Chap. 10 Ooops

Chap. 10  Oops

The night sky was full of stars. K'ndar, sitting on the beach, was mesmerized by the soft rush of the sea. The moons shone their silvery light on the surf. He could not get over the ocean. Having been born out on the steppe, he'd never seen it until he came to the Weyr. He hoped to see a dolphin. Did dolphins swim at night? 

He ran his hands through the sand, allowing it to drip through his fingers like water, but without the wet.  Lindea had told him about 'tides'. Sometimes the water's edge was high up the beach, and other times, like now, far off. What made it do that? Something Lindea, his friend, had said still puzzled him. "Never turn your back on the ocean, K'ndar," she'd warned. How could such a quiet body of water be dangerous? It didn't have a mind. It was just water.

Far out to sea, the sea was glowing green. How could that be? Was it some sort of giant plant or creature? Was the water different there? Hotter, colder?

He looked for the familiar constellations he'd learn to navigate by when he was riding night herd. There was the Wherry.  To the east was the Swordsman. To the west was the blazing Grand Wheel, the Swordsman lunging at it. You could always tell which way west was by seeing him. At zenith was a brilliant double star system that he'd never learned the name of.

He had so little time, these days, to reflect on what his life had become. Impressing Raventh--his heart softened at the thought of his brown dragonet--as the best thing that had ever happened to him. It was an added joy to that of leaving behind his tyrannical father. Not as happy was leaving the rest of his family. He missed his horse, grey Jordan, who he'd bred himself, then trained to ride. Jordan was as much a part of his heart as Raventh.

Do I miss all that? he asked himself.

It was all so entangled. He felt a bit of disloyalty to his mother, who had sacrificed much to give him and his siblings the best she could.

But he could not deny that, even without a dragon, he enjoyed being free.

The onshore wind picked up, chilling him with a cold breeze.

Feeling peckish, he decided to go to the dining hall and get a mug of klah. There was always something to eat there. Maybe Lindea would be able to say hello.

The hall was warm after the cold of the beach. He poured himself a mug of klah and sat down at one of the tables. The hall was deserted this late at night.

He remembered long peaceful nights, just like this one, waiting for a mare to foal.  It would be silent save for the sounds of the night creatures and the mare's movements. She would be focused on her impending birth-and waiting him out. Why do we even bother with foal watch, he wondered. It never, ever failed. You'd get up to go pee or get a cup of klah, after hours of watching, only to return to see a shaking, shivering foal on the ground. The mare would look at you, smirking because she had, once again, beat you at the game.

He heard a step behind him and looked up at a mountain.

Oscoral, the night baker, stood over him.

"Long night?" he asked, conversationally.

"Kind of. I couldn't sleep, I know, that's weird considering how hard we worked today."

Oscoral sat down, folding his flour dusted hands.

"I'm Oscoral, the night baker. And you would be?"

"K'ndar, sir. I'm a friend of Lindea's. Is she around?"

"She's busy at the moment. So, are you a transfer rider? New here?" Oscoral asked-knowing immediately who and what K'ndar was.

"No, sir. I'm a Weyrling," K'ndar said, proudly.

Oscoral cleared his throat. "You are aware, K'ndar, that Weyrlings have a curfew?"

Shock and fear flooded his entire being. Clapping his hands to head in dismay, he tried to jump to his feet.

"Oh, SHARDS! I forgot!  Oh no, I've never had a curfew, I completely forgot, I have to get back to the barracks!" he shouted.

Oscoral clapped a giant paw on his shoulder, keeping K'ndar from running off. "I'm going to have to report this, K'ndar," he said.

He waited. This is where a person showed his true colors. Would this boy lie? Beg? Whine, make excuses, blame someone else?  Grow angry? Even, as once happened, try to bribe him?

K'ndar froze. He heaved a huge sigh and hung his head.

"I know, sir. I should have remembered. Shards shards shards."

He shook his head, exasperated at his own stupidity.

"Looks like I'll be cleaning latrines for a while," he said, morosely.

Oscoral, laughing, removed his hand.

"That's my lad. It's not so bad, once you get used to the smell. Tell you what, K'ndar. I'll escort you back to the barracks. Bet you won't forget again."

"I wouldn't bet on that, sir. Apparently I can be pretty stupid," K'ndar grumbled.

Chap. 9 Impressing the Dragon

Chap 9  Impressing the Dragon

The chorus of humming dragons outside the hatching cavern reverberated inside it. The subsonics vibrated right to the marrow.

