Into the Land of the Unicorns

by Bruce Coville

  Where was she?

  She took seven deep breaths, trying to calm herself. After a moment she realized she was lying on something soft — moss, from the way it felt beneath her fingers.

  Moss?

  She turned her head to the side. She was indeed lying on a thick cushion of something that, if not moss, was close to it. Ahead of her loomed huge silver-barked trees, unlike any she had ever seen before.

  She cried out in fear at the sight. Though she knew she had left her own world far behind, the proof of that journey offered by the strange trees jolted her like an electric shock. Only the fact that her grandmother had told her this would happen — at least, told her she was going to fall into another world — kept the wild panic fluttering in her chest from overwhelming her completely.

  How was she to get home?

  The thought surprised her. The truth was, home itself would not have mattered much, were it not for her grandmother. She had lived alone with Grandmother Morris since her parents, Ian and Martha Hunter, had abandoned her. She had been three at the time, and in the years that followed, she had suffered her way through a series of humiliations in school, picked on for everything from her deep red hair to the fact that she had no parents — as if she could do anything about either situation!

  Many were the nights when, after crying herself to sleep, she had dreamed of leaving her own world behind and disappearing into the one she found in books, particularly the collections of fairy tales — The Blue Fairy Book, The Red Fairy Book, and others — that she had dug out of her grandmother’s attic.

  She looked around. Was that the kind of world she had entered now?

  Remembering the tales, she wondered if she would find an old woman here in the woods. If so, would she be a cruel witch, or a magical helper? The question made her remember her grandmother’s request: “Find the Old One. Tell her, ‘The Wanderer is weary.’”

  Well, if that’s what her grandmother wanted, then the Old One, whoever she was, must not be too bad. Now if she only had some idea of how to go about looking for her!

  After a moment, she realized she was hot. Standing, she shucked her winter coat. Still hot, she peeled off the blue sweater Grandmother Morris had knit for her the year before.

  “That’s better,” she said, more to hear her own voice than anything else.

  It was better, she realized. Not only because she was down to her preferred jeans and T-shirt, but because the air itself was better, far purer and cleaner than she was used to breathing. After several deep breaths she found herself almost giddy with the sweetness of it.

  “I’m here!” she shouted.

  Immediately she regretted the action. She had hoped perhaps her grandmother had friends here who were looking for her. But it suddenly occurred to her that someone else, someone not so friendly, might be seeking her as well.

  With a sudden shiver, she wondered if the Hunter would be able to cross to this world. Was he seeking her even now? Biting her lip, she turned in a slow circle. Save for a soft breeze rippling through the leaves of the trees, she saw no sign of movement.

  She repeated the circle, seeking a path, a sign, anything that might show her the way she should go next.

  Nothing.

  Fear began to rise in her again — fear not simply of being lost, but of everything that had happened this night. Or was it this day? Though it had been dark when she had leaped from the tower, it was now full light.

  Part of her wanted to believe that the whole thing was a dream; that she would soon wake, snug in her bed, in her familiar, if somewhat nasty, world. Part of her quaked with astonishment at what she knew in her heart was real.

  That astonishment increased as she began to look more closely at the world into which she had fallen. At her feet grew something that was clearly a flower. Yet when she bent to examine it, the swollen purple blossoms, covered with a fine silvery fuzz, were so unlike anything she had ever seen that they sent a shiver along her spine.

  Draping her coat and sweater over her arm, she walked around the edge of the clearing, searching for a path.

  The silvery bark of the trees had a blue undertone that gave her the same kind of shiver the purple flower had. The deep green leaves hanging from their branches were round, smooth-edged, and nearly the size of her hand — not really strange, yet too different from any she had ever seen before to feel comfortably familiar. Cara ran her fingers over the smooth, peeling bark of a tree. To her surprise, a smell like cinnamon filled the air.

  She began to circle the clearing a second time, feeling a growing sense of panic. If she could not find a way to determine which direction to go, she would have to enter the forest aimlessly.

  Or should I just stay here, she wondered, and see if anyone comes to get me?

  She shook her head. She knew that staying in one place if you were lost was the standard advice. But it only made sense if you could assume someone would be looking for you. She could hardly count on that in this situation; more likely no one in this world even knew she was here. Under the circumstances, waiting in one place to be found would be nothing more than relying on luck. And if there was one thing Grandmother Morris had taught her, it was that you had to make your own luck if you were going to survive in the world.

  Halfway through her second circuit of the clearing she heard a faint, crystalline sound. She paused, held her breath, listened more carefully. Yes, there was no mistaking it: running water.

  She smiled. That would give her something to head for. If she was going to find a path anyplace in this forest, it would most likely be near a stream. People always needed water.

  With that thought, she struck off through the trees.

  The soft forest floor smelled richly of leaves turning into soil. The forest itself was thick and deep, and once out of the clearing she saw a great variety of trees, many with gnarled trunks nearly as wide as her bed was long. Fortunately the undergrowth was sparse, so it was easy to wind her way among it. A mossy substance, mostly green, but with patches of brown, orange, and red, grew thickly on many of the trunks. Other mosslike things hung like streamers from the trees’ lower limbs. Above them the weaving of branch and leaf was so dense that only an occasional shaft of light pierced the gloom. Something with bright wings fluttered past her.

