Dark Unicorn

by Taylor Haiden

  Calen dropped the body and turned to me in surprised approval. “Why don’t you hold onto that sword for a while.”

  Thackery checked the other men, but they were all dead. We mounted up, leaving them unburied at Calen’s insistence.

  “There are worse than a few horsemen following us,” began Calen, “no time for digging holes.”

  The ride was our most grueling yet. I thought I knew what it meant to be saddle-sore, but blisters were forming on the inside of my thighs, and my spine ached from base to neck. Still, we pressed on. Juko's head dipped low toward the dry earth and froth began to form at her mouth, but she would never fail me. It was my own body that was failing. The only things still keeping me upright were my own stubbornness and the starlight.

  The sky had turned to black ice and diamonds, nearly blinding my tired eyes. Left in silence, I began to second-guess every decision I had ever made. Still I refused to give up. I would not allow myself to appear weak to these two men. Both of them—spines still as straight as fence posts—as if they'd begun this journey only a few moments ago.

  How I longed to get off my horse and stretch my aching legs. My dream seemed to come true as Calen slowed his horse to a walk, finally turning off the road and coming to a stop.

  “The horses need a rest,” Calen said, sliding to the ground. My calves wobbled as I nearly fell from my saddle.

  A hand shot out to steady me by the elbow, but I’d already righted myself, so I shoved it off with a frown.

  “Tired?” Thackery asked me.

  “No!” I said, pulling the saddle off of Juko’s back. He was slick with sweat. “Maybe a little.”

  I dragged in a ragged gasp of night air into my lungs. My breath seemed too loud set against the still night. We walked single file looking for a stream to water the horses. My water had run out hours ago and already my throat was parched.

  Calen led us single file through a handful of fragrant pines. Some were as tall as castle turrets, others little more than saplings, spindly and new as spring. The needles scratched at my legs as we passed. I was surprised at the sensation—that I could feel anything with how numb my body was. Eventually we reached a pool of water, wrapped in an almost perfect ring of gray rock.

  The pond was an unbroken circle so flawless, I had to wonder if it was man-made. The water wasn’t green, or blue, or brown—it was clear like delicate glass and reflected the moonlight in an eerie shimmer.

  “That water looks enchanted” Thackery said.

  But Calen just laughed under his breath. “Not likely. It’s spring-fed, and ice-cold by the looks of it.” Calen uncorked his water skin and lowered it to the pool.

  “How can you be sure?” I asked.

  Calen shrugged. “Don’t believe me then, but I won’t be sharing when you get thirsty.”

  The water did look pure. I sank to my knees and splashed some on my face. Taking a few cautious sips from my hand, I let the refreshing liquid cascade down my throat. It was the best tasting water I had ever had. Thackery and our horses were drinking deeply beside me. Forgetting all else, I plunged my face in and drank until my stomach was filled.

  Then Calen led us back to the road. I thought he was going to have us mount back up, but instead the Unicorn lifted his hand for silence.

  “Quiet,” Calen hissed.

  We had hardly spoken for hours. I glared at him silently, wishing I still had enough magic left in me to set those perfect eyebrows on fire.

  Calen walked forward and the space between his shoulder blades narrowed and then flexed. He drew a blade from his boots and I tensed.

  The unicorn was focusing on something up ahead. I strained my ears, but I couldn't make out anything over the thumping of my own heartbeat.

  “Hooves,” Thackery whispered, “but they're slow, and there's something else...”

  I heard it then, the rhythmic creak made by the wooden spokes of a wagon. Tension swept away like the tide rolling out. Calen put his blade away in a movement too swift to see.

  I stopped holding my breath as a peddler's cart rounded the bend in front of us. The small black carriage was almost invisible on the road, save for the gold glitter of words written on the side. I couldn’t quite make out what they said. A massive black-gray horse, twice as tall as the giant red spoked wheels, pulled it in a brisk walk.

  Something like a wind chime hung by the driver’s bench. It rattled and I realized it was made from a mixture of shells and bones. The head of a man appeared, humming a tune that filled the road with eerie music.

