Song of the Wanderer

by Bruce Coville

  “I will if I have to. But it will do less damage to the magic if you give it to me freely.”

  Cara snorted.

  “Don’t be rude, child. I could simply take it if I wanted to. Or I could bargain with you — the amulet for the life of one of your friends over there.”

  Cara felt her head swim. Would she trade the amulet for Jacques or Lightfoot? Of course! Except . . . except if she did, how many more unicorns would die as a result?

  “That would be better. But it would be better still,” continued Beloved, “if you simply gave it to me because you finally understood that what I am doing is right, and that you have been tricked and used by the unicorns.”

  Her face writhed, and she gasped for breath. The moment passed, and she composed her features again.

  “You have been deceived, Cara — fooled into thinking these creatures are kind and compassionate. This is not true. They are brutal and vicious.”

  Jacques leaned forward. “That’s a lie, a total —”

  His words were cut off by a backhanded blow from Marcus.

  Beloved sighed. “It is hard to reason with you with all this distraction, Great-grandchild.” She glanced up at the man standing beside Cara’s chair. “Anders, you and Marcus take the old fool into the next room. I don’t want to hear from him again.”

  “Jacques!” cried Cara as the two men picked up the chair to which her grandfather was bound and carried him into the kitchen.

  The door slammed shut.

  “Why are you doing these things?” asked Cara. “Why won’t you leave us in peace?”

  Beloved looked down at Cara. In the woman’s stony eyes there was, at last, some look of humanity — traces of pity, of anger, of sorrow.

  “Listen to me carefully, child. I am older than you can imagine, so do not think you can speak to me of things you scarcely understand. I have lived an eternity etched by pain, staggered through centuries with a fire gnawing at my heart. After the unicorns fled from Earth, I was lost. Where could I turn my anger, how seek my revenge? I tried for a time equal to the lives of many mortals to find a way into Luster so I could lead my children there to finish what we had begun, but I was blocked at every turn. Finally weariness overcame me, and I let my efforts lapse. I couldn’t die, but I had nothing to live for. I wept and I brooded, haunted by the image of the unicorn that had pierced my heart, then killed my father. And my heart throbbed in constant agony from the piece of horn that lances and heals it with every breath I take.”

  She fell silent for a moment, staring out the window.

  Almost against her will, Cara said, “And then?”

  Beloved smiled, a cold and terrifying sight. “And then you happened.”

  Cara fought to keep her voice from trembling. “What do you mean?”

  “I was only vaguely aware of your father; he was but one of thousands of my descendants scattered around the world. I kept an eye on all of them, of course, but in my weariness I had ceased to choose new ones to train in the Hunt. What was the point? My enemies had fled, and I could not get at them. All gone.” She paused and smiled. “Well, all save one. There is almost always one unicorn here on Earth. The Guardian of Memory, they call him. Sometimes — ” here she paused again and closed her eyes in ecstasy — “ah, sometimes my Hunters would find that one and slay him! Then, for a moment, my heart would be at peace. But another would come. Always, sooner or later, another would come. What I wanted, craved, was a path into Luster itself. Only then could the Hunt be properly concluded. Only then could I finish my job and rest. Only then would the wound in my heart finally heal for good and all.

  “We sought the gates, but could not find them. However, there was one other possibility. I knew there was a key, an amulet here on Earth with which I could open a new gate to Luster. I knew, too, that it belonged to Ivy Morris. But we could not locate it. She would not stay put, and her wandering defeated my efforts to find her. Until Ian, dear Ian, married your mother. I did not realize, at first, that one of my children had connected to the family of the Wanderer. It was only when you were sick, and your grandmother summoned a unicorn to heal you, that I understood what luck had come my way.

  “But the very night that I made contact with your father, that I came to tell him his true heritage, your grandmother disappeared, taking you with her. Oh, the Wanderer was a clever one. She knew I was after her. After you. After the amulet.”

  Cara groaned. So it was true. Her grandmother had stolen her from her parents.

  Or had she? Could she trust what Beloved was telling her? Was it possible she was lying, even now?

