Disclaimer. I own only the characters. Pern and all associated characters and places belong to Anne McCaffrey.
It wasn't his egg, but Danil's hopes leapt anyway. The dragon had kicked a large hole in the side of its shell, and the hole was widening. No one could see what colour it was yet. Danil moved closer, along with the many of the other boys, away from the centre of the clutch were the candidates seemed to fancy their chances as being the best.
Danil was able to rationalise the twinge of guilt as he turned away from his chosen egg. Perhaps Smorn had been right. He suddenly remembered his eldest brother who had been courting other girls in the fish hold for years whilst still cherishing a glow for Marta, the girl who remained oblivious of his affections for the time being. He hadn't given up on love, Partor had told Damil, but he might yet find it with someone else.
Pubescent infatuation; that was what he was comparing with the scorching swell of his bosom and the threatening clench of his gut and bowels. He couldn't breathe.
No. If he didn't get his act together he would be removed from the Hatching Ground. Sacred as Hatchings were, the safety of a candidate would take priority with the Weyr. If he collapsed, he risked trampling and burns from the heated sand. He bent over and expelled the breath from his lungs slowly, remembering what the healers had taught him. He hadn't suffered this way since he was a small child. Children either outgrew it or it killed them.
I outgrew it.
The thought was so clear in his head that he thought for a moment it might be his dragon's voice. Unbending his knees, he bolted upright to look about him, eager and hopeful.
"His name is Kupeth!" The delighted announcement came from a very young candidate, not Smorn, who looked as if his bronze could make a light snack of him. The pairing however, was joyous to behold. Kupeth's eyes, at a level with his rider's, were a transcendent shade of golden green and the rider had reached out with his fingertips, just daring to touch the dragon which had taken part of his soul as his own.
Danil found himself choked with tears this time. He couldn't begrudge the boy Kupeth. Envy swelled his heart but jealousy could not be permitted to sully this moment. They were made for one another, that pair. Surely no other could have done.
The crowd, which Danil had expected to burst into applause, merely murmured in hushed awe at the sight.
It occurred to Danil the spectator's reverence might be owed to the novelty of this moment at Ista Weyr. Three years since a Hatching. This might as well be the First Hatching, the wonder of the moment all so fresh and miraculous.
The moment broke as the tiny rider and his dragon dispatched themselves from the sands, heading towards a weyrman who was acting as an usher for the new weyrlings.
The humming had settled to a lower pitch now and the queen bugled in triumphant celebration of the first Impression.
Almost as if in reply, other eggs burst open in a shower of sticky shards. The candidates began to shuffle about in uncertainty. Danil didn't know where to go either. Back towards the centre, towards his egg perhaps? He looked at where it was settled and was shocked to notice a pile of shards in its place. The dragon… Which was his dragon? There were three on the sand right now: a blue, a green and one whose colour was a somewhat ambiguous shade of turquoise for now. Surely none of those had come out of his egg. He had guessed at least a brown, from the size of it.
Danil searched frantically with his eyes, not daring to move in case he caused a stir. Or perhaps missed his chance. Where was he? Where was his dragon?
Dragon, he tried to call out with his mind. How did that even work?
Cheers went up simultaneously, and it was obvious that there had been three successful Impressions.
"Hipth!"
"Gulth!"
"Raleth!"
No! His dragon had already impressed. Which had it been? Danil felt an urge to run. He tempered himself. He was in between several eggs at the moment. It might be best to stay put.
Inside, he mourned that egg. If he had just stayed faithful, and kept up his vigil. Whatever dragon had come out of that egg, he pictured it as wearing the face of that pattern on the shell. He imagined the eyes turning red with rejection as they saw Danil run off to try his chances with the hatching bronze who had so clearly the favoured object of his affections. No wonder the dragon had found someone else. Yes, it was best to stay right here.
The rustling crack to his right caught his attention. Hatching almost under his feet, a damp green hatchling spilled out of her shell still curled up nose to tail and wings all around. Strands of membrane were clinging all over her. No one had noticed her yet.
Pity and hope compelled Danil to assist her. She looked dazed from the abruptness of her birth, as if she had been rudely awoken before sunrise, having not had enough sleep.
