Bindings

by Carla Jablonski

He gestured at the unicorn with a flourish, like the ringmaster of a circus introducing an act. Tim was able to casually slip out of the man’s grip. He couldn’t stand the feel of the guy’s fingers on him.

  “I should not fault you for believing in the unicorn,” the man continued. “When I first spied the brute, I myself was almost persuaded of its reality.”

  The man walked slowly all around the unicorn’s pedestal, gazing up at it, as if he were reliving the very first time he had ever seen it. “Its silver hide shimmered in the half light, and its spiral horn glittered. It was only upon closer inspection that I was able to perceive the details which led me to understand that no beast so splendid could live. Did I say live?” Now his eyes bored into Tim’s. “I meant to say exist.”

  Why? Tim wondered silently. Why can’t beauty and wonder be part of the world?

  The man looked up at the unicorn again, completing his circuit around it. “I realized that the shimmer of its hide derived solely from a coating of silica dust.” He poked the unicorn’s side with his riding crop. Tim flinched. “The poor brute must have spent half its life rolling on sandy riverbanks. To rid itself of vermin, I conjecture. Filthy thing.”

  He stood beside Tim again. Tim hoped he wouldn’t get much closer. The odor emanating from the man was awful, and Tim had the worrisome idea that the guy could smell his fear. Most predators could do that.

  “I developed a theory—the myth of the unicorn had its beginning in a fascinating interplay of human gullibility and greed. It goes like this. Once upon a time, a very clever man fastened a goat’s horn to a horse and exhibited the beast at taverns and country fairs. He did this with the sole aim of bilking ale-addled farmers of their hard-earned coppers. The unicorns of legend were all simply variations of this clever man’s scheme.”

  The man smiled with smug satisfaction. Tim wanted to smack him.

  “Now that I had such a beast frolicking in my courtyard, I could test this theory. Fortunately, the unicorn expired. Perhaps the ambiance of my garden disagreed with it.”

  No joke, Tim thought, remembering the piles of scattered bones in the courtyard. This creep has been eating flesh all of his life. That had to be a turnoff to an animal as glorious as a unicorn.

  “I dissected the beast. When my researches were done, I could prove without a doubt that the myths were wrong. Then I preserved the specimen. And thus began my collection.”

  The man stepped up onto the platform with the unicorn. He sneered with his horrible tooth filled smile. “The eyes are beautiful, are they not?” He flicked one with his long fingers. It made a little pinging sound. “They’re glass, don’t you know.”

  “Stop! Just stop!” Tim shouted. He leaped up onto the platform and flung his arms around the unicorn’s neck. He didn’t care what the man thought of him, how stupid he might seem. He just didn’t care.

  “I can’t listen to you anymore,” Tim said, “not even to stay alive another five minutes. It’s not worth it. I’m not going to hide from you, so go do whatever it is you do. Just be quiet about it. You’re a liar and a freak and you stink like rotten meat. You think you’re some bloody genius. But you’re really nothing. Nothing!”

  Tim clung to the unicorn, his back to the man, not knowing what would happen next.

  There was a long pause. Tim’s body shook with a mixture of rage and fear. Any moment, he knew, the man’s triple set of teeth could bite down on his neck.

  But it didn’t happen.

  “What an alluring habit you have of wearing your heart on your sleeve, my little onion,” the man said. “It’s too tender for words. Very well. I’ll see you soon.”

  Tim waited as he heard the man’s footsteps grow more and more distant. The door slammed shut, and Tim was alone in the library.

  Well, not exactly alone.

  “Maybe he’ll exhibit us together,” Tim said to the unicorn. “When he’s through eating my soul and all. You have to admit, it would make sense.” Tim jumped down and stood in front of the pedestal. “And on your left, ladies and gentlemen,” he announced in a carnival barker’s booming style, “next to the dogs with wings, we have the dumb unicorn and the dumber kid.”

  Tim gave a shaky laugh, then sank down onto the pedestal. He settled himself between the unicorn’s forelegs and pulled his knees up to his chest. “All right. So it is a lame place to hide,” he said. “It’s as good a place as any to wait, though.” He glanced up at the unicorn’s face. “You don’t mind being talked to, do you? It’s just that I don’t want my last words to be, ‘Well, Tim, that was stupid, wasn’t it?’ Which is exactly what they’ll be if I start talking to myself.”

