The Revenge Read online

  Again, Phineas chirped and tweeted, his wings flapping wildly.

  “No,” said Corabelle. “He insists. Just wait here. I'll go see.” She crawled along the ledge to where the distraught bird hopped. “He's right,” she called back. “There are some excellent footholds here right where the scree ends, but you can't see them from where you're standing.”

  It was Corabelle's turn to lead the way up the steep rocks, placing her feet in strategic positions until she cleared the top. When she’d made it, she inspected the route Aunt Agatha had nearly taken and gasped.

  “What’s wrong?” asked the old lady.

  “We would have slid down to our death on that smooth rock,” Corabelle said.

  “Thank goodness for Phineas.”

  As expected, the other side of the canyon was rich with nuts and roots. After gathering their bounty in Corabelle's cloak, they sat down to eat, filling their stomachs to near bursting. Then they built their shelter for the night and bedded down.

  When they rose again, the next morning, they gorged themselves once more on the nuts and roots before heading out.

  “So where do we go from here?” asked Corabelle as she eyed an unusual, elf-like tree whose branches resembled arms and legs.

  “Seems to me, the easiest thing would be to follow one of these deer trails,” said Aunt Agatha.

  “Let’s do it.” Corabelle picked her cloak off the ground and buttoned it around her neck.

  They followed the path, pushing through wet branches and tall grass. After walking an hour, Corabelle let out a cry of dismay. “Hey,” she said, “Haven't we already been here? I remember that same tree from before.”

  “What?” Aunt Agatha turned around, her shoulders dropping. “Oh, no. Don't tell me we went in a circle?”

  Corabelle threw up her arms and let out a disparaged wail. “What kind of deer go in circles?”

  “Foolish ones,” said Aunt Agatha.

  “So what do we do now?” asked Corabelle.

  “Call Phineas.”

  Corabelle cupped her hands and whistled for the bird.

  It fluttered down and perched on Corabelle’s shoulder. After a few exchanges of twitters, cheeps, and words, he took off, flying high above the trees while she and Aunt Agatha waited with patience in the shade of a tall pine.

  A familiar scent tickled Corabelle’s nose. “Smells like smoke,” she said.

  Aunt Agatha’s nose twitched. “Hmm, maybe there's another village close by.”

  “Another village?” Corabelle welcomed the thought of spending the night in a warm straw bed after a hot supper.

  “You never know. Just because the town hasn't made contact past the canyon,” said Aunt Agatha, “it doesn't mean we're alone in these parts. Maybe we'll be the first to meet them.”

  Corabelle's lips formed a smile as she imagined returning to their village and announcing they'd found neighbours a few days walk from there. The town would be thrilled, and they’d see her and Aunt Agatha as heroines.

  Two hours later, the bird returned.

  “What did you find?” Corabelle asked Phineas.

  The whiskey jack flapped his wings and twittered in an agitated manner.

  As Corabelle listened, her mouth dropped, and her eyes widened.

  “What is he saying?” asked Aunt Agatha, fear rising in her voice.

  “A wildfire! Far from here, but growing faster by the minute.”

  “A wildfire?”

  “Yes.” She turned back to Phineas. “Which way were the animals running?”

  Phineas chirped again.

  “That way.” She pointed.

  “That means the wind is blowing the fire in that direction. So, for the time being, we're safe—so long as the wind cooperates. I say we stay here until we know for sure.”

  Corabelle nodded.

  “In the meantime, let's set up camp.” Aunt Agatha began to search for branches while Corabelle gathered the leaves necessary for the roof.

  When all was ready, they settled down for the night.

  Before crawling under her blanket, Corabelle glanced up at Phineas. “You'll wake us if there are any changes, won't you, Phin?”

  The bird gave a worried twitter, then stuck his head under his wing to sleep.

  Chapter 28

  The Rain

  Corabelle woke up coughing. The smoke had thickened. Sitting up, she turned to Aunt Agatha whose loud snores filled the lean-to. “Aunt Agatha,” she said, giving her a shake. “The wildfire’s gotten worse.”

