The Dragons of Noor

by Janet Lee Carey

  “Good night, Thriss.”

  Hanna lay down carefully on her side. The pip began to purr.

  Captain Kanoae had used her powers to fill the sails and increase the Leena’s speed in their hurry to reach Jarrosh. But eleven days after Hanna and Taunier boarded the ship, they rounded Cape Misfortune and sailed into heavy storms. The crew were called on deck and went to war with giant waves and heavy winds. Everyone joined the fight but Hanna, who was too seasick to do much more than lie on her bunk and retch into a pail.

  Hanna’s fifteenth birthday came and went during the miserable stormy days, with no time to acknowledge it or celebrate. She lay in the cabin, feeling guilty that she was of no use to the others battling up on deck. Falling in and out of sleep, she kept her eye on Thriss. No one else knew about the pip, and for some reason Hanna couldn’t explain, she had decided to keep it that way. The hatchling didn’t seem to want to be discovered, either. She hid under the bunk the moment anyone came to see how Hanna was doing, or slipped into Hanna’s empty boot when Miles brought her a little food.

  The pip was growing daily, shedding her tiny golden scales as she grew. Hanna swept them up from the floor and kept them in her pocket, like found treasure. Thriss ate eagerly from Hanna’s dish—Hanna was too sick to eat any of it—and cheered Hanna a little as she played with paper and string in the cabin. But as the stormy days wore on, Hanna’s empty, darkened sleep began to trouble her deeply. She was used to her dreams, which were colorful even when they were the ordinary kind that did not take her walking. Maybe the seasickness has dulled my imagination, she thought. But she couldn’t help remembering what Miles had said, that everywhere the Waytrees fell, people were losing their dreams.

  What if it’s happened to me? What if I’ve lost my ability to dreamwalk? Hanna tossed and turned on her bunk, closing her eyes to sheer darkness, opening them again with a pounding heart. What use could she be to the meers, and how could she hope to find Tymm without her power?

  They sailed nine more days and nights through heavy winds. On Hanna’s twenty-first day on the Leena, they left the storms behind at last and sailed into the sun again.

  The boat rocked drowsily on the ocean swells as Hanna clumped down the steps to the galley. Thriss clung to her shoulder beneath her cloak. Hanna’s secret hatchling had grown over the last three weeks, but she was still small enough to flatten herself against Hanna’s shoulder under the ample folds of her hood, though her endlessly twitching tail tickled Hanna’s back.

  Alone with her pip in the galley, Hanna chopped carrots for the bubbling stew while Thriss toyed with a piece of string at her feet. After a while, the terrow abandoned the string and climbed up the table leg. Letting out a victorious squeak, she leaped into the air, flapped her paper-thin wings, and fell onto the galley floor with a splat.

  Hanna bent over her, crooning, “Oh, poor thing.” Thriss lifted her head, licked under her wing, and hissed at Hanna.

  “Don’t hiss at me. I didn’t drop you, did I?”

  Thriss ignored her. Climbing up onto the table, she said, “Fy!”—her pippish pronunciation of fly—and boldly took off again. This time she made a haphazard flight across the small room before landing on Hanna’s shoulder.

  “Bravo, little one,” Hanna whispered excitedly. Tossing peppercorns into the mortar, she ground them with the stone pestle. Taunier and Kanoae liked their stew spicy. She put a little dish of crushed pepper on the side for them.

  There’d been no talk of dropping Taunier off at the next port once the storms hit. He’d spent months on his grandfather’s fishing boat as a boy and had proven himself to be the best crewman on the Leena.

  Thriss climbed back down to the floor and scurried into the corner to toy with the string again. A moment later, she took off, flapped her wings, and crashed headlong into the cupboard. Hanna bent down to help her up, but the pip scurried back up the table leg. She kept trying, landing awkwardly on a hanging pan or on the counter, but when she nearly plummeted into the boiling stewpot, Hanna blew up. “That’s enough, now!”

  She tucked Thriss into the cupboard with a dishcloth to curl up on, and gave her a small slice of meat. “Time for you to take a rest,” she said. “Come out only if I call.”

