Song of the Wanderer

by Bruce Coville

  Cara stood back, watching as well — watching the dragon watch the Tinker. She was torn about what to do, wanting to take advantage of the opening Thomas had offered, yet terrified that if she did, it would put her friends in jeopardy.

  And outside, the sun was sinking toward the horizon, bringing an end to the next to the last day of summer.

  Thomas glanced in her direction and seemed startled to see she was still there. He motioned toward the back of the cave with his head, urging her to go.

  She placed a hand on Lightfoot’s shoulder. “Thomas is doing all this so that I can slip away,” she told him, speaking mind to mind. “I’m going to go through now.”

  “Do you think that is wise?” he asked fretfully.

  Almost without thinking about it, Cara moved her fingers to the gold chain that held the amulet around her neck. She glanced around. Ebillan’s eyes were still fixed on Thomas and the golden cup. “It’s now or never,” she thought to Lightfoot.

  “Go in safety,” he replied. “Come back soon.”

  Moving silently, as silently as she had the night when she and her grandmother were pursued into St. Christopher’s by the Hunter she later discovered to be her father, Cara slipped toward the back of the cave.

  She peered into the opening Ebillan had entered, the one on the left.

  In the distance she could see the glitter of gold. Sensing that was not the right way, she stepped to the right. A short passage led her to a smaller cave.

  It was made of crystal, just as M’Gama had said.

  Still moving silently, Cara went into the cave. She felt as if she had entered an enormous diamond. The faceted walls caught the light of Medafil’s sphere, reflecting it around her until the brilliance was almost painful. Quickly she twisted the sphere down to marble size and tucked it into her pocket.

  Now the crystal cave was dark and silent. Feeling slightly guilty yet at the same time wildly excited, she clutched the amulet, then whispered the spell that would return her to Earth.

  “Luster, let me go.”

  The world swirled green around her. She felt as if she were falling, then as if she were being blown across time by the breath of God. How many minutes, hours, days went by she could not guess.

  Then, so suddenly it left her blinking, she was standing in the kitchen of the house she had shared with her grandmother during the last year.

  Luster was gone. She was back on Earth at last.

  She glanced around. The kitchen was clean and tidy, just as her grandmother always kept it.

  That was a good sign, but not proof. Part of her was still terrified that her Grandmother might be gone, that this might be someone else’s house now. What would she do then?

  She slipped the chain back over her neck and tucked the amulet under her shirt.

  She thought about calling out, then decided against it. She didn’t want to startle Grandmother Morris with her sudden arrival — or possibly alert some new tenant to the fact that there was an intruder.

  But what was the best thing to do now? For all that she had thought of this moment, ached for it, worked toward it, she was not sure how to handle it.

  Torn between eagerness and dread, Cara moved to the door that led to the living room. Cautiously, silently, she swung it open.

  A woman stood by the window, gazing into the night below. At the sound of Cara’s entrance, she turned.

  Cara cried out in horror.

  20

  Beloved

  “Welcome, wandering child,” whispered the woman. Then she winced and closed her eyes, as if experiencing some horrible pain. After a moment the spasm passed. Opening her eyes again, she said, “I have been waiting for you to return, my many-times great-granddaughter.”

  Heart pounding, chest tight, throat so dry she could hardly speak, Cara whispered, “Where is my grandmother?”

  “She is wandering, of course. Just as you have been doing. Since she isn’t here, I thought I would come and wait for you instead.”

  A terrible emptiness seemed to swallow Cara. To come all this way and find that her grandmother was gone seemed too much to bear. But then, it would have been even worse to find her a prisoner of Beloved. Fighting to speak calmly, she said, “Is my grandmother safe?”

  Beloved shrugged. “I expect so. I don’t really care. It’s you I’m interested in.”

  “Me?” asked Cara nervously.

  “I’ve come to take you away with me, dearest. Remember, I am your grandmother, too, though many times farther back. It is time for you to join us, child. Time for you to take your place in our family of Hunters.”

