The Beast of Noor

by Janet Lee Carey

Olean tucked the letter into her leather bag.

  “Do you need a place to bed down?” asked Da, still the kind host, though Hanna guessed his mind was more on the matter of his lost boy.

  “We stay at the Falconer’s,” said Eason. “But our water bags are empty. Is there a well nearby?”

  “Hanna will take you there.”

  “I will too!” said Tymm.

  “No,” said Mother, “Back up the ladder with you, little man.”

  “I’m not little,” he said around a yawn.

  Hanna slipped into her room to grab her cloak. “The meers are here,” she whispered hurriedly. Aetwan peered down from the shelf. The shadows in the room barely moved, but it seemed as if he shrugged.

  “Are you coming out to meet them?”

  No answer still.

  “So you’ll not come out?”

  He tucked his head under a wing to preen himself. “All right, then,” she whispered to the dark.

  Hanna led the guests down the stone steps around the back of the cottage. At the well she lowered the wooden bucket down until she heard a splash. The stars overhead were bright as chipped ice, and when she raised the bucket, she saw the starry head of the constellation Wratheren reflected on the water’s dark surface. In the bucket’s mirroring the moon near the starry serpent’s mouth was nearly full. She broke the reflection with the dipper, and they all took a drink. Then Eason filled their water bags.

  Olean pulled up her hood and peered at Hanna so intently that Hanna blushed. She’s looking at my eyes, she thought.

  “What is it you wish?” asked Olean.

  Her wish? Hanna struggled to turn away, but she felt as if she were falling into Olean’s steady gaze. What did the meer mean by “wish”? She’d wanted to be loved. To marry when she was grown and have children of her own. But would she ever marry, with her eyes? And if that dream could never be, could she leave Enness Isle and train up as a meer? She hadn’t ever studied magic. But the Falconer had said she might have the Gift.

  Standing here so close to Olean, she wondered what it would be like to learn the ways of healing and become a guardian between the worlds as the Falconer had been. “I wish …” She paused, waiting for the right words to settle on her tongue. No, she couldn’t leave all behind to go with them, no matter how wonderful it sounded. “I need … to find my brother.”

  Olean nodded, and she did not seem disappointed. “In two months’ time we sail past Enness on our homeward journey. We may anchor here again.” The promise in her words settled over Hanna like brightly colored sparks. There was time and some hope that Miles would yet be chosen. And if they asked her again to come with them once Miles was found, what then?

  Eason pinned his cloak against the breeze. “We see you’re set apart here.”

  “Set apart?”

  “As one who is sqyth-born,” added Olean.

  Hanna crossed her arms. “I’ve heard those words before, but I don’t know what they mean.”

  “You have one eye to the earth and one to the sky.”

  Hanna blinked as she took this in. Her mismatched eyes again! But the look on the meers’ faces wasn’t harsh or fearful. What did it mean to have one eye to the earth and one to the sky? She tasted the thought, rocking back and forth on her heels, unsteady with the newness of it.

  Olean touched her cheek. “Remember, it’s a rare gift you have, daughter.”

  Hanna’s eyes welled up and she looked away. The kindness of the remark filled such an emptiness in her she steadied herself to hold down the sob; still, it rose up her throat like a bird loosed from a cage, ready to cry out or sing.

  The meers waited in silence as she stood windward awhile, letting the swift air break across her damp face. “No one has ever … said it was a gift before,” she whispered.

  “Then, the words are yours to keep,” said Olean.

  Hanna thought there could be no better gift than that Finding beauty, even hope, in her mismatched eyes. Tears welled up again, but she blinked them back.

  “Before the night’s far gone,” said Eason, looking to the path, “we’ll both need our sleep. But we won’t leave you without direction, Hanna.”

  “When you tended the Falconer in his last days, did he leave you some token?” asked Olean.

  “No.”

  The meers looked at each other. “The letter indicated otherwise,” said Eason. “You will want to ask your father about that.”

  “You may have found something on your own to carry with you on the search, then,” said Olean.

