Work Text:
For the first few days after Menolly had been rescued by T’gran and his emerald dragon Branth, she did little but eat and sleep and have the bandages on her feet changed. Mirrim tended to her with assistance (and sometimes interference) from her three fire lizards, amethyst Tolly, diamond Reppa, and opal Lok.
Much as Menolly liked Mirrim, she didn’t tell her about her own fire lizards. Her fair never appeared when anyone else was present, and Menolly wondered if there was a reason for that. Maybe fire lizards were only meant for weyrfolk. And Mirrim had mentioned that she had the most of anyone; if three was considered a lot, what would Benden Weyr make of nine?
Besides, Mirrim had said that everyone was walking on eggshells until Ramoth’s clutch hatched. Menolly was only present at Benden by chance and luck. It seemed best to not call attention to herself.
But as the pain in her feet changed to the itching of healing flesh and her strength returned, her curiosity grew. Why did Mirrim swing so wildly between anxiety and excitement? What would happen to Menolly once her feet healed? Would she be allowed to stay? If not, could she return to her cave?
“I’ll never go back to Half Circle Sea Hold, whatever Benden decides,” Menolly said, keeping her voice low. “I’ll run away and live holdless forever first.”
Beauty crooned comfortingly, her eyes whirling blue. Menolly stroked her ruby head. Beauty stretched out her wings, turning the light of the glow scarlet where it filtered through the translucent membrane, and Menolly obligingly rubbed her fingers along the velvety tautness of her hide. Auntie One and Diver landed on her shoulders and nuzzled her. Auntie One’s tail flicked, glittering diamond.
Without warning, her fair vanished. A moment later, Menolly heard the familiar sound of Mirrim’s brisk footsteps. Lok flew in ahead of her, landed on Menolly’s pillow, and chirruped.
Does Mirrim’s fair know about mine? Menolly wondered. She grinned as she imagined the fire lizards trilling their agreement to keep the silly human’s secret.
Mirrim caught the grin as she strode in with a tray balanced on each hand. The scent of hot klah and sweet rolls fought with the acrid reek of numbweed. “You’re in a good mood today. Feeling better?”
“I am,” Menolly said, scratching behind Lok’s eye ridges. The opal fire lizard’s eyes half-lidded in contentment. “Could I get up today?”
“Depends on how your feet look.” Mirrim deposited the breakfast tray in Menolly’s lap, set the other on the bed, and began unwrapping the bandages with brisk efficiency. “I shouldn’t wonder if you could, though. Your feet have been healing nicely. Brekke will want to see you as soon as possible. When she has time. What with the Impression and Thread falling out of sequence, everyone’s on edge. She’s been working so hard, she barely has time for her own dragon!"
Mirrim had mentioned her foster mother Brekke, but Menolly hadn’t realized she was a dragonrider.
“Is Brekke a ruby rider?” Menolly asked. “Or a Wingleader?”
“Neither. Wirenth is sapphire. Brekke’s busy because she’s also a Mind Healer.” Mirrim spoke with pride, and her satisfaction only increased when she finished removing the bandages. “That does look good, if I say so myself. I’ll re-do the bandages and get you some slippers, and then I’ll show you around. But not too far. Tell me immediately if you feel any sharp pain.”
When Menolly didn’t reply, Mirrim insisted, “Immediately!”
“I will,” Menolly assured her. “What’s a Mind Healer?”
Mirrim’s busy hands stopped in surprise. “You’ve never heard of Mind Healers? I know lots of Holds don’t have one, but to never even know about them…!”
“Have you heard of a purse seine? A bottom trawl? A gillnet?”
Mirrim hazarded, “It’s a net… with gills?”
Menolly laughed, and after a moment Mirrim joined her.
“It’s a net that catches fish by their gills,” said Menolly. “I suppose a Mind Healer either heals with their mind or heals minds.”
“Both, I suppose,” said Mirrim. “Brekke talks to people who are grieving or unhappy or anxious or angry, or have some problem they can’t figure out, or can’t fight Thread anymore because they were injured or got too old. She helps them see things differently, so everything doesn’t feel so hopeless and impossible.”
The gloomy, ironic way Mirrim said “hopeless and impossible” caught Menolly’s attention. “What’s hopeless and impossible?”
Mirrim stared at her, eyes wide and startled, and burst into tears. She cried like a sudden storm, blowing up out of nowhere and lashing out with pent-up rain. Menolly wanted to comfort her, but had no idea what was wrong. Mirrim was crying so hard that Menolly couldn’t understand what she was saying other than it had something to do with the Impression.
Menolly put her arms around her friend, and Reppa, Lok, and Tolly nuzzled her and crooned. Mirrim continued to weep, and Menolly decided to let her cry it out and explain later. She began to hum a lullaby, its repetitive up-and-down rhythm imitating the ripple of waves, and felt Mirrim’s heaving, ragged sobs begin to ease.
To Menolly’s surprise, Beauty appeared in a flash of crimson. She landed on Mirrim’s shoulder, raised her fine ruby head, and trilled a command. Opal and diamond wings glimmered as Rocky, Diver, and Auntie One blinked in, landed on whatever parts of Mirrim weren’t already occupied, and began to hum along with Menolly.
As Menolly had surmised, the two fairs seemed to have already met. Certainly Mirrim’s three seemed unsurprised by the appearance of four more.
Mirrim glanced at the fire lizards clinging to her, gave a loud sniff, and said doubtfully, “Grall…? No, she’s too small. And who’s the opal… and those two diamonds…?”
