Last the Falconer leaned over and blew a long breath at Miles’s heart, as if to liven the coals in a fire. In the blowing was a sound, too deep and too rich to come from a single voice. The breath sound was like the chants Brother Adolpho led in the worship hall of the kirk, where many voices sang the Konor-duvan, the making chant, which held both the making and receiving in it. But the Falconer’s call was other than this, and she suddenly knew what she was hearing. The sound the Falconer brought forth was Miles’s keth-kara. He was giving Miles his pure self-sound. The song eOwey had sung at Miles’s beginning.
Hanna knew that a holy one might pass on a keth-kara at a time of blessing. She’d seen Brother Adolpho sing a keth-kara in a coming-of-age ceremony at the kirk once or twice, but she didn’t know the Falconer was trained in such mysteries. Hanna thought this all in a moment, but her wonderings vanished when she saw Miles’s face begin to change.
First a rosey color came to his lips and cheeks, then his eyelids twitched as if he was dreaming. Hanna settled into the low sound the Falconer was calling. Miles’s keth-kara was like an underground river finding its way to the surface, then rushing clear over the land. And it was like a low wind that swept across the dales in winter, swirling snow flurries up into the trees. And it was like nothing at all she’d ever heard. But it was beautiful.
At last Miles turned his head and his eyes fluttered open. “Ervay,” he whispered.
The Falconer nodded to him and then to Hanna. “He’ll live,” he said. He turned, stiffly, seeming very old indeed now. The rushlight on the table shone across his face and lit the beads of sweat yellow-bright above his brows. Crossing to the alcove, he reached for his Y-shaped flute and began to play the slender silver ervay. Hanna fell back in the bent-willow chair, feeling now some hope, and with that hope a tiredness from the strange and hard encounters of the night. Her legs ached and her arms, and her head felt heavy.
This was the first time she’d ever heard the ervay. She knew at once why Miles loved it so and why he longed to play it himself, for it was indeed magic. Her breath grew shallow as the Falconer fingered the double pipes, sending both tune and harmony into the air. A sound like birds calling from tree to tree, or small waves rolling up to shore. So it was forest and sea both in one song. She watched Miles on his pallet, a look of peace and pleasure on his face as he listened. After another song Miles closed his eyes and drifted into untroubled sleep.
The Falconer polished the ervay and hung it back on the wall above his books. It was very quiet inside his house now with Miles asleep, and the falcon on his perch sleeping also. The old man took the blackened kettle from its iron hook and poured a cup of thick brown liquid, “Thool?” he asked.
Hanna wiped her eyes with her dirty sleeve and nodded gratefully. The thick drink would warm her dry throat. As she drank the sweet, hot thool, the Falconer sat before the fire.
The peace she’d felt a moment before deserted her now as she looked at the tilt of the old man’s head. He was waiting to hear why they were out so late in Shalem Wood and how Miles came to be wounded. She swallowed, put down the mug, and pressed her lips together. How could she form words around what happened in the deeps? It had begun like a bad dreamwalk, but this time the monster was real, real enough to attack Miles and nearly kill him. Then Miles changed into a falcon. He’d actually changed shape in midair. She blinked at the strange memory. It couldn’t be so, yet it was so. Where could Miles have gotten such a power?
The Falconer took out his tinderbox and lit his pipe. Could she trust the old man with this strange tale? He’d helped Miles with his wound, and he seemed trustworthy enough, but how could she explain to him, explain to anyone, what she’d seen?
She squinted at the blazing fire and tried to calm herself.
“You should have come before now,” said the Falconer.
Hanna started. “I couldn’t come,” she sputtered. It was only a half-truth. She’d stayed away on purpose, for she was unsettled by the Falconer’s warning that day near the graveyard and wary of Shalem Wood even in the daylight hours since Polly’s deaths. “I brought Miles here,” she added, though she didn’t say she’d only happened upon his dwelling.
The old man looked across the room at Miles. “A clever boy,” he said. “And dangerous.”
“Miles is not dangerous!”
“Power is,” said the Falconer. He leaned back and puffed his pipe. Smoke rose in a thin gray tree above his head.
