The Changeling of Fenlen Forest

by Katherine Magyarody

  “You have faith in your daughter’s gift,” Mrs. Helder said, giving me an affectionate pat on the cheek.

  “Perhaps.”

  All through the day, I waited for my unicorn to come. But the unicorns were not our first visitors.

  They arrived a few weeks later—though by then, I felt as though we had lived by the forest’s edge for all eternity. Ma was cooking up porridge—again—and I was picking firewood. I had just stood up with my arms full of dry branches, when I thought I saw my unicorn watching me from between two aspen trees. I blinked, and when I opened my eyes again, there was no unicorn at all, just another tree, a bit in the distance. I had been hoping just a little too hard.

  “Elizabeth! Come quickly!”

  The fire must be dying down. I raced out of the forest and around the pony cart to where my mother held a wooden spoon suspended in the cooking pot. Under the pot, the coals were still glowing hot, and behind Ma, there was a good stack of firewood.

  “Ma?”

  Ma did not say anything to me. She was turned away from the forest. Through a veil of smoke, she watched the slope that lead to the village. I followed her gaze.

  Two strangers were riding down the hill.

  A man and boy sat astride matching, broad-necked palominos with coats of wheat gold and glossy white manes. In contrast to his horse’s colour, the man wore a coat of fine black wool. His coat was buttoned tight to the waist with many small braid buttons, then flowed loose to the tops of his riding boots. Around his waist, he wore a scarlet silk sash that matched his broad-cuffed gloves. He wore a sword and dagger, both simply wrought but elegant. He must have been sweating in the hot early-autumn afternoon, but a broad-brimmed hat cast shade over his face. The other, a boy of about thirteen, wore a similar coat of sky blue and his boots were buttery suede. A bow was slung over the horn of his saddle. A quiver of arrows slapped between his shoulder blades in time with his horse’s gait.

  “Are those hunters?” I asked Ma. “Are they here for the unicorns?”

  My questions seemed to snap Ma out of her reverie. She rounded on me.

  “Oh, Elizabeth! What are you wearing?”

  I looked down at myself. As usual, I was in a knee-length shift, same as any grubby child. Ma took three steps over, spat on the edge of her apron and tried to rub some dirt from my face. “And your hair!” She had braided it this morning, but much of it had escaped and corkscrewed around my face like the rays of a small, dark sun. She ran her fingers over my head and then held my hand tight. “It can’t be helped now,” she said.

  “Gods strike me blind! Is that you, Sylvia?” The man’s voice was deep and sonorous, like he was used to talking in big rooms, in front of crowds. The horses halted ten paces away from us.

  “And is that you, Victor?” Ma answered in a fair imitation of the man. She stepped forward, dragging me alongside her. “You should have sent word that you were coming. I have not had time to prepare for your arrival.” We were now quite close to the horses, whom I liked, but not as much as my unicorn.

  “Well, I wanted to see—in full honesty—what would drive my dear sister to ask for my help.”

  Sister? I peered up at the man, Victor. He had a close-clipped, black beard and his face was the waxy yellow of a candle, like he was unused to being outside. The boy beside him, on the other hand, was a healthy brown. They both shared my mother’s straight nose and firm jaw. Like her, they had a natural, hawk-like haughtiness. I had never thought of my mother as belonging to anyone but me and Pa.

  Ma tightened her grip on my hand and raised her chin. “Well, how do you find me?”

  “Hmmm.” Victor dismounted, dropped his reins and stepped towards her. Ma put out her other hand. He took it, stepped close and kissed her cheek. “Better than expected.”

  The boy piped up. “Grandmother said we mustn’t hope. That we must expect you’d have lost all your teeth and your looks, and we’d find you soused in a jug of sour ale.” He launched himself from the saddle and, taking both sets of reins, tied the horses to one of the pony cart’s harness poles.

  They were staying, then? I looked up at Ma, but she was smiling thinly at the boy.

  “How kind. And you must be…?”

  “Julian.”

  “Marina’s boy,” Victor supplied. “Your nephew.”

  “Ah, the little heir of the estate? You’ve grown since I saw you last.”

