by Candy Rae
When Ursulaine approached her, as they were ready to leave, Kirsty’s first problem had been how to get up on to her back. There was neither saddle nor bridle, nor a handy stirrup to help her. She looked helplessly over to Aranel but she was concentrating on settling herself on Urieline’s back and wasn’t paying her any attention.
Kirsty turned an agonised gaze to Ursulaine, who, in that instant, fully comprehended her problem. The unicorn earned Kirsty’s undying devotion when she walked, in a nonchalant manner, up to a fallen tree trunk and stood beside it, quite as if that was where she had been standing all along.
“I don’t know how to ride,” Kirsty confessed in her ear as she scrambled on to the tree trunk and started to hop around, trying to work out how to mount.
“Use both feet to jump up,” Ursulaine advised. “Get your body over then swing your leg.”
Kirsty tried that and to her surprise found herself, tummy down, looking over the unicorn’s side at the ground and hefted her right leg over.
“Done it,” she whispered in triumph.
“Don’t get cocky. Mounting is the easy bit. Now, grip with your thighs, not your lower legs and hold on to my mane with your hands. Wrap your hands round tight; it won’t hurt. That’s right. Grip tight and don’t let go.”
Aranel looked over.
“Ready?”
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Kirsty answered, trying to look as if she rode a unicorn every day.
“Let’s go then. We’ll lead, you follow.”
* * * * *
Now that the moon was full, Kirsty was experiencing a whole new load of problems. She hadn’t fallen off, at least not yet. They were travelling at a walk with an occasional trot and canter over the more even stretches of the track and she found that if she did what Ursulaine said to do with her legs and hands, she had every chance of remaining on board.
It was her muscles. They were protesting with aching vigour at the unaccustomed exercise. In fact, she didn’t know how she was going to dismount and, once dismounted, couldn’t imagine how she was going to get on again when the time came.
They had been riding for hours. Kirsty began to look at Aranel’s straight back with feelings of resentment at the ease with which her half-sister rode. She looked as if she was enjoying herself. Kirsty had stopped slipping from one side to the other after the first couple of hours or so and was now managing a semblance of proficiency so long as they weren’t travelling too fast. The short bursts of cantering had been easier than the, unfortunately, more frequent trotting. When Ursulaine trotted, Kirsty set her mouth in a firm line and gritted her teeth to stop them from rattling. It didn’t help much. She dreaded the trotting times.
She was about to demand that they stop to rest, problems of mounting and dismounting aside, when she saw Urieline and Aranel veer off the track and head into the trees.
Hopefully she wouldn’t disgrace herself by collapsing when she dismounted. She really wanted a bath but she knew that was an impossible dream. Nostalgia for the bathroom at home, and even for the slip of a shower pod that had graced her student room at St. Andrews, was growing. She mentally shook herself. She was far from home, so far away that she was finding it difficult to get her head round trying to imagine the distance.
She was here in another reality, but how could this be? Despite her aches and pains, Kirsty’s mind was active. And if she was in another reality, some sort of parallel universe, how did it intersect with her own? If she thought about it for too much longer she’d get a headache. Better to think about getting to the Land of the Dragons where this person known as the Tathar was supposed to be.
Ursulaine turned into the trees in Urieline’s wake. When they reached what Kirsty recognised as the entrance to a small cave, Aranel had already dismounted and was walking over.
“You all right?” she asked in a voice full of concern. “Urieline says that you are hurting.”
“I am a bit,” admitted Kirsty.
“She also told me that you hadn’t ridden before,” Aranel accused, helping Kirsty dismount. “You should have said. We could have taken it slower. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I - I didn’t quite like to,” stammered Kirsty, wincing as her feet hit the dirt. “I thought you’d think me stupid. I don’t even know anyone at home who can ride a horse.”
“You thought I’d think you stupid?” Aranel’s voice was incredulous. “It’s me who is the stupid one assuming that just because I know how to ride you do too. But if you don’t ride, how do you get from one place to another in your world?”
