Dragon Rising
A fanfiction by Plikkit based on the novels by Anne McCaffrey.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the people, places, or concepts of Pern. Those are solely credited to Anne McCaffrey, in all her wonderful talent.
note Any incorrect facts, misspellings, etc: please don't burn me. Just tell me, so I can fix it.
RECAP: Abruptly, Saya thought of Ellan, the girl-turned-Queenrider, a friend whom she had not seen since Impression. Undoubtedly, she was being kept separate from the Weyrlings since Queen's required a special brand of care. Worries of her boredom or loneliness were quickly abolished as she knew: neither Saya nor Ellan would ever be alone again.
---Chapter V----
And neither was Ellan bored, for tending to Inneth required much of her time and energy. Of this, however, she was all too glad, for Inneth had been the most wonderful thing to ever happen to her.
Her routine was thus: wake up, oil Inneth, eat breakfast, and perhaps bathe. Feed Inneth, oil her again, and then "Weyrwoman lessons" with Q'mil, who was kind yet rather taciturn. After those, Inneth was hungry again, so food was brought. Then Inneth liked a bath, after which the sun was invariably below the horizon and Ellan retreated to her cot, exhausted but completely content.
"When your queen rises to mate..." Q'mil was saying, as Ellan was watching dragons wing past the opening to her spacious weyr. Green, blue, brown, blue again, bronze, brown...such a fabulous blur of colors blended with the strength and intensity of dragons that she never tired of watching.
Especially her own golden beauty, who was currently fast asleep in a comfortable wallow just half a dragonlength away. Ellan had been humbled and, at the same time, given confidence when Inneth had turned her gleaming wedge-shaped head her way to Impress. Watching her now explode in growth to become the magnificent beast known as a queen dragon was breathtaking and awesome, an experience that she was cherishing with every fiber of her being. Undoubtedly, her fellows felt the same way about their own dragons.
She wondered, for the umpteenth time, what they were doing. Probably oiling and feeding and bathing like she was. Soon, though, she would join them on the fireheights to urge their dragons into the sky, although Inneth would not be taught to chew firestone like the others.
"...and you will become weyrmated to the rider of whichever bronze catches Inneth. Which, noting the size of her, will be an arduous task indeed," Q'mil finished nicely, grinning.
"I understand, Weyrleader," she told him with a preoccupied nod and smile. "I have no worries."
"Very good!" Q'mil said approvingly. "We'll continue tomorrow. My duty to you, Weyrwoman."
He was off to his waiting Gidrith. As the bronze launched himself from the ledge, Inneth stirred and was quickly alert.
Ellan rushed to her and knelt down beside the gold dragon, and would have rubbed her eye ridges to coax her back to sleep, but Inneth had other ideas.
I'd like a bath, she said, standing and stretching her wings. Can we go to the spring cavern?
Ellan thought about it. She'd been cooped up in this weyr, no doubt, but since it was a fledgling queen's weyr, it wasn't elevated in the bowlside. Still, she was reluctant to leave after having so many safety precautions drilled into her by Q'mil and the senior Weyrwoman, Kliana.
"Are we allowed, though?" she said to her queen, laying one hand on the beautiful neck.
I am a queen. Of course we're allowed, Inneth said, rising to her back legs. When she stood in that fashion, her shoulder was level with Ellan's browbone.
"Allright, then, my golden beauty," Ellan surrendered, unable to resist the thought of a nice wet frolic in Fort's renowned spring pool. "But you'll have to waddle dreadfully, until we learn to fly."
So Ellan walked, cautiously at first, out of her weyr, but then, followed by an awkward Inneth, they made their way toward the spring.
When they finally arrived, the young Weyrwoman was immensely relieved. They had endured so many formal bows and salutes on the journey that Ellan was beginning to think that her seclusion in the weyr had been a blessing. But, upon seeing four other Weyrlings and their dragons already in the water, her weariness melted.
"Saya!" she called as Inneth, groaning with pleasure, splashed into the warm waters and splashed under, her jewel-like eyes glowing intensely underneath the surface.
Ellan's slight, good-natured friend turned from where she was lolling against her green dragon and, upon seeing the other girl, braced against her beast and hailed her happily. The other three riders--B'led, Y'kiz, and F'teen-- also called greetings from where they were scrubbing their dragons.
"Ellan! Where've you been!" Saya shouted to her, wading through the water.
Ellan collected a bag of sweetsand before jumping in to embrace her much-missed friend. "Tending to 'Weyrwoman duties', which basically means Inneth!" she said.
Saya laughed, peeling wet pieces of hair from her face. Saya had lovely hair, deep reddish-brown, which Ellan often saw her tie back unceremoniously into a knot at her neck.
"And I guess she fancied a bath?" Saya asked, lifting a hand to the queen, who now stood next to Valianth, patiently awaiting her scrub.
"Ah, yes. And your green, too? I never learned her name! Such a pretty shade!" Ellan exclaimed, truly quite taken with Saya's dragon. She was thrilled to finally learn what had become of her friends. She swept her eyes over her other friends and their dragons; Y'kiz and his bronze, B'led with his now-spotless brown, and F'teen with another green, although Ellan had the opinion that her hide was not quite as fine as Saya's dragon's.
