Melody's Unicorn

by Richard Swan

  ‘I’m here to learn how to control my power.’

  ‘And in learning to control it, you lose it. That’s the irony.’

  Melody didn’t really understand this remark, but didn’t want to show her ignorance.

  ‘So would an adult have just walked away from the door when it was slammed in their face?’

  ‘No, but we might have knocked again.’

  ‘Breaking it was simpler.’

  ‘That’s true. But the world isn’t simple, which is why our power is so unsuitable for it most of the time. Power like that can’t survive the complexities of the world, which is why we’ve driven it to the edges, to the dreamlands, and to the lands of children, who see things more directly than we do.’

  ‘Aren’t there any adult who have power and use it?’

  ‘Naturally there are adults with power, but none retain the strength they had when they were young. Even the most stupid, or wicked, or cunning adult knows too much of the world to be able to focus the mind intently in a single way. A few healers retain their art into their twenties, because healing seems more direct than destroying, but they also come to see that there’s as much evil in the world as good, and even diseases have their place.’

  ‘Isn’t it good to heal? I’m not a healer, but I imagine that it must always be the right thing to do.’

  ‘We’ll see about that!’ said Corann with something of a laugh. ‘Not all healing is a blessing. That’s a harsh lesson which you may come to learn one day. Don’t be too hasty to say that you’re not a healer. There are many types of health and many types of wholeness. When you least expect it, you may find that your hands reach to heal rather than to hurt.’

  Again, Melody had the feeling that he was saying much more than she understood. Did he mean something specific, or was he talking generally?

  ‘Can you see the future?’ she asked, puzzled.

  Corann smiled gently. ‘No. Nobody can do that, whatever they may claim. I’m only telling you what it is to be human, although you’re too young to know that fully yet. Enjoy what you are now, and let the future come as it will. But that’s enough teaching for today.’

  ‘Teaching? What teaching?’

  ‘Everything is teaching. You’ve just got to recognise what it is to learn. Tomorrow I want you to start healing – I want you to work with Tamar, and see whether you can build a bridge towards him.’

  So that was why he’d sent them out together. Melody pulled a face. ‘That won’t be easy. He hates me.’

  Corann regarded her steadily. ‘Does he? If you think that, you’re not the person I thought you were.’

  ‘All right,’ said Melody, after reflection, ‘he resents me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m a girl.’

  ‘Not just that. Perhaps not even that, in the end.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He resents you because you’ve got power. More than he does, I suspect. Ruric resents you for the same reason, as I think you’ve noticed. He used to be very powerful as a child, and he hates the loss of that power. He knows it will never return, but he misses it all the same.’

  ‘Great. So how am I supposed to “build bridges” to these people?’

  ‘That’s your job to discover. I think I’ll send you for a walk with Tamar tomorrow. You can practise. Meanwhile you can help me prepare dinner. With you here that’s four of us, and it’s meant to be pork chops. If you can work out how to feed four people with three pork chops, you really do have power.’

  As it turned out, this was exactly the kind of problem Melody was good at. Since the loss of her mother she’d been in charge of nearly all the household arrangements, even as a young child, and was used to occasional changes of plan when her father’s work kept him away from home, or brought unexpected visitors. By the time she’d chopped the pork into cubes, added a few slices of bacon and a lot of vegetables, she’d created an appetising casserole which would easily assuage four appetites, and Corann was prepared to believe that she had any amount of skill. More importantly, it made Melody feel more comfortable, and she began to relax a little.

  Dinner itself was a less successful occasion. Although the food was good and there was wine to accompany it, which Melody had already begun to like, she felt the tension around the table and knew that she was far from accepted. Corann’s plan for her to take a walk with Tamar would be a severe test.

  Ealing Common

  Melody woke up the next morning and wondered where she was. It took her a few moments to remember all that had happened the previous day – that she was lodging in an attic in the house of people she didn’t know, far from her home. But it was what she had wanted, what her father had told her she needed to do, and she had to go through with it.