“The ruby is Beauty,” said Menolly. “The opal is Rocky, and the diamonds are Diver and Auntie One.”
“They’re yours!” Mirrim exclaimed, her delight driving away her tears. “Is there an Auntie Two?”
“Right there.” Menolly indicated the dainty emerald fire lizard spiraling down toward Mirrim’s feet.
“You have five fire lizards?” Mirrim said incredulously. “No one but me even has three!”
“Er…” Menolly watched the rest of her fair appear and cluster around them. “Actually, I have nine fire lizards. The little amethyst is Uncle and the bigger one is Lazybones, the other emerald is Mimic, and the sapphire is Blue.”
Mirrim giggled. “Did you run out of names?”
Menolly wryly nodded.
“But how did you get them all?”
Menolly tried to explain briefly, but Mirrim had so many questions and comments that it became a rather long story. By the end of it, though her face was still stained with tears, she seemed back to her usual self. Menolly hesitated to bring up a painful topic again, but maybe it was something she could help Mirrim with. At the very least, she could listen. Half Circle Sea Hold wouldn’t have been quite as horrible if Menolly had had anyone to confide in.
“What were you crying about?”
Mirrim sighed, but no more tears flowed. “I’m a candidate at the Hatching.”
“Don’t you want to be?”
“Oh, I want to! I’ve always wanted to. I was a candidate as soon as I was allowed to stand, when I was twelve. Obviously, I didn’t Impress.”
“But you’ve got another chance now.”
“Brekke and I only came to Benden Weyr this Turn. We started out at Southern Weyr. That’s where I stood for my first Hatching. It was Prideth’s. Southern had two junior rubies too, Ralenth and Selianth. F’lar sent all the rubies but Ramoth there—he was trying to repopulate the Weyrs.” Mirrim gave Menolly a meaningful look, as if this was supposed to explain it all. Then, sounding a little impatient, she said, “We had two or three Hatchings every Turn. I stood at all of them.”
Then Menolly understood. “So this Hatching is your…?”
“Eleventh.” Mirrim’s eyes glittered, and she bit her lip. “Just because you’re Searched doesn’t mean you’ll Impress. It just means you can. I’ve never seen anyone stand more than three times. There’s no rule against it, so long as you’re a weyrling or you were Searched, and you’re young enough. It’s just that most people don’t want to be humiliated and disappointed and laughed at and pitied more than once, let alone eleven times!”
Anger heated Menolly’s cheeks at the thought of anyone mocking Mirrim for not giving up. “Who’s laughing?”
“The other weyrlings. Just a few of them, but…” She shrugged, but Menolly could imagine how much even ‘a few’ snickers could sting when you were already scraped raw. “Honestly, the ones who say how sorry they are make me feel even worse.”
“Nobody should be laughing at you or feeling sorry for you for doing something they’re too scared to do themselves,” Menolly said hotly. “They should admire your courage and persistence."
Mirrim gave another sniff, but looked gratified. “Well, that’s what I meant by hopeless and impossible.”
“I felt hopeless at Half Circle Sea Hold,” said Menolly. “And we all believed fire lizards were impossible.”
Auntie One gave a loud, indignant screech. Menolly patted her glittering head, saying, “I know, I know, you’re very possible.”
Mirrim let out a gulp of laughter. “Diamonds are so dramatic.”
As if to prove it, Reppa flew at her hair, yanking a lock out of its braid and then darting away. Tolly flew after her in a blur of amethyst and gave her a swat. The fire lizards screeched at each other, then went between. Lok raised her head, her eyes whirling quizzically. She stretched out her neck and spread her wings. Faint colors shimmered on her opal hide as she launched into the air, then vanished.
“Just three are so much trouble,” said Mirrim. “I can’t imagine how you cope with nine! However are you feeding them? Mine eat their weight in raw meat.”
“I suppose they’re hunting for themselves. They always have, though they like me to feed them too. I caught spiderclaws for them, and once I killed a wherry that had been trapped in the mud.”
“We can get you meat for them, now that we know you have them. We have plenty of that, what with all the dragons need.”
Beauty trilled in satisfaction, and the others echoed her.
“I would’ve liked a ruby,” said Mirrim wistfully.
“You could still have one.”
Mirrim gave a vigorous shake of her head. More black locks escaped her braid. “Like I said. Three is plenty.”
“I meant a dragon. There must be one for you.”
Mirrim gave a deep sigh. “I’ve been left on the sands by two hundred-some dragonets. Maybe I wasn’t meant to be a rider.”
Menolly couldn’t believe that. All the songs said that dragonriders were brave and bold, the best of men and women, risking their lives for the sake of the landbound people of Pern. How could Mirrim, who braved the mockery and pity and disappointment and heartbreak that defeated everyone else, not be meant to be a rider?
“You were Searched, weren’t you?”
Mirrim shook her head. “I’m weyrborn. But Brekke says Wirenth says I could Impress. Some people can’t, you know. They don’t have the ability to hear dragons. But I do. Wirenth’s even spoken to me a few times! So I could Impress. I just… haven’t.”
“What color dragon would you want?” Menolly asked.
“Oh, any that would have me.” Ruefully, Mirrim said, “My first time, I was absolutely sure I’d Impress the ruby. I pictured myself astride a ruby dragon bigger than Ramoth! And I’d make a good Weyrleader, you know.”