Her name is Valianth, Inneth stated, touching noses briefly with Saya's green. Valianth crooned in greeting to the queen, but then turning to dive under the water, rinsing off any remaining sand.
Ellan slapped handfuls of the stuff onto Inneth's hide, rubbing in wide circles. Saya stood nearby, evidently not wanting to disrupt the ritualistic sense of the bathing. Valianth surfaced noisily a few dragonlengths away, fanning her wings in glee.
"So, are you excited about learning to fly and go bewteen, whenever that'll happen?" Saya asked Ellan as the queenrider scrubbed at a particularly stubborn bit of dirt on Inneth's right hind leg, which the dragon had courteously raised.
"Inneth, for her part, can hardly wait," Ellan replied with a smile. "It does sound better than sitting around in the weyr. You know it won't happen for some months, though."
"The dragons are growing so fast," Saya said thoughtfully. "Hopefully, taking care of them will make the sevendays fly faster..."
"Imagine how massive they'll be once they're full grown," Ellan murmured, gazing tenderly up at Inneth, whose eyes whirled greeny-blue. How she adored her dragon, and how formidable a beast she would soon be, claiming the skies and serving her Weyr. Inneth curved her neck to nuzzle her friend gently and informed her than she itched horribly along the other side of her back. Ellan dutifully waded to her dragon's other side and set to scrubbing, watching Saya also make her way back to Valianth.
The green dragon was dripping wet and obliged Saya with a snort of warm water all over the girl's body, before the greenrider scooped up some leftover sweetsand and began to scour her own skin and hair.
Ellan grimaced, thinking how much more of Inneth there was to scrub than the smaller dragons. Still, she was pleased with the occupation, and the sight of Inneth's eyes spiraling with rainbows eased away any bitterness.
By the time she was finished, the other four riders were floating leisurely about the spring, their dragons flopping and sighing lazily.
Inneth gazed lovingly at Ellan with her many-faceted orbs. Thank you, Ellan. I love you and now we can play.
Of course, queen of my heart, Ellan responded. The golden dragon dove with a flick of her tail into the deeper part of the spring, her head and neck bursting from the water just beyond Saya and Valianth.
Suddenly, Saya perked up, quickening her tread-water pace. "Caprioth has bespoken Valianth," she announced, and she suddenly had the full attention of B'led, Y'kiz, F'teen, and Ellan. "He says that the bluerider has awoken, but his dragon's in a fine state." She looked confused. "Though why F'bran would think it necessary to tell me that..."
B'led was already deep in conversation with F'teen, the latter of which was suggesting that they bribe a dragonrider to fly them to Tillek, since their own dragons were too small yet. B'led was glowering and adamantly refusing F'teen's ideas, telling him that he'd be a fool to leave Kabriith for any amount of time at this point.
Ellan privately agreed with the young brownrider on their duties to their dragons. Let the mature riders handle this mysterious situation; no doubt, in the unlikely even the Weyrlings' assistance was needed, they'd be contacted immediately.
"I'll ask F'bran for a report if he ever gets back," Saya told her companions, still wearing a slightly puzzled expression on her face. She gathered her hair, darkened with moisture, and wringed out excess water before slinging it over a shoulder and gathering the empty sweetsand sack. "C'mon, Valianth," she called to her dragon. Their group began to file out of the cavern, having been there longer, leaving Ellan and Inneth to their ministrations.
"We'll see each other again soon, I'd suppose," Saya shouted to Ellan before she left, smiling. The last thing to leave the cavern was the tip of Valianth's green tail.
Drianth and Sakarith bugled, the first warning of a change in the state of the invalid rider and his blue. Lelth was not long in following with a bellow of her own, rising to her feet as the rider she had been protecting groaned.
F'bran and F'delten hastened to the man, who lay upon the ground, almost clinging to it as if in fear. A'wer went to see to the blue. Zadrical, a healer who had joined them with the dragon who brought provisions, squatted next to the rider, whose eyes were still clamped shut.
Caprioth, F'bran said silently to his dragon. Please ask Valianth to tell Saya that the bluerider has woken up. F'bran liked Saya, and wanted to be sure she got a prompt and accurate update that wasn't impeded or distorted by others.
Zadrical hefted the sizeable bag of remedies and herbs he had brought with him upon hearing of the mystery-rider's plight. An expert in treating cold-borne ills, the middle-aged man had barely relaxed his vigilance over his patient since the moment he arrived.
The healer produced a glass tube full of something that F'bran guessed was pungent, and was he wise in covering his nose and mouth with his tunic as Zadrical smashed the top off the tube. It released a burning odor, and he held it firmly underneath the convalescent's nose.
His breath turned into a pained snort and a bout of hacking and attempts at raising arms weaker than a babe's. F'bran decided that this was an improvement on what the man's behavior had been over the past three days: absolutely nonexistent. He laid there in Lelth's cradle by a fire, taking shallow breaths, the bluish tinge of his skin slowly fading, mousy hair lying flat along his head.
Now his eyes fluttered open, revealing them to be light brown in color, but highly confused.