 The Queen lay curled up, close to her eggs. Her eyes, whirling sapphire blue, told of her approval of the group of candidates before her.

He was amazed at her size. She was enormous. By the egg, he'd never had a clue how big a queen could be.

To force his nerves to stop jangling, he tried to recall the things B'rant had said what to expect.

He couldn't remember a one.

The Candidates on either side of him were just as nervous as he was. B'rant shepherded them like dumbstruck sheep onto the Sands.

Shards, it was hot. Why barefoot?

 His view narrowed to an intense focus on the eggs. He felt alone alone on the Sands. From somewhere on the edge of his mind, he knew his family were among the witnesses, but they were now of secondary consideration. Despite the crowd, his hearing constricted to the point of silence.

He ran over the instructions for the thousandth time. Ah, all he had to do was relax and it would come to him.

Your dragon will be hungry.

 Someone will have meat available.

 Your dragon will be ravenous.

 He will want oiling.

Did we say he's going to be hungry?

 You will need to take care of him before you take care of

yourself.

 The eggs were rocking.

The humming rose to a resonating crescendo. The eggs, the eggs!

 A loud crack!  One of the eggs fell over onto its side. Everyone looked closely.

The crack widened and a blue head poked out. The dragonet squalled and struggled to get out.

It looked around, met his eyes…and passed on.

Two more eggs cracked. A fourth. Then all of them were cracking, as if in a

race to all open at once.

A green head protruded from the egg nearest him. He moved towards it, but it ignored him. He was dimly aware of a girl crying out in what had to be joy.

Borost approached one of the eggs just as a dragonet poked its head out.The boy fell to his knees as he met the eyes of the hatchling.  

 Kandar, beginning to worry, no, no, he couldn't be one for whom there was no dragon?

He walked to another egg when something, some influence just underneath his consciousness, redirected him to the one nearest the Queen. Her foreleg dwarfed it. He was unaware that she lowered her head to just above his, watching him closely.

He saw cracks, looking like a minute river delta spread over the entire egg. A large piece was pushed off from inside. A snout poked out. He watched the nostrils flare, inhaling lungfuls of fresh air after so many days in the confines of the egg.

It paused. It shivered.

Pieces of shell began to fall. He began to pull them aside, like doing a puzzle in reverse.

The head emerged, a piece of shell covering its eyes like a cap. He pulled the piece away, dropping it onto his toes.

The eyes met his.

An oceanic wave crashed in his mind. Diaphanous as fog, it expanded, inflating to fit every crevice of his mind. It had always been there, hadn't it? It was someone else, someone who knew all about him. It flowed into the gaps that had been waiting his entire life to be filled.

A voice, one he'd known all his life and yet had never heard before, spoke without a sound.

It is so strange. What are you?

Kandar couldn't move.

I hurt inside. What am I seeing? It is so bright.

Kandar felt hunger filling his middle, as if he'd gone weeks without a meal.

He saw an alien shape as through a window, knowing it to be himself, in a brilliant and colorful world. It was so lovely after the dark interior of the egg.

 He hurried to release the dragonet from its shell. How in the world did all that wing fit in such a small egg? The dragonet snagged one wing claw on the opposite wing and  collapsed onto its belly, feet sticking out at four angles.

Kandar gently grasped each leg and placed the clumsy, taloned feet underneath the dragonet. Then he unhooked the tangled wings, amazed at how neatly they folded.

There, he thought, try that.

The thoughts came from somewhere inside his mind, without effort, as easy as though he'd done it all his life.  He could not drag his eyes from this damp creature.

The dragonet tried to stand. Its legs gave out, toppling it in a damp heap, bawling in frustration. The topmost wing flapped erratically, as if possessed of a mind of its own. Kandar helped the hatchling back to its feet, gently folding the wings next to the body. It tried to fall again and shook its head.  He moved the feet to a better position and the dragonet stood, wobbling, shivering and shaking as if being buffeted by a strong wind.

Just like a newborn foal, you are, he laughed in his mind.

 It steadied and looked around. Then he looked directly into Kandar's soul. Its eyes pierced his, boring their way painlessly into the very center of his being.

I am hungry.

I know, I know. Let's get you moving and I'll feed you.

 His heart was pounding with an almost excruciating joy. The

indescribable swell, like the sea, like the thunder, all filling his

mind, a ONENESS, with this gorgeous, magnificent creature.

 It was brown. A deep, rich, dark chocolate brown.

 "You're beautiful. Oh, how perfect you are!" he cried to the lovely face.

