The Unicorn Quest

by Kamilla Benko

  “Chimera Fields,” Sena said, a little breathlessly. “We can hide here while we warm up.”

  The sun was high, and Claire had to put a hand on her forehead to shield her eyes from the glare, for the field between the river and the Forger town was littered with metal bodies. The sight was almost enough to make her forget how close they’d come to getting caught. Almost enough to make her forget she was drenched and freezing.

  Sena waved Claire and Nett over to a large copper bear, whose bulk was enough to hide them from the view of the river.

  Nett flopped onto the ground, Claire not too far behind. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering in her soaked clothes.

  “I n-never thought I’d see this,” Nett said, his awe clear even though his teeth chattered. “After the G-Guild War, the knowledge of how to care for and maintain chimera was forgotten. These stopped moving more than two hundred years ago.”

  “Hold out your hands,” Sena instructed, ignoring Nett’s reverie. She pressed a coin into each of Claire’s palms and did the same for Nett.

  As her fingers curled around the coins, Claire felt a delicious warmth seep into her bones. Looking over, she saw Sena rubbing her hands together quickly. Every so often, she’d stop and blow gently before rubbing again. Finally, she placed a new coin on Claire’s feet. The warmth spread there, too.

  “What?” Sena said as she took in the surprise on Claire’s face. “Just because I was exiled doesn’t mean I didn’t pick up anything. Even toddlers can heat metal.”

  Claire opened her mouth to say it wasn’t that she was surprised Sena knew how, only that it was possible at all. But Sena was already working her magic on the next batch.

  “Thanks,” Nett said, holding some coins to his cheeks.

  Sena nodded. Her eyes were bloodshot, though whether that was from the use of magic or their near escape, it was impossible to tell.

  Sena’s braid had come loose, and Claire watched as she deftly divided her dripping hair into sections to redo it. “You’re next,” she said, catching Claire’s eye. “Everyone in Fyrton wears their hair up so it doesn’t accidentally catch on fire.”

  When Sena had secured her braid around her head with iron pins, she motioned to Claire to sit in front of her. The Forger’s fingers worked through Claire’s tangles. She was surprisingly gentle, and a long-ago memory came rushing back to Claire.

  A ten-year-old Sophie had declared they needed the Experience of going to a ball. Sophie had pretended to curl her own wavy hair with the round brush. Claire’s hair naturally curled, but she wanted the big, smooth curls of magazines. Sophie had been happy to oblige, wrapping a section of Claire’s hair around the round brush. Then she’d pulled.

  But as hard as Sophie tried, the brush did not budge. It was thoroughly snarled and completely stuck to Claire’s head. Afraid of getting in trouble, Sophie had made Claire wait two hours before telling Mom.

  Claire smiled at the memory. Sophie had felt so bad about Claire’s ragged haircut that she’d let her use her favorite nail polish afterward.

  Sena’s fingers rhythmically separated snarls, while Nett hung the Forger clothes on the bear chimera to dry. Claire realized she’d stopped shivering.

  “All done,” Sena finally said. She eyed Claire critically. “With the right clothes, it shouldn’t be too hard to pass as a Forger. We can maybe pick up a hammer on the way, just in case.”

  Claire reached back and felt the even bumps of a short braid. She had the sudden image of a younger Sena surrounded by other quick-tempered girls braiding their hair at recess. That is, if they had recess in Arden. Either way, Sena was definitely an experienced hair braider.

  “Why are you the only Forger in Greenwood?” Claire blurted out. “Why were you exiled?”

  Nett froze, a Forger’s black tunic dripping over his arm. “Claire,” he whispered, widening his eyes at her.

  An array of emotions washed across Sena’s face, though Claire didn’t know how to name them. If she were using Kleo’s color alphabet, though, Sena would have been a swath of twilight shades, shifting, caught in transition.

  Sena sighed and lay back in the grass, snow-angel style, as though Claire’s question—and her un-nameable reaction to it—had made her exhausted. But then, staring at the sky, she began to speak, voice flat.

  “I was born in Fyrton, under the shadow of Arden’s tallest bell tower. My parents, Sylvia and Mathieu Steele, were two of the most respected alchemists in Fyrton.”

