Shafts of sunlight pierced the shade of the red banded canyon. The ceiling had gotten tall enough for Bukset to mount again, but he remained dismounted, taking his time to admire the unusual rock formation. Writing music was not his forte, but the strange beauty of the place stirred in him the desire to put to music the weird calm of the canyon.
His revery was broken by the laughter of children, echoing far ahead of the hold children who surrounded him when he caught up to where they were playing a jumping game, the four square box craved into the bedrock. Like holder children everywhere they had questions about him, his placid runner, and his firelizard. The Holder's daughter lead him and the rest of the gaggle to the entrance of the Scorch Hold, announcing his arrival by ringing a large metal triangle hanging outside the entrance.
The Holder, a grizzled man with a loud laugh but soft voice welcomed him and sent his daughter to stable his runner, even as his much younger wife brought the harper a black porcelain goblet of cool water.
"Welcome and welmet, Harper. Wher Mistress Teggram wrote of your coming." An older woman with streaks of grey in her thick black braids and a gold firelizard on each shoulder greeted him. She wore no knotdevice, but in it's place dangled a single claw, the symbol of a wherhunter.
"Hunter Regeaj?" Bukset offered his hand and she nodded, clasping his forearm, the formal greeting more common among Smiths. He in turn clasped hers, feeling the surprising strength in her arms. His brown made a polite chirping noise, landing on his shoulder. Both queen lizards whistled back.
"Please, join me inside. I understand you have a number of questions your Master needs answers to." Regeaj said, waving him to follow her.
Char was playing with the other musically inclined weyrlings, giving the harpers a chance to eat and drink, when the bronze and brown riders trickled back in, some finding their mates and disappearing for a bit, others exercising a bit more control and rejoined their friends and fellow riders, as the wine flowed freely and the dancers whirled about the dance floor. She wanted to know who had flown Wilth, but Vaeth had fallen asleep, and as they were halfway through their set she simply had to content herself with seeing who returned. She did smile, seeing Fulsa dance with just about everyone who wanted to to, the wherhandler's stamina something several of the Weyrfolk commented on with admiration. Eventually she ended up dancing with C'bay again, the two of them dancing stately as the last song in the weyrlings' set was a 'sweep', a partnered dance with measured steps, a chance really for the dancers to catch their breath between sets. Finally done she hung the ocarina back around her neck and reached for her crutches when Fulsa and C'bay walked over to her.
"Would you like to dance?" Fulsa asked, eyes dancing with mirth. Char tilted her head, confused.
"I'd love to, but how?"
"I'll carry you on my back." Fulsa grinned. "You be my arms, and C'bay here with dance with the both of us."
Char glanced back and forth between the two of them before nodding eagerly.
Redell did not stay long, after they shared a drink, but Galnees went to bed feeling curiously satisfied, her firelizards bedding down with her. The first time her bronze had flown his gold he had actually turned away from her, going to his quarters and locking the door - to protect her honor, ironically enough, he later claimed, when she questioned him about it, after he had invested her with the duties of Lady Holder. He had some quaint ideas of chivalry, she decided, but that was rather to be expected of someone raised to be the next Lord Holder of fabled Rautha Hold. She stroked her bronze who crooned softly, snuggling up to her, smelling faintly of the lightly perfumed oil she used on her lizard kin. Drifting of to sleep she felt Retributionsk stir, her mind hot and curiously raw.
Sitting up in her bed she cast her mind out to the wherqueen, asking what was wrong - there was no answer but the gold shared the image of her kill with Galnees, and the ripping of soft flesh, the taste of hot, intoxicating blood sent Galnees reeling from her sleeping furs, stumbling out of her quarters.
The hallway was empty except for the wher handlers - those of the WherWing who had returned go their rooms following a day of revelry. The WherWing had the holiday off, but now the men stood silently in the low lit hallway, their eyes on Galnees, as Retributionsk struck a second herdbeast. Galnees sagged against the wall, confused. This was nothing like her firelizards rising to mate - then she could always identify where she ended and they started. But now- all sense of self evaporated as Retributionsk roared a challenge and leap skyward.
Below the blues, browns and bronzes struggled to follow their queen as she climbed into the sky layered with yellow thermals and green veils of downdrafts. She wheeled above them , taunting with her flowing body, now, more than ever, a creature of wind and sky, and star fire. The biting cold of the winter could barely be felt on a normal day, now she was only aware of the heat of her thrumming blood, and the salty taste of blood still lingering on her tongue. Again she called to her suitors, less a challenge, this time flirtily. She loved them dearly, the stalwart bronzes, her sturdy browns and even the brave few blues that struggled to meet her challenge - she loved them, lusted after them, even as she knew they wouldn't keep up, that only one would finally prove his worth and match her speed and dexterity - snapping her wings tightly to her side she plunged downward, only snapping open her wings when she reached the thin layer of saffron, and soared skyward once more.
