Red Unicorn

by Tanith Lee

  The peeve said, proudly, "She says you smell all right."

  "Oh, er, thank you."

  Tanaquil, gazing about uneasily, noticed bits of a familiar rug ripped up and wedged in among the cushion stuffing and garnets. She decided not to mention this.

  But now what?

  "May I . . . stroke you?" asked Tanaquil of the female peeve. "Adma?" This could be quite the wrong approach.

  But the peeve chattered to Adma.

  Adma spoke back in peeve talk.

  "Says proper sniff first."

  "You mean do I, or does she—"

  The peeve said, "Give hand."

  So Tanaquil kneeled and held out her hand. Now she would be bitten. Adma snuffed at her with a firm wet nose, licked her, considered, and then gave a squeak.

  "Stroke, stroke," enthused the peeve, generously.

  Tanaquil stroked Adma, who was marvellously silky. When Adma had had enough, she turned her back, and puttered off deeper into the nest.

  "Go feed Adma now," said the peeve. He indicated the tufts of porridge stuck on his coat. "Glad met."

  "Yes, it was. . . . Thanks. She's, er, pretty."

  But the peeve was waddling off over the picked bones, and the shreds of Jaive's magic carpet. Dimly, down the channel, Tanaquil saw and heard them, the two peeves, mutually grooming.

  The best visitor never outstays her welcome.

  Before she went back to the guest suite, Tanaquil went over and looked in at her own old bedroom. The shutters were off, and the chamber quite vacant, nothing in it at all. Not even the sorcerous talking portrait of her mother. She could just see the lion's head in the bathing alcove. It had always been more likely to dispense chicken soup or ribbons rather than water, but now it had a choked and dried-up look.

  She sat on the sill.

  Why had she never thought the peeve might find its—his—own companion? He had every right to do so. And obviously now, he did not need Tanaquil at all. Tanaquil was only an interruption.

  She turned and looked away towards the rocks. To shut up this book that was her finished early life, Tanaquil might need to walk out there. Scrutinize the place where the bones of the first unicorn had lain. One last time.

  But when she got back to the guest chamber, and was climbing in the window, she was met by a jelly pink, doefaced demon that had squeezed in through the closed door.

  "The sorceress wishes you to come and lunch with her."

  "Very well," said Tanaquil. It would be a chance to say good-bye, for once, in a civilized way.

  V

  This room Tanaquil did not recall, but maybe it had been there like others, simply made different. At the center of a table piled with delicacies, was an icy frothing mountain stream in miniature, pouring out of nothing and away into nothing, and in the midst of it stood a large cooling bottle with a cork.

  Jaive and Worabex were dressed untidily. They glowed beautifully.

  "Are you rested?" asked Jaive.

  "Yes. Thank you, Mother. In fact—"

  "Because we have a new project," said Jaive, "and I think it will be of interest to you."

  She sat down and the purple kittens climbed up and played in her lap. Worabex inspected the bottle. "It's bubbling Gascain," he told Tanaquil. "I think you'll have drunk it with Lizra."

  "Yes."

  "To celebrate," he announced.

  "To celebrate what?" They leered at each other, the mage and her mother. Tanaquil arranged her face. "You're going to marry."

  They said they were.

  Tanaquil told them she hoped they would be happy.

  Following that, the meal went, not with a swing, but with a series of lurches.

  Sometimes even the dainty demons spilled things, or forgot things. They must have been infected by the general high spirits.

  "Do you remember," said Jaive, as Worabex opened the third bottle of wine—the Gascain was still chilling—"how I made the desert seem to bloom, when you were a child?"

  "Yes, Mother. It was a very quaint illusion."

  "Now," said Jaive, "with my—with dear Worabex's help,

  we'll do it properly."

  "The desert turned into a garden," said Worabex.

  "Like my life," fluted Jaive.

  One of the demons dropped a dish of gooey sweets. They rolled messily all over the floor.

  Jaive looked about vaguely. "You know," she murmured, "I still can't find my flying carpet." She lowered her voice and said to Tanaquil, "Some of the demons have grown skittish. They may have stolen it."

