Threadfall - 45. Speculation

D’gar woke abruptly. In his mind’s eye, he could still see the scene; injured dragons and riders, an old man with a badly Threadscored face. A feeling of utter helplessness. It wasn’t exactly like a dream; at least, not one of his usual dreams. Everyone in it was unfamiliar. And yet, it had left him with a sense of panic. Thread was coming. There weren’t enough dragons to fight it.

Did you feel that? Herebeth asked.

What? Had there been an earth tremor or something.

The whole Weyr shared your dream. Even dragons felt it. Why should we fear Thread is coming? The Pass is over.

I don’t know. D’gar climbed out of bed to fetch his water skin. Even now, fully awake, he was still disturbed. When he climbed back into bed, he found it hard to drop off again. The dream - or whatever it had been - had woken his own memories of Threadfall and in particular, that terrible day.

Next morning, at breakfast, a lot of riders were bleary eyed. ‘What was that last night?’ M’rell asked. ‘It felt so real, like someone was calling for help.’

As people shared their own experiences D’gar realised they hadn’t all seen or heard exactly the same. M’ta had heard dragons screaming in pain. T’kes had seen a wing-damaged blue dragon helped to land by a queen. Everyone, though, had been woken by the surge of fear.

R’feem arrived late, looking as tired as anyone. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Had to take Hebiri over to Mardra’s weyr last night. Our visitor awoke for a while.’ He shook his head. ‘She had to be sedated so she didn’t hurt herself.’

‘Is she all right?’ asked I’grast.

R’feem made a face. ‘She’s alive, but…’ he paused.

‘Her dragon doesn’t seem concerned,’ I’grast said. ‘That’s got to be a good sign. I was over with Tiriorth before breakfast and Ramoth was sitting up, preening. Looked much brighter.’

‘You know as well as I that most dragons don’t worry unless they can’t feel their rider’s presence. Ramoth must be aware she’s alive and being looked after. We must prepare ourselves for the worst, however. If the weyrwoman dies…’ R’feem trailed off. To lose a queen dragon, even one who wasn’t from their own Weyr, would bring down everyone’s spirits.

‘She’s not that bad, is she?’

‘They try to get her to eat and drink, whenever she wakes, but she’s barely conscious of her surroundings. Just keeps on about falling and needing help. Anyway, T’ron has called his Wingleaders to a meeting this morning and I think he’ll be talking to everyone later on.’

While R’feem and I’grast went to fetch their breakfasts, M’rell slid over. ‘So, what do you think that’s going to be about?’

‘The obvious. No one knows where that gold pair came from. Speculation is rife.’ It had been less than a sevenday since Ramoth and her rider were brought to the Weyr, but he’d lost count of the rumours that had been flying. ’T’ron will want to reassure everyone and hopefully give us all a bit more information.’

‘Doesn’t sound as if he has much.’

‘No,’ D’gar agreed.

‘So where do you think she’s from?’

‘I’ve no more idea than anyone else.’

‘But you’ll have been thinking about it a lot more than anyone else. You must have a favourite theory.’

‘Well, what M’ta was talking about the other day made some sense. It’s obvious they’re a young pair; inexperienced most likely. What if they made a mistake on one of their first jumps between, like that other rider he was telling us about? What if they’re from Fort Weyr, after all?’

‘Eh?’

‘Have you considered they might be from here, but in our future?’

‘Dragons can’t jump through time.’ M’rell sounded convinced of that.

‘Maybe some can.’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps most who try, either by accident or design, fail and disappear between. But the odd one succeeds. If the rider tells their story, everyone laughs at them until they begin to doubt their own experience. Plus, it’s obviously dangerous, so they’re too scared to do it again.’

M’rell shook his head. ‘Well, I wouldn’t want to try it. And I doubt Toth would be daft enough even if I asked him.’

‘Exactly.’

R’feem and I’grast were still talking, over by the serving tables. D’gar watched them for a while. Tiriorth might still find his landings awkward, but was as nimble in the air as ever. R’feem needed someone with I’grast’s experience. He bet it wouldn’t be too long before I'grast was back to his old Wingsecond’s position. A few sevendays ago, he’d have been happy to give it up. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

‘Thinking again?’ M’rell tapped him on the shoulder.

‘Hmm, yes.’

‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. Toth says he’s hungry and fancies wild wherry for a change. We’re off to hunt.’

‘Have fun.’ D’gar sipped his klah. If it were possible to travel through time, then could you go back to warn someone their life was in danger? More specifically, could he go back and warn S’brin?

Herebeth? His dragon was awake, lying on his ledge and watching the Weyr go about its business. You know when you go between to another place. Could you also go between to a time?

Herebeth didn’t reply for a while. Places are fixed. Time is always moving, he said at last.

Well, say I visualised a place on a day I remember very well. Could you take us there?

I am not sure.

It would have to be very precise. One misplaced detail might doom them both. And then, even if he managed, how would he get to speak to S’brin? What if he met his past self? If it had happened, wouldn’t he have a memory of it? And if he’d already done it and succeeded, S’brin would still be here. So that must mean either he’d tried and failed for some reason, or it wasn’t viable.

D’gar sensed this wasn’t something that should be tried lightly. That long-ago weyrling must have been very lucky indeed. Ramoth’s rider served as a dire warning of what could go wrong. Maybe she’d die? Or even if she remained alive, she might never recover her wits fully.

He knew if he’d thought about this earlier, in the first few sevendays after S’brin died, he might have been distraught enough to try it. Well, supposing Herebeth had let him. Now, though, he was regaining some of his innate caution. Just remembering some of the moves they’d pulled during those last couple of Falls made him shudder. Did this mean he was ‘getting over’ S’brin as everyone had suggested? The idea he might be wasn’t entirely welcome. He didn’t want his memories of S’brin to fade into the background. Yet it would be pleasant to recall some of their happier times without the heart wrench and feeling of loss.

R’feem and I’grast returned with laden plates, chatting softly. ‘…think it’s in your best interests, you must do it,’ he caught from R’feem before they sat down. He wondered if they’d prefer privacy to continue their chat, then realised they hadn’t needed to sit close to him. The dining room was mostly empty now as people went about their daily business. He decided to stay where he was. It might even be worth while asking some questions. Not that they’d be any more likely to know the answers than he did.

‘I’ve just been thinking about a few things,’ he ventured.

R’feem looked up. ‘Like what?’

‘Well, you must have heard all the rumours about Ramoth and her rider. It’s been established they aren’t from any of the other Weyrs. So, where did they come from?’

‘One of the moons?’ I’grast said, with a slight snort to show he didn’t really believe that one.

‘What if… what if dragons can jump not just between places, but between times?’

I’grast snorted again, but R’feem looked at him seriously. ‘Why should you think they can do that?’

‘Why not?’

‘That’s what M’ta was on about the other day,’ I’grast said. ‘That weyrling story. I reckoned it was a load of rubbish myself.’

‘What if everyone thinks the same?’ D’gar wanted to voice some of his ideas. ‘What if it’s encouraged for them to think it, so no one tries it?’

‘You think Ramoth’s come from the past?’ R’feem put in.

‘No, it’s more likely she’d be from our future. No dragon can jump to a place they’ve never been, unless someone else gives them the coordinates. But we can all remember times in the past, maybe well enough to give a dragon the image.’

‘Hmm.’ R’feem ignored his breakfast for the moment. ‘Interesting theory. But if it’s true - and I’m not saying it is - then we should bear in mind no dragon called Ramoth currently exists. Therefore, how would she know to come back to this precise moment in time, if she’s not even been hatched yet? And why did she end up in Ruatha rather than here at the Weyr?’

They were good points. ‘I don’t know all of the answers. Just trying to make some sense of it.’

‘Still sounds far-fetched to me,’ I’grast said. ‘I’d rather find out the truth from our Weyrleader than trust idle speculation.’

‘So would I, if he’s any the wiser than the rest of us. Until then…’ he shrugged, then added, ‘I take it Ramoth’s not told Tiriorth any more about her origins?’

I’grast gave a short shake of his head. ‘You know how dragons are. They have different ideas about what’s important. She’s mostly been telling him about the size of her last clutch.’

R’feem chuckled. ‘Better watch it. She might be angling for him to chase her next time she rises.’

‘Let’s hope not.’ I’grast made a face.

‘Oh, well. I’ll leave you to enjoy your breakfast. M’rell’s taken Toth to hunt wherries and I think I’ll join him.’ He got up from the bench.

