Anne McCaffrey: Dragonsong

Beauty crooned softly and headstroked Menolly’scheek. Rocky hopped down from his wall perch to her shoulder. He nuzzled her ear, humming in a consoling tone.

Mirrim found her that way, and she roused from her apathy to rejoice with her friend.

“Oh, I’m so very happy for you, Mirrim. You see it did come right!” If Mirrim, with all her worries, had been able to keep a good face, surely Menolly, with much to be grateful for, could manage to follow her example.

“Did you see it? You were in the Hatching Ground? I was so terrified that I didn’t dare watch,” Mirrim said, no trace of terror now in her radiant face. “I made Brekke eat, the first food she’s taken in just days. And she smiled at me, Menolly. She smiled at me, and she knew me. She’s going to be perfectly all right. And F’nor ate every speck of the roast wherry I brought him.” She giggled, all mischievous girl, not Mirrim-Felena, or Mirrim-Manora. “I snitched the best slices of the spiced wherry breast, too. And you know, he ate every bit of it! He’ll probably eat himself sick at the Feast as well. Then I told him to take poor Canth down to feed because that dragon’s just about transparent with hunger.” Her voice dropped in awe. “Canth tried to protect Wirenth from Prideth, you know. Can you imagine that? A brown protecting a queen! It’s because F’nor loves Brekke so. And now it’s all right. It’s well and truly all right. So tell me.”

“Tell you? What?”

Irritation flashed across Mirrim’s face. “Tell me exactly what happened when Brekke got on the Hatching Ground. I told you I didn’t dare look myself.”

So Menolly told her. And told her again until she ran out of answers to all the detailed questions Mirrim found to ask her.

“Now you tell me why everyone’s so upset about this Jaxom Impressing the little white dragon. He saved his life, you know. The dragon would have died if Jaxom hadn’t broken the shell and cut the sac.”

“Jaxom Impressed a dragon? I didn’t know!” Mirrim’s eyes widened with consternation. “Oh! Now why would that kid do such a dreadful thing?”

“Why is it dreadful?”

“Because he’s got to be Lord Holder of Ruatha Hold, that’s why.”

Menolly was a bit annoyed with Mirrim’s impatience and said so.

“Well, he can’t be Lord Holder and dragonrider. Didn’t you learn anything in that Sea Hold of yours? And, by the way, I saw the Half-Circle Harper, I think his name is Elgion. Shall I tell him you’re here?”

“No!”

“Well, no need to bite my head off.” And with that Mirrim flounced off in a huff.

“Menolly, will you forgive me? I completely forgot to come back for you,” T’gellan said, striding up to the table before Menolly had a chance to catch her breath. “Look, the Masterminer is supposed to have two eggs. He can’t stay for the whole Feast, so we’ve got to fix something for him to carry the eggs home in. And the rest of the eggs as well. No, don’t get up. Here, you, come be feet for Menolly,” he ordered, beckoning to one of the weyrboys.

So Menolly spent most of that evening in the kitchen cavern sewing furry bags to carry eggs safely between. But she could hear all the jollity outside; and with no small effort, she made herself enjoy the singing. Five Harpers, two drummers and three pipers made music for the Impression Feast. She thought she recognized Elgion's strong tenor in one song, but it was unlikely he'd look for her at the back of the kitchen cavern.

His voice made her briefly homesick for seawinds and the taste of salty air; briefly too, she longed for the solitude of her cave. Only briefly; this Weyr was the place for her. Her feet would heal soon; she’d no longer be Old-Auntie-Sit-by-the-Fire. So how would she make her place in the Weyr? Felena had enough cooks, and how often would the Weyr, used to meat when it wished, want to eat fish? Even if she knew more ways of preparing it than anyone else? When she came down to it, the only thing in which she excelled was gutting fish. No, she would not think about harpering anymore. Well, there had to be something she could do.

“Are you Menolly?”asked a man tentatively. She looked up to see one of the minercraftsmen who’d shared her tier at the Impression.

“I’m Nicat, Masterminer of Crom Hold. Weyrwoman Lessa said that I was to have two fire lizard eggs.”

Beyond his stiff manner, Menolly could see he was restraining an eager impatience to hold fire lizard eggs of his own.

“Indeed I have sir, right here,” she said, smiling warmly at him and indicating the table-protected basket.

“Well, my word,” and his manner thawed visibly, “you’re taking no chances, are you.”

He helped her move the table and watched anxiously as she brushed back the top layer of sand and exposed the first of the eggs.

“Could I have a queen egg?” he asked.

“Master Nicat, Lessa explained to you that there’s no way of telling which is which among the fire lizard eggs,” said T’gellan, joining them to Menolly’s intense relief. “Of course, Menolly might have a way of telling…”

“She might?” Masterminer Nicat regarded her with surprise.

“She’s Impressed nine, you know.”

“Nine?” Master Nicat frowned at her now, and she could practically read his mind: Nine for a child, and only two for the Masterminer?

“Pick Master Nicat two of the best, Menolly! We don’t want him to be disappointed.” Although T’gellan’s face was sober, Menolly caught the expression in his eyes.

She managed to conduct herself with proper dignity and made a play of picking out just the right eggs for Masterminer Nicat, all the while being certain in her own mind that the queen egg was going to Masterharper Robinton only.

“Here you are, sir,” she said, handing Masterminer Nicat the furry pouch with its precious contents. “You’d best carry them in your riding jacket, against your skin, on the way home.”

“Then what do I do?” Master Nicat asked with humility as he held the sack in both hands against his chest.

Menolly looked at T’gellan, but both men were looking at her. She gulped.

“Well, I’d do exactly what we’re doing here. Keep them near the hearth in a strong basket with either hot sand or furs. The Weyrwoman said they’d be hatching in about a sevenday. Feed them as soon as they break their shells, as much as they can eat, and talk to them all the time. It’s important to…” She faltered; how could she tell this hard-faced man that you had to be affectionate and kind…

“You must reassure them constantly. They’re nervous when they’re first hatched. You saw the dragons today. Touch them and stroke them…” The Masterminer was nodding as he catalogued her instructions. “They must be bathed daily, and their skins must be oiled. You can always tell when a crack is developing from scaly patches on the hide. And they keep scratching themselves…”

Master Nicat turned questioningly to T’gellan. “Oh, Menolly knows what to do. Why, she has her fire lizards singing tunes along with her and all…”

T’gellan’s airy assurance did not sit too well with the Masterminer.

“Yes, but how do you get them to come to you?” he asked pointedly.

“You make them want to come back to you,” Menolly said so firmly that she rated one of the Miner’s daunting frowns.

“Kindness and affection, Master Nicat, are the essential ingredients,” T’gellan said with equal force. “Now I see that T’gran is waiting to escort you, and your fire lizards, back to Crom.” And he led the Masterminer off.

When T’gellan returned to Menolly, his eyes were dancing. “I’ll wager you my new tunic that one won’t keep a fire lizard. Cold clod, that’s what he is. Numbwit!”