Unicorns

by Jack Dann

  In the days that followed the unicorn proved to be as good at drawing a plow as any water-buffalo. The gentleness of the huge animal was beyond belief. Sometimes Lin Wong wondered how it existed, for he never saw it eating or drinking, yet his son assured him the animal wanted nothing.

  "He eats the wind," he said. "He chews the sunrise."

  News of the presence of the unicorn on the farm of Lin Wong spread throughout the province, and though he did not know it Lin Wong had become famous. For does not the unicorn appear only to virtuous monarchs? Perhaps Lin Wong was a prince in disguise. Fabulous were the stories circulated about him. And at last they came to the ears of a notorious bandit, Loo Tak, who called himself a war lord. He was angered. Why should a simple farmer become so renowned? What had he done to merit it? Far better for him, Loo Tak, to own the unicorn. What man in the province was stronger than he? Although he was only of medium height, he had a giant's strength because he had four huge bodyguards. Now Loo Tak was no more than a festering blight on the face of China. Never had he owned anything that he did not first steal. Force, power, corruption were his gods. He lived ruthlessly, caring not how many people he ruined or despoiled. He had never known the devotion of a good woman. He had great wealth when applied to money and jewels and material things, but mentally he was a beggar. By everyone he was hated but feared. Not even his own bodyguard trusted him. However, he believed he was invincible. What he wanted he took, nor did he hesitate to slay. What idiot would stand up against him? So he decided that he would capture the unicorn. So sure was he of success that he took with him only one bodyguard.

  So he went to the farm of Lin Wong. Nobody stood in his way but a very little boy. He stooped to cuff the boy and fell flat on his face. That was ignominy indeed. He couldn't understand it. What had happened? He was angered beyond words and his anger was against the child who was smiling. Again he lunged with his fist. This time he hit the earth with such force he was breathless. He was losing face before his bodyguard. Suddenly he decided to swallow his anger for now the unicorn was coming gently toward him. The little boy slowly approached the animal and I stood so close that his body touched the animal.

  The bandit smiled. His mission would be as easy as seizing a playful kitten. Despite its size the unicorn was absolutely docile. Loo Tak was without fear as he attempted to grasp the fantastic white animal. It was the last thing he ever did, for the unicorn impaled him on its horn and then tossed him so high that most of his bones were broken as he crashed to the earth. The unicorn stamped him into the soil until not a trace of the mighty war lord remained. Then the boy and the unicorn went back into the field again. The bodyguard fled. He had learned a bitter lesson. It is unwise to attempt to steal a unicorn.

  Neither Lin Wong nor his wife were aware of the calamity that had overtaken the bandit who had believed himself to be invincible. Too bad that he did not know that even the tiger and the leopard are perpetually anxious lest they encounter a unicorn.

  Now in Hangchow, also, lived the Mandarin Lim, an army general and therefore a Mandarin of the First Rank. On his conical-shaped official hat was an opaque ruby and coral button, an inch in diameter, set on the center of his hat like a knob. His girdle clasp was of jade set in rubies, on his breast and back was a square of silk, a foot in diameter, embroidered with the unicorn, the emblem of his high rank.

  Lim did not look like a general for he was short and fat but he was tall in dignity and very vain. He had the delusion that he presented an impressive figure as his bearers carried his gaudy chair through the streets and lanes of the town. Before his equipage ran a number of criers, screeching discordantly and clapping cymbals so that all might move aside at the approach of such an illustrious person. How were they to know that Lim was a meek, pudgy little fat man who had never distinguished himself in battle. All his high honors were hereditary. About the only thing outstanding about him was his appetite. He disposed of such huge quantities of food even his servants marveled.

  He spent most of each day munching kumquats and lichee nuts which were more delicious to him than even his concubines. He knew little of warfare and had no relish for it. He had never led an army in the field, but that did not prevent him from wearing a large variety of medals. He was pompous and vain even though his accomplishments were infinitesimal. His wealth had come to him from many generations of generals but he could not have been prouder of himself if he had earned it all through his military leadership.