‘D’gar,’ R’feem said quickly, making him pause. ‘Don’t do anything… silly, will you.’

‘No, of course not.’ Except now the idea was in his head, he couldn’t help wondering. Even though logic told him he couldn’t save S’brin, how could he not try, at least? As he called Herebeth, he carried on thinking his way through the conundrums of time travel.

Fancy catching some wherries? He knew the idea would appeal. Herebeth had eaten well a few days ago, but he could always fit in the odd snack between large meals.

Where?

The usual place. The wild wherries nested in steep rock faces in the Fort mountains. They’d been hunted often enough, they’d learned to be wary of dragons, but you could always catch a few of the younger ones. Toth will be there.

I ask him where he is. I do not want to spoil his hunt.

D’gar quickly put on the lightweight straps and his wherhide, then set off. It was a bright morning for early winter; not too cold yet. Anyway, it wasn’t as if they’d be in the air for hours, like riding a Fall. So far, he’d avoided chilblains and would rather keep it that way. He pictured the area; there was a mountain shaped like a loaf of bread close by, but far enough they shouldn’t frighten the prey. How about there?

It is good. Toth has caught one already and eats. Herebeth’s sudden appetite made him wish he’d packed a few meat rolls, then he remembered he’d just eaten a fairly big breakfast. Before they went between, he suddenly had an idea. Maybe, if time travel really worked, they could get to the mountains before Toth and surprise him? An hour earlier, the sun’s position would be slightly more easterly; the shadows longer. He adjusted the picture in his head.

That is not right, Herebeth said.

How do you know?

It does not… he paused. It does not feel right. I do not think it will get us where we should be.

What if you tried it? Herebeth was a sensible dragon and D’gar trusted his judgement when it came to things he, as a human, didn’t really understand.

I would rather not. It does not feel right, he repeated.

D’gar felt disappointed, but he remembered R’feem’s words earlier. He wasn’t silly and neither was Herebeth. It had been a mad idea anyway. He readjusted the picture to one Herebeth was happy with and they went between to join Toth.

T’ron made his announcements to the Weyr later on, at dinner time. ‘I know you’d like me to provide more information about our visitor, but all I can tell you so far is mostly what you already know. The pair aren’t from any of the other five Weyrs. They are obviously young. Ramoth seems to be recovering quickly, as dragons do, while her rider is still unwell. I doubt we’ll be able to find out much more about them until she wakes and is able to tell us where they are from and how they came to be here. We will, of course, offer her a home at Fort Weyr if she wishes to stay.’

Beside D’gar, M’rell whispered, ‘Well, that’s hardly going to put a stop to the speculation, is it?’

‘He can’t tell us what he doesn’t know,’ D’gar replied, then shushed him. T’ron had started to speak again.

‘On a happier note, I’ve approved Z’los’s recent request to transfer to Telgar Weyr…’ He paused to let some polite applause ripple around the hall. Not much, as few riders liked Z’los much and it was well known T’ron and he didn’t get on.

D’gar hadn’t known Z’los had requested a transfer. Neither, from the looks on their faces, had most in his Wing.

‘Which, of course, will leave “F” Wing without a Wingleader. Like many others, “F” Wing became seriously depleted toward the end of the Pass, so it will require a man with plenty of experience to help them regain their former strength.’

Folk had begun to stare at the riders around ‘F’ Wing’s table. Z’tul, their remaining Wingsecond, was sitting with his arms folded, looking smug.

T’ron continued. ‘I’ve considered the appointment very carefully. Several experienced Wingleaders and Wingseconds were available, due to the necessary disbanding of some of the Wings, but I would like to keep them free for the time when we can re-form those Wings. Therefore, I’m pleased to say the new Wingleader will be I’grast of bronze Tiriorth, who has served so well and for so many Turns as Wingsecond in “C” Wing.’

Z’tul’s face fell instantly. D’gar glanced from him to I’grast, who seemed pleased, but not surprised. Maybe that was what he’d been talking about with R’feem earlier?

R’feem stood and shook hands with his former Wingsecond. Several of the riders patted him on the back.

‘Well done,’ D’gar said. He was sad I’grast was moving on, but there was no doubt it would mean he and M’rell were more likely to find their temporary promotions made permanent. That thought set off a reminder of S’brin joking about wanting a weyr with a pool. He’d never get to see it, now.

