Swept Away

by Josepha Sherman

  For a time Sheila was just too dazed to move. But the saddle’s pommel was digging painfully into her middle, cutting off her wind.

  And the sight of the ground whizzing by under her helplessly dangling head wasn’t helping her stomach at all. Sheila squirmed around till she could slap her captor’s leg.

  “Let me up!”

  No answer.

  “Hey, come on, please, just let me sit up!”

  The woman muttered something that was plainly “no,” her voice as rough as the rest of her.

  Sheila took another look at the dizzying blur of ground and groaned.

  “You’d better let me up, or—or I’m going to be sick all over your leg!”

  Her captor glanced down at her. Even if the woman didn’t understand her words, one look at Sheila’s green face got the message across. To her relief, she was dragged up to sit sideways on the saddle, her captor’s arm like a bar of iron holding her in place. Sheila glanced warily around. The first thing she noticed was that the palomino unicorn wore no bridle. In fact, none of the unicorns wore more than simple saddles. And the saddles don’t even have stirrups! thought Sheila. The women didn’t seem to miss them, sitting their mounts with practiced ease. In addition to her gruff captor and the black woman, Sheila noticed a brown-haired archer, quiver slung over her back, and a slender, dark-haired girl of about her own age who kept giving Sheila hostile stares.

  “Don’t blame me!” Sheila said to her. “This isn’t my ideal”

  Her captor gave her a shake and a frown that clearly meant, “Keep quiet.”

  The unicorns streamed down a gulch and into a flat little valley. Sheila saw a few earth-colored, patched tents before her captor gave her a shove that sent her tumbling off the palomino to the ground.

  “Hey! What’s the idea?”

  But the red-haired woman wasn’t paying any attention to her. “Pelu!” she called, “Ho, Pelu!”

  A slender young woman appeared out of one of the tents. Unlike the warriors, she wore no armor, only a simple white tunic and worn leather sandals, and her ash-blond hair was coiled up in braids on top of her head. As the others spoke to her, she studied Sheila with quiet blue eyes, then approached the girl. She said something in that melodious language, and Sheila sighed and shook her head.

  “Sorry. I don’t understand.”

  Pelu nodded thoughtfully. Reaching into a pouch at her belt, she took out a gleaming blue gem. Before Sheila could move, the woman touched the gem to the girl’s head, lips, and heart.

  “Can you understand me now?”

  “I—hey! Yes, I can! What did you do?”

  “The touch of the Gem of Speaking gave you our language.

  Sheila stared, thinking wildly, Boy, I’d love to have something like that in school! “But—but how does it work?”

  Pelu looked at her as though she had asked something stupid. “Magic, of course.”

  “Oh, of course,” echoed Sheila weakly. “How foolish of me not to have known.”

  But she was speaking to the air. PeIu had rejoined the others, who were arguing fiercely. Sheila heard her captor, who apparently was named Myno, insisting, “She is my prisoner.”

  “Ridiculous!” cut in the black woman, Nanine, with a haughty toss of her head. “We all found her.”

  “Who found her isn’t important,” said Pelu quietly. “I vote we simply hold her till Illyria returns.”

  “Don’t I have any say in the matter?” began Sheila, but she was drowned out by Myno’s shout: “No! She’s my prisoner.”

  The dark-haired girl, Dian, gave Sheila a withering glance. “Why would you want someone like her?”

  “Because ...” Myno’s voice dropped to a mutter. “Because after all my years of slavery, I want a servant of my own.”

  “Hey, I’m not going to be anyone’s servant!” said Sheila indignantly. “Look, who are you? What makes you think you can just kidnap me?”

  The women ignored her,

  “I think we’re making a mistake.” The archer, Kara, plucked at her bowstring suggestively. “Think about it: a girl, all alone in the middle of nowhere, just happens to be walking right toward our camp. Sounds strange, doesn’t it?”

  “She’s no warrior,” Dian said in contempt.

  “Maybe not. But who knows what weapons she’s hiding in that pack of hers? I say she’s some sort of spy.”

