“She does.” Poor Dove had no idea of the fear she thrust into Letty’s heart with those words. She grabbed a few of the leaves and sniffed them, inhaling their scent deeply. “Oh, don’t you love the scent of the laurel?”
“Not particularly. I think it is overpowering.” She nodded at the bunches of primroses Dove left lying on the hearth. “I prefer the smell of primroses.”
For several minutes, Dove watched as Letty filled the leather pouch with thoroughly dried leaves, setting some aside to dry longer. Once the pouch was full, she hung it on the peg, cleaned up her mess, pulled a basket of buckbean root from a shelf, and set it on the table. Just as Dove was sure she couldn’t leave Letty alone with the stew, the girl glanced around the table as if making sure everything was in perfect order, and then went to stir the stew.
The apple bin in the lean-to had several apples starting to rot. Dove grabbed three and stuffed them in her cloak pockets, before filling a flask with water and starting toward the clearing. Though she felt silly, the girl was determined to return to ‘the tree’ and leave fruit for the unicorn. The more fanciful side of her pictured the animal stopping by each night and leaving disappointed when there was no apple.
Near the narrow point of the Ciele River, exactly where Philip had inched his way across just months before, Dove plowed her way through the water. It rose to her thighs, soaking her boots and breeches, but Dove kept her cloak out of the swirling water. Just a few feet from her, the water tumbled over a little fall into a pool below. As she stood on the other side of the river, Dove surveyed the area. That pool gave her an idea— one that would keep her busy for some time, but would bring her great enjoyment.
She passed the familiar entrance to the tunnel to Lord Morgan’s castle, still marveling that it looked so little like an entrance to anything. The villagers, those who had seen it anyway, all thought it a remnant of a Druidic altar, and Dove thought perhaps that was exactly why it was designed as it was.
The closer she came to the Cliffs of Sceadu, the more her heart raced. Despite her desire to walk in the sunshine, her fear of being seen kept her in the safety of the trees of the Heolstor Forest. She smiled as she realized just how perfectly named Heolstor was. That forest was definitely a perfect hiding place. At last, she plunged herself into the dense forest, and sought the tree that had promised so much hope and later, disappointment.
Once there, Dove sank to the earth, resting her back against the tree, and pulled the apples from her pockets and set them beside her. A strange sense of unease washed over her, and she remembered Philip’s text from the previous week. “’When I am afraid, I will put my trust in You,’” she whispered, wondering if she did trust I AM.
Philip’s god had a majesty she couldn’t help but admire. He was complex, intelligent, and a bit mysterious. All of those things appealed to Dove, but so many things did not make sense to her. She understood right and wrong, morality and sin. These were simple concepts to her. Where she struggled with belief was that Philip’s god seemed just as bloodthirsty as the gods that Bertha revered. Philip spoke of sacrifice, atonement, and covering by blood. It all seemed so gruesome to her.
Thinking about it all made Dove agitated. She wanted to forget the gods— all of them— and enjoy the fine spring day, the marvelous scent of the damp earth, the primroses that grew in patches wherever sunlight might peek through the trees, and the occasional whiff of the salty breezes that blew in from the sea. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and relaxed.
Some time later, how long only I AM could know, she struggled to open her eyes. Darkness had fallen around her, and in the place of sunlight, a wide shaft of moonlight illuminated the trees around her. The view was breathtakingly beautiful, and Dove sat, blinking her eyes in wonder as the sounds of the night blended into the picture before her.
A twig cracked a few feet away. Her heart pounding, Dove forced herself to glance in the direction of the sound and caught her breath. There, standing taller than any horse she’d ever seen, a unicorn, as black as the darkest cave, basked in the glow of moonbeams. Afraid to move and scare away the animal, Dove sat as perfectly still as possible and watched as he took one tentative step, and then another toward her. She saw his nostrils flare and the muscles ripple with each movement.
At last, she forced herself to roll an apple toward the animal. He took several steps backward at her movement, but then returned, coming closer than ever to chomp down on the apple. Dove’s mind whirled. Would he want two? Surely, one apple wouldn’t satisfy such a large animal. She judged the distance between them, and lightly rolled the second apple, hoping to use only enough force for it to stop midway between them. She nearly succeeded. The animal advanced and ate that apple even quicker than the last.
