by Chrys Cymri
THE GIFT OF THE UNICORN
and other stories
By Chrys Cymri
Copyright 2015 Chrys Cymri
Cover image by adrenalinapura from Adobe Stock
Go to my website, www.chryscymri.com to find out more
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
The Gift of the Unicorn
A Mammoth Mistake
UnNaming the Beasts
First Chapter of The Temptation of Dragons
First Chapter of The Dragon Throne
First Chapter of Dragons Can Only Rust
Sample of The Judas Disciple
Books by Chrys Cymri
Connect with Chrys Cymri
THE GIFT OF THE UNICORN
The man halted at the top of the ridge. He propped his spear against a tree, then tugged a rag from his pocket to wipe his sweaty face. A breeze pulled the right sleeve of his shirt loose from his belt. He swore as it flapped against his side, and awkwardly tucked it away again with his left hand. The rough cloth rubbed against the stump, and he winced. The lacerations around the shoulder had not yet fully healed.
A flicker of silver caught his attention. He grabbed his spear, then crouched, gazing intently down the hill. There, between the trees. The creature trotted into view, the glistening coat refracting sunlight into shimmering rainbows. Four silver hooves barely bent the grass as she crossed the valley to a small stream. She lowered her finely chiselled head, her silver horn breaking the smooth ripple of the water as she drank.
He pushed himself away from the tree and charged wildly down the wide slope. The unicorn lifted her head, water dripping from her short beard. She watched him for a moment, the dark eyes calm. Then as he lifted his spear, preparing for the throw, she suddenly snorted. He threw the spear with all his weight, but knew even as it left his hand that he was still too far away. The unicorn wheeled, tail flicking as she slipped back into the trees.
A tree root caught his foot as he tried to follow, sent him tumbling to his knees. The fall jarred his stump and reopened wounds on his legs. He slammed his hand into the ground, then bent his head, gasping in pain and anger. So close, he’d been so close. A week’s stalking come to nothing. And now the unicorn would be more wary, harder to find, to track, to kill.
He crawled to the stream, noting the small flowers which marked where the silver hooves had stepped. At least that part of the legend still held true. Unicorns left blooms in their tracks. He cupped water from the stream to his mouth, the sweetness of the liquid testifying that a unicorn’s horn had purified the current. Two parts true. He felt the rage build up in him again. Two parts of the legend true. Why not the third?
He splashed some water onto his face, then slowly rose to his feet and searched for his spear. It lay near the stream bank, tip buried in the earth. He pulled it free and glanced up at the sun. Evening was drawing in, as well as clouds promising rain. Not a night for a man to be without shelter. He started down the hill, the hoof-shaped mounds of flowers encouraging him that the unicorn had also gone this way. Tomorrow, he promised her. I will hunt you again tomorrow.
The sudden acrid smell of wood smoke made him lift his head. He turned around, trying to identify the direction of the scent. The forest thinned as he carefully made his way forward, smaller trees appearing in the gaps between the giants towering above his head. Then he was in a small clearing, a cottage of mud-brick and thatch just ahead. Smoke came from the chimney, and he could now smell the warm scent of broth and vegetables. His stomach growled, reminding him of how long it had been since he’d last eaten.
He walked across the grass. A cow lowed at him from a small barn nearby, and several hens fluttered from his path as he came to the wooden door. ‘Good man of this house!’ he shouted gruffly. ‘There is a traveller hungry at your door. What would you ask to feed him?’
The door swung open suddenly. He blinked, finding not some farmer, but an old woman, who stared up at him with dark eyes. ‘What can you offer?’ she demanded.
When he’d been a knight, he had commanded, not asked. Had he known that only an old woman lived in the cottage, he might still have done so. But now, looking into those strangely strong eyes, he found himself saying, ‘I can offer you but little, for little be what an one-armed man can do.’
She snorted. ‘You be not proud, at any rate. Come in, and sup at my table. Doubtless we can find you some work in the morn.’
He started inside, but she suddenly stopped him. ‘Your spear,’ she demanded. ‘I welcome no weapons in this house.’
He glanced at the slender wooden shaft, the mud-flecked point. ‘I once bore the finest of swords,’ he said quietly, ‘and daggers with jewels set in the hilt. Would you deny me what I have left?’
The deep eyes met his. ‘Are you no more than your weapons?’
‘I--’ He halted, not knowing how to answer. With his sword, he had kept part of a king’s army under his command. With the loss of his sword arm, that was never to be his place again. The spear was a poor substitution, but it promised him revenge. It will still be ready for me outside, he argued with himself. The unicorn is hardly likely to step into a cottage. He propped the spear beside the door, then stooped to go inside.
The old woman nodded in satisfaction. She hobbled over the fire set in the left wall. The window shutters were already drawn, and he waited for a few moments, until his eyes had adjusted to the dim light, before moving any further. The cottage was small. This room held a small table, two chairs, and a long cabinet lining the right wall. Two doors ahead promised two further rooms.
He walked to the table and lowered himself into one of the chairs. His half-healed wounds were aching again. He massaged one knee with his hand, watching as the woman tucked her long grey hair behind her ears and peered into the pot hanging over the fire. ‘Be the time of year when I always make for two,’ she said, swinging the pot back over the flames. ‘It be only broth, from one of me chickens and some carrots, but it will fill us both.’
