206Well, hello everyone! I know it's been kind of a long time since I've posted...but my summer travels are over and I'm back at school with some free time to fill! So I've decided to tackle a sequel to A Change in the Stars. I can't promise it will be as long, but I hope it will be just as enjoyable. Here is the first chapter; I hope it answers some questions, and as always, I welcome feedback!
Arwen, out!
The red light of the setting sun threw long shadows over the ledges of Ista Weyr. A brown dragon—of a good size, but beginning to show signs of age—and a green dragon, who had a rather matronly air, lazed in the last rays, soaking up every last bit of warmth from the waning day. The two dragons raised their heads and bugled a greeting as a dragon slid into existence far above, in the red-tinged clouds.
The bronze dragon voiced a reply and circled, folding his wings smoothly as he banked to land on the neighboring ledge. His rider, face protected by riding goggles and a cap, slid down and slapped his dragon's neck affectionately. "Well done, you great lump. Now go terrify some herdbeasts or something."
The bronze pushed his great wedge-shaped head into his rider's chest. For a moment they formed a picturesque tableau, rider and dragon silhouetted by the light of the dying sun. Then with a parting pat to the bronze's eye-ridge, the rider turned and pulled off his headgear. He walked over to the weyr in front of which the brown and green lounged; he gave the two dragons a sort of wry salute and a grin. As he raised his hand to knock, the door opened.
"T'ran!" exclaimed the small woman. "Oh, well this is a surprise, my dear!" She turned and called behind her, "I'lan, dearest, T'ran has popped in for a visit!" Her face wreathed in a huge smile, the woman embraced T'ran, who smiled and hugged her back.
"It's nice to see you, mother," he said.
Essa held her son at arm's length and her eyes traveled over his strong jaw, showing a shadow of a beard since this morning's shave, taking in his muscled shoulders and lithe frame. Then her gaze alighted on the shoulderknots her son wore, and her eyes widened. She smiled again. "So it's true, my dear, these tidings we've heard. You're a Weyrleader."
T'ran shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck uneasily. "For a little, I suppose."
His mother looked at him sharply, taking in his discomfort; but instead of saying anything more, she turned and smiled at the man who had emerged from the inner rooms of the weyr.
"Father," said T'ran.
"Weyrleader," said I'lan with a small incline of his head, eyes twinkling. He extended his hand and they gripped forearms, the greeting of fellow riders. "Well now, come in, and tell us all you've been up to," said the brownrider amiably. "I hear there are great changes at Benden."
"Yes," agreed T'ran. He walked into the place he had called home and stood awkwardly, not quite sure what to do. He'd been back to visit a few times since he'd Impressed Ereth, but training and then the responsibility that had followed quickly afterward left little time for social calls.
"Come and have a cup of klah," suggested Essa, moving toward the table.
"Sounds good," said I'lan, grinning broadly as he clapped T'ran on the back. "Knew that sending you to Benden was the right decision. Hear you've taken up with the green-rider Weyrwoman."
"Yes, that would be why I'm Weyrleader," replied T'ran. A spark of irritation flared within him—his father made his relationship with Arryn sound so…casual. Like it was just a ploy for power. He knew that with some weyrleaders, it was really all about the authority that being the weyrwoman's consort afforded a rider; but it was different with Arryn.
"So tell me about this young lady," his mother said, setting mugs of steaming klah on the table.
T'ran pulled out a chair and sat down. "Her name is Arryn. They Searched her from Ruatha, for Narenth's last clutch. She's the niece of the Holder, Yenar. She Impressed Maventh…" He shrugged. "She saved my life, once." There was so much to say about her—about them—but the words stuck in his throat. Somehow he didn't want to share all the details with his parents. This surprised him vaguely, because he had always been close to I'lan and Essa; but he brushed the feeling of unease aside.
"And her Maventh is the green that clutched?" Essa said it with raised eyebrows and took a sip of klah afterward, as if to cleanse her mouth of the words.
"Yes, Maventh's clutch is on the Hatching Grounds, and candidates are being Searched even as we speak," replied T'ran levelly.
"Hm," said his mother. She looked out toward the ledge. "Kelnoth has been very curious about this rogue green."
"Essa," said I'lan in a low voice.
