Wonder Light

by R. R. Russell

  Twig’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t want to.”

  “You don’t have a choice!” Ben reached for her arm. His expression softened. “I have a plan. A way we can work things out. I know it must seem strange. My father told me a bit about the Earth Land. It was hard to imagine the things he described, even that—truck?—they keep on the ranch.”

  Twig nodded.

  “I don’t understand how it works,” Ben said.

  “I guess I don’t really understand how those things work either.”

  “But you know they’re real.”

  Twig twisted her boot in the grass. She couldn’t deny it.

  “Just listen, and I’ll try to explain. Everyone in Terracornus used to be a herder. Long ago, unicorns were hunted in the Earth Land, until there were only a few left. Their horns were very valuable, thought to be magic.”

  Twig cringed. No wonder Ben had been so irritated by her calling them magic.

  “When the passage was discovered, from England to Terracornus, those who knew better rounded up the last of the unicorns and herded them into that new, empty land, where they would be safe. The herders watched over them, and when their numbers increased, they separated one herd from another, so they wouldn’t fight and kill each other off. That was hundreds of years ago. Things are different now. Terracornians have forgotten their plan to return the unicorns to the Earth Land. Most of them have forgotten the Earth Land altogether. And this world has moved on without them.”

  Twig rubbed a strand of hair between her thumb and forefinger. “And your friend, the one you want me to meet, he’s from Terracornus?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Maybe he can help you send them back! What are they doing on Lonehorn Island anyway? Who let them through that door?”

  “My father believed a herder who wanted to reintroduce unicorns to this world brought the first few here. Instead of just watching over the island, protecting the passage from being discovered, Lonehorn Island’s herders watched over the island’s herd too. We cannot send them back, Twig. They’ll all die if we do. Unicorns as they’re meant to be will die.”

  “But with Dagger as their leader, they’re not what they’re meant to be anyway, are they?”

  “Merrill can help me fix that, but he’s going to need convincing. Seeing you—seeing what’s at risk here on the island—might persuade him to come. I told him about you in my message.”

  “Oh. Well…” Twig glanced over her shoulder at the house and the stable. Wild Light nudged her. Twig took her muzzle in her hands and stroked it and looked into her silvery eyes—wild but filled with love. That herd had once been like her. “I’ll come. Just tell me when.”

  “A couple hours before sunrise.”

  In the dark. She’d just agreed to enter that strange, clinging fog in the dark.

  ***

  Twig threw her covers back. She slid her bare feet onto the purple throw rug between her bed and Casey’s. She sat there for a moment, listening, trying to detect any howls through the walls, through the woods. What if tonight they woke and went on the hunt?

  She should just get back in bed, forget about this craziness. Even if nothing happened out there, if she got caught…

  A shuddery breath escaped Casey, the kind that found its way out no matter how you tried, no matter how you didn’t want somebody to hear. Twig knew what it was to be little and alone and to cry herself to sleep.

  She tiptoed to Casey’s bed and put a tentative hand on her hair. Casey wiggled closer, and Twig pulled her the rest of the way into her lap.

  “It’s okay now. You’re here now. Whatever happened before, that stuff doesn’t happen here.”

  Then the tears sprang up in Twig’s eyes too, because she knew that it was true—that whatever was waiting and hunting in the woods around them, whatever was threatening to undo what the Murleys were trying to do, she was safe here, in these walls. The Murleys were for real, and the girls were liars and thieves and sulkers and impossible arguers and tantrum throwers, but they were for real too. And she was about to slip out of here, away from them, and maybe get herself hurt or killed and ruin it all. Forever.

  She couldn’t stay here forever anyway, she reasoned. It couldn’t last forever. And if she didn’t go, how long would it be safe here for anyone?

  “Casey, I have to go somewhere for a little while.”

  Casey pushed herself up onto her elbow. “Where?”

  “Here, on the island, sort of. It has to do with the wild boy. But I’ll be back.”

