The Beast of Noor

by Janet Lee Carey

  “No, Hanna. That wasn’t all.” He wiped his hands on his torn shirt. The dog stood with lowered head before him, and his sister cowered near the inner wall. How could he explain it to her? He’d seen the dog inside the Shriker just before he died. And it was like seeing himself huddled in the darkness. He’d known that dark place and how it was to live inside it. A lost place of strange powers tethered to anger, the way a dog is tethered to its master.

  “There’s another kind of thirst,” he said. “The water was only an act of kindness. Only a beginning.” He wanted to say more, but he faltered. This knowing was hard won. He could not put his new understanding into words for her, and anyway, she was still trembling.

  Miles went to her and touched her shoulder; it felt hard as a small rock. “Hanna,” he said. “Look at him. What do you see?”

  She lifted the light-stone and shone it on the dog. “He looks like …” She moved the blue light along his backbone, down the crouching legs, along the bushy tail that swished hesitantly. “Like Hewn’s bear hound, Kip. Like … an ordinary dog.”

  “The curse died with the Shriker,” said Miles, “He’s only a dog now,”

  He could see by the look on her face that she was still uncertain. It would take more than words to convince her, and he decided not to press her. He looked into her eyes, the blue and the green, still holding on to their fear, “Do you think you can help me?”

  “With what?” she asked warily.

  “If you’re ready, we could start to dig our way out,”

  UTHOR’S EDGE

  But Rory’s dog, who loved his master beyond all measure, leaped into the fray and fought the beasts to save his master’s life.

  —THE LEGEND OF THE SHRIKER

  IN THE CLOSE CAVE HANNA WORKED WITH MILES. THE dog dug beside them, and in an hour’s time the hole at the cave entrance was large enough to squeeze through. Hanna was the first to climb out. She came to a stand and stretched. How good it was to be free again! Throwing her arms out wide, she ran down the snowy hill just to feel the crisp wind blow across her face.

  The shadow realm was deep blue, and the trees stood like sentries along the hill, but high overhead she could see the orange-streaked sky, and close to the mountain peak pink clouds flew before the setting sun. The clouds were far away, but her eyes drank in the colors, and she could almost touch the light they brought with them. Eyes still to the sky, she gulped in the clean air. Her task here was done. Miles was back, the Shriker dead. All that was left to do was to climb out of Uthor Vale and find the passage home.

  Miles came down the hill, broke the ice in the shallow streambed, and refilled the water pouch. Hanna watched the dog beside him lapping up the rippling stream.

  “How thirsty he must be,” said Miles. The dog looked up and wagged his bushy tail.

  “What will you do with him?”

  “Bring him with us,” said Miles. “We can’t leave him here in Uthor.”

  “Why not?” She kept her eyes on Miles, still kneeling at the stream. Her stomach tensed as he reached over and patted the dog’s head. How could he trust him like that? So easily and so soon? The dog had helped them dig their way out of the cave, but any hound would dig like that to free itself.

  “He’s ours to look after now, Hanna,” said Miles. “Besides, it’s too dangerous for him here.”

  She rocked back and forth on her heels. Tell him the dog must stay. Tell him now. She looked into the creature’s brown eyes. They seemed soft, even kind, but how could she be sure?

  Miles came to a stand. “There’s no trail to take us out from here, but if we keep walking upward, we may get out of the valley before dark.” He wiped his brow, smearing a long brown streak across his forehead. “Do you think you can walk that far?”

  Hanna picked at the dirt under her nails. “I’m strong enough.” Her muscles were sore from all the digging, especially her arms and back. Her head throbbed under the bandage, and she didn’t feel strong in the least, but she wanted out of Uthor Vale more than she wanted rest.

  Miles turned and gazed up into the trees along the valley’s edge. “We’ll have to walk with care,” he said. “There may be some skullen snakes in those trees, though with luck, we won’t awaken them.”

  Hanna nodded. She hadn’t run into any skullens so far, and in an hour’s time, maybe two, they could be free from this valley. “Let’s go on,” she said.

  Miles shot her a quick smile. “Aye, let’s get out of here and find the passage home.”

