Into the Land of the Unicorns Page 4

  Lying back, she quickly fell into a deep slumber, waking only when the Dimblethum returned with leaves and berries. She watched as he brewed some tea, which he brought to her in one of his wooden cups. Remembering the last drink he had served her, she took an eager sip.

  “Gack!” she cried. “This is terrible!”

  Making a face, she tried to hand the cup back to him.

  He growled, which made her flinch, even though by now she understood that the sound was more likely to be the Dimblethum’s version of speech than an actual danger sign.

  Resting his horn on her shoulder, Lightfoot said, “Drink it. It will help you regain your strength — which you’re going to need.”

  Cara grimaced but took the cup back from the Dimblethum and downed the entire brew. When she was finished she rubbed her hand over her mouth and said bitterly, “That’s worse than the stuff Grandmother Morris gives me when I’m sick.”

  The thought of her grandmother sent a wave of worry washing through her. Again — as she would often in the days to come — she wondered if the old woman had escaped the man who had been chasing them.

  “Go back to sleep,” Lightfoot told her. “We travel at first light, and you need all the rest you can get.”

  She closed her eyes but did not sleep. Now that the edge of her exhaustion had been dulled, the questions and fears that filled her mind came to the fore again. She was impossibly far from home, from her grandmother, from everything she had ever known and loved, and she had no idea whether she would ever see any of them again. A tear trickled from the corner of her eye.

  She lay still in the darkness, looking into the darkness inside, fighting back the memory of her earliest loss, the most painful one of all. The hurt was still strong, after all these years. After a time it merged in her mind with her last afternoon on Earth and the terrifying pursuit in the church. She slipped into a fever dream as her imagination kept struggling and failing to form the face of the man who had chased them. She cried out into the darkness, certain that if she could only see that face, it would solve a great riddle for her.

  7

  JOURNEY

  The Forest of the Queen, Cara decided, must go on forever. They had been traveling since first light, and nothing seemed to have changed. The trees still stretched as far as she could see in every direction — not that she could see very far.

  It didn’t bother her, really. She loved being in the woods, and now that she had Lightfoot, the Dimblethum, and the Squijum for company, she felt neither as lonely nor as frightened as she had the day before. Her mood was helped by the forest itself, which was deeply beautiful, filled with great trees, mossy boulders, and babbling brooks. Brightly colored birds flew overhead, and butterflies floated in the few shafts of sunlight that managed to pierce the forest canopy.

  Oddly, her worst moments came when she saw the most beautiful sights. Before she could block the thought, she would think, I wish Gramma could see this! — which would immediately make her aware of how far from home she was and of her concern for her grandmother.

  At those times she would wrap her hand around the amulet, and holding it tight, think, I’ll come back to you, Grandmother! I won’t leave you! She meant it; she knew too well what it was like to be abandoned.

  Though the Dimblethum appeared to be lumbering along, he moved with a speed and silence that — given his size — was astonishing to Cara. As for the Squijum, he kept scampering ahead, disappearing from sight, then racing up from behind them. He was forever skittering up the trunk of one tree and zipping back down another, and twice Cara saw him make a long leap from one branch to another. She caught her breath at the sight. Though it was no more than she had seen squirrels do at home, watching a creature she had actually spoken to do it made the stunt seem vastly more daring.

  Cara had started out walking, but after an hour she found herself stumbling and dizzy. The second time she tripped over a root, Lightfoot knelt and told her to climb on his back. She was thrilled at the thought of riding a unicorn but a little worried as well. It felt not properly respectful — a little like blowing bubblegum in church.

  “It would certainly astonish Moonheart to hear you say that,” Lightfoot responded, when she expressed her concern.

  “Who is Moonheart?”

  Lightfoot snorted. “My uncle. He’s also one of the crankier unicorns you are apt to meet. I don’t think he can imagine anyone feeling a need to show me respect.”

  This talk of uncles and respect prompted Cara to ask something else she had been wondering: “How old are you, anyway?”

  “Old by your terms, quite young by ours.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Specifically? It means that even though I am slightly over a hundred years old, Moonheart and the others treat me as if I were what you would call ‘a teenager.’”

  “How do you know about things like teenagers?” she asked in surprise.

  “Oh, we watch your world fairly carefully. Look out — low branch coming up.”

  Cara ducked as they passed under the branch. Her long red hair spilled forward so that it draped across Lightfoot’s shoulder, looking like wine on white silk.

  Since she was not speaking aloud, it was perfectly easy to carry on the conversation while she was bent low to his neck. “How do you watch our world?” she asked. “And why?”

  “You make us nervous,” he replied. “The unicorn hunters — who drove us from Earth to begin with — have not forgotten us. They are forever trying to find a way to come here. That is one reason the amulets are so dangerous.”

  “There are still people on Earth who hunt unicorns?” she asked in surprise. “I thought everyone believed you were imaginary.” She blushed, wondering if she had insulted him.

  “That’s what we would like them to think,” he replied. “But there are some who know the truth, some friends, some enemies.”

  She felt a sense of embarrassment at coming from a species that had hunted unicorns, and wished that she could separate herself from the brutality of the idea. She decided to change the subject.