‘Why so glum?’ M’rell leaned over the table. ‘We should be celebrating. Which reminds me, I’ve set a date for that party. A sevenday before Turn’s End.’

D’gar nodded. ‘Great.’ He wasn’t sure what he dreaded the most; the party, or Turn’s End itself. It would be wild, this time. Everyone looking forward to the good times now the Pass was over, forgetting all the lives lost. From Kadoth’s clutch, only half remained. S’brin and Zemianth had been the last to die.

M’rell put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I know Turn’s End can be difficult. When Rina’s name was read out, it brought it all back to me. I understand. But it’s not a crime to enjoy yourself, either. If S’brin was still here, you know he’d say the same.’

That was true enough. He’d often thought about how S’brin would have reacted if it had been the other way around. He’d have probably drunk a lot and cried; in other words, acted in a way people wouldn’t have found disappointing. D’gar had a suspicion he’d have probably invited J’rud to carry on sharing the weyr. S’brin had never enjoyed being alone. Maybe he should at least try to put on a brave face? ‘He would,’ he agreed. ‘If you need a hand getting ready for the party, I’ll gladly help.’

‘Well, I was hoping your mum could do us some cakes…’

The weather stayed mild into twelfth month. If they’d still been fighting Thread, there would have been no respite. Twice more, the Weyr was disrupted by strange dreams and a feeling of unstoppable doom. D’gar wasn’t the only one to put two and two together in working out it must be due to the weyrwoman who was still ensconced within Mardra’s weyr. Ramoth must be picking up her dreams and transmitting them.

‘She wakes more often now,’ R’feem told them. ‘Hebiri says that’s a good thing. Still confused, though.’

As Ramoth became stronger, she began to disrupt the Weyr’s routine, too. It had been fairly obvious how large she was when she’d been on the ground. Once she was in flight, comparisons between her size and that of the other Fort queens became inevitable. It was generally agreed, that of the three, Margatta’s Luduth came closest and even she was nowhere near as tall or broad throughout the body.

‘Powerful, no doubt,’ R’feem commented as Ramoth took herself to the feeding grounds yet again. ‘Not so quick on the turns. A crafty bronze; an experienced bronze could catch her fairly easily.’

‘You’re not thinking of sending Piroth after her?’ M’rell asked. The three of them had just emerged from a meeting in R’feem’s weyr when the golden queen decided to take flight.

‘Not unless he chooses.’

D’gar knew he was being tactful. Weyr rumour now had it that T’ron intended to let Fidranth chase her. With Loranth rising far less frequently, he might be thinking about the advantages of a young queen dragon taking her place. Not that Mardra would give up her senior status without a fight, of course.

‘I’grast says she told Tiriorth she laid forty eggs last time,’ M’rell continued. ‘That’s got to be a record, surely?’

‘I’ve heard tell of large clutches early in the Pass. Valli’s Kadoth once laid thirty-four. And of course, all of our queens were rising at least once a Turn.’ R’feem watched as Ramoth, for all her size, dropped neatly and precisely down to pick off a herdbeast. ‘Plus, her size is going to make a difference in the number of eggs she can carry. I wonder if that’s why they felt they needed to get away? I mean, there’s always been variations in size between dragons of the same colour, but…’

‘You think they were teased?’ D’gar finished off. It wouldn’t surprise him.

‘Who knows? Maybe that’s what made them feel they had to prove something?’

Something in R’feem’s tone made D’gar wonder if he’d been subject to similar teasing when he was a weyrling. Was that what had led him to become one of the youngest Wingleaders at Fort; a need to prove himself and his dragon capable?

Ramoth made short work of the first herdbeast and set off after another. A few dragons - mostly bronzes - had been drawn to watch and perched in the mouths of disused weyrs. It almost had the appearance of a mating flight, except there was none of the charged feeling in the air and Ramoth was gorging rather than blooding. D’gar recalled something he’d once heard about female dragons mating cycles not being affected by their rider’s injuries. He hoped the weyrwoman was aware of what was going on around her by the time Ramoth chose her moment.

