The Dragons of Noor (7 page)

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.

S
alt 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 noticed 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.

“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.

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