Dragons Destiny

Dragon Duty

There is a huge rock that sits in the northern portion of the great central ocean of Pern, west of the Neratian peninsula and the Igen spur and well to the east of the huge Fort peninsula. This massive island is dominated by a central mountain range that runs the length of its spine, northwest to southeast, although the lower ranges flourish with verdant rainforest. There are five small associated islands off its southwest corner, one of which is an active volcano.

Still, the single most impressive feature of this geographic catchpoint is the small, dormant volcano that lies on the western coast, about one fourth of the way up the island from the southeastern terminus. This mighty island is called Ista.

There is one major population center, or Hold, on the island; its namesake, Ista Hold. Sitting at the very southeastern point of the island, Ista Hold is a major seaport. It hosts a thriving trade in fish and other foodstuffs from the sea, as well as the many associated smaller merchants expected in a port town.

There are several smaller holds, usually called cot holds, scattered about the island. The difficult topography of Ista doesn't lend itself to normal agriculture, but the rich volcanic soil is ideal for orchards. Ista is well known for its superb citrus fruits, as well as a number of spices, particularly peppers.

The upshot is that Ista belies its rugged appearance to be an active, prosperous land. Its biggest drawback is the weather. Subtropical at best, the summers are uncomfortably warm, with cloying heat and oppressive humidity. The winters are mild but wet, although snow is rare. As a result, very few non-natives relocate to Ista on a long-term basis.

Watching over and protecting this important island are the residents of that dormant volcano, the dragons and riders of Ista Weyr. Sadly, Ista Weyr has suffered more than its share of tragedy in the recent past, those tragedies still fresh in the memories of its denizens. As a result, the Weyr has a very young Weyrleader and Weyrwoman. Despite their youth, however, this pair of leaders are well thought of and effective.

With the responsibility of those critical leadership positions comes more than its share of problems, some serious, some less so, others perplexing or even humorous. Due to a combination of these problems, that couple, Tr'san and Breda, sat in conference with three other queenriders, the Weyrleader's two immediate predecessors, and a mated pair of avions.

The queenriders and the female avion were gathered at one end of the conference table, cooing and clucking at a month-old female avion. The little girl was giggling with her playmates, her tiny wings flapping enthusiastically if ineffectively.

At the other end of the table, the men sat quietly bemused, considering their newest problem, the loss of an entire queens' wing.

"All four of them?" Tr'san asked again. In his two turns as Weyrleader, he'd already faced a number of sometimes dangerous and sometimes bewildering problems. Fortunately, he had the counsel of two experienced Weyrleaders to fall back on. This situation, however, was strange to the point of being absurd. "They're all pregnant?"

"All four of them," Masterhealer D'rian confirmed. "Don't blame me. Only two of them are mine."

"Yeah," G'dened chuckled. "The Wingleader is your fault." It gave the bronzerider both amusement and satisfaction to know that Tr'san and Breda were now expecting their first child.

"Um, yeah," the Weyrleader admitted. "Any guess as to who Remara's kid belongs to?"

"She says it's B'kler's," D'rian answered. "I don't think she's quite sure, but they have been spending a lot of time together lately. I don't recall her actually taking a weyrmate."

G'dened nodded. Remara, he recalled, had been the most aloof of the Weyr's queenriders. For as long as he could remember, she hadn't wanted a steady weyrmate. She had even refused the opportunity to become Weyrwoman following the tragic death of the former senior queenrider. "I don't think she has, but she might be about ready to. B'kler's been awfully good to her and she appreciates it. Might do her some good."

Tr'san lifted his eyebrows, releasing a snicker and a sigh. "Okay. Might as well get this over with. Wish me luck." He frowned as the remaining trio started to chuckle, then turned his attention down the table. "Ladies," he called out, "we need you all down here, please. Weyrwoman, please sit next to me."

Breda looked at her sister queenriders. "Uh oh. I think we're in trouble," she snickered.

The women moved down the table to sit next to their mates. Tr'san grimaced as Breda smiled at him. "You called, Weyrleader?"

He released a long sigh. "Did you really have to do this to me?" he asked dejectedly.

The Weyrwoman tilted her head. Her eyes narrowed slightly and she feigned confusion. "Do what to you? Is something wrong?"

"Wrong?" he rejoined. "No, nothing's wrong. I just don't have a queens' wing. That's all. Did you really all have to get pregnant at the same time?" He couldn't help noticing that most of the women were struggling to keep a straight face, or anything remotely resembling one.

