The Rider's Pride - 2. Chapter 2

“Wake up, son.” Kapian’s voice filtered into Jashon’s consciousness and he roused himself, wrinkling his nose at the smell that was filling his nostrils. “That’s it boy, wake up now.”

“Father?” Jashon asked weakly and another stab filled him as he remembered what had happened before he passed out. His cheeks flushed with the shame running through him, but he opened his eyes to see his father’s eyes looking at him with concern. He was lying on his own bed in the room he shared with Komer. “I’m sorry to embarrass you father.”

“Shards, son, that’s the least of my worries right now.” Kapian said fiercely and Jashon tried to stop his arms from quivering at the emotions showing on his father’s face. “By the egg, what will we do without you around here?”

“They still want me?” Jashon asked in surprise, wondering why they’d want someone who’d fainted like that.

“That blue threw a fit when H’mal suggested they might want Komer instead.” Kapian actually smiled at that.

“Why would Aliarth throw a fit?” Jashon realized he’d spoken aloud when his father started chuckling.

“If I had any doubts the dragon was right about you, that just about speared it to death.” Kapian said with a hint of sadness. “I don’t expect I’ll see you come back after the hatching, so just let me say we’ll miss you around here, and I’ll be betting that you Impress a bronze or a brown. You’re my son, no matter what, and remember that.”

“Yes, father, but aren’t you… you don’t like dragon folk.” Jashon said softly. “I’ll just go and stand on the hatching ground and I won’t pick a dragon. Then I’ll be back here the next day.”

“Shards, son, I know you know the songs as well as I do.” Kapian had an angry look now and Jashon cowered in fear for a moment before his father’s face softened. “Son, I may not approve or like what goes on in those weyrs, but if you’re born to be a dragonrider, you’re born to be a dragonrider. My father was convinced I was meant to be a Harper and tried everything he could to push me down that path, but in the end he was wise enough to see being a Harper didn’t suit me. I guess it’s the same with you, and if you’re meant to be a dragonrider then a dragonrider you will be with my blessing. Just don’t… trust me son, whatever you do, you don’t want to impress a green, although if you do we both know the songs tell us it’s the dragon’s choice, not yours. I just… I pray for your own safety it’s not a green.”

“Why not?” Jashon asked with a frown and his father shushed him.

“Get up, son, and pack a bag of things to take with you.” Kapian said gruffly, standing up from where he’d been sitting on the edge of Jashon’s bed. “The Weyrleader has gone back to his Weyr along with S’lag. Blue Rider D’kov stayed to convey you to the weyr when you woke. You’ve frightened your mother, but she’ll recover. D’kov’s promised to convey us with another dragon when the hatching happens so your family can watch you on the sands.”

“You’ll come?” Jashon was surprised and his father nodded gravely.

“I will watch you impress a bronze.” Kapian said gravely, and Jashon swore a silent oath that he’d make sure he did just that, so his father would be proud of him again. Of course, he rather hoped no dragon found him acceptable, but he’d make sure that if it were to happen, it’d be a bronze.

“I’ll be right out.” Jashon said as he sat up and squared his shoulders as proudly as he could. His father clapped an approving hand on his shoulder and held out his other hand. Jashon cupped a hand under his father’s and his eyes went wide as nearly ten marks fell into his palm. “What?”

“No son of mine will go to a weyr markless, dependent on them for whatever he needs.” Kapian said fiercely. “Be sure to pack your good clothes, too.”

“Yes, father.” Jashon said softly.

“You’ll make me proud, son.” Kapian said in a softer tone, clasping Jashon’s shoulder for a moment. As his father left the room, Jashon wiped his cheeks and stood up as a feeling of pride filled him. It could be worse. His father could have sent him from the hold without a word, but it had been Kapian in here and not his mother. With determination to make his father proud, he began to take his few possessions and put them into a hide bag that was sitting on the foot of his bed.

