“He said what?”
“I’m joking, Lewis. He said you were ‘mildly hypothermic’ and you’ll be right as rain. Though he also said it’s lucky it isn’t winter, or you’d have been dead for sure.”
The door opened and Scott peeped his head round. He smiled at Lewis, but his eyes had lost their twinkle and his voice was stern. “You gave us a right scare, mate. What were you thinking of, lagging behind like that? We’ve phoned your mum. She was hacked off that you didn’t follow orders, but glad you’re safe. She asked if she should come and collect you. I said I was going to leave that up to you. You can tell me now or wait until morning. You’re going nowhere tonight, as the doc’s coming back in to see you first thing.”
Shame burned Lewis’s cheeks. His first instinct was to ask Scott to tell his mum to come. The thought of going home was so appealing that it was almost impossible to turn his back on the prospect. But he could picture the white-lipped fury on his mum’s face, the endless, silent drive home. And if he went home, he’d be abandoning Rhona. She’d been looking forward to this trip for months, talked about it non-stop. She was his best friend. He couldn’t do it to her.
“Can you phone my mum back and tell her I’m sorry?” he said. “And I don’t need to be collected. I’ll be home on the bus with everyone else on Friday.”
Rhona squeezed his hand again, crushing his index finger. “I’m glad you’re no’ goin’ home and I’m glad you’re no’ deid. Sleep well, Lewis. At least you’ll not have to listen to Derek snottering and snoring all night. I’m off out to the campfire.”
When they’d left the room, Lewis lay in the darkness, his mind racing.
What happened to me out there on the moor? Maybe bad memories got tangled in my head and my brain turned them into something solid. Maybe I just went crazy, alone in the cold and the dark.
Shivering, he pulled the covers over his head and tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes the unicorn came charging towards him, mad with fear, about to pierce his flesh with its horn…
Giving up on the possibility of sleep, he flung the covers off and looked at the time. Only an hour had ticked by since Rhona had left. It was going to be a long, restless night. Maybe some fresh air would help.
He walked to the window and pulled it open. The night air rushed in, cooling the stuffy room. Smells of wood smoke and sizzling sausages drifted in with it. His stomach rumbled. He wasn’t sorry he’d missed the ping pong, but the campfire stories might, after all, have been fun.
As he got back into bed, he jumped, because outside, in a voice so loud it carried across the field, someone had just mentioned unicorns. He lay still and listened.
“Folktales about unicorns abound, but the one most often told around these parts is the story of Whindfall Forest…”
The man’s voice was hypnotic, mesmerising, and Lewis closed his eyes, picturing the story. The legend was thrilling, he thought, as he drifted off to sleep, but the reality had been beyond words.
5
Rhona
As Rhona closed the door of Lewis’s room, she felt the tension seep from her body. Her shoulders sagged with relief and tears trickled unchecked down her cheeks.
“I’m ragin’ at him,” she mumbled. “But I’m so glad he’s OK.”
“Come on, Rhona,” said Scott, his voice brisk. “You’ve missed your dinner, and all this evening’s games. I don’t want you missing the campfire too. There are sausages, hot chocolate and toasted marshmallows. How does that sound?”
She was starving, so it sounded amazing, though she was gutted that Lewis was going to miss out. As she followed Scott outside, she breathed in the cold, pine-scented night air, the warm smell of smoke. The wind had whisked the rainclouds away and it was a calm, dark night, so much darker than in Glasgow. Even the stars were brighter, sparkling like diamonds on black velvet.
Everyone was huddling round a blazing campfire, singing daft songs. They’d finished their sausages, but Mr Deacon had kept two for her, and Miss James handed her a cup of hot chocolate. She’d joined in the songs, eaten her blackened sausages, drunk the lukewarm liquid and was sitting beside Derek, toasting gooey marshmallows, when Scott called for quiet.
“Listen up, guys, and say hiya to Alex McAllister. He’s a ranger at the Langcroft Estate, and he has kindly agreed to come along tonight and tell you some old Scottish stories. Isn’t that right, Alex?”
