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Sebell holds the tiller steady as the boat crests another little wave. “We should probably think about turning around soon, Masterharper.”
“Alas, you are almost certainly correct - wait.” The Masterharper straightens from his elegant sprawl, cocking his head curiously. “Do you hear that?”
Sebell strains his ears to hear past the rush of the wind and the slop of the waves against the little boat’s hull. “No, I - wait. Is that someone singing?”
“That is definitely someone singing,” the Masterharper says. “Steer towards it! What sort of harpers would we be if we didn’t investigate a mysterious singer in the middle of the ocean?”
Sebell laughs and steers obediently in the direction of the singing. He has to tack back and forth - they’re nearly dead downwind of it - but it isn’t more than another twenty minutes or so before he and the Masterharper both spot a rocky islet jutting out of the water.
High up on one of the jagged cliffs, above the foam which leaps into the air with every breaking wave, there stands a slender figure - male or female, Sebell can’t tell at this distance - with its arms raised, and swirling around it, gleaming in the sunlight like jewels, there flit so many fire lizards that Sebell cannot count them all. The fire lizards are shrilling a descant, octaves above any human throat, as the person sings a tune Sebell has never heard before, a sweet lament that makes his heart beat harder and his breath come short.
“Shards,” the Masterharper breathes. Sebell thinks that about sums it up, really.
“Look, there’s a bay,” the Masterharper adds, pointing. “Do you think we could land?”
Sebell eyes the waves and the narrow passage. “I’m not that good a sailor, Masterharper, and there could be rocks -”
There’s a sudden flash, and a gold fire lizard settles on the rail of the boat, chirping a greeting, eyes whirling a cheerful bright green. “Oh, hello, you beauty,” the Masterharper murmurs, clearly charmed, and reaches out a hand. The fire lizard bumps her head against it before taking off again, circling the boat and then flying ahead of them, glancing back over her shoulder like she’s expecting them to follow.
“There!” the Masterharper says delightedly. “We have a guide!”
Sebell laughs and does his best to follow the fire lizard; it leads the way towards the narrow entrance to the rocky little bay, twirling up into the wind and back down again so it doesn’t go too fast, and Sebell manages to tack into the bay’s entrance without running into anything. There’s a tiny pebbly spot where he can run the boat aground without tearing its hull open, and the owner of the absurdly large fair of fire lizards is standing there, gesturing him in.
Sebell runs the boat up on the shore, and the person grabs the prow and hauls it further up, then takes the rope Sebell tosses them and runs further up to tie it off to a boulder.
The Masterharper swings himself out of the boat and bows elegantly to their strange host while Sebell lowers the sail. “My dear…girl, thank you for sending your companion to show us the way! My name is Robinton, and I have the honor of being the Masterharper; my companion is my journeyman Sebell. May I know your name, and, please, where did you learn that marvelous song, and how did you get your fire lizards to sing with you?”
The girl - it is a girl, maybe four or five years younger than Sebell, with long hair pulled back in a messy braid, wearing a battered tunic and trousers and extremely holey boots - beams at the Masterharper. “Masterharper! I never even dreamed of meeting you! And hello, Sebell, what a lovely boat! Do you really like my song? It’s only a tuning, I’m afraid, and I didn’t actually teach my fire lizards to sing along, they just did, but it really is pretty.”
“It’s beautiful,” Sebell agrees.
“And that was a truly lovely song, no mere tuning,” the Masterharper adds. “Who told you it was less than magnificent?”
“Well…my father,” the girl admits reluctantly. “He said girls can’t be harpers.”
“In the general run of things, he’s correct,” the Masterharper says. “But anyone who can write a song of such beauty and teach it to her fire lizards is someone who ought to be in the Harper Hall. Don’t you agree, Sebell?”
“I’ve been telling you for almost a decade now that we ought to have female harpers,” Sebell points out dryly.
“So you have,” the Masterharper agrees. “He’s my journeyman because he’s probably smarter than I am,” he adds to the girl, in a stage whisper. The girl muffles a laugh behind her hand.
Two of her fire lizards come swooping down to perch on her shoulders: the little golden queen, and a bronze. The Masterharper laughs. “Will you introduce us to your lovely companions?”
The girl grins. “These are Beauty and Rocky, and the others are Diver and Lazybones and Mimic and Brownie and Uncle and Aunties One and Two. Oh! And I’m Menolly. Of Half-Circle Seahold, once, though I think they think I’m dead now.”
Sebell blinks. “Half-Circle is three days’ sail away.”
Menolly nods. “I was out sailing by myself, and a storm blew up, and I got swept away. My boat hit the rocks by the bay entrance, and I managed to swim to shore. I’ve been here…a year now, I think? Maybe a little more?”
“How have you survived Threadfall?” the Masterharper asks. “And where did you get your fire lizards?”
“There’s a cave,” Menolly explains, gesturing at the towering cliffs. “The old queen had a clutch there, and she let me stay, since I brought her spiderclaws while she was brooding. And then these darlings hatched during Threadfall, and, well, I had to feed them so they wouldn’t go out and die, and so…”
“They all Impressed on you,” Sebell finishes for her. Menolly nods.
“Well,” the Masterharper says. “I’m definitely impressed, too. But surely you do not wish to spend the rest of your life on this island?”
“I don’t wish to go back to Half-Circle Seahold,” Menolly says firmly. “I would rather live on spiderclaws and seaweed all my life.”
“I have no intention of bringing you back to the Seahold,” the Masterharper says. “But you and all your fire lizards would be more than welcome in the Harper Hall, if you would like to train the gift of music you so clearly have.”
Menolly’s eyes go wide. “Me, be a harper?”
“You,” the Masterharper says gently. “Be a harper.”
“A sharding good one, I’d wager,” Sebell adds.
“Oh,” Menolly breathes. “Oh, yes, please.”