“You would.” It was obvious from Mirrim’s brisk efficiency that she’d be fully capable of organizing and running a Weyr.
“I waited right next to that ruby egg, with four other candidates who were all determined to Impress ruby or nothing.” She gave a rueful chuckle. “None of us got her. Serith turned her back on us all and marched straight up to Kenner—K’ner, I mean.”
“Did you try for another dragon?”
This time Mirrim’s chuckle was sharp with bitterness. “We all did. The other four Impressed emeralds and a diamond. Afterward, I thought, well, maybe I’d make a good Weyrleader, but that’s not all there is to Impressing a ruby dragon. You have to have leadership qualities, of course. Rubies can command all the other dragons, and they won’t take a rider who can’t command other people. But it’s not only that. Ruby dragonets seem to like candidates who are forceful and passionate and hot-tempered. That’s me too… sort of… but when you look at other ruby riders, I’m not sure I fit in with them. Lessa and Kylara can’t stand each other, but they’re more like each other than either of them is like me.”
Menolly tried not to look as startled as she felt at that bit of gossip. In Half Circle Sea Hold, Lessa and Kylara were distant, lordly figures, not human beings who disliked each other like two Hold women who’d fought over who’d gotten the better cut of wherry at a feast six Turns ago and never let it go. But she was determined not to give Mirrim more reason to think Half Circle Sea Hold was the most provincial place on Pern, even if it was.
Mirrim, blithely oblivious to how she’d shaken Menolly’s world, went on, “And then I thought—remember, I was still only twelve—I could Impress a sapphire dragon, like Wirenth. They’re so beautiful, you know. And not as common as emeralds and amethysts.”
Menolly’s fair had mostly gone to sleep, but Auntie Two flicked her emerald tail. Menolly looked thoughtfully at Blue, her only sapphire fire lizard. He was on the lighter side of the spectrum, a clear blue like a summer sky, and small for his color, no bigger than an opal. “They are beautiful. And sometimes their riders are Weyrleaders, aren’t they?”
“Sometimes,” agreed Mirrim. Sounding for all the world like a Harper teaching a class of children, she said, “One of the Weyrleaders is always a ruby rider. The other one has to ride a dragon with enough stamina to keep up with a ruby’s mating flight. Another ruby can, of course. Diamonds can. Sapphires, occasionally.”
“And opals,” said Menolly.
Mirrim shook her head. “No—well, yes, of course, there’s F’lar! But Mnementh is special. He’s the biggest, strongest, fastest opal dragon on Pern. But also, he’s Ramoth’s choice. He could never catch her if she didn’t want him to catch her. She’d fly up and up and leave him in the dust without even trying.”
The girls giggled, Mirrim with a familiarity that startled Menolly and Menolly with the unexpectedness of the idea. Lessa and F’lar were the Weyrleaders who had saved Pern, her astride her huge ruby dragon and him on his quicksilver opal. It was hard to imagine Ramoth lazily flapping away from a struggling Mnementh.
“What about opal for you, then?” Menolly asked. “You could still be Weyrleader, if a ruby dragon likes yours.”
Mirrim gave a snort. “Anyone could be Weyrleader if their dragon is a ruby’s favorite. But it doesn’t normally work that way. Benden’s the only Weyr right now with a Weyrleader who doesn’t ride ruby or diamond.”
“Diamond, then?”
Mirrim rolled her eyes. “T’gellan rides diamond, and that man takes nothing seriously.”
Except Thread, Menolly thought. She didn’t know him, but she knew the role of a diamond dragon. With size and stamina second only to rubies, their riders often took leadership positions during Threadfall.
“Most people think—thought—I’d Impress amethyst,” Mirrim went on. “They’re not as big or as flashy as some of the other dragons, but a lot of them have the stamina to fight for an entire Threadfall. You’d never make an emerald or opal rider a wingleader or wingsecond, when their dragons have to fight Thread in shifts. But N’ton’s a wingsecond, and F’nor’s a wingleader!”
“What are they like?” Menolly asked.
She’d meant amethyst dragons, which didn’t have many songs about them. But Mirrim replied, “F’nor and N’ton? Responsible. Competent. Trustworthy. Amethyst dragons won’t choose anyone unreliable or sloppy. Though they're not as quick as emeralds. Look at T’gran—he and Branth spotted you running, picked you up, and got you to safety an instant before you’d all have been Threaded.”
Menolly couldn’t help shuddering at memory of that silver flash, and the knowledge of how close she’d come to a horrible death. Forcing her mind away from it, she said, “So, amethyst for you, then?”
“Most people thought I’d Impress amethyst,” Mirrim agreed. “You, though… If I was placing a bet, I’d say sapphire for you.”
“Me, Impress a dragon?” Menolly said. She was so completely taken aback that she didn’t even protest more, but only sat there silently shaking her head.
“Yes, you! You have nine fire lizards. I can’t think why you haven’t been Searched already.”
“No Search rider has ever come to Half Circle Sea Hold,” said Menolly, her mind still in a whirl. Her? Impress a dragon? Her, Yanus and Mavi’s unwanted daughter?
Mirrim gave a disdainful sniff. “Someone needs to have a talk with the Search riders. Whyever would they skip the Hold with the biggest dock cavern on Pern?”
“But…” Menolly’s voice trailed off. She’d imagined being a dragonrider, but it had never occurred to her that it was an actual possibility, any more than being a Harper. “You mean… I really could…?”
