The Dragons of Noor

by Janet Lee Carey

  “What notes are the wind playing?” he asked.

  “Why?” asked Miles.

  He should have listened, then answered his teacher with respect, but he was too worried about Hanna to think of music now.

  “I ask because it is important.”

  Miles frowned. “Sir?”

  “Music goes back to the first song lines of eOwey. The Old Magic of that first song is still here. Listen, play, and we will keep in tune with it.” Eason drew out his alto flute. “We must do all we can to keep in touch with the Old Magic.”

  It would ease him to play a song. Sometimes he lost his anger when he played, or his fear, but how could he take any solace with Tymm gone and Hanna in jeopardy? It didn’t seem right. And anyway, his mood was too heavy now for music.

  “The magic is already going out of the world,” Miles said. “Haven’t you felt it?”

  Meer Eason nodded. “I feel it.”

  “Even when we passed through Brim’s market square on our way back to the boat, everything seemed different. No one was haggling over prices, and the children just stood there. They seemed to have forgotten how to laugh or play.” He gripped the rail, not sure what he was trying to say.

  “It takes imagination to play,” Eason said. “The High Meer told us that, as Oth splits away from Noor, people will forget how to dream. I, too, saw the emptiness. They had the look of those who sleep but cannot dream.”

  “I still dream,” Miles said.

  “In color?”

  Miles stared into the fog. “Gray dreams.”

  “Fading dreams,” Eason said. “We’re lucky still to have some magic in us from our music and from our time on Othlore.”

  “Will it be like this all over Noor from now on?” The mist seemed to flood into him, saying this. It was as if all the children had been stolen, not just those who were Wind-taken. And it wasn’t only the children who had lost their liveliness. The grown-ups were worse: gray-faced, deadened. What happens to people who cannot dream? What kind of world would be left in Noor if all the magic were gone?

  “Maybe Oth’s already too far from us,” Miles said despondently. “Maybe we’re already too late to stop the rift between the worlds.”

  Meer Eason leaned into the wind. “I don’t think the High Meer would have sent us to Jarrosh if it were already too late, Miles.” He polished the silver flute with the soft lining of his cloak. “This heavy feeling you have, I won’t tell you it’s not real, but you have to try to fight it. Keep hold of the magic that is in you. We can’t be of any help if we lose hold of that in ourselves, can we?”

  Bringing the conversation back to its beginning, Meer Eason continued, “Music will help you feel better. How is the Dragons’ Requiem coming?”

  “The Mishtar’s score is hard to play, sir.”

  “That it is,” Eason said with a knowing smile. “You can practice it with me now.”

  “But, sir.”

  “What is it now? Did you leave your ervay down in the cabin?”

  “No, I have it.” Miles lifted his cloak, revealing the leather pouch hanging from his shoulder. It was a part of him, always there. “It’s just … the Dragons’ Requiem. Do you think it’s true what we heard about the dragons when we landed in Reon?” There had been some ugly rumors flying around the harbor and at the sellers’ stalls last week, when they stopped to get supplies.

  “That the dragons are at war with men again?” Eason said. “It’s hard to say. They’re wild creatures, after all.”

  “But why would they break the treaties after so many years?”

  “I’ve wondered that myself.” Meer Eason stared out into the nothingness, the sea and sky one solid color. Miles felt the ship moving forward into the gray.

  Breal interrupted the conversation, nudging up against Miles and lifting his snout. “Breal’s been sniffing the air. He might have found Hanna’s scent.”

  Meer Eason looked pleased and patted the dog’s head.

  Miles said, “He has a brilliant nose.”

  Meer Eason laughed. “I hope you’re right.” He played three notes, catching the wind’s eerie tune. “We can’t see Hanna’s boat in this mist. Play with me. We will let our music speak across the water.”

  Miles wasn’t at all sure Meer Eason’s idea would work, but he tugged the ervay from the beaded pouch. The sylth silver of the Y-shaped flute felt cool against his fingers.

  “Begin,” Meer Eason said.

