“You should not change again. Not ever.” Hanna was nodding at him as if they’d both already agreed on it.
His shoulders tightened. Didn’t she know how much she needed his protection? “I’ll change only if I have to. To rescue you from the beast.”
“No,” she said, her eyes darting this way and that. “There’s some danger here. Some power we don’t understand. You must never change again. Promise you won’t.”
He took Hanna’s shoulders, gripping her cloak hard and fast, so he could feel her bones beneath. “How can I promise that? If the Shriker comes after you, do you want me to stand by and do nothing?”
She looked stricken, but he gripped her tighter. “Should I let him kill you, Hanna? Should I let him devour you the way he devoured Polly?”
“Stop it! Let me go!” Hanna tore herself away and leaped back, breathing hard. “You won’t have to change again,” she said. “If I resist the Shriker’s call.”
Miles crossed his arms. “Can you resist it?”
“I can if you tie me down.”
He gripped the wheelbarrow and started walking again. “I won’t do that.”
Hanna raced up beside him. “Why not?”
“It’s a stupid idea.”
“No more stupid than any of yours.”
“You’d have me tie you down after what happened with the village boys?” said Miles.
Hanna winced at the memory. He knew she still crossed the road whenever she came near the oak tree. “It’s not like that at all,” said Hanna. “The town boys bound me to the oak to shame me. You would tie me to my cot to save me. To keep me clear of the Shriker’s call so I wouldn’t be drawn into the woods.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I’ve thought and thought,” said Hanna. “And it’s the best I can come up with. The moon will be full again in another week.”
The road grew steeper. Miles grunted as he pushed the barrow. “And if Mother and Da should find you tied to your cot?”
“They wouldn’t. They don’t come in once I’m bedded down. And they’re asleep early themselves, what with having to get up before dawn each day.” Hanna looked up at the sky. “I don’t know if the call will come. But if you tie me to the cot each night, I’ll be safe.” She turned to him. “Do you think you can do what I’m asking?”
Miles squinted back. “Til think about it, Hanna.”
“Miles?” she pleaded.
“All right!” he shouted. “I’ll do it if you promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Promise me you’ll keep my power to shape-shift a secret.”
“I already told Mother and Da.”
“Aye, and where did that get you?”
Hanna looked down and picked at her cloak. “I don’t like it.”
“And I don’t like the idea of tying you down, so we’re even.”
She lifted her chin. He looked into her round face and saw the determination there. “Swear, then?” she said.
“Swear.”
They hooked their smallest fingers and gave a tug to seal the swear. Something they hadn’t done since they were young children. But never had it meant more than it did now.
THE TIES THAT BIND
Ezryeah built a shelter bronze-wood and housed his family in it. Still the destroying winds came against them.
—THE BOOK OF EOWEY
MILES KEPT HIS PROMISE, AND AS THE MOON GREW FULL, he tied Hanna to her cot each night, binding her arms as they’d agreed, so she could not roll to her side, nor raise her hands to cover her ears.
“Are they tight?” she’d whisper every night.
“Tight,” he’d say back. He seemed ashamed to tie her down, so she tried always to say a good word before he left. “Thank you, brother,” she whispered. Still, the trouble lined his face.
Each night Hanna lay stone still beneath the cords. The moon’s bright face unveiled, spreading a soft light through the woods. As the shadows grew, Hanna began to hear a far-off cry. The call was soft at first, almost dreamlike. And shutting eyes and mind to it, she slept well enough. But night on night she grew more restless as the cry increased. How strong the feeling was that rose up in her breast. She tried to struggle against it, but the call began to pull her.
As the nights darkened and the moon ripened, the baying sound from Shalem Wood grew richer, deeper. It filled her with enchantment. It’s so beautiful, she thought. There was no one there to warn her that she was falling under a spell. Only her empty room, her moonlit window. She trembled on her cot. The howl sounded a strange music within her. A knowing that she must go to the caller. Her blood rushed with the sound, like the singing of dark rivers flowing down her chest, her arms, her legs, and all the rivers looking, looking to spill into the sea.
