Weyrlings - 3. Summer Flights

Summer afternoon heat made the Weyr Bowl shimmer. Suderoth shone bright as the sun as she blooded her kill on the feeding grounds. Bronzes perched on weyr ledges and on the rim, waiting for the chase to begin.

Even the young dragons of Kadoth’s clutch looked interested and gathered in a huddle to watch the spectacle. Kadoth herself, along with Loranth had left the Weyr earlier, Valli struggling to reach her usual spot between the neck ridges, despite T’ron, the Weyrleader, giving her a boost up.

Unlike greens, who seldom minded rising together, gold dragons were fiercely jealous. If the older queens were still in the vicinity when Suderoth rose, they might fight her for possession of the bronzes. Nothing like that had happened in living memory, but as it was stated repeatedly in the records and Teaching Ballads, no-one dared risk the consequences.

‘Valli and Mardra are off to the beach,’ S’brin said. ‘She was looking forward to a swim. Said it might help with her aches and pains.’

‘Let’s hope something does.’ They’d both grown fond of the old weyrwoman and had become her preferred choice to help bathe and oil Kadoth.

A ripple of dragonlust surged through the Weyr as Suderoth bugled a challenge to her suitors. ‘Remember the last gold flight?’ S’brin’s expression left D’gar in no doubt he wanted to repeat the experience.

‘We mustn’t. Think of Herebeth and Zemianth.’

‘I thought you didn’t believe those Teaching Ballads.’

‘They might exaggerate, but I don’t want to take the chance. Do you?’

‘Is that just you trying to act responsible?’ S’brin reached out to touch his face.

D’gar wanted so much to lean into it, to lean forward and kiss S’brin. He stifled the urge. ’Someone has to.’ He watched as Suderoth brought down a second herdbeast. ‘I’d best go. I promised mum I’d help out in the kitchens. Otherwise there’ll be no dinner for anyone.’

‘Right. Can’t convince you otherwise?’ S’brin gave him that look he always found impossible to resist.

‘Sorry.’

‘Well, maybe I’ll find someone who isn’t so proper.’

’S’brin. Don’t.’ But he was already walking away. D’gar knew that if he followed he’d end up doing something he regretted. He looked down at the dusty ground until Suderoth had finished draining the blood from her second beast and finally took to the air.

If anything, the kitchens were even hotter than the Bowl. Many of the staff had used the mating flight as a good excuse to get out of the place, whether they had a partner or not. Agarra wiped her brow with a rag before taking another tray of meat rolls out of the oven. ‘Glad you’re here,’ she said. ‘There’ll be a lot of hungry folk come dinner time. Can you start on those tubers?’

‘Sure.’ He’d helped out in the kitchens often enough when he was a weyrbrat and knew where everything was kept. Peeling tubers occupied his hands, but it didn’t stop him wondering where S’brin had got to.

As if she’d read his mind, Agarra came over. ’S’brin didn’t want to help, then?’

‘I don’t know where he is.’ Or who he’s with, he added silently.

‘Ah. You had a falling out, then?’

He shrugged. ‘Kind of.’

‘Been a few Turns since the last time, hasn’t it? You’re not doing so badly, especially at your age. I could never stick with anyone for that long.’

She had a point, he supposed.

‘Gold flights make everyone edgy.’

‘Especially when you can’t do anything about it,’ he replied, bitterly. ‘Now we’ve got young dragons.’

‘Well, that won’t last forever, will it? There’ve been a few mating fights when I’ve had to bite my lip and get on with other things. Like today, for example. Someone has to take a turn in the kitchens or none of the Weyr would get fed.’

‘I suppose so.’ Having a dragon was wonderful and yet it seemed that as their dragons grew, S’brin and he drifted apart in subtle ways. Maybe if they had both Impressed the same colour it would have been better. All the greens seemed to have a particular bond which wasn’t the case with the other colours.

‘Don’t worry about it. Trouble with you is you think too much. Find problems where there aren’t any.’

Agarra’s disposition was more like S’brin’s. She dived headlong into things without taking too much time to worry about the ‘maybes’ and ‘what ifs’. But that was how they were and he was how he was and neither of them could help it.