He said, dredging the words up from the distant past, ‘I thank you for your kindness.’
She clucked her tongue. ‘These woods be lonely for an old woman. What be your name, young man?’
He gave her a slight smile at the exaggeration. ‘I am known as Robert.’
‘Robert.’ She cocked her head. ‘I think there be a family name to follow.’
‘There once was.’ He bent his head. ‘There is no more. When the king fell, that name died with him. I am only Robert now.’
‘I be known as Elspeth.’ She poured soup into two bowls, and brought them to the table. A lump of soft cheese and a crust of bread were also placed before him. Robert dipped the bread into the broth, and chewed at the mixture. The cheese was crumbly but fresh. Made by Elspeth herself, he guessed.
‘You may lay yourself down in that chamber,’ she said when he’d finished, pointing at the door nearest him. ‘There be blankets and a bed. I oft have visitors.’
He obeyed, taking the candle she handed to him to light his way. The room was bare but for the bed, rushes covering the clay floor. He thought of the castles in which he had slept, the beautiful women who had been more than willing to share the bed of the cousin to the king. Now another man wore the crown, and the family name which had once given him such rewards could bring a death sentence upon his head. A kingdom changes hands, he thought, glancing around the grey walls, and the peasants do not notice. Just another name to shout when the knights ride past, another name to fear when food and lodging is commanded of them.
He blew out the candle, and crawled into the bed. The straw-filled mattress was prickly. He twisted, trying to
find a comfortable position, tucking the blankets in and around him with his one hand. He closed his eyes, and willed sleep to come.
Unbidden, the images rose in his mind. He saw again the men of his command. Swords pierced their armour, sliced through bellies, intestines uncoiling to steam on the ground. Axes cleaved skulls, brains splattering over the black visors of the enemy. Even worse than the yells of the men were the high-pitched screams of the horses as arrows plunged into their heaving sides.
Robert felt the moment come closer as he relived the last moments. His horse rearing, taking the sword meant for him in its own stomach. Falling to earth, his armour clanging around him, his sword dropping from his stunned fingers. Then he got up, and--
‘No.’ He said it through gritted teeth, felt his left hand close into a fist, almost imagined that a right hand clenched as well. The memory dissolved. He brushed away the hot tears threatening in his eyes, then rolled onto his stomach, forcing himself to sleep.
Sunshine was streaming into the cottage from the open windows when he stumbled from his chamber the next morning. He sat down at the table. A straw mattress was comfortable enough, once one fell to sleep, he reflected. He’d not slept so well for over a month.
Elspeth came into the cottage. ‘There you are,’ she said brightly. ‘Put out your hand.’ He obeyed, and found two warm eggs placed carefully into his palm. ‘Just laid this morn. Will be your breakfast, once boiled.’
He watched her busy herself at the fire, marvelling at the briskness in the old limbs. Then a chill thought struck him, and he hurried to the door. But his spear was still propped up outside, exactly where he had left it. Relieved, he returned to the table, and was soon later breaking open the mottled eggs.
Elspeth sat across from him, her dark eyes meeting his. ‘I have given thought to what you did say last night,’ she announced. ‘You wondered what work a man with one arm could do. There be much that needs doing. Winter be coming, and I have not had the travellers in these parts to prepare me cottage for the season. Visitors have been lacking this summer.’
‘There have been many battles,’ he told her.
‘Aye, and what am I then to do? Shall I lose me home over kings’ quarrels?’ She placed her palms on the rough table. ‘I shall not. Do you search for something in these woods?’
‘I track something in them, aye,’ he admitted.
‘Then I offer you this. Spend part of the day helping me to prepare for winter, the rest hunting your prey, and there will be a meal and a bed for you here, so long as you desire to stay.’
His first impulse was to refuse. If I wanted food and lodging, I could have commanded it, he thought. But that was the reaction of Sir Robert, knight and commander. Not Robert the fallen, the cripple, the coward. And winter is coming, he reminded himself, for the first time thinking of the dying leaves, the colder nights. I will need a place near to the unicorn’s haunts to return to the hunt in the spring, should I not be successful before the first snows. ‘I agree to your terms,’ he told her. ‘What can I do?’
She grinned at him, wrinkling her face further. ‘You can chop wood, milk me cow, re-thatch part of me roof, build a new pen for me chickens, dig up me potatoes-’
Robert found himself smiling. ‘Enough, woman. Autumn is still early upon us. Leave some tasks for another day.’
So she set him to chopping wood. Handling an axe left-handed called for concentration, and he nearly cleaved his foot twice. It was a laborious process, moving a log into position, lifting the axe to chop it once, putting the axe down to move a new piece into position, lifting the axe to chop again. Despite his intentions, he found the afternoon all but finished by the time he finally put the axe to one side. He wiped his face, glanced into the woods, then started carrying pieces of wood to a small lean-to built on the side of the cottage. When he had finally established a rhythm to his chopping, he had actually found himself enjoying the work. Now he studied the pile of logs, and despite the blisters on his fingers and the ache in his shoulders, he was pleased with what he had done. Maybe a one-armed man could have some use after all.
‘You have done more than agreed,’ Elspeth complained at him as she served him a chicken broth with fire-baked potato. ‘Take the day tomorrow for your hunting.’
