The Revenge Page 5

  “Where?” she asked.

  “There.” Damien leapt from the island to the beach a short distance away and led her along the shore of the lake until they reached the meadow. There they caught the wind to where the two mares and Samuel were locked in serious conversation, their foreheads pushed into frowns.

  “What's wrong?” asked Damien.

  The stallion lowered his head to the colt's level. “We have to go back tomorrow. Seamus is up to no good again.”

  A wave of fear swept over Damien. “What's he doing?”

  “He's trying to convince everyone that you have a disease and that you'll bring death to the herd. We have no choice but to return before he and Isabelle convince the others.”

  “But I'm not ready yet,” said Damien.

  “You're more than ready. You know the three skills plus more. I saw you out on the lake. And Chrissandra too. What was that anyway? They'll sure be in for a surprise.”

  Chapter 10

  The Dream

  It was a moonless night. Corabelle waited in the dark, listening for Aunt Agatha's voice as she lay on the straw mattress while Mama slept beside her, her chest rising and falling. Crickets chirped in the distance, and an owl hooted from time to time. She held up her hand. It was so dark she couldn't see the outline of her fingers.

  Maybe the darkness will help me concentrate so I can talk to Aunt Agatha.

  Focusing her mind on the old lady's image, she clenched the muscles of her forehead as tight as she could and listened for what seemed like a full minute.

  Nothing.

  Tightening her muscles again, she concentrated as hard as possible, this time gritting her teeth.

  Nothing.

  On the third effort, she squeezed her fists as well, but still couldn't hear her aunt.

  Aunt Agatha, where are you?

  Corabelle tried to imagine what her aunt might be doing at that moment.

  Is she sleeping, or is she working on something in the lamplight?

  Perhaps she was drying flowers and hanging them from the rafters as they had done on her previous visit. Are they ready yet? She let out a sigh when her mind remained blank. Maybe I'm just trying too hard.

  She unclenched her fists and rested, then, determined as ever, she began again. This time, she relaxed her forehead and jaw, clearing her mind of all thought and focusing only on her breathing.

  Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out…

  Something wiggled far away in her brain. She stopped and held her breath, waiting, then began again.

  Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out…

  The tiniest of movements stirred deep in the recesses of her mind.

  Corabelle’s heart raced, but when she paused to listen, the sensation disappeared. “Maybe I should be the one sending the message,” she said out loud, the sound of her voice startling her.

  Mama's even breathing stopped. “What did you say?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” said Corabelle. “Go back to sleep.”

  Mama turned on her side, and her breathing resumed its steady rhythm.

  Relieved, Corabelle refocused her efforts on Aunt Agatha. This time, she loosened each muscle from her toes to her head.

  Calves loosen, thighs loosen, stomach loosen, back loosen…

  By the time she reached her forehead, she felt as light as a dandelion seed floating in the air.

  Aunt Agatha. Are you there?

  A slight wiggle, then a vibration.

  Corabelle's heart quickened. It’s her. I know it. Aunt Agatha? She slackened her jaw even further.

  A vision of the old lady slipped into her mind. What's she doing? Weaving? She allowed the image to drift further into her consciousness. A new basket—a smaller one for me.

  Aunt Agatha, she called.

  The woman in the image paused from her work, the line between her eyes deepening. She looked about, then shook her head and resumed her work.

  Aunt Agatha! Corabelle called even louder. It's me.

  Agatha's head jerked up, her eyes darting back and forth.

  Can you hear me?

  Jumping up, Aunt Agatha's half-finished basket fell to the floor. “Yes, I can hear you,” she said aloud, her face lit up. She began pacing around the room. “I really can. You've done it!”

  Corabelle smiled in the dark, exhilaration shooting from her forehead right down to her toes. I think I was just trying too hard before.

  “Wonderful! Now we can talk whenever we want.”

