The Dragons of Noor

by Janet Lee Carey

  Taunier cleared his throat and stood up. “This storm won’t end any time soon. We’d best be getting home before your mother goes into a panic. You know how she’s been since Tymm—” He offered his hand to help her up.

  “There’s something I have to ask you.” Hanna rose, the low fire burning between them. “It wasn’t all that many years ago when you used to fish with your granda.”

  “So?”

  “So, do you know anyone down at the harbor who can loan me a small boat?”

  Taunier stomped out the fire. “Why?”

  “I need to look for Tymm.”

  Smoke coiled about his legs. “Hanna,” he said, “you know all the sailors in Brim went out to sea after the children were blown over the water. And you know as well as I do that they didn’t find any of them.”

  “They didn’t know where to look.”

  “And you do?”

  Back on the trail, the slippery mud chilled her feet. Taunier said, “I know you found Miles last year, but this is different, Hanna. Miles was lost here on Mount Shalem. Tymm and the others … they were taken far away from us by some—”

  “Magic,” Hanna finished. “Some magic. That’s why I have to go.”

  Taunier shook his head and said something under his breath. It sounded like stubborn girl.

  “What did you say?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing.”

  She should have told him where she’d found Miles last year. Miles was on this mountain, yet he was in Oth, a place invisible to all who didn’t have the magic to enter in. She’d kept last year’s adventure to herself. Only the Falconer, Old Gurty, and Great-Uncle Enoch had known the whole story. It might help to show Taunier the maps of Noor and Oth in The Way Between Worlds so he could see how one world mirrored the other. It would be a place to start; yet she’d never shared the Falconer’s magical book with anyone but Miles.

  At last they came in sight of the cottage. She could see Da working down at the sheep pen. There was no time left. She should tell Taunier now. Whether he admitted it or not, he seemed to know something about magic, and if that were so, she could really use his help. She didn’t want to have to sail after Tymm alone. “What do you know of magic?” she asked cautiously.

  “Only what I’ve been taught.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Trouble. And those who practice magic are troublemakers.”

  “You can’t really think that!”

  He thrust out his hand. “Come on. You’re to be home, and your da’s waiting for me below.”

  She pulled back. “You go on. I won’t be slowing you down anymore.”

  “And now you’re mad at me? When I came to fetch you?”

  “I could have gotten home on my own!”

  “Fine, then. Suit yourself!”

  “And here’s your cloak!” She tore it from her back and hurled it at him. It slapped wetly against his front. He glared at her as he put it on, then turned on his heel and marched down to Da.

  When Hanna reached the yard, Da said, “Go in now and comfort your mother. The poor soul thought the wind had stolen you, too!” His voice was cold with anger.

  “I dreamwalked, Da. I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry.”

  In the cottage, Mother sat on the bench near the fire.

  “I’m sorry, Mother. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  Mother shook her head, speechless over losing Tymm, and then this morning thinking Hanna, too, had disappeared. Hanna felt her Mother’s confused sorrow all the more in the silence.

  “I’ll make us some thool,” she offered. A few minutes later, bringing her mother the steaming cup, she wanted to say she’d caught sight of Tymm, but Mother had been raised to distrust any kind of magic, and she feared Hanna’s dreamwalks.

  Hardly able to bear the troubled silence, Hanna found herself wishing her mother would shout at her. Mother had always kept busy, spinning wool when she wasn’t scrubbing the floor, milking the cow, cooking stew, or making candles. Now her hands were empty. She hadn’t even picked up her cup.

  “I’ll find him, Mother. Remember how I found Miles last year?” Hanna was desperate to believe it herself. But she’d had more faith in magic when the Falconer was alive to guide her. The great meer had traveled all over Noor and had crossed into Oth many times before he came to spend the last years of his life on Enness Isle. Hanna missed her old teacher terribly.

  “Won’t you drink your thool, Mother, before it gets cold?”

  “I don’t want it.”

  Hanna sat on the bench. The fire was warm, but the warmth didn’t reach her. With her arm about her mother, she watched the tilting flames.

  SIX

  ENOCH’S GIFT

  You will learn to find great magic in ordinary things.

