The Unicorn Anthology.indb

by Peter S. Beagle

  Then he knew: she’d learned by watching him.

  That evening, he allowed himself more ale than he usually drank, to help chase away the shadows lurking at the edges of his thoughts. Sitting at the high table with the chieftain’s men, he listened to conversation play around him. He only answered when someone spoke his name and woke him from his reflections.

  “Duncan. The lord has given you a quarter of his wealth for that horn. You could live nobly on that.”

  “I hunt again in the morning,” he said.

  Laughing, the courtier said, “But why? You’re rich, aren’t you?” Several times over in fact, but he kept the money hidden. “You’ve a beautiful woman at your beck and call—”

  Before Duncan could turn on the man to correct him of this notion, an older fellow with a white beard leaned over. “He doesn’t do it for the wealth. That’s what you don’t understand. He does it for the power, to be able to turn his nose up at lords.”

  “And the girl?” the overloud courtier said. “Don’t tell me you’ve never even touched her.”

  “You fool, of course he hasn’t,” said the older one. “She’s the bait.”

  Across the hall, Eleanor was dancing with the chieftain’s youngest son, a handsome lad of twenty with far more charm than Duncan liked. She didn’t know the steps, and he was teaching her. She stumbled—Duncan had never in the last few years known her to stumble. The boy caught her waist, and she laughed. Then he took her hand and raised it to his lips.

  Duncan set down his mug and climbed around the table.

  He marched across the hall directly toward Eleanor and the boy, scattering the figures of the dance. The fiddler stopped playing, the drummer lost his beat, and the whole hall fell silent. Folk cleared a space for him.

  Planting a hand on the young lord’s chest, Duncan shoved him away and stood between him and Eleanor. He didn’t say a word, only glared, and the boy backed into to the protection of the crowd.

  Duncan put his hand on the back of Eleanor’s neck and turned her toward the door.

  “Never even think of it,” he said, hissing into her ear.

  “What are you—”

  “If he gets what he wants from you, you become useless to me.”

  She ducked out of his grasp. “It was only a kiss—”

  “A kiss leads to other things.”

  He’d said too much already. How much longer would he be able to keep her? “Go to the stable. Get our horses ready. We ride out tonight.”

  “Duncan, there’s no reason to ride out. We’ve a warm place to sleep tonight. A roof, for God’s sake.”

  “We ride out tonight.”

  So, wrapped in cloaks and huddled in their saddles against a cold drizzle, they spent the night on the road.

  Eleanor rode behind him, and her silence bothered him. He kept looking over his shoulder to make sure she was still there.

  “What did he say to you?” he said.

  “Who?”

  “That boy.”

  “He told me I was pretty.”

  “What else?”

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  “What else?”

  She gave a long-suffering sigh, then let hoofbeats fill the silence before answering. “He asked me if I ever felt like I was betraying them. He could not believe that I would draw a creature of magic to me, then betray it.”

  “Well? Is that how you feel?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think I want to do this forever. I think I would like to marry someday.”

  “What do you know about marriage?”

  “It’s what men and women do, isn’t it?”

  He was so very, very close to losing her. Perhaps he should just let her go.

  “Men like that don’t marry girls like you, so you can stop thinking of it.”

  “I didn’t say I’d like to marry him. Though—I’ve heard men pay more for virgins.”

  He might have said a hundred things to that, but he refused to be taunted.

  A couple dozen strides of silence later, Eleanor said sullenly, “You may own me, Duncan, but you’re not my father, so don’t pretend to be.”

  More hoofbeats, more silence, then Duncan said softly, “You earned your way free a long time ago, Eleanor.” He didn’t think she heard him.

  Eleanor let her hair hang loose, draping in waves down her shoulders and back. She wore a blue gown the color of sky at twilight and went barefoot. As she matured, becoming more comfortable in her own skin, she attracted older unicorns, ones not so easily enticed, the ones with the longest horns.

