When all was ready, Hanna placed herself near the pit at the edge of the thick tree line. She stood on the far side, feet apart and head up, facing the long, broad path that led up the valley. Miles hid behind the pine tree to her right.
Hanna looked at him. “Ready?”
“Are you sure you want to do this, Hanna?”
“Aye.”
Miles pulled his bowstring taut, aiming just above the pit. “Ready,” he said.
Hanna curled her small hands into fists. Her blue hood fell across her shoulders as she lifted her chin. Head back in the falling snow, she called out, “RORY SHEEN!”
The name echoed across the valley and was answered by a howl.
THE TRAP
The Darro was used to poor souls in their last earthly moment begging to be spared.
—THE LEGEND OF THE SHRIKER
DOWN THE DARKSOME VALLEY THE SHRIKER CAME. Moving like a blackened stain over the snow. The stain grew ever larger as he bounded along the slanting hills toward the little glade where they stood.
Hanna moaned.
“Keep your place now, and don’t run yet,” warned Miles. He watched her swaying slightly to the left, but her boots stayed put, half hidden in the dirty snow. The wind sang all around her, blowing her hair and cape sideways, like a blue flag fringed in brown. Behind the broad tree trunk Miles caught the tail end of the breeze and smelled the snow on it.
The baying wind, the charging beast. These two seemed the only things moving down the valley, and both rushed toward Hanna. The Shriker was less than a quarter mile away now, leaping over the boulders, weaving in and out between the trees, knocking down the smaller saplings as he ran. The sound of the name, Rory Sheen, had him hurtling through space like a dead star flaring down to its last orange coal Two coals. His burning eyes. His ears pressed back against his head. His great paws kicked up the snow as he rushed toward Hanna.
Miles held his bowstring and pressed his cheek-bone against the feathered fletching.
“Steady, now,” he whispered, as much to Hanna as to himself. Even as he said this, he locked his knees to keep from running away.
Pounding through the hardened snow, the onrushing beast suddenly filled the path before them. His broad back eclipsing the view of Shalem Peak behind. His red jaws opened, his thick tongue flailed.
“This is it,” whispered Miles.
The Shriker hurtled forward, leaped high in the air, and landed on the snow before Hanna. His paws hit the ground with a thunderous crack as the branches went out from under him. His legs suddenly disappeared. Then his body, then his head as the artifice collapsed under his weight. He howled as he fell to the bottom of the pit.
There was a thud, followed by a loud yelp, then came an ominous silence.
Miles held his breath and waited. At last he crept out from behind the tree. Bow in hand, he tiptoed to the pit and looked over the side. No sound at the bottom and no movement from the huge black form. He turned to Hanna, smiling. She raised her fist and screamed with fear and triumph. Miles threw down his bow, and they embraced, dancing round and round near the edge of the pit.
“We did it,” called Hanna with a laugh.
“Aye, we did!” Miles’s heart drummed with victory, so loudly he thought Hanna might hear.
“You were brave!” said Hanna.
“And you!” He looked into her smiling eyes, then wiped the smudge of dirt on her cheek.
“Home now,” he said delightedly. “We’ll leave the valley straightaway and look for the passage back to our world.”
“Home,” sighed Hanna. “I’m ready. More than ready.”
He was picking up his bow when he heard a low rumbling sound from the depths of the pit. Hanna turned to him, startled. Just then a giant, bloody foreleg stretched out and clawed the ground near his feet.
“Look out!” screamed Hanna.
They both leaped back as the top of the Shriker’s head suddenly appeared.
“Run for it!”
The beast was halfway out of the trap. They raced into the trees. How could he have survived the fall? The sharp spikes at the bottom?
Miles scrambled over a fallen tree, kicking hunks of rotten wood up into the air as he leaped down again. Hanna climbed the log and stood atop, ready to jump down. On the trail below the Shriker was in chase, dragging his bloody hind leg across the snow.
“Come on, Hanna,” Miles called. “His leg’s broken. We can beat him!”