  “Your father was wild in his grief over losing you. But it also proved to him that what I had told him about the unicorns and their evil was true.”

  “But the unicorn cured me!” protested Cara.

  “Because the Wanderer summoned him,” repeated Beloved, speaking very slowly, as if she felt Cara had failed to understand something utterly simple. “The unicorns have their human allies, friends who have traded their duty and obligation for a bit of glamour and magic. Of course he cured you! They wanted to use you — use you to get at me.”

  Cara blinked. That couldn’t be true, could it? Yet she knew how the unicorns hated and feared Beloved.

  She shook her head, trying to drive away the poison Beloved was pouring into her ears. If the unicorns wanted to use her to get at Beloved, they would have been able to do it long before this.

  “Where is my mother?” she asked. “What have you done with her?”

  “Your mother is somewhere safe,” said Beloved. Then, coaxingly, she added, “I can take you to her, you know.”

  Cara felt her heart leap. She glanced at her father. His face remained still, unreadable.

  “Oh, it’s going to be so lovely,” continued Beloved. “You can be with your parents again, just like you’ve always wanted, Cara. You’ll be home at last, and your heart will be able to rest.” She clutched her own heart, her ever-wounded, ever-healing heart. “As will mine. For just as you will gain your heart’s desire, so will I when I fling wide the gate and send my children to Luster. For am I not the Ravager? Is it not written in my stars — the very stars through which I have twice made contact with you — that I shall be the one to bring the murdering beasts to justice?”

  Cara gasped. “The Ravager! The constellation! That was how you were able to get to me.”

  Beloved went on as if she had not heard. “Oh, how the blood will flow when the Ravager finally enters Luster! And once the Hunt is done, once the unicorns are all gone, the fire in my heart will be gone, too. Then, finally, I will be free!”

  Her eyes were wild now, glazed with the passion of the Hunt as she imagined it. “All I need is the amulet. Give it to me, Cara. Give it to me and you can join me, join your father and find your mother. We’ll be together, all of us.”

  Lightfoot stood, impassive, held by the magic of the golden bridle.

  Cara turned away.

  “Look at me!” screeched Beloved. She reached out, grabbed Cara by the chin, forced her to stare directly into those blazing eyes. “It is time, child; time to give me the amulet. Give it, or I will take it. Give it freely and join us, or have it ripped away and be cast away yourself, away from the Hunters, away from your family, away from your own blood. Choose, Cara. Choose now. For I will have that amulet, what ever way you decide. I’ll have it, with you or without you. The unicorns are going to die anyway. Are you going to join me, or not? Do you want — ”

  “Stop!” cried Cara, clamping her hands over her ears. “Stop!”

  “No!” shrieked Beloved. “The time for stopping is past. Choose! Choose now! My blood runs in your veins, Cara. You are part of an ancient story. It is time for you to take your place and play your role. I was a child when it began. You are the child born to help me end it.”

  Cara wrenched herself away. Beloved lunged at her, clutched the amulet.

  “Let me go!” cried
Cara. “I choose the unicorns. I choose the unicorns!”

  Beloved hissed in fury, wound her fist in the amulet’s chain, pulled at it, choking Cara as she tried to wrench it from her neck.

  “That’s enough,” said a deep voice.

  A pair of hands grabbed Beloved from behind.

  Cara looked up in astonishment. Then she closed her eyes and whispered, “Thank you . . . Daddy.”

  Her father stood there, holding Beloved by the arms. Kenneth, the only other Hunter who had remained standing in the room, was crumpled on the floor. Lightfoot, no longer restrained by the golden bridle, stood guarding the door to the room where the other two men had taken Jacques.

  Beloved, wild with fury, struggled in Ian Hunter’s arms. “Traitor!” she shrieked as he pried her fingers from the amulet’s chain. “Betrayer!”

  “Perhaps,” he said grimly. “But was I not betrayed myself when I lost my daughter to the struggle between you and the Wanderer? I lost her again in Firethroat’s cave because of your teachings and my own stubborn blindness. I would have lost her a third time tonight. But her courage has opened my eyes.”