There wasn’t much to pack, in the end. Four sets of clothes fit into the bag rather easily, as did the extra pair of boots his father had purchased for him at the last Gather. Then there was the extra belt knife he had, a present from his brothers at the last Turnover celebration. Last were the drawings on scraps of hide that his younger sister had drawn for him. They were sketches of the different members of the family, some in groups and some alone. She may only be thirteen turns, but Larana was a gifted artist. Their parents had been discussing sending her to Telgar, where a famous artist had a place in the Lord’s hold.

“You’re lucky, you know that.” Komer’s voice came from the doorway as Jashon finished tying up the bag. He jumped in surprise and turned to face his younger brother who was smiling at him, instead of the scowl he had expected.

“I know you would rather it was you going.” Jashon said softly. “I’m sorry. I was trying to back away, so they’d pick you, you know.”

“I figured you’d be trying to do something like that.” Komer said with a grunt, but the smile didn’t slip off his face. “It’d have been nice, but Da can’t afford to lose both of us. Who knows, I might get a chance in a turn or two. They could need more Candidates again, and if Thread does fall, not even father would object to my going.”

“Maybe.” Jashon said. “Besides, if I don’t Impress, maybe he’ll let you go at the next Hatching.”

“That’d be good.” Komer said with a wistful smile before crossing the distance between them and hugging Jashon. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.” Jashon said softly, enjoying the embrace. Komer turned on his heel and left the room, allowing Jashon to throw the bag across his back and pick up the thick wher-hide jacket he’d want to wear when he left the hold. Everything he’d ever heard said going between was cold, and he’d want the jacket despite it being a hot day.

“My son.” Serece said as he stepped out of his room. The entire hold was gathered in the main hall, waiting for him. His mother embraced him with a few kind words, and quietly pressed another five marks into his hand as she bade him farewell. Each of his brothers had soft words for him, and told him how much they’d miss him. His sisters were crying, and he almost laughed at the sniffles coming from Ilena. With Jashon leaving, maybe Komer would stand a chance with her after all. It wasn’t like they had many choices in potential brides, way out here, unless their father managed to arrange something for them. So far, both of his oldest brothers had not found anyone willing to live with them way out here in the middle of nowhere.

“You’ve got a jacket, good.” D’kov said as Jashon finished his farewells and approached the blue rider. The fair-haired blue rider was standing with his helmet in his hand and his thick riding jacket slung over one shoulder. He was probably in his mid-twenties, and handsome enough by most standards.

“I figured it’d be cold between.” Jashon said softly, and flinched at the booming laughter that flowed from the dragonrider.

“Lad, less than half the people I’ve ever seen on Search even think to bring a jacket until they’re told or unless it’s winter.” D’kov said heartily. “What made you think of it?”

“The songs all say between is cold.” Jashon replied defensively.

“You’ll find all my children are versed in the Teaching Songs.” Kapian’s voice boomed from behind him, and Jashon tried not to show his surprise. His heart was beating fiercely, but he swallowed with a gulp and tried to act normal as his father came into view, holding his gitar that Jashon often played at their nightly gathering.

“It also appears they have learned from them, and not just learned to recite them.” D’kov said approvingly.

“Jashon has always been the quickest of my sons.” Kapian said proudly and Jashon blushed at the high praise coming from his father’s blessed lips. “I trust him to your care, blue rider.”

“He’ll be fine, holder.” The blue rider responded, straightening slightly.

“I trust that he will be.” Kapian responded before turning to face Jashon. When he held out the gitar, Jashon couldn’t believe what was happening. “I haven’t forgotten how to make another, so I want you to take this with you. Remember your home whenever you play her.”

“Thank you, father.” Jashon said, willing back the tears of joy that threatened to seep from his eyes. “I’ll take good care of her.”

“See that you do.” Kapian said before turning sharply and walking away. Komer came up to him then with an impish grin and handed him the traveling case for the gitar.

“Are you ready, lad?” D’kov asked.

“Yes.” Jashon said resolutely, and with a last smile for his younger brother, he stepped out of his father’s hold and followed the blue rider to Aliarth.