  Hanna wasn’t sure what the meer meant, but without thinking, she reached into her pocket and wrapped her fingers around the egg-shaped stone she’d found on the beach the day she went to town. She’d kept it with her since she’d found it, and was sure it would displease them. It was, after all, only a stone, but she drew it out anyway and held it in the flat of her palm.

  The stone seemed dull under the night sky, which darkened its natural blue gray color, but the starlight brought out the crystal crack down its side. A crack that seemed to Hanna so much like the first life signs of a little chick greedy for the outside world.

  Eason raised his eyebrows, and a deep crease lined his dark forehead. Olean let out a soft sigh. “How did you come by this?”

  “It came to me from the sea,” said Hanna. She blushed, for the stone hadn’t actually come to her, only tumbled up in a foamy wave. “I mean, I found it on the shore,” she said.

  “You were right the first time.” Olean touched the stone. “It’s warm,” she said, and Eason smiled.

  “What are you talking about?” asked Hanna.

  “It’s not for us to say,” said Olean. “But take this stone on your journey, and you’ll know soon enough.”

  Hanna slid the stone back into her pocket. She felt a sudden liking for both meers and an even stronger need for their wise reassurance, which seemed to spread outward from them like a warming fire.

  “I wish you would come with me,” she said.

  Eason tied his water bag about his waist. “No one can make this journey for you, Hanna.”

  “The Falconer said the same. He also said I would not be alone.”

  The night wind ruffled Olean’s blue hood. “Aye,” she said, “and he was right.”

  “But I don’t understand.”

  “A sqyth-born child has more than one kith,” said Olean.

  So she had more kith to help her? Hanna looked up, remembering the chill and wondrous feeling of flight as Wild Esper blew her into Attenlore, and she longed to feel that flight again. But if she had an earthly kith, she didn’t know who that might be. She lowered her head, thinking to ask Olean, then felt suddenly shy. A person shouldn’t have to ask who her friends are; a person should know that for herself.

  Eason removed a beaded strap from about his neck. “Glisten,” he said, holding out a small leather pouch. “Do you know its use?”

  In her mind’s eye she saw the Falconer tossing the shining powder in the deeps. Like tiny shooting stars, it had lit the woods and shown her brother’s form inside the beast.

  “Aye,” she said, and reached for the little pouch.

  THE FEATHER QVILL

  Ezryeah burned his ancestral robes and scattered the ashes in the sea.

  —THE BOOK OF EOWEY

  DA BROUGHT A NEW RUSHLIGHT TO HANNA’S ROOM AND placed it on her little table.

  “Da?” said Hanna. “Did the Falconer leave me a token?”

  Da gave a nod. “I was waiting to give it to you.”

  Da drew the stool beside her cot, keeping his back to Aetwan, who slept atop the corner shelf. Hanna sat up as Da pulled something from his pocket. He uncurled his fingers. The rushlight haloed his hand, and there in his open palm lay a shining silver key.

  “The Falconer said you’d know what to do with it.”

  Hanna didn’t know, but she saw the hopeful look in Da’s eyes. “I’ll do my best,” she said.

  Da handed her the key. Hanna too
k the gift, felt the cold of it, and wondered what door it would open for her and where the door was.

  “The Falconer said I’m to let you and Gurty keep looking for Miles, and I’m not to prevent you.” He was speaking in a quiet voice so as not to awaken the bird.

  Hanna nodded, still thinking on the key.

  “Will you keep searching, then, daughter?”

  She looked up. “Aye.”

  “Ah,” he sighed. “And I will too. And when will you give up the search?”

  “Never, Da.”

  “That’s my girl.” He hugged her close, and she could smell sweat and sheep and the greenness of the mountain in his shirt. “Tomorrow I’ll turn east to look in the foothills. Will you come that way with Gurty?”

  Hanna shook her head, and they both looked down at the key.

  “Is there anything you’re not telling me, daughter?”

  Hanna closed her fingers over the key. His question brought so many pictures to mind, and she watched them pass like misty breaths upon a cold window: first the Shriker, then Attenlore, then the Sylth Queen. But she could say nothing of these things to her da, a practical man who saw this world and no other, so she landed on the only truthful words she dared. “It’s this, Da,” she said, looking into his weathered face. “I’m sure Miles is still alive.”

