The Dragons of Noor by Janet Lee Carey

“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, Brand, 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, andfound 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