The Revenge Page 7

“You're welcome,”

  Lowering the bag on her shoulder, she began to scatter food—lettuce and carrots for the rabbits, seeds for the birds, and nuts for the squirrels.

  Phineas fluttered down from a branch and perched on her shoulder.

  “And what about you, Phineas? How's your mate?”

  The bird let out a volley of twitters. A voice answered him, and then swooped down to join them.

  “She's beautiful, Phineas.” The girl paused a moment, listening to peeping sounds coming from above. “And I see your chicks have hatched.”

  Corabelle sat among her friends, hand-feeding some, stroking others. After the critters had devoured the food, she lay in the soft moss beside the waterfall, allowing the little creatures to creep up her arms and legs, and to stand on her chest. She told them about Aunt Agatha. “She’s a wonderful teacher, but people have this strange idea she's a witch because she knows so much about plants and because she has pale blue eyes. Have you ever heard anything so stupid?”

  The animals listened, their heads cocked, their eyes filled with intrigue.

  “It's true,” she said, “and it's all Uncle Rupert's fault. I just wish people would stop listening to him.”

  Her eyelids grew heavy, and she soon she drifted to sleep, the animals curled up beside her. She slept for what seemed a long time until an inner cry woke her.

  Corabelle!

  She shot up, scattering the animals around her. “Aunt Agatha,” she whispered.

  Come quick! I need you.

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  I'm at home. Please hurry.

  Corabelle bolted up the knoll without saying good-bye to the animals, grasping weeds and branches as she pulled herself up. Reaching the top, she stretched her legs before her, leaping over plants, and racing as fast as she could. It seemed to take forever to reach the trail that led to Aunt Agatha's. When she got there, she bounded up the stairs and burst through the door.

  “Aunt Agatha? Where are you?”

  A low moan came from the corner of the bedroom.

  Corabelle ran to where she’d heard the forlorn sound and found Aunt Agatha in a heap on the floor.

  “Aunt Agatha!”

  The old lady clutched her chest, her clothing soaked, her eyes glazed.

  “Hold on. I'm going to lift you up onto your mattress.” Taking hold of the old lady under the arms, she dragged her to the simple bed and hoisted her up, first her torso, then her legs.

  The old woman groaned.

  “What should I give you? Which medicine? Tell me!”

  Aunt Agatha didn’t reply.

  “Please, you have to try.”

  “Hawthorne berries,” she barely whispered.

  Corabelle dashed to where the rows of jars stood on the shelf. Searching through them, she shoved bottle after bottle aside until she found the one that bore the correct label. “Here it is.” Removing the lid, she took out several berries and stuffed them into Aunt Agatha's mouth.

  The old lady chewed the fruit and swallowed it. A few minutes later, her breath slowed, and she seemed to grow calmer.

  Corabelle took her aunt’s hands in her own. “What happened?” she asked.

  Aunt Agatha's voice was weak when she answered. “I couldn't breathe. And I began to sweat. I thought it was something I ate, but the pain got so bad I collapsed before I even got to my bed. That's when I called for you. I do so hope I didn't ruin your day with the animals.”

  Corabelle brushed away the hot tears. “How can you even think about that at a time like this?”

  “Well, you've worked so hard, and it was time you had a day off. You've been such a good protégé.” The finality of her words frightened Corabelle. Gazing around the cottage, she made a decision.

  “Aunt Agatha, I'm not letting you stay here by yourself anymore. It's time you came to live with Mama and me.”

  The old woman waved a hand. “You know I can't do that,” she croaked.

  “Yes, you can, and you're going to. I don't care what Uncle Rupert says. The townspeople are going to have to accept you.”

  The old woman’s face crumpled in agony, and her breathing grew irregular again.

  “Auntie, what’s happening?” Corabelle cried.

  When all Aunt Agatha could do was moan in response, Corabelle leapt up. “Wait here. I'm going to get Mama.” She grabbed a blanket, threw it over her aunt, then shot out the door.

