They hadn’t found a lad with a suitable voice yet, but she could whiten her voice to approximate the tone. At Sheledon’s signal, Bethany piped the haunting notes of the intro and Sydra rose to sing the opening verse.
All right, they didn’t have enough trained voices to really sock the Ballad to this audience - in his mind, Sheledon heard what a full chorus would sound like - but the excellent acoustics in the Cavern were a big help. And the music captivated. Sydra managed to sound very young and awed…
Gollagee came in with his fine tenor as the dragon rider. Sheledon was right on cue with his baritone part and then, with Bethany singing alto and the Weyr’s own musicians adding their voices, they wound it all up.
There was just one split second’s total silence - the sort that makes performers rejoice - and then everyone was standing, wildly cheering, clapping, stamping their approval.
Even the dragons joined in from outside, caught up in their riders’ enthusiasms. Sydra kept bowing and urging the rest of the musicians to stand and accept the accolades. Even Bethany stood, a few tears trickling down her cheeks at such a unanimous reception.
They gave five encores of the Ballad - with people adding their voices to the chorus as they quickly picked up on the words. When Sheledon ruefully waved off a sixth repeat, there were calls for the Dragonlove song which was so appropriate for this evening.
All in all, Sheledon decided as he caught Sydra’s smiling face, a very successful debut! Jemmy had outdone himself and Clisser would be delighted. Perhaps there was something to Clisser’s notion of redesigning the educational system so less time would be wasted on unessentials and the Real Meaning of Life could be addressed sooner.
Life in the Weyrling Barracks and at the College
It was the Weyrwoman, Zulaya, who noticed Debera’s increasing nervousness.
“Go on back to Morath, m’dear. You’re exhausted and you’ll need your sleep.”
“Thank you, ah…”
“We make no use of titles in the Weyr,” Zulaya added. “Just go. I’ve given you permission, if that’s what you were so politely waiting for.”
Debera murmured her thanks and rose, wanting to slip out as inconspicuously as possible. She’d felt so awkward and unsocial, even when everyone, even the Lord and Lady Holder - she couldn’t reconcile their behaviour with her father’s stories about them, but she intended to forget everything he’d ever told her - had been so incredibly kind and easy. She thought they would expect her to give an explanation of her unusual behaviour, but they’d supported her instantly. Really, it was as if her real life had started the moment she and Morath had locked eyes.
It had, she decided as she made her way along the side of the Cavern wall, head down so she needn’t make eye contact with anyone.
She saw only smiles from folks as she passed them, smiles and courtesy.
And certainly none of the lascivious behaviour that her father had often said was prevalent in the Weyr.
Of course he’d told her a lot of things. And not told her others.
Like the fact that an official announcement of Search, with her name on it, had been delivered to the hold so that she’d know when to come, to be available for the Hatching.
No, she’d had to find that, stuffed in the cupboard where bits and pieces that could be re-used were kept. No-one at Balan Hold, especially her father and stepmother, Gisa, would have thrown out a whole sheet of paper that had a clean side that could be recycled. How she hated that word! Cycle, re-cycle. Use, re-use. The concept dominated every aspect of Balan Hold.
And they were not poor in material possessions: not the way some holders were. But poor Balan Hold had been in spirit ever since her mother had died.
She’d been looking for something else entirely when she found the sheet. Not that she knew the day’s date, but it was obvious that the announcement must have come some time before, the paper being soiled and the creases well set. Maybe even weeks. She had been ready to accept Ganmar as an alternative to continued living in her father’s house. She’d known that she’d have to work as hard, if not harder, setting up a new hold, chiselling it out of rock above the mine, but it would have been hers - and Ganmar’s - and something she could design to her own wishes. Not that she’d been inclined to believe any of the blithe and extravagant promises Ganmar or Boris had made her. All they wanted was a strong body with lots of hard work in it.
But she had seen a lot of dragons in the sky the day before, most of them carrying passengers. Balan Hold was not that far from Telgar Weyr - not even by surface travel. So, the moment she’d read the message, she’d made her plans right then, without any have ring.
She’d been Searched: she had the right to be there. No matter how life in the Weyr might be, it couldn’t be worse than what she now endured. And if she could be a dragon rider Debera had tucked the paper into her hip pocket and slammed the drawer shut. She was alone in the kitchen, and sun was streaming in, almost as if adding light to her resolve.
She didn’t even go back to the room she shared with her three half-sisters, but grabbed her jacket and made for the paddock where the riding horses were kept. There was no-one about in the yard: all were at work. Assignments had been given out over breakfast, and everyone had better show their father completed chores or there’d be no lunch break until they were done.
She didn’t even dare collect a saddle or bridle from the barn because her eldest brothers were restacking hay - they’d done a sloppy job of it the first time round. She just grabbed up a leather thong.
Since she’d had the most to do with the hold horses, she’d have little trouble managing any of them with just a lip rein.
Bilwil would be the fastest. She had probably three hours before the midday meal when her absence would be noticed.
By then, she’d be well up the track to the Weyr.
With one look over her shoulder to see if she was being observed, she walked quickly - as if she were on an errand to the paddock.
Bilwil was not far from the fence which she climbed - the gate would be too near the vegetable garden where two half-sisters were weeding.
They loved nothing better than to report her idling ways to either their mother or her father. Two brothers in the barn, the next pair out with him in the forestry, and her stepmother in the dairy hold making cheese. Debera had been grinding wheat for flour when the cotter pin had snapped. That’s what she’d been trying to find in the drawer; a nail or something to replace the cotter pin so she could continue her task. So Gisa wouldn’t miss her for a while to sound an alarm. For until flour had been made there’d be no bread and Gisa wouldn’t want to turn that heavy stone, not pregnant as she was.
Bilwil nickered softly when she approached him she grabbed his forelock. No-one had bothered to rub him down last night and his coat was rough with perspiration from yesterday’s timber hauling. Maybe she should take one of the others.
But Bilwil had lowered his head to accept the twist of thong around his lower jaw. She could scarcely risk chasing a better-rested, less amenable mount about the paddock so she inserted the rein, grabbed a handful of mane and vaulted to his back. Would she be vaulting to the back of a dragon tomorrow? She lay as flat as she could across his neck, just in case someone looked out across the paddock, and kneed him forward towards the forest.
Just before they reached the intertwined hedging that marked the far boundary she took one brief look back at the hold buildings - windows chiseled out of the very rock, the uneven entrance to the main living quarters, the wider one into the animal hold. Not a soul in sight.