The Revenge

  The Revenge

  Shadow of the Unicorn, Book 3

  By Suzanne de Montigny

  Digital ISBNs

  EPUB 978-0-2286-0120-3

  Kindle 978-0-2286-0119-7

  Print ISBN 978-0-2286-0117-3

  Amazon Print ISBN 978-0-2286-0118-0

  Copyright 2018 by Suzanne de Montigny

  Cover Art by Michelle Lee 2018

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  Dedication

  To everyone who was born a little different. It’s okay. I was too, yet I made it, and so will you.

  * * *

  Acknowledgements

  To my writer’s group who picked apart my story, finding all those little mistakes like adverbs, double verbs, missing commas, etc. Kathleen Schmitt, Edye Hanen, Douglas Aitken, Rod Baker, and Ceil De Young. You guys are the best. And to my Beta readers whose sharp eyes caught what everyone else missed. Stuart West, Sandy Carlson, Madeleine McLaughlin, Sharon Willett, and as always, my sister Louise. And finally, to my editor, Catherine Brown. Thanks for helping me make the story the best it can be.

  Chapter 1

  The Decision

  If they had only been kinder—even just a little.

  The young unicorn clenched his teeth, the crease in his forehead deepening. A tear trickled down his cheek, burning like the sting of a bee. He shook it away.

  No. Welcoming a colt born a little different was unthinkable to them. Impossible! And what's worse, when they discovered my gift, they hated me all the more. No compassion—none! And look what they did to Chrissandra. A lump in his throat threatened to escape, rolling into a hard sob at the name. He bit his lip and forced it back, glaring down below to where the herd of perfect, white unicorns grazed, manes and tales as pure as snow.

  No. They chose their fate—every last one of them. It's their fault. They turned me into what I've become...and now they'll pay.

  Damien remembered the day his world changed, the day he overheard his dam and sire exchanging heated words outside the cave by the bubbling creek that wandered through the meadow—the place they called home. They had been so happy there, Damien spending his days following his dam, Amarah, searching for tasty flowers and grazing on the lush grasses. Then, at night, listening with ears pricked forward while his father, Samuel, recounted the unicorn folklore about the great leaders, Azaria and Ulysees.

  Damien had marvelled at the tales, his eyes wide at how courageous the stallions and mares of so long ago had been. That was until the day Father announced to Mother the time had come to join the herd.

  “No, I won't have it!” Amarah cried. “Have you forgotten Isabelle?” Curious, Damien melted into his surroundings so as not to be seen.

  “Isabelle. Who cares about her?” Samuel shook his mane. “She's got a tongue as sharp as a reed, that's all. Don't pay any attention to her.”

  “Yes, but everyone listens to that sharp tongue,” Mother replied, resentment heavy in her voice. “Remember what happened to Lisa's foal? The mark?”

  “Oh sure, she made a fuss,” said Samuel, “but eventually they accepted Chrissandra despite it.”

  Amarah huffed. “That's what you think. She's always been an outcast. The other foals have never accepted her.”

  Samuel sighed. “Now, Mother, you know that may have changed by now.”

  “No. Not so long as Isabelle and Seamus are there. And Isaac, what kind of a Great Stallion is he? He's scared of Isabelle. He lets her push him around.” Amarah's voice quivered. “I tell you, there's no going back, not now, not ever.” She dissolved into tears.

  Shock rippled through Damien at his mother's weeping. Who were these unicorns who threatened them? He hadn't even known there were others. He transformed back to his visible self and moved closer, using the silent steps he'd invented.

  “Who's Isabelle?” he asked

  His dam started when she saw him. She attempted to straighten her face. His sire stood, expressionless, a secret hidden in his eyes.

  Samuel hesitated, then gave his throat a horsey rumble. “She's just a mare. Nothing to worry about.” He faked a smile. “She belongs to the herd.”

  “What herd?” Damien asked.