  Chapter 15

  The Disillusionment

  As the weeks flew past, the foals grew taller, and though Damien was still the smallest of the group, it was apparent he was different in far more than just his colour. He was lighter in weight and sleeker as though made for riding the wind.

  Life had been so good since the ousting of Seamus, but Seamus and Isabelle still hung on the outskirts of the herd. They’d disappear for long periods of time, then return to the fringes of the unicorns' meeting place in the forest where they whispered to each other, their eyes narrowed.

  “They're plotting something,” Mother said one day when the long shadows of late afternoon partially hid the malicious couple, allowing them to spy undetected.

  Father gave a discrete sideways look. His forehead folded as he strained to hear their words. After a short time, he broke into a grin and chuckled. “They're mad as hornets that I usurped Seamus, but I guess we have to expect a certain amount of discontent. They'll get over it.”

  “But I've never known Isabelle to accept a situation where she isn't queen bee,” Amarah said, her voice uneasy. “I know she's up to something.”

  Damien's muscles tightened. He'd noticed Malcolm and Petra sharing smug glances too. Could it be that they too were scheming? His concerns were soon forgotten the next morning when Samuel began his lesson.

  The stallion gave a bow of acknowledgment to the foals as they stood poised, their heads bent. “You've all learned about Icarus, the Great Stallion of so long ago who controlled the herd through a series of lies?”

  The young unicorns nodded, their expressions sombre.

  “But what I've never told you is that Icarus also committed murder.”

  Several sets of ears pricked forward.

  “Murder?” Gabrielle whispered.

  “And not just once, either. First, Icarus murdered the previous Great Stallion, Sampson, to gain power over the herd. Then, a few years later, he attempted to kill an elder, Danae, to prevent him from revealing the truth about the Legacy of Azaria, the truth that would liberate them from their fears and that would allow them to live their lives freely.”

  The foals’ eyes grew wide at his words.

  “It's true. Icarus had left Danae for dead, thinking the truth would die with the old fellow, but what Icarus didn't know was that unicorns, like all other animals, can heal without the power of another's horn if given time. And so Danae recovered from his injuries in the valley of the skeletons to outwit him later on.”

  “But how did Icarus get away with murdering someone?” asked Yousef. “I mean, I know he was the Great Stallion and all, but—”

  “And how can a unicorn kill when its horn is supposed to heal?” asked Yasmine.

  The foals broke into anxious mumbles.

  Samuel waited until his students quieted down, then continued. “Well, Yasmine, in answer to your question, when a unicorn is angry, its horn becomes a weapon. Rage blocks out its healing powers, and it becomes just like the horn of any other animal. And Yousef, you want to know how he got away with it? Because he terrorized them with an imaginary being named Jaresh whom he claimed could take away their powers if they didn't obey Icarus.”

  “But why didn't anyone do something about it?” asked Gabrielle.

  “Someone did—Ulysees. He convinced a small herd to come back to Unicorn Falls with him—far from Icarus. And Icarus met his bitter end when he was swept away by the great flood, never to make the afterlife. Ulysees saw it all before he was brought back from the dead by the power of Polaris' horn.”

 
The foals remained quiet in thought until Malcolm spoke. “But wouldn't it just make sense to kill Icarus?”

  Samuel eyed him with patience, then answered. “It's never right to kill anyone, Malcolm. Not Danae, not Icarus. Not anybody.”

  “But what if Danae weakened the herd? I mean, sure Icarus was a liar and all, but sometimes it's better to lie to keep the herd strong than to be truthful and put them at risk.”

  Samuel gave an exasperated sigh. “We all lie sometimes, Malcolm. We have to just to get along, but there's a difference between a small untruth used to spare someone's feelings, and an outright lie for the purpose of serving oneself—especially when it leads to murder.” He pressed his lips together, then let out a huff. “It's never right to kill for any reason because we all have a purpose, and everyone has a right to fulfill their destiny, even if it's something small like finding a new kind of flower, making foals laugh, comforting someone sad, whatever.”

  Malcolm's sullen expression dissolved, and when Petra gave her usual eye roll, he ignored her.

