Author's Note: Hi everyone—I'm really sorry about the outrageous amount of time since this story was last updated. College, friends, internship search, study abroad in Scotland, blah blah blah. The important thing is, I'm going to try really hard to devote more time to this story! I want to thank everyone who has reviewed so far. I had actually forgotten about Dragon's Duty, and then I happened to check my Yahoo mail account and found I had about twenty-five reviews on the story since the last update, and I decided that I didn't want to leave people hanging. With that said, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and as always, I like to hear what you think worked, what can be improved, etc. Enjoy!
Chapter Eight: Fall
13.30.199—Turn's End
"You're not listening to a word I'm saying, are you?"
"Hmm? What was that?"
"Exactly my point," Th'ron said with an even mixture of annoyance and amusement. "C'mon, why don't we go take a few turns around the dance floor, if you don't want to talk? We can show Mariko and L'tad how it's done." The young goldrider and her partner were hard to miss out on the dance floor, with Mariko wearing a brilliant gold dress and a crimson sash tied snugly around her waste. They'd been dancing for most of the Turn's End celebration and didn't seem likely to stop anytime soon.
"Who would have thought L'tad would turn out to be such a good dancer?" Carima asked with a quirked eyebrow at Th'ron, and was rewarded with a large smile. It was the first statement she'd made all night that hadn't been "yes," "no," or "sorry, what was that you said?"
"I knew there had to be something there along with the negativity and sour attitude. After all, Werth saw something in him back at the Hatching."
"Very nice," Carima laughed, surprised at the rare flash of sharp humor from Th'ron, and finally the preoccupation that had plagued her for the entire evening dropped away. "All right, let's go. I like this song."
The harpers, set up on a dais in one corner of the Dining Cavern, commanded a perfect view of the entire extensive dance floor, which took up fully one half of the space available in the gigantic room. Carima could remember Turn's End celebrations in the past, trying to keep pace with Galeena while she planned the feast, organized the setup of the Dining Cavern, contracted harpers to play different shifts during the feast so that all had a chance to both work and celebrate, and generally came a handbreadth away from nervous collapse. Just like past turns, tonight's celebration was a masterpiece of planning and coordination between Galeena and dozens of other workers. In theory she missed the excitement and chaos of being involved in a celebration of this size, but with wingdrills and chores and lessons and taking care of Mayath, Carima had hardly even noticed it was Turn's End until Mariko casually mentioned it a few days ago.
Th'ron led Carima out onto the dance floor and they joined the many other couples engaged in a fast dance with lots of spinning and twirling. "I hope you know what you're doing," she muttered before they were caught up in the rhythm of the dance, moving among the other couples and with the flow of the song.
"And you said L'tad was a good dancer!" she gasped when it was finally over, breathing hard from their exertions. "You're really good. Where'd you learn to dance like that?" Carima was quite accomplished, but she'd had to work to keep up with Th'ron.
"Lots of sisters who all wanted to practice their dancing before going to Gathers," Th'ron said with a fond smile. "Practicing their dancing was pretty much the only use they had for me. Otherwise they ignored me all the time—easy to do in a family with five girls and only one boy. I had an easier time training the canines than dealing with all of them."
"I bet," Carima giggled, enjoying the image of a tiny Th'ron being passed around among his older sisters, forced to perfect each and every dance move. "Do you want to get something to eat? Somehow that dance woke up my appetite."
"Sure. Mariko, L'tad, come on!" The bronzerider waved at the other pair and the foursome headed over to a table.
"P'larn wanted me to wish you all a happy Turn's End," L'tad said once they'd all filled their plates with food and sat down. "He didn't feel up to coming tonight."
"I'm not surprised," Mariko said. "I just wish you'd been able to get him out of the weyr. He spends too much time by himself."
"It's not as if I didn't try," L'tad shot back, but his shadowed eyes revealed the worry they all felt. It was hard for him to live with the brownrider, who was now a pale, quiet shell of his former self. T'rut had hoped putting P'larn with one of his friends would ease the loss, but so far nothing had worked. Something integral had been lost with his brother and they found it impossible to reach him. He spent all his time with Tellineth when he wasn't fulfilling his Weyrling duties.
