As if replaying a film, she saw Midnight’s ears in front of her and heard the thud of his galloping hooves as they raced up the slopes. Felt the warmth of his shoulder under her hand as she told him what a good boy he’d been. Smelled the sweet smell of his sweat in her nostrils as they headed home from their ride.
She let out a long, shuddering breath, and stooped to pick up the box. This was the right place. His place.
* * *
As the last of Midnight’s ashes eddied through the air and were dissipated by the wind, the sun dropped behind the horizon, casting long shadows and leaving uncertain light.
With the back of her hand, Corinne wiped the tears from her cheeks, turned for the path home, then stopped in her tracks with a gasp.
Between two of the standing stones a shadowy figure was silhouetted against the fading light. A cloak mantled his shoulders, and thick curls ruffled in the wind as he gazed across at her, the intensity of his stare drawing her towards him like a magnet.
How could he be here?
But the vision slowly faded and burned into nothing and she faltered to a stop, feeling stupid. I’m seeing things. How could a character from a computer game appear on a Perthshire hillside? Impossible.
Chapter Three
THE QUEST
HER HAND ON the coffee pot, Mother looked sideways at Corinne. “What would you like to do today? Would you like to start looking for a new horse? Ms Irving has kept a space for us at the farm, remember, and it’s not long till the end of the holidays. There won’t be much time once you’re back at school. Your father and I thought it could be a birthday present. An early one.”
Staring into her bowl of cereal, Corinne shook her head. “It’s too soon, Mum, sorry.” Midnight was still in her heart, in her mind—and in her dreams.
Last night her sleep had been full of strange fantasy creatures and dark storylines. She’d been chased by unrelenting hounds through a never-ending forest, riding on the back of a proud white steed. A steed who felt just like Midnight.
Ahead of her—always just ahead but never reached—was a shadowy figure with flame-coloured hair and a lyre over his shoulder. The vague sense of terror and exhilaration she’d felt in the dream had stayed with her as she woke and went down to breakfast. It was like Feyland had got a hold of her somehow, drawing her in so that she couldn’t stop thinking about it—even while she slept.
Perhaps it was because she hadn’t solved the riddle of her first quest.
“Could I— could I maybe go back to the sim café today? There’s a new game I was playing, and I’d like to complete my quest.”
“Well, yes, I could drop you off on my way to work. But wouldn’t you rather do something outdoors? Or meet some of your friends at the stables?”
“I don’t think I’m ready for that, yet.” And nobody will want to see me, anyway.
* * *
Settling into the sim chair, Corinne pulled the visor over her eyes and pressed the large “F” icon.
‘WELCOME TO FEYLAND’
The colour of the text changed from golden-yellow to blood red, then scattered into tiny fragments, spiralling away as music swelled around her. Briefly, a pair of eyes glowed from the shadows, sending a shiver down her spine, and reminding her of the strange creature who’d helped her yesterday.
Stepping carefully out of the circle of moon-pale mushrooms, she settled her bow over her shoulder and started down the narrow silvery path, brushing against wiry clumps of purple heather as she walked. Closer to the tree line, butterflies flittered through clumps of yellow broom, and framing everything around her were tall, parchment-white birch trees punctuating the darker majesty of fresh-smelling pines.
It was like a perfect summer day, and, for a few seconds, she forgot that this world was not real. Raising her face to the sun, she felt the heat of its rays warm her skin. The programmers really had done a good job with this VR. She could actually smell and touch things here in Feyland. In other games she’d tried, visual and audio experiences were the norm, but not smell. She shook her head. Probably taste would work here too, she guessed, but the game instructions had explicitly warned not to let your characters eat or drink anything in-world. Something to do with introducing glitches into the simulation and failing your quest. The exact details had been a bit vague. Worryingly vague.
Opening her eyes, Corinne moved forward again, reciting the riddle under her breath. “Only the pure can see the pure.” What on earth did that mean, anyway? Pure water? Pure like snow? But there was hardly likely to be snow here in the middle of summer, even if it was a magical land. Pondering this, she entered the cool shade of the forest.
