A Gift of Dragons (19 page)

The main kitchen cavern of Ista Weyr was immense, and some of the stalactites had been left in place as if holding up its stony roof. Along the outside wall, with chimneys built in to take cooking odors out of the huge room, were the hearths and ovens, just like the kitchen in Lado’s much smaller hold. But here some of the hearths were enormous, and the heat they gave off would be intolerable in full summer, Nian thought. Would she and Neru both be there in full summer? Tables and chairs were placed around the main dining area, with a platform for the head table where the Weyrleaders would dine with guests. She hoped candidates were not considered “guests.” Everyone would be looking at them, and Nian did not like to be the object of scrutiny. It made her conscious of herself and her plain looks.

Kilpie led them down a broad corridor and into another wide cavern. This was on two levels, a passage leading to curtained alcoves and steps down to a living area filled with comfortable chairs, tables, and storage chests. She pointed to the curtained passage that led to the baths and necessaries.

“And we expect everyone living in the Weyr to be clean for breakfast and dinner every day. Now, there will be empty sleeping alcoves along here, unless people have been changing about, but pick one that doesn’t look occupied and you’ll be all right if your bags are displayed. I’ve put a white candidate’s robe in every alcove, so that you’ll all have them to hand.”

“Are there many of us candidates?” Orla asked.

“Forty, so far,” Kilpie said. “And more coming in, as we have thirty-two eggs and wish to give the hatchlings ample choice.”

“But how will we know when the Hatching starts?” Neru asked, wondering how quickly he could get his robe on and make it to the Hatching Ground on time. Thirty-two eggs and more than forty candidates to stand. Well, even if the dragons hadn’t picked him outright, he would remain positive. He just
had
to Impress his very own dragon!

Kilpie regarded him a long moment. “The dragons begin to hum a welcome to the hatchlings. As soon as you hear them, drop everything and change into the white robe and present yourself at the Hatching Ground.” She pointed to the opening at the far end of the living area. Crouching down a bit and looking in that direction, Nian could see the great arch of the Hatching Ground entrance directly across the Bowl of Ista Weyr. “There will also be a lot of coming and going as guests are brought in. And your parents, if they have chosen to come to the Hatching.” She made a noise halfway between a snort and a sigh. “So, go along now,” she said, gesturing to the alcoves, “and settle yourselves in. Then come back to the main cavern. I believe there’re sweet buns and cool fruit juice or klah waiting for you.”

The promise of food had the newly selected candidates immediately rushing toward the curtains, peeking past them to find the untaken alcoves.

Neru and Nian, with an unspoken thought, moved to the far end and chose alcoves side by side. Orla and Chaum followed their lead; Orla’s eyes were bright with curiosity, and Chaum, who was rarely excited by anything, still kept close to those he knew.

Nian’s alcove included a bed, a chest, and several pegs on the wall. The white candidate’s robe hung on one of the pegs. She held it up against her. The straight lines would fit anyone, covering all but the tallest to the knees, and the sleeves were not too long. The fabric was very soft from much use and careful laundering, and Nian wondered how many successful candidates had worn this particular robe over the Turns. Would their luck rub off on her and Neru, too?

Just then Neru entered her sleeping alcove. “You can’t have unpacked already,” she accused him.

“No, I put my carryall smack in the middle of the bed so anyone would see that the room is occupied. But I’m hungry and could sure use some sweet buns to tide me over until supper.” He picked her carryall up where she had dropped it to the floor and plopped it on her bed. “I’m going to look silly wearing something like that. It’s nearly a dress.”

“It’s a candidate’s robe, and who would ever have expected this morning that we’d be chosen to wear one?”

“Not me,” her twin said staunchly.

“And the same back at you, Ru.”

“They were smart to pick Chaum and Orla, too,” her brother said, pleased.

She heard his stomach growling and grinned at him. She carefully hung the robe back on its peg. “Let’s go eat.”

No one was late for the snack, Kilpie remarked when the lot of them arrived back to the kitchen cavern and took seats at the table she designated. The juice was cool and tart, while the sweet breads were dotted with nuts and dried berries and were so tender that Nian and Neru hoped there’d be more than one apiece. They were joined by a white-haired older man who introduced himself as H’ran, Weyrlingmaster, rider of bronze Prinith. He looked them over one by one and smiled.