Robert was too weary to do anything but agree. He soon went to his bed, and feel asleep without any troubling visions.
The days settled into a pattern. In the morning, he would hunt the unicorn, tracking the flower patterns patiently through the forest. Several times he glimpsed the gleaming coat, the silver mane. But never close enough for a strike with his spear. Only lesser animals fell to his throws, rabbits and deer which he carried awkwardly to the cottage for supper.
In the afternoons, he worked around the cottage, taking out his anger and frustration in his tasks. If Elspeth asked him to chop ten logs into firewood, he would chop twenty. If he were allotted five rows of potatoes to harvest, he would dig up ten. In the sheer physicality of his labour he could forget for awhile the sounds of metal shearing metal, the sticky smell of hot blood, the sour taste of fear. And when he crawled into his bed at night, he was so exhausted that he dropped to sleep without being troubled by dreams.
‘You work yourself too harshly,’ Elspeth scolded him one night, as she served up yet another of her broths. ‘I have never been so ready ‘gainst the snows. I have more firewood than I needs, enough potatoes and carrots to feed several mouths, and your hutch for me hens has let me keep more for stewing than ever afore. You have earned the rest of your keep. I do not want to see you fall ill!’
‘No.’ He stirred restlessly at his soup with his lump of hard bread, wondering vaguely where she got flour from. ‘I want to ask lodging from you for the winter.’
She cocked her head. With the fire behind her, the deep eyes were shadowed. ‘Granted, and twice granted. But why should you wish to stay here? What do you seek in these woods?’
Robert dropped his eyes. ‘I hunt a creature.’
‘What do you hunt?’
‘You must know what I hunt.’ He met her dark eyes. ‘You must have seen me follow the flower tracks. I hunt the unicorn. I will redden my spear with her blood.’
He could almost feel her frown. ‘The unicorn be the gentlest of beasts. Why should you wish to cause her harm?’
‘Because she harmed me. And I will avenge myself on her.’
‘The unicorn cleanses water with her horn and heals the wounds of humans. Why would you seek to kill such a beast?’
‘Heals?’ He felt his mouth pull into a grimace. ‘Aye, she might heal some.’ He waved explanations away angrily. ‘Do not argue with me, Elspeth. I will only stop hunting her when the snows come, and once spring is upon us, I will hunt her again. I will track her down. And my knife will find her throat.’
The nights came earlier, colder. Leaves coated the ground, crunched under the boots Elspeth had made for him. He moved firewood into the cabin, filled their bedchambers with sacks of potatoes and carrots, checked barn, hutch, and cottage for any cracks which might let in the freeze to come. He did not always know what to look for, but Elspeth was always available to point out what he had missed. It became a challenge to him, to complete a task so thoroughly that she could only nod with approval.
He still tracked the unicorn, but was already resigned to continuing the hunt in earnest once winter was over. When he looked out the door one morning to find heavy snowflakes settling onto the fallen leaves, he resignedly made a final check of hutch, barn, and cottage, placed his spear into the lean-to, and returned to the warmth of the cottage.
‘Winter be a time for relaxing,’ Elspeth scolded him as he paced along the wooden planks which he had recently laid as a floor. ‘The work be over for the year.’
Robert slumped into a chair. He scratched absently at his stump, wondering why it itched at the change in weather. ‘I don’t want to relax.’
‘You deserve a rest.’ She turned back to her weaving. A small loom
rested on the floor in front of her, the wool spun, she’d told him, from goats she had once owned. ‘Does your jacket rest ‘pon you comfortably?’
He shrugged within its warm lining. Then he caught the barb to her question, and sheepishly removed the coat. ‘It does. Where did you get it from?’
‘Many a traveller finds his way to me door.’ The clack of wood rubbing against wood paused for a moment. ‘Not all of them be as healthy as you. They come with wounds for which there be no healing. Such a one has passed his coat to you.’
Robert fingered a dark stain near the collar, wondering if it were from blood. Many battles had been fought near these woods, many wounded wandered away from the field. ‘I am grateful to him.’
‘Your shirt be growing tattered. Shall I weave a new one for you?’
‘Don’t bother weaving a right sleeve.’ The bitterness in his voice reminded him that he was calmly scratching the stump. He straightened, wondering how he’d forgotten about his loss. The unicorn will pay for it, he thought grimly.
‘You have done more for me than many a man with two arms,’ Elspeth said calmly. ‘You have done well ‘bout me cottage. Have you any learning in farming?’
‘My father believed in being a good steward to his people.’ Robert smiled slightly at the sudden memories. ‘We would oft ride together through his lands, always welcome at the tables of any of his peasants. He was known as a fair and good master, and I learned a little about the lives of those who till the land.’
‘And did you go to war to fight at his side?’
The smile dropped from his face. ‘No. I went to be at the side of my cousin, the king, though my father entreated me to remain with him to defend his own lands.’ He stared down at his hand. ‘But I did not win the battle for my king, and my father must surely by now lie dead, his lands confiscated and given over to a knight in service to our conqueror.’
‘I did not know me own sire,’ Elspeth mused. ‘And me dam be but a faded memory. All I have ever known have come and gone. Dogs, cats, chickens, goats, even a horse, brought me once by a traveller. But me cow has been with me for many years, and still gives milk faithfully through the season. A good friend to an old woman. But come, tell me of your sire and your dam. A winter grows long but for the talking.’
