The Legacy

by Suzanne de Montigny

  “Stay back!” ordered Polaris. “It’s still daylight inside the angry one’s false cave. We’ll wait until he’s asleep.”

  Azaria was very curious about the strange light that the creatures-that-walk-on-two-legs created inside their dwellings. Stretching his neck out, he studied the tiny fires that burned on small sticks with fascination.

  Why don’t they burn quickly like wood does?

  They waited until the moon traveled higher in the sky before Ishmael finally blew out the flame. Then they crept out of hiding.

  Circling the structure, they examined it from every side to see if there were some way out. The captured unicorns nickered their story in low voices as they rounded the pen.

  “Thank goodness you’re here,” cried Nathaniel’s dam, Dorianna. “We’ve tried everything, and we can’t get out.”

  “But if there’s no way out, then how did he get you in?” asked Azaria.

  “There’s a section over there that opens up,” said Solomon pointing his horn to the part that stood near Ishmael’s dwelling. “They tied it shut after they herded us in.”

  Azaria eyed the mysterious spot, tilting his head to one side.

  “I think the solution would be to get Ishmael to untie it for us,” said Polaris. “Does he ever open it?”

  “Not so far,” said Solomon.

  “Then keep watching,” Polaris instructed. “See what you can learn. We’ll be back tomorrow, so you can tell us what you’ve found then.”

  Azaria, Polaris, and Gaelan bid the captured herd farewell and slipped back into the dark of night.

  The next day, they took cover close by in the forest and waited. They were soon rewarded when Ishmael strolled outdoors, whistling. He stood outside the pen, watching the unicorns with the same mesmerized look Azaria had seen before. After a time, he pulled out a long cord and climbed over the tied trees.

  “A snake!” hissed Gaelan, shuffling his hooves and snorting.

  “No wait. It’s not. It doesn’t have a head and it doesn’t move,” said Azaria.

  “A dead snake?” Gaelan tried again.

  “Gaelan!” Azaria frowned.

  Azaria watched as Ishmael took the cord, tied the end to make a loop, and then swung it about. It fell neatly over Zackary’s neck and tightened. Zackary balked, and let out a shrill neigh. But Ishmael held his ground, wrapping the other end of the cord around one of the trees. Then he ran to fetch another cord that had been knotted in certain spots just right to fit the head of a unicorn. Taking slow, casual steps, he reached up, and with one swift motion, attempted to slip it over Zackary’s muzzle. Zackary rumbled and sidestepped out of the way, giving his head a fierce shake.

  “You’ll wear this halter if it kills me,” Ishmael snarled.

  Zackary reared up and pulled back. Ishmael yanked the cord forward. They fought, unicorn against creature. Ishmael persisted and, after many tries, managed to slip the halter in place. Trembling with fury, Zackary lunged forward and dug his teeth into the flesh of Ishmael’s arm. The bite drew blood. Ishmael screamed, enraged.

  Taking fast, hard steps, he retrieved a willow branch – long and thin at the end.

  “You will do as I say or I’ll whip you,” Ishmael shouted, his voice hoarse with pain.

  Zackary’s hooves drummed the ground as again he backed away.

  Raising the whip, Ishmael lashed out, cutting deep into Zackary’s flank. His nostrils flared, Zackary bolted, zigzagging while Ishmael tried to steer him into a circle. The whip fell again. Zackary reared in protest. His eyes crazed, he broke into a gallop and dragged Ishmael behind him, the cord sliding through his enemy’s hands.

  Ishmael let go, pulled himself up and cursed at the angry, red burn marks in his palms. But Zackary wasn’t done yet. Circling back, he reared and pummeled Ishmael’s chest, knocking him onto his backside before galloping to the far corner of the structure.

  “You stupid animal!” shouted Ishmael. “You’re so dumb, no one can train you!” He hurled the whip to the ground and stomped away.

  Azaria giggled, his eyes watering. Gaelan joined him, and soon all three unicorns guffawed, tears streaming down their cheeks.

  “That was so funny!” Azaria howled.

  “I know. Zackary just wouldn’t do what he wanted.” Gaelan could barely force out the words between gasps.