Somehow, he managed to tear his attention away from the small face to look up into the giant  scintillating eye of the Queen.   It was only a few feet from the top of his head. 

He bowed to her and thought, Thank you, oh Queen, for this most

magnificent dragon.

He is, isn't he? You are welcome. Aren't you going to ask his name?

Um….

 Kandar looked behind him in a daze, his hearing returning. Vaguely, he could hear the cheers of the witnesses. Only later, when he'd a chance to reflect on the whole experience, did he realize the response had come from Queen.

Then the voice in his mind whispered its name. Of course, he'd known it all along. It really was the only name suitable for such a noble creature.

"His name is Raventh!" he cried.

He flicked the last pieces of shell off the quickly drying dragonet.  The piece that had capped the dragonet's head was still atop his feet. He kicked it aside.

He never noticed the B scratched on its surface.

           

           

Chap. 8 The Hijacking

Chap. 8 The Hijacking

Lord Dorn called in Anor, his Captain of the Guard.

"Kahrain Steppe Weyr is sending us a young man named Betzil. His father is a small craftholder beholden to us.

This young man was accused of stealing marks from his father and far worse, raping a drudge in his hall, and escaping punishment by posing as a Search candidate. He actually made it to Kahrain Steppe Weyr's Hatching and was on the threshold of impressing a dragonet when his impersonation was revealed."

"Begging your pardon, my Lord, but from what I know of dragons, they probably wouldn't have chosen him."

"Undoubtedly you are right, Anor, but the point is, he attempted it. The Weyr is sending him to us as Betzil, for better or worse, comes under our jurisdiction."

"Aye, my Lord. What shall we do with this beastie?"

"I think beheading will settle his account. I've spoken with the crafter. The drudge who was raped is too frightened to accuse him to his face. Fortunately she did not become pregnant by him. The boy is a foster, by the way, and to judge from what the father told me, not welcome back."

___________________________________________________________________

The Weyrleader called in C'val.

"I'm sorry to task you with this, C'val, but I need a prisoner, named Betzil, taken to Singing Waters Hold for punishment. I have the master at arms holding him for you."

C'val was too disciplined a rider to roll his eyes—at least where one could see his expression. No one liked these sorts of assignments but, it was one's duty.

"Aye, sir. I'll have Rastabenth harnessed in a few moments."

Very shortly thereafter, Rastabenth, with C'val aboard, landed in the bowl of the Weyr. The master at arms had a young man with him.

"This is Betzil, Rider C'val. He is to be taken to Singing Waters Hold and handed over to Lord Dorn's Captain of the Guard."

C'val looked the teen over. There was a subtle sadism in Betzil's eyes, a look he'd hidden successfully before being found out Hatching Day.

"Thank you, sir, and I relieve you of your charge," C'val said, formally. The guard handed him a key to the lock that secured the chains on Betzil's wrists.

There is something wrong with this human,  Rastabenth said, in an unusually grim tone of voice.

He is bad. We need to be careful. If he hurts you in any way, tell me immediately, C'val returned.

 "I can't climb up there with my wrists chained," Betzil whined.

"Oh, that's too bad," the guard said, "Perhaps if I use a spear to boost you up, do you think that would help?"

Betzil grumbled and managed to scramble aboard behind C'val. The guard secured him to the straps.

"Hang on to the straps, as soon as we gain some altitude, we'll be going between," C'val said, and asked Rastabenth to take off.

Betzil flinched at the dragon's leap. Within a few moments, though, they were high above the Weyr. The sea spread out below them, the waves crashing onto the sandy intersection of green steppe and blue sea.

C'val didn't feel Betzil releasing the snaps holding him to the riding straps.

He was visualizing the Singing Water's Hold dragonstones when suddenly, a chain looped over his head and around his throat. Betzil yanked C'val's head backwards.

"Take me to Bitra!" he shouted in C'val's ear, "Or you die!"

RASTA! C'val shouted in his mind.

HANG ON TIGHT, the dragon shouted back.

C'val's vision went black as his hands scrabbled at the chain choking him. 

Rastabenth made a sudden sideways roll to the left and plunged in steep dive. Betzil shouted, yanking on the chain to keep from falling off. Rastabenth rolled violently to the right, one of his wings giving Betzil a tremendous blow to the head. He threw his hands up instinctively, releasing C'val. He grabbed at the rider but the chains prevented him from grasping C'val, who, having ridden the blue's moves countless times while fighting Thread, had fallen forward to cling to the blue's neck.