So he found himself telling her about his childhood, the castle of his father, the stallion he’d raised and trained himself, the hawk he had gentled to catch rabbits for him. He talked about becoming a knight at his father’s hand, and learning about honour and bravery. But when he asked Elspeth to tell him about her life, she demurred, saying that she had spent most of her life in these woods, and her story would only bore a man raised to the nobility. So she taught him how to cook instead. The rough-hewn cabinet at the far wall from the fireplace held clay pots full of dried herbs and roots, which she had gathered throughout the year. She showed him how any broth could be livened by a few judicious additions.
‘And this be baywolf,’ she told him one day, ‘used to add strength to a broth. ‘Tis also good to the easing of overheated hearts.’
‘Why, Elspeth,’ Robert said, teasing her, ‘are you a healer also?’
Her deep eyes met his, and he found himself stepping back, surprised at the pain his comment had raised. ‘Sometimes,’ she said softly. ‘Not oft enough.’
So the days passed uneventfully. In deference to Elspeth, Robert forced himself not to pace the floor. But exchanging tales and experimenting with herbs did not tire him as physical work had. Elspeth insisted on checking on the chickens and the cow herself, so he found little to weary him.
The visions began to return at night. Despite the chill in his bedchamber, he would awake to find himself drenched with sweat, his stub pounding in remembered pain. And even when he dreamed, the unicorn was always just outside his grasp, slipping away into the trees when he chased after her, pleading her to stop for him.
‘Me cow has disappeared,’ Elspeth announced one morning. She closed the door behind her and stomped snow from her boots. ‘She be a stupid beast. She has knocked the door asunder and taken to the woods.’
Robert rose from his chair, pulling himself from brooding over the dreams which had haunted him the past night. ‘She can’t have gone far. Was she by the lean-to?’
Elspeth shook her head, snowflakes spinning from her grey hair. ‘The tracks lead to the woods. She was a stupid beast.’
The past tense stung him into action. Robert lifted his coat from the chair and shrugged into the left sleeve, fitting the right over his stub. ‘I will find her for you.’
‘‘Tis heavy full of snow,’ Elspeth warned, ‘and you--’
He was out of the cottage and the door shut before he could hear the rest of her words. She might call the cow stupid, but he knew how much Elspeth prized the beast. The old creature couldn’t have wandered far, not in this snow. Pleased to have an excuse for some physical exercise, he started following the tracks into the woods.
The snow quickly deepened as he wandered further from the clearing. The cow’s tracks were still clear in front of him, and he wondered how she could have traversed some of the banks. He was a tall man, yet he still floundered several times in snowdrifts hiding gullies from view. Once he broke through to find himself up to his knees in the still-running stream. Legs and feet thoroughly chilled, he decided that he’d better find the cow soon, or turn back before the cold claimed him.
He was about to give up when he heard the snort of a large creature nearby. Pushing aside a thick thatching of tree branches, he stepped into a small clearing, and found the cow staring at him. ‘You are a stupid beast,’ he informed her, crunching through the snow to her side. He grabbed her halter, then paused to catch his breath.
They were in a strangely rectangular clearing, he suddenly realised. A wall of stone towered behind and on the right of the cow. On the left, a strand of small trees formed an almost impenetrable barrier. The only way in was the path taken by the cow and himself. It was also the only way out.
An idea began to form in his mind. He glanced around. Snow altered many landmarks. In spring, when the trees were covered in green leaves, the rock face would be hidden--until a creature tried to escape in that direction. He smiled grimly. Yes, he’d know this place, come spring. And he’d corner the unicorn here.
‘Come on,’ he said to the cow, tugging at her halter. She followed willingly.
‘You should not have gone for her!’ Elspeth scolded as he unselfconsciously stripped off wet boots, socks, and leggings. ‘‘Twere too dangerous!’
Robert propped himself by the fire and shrugged with more nonchalance than he felt. His head ached, and he felt very cold. ‘I know how much that cow means to you.’
‘You mean more to me!’ Then, as if surprised by her own outburst, she busied herself with retrieving blankets to drape over him. ‘How do you feel?’
‘I feel well,’ he lied, then promptly sneezed.
‘You are a stupid man.’ She swung the pot from the fire, muttering to herself as she mixed in several herbs. He recognised some of them, but his head was beginning to swim, making it difficult to recall their names. Ap--Apple--Appleworm. An aid to easing coughs and aches in the chest. Coronaunt, used to warm the heart.
‘I’ve got plague,’ he said flatly, the seriousness of his pronouncement punctured by a loud sneeze.
‘You have not got the plague.’ She glanced at him. ‘What you have could be as deadly. Did your sire never teach you aught? Do you not know the dangers of cold?’
‘We always had mulled cider when we went out in the winter,’ he said thickly. He found a scrap of cloth from his old shirt and blew his nose.
Elspeth clucked disapprovingly. ‘I must make your bed by the fire, lad. You must now be kept warm.’
He wanted to protest that he could get his own bed, that he didn’t need her help. But he seemed stuck to his chair. Every muscle ached, deeper than from any physical task he’d ever undertaken. His thoughts were becoming n
onsensical as he stared into the fire, and saw demons grin at his pain. He was only dimly aware of her pulling his bed into the room, and forcing him to get into it.
