by Kay Hooper
They emerged, finally, to face the sheer, black-rocked cliff of The Reaper’s base. Brambles and thickets grew here, too, nearly hiding the spring bubbling from a narrow crack in the rock. It was here that the Crystal Pool’s clean water found a source, the little spring forming a narrow stream which wended its way through the forest.
Hunter searched the cliff thoroughly, the unicorns’ quiet waiting telling him that they had reached their hiding place. This was the wide end of the valley, The Reaper spreading out two arms of black rock on either side of where they stood almost as if it sought to protect what would remain here. But Hunter saw no opening, and looked at Siri quizzically.
She nodded toward one of the bramble thickets. “Behind the brush.” And freed her hand from his gently to begin pulling the loose brush aside.
He helped, discovering only moments later that a narrow opening did exist, virtually undetectable, behind the brush. As Siri slipped through the opening, he followed, conscious of Cloud’s presence close behind him and hoping that the unicorn would take care with his long horn.
“How—” Hunter began, hastily lowering his voice as echoes threw the word back at him fiercely. “How is it that The Reaper holds a saltwater sea and springwater as well?”
“You’d have to ask The Reaper that,” responded her voice from in front of him in the narrow cave.
“I should have guessed. Another thing to take on faith.”
She heard the harsh rasp of his voice, but realized that there was nothing she could say to ease his tension. They both had to get through this day as best they could.
Before anything else could be said, they emerged from the tunnel and into a huge cavern which was, incredibly, almost as bright as day. Hunter blinked, his eyes adjusting from the darkness of the tunnel, and, when a horn nudged him gently, quickly stepped aside to permit the entrance of the unicorns. He realized that the moss growing all over the walls emitted an odd, yellow glow; the stuff grew so thickly that it brightened the entire huge room.
There were piles of forage and other signs of the unicorns having stayed here many times before. And this chamber, which appeared to possess no side tunnels or rooms, held a small and apparently deep pool of clear water.
Stalactites projected downward from the ceiling, eerily like the unicorns’ own horns, and the air was fresh and clean. Hunter watched as the creatures came in and wandered about, noting again how subdued they were; even Storm and Fancy, usually spirited, were quiet. And both Rayne and the new foal, Joy, were obviously nervous, remaining close to their dams’ sides.
Siri was checking over the piles of forage, frowning to herself. Then she returned to the tunnel mouth and Hunter’s side.
“We’ll have to gather quite a bit—enough to last for a couple of days at least.”
Hunter followed as she went back into the tunnel. He waited until they emerged into daylight before asking, “Do you really think they’ll have to stay in there that long?”
“As long as there’s a chance, we have to be prepared for it.”
The trip back to the cabin this time was silent and swift; Siri seemed more conscious of time passing. Once inside, she unearthed a couple of large woven sacks, handing one to Hunter and taking the other herself. They went back out into the meadow and he followed her example in using his knife to cut the tall grasses and place them in the sack. It didn’t surprise him to note that she used her knife with expert ease.
Both worked swiftly, and their sacks were nearly filled when he asked abruptly, “When?”
She squinted briefly up at the sun. “Couple of hours, I think. We’ll have to hurry.”
With both sacks filled, Hunter reached for hers. “I’ll make the first trip,” he offered, and she nodded, bending over to continue cutting the grass.
His trip was quick and so was the second. The third trip was made by both of them, since Siri decided it would be the last and, hopefully, provide enough. The unicorns would eat sparingly, she told him, because they knew as well what was happening.
Hunter emptied the sacks on top of what had already been brought, turning just in time to watch Siri saying a silent good-bye to the creatures she loved.
Just in case.
He watched as she went from one to the other, a gentle, lingering touch for each velvety neck. When she reached Cloud, restraint shattered, and she threw her arms around the old stallion’s neck with a smothered sound, her forehead pressed against his powerful jaw.
Whatever she said to the old Leader, she said silently, and Hunter, watching with a sudden lump in his throat, wondered dimly how many times they had gone through this wrenching farewell. The remainder of the herd stood still and quiet, even the frightened, nervous foals. And only a faint gentle rumble broke the silence; it came from Cloud’s throat and was, Hunter realized, a whisper of his rusty trumpeting.
Loath to disturb or intrude, Hunter found himself sending his own silent farewells to the herd. He realized in that moment that finding them had not been enough, that he wanted them—deeply, passionately wanted them—to live. And he accepted at least a part of the burden of their survival, whether Siri willed it or not.
He would protect them with his last breath.
She came away from Cloud, moving blindly past Hunter and into the tunnel. With a last look into the wise old eyes of the stallion, Hunter followed.
They emerged into the sunlight and Siri immediately began piling the brush in front of the opening. After a quick look at her, Hunter helped. Her eyes were dry, but hot, and her taut jaw spoke of gritted teeth and utter control.
He ached for her.
The last tangle of brush in place, Siri straightened and gestured to Hunter. “There are a few traps and snares on this side of the valley to be set,” she said evenly. “Then we’ll get out the weapons and set those snares on the other side of the valley.”
