The Revenge Page 6

  “So then what happened?”

  “With night growing darker, the mother realized something was amiss, that perhaps her son hadn't merely disobeyed her. What if he had met with misfortune? Her anger turned to fear. Again, she sent her children to the village, this time to request help in finding him.

  “The townsfolk, scared for their own young, gathered in the square. That’s when she heard for the first time, the tale of the giant creature that lurked in the woods. They said its teeth were longer than a grown man's fingers, and its claws could rip through wooden doors with one swipe. And its breath was as foul as an ogre’s. The woman became terrified, and at her pleas, they formed a posse. They scoured the woods, carrying torches, but returned the following morning empty-handed.”

  Corabelle’s eyes widened.

  “His Mama waited out the following day, wringing her hands, desperate, praying her boy would somehow stumble into the village, injured, or perhaps would wake from a deep sleep under a tree near the trail that would take him home. But the day lagged on with no sign of him.

  “The townsfolk, dreading for their safety now, assembled in the village square again. Men shouted, and women wept until they laid another plan. This time, they would descend upon the woods brandishing weapons along with torches, determined to bring the great beast to its knees. Deep into the forest they tread, searching, until someone spotted a set of garishly large paw prints. Terrified, they returned to the village lest the creature claim them as victims.

  “The boy's mother was frantic at the news, wailing and howling. She was so inconsolable, the villagers decided they had to give the cause one last effort, even if it was only to find the child's remains so she could bury the boy. The next day, they found the torn and bloodied rags he'd worn the day he disappeared.”

  Corabelle gasped.

  “They say it was a terrible thing to behold when they presented her with the evidence. She refused to believe it, shouting hysterical prayers, sobbing, and ranting while her family stood by, unable to calm her.

  “Then, on the fourth day, they had a memorial, a funeral of sorts, gathering inside the tiny church, sobbing despite the fact he'd been a dreadful boy who'd caused nothing but trouble. They sang hymns, recited prayers, and just as the priest began leading the parishioners in the final song, lo and behold, who should wander in, but that boy himself, looking for his mama.”

  “What?” Corabelle said.

  “The priest nearly fell off his pulpit, certain it was a ghost appearing to them to explain his absence. The villagers cried in terror. But his mother ran to her son and threw her arms around him, thus proving he was made of flesh and bone. She begged his forgiveness for her lack of patience. The crowd was ecstatic, and the priest declared it a miracle, a mother's prayers answered, a God truly merciful. The townsfolk, delirious with relief, broke into a song of praise, then danced in the square while the organist played the merriest tunes he knew. But in the days following his return, they noticed something had changed in the child's demeanour.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Some say it was in his eyes. Some say it was in his stance. No one was quite sure. But all agreed that it was as though the cruelty and mischief in his soul had drained away and was replaced by a kind of serenity. Gone was the impudence, the rudeness, and the dishonesty. The priest, astounded at the transformation, sat the boy down and questioned him as to what had happened.”

  “So what did happen?”

  “The child spoke as though in a dream, recounting the strangest tale they'd ever heard. He said he'd been hunting for squirrels in the woods with his slingshot when the largest lion he'd ever seen attacked him. It pounced on him, tearing his shirt and clawing his back, and just as it was about to deliver the fatal bite that would break his neck, the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen appeared out of nowhere.”

  “What kind of creature, Mama?”

  “He said it was a horse of sorts, white as snow with a single, spiral horn, and pale blue eyes. And when the lion saw it, it let out an agonizing scream and bolted away, leaving the boy lying in the dirt, his shirt torn and bloodied, crying for his Mama. After the lion had gone, the angelic creature walked on over to the boy and laid its horn on his wound.”

  A tingle ran up Corabelle's spine as she listened.

  “He said it was a feeling like no other, a feeling of love and peace, yet it burned at the same time. And when he got up, the blood of his wound had dried, and the gash had healed.”

  “So what happened next?” asked Corabelle.