Time slipped away from him. Sometimes he’d almost awaken, to find a broth being slowly spooned into his mouth, swallowing reflexively. Feverish dreams snapped at him. Again and again he was on the battlefield, his men dying around him. His horse reared, went down with a blade in its belly. He hit the ground, lost his sword. The young knight’s eyes met his, the blue depths full of pain and hope, then disbelief and incomprehension. Then the axe appeared from nowhere, crashed through armour and mail to sever the arm underneath.
And a unicorn danced amongst the wounded. When he tried to call to her, she turned and pranced away, her tail flicking her disdain. Then he jumped to his feet, a spear clutched in his left hand, his only hand, as he chased her into the woods, away from the battlefield, away from the place of his shame.
He was drowning in the images. There was no hunt here to keep them from crawling over his mind, festering in his dark depths. Robert thrashed, trying to free himself from their hold.
‘Robert.’ A voice was calling his name. ‘Robert.’ He thought he glimpsed a silver horn, touching his chest, piercing through to his heart. He screamed soundlessly at the pain. ‘Robert.’
He awoke suddenly, found Elspeth sitting beside him, her hand on his. ‘Elspeth,’ he said weakly.
‘The body should be healed,’ she said softly. A strand of grey hair slid loose, touched him on the shoulder. ‘But the heart clings to some graver illness, and will not allow you to heal. Tell me, Robert, what be ailing you?’
He closed his eyes wearily, chose the lesser pain. ‘The unicorn. Do you want to know why I hunt the unicorn?’
‘Tell me.’
It might be the lesser of his two wounds, but that did not make the telling any easier. ‘You know the triple legend of the unicorn, that she can bring even a desert to bloom, that her horn cleanses any water it touches, and that she seeks to heal any wound.’
‘Healing be the gift of the unicorn. I know the legends.’
‘I have seen proof of them all.’ He took a deep breath, drew comfort from the hand holding his. ‘I have seen the flowers left by her hooves, I have tasted water cleansed by her horn, and I have seen her heal.’
‘Some would say you have been thrice blessed.’
‘I say that I saw her heal.’ Again, the agony, the shame. ‘I do not know her powers for myself.’ He felt the hot tears, bit his lip to force them back. ‘After the battle died down, before we knew our king to be dead, our battle surgeons came forth to tend to our wounds. They completed the severing of my sword arm, and cauterised my wounds. All around was the groaning and muttering of the wounded, the screams of the dying. The eyes of a young knight, dead even as my arm had been taken from me, seemed fixed upon mine.’ He took another deep breath, pulled himself away from the greater pain yet again. ‘The crows were beginning to feed on him, to tear at my lost arm, and the uninjured of our army were already plundering from their own dead!’
The shout left him weak and gasping for air. When he could, he continued, ‘Night came, not soon enough to hide the field. Then, as the moon rose, she appeared.’ Even what had happened after was not enough to utterly destroy the wonder he had felt at his first sight of the unicorn. ‘She was beautiful, so beautiful. Have you even seen the unicorn, Elspeth?’
‘Never. There be only ever one in the world at a time.’
‘She’s not very large, only the size of your cow.’ He almost smiled at the audacity of comparing a unicorn to a cow. ‘Her coat is a pure, shimmering white, and even in moonlight it gleams with rainbows, like a pearl. Her hooves are silver, as is her mane, and tail. And her horn.’
‘What did she do?’
‘She walked into the field, picking her way through the bodies, the weapons, the blood-soaked mud. Light seemed to follow with her. I saw her stop before a knight with a sword-cut across his forehead. She touched him with her horn, following the cut with its sharp tip. Behind, she left only a scar, and he looked up at her, healed. Then she went to the next man, and the next, giving back sight, fingers, healing broken skin and bones.’
He took a deep breath, turned his head away. ‘But she didn’t come to me.’
‘Did she see you?’
‘She saw me.’ The night was engraved in his memory. ‘She stopped in front of me, the moonlight spilling across my body, pooling in my wounds. But she stepped back, and left me.’ He released Elspeth’s hand to hit the blankets in anger. ‘She left me!’
‘And that be why you hunt her? Revenge?’
‘Yes.’ But he kept his eyes closed, unwilling to meet hers. ‘I told you that long ago. I will have my vengeance. My spear will plunge into her side, and my knife will find her throat.’
‘If a unicorn dies from hate,’ she said softly, almost as if to herself, ‘a new one will not come, and the unicorn t’will be lost to the world forever.’
‘I don’t care what happens to her.’ Robert shook his head, finding his thoughts clearing. ‘But I want to get well. I can’t hunt her like this.’
‘The fever seems to be subsiding,’ Elspeth said. ‘You have found your reason for living.’
Robert sat up to accept the bowl of soup she handed to him, wondering why she sounded resigned.
Spring came suddenly. One morning, Robert looked outside, and snow still covered the ground. The next, and the thaw had begun, with large icicles forming crystalline daggers on the branches of every tree. Mindful of Elspeth’s scolding, he put on boots and jacket before wandering out to the lean-to. Spear in hand, he brushed melting snow from a log and sat down with his knife to clean the head and scrape the wood. When the spear was shiny and gleaming once more, he propped it against the cottage, and returned inside to defend himself against Elspeth’s accusations.