  —THE OTHIC ART OF MEDITATION

  It is not easy for a girl to run away, especially an island girl, but Hanna’s granda had once had a small sailboat. It belonged to his brother, Great-Uncle Enoch, now, though it was little used and in ill repair.

  She had to borrow Da’s wheelbarrow to haul the Falconer’s trunk and other supplies down to the harbor, and then she had to steal the boat itself. It shamed her to do it, but she couldn’t stay on the island any longer.

  Before dawn, she’d hefted the trunk aboard the boat and stowed it down below. She’d filled it with needed things: the Falconer’s book, which she needed for its pages on magic, herbal healing, and, most of all, for the hand-drawn maps of Noor and Oth. She’d also packed the Falconer’s healing tinctures, his knife, and Tymm’s grass rope—the very last thing he’d made before he was stolen. Last she packed her own precious lightstone, which had glowed even in the darkest realm of the shadow vale last year when she’d gone into Oth after Miles.

  Trunk stowed and water barrel battened down, she slipped her hand in her pocket and felt the cool glass vial. Great-Uncle Enoch had given her the vial last evening when he’d come to the cottage with Old Gurty to treat Mother with mountain herbs that would ease her anxious fears and help her sleep.

  Hanna had asked Great-Uncle Enoch to help her draw water from the well, hoping to get a word with him alone. As she’d hauled up the water bucket, he’d said, “After your da came by our cottage to tell us Tymm was stolen, I went to Garth Lake to sit by the old roots and listen.”

  The bucket shook in her hand. She hadn’t gone back to the lake herself the week after Tymm was stolen, when the whole forest was toppling down. Nor had she tried to reach Great-Uncle Enoch’s smallholding, with so many trees falling between her cottage and his. She marveled at the old man’s courage. Still, her great-uncle had a deep understanding of trees. Most folk thought Enoch had lived in Reon for fifty years before coming back to Enness, but Hanna knew the real secret of his past. He’d angered the Sylth Queen long ago, and she’d taken her revenge by imprisoning him in a stunted oak for fifty years.

  She’d helped Miles and Gurty free him from the oak after they’d returned from Oth, and she remembered how Enoch had cried with joy when he’d been freed.

  Hanna peered into his eyes, light blue even in the moonlight.

  “The roots are dying,” he said. “The Waytrees all across Noor, who hold the mysteries of Oth in their roots, are falling. If the last of the Waytrees fall, the way between the worlds will close.”

  Hanna’s throat constricted. “I spoke to Wild Esper,” she blurted. “She said the wind blew Tymm and the rest of the children to eastern Oth. If the way between the worlds closes, how am I … how can we get Tymm out of Oth before it’s too late?”

  Great-Uncle Enoch shook his head. “The roots did not tell me that. But you went to Oth last year and found Miles.”

  “Here on the mountain,” she reminded him. “Tymm was blown east.”

  Enoch took the bucket from her to fill a pitcher. “You were in Brim when the first wind came, and later you saw Tymm taken. Tell me what you saw, Hanna.”

  “The wind stole only three children out of the crowd: Cilla, Bra
nd, and Darlee. It seemed to pick them out. To choose them. If you had been there, you would have seen how it knocked the rest of us down. First it happened in the market square; then Tymm was taken, but I was not.” She’d not said this aloud before. She hadn’t let herself even think it. Her brother had been chosen. She’d been left behind.

  Hanna leaned against the cold well stones. She’d crossed over into Oth and knew something about magic. Hadn’t the Falconer entrusted her with his important book before he died? Hadn’t she and Miles helped free Enoch from the oak? Wasn’t she a Dreamwalker whose dreams often foretold the future? Why would the wind steal children too young to know anything of magic? What could the wind possibly want with them?

  She looked up at her great-uncle. “Why take Tymm, Uncle Enoch?” she asked. “He’s so young.”

  “So young, aye.” He tipped the dipper this way and that. “The wind is choosing, as you say.”

  “But why?”

  Enoch could speak the language of the trees. He’d been to Oth, was old enough to know, but he only shook his head, his tangled hair a white nest in the starlight.