“Now, I’ve a few words of advice for you candidates. First, the new hatchling is invariably starving. There will be bowls of meat for you to feed him or her to the stuffing point. Hatchlings can be a little unnerving as they stagger around looking for their riders, so don’t be surprised or fearful of such antics and be quick on your feet to get out of their way. If you’re the one they want to Impress, you’ll know it.”

“How?” asked a very pretty girl who was dressed in the finest blue robe Nian had ever seen.

“That dress of hers was expensive,” Orla murmured in Nian’s ear. “That blue dye is hard to get.” Orla knew about such things.

“How?” H’ran grinned. It was an unexpectedly soft and loving expression, which Nian thought remarkable in an older man. “It’s unmistakable. You’ll immediately know their name. Added to that, they act as if they owned you, keeping any other hatchling from getting near you. They may be wet-winged and newly hatched, but they can move fairly fast once they’ve discovered their rider. Watch out for their claws. They’re sharp and dangerous, even if they don’t mean to hurt anyone. They’re as anxious to Impress as you are to be Impressed. But don’t worry. The Weyrleaders and I will be on the Hatching Ground with you to organize the stampede. And there’ll be plenty of food to stuff their guts. Bring any questions you have about your hatchling to me. That’s what me and Prinith are here for.”

If anyone had questions, they weren’t bold enough to voice them and so, when all the sweet breads were eaten, H’ran suggested that they follow him to the weyrling barracks so they’d know which direction to take with their dragons when Impression had been made. The barracks were exactly that—not nearly as homey or comfortable as the alcoves. There was a broad wooden bed for the hatchling, well marked by generations of dragon claws, and above it, a narrow shelf with bedding on it for the rider.

“Once you get your dragon settled here, you can return to the main living quarters if you wish. It’s up to yourselves.” The way he said it gave Nian the feeling that all new riders chose to stay with their dragons. Well, if Ru were here, she’d want to be, too. That is, if they both Impressed. “You’ll always know if your dragon needs you, I promise you that much,” H’ran added, and brushed his thick hair back in a nervous gesture.

“Now, if you’ll follow me across the Bowl, I’ll show you the eggs.”

Dutifully, but with murmurs of excitement, they followed him through the arches onto the Hatching Ground. In groups of two or three, the eggs reposed on the warm sands. Nian was glad she had on heavy boots, because those with lighter footwear were obviously feeling the heat, imitating the stalk of river birds searching shallow waters for tiny edibles.

“It’s called the Hatching dance,” H’ran said, trying to keep his face solemn as he also stepped quickly and carefully. “Move among the eggs, if you wish. They’re not quite hard enough, but will be very soon. Getting used to them in advance seems to help when the moment comes.”

“Can we touch them?” Chaum asked.

“Never known it to do any harm,” H’ran said indulgently. Chaum instantly stretched his hand out and touched the egg he was standing by. And yanked his fingers away.

“It should feel warm,” H’ran said, shifting his sandaled feet more quickly now. “Go on. I’ll be right outside,” he added, and made his way back to the main arch.

Tugging Nian by the hand, Neru trotted over to the nearest eggs with his sister in tow. One, the biggest one Nian was sure, lay just beyond on a slight rise. It had light tan mottles on its golden shell and Nian thought it was the prettiest of the eggs. Neru hauled her to the one he fancied, with mottles of a slightly darker tan. Boldly he ran both hands over the top of the shell. “It is warm, Nian, just feel it.”

“I like that one,” she said, pointing, and broke his grasp to go examine her pretty egg more closely. “It’s the biggest one, too. Could it be the queen?”

“Hmmm, possibly, Ni,” he allowed, but he was more interested in his egg than hers.

“D’you think they can tell which color the dragon will be from its shell?” Nian asked pensively, running her hand along the widest part of the egg. Nearby, Orla was investigating another egg, while Chaum still stood apart, surveying the entire clutch. The very pretty girl in blue sauntered over toward Nian, a stern expression on her face, as if warning Nian away from her chosen egg. Nian gave her a quick glance and moved away to join Orla.

“She’s the Masterfarmer’s daughter, and her name is Robina,” Orla said softly to Nian. “She told us—” Orla paused to wink at Nian. “—that she’s been promised the queen egg.”

