Song of the Wanderer

by Bruce Coville

  Cara looked at Moonheart in astonishment. How was his fate woven with that of her grandmother?

  “There will be danger,” warned the Queen.

  “I understand that.”

  “You may even be required to return to Earth.”

  A shudder rippled along Moonheart’s silken flanks. But all he said was, “I will do what I must.”

  “Then guard the child,” said the Queen. “Guide her as well. Have you spoken to those we selected to travel with you?”

  “I have,” replied Moonheart. Turning toward the assembled unicorns, he made a series of low whickers, which Cara understood to be a call.

  Two unicorns stepped from the group. One, a male, was the biggest unicorn Cara had yet seen. Coming from the other side of the group was a female who, though much smaller than the male, had such a look of ferocity that Cara found her almost terrifying.

  “Greetings, Finder,” said the Queen, addressing the big unicorn.

  “Greetings, My Queen,” he replied softly, in a voice that reminded Cara of a cello.

  “And Belle,” said the Queen, turning to the female. “Though I shall miss having you as a member of my guard, it pleases me that you will be part of this journey.”

  Belle nodded, but said nothing until the Queen repeated the ceremonial words. Then she made her pledge and affirmed that she accepted the task of her own free will, just as each of the others had.

  When the swearing in was finished, the Queen walked down the ramp at the back of the rock, and then around it. Coming to each of them, she placed her horn across their shoulders in sign of blessing. “I shall eagerly await your return. May your journey be successful, for each of you is dear to my heart — as is the Wanderer you go to seek.”

  She returned to the stone platform. “Travel safe, travel well,” she called, in a voice that was stronger than Cara would have thought possible from such a seemingly frail creature. “May those who have gone before be always with you.”

  From behind them, in response, came the voices of the assembled glory. “Travel safe, travel well. May those who have gone before be always with you.”

  The Queen turned and left the circle.

  The other unicorns waited until she was out of sight, then began to drift away as well. Several came over to bid a special farewell to one or the other of the unicorns going on the journey. But finally it was just Cara standing with the three who were to accompany her. She was longing to ask Moonheart about his connection to her grandmother, but before she could get up the courage, he said, “We leave at first light. I suggest you all get a good night’s rest.”

  Then he, too, turned and left the clearing.

  Cara felt uneasy as she watched him disappear into the forest. Though it would be a great honor to travel with him, she found herself longing for Lightfoot. The younger unicorn was not only much friendlier, he actually seemed to like her — a feeling she did not sense from Moonheart.

  She wondered if one reason she and Lightfoot got along so well was because they were both young.

  Well, “young” isn’t exactly the right word, thought Cara with a smile. Her friend was more than a century old, after all. But according to what he had told her, that was approximately what being a teenager was to a human.

  What she had not been able to get Lightfoot to tell her was why he had refused to return to the court at Summerhaven. No one here had been willing to speak of it, either — though in the few days Cara had been here, it had become clear to her that the unicorns at court were as unhappy with Lightfoot as Lightfoot was with them.

  Her wandering thoughts were called back to the present by Finder, who said shyly, “I’m glad we’ll be going with you.”

  “For all the use you’ll be,” Belle muttered.

  “Fighting isn’t the only way to be of help,” replied Finder, his voice gentle.

  Belle snorted, then turned to go.

  “Wait!” said Cara.

  Belle turned back.

  “Thank you for agreeing to come.”

  “Moonheart asked,” replied Belle sharply. “Of course I agreed.”

  “Belle is very fierce,” said Finder, sounding a little nervous.

  “Have to be fierce if you’re on delver patrol,” snapped Belle, her voice dripping with scorn. “Only way to survive.”

  “You can always hide,” replied Finder. Then, quickly, he turned away. Cara had a feeling that if he were human he would have been blushing.

  “I will see you in the morning,” said Belle brusquely. Then she turned once more and left the clearing.

  “Don’t mind her,” said Finder after Belle was gone. “She doesn’t like to talk much.”

  “I guess not,” said Cara, who could not help but wonder if her own family history had anything to do with Belle’s attitude.

  “I, too, will see you in the morning,” said Finder gently. He nuzzled the top of her head once, then turned and disappeared into the darkness.

  * * *

  Cara remained in the center of the clearing for some time. Though it seemed that the unicorns had all gone, she knew they would not leave her entirely alone; one or two were always somewhere nearby to guard her. She understood this was to protect her from delvers, but sometimes she suspected, sadly, that this was also to protect themselves from her. Despite all she had done, she was not sure the unicorns entirely trusted her. Given her family background, she could understand that. But it still hurt, especially considering what she had given up to be here among them.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the snapping of a twig. Turning quickly, she saw a man step from the darkness beneath one of the trees. The brief moment of panic faded when she realized it was Thomas the Tinker. As always, her friend was dressed in an outlandish coat, the original material of which had nearly vanished beneath a myriad of brightly colored patches. The coat had almost as many pockets as patches, and gold watch chains hung in graceful arcs from every one of them. A stray shaft of moonlight piercing through the forest canopy reflected off the chains, and also off the shiny scalp of Thomas’s balding head.