  They were still walking two hours later when the sun set behind the high ridge. Hanna couldn’t yet tell how far they were from the valley’s edge. Darkness had fallen over the mountain, and the intertwining branches of the ancient oaks obscured both moon and stars.

  She gripped the lightstone and held it steady. Up ahead Miles walked in the pale horizon of the beam. The dog trailed behind him. Head up, ears cocked, he scanned the thick forest, peering through the tangled hawthorn bushes along the trail.

  Hanna kept close behind the two, sensing the presence of life all around her, though she could see none. Bracken, browned with the cold, lashed her legs as she walked. Her skin pricked as she passed a hollow-eyed stump. She gazed at the gnarled wood, the twisting trunk that ended branchless and broken halfway up.

  A crackling sound at her left made her jump back. The dog wheeled round, ears twitching. Suddenly he leaped past a hawthorn bush and raced through the woods.

  “Come back!” cried Hanna.

  Miles swung round. “Quiet,” he whispered. He narrowed his eyes and pointed up at the broad tree limbs. “Skullens,” he mouthed.

  Suddenly the branches began to move. Green slit eyes opened. A soft hiss passed from tree to tree as long, sinuous bodies twisted through the boughs.

  Miles drew his bowstring and quickened his pace. “We should have lit a torch,” he said. “Skullens are afraid of fire.”

  The hiss grew louder.

  Hanna’s flesh went cold. She wanted to dive under a rock and hide, but there was no shelter here.

  “Come on,” called Miles.

  They took off up the trail. Hanna’s feet sank in the snow as she ran. Overhead the branches stirred with life. Trees to the left and to the right, before her and behind, all hissing like a kettle close to boiling.

  She’d flown past the thickly huddled trunks and had nearly caught up with Miles when a giant skullen lowered itself down before her. Hanna froze, the skullen’s yellow green scales shining like armor in the lightstone’s beam.

  “Run around it!” shouted Miles.

  Hanna skirted the giant snake and darted through the birches. Another unfurled in front of her. Blinking yellow eyed. It opened its fanged mouth.

  Miles drew his bow and shot the serpent on her left. But as she raced past, another fell directly before her head and swiftly coiled itself around her middle.

  “Help!” she cried.

  Up ahead Miles was pounding a snake with his fists. His bow had fallen on the ground, “The knife!” screamed Hanna. “It’s in the pack!”

  The skullen tightened its grip around her waist and began to coil around her legs, Hanna kicked its thick hide and tore at it with her nails. The thing was all muscle and bone. She couldn’t even scratch it!

  On the trail above she saw Miles tear the knife from the pack. He raised the blade and cut a long gash down the snake’s side. The slit ended at the creature’s throat. The skullen stiffened and fell dead at his feet.

  “There!” he shouted, kicking himself free.

  “Hurry!” cried Hanna. The snake squeezed her chest. She could barely breathe. She pushed against the thick-skinned beast with the flat of her palm. “Toss me your knife, Miles!” she called. The muscles in her arm tensed as she tried to push against the skullen’s heavy body.

  Miles raced toward hen She had one arm still free. She could stab the skullen if she had the hunting knife. “Throw it!” she screamed.

  He was about to toss the weapon when another sna
ke dropped down suddenly, attacking Miles from behind.

  Hanna kicked and struggled. The skullen squeezed her chest—tight, tighter. She let out a garbled scream as her feet left the ground. It was drawing her upward!

  There was a cracking sound from below as the dog bounded through the undergrowth. With a loud “Woof!” he leaped in the air and snapped his jaws, tearing the corner of Hanna’s cape. The dog tumbled backward, rolled head over paw down the path, then jumped up, shook himself, lunged forward, and leaped again. This time he sank his teeth into the skullen’s flesh.

  The serpent writhed, swinging Hanna and the dog back and forth. Blood ran down the dog’s face as the serpent swung outward; still he did not let go his hold. At last the snake let out a loud hiss and fell from the tree. All three hit the forest floor with a thud.

  Hanna sucked in a ragged breath. Just above and to her right the dog had the creature’s neck. He shook and shook until the serpent’s neck broke with a loud snap! Hanna pried herself free from the coils and rolled away, gulping in the crisp air. Pulling herself up to her knees, she saw Miles fighting the longest skullen of all on the path ahead.

