Where Are You?

Writers: Estelle
Date Posted: 16th August 2019

Characters: A'ten, Eluri, Ohanna
Description: Arten wakes on his twelfth birthday after a nightmare
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 12, day 2 of Turn 9
Notes: Mentioned: L'keri

***

}:Arten?:{

The boy stirred uneasily as the female voice echoed through his sleeping
mind. She sounded a little, but not exactly like Eillispeth had when she
had spoken to him, that day when he'd skipped class and gone to watch
the weyrlings training. Her voice had that same quality of clarity that
real, human voices didn't, but it sounded lighter. Younger. More fragile.

}:Arten, where are you?:{

He was in a part of the Weyr he didn't recognise, one of the inner
corridors that burrowed deep into the rock. Which way was the Hatching
Grounds? Both directions looked the same. He turned to his right and
began to walk, almost to run as the sense of urgency built in his chest.
The scent of dust and stale air filled his throat, and the doors he
passed looked rusty and iron-bound, as though they hadn't been opened in
hundreds of Turns.

}:Arten?:{ The voice had sounded bewildered at first, but now there was
a note of fear in it. }:I can't find you.:{

The boy began to run. The tunnel seemed to stretch, elongate in front of
him. And the faster he ran, the harder he tried, the less progress he
seemed to make, as if he were running through mud. He struggled, his
limbs useless, heavy. Glow light flickered around him, faded and died,
and the darkness pressed in on him.

}:Arten, I need you. I'm scared...:{

"I'm coming!" he gasped. "Please...wait..."

}:Arten!:{

"No!"

The boy sat up in bed, his heart hammering in his chest. The sheets were
twisted around him, pinning his legs. It was pitch black in the bedroom,
but as his eyes grew used to the darkness, he could make out a faint
hint of light under the door, and heard the soft breathing of his sister
in the bottom bunk, below him.

He was too late. He always would be.

As he lay back down and stared with wide eyes into the darkness, he
realised that it was his birthday.

***

Arten had been imagining what he was going to do on his twelfth birthday
for Turns. Of course, the most important task was to present himself to
the Headwoman and ask to be allowed to join the Candidates. Then, he
would move out of his foster mother's quarters and claim a bed in the
Candidate barracks. And then... Maybe it would be Candidate classes, or
chores depending on the day, but he wouldn't be going to the harpers any
more.

Now that the day itself had come, he felt strangely listless and
indifferent. Perhaps it was the effect of the dream. He'd not been able
to get back to sleep afterwards and when the long hours of night were
finally over and his foster mother had come in to wake the children, all
smiles and congratulations, he was already exhausted. His sister was
buzzing with excitement, though, and for her sake he got up, washed and
dressed and followed them to breakfast.

The dreams had come irregularly, sometimes sevendays apart, sometimes
night after night, since the last Hatching.

Back then, Arten had still been too young to be a Candidate and he'd had
little enthusiasm for watching boys only a month or so his senior having
the chance to Impress while he sat with the little ones. So he'd slipped
away and wandered off to sit by the lake and skip stones across the
water until the cold drove him back indoors. He'd been out there, bored
and resentful, when he'd heard the dragons' mourning keen, and he'd run
back to the Weyr to hear that one of the dragonets had died for want of
a lifemate.

Arten still remembered the icy sensation that rippled over his skin and
coiled in the pit of his stomach like a poisonous snake. That night,
after the muted celebrations, he'd had the dream for the first time.

He had been too young. He couldn't have been on the Sands. But, a small
malignant voice whispered in his head, he could have been there, if he
hadn't been so resentful and selfish. Could a newly hatched dragonet
really tell the difference between a boy who was twelve Turns old and
one who was eleven-and-twelve-months?

What if the little green had been for him?

If he'd been there, could she have found him, in the Stands?

Maybe that was what the dream meant. His dragon was gone, and he would
never have another chance. He might become a Candidate, since no-one
knew his secret, but the hatchlings would know and shun him and he would
go on Standing until he got too old and moved on to spend the rest of
his life as a drudge.

Now he was twelve, and he had to decide what to do.

Beside him at the breakfast table, Eluri was bright-eyed and bubbling
with excitement. She knew how much her brother had been looking forward
to this day, and as soon as breakfast was over and Ohanna, their foster
mother had given her a nod, she picked up a package from her chair
beside her and handed it to him.

"Happy birthday!"

"Oh..." Somehow, he managed a weak smile. "Thank you, Eluri."

Ohanna's brows lowered in concern. It wasn't unusual for the boy to be
uncommunicative, but she would have thought he'd be pleased to have
reached this birthday. Most weyrbrats were. And this wasn't his usual
sullen silence. "Arten, are you feeling all right?"

"Yes, ma'am." He fiddled with the cloth wrapping of the package. Though
they'd been at Dragonsfall nearly six months now, Arten still didn't
feel as though he knew Ohanna, certainly not enough to confide in her.
He hadn't seen the point. After all, he wouldn't need a foster mother
much longer.

"Open your present!" Eluri fidgeted impatiently in her seat.

Arten unwrapped the parcel and felt soft blue wool under his fingers. He
unfolded it and saw that it was a scarf, long enough to wrap several
times around his neck. A lump rose in his throat. "It's beautiful."

"I made it. Ohanna helped me. She says we can make a hat next! There's
enough wool." She looked up at her brother, her eyes shining. "It will
keep you warm when you're flying."

"Oh. I..." The words stuck in his throat. What if he never got the
chance to fly, ever again? "Thank you."

"Are you going to see the Headwoman this morning?" Ohanna asked.

Arten hesitated. "Maybe later."

"Well, your father said he wants to see you, but you might want to go to
her first. Then you can show him your new knots." Ohanna was aware of
the hostility between Arten and his father and she couldn't say she was
greatly impressed by the brownrider's sporadic attention to his
children, but she hoped that it would be easier between them now,
especially given what she knew of the surprise that awaited the boy in
his father's weyr.

"Huh." L'keri was the last person Arten wanted to see, even on his birthday.

"He said it was important." The foster mother smiled, slyly. "I think
you should go to him, Arten. Take Eluri with you. There's time before
she has to get to class."

"He'll probably be in bed, sleeping off a hangover. As usual," Arten
muttered. But he did get up and gather the breakfast things onto a tray.
Best to get it over with. Whatever his father wanted to say to him, he
expected it would be as disappointing as L'keri usually was.

Last updated on the September 3rd 2019

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