T'ran sighed and wanted to run his hands through his hair, but he stilled his fingers and forced himself to regain his composure. He'd thought that his mother would be happy for him, but apparently even she was not immune to the rabid curiosity that consumed most riders when they brought up Maventh, the anomaly, the 'rogue green.'
"How did this—Maventh—do it?" Essa watched her son with keen grey eyes, as if expecting him to admit to some sort of deception or trickery. Some people thought that Narenth had clutched before going between, and Maventh had taken over care for the eggs…or worse, that Maventh had stolen them from the late queen, driving her to madness.
"We don't really know," said T'ran in a carefully controlled voice. "The best that anyone can guess is that somehow, Maventh possesses a special gene that allows her to bypass her color's infertility and waylay the effects of firestone."
"A gene?" asked I'lan.
"That's what the historian calls them. Apparently they're like traits but smaller and able to be passed on from generation to generation."
"But greens who haven't chewed firestone have been able to clutch," pointed out Essa.
"Only greens and blues," replied T'ran. "Not queen eggs. Not like Maventh."
"Hm," said his mother again. She pursed her lips. "Sounds too easy to me."
"Well, I think it's outstanding," said I'lan, his voice too loud with false cheer. He clapped T'ran on the back. "I think it's brilliant! And to think, my son a Weyrleader!"
"Um," said T'ran. He looked across the table at his mother, who was still regarding him with a kind of suspicion, as if she thought he wasn't telling her the whole truth. "Well, I should get going."
"But you only just got here," protested his mother with drawn brows.
T'ran cleared his throat. "Just wanted to come by and say hello. And, ah, I wanted to invite you to the Hatching." He waited for a response. Silence. "Thanks for the klah." He put down the mug and walked out, feeling very much like a petulant little boy, and not really caring very much. "Let's get out of here, Ereth," he said, striding angrily across the ledge. The bronze landed in a great rush of air and lowered himself obligingly so T'ran could swing onto his neck.
You are upset, observed the dragon as he pushed off mightily from the ledge, his strong wingbeats echoing against the stone of the weyr.
Yes. T'ran finished adjusting his goggles and settled himself more securely in the riding straps.
Why? asked Ereth as they gained altitude.
Because Father and Mother, of all people, should understand. They should accept Arryn and Maventh just like they've always accepted me, replied T'ran. I don't understand why Mother was so suspicious.
People are always afraid of what they do not understand, said Ereth sagely, echoing his mate. It was one of Maventh's favorite sayings, and it never failed to soothe Arryn. Perhaps your parents do not want to see you get hurt.
Why would I get hurt? T'ran frowned.
Ereth harrumphed deep in his chest. Many times, love is hurt.
T'ran cocked his head at the uncharacteristic emotionality of his dragon's comment. Then he shrugged and resolved to mull over it later. Ready? he asked.
Always, replied Ereth, and they slid into the cold of between.
Arryn pulled at her boots in irritation. Despite the fact that she'd taken her boots to the leather-shop and gotten the soles reinforced, she still burned her feet walking across the Hatching Grounds. Maventh hummed and nudged at one of the eggs. It was getting close; the shells of the eggs were hard as rock and tinged with swirls of color and markings that became clearer by the day. Arryn brushed her knuckles over the curve of one as she passed. "Morning, dearest," she greeted her dragon.
Where is Ereth? I am hungry and hot and I am tired of sitting here all day and getting angry at people who come too close and waiting for you. The green dragon finished her complaint and leveled her whirling eyes with her rider.
"Oh, I know it's a lovely day," laughed Arryn, shaking her head. She rubbed the ridges above Maventh's eyes, both at once, until the green closed her eyes and thrummed in pleasure. "To answer your question, Ereth and T'ran have gone to Ista for a little bit, to visit his parents. I'm sure he can bring you something to eat when he comes back."
Don't want him to bring me something. I want to go hunt.
"Well, love, I know you do, but do you want to leave your eggs?" asked Arryn pointedly. Maventh huffed and spread her wing over the gleaming golden egg, drawing it closer to her side with one foreleg. "I have a question for you. They have all the queen candidates. Would you be all right if they came in and saw the egg?"
