by Sara King
“What is this ‘tek-no-lo-gee?’” he asked, without looking at her.
“The magic of the human realm,” she explained. “The magic of science.”
“No,” he said.
“I need to get back,” Imelda said. “Is there anything I could do to—”
“No.”
For a long time, Imelda simply knelt there, her knees long since having gone numb, her wrist wrapped in the pure tingle of a unicorn’s firm grip, like the pleasing wash of an unspoiled mountain lake. Eventually, very careful not to disturb him, Imelda started to move, to go back to the fire.
“I could kill you,” the man said, making her flinch.
“Uh,” Imelda said, freezing in place, eying him warily, “I suppose you probably could, yes.”
“You’re at my mercy.”
Imelda saw the still-drying tears on his cheeks and thought that, in reality, it was the other way around, but she gave a tentative nod anyway.
“You have nowhere you can go on your own,” he insisted. “You’d die out here without my help.”
That was probably true enough. She gave him a reluctant nod.
“If I take you back…” he offered slowly, “will you swear to be my prisoner afterwards? For at least a little while?”
Sensing some devil’s game of which the Second Landers were so fond, Imelda immediately became cautious. “What kind of prisoner?”
He frowned at her. “There’s more than one kind?”
Then a more important question occurred to her. “Why do you want me as your prisoner?”
“You are my prisoner,” he growled back. “I don’t have to let you leave.”
Imelda thought of the pepper-spray in her pocket, then wondered how far she would get through the Canadian northlands before she froze to death.
“So that’s why you saved me?” she demanded. “To have a prisoner?”
“No!” he blurted. But by the startled look in his eyes, it was all-too-obvious that was exactly what had happened.
Oh shit, Imelda thought, finding herself scrambling to correct the unicorn’s mistake and fix the situation before she became the star of her very own fairy-tale. “Um, good sir, I would not make a good prisoner.”
“Why not?” he demanded.
“Oh, well…” Imelda yanked his arm forward, over her body, and heaved him upward and back, throwing him over her shoulder in a defensive move that her Padre had taught her, many years ago.
In doing so, she passed out.
Sometime later, she opened her eyes and the man was standing above her, looking both wary and interested. “You probably need food and drink. You don’t have enough blood in your system. Can all Inquisitors do that?”
“It’s pretty standard training,” she managed, still staring up at him, her head pounding. With a groan, she sat up. “Are you going to take me back to Alaska, now?”
“Are you going to swear to be my prisoner?”
“I told you I won’t make a good prisoner.”
“So you threw me over a shoulder. I could stomp on you.”
“Look,” Imelda said, “People are going to die if I don’t make it back there, and soon. I don’t have time to argue this with you right now.”
The man raised that single silver brow at her and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t have to take you anywhere.”
Imelda peered up at him, holding her head, and sighed. “How long?”
“How long for what?”
“How long do I have to be your prisoner, in exchange for you being my steed?”
Immediately, the man stiffened, anger flashing in his cerulean eyes. “I’m not your steed.”
“You want a prisoner?” she demanded. “I need a steed.”
For a long moment, it looked as if the unicorn would argue. Then, “Fine.”
“Fine what?” she demanded. “How long will it be?”
“As long as I want,” he said immediately.
“Bullshit!” Imelda snapped, knowing the Second Landers and their notoriously never-ending bargains of servitude. “It will be a maximum of one year, or not at all.”
“A prisoner doesn’t get to decide that,” the man growled.
She didn’t have time for this. “You know where the dragons live?”
The man went utterly stiff. “I’m not taking you to the dragons.”
“Why not?” Imelda demanded. Then, wincing, she realized. “They take unicorns?”
“If they can,” he agreed. “A girl dragon tried to put an iron collar on me, once, but I stabbed her with my horn.”
Something which, if what Imelda had seen, probably hadn’t been too detrimental to the dragon, though it had probably given her enough pause for the unicorn to escape.
“Okay,” Imelda said. “How about you take me close to the dragons, and I walk the rest of the way?”