Before she’d walked very far, a flash of light to the side of the path caught her attention. Something large and white was moving through the trees. Not snow. An animal. Could this be the answer to her quest?
Quietly, she stepped off the path and made her way through the undergrowth towards her target. Hopping over a small stream, she circled behind some large pine trees, trying to get a better look at the snowy creature. It was white, definitely white, with four legs and a shape quite like… a horse?
That thought must’ve provoked a tiny noise, because the animal threw its head up in alarm. Her eyes widened as she saw the long, twisted horn protruding from its elegant forehead. Not a horse. A unicorn!
Its nostrils flared as it turned its head, searching for the source of the noise that had startled it. She froze in place, not daring to move a muscle or even breathe.
Eventually, the unicorn seemed satisfied that it was safe, and dropped its head again. It was drinking, she saw now, from a small still pool formed where the stream crossed some rockier ground.
She wracked her brains, trying to remember what she knew—anything she knew—about unicorns. Since some of the legends had them similar to horses—obviously the game developers hadn’t read the myths about cloven-hoofed, goat-bearded unicorns—and since she liked books, they were a subject she’d read about a couple of times, but mostly in fiction, so she wasn’t sure how much of what she’d read was true.
And then she stopped herself, almost laughing. This was fiction, wasn’t it? It was a game, and the game developers wrote the ‘story’ of each quest. So what she remembered was probably fine; and what she remembered was that unicorns were tamed by unsullied maidens. Maybe that’s what my riddle means? She pressed her lips together, narrowing her eyes at the magical creature. Could taming him be my quest?
There was only one way to find out. And it was only a game, so what could go wrong? She could just try again tomorrow if she messed up.
Taking a deep, quiet breath, she crept silently around the pine trees until she was level with the unicorn’s shoulder. Holding a hand out in front of her, she stepped out from behind the tree. “Good boy,” she breathed, announcing her presence.
The unicorn’s head raised again, but this time he looked more curious than alarmed. Liquid brown eyes surveyed her, and then his head bobbed slightly.
She took another step towards him, and then another, and another until her hand could reach out and touch his muzzle.
A glow of satisfaction suffused her whole body as the animal snuffled her fingers, his whiskers tickling her palm. Another step closer and her other hand was able to reach up and stroke his cheek. His hair was silky-fine and so smooth it was like touching satin, and his muzzle in her other hand felt like expensive velvet. Then he dropped his head so that she cradled it in her arms, and she felt a catch in her chest.
That was what Midnight used to do. He’d stand quietly in his stable, face in her arms, letting her run her fingers through his mane and tickle his chin.
Just like this unicorn was letting her do now.
Could this game somehow tap into her subconscious? For a moment, she became aware of the headset pressing tight on her temples, of the sensors studding the gaming gloves she was wearing. But that couldn’t explain the dreams she’d had last night, could it?
She sig
hed, and, as if taking a cue from her, the unicorn rocked back on its haunches, folded his legs and sank to the ground with a grunt, eyelids drooping.
Sitting on the grass beside him, she cradled his head on her lap, stroking the half-moon of his huge cheekbone. Apart from his horn, he seemed to look and behave very much like a horse. And then a thought pulled her up short. Could he have been the white creature she was riding in her dream last night, the one that reminded her of Midnight?
Chapter Four
THE WILD HUNT
YOU’RE CONFUSING REALITY and virtuality again, Corinne. Get a grip. She shook her head. This game was confusing. And addictive. She was already wondering what her next quest would be.
But, talking of quests, if she’d completed this one by taming the unicorn, why hadn’t the goblin appeared to give her next mission?
Running the riddle over in her mind, she tried to work out what she hadn’t done, how she’d failed. Only the pure can see the pure, only the pure will find him. She’d found the unicorn now. Why hadn’t she moved on to the next level? Surely a first quest like this shouldn’t be so hard?