"I'm Danil," he spoke to her as he carefully reached for her wings to stretch them out. Danil ignored the commotion behind him as another dragon hatched. Mere seconds passed before he heard, "His name is Lingth!" That was Smorn's voice, he was sure. He didn't look around. In a second, perhaps he would be calling out this sleepy little dragon's name.
That possibility suddenly seemed less likely as the dragon recoiled from his touch.
"I'm only trying to help little one. You need to stretch out those wings and dry yourself out." He began to become concerned for her. The dragon was moving but shut out the world behind her eyelids, and remained closely huddled still wrapped in her own birth matter.
He looked up. There was a great deal of noise, with dragonets squeaking with hunger. However, someone had noticed the inertia of the little green and a dragon rider and a weyrhand were on their way over. He patted the green.
"It'll be alright."
"It's a slow hatching." T'mar commented to Bryn, the dragon healer accompanying him towards the green who appeared to be in some distress.
"Aye," Bryn said in agreement. Only twelve hatchings in as many minutes and a green who had failed to display the usual ravenousness of all hatchlings. They reached her and Bryn bent next to her to begin his examination.
"Lad, what's her name?" T'mar asked the candidate crouched beside her.
"Danil, bronze rider."
"Her name, Danil." The boy looked up, surprised.
"She's not mine," he said. Then his expression changed to alarm. "Should I know her name now?"
T'mar quickly sized up the situation. The candidate's hand was still resting on the dragon's wing. He wouldn't leave unless he was told.
"There are eggs hatching Danil." He motioned for Danil to go off. "Try your luck."
"She's not mine?"
"No Danil."
Danil looked at the dragon. T'mar glanced down as well.
She is not yet awakened. She needs time.
"Yalith says she will be all right." T'mar's dragon did not chastise his rider for misquoting him. Invoking the word of a dragon had the desired effect. Danil clambered to his feet, and backed away from the little green. T'mar gave him a last push.
"Good luck Danil." T'mar dismissed the candidate, turning from him to confer with the healer.
It was a quiet Hatching, he thought as the healer began his appraisal. Well, apart from the noise.
The noise was deafening. Luru found it hard to believe so few dragons could make such a racket. Lexir looked irritated, Luru noticed. Luru heard her mutter to the girl standing closest to her,
"They should take the sharding runts off the sands. Do you think they're disturbing the queens?"
That was unbelievable, even for Lexir. What if the Weyrling Master heard her? Luru peeked in his direction. He hadn't, from the looks of things. Keeping close by the queen eggs, he was keeping a roving eye on the movements beyond the dais. Luru couldn't see what was going on behind her, but she imagined the more distant goings-on probably registered higher on his list of priorities than the rocking but as yet uncracked eggs right before him.
Lexir was watching the Hatching with an air of boredom. The look didn't really add up, Luru thought. All her attention should surely be right in front of her, on the golden eggs, and even Lexir shouldn't be bored by that.
Luru watched her closely; she could see Lexir biting her lower lip slightly, as she watched each hatching below with intense concentration. Occasional flashes of relief were visible in her composed mask of disinterest. They corresponded roughly with every cheer which went up from the crowds in the stands around them.
Luru suddenly understood. That earlier comment had been sheer bravado. Whatever boredom she showed on her face was probably a cover for the emotion more commonly termed as anxiety. Lexir was concerned that the queen eggs were taking so long to hatch that she might Impress a lesser dragon in the mean time. There were occasional pairings of girls and greens. They were rare, and it was thought that dragons unconsciously recognised a greater need for male riders during Fall, who wouldn't regularly become pregnant. But in Interval? Perhaps dragons felt freer to indulge their preferences for a life partner of the same sex as themselves.
The larger queen egg suddenly split in two. Luru quickly paid attention.
The shell didn't fall apart immediately, the fissure having split the egg in two halves which overlapped as the weight of the occupant held it together at the base. The queen finally exited by throwing her full weight against one half, which shattered spectacularly into splinters. The other half rolled backwards, perfectly intact.
Luru heard the crowd gasp with interest. Hundreds of pairs of eyes turned towards the regal Hatching and her imminent Impression.