One of the queenriders wasn't even trying. Elysina laughed openly. "Hey," she challenged, "what are you upset with us for? You helped!"

The other women erupted into laughter. Even G'dened and D'rian were chuckling. Only Darielyn refrained from laughter, although he was grinning.

"Gee, thanks," the Weyrleader grumped, looking at his two wingleaders.

"You've got to admit," the younger male avion pointed out, "she does have a point."

Mareka was the first woman to return to full composure. She looked first at Selana, her mother, then at the child in her arms. With a smile, she turned to Tr'san. "Elyana is going to need a mate when she grows up. Somebody's got to have another winged male."

"Hey, don't look at me," Elysina inserted. "I've got a winged son. I think he's your mate." She pointed at Selana. "It's her turn."

"Just a minute," the second queenrider objected. "I have a son, too. I've done my job."

"Yeah, but S'radan doesn't have wings. He can't fly. Besides, he'll be way too old to be Elyana's mate."

"So, give me the order form and I'll specify wings!"

Mareka shook her head, chuckling. "Well, one of you two better have a winged son. There aren't many other options."

"Oh," Breda snickered, winking at D'rian, "I don't know... "

Elysina's eyes widened and she turned on her husband. She was happy sharing him with Selana, his other wife, but wasn't so sure she wanted him straying outside their marriage. He had also been weyrmate to Cosira during their six mating flights while he was Weyrleader. "What in the shell? You got a thing for Weyrwomen?"

The Cygnan shrugged, looking at the fiery brunette innocently and lifting his eyebrows. Across from him, Tr'san turned curious eyes on Breda.

"Uh, what she said. Is something happening that I'm not aware of?"

The Weyrwoman chuckled. She leaned over, giving her mate a deep, loving kiss. She moved her lips close to his ear. "It's our child, love," she whispered, "but let them worry about it for a bit."

He gave his mate a strong hug, whispering into her ear, "You are a little demon, you know that? I love you, you little nut."

Not having heard the nearly silent exchange, Elysina and Selana continued to stare at their husband. "You gonna answer me?" the tiny rider demanded.

D'rian gave her an exasperated expression. He couldn't tell just how much of her display of jealousy was real or an act. She was totally unpredictable. "Do you really think I want to go through this again? Don't you think you two maniacs are enough?"

"Maniacs?" the tiny woman shrilled. "Why you, wait till I get hold of you... "

"Tonight, El, tonight. If Breda will let me."

The entire assembly dissolved into laughter as the dark-haired woman began to pummel her husband. After just a few moments, he pulled her into his lap, giving her a passionate kiss. His wife quieted. He glanced at his daughter.

"What about you, Riki? Aren't you and Darielyn going to have any more children?"

"Oh, that's entirely possible," the younger female replied. "But do we want her mating with her own brother?"

"That's never been a problem with avions. After all, the two of you are half-brother and sister. Don't worry about it. Besides, if she mates with a child of Elysina or Selana, she'll be mating with her own uncle. Doesn't matter. We don't have the interbreeding problems that humans have."

"How long did you have to carry her?" Breda asked. "Is it a nine-month pregnancy like us?"

Mareka shook her head. "No, just seven months. And our babies are a lot smaller than yours. Elly was only three pounds six ounces."

"Okay," Tr'san interjected, "the lesson in avion gestation and obstetrics will have to wait. Let's try to move on." He waited until he had everyone's attention, then continued. "We do have a problem. Once again, Ista doesn't have a queens' wing."

A quiet sigh from across the table drew his attention. He found Remara looking at him thoughtfully. She grimaced, glancing about the group before revealing, "B'kler and I don't really want a child, Lord Tr'san. I'll keep flying. That gives you at least one queen."

The masterhealer coughed lightly, getting the stocky brunette to turn her attention toward him. He was well aware that queenriders had to fly between, and that the terrible cold of between was usually fatal for a fetus. "Remara, miscarriages are painful. Are you certain you want to do that?"

The woman smirked. "Yes, masterhealer, miscarriages are painful, but so is childbirth, from what I've been told. If you don't mind, I think I'll take my chances."

Selana smiled at the Cygnan physician. "She's got you, love. You can't beat that."

"No, I can't," he admitted. He turned his gaze to the Weyrleader. "Okay. You've got one queenrider."

