The Revenge Page 8

  Samuel clucked his tongue. “Discouraging the foals won't help them learn. They need confidence and encouragement.”

  “But that won't get them to try harder.”

  “Seamus, we both know that you can't teach them the new skills either. They've never been done before, so I suggest you butt out.” He turned to leave.

  “You think you're better than me?” Seamus called out after him.

  Samuel stopped in his tracks, then turned and faced him. “The herd already chose me.”

  Seamus narrowed his eyes. “Only because they didn’t know who the better stallion was. Why don’t we put this to rest once and for all with a duel?”

  Samuel let out an exasperated huff. “What sort of duel?”

  “We'll have a competition, see who's the strongest and the fastest. From there, the herd can make an honest assessment of who’s superior.” Seamus' lips tipped up in a wicked smile.

  “All right, then. If that's what it takes, let's do it. When?”

  “After tomorrow, at sunrise…the ridge next to the canyon.”

  Samuel frowned. “But that's too close to the humans.”

  Seamus raised a mocking brow. “Am I to understand you're scared, then?”

  Samuel shook his head impatiently. “No, I'm just not stupid. Do you want to risk being seen?”

  “I'm not afraid of a little old human.”

  Damien remembered the tale passed down from his grandfather, how he had wandered close to the human habitation years before and, quite by accident, encountered one of the strange creatures. He'd told the tale of meeting a boy who'd been attacked by a lion, the largest one he'd ever seen. At first, he'd been terrified of the small ape-like being, but when he saw the wound inflicted on the helpless child, he took pity and touched the boy with his horn, enough to restore him, then disappeared. Upon hearing the news that the humans were close by, the unicorns fled further into the forest and remained hidden until enough time had elapsed that they felt they'd been forgotten. Damien knew from the story of Ulysees that not all humans were untrustworthy and filled with greed. After all, hadn't it been Ali who'd saved Ulysees and his friends after the glacier let loose the swelling waters of the sea that devoured the land? But that was then; this was now.

  “All right, then,” Samuel said. “But only on the condition we remain a safe distance from the settlement.”

  Seamus' brows flickered ever so slightly. “Agreed.”

  “And that the rest of the herd stays here except for Isaac, Malcolm, and Damien who'll act as witnesses. The fewer unicorns present, the smaller the risk of being discovered.”

  Seamus' mouth twitched. “Then it shall be. We leave tomorrow.”

  ***

  They rose at dawn and began the journey that would take them far away to the deep chasm in the earth, a gorge so abysmal one could only catch a glimpse of the river that flowed through it from above.

  It was cloudy and damp that morning as they trudged through the woods along the old deer trail that took them from the safety of their home amidst the trees. Damien remembered the journey he'd undertaken with his parents. Excitement had filled him, and he'd stared at everything in wonderment. Oh, how he'd looked forward to meeting the other foals. Little did the colt know how disappointed he'd be. He wished beyond hope that somehow this duel would be the end of Seamus and Isabelle's blight.

  After they'd travelled a fair time, the clouds let down a cold drizzle. Damien shivered. He searched the sky for signs of the warm sun, but only grey clouds met his gaze. The rain continued for the rest of the day. Damien shook his coat repeatedly, but it wouldn't dry.

  They slept in separate camps, that night, sheltered beneath the trees—Damien and Samuel under one tree, Seamus and Malcolm under another, with Isaac in between. As night fell, thunder rolled in, and lightning lit up the sky. Damien’s heart raced. He'd heard tales about how a bolt could strike a tree, burning it until only cinders remained. Huddling closer to Samuel, he watched the explosive lights until he fell asleep.

  When morning came, the rain had ceased, but a slippery layer of mud covered the ground. The unicorns travelled the rest of the way to the cliff with great care not to slide on the wet rocks. When they got to the canyon, Damien let out a low rumble. How stunning it was, its red stone glowing in the morning light, though it was still shrouded in mist.

  “All right,” Seamus said. “Let's get on with the duel.”

  Samuel's eyes narrowed. “Fair enough.”

