Yay, I'm free! No more classes until the end of July! Now I just have to go research vampires...
Today's disclaimer is brought to you by... the strange person singing to themselves on the tram! Oops, that's me...
At first he thought he was still dreaming, but the rock continued to throb beneath his cheek. Mor sat up, his blankets in disarray. His cheek bore an imprint where it had slipped off the pillow and onto the floor during the night, and his hair stuck out at every angle.
"B'kennor?" he called. He was answered by a groan. "Should the floor shake like this?"
"Wassat?" came a sleepy reply. B'kennor's tousled head emerged from the pile of blankets on the bed. "Shaking?"
"It's almost like it's humming," said Mor, pressing an ear to it.
"Humming!" B'kennor gasped. "Like dragons humming?"
"How should I know? I've never heard…" Mor trailed off. His eyes widened. The sound grew louder and louder, and from below they could hear excited shouting.
"Hatching!" the boys exclaimed together. They scrambled out of their blankets, and fought over who got the bathroom first. B'kennor won, and had scrubbed himself clean nearly before Mor could blink. Mor dashed in, and gave his face a quick splash. Through the noise of the water, he could hear B'kennor saying something, but he couldn't make out the individual words.
"What was all that, Brek?" he asked, drying his face.
"I said, dimglow, that you need to change into this robe and I was giving you instruction about Impression," B'kennor said with an exasperated fondness, throwing a white robe at Mor as he emerged from the bathroom.
Mor pulled it over his head, suddenly feeling nervous. "What do I have to do?" he squeaked.
"First of all, you mustn't show any fear. You need to think loving thoughts to attract a dragon to you. Yes, I know it sounds silly, but that's how it works," B'kennor said, noticing the incredulous look on Mor's face. "Then, if you're lucky enough to Impress, the weyrling master will take over from there. That's about it really."
"All right, Dioanth, let's go!" B'kennor cried, leaping onto the bronze's foot. Mor hurriedly joined him on the other side, then barely suppressed a yelp as the bronze fell off the ledge and swooped up to enter the Hatching Ground through a large hole high in the wall. Below him, Mor could see the eggs, scattered randomly across the Ground, except for a larger golden one that the great queen Ramoth hovered protectively over. He could also see the other candidates, dressed as he was, standing on the sands, uncomfortably easing from foot to foot.
"We call that the Dance of the Hatching Sands," B'kennor called, his voice pitched to reach Mor's ears alone. Mor chuckled.
People from every style of life and everywhere on Pern lined the tiers surrounding the sands, and Mor could even see B'kennor's parents sitting together in the lowest tier. Far above them, dragons were ranged along the topmost tier, their rainbow eyes fixed on the scene below them and deep hums coming from their throats. Mor's wonder was diverted from these beautiful creatures by a cracking sound coming from below.
"Shards! The eggs have started to hatch!" cried B'kennor in alarm. "Best of luck, Mor!"
Dioanth dived down low enough for Mor to jump from the bronze's foot and land on the sand. He gave them a quick wave, took a deep breath, and turned to face the greatest challenge of his young life.
B'kennor had dropped him on the outer edge of the sands, so Mor had a wonderful view of the other candidates. Already, two dragons had hatched, a bronze and a blue. They stumbled about, creeling, their still-wet wings awkwardly flapping behind them. The male candidates cautiously took a few steps towards them, and the creeling changed to cries of delight as the two dragons flung themselves on nearby boys.
Then, as the other eggs started to crack, Mor turned his eyes to the queen egg, which had given an almighty rock and neatly split in two. The young queen gazed imperiously about her, but her image of dignity was ruined when she tripped over her shell. Three of the girls rushed forward to help her up, then the one on the left sighed happily. "Oh, Chrisath! You're so beautiful!" she sighed, hugging the queen.
Mor was so absorbed in the blissful expression on her face that he failed to realise that the other dragons had all paired off and the successful candidates were leaving with their new partners, tears of joy drying on their faces, while the unsuccessful ones' tears were still flowing.
"Why do the candidates leave the Ground?" someone demanded. Mor jumped and turned to face the speaker. To his amazement, he realised it was F'lar. "An unpaired dragon remains on the Ground, so why are the candidates leaving?"
