by Chrys Cymri
The Prancer bent his head again. Then he resumed grazing, moving gently away from her. Fianna closed her eyes, letting the warm sun lull her. In a few hours, she would start hunting for her nightmeal.
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She woke early the next morning. The sound of grass being ripped by unicorn teeth told her that the Prancer had been up before her. Fianna stretched, then stood, blinking sleep from her eyes.
‘Dawn meal,’ the Prancer said cheerfully.
‘What?’
‘I know not what you humans call it,’ he said apologetically, pointing at a rock with his horn. ‘You do eat upon waking, I believe?’
‘Sometimes.’ Fianna stumbled over to the rock, and found a half-dozen mushrooms lying large and grey against the brown stone. ‘Did you pick these?’
The Prancer snorted. ‘How else would they come to be there?’
She picked one up, identified it as edible. A sample bite confirmed that it was delicious, and the rest quickly followed. ‘Thanks,’ she said belatedly. Feeling better for having eaten, she searched around for her saddlebags, only to find them already perched on Prancer’s back. ‘How did you get those on?’
‘With my horn,’ he said, as if it were obvious. ‘The lack of rations has made them very light.’
Fianna tried to scowl, unsure whether he were teasing her again. But it came out as a smile instead. She was finding it hard to be annoyed with such a cheerful creature. ‘What will you do when we meet the dragons?’ she asked, leading the way back to the trail.
The Prancer waited until they were past the waterfall before answering. ‘I’ll ask for the return of the horn. If he refuses, I will challenge him.’ He paused, then added, ‘I do hope we will be met by a small dragon.’
‘The red one is large enough,’ Fianna agreed. Then she cursed herself silently.
‘Have you met the red dragon?’ the unicorn asked innocently.
Fianna decided on a lesser truth. ‘In dreams. I’ve seen him attacking a young unicorn.’
‘My milk-brother,’ the Prancer said. They had reached the trail. He dropped back, allowing her to take the lead. ‘You have seen his death, even as I saw it.’
‘And do you dream my dreams?’ she asked, suddenly worried.
‘No.’ Fianna carefully released her breath. ‘The visions I saw of you were through another’s eyes. You had long hair, then, and you walked across a field.’
‘Then why didn’t you know my name?’
‘I saw images only. Until you gave me your name, I didn’t know who you were.’
‘And now you do?’
‘You have given your name to me,’ he said confidently. ‘We’re destined to be friends. The Land has shown me this. I would expect you to have shared some of my own dreams in return.’
‘Friends?’ Fianna halted, turned to face him. ‘How can we be? Our kingdoms are enemies.’
The Prancer stamped the ground with a hind hoof. ‘We are destined to be friends. This has the Land shown me.’ He stretched out his neck, breathed softly across her face. ‘What you are and what I am is not important.’
Isn’t it? She almost told him who she really was, suddenly longing to be her true self with this friendly, trusting being. Almost. Then she reminded herself of what she might lose in telling him the truth. Even if he did not attack her, as blood relative to the one who had killed his brother, her lie would surely drive him away. Truthfulness seemed to be a natural part of his being, and he obviously expected the same of her. We will meet the dragons separately, as agreed, she reminded herself.
The climb was getting steeper, giving good reason for stilling conversation, and giving her time to think how best to continue the lie. I must warn him that I might be flown to Secondus. If he survives his own meeting, he could travel down to meet me there. I’ll send out knights to escort him in, and once he is safely penned, he can hear the truth. If he cannot bear the truth, he can remain in his stable. Even a captive unicorn would provide strength to my rule. And I will have him with me.
They halted for the night by a small stream. While the Prancer snuffled through the thick mosses for blades of grass, Fianna sat down and unwrapped the remains of the rabbit cooked the evening before. The unicorn moved upwind, tail flicking in disgust. ‘You must eat other creatures?’
Fianna shrugged. ‘You killed three dogs.’
‘They would have killed me.’
‘And I’d die if I didn’t eat. Same principle, for us meat eaters.’ She felt a pang of memory, reminded suddenly of Deian. He had always refused to eat meat.
‘Who is in your thoughts now?’ the Prancer asked curiously.