Hanna stared at the Falconer’s golden eyes, then looked away. “Do you know what happened in the woods?” she whispered.
“I was not there, but I have other ways of seeing.”
Aetwan stirred on his post, stretched out his neck, then settled again. The Falconer leaned forward. “There are powers at work here and mysteries beyond our knowing. You’re in a deal of danger. One look at your brother tells me that.” He rapped his pipe against the wood. Crack, crack. “I’ll be of aid if I can. But I’ll need to know all of it, and from the beginning.”
Hanna tore at her nail, an old habit she was finding hard to break. “I don’t know where it begins,” she said. “Not for myself and not for Miles. How can I tell you what I don’t know myself?”
Her answer came with such force of emotion that Miles awoke with a start and sat up, “Hanna!”
She leaped from her chair and rushed over to him. Miles gave her a warning look that said, Don’t tell. He brought his legs over the side of the pallet. “We have to leave,” he said through gritted teeth.
The Falconer shook his head. “You’re weak and should stay abed longer.” But Miles was already standing, with his hand against the table for support. “We should go now, before Mother and Da find us missing.”
Hanna wavered between them. Feeling the strength washing from one to the other like waves caught in the tide pools. She wanted to stay and find the help the Falconer was offering. But more than that she wanted to go with Miles—leave the underground dwelling and the dark dream of this night behind.
Seeing that they were clear on going, the Falconer took hold of his walking stick.
“It’s nearly daylight,” Miles said, glancing out the window. “We’ll find our own way home.”
Hanna lifted the latch, opened the door, and turned for one last look. “Thank you for your kind help,” she said.
The Falconer sat to face the fire again. “Aetwan will accompany you,” he said with a backward wave of his hand. And before they could protest, Aetwan flapped his wings and flew into the predawn forest.
Miles stepped outside, gripping his injured arm. The door closed with a click, and they started for home.
The sky above was the deepest blue, and the stars were bright against it. Soon the sun would rise above the ocean. They walked through the damp woods, pungent with evergreens and the dusky smell of earth. Just beyond the babbling brook Aetwan landed on a branch above the trail and folded his wings. Hanna was about to step beneath him when the bird gave a sharp cry. She stopped short and looked up. Aetwan cocked his head and peered at Miles.
“Change thrice and you free dark power,” cried Aetwan.
Hanna jumped back, surprised. Miles stood, mouth agape, his dark eyes shining.
“Come on,” croaked Miles. He took Hanna’s hand and pulled her under the branch.
Aetwan squawked again, “Change thrice and you free dark power,”
“Falcons can’t speak,” said Hanna, though of course Aetwan just had. The words “dark power” still echoed in her ears.
Miles tugged her down the trail, still weak from his battle, but strong enough to know his own mind. On they went under the forest canopy, with fear behind them and home before them, and they did not look back.
TRUTH TELLING
Bite the tender tips of bitter glass, and you cannot tell a lie.
—ENTOR’S HERBAL
MOTHER LEFT MILES ON HIS COT, SHUT THE DOOR, AND led Hanna to the kitchen. Taking her seat in the firelight, Hanna leaned up to the table with folded
hands.
Da scooted his chair up beside her. “Tell us what happened, daughter.”
“I … I went into the woods,” she said. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. “There was a song I was following.”
“What sort of song?” asked Mother.
“I don’t rightly know. A calling song. I followed it, and Miles must have come after me.”
Mother dropped a handful of chamomile into the kettle, stirring the dried flowers in the boiling water until the room filled with the smell Chamomile was her cure-all, and she was making plenty of it now for Miles. Hanna leaned against the edge of the table, feeling the pressure in her ribs. It would be hard to tell the next part. Mother hated any mention of the Shriker. She said she didn’t believe in the beast, but she’d lived under the weight of the Shriker’s curse all her life. Any word at all about him was sure to upset her.
Hanna set her jaw. Pulling out the words would be like hauling stones from the earth, but she tried well enough. “The next thing I knew, the Sh …” She bit her lip and looked down at the floor.