“Hand me the gitar.” D’kov ordered as the blue dragon bugled a greeting to them before kneeling down with his forelegs. Nervousness swept through Jashon again as he realized just how big the dragon was. Stories said that dragonriders regularly scrubbed their dragons and oiled them. As large as this creature was, he realized it would take hours and hours to do that each and every day. He handed the gitar over to the blue rider who was smiling at him with a patient expression. “You’ve never ridden a dragon before, right?”

“No.” Jashon was very proud at that moment how his voice didn’t break.

“Okay, it’s not as difficult as it looks.” D’kov’s voice was filled with patience, and not the least bit condescending. “Climb up on his foreleg and then grab the fighting straps. Use them to crawl up until you reach his back. The space between the first set of ridges after his neck is where I’ll sit. You sit between the next set. Up there you’ll find some straps to use to tie yourself into place. Make them tight, you hear?”

“Yes.” Jashon said softly, gulping before mustering the nerve to follow the instructions. With a deep breath, he clambered up onto the foreleg and took a good grip on the fighting straps. It was like climbing a wall, but soon enough he was seated between the correct set of ridges and found the straps, which he looped around his waist and tied into a tight knot.

“Very well done!” D’kov praised him from below and Jashon let a smile form on his face. From this height he could see the entire hold, and noticed that while no one was standing on the steps of the hold, the windows were filled with faces watching. He suppressed the urge to wave and looked down at the blue rider who had climbed up on his dragon’s leg. “Here, take the gitar.”

“Got it.” Jashon said as he leaned down while the rider stretched out. Jashon grabbed the top of the gitar’s traveling case and hauled it up while the rider climbed up with practiced ease and tied his own straps around his waist.

“You ready?” He asked Jashon, who instinctively reached out and put his arms around the rider’s waist. The rider chuckled, but it was a friendly sound, not a derisive one. “Don’t worry lad, we’ll be in the weyr before you know it. Okay, Aliarth, let’s go.”

The blue dragon gathered himself and leapt from the ground with a force that pushed the rider back against Jashon. At first he squeezed his eyes shut, but as the dragon’s wings started beating, he opened them to let out a gasp. They were already high into the air, and he could see his family’s hold far below. Small figures were out on the porch steps, waving farewell at him, and as the wind grew chill, he was glad he was wearing his jacket.

“You doing okay back there?” The rider asked and Jashon had to swallow again to find his voice.

“Yes!” He yelled out as he relaxed the death grip he had on the rider’s waist. He could feel the powerful muscles of the dragon under his legs, working to keep them up in the air, and their strength relaxed him. As he got over his fears and looked at the world under them, Jashon felt for just a moment the hope that he would Impress. To be so high above the world was a glorious thing.

“We’re about to go between.” D’kov bellowed to Jashon, who tightened his grip on the rider instinctively.

“What do I do?” Jashon shouted into the rider’s helmeted ear.

“Stay calm!” The rider said in a voice that held a tinge of amusement. “It’ll be dark, and very cold! Don’t try to breath; just hold your breath. Count to three very slowly and it’ll be over!”

“Okay.” Jashon mumbled so low that the rider probably couldn’t hear him over the wind of their flight. Aliarth’s wings settled into a gliding position and there was a very long moment where they just glided over the plains below them before everything went totally dark, and freezing cold. It was as cold as he could ever remember being, and he totally forgot to count to three when he realized that he could no longer feel the rider he’d been holding tightly, nor could he feel the dragon he’d been sitting on. Panic started to settle in, but before he could open his mouth to scream, the darkness was replaced with brightness and Aliarth was letting out a trumpeting bugle.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” D’kov yelled and Jashon relaxed what he realized was becoming a death grip on the rider’s waist. He looked down, and was startled at the sights below them. The plains were gone replaced by mountains and the bowl of an extinct volcano that took his breath away. It was one thing to hear about the weyrs in song, and to imagine them, but to see one laid out below him, blew away everything he’d ever imagined.

