The Revenge Page 12

  Again, the animals made a ruckus, but Corabelle stood firm. “I promise I'll return and tell you everything that happens.” Her gaze shifted back to the bird. “And Phineas will too, won't you?”

  The bird chirped in response.

  Pulling out a few crackers, Corabelle broke it into small pieces and shared it with the creatures.

  Aunt Agatha joined her, handing out small chunks of dried apple. She giggled when squirrels scampered up her arms and birds landed on her shoulders.

  When the animals had their fill, Corabelle and Aunt Agatha stood up, brushing themselves off. They picked up their packs, said their good-byes, then set off down the trail, Phineas following close behind.

  Chapter 26

  The Face-Off

  It was one of the new colts who sounded the alarm. “Mother,” he whinnied as he dashed between his dam's legs, “It’s the red unicorn!”

  The mare swung about and let out a cry that was half-neigh, half-scream. “It’s Damien! Everyone, run for your lives!”

  Chaos ensued. The unicorns raced away, crushing bushes, breaking branches, and trampling grass as they galloped. Mares whinnied in terror for their young. Stallions' eyes bulged as they fled.

  Damien marvelled at the panic he'd caused, delighting in the raw cries of the mares and the desperate neighs of the stallions. How powerful he was.

  He scanned the unicorns for his nemesis, Malcolm, the colt who'd made his life miserable. It'd be fun to see him cower. But before he could locate the yearling, the unicorns all dropped from sight.

  They're camouflaging. Damien let out a mocking laugh. Do they seriously think I can't find them? This should be amusing. He trotted to where he'd seen them disappear. Strange rock formations and thin scrub littered the woods. Damien snorted at their naivety.

  “Oh, would you look at all the boulders that have suddenly appeared, and oh, what an interesting plant—green flowers,” he called out in an extra-loud voice. “Pretty bad camouflaging.” He snorted. “I could have taught you all how to do it better, but no, you wouldn't listen to me because I was RED.” His voice boomed on the word.

  The herd remained still, the smell of sweat and the sound of their heavy breathing revealing their whereabouts.

  Damien plodded toward an unusually round boulder. “Hmmm, let's check this one out.” He poked the tip of his horn into it. “Pretty soft for a rock if you ask me. I wonder how it would fair in the heat.” Letting out a nasty laugh, he pointed his horn and ignited the ground surrounding the stone. The grass burst into flames. A full-grown stallion erupted from the spot, screaming with rage.

  Damien allowed the stallion to escape, then moved to the next camouflaged unicorn.

  “Look at this bush. Mighty thin, isn’t it? And it's not even quite the right season for leaves. Who taught you?” He jabbed his horn between its branches.

  A loud grunt rose from the plant, and a young mare fled, but as she sped away, she threw her head back over her shoulder.

  Damien froze. It’s Yasmine! For a moment, guilt swept over him. She had always been kind to him…but only after she discovered I was talented.

  Hardening his heart, he moved to the knoll where Seamus likely stood. Damien's eyes roved over the hill, searching. “Where are you, Seamus?” he taunted. “You're the reason I'm here. It was you who killed my father.”

  He stopped and listened to the coughs and nervous breaths of the remaining hidden unicorns. There was no sign of the cowardly leader.

  “Come out, come out wherever you are.” Again, only rasping breaths. “Let's see. What would a tyrant leader like you disguise himself as?”

  He circled about inspecting the various rocks and plants. “Maybe a piece of…dung?” He waited to see the effect his insult would have, but the stallion remained hidden.

  Damien shouted, “Coward! Show yourself! It's between you and me. Come out and face what you've done!” His voice thundered, but the Great Stallion was still nowhere to be seen.

  “You leave me no choice, then.” Damien pushed his head back, then shot it forward, releasing a volley of sparks close to the obvious mounds and stumps he knew were unicorns. Small fires erupted everywhere, and unicorn after unicorn dropped their camouflage and fled the scene, whinnying in terror, but still no Seamus.

  “What? Are you too scared? Scared to come out and see the one whose family you disposed of.” His voice was especially bitter on the word disposed. He waited again. “It's obvious my display didn't affect you. Well then, how about this?” He aimed his horn directly at a stump and fired.