  Throughout the sunless day, the sea air remained gray as an empty room. Torches hissed orange on the prow, their light barely piercing the fog. Miles leaned against the rail. His lips were numb from hours of playing. Still, as they’d practiced the Dragons’ Requiem, he’d felt a tingling in his core, the sense that the Old Magic was everywhere around them, invisible yet there, as Meer Eason had said. In the music, he’d found the assurance he’d needed so much just now.

  More hours passed, with still no sign of the little sailboat. Mist thinned enough for them to see the moon rising ringed with clouds. Music drifted across the endless dark. Then Breal began to bark, and a voice called across the water. “Hello?”

  Miles lowered his ervay, trembling. He knew that voice. “Hanna?”

  A small wavering sail appeared ghostlike ahead. Miles made out a tiny boat with two figures huddled on the deck. One stood suddenly on the wobbling boat, peering through the gloom.

  “Miles?” Hanna called excitedly. “We heard the song. Taunier sailed toward it. I can’t believe—”

  Breal barked and jumped up and down on the deck.

  “Breal?” Hanna reached toward the Leena recklessly, tipping her boat even more.

  “Keep your craft steady,” ordered Captain Kanoae. “You’ll see your brother and your dog soon enough. Let us come up alongside you.”

  Kanoae deftly maneuvered the Leena toward the small boat on the choppy water. Breal bounded across the deck as Miles and Eason unlashed the climbing ropes.

  “Give me your hand,” Miles called down to Hanna. She scaled up the side, and her small cold hand gripped his. He pulled his sister onto the deck, her round face nearly invisible in the dark.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked breathlessly. They were alone for a brief moment as Meer Eason helped Taunier on board.

  “You’re crazy, Hanna. Do you know that?” He hugged her, then pushed her away, relieved to find her and irritated that she’d sailed off with Taunier.

  Meer Eason called, “Where’s your hospitality, Miles? Our guests are cold and wet. Why don’t you take these seafarers down below and get some hot thool into them?”

  “What about Enoch’s boat?” Taunier asked anxiously.

  “Don’t worry about that. Captain Kanoae and I can rig up the towline ourselves.”

  “Come on.” Miles led them to the stairs. He had a word or two to say to them both in private.

  EIGHT

  BELOW DECK

  Tesha yoven is “Bind the broken” in DragonTongue.

  —THE MISHTAR, DRAGON’S WAY, VOL. 2

  Hanna took the pan down from the hook and lit the stove in the ship’s galley. “Where’s the thool powder, Miles?”

  Her brother was too busy glaring at Taunier to answer her. They were the same age, but Taunier was taller and broader shouldered; still, Miles looked poised to start a fight. “Just what were you thinking, taking my sister to sea?”

  Taunier narrowed his dark eyes. “I didn’t take her to sea. She was leaving on her own, so I—”

  “He’s right.” Hanna wedged her way between them. “I was going to leave Enness anyway. Taunier came along to help, so I wouldn’t sail east alone.”

  “Mother and Da are worried sick,” snapped Miles, pacing, his face angry in the candle’s glow.

  The ship tilted, and the pans hanging from the ceiling clanged together. Hanna spread her feet to keep her balance. “I knew they would be upset, but I left a note telling them why I—”

  “You should have stayed home, Hanna. Mother and D
a were already frightened enough after what happened to Tymm.”

  Her brother’s words stung, and Hanna blinked back sudden tears. “It was because of Tymm I had to go. You know that!”

  Tymm’s name had been invoked but twice. Still, Hanna felt it floating in the air between them like a spell. And it seemed that the table, the hanging pots, and the spice bundles grew dim with the sound of it.

  Miles wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Da told me you were with Tymm when … when it happened.”

  Hanna sat on a bench and wrapped her arm about Breal’s thick neck. He panted and licked her cheek. “We were out by Garth Lake when the wind came. I tried to catch Tymm as he was swept away, but I couldn’t reach him.” She hugged Breal harder. “I tried, Miles; I really did.” She was crying now, wiping her cheeks with her rough, damp cloak.

  Miles said, “I know.”

  “How can you know? You weren’t even there!”

  “The same thing happened to me on Othlore.”

  “What?” Hanna looked up at her brother.