  Tim rested his chin on his knee. “I don’t think you can hide from him, really. Though I’m sure it must make him very happy when you try. Well, I don’t want to give him anything to smile about.” Tim shuddered. “I hate it when he smiles. One set of teeth should be enough for anybody.”

  Those teeth. Tim held up the page he had torn from the man’s book, the last remaining page. That’s what he really is, isn’t it? The teeth were the dead giveaway. A manticore. Or is it the manticore? Maybe there’s only one.

  He stared at the page. Think, Tim, he admonished himself. A proper magician wouldn’t just sit here. A proper magician would do something.

  Still, all he could do was stare at the page. Okay, Tim thought, trying to work it out, come up with a plan. “My friend John Constantine would probably make a trap out of an empty cigarette pack or something,” he explained to the unicorn. “Zatanna would talk backward, saying something like ‘Erocitnam, teg deffuts.’ Then there’s Tamlin, this guy who might be my father. He says that magic answers need and that power is in little things.”

  He craned his neck around to look at the unicorn’s face. “So, unicorn, what would be a little thing that could help me tap into magic and get me out of this place?”

  Tim turned back around and held up the picture of the manticore. He squinted at it, as if a new angle would help him come up with an idea. “I could try sticking pins into this or setting it on fire. But I think I’d have to know his name to make that work. Or would it be enough to know what he is?”

  I suppose I could try anyway. “Just one problem,” he told the unicorn. “I don’t have any pins or matches.”

  “Pins? Matches? You’d work a death spell on me on the sly? And I thought we had come to an understanding.”

  Startled, Tim looked up. He had never heard the man come in. Only he wasn’t a man anymore. A huge, full-size, larger-than-life manticore stood in front of him. It was as if the illustration in his hands had come to life—only enlarged by a thousand percent.

  The man’s head had not changed—same greasy red hair, same grotesque mouth, same triple set of teeth. Only now that head sat atop a lion’s massive body.

  Before Tim could make a move, the manticore leaped upon him, grabbing his ankle in its paws and yanking him from the pedestal. The sheet of paper went flying and Tim landed hard on the floor.

  “Let me go!” Tim cried. He kicked out hard and balled his hands into fists, hitting whatever he could. He wriggled, trying to keep the manticore from getting a good shot at biting his throat.

  None of this seemed to faze the manticore. He still spoke calmly. “Go? Oh, no, I think not.” The manticore sat on Tim, nearly crushing the air out of him. Its scorpion tail flicked, and its teeth dripped with greenish-yellow venom.

  “I had intended to take the time to educate you. To play Socrates to your Plato before I ate you. But, alas, you’ve changed my mind.”

  Tim pushed as hard as he could up against the beast, trying to get him off his chest. The manticore pinned his arms back with its massive paws.

  “Cease your struggling,” the manticore ordered.

  Tim’s efforts made him sweaty—and his wrist slipped out from under one of the manticore’s heavy paws. He used his free hand to punch the beast hard on the nose.

  The manticore reared up with a roar, allowing Tim to wigg
le a bit further out from under him, before it slammed back down on top of him, slashing Tim’s arm as it pinned him back on the floor. Tim was astonished by the sight of his own blood spurting out, spattering across the torn pages of the book that lay scattered on the ground around them.

  “Ohhh, it hurts,” Tim moaned. He tried to roll up into a little ball, but the manticore held him down.

  “I told you to stop your struggling, did I not?”

  “Manticore,” Tim declared, as the world spun around him. “I know who you are. But I know something else, too. I don’t care what you think—that unicorn is real!”

  Tim heard a loud whinny. He watched, amazed, as the unicorn underwent an extraordinary transformation. The creature’s pure white coat glowed, as if it were lit from within. Each clearly defined muscle rippled, shuddering back into life. The unicorn lifted its head and blinked its once-glass eyes. Tim had done it! Magic had answered a need. And Tim used that magic to bring the unicorn back to life.

  The manticore’s human head whirled around. “What?” he cried. “No! How can it be?”

