Chapter Text
If there were perks to being half Pernese, half other, Riya thought sourly, from her position on her queen’s back as they circled high above Benden Weyr’s heights, there had to be just as many drawbacks, and right now she felt every one of the latter; it was late, she was cold, and her temper still stung from the tongue-lashing she’d received at Southern Spaceport just hours earlier.
Riya knew it wasn’t entirely her mother’s fault—she had obligations to her High Family head, just as much as her parents did, but that didn’t mean she liked or had any ability to fulfill some of them. She couldn’t just flit off and answer every summons, and she definitely wasn’t going to leave the planet because they’d gotten some hair-brained idea at twenty-two Turns they suddenly ought to throw marriage candidates at her like she was some prized sow to be bred off. Mother understood, agreed even, but she’d been reproachful for Riya’s less than tactful methods of telling the family patriarch to go jump between. Which of course led to an argument which then led to her current bad mood, and her father’s droll reminder she got on so much better with her mother when they were on opposite sides of the planet.
It hurt that her mother still treated her like a child sometimes, unable to make her own decisions or defend herself from the wider machinations of the Cortez High Family even though Riya was a grown adult and Camenath’s rider for nearly a decade. Impressing so young had forced her into an early maturity, even if she’d been among the first dragonriders after the final Pass had ended. Riya hadn’t thought like a child in Turns but her mother often still acted like she was one.
You are thinking like a child right now, Camenath chided her, diving suddenly and forcing Riya’s thoughts to focus on holding onto the riding straps rather than get tossed about by her dragon; Camenath liked to do that, when Riya fell into brooding. She worries for you, that is all.
“She can worry less,” Riya grumbled, though the censure from her dragon annoyed her far less than it had from her mother. “I don’t need coddling all the time.”
Riya felt the draconic equivalent of a snort through her legs, rumbling up from Camenath’s chest. No, but you need to learn to control your temper.
“I don’t need you to tell me that, too.” Riya wondered if her mother had said something to Camenath directly; it wouldn’t be the first time and that aggravated her further. “She didn’t need to get involved at all. I wish she’d just trust me to deal with it.” Riya knew she’d been privileged to grow up without the expectations her mother had, but that didn’t mean she was completely unaware of just what it meant to be High Families; the Cortez patriarch had been entirely indifferent to her mother until the Sagittarius Sector had been reopened and suddenly her position as Advocate to the only inhabited planet made her a political entity they could use—or thought they could, anyway. That attention had also shifted to include Riya as she grew older. “And I don’t need you repeating whatever it is she says to you, thank you.”
Riya was saved a retort from the gold as the dragon focused on landing in the dark, Belior too low in the sky to offer much light for nighttime flights into the deep bowl of the Weyr. Benden was quiet at that hour; Riya could have stayed at the spaceport but irritation had her wanting to return to her own quarters, and the peaceful solitude she had there, even if it was several hours ahead of Southern and well into the night when she returned. Only the watchdragon was awake, and responded to the mental greeting she and Camenath offered when they landed on the ledge to her weyr; Riya debated heading to the lower caverns after she’d removed her queen’s riding gear but ultimately chose not to—the steps from the junior weyrwomens’ quarters passed directly beyond the Weyrleader’s ledge, and she did not fancy the grumble Ramoth would give her if she disturbed her this late at night. Both Mnementh and Ramoth appeared as healthy as any dragon half their age, but her adoptive kinsmen had slowed down in recent Turns, and Lessa suffered badly from the joint ail that seemed to plague dragonriders worst of all. They were supposed to go down to Honshu to visit in a sevenday, and Riya hoped Tai could convince them to stay for the rest of the winter—it would mean more responsibility for her, helping Breda run the Weyr, but it would be a sacrifice she’d make if it meant Lessa got some relief from the pain crippling her hands.
Ramoth and Mnementh are uneasy tonight. Stay inside, Camenath agreed with her. Riya was still keyed up from the altercation with her mother, but not so much she shouldn’t try to get some rest before morning. She’d promised Breda and Brekke that she’d help with inventorying the stores in the lower caverns, and she’d fobbed off Benden’s headwoman one too many times recently—Brekke might not chastise her, but Breda would and Riya was the junior rider; she didn’t need Breda getting so frustrated she reported the delinquency to Lessa. Brekke had far more patience with Riya’s desire to be more than just a weyrwoman, often turning a blind eye to the moments Riya prioritized everything else over her duties to the Weyr. Breda didn’t, but she had also flown Thread for half her life; Riya wondered sometimes if Breda envied the younger riders their freedom to never have to worry about those dangers.