“You heard what the Searchers said. No one can guarantee Impression. It’s up to the hatchlings.”

“Well, you’d make a much better queen rider than that snotty stuck-up old wherry.”

“It’s not me that must Impress. It’s Neru,” Nian said firmly.

“It’s still up to the hatchlings,” Orla repeated.

The two girls wandered over to Neru, who was reciting to some others what he knew about dragons. Nian realized her twin was not happy that he had been a final addition to those Searched. Knowing that he tended to keep his feelings to himself, Nian peered at him intently and reached for the connection she always felt with him. He most certainly was putting up a brave front, and she wondered how long he would be able to maintain it. Nian knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that her twin would be gutted if she Impressed a dragon and he did not. She wished she could find the words to reassure him.

“There’re some who think they can predict colors, but from what I’ve heard, no one ever gets all the colors right in a Hatching from just looking at the shell,” Neru said. His glance followed the pretty girl who was now circling Nian’s egg. “Except maybe the queen,” he added.

“Well, this shell is sort of bronzy. Maybe you’d better make up to it, too,” Nian said with a little laugh. “You have to be a bronze rider.”

He gave a shrug and looked around him. “I think you’re right about yours being bigger than any of the others,” he told her. “But if it’s the queen, it won’t help me.” And he continued to stroke his chosen egg.

From the entrance, H’ran gestured with his arm to gather them all together. “All right now, candidates, we have some evening chores we could use some help with.”

The word “chores” evoked a groan from some candidates, but everyone followed H’ran as he led them into another cavern where five dragons lay, their wings or other parts of their bodies covered with towels of some sort. There was a flooring of fine, warm sand—not as hot as the Hatching Ground, but comfortable for the dragons as a bed.

“Not the nicest of jobs, but you will have to learn how to tend your own dragons, so you might as well start today. These were casualties in the last Threadfall, two days ago.” Neru thought of his morning’s daydream and then paid close attention to what H’ran was saying. “We soothed their wounds with numbweed, and right now the compresses have to be changed. Ah, here come their riders.

“You can assist them in the task and gain some experience in the bargain. Being a dragonrider is not just about being able to fly anywhere you want to.” H’ran gestured to several of the candidates to go to certain dragons, and although Neru and Nian would have been separated, she tagged after her brother as he was signaled to the bronze whose neck was festooned with towels.

“I’m C’tic,” the bronze rider said amiably, “and poor old Brith here got badly tangled up in a clump of Thread.” He began carefully peeling off the first towel.

“What’s your name?” he asked, glancing up at Neru, and the twins replied in unison as they usually did.

“Well, then, Neru, get a towel, dunk it in the numbweed keg over there, wring it out, but not too thoroughly, and bring it over here.”

While Brith had lowered his head and neck to permit the dressing, Nian saw the skin quivering as C’tic carefully inserted a fingernail under the towel and began to roll it back, revealing such raw-looking flesh that Nian shivered at the sight of it.

“Poor brave Brith,” she said in the croon she used when one of her siblings suffered injuries.

“He’s sure he’s hurting much more than he really is,” C’tic said amiably, beginning to loosen another towel. Neru carefully held a damp towel out by its corners, trying to hold his breath from the acrid smell of the numbweed-soaked fabric.

C’tic chuckled. “You get used to the smell of numbweed quickly,” he said, taking the corners of the towel from Neru. Keeping it carefully stretched, he placed it flat on the raw-looking flesh. Brith gave a moan that was more relief at the coolness of the potion than pain.

“How long does it take him to heal?” Nian asked.

“Actually, they heal very quickly,” C’tic replied. “You can see here on the shallower parts of the burn when the new skin is already forming after just a few days. Are you really interested?”

“Oh yes,” Nian said.

“My sister is good at nursing,” Neru said, staunchly.

“Well, if you aren’t upset by such things, you can peel off that next towel while your brother gets a replacement. Easy now.”

He watched her as she carefully slid her long index finger nail under the edge of the towel and began rolling it back as she had seen him do. He nodded approval. Brith’s neck flesh quivered briefly, and then Ru was holding out a replacement dressing. Nian managed to get it neatly into place.