  A cry erupted from the stump before it changed. Damien gasped. It was a mere colt. He hadn't intended to harm a foal.

  The Great Stallion suddenly appeared before him, his brows knitted into an angry frown. He glared at Damien, steam rising from his nostrils, his eyes blazing. “How dare you harm my son!” he growled.

  “Like you harmed my father?” Damien shot back.

  “I already told you, your father's death was an accident.”

  “It was not. You pushed him over the edge, and then you tried to shove me over too, but I survived because of my superior skills.”

  Seamus' eyes darted about as though he were looking for backup. Then they narrowed as he focused on Damien. “Prove it!” He took a menacing step closer. “Or forever hold your peace and stay away from my herd.”

  “I don't need to prove anything, nor am I here to give you a second chance. You deserve nothing short of death, and that happens now.” Damien leapt into the air and aimed his horn at Seamus. The stallion's face contorted as he sidestepped. A tree burst into flames. “How do you like that, eh? Murderer!” shouted Damien.

  Momentary panic shone in Seamus' eyes. He turned and faced Damien, breaking into a mocking grin. “You missed.”

  “Oh, I did, did I? That's easy enough to fix.” Damien re-aimed, but Seamus dodged the flame once more.

  “Missed again,” Seamus said with a malicious laugh, as though he were greatly enjoying the altercation.

  A wave of anger swept over Damien. “Take that, then.” He threw volleys of sparks that erupted every few seconds.

  Seamus leapt, dodged, and bolted, and laughed each time, but after a while, it was apparent, he was tiring.

  “I'll get you yet!” shouted Damien, his next shot narrowly missing the stallion.

  Seamus stopped dancing, his expression changing to distress. He broke into a gallop.

  Laughing maniacally, Damien gave pursuit, aiming and shooting as he went, relishing his power.

  “Stop!” shouted Seamus, throwing his head back to gauge Damien's position.

  “Then tell the truth! You killed my father.” He launched another volley of fire.

  Seamus was gasping for breath. “All right.”

  Damien waited a moment until he was satisfied Seamus wasn't up to his tricks, then landed on the ground a short distance away. “Speak, then!”

  The remaining members of the herd released their camouflages and crept in to hear his words, their hides quivering.

  “It's true. I killed Samuel, but I had to. He was dangerous.”

  “Dangerous, my eye. How was he dangerous?” Damien spat the word.

  “For two reasons,” said Seamus between haggard breaths. “For one, he didn't discipline you foals enough. You were all too lax. Someone needed to be tough on you.”

  “So not true. And the other reason?”

  Seamus was still breathing hard. “You know what it is.”

  “No, I don't.” Damien's brows peaked. “Tell me!”

  Seamus gulped before speaking. “He sired a mutant. He was a danger to our bloodline. We can't afford any more red unicorns.”

  The mares gasped.

  “And what difference does my colour make?”

  “We need to keep the race pure and strong. It's imperative unicorns be white. There's a bad seed in you. And in Chrissandra too. That's why I had to dispose of her.”

  “A bad seed in me?” Damien was incredulous. �
��You've seen what I can do. My skills are far more advanced than any of yours. It's you who has the bad seed, not me. My father was loved and admired. You killed him for that reason and that reason alone after he reclaimed his position in the herd.”

  Seamus' eyes narrowed. “That's not true,” he said.

  “Yes it is, and for that, you deserve to die.” Damien pushed himself high above Seamus and fired the most powerful bolt he could.

  Dodging again, Seamus was too slow. A flame caught his fetlock. The Great Stallion cried out in agony. But the bolt burned far more than just the stallion's leg. Several trees adjacent to Seamus burst into hot flames too.

  Cries of anguish and terror rose from the herd, and they stampeded.

  Damien leapt away, surprised at the strength of his powers, yet marvelling over the effect he had on the others. Then, much to his horror, the wind swept up, fanning the flames. The dry tinder on the forest floor caught fire, spreading until it was out of control. Panicked, Damien turned to leave.

