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.
Issues or suggestions? Please let me know. Sometimes I feel like I'm bumbling around in the canon area.
---Chapter VIII----
They reached the cauldron after encountering little other evidence of life, and quickly filled their buckets with the warm, gooey salve.
"F'bran introduced me to this stuff right after Hatching," Saya said as they began to head back to the Weyrling caverns. She ran fingertips lightly over the fading scar on her cheekbone, a tangible memory of Inneth's zealous birth.
"F'bran?"
"A friend of mine; the first dragonrider I ever met." Then she frowned, recalling S'del. "Well, the first decent one. Remember, you met him once, before Hatching. He's off fighting Thread right now, though."
At that point, a harried-looking young woman brushed roughly past her, and Saya spun on one heel, numbweed sloshing dangerously. B'led threw out a hand to grab her elbow and steady her, and then they both stood and stared after the woman. Saya's heart fluttered from the shock.
"That's interesting," B'led said quietly. He and Saya exchanged a swift set of glances, and then they both followed determinedly.
Whatever was on the woman's mind was apparently so intense that she didn't notice the two Weyrlings trailing her, hobbling awkwardly with heavy jars of numbweed. Saya watched her extract a roll of white cloth from somewhere in her clothing, and, cursing, unceremoniously knot her hair back at the nape of her neck.
The young Weyrling's curiosity increased and she quickened her pace, B'led following suit.
However, when they entered the cavern that their guide had disappeared into, all expectations drained almost audibly from their bodies.
"Shards…" B'led said hoarsely.
The smell of burnt flesh was revolting. The expressions on the faces of everyone there were tense and strained. And, most horribly, the moans of the dragonrider cradling his beast's head seemed to carry above all other shouted dialogue.
A brown dragon lay on the floor of the cavern, a pitiful position for such a mighty creature. But what mostly captured Saya's aghast attention were his Threadscores; numerous, deep, and smoking. The rider of the poor beast sported scores of his own, across his shoulders and back, but he refused any request to get up. He sat there and stroked the ridges of his dragon's eyes, muttering to him.
"That quick?" B'led whispered. "So early into Fall?"
Saya was shocked. This dragon had been badly injured fighting Thread, and had had enough presence of mind to go between back to the Weyr. But his condition looked terrible. His wings had been laced to shreds, his lovely brown hide streaked with oozing lines of black.
"We need more numbweed!" someone called out from behind the dragon. The various helpers looked amongst themselves, stricken at their lack of supplies.
Saya and B'led looked at each other grimly. "We have some!" Saya shouted, hefting the jar to place it within easy reach of the people.
An older woman, perhaps middle-aged, walked briskly up to them and placed fists on her hips. But her look was more hassled than angry or fearful. "Good, now can you come up with an extra dozen hands?" She appraised them rather mournfully. "Four will have to do. The both of you, help apply this."
"But…we haven't a clue…" B'led stammered.
"It's not exactly an art. Get a handful; rub it on those long, black things that seem to be smoking. Move it!" Her bright blue eyes dared them to put up even the smallest additional mite of resistance.
Saya wasn't quite sure she fancied placing her hands anywhere near the Threadscores, but she certainly couldn't shirk such a duty. Another look at the desperate face of the dragonrider helped motivate her to dip her hands into the numbweed hastily, cup two palmfuls of it, and move to the side of the brown dragon.
B'led had spoken truth: she didn't have any idea of how to apply it properly. But, she tentatively reached out to the nearest Thread-mark and gingerly patted her handful of salve onto it. When the dragon neither roared nor whimpered, she rubbed more vigorously, trying to think of it as oil on Valianth's smooth green skin. B'led did the same, several hands away at the base of the brown's tail.
Saya observed for a moment the intensity and sober concentration of all caring for the dragon. Their muscles worked with a sureness born of experience as well as expertise, and the group functioned as smoothly as if they were one entity. She paused there, fingers hovering inches above the skin, and pondered in amazement the efficiency of the group. Such a community had been only a daydream at Fort Hold.
Blinking, she recalled her position and shook herself fiercely back to reality.