  They might wait for weeks before drawing one close. During that time Eleanor would wander through the woods, walking, singing, making her presence known. Duncan followed, moving softly and staying hidden. Once, he’d had to stay downwind of a unicorn who followed Eleanor for five days before finally revealing itself and coming to her hand.

  He never struck until the unicorn touched her, thus losing its will to flee.

  This time it took three days to lure the beast. Eleanor walked into a clearing, knelt, and picked flowers, humming to herself. The unicorn emerged from the trees behind her. She paused—perhaps she felt its breath on her neck—but she didn’t turn around. She kept humming, picking flowers until she had a small bouquet. Duncan crouched in the shelter of a thicket and waited.

  The unicorn, a broad, muscular beast with a horn almost two feet long, stepped around her, sniffing her. She didn’t move, she was in its power—with its horn leveled at her, it could stab her at any moment. So she waited until it stopped before her, then slowly offered it her flowers. It reached and brushed them with its lips.

  A cry, like the whinny of a horse sounded through a trumpet, rang through the forest. On the opposite side of the clearing from Duncan, a white shape hurdled the underbrush and thundered toward Eleanor and the unicorn. It snorted with each stride.

  This creature, this second unicorn, was at least eighteen hands tall, a titan that shook the ground as it galloped. Its blazing horn must have been three feet long, the longest Duncan had ever seen.

  Tossing its head, it raced at Eleanor’s unicorn and rammed it flank-to-flank, shoving it away from her. The newcomer screamed again, rearing at its fellow, which cried in answer and spun out of the way, tearing the soil with black hooves. The monster drove it off, and it raced into the forest.

  The monster’s mane shook, white hair cascading over satin shoulders. As it turned to follow the other, it let fly a kick with all the power of those massive hindquarters.

  Eleanor had backed away from the fight, but not out of range of those hooves. Struck, she flew back, lifted bodily and sent sprawling on the bracken.

  “Eleanor!” Duncan burst from his hiding place just as the unicorn fled with the same rolls of thunder with which it had arrived.

  She was curled on her side, coughing and gasping for breath. He left his longbow and sword behind and crouched by her, gingerly touching her arm and fearing how broken she might be.

  “Eleanor, speak. Where are you hurt? Tell me.” He touched her face, ran his hand to her neck and felt a rapid pulse.

  “I’m all right,” she said, wheezing, brushing his hands away and trying to sit up. “Lost my breath is all.”

  His hand went to her side to help her up, and she cried out and flinched away. Her breathing started to come in panicked gasps.

  “Sit back. Breathe slow. Good.” He helped her lay back against a tree and prodded her side. The pain came mostly in her ribs. Cracked, he wagered. She wasn’t coughing blood, she could feel all her limbs. She’d come away lucky.

  He made camp there and fetched a bucket of water from a cold stream. He came to where she lay curled up, favoring her injury.

  “Strip,” he said. “I’ll have to wrap those ribs.”

  “What?”

  “Take off your dress.”

  She blushed, crossing her hands over her chest. Then, a half-smile dawning on her lips, she gave him a look that made him blu
sh.

  “Yes, sir,” she said and began unlacing her gown.

  He pointedly did not stare at her breasts as he bandaged her torso. When had she gotten breasts? They weren’t much, just large enough to fill a man’s hand, and yet—he was not staring.

  “What was that thing?” she asked, gritting her teeth as he pulled the cloth tight. “It didn’t even notice me.”

  “A legend among legends. An old brute of a unicorn. Filled with rage and jaded to the scent of virgins.”

  “Like you,” she said, sitting half-naked before him.

  He tied off the bandage, giving it an extra tug that made her squeak.

  “It’s been watching us for some time,” he said. “Perhaps—perhaps it is time I quit this game.”

  He helped her settle by the fire to rest, and he cooked their supper. They ate in silence. He put away the dishes, saw to their horses, and brought back his bedroll.

  Eleanor watched him across the fire.

  “We could catch it,” she said.