  "Yes, I expect so," said Tanaquil, picturing the peeve nest.

  "We'll begin this afternoon," said Worabex. "On the desert, that is. It may be worth watching, even for Tanaquil."

  "There's a hidden water source," said Jaive. "Worabex my—he found it. Miles down, of course, but we should have no difficulty—"

  "Well, he can do anything," said Tanaquil again before she could stop herself. "Look how handsome he's made himself.

  Worabex said, "That isn't really magic, young woman."

  Tanaquil lifted her head. "No? Ten years younger and a foot taller—"

  "Not exactly, would you say," said Worabex. He looked over Tanaquil at Jaive. "You know, excitement, joy, can do all this, too. I knew I was coming to meet your mother."

  Tanaquil frowned.

  The peeve had learned the frown from watching. But it did not matter now. The peeve had another peeve to watch instead.

  Tanaquil decided, instead of trying to talk to her, after all she would need to write to her mother. Another pompous letter. Because if she said now, I'm going away again, Jaive might not even notice.

  Had Jaive ever unwrapped the emerald necklace? Worabex must have given her the gold snake, and it was a real one. She was feeding it. Thank heavens the peeve—No.

  "Now the bubbling wine is ready," said Worabex. "We'll drink a toast to the garden in the des—"

  He had been lifting the bottle from the stream. All at once the pressure of the Gascain inside shot the cork out of the neck. It flew across the room and hit Tanaquil, hard and stinging, on her left temple.

  "I'm so sorry," said Worabex. Of course, he would not mean it.

  Jaive said, "Shall I make a quick spell to stop the bruise?"

  "No, thank you, Mother. It's quite all right. It's a way I can remember this day. The day I got bruised."

  Tanaquil stood up.

  Worabex looked at her thoughtfully. He said, as if from far off, "Try not to learn from pain, Tanaquil. Try to learn from happiness."

  "Well, you know all about that."

  The demons were giggling in corners. Acting out how the cork had hit the bad-tempered younger witch on the head.

  Tanaquil drank a little of the Gascain, and then left them all. If they saw her go, she was not certain.

  Learn from happiness! A chance would be wonderful.

  In her boots and divided skirt, Tanaquil stalked over the hot roasted afternoon sand, towards the rock hills.

  Why she was going there was really a mystery to her. There would be nothing to see. Except wild peeves, playing. Happy peeves.

  And the peeve was happy, and Jaive was happy. And Honj was probably quite happy by now, wed to happy Empress Lizra, adored and rich.

  "Damn!" shouted Tanaquil. She added a few other exotic phrases. She told the day what she thought of it, and the throbbing bruise, and Honj, and Jaive, and the peeve.

  "Tomorrow, no later, I'm off."

  As she left the fortress, there were glints and colors waving above it. Jaive and Worabex must already be at their sorcery. Now and then a dull rumble sounded from somewhere.

  It would be sensible to go. Everything here would soon be in such a muddle.

  The little shadows of the afternoon rock hills came over her. They marched across the sand. And she, under the arch of the open rock, shaped like a bridge, or gate, stood in deep shade.

  The shade was cool today, as she had never thought it had been. Up there, she had dug f
or fossils.

  She scuffed the sand with her foot. And down there, those magic bones, like crystal from the stars. Nothing now.

  She felt better suddenly. A little better. After all she had freed a unicorn. And if Honj was happy, and Jaive and the peeve—well, it was good. She was glad.

  If only . . . if only she could be happy too.

  There was a long ominous clap of thunder. It began under the ground, half a mile away, and came galloping towards her.

  Tanaquil looked back at the fortress.

  The dunes were spraying and springing outwards. The air was full of dust and fume. Something was coming up. They had summoned the water source, were bringing it to the surface to make their lavish lovers' garden.

  But the pressure of the water, rushed from miles beneath, was like the pressure in the bottle of bubbling wine.

