The Uninvited

[B'kay]

The heat of the afternoon sun did nothing to warm the cold of this Between trip. The deep bronze dragon who appeared over the beach down-coast from the island had frost on his wingtips, and his rider's skin was blue-tinged despite the heavy flight clothes he wore. Griz had given good coordinates ... he could see the island to the north, as he circled slowly in the newly-broken air, and a good sized and busy seahold almost directly across the channel from it. The Weyr rose above the plains and jungles of the island like a great awkward cap sitting on its head, and B'kay allowed himself to sport a brief malicious thought about that volcano surprising everyone by not being inactive after all.

An angry and frightened chirp sounded from within his jacket as the little brown picked up the thought, and a head thrust out into the air.

"What're you complaining about, you're the only one who made that last jump in relative warmth. Shards, I'm hungry ... "

Indeed, traveling so far through time, even in increments, drained a body, and B'kay could feel Syth's belly rumble in agreement.

There are plentiful beasts within the Weyr. I can smell them from here.

I'm not so sure we should announce our arrival quite yet, my Only. When we do approach, don't call out. If there's a watchdragon, we'll let him challenge first, just on the off chance we can slip in quietly. After all, we weren't exactly invited along. The emotions that accompanied the thought, though he tried to suppress them, must have trickled through to the dragon's mind.

The others simply do not understand you, Syth replied defensively, always ready to champion his rider, even against the man's own nature. Else you would have been invited to join them. We are good fighters, we have great merit.

B'kay chuckled darkly. Whatever you say, my friend, whatever you say.

The rider gave his bronze a silent instruction to approach the island slowly, using a circuituous route that kept his shadow from falling within the Weyr bowl. They rode the highwinds above the crater, and B'kay used Syth's far-sighted dragon eyes to get a second hand look at the situation.

There were more dragons on ledges than he'd expected ... just how long had they been moving groups here, and how on Pern did they manage to move so many without the loss being noticed at Artemis? He scowled. Artemis was stagnating ... people weren't noticing anything these days, mostly because nothing interested them enough to get their attention. He grunted, squinting his eyes against the bright sunlight, and looked around.

There was a small but apparently growing animal contingent ... he could see that some pens were finished and filled, others in the process of construction. Someone was apparently bringing feed in for the dragons, at least. Were they already getting decent tithes as well?

The wherries smell delicious, Syth remarked plaintively.

B'kay patted his neck in consolation. Patience, my love, patience.

My mind is patient, my belly is empty.

A glance landward disturbed him even more than the look at the Weyr. Griz's relayed images weren't exaggerations. He could see crops everywhere, carefully tended plantings, little holds dotting the landscape that were built above ground and from, the Shell preserve us, wood. Wood!

That image of the Red Star that the firelizard had given him meant that a Pass was not far in the future. Were the people in this time insane? No matter how well-grubbed the continent had become, Thread still had to hit the ground for the grubs to work on it, and those wooden structures stood between the Red Star and the soil. He scowled again, the darkness of his features deepening further, as he wondered exactly how far they had come. He'd used Griz's images to navigate the jumps, following along behind the path the others had taken, and really hadn't counted how many twenty-turn leaps they'd accumulated. But it had to be much longer than a regular Interval's time....

He looked toward the place near the horizon where the Red Star would appear as the sky darkened. A Long Interval, then? Even longer than the usual, he'd guess, from the frightening clues the landscape gave. Had the people forgotten Thread? What did the other dragonriders in this time do-- ?

Or was the demise of Artemis really an end, and not the lull everyone tried to convince themselves of?

Fear gripped his belly, causing his bowels to gurgle, and he had to grab tight control to keep from losing them. It wasn't possible that they were the only Weyr on Pern, was it? With a Pass on the way?

I am very hungry and my wings are getting tired, Syth complained, interrupting the dramatic thought.

"My Only," he said aloud, "We may have made a mistake in coming here. Perhaps we'll return to our own time." Even as he said it, however, he knew that they would not. To die Threadscored and fighting was an honorable death. To languish in boredom and die of old age?

Welcome or not, they were staying.

The little one is hungry, too, Syth said, growing impatient, and tipped his wings to circle toward the Bowl.

