Short Stories & Anthologies
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The Way Home: Two Novellas from the World of The Last Unicorn
Renowned author Peter S. Beagle returns to the world of The Last Unicorn in this resonant and moving two-novella collection, featuring the award-winning "Two Hearts" and the brand-new "Sooz."
The Last Unicorn is one of fantasy's most revered classics, beloved by generations of readers and with millions of copies in print. Revisiting the world of that novel, Beagle's long-awaited Hugo and Nebula-Awards-winning "Two Hearts" introduced the irrepressible Sooz on a quest to save her village from a griffin, and explored the bonds she formed with unforgettable characters like the wise and wonderful Molly Grue and Schmendrick the Magician.
In the never-before-published "Sooz," the events of "Two Hearts" are years behind its narrator, but a perilous journey lies ahead of her, in a story that is at once a tender meditation on love and loss, and a lesson in finding your true self.
The Way Home is suffused with Beagle's wisdom, profound lyricism, and sly wit; and collects two timeless works of fantasy.
The Last Unicorn is one of fantasy's most revered classics, beloved by generations of readers and with millions of copies in print. Revisiting the world of that novel, Beagle's long-awaited Hugo and Nebula-Awards-winning "Two Hearts" introduced the irrepressible Sooz on a quest to save her village from a griffin, and explored the bonds she formed with unforgettable characters like the wise and wonderful Molly Grue and Schmendrick the Magician.
In the never-before-published "Sooz," the events of "Two Hearts" are years behind its narrator, but a perilous journey lies ahead of her, in a story that is at once a tender meditation on love and loss, and a lesson in finding your true self.
The Way Home is suffused with Beagle's wisdom, profound lyricism, and sly wit; and collects two timeless works of fantasy.
Editorial Reviews
"With beautiful worldbuilding and tons of heart, these tender fantasies are sure to delight."
–Publishers Weekly (starred review)
"Beagle brilliantly balances the bits of darkness that exist with Sooz's drive to accomplish whatever needs to be done."
-Booklist
–Publishers Weekly (starred review)
"Beagle brilliantly balances the bits of darkness that exist with Sooz's drive to accomplish whatever needs to be done."
-Booklist
Short Excerpt Teaser
My brother, wilfrid, keeps saying it's not fair that it should all have happened to me. Me being a girl, and a baby, and too stupid to lace up my own sandals properly. But I think it's fair. I think everything happened exactly the way it should have done. Except for the sad parts, and maybe those too.
I'm Sooz, and I am nine years old. Ten next month, on the anniversary of the day the griffin came. Wilfrid says it was because of me, that the griffin heard that the ugliest baby in the world had just been born, and it was going to eat me, but I was too ugly, even for a griffin. So it nested in the Midwood (we call it that, but its real name is the Midnight Wood, because of the darkness under the trees), and stayed to eat our sheep and our goats. Griffins do that if they like a place.
But it didn't ever eat children, not until this year.
I only saw it once-I mean, once before-rising up above the trees one night, like a second moon. Only there wasn't a moon, then. There was nothing in the whole world but the griffin, golden feathers all blazing on its lion's body and eagle's wings, with its great front claws like teeth, and that monstrous beak that looked so huge for its head. Wilfrid says I screamed for three days, but he's lying, and I didn't hide in the root cellar like he says, either, I slept in the barn those two nights, with our dog Malka. Because I knew Malka wouldn't let anything get me.
I mean my parents wouldn't have, either, not if they could have stopped it. It's just that Malka is the biggest, fiercest dog in the whole village, and she's not afraid of anything. And after the griffin took Jehane, the blacksmith's little girl, you couldn't help seeing how frightened my father was, running back and forth with the other men, trying to organize some sort of patrol, so people could always tell when the griffin was coming. I know he was frightened for me and my mother, and doing everything he could to protect us, but it didn't make me feel any safer, and Malka did.
But nobody knew what to do, anyway. Not my father, nobody. It was bad enough when the griffin was only taking the sheep, because almost everyone here sells wool or cheese or sheepskin things to make a living. But once it took Jehane, early last spring, that changed everything. We sent messengers to the king-three of them-and each time the king sent someone back to us with them. The first time, it was one knight, all by himself. His name was Douros, and he gave me an apple. He rode away into the Midwood, singing, to look for the griffin, and we never saw him again.
The second time-after the griffin took Louli, the boy who worked for the miller-the king sent five knights together. One of them did come back, but he died before he could tell anyone what happened.
The third time an entire squadron came. That's what my father said, anyway. I don't know how many soldiers there are in a squadron, but it was a lot; and they were all over the village for two days, pitching their tents everywhere, stabling their horses in every barn, and boasting in the tavern how they'd soon take care of that griffin for us poor peasants. They had musicians playing when they marched into the Midwood-I remember that, and I remember when the music stopped, and the sounds we heard afterward.