Not trusting herself to handle the delicate wings, Saya heaved a deep breath and went back for more numbweed to smooth onto his main body. They continued for almost an hour to nearly drench the dragon in the smelly substance, but the atmosphere after every score had been liberally tended was one of accomplishment mingled with gravity.
The blue-eyed lady who had compelled them to work finally managed to pry the rider away from his beast and practically poured a jar of numbweed over his head. "Filoth will be fine," she told him sharply. "Go eat something hot, and I expect you to take at least a half-hour doing so before I see your face around here again."
Where have you been? Valianth suddenly asked Saya, sounding so lonely that the girl's heart skipped.
I'm sorry, dear heart. B'led and I were called to help tend Filoth, who was injured in flight. We'll be back soon, and I'll give you a good scrub and oiling.
Filoth?
A brown, of D'ril and Bhianth's Wing, I think. She was proud of herself for knowing that tidbit.
There was a pause. I have spoken to him. He is grateful for your help, as is his rider.
Gratification flooded Saya. It was pleasant to know that Filoth had acknowledged her help, let alone thanked her for it. Her admiration for dragonkind increased; to have such emotions while experiencing such a painful trauma was incredible.
Of course, it was likely that lasting memories of the incident would only pervade in her mind and in the heavy grief weighing upon Filoth's rider. No doubt events like these ultimately merged into one long, stressful blur for the people of Fort.
B'led approached her then, hands sticky and his brow furrowed deeply. "You alright?" he asked croakily.
Saya took a lengthy, satisfying breath. "I'm fine. Valianth's called for me, though, so I should go see her."
"G'sas is probably frantic by now, anyway," B'led replied, wiping his hands against his trousers in a vain attempt to rid them of the remaining numbweed.
Saya felt that way, as well; as if the salve were somehow contaminated with the disturbing reminiscences of the injured dragon. "I had no idea," she said, rather lamely, to her friend.
He understood, somehow. "None of us did," he said, reaching hesitatingly to put a hand on her shoulder before realizing that it was still coated with goo. He grimaced and put the same hand to his face in that realization, and then yelped with disgust at the fact that his temples now sported gluey blobs.
Saya hid a grin behind her wrist, but another mental tap from Valianth set her to jumping.
"Sorry, B'led! I've got to go! I'll see you around?"
He was watching a string of numbweed stretch from his head to his fingertip. "Certainly," he answered.
Fylanth had informed the young dragons, including Valianth, Hirth, Witarth, and those of Saya's other friends, to make the short flight to the top of the bowel and wait for their riders to be transported up by mature dragons. On this day, a chill, breezy one graced by cloud-flecked sky, the Weyrlings were to have their first flights and trips between with their dragons. The tension in the barracks was palpable as blue and green dragons settled down on the ledge to take passengers.
Saya and a boy named T'rin clambered up hastily onto the back of blue Tissath, guided by his grinning rider, H'poel.
"I heard we're to be assigned weyrs of our own after this!" T'rin whispered into her ear, so quickly she could hardly understand him.
Saya was happy to hear that news, but she struggled with slight inhibitions of her own. "You scared of between?" she dared to ask the fidgety blonde boy.
"Naw," he replied. "Krieth and I can do it. I'm not worried."
H'poel didn't bother warning them of Tissath's imminent takeoff, but they both felt the dragon's sinuous muscles tense just before he leaped into the sky and slid into a lazy thermal upward. Saya, seated with T'rin and H'poel behind her, felt her face flush with delight. She would never tire of dragonflight.
Valianth crooned when she saw her rider seated upon the sleek blue, which touched down softly on the bowl rim. T'rin and Saya were both so determined to get to their beasts that they rather tumbled down the dragon's side in a tangle of limbs. H'poel made a remark about clumsy dragonets, but by the time they both whirled to glare at him, the rider and Tissath were already a dragonlength into the air.
Saya shrugged it off, apologized to T'rin for her elbow finding its way to his collarbone, and hurried to Valianth. She stroked the green's long neck.
This is it, Valianth. Are we ready to show the Weyr what we've got?