  “How long are you gonna be gone?”

  “I’ll be back before chores. Don’t worry.”

  Twig tucked Casey’s doll under her arm. She got dressed and made her bed. She’d sneaked her boots and jacket into her room earlier. She slid her backpack out from under her pillow and put it on and wriggled her feet into her boots.

  Casey was still awake, watching. Twig paused, then shrugged her backpack off and took out her drawing of Wild Light, horn and all—the one she’d kept for herself. She’d decided to play it safe and send Daddy the one without the horn. She tiptoed to Casey’s bed and held it out to her.

  “It’s only for you, okay? Don’t let anyone else see it.”

  “Okay.” Casey unfolded the drawing and held it up to the moonlight. She stared at it for a moment, then lowered the paper. “Is it for real?”

  Twig just smiled. “I have to go.”

  “Twig?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Come back.”

  “I will.”

  Chapter 24

  Ben was waiting for Twig behind the pasture shelter. He gave her a nod and hurdled the fence. Twig clambered after him, then stopped in the shadow of the tree line. It was so dark.

  “I have a flashlight,” she offered.

  Ben looked confused. “Flush light?”

  “Flashlight. You know, you hold it in your hand and push the button, and it lights up.”

  “No light.”

  Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the deepening darkness of the woods. “Indy’s in the hollow,” he whispered.

  Twig gripped his hand tight. It was still night-dark, and it would be darker the farther they ventured into the trees, where the wild unicorns might be waiting.

  Ben wove deftly into the woods, holding a branch back for her now and then. Twig tried to duck when he ducked, to step where he stepped, but she kept miscalculating, hitting her shin on a log, lurching down into a hole. Her stomach grew more fluttery and anxious each time she tripped, her steps more flustered and fumbling.

  “How can you see?”

  “I don’t need to see much here because I know the path.”

  “There’s a path?”

  “Not just one path. I try to vary which way I go so I don’t wear things down too much, and make it obvious that someone comes through here. But I know the routes from the pasture to the hollow.”

  Indy greeted them with a soft nicker before Twig even realized they were about to enter the hollow. Just a few more steps, and there they were, free of the underbrush, in the flat area beneath the trees.

  “He always stays for you, doesn’t he?”

  “I had to train him to. It’s not safe to tie him up.”

  “If you tie him,” Twig said, holding back a shudder, “and they come after him, he can’t escape.”

  “That’s right.”

  Indy gave Ben an expectant look, and Ben took an apple from his pouch. The unicorn ate it with a crunch of satisfaction, but still with a wary ear turned toward the forest.

  “There’s another apple in my pouch.” Ben rubbed Indy’s neck. “Get it out and feed it to him.”

  “Me?”

  “He’s got to like you if you’re to ride him.”

  “I’m going to ride him?”

  “W
ith me of course. The more you dither about it,” he said in a confident, soothing tone meant to keep Indy at ease, “the more convincing we’ll have to do, and we don’t have much time.”

  Twig held the apple tentatively out to Indy. She couldn’t help recalling Ben’s words: He was the fiercest, the wildest.

  “See there, boy? She’s a friend. She’s going to ride with me, just for a little while.”

  “That’s right, Indy,” Twig added in the smoothest manner she could manage. “There’s not much to me at all. You’ll see.”

  “There is more to you than you think, Twig.”

  Heat rushed over Twig’s face.

  Ben mounted Indy and offered her a hand up. Twig climbed up behind him, and Indy let out a snort of protest, but it sounded more obligatory than angry. Twig slid her arms around Ben’s waist. She’d never ridden anything other than a pony, let alone a unicorn, and she’d never been quite so close to Ben.

  Ben said, “Hang on tighter,” to Twig, and, “Yah!” to Indy.