  Tanaquil knew in that moment what was about to happen. She knew she had been unwise telling no one she was coming to this spot. She knew she was in terrible danger. She knew—

  And then, like a growling, blazing dragon of white and green, a gush of liquid exploded out of the desert, tore upwards, up and up, shining and roaring, and struck the roof of the sky.

  As it fell back towards her in a sheet of shattering green steel, Tanaquil thought clearly, I should have known better. Next: But I'm invulnerable.

  But then the storm of water reached her, struck her, she felt herself whirling round and round, sand in the sky and sky on the ground, until a green fist punched her under the chin, not hurting her at all, and she fell down and down, through the floor of the world beneath the rock gate, down and down into a very silent, empty nothingness. And surely she had done this before, but—I dunno, she heard the rat voice say. Who care?

  Two

  VI

  I'm in a garden.

  The thought was clear and firm. It came because she could hear bird song and the rustle of trees, smell the freshness of leaves mixed with a damp, mushroomy scent. And flowers.

  If Tanaquil opened her eyes, she would see.

  She thought, I'm standing up. I expected I'd be on the ground. I fell down, didn't I?

  And then she thought, I've fallen through another world gate. From the rock hill.

  She opened her eyes wide.

  Greenness flooded them.

  It was not a garden, but a forest. A lush and overgrown forest. Around the black and emerald-mossy trunks of the trees twined glossy ivy and spotted creepers, in which were tangled clusters of huge scarlet flowers, their petals spread so far, they seemed about to fly away. The ground was woven with creepers, thick with shrubs, and new trees. Tall pale red mushrooms with sinister dark freckles rose as high as her knees, her waist.

  About twenty steps ahead, the trees broke. They had been felled to make way for a broad road paved with green stone blocks. More scarlet flowers, these shaped like swords and pokers, burned along the verge. And above, high over the treetops, was a wide sunny sky. The sky was the softest apple green, and the clouds in it were transparent. They looked like bubbles.

  "Yes," said Tanaquil aloud.

  She felt well. She had not hurt herself falling through. But then a wave of alarm poured over her. As on the last occasion, the gate must be—up there. And she could not see it. Until she found an exit, she had no way out. And she was alone here, this time. Quite alone.

  She stood listening. Not an unfriendly world, surely, for the birds sang musically, and now and then she heard a raspy, funny hoot, perhaps from some sort of odd daylight owl. The forest was unusual, but not in any way she could see repulsive or threatening.

  Tanaquil liked the sky. Even the neat road. So well made and green. It looked appealing.

  Since she was here, it might be best to explore a little.

  She walked towards the road, trying not to tread on the masses of little pink, orange, and red clovers growing in the grass.

  Just at the road's edge, Tanaquil hesitated. She could hear another new noise. A rusty rhythmic squeaking. What kind of creature was this?

  Tanaquil stationed herself behind a tree.

  Then she almost laughed. After all, this sort of thing had happened to her twice before. She was nearly used to it.

  And now she saw what was coming briskly along the road. It was a wobbly wheelbarrow, pushed by an old woman with a shawl over her head.

  Oh splendid. The people here look like people, too. That's a bit of luck. Again, she repressed a laugh.

  Then she stepped out on the road, almost boastfully.

  "Good day."

  The old woman cast her a look. "Might be good for you but that isn't to say it's good for everyone."

  Tanaquil dismissed this obstreperous remark. Once more, beings in a parallel world spoke the same language that she did, which was obviously fortunate. Though it occurred to her, actually, that maybe in fact this was not true, simply that, having arrived elsewhere magically, the very nature of the magic enabled Tanaquil to understand and be understood.

  "What a useful wheelbarrow."

  "It may look useful to you. That isn't to say it is."

  "No, I suppose not."

  Tanaquil felt irresponsible and giggly. Ridiculously and literally, she had left all her troubles behind.

  "May I walk along with you?"

  She thought the woman might reply, You might, but then you might not. But the woman said, "Munphf." Which presumably meant, All right, if you must.

  They began to go along the green road through the green forest.

  "I'm a stranger here," said Tanaquil recklessly.

  "Are you."

  "Could you tell me where we're going?"

  "Tablonkish."