I've been ready since my hatching.
Valianth, it seemed, had grown even more in the past sevenday. She was handsome and strong, one of the few younger dragons who were already feeding on their own. Just the other day, Saya had watched in wonder as her lovely green had struck down an unfortunate wherry with unbounded force.
Today, though, she thought, we become riders. And she becomes a Thread-fighter.
She looked about at the other Weyrlings tending their beasts, and caught Y'kiz's eye as he stood nearby next to his bronze. The difference in size between Witarth and Valianth was painfully obvious, but Valianth held her head just as highly and proudly as any queen.
"Firestone?" Saya mouthed to the bronzerider.
Y'kiz shrugged; gave her an uncertain look.
The simultaneous bugles of two dragons, one brown and one bronze, startled all the weyrfolk into silence. The dazzling forms were circling above them, having appeared from nowhere.
G'sas and Jeth, and Q'mil and Gidrith, Valianth informed her, correctly predicting Saya's inquiry.
Gidrith settled into landing first, then Jeth: Q'mil straightened to speak to them from his perch between his dragon's neck ridges.
"Today, you throw off the title of grounded Weyrling and begin to embrace the true spirit of the dragonrider!" he began, but was then drowned out in the ensuing raucous cheers.
"Your dragons have reached a considerable size," he continued.
"So, after you all," he eyed them with unusual ferocity, "have successfully flown, transferred between and back again, and your dragons have developed a taste for firestone, you will be given a new home for you and your partner: a weyr in the bowlside, accessible only through flight."
More cheers followed that announcement: Saya scanned the group of riders and dragons for T'rin, who was probably looking pleased with himself.
"Fortunately, your dragons have already had a taste of the sky," Q'mil hollered. "And if you trust in their abilities, they will take you far today."
"Quite the pep talk," Saya mumbled to herself, and felt Valianth rumble in amusement. She could also sense the dragon's barely-contained anticipation, which was mingling with the general atmosphere of the entire area. The whole bowltop was nearly ringing with suspended dragon power.
"There are far too many of you to take off at once," G'sas was shouting loudly over the babble that had developed in the pause. "Greens and blues will take the first flight." There were a couple moans. "Browns and bronzes: there are firestone sacks waiting for you behind me. Bring one each back to your beast, and get some space alone. Try it out. Do not, under any circumstances, put any living creature in the path of your dragon's muzzle."
Aside from those brief instructions, the bronze- and brownriders were left to their own devices. Undoubtedly the mature riders were hoping to cultivate strong independence in the pairs, which would serve them well during future Threadfalls.
Saya and Valianth would try their hands with the firestone later: for now, the girl headed to Q'mil, who was handing out harnesses to the riders preparing for flight. At first glance, the harness looked to her like a hopeless wad of leather straps, but Q'mil himself actually helped her make right of it and rig it to Valianth. They were all already suited up in their flying gear, so rubbing wouldn't be a problem.
"She's big enough to hold me?" Saya couldn't help but blurt out at Q'mil's retreating back.
He turned with a reassuring smile. "Even greens, by this age, are stronger than twenty men."
Saya's nervous excitement felt a flare of distaste. "Even greens…"
Ignore the man. One of the lesser queens is due to fly and all the bronzes are on edge, even Gidrith, Valianth told her in a placating tone.
Can a bronze be mated to two queens at once? Saya wondered in reply, and added it to her list of questions to ask F'bran. She missed the nutty bronzerider, but she hadn't seen him for several days.
She mounted Valianth with little difficulty, doing as she had seen older dragonriders do: swinging one leg over and grabbing the reins of the harness. Valianth tossed her head a little impatiently, a bit of noise escaping her snout as Saya tied, undid, and retied all the knots in all the proper places, checked her stability, and then mumbled to herself if she should ask Q'mil for permission.
Valianth, apparently, disagreed with that notion. Saya whooped in her breathe as translucent but powerful wings rose on either side of her: she marveled at their lengthy span. The green had caught a strong gust, and with two great beats, dragon and rider burst into the air.
To be continued...