[bleedtearsofshame]

Sitareh was standing at the edge of the bowl, trying to organize her workers into some resemblence of a team. A few holders had been persuaded, through conversation and a few marks for their time, to lend their time and talents towards rebuilding the Weyr. It was a slow process, yet the queenrider could take pride in knowing how far they had come already...

If only the sharding workers weren't so lazy! Who knew how many pens would be completed if the holders halted their complaining about their work days being too long, not enough breaks, not enough water - it was infuriating!

"What do you mean, they're taking lunch?" Sitareh was talking to the foreman of the pen-building crew. Her words came out slow and forced, a testiment to the struggle that she was having to keep her temper in check. "It's not even mid-day yet! You've already taken two water breaks! If this keeps up, we won't have the pens completed by the time Thread comes back!"

The man before her didn't even shudder at the mention of Thread. He was one of the skeptical of Thread's return. He, like the other Holders, didn't appreciate the return of dragonriders. But they would soon.... "I don't care, if you'll pardon me. It's not midday yet but the sun is already roasting. My men need breaks or they'll wear themselves out in the sun. I'm not about to risk their lives for a handful of marks."

Sitareh gritted her teeth against the surge of annoyance that spread throughout her body. "I don't care about the sun," she told him. "We have a contract. I want these pens finished by the end of next sevenday. You're two days behind. I want you caught up, Holder. If these pens aren't finished at the agreed time, I swear, I'll make sure that the dragons neglet to fly over your home when Thread falls from the sky."

She would have said more, but Aviciath's soft voice filtered into her mind. Beloved, she said and her concern was enough to capture the Weyrwoman's attention. We have a slight problem.

It was at that instant when the young woman caught a flash in the sky, the glittering light of sunlight reflecting off of bronze hide. It was wrong, all wrong. That bronze wasn't familiar. He wasn't a part of her group. Where did he come from? All of the dragonriders in this era had died out -- hadn't they?

That is an Our-time bronze, the queen said quickly. Syth. From Artemis.

Sitareh felt the first trickle of fear run through her blood. Syth, whose rider was B'kay. The quiet wingsecond of Artemis, whose brooding nature meant that it was impossible to tell his thoughts. The queenrider didn't think that he would be easy to manipulate - and thus she had not invited him. She had the feeling that he wouldn't give in too easily to his charms - and now he had found them. Had he been sent? Had someone leaked their plan?

Her eyes scanned the skies, expecting the emergence of other dragons. But there were none. Just a lone bronze circling down to the Bowl. Sitareh strode towards them as quickly as her long legs would take her - and even before Syth had settled into a landing, the queenrider was shouting.

"You fool!" she exclaimed, and her fury was a sign of her underlining fear. "Why have you come? You might have ruined everything! How did you find us? Why? You were sent to find us, weren't you? Well, you may tell Artemis of Old that we are here to stay! We won't return and we don't want any transfers! This is Weyr is ours now!"

[B'kay]

Syth's eye was more on the milling flock inside the nearest pen than on the workcrew puttering around it. And puttering was an apt description. About the only one really bending his back to the task seemed to be a small crooked man with a limp, who'd stripped off his tunic and was dragging a load of timber three times his own length. The others were arguing, leaning against rails, drinking at the water buckets. He watched with amusement, instructing his dragon to descend slowly as he examined the happenings below him.

Another movement, however, caught his attention. It was lithe, calculated, downright angry in its intensity, and it was heading right for their landing target.

"Well, my Only," he said aloud, grinning and slapping his dragon on the neck, "It's not like I can hide something as big as you."

Had she not seen me, she'd have heard my stomach growling! Syth complained, and showed his rider an image of Aviciath to accentuate the identity of the "she".

B'kay was still wearing a half-smirk as Syth touched down, his dark eyes, as always, hiding the reason for his expression.

He sat astride Syth, making no motion to dismount, as the junior ... no, he supposed she was junior no longer ... Weyrwoman vented her anger, and waited till she paused to take a breath.

"Still paranoid, eh Sitareh? You always did make too much of the attention people paid you." He stripped off his heavy flight gear as he spoke, for he was already starting to sweat in it.