  Since the unicorn was his rightful emblem, he reasoned that it would be fitting that he own a unicorn. He did not stop to reason that nobody ever owns a unicorn, for a unicorn is one of the four supernatural creatures of which the dragon, the phoenix and the tortoise are the others. The unicorn is the king of all animals, associated with good government or the awakening of spring.

  Little Lin Mu's mother used to think of him as a young prince, so perhaps the presence of the unicorn was not so extraordinary.

  Meanwhile the Mandarin Lim mulled over his problem as he munched luscious tangerines. Unlike the bandit, he had no idea of snatching the unicorn. Money enough had he to buy what he desired. Unwisely he believed that gold can purchase anything. And yet it cannot cause one extra bud to appear on a rose bush, nor can it change the brightness of a single star, nor can it block the course of a typhoon. When a man is starving, he cannot eat gold, nor is the touch of gold half as satisfying as the touch of jade. Too much gold spoils a man's sleep, worrying about being robbed. To drink gold, is to woo death. There are many things gold cannot buy, among which is a gentle white unicorn. But of this the Mandarin Lim was unaware, for despite the fact he had studied at the Hanlin Academy, he had little education. His sluggish mind was incapable of retaining knowledge. How mortified he would have been had he been capable of realizing that in the things that count, he was a beggar. Even his dreams were threadbare, despite the fact that he slept between embroidered sheets on a teak wood bed.

  Meanwhile the Lin family prospered. The crops of rice, millet and turnips were abundant. The house gradually changed in appearance. Its austerity vanished.

  But there was no change in Lin Wong. True, his farming was less arduous and he could smoke a pipe of tobacco without worrying over the cost.

  One early evening when Lin Wong sat smoking before his door, there occurred such a commotion as he had never heard before. It was the clash of cymbals, the discordant beating of drums, and the ringing of bells, betokening the approach of the equipage of the Mandarin Lim as, elaborately gowned in full splendor, gaudy yellow and purple silk embroidered with golden thread, and wearing the squares emblazoned with the unicorn, the emblem of his rank, he sat squeezed into the narrow confines of his sedan chair, carried by four bearers, perspiring profusely. Before the house of Lin Wong, the discord stopped, and the Mandarin climbed down from his chair with a sigh of relief.

  Lin Wong was amazed at the visit of so high an official and his mouth gaped open.

  "Do I address Lin Wong?" asked the Mandarin pompously.

  "Yes," was the reply, "but I have done no wrong."

  "Be not disturbed, I came as a friend. I have heard that there is a unicorn upon this farm."

  "That is true. He draws the plow."

  "A menial task indeed."

  "But a worthy one."

  "Permit me to make known to you that I am the Mandarin Lim, a general whose emblem is the unicorn. Hence my interest."

  At that moment a small boy came from in back of the house. He held a gleaming object in his hand. To the Mandarin it seemed to be a gold-piece. He was dismayed. How could he offer Lin Wong gold in exchange for the unicorn if he had so much of it that his little son could play with a gold-piece?

  He smiled at the boy and patted his tiny head. Then he attempted to take the gold-piece from the child's hand, but without success. Might as well try to snatch a star from the sky. How could a small one have such strength? Yet he had touched the thing the child was playing with and it was definitely a gold-piece. But now Lin
Mu opened his hand and a yellow leaf fell from it to the ground. The Mandarin was amazed. However could he have made such an error? But even as he questioned himself he somehow knew that the leaf only a moment before had been a gold-piece.

  It was akin to magic. Nevertheless his determination to purchase the unicorn was in no way lessened. So he said to Lin Wong, "I would like a buy the unicorn."

  "The unicorn is not mine to sell, it belongs to my son."

  "How is it that the head of the house of Lin is ruled by so young a boy? It would be well for you to consider my offer, a catty of gold for the noble animal, gold enough to enrich you for the rest of your days. No longer need you toil in the fields."

