It was dark, quiet. Rats could hear no people, but snuffed anyway to see. Nothing but Rats. Go faster, faster. There's no one. He went faster. Feet, big feet, stomping, angry. Rats smelled blood. Other way, other way. There's no one. Other way till all Rats could hear was Rats' heart beating. Faster, faster.
"And why not? It's rather endearing, don't you think? And why have you not an affectionate title for me?"
"You—"
"Oh, pardon me. The reason's lying right next to you and I still ask. Forgive me, darling—it was rather hard to distinguish him from the sheets, he's so lumpy. I never thought you were into violent play."
"Shut up, N'cah."
"Why won't he wake? I would like to exchange friendly banter with what was capable of snaring the great M'low's affections. Here, let me help."
Tap, tap. Rats ran, far, far away. Ran till the pain went away. A little. He snuffed. Bread? No, flour. The big bag was open. Go in and take and bring. Rats went. Bite the flour, chew the flour, spit out the flour. He remembered bread, mountains and mountains of bread, stacked end to end and top to bottom. An entire room of bread. He drooled. Rats was hungry, so very hungry, but he could never say so. He remembered food, lots and lots of food, all given to him by a friendly face with whiskers. But they had talked Whiskers down the mountain, made his leg stump turn red and blue and green with stink. It had been a bad, bad stink. Rats wrinkled his nose. It stunk so bad that Rats had went away. "Go in and take and bring." Flour was not bread. He went away. He was hungry now
"Don't touch him, or…"
"Or else? Aren't we a wee too old for childish threats? Oh, excuse me. I do go on awful tangents, don't I? What I was saying before being so rudely deterred was informing you of my glowing report of your, ah, beloved to T'ron. A pity it is, because now I have to go back and disparage your woeful lack of taste in boys rather than men."
"He's more man than you'll ever be."
Trap, trap. Rats smelled blood, lots and lots of blood. He heard big foot walking, stomping away. Rats wanted to run, run far, far away. Mash into corner, eyes closed. He made himself small, so small that big foot couldn't hear him and pull him back into pain and blood. Big foot walked right by. Rats' heart beating, faster, faster. Blood everywhere. Lots and lots of blood.
"Is he more so than T'kul, too? Is that even possible?"
"You'd know."
"What was that?"
"Shut up, N'cah."
"I thought so. Your lump bleeds too much. Think he'll live?"
"He has to. Faranth…he has to."
Rats heard crying, smelled the salt in the air. Stupid, so stupid. Crying was worth nothing, only wasted good water that could be drunk instead. Blood and salt and tears; stink. Other way, other way. No. Rats wouldn't go away. Little feet, pitter-patter, closer and closer.
"My, oh my. And I thought you got worked up about S'lem's exile.
"I—that…I was not worked up. This is completely different, so—"
"Shut. Up. N'cah! Faranth, he has to get more creative. The only thing you won't let walk on top of you is a mere boy for crying out loud."
"I'd rather have a boy walk all over me than let T'kul have his way with me."
"Don't you dare."
"Oh, but I dare."
Rats snuffed. It was blood, as usual. Blood and stink, and something hiding underneath it like a brained wherry. The smell of BREAD. BREAD, and something else that Rats could not remember. But it was good, and that was all Rats cared about. Closer and closer. Digging, scrabbling at the bread. It smelled so good, so very good and Rats was so hungry. One bite. Just one bite. "Go in and take and bring." But Rats was hungry now. He sighed. Dig again, pull out the strange smell. It was a sweet stink now, the smell of soured fruit and sunshine. A bite. Just a bite that no one would miss. "Go in and take and bring." He bit, almost gagging on its sweetness. The fruit was still warm, the crust flaking like crumbling cinders. He chewed, trying to go slowly, and it was gone. So fast. Another bite. Another bite that no one would miss.
"At least I don't whore myself out to children."
"This isn't WHORING."
"Then, pray tell, what is it? Come, spit it out, it preferably not any of that idealistic crap you pull out of your ass."
"Is friendship completely FOREIGN to you? There's more to life than just…bedding, you know.
"It's funny, as your actions so wonderfully justify your words. Look at him blush! Before you ask, yes, everyone knows what you do."
"Y-you…"
"You can have it."
It was the stink. It was dirty and ugly and had blood all down its face that was dried and crusted. Its hair was matted; nails uncut and its eyes were hollow. Like Rats'. Kill it. Little feet, pitter-patter, closer and closer, and break its neck. A snap. One little snap that no one would miss.
"But that's me."
"Now you've done it! Get out, I won't have you ruining everything I've worked for."
"Darling, you've gone and done a fine job of that yourself."
"I guess I was saving 'um for something, but I don't see no point no more."
It came closer. Rats could see the bruises all over Its face, purple and black and blue, knew that they would never go away. Other way, other way.
"BUT THAT'S ME!"
"Well, then. I'll be taking my leave."
"GET OUT!"