Turns of practice had Riya swiftly wiping down Camenath’s riding harness and placing it neatly on the shelving that stored it; the gold dragon lumbered to her own bed while Riya pushed aside the curtain separating her sleeping quarters, fumbling in the dark for the switch to her bedside lamp. Another modern convenience the younger riders seemed to forget, though Riya had grown up in the much more technologically advanced environment of the spaceport and the planets her parents often visited. There had been simmering tensions between the older and younger generations for some time now, as younger riders dove headlong into new careers and the changing way of life on Pern, while the oldest dragonriders struggled to adapt. No one had quite yet found the balance between tradition and modernization and sometimes that came out in the silliest of arguments over things, like electric lights.
Or High Families, Camenath chimed in to Riya’s thoughts, and the woman sent her dragon an exasperated mental thought.
“Sometimes, Cammie, I’d love to think about more than just what I owe my mother, what I owe Benden,” Riya muttered, kicking her boots off and shucking her riding jacket and pants onto the nearest chair. Her tunic went next, tossed where she could grab it first thing in the morning. Riya shivered in the night air and scrambled into her bedding, snuggling down into a tight ball as she waited for the heavy blankets to warm up. “It would be nice to think about what I owe you and me for a change, and nobody else.”
If you only cared about yourself, you would not be my rider, Camenath replied, mental voice already drowsy with sleep. These are not problems to think about when you are angry.
No, they were not. Riya sighed, reaching out to turn off her lamp. She would try to ‘path her mother tomorrow, and attempt a civil conversation with her. Or maybe her father—he always understood better just how much she struggled to find her own place in the world.
***
Sleep did not come easy; despite how tired Riya was she tossed and turned for several hours, one metaphysic ear tuned to the weyr beside hers. Mnementh had been just as restless and Riya had never quite managed the trick of blocking out the dragons, at least not the ones closest to her weyr, so she’d spent the entire night listening to his anxious twitching. Dragon dreams were peculiar things, and by the time Riya managed to doze off, just before dawn, she’d gotten enough from the bronze that even Camenath remained partially alert, listening in to the agitated, unfocused thoughts radiating from the weyr beside them.
Riya? Camenath’s soft call, barely heard, drew a groan from the young woman as it pulled her back from the edge of sleep; she did not want to wake, not yet, and the tension that had kept them awake had spread to other dragons nearby if the rustling from Amaranth’s weyr was any indication. The Weyrleader passes, Mnementh goes between.
Riya came awake in an instant, scrambling from her bed and reaching for the tunic she’d flung casually over the end of her bed only hours before; as Camenath and all the other dragons in the Weyr—all the dragons of Pern—rose to sing their keening lament for the passing of one of their own Riya jerked her tunic over her head and used the talent she kept carefully controlled to ’port herself directly to the Weyrwoman’s quarters just as her Aunt Lessa’s despairing scream rent the air.
Golanth! Ruth! Time it! Riya shrieked the telepathic message even as she ran the few short steps to her adopted kinswoman; later she would recall not even a second passed before Jaxom and Sharra appeared, F’nor and Brekke mere minutes behind them, overwhelming grief etched onto their faces at the Weyrleader’s silent form. Riya had her arms around Lessa first, gently prying the weeping woman away from her weyrmate of nearly sixty Turns and handing her over to Brekke and Sharra who assisted her out of the bed. The weyrhealer arrived very quickly after, but no one needed his confirmation—Mnementh’s passing had been more than enough.
They managed to get Lessa out of the room, F’nor eventually carrying the diminutive woman when Lessa proved unable to walk, his weyrmate calling down the service shaft for someone, anyone, to send up klah and her basket of restorative medicines. Riya paused just long enough to locate the emergency kit Brekke kept in her office and carefully ‘ported it to the table, earning a grateful smile from the older woman; Brekke removed one small bottle and shook out a pair of tablets, locating a jug of water and pouring a glass which she held up for Lessa, helping the Weyrwoman to take the medication.
“It’s just a mild sedative,” Riya heard Brekke tell F’nor. “She’ll need it.” F’nor nodded, the man looking like he would need one himself, his gaze darting repeatedly back to the doorway of the weyr’s sleeping quarters. Jaxom placed a hand on his shoulder and then F’nor too was weeping almost as fiercely as Lessa, allowing Sharra to gently guide him into his own seat.