She was still pondering the rhyme when a chilling noise reached her ears, and the unicorn’s head jerked up.
Hounds. Hounds baying like they were on a hunt. Like in my dream last night. She jumped up at the same time as the unicorn scrambled to his feet, shimmying his whole body to shake off the dust and then standing to attention, ears pricked in the direction of the hunt.
They were getting closer. Worryingly closer. She looked around. Nowhere to hide here. Then she looked at the unicorn. Could they be hunting him? Her insides turned to ice. Or her? Maybe the Bright Court faeries from yesterday somehow knew she was here, and were continuing their chase.
A hoof stamped on the ground, attracting her attention. The unicorn was staring at her; looking her right in the eye. And then he turned his head, deliberately, and looked at his back, before staring meaningfully at her once more.
“You want me to ride?” she asked breathlessly.
He nodded his head and stamped a hoof again.
Ride a unicorn? She felt faint at the thought. Never in her wildest dreams… Well, actually, she had dreamed it, hadn’t she? Like a premonition. But how had the dream ended? Did we get away? She narrowed her eyes, wishing she could remember.
The noise of the hunt followers was obvious now, not just the baying of their hounds. Breaking branches and the thunder of running hooves on peaty ground signalled their approach and quickened her pulse.
Spotting a tall rock to use as a mounting block, she was about to slide onto the unicorn’s back when a large creature burst through the bushes, and the unicorn spun to face this new threat.
Swinging the bow from her shoulder, she had an arrow nocked before she recognised the intruder. It was Elphin, her rescuer from yesterday, his breeches snagged and tattered, twigs and leaves stuck in his unruly hair.
He glanced from the unicorn to her, and she was surprised to see fear in his eyes. “Help me,” he gasped, his lungs heaving.
“They’re after you?”
He nodded, hands on his knees as he regained his breath.
Corinne locked eyes with the unicorn, and he bobbed his head again, stepping back to the rock.
“Quickly, over here.” She motioned at the rock, and slid onto the unicorn’s back. “He’ll help us escape.”
* * *
The unicorn splashed down the stream, before hopping up the bank. Masking our scent. Clever. Behind her, Elphin’s breathing became less ragged and she wound her hands into the unicorn’s mane as he cantered off through the trees. “Hold on!” she cried, unnecessarily, as Elphin’s grip around her waist became vice-like.
Branches whipped around them as they careened through the forest, and more than once she had to duck down over the animal’s neck to avoid being swept off its back by a low branch. Behind her, Elphin mirrored her every move as she crouched forward to keep balanced while the unicorn ran, or leaned back when they travelled downhill.
But the hounds were relentless. No matter how fast the unicorn galloped, they couldn’t seem to lose the fearsome hunters. Eerie howling and baying echoed through the trees, punctuated at intervals by a creepily atonal hunting horn.
Got to do something about this. Swinging the bow off her shoulders, she twisted round, then recoiled in horror. It was like the hounds of hell were after them; the dark huntsman on his black stallion frenziedly driving the slavering dogs whose savage teeth and glowing red eyes were mere yards behind them.
“Who are they? What are they?”
“The Wild Hunt,” Elphin shouted, his voice higher-pitched than usual.
Nothing about this sounds good. What on earth was going on in this game? She clenched her jaw and aimed into the pack.
Her first arrows went wide of the mark, but after a couple of tries she got the knack of aiming, and managed to hit one of their pursuers. Wounded, it landed at the side of the track with a yelp of surprise. But the rest of the hounds just kept running, their pace not faltering. She ground her teeth. There aren’t enough arrows in my quiver to injure all of them.
“How can we escape them?”
“I do not know.”
Then inspiration struck. She turned towards him. “What about your magical cloak?”
He shook his head. “They hunt by smell, not sight. So it will be of no use.”
She put a hand on the unicorn’s shoulder, feeling its muscles ripple and bunch as it powered underneath them, making the double burden seem effortless. But he’d eventually tire, she knew that. She glanced behind them again.