  The old lady grumbled in her sleep, then shot up glancing about as though she'd forgotten where she was. She sniffed the air, gasped, then hurried outside, licking her finger and holding it up. “The wind has changed direction,” she said with urgency. “It's going to come this way before we know it. Quick, we've got to get to the river.”

  “Now?” said Corabelle.

  “Yes. Hurry!”

  Corabelle stuffed as many things as she could into her pack, then threw on her boots and dashed toward the cliff, coughing as she ran. “Where's the trail?” she shouted.

  “I don't know.”

  “Phineas,” Corabelle called. She waited for the bird to flutter down from a branch, but he was nowhere to be found.

  “Come on!” shouted Aunt Agatha, “We don't have time.”

  Corabelle's eyes grew in size. “I hope nothing's happened to him.”

  “Me too. But there's nothing we can do about it now.”

  They dashed along the canyon's edge, searching for the scree that would take them down.

  “This can't be the way,” cried Aunt Agatha. “Nothing looks familiar.”

  “I think it was over there!” shouted Corabelle, changing direction.

  Thick smoke poured over the trees. Corabelle covered her nose with a portion of her cloak. Her eyes burned. Where is it? Then she saw it—the smooth, round stone they'd nearly slid off only the day before. “Over there.” She pointed.

  “Oh, thank God,” said Aunt Agatha. “Let me go first.”

  “No, let me,” said Corabelle. “I remember the footing. I can help you down.”

  “But I'm taller than you. Besides, the unicorn's touch renewed my body, remember? I’m much stronger. Hand me the rope.”

  Corabelle reached down to where it normally hung from her pack. A shock swept over her. She’d left it back at the camp hanging on a tree. “I don’t have it,” she said.

  “What?” Aunt Agatha stared back in horror.

  “Here,” Corabelle said. “Take my cloak instead. We’ll use it like a rope. You take the end and hold on as I lower you.”

  “All right.” Aunt Agatha heaved herself over the rock, clutching the cape as she went down.

  Corabelle braced her feet against the stone, the end of her cloak wrapped around her fingers. She heard the scraping sounds of Aunt Agatha's boots below.

  Then large drops of rain began pelting them.

  Corabelle's heart pounded. “Oh, no! That’ll make the rocks slippery. Are you almost down?” she called. “Aunt Agatha?”

  A ripping sound tore the air. The cloth! Corabelle scrambled to grab it, but missed. She heard a cry followed by a thud and a grunt.

  “Aunt Agatha!” she screamed, clambering over the boulder and looking down below.

  The old lady lay crumpled on the path.

  “Are you okay?” Corabelle called.

  Aunt Agatha groaned.

  “Wait there. I’ll come and get you.”

  “No,” Aunt Agatha said, wagging a motherly finger at Corabelle despite her obvious pain. “It’s far too dangerous. Besides, the rain will put out the wildfire.”

  The rain! Relief swept through Corabelle at her aunt’s words. For now, they were safe.

  Aunt Agatha pushed herself up and opened her mouth, taking in the heavy drops of water, then began limping toward the loose rubble.

  “I think I can make it to where the scree begins, but I'll need your help from there.”

  “All r
ight.” Corabelle set about trying to find something she could fashion into a rope. Spying some thin vines, she used her knife to cut several strands, then twisted them together as water dribbled down her face.

  “I'm going to throw this to you, and I want you to grab it, but whatever you do, don't put your whole weight down on it because I can't hold you. I'm not that strong.”

  Corabelle waited until Aunt Agatha gave the go-ahead, then braced herself against the rocks again, wrapping first her torn cloak, then the vines around her hands.

  Aunt Agatha called from below. “I'll find my footing with my one good leg and use my elbows to grip the rock. Ready?”

  “Yes,” Corabelle called back. “But be careful. It's extremely slippery.”

  “Okay. One, two, three, go!”

  Corabelle held the taut vines as tight as she could, leaning back, her heels gouging the earth beneath the rock. Three times she braced herself until she heard Aunt Agatha's laboured breathing over the crest.

