The Beast of Noor

by Janet Lee Carey

  “Aye, child,” said the Falconer.

  Hanna frowned. He’d called Gurty “child.” What could the Falconer have meant by that? To Hanna’s left Gurty trembled and her green eyes shone.

  Then Hanna heard a sound like no other. It began softly, but soon it was growing. A hum that was a moan. A song that was a cry. A howl that was a lullaby. And through the mist, long, dead branches moving.

  “Old Men of Mount Shalem,” said the Falconer, “will you give us passage?”

  Mist thickened as if heavy curtains were being drawn against them. The giant trees disappeared, their voices growing, then silencing to rise again like waves across the shore.

  “Follow where the blind are leading,

  Listen where the mute are keening,

  Where the deaf are storytelling,

  Where the silent bells are knelling,

  Where the river’s blood is streaming

  And wild animals are dreaming.

  Things are never what they seem,

  Find the lost inside the dream.”

  All this Hanna heard as the voices crossed over the misty water. And the words seemed to come from above and below, behind and before, as if she were in the middle of the lake. Staff in hand, the Falconer went down the hill, and Gurty followed with Hanna. They walked along the shore where bush met rock met water, and the Falconer stopped at a small stream.

  Red brown rocks lay in the tumbling brook. They looked to Hanna like small beating hearts in the streambed. Near them the stream merged with Garth Lake, and so the Falconer stood “where the river’s blood is streaming,” as the chant had said.

  He turned and faced the blackened trees, now silent on the island. Raising his foot over the water’s edge, he stepped out onto the lake. Hanna expected to see his boot go underwater, but it rested on the surface. He took another step and another. The mist arched over him like a great gray hood, and a pale, cream-colored light shone through the opening.

  Gurty followed the Falconer onto the lake.

  Hanna could not tell how they were crossing the water until she herself put out her foot and found that her boot rested on a walking stone just breaking the surface of the lake.

  Not far ahead the Falconer and Gurty stepped first one way and then the other, the gray passage opening before them as they went on. Hanna trailed behind, pausing after each step. Mist swirled around her boots, and try as she might, she couldn’t see the walking stones the Falconer had used to cross the water.

  The more Hanna faltered, the greater the distance grew between her and the others. She put out her foot. Seeing no stone ahead to place it on, she drew back and waited. “I can’t find the way,” called Hanna.

  “You’re in the way,” said Gurty. She and the Falconer were off to the right now and heading for the burned giants.

  Standing on her wet stone, Hanna watched their outlines blend into the mist until they vanished. She could still see the giants’ coal black forms, their thick arms bent, their twig fingers outstretched in greeting or in warning. All the tops of the burned trees were sharply broken, as if each wore a blackened crown.

  Silence covered Garth Lake, and Hanna grew afraid. “Gurty?”

  No answer.

  “Where are you? I can’t see you.”

  Hanna’s pulse quickened. Her hands grew cold. Should she go after them or run down mountain and get help? What was the right way? She turned toward the shore and scanned the surface. The stones she’d taken here lay under the whirling mist. Trying a step, she pulled back suddenly when her boot sank into the cold water. Both feet on the stone again, she felt the chill as water seeped through the leather and soaked her foot.

  Facing the giant trees again, she saw what looked like misty animal shapes running across the lake’s glassy surface. Clouds of sheep, and gray white horses, a unicorn among them; then came smaller shapes, flying above like birds. “And wild animals are dreaming.” A second sign that this was the passage the Falconer had asked for. She put out her damp foot, touched the surface straight ahead, sank, moved her foot to the right, and found a walking stone.

  Things are never what they seem, she reminded herself.

  A moment later, when the gale struck, she entered into the truth of those words.

  WILD ESPER

  Wild Esper is a wind woman, and she can ride an angry storm as well as a playful breeze.

  —GRANDA SHEEN

  THE WIND SWEPT HANNA OFF HER FEET AND BLEW HER across the surface of the lake. She flailed against it, but the more she fought, the stronger the gust became. Higher and higher she flew over Garth Lake and into the line of maples and copper beeches edging Shalem Wood. Tumbling and twirling in the air, she thrust out her hand like one drowning and grabbed a maple branch. Hanna gripped the bough beside the fluttering leaves, her body blowing sideways like a scarf.