  The unicorn reared up. A crackling energy shot through the room again. Sparks flew from its single horn. As its two front feet rose in the air, Tim saw that the manticore page had stuck to one of the unicorn’s hooves. My blood, Tim realized. That’s what’s making it stick.

  The unicorn crashed down. Using its horn, it ripped the manticore page from its hoof, then speared the beast itself—right through its heart.

  “Agghhhhhhh!” The manticore howled in agony. He rolled off Tim, and collapsed beside him.

  Chapter Eleven

  ON AND ON TAMLIN FLEW, uncertain of how to find his quarry, the maker of this nightmare. But then everything began to change.

  Tamlin circled over the land, astonished. He watched flowers bursting out of rocks, rivers suddenly overflowing their beds. It was as if a black-and-white picture were being colored in with sparkling paints.

  “Who could have hoped for this?” he exclaimed. “The land becomes herself again! How did this happen?” Now Tamlin had a new goal—to discover the great magician who could have worked this miracle, who could have broken the bindings that Titania herself could not undo.

  From his vantage point high above the ground, Tamlin could pinpoint the center of the bountiful magic. The miraculous changes flowed out from one spot.

  Tim was thirsty. So thirsty. He didn’t think he’d ever been so thirsty in all of his life. Not during gym class. Not after a heavy session of skateboarding. Not even in the middle of summer.

  Something nudged him. He opened his eyes slowly and squinted up at a pure white unicorn peering down at him. The beautiful creature had gently prodded Tim with its horn.

  “Oh, it’s you,” Tim said. “Would it be okay with you if I lie here for a bit? Just until things stop spinning. Thanks.”

  Wait a sec. Aren’t I supposed to be terrified right now? Aren’t I in mortal combat with an evil creature? Oh yeah… It began to come back.

  “Hey, where’s the manticore?” Tim asked the unicorn. “He was just—oooww,” Tim moaned as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. It was then he spotted the manticore. Only it wasn’t exactly the manticore anymore. It had turned into a manticore-shaped sand pile.

  “Oh, there he is,” Tim murmured. He looked at the unicorn. “How did you do that? Not that I’m complaining, mind you.” Tim leaned over the pile of manticore dust.

  “Hah! He got you,” Tim taunted the creature. “Or maybe we got you. Whatever. Serves you right, Socrates.”

  Tim slowly and shakily rose to his feet. He had to lean against the unicorn’s side to steady himself. He clutched his still-bleeding arm and gazed around him.

  The courtyard was no longer filled with bones. It was bursting with flowers. The stench had lifted, and fragrant scents wafted on a sweet breeze. The ever-growing wall suddenly had a doorway in it, and Tim and the unicorn made their way through to the other side.

  “Look at that,” Tim whispered. Rolling green hills lay before him. As weak as he was, Tim couldn’t stop himself from venturing into the tall grasses, to marvel at the astonishing sight. So the manticore hadn’t been lying. Tim really was in Faerie, and now the realm was being restored all around him.

  “Cool!” Tim exclaimed.

  Then, suddenly, he felt the little energy he had leave him, and he collapsed.

  Tamlin beat his strong wings and quickly made his way to the source. His heart leaped into his mouth.

  It was the boy. And the child was not alone. He was being guarded by that most pure creature, a unicorn.

  What is Tim doing here? Tamlin wondered. How did he get here? The answer came to him in a rush of clarity. I gave him the Opening Stone, and he opened a way for himself into this world. I should have known. The prophecies are true. My child lives, and he is full of magic.

  Tamlin landed and transformed into man shape. The unicorn tipped its horn in greeting, then galloped away.

  Tamlin kneeled down beside the boy. “Timothy,” he said, trying to rouse the child.

  “About that Coke,” the boy murmured. Tim felt hands—human hands—turn him over gently.

  “Tim, you’re burning up, child.”

  Tim gazed up at a face. I know this face, don’t I? Yes. Long straight hair, brown eyes. Cheekbones. What had Tamlin said? Oh, yes. “No, I’m not burning up. I’m cold. I’ve been cold for hours.”

  Tamlin’s strong arms cradled Tim, lifting him into an embrace. Then Tamlin leaned Tim against a boulder, propping him upright. That seemed to help his breathing. He lay heavy against the rock, every inhale shallow, every exhale burning.