  Beloved smiled and took a step toward Cara, then winced again. Even in pain her pale skin was smooth, her features unutterably lovely. Her winter-white hair, curling and wispy like a unicorn’s mane, hung well below her waist. The gray irises of her eyes were cold and looked like stone, though in their centers the pupils blazed a hot, terrifying red.

  Cara backed away. Without intending to, she began to lift her hand to her neck, reaching toward the amulet. The hungry flicker in Beloved’s eyes made her stop. Of course! Beloved wanted the amulet. Her father had told her as much, told her that when Beloved had it, she would be able to open her own gate into Luster, and lead the Hunt into the very world where the unicorns had fled to be safe.

  Cara’s mind began to race. She had to keep the amulet away from Beloved. But how? She thought, briefly, of trying to fling it through the window. Her heart flinched at the thought; in doing so, she would also lock herself out of Luster.

  She might have done it anyway, only Beloved stood between her and the window, and it seemed likely if she tried the woman would somehow intercept the amulet.

  Her second thought was that she should simply slip back into Luster. But she feared that if she did, Beloved might come with her. She was fairly certain that was how her father had gotten into Luster the last time.

  That might not be all bad. Maybe once they had Beloved in Luster they could — what? Kill her? Cara couldn’t imagine the unicorns doing that, though Beloved had been responsible for the death of so many unicorns. Imprison her? Cure her? Put her to sleep forever, like the Hunter who had attacked Moonheart all those years ago in the cave in England?

  Or would she run amok, cause destruction beyond imagining? Cara had no idea how powerful Beloved was, how much magic she controlled. Once in Luster might she be able to summon the Hunters, open a door for them to invade?

  “You seem frightened,” said Beloved gently. “I’m not going to hurt you, child.”

  “You’d hurt the unicorns if you could.”

  Beloved’s red eyes blazed, but she kept her voice soft, almost a purr. “There is a great deal that you don’t understand,” she murmured. Another spasm of pain twisted her face.

  “Where is my grandmother?” asked Cara again. “What have you done with her?”

  “I told you, she is wandering.”

  “Where? I want to know where!”

  Beloved smiled. “Give me the amulet, and I’ll tell you.”

  Cara gasped and felt as if Beloved had somehow managed to reach inside and twist her fingers around her own heart. Was this what it would come down to? Trade the amulet for her grandmother? The unicorns for the Wanderer?

  She knew at once what her grandmother would want, and shook her head. “I can’t do that.”

  Beloved shrugged, as if it was of little matter to her.

  Cara stared at the woman, trying to understand her. If only Beloved could know the unicorns the way she did, could see how kind and good they were, maybe she would let go of her quest for vengeance.

  “The unicorns are my friends,” she said softly. “They’re not bad, like you think. They’re not — ”

  “Quiet!” shrieked Beloved. “You miserable brat, who do you think you are to tell me about the unicorns? What do you know, what can you know, in the tiny amount of time you’ve been alive? Did the unicorns kill your fath
er? Did they curse you with a pain-laced life that goes on and on, never letting you die?” Her features writhed, and then she gained control of them once more. “The unicorns are nice,” she simpered. “The unicorns are kind. You driveling nitwit. What can you possibly know about their evil, their deceit, their vileness?”

  Panting, Beloved lunged toward her.

  Cara ducked aside. Beloved spun and, with astonishing speed, lunged again. This time she caught Cara by the arm. They tumbled to the floor together.

  “I will have that amulet!” shrieked Beloved, clawing at Cara’s neck.

  Cara grabbed the woman’s wrists and tried to push them back, but Beloved was strong, terribly strong. Then another spasm of pain struck. Beloved shuddered and cried out, and her grip weakened. Cara wrenched herself away, then rolled over so that her face was to the floor. Tucking her fists against her jaw, her arms tight against her sides, she pressed down, trying to meld herself with the carpet.

  Beloved pulled at her arms, and then her hair. “Roll over!” she cried. “Roll over!”