Igen Weyr was supposedly one of the smallest Weyrs on Pern, but like Fort and Benden, it had been carved out of the bowl and rim of a volcano. In the far corner of the bowl was a small lake and even now he could see a number of dragons of all colors bathing in the lake with their riders. There were people doing different things in other parts of the bowl, and along the ridges of the volcanic cone were entrances to caverns. From the ground level and all the way to the highest parts of the volcanic rim there were caverns and ledges all facing inwards over the bowl crater. Some had dragons sitting on them, soaking up the warm sunlight, and most of those were in the middle heights.

A brown dragon, sitting on a ledge near a set of carved stones along the eastern rim of the crater bugled a welcome to the blue dragon, and its rider who was sitting next to the brown dragon waved a welcome to D’kov. The blue rider waved back while Jashon took in the sight of the Star Stones near the brown dragon. He knew they were built by the first dragonriders so that each succeeding generation of dragonriders could track the progress of the Red Star as it approached Pern every two hundred turns. When the Red Star was framed in the round stone, the songs said Thread would fall.

“Damn, I didn’t think she’d be this close!” D’kov shouted and Jashon looked around in confusion.

“Who?” Jashon shouted to the rider who shook his head as Aliarth dove more steeply, heading for the bowl.

“Tabath!” D’kov yelled back pointing to a green dragon that was bugling some sort of challenge from her perch on a ledge high up on the northern crater wall. She was a glistening green the color of new leaves on a sky-broom tree and Jashon could see a gathering group of blue and brown dragons alighting on nearby ledges. “Shards! S’flin wants a challenge, does he? Jashon, get off!”

That last was shouted as Aliarth landed in the bowl with a heavy thump. Jashon fumbled with the riding straps, grabbed the gitar case that had been wedged into his lap between him and the dragonrider, and slid down the blue’s side to land in a crouch. D’kov landed right after him, muttering several oaths under his breath as he tore off his helmet and opened up his riding jacket without another word to Jashon. Wind tore at his hair and dust swirled around him as Aliarth leaped back into the air at the same moment the green dragon leaped from her ledge and took to the air while bugling a challenge to the dragons nearest her. Moments later they were giving chase. Jashon looked around for D’kov, and saw him joining a knot of riders that were circling around another, smaller rider.

“You, boy, get inside!” A woman’s voice called Jashon’s attention away from the riders. What were they doing? Were the dragons and riders having an argument? It didn’t make sense. He found he was breathing heavier than normal, and his blood seemed to be rushing. The woman who’d spoken grabbed his arm and his attention, pulling him with her towards a large cavern.

“What’s going on?” Jashon’s voice was thick and he found he was a little bit dizzy as they entered the cavern. It was well lit by glowglobes all around. It was obviously the cavern where the weyrfolk ate their meals, from the tables spread all around, and he could see the kitchens through several doors along the right wall of the cavern.

“You’d be that boy they went to Search for, right?” The woman demanded sharply and Jashon got the feeling he’d be best to answer her questions directly. She was shorter than him, with hair blacker than his own that was tied in a single braid that reached all the way down her back. She wore gray skirts and a blue blouse with long sleeves, and had a necklace of what he thought might be some type of sea shells around her neck.

“Yes, I’m Jashon from Kapian Hold.” He answered after swallowing nervously. She gave him an appraising glance, and her eyes fell on his gitar case.

“How old are you?” She asked peremptorily.

“I’m fifteen turns.” He answered quickly. “I’ll be sixteen in six months.”

“You do know how to play that, don’t you?” She asked pointing to the gitar with a nod of her head.

“Yes, I’m okay with it.” He answered honestly. “Father was raised in Harper Hall and taught me how to play.”

“Your hold, that’s the one in the middle of the plains, right?” She asked with a derogatory sniff for anyone crazy enough to live away from good stone.

“Yes.” He answered, not putting any defiance in his voice, but neither did he sound meek. She gave him another glance-over, and finally nodded her head.

“You’ve got more spine in you than half the candidates the riders have been bringing in lately.” She said. “What with all the youngins being brought in on Search and the new fosterlings we’ve been getting, things have been downright hectic, and we’ve got a Hatching coming up within the sevenday. Crivan!”