Everything felt like Faranth'd been taking her time chewing my bones and guts long and slow, and that's an understatement. I ain't good with words to begin with, and since being dragon cud didn't help, I don't got no words to say how SHARDING awful everything hurt. And to top it all off, M'low wouldn't stop shaking and shaking me, and I swore I could hear my bones clinking together. "Could'ya STOP IT already?" I was trying to sound mean, but it hardly even came out. My throat was on fire, and not one of them little lame match-sticky 'uns, but something big and roaring and spraying sparks like felines pissing. My eyes were glued shut with something, and I managed to claw free of M'low for one stinking second to rub 'em loose. I brushed my face, and wished I hadn't. It hurt. Faranth, it HURT, and it was all I could do to not start rolling 'round crying them out (hey, a'least they'd be open). There were soft clucking noises past all the hurt pangs, and M'low pried my arms loose and dribbled coolness onto my eyes. "There. Now you stop it."
I opened 'em, and whoo-whee, let me tell you the view wasn't pretty at all. M'low's face was squished up all tight 'gainst mine—to keep me from making more music with them bones, prob'ly—and his eyes were red and puffy like he'd been crying something fierce. His lips were cracked, and I could count the little veins that were standing up in his whites. And me, being some kind of random, said, "Rats."
He jumped. Not one of those sissy little things you call 'jump,' but one that might as well have touched the ceiling the way he was looking. His eyes got all big and he shook his head. "It's me, Rose. M'low. Not Rats."
"Mellow. Not Rats." I parroted stupidly. Momma 'linda used to do it all the time for me when I called her 'mam' and wouldn't let me go 'till I got it right.
"Good." Life went back to him, his shoulders turning back into blocks and his back stiff as a board. I watched him pace, back and forth, around. He smelled like food, and Faranth, I hurt as much as I was hungry. "Mellow?"
He did that jump again, but halfway caught himself. "M'low. It's M'low."
"M'low. What I meant to say was…well," Lie, Rosey, lie. "Youlookgreat!" It was all crammed together tighter than wherry stuffing, but I didn't care. Anything to get that food smell off of him and into me.
"You awful liar." He smiled, and for a second, it was like I was Vivianth and getting all of his love. Then it was gone, and this storm cloud of a scowl took its place. A poor substitute, if you ask me. "You are the biggest dimglow I have EVER had the "privilege" of meeting. Do you realize that you could've died? And why even get into such a shard-blasted, STUPID—"
'Round this time I stopped listening. He dropped his pretty vowels a long time ago, and his words were like little butter knives going pokety-poke all over the places that hurt most. 'Sides, it was hard to listen to that when there was a whole mountain of food piled up end on top of end right behind him. He noticed too—I was drooling in great sappy mounds—and gave me a glare S'lem would've been proud of. Then all of a sudden it was like he picked up his anger, mashed it up good and creamy, and tossed it halfway to the sun. "Faranth…sorry. I forgot," he said, all at once turning around and loading up a plate to feed about fifty people. He shoved it into my face like he forgot how to be nice, and stood there staring at me while wringing his hands. Before I'd even got a holt of anything on it, he blurted, "Is it good?" and clamped his lips shut again, shifting from one foot to the other. I wondered why he was so nervous, but then he pushed the plate pointedly at me again. "Eat…please?"
I didn't need to be told twice. 'Tuck in' would be another understatement for what I was doing. 'Shoveling' was more like it. I crammed just about everything that could fit in my mouth at once, barely chewing before swallowing and stuffing more down. I tore the plate down in no time, barely noticing M'low until I was laving at the crumbs. He was bustling the background, arms up to the elbow in flour which I still eyed hungrily. I'd hardly tasted anything, but the aftertaste was enough to have me flopping after eating nothing for Faranth-knew how long. My eyelids were getting droopy with food and drowsiness from it and even M'low scootching over and plunking a great big bubbly pie on the plate didn't quite wake me up. I stared at it. "What's this for?"
He looked away, blushing. "A promise."
"Lucky me, then." I said, grinning.
He met my eyes, and his were smiling. "Indeed. Now," he switched back to his I'm-so-much-older-and-wiser-than-you tone, "eat it while it's hot."
"Don't mind if I do." I murmured, and bit down. He'd made it hot enough so that I couldn't hulk the entire thing down at once, almost burning. But it made me taste it, and I had to close my eyes. It was thick with sweet and cream, the fruit still bubbly and whole. They exploded when I chewed, burning my mouth with their savor. The pastry unfurled in layers, chewy and flaky and so very good. It seemed a great while before I was done, and when the plate was empty again, I licked my fingers one by one, gazing at M'low with this great, sleepy smile on my face.
"You are a spectacle." He mused, regarding me dreamily. I wanted to say he was, perched all perfect-like staring at me, but as I opened my mouth it was like some magic button was pressed and down I went, snoring up a storm.
"You are the biggest dimglow I've ever had the "privilege" of teaching. Taking a fevered, injured ANYTHING between will only make it worse. Or has that fact NEVER permeated that thick skull of yours?"
"I suppose not."
"Then perhaps I should drill little holes in it to allow for greater surface exposure, hmm? Or is that remedy not approved by your greatness?"
Being a beat dog gives you a heckuvalot of crazy dreams, and I was riding through another one of 'em, I guessed. There was S'lem at one end, looking so pissed that his brains must've been slow-roasting and M'low on the other, gnawing at his lip like a spoiled kid that got caught red-handed smuggling sweet root while I was face down with my nose mashed up against something soft and green and moving up and down. For a dream, that sure did hurt, and I turned my head just a little bit to get a better view. I'd never seen S'lem fight with anyone, maybe since no one was stupid enough to get him so winded up, but it looked like he was losing. His face was red and his teeth and fists were clenchy enough to see the veins sticking up all worm-like and gross while M'low just stood there and gave his glare right back at him, his eyes steely.