  The boy shrugged and sauntered around our campsite as if he owned it. “I’m hungry. Can we eat?” Julian peered over the edge of the pot and wrinkled his nose. “Never mind.” He went over to his horse and pulled off his gloves. I saw the glitter of gold rings as he scrounged some dried apricots from his saddlebag. They looked like old-person’s ears, but I wanted one very much. I wriggled my hand out of my mother’s grip and trotted over.

  Taking in my eager face, Julian extended his hand and dangled a dried apricot above me. I reached for it, and he lifted his arm higher. I jumped, and he threw the apricot away from us. He laughed as I raced to catch the orange-pink treat, but it fell into the grass. As I groused for it, I listened to Ma and her brother.

  “I am surprised to see you looking so well,” Victor said, though he sounded almost bored. “Here’s the short of it. You look well enough. You’re still of breeding age…”

  “Breeding age?” Ma hissed, yet Victor went on.

  “So, we decided we could take you back, thought you could help take care of Mother with me.” He hesitated. “And the estate, too, should you prove yourself worthy.”

  “If I helped manage the estate, would I get my alchemy room back?”

  “Ah, the famous alchemy room that Father so objected to. I don’t particularly care. Yes. The point is, we might still make a fine match for you. We could pretend the last eight years never happened. You’ve been at a convent or something.”

  “And how does Elizabeth fit into this story about the convent?”

  “Who?” But I had looked up at my name and he caught my eye. He smiled uneasily and turned away.

  “Well, she doesn’t. Between Marina and me, we have enough heirs, so there’s no need to acknowledge her.”

  “Acknowledge…How dare you?”

  “Well, look at her.” Victor looked unruffled. “She doesn’t look like she belongs to us at all. She could muck along with the peasants her entire life and be satisfied.”

  They considered me, gnawing on a dried apricot with my dirty hands. It was like eating sunshine and leather at the same time.

  “The mark of a good parent,” Victor said, “is the character of the child.”

  Julian was walking towards me, tossing another dried apricot up and down in his hand. “Want another?” he said with a grin.

  “Yes, please,” I said, eager to show that Ma was a good parent. He held it out, and as I approached, he drew his arm back swiftly. This time, I was ready for the trick. But now he threw fast and hard, and the apricot whipped past the leaves of the first row of trees, into the forest.

  “Manners, Julian!” I heard Victor chide, but I was running after the treat. After endless oatmeal, I would do anything for something so long-lasting and tasty as a dried apricot. I might even save part of it for later.

  As I ran, I could hear my mother shouting. Not at me, but at Victor, or Julian, or perhaps both of them. But once I passed through the trees, the sound of her voice disappeared. Instead, I heard the purr of the breeze through the leaves and the whirr of insects rubbing their wings together. As I crouched down in the bushes, I decided that I liked the forest sounds better than people sounds. I wasn’t sure I liked Julian, but I was glad he’d given me a way to escape.

  But where was the apricot? It must be near here. I crawled forward on my hands and knees, running my hands over the dried leaves and grass. I must have gone too far. I stood up and turned, but instead of seeing the edge of the forest wi
th the blue sky above and our pony cart in the meadow, all I saw was more trees.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Strange Folk

  If I had been older, I would have been scared. Instead, I was strangely impressed with myself, that I had crawled so far and so fast without noticing. I would have started looking for the clearing, but just then, there was a rush of silver and a unicorn galloped past me at full speed.

  A moment later, a slender tree trunk a bit ahead of me shattered. The tree crashed over, and the fallen canopy of leaves shivered into stillness.

  How could a tree shatter? I walked forward quickly. Splinters of fresh, white wood surrounded the base of the trunk like a sunburst. Near the core of the tree, where its strength had lain, lodged a metal ball, the size of a goat’s eye. I reached out and felt faint heat radiating from it. Before I could touch the ball, I heard the scuffle of leaves and a full-throated, masculine yell.

  Victor or Julian?