  The driver had a shock of silver-white hair. Wreathed in shadow at first, a single lamp revealed a face filled with laugh lines. The rest of him was wrapped in a cloak made from the night itself.

  Calen left his horse and met the peddler's cart head-on.

  “Whoa,” the peddler called, but the horse had already halted. The beast glared at Calen with a look that would make anyone else tremble.

  “You're headed in the wrong way friend,” the peddler said to Calen before turning his gaze on us.

  “This road isn’t safe for you and your friends,” he amended, “you’d be wise to turn back the way you came and leave the forest.”

  Calen seemed unphased by the warning.

  “Yet it’s safe for you, peddler?” Calen asked, looking carefully at the man’s cart.

  He was harmless, and while his concern seemed sincere, I wanted nothing more than for Calen to send him on his way.

  Calen reached up his hand and the peddler’s giant horse snorted, stamping his front hoof in a warning. Then it inhaled the Unicorn’s scent and immediately calmed.

  The peddler’s eyes snapped back to Calen in surprise, his friendly smile faltering for just a moment. I blinked and the harmless grin was back on his face, but Thackery had seen it too. He coiled up like a snake behind me.

  “I’ve traveled this road all my life.” The wagon bench creaked as he sprang from it with more dexterity than a man his age should have. “I plan on camping here for the night,” he said. “You are welcome to share my fire—safety in numbers they say.”

  I thought Calen would immediately refuse—he surely intended for us to travel through the night—but something seemed to make him consider the suggestion.

  With Nimble fingers, the peddler unhitched his horse from the cart and beckoned us over. After a moment, Calen nodded and I led his horse and mine forward. Thackery followed and we all met in the center of the road.

  “Thank you for your kind offer,” Thackery said, “but we really should press on.”

  “Press on indeed,” the peddler said, removing a small bundle from his cart and tossing it onto the ground. I watched in shock as it unfurled itself, growing larger and larger in size. A magic tent of rough cloth and dark stitching soon stood before us.

  Calen snorted, so very much like a horse with his neck stretched out. I knew I must be gawking with my mouth open, but I couldn’t help myself.

  The peddler leaned in close to Calen. “I know what you are.”

  Cold climbed its way from the middle of my stomach. The words rang in my head and for a moment, I thought he meant me. He knew what I was; the sister of a traitor, the daughter of a king, the Princess of Spellshallow, and at every moment growing closer to losing it all.

  But the peddler wasn't looking at me. He stared intently at his tent as it continued to rise higher into the air.

  “And what exactly are you?” Calen asked, his beautiful face turning cautious.

  With a wink, the peddler ignored the question and turned toward me. “Forgive my lack of manner’s, Princess. Allow me to introduce myself.”

  He bowed with a flourish. “They call me Krim, I am a trader of sorts, specializing in certain items of power. My tent is one of them, it’s magic will keep us hidden from even the Dark Wizard’s gaze.”

  The tent now filled the road, a dome-shaped skylight rising at its top. It was twice as tall as Calen and wider than the man’s cart. A strange light shimmered from ins
ide.

  Chapter 8.

  Calen

  The old fool had taken me completely off guard, but I’d caught on to his game. Despite his jovial manner, there was something very unsettled about the peddler. I wondered if the mages could tell, or if their pitiful senses could detect anything amiss without the use of their magic.

  Wren had used up all of hers, but I could tell Thackery had kept some in reserve. I hadn’t sensed him use any magic yet, but if he didn’t, it would slowly fade to nothing. Men were cups, holding and storing as much as they could. But as vessels, they were far from perfect. Magic leaked out of them, even when they didn’t want it to. There was no spell for fortifying against the loss—no way to correct it.

  I tied off Luka's lead rope around a thin pine tree with a flick of my wrist, careful not take my eyes off the strangle peddler for a moment. He smelled wrong. Like fire, brimstone, and spent magic. There was a tang to it, something like the copper of blood, but decaying and curdled.