  "Oh, Tablonkish. Of course. That's . . . a village?"

  "City. Tweetish is the village. Tweetish and Sweetish."

  "Yes, I see."

  The wheelbarrow was full of something bumpy, and covered by a thick cloth. On the top balanced, Tanaquil now saw—and smelled—a partly rotten cabbage.

  "You're selling cabbages in Tablonkish?" she guessed.

  The old woman gave her a withering glance.

  "Cabbage isn't in fashion."

  Puzzled, Tanaquil said, "Then what—"

  "Ssh," said the woman rudely.

  Tanaquil and she walked on in silence, but for the bird song and the squeaks.

  Although there had been absolutely nothing threatening about this region a moment before, Tanaquil now began to notice a strange sort of fragmented shadow, that seemed to keep appearing, vanishing, re-appearing, about fourteen or fifteen trees deep into the left hand forest.

  "Is there something—"

  "Ssh."

  "Ah."

  On they walked.

  And the shadow—the shadows—kept uneasy pace with them.

  Tanaquil, staring at the bumps under the cloth, said, "That looks like—"

  "Ssh."

  "Why? Anyone, or thing, can hear. This barrow squeaks,

  you know. Who's following you?"

  "They are," said the woman.

  "And who are they?"

  "Ssh."

  Tanaquil, who had had enough of this, flipped up a corner of the cloth.

  "It is. It's—"

  "Ssh."

  "Nuts," finished Tanaquil, deliberately.

  As she did it she felt that perhaps she should not have, and here she was right.

  There was a sudden outburst of squeaking, but this time from among the trees. Now it decidedly was an animal, or several animals.

  "You pest!" shouted the old woman. She stopped moving. "Can't outrun them," she said. "Might have got there. Cabbage could fool them, put them off the scent. But oh no. You have to go and say it."

  Out of the left hand forest burst three creatures. They were about the size of large dogs, and running on all fours. They were covered with shaggy, grayish fur, and had eager snouty heads. Black beady eyes, black noses, natty little ears. Now they sat back and raised their black front paws. The three noses twitched.
>
  "Go away!" screeched the old woman. She pulled from the barrow a long stick and waved it.

  "What—" said Tanaquil.

  "Sqwulfs!" cried the old woman.

  And then the three peculiar animals dropped down on all fours again. Baring pointed fangs and giving savage squeakings and awful pmnerr sounds, they flung themselves at the barrow.

  Tanaquil was knocked over. A great hind paw went in her stomach and winded her. She saw the old woman flailing with the stick, but she was quickly pushed over too. And then the sqwulfs were in the barrow, throwing out the cloth and the reeking cabbage, rolling and burrowing about in the nuts.

  There were small nuts like hazels and walnuts, large ones as big as coconuts, and every size between. The sqwulfs noisily dragged up paws full, cracked the shells with their teeth, chomped and snapped. Bits of shell and nut sprayed off in all directions. Nuts rolled on the road. The sqwulfs trampled and sat on others. Their eyes were reddish with ferocity and enjoyment.

  "Wretched girl!" wailed the old woman.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't—" Tanaquil left off. She and the woman sat on the road amid spilled nuts, watching the sqwulfs greedily feeding.

  "Couldn't we . . . ?"

  "No. Leave them be. Too late now."

  When Tanaquil did get up to try to go nearer the wheelbarrow, one of the sqwulfs menaced her. Its cheeks were stuffed with nuts and it looked idiotic, but very dangerous. After that she did what the old woman had said.

  When the feeding frenzy was done (it took about five minutes), the sqwulfs gathered vast quantities of nuts in their long, wolflike mouths, plumped down and, jaws now wedged wide, went springing off into the trees.

  The rest of the nuts were in a terrible state, but Tanaquil bent to begin picking them up from the road.

  "Leave it," said the old woman again. "Once one pack gets the scent, others come. That rotten cabbage might have kept them off. Then it might not. You said the word. They understand it, you know. Nuts."

  "I didn't know. I'm sorry."

  "You may be sorry," said the old woman, "or you may not be. It hardly matters."