Finally, she picked up the last apple and held it in her open palm, her hand resting on her knee. The horn of the unicorn seemed to have a menacing glint to it, but she forced herself to keep her breathing even and not think about the potential consequences of inviting such a dangerous animal to approach her. The animal snorted, stamped, and then took another step— then another. At last, the unicorn dipped its head, almost like a curtsey, and brushed its lips against her palm as he retrieved the apple. The temptation to brush her hand across the unicorn’s muzzle was nearly overwhelming, but Dove resisted.
As if uninterested in staying if the apples were gone, the unicorn took several steps backward. She caught her breath as the animal stepped forward once more, dropped his head, and curled his legs under him, laying his head in her lap. Stunned, Dove froze in place for several seconds before she rested her hand on his neck. Minutes passed, and still the unicorn lay by her side, “Oh, Sir Unicorn,” she whispered under her breath, “I cannot believe you are here!”
The door to the chapel banged open as if caught by a gust of wind. Twelve boys sat stunned as the Ge-sceaft of Wynnewood dashed into the room, raced to Philip’s side, and pulled the boy from his seat. Philip stumbled after her, sending an apologetic look back at Broðor Clarke before he disappeared out the door and down the street. “Dove! What—”
“Come on, Philip! Come on!”
At the road to Bertha’s, the girl paused, panting. Philip waited for her to tell him what she wanted, but found himself following her up the road and, for once, easily able to keep up with her. Dove was winded. “What are we doing? Where are we going?”
“I saw him, Philip,” she gasped as they burst into the yard where Letty flipped clothes over on the grass to dry on the other side. Dove pointed to one under-tunic that had a gray rim around the edge of the sleeve. “Bertha will be angry if you don’t clean that sleeve better. If you can’t get it out, put it under my blankets and I’ll scrub it tomorrow.”
Frustrated, Letty watched as Dove filled her cloak with semi-rotten apples and led Philip into Wyrm Forest. Unaware that she’d left an irritated apprentice behind, Dove chattered as she half-jogged through the trees all the way to the Ciele River. “I took the unicorn some apples, and he came! He came right up to me, ate the apples, and then laid his head in my lap!”
“Oh, Dove! Do you know what this means?” Philip was nearly beside himself with excitement.
“I’m human!”
“We can catch one!”
They spoke in unison, each staring at the other, feeling a little chagrined. Philip spoke again first. “I’m sorry. I was so excited, I didn’t even think about what it could mean to you. I always knew you were, but—”
“I’m just being selfish,” the girl protested. “We can finally get what Lord Morgan desires most and the horn that could heal Reynilda, and I can only think of things that don’t truly matter.”
“We can’t take it in there, Dove. Even if we get a piece of the horn, we can’t go back.”
She hoisted her cloak and waded across the river without a word. All through the forest, Dove didn’t speak until they reached the tree. Then, as if trying to convince herself as well as Philip, she turned, crossed her arms, and stared at
him from beneath the large hood. “I will go back. I will take it to the cave, every day if I have to, until Jakys sees me and can get it for Reynilda. Waleron was kind to me. Jakys was kind to me, and Merewyn shouldn’t have to watch her modor die if someone can prevent it.” Dove sank to the base of the tree and curled her legs behind her. “I hate death, Philip. I hate it.”
They waited for hours before rustling in the nearby thicket alerted them to something else’s presence. Dove elbowed Philip expectantly. The lad’s eyes bugged as a long, spiraled looking horn protruded from the brambles and he heard the snort of the animal’s nostrils. A shaft of moonlight appeared as the moon rose in the night sky, illuminating the silhouette of the unicorn, but he did not step out of the thicket.
“Why isn’t he coming?” Dove whispered. She rolled an apple toward the thicket, but the animal did not take another step.
Realization dawned on Philip. “It’s me. He won’t come because I am here. Maybe I should go find some laurel and bring it back. I could toss it to you…”
“Go!” Dove hissed, eagerly awaiting the appearance of the unicorn once more.
