This last came in the faintest whisper; then Beana trotted around and stood before her, the ragged veil dangling from her mouth. She dropped it in Rose Red’s lap and stood there watching as the girl carefully slid it back into place. “You’re quite determined, aren’t you?” Beana said, and her voice was heavy.
Rose Red checked the edges of the veil to be sure everything was as it should be. Then she nodded. “I’ve got to leave, Beana,” she whispered. “I’ve got to get off this mountain or . . . I know I will die.”
“It’s impossible!” Beana bleated. “It’s dragon-eaten foolishness, girl, and you don’t understand! It’s—”
Her voice trailed off suddenly amid a flood of silver music flowing down from the tree above.
Both goat and girl looked up, unable to see for the blinding sunlight through the branches. But they heard the lyric voice of the wood thrush throwing his heart to the sky in the joy of his song. And both their hearts lifted at the sound, though what else they may have heard—what words perhaps may have emerged out of the trilling tune—they could not have told each other for the world. It affected each of them differently. For Rose Red, that song drove out all the fire of the voice in her head, leaving her calm, allowing her to breathe fully again.
To Beana, the song gave peace. Peace she did not altogether want, but peace nonetheless. She bowed her head and drew a long breath. “If you must go, I cannot stop you,” she said. “I would if I could, but such is not my place. Let me give you something, though, child. Because I might be unable to protect you once we’ve gone to the low country, let me give you something with which you may protect yourself. As long as I know you have it, I won’t be so afraid every time you’re out of my sight.”
Rose Red gave her goat a puzzled shrug. “What could you possibly have to give me?”
“It’s a name.”
“I’ve got a name. I’ve got the name my old dad gave me.”
“This isn’t your name. But it’s a powerful name, and one I want you to hold on to. Give me your ear, Rosie!”
The girl leaned forward, and the nanny goat whispered through the veil, “Keep it in your heart, my love, and treasure it down deep. And when you have need . . . it doesn’t matter when, or how, or what . . . if you have need of any kind, call on this name, and you will have help. I’ll give it to you in your own tongue, darling, though you may not understand it.”
Then she spoke a word, harsh and soft at the same time, which sounded odd coming from her goat mouth. The sound of it sank through the girl’s mind and flowed down to her heart, where it rested, strangely comforting.
Eshkhan.
Rose Red stood up, shaking her head. “Don’t be daft, Beana. I don’t need anythin’ silly like that to help me. I’ve got you, and I’ve got a strong constitution that has served me right enough so far. And I’ve got Leo. He promised he’d watch out for me, and I know he means it.” If there was a trace of desperation in her voice, only the goat heard it. She continued on down the mountain, Beana trailing behind her. “So you needn’t be tellin’ me Faerie stories to make me feel better. I’m a big girl and I can handle myself.”
“Suit yourself, child,” said the goat softly. “But you know it, and that’s all I care about for now.”
They progressed through the forest in silence, passing by the creek, neither one looking at the trail that led back to their cottage. They would not walk that path again. After all, Rose Red owned nothing that she might take with her. All that remained were memories, many of them painful now. So they said nothing but continued across the creek and down to the deer trail, neither speaking.
Beana’s thoughts were consumed with that Other, that one unlike all others, whom she sensed with such terror. They would draw nearer to it, the farther down the mountain they journeyed. It would know they were coming. And it would call to Rose Red. Her skin trembled with terror at the thought, and many times she was tempted to stand upright, to shed all pretenses, to force the girl to remain in hiding.
She would not. No, by grace and good courage, Beana would continue as she had been all these years, and perhaps by some miracle she would succeed.
Rose Red’s thoughts were full of Leo. He would protect her. Had he not promised? He would take her in and give her work, and she would become his servant. Leo, her best friend, now her best master. What a good and true servant she would be, as faithful as a . . . as a goat. She would bless him with her service in every way, and eventually she would win over the people of his household. They would see with what a true heart she poured herself into her tasks. They would see.
And they would know that she could not be a monster.
It’ll never work.
“Shut up,” she hissed low enough that Beana, trotting behind her, could not hear. “Shut up, shut up!”