  The dog raced over to Miles, who was madly slashing at the skullen coiled around his middle. He hurled his full weight at the viper and had him in his jaws.

  “That’s it, boy!” screamed Miles.

  Hanna rolled across the snow; a second skullen was lowering toward Miles and the dog. She grabbed the bow and shot the skullen. The arrow plunged into the snake’s head. The serpent fell from the branch and dropped onto the snow.

  Meanwhile, the dog held the other skullen’s neck tight within his jaws. Miles freed his arm, swung it round, and plunged the blade into the skullen’s side.

  A low hiss filled the woods as the rest of the skullens withdrew from the battle.

  Hanna waited until the last sound disappeared. She swallowed, sat back gingerly, and touched her bruised side. The dog abandoned the skullen’s body, circled Miles, then lifted his nose and sniffed the air warily.

  “It’s all right, boy,” said Hanna. “I think they’re gone.”

  “Aye” said Miles. “We fought them well. I think they’ll stay clear of us now.” He slid his knife along the snow to clean the blood from the blade.

  Miles looked up and smiled at Hanna in the soft moonlight. “We showed them, didn’t we?”

  “Aye,” said Hanna. “The three of us.”

  The dog padded over to her. She took a handful of snow and gently washed the serpent’s blood from his furry coat.

  THE SERPENT AND THE MOON

  Wratheren had the full moon in his jaws, and all the sky was dark. Then Breal took out his sword and slit the serpent’s throat to free the moon.

  —THE EPIC OF BREAL

  THE TREES CHANGED FROM BIRCH TO CEDAR AND PINE. NO hissing noises came from the high green branches, but Miles heard other sounds. First a soft whisper, like a brush against a drum. Swish, swish. And later as they trudged through the snow, the sound deepened and broadened. Husssh! Husssh! So that even Hanna heard it and shivered.

  “That storm sound,” she said.

  “It’s the wind wall you’re hearing.” Miles looked left and right; even this far down the path the evergreens were swaying.

  “I came through it when I entered the vale,” said Hanna.

  “Aye, getting in may be easy enough. But the wind wall imprisons everyone here.”

  He wanted to say, “We’ll find a way through,” but he wasn’t sure it was true. Miles walked faster, taking his worry with him. None but the Shriker had ever broken through the wall—he and the renegade sylths Reyn and Perth, who had crept out in his wake.

  The dog brushed past. Nose up, ears back, he bounded ahead, a black fur patch against the white snow.

  Whoosh! The wind wall lifted them both from the ground and swept them up in a great wave, like toy boats on a stormy sea. The wind surged upward, and hard as they tried to swim against it, the gale was stronger. Together they flailed and kicked like drowning souls; Miles’s legs, Hanna’s arms, waving in the deafening roar.

  Whoosh! The wind flipped Miles over, and he tumbled down until he landed on his back in the snow. Head spinning, Miles lay looking up, sucking in breath after breath. Through the blowing wall stars swirled above as if he were looking up from the bottom of the sea. At last he pressed himself to an unsteady stand. A few feet away Hanna tumbled down and fell into a heap.

  From somewhere behind them the dog leaped out. He circled them and ran off again. Feet flying, they took off after the black shadow that darted this way and that across the snow.

  No gusts swept them off their feet as long as they followed the dog. He seemed to know the way out, not by sight or smell, but by another sense altogether. Whatever led him on, they followed in his path, panting as they ran. Great gales blew up beside them, but they raced through the wind wall unhindered, as if the sea had parted for them.

  The dog veered left in the half dark. He stopped, sniffed, then trotted to the right. Miles kept hold of Hanna’s hand and followed. With a final gust and a gentle push the air about them broke. The clear night warmed. The air stilled. Miles stopped, took a breath, and turned about.

  “We’ve broken through,” said Hanna, leaning over to catch her breath. Miles gazed back at the great, invisible wall, which he could still hear but not see at all. He patted the dog’s soft head. “He got us out.”

  The wind wall calmed before them. A soft blowing sound came from it now. A breeze at play and no more than that. They turned together to face the moonlit woods of Attenlore.

  “Beautiful,” whispered Hanna.

