The Revenge Page 15

  “Corabelle, you have to come,” said Aunt Agatha, tugging at her arm.

  “I'm trying.” Corabelle attempted to push herself up with one hand.

  Suddenly, a clatter of hooves rose from behind them.

  “It's Red!” the girl shouted.

  The unicorn neighed, then reared, his head thrown back, his eyes wild.

  Corabelle's muscles tensed. She'd seen this look in her visions. “No!” she shouted. “Don't kill him!”

  The unicorn ignored her and charged at the man, lunging his horn into his side.

  The man cried out in agony, then fell into a fit of convulsions.

  “Oh, no,” said Aunt Agatha.

  “No…wait,” said Corabelle.

  The man's convulsions grew milder, then dissipated altogether. He lay for a time, then slowly rose, his eyes transformed from those of a simpleton to those of an intelligent man.

  Corabelle's chin dropped as she recognized him. “Papa!”

  “What?” Aunt Agatha let go of Corabelle. “It can't be. Harold?” She ran to the man and threw her arms around him. “Where have you been all this time?”

  The man held Aunt Agatha close, his eyes moist. “It’s a long, long story,” he said. Relinquishing Aunt Agatha's embrace, he sauntered to where Corabelle sat and picked her up in his arms. “My little girl.”

  “Oh, Papa,” whimpered Corabelle, burying her face in his chest. “I never thought I'd see you again.”

  “I'm so sorry I've been gone for so long,” he said, his eyes tender. “I've been so lost all this time, and to think it was my daughter who saved me.”

  Chapter 34

  Papa's Story

  The next morning, Phineas' bright chirping woke Corabelle. She had fallen asleep in Papa's arms the night before on the walk back to the lean-to. When she opened her eyes, she found herself lying between her father and Aunt Agatha, the warmth of their bodies making her feel safe. She rose, careful not to disturb their slumber. A sharp pain shot through her leg.

  Limping out to the pit where a few red embers still glowed, she placed dried grass on the coals, blowing until the sparks burst into a flame.

  “Your mother's taught you well,” said a deep voice behind her. It was Papa.

  Corabelle turned and gave her father a warm hug. Her nose wrinkled. “Phew, Papa, you stink.”

  Papa laughed, releasing her. “You would too if you'd been through what I have. Now let's have a look at that leg.”

  Corabelle limped to a fallen log where her father examined her. He ran his fingers down her calf to where the swelling began.

  “Does that hurt?” he asked

  She winced as he squeezed the injury. “Yes.”

  “And that?” he asked, shifting his fingers to another spot.

  “Ow. Yes.”

  He slid his fingers again. “And that?”

  “Not so much.”

  He laid her leg down gently. “Looks like you may have fractured it,” he said. “My fault since I scared you so badly last night. I was just trying to say hello.”

  Corabelle gave an uncertain smile.

  Aunt Agatha poked her head from the lean-to. “We can wrap that up with mullein,” she said before ducking back inside and returning with bandages. Moving to Corabelle's side, she braced the girl's foot against her thigh and wrapped her leg.

  “I'll find you a walking stick,” said Papa. He searched about their camp until he found a suitable branch that was light, yet strong enough to support the weight of the girl.

  The task finished, they ate their morning meal before the fire. Corabelle scowled as she chewed on the rubbery root. Papa looked at her, then rose from his spot and wandered back down the trail that led to the cave.

  “Where are you going?” she called.

  “You'll see.”

  A while later, he returned, handing them strips of dried meat. “I thought you might like this better than old roots.”

  Corabelle grabbed a piece and devoured it. “That is so good,” she mumbled between bites. She reached for another and another.

  When they'd finished, Aunt Agatha asked the question that lingered between them. “So Harold, where have you been all this time?”

  Harold heaved a sigh, leaned back against a log, and began. “I don't know how long ago I set out to hunt for deer to keep us fed over the winter.”

  “Eight months,” said Corabelle.