  The gale rose higher, singing in a thousand voices. Still she gripped the branch tight. The maple tree bent low, until it seemed the trunk would split in two. Branches wrapped around Hanna like motherly arms as she held on.

  A sudden forceful blast ripped the maple out by its roots, a thundering sound filled Hanna’s ears as the tree came free, then both were sucked into the center of the storm.

  Round and round they swirled over Shalem Wood, down the mountainside, and far over the sea. The island grew smaller as Hanna blew away from the land.

  “Let go of the tree,” called a voice. “She’ll slow the journey.”

  “Who is talking?” shouted Hanna.

  “Who is talking?” the voice sang back. It was a woman’s voice, deep and clear and rich. Hanna looked up through the blowing branches and saw only shades of blue above her at first, but tipping her head farther back, she began to make out the giant face of Wild Esper, the great wind woman, who could change her form to match all weathers—a child on breezy mornings, a woman in chill wind, a hag in winter storm—but she was a woman now, her body long and flowing as a mountain river, her face crystal blue as winter water, her long, silk-spun hair mingling with the tumbled mist.

  “Where are you blowing me?”

  “Let go and you will know.” Wild Esper looked ahead, her eyes burning bright as stars.

  Hanna gazed down at the sea far below. “Promise you won’t drop me.”

  “I’ll hold you up,” promised Wild Esper.

  She felt the wind woman’s power all around her, more than enough to bear her up. The maple wasn’t helping her anymore. At last Hanna loosened her grip. The tree swirled downward and fell into the white-capped ocean. She watched the maple floating on the sea. How small it looked bobbing on the waves below.

  With the letting go Hanna felt the wind soften and grow warm all around her, “Ah,” sighed Wild Esper, “now we can blow through.” The wind woman lifted Hanna higher still, Hanna put her arms out, birdlike, and let herself fly.

  “Will you take me to Attenlore?”

  “To Attenlore,” sang Wild Esper.

  Hanna reached up and tried to touch the wind woman’s hand, but hers only slid through the enormous fingers, Wild Esper’s skin all rushing wind.

  They crossed the sky, soaring above the island; the houses in Brim below looked small as snail shells, the trees as slender as grass. They gusted down lower still, clearing the line of cedars, pines, and oaks, then crossed over a silvery thread that showed itself to be a stream.

  We’re over Enness still, thought Hanna, when will we get to Attenlore? Then she remembered the rice paper map and how the two worlds touched and mirrored each other. How would she know when she crossed over into Oth?

  Wild Esper rushed above the brook, blowing Hanna this way and that as the water wove around rocks and cut its way down mountain. Farther up the slope the stream widened as it ran through a meadow. One half of the meadow was green, and the other was darkened by cloud shadow.

  Wild Esper gusted to the sunlit side. A foot above the ground the wind woman let go her hold, Hanna tumbled down into the soft grass and lay on her back, sucking in d
eep breaths. Above the field Wild Esper swept higher and higher into a thin swirl of clouds and slowly vanished.

  Sweet-smelling grass bobbed all around Hanna, and she spread out her arms. Her body tingled as if she were still falling, and her head swirled. She lay with her hands outstretched, flattening her palms against the ground, for a long while until the spinning ceased. At last she took a deep breath and sat up. How thick the grass blades were, and how tall. She rubbed the feeling back into her arms and legs, stood up, and looked about.

  By sight and smell and sound, this was Attenlore. She was sure of it without knowing just why. It seemed much like Enness, but brighter, more wakeful. The air about her glowed as if it were filled with glisten powder. And everything was humming with life.

  Hanna turned about. She was here to find Miles, but before she could start searching, before she could do anything at all, she had to run. The beauty here filled her chest full to bursting, and if she didn’t run, she’d have to shout or whoop or sing! So she raced through the glorious meadow. “Oh, beautiful,” she cried. And in that moment she felt as if eOwey had brought her straight into the afterlife of Eyeshala.