‘Someone I knew.’ She shrugged it away. ‘How did you know I was thinking about a person?’
‘I’ve been raised to study the motions of others,’ the unicorn explained. ‘The rituals depend on such an understanding. Either as Dancer or Painter, I must be able to interpret the unspoken thoughts of others. But you humans are harder to understand than unicorns.’
Fianna pounced on the opportunity of turning the conversation away from herself. ‘I know little unicorn lore. What are these ‘Dancer’ and ‘Painter’?’
‘I am marked as both.’ For the first time a note of sadness came into his voice. ‘The roles are usually separate. They are known as the sacred twins to the People of the Trees. The Dancer dances the lines, and he calls to Judgement those who have transgressed the laws. The Painter paints the lines, and can heal even the worst injuries if she has time to prepare herself.’
Fianna frowned, trying to remember what he had said the day before. ‘And you’re marked as both because they both were your parents?’
‘Yes, I--’ He halted suddenly, his nostrils flaring. For the first time, Fianna sensed unease in his stance, as he shifted his weight onto wide spread legs. ‘I’ve never been told the name of my mother.’
‘So she could have been the Painter?’ Fianna shrugged. ‘That would explain why you have both marks.’
‘But that can’t be.’ His voice had sunk deep into his chest, and she had to strain to hear him. ‘The sacred twins, mated?’
Fianna shrugged. ‘Why not? We humans will breed stallions to their sisters if we think it might improve the line.’
‘Horses are not unicorns.’ He flung his head up, backed away. ‘Is that why the herd would never speak my mother’s name to me? Because she was the Painter, my father’s sister?’
The muscles in his neck were bunched, his eyes wide, the whites showing. Fianna stood slowly, recognising the signs of distress. ‘Easy, now,’ she said, trying to soothe him as she would a startled horse. ‘Take it easy.’
‘They knew,’ he continued bitterly. ‘The herd knew. The shame brought her to her death when I was born, marked as no unicorn should be marked. My sire brought her to death!’
His voice had risen as he spoke. Suddenly he reared, hooves pawing at the sky as he shouted in rage. He landed heavily, twisting on his hind legs as he turned to face down the mountain. ‘Stop!’ Fianna ordered, afraid of what he might do to himself if he attempted to gallop down the steep slope. ‘Don’t you move!’
His body trembled with the strain, but he obeyed. Fianna stepped forward, slowly, carefully, reaching out wide-spread fingers. His skin was damp under her palms, twitching along the neck as she slid her hands down the stiff muscles, willing them to release their stored tension.
‘Whatever your sire or dam did,’ she said quietly, working her way down his side, ‘it isn’t worth you breaking a leg on this mountain. Especially after I’ve worked so hard to heal one of them.’
‘If I undid your efforts,’ he said, his voice shaky as he attempted his old cheerfulness, ‘you would be right to take it amiss.’
Fianna reached the left hind leg. The muscles felt sure under her probes, undamaged by his sudden movements. The skin was sealing together well, though she doubted he would be scarless. She straightened, and leaned against his back, suddenly weary. ‘You seem very certain of w
hat took place. How can you know for certain?’
‘I can feel the truth of this through my hooves.’ His voice was still trembling. ‘The Land confirms it. Did he force her? How could he do that to her? How does this leave me?’
His sweat smelled of horse. The feel of his smooth coat against her cheeks took her back four years, when she had buried her face in a horse’s mane, seeking refuge in the stables as the entire city celebrated the marriage announcement of Marissa to the King. His last question had been the same she had asked herself, with little more answer. Then she had left to face her father. The entire city had heard of her challenge. Only her mare had known of the young girl who had first cried, alone and hidden in the stall. ‘We have something in common, you and I,’ she told the unicorn softly, feeling a sudden affinity with the Prancer. ‘I too have much to carry against my father.’
‘I must speak to him of this,’ the Prancer said grimly. ‘What is your quarrel with your own sire?’
Fianna straightened. ‘It doesn’t really matter. He’s dead now.’
‘Then I grieve for you.’
‘Why?’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t.’
‘Until you have forgiven him, you will not.’ He said, almost shyly, ‘You are at ease with me?’