Hanna leaped down onto the snow, and they took off running again. The Shriker was fast, even on three legs. Miles looked back as they passed an outcropping of boulders. The beast was gaining on them.
“Move!” shouted Miles.
The snow gave way underfoot. Miles grabbed Hanna’s hand, pulling her along. “Hurry!”
Hanna tugged his arm the other way. “Look!” she cried. “The passage! I see it!”
“Where?”
“Over there!”
Miles pivoted and joined Hanna in a mad dash toward the blackened entrance. A hole like the one he’d tumbled into long ago after his battle in the deeps. Be the way out! You must be the way out! They tore through the gorse bushes and threw themselves into the passage. Hanna halted so suddenly in the darkness that he knocked her down.
“Come on,” urged Miles, stooping to pull her up again. Hanna drew the lightstone from her pocket. The soft blue beam filled the tunnel. They followed the beam, walking as fast as they could under the low ceiling. “Out the other side and we’ll be home,” said Miles.
The tunnel broadened, and the low ceiling soon gave way to a higher one.
“I’m not sure,” said Hanna. “This may not be …”
A deep roar filled the passage. Hanna jumped back and grabbed Miles’s arm.
“He can’t get in,” said Miles. “It’s too narrow for him.” But even as he said this, his ears were filled with the terrible sound of the Shriker’s paws, digging into the earth after them.
“The way out,” Hanna puffed as they scrambled through the tunnel. “This has to be the passage. It can’t be just a cave.” But no sooner had she said this than the passage ended in solid rock. Miles stretched out his hands and touched the cold granite. He looked left and right for another opening. A hole large enough to crawl through. Anything!
Hanna kicked the stone wall with her boot and pounded it with her fist. “Let us out!” she screamed. “I want to go home!”
A loud snuffling noise came from behind them and more digging. It was like the sound Da’s sheepdog made when he hunted for moles. Nosing the earth and digging furiously, only this time they were the moles!
“What now?” cried Hanna.
“I’ll think of something,” snapped Miles, but they were trapped here and he knew it. “Give us your stone.” He turned the beam toward the entrance. The beast’s head and shoulders were in. The monster pushed and pushed against the earth. His red eyes narrowing on them, he snarled, exposing yellowed fangs. Miles and Hanna pressed themselves flat up against the wall.
“I’m sorry,” said Miles.
“I know.”
They held each other, bodies trembling as the stench of the Shriker’s breath filled the cave. One more mighty push and he would break through.
Earth and rock tumbled from the low roof as he lunged for them. A larger chunk fell on his head, a blackened tree root cut across his muzzle. Suddenly there was a thundering crash.
Miles dived for Hanna, covering his head and hers as the roof came tumbling down.
BROWN EYES
Where the one self meets the other, In the beast eye spy your brother.
—SONG OF THE SYLTH QUEEN
MILES FELT FOR HANNA IN THE DARK. “ARE YOU ALL right?”
“I’m cut, but not badly. Is he … is he dead?”
“Wait.” Miles passed his hand along the floor, seeking Hanna’s lightstone. He felt only damp earth and rough rocks at first. Then, reaching far to his left, he found a smooth stone, which warmed to light as his finge
rs passed over it. He held it between them and saw the blood running down Hanna’s cheek. Tearing a corner from his cape, he pressed it to her head. “Keep pressure on it,” he whispered. Miles leaned back and wiped the sweat from his neck.
A low breathing sound came from the other end of the cave. The breath was followed by a deep rumble, like waves crashing far out to sea. Was the beast creeping nearer in the dark? With shaking hand he held out the glowing stone.
The Shriker lay flat under the fallen roof less than twelve feet away. The beast’s head was visible, his huge front paws, and part of his back. The rest was hidden under the rubble.
“He’s pinned down,” whispered Miles.
“He might shape-shift and get out that way,” said Hanna.
Miles raised the stone to shed more light on the far end of the cave. Blue light flickered over the stones and dirt across the Shriker’s spine. Miles narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “I think he’s trapped.”