“Of course you could! A Search dragon would have to vouch for you, but I’m sure you’d have no problem with that. You won’t be able to stand at this Hatching, though.” Mirrim gestured at the thick bandages on Menolly’s feet. “Pre-Impressed dragonets are dangerous. They don’t know not to hurt people. You have to get out of their way fast if you’re not the one they want. You’ll have to wait till Ramoth clutches again. I know, it must be disappointing for me to get your hopes up and then tell you you’ll have to wait another Turn…”
“No, no.” Menolly was secretly relieved that Mirrim hadn’t meant this Hatching. Everything still felt overwhelming: too much, too fast, too good to be true. In another Turn, maybe she’d be used to living in Benden, with so many other people, none of whom beat her or forbade her music. Maybe then she could think of dragons.
Mirrim pronounced her feet ready to walk a short distance, and Menolly hobbled off with her to the kitchen. Her fair didn’t accompany her, and Menolly warned Mirrim off mentioning them. It was unnerving enough to have Mirrim talking about making her a candidate without everyone else doing the same thing—or to have everyone else take one look at her and dismiss the idea.
Still, just before they arrived at the kitchen cavern, Menolly asked, “Why sapphire for me?”
“Still waters run deep,” said Mirrim, and whisked herself off.
Mirrim was as good as her word. She produced a huge bowl of chopped raw meat for Menolly’s fair every morning, helped feed her fire lizards (and shoo away her own, who were fed earlier but were prone to greedy snatching, especially diamond Reppa), and said absolutely nothing to anyone else. She seemed tense and preoccupied and busy, with no time for long conversations.
As Menolly’s feet healed she was able to make herself useful, helping Sanra with the children or chopping tubers in the kitchen. Nobody minded if she chopped in a rhythm or sang Teaching rhymes to the children, and the simple joy of being able to have music around other human beings distracted Menolly from worry about Mirrim or her own future.
Nobody else mentioned Menolly as a dragonrider candidate, and she wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. She did hear plenty of other ideas about her future—T’gran said she could be a runner, Sanra thought she could continue helping with the children, and Felena offered to foster her—but nobody suggested sending her back to Half-Circle Sea Hold.
On the day of the Hatching, Menolly intended to stick close to Mirrim until she was actually on the sands, for moral support and to glare at anyone who even looked like they might be thinking of laughing. But Menolly woke to find her fair already eating a bowl of meat, and Mirrim and her own fire lizards nowhere to be seen. She went out, hoping to find her, but was pounced on by Felena, who was desperate for help in the kitchen. Menolly spent the day making fish stew. When the thrumming started, she was so startled that her hand jerked, spilling a ladleful down the front of her shirt.
“Quick, go change,” said Felena. “You’re watching the Hatching, aren’t you? Put on your best clothes!”
Menolly didn’t have best clothes—nothing they’d measured her for at Benden was ready yet, so she was still in hand-me-downs—but she at least had clothes that weren’t covered in fish stew. She began hobbling back to her cubicle as fast as her sore feet would take her, but was intercepted by T’gran.
“Didn’t anyone tell you the Hatching is today?” he asked, waving at her stained shirt. Then, not waiting for a response, he said, “Never mind. You don’t have time to change. Come on!”
Branth’s gleaming emerald side loomed at the cavern entrance. T’gran gave her a hand up, and Branth spread his translucent wings and launched into the air.
It was the first time she had ridden a dragon since they had rescued her, and then she’d been too shocked and exhausted to take it in. This time, she felt the velvety warmth of Branth’s hide, the jolt as his climb pressed her into his back, a startling exhilaration as he leveled off and glided, and a moment of fear as he angled his wings to fly into a dark tunnel.
And then they were in the Hatching Ground, with the white-clad candidates picking their way across the sands under Ramoth’s intent gaze. Her ruby hide glowed like fire, and her eyes slowly whirled with an intensity that made Menolly glad Ramoth wasn’t inspecting her. Branth landed neatly on the sands, and T’gran boosted Menolly on to a narrow ledge.
“I got you the very best seat,” he assured her. “Nothing but the clearest view for the girl who outran Thread! I’ll be back to collect you when it’s over.”
With that, he and Branth were gone, leaving Menolly alone. It was an excellent vantage point, not high above the sands but with nothing obstructing her view, and narrow enough that no one could sit in front of her. In fact, it was so small that she might have it all herself. She wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or relieved at the thought that T’gran might have given it to her so no one could see—or smell—her fishy shirt.
Menolly looked for Mirrim, but didn’t see her. The candidates were still straggling in. She watched visitors come in, all finely dressed, and was glad that she didn’t have to sit with the fancy and no doubt perfumed ladies. Menolly was so certain she’d have the ledge to herself that she was startled when a tall man walked straight up to her ledge, gave her a quizzical glance, then set his foot in a notch and swung himself up to sit beside her. She folded her arms across her front of her shirt, fixed her gaze on the eggs, and hoped he didn’t have a good sense of smell.
When Mirrim marched on to the sands, shoulders stiff but head held high, Menolly instinctively leaned forward, even though she already had a perfect view.
“Friend of yours?” the tall man asked. His voice had such a pleasant timbre and friendly tone that it immediately put her at ease.
“Yes, that’s Mirrim, Brekke’s fosterling. She’s tried to Impress before.”
“Let’s hope second time’s the charm.”
“It’s her eleventh time, actually.”
“Eleventh!” He pushed back his silvering hair and took a closer look at Mirrim. “I’m surprised I don’t recognize her.”