"I'm glad to see you're feeling better," Mariko whispered to Carima as Th'ron and L'tad continued to debate over how best to deal with P'larn. "It's about time you stopped moping over K'say. If both of you are too stubborn to apologize, you're just going to have to move on."
"I'm not the one being stubborn," Carima glared at Mariko. "He's the one that can't move on and forget about what happened."
"Yeah, but you haven't tried very hard to make that happen, have you? You've been ignoring him and you won't even try to make things right. It's been months now, and it's obvious that both of you are miserable. I call that being stubborn."
'He started it first' sounded like something a weyrbrat would say, so Carima just shrugged and focused on her plate of roasted herdbeast and tubers. She wouldn't admit that Mariko was right.
"You know, the next big celebration will be our graduation," Carima said, deciding that her problems with K'say and P'larn's sadness weren't the best topics for Turn's End. They were supposed to be looking towards the future, not worrying about the past. "Can you imagine, getting tapped into the wings and putting on our new knots?"
"Just in time for Thread to start falling," Mariko nodded. The signs were clear enough; everyone was expecting Thread to come within the next three months. The watchriders were cautioned to be more vigilant than ever, and the Weyrlings all fervently hoped they would be graduated in time for the first Fall; otherwise, they would be stuck ferrying firestone to the wings rather than actually fighting Thread.
"I don't envy Z'fer one bit, having to figure out how to be Weyrleader and deal with an entire Weyr that has no idea what fighting Thread will really be like." L'tad nodded across the hall at the new Weyrleader, a tall man with silver hair who was seated next to Lirallen. The Weyrleaders seemed happy; Carima figured Lirallen must like Z'fer better than J'rey. While J'rey had been a good Interval leader, even-tempered and willing to appease everyone, Z'fer was by reputation firm and decisive, a much better leader during Fall. Carima and Mayath were scheduled to start drilling with Black Flight soon, and she was more than ready to see what their new leader was like.
"The dragons will know what to do," Mariko said optimistically. "We'll just have to trust them to get us through. Their instincts will be much better than ours. I just hope I don't singe Caleyth with the flamethrower! It's so much harder than just having a dragon that can flame."
Carima laughed as Mariko embarked on a long rant about the hated flamethrowers. She didn't notice someone step up behind her chair until she felt a tap on her shoulder.
She turned and her jaw immediately hardened and her eyes narrowed as she found herself looking at K'say. "Can I help you?" she asked coldly.
"Look, do you want to talk or not? Cirinth said Mayath said you wanted to see me."
Mayath! Carima yelped mentally, giving her dragon a fierce mental prod. What are you playing at?
It is time you stopped being foolish and made up with Cirinth's rider. We both agreed.
"Stupid, meddling, interfering dragon," Carima grumbled before pushing away from the table and standing up. She pulled K'say by the arm, purposely not looking at him, away from her pretending-not-to-be-listening friends. "Here's the thing," she said, still not looking K'say in the eyes. "I've let you ruin too much for me over the past few sevendays. I won't let you ruin Turn's End. I'm going to go back with my friends, but if you still want to talk tomorrow, meet me here for breakfast before wingdrill. All right?" Finally she looked up, and it seemed like a flash of something like relief passed over K'say's face.
"See you tomorrow then," he said succinctly. "Happy Turn's End."
With that he walked away, and Carima returned to her friends, who were all very pointedly not looking at her and carrying on a falsely loud conversation.
"Let's dance, Th'ron," she said, tugging at her friend's elbow. She wanted to dance and dance and dance until she was so exhausted she couldn't think. Not about the past, not about K'say, and not about what the future might hold.
1.1.1
Carima faced K'say at one of the corner tables, away from the majority of early risers—the few people that had escaped the previous night's revelries without a hangover. The Weyrleaders sat together at one table, drinking klah and pouring over a series of charts. Mostly older riders dotted the other tables, and tired lower caverns workers moved between them, serving food and drinks. The candidates were already assembled at their table, looking unhappy about having to begin their chores. The corner only gave a semblance of privacy, though, with Mayath keeping close tabs on the conversation.
"So?"
"Look," K'say sighed, running a hand through his hair, "I'm sorry, all right? I was drunk and angry, but I had no right to yell at you. I know as well as the next rider that the dragon sometimes chooses without considering the rider's feelings."