  “Damien,” someone called.

  Looking back, Damien caught sight of Malcolm.

  “Damien, wait,” he called again.

  Damien hesitated, curious to hear what Malcolm had to say, but the fire was growing too fast. Instead, he caught the scorching wind and disappeared.

  Chapter 27

  The Formidable Cliff

  A week had passed since Corabelle and Aunt Agatha had begun their journey in search of the red unicorn. At first, they followed the narrow animal trails close to home on the off chance the distraught creature chose to remain near its sire, but after days of finding no evidence of him, they moved deeper into the woods. When they had descended the trail down to the canyon, they examined the ground near the river where Gideon had found the unicorn's body.

  “Interesting,” said Aunt Agatha, “You can see the indentation where it lay, but not much in the way of tracks.”

  “Maybe the men's footprints rubbed them out,” suggested Corabelle.

  “Perhaps,” said Aunt Agatha, circling the depression in the ground. “Every animal leaves a trail, but it's almost as though its tracks just disappear.”

  “They say there weren't any leading to the village either,” offered Corabelle, “only a few where he stood.”

  “No wonder Uncle Rupert thinks it's a demon unicorn,” said Aunt Agatha, her voice strangely quiet.

  A shiver ran down Corabelle’s spine at Aunt Agatha’s tone. “But I saw it leap higher than a deer before it left the village. Maybe it hopped down from the top of the canyon to the river, and back.” Her eyes moved to the rock wall, searching for a possible route. “But I wonder how. That cliff looks pretty steep.”

  Aunt Agatha studied the bluff. “Even if we find a trail, it might be too narrow for us to climb.”

  “I sure hope not.”

  They picked up their gear and headed north, their eyes scanning the wall for slender trails forged by goats and other animals. The sun had grown warm, so Corabelle removed her cloak and tied it around her waist. After a few hours, her stomach rumbled. Slowing her pace, she said, “This canyon seems to go on forever. Why don't we have lunch?”

  “That’s a good idea. We can tackle it again with a fresh mind and a full stomach.”

  Relieved, Corabelle untied her cloak and spread it on the ground.

  Aunt Agatha pulled out their jerky, dried fruit, and what was left of their stale bread while Corabelle refilled their flasks with river water. They sat down, chewing the last of the dry bread slowly while Phineas pecked at the seeds Corabelle scattered for him.

  “We'll have to start collecting roots and nuts again,” said Aunt Agatha after a few bites.

  “For medicine?” Corabelle frowned. “Here?”

  “No. To eat. Our supplies are getting low. There'll be a lot more food up top, but if we can't find a route, we may have to head home.”

  Corabelle’s stomach lurched at the thought. “But if we go home, they might not let us come back to find Red.”

  “Red?” Her great-aunt's lips turned up into an amused smile. “You've named him Red?”

  Corabelle gave a sheepish grin. “Well, that's what he is, isn't he?”

  “I guess so,” the old lady said, a raspy chuckle escaping her lips.

  They finished their meal in silence, then hoisted their packs and resumed their hike at the base of the cliff, searching for the miracle trail that would lead them up the formidable canyon wall.

  After a few hours, Corabelle stopped and threw down her pack. “It's no use. It could take days before we find a way up to the top…if we ever find it.”

  Aunt Agatha sat down beside her, panting. “If only we were birds, eh? It'd be so much easier.”

  Corabelle's mouth formed an O as she drew in a sharp breath. “Aunt Agatha, that's it. Why didn't we think of that before?” She looked over her shoulder to where the whiskey jack perched above them on a spruce branch. “Phineas,” she called, holding her arm out. “Come here.”

  The bird fluttered down and landed on her wrist.

  She stroked his soft head. “Can you help us find a path that humans can take to the top?”

  Phineas tilted his head from side to side, let out a peep, then leapt, his wings batting the air as he rose higher and higher. He flew past the ridge, then glided back, combing the sides of the canyon, occasionally alighting on boulders only to leap again, drifting farther and farther away.

  Corabelle shaded her eyes as she watched him disappear in the distance. “I guess we might as well stay put until he gets back.”

