The Unicorn Quest

by Kamilla Benko

  Sena froze. “I thought this was where the saddles were kept. Who’s living here?”

  “No one that I know of,” Nett whispered back.

  “State yourselves!”

  Claire jumped at the new voice. Heart beating rapidly, she turned to see a tall boy emerge from behind a wall of hay. In his hand was a pitchfork, and it was pointed directly at them.

  “Thorn! It’s just us!” Nett whispered. “See?” He held up the ball of moss and its circle of light spread. The boy squinted in the brightness, then his eyes widened.

  “Nett? Sena!?” The pitchfork dipped in surprise. Then, if possible, his eyes grew even wider as they landed on Claire. “And you—Sophie’s sister! How did you get out of the cage?”

  Claire hesitated—the pitchfork was uncomfortably close.

  Sena crossed her arms. “Put the pitchfork down, and we’ll think about telling you.”

  The pitchfork lowered a little, but not completely. “What are you doing here?”

  “We could ask you the same thing,” Nett retorted.

  The boy shifted. “With a thief on the loose, Grandmaster Iris said she’d pay a few extra coins if I guarded the village horses tonight.”

  As though he had just remembered his purpose, the pitchfork lifted again. “And it looks like she was right to worry,” he added grimly.

  “Thorn, we need your help,” Nett said—rather bravely, Claire thought. “You can’t give us away. We’re going to find Sophie!”

  The pitchfork stayed level at their chests.

  “Why would I care about Sophie? I’ve never even seen her,” Thorn replied. “And I’m pretty sure I can’t let you go.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” Sena spoke up. “There’s a difference, you know.”

  Thorn’s eyes flicked to Claire. “If anyone finds out I’ve seen you—any of you … It’s nothing personal—”

  “Nothing personal!” Sena whisper-shrieked. “Who made sure you could stay in Greenwood after your grandmother died? Who vouched for you at the council?”

  Thorn flushed. “Technically, Francis did, but I—”

  “Technically? Why you—!”

  “Wait,” Nett interrupted. He tilted his head at Thorn. “How did you know Claire was Sophie’s sister?”

  “What? I mean”—Thorn looked confused—“I just assumed!”

  “You weren’t at the Hearing Hall,” Nett accused.

  “I was!” Thorn protested. “You just didn’t see me.”

  “I did see you,” Nett said grimly. “I saw you outside Baker Seedling’s house after the start of the meeting—not in the hall. If you’ve never seen Sophie, then how did you know that this girl was her sister?”

  Claire looked again at Thorn. This time, she recognized him as the hunched blond boy she’d seen weeding a garden as they ran toward the Hearing Hall. What was Nett getting at?

  “Come on, Nett. Everyone knows that she and Sena were locked up together,” Thorn said defensively. “If Sena’s free, it only makes sense that she’s Clairina Martinson.”

  Nett’s face fell. “Oh. I guess that explains—”

  “Wait,” Claire said, mouth suddenly dry. “Clairina isn’t my full name. It’s a nickname that only Sophie calls me.”

  Nett shot her a triumphant grin, while Sena gave a small yelp.

  “Do you know my sister?” Claire pushed on. “Do you know where she went?”

  For a second, she thought Thorn was going to do something drastic—like pierce them with the pitchfork and run—but instead, he folded up like an umbrella, his shoulders almost touching his ears.

  “I know her,” he said miserably.

  “You liar!” Sena shouted. “What do you know? Tell us the truth!”

  If possible, Thorn seemed to shrink even more. “I was trying to protect Sophie,” he mumbled.

  “Protect her from what?” Sena asked.

  Thorn leaned the pitchfork against the wall and plopped onto a hay bale near them. This close to him, Claire could see that he was very handsome—or that he would have been, if his ears weren’t so big.

  “For the last few weeks, I’ve seen a Forger at Greenwood’s boundaries,” Thorn said. “He was asking questions about Sophie.”

  “But Forgers—” Nett blurted.

  “Aren’t allowed in Greenwood,” Thorn finished. “I know.”

  Nett and Sena stared at Thorn in shock.

  “What kind of questions was he asking?” Sena demanded.