"You said some really terrible things," she said, keeping a close guard on her tone and expression. His words seemed inadequate, compared to the turmoil she'd been feeling.
"I know, and I should have apologized sooner, but whenever I tried to get close you either ignored me or looked at me like I was a tunnelsnake. You didn't exactly encourage reconciliation."
"No, I guess not," she allowed. "Mariko says I've just been stubborn."
"That's an understatement," K'say said with a grin.
"So what made you decide to apologize?" If he thought he could just smile at her and fix things, he would be disappointed.
"I missed you. Believe me or not, but it's the truth. I'm not expecting you to forgive me right away, but can we at least try being friends again? I'd rather not start the new turn with your displeasure hanging over my head." Neither of them needed to say that with Thread coming soon, the future was always uncertain. It wasn't a good policy to leave things unsaid, because Thread could snuff out a life in an instant.
Say yes! Mayath prodded.
Carima opened her mouth but she lost her train of thought because the sound of an angry dragon bellowing and a shattering noise pierced the quiet. Across the Dining Cavern, the Weyrleader's face had gone gray with shock and he was whispering furiously to the Weyrwoman, whose face soon mirrored his. The shattered mug of klah lay at his feet.
Thread is falling early! Mayath relayed the news to her rider as Drezith, Z'fer's great bronze, bespoke every dragon in the Weyr. It comes over the mountains and will pass over Crom soon. All riders are to assemble in the bowl and start feeding their dragons firestone!
Carima and K'say had time to exchange one shocked glance before the Dining Cavern exploded with activity. All riders rushed to the bowl as rumbles from the dragons made the ground shake as if it was a Hatching. Lower caverns workers and candidates also went to the bowl to start bagging firestone. Healers scrambled to assemble numbweed, bandages, redwort, and other essential materials.
Pelth says we are to report to his rider in the bowl. We will be ferrying firestone for the wings.
I need to go to the weyr and get my flying gear, and we need to get your straps on. I'll meet you there, then we'll go down to the bowl, Carima said before stretching into a dead run.
Twenty minutes later, T'rut addressed his Weyrling class. "There are to be no heroics today. This Fall is going to be messy enough without any of you acting like sharding wherries and getting yourselves killed. When a dragon calls, you double check the coordinates and bring them firestone, get the empty sacks, and come straight back here for more. If you feel like your dragon is getting tired, tell Pelth immediately. Under no circumstances are you to try and flame Thread unless you or your lifemate are in direct danger. Do I make myself understood?"
"Yes, sir," thirty-seven voices answered immediately. There were no wandering eyes, no daydreams, no secret whispers. The Weyr's six wings had disappeared between only moments ago, but already a few dragons had returned to the bowl, screaming from the pain of Threadscores or crooning with anxiety for their injured riders.
Carima stood with P'larn, L'tad, and Th'ron. Mariko was already gone, needed in the queen's wing. "It's early because we've had such a warm winter," P'larn said, surprising all of them. "Warm and dry. No cold to freeze the Thread, no rain to drown it."
"How do you know?"
"I've been doing a lot of reading lately," he responded quietly, not reacting to their surprise. "There's some good stuff in the old record hides, if you know where to look."
"It couldn't have picked a better day to come," Carima said. "Half the riders are still drunk from last night, and the other half are hung over. What a day for the first Fall of the Pass." It was a sobering thought; it might have been the first Fall, but Thread would be coming with deadly regularity for the next fifty turns. The chance of any of them making it through the Pass and living to a ripe old age was highly unlikely.
"Just concentrate on doing what you have to do," Th'ron said, patting Carima's arm. "We'll be fine."
She could only nod in response, a lump in her throat preventing any further discussion. More and more dragons were coming back to the Weyr, and some of the wounds were hideous—gaping holes in the sides of the dragons, wings pierced in multiple areas, and ichor seeping into the bowl's stony floor.
"I have to go!" Th'ron was the first to be called. There wasn't even time to wish him good luck before he was sprinting over to Legeth, vaulting up onto the great bronze neck, and taking off into the air. P'larn and L'tad followed quickly after, and then it was Mayath urgently addressing her.
Brizerth calls. They need more firestone.