Tr'san nodded. "Thank you, Remara. I appreciate it. However, that still doesn't let me put a queens' wing in the air."

"Sure, it does," a surprising voice interrupted. Everyone's attention turned toward its owner, finding a female avion looking toward her mate. He nodded.

The Weyrleader frowned. "Um, what do you have in mind, Mareka?"

"Have Remara and Pireth take the point. Put me and Darielyn at the pivots and put the Queens' Support Wing behind us. That gives you plenty of coverage."

The Weyrleader pursed his lips, considering the suggestion. He wasn't entirely convinced the idea would work. "Can the two of you stay with a queen? Even if you can, what would you do if you get scored?"

"If we get scored, we'll turn to one of the dragons in the Support Wing. One of the greens can take us between. So far as staying with Pireth, there's only two dragons on this planet we can't outfly."

Tr'san, Breda, and Remara looked at the girl questioningly. The others had quiet smiles on their faces. G'dened chuckled quietly.

The Weyrleader looked at his predecessor, waiting for an answer. The older bronzerider smiled. "Don't worry about them staying with Remara. If they can get to a member of the Support Wing, going between isn't a problem, either. The two dragons she's referring to are Ruth and Astaroth. They'll outfly any other dragon, except maybe Tyranth."

"No," D'rian admitted, "they're faster than Ty. Speed and agility won't be a problem. They'll need some training with the sprayers, though."

Tr'san looked to Elysina and Selana, wanting their approval before moving forward with the idea. "Is this alright with you two?"

The women sighed, looking at each other. It was apparent that they had reservations. Nonetheless, Elysina replied, "I know my son, Weyrleader. I couldn't stop him if I wanted to."

The bronzerider's gaze moved to Selana. She shrugged. "It's her idea. She's as stubborn as D'rian. I can't stop her."

- - - - - - - - - -

The riders were gathered in the main conference room; D'rian, his wives, his children, his granddaughter, the Weyrleader, Weyrwoman and Remara. At the moment, everyone's attention was focused on the masterhealer, especially that of the two avion youngsters.

The pair were being taught the basics of flying in a queens' wing. They'd had very little opportunity to see the wing in action, so they couldn't fall back on observation or practical experience. Most of the morning had been spent becoming familiar with the modified sprayers that carried the nitric acid, HNO₃, Agenothree, as the Pernese called it. Now, after cleaning up and finishing lunch, they were discussing formation flying and basic tactics. When this was finished, which wouldn't be today, they would start practicing with Remara and the Queens' Support Wing.

"When we're at full strength, the Weyrwoman flies the point. That's the first section. Riki, your mom and Remara have the pivots. They're the second section. Darielyn, your mother flies the slot, she's the third section. The Queens' Support Wing is a detached fourth section. Each section flies about twenty yards behind and ten feet above the section in front of it."

"Why's that, dad?" Darielyn inquired.

"It gives the following sections enough visibility to see if they're going to have to help the section in front. It also keeps them high enough to avoid the leading section's spray. Inhale that spray and you're dead. It will destroy your lungs. Plus, if you get it in your eyes, you're blind. There's nothing the healers can do for you in those situations."

"Yuck," Mareka murmured. The queenriders all snickered.

"As it stands now, Remara and Pireth have the point. They're section one. You two have the pivots. You're section two. We got a volunteer to fly the slot, thanks to Astaroth."

"Astaroth?" Tr'san echoed. "What did he do this time? What volunteer?"

"It appears that our two young Threadfighters suggested this to Astaroth first. He liked the idea but wanted them to get some help, specifically a slot rider. So, he asked a friend of his to keep an eye on the rookies. Ruth and Lord Jaxom are going to fly the slot."

Now the queenriders burst into laughter. Even the Weyrleader was grinning. "Thank you, Astaroth," he said aloud.

'You're welcome, Weyrleader.'

Even D'rian chuckled after that. "So, the Queens' Support Wing can stay where they're used to being. Between them and Ruth, you'll be well-covered. If one of you does get scored, you won't have to do much of anything. One of the inside greens on either side of the wing will charge you and take you between. Still, pay attention when Remara starts your formation training. Get too aggressive and you can completely unhinge the wing. We can't afford to have queens killed that way. Stay within yourself."

"Listen to him," Selana added firmly. "I did that once. I almost killed myself, your father and three queens." She looked down, a deep frown on her face.