The unicorn’s long, flowing tail streamed behind them like a lure, and the hounds who followed their every twist and turn were getting close—too close!
Corinne swung her bow off her shoulder again, just as a particularly large and vicious grey beast snapped his yellow fangs at the unicorn’s hocks, snagging a part of his tail and ripping some of the silvery hairs with a blood-curdling snarl.
The unicorn almost stumbled, and, acting on instinct, Corinne loosed an arrow at the savage hound. It arced through the air and felled the beast, a green-feathered arrow protruding from its chest.
“Well done!” said Elphin, and she gave a grim smile.
But the near-miss reminded Corinne of an old Burns poem they’d studied at school, where Tam O’Shanter’s mare had been chased by witches and lost her tail before they escaped. She leaned forward and whispered in the unicorn’s ear. “Is there a river somewhere? With a bridge? Maybe they can’t cross running water.”
An ear flicked to catch her words, and the unicorn changed direction. A minute later they turned onto a dirt road leading through the forest towards distant purple hills. His hooves hammering, the unicorn surged forward, straining to put some extra distance between them and the hunt.
* * *
Elphin exhaled sharply. “Look!”
The trees were thinning now, and in the distance great clouds of white spray plumed overhead, the air shimmering with hundreds of effervescent rainbows. The sound of thundering water drummed in Corinne’s ears but her heart quailed as they approached the powerful waterfall. “I—I can’t swim,” she gasped.
“Trust him,” Elphin said, pointing at the unicorn. “He’s taken us this far.”
Underfoot, the surface had changed and they were now riding along a cobbled road, which became slippery as they neared the water. The unicorn checked his pace, and dropped to a trot as they entered the mist and inclined upwards.
Glancing down, Corinne’s stomach leaped into her mouth when she saw the great drop below them to her left. But, somehow, they were arching over it, as if dancing on air.
“Rainbow Bridge,” Elphin whispered. “I had heard of it, but never…”
Reaching the other side, the unicorn stopped and spun round.
Across the fearsome chasm, dark shapes howled their frustration and the grim antlered huntsman gnashed his teeth in anger.
&nbs
p; It worked! Maybe that poem was based on truth, after all.
Leaning forward, she wrapped her arms around the unicorn’s neck, burying her face in his mane. “Good boy. Thank you.”
“Yes, you have my eternal gratitude, brave creature.” Elphin patted its flank. “You saved my life.”
“We should get off now. Give him a rest.”
But before they could move, the unicorn stamped a foot and spun round to face away from the river again. He raised his head and stared at a distant hill, before setting off at a brisk trot.
* * *
As they climbed the small hill, Corinne could see trees above them, and when they crested the rise, she realised that they were rowans. Rowans planted in a circle around the summit, like a silvery crown, the air at their centre shimmering slightly in the heat of the afternoon. A special place.
The unicorn stopped, and looked round at her.
Throwing her right leg up over its neck, she slid off, then stepped forward as Elphin dismounted behind her.
The unicorn dropped his muzzle into her palm, and she fondled his ears. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you so much for saving us, and for letting me ride you. It’s been—it’s been…”
A lump rose in her throat. It had reminded her of riding Midnight: of the special bond they had, of the way he could seem to read her mind. But she couldn’t put that into words. A tear trickled down her cheek, and the unicorn pushed his face into her arms. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for the memory.”
The unicorn snuffled her fingers one last time, then took a step backwards and looked each of them in the eye. With one final bob of his head, he turned, paced sedately into the circle of trees, and—disappeared.
Chapter Five
THE IMPOSSIBLE
CORINNE’S JAW DROPPED open, and she rushed forward. “Wait!” she cried, but Elphin grabbed her arm to still her headlong flight.
“You cannot follow,” he said, turning her towards him. “His task here is complete.”
That Moment When: An Anthology of Young Adult Fiction Page 39