  Thackery stood just out of arm's reach from Wren—she was damn near cloaked in midnight. My eyes lingered on the girl.

  The peddler had his tent up before I could settle my own thoughts, his moves practiced, measured, but somehow hurried. He efficiently set up the camp without so much as a glance over his shoulder—paying no heed to the dangers of the forest.

  The bright eyes flicked back and forth from me to Wren. I took out the rolled-up tent from Lin's pack. Thackery was tending to the horses. He produced three apples and the exhausted beasts crunched them gratefully.

  “Shall I tell you a story, young one?” The peddler asked, twirling the funny white mustache perched on the top of his thick, wild beard.

  No one answered the question, assuming he was speaking to me without knowing what I was. Anyone who knew the truth could never refer to me as young.

  A unicorn’s years didn’t pass like they did for the other people of this realm. Otherwise, I would be easily twice the peddler’s age. The features were sunken and the skin wrinkled, yet his child-like demeanor gave him a sense of energy, hinting at an unending vitality.

  “Don't you want to know what will become of your beloved home, should you fail to save it?” For the briefest moment, his eyes narrowed impatiently into slits. Then they popped back into the previous eager, patient look of a doting grandfather.

  Wren sucked in a breath as sharp as daggers. Thackery dropped the fabric he was unfurling but still didn’t speak.

  “How could you know such a thing?” I asked. What did this man know?

  “If you know,” Wren shot, “you may as well tell us before the night ends—before the world ends!”

  Her lip quivered delicately when she was angry. Pointed words, stacked one on top of the other as if to build a wall to separate the feelings of shame and regret between it.

  “Certainly Princess,” the peddler said sweetly. “What good is a tale unless lit by a warm fire?” He retrieved a flintstone from his cart and bent to start a fire. Producing a bundle of firewood, he built a small pyramid that soon became a crackling pillar of heat. “Come and sit.”

  Looking into the flames, he stilled. His face seemed sad—haunted by the memory. I knew that look too well.

  Wren and Thackery sat down eagerly. I approached but remained standing. The fire was hot on all our cheeks, but it still couldn't touch the deep cold inside me. The Peddler’s face shifted a thousand times in the flickering shadows. The longer I was in the company of this man, the more I was convinced he wasn't a man at all.

  Not a man, not even a Mage—there were all sorts of strange creatures in this realm, but the human’s here used magic. Whatever he was, it wasn't something I'd seen before. The unknown made me uneasy, and there was already a sea of unknowns before us.

  Then he began his story.

  “If you took the whole of the Earth and made it flat...” The peddler began. “If you made if flat, and then dumped a handful of stones on top of it, that would explain how the Realm of Mages co-exists with this world. Separate, but touching.”

  It was a bizarre, if not inaccurate description of the spheres of magic that Mages referred to as countries. Spellshallow was only one such place among many. They could be seen as stone, of different sizes of fog that moved across the land in various colors. Why I'd picked this particular stone from the dozen others—I still couldn’t say.

  “It doesn't affect the world to take a stone away,” the peddler continued making a stone appear and then vanish for effect. He rolled his shoulders and flung out his hands in a grand gesture, really getting into his story now. Bards spin their tales in song or music, but this man seemed to create his tale from the air itself.

  “What would happen if all of the stone touching the world were removed at exactly the same moment?” He asked. “What about all the creatures and people standing in this stone or drawing from its power? What would happen to them?”

  Thackery had his eyes closed, but I could tell he wasn't asleep. Wren sat with both feet crossed before her on the ground, a log rolled beneath her backside with both fists in her lap. The warm fire had made her drowsy and she could barely stay upright—even staying awake to listen to this story was a struggle for her. I knew she had reached the limit of her reserves while we were still riding and I'd been prepared to sling her over my shoulders and carry her the rest of the way.

  The silence urged me to reply. “Those inside the stones would feel emptied, hollowed out by the loss of what they once had.” That’s how it was when I lost my horn. My body could still feel the phantom memory of it, like a tiny throbbing at the center of my forehead.