  “Alky-what?” Claire asked, pulling her knees in to her chest.

  “Alchemists,” Sena corrected. “They are the craftsmen who take all the best parts of metals, like silver’s willingness to reflect, gold’s flexibility, and iron’s strength, to try to create new metals—at least, that’s what it is now.”

  Sena turned her head, her cheek resting in the grass as she looked at Claire. “But before—like before-before—alchemy wasn’t just the merging of metals; it was the merging of guild magics. The metal plant cage in Greenwood? That was the work of ancient alchemists. So are the chimera. Both the cage and the chimera represent different combinations of Tiller and Forger abilities.”

  To Claire’s astonishment, she saw a single tear roll down Sena’s cheek.

  “You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” Nett broke in.

  “I’m fine,” Sena said. Taking a deep breath, she began again. “My parents experimented with ancient alchemy, researching the knowledge that was lost when the guilds separated from each other. They were good at what they did. Too good. When I was eight years old, they crafted the first walking chimera in three hundred years. A little copper kitten with mouse ears.”

  “But …,” Claire said slowly, a question forming at the tip of her tongue, “didn’t you say chimera are made by a combination of Forger and Tiller magic? How did your parents craft a chimera without a Tiller?”

  Sena pushed herself into a sitting position. “Because Mama was a Forger, but Papa … he was a Tiller.”

  “What?” Claire sat up straight. She glanced at Nett, to see if he was also in on the joke, but his face was completely serious.

  “I never knew that Papa was a Tiller until the day we were arrested,” Sena continued. “He was born Mathieu Frond, but became Mathieu Steele to hide his true guild so he could marry Mama.”

  “But are you a Tiller?” Claire asked.

  “Guild magic is kind of like eye color,” Nett jumped in. “Just because your mother has blue eyes doesn’t necessarily mean you will.”

  Sena nodded. “My parents were lucky I was born a Forger and not a Tiller, but that’s where their luck ended. Their secret shattered when the chimera kitten escaped. I had left the door open by mistake. The Fyrton inspectors arrived that night.”

  Sena gazed into the distance, seeming to see something Claire couldn’t—and didn’t want to—see.

  “Mama was imprisoned someplace secret, and Papa …” Sena swallowed. “Papa was executed.”

  Claire didn’t know what to say to something so awful. Not sure how Sena would react to a hug, Claire settled on scooting closer to her.

  “The Grand Council of Arden didn’t know what to do with me,” Sena said. “I was too young to be punished by Forger law. Francis had been Papa’s teacher in Greenwood, and when he learned what had happened, he volunteered to take me in. I’ve lived with him and Nett ever”—she took a deep shuddering breath—“ever since,” she finished gruffly.

  Wiping a hand across her cheek, Sena lurched to her feet and marched away from them, disappearing into the yellow grass. Nett moved to follow.

  “Wait,” Claire said. “Give her a minute.”

  “But,” Nett said, looking anxiously toward where Sena had disappeared, “we need to keep going.”

  “Sometimes people need a little time by themselves,” Claire said. “To … to process.”

  When Sophie had her first surgery, there had been an ongoing line of people visiting the house, bringing flowers and
gifts. Claire knew they wanted to make everyone feel better, but Claire had just wanted to be with Mom and Dad. No one could have understood the numbness that had dropped into Claire’s stomach, and that had only recently begun to thaw.

  “Give her a minute,” she repeated.

  Nett exhaled loudly. “I’m going to go keep an eye on the river. If she doesn’t return in ten minutes, we go after her.”

  Nodding, Claire reached for her rucksack. Everything in it had stayed miraculously dry. Or maybe it wasn’t so much miraculously as magically dry.

  She pulled out her pencil, glad that it had been spared the Rhona’s waters. With it in her hand, she felt more like herself. She might not know how to make plants spark or rugs roll or coins heat, but she did know how to draw.

  Pulling one of Francis’s parchment-wrapped bundles from her bag, she carefully set the clump of dried blossoms she found inside next to her. Then she smoothed out the thick paper and sat down again, making sure she was still well hidden behind the bear chimera.