  “Hold on right where you are,” said Corabelle. She reached down and grabbed Aunt Agatha's wet arm and hoisted her up. When her aunt sat beside her, Corabelle asked, “So what happened?”

  “I missed my footing when the rain began and slipped all the way down. It's a wonder I didn't fall into the canyon. Thank goodness you were here to help me back up.”

  Corabelle draped Aunt Agatha's arm over her shoulder and walked her to the shelter where she examined her leg. “That's a pretty bad bruise. And you've scraped yourself but good.”

  “We'll need some willow bark,” said Aunt Agatha taking charge. She looked around as though a willow tree would magically appear.

  “Let's wait until it stops raining,” said Corabelle. “Besides, you need to rest.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  They spent the rest of the day riding out the storm, cozy in their small shelter, talking about what they'd do when they got home, what they'd eat, what they'd tell everyone. Then near dusk, when the rain had eased, Corabelle set off in search of the willow bark. She came to the edge of the burnout after a mere half hour, staring in horror at the scene that lay before her. The smell of smoke still assaulted her nostrils. Peering through the growing darkness, she strained to see the damage done by the wildfire. Steam rose from the ground. All was still and quiet. Then…something moved.

  Chapter 29

  The Aftermath

  Images of the fire licking at the tall evergreens, and the screams of unicorns as they fled ravaged Damien's sleep. His hooves shuffled, and he rumbled, awakening to the slightest noise near him—the crunching sounds of a raccoon's claws on the litter fall below the trees, or the cracking noises the animal made as it nibbled on a mouse's bones—only to return to the torture of his dreams. He saw Yasmine, her eyes bulging with fear as she galloped away as though she'd never known him, never played with him. He saw the colt he’d terrorized. Then Samuel appeared. Damien’s heart lifted to see his ever-encouraging smile that said he was proud of his son. But after glancing about at his surroundings, the stallion’s face dropped. He stared at Damien in shock.

  Damien awoke with a start, his lungs burning, and his coat soaked. He coughed.

  A cloud of bats swirled in the tops of the trees, and an owl let out an agitated hoot at the sound of his voice.

  He sighed. Even the birds and bats were afraid of him. A frustrated chuckle escaped his chest. “Everyone hates me.”

  As the dark skies lightened to a smoky grey, Damien's cough worsened, and his eyes stung more than ever. The fire had grown much faster than he anticipated. He glanced about for signs of the raccoon, but it was long gone. Peering through the treetops, he saw no evidence of the bats, but a small brown bird appeared, tweeting frantically. He watched as it hopped, landing on a branch before bouncing away again. Why was it behaving like that?

  Ignoring it, Damien rose high above the treetops and hovered. He gasped at what he saw, his heart thundering in his chest. Heavy smoke hung over raging orange flames that shot high into the sky, devouring everything in their path. What was once the emerald green forest had been transformed into a massive wildfire.

  Guilt gripped him. He hadn't intended to destroy the forest. He'd only meant to scare the herd and exact his revenge on Isabelle and Seamus.

  Would it ever grow back? It had to. But would it grow back during his lifetime? What does it matter? They deserve it. But suppose the entire forest burns down. He gave his mane a fierce shake and tossed the thought away.

  He contemplated being on the move for a long time, alone in the world. But another thought nagged him. What had happened to Yasmine and the other fillies? Had they gotten away, or had the flames trapped them?

  Damien's entire world crumbled around him. He slumped back down to the ground. What should I do? Where should I go?

  Then something wet splattered his muzzle.

  Rain?

  Hope nudged him.

  Another drop bounced off of his forehead, then another and another. Within a short while, it gave way to a deluge.

  Damien pranced with joy. “It's raining!” he shouted. “The forest is saved.”

  He leapt high and watched as the flames in the distance lessened, tears of happiness and relief slipping down his cheeks. Then shivering, he sought out a tree, still intact, though wilted, and sheltered himself beneath it. How he missed the cave where he and his parents took refuge in times of storms, enjoying the warmth of their bodies and the comfort of their soft nickers.