After that, the village didn't send to the king anymore. We didn't want more of his men to die, and besides they weren't any help. So from then on all the children were hurried indoors when the sun went down, and the griffin woke from its day's rest to hunt again. We couldn't play together or run errands or watch the flocks for our parents or even sleep near open windows, for fear of the griffin. There was nothing for me to do but read books I already knew by heart and complain to my mother and father, who were too tired from watching after Wilfrid and me to bother with us. They were guarding the other children, too, turn and turn about with the other families-and our sheep, and our goats-so they were always tired, as well as frightened; and we were all angry with each other most of the time. It was the same for everybody.
And then the griffin took Felicitas.
Felicitas couldn't talk, but she was my best friend, always, since we were little. I always understood what she wanted to say, and she understood me, better than anyone, and we played in a special way that I won't ever play with anyone else. Her family thought she was a waste of food, because no boy would marry a dumb girl, so they let her eat with us most of the time.
Wilfrid used to make fun of the whispery quack that was the one sound she could make, but I hit him with a rock, and after that he didn't do it anymore.
I didn't see it happen, but I still see it in my head. She knew not to ...
I'm Sooz, and I am nine years old. Ten next month, on the anniversary of the day the griffin came. Wilfrid says it was because of me, that the griffin heard that the ugliest baby in the world had just been born, and it was going to eat me, but I was too ugly, even for a griffin. So it nested in the Midwood (we call it that, but its real name is the Midnight Wood, because of the darkness under the trees), and stayed to eat our sheep and our goats. Griffins do that if they like a place.
But it didn't ever eat children, not until this year.
I only saw it once-I mean, once before-rising up above the trees one night, like a second moon. Only there wasn't a moon, then. There was nothing in the whole world but the griffin, golden feathers all blazing on its lion's body and eagle's wings, with its great front claws like teeth, and that monstrous beak that looked so huge for its head. Wilfrid says I screamed for three days, but he's lying, and I didn't hide in the root cellar like he says, either, I slept in the barn those two nights, with our dog Malka. Because I knew Malka wouldn't let anything get me.
I mean my parents wouldn't have, either, not if they could have stopped it. It's just that Malka is the biggest, fiercest dog in the whole village, and she's not afraid of anything. And after the griffin took Jehane, the blacksmith's little girl, you couldn't help seeing how frightened my father was, running back and forth with the other men, trying to organize some sort of patrol, so people could always tell when the griffin was coming. I know he was frightened for me and my mother, and doing everything he could to protect us, but it didn't make me feel any safer, and Malka did.
But nobody knew what to do, anyway. Not my father, nobody. It was bad enough when the griffin was only taking the sheep, because almost everyone here sells wool or cheese or sheepskin things to make a living. But once it took Jehane, early last spring, that changed everything. We sent messengers to the king-three of them-and each time the king sent someone back to us with them. The first time, it was one knight, all by himself. His name was Douros, and he gave me an apple. He rode away into the Midwood, singing, to look for the griffin, and we never saw him again.
The second time-after the griffin took Louli, the boy who worked for the miller-the king sent five knights together. One of them did come back, but he died before he could tell anyone what happened.
The third time an entire squadron came. That's what my father said, anyway. I don't know how many soldiers there are in a squadron, but it was a lot; and they were all over the village for two days, pitching their tents everywhere, stabling their horses in every barn, and boasting in the tavern how they'd soon take care of that griffin for us poor peasants. They had musicians playing when they marched into the Midwood-I remember that, and I remember when the music stopped, and the sounds we heard afterward.
After that, the village didn't send to the king anymore. We didn't want more of his men to die, and besides they weren't any help. So from then on all the children were hurried indoors when the sun went down, and the griffin woke from its day's rest to hunt again. We couldn't play together or run errands or watch the flocks for our parents or even sleep near open windows, for fear of the griffin. There was nothing for me to do but read books I already knew by heart and complain to my mother and father, who were too tired from watching after Wilfrid and me to bother with us. They were guarding the other children, too, turn and turn about with the other families-and our sheep, and our goats-so they were always tired, as well as frightened; and we were all angry with each other most of the time. It was the same for everybody.
And then the griffin took Felicitas.
Felicitas couldn't talk, but she was my best friend, always, since we were little. I always understood what she wanted to say, and she understood me, better than anyone, and we played in a special way that I won't ever play with anyone else. Her family thought she was a waste of food, because no boy would marry a dumb girl, so they let her eat with us most of the time.
Wilfrid used to make fun of the whispery quack that was the one sound she could make, but I hit him with a rock, and after that he didn't do it anymore.
I didn't see it happen, but I still see it in my head. She knew not to ...
