Hidden in Sealskin

by Thea van Diepen

  The shore won; he spun on his heel and surveyed the scene. His eyes widened when he saw the unicorn, then widened even more when he saw the potion maker on the ground. He nodded to the officers on foot and the two not occupied with Nadin went to the potion maker and checked her vitals.

  “She’s alive,” said Adren. The lord waited for the officers to confirm, then nodded and sheathed his sword.

  “I’m not here for you,” he said.

  “It doesn’t matter. You can’t have what you’re after.”

  The lord chuckled. “I’m not after your unicorn, either.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why are you prepared to fight?”

  The potion maker woke, saw the officers, and tried to make a run for it. They grabbed her before she could get to her feet and held her fast.

  “Why have you surrounded me?” asked Adren.

  “A precaution. You are free to go.” The lord waved a hand and the riders parted at the end of the circle opposite to him. Adren tried to discern what he was thinking, but his face remained impassive. Her mind raced to come up with something that would help in this situation that felt all too much like a trap. Lord Watorej had to know, if not from Nadin’s yells, then from the lady’s thanks, that Adren had been complicit in this.

  “I’m not leaving without the unicorn.”

  “So tell it to follow.”

  Adren raised an eyebrow. “Sure. I’ll just command it. That’ll go over well.”

  The lord frowned and pressed his lips together. “So be it.” He nodded at the riders and they headed out, the officers on foot following with their captives. The lord stayed, though, and waded into the inlet until the water was up to his shins. Adren relaxed her stance, but kept her knife out.

  All he did was stand, feet shoulder-width apart, hands clasped behind his back. A soldier’s pose, its formality softened by how he furrowed his brows and bit his lip as he stared across the water. Adren followed his gaze, but found nothing exceptional. Neither did he, it seemed, for he turned, pain etched into his face. Eyes red, he pushed back through the water, his shoes crunching on the gravel as he went to his horse. With a creak of the saddle and the swish of fabric across leather, he mounted the horse, but didn't immediately ride off. He paused, took a deep and deliberate breath, and then set out to the town.

  Adren watched until long after he disappeared among the trees and listened until long after the hoofbeats died away before she put her knife away to search for the potion maker’s object. Even if she didn’t know how to use it, she would rather try than wait. If only she’d thought to see what it was before she threw it away! The forest floor, thick with moss as it was, provided few places to hide. The occasional smattering of ferns could give cover, and these Adren checked thoroughly. The holes, too, in and between decaying wood, could have become the resting place of the ill-fated throw. These were harder to search, requiring the displacement of dirt and rotten wood. Some, especially in the case of animal burrows, were simply too deep and narrow for Adren to search, or too fresh for her to risk sticking an arm in without being able to see what lay inside.

  Lord Watorej had Nadin. The fact that he had the potion maker posed no problem to Adren and, in fact, would solve the issue of the possible threat against the unicorn, but the fact that he had Nadin was a different matter. Much as Adren wanted to leave once the unicorn had woken, much as she could leave, she knew she would regret it. As human as he was, Adren couldn't deny that he had still helped her, the unicorn, and the lady all he could. However small the magic part of him was, it existed, and he should not be punished for doing what was right.

  Or should he? The tale he’d told about his mother had cut Adren to the core, and it might even be true, with what scant evidence Adren had. And yet, his own actions didn’t line up. He said he’d worked hard to help his mother, and yet he had helped Adren with theft, leading into what could all too easily be seen as kidnapping Lord Watorej’s wife, and the injury of the lord’s horses. Add into that the potential that Nadin had, in fact, been stupid enough to be seen by the lord and his officers while using the magic he tried to hide, and the picture painted in Adren’s mind held enough contradictions to be suspect. The woman who had called him at his house may have been his mother, and may even have been sick, but his story could have been hyperbole only. And, if he had lied about something like that, then Adren would know he couldn’t be trusted any longer.

  This is what Adren got for accepting his help. Trouble. Perhaps more than it was worth.