The change in topic startled her into a slight smile. ‘Why not? I’ve grown up around horses.’
‘I am not--’ He stopped himself, snorting as he realised he was being mocked. ‘I am pleased.’
She looked into his dark, friendly eyes, realising that something had passed between them. ‘Yes. So am I.’
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The trail became steeper and sparser as they climbed higher into the mountains. A narrow path had been cut into the rock, leaving a cliff face on their left, and a sheer drop on their right. Fianna, who had grown up scrambling around the walls of Secondus castle, merely placed one careful foot in front of the other. But the Prancer was far more hesitant, testing each step with great caution, and manoeuvring his greater bulk with difficulty around twists in the trail.
Fianna paused to catch her breath. The lower sections of the path were far below them now. She lifted her eyes, staring in direction of Secondus, hidden from her by haze and distance. Dragon lore insisted that the Family could see into the castle itself from their rocky perches, but she found herself doubting that.
‘Rosemary.’
It took a moment for her to recognise her assumed name. Then, realising suddenly that she hadn’t heard anything from the unicorn for some time, she turned her head back. The Prancer was squeezed close to the grey-black stone, his hooves bracing him back from the edge. Fianna followed his gaze to a section of the trail which had crumbled away. She had easily walked across the remaining strip of rock.
‘There’s enough room for your hooves,’ she stated after a moment’s study. ‘Just take it slowly.’
‘I had no intention of galloping over it.’
His attempt at lightness was a failure. The tense note in his voice made her frown. ‘Don’t tell me you’re afraid of heights?’
The white-rimmed eyes which were lifted to hers were enough answer. ‘I’ve lived on plains and forests all my life,’ the Prancer explained apologetically.
‘You’ve been all right this far.’
‘I’ve merely remained silent thus far.’
Fianna sighed. She pushed the hair back from her eyes. ‘You could wait here. When I’ve seen the dragon--’
‘No.’ He lowered his head. ‘I must challenge him. I must recover Storm’s horn.’
The heavy weight around Fianna’s neck reminded her that the unicorn would gain nothing from climbing this mountain, nor from facing a dragon. She could take that need away from him. All she had to do was give him the horn. No, she told herself, it’s mine. If the dragon tells him I have it, then will I give it over to him. If so forced. Not otherwise. ‘Then you’ll have to come across,’ she said with more confidence than she felt.
‘How?’
‘For one thing, don’t look down.’ The sharp tone succeeded in bringing the unicorn’s head up. ‘Think of it like this. If you were crossing a stream on stepping stones and they were the same width, that wouldn’t bother you, would it?’
‘No.’ He added, ‘But if I fell, I would only become wet.’
‘Then we must make sure you don’t fall.’ Fianna lowered herself down onto the stony ground. ‘Move the left forefoot first. See that bit of glitter on the path? Put your hoof down onto that.’
The Prancer obeyed, keeping his eyes averted from the plunge at his right. Joints creaked as he gradually added weight to the foot, until it bore its share. Then he looked at Fianna again.
‘Now, bring the right hind foot forward.’
Slowly, patiently, she directed the unicorn over the strip of rock until he stood next to her on the wider portion of trail. His heavy breathing showed what the crossing had cost him. Fianna reached up and slapped the lathered neck. ‘Come on. We’re nearly at the top.’
The trail only narrowed once more, and Fianna again talked the Prancer through the section. The sun had passed its zenith and the day was cooling as they took the final steps onto the flattened peak. Fianna walked slowly over to the far side. The trail had led them around the mountain, and now she once again looked back the way they had come. Even the beginning of the trail was now hidden from view.
The Prancer followed her, his hooves scraping against the uneven stone. Over her shoulder, he noted, ‘A long way back down.’
‘Yes.’ She closed her eyes briefly, cursing her lack of foresight. He would have to find his way down the trail alone after the dragon had flown her away. How would he manage? He’ll have to, she thought. She swallowed uncomfortably.
A loud hiss of laughter behind them made the hairs stand up along her arms. ‘A very long way down, for those without wings.’