  Azaria’s laughter slowed as a solution took shape in his mind. “But that’s it,” he said. “That’s the answer!”

  “What?” asked Polaris.

  “Come. I’ll explain it as we head home,” said Azaria.

  That night, Azaria, Polaris, and Gaelan crept back to the captured herd.

  Solomon trotted to meet them, followed by the mares. “You missed what happened to Zackary!” He shook his mane in disgust.

  “We saw it all,” said Azaria, breaking into fresh chuckles.

  “Boy, was Ishmael mad when Zackary wouldn’t obey.” Gaelan chortled.

  “Yes, well Zackary wasn’t always the sharpest horn in the herd. I think he just didn’t get it,” said Solomon.

  “Hey!” protested Zackary, scowling.

  “But don’t you see?” said Azaria. “That’s the solution. If everyone were to behave in the same way, Ishmael would soon give up and set you free again. He would have no use for you.”

  Solomon thought a moment, his eyes flickering with hope. “I think you may be right,” he said.

  “But the whippings, Polaris, we’re afraid of them,” whimpered Dorianna.

  “Yes, but it only hurts for a moment,” said Zackary. “It’s not so bad when you know that it’ll be healed instantly once Ishmael’s back is turned.”

  “That’s true,” she said.

  “I admire your valour, Zackary,” said Polaris. “We should all be like you.” He turned to the herd. “I suspect what Ishmael wants is to turn us all into big-hooves. He’s hoping we’ll obey him just like they do and carry creatures-that-walk-on-two-legs on our backs. And we’re not big-hooves, are we?”

  “No!” called a stallion. “Ishmael is such a moron!”

  The unicorns broke into a fit of giggling. It spread like wildfire through the herd. The laughter grew louder and louder until the door of the dwelling flew open, silencing them. Ishmael scowled as he spied the unicorns huddled together in a corner of the pen. As the three free unicorns turned and fled, Azaria caught sight of an open-mouthed, wide-eyed Ishmael.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Boat

  Ishmael fumed, slammed the door, and stomped into the brick house.

  “They’re brainless! I’ve tried nearly all of them and not a one is trainable. They’re like zebras. Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

  “You still have the horses,” Adiva said, her voice cold as ice as she chopped roots for their supper.

  “Bah, horses. They have no horn. And they’re ugly compared to unicorns. Plus, they’re as common as rodents. Now on the other hand, if I could train the unicorns,” he said as though speaking to himself, “I could be the richest merchant in town.”

  Adiva hammered the knife onto the wooden cutting board, keeping her back to her husband, her long, dark hair trailing down.

  “And what’s with their hide? It heals the minute I’m not looking.” He threw up his arms, a huff escaping him. “If I could find some way to make them feel more pain, then maybe I could control them.”

  Laying the roots aside, Adiva grabbed some cumin, threw it into the mortar, and ground it hard with the pestle. The scraping sound grated on Ishmael’s nerves.

  She cleared her throat. “Perhaps you should try being a little gentler. They’re peaceful animals,” she said, her icy voice digging in like a knife. She ground the cumin even harder, the abrasive noise growing louder.

  Ishmael turned and glared. “What do you know about training animals? You’ve never even been on a horse. If I can’t tame them, no one can. I should just turn the lot of them out. They cost too much to feed anyway!”

  Ishmael threw down his coat and
stormed out of the room past his small daughter, Ali, who cowered behind a chair, her brown eyes peering up at him. He had seen how the people snickered when he strolled past in town. In just a short while, he had become the laughing stock all because of those blasted unicorns. What could he do to regain the admiration of the people? He muddled it over in his brain for a while, and then swung open the door and returned to his wife.

  “You know more people are settling in the town. If I could find someone dumb enough, maybe I could pawn the unicorns off on them. Then everyone would look up to me for making such a smart sale.” He laughed with scorn, wrinkling his nose.

  “Or you could just be decent and let them go,” Adiva said, lifting Ali to wash the child’s face.

  “Ah, what do you know?” He swept a hand, dismissing her words.