Amused at her excitement, Philip stood, gazed once more at the unicorn, and ambled back toward the river and out of sight. As she waited for the unicorn to feel safe again, Dove removed her gloves and tucked them in the pocket of her cloak. This time, she wanted to feel the animal’s silky coat with her fingers.
Time passed slowly, but eventually, the animal stepped from its lair and wandered to where the apple lay. He chomped down on it, but this time, he tossed it behind him into the thicket. Surprised, Dove rolled another apple to him, curious to see if he’d eat it or save it for later. Before it reached the animal’s hooves, she heard something munching on the apple hidden by the brambles. There was another! Again, the unicorn picked up the apple with its teeth, and tossed it into the thicket.
Dove rolled three more apples to the creature, before she took the last one and set it next to her, hoping he’d come near enough for her to touch him before he retreated once more. It worked. The unicorn took one step and another. Then, as if it was the plan all along, he curled his legs under himself again and laid his head in Dove’s lap. Tentatively, she stroked his mane, neck, and muzzle. She wondered, as she traced her finger around the horn where it connected to the animal’s head, if a black horn was any better or worse, medicinally speaking. She knew white unicorns once lived in these woods. The tapestry of Lord Morgan’s great grandfather proved it. Would a black horn be more powerful perhaps? She didn’t know.
Gratitude welled up into her heart, but to whom she was grateful, Dove didn’t know. There was something wonderful and almost ethereal about sitting in the forest on a spring night with a unicorn lying beside her. It was overwhelming. Tears splashed onto the animal’s muzzle, but he seemed to understand that she was not unhappy. A soft whinny was his only reply.
Breezes stirred the leaves on the trees around them, and Dove nearly fell asleep. Just as she thought she’d be happy to sit with the animal forever, he stirred nervously. A whine, deep from within his throat grew into a terrible sound— nearly a growl. Muscles twitched, his feet shifted, and then the animal stood, pawing the earth with his hooves.
Dove blinked in surprise. What had agitated the animal? She tried to speak soothingly to him, but then, just as she stood to stroke the unicorn’s neck, it reared with a horrible scream that echoed through the forest. Then she heard it— the thud of feet crashing against the leaves in the forest.
Before she could call out to stop Philip, the unicorn galloped into the trees, even deeper into the forest than she’d ever been. A clumsy string of laurel landed at her feet seconds later. As she bent to pick it up, Philip arrived, panting. “Did I hear him scream?”
Dove nodded. “I think you scared him somehow. He got restless and then reared. I thought he was going to attack me for a moment, and then he just dashed off into the woods.”
“He won’t be back tonight,” Philip predicted. “We might as well go home. Hang the laurel on that branch, and you’ll have it tomorrow. I’ll stay behind.”
Philip couldn’t help but notice Dove’s bare hands as she hung the wreath. Why she kept them covered, he couldn’t understand. They looked normal enough to him. Well, they were very white, but then again, so were his in the moonlight— that wasn’t anything unusual. He and Ellie had loved playing in the moonlight when they were little, pretending they were ghosts and trying to frighten people. Before he could ask, she slipped her hands into her cloak, and pulled out her gloves.
“Don’t, Philip. Just… just don’t.”
“I don’t see why, Dove. Your hands look perfectly normal to me.” He held out his own. Look, they look just like yours.”
“Hardly,” she commented. A teasing tone entered her voice. “Yours are much larger and stronger.”
“So, you have girl’s hands. That’s normal. You just proved my point. They look perfectly normal— for a girl.”
“Usually, I would find that insulting, but it feels more like a compliment today. Thank you.”
“So why—”
“I told you, Philip. Don’t ask.”
“Sometimes,” he began thoughtfully, “I think you’re just so used to being mysterious that you do it out of habit rather than necessity. Maybe you were terrifying as a tiny child, but—”
“Scynscaþa. The Mæte were terrified of me. Scynscaþa. I told you when I met you. People see us as demons. Just stop. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Tomorrow I’ll bring a rope, and you can come later to help me lead the animal to Lord Morgan.”