  Ealing. She tried to remember what she had learnt before she arrived, but that was little enough. It was in West London. It was at one end of the underground system, Ealing Broadway, so she’d be able to get into central London when she needed to. In her mind all Londoners travelled by underground, or went by taxi, or bus. Yet Corann had said something about sending her for a walk. She was used to walking, almost exclusively, but somehow she hadn’t expected it here. The idea made her feel uneasy, as if there was less difference between this place and her home than she’d been prepared for.

  Tamar. That was the boy’s name. About her age, maybe a year older, good-looking if it weren’t for that perpetual scowl that he wore like a mask. Was that to frighten her, or was it just his way of hiding? She inclined to the latter view, but she’d have to wait until she knew him better.

  She dressed in new clothes that she’d brought with her especially to make an impression. Black top, pleated skirt, black boots. She intended to be noticed, regardless of what reaction she might create, and the previous day’s events made her even more determined to provoke a response. Let them try to ignore her. Let them believe that girls didn’t matter.

  She looked at the brass ring on her forefinger, and twisted it to and fro. Brass. She knew that it was a poor ring, the least able to focus her power and make it follow her will, but it was all she had. Her mother’s ring was lost to her. Silver rings, of the kind that would be related to her abilities, were unimaginably expensive. Gold was unthinkable. Yet Ruric had been dismissive, as if she weren’t worth anything when brass was all she could offer. She’d show him. She’d show him what she could do, even if there was only brass to act as a conductor of her power. How dare he scoff at her?

  As she went down the stairs she realised she was in belligerent mood, and wondered what Corann would say. He’d said she was too quick to judge others, and while she admitted the truth of that observation, it didn’t make it any easier to avoid doing so. Ruric and Tamar sat at one side of the kitchen table like accomplices, and it was hard to believe that they hadn’t been conspiring against her before she appeared. She watched them closely as she ate, and doubted their motives at every word and at every action. Even passing the butter seemed to be done grudgingly, or condescendingly. It wasn’t an easy time, though she was hungry and had two bowls of cornflakes and three slices of toast. She imagined them thinking that she’d eat them out of house and home, but they didn’t say anything openly.

  Corann was there, reading the newspaper and idly nibbling at a plain piece of toast. He’d greeted her pleasantly enough, but if he’d noticed her mood he didn’t draw attention to it. It was only after careful perusal of the letters page that he looked up.

  ‘Right. Today’s activities. Tamar, I promised Melody that you’d take her out this morning and help her get her bearings. Show her the Broadway, then take her along to Ealing Common. There’s some open space there. You can admire the trees, and look out for unicorns.’

  Tamar looked startled, then angry. ‘What do you mean, unicorns? They don’t exist. And if they did you’re not likely to find them on Ealing Common. The most you’re likely to find is drunks.’

  Corann didn’t respond to the rude tone of Tama
r’s reply. ‘It depends what you look for, as I’ve told you so many times before. If you want drunks, you’ll get drunks. But Melody might see a unicorn.’

  ‘I don’t want to see unicorns!’ interrupted Melody, annoyed that Corann seemed determined to set Tamar against her.

  ‘Why ever not?’ asked Corann mildly. ‘I would have thought everybody would want to see unicorns if they could. I know I would. I’ve been looking all my life, and I’ll go on looking.’

  Melody wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. ‘But unicorns are mythical.’

  Corann sighed. ‘It depends what you look for, as I said to Tamar. I hope I don’t have to repeat it as often to you. You’ve got a lot to learn, and the sooner you start the better. Now off you both go, and if you see any unicorns, let me know.’