Snow fell over the high country and the north of Ruatha just over a sevenday before Turn’s End. The wind direction changed, bringing real cold to Fort Weyr for the first time this season. By the time M’rell’s party came around, a light dusting of dry snow blew around the Bowl. Up on the heights, the watch rider had a brazier blazing, while his dragon flamed away the ice forming on the path. Ramoth perched on Loranth’s ledge, gazing out into the falling snow. D’gar thought she looked a little like he felt; dwelling on her unknown past.

Is she sad? he asked Herebeth.

She misses her own weyr and her mate. She wants Lessa to ride her again.

Lessa? Is that the weyrwoman’s name? D’gar wondered how long Herebeth had known it.

Of course, Herebeth answered. Ramoth told us.

Well, why didn’t you say?

You did not ask.

A typical dragon’s answer. You’ll have to fly me up to Toth’s weyr with the cakes soon. Agarra would be putting the finishing touches to them. She’d gone out of her way to make all the things he liked for the party.

Zurinth is there already. Her rider is helping to get things ready.

Is he? D’gar felt a flash of jealousy. Why should J’rud be helping M’rell? Then he realised how petty that was. J’rud was always pleased to get involved and loved any excuse to decorate a weyr. How awkward was it going to be tonight? He’d hardly said two words to J’rud about anything over the past few months, apart from that time he’d come up to the weyr to try and talk. It was his own fault, cutting himself off like that, but he wasn’t sure how to make things right again. How would you even begin?

To distract himself, he kitted Herebeth out in his carrying straps, which had lots of useful hooks and straps to secure baskets. Agarra had been invited, too. She wouldn’t be pleased to see her creations had been damaged in transit.

The kitchens were pleasantly warm after the stinging snow. Ovens had been damped down for the night and the last few workers were cleaning the workspaces and stacking bowls ready for the morning. Agarra was in her usual place, putting the finishing touches to a load of fruit tarts. She’d made a smaller version of a Turn’s End cake, rich with dried fruit and nuts, dusted with sweetener formed to look like snow.

‘Mum! That’s amazing.’

Agarra smiled. ‘Glad you like it. We’ve been working on the big ones these last few days, so I made sure there was enough mixture left for this.’

He helped her pack everything into several baskets, not wanting to keep Herebeth waiting. He liked snow when it was thick on the ground and he could play in it, but not so much when the wind kept blowing it into his face. He was thinking of his snug couch and a green dragon - Zurinth - nestling next to him.

‘As soon as you take this, I’m back to my quarters to make myself beautiful. Never know who might be there tonight and I’m not as young as I used to be.’

‘Who is?’ Sometimes, he felt twice his age.

‘You get yourself smartened up, as well.’

‘I’m not there to impress anyone.’ He hoped he could find a quiet corner somewhere. M’rell had invited some musicians along. There’d be singing and dancing too, if folk could find room. Really, he should be holding it in his double-sized weyr, but that was a step too far. It would remind him of all the parties held there with S’brin and later, J’rud too.

‘No one’s asking you to do that. But it’s respectful to your host. I hear you and M’rell might have some good news to celebrate.’

‘No decision’s been made yet. We’re still only temporary Wingseconds.’

‘Won’t be long, though.’ Agarra finished tucking cloths over the top of the food. ‘Now, make sure Herebeth lands very carefully.’

‘Of course, mum.’ Herebeth huddled close to the kitchen door as he secured the baskets in place, then climbed up very carefully. The ground was becoming more slippery by the minute and the snow seemed to be falling more thickly, too.

Herebeth landed as delicately as he ever had. Toth peered out from his quarters to see who had arrived, then popped his head back inside, out of the wind. He must have alerted M’rell, who pushed aside the curtain and helped carry the food through to the weyr. Herebeth had already joined Zurinth. Toth looked slightly put out, as every dragon did when their quarters were invaded.

J’rud was putting the finishing touches to the garlands he’d hung around the walls. He’d also rearranged the furniture and brought some more seating along. D’gar caught his eye and gave a quick nod of acknowledgement as M’rell led him over to the tables that had been set up near the back of the weyr for food. A few wineskins and jugs of ale had already been placed at one end, but people always brought more along, so there was little danger of the alcohol running out.

As D’gar uncovered the baskets, M’rell made noises of approval. ‘Looks great. Hey, J’rud. Agarra’s even made us a little Turn’s End cake.’

‘Mmm.’ J’rud turned slightly on the stool he stood on. ‘You can always rely on Agarra.’

