Anne McCaffrey - Dragonsong

Beauty appeared above her head, swooping and chittering as she caught Menolly’s fear. Rocky and Diver arrived with Mimic popping in a half-breath later. They experienced her alarm, circling around her head as she ran, calling out with the piercingly sweet tenor bugle of challenge. Then they all disappeared. Which made running easier for Menolly. She could concentrate on where she was putting her feet.

She made diagonally for the beaches, wondering briefly if it wouldn’t be smarter to go along the shore line. She’d be that much nearer the dubious safety of the water. She hurdled a ditch; managed to keep her balance as her left foot twisted on landing; staggered a few paces before she found her stride again. No, there’d be more rocks on the shore, cutting down her speed and increasing the danger of a badly twisted ankle.

Two queens gleamed golden in the air above her, and Rocky and Diver were back, with Lazybones, Mimic and Brownie. The two queens chittered angrily, and the males, to Menolly’s surprise, flew ahead of her now, and high enough not to be a nuisance. She ran on.

She came to a height, and the incline robbed her of breath so that she staggered to the summit and had to drop to a walk, clutching her right side against the nagging stitch, but somehow moving forward. Ahead of her the Dragon Stones were more than knobs but too distant to reassure. One look over her shoulder at the sky bursts of dragon fire told her that the Thread was gaining on her.

She broke into a run again, the two queens gliding right over her head, and she felt oddly protected. She had her second wind now, and her stride, and felt as if she could run forever. If she could only run fast enough to stay beyond the reach of Thread…She kept her eyes on the Dragon Stones, refusing to look over her shoulder: that unnerving sight caught the breath she needed for running.

She ran as close to the bluff edge as she dared. She’d slithered down one cliff without desperate damage to herself: she’d risk it again to get into the water if she had to. She ran, one eye on the Dragon Stones, one for the ground ahead of her feet.

She heard the whoosh, heard the fire lizards’ startled chirrups, saw the shadow and fell to the ground covering her head instinctively with her hands, her body taut for the first feel of flesh-scoring Thread. She smelt firestone, and felt the air heavy against her body.

“Get on your feet, you silly fool! And hurry. Leading edge is nearly on us!”

Incredulous, Menolly looked up, right into the whirling eyes of a brown dragon. He cocked his head and hummed urgently.

“Get up!” said his rider.

Menolly wasted no time after a frantic look at the fire blossoms and the sight of a line of dragons swooping and disappearing. She scrambled to her feet, dove for the brown rider’s extended hand and one of the fighting strap ends, and got herself firmly astride the brown’s neck behind his rider.

“Hang on to me tightly. And don’t be afraid. I’m to take you between to Benden. It’ll be cold and dark, but I’ll be with you.”

The relief of being rescued when she was fearing injury or death was too overwhelming for speech. The brown dragon half-ran to the bluff edge, dropped down briefly to get wing room, and then surged up. Menolly felt herself pressed against the soft warm flesh and burrowed into the hide-clad back of her rescuer, struggling for a lungful of air to ease her tight chest. She had one brief glimpse of her little fire lizards trying vainly to follow when the dragon winked into between.

Sweat froze on her forehead and cheeks, down her back, on her calves, her wet and ragged boots and her sore feet. There was no air to breathe and she felt she would suffocate. She tightened her hands convulsively on the dragonrider, but she couldn’t feel him or the dragon she knew she was riding.

Now, she thought with that part of her mind that wasn’t frozen in panic, she fully understood that Teaching Song. In terror, she fully understood it.

Abruptly, sight, sound, feeling, and breath returned. They were spiralling down at a dizzying height above Benden Weyr. As big as Half-Circle was, this place of dragons and dragonmen was bigger by half again as much. Why, the immense harbor of Half-Circle would have fitted with dragon lengths to spare in the Bowl of the Weyr.

As the dragon circled, she saw the giant Star Stones, and the Eye Rock, which told when the Red Star would make its fateful Passes. She saw the watch dragon beside the Stones, heard him trumpet a greeting to the brown she rode. Between her legs she felt the rumble of response in the brown’s throat. As they glided down, she saw several dragons on the Bowl floor, with people gathered about them; saw the steps leading to the queen’s weyr, and the yawning maw of the Hatching Ground. Benden was vaster than she’d imagined.

The brown landed near the other dragons, and Menolly now realized that the dragons had been Threadscored and were being treated. The brown dragon half-folded his wings, craning his neck around to the two on his back.

“You can relax your death hold, lad,” said the brown rider with tolerant amusement as he unfastened the fighting straps from his belt.

Menolly jerked her hands free with a muttered apology. “I can’t thank you enough for finding me. I thought Thread would get me.”

“Whoever let you out of your Hold so near to Threadfall?”

“I was catching spiderclaws. Went out early.”

He accepted that hurried explanation, but now Menolly wondered how she could make it plausible. She couldn’t remember the name of the nearest Hold on the Nerat side of Half-Circle.

“Down you go, lad, I’ve got to rejoin my wing to mop up.”

That was the second time he’d called her “lad.”

“You’ve a fine pace on you. Ever think of going for a hold runner?”

The brown rider swung her forward so she could slide down the brown’s shoulders. The moment her feet touched the ground, she thought she’d faint with the pain. She grabbed frantically at the brown’s foreleg. He nuzzled her sympathetically, humming to his rider.

“Branth says you’re hurt?” The man slid down quickly beside her.

“My feet!” She’d run the boots to uppers without knowing it, and her lacerated feet were bloody from toe to heel.

“I’ll tell the world. Here we go!”

He grabbed her by the wrist, gave a practiced yank and laid her over his shoulder. As he made for the entrance to the lower Caverns, he called out for someone to bring a pot of numbweed.

She was uprighted into a chair, the blood singing in her ears. Someone was propping her damaged feet onto a stool while women converged on her from several sides.

“Hey, Manora, Felena,” yelled the brown rider urgently.

“Just look at his feet! He’s run them raw!”

“T’gran, wherever…”

“Saw him trying to outrun Thread down Nerat way. Bloody near did!”

“Bloody’s quite accurate. Manora, could you spare a moment, please?”

“Should we wash the feet first or…”

“No, a cup of weed first,” was T’gran’s suggestion. “You’ll have to cut the boots off…”

“Someone was holding a cup against her lips, bidding her drink it all down. On a stomach empty of anything but a few blades of cress, the fellis juice acted so quickly that the circle of faces about her became a confused blur.

“Good heavens, the holders have gone mad, going out in Threadfall.” Menolly thought the speaker sounded like Manora. “This is the second one we’ve rescued today.”

After that, voices became indistinguishable mumbles. Menolly was unable to focus her eyes. She seemed to be floating a few handspans off the ground. Which suited her because she didn’t want to use her feet anyway.