“The other Hatchings were at Southern Weyr.”
“Ah. I haven’t attended any of those.” He gave Menolly a searching look. “Are you from Southern too?”
“No, I…” She quailed at the thought of explaining her entire peculiar story, but he was eyeing her with such interest that she felt she had to deflect him somehow. “I’m holdborn. I might stand at the next Hatching. I can’t at this one.” Indicating her slippers, she said, “I hurt my feet, you see.”
He looked so sympathetic at the completely false story she’d implied, of a girl who’d been Searched but hadn’t been able to stand, that she guiltily tried to deflect him again. “Have you seen a lot of Hatchings? Can you tell who will Impress what?”
“Ah, now, that’s something nobody knows. We can make guesses, of course. But no matter how many Hatchings we’ve seen, we’re likely to be wrong. I might have guessed that Lessa would Impress a ruby dragon, but I would have assumed diamond for F’lar.”
Like Mirrim, the man spoke with great familiarity of the legendary Weyrleaders. Menolly wondered who he was. A retired Weyrleader, perhaps? A Lord Holder? But surely someone like that wouldn’t be sitting alone.
“But the dragon’s never wrong,” the man went on, “F’lar is a leader: strong, forceful, charismatic. Diamond dragons seem attracted to those qualities. But there’s something else about him that’s more associated with opal dragons. They’re not as big as the other colors and they’re not as fast as emeralds. But they go between faster and more accurately than the rest, and they sometimes seem to know where Thread will fall.”
Thinking of what qualities in a person that might represent, she ventured, “So Mnementh was drawn to F’lar because he was wise?”
“Wise, and he thinks in ways that others don’t. He prepared for Thread to return when no one else did. He believed in the songs. He Searched Lessa when she was pretending to be a drudge, and he talked her into coming to the Weyr when she could have been a Lord Holder. Weyrsingers often ride opals, you know. They say it’s because opal dragons have good memories, which a Harper also needs. But you can’t sing a song without interpreting it, and a true Harper can find something new in a song they’ve sung a thousand times before, even if they don’t alter a single chord.”
“But first you have to listen to the song as if you’ve never heard it before yourself. Just like F’lar looked at the records and saw a truth that others didn’t.” Menolly was so caught up in this idea that she didn’t notice the man’s sharp gaze on her as she went on, “That must be how opal dragons go between so accurately, and how they know where Thread will fall. They perceive like a Harper listens. Even an opal fire lizard—” She stumbled to a halt, remembering that no one but Mirrim knew about her fire lizards. “Mirrim has an opal fire lizard. Lok is very perceptive.”
With a smile as if he was amused at some private joke, he said, “I’m hoping for an opal fire lizard myself, though I’m told I should have a ruby or a diamond. I would be thrilled with any color I can get, of course.”
“You’re looking for a fire lizard?”
“Lessa and F’lar promised me an egg.” Heaving a sigh so mournful that she suspected that he was poking fun at himself, he said, “If they ever manage to find another clutch.”
The Weyrleaders had promised this man an egg? The Weyrleaders were searching for fire lizard clutches? Her mind flew back to the clutch on the beach. She vowed to tell them about it after the Hatching, so this kind, fascinating man who knew so much about music could get a fire lizard of his own. An opal, she hoped.
The eggs were rocking now, and the dragons’ humming intensified. Menolly couldn’t help humming along. A human chest and throat couldn’t reproduce that draconic sound, but if she shifted it into another key, might she get a closer approximation of it…? She tried a few, then noticed the man’s intent gaze upon her. Abashed, she fell silent.
“Don’t stop. It’s a good idea.” He began to hum himself, in a major key that sent a vibration straight through her chest.
“That’s it!” Menolly exclaimed. “D major!”
They grinned at each other, united in delight, and then both spoke at once. “Who—”
Before they could finish asking, let alone answer, they were interrupted by a loud crack. An egg split neatly across the middle, the two halves falling apart as if they’d been kicked aside. A dragonet sat up between them, gleaming green.
Menolly’s heart leaped with excitement, but the murmur of the crowd sounded disappointed. She glanced at the onlookers, puzzled and alarmed. “Is something wrong with it?”
The man beside her shook his head. “Not at all. A lovely little creature. Emeralds and amethysts are the most common colors, that’s all. It’s considered good luck if a rarer color hatches first, especially a diamond or a ruby.”
“Well, I think it’s beautiful,” said Menolly as the dragonet spread its wings. It was pale for an emerald, a lovely leaf-green deepening to moss on its head and legs.
“So do I. And emeralds are common because we need them the most. They’re the fastest in the air, and their riders must be fearless.”
Another egg cracked, releasing an amethyst dragonet. Its deep purple body glistened with birth fluids, and they spattered the sands as it shook itself dry. Menolly had hardly had a chance to admire it before two more eggs broke open, and two more emerald dragonettes emerged. Then an opal, its shimmering hide shifting from white-pink to white-blue, and a glittering diamond.
Eggs were cracking all over the sands, and creeling, stumbling dragonets were making their way to the white-clad candidates. Menolly watched that first emerald dragonet, convinced that it was meant for Mirrim. Menolly thought her friend had the same idea, for Mirrim took a step toward it. But the leaf-green dragonet didn’t halt in her journey, and Mirrim neatly side-stepped to avoid its razor-sharp talons.