  “Ah…oh-oh, yes…” Isaac mumbled having missed his cue. “We'll start by shadow-walking. This mud is the perfect place for the competition. You'll both start at the edge of this stone, and you'll walk all the way to that boulder. Remember, this is not a race. It's a matching of skills.”

  The two stallions exchanged curt nods, then prepared themselves.

  “Ready, set, go!” Isaac shouted, lowering his horn on the last word.

  Damien's heart thudded as he watched the two stallions pick their way through the mire. When they reached the other side, neither competitor had left any tell-tale marks.

  “Well, now, I guess I have to declare that a tie,” said Isaac, looking relieved. “Let's try camouflaging now. On the count of three, you will both camouflage, appearing to be a bush. Ready, set, begin.”

  Damien held his breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malcolm tense.

  At precisely the same moment, the two stallions melted into the landscape, completely invisible.

  When enough time had passed, Isaac said, “And end.”

  The two stallions reappeared.

  “Hmm, I'd say you've both been taught well. There only remains one skill. You'll begin in the same spot as you did the shadow-walk, only this time, you'll catch the wind and land as near that boulder as possible. Are you ready?”

  The stallions nodded.

  “One, two, three, go!” bellowed Isaac.

  The two leapt into the air, but Samuel flew much higher, executing a perfect landing.

  Damien let out a whoop, but Malcolm's eyes darkened.

  “Oh, my, Samuel. You have improved,” said Isaac, his eyes lit up with astonishment. “That's utterly amazing. And you say Damien has been teaching this to the foals?” He turned and faced the colt. “Well done, young fellow.”

  Damien gave a sheepish smile.

  “I'm afraid I must declare Samuel the winner. And say, could you please teach me how to do that too?”

  “If you'd like,” said Samuel. They sauntered away together.

  Seamus' eyes blazed with jealousy as Samuel began imparting the new skill to the Great Stallion. Glancing over at Malcolm, whose head hung in disappointment, he gritted his teeth anew with determination. “Wait,” he called out. “There's one more skill. One that's far less complicated.”

  Samuel and Isaac stopped the lesson. “And what might that be?” asked Isaac.

  “Galloping. Plain old galloping. Let's see who really runs the fastest. No tricks—just speed.”

  Samuel let out an impatient huff. “All right, then, but this is the last challenge.”

  Seamus looked smug. “Good. How about if we do it over there, close to the edge where there are fewer obstacles?”

  Samuel eyed the course Seamus indicated. “That's not very safe,” he said. “You could get hurt.”

  “Are you trying to tell me you're frightened?” asked Seamus with a deceptive grin.

  Samuel paused a moment, then met the stallion's gaze. “Okay, then. Just to prove I'm not scared.”

  Chapter 18

  The Mob

  Corabelle returned to Aunt Agatha's cottage the next day, desperate to find the cure for the aunt who had grown so dear to her. She cleaned out the old lady's shelves of all medicines in the hope that one of them might be the very remedy she needed. Then she packed them up and took them home.

  Each time Aunt Agatha awoke, Corabelle questioned her, seeking answers, but her aunt merely stared into nothingness, her eyes glazed, before drifting back to
sleep.

  The townsfolk passed by each day, throwing surreptitious glances at the house, whispering together before scurrying away. Corabelle's angst mounted. She knew Uncle Rupert was behind it all and that it was only a matter of time before he returned with a posse, especially now that he’d seen her painting of the unicorn. Then, one day, they heard a sharp rap at the door.

  Corabelle and Mama gave simultaneous gasps. Exchanging wide-eyed glances, they froze.

  A second rap came—explosive.

  “Open up!” shouted Uncle Rupert. “I know you're in there. Now hand her over!”

  Angry voices rumbled in the background.

  “Mama, what'll we do?” Corabelle's desperate gaze swept the room.

  “I don't know,” her mother replied.

  “How about if we push the chest of drawers against the door.”

  A crease deepened on Mama's forehead. “No, they're stronger than us. They'll just move it out of the way.” Raising her voice, she shouted, “You can't have her!”

  Corabelle scarcely breathed as she waited for her uncle's response.