  The muscles in his lean arms rippled as he forced Beloved around so that she was facing him, moving his hands so that they gripped her wrists. Her fingers arched like claws, straining for his eyes. But he held her tight, and she could not reach him.

  “It is enough, Grandmother Beloved,” he said between clenched teeth. “Let it go. Let it go!”

  She spat in his face. He drew back, startled. In his moment of surprise, Beloved broke free of his grip and raked her fingers down his cheek, leaving four streaks of blood.

  “I’ll let nothing go, you spineless pup!” she shrieked. Then, suddenly, she collapsed, falling limp into his arms. “All these years,” she moaned. “All these years! Oh, Ian, Ian, how could you betray me like this?”

  Tenderly, Ian Hunter lowered the ancient woman to the floor, where she curled in a miserable heap, weeping. Stepping past her, he reached toward his daughter. Cara stretched her hands toward him, tears streaming down her own face as she did.

  Before they could embrace, Beloved was on her feet again. “Betrayer!” she cried.

  Then she plunged the silver dagger into his back.

  22

  Upstairs

  Cara stood frozen with horror, her hands still outstretched to where her father had been standing. Then something deep within, a rage and a strength she had not known she possessed, took over. She launched herself at Beloved. Knocking the knife from the woman’s hand, she carried Beloved backward with her momentum. Together they tumbled to the floor.

  Again, Beloved clutched at the amulet. But before she could take it from Cara, Lightfoot entered the fray. Snatching the woman’s robe in his teeth, he hauled her from Cara.

  With a cry of rage, Beloved ripped away. She threw herself across the floor, toward the silver dagger. Cara was there first. Kicking the blade, she sent it skittering toward the hallway.

  The door to the kitchen burst open. Anders and Marcus, the Hunters who had hauled Jacques away, came running in.

  Lightfoot turned to face them. Anders, sword in hand, slashed at Lightfoot, but the unicorn was too fast for him and danced nimbly away despite his wounds.

  Marcus raced to Beloved, knelt beside her, and whispered urgently to her.

  She was on her feet in an instant. “To me!” she cried in triumph. “Come to me, my children!”

  Even as she spoke, she hurried to one of the fallen Hunters and stood astride his body.

  At her call, Anders backed away from Lightfoot. The unicorn, who had been rearing defiantly, dropped to all fours. He watched the men cautiously. Marcus and Anders each grabbed one of the other men who had been rendered helpless during the first fight — one unconscious, the other unable to walk — and dragged them to Beloved’s side.

  Cara, with no one to stop her, had also raced to a fallen Hunter. Her father. She knelt beside him, tears streaming down her face. His hand closed over hers, weak but warm, and she felt a surge of relief. He was still alive!

  But what was Beloved up to?

  When the Hunters were gathered close around her — the last of them had dragged himself to her side — she lifted her hands.

  “This round is yours, Grandchild,” she said, her eyes narrow and filled with hate. “But the battle is not over. In fact, it’s just beginning, as you will soon see, my stubborn one.”

  She spread her arms, encircling the Hunters with her black cloak, which seemed to billow and expand as she lifted her hands. As the cloak swirled around her, she uttered some words in a deep, guttural voice.

  With a flash, the group vanished.

  “I don’t like this,” said Lightfoot. “What is she up to?”

  “Never mind that now!” cried Cara. “My father is hurt. You are, too, I know. But I think he’s dying. Can you heal him?”

  Lightfoot hurried to her side.

  “The cut is deep and bitter,” he said after probing the wound with his horn. “Not only blade but poison is at work here. Even so, I think it can be healed. Though why I should heal a Hunter . . .”

  “He saved us!”

  “Oh, I know,” said Lightfoot wearily. “Another renegade. I’ll probably end up liking him. Well, let me do my work. You had best go check on your grandfather.”

  With a throb of guilt Cara, realized she had almost forgotten Jacques. Had the Hunters hurt him? Killed him? Longing to stay to make sure her father was properly healed, yet trusting Lightfoot and knowing there was nothing more she could do here, she hurried to the next room.

