The Beast of Noor

by Janet Lee Carey

  Hours passed beside the boulder. Miles slept and woke again with the setting of the moon. He built up the fire until the rucksack cast a small, dancing shadow across the ground. Stretching, he rubbed his arms, then pulled the leather package from the pack. With stiff hands he slowly unwrapped the ervay. The sylth silver gleamed in the fire’s glow. He could touch it now if he wanted to. The instrument was his.

  Hand hovering over the flute, he hesitated, then softly ran his fingers along the smooth metal, surprised to find that it was warm. There was one who’d seen his gifts and known the music and the magic that warred within him. He pictured the old man’s face now. Age-worn brows above the ever-twinkling eyes. You saw me.

  Miles trembled. A slow stream of air escaped his mouth, but he held his hand steady and didn’t lift the ervay to his lips. Not now. Not yet. He would wait for the song.

  At dawn they arose and saw a circle of light far down the snowy hillside. The lights turned, shining diamond bright, like a gathering of stars.

  “It’s come,” whispered Hanna. “The passage home.”

  Breal stood and shook himself.

  “It’s not like the dark passage I came though,” said Miles.

  “But I told you I came through a bright passage like that one,” she said, pointing down the hill, “the last time I entered Attenlore.”

  Miles grinned. “I’ll race you.”

  The three of them flew downhill, snow showering behind them in small flurries. The morning air was sweet. The brightness ahead was dazzling with the snow mirroring back the light. Miles and Hanna ran full of hope and laughter, with Breal not far behind, so it wasn’t until they were nearly right up to the lights that they saw the shining wheel was not the passage they were seeking, but a gathering of swirling sprites, and by then it was too late.

  The sprites surrounded them, their bowstrings taut, arrows pointed and ready.

  Breal raised his hackles, drew back, and barked.

  “Hush,” warned Miles, giving Breal a pat. They’d come so close to escaping, but he should have known the queen would find a way to trick them. He squared his shoulders. “You needn’t put us to sleep,” he said. “We’ll come with you to face Queen Shaleedyn on our own.”

  THE QUEEN’S COURTYARD

  We follow the law of the Old Magic… . Break it and our punishment is swift.

  —THE SYLTH QUEEN

  THE SPRITES HOVERED WITH MILES AND HANNA OVER the Sylth Queen’s courtyard, which stretched out from the mountainside like a broad stone balcony beside the tumbling waterfall. The courtyard was encircled by giant marble columns that looked as if they were both tree and stone. Like the stone tree in the meadow, thought Miles.

  The sprites darted back and forth, then hovered over the central fountain. Hanging free in the air beside Hanna, with the sound of the falling water in his ears, Miles only just had time to take in the sylth palace, the glimmer walls cut shining from the sheer mountain rock, as the sprites flew down and placed him on the ground. The sound of wind and water filled the quiet courtyard. Miles knelt on the hard stone. The queen might accuse him, but he would be ready. He tugged Hanna’s hand, and she knelt beside him, waiting.

  The castle doors opened, and Queen Shaleedyn, borne up on her throne, was carried to the marble dais. The sylths stopped their wandering. Heads bowed. Miles knew this, though with his own head down he could not see the others.

  On her flowered dais above, the queen presided over all, surrounded by her armored guards, whose breast-plates shone like mirrors. Miles took in a slow breath, the silence growing heavy on him. Was the queen waiting for him to speak? Or must he wait for her to begin? He always felt so confused before her.

  Clearing his throat, he peered through the throng. As his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, he saw hundreds of spiderwebs strung between the marble columns, each with a red or violet spider jeweling the center. He squeezed his sister’s hand, and she blinked as she took them in. He hoped his hunting knife could cut through spell webs.

  Far to the right Breal crested the steep trail that led to the courtyard and stopped behind a broad white column, his tail wagging slowly and uncertainly. By the look of his position, he was just out of the queen’s view. Stay your ground, boy, thought Miles. Come no closer in.

  He was still sending his silent thoughts to Breal when Wild Esper flew into the courtyard, the breeze in her wake lifting Hanna’s hair, stirring the sylth’s tunics and gowns, and blowing back Miles’s coarse cloak. Esper swept over the branched marble columns, a swirl of cool, bright color, her sky gown and cloud-spun hair streaming out behind.