  I crouched down behind the stump. A young man, a hunter, ran up to where I had been standing moments before. The shredded tree behind which I cowered wasn’t wide enough to shield me entirely, but even so, I was safe for a short time. He gazed around wildly for the unicorn, his eyes well above where I hid. In his hands was a long metal pipe that ended in a wooden handle. He pointed it around like I had seen men aiming crossbows. “How did I miss?” he muttered to himself. “I had her right in my sights. I never miss.”

  With a curse, he set the pipe-thing against the tree and took out a great hunting knife, with which he prised the metal ball from the tree. I watched the strange man, too frightened to move. His jacket and pantaloons were made of ragged, wine-dark velvet, worn patchy and streaked with mud. The fine linen shirt at the gaping throat of his jacket was yellowed with sweat, yet had an edging of fine lace. The thick rings on his grimy fingers were gold. His dark hair and beard had once been carefully tended, but now were growing overlong. As he took some grey-black powder from a horn case and rammed it and the metal ball down the pipe, the expression on the young hunter’s burnished, straight-nosed face was proud and angry.

  Though I was scared for the unicorn, I was more frightened for myself. I prayed he would jog off without ever seeing me, but I had no luck. A bit of the powder drifted down, and the strange, acrid smell made me sneeze.

  He looked down. “Elizabeth?”

  I gave a gasp and crouched lower to the ground. I had never seen this man before, yet he seemed familiar, somehow. Worse, the sneer curling his lips looked anything but friendly. The hunter contemplated his weapons, the killing-tube in his hands and the knife at his waist. He settled for leaning over me, fists on his hips.

  “You nasty little cat. Do you know how long I’ve been in here, because of you?”

  I shook my head. He was mad, I was frightened, and so this was a time to get away. I shifted the weight on my hands and knees so I could shuffle a little backwards.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” One hand shot out and grabbed me by the hair. I whimpered and brought my hands up, hoping to sink my nails into his wrist.

  “You’re the one who finds unicorns, and now you’re going to find one for me.”

  “I’m not! I won’t!” What was he talking about? Had the Helders gossiped? It had only been that one time! “Let me go!” My scratching didn’t seem to bother him. I needed to find another way to free myself.

  “Don’t lie.” He gave me a little shake. “Well, now you’re going to help me make my fortune and get me out of this damned forest.”

  Instead I kicked him, hard, on the inside of his knee. In his surprise, his grip loosened and I scrambled away. A few seconds and he would be coming after me, and he was so much bigger than I was.

  “Elizabeth! Get back here!”

  There was a giant boulder ahead, fringed by massive cedar trees. I dodged behind it.

  My scar-shouldered unicorn stood there, patiently breathing in the fresh, spicy smell of the cedars. Was she the unicorn I had seen bolt past me? She gave a jerk of her chin at a pile of smaller boulders, as if inviting me to come climb onto her. As I slung my leg over her back, I ran my hand up from her scarred shoulder to her withers. My racing heart slowed a little. Cautiously, the doe-unicorn stepped out from the screen of the trees.

  “Look out!”

  The young hunter was waiting, but even so, my unicorn was faster than he. She struck out with her forelegs, and he dropped his weapon before he could fire.

  I dug my hands into the unicorn’s mane as she galloped off. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the young hunter running after us, calling my name. I closed my eyes and pressed into the unicorn’s down. His calling cut off abruptly, and the air grew cool, then chilly.

  When I opened my eyes, I thought for a heart-stopping instant that I had fallen into a dream. Somehow, all around us, the branches on the trees were bare and skeletal. Like we had raced from the heat of harvest time into the bitterness of early winter.

  The unicorn stopped, and at the unexpected change of pace, I slid sideways off her back, pulling out a handful of white-silver hair from her mane as I tumbled into a carpet of leaves that crackled with frost.

  I landed hard on my seat. Tears started from my eyes at the sudden, hard end to our flight. The doe-unicorn snuffled at my hair in apology.

  As I tried to stop my tears by rubbing the heel of my hands into my eyes, I heard shrill, panicked bleating and a girl’s murmured, lilting singing in a language I had never heard.

  I looked up and scrambled to my feet. Working in our garden had calloused my soles and toes, but I still felt the sting of ice.

  “Hello?” I said, uncertainly.