  They chatted in the dark, words and images spilling out like water from a rain barrel during a storm. Corabelle told her how she had gotten home only a minute before Mama, saving herself an interrogation as to her whereabouts; good thing too because Uncle Rupert was close behind her. She'd been nervous, but they hadn't noticed the damp fringe of her dress or the mud on her shoes. After he left, Corabelle had leaned her back against the wall and let out a big breath of air.

  Aunt Agatha rejoiced at the news. “Well done, girl. We'll have to carefully plan our next outing, then.”

  But Auntie? said Corabelle. I'm worried about the animals.

  “Why?”

  What if Acorn's been trapped again? And I want to know if Phineas' eggs have hatched yet.

  “They'll be all right, sweetie. It's much more important that we collect the plants before it starts to get cold. We need to have proof of our healing abilities if we're to outsmart Rupert.”

  Yeah, I understand. Corabelle let out a yawn.

  “Sounds like you're tired. Go back to sleep. We'll talk again soon.”

  Okay, said Corabelle.

  “Good night.”

  Good night.

  The girl turned over and pulled the blankets over her shoulder.

  That’s when her dream began.

  Night was closing in fast. Strange noises sounded in the woods around her, and she still hadn’t found the knoll. “I'm lost,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’ve got to find the animals. I know there’s something wrong.” She scoured the shadowy trees in her line of vision. Her heart pounding, she threw her hands to her mouth and whistled.

  No squirrels chattered, and no chickadees answered.

  Beads of perspiration formed on Corabelle's forehead as she wandered farther, calling. “Autumn? Acorn? Phineas?”

  Where was the knoll? Had she taken the wrong trail?

  A branch snapped.

  For a moment, hope filled her, and she swung about to welcome whichever animal friend had made the noise, but remembered with dismay that none of them wandered about after dusk. They were just as afraid of the night predators as she was.

  An angry snarl ripped the air.

  Corabelle jumped, searching the growing darkness, unseeing.

  The animal snarled again.

  She peered in the direction of the sound. A dark figure loomed near her. A lion?

  Letting out a shriek, she ran for all she was worth.

  Bushes rustled, and heavy paws thudded the earth behind her.

  “Help me!” she screamed as she raced away.

  The beating of the animal's feet pursued her. Corabelle ran for her life, her breath heaving, sweat pouring off her forehead. Something snatched her foot—a root. Letting out a despondent cry, her body flew through the air and landed hard on the dirt path. She tensed, awaiting certain death.

  She felt the weight of the lion land on her back first, then smelled its foul breath. A scream tore from her throat. “Papa, please save me!” she shouted, but then remembered the hard fact of his disappearance.

  The lion’s sharp teeth pierced her neck; then everything went black.

  When she regained consciousness, moonlight trickled through the leaves of the trees, and the soothing night sounds of the forest had returned. It took a moment before she regained her senses, pushing herself up slowly to sitting position. Something wet trickled down her spine. She reached cold fingers to the back of her neck—blood. Panic rose within her, her breath erupting int
o hiccoughs. Where was the lion? She listened for its vicious snarl, bracing herself for the worst, but it was gone. She shook her head in confusion. Why hadn't it finished her off?

  An equine snort startled her. Glancing up, she caught her breath. A ghost-like creature, surrounded by mist, eyed her with curiosity.

  A horse?

  The animal pawed the ground and let out a shrill whinny.

  Corabelle eased her body up to standing position. “It was you who scared the lion away, wasn't it?” she asked, her voice not much louder than a whisper.

  The creature snorted and skittered backward. Corabelle took a cautious step toward it, but when she did, the animal shuffled sideways, revealing the single spiral horn that grew from its forehead.

  She gasped. What kind of animal has a single horn?

  The creature snorted again.

  “Why, it's more frightened than I am,” she said. “It's all right. I won't hurt you.”

  She took slow steps toward the ghostly animal, but when she came within an arm's reach, it let out a shrill neigh, reared up, and disappeared.