  There was a whooshing sound as she turned about in the courtyard and decreased from a gale to a softer breeze. As the air settled, the wind woman diminished until she was no larger than the Sylth Queen. Gathering her blue skirts, she landed gracefully and stood beside Shaleedyn’s throne.

  The queen greeted Esper with a single nod. The two so near together seemed like sisters, though Shaleedyn’s raven hair differed from Esper’s white. Both faces had a fierce beauty, and they had a brightness to their eyes—the queen’s violet, and Esper’s glacier blue. Wild Esper leaned in close to whisper in Shaleedyn’s ear.

  The queen frowned and turned her gaze on them. “Miles Ferrell, come forward.”

  Miles stood and stepped closer to the dais. Hanna moved up beside him, though she hadn’t herself been called.

  Queen Shaleedyn fingered her sapphire necklace. “You have done well with the sylth gift we gave you on the night of Breal’s Moon.”

  Miles was startled by the queen’s compliment. It’s a trick, he thought, she’ll start by flattering me and entrap me if I soften to it. He stiffened his back. He had something to say, and he must say it now before he lost his nerve.

  “I know why you sent the sprites to capture us, and I say now before everyone here that I did not kill the unicorn.”

  Queen Shaleedyn looked away, but Miles caught sight of the tear rolling down her cheek.

  Esper spoke. “The queen knows you did not kill Neurreal. I blew in near the end of the battle and saw you defending her unicorn.”

  “Why did you wait so long to tell her, then?” asked Hanna suddenly. “She blamed Miles for the unicorn’s death and banished us from Attenlore when we came here to find him.”

  It was too bold a thing to say to the wind woman, but Miles didn’t blame his sister for saying so.

  Wild Esper did not take offense. Instead she seemed pleased. “I see you’ve found your courage, Hanna,” she said, “and that is well. But you must remember we wind spirits cannot always steer the mighty gusts we ride. We are but wind riders. I rode into the queen’s realm as soon as the way opened.”

  Miles and Hanna glanced at each other. The look of surprise on Hanna’s face matched his own. He’d always thought wind spirits like Wild Esper—or Noorushh, who rode storm winds over the sea—had the power to control the winds they rode.

  He cleared his throat and faced Queen Shaleedyn again. Her cheek still glistened, but she’d wiped away the tear.

  “lf you know I didn’t kill the unicorn, then why did you bring us here?” he asked.

  The queen did not answer him at first.

  Miles clamped his mouth shut, waiting.

  At last the queen replied. “We tried once before to use a boy from your clan to kill the Shriker, but the boy failed us.”

  The queen was talking about his great-uncle Enoch, The ugly story was still fresh in his mind. He crossed his arms. He’d felt sorry for the queen only a moment before when he saw how much she still missed her unicorn, but his heart hardened against her now that he knew the truth.

  “So,” he said in a trembling voice, “Enoch failed to kill the Shriker for you, and so you used me to do it.” He couldn’t hide the resentment in his words. He didn’t want to hide it.

  “You can put it that way if you like,” said the queen. “I needed the beast destroyed. Only a human boy of your clan could hunt the Shriker down. You playe
d your part well, Miles Ferrell.”

  The story fell into place before him. The queen had given him the power. The wind woman had blown him to Uthor, and the queen’s wind wall had kept him prisoner there until he’d done the deed. They’d used him for their purpose, and they didn’t seem to care about the danger they’d put him in. They’d used Hanna, too, pressing her toward Uthor with no magic to help her through the dangers.

  An angry shiver raced up his spine. “How did you know I would be strong enough to carry out your plan when … I was lost,” he said with a gulp. “Nearly lost inside the beast! What if I hadn’t … what if Hanna hadn’t come to bring me back? I would still be trapped in Uthor!”

  “But you’re not, are you?” said the queen.

  “You shouldn’t toy with people like that!”

  Hanna tugged his cape. “Quiet,” she pleaded. “She may turn you to stone or—”

  “I don’t care!” He shook Hanna off.