  “Nothing too specific. Just which guild did she belong to, where was she from, when would she visit again. Things like that.”

  The light wavered as Nett squeezed the glowing moss ball. His knuckles were white. “Why didn’t you report him?” he asked tightly.

  “I didn’t want Sophie to get in trouble,” Thorn said. “If the council knew there was a Forger asking about Sophie, they’d start asking questions about her, too. I didn’t want her to be banned from Greenwood, seeing as she’s not actually a Tiller and all.” He coughed and a blush crept up his neck.

  An incredible idea came to Claire.

  Thorn liked her sister.

  As in, like-liked her.

  Claire studied him, and wondered if Sophie like-liked him, too. And if she did … why hadn’t Sophie told her about him? She used to always tell Claire about her crushes. As Claire looked at Thorn, she realized that his eyes were actually too small for his face and his chin was a little too square for him to be considered handsome at all.

  Sena leaned forward. “Do you know who the Forger was?”

  Thorn shook his head. “I know he’s a master Forger since he had three red rings, one on his right sleeve, two on his left. He’s taller than any of the Tillers here, and his hair is shaved close to his head.”

  “That could be any master Forger,” Sena said. “Anything else?”

  Thorn nodded. “Yes. He wore a double-headed ax slung across his back. The blades were made to look like the wings of a bat.”

  Sena blanched. “Anvil Malchain,” she whispered. “Anvil Malchain is looking for Sophie?”

  The name meant nothing to Claire, of course, and Thorn looked as confused as she felt, but Nett recoiled, as though the name had fangs.

  “Who?” Claire asked.

  “He’s the best treasure hunter in all of Arden,” Sena said grimly. “Anything he sets out to find, he finds. And he’s known for doing whatever it takes to get the job done.”

  Whatever it takes.

  For the millionth time that day, Claire asked the same question: “Why? Why is someone hunting Sophie?”

  Thorn opened his mouth, then closed it, his face twisting before he finally replied. “I don’t know. But yesterday, I saw Malchain’s horse again in the woods. When Sophie arrived last night, I told her about him and asked if she knew him. She said she didn’t, but it kind of seemed like she was lying.”

  “What do you mean?” Claire asked.

  Thorn bit his lip, thinking. “She seemed upset—you know how she can get kind of distant when she’s mad? Well, when I asked her what was wrong, she said everything was fine, but I could tell it wasn’t. And I’ve been thinking,” Thorn paused, seeming to need a moment to sort through his words. “I’ve been thinking that Sophie wouldn’t steal—but that Malchain seems suspicious. Maybe he’s the thief. And if Malchain stole the harp, then the only reason I can imagine he’d want Sophie is because Sophie knows something about the crime. Maybe she saw him do it.”

  Thorn looked up, and his blue eyes met Claire’s. “I thought Sophie returned home. I only realized that she hadn’t when I heard Sophie’s sister had been on trial and was in the cage with Sena. And now I’m afraid …” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “I’m afraid that maybe Malchain kidnapped Sophie. To keep her quiet about the harp.”

  They were silent as the words sank in. Only the soft snuffling of the horses filled the stable, but Claire could barely hear them with her pulse beating loudly in her ears. Her sister … kidnapped?

/>   Sena shifted her weight uncomfortably. “Or,” she offered, “maybe whatever Sophie saw, or knew, made her run. Maybe she’s safe, at least for now, but felt she couldn’t stay here because Malchain would come back for her.”

  Claire nodded. What Sena said made sense. Sophie had always been good at escaping trouble. If she thought this man, this Malchain, was looking for her, she wouldn’t have just let herself get captured. Sophie was smart. Sophie was brave. But that word—“brave”—gave Claire a new reason to worry.

  “What if Sophie isn’t running from Malchain …,” she said to the others, an idea slowly forming. “What if … what if she went after him to try to get the harp back? To be a hero?”

  To have, Claire thought, an Experience.

  “Whether Malchain’s after Sophie or Sophie’s after Malchain,” Nett said in a hushed tone, “we need to get to her first. She may not realize how dangerous he really is, or that war between guilds is at stake.” He looked at Thorn. “Can we count on you to stay quiet?”