  “What did you mean when you said that you were not the first of your kind that I had met?” she asked.

  “Don’t you remember?” he asked in surprise.

  “Maybe I do,” she said slowly. “Was it when I was very little?”

  “I don’t know. I simply know that I could tell that I was not the first unicorn to heal you.”

  “I knew it!” she cried. “I always thought I had been visited by a unicorn when I was little. But after a while people convinced me that I must have been imagining it.”

  “It’s just as well,” he replied. “As I said, we prefer people to believe we don’t exist.”

  She had more questions, but just then their path led them by a narrow waterfall that wavered down the face of a cliff towering at least a thousand feet above them. At the base of the fall was a pool, from which ran a stream that crossed their path.

  “Hold tight,” said Lightfoot. Before Cara had a chance to ask why, he started to run, then leaped nimbly over the stream. The Dimblethum splashed through, grumbling to himself as he went. The Squijum crossed by climbing a tree and leaping from its branches to those of a tree on the other side.

  A clearing bordered the pool on this side of the stream, and they decided to stop for a rest. Lightfoot nibbled pale green flowers from a vine that grew at the edge of the trees. The Dimblethum pointed to some berries and with a nod indicated that Cara should eat them. She was more than happy to oblige and even happier when they exploded in her mouth with a burst of flavor sweeter and tangier than any she had experienced at home.

  The Dimblethum started to pick berries from a spot close by her side. Looking up at his towering presence, Cara wondered if he was standing so close to be sociable, or if he was there to protect her. Either way, she was glad of his presence. She wished very much that she could talk to him.

  Having eaten her fill, she found herself thirsty. She looked at th
e stream, wondering if it was safe to drink from it. Unable to ask the Dimblethum, she went to Lightfoot and placed her hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m thirsty.”

  “Wait until I clear the water.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s one of our tricks,” he replied, and this time she felt a bit of a chuckle beneath the answer. Walking lightly across the grass, he knelt at the edge of the pool and lowered his horn so that the tip was immersed in the water.

  Cara hurried over to stand beside him.

  The surface of the pond seemed to tremble as rays of silver extended from Lightfoot’s horn across the water — though whether they were a reflection of the horn, or something stranger, Cara could not say for sure.

  In the center of the pond a large fish broke the surface, leaped twisting and golden into the air, then returned to the water with a loud smack!

  A moment later Lightfoot stood and shook his head, spattering silver water in all directions.

  Cara put her hand on his shoulder.

  “Safe to drink,” he thought to her. “Actually, it was all right before I did that, though I couldn’t have been certain until I tried it. Anyway, it will taste better now.”

  “Thank you,” she replied.

  Kneeling, she cupped her hands in the water, which was crystal clear, and lifted some to her lips. It was like drinking diamonds. She drank more, dipping her hands greedily into the stream. When she was full, more than full, she rinsed her face and turned to Lightfoot to ask him what he had done to the water.

  Before she could speak, the Squijum began to shriek.

  Lightfoot spun, reared on his hind legs, trumpeted in anger. The Dimblethum began to roar. Cara slipped her hand into her pocket and clutched the amulet.

  8

  DELVERS

  A band of delvers — at least a dozen of them — stood in the shadows at the edge of the clearing. Each was holding a spear topped by a wicked-looking metal point.

  Cara held her breath. Even if her friends managed to stand against these numbers — which seemed unlikely — she could not imagine them coming through the battle unscathed. She began to tremble. Though she had only known them for a day, the idea of any of them being hurt was more than she could bear. She tried to force her mind to erase the terrible images it was creating, images of Lightfoot being speared by a delver, falling, bleeding. . . .

  Stop it! she told herself. You have to be ready to help.

  The thought astonished her. How could she help in the fight that seemed to be brewing? Yet she realized that she had no choice. If battle came, she would join in.

  The two groups stood staring at each other for a long moment. Then, to Cara’s astonishment, three of the delvers carefully placed their spears on the ground. Holding their empty hands before them, they took ten steps into the clearing.

  Cara edged closer to Lightfoot and laid her hand on his flank.

  “What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know. Just listen. I can’t talk to you now, I have to pay attention to the enemy.”

  She made no response but kept her hand in place.

  One of the delvers spoke. His voice was harsh, and the words Cara heard held no meaning at all. But through Lightfoot she understood the delver to be asking if they could talk rather than fight.

  Lightfoot dipped his horn in response to the delver’s request. The Dimblethum growled suspiciously. The Squijum seemed to have disappeared altogether.

  Cara wondered how the unicorn would communicate with the delvers. Would he have to pierce their hearts, as he had her own? To her surprise, he was able to approximate their language with sounds made deep in his throat.

  “What business do the Children of the Earth have with Lightfoot, son of Dancing Heart, son of Arabella Skydancer?”

  She blinked in surprise. Was Lightfoot the Queen’s grandson?

  “My name is Nedzik,” replied the delver spokesman, his huge eyes shifting from side to side as if he was expecting trouble at any moment. “I come to you on business that is shameful, but necessary.”