“Go on, Hanna,” said Da, patting her hand.
His touch gave her courage. She wanted to tell. Had to tell, the darkness of the beast was still so heavy on her. “The Shriker was swaying over me.”
Mother spun round. “The Shriker,” she gasped. “The beast’s not real. We’ve told you that and told you!”
“A wolf, you mean,” corrected Da, his brows tilting.
“Aye. A wolf,” said Mother. “I knew it. It must be the very same one who killed poor Polly and then attacked young Mic.”
Hanna started. “Not a wolf. The Shriken. It’s true! And Miles will say the same when he’s well enough. It was he who changed himself into a giant falcon to fight the monster.”
Da looked at Hanna with disbelief, then he let out a hearty laugh. “Miles changed himself into a falcon?”
Mother crossed the room. “Oh, my poor Hanna,” she cooed. “What terrible dreams you have.” She shook the honey spoon at Da, “It’s all those stories Granda used to tell her. My father filled the poor child’s head with it all,”
“No,” cried Hanna, “It’s nothing to do with Granda’s stories. And I’m not a child, I’m thirteen now, and I know what I saw!” Hanna sucked in a breath. She’d never spoken to her mother that way before, but to have all the fears she’d faced last night dismissed as a dream was too much to bear.
“Please,” she said, “There’s more. I …” She sat on her trembling hands, then plunged into the rest of her story, “After Miles changed into a falcon, the Shriker leaped up and grew wings too, so there were two giant falcons fighting in midair. When the battle was over, Miles fell to the ground and changed back into himself again, and I took him to the Falconer’s so he could dress the wound.”
“No more of that, Hanna!” Mother’s eyes were wild: Fear or anger, Hanna could not tell which. Mother leaned over and pressed her hands against the table as if she were pushing down the words Hanna had just said. “Don’t breathe a word of that story,” she whispered. “Not to another soul. Not with your mismatched eyes and all. Or the townsfolk will think you’re a …” Her lip trembled.
“Now, Mother, don’t go on about that,” said Da.
Hanna shivered as if her chair were ice, but Mother would go on.
Mother straightened up standing behind Hanna’s chair. She looked at Da. “The townsfolk hadn’t taunted us in years, Keith, and we had a right proper family, but when the midwife died the night our girl was born, and when they saw the child themselves, saw that she was … different …”
Mother began to weep. Hanna shook below her as if her mother had released a storm She wanted to speak, but the words caught in her throat Ice, she thought, I’m covered in ice. Her teeth began to chatter.
Da stood, then stepped between them. “Now look how you’re upsetting our girl, Mother!”
Mother wept all the louder. But Da took her shoulders in his hands, and none too gently. “Don’t go blaming Hanna for the way she was born or for the townsfolk’s backward thinking. The color of her eyes means nothing at all, no more than the Shriker’s tale. It’s all the old legends that haunt our isle and keep us down. You know that.”
“I know,” said Mother. “I know.” Her words saying one thing, and her tears another. Hanna wanted to believe the words, but the tears and the years of resentment behind them were stronger. They were only salt water, but cutting all the same. Suddenly Hanna felt very alone. She longed to go back to the Falconer’s. He’d asked her to tell him what happened. He’d believe her story, she was sure.
Da let go of Mother’s shoulders and patted her back. “Well now,” he said, “our girl had a bad dream, and that’s all.”
“Aye,” whispered Mother. She wiped her eyes with her apron.
“If the tea’s ready, pour some for me and for your daughter.”
“I’ll just be dripping in some honey,” said Mother with a sniff.
Da touched Hanna’s cheek with his forefinger, trying to draw her gaze upward, but she kept her eyes on the clean swept floor, the table legs, anything but her da’s face. Mother filled his cup, then Hanna’s, as Da sat down again.
“It was good you woke up from your dream to help your brother, Hanna.”
“It was,” said Miles, stepping through the kitchen doorway.
Mother turned, splashing tea upon the floor. “Son. You should be abed.”
Miles cradled his hurt arm and leaned against the doorsill. “I’ll be all right.”
