Equus

by Rhonda Parrish

  Then Eli was rushing toward Taryn, terrifically fast on powerful legs and scooping her into strong arms, his concerned eye finding hers in the dark as another slug ate the dirt by their feet.

  Derrel watched the monster pick his girl up and bolt out of the tent. He squeezed the trigger but his vision was spinning and he could feel the sideshow girl’s hand around his arm.

  “You monster…” she was saying.

  He threw her to the ground.

  She sobbed. Bitter, wet tears slithered down her face and into the dirt, formulating spots of mud. He turned from her to his friends.

  “This is as real as it gets,” he said, reloading his gun. “This isn’t like last year. He’s got a victim, now. Just like his mother before him.”

  None of the boys questioned him. The one clutched his throat, his eyes pink and swollen in his head as though they were trying to dislodge themselves, as the other helped him to his feet.

  “Just watch out for Taryn,” he said. He couldn’t bear it if someone else hurt her.

  He couldn’t believe he’d missed her in the first place.

  They pounded through the grid of the midway, toward the mountains that huddled against the horizon in perpetual shame, ever since the mine inside its bowels had shut down.

  “We’re going in there?” Taryn asked, and Eli gently nodded, placing her on her feet. Shards of gravel in the cool grass bit at her soles.

  He fidgeted. “It’s where the hunt usually happens. Down in the mine.” It huddled over them, the silhouette of a crouching giant whose interest in them had become perverse. The logo for the old Minotaur company was still emblazoned in the rock. Eli made a motion to enter through the giant’s groin.

  She grabbed his arm. “Why should we go in there?”

  “Because I’ve learned it well. They used to catch me in there, but they rarely do anymore. I’m too quick, and the shadows are too dark. And there’s a special spot I’ve found where they can’t find me.”

  “The promised land?”

  He smiled, that thick curl on the one side of his mouth.

  Behind them, the sounds of motors increased, and they could see the trucks and cars whizzing through the midway, kicking up white clouds of dust backlit by the moon, boys hanging out the car windows like sneering demons, with guns and blades and pipes.

  Eli looked from the commotion to Taryn, his hands tense at her arm.

  “Why are they doing this?” she asked.

  “They think my mother killed someone,” he said.

  She almost said, Did she? But it didn’t matter.

  She looked at the deformity of his face, his radiant otherness, his sensitive eyes. And she let him lead her into the mine.

  Its cool darkness enveloped them. Behind them, the boys chattered and laughed, their sneers sailing by like invisible bullets, ricocheting in the dark.

  Eli gripped her hand and at first she stumbled behind him, as they navigated sharp turns and into narrow passageways she couldn’t see, until the rhythm of her body matched his, and she could anticipate turns, almost feeling them through the electric tingle of his finger pads.

  Whether they were close, to the entrance or to this promised land, she had no idea, but the dark was more of a comfort than the flashes of light that would occasionally illuminate them.

  The boys’ flashlights. Firebombing the dark, and she was sure they couldn’t find them, but when white light would flare up before her and catch her eyes, glaring off the scaffolding the miners had left behind, or the lip of an old elevator, gathering dust, her spine would stiffen and she’d press herself closer to Eli.

  Then he pressed her flat against the wall, the artery in his arm throbbing against her chest. She heard him inhale sharply and figured she should hold her breath, and she did.

  As they walked right past them, the boys didn’t look like they were having fun anymore. They were red-faced and frustrated, and she could smell the sweat and the anxiety on them. The blood rattling in their throats, their bodies inches from her nose. And yet they couldn’t see.

  She looked at Eli, and could see his eye staring back at her.

  A flashlight had caught his eye. Its pinpoint of light stained his iris and she could still see it in the dark long after the boys had passed.

  Time passed with them, lost to the blackness, and that point of light seemed to multiply, until it was a whole constellation.

  Centaurus, burning bright, always hidden by the smog in the sky.

  But not tonight.

  Tonight it blazed and she counted herself lucky that she’d ever been given the opportunity to see the stars at all.

  “You ready to get out of here?” she finally whispered.

  “I am,” he whispered back. “But where will we go?”