  She pulled back a layer of bark, holding a fern to the side only to find another empty hollow.

  Suppose Nadin had been honest, suppose he helped her out of a sense of duty and suppose his moral outrage over the lady’s condition hadn’t been faked. Suppose that he was really good enough to sacrifice his job for another’s freedom. What would Lord Watorej do to him?

  But there was another puzzle. Five years ago, the lord had trapped the lady to become his unwilling bride. Five years ago, his heart opened into a hole of unquenchable greed. Five years ago, he had broken his bargain with a shrewd and powerful potion maker who knew the value of magic, and who he now held, with Nadin, in his custody.

  Perhaps the better question was not what Lord Watorej might do to Nadin, but what the potion maker might do to Nadin as she sought revenge against the lord. Or what she might do once she found out about Nadin’s magic. He had been right to hide it. Whatever had really happened five years ago between Lord Watorej and the potion maker, Adren didn’t doubt that the former’s change in personality had everything to do with the latter’s anger. How the potency of that anger might manifest around—or, saints forbid through—Nadin was something Adren didn’t want to imagine.

  There was nothing for it; she would have to go to his house and test him, see if he had told the truth about his mother. If so, then, for Nadin’s sake, Adren would see what the unicorn could do. Nadin had tried everything he could buy, but no one could buy a unicorn. Not like this. The healing would only be an attempt, as Adren wasn’t sure of the extent of the unicorn’s abilities, especially with its madness. It could heal broken bones, knife wounds, and minor illnesses, that much Adren knew from experience, but even healthy unicorns had limits to their ability. If only the potion maker had really had a cure! Still, there was no use hoping for something that wouldn’t happen. She could make do with what she had.

  Adren paused, hand partway down a burrow, to stare into the masked face of a raccoon. It drew back, hair raised. She also drew back to resume the search… elsewhere.

  Light. That was what she needed. The raccoon had been sleeping and she must have woken it. A rude shock that, and no wonder it had come up to investigate. But if she had some way to light up these burrows, checking them would be both easier and safer, for all parties.

  Her magic hummed beneath her skin. It had yet to infiltrate every corner of her, but it had begun to nestle in, at which points it gave off nervous energy, a growing desire to be used. To think that Nadin had this flowing through him all the time! Adren had no idea how he dealt with it. He’d been born with it, fair enough, but it must drive him crazy at least some of the time. Perhaps, in time, she would become used to the feel of it in her bones. Or perhaps using it made its presence more bearable.

  This was why she needed to find the object. Not only might she be able to wake the unicorn, but she would also be able to get a feel for controlled magic, which she could then replicate. A baby may have legs, but it still took time to learn how to walk.

  By the time the sun started to dip below the horizon, Adren had still not found the object. She sat next to the unicorn, arms wrapped around her knees. Index finger out, she let a tiny bit of magic outside of it and tried to make light. All it did was give off a faint perfume. The rest rushed within her, strained against her control, and it took almost all she had to keep only that smallest thread dancing against her skin. Where had this magic come from? The dark part in her mind, yes, but had that p
art always been there? Had she been born with it, or had it been when—?

  No. Adren stopped the release of magic and shut her eyes. Not those thoughts. Not that time.

  The unicorn stirred beside her and she opened her eyes to see that the sky had darkened considerably. She stood and placed a gentle hand on the unicorn’s shoulder. Its eyes were still closed, but she felt its weight shift as its hind leg lowered. A shiver passed through its body and, before that passed, it lifted its head and its eyelids parted. Through the connection, it was as if ripples had passed over water and the unicorn’s emotions shone clear again. They spiked into panic, but calmed as Adren rubbed the unicorn’s neck. Confusion reigned, but not fear. Adren continued to stroke its neck and smiled.