  “I’m no spy!” Sheila shouted. “Listen to me, will you? I don’t even know where I am!”

  The warrior-women huddled, murmuring. Sheila overheard uncomfortable words like “Death to spies” and thought nervously, I don’t think I’d better hang around here any longer. No one was paying any attention to her, so she began to edge carefully away. She turned to run—and found herself facing a living wall of unicorns, all of them with their heads down and their long, spiraling horns pointed right at her.

  “All right,” said Sheila softly. “I-uh-get the point.”

  She backed carefully away, turned—and found herself facing a line of cold-eyed warrior-women. “Look,” Sheila began, “I don’t want any trouble, I only—“

  With a roar, they rushed her. Frantically Sheila rummaged in her pack, trying to find a weapon, any weapon.

  Her hand closed around something circular—soda! A can of orange soda! Wish I’d remembered I had this when I was out on the plain! thought Sheila wryly. Now the soda was much too warm to drink—Too warm! Of course!

  Hastily she shook the can with all her might, pointed the opening at her attackers, and pulled the tab. A geyser of hot, sticky orange soda shot out, fizzing madly, and the startled women shrieked and jumped back.

  “Sorcery! She’s a sorceress!”

  Is that good or bad? wondered Sheila.

  It was bad.

  “Hurry,” shouted Nanine, “Kill the witch before she works more evil magic!”

  “No!” yelled Sheila. “I’m not a witch, honest!”

  But they weren’t listening to her. Myno raised her sword. Kara fit an arrow to her bow—

  “Stop!”

  The command rang out like a bugle call. Heads turned sharply. Weapons were lowered. Sheila, heart racing, whirled to find herself staring up at a magnificent unicorn stallion, shining white as moonlight. On his back sat the most gorgeous woman she had ever seen, tall and proud in the saddle. The woman, evidently the warriors’ leader, the missing Illyria they had mentioned, was clad in what had once been an elegant tunic of fiery red silk, now travel-stained and mended in several places, over which she wore armor consisting of a leather breastplate and a sort of skirt of leather strips that reminded Sheila of pictures she’d seen of Roman legionnaires. Silver glinted from ornamental inlays in that armor, and from the woman’s elegant armbands. Her legs were protected by bronze greaves, and at her side hung a dangerous-looking sword in a worn sheath and an equally dangerous curved dagger. The woman’s tanned, fierce face was framed by masses of silverblond hair come partly free from what Sheila guessed must have been yards of braids wound about her head.

  She’s like a heroine out of a fantasy book! thought Sheila, awed.

  Piercing blue eyes held Sheila’s gaze, staring at her until Sheila felt sure Illyria knew all about her.

  The woman turned to glare at her warriors. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Kara said uneasily, “Ah . . Illyria, the eagles warned us that something was wrong. We rode out, and sure enough, we found the girl out on the plain-and heading right toward our camp!”

  “Sure I was!” cut in Sheila angrily. “I saw the smoke from your campfire. It was the only sign of life in the whole place!”

  “Be silent, girl.” Illyria’s voice was calm. “You will have your turn to speak. Now, what about you, my comrades? Since when do we make war on girls?”

  “She’s not just a girl!” said Dian. “She’s a sorceress!”

  “Come now, Dian. She’s even younger than you.”

  “It’s true!” the dark-haired girl insisted. “She tried to ki
ll us with a magic potion. It’s probably some deadly poison!”

  “It’s not poison.” Sheila couldn’t help giggling. “It’s only soda. See?”

  She licked the last drops from the can she still held. Everyone stared. When nothing happened to her, they all drew back, murmuring in wonder.

  Oh, great, thought Sheila, They think I just used magic to keep the soda from poisoning me. They still believe I’m a witch, all right, they’re just trying to figure out whether I’m Glinda or the Wicked Witch of the West.

  Kara seemed determined to prove that Sheila was an evil sorceress. “I’ve seen enough magic in my time—remember Mardock and his foul spells?”

  “Yes, of course,” argued Pelu, “But magic can be worked for good, as well as evil. You’ve watched my healing spells and seen the Gem of Speaking.”