  “The creature paused for a moment until it saw all was well, and then disappeared into thin air.”

  Corabelle slipped her hand over her mouth.

  “At first the townsfolk didn't believe his story, because, after all, the boy was a known liar, but after several weeks, it was obvious the change in him was permanent. In view of this miracle, they decided an attempt should be made to find this mythical creature and to bring it back to keep as their own. They searched days, even months, but they never found it.”

  “What became of the boy?”

  Mama stared into space for a moment, then answered, “He never stopped talking about it, named the creature a ‘unicorn’ because of its single horn, and never resumed his evil ways. As a matter of fact, when he grew up, he left the town for good. They say he sought the religious life and joined the abbey as a monk.”

  Silence descended on mother and daughter as each pondered the tale. They nibbled on their bread and jam, their eyes wandering back to the painting on the wall.

  “You know it's your best drawing,” Mama said, giving an emotional nod.

  “Thank you.” Corabelle smiled at the praise. “But why would I dream about a creature I've never even seen before?”

  Mama let out a sigh. “I don't know. Maybe you heard the story and forgot about it.”

  Corabelle reflected for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Then what?”

  “I don't know. I wonder if it's like the visions I had of the Brain Fever.”

  Fear shone in Mama's eyes at her words. Turning pale, she pushed back her chair with a loud scrape, then grabbed the dishes and hurried away.

  Chapter 13

  New Beginnings

  The days that followed the ousting of Seamus were like the rebirth of a lost paradise. The tension that had once reigned melted like snow on a spring day. The softness in Amara’s eyes returned, replacing the troubled look she’d worn since the day of their arrival.

  The foals too relaxed under the tutorship of Samuel, receiving encouragement for their efforts rather than the lashing of Seamus' harsh tongue. And best of all, with the friendship of Chrissandra, the fillies warmed up to Damien despite his colour—all except Petra.

  “Come on, Damien,” called Yasmine on the first day of training with Samuel.

  “Yeah, hurry up, Damien,” shouted Gabrielle. “We don't wanna be late for your dad.”

  Damien's heart soared at the invitation. His tail wiggling, he dashed after them.

  “Show them that neat trick you can do,” Chrissandra called back over her shoulder.

  “Yeah,” the fillies cried.

  “We wanna see how high you can fly,” Gabrielle trilled with excitement.

  “Well, okay,” said Damien, leaping up into the sky.

  The fillies oohed as he sailed through the air and landed on all fours, but Petra hung back from the others at a fair distance, scowling.

  When they came to the meadow, the colts stood at attention, ready for Samuel's entrance, their horns pointed in respect. The stallion emerged from the woods, a warm smile on his face in contrast to Seamus' usual stern expression.

  “Good morning, foals.”

  “Good morning, sir,” they answered, exchanging enthusiastic looks.

  “At ease,” he ordered.

  When the foals had raised their heads, he began. “Today we're going to start our lesson with a game.”

 
“A game?” asked Yousef, his voice incredulous.

  “Mm-hmm. We’re going to have backward races.”

  Cheers met his words.

  Malcolm exchanged a sour look with his sister, then cleared his throat. “But how is this going to give us proper training?”

  Samuel eyed the colt, then replied, “Training doesn't have to be dull, you know. You can enjoy learning.” Turning to the others, Samuel continued. “I want everyone to line up with your backside facing forward.”

  “Wha…?” said Jeremy.

  The foals scrambled into place, giggling. Malcolm and Petra joined them as though it were the stupidest thing in the world.

  When everyone was prepared, Samuel shouted, “Ready, set, go!”

  The foals scuttled backward and collapsed a short distance away after tripping over their own hooves. They rolled about on the grass, their eyes tearing from laughter while Malcolm and Petra frowned.

  After the merriment had died, and the foals had scrambled back to their hooves, Samuel addressed them again. “So you've all discovered it’s difficult to run backward, right?”