That last was a shout and a responding oath shouted out from the other side of the cavern revealed who she was summoning. He was an old man complete with a thick mane of white hair on his head, wearing dark blue trousers with a lighter blue tunic and a Harper Master shoulder knot. Jashon began to shake nervously, but forcibly calmed himself as the old man made his way across the cavern and glared at the shorter woman.

“What do you want, Delonna?” He demanded testily.

“Master Harper Crivan, this is Jashon.” She said authoritatively, and Jashon’s eyes met the older man’s gaze that eventually fell on the gitar. “He’s fresh Searched by H’mal and S’lag and D’kov brought him in just now.”

“D’kov? With Tabath rising just now?” Crivan snorted and shook his head.

“What’s going on with them?” Jashon asked worriedly. “What’s wrong with D’kov and…”

“Don’t you worry about that right now.” Delonna said quickly. “It’s dragonrider business. If you Impress at the Hatching, you’ll learn all about it. Don’t worry, no one is in trouble and there’s nothing wrong.”

“But…” Jashon started to protest.

“So you say you know how to play, eh?” The old Harper interrupted him.

“Yes, Master Harper.” Jashon replied. “My father taught me to play.”

“Who would that be?” Crivan asked.

“I’m from Kapian hold, sir, and Kapian’s my father.” Jashon answered.

“Is this some sort of joke?” Crivan roared and Jashon flinched before the harper’s arm snaked out and grabbed him by the jaw. Crivan’s face was suddenly within inches of Jashon’s as the old man turned his head from side to side.

“By Faranth’s Egg, you do have the look of Serece about you.” Crivan said with disbelieving shake of his head. “How does my scapegrace of a son’s mad idea for a hold fair, boy?”

“Your what?” Jashon squeaked.

“My son.” Crivan repeated with a firmness that showed how well-trained his voice was. “Don’t tell me you do not know your own grandsire.”

“N–no.” Jashon whispered with surprise. This old man was his grandfather? “He, I mean, father, uh, he told us you were a Harper but he never mentioned your name.”

“That’s just like Kapian, always telling part of the truth but never the full truth.” Crivan snorted. “Did he raise you believing I hated him too and kicked him out?”

“No, sir, he said you argued but gave him your blessing in the end.” Jashon responded honestly. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Delonna giving him a shrewd look.

“Crivan, you sly old wherry.” Delonna muttered softly. “Is this why you had S’lag’s ear last sevenday? Putting it into his head so you could get in touch with your grandchildren without their father knowing?”

“You what?” Jashon pulled his head out of the old man’s grasp and glared at him.

“No, I told S’lag how there’s been dragonriders in my blood for generations, and how Serece’s line has had a bronze rider and a weyrwoman in the last hundred turns.” Crivan retorted. “I figured from such a union there’d be at least one potential rider in the bunch but I warned him Kapian wouldn’t take too well to Search. He spent a turn with me in Fort when he was young and hated it there, swore never to go back. I think that’s part of why he didn’t want to be a Harper, and why he’d dare to hold away from stone.”

“He says Thread won’t fall.” Jashon said in defense of his father. He was stunned to find a relative here, in the Weyr, and for it be his father’s father was amazing. He’d always thought his father’s father was dead!

“I know very well what he says.” Crivan growled. “Delonna, I assume you were thinking of having him help me with the lessons if he can play?”

“You’ve sent two drum messages to Harper Hall asking for a journeyman to help.” Delonna replied.

“I know, I know, and if I know my son he made damn sure all his kids knew all the songs, just so no one could accuse him of not doing his duty.” Crivan growled.

“I know all the Teaching Ballads.” Jashon said defensively and Crivan chortled.

“See what I mean?” He said to the woman.

“Fine, I leave him in your hands.” She said. “If he doesn’t work out, send him back to me. We could always use another pot scrubber in the kitchens.”

“Thank you, Headwoman.” Crivan said in the kindest tone that Jashon had heard yet. “Now, Jashon, let’s go over near the klah kettle and let us see what you have in that case, and in your head.”

They settled near an alcove that held a pot of stew and another pot of klah simmering over a fire. Even though it was warm outside, Jashon was grateful for the warm klah with its sweet taste and warmth that drove away the last bit of cold from between. Crivan watched him carefully as he took out his father’s gitar and tuned it before starting into one of the most basic Teaching Ballads.