  It wasn’t until they were halfway to the Broadway that Melody realised what Corann had been doing. With his absurd talk of unicorns he’d distracted them from his original instruction to explore the area together, and Tamar hadn’t been fast enough to protest about spending the morning in Melody’s company. Nor had she had time to object to being with Tamar, she thought sourly, and realised she’d been tricked as well. He wasn’t the ideal guide in any sense. He didn’t want to show her any of the landmarks, and scarcely seemed to look about him at all. The street was full of people, bustling about on daily business, and it was all fascinating to Melody. Everybody seemed to be in such a hurry, as if they’d be late for something before they even knew what they were heading for, and nobody paid any attention to anybody else. She felt almost invisible, a strange sensation in a crowded street.

  As they walked along towards the common, the pedestrians thinned out, but the traffic grew in intensity. Streams of cars, buses and lorries cut across each other, weaved to and fro in an effort to gain a few yards’ advantage before the next traffic lights, were always on the verge of collision but never quite crashed. Melody didn’t like it. She didn’t like the noise, the smell, the pace.

  ‘Madness,’ she said. ‘Where does this road lead?’

  ‘Straight into Central London. Follow it along and you’ll end up in Oxford Street.’

  ‘Really? So it’s a route to the heart of the city.’

  ‘Yes. That’s what Corann says. Come with me and I’ll tell you something.’

  It was the first time Tamar had said anything to her that didn’t sound unpleasant, and she wondered if she’d misjudged him. Perhaps he was more human than he’d been pretending. Meanwhile it was a relief to get away from all the traffic onto the calmness of Ealing Common. It was an attractive open area a few hundred yards across, marked by lines of fine trees that she saw were horse chestnuts. They walked out into the open, then Tamar stopped.

  ‘Turn this way. That’s it. That’s due east. According to Corann, if you walk five miles in a straight line, you’ll be in the middle of Hyde Park. Nine miles from this spot and you’re standing on Tower Bridge, next to the Tower of London.’

  ‘Is that true?’

  ‘That’s what Corann says. You can’t walk in a straight line now, of course, if you ever could. There’s buildings and houses and roads all over the place.’

  ‘Maybe we can’t. But other things might.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Melody didn’t explain her cryptic remark, because her attention was caught by a grand oak tree, standing alone and forming the main focus of the park. It must have been planted intentionally, she thought, because it was the only large oak in the area, and it looked like a beacon. She led the way across to it, and found that it had indeed been placed there deliberately. A clear sign at its base read: ‘To commemorate the Silver Jubilee of the Accession of King George V 1935’.

  ‘Over eighty years old,’ Melody said gently, running her fingers across the bark. ‘It’s very lovely. And it’s obviously been cared for.’ She looked around her. The whole park had the same feeling, of richness and beauty and a kind of stillness, which separated it from the bustling traffic that could be seen in the distance. It was as if there was a presiding genius, a woodland spirit that was protecting the park and making it a haven in the middle of a modern city. Close at hand, however, she was disturbed to notice some ugly squares of concrete set in a line. She went over and peered at them. They were each about three feet square, and didn’t seem to have an obvious purpose. They might have formed the base of something once, she thought, but there was nothing there now. ‘It makes me angry,’ she said to Tamar. ‘Here’s this beautiful park and these lovely trees, and all this oak has for company is this squalid concrete. It should be removed.’ And without pausing she raised her left hand, pointed with the outstretched forefinger, and spoke.

  There was a crack of sound as if someone had fired a pistol, and the concrete slab split and smashed into a thousand pieces.

  Melody smiled with self-satisfaction. ‘Now they’ll have to clear it up. Your turn. You break the next one.’

  Tamar shook his head, and Melody glanced at him curiously. Was he scared, or shy, or did he object to such violence?

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘You do it. I’ll watch.’

  Melody shrugged and turned to the second square of disfiguring concrete. She raised her hand, pointed and spoke as before. It cracked and broke.

  ‘Very impressive,’ said a voice behind them. ‘Unnecessary, unrequired, but impressive.’

  Swivelling, they came face to face with a strange figure. It was tall, well over six feet, and pliant, with a greenish tint to the skin and smooth features. Melody recognised it instantly. A tree-spirit, what was usually called a dryad after the ancient name, and evidently the spirit of the oak tree she had stood beside.