Alex McAllister was at the other side of the campfire and Rhona could only make out a tall, shadowy figure.
“Thanks, Scott. Hi, all. Yes, I work at Langcroft, but I’ve actually lived on the estate for most my life. My parents died when I was small, and my sister and I were brought up by our uncle, who owns the estate. Can you imagine growing up surrounded by these mountains and glens? From a very young age I became fascinated by the local wildlife, and I’ve just finished a degree in Animal Biology at Stirling.”
Derek let out a noisy yawn and Rhona poked him in the ribs. Alex was still talking, his loud, clear voice ringing in the dark.
“This is a very special area, and one that’s steeped in stories. The one I’m going to tell you was told to me by my Uncle Donald when I was around your age. It’s about unicorns.”
Rhona pulled a marshmallow from the fire. It was sticky and delicious. She popped another onto a sharpened stick and held it close to the glowing embers as she listened.
“Folktales about unicorns abound, but the one most often told around these parts is the story of Whindfall Forest. Whindfall lies only five miles from here and according to legend is the last sanctuary of Scotland’s unicorns.”
“Can we go and see them?” shrieked Flora. “Mr Deacon, can we go and see the unicorns?”
Mr Deacon’s voice was icy. “Hush, Flora, don’t interrupt. And it’s a story. Unicorns aren’t real.”
For a second, the fire lit Alex’s face and Rhona saw him raise an eyebrow, as if Mr Deacon had said something foolish. Then he carried on.
“The story goes that long, long ago there were great herds of unicorns in Scotland. People respected their power and magic and left them in peace. But in the Middle Ages, as trade with other countries became more and more important, greed won over respect and humanity. Unicorn horns were stunning, much prized objects, and the traders started rumours that they held incredible healing powers. So the unicorns were hunted for their horns, much as rhinoceros are today, and, like the rhino, the once great unicorn herds became almost extinct and were scattered, leaderless.”
The logs crackled, and red-hot sparks danced in the embers. Rhona’s marshmallow burned to a crisp as she pictured the unicorns galloping across the moors, constantly in fear of their lives, lost, refugees in a country that had once been theirs.
“A stallion named Dubhar took charge. ‘Dubhar’ means ‘dark shadow’ in Gaelic. He rounded the frightened survivors into one herd, a hundred strong, and led them north to safety. They travelled only by night and faced a thousand dangers: fleeing hunters and their slavering hounds, fighting off attacks by packs of starving wolves, fording swollen rivers and struggling through snowy mountain passes, until at last they reached a great forest. As they trotted through the ancient trees, past glittering streams and deep, clear pools, the unicorns knew they’d found the perfect sanctuary.
“Dubhar called on Beira, the Queen of Winter, deer herder and mountain maker, and asked her to cast a spell that would keep them safe for ever, in beautiful Whindfall Forest.
“She agreed, on one terrible condition. Dubhar accepted her terms.
“So Beira crashed her magic hammer down to put a protective charm round Whindfall Forest, and cast a curse: nobody who enters the forest intending to capture or harm a unicorn will live to see winter. The unicorns at last had the safe haven they needed.”
He stopped speaking, and except for the crackling flames, there was silence, broken by a hearty laugh from Mr Deacon.
“Well, Flora, I guess we’ll not be visiting Whindfall Forest. Just in case
the unicorns think we’re there to cause trouble!”
But something was bothering Rhona. “What was Beira’s condition?”
There was a heavy silence. Then Alex said, “Dubhar agreed to sacrifice himself. Beira turned him to stone because she wanted him to decorate her mountain throne. Now statues of Dubhar are all over Scotland, in every city and town market square. Look carefully and you’ll see them. Stone unicorns are everywhere, but, according to legend, the only living unicorns left in the world are in Whindfall Forest.”
He paused, and then stood up and stretched, a gangly silhouette.
“Well, you’ve been wonderful listeners. Thank you. Good night.”
Scott stood up too. “Thanks so much, Alex. Yup! Time for bed, guys! I’ll make sure this fire’s safely out.”