  Amarah cast Samuel a disheartened look. “We belong to a larger group of unicorns, Damien,” she said, her voice still shaky, “and your father wants to rejoin them.”

  “Yes, you need to be with other foals your age,” Samuel said in earnest.

  Damien's face lit up at the news there were other young unicorns like himself. “More foals? Then let's go!”

  “It's not that easy, Damien,” said Mother, her helpless expression returning. “There's a mare named Isabelle...she's cruel, and I'm worried about...”

  “About what?” asked Damien.

  Silence met his question.

  After a moment, Samuel spoke. “Isabelle's not the cheeriest person around, I agree, but it's high time you learned the three skills of Azaria and prepared for your initiation. After all, you're starting to get your horn.”

  Amarah's voice fell to a whisper. “But the imperfection.”

  “The imperfection?” Damien cocked his head to one side.

  Father glared at Mother, his lips forming a silent ‘shhh.’ He pasted on a carefree smile. “Never mind, Damien. You don't need to worry about it.”

  Two sunrises passed before Amarah and Samuel stopped arguing. When Damien awoke on the third morning, he found them grazing at the head of the trail. The sun had just begun its journey across the blue sky.

  Samuel motioned him over with a tip of his head.

  Damien reared. “Are we going?”

  Amarah nodded, though her eyes remained sad.

  “Woohoo!” The colt raced through the meadow, across the creek, and past their cave, then hesitated, his hooves dancing. “Good-bye cave. Good-bye, bubbling creek. See ya, meadow, purple flowers, pink flowers, oh, and the yellow ones too. And—”

  “Come on.” Samuel laughed. “We haven't got all day.”

  Damien galloped around the meadow one more time, then stepped in behind his parents on the trail.

  It was a marvellous day for the colt, seeing new sites, new sounds, and exploring as they travelled. They discovered meadows they'd never laid eyes on, trees with broad canopies, and fields of the sweetest red flowers he'd ever tasted. They even encountered animals Damien had never met before. But when they viewed a small lake whose turquoise waters invited them in to swim, his dam gave a vigorous shake of her head.

  “He mustn't know,” she whispered.

  Know what? wondered Damien.

  His sire nodded and made a wide arc around its waters so they could continue on their way.

  The lake soon forgotten, Damien's mind returned to thoughts of the other foals. “Father, how many colts are in the herd?” he asked, his hooves skittering.

  “Four,” replied Samuel, “...and four fillies. And there's a Great Stallion too. His name's Isaac.”

  Damien let out a boisterous whinny as he imagined all the new unicorns he'd meet. “So is the Great Stallion mean or nice?” he babbled, remembering one of the stories his father had recounted of the cruel leader named Icarus.

  Samuel let out a chuckle. “A little too nice sometimes.”

  “But it's impossible to be too nice,” said Damien, “isn't it?” When his sire didn't respond, Damien cast a glance over his shoulder to Amarah, but she lagged several lengths behind them, her face drawn, and
her hooves dragging.

  The journey lasted all day. By the time they arrived at the top of the hill overlooking the valley, Damien's muscles trembled with fatigue, and his eyelids drooped.

  “You two stay here,” said Samuel. “I'll go down tonight and prepare them. I don't want there to be any surprises.”

  Amarah gave a weary nod, her brown eyes large and desolate.

  Damien peered through heavy lids at the valley below. Small flecks of white dotted the green grasses. Unicorns! And so many. For a moment, his tail flicked with excitement. Then he surrendered to an exhausted slumber at his mother's hooves.

  Chapter 2

  The Secret Place

  Corabelle slipped away, leaving the gate of the cottage unlatched to prevent it from thumping against the hard grain of the fence. Her heart pounded in her chest. It was her chance—the townsfolk were gone for the day.

  She scanned the surrounding cottages of the village for signs of prying eyes, her bare feet making soft patting sounds on the dirt road. In the distance, she saw the townspeople bent over crops in the fields, the path that led there empty. Glancing up, she noted that the castle overlooking the village was quiet; no guards peered out over the ramparts.

