Dragons colored blue, more than pay their due
lasting out the Flight, over peopled lands
their greatest trick of all, is not found during Fall
but in finding candidates, to stand on Hatching Sands.
-The Colors Song
Where Red Butte was often the first landmark dragonpairs learned when 'betweening', the WherHold had become the second. Rising out of the emerald waters like a great sea snake, the entirely man-made hold curled possessively around two thirds of the atoll it was built on. Raised above the ground by a full dragon length in height, the walls comprised of red Igen bricks, giving it the appearance of a red underbelly. The roof was covered in overlapping slate plates, bequeathing it's serpentine look, pitched and angled to cause any Thread to fall harmlessly into the fish teeming waters.
Despite coming out of between directly over the landing area, Vaeth gracefully spiraled over the glittering lagoon, the agreed upon protocol between the dragonmen and wherfolk, to let them know when the dragons were there for a visit. Beneath, in the gentle waves high pitched shouts of welcome came from the hold children, which of whom began swimming towards the landing site.
Vaeth tighten his spiral, aiming to come in for a gentle landing, then, with no warning suddenly snapped his wings tightly to his side, touching down with a jarring thud. Thrown forward, Char glanced to her left, and saw a toddler a half wingspan away, and walking towards them, laughing and clapping his hands.
Sorry. Vaeth murmured, glancing back at his rider.
It's alright. Char slapped his neck reassuringly. I didn't sense him either.
A young man came running out to them, catching up the toddler and apologizing profusely to Vaeth.
Peace. No harm was done. Vaeth informed him as Char dismounted the same way she would an overly tall runner. Bowing the young man backed away.
Would Fulsa be angry with me if I tell Graesth that he would be a good candidate? Vaeth asked idly, as the two retreated.
Of course, but I won't tell her if you don't. Char replied drolly, disrobing. The heat was less here, but the higher humidity made the riding gear equally uncomfortable.
"I'll take your jacket, sir!" One of the children cried, trotting ahead of the flock of children.
"Thank you. Can someone lead me to Lady Tegrram?"
"This way, mistress," one of the older girls recovered quickest, while the youngster who took her jacket did a double take.
"You ride a blue? And you're a girl?" One of the younger children asked.
"Yep." Char had long since gotten over being bothered by the question. "Telgarsk is blue, and his handler is a girl." She added as she followed the sun browned child.
"Fortsk is a brown, and Lady Hydafil is his handler." Another boy replied.
"And Garsk, he's a bronze, and, and his handler is Mistress Kelhi." The littlest girl, carrying her flight goggles, added, trotting along side of her. Char smiled, sensing easy acceptance in the children, and stepped into the entrance of the WherHold.
Jurille poured the spiced iced klah for her guests, Brinda and Asvi. The Magnificent Eight had been reduced to five in the past three Turns, a loss the small community of queenriders felt keenly, and the two oldsters had jumped at the opportunity to discuss a heritage project.
"You know, I actually feel a bit sad for the queenriders to come after us." Asvi said, sipping her beverage.
"Oh?'' Jurille asked. Brinda smiled and said nothing, having heard all of this before.
"Interval queens are much rarer, most exist as the only queen of their Weyr for the majority of their lives. The group cohesion we have enjoyed appears to only be a Pass phenomenon. And as the dragons get larger, fewer queens will be needed to maintain population numbers." Avsi explained. Jurille sipped her klah thoughtfully.
"Then... we need to weave the sense of sisterhood into this." She finally replied. Brinda nodded. "A contiguous sisterhood, from Sorka and Farranth to them."
"Something more than a dusty ballad." Avsi added. "Just in my lifetime I've seen Teaching Ballads fall in and out of favor. This needs to be more, something interactive."
"Incorporate it into the Queen's Meet." The other two queenriders nodded.
"But make it so it can be accomplished by only six." Brinda added.
"What if we made something that is both spoken word and music?" Jurille mused.
"Something dramatic, to stir the heart." Avsi murmured as her blue firelizard, more grey then blue with age, slipped into her lap. Avsi stroked him, eyes distant.