  Queen Shaleedyn smiled bemusedly. “You wanted the power we offered you.”

  “Aye,” he admitted. “But I didn’t know then. It was more power than I had a right to. More power than I could control, and I nearly …” He stopped midspeech to fight the sob rising up his throat. Clamping his teeth tight, he pressed it down, down.

  “You asked for sylth magic, and we gave it. The gift of magic is rare, and it comes with a cost. If we wanted you to kill the Shriker in return”—she tipped her head—“that’s a fair enough payment. The Old Magic is satisfied.”

  “You shouldn’t have to pay for a gift,” Hanna blurted out, then slapped her hand over her mouth. Wild Esper laughed, tilting her head back, so the sound of the laughter blew all about the courtyard.

  Miles swayed on his feet. The weight of what they’d done to him, what he’d done to himself, dizzied him.

  There was a strange tingling in his fingers. He glanced down and saw a dark, furry head. Breal had padded up and was licking the back of his hand.

  “Go away, boy,” he whispered, but Breal licked his hand all the more and wagged his tail.

  “Whose dog is this?” asked the queen.

  Miles wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Ours,” he said, but it came out in two voices, for Hanna had said “Ours” at the same moment.

  Shaleedyn studied them from the dais. “Where did he come from?”

  “He came from nowhere at all,” Miles blurted.

  “I see,” said Shaleedyn. “A handsome bear hound—and strong, I can tell.” She looked him up and down. “If he came from nowhere, you would give him to me if I asked it of you.”

  “No,” said Miles.

  “We couldn’t,” cried Hanna.

  “Wait.” Wild Esper blew across the courtyard, and flew in a small whirlwind around the three of them. Settling back beside the throne, she turned to the queen. “It’s him,” she said. “The beast.”

  There was a loud intake of breath all around the courtyard, and many of the sylths backed away from Breal.

  “It can’t be!” said the queen.

  “It’s not him,” said Miles. “Not anymore.”

  Queen Shaleedyn touched the spider broach that clung to her gown. The little velvet legs twitched. “Did you or did you not kill the Shriker?” she demanded.

  “No,” said Miles.

  Her eyes went hard as she came to a stand.

  “That is,” said Miles, “the Shriker died in the cave after I gave him drink.”

  “You … quenched his thirst?” The queen sat again. She seemed to reel for a moment, then took hold of herself. “Why did you do this?”

  Miles could not find a quick answer. Would she believe him? The words of change were hidden in the Darro’s curse, but they never made sense to him until he saw the dog inside the beast. Would the queen understand that? Even Hanna had struggled to grasp his reasons.

  “This dog,” accused Wild Esper, her white hair blowing up above her head. “Tell us the truth.”

  Miles put his hand on Breal’s head. “The truth is …” He bit his lip. How could he put it into words? “The truth is … the curse is broken.”

  “The dog that remains must be destroyed,” demanded the queen.

  “No!” Both Miles and Hanna went down beside Breal and flung their arms around him.

  “He’s just a dog now,” cried Hanna. “Nothing more than that!”

  “He won’t be harming anyone ever again,” said Miles. “I promise you.”

  Queen Shaleedyn rose up beside Esper. “The Shriker terrorized Attenlore for three hundred years. He slew my people. He killed my unicorn! We cannot abide that he should live. The Old Magic must be satisfied.” She fixed her gaze on Breal and lifted her hand.

  Miles held Breal fast in his arms. “Wait! We’ll give you anything for him,” he said. “Anything you ask.” His heart beat wildly. “I’m to blame for breaking the curse. Punish me if you like, but leave him be.” Breal started beside him as if he understood what Miles was trying to do. He licked Miles’s cheek and thumped his soft tail against Miles’s back.

  “You’re not the one I would punish, boy.”

  “The one you want to punish is dead,” said Miles. “Our dog is innocent.”

  “I have a lightstone,” called Hanna, pulling it from her pocket. “It’s yours, only leave him be.”

  The queen raised her brows. Wild Esper stepped forward and looked down at Hanna. “If you have been favored with a dragon’s tear that warms to your touch,” said Esper, “then we cannot take it from you.”