Hanna pointed to a small opening in the rock, near the Shriker’s bloody side, which revealed a glimpse of sky. “Do you think we can get past him?”
The roof was only partly fallen above them, though the entry ahead was shut off, and there was room to stand and walk right up to the narrow opening. Miles held the shining light on the slit. Outside snow was falling like flung pearls, but the crack looked too small to crawl through, and even if they could, the way out passed too close to the Shriker. Miles was trying to think of how to answer Hanna’s question when the beast opened his eyes. The lids were covered in a fine gray dust. The orange fire behind the irises had gone out, and the large eyes were now an even brown.
“Hanna,” whispered Miles.
“Aye?”
“He’s dying, I think.”
The Shriker’s tongue slid out of his mouth. He panted, trying to lift his chin from the floor, but he couldn’t move.
“It will be over soon,” said Miles.
Hanna took his wrist. “It’ll be over for all of us,” she said. “We’re trapped here.”
He could feel the fear in her grip, and he didn’t want to look at her. “Don’t be giving up now, Hanna. I’ll think of something.” His eyes still wandered along the body of the beast, only half visible under the rubble. Something about the way the Shriker lay crumpled on the ground troubled him. He circled around the feeling, unwilling to climb fully inside of it.
“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll shape-shift small enough to get through the slit, then I’ll go find someone to help dig you out.”
“Who?”
“I’m sure I can make my troll servant Mic bring his pick and shovel if I shift back into something fearsome.”
“No,” said Hanna. “It’s too dangerous. You only just left the Shriker’s form behind.”
Miles held his breath. Let it go. He felt too constricted in this small space, and he wanted out. “It’s our only chance, Hanna.”
“No. Don’t leave me alone with him.”
“I’ll kill him for you, then. All right?” He handed her the lightstone. “Hold it on him for me.” Miles dug his bow and quiver out of the rubble beside him and examined the arrows. One was split in half from the fallen rock, but two were still intact.
The great beast heaved a sigh. Miles aimed straight for the Shriker’s eye. How big the eye was. The size of his fist. And how brown. His aim faltered when the lightstone leaped to the beast’s ear, half hidden in the tangled roots.
Miles took a deep breath. His sweaty palm slid on the bow. He tightened his grip, pulled the bowstring back, and tried again. The soft beam wavered. It was then he saw it. A small shape, but real. He was sure of it.
“Hanna,” he said.
“Please hurry,” pleaded Hanna. “I’m holding it as steady as I can.”
“Look,” he whispered, his heart pounding in his chest.
“Look at what?”
He gazed deep into the beast’s brown eyes to a small shape trembling in the soft blue beam.
“The dog,” he whispered. “Can you see the dog?”
THE DARRO’S CURSE
“Now you are cursed, and the thirst for revenge will drive you all your days until your thirst is quenched!”
—THE LEGEND OF THE SHRIKER
HANNA LOOKED PAST MILES AND SAW NOTHING BUT THE Shriker lying prone under the rubble. Miles lowered his bow and heaved a breath. “Do you remember?” he said. “The story that started all of this?”
“Aye,” she said, fear still creeping across her flesh. “Why won’t you kill him, Miles? I can’t bear to look at him anymore.”
“It’s the words the Darro said when he cursed Rory’s dog. Do you recall them?”
She leaned against the wall. The words? She’d heard the Darro’s curse before, but she couldn’t think of it now. Not with her head pounding so. Not with the close, stale air all around her. “Finish him,” she pleaded.
Miles reached out his hand. “Give me some water.”
“Now?”
He waited while she pulled the water pouch from her pack. She poured some into the metal cup, spilling a small rivulet down her sleeve before she filled it brimful. Bending low, Miles cupped his hands around hers for a moment. This was the cup she’d dropped into the streambed when she saw him in the Shriker’s form. They held the metal rim together. Hanna felt a tugging in her chest. What was it? What did he want? She gazed up for reassurance and read a wild look on her brother’s face that sent her heart to her throat. “Miles?” she whispered.