Do you have the coordinates? Carima asked as she settled into the straps and pulled down her goggles.
Yes.
And you double-checked with Brizerth?
Yes. We must go now.
Then take us between.
Three seconds of nothingness and absolute cold, then they were out in the open, among the Red Flight dragons darting here and there, flaming the silvery strands of Thread drifting down from above. Fire flashed everywhere, on all sides and from the upper level flights and those below. Dragons blinked in and out of between to avoid being scored and sometimes, with a screech, would disappear permanently, back to the Weyr and the waiting healers.
Carima spotted Brizerth, who was shooting out great gouts of flame while the blue and green partnered with him prevented any renegade strands of Thread from coming near him. Mayath winged over, keeping a lookout on all sides for Thread, and Carima hastily unknotted the heavy firestone sacks.
Ask Brizerth if Dr'vid is ready to catch the first sack.
He says yes, Mayath answered just as Dr'vid waved at her. Her first toss wobbled and didn't quite reach Dr'vid—a combination of her nerves and the natural, inbred terror of a human stuck outside during Threadfall—but he was able to lean over and catch the sack. Once he'd secured it he waved again, and the second toss was quick and accurate. Within seconds she had caught the empty sacks he tossed back.
Rowanth says watch out was the only warning Mayath gave her before they blinked between to avoid one small bit of Thread that had gotten through the defenders, and then they were safely back over the bowl.
Well done, Carima praised Mayath.
There's no time to waste! Territh calls for more firestone.
From then on the Fall became a matter of stamina: of dragging the heavy firestone sacks up onto Mayath, of making quick and accurate tosses, of getting on and off Mayath to exchange the empty sacks for full ones, of ignoring the distressing calls of both riders and dragons who hadn't been lucky enough to remain unscathed. It seemed like days had passed since they started ferrying, and Carima could tell Mayath was exhausted—her normally smooth flying was becoming jerky and labored.
That's it, she said firmly after they only narrowly avoided getting scored. Tell Pelth that we're done. I'm not letting us go out again.
No need, Mayath responded, mental voice filled with relief. Drezith says Fall is over. He calls for volunteers to sweepride and make sure there are no burrows, but we are done.
Carima let out a sigh of sheer thankfulness that they had survived and wordlessly directed Mayath to land in the bowl. The wings were now appearing all around, some severely depleted from injuries, and the air was filled with exhausted dragons and dirty, grim-faced riders.
Mayath landed near Pelth's familiar blue form and Carima immediately scanned the crowd of Weyrlings, looking for her friends. She could have cried from happiness when she identified gold, bronze, brown, and blue—they had all made it.
"Ow!" The force of Mayath's landing startled a cry out of her and she suddenly realized that sharp pains were radiating out of her left forearm.
You hurt! Mayath cried. Her eyes, gray from exhaustion, took on the red of worry as she craned her neck around to examine Carima.
My arm's been burned, she said as she looked at the scorch marks on her flying jacket. Must've gotten some char while we were ferrying. I didn't even notice it until just now. Her stomach rolled unhappily when, beneath the toasted black fabric, she saw raw, angry red flesh. I'm going to get down and find a healer, she said, trying her best to keep the insistent pain away from Mayath. She didn't want the green to panic, not after she had performed so well during Fall. I'll be back to take off your straps as soon as I get this taken care of, and we'll give you a nice bath.
I should have been more careful, Mayath said sadly, head drooping. The normally confident green was distinctly unhappy. I'm supposed to take care of you.
We take care of each other, she told her firmly, and once she had jumped down she went to give Mayath a quick caress with her right arm, keeping the left cradled against her chest. Why don't you check with Legeth and see how the others did. I'll be back soon.
It was only much later while lying in bed, after the healers had fussed over her arm and she'd bathed Mayath and spoken to her friends and cleaned her gear and picked at her dinner, too exhausted to eat, that the significance of the day's events came crashing down. They had proven themselves. They might still be Weyrlings, but in fighting Thread, all riders and dragons were on an even playing field. Some had not been as lucky—the dragons had keened for at least five pairs, and scores more wouldn't be flying for months.
We're truly dragonriders of Pern now, Carima said to Mayath.
The green replied with pride and affection, and it was cocooned in her love that Carima finally fell asleep.