  Not thinking about anything in particular, Claire let her hands take over. Her pencil skated over the page, sweeping curves trailing behind it. After a moment, she realized what her hands were drawing.

  A unicorn.

  Queen Estelle’s story glided into her thoughts. The queen went searching in the midst of terrible danger, and had been brave even when the hunter went after her and the last unicorn. She had done what was right, even though she must have been scared. The queen was brave. A hero.

  Claire wondered what it had been like when unicorns roamed Arden. Did they travel in herds, like wild horses, or alone? Did they have sisters?

  A flowing tail and inquisitive ears blossomed beneath her pencil. Claire drew a smaller set of ears. A unicorn mother and its foal grazed in a sun-dappled grove, a sunbeam entwining with the mother’s horn.

  A sweet sorrow nudged Claire.

  Mom. Dad.

  Sophie.

  If Mom were in Arden, she would have wanted to stay on the Spinner boats, looking at the different threads, while Dad probably would have chatted with Francis about which flower bloomed best in the shade. After they’d both gotten over the shock of a magical land above the chimney, of course.

  But Sophie … Claire couldn’t even begin to guess. Sophie liked everything spectacular. Every Experience. She was the kind of girl who could make even the dreariest day feel like an adventure.

  “Hey, that’s pretty good!”

  Claire started as Nett suddenly appeared before her. Hastily, she covered the sketch with her arm. “Oh, no, it’s not done yet—”

  “Seemed great to me,” Nett said, looking impressed. “I once tried to draw Francis, but everyone thought I’d done a portrait of a hairy cabbage.”

  “I’m sure you’re not that bad,” Claire said. She stuck her pencil behind her ear and shook out her fingers. They were tingling a little. Maybe they were still cold from the river. “Is Sena back?”

  “Yes, and the clothes are dry,” Nett said. “Sena tried to steam them with some coins. They smell a bit, er, strange, but with all the smoke in Fyrton, no one should notice.” He handed her a short-sleeved black tunic and leather vest.

  Claire quickly changed behind the bear chimera. The vest laced up the front and was heavier than the clothes she was used to.

  “Ready?” Sena asked. Dressed in Forger black, her red braid stood out like a fiery nest. Determination shone in her eyes and she stood straighter as she gripped her butter knife. She looked like a girl about to do battle.

  And in a way, maybe they were.

  “Should we disguise you more?” Nett asked, peering at her. “Rub some walnut juice in your hair, or something?”

  Sena waved her hand impatiently. “We’ve lost enough time. Besides, a lot of Forgers have red hair.”

  “But aren’t you worried someone’s going to recognize you?” Claire asked.

  Shrugging, Sena adjusted her tunic. “A little, maybe, but it’s been five years. Fyrton is one of the largest towns in Arden. And I had a growth sprout this summer. Now, get moving—I’ve met slugs faster than you!”

  Nett caught Claire’s eyes and made a face before breaking into a grin. Claire returned the smile. Sena’s edge was back.

  “Are you ready?” Nett asked. The Forger vest was too big for him, the thick strap slipping a little off his shoulder, but it was the best they could do.

  The memory of loud voices and sharp swords came back to Claire. The inspectors. Forgers.

  Certain death, Francis had said.

  She shook it off. They had to go to Fyrton. Everything Sena needed for a Looking Glass was there, and Claire couldn’t back out now.

  Rolling up the parchment, Claire noticed something off about her sketch. She thought she’d drawn both mother and foal grazing, horns pointed down. But now the unicorn foal was staring straight at her with big mournful eyes.

  She blinked. Perhaps she was more tired than she thought.

  But then she realized Nett and Sena were looking at her, waiting.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m ready.”

  CHAPTER

  15

  Though Mount Rouge protected one side of Fyrton from invaders, the Forgers clearly did not take any chances. High gates edged the city like a pointed crown, each of the golden curlicues tapering into a sharp spear that made it impossible to scale. Luckily, Claire, Nett, and Sena didn’t have to climb over.

  In their black leather clothes, they were well enough disguised that the inspector only glanced before waving them through. Sena mumbled something about the woman being lazy, but, as Nett pointed out, most people probably weren’t foolish enough to even try to sneak in.