  Da’s eyes twinkled, and she saw the tears held behind their sudden brightness. “The Falconer said the same. And do you know there’s not many left who still believe it? But we’ll find him yet, Hanna.”

  The meers had said they would leave before dawn; still, Hanna felt disappointed when she opened the Falconer’s door and saw the empty table and the cold hearth. There were blankets folded on the pallet, an iron cook pot on its hook, and a rushlight on the table, but in the alcove only the meditation cushion remained. The books were gone, so were the dried herbs. And there were round marks in the dust on the shelves where the tincture bottles used to be. The smell of winterleaf, which the old man had been so fond of, lingered in the air, but that was all.

  The meers had taken the Falconer’s books and herbs. The empty alcove sent an ache through her.

  “He’s gone!” she cried. She sat on his pallet and wept for the Falconer as she hadn’t been able to do at the Crossing Over. “They shouldn’t have taken your books,” she sobbed.

  “Look,” said Aetwan.

  “Look at what? There’s nothing to see here anymore.”

  Head in hands, she cried. The movement of her swaying upper body made the dust motes swirl round her in the morning light. The small room blurred. Her nose ran and her throat ached. At last she wiped her puffy eyes and caught Aetwan watching her from his perch. She felt he could not understand her tears, though he must be missing his master in his own way. “All right,” she said with a sniff. “I’ll look.” She went to the alcove and ran her hand along the empty bookshelf; a flurry of fine dust made her sneeze. She touched the Falconer’s meditation cushion, heard the straw rustling under the thick red cloth. Back in the main room she whisked the pine broom from the hearth and began to sweep.

  Pushing the broom beneath the pallet, she felt the bristle tips run into something hard. Hanna poked about a bit, then stooped and pulled out a long wooden chest. She pulled upon the lid. Locked, of course. Going down on one knee, she took the silver key from her pocket, fit it in the keyhole, and turned it to the right. Click! Hanna lifted the lid and let out a soft sigh. She was sorry right away for doubting Eason and Olean, for they hadn’t taken anything at all. The chest was full of everything she’d missed.

  The Falconer’s books were stacked against one side of the trunk, along with his tinderbox and his many tincture bottles. Next to them were pungent-smelling dried herb bundles and a leather herbing pouch. The right side of the chest was filled with a large, gilded box, which took up half the space inside. She’d been so happy to see the contents, she hadn’t noticed a small note attached to the inner lid of the chest. It read:

  The Book of eOwey is for Miles and Hanna Ferrell. The contents of the gilded box are for Miles. The wrapped leather parcel beside it shall be taken to Attenlore and given to Miles there. All else within this chest I give to Hanna Ferrell. Remember you are loved.

  The note was signed with the single letter F and the Othic symbol Hanna had seen on the Falconer’s palm. Hanna lifted the leather parcel meant for Miles. It was very light, a little more than one foot long and six inches wide. Here was a thing she was to bring to Attenlore. She resisted the temptation to open it and slid it carefully into her pack. Next she took up a tincture bottle and read the label in a spill of sunlight from the window. Orasian. The bright orange medicine the Falconer had given Miles the first night they stumbled through his door. Hanna wanted to read about all the tincture bottles in Entor’s Herbal and learn more of the dried herbs in the pouches. But that wouldn’t help her find Miles, so she replaced the bottle and brought The Way Between Worlds to the table.

  The heavy book had a musty odor tinged with pine. She ran her fingers across the gold embossed letters, then gripped the corner of the text and closed her eyes. “Help me find the passage into Attenlore,” she whispered. Whether it was a wish or a prayer did not matter to her, only that she must believe The Way Between Worlds held secrets that would help her find Miles.

  She lifted the thick cover and was surprised to see that it was a handwritten volume. She’d seen only the maps before this and had been too busy brewing tea to notice the print on the other pages. The letters were slender and slanted a little to the left, and many of the pages had drawings of plants and animals in the margins.