‘Have you done those tubers yet?’

‘Almost. Just a few left.’ He watched his mother as she removed a small dish from the oven and tested it. ‘What’s that?’

‘Special treat for weyrwoman Valli. I’m trying to get her to eat more. She loves these little pies.’

‘She’s getting thinner, isn’t she? S’brin said it’s because of all the fellis she’s taking.’

Agarra gave him an odd look. ‘You know why she’s taking fellis?’

‘For her knee, isn’t it?’

‘That’s a part of it. A symptom. You must have noticed it’s not getting any better.’

‘Is it joint ache, then?’ Poor Valli. He’d seen how some of the weyrfolk were crippled with that; their hands like gnarled roots.

‘Worse. She’s got a wasting disease, so the healers say. In a few more sevendays, depending how fast it progresses, she’ll not be able to walk any more. Eventually, it’ll kill her.’

D’gar was horrified. It was one thing to die in Threadfall, but at least that was fairly quick. And although every dragonrider knew it was a possibility during each Fall they fought, no-one really believed it would happen to them. But to be told you had something wrong that would gradually incapacitate you and finally kill you, was truly awful. ‘She knows about it?’

‘Of course. She won’t give in to it; that’s how she is. She’ll keep pushing herself until she just can’t any more. So, I’ll keep on making her little treats. I know you and S’brin help her out with Kadoth. That’s all any of us can do; try to make her remaining time as good as it can be.’

D’gar hadn’t thought this afternoon could get any worse, but it just had. The knowledge that Valli was dying slowly drove all of the niggling dragonlust from his mind. Now that he knew, how would he be able to look her in the face without it showing? She must get that from everyone, he realised; a sort of pitying glance mingled with relief that it wasn’t them. Maybe that’s why she’d picked out him and S’brin to help her; not just because their dragons were from Kadoth’s clutch - her last clutch in all probability - but because, as weyrlings, they were less likely to find out what really ailed her. Except, now he had.

‘Best get on with those vegetables,’ Agarra said, brusquely.

Her attempt to distract him, he knew. He started picking off leaves and trimming them, hoping as he did so that Valli was having a wonderful time by the sea and that she might be able to forget, for a while at least, that she was dying. He’d a fair sized pile of them by the time the wash of release told them both that Suderoth had been caught.

‘Long flight,’ his mother commented. ‘She’ll lay well from that. Maybe even a gold egg, this time.’

She left unspoken the fact that they’d soon be a queen dragon short; that there’d need to be another to replace Valli and Kadoth, whether she was bred at Fort, or transferred from another Weyr.

He didn’t see S’brin again until dinner was served. As Agarra had predicted, everyone in the Weyr had worked up a healthy appetite. Tirelle didn’t appear in the dining hall; doubtless she and V’dul were still recovering in her weyr. Suderoth and Sarneth had returned and were curled happily together on the ledge, their hides reflecting the evening sunlight like burnished metal.

D’gar didn’t know what to say to S’brin and would probably have stayed miserably alone if S’brin hadn’t got his food and plonked himself down on the bench next to him.

‘You all right?’ he asked.

‘I’ve been better.’

S’brin put an arm around him and hugged him so hard he nearly choked on his mouthful of food. ‘Sorry about earlier. it was the flight getting to me.’

‘Did you have a good time?’ He tried to make his voice sound cold. Difficult, when what he mostly felt was relief.

‘Not really. I just went back to the barracks and…’ he made a gesture indicating what he’d done. ‘You?’

‘I peeled a lot of vegetables.’

‘You didn’t really think I’d go off with someone else, did you?’

He shrugged. ‘I probably wasn’t thinking straight with all the dragonlust, but yes, I did wonder.’

‘Don’t be daft. I wouldn’t do that to you.’ He sighed. ‘How much longer do you think we’ll have to wait, before we can do it with each other again?’

‘Not before the dragons are at least ten months, they reckon.’

‘Shit! Zemianth might rise before then.’