  Hanna ran from one end of the meadow to the other. “Find the lost inside the dream,” the call had said. Now here she was in Attenlore. She’d feared to come and longed to come, but what was there to fear? She’d been afraid for nothing. Such a place. She could search for Miles and happily. He wouldn’t want to stay inside the beast form here.

  First she had to look for the Falconer and Gurty. Both should be here, but there was no sign of them in the meadow. Hanna rinsed her face in the stream, took a deep drink, and stood again, water dripping from her fingertips.

  She peered across the stream at the far side of the meadow, which was still in shadow, and saw what she’d taken at first to be an ancient oak tree, standing tall, broad, and leafless, and extending into three spires at the top. But she saw now through the blue-dark air that it might be a standing stone instead. It wasn’t brown like the boundary stones raised by the first folk of Enness Isle a thousand years ago, but a grayish white color like that of cresting waves or ash. In the midst of the shrouded field the stone’s three spires, crowned in sun, were the only brightness glimmering on that side of the meadow.

  Hanna had a strange sense that she’d seen the stone before. Not once, but many times. But where could she have seen it? She’d never been to Attenlore before. The surrounding grass was so dim she was sure she’d have a better view of the stone tree once the clouds parted. But when she glanced up to find the shielding cloud casting its broad shadow on the ground, she saw only clear sky, blue as her mother’s eyes in the very center, and blushing orange along the mountainside, where the sun was sliding down. There was nothing overhead to make the far side of the meadow dark.

  Coldness crept over her, as if the shadow was moving slowly toward her. Uthor Vale didn’t reach out this far on the Oth map she’d seen in the Falconer’s book. How could such a shadow be here in this lovely meadow?

  Water babbled near her feet, birds sang in the nearby wood, and she could hear the rustling sounds of small animals in the greenery, but there was no sign of the Falconer or Gurty to calm her sudden fear. No prints or broken branches to show their comings and goings. Why hadn’t they waited for her? Why had they left her alone?

  Hanna wiped her hands on her skirt. A thrumming sound came from somewhere behind her. It was loud and sweet. She wanted to look around, but she feared turning her back on the shadow. Lifting her foot and drawing it behind, she carefully walked backward into the meadow, which still felt safe, drenched in the warmth and the colors of the setting sun. Step by step she drew away from the stream, all the while keeping her eyes fixed on the blue-dark air across the water and on the stone tree.

  The thrumming sound grew and grew. It swelled in the air like the insistent flight of hummingbirds. Too curious to wait any longer, she turned and looked up. The air was sparkling with swirling lights. Hanna blinked as the lights flew closer. What … what were they?

  Sparks flitted this way and that. One stray light dipped down near enough to view, and Hanna saw his tiny face. Woodland sprites! Hundreds of them! Hanna held her breath as they circled over her. Suddenly the sprites swooped down, and she felt a tickling all over as they lifted her from the ground. “Wait,” she called. “I have friends to meet here. We’re looking … ,” she panted. “Have you seen my brother?”

  No answer. Only the music of their wings as Hanna was borne up over the green-tipped trees skirting the mountainside. They followed the wending stream below until it spilled into a broader river. High above them Senowey Falls crashed down the mountainside, but farther down, where the rocks were steep, the river fell again in smaller falls, spreading into pools that gathered golden, then rushed white again down mountain, like an ever-flowing stairway.

  The sprites flew her over the largest river pool of all. In the middle was a small island. Over the tiny isle the sprites hovered just long enough for Hanna to take in some of what lay below. A castle, or something like it, rose up in the center of the isle. Its shining walls seemed to be made of the very water and mist from the stair-step falls that spilled into the pool.

  Granda had told her of glimmer kingdoms, castles all of wind, mist, or stilled water, which could appear or disappear in the blinking of an eye. She’d imagined the sylth palaces, but what lay below was more beautiful and strange than she’d thought of in her own mind.