They were occupied for some time with the traps, which consisted of the type of snares used to capture or kill animals. Pits, looped vines, trees bent to await a spring; all were cunningly placed and set, all promised a swift death for the unwary.
Tonelessly, Siri explained each trap exactly on both ends of the valley, making certain that Hunter was familiar with each one. And it wasn’t until they’d set the last trap and begun working their way back toward the forest that he realized why she’d been so thorough.
Halting suddenly on the almost imperceptible path they were following, he said harshly, “You believe you’re going to lose!”
She stared off across the meadow for a moment, then lifted her eyes to his. Haunted eyes. “I have to be prepared.”
Holding tightly to two long spears in one hand, he reached out the other to grasp her shoulder. “No, it’s more than that. It’s something you’ve seen, or something you feel.” Words tumbled from him, darkened by fear, gnawed by anxiety. “Siri, you can’t be sure!”
“No, I can’t,” she agreed quietly. “I can only be ready—for whatever happens. You must see that.”
She saw herself then, saw herself frozen in anguish as a knife was held to Hunter’s throat. And she wasn’t ready, could never be ready for that. Hunter or the Unicorns. She had to choose. But she couldn’t choose. She couldn’t make that choice. No god, no Huntman, however inhuman, could demand that choice of her. But a Huntman would, she knew that despairingly. No! Better she should die. The Unicorns would be safe with Hunter. Somehow, she had to prevent that choice! And she prayed again, desolately, that she be spared that choice. Anything but that….
Hunter reached for her abruptly, chilled by the emptiness of her eyes. “Siri…”
She backed away jerkily, grace dissolved. She couldn’t let him touch her, couldn’t accept comfort—not from him. “We don’t have much time,” she managed to say tautly. “We’ll find cover at the edge of the forest. Best not to be caught out in the open, at least until we can judge how many come this time and where they’ll come from.”
His jaw tightened. “All right.”
&nbs
p; “And we’ll find food enough in the woods.”
He nodded.
They walked quickly, shoulder to shoulder, not speaking. Siri was disturbed by his taut silence. She fingered the quiver of arrows hanging from her shoulder, trying to think of something to say to ease his mind.
Her instincts and intuition told her to keep up a conversation between the two of them, allowing no time for other emotions to tear them apart. They couldn’t afford that now. She followed her instincts determinedly.
“We’re lucky in one thing. By the time they get well into the valley, it’ll be nearly dark. They’ll probably make camp near the edge of the woods. We’ll be able to get their number, and may even manage to draw one or two away from the others.”
“Divide and conquer?” he asked.
She heard the continued tension in his voice but ignored it. “It’s worked before.”
“How do you plan to draw one or two away from the others?”
She shrugged a little. “I’m not strongly telepathic other than communicating with Mother and Cloud, but I can read strong thoughts and create an…an uneasiness in the mind of a man. Depending on the man and his strength of mind, it sometimes causes him to leave his fellows and go in search of what bothers him.”
“And then?”
“And then I’ll lead him into one of the traps or kill him myself,” she said.
“I can do that.”
“No.”
“Siri—”
“Hunter, you don’t know the forest the way I do. I’ve done this before and I know what I’m doing. If two leave the camp at the same time, I’ll need you to follow and handle one of them; if one leaves, I go alone while you stay and watch the camp.”
He swore softly.
“Hunter—”
“All right! I see the sense in your plan, but don’t ask me to like it.”
Siri was silent.
After a moment, he said, “You said that sometimes you can read strong thoughts.”
“Yes.”
“From me?”
Siri weighed her words carefully. “From you, I sometimes receive…images. Not clear thoughts, but the images of them. Clear images.”
Hunter remembered some of his thoughts, remembered just how often his hunger for her had filled his mind. Unconsciously he winced, and began to understand how she could fear rape. “Is that why you’re afraid I’d force myself on you?” he asked roughly.
With all her senses strained in awaiting Huntmen, Siri had no difficulty in picking up images from Hunter now. Her breath caught, and she felt her body responding wildly, as always, to his desire. Striving to hide that reaction from him, she said, “You don’t think of force. Except…”
“Except when I wonder how long I can control my need for you,” he finished, grim.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I love you, Siri. I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“You’re a man. Men take what they want.”
After a moment, he said, “I can hardly blame you for believing that, with only Huntmen as your examples. But all men aren’t alike, Siri. The differences are as vast as the number of grasses and plants in this valley. Strong men, weak men, selfish and unselfish, brutal and kind, intelligent and ignorant. All of them are different.”
Siri understood what he meant. There was even some part of her that believed that whatever his own doubts about control, Hunter would never force himself on her. And there was, she knew, more danger to her in that knowledge. If he attempted to possess her with all his physical strength, her very nature would rebel and she could possibly fight him. But if he seduced instead, in caring and hunger, could she fight that?
She pushed the thoughts away, desperate to postpone that confrontation as long as possible. Gesturing as they passed the cabin, she changed the subject. “Huntmen won’t go in there, at any rate.”
He accepted the change. “Why not?”