"Could we include include candles or glows somehow?" She asked absently. "High Reaches Hold has a lovely tradition where everyone attending a wedding is given an unlit candle. As the vows are exchanged, the betrothed blend their candle flames, then move about the gathered witnesses to light everyone's candles." She smiled softly. "It's a lovely ceremony."
"I like that, we can make that work." Jurille murmured and refilled their cups.
Water lapped against the dark basalt of the sheer sides of the half submerged caldera. A stiff breeze rustled the dense foliage of the redfruit trees surrounding the sleeping shelter. Yawning Shay rolled over and fell out of his hammock, waking his bronze firelizard in the process. Lantern yellow eyes peer down at the teen, and he offered a soft croon of concern.
"I'm alright, Skip." Shay murmured ruefully, reaching up to rub the firelizard's headknobs. This was the fourth time in as many days that he had fallen out of his sleeping hammock. He had taken to piling soft sand under his hammock for this very situation.
Sighing he sat up after a long moment, unwilling and unable to return to sleep. The hot season made sleep difficult, and he decided to take a the late night swim instead.
Skip chirped and flew above him as he picked his way down the deliberately pebbled path from the sleeping shelter to the lagoon. The half of the island submerged was completed by a mirror perfect reef. Across the water he could see the bobbing lights of island's fishers, the island's watchwher helping chase the night's catch into waiting nets. In a Turn, when he was more comfortable handling the small catamaran, he would be given the opportunity to join the fishers, if he didn't find a different trade he preferred.
Skip arrowed into the water, splashing ahead of the youngster projecting what he saw underwater. Laughing Shay plunged in after, the water quickly deepening as he moved away from the shore into cooler water, away from the glowing corals Skip eeled amongst.
Finally comfortable he rolled over on his back and stared up at the stars. The past eight months had been something from a dream, he reflected. He had 'escaped' from the Smithhall, the morning of Fall, and traveled overland in deepening winter until, half starved, he banged on the iron trap door above Retribution. No less partronage than Lady Galnees herself, met with him then, astride the massive Retributionsk, who transported them into the warm bowls of the underground fortress, where he demanded his due as Redell's holder.
For a fortnight he recovered from his ordeal, then Redell summoned him for a personal rendition of his account, in the Hatchery. As Redell sat resting on the monsterous bronze wher's foreleg, Shay told of his blotched assassination and Branth's successful murder of Lord Kestle. He spoke of his interrogation, by Telgar's WeyrLady, and all that he had revealed. He informed the WherLord of the Telgarans' decision to send him to hard labor in the SmithHall and how for almost two Turns he served as a drudge for the apprentices and mastermasons, and finally of his own escape and travels. All of these he repeated truthfully and without fear, for the great wher was also listening, and his soft glowing eyes remaining green throughout. In the silence that followed Redell caressed one of his queen firelizards, sitting on his shoulder, and considered his words.
"And what do you want from me, now that you have your freedom?" Redell's voice was patient, despite the late hour.
"I want a future." Shay replied steadily. "My pa and ma were holdless. Tunnel snake got my ma, and a group of drunk miners beat my pa to death, while he was hunting wherries. The Smiths made it clear I would never be able to join a Hall." He lifted his chin defiantly. "I ain't gonna die like my folks. I ain't afraid of hard work neither. You've seen that I'm loyal. If you give me a place, I'll learn learn any Craft you want me to. All I want is a fair chance." Redell nodded slowly.
"I'd say you've earned one. Go, spend the rest of the day as you see fit. Then report to Galnees in the morning."
Shay's reminiscent were interrupted by Skip tugging insistently at his shoulder length hair.
"Ow- Skip, what-?" Wincing he tried to untangle the firelizard's talons, then paused realizing the sky had gone dark, as if obscured by a cloud. In the distance Merrisk the watchwher bellowed and vanished amid shouts of surprise by the fishers. The water seemed to boil with fish as Shay swam, terrified of what Skip was projecting. It never occurred to him to question how his firelizard, hatched in the past four months, knew what Thread was - now all that mattered was getting to the slate lined boat shed before Thread did.
The WherHold was inspired by Fort Jefferson, in the Dry Tortugas, and ancient Melanesian building practices.
If you see any grammatical or spelling errors, please let me know. Also, I thrive on feedback.
