Энн Маккефри: The Impression

“Come on,” Felessan said, pulling Catrul toward the bathing pool. “Can't face the egg dirty.”

“We'll be late!” Catrul cried, pulling off his clothing and climbing into the warm, swirling water. He and Felessan reached for the jar of sweetsand at the same time, and it fell between their hands into the pool. Both of them dove for it and came up sputtering. In their haste, they churned up the bathing pool until there was as much water out of it as in it.

“Better wet than dirty,” Felessan assured his friend, leading him back to their sleeping chamber to change.

Felena was waiting with the pile of clean white Candidates' robes over her arm. As Felessan and Catrul appeared, clutching bathing sheets around them, she handed a robe to each of them and bade them hurry. “The bronzes are already on their ledge,” she said.

“But it's too soon,” one of the boys cried. “I don't know what to think yet.”

“How will I know what to do?” another boy asked.

Felessan was worrying about the same things, but he said nothing. He just concentrated on pulling on the thin white cloth over his wet skin. With a nervous hand, he smoothed his shock of hair back on his head. Catrul and the Minecraft lad were white and solemn. The robes had been the final touch. The reality of the situation had dawned on the boys. No matter what they thought or hoped, the event was upon them, and it would be all over very soon. They would Impress now, or not, as the dragons pleased. In awed silence, the barefoot boys followed Felena through the stone corridor to the Hatching Ground.

Around them in the passage, drudges were hastening to refill the glowbaskets with fresh glows, the light throwing weird shadows across their faces. At the end of the tunnel there was a real blaze of light — the oblique rays of the midday sun hitting the Hatching Grounds. The arena was filling up with people. Felessan was suddenly terrified. Practically all of Pern would be watching him. Borand caught his eye and made a brave thumbs-up sign, even though his face showed that he was nervous, too. The closer they got to the chamber, the warmer the floor became under their feet.

As instructed, once the boys reached the sands, they spread out, forming a loose semicircle around the rocking eggs. Ramoth coiled on the egg mound, protecting the queen egg, hissing and snarling, her forked tongue licking out at the air, her eyes awhirl with a red light. The four female Candidates stood at a respectful distance, but their eyes were on the big golden egg.

Felessan promptly forgot about them. Before him now was the biggest moment of his life. There was the clutch of eggs, all rocking back and forth on the hot sand. Which one would crack first? His impatience nearly strangled him, and he had to force himself to breathe. The hush of the great chamber made him feel both very important and very small; he felt as if every single person in the Hatching Ground were watching him. He did his best to look patient, though his feet felt as if they were burning up. Discreetly, he lifted first one scorched sole and then the other.

Why do they make us come out barefoot? he wondered. Does it make a difference to the dragon? Without moving his head, he slewed a glance over to the left, to see if anyone else was as uncomfortable as he was. Beside him, Catrul was shifting from foot to foot. How long would they have to stand there? The sand was growing hotter by the moment.

The hum went on and on, and the eggs twitched and jerked, as if the dragonets were as impatient as the Candidates. Felessan was hypnotized by their movement, and by the humming of the bronze dragons which was building slowly in power, like the sound of an approaching storm.

With a loud pop, a mottled egg with a pattern that looked like a river and waterfall burst open, and a young bronze dragonet fell to the sand, bawling a protest. There was a sigh of pleasure from the audience in the stands behind him. It was a good sign that the first hatchling was a bronze. Felessan wanted more than anything to look at the young dragon, to see if it was his, but he did not dare. What if it was not? Oh, but what if it was his? He would be so disappointed if it was not. He risked a glance at the little creature, whose glistening wet wings were unfurling and drying in the hot air. He was so beautiful! Felessan's heart felt as if it was about to explode in misery as the whirling jeweled eyes changed from blue to green and the little dragon moved decisively toward Varon.

“He says his name is Horoth!” the tall Minecraft lad cried in triumph as he knelt and touched the young dragon's upturned face. The hum grew louder, as if the senior dragons approved the match. Then V'ron, as the new dragonrider would now be known, led the staggering dragonet toward the ground-level exit where brown and green riders waited to escort the new werylings to their shared barracks.

Briefly Felessan watched V'ron and Horoth. The first Hatching was almost like a signal for things to begin happening. All of a sudden, several eggs broke open at once. Crooning piteously, the dragonets sought around them, searching the faces of the Candidates. A brown dragonet fell across Felessan's feet and lay bawling on the sand.

Is this the one I want? he asked himself as he helped the little creature to stand up.

The brown creeled and tottered away.

A tiny green dragon drew Felessan's attention, calling shrilly.

“Does she want me?” He started toward her. At the same time, two blue hatchlings made for one boy, then one of them turned away. The green went on by, still searching for the right Candidate. Felessan gave it a sidelong hopeful glance, but it ignored him.

Catrul was on his hands and knees on the sand, tears pouring down a face that smiled as wide as its narrow bones would allow. Staring lovingly up at him was a very small dragonet.

Felessan stared at the brown in astonishment. He did not know whether to rejoice for his friend or melt in frustration. Every dragon had to have a rider. He dared not risk a look at the Weyrleaders on the Tier. Then his eyes were drawn away by a blaze of greeny gold.

“Oh, a bronze,” he breathed. Not an ordinary bronze, either, but a flawless combination of gold and green and tan that looked like the dappled sun through leaves, only more perfect. “Oh! Is he coming… to me?”

Felessan's heart pounded as he took a step forward to meet the dragonet, who was crooning in impatience to reach him. The boy's longer legs brought him close more quickly than the hatchlings wobbly short ones could. He completely forgot any recent twinge of disappointment.

This bronze was the handsomest, most perfectly formed, prettiest-colored, strongest hatchling in the clutch. Oops! He gasped as it tripped on its wing tip and its bulky hind legs kept on moving, plowing its sensitive nose farther into the hot sand. Felessan dropped to his knees to help the little beast right itself. Its glowing eyes focused on his.

Suddenly, some indefinable sensation surged through his body, followed by a consciousness that centered itself both in his head and a few feet in front of him, inside the body of the little bronze, making every breath echo, every movement repeat itself.

My name is Golanth, the bronze hatch-ling said.

Felessan reached out to stroke the dragonet's skin, knowing before he did how soft it would be, and how happy Golanth would be for the caress. He loved the little dragon with an astonishing sense of completion. He was overwhelmingly happy, happier than he had ever been in his life. All he wanted to do was to look at the little bronze dragon, just look at him. Felessan had the amazing feeling of being together with Golanth. No matter where he was, the rapport would remain between them. But he had no intention of ever being away from Golanth.