  Dian shook her head. “Those are just small charms, everyday spells. You told me so yourself!”

  “That’s not the point, Dian! If the girl really does have Power, can we afford to lose a magical ally?”

  That sparked a wild debate.

  “You don’t understand! I say get rid of her, now!”

  “First we should learn who sent her and-“

  “No! We mustn’t wait!”

  “That’s ridiculous! We mustn’t-“

  “We must-“

  “Enough!” said Illyria at last. “The sorceress comes with me. I will learn the truth from her. Alone.”

  “And I,” muttered Sheila, “will finally get some answers!”

  4

  Questions

  Illyria slid down from the back of her unicorn. He turned his head to nuzzle her affectionately, then trotted off to be unsaddled by one of the warriors. Illyria signaled for Sheila to follow her, then started toward the largest of the few worn, patched tents. Inside the tent were only two camp chairs, the sort that fold up flat, a wobbly table consisting of a plank set on two rocks, and a pack that Sheila suspected held Illyria’s spare clothing.

  Illyria raised an eyebrow. “Not luxurious enough for you, sorceress?”

  “I’m not a—“ began Sheila, then stopped short. By now there wasn’t any way she could pretend to herself that this was all only a dream. Oh no, this was all quite real. Like it or not, she was stuck, without a clue as to how to get home, getting firsthand information on an alternative world where magic worked. Maybe, for safety’s sake, she had better play along and pretend to have magical powers of her own. Magical powers for good, not evil, of course.

  Illyria seated herself in one of the chairs, chin resting on steepled hands. Her fierce eyes studied Sheila without blinking. “Sit, girl.”

  “My name isn’t ‘girl’ or ‘sorceress,’ it’s Sheila.”

  “So. Sheila. Now, tell me what you’re doing here.”

  “Ah.” Sheila thought frantically for an answer. “Not much, really. Just trying to figure out a way to get home again.”

  “Don’t play games with me, girl. The very fact that you didn’t speak our language proves you’re not from around here.”

  “No,” agreed Sheila honestly. “Believe me, I’m from far away. Very far away.”

  “Then how did you get here? Sorcery? Why are you here?” The blue eyes blazed. “Did Dynasian send you?”

  Sheila shrank back from the attack of questions. “Who?” she asked in bewilderment.

  “Come, come, I’m not a fool. Everyone knows the name of the tyrant who usurped the throne of good King Amar!”

  “Everyone but me!”

  Illyria paused, studying her, then frowned slowly. “I could almost swear you were telling the truth.”

  “I am! Look, I didn’t want to come here; I don’t even know where ‘here’ is!”

  “These are the Steppes of Arren, many days of hard riding away from Campora.”

  That didn’t mean much to Sheila, “Oh,” she said blankly.

  Illyria’s frown deepened. “Why, you really don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

  Sheila shook her head. “Sorry. The only thing I can tell you is that I was on my way home from school.”

  “Wizards’ school?”

  “Not—not exactly. Anyhow, I stopped off to see Dr. Reit, He’s a scientist friend of mine.”

  “A . . Scientist.” Illyria pronounced the word carefully, as though it were foreign to her. It was foreign, Sheila realized after a moment; she’d had to say it in English because there wasn’t any such word as scientist in Illyria’s language.

  “Oh. Well, I suppose you probably would call him a wizard. His cat tripped me-“

  “Deliberately? This cat-creature is the wizard’s familiar?”

  “No, no, he’s just a pet! And it was an accident, that’s all! He tripped me, and I fell right through the the . . .” But there weren’t any words like Molecular Acceleration in this language, either. Sheila ended up lamely, “Let’s just call it a spell that wasn’t tested yet. Only in the place I come from, we don’t use magic. We use science instead. You know: airplanes, television . . . no,” she added sadly, seeing Illyria’s bewilderment, “you don’t know, do you? Hey, wait, I’ll show you!”

  Sheila rummaged around in her backpack, trying not to notice that Illyria was keeping a wary hand on the hilt of her sword.

  “Ah, here it is! This is something from the world of science: a cassette player.”