  He leaned into Indy’s neck, and the forest sped by in a black-green blur. Twig held on as tight as she could. She marveled at the unicorn’s nimbleness in dark, thick woods that Rain Cloud would have picked his way complainingly, ploddingly through.

  Twig squeezed her eyes shut, and she felt Indy’s power and speed. She pressed her forehead against Ben’s back. His cloak was softer than she’d expected, his heartbeat faster. She couldn’t tell whether Ben’s heart was racing with anticipation or with plain old fear. Strange things were happening. Stranger things were going to happen. And she was riding a unicorn in the purple-black before dawn to a passage that led into another world. To convince a man from that world to save everything she loved about her own.

  Chapter 25

  Twig tucked her chin into the collar of her shell as she took her first breath of the strange, damp haze. Indy neighed his protest, but he inched forward.

  “Just to the hemlocks, boy. Not through the passage. I promise.”

  Ben had told Twig a little about this friend they were going to see. Merrill had been his father’s right-hand man before Ben stepped into the role, before the two of them were left to handle the guardianship of Lonehorn Island on their own. Twig didn’t understand how that had happened, and Ben was very tight-lipped about it. It had something to do with the Queen of Westland. That was all she could figure out.

  They left Indy at the edge of the cluster of hemlocks. The branches swished down behind her, and Twig blinked. Instead of black shadows, a yellow-orange light suffused the fog inside the hemlock circle. There was a crackle, and the light danced higher. A dark shadow rose out of the mist, a tall form that seemed to wobble much like the muted, dancing light.

  “Merrill!” Ben called.

  The shadow took form as it drew near. Merrill’s smile was lopsided but genuine. He held a weathered hand up in greeting. A dark green woolen cap fitted his head with a snugness that suggested his hair was either very close-cropped or gone entirely. A thin, white scar cut through the gray-black stubble on his cheeks and chin, and he stepped forward with a lurch that drew Twig’s attention to the odd fit of his pant leg. Though there was a boot on his left foot, Twig suspected the foot was artificial. Merrill’s life as a herder had apparently not been gentle, yet there was gentleness in his gaze—a bright, steady gaze that made it easy for Twig to imagine he’d once carried himself with a similarly steady stride.

  Ben threw his arms around Merrill with uncharacteristic abandon.

  Merrill squeezed him, then ran a big hand over Ben’s head. “It’s been too long, boy.”

  “I know it.”

  Merrill released Ben and took a step back. He looked him over, then gave him a nod of approval and turned to Twig. Twig swallowed and willed herself not to look down at her boots.

  “And this is your friend Twig?” the old herder’s accent was much stronger than Ben’s. It made each word seem powerful and strange to Twig.

  “Yes, sir.” Twig didn’t know where the sir came from; it just seemed the proper way to address a man like Merrill.

  Merrill shook her hand. “Well, come over to the fire, little one, where it’s warm.”

  Twig followed him toward the flickering light. A campfire! What a relief to enter the circle of light and smoke that defied the otherworldly mist.

  A rough woolen blanket was spread on the earth before the fire. Merrill carefully lowered himself, sticking his artificial leg straight out and bending the other one in. Twig sat next to Ben, across from Merrill.

  “I got word that you needed my help, Ben-boy. You made no mention of your father, and now here you are without him. Where is he? Has something happened?”

  Ben pulled his knees up to his chest. “Gone.”

  “Gone?” Merrill took off his hat. His hand was shaking. “Darian, gone?”

  When Merrill let his own tears fall, Twig felt like crying too. In her head, she said Darian over and over. It was the first she’d heard Ben’s father’s name. It sounded so noble and strong, especially the way Merrill said it.

  “It was Dagger. He attacked, and Father was wounded fighting him off. He died the next day.”

  Merrill sniffed loudly. “And Dagger is still out there, still a threat. Your message was clear enough about that.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What now then, boy? What are you trying to do?”

  “What my father would have me do.”

  “Are you now, Ben? You think he’d want you going after Dagger?”