He gave her a suspicious look. “Then how will I know you’ll come back?”
Imelda felt the beginnings of another migraine. “I’ll be your prisoner until the dragons, but once we reach them, I go my own way.”
“You’re my prisoner now, and I don’t have to take you anywhere,” he insisted stubbornly.
“Two years,” Imelda muttered. “I’ll give you two years.”
“Six.”
“Three,” Imelda snapped back, “and that’s it, plus you will take me anywhere I want to go during that time, otherwise, deal’s off.”
The man gave her a long look. “On my back?”
“As my mount.”
He made a face. “No saddle, no bridle, no reins.”
“How will I keep from falling off?”
He snorted. “You won’t fall off.”
“I’m not a good rider,” Imelda insisted. “I never got a chance to learn…”
“You won’t be riding me,” the unicorn growled, the rumble sounding almost leonine. “I will be carrying you.”
Imelda wasn’t about to mince words with a Second Lander. “Well, whether you’re carrying me or I’m riding, I still don’t want to fall off. We will need to fashion me some sort of saddle.”
His blue eyes held hers in her a long, flat look. Then his face began elongating, a twist of opal jutting from his brow, his body bending over, his arms dropping to the ground, a blanket of soft white fur sprouting from his body. “Get on,” he said, once he again stood beside her in his natural form, roughly the height of a draft horse, but with a slender body and willowy legs. He offered his back to her by leaning back in a sort of bow, making his shoulder a bit more accessible.
“Um,” Imelda said, not having realized before just how high his back was from the ground. No wonder it had hurt. “Why?”
“I want to show you something.”
She took a nervous step backwards, getting the very distinct idea it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
The unicorn made an impatient sound and stomped the snow.
“I’d be okay with just a rope,” she insisted. “We could rip a few strips off the bottom of my coat, tie it around your neck.
He peered at her. “Do you want me to stab you again?”
Remembering that flesh-eating wave of agony, she grimace. “Um, no.”
“Then get on my back. This hurts.” He gestured with his horn at the way he was leaning down for her. It did look awkward and somewhat painful.
Very reluctantly, her feet gingerly finding purchase on his knee, her fingers snagging in his lionlike mane, she pulled herself over his silky neck, then slid backwards down his spine. “Okay,” she said nervously. “What are you planning to show me?”
“Do not vomit on my back.” The unicorn stood smoothly and Imelda’s fingers spasmed on his mane as the ground fell far away to nauseating proportions. She’d never ridden anything as big as a draft horse before. The higher the back from the ground, the further the rider had to fall.
Then she realized what he had said.
Do not…vomit?
Oh God, she whimpered, tightening her grip, thi
s is not going to be good.
Even as she had the thought, the unicorn lurched forward and her world tilted suddenly, like she had been dropped inside one of those gyroscope machines at the Fair, and, as she was trying to adjust to that, the unicorn walked up a tree, danced across a few treetops, pirouetted on its hindquarters, flipped to repeat the process on his front quarters, then did a somersault off of the top of a cottonwood canopy, making the horizon lurch precariously and tumble around her as they spun back to the ground.
Imelda was still screaming, her hands fisted on the creature’s mane in a death-grip, when the unicorn turned back to look at her with a flat expression. “So. Are you satisfied I’m not going to drop you?”
It took several minutes of hyperventilation before Imelda could calm down enough to reassure herself that she was alive. Slowly, she tore her eyes from the way her white knuckles were buried in his hair and lifted her head to meet his gaze in astonishment. Through it all—upside-down, over backwards, lunging, twisting, falling—Imelda realized, stunned, she hadn’t even slipped.
“You’re pulling my hair.”
She released his mane reflexively. Then, carefully, she slid from his back and stumbled to the fire, where she sat down abruptly and tried to comprehend why she wasn’t laying tangled in the snow with a broken neck.
“So,” the unicorn said, as he shifted back to the slender, naked human and squatted across the fire from her, “You agree to be my prisoner, then?” He sounded…anxious.
