by Kenovay
Joshu was in the fields when the dragons came to the Hold. Benden was almost in the shadow of the Weyr, and he was used to the sight of wheeling Wings taking off for their training exercises, but it was still an awesome sight when they came this low. His eyes followed them with admiration for a few seconds before he shrugged and turned back to the weeding.
They would be inspecting for greenery, he supposed. He had heard of the recent humiliation of the rebel Lords at the hands of the new Weyrleader, F'lar, and the rumours that there was to be a new insistence on keeping to the Traditions. Still, they would find little greenery here. Benden was one of the three Great Holds who had always been loyal, whether due to proximity to the Weyr or true belief on the part of Lord Raid, and that loyalty had extended to the way the Hold was run.
Cara, beside him, prodded him with a toe. "Get a move on, Jos. Everyone else is ahead." Joshu sighed, and bent again to the seeding. Cara, behind him, raked over the seeds, and working together they caught up with the other fieldworkers, who were stopping for a break.
Joshu slumped down onto the grass, leaning against a hummock. He had no food, and he was hard-pressed to ignore the smells coming from the lunches of the others. "Catch note of the dragons?" he said, not looking at the hunk of bread Seldan, next to him, was tearing into.
"Aye," Larron said.
Seldan pressed a lump of bread into Joshu's hand. Joshu silently pushed it back at him. "Don't be a necklihead, Jos. You're skin and bones."
"I'm fine." Joshu blushed as the attention of twelve fieldworkers came to rest on him. "Aye," Cara agreed, frowning. "You know you're always welcome at ours." Joshu ducked his head.
"I'm fine," he repeated, but didn't protest Seldan's lump of bread again. "The dragons?" he said, attempting to redirect the conversation.
"They're Searching," Garrona stated calmly. Joshu sat up and listened.
"How do you figure that?" Dalon sounded scornful. "They've plenty Weyrbred boys, I heard. No need of more, when the Queen only lays a dozen in one clutch."
"Aye," Stakan agreed.
"I heard," Garrona protested. "From my sister at Nabol Hold. Her neighbour's son was Searched."
"And," Joshu said quietly, "mind that this is a new Queen. The old one is dead. I caught note of rumours - they're expecting a lot of eggs from her."
"My brother's daughter's husband marched against the Weyr," Renic said. "She's bigger than the old Queen, he says. By a lot."
"Ach." Dalon shook his head. "It's been plenty Turns since they Searched outside the Weyr like this. More like they're checking for proper observance of the Traditions."
"Can we not do two things at once?" The new voice, thick with the accent of Nabol Hold, came from behind them, and the field workers turned with varying degrees of consternation, rising instinctively to their feet.
The newcomer was short and brown-haired, dressed in dragonrider's leathers. His face was pleasant, open and amused. Joshu regarded him cautiously. "We meant no harm or offence, Lord Dragonrider." Renic, as the oldest man there, spoke for them all. "'Tis only gossip."
The rider shook his head. "There is no offence in your talk. And I'm no Lord. My Sankath is merely a brown." He grinned widely. "I wished some talk with the young man there." He waved a hand at Joshu. "I'll do you no harm."
Joshu glanced uncertainly around. "Me? I've been� Searched?"
The rider shrugged. "Not yet. Sankath is rather insistent, though. He is convinced you would make a rider."
"I� you�" Joshu felt a gentle push in the small of his back, and glared at Cara. "I can walk," he muttered.
"Do so, then, you stupid wher."
Joshu blushed, and started towards the rider. The few steps seemed impossible to traverse, but the small rider regarded him with no judgement. Joshu arrived next to him, and he nodded. "I will take five minutes of your time." He slid agilely to the grass, sitting cross-legged, and looked expectantly up at Joshu, who sat awkwardly on the ground. He was used to the dragonriders as a breed apart, tall, imposing men who took no notice of stripling fieldworkers, and who seemed taken up with inner cares. This small, lively man was disconcerting him. "So." The rider propped his chin on his hands and regarded Joshu out of bright brown eyes. Behind them, the fieldworkers began eating again, with mutterings and glances at Joshu and the rider. "I'm Ch'tor - brown rider of Sankath. As I'm sure you've managed to gather, unless your wits are slow. Which would be a disappointment. I'd rather like to bring back at least one successful candidate."
Joshu nodded, feeling indeed rather slow as the light voice pattered. When it appeared that Ch'tor had finished, he looked hesitantly at him. "I'm Joshu son of Hannan."
"Well, you've a good name, anyway." At Joshu's questioning look the wide grin split his face again. "Easy to dragonise. J'shu. Rather nice." Joshu had to laugh. This dragonrider was extraordinary. "Oh, you think it's foolish. But some candidates are chosen like that." He nodded wisely.
