The Beast of Noor

by Janet Lee Carey

  “No,” said the Falconer. “You’re wise like Hanna.” He touched her shoulder. A light touch, like a breeze she could barely feel, but with that touch her trembling ceased. “This has always been your story,” he said, “Yours and Miles’s. I was only here to come along with you for a time.”

  “But … I don’t understand.”

  “Remember the day at the kirk when I said you would come to me when you heard the Shriker’s call?”

  “Aye.”

  “And you came.”

  She nodded.

  “Well,” said the Falconer, “I cannot see far, but I saw that.” He closed his eyes. “Now I see a little more. You will seek your brother in the Otherworld. For the boy who is bound must be freed by your hand.”

  Hanna looked down at her hands. They were so small compared with the Falconer’s, and she had no sign of power on her palm. How could she do this alone?

  “Why won’t you come with me?”

  The Falconer tipped his head. “I’m old, and the time has come for me to move on.”

  “Move on to where? If you have the strength to go somewhere, you can come with me.”

  He ignored her plea. “I have to go soon,” he said. “But I’ll speak to your father first. Will you go fetch him for me?”

  “Aye,” said Hanna. “But tell me where you’re going.”

  “All of us are on the way to where I’m going, Hanna. I won’t be alone, and neither will you.”

  Hanna suddenly knew what he meant by “where I’m going,” and she couldn’t bear to let him see her weep, so she leaped up, tore her cloak from the root hook, and swept out the door.

  The rain had ceased, and the day had turned cold and bright; red-orange leaves glowed like torches in the maple trees. And the birch trees were golden. Under their blowing boughs Hanna sped up her pace. She would send Da to the Falconer as he had asked her to, then she would go to Gurty’s cottage. The woods woman had been little help in finding Miles, but both she and the Falconer were healers. If the Falconer was too sick to find the herbs he needed to cure himself, Gurty would have to do it.

  The green bracken made a soft swishing noise against her skirts as she flew past. Blue jays flitted from tree to tree. The woods were alive with light and color, but she didn’t take much notice. Beauty cannot pass through fear, nor can it pass through anger, and she was both—afraid for the Falconer, and angry with herself for not going to Gurty sooner.

  HAG WIND

  The sea serpent Wratheren left the Ebring Sea and winged his way to the moon.

  —THE EPIC OF BREAL

  ROUGH-HEWN CARTWHEELS BUMPED ALONG THE RUTS, catching on tree roots as Reyn and Perth pulled the rolling cage toward their goal. Miles paced and groaned, trying once again to shape his mouth to human speech. He tried the words “Stop” and “I’m innocent,” but they came out as low growls. If only he could tell them. He didn’t kill the unicorn. Didn’t even eat her flesh after she was dead, though he was starving and needed the food. He’d left her body in the meadow and gone off hunting other game.

  For two days and nights he’d tried again and again to plead his case before his sylth captors, but all his words were garbled, and they only ended up whipping him when he growled.

  At night, while his jailors slept, he’d tried to shape-shift and make his escape. With a human arm he could reach through the narrow bars, with human hand unlock the gate. But his muscular forelegs would not lengthen into slender, hairless arms. His paws would not finger into hands, and the more he tried to change without success, the more frightened he became.

  He was sure the tamalla they’d shot him with had made his tongue too thick and clumsy for any kind of clear speech. Was it also preventing him from shape-shifting? That had to be it. He held on to that reason, though a darker, unspoken fear lay below that.

  It was midday now in the dense forest, and even with the sheltering trees a strong wind was blowing in from the north. Miles paced inside his cage. With every step taken toward the Sylth Queen’s throne, the danger grew. If he could not return to himself, Queen Shaleedyn would not recognize him. She and all the sylth folk would call him Shriker. And from what he’d gleaned from his captors’ chatter, the queen had a terrible punishment in store for him.

  Reyn and Perth tugged on the long pole handles. Another gust blew past as they struggled to pull the cart along. The jail cart swayed to one side. A cartwheel sank into a rut.

  “Pull harder!” called Reyn.