Was he implying you couldn’t rely on her son? D’gar didn’t really care. If J’rud wanted to play that sort of game, he wasn’t going to take the bait. ‘Anything else you need doing?’ he asked M’rell.

‘Don’t think so. We’re almost ready. You want a drink to start the party off?’

‘I’d best go and get changed first. Agarra told me I had to be presentable tonight.’ He watched J’rud to see if he had any response to that, but he’d turned away again. ‘See you later.’

‘Come right back,’ M’rell called after him. ‘So we can have a few drinks before the hordes descend.’

Herebeth grumbled at having to leave Zurinth so soon after landing. Once you’ve dropped me off, you can bring her back here. I think Toth would prefer not to have to share his sleeping quarters. Even dragons wouldn’t want to be out on the ledge tonight with that bitter wind blowing in on them.

He didn’t take much time choosing what to wear. A clean shirt and pair of trousers was enough. As he’d said to Agarra, he wasn’t out looking to impress anyone. In fact, he hoped they’d mostly leave him alone. It would be pleasant to listen to a few songs and watch the antics some of the guests would be getting up to. Pleasant not to sit alone in his weyr, really…

He pulled on a plain blue shirt. Not one of his favourites, so it hadn’t been worn too often. He paused. Could he really be looking forward to this evening?

Even the short hop back to M’rell’s weyr sent a chill into his bones. He slid down for the second time, then watched as Herebeth side stepped off, the wind filling his wings and taking him up into the falling snow almost at once. He had to move aside as Zurinth followed enthusiastically. For all Herebeth had complained about being out of his warm weyr, he was happy enough taking to the air with Zurinth. D’gar felt for a moment as if he was flying too, letting the icy wind propel him high above the Weyr as Zurinth matched him, wingbeat for wingbeat. He damped it down and went through.

M’rell was sitting on his couch with a cup of wine. He’d already poured one for D’gar. J’rud was getting changed, piling his work clothes into a bag he’d brought. He’d decided to wear the shirt he’d been gifted at the Fort Gather, D’gar noticed. It fit him well.

‘Cheers,’ M’rell said. ‘Here’s to the future.’

It was better than drinking to the mess that was the past. ‘The future,’ he echoed. He had a sudden image of himself and M’rell, sitting here as old men, both of them never having settled down with weyrmates. And J’rud; he’d find someone else. Someone who really loved him, the way D’gar had loved S’brin.

J’rud fiddled with his hair in front of the mirror. Like a lot of riders, he was letting it grow longer now Thread was gone. D’gar hadn’t had a haircut since before that day, but unlike J’rud, who had kept the sides and back fairly short, his own hadn’t seen a pair of scissors or a blade. He knew it was untidy, with bits sticking out, but he didn’t really care.

M’rell beckoned him over. ‘Come and have a drink.’

‘Just a moment.’ J’rud tweaked his hair some more.

‘Greens!’ M’rell sighed. ‘You looking to catch someone tonight, J’rud?’

‘Maybe.’ He deliberately sat on the other side of M’rell to D’gar.

D’gar took another sip of the wine. Not the usual rough Tillek, thankfully. Was J’rud trying to make him feel jealous? Well, it wasn’t working. J’rud could do what he pleased.

‘How about you?’ J’rud asked M’rell. ‘Anyone caught your eye lately?’

‘I’ve been seeing one of the seamstresses. Nissadni. Dark, long curly hair. Good with her hands.’ He gave a smile. ‘She’ll be here later. Catching a lift up with some of the others.’

The weyrlings would be busy tonight, hoping for a few thirty-seconds or even sixteenths if they gave their passengers a smooth ride.

‘Remember that party you held just after last Turn’s End?’ M’rell spoke to D’gar.

It had been in their weyr. J’rud had decorated as carefully as he had for this one. He and S’brin had flirted all evening, driving D’gar wild. Once they’d finally sent the last guest home, they hadn’t even bothered to clear up before the three of them had pulled off each other’s clothes and jumped into bed. It had been almost as good as a gold flight. ‘It was… memorable,’ he said, not wanting to look at J’rud.

‘I brought two women back here. We had some fun.’ M’rell looked as if he was visualising what they’d got up to.

