The Revenge Page 9

  Isaac struggled to rise, only to be knocked down again.

  “Father, don't!” Malcolm screamed. “Unicorns don't kill. Please stop.”

  Seamus ignored him and lunged forward, digging his teeth into Isaac's neck. Isaac neighed in torment. Then Seamus pushed the older stallion in small increments to the edge of the cliff.

  “Father, no!” shouted Malcolm, sobbing. “Please, don’t.”

  By a small miracle, Malcolm’s cries distracted Seamus long enough for Isaac to scramble away from the cliff's edge. Their breath heaving, the stallions regarded one another—a faceoff.

  “Malcolm's right,” Isaac barely wheezed. “Unicorns don't kill each other.”

  Steam rose from Seamus' flared nostrils. He let out a low growl, then said, “All right, then. I'll let you go on one condition.”

  “Anything.” Isaac's voice trembled.

  “You declare me as Great Stallion to the herd and tell them I won the duel fair and square. Tell them Samuel slipped and fell of his own accord.”

  “I can't do that.” Isaac gave his head an earnest shake. “That's lying.”

  “Then suffer the consequence.” Seamus bolted toward the other stallion.

  “No, Father!” cried Malcolm, his sobs hysterical. “I like Isaac.”

  “I’ll do it,” Isaac pleaded, his voice frantic. “You'll be Great Stallion. Just let me live.”

  Seamus, seemingly satisfied, let out an amused huff. “And you won't tell a soul what happened here today?”

  “I promise, I won't.” Isaac grovelled.

  “Because if you do, I'll finish the job I began today. And that’s a promise. Now follow me and act as though an accident has happened. Understood?”

  Isaac nodded.

  Seamus turned back up the trail that led home. Isaac and Malcolm followed, the colt's frantic hiccoughs filling the air.

  Home, thought Damien. Mother. But what home? Father's gone.

  “Poor Malcolm,” Damien whispered, understanding for the first time what the colt's life must be like being the foal of such a cruel stallion.

  ***

  Damien nestled close to his father's body through the night, trembling, uncertain what to do. He wondered how Mother had taken the news. He was certain she was beside herself with grief. Did she think Damien had died too? He longed to ease her pain, but knew that if he returned, he’d be in danger. And what about Chrissandra? Would the herd shun her again now that Father was gone?

  The sound of footsteps on hard ground and a branch snapping in the woods startled him. Damien backed away and slipped into the shadows, watching.

  An odd-shaped face peered out from the leaves. What kind of an animal is this? After looking right and left, it moved into the clearing. Damien eyed it with fascination. It walked upright on two legs, its front legs dangling from its shoulders. And parts of it were hairless, its skin pale though hair sprouted about its nose and mouth. Could this possibly be what the unicorns called a human? Damien pushed himself farther back into the shadows. It would never do to be found by a human. He watched and waited.

  The man took a few more steps, then stopped, his forehead wrinkled.

  Oh, no! He's seen Father!

  Moving closer to Samuel’s body, the human stared in awe at the mutilated form. He tapped it with his foot.

  Leave him be!

  Then he leaned down, examining Samuel from each side until he came to the ivory horn. His eyes grew, and his chin dropped as he took in a quick breath of air. Stretching out his arm, he ran his fingers along the edge of the horn, gasped as though he’d been burned, then hurried back up the trail and into the woods on the other side of the canyon.

  Damien's heart pounded. A human had found Samuel's body. That meant it wouldn't be long before there were more. He had to go back and warn the others before it was too late. But more importantly, he had to find Mother to tell her the truth of what had happened on the cliff.

  Chapter 20

  The Discovery

  The sun was dissolving into oranges and pinks when Gideon burst into the village. “It's a miracle!” he shouted.

  The townsfolk poured from their homes into the street, hurrying to the square where the hunter had climbed onto the fountain to shout his exuberant message to the world.

  “They exist!”

  Hearing his calls, Corabelle raced from Aunt Agatha's side and out the door, craning her neck to see what was going on.

  “What happened?” The question swept over the crowd, repeated.