  Her wild, long blond hair blew in the wind as she ran. She pushed the loose strands off her face with her right hand, her left hand clutching a small sac.

  When she arrived at the edge of the woods, she threw a last furtive glance over her shoulder, then dove into the cool, inviting forest. The dewy grass tickled her feet. Branches overhead whispered in the wind, and the sweet smell of pine tingled in her nose.

  She breathed a sigh of relief, then continued on. After a time, she slowed her pace, following the narrow deer trail until she spotted the knoll ahead—her knoll. Tying the sac to her belt, she climbed the small hill, clutching dark roots as she went until she stood at the highest point, gazing down below to her secret spot. She smiled and grabbed hold of ferns and rocks, lowering herself down the other side until her feet rested in the green moss near the waterfall, its mist spraying her face.

  Laying down the bag, she cupped her hands to her mouth and clicked her tongue, making a sound like the chattering of a squirrel. Then she reached into the sac and tossed scraps on the ground.

  At first, there was a rustle, a peep, and then slowly the animals came, hesitating, shooting nervous glances into the surrounding forest, and flinching at the slightest sound.

  Its whiskers trembling, a grey squirrel skittered down its tree to where the food lay. It stopped and nibbled, its eyes ever-watchful, then darted back into the branches. Other squirrels ventured forward too, heads flicking, snatching a morsel here and there. Eventually, they settled around the girl.

  Corabelle bent down and stretched out her hand, petting tiny heads as they fed, running fingers down soft, warm backs, cooing encouraging words. When they'd done eating all she'd given them, and their eyes begged for more, she shook her head, then making slow and careful moves, rose and stepped over them. Slipping her hand into the bag, she scattered seeds onto the mossy earth, then whistled.

  Tiny birds swooped down from the trees, plucking the ground with their small beaks, then fluttering back to their branches where they tilted their heads back to swallow.

  “Come on. There's more.” She threw another handful of seeds.

  A whiskey jack fluttered down and perched on Corabelle's wrist, its head scooping down to pick the seeds still stuck to her hand.

  “Hello, Phineas.” She laughed. “I haven't seen you for a while. Where have you been? Have you found a new mate yet?”

  The brown bird clicked its beak.

  “Oh, you have? That's wonderful. And you have four eggs in the nest?”

  Phineas tweeted and chirped in response.

  “That’s good. I'm so happy for you.”

  The whiskey jack downed more seed, then flapped his wings as though in distress, his tweeting and chirping frantic.

  “What?” Corabelle's eyes widened.

  Phineas hopped and flapped some more.

  “Acorn's missing? But where's Autumn?” She swung around to where she knew the rabbit's burrow lay partially hidden in the tall grass.

  A furry, brown rabbit emerged, followed by twelve babies. She gazed up at Corabelle, her big, brown eyes mournful, her whiskers twitching nervously.

  “Autumn, is it true? Phineas says Acorn's been captured by one of the boys in the village.”

  Autumn thumped her back paw, her nose wiggling.

  “Who was it?” she asked.

  An image flashed through Corabelle's mind of a towheaded boy whose dirty clothes hung on him, the one who always seemed to be in trouble in the village. “I know that boy. And you say he set a trap?”

  Again, Autumn's nose twitched as she thumped her paw, agitated.

  “I'll go tonight and see what I can do.”

  Wiggling its whiskers, the rabbit looked into her eyes, seemingly consoled, then nibbled on the green lettuce Corabelle had laid down for her, her twelve babies surrounding her.

  A loud, rustling noise on the knoll above Corabelle startled her. She froze, the hair on her arms rising. Had she been followed? Raising her head, she glanced upward, but the rays of sunlight filtering through the trees blinded her. She waited, her muscles tensed. But only the wind whistled through the leaves.