  Cara pushed herself down even harder, praying for the moment to end, for Beloved to vanish. But like a madwoman, she continued to claw at Cara. Then, suddenly, the attack stopped. For an instant Cara thought Beloved had given up. Then she felt the woman’s hands on her ankles. Before Cara could do a thing about it, Beloved had flipped her over.

  Cara pulled back her feet, then thrust them forward as hard as she could, catching Beloved in the chest. Eyes widening in astonishment, the white-haired woman staggered back against the wall. Cara scrambled to her feet and headed for the window. She would fling the amulet out, even if it meant she could never get back to Luster herself. But she hesitated for just a moment, stopped by a new fear: What if someone else found it, someone who shouldn’t go to Luster?

  They wouldn’t know how to use it, she told herself.

  The instant’s hesitation was all Beloved needed. She hurled herself across the room and grabbed Cara from behind. With her tight embrace pinning Cara’s arms to her sides, Beloved began to whisper in the girl’s ear. “You mustn’t be like this,” she crooned. “Grandmother Beloved doesn’t like it. Be good, and Grandmother Beloved will be good to you. Be nice, and Grandmother Beloved will be nice to you. I’ll teach you secrets you never imagined, Cara. There is so much waiting for you, child. Things you’ve never dreamed of, things the unicorns would never have told you about.” She paused as another wave of pain shuddered through her, and then went on again, her voice low and seductive. “I know deep and secret places in the world, unsuspected beauties, mysteries beyond anything most humans can even guess at. Give yourself to me, Cara. Let your blood answer its call. You are one of my children. You are a Hunter, and it’s not right, not good, for you to resist me like this. Just relax, dearheart. Relax and let Grandmother Beloved take care of everything for you. No need to think, no need to worry. Relax. Relax.”

  Her voice was soothing, hypnotic. Against her will, Cara began to sag in the woman’s arms. She could feel one of Beloved’s hands creeping toward the chain that held the amulet — could feel it, but didn’t seem to be able to do anything about it.

  “Relax,” whispered the voice, which came to her as through a fog. “Relax into the mystery and the beauty that only I can give you. Relax, and when you do, I can take you back to your mother. Relax and — ”

  “That’s enough!” A familiar voice, strong and sharp, cut through the velvet of Beloved’s words. The woman’s grip faltered, and Cara slithered out of her arms.

  “Jacques!” cried Cara. “How did you — ”

  She broke off. Not only was her grandfather standing in the doorway that led to the kitchen, but next to him was Lightfoot.

  A new wave of terror washed over her. “Lightfoot, what are you doing here? Go. Go!”

  Her words were drowned in Beloved’s shriek of rage. “To me, my children!”

  From the hallway, where they had been waiting in silence, rushed seven men. They were dressed in black and armed with glistening swords.

  Cara cried out in fear and confusion when she saw that the man at the front of the group was her father.

  Lightfoot reared back and trumpeted a challenge, the tip of his horn grazing the ceiling.

  The men raced toward him. His hooves flashed forward, raining silver blows among them. The attackers dropped back, but not before one managed to slash open Lightfoot’s side with his sword. Crimson and silver blood spurted from the wound and puddled on the floor.

  Jacques hurtled forward in a series of handsprings, which ended with his feet smashing into the chin of one of the Hunters. The man let out a startled cry, then crumpled to the floor.

  “One down!” crowed Jacques, looking happier than Cara had ever seen him.

  Two others turned toward him. He began to leap and spin like some demented dervish, his agility astonishing for someone his age. One of the men rushed forward. Jacques ducked underneath his arm, came up behind him as he rushed past, and gave him a solid kick in the back of the head that sent him sprawling.

  “Fools rush in,” Jacques murmured in satisfaction.

  Now half the men had turned their attention toward the old tumbler. The others, swords raised and ready, stood facing Lightfoot.

  Though Cara had started forward when she saw Lightfoot wounded, Beloved had again grabbed her from behind. Now, despite her desperate struggles, the woman held her fast.

  Bugling in fury, Lightfoot lunged toward them, plowing past the men, knocking two of them down, ignoring the second and third wounds that scored his sides. Cara struggled to break free.