‘Surely you’d know. If she was going to?’

‘It’s not easy to predict, the first couple of times. That’s what the other greens say, anyway. Once she’s established a cycle, it’s fairly regular. Only thing that might upset it is if she gets injured.’

‘Or if you do, surely?’

‘Don’t know about that. They didn’t say. But I don’t think it would. I heard about a gold who rose while her rider was unconscious from a head injury.’

That brought all kinds of unpleasant images to D’gar’s mind. S’brin, badly Threadscored and unable to defend himself. Valli, dosed up on fellis, with bronze riders pawing all over her. ‘I found out something about Valli,’ he said, quietly, although probably half the Weyr knew if the Lower Caverns workers did. ‘She’s… she’s dying.’

‘What? Are you sure?’

He nodded. ‘Mum told me.’

S’brin fell silent for a while. ‘It explains a lot. Some of the things she’s said. The fellis. She’s getting worse, too.’

‘Apparently she won’t be able to walk, soon.’ Which meant, presumably, she’d not be able to ride Kadoth either. Sure, some of the retired riders couldn’t get on their dragons any more, but as the dragons themselves wouldn’t find flying easy, it didn’t really matter. They’d had their fill of an exciting life; they’d survived countless Falls and were content to spend their remaining Turns sitting around the fire telling stories. Valli should have another twenty or thirty Turns. She should see the end of the Pass.

‘That’s awful.’ It was obviously as much of a shock to S’brin as it had been to him when he was first told. ‘So the healers can’t do anything?’

‘Apparently not. Only give her fellis for the pain.’

‘Even that’s not helping much. She was swearing yesterday when I helped her into her weyr. She said it felt like someone was squeezing her knee in a vice and sticking pins all down her leg.’

‘We’d better not let on that we know?’

‘Why?’

‘It might make her feel awkward. Make her think we’re only helping her out of pity. If she wants us to know, she’ll tell us herself.’ Probably, he thought, at a time when she can’t hide it any more.

The prospect of a new batch of weyrlings once Suderoth's eggs had hatched meant that the best of the dragons and riders from her previous clutch started to graduate into the Wings, still leaving enough to continue with the vital firestone replacement duty until the youngsters from Loranth’s clutch became ready to assume it. It was a never ending cycle, D’gar thought. Like seedlings sprouting from the bare earth in spring, growing tall, ripening and then being harvested. In some cases it was a deadly harvest. Although the Weyrlingmaster and then the Wingleaders tried to make sure the new pairs were well drilled, the only real way to learn how to fight Thread was to do it. Not every pair survived long enough to gain the experience they needed. Mistakes could be - and often were - fatal.

It was a sultry evening, heat radiating from the Bowl’s stone walls, when ten of the riders were invited by the respective Wingleaders to join their Wings. D’gar and S’brin watched as they left the weyrling tables forever, to a noisy accompaniment of claps and cheers. They’d be moving out of the barracks to their own weyrs now, as well.

‘Which Wing do you think we’ll end up in?’ D’gar hoped they would be in the same one, although there was no guarantee of that. It depended on the spaces available.

‘“F” or “C” Wing are good ones. R’feem’s a decent Wingleader and so is Z’los.’

‘What about “A” Wing?’

He made a face. ‘Think the pair of us will get in the Weyrleader’s Wing? I doubt that.’

’T’ron knows we help Valli. It might count for something.’

‘Yeah, except N’teren’s going to tell the Wingleaders everything about us before they make their decision. Anyway, it’s all academic right now. We haven’t even flown on our dragons yet. We might be rubbish.’

‘I can’t wait to fly on Herebeth.’ D’gar’s dragon, like the rest of the clutch, was already gliding off ledges and except for one spectacular crash landing into the lake, seemed to be mastering the skill well. Zemianth looked far more graceful in the air and now that she was getting sleeker and larger, you could definitely tell she was Kadoth’s daughter.

‘Me too. Once Zemianth can take my weight.’

