Title: Red Star Rising
Author: Naeryn, aka Megan
Feedback: In Faranth's name, please!
Disclaimer: Pern, Thread, Pernese dragons, Weyrs, and all other Pern-related things/people/ideas are copyright ANNE MCCAFFREY. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made from this.
...Oh yeah, and Joss owns Willow and Tara. Bastard.
Rating: E for Everyone ^^
Notes: Heh... you guys are gonna kill me for this.
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Chapter 7-2
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A hoarse, piercing scream rent the air. The very weight of the sound alone nearly brought Tara to her knees, but the sight that soon followed completed it. She hit the ground with a thud that seemed to resound in the sudden, oppressive silence.
Most of the dragons remained in the air; the battle against Thread could not be put on hold. Four riders, however, descended from the sky. Two of them supported an injured dragon, one carried his rider. The fourth was S’rith, trailing the other three with his head down, looking thoroughly chastened and more than a little afraid.
J’net, the wingleader, carried the injured rider draped over his arms. Facedown, as the rider’s back was red and raw, all the thick wherhide eaten away. Blood ran in sinuous rivulets over charred edges of leather and muscular arms.
The injured dragon was almost as bad; the edge of one of his sails had been seared, leaving it rough and uneven. A gridlike pattern of burnt lines crossed his back, just below the rider’s seat. Both rider and dragon were unconscious.
Having regained use of her legs, Tara lunged forwards, dreading the worst. The riders of the two blues who’d carried the injured dragon looked on soberly for a moment before remounting and taking off to rejoin the fight. If she could have spared a thought for them, Tara would have marveled at their willingness to go back. As it was, her entire attention was focused on the helmet and goggles obscuring the face of the petite injured rider. Who was it? She feared she already knew.
As J’net lay the rider on one of the pallets set up for those who were injured, Tara reached shaking hands forwards. Nervously, she eased the helmet from the rider’s head. The dragonhealer was already tending to the injured dragon, and the weyrhealer was gathering fellis juice, numbweed and bandages. Tara gasped at what she saw when the leather and straps came away, revealing the identity of the injured rider.
Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she focused on the rider’s face, the voices of J’net berating a shameful S’rith.
*****
Red hair was plastered to Willow’s face by copious amounts of sweat. Helmet tucked under one arm, she ran her hand through her hair, trying to wring some of the liquid out. Threadfall had ended about an hour ago, and she’d escaped with little more than a slight score on her left forearm. It would leave a scar, certainly, but not a large one, and not a particularly ugly one.
It could have been her who was injured like that. The wind was gusty, and they had different arrangements for those conditions. If they hadn’t given the order to rearrange the wings, it would have been her who was stuck behind S’rith. It would have been her who’s back got half eaten by the parasite.
She sighed, striding into the Lower Caverns and down to the healers’ hall. They’d sent C’ten, one of the riders who’d brought down the injured, to Masterhealer Menael. Hopefully they would arrive soon. Willow dropped to her knees beside Tara, who sat hunched over the cot.
“How is he?”
Tara brought up one bloody hand, wiping the back of it under her eye in a vain attempt to stop up the tears. “He’s… I don’t know. I’ve never s-seen an injury like this one. He… he just won’t stop b-bleeding.” Her hands fell futilely into her lap. Her work clothes were stained with so much blood now. “Oh, Willow, I just… I don’t know what to do. I want to know, but I… I don’t…”
Willow wrapped her arms around Tara’s shoulders and pulled her close. “Shh, shh. Hey, it’s okay. He’s a strong guy, he’ll make it through this. The Masterhealer is coming too. You’ve done all you can.”
Leaning into Willow, Tara squeezed her eyes shut. “Have I? Have I really?”
Sighing, Willow wrapped her hand around Tara’s upper arm and tugged her to her feet. “Come on, you need to get out of here.” As two more young riders scrabbled over to the man’s pallet, Willow nodded. “See? He’ll be plenty cared for. Come on, we’re going for a walk.”
*****
Tara sat down on a large boulder beside the road out of the Weyr. Willow crouched in front of her, hands resting on Tara’s knees. She sighed, looking down at her lap and letting her hair curtain around her.
Willow reached out and lifted her chin to look into her eyes. “Hey, hey. You okay?”
“The Weyrleader, Willow! He could die, and then… then… what? What would we do then?” Tara’s voice edged on panic. Willow furrowed her brow.
“We’d deal with it. The next ranking bronze rider – J’net, in this case – would take over until the Queen flew. We don’t have an active queen, right now the old goldrider is acting as Weyrwoman, so…” She trailed off. “Well… I guess if G’dor did die, then J’net would take over for the next year and a half, until Naliath matures… and then whoever flies her would be Weyrleader, like usual.”
Tara nodded slowly. “What does that even mean?”
“Flying? Um… mating flight. And the rider of the dragon that flies Naliath will also… sleep with you. Sort of the way it works.” Willow’s voice toughened. “And that person will then be in charge of the Weyr. Theory is the rider of the strongest dragon takes over. Strongest dragon means strongest rider, but that’s not always true.”
“O-oh.” Tara looked down and to the side, her eyes looking through the entrance to the Weyr and beyond, towards the gaping hole that was the tunnel into the Lower Caverns. “The Weyrleader. I’ve never seen… I mean, Thread, it’s… bad, but…”
Willow reached up and placed one hand on Tara’s shoulder. “Hey. Have you… you haven’t… lost anyone to Thread, have you? It’s just, your reaction… most people don’t react the way you did. It’s bad, yeah, but it’s not so… personal.”
Eyes squeezed shut, Tara looked away from Willow again and bit her lip. “Winnie.”
“Who?”
“When I was a girl, my father took me on a trading trip to Garren hold. We were there for a few days only, maybe a sevenday at the most. I don’t really remember. I met Winnie there. She was… she was really nice. First person that was ever really nice to me. I was… awkward, you see. Big and clumsy. No one liked me at Fort Hold. We left… I never saw her again. A little after that she got caught out in it. The dragons stopped flaming, thought it was fully over the water, but some of it gusted back… when the ground crews went out, they found her knife and the buckles from her boots.”
Willow opened her mouth to speak, but found that she couldn’t say a thing. Moments passed, and a faint shadow was cast over the two. It disappeared as quickly as it came, trailed by the eyes of both girls.
Mine. The Masterhealer is here.
All right, thank you, Rayenth. Tara and I will be right in.
*****
Tara wrapped her arms tightly around herself, smiling softly. The Weyrleader was going to live. His back would be badly scarred, but both he and Tarnith, his dragon, would survive. The Masterhealer’s visit had been short. She’d left one of her apprentices here, someone by the name of Anya who, though an exceptional healer, had a terrible bedside manner. She didn’t seem to understand that talking about ‘imminent death’ and ‘mortal wounds’ weren’t comforting in the least.
She lay back on her bed, Naliath asleep beside her. She was nervous now, in a year and a half someone would… some complete stranger. She understood that it would likely be a bronze rider who flew Naliath and therefore bedded her… she frowned. It would be her first time. Part of her hoped that someone would come here to fly their dragon. Maybe if she watched what happened – at least at first, she wouldn’t be allowed to watch… later activities – she would be a little more prepared.
The rest of her just hoped it would be Rayenth who flew Naliath.
_________________ Don't you sit upon the shoreline and say you're satisfied, choose to chance the rapids, and dare to dance the tides - Garth Brooks, "the River"
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