  “You’ll go after him, just as you went after Miles.”

  “Come with me. Can you come?” Her hand was on his threadbare sleeve.

  Enoch shook his head. “I’m too old to go as far as that. You know it, Hanna.” He hung the dipper on its hook, then pulled a small, brown bottle from his pocket. “This is for you.”

  She cupped the cool glass in her hand. “Is this a healing tincture?”

  Enoch smiled. “You might say that, but it’s only a bit of salt water.”

  Hanna wanted to say, What’s the use of that? But Great-Uncle Enoch touched the corner of his eye. “Tears,” he whispered. “And not sorry ones, but glad ones that came on the day you, Miles, and Gurty freed me from the tree.”

  His wrinkled face cracked to a full smile. “Gurty helped me gather them after you left us on the mountain.”

  Hanna remembered how he’d come out of the oak tree the Sylth Queen had enspelled him in, waving his arms and weeping happily after fifty years of imprisonment on the high cliff.

  “What am I to do with them?” she asked.

  “The roots told me the Kanameer will know what to do with them.”

  Enoch picked up the pitcher and turned to leave. His soft-spoken words had confused Hanna more than ever. “Wait,” she said. “Who is the Kanameer?”

  It was then Da had thrown open the back door, calling, “What’s taking so long with the water, girl? Must I come out myself?”

  A gull landed on the dock and folded its wings. Hanna slipped Enoch’s vial back into her pocket and looked out across the bay. It was time to go. She climbed on the deck of the creaking boat. The cloudy sky held the threat of rain, but the rising sun sent arms of light across the sea. As the time for departure drew near, she grew more anxious. Why hadn’t she paid closer attention to Granda’s instructions the last time he’d taken her to sea? Frowning with concentration, she checked beneath the narrow seats, where the extra rope was stored, and found the stash of candles, the life floaters, and other gear.

  Footsteps sounded on the dock, and Hanna turned. Taunier leaned against the piling, arms crossed, the burnt edge of his green cloak flapping in the breeze.

  She rose to face him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I might ask you the same question.”

  Mother and Da must have found the note she’d written before dawn this morning and sent him down to stop her. “Tell my parents I can’t come home,” she said. “Tell them I won’t come.”

  “I know that.”

  His calm answer infuriated her. Was he so self-assured that he thought he could leap on deck and muscle her home against her will? When they’d walked back down the mountain yesterday morning, she never should have told him she was in search of a boat or mentioned her reason for wanting it. But Taunier’s next words made her draw in a breath.

  “I thought I’d better come along.”

  “Come along?”

  “Aye, it’s better than sailing this little ship alone, isn’t it?”

  She adjusted her hood to conceal her red cheeks. “You know it’s bound to be a long journey,” she challenged.

  “Would you rather I stay behind so you can look for Tymm on your own?”

  “No, I—” Now what had she done? A half smile appeared on his face. He was teasing her, and she’d fallen for it.

  “I was out for weeks sometimes with my granda. Twice we sailed as far as Reon to sell our catch, and our boat wasn’t much bigger than this one.”

  She didn’t want to argue, and the next few moments were a flurry of activity as they readied the boat for launch. The sun glinted on the choppy water, and gulls circled overhead. Hanna’s heart felt lighter. It would be a long journey, but she didn’t have to cross the East Morrow Sea alone.

  Before she helped Taunier hoist the sail, she touched Enoch’s small brown bottle for luck, though some would say the liquid treasure inside was only a bit of salt water.

  SEVEN

  MIST AND MUSIC

  After a long sea journey, the Mishtar returned home to the isle of Othlore. There he wrote his dragon history, scored the Dragons’ Requiem, and taught young meers his magic.

  —A MEER’S HISTORY OF NOOR

  Salt water splashed the Leena’s prow. On the foredeck, Miles cleared his raw throat and shouted into the wall of fog. “Hanna! Taunier!”