Rhona poked at the fire with her stick. Wisps of smoke floated from its embers and formed a shadowy shape. Rhona gasped, and Derek turned.
But the smoke had already drifted upwards into the night sky, and the unicorn shape she’d seen in it had vanished.
6
Lewis
Lewis had drifted off to sleep dreaming of Dubhar and his herd thundering across the moor, heading to the safety of the forest. But his dream became a nightmare when Dubhar turned and charged towards him, steam billowing like smoke from his flaring nostrils. The unicorn lowered his huge head, preparing to charge, and Lewis ran for his life and fell into a peat bog, up to his neck. Terror rose in his throat and he tried to scream, but he was turning to stone and his scream was silent. He tried to move his arm and hit something hard, sent it flying. The crash woke him.
Nothing was broken: he’d knocked a book off the table. All was well. He lay back on the pillow, breathing slowly. His sheet was twisted round his legs, and the blanket was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, kicked off during his nightmare. When he put his hand on his forehead it was clammy with sweat, and he felt shivery, as if he was coming down with a fever. But when the doctor came, he left again within minutes, after listening to Lewis’s chest and checking his blood pressure.
“He says you’re in splendid health, but probably best to rest today,” said Scott. “So I’m afraid you’ll miss the gorge walk. Highlight of the trip as well. Mr Deacon has kindly said he’ll stay behind in the Centre. He has your end-of-term reports to write, you’ll be pleased to hear. Your mate Rhona is going to stay too and keep you company, so we’re sorted. I’ll bring you in some brekkie!”
Lewis was angry with himself because Rhona was going to miss the gorge walk. He heard the crunch of boots on gravel, and his classmates’ voices drifting in through the window.
“What actually is a gorge walk, Scott?” asked Flora. “It sounds really scary!”
“You know perfectly well what a gorge walk is, Flora,” snapped Miss James, sounding much less bouncy than she had yesterday. “It was thoroughly explained during the pre-trip talk.”
“It’s a walk through a gorge, basically, so you’re going to get wet!” called Scott. “It’ll be a real challenge, especially after all this rain!”
“Why’s everyone wearing wellies?”
Trust Derek McIvor to ask a stupid question.
“Because you’ll be walking through water, and some of it will be deep.” Scott’s voice sounded a little strained, as if his reserves of patience were beginning to run dry. “Derek, what have you got on your feet, mate? Go back and get your boots!”
“But my boots are soaking. I went up to my ankles in mud yesterday. Will my trainers not do?”
Lewis waited until the bus rumbled off, then tugged open the curtains. Sun streamed into the room. Outside, the scenery was breathtakingly beautiful, the sky bright blue. The moorland, burnished copper in the sunlight, was backed by jagged mountains, still snow-capped in late spring. He pushed the window further open, breathed in the fresh air. It was so quiet and calm. The tightness in his chest began to ease.
He jumped when the door was flung open and Rhona bounded in.
“Oops. I should have chapped. You could have been in the scud, but luckily you aren’t. What are we going to do all day? Will we play Scabby Queen?”
They played cards for a while, but Rhona was a blatant cheat as always, so it didn’t go well. While Lewis was very relieved not to be taking part in the gorge walk, guilt nagged at him because Rhona was missing it. She didn’t seem at all bothered, but she was an expert at keeping her feelings hidden.
They didn’t see Mr Deacon. He stayed in his room all morning, though Rhona raised her eyebrows when Lewis said he’d be working on their end-of-term reports.
“He’ll be having a lie-in. He must be shattered, cos of the carry-on with you, and then Jay Fergusson spewing up all over his bed. At least Jay didn’t sick up all over people the way you did. That was the funniest thing ever.”
“Thanks for dredging that up, pal. It was four years ago, you know. Do you not think it’s time to forgive and forget?”
Rhona grinned, eyes twinkling. “How could I forget The Day You Sicked Up in School? It was the day we became best pals.”
“I’m not sure it happened that exact day. You weren’t that chuffed when I puked over your shoes.”