"That's a long time ago, little one," the Cygnan comforted her. "It's just a bad memory. Let it go." When his wife nodded, the masterhealer continued. "That's pretty much it until we get you into the air. Remember, when you're up there, Remara is in charge. You listen to her orders. I don't care what you think you should do, what you think I would do, or what you see anyone else do. You obey Remara. Got that?"

His children nodded and he looked across the table. "Did I miss anything, Weyrwoman?"

Breda shook her head, adding her sober regard to the two youngsters. "No, I think you covered it, Weyrleader."

"Weyrleader?" Mareka questioned.

"Your father was Weyrleader here for almost five turns," the woman explained. "He's a legend at Ista."

D'rian looked at her, sighing. His expression slowly darkened, then turned pained. He turned unfocussed eyes on his feet, his hands opening and closing, his fingernails digging into the palms. He stood up. "I suppose so," he allowed, biting at his lower lip. "So was my Weyrwoman. She deserves it a lot more than me."

The teenage avions looked at their mothers as the bronzerider turned and walked despondently from the conference room. "Dad?" Mareka asked softly.

Selana shook her head. "Let him go, Riki. He'll be alright." She sighed sadly, looking after her husband. Her own eyes started to water.

"I'm sorry," Breda offered. "I shouldn't have said that."

Elysina disagreed, slowly shaking her head. Her thoughts returned to the aftermath of a deadly fall and a desperate but futile attempt to save the life of the late Weyrwoman. Her husband had stared at the corpse in horrified disbelief, then fled from the surgical theatre to the infirmary ledge. His wives found him there, sitting on the edge of the weyrledge, directly in front of his worried bronze. They had talked very briefly, after which he cried bitterly. Her attention returned to the conference room.

"No, Breda, you're right. He is a legend. He's earned it. Sel and I know he'll never forget Cosira. He loved her as much as we did, probably more. We wouldn't want him to forget her."

"Is it still that painful for him?" Tr'san asked unhappily.

"It's still raw for him," the dark-haired queenrider answered. "He thinks it should have been him and Tyranth who died, or he should have been able to save her in surgery. We've told him it wasn't his fault but he can't stop blaming himself. He hasn't gotten any better. I don't know that he will. He'll spend some time with Ty, then he'll be okay." She choked back a sob for her mate.

G'dened stood up with a sigh. More than anyone else, he understood what the Cygnan was going through. He experienced it himself, almost every night. He wondered if it was ever going to change. He looked down at the two queenriders. "I'll talk to him. I can usually help him."

'Infirmary ledge. Tyranth is with him.'

'Okay. Thank you.'

'Do you need me there?'

'Not at the moment. Just monitor, please.'

He walked slowly through the Weyr, to the infirmary and then to the ledge. As expected, he found the avion sitting on the edge. A large bronze sat behind him, worried eyes whirling an alarmed yellow. He gave the bronze a gentle pat on the nose, then sat down next to the Cygnan. "You see her again?" he asked.

D'rian shrugged resignedly. "No, not this time. Just heard her. You?"

"I can feel her. But I still haven't seen or heard her. Would I really want to?"

"I don't know. It's painful. I want her back so badly I can't describe it. She tells me not to try to hold her. But I want to hug her. Then my hands go right through her. It's like I've lost her again, every time."

"You've got to let her go, D. She's dead. We're both still mourning her, but you're torturing yourself. She wouldn't like that. Does she talk to you at all?"

"Sometimes. She's told me that they're happy, her and Caylith. They're waiting for us."

G'dened shook his head. He looked closely at his friend. He couldn't feel any pity for him, only an odd compassion. He almost wished she would speak to him. No, he did wish she would speak to him. "They're waiting for us? Is this what people call religion, these beliefs of yours?"

D'rian shrugged. "I don't know. I've never understood what the humans on Cygnus called religion or what they called philosophy. What little I heard of them made them sound about the same. I can't see any real difference."

"But, if she and Caylith are dead, how can they be waiting for us? Are you talking about an afterlife?"

"I think that's what they called it. The humans on Cygnus had some kind of belief about life being eternal. Supposedly, this life is just a stage. Sira and Caylith are in the next stage." He stopped, lowering his head into his hands. He pursed his lips, staring downward sightlessly. "I hope they're right. I really want to see her again. Not much chance of it, though. They say you have to live a 'good' life to move into a happy next life. I don't think I've done a lot of good in my life."