Melody's Unicorn

by Richard Swan

  She walked with no sense of time or distance. Melody saw no other creatures, and couldn’t hear birdsong or any other sign that the forest was inhabited. There could be animals, or dryads, a few feet away and she would never know. There was only the pleasant smell of the conifer needles, which reminded her of pine resin or the fresh scent of a Christmas tree when it’s first brought into the house. And there was the trail of the unicorn, unswervingly straight ahead of her.

  Without warning the last two trees parted their branches, and beyond them Melody could see that there were no more conifers, but an open space full of sunlight. She stepped cautiously forward and looked around. Behind her the branches of the conifers rustled back into place, and on impulse she reached out and touched them.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. She had no idea what made her do that, but the trees quivered and caressed her hand as if in blessing, and she knew that they were perfectly alert, aware of her and willing to let her pass.

  She turned to look at what lay before her. There was no sign of dryads, although she’d half wondered if one might be waiting here too. Evidently the outer guardians were enough, and once the forest had accepted her there was no need for further challenge.

  Nor were there any other creatures that she could see. She was in a clear space, perhaps a hundred yards wide, carpeted by the whispering grass that she had become accustomed to in Faërie. No doubt it would be curious, wondering who she was and what she was doing there. Or perhaps it knew already, like the dryads and the trees. On the far side of the clearing there were trees again, but these were oaks, or nearly oaks, and widely spaced. There was no path, but she hadn’t expected one. A path would mean someone else’s purpose, and she wouldn’t follow such a thing even if she found it. She could sense the unicorn’s track, and that was all she needed.

  As she started walking through the trees she thought it was charming. The sun was shining, making glittering patches of light and shade that swayed and swirled as the branches moved above her head. They seemed to dance, not with the breeze but according to her movements, forming a pattern of which she was part. She felt that the forest was singing, and she was inside the music. And with that feeling came the realisation that the forest wasn’t charming, it was charmed. Enchanted. It was also extremely dangerous. She was in a place of magic, and almost anything might happen.

  Melody tried to keep her focus on her path, but as she walked she sensed more and more marvels and mysteries around her, at the edge of her vision. Strange creatures moved in the shadows of the trees. Paths opened up, clear tracks leading away on each side. She caught glimpses of what might be walls, or buildings. Far away over the treetops there was a flash of colour, as if it might be a flag on top of a castle.

  She began to see why the forest was so perilous, and why she had been warned against it. It would be so easy to become distracted, to turn her attention to something that caught her eye to one side, or to follow one of the inviting paths that led away through the trees. She could forget her purpose and pursue wonder after wonder until she became lost as if in a maze. She could readily believe that entering the forest offered no guarantee of ever leaving it again.

  Desperately she concentrated on the track ahead. There was the unicorn’s trail, invisible to the eye but totally clear in her mind. Yet even as she thought that, she wondered whether the line suddenly turned and twisted. Was it straight ahead, or slightly off to the right?

  She stopped, and knew she was on the verge of panic. If she lost the unicorn’s track, that was the end of her. She would have no sure purpose, no goal, and would wander the forest forever, chasing after one or another thing as her mind wandered. Even if she tried to turn round and simply leave, she wasn’t at all sure she could find her way. ‘Always towards’, that was the rule in Faërie, but the impulse was less powerful here. She wondered whether she was still in Faërie at all.

  Why was she following the unicorn? Erec had asked her that. And how far would it lead her? She had never questioned herself about why, never doubted. As soon as she had seen the unicorn she knew she had to follow it. It was a feeling far deeper than any rational thought. It was instinct, and certainty. As for the second question, she had never considered it. The unicorn had led her out of her own world, into Faërie, and then into this forest that might be a continuation of that world, or a completely new one. She had a momentary vision of spending her whole life crossing through strange worlds, never knowing where she was and never reaching her goal. The panic grew closer.

  No, that couldn’t be right. She’d had no doubts until now. She’d been sure about following the unicorn; sure that it was part of her purpose. It was this forest that was confusing her, making her waver and doubt. It was a forest of error. Enchanted, but deadly.