  Gideon gasped for air, then spoke. “I found one of the creatures. They exist.”

  “What creatures?” asked Father Patrick, pushing his way through the throng.

  Gideon's chest heaved, his words barely decipherable. “Like the one the child painted on her wall. Like what the boy saw so long ago.”

  Corabelle stifled a gasp.

  The crowd mumbled in astonishment.

  “It's the demon beast!” shouted Uncle Rupert. “See? Did I not tell you? Agatha has made a pact with the devil.”

  The mumbling grew more frantic at his words.

  “Calm down!” Father Patrick threw up his hands, quieting them. “There's no reason to assume it's any sort of demon.” He turned to Gideon. “Now tell me where you saw this creature.”

  Gideon sat down and steadied his breathing while the townsfolk awaited his words, eyes wide with anticipation. “In the canyon,” he said between wheezes. “It fell off the cliff and died down below near the bridge.”

  “What did it look like?” asked Father Patrick.

  “Just like the girl's painting. White…with a spiral horn growing from its forehead. It was beautiful, but…”

  Rupert clasped his hands together, his eyes crazed with obsession. “See? I told you. It was only a matter of time.”

  A wave of panicked cries erupted from the villagers.

  Father Patrick flashed a disapproving look at Rupert before raising his hand once more. “Nonsense. I say we go as a group and bring back this deceased unicorn Gideon has found so we can study it.”

  The men's voices growled and grumbled as they discussed the issue. After coming to an agreement, they gathered their things, strapped on bows and quivers, and packed small dinners with enough water to get them to the canyon and back.

  Corabelle searched for her mother. “Mama, I have to follow them,” she said when she’d found her.

  “But you might be seen.”

  “Don’t worry, Mama. I've been sneaking in and out of the woods for a long, long time. It's no different tonight than any other day.”

  Temporary fear shone in her mother's eyes. Then, her tense expression melted to quiet resolve. “Go, then.”

  As the men left, Corabelle gauged their route, then slipped into the woods on an alternate path, the secret deer trail she knew would take her there ahead of the others. She ran on near-silent feet, the moonlight illuminating her way. When the canyon came into view, she descended the trail and hid close to where she knew the men would emerge. Before long, she heard their voices.

  “See? There. Down at the bottom,” said Gideon, pointing a finger.

  “That white thing?” asked Father Patrick.

  “Yes.”

  Corabelle ducked down lower, peering through waxy leaves, listening.

  “Let's go,” said Father Patrick.

  The men picked their way down the steep trail to the shale that lined the banks of the river. They crossed the rushing waters via the stone bridge their ancestors had built. When they reached the other side and stood before the creature, they stared in awe.

  “So it's true,” said Father Patrick, his voice reverent. “The legend—what the boy claimed he saw.”

  “But Father,” Uncle Rupert said. “It could be a sign of Satan. A creature from the underworld.”

  The priest shot Rupert an exasperated look. “How can that be? Everyone knows the boy changed for the better, not the worse. Remember, he entered the religious life as a result of his visi
on. There's no evil in that.”

  “Yes, but…” Rupert's cheeks burned with humiliation at the reprimand.

  Father Patrick addressed the men. “I believe something astonishing has happened today. A unicorn was delivered unto us, as well as the truth about the boy so many years ago. Let us carry this fine creature to the village for all to see and rejoice.”

  The men busied themselves, cutting two long poles. When they’d found branches strong enough to support the weight of such an animal, they tied the unicorn's hooves and hoisted it upside down. They set off up the trail, their steps laboured and their pace slow. The priest led the way, his lantern lighting the path before them.

  Corabelle waited until the men had disappeared, then started back. When she neared the village, a bright light glowed in the distance.

  “A bonfire,” she said aloud. “That means the women and children stayed up waiting for the men to return.” Her steps quickened until she reached the edge of the woods. Then she slipped into the crowd unnoticed.

  When the men arrived, the townsfolk called out in disbelief at the sight of the unicorn. Women cried tears of joy while children stared, their eyes wide and their mouths forming O’s.