“In the olden days, my ancestors used horses as the main mode of transport but now we, they,” she corrected, she was of Alfheimr now, at least temporarily, “they use cars and buses and trains and things now.”
Aranel flung her a look of blank incomprehension.
“Metal horses with seats inside, wheels at each corner, with motors to make them go,” Kirsty explained.
“Motors? Are they like the contraptions inside the mills run by the water wheels? Aren’t they rather cumbersome?” Aranel couldn’t imagine how one of those could make some sort of metal horse with wheels ‘go’. The concept was so far outside her knowledge that it sounded fantastically impossible.
“Something like that. Anyway, I’ve always liked watching horses, they’re still around although not in large numbers, but I don’t ride them.”
“Horses? What are they like?” asked Aranel.
“Unicorns without the horns,” explained Kirsty.
Aranel blinked. “I know what you’re talking about. A number of them came through the T’Quel, goodness, quite a while ago now, I was still in the schoolroom. Father had a few. They’ve bred since you see. So that’s what they’re called. Horses.”
“What were you calling them?”
“Hornless unicorns, some call them, others just say the hornless,” she answered.
“Bit unoriginal,” Kirsty commented.
Both girls laughed.
“Tell me next time when there’s a problem,” Aranel instructed. “We’re sisters. Sisters look out for each other.”
“I will,” said a grateful Kirsty. “So we rest here?”
“All day,” confirmed Aranel. “The unicorns are going off to get some grass to eat. There’s a stream over there where we can refill our water bottles. I vote we make something hot. We’d only need a small fire, we can put it out when we’ve finished cooking, I can use the nut-berries, they make a tasty treat with a judicious addition of herbs and spices and I’ve got just what we need in my pack.”
“Sounds good,” agreed Kirsty, “but I’ve still got a couple of sandwiches left and some chocolate. The sandwiches won’t stay fresh forever.”
“Until tomorrow? Will they last until then?”
“Bread might be a bit stale.”
“I can cope with stale bread. Here we can cook, tomorrow we might not be so lucky.”
She knelt down and got busy preparing the fire.
“Skewer the berries using those twigs over there,” Aranel instructed. “We’ll put them on the fire to roast.”
Kirsty did her best although she had never done anything like this before. To Kirsty, food came from the supermarket, packaged. It went into the fridge, cupboard or freezer and was taken out at meal times, prepared on a kitchen work surface and cooked in the oven or on the hob. However, despite being a rank tyro at this sort of thing, not too many berry skewers fell into the fire and both girls were able to eat until they were no longer hungry.
Aranel doused the fire.
“There are some left,” noticed Kirsty.
“We’ll take them with us. They’re almost as nice cold as hot. My little stepsisters adore them cold.”
“Where do you think they are now?” asked Kirsty, “your stepsisters?”
“I don’t know. I thought they had died during the attack on the castle but not any more. Father asked me to find them, so for a while I really believed he knew what had happe
ned and whether they were alive but he might have been talking about you.”
“But there’s only one of me,” protested Kirsty.
“That’s true I suppose,” admitted Aranel, busily gathering up the rapidly cooling nut-berries and placing them in a small canvas bag. “Maybe they are still alive. I hope they are. They’re perfectly adorable. If they are alive, I’ll find them.”
“Maybe they’re with my Mum,” said Kirsty. “Bob said the Morityaro had kidnapped her and he also believed that they had brought her here to Alfheimr. It was Morityaro who attacked the castle, wasn’t it?”
“Almost completely sure that it was,” said Aranel, pulling together all her belongings and tying off the drawstring on her pack. Kirsty did the same, wondering why Aranel was doing this when they had all day to spend in the cave.
“In case of needing to get away quick,” Aranel explained.
As she did something fell out of her pocket.
Kirsty picked it up and examined the oblong, smooth stone.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“It’s an energy stone. Some call them scrying stones,” explained Aranel, glancing at it.