  She had often gone for walks in the woods with her grandmother, but none of the places they had visited had the sense of age that this one did; in no place had the trees seemed so old, so . . . dignified.

  * * *

  It was not long before she came to a laughing stream. At once, she felt something begin to ease inside her. Her grandmother had always told her that if she was troubled she should find a place to sit by the water, and this was about the most perfect “sit by the water” spot she had ever seen. The stream, about four feet wide, was so clear she could see every leaf and pebble that lay beneath its surface. Gurgling and chuckling to itself, it rolled between mossy banks, here and there splashing around a polished brown stone that thrust above the surface.

  She sat down on the bank. After a moment, she took off her boots and socks and dangled her feet in the water, which was cool, but not too cold for comfort.

  I wish Grandmother Morris was here.

  The thought threw her mind back to those last moments in St. Christopher’s. What had happened after she jumped? Had help arrived? Was her grandmother all right? Or had the Hunter managed to hurt her, even —

  Cara clamped down on the thought, forcing it from her mind. Her grandmother had to be all right.

  Lifting the amulet over her head, she looked at it again. Had the white hair coiled inside really come from a unicorn’s mane? Her mind reeled with the thought, and again the strangeness of all that had happened made her feel as if she were adrift on some strange sea, with no shore in sight.

  Wiping away the single tear that rolled down her cheek, she looked at the amulet.

  “What is going on?” she asked, speaking as if it could answer.

  So int
ent was she on her fears that she didn’t notice the slender figure that slipped from the shadows and began to slink toward her. She continued to stare at the amulet until a pale hand darted over her shoulder and tried to snatch it from her fingers. She spun in anger, then screamed at what she saw.

  Standing before her, clutching at the amulet, trying to tear it from her hand, was a manlike creature slightly more than three feet tall. He had an enormous head, and eyes that were large even for that. A few strands of brownish hair straggled over a scalp the color of a mushroom. His small nose turned up so sharply that it looked like little more than a pair of holes in the middle of his face.

  The creature wore a dark green tunic, belted at the center, and brown boots that reached almost to his knobby knees. His lean arms rippled with muscles.

  “Skraxis!” he shrilled. He grabbed at the amulet again, this time managing to tangle his fingers in the chain.

  “Let go!” cried Cara desperately. The amulet was her only link to her own world. If the creature managed to steal it, she might never find her way back.

  For a moment, the two of them struggled over the amulet, the pale creature hissing and shrieking, Cara grim and silent.

  Finally she yanked so hard that she managed to wrench the chain from the monster’s grasp. The sudden release caused her to topple backward. Still clutching the amulet, she smashed against a sharp rock. Pain washed over her like a wave as she fell into the rushing stream.

  Shrieking with rage, the creature came splashing after her. Dazed by pain, Cara was unable to fight back as he grabbed her by the neck and began slowly forcing her head below the surface.

  The cold water kept her alert, even as blackness began to swim before her eyes. Give him the amulet! screamed a voice in her brain. If you don’t, you’re going to die!

  But some other part of her, aware that her grandmother had sent her here to keep the amulet from falling into the wrong hands, forced her to cling to the golden chain.

  The darkness grew deeper, more solid around her. Suddenly the fire in her lungs drove her to a final burst of energy. Thrashing wildly, she tried to break free.

  Her efforts made no difference; the creature continued to hold her down. At last there was no energy left, and she felt herself sinking into oblivion.

  4

  IN THE CAVE

  When Cara woke, she was in a cave. Almost instantly, as if by reflex, her fingers flew to her throat.

  The amulet was gone!

  The horror of that discovery distracted her for a moment from the hot patch of pain throbbing in her side. She would be trapped here forever. Even worse, she had let her grandmother down.

  She clamped down on the panic. She was alive, and that was the first thing. Grandmother Morris always said if you were alive, you had a chance. Suddenly she remembered her battle with the goblinlike creature in the forest. How in heaven’s name had she gotten from there to here?

  Where was “here,” for that matter?

  Trying to stay calm, she forced herself to start taking stock of her surroundings. Dim light from a single torch showed her that she was lying on a bed made of moss and leaves. She turned sideways, her movement causing the “mattress” to release a faint odor of flowers. It was pleasant. Unfortunately, moving also caused a wave of dizziness.

  She closed her eyes, counted to ten, then opened them again. Slowly. Trying not to cry, she began to look about the cave.

  The rocky walls were bare, save for a large decoration made from the boughs of a flowering bush or tree. Below the boughs stood a huge, roughhewn chair. Its seat was rounded up on the edges, and the depression in the center was filled with moss and leaves, much the same as her bed.

  Then her eyes fell upon the occupant of the cave. She gasped, her reaction an equal mixture of surprise and fear.

  More than anything, he looked like a bear that had started to become a man but hadn’t finished the process. Tall and broad shouldered, he had a shaggy coat of fur that covered most of his body, and a short, broad muzzle that ended in a black nose.

