“Three wings-one flight-would be more than enough,” J’lantir said, his face brightening with relief. “It’s a night fall, as you know, and won’t last too long.”
“Very well,” B’nik said. “I’ll ask M’tal to be the flight leader-you’ve worked with him before. He’ll report to you in the morning.”
J’lantir’s smile widened into a broad grin. “That would be excellent!” He rose and grabbed B’nik’s hand in his. “Thank you! Ista will ride with you anytime.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” B’nik replied. “Would you like some klah before you depart?”
“No, no,” J’lantir said, shaking his head. “I’ve been beside myself trying to figure out how-and I didn’t want to-”
“I understand,” B’nik interrupted, nodding fervently. He knew how hard and humiliating this decision must have been for the older dragonrider. “We are all living in hard times-”
A shriek from the Bowl outside cut through the evening air.
Lorana’s hands were trembling as she mixed the serum. Each time she scooped in powder from the next vial, the mixture would change color and then slowly return to a clear liquid. If the proportions were too small, she would have wasted the precious powders. Perhaps the Oldtimers had known this and made their powder behave this way on purpose. Lorana hoped so. She hoped that she was supposed to mix all four vials together. That she had the right quantities.
She was done. Outside, in the distance, she heard Arith scrabbling from the Bowl into the Hatching Grounds. Lorana took a deep, stilling breath and then carefully filled the syringe with the contents of the small beaker. She gently squeezed the air out of the needle until a small spurt of the precious liquid dripped out. She was ready.
I’m ready, Arith told her.
Lorana didn’t remember walking back to the Hatching Grounds. She did remember stopping in her tracks as she caught sight of Arith, small and fragile, standing in the dim light that leaked through to the Hatching Grounds.
It is our decision, Arith said. I am young. I am strong. If this works, we can help the others.
Lorana forced herself to move again. She showed the syringe to Arith.
Will it hurt? the gold dragon asked.
Don’t look at it, Lorana cautioned. She found a spot on Arith’s neck, felt for and found a large vein. She paused then, overcome by the enormity of the moment.
Is it over? Arith asked hopefully. With a sigh, Lorana gently plunged the needle in and slowly pushed the plunger down.
Now it’s over, she told her dragon. She quickly removed the syringe and then, realizing she had nowhere to put it, held it numbly in her hand.
Good, Arith said. I don’t feel any different. She sneezed.
Lorana jumped.
No, it’s-Arith stopped, her eyes whirling to red. She turned her head from one side to another. I don’t feel good.
Lorana looked at her in the dim light. Arith’s skin looked splotchy, different. The young queen made an irritated noise and turned to snap at her side.
It itches! Arith yelled. Lorana, it burns!
I’ll go get some numbweed, Lorana declared but her feet were rooted to the spot. I’ll call for help.
It’s-it’s-oh, it hurts! Arith wailed. It’s wrong, Lorana, it’s wrong! And then, suddenly, she wasn’t there.
Arith! Lorana shouted, reaching for her dragon. She reached between, dove after her, found a fleeting glimpse in the distance, but it was too far. Frantically, she reached for all the other dragons of the Weyr and followed Arith, desperate to bring her dragon back. Arith fought to get away, pushed against her call, against the strength that Lorana had called from the dragons of the Weyr, fought, and fought-and, suddenly, she found a place where she could go-
No, no, no!
Arith was gone.
Lorana had one fleeting glimpse, one sliver of a feeling that Arith had felt some other calling-and then she was gone.
With one last, heart-tearing scream, Lorana collapsed, unconscious, on the floor of the Hatching Grounds.
SEVENTEEN
Any Eridani Adept willing to change an ecosystem must commit her bloodline to maintaining that ecosystem eternally.
- Edicts of the Eridani, XXIVth Concord
Lightning tore through the sky over the College, with thunder following right on its heels in vengeful intensity. Wind Blossom turned over in her bed, willing herself to sleep in spite of the noise outside. She needed her rest, she knew it. But her mind, traitorous in the night, insisted on turning over and over the problems she would face in the morning.
What did it matter that fire-lizards sometime in the future had gotten sick? Would the same illness affect dragons? Kitti Ping and she had tried to guard against that, even while knowing that nature and environment would work against them.
How could she convince the Weyrleaders and the Holders to devote their energies to guarding against some unseen future that might never come to pass?
“In the morning.” Kitti Ping’s saying came back to her. “There is always enlightenment in the morning.”
Her mother was right, Wind Blossom knew. Often the problems that plagued her in the night would be solved in the morning. She often wondered how much of the solution came from her worrying and how much from a good night’s sleep.
Sleep was harder to come by these days, she mused. With this lightning and thunder, it would be a wonder if she would have any energy come the morning. She closed her eyes and tried to will herself back to sleep once more.
A thunderclap, loud and without lightning, startled her completely out of sleep. There was something more, something special, urgent, like a voice crying in the night. Electrified, she threw off her covers and raced down the stairs to the courtyard, despite the pouring rain.
Tieran was there, too, with his fire-lizard-Wind Blossom remembered that fire-lizards did not like the rain-skittering and chittering above him.
“Look!” Tieran shouted above the thunder and the rainfall. He darted out from under the courtyard tunnel and onto the roadway that led from the College.
Wind Blossom followed him. She looked up. There was a shape high up in the air, falling. Before she could react, the shape hit the ground in front of them with a sickening thud.
It was a dragon. Wind Blossom peered at it through the rain and dark night until another lightning bolt illuminated it. She gasped in horror.
“Rouse the College!” she shouted over the rain. “Get the agenothree!”
“Wind Blossom, what is it?” a voice called from behind her. She recognized it as Emorra’s. “Get the agenothree! We must burn this corpse. We must burn it now!”
“It’s infected?” Emorra asked, gesturing to the others behind her and quickly issuing orders.
“And worse,” Wind Blossom agreed, as teams formed up with barrels of agenothree. “Pour it on. Don’t stop. All of Pern depends on this.”
As the first agenothree hissed over the young dragon’s corpse, Tieran rushed forward, his belt knife in his hand.
“Tieran!” Wind Blossom shouted, her voice merging with Emorra’s at her side. “What are you doing?”