D’gar tried not to picture what had happened back in their weyr. It wasn’t the best moment for his body to decide to wake up again. Still, it wasn’t entirely surprising. Lately he’d begun to enjoy the flavour of food and appreciate wine. Grief was something like being between; you couldn’t feel anything. But, just like between, the state didn’t last forever.

‘So did we,’ J’rud said.

D’gar could tell from his voice he was smiling. ‘Well, you know what it’s like after parties,’ he commented neutrally, glad J’rud had chosen not to sit next to him.

‘Let’s hope we all have a good one tonight,’ M’rell said, raising his cup again.

‘I’ll drink to that,’ J’rud said, glancing past M’rell to catch his eye.

M’rell only had time to give them one refill before the first guests began to arrive. D’gar kept himself busy handing out cups and greeting them. Agarra arrived with Torala and A’ren, who had given them all a lift. Torala revealed she was expecting A’ren’s child in the spring.

‘If she’s anything like me, it’ll just pop out, no bother at all,’ Agarra said, loudly.

D’gar glanced across at M’rell, hoping he hadn’t heard. It was insensitive of his mother, considering what had become of Rina. Fortunately, he was engrossed in conversation with a couple of riders from their Wing. ‘Mum,’ he hissed. ‘That’s hardly appropriate, given whose weyr we’re in.’

Agarra shrugged. ‘That was Turns ago. You can’t go walking around on tiptoes all the time. Anyway, he’s over all that. Been seeing a seamstress lately.’

‘I know.’ Maybe he was being over sensitive on M’rell’s behalf? He knew people were still careful what they said, trying not to remind him, but how long would it last before they decided he was over all that, too? ‘Congratulations,’ he said to Torala, wondering how he hadn’t noticed she was wearing looser clothes recently.

‘We didn’t want to say anything too early, just in case,’ A’ren put in. He seemed a lot more confident these days. ‘But she’s been to see the healers and they say it’s all going well.’

‘Just like her mother,’ Agarra stated again as D’gar filled her cup. ‘Here’s to the first of many.’

They all drank. D’gar only took a sip. He didn’t want to overdo it early on; not before he’d had some food to soak up the alcohol. ‘I’d better go. Some more folk are arriving.’

Looking after people gave him something to do. It also gave him an excuse not to have to talk for long. Every now and then he checked the room for J’rud. He’d been standing with a couple of other greens for a while. They were watching the other guests, clearly assessing what was on offer and laughing loudly.

K’dis arrived with a couple of his wingmates from ‘B’ Wing. Hadn’t his Cegorth had flown Zurinth when she’d last risen? D’gar hadn’t been paying much attention back then. He handed out drinks to the three of them.

‘Seen J’rud?’ K’dis asked, trying to peer through the groups of people.

‘He was over there, somewhere.’ D’gar waved vaguely toward the most crowded part of the weyr. The congestion had been made worse by a couple of musicians trying to clear enough space to play. M’rell had clearly invited far too many people for the size of weyr. It wasn’t as if they could spill out onto the ledge, either, given the weather. D’gar guessed a few would leave early, to carry on partying in their own weyrs, once they’d had their fill of the food and drink on offer.

‘Thanks.’ K’dis paused. ‘I’m not treading on your toes or anything? I mean, you and he…?’

‘No. Not any more.’

He gave a smile and headed off into the crowd.

A little while later, M’rell sidled up. ‘If you want to get a decent plate of food, you’d best get in there now, before I throw it open to everyone.’

‘Thanks.’

‘No, thank you. You’ve been a great help.’

D’gar pushed through the people, stopping once or twice for a word or two. Eventually, he reached the back of the weyr. A few folk were already grazing their way along the buffet, picking up a meat roll here, or a slice of wherry there.

D’gar grabbed a plate and began to fill it; savouries on one side, sweet on the other. As he’d thought would happen, a few followed his lead even before M’rell shouted that it was time to help yourselves to food. He just got away in time before they descended like starving dragonets on a herdbeast and found himself a space near M’rell’s clothing niche, sitting on the floor.

He started with the meat rolls. They were the sort only made in the winter, with a spiced filling. The taste always reminded him of Turn’s End. Of other winters, when he’d been just a weyrbrat and they’d used to have snow battles out in the Bowl. Of sneaking out with S’brin - Serebrin back then - from the candidates’ barracks to find somewhere they could have some privacy. Herebeth sliding in the snow, when he’d been an awkward weyrling, all legs and wings. Those first wild flights with snow whipping his face. Funny how just a taste could bring back so much. In between mouthfuls, he sipped the wine. He had that pleasantly fuzzy feeling from having had just enough to drink. Everyday concerns seemed a long way off. Even thinking about S’brin didn’t hurt as it would have done had he been totally sober.