“Trust me,” he said before taking the cup.
He turned his back to her. She leaned against the rough stone and waited for him to drink. The wall was cold and unforgiving, but it was the farthest point from the beast, and so she clung to it. She watched Miles’s shoulders rising, falling as he breathed. A fine gray dust coated his hair and the torn green cape at his back.
“Do it,” she whispered. “Kill him now.”
He didn’t drink. Didn’t move to lift his bow. The cave walls seemed to close in around her like a tomb. She couldn’t bear the wheezing sound coming from the far end.
What was he waiting for? She wanted to leap up and scream, “Grab your bow and finish this!”
Just then Miles broke the stillness. In nine steps he closed the gap between himself and the Shriker. His shadow crossed the Shriker’s head. He was near enough to lean forward and speak into the creature’s ear, but his steps were speech enough.
Hanna’s chest constricted. “Miles?”
He didn’t turn to look at her, but placed the cup by the Shriker’s mouth, then slowly stepped back. The Shriker blinked and lifted his head an inch from the floor. He sent his long pink tongue out for the drink and lapped the water from the cup. The metal cup wobbled as he drank.
“What are you doing?” cried Hanna.
“Wait,” said Miles, his back still to her. “I saw something. I’m sure of it,”
The Shriker took another drink, and the cup tipped over with a clatter. The beast looked up at Miles. The boy’s reflection caught in his eyes, and in the soft brown gaze a shining speck of light. The head fell. And a last, long breath eased out.
Miles went down on one knee, his torn cape falling to his side. “It’s over,” he said.
Hanna brought her fingers to her face. Dead. He was dead at last. She touched her chin, her lips. All numb.
The only sounds in the cave were those of breathing. Her breath. Miles’s breath. And then …
In the shadows Miles reached out his hand. “Come on, boy,” he whispered.
Hanna peered around her brother. Whom was he speaking to?
A small, dry wave of dust crossed the cave. As the air cleared, she saw a creature emerging from the shadows.
A black bear hound limped out of the fallen rocks. He was no bigger than Hewn’s dog. A fine gray dust covered his furry coat. Soft ears down and brown eyes to the floor, he lowered his head and stood trembling in the rubble.
“It’s all right,” said Miles. “I wo
n’t hurt you.”
THE DOG
He was a loyal bound always looking to please his master.
—THE LEGEND OF THE SHRIKER
THE DOG TOOK A STEP CLOSER. TAIL HANGING LOW AND legs wobbling, he stopped again and looked at Miles fearfully.
“Come on, boy.” Miles held his outstretched hand in the air between them and waited. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. The sound seemed to fill the cave, as if he were trapped inside a drum.
“Miles,” whispered Hanna. “Where did he come from?”
Miles pointed to the place where the Shriker’s body had been a moment before, with his head tilted sideways and his jaw open in death. The beast was gone. Only dirt, cave stones, and a tangle of roots and branches remained.
“I … I don’t understand,” said Hanna. “What have you done?”
“The curse is broken, Hanna.”
“How do you know? What if it’s a trick? What if he just shape-shifted and—”
“Quiet now. Don’t alarm him.” Miles kept his voice calm, speaking to her in the same soft way that he was calling to the dog. “It’s no trick. He hasn’t shape-shifted into a dog any more than I shape-shifted back into myself.”
He closed his eyes. How could he tell her what he knew beyond knowing—what he felt? “It’s something else, Hanna. A … returning.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He’s just a dog,” said Miles. “The way he was before the Darro put a curse on him.”
He could hear his sister’s quickened breath behind him. “But the curse was forever.”
“You forgot the words hidden there when the Darro said, ‘Now you are cursed, and the thirst for revenge will drive you all your days until your thirst is quenched.’”
Even in the dim beam that came from the light-stone he could see her screwing up her face in thought. But when she spoke again, her mouth was hard. “And that was all?” she spat. “Someone just had to give him water?”
The Beast of Noor Page 25