  She looked again, and there was the unicorn’s track, straight ahead. No wavering, no uncertainty. All she needed to do was to summon her willpower, be strong and resolute. Heartened, she walked on.

  Sir Gawain

  For a short time all was well, and Melody felt that she had passed a kind of test. The forest had tried to confuse her, and had failed. It was still charming, still charmed, but she could resist the enchantment and follow her purpose without hesitation.

  As she entered a glade where the uninterrupted sunlight was brighter than ever, she stopped. There was a noise coming from somewhere ahead, and it was not one of the natural noises of a wood. It sounded like jingling, as if two metal plates were being slid against each other, or a pile of coins was being sifted between two hands. Accompanying it was a dull rhythmic pounding, too faint to be identified. The source of the sounds was approaching, and as it came from the direction she needed to follow she had no choice but to wait and see what was causing it. Unconsciously she closed her left hand into a fist, feeling the warmth of the ring there. She hoped the creature, if it was a creature, wouldn’t be hostile. So far she had encountered no animals that were dangerous, or which even came near her. She was cautious, wary, and trying not to be frightened.

  As the noise continued she recognised the background rhythm as the fall of hooves. An animal was coming into the clearing. But what was causing the jingling sound? The trees were closer together on the far side of the glade and she couldn’t distinguish a shape until it was almost out in the open. As she finally did so she gasped, and was still struggling to take a breath when the figure rode out into the clearing where she stood.

  It was a knight on horseback. And not merely a knight, but a man who looked as if he had stepped directly out of a history book, or a legend. Clad in full armour, with a chain metal shirt underneath a dazzling surcoat of blue and silver, he carried a long lance in one hand, while on the other arm was a shield emblazoned with a gold pentangle on a red background. Melody had once been taken to a jousting competition at a local castle, and here was one such jouster riding towards her in the sunlight of another world. She was speechless.

  Seeing her, the knight halted and sat motionless on his tall chestnut horse. He wore his visor up, and Melody could see the strong features, the neat beard and the clear eyes that were fixed on her. He made no effort to dismount.

  ‘Maiden, what make thee in the Forest of Brocéliande?’

  She could understand him, just, but his accent was so strong that although he spoke English, she wondered what country he came from. She struggled to find her voice.

  ‘The forest of where?’ she said faintly.

  The knight peered at her more closely, as if distrusting who she was or what she might be. ‘Brocéliande. Didst thou not know that? Then how camest thou here? And where is thine escort?’

  Brocéliande. The name meant nothing to Melody. And why should he expect her to have an escort? He didn’t look threatening, but he was stern, and towered over her on his great war horse. She decided that she needed to be scrupulously polite, so that she didn’t anger him.

  ‘Sir Knight, I entered this forest of my own will, and on my own too. I don’t have an escort. I had a companion,
but I left him before I came in. He wouldn’t follow me.’

  The knight laughed grimly. ‘A wise fellow, by my faith. Few who enter this forest escape unscathed, it is said. But thy speech is strange. What dost thou seek?’

  ‘A unicorn,’ said Melody simply. She felt it wise to speak the plain truth, and the dryad at the border had understood immediately the nature of her quest.

  The knight laughed, throwing his head back and roaring so that the trees around them echoed the sound.

  ‘A unicorn! Why then, maiden, we are well met. For thou and I both follow impossible quests, and I wish thee well of thine.’

  Melody was astonished by his laughter, but puzzled as well. Why should seeking a unicorn in a magical forest be so impossible? Perhaps he was like the people back in London, who couldn’t see a unicorn even when it was beside them.

  ‘I’m following a unicorn, yes. I saw it far from here, and have been on its track ever since.’

  The knight’s eyes narrowed and his laughter stopped. ‘Thou hast seen it? Truly? Then thou art greater than I, or any of my kind. I honour thee. Wouldst that my quest should turn out so fair.’ There was a note of disappointment in his voice.