  Corabelle awoke in her own bed. The twittering of birds in the distance announced dawn. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Who was this creature and what did this mean? Careful not to wake Mama, she slipped from under the covers and tiptoed to the shelf where she kept her brushes. Dim light filtered through the window, lighting up the room in grey shadows. She stood back and viewed the wall where she had last drawn, and then nodded. The centre of the wall would be perfect for a new painting.

  Chapter 11

  The Return

  When Samuel and Damien returned to the fold, the unicorns huddled together, wide-eyed and hushed, their eyes following the duo's every move.

  Damien clung to his father's side, his heart beating so hard, he felt it thud in his chest.

  “Just follow what I do,” said Samuel.

  “Yes, Father,” Damien answered, his voice small.

  They trotted to the centre of the herd, past cautious mares, suspicious yearlings, and stallions who exchanged surreptitious looks while staring at the red colt. Samuel strutted past them and came face to face with Isaac.

  Isaac met his gaze, throwing glances from time to time at Seamus who stood on the edge of the herd looking as cruel as ever.

  Samuel cleared his throat and began. “Isaac, you asked that I teach my son Damien the three skills in six sun-ups, right?”

  “Well, y-y-yes and no. It was actually S-Seamus…” A glare from the other stallion silenced him.

  “It's been done,” Samuel announced, holding his head high.

  A wave of murmurs swept through the herd.

  Samuel waited for their voices to die, then continued. “Only my son went a little further in his lessons than any of us could have anticipated.”

  Isaac shot another anxious peek at Seamus, his brow twitching. “Wh-wh-what do you mean?”

  “Watch.” Samuel nudged Damien.

  His legs trembling, the red colt melted from view, a perfect blending with his surroundings, then reappeared.

  The unicorns mumbled in astonishment.

  Isaac's eyes magnified. “Oh, my. That's very good.”

  “And that's not all,” said Samuel. “He can shadow-walk too.”

  He led the herd to the shady side of the meadow still mired from a previous rain and whispered, “Go, Damien.”

  The colt cantered to the edge of the mud, then kicked into shadow-walk with expertise.

  Oohs and ahhs rose in the air.

  When Damien reached the other side, he turned and faced them, his tail flicking, his eyes searching Isaac's approval.

  “Very impressive,” said the Great Stallion.

  “He taught himself those two skills,” said Samuel, a proud grin tugging at his lips before he forced it back down, maintaining his resoluteness.

  Seamus called from the edge of the crowd. “Yeah, but I bet he can't ride the wind.”

  Samuel raised a sardonic brow at Seamus. “He can do that and more.”

  Seamus snorted. “Ha! I don't believe you. I saw how inferior he was.”

  “Then clear a path.”

  The unicorns followed Samuel to the meadow.

  “Damien, show them what you’re made of,” Samuel said, his voice low.

  The little red unicorn took a step forward, then stood still as a stone. Then with one swift movement, he leapt. The wind carried his small body high above the trees to a barrage of exclamations from the unicorns. He held himself as steady as possible, gliding as smooth as nectar. Then a sudden gust of wind blew, offsetting his balance. He floundered, his torso wobbling, his legs scrambling while visions of Seamus' delight at his failure ran through his mind. The herd whinnied with fright, but Damien refused to fail. Tightening his jaw with determination, he straightened his body and drifted down to land on all fours.

  Momentary silence met his accomplishment. Then a mare cried out. “It's like Ulysees thousands of years ago!”

  “The ancient stallion has been reborn!” whinnied another.

  “Long live Ulysees!” shouted a stallion.

  “Long live Ulysees!” echoed the others.

  Isaac broke into a smile. “Why, I've never seen anything like it. It's amazing!”

  “It's because Samuel is such a fine teacher!” shouted a male. “He should take over from Seamus—teach our young as he did before.” The male bounded forward, placing himself before the herd. He led them in a boisterous chant. “Samuel, Samuel, Samuel!”

  Seamus’ eyes bulged. He shot an outraged glance at Isabelle, then raised his voice. “It's mere trickery!” he shouted above the chanting. “I tell you, there's something wrong with this colt. It's…un-unicorn-like.”