An exquisite sapphire dragonet the color of a stormy sea halted at the feet of a curly-haired girl. The girl sank to her knees, looking incredulously into the dragonet’s whirling eyes, and said, “He says his name is Aranith!”
Menolly felt herself let out a deep sigh. She didn’t know the girl, but her joy and fulfillment made her rather squeaky voice into a song.
Could that kind of bond really happen to me? Menolly wondered. She had her fire lizards, of course. But they’d never told her their names…
“She says her name is Ereth!” A boy had his arms around the leaf-green dragonet, and they were gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes.
Menolly couldn’t begrudge those two their bond, no matter how much she’d wished that dragonet was Mirrim’s. But surely there would be another…
Mirrim hastily backed away to avoid an amethyst dragonet, which was promptly Impressed by the girl standing right next to her.
“She says she’s hungry,” said the girl. A wave of laughter rippled through the crowd, which she clearly didn’t register as she sat blissfully stroking her deep purple dragonet and murmuring that she’d get her fed right away.
Someone called out, “What’s her name?”
“Oh! It’s Coriath.”
As Menolly watched dragonet after dragonet pass Mirrim by, she was torn between rejoicing at the joy and new beginnings happening right before her eyes, and increasing worry that this would be Mirrim’s eleventh heartbreak. What did the boys and girls Impressing have that Mirrim lacked?
Maybe the right dragonet hasn’t hatched yet, Menolly thought. But a few moments later, she had to discard that idea. All the eggs had cracked except for one small one, which had never even rocked. An egg from her fair’s clutch hadn’t ever hatched, and she supposed that must happen to dragons too. She’d have to hope that one of the many un-Impressed dragonets was meant for Mirrim.
But all too soon, the Hatching was ending. A short boy with the callused hands and sun-bleached hair of a Sea Holder Impressed the ruby. Mirrim waited so long in front of a sapphire dragonet that it nicked her with a talon, leaving blood trickling down her leg, before Impressing a delighted girl in her late teens.
Soon there was only one dragonet left. It was a particularly beautiful opal, its hide glimmering in shifting colors. Menolly wanted to believe it was for Mirrim—wasn’t she thinking differently from others in her determination to keep trying to be a rider when everyone else gave up?—but felt more sympathetic hurt than surprise when Mirrim managed to catch its eyes, and it staggered straight past her.
Eleven failures, Menolly thought, averting her own eyes from Mirrim’s bitter disappointment. Will she try again? Will it matter if she does?
But much as she wanted to go comfort Mirrim, Menolly was also captured by the little opal’s journey. Though the dragonets didn’t seem bothered by the heat of the sands that made the candidates shift from foot to foot, the opal kept getting its wingtip caught in the sand. Menolly winced in sympathy every time it struggled to free itself. The remaining candidates seemed more interested in looking in its eyes than actually helping it out, which annoyed her. She wished she could jump down and help it out herself. She was close enough…
She was close enough. The opal’s difficult journey was leading it straight to her ledge. How had it gotten so far without getting Impressed? Surely it hadn’t turned down all the candidates. There seemed to be plenty left.
The opal caught its wingtip and tripped again, sending up a spray of sand. It let out a piteous creel as it struggled to free itself. It was so close that Menolly could see its delicate wing bones bending and translucent membrane stretching. That had to hurt. And no one was running to help it!
She glanced down, gauging the distance. It wasn’t that high. And she’d be landing on soft sand, not rock. Menolly jumped.
Shocking pain went through her feet as she landed on them. She’d somehow completely forgotten her injury. The pain was so intense that she involuntarily curled into a ball, unable to straighten, let alone stand. Distantly, she felt the hot sand burning her face and arms, but it felt more like a welcome distraction than something to avoid.
You’re hurt.
The voice sounded inside her head, not in her ears, and yet she heard it as a sweet, low alto. Menolly opened her eyes, and looked into the whirling faceted blue eyes of the opal dragonet.
You’re hurt, Aleth repeated, and nuzzled her.
Menolly could feel Aleth’s concern for her, and she hurriedly forced herself into a sitting position. She couldn’t be a source of worry for someone who loved her so much, and who she loved with an heart-wrenching intensity that went beyond anything she’d ever experienced.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Menolly murmured, stroking the opal dragonet. “How’s your wingtip?”
Mirrim helped me, Aleth replied. Then, giving Menolly’s thigh a gentle butt, she added, I’m very hungry.
Menolly looked up at Mirrim, who was crouching beside them. “She said your name.”
“Wirenth does too.”
Menolly wasn’t sure when her fair had appeared, but they were all around her and Aleth now. Beauty perched on her shoulder with her tail wound around Menolly’s throat like a ruby choker, Rocky landed beside Aleth like a lither, adult, and much smaller version of herself, and the Aunties flew in circles in the air, twittering at each other for all the world as if they were sharing juicy gossip about the surprising events of the day.
Mirrim’s fair had appeared as well, clinging to her shoulders and arms and crooning comfort. She cradled Lok like a bereft child clinging to a beloved doll, even as she tried to smile at Menolly.
The tall man climbed down from the ledge and strode toward them. He took in all the fire lizards with an air of bemused admiration. “Are those all yours, or did every fire lizard in the Weyr decide to congregate to congratulate you?”
“They’re mine,” said Menolly. To her own surprise, it didn’t come out sounding apologetic. With Aleth beside her, she felt equal to anything.
“Congratulations on your Impression.” He knelt in front of Menolly. “It seems your feet didn’t stop you. But I don’t think you should do any walking right now.”