“They think I’m a sorceress, remember? As far as the Huntmen are concerned, that cabin is cursed. I’ve never yet seen one cross the threshold.”
Hunter smiled just a little. “You do have a few special weapons in this war, don’t you?”
“A few. Their fear counts for a lot.”
“That reminds me.” He sent a sidelong look at her as they entered the woods. “What about the madness? I heard in the city that any who escaped this valley were driven mad.”
She frowned. “Madness? It isn’t my doing. I suppose the few who escape alive are held to be mad because they rave about what they’ve seen here.”
After a moment’s thought, Hunter agreed silently with her reasoning. After all, if he left this valley raving about dragons, unicorns, lyrebirds, and snow cats—not to mention Guardians and Mermaids—he’d fully expect someone to clap him rather quickly into a chamber for the mad.
Then he remembered. “The Huntman, King. I met with him. He couldn’t talk.”
“He could when he left the valley.” Siri had halted and now crouched down to peer through the underbrush in the direction of the meadow. “We can wait here; we can see without being seen by them.” Hunter felt perplexed and uneasy. If King had not lost his tongue in the valley, where had he lost it and when?
Propping the spears against a fallen log, Hunter gestured toward the thickening depths of the forest. “What about from that direction?”
She sat cross-legged on the ground and looked up at him. “From that direction, we have an alarm.” She whistled shrilly, and was immediately answered from half a dozen places deep in the woods.
Hunter nodded as he sat down beside her. But not touching. “So the birds keep watch.”
“All the animals do. They’re forbidden to kill in the valley, but they help all they can.”
“Forbidden by the Guardians?”
“Of course.”
“Have you ever seen a Guardian?”
“No.”
“Then how in hell can you believe in them?”
Siri was finding it difficult to meet his eyes, all too conscious of his emotions and her own. She tried to fight her own awareness, and her body was tense with the effort. “I believe in them because I see the evidence of what they do. I believe in them because they are. Can’t you understand that?”
“No.” He looked away, also having trouble with his feelings. “A race of gods? That is how you describe them, you know. A whole race of superior beings.”
“And is that so impossible? Are you so convinced that mankind is the superior race of the galaxy?”
After a moment, he shook his head. “No. I’ve seen other races that are wiser, more stable. But a race of gods?”
“Your word, not theirs. They are Guardians, protecting the diverse life and mythology of a galaxy.”
“Do they protect you?”
Siri looked down at her hands clasped loosely, seeing the tension there. Always, they returned to her. To her place, her responsibilities, her life. “No.”
“You’re the only one of your kind, aren’t you?”
“I’m the only Keeper in the valley.”
He looked at her, trying to keep his mind on the conversation and off everything else. But she was so beautiful…“Are there other Keepers, then?”
“I don’t know.”
“On this planet, perhaps?”
“I don’t know.” She glanced at him. “Why don’t you call the planet Earth?”
He countered her question with one of his own. “Do you hate my ancestors for destroying this world, Siri?” Even now, it was hard for him to say it, hard to accept that his ancestors did indeed destroy this world. But he believed it. What she had said about the unicorns returning to their world each Summer to mate and give birth had convinced him.
“I don’t hate anyone.”
“Not even the Huntmen?”
“I hate what they do. I hate their greed and brutality.”
“Do you hate me?”
She watched her knuckles whiten.
“Answ
er me, Siri! Do you hate me?”
“No.”
“You trust me?” He was intent, concentrating on discovering the cause of her resistance to him. Nothing else mattered in that moment, not Huntmen or danger or her own obviously growing strain. He had to know.
“To protect the Unicorns if I die, yes.”
He didn’t want to think about that possibility. “Do you believe that I love you?”
“I believe that you believe it.”
“But you don’t believe it’s true?”
I don’t want to believe! “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me, dammit!” he snapped. “I love you, Siri; I want to know if you believe that.”
She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It doesn’t matter,” she repeated slowly. “I can’t change what I am.”
“You’re a woman,” he said as he’d said before. “And no one could expect you to spend your entire life existing for a Summer that comes once in ten Standard years! You need human companionship, Siri, love—”
“How do you know what I need?”
He gazed at her steadily, willing her to meet his eyes; and when she did, he spoke with utter certainty. “I know because I felt you respond to me with need. Need. I saw it in your eyes, felt it in your body. Your heart was pounding, Siri, and you couldn’t breathe—just like me. I’ve seen you try to hide it. I’ve watched you turn away from me, and—cover your breasts with your arms when they would have shown me your desire.”
“Stop,” she whispered.
He held her eyes fixedly. “No, I won’t stop, because what we feel for each other is important. It’s rare. Love isn’t something you ignore, or throw away; you can’t pretend desire doesn’t exist. I don’t know what your precious Guardians intended for you, but they couldn’t have believed you would spend your life up here alone.”
“It’s been that way for ten thousand years.” She was still whispering, but the silence around them made her voice clear. “Keeper after Keeper, inviolable, alone. I was born to protect the Unicorns.”
“That was before you saved the life of an enemy, Siri. Before you responded to me with need. Before you gave me your trust.”