  “In the meantime, let's gather roots and other edibles—to use our time well,” suggested Aunt Agatha.

  “Good idea.”

  By the time Phineas returned, dusk had fallen, and the sky had changed to a deep blue.

  Aunt Agatha and Corabelle were busy placing the last branches on the sticks of the lean-to that would keep them warm and dry throughout the night.

  When Corabelle saw the bird's silhouette against the night sky, she ran to meet him.

  Phineas fluttered his wings, tweeting as he lowered himself until his claws gripped her arm.

  “What did you find?” she asked, hopeful.

  Phineas chirped.

  “Really?”

  The bird let out a peep.

  Corabelle turned to Aunt Agatha, bursting with excitement. “He says he found a deer trail that goes all the way up.”

  Aunt Agatha clapped her hands together. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought for sure we'd have to turn back. How far is it from here?”

  “About a half-day's walk.”

  “Hmm, that’s about how long it would take us to get home,” said Agatha, calculating. “Perfect.”

  They finished setting up the shelter and climbed in, huddling close together, their two blankets shared between them. Corabelle's stomach gave a loud growl. The roots they'd found while waiting for Phineas hadn't been enough to fill her. Perhaps tomorrow they'd have more success foraging for food.

  When Corabelle awoke the next morning, wispy pink and blue clouds lit up the sky—the ideal day for climbing the cliff. After sharing a brief breakfast of licorice root, sorrel, and jerky, they heaved their packs and set out to find the path, Phineas leading the way.

  The whiskey jack flew short distances, perching on boulders or branches until they caught up, then hopping away again. When the sun set high above them in the sky, he finally stopped.

  “This must be it,” said Corabelle.

  Aunt Agatha shaded her eyes. “But where?”

  They walked to where the tan bird stood on a small ledge of rock, waiting patiently.

  “I don't see a trail,” said Corabelle, her courage draining.

  “Hold on,” Aunt Agatha said, staring up at the wall. “I think I do.” She took a few steps past the bird…and disappeared.

  Her heart filled with hope, Corabelle broke into a run to where her aunt had vanished. Peering in, she found a small alcove in the wall that led to a very narrow t
rail. Her eyes tracing the path, she spotted Aunt Agatha already making her way up, clinging to the wall of the canyon.

  “Aunt Agatha, that looks dangerous. Be careful.”

  “Not to worry. It gets wider farther on,” the old lady called back. “I can see it from here.”

  “Wait for me, then.”

  Her heart pumping, Corabelle started up the path, clinging to the cliff with clawed fingers, sometimes leaning back to skirt around large outcroppings, other times nearly losing her grip. When she caught up to her aunt, she bent over, breathing hard before looking ahead. Then she smiled with relief. The trail was wider.

  “I suspect we're going to have to hoist ourselves up that ledge when we get to the top.”

  “But what if we can't?” asked Corabelle, her voice edged with worry.

  “Never mind if we can or can't. We have no choice. We have to try or go back home and face Rupert.”

  Onward, they pushed up the steep trail, their breath heaving. They paused from time to time to swig water from their flasks, careful never to look down for fear of losing their nerve. By the time they neared the top of the cliff, the sun had lowered in the sky.

  “Almost there,” said Aunt Agatha, her muscles straining.

  Corabelle eyed the summit, her heart sinking. She wasn't sure she had any energy left to pull herself up such a tall ledge, especially not on an empty stomach.

  “If you can give me a leg up, I should be able to scale this,” said Aunt Agatha when they arrived. “After that, I'll throw you the rope, and I can pull you up.”

  “Sure,” said Corabelle, linking her fingers together to make the requested step for Aunt Agatha's foot.

  Phineas flew to the crest of the ledge and danced frantically.

  Corabelle paused. “What's wrong, Phineas?”

  The bird twittered and cheeped in distress.

  Corabelle took in a sharp breath. “He says not to climb here. He says we'll fall for sure. There's a much safer route over there.” She pointed to loose stone.

  “But that's scree,” said Aunt Agatha. “We could just as easily slide down the cliff there too. Now give me that leg up.”