  “There are people on the island, Merrill. Good people. Girls like her.”

  “Littler ones too,” Twig added.

  “We need the herders’ help, not just to keep Dagger from poisoning the herd forever, but also to protect those girls.”

  “The herders have been disbanded. You know that.”

  “You can get them together again. They’ll listen to you.”

  “Not against the queen’s wishes, they won’t. Not anymore.”

  “We only need a few. Just—”

  Merrill slapped his hat against his artificial leg. “Not anymore, I said! Listen to me. You let this alone.”

  “They’re the last free herd! How can I leave them to what they’re becoming? Killers of each other, of innocent horses, of people! How can I stand by and let them attack Island Ranch again?”

  “The queen has already banished a good number of us to the Barrenlands. The ones who wouldn’t listen. The next one will be tried for treason.”

  “Treason? For doing your job? The work our ancestors went to Terracornus to do?”

  “It’s not our job anymore. Not yours either, Ben of the Island. I’m sorry. I’ve got no desire to spend the rest of my years fighting the bitter cold and a bunch of bitterer herders for a spot by a meager coal fire, let alone to hang from a noose in the castle square.”

  “That’s it, then, Merrill?”

  “Take this girl back to her people, Ben-boy, and come stay with me. Any son of Darian is welcome in my home.”

  “Any son?” Ben said sharply.

  Merrill gave him a hard look. “Any son. But you’ve known me long enough to know you’d be welcome either way, boy.”

  “I thank you, Merrill. And I’m sure my father would too. But we both know he’d thank you more if you helped me do what I need to do.”

  “It seems we disagree,” said Merrill, sliding his hands into his pockets, “about just what it is you need to do.”

  “It seems so. Thanks anyway.” Ben tightened his cloak and rose, stepping back into the swirling mist. “Come on, Twig.”

  Numbly, Twig followed Ben. With Twig riding behind him, Ben sent Indy cutting through the web of mist and trees at a near gallop.

  Outside the shrouded circle, the morning glared shockingly bright. What time was it? What was she going to say to the Murleys
? She’d be in trouble for sure, and Merrill had been no help. It was all for nothing.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “Nothing now!”

  Twig held on stiffly to Ben’s back, trying to resist the alternating urges to shove him off or to hug him tight and cry in shared frustration.

  Twig let go of Ben, reached around, and grabbed at the reins. “Stop!”

  “What are you doing?”

  Twig jumped down, hands on her hips. Ben glared at her.

  “You can’t just give up. You can’t hold them off forever. If they attack, how many can you shoot before the rest of them are all over you?”

  “I’m not giving up! But I’m one rider and Indy is one tame unicorn. That’s all I have.”

  “You’ll have two tame unicorns once Wild Light is grown.”

  Indy pawed impatiently at the ground.

  “And what about a rider?” Ben said quietly. His eyes searched Twig’s.

  Twig felt her mouth fall partway open. “I’m no rider,” she said hoarsely. She’d never ridden Wild Light. No saddle had ever touched her perfect white back. She was too young for that. But the thought of attempting that when she was bigger, wilder…she grew more unruly every day.

  “No,” Ben said. “You’re not. Not until you claim her.”

  “I can’t ride a unicorn! I’m a scrawny girl who’s only been riding a tame pony for a few months. And you expect me to get Wild Light to let me ride her? And what if she did? Then what? I’d teach her how to fight off a whole herd of unicorns who are trying to kill her?”

  Twig laughed a high, humorless laugh, and a part of her felt terrible at the sound of it, but the anger at Ben’s expectations was just as strong.

  Ben’s brown eyes gleamed with intensity. “A rider doesn’t teach her unicorn how to fight; she shows her when to fight. And if her heart is right, she gives her unicorn the right reason to do it. As for Indy and Wild Light, the bows and swords of riders can help protect them against the greater numbers of the herd. And if I can hold them off until you and Wild Light have some training…”