"I hope not." Joshu felt rewarded for essaying a few words when Ch'tor laughed.
"How else do you explain me? I'm certain S'ken - he Searched me - was on the verge of leaving me behind, after I'd demonstrated my insanity, when he thought 'Hmmm, Chitor� Ch'tor. Sounds distinguished. Maybe we could tie him to his dragon and seal his mouth.' And so a legend was born."
Joshu had to laugh again, less timidly. "I'm sure you have other good things about you."
Ch'tor shrugged. "What can you do? It's a fact that some people don't recognise my sheer brilliance." He sighed, the world-weary sigh of the misunderstood genius. "So, Jo - oh, I make myself laugh." He made a face. Joshu watched him with delighted fascination. "Joshu. You've never thought you might be Searched?"
"I�" Joshu shrugged. "It's not seemed probable, no." The patter had had a purpose, he realised. Ch'tor seemed less threatening now. "The dragonriders were always� distant. And the dragons so sightly." He couldn't communicate how far away from his life the Weyr and all of its doings were.
"But it had crossed your mind?"
"A daydream." Joshu shrugged. "I would say it'd crossed everyone's."
"You saw yourself on a bronze, did you? The magnificent hero of the skies-" But he stopped, because Joshu was shaking his head.
"Not a bronze. Not me."
"Not a bronze?" Ch'tor fanned his face in mock amazement. "Oh, you are special. And it's such a treat to get a break from the constant chorus of 'Wanna bronze, wanna bronze, wanna bronze'. What did you see yourself on, then?"
Joshu shrugged, and looked down at the ground. "I like the greens." He knew that it wasn't what he was supposed to say. Girls liked the greens, the dainty, pretty little dragons. "And the blues, but mostly the greens."
Ch'tor grinned. "I like you, Joshu son of Hannan. And J'sep will too."
"J'sep?" Joshu was slightly flushed from the praise.
"My Weyrmate. J'sep, green rider of Nath. He's always complaining-"
"Your Weyrmate is� a man?"
Ch'tor nodded, his eyes suddenly sharp. "The Weyr is looser in the way we conduct things than the rest of Pern." His tone was carefully casual.
Joshu brought his chin up. "I'm� glad."
Ch'tor studied his face for a few seconds, then grinned, and jumped to his feet. "I will come back in a few hours to take you to the Weyr." As Joshu looked uncertain, he frowned. "You'll need to pack, and say goodbye?"
"I�" Joshu indicated his threadbare clothes with a sweep of his hand. "There's not much to pack. Not much to say goodbye to, either." He had half-forgotten the purpose of Ch'tor's visit in the conversation, and was taken aback.
Ch'tor nodded, his face understanding. "Nevertheless, you will need to tell your family." Suddenly, he slapped his own forehead, and settled down on the grass again. "I'm a thick-headed twit. Let's start this again. Joshu son of Hannan, would you agree to accompany me to Benden Weyr, remain there until the Hatching, and then live there, if you Impress?"
Joshu looked down at the ground. "And if I don't Impress?"
Ch'tor's mouth crooked up at the corner. "The Weyr is large, and the Lower Caverns are always swallowing up people. There would be no pressing need to return."
"I-" Before Joshu could continue, Ch'tor held up a hand.
"Before you make your choice. The Weyrleader believes, and many other riders, including myself, also believe, that there is a purpose for the existence of the Weyr, and that the Thread will start to fall again soon. The Red Star is getting closer." Joshu shivered involuntarily. "We've lost most of our knowledge about fighting Thread, but it's painful. And dangerous. In the past, being a dragonrider may have just meant prestige and excitement, but now, in the very near future, it will mean a lot of hurt and blood and work. If you agree, you are agreeing to that as well."
Joshu nodded. "I had caught note of rumours you were expecting Thread. I� well, there's no harm in trying." His voice was flat and unexpectant. It seemed very unlikely that he would Impress.
Ch'tor nodded. "Sankath is insistent that I tell you that he's certain that you will Impress. Apparently you're very 'sympathetic', whatever the overgrown wher means." His face changed. "Well, you are an overgrown wher," he said, and Joshu realised that he was talking directly to his dragon. Ch'tor was grinning. "Wher, wher, wher, wher," he chanted, and then grinned at Joshu. "Apparently I'm 'infantile', he rues the day we Impressed, and he's not talking to me. Oh, sorry, not talking to me ever again and wants me to boil my head."
Joshu suppressed an incredulous grin. "He's� outspoken."