"Oh, but since my master recommends it, I shall graciously accept his judgment without a peep." This M'low said, sounding like S'lem mixed with knives.
"You—you…I…" He pointed at me, and I wished I was invisible. His look could dice bones. "What did you feed him to get him this way?"
M'low smiled this awful smile. "Hemlock, nightshade—the works. Don't look at me that way, I'm joking for Faranth's sake. I didn't get him this way, your former students did."
"Do I need to remind you that you were one of them?" His eyes might as well've been saying 'murder.'
"Excuse me, master," He swept this bow that had him tripping, obviously making fun of S'lem's own wacky bow, "for not working out all the sticky details. But all joking aside," His voice was his own again, "I didn't do this. G'len and his lot did. You were the watchrider at the time. You should've seen this going on."
"Pardon me, student, but I was too busy wondering why Vivianth happened to be lollygagging in Benden without authorization."
"So now I need permission to visit old friends? Very old friends, by the look of you." A nasty grin. S'lem raised a hand to strike, and my breath just had to hitch. He looked at me. "Rosen."
"Yessir?" I was too tired to space out my words. I coughed, not wanting G'len on my back. "Yes, sir?"
He sounded real tired. "Rosen, who did this?"
"'S what M'low said." His hand went back up and right down and he sighed. When he spoke again it was like he was Turns older. "Fine, M'low. How did you proceed after the…incident?"
"Took him to Fort." He murmured, obviously not wanting anyone to hear.
"And how did you 'take him to Fort'?" His tone was sprouting acid.
"Between."
"Oh, wonderful. Go on."
"I fed him."
"What? Hemlock, nightshade—the works?" I wondered if S'lem could get any nastier.
"No." M'low had stopped meeting S'lem's eyes and was busy contemplating his shuffling feet, voice surly. "I fed him food."
"Oh, really. You could slap some glaring lie in place of what you're spewing and it still be better. 'I fed him food.' Psh."
"I made it, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear?" M'low's teeth were bared as if he were snarling.
"You egoistic showoff! Parading braggart! He doesn't need YOUR clabber! What he needs is nourishing, austere fare that will actually help him recover from this…mess. Not—"
"How do you know what he needs?" M'low shot right back. "You let G'len get a hold of him and let him do this to him! You don't knowanything!"
"I don't know anything? At least I know that it was your fault to begin with. If you hadn't decided to go and warm every last half-man's bed in Benden, none of this would've happened. Or, even better, if you just let Rosen be, no one would know what you harbor for him."
"And of course you know the answer to that too." He cheeks had gone ruddy, and sweat smeared his brow.
"I do. And be glad I have the decency not to blurt it out." He sighed. "M'low, look at me." He sounded so piteous that even I started staring. "How could you do this? This boy deserves as much of a chance at life as you did, away from machinations your own and not your own."
"Then that so-called 'chance' would be the equivalent of zero, right? 'Cause Faranth knows I was given a fat chance." M'low still stared at the floor, drawing cuss words in the dirt with his feet.
"M'low…" S'lem stepped forward, grabbing M'low's shoulder. He shook it off like a dead fly, turning away from both me and him. "I thought you of all people could understand why I do what I do. You know what they'll do. They'll take her away. I thought you knew that, I really did."
"They can't do that. They haven't taken Cosseth away because they really can't. Just talk to F'lar. He'll—"
"I'll never lower myself to talk to that man." He'd shifted so that I could see one hard, glassy eye. "Never."
"They have brainwashed you so…" S'lem sighed for what seemed like the millionth time that day, and it was one of finality. "Alright then. But…if you want to visit Benden when it's on my watch," He was scooting around now, looking nervous, "please visit me. I do miss my best student, you know."
M'low whipped around, jaw hitting the ground. He clamped that thing shut real fast, rubbing at it with a hand so I couldn't see half his face to read it. When he moved it away, he was half-smiling. "Your best, eh? Not your favorite?"
"Oh, good Faranth, no. But the teacher would like to thank his best for rescuing his favorite." Even S'lem was grinning now.
"The teacher's best cordially asks the teacher to take care of the teacher's favorite, seeing as they share such an impeccable taste in their selection."
"Work on your rhetoric." S'lem growled, elbowing a sniggering M'low out of the way to get to me. "You can walk, right?"
"I think so." I said, my mouth twitching from trying not to laugh. "I mean, you can do anything in a dream righ'?"
"Stop speaking nonsense. Vivianth, if you please…thank you." Wow. I'd been lying all this time on Vivianth all this time and didn't even know it. She tilted slightly, rolling me into S'lem's waiting arms. Everyone seemed to stare as I wobbled and jiggled, the ground obviously not liking me stepping on it, but I didn't fall. It was a good thing, too, with all those eyes on me. Even Vivianth had turned to watch the show with her giant blue whirly-gigs for eyes. I patted her back, still warm from my sick self. "Thanks," I whispered.
Anything.
I stared at her, even with S'lem nudging me down like I was some hulking babe, and I swear I saw her eyes speed up a tad. As quickly as she was in my mind, filling it up with this great, endless…happy, she was gone, her eyes back on M'low. They were gone, too. S'lem pushed me down the mountain.
