Tales of Noreela 04: The Island Read Free Page B

reached out again. But there was still a gentle throb behind her face, and her nose prickled at the thought of communing with the land’s magic again that evening. A dribble of blood ran down to her top lip.
    Her great-grandmother shuddered awake and looked up. “No more for you tonight, Namior,” she said, her voice weak and tremulous.
    Namior nodded, dabbing the blood away.
    “Don’t go too far,” her mother said, leaning in close enough to kiss her daughter’s cheek.
    “Only the Dog’s Eyes,” Namior said. “Kel is coming down.”
    “There’ll be damage to clear up in the morning. Stay in the heights, away from the harbor.”
    “I will.” Namior was becoming unsettled by her mother’s concern. “You know I can look after myself.”
    The woman nodded and smiled, but her eyes were still clouded by whatever was missing. Namior could hear it in her voice, and she was unused to the sound of fear. “You’re a good girl,” her mother said. “And you’re growing to be a great witch.”
    “I’ll be away,” Namior said, smiling, then glancing pointedly at her great-grandmother. “Don’t forget you both need sleep!”
    She felt them watching her as she left the main room andstood in the hallway behind the front door. Closing the hall door was almost a relief. Alone again, listening to the wind batter the door in its frame, hearing the whistle of a machine rumbling by, she cast her mind back to her own visions from that afternoon. She had sensed a storm coming, as had they all. She had seen the waves and rain, boats swaying and bobbing in the upset harbor, and cloaked shapes pushing against the wind as they navigated the dark streets, steps and winding paths of Pavmouth Breaks. She had not been aware of any absence; no void where there should be something; nothing to disturb.
    She sighed, hoping that her great-grandmother would not descend into one of her crazes.
    “I’m still young,” she whispered. She touched the stone charm that hung around her neck—a shard from the same rock that had gone to make her family’s groundstone—and breathed in the energy it gave her. “Still young, and I trust their word.”
    Vowing to be careful, she pulled the door open and went out into the storm.
    STAY IN THE
heights, away from the harbor
, her mother had said. But upon leaving their house and taking the short, cobbled path down to the wider street, Namior looked right, down the small slope toward the harbor, and in the dusky light she saw the sparkling glare of spray as the sea struck the mole.
    Storm’s not anywhere near its height
, she thought. So she turned right and walked along the hillside, heading toward a lower path from which she knew she would be able to view the whole harbor. It wasn’t every day a storm like that came in, and Namior reveled in the power of nature.
    The path curved slowly around the hip of the hill, exposing itself to the sea winds, and with every step Namior felt the power of the gale increasing. She hugged the jacket closeacross her chest and lowered her head. It was raining so much that the water was not draining away fast enough, and her feet sloshed, leaving wakes like those of small boats. She winced as a gust of wind threatened to unbalance her, driving rain horizontally against her face, stinging her exposed skin, soaking her trousers. Still the storm felt young, and she sensed that it had yet to find its rhythm.
    She walked on, passing a couple of people going in the opposite direction. They offered her a brief nod, and she nodded back, unable to identify them in their storm gear. Their faces were covered. They could have been anyone.
    The path sloped down toward the harbor, and once it was free of the buildings crowding it, Namior could hear the roar of the sea as it broke against the land. It was immense, shuddering through the ground and into her feet as well as shaking the air. She paused in the lee of a tall retaining wall to watch, sheltered from the worst of the