“Rotgut, K’dan called it,” J’riz said softly.
J’keran was out of his head, Xhinna reminded herself as they rolled her back over—painfully—to a more comfortable position. He thought I was jealous, in a rage, as addled as he was. It’s a wonder I’m alive.
“Gonna bea’ ihm to pu’p,” Xhinna spluttered through lips too dry to speak, a throat suddenly raging with thirst and roasting with fever.
“If that’s what you think best, blue rider,” Bekka responded. But her tone begged Xhinna to reconsider.
Xhinna tried to nod and shrug at the same time, but sudden pain lanced through her side and she lay back, gasping slowly, desperately, for enough air.
“I’ll stay with her,” J’riz offered. Distantly, Xhinna heard Bekka and the young green rider exchange words, perhaps arguing. “If I don’t, she’ll only come back the moment you leave,” the boy said. She being Jirana, Xhinna realized.
A warmth spread through her and she let herself relax. So that’s what it felt to be loved by a child. As her thoughts faded away, she suddenly understood Taria’s fear and her desire. Yes, a child would be good. Probably impossible but—good. Someone like Jirana or Fiona. Maybe Bekka. Or a boy like pretty J’riz. She felt his hands stroking up her arms, two fingers wide, then down, as though she were a strange drawing he was trying to read in the dark.
Dark. Sleep started to close in on her and she heard someone breathing softly beside her. Rocks cracking, shells burrowed, dragonets dying, creeling like J’riz’s Qinth with the pain, crying like Coranth from claws that gouged deep. Kill them all, save the babies.
Shh, a voice said inside her. Rest.
“Wingleader,” X’lerin said when Xhinna first wobbled out on her own two feet a fortnight later. Well, not quite on her own two feet: Bekka was there supporting her, and Jirana clung to her hand, ready to steady her if anything went wrong.
A burst of applause and cheering startled her more than the bright sun in her eyes.
“I present your newest riders,” X’lerin said, gesturing to the five women. They stood in a cluster surrounded by dragons, the hatchlings nearest, blues and greens on firm broom trees, grown browns and bronzes circling overhead in slow, graceful turns.
“Danirry, rider of blue Kiarith, step forward,” Xhinna said, her voice carrying clearly over the morning’s breeze.
Danirry gave her one nervous look and Xhinna smiled at her, beckoning with one hand, which she’d freed with some effort from Jirana’s grasp.
The rank knots had been hard to make. With cloth so scarce, Xhinna had chosen to sacrifice the remains of her tunic, which had been blood-ruined on the back and in tatters from the knife cut and subsequent tearing to give her first aid. She had insisted on having a hand in making each one, but in the end she’d had to relinquish the bulk of the work to others. It was a Weyr tradition that the wingleader made the rank knots and the Weyrleader bestowed them. Xhinna had been moved to tears when X’lerin, K’dan, and W’vin had insisted that this time, they would make the knots instead.
“Kneel,” Xhinna said to the girl standing in front of her. Danirry was still gaunt, though she had begun to fill out, and now her eyes glowed with love for her blue dragon. With Jirana’s help, Xhinna slipped the rank knot over Danirry’s wrist and slid it up to her shoulder, pinning it there.
“Rise, rider,” X’lerin said, “and join the ranks of Sky Weyr.”
It still felt funny to Xhinna to say “Sky Weyr,” but X’lerin had embraced the name with a fervor that had surprised her.
“I am Danirry,” the girl said as she rose, her voice carrying clearly around the cluster, “rider of blue Kiarith, rider in Xhinna’s wing, rider of Sky Weyr!” She raised her right hand into the sky and clenched it tightly into a fist, jerking it back down in the ancient gesture calling riders to fly.
She stepped back, but not to the other girls; instead, she stepped toward X’lerin and gave him a slight bow.
“Danirry of Sky Weyr, I greet you,” X’lerin said, nodding back. She moved to W’vin next, then J’per, and so on until she had exchanged greetings with all the Weyr, including, to Xhinna’s surprise, Jirana, Aressil, Javissa, Jasser, and Colfet.
Her greetings done, Danirry was supposed to join the end of the ranks of the weyrlings, but apparently, she—and Alimma, judging by the nod of encouragement the other woman gave her—had other ideas.
Danirry moved toward the weyrlings, then circled back to stand behind Xhinna.
“Wingleader, I, Danirry, Kiarith’s rider, stand behind you.”
Before Xhinna could respond, Alimma stepped forward and knelt.
Xhinna accepted the change in ritual with a droll look at the young woman in front of her, motioning to Jirana, who helped her once more with the shoulder knot before stepping back quietly.
“Rise Alimma, rider of blue Amanth,” Xhinna said, deciding to play along with their unannounced revision.
And again the words were exchanged, the greetings made, and Alimma, rather than joining the ranks of the weyrlings, came to stand behind Xhinna, next to Danirry, proclaiming loudly, “Wingleader, I, Alimma, Amanth’s rider, stand behind you.”
And it did not end with the five new riders. Just after the last—Mirressa—finished her declaration, Bekka came forward to kneel before Xhinna. They had not done this ritual with the queens or bronzes, as they were due to fly with other Weyrs when they were old enough.
“I am Bekka, rider of gold Pinorth, rider of Sky Weyr!” Behind her, little Pinorth bugled in firm agreement.
Xhinna could not speak, she was so moved by Bekka’s declaration.
“You’re supposed to say—,” Jirana prodded gently.
Xhinna’s eyes went pleadingly to X’lerin and K’dan, but the two bronze riders merely smiled and nodded encouragingly. When she still hesitated, X’lerin said, “Go on, Wingleader.”
“Rise, rider, and”—Xhinna fought for breath amid her sobs—“join this Weyr.”
Bekka rose and turned to face the circle as she shouted, “I am Bekka, rider of gold Pinorth, rider of Sky Weyr!”
Jepara was next, then Hannah, Latara, Meeya, and then the bronze weyrlings, C’nian, G’rial, and all the others.
Xhinna felt herself trembling with emotion, bursting with pride, and she thought furiously, searching for the right words to say to thank them all.
She gestured to Bekka and Jirana to help her. Slowly she moved to stand in front of X’lerin.
“Weyrleader, I present the riders of my wing,” she said, gesturing proudly to those standing behind her. “We await your orders.”
TEN
An Easy Problem
Xhinna was exhausted and still trembling when she went to sleep that night; Bekka chided her for doing too much her first day back on her feet.
“What happened to Wingleader?” Xhinna asked her.
“Wingleaders can make asses of themselves, like anyone else,” the healer told her, shaking her head. “I told you to rest after the ceremony. You didn’t have to insist on helping the weyrlings with their oiling.”
“It was only the girls,” Xhinna said, adding hastily, “and J’riz.”
“Hmmph!” Bekka snorted. “I could have helped him.”
“Well, I’ll sleep late tomorrow,” Xhinna promised.
“Yes, you will,” Bekka said, raising a cup of fruit juice to Xhinna’s lips. “Drink this.”
The juice had a slight bitter aftertaste: fellis juice.