  “She's a witch!” cried Uncle Rupert, his voice rising above the crowd. “Hand her over!”

  “No, she's not. She's an old woman who has medicinal knowledge.”

  “Medicinal, my eye. It's witchcraft. Hand her over so we can remove the curse from this town.”

  “What curse?” Mama asked sarcastically.

  “The curse that killed my son…your nephew.”

  Mama's eyes burned with rage. She dug her hands into her hips, then flung the door open. “Your son died of Brain Fever just like all the others.”

  “No. It was Agatha's doing. And she'll burn at the stake for it!” he shouted.

  With those words, the posse began chanting. “It's her fate to burn at the stake! It's her fate to burn at the stake!” Their words grew louder with each repetition.

  Mama swept out her arms. “Stop it, all of you! Are you actually letting my brother lead you like this? My brother? You don't remember what he was like as a child? How he was always in trouble? And do you not remember how Agatha saw you through colds and fevers over the years?”

  “No, it was black magic.” Uncle Rupert shot back. “She signed a pact with the devil.”

  “She did not.” Corabelle moved from behind the door to her mother's side. “She knows what plants cure what. Like willow bark; everyone knows willow bark tea takes away pain, right?”

  A woman nodded. “She's right. I used it on my Sarah in the winter.”

  The harsh words of the chant began to soften.

  Corabelle continued. “And you all know that tamarind in small portions takes away a fever.”

  “It's true,” said a man. “Me wife used it on me when I was burnin' up one Christmas.”

  “She knows them all, and she's been teaching me,” said Corabelle, “so I can help you someday.”

  The chanting faded altogether, further threats caught in throats.

  Then a woman's voice rose from the mob. Corabelle recognized it—Mia's mother. “Then how did you know about the Brain Fever—the one that took my husband away? And how did you know he'd die?” She pointed an accusing finger at Corabelle. “You condemned him.”

  “I did not!” Corabelle shouted. “I have second sight, that's all. I don't know how or why. I just know things before they happen.”

  “It's because you conspired with Satan and signed away your soul!” Uncle Rupert growled.

  “In exchange for what?” Mama said, incredulous. “Poverty? Widowhood? Did you all forget my husband disappeared never to be seen again?”

  The mob paused, their gaze shifting between Rupert and Mama.

  “But there's the painting.” Uncle Rupert's voice rose in desperation. “Come and see it. She's seen the devil's own creature.”

  The crowd pushed past Mama into the house to where the painting adorned the wall.

  “It’s true, then,” said a woman.

  “No, it’s not,” said Corabelle. “I only dreamt about it.”

  “Besides, it's just an animal,” said Mama, “although a rare one. And doesn't the devil have two horns while a unicorn has but one? And doesn't the legend state the creature healed the lost boy?”

  The members of the mob exchanged uncertain glances.

  “And that the boy entered religious life as a result?”

  “Because he feared the demon,” retorted Uncle Rupert.

  “No, because it changed him. It taught him to see the light, the goodness, and the love. That's why. And if you don't believe me, then go fetch Father Patrick.” Mama glanced at the steeple in the distance. “Let him decide. This is a matter for the church, not a lynch-mob.”

  The people stood, silent.

  Then one of the men answered. “There’ll be no needin’ for that. There’s nothin’ wrong here. Just a girl, her mother, and a sick old lady. We’ll be leavin’ you now.”

  The townsfolk began to trickle away, their faces becalmed.

  “Wait. You know I'm right.” Uncle Rupert sputtered. “And besides, Corabelle threatened me with the Black Murglewumps.”

  “The Black Murglewumps?” asked one of the men. He let out a snicker.

  “Yes, the Black Murglewumps.”

  Several giggles erupted from the mob, changing to mocking laughter.

  “Rupert, just go to bed, will ya?” said a woman. “You're always causing trouble.”

  “Yeah, we're tired of all your complaining,” said another.

  “No, wait…” Uncle Rupert trailed after them.

  “The Black Murglewumps,” said a woman, still laughing as she walked away.