  “I’ve been pulling more than my share!”

  “And I say I’ve done more pulling than you!”

  “You never change!” shouted Perth. “When we dug the gullmuth pit, it was just the same. I slaved in the rocks and dirt while you looked on.”

  “It was I who did the digging!” protested Reyn. “And I put the stakes at the bottom to slay the monster!”

  “But was he slain? Never at all! You refused to help me finish covering the pit from view!”

  The wind increased, and both shouted at once, “Hold on!” But Perth could not keep his grip and dropped his pole to the ground.

  “Leave me to it,” shouted Reyn, “if you’re too weak to pull your weight!”

  Perth reached for his bow. “And let you take all the gold?”

  Now Reyn dropped his pole and drew his knife. “What will it be, then?” He leaned into the heavy wind, trying to wave his weapon, but the gale pushed him back. The cart tipped, and Miles slid to one side.

  “Watch out!” shouted Perth. “lt’s going to blow over!” He tried to run at the cart but was suddenly swept off his feet and thrown against a tree trunk. There was a loud cracking noise as a branch broke and swirled down to the path, Perth slid to the ground, and Reyn turned toward the jail cart, trying with all his strength to fight the oncoming storm.

  Another crack, loud enough to split Miles’s ears this time, and a giant pine came crashing down between the sylths and the jail cart. Miles pressed himself against the back end of the cart and howled. One foot closer and the tree would have crushed him!

  “Away!” screamed Perth. The sylths ran before the blowing wind.

  “Quick!” shouted Reyn. “Find a hole to hide in!” Torn branches swirled behind Reyn and Perth, striking them both on the head and back as they fled screaming down the trail.

  More trees tumbled down before the jail cart. Miles rammed against the bars, desperately trying to break free. The cart rolled backward. A screaming gust lifted the cart and spun it around and around in the air. Miles tumbled against the bars on the other side, straining to come to a stand, but the wind held him fast.

  As the cage flew over the wild wood, oaks and elms torn up by their roots spun past. Miles pressed his muzzle between the bars and saw a young stag blow by, his horns caught in a spinning branch. Higher and higher he went. Up into the clouds as the howling wind sang all around him. Miles strained to see more through the bars. Was there a wind spirit above? Noorushh or Wild Esper? He couldn’t see a face overhead, nor any kind of shape. Only blue.

  Using all his power, he tried to pull himself away from the bars, but his raw animal strength meant nothing to the storm. He trembled. Fell against the side again. He could ride this storm, even fly against it if he shape-shifted. He must change fast, before the cage fell.

  Miles imagined a falcon’s sleek, feather-covered body slipping through the bars, his broad wings pumping high and higher above the storm. He’d shape-shifted into that form before. Changed quickly enough to break his fall that night in the deeps. He could do it now.

  Spreading his forelegs out long, as if they were wings, he saw it all and clearly. Willed it with every fiber in his body. But he did not change.

  If the cage should fall from this great height … if he couldn’t get out …

  Miles roared. The cart rattled. But the keening wind was louder. It stripped the sky, tore him from the sunlit lands of Attenlore, and swept him westward to the shadow vale.

  The cart spun down over the dark valley
and crashed into a tree. Miles tumbled through the branches and landed in the blue-dark snow.

  Bashed and bruised from the fall, he raised his head and looked at the broken jail cart. High in the branches above, the wheels still spun.

  The valley had him. Uthor. Uthor. Uthor.

  THE CROSSING OVER

  Ezryeah sought the teacher who lived across the river.

  —THE BOOK OF EOWEY

  AFTER BREAKFAST HANNA PLANNED TO VISIT THE Falconer and see how he was faring with Gurty’s healing herbs. The night before, she’d left the old woman wagging her gnarled finger over the Falconer as he lay upon his cot. She smiled to herself at the memory. Gurty, so small, leaning over a tall tree of a man to scold him back to health. When his fevered cough was cured, they’d seek the passage back to Attenlore and rescue Miles. Soon. It must be soon.