"You didn' tell me he's your student."
It was my turn to whine, and I'd like to think that I had every right to. I'd spent the last hour or so getting every bit of me that hurt poked and prodded and covered with this stinky gunk that S'lem swore, "would make them feel better." I couldn't tell if that was a lie or not at the time, but by now it was obvious that S'lem had told a whopper. It'd made all the cuts and stuff sting like bloody murder and the purple spots scream loud enough to break glass. If they'd mouths, and I could tell S'lem was wishing that I didn't have one at the mo'.
"You never asked. And he was my student. Past tense. Get that right." He finished slapping on the last bit of goo, winding around a bandage as quick as you please. He squeezed it a bit tighter than usual and that's how I knew he was pissed at me. Pissed enough to care, I guessed.
"Why it matter?" I blurted it without thinking to keep from screaming.
"Why does it matter. Don't tell me that a sevenday with G'len made you forgot everything I taught you. And speaking of G'len…" He pulled out a chair, shoving me down on it. I looked away, seeing that wrinkled sheet of something that he'd given me. I wondered what was on it before S'lem shoved his face right up against mine. "I won't throw a tantrum over the stupidity of your actions, seeing as M'low already saw to that, but I must say, anything, and I mean anything would've been better for you to do than to pick a fight with Pellomar in your condition. What were you thinking?"
"I guess I wasn't thinking, y'know, since I was starving 'n all." I tried not to sound bitter, but I was. It was like M'low said, why didn't S'lem know about it and do something about it.
"Don't you shove the blame on me, boy." He hissed, the voice like a cheese grater, grating, what else? "Despite my warning, you decided to push on with your usual, violent ways. It was your actions that caused this upheaval, and it is not my duty to pluck you out of these situations. You are sixteen Turns, verging on seventeen. As much as I enjoyed you being a boy, and Faranth knows I keep forgetting your age, you are a boy no longer. You can no longer rely on people to have everything laid out for you. You've got to start setting your own table, getting your own fork and knife. And not let anyone else interfere with it. You, yourself, are solely responsible."
I wanted to say fighting was completely different from forks and knives, but as if right on cue, two people burst in, one face looking like they were ready to rip something apart (I sure hoped that something wasn't me) and the other white as worry. S'lem straightened instantly. "My respects to you, Weyrleader."
"Where is—oh. Well, that solves half my problems." F'lar gave me a hasty half-a-smile, and I could barely force one up in time before he looked back to S'lem, his face back to being flaming pissed. "What is this I'm hearing about the candidate master's less than smiled on…methods?"
"I don't have the slightest idea about what you're talking about." S'lem's lip was curled meanly.
F'lar pushed the other face in front, and it took me a second to recognize it. "BIRTO? What happened t'you?"
Birto didn't look at me, just muttered something about 'gross favoritism' and 'starvation' before jabbing a guilty finger at me.
"Good. You are dismissed." Birto shot me a look of pure fear before scurrying out, shutting the door with a big bang. "Now, elaborate."
"Again, I assure you, Weyrleader, that I knew nothing of this."
"Then explain your nursing of Rosenfield here. Did you ask him how he got this way or did you just shape some answer from the air?"
S'lem drew himself up to his full height, almost F'lar's. "If a patient was gravely hurt, possibly near death, would your priority be to pump him for the excruciating details of how he was saddled with his injury? Or would you 'shape some answer from the air' and treat him of his ills?"
F'lar twitched, and I thought he would explode or something just as bad, but then he breathed out, shoulders going limp. "I apologize for my accusations. It's just quite hard to believe that something…like this could escalate to such a scale without my knowing."
"No need to apologize." S'lem waved a dismissive hand, but his eyes clearly said that he was miffed. "Now, what was this about the candidate master?"
"I'm sure you remember as a candidate being punished for certain wrongdoings. Slacking, not paying attention, lack of respect, being at a supposed 'off-limits' site," At this, F'lar's mouth twitched as if was dying to smile, but grew into a hard, thin line just as fast.
"Of course. Even if my candidacy occurred four hundred Turns ago, yes." Both F'lar and him exchanged this fond look of knowing. It flew away fast, though. "Unfortunately," F'lar continued, "our present candidate master sets no limits on what is considered punishable. Rosenfield suffered the consequences of that deficiency."
"Certainly not all of this was G'len's fault." F'lar's eyebrow shot up about a dragonlength. "A man of his age couldn't have beaten Rosen to this extent."
"It doesn't matter how it was done." His tone was cold. "What matters is that G'len is grossly abusing his power. He must be relieved of his responsibilities."
"If you have already made up your mind on this matter, why bring it to my attention at all?"
F'lar looked like he wanted to hit himself, probably angry that he had danced around the issue in big winedy circles 'stead of just saying the sharding thing. Or at least that's what I thought. He took a big breath like he didn't want to say what he was about to say. "G'len is of Oldtime…"
"If a rider's dragon cannot determine his rider's actions then why should a man's origins have the privilege of doing so?" S'lem snapped, cutting F'lar off.
"Spoken like a true Harper." F'lar rewarded S'lem with one of those meltyblend smiles. "But in this case, his origins do have a lot to do with his actions. I realized that he is one of the men T'ron left with me seven Turns ago when Benden's wings were under strength; a very convenient manipulator. It is to my understanding that Oldtimers were not fond of their Holders. Rosenfield is Holdbred. Could T'ron have ordered G'len to punish Holders to discourage them from Impression?"
