Anne McCaffrey - Dragonsong

“A regular path? Hmmm. Yes. Monarth, can you get us a bit closer, please?”

Monarth obligingly angled against the cliff face and raised himself to his haunches; Menolly was amazed to see that they could step off his shoulders right into the cave.

Her nine came arrowing into the opening, trumpeting and squealing, their bugles abruptly amplified by the vaulting height of the inner cavern. Just as she and T’gellan reached it, the light was suddenly blocked. Turning, she saw Monarth’s head in the opening, his great eyes whirling idly.

“Monarth, get your great, bloody, big head out of the light, will you?”asked T’gellan. Monarth blinked, gave a little wistful rumble, but removed his great head.

“Why didn’t anyone find you on Search, young lady?” T’gellan asked, and she saw that he’d been watching her intently.

“No one’s ever been Searched at Half-Circle Sea Hold.”

“That shouldn’t surprise me. Now, where did the old queen have her clutch?”

“Right where you’re standing.”

T’gellan jumped sideways, giving her a second admonitory look, which she couldn’t interpret. He knelt, running his fingers through the sand, making pleased noises in his throat.

“You tossed out the old shells?”

“Yes. Was that wrong?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Would she come back here again?”

“She might. If the cove waters remain high the next time she mates. D’you happen to remember when you saw her mating flight?”

“Yes, I do. Because we had Threadfall just after. The one when the leading edge hit the marshes halfway to Nerat.”

“Good girl!” T’gellan tipped his head back, pressing his lips together, and Menolly thought he was doing some rapid mental calculations. Alemi had a similar habit when he was charting a course. “Yes. And when did these hatch?”

“I lost track of my sevendays, but they hatched five Falls ago.”

“That’s great. She may mate before high summer, if fire lizards follow the same sort of cycle the dragons do during a Pass.” He glanced around him at the bits and pieces with which she had made the cave livable. “D’you want any of these things?”

“Not many,” Menolly said and dove for her sleeping rug. Her pipes were still there, so he hadn’t seen them in his first visit to the cave. She bundled the rug round the pipes again. “My oil…” she said, grabbing up the pot. “I’ll need that.”

“Not really,” said T’gellan with a grin, “but bring it along. Manora’s always interested in such things.”

She took her dried herbs, too, and made a neat package, which she could tie on her back. Ruthlessly then she began to chuck her homemade crockery out of the cave entrance.

“Oh!” Aghast, she rushed to the mouth, looking about for Monarth.

“You missed him! He’s got more sense than to stay around when there’s a cleaning.” With that T’gellan launched her boiling pot into the air.

“That’s everything, I think,” she said.

“Let’s go!”

At the entrance, Menolly turned for one last look at the cave and smiled to herself. She'd never thought to leave it, certainly not to step to the shoulders of a dragon. But then, she'd never thought she'd live in a cave like this at all, much less ride a dragon. Nothing now marked that anyone had ever sheltered in this cave. Even the dry sand was falling back into the depressions their feet had made. T'gellan held out his hand to help her to Monarth's back, and then they were away to find the fire lizard's clutch.

Menolly and Tgellan brought the thirty-one eggs of the clutch safely to Benden Weyr without so much as cracking a shell in the double, furred sack that had been provided for the journey between. Their return caused a flurry of excitement, the weyrfolk crowding around to examine the eggs. Duly informed, Lessa arrived, imperiously ordering a basket of warm sand from the Hatching Ground; directing it to be placed by the small sauce hearth and scrupulously turned at intervals to distribute the heat evenly. She judged that the eggs were a good sevenday from hatching hardness.

“As well,” she said in her dry fashion. “One hatching at a time is enough. Better still, we can present the worthies with their eggs at the Impression.” She seemed inordinately pleased with that solution and smiled on Menolly. “Manora says that your feet aren’t healed yet, so you’re in charge of the clutch. And, Felena, get this child out of those ridiculous boots and into some decent clothes. Surely we have something in stores that’ll make her look less disreputable.”

Lessa departed, leaving Menolly the object of intense scrutiny. Felena, a tall, willowy woman with very beautiful, curved black eyebrows and green eyes, gave her a long appraisal, sent one helper off for clothing from a special press, another to get the tanner to take Menolly’s measure for footwear, a child for her shears because Menolly’s hair must be trimmed. Who had hacked it off? They must have used a knife. And such pretty hair, too. Was Menolly hungry? T’gellan had snatched her out of the cavern without a nay—yea or maybe. Bring that chair here and push that small table over! Don’t stand there gawking, get the girl something to eat.

“How many Turns do you have?” Felena asked on the end of that long series of orders.

“I’ve fifteen, please,” answered Menolly, dazed and trying very hard not to cry. Her throat ached and her chest was tight and she couldn’t believe what was happening to her: people fussing over how she looked and what she wore. Above all, Lessa had smiled at her be cause she was so pleased about the clutch. And it seemed as if she didn’t have to worry about being sent back to Half-Circle. Not if the weyrfolk were ordering her shoes and giving her clothes….

“Fifteen? Well, you wouldn’t need much more fostering, would you?” Felena sounded disappointed. “We’ll see what Manora has in mind for you. I’d like you as mine.”

Menolly burst into tears. That provoked more confusion because her fire lizards began swooping dangerously close to people’s faces. Beauty pecked at Felena, who was only trying to offer comfort.

“Let us have some order here,” said a fresh, authoritative voice. Everyone, except the fire lizards, obediently subsided, and room was made for Manora. “And you be quiet, too,” she said to squealing Beauty. “Go on,” and she waved at the others, “go sit quietly somewhere. Now, why is Menolly crying?”

“She just burst into tears, Manora,” said Felena, as perplexed as everyone else.

“I’m happy, I’m happy, I’m happy,” Menolly managed to blurt out, each repetition punctuated by a heaving sob.

“Of course you are,” said Manora understandingly, and made gestures to one of the women. “It’s been a very exciting and tiring day. Now you just drink this.” The woman had returned with a mug. “Now, everyone will go about their duties and let you catch your breath. There, that’s better.”

Menolly obediently sipped the drink. It wasn’t fellis juice, but there was a slightly bitter taste. Manora urged her to drink deeply, and gradually Menolly felt her chest loosen, her throat stop aching and she began to relax.

She looked up to see that Manora was the only one at the little table, sitting with her hands folded serenely in her lap, her aura of calm patience very soothing.

“Feel more like yourself? Now, you just sit quietly and eat. We don’t take in many new people, so there’s bound to be a fuss about you. Soon enough to do everything else. How many fire lizard eggs did you find in that clutch?”