Maventh considered. As long as they are not stupid. I would not want to hurt a girl because she did something to make me angry.
"Would it be all right if they touched the egg?" asked Arryn, knowing that it was a stretch to ask, especially since this was Maventh's first—and perhaps only—clutch. But the green had shown good self-control throughout the weeks that the eggs hardened on the sands.
Yes. As long as they do not do anything stupid, repeated Maventh.
"Thanks. I'll tell Sh'len and Lira," said Arryn.
Aren't you going to stay? asked the green almost plaintively.
"I'll be back," said Arryn reassuringly. She patted her dragon's neck and then hot-footed it back across the sands, biting back a vicious torrent of curses as her poor feet throbbed.
In the empty rooms down near the storage caverns, the air hummed. Voices pitched high in excitement talked quickly, overlapping one another and embellishing each other's sentences, as teenage girls often do. Ursina shook her head as she directed the kitchen staff and the wash-women. Such a buzz. It was beginning to give her a headache, looking after all these girls. There were only eleven of them, but shards if they didn't run her ragged. What with seeing to the girls and keeping them separated from the boys and trying to get them act a little like queen candidates, Ursina barely had time to plait her own hair, much less drink her morning cup of klah.
"Excuse me, Ursina?"
Ursina sighed heavily at the young, feminine voice. "I swear, those eggs better hatch soon before you all drive me into an early grave—oh. Excuse me, Weyrwoman."
Arryn waved the title aside in irritation. "I need all the girls, gathered and dressed properly, as soon as you can manage it."
Ursina nodded in a businesslike way. "As you wish." She rolled up her sleeves and strode down the hallway. Arryn followed and waited in the passageway, listening in amusement as Ursina's authoritative bellow cut through the girlish gossip. Eleven girls, all looking a bit harried and intimidated, piled out of the room seconds later. They fell over each other like a litter of puppies in their haste to avoid the wrath of Ursina, and the first one tried to reverse her momentum once she saw who was waiting for them. It was a terrific mess, all flailing limbs and braids and cries of toes being stepped on and fingers being pinched against the wall. Arryn chuckled.
"All right! Enough!" commanded Ursina. The girls meekly disentangled themselves and lined up along the wall, hands clasped in front of them demurely. Ursina swept out of the room and marched down the line, correcting girls on their dress or hair or even their nails—"Vell," she said in despair upon reaching a girl in the middle of the line-up. "How many times have I told you to stop biting your nails?"
The girl, who had been nibbling distractedly at her thumb, snatched her hand down guiltily and blushed. "Yes, ma'am," she murmured abashedly.
Once Ursina had chastised the candidates to her satisfaction, she said slowly and with great precision, "You will listen very closely to everything the Weyrwoman has to say, because your lives may depend on it."
Arryn could have sworn that she saw tears in one small girl's eyes by the time Ursina finished this last remark. She hid a pitying smile. "Well, ladies. Today is the day." They leaned forward at that. This time she did smile. "Not the Hatching, I'm afraid, but the day that you get to see the queen egg for the first time." A few whispers flitted about until they were silenced by Ursina's baleful gaze.
"Now, I've talked to Maventh about it, and she said she's all right with it, as long as you don' t do anything stupid. In her mind, that could be anything from tripping near an egg to looking at her wrong. So please, be respectful, and above all, if I tell you to go, pay your respects to Maventh and leave slowly but purposefully. If I raise my voice, just run," Arryn finished grimly. She knew it wouldn't come to that, but it never hurt to be prepared. "The sands are hot. They'll burn your feet. Get used to it." A few girls blinked at that. "Now follow me."
Arryn felt like a mother wherry as she led the candidates toward the Hatching Grounds. She could hear snatches of whispers and murmurs, some worried, most excited. "Stay here until I say so," she ordered when they reached the entrance. She stepped onto the hot sands. Maventh, love, they're here. Is it all right for us to come over?
They may come, replied Maventh, a bit imperiously. Arryn smiled. "Come on now. Remember what I said."
As they started forward, one of the candidates, clearly thinking too hard, tripped over her own feet and crashed into the girl in front of her, who in turn stumbled into the girl in front of her. Arryn waited patiently for them to sort themselves out again.
It was going to be a long day.