  Ishmael’s chance came a few days later when a boatload of people arrived in their small town. He waited as the vessel coasted slowly toward the quay, moving rhythmically with the waves that sloshed against the banks. It thudded against the dock with a dull sound. An odd, unpleasant smell he couldn’t quite place drifted from the vessel. Craning his neck to see, he waited for the seaman to jump out and tie the boat to the deck, but the man never showed.

  “What the ...” he said, reaching out to grab the rope and forming the knot himself.

  He hoisted himself up on the wooden vessel, wearing his most polished smile, and peered in. It was dark inside, and it took a minute for his eyes to adjust. Piles of what looked like clothes lay disheveled on the floor of the boat.

  Something’s wrong.

  Moving closer, he jumped when one of the piles moved.

  “Please help me,” whispered a man, his voice little more than a rasp.

  Ishmael’s eyes fell on the black blotches of the man’s arms. Stumbling backward, he landed on the deck, his eyes wide with horror.

  “It’s the plague!” he shrieked. “It’s the plague! They’re all sick!”

  The townsfolk dropped everything and rushed to the dock, their voices raised in fear.

  “Get rid of them now before it spreads,” screamed a woman.

  “Quick before we all catch it,” shouted a shopkeeper.

  The mob crowded the boat. A young farmer with bulging muscles began shoving it away from the dock while Ishmael struggled to untie it. Soon, several people joined him in pushing. The boat gave no resistance. It merely drifted away on the river, the waves lapping away in rhythm on its hull. The townspeople grew calmer as it moved from their sight.

  Ishmael let out a sigh of relief and turned toward home. As he left, he nearly tripped over two wet rats who scurried across his path. “Filthy vermin!” he cursed.

  Shaken by the ordeal, he scrubbed his hands and arms thoroughly with the soap Adiva made from fat and lye when he arrived home. His head ached from all the excitement.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Adiva, her brows furrowed.

  “A boat came in full of dying people,” he said, shaking his head with disgust. “They smelled awful and had black blotches all over their skin. I just can’t get the smell out of my nose.”

  “The plague?” Adiva reeled, her eyes huge. “Did you touch them?”

  “No, of course not. We just pushed them back into the river.”

  “You mean you didn’t help them at all?” cried Adiva, her face a mask of shock. “You could have at least given them water.”

  “No. There was nothing I could do. We’d all catch it anyway.” He shivered at the idea.

  Ishmael retired to his room to rest for a while. As he lay there, his thoughts turned back to his herd of unicorns. He wondered if he could sell them as pets, but discarded the idea. Perhaps as meat? Shaking his head, he remembered the stomach sickness that struck after the fireball hit. The survivors had turned to other animals for food with undesirable results, their stomachs seizing with cramps for weeks afterward. He doubted anyone would sink their teeth into a new meat for a long time.

  Two weeks later, Ali’s whimpering woke Ishmael and Adiva in the night.

  “Can’t anyone get some sleep around here?” he grumbled.

  Adiva rushed to the little girl and picked her up. “She’s burning up!” she cried. Groping around in the dark for her cloak, she slipped it on. “I’m going to get some water to cool her fever.”

  A few hours later, Adiva awoke Ishmael, distraught, her eyes dark from lack of sleep.

  “Ishmael, she’s throwing up,” she cried. “Get the healer!”

  Ishmael sat up and stared in horror at his tiny three-year-old daughter. Could it be the plague? Fear seized his soul. Leaping up, he said, “No. She’ll be okay. Just keep cooling her down.” Then he slipped out.

  He stayed away from the house until late that night. When he finally crept in, he shut the door with a soft thud and slept near the hearth, away from Ali.

  The next morning, Adiva burst into the room, awakening him with a jolt, her face stained with tears.

  “Look at her arm and legs!” She sobbed.

  His eyes rounded with horror at the child’s limbs. Bruises covered the little girl’s body. It had to be the plague! Backing away, he nearly knocked over an urn, and then sidled to the door.

  “I … I have to tend to the unicorns,” he said, his forehead beaded with sweat. Throwing the door open, he ran to the corral, his wife in pursuit.

