Here we go again! If you haven't figured out by now that Pern isn't mine, you should probably seek help...
There was one person who did not join the feast that night. After the Weyr's healer stitched him up, Mor spent the night in a peaceful sleep, one hand falling from the bed to rest on Tyrith's back as he slept.
The fellis he had been given wore off about noon, and he slowly opened his eyes, wondering where he was. On the hand that was hanging down the side of the bed, he could feel a warm breeze that seemed to blow intermittently. From the floor on that side, he heard a sigh, and realised from the presence in his mind that it was Tyrith. Memory flooded back, and he realised that he was ravenously hungry. Part of that hunger came from the bronze lump on his floor.
"Tyrith?" he called hesitantly, not wanting to wake the obviously tired dragon, but needing to reassure himself that his memory wasn't playing tricks. "Are you awake?"
You're awake! came the joyful reply, and Mor found himself being thoroughly licked by a rough dragon tongue as Tyrith leapt up on the bed and greeted him.
"Yes, I'm awake! Now please, stop licking! Your tongue hurts!" Mor laughed.
The little dragon immediately backed off and sat on his haunches near Mor's feet. You worried me, he explained. I could sense that you were hurt, and I was terrified. I remember Mother ordering me to stay still and a female forced me to drink something, then I woke up to find you awake too! Can we get some food now? The dragon's tone was wistful. I'm really rather hungry.
Mor laughed. "Of course we can get some food. Do you know where the kitchens are?"
"Hello?" called a voice. "Are you awake?"
"Yes!" Mor called back. "And starving! Is there anywhere we could get some food?"
"I'll send down to the kitchens," replied the voice. "Food for two and a baby dragon, please," the voice called, producing a strange echo. Mor heard no reply, but the voice seemed satisfied, so he supposed everything was all right.
"Now, let's have a look at your new scar collection," said the voice, coming through a doorway covered by hanging cloth. Mor found himself face to face with a woman who wouldn't quite reach his shoulder had he been standing. She had short blond hair, brown eyes, and a light dusting of freckles across her nose.
"How are you feeling today?" she asked, coming over and placing her hand on his forehead. "You don't seem to have a fever."
"I feel perfectly fine, thank you," he hastily assured her. "A little tender, perhaps, but nothing that time will not cure."
She smiled. "I'll believe that when I see it," she said, wagging a finger under his nose. "You wouldn't believe the amount of riders that tell me they're all right and come back at the end of Fall twice as bad as they were originally. Now, shirt off, and I'll have a look at those claw marks."
"Dragonmen must fly/When Thread is in the sky," Mor quoted thoughtfully, stripping his shirt off.
She grinned at him. "The number of times I've had that spouted at me…" she sighed theatrically. Then her face grew serious. "You're to be the new Weyrsinger, aren't you?" she asked. Then the grin came back. "I suppose you have the right to spout it, then." They both laughed.
Suddenly, there came a rumble from the next room. "That will be the food," she said, still inspecting the cuts, some of which were quite deep. "I'll just smear some numbweed on these, then we can eat."
She briefly disappeared into the other room, and came back with a tray balanced on one hand and a jar in the other. She unscrewed the lid of the jar and spread a green paste onto the cuts, which instantly went cool and stopped itching, which Mor was very grateful for.
He reached for the tray, and served them both, but politely waited until she had begun before he did. He placed the bowl of meat scraps that had been sent for Tyrith on the floor, and turned back to his own meal as the little bronze dove onto the meat and began stuffing his mouth so fast that he choked, and Mor had to tell him off. He kept a slight mental hold on Tyrith for the rest of the meal, and was pleased to see him slow the rate of his gobbling to a safer pace.
"You're good with him," the woman remarked. "Most new riders take a few meals to find the right balance that lets them eat as they want but not choke themselves in the process. I know I did."
"Try teaching apprentices who are eager to learn to play music but aren't willing to learn the theory behind it," he replied absently, watching Tyrith eat. "You soon learn to balance things so they don't get bored with the basics but they don't rush ahead without you."
She laughed. "I guess not many people have that kind of experience when they first Impress," she said, glancing sideways at him. He seems so much older than fifteen, she thought, not knowing his past.
Tyrith suddenly gave a burp, and fell asleep. "When will he do anything apart from eat and sleep?" Mor asked.
"Don't worry. He'll soon outgrow that, then you'll get to come and fight Thread with us," she laughed.
Suddenly, a voice from the doorway to the stairs called, "Master Mordekai? Master Mordekai? Are you awake yet?"
"Yes!" Mor called back, but quietly, so as not to wake Tyrith. "That sounds like Tirly. I suppose he's checking on me after the events of yesterday." He grimaced.
"You mean T'car," she pointed out.
"Pardon?" he asked, confused.
"It was how he decided to shorten his name. His full name is Tirlecar, so he shortened it to T'car," she explained. "How will you shorten yours?"
Mor thought about it for a moment. "I don't know," he said at last. "What do you suggest?"
"Hmm, Mordekai." She turned the name over in her mind for a few seconds before speaking. "How about M'kai?" she suggested at last. "It's probably what I'd choose."
"M'kai it is then," said the newly christened M'kai. He smiled. Then he laughed. "I've just realised something," he gasped. "You know who I am, and have even chosen my name, but I have no idea who you are."
