The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [75]
She felt the absolute cold of between as Ramoth snatched them back, emerging once more above the Star Stone. Lessa was shuddering, her eyes frantically taking in the reassuring sight of the Weyr Bowl, hoping she had not somehow shifted backward in time yet again. Mnementh suddenly erupted into the air a few lengths below and beyond Ramoth. Lessa greeted him with a cry of intense relief.
Back to your weyr! There was no disguising the white fury in Mnementh’s tone. Lessa was too unnerved to respond in any way other than instant compliance. Ramoth glided swiftly to their ledge, quickly clearing the perch for Mnementh to land.
The rage on F’lar’s face as he leaped from Mnementh and advanced on Lessa brought her wits back abruptly. She made no move to evade him as he grabbed her shoulders and shook her violently.
“How dare you risk yourself and Ramoth? Why must you defy me at every opportunity? Do you realize what would happen to all Pern if we lost Ramoth? Where did you go?” He was spitting with anger, punctuating each question that tumbled from his lips by giving her a head-wrenching shake.
“Ruatha,” she managed to say, trying to keep herself erect. She reached out to catch at his arms, but he shook her again.
“Ruatha? We were there. You weren’t. Where did you go?”
“Ruatha!” Lessa cried louder, clutching at him distractedly because he kept jerking her off balance. She couldn’t organize her thoughts with him jolting her around.
She was at Ruatha, Mnementh said firmly.
We were there twice, Ramoth added.
As the dragons’ calmer words penetrated F’lar’s fury, he stopped shaking Lessa. She hung limply in his grasp, her hands weakly plucking at his arms, her eyes closed, her face gray. He picked her up and strode rapidly into the queen’s Weyr, the dragons following. He placed her upon the couch, wrapping her tightly in the fur cover. He called down the service shaft for the duty cook to send up hot klah.
“All right, what happened?” he demanded.
She didn’t look at him, but he got a glimpse of her haunted eyes. She blinked constantly as if she longed to erase what she had just seen.
Finally she got herself somewhat under control and said in a low, tired voice, “I did go to Ruatha. Only . . . I went back to Ruatha.”
“Back to Ruatha?” F’lar repeated the words stupidly; the significance momentarily eluded him.
It certainly does, Mnementh agreed and flashed to F’lar’s mind the two scenes he had picked out of Ramoth’s memory.
Staggered by the import of the visualization, F’lar found himself slowly sinking to the edge of the bed.
“You went between times?”
She nodded slowly. The terror was beginning to leave her eyes.
“Between times,” F’lar murmured. “I wonder . . .”
His mind raced through the possibilities. It might well tip the scales of survival in the Weyr’s favor. He couldn’t think exactly how to use this extraordinary ability, but there must be an advantage in it for dragonfolk.
The service shaft rumbled. He took the pitcher from the platform and poured two mugs.
Lessa’s hands were shaking so much that she couldn’t get hers to her lips. He steadied it for her, wondering if going between times would regularly cause this kind of shock. If so, it wouldn’t be any advantage at all. If she’d had enough of a scare this day, she might not be so contemptuous of his orders the next time; which would be to his benefit.
Outside in the weyr, Mnementh snorted his opinion on that. F’lar ignored him.
Lessa was trembling violently now. He put an arm around her, pressing the fur against her slender body. He held the mug to her lips, forcing her to drink. He could feel the tremors ease off. She took long, slow, deep