At last she fell under the spell. Beneath her starlit window she pressed against the ropes, the enchantment giving her the strength to break her brother’s bonds.
FOLLOWING
Follow where the blind are leading.
—SONG OF THE SYLTH QUEEN
MILES AWOKE WITH A START, AS IF SOMEONE HAD PINCHED him, yet the room was dark and still enough to hear his own breathing. He turned his head on his pillow and looked out the window. The sky was scattered with stars, like bright seeds flung by a planter. And the treetops at the edge of the forest were dusted with light.
He thought of Hanna in her room. Tonight she’d watched him tying the double knots, her pale eyes shining in the rushlight. “If this should fail,” she said. “If anything should happen. Promise me you won’t shift again. Promise you’ll take your bow instead.”
“I’ll take my bow.” He said that to her earnestly, though he didn’t promise the other. Still, she seemed to lighten. A smile crossed her face. “I feel like a sheep who must be tethered to a post.”
“You’re much smarter than a sheep,” he said, and they both laughed, quietly so as not to wake Mother and Da.
“Are they tight?” she asked when he was done.
“As tight as I can make them.”
“Good, then,” she whispered, and he left the room blushing.
He thought of going to her now to see how she was faring. Maybe he shouldn’t awaken her, but he was already out of bed. Quietly he padded down the narrow hall.
Stepping into her shadowy room, he clamped his jaw to stifle a cry. Her cot was empty! The blanket strewn across the floor, his clever knots ripped apart! The bonds he’d tied were broken as if gnawed. Miles rushed back to his room, threw on his boots and cloak, grabbed his bow, slid the window open, and leaped out. He slung the bow and quiver over his shoulder and raced over the rolling hills, his cloak swimming fishlike through the air.
He’d been stupid to think mere rope could keep the Shriker from his prey. He wouldn’t let Hanna end up like Polly!
The deeps! He had to find the deeps! He’d never seen it by day, though he’d explored all of Shalem Wood through the years, alone and with the Falconer.
There was a great boulder in the deeps, he remembered that, but many large stones were scattered through the woodlands. In ancient times stones as big as cottages had rolled down the mountain slope. Where, then? Where? He ran in a panic, as a rabbit runs from wolves. Ran as stupidly as sheep run from thunder, his boots thumping on the forest floor.
Breathless, sweating, he raced. Moonlight awash around him spread satin through the trees, lighting no particular path. Remember the trail you took to the sylth dance! Remember the night you followed Hanna! But he couldn’t remember. The first time he’d had the lit path to guide him, and the second he’d followed Hanna, her white gown glowing through the woods like a beacon.
Where, then? Oh, eOwey let me remember before he attacks her!
He turned left, his quiver slapping against his back as he ran. He had only his bow and arrows this time. His knife was still at home, tucked away on the high shelf. He cursed himself again for agreeing to tie up Hanna. This wasn’t a game!
Miles stopped sud
denly at a familiar place and dived between the fir trees. There in the still night woods he uprooted the scald-tongue he’d found once with the Falconer. He’d promised Hanna he wouldn’t shape-shift. He leaned against a tree for one breath, two, gulping cool night air like a thirsty man.
Change thrice and you free dark power. He knew there was something to Aetwan’s warning. He’d shape-shifted twice already, so he must take the beast down another way if he could. A poisoned arrow might help him save her. Scald-tongue in hand, he started off again. Think. He must think. The deeps were in the very heart of the woods. The place of tallest trees and darkest shadow. What had Queen Shaleedyn said?
Where the deaf are storytelling,
Where the silent bells are knelling,
Take the road that splits asunder,
Nor left, nor right, but travel under.
He would close his eyes and feel the air as a swimmer feels his way through a pond; the cooler the water, the deeper the pond, and the coolest place revealed the very center.
He turned right, taking the way he felt to be most likely, and walked down the path. Let me feel it. Yes, here the air cooled, yet no leaves stirred, so it wasn’t a trick of wind. Down the trail the coolness deepened. Farther in and farther, as a man heading for deep water with no fear of drowning. He quickened his pace, running deeper and deeper until he heard the low growl.
THE ROAD THAT SPLITS ASVNDER
Take the road that splits asunder, Nor left, nor right, but travel under.