  She pressed the “on” button, and the tent was flooded with the sound of Bon Jovi. Sheila grinned.

  At the first note Illyria sprang up, sword drawn. Eyes wide, she murmured, “Sorcery!”

  “Hey, it’s all right! Don’t be afraid! It can’t hurt you,” Sheila said quickly.

  She turned off the player. “It’s just something kids like me use for fun.”

  Illyria sighed. “I’m willing to believe you’re not a spy, Sheila from the World of Science, where even mere children wield magic. Your sorcery has nothing of the foul taint of Mardock about it.”

  “That’s the second time someone’s mentioned Mardock. Who is he?”

  The woman raised a surprised eyebrow. “Didn’t you know? I thought surety all magicians would know the name. He’s Dynasian’s pet sorcerer, and his spells are all of the Darkness.”

  “But I still don’t know who Dynasian is!”

  “Later. First, you still must prove to me that your own magic really does no harm, and-“

  The sounds of quarreling outside the tent interrupted her.

  “Now what?” the woman muttered under her breath, and moved to the tent’s entrance. “Stay where you are, Sheila. Pelu! What’s going on?”

  “Myno and Kara are arguing over the-ah-the sorceress.”

  Illyria let out her breath in an angry hiss. “Come inside and guard our . . . guest. I will be back.”

  The tent flaps swung shut behind her. “Uh . . . Pelu,” Sheila began after an awkward silence. “What is all this? I mean, who are you people? What are you doing here? And-and those really are unicorns, aren’t they?”

  Pelu gave her a quick grin. “I know how you feel! When I first met Illyria’s unicorns, I thought I must be dreaming. But yes, they are unicorns, and they are quite real.” She hesitated. “As for what we’re all doing here, I can only speak for myself.” Pelu paused again, toying with memory. “Since I was a little girl, I’ve always loved animals. At first my parents only laughed when I’d want to take care of stray dogs or wounded birds, even though they couldn’t deny that I seemed to have a true healer’s touch. But when I told them I wanted to train to become a professional healer of animals, they stopped laughing and beat me instead.”

  “Why?”

  Pelu shrugged. “In our village women are forbidden to work with animals. That is men’s work. A woman’s place is at home, taking care of her children and obeying her mate.”

  “But that’s ridiculous! If you’re good with animals what difference does it make if you’re male or female? Where I come from, a woman can do anything she wants! We have plenty of women veterinarians, wo
men who are healers of animals.”

  Pelu sighed. “You must come from a strange land, indeed. Here, the only way for me to follow my dream was to run away. But no one would hire a woman healer. I would have starved had I not met Illyria and joined her band. And when I was befriended by my own dear unicorn-“

  A sudden crash outside the tent made Sheila and PeIu both jump. PeIu let out a little cry of pain.

  “What is it?” asked Sheila. “Oh, you’ve cut yourself!”

  “It’s nothing, a scratch. I was careless with my dagger and-“ Pelu stopped abruptly, staring, as Sheila rummaged around in her pack. “What are you doing?”

  “Hunting for . . . ah, here it is!” The girl smiled at Pelu. “Hey, don’t look so scared. This is only a ...” But the language didn’t have a word for Band-Aid, so Sheila finished, “This is a sort of a sticky bandage.”

  Nervously, Pelu let her put it over the little cut.

  “See?” said Sheila. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

  Pelu looked at her bandaged finger in wonder. “You are a sorceress! But . . . this is healing magic. No evil sorceress can work with any of the healing arts. Nor would she stoop to doing a good deed.”

  “Uh . . . no. I guess she wouldn’t.”

  “Then it’s true. Your magic is good, not evil.”

  “Well . . . if I have any magic, it’s good magic,” said Sheila carefully.

  PeIu studied her for a moment. “But you’re still a very young sorceress, aren’t you?” the woman asked gently, “And very far away from home.”

  Sheila swallowed hard. “F-farther than you think,”

  “Poor thing! You really don’t know what’s going on here, do you?”

  “Very well. While we wait for Illyria to return, I shall tell you a story: the story of the Unicorn Queen. Listen carefully.