  “Now, today, we're going to learn something else new that I can't teach you,” said Samuel. “There's only one unicorn who can do this, and it's—you guessed it—Damien.” He nodded to his son. “He’s the only one who can fly higher than any other unicorn that's ever lived. Even higher than Ulysees.”

  Damien felt himself grow warm.

  “Go ahead,” said Samuel.

  Damien’s eyes swept over his classmates, noting that Yousef and Jeremy's faces had lit up. It gave him courage, so he stepped forward and began his explanation. “Well, I'm not too sure how I did it the first time, and you’ve all seen me do it, but I think I was trying a little too hard and went too high.”

  The fillies giggled.

  “What I do is, I wait until I feel the wind and then leap upwards, yet forward at the same time. And if I do it just right, the wind will pick me up from underneath pushing me higher.”

  “You mean like this?” asked Yousef, thrusting himself forward and landing on his chest.

  “Well, not quite.” Damien turned his head to hide a smile. “You have to listen to the wind. There's a certain sound, and when you hear it, you jump at that exact moment. Like this.” He waited, listening for the acceleration of the wind, and then leapt high into the air.

  The unicorns gasped at the height he attained.

  Yousef tried it again, this time focusing on the wind. He waited several breaths, then leapt a little higher than before.

  “That's good,” said Damien. “Now keep practicing. Jeremy, you try next.”

  Jeremy placed himself in position and jumped. After a few more tries, his leaps were higher too.

  Simon was next, but after several attempts, nothing had changed.

  “Don't give up, Simon,” said Damien. You'll get it eventually. Sometimes things just take a little longer.”

  Turning to Malcolm, Damien forced himself to meet his foe's eyes. “Do you want to give it a try?”

  Malcolm pressed his lips together for a moment, and then gave a reluctant, “All right.”

  The red colt began his explanation again, and Malcolm tried with positive results. “Pretty good, Malcolm. Now keep practicing.”

  Malcolm offered a grudging smile. “Thanks.”

  The fillies seemed to catch on the quickest. Even Petra mastered the skill to an appropriate level despite her lack of enthusiasm. But it was Chrissandra who gained the most momentum.

  “I think it's because you're the lightest of them all,” Damien said, grinning. “You've all made great progress, but you have to admit, the fillies did a little better.”

  The girls let out triumphant whinnies while the colts neighed their indignation, more determined than ever.

  “But we'll keep practicing so you'll all be able to fly as high as possible.” But in the proceeding days, it was apparent none of them would ever be able to equal Damien's prowess, not even Chrissandra.

  Damien felt uneasy.

  Chapter 16

  The Moving

  Corabelle raced through the gate and into the cottage, her lungs burning, her damp hair clinging to her forehead. “Mama,” she barely managed to say between ragged breaths. “Come quick! It's Aunt Agatha. She's really sick.”

  “Aunt Agatha?” Her mother rose to her feet.

  “Yes. We need to bring her here to take care of her.”

  Mama threw a glance at the supper she'd just laid on the table. Making a hasty decision, she blew out the candle, grabbed her cloak, and slammed the door behind her. Disappearing around the side of the cottage, she said, “Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.” When she re-emerged, she pushed a wheelbarrow. It swivelled and toppled to one side, taking her down with it.

  “Mama,” said Corabelle, helping her up.

  Her mother dusted herself off. “That was stupid. Let's try this another way. You take one side, and I'll take the other.”

  Corabelle took her place next to her mother, each of them grasping a handle. Together they pushed the wheelbarrow past the village houses and along the trail, over bumps, and through ruts, until they arrived at Aunt Agatha's cottage.

  When they rushed through the door, they found the old woman tangled in her blanket as though she'd been writhing in pain.

  “Quick, let's get her into the wheelbarrow,” said Corabelle.

  “Wait. Let me prepare it first,” said Mama. She gathered two ends of Aunt Agatha's blanket and folded it over and over until it fit in the wooden trough.

  Each grabbing an arm, they lifted her onto the makeshift gurney and strapped her in using twine.

  “Let's go,” Mama said.