  He started toward Cara. She gasped, and if she had had the strength, she would have bolted from her bed. Lacking that, she tried to convince herself that if the creature had wanted to hurt her he would already have done so. But was he her rescuer or simply a jailer?

  He bent over to peer into her face, and the unexpected intelligence in his large black eyes made her shiver. Broad nostrils quivering, he put a rough, fur-covered paw against her cheek. In a voice only a half tone from a growl he said, “Garzim?”

  “What?”

  “Garzim?” he repeated. Then, with a look of frustration, he turned away.

  Cara pushed herself to her elbows, trying desperately to think of some way to communicate with the creature. Always eager to help, she had been upset by the look of disappointment on his face when he realized he could not speak to her.

  He returned a moment later, carrying the base of a thick branch. When he held it in front of her she saw that it had been hollowed out to hold liquid. The manbear grunted and thrust it toward her.

  She hesitated, then took the crude cup and drank from it.

  The manbear smiled — a somewhat frightening sight, given the large, sharp teeth he thus displayed — and grunted approval.

  Cara smiled, too, partly because she felt she had made positive contact with the creature, partly because what she had expected to be water was actually a tea of some sort. It tasted quite wonderful. Even better, it soon made her feel good enough that she tried to get to her feet.

  That movement was a mistake. A wave of dizziness overwhelmed her and with a groan she sank back against the bed.

  The creature made a sound of distress and bent over her.

  “Don’t worry,” she mumbled. “I’m all right.”

  The absurdity of claiming she was all right when she couldn’t even stand made her remember her grandmother’s frequent claim that she, Cara, would claim she was all right even if she belonged in a hospital. Though she tried to hold it in, the thought of her grandmother caused a tear to trickle down her cheek. Where is Grandmother now? she wondered.

  “Guh-izz glack?” growled her new friend.

  Though his voice was rough, and Cara had no idea what the words meant, she could tell they expressed sympathy. Hardly thinking about it, she reached out and put her hand on the creature’s thick, furry arm.

  “Guh-izz glack,” he repeated, more gently this time.

  Then — so quickly that she later decided it must have been an effect of the drink the creature had given her — she fell back to sleep.

  * * *

  When the pain in her side woke her again, the cave was even darker than before. The silvery light filtering in at what she now realized was the entrance of the cave made her think it must be night.

  How long had she slept? And where was her new friend? The moment of loneliness that overwhelmed her was quickly replaced by a tremor of fear. With her protector gone, could the goblinlike creature that had attacked her in the woods trace her here and try again?

  Her fear doubled when she heard something move at the front of the cave. She prepared to leap from the bed, hoping that her legs would hold her. At the same time she tried to stay calm, telling herself it was probably only her host, returning from whatever he had been doing.

  Then fear and hope and all attempts at calm were washed away in a tide of wonder, as a creature of such exquisite loveliness that the very sight of him brought tears to her eyes stepped into the moonlight.

  In shape, he was much like a horse, though somewhat smaller and more finely built. His hooves were cloven, like a goat’s, rather than solid like those of a horse. Mane and flowing tail seemed spun of silver cloud and moonlight. From between his enormous dark eyes thrust a spiraled horn, three feet long at the least, that glowed as if lit from within.

  Except for the trembling that had overtaken her, Cara sat without moving as the unicorn began to walk to her. The sound of his hooves against the stony
floor of the cave was like distant silver bells.

  She wanted to cry out to him, tell him how beautiful he was, but worried that if she spoke he would turn and go. Not from fear; his grace and power were such that she could not imagine him being afraid of her — or of anything, for that matter. It was simply that the moment was so fragile she feared anything might shatter it.

  She held out her hands.

  The unicorn continued to walk toward her. When he was about five feet away, he lowered his horn and pointed it directly at her chest.

  Cara caught her breath. What was he going to do? Unsure whether she had even enough strength to stand, she braced herself to try to run.

  Yet, as if enchanted, she could not bring herself to move.

  The horn drew closer. Still she did not flinch, not even when it pressed against her shirt. Only when it pierced her flesh and began driving on toward her heart did she cry out.

  5

  LIGHTFOOT

  The moment of pain was brief but intense. When it faded, a tingling spread over Cara’s skin, as if she were being shocked by a thousand tiny batteries.

  The unicorn stepped back in surprise.

  Cara looked down at her chest. The fabric of her shirt was torn where the horn had pierced it. Yet the flesh beneath was unbroken, bloodless, the only sign of what had just happened a tiny, star-shaped scar.

  The unicorn laid his horn gently upon her shoulder. Then, to her astonishment, he spoke to her: “I see I am not the first of my kind that you have met. Alas, you have a wound that not even I can heal.”

  The puzzling message came not in words as Cara knew them, sounds made in the throat and carried on the air. Instead, the silvery creature spoke inside her head, his meaning carried to her in a strange internal combination of images, sounds, feelings — even smells — that she could not have explained, yet that was so perfectly clear she understood even the note of surprise that underlay his thought.