  “It’s the same thing those people had on the boat! You have to do something, Ishmael. Please help her!” she cried. “Go for the healer!”

  “No,” he shouted, his voice shaking as he climbed over the fence. “The healer won’t be able to do anything for her.”

  “Ishmael” cried Adiva, still pursuing him, the limp girl in her arms. “She’s our child.”

  Ishmael stumbled away, escaping the unpleasant sound of his wife’s wailings. His heart raced.

  I can’t get too close. I might catch it.

  The dull thud of hooves made him turn. Ishmael watched with fascination as one of the unicorn mares sauntered to Ali and touched the child’s face with her lips.

  “What on ...” he began.

  She lowered her ivory horn across the dying child’s heart and held it there.

  Adiva flinched and attempted to pulled the girl away.

  Then Ali let out a giggle and sat up, reaching her hand to the mare’s face. “It’s so soft, Mama,” she said.

  “Ishmael!” Adiva’s voice rose in pitch as she turned and stared at her husband with astonishment. “Her bruises are disappearing!” She placed her fingers on Ali’s forehead. “And the fever’s breaking.” She peeled off the child’s clothes, examining the fading splotches, and then gazed at Dorianna as though a great revelation had come to her. “It was the mare!”

  Ishmael stood, his chin hanging, the whites of his eyes showing. Then his expression slowly changed to a sly smirk.

  “So, the unicorns have healing powers,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “And that’s why when I whip them they get better so fast. They’ve been outsmarting me all along. I haven’t been wasting my time with these creatures after all. I’m going to be rich!”

  He leapt up, flailing his arms about, his eyes mad with glee, but stopped when he noted the shock in his wife’s eyes. Reaching over, he gave Ali a brief pat on the head, then turned, his fast steps taking him toward the town.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Plague

  The cries began in the settlement, first in one dwelling, then spreading to the next, each day worsening. Azaria had once heard a female make this sad noise, her face buried in her hands, but hadn’t understood what it meant. Now he knew as he watched a male carry out a wrapped bundle and lay it before the entrance. His mate joined him, and together they wailed, their tears raining on the covering. Soon, more bundles were left in the streets.

  “The creatures-that-walk-on-two-legs are dying!” said Azaria, his voice low.

  “I know,” Gaelan said, twitching his hide nervously.

  “It’s worse than when the sto
rms took away so many of our herds,” Azaria said. “I feel sorry for them.”

  Gaelan shook his head. “But like Polaris says, it’s part of nature, like when the rabbits die out every seven years.” He pondered the drama before him for a while when his face lit up. “You know, maybe that’s how we’ll free the herd,” he said as though he had just had the best idea ever.

  “How?” asked Azaria.

  “Well, Ishmael won’t let them go now that he’s figured out unicorns can heal. But if enough creatures-that-walk-on-two-legs die, then he won’t need us anymore.” Gaelan let out a stale laugh.

  “It’s not the other creatures who did this, Gaelan. It’s Ishmael. And besides, we’d still have to figure out how to open the tied trees.” Azaria gave a sad smile.

  “True,” said Gaelan, letting out a long sigh. He frowned, and then added, “But I can’t forgive him for what he did to Dorianna.”

  For days, they had watched Ishmael work with Zackary’s dam. He had separated her completely from the herd, and then whipped her into submission until she allowed him to lead her around by a halter. He never let her return to the others. Her back had remained streaked with blood, and her eyes were crazed with pain.

  The next day, Azaria and Gaelan watched Ishmael bring Dorianna to the settlement. He took the mare inside one of the false caves and, a brief time later, guided her back out again. Cries of joy echoed from within the walls of the dwelling as Ishmael arose from the dark abode smiling gleefully, his hand clutching a small but dirty bag of gold.

  Azaria’s heart pounded. “He’s using Dorianna to heal the sick, he said, “but she won’t survive!”

  “She only healed one of the creatures, Azaria,” said Gaelan, his voice calm.

  “Yeah, but remember Darius’ dam? Father couldn’t heal her because she was too large. The same thing will happen here. She’ll heal so many creatures that she won’t make it. We’ve got to do something! Let’s find Father!”