  The other delvers muttered nervously.

  “Go on,” said Lightfoot.

  “Though there is no love lost between unicorn and delver, we live in the same world —”

  “Through treachery,” growled the Dimblethum.

  Lightfoot shot him a warning glance. The Dimblethum fell silent, though Cara could see it was an effort for him. Lightfoot turned back to the delver. “Go on,” he said again.

  Nedzik hesitated. He looked as if he was considering dropping the matter or simply fighting instead. The others shifted uneasily. Finally he spoke again.

  “Though we live in the same world, many of my people hate the unicorns so violently that they would do anything to strike at them. They would do this even if such a blow might bring great damage, even destruction, to all of Luster.” He paused, looked behind him to the others, then continued. “That is the way things stand now. That is why we have come to speak to you, though doing so means we are betraying our king.”

  He was blinking rapidly, and Cara realized that the sunlight hurt his enormous eyes.

  “What does the Delverking plan?” asked Lightfoot. Though it was not in his words, Cara could sense the confusion and fear that the delver’s message had created in him.

  Nedzik took a step back and the other two weaponless delvers gathered around him. After a moment of whispering, he stepped forward again.

  “The king wishes to open a door to the world of men so that they can enter Luster and hunt the unicorns.”

  The shock that ran through Lightfoot caused Cara to momentarily lift her hand from his flank. When she put it back, the delver was still speaking.

  “. . . a thought long in his mind. But until now, he did not have a way to implement it. That changed when Gamzil came upon the human child that stands next to you and tore from her the amulet she was wearing.”

  The Dimblethum growled at the memory, causing the delver spokesman to flinch.

  “Gamzil is a fool and did not recognize the amulet for what it is. He tried to steal it only because it is a pretty bauble. Not long after he came crying back to our caves without it, a man came to us, a human, who had just crossed here from Earth.”

  Cara caught her breath. The delver was almost certainly speaking of the man who had chased her and her grandmother into St. Christopher’s. How had he made it through? Did he have an amulet of his own — or had he somehow managed to jump through the opening she had created? A wave of guilt washed through her, and she was glad that Lightfoot could not read her thoughts unless she sent them to him.

  “This man began to ask questions,” continued Nedzik, “and it was not long before King Gnurflax, who is smarter than he is wise, may the rocks not crush my feet, realized what he was seeking. When he also realized that Gamzil had had this very amulet in his hands and then lost it, his rage was mighty indeed.” Nedzik shook his enormous head. “Alas, poor Gamzil. Even a fool does not deserve such a fate. Anyway, the king has sent out many groups in search of the child and the amulet. It was only luck that let us find you first.”

  The Dimblethum’s growl grew deeper. The delvers looked profoundly embarrassed.

  “What the king plans to do with the amulet has not been made widely known,” continued the delver. “Those among us who do know his intentions are disturbed but for the most part willing to go along. My cousins and I think this is madness. We believe that flinging open the doors will mean death and destruction for all of us.

  “Make no mistake: What we do now is treason. Should the king discover us, should word of this reach his ears, it will mean our lives. But so, we believe, will the success of his plan. He seeks the child and the amulet. You must flee, flee with all speed, flee with one eye before you and one eye watching behind. If you let the amulet fall into the hands of my people, the madness of our king will bring doom to us all.”

  He began to back away from them.

  “Wait!�
� said Lightfoot.

  Nedzik took another step back, then paused. “We must go. Every moment we talk with you rather than fight you we risk our lives.”

  “You have our gratitude,” said Lightfoot, bowing his head. He hesitated, then said, “Will you travel with us? Should we meet others of your kind the battle may go against us. If you truly believe your king’s plan will cause such disaster, help us avert it.”

  “That we cannot do,” said Nedzik, and Cara could sense a note of regret in his words. “We have done more than we should as it is.” He paused, then added, “We can do this much more. We will point the chase in another direction. That should give you some time. Use it wisely.”

  With that, the creatures faded into the forest so swiftly and completely it was as if they had never been there at all.

  The Squijum came racing down a tree. “Nasty phooey strange hotcha no-good trustem?” he chattered, his lush gray tail twitching violently.

  Lightfoot shook himself, a shudder that ran from his shoulders through his flank, and muttered, “This is enough to make me wish my uncle were here.”

  “What do you think we should do?” growled the Dimblethum.

  “Head for Grimwold’s Cavern as fast as we can. It’s the closest safe haven. Besides, we may be able to get a message to the Queen from there.”

  “How?” asked Cara.

  “Talk later!” cried the Squijum. “Now now shake butts move feet hotcha get going!”

  “The Squijum is right,” said Lightfoot. “The sooner we’re away from this place the better. And we have at least a seven-day journey ahead of us.”

  “Not necessarily,” said the Dimblethum. “There is a shorter way. . . .”

  Lightfoot snorted. “Shorter, certainly — unless she catches us. In that case, we will never get there at all.”

  “She?” asked Cara nervously.

  “Firethroat, Firethroat!” squeaked the Squijum. He began to run in circles around Lightfoot’s hooves, crying, “Run run hide hide cover butts not safe hotcha!”