Some of the comments made by their clutchmates had hit home. ‘Dragons are stronger than they look. Most of the greens can carry two or three people, if they need to. You definitely aren’t as heavy as that.’ S’brin didn’t seem convinced, so D’gar changed the subject. ‘I reckon she’s going to be really fast. No-one’s going to outfly her unless she wants them to.’

‘Talking of which, bets are on as to which of Loranth’s clutch will be the first to rise. I reckon Minth.’

‘Why?’

‘She’s started changing colour. And E’sen’s been in a bad mood the last few days.’

‘Could be anything. Anyway, I thought you didn’t like stereotypes. Not all green riders get proddy when their dragons are close to rising.’

‘No, but some do. Hey, do you think T’mudra’s going to be even more uptight when Jassainth starts feeling randy?’

‘Who knows.’ T’mudra generally kept out of their way these days, as far as that was possible with such a small clutch. ‘Maybe it’ll have the opposite effect.’

‘Yeah. Maybe he’ll try to chat you up.’

D’gar made a face. ‘I don’t fancy him in the slightest.’

‘No, but if Herebeth takes a shine to Jassainth you aren’t going to have any choice about it.’

All of the greens in Suderoth’s clutch had risen once or twice by now. Even the blues and browns were mature enough to start being interested in chasing females. Generally, the first mating flight of any green dragon was overseen by N’teren, more to ensure the rider got through it smoothly than through any concern for the dragon. Everyone knew that mating flights - for the human participants - could be difficult. Until they rose for the first time, you had no way of knowing whether you’d be one of those who were so enmeshed with your dragon that you didn’t have a clue what was happening to your own body. ‘It’s that whole losing your mind thing that worries me. What if I hurt someone because I don’t know what I’m doing?’

‘You won’t. It’s not in your nature. As far as I can tell, dragonlust’s a bit like getting drunk. Some folk get silly, some want to fight. We’ve both been fine with gold flights haven’t we?’

‘True. But everyone says it’s different when it’s your own dragon. More intense.’

‘Anyone tries anything I don’t like, I’ll clobber them. You don’t get into trouble for hitting someone during a mating flight.’

D’gar didn’t think S’brin was thinking it through sufficiently. Green riders were more usually the ones who lost conscious control over themselves. S’brin mightn’t even be aware enough to be able to fend off anyone. That worried him.

As it happened, S’brin won his bet. Minth rose a couple of hours before Berith, another green from Loranth’s clutch, on a blazingly bright, hot afternoon. It wasn’t anywhere near as long as a gold flight and Minth didn’t even bother to blood her kill beforehand, just launched herself with a piercing shriek, closely followed by a cluster of blues and browns from Suderoth’s clutch. N’teren had made sure there weren’t too many of them and they were all young beasts, so that there wouldn’t be too much of an age difference between the riders.

Berith went just before dinner, having been lying in the sun all afternoon until she glowed. She killed a wherry and an ovine, drained the blood from their necks, then left the bodies heaped on the feeding ground as she took off. Sh’bul, who was nearly nineteen, having Impressed on his fifth try, had decided that Berith’s first flight should be open to all.

‘Think he felt pressured into that?’ D’gar asked. Although in theory, anyone could specify a restricted flight for their first time, older riders - or those who were known to be sexually experienced - generally didn’t, for fear of seeming immature.

‘Maybe. But Sh’bul can take care of himself. He’ll be fine.’

D’gar wasn’t so sure. Sh’bul looked like he was sleepwalking into the flight cave and had to be guided by some of the other riders. Berith’s flight had attracted some of the sort who always went for the younger ones; F’nerl and H’sal, both of whom were in their late forties. Despite having been told time and time again that ‘the dragon decides’, it really did seem that some dragons chased greens far more frequently than others and those who did were usually the ones with lecherous riders. Maybe it was just another example of how well matched in temperament the pairs were, but D’gar had a cynical idea that even if a dragon wasn’t particularly bothered whether he caught a mate or not, maybe the rider had some influence.

H’sal’s Nalth flew Berith. Although he was an older dragon, he had the experience of many a mating flight, even if the younger ones were faster. He’d also been fighting Thread for over twenty Turns, so he’d built up plenty of muscle and stamina. And while the pair of dragons seemed happy afterwards when they returned to the Weyr, poor Sh’bul ended up in the infirmary having dislocated his shoulder at some point during the flight.