  Thorn grimaced. “If you steal a village horse they’ll know I let you get away. And the Greenwood Council barely tolerates me as it is. I heard Ragweed call me ‘lackie’ under his breath just the other day, when he thought I couldn’t hear.”

  “ ‘Lackie’?” Claire asked.

  “As in, ‘lacking in magic,’ ” Nett clarified in a murmur.

  Claire saw Thorn’s flinch, but then he shrugged. “I’ve never been good at Tilling, but that doesn’t mean I—”

  “Just stop! You’re a coward is what you are, Thorn Barley!” Sena cut in. “You’ve got to let us have a horse, or else I’ll—”

  “What, Sena? You’re an escaped prisoner!”

  “I’ll make you sorry!”

  As Sena and Thorn argued, Claire felt something ugly rising in her chest, trying to claw its way out of her.

  “Please,” she said, in what was nearly a shout. “Sophie doesn’t have time for this!”

  Sena sputtered, but Thorn immediately fell silent. He studied Claire, his eyes the same blue as her favorite colored pencil. He puffed his cheeks and slowly let out his breath. “Where are you trying to go?”

  “Fyrton,” Nett said. “We need to make a Looking Glass.”

  Thorn laughed, but when no one else smiled, he quickly fell silent.

  “I could get in so much trouble,” he finally said, running his fingers through his hair. “And so could you.”

  He picked up the pitchfork. “But I have an idea.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  The wind-tossed clouds drowned the nearly full moon as Thorn led the other three to the river. Claire hurried to keep up. She wished she’d brought a flashlight with her, but immediately realized how silly that was. If wishes could be granted, she would have wished that Sophie were found. That they’d never climbed the ladder. That they’d never moved into Windemere Manor for the summer.

  As they neared the riverbanks, the moon broke through the ocean of clouds, and a ghostly light illuminated a train of houseboats. They were long and narrow, with windows like flute holes. The boats, about twenty of them, were all linked together, each connected to the next by two or three rafts that floated low in the water under the weight of the large crates of vegetables set on top. A thin moonbeam fell on the name of one of the boats: Thread Cutter.

  “Slug soot,” Sena hissed as they paused in a thicket. “Thorn, you didn’t tell me these were Spinner boats!”

  “I thought you knew,” Thorn protested. “The Water Bobbin Fleet always comes the week of the full moon to replenish their food supplies. But the last narrowboat will be empty. It belongs to a storyteller who’s spending her summer in the capital.”

  “But we’re not allowed on Spinner boats,” Nett whispered.

  Claire peeked out from behind the grove to take in the boats again. “Why not? Aren’t they the ones in Tiller territory?”

  “You’ve been listening, haven’t you,” Sena said, and for a second, Claire thought she saw a flicker of something like approval cross the girl’s face. Sena was impressed, but Claire couldn’t help but feel annoyed.

  She might not have been the tallest or the bravest, but she was a good listener—she had to be, if she wanted to learn important things. From experience, Claire knew that the biggest bits of news were often told in the quietest of voices.

  “Merchants are the only ones who really travel between guilds,” Nett explained, keeping his voice low. “That’s how the Forger cities, Spinner communities, and Gemmer settlements get food, and in exchange, the Tillers receive non-magical tools and clothes.”

  He sidled up to join Claire behind the tree. “Tiller merchants are only supposed to travel with other Tiller merchants,” he went on, “and Spinner merchants with Spinner merchants.”

  Claire pushed aside a branch and began to walk forward. “Well, if this is the fastest way to Fyrton, then I’m getting on a boat.”

  “Claire—” Sena said.

  “No!” she said, almost forgetting to whisper. “Haven’t you been listening? I need to find Sophie. She doesn’t belong here. We don’t belong here. If you want to leave, just leave!”

  Instead of responding, Sena tackled Claire to the ground.

  A second later, sparks shot into the night above them.

  Squinting, Claire could just make out the figure of a man standing on the riverbank. In the light of the last spark, she saw he had a white stripe of hair. It was the skunk-haired man, Councillor Ragweed.