  “It’s happening everywhere,” Miles said. “The Waytrees in the old forests all across Noor are falling. And everywhere the trees die, children are Wind-taken.”

  Taunier crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “But why?”

  “We don’t know why for sure, but the High Meer thinks there is a connection between the two. He said the children might have been taken to help the Waytrees in the east. We’re heading there now to find out.”

  “Who would do that?” Hanna blurted. “It’s horrible. And anyway, how could Tymm or Cilla or any of them be of help?”

  Miles looked startled. “Cilla was taken, too? Mave’s little girl who weaves so well?”

  Hanna nodded. “She and some others were stolen from the market in Brim. Taunier and I were there when it happened.” She realized Mother and Da must have been too overwrought about Tymm to tell Miles about Cilla. The pot boiled, and she removed it from the stove.

  Miles said, “When the tempest came to Othlore, the boy beside me was taken up. I tried to keep hold of his ankle, but the gust smashed me against a wall and tore him from my grasp.” He heaved a sigh. “As they spun higher I heard him and the others calling out in DragonTongue.”

  “What did they say?” asked Taunier.

  “Words you wouldn’t understand.” Miles said this a bit too proudly, Hanna thought.

  “But I’ve studied some DragonTongue myself,” Miles added.

  “Out with it,” demanded Taunier. Hanna knew Taunier didn’t like to be bettered any more than Miles did.

  Miles pulled back his shoulders. “They called out ‘Tesha yoven.’ It’s a binding spell.”

  Hanna dropped the rag she’d been drying her hands on. “Tymm said that before he was taken.”

  Miles leaned forward. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded.

  “It doesn’t make sense. How would Tymm know those words?”

  Hanna picked up the fallen rag and shook it out.

  “He might have seen them in the Falconer’s book,” said Taunier.

  “I’ve kept it locked away in the trunk. I’m sure Tymm never got a chance to read it.” She turned to Miles. “What does it mean?”

  “Bind the broken.” He crossed his arms. “We use the spell in Restoration Magic class to mend broken pitchers or furniture or—”

  “Like Tymm,” said Taunier.

  “Not like Tymm. He was … is,” he corrected himself, “clever-handed, but we don’t use glue pots at the meer’s school.”

  “Bind the broken.” Hanna tasted the words like a new flavor. This was what the Waytrees and the deyas inside them did. Bind the places where the worlds were breaking in two.

  At the rough table, Taunier reached out and caught the candle’s drip on his forefinger. Clear as rain at first falling, it hardened white on his fingertip. Hanna felt a flutter in her belly as he lifted the wax from his finger, formed a tiny boat, and put it on the table. This was the second time she’d seen his friendly way with fire, though the first time he’d moved flame.

  Hanna found the thool can in the cupboard and stirred the brown powder into the pot. She needed to busy herself, to do something with her hands as she tried to take it all in.

  Miles told them of another meer who’d sailed east early in the year. “She’s a seer named Zabith who lived deep in Othlore Wood. She knew something was amiss before the rest of us. We hope to meet up with her, though we don’t know if she reached Jarrosh.”

  Taunier spun the wax boat on the table. “If you meant to head east all along, why take the time to sail west to Enness?”

  Waves beat against the hull. Hanna steadied herself and poured the thool for all of them. Miles stirred the hot drink in his mug. “The High Meer saw a face in the scrying stone,” he said at last.

  Taunier stopped spinning. “Whose face?” he asked, his voice faintly quavering.

  Hanna looked at him. Was he wondering if the High Meer had seen him? Singled him out in his scrying stone for his power over fire?

  “Hanna’s.”

  Hanna’s head felt suddenly light, as if she’d swallowed the candle’s glow. The High Meer of Othlore sent them to Enness to find me! She felt herself smiling. To be seen in a magical scrying stone. To be wanted …

  Hiding her expression, she peered over the rim of her mug at Taunier. What did he think? Was he happy for her? Taunier met her gaze with silence. His head was tilted slightly, as if seeing her for the first time. She glanced away, suddenly uncomfortable.

  Miles finished his thool in four gulps. “The High Meer said we were to bring the Dreamwalker with us.” He wiped his mouth. “You know about her dreamwalks by now, don’t you?” he asked Taunier.