  ‘Why? What are you seeking?’

  The knight gazed at her, and she thought he wasn’t going to reply.

  ‘I follow the greatest quest of all our age,’ he said finally. ‘I and my fellows ride in search of the Sangreal. I have forgotten the time when I was not seeking it.’

  ‘The Sangreal? What’s that?’

  ‘Thou dost not know? It is the Grail, the cup that was used in Our Lord’s Last Supper. It hath long been lost, but it hath been foretold that it shall be found in this forest, and by one of my company.’

  ‘But who are you? And who are your company?’

  The knight drew himself up in the saddle, as if re-taking an oath he had sworn long before. ‘I am hight Sir Gawain, and I am of the worshipful knights deemed of the Table Round. My Lord Arthur set us upon this quest, and there shall be no rest until it is fulfilled.’

  Melody’s mind reeled. What was he saying? The Round Table? Arthur? They were myths, stories she’d read as a child. They couldn’t be real. For a moment she wondered whether she’d gone mad and was hallucinating, imagining a world of knights in armour. Yet this man was real enough, as solid as his horse. What did he say his name was? Sir Gawain? She thought back, trying to remember the tales she’d read when she was seven or eight. There was something about the Quest of the Holy Grail. King Arthur had sent out his knights to find it, but only the pure in heart were permitted to see it. Just one or two members of the Round Table succeeded. Sir Galahad, was it, or Sir Perceval? Certainly not Sir Gawain. She would have remembered. He was one of the knights destined to fail on the quest. So what happened to him? Did he return to Camelot empty-handed, or did he die trying to fulfil his mission? Either way he couldn’t still be alive, here in this forest. Or could he? Had he wandered out of legend into her world? Or had she wandered out of reality into his? Her mind struggled to accept what was happening to her. Or was it about time periods, not about reality? Time worked in such strange ways that she couldn’t be sure. She obviously couldn’t ask him whether he was real, whether King Arthur was real. He would just think her mad, which perhaps she was.

  ‘How … how long have you been seeking it?’ It was the only way Melody could think of framing a question, yet she dreaded the answer. What if he said it had been a thousand years?

  Sir Gawain thought. ‘It must be some three months since Lammastide, when our lord Arthur sent us upon this quest, and Christmas draws near. Ere the New Year turns we must find the Sangreal, or return to Camelot without meed, but I wiss without disgrace.’

  Melody couldn’t understand much of what he said, but she caught at the words ‘three months’. It couldn’t have been. If there had ever been an Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table, it had been hundreds of years ago. While Sir Gawain had spent his months in the forest, centuries had passed in the outside world.

  A deep dread settled on Melody, both for herself and for him. What if her own quest meant that when she returned to her own world hundreds of years had passed, and she found herself in an alien place she couldn’t recognise? She tried to tell herself that it didn’t happen, there had never been a case in real life of someone emerging in a time that lay centuries after their own existence. That only happened to people in stories, like Rip Van Winkle. It couldn’t happen to her. Somehow, when she returned to London, it would be to the same time and place. She held on to that thought desperately. What, though, did it mean for Sir Gawain? There was only one hope for him, and her dread deepened as she thought of it. The best thing for him would be to remain lost forever in this forest, always believing that only a few months had passed, never attaining his quest and never seeking to return home. Even as she thought this she realised that the same could happen to her, that she could wander this forest forever looking for the unicorn. Her pity for Sir Gawain and sorrow for herself shook her deeply, and she started crying.

  ‘What ails thee, maiden?’ said Sir Gawain, and at last he did dismount and come over to her. He laid his lance down carefully on the grass beside his horse, which stood waiting patiently for its master’s return.

  Melody tried to stop her tears. ‘I’m sorry, Sir Gawain. I’m sorry for you, for your difficult quest, and I’m sorry for myself, for mine. We each have a destiny to fulfil, and that’s hard for both of us.’