  Corabelle stole away from the crowd, unseen, to retrieve Mama. She found her mending clothes by candlelight. “Come quickly! They've brought the unicorn.”

  “They found it? Oh, my Lord,” she said, casting a glance at Aunt Agatha. “This could be exactly what we need. Quick, go get the wheelbarrow.”

  Corabelle raced to the side of the cottage and rolled out the makeshift gurney. When it stood outside the door, Mama placed folded blankets inside to make a comfortable bed. Together, they lifted Aunt Agatha and laid her gently on the tray, then, as inconspicuously as possible, wheeled her to the edge of the crowd.

  Upon seeing them, Rupert blocked their way. Several others joined him, creating a human barrier.

  “Please, Father Patrick,” called Mama. “If I could only let Aunt Agatha touch its horn, I'm sure her health would be restored.”

  “No!” shouted Rupert. “It's best she dies. Remember, it was she who brought the Brain Fever to us—her and that witch child.” He pointed an accusing finger at Corabelle.

  Corabelle reeled.

  Members of the village joined him, throwing cruel remarks.

  “Yes, she foresaw its coming,” said Mia’s mother. “That’s why she drew it on the wall.”

  “It’s true, then,” shouted another. “It must be witchcraft.”

  The voices of the villagers grew louder and angrier until a formidable voice rose above the others. “Witch child? Surely, you don't believe that.”

  The townspeople hushed and bowed low to the man who had entered the square.

  It was the baron, followed by his entourage.

  “My Lord,” said Father Patrick.

  “What is the meaning of this gathering?” the baron asked.

  Father Patrick rose. “This man, Rupert, accuses this sick woman of witchery because she has knowledge of herbs that cure people.”

  The baron shot a wry look at Uncle Rupert, then furrowed his brow. “But Agatha healed my mother of the coughing sickness, and I didn't see any black magic—just herbs.”

  “But the child,” insisted Uncle Rupert. “She even admits she knows things long before they happen.”

  Again, the baron's forehead wrinkled. “And who's to say it's not knowledge carried down from generation to generation?”

  “But…”

  “I have no patience with superstition,” said the baron, waving Rupert away as though he were a pesky fly. “This woman has been healing the town as long as I can remember. She's an asset to our village.”

  “Yes, but…” Rupert grew desperate.

  The baron bent on one knee. “Come forward, child,” he said. “Bring your aunt. Let's see if the horn does heal. Then, for sure we'll know the truth.”

  The crowd parted grudgingly, allowing Corabelle and Mama to push the wheelbarrow forward until they stood beside the creature.

  Corabelle bent down and whispered into the old woman's ear. “Aunt Agatha, I'm going to place your hand on the horn of the unicorn. It might hurt, but I don't think so.”

  The old woman let out a soft moan.

  Taking hold of her hand, Corabelle guided her fingers to the animal's head and slid them over the smooth spirals.

  The crowd waited, breath held.

  After a minute, Rupert smiled with satisfaction. “You see? Nothing happened.”

  “No, wait.” The priest halted Rupert with a firm hand held in mid-air.

  Aunt Agatha mumbled in her sleep, incoherent. Then her eyes shot open, and she abruptly sat up, drawing in a sharp breath. She looked around as though dumbfounded, and then asked, “Where am I?”

  “You're here, in the village,” Corabelle said. “You've been terribly sick, and now you're well because you touched the horn of a unicorn.”

  “What unicorn?” Her chin dropped when she saw the beast lying before her. “But where did it come from?”

  Gideon stepped forward and recounted the story of how he'd found the creature while Aunt Agatha listened, her eyes wide with fascination.

  “I always knew they existed and that the legend was true.” She bent down to stroke the unicorn. “So silky.” She clucked her tongue. “Such a shame it had to die.”

  Father Patrick turned to the crowd, raising his arms. “I declare this a miracle! The unicorn's horn has cured Agatha.”

  “It’s a miracle!” The words reverberated through the crowd.