  The temptation was great and Lin Wong could not help mulling over the offer, chewing upon it as though it were a very choice morsel. He had never possessed a gold-piece. Of course, though he thought not of her, he had a beautiful wife who grew younger in appearance every day as the yours slipped from her like peach blossoms falling. He had a small son of rare beauty, who when he was with his mother was a veritable chatterbox. A unicorn made his plowing so easy it was almost effortless. And his house had become spacious, luxurious and friendly. Truly he had no need for a catty of gold but it lured him nonetheless. He would be enormously rich, he reasoned, so, at last he accepted the offer of the Mandarin.

  But now his wife emerged from the house. She held the little boy by the hand and he was chattering as usual as he skipped along beside her. They passed Lin Wong without noticing him and paid no heed whatever to the mighty Mandarin Lim. His pomp was somewhat deflated and he was angry but he did not show it. He watched, even as did Lin Wong, the quiet way they walked down the long old road over which for centuries countless feet had trod, and on into the distance. Now they seemed to be climbing a hill though Lin Wong knew no hill was there. Was it only his imagination or were they fading from view as though their bodies had the texture of gossamer? A gentle breeze swept the countryside like a broom and then they seemed to be one with the sky and the wind and the evening glow. It was a strange sight to behold, but breathtaking too, like a dream's end or a white moth flying. Lin Wong sighed, and his hands shook. Too late, he realized that a man is not wise who attempts to sell a unicorn.

  Introduction to Gene Wolfe's "The Woman the Unicorn Loved"

  Here's another story in which sophisticated genetic science is employed to create in living flesh the fabulous monsters of fantasy and mythology: centaurs, satyrs, pegasoi . . . and, of course, unicorns. But once you have created such chimeras, what do you do with them? Can you chain the basilisk or tame the manticore, or pen a Pegasus up in your back yard? How well do they fit into our hectic modern world of superhighways and shopping centers and condominiums, where urban sprawl spreads over the countryside like an oil slick over quiet water, and where even the few remaining "wilderness" areas are crisscrossed by grinning tourists on roaring snowmobiles? What moral responsibility do the creators have for the created? What happens when you tire of your dazzling new toys, and yet they refuse to go quietly back into the box . . . ?

  Although he has been seriously underestimated and underappreciated, Gene Wolfe is one of the best—perhaps the best—SF and fantasy writers working today. He has written some of the best short fiction of the seventies—stories such as "The Hero as Werewolf," "Seven American Nights," "The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories," "Tracking Song," and the Nebula-winning "The Death of Doctor Island." His novel The Fifth Head of Cerberus is a recognized classic, and in its original form is probably the single best novella of the seventies. His novel Peace, ostensibly a book about the mundane life of a frozen-orange-juice manufacturer, contains enough magic and genuine wonder for a dozen ordinary fantasy novels, and his The Devil in a Forest is a vivid and compelling evocation of the medieval world. His tetralogy The Book of the New Sun (the first two volumes of which, The Shadow of the Torturer and The Claw of the Conciliator were released in 1980 and 1981, respectively) is shaping up to be one of the seminal works of science fantasy, perhaps as good—and maybe ultimately as influential—as Tolkein's Lord of the Rings or T. H. White's The Once and Future King. Wolfe's most recent books are The Sword of the Lictor (the third volume of The Book of the New Sun) , and the collections The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories and Other Stories and Gene Wolfe's Book of Days.

  THE WOMAN THE UNICORN LOVED

  Gene Wolfe

  At the western edge of the campus the parkway sent a river of steel and rubber roaring out of the heart of the city. Fragrant pines fringed the farther side. The unicorn trotted among them, sometimes concealed, sometimes treading the strip of coarse grass that touched the strip of soiled gravel that touched the concrete. That was where Anderson, looking from his office window, first saw him.

  Drivers and passengers saw him too. Some waved; no doubt some shouted though their shouts could not be heard. Faces pale and faces brown pressed against glass, but no one stopped. Possibly some trucker with a CB informed the police.

