DREAMWIELDER Book 1 of The Dreamwielder Chronicles

Chapter 4: A NEW MOON RISES

From the rooftop, Makarria could see far beyond where Spearpoint Rock jutted out from the turbulent waters and off into the horizon where the Esterian Ocean and gray sky melded into an imperceptible border. Somewhere beyond the horizon, farther to the south, were the East Islands, and beyond that Makarria could only imagine. Maybe another land where the sun shone every day and a girl could run in the grass and wear a proper dress without having to worry about it being ruined by never-ending ocean squalls. Makarria smiled at the thought of actually being free of the salty air for once. She did love the ocean, especially when sailing with her grandfather, but she would love it a lot more, she decided, if she didn't have to live right next to it.

"Makarria!" her father hollered from where he lay sprawled out a few feet away from her. "Thatch!"

"Sorry," Makarria said, handing him one of the long palm fronds she'd set down on the roof beside her feet. Galen took it from her and threaded it into a gap in the roof where a frond had blown free the night before.

"You're not much help to me up here just staring off into the distance," he said when he was done. "Why don't you go see if your grandfather needs help?"

"Really? You're sure?"

"Yes, go."

"Thanks," she said, turning to tiptoe her way down the pitched roof along one of the main support beams.

Galen watched her leave with a wry expression, wishing he could navigate the roof with such ease. He had to crawl around on all fours in order to spread his weight out along two beams, otherwise, he'd crash right through the roof and into the house below. He'd hoped to teach Makarria to mend the roof on her own, but the girl seemed incapable of keeping her mind on any task for more than a few minutes. It was all well and good for her to daydream while tending to the garden or milking the goats, but it was too dangerous to be absentminded up on the roof. Galen sighed and grabbed the bundle of palm fronds, resigned to doing the job himself.

Back on the ground, Makarria raced from the house and down the grassy slope to the seashore where her Grandpa Parmo was pushing a skiff into the water.

"Wait, Grampy, wait!" she yelled after him, and he halted, knee-deep in the waves, until she got there.

"In you go," he said, giving her a boost into the boat. "You going to help me pull in the traps?"

"Yep."

"Hold on, then," he told her and pushed them off with the outgoing surf, timing it so as to pass between two breaking waves. He pulled himself aboard with a grunt and paddled them out past the breakers, then gave her the signal to hoist the small sail as he put aside the oars and grabbed hold of the rudder. Within a few moments, he had angled the skiff to catch the wind and they were racing toward Spearpoint Rock and their traps. "That's better," Parmo said, breathing heavily. "I'm getting too old to be launching skiffs from the beach."

"You're not too old, Grampy," Makarria assured him, smiling as the wind whipped her walnut hair across her face.

"If you say so," he replied, unconvinced. "How are you feeling? Is your tummy ache better from yesterday?"

"Yeah, mostly better, but Mother thinks I was pretending so I wouldn't have to do my chores."

"Nonsense," Parmo said with a wave of his free hand. "You may be absentminded at times, but you're no liar—that I'm certain of. Your mother is just worried. She's had a lot on her mind."

"Like what?"

"Nothing that need concern you for the time being. You just mind your parents and try to pay better attention to your chores. No more daydreaming."