  Hanna traced the green vines that crept up the left side of chapter one, then quickly paged through the book looking for clues on Attenlore. If only she could uncover a spell that would help her find the passage. There were only five days left before the next full moon. The book had to tell her something.

  The passage the Falconer had read on their last day together was near the end of the book. She turned to that portion, fingering down page after page until she read the word “Hanna.” Starting at the word, she turned to look at Aetwan. He tipped his head to the side and returned her stare.

  “My name is here,” she said. “What does it mean?”

  “Read,” said Aetwan matter-of-factly.

  Hanna trembled as she began to read the script. In page after page her own story grew before her eyes. All of it was there, and it was in the same slender lettering as the rest of the book. So this wasn’t a copy of some ancient magical text, but the Falconer’s own work. She read on until she came to the words at the bottom of page 411.

  There is work yet to do with the Shriker. I had thought to finish this work before my death, but it is Hanna and Miles’s story now. There are many pages left in this book to complete, and so I give my quill to Hanna.

  Hanna turned to the next page, which was blank but for a drawing of a gnarled tree branch along the margin and a single unfinished line atop.

  Hanna went to the Enoch Tree and essha …

  She rubbed her forehead. She was to climb to the high cliff and seek the tree. But what did “essha” mean? The cream-colored page lay stark beneath the Falconer’s lettering. Hanna peered back inside the chest. In the corner, with the tincture bottles, she spied the Falconer’s ink bottle. The tip of his feather quill poked out from beneath Miles’s gilded box. She pulled the quill from its hiding place and ran the feather along her cheek.

  The book was hers to finish—and the quest.

  THE WIND WALL

  There are powers at work here and mysteries beyond our knowing.

  —THE FALCONER

  SOMEONE WANTED HIM HERE. ENOUGH TO KEEP HIM alive. Enough to hold him captive here in Uthor Vale, where all was covered in shadow, even in the day. Miles’s shoulder was still bruised from his fall after the jail cart hit the oak tree, though the crash had happened a while ago. How many days? He wasn’t sure. Time was masked here in Uthor. Dim days succumbed to darker nights, with no divis
ion between the two.

  He didn’t want to have to fight the Shriker here. He wanted to choose his place of battle. Uthor Vale filled him with a constant sense of dread and drained him of his power. There was too much darkness here, too many Strange beasts, like the giant gullmuth roaming through the woods. He shuddered, remembering the last time he’d nearly run into the gullmuth—a hideous, hairy mammoth with a great, birdlike head; he’d slipped into a cave just in time. The gullmuth was a monstrous killer. The great beast frightened him even in his Shriker’s form.

  The shadow realm was the wrong place to fight his enemy. The Shriker had lived here long and knew every inch of ground. Much better to lure the cur to a high cliff in Attenlore, pounce on him full force, and watch him plummet to his death. Miles snarled under his breath—that would finish him.

  A dull ache flowed down his leg as he limped up the steep-walled valley. He would win out this time—break past the wall of wind at the valley’s edge and free himself from Uthor.

  The branches thickened here. Plenty of places for skullen snakes to hide. Miles padded stealthily through the snow so as not to disturb them. Near the top of the valley he stopped and peered out. Attenlore! Rolling hills softened with snow. Only a few more steps and he’d be free. Miles licked his muzzle, tasting the sweetness of the thought.

  “I’m ready,” he said.

  His words were no longer growls. Once the tamalla had worn off, he’d found a way to master speech in the Shriker’s form. He could speak now in a husky voice that was both powerful and deep.

  Miles broke past the tree line and met the Sylth Queen’s wind wall full force. None but the Shriker, and the few that dared to follow in his wake, had ever broken through this wall, but he was strong. He would break through. Paws firm, head down, he leaned into it. The stinging wind blew his fur straight back. He took one step, two. It was like pushing against an ocean wave. The harder he pressed, the harder it pressed back.

  Fighting his way past a pile of rocks, he gained two feet of ground, then faltered. He dug his paws in deeper. Steady. Stand strong. Don’t give in.