  The glimmer castle was surrounded by trees, which edged the small island. The castle was quite large, but it had no roof at all atop. In the high end of the wide room the Sylth Queen sat on her flowered throne, surrounded by her attendants, swathed in golden cloth and green. A crowd of sylths and sprites were gathered on the stone floor before her. Some holding flowers. Some with streaming banners.

  “Oh, look,” cried Hanna. The sylth folk had parted long enough for her to see the Falconer and Gurty seated below the queen’s dais. She took all of this in within a moment’s time, her heart beating to the thrumming of the sprites’ wings.

  The sprites set Hanna on a stone seat between the Falconer and Gurty. “Oh, isn’t it lovely!” she said, looking first to Gurty, then to the Falconer. Neither answered her but sat still as still, their eyes fixed on the queen. Hanna had spoken out of turn while everyone awaited the queen’s first word, and she blushed, smoothed out her troubled hair, folded her hands, and looked up.

  The queen’s face shimmered as bright as the rippling water. Her black hair was adorned with woven strands as delicate as spiderwebs. A giant monarch butterfly rested on her shoulder, its orange and black wings outspread.

  Hanna was watching how the queen’s gown changed from blue to purple to green in the sunlight, when her view was suddenly blocked by a sylth knight who stepped before the throne and bowed.

  “Is this all?” asked the queen.

  “It’s all of them, Queen Shaleedyn.”

  “And you found her in the meadow?”

  “In the very place.”

  “And the Oak King?”

  “He is all in shadow now.”

  The queen dismissed the knight and looked down at the Falconer.

  “Braughnoick,” she said.

  Hanna started, for braughnoick meant “old man” in the Othic tongue, and the word was often used unkindly. Still, the Falconer stood and said. “Aye, Queen,” in a most respectful manner.

  “You are strangers here in Attenlore,” she said, her voice cold and clear. “I see that one of you is sqyth-born.”

  Hanna didn’t know what sqyth-born meant, but the words made her suddenly uneasy. The queen looked down at her with piercing violet eyes. She had more to say, and the sound of the falls behind gave company and depth to her speech. “We have felt your coming to our world,” she said. “and we have prepared a showing for you.”

  The Falconer bowed his head. “Thank you, Queen Shaleedyn. You may wish to know that we have crossed into Attenlore on a quest to find—”


  “Be seated now,” she said abruptly. Her pet monarch fluttered its wings. The Falconer sat again.

  Hanna leaned in close to his ear. “When will you ask her about Miles?” she whispered.

  The Falconer gave her a warning look. “We must abide by the queen’s wishes. But don’t worry, Hanna. I’ll find a way to speak of him soon.”

  Sprites flew up and made bright patterns in the air above the throne. A showing could mean music or dance or any kind of sport. Hanna’s body trembled with expectation. The queen’s musicians stepped out from the crowd and began to play. Soon Gurty’s head fell to her chest and she began to snore. How can she fall asleep at a sylth gathering? thought Hanna, but as she waited in her chair, she found her hands and feet growing heavy. She yawned. A delightful, tingling feeling ran up and down her body, and her eyelids drooped.

  The banging of a drum awoke Hanna some time later, and she blinked in the pale light. While she was asleep, the sylth music had changed to a low, crooning song and the day had dimmed to dusk. Light orbs of orange, yellow, red, and blue hung in the air above, spreading a soft light below. The instruments sang a sad tune much like the graveside dirges that were played at a Crossing Over. All around the stone chairs a line of the sylth guard in glassy armor stood at full attention. Hanna ran her eye down the row, saw the bows and Spears. When had they come and why so well armed?

  She wanted to ask the queen but found she couldn’t speak. Two slender threads across her mouth were silencing her. On either side of her Gurty and the Falconer had just discovered the same thing. Tiny spiders crawled over them. While they slept, the spiders had spun webs about them. The silken threads were woven tightly around their bodies from head to foot. She’d felt a tickling sensation a moment before she fell asleep, but she’d ignored it.

  The webs were so nearly invisible she could not believe they had any power to keep her still. Yet when she tried to bring her hands up from her lap, she found the silken threads to be impossibly strong.

  Queen Shaleedyn smiled, “You do not need to struggle,” she said. “The spell webs will hold.”