  “I know. I’ve followed her more than once to bring her home.”

  “Stop it,” said Hanna, suddenly fuming. “Both of you are talking about me as if I’m not here.”

  “Sorry, sis.” Miles put his empty mug in the washtub.

  “Hanna?” Taunier scooted the wax boat across the table to her.

  She picked it up. It felt warm. Weightless. The High Meer had sent them after her, a Dreamwalker. She’d not spoken to anyone about the things she’d seen in her latest dreamwalk. She was still trying to puzzle it out.

  The door burst open. Meer Eason poked his head in. “We have brought your things aboard. Captain Kanoae said you are to bunk with her, Hanna. We slid your trunk under your berth.” He seemed to catch the tension in the room. “Well, I have to get back on deck. Miles, will you show them to their quarters when you’re done here?”

  “I will, sir.”

  NINE

  THE FALCONER’S BOOK

  Wind erased their footprints,

  And the people wandered lost.

  —THE BOOK OF EOWEY

  Miles hurried them down the narrow passage to the captain’s quarters, lit the oil lamp, and shut the door. Hanna sat on the bed, not seeming to want to look at him or Taunier. She tugged her fingers through her tangled hair. Taunier leaned against Captain Kanoae’s map-covered table.

  “Have you dreamwalked since Shalem Wood was destroyed?” Miles asked cautiously.

  “Why do you want to know?” Hanna looked irritated. Or was that fear he was seeing?

  “Something else the High Meer said. Wherever forests are falling, people are forgetting how to dream. We’ve seen a kind of hollow look on people’s faces ever since we left Othlore, in places like Reon, and we saw it again in Brim.”

  “I know what you mean,” Taunier said with interest. “The other morning when I came through Brim looking for Hanna, the townsfolk were acting strangely. Their faces had a grayish color, and the children just stood about. None of them were playing like they usually do.”

  Miles tried not to show the anxiety he was feeling. Losing dreams was a part of this all somehow, though he didn’t know the connection yet. He’d been overjoyed to find Hanna safe tonight, but he couldn’t forget the reason the meers had gon
e out of their way to find her. What good would it do to bring her east, where they’d be facing certain danger, if she could no longer dream?

  Hanna went to the porthole window. “I dreamwalked after Tymm was stolen,” she said. “A week after, if you want to know precisely when. All the elder trees in Shalem Wood had fallen by then.” She peered outside at the lifting mist as she described the dreamwalk, the great black tree she’d seen, and the children climbing its branches.

  “Tymm?” Miles asked, his mouth dry. “You saw him?”

  Hanna nodded.

  “A strange dream, for sure,” said Taunier. “What do you think it means?”

  “I don’t know.” She paced the tiny room, hugging her elbows. “I just remember what it was like seeing Tymm. I thought I’d found him, you know?” She stared at the uneven lamp’s glow and shook her head. “Then I woke up, and he was gone again.”

  Miles looked into her eyes, one green and one blue. “We’ll find him, Hanna. We have to find him.” He was reassuring her, though his stomach churned, and it wasn’t from seasickness. Before he’d left for the meer school, Tymm had helped him mend the fence with his small, clever hands. They’d laughed together, drinking from the water pouch, spitting arcs of silver water at the sheep on the far side of the fence. He clenched his jaw at the memory. “I’ve never seen nor heard of any black trees like you described in your dream.”

  “I hadn’t, either. But before I left Enness, I searched through the Falconer’s book and found something about a tree like that.”

  “Where’s the book now?”

  Hanna pointed to the trunk. Miles bent down and pulled it out.

  “Let me,” said Hanna. Opening the lid, she set the heavy tome on the bunk and leafed through it until she reached a page about Kwen-Arnun.

  “Listen.” She traced her finger along the text and read the description: “ ‘In the beginning when eOwey sang everything into being, Kwen-Arnun, the World Tree, held the world of NoorOth together. Kwen, white-barked and strong, embraced his tree-wife, Arnun, her branches black and shining. Male and female under the NoorOth sun, trunks and branches intertwining, together they were one.’ ”