  “Everyone knows that,” retorted Petra.

  “Ah,” replied Samuel, his eyebrows rising, “but what are you going to do if one day, a human comes along with a rope, and he swings it in the air, and the noose catches you around the neck like what happened so long ago to Ulysees when he was rescuing Alannah?”

  “Umm...you duck?” offered Chrissandra.

  “Pffft. That's the stupidest answer I ever heard,” said Malcolm, his voice filled with sarcasm.

  Samuel’s eyes narrowed. “And what's stupid about it?”

  “It's just stupid, that's all,” replied Malcolm.

  Samuel held him in his gaze for a spell before answering. But rather than be angry, his voice was filled with compassion. “But if we make fun of each other's answers, then no one will be brave enough to say anything, right?”

  Malcolm lowered his eyes to the grassy field he stood on. “Well, I guess not.”

  “Then I think we need to agree to treat each other with respect, right?”

  “Yeah,” the foals answered unanimously.

  Malcolm looked away.

  “It's okay, Malcolm. We all make mistakes. But from now on, let's support each other, all right?”

  Malcolm nodded.

  “But what if one of us threatens the herd?” asked Petra, her gaze defiant. “Because they're…different?”

  Samuel threw her a warning look. “And who's to say being different will threaten the herd? You're different; I'm different; we're all different in some way. That's why it's important to accept each other as we are.”

  “Yeah, but my dad says—”

  “What your dad said is in the past, Petra. From this day on, we move forward. Understood?”

  Petra fumed for a moment, then reluctantly answered, “Whatever.”

  Samuel turned his attention back to the foals. “Now then, if a human surprises you by coming at you with a rope, you have two options: you can duck, or leap up and hover.”

  “What’s hovering?” asked Yousef.

  The stallion broke into a smile as his eyes moved to his son. “Damien, do you want to show them what hovering is?”

  Damien took an uncertain step forward, reading the faces of each of the foals to see whether they accepted his authority or not.

  “Come on, Damien,” said Chrissandra.

  “Yeah, go,” urged Gabrielle.

  With the encouragement, Damien proceeded to where his father stood. He waited for a strong breeze, then pushed himself up, his front hooves paddling against his back hooves. He held the position for several breaths, then lowered himself back down to the ground.

  “You see how he caught the wind, then used his hooves to maintain his height, yet work against the push of the wind?”

  The foals nodded, their brows furrowed.

  “I already know how to do that,” said Chrissandra, her voice pitched high, “because Damien showed me how.” Launching herself as high as she could, she caught a breeze and hovered for a moment before tumbling down again.

  “Well done,” said Samuel.

  “Me next,” said Yousef.

  “And then me,” said Jeremy.

  “All right, then. Yousef first, then Jeremy,” said Damien.

  Each foal practiced the manoeuver over and over until the sun had lowered in the sky, and the mares came to retrieve their young.

  “This has been the best day ever,” said Yasmine as she passed Damien on her way to meet her dam.

  “Yeah,” the others agreed.

  “Good,” said Samuel. “Tomorrow, we'll learn another new skill.”

  As they took the trail, Chrissandra flashed Damien a smile before trotting away.

  When she'd left, Samuel turned to his son. “Well?” he said. “How was your day?”

  “A lot better,” said Damien, “except…”

  “Except what?”

  “Well…I noticed all the fillies like me now, but the colts don’t seem to want to have anything to do with me.”

  Samuel let out a sigh. “Give them time, Damien. They've been under Malcolm's influence for a long time. They'll get to know you and like you too.”

  “I hope so.”

  Sire and colt walked home at a lazy gait. By the time they reached the herd, the sun had turned from bronzy gold to a flaming orange before fading into the cerulean blue of the night sky.

  Chapter 14

  The Animals

  Corabelle woke in the wee hours of the morning, reliving the splendour of the past few weeks. How wonderful the time had been, spending nearly every day with Aunt Agatha, collecting plants and memorizing their medicinal powers. She was certain she knew more about the healing potential of plants than anyone else in the village.