Heart still thundering from the somersaults, she managed, “Three years? Me as your prisoner, you as my mount?”
“If that doesn’t sound fair, we could renegotiate,” he said, sounding almost desperate. “I mean, you don’t have to be scared. I think a lot of people are scared to be prisoners, but you don’t have to be. I’ll be nice.”
“I’m not sure…” she said, resisting the urge to smile. “I only have to spend three years as your prisoner?” The unicorn was…adorable.
“I’ll take good care of you,” the man insisted. He gestured at the fire and the little lean-to half-hidden by the snow.
Imelda kept her face straight, knowing that God did not like those who took advantage of innocents. But, on the other hand, she also knew that this could be no less than a gift from God, so she had to progress delicately and with extreme honor. “I accept your ransom, unicorn, if you will accept mine. I will grudgingly spend three years as your prisoner, if you will serve as my mount and take me anywhere I want to go during that time.”
The unicorn’s mouth fell open and he stared at her a few minutes before he shook himself. “Oh, yeah, I mean yes.”
“Then the bargain is sealed and we are oathbound,” Imelda said, with as much solemnity and ceremony as she could manage.
The unicorn was staring at her again. Then he jerked. “Oh, uh, do you want food? I can find food. Or drink? There’s snow…” He frowned at the white stuff by his foot. “I can find something to cook it in, I think…” He got up and walked over to a birch tree and cocked his head at it, like he was trying to figure out how to get the bark off.
Suppressing her smile, Imelda said, “If I am to serve as your prisoner, I would also have you serve your end of the agreement and take me to the dragons.”
The unicorn flinched. “Oh…uh…” He swallowed, hard. “Um.”
“We are oathbound,” Imelda reminded him.
“Okay,” he squeaked. “But can I at least pretend to be a horse?”
“Will a dragon see through it?” Imelda asked.
“Uhhh,” he managed. “I don’t know…”
“Then no. You will go as yourself, and I will protect you from the dragons. As your prisoner.”
The man dropped his hand from where he was peeling away a hunk of birch bark and bit his lip, then glanced at the fire, then at the tiny shelter he had built, then reluctantly looked up at her. “You can do that?”
“I can,” Imelda said, with as much strength as she could manage. God knew she was going to burn in Hell if she was wrong.
The unicorn gave her a long, nervous look, then said, “Oathbound means I have to?”
She shrugged. “You wanted a prisoner.”
“Um.” He was obviously terrified of the idea of dragons. But after a long moment of consideration, fidgeting with a twig, he eventually looked up and said, “Okay, but you have to talk to me along the way.”
Imelda allowed herself to smile. “I can do that.”
Chapter 20: Irrational Fears
They were flying south, with the djinni riding the back of the dragon, when they ran into Thunderbird a second time.
“Who do you see?” Kaashifah demanded, putting herself between her friends and the enormous black bird that was fast approaching.
“Thunderbird,” the djinni said.
“A peacock,” the dragon growled.
Which meant, most likely, it wasn’t a Second Lander’s mind-magics, but the actual Thunderbird. Kaashifah almost wished it were the previous.
“To the ground,” the demigod snarled, as he came within hearing distance and flared around her so that he could see the lizard. “I will duel the lizard. To the death.”
Realizing that he was utterly serious—and that Kaashifah was about to lose a third of her battle plan—she got between them again. “We are busy with the Inquisition.”
“You are about to be busy with lightning, Fury—” then Thunderbird blinked. “Cockroach?” The Thunderbird, to Kaashifah’s disgust, had picked up the dragon’s moniker for her rather quickly. Then he simply shook himself, making static roll from his feathers in electric ripples over his feathers. “To the ground. Now. Or I will put you there.”
Realizing that being driven to the ground by bolts from the sky would probably impede her performance in her next fight, Imelda reluctantly followed her friends to the snowy landscape. Thunderbird, once he had hovered long enough to be sure they landed, dropped to the ground and snapped into human form with a sizzling flash of electricity. He had, Kaashifah realized, no pony tail, and his clothes were tattered.