Mirrim dashed a hand across her eyes, sniffed hard, and with a return of her officious manner, said, “Certainly not! She’s undone days of healing.” Waving her arm, she shouted, “T’gran! T’gellan! Can someone come over here and carry Menolly?”
“Menolly?” The tall man looked at her as if he was seeing her anew, then smiled. “Well, this is a complication I hadn’t expected. And yet…” He glanced down at Aleth, who was wistfully repeating how hungry she was. “…perhaps I should have.”
“What are you talking about, Master Robinton?” Mirrim asked irritably, then shouted again, “Can we please have someone?”
“Master Robinton?” Menolly echoed. “Master Robinton? Masterharper Robinton?”
“Yes.” Master Robinton smiled again. She could see how it had engraved lines in his face from a great deal of use. “And you’re Menolly, Petiron’s apprentice. You wrote that lovely fire lizard song. I’ve been looking for you.”
“You’ve been looking for me?”
I looked for you, Aleth put in. Can we eat now?
Menolly, her mind spinning with so much to take in, so much to say, and so many questions to ask, could only manage, “I need to feed Aleth. She’s hungry.”
“Of course she’s hungry,” said Mirrim. “I don’t know where everyone’s gotten to. I’ll go fetch someone myself.”
Mirrim whirled around, took a determined stride forward, and almost stepped on an emerald dragonet. She flung herself aside, lost her balance, and fell hard in the sand.
“Mirrim!” Menolly exclaimed. She tried to jump up, then gasped and fell back with the pain in her feet.
Master Robinton jumped up, his long arms reaching forward to drag Mirrim from the dragonet’s path, and then stopped.
Mirrim lay in the sand, unmoving, staring into the emerald dragonet’s eyes. Menolly hadn’t realized how much her friend’s face had been shaped by worry and stress and disappointment until she saw it all melt away, replaced by a joy so open and unselfconscious that it brought tears to Menolly’s eyes.
“She says her name is Path!”
And then T’gellan and T’gran were running toward them, accompanied by—Menolly gulped—F’lar and Lessa, whom she’d seen a few times from a distance, along with several other people she didn’t recognize.
A woman with black hair and green eyes and an amethyst fire lizard perched on her shoulder went straight to Mirrim and embraced her, and then everyone began talking at once.
Lessa held up her hand, silencing them all. Her power was unmistakable; it seemed to crackle in the air. If that was what a ruby rider was like up close, Menolly understood at once why neither she nor Mirrim had been chosen by a ruby dragon.
After that, Lessa’s words were both an anticlimax and a relief. “Ramoth says Aleth and Path are hungry.”
Everyone snapped into action. Mirrim scrambled to her feet, T’gran scooped up Menolly, and they all began to walk out of the Hatching Ground, pacing themselves to the speed of the dragonets.
As they passed Path’s egg, everyone slowed to look at it. Menolly had never seen anything like it. Rather than the halves and shards scattered across the sands, it was almost intact, with a Path-sized hole in its side. And the hole looked strange, with edges that were ragged and wet rather than sharp-edged.
F’lar bent down and prodded the egg, then leaned his weight on it. The empty egg gave slightly. “It’s like the hardest leather I’ve ever touched. She must have had to chew her way out.”
“She says she chewed and clawed,” said Mirrim. “Path, you’re the toughest, bravest, most determined dragon on Pern—and that was before you were even properly Hatched yet!”
“Sounds like a good match,” remarked T’gellan. “Though I don’t recall you doing anything extraordinary in the womb, Mirrim.”
Mirrim snorted and rolled her eyes, but in a good-natured manner. She couldn’t seem to stop smiling even for an instant.
The green-eyed woman patted her shoulder. “Was Path worth waiting for?”
“I’d have stood a thousand times for Path,” Mirrim vowed. “I’m so glad I didn’t Impress before!”
I could eat the rest of Path’s egg, said Aleth.
Menolly laughed; so, to her surprise, did Lessa.
Of course, Menolly remembered. She can hear all dragons. All the same, it was disconcerting to experience that as well as know it.
“Food first. Everything else later.” Glancing at Master Robinton, Lessa said, “Including Benden red, of course.”
After Aleth and Path were fed, they both fell asleep, their stomachs bulging. At that, both Menolly and Mirrim became able to notice things other than their dragons. Things like the fact that Menolly had been sitting next to the Masterharper of Pern for the entire Hatching, and that he’d apparently been looking for her. And also, that she absolutely reeked of fish stew—an odor not at all improved by the time she’d spent in an extremely hot environment.
Mirrim and the green-eyed woman, who turned out to be her foster mother Brekke, helped Menolly into a bath, which soothed her bruises but made her feet and sand-burned face sting, and changed her bandages. Her feet were bleeding again, but Brekke pronounced the damage to be a minor setback.
Then Brekke turned her attention to Mirrim’s leg, which she’d bandaged with a strip torn off her candidate’s robe. Mirrim sat awkwardly, muttering that she wasn’t used to having someone tend her injuires instead of the other way around.
“Don’t make a habit of it.” Brekke cleaned the cut, applied numbweed, and bandaged it. Then she eyed the girls and shook her head. “Slashed, bruised, and burned. I think that’s the most injuries at a Hatching since Lessa Impressed Ramoth.”
Unrepentant, Mirrim said, “Can’t complain about the results.”
Reppa gave a distinctly smug trill, which Beauty echoed.
“Nine fire lizards,” said Brekke, scratching behind Blue’s eye ridges. “Mirrim, did you know?”