  “I didn’t know you were here,” she said, as he crossed to join her.

  “Wouldn’t have missed a ceremony like that,” he said, speaking as rapidly as usual. “I understand you’re leaving first thing tomorrow?”

  “That’s the plan. Moonheart isn’t the type to wait around once something has been decided on.”

  “Unicorns are like that.” Thomas took one of his watches from a pocket, opened it, glanced at it, shook it, closed it, then placed it in a different pocket. He returned his attention to Cara. “I’d be glad to travel with you for at least part of the way, if you like.”

  Cara’s delighted response was interrupted by a triumphant cry of “Hotcha gotcha!” as a furry ball of energy came flying out of a tree to land on her shoulder.

  She jumped in surprise, then sighed as she realized it was only the Squijum. The creature raced down Cara’s side and began to scamper in circles around her feet. “Want to come!” he chattered. “Want to come along!”

  Cara knelt to bring herself close to him. Just over a foot high, he looked like some odd cross of squirrel and monkey. His thick fur grew in two shades of gray — light on his face, limbs, and stomach, storm-cloud dark on his head and back.

  “It could be dangerous,” she said earnestly.

  The Squijum’s enormous eyes grew even bigger, the bright blue pupils flashing. “No scared! No scared!” His bushy tail thrashed back and forth. “Good fight! Good run! Hotcha hittem bad things! Bite bite bite! Want to come!”

  “I doubt you could stop him if you tried,” said Thomas, who was rummaging in one of his numerous pockets. After a moment he produced a hard biscuit, which he tossed to the Squijum.

  The creature caught the tidbit with one three-fingered hand and scampered back up the tree, where he began munching on it. “No stop!” he confirmed between bites. “No stop Squijum!”


  “Suit yourself,” said Cara, secretly glad to have him along. Though she sometimes pretended that he annoyed her, she found his unreserved affection comforting.

  The Squijum followed her to her resting place after she told Thomas good night. Buildings were not allowed in Summerhaven. Even so, she had a private spot to call her own — an open circle, about eight feet in diameter, surrounded by a wall of shrubs that grew so thickly it was impossible to see through them. In one spot the shrubs overlapped for about four feet; an opening about a yard wide between the overlap formed a kind of hallway through which Cara could enter. She wasn’t sure, but she had a feeling that some human friend of the unicorns had caused the bushes to grow this way. Or maybe the unicorns themselves had done it, using their magic to create a comfortable resting place for their guests.

  Within the circle she had a bed of moss and leaves, which she covered with a finely woven cloth Thomas had given her. Most nights the air was so sweet and warm that Cara was perfectly comfortable sleeping outside. It had only rained once since her arrival at Summerhaven; on that night she had slept in Thomas’s wagon.

  The Squijum entered the circle with her. Once inside, he went bounding around the green walls, now disappearing among the leaves, now bouncing out again to cry, “Hotcha gotcha!”

  Cara settled herself on her bed, then stared into the star-spattered sky. She wondered — as she did several times a day — where her grandmother was, what she was doing.

  Though the other questions — whether her grandmother was a captive of the Hunters, or whether she was even alive — were too awful to consider, they sometimes managed to creep in at the edges of her mind. Usually she was able to push them away.

  Usually, but not always.

  She stared at the stars above her, so many more than she ever saw in the light-choked skies of the cities where she had grown up. The many cities. She wondered now if all the moving she and her grandmother had done had been because they were fleeing the Hunters.

  Or had it simply been because her grandmother was a Wanderer and could not stay in one place?

  A falling star caught her attention. She began trying to pick out the patterns of the stars. Though different from the ones she knew at home, they were gradually becoming familiar to her.

  She located the constellation Thomas had taught her to call “The Ravager.” As she studied it, other questions came crowding in on her. The Queen had said it would take three or four days’ travel to reach the Geomancer. But how long beyond that would it take to reach her grandmother? Would the journey really be as dangerous as the Queen seemed to think? And, the biggest question of all: Would her grandmother even be there when she finally made it home?

  Of course she’ll be there, she told herself angrily, trying to ignore the fearful voice inside that kept insisting the Hunters would have come and taken her grandmother by now. It wasn’t Gramma they were after, she reasoned, trying to make the fear subside. It was the amulet. That was why my father followed me through the opening into Luster. Besides, he was alone. So there was no one else there to bother Gramma.

  Though she kept repeating this idea, she could never entirely convince herself it was true.

  Another frightening possibility occurred to her: What if Gramma Morris had already gone somewhere else to live, in order to throw the Hunters off the trail?

  She tried to push the idea away, telling herself it was stupid. But her mind would not let go of it. She knew her grandmother would do whatever was necessary to shield the unicorns. The thought of making the long journey home, only to discover her grandmother was gone, had fled somewhere else, tormented her — partly because her heart was already tender on this matter, still unhealed from the loss of her parents. Which led her wandering thoughts back to the horrible question her father had planted in her mind, the question that had nagged at her ever since: Had her grandmother really stolen her from her parents in order to keep her away from Beloved?

  And if she had, was that so bad? But why hadn’t she said anything?