  Lying in the dark, she recited what she'd learned. Hawthorne berries to strengthen the heart; willow bark to ease pain; wormwood tea to quench heartburn; mugwort to calm the nerves. The list went on.

  Corabelle?

  The girl paused her recitation at her aunt's summoning. Yes, Aunt Agatha?

  Don’t come today.

  Why not?

  Because I'm not feeling well.

  Corabelle's heart quickened. She'd noticed her aunt struggle on their last trip, how she’d swaggered from time to time or halted for short periods, steadying herself on large rocks, her breathing laboured.

  Why? What's wrong?

  Oh, not much, dear. I just feel a little dizzy is all. Too much trekking. I suppose I'm getting a little old.

  Corabelle sat up in the dark. Would you like me to come and take care of you? she asked.

  Aunt Agatha hesitated before answering. No. All I need is a day or two of rest, and I'll be fine again. Why don't you visit your animal friends today? It's been a while. I’m sure they’ll be pleased to see you.

  Corabelle smiled at the thought of seeing her furry companions beyond the knoll. Then uncertainty filled her. What if Aunt Agatha had something really wrong with her? What if she needed help? Undecided, she teetered between the two choices, then made her decision. Aunt Agatha wasn't the only one who needed a rest. She did too.

  All right, Auntie.

  Corabelle drifted off to sleep again, only to awaken when Mama called her for breakfast. Her bare feet patting on the cold floor, she took her place at the table and let out a yawn.

  “Nice day,” said Mama, laying a plate of food before her.

  Corabelle nodded, rubbing her eyes, then took a bite of bread.

  Mama filled their cups with steaming milk. “I imagine you'll be wandering the woods with Aunt Agatha again on such a fine morning?”

  Corabelle nearly choked.

  Mama gave a knowing smile. “It’s okay. I know you've been spending time with her.”

  The girl’s eyes rounded. “How did you find out?”

  Mama laughed. “Because you talk in your sleep.”

  “But I—”

  “It's
okay. It's important that she pass down her knowledge to someone, and you're the logical person.”

  Corabelle tore off another piece of bread. “You mustn’t tell a soul.”

  Mama nodded in agreement. “I won’t.”

  Corabelle let out a sigh of relief. She'd always been terrible at lying, and Mama always saw right through any tale she attempted to concoct.

  “But I'd like you to sweep the floor today,” said Mama after they'd cleared the meal away. “And if you find some pretty flowers in the woods, there's a spot for them in the front yard. It'd make our home more beautiful.” She winked.

  “Yes, Mama,” replied Corabelle, breaking into a smile since this was an opportunity to plant the very flowers and plants Aunt Agatha had taught her about, providing them with medicine when needed.

  After Mama left, Corabelle waited until the last of the villagers had drifted off for the day. Then she gathered food scraps and headed to the woods, her feet skipping over the narrow trail, her heart soaring in anticipation. When she spied the knoll from afar, she ran until she reached the small hill, then scaled it, lowering herself on the other side. Cupping her hands together, she called.

  Within minutes, small heads poked out of holes, squirrels crept down from trees, and tiny birds swooped out of nests, landing on the low branches of bushes surrounding her.

  Corabelle let out a squeak when Autumn crawled out of her hole followed by her twelve much larger baby rabbits…and Acorn.

  “Acorn, you made it back!” she exclaimed, handing him a carrot end.

  The animal's nose quivered as he crept toward her, his large hind feet shoving his behind along.

  “What? You mean to say the village boy's mother was going to cook you that very day? And I came in the nick of time?”

  Acorn's nose twitched as he related his story.

  “And after I let you go, you almost got taken by a coyote?” She whistled. “You were very lucky to escape.”

  Acorn placed his paws on Corabelle's knees, reached up, and touched her nose in gratitude.