‘That H’sal ought to be ashamed of himself. There’s no call for treating anyone so badly,’ Agarra said, when D’gar pushed her to find out if she knew what had happened. ‘I heard say that wasn’t all the injuries he had, either.’

‘Oh. What else then?’

‘Bruises. Bite marks. You should ask him yourself if you want to know any more. Not for me to say.’

But when Sh’bul got out of the infirmary, he wasn’t talking much to anyone. Before the flight, he’d been quite a relaxed, cheerful sort. Now he was nervous and jumpy, picking at his food when they ate together in the dining hall and not looking up from the table. It made D’gar even more worried about what might happen when Zemianth rose for the first time. He couldn’t talk about it with S’brin, of course. He’d laugh it off, as usual. And Agarra just wouldn’t get the nuances, not having a dragon herself. So he ended up talking to the only other older person he felt would understand; Valli.

‘I’ve had a few rough flights over the Turns,’ she said. ‘That’s how it goes for those of us who ride gold or green.’

‘It’s not right, though.’

‘Maybe not, but there’s not much you - or I - can do about it. Dragons need to mate. We just have to go along with it.’ She must have noticed his expression. ‘Cheer up, lad. It’s not always like that. I’ve had more good ones than bad ones. Not that I always remember much about it afterwards. Let you in on a secret though. The best part is after the dragons have finished. You’ve still got a head full of dragonlust, but you know what you’re about. Oh yes, that’s the best sex I’ve ever had.’ She smiled as she said it, then her face fell. ‘Not that I’ll be doing that any more.’

‘Kadoth might rise again.’ He knew she wouldn’t but he had to say something.

‘Think you and I both know that’s not going to happen. Even if she wasn’t past it, then I am.’ She rubbed her left leg. ‘Look. My foot doesn’t even work properly any more.’ She demonstrated, first flexing her right foot, then attempting the same movement with the left. It barely came off the ground.

‘You’ve maybe been overdoing things…’ he trailed off, miserably.

‘You’re a bright lad. You must know by now. Weyr gossip and all that.’

He nodded. ‘I didn’t want to say anything. You probably don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Not about that, no. I don’t mind talking about anything else though.’

‘Well, is there anything I can do to help S’brin?’

‘Make sure he asks for a restricted flight. That’ll keep the nasty ones away. Then by the time Zemianth rises second or third time, your Herebeth will be old enough. The way you two are with each other, he’s bound to catch her, most times. When Os’erl was here, his Firorth flew Kadoth more often than not.’

D’gar didn’t recognise the name. ‘Where is he now?’ Maybe he’d been transferred to another Weyr.

‘Thread got him.’ She sighed. ‘He was only forty-two when he died. I was two Turns younger. Missed him ever since.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No need. We lived to the full, while we had the chance. Odds were, one of us wouldn’t make it and it was more likely to be him. Perhaps it was a good thing. At least he didn’t end up like me.’

D’gar wondered if that was why she still pushed herself to ride Fall, despite the pain. Maybe she hoped Thread would take her before the disease ran its course.

‘Now I’m being gloomy again. Get us some more of that wine. I like a good Benden white.’

Life at the Weyr continued. The growing dragons of Kadoth’s clutch learned to catch their own food, relieving their riders of that responsibility at least. But they still needed bathing and oiling and there was more hide to tend with each passing sevenday.

On the third Fall after they’d joined the Wings, K’llesh and blue Jirianth didn’t return. In the dining hall that night, T’ron raised his cup in a toast to the pair.

‘He was only just eighteen,’ D’gar hissed to S’brin. Barely a Turn older than they both were.

‘How it goes,’ S’brin said. ‘Not everyone makes it.’

‘What if one of us doesn’t?’

‘Don’t be daft. Of course we will. We’re better than them.’

D’gar hoped he was right, even though, deep down he knew K’llesh had probably believed he was invincible too.