Numbly Riya excused herself, shivering in the cold as she ducked across the ledge to her own weyr to retrieve the proper clothing and footwear she’d neglected in her haste to reach Lessa. Once dressed she headed to the lower caverns where everyone from the most senior dragonriders to the littlest child had immediately begun to gather. Most of the adults had tears streaming down their faces, though the women who would have been busy preparing breakfast now bustled about with cups of klah or the more frequently taken glasses of wine and spirits; no one cared at the early hour. Riya knew she could have stayed with the others—she was kin, of a sort—but it didn’t feel right intruding on her elders at that moment. Much as Flar had been part of her family, she didn’t have the shared history the others did.
Golanth and Zaranth are here, Camenath informed Riya, accompanying the message with a mental image of that pair. They went to Southern first, your parents will be needed.
Riya hadn’t even thought to ‘path them. Or anyone else—how many people would need to be informed? If they didn’t already know from the dragons; that dreadful keening would tell anyone within earshot what had happened, and though most dragonriders still lived in the Weyrs enough had spread to the Holds and Crafthalls that they would know Benden’s Weyrleader was gone. She would need to find Breda at some point, Riya thought, and find out what she should be doing, but shock had her moving aimlessly through the milling crowd.
She found S’lan at a table with a couple other Wingleaders and Wing-seconds, mug of something clutched in his hands and a blankly agonized look on his face, and Riya sat with a heavy thump in the chair another bronze rider hastily vacated beside him. F’brin, N’san and their cousin F’mekke quickly joined them, completing the table.
“He was supposed to live forever,” S’lan muttered, eyes wide in shock. Someone passed the man a bottle of wine and he took a long pull directly from the neck before passing it to one of his brothers; it made its way around the table until another rider put glasses in front of them, all swiftly topped up from a fresh bottle. Riya eyed the one in front of her warily—this wasn’t a standard red, not from the look and smell—but she raised the glass anyway in a silent toast to her Weyrleader and kinsman, knocking it back with only a brief grimace. Someone had gotten into the fortified wines already, and Riya had the irreverent thought F’lar would have approved of that.
“Nobody lives forever, not even Grandfa,” F’brin replied, though he didn’t look any better than the rest of them. “S’lan, pass me that bottle back.”
“Get your own,” S’lan told his elder brother even as someone handed F’brin a bottle that was decidedly not wine. “Shards, I’m not ready for this.”
None of them were, Riya thought, glancing around the full cavern. She spotted Breda quietly talking with some of the other women; the senior weyrwoman gave her a nod when their eyes met, but for once she didn’t beckon Riya over to join her, offering a sadly understanding smile instead. Amaranth must have shared with her rider just how uneasy Mnementh had been last night…Riya bit her lip, hard, and turned her attention back to the others at the table.
“Anyone seen Dad yet?” F’brin asked.
“Cammie told me he and Tai are here,” Riya said. “They stopped at the spaceport first.” F’brin nodded; her mother was particularly close to F’lessan and Tai, as the guardians of her family’s ancestral stakehold. “I don’t know where they are now.”
“Dad’s coming in,” N’san replied, jerking his head in toward the entrance; F’lessan shuffled inside, his limp appearing even more pronounced than usual as he leaned heavily on his cane. For a minute the caverns were silently respectful as F’lessan made his way to their table.
“Hey, Dad,” S’lan said blearily; F’lessan looked no better than his sons, eyes reddened and swollen, riding jacket hanging askew and his shirt hanging half untucked from his belt. S’lan raised his glass, absently sloshing half the contents onto the table. “Get drunk with us?”
F’lessan huffed, but didn’t reject the glass someone shoved into his hand.
“Your mother is going to get Tallie and Jehora,” F’lessan told Riya; Taliesan had gone last Turn to commence brawn training at Regulus, and her cousin Jehora was currently studying for her degree in planetary law on Altair. “Your father’s here with the others.”
“Where’s Tai?” Riya asked, since she didn’t see her kinsman’s weyrmate anywhere in the immense cavern.
“Helping Brekke with Lessa. They put her in your weyr, sorry, but it was closest and they didn’t want to leave her in there with…” F’lessan’s face crumpled and wordlessly Riya handed the older man the bottle of wine in front of her; if they all got drunk and passed out it would probably be a small mercy, she thought grimly. F’lessan was not close to either of his parents, but F’lar was still his father and Weyrleader, and Riya knew she couldn’t afford to drink as much as the rest of them just now. He could finish her wine if that’s what he needed to cope.
“It’s fine,” Riya told him softly. She would not want to be in that space, either. The group fell silent, except for the clink of glass as drinks were finished or replaced; food began to appear at some of the tables but only the littlest of the children had any interest in eating, the items on their table going largely ignored.