‘I would like to remain awhile longer,’ he said once he’d convinced her that he’d taken all precautions before venturing outside.
‘You have a unicorn to hunt.’
Robert shrugged, knowing she didn’t approve. ‘I’d like to stay anyway,’ he said quietly, rubbing his thumb over the rough table, certain that he could make a better one for her.
She snorted, and busied herself with the pot. But she put in two extra handfuls of chicken, so he knew that she was pleased. He leaned back in his chair, smiling as she began to list all the chores which needed doing. He was looking forward to physical work again. The dreams still haunted him, even more now since his illness. They’ll go away, he promised himself, after I’ve killed the unicorn.
But his tasks did not seem to weary him as much as before the winter. He returned to the battle night after night, surrounded by the dying, the knight’s eyes holding his for a dark eternity. Each afternoon he wandered further and further into the woods, searching in vain for the flower-filled tracks of the unicorn.
‘Be it necessary?’ Elspeth asked him one evening as he wandered restlessly by the fire. ‘Must you kill the unicorn?’
‘Of course I have to,’ he said, poking at the fire with a stick.
‘Then hunt on the morrow. The chickens can wait the day.’
He nodded, staring gloomily into the flames. The demons were there again, snapping at the branch in his hand. Fire, he thought. Fire would have cleansed the battlefield, rid us of our dead. Rid me of that knight. He blinked, and the fire was only a fire again, the demons sunk back into the ash.
The next morning, he half-heartedly fastened his spear to his back and slid his arm through the strap of a bag heavy with stones. He scanned the ground for flowers amongst the young grass and the winter leaves. She has gone, he thought despairingly. She has gone, and I don’t know where to find her. He felt the dark visions close around him.
A flash of white caught his eye. He froze, the bag stilling at his side. Then he stepped forward carefully, parting the branches of the tree. There, on the ground, were the flower hoofmarks of the unic
orn.
Excitement coursed through his body. He took a deep breath, calming himself. His strategy had changed over the winter. Instead of simply trying to get close enough to throw his spear, he was now going to drive her into the dead end the cow had found. Rather than trying to hide his presence from the beast, he would have to broadcast it, and ensure that she went in the direction he had planned.
The past month had not been a total waste. The trees were now in leaf, which would hide the trap from the unicorn. He had also become well acquainted with the woods, so that he now knew exactly where they were in relation to the rectangular clearing. Even if the unicorn’s own knowledge of the forest was as great, he still hoped to keep her so intent on avoiding him that she did not sense the trap until it was too late.
Through the woods they travelled. Robert slowly manoeuvred her in the direction of the clearing, throwing stones into the trees to startle her back to the route whenever she attempted to slip away. His arm started to ache with the effort, and he glanced irritably up at the sun. Soon it would be mid-day. They must be close to the clearing. A quick glance around confirmed that they were, and he threw rocks with renewed enthusiasm.
He was getting closer to the beast. Flashes of sliver and white became more and more frequent, and he could hear her breathing start to labour as she dashed first one way, then another. The rocks forced her back along the path. Robert was walking on almost pure flowers, crushing petals of red and blue and yellow under his boots. The heady scent rose up to his nostrils.
Then he was stepping into the clearing, dropping the near-empty bag of stones. The unicorn backed away, her slender sides heaving as she suddenly realised that there was no escape. Robert smiled. He unstrapped the spear, and drew back his arm, pausing to savour the moment. Then he threw it at the unicorn.
The bright tip glinted as it curved through the air. The unicorn threw back her head as the shaft drove deep into her shoulder. Red blood spurted as she fell to her knees, the motion breaking the spear tip from the shaft. The snap of wood echoed through the forest. Robert pulled out his knife as he strode forward, all his hatred and anger focussed on the creature at his feet. He crouched down, grabbed the mane to pull the thin head back.
The deep brown eyes looked up at him. Pain shuddered in the depths, and incomprehension. Why? they seemed to ask him. Why?
He was suddenly transported back, to another pair of eyes, blood welling from another wound. His horse buckled under him, and he was flung to the churned ground. With his horse gone, his sword gone, his only thought was to flee, to escape with his life. His foot hit a young knight who was holding together two ragged ends of skin at his shoulder. The knight was part of Robert’s command, his sword pledged to his commander’s use, and the blue eyes lit with hope as Robert gazed at him. Sickened by the bloodshed, in fear for his own life, Robert turned away, but not before he saw the hope replaced by pain and incomprehension, not before he felt more than heard the axe which crushed the young knight’s chest, then rose to all but sever Robert’s right arm. And, unable to move from where he had fallen, Robert found himself still in the gaze of those now dead eyes, dead but still accusing him of betrayal, of desertion.
‘I didn’t mean to do it, I didn’t mean to do it,’ he found himself saying, over and over, as he was suddenly back in the clearing, the unicorn’s blood running over his hand and legs. The dark eyes looked up at him, silent but full of pain. He stared into them, wondering at the lack of accusation. The unicorn was not his enemy. His shame was not her fault. Her death would not block out his darkness.