  A cold dread seized her. Jacques, still tied to the chair, sagged in his bonds. His head was slumped onto his chest. Hurrying to his side, she was relieved to find he was still breathing. She saw no blood, no stab wounds. But when she knelt beside him to try to wake him, she noticed an egg-sized lump on the side of his head.

  “Poor Grampa,” she whispered softly. She set to work untying his bonds. When she had him free, she lowered him gently to the floor. She looked around for something to cushion his head but saw nothing that would work. “I’ll be back,” she whispered. Then she returned to the living room.

  Lightfoot was lying on his side, his eyes closed. He lifted his head when he heard her enter. “It’s done,” he told her quietly. “Your father will live.” Then he dropped his head back to the floor, closed his eyes, and slept.

  Ian Hunter still lay facedown on the floor. Cara knelt beside him. His color was good, his breathing regular.

  She turned her attention to Lightfoot. The slash that had opened his side was longer than her arm but not deep, and the bleeding had stopped. She thought briefly about trying to sew it shut, then decided it would be better to wait for one of the other unicorns to heal it. She returned to the kitchen and got a pan and a towel. She filled the pan with water and soaked the towel. Then she returned to the living room and washed the blood from Lightfoot’s side.

  That done, she stood and looked around, feeling oddly lonely at being the only one in the house still awake. Lonely and restless. She felt as if there was still more to do. But what? Her grandmother was gone; where, she didn’t know. They couldn’t return to Luster until the others had recovered. With a sudden surge of dread she wondered if, when they did return, it would be to Ebillan’s cave, or somewhere else altogether. Did time pass the same way here on Earth that it did in Luster? Had the world shifted yet? If so, where would the amulet take them?

  She felt a restless need to move now. To do something. Anything. Finally she remembered that she had been going to get something to cushion Jacques’ head. She could do that for her father, too. Eager to do anything that felt useful, she headed for the stairway. The shabby blue carpet that covered the steps seemed immediately familiar despite the time that had passed since she last saw it.

  At the top of the stairs, she turned left. When she entered her old bedroom, the sight of it, so comfortable and cozy, so
far from the life she had been living, made her stagger. She leaned against the wall, staring at it in wonder. How far away the girl who had once lived here — the girl she had once been — now seemed.

  She went to her bed and ran her hand over the bedspread, smiling at its flowers. She had wanted unicorns, cute and cartoony, and had been angry when her grandmother had forbidden the idea. Now that she had seen real unicorns, she understood.

  She picked up the single pillow, then frowned. She needed two pillows, one for Jacques and one for her father. After a moment’s hesitation, she headed for her grandmother’s room.

  Slipping through the door, she turned on the light, then cried out in astonishment.

  On the bed lay her grandmother.

  Ivy Morris.

  The Wanderer.

  Calling her grandmother’s name, Cara hurried to her side.

  The old woman lay perfectly still. She was fully clothed, her hands crossed on her chest, her eyes closed.

  She can’t be dead! thought Cara. She can’t be!

  Tenderly, fearfully, Cara reached out to touch the body.

  It was warm!

  She remembered Beloved telling her that her grandmother was wandering, and not here. Had she lied? Or had she, in her own strange way, been telling the truth?

  Her grandmother was here, but not here.

  Was her spirit indeed wandering somewhere else?

  If so, where? And how could she be called home? Cara felt herself overwhelmed by a sense of mystery. “What has she done to you, Gramma?” she whispered, kneeling beside the Wanderer’s bed. “What kind of spell has she put you under?”

  The Wanderer did not answer.

  “Wake up!” cried Cara, shaking her grandmother’s shoulders. “WAKE UP! I NEED YOU!”

  Ivy Morris lay still and unmoving.

  Despair washed over Cara like a wave of blackness. Dropping her head to the bed, she sobbed with a hurt she had not known she could feel anymore.

  * * *

  She remained kneeling beside the bed long after her tears had stopped, whispering to her grandmother, cajoling her, begging her to wake.