  ‘Thou art tired, I deem, and weak. I left an hermit’s cell some hours gone; return with me and he will feed and refresh thee.’

  It was tempting, but Melody shook her head. ‘No. Thank you, you’re very kind. But I mustn’t be deflected from my path. If once I lose the unicorn’s track I might never find it again, and all my purpose would be wasted.’

  ‘That I understand only too well,’ said Sir Gawain gravely, ‘and I honour thee for it. May I then accompany thee on thy way and guard thee? For there are many dangers in the forest.’

  Once more Melody was tempted. Half of her could see the value of a companion and a guardian in this enchanted place. Yet she realised that this was in itself another danger, like the half-seen paths and buildings. If Sir Gawain went with her she would be affected by his will, his quest. It had been difficult enough to keep her mind wholly fixed on her task. She must go on alone.

  ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘That cannot be. Like me you have your own quest, and you cannot leave it. We must each seek our own goal, and not turn aside for anything.’

  ‘Thou art wiser than thy years, then, for thou art tender in age. Consider, though. Thou art unarmed, and young, and a maiden. It is such that I am sworn to protect, even if my quest be delayed thereby.’

  Melody would have liked to smile, for it seemed like something from a film, a knight coming to the rescue of a damsel in distress. There was a name for it, if she could remember. Yes, chivalry. This was a chivalrous and courteous knight, and he meant every word he said. ‘I may be young, but I am strong of purpose. And I may be unarmed, but I am not wholly defenceless. I have my own power, and this ring.’ She held up her hand and showed him the gold ring that glowed almost in its own light.

  To her great surprise Sir Gawain dropped on one knee and bowed to her, then took her left hand gently in his so that he could examine the ring more closely.

  ‘Soothly, maiden, thou art honoured. For surely this ring was one made by Merlin, and its powers are greater than any I have to offer thee in protection. Thou art blessed, and may thy quest be a joyous one. I shall not fear for thee, nor seek further to stay thy path.’ Briefly he touched his forehead against the ring, then stood and turned back to his horse. Mounting swiftly, he saluted her with the lance, which he had taken up again.

  ‘Fare thee well, maiden, and hie thee to thy goal. And may God preserve both thee and me, and make us worthy of Him.’ With a deep bow, he took the reins in his hand and rode off into the forest, almost in the direction from which she had
come.

  As the figure of the mounted knight disappeared between the trees, Melody felt so dizzy that she had to sit down, almost collapse, on the grass. She took deep gulps of air, as if she had forgotten to breathe throughout the whole of their encounter. Her heart was beating wildly. It had all been too much, too overwhelming. She sank back, and fainted.

  Melody was brought back to consciousness by a tickling on her face. Opening her eyes, she discovered that it was the soft grass that had cushioned her fall, and which was now gently brushing against her skin as if to comfort her. She was used to the grass of this Otherworld by now, and it felt like it was deliberately trying to help her. ‘Thank you,’ she said stupidly, and slowly sat up. She laughed gently. Talking to the grass? People would reckon she was crazy.

  The giddiness had disappeared, and she got to her feet. Her breathing and heart rate had returned to normal, and she could think clearly. She knew that she hadn’t been dreaming, that the encounter with Sir Gawain had really happened, but she couldn’t make any sense of it. Had she strayed so far from her own world and time that she ended up in King Arthur’s age, whenever that was? Or had Sir Gawain lingered through centuries of earthly time, time that hadn’t happened here in this enchanted forest? Perhaps the truth was even stranger than that. Maybe the forest had the power to bring myths to life, so that the Knights of the Round Table, who probably never really existed, could appear in flesh and blood. If that were so, then maybe she wasn’t marooned in time, and maybe when she returned to her own world all would be well. She clung to that thought. The alternatives were too awful to think about. The one thing she was certain of was that the unicorn held the key to her whole experience. When she found the unicorn she would be clear about what was going on.

  With her confidence restored by that conclusion, Melody looked around and saw that the unicorn’s track was as clear as ever, and without further pause she got up and made her way along it.