As graceful as she in the air, they followed, each finding their own thermals to rise on, swirling after her. At last, the final blue fell away, sadly spiralling down ward, and joined by two browns. Still, four browns and two bronzes followed doggedly- and for the briefest flash Galnees is aware of the musky bodies surrounding her, but not yet reaching for her- wasn't someone missing? then the chase consumed her again as Retributionsk barrel rolled teasingly - now only two bronzes and one brown - and the brown is actually the closest, and she admired his tenacity as well as the curve of his arched neck and sleek profile as he chased her - another dive, this time on a cool down draft, casting the world faintly green then -
Galnees gasped and clung to the strong arms encircling her, crushing her to the victor, his lips finding hers the very same moment Retributionsk's field of vision was obscured by the bronze bulk of the largest wher to ever have cracked a shell.
B'ton felt a mite bit foolish knocking on his brother's door at Cliffside, but he had had the presence of mind to grab a bottle of wine on the way out of the Weyr. Wubath had grumbled slightly at the change of location, not because he had wanted to join the mating flight, but because he enjoyed the music, and out here even the waterfall had fallen silent, frozen as it was.
Mebeckle opened the door, blinked, and invited his richly dressed sibling in.
"Don't tell me you are all alone." B'ton sighed, gratefully going over to the fire and warming his hands.
"I'm not." Mebeckle pointed to a pot full of sand by the hearth, and it took the Weyrleader a moment to realize he was indicating that he had (finally) gotten around to getting a firelizard egg."If it's a bronze, I'm naming it 'Bath', " he added slyly, and B'ton laughed, taking the bait.
"And if it is a green?" He teased back, passing the Farmer the bottle of wine.
"Sar." Mebckle replied, and B'ton chuckled again. Sarassoth was the name of their father's dragon, a green still flying at Telgar.
"And any other color?" B'ton asked, as Mebeckle cracked the seal on the wine.
"Meton." One syllable removed from their deceased brother's name. "Unless by some freak chance it is a gold. Then I'm naming her Fluke, for that is what she would be." He continued drolly, pouring the wine into the small caldron and swinging it over the coals. "My apprentice's family is a day's ride away, it seemed cruel to keep him from his natal hold during the holidays."
B'ton's expression eased, feeling relief at hearing his brother was not alone.
"What do you think of the lad?"
"He's smarter than I gave him credit for. Eager to please, and for all of his youth, not that much of a chatter box." Mebeckle shrugged.
"And does this youth have a name?" B'ton asked, getting the feeling Mebeckle wasn't telling the whole truth.
"Kesin."
Jurille smiled winsomely at Ketke, who smiled tiredly back at his guest. While not as grand as Turnover celebrations in the past, the Hold had still turned out a good showing, the harpers playing, and dancing and good food from the kitchens meant all involved were having an enjoyable time of it. Kestket was conspicuous in his absence, but after successfully alienating himself from the goodwill of the Hold by sucker punching his Lord brother, no one was much bothered by his continued absence. More common, Jurille had found, was the passing comment from the holders, missing the presence of their former Lady Holder. When Ketke asked her to join him in his office after the meal, she rather expected the issue of his mother to arise, and nor was she disappointed.
"Iceholder Kiplur informs me that my mother is not eating. I'm at wits end, Weyrlady. Can you recommend anything?" He asked plaintively, offering her a cup of mulled wine.
"If seclusion is killing her," Jurille hesitated for a moment, knowing how much Minket annoyed the other queen riders, "have her sent to the Weyr. The women in the Lower Caverns are familiar with loss, she will find camaraderie with those who have lost dragonrider mates."
"What if she refuses?" He asked, worry etched on his face.
"Write it as an order. I'll send a bronze to deliver it. She never was able to refuse a ride from a bronzerider." Actually, she rather insisted on nothing less than a wingleader when she was Lady Holder. Perhaps her pride could call her out, where the concerns of her offspring failed. "How are your siblings doing?"
He attempted a weak smile.
"Stlemin is settling in to the role of assistant to my current, formally father's, assistant. When Chellam decides to retire, he'll step in. Stleket asked to be fostered at Half Circle Seahold - I think he wants out of here worst of any of us. I agreed, of course. Mistle is at Healer Hall. She sounds really happy in her letters. I asked Minkest and Mest what they wanted. Mest wants to go to Harper Hall, to be close to Mistle, Minkest just asked me not to send her away. She's a genius at the loom, I'm going to ask MasterWeaver to send a journeyman to teach her whatever else she is lacking, and give her mistress-ship of the Hold Weavery." He replied, running a hand through his hair, then turned and looked directly at Jurille. "Am I doing the right things for the Hold?"
"I think so. But if you ever want a neutral party to go over Hold affairs with you, you can always ask the Masterharper to send in an accountant." She reminded him discreetly. The Holds, Halls and Weyrs needed to remain independent of undue influence, if they were to survive into the next interval. She desperately wanted to reassure him, but at the same time, she shuttered at the idea of her or any other queenrider have that sort of pull over a major lord holder. He nodded, and looked down at his own mug of slowly cooling wine.
"I really don't want to make a hash of things, this close to the end of the Pass." He finally admitted.
"You won't," this she would promise him, and believed it when she said it. "You have too many people wanting you to succeed. You but need to ask."
My apologies for my long silence, I've been recovering from a bout of lingering illness.
