Anne McCaffrey: Dragonsong

Menolly was very glad to lie down and let Mirrim remove the slippers and the new clothes and cover her. She was asleep before the fire lizards had disposed themselves about her for the night.

Mirrim roused Menolly early the next morning, impatiently shushing the fire lizards who hissed at her rough shaking of their mistress.

“Menolly, wake up. We need every hand in the kitchen. The eggs will Hatch today and half Pern’s invited. Turn over. Manora’s coming to look at your feet.”

“Ouch! You’re too rough!”

“Tell Beauty…ouch…I’m not hurting you. Beauty! Behave or I’ll tell Ramoth!”

To Menolly’s surprise, Beauty stopped diving at Mirrim and retreated with a squeak to the far corner of the room.

“You were hurting me,” said Menolly, too sleepy to be tactful.

“Well, I said I was sorry. Hmmm. Your feet really do look a lot better.”

“We won’t use such heavy bandages today,” said Manora, entering at that moment. “The slippers give enough protection.”

Menolly craned her head about as she felt Manora’s strong gentle fingers turn first one foot and then the other.

“Yes, lighter bandages today, Mirrim, and salve. Tonight, no bandages at all. Wounds must have fresh air, too, you know. But you’ve done a good job. The fire lizard eggs are fine this morning Menolly.”

With that she left, and Mirrim quickly set about dressing the feet. When she’d finished and Menolly rose to put on her clothes, her fingers lingering in the soft folds of the overshirt, Mirrim sank onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh.

“What’s the matter with you?” Menolly asked.

“I’m getting all the rest I can while I can,” Mirrim replied. “You don’t know what a Hatching is like, with all those holders and crafters stumbling about the Weyr, poking here and there where they’re NOT supposed to be and getting scared of and scaring the dragons and the weyrlings and the hatchlings. And the way they eat!” Mirrim rolled her eyes expressively. “You’d think they’d never seen food and…” Mirrim flopped over on the bed and started to sob wildly.

“Mirrim, what’s the matter? Oh, it’s Brekke! Isn’t she all right? I mean, won’t she re-Impress? Sanra said that’s what Lessa hoped…”

Menolly bent to comfort her friend, herself upset by those heart-rending sobs. Mirrim’s words were garbled by her weeping, although Menolly gathered that Mirrim didn’t want her foster-mother to re-Impress and the reason was obscure. Brekke didn’t want to live, and they had to find some way to make her. Losing her dragon was like losing half herself, and it hadn’t been Brekke’s fault. She was so gentle and sensible, and she loved F’nor, and for some reason that was unwise, too.

Menolly just let Mirrim cry, knowing how much relief she had felt the day before when she’d wept, and hoping deep in her heart that there might be joyful tears, too, for Mirrim later that day. There had to be.

She forgave Mirrim all her little poses and attitudes, aware that that was how Mirrim had masked her intense anxiety and grief.

There was a rattling of the cubicle’s curtain, a squabble of fire lizard protest, and then Mirrim’s Tolly crawled under the curtain, his eyes whirling with indignation and worry. He saw Menolly stroking Mirrim’s hair and, raising his wings, made as if to launch himself at her when Beauty warbled sharply from the corner. Tolly sort of shook his wings, but when he leaped to the bed, he landed gently on the edge and remained there, his eyes first on Mirrim, then on Menolly. A moment later the two greens entered. They settled themselves on the stool, watchful but not obtrusive.

Beauty, in her corner, kept an eye on them all.

“Mirrim? Mirrim?” It was Sanra’s voice from the living cavern. “Mirrim, haven’t you finished Menolly’s feet yet? We need both of you! Now!”

As Menolly rose obediently, Mirrim caught her hand and squeezed it. Then she rose, shook her skirts out and marched from the cubicle, Menolly following more slowly behind her.

Mirrim had by no means exaggerated the amount of work to be done. It was just past sunrise, but obviously the main cooks had already been up for hours, judging by the breads—sweet, spiced and sour—cooling on long tables. Two weyrmen were trussing a huge herdbeast for the main spit and at the smaller hearths, wild wherries were being cleaned and stuffed for roasting later.

For added protection in the busy kitchen, someone had placed the small table over her fire lizard egg basket. They were doing fine, the sand nice and warm all around. Felena caught sight of her, told her to feed herself quickly from the sauce hearth and did she know anything flavorful to do with dried fish? Or would she prefer to help pare roots?

Menolly instantly elected to cook fish, so Felena asked what ingredients she’d need. Menolly was a little dismayed to learn the quantity she’d have to prepare. She had had no idea that so many people came to a Hatching: the number coming was more than lived at Half-CircleSea Hold.

The knack in making the fish stew tasty was in the long baking so Menolly applied herself to prepare the huge pots quickly, to give them enough time to simmer into succulence. She did so with such dispatch that there were still plenty of roots left to pare.

Excitement filled the air of the kitchen cavern. The mound of root vegetables in front of Menolly melted away as she listened to the chatter of the other girls and women. There was great speculation as to which of the boys, and the girls for the queen egg, would Impress the dragons to be hatched that day.

“No one has ever re-Impressed a dragon,” said one woman wistfully. “D’you think Brekke will?”

“No one’s ever been given the chance before.”

“Is it a chance we should take?” asked someone else.

“ We weren’t asked,” said Sanra, glaring at the last speaker. “It’s Lessa’s idea, but it wasn’t F’nor’s or Manora’s…”

“Something has to help her,” said the first woman. “It tears my heart to see her lying there, just lying, like the undead. I mind me of the way D’namal went. He sort of…well…faded completely away.”

“If you’ll finish that root quickly, we can put this kettle on,” said Sanra, briskly rising. “Will all of this be eaten?” asked Menolly of the woman beside her.

“Yes, indeed, and there’ll be some looking for more,” she said with a complacent smile. “Impression Days are good days. I’ve a fosterling and a blood son on the Hatching Ground today!” she added with understandable pride. “Sanra!” she turned her head to shout over her shoulder, “just one more largish kettle will take what’s left.”

Then white roots had to be sliced finely, covered with herbs and placed in clay pots to bake. The succulent odors of Menolly’s fish concoction aroused compliments from Felena, who was in charge of the various hearths and ovens. Then Menolly, who was told to keep off her poor feet, helped decorate the spiced cakes. She giggled with the rest when Sanra distributed pieces of one cake about, saying they had to be certain the bake had turned out well, didn’t they?

Menolly did not forget to turn the fire lizard eggs, or to feed her friends. Beauty stayed within sight of Menolly, but the others had been seen bathing in the lake and sunning themselves, scrupulously avoiding Ramoth, whose bugles punctuated the morning.

“She’s always like that on Impression Day,” T’gellan told Menolly as he grabbed a quick bite to eat at her table. “Say, will you get your fire lizards to hum along with you again this evening? I’ve been called a liar because I said you’d taught them to sing!”