  The pip gave a happy squeak, “Meat,” and went at her meal hungrily. Hanna gently closed the cupboard, only just in time. Thumping footfalls came from outside the galley door, then Meer Eason poked his head in to ask when the stew would be ready.

  TWELVE

  FIRE ON THE SEA

  In the days of the dragon wars, many died by fire.

  —A MEER’S HISTORY OF NOOR

  Miles had left Taunier on deck steering the Leena. Downstairs in the galley Meers Eason and Kanoae were hunched over the table, where Hanna sat listening. The smell of stew mingled with that of the hanging spices as Miles took his seat across from Eason.

  Meer Kanoae was saying, “And though these storms have swept us east faster than any meer power could, they’ve also blown us into these shipping lanes in the Boundary Waters.” She traced the map with her finger. “The King of Kanayar has claimed these waters. We’re in for trouble if his border patrol catches us.”

  Eason frowned. “If we turn north now, we might be able to sail free from the Boundary Waters and—”

  “Straight into the heart of the Whirl Storms,” said Kanoae.

  “Well,” snapped Eason, “what choice do we have?”

  Miles eyed the map nervously. The thought of more storms turned his stomach. Whirl Storms mounted powerful swirling winds that destroyed villages and cities; they’d downed some of the greatest vessels in Noor, leaving neither sail thread nor deck splinter behind. Agitated, he jumped up and took out a knife to slice some bread.

  He’d been struggling too long with his own bad mood. The High Meer had told them they were likely to face tempests, but he hated the foul weather for taking them off course, hated how helpless the raging winds made him feel. When they’d stopped in Emberlee for supplies, they found the great forest beyond the city walls had fallen. The people there looked listless; the children were as somber and hollow-eyed as they’d been back in Reon and Brim. Even in Emberlee, the City of Kings, people had forgotten their dreams.

  Miles cut the bread unevenly, crumbs falling around his hands. If he’d used his shape-shifting power and turned into a seabird, he could have flown ahead to Jarrosh and reached there weeks ago! He might have discovered why the trees were falling and found Tymm by now! He felt his skin prick, thinking of his hidden power left unused so long. Maybe there was a reason he’d been given such power, more than just to break the Shriker’s curse? What if the High Meer had known all along he was a shape-shifter, and that was why he’d chosen him, a second-year apprentice, to come on this journey in the first place?

  Miles cut another slice, his heart beating wildly in his chest. Something in him wanted release. He looked down at the knife in his hands. It took focus to shift, a vision of the creature he’d shift into, along with a willful intention and strong emotion. His hand shook as he tried to control himself. My hands are my hands, he thought, keeping them in view. My arms are my arms. I will not grow feathers, will not take wing and fly across the sea. I will stay on with the meers and see this out.

  “When …,” he said at last, twirling round with the knife in his left hand and bread in his right. “Exactly when will we reach Jarrosh?” He was shouting, and he didn’t care. Hanna looked at him wide-eyed.

  Meer Kanoae was putting down her cup and coming to a stand when a sudden explosion rocked the ship. The Leena lurched violently to one side, knocking Miles to the floor. The knife slid from his hand, and dishes flew from the counter, breaking all around him. The others lurched forward and gripped the table, which was bolted to the floor.

  Up on deck, Taunier was shouting.

  Miles’s mind raced. Pirates? Boundary guards? Were they being attacked?

  “Look,” cried Hanna. A strange yellow light poured into the cabin. Ka
noae ran to the porthole, her large frame pushing Hanna aside.

  “Fire on the sea!” she shouted. “Everyone on deck! Now!”

  They raced up the steps. Crossing to the side rail, Miles saw four islands of fire burning atop the water. A hot wind blew down from above. Shielding his eyes, he squinted upward at a flash of gold and spied the great underbelly of a male taberrell dragon. Miles held his breath. The dragon was enormous, stretching a good sixty feet long from snout to tail. Its undulating body was iridescent green, but for the golden belly and chest and the telltale red neck ring that showed it to be male.

  Breal barked and ran in circles about the deck. Another red-necked male soared overhead. Higher up, a larger female flew. Terror and joy washed through Miles. Her majestic wings were larger than the Leena’s mainsail. Miles’s eyes filled with the wonder, even as the dragons wheeled menacingly above the Leena like hawks over prey.