  Miles leaned against the rough boulder and took the wooden bowl from Hanna. Inching closer to the sleeping dog, he dipped the crusty bread in the warm broth and ate hungrily. After an hour of walking they’d stopped to rest beneath two tilting boulders.

  He lifted his eyes to the starry sky. He would never return to Uthor Vale, not for the trolls’ great treasure, which he’d need an army to steal, nor to rule the beasts and shadow folk who dwelled there. All of the power he’d had in Uthor Vale felt like a dark dream now.

  “Tomorrow,” he said, “we’ll seek the passage home.”

  “Aye,” said Hanna. “We’re sure to find it.”

  Miles tore a bit of hard bread. “Searching it out may not be easy. We’ll have to travel in secret.” He didn’t say more. Hanna knew the dangers they faced.

  Hanna ran her hand along the dog’s soft black fur. “I was wondering what to name him.” She tilted her head so the moonlight caught in her hair. “I was thinking on Breal.”

  “Ah,” said Miles. “The great warrior who hunts Wratheren.”

  “And pulls the moon from the giant serpent’s mouth. It was always one of my favorite tales.”

  “It was Granda’s favorite, I think.” Miles looked up at the moon. It was just past its fullness, and a small part was darkened now.

  Miles reached out his hand, and the dog gave it a lick. The dog had killed more than one serpent in Uthor, and he’d saved both their lives. “It’s a big name, Hanna.”

  “He’s been through a deal of trouble.”

  Miles traced a scar that ran from the dog’s left ear down to his cheek. “I wonder how much he remembers?”

  “Oh, he remembers battling the snakes, I’m sure.” Hanna’s eyes beamed. “And taking us through the wind wall.” She rubbed his furry back. “I wonder how he knew the way.”

  Miles thought he knew. The Shriker had broken through the queen’s wind wall before, and some small part of that memory was still inside the dog. But Miles hadn’t been talking about the skullens or about finding the way through the great wind wall. He’d been thinking on the long years the dog had spent as the Shriker. Still, he said nothing. He didn’t want to break even the smallest piece of Hanna’s joy. She’d come to trust the dog, and he wanted that for her. It was good to see the fear gone from her eyes.

  Hanna curled up beside Breal and put her
arm across him. With a wide yawn she said, “Let’s rest here a while longer.”

  “You go on,” said Miles. “I’ll keep watch.” The queen had many spies, and there were wild creatures in the woods. With their last arrows used to kill the skullens, they were down to his simple hunting knife for protection.

  “I won’t sleep long,” promised Hanna. “I’ll take the second watch.”

  Soon she and Breal were fast asleep, breathing in and out in rhythm as if they’d been together from the start.

  Miles drew closer to the fire. It might be that Breal did not remember the Shriker and bore no shame for what he’d done under the curse. If that was so, he was lucky for all that. Miles shuddered with his own memory of living in the Shriker’s form. He wrapped his cape about his shoulders. Still the thoughts swept through him in a series of cold waves. The hunger he’d felt. The glorious, strange power. But strongest of all he remembered the anger that had eaten away at him night and day while he was lost inside the beast.

  Wild creatures hunted to live, but it was more than hunger that had driven him. He’d been thrilled at the look of fear in his prey. And every time he’d killed, he’d drunk in the last desperate look in the creature’s eyes before he tasted blood. If he’d managed to stay the Hound King and trained the troll army to do his will, the anger and blood thirst would have grown into a war. Uthor against Attenlore. Troll against sylth. The queen had been angry with him. She’d sent her spies to hunt him down. For that he would have taken her throne.

  The larger plan had been forming in his mind since he found the treasure trove filled with weaponry. And the only thing that had stopped him … He looked over at his sleeping sister and lifted the hood over Hanna’s head to shield her from the cold.

  Breal’s paw jerked in his sleep. Miles stroked his side, the fur soft and warm. He wanted to shrug the memory off. Tell himself he’d been enspelled. And that he’d left that creature self when he crawled out of the beast, but he knew it had been in him long before he shape-shifted, and the anger had come from his own darkness. He shivered, thinking how far the Shriker’s curse might have taken him if Hanna hadn’t come.