"Klaranth?" was his first garbled word, gasped out in a raspy voice dull from disuse.
"Your blue is being taken care of," F'delten answered instantly. F'bran suddenly felt rather superfluous.
"What in the name of Faranth happened to you, man!" F'bran could not help but ask, a note of hysterical curiosity sliding into his voice; the young rider endured a long, hard look from Zadrical, who once again shoved the glass tube filled with herbs at his patient's unfortunate nose.
The rider's eyes had relaxed slightly at F'delten assurance, but his eyes took on a slightly wild look at hearing F'bran's inquiry.
"I don't...know," he said, after a considerable pause. F'delten and F'bran exchanged glances, but Zadrical seemed unconcerned. The healer had thoroughly checked the unnamed dragonrider for external wounds when he had arrived, but had found nothing but a few bruises which were thoroughly coated with numbweed. Then, he had firmly stated that he was not to go between until conscious.
"Are you thirsty?" the healer asked.
The rider nodded. Zadrical produced a wineskin of good Benden vintage and proffered it. The rider was so weak he could barely raise his head, so Zadrical patiently dribbled drops of the liquid into his mouth.
"What is your name, dragonrider?" F'delten asked when the wineskin was put away.
The man's face pinched for a second. "Can't remember...I don't remember. Where am I? Where's Klaranth?"
F'bran felt a cold, sickening sensation, as if plunged into a lake of sandworms.
F'delten looked sharply at Zadrical. "How could the man not remember his own name?" the bronzerider demanded.
"He seems to remember his dragon's," F'bran commented. "Perhaps if we ask Klaranth...?"
F'delten liked the sound of that idea, and his eyes glazed over for a few moments while he bespoke his dragon. After a while, he shook his head in anxious disappointment. "Xornth says that Klaranth, while he can recall his own name as well, doesn't remember a mite more than his rider here. The blue asked to see him."
The two dragonmen looked at Zadrical, whose eyes looked tired. "We'll have to help him," the healer said tightly.
So the two riders each supported a side of their unknown comrade, Zadrical lifting him at his knees with unexpected strength. The three staggered over to where Drianth and Sakarith guarded the convalescent blue.
Dusk was falling in Tillek, casting a purplish hue to the sky above the expansive clearing. The Dawn Sisters twinkled in their spot, nearly drowned out in the sky by the throbbing light of the Passing Red Star. Around them, the forests were nearly black and silent, punctuated occasionally by rustles. The men's minds were comfortable, though, for no creature on Pern would dare attack a dragon.
Klaranth still lay in the position the bronzes had laid him in, though all his lids had slid open to reveal his many-faceted eyes glowing a dim purple.
F'bran, F'delten, and Zadrical tried to let the rider down smoothly, but he was so desperate to get to his dragon that, tapping new reserves of strength, he wrenched from their grips and stumbled to his knees. Crawling through the dirt, the dragonman flung his arms around his blue's head, whispering. Klaranth's eyes abruptly changed from purple to green-blue, although still faint, and he released a weak croon. The rider clung to his beast, murmuring softly. Tears leaked out of his eyes.
F'bran and the others watched somberly for several minutes, knowing the importance of a man's bond with his dragon. F'bran, for one, could hardly breathe for empathy. What unfortunate fate had life dealt these poor beings? A rippling shudder crawled down his back as he thought of how close the two had come to losing each other. The thought of Caprioth in such a pitiful state set his heart to aching.
Finally, F'bran moved to squat down next to the rider. "My duty to you, dragonman," he said. The rider pulled back from Klaranth and stared at him. "What Weyr are you from?" F'bran went on to ask patiently.
"I don't know."
"Do you know what a Weyr is?"
"Yes."
"What are the six Weyrs of Pern?"
"I don't know."
"Do you have a weyrmate?"
At this, the man's eyes widened slightly, and the words that escaped his mouth were more hushed, more deliberate. "I...don't know."
F'bran sighed. "Does Klaranth remember anything?"
"No. He is confused. Where are we? Please, I don't remember anything. Klaranth is all I have." His voice was erratic, cracking and quiet. He mumbled to his blue, eyes closed.
Zadrical intervened to pull the two riders aside. "He has amnesia," the healer stated, his face half-painted with shadows in the falling night. F'bran and F'delten stared blankly back at him. "He can't remember anything that's happened in his life before now. Well, he might remember some things, like his dragon's name, but we don't know what they are, or how to tap the rest," Zadrical explained with a slightly frustrated tone, and kneaded his temples with broad fingertips. "His amnesia is the sort where he still recalls basic things, like what Weyrs, and trees, and people, and dragons are...but events, histories, faces...all lost."
"A fall into the water just knocked all his memories out of his mind?" F'delten asked, speaking with stunned disbelief.
"I don't think that water, even the time he spent adrift in it, could work such damage," Zadrical replied, deep in thought. "No, it's likely that he had some sort of previous trauma; that'd explain the sizeable bruise on the back of his head. That's probably what caused him to fall in the first place."
"I wonder what a lone dragonrider was doing in the skies of Tillek..." F'bran trailed off.
To be continued….