  “Wraith Watch,” Thorn said, his voice barely louder than the crickets.

  Claire’s mouth suddenly felt dry. “Are the wraiths here?”

  Nett shook his head. “Probably not—they tend to gather around places where something terrible has happened, like an old battlefield. But Greenwood always has a watch at the village’s outer boundaries, just in case.”

  For a second, it looked like Ragweed was juggling stars. Fragments of light arced into the air and then went out as quickly as a camera’s flash. It reminded Claire of the sparkling light that had scared away the Shadow Thing who attacked her and Sophie, the light that had fallen into her mouth and tasted of dirt …

  “I think I’ve seen those sparks before,” Claire said, squinting.

  “Of course you have,” Nett said. “I distracted the wraith that night before you disappeared into the well.”

  Claire and Thorn looked at him, astonished.

  “Sophie was chased by a wraith?” Thorn asked. “She jumped into a well?”

  “You’re the one who made the dirt glow!” Claire said. “You scared away the wraiths!”

  Nett grinned at her. “Neat trick, right? It actually wasn’t dirt—it was leaf mulch. Plants drink the sun’s rays in order to grow, but even when the leaves die, they still hold some sunlight in them. All I had to do was release the spark of sun trapped in them. It’s not very bright, but it was enough sunlight to scare the wraith away. Understand?”

  Claire thought she did—kind of.

  “Because the wraiths are allergic to the sun, right?” she ventured.

  “Right!” Sounding pleased, Nett nodded. He held out his glowing moss ball. “That’s how the marimo works, too. It’s a plant found in the lakes of the Sunrise Isles and is an excellent source of sunlight.”

  “Lecture later,” Sena whispered. “Ragweed is going to reach the end of the bank and turn soon. When he does, we’ll run to the narrowboat. Me and Nett first, then Thorn and Claire.”

  Claire tried to ignore the sticky idea that clung to her once she thought it: What if Sena was trying to lose her? She gripped her pencil. She had to trust Sena; there was no other choice.

  When Ragweed finally turned, Sena and Nett took off at a sprint, following the river to the last narrowboat at the end of the line. For a second Claire thought the man would see them scrambling, but he seemed too bored—or sleepy—to pay much attention to the rustle, other than to lob a spark lazily toward the water. The tiny firework kissed the surface, then went
out.

  Claire and Sophie had always watched the Fourth of July fireworks together. They’d lay out a blanket in the park, separate from their parents, and split an ice cream bar. Sophie would nibble the hard shell of chocolate until only ice cream remained. Sophie didn’t really like ice cream, but she loved cold chocolate, and Claire was more than happy to take the half-eaten dessert off her hands.

  But two summers ago—the summer before her illness— Sophie had gone to a late-night showing of a new movie instead of the fireworks. That year, Claire had sat on the same picnic blanket as her parents and ate the full Dove bar by herself. When she went to sleep that night, she had a stomachache.

  “Ready?” Thorn whispered, jolting her from the memory. “Go!”

  Before she could even blink, Thorn took off, leaving her behind. Panicked, Claire burst out of the thicket after him. She ran without thought, trying to keep Thorn in her vision.

  A dark shadow loomed suddenly out of nowhere.

  Claire’s breath scraped across her throat. There by the river’s edge, was a wraith … and Thorn was running straight toward it.

  “Thorn! Wraith!” she whisper-yelled, as her vision zeroed in on that pinpoint of darkness. “Wraith!”

  Thorn pivoted and ran straight back toward her. Should she turn and run in the opposite direction, too? She couldn’t think; she didn’t know what to do. And then Thorn slammed her to the ground—the second time Claire had been thrown to the ground in less than ten minutes.

  “Shh,” he urged.

  “Somebody there?” Ragweed called out.

  Thorn held his finger to his lips in silent warning. Claire could feel her heart thumping against the ground. There was another sprinkle of light, but its glow only reached the water’s edge, missing Thorn and Claire on the ground.

  “Trouble, Tiller?” A second voice joined the night, this one coming from one of the boats.

  “None,” Ragweed responded stiffly. “Just a field mouse. You can go back to sleep.”