  When they'd gone, Corabelle let out a sigh of relief. “Phew. That was close.”

  “Agreed,” said Mama. “We've won…for now.”

  Chapter 19

  The Turning Point

  Samuel and Seamus trudged through the mud until they reached the bare rock near the edge of the cliff. Picking his way gingerly, Samuel navigated the slippery stones. “This isn't very safe, Seamus. Neither for you, nor me,” he said.

  Seamus raised his eyebrows, his smile mocking. “Then you give up?”

  Samuel's gaze shifted from Seamus to Isaac. He gave his head a stern shake. “No, but I think it'd be much wiser if we chose a safer route.”

  “I-I agree,” said Isaac. “L-let's do it over there.” He pointed his horn to a stretch of land that curved along the cliff's edge.

  Damien eyed the route. “But Father, it has dips,” he said.

  “The colt's right,” said Isaac. “It'll be difficult going—especially after the rain.”

  “But that's the whole point,” said Seamus, the corner of his mouth twitching. “It'll decide once and for all who has the most skill on land. Tell you what, I'll even take the side closest to the cliff.”

  Samuel glanced at Isaac, doubtful.

  The Great Stallion looked from one to the other, undecided.

  “All right,” Samuel finally said.

  The two stallions lined up close to the canyon's edge, Seamus taking the spot closest to the rim of the precipice. On Isaac's count, they burst into a gallop.

  Damien watched with uneasiness as his father easily took the lead breaking ahead of Seamus. Something's not right. Seamus is holding back.

  They galloped several lengths, Seamus maintaining the same distance behind Samuel. Then, as the wall of the canyon curved, Seamus slipped over to the inside of the cliff's edge.

  “Father, watch out!” Damien shouted, the reality of Seamus’ plot slamming him. “Quick, Isaac. Stop them!”

  But Isaac was frozen, his mouth hanging.

  Rounding the U-shape of the cliff, Seamus cut the curve and lunged at Samuel, his side ramming the stallion.

  “Father!” cried Damien.

  Samuel's hooves slipped on the wet stone. He clambered, fighting to hold his ground. For an instant, he righted himself, but not quick enough. Seamus rammed him again. His hooves skating on the slippe
ry stone, Samuel grappled, and then, with a desperate neigh, plummeted headlong into the canyon.

  “Father.” Damien's weak whinny rang in the air, a thin cry of helplessness. He caught the wind, flew to where his father had disappeared, and watched in horror as the stallion landed on the rocks below. Father, get up!

  But his body lay still.

  Damien took in an agonized breath. Then something hard shoved him from behind, catapulting him over the edge. Damien's body twisted and turned as he struggled to regain his balance.

  A ragged scream ripped the air—Isaac’s, then malicious laughter—Seamus’.

  The bottom of the canyon rose up fast. Damien fought for his life, straightening out just in time for the whistling canyon wind to carry him to a rocky ledge halfway down the jagged chasm. Trembling, he threw a stunned glance back to where Seamus stood on the cliff's edge before he leapt away once again. Was that disappointment he saw? Damien aimed for the next outcrop of stone and landed. He continued onward, catching gusts until he stood beside the crumpled body of his sire.

  Anguish threatened to overwhelm him until a thought gave him hope. My horn. It's small, but I might be able to heal him if he's still alive. He lowered his head and dug the tip of his nub into his father's twisted leg and held it there, but his sire remained immobile.

  Maybe I need to rub his entire back.

  His neck bent at a sharp angle, Damien swept his small horn from one end of Samuel's spine to his tail, focusing with all his might, but still, his father lay motionless.

  “Father, wake up. Please,” he whimpered. “Father.”

  Realization swept through Damien, and he broke into uncontrollable sobs. Was his whole life meant to be a misery just because he was red?

  Anguished screams broke his thoughts as they sounded from the rim of the cliff—a colt's voice. Malcolm. Catching his breath for a moment, Damien searched the edge of the precipice, his tear-filled eyes straining. Silhouettes of two stallions met his gaze, the larger one battering the smaller of the two with his hooves, shoving him to the ground. It was Seamus and Isaac.