“Yes, it’s fellis juice,” Bekka said when Xhinna made a face at her. “And we’re running low on that—we used most of it on you.”
“I’ll try not to get knifed by crazed brown riders in future,” Xhinna said.
“See that you don’t,” Bekka returned without a hint of sympathy. “You’ve done enough damage to yourself to last a lifetime—you don’t want to add more.” She paused for a moment. “And how many times did you use the lower branches today?”
One of the problems with Sky Weyr’s broom trees was that they lacked a place for the necessary. “The lower branches,” generally referring to one spot in particular, had become a euphemism for the same.
“Twice, as if you weren’t there both times,” Xhinna said. Bekka made a face and Xhinna arched a brow in response.
“You need to drink more,” Bekka said. “You’re not peeing for two, like—” She cut herself off quickly.
“Taria,” Xhinna finished for her. Bekka looked away quickly. “She’s out there, somewhere.”
“Or somewhen,” Bekka said. “Have you decided—?”
“What to do about her and J’keran, if and when they come back?” Xhinna guessed. She shook her head. “No.”
“Well, you can’t do anything for a while still; you’ve no strength,” Bekka reminded her. She took a deep breath and added in a rush, “And if you think you can slip out by yourself, I should tell you that I’ve had Pinorth order Tazith not to fly you anywhere until I say it’s okay.”
Xhinna turned to her in surprise, then pointed a finger at her own chest, and said defiantly, “Wingleader.”
Bekka shook her head, pointing a finger at herself. “Healer. It’s my job to see to it that you are alive to do yours.”
Xhinna shrugged, and her shrug turned into a yawn. She was so weak; she could feel herself starting to tremble.
“Besides, if you tried, your body would fail you,” Bekka said with concern. “You need another month or more before you’re fully back together and …”
“Say it,” Xhinna ordered. She could sense the young healer’s reluctance.
“You might never get your full strength back,” Bekka said. “You might not even be able to fly a Fall.”
“Why not?”
“I did the best I could,” Bekka told her, shaking her head, “but your muscles were badly torn. If you’re not careful, they’ll never be right and you’ll always be in pain.”
“I can handle pain,” Xhinna swore.
“You can, but your back may decide it can’t,” Bekka said. “And if it goes into spasm when you’re flying, like when you’re trying to catch a sack of firestone …”
“I’ll get better,” Xhinna declared.
“Yes,” Bekka agreed. “But there are other things you can do, other things than flying a Fall.”
“Like what?”
“Like your other duties to Pern,” Bekka said. “To provide heirs worthy of you, to care for them and be there for their triumphs.”
“I can do that and still ride Falls,” Xhinna said.
“You could have before,” Bekka told her, shaking her head sadly. “But whether you still can ride Falls, we won’t know for a while.”
“And if I take it easy, will that help?”
“All I can say is if you don’t take it easy, you certainly won’t be able to fly a Fall,” Bekka said, chewing her lower lip anxiously.
“I am going to fly Falls,” Xhinna declared. “Tazith is going to flame Thread from the skies, and he’ll be the best blue on Pern.”
“Well then, blue rider, if that’s what you’re going to do, the first thing you need to do is get some rest.”
“Okay,” Xhinna said, lying back down again. “And then?”
“Then, we’ll see,” Bekka said. “If you want to get back into full form, we’re going to have to take it easy at first, and then we’ll have to get your muscles back into shape.” She shook her head. “I don’t envy you.”
“Why, will it be hard?”
“It’ll hurt worse than anything, even having a baby,” Bekka warned her.
“Fiona says that having a baby doesn’t hurt,” Xhinna replied.
“Fiona doesn’t remember how she shouted when she gave birth,” Bekka corrected her. “She begged me to remind her, but I must have forgotten.” She smiled wryly, then shook her head as she added, “Or maybe not. She’s asked me for the best exercises to ease birthing.”
“That’s wise,” Xhinna said, yawning again and closing her eyes. “Fiona’s wise.”
“Go to sleep.”
Xhinna tried, but found it hard to relax. It was only when she felt the warm form of Jirana curl up in front of her that she heaved a deep sigh and slid into slumber.
She woke cold and shivering. A moment later she heard indistinct voices and felt someone slide up behind her. It was a woman. Taria?
No, this woman felt different. Xhinna tensed until she felt the woman’s hands on her shoulders, heard her voice murmuring soothing sounds. Javissa.
Jirana must have enrolled her. Xhinna remained tense, uneasy with this other presence, but Javissa murmured to her, soft words that made more sound than sense. She was here to help, she was a warm body to keep her warm, help her recover, get better. She was here because Jirana asked; she was here as her daughter’s mother. Javissa stroked her hair softly, whispering the words mothers always used to console their daughters, soft murmurings that soothed. Xhinna trembled, her muscles rebelling, but she made them relax. Javissa was warm, she was soft, she was like Jirana, only bigger. She cared. She loved her daughter, so she loved her daughter’s friends.
Xhinna’s mind picked at that for a moment before she allowed herself to relax fully. If Jirana was someone she loved like a sister, could she not accept Javissa’s extension of this sister-love? What, Xhinna wondered, would it be like to have a mother love her?
An image of Fiona swam into her mind. Fiona, who had taken her in when she’d been virtually shunned; Fiona, who had stood for her, who had loved her like a sister but treated her, at least sometimes, like a daughter. Fiona, who wasn’t quite a mother, nor quite a sister.
Warm, Xhinna drifted deeper as an image of Taria came to her mind, holding her, loving her.
She awoke hot, tingling in all her senses. She knew this feeling. She leaned forward and planted a delicate kiss on Jirana’s hair before rising from between daughter and mother. She was pleased to see Javissa reach forward and drag Jirana into her arms. The two might sleep through or wake drowsily from what was to follow, but they’d experienced it before and wouldn’t be frightened.
Hot, tense, she moved out from safety and into the air whipping around under the temptations of the morning sun. The sky was red, the sun just creeping over the horizon.
She heard Tazith’s heated plea and let him fly free, soaring, twirling, arcing toward the burnt plateau and the pen full of herdbeasts, hot and ready to feed.
She heard the rest of the camp stir, heard the excitement in their voices.
Even before Tazith blooded his first kill, Xhinna felt the exultation that was the union of two dragons, a hot, demanding throb that beat in her flesh, pounded on her heart, caused her breath to come quickly.
Coranth. Even as she knew it, she felt the green fade from her thoughts. Behind her, she heard a dragon roar and take flight. Kisorth, T’rennor’s green.
Kisorth! T’rennor! Xhinna thought. T’rennor: no!
For all that she wanted Tazith to triumph, to have the joy of mating, she loathed the thought of being with the green rider. It was not that he was a man—it was that he was the wrong man: too meek, too easily led, too willing to be the butt of jokes for the fleeting attention it provided. V’lex had immediately taken him under his wing—as V’lex and J’keran had spent much time together, none of which improved T’rennor’s self-esteem. In fact, the opposite was occurring: T’rennor seemed daily to become more pitiful. Xhinna knew that X’lerin was aware of it, too, but neither he nor Xhinna had yet found a way to help the younger man and, it was true, for all their flaws on the ground, J’keran and V’lex were superb riders who were happy to teach T’rennor all that they knew, provided he did not outfly them.