  He drifted off to sleep near dawn. When he awoke, the sun shone through broken clouds. It was time—time he faced his fears and travelled onward to the burnout to see the full extent of his actions.

  It wasn't so much the bareness that bothered him. It was more the smouldering trees, the still steaming soil. He'd always loved the forest, and now much of it was gone. Picking his way back to where he'd left the herd, he searched for their tracks, but they'd all been washed away by the deluge.

  He leapt and hovered to scan the surrounding area. Bleakness met his gaze in every direction. Where could they have gone?

  Damien wandered about until the sun set in furious reds and oranges. Glancing about for shelter, he spied a tree. It was an odd sort of a tree, but then any tree would look strange after a wildfire, wouldn't it? He moved closer to inspect it and froze. It was moving toward him.

  Chapter 30

  The Dance

  Damien's hooves skittered at the sight of the being. Was it the hunter he'd seen in the canyon? Dusk marred his vision. Or someone else? There was something…odd about this creature.

  His ears twitched as it began chanting in a high, sing-song voice, a mesmerizing mantra, a haunting melody. Not at all like the quacking sounds humans usually made.

  He snorted, and his eyes widened. Is this the girl I saw in the village?

  Her voice was soft and melodic as she took careful steps toward him.

  Damien backed away. I should fly while I can before...

  She took another step.

  Damien's hooves shuffled, then held. Even in the growing darkness, he could see the pale blue of her irises. It’s her! His heart sped as she approached. Then a strange thing happened—her words began to have meaning.

  “I won't hurt you. I promise.”

  The unicorn stood transfixed, his ears flicking. Thoughts—not his own—took shape in his mind as she sang. How was it he could understand her? He didn't know the human language.

  Her foot crunched on burned leaves as she took another step.

  Damien skittered again.

  “It's okay. I know you're sad. The other stallion, he was your father, right?”

  How does she know? Father and I weren’t even the same colour. How could she guess we were related? He was so perfect, and I’m a freak…at least according to Malcolm. His heart pounded.

  “But it's your colour that makes you different. It's beautiful—like a poppy.”

  Beautiful? Me? His eyes widened with astonishment at the thought.
Another image crept into his mind, unbidden—the red flowers of the meadow. Had she been there? Then the image of the cave, his childhood home in the forest. Unnerved at her knowledge of his life, he backed away again.

  “Don’t worry. I don’t have any arrows. You can trust me. I won't capture you.”

  Her hand moved closer. Damien let out a low rumble and shifted a step back. Another image trickled into his mind. An old lady; she was injured. What had happened to her?

  “She fell off the cliff. And she needs your help.”

  His help? But Damien hadn't healed anyone in a long time. He'd used his horn for evil purposes. What if he didn't possess the ability anymore?

  Her hand was closer now. “Pretty, pretty unicorn. How lovely you are.”

  She was lying. She had to be. After all, he was a freak. But Chrissandra accepted me.

  The girl hesitated and cocked her head to one side. “Who is she?”

  She'd heard his thoughts? Courage lured him. Suppose he told her everything. Could she be trusted?

  Memories of Chrissandra in the secret meadow filled his mind, of her near-drowning, of how he’d saved her.

  “You were very brave.”

  I was?

  “Where is she now?”

  He glanced around at the forest, at what he'd done, his soul filled with misery.

  She lowered her hand, her pale blue eyes compassionate as she learned how the wildfire began.

  Damien waited for her to turn and flee as the others had, but instead, her face grew kinder, more understanding. “It wasn't your fault. You didn't know.”

  Damien shook his mane in confusion. How could that be? There was something very different about this human—a quality like Mother and Father's—a kinship. Surely, the human child wasn't like the man with the cross on his chest who took his father's horn. Or the man who’d found his sire?

  Her hand reached closer and touched his nose.

  He flinched, his hide twitching while her fingers smoothed over his muzzle. It wasn't so bad. Her fingers lowered to his neck, sliding down his sleek, red coat. How gentle she was.