  Kanoae shouted orders. Miles couldn’t hear her over the dragons’ pumping wings—a sound like distant thunder, driving warm winds across the deck. The winds smelled of fennel and bay and something else Miles couldn’t name.

  One by one the dragons spiraled down and settled on the water between the floating islands of fire. The she-dragon landed about twenty feet away from the Leena’s prow, floating like a swan, her long, purple-ringed neck curving gracefully up to her enormous turquoise head. The cheek pouches where she carried her young hung empty by her elegant neck. She narrowed her orange eyes. “Turn this ship about, manlings of Noor.”

  She did not speak in DragonTongue, but in the common speech of Noor. Dragons were masters of many languages; still Miles’s ears pricked. Her voice was new and strange. Her tone varied like many voices in a choir, and there was an undertone of deep, dry notes below the words. Miles heard it as music. The rapt expression on Meer Eason’s face told Miles that the Music Master heard it that way, too. There was a clattering in the sound as well, like the beating of dry sticks.

  Captain Kanoae answered bluntly, “We sail for Jarrosh.”

  This brought an angry rumble from the she-dragon’s throat, and the males on either side of her unfurled their enormous wings and shook them menacingly. Miles wiped the sweat from his neck. Breal began to snarl, and Miles shushed his dog, though he didn’t blame him. Miles also sensed the dragons’ rising anger as one animal senses another.

  Had the dragons turned against humans again? He didn’t want to think so, but the rush of heat along his spine told him otherwise.

  “Turn about or you will meet our fire!” said the one-eyed male.

  “We will not turn back,” called Kanoae. “We have—”

  She might have said more if one of the males hadn’t spewed flames at her. Kanoae leaped back to avoid a scorching, and fire lit the deck where she’d been standing. Miles raced over with a tarp to smother it, but the wind whipped flames up to the mainsail.

  “Save the sail!” ordered Kanoae.

  Everyone ran for a bucket and tossed seawater on the fire; still flames licked up the mast, devouring the bottom corner of the cloth.

  Taunier had stopped, staring.

  “What are you doing?” shouted Miles. “Refill your bucket!” He ran for more water, flinging it at the burning sail.

  Taunier hadn’t budged. He dropped his bucket, raised his hand, and held his open palm upward. Gazing fixedly at the burning sail, he waved his arm over his head toward the sea, his hand falling slowly in a long farewell.

  The crackling fire on the mast leaned seaward, hesitated, then leaped. Following the arc of Taunier’s arm, it dove from sail to blue-black water. The flames sputtered and hissed as they died out, and steam rolled above the choppy water.

  Miles stood wide-eyed with Hanna, their water buckets forgotten. Had Taunier really moved fire with the wave of his hand?

  The burnt sail whistled softly as the wind slipped through a blackened hole. Miles heard the rumbling breath of the dragons.

  “Fire Herd,” said the she-dragon, addressing Taunier with respect. “Why sail with these traitors?”

  Traitors? A tremor ran down Miles’s back.

  Taunier didn’t have the chance to answer, for Kanoae was shouting, “You’ve gone and damaged my Leena!” Eason tried to pull her back, but she wrestled away, shaking her fist at the she-dragon.

  The taberrells spit more fire, forcing them all up against the stern. The air throbbed with heat. It washed over Miles, tightening the skin on his face, drawing the sweat from his body until his clothes were drenched and stinking. Already Taunier had jumped onto the cabin roof. He raised both arms and herded the dragon fire overboard.

  From somewhere behind Miles, Hanna screamed. Miles pivoted. A golden brightness whirred past his right ear. At first he thought Taunier had missed a stray fireball, but this thing was more than shooting flame. It was alive.

  A purple-throated baby terrow flitted down and settled on the prow. She was not much larger than a five-month-old kitten. The hatchling reared her head back and hissed at the she-dragon floating just beyond the prow.

  The she-dragon’s flames vanished as if the terrow’s tiny breath had blown them out. She laughed suddenly at the audacity of the tiny pip.

  Taunier lowered his arms and jumped down from the cabin roof.

  The taberrells floated near the fire islands like moored vessels. Neck extended, the hatchling flapped her wings irritably as she fussed at the great dragons floating before her.