  Papa's eyes darkened at the news before he continued. “It was in the early morning hours. I had been walking for quite some time, but couldn't find a single buck to take down. The other men of the village had already gotten most of the males. So I continued until I got to the floor of the canyon and crossed the bridge. And that's when I saw it—a huge, white stag staring down at me from the top of the cliff.

  “He seemed to be waiting for me, pausing when I did, stopping for a graze when he saw me eat, then leading me again the moment he saw me rise. It was almost as though he wanted to show me something. And of course, I followed because I knew a buck this size would keep us in venison all winter.

  “I hiked for hours, searching for a trail that would take me up the cliff, but couldn't find one. I thought it was just possible that I might shoot him from below, but had no way to retrieve him. Then as the sun rose higher, I noticed something odd about the buck—he didn't seem to have proper antlers. It was as though the branches had broken off of the main horns. But I couldn't see clearly because he was so far above me.

  “After following him for a long time, the stag suddenly stopped and refused to budge. I tried a few times to urge him on by pushing ahead, but whenever I did, he let out a strange rumbling noise. That's when I spied the trail that led to the top. It looked dangerous since it was so narrow, but I saw that it widened farther on. So I decided to trust the beast and plodded up the path, the buck watching me with great curiosity all the while. When I neared the top, a rocky outcrop of rock blocked me. I thought hard and long about how I'd attempt its ascent and came up with a plan. I tied a stick to the end of my rope with the idea that I’d lodge it on the other side of the boulder and hoist myself up. That's when that buck let out the most ferocious noise I'd ever heard…and when I realized it wasn't a buck at all.”

  Corabelle's eyes widened. Moving forward, she leaned her elbows on her knees to better hear his words. “What was it?”

  “You see, the noise it made was more like the whinny of a distressed stallion. You can imagine my surprise, but before I could make out what it was, it disappeared, reappearing only a moment later near a scree that ran close to the outcrop.”

  “That sounds like the same path Phineas led us to,” said Aunt Agatha.

  “Phineas?” Papa's brow furrowed.

  Corabelle searched her aunt's eyes for permission. When Aunt Agatha nodded, she said, “He's a bird, and he's been showing us the way.”

  “A bird?”

  Corabelle let out an embarrassed huff. “I have a gift, Papa. I can communicate with animals.”

  Papa's eyebrows rose for a moment. Then he broke into a knowing grin. “I always suspected you could. The way you'd play with little mice in the backyard when you were small. I knew you had a way with them.”

  Corabelle smiled, relieved.

  “At any rate, when I came to the end of the trail, I saw that the majestic, white stag was none other than a unicorn, its broken antlers a single spiral, ivory horn.” Papa's eyes glowed at the memory, his voice becoming more animated as his tale unfolded. “I'd heard the legend of the lost boy and wondered if it was the same creature that had brought the child to safety. Taking slow steps, I reached out to touch him, but when I did, he vanished again.” Papa thrust out the palms of his hands with dramatic flair. “Flabbergasted, I turned about, searching. And that's when I noticed an entire herd of deer nearby. You can imagine how thrilled I was. That unicorn knew what I was looking for and had led me there.”

  “Wow!” said Corabelle.

  “Making slow movements, I pulled out an arrow
and aimed at the largest buck I could see and downed him, triumphant we'd have meat for the winter.” He glanced at Corabelle. “You know you just ate some.”

  “Oh, really?” she said.

  “Mm-hmm. I skinned it and butchered it, cutting the meat into pieces that I dried on a frame I’d built from branches. It was difficult at night keeping other animals from stealing the long strips of meat that hung there until they were ready to be gathered. Then when I searched about the woods for a place to store it, I found the cave and built a cache inside to keep the animals out.”

  “But Papa, what happened to you to make you look like this?” Corabelle asked, looking up and down at the dishevelled man who barely resembled the father she'd always known.

  He let out a weak laugh. “I had the intention of making several trips back and forth to bring the meat home, especially since I now knew the trail. And then the accident happened.”