S'lem's eyes went sleepy, thinking. "It is possible," He blurted, face red as if he didn't want to believe it himself. "I kept detailed records of the candidates. Rosen is not the only who is Holdbred."
"Birto tells me that others have suffered under G'len, just to a less extreme." He gave me a once-over, and I pulled my knees up to my chest, not wanting him to see me as a half-nekkid mummy. "They were all Holdbred."
"Then we can assume that T'ron doesn't want Holders a-dragonback. End of discussion." S'lem spat, obviously annoyed that he hadn't found the answer first, "with all due respect, Weyrleader." He tossed after it, his tone wrenching the words of their courtesy.
F'lar's eyebrow did the tweaky again, but he let it drop. "I will be relieving G'len of his duties. But," A grave smile stretched on to his face, "I will need someone to replace him."
All of S'lem froze except for the head, which creaked towards F'lar something awful. "You cannot be serious."
"I am quite serious." F'lar looked like a self-satisfied prig of a feline that just found itself a chest full of milk.
"You are well aware of my age and how my aching joints will have to work to keep up with those young backs. I do have other duties, you know!"
"I am well aware." His tone was placid, and his grin doubled.
"Fine. FINE. If I'm to break my back, then I might as well be doing it for the children, whom I loathe. Thank you so very much for this demotion. Oh, forgive me, promotion."
"You are very welcome." F'lar gave a gracious little nod of his head, turning around to leave. His hand was on the doorknob when he turned around. "You do remember that little project we discussed a while ago?"
"Ah, yes. With a great fondness that I don't happen to have for my new title."
Faranth, F'lar's smirk was insufferable. "I'll leave it up to you to carry it out."
"With great pleasure, m'lord." S'lem threw F'lar's nod at him as he shut the door. After a moment or two, we heard laughing. S'lem limped over to me, pulling out a chair and slumping into it. "What I do for M'low. What I do for that lousy little ungrateful scamp."
"You lied to F'lar?" My eyes were probably the size of dinner plates.
He gave a weakly dismissive wave. "No, no, no. I didn't lie to him. I just didn't tell him the truth, that's all. I know this is going to come back and bite me later. I just know it."
I'd never seen S'lem so tired or broken, and I just sat there starin' like he was a two-headed mule. "'S already biting you. You're candidate master now."
"Oh, the joy. The all-encompassing joy." He shook his head in disgust before picking me up by the scruff of my neck and dumping me on his cot. "Go to sleep, Rosen. You're going to need it."
I wondered what kinda hell F'lar'd loosed on the world.
S'lem's cot was probably the most comfy thing I'd ever had the chance to be on since it seemed like moments of sleep before my eyes were open again. For the first time in a while, it felt like, not everything hurt when I finally got the guts to get up and try everything out. Everything seemed too long, and I fell over once and nearly twice before I got to that looking glass S'lem kept to count his wrinkles every sunrise. I almost fell over again. FARANTH, I looked like this big weedy thing 'side from not being green—everything was long and skinny and covered with black spots that could've passed for seeds, I guess. And my face…Let me tell you one thing, and it's that I'd always thought I was worth someone's spit on the underside of aklah cup, but now… whoo-whee. I ain't even costing that much no more, no more. It looked like I'd really been chewed on 'cause all the meat was gone, just hallowed cheeks left and a bunch of scratches and bruises that could've passed as bite marks. I stared and stared, pressing myself hard up against the glass to get a good, long look. Might 's well get used to it, Rosey.
"Well, look on the bright side," S'lem had crept up all quiet as you please, standing behind me in the mirror with this crook in his mouth, "you're nearly F'lar's height, I'll wager."
I turned around, and might as well have hit the ceiling m'self. I had to look down to see old S'lem, smiling up at me. He reached up to pat my shoulder. "Now, breakfast. First one in a sevenday, right?"
S'lem was either going really, really soft or I was looking more invalid than I thought. I nodded, managing not to do anything stupid, in my opinion, while sitting myself down and taking a hulking spoonful of porridge. It smelled like heaven, and probably tasted like it too, but S'lem had a hold of my hand before I even got the teeniest lick. "What'd I do?"
My face felt hot, and S'lem must've saw it 'cause he turned bright pink himself. "Eat slowly. You can't just hork it down and expect your body to do anything with it. Anything useful, that is."
I snorted. He took it as an agreement and sat back down himself, taking about a finger's width of porridge and sipping it, like a lady. I tried to copy him, but still managed to finish before him, no less full than I was before. He made me sit there until he finished, and afterwards, dip my fingers in some funky-smelling water and wipe my mouth. Twice. Before he got to sit back down and demonstrate how 'one cleans his hands properly,' there was a thunderclap of a knock at the door, making him spill his water. He glared at me like it was all my fault. "Come in."
The door creaked open about a hair. "Master S'lem, the candidates are waiting for your instruction."
S'lem could've pulled off someone's balls with the look on his face. His voice came out though, as nice as could be. "Of course. Please tell them to gather at the Sands. I'll be with them in a moment."
"Yes, sir." The door slammed shut.