"Begging your pardon, sir, but he doesn't want any of us," said one of the boys near the entrance with a bow. Mor recognised him as Tirly, an apprentice he had taught. "He looked us all over, but didn't approve of anyone. He walked right over my poor Dareth," indicating his new dragon, "looking for someone, but he didn't find them."
"He doesn't want anyone on the Ground, or in the tiers. But there are no candidates absent, and no one else has had contact with the eggs," Mor heard Lessa murmur softly. "Who is he waiting for?"
Suddenly, the little bronze who was the object of the discussion gave a glad cry and dove towards Mor, who was still standing in the shadows at the edge. Mor's eyes widened in shock as the baby dragon landed on him and began walking all over him, crooning.
"Master Mordekai! Are you all right?" Tirly cried, rushing over. "Leave him alone!" he told the dragon, trying to pull him off.
Tyrith grumbled. I don't intend to leave him alone. I only just found him! he protested. Nobody's telling Dareth to leave you alone!
But you're hurting him, Dareth pointed out. Your partner won't be very happy with you if you leave claw marks on him! I know I'm not happy with you, he said disapprovingly, examining the claw marks Tyrith had left on his back and wings.
Still grumbling, Tyrith got off, allowing Mor to sit up and gasp. Even if he had had breath, he didn't think he'd be able to talk because of the shock of hearing the dragons converse in his mind.
"Master Mordekai! Are you all right?" Tirly asked anxiously, helping him to his feet. "Oh, sir, please say something!"
Mor finally remembered how to use his mouth again and gasped, "I'm all right, Tirly. Just a little scratched."
"Scratched? You're bleeding everywhere, sir! And your robe is ruined!" Tirly exclaimed in horror, watching his favourite teacher drip blood onto the sand.
"Just give me some time and Diar… a healer, and I'll be fine," Mor reassured him.
Did I hurt you? Tyrith asked, worry colouring his tone.
I'll be all right. Just… try not to do it again, OK? Mor replied amusedly, trying to hide his pain.
"Are you all right?" a new voice asked. Mor looked up to find the Weyrleaders watching him. "Dragon claws can be sharp, even straight after birth."
"I'll be all right, Weyrleaders," said Mor, sketching a bow and nearly overbalancing. He was beginning to feel a little dizzy. "I thank you for your concern. I've already ensured that Tyrith won't do it again."
"So that's this little one's name, is it? Congratulations, Mordekai and Tyrith, and to you too, Tirly and Dareth, on your Impression. Mordekai, I suggest that you report to our healer immediately," said Lessa with a faint smile. "Master Menolly has offered to help you there, as you appear to be incapable of walking that far at the moment."
Menolly grinned at her as she vaulted the wall onto the sands, then turned that grin on Mor. "I see you've abandoned us for the glamour of dragonriding, Mor," she laughed. "Hasn't done you much good so far, has it?" she added, appraising his scratches.
"Are you a harper, Mordekai?" asked Lessa, interested. "I thought I heard Tirly call you 'Master'. Our Weyrsinger recently retired to the warm Southern beaches, and we find ourselves without a teacher for our young ones. I meant to talk the subject over with you today, Menolly," she added, glancing at Menolly, "but now it appears I don't need to. Would you be willing to take on the duties of Weyrsinger as well as those of a normal dragonrider?"
"My lady, I would be honoured," Mor said solemnly, bowing to her again. This time, he did lose his balance, and Menolly was forced to catch him as he fell.
"Off to the healer with you, kid," she said, heaving him over her shoulder. "Coming?" she asked Tyrith, who nodded and followed her as she walked out of the Ground and across the bowl to the healer's quarters, the unconscious Mor hanging down her back.
x
"Was it a good idea to ask a boy to be our Weyrsinger?" F'lar asked softly, resting a hand on his weyrmate's shoulder.
"I've heard a great deal about him from Sebell and Menolly," she replied, absently rubbing her cheek on his hand. "They say that he has an excellent memory, is good at teaching, is brilliant on any instrument he picks up, and in many ways, reminds them both of Robinton."
"Hopefully, Mordekai will be just as wonderful as Robinton would have been, despite his youth," F'lar said.
"Hopefully," Lessa echoed, leaning into him. They enjoyed the contact for a moment, then Lessa sighed. "I suppose we have to go and comfort the disappointed. I hate doing that."
"It will be over soon," said F'lar consolingly, and kissed her before they both walked to the entrance to join the festivities.
Will update tomorrow!