  The mares and stallions' voices crescendoed over his irate cries.

  “I mean it. You have no idea what a diseased unicorn can do to our herds. It could mean the end of us all.” But his words faded to nothing beneath the noise.

  Standing tall, the Great Stallion ignored Seamus' insolent protests. Instead, he quieted the herd and announced, “It's done. From here on, Samuel will be our new teacher.”

  The unicorns cheered, parading Samuel and Damien around the meadow while singing their praises. When they had rounded it a third time, Samuel turned and addressed them.

  “I said before that Damien represented an evolution. I believe I'm right. You've all seen it. And I also believe it's through him our herd will develop new skills that will protect us from humans until the end of time as Azaria decreed. To Damien.”

  “To Damien,” they answered before repeating his name over and over again.

  Damien relished in the applause. His heart soared. The hard work had been worth it. Now all would go well, or so he thought until he saw Seamus and Isabelle share a look of sheer and utter hatred.

  Chapter 12

  The Painting

  It began with simple brush strokes, a smear of grey twilight, a puff of white mist, a ray of light descending from a shining moon. Corabelle painted as though possessed, the image growing on the wall, overtaking the cottage in its breadth and power.

  What was that creature in my dream? What is it called? Does it even exist?

  The memory of her dream drove her hand, stroke by stroke, colour by colour, until the beams of the rising sun slid through the window and broke the spell.

  As she stood back and observed the mystifying image she had created, Mama rose from her slumber and wandered to the bread box to prepare the morning meal. The small door of the box squeaked as she removed the loaf she had baked the day before, slicing crusty pieces and spreading them with jam. She carried the plates to the table, then shifted her gaze to the wall. Letting out a sharp breath, she reeled, the plates landing on the table with a thud.

  “What’s wrong, Mama?”

  Her mother's hand clutched her throat as her gaze roved over the image.

  “Mama?” Corabelle’s voice rose.

  “Where did you see this?”
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br />   Corabelle shook her head, a confused smile crossing her lips. “I've never seen one. I just dreamt about it…last night.”

  Mama’s eyes narrowed. “Well, what did you dream?”

  The girl noted the alarm in her mother's expression. Uncertain, she hesitated a moment, then proceeded to retell the story of the one-horned creature she'd witnessed while she slept. “It was the most beautiful animal I've ever seen, but I don't know what it was.”

  “It's called a unicorn…and there's a legend,” said Mama.

  Corabelle tilted her head, curious. “What legend?”

  Settling into her chair, Mama grabbed her plate and set it down before her. “It's something that happened before I was born.”

  “Where?” asked Corabelle.

  “Here—in our town.” Her mother’s voice carried an air of mystery. “They say the creature appeared to a boy named Tobias.”

  Corabelle tucked a leg underneath her seat and leaned on one elbow, ready for one of Mama’s superb tales while she nibbled on the crust she held in her hand.

  “He was a terrible boy, always in trouble—rude, disobedient, angry. And it wasn't as though he'd never strayed from home before. After all, he was ten years old, and what ten-year-old doesn’t wander into the woods to track deer, hunt gophers, or even just to climb trees? And because he had eight brothers and sisters, his mother hadn't noticed he was missing at all until she called her brood in for supper. That's when she saw the empty space at the table, the food she had toiled over, going to waste.”

  “Uh-oh,” said Corabelle.

  “Angry he'd broken her strict rules yet again, she planned his punishment, how she'd unleash a tongue-lashing once he returned, a scolding so long and hard, he’d be reduced to tears. But when dusk arrived, he was nowhere to be found.

  “Well, she marched to the door and stood on the step hollering as mean and loud as a grizzly. But after a time, her voice grew hoarse, and there was still no sign of the boy. She ranted and raged inside, certain he was gallivanting with the gang he ran with in the village. So she sent her older children to pound on doors demanding he show himself, but an hour later, they returned, their palms turned up, shrugging.”