Griz fell out of the jacket's folds as it was removed, and growled angrily at his human before righting himself to perch on Syth's neck ridges. He noticed the angry Weyrwoman then, and offered her a half-interested hiss.

"To be honest, they don't have a clue where you went. Some have even ventured to begin legends that you went Between forever. Shells, I'll bet they're already writing ballads about you at the Harper Hall," he tossed sarcastically down at her.

He ran a rough hand over his close-cropped black hair, and nonchalantly scratched at the deep Thread scar that ran down his cheek. Shardling thing always itched after going Between. Once again he wished there'd been a decent healer at Artemis that day that wasn't already tied up by wounds far more life-threatening than his own.

"You also still seem to think too much of your own cleverness, girl. If a little brown firelizard could figure out where you went, then you can bet I'm not the only one from Artemis bored enough to track you down."

At last, suitably relieved of hot outer gear, B'kay tossed a leg over and slid down Syth's shoulder to land directly in front of Sitareh. It occurred to him that he didn't remember ever having been this close to her before. She really wasn't all that painful to look at, and he schooled his expression closely, so as not to reveal a hint of the compliment his mind was forming.

"Don't worry, I've no intention of calling out the forces to drag you home -- at the rate the tithes are falling off, they're probably just as content to not have all these mouths to feed at Artemis. It doesn't take long for the holders to forget," here, just a touch of sad regret shone through. "And as I told my good friend Syth here on the way over, I'd rather die here in battle than of boredom in a dead age. But have you contacted the other Weyrleaders?" he asked, fishing for an answer he hoped he would not receive. "What do they think of your intrusion? It's going to take some tight cooperation to protect all those imbeciles out there once the Pass begins -- it looks like they've been breeding like tunnelsnakes!"

He leaned against Syth's deep bronze hide, holding Sitareh's gaze with his own for just a moment longer, quite spent of all desire to talk. "My dragon's hungry," he muttered, and closed his eyes.

[bleedtearsofshame]

Sitareh's fists clenched into fists, nails cutting into crescent shaped indents in her palm. This was another reason why she did not like this man. His quietness made her uncomfortable enough, and he was one of those few men who never seemed to pay attention to her presence. Although she had never actually spoken to him before, the dragonvine at Artemis had revealed that he didn't seem to think well of her games.

She wanted to curse him. She wanted to slap that smirk right off of his face. She wanted to banish him from her Weyr - and the fact that she couldn't only infuriated her further. If he returned, he could leak their whereabouts to anyone - and his comment about bored dragonriders was frightening. She knew that he was right. If anyone else found out about Araelen, they would want to come. They would want to make things exactly as they had been before - and that was something that she wouldn't let happen. She might not like it, but she would have to allow B'kay to stay - if he so chose.

"I don't think that anyone else will try to find us," she said with a confidence that was only slightly shaken by B'kay's presence. "Only if they had sent a firelizard to follow us, jump to jump, would they have found us. And I think they would have come by now. As it is, you are the only... uninvited guest to our new home."

Her smile was slightly dangerous, and the smile tilted into a smirk at his final questions. "Weyrleaders?" she scoffed with a shake of her golden head. "My dear bronzerider, that is one of the most wonderful things about Araelen Weyr, for that is what we have built from these ashes. There are no other Weyrleaders. There are no other dragonriders. They have died out, existing only in legends. Until now. Thread returns and so do the dragonriders. We have come to save the future. And we shall. Then, the Holders will once again realize that the dragonriders are people to be respected, not dismissed."

Her words were feverent now as she launched into the topic that she could speak for candlemarks about. At least her excitement over the project allowed her to forget her momentary fury towards B'kay. Her cheeks were flushed and her brown eyes sparkled with pride.

[B'kay]

B'kay, tired eyes still closed, fought the urge to panic as the girl began to speak. So, it was true, then -- this was the only Weyr, and a pitiful poor one at that. However, as the fever in her tone rose, he raised his lids to observe her through black lashes.

So there it was, the reason men would follow her through time, and likely to their deaths. Half-witted men, that is.

You're here, Syth commented, shifting his leg so B'kay had to stumble awkwardly to keep from falling.

Yes, the rider said, tossing mental darts at his dragon, But I didn't follow her.


No, you followed a firelizard.

