Free The Black Beast by Nancy Springer

around.”
    â€œThere is no way around,” said Tirell flatly. “Go get us some water.”
    â€œBut where?” He could not be expecting me to find a well in the middle of Acheron forest.
    â€œThe river, of course! Go on.” He turned away, dismissing me, as I stared. Had he heard me thinking? All right, I was not really afraid, but I was insulted. Only slaves were sent for river water. I fought my way out of the tangle, seething. There was no talking to him anymore.… I slid down the steep bank to the river, careless of my clothing. The more dirt and tatters, the better. They would speak, and I would be silent. I filled a skin bag with water and clawed my way back up, shredding grass and digging my fingers into the dirt. My anger forced me to make the climb; I would not be reduced to calling for help. When I reached the top, I saw a spark of flame in the thicket. Tirell had started a fire. My temper snapped at that.
    â€œAre you insane?” I shouted. “Must you light the Boda a way to find us?”
    â€œHow can the beast find us in this tangle without a light?” Tirell retorted. “And yes, I am insane!”
    I said no more. The stark finality of that last statement chilled me. I sat by the fire, but I felt lonely and cold despite the flames. So he thought more of the accursed beast than of me! I ate the last of our food, not even offering to share, and then I got up and stalked away from the fire, making a show of standing guard. But no pursuers came. Instead, toward morning, the beast came, a darker shadow in the darkness of the forest until it stumbled into the firelight. It was carrying half a dozen broken, feathered shafts, and blood lay in sticky puddles on its black flanks.
    â€œFetch more water!” Tirell called to me. “Hurry!”
    I went as quickly as I could. All my anger had vanished at the panic in his voice, though I could not understand his concern. Still, to help a hurt thing was worthy of him.… I scrambled up the bank, gritting my teeth. When I reached the camp Tirell was pulling out the arrows, one by one, and tightly binding the wounds with strips cut from his royal cloak. The beast stood numbly accepting his care, its head nodding to its knees. In a moment it bent its knees and sank to the ground with a groan. It lay stretched there with closed eyes, unheeding, as Tirell pulled the last arrow from its shoulder and pressed on the place with both hands.
    The other wounds, in neck and legs and belly, lay quiet beneath their wrappings, but this one spurted blood. Tirell stemmed it with wads of cloth, but the blood welled up beneath his hands and trickled through his fingers.
    â€œEala, he’ll die!” muttered Tirell frantically.
    I stood awkwardly by. It was usual for Tirell to be extravagant over trifles, but I sensed this was no trifle to him. I wanted to help him, but I did not know what to do or what to say to him.
    â€œCome here!” he shouted.
    I jumped. “Me?”
    â€œWho else?” he snapped. “Put your hands here. Here, here, hurry! If I have no power of healing, perhaps you do.”
    I pressed on the wound as I was bid, puzzling. “Why should I?” I had forgotten my loathing of the beast.
    â€œCome on, just try!” Tirell gestured impatiently. “Say a charm, such as smiths and tinkers say!”
    â€œI don’t know any!”
    Tirell grabbed at his head as if it might fly off. “Just say something!” he cried, but then he looked and came to attention.
    â€œNever mind,” he said quietly. “The bleeding has stopped.”
    I eased the cloth away. It was true; the blood no longer flowed. Probably it had been just ready to stop when I came. The wound lay like an angry red mouth, a tongue of clotted red between its lips.
    â€œTouch the other wounds,” said Tirell.
    â€œWhat in the world for?”
    â€œJust do it, would you?” he said tiredly. He started binding