‘Not again.’ He threw the knife away, heard it clatter against a stone. His throat seemed thick as he spluttered, ‘I’m not leaving another to die.’
He bent down and tried to pick up the unicorn. But with only one arm, he could not, and he found himself cursing in frustration. I’ll have to drag her, then, was a sudden, lucid thought. He undid his jacket, managed to get it around the unicorn’s belly. Then he began the long journey back to the cottage.
The journey took on the nightmarish unreality of his dreams. Time and again the coat sleeves would pull loose from his hand. Or the unicorn would slip off the material, and he would have to lift her back onto the jacket. The forest floor, which had seemed so smooth when he had walked along it earlier, was now full of rocks and dips, and each time the unicorn was jarred, he seemed to feel it in his own body.
Finally the cottage was in sight. He carefully dragged the battered jacket and its precious cargo to the barn, shooing the cow out to spread the unicorn across the straw. She was more grey than white now, her hooves dulled. But her horn still gleamed, exposing every knot in the rough planks.
Robert made sure she was comfortable, then staggered to the cottage. ‘Elspeth?’ he called out. ‘We need herbs, and blankets, and water. Elspeth, I’ve brought the unicorn to the barn!’
There was no answer. He looked through the rooms, then hurried back outside, checking the woods nearby. Desperate, he returned to the barn, opening the door and expecting the worst.
The unicorn was gone.
He closed his eyes, felt a new pain go through him. Did unicorns go off to die on their own, like dogs did? She can’t die, he thought fiercely. I can’t let her die.
He turned, crushed something under his boots. He opened his eyes to the shine of flowers. A trail led to the cottage. He pushed himself away from the barn, and followed the blooms. The flowers continued into the door, then stopped halfway across the floor, petals of white and red gleaming against the dark planks. They spread in the direction of Elspeth’s bedchamber.
Stepping slowly, carefully into the cottage, he crossed over to the room. He took a deep breath, then opened the door. ‘Elspeth?’
‘Come in.’ He obeyed, treading cautiously into the chamber. Elspeth was in the bed, a dishevelled mass of hair, leaves, and flowers spreading across her pillow. She said calmly, ‘A bed be more comfortable than a barn, and it lacks the cow dung.’
Robert found himself shaking. He groped his way to the wall, resting his back against it before looking down at her. His voice seemed very small and far away. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Do you not, dear Robert?’ She smiled, shifted. The blankets fell back, revealing a deep, bloody wound in her left shoulder.
‘Why didn’t you tell me who you are?’ The room seemed to be spinning around him, and he pressed himself more firmly against the wall. ‘Why did you let me hunt you?’
‘You must tell me, Robert. Tell me why you hunt me.’
‘I did tell you why,’ he said stubbornly. ‘Because you wouldn’t heal me.’
‘That be not the real reason, be it?’ Elspeth asked gently. ‘Think back, Robert. Remember that night on the battlefield, when I appeared to you? Remember how I lowered me horn to you, so that you might be healed? What did you do? Tell me, what did you do?’
His fingers dug into the clay wall. The lies he had constructed were falling around him, and he didn’t know what he might be able to cling to once they were gone. ‘I refused,’ he whispered. ‘I refused to let you heal me.’
‘We have spent a long winter together under this roof. Can you now trust me with your heart, and tell me why you refused me?’
He twisted his head away. The wide blue eyes, staring into his long into the night. ‘My father begged me to stay with him, to guard our lands against the invader. But I wanted the glory of serving the king, of having everyone listen to me because I was his blood kin. I wanted more than just one castle and a few hundred farms. I wanted--I wanted--’
He took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I wanted to be war hero, covered in honour. The king gave me a command, and the knights swore fealty to me. In return, I pledged my protection to them. But when it was tested...’
His stomach cramped up inside him, cutting off his voice. He gripped the wall even tighter, felt the clay crumble under his fingernails. Elspeth said quietly, ‘The young knight who lay dead beside you. Be he part of your command?
’
‘Yes.’ Robert forced himself to move forward, so he could meet her gaze, know when she rejected him. ‘My horse was killed under me. I lost my sword as I fell. All I could see was death, all I could smell was blood, all I could hear was the screams of men and horses around me. My father raised me to be honourable and brave. But, I was--I was a coward. I turned to flee. At that point, I was only a coward. Worse was to come.’
He closed his eyes, but found himself swaying on his feet. He forced them open again. ‘My foot hit one of my knights as I turned. He was injured, unable to move, and waiting to die. But he recognised me, and he was suddenly hopeful. He expected me to save him. I should have tried to save him. I could have saved him. But--’ his voice threatened to strangle in his throat, and he had to force the words out, ‘--but I turned away, I tried to escape. I left him there, and he was killed a moment later, by the same axe which took my arm from me.’
The sound of his own heartbeat seemed to echo through the room, resound from the walls. Her face flickered in the tears he refused to shed. ‘So, you see,’ he said harshly, ‘I don’t deserve to be healed. That’s why I refused you, on the battlefield. If I had tried to defend him, as was my duty, he would be alive, and I would still have my arm. I don’t deserve to be healed.’
‘My dear lad.’ She lifted a red-stained hand to him. He took it and knelt beside the bed, looking down at her wrinkled face in amazement. ‘Wounds of the body, those be easy to heal. It be not your arm which needs healing. You have carried a darkness deep into your heart, so deep that you deny it can be lifted from you.’