You're an ungrateful oaf, Syth.

An ungrateful, hungry oaf.

As Sitareh wound up her fiery speech, B'kay opened shining dark eyes and looked her bluntly in the face. "Have you considered that," he raised a hand and began counting off the points, "for one thing, the population of Pern appears to have grown dense in numbers and sparse in brains, having built plant-matter homesteads and dotted them out in the open all over the landscape; two, dragons, even under the best circumstances, do not produce all that fast, and from the look of the herds on the feeding grounds circumstances are far from 'best'; and three, considering the fact that there appears to have already been an odd long interval, indicating that the Red Star orbit patterns have shifted, you really have no way at all to predict just how soon Thread is going to start falling again."

Have you considered that I am still hungry? Syth interjected, eyes swirling slightly orange, and lowered his head to glare pointedly into B'kay's face.

The rider sighed, his partner having stolen his moment. "Mind if he hunts?"

[bleedtearsofshame]

You may hunt as you please in our hunting grounds, Aviciath interjected smoothly, remembering the exhaustion that came from such a long jump through time. Even spaced out in careful intervals, it strained a dragon's energy resources as nothing else could. We might not have the herds that we used to, but we have enough for you to have your fill.

Sitareh let Aviciath's words trickle over her mind, using the queen as an excuse to keep her emotions under control. Oh, she detested this man! He had only been in her presence for a handful of minutes, and already she was gritting her teeth - for a second time.

"While I might not have the wisdom of your experienced years," she began sarcastically, her voice stiff at the blow to her pride, "Do not make the mistake of thinking that I am still a Weyrling to be chided and scolded as you see fit. I have considered all of the points that you have mentioned and I am currently taking the necessary steps to alter them."

Now it was her turn to raise on delicate hand, raising her fingers in a mirror, almost mocking gesture of B'kay. "One, I have realized the stupidity of the Holders in this region. When dragonriders became extinct, they seemed to think that it meant Thread would no longer return. It was their proof, and so they let their wits grow dull. They are too stubborn to accept the truth. They are our most pressing problem at the moment. However... Once they receive a.. talking to... I have no doubt that they will see things our way. They will do as we say and clear the greens from their homes; they will cover their homes with metal plating; they will tithe to the Weyr for our protection. Two. I realize that dragons do not produce very quickly. But this is the South, bronzerider. There are grubs to protect a great deal of the jungle, though there will be some vegetation that will be lost. We dragonriders will concentrate on protecting the Holders and crafters at first, in the areas where the grub population isn't as dense. As more dragons join our wings, we will be able to spread out."

She took a breath. "Aviciath should be quickly approaching her first flight. There will be a clutch on the sands and a new generation of dragons. She is young and so am I; we can expect to bring many dragons into the world over the next fifty years. Aviciath will certainly have a daughter at some point, and then Araelen will have another clutching queen. We just need to concentrate on preserving our ranks until that time; which means flawless wing practices and no smart stunts that will needlessly endanger lives."

You are letting him upset you, Aviciath commented idly, and Sitareh realized with a flush that she was correct. But she continued.

"And dealing with your third comment, I realize that this is an odd interval. I know that there is no way to predict the return of Thread. That is why I push my men and women to work harder than they have in their lives. I don't take shirking. We don't have time to dally. We need to get this Weyr operational as soon as possible. At worst, we have a few months. I am hoping for at least a turn or two before Thread starts to fall. I cannot predict the time, but I cannot change things now. Here we are and here we stay. So the only thing to do is to make the best out of it. That's what we're doing. And we've come a long way so far."

Even now, her eyes darting quickly across the bowl, she felt that thrill of pride. She knew how hard they had worked. She knew how far they had come. "I do not deny these problems. I can just strive to remedy them. And you, you can either stand around and criticize my actions, or you can throw your weight in and help. Or you can wait until Syth recovers and go on your merry way. Got it?"

[M'kel]

Three breaths later, they were out of between and hovering in the glorious Southern sun, which marked the time as midday at Araelen Weyr. So, M'kel mused, he had judged the time correctly. The kitchen workers would have laid a midday meal by now, and he was tired of meatrolls eaten alone in the jungle. When Tirenth and he weren't on watchduty, they were out with the other dragonriders, charting the 'new' Southern Continent. Although this task had nearly completed, the Holds had spread farther than any had predicted. It took time to memorize the new geographic details of every bloody Holding from the Weyr to the Western shore...