—SONG OF THE SYLTH QUEEN
MILES PLUNGED INTO THE DEEPS, BUT HE HADN’T COME fast enough. Ahead of him Hanna dangled from the beast’s jaws.
“No!” he screamed.
The Shriker raised his head higher. His deep black form was like night doubled over on itself; his eyes shone red. Miles pulled an arrow from his quiver, wet the tip with scald-tongue, and aimed his poisoned arrow at the darkest place on the Shriker’s chest. He would pierce him in the heart, if the beast had one.
Now! Miles shot. The Shriker leaned left. The arrow whizzed past his thick foreleg and dropped to the damp earth behind. Two coal red eyes fixed on Miles. The beast dropped Hanna’s body on the forest floor, lifted his muzzle, and howled.
The sound of the Shriker’s rage seemed to split Miles’s skull, but Miles matched it with his own.
The transformation was so fast this time it filled him with internal lightning. One second he was a cowering boy; the next, he leaped up, blazing, his flesh melting in transforming fire from skin to fur, teeth to fangs, hands to paws. His muscles rippled with power. His roar cut through the night. He was mountain lion.
Miles flung himself at the monster. Tearing into him with razor claws, he bit the creature’s neck.
The Shriker ran in tight circles, yelping with pain. Miles clenched his jaws tighter, holding the creature’s throat a moment longer before the beast finally shook him off. Tumbling backward, he hit his head on a log. Leaping up again, reeling, snarling, he lunged for the Shriker, but the beast hurled himself at Miles and dug his teeth into his flesh.
The tearing pain in Miles’s side strengthened his rage. He fought with all his might. Clawing, Snarling, Biting. But the Shriker was bigger and stronger. He shook Miles back and forth, hard and fast, till his body screamed with pain. Miles managed to drag a claw down the Shriker’s throat. But he couldn’t free himself from his powerful jaws, and he was losing strength. He felt his body going limp. Dark sky sped overhead and the ground blackened beneath. All was going dark. Suddenly the smell of blood shocked him to his senses. He couldn’t die now, or Hanna would be next! He strained his mind to push beyond the mountain lion’s shape into something larger, more powerful.
With a sharp intake of a breath, stealing dark from night, he felt his flesh broaden into the thick, menacing shape of his enemy. With a snarl he escaped the monster’s hold and bared his fangs. They were eye to eye now. Burning coals to burning coals.
No longer mountain lion.
He was Shriker.
GLISTEN
They saw in that last starlight what night had taken from them.
—THE BOOK OF EOWEY
SOUNDS OF BATTLE FILLED HANNA’S EARS. BARKING, snarling, snapping.
The ground shook. Dirt, leaves, sticks, and fur flew in all directions. Hanna clutched her bloody side and rolled against the cool base of a tree, where she lay coughing and panting. Ten feet away the beasts still battled.
The pain in her side dizzied her. She clutched her wounds and bit her lip hard. She couldn’t give in to it. Not now. Not yet. She had to help Miles. If only she could see him clearly. She tried to stand and fell again. Move! You have to move!
A loud crack sounded above and to her left as the rivals charged each other and crashed into a pine tree. Branches rained down around her. She covered her head to shield herself from the falling limbs. One struck her shoulder, and she let out a grunt.
Under a nearby fern she spotted the outline of her brother’s bow. She inched painfully toward it, clenching her teeth against the cries from her rebellious body. She pulled the abandoned weapon to her and reached for the quiver. There were two arrows left inside. Drawing back again, she leaned against the pine trunk and pressed herself to a stand.
Pain shot down her side, but she remained on her feet and loaded the bow, squinting through moonlight to get a fix on the Shriker. There he was. And there. She moved the arrow this way and that, gasping in cold panic as she did so. She’d seen Miles change into a mountain lion when he first attacked, but not this! Never this!
The two Shrikers rolled away from her and crashed against the boulder. One leaped on top, snarling. The other yowled and scratched his enemy’s torso, his paws churning as if in a race. The beast on top whipped his tail back and forth and bared his fangs.