  The room was a madhouse of sound and fury, the battle made awkward by the close quarters. The men bumped into furniture, scrambled over it, leaped over it, stumbled and fell over it. One screamed in pain, then fell writhing to the floor when Lightfoot’s flashing hooves struck his arm and snapped the bone.

  “Enough!” cried Beloved in a voice so powerful that it sliced through the chaos and turmoil, so commanding that all eyes turned toward her.

  All eyes save Cara’s.

  For Beloved held her from behind. The woman had one arm around Cara’s neck. Her other hand, which clutched a silver dagger, was poised above Cara’s heart.

  21

  Betrayal

  The battle stopped. Jacques and Lightfoot stood without moving. Three of the men lay moaning on the floor. One of the men still standing raised his sword as if to plunge it into Lightfoot’s side.

  “Not now, Marcus,” snapped Beloved. “Better to do it later, with ceremony and ritual. You’ll waste too much magic this way. Kenneth, bring the binding.”

  A tall man with reddish-gold hair stepped toward Lightfoot. From his hand dangled a golden bridle.

  When the unicorn shied away, Beloved said sharply, “Careful, beast!”

  The woman’s voice was ragged with pain. Cara, still in her grip, could feel the shudder that rippled through her. She tried to take advantage of the moment to squirm free of Beloved’s grasp. It did no good. Beloved tightened her hold and brought the tip of her silver dagger to rest directly against Cara’s chest.

  Lightfoot, watching, shook his head. “Be still, Cara,” he whispered.

  She slumped back and watched helplessly as the golden bridle was placed over his head. To her horror, the moment it was on him she could see him relax, falling calm and docile under the bridle’s spell. She felt as if all hope had been ripped from her heart.

  “Good,” murmured Beloved. “Now he is ours, to do with as we will.” Then, as if she had barely noticed Jacques until now, she said, “Ian, bind the old man. Tightly!”

  Ian. Ian Hunter. Cara’s father.

  Her father, who hadn’t even acknowledged her presence.

  That’s all right, she thought fiercely. He’s not my father anymore. I don’t want him!

  Even so, it hurt that it was her father who pushed Jacques into a chair, her father who pulled the old man’s hands b
ehind his back and bound them with black cord, her father who bound his feet as well, tying them to the legs of the chair so that he couldn’t even hobble away.

  Bitterness rose within her, so strong she could taste it. How could he do these things?

  “Good,” said Beloved. She lowered the knife and stepped away from Cara. “Now, Great-granddaughter, let us try talking again. There are things you need to know, things you do not understand. Sit down. I want to take a look at our captive.”

  Cara did as the woman directed — partly because one of the Hunters came to stand beside her to make sure she didn’t try to escape.

  Beloved walked around Lightfoot, studying him carefully. He stood, docile and unflinching, even when she poked at his wounds. His flanks were drenched in his own blood, silver and scarlet, and the sight was like acid in Cara’s eyes. She longed to heal him but could not; longed to save him but didn’t know how.

  When Beloved was done, her face glowed with triumph. “This is better than I could have hoped for! Do you know what we have here, my children? A unicorn of the royal family. Not merely of royal blood, but next in line for the throne. We have captured Prince Lightfoot himself.”

  Cara blinked in astonishment. She had known Lightfoot was the Queen’s grandson. But next in line for the throne? How could this be?

  Following hard on that question came another, one she had lost track of in the chaos of the fight: How had Jacques and Lightfoot crossed to Earth?

  She realized it was possible she might never find out because she might never speak to either of them again . . . might never again see them alive.

  She blinked back tears, telling herself to keep strong.

  Beloved returned to Cara. Reaching down, she hooked a slender finger under the chain that held the amulet. Tugging at it, she pulled the amulet from under Cara’s shirt. It rested in her palm, golden and sparkling, the luminous white hair from a unicorn’s mane curled beneath its crystal lid.

  “Soon,” she murmured. “Soon.”

  Then she dropped the chain.

  “Aren’t you going to take it?” asked Cara in surprise.