Mirrim gave a slightly guilty nod.
“Well, now we all know,” said Brekke. “And we’re very happy to have them and you and Aleth at Benden Weyr.”
That should have made Menolly happy, but it instead brought her to the verge of tears. If it hadn’t been for the reassuring sense of Aleth’s presence, palpable even in sleep, she probably would have cried. Instead, she managed a slightly choked “Thank you.”
“Those sort of big changes can be overwhelming,” said Brekke. “Even if they’re good.”
Menolly nodded, grateful to Brekke for putting words to her feelings. “It’s all just… so different. So much.”
“You can talk to me any time,” said Brekke. “About anything.”
“Not any time,” said Mirrim with a mischievous grin. “Not right now. As Path and Aleth say, ‘we’re hungry!’”
Brekke laughed as Menolly’s stomach rumbled, right on cue.
T’gellan was waiting at the door to carry her to the table, which embarrassed her despite Brekke pointed out that she wasn’t a dragonet whose dignity would be offended by being lifted. It didn’t help when Mirrim cheerfully said that being carried in was the least of what was notable about her. It helped even less when the first smell to hit her nose was that of a steaming pot of her very own fish stew.
Lessa gave her a dubious glance as she entered, trailed by a fair of excitedly chirping, squeaking, humming, and bugling fire lizards. Rocky, Auntie Two, Beauty, and Blue were trilling a sea shanty Menolly taught them.
“Can you tell them to be quiet?” Lessa said. “We have important matters to discuss.”
Menolly was still trying to shush them when, with a thrill of renewed delight, she felt Aleth’s sleepy presence at the back of her mind.
They can come and sing to me, Aleth said.
The fair instantly winked out.
“That’s one way of doing it,” Lessa said drily. “Now, Menolly—”
F’lar held up his hand. “Let the girl eat first. She must be famished.”
T’gellan strategically deposited her in a seat between Mirrim and Master Robinton. Menolly was sure she’d be too nervous to eat, but Master Robinton recommended the stew with a wink that made her giggle, and Aleth sent her an image of the fair perched on her opalescent body, and Mirrim chattered away about the marvel that was Path.
The mood at the table lightened, and Menolly discovered that the stew was much better in her stomach than splashed across her shirt. When she finally put down her spoon, Lessa said, “Menolly…”
Menolly’s fingers drummed a nervous beat on the table. Both Master Robinton and Brekke gave stealthy head-shakes to Lessa. The Weyrleader’s dark eyes glinted with an I-know-what-you’re-up-to light, but she didn’t speak and instead poured herself another glass of wine.
“I didn’t expect to find Petiron’s lost apprentice here at Benden Weyr,” said Master Robinton. “Though when I heard you trying to match the dragons’ hum, I did wonder if everyone at Half-Circle Sea Hold had inexplicably lied that you’d disappeared rather than admit that you’d been Searched.”
“Half-Circle Sea Hold has never been Searched,” said Menolly. Now she imagined the reaction if she had been. Yanus could hardly have refused a dragonrider, and he’d have been very satisfyingly outraged and powerless to do anything about it.
“From now on, it will be,” said Lessa, rather grimly.
“But now I’m in a quandary,” said Master Robinton. “I’d meant to take you to Harper Hall. Pern needs songcrafters like you.”
Menolly stared at him. Her voice shook as she said, “At Half-Circle Sea Hold, I was beaten for tuning.”
“I’d like to see them try that now,” Mirrim snapped.
Aleth’s protective anger filled Menolly’s mind, hot and red as fresh-killed meat.
Gently, Master Robinton said, “Menolly, no one can keep you from music now. Whether you stay here or come with me, your gift will be cherished. And so will you.”
“She Impressed a dragon,” said Lessa as if that settled the matter. “She can be a Weyrsinger, and still have her music. Here.”
“She has a gift I haven’t seen in generations,” said Master Robinton. “But it needs to be honed and trained at a level that only Harper Hall can provide. And we can accommodate Aleth. Remember, we have a watch dragon.”
“Stay here, Menolly,” Mirrim urged. “You and me and Path and Aleth should train together!”
“This needs to be Menolly’s choice,” said Brekke. “And she doesn’t have to choose here at the dinner table. Let her take her time.”
F’lar, his hazel eyes amused, said, “Lessa, do you really want nine singing fire lizards at Benden?”
“We’re desperate for fire lizards,” Lessa retorted. “I can put up with Menolly’s.”
“I know where a clutch is,” Menolly put in. When everyone fell silent and stared at her, she said, “I meant to tell you earlier, but I got… er… distracted. But I can fetch them for you. Master Robinton, you can have your opal.”
“The Masterharper should have a ruby,” said Lessa.
“Or a diamond,” said T’gellan.
“A sapphire, for Harper blue,” suggested Brekke. “Or an amethyst, like Berd.”
“I agree with Menolly,” said F’lar. “Opal is traditional for musicians.”
Brekke was right about good changes being overwhelming, Menolly thought. From the disgraced runaway daughter of Half-Circle Sea Hold to having the Weyrleaders of Benden and the Masterharper of Pern argue over who gets to have me!
But this time the overwhelm was a sea she could float on while considering which way she wanted to strike out, not a riptide threatening to pull her under. As the others kept on making their cases, both for which color of fire lizard Master Robinton should have and for where Menolly belonged, Aleth let Menolly listen through her ears. Her fair was singing.