Besides, M'kel grinned cheerily to himself as Tirenth circled down, lunch eaten in the Weyr might provide him with an opportune meeting with the Weyrwoman. Her times of recluse in the depths of the Weyr were beginning to shorten as 'management' matters came under control, and often one could find the alluring gold rider strutting imperiously around the Bowl, in just that manner that made her hips sway so delightfully from side to side...

Syth is here. The startled voice as Tirenth relayed the news mirrored M'kel's own surprise. The bronze rider leaned precariously over his dragon's side, gripping the riding straps tightly in order to catch a glimpse of a dreadfully familiar, nearly black, bronze hide. Syth. B'kay. The name, one M'kel had hoped to forget, froze his gut in a sudden wave of dread. B'kay had been Wingsecond, one of the senior bronze riders of Artemis Weyr. Not only was his dragon strong, but he had experience in queen flights, experience Tirenth lacked and they'd hoped to escape in this future of younger bronzes.

Of all the days not to be on watchduty! M'kel let out a colourful string of curses before Tirenth brought them within hearing range of the Weyrwoman and bronze rider. Land, please, M'kel practically growled, and Tirenth's orangely whirling eyes reflected his upset. This was a most unfortunate development indeed, a possible hitch in long established plans that must be dealt with somehow.

As Tirenth backwinged down to land neatly beside the pair, barely avoiding Syth in the process, M'kel took the time to compose himself. The dragonrider gritted his teeth into a smile, then forced himself to relax sufficiently for the grin to be at least somewhat believable. His hazel eyes glittered with suppressed outrage, but he assumed the usual, amused visage that he always presented in times of conflict. It was safest to lull his enemies into a false sense of security. Then, they'd never see him coming.

"B'kay!" he called, dismounting easily in an airy demonstration of the youthfulness he knew that the other had met and passed. "What in the name of Faranth are you bloody sharding well doing here?" Now, the grin was much more sincere, as he tested the other's pride. After all, it would be hard for a one time Wingsecond to take such 'disrespectful' speech from a former Junior Bronze Rider. "I half thought you'd be dead by now." This was followed by a dark chuckle as the young man strode purposefully to the side of his Weyrwoman. Always cheerful, M'kel, always cheerful.

"M'lady, shall I see our unwanted guest out?" An appropriately respectful inclination of the head, as this newest Weyrwoman demanded such shows. Too bad smiling at this sharding rider felt like getting punched in the stomach over and over again.

[B'kay]

A couple of Sitareh's words ... metal plating, of all things ... had set B'kay's mind working. Though he heard the rest of her speech, including his dragon's relay that the Queen had given permission to feed, the left side of his brain was calculating. Raised a miner, his sire had insisted that each son invest a turn apprenticing with metal smiths, so they learned where the ore they were hauling wound up, and how it was worked into a finished product.

He felt Syth's muscles gather, and sensed the bronze's thoughts arching toward the pen of fat, noisy wherries a solid soar across the narrow end of the bowl, when suddenly Syth tensed, and pointed his muzzle skyward.

Tirenth.

And M'kel. No surprise there, the lad would most certainly have wedged himself into a position of power if he had the chance. At Artemis, such chances had been few.

Syth growled deeply and almost silently as he arched his neck back to avoid the younger bronze's landing. Eyes sparked orange in warning, but he calmly stood his ground.

M'kel's jabs flew around B'kay, but the dark rider never blinked. "The very young often mistake maturity for age," he said calmly in response to the crack about being dead, without returning M'kel's false smile, "And your Weyrwoman here has in fact just given Syth and me permission to stay," he turned slightly, to be sure to take in her expression as he continued, "As Junior Weyrwoman, of course it was her job to know the strengths of each rider in the Weyr, so no doubt she's aware that hard work is my second nature. So, if you'll point me toward an empty weyr -- I prefer one located away from traffic if possible -- I'll have Syth drop me and my things off. I'll unpack and fill my belly while he fills his, and then I'll seek you out, Sitareh, with practical plans for that metal plating you mentioned."