Fianna turned slowly, reluctantly, her mind working furiously. The red dragon had appeared at the other end of the plateau. He was seated comfortably, his long tail draped over his forefeet. Something white and glittering edged his scales. Only as a portion slid wetly to the ground did Fianna recognise it as snow. ‘Your pardon, my lord,’ she said calmly, giving him a bow. ‘I was not aware of your presence.’
Another hiss of laughter. ‘I was here ten winters ago, enjoying the chill of an ice storm. Only now have I come to this time.’ The emerald eyes lifted from hers. ‘Unicorn.’
‘It’s my duty to come to you alone,’ Fianna said quickly. ‘With your permission, allow the unicorn to withdraw--’
‘No, let the unicorn stay.’ The dragon’s tail slapped lazily against the hard ground, shaking several more mounds of snow from his shoulders. ‘It intrigues me to see one of royal blood accompanied by one of our enemies.’
The Prancer strode forward, his neck arched arrogantly. ‘I need no dragon’s permission for any action.’ He glanced at Fianna. ‘If you wish it, Rosemary, I will withdraw until your business with him is finished.’
The dragon’s laughter this time was loud and long. The Prancer’s ears flattened against his skull, but he held his ground beside Fianna. She could only admire his courage, standing tall before a being several times his size. ‘What have you called her, unicorn? Do you not know her true name? She is Fianna, Princess of the Fourth Kingdom and heir to the Dragon Throne.’
Fianna met the unicorn’s dark eyes. ‘It’s true,’ she admitted. ‘I was afraid what you might do, if you knew who I really was.’
‘You cannot trust her, unicorn,’ the dragon warned.
The Prancer held Fianna’s gaze for a long moment. Then he lifted his head. His whistling laughter echoed against the nearby peaks. ‘What do names matter?’ he challenged the dragon. ‘A unicorn will bear many in his lifetime. By deeds are we known, not by names. She saved my life, and the act is only made the greater with the knowledge of who she is. We are bound by something deeper than the giving of names.’
The dragon growled deep in his chest. Fianna
clenched her fists, aware of his displeasure. ‘She will lie to you three times, unicorn. You have discovered merely the first.’
‘If she does, that’s for us two to unravel.’ The Prancer lowered his horn. ‘I have come to challenge you, dragon, and to reclaim that which does not belong to you.’
The dragon stood, scales grinding against stone as his tail swept back behind him. ‘What do I possess of yours?’
‘The horn of my milk-brother.’
‘Look at his eyes, Prancer,’ Fianna said in a low voice. ‘They’re both whole. Didn’t you say he carried the horn away in one eye?’
The Prancer stepped back, snorting. ‘How can this be? This is the same dragon.’
‘Dragons are only loosely fixed in time,’ Fianna answered. ‘He must be younger than the version which attacked Storm.’
The dragon cocked his head. ‘We are not bound to two dimensions like you wingless creatures. You can only move to and fro, back and forth. We can rise and fall, and we can lip between the time streams. He who I will be is not in this time. You must seek him elsewhen.’
The Prancer pawed the ground with one shiny hoof. ‘I swore to challenge a dragon.’
Fianna studied the difference in size between dragon and unicorn, and she swallowed against the sudden fear blocking her throat. She hadn’t nursed the Prancer through a fever and encouraged him over a treacherous trail to lose him to a dragon’s jaws. ‘There’s no point challenging him now,’ she said firmly. ‘You have nothing to gain. He doesn’t have what you want.’
The Prancer’s dark eyes came to her. Fianna kept her hands at her sides, wondering if she’d have to give him the ultimate incentive, and reveal that she was carrying Storm’s horn. She’d lose him that way, too. But he lowered his head in agreement. ‘You advise wisely. I gain nothing by challenging him now.’
Even as Fianna was taking a deep breath in relief, the dragon was speaking again. ‘Fianna of my blood, do you carry a message to me for this meeting?’
Fianna blinked, remembering dead fish bobbing on a poisoned pond, the calm voice of the dragon above her. ‘When you meet me for the third time remind me that unicorn hunting is a dangerous pastime.’ ‘No,’ she lied, aware of the Prancer’s attention, and the awkward questions she might have to answer if she told the truth.