His look veered over to me. I cowered. "C'mon, boy. I've no idea how to even proceed with this…Touching thing. But I'll think of something." He all but hauled me to my feet and stormed out. I followed with a longing gaze at the almost full porridge pot, sighing and following. Like Rats, I was hungry now.
If candidacy under G'len had been about the same as getting burned to a crisp, eaten, spat back out and laid out to watch Thread make pretty little holes on your chewed up self, S'lem sure went and did a good job of proving that his was that with no fellis to make you dumb and sleepy-happy, stomping out onto the Sands and yelling at everyone to shut up or he'd feed them to Ramoth himself, limb by limb. Lessa looked happy at that suggestion, saying that Ramoth would be more than happy to oblige. And obliging she looked; if S'lem's pissed was just 'pissed,' Ramoth's pissed was like having a broom with all the bristles shoved good and tight up there. She was Sharding HUGE, which didn't make anything better, 'cause all you could see were her eyes and how hate-mad red they were. She hissed at us, and everyone shut up. In that big mess I managed to find Birto, and his face was just as white as it'd been last night. "You know what's going on?" I whispered. Lucky we were in the back.
"Yeah. We're touching the eggs again." He swallowed, smiling shakily at me. I was eye level with him now and smiled back. "I saved one for you."
"Wait, again? You've done this already?"
"Mmhm. It's just Ramoth's angrier this time about it than before."
"That's why you're looking as white as a sheet? Pipe down. At least we'll be eaten last."
I could still make him laugh. It was a short one, though, and he went back to a cross between worried and thoughtful. "You'll like your egg," he rattled off, "It's kinda greenish and all the way in the back. I heard from Pellomar that you wanted a green." He rolled his eyes. Obviously Pell'd been making more cracks about my 'selection.'
"I've 'impeccable taste,' don't I?" I grinned big, thinking about M'low.
"What?"
"Nothing." We both turned back to S'lem's rambling. Ramoth had backed off to just throwing her hissy fit at the girls around the gold egg. Everyone was spreading out now, gathering around their favorite eggs. Birto hung on to me, pulling me towards the egg he'd saved for me. I saw it, and knew why right away. It was one of the smallest and green, just like he'd said, but I could care less. It was just as big as I was and twice as wide, and cloudy with its color. I walked forward, pressing both hands onto it. "They're warm!" I said, laughing.
"Yeah." Birto's eyes had gone as cloudy as my egg's, his own hands pressed to one of the larger, dark brown ones. "Wouldn't it be so great if we Impressed? Just think about it…" His voice was barely a whisper, almost impossible to hear with all the rest of the candidates talking.
"Oh, I've been thinking, don't worry." I turned back to the egg. It would be great. More than that, even. I could get away from S'lem and F'lar all up in my business and go, well, anywhere. And there was M'low—he'd be able to teach me everything he knew about riding and fighting Thread and…I rolled my own eyes now. Keep on dreaming,boy. I gave the egg one last pat before moving away with the rest.
There were still the chores. It was the same things; mucking out stalls, sweeping, hacking up Sukey, washing dragons. You know, all that good, bone-tiring stuff, except this round seemed way easier. For one thing, I wasn't starving no more (even if I was eating as slow as a seriously obese lady on some nibbling diet), another was Pell getting off my back. It was a good thing 'cause that baby cot I still slept on wasn't doing that back no good, and I wasn't sure if it could handle Pell's bulk on it. And the last one was that I got to spend at least half my day with Birto and S'lem learning how to talk pretty for the Crafters and Holders. For what reason I don't know and don't care since it sure beat shoveling…well, you know, and I probably would've been happy not knowing for the rest of my life. But, since something made me happy Faranth thought she might as well go smash it for all she cared.
It was one of those rainy days that kept us from scraping the greens off the sides of the Weyr, meaning that me and Birto got to spend the whole day with S'lem 'stead of just half. We were both gathered around the fire, our behinds soaked from being out, when he stomped in, more wrinkles standing out than usual. He sank into a chair, waving us towards him. We sat down in a min-circle around him, looking at each other nervously. After a while of twiddling thumbs, I turned to Birto, "What's eating him?"
"Nothing is 'eating' me, Rosen. I simply realized how old I was getting." He opened his eyes, the firelight making him look even worse than usual. The brown of his eyes was cloudy with cataracts, the extra wrinkles becoming threadscore. I stood up, fast enough to make Birto jump back. "You put numbweed on that yet?"
His eyes shut again. He sighed, groping blindly for the jar he always kept. I reached forward, pushing it towards his hand. It still took him a little before he got his hand around it, and even then, just held it, staring at it. "It's 'have you put,' Rose. How many times do I have to tell you?"
"'Bout a thousand more if you're gonna live that long." I pulled the jar away from him, unscrewed the cap and slathered it thick on the cuts. "They ain't deep."
He touched his cheek to one, winced, and pulled away. "Age is such a funny thing. Such a funny, sneaky git. You, and you," He jabbed angry fingers at me and Birto, "Listen. You wake up, expecting everything to be tight and sound when really, the wall's busy crumbling behind your back. And when you need it the most," He got up, the bones of his back clicking. "it's not there. And it's never going to be again." He went back to staring at whatever was more interesting than me and Birto's mouths tasting the floor. Birto found his guts first. "But, sir. There was no Thread today."