The ballad was taught to the youngest children to help them understand the duties of hold, craft and weyr.

The old man, his grandfather, had him play another ballad after that, and over the next hour switched between common tunes as well as the Teaching Ballads and songs. Halfway through, a small audience of younger guys his age, and a few older girls gathered in a loose circle, tapping their feet or clapping along with some of the livelier songs. A few of the songs Crivan asked for, Jashon did not know, or he fumbled a bit, but he did well for the most part.

“By Faranth, why didn’t your fool of a father send you to Harper Hall?” Crivan exclaimed after Jashon had finished the ever-popular Moreta’s Ride. “You’re a natural, boy!”

“He did offer.” Jashon spat back in defense of his father. He was angry the old man would criticize Kapian, his own son! “Father offered to apprentice me to Harper Hall turns ago, but I told him no!”

“Why would you refuse when you have such natural talent and obviously enjoy playing?” Crivan demanded with flushed cheeks and a frown.

“Father needs me at the hold.” Jashon shot back. “There’s always more work than there are hands, and none of my other brothers are half as good as me at helping father with the books. As soon as this silly Hatching is done and we’ve done our duty by the weyr, I’ll be going back to the hold where I belong!”

“Don’t count the eggs until they’re hatched, boy.” Crivan muttered with a frown but he shook his head after a moment. “You are most definitely your father’s son, despite the fact you look after your mother more than him. Fine, while you’re here at least, you’ll be helping me in the morning with lessons. I’m getting too old to do all of them myself. In the afternoons, you’ll work with me on your chording and singing and I’m sure the weyfolk will be happy to hear you play at night after dinner. Dragonriders and their folk enjoy music as much as anyone and I’m too tired half the time to give them the music they’re due. Now, Berrel, I assume Delonna sent you here to do more than listen to my grandson play.”

“She wanted me to wait until you’re done and then help the new guy get settled.” The boy Crivan had referred to as Berrel replied. He was a young guy, probably about Komer’s age. Unlike his brother, Berrel had pale red hair, was about the same height as Jashon, and had only a slightly stockier build.

“Well then, you can do that now.” Crivan said with a sigh before looking at Jashon. “Since it’s your first day here, you take the time to get settled in, boy. Berrel will show you around. He knows the place as well as anyone, which is natural since he was born here. Tonight, after supper, if you’re willing, we’ll play a few songs.”

“Okay.” Jashon said shyly as he put away his father’s gitar. When he had the case shut, he nodded to Berrel. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“C’mon, you’ll be sharing my sleeping pad with me since we’re so crowded at the moment.” Berrel said as he headed out of the cavern and into the weyr bowl. “So you’re really Crivan’s grandson?”

“I guess.” Jashon said with a shrug. “I’ve never met him before today. I’m from Kapian hold.”

“Oh right, I’m Berrel, as you’ve probably figured out.” The boy said with a sunny smile as they entered another cavern that was divided off into sleeping quarters.

“I’m Jashon.” He replied.

“H’mal told me about your hold, out there in the middle of nothing.” Berrel said as they followed the passage further and further back into the walls of the volcano.

“You spoke to the Weyrleader about me?” Jashon asked in wonder, and a little bit of fear.

“Well, he is my father, although Delonna’s fostered me since I was a babe.” Berrel replied with a grin. “Mother always seems to conceive whenever Zoeth rises and since Goreth’s always caught her, my parents have ended up fostering all five of us.”

“Oh.” Jashon said, confused, embarrassed, and feeling pity all at once. He was confused as to why the guy’s parents would have to foster him and his siblings, and he was embarrassed at the casual way Berrel talked about mating, like it was just a normal thing like walking or breathing, and he felt pity for what it must feel like to see your parents every day and know they fostered you because they couldn’t be bothered to raise you.