  “Not yet.” Corabelle ran to the cupboard and leafed through the bottles for the dried berries and herbs she knew would help her aunt. She placed them in the basket and pulled the strap over her shoulder.

  “You seem to know what you're doing,” said Mama.

  “I've learned a few things. Now let's go,” Corabelle replied, taking control.

  Together, mother and daughter pushed their precious cargo through the narrow path, grunting and groaning, the half-moon barely lighting their way. It was slow going driving the anything-but-thin woman.

  When they saw their cottage from afar, light flickered from within, and the door was ajar. They exchanged wary glances.

  “I’m certain I blew out the candle and closed the door before we left,” whispered Mama.

  “You did,” said Corabelle in an equally hushed voice. “I saw you.”

  Careful to remain quiet, they glided the wheelbarrow to the entrance. Then Corabelle slid through the open door. Something solid blocked her way. It was Uncle Rupert.

  “What have we here?” he snarled.

  Corabelle let out a gasp, then shot a glance back at her mother.

  Mama straightened herself up. “Get out of our way, Rupert. Aunt Agatha's sick.”

  “Yeah, so? She's a witch. The sooner she passes on, the better. It’ll save us the trouble of burning her at the stake.”

  Corabelle's eyes grew wide with horror at his words. “Uncle Rupert!”

  “And you too, you little witchling. I saw the painting of the unicorn on the wall. You’ve been in contact with the devil, haven’t you?”

  Mama took a run at Uncle Rupert, shoving his shoulders with her hands. “Get out of our way!”

  “No.” Uncle Rupert held his position. “Agatha’s responsible for my son's death.”

  “She is not. The Brain Fever was. Now move!”

  “No.” Rupert stood firm, his eyes blazing.

  “Rupert, if you don't move…” The corners of her mouth twitched. “I'll order my daughter to place a curse on you.”

  Corabelle reeled in surprise, then caught the hint of smile that threatened to expose the small lie. She joined in the ruse. “Yes, I'll curse you with the…Black Murglewumps.”

  Uncle Rupert's eyes grew enormous. “The what?”

  “The Black Murglewumps.” Corabelle dug her hands into her hips a
nd made her eyes bulge.

  Uncle Rupert turned white. Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead, and his breath came in gulps. He turned and fled into the dark of the night.

  “The Black Murglewumps?” Mama asked as she watched him disappear.

  “It was the first thing that came to my head.” Corabelle shrugged.

  They melted into laughter until they heard Aunt Agatha moan.

  “Quick, let's get her to bed,” said Mama.

  Corabelle moved to Aunt Agatha's head and slipped her hands under her shoulders, pushing her up. The girl’s arms trembled with the weight. “Quick, grab her legs.”

  Mama placed her hands under Aunt Agatha's knees. Together they carried in the old woman and laid her on the bed.

  Chapter 17

  The Duel

  Damien eyed the colts huddled together in a tight group. They were watching him from the corner of their eyes, yet never making visual contact with him. They would never totally accept him, especially now that it was apparent they couldn’t equal Damien’s abilities. But the fillies loved him as much as ever and played with him every day.

  The herd too had accepted him, at least for the time being, but Damien still heard whispers ripple through the mares, no doubt generated by Isabelle. He waited, knowing Seamus would soon make his move. Then one day, he did. Seamus accosted Samuel, eyes blazing, a flustered Isaac trailing close behind.

  “So, Samuel,” Seamus said. “What's this I hear your son's teaching the foals these days?”

  Heads bobbed up from grazing, and ears pricked forward.

  Samuel made a slow turn and faced his enemy. “Yes, he's teaching all of us. He's the only unicorn in existence who's ever flown as high as he does…with the exception of Ulysees, not to mention he invented hovering.”

  Seamus let out a sinister chuckle. “Then I guess that means you're not a very effective teacher.” His lip curled up in disdain.

  “Not so far, but give me time and—”

  “And what?” Seamus raised a scornful brow. “It's not time they need; it's discipline. You've got to push them harder, threaten them with punishment. That's how you get results.”