  Corabelle's mouth fell open. “What accident?”

  “There was a storm. I had left the cave with my first bundle of meat and started down the trail that led to the cliff. When I was about halfway down, the skies turned dark, and fierce howling winds began to blow. It was strange. One moment it was dry, then the next, rain and wind pounded me. Knowing how dangerous it was to follow the trail down the cliff in such a storm, I turned back, struggling up the canyon wall as best I could. It was tough going, but eventually, I made it and ran down the trail that led to the cave. And just as I neared it, I heard a giant crack. Then something struck me in the head.”

  He shifted positions. “I don't know how long I lay there, but when I awoke, I had a terrible headache, and I couldn't remember who or where I was. And my leg was badly injured. The branch had struck it on the way down.”

  “Oh, Harold,” said Aunt Agatha clasping her hands together.

  “Somehow I found my way back to the cave, discovered the cache of food, and have lived off of it for many months.” He paused, deep in thought for a while.

  “Then you two came along. At first, I didn't remember who you were, but I was curious enough to poke around your camp at night when I thought everyone was asleep, only to be scared away by a red unicorn. I followed you to the next camp, remaining hidden until last night when you walked into the cave with your torches. That's when I recognized you, Corabelle, and tried to call out to you, but I couldn't pronounce your name. Then, out of the blue, the same red unicorn I'd seen milling about your old camp lunged at me, restoring me.”

  “You were lucky, Harold. You could have suffered a different fate,” said Aunt Agatha, “had Corabelle not recognized you and stopped Red from harming you.”

  “But I didn't recognize him until after Red healed Papa,” said Corabelle.

  “Then how did Red know?” asked Aunt Agatha.

  Papa's eyes began to twinkle, and the corners of his lips rose up in an amused grin. “Because I can communicate with animals too.”

  Corabelle gasped. “Really?”

  He nodded. “Of course. Why do you think the unicorn led me along the canyon wall? He knew what I was looking for, and he knew he was safe. You inherited that trait from me.”

  Chapter 35

  The Knowing

  Damien stood, camouflaged, watching the three humans with great curiosity. How odd the older female cut plaits of the male's mane, throwing the locks into the fire. Why did they engage in such an act? Was it some kind of initiation?

  His mind flew back to the night before when, shadow-walking, he'd followed the females as they sauntered to the cave, the flames of their fire-sticks lighting up the woods in their path. He had thought they were seeking out the male to help him. After all, isn't that what unicorns normally did—healed their own? But when they encountered him, they reeled in terror, fleeing as though he were a wild beast. Had they mistaken him for a bear?

  Of course, Damien jumped back, startled by the shrill cries that rose from the females, but when the male uttered that strange and mournful sound, Ara, he'd understood. My daughter. Realizing the man was injured, Damien plunged his horn into his side and held it there until the male's eyes cleared, and his body straightened. Then, and only then did the women acknowledge the man as one of their own.

  Damien tilted his head as he watched the older female work. Her hands moved from the male's head to his face, shortening the hairs with a strange object. When she finished, she took another peculiar item from her belongings and worked it through his hair. Soon the ragged locks fell in straight lines alongside his face giving him the look of the males he'd seen in the town.

  Damien let out a snort.

  The humans stopped dead, then turned their heads as though listening.

  Damien froze. Had they heard him?

  The male stood up, pressed a finger to his lips, and made a strange, hissing sound. Waving an urgent hand, he motioned the females to follow.

  They walked on the tips of their toes in his direction.

  The girl began cooing, “Come on, Red. Show yourself.”

  Damien shook his mane. Her voice was mesmerizing, far more beautiful than the unicorn songs he'd learned as a colt. It lured him, its timbre filling his mind with pleasure.

  “Come on, Red. Where are you?” she sang.

  Damien’s camouflage slipped for the tiniest of moments. Realizing his mistake, he melted back into his surroundings, but it was too late. The young female had seen him and was hobbling toward him, leaning on a stick.