  The unicorn was so white he gleamed. His head looked Arabian, but his hooves were darkly red, like pigeon's-blood rubies, and his tail was not like a horse's tail at all, but the kind of tail—like the tail of a bull, but with an additional guidon of hair halfway to the tip—that is seen only in heraldic beasts. His horn shone like polished ivory, straight as the blade of a rapier and as long as a man's arm. Anderson guessed his height at twenty-four hands.

  He turned away to lift his camera bag down from the top of the filing cabinet, and when he got back to the window the unicorn was in the traffic. Across two hundred yards of campus lawn he could hear the squealing of brakes.

  "Pluto, the grisly god, who never spares,

  Who feels no mercy, who hears no prayers."

  Anderson recited the couplet to himself, and only as he pronounced the word prayers was he aware that he had spoken aloud.

  Then the unicorn was safe on the other side, cantering across the shaven grass. (Pluto, it appeared, might hear prayers after all.) As the armed head lifted to test the wind, Anderson's telephone rang. He picked it up.

  "Hello, Andy? Dumont. Look out your window."

  "I am looking," Anderson said.

  "Dropped right into our laps. Can you imagine anybody letting something like that go?"

  "Yes, pretty easily. I can also imagine it jumping just about any fence on earth. But if we're going to protect it, we'd better get on the job before the kids run it off." Anderson had found his telephoto zoom and coupled it to the camera body. With the phone clamped between his shoulder and his ear, he took a quick picture.

  "I'm going after it. I want a tissue specimen and a blood sample."

  "You can get them when Army shoots it."

  "Listen, Andy, I don't want to see it shot any more than you do. A piece of work like that? I'm going out there now, and I'll appreciate any help I can get. I've already told my secretary to phone some members. If the military comes in—well, at least you'll be able to get some stills to send the TV people. You coming?"

  Anderson came, a big, tawny man of almost forty, with a camera hanging from his neck. By the time he was out of the Liberal Arts Building, there were a hundred or so students around the unicorn. He must have menaced them; their line bent backward, then closed again. His gleaming horn was lifted above their heads for a moment, half playful, half triumphant. Anderson used his size and faculty status to elbow his way to the front of the crowd.

  The unicorn stood—no, trotted, almost danced—in the center of a circle fifty feet wide, while the students shouted jokes and cheered. A little group who must have known something of his lore grabbed a blonde in a cheerleader's sweater and pushed her forward. He put his head down, a lancer at the charge, and she scampered back into the jeering crowd, breasts bobbing.

  Anderson lowered his camera.

  "Get it?" a student beside him asked.

  "I think so."

  A Frisbee sailed by the unicorn's ears, and he shied like a skittish horse. Someone threw i
t back.

  Anderson yelled, "If that animal gets frightened, he's going to hurt somebody."

  Dumont heard him, whether the students did or not. He waved from the farther side of the circle, his bald head gleaming. As the unicorn trotted past him, he thrust out a loaf of bread and was ignored.

  Anderson sprinted across the circle. The students cheered, and several began running back and forth.

  "Hi," Dumont said. "That took guts."

  "Not really." Anderson found he was puffing. "I didn't come close. If he was angry, none of us would be here."

  "I wish none of them were—nobody but you and me. It would make everything a hell of a lot simpler."

  "Don't you have that tranquilizer gun?"

  "At home. Our friend there would be long gone by the time I got back with it. Maybe I should keep one in the lab, but you know how it is—before this, we've always had to go after them."

  Anderson nodded, only half listening as he watched the unicorn.

  "We had this bread to feed to mice in a nutrition project. I put some stuff in it to quiet him down. On the spur of the moment, it was the best I could do."

  Anderson was wondering who would arrive first—their Mythic Conservationists with protest signs or the soldiers and their guns. "I doubt that it's going to be good enough," he told Dumont.

  A young woman slipped between them. "Here," she asked, "can I try?" Before Dumont could object, she took the bread and jogged to the center of the circle, the wind stirring her short, brown hair and the sunlight flashing from her glasses.

  The unicorn came toward her slowly, head down.