In these quiet times, he tried to delve deeper into the dreams that came at night, and into the sense of growing power that was with him now, heady and mysterious. What power? What did it mean? Was it linked somehow to the dragon? Or did he only imagine that? The power he felt was not of the body, but of the mind. Or, perhaps, of soul. Part of a magical force that, he thought, could be made to grow, could be used with astonishing wonder—if only he understood it. If only he had the courage to learn its source. And yet he could not truly believe what he guessed at. What was he? Who was he? What secrets had his parents never told him?
Winter seemed incredibly long and severe, and twice the island was covered with snow, a rare treat. The otters spent days sliding down the snowy inner cliffs and never seemed to tire of the sport. Their heavy tails made fine sleds, and Teb found a driftwood board for himself and put away all other thoughts for the joy of days of sledding.
But gales blew, too. And at last everyone moved into the center of the island again. The otters’ diet, in winter, ran heavier to eels, which could be dug along the shore where they had burrowed, and Teb learned to tolerate them roasted. Then the coming of spring brought fresh shellfish again and a more varied menu. Teb took to the sea with the rest, eagerly pulling on his flippers and leaping in to fish and play complicated games of skill. He learned to dive deeper, thrusting down with the power of the fins. “It’s all in knowing how,” Mikk said. “Small breath held in, then larger, then larger, before ever you dive. Until the last breath goes down into stretched lungs. And then hold that one as you drop down. Let out a few bubbles at a time until you feel comfortable—you’ll know when to come up, all right.” A diving rock helped, too, to weight Teb for deep dives, and he could drop it before buoying to the surface. He had built a new raft to put the rocks on, and the swords, and a collecting bag.
He could not see as well underwater as the otters, or stay under as long, and he was constantly shaking the water out of his ears. They never did; their ears closed when they dove, just as did their noses. Teb examined Charkky’s ear to see how, and found a little flap of furred skin that drew closed when the water pressed over it. He was growing so tall he had to bend over to look, and that seemed very strange. All the otters seemed shorter now, and it made him uncomfortable to be taller than Thakkur, because he thought of Thakkur as tall. The old otter looked tall when he stood among the others. Thakkur held himself tall.
“You are growing into a young man, Tebriel. Many human soldiers go into battle no older than you.”
“Do you see me in battle, when you look in the clamshell?”
“Sometimes. But the visions are vague and uncertain.”
“What else do you see? I feel . . . I feel there are things about myself that are still hidden. As if my memory has not all returned.”
“Or as if, perhaps, those certain things were never known to you?”
“Perhaps,” Teb said. “What is it you see in the shell?”
“I see the hydrus returning, Tebriel. I think perhaps my plan was not a wise one—to use you as bait.”
“If it wants me, if the dark wants me, it will find me anywhere. Only, why does it? What am I, that the dark would want me?”
Thakkur paced, staring out at the sunstruck sea. The water was calm and deep blue under the warm spring sky. A flock of gulls wheeled close to the cave, then was gone. Out in the sea along the underwater shelf, a group of otters was fishing, banking and twisting to snatch at a flashing school of silver sprats, the otters more playful than hungry. Thakkur stopped pacing and faced Teb, his back to the open sky, his white whiskered face in shadow.
“You were alone with the hydrus in my vision, and I felt a cold fear for you. And I felt a sense of power grown great, Tebriel, under some terrible stress. Only, I could not tell whose power—yours, or the hydrus’s.”
Teb sat very still.
Thakkur began to pace again, his paws held still before him, his broad tail describing a white moon each time he turned, his dark eyes troubled.
“This time, Tebriel, the vision brings no certainty. This time I think you must follow your own instinct. You must leave Nightpool or you must stay, according to what your deepest inner self tells you.” Thakkur looked at him, frowning. “There is more here, of power and of meaning, than my poor visions can sort out.”
‘There is something you are not telling me.”
Thakkur did not answer.
“Why not? It isn’t fair. If you know . . .”
Silence. They looked at each other for a long time, Thakkur’s gaze veiled and secretive, yet very direct, as if he held back only because he must. As if perhaps this was something Teb must unravel for himself, without being told—without help from anyone.
“Because I must discover for myself?”
The white otter nodded.
Teb turned to stare out at the sea. He wanted to say what he guessed. And yet he was afraid to say it. One thing was certain, though. He would stay at Nightpool until the hydrus returned. No inner fear, no deliberation, could make him turn away now from facing it. For in some way, the hydrus was a part of the power he felt.
Was it a power that could turn to evil as well as good? Was the hydrus a part of that evil? He knew he was drawn to it, to a confrontation impossible to avoid. The hydrus could make him lose a part of himself, and so he must destroy it.
But it would be another year, nearly to the day he spoke with Thakkur of the visions, before they met, and the hydrus had swum a long way and wreaked great damage along the coasts of countless continents. Nightpool knew of the wars from the owl, and that Sivich had settled in well, in the three nations of Branthen just north of Windthorst. They knew that in the more northerly countries, other of Quazelzeg’s captains held strong power. If there was a resistance, it did little more than frustrate Quazelzeg, and there was no change of rule. Perhaps the heterhuman folk of the far lands on the other side of Tirror, and pocketed in colonies on the near continents, were moving in some kind of secret resistance. There was no way to know, for they were secretive and mingled little, in these modern times, with human or animal folk.
The little owls came first and cried to beware, that the hydrus was near. Then they went away, content with their warning, lifting and tilting on the wind in close flight, screaming their hunting cry. Then the hydrus was sensed by vibration far out in the sea as a band of otters chased silver sea trout along the edge of the sunken continent.
Thakkur appointed a double watch, two armed bands always on duty, and the weapons were kept oiled and sharp. The first time the hydrus came, it raged in from the outer deeps, driving hard at a band of fishing otters, diving when they dove, terrifying them until an armed band joined them, sweeping out to surround the great beast.