  There was whispering in the air, the words “dragon’s tear” and “lightstone” breaking in small waves all around them.

  Miles drew his ervay from the pack and held it above his head. “Take my ervay.” The silver caught the sunlight and shot a bright beam across the courtyard to the queen’s high throne. A sigh rippled across the crowd.

  “An ervay is made from sylth silver. Beautiful indeed,” said Shaleedyn. “And rare.” A long silence followed. Even the warbler ceased his singing, so the only audible sound was the far off waterfall and the burbling of the fountain. Miles touched Breal’s soft muzzle. Was the queen weighing his offer? Would she set Breal free?

  At last she shook her head. “I do not require your ervay. I can have one made for me if I like.”

  Miles lowered his gift. What now?

  Wild Esper whispered in the queen’s ear. The queen nodded, her cherry lips rising to a half smile. She looked at Miles and Hanna, “If this is but a dog now—and a harmless one, as you say—you must prove it to us.”

  “How?”

  “First you and your sister must step away from the beast.”

  Miles looked into Hanna’s frightened eyes, then back to the queen. “What will you do to him?”

  “You won’t kill him,” said Hanna.

  “A test,” said the queen, “but you must do as I command.”

  Miles gave Breal a tender hug, “Good boy,” he whispered. Then to his sister, “Do as she says, Hanna.”

  Hanna released her hold, and they both took a single step back. Miles felt for the knife in his pocket. He’d defend Breal to the death if he must.

  “Neither of you are to touch him,” warned Wild Esper. “No matter what occurs, you’re to stay well back.”

  On the dais above, both queen and wind woman lifted their hands, palms facing outward. The sylths backed away, some gathering behind the fountain, some clinging to the marble pillars. Sprites flew back as well, leaving Miles, Hanna, and Breal alone to face what magic might come.

  Knife hilt in one hand, Miles tucked his free hand in his armpit, fighting against the urge to reach for Breal, not only for the dog’s comfort, but also for his own. He could see Hanna swaying beside him, her breathing quick and shallow as a trapped nestling’s. “eOwey protect us,” she whispered.

  The wind woman and the queen began to hum. A mild breeze stirred up. The breeze twirled faster and faster, lifting hair and gown and glistening spiderweb. The swirling wind moaned, and the moan sw
elled to a roar as the Sylth Queen and wind woman chanted:

  “Beware the one that walks between

  The world of men and lands unseen.

  Danger waits within his dwelling,

  Wake him and there is no telling.

  Sight unheard

  And sound unseen,

  We call the ghost

  Of Rory Sheen!”

  “No!” cried Miles and Hanna.

  Blackness spun in the center of the screaming wind, and the water in the fountain darkened. Birds fled. The sylths moaned, drawing farther back. Then from the gaping core of the sudden storm a ghost came flying upward. Gray and tattered as a torn sail, he hovered in midair between throne and fount. His face had a darkness all around it, as if he’d brought the grave soil with him. He looked at both wind woman and queen, his hollow eyes gleaming like wet stones. The ghost turned about, slow as a salt-boned man. When he saw the dog below, his jaw fell agape, and he began to scream.

  Miles covered his ear with his free hand, but kept the other on his knife. Beside the fountain Breal stood tense. The fur on his neck bristled as he pressed his ears back.

  “It’s all right, boy,” said Miles. “He can’t hurt you now.” Breal didn’t seem to hear him. His lip curled upward in a snarl.

  “Stay back, boy.” Miles tried to sound soothing, but fear roughened his voice. If Breal leaped at Rory, the queen would strike him dead for sure. Miles worked to keep from rushing forward and grabbing Breal by the neck.

  The ghost clawed the air, a rust color seeping from his mouth and neck, like old blood stained with time. Breal inched forward—his snarl rising to a growl.

  “Leave him be, boy,” Miles urged softly. “He’s dead and gone. He doesn’t even know your name.”

  Breal lowered down on his haunches, his muscles tense and ready.

  “Do something, Miles,” cried Hanna.

  “Breal!” said Miles. “I call you by name!”

  The dog turned his head a moment. Eyes full of anger. Face confused.