“Who’s going to lead the Weyr now?” F’mekke finally spoke up bleakly, voicing the question no one wanted to consider. The Weyrs still continued the tradition of the next mating flight choosing a new leader, even though they no longer required a Weyrleader to guide them through Threadfall; Riya couldn’t imagine Ramoth rising again, not without Mnementh to fly her, but that left only Camenath and Breda’s Amaranth as the other two queens at Benden. Breda was certainly capable but she was older than F’lessan and just as painfully crippled by joint ail as Lessa; Riya felt too young to even think about the position, but she realized that might be a conversation she and Breda would have far too soon.
“I am,” N’san replied, so soft and determined that Riya wasn’t entirely sure she head him at first. But the shock on the other’s faces, and the anger that appeared on his father’s told her she hadn’t mistaken his words.
“You?” F’lessan demanded incredulously, alcohol and grief slurring his words. “F’lar isn’t even cold yet and you think you’re going to replace him?”
“Someone in the family has to,” N’san shot back, a note of resentment in his voice that startled everyone; N’san had always gotten on well with his father, idolizing him in his youth as all the elder boys had, and the sudden hostility seemed entirely out of character. “You abandoned Benden, at least we were here when F’lar needed us.”
“Hey!” More than one person shouted in alarm as F’lessan lunged for N’san, gripping the collar of his shirt; glasses crashed to the ground and chairs tumbled as the others reacted to prevent an altercation—sudden grief made tempers short and Riya knew both men would regret it later if they came to blows. S’lan and F’mekke had each of N’san’s arms in their grip, and another of the Wingleaders—F’mel, one of F’lessan’s older half-brothers—had pulled F’lessan aside, quietly murmuring into the man’s ear. Jaxom had also appeared, looking at the overturned chairs and shattered glass with a sad resignation that had Riya wincing.
“Now’s not the time,” she heard Jaxom say. “F’nor’s asking for you.”
F’lessan nodded shakily, wobbling on his feet, and F’mel and Jaxom took him on each side, providing escort back to his parents’ weyr. N’san watched the older men for a moment before he shook off his kinsmen’s hands and, grabbing the nearest bottle of spirits, stomped out of the caverns in the opposite direction.
Astoreth will take him to the Hold, Camenath told Riya calmly. He has a woman there. I gave him the image so they do not get lost between.
Thank you. Camenath had the odd ability to always know where she was, which had driven S’lan mad when he’d trained Riya and the other weyrlings in her hatching but had proven useful on more than one occasion now. If Astoreth had gotten where to go from her, Riya wouldn’t have to worry about N’san muddling directions in his current mental state and further compounding the already tragic situation. Vaguely she gave her queen the injunction to tell any other dragon they were to get coordinates from her first.
Breda says if you can, get some rest now. Amaranth’s directive, given in as calm a voice as her rider’s, did not irritate as it usually did; Riya nodded her gratitude to the other woman and made her way out of the cavern, wondering where she might go. The weyrling barracks were empty right now, but also cold, and she didn’t fancy lighting a fire and waiting for that space to warm up; some of the bronze and brown riders would probably offer up their weyr to her but Riya didn’t fancy one of them getting the idea she needed comfort of a certain kind right now, either. More than anything she wanted solitude and the presence of her dragon to ease the sorrow that had finally begun to overwhelm the chaotic train of thoughts circling in her mind.
Camenath wasn’t on the ledge to their weyr, or with the other dragons now lining the heights; a quick mental touch told Riya her gold had joined Ramoth in her weyr, body curled against the larger form of her dam. Quietly Riya tiptoed into the Weyrleaders chambers, hearing the voices coming from the conference room, and hastily she made her way to the heated chamber where the two queens reclined.
Ramoth raised her head, eyes whirling dully as Riya approached, but the immense dragon didn’t protest as the young woman climbed up and made herself comfortable between Camenath’s front limbs. The senior dragon seldom tolerated others in her space, but today it seemed she would tolerate Riya’s presence.
She grieves, Camenath said, one eye turned to her rider. We all do.
I know, dearest, Riya replied softly, offering Ramoth the faintest mental touch; the gold stretched her head out and bumped her snout into Riya’s chest, pushing the woman back into her own dragon. You are lucky you will forget the pain.
We will not forget this. Riya grimaced at the intense sadness in Ramoth’s voice.
No, Riya thought, maybe they wouldn’t; there would never be another Weyrleader to equal F’lar, none with the daring to see through the end of Thread. He had achieved more than any other leader in the history of Pern and she didn’t know yet what this new future would look like without him. But it had been the one he promised at the start of the last Pass, a gift to herself and every other generation to come.
Surely in the coming days they would find a way to honor that.