  She was rinsing out her bowl when there was a knock at the door. There stood Gurty in her damp red head scarf. Hanna read her down-turned lip and puffy eyes and saw the meaning there. “I brought you to him too late,” she cried, burying her face in Gurty’s rain-drenched shawl.

  “Hush, pet,” said Gurty. “He was long past any cure I could give him from the start.”

  They wept and held each other in the open doorway, shaking like windblown saplings.

  Many a villager came to the Crossing Over: townsfolk from Brim and Gladsonne. Others sailed over from Tyr Isle, and some folk journeyed from as far as Abbaseth. It surprised Hanna to see so many gathered on the hill, when the Falconer had been a lone mountain dweller, but before the service she heard one villager after another telling tales of how the good man had come to their sickbed with herbs and tinctures. And how he’d medicined them day on day until they were well enough to step back into their lives.

  They laid the Falconer near Granda’s grave in the shadow of the giant oak tree. It was a good place to be buried, halfway between the mountain’s peak and the sea, with a view to both.

  Brother Adolpho was reading from The Book of eOwey. He came to the last line: “‘And our blessings on the traveler.’”

  “Our blessings on the traveler,” said all who stood about the grave.

  Repeating these words with the others, Hanna looked up and spied two more people at the gathering. Both were strangers to Enness Isle. The two stood apart from the crowd. One was a tall, black-skinned man. His face did not look old, but his long, curly hair, worn in a single braid down one side, was starry white. The other, a round-faced woman, was nearly as tall as the man, and her eyes were deep blue. If the man were the night sky, then she would be the blue of the day, both in her eyes and all around her face where her azure-colored hood covered her head. When the woman pulled it back, Hanna saw a slender gray streak cascading down her light brown hair like a silvery waterfall.

  The strength of the strangers’ presence and their quiet manner made Hanna think they must be meers, though how they’d heard of the Falconer’s death in some faraway place and managed to sail here so soon after was a mystery.

  After the final song Hanna lay a gathering of poppies and lavender on the Falconer’s grave. She stood again and brushed the dirt from her knees, then stepped beside her mother. She thought to take her hand, but her green-stained fingers were still wet from the poppy stems. “Miles would have liked to play ‘Good Friends Parting’ to honor the Falconer today.” Mother nodded, but she would not look at Hanna. To her mother and her da Miles had become a silence and a longing.

  Some of the crowd began to leave. Hanna stepped around the broad oak tree, lifting hand to brow to shield the westering sun from her eyes. It was up to her to find Miles now. She trembled at the thought of venturing to Attenlore alone.

  The sun glanced across the sheer cliffs. And the smallest of shadows glided over the rocks, but Hanna was too lost in thought to notice. She didn’t hear the high-pitched cry or see the circling above. Indeed, she didn’t know what made the crowd draw back, jaws dropped, eyes wide, until Aetwan swooped down and landed on her arm.

  VISITORS FROM AFAR

  There is water in the world. Good and clean and sweet. But a meer must seek the well within.

  —THE OTHIC ART OF MEDITATION

  AT NIGHTFALL HANNA SAT BY THE FIRE WITH MOTHER mending her cloak for the next day’s hike, a journey she must face alone, now the Falconer was gone. She heard footsteps outside. There was a knock at the door.

  Da put down his pipe. “Come in,” he said. Hanna peered around her da’s broad frame to see who it might be. She drew back again when the two strangers she’d seen at the service crossed the threshold. The woman removed her blue hood, and the dark-skinned man, his gray.

  Mother arose suddenly, the wool she had been carding dropping to the floor. She gripped her sharp wool comb against her middle, forcing a smile. Hanna stood beside her mother and looked to the floor, for these were strangers and they might not like her mismatched eyes.

  “Good eve,” said the man in a rolling voice. “I am Eason, and this is my fellow, Olean.”

  “I was told you would come,” said Da.

  Hanna looked up, surprised to hear this. Mother must have been as well, for Hanna felt her arm go tense beside her. Still, Mother remembered her duties and quickly stepped aside. “Come sit by the fire,” she offered. Both came closer, but neither took a stool.