The blue gave another sudden lateral lunge, throwing Betzil from his back. Dangling from the straps, he was buffeted by the wind. He screamed in terror.

Rastabenth leveled off at the surface of the sea, flying at a tremendous speed.  Deftly using the surface effect of the ocean waves to keep himself aloft, he tipped just enough to the side so that Betzil was dragged through the leaping, hungry waves.

The sky erupted with roaring, riderless dragons. They flew to surround Rastabenth, but only the greens could keep pace with the racing blue.

Betzil's hands were ripped from the straps and he plunged into the sea.

Rastabenth, flapping mightily, gained altitude and flew to the beach. C'val was coughing and gagging. 

Dragon riders were in a frenzy, none having any idea what the shard happened until their dragons told them. No one could remember a mass lift of dragons without orders. If it hadn't been for telepathy, the cacophony of riders and dragons would have been deafening. As it was, the dragons were still roaring, the dragonets were upset that they didn't get to help, every human who could was hurrying to the beach, shouting in confusion, and the angry queen had to be physically calmed by the Weyrwoman.

People rushed to help C'val off the blue.

He was bombarded with dozens of voices asking if he was alright.

"I think so," he said, shaking from adrenaline and wondering if his throat would work right. It did, but he'd be sore for a while.

Rastabenth, eyes blood red, snaked his head back and forth, hissing.

He tried to kill you. He tried to kill you!

Which set the dragons roaring again.

Finally the Weyrleader and his bronze told everyone to calm down. The harpers began playing a raucous drinking tune, just to settle things (and already creating the lyrics to what promised to be a really great story).

 "That was one shard of a ride, C'val, and Rastabenth, what a great dragon you are," he said.

C'val's heart swelled at the actions his lovely, his devoted, his best friend had taken.

You are the most courageous, the best dragon ever. You saved my life, he said, caressing the dragon's head. The dragon's eyes began to slow their whirling and gradually began to change color. 

"Can anyone see that piece of wherry dung?" asked someone, eyes searching the rough sea for Betzil.

"Who cares. Let him drown."

"He probably won't, y'know. The dolphins will save him."

"Can we ask the dolphineers to tell their dolphins to let him drown?"

"We might have to," someone said, "Dung floats."

Chap. 7 The Unmasking

Chap. 7  The Unmasking

The Craftsman requested to speak with the Weyrleader and B'rant, the Weyrling Master

A young teen stood by his side, nervously clutching a pack.

"My Lord, I apologize for being here so late. I'm a cheesemaker from the Lay River Crafthall. My son, here, was chosen on your last Search but didn't turn 15 until two

days ago. He's a good boy, sir, keen as a knife and hard working."

 The Weyrleader looked at B'rant with a big question mark on his face.

Was it going to hurt the boy's chances of Impressing on such short

notice?

B'rant, looked the boy over for several minutes, mulling the situation.

"Excuse me for a moment, please?" He turned and walked away,

re-appearing after a few minutes.

Turning his attention to the boy, he said, "It's not your fault that

you came of age so close to this Hatching. But you've missed several

weeks of preparation for Impression.  So, I'm going to give it to you

in one big mug that you must drink all at once. Are you ready?"

The boy nodded, solemnly. B'rant walked to a nearby table and

placed a small wooden box on it. The lid was engraved with a

beautifully carved dragon. He gestured the boy over and looked him in

the eye.

"I don't know of a boy or girl, a man or woman on this planet, that

wouldn't want to Impress a dragon. Everyone knows that you gain a

soulmate for life. Everyone wants that special bond.

Everyone wants that freedom to go anywhere on our world, in an instant.

But that freedom comes at a price."

Reverently, he opened the box and began removing dragon rider braids.

As he did, he spoke. "A dragon rider rides to fight Thread. It's a

dangerous job. Thread is mindless and yet seems to have a mind of its

own. It is relentless. It kills without mercy.

No matter how you prepare, or train, or plan, people-and dragons-sometimes die while fighting Thread. Weyrlings make mistakes."

 He placed a large handful of Weyrling braids down.

"Riders have accidents." He put down several rider braids.

 "Sometimes, no matter how many years he or she has been fighting

Thread, even Leaders lose."

 The last braid was that of a Weyrleader.

 "All these braids came from dragonriders who've died through

accidents, or by making mistakes, or by being scored by Thread."

Behind him, the father and the Weyrleader had their hearts in their

throats. Unseen by them all, Mariko had arrived, silent as the fog.