“You,” Thunderbird snarled at the dragon, “are to blame for this.” Already, the buzz in the air was increasing, and Kaashifah’s hair was beginning to stand on end. “I will take it from your hide, lizard. Djinni, get off the serpent. I would not kill my entertainment.”
“Ah, Great One, I could grant you a wish if it would assuage the pain,” the djinni said quickly.
Great One, Kaashifah thought, gagging on her laughter. Nice touch.
Immediately, the Thunderbird straightened in an imperial scowl at the silvery dragon, who had bunched up, mirror-like wings spread in a snarl, then regally turned to the djinni. “State your terms.”
“Let us pass, help us defeat the invaders, and I will return your hair and your robes to you, unscathed.”
Oooh, Kaashifah thought, Very nice touch.
“No,” Thunderbird said. “I want a wish. Right now. Or the lizard dies.” The tingling feel of a lightning-strike continued to grow.
Grimacing, the djinni said, “One wish. It is agreed.”
“I wish the dragon was claustrophobic,” Thunderbird said.
Even as the lizard screeched his indignance, the djinni began to swirl with violet energy and suddenly the dragon stiffened. Narrowing his eyes at the demigod, Savaxian growled, “I hate you.”
Thunderbird sniffed with complete disdain and turned back to Kaashifah. “You. Cockroach. Do you want help scouring out the rest of the vermin?”
Kaashifah frowned at the way he said ‘rest’ of the vermin, but she wasn’t about to give up his assistance. “Your help would be appreciated,” she said.
“Of course it would be. Djinni, I will take payment in song.”
“What shall I sing of this time, my liege?” the djinni asked.
Oh my God he is laying it on thick, Kaashifah thought, disgusted.
“Unicorns, what the hell else?” the serpent snarled. “The simpleton is obsessed with them.�
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Thunderbird considered, then turned his head to the side, listening to something in the distance.
“It’s always ‘unicorns this’ or ‘unicorns that,’” the dragon went on. “As if a unicorn would ever deign to fuck him. He’s such a puffed-up, vain, vindictive little peaco—”
A helicopter came humming over the treeline, low and fast, a black shadow hugging the landscape like a wasp. As soon as it crested the trees, it opened up fire, spraying the ground in a line directly towards them…
A bolt of lightning roughly the width of the helicopter hit it with the ear-popping detonation of thunder, and the concussive blast knocked Kaashifah flat on her back. When her eyes cleared enough to sit up, blinking, the wreckage of the helicopter sat in a groove in the ground a few arm’s-lengths away, a smoking husk of burned and twisted metal.
Thunderbird turned back to the dragon, who was likewise getting to his feet. Distractedly, he said, “You were saying?”
“Um,” Savaxian said, eying the wreckage, “Nevermind.”
“A song for every hour I help you,” Thunderbird said, brushing flecks of ash from his tattered robes. Then, frowning, he yanked a shard of metal out of his leg and flicked it to the ground. He pried at the robes, found the hole the shard had made, and made a disgusted sound and dropped them again.
Staring at the helicopter, mouth ajar, the djinni said, “Done.”
“Beginning…” Thunderbird shoved his robes up his arm and glanced at his wrist, which, Kaashifah noticed, carried a very expensive gold watch. “Now. It is eleven-twenty-two.”
“Say eleven thirty?” ‘Aqrab suggested.
Thunderbird lowered his hand with a scowl. “Say eleven-twenty.”
“Eleven-twenty it is. Shall we bargain for it?”
Thunderbird waved him off. “It’s not like I can’t find you again, should you try to cheat me.” He turned to Kaashifah. “What is your plan of attack, cockroach?”
Kaashifah scowled at him, vividly imagining cutting off the rest of his hair with one of the two blades at her hip. “I will find my sister and deal with her. The djinni and the dragon were going to slip into the Inquisition compound and check for survivors.”