  “You don’t just catch a beast like that. It is a god among unicorns, and we’ve inspired its wrath.”

  “You’re afraid.”

  He grunted a denial and looked away. Not afraid—he’d spent more nights alone in wilderness most folk dared not travel in daylight than he had under roofs. He could buy any man, lord or commoner, that he chose. He made way for no one. He did not fear. But he was getting old, finding himself wishing for some of the roofs he had shunned. Perhaps that was nearly the same as fear.

  Eleanor wouldn’t understand, young imp that she was. Her eyes were bright, her face clean of wrinkles of age and worry. Her time in the wild had made her luminous.

  “I think I can tempt an old brute of a unicorn.”

  “A beast like that sees nothing but its own fury.”

  She moved to his side of the fire, wincing and pressing her hand to the bandage as she crawled. She sat close to him; they had not been so close since he carried her before him on his saddle.

  She touched his face. Not pressing, she held her palm lightly against his cheek, just enough to brush the edge of his beard. She was trembling a little, unsure of the gesture. Her brow furrowed, her expression anxious and waiting. Then, she kissed him.

  Her lips felt as soft and clean as she looked. Her breath brushed his cheek, sending warmth across his face, through all his blood.

  He dared not move, lest he frighten the creature away.

  When he did not react, she ran her hand up his cheek, tangled her fingers in his hair, and kissed him more firmly. She was clumsy, her nose jutting into his, her balance on her knees wavering.

  He took her face in both his hands and taught her how to kiss properly.

  He almost gave in, and she almost let him, but his hand went from her breast to clutch her bandaged side and she gasped and flinched away. Giggling, she curled up in his arms, head resting on his chest.

  “See? I can tempt an old brute.”

  He brushed his fingers through her fine hair, touching her as he went, ear, neck, shoulder.

  “I never intended to make a whore of you,” he said softly.

  She pulled away and looked at him. “You’ve done it from the first, using me to make your money, haven’t you?”

  He chuckled sadly. She was right, after all. “You’ve become too worldly for this hunt.”

  “Not yet. We have one more unicorn to catch.”

  It would be best to leave it. But even if he never entered another forest for the rest of his days, that old beast would haunt him. That prize, that challenge, the three-foot horn—that was how he should end his hunting days. And the time was now: Eleanor had reached the peak of her maidenhood, unsurpassed beauty, her innocence still intact but ready to burst, a rose at the height of her bloom. Perhaps the old beast wouldn’t be able to resist her. After all, five years of nothing but pure thoughts notwithstanding, only a cracked rib made him resist.

  “Why do you want to do this?” he asked.

  “The usual reasons: money, fame. Because it is the profession to which I was apprenticed and I have no choice.”

  “Then I set you free. Here and now, I have no hold over you, and moreover I will give you half of what we have earned these past years. I will not ask you to act as bait for the old one. So, will you leave?”

  “No. I will hunt the old one.”

  “Why?”

  She hesitated before answering, pursing her lips and looking around at trees and sky. “The power,” she said finally. “The power I have over them. A girl like me—there’s no other power I could have, is there?”

  Heart pounding, he thought, There is another power you have.

  They waited for Eleanor’s ribs to heal before searching out the old one. They left their horses behind, took a minimum of gear, and traveled deeper into the northern woods than they ever had before.

  Tracking unicorns, it was no good looking for hoof prints or broken twigs for signs of their passing. They left no prints. One searched for other evidence: a pool of water that should have been brackish, but was clear and fresh; a patch of grass greener than the foliage around it, where one of them had slept. Then, catching unicorns was more like fishing than hunting. Once a place they frequented was found, there was nothing to do but set the bait and wait.

  They caught a glimpse of it after they had been looking for a week. Eleanor—watched by Duncan, who perched in a tree a hundred paces away—sat alone in a sunny clearing, brushing her hair. The beast, a fierce buck as large and thick as an oak tree, moved toward her, silently for all its bulk. Its thick mane and tail rippled, its coat shone like silver.