“It fell out of your pocket. What does it do?”
“I’m not too sure,” admitted Aranel. “Rohir, the hunts-elf I was hunting with when the castle was attacked, gave it to me before Urieline and I left. It belonged to his mother. I certainly can’t use it. I’ve got hardly any magic talent within me, just a few traces and I don’t think Rohir has much more than is usual. You need to have a strong magical talent to use a power stone. He kept it because of who it belonged to, not what it can do.”
“But if someone had this magic talent, what could they do with it?” pressed Kirsty. For some reason it had become very important that Aranel answer the question. “I mean, the verb scrying means that one can tell the future. Fortune-tellers use a crystal ball. This isn’t reflective or anything. Is it the same sort of thing?”
“Telling the future?” Aranel’s voice was mocking, “no one can tell the future. That’s an impossibility.”
“So what is it used for?”
“As I said, I’m no expert, but I think they can be used as a focus of some sort. Magic comes from within. A magic Wielder would use such a stone to focus his or her magic.”
“So the person becomes the focus? Focus for what?”
“You would have to ask a Magic Wielder or a Whisperer that question Kirsty. Me, I am a warrior; I deal with swords and battles, not elements and nature. Keep it for now if you like.”
“I’ll keep it safe,” promised Kirsty as she placed it in a pocket of her jacket and zipped it shut.
* * * * *
The next five days and nights panned out much the same as the first. They travelled at night and slept by day. Kirsty grew more confident as a rider and her aches and pains largely disappeared.
The girls rode side by side when the trackway was wide enough.
“You must remember the wind,” Aranel instructed her new sister. “If, when you are hunting animals can smell you, your chances are pretty slim.”
Looking at the bow and arrow on Aranel’s shoulder, she thought that it was Aranel’s chances of skewering an animal that were the slimmest, whether she was downwind or not.
We’ll stop for a bit and I’ll show you if you like?’ offered Aranel. Without waiting for an answer she jumped down from Urieline’s back.
The two unicorns took up stances of half observing and half keeping a lookout and prepared to enjoy the fun.
Aranel readied her bow and prepared to shoot. “I’m aiming at the centre of that tree over there.” She released the arrow; there was a faint twang and a whir as it sped toward the indicated tree. Kirsty blinked. The arrow was lodged right in the centre of the trunk. Kirsty’s mouth set in an ‘O’ of surprise and admiration.
“Now it’s your turn.” She handed Kirsty her bow and reached into her quiver for another arrow.
Ursulaine and Urieline moved back. Kirsty thought this a very wise move.
“I couldn’t,” protested Kirsty, also stepping back.
“Why not? Haven’t you used a bow and arrow before either?”
“There aren’t any where I come from,” admitted Kirsty. “The only bows and arrows I’ve seen have been in museums or on television.”
She regretted her words instantly as she became embroiled in a double explanation of what museums and televisions were.
“Your people actually go and look at things that are old and broken?” asked Aranel, referring to the museums.
Kirsty, who had spent many an enjoyable hour wandering round them, decided not to say that it was one of her favourite pastimes.
“You won’t understand until you visit one yourself, an ‘avoid-the-question’ answer with which Aranel had to be content. She snuck a glance at Kirsty who was inexpertly trying to hold the bow the same way she had seen Aranel holding it.
“Pull it closer,” she instructed. “Make it part of you.”
“It’s harder than it looks. Is letting go of the arrow as difficult to learn as pointing it properly?”
Aranel couldn’t remember. Elves learned the art of shooting when they were young, as soon as they were old enough to stand straight and understand instructions.
“It is too long ago,” she answered, handing Kirsty the arrow.
It took a while but at last the bow was being held in approximately the correct position and with Aranel’s help the arrow was ready.
“Careful with your fingers,” Aranel warned. “It will release very fast and could give you a nasty cut.”
Kirsty adjusted her fingers.
“Draw the bow back.”
Kirsty did that.
“More.”
Sweat started to break out on Kirsty’s forehead.