  As Da went down the hall to his room, Tymm’s curly blond head appeared from the loft and he crept down the ladder. He stood breathing loudly beside Hanna, tugging her shawl once, twice, before he found his tongue. “You were at the Crossing Over.”

  “Hush,” said Hanna.

  Da returned carrying a letter sealed with green wax. “I’m to ask you for a sign,” he said. Eason nodded. The pair turned round and held their palms out to the fire. After a moment’s time they showed their hands to the Ferrells. Othic symbols appeared on their left palms, pale blue and glowing with their own light. Hanna saw the Othic shapes were quite unlike the Falconer’s. The symbol on Olean’s hand curved like a triple letter S, which looked like flowing water. Eason’s sign was shaped much like an eye, only rounder than a human eye, and there was a jagged mark cascading down the center like swift blue lightning.

  “Aye,” said Da, “you’re meers, all right.” He gave the letter to Eason. The meer opened it at once. He read down the page, then gave it to Olean, who did the same.

  Had the Falconer sent for these meers to help her find Miles? That must be so. He wouldn’t leave her all alone to search for Attenlore. The room seemed uncommonly hot as she waited.

  The fire crackled. At last Olean looked up from the letter. “The Falconer says here that your son should be tested for an apprenticeship on Othlore.”

  Hanna’s throat tightened. She must mean after they found him. Once he was safely home, then he could be tested. He’d always dreamed of going. “You’ll have to be strong and help take care of Mother when I sail away,” he’d warned. “But I’ll come home powerful in magic.” She remembered how his eyes had taken on the fire when he said that.

  “Our son … is away,” Mother said in a choking voice.

  “Gone a month now,” said Da.

  “Not quite a month,” added Hanna. “The moon’s not yet full again, and—”

  “We have to walk miles and miles every day to look for him,” said Tymm. Mother slumped onto her stool and rubbed between her eyes.

  Hanna stepped forward. “Will you help us find my brother?”

  “We’ve come on behalf of Othlore,” said Eason. “And there are more lands we must visit to test future apprentices.”

  “Miles would pass any test that you have,” said Hanna. “Only stay and help us.” Her voice had sharpened with the plea. Wasn’t that why they’d come here? To help her cross into Attenlore? She couldn’t say this in front of Mother and Da, but surely …

  Olean touched her heart. “If we could stay, we would,” she said wistfully, “but we cannot. Our ship sails on the morrow.” She searched the letter once more, pursed her lips, then look
ed up, “The Falconer says here that your daughter’s likely to have the Gift as well.” She folded the letter and looked squarely at Hanna.

  “We can test her, if you like,” said Eason.

  “What, Hanna?” Da’s surprise came out in a quick laugh, and Hanna felt the sting of it.

  Mother reached up and put her arm about Hanna’s waist. “He couldn’t have meant Hanna. She’s …” Mother faltered, and Hanna’s mind heard the unsaid words in taunting whispers. She’s a dreamwalker. A girl to hide away.

  “The Falconer only meant for you to test Miles, I’m sure,” said Mother. “He’s the brightest of boys. We don’t abide with magic in this house. It’s schooling in the healing arts he’d be wanting from you. We’ll be needing another trained in healing here on Enness, now the Falconer’s gone.”

  “Aye,” said Da. “Miles would make a good leafer, for the Falconer was teaching him the way of herbs. And he plays the flute like a bird. You also have music meers at your school, I’m thinking.”

  “Music is fine, but it’s not a needed skill like healing the sick,” said Mother firmly.

  Eason bowed. “I myself teach music.”

  “Well now,” said Da. “There, Mother. Do you see?”

  “A girl may be chosen as well as a boy,” said Olean, bristling.

  Eason put a steadying hand on her shoulder. “You say your son has been gone nearly a month now,” said Eason. “Yet the Falconer’s letter was written and sealed only last week.”

  “You see!” Da said triumphantly to Mother. “The Falconer still believed that Miles can be found. And many said the man was a seer who could see into the future.”

  “Aye,” said Mother, her voice warming with hope. “We’ll find our boy just like they found Pyter at last!”