He ate a couple of slices of wherry surrounded by a rich stuffing and set off by the sharpness of pickled vegetables. The kind of food everyone enjoyed the day after the Turn’s End feast, when all the cold leftovers were being used up. He’d managed to grab a couple of crisply fried tuber patties, too. He was licking the grease from his fingers when J’rud settled down beside him.

‘You don’t mind?’

‘Got to find some place to sit.’ He eyed J’rud’s plate. Having been later to the table, he hadn’t managed to get so much of the tasty stuff.

‘I’ve been trying to avoid K’dis. Just because Cegorth flew Zurinth, he thinks we’ve got some sort of thing going on.’

D’gar felt strangely relieved. ‘And haven’t you?’

‘It was only a flight. Not one of the worst I’ve had, but there’ve been better, too. Can I steal a slice of that wherry?’

‘Go on then.’ He’d had enough of the wherry, anyway. He sipped his wine, wondering if he should eat the Turn’s End cake next before going on to the sweet pies and redfruit tarts.

‘I mean, why is it that riders think just because they’ve had you in a flight, you’d want to do it again with them?’

J’rud often grumbled like that after Zurinth had risen. D’gar knew it was best to let him go on and just agree every now and then. He picked a piece off the Turn’s End cake. ‘Hmm,’ he encouraged.

‘Everyone thinks just because you’re a green you aren’t fussy. Like V’chal and that lot.’

‘It’s a game for them, isn’t it?’ He savoured the richness of the cake. When they were little, Agarra hadn’t let them eat too much of it, as the fruit was steeped in alcohol.

‘Well, not for me. I’ve told K’dis over and over, but he won’t give up.’

‘Some greens play that game. too.’

‘I suppose you’re right. Anyway, he can find someone else to warm his bed tonight.’

‘There’s plenty here to choose from.’ D’gar picked up the redfruit tart, taking a quick look at J’rud’s plate. He hadn’t managed to get any of his favourite sweet treats. ‘Want this one?’

J’rud smiled. ‘I remember a certain brown rider luring me with redfruit tarts before.’

‘It’s just food,’ he said quickly. ‘And I know how much you like them.’ He didn’t want J’rud getting the wrong idea. That wasn’t why he was here, after all.

J’rud picked the pastry from his hand. Their fingers brushed together. That brought back all kinds of memories too. He busied himself with another piece of cake to distract himself. Even after they’d both finished eating, the silence strung out.

Into the growing tension, Herebeth added his own observations. You like Zurinth’s rider. He likes you. Do you want me to bring you both back to your weyr?

No! Definitely not. That wasn’t part of his plan at all. Talking to folk, a few cups of wine and some festive food was all the reason he was here.

Evidently Zurinth was saying something similar to J’rud. Sharding interfering dragons! They just didn’t understand how complicated human lives were by comparison to theirs.

You make it complicated, Herebeth said. He sounded vaguely disappointed.

‘Is Herebeth giving you a lecture?’ J’rud asked.

‘Yes.’

‘So’s Zurinth. Look, I understand. At least, I think I do. Your heart belongs to S’brin, even if your body’s telling you otherwise.’

‘What do you think he’d have done, if it had been me who’d died?’

J’rud shrugged. ‘That’s not relevant. You and S’brin are - were - very different. This’ll be your first Turn’s End without him. I remember all these times we talked about how it would be, once Thread was gone. The life we’d have… Everything’s changed now.’

‘Once I get through Turn’s End, maybe it’ll be better?’

‘Maybe. Or it might take you longer. When you’ve had the time you need, I’ll still be around.’

‘You don’t need to do that. There are plenty of other riders in this Weyr.’

‘Yes.’ J’rud moved closer. ‘But they aren’t you.’

For a moment, D’gar thought he might lean in for a kiss. And really, if that happened, would it be so bad?

Then J’rud broke the moment by looking down at the plate again. ‘Are you going to eat that pie? Because it’d be a pity for it to go to waste.’