  Duncan watched it pass to the edge of the clearing, but it did not enter. It circled, watching Eleanor. She looked up only when she heard its breath snort. When she did, it turned and galloped away.

  Eleanor didn’t eat much at supper that evening. “I think I’m afraid of it,” she said, not meeting Duncan’s gaze. “It sees into my heart, sees I’m proud. I can’t fool it.”

  “Do you want to leave off?”

  “No. Fear will pass.”

  The next day, clouds covered the sky. The day after, a drizzle set in, a long cold rain promising to last for days. They wrapped their cloaks tight around them and found sheltered hillocks in which to spend the nights. Eleanor said she caught glimpses of the old one twice, watching them through trees from far away.

  “Who’s hunting who, I wonder?” Duncan said, frowning.

  A week later, at twilight, when the rain-damp sky was a breath away from falling to darkness, Eleanor stopped Duncan with a hand on his chest.

  “Let me go on ahead,” she said. “Circle ’round to that thicket, watch from there.”

  “You think he’s there?”

  “I think he’s waiting for me.”

  He grabbed her hand and kissed her fingers before striking off.

  A clearing lay where she had pointed him. He saw nothing, but crouched hidden, bow strung and arrow ready, and waited.

  A moment later, Eleanor approached. She had left behind her pack, cloak, and boots, and unbound her hair. Her linen dress was quickly becoming soaked, clinging to her until every part of her slim frame showed: the line of her waist, slope of hip, the matched curves of her breasts. Her hair, darker when wet, dripped down her shoulders and back, framing her face, slick with rain.

  Wandering into the glade, she seemed like a creature of mist, a nymph from a tale, one of the watery maids who pulled men under lakes to their deaths. Being soaking wet did not detract from her grace; she stepped lightly, lifting her skirt away from her feet, and stood tall. She looked up at the sky and smiled.

  A snorting breath, loud as a roar, preceded the old unicorn’s charge into the clearing. He ran at her, legs pumping, head lowered so its horn aimed for her heart. Duncan almost let fly his arrow, knowing he could never hit it as it ran but fearing for Eleanor.

  She stood her ground. She didn’t move. Just smiled a little and waited.

  A mer
e stride away from her, the unicorn slid to an abrupt stop, hind end gathered underneath it, front legs lifted, and shook its head, brandishing the horn.

  Eleanor crouched, lowering herself on bent knees, and raised her arm to the beast, offering her hand. She showed herself submissive, the lesser of the two.

  The unicorn shook his head, his obsidian eyes flashing. He seemed torn, straining forward even as he resisted, as if pressing against a barrier. The beast stepped back, pranced in place, then spun away. He did not flee, but trotted a circle around her. She circled with him, her hand outstretched, fingers splayed, waiting for a chance when he might brush against them. While he came close—drifting in tighter and tighter circles, then suddenly leaping out to the edge of the clearing again, like a child playing around a bonfire—he never let her touch him.

  All the while, Eleanor smiled a soft, wondering smile.

  It was a game, this teasing and dodging. They must have played it for an hour. Sometimes the unicorn stopped and seemed ready to step toward her, head bowed, tamed. Then he reared and jumped away, and Eleanor laughed. At this, his ears pricked forward, his neck arced, and he seemed pleased to hear her.

  Duncan watched from the thicket, his cold hands gripping his bow and notched arrow, his face flushed.

  The unicorn moved toward her, hot breaths coming in clouds of mist. His back stood a good deal taller than Eleanor; his head towered above her. He came close enough for his breath to wash over her lifted face, but he still would not cross the last stride to her arms.

  So she played the tease, and backed away from him.

  “I’m pure as starlight, dear one. Touch me.”

  She pulled at the laces closing the neck of her gown. She separated the front edges, enough to show breast but not nipple. She stretched her arms back, so that at any moment the gown might fall off her shoulders completely, but it didn’t, and she shook back her hair. The unicorn stretched his neck toward her, but she stayed just out of reach.