But it was true enough. If Lewis hadn’t vomited in an art lesson during his first week at Eastgate Primary, he might never have become best friends with Rhona. When he’d arrived, looking completely wrong in his Bellwood cap, shorts and grey knee socks, Rhona had barely registered his existence. At the end of the first day, he’d pleaded with his mum to take him back to Bellwood. She’d pointed out that some of the Eastgate pupils were refugees from war-torn countries and must feel a lot more displaced than him, but it hadn’t helped. Back then, all he could see was that everyone else seemed to have friends. He’d been miserable and isolated, but his sick splattering on Rhona’s socks had changed everything. It earned him the nickname Spewy Lewy for a while too, but that hadn’t been Rhona’s doing. Flora had thought up the name; even aged seven she’d known how to hurt.
While the other kids had shrieked in disgust as vile-smelling carroty sick spewed from Lewis’s mouth and splashed over their masterpieces, Rhona had stayed calm. She’d wiped up the mess on her socks with a paper towel, ignored her wrecked painting, and focused on Lewis, standing shuddering in his plastic apron.
“That was boggin’,” she’d said, head cocked like a robin’s as she gave her diagnosis. “Your face is green as Shrek’s, so you must have a bug. I’ll get Miss McKay.”
“Look what he did!” Flora Dixon’s face had screwed up, and Lewis could still remember how ugly she’d looked, her neat little features distorted with rage. “My picture’s wasted! There’s sick on my shoes! I’m telling my mum!”
“Shut your trap, Flora!” snapped Rhona, shoving her hard. “He can’t help being sick, and your painting was rubbish anyway.”
Lewis had been sent home that afternoon, but when he’d returned the next morning, still feeling awful, Rhona had come to see him in the library corner, and had actually sat still for twenty minutes and listened while he’d read a chapter of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone aloud. He’d brought the book from home and had been keen to impress, reading without stumbling, even on ‘mysterious’. Lewis remembered that he’d given Hagrid a funny, growly voice.
Rhona had been impressed: impressed enough to decide that Lewis would make an excellent replacement for Kayleigh Rutherford, who had been dumped as best pal after failing to invite Rhona to her seventh birthday.
She’s been there for me ever since. And friends don’t keep secrets from each other, do they? But what will she say if I tell her I saw a unicorn last night? Will she believe me or will she think I’ve lost my mind?
He decided he needed to try. “Can we move the subject away from vomit, please? I want to talk to you about last night.”
Rhona put her cards down on the table and leaned back, a wary look in her eyes. Lewis chewed on his lip, unsure how to begin.
7
Rhona
“First, I’m sorry I upset you,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I thought I’d hurt your arm, that you’d never speak to me again. I was afraid—”
Rhona shrugged. “I told you. We’re even. Stop stressing.” There was something else. She could tell. His face was ash pale. “I’m no’ surprised you were scared, out there in the dark,” she said. “I’d have been weein’ myself.” There was a short, strained silence, so she tried again. “Did you not think you were going to get savaged by a wildcat or chewed to bits by a wolf?”
Lewis shuffled the cards, seeming reluctant to meet her eyes. “There aren’t any wolves left in the wild. And wildcats aren’t much bigger than ordinary cats. Anyway, wolves and wildcats avoid humans. They’re not dangerous.” His hands were trembling.
“Mr Deacon always says that if we talk about stuff that’s worrying us, it drags the worries into the light, makes them shrivel up.” Rhona didn’t add that she always assured Mr Deacon that she had no worries to share, and that everything was fine, honest.
“You’ll think I’m daft.” Lewis spoke so quietly that she could hardly make out the words.
“Lewis, you’re my best pal. Daft or not, I’ll be on your side, whatever.”
“I did think I saw something weird out there,” he mumbled. “It must have been a mirage or something.”
Rhona couldn’t help it. Her eyebrows shot up. “A mirage? I wouldn’t have thought so. You weren’t crossing the flamin’ Kalahari!”
“Yeah, OK. Mirage might be the wrong word. I don’t know if it was a hallucination… a vision… an evil omen. But I saw a creature out on the moor. A really weird creature.”
Guardians of the Wild Unicorns Page 3