"Like rider, like dragon." Ch'tor sighed. "I teach him bad habits. Nath's never this rude to J'sep. What do you mean how would I know? And you aren't speaking to me." Joshu listened in fascination. Ch'tor saw him watching and shrugged, grinning widely. "No, I'd prefer not to walk back to the Weyr, but I'm sure I could hitch a lift. Now sssshhh. You wanted me to take him back to the Weyr, I've got him to agree." He looked at Joshu. "If you're sure there's little need to say goodbye?" He shrugged.
Joshu nodded. "I� it would take me two minutes to run up and tell him. There's nothing I want to take."
"You'll have a boring wait up at the Hold. T'bor will be talking to Lord Raid for a while yet. But if it's what you want." He grinned. "Run then."
Joshu nodded, eyes wide as realisation slowly began to hit him. He turned and began to run, heading for the path at the side of the field. "Hey! Groundbird!" He brought himself to a sprawling halt, turning to face Cara. "No, you don't," she said, beckoning him. He approached slowly, glancing anxiously at Ch'tor, who looked amused.
"What, Cara?"
"You'll be going to the Weyr?" It was Seldan who spoke.
"Aye." Joshu couldn't stop a broad grin from spreading across his face.
He was regarded solemnly by the circle of fieldworkers. Cara exclaimed suddenly. "I'm glad for you, son of Hannan. You'll come back, you hear? Show us your dragon."
"I� aye." Joshu nodded. "If I Impress."
Stakan snorted. "You'll Impress. You're of the Blood."
Joshu jerked slightly, and glanced at Ch'tor, who had obviously heard, and was looking interested. "Not really," he said. "And being of the Blood does not make anything certain. I�" He gestured towards the path. "I must go. Thank you for everything." He was surprised at Cara's sudden hug, and the friendly nods of the others.
As he was turning to run again he heard Renic's voice. "You'll be welcome back, if you don't Impress."
The offer was more than it sounded. Joshu knew his place on the field group would have to be filled, and to leave and then return again created more upheavals than people wanted to deal with. To be told that he could come back was a large favour from Renic. Joshu nodded gratefully. "I'll come back, on or off dragon." He grinned and began his run again, stretching his legs easily.
It was only a short way to the small cottage where he lived, and he arrived with his breathing still even and light. He pushed open the door, blinking as he accustomed himself to the dimness, and wrinkling his nose at the smell, as always. "Da?" He glanced around. "Da?" After a few seconds he relaxed. He could do without a send-off from his father.
He scurried to his bed in the corner. There was very little he wanted from the cottage, but it was there, hidden under a floorboard. The heavy metal ring indicating those of Benden Blood. He crouched down and began to pry up the floorboard, coughing delicately at the cloud of dust that rose up.
"What are you doing?"
Joshu swung around on his heels, staring up at the tall, thin man who had come in with his eyes large. "I�" He made a sudden darting movement, snatching the ring from its hiding place and holding it hard against his chest. He could feel his heart beating.
His father's cold eyes followed the movement, and Joshu knew that it was the worst thing he could have done. Hannan held out his hand. "What were you hiding?" His voice was friendly. Joshu tensed, but held out the ring. He knew he would have to, one way or another. He didn't let go of it, and his father didn't seem to want him to, glancing at the ring. Joshu watched his eyes darken with recognition. "I lost this," the Benden bastard muttered. "I flung it away. Into the river. You� fished it out?"
Joshu pulled the ring back against his chest protectively, wondering whether he was allowed to speak, or if that had been a rhetorical question. When the pause lengthened, he decided to try his luck. "I� it's my birthright too. I wanted� I mean something." On the last three words his voice rose slightly, as if to drown out any rebuttal.
"You mean nothing." Hannan's voice was flat. Joshu managed not to flinch at the words, dropping heavily into the stillness of the room. They were familiar. "And if Benden Blood is what you place your faith in to make your mark, I doubt you ever will."
Joshu looked at the floor, his knuckles white around the ring. "I'm going to Benden Weyr," he said. "A brown rider� Ch'tor. I've been Searched." His voice was quick and edging on frantic.
Hannan shrugged. "I don't want to see that ring again," he said. "When you come back," and that 'when' did make Joshu flinch, "make sure it's gone."
"I� I may not come back."
"Of course you'll come back." Hannan's voice began to rise. "You're a worthless piece of-" He broke off and pressed a hand against his forehead, then took a step forward. "Answer me this then, o wonderful dragonrider-in-waiting. If I can't love you, what's the likelihood of a dragon doing so?" His voice was flat.
Joshu's eyes stung slightly, but he shook his head quickly. "You're wrong." It was the bravest thing he had said for Turns.