  The townspeople celebrated the victory long into the night, dancing and merrymaking except for Uncle Rupert. Corabelle saw him push his way through the crowd and disappear into the dark on angry, vengeful steps.

  Chapter 21

  The Confrontation

  It was dusk when Damien approached the herd and listened to the forlorn whinnies and neighs from afar—equine voices in despair. Slipping into camouflage, he studied the scene before making his appearance. Seamus and Isabelle stood on the knoll, and judging from their expressions of disgust, he knew the stallion and his mate weren't pleased that the herd mourned the passing of Samuel with such bitter tears.

  Not quite what you thought would happen, eh? Wait until I tell them what you really did.

  Damien released his camouflage and leapt, landing before Seamus.

  Seamus recoiled in horror, but made a quick recovery. “Ah, here you are. We were worried we'd lost you. You didn't follow us out when it was time.”

  Anger seethed through Damien. Every muscle in his body tensed with hatred. “You killed my father,” he said through gritted teeth.

  The unicorns fell silent at his words.

  Seamus' eyes darted back and forth to the herd. “You know that's not true,” he said his voice sickly sweet as though speaking to a very young colt. “He slipped off the edge of the cliff. You remember the storm.” He turned and addressed the others, his voice raised. “A storm like no other that created dangerous conditions. I even offered to take the spot next to the cliff, yet Samuel still fell in because he wasn't…skilled enough.”

  “That’s not true,” said Damien, his voice breaking. “You killed him! I saw it with my own eyes. You shoved him over the edge.”

  Damien turned and faced Malcolm. “Tell him, Malcolm. You saw it all.”

  Malcolm stood trembling, then answered in a small voice, “No. He slipped and fell.” A small hiccough escaped his throat.

  Seamus cast a disapproving glance at his offspring. “Don’t mind him. The colt was rather fond of Samuel. And I know I'm a strict teacher, but a murderer? Honestly, Damien.”

  “Ask Isaac!” Damien insisted, looking for the stallion. “He saw it all too.”

  Isaac stood at the edge of the crowd wearing a haunted expression. His coat had lost its blood stains, his wounds healed no doubt by the touch of Seamus' horn prior to reaching the herd.

  “Isaac, tell them what happened,” Damien said,
swallowing down a lump in his throat.

  Isaac's lips trembled for a moment, his spirit obviously broken.

  “Tell them!” repeated Damien, louder this time.

  Isaac's voice quivered when he answered in a defeated tone, “It’s like what Malcolm said. He slipped and fell over the edge.”

  “That's not true!” shouted Damien. “Where's Mother?”

  The mares burst into a fresh batch of wailing.

  Shock ran down Damien's spine. “Mother?” he called.

  The mares cried harder than ever, all except Isabelle who rolled her eyes with impatience.

  Reality descended on Damien. “You've done something to her, haven't you?” He shot an outraged glare at Isabelle. “Where is she?”

  Isabelle shook her mane with nonchalance. “She's been…disposed of.”

  “What?” cried Damien. “You killed her?”

  The mares let out despondent neighs, whinnying louder than ever while Isabelle's lips turned up in a smirk.

  Rage consumed Damien. It threatened to explode. A low rumble rose from within his chest, and a loud roar of agony escaped him. Then…fire erupted from his horn, and the tree next to Seamus burst into flames.

  Damien jolted backward, stunned. What just happened? He remembered Father's words about how a horn could kill if a unicorn were angry enough. But he'd never heard of fire erupting from one before.

  The members of the herd bolted, screaming in terror while Seamus and Isabelle scrambled away.

  “Quick, hide!” shouted a mare.

  “He's gone mad!” neighed a male.

  “His sire's death has driven him to insanity!”

  A stampede ensued, wild cries of hysteria ringing in the forest, hooves beating the ground in a frenzy of drumming. They raced down the trail, then, one by one, disappeared.

  Damien let out a cry of anguish. Didn’t they believe him? Did they really think Seamus was telling the truth? And did this mean they had never really accepted him? No one ever would except for Mother…and Chrissandra. He paused. Where was Chrissandra? He hadn't seen her. Did they kill her too?