This golden hatchling had a considered look about her.. Luru was reminded of a well-heeled Lady Holder she had once seen at a gather, carefully surveying the wares on offer at the weaver's stall. She looked at each of the candidates for a set length of time, still making no choice, although she had probably probed them all carefully for whatever it was dragons looked for.
The rocking of the second egg became more agitated, as if nagging her elder sister to make a choice. Luru knew this queen was not for her. The knowledge came in the form of quiet acceptance of a situation that appeared quite inevitable. She bowed her head demurely, declining from the dragon's attention.
As if that made up the dragonet's mind, the little queen turned around. Luru couldn't contain the thought. Please not Lexir.
It wasn't. The single weyrbred girl among them drifted towards the gold, whispering the name the Luru didn't catch. Yelps and squeaks behind her drowned out the sound.
The pair walked fairly briskly away from the dais of sand, the weyrgirl silent, her arm gently guiding her dragon towards the exit. The crowd murmured slightly at the anti-climax. In terms of entertainment, Luru thought it was a good thing there was an extra golden egg.
The circle of remaining girl candidates closed in around the other egg. The Weyrling Master did not object and Luru noticed that the Weyrwoman had joined him. They were in conference.
The humming stopped.
At that very moment, the second queen shattered the casing of her imprisonment. Without hesitation, she aimed for Luru.
My name is Daruwinth, Luru.
The words and then the endless wave of love overwhelmed Luru. She staggered from the force of Impression, without knowing what to say or do, except to try and maintain her balance. Lexir suddenly barged her out of the way.
"The queen's name is Irith!" She shouted to the crowds. Luru was momentarily flabbergasted.
Daruwinth? Panic slowly began to seed within her. Then,
I am here. Irith is below.
Luru quickly steadied herself from her Lexir's shove. Stepping forward, she took her place by her queen, catching her sister's arm before she touched her.
"Lexir, she's mine."
Lexir turned towards Luru with a furious glare at her sister's interference. Luru put her hand on Daruwinth's neck.
I'm so hungry.
For a moment, Lexir's eyes went glassy. She glanced down at the golden dragonet and then looked around. Still not comprehending, she punched her sister squarely in the jaw.
The Weyrling Master was suddenly there, putting himself between the two of them.
"All right, what is going on?"
The unfolding drama kept the crowds riveted. Their murmurings had risen to fever pitch, almost a substitute for the dragons' humming.
Daruwinth began to wail.
Why did she strike you? The queen tells me I should let the Weyrling Master protect you but I am angry. She should be punished. Luru smiled, though the pain in her jaw made her wince; she had an advocate.
Some of the other girls were trying to explain what was wrong. Lexir was becoming angry and was having to be restrained by the H'nas.
"That's my dragon," she shouted. "Get that little piece of scum away from her."
"LEXIR."
The Weyrwoman's voice parted the throng of assorted failed queen candidates and weyrfolk who had collected on the dais. Even Lexir froze. Luru felt the might of the great queen's mind pressing on the situation, augmented by the considerable power of the Weyrwoman herself. So that was the power of the weyrwomen.
"There is a green dragonet known as Irith on the sands Lexir." The Weyrwoman pointed, the unspoken command for Lexir to get out of her sight.
Lexir's eyes flew to the queen, then Luru and then Daruwinth. A murderous expression contorted her eyes.
"She stole…"
The senior queen roared. Lexir fled.
The Weyrwoman motioned for two of the weyrfolk to follow her and then approached Luru. H'nas quietly gathered the rest of the girls and ushered them away.
The Weyrwoman raised her voice for the benefit of the crowd, the buzzing murmurs of which suddenly subsided to a whisper.
"What is her name Luru?"
It felt like a moment that ought to be shared with her dragon. Luru and the little queen latched eyes with one another.
I am yours Luru.
Luru spoke clearly, answering the Weyrwoman so the whole crowd could hear her.
"The queen is Daruwinth, and I am hers!"
It was the tailored moment the audience had been waiting for. They erupted in applause with thunderous clapping and cacophonous cheering. The bronze dragons joined them in a triumphant announcement of the arrival of their future mate.
Luru blushed, whilst Daruwinth preened.