“Shells, you’d think I’d know better.” Berrel said with a laugh when he saw the look on Jashon’s face. “You’re hold-bred! I forgot since you were playing with Crivan, but you probably don’t understand a single thing I just said. My father’s H’mal, rider of bronze Goreth and my mother is Igen Weyrwoman, Febrina, rider of gold Zoeth. When the senior queen rises…”

“I know that part.” Jashon said quickly, uncomfortable again at the subject of mating.

“You holders and your inhibitions.” Berrel laughed at Jashon’s discomfort.

“What?” Jashon asked with a blush.

“Well, you’ll lose those inhibitions soon enough what with a green rising almost every day in the weyr, and you’ve already seen the beginning of one with Tabath.”

“What do you mean?” Jashon demanded. “Greens are infertile…”

“They don’t clutch, but that doesn’t mean they don’t rise.” Berrel laughed. “I thought you were Harper trained.”

“I… the songs never talk about that…” Jashon asked, blushing as he put two and two together and realized what he’d seen when he landed. “But… green riders… they’re men!”

“So?” Bessel said and laughed again at the obvious discomfort Jashon was having at the thought. “Look, you have to understand, when it’s a mating flight, even if it’s just a green, the riders get caught up in it as much as the dragon. After the flight, the riders don’t have to stay together, and most of the time they don’t, although D’kov and S’flin have been weyrmates since Tabath’s very first flight.”

“They… D’kov… with another man?” Jashon was aghast to think he’d been holding tightly to the rider.

“If you stay in the weyr, you’ll get over that.” Berrel laughed. “Half the dragons in the weyr are green, so there’s a flight almost every day, and sometimes more than one in a day. You get use to it, and besides, green flights aren’t like when a queen rises. Now that’s something to see! I can see why mother gets pregnant every time!”

“But why does she foster her children?” Jashon asked as his mind spun with new information. So this was the depravity his father spoke of, and abandoning children like this! Well, he could see one good thing right off. If a green rose every day, and there were women riders, the weyr would be overflowing with children before too long, far too many children to support, although they’d probably never have to Search again. Still, with male green riders, there was no chance of pregnancy, even if it was… unusual to think of two men doing… that together.

“You saw Goreth, H’mal’s bronze, right?” Berrel asked. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to take care of the dragon? Plus, he’s Weyrleader, so he has to supervise all the wings and do training and administrative work all the time. Same thing with Febrina, but worse because Zoeth is even bigger than Goreth. If they tried to raise just one child, do you think they’ll spend much time with the kid? No, that’s why most riders foster their children to the women in the Lower Cavern. Most of ‘em are women who were Searched and didn’t Impress for whatever reason. They preferred living in the weyr rather than their holds and stayed. Most of ‘em have children by different riders on their own, so they raise all the Weyr’s children. They’ve got more time, and it’s better for us, really. You’ve got one mom, right?”

“Naturally.” Jashon snorted.

“Well, I’ve got three women I call mother, including Febrina and Delonna.” Berrel bragged, and Jashon had to admit what he said did make some since. It’d never work in a Hold, but this wasn’t a hold, it was a Weyr. “There’s also six other women I call ‘Aunt’ and I call the cook ‘Uncle.’ What do you have to say about that, hold-boy?”

“It makes sense.” Jashon said with a shrug. “This is a weyr, right, and the first duty of the weyr is to care for the dragons. It wouldn’t be right for Pern if a rider neglected a dragon for a child, and it wouldn’t be right for the child to be neglected for a dragon, so what you say makes sense.”

“You are smart.” Berrel said with a grin and a clap on the back. “We’ll make weyrfolk out of you yet. Here’s my cot. You can put your stuff in the corner over there. The eggs’ll be hatching sometime in the next sevenday, and when they do, you and I will be moving into the weyrling barracks.”

“You’re a Candidate?” Jashon asked with some surprise. “I thought you were younger than me.”

“I’m fourteen, and that’s old enough according to H’mal.” Berrel said defensively.

“Well you’ll probably get a bronze then.” Jashon said with a smile.

“It’s up to the dragons.” Berrel shrugged. “Besides, being a bronze rider isn’t all that great. You have to be a wingleader eventually and you have all these responsibilities. Blue and Brown riders have more fun.”