He glanced up to where the young queen rested watchfully, and bowed his head in respect. "And thanks to Aviciath for so graciously offering food to Syth."

He then turned and, with a single two-step vault, was once again astride his dragon, the hint of a smile on his mouth, and fire in his eyes.

Yes indeed, boredom would be a thing of the past.

[bleedtearsofshame]

Sitareh's attention was distracted by the arrival of M'kel. Although there was a smile painted upon his face in the very image of curtesy and pleasure, she could see a hint of his true feelings within his eyes. He was not pleased with the arrival of this new bronzerider. She doubted that any of her suitors would welcome B'kay's arrival to their forces, one of the more experienced dragonriders at Artemis.

In the back of her mind, she knew the wisdom of his arrival. He had been experienced. He had been a wingsecond. He could be a great asset when Thread returned, and they could use his experience in the wings in order to form the new formations that would be necessary to fight in this time and with their numbers. He was used to obeying orders, even if he did have to question them, an annoyance that she was still chafing from. He could be of use...

Sitareh hated to admit such to herself. The man set her on edge. He didn't look at her with the proper respect. In the back of his mind, he seemed to regard her as the same weyrling she had been, the same Junior in rank. Still, she told herself as a small consolation, if he had chosen to stay, it was because he had agreed with her ideas. She had shown him that she was not some wherry-skull, that she had certainly planned out this Weyr. If he thought that it was destined to fail, he would not want to stay.

Tell Syth that there are empty weyrs to the south of the bowl. They will not be bothered by any other dragonriders, though I am afraid that they will not be able to escape the sound of hammers, no matter where their weyr is. Sitareh told Aviciath, and the queen passed along the message.

Her brown eyes watched the dark man astride his bronze, and her anger faded beneath thoughtfulness. The corners of her lips tilted into the barest of frowns, her eyes closing slightly to view B'kay beneath a fringe of lashes so she could study him without being obvious. He was used to obeying orders, though she knew that he would not obey her blindly. Not like some of the others would. He viewed her not as a beautiful woman, but a young queenrider who still had much to learn, and the distinction rankled.

She would have to make him loyal to her. It was almost a challenge, to see desire bloom in his eyes. Then, he would not question her. But he was wise enough to look through the obvious coquettetry that she showed the young bronzeriders, who could be turned with a wink of her eye and a toss of her hair. They were bribed with hints of power, the idea that they would become Weyrleader someday. B'kay, she thought, might not be swayed by empty promises and sultry smiles. It was something that she would have to think more about - later.

Now there was much to do. She felt a thrill of excitement at the mention of the metal plating. Now, she remembered that B'kay had some experience with metal smiths. She would have to gather up some of the other smiths that had been coerced into joining their forces. They weren't useful in this field, whimpering over the fact that they didn't know the proper thickness or makeup of each metal, and what if they were wrong and hundreds died? Their whining was so annoying that she had brushed them off for days, sending them on petty (but necessary) projects like making door hinges. B'kay could lead the project of Thread-proofing the holds with metal plates. He could deal with those men and save her a headache.

She smiled to herself, and only then was she aware that M'kel still stood beside her. She turned her head to look at him, extending her smile to warm him. "How far did you get charted today?" she asked, her mind still rolling with the business on hand.

[B'kay]

B'kay's dark eyes unfocused as he listened to the relay of instructions regarding the weyr. His head swiveled toward the south, and noted a high cleft in the crater rim dotted with good sized openings. He could see nice wide ledges before most of them, and wondered how much was natural cavework, and how much was constructed.

He nodded his thanks and, without fanfare, instructed Syth to lift them skyward. Griz chattered in irritation as he struggled to keep his grip on the dark brown neckridges.

"Don't you fuss, so, little one," the rider said, steadying the brown firelizard with one hand. "You and your big cousin here will be sucking on nice bloody wherries in a few minutes."

A happy chirp was his answer, as two pairs of swirling eyes turned briefly toward the herds.

B'kay, however, turned to watch the shrinking forms of Sitareh and M'kel, wondering what interesting conversation would be going on behind his back....

{shifting B'kay to an appropriate category}