Hannan's laugh was dry. "You'll see. I'm your father, Joshu. I know you. It isn't possible to love you."
Joshu couldn't ignore the pressure behind his eyes now. He was furious with himself. "I'm� I'm going to pack, Da. Quickly."
Satisfied with the effect of his words, Hannan nodded. "You'll only take what belongs to you," he said. "Except for the ring. You're welcome to that."
Joshu nodded, and reached for a pair of trousers, startled when Hannan pulled them out of his grip. "They're mine," he protested quietly, staring at the floor.
"I bought them," Hannan said.
"You�" Joshu glanced up. "You� you gave them� they were bought for me."
"Loaned to you. I can sell them on now. I told you, nothing that you did not buy with your own wages."
Joshu looked around the single room, blinking to keep the tears back. "I� I don't have time for this, Da." He got to his feet. "The dragonrider is waiting. I� can take the ring?" Hannan nodded. Joshu glanced towards his guitar, lying on his bed. "My guitar, as well," he said.
"I should have some compensation for having fed and watered you this long," Hannan said.
Joshu looked at him, uncomprehending. "Not my� Da!" His voice was thick with pain. "It's my guitar! I bought it!"
Hannan shrugged, his face unmoved. "You were never any good, anyway."
The tears did start then, gathering heavily at the corners of Joshu's eyes. He was disgusted with himself. He scrubbed a sleeve harshly across his eyes. "I'll� buy it from you," he said desperately. "You� Da, I don't have time!"
"Leave the guitar then."
Joshu scrubbed at his face again. "Ask Renic. I'm owed wages. That� will it cover it?"
"How much?"
"A couple of month's. I kept forgetting. There was� your wages covered what we needed."
"That'll be half."
Joshu looked around frantically. "I� there's no more!" He looked down at his hand, and clutched the ring more tightly for a second before thrusting it towards his father. "Sell this," he said, tears falling steadily now.
Hannan recoiled from the ring, his face dark. "No," he said. "I told you I didn't want to see it again. Get out."
"But� Da, my guitar!"
"Out." Hannan pointed towards the door, advancing on Joshu, who began to stumble backwards, out of the door. He fell onto the ground, blinking in the suddenly bright sunlight.
He scrambled to his feet, hoping that he might be able to make some quick dash back into the cottage. But Hannan stood in the doorway, blocking it, and Joshu's nerve failed him. He turned, tears almost blinding him, and began to run down the path, clutching the ring tightly to his chest in both hands.
2.
Ch'tor hadn't really wanted to be on Search today. He leaned against a tree, and carefully didn't look at the muttering group of fieldworkers, his neck slightly hot. "Sankath?" he said out loud. "Talking to me yet?"
He heard a noisy dragon sigh. If I must.
Ch'tor grinned. "You're certain about this son of Hannan?"
Yes.
"You think he'll be a bronze rider? It'd be nice to bring back a bronze candidate."
I'm not sure. Sankath sounded uncertain, an unusual occurrence for the dragon. Candidates� get the dragon they deserve. And he deserves� he doesn't want a bronze.
"He wants a green." Ch'tor tipped his head back against the tree and sighed. "J'sep'll be pleased, anyway."
Another convert.
Ch'tor laughed. "How're things over by the Hold?"
Boring. Sankath sounded petulant. I pulled Orth's tail a little while ago and they all told me to come over here, away from them.
"That's my dragon," Ch'tor said. "We have to work on our attention spans."
You bored?
"No!" Ch'tor said indignantly. "Just� ooh, look, a butterfly." Sankath's laughter filled his head. Ch'tor tore his gaze away from the butterfly to see a thin figure, head down, tumbling headlong along the path. "The son of Hannan's back. See you in a small while."
Oh, goody.
A frown began to grow on Ch'tor's face as Joshu was intercepted by the other fieldworkers, and it became obvious that he was crying, clutching something to his chest. He reached them quickly, and the fieldworkers parted before him. He suppressed his habitual quick regret at that. "Joshu?"
The young man looked up, his eyes widening. "Dragonrider! I� I'm ready to go." He straightened up, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand.
The tears of people Ch'tor didn't know made him nervy. He had no idea how to deal with them. "I� you can stay here for a while. If you want."
"No!" It was quick and sharp.
Ch'tor looked helplessly at the other fieldworkers, and back at Joshu. "You're sure?"
"Very." The tears were drying up now, although he still clutched something tightly to his chest.
"I� let's go then." He turned away with rare delicacy as the fieldworkers took their leave of the son of Hannan, but glanced up as the tall form appeared by his side.