  Where had this pip come from? The female’s cheek pouches had been empty when she landed, Miles was sure, and anyway, this pip was a terrow, a smaller, golden-scaled breed, not iridescent green like a taberrell.

  The she-dragon tipped her head. “Little one, where is your mother?”

  The pip turned a moment, then lifted her foiled tail and pointed to Hanna.

  Hanna? Harboring a terrow? They’d been on the Leena three weeks together. Why hadn’t she told him?

  “Step forward,” the female said sternly.

  “Wait, Hanna,” warned Kanoae.

  “I will address the terrow’s meer,” said the dragon.

  Miles thought to say his sister wasn’t a meer, that unlike himself, she’d never studied on Othlore, but Hanna was already at the prow. He came to her side, still grasping his water bucket. The dragons hadn’t summoned him, but Hanna was his sister, after all, even if she had hidden a terrow from him. They’d been preoccupied day and night fighting heavy storms, but that was no excuse.

  “What is your name, young pip?” asked the she-dragon.

  “Thriss!”

  “Courage.” The dragon nodded approvingly. “And who named you?”

  “Mama.” The terrow’s voice warbled like a robin’s. She nuzzled Hanna’s arm affectionately.

  “You shouldn’t have come out like this,” Hanna scolded under her breath. “You’ve gotten us into more trouble.” The pip wrapped her tail around Hanna’s wrist. Hanna stroked her scaly back and scratched the purple patch under her uplifted chin, much as she might soothe a kitten.

  “Why did you keep this secret from me?” Miles managed to ask, but the one-eyed male dragon interrupted him in a rumbling voice. “Where did you get the terrow’s egg?”

  “It came to me from the sea,” said Hanna. “It seemed to be an ordinary stone at first, but it was beautiful, and I kept it in my pocket.”

  Miles suddenly knew what she meant by the egg. “A lightstone,” he blurted out. “We called it that. A blue light came out of it when—”

  “Who asked you to speak?”

  Miles clamped his mouth shut. Blood pounded in his ears.

  The she-dragon lowered her head and peered into Hanna’s face. The nearness of the great beast made Miles’s heart race. Her orbed eyes glowed menacingly. Her scales mirrored blue and purple light like shards of twilight. But it was the rows of long, sharp teeth that made him steel himself, those and her muscled jaw, which was powerful enough to snap a horse in two, let alone a man.

  Taunier appeared on his right,
the meers to his left. He was grateful to have them close by.

  The ruffled scales on the dragon’s neck rose up. “The girl child is sqyth-born. A blue eye and a green.”

  “One eye to the earth and one to the sky,” said the male on the left. “One so born can call on earth kith and sky kith to help in times of trouble.”

  “Aye, Hanna’s sqyth-eyed,” said Kanoae. “What of it?”

  The taberrells ignored the comment.

  The she-dragon said, “The pilgrims have come.”

  One-eye shook his great head. “This flimsy girl is not the Kanameer. She did not come to us on the wind.”

  “Do not ignore the signs,” argued the female. “The girl is sqyth-eyed, and she has brought the Fire Herd. It is the prophecy.” Her head swayed as she began to chant,

  “When the Waytree bridges fall,

  Roots die binding all to all.

  Noor Winds bring to us the Dreamer.

  Eye of earth and eye of sky,

  Soaring on the wings of morning,

  Come to us, O Pilgrim.

  Dreamwalker, free the first ones taken.

  From dark dreams let day awaken.

  Kanameer, our Kanameer,

  Come to us, O Pilgrim.”

  The male dragons joined in:

  “Bring to us our heart’s desire,

  One with mastery over fire …”

  The males had more to sing, but the she-dragon ended the song midverse, calling, “This is our Kanameer.”

  The males joined in, chanting, “Kanameer. Kanameer.” The dragons seemed to have forgotten their anger.

  As the dragons sang, Miles trembled. He knew some DragonTongue, but what did the word Kanameer mean? The second half of the word, meer, meant “one who wields magic,” but the first half? He tried to think. Servant. That was it. So Kanameer was “servant and one who wields magic,” or simply, “servant of magic.” Did the dragons see a servant of magic as a peacemaker? Or someone to be sacrificed?