“Hanna was just telling us her dreamwalk,” said Da.
Hanna looked at Miles’s pale face. She wasn’t sure how long he’d been listening to them from the doorway. “I told them what we saw in the deeps,” she said. “Tell them, Miles.” It was a plea wrapped in a command. She needed his support more than ever. Hanna waited, knotting her fingers together over her lap as if to tie something in place.
“I saw Hanna was missing, and I went after her. She’d gone a long way this time before I caught up with her, far into the wood.”
“And when did the wolf come after you?” asked Da.
“We were in the darkest part of the forest when we were attacked.”
Hanna looked at Miles through a blur of unshed tears. He would tell them now and they’d believe her story. Miles tugged on his bandage, his face still gray with pain. Tell them, thought Hanna. Tell them true. He gazed back at her, eyes fixed.
“Do you think it was the same wolf that broke Mic’s arm, son?” asked Mother.
“What?” said Miles in a startled voice. “How would I know? I didn’t see Mic’s attack. I was up the road and all.” He sighed and rubbed the stubble on his neck.
“To my mind it must be the same wolf.” said Da.
“But it wasn’t a wolf,” cried Hanna. “A huge, wild dog! A beast … it was the Shriker!”
“Hush, now, with your ramblings, Hanna,” said Mother. “You’ll be upsetting your brother all the more, and he’s still in pain.”
The room seemed to swirl about her. Hanna leaned against the table and pressed her feet to the floor.
“lt was a wolf, Hanna” said Miles. His head was tipped as if he felt sorry to tell her, but his eyes were hard.
“I wasn’t dreaming,” cried Hanna. “You fought the Shriker! You know it’s true!”
Da got up and went to the door.
“Where are you off to?” asked Mother.
“The Shriker’s legend has terrorized the villagers long enough. It’s a real wolf we’re after, and he’s a man killer. First Polly Downs, then Mic, now he’s gone after Miles and Hanna.” He took his cloak from the sill thorn hook. “This lone wolf has to be destroyed before he attacks again.”
Da slipped on his cloak, the dark brown taking in the window light. “Can you tell me where you were, son?”
“The woods were dark.” Miles tilted his brows in thought. “There was a large boulder there.”
Hanna set her jaw. So, he recalled the boulde
r well enough!
“Aye, well there are boulders everywhere on Mount Shalem,” sighed Da. “I’ll take the cart to Brim and fetch some men. Mic’s da will want to kill the wolf, for one, and I’ve no doubt there’ll be a few others brave enough to come.” He pulled on his boots. “The Falconer will want to help us track him too, I’m bound.”
“No,” said Miles, suddenly stepping to the table. “The leafer won’t be home, Da. I’m sure this is the day he crosses over to Tyr Isle to tend the sick there.”
Da donned his hat and opened the door, “Well, I may be able to catch him down at the docks.”
“Come, son,” said Mother, reaching out her hand. “Let me put you back to bed.” Two shadows passed along the wall as Mother guided Miles from the room.
Alone in the kitchen, the low fire sparking red as old blood in the woodstove, Hanna put her head in her hands. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes and felt their coolness against her lids, A sob climbed up her throat. She set it free. Another followed. Miles had lied. He’d lied.
She breathed in and out, trying to quell her anger. At last she leaped up and headed for Miles’s room. She’d make him tell the truth before Da left to gather the hunters.
Down the hall Miles lay in bed, his eyes to the window.
“Why did you do that?” cried Hanna.
“Do what?”
“You know what, you liar!” She started for his bed, but Mother swept through the door.
“Hanna, leave your brother be!” she shouted. “He’s hurt and he needs his rest. Go on with you!”
Hanna ran to her room, threw on her cloak, and raced outside. Da was hitching Gib to the cart. She worked to stop her trembling, sniffed, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Will you take me with you?”
“Why ever for?”
“I want to go,” Hanna looked at her da, saying this and no more, for she couldn’t tell him she needed to see the Falconer, Da climbed into the cart, “Now, Hanna, a young miss isn’t wanted on a wolf hunt,”
The Beast of Noor Page 9