She began to laugh too, for M'kai's laugh was very infectious. "I am Kirsty, rider of green Aredath. I'm part of K'tim's wing, and I must be getting back to it. Goodbye, Weyrsinger M'kai," she said with a gentle smile, rising. "I'll see you around." And with that she left, passing a flustered T'car on her way out.
"Hello, T'car. How are you and Dareth settling in?" M'kai asked, reaching for a redfruit.
"Fine," said T'car, skidding to a halt. "Just fine. How are you feeling today, Master Mordekai?"
Mor winced. He hated people using his full name; it always sounded far too formal. Then he remembered. "I'm just M'kai now," he explained. "Or if you must be formal, Weyrsinger."
"Very well… M'kai," said T'car, suppressing a grin. He had noticed during class Mor's dislike of formality, and indeed, Mor's classes had always referred to him as Mor when out of earshot of the other masters and journeymen.
"And if you call me 'Master', I'll cut off your ears," M'kai added jokingly.
"Oh no, sir, not my ears!" T'car said with a laugh.
"So, what have I missed during my little sleep? M'kai asked, reaching for some bread. "And the ear thing goes for 'sir', too."
"Well, there was the feast last night, then this morning, we all got taught how to let our dragons eat without choking. Though most of us need some practise at that," T'car replied ruefully, remembering his own efforts.
"Right. I've already got that one, I think. Anything else?" M'kai asked.
"We have chores all afternoon, but I'll come back when I've finished," T'car promised. "Will you be coming down for the evening meal?"
M'kai nodded. "I assume so. Why? So bored with your new companions already that you want to hang around a teacher?"
T'car laughed. "Of course not. It's just that it's nice to see a familiar face."
"Do we weyrlings have to sit off on our own?" M'kai asked, thinking of B'kennor and Kirsty.
"Well, not really, but we seem to gather together anyway," he replied.
x
T'car kept his promise, though by the time he returned, the sun had already set, and M'kai was eager for human company. Kirsty hadn't come back, and M'kai found it maddening to stay in one place and do nothing, but a trip to use the facility had shown him how weak he was, and he had no desire to fall flat on his face trying to get down the stairs. He had spent the afternoon talking with Tyrith (when he was awake), and had mastered the art of mind-speaking, though every so often, traces of other conversations would filter through. He was very glad to see T'car return.
As they were about to begin talking, a bell began to ring somewhere below them.
"Time to eat!" said T'car, licking his lips in anticipation. "Let's hurry, so there's some left when we arrive!"
M'kai laughed. "Lead on, my friend!" he cried.
Together, they hurried down the stairs, and despite M'kai's slower-than-normal pace, they were in plenty of time for dinner, and in plenty of time to get an enthusiastic greeting from B'kennor.
"Let go, B'kennor, you'll break my ribs!" M'kai laughed, only half-joking.
"Oh, Mor, I've been so worried about you!" B'kennor exclaimed, releasing his friend from the bearhug he had been engulfed in as soon as he arrived. "I checked on you half a dozen times this morning, but you didn't stir."
"I only woke up at noon," M'kai explained. "And it's M'kai now, not Mor."
B'kennor laughed. "I wondered how long it would take you to shorten your name."
"Well, Kirsty helped me," M'kai retorted.
B'kennor, however, had been distracted by the entrance of the food. "Quick, let's grab seats!" he exclaimed. The three of them took seats at a nearby table as the head table, where the Weyrleaders sat, was served.
"So, who are you?" B'kennor asked T'car. "One of the new riders?"
"Yes, sir," stammered T'car, awed at being picked out by a more senior dragonrider. "I'm T'car, rider of blue Dareth."
"Very pleased to meet you, T'car," B'kennor replied, shaking his hand. "I'm B'kennor, rider of bronze Dioanth."
"T'car, what did I say about 'sir'? It goes for all dragonriders, not just me," M'kai laughed.
T'car clapped his hands over his ears with a grin, and M'kai explained to a puzzled B'kennor. B'kennor began to roar with laughter, and other riders within earshot began to smile.
Suddenly, a gold fire-lizard came streaking into the dining hall, and circled a few times before diving down to hover near M'kai.
"Hey, isn't that Menolly's Beauty?" B'kennor asked, recognition dawning in his eyes.
Startled, M'kai nodded and held out a hand, and she perched on it, offering a slim leg to him. He took the message capsule from it, and broke the seal to read it.
"What does it say?" asked B'kennor, peering over his shoulder to get a look.
"It's a message from Grandfather via Menolly, asking if I'm all right," M'kai replied. "Do you have a pen I can borrow?"
B'kennor silently produced one, and M'kai scribbled a reply on the back. Beauty held out her leg for M'kai to reattach the paper, then zoomed out again.
"What did you say?" B'kennor asked, watching the queen as she flicked out of sight.
"Just that I'm fine, and to tell Grandfather not to worry," replied M'kai, turning back to his meal.
The rest of the meal was uneventful, but it seemed to M'kai, who hadn't fully recovered, to last for hours. When everyone had finished, he was forced to ask B'kennor to help him back to his quarters, and had to endure the scolding this brought. As soon as M'kai's head hit the pillow, he was fast asleep.
Reviews are welcome...