  The first thing Claire noticed about the Forger town was the noise. Great bells called out from the tops of buildings, drowning out and interrupting one another like squabbling children. Even then, the tolling couldn’t stifle the sounds of daily Forger life: the scrape of knife against whetstone, the clatter of pots, the rhythmic ching of hammer on metal.

  Sena led them through the smoke-scented streets. Sparks flew from forge windows and, underneath the clamor, the hiss of hot metal drowned in cold water whispered: rush, rush, rush.

  Occasionally, Nett pulled on Claire’s arm and shared tidbits of Fyrton’s history.

  “The Steel Mouth! It used to be a Spinner theater, back when all the guilds lived in the same cities, but now it’s an arena where weapon masters show off their skills …

  “Ooh! I think that’s the bell tower where Threadrick Tenacious tested out the very first flying carpet. It was a good thing he had a parachute …”

  “How do you know so much about Fyrton?” Claire asked during a lull in Nett’s wonder-filled chatter.

  He shrugged. “I read. I’ve lived practically my entire life in Greenwood, but … I don’t really fit.” They stopped for a moment to let a cart full of rattling copper pans pass by. “What do you mean?” Claire asked.

  “Other kids live with their parents, but since my parents are both gone, I had to live with Grandpa Francis,” he said as they hurried to catch up to Sena, who’d gotten ahead of them. “Even though my father’s side has been in Greenwood since the guild founding, my mother was from the Sunrise Isles. I wanted to prove to everyone that I belonged in Arden, so I learned everything I could about our country’s history.”

  He grinned and ducked his head. “Besides, it’s fun to be able to tell Sena she’s wrong—oh! Look!” he interrupted himself, and pointed to an empty street display. “Invisible shields! I can’t believe I get to see one of these! Or, not see them. You know what I mean.”

  Left, right, straight, right again. They stopped once to buy some small hammers which they added to their belts, then kept going. The roads ran in a haphazard dash, leading them past rows of soot-singed town houses.

  “Why do all the doors have scissors hanging on them?” Claire asked. In fact, as they’d rushed by the markets, she’d spotted displays of golden scissors for sale—not ju
st practical ones for cutting, but little ones meant to be worn as necklaces.

  “They’re charms against Spinners.” This time, it was Sena who spoke. “Spinners are deceitful and traitorous,” she continued. “They spin lies upon lies until you are so tangled you will never know yourself again.”

  “But Kleo helped us,” Claire pointed out.

  “She only helped us to save her own skin,” Sena said with her usual vigor, but then she dropped the subject and doubled her pace. “Come on, we’re going to be late!”

  “For what?” Claire asked.

  “School!”

  Claire almost stumbled. “What?”

  Sena whipped onto an avenue and gestured in front of them.

  A cluster of turrets sprang up from behind a stone wall like paintbrushes in a jar. White clouds of smoke and steam wove between chimneys, making it impossible to tell how high the towers truly were, or what lay beyond the thick wall. Through a set of wide-open double doors, a stream of kids flooded into the building. Above them, a sign read

  PHLOGISTON ACADEMY

  Knowledge Withstands the Flame

  “The School of a Hundred Bells,” Nett said in an awed voice. “Each of the academy’s headmasters has crafted a bell for it.” He craned his head. “This is bigger than anything we have in Greenwood.”

  “It has to be,” Sena said. “All Forgers come to the academy when they turn twelve, then train as apprentices until they are sixteen, when they graduate to journeymen, and gain a ring.”

  Claire saw Sena’s expression darken slightly, and she thought that Sena, as loud and confident as she was, was sad that she’d been sent away before she had had a chance to come here herself.

  But Sena pressed on. “Forger magic is a little more unpredictable than the others and we need more tools than most. It’s not like you can burn down a village by planting a rosebush or quilting a patch, but when you’re pouring red-hot metal … well, let’s just say things can get dangerous. It’s important that Forgers know what to do before they begin to travel as journeymen.”

  Sena waved her hand in the direction of the other kids. “Hurry up. Now that midday break is over, we’ll stick out like unhammered nails. But in there, we’ll just be three more students in a sea of hundreds. Then tonight, we can break into a Forger’s workshop and I can craft the Looking Glass.”