  “And what if you were standing in the Spellshallow castle when it happened? What if the stone vanished from one place and appeared in another realm?” The peddler was no longer making sense.

  All three of our faces showed confusion, but he forged ahead with his story. “You’d still be connected to the stone and by extension the new realm.”

  “How do you know?” Wren asked, but she was already curling up into a little ball as sleep overtook her.

  “I know many things,” the peddler said with a toothy grin, “including what it's like to lose one’s magic along with your home. For you see, I traveled here inside of one such stone.”

  “What was it like?” Thackery asked.

  “My world?” the peddler asked, and Thackery nodded.

  “Beautiful white mountains—it was winter for most of the year—but when spring finally came, ah there was never a more glorious sight. Anything that survived the long winter rushed to bloom and reproduce during the short winter months. There was a fierceness to it that made it hard to separate joy and pain.”

  “Sounds sort of gloomy to me,” said Thackery.

  “I suppose the winters can be,” replied the peddler, “but never the spring. That time is hope and energy and life. It was the first day of spring when our magic was stolen. Poor timing that caught me up in it, for that was the day I always drove my cart to the city to trade...” The peddler’s eyes were far away.

  “My horse ass,” I said with a puff.

  “Don’t believe me then,” said the peddler as he strode towards his tent. “Perhaps you will be more receptive in the morning.”

  With that, Thackery trudged off to find someplace to lay down while I paused to admire Wren’s backside. I couldn’t help but notice that the peddler gave it a departing glance. Not that I was blaming the bastard—it wasn't like her ass was easy to ignore—but he looked old enough to be her grandfather.

  I checked on Luka before bedding down for the night. Keeping my blades close, I stayed close enough to Wren to keep an eye on her. After a final swig of the fire whiskey, I laid down, slowing my breathing and pretending to be asleep. If I could have slept with one eye open and trained it on the peddler I would have.

  With my eyes closed, I listened to the night around us. Luka whinnied once, but everything else was calm. The peddler disappeared into his tent and was soon snoring loudly. I straine
d my ears, but nothing moved in the surrounding forest—not even the wind. That left me with the fears in my empty stomach and the memories in my tormented head. The two continued their haptic dance through most of the night.

  I must have drifted off for a moment, for suddenly Wren was shrieking and rolling around on the ground. I was on my feet and charging towards her in a second, my blade held high.

  “What’s wrong?” I demanded.

  “There’s something stuck in my hair!” she yelled. She swirled around—and sure enough—a small bat clung to her hair, nearly as terrified as she was.

  I plucked the small creature out as Thackery appeared. “Are we under attack?”

  I showed him the small creature.

  “A bat? Oh for the love of—I’m going back to bed.” Thackery stormed off.

  “Stop smiling,” she told me, but I knew she could barely see me in the dark.

  “Why don’t we put up that tent of yours?” I asked. “It might keep the bats out of your hair.”

  “I might need some help putting it up,” she said.

  I released the bat back into the night sky. “I wasn't smiling,” I lied. My voice took on a playful tone and she immediately called me out on my bullshit.

  “Liar.” Wren hissed. She fumbled for the tent and struggled to find the poles. I moved to help, but she suddenly pulled a pole out and smacked me with the end of it.

  “Sorry, it’s too dark to see.”

  “Is it?” I asked.

  “I suppose you are going to say unicorns can see in the dark,” Wren sighed.

  I nodded. Then remembered her eyes would take more time to adjust. “You could say that.”

  I took the tent from her hands and had it upright in a moment. Ushering her inside, she gave me a grateful look.

  “You might as well stay, there’s no chance of me getting any more sleep after that.” Wren stared through the darkness at me until I sat down.

  She moved closer to me, I suppose seeking protection against any bats that might have found the way into her newly-assembled tent. She propped her head up on one weedy arm. A poor pillow, but better than nothing. It was what I'd planned on doing. Wren yawned, sleep nearly reclaiming her despite her insistence otherwise.