  The questions blurred together. The Squijum, who had crept onto her bed and nestled in beside her, had fallen asleep. He was making a sound somewhere between a purr and a snore. The night air whispered around them, rich with scents of earth mold and moonflower.

  She was still gazing at the Ravager when her eyes grew too heavy to keep open, and she fell asleep.

  Her first dream was simple and sweet.

  It was the second dream that made her wake up screaming.

  3

  The Journey Begins

  The dream had started simply enough. Cara was in the rented house she had shared with her grandmother for the last year or so, sitting in her own room. Feeling lonely, she went to look for her grandmother. But Ivy Morris wasn’t there — not in the kitchen, nor the little living room, nor her own snug bedroom.

  Finally, to ease her loneliness, Cara turned to their old black and white television, which her grandmother had insisted stay off most of the time.

  To her surprise, it was already on.

  And the picture was in color.

  When Cara realized what was on the screen, she tried to turn away. To her horror, she couldn’t; her eyes were locked on the image it presented.

  This was how Cara saw for the first time the face of Beloved, the ancient enemy of the unicorns and her own many-times great grandmother. Beloved, who as a child had watched her own father — a man who had been led by a lie to believe unicorns were evil — fight to the death with Whiteling, the unicorn who had come to cure her when she was horribly ill. Beloved, who still carried in her heart the tip of Whiteling’s horn, which had broken off when her father attacked the unicorn and had forever after been both constantly wounding and constantly healing her. Beloved, who blamed Whiteling for her father’s death (and her own never-ending pain) and, as a result, had vowed to destroy all unicorns.

  The woman was shockingly beautiful, her face neither young nor old. Though her hair had turned pure white, it was still as thick and glossy as a unicorn’s mane. Her eyes were gray, the deep gray of thunder clouds, save for their centers, where they glowed a fiery red.

  “You belong to me,” the image whispered.

  “I don’t!” Cara cried. “I don’t!”

  “You’re mine, Cara Diana Hunter, and always will be!” The scarlet pupils of Beloved’s eyes were blazing now, so large and bright they almost obliterated the gray surrounding them. Her voice dropped to a whisper, low and seductive. “There is no point in fighting me, child. Blood calls to blood. And you are of my blood, my many-times great-granddaughter. So come to me. Come to me!”

  “No!” cried Cara. She screamed — a real scream, so loud that she woke herself. She sat up, staring into the darkness, then gasped in new horror as she realized she hadn’t been dreaming after all. Even though she was now awake, she could still sense Beloved in her mind.

  “Get out!” cried Cara. “Get out!” Frantically, she shook her head from side to side, as if she could somehow fling Beloved away. “Get out, get out, get out!”

  Beloved didn’t go. “Accept your destiny, child of my children’s children,” she crooned in Cara’s mind. “Accept who you are. No need to wander in vain. Come home — home to me.”

  Trembling with horror, Cara beat at her head, trying to drive out the intruding presence.

  “Come to me,” whispered Beloved one last time, her voice desperate, longing.

  And then, suddenly, she was gone.

  Cara lay panting on the grass, scarcely aware of the Squijum crouched at her side, muttering nervously, “Hotcha Wowie bad dream! No good, much yell yowie yowie yowie.”

  Seconds later, Thomas and Moonheart came running into her clearing, both kneeling beside her to ask what had happened, if she was all right.

  She flung her arms around Thomas’s neck and clung to him, weeping.

  * * *

  Later, after she had grown calmer, Cara told them what she had experien
ced. At the first mention of Beloved’s name, she could see a hint of fear in Moonheart’s eyes, a flicker of distrust that added sorrow to her own fear.

  The unicorn turned to Thomas. “What do you make of this, Tinker?”

  “It could be just a dream.”

  “It wasn’t!” said Cara indignantly.

  The Tinker nodded. “I’ll take your word on that. But if it wasn’t a dream, then I’m troubled by the question of how Beloved was able to make a connection with you. Something like that can’t come out of nowhere. There has to be some contact point, some key.”

  “Are you carrying anything Beloved might have a connection with?” asked Moonheart sharply.

  “I don’t think so,” said Cara. “Unless . . . could it be the amulet?”

  Moonheart snorted a dismissal. “If she could reach you through the amulet, she’d be on her way here already. No, there has to be some other way she made the contact.”

  “What?” asked Cara, more nervous than ever at this idea. “What could it be?”

  “I don’t have the slightest idea,” said Moonheart, “which is part of what bothers me.” Then he made her tell the whole story over again.

  When she was done, Moonheart shook his head in dismay. “I can’t find the connection.” He turned to Thomas. “Will you stay here until morning?”

  The Tinker nodded. “Of course.”

  “Send for me at once if there is any more trouble,” said Moonheart. Then he turned and left the clearing.

  The Squijum curled up beside Cara. Thomas stationed himself against the green wall of the hedge and said, “We’ll be right here if you need us.”

  Even so, after a time, her guardians slept.

  Cara, however, stayed awake until morning, sometimes closing her eyes but mostly staring up into the clear, star-spattered sky.