Hanna aimed her arrow first at one, then at the other. She screamed with frustration. Which one should she kill? The beast on top was about to tear the other’s throat. If Miles was below, there was no time. She had to shoot now and save his life. She aimed at the Shriker’s belly. He whipped his head round suddenly, his red eyes wild.
“Miles!” she screamed. “Are you Miles?”
The beast bayed. Was it anger or a warning? The arrow slipped in her sweating hand. She bent to retrieve it. In that lost moment the Shriker on the ground struggled hard against his captor and flipped him over. They scrambled again, snarling and tumbling into the undergrowth. Hanna leaned against the tree and pulled the bowstring taut, her eyes tearing against the strain as she peered down the shaft.
A loud screech came from overhead. Aetwan swooped down, grabbed Hanna’s arrow in his talons, and flew skyward with it. Hanna stumbled forward. Just then the Falconer rushed up and caught her in his arms. “Which one is Miles?” he cried.
“That one!” Hanna pointed to the one in chase. “No … it might be … I can’t tell!”
“By all that’s sacred!” shouted the Falconer. “He should never have taken this shape!” He reached into his shoulder bag and pulled out a pouch. Releasing the leather ties, he took out a handful of silvery powder, ran forward, and tossed it to the night air. Each grain glowed, spreading silver light through the deeps.
The undersides of the evergreens lit up, as did the Falconer and, not far from him, the beasts. In that moment of light Hanna could see Miles’s struggling body clothed inside the Shriker’s form.
“Come out, Miles!” shouted the Falconer. “I call you by name. Return to us, Miles Ferrell!”
“Miles!” shouted Hanna, “Listen to him. Come out!” In the glow she saw her brother’s shape inside the beast, as if he’d thrown a heavy bear rug over his body. His boyish arms extending to furry legs and giant paws. His mouth open and screaming as his outer form shaped it to a Shriker’s howl.
Miles kept on fighting. From a branch above Aetwan shrieked and dived into the fray, flapping his wings and pulling Miles’s shoulders with his talons as if to lift the beast from his back like an enormous fur coat. The
Falconer drew his bow, but the beasts were too entangled for him to take a clear shot.
Powder fell on the Shriker’s back, bright as stars on the darkest of nights. The monster yelped as though the shining grains had scorched him. In the momentary brightness Hanna saw the barest outline of a dog, clawing as if trapped inside the monster. Then in a flash the dog was gone as the rivals tumbled past the great boulder.
“Now, Miles!” screamed the Falconer, taking aim again. “Leave the Shriker’s form and come back to us!” Aetwan pulled up on Miles’s furry back. Bright powder illuminated the Falconer’s gray cape as he ran past the boulder. Hanna gripped her side and struggled forward.
Just beyond the boulder Hanna saw a hole appearing. Opening, opening like a dark, yawning mouth that even the powder could not light.
“The passage!” shouted the Falconer.
Hanna trembled as the passage grew wider and wider, like a great tear in a cloth, only the cloth was the night itself.
“Keep clear of it!” warned the Falconer. “Change back now, Miles, before it’s too late!”
“What is it?” called Hanna. “What’s happening?”
The Falconer had nearly reached the fighting beasts when the Shrikers tumbled over and over straight into the opening.
“Come back!” screamed the Falconer, “Eldessur! Kimbardaa! Kimbardaa!” He called in the Othic tongue, sounds Hanna couldn’t understand. But it was already too late.
The mouth suddenly closed. The dark hole disappeared.
Silence followed. A quiet so deep that Hanna moaned. Nothing moved now but the falling powder, which hit the ground in a gentle whisper and went out.
BREAD AND WATER
The women took their torn garments up the hill and hung them on the trees. “Peace,” they called, and “Peace” again, but there was no peace.
—THE BOOK OF EOWEY
HANNA AWAKENED IN THE FALCONER’S EARTHEN HUT. She was alone. A low fire burned in the hearth. She half remembered being carried through the woods, waking once to swallow something so bitter her teeth went dry. She breathed against the tight bandages the Falconer had used to bind her wounds, and felt a shock of pain when her ribs expanded.
The Beast of Noor Page 11