Once Upon a Unicorn

by Lou Anders

  “Shut your eyes, Curious,” said Grace.

  “Pretty,” repeated Curious. His mouth hung slack and his eyelids drooped.

  “Pretty, pretty, pretty,” he repeated. And his Scientific Mind must not have been as good as he thought it was, because now he most definitely sounded charmed.

  “Pretty, pretty,” repeated Wartle where he rode atop Curious’s back.

  “Please, Curious,” said Grace, “turn away.”

  But it was too late. Curious did not turn away. In fact, Curious followed the wispy wood wink as it drifted on through the night. Grace tried to stop him, but he pushed her aside. And he followed the wispy wood wink when it bobbed out over the River Restless, that churning, rushing rapid water that separated the fairy queen’s land from that of the Wicked Fairies. But wispy wood winks can fly, and unicorns cannot. Not even a little.

  Splash, went Curious as he fell into the swift current.

  The cold water awakened his Scientific Mind, but by then it was too late.

  “Help!” cried Curious.

  “Help! Help!” cried Wartle.

  But Grace did not have hands. She stamped back and forth on the bank, worrying about what to do.

  That’s when the kelpies came.

  Have you ever seen a kelpie? You wouldn’t like it. And you’d like three kelpies even less. Which is unfortunate, because there were three of them.

  Kelpies are nasty Fairy Creatures. They look like horses, if a horse’s hair was greasy-gray and if a horse’s mane was made of slimy green river plants. And if a horse swam in the water, waiting to grab anyone who came in so it could pull them under and drown them.

  Because drowning folk is what kelpies did. Maybe they did it for food. Maybe they did it for fun. I really don’t know. But Curious was in the river, and he was about to find out.

  The good news was, he wouldn’t have to be curious about kelpies anymore.

  The bad news was, he wouldn’t have to be curious about anything else. Ever. Again.

  I know what you’re thinking. If Curious drowns now, that’ll be it for our story. Something’s got to save him, right?

  You may be thinking that. But you can look ahead and see how many chapters are left in this book. Whereas Curious, he doesn’t even know he’s in a book. So he’s not thinking that at all. He’s thinking that it’s all over. He’s done. He’s fighting the kelpies off as best as he can, kicking in every direction. But it’s hard to kick in the water, and they keep grabbing at his tail and his legs and pulling him under.

  Each time they do, he gets a big mouthful of water, and then he has to struggle to reach air. He’s gasping and sputtering. It doesn’t look good.

  Wartle is caught up in his mane, and he’s looking very much like a drowning rat. His hands aren’t doing him any good either.

  Grace is running frantically back and forth on the bank. She’s shouting unhelpfully and whinnying in fear. Any minute now her terror of the kelpies is going to outpace her loyalty to Curious, and she’s going to buck and run.

  And then where will Curious be?

  Whatever you’re thinking, it doesn’t look good.

  Down Curious went, under the water, for the third time! Maybe for the last time!

  But just as he went under, Midnight burst from the Whisperwood with Vision at her heels.

  “There it is,” she said. She raised a hoof to point at the ghostly blue light bobbing over the River Restless. Vision followed her gaze. Then she snorted in shock.

  “That’s what you’re after?” said Vision. “You do know that’s a wispy wood wink, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course I know,” said Midnight.

  “What does a wispy wood wink have to do with the Plan?” asked Vision.

  “It’s everything to do with the Plan,” said Midnight. “It practically is the Plan. It’s a ghost fire, right?”

  “Yes,” said Vision.

  “But it’s blue.”

  “Yes,” said Vision.

  “Our fire is red. Or orange. Mine is really red.”

  “So?”

  “So I need to control my fire, don’t I?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “So if I want to control my fire, maybe I can change it.”

  “Change it how?”

  “By mixing it with blue fire!”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  Midnight gave a big horsey smile full of teeth. It was an “I’m so smart—wait until you hear this—I bet nobody has ever thought of something so clever” kind of smile.

  “By eating it!” Midnight declared. “Isn’t that just the most brilliant Plan in the whole wide world?”

  Vision looked at the wispy wood wink, and she looked at Midnight. She did not think it was the most brilliant Plan in the whole wide world. She had her own idea about it.

  “You are insane!” she said. “That’s the stupidest, craziest, worst-iest Plan I’ve ever heard.”

  “Yeah.” Midnight smiled. “I just have to wait for it to drift back to our side of the river.”

  “Weren’t you listening?” started Vision. “What part of ‘insane’ did you think meant I was endorsing you?”

  “Um,” said Midnight. “The part where you got all excited and shouty? I didn’t really hear what you were saying, but I liked your enthusiasm.”

  “That wasn’t enthusiasm!” yelled Vision. And they would have kept on arguing, but then Curious broke the surface of the river. He burst up after a really long dunking, and they saw him, sputtering and gasping and kicking up a big spray of water. Then the three kelpies rose too, braying and neighing and moving in to grab him again.

  “Hey,” said Midnight, “what’s that unicorn doing there? And those kelpies? Don’t they know that wispy wood wink is mine?”

  “I don’t think they’re after the wispy wood wink,” said Vision.