"Not at Benden's tiny part of the world, you mean. Why haven't you been studying those charts?"
"He has been studying." I slid between him and Birto. "Those charts are about as much help as my a—um, they don't work anymore, remember? Shifts an'…"
"The charts I gave you are updated." He snapped, then shook his head, muttering bitterly, "Oh, never mind, never mind. It wasn't threadscore, not all of it, anyway."
"Then what was it?"
His hand went up and both of us backed up about a dragonlength, hitting the wall. It was down just as fast, S'lem's anger replaced by tiredness as he sat back down. "Merika threw quite the fit when sent her from High Reaches. Conveniently, I was there for her to vent frustration." He glared coldly at us. "Blue riders. Convenience. I hate it." A bellow from outside echoed his rider's.
"Wait—" Birto stepped up again. "You sent Merika away from High Reaches?"
"Yes. T'kul too. And T'ron." He swallowed as if saying the names left a bad taste in his mouth. "But not just me, by all means. I was just there to see it get done. And look at me now."
We both finally found the decency to shut up, and after a while of sitting and letting it get tenser and tenser, S'lem shooed us away. "I won't be able to teach you anything today," was his excuse.
"You could teach us some new oaths."
"Get out."
But he was smiling.
I was scrubbing Cosseth out without S'lem hovering over my shoulder like he would chuck something at me if I misplaced a single chunk of flaking hide, and even Cosseth seemed calmer for the lack of him. It was a nice day after that storm, both literal and figurative, with S'lem, the sun high and the water nippy at the ankles. I gave his back a final swipe, shoving at him to make him go and rinse. He wouldn't budge for some reason, his head up high in the air and staring behind me like there were 'bout half a dozen ghosts or something. My face must've looked it, 'cause when I whirled around and shoved my brush at the ghosts, it got a bark of laughter from M'low and even a rumble from Vivianth.
"Nice one. I can see why you're the favorite. Now," He grabbed my arm, yanking hard, "come with me. And be quick about it."
"What the—" I made a feeble gesture at Cosseth.
"Don't worry, Vivianth will look after him. Just hurry." I didn't ask no more questions, his eyes were that bad. His hand was shaky nervous on my arm, and I could've flung it aside without even trying. Or, better yet, just stand there and watch him try to pull me since I was tons taller than him. But, since I'm me and being me means doing whatever else anyone tells me to do, I let myself be pulled.
It was a while before we stopped, or I stopped and forced him to stop 'cause he couldn't drag me no more. We were going into the caverns that no one had been in since Faranth knew how long, and I didn't like the dark no more than I liked Pellomar. I stalled. "What did you do when T'ron got sent to Southern?"
"That?" His eyes got big like he didn't expect me to know nothing, "It's nothing. I stayed, no big deal." He kept on walking, faster, faster, as fast as he'd dropped his vowels. I didn't want to follow, but I was afraid of not following. He was worried about something and wasn't saying what or why, and it was giving me the creeps more than the cavern was. All the while he was cussing to himself and feeling at the wall with me right at his heels, and after what seemed like forever he stopped, slipping as clean as you please into an okay-sized crack on the side. "C'mon."
I went too, twitching at the rock grazing my skin beneath my thin shirt, almost bumping into him. There were sparks, and suddenly light flooded the place, flickering in the mist. "Now," He grabbed my hand, pulling me closer to him. "you've been touching the eggs, right?"
"Yeah. Wait a second…"
"There's no time for waiting." The blackest scowl was on his face.
"These are Ramoth's eggs. How did you—where's Ramoth?"
"Gone. That's all that matters. I'll need you to touch from now on…" He gave the entire chamber a onceover, "this one, that one, and…maybe that one in the corner. Doesn't have any others around it. See?"
"Why?"
"Why does it matter? Touch them. Now. For me, please." He didn't need his voice to do the begging, his eyes were enough. I rolled mine at him, barely brushing the one closest to me. It was Pellomar's egg; I could still tell in the dim light. It wasn't the biggest, but it was bronze-colored and creamy. A lot prettier than my dirty-looking green one, I guessed. I was reaching for the next one before the light shifting caught my eye. He had shoved the candle into the sand, sketching a rough model of what looked like the cavern we were in. When he saw me looking, he dashed it away and blew out the taper. "What was that for?" I said.
"Nothing. You touch those eggs yet?" Before he got an answer, he doubled over, his head thumping against my thigh as he fell. In the dimness I could just make out his face, the deep, graven lines that spoke of impossible grief. He groaned, leaning heavily on me. "Take us out, please." I did, whisking us out of the chamber and back out into the light. Faster going out than in, it seemed, and we were just in time for this deafening, out-of-the world-keen. I stopped up my ears in time to see M'low crumple, shaking and Vivianth and Cosseth on the ledges, screaming their lungs out.
I put myself together long enough to see M'low leave and talk to S'lem about what had happened. He looked half crazy himself, and probably was with his and the rest of all them dragons stirring up something foul outside. It turned out that two High Reaches queens had killed each other, both Benden-hatched, which was why it had been such a big deal. I had simply sat there and let him unload all of his dirt on me without asking questions even if I had no idea what he was talking about. He'd probably assumed I'd find out when I got myself a pretty-shiny at the Hatching that was about a sevenday away. To tell you the truth, I wasn't looking forward to it no more. It seemed like so much trouble; the washing, the feeding, the great, crushing sadness that was there when I swallowed enough fear to sweep out Canth's couch. Brekke had been in there, or at least her body had. Her soul seemed to be in pieces, swept out the window with the rest of the dust, that hard to find and even harder to put back together.