"There are things worse than death, though…sometimes, they DON'T die.

Sometimes only their dragon dies. Usually, the dragons' rider cannot

bear having his heart crushed and the flame in his soul snuffed out,

and he finds a way to follow his dragon. But sometimes the rider lives

on, broken into pieces, pieces like the shell his dead dragon came

from."

There wasn't a sound in the office. No one could move.

 "So, lad, I want you to think hard and carefully. It's not just the

joy of having a dragon, it's the lifestyle that you are choosing. Once

you Impress a dragon, you have set the pattern for your life. There is

no going back, no changing your mind, once you Impress."

 He picked up the braids, carefully, respectfully, and replaced them in the box.

 "If you decide that fighting Thread is not the life you want, there

is no shame. No one will ever accuse you of cowardice. No one.  If you

decide that you cannot take on that lifelong commitment, you will be

respected for who you are and what you make of yourself, as much as

any dragon rider."

"You must listen to your soul and accept what it says-and trust that

it knows what is best for you."

 All eyes were now on the boy.

"So, my lad, look into your soul. Listen to it, and it will tell you

what to do."

 The teen shut his eyes. The others, surreptitiously wiping their

eyes, stood in respectful silence, giving the boy time.  Finally,

after what seemed an eternity, he sighed and opened his eyes. Throwing

his shoulders back, he took a deep breath and said,

 "Sir, I want to be a dragonrider."

His father pounded him on the back in happiness.

Mariko, tears glistening in her eyes, approached the Weyrleader.

"My Lord, I beg your pardon for interrupting. I would discuss this

with the Weyrwoman but she's having to be in a dozen places at once.

May I have a word with you?"

The Weyrleader excused himself and took her aside to converse in private.

Smiling, B'rant sized the boy up with his Weyrling master's eye. He was

small, but that made no difference. In fact, on the right dragon, it

would be an advantage.

 "Alright, then, let's carry on. What's your name, son?" he said.

"Borost, sir."

 Shocked, B'rant thought, What?  Two Candidates with the same name?

That was a new one. He could see all sorts of troubles with

contractions, should both Impress.

"Odd, we already have a Borost."

The Craftsman's jaw dropped. The boy's face screwed up in indignation.

 "Do you know where he's from, this 'other' Borost?" he asked,

suspicion in his eyes.

 "Said he was a cheesemaker, just like you."

 "So that's where he went," the man said, nodding in sudden understanding.

The teen came to the same conclusion.

 "He stole my name. He stole my name!!"

 "I'm sorry?" B'rant asked.

 "Sir, my son here, IS Borost. I had an older boy, a foster, named

Betzil. He's been nothing but a burden from the start. Lazy, larcenous,

gluttonous, refused to learn a thing about cheese making.  I've never

had more misfortune than when I took him into my home. The same day

your Searchers were at my Crafthall, Betzil vanished. That same day, he'd raped one

of the drudges in my hall when she refused his advances. He also stole

some marks. We had the dogs out searching for him but he'd vanished.

Not sure how he got here, but there are plenty of riverboat men who'll take

passengers with money, no questions asked.

Is 'your' Borost about this tall, blond hair and brown eyes, with a gut

on him?"

"Yes, that fairly describes him. Has a chip on his shoulder the size

of a fellis tree."

Mariko thanked the Weyrleader and left. He returned to the small

group. B'rant told him what had just been discussed. Nobody had any

troubles making the connections.

"Seems to me, Crafter, that your troublemaker flew right to my Weyr. I

believe your Betzil is here and is planning on Impressing a dragon."

 __________________________________________________________________________

"Where have YOU been?" Kandar asked, drying off after getting out of the bath.

"What's it to you?" Betzil grumbled.

"Nuthin, just wondering. You look, no, you smell, like you've been

sleeping with the pigs."

Betzil turned, doubling his fists, and lunged at Kandar.

Kandar, relishing the chance to finally punish the bully, waited. But the attack was forestalled.

 "Perhaps you should reconsider your actions, Betzil," B'rants voice

boomed behind him.

 Betzil froze, shock, terror and then fury on his face. He whirled.

Behind the Werylingmaster was the Weyrleader, the Crafter and the real

Borost. And two very large men, bearing cudgels and chains.

"That's him, alright."

 "You stole my name! You pig! You stole my name!" If his father hadn't

restrained him, Borost would have attacked Betzil.

 "You didn't like sleeping in the kennels with the dogs?" the Weyrleader said.

 Betzil bolted, right into the men's arms. They were not gentle ones.