  “Oh,” said Midnight. “They’re drowning the unicorn.”

  “Yes,” said Vision. “Why don’t we watch?”

  “Watch?” said Midnight. “But shouldn’t we do something?”

  Vision thought about it.

  “It’s almost over,” she said. “The kelpies pretty much have things under control without us.”

  “No,” said Midnight, shocked. “I meant, shouldn’t we help somehow?”

  “I guess we could kick rocks at him,” Vision said.

  “No. I mean help him.”

  “Help the unicorn?” Vision blinked. “What would we do that for?”

  “Because he’s drowning.”

  “I still don’t follow you,” said Vision.

  “They’re going to drown him.”

  “I’m with you there,” said Vision.

  “So we should help.”

  “Help. The. Unicorn.” Vision said the words again as if she still couldn’t understand what they meant. Then she looked at Midnight.

  “But we hate unicorns. We all hate unicorns. We hate all unicorns. I hate unicorns. Don’t you hate unicorns?”

  “Of course I hate unicorns,” said Midnight. Because she did. Automatically. She’d never given it a second thought. Hating unicorns was just what you did if you lived in the Whisperwood. All night mares hated unicorns. They were snooty and stuck-up and they chased night mares out of the best parts of the isle. They looked down their noses at you, and they never had you over for occasional marshmallow parties at the palace. That’s why she hated unicorns.

  But then she wondered, Do I really?

  Do I really hate unicorns?

  She realized she probably did. But hating unicorns in general and watching one die right in front of your eyes in what was very definitely not a fair fight were two different things.

  “Think of it this way,” said Vision. “It’s one less unicorn in the world.
”

  “You’re right,” said Midnight. “One less unicorn.”

  They watched the unicorn struggle.

  “He is putting up quite a fight,” said Midnight.

  “Not one he can win,” said Vision.

  “Still…”

  Vision let out a snort of disgust.

  “Don’t tell me you like him?”

  “Hey,” objected Midnight. “I hate the unicorns as much as anyone. More, even.”

  “Good,” said Vision. “Because you know if it was you in the water, that unicorn would stand on the bank and laugh while you drowned.”

  “You’re probably right,” Midnight agreed.

  “You know I am. They hate us.”

  “Yes, but they hate all the creatures of the Whisperwood.”

  “They hate night mares the most, though,” said Vision. “It’s like they think we’re just the worst, like we’re the evil opposite of unicorns.”

  “The evil opposite,” repeated Midnight. She thought about those words. Evil. Opposite. Were the unicorns right? Was she the evil opposite of a unicorn?

  She wasn’t sure, but one thing she did know: An evil opposite wouldn’t lift a hoof to save a unicorn.

  The unicorn went underwater again.

  “I don’t think he’s coming up this time,” said Vision. “Good.”

  “I do hate unicorns,” said Midnight.

  “There you go,” said Vision.

  “You know what I hate most about them?” asked Midnight.

  “Their horns?” said Vision.

  “Nope.”

  “Their perfect coats?”

  “Nope.”

  “Their silly names?”

  “Nope.”

  “What, then?”

  “I hate them for being so wrong about us.”

  She trotted forward to the bank of the River Restless.

  “Hey!” shouted Vision. “Where are you going?”

  “To prove we’re better than they are,” Midnight replied. “I’m no one’s evil opposite.”

  And with that, Midnight plunged into the water.

  Midnight hit the water with a splash.

  The River Restless was swift. It could pull a horse down easily, even without any kelpies doing its job for it. But Midnight was strong. She fought hard against the current.

  With powerful strokes of her four legs, she soon reached the spot where the unicorn had vanished.

  She dove.

  Now, every bit of water in the Glistening Isles is always crystal clear. Bright as a mirror. Shining as a diamond. Unless, of course, it’s supposed to be spooky water, and then it’s dark and murky, foul-smelling and bubbly. But the water of the River Restless was as transparent as glass. Rushing, dangerous, bracingly cold glass.

  Midnight could see the unicorn below her. She saw the snarling kelpies biting at him. Three-on-one was not a fair fight. It made her angry. And that stoked her fires.

  She kicked as hard as she could. The water slowed her down, but she put her all into it. Thwump!

  The kelpie’s hide was squishy and slimy. It felt like stomping on a fish. By itself, Midnight’s kick wasn’t much. But when she struck kelpie scales, a burst of flame shot out of her hoof. It made the water boil and sent up a cloud of hot bubbles.

  “Ow, ow, ow!” yelped the kelpie. “What’d you go and do that for?”

  Kelpies can talk underwater. I don’t know how, but they can. You can hear everything they say to you just like they were whispering in your ear. Of course, few people know this, because very few people who hear a kelpie speaking under the water ever come back up to talk about it.

  Midnight couldn’t talk underwater, but she wasn’t interested in talking. She was there to fight. She struck the next kelpie the same way. A swift kick. A gout of fire. Steam and bubbles.

  “Ow, ow, ow!” it yelped. “That was mean!”

  Midnight attacked the third kelpie.

  But the third kelpie was determined. It was tenacious. It was unshakable. It wouldn’t let go of the unicorn. Not when it almost had him.