  “Thou hast victory over thy dreams,” she whispered before she hugged it and let all the tension drain out of her. Part of her had doubted the potion maker’s claim that the unicorn would wake at sundown, was sure that only magic would wake it. The unicorn flinched as she brushed against the still-tender lines on its flank. She drew away. “Now, dear one, I have need of thee and thy magic.” She beckoned and started towards the town, filling herself with as much expectancy and excitement as she could muster. The unicorn hesitated but, after some coaxing, it came up beside her and didn’t try to depart.

  Chapter Nine

  The sky had grown dark by the time they entered the town, Adren keeping a hand on the unicorn’s flank so she could hold it invisible. The streets were empty for all intents and purposes, but Adren kept an eye and an ear out for disturbances while she walked as if she didn’t have an elk-sized unicorn following right next to her. She took her time and stopped often to renew the invisibility, or to redirect the unicorn when it got sidetracked or spooked at something blown in a gust of wind. After all, they had the whole night. It didn’t matter that the unicorn was fascinated by the street lamps and their halos of buzzing insects, and would try to spear the largest bugs on its horn. Adren hadn’t brought the unicorn into a town or city for a long time, she realized. It likely remembered little about them. So much the better.

  When they arrived at Nadin’s house, all the doors were locked and closed, even the entrance to the barn. Adren put an ear to it, but all was silent within. Who would lock an empty building? She shook her head. Humans really did operate outside the realm of logic. The barn didn’t even have stalls in it.

  “If I ever grow to understand humans,” she said to the unicorn, “please, put me out of my misery.” Then she turned her attention to the lock. It was unusual, of complicated make. The locks on the door to the house were the same, and none of the windows presented any option quieter than breaking them. Of course, these happened to be not only well above floor level, but also too small for anything other than a cat to fit through. One thing she could say for Nadin was he knew how to keep away unwanted visitors. She knocked on the front door. Nothing.

  Adren had expected security. She hadn’t expected that no one would come to the door. If Nadin’s mother really were as sick as he’d said, wouldn’t there be someone to watch her?

  Well, that was the front. Time to check the back. Adren turned to leave, but the unicorn didn’t follow. Instead, it stuck its horn into the lock and wiggled it a bit. Then it pulled back and stepped away, stretching its nose towards the door.

  “That’s not how a lock works.” But the unicorn stamped its foot and refused to come with her. Sighing, Adren went back to the lock and pulled at it. It opened without difficulty. Mouth agape, Adren stared at the unicorn. It responded by arching its neck and feeling smug, the sentiment radiating shamelessly through their connection. She wished it could tell her where it had learned how to do that. And how it had learned that, considering the difficulties she had teaching it.

  They entered the barn, Adren closing the door behind them with as little noise as possible. She put a hand on the unicorn’s nose and made herself feel content, hoping it would understand that she wanted it to stay in the barn. Houses were built only with humans in mind, and Adren wanted to make sure the unicorn would be able to follow her before she had to lead it. That, and if Nadin’s mother weren’t as sick as he’d said, then she and the unicorn would be able to leave at once. The unicorn lay down in the middle of the barn and stared up at Adren, head tilted. She almost giggled at it, but controlled herself.

  She put her ear to the inner door to the house and counted slowly to ten, alert to the sound of movement. Hearing none, she opened the door and walked inside.

  The curtains on the barn windows let in so much light from the street lamps that they could be removed and make little difference. This light, although hampered by the inner door, spread into the house and allowed Adren to make her way to the stairs without tripping over anything. Good locks, but threadbare curtains. Adren didn’t know what to make of that.

  The staircase was dark, though, and ghoulish with shadows. Adren pretended that each step was really a goblin or demon in disguise and that she had to let her weight down gradually so the creature would not know someone stepped on it. Otherwise, it would scream and give her away. She couldn't remember where she had gotten this from, but the memory felt old and very familiar. There had been a pair of blue eyes and a high, clear laugh that sounded every time she fumbled on the steps. There was no face, though. There were never any faces.

  Adren let the memory vanish from her mind. She climbed the last few stairs and left behind the moment of pretending. It was much better to deal with what she could experience through her senses rather than the conjurations of her mind.