  ‘Hello,’ she said carefully. She knew that dryads were supposed to be unpredictable creatures, and she didn’t want to annoy it. They were quick to anger, and likely to become violent if they felt threatened.

  She risked a quick glance at Tamar, who hadn’t reacted, and was amused to see that he looked shocked. Presumably he wasn’t used to dryads. The situation seemed to be up to her.

  ‘Hello,’ she said again cautiously but politely to the dryad, which hadn’t moved and was regarding her with unblinking eyes. ‘I’m sorry, we didn’t see you when we arrived. Are you well?’

  The dryad gestured with a long arm in the direction of his tree. ‘Well enough. Eighty years of watching, guarding, and waiting. Wars and bombs and vandalism. Lucky to be alive in many ways. Not many people are as kind as you.’

  Melody relaxed, knowing that she had accidentally said the right things when they’d arrived. The dryad would be on their side now, and that made him a powerful ally.

  ‘I thought the oak was beautiful, and wonderful,’ said Melody honestly. ‘I didn’t know you were there. I’d have greeted you if I had.’

  The dryad nodded, a strange stiff gesture, accepting this. ‘Tell me what you’re doing here.’

  ‘I’m exploring the area. I’ve just arrived.’ The dryad didn’t seem to find that answer sufficient, so Melody continued. ‘I came here to study. To learn how to control my power.’ Melody knew that it was always advisable to be direct and honest with magical creatures. They responded to honesty and could be helpful when they chose. She remembered what the dryad had said about her destruction of the concrete being ‘unrequired’. It obviously thought violence was unnecessary. ‘That’s why I was practising. I didn’t intend to harm anyone, and I wasn’t doing it to impress.’

  ‘Weren’t you?’ challenged the dryad.

  Melody was about to speak, then stopped. ‘All right,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I suppose I was. I wanted to be sure I could do it for my own sake, but most of all I wanted to impress Tamar here. I wanted to show him that a girl could be as strong as any boy.’

  ‘And did you succeed?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Melody. ‘You’re right; I didn’t even do it for that reason really. I did it prove to myself that I’m that powerful.’

  ‘And are you?’ persisted the dryad.


  Melody sighed. ‘All right. I don’t know that either. I’d just like to think so.’

  The dryad regarded her with his pale, unworldly eyes. ‘I see you are honest, at least. Honest with yourself, and honest with others, one hopes. You’ll need that honesty where you’re going.’

  Melody stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  The dryad closed its eyes and spoke in a humming voice:

  ‘Not in the air,

  Not in the ground,

  Not on water,

  Not on land,

  Not in fire,

  Not in the sun,

  Not in all,

  Not in one.’

  ‘What are you saying? What’s all that about?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said the dryad simply, opening his eyes. ‘It came to me, as these things will. You’ll know what it means when you need to, when you get where you’re going.’

  ‘But where’s that? How do you know all this?’

  ‘I don’t. That’s not how power works. But I know that’ll you’ll understand at the proper time – although there’s something strange about the proper time.’ The dryad looked thoughtful, even puzzled, or at least that’s how it appeared to Melody. She was about to ask him more when there was a sudden noise in the distance. A dog was barking, and she turned to see a man approaching, being almost dragged along by an Alsatian, which strained at its lead as it pulled its owner towards Melody and Tamar. Then it stopped and seemed to lose interest, and the man led it away towards the road. Melody turned back, but the dryad had vanished. Tamar stood silent, as he had been throughout the whole encounter. Finally he found his voice.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘A dryad. The spirit of the tree. Haven’t you ever seen one before?’

  Tamar shook his head. ‘Never. I’d heard of them, but I didn’t know they were real. How did you know about them?’

  ‘I’ve seen one once or twice, in the distance. In my father’s woods there are many old oak trees, and dryads love oaks especially. But I’ve never been close enough to speak to one.’