  That was a problem. But Midnight realized she just had to try harder. She just needed to give the kelpie more motivation.

  She swam closer. She opened her mouth. Then she bit down on the kelpie’s flank hard. She nearly gagged on the nasty fish taste. But she didn’t.

  Instead, she blew the hottest blast of flame she could muster. The fires squirted out between her strong teeth.

  Now there was a taste in her mouth like sizzling salmon.

  “Yeeee-ow!” the kelpie yelled. It bucked, it twisted, and it twirled. It was trying to dislodge her. But Midnight refused to let go until it did.

  It sizzled some more. It let go.

  All three kelpies swam away from her. They hung back, watching and nursing their wounds.

  But the unicorn was starting to sink.

  Midnight dove deeper. She wasn’t going to let the stupid unicorn go and drown now. Not when she’d fought off three kelpies for him. He needed to live. He needed to see how much better she was than him. How she wasn’t his evil opposite. She clamped her teeth on his mane and tugged.

  He was heavy. Like dead weight.

  Don’t give up now, you dumb unicorn, Midnight thought.

  She pulled and pulled and pulled.

  Finally, they broke through the surface of the River Restless and into the air. For a moment, all either of them could do was snort and wheeze, wheeze and snort.

  And then the unicorn looked at her.

  “You—you saved me?” he said. “Why?”

  “That’s a good question,” said one of the kelpies. Midnight saw that they were coming closer again. “This unicorn was ours. If you want one, you should go get your own.”

  “I don’t want my own,” said Midnight. “I don’t want any unicorns.”

  “Oh,” said the kelpie. “No, of course you don’t. You must have thought he was something else. A big fish maybe. If it was a misunderstanding, well, no problem. We’ll take it from here.”

  All three kelpies began to swim toward the unicorn again.

  “No, no!” cried Midnight. “You can’t have him either.”

  “I don’t understand,” said a kelpie. “If you don’t want him, we do. Either you drown him or we will.”

  “No one is drowning anyone,” said Midnight.

  “I don’t see how that makes any sense,” said a kelpie. “Drowning folks is what kelpies do.”

  “Well,” growled Midnight, “you’ll drown this unicorn over my dead body.”

  “Then it’s settled,” the kelpie said brightly. “I’m glad we could come to an arrangement. We drown you both.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” objected Midnight, but the kelpies weren’t listening. Now that they understood the situation they were back on mission.

  Curious cast a panicked look at Midnight.

  “What do we do?” he asked.

  “I use my fire,” said Midnight.

  “And what do I do?” said Curious.

  “You? You go back down.” And with that, Midnight reached out a hoof and shoved Curious under the water.

  Then she thought the angriest, wildest thought she could think, and flames shot from her mouth and flew from her nostrils and even spurted from her ears. The kelpies all reared back, their nasty green plant-hair singed and burning.

  Curious came right up, sputtering. He saw the smoke and the burned kelpie hair and his eyes went wide.

  “Can you swim?” Midnight yelled at him.

  Curious didn’t have enough breath to answer, but he nodded vigorously.

  “Then swim!” yelled Midnight.

  She took off through the water, heading for her side of the bank. But the current was strong, an
d the kelpies were blocking her way. And they were very angry.

  The opposite bank was nearer.

  There wasn’t time to think about it.

  She had no choice.

  She had to swim…

  To the unicorn side.

  Midnight turned and swam, Curious behind her.

  The kelpies snatched at them, but they reached the bank. They climbed onto the shore, panting, gasping, spitting water from their mouths.

  “Come back here and drown like you’re supposed to!” shouted the kelpies. Then they shouted some rude and angry words at them. They told the horses that they were mean and unfair and they called them nasty names, but Midnight and Curious stayed well away from the riverbank. Finally, the monsters sunk below the waters. Midnight could see them down there, blowing angry bubbles and sulking.

  Then she turned her attention to the unicorn.

  Midnight could see the water running off his hide in rivulets. And the mud from the riverbank was drying and flaking off his legs. He’d be spotless in a minute. Whereas she was wet and muddy. She blew a disgusted breath. Of course unicorns would be self-cleaning! It was so exasperating!

  “Curious,” he said.

  “About what?” Midnight snapped.

  “No, I mean I’m Curious. I mean my name is Curious.”

  “What do I want to know your name for?”

  The unicorn looked stunned.

  “But—but you just saved me.”

  “So?” said Midnight. She shook her mane vigorously. Water droplets flew off and spattered the unicorn, but they started evaporating immediately.

  “I don’t understand why you would do it,” said Curious. Then he narrowed his eyes and stared at her. “Does that mean I’m in your power now or something?”

  “What?”

  “Do I owe you a life debt? Did you save my life so that I would have to be your zombie thrall?” He twisted his neck, trying to examine himself from hooves to tail.

  “I don’t feel much like a zombie,” he said. “I’m pretty much still me. Are you sure you did it correctly?”

  “You’re not my zombie,” snorted Midnight.

  “Then you were trying to take me prisoner,” Curious pronounced. “Only we came out on the wrong side of the river.”