  “Red,” she said, moving slowly as she had the day she'd found him and taken him to their camp. “It's safe to come out. We love you.”

  Love? Damien understood the word all too well—the same emotion he’d felt flowing from his mother. The unicorn's heart swelled, and he simply couldn't resist. He dropped his camouflage and allowed her to approach him.

  Her hands were soft—like his dam's muzzle—and her voice reassuring. Damien allowed her to lead him to the camp where the older female also rubbed his neck.

  “He's beautiful, isn't he?” said the male, rising.

  Me? Someone else thinks I’m beautiful too?

  The male smiled, his eyes meeting Damien's. Yes.

  But my own herd thinks I'm a freak.

  The male's eyes lit up with passion. No, you're striking.

  Striking?

  He nodded.

  An image slid into Damien's mind—he and Samuel standing side by side. A tear threatened to escape at the proud stance and beauty of his sire. Yet…Damien was just as perfect as Samuel, only red. Sure he was smaller, less confident, but he was striking.

  The unicorn's spirit soared. Could it be he wasn't a freak after all? Perhaps Samuel had been correct so long ago when he said his son was more evolved than the others. He bathed in wonderment at the revelation. But suspicion clouded his mind. How did this human know of Samuel? Had he been among the villagers when they'd stolen and desecrated his sire's body, taking his horn?

  ***

  “I know this unicorn from before,” Papa said, as Aunt Agatha and Corabelle stroked the animal's hair.

  “But how?” asked Corabelle.

  “It was during another thunderstorm. The rain had poured down so strongly it was as though a waterfall flowed from above onto the earth. I spent most of the day in my cave until it stopped. Then, the next day, set out to find wild roots. I was scouring the bushes when I saw some unicorns near the edge of the canyon. There were five of them in all—three stallions and two colts. One of them was Red. Another was a very valiant and noble male, and I could feel the strength and goodness in him. Another was some sort of elder. But there was a third stallion; I could feel the cruelty in his heart even though his face and actions spoke otherwise. He was pure evil. I watched with fascination as they communicated. It was as though they had language. Then they began what looked like a competition.”

  “A competition?” asked Corabelle.

  “Yes. At first, the stallions both disappeared, blending into the landscape, much like a chameleon does. Then moments later, th
ey reappeared.”

  Corabelle's eyes widen at his words.

  “Next, they lined up, preparing for a race, and then disappeared again, only this time reappearing much farther away. That's when I learned unicorns were magical creatures and that their gifts went far beyond just healing.”

  “That explains a great deal,” commented Aunt Agatha, “including the vision of the lost boy.”

  “Then what happened?” asked Corabelle.

  “After they came back, the chief had them line up again and gave the signal. I expected another race, but what met my eye was most curious.”

  “What?” asked Aunt Agatha.

  “Well, they trotted like a horse would, only it was as though they were suspended slightly above the ground. And even though it was muddy, I didn’t hear a single sound, nor did I see hoof prints in the muck.”

  Aunt Agatha frowned. “How very odd. No wonder they're so hard to track.”

  “I thought the competition was over. But then, I sensed anger growing inside the evil one, so great he was almost unable to contain it, yet he did, keeping a straight face. They exchanged whinnies, then moved closer to the cliff. I knew the evil one had something planned, but my body still wasn't well, and my instincts told me I was no match for him. All I could do was watch helplessly.”

  Corabelle listened intently.

  “They began what looked like a normal horse race, but I knew the evil one was holding back. Then, just as the two rounded the corner, he shoved the noble stallion off the cliff.”

  Corabelle gasped.

  “The colts were hysterical with fear, and I sensed that such things didn't happen in the unicorn culture.” He paused in thought. “Then Red leapt after the fallen unicorn from stone to stone until I couldn't see him anymore. At that point, a fight erupted between the evil one and the elder. It was clear the elder was terrified and that the evil one had claimed leadership. The other colt bawled, utterly horrified, but in the end, they followed the evil one back into the woods.”