He noticed the change of subject, but Philip chose to ignore it. Perhaps his little friend was right. Perhaps it was best to ignore the differences that separated them. “I’ll come after supper.”
Her hand squeezed his arm. “Isn’t this exciting!”
Chapter 29
Enlightened
The next morning crawled by incredibly slowly. Each minute that passed seemed an age to Dove. She hadn’t slept much; excitement kept her tossing and turning until Bertha had shouted for her to lie still. Thankfully, a woman at the castle chose that night to deliver her first child, allowing Dove the luxury of rolling about in her bed all she liked. At dawn, she’d looped a rope over one shoulder, covered herself with her cloak, and strolled toward the Heolstor Forest in hopes of finally capturing the unicorn.
Alas, hours later, a hungry Dove slumbered at the base of the tree, unaware that only a dozen yards away, several unicorns watched her from deep within the thicket. Aside from an occasional uncomfortable stamp of a hoof, the animals were silent. At the approaching whistle of an excited Philip, they all vanished— not that anyone knew it.
Philip saw Dove alone, sleeping at the base of the tree, her hood barely covering her face. If she stirred, even the slightest, she’d be exposed to him. After seeing how normal her hands looked, the temptation to whinny like a horse was immense. She couldn’t blame him if he saw her accidentally. She would understand, and Philip knew it. However, his conscience pounded his mind with protests. It wasn’t right. He knew she wasn’t supposed to reveal herself, and tricking her into doing it wasn’t the kind of thing a true friend would do.
Disappointed, but with a relieved heart, Philip knelt beside her and pulled the hood more fully over her head before he shook her. “Wake up. What happened?”
Dove stirred, instinctively grasping the edge of her hood and pulling it over her face. “He didn’t come,” she murmured sleepily. “I waited and waited. I think I heard him a few times, but he never came. I had apples too.”
Arms folded over his chest, Philip surveyed the area in thought. What was different? What had they done differently? “Did he see the rope?”
“No. I never took it out from under my cloak.”
His eyes roamed the forest floor, the trees, and finally the upper branches. “Oh!”
“What?” More fully awake, Dove stood and brushed the leaves and dirt from her cloak.<
br />
“I think I know— Dove, the legend is true.”
“Which one? What part?”
“The whole thing!” Philip exclaimed excitedly. “I bet the Mæte can even call the unicorn to them! It’s the laurel! They know the laurel renders them weak, so they avoid it, just as they would a poisonous plant. They didn’t come to you or to Letty, because you had the Laurel with you. I would wager that the Mæte had the laurel with them too!”
As Philip spoke, Dove realized how true his words must be. A small part of her was disappointed. Her assurance of her humanity would be in question if the Mæte also could lure a unicorn to them. Then again, as Philip had said so many times, what did it matter? She was as she was, and nothing could change that. Nothing. “Let’s go see Lord Morgan and take that awful wreath with us. Maybe he has an idea for how to capture the animal.”
A week later, Dove, once again, sat all alone at the base of the same tree with a bucket of apples beside her. A large chainmail net, crafted by several blacksmiths working round the clock, hung from the branches of the tree above her. All she needed to do was release the rope that she held in her hand and the net would drop onto the unicorn. As excited as she was, a small part of her felt as if she were betraying the poor animal. Only the memory of the tapestry Lord Morgan showed her of the affection between his great grandfather and the snow-white unicorn with him assuaged her guilt.
Lord Morgan’s knights were stationed around her within hearing range, but no closer. At her cry, they’d come control the animal until the cart could be brought to carry the unicorn home. They hoped the cart, lined with laurel, would render the animal helpless enough to give them a chance to remove the tip of his horn.
Everything was in place. The net hovered overhead, Philip and Lord Morgan waited at the lookout, hardly able to see the tree, much less Dove beneath it, and the knights all strained to hear her cry. Dove rolled a single apple toward the thicket and waited. It had been nearly two hours since the lord’s men disappeared into the woods. Surely soon—
The Annals of Wynnewood Complete Series Page 41