“Can I let it go now? I feel as if I’m about to fly apart.”
“Aim at the tree.”
The arrow left the bowstring with an angry whir, not a soft twang like when Aranel had demonstrated. It headed in the general direction of the tree and flew straight past. Kirsty lowered the bow. She had actually shot an arrow!
Aranel wasn’t impressed. “You’ll need a lot of practice. How are you at knife throwing?”
“I’ve got a knife,” faltered Kirsty. She thinks I’m a complete imbecile and an incompetent. I’ll never be able to do what she does. She handed the bow back to Aranel and went to fetch her knife.
Aranel examined the knife in detail, in fact so close to her face was it that Kirsty began to wonder if there was some hitherto unseen flaw in it that her untrained eye hadn’t seen. Aranel took one of her own from her belt and compared them.
Kirsty saw absolute acceptance then in Aranel’s face, acceptance that Kirsty was definitely her sister.
The two knives were identical in every way.
“Father gave you this. I’ll admit I’ve had my doubts,” she said candidly.
“So did I,” Kirsty admitted with a rueful grin. “It was in the bag with the book. Yours?”
“It was hidden with his first message. You are my sister.”
She stepped forward and hugged Kirsty, hard. “Sister of my kin. My life is your life, my quest is your quest.”
She stepped back, as if embarrassed. “Now let us see how good you are with a knife.”
Kirsty groaned.
Her attempts at knife throwing however were not as bad as her attempt with bow and arrow. At least she managed to hit the spot Aranel marked on the tree three times out of ten. Aranel told her that, with practice, she might become adequate.
To Kirsty’s relief, her sister decided to leave the lesson on knife fighting until another day.
As they set off again Kirsty felt a definite difference in the atmosphere. There was an unspoken duality about them now, a comradeship, a sisterhood and a friendship.
* * * * *
Kirsty opened the book yet again. Aranel still couldn’t make any sense of it any time she looked at it
and said as much.
“What does it mean?”
“It’s a mix of peculiar and to my mind, random, quotes of verse and prose.”
“What about? Alfheimr?”
“Nothing at all about here,” Kirsty answered, flicking through the pages. “It is all about my world and mostly historical. Some of it is pure fantasy and I don’t understand a lot of it either, at least not yet. I keep thinking that there must be some logic to it but for the life of me I can’t work it out. I will though. I’m going to try and read a bit each day.”
“You do that,” Aranel instructed her, in the peculiar elder-sister sort of way she had begun to adopt with Kirsty from the vantage point of two extra years. They had worked out that Aranel was a few years the elder, although they could not be sure, Kirsty having pointed out that years might not be of comparable lengths between Alfheimr and Scotland.
Kirsty, never having had a sibling, never mind one older than her, accepted Aranel’s dictates without too much demur because she was in Aranel’s world rather than from any kind of younger sister obedience.
It was on the morning of the seventh day, as they were looking for a campsite close to the bridge, that Ursulaine stopped and became still. Kirsty nearly went headlong over the unicorn’s black horn. She stopped herself just in time. However, she did bump her nose a little bit.
As she sat, incipient tears in her eyes and gently fingering her nose, she looked ahead to where Aranel and Urieline were also standing. The two leaders were unmoving and silent.
Aranel turned round, gesturing that Ursulaine and Kirsty keep quiet and still. Then, after a moment or two of tense silence, Aranel beckoned Kirsty and Ursulaine on, turning off the track and into the trees.
Kirsty kept as still as a mouse as the two unicorns walked, being very careful where they placed their hooves, weaving in and out of the trees until they were almost on the other side in the rocky area just underneath the cliff edge. Only then did Kirsty see Aranel’s shoulders relax and she let out an explosive breath.
Aranel jumped off Urieline’s back and the unicorn immediately went back the way they had come.
“She’s gone to keep watch,” Aranel informed Kirsty, striding over.
“For what?” asked Kirsty, dismounting. “I didn’t see anything.”