  He wanted to talk and tell Tamlin what he had done, but he didn’t have the energy for words. Beating that manticore and then seeing all of Faerie turn back into flowers was brilliant. He was sure Tamlin would think so, too. Tim wanted Tamlin to be proud of him. He couldn’t remember why, though.

  “We took care of that old manticore,” Tim said, when he had enough air to speak. “Me and the unicorn.” Why did it hurt so much to talk? So much effort for such a little sound. “At least, I think we did.”

  “Manticore?” Tamlin repeated. “You’ve seen the manticore? Here?”

  Tim thought Tamlin sounded kind of freaked. Well, the whole thing had been kind of freaky.

  “Uh-huh,” Tim replied. “He sure is ugly. Was ugly, I mean. Before he turned into dust.”

  “Tim, did it bite you or scratch you or sting you?”

  “I guess so. I don’t know.”

  Tim thought Tamlin’s voice sounded almost stern. Maybe I should open my eyes and check out his expression. Tim’s eyelids fluttered. Nah, he decided. Too hard.

  “Hey, there’s something I was going to ask you,” Tim murmured. “Something important. But I can’t remember it just now.”

  Tim could feel Tamlin’s strong hands on him, as if he were searching him for something. He patted Tim’s legs, and turned Tim’s head first one direction, then another.

  “I still have that stone you gave me,” Tim offered. Maybe that’s what he was looking for? He didn’t want Tamlin to think he’d been careless with it.

  Tamlin pulled up Tim’s sleeves. “Gods!” Tamlin exclaimed. He gripped Tim’s arm in a sore spot. “This scratch is deep and terrible.”

  “That’s okay,” Tim assured Tamlin weakly. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. Not much.”

  Tamlin still clutched Tim’s arm. “How long ago, child? When did it claw you?”

  Tim pulled his arm from Tamlin’s grasp and brought his hands up to his face, covering his eyes. The sun was too bright. It hurt, even with his eyes shut. He felt laughter rising, but couldn’t quite figure out why. “You know, I just figured it out. I did. I know what holds the world together. Except it’s not a what. It’s not even an it, really. It’s life…it’s Death.”

  The piercing light was growing dimmer. The blackness surrounding him was far more comfortable. Out of the black velvet backdrop Tim could make
out a shape forming. A familiar shape. “She’s pretty. She’s very pretty.”

  A young woman dressed in a black tank top and black jeans, with an ankh pendant dangling from a black ribbon, stood smiling in front of Tim. He remembered her. He had met her at the end of the universe, where he had been taken by the crazy Mr. E.

  Well, at least she’s not a total stranger, he thought. He finally relaxed and let go…into nothingness.

  Chapter Twelve

  TIM FELT GROGGY AND STIFF. No wonder, he realized, I’m all cramped up on the floor in a corner. A corner of someone’s flat.

  He sat upright, immediately on alert. Now where am I? He blinked a few times to clear his head and took in his surroundings. This looks like an ordinary flat, he noted. But he knew appearances could be deceiving. He shook his head. Where had he just heard that exact phrase? Oh well. He wasn’t going to be able to remember. He could tell.

  Tim tried to sense for danger, but he was too disoriented to feel much of anything. He leaned against the wall behind him.

  A tall, slim young woman with very white skin and blue-black hair stood in front of him. Where did she come from? Had she been there all along? He was seriously out of it.

  The woman didn’t look much past twenty, and she seemed familiar. Tim worked hard to place her.

  “Oh. You,” Tim said. “You are you, aren’t you?” The girl from the end of time. A boy doesn’t forget a girl that pretty—particularly when you meet in such a memorable place and in such remarkable circumstances.

  The girl smiled. “All the time, and then some,” she replied. “Would you like a cup of tea? I’ve got the kettle on.”

  A shrill whistle trilled behind a tatty curtain in the doorway. “Oops,” the girl said. “There it goes. Come on. If you want good tea, you can’t let the water boil too long.”

  “Really?” Tim had never heard that little bit of wisdom before. Not that he was much of a tea drinker.

  “You bet.” The girl disappeared behind the curtain. “Really good anything takes timing. Coming?”