It didn't get better.
S'lem was in pieces still a few days after the "incident," fidgety and distracted as he tried to teach us the "art of diplomacy." In truth, I probably could've done a better job of explaining 'diplomacy' or whatever that was to a half-wit than S'lem could've explained a spoon to a human being. Today wasn't going no better, and me and Birto had just sat and watched him lecture himself wheezy when he suddenly fixed us both with an eye that showed that, no, he wasn't going insane. Not just yet.
"Birto."
I think Birto could've been pregnant or something from the look on his face. "Yes…sir?"
"I am going to give you a problem, and you are going to tell me how you would solve it. Say there was a certain knife, jeweled, new, yes, Rosen, better looking than mine, and a Crafter had spent the last sevenday of his life slaving over this knife to give to a certain Lord Holder for his wedding.
"After the knife was done, let's say a dragonrider saw it, and lo and behold, the green-eyed monster had stolen his soul. He had to have that knife, no matter what the Crafter said. Now," He straightened, his eyes boring into Birto, "what would you do?"
"Well," Birto sat up good and straight, moistening his lips, "since it is the dragonrider's duty to protect Pern, he spends the majority of his vitality doing so, thusly cutting his lifespan by at least a third if not more due to Thread-related injuries." He gave me a nervous look. I nodded even if I disagreed with almost everything that was tumbling out of his mouth, nudging him on, "Because the dragonrider performs his duty to the best of his ability with that duty being on such a grand scale, the dragonrider should be entitled to that knife."
S'lem gave a grave nod. "What about you, Rosen?"
I shrugged. "The knife's for the Lord Holder, the Crafter spent Faranth-knows how long on it, so the dragonrider can go piss off." I didn't look at Birto since I already'd memorized his look of dismay. S'lem gave me that annoyingly sad nod again before sitting down, groaning as his back eased. He then gave us both a small smile. "And again, we are faced with yet another problem: your answers. Which one would cause the least friction in this horrible, horrible time? Which one. Always which one."
We sat there, feeling cruddy for upsetting S'lem yet again, staring into the fire.
So that was how I felt going into the Hatching, miserable. It was hardly morning and people were already up and screaming and yelling and pulling out hair with the business. The sauce was in the wrong place and the robes are all wrinkly and Faranth knows what else was getting messed up all at the wrong time. I had my white on and was tucked nice and neat away from everyone else to 'keep from getting underfoot' as the cooks had said. Everyone else looked like they were doing a good job of that themselves, gathered all cozy with their families, talking and smiling and laughing like they hadn't seen each other in forever. Pell was surrounded by a mob of them, taking his time to shoot me a smug smirk. I looked away, trying to doze off when a familiar-looking redhead came and popped me a good one in the gut. "You're getting fat," she said.
"If getting fat means getting taller than yes, I am." I smiled at Favrielle, my equivalent of family, apparently. She was getting bigger, her big blue eyes squinting as she wrinkled her nose. "Fine. You're taller. And don't talk like S'lem. It gives me the creeps." She rubbed her arms like crawlers were all over them, kicking at my leg. "What are you doing?"
"I 'unno. Twiddling my thumbs?"
"Sounds boring. You're going to Impress today, aren't you?"
"I'd like to think so."
"Well think so. Papa says you're going to Impress a green, but I think different." She tilted her little chin up all proud. I could've laughed.
"Papa, eh? You've been playing too much Family, Favri." I prodded her nose.
"No! It's not Family." She glared at me with steel in her eyes. "It's family. I found my Papa. He was red-headed, just like what Momma said."
"Alright, alright. What were you thinking I would Impress, then?"
She smiled, flashing dimples. "I think you're going to Impress a bronze. A great big bronze, just like F'lar."
"Just like F'lar. I'll remember, Favri." I patted her head. She ducked it, making me miss, sprouting great giggles. "Remember me, Rose. Oh," Her eyes got huge as she covered her mouth with her hands. "I can't believe it! It's going to be the last time I call you that. Rose." She mashed her face up close against mine. "Rose, Rose, Rose. I won't forget you."
"You won't be able to. I'll be riding the biggest doggone bronze, remember?"
"Of course." She smiled again before racing off, her skirts bouncy. I stared, hardly believing that I used to be that young. Like S'lem had said, age was a git. I would give anything to be like that still, not caring about a single, flipping thing.
I was still dreaming about it when we walked out onto the Sands, and Faranth, it was hot as boilin' water out here, made even worse with the press of hot, sweaty bodies all around me. And there was queen Blood smack dag in the middle of all of it howling up winged and clawed slaughter. The humming grew louder, not that it needed to since the eggs were already doing the deafening for them. It was like thunderclaps striking trees, left and right, the shells flung everywhere and at anyone. Just as quickly, baby dragons rushed out, clawing at people and liking others. I hoped Pell was getting diced fine, his smug self up in the front an' all, but just as I thought it, a great blob of brown hunkered towards me, its eyes not the blue of happy but the red of something really, really pissed off.
Again, until next time (whenever that may be). Love, Maude.