  No answer. The torches hissed. They’d lit two here on the prow and two at the stern, hoping to send a guiding light into the thick mist. How could she have run away like that? They’d sailed all the way to Enness Isle only to find Hanna had gone the day before. Another delay, after it had taken them nearly two weeks to sail from Othlore! He spat over the side. Pigheaded girl. If she’d waited just a little longer, they would have taken her aboard the Leena. But she’d gone off in Great-Uncle Enoch’s excuse for a boat, a one-man ship that would never make it across the East Morrow Sea.

  Miles shouted their names again. How could they hope to find Hanna in this wretched, endless fog? It was a wonder Captain Kanoae could steer at all in this soup.

  He put his hand up to his neck. Shout much more and he’d lose his voice altogether. Deep down, he understood why Hanna had left in such a hurry. He leaned into the rail, remembering how horrible he’d felt when Da told him Tymm was Wind-taken, like he’d been hit in the gut with a shovel.

  He knew something was terribly wrong when he’d walked up the long dirt road toward home and saw all the old trees of Shalem Wood felled, the great forest of his childhood gone. But the second blow was worse when he’d reached the cottage with the meers to find Mother, her face swollen from tears, and Da, with his utterly lost expression.

  “They’re gone,” Da said while Mother paced, sobbing. “Both of them. First our Tymm, then Hanna thinking she could sail after him.” He choked the words out, his voice thick with anger. “We sent Taunier down to fetch her back. Stubborn girl wouldn’t come.”

  “Where’s Taunier now?” Miles had asked.

  “The boy went with her,” Da said. He sat on the bench and looked up at Miles. “At least the lad’s familiar with the sea.”

  “Taunier will look after Hanna,” Miles said, hoping to ease his da’s fears. Meer Eason had brewed some thool while Miles tried to get his mother to sit down next to Da.

  “He was always so clever with his hands, was Tymm,” Da said, his own rough hands cupped over his knees as he looked into the fire. It took a long time to make sense of the whole story with both his parents so lost in grief. Miles found his own inner storm taking on more power at the sight of Mother’s hopelessness and Da’s rage.

  Over and over Miles had said, “I’ll bring them home. I promise,” trying to convince them—to convince himself.

  “We’ll do all we can to find your son and daughter, Mr. Sheen,” said Meer Eason. There was no consoling them. They both had a hollow look, like the expression Miles had noti
ced on the Brim townsfolk; only his parents’ faces were lined with a heavier, more personal sorrow.

  The ship heaved. Find Hanna. Find Tymm. He wondered if he could keep either promise he’d made to his parents. If they couldn’t locate the small sailboat in this fog, how could the meers go east without the Dreamwalker? And if they did turn east without her, how could he go with them and abandon his sister?

  Breal trotted up, his nostrils flaring.

  “Have you picked up a scent?” Back at the cottage they’d held one of Hanna’s scarves to Breal’s wet nose. A great hunter, Breal had followed prey from Noor to Oth and back in his darker years, when the Shriker’s curse was on him. Now Breal thwacked Miles’s leg with his heavy tail, confusion in his large brown eyes.

  Miles leaned over the rail. Maybe it was time to use his power. Just this once he could shape-shift into a bird, fly over the water, and spot his sister’s boat. What was the harm in that? His heart pounded just thinking of it, and his mouth began to water. It would have to be a large bird, like the giant falcon shape he’d taken last year, for he wouldn’t consider shifting into anything smaller or less powerful than himself. A great bird, then, with a six- or seven-foot wingspan. His breath quickened. He gripped the rail tighter, then Breal tugged his shirttail so hard it nearly pulled him over, bringing him back to his senses. Squatting down, he put his face against his dog’s neck to breathe in the familiar smell of his fur and calm himself. The falcon’s warning last year had been right. Change thrice and you free dark power. His third shift into the Shriker had freed dark power all right. And he’d nearly lost himself when he’d become the beast. What might await him if he should shift a fourth time?

  “Sorry, Breal,” he whispered. “It’s only … so much has gone wrong, and we need to find Hanna quickly.”

  When he stood again, Meer Eason was crossing the deck. A sudden wave sent a white spray across the meer’s face, leaving droplets in his gray-black braid. He gave a laugh of surprise, adjusted his damp robes, then tipped his head and hummed. Miles wondered how his Music Master could remain so cheerful.