  “It must have been a deer,” she said to herself.

  She returned her attention to her menagerie of creatures, enjoying their squeaks and chatter, the sound of teeth nibbling, and scurrying feet mixed in with the gurgling of the waterfall. She loved being surrounded by the animals that pecked and tickled her as they chewed. She didn't have human friends—not really. Not since that day two years ago, when she was ten—the day she'd had her first spell.

  She had been playing a game with the village children when a vision overcame her, and she slumped to the ground. The children had halted their game, horrified by the terror in her eyes.

  “What's wrong?” her best friend Mia had cried out.

  Corabelle stared into the distance as though paralyzed until her lips formed words—words that weren't her own. “The Brain Fever. It’s coming.” And then she rose, her hand covering her mouth as she pointed a finger at Mia. “Your papa, your papa…” she whispered.

  Mia screamed and raced home, hysterical, angry at the cruelty of her friend. Her father forbade her to ever play with Corabelle again.

  Two weeks later, the disease claimed him.

  It didn't stop there, though. Twice more, Corabelle had spells. And twice more, she named victims. The villagers soon shunned her, whispering rumours—all except the parish priest, Father Patrick, and Mama.

  “Mama!” Corabelle woke from her reveries and noted the length of the shadows. Time had slipped away. The villagers would soon be home. Gathering the empty cloth bag, she climbed back up over the knoll and dashed up the narrow deer trail. As she neared the cottage they called home, she saw Mama's silhouette in the window. But there was someone else there too. Her teeth clenched. It was Uncle Rupert!

  Chapter 3

  The Rumour

  The next morning, Damien's sire still hadn't returned.

  “Where's Father?” he asked, snuggling closer to his mother as he awoke.

  “I don't know,” she said, casting an anxious glance to the valley far below. “We’ll just have to wait for him.”

  Damien followed her gaze to the herd of unicorns in the distance. They looked so tiny, like little white stones he'd seen along the creek bed back home, shimmering in the sunlight. He craned his neck, scanning the group, searching until he found a familiar shape standing tall and proud.

  “Mother, I think I see him.” He sprang forward.

  “Damien, no! You must wait,” she said. “It's not safe yet.”

  The colt paid her no heed and leapt down the trail. “Father?” he shouted.

  “No, Damien!” said Amarah.

  He broke into a canter, picking up speed as he went,
barreling down the steep terrain, faster and faster until a patch of slimy mud sent his spindly legs scrambling.

  “Damien!” Amarah screamed.

  The colt's hooves clambered as he fought for control, the ground as slick as ice. He thrashed about, then slid on his haunches off the trail, careening downward. His heart pumped wildly as he struggled to regain his footing. A large tree loomed in his pathway, its roots on either side like the tentacles of a monster. Rolling to his right, he aimed for one of the limbs and dug in a hoof, but his speed was too great, and he catapulted forward, tumbling down the slope, his mother's calls echoing far behind him. Over and over, he rolled through the wet leaves and muck until finally, he came to a stop in a field of long grass.

  Dazed, the colt lay still. Then he shook his head and tested first one hoof, then another. When he regained his balance, he pulled himself up on all fours.

  Amarah's hoof beats thundered from behind. “Damien!” she cried, her voice trembling.

  “I'm all right, Mother,” he said, breaking into a half-pout, half-smile. “It was scary…but kind of fun too.”

  Amarah let out a sigh of relief. “Damien, you should have listened.”

  “But I wanted to find Father,” he said.

  “But you could have been seriously injured.”

  “Yeah, but…” Damien stopped. His ears pricked forward. Were those whinnies he heard? “They're over there!” he shouted, breaking into a canter.

  “Damien, no.”

  The colt ran to the band of unicorns. He danced around in an arc, prancing and paddling his hooves in the air, calling, “Hello, hello.” Kicking up his heels, he circled again, searching the faces of the others. “I'm Damien—Samuel and Amarah's colt.”