“What about green riders?” Jashon asked, edging around the uncomfortable feeling he was getting whenever he thought of greens now. What his father had said to him earlier now made a lot more sense. No wonder his father wanted him to impress a brown or a bronze.

“Greens are the flightiest of all the dragons, and their riders are a lot like them.” Berrel said with a laugh. “To be honest, green riders probably have the most fun of any riders, but they can be almost as touchy as their dragons. My brothers all impressed bronzes except D’lon who Impressed brown Toth. Ramina is standing for this clutch, she’s D’lon’s twin.”

“How many siblings do you have altogether?” Jashon asked.

“Five others besides me.” Berrel said proudly. “Febrina’s had more children than any of the other gold riders and she’s proud of that.”

“I have six siblings.” Jashon said softly and got a clap on the back from the weyr boy.

“That’s a good number.” Berrel said. “So you ready to see the Weyr? At least as much as I can show you?”

“Sure.” Jashon said. If he had been planning on staying, he’d have been more enthusiastic, but he was realizing that this was a chance few of his siblings would have. Here he was, in another place that would take days to reach on the back of a runner, and that most people in his family would never visit. When he went back to the hold, he’d have lots of stories to tell.

Berrel, having grown up in the weyr, proved to be a great guide. He even got a look into the Hatching Grounds, where the largest dragon he’d ever seen was roosting over a cluster of eggs. They were chased out by a blond woman yelling at Berrel to get his hide away while Zoeth was brooding over her clutch.

Berrel laughed at that as he scampered from the Hatching Grounds with Jashon tight on his heals. Berrel explained that was his birth-mother before leading him into the Lower Caverns and showing him the bathing chambers just off of the main dining chamber. Jashon soon learned just how much effort went into maintaining the weyr, and how complex it was. Out on the plains, there were just the members of his family, and the families of the other holders who had come with his father. Here there were nearly two hundred and twenty dragons, not including the thirty-eight that would hatch soon.

Everything the dragons or their riders might need was contained in the bowl of the extinct volcanic crater. A journeyman tanner from the Tanner’s guild had arrived a few months ago and set up shop in one corner, curing and tanning hides of all types that would be used to make everything from riding straps to clothing for riders and weyrfolk. A journeyman beastmaster supervised the wherry flocks and herdbeasts that provided meals when dragons didn’t have time to hunt, or were injured. All the holds that looked to Igen Weyr for protection from Thread regularly tithed food and other goods they produced for the weyr.

“Just a turn ago, we usually got the scrap ends of tithes.” Berrel told Jashon as they looked at the herdbeasts in their pens. “But with Thread coming they’ve started giving us better stuff. H’mal says it’s always like that, between Passes. The Holds forget that without dragons, Thread would eat all their crops and their beasts, or they don’t care because Thread won’t fall for hundreds of turns. Then as the Red Star grows brighter and tracks along the Star Stones, they start remembering how bad they need us and offering up the good stuff.”

“My father says we should always tithe our best, even when Thread doesn’t fall.” Jashon said, deciding not to repeat his father’s belief that Thread wouldn’t fall this time. He felt sorry for the weyrfolk, in a way. They existed to fight thread, but two hundred out of every two hundred and fifty turns Thread didn’t threaten the planet. Too many people, unlike his father, didn’t remember the service dragonriders provided during those fateful turns. If the dragons didn’t fly for those turns, the other two hundred wouldn’t matter.

No one would be alive to see them.

“He’s the son of a Harper.” Bessel said with a grin. “Harpers always remember their duties to the weyr.”

“Yes, they do.” Jashon agreed, unnerved yet again. He was surprised as they made their way back into the bowl that the sun was setting behind the western rim of the crater. Belior, the largest of the two moons was already rising in the east amidst a red haze of clouds. He shuddered at the sight, and at the small red twinkling light that was the Red Star. It was far too close to the round Star Stone that would herald the arrival of Thread.

Thread was coming.

The voice was just the memory of what he’d heard from brown Moeth the other day, but it still sent a shiver down his spine.