The Fenn Range was her goal, unrealistic though it might be – especially for a young blind girl all alone. Though she was not alone, not really. Her helpers and guardians hovered close, sometimes even perching upon the much-scarred wood of the cart, while the chief of her companions soared high above, taller than a man, able to bring down an adult bhederin: one of the giant eagles of the Fenn Range, whom she had given the name Prince. And her aim was to return him to his home.
She did not have to hunt, as her providers were many. Each day they came, depositing their offerings of the wild’s abundance: mice, voles, ferrets, mink, hares, badgers, and once Prince even dropped an entire rust-hued deer.
After that near disaster she trained them to bring her only the long-eared hares, which she preferred.
When evening came she would merely reach out to the mule, whom she’d named Bright, to halt, then climb down and unharness him to let him roam free. She could not see herself, but even when she did have eyes she’d always ‘borrowed’ the vision of her birds to see far and wide. Now she maintained these connections day and night and found that she could see far better now than with her old eyes. In fact, she could see better at night than during the day, and would even have travelled through the dark but for poor Bright.
She was also not alone on the wilds of the Seti plains. Fellow travellers skirted her, warily giving her distance, as did hunters and other such wanderers. Honest travellers, however, were not the only ones on the plains. Exiles, outcasts and other such criminals also haunted its hills. Early on, one such gang had chanced upon her trail. A young woman alone – they thought they’d found easy prey.
The moment the party closed upon the cart her companions tore their faces off and ate their viscera. She left their bodies where they lay as a warning to others. Word, she imagined, was spreading of the crazy woman, or whatever they were calling her, travelling northwards.
The only time she was truly alone was each evening when she made a modest fire and set her meal to cook on a stick. Her companions did not like the fire. During these times her vision occasionally failed her.
It was during one such evening, by the fire, west of the trading post of New Seti, that she had her first true visitors. Thanks to all her night-hunting companions, her night vision was sharp, and so she watched them approach: a band of Seti who dismounted at a respectful distance while one of their number closed upon her small fire. She recalled the strongest of her night hunters and waited.
Her visitor proved to be an old Seti woman wrapped in a thick shawl covered in feathers. The woman paused a short distance off and called, ‘May I share the warmth of your fire?’
‘Come.’
Sighing, the woman eased herself down close to the weak flames and extended her hands to the heat, such as it was. ‘My thanks. Hospitality is rare among you outsiders.’
‘What of your band who wait in the night?’
‘Band?’ the woman echoed, chuckling. She waved a dismissive hand. ‘Just my honour guard. I am Tolth, daughter of Amal, shaman of my clan – the Eagle Clan.’
‘Ullara, daughter of Renalt.’
The old woman inclined her head in acceptance of this, all the while eyeing her carefully, and it did seem to Ullara that the woman’s gaze was sharp and piercing – like that of a bird of prey. ‘You are out riding at night?’ Ullara asked.
Tolth smiled. ‘No. Word has spread among us Seti of the bird-woman.’
‘Bird-woman?’
‘That is what you have been named.’
‘Ah.’
‘And I am here to offer you a place among us. Among the Eagle Clan. It would be a place of honour, you can be certain of that.’
This was not what Ullara had been expecting at all and she let out a breath, quite overwhelmed. It took her a while to find the words to respond. ‘I … well, my thanks. But I must … that is, I feel called to the north. I don’t know why – I just feel it.’
The old woman was obviously disappointed, but she nodded knowingly. ‘I understand. A journey of the spirit and the flesh.’ Grunting with the effort, she pushed herself to her feet. ‘Very well. But the offer stands. Once you are finished in the north and wish to move on … think of us.’
‘I will. My thanks.’
The woman paused, raising a hand. ‘Permission to leave a few of my young bloods as escort?’
Ullara was not comfortable with the idea. ‘I don’t – that is, there is no need.’
‘They would consider it an honour. And there are river crossings ahead. You may need the help.’
She considered this, and relented. ‘Very well, my thanks. But they must keep their distance.’
The old woman chuckled once more. ‘Oh, they will. Of that you can be sure.’ She inclined her head. ‘Travel well. And I hope we shall meet again.’
‘Fare well.’
So she acquired her own honour guard, of a sort. And they did keep their distance, either at the shaman’s orders, or their own discretion. Only when the cart became stuck did they approach, as the ground became rougher the further she journeyed north.
Weeks after this, close to the northern boundary of Seti lands, Ullara had one last visitor.
He came at dusk, walking openly, and she saw him long before her escort. Once they caught sight of him the warriors of the Eagle Clan came rushing in, pale, bows readied.
Their leader stood before her. ‘The man-beast approaches,’ he managed, his voice hoarse. ‘We will defend you, of course, as we swore. But ready yourself, as there is little anyone can do against him.’
She raised a hand to him. ‘Stand aside, Orren – it is Orren, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. But—’
‘Stand aside,’ she repeated. ‘I order it.’
‘But—’
‘Stand aside! I will meet him.’
Amazed, perhaps even awed, the Seti warrior bowed to one knee before her. ‘As you order.’ He waved off the ten men and women of his troop, and they withdrew.
A short time later the tall shape of the upright man-beast, Ryllandaras, the White Jackal – whom some named the Curse of Quon – approached. Frankly terrified, yet determined to hold to her instinct not to run, she stared up at the great giant. All wire and muscle he appeared, his shaggy pale pelt crossed with scars, his eyes slit and glowing like hot amber. His blunt muzzle swung to left and right as he surveyed the surroundings; then he spoke, roughly, more like a measured cough. ‘And where is your guard?’
‘I sent them away.’
He crossed his thick, white-pelted arms. ‘Why would you do such a foolish thing?’
She replied, ‘Because I am in no danger,’ and was quite proud of the lack of quaver in her voice.
‘Really? You are in no danger? And why is that?’
She swallowed to steady her voice once again, and managed, clearly, ‘Because I know what a hunting animal looks like. And you are not hunting.’
The black lips drew back – revealing even more of his huge teeth – in what she thought might be an attempt at a smile. ‘You are correct. If I were hunting, you’d be dead.’
She saw no reason to dispute this. ‘To what, then, do I owe the honour of this visit?’
‘Honour?’ Ryllandaras grunted. ‘Few would name a visit from me an honour. But you are correct again. I have come to have a look at you.’
Her heart felt as if it were throwing itself against her chest – rather like a trapped bird. ‘Really? Whatever for?’
‘To see for myself. I have sensed it … but could not believe it. It has been a very long time.’
‘A long time since … what?’
The creature tilted his head, examining her. ‘Since anyone has touched upon the Beast Hold.’