  The singing stopped, and a young woman emerged from between two bushes, carrying a wounded, half-grown lamb in her arms. As she stepped closer, I saw that though she looked older than Julian, she was not as old as the hunter. Not quite a woman, then, but a girl.

  “Good…evening…” she said a little formally, taking in the sight of me and the doe-unicorn. I saw that she had thick, dark, curling hair like me, but braided into a sort of crown on top of her head. She was wearing a shirt and trousers of greyish white and a shearling coat. She had a satchel slung over one shoulder and she wore sheepskin boots to protect her feet from the cold.

  I burst into tears. “There’s a hunter. He tried to get us. We had to run away.” As if in sympathy, the lamb gave out a shrill, shivering bleat. It was damp, with a bright red stain spreading over one haunch.

  “Chuu,” the girl crooned. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. There’s no one in this part of the forest.” Though she had a strong, sing-song accent, she chose her words with confidence.

  “Please!”

  The girl’s eyes flicked from the unicorn to me. “I did not see anyone. You are safe here. But my lamb is not.” She knelt and laid the lamb down on the forest floor.

  “What happened to you?” I asked, joining the girl beside the lamb. It was a little, pathetic thing, and obviously did not belong in the forest.

  “My…sheeps…were attacked by a zhar-turgul.”

  “What’s a zhar-turgul?”

  “A…hunting bird. A bird that hunts.”

  “A hawk?”

  She nodded. “Like a hawk, but bigger. Its name, in your tongue, means firebird.” She continued. “The zhar-turgul picked up this little sheep, but I threw a rock and hit him. The zhar-turgul dropped the lamb on the other side of the river. I followed her.”

  River? There was a little creek by our campsite, but nothing with a strong current. Yet now, if I strained my ears, I heard something deep and rushing.

  “Where’s your flock now? Did the hawk get them?”

  “They are safe. My friend is with them,” she said simply. “I shouldn’t have come after her.” She patted the lamb’s head. “But I did.”

  I peered at the lamb. Its breathing was fast and ragged. It looked
as cold as I felt.

  “She must be hurting from the fall,” the girl said. “Not just outside, but inside, too.”

  I looked behind me, at the unicorn. I remembered what Mrs. Helder had said about the healing power of unicorn horns. What was it called? Alicorn?

  “I think you should help her,” I said to the unicorn. “The lamb is very little, so I don’t think it would be hard.”

  My unicorn stepped forward and bent her horn to the lamb’s small, shuddering chest. The little animal’s breathing grew steadier and its bleating quieted. The stain seemed to dry and turn brown, as if a wound had closed. After a moment, the lamb lifted its head from the ground, stood up and shook itself. It looked at the girl expectantly, as if to say, “Now what?”

  The girl gave a small, wary smile. “Thank you…I should go home now.” She made to pick up her satchel, but I grabbed her wrist in panic.

  “No! Don’t! What about the hunter?”

  Very gently, she stroked my hand to ease my grip. She ran a finger over the unicorn hair entwined between my fingers. “What’s this you have here?”

  “Unicorn hairs. I probably hurt her when I fell off.” And, remembering the hunter gripping my hair, I began to sniffle again. The girl stroked my back.

  “Don’t be scared,” she said with a smile. “Here, let me make you a good-luck charm.” Gently unfolding my closed hand, she took three strands of unicorn mane-hairs that had tangled around my fingers and braided them together. She wrapped the cord around my wrist three times and knotted the ends. “Hold them close for a bit,” she said and opened her satchel. Inside, I saw a hairy waterskin, bundles of different sorts of hardy-looking plants, something savoury-smelling in a handkerchief, and a packet of thread and needles. She bit off a length of thread with her teeth, then sewed the knot shut. “There, what do you think?” she said, with a grin.

  I gave her a watery smile. “It’s very pretty.” I handed her the rest of the hairs wadded in my hands. “You should have these. You deserve good luck, too.”

  “Thank you,” she said, her hand closing over them. “If you’ll let me take them home, I’ll do something better. I’ll weave them into a magic belt and it will protect the person who wears it. A good plan, yes?”