‘But I don’t deserve--’
‘Hush,’ she said, and clucked disapprovingly. It was so much like the Elspeth he’d thought he’d known that he felt the first tear break free and course down his cheek. ‘Who be to say who be deserving? Not you. Not I. ‘Tis the place of a unicorn to heal, and you can be healed. But you must wish it. Healing cannot be forced upon you. Do you wish to be healed?’
He bent his head over their joined hands. The pain he had borne for so long was like a heavy weight, dragging down his shoulders and freezing his heart. ‘Aye, Elspeth.’
She shifted on the bed, touched his head with her free hand. ‘I be dying, Robert. No, do not try to deny it,’ she said as he tried to interrupt. ‘I be very old, in experience, if not in age. Even a unicorn cannot take the pain of a world forever. I be dying, and you must let your darkness die with me.’
‘I don’t want you to go,’ he said, the words wrenching from deep within him.
‘But I must.’ She touched his head again. ‘At least let me take one last wound with me.’
He nodded, unable to speak. He felt her hands drop away, and raised his eyes. The form on the bed shimmered, becoming half unicorn, half woman. The horned head turned towards him, the deep eyes meeting his in love and affection. The horn rested lightly against his chest for a moment. Then it plunged into his chest. He gasped as the silver spear sank deeper and deeper, until it pierced his heart. Then it twisted. Something dark flowed down the groves of the spiral, turning the silver to black. He felt the weight he had carried for so long drain from his body. The head lifted, then fell back, leaving an old woman lying on the bed.
Robert lifted his hand gingerly to touch her. Then she disappeared, the blankets dropping into the hollow. He stared for a moment, unable to believe that she was gone. Then he bent his head, and wept into the rough wool.
He stayed in the cottage several days, wandering around aimlessly, sleeping deep and dreamlessly. The agonising pain was gone, but there seemed nothing to replace it. He found himself picking up the herb jars, crumbling the dust of leaves and roots through his fingers. The walls were beginning to decay as well. New cracks appeared hourly, and the roof leaked when it rained. He supposed that the cottage was only ever meant to belong to the unicorn. Now that she was gone, it had no further purpose, and the woods were reclaiming their territory.
He finally emerged early on the third day. As he had expected, the cottage collapsed once he was through the door. He opened the barn and the hutch, letting the cow and the chickens disappear into the forest. A pack he had found in his bedchamber rested at his feet, filled with some clothes and food. He glanced at the brightening sky as he turned away, single hand closing his battered jacket awkwardly against the chill of predawn and then lifting the pack.
A glint in the distance caught his eye. High on the hills above, a glowing figure was leaping from rock to rock with reckless abandon. His heart surged for a moment, then dropped again. No old unicorn would dare such leaps.
But what else could the creature be? He found himself running up through the woods, towards the meadow where he had long ago stalked a unicorn. The pack jounced at his back, unbalancing him as he battered branches out of his way with his arm. Uncaring of the scratches left on his cheeks or the bruises on his toes, he fought his way through the forest. He emerged, panting, on the meadow at the same moment as the unicorn.
The unicorn laughed, a high, masculine laugh. He skidded to a halt several yards away, his coat gleaming even though dawn was still only a promise. ‘Well met on this lovely morn!’ he shouted, his long tail flicking merrily over his flanks.
Robert swung the pack to the ground, feeling suddenly very old and tired. ‘I thought there was only one unicorn.’
‘There be only one unicorn at any one time. We take the duty in turns.’ He bent his head to polish his silver horn against his shiny hide, then turned back to him. ‘She did not die from hatred, so I be able to replace her.’
‘You could never replace her,’ Robert said without thinking.
‘Now, now.’ The unicorn’s tone was so similar to Elspeth’s scolding that Robert blinked. ‘Show to others the same compassion as be shown to you.’
‘But I didn’t want her to die,’ Robert said stubbornly. ‘She didn’t have to die for me.’
‘That be her choice to make. Who are you to gainsay it? Do not lessen her gift.’
‘But what am I supposed to do with it?’ Robert demanded.
‘You humans!’ the unicorn exclaimed. ‘Be your life fixed and set? Be you not free to move and act? Make reparations! Make your peace with your sire--he awaits you on his lands, which he has defended from the invaders of your kingdom. Make your peace with the family of the knight you did permit to be slain--he left a young lady and a child without a home. You have accepted forgiveness. Now make reparations!’
Robert smiled, the unicorn’s imperiousness reminding him of Elspeth. ‘You’re right. Thank you.’
The unicorn bobbed his head. ‘I be sent to perform one last healing. A last from her, a first from me.’ He pranced forward, and Robert braced himself, wondering if the sharp horn were going to be plunged into his chest. But the thin tip merely touched his right shoulder. ‘That be all—and I be away!’ the unicorn shouted, his tail flowing behind him like quicksilver as he galloped into the woods.
Robert found himself smiling again. The sun finally struggled over the hills, touching the flowering meadow with weak sunshine. He took one last breath of the fresh air, then bent down to retrieve his pack. Without thinking, he picked it up with his right arm and threw it over his shoulder.
And stopped, amazed, to look at his right hand.
A MAMMOTH MISTAKE