  Now, which room had Nadin gone to when he had answered his mother’s call? The first, most likely. Adren slipped the door open to peek inside. A large bed stood against the far wall and on the bed lay a woman nearing middle age. The light from her window illuminated her face, lines etched by pain standing out in sharp contrast due to the angle of the shadows. She moaned and, as she turned over onto her side, Adren noted a sheen of sweat on her forehead and the greyness of her skin. Unless this was some kind of elaborate deception, Nadin had told the truth of the physical nature of his mother’s illness. But Adren did not think it a deception. As Nadin’s mother turned over again in her bed, it seemed to Adren that she could see another woman, pale with sickness and on the verge of death, and she could feel her heart breaking for that woman. She shook her head and the memory evaporated, but the emotion remained.

  Leaving the door ajar, Adren returned to the unicorn. She beckoned to it and it followed, squeezing through the doorway as it entered the house. When she went up the stairs, it stopped at the bottom and sniffed at them, disapproval clear as it turned an ear to the staircase. Adren gestured at it to come, and it climbed with delicate steps. It felt foolish and seemed keen to make sure Adren knew it, but she didn’t stop or turn back.

  Once they had arrived at the second floor, she led it into the room. It stared at Nadin’s mother for a long moment, emotions in turmoil. Then it went up to her and placed its horn on her forehead. Nadin’s mother turned, frowning. The unicorn kept its horn in place. It stayed like that, tail swishing. Nadin’s mother muttered and sat up, startling the unicorn, who stepped back into the wall and tossed its head. The woman’s wild eyes opened, her focus at once on Adren and the unicorn.

  “Demons!” she cried, her voice shrill. “You spawn of the occult come to kill me! Get out! You two may have my health but you cannot take my life. Get out!” She flung herself against the back wall, clinging to her own head and weeping. “No, no, no… they can’t have come here; they can’t have found me. I was too careful. I’ve always been too careful.” Then she shuddered and her voice became harsh. “But they found me already. How else am I sick? Get out! Twins are always a sign, but he wasn’t careful, not like I was. None of them were careful, but I am alive.”

  Something about those words bypassed Adren’s mind and stuck in her body, caused her heart to pound. It had to be because this was the first time she’d ever been in the same room as an insane human. Had t
o be. Saints, she hadn’t been prepared for this. She’d had no idea it would be this bad. The unicorn’s fear crept through the connection with icy hands, and the chill of it echoed within Adren. Shaking her head to rid herself of the feeling, Adren put an arm around the unicorn’s neck and pulled it from the room. Nadin’s mother continued ranting, muffled by her own hands and then the door, as a stinging pain started in the middle of Adren’s forehead. She led the unicorn down to the stairs and out through the barn, then closed the lock and made sure it had fastened before they left.

  No wonder Nadin had hated seeing the lady mistreated.

  Sweet saints, it was as if someone had swiped a sword across Adren's forehead and taken off the skin. She touched the place, but it had no effect on the pain. Bah. It would go away before long. She ignored it and focused instead on keeping the unicorn invisible as they made their way back to the forest.

  The unicorn halted at a crossroad, so abruptly that Adren almost lost contact with it. It stood, every muscle taut, staring down the street that went back roughly in the direction of the potion maker’s shop. The unicorn’s terror vibrated at the back of her mind, more intense even than what it had felt just before the spell had begun to take hold. Adren scanned the street, but couldn’t see what had caused this.

  “There is nothing,” she said, gentle in tone and feeling. “Nothing to frighten thee.” But the unicorn began to shake, its emotions unaffected by hers for the first time in years. It made a low moaning sound she had not thought it capable of making, and then an echo of feeling ran through it. As it grew, Adren recognized it as a reliving of the potion maker’s spell. Oh, no. This must have been where it happened. She had taken so long to convince it to stop coming after her, she should have had some idea of where it had been when it stopped. And to be trapped by the potion maker so soon after… how the unicorn had come through the town and how the potion maker trapped it without causing a commotion, Adren didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. Right now, it needed her.