  “Anywhere,” she said. Then he lifted her in his arms. Carried her through the dark, so quickly she felt as though he might have been galloping, that they might even have been flying together.

  And though she knew it was impossible, she figured maybe they were.

  Eventually, she could see light. Shafts of gray tinged with silver, perhaps by more stars usually buried in clouds, and when they emerged they found themselves at the side of a cliff that peered down over town.

  She could see the way the water drainage units scarred the green grass of her favorite spot, and realized it was just as small as she’d always figured it was.

  Yet the woods sprawled out farther than she’d imagined, and in the distance beyond the tree line, gray and shrouded in mist, was somewhere new. Somewhere she’d never been. A place she’d never thought possible.

  “There,” she said, pointing, jamming her toes into the hard ground beneath her.

  “What’s there?”

  “Some place new. Some place that isn’t here. You ready to take that walk with me now?”

  He nodded and took her by the hand. Together they made their way towards that promise, buried slightly beyond the darkness on the edge of town.

  ***

  Michael Leonberger is a writer and teacher from Virginia, where he currently lives with his girlfriend and their pet turtle. He graduated from VCU with a degree in Cinema and has worked jobs as disparate as a horror make-up effects artist for Kings Dominion’s Halloween Haunt to being an extra in the Steven Spielberg film, Lincoln. In 2014, his first feature film, Goodish, was an official selection in the VA Film Festival in Charlottesville, VA. That same year he published his first book, Halloween Sweets. He has since had several short stories published. He writes a monthly column for the online journal Digital America.

  Different

  Sandra Wickham

  The last six years had given me a tough hide. Most of the stares, pointed fingers and whispers bounced like steel off a shield but my armour wasn’t impenetrable. As we stood in line for our appearance before the unicorn, a girl close to Kyra’s age pointed at her and asked her mother what was wrong with her. Her mother pulled her away from us, glaring. “Don’t get too close, you might catch it.” My fingers tightened around Kyra’s. I held my tears and my tongue—it wouldn’t do to make a scene in the middle of Unicorn City.

  Kyra gazed up at me with her precious brown eyes and my heart bled. I knew she understood, knew it hurt her when people were cruel. They teased her because her eyes were slanted, or because her nose was tiny and her tongue often stuck out, or because she didn’t walk and talk the way other kids did. Today, we were going to change all that. Today would be the end of Kyra being different.

  There were those in our own village who mocked Kyra and not everyone had contributed to the offering gently bouncing from its leather strap against my heart. Bale and his two sons had tried to convince everyone it was a waste of coin. Days before leaving, I took Kyra to the centre of the village. She loved to watch people and wave to them. Unfortunately we ran into Bale and his sons, who started in on us about what a blemish Kyra was to the village. They yelled such horrible things at us, what they’d do to Kyra given the chance, it made m
e angry and frightened all at once. It strengthened my resolve to leave, to bring Kyra to the unicorn. I never wanted anyone to hurt her, ever. I snuck Kyra away in the deepest of night to prevent them from stopping us.

  Unlike Bale and his sons, those who got to know Kyra, loved her. It was those people’s generosity that made it possible for us to be here. People like old Clay, who’d brought us in his rickety wagon and waited now outside the city.

  The line moved slowly. Our fellow devotees shuffled along, hope palpable in the air. It was obvious why some were here; a broken limb, blindness, infected wounds. Others didn’t wear their hurt so visibly. Perhaps some of the women struggled with fertility, like I had. Kyra had been a blessing, then a challenge.

  She was currently absorbed in the city, flinging her head from side to side to take it all in. The walls were painted a regal golden colour and a constant melody of voices, almost like singing, came from the alehouses, shops, smithies and tall homes people here lived in.

  Banners bearing the unicorn horn insignia waving from windows high above enchanted Kyra and she stumbled a bit at her own exuberance, but I held her up by the hand and she got her feet under her again. Most kids her age had been running for ages but she’d only managed to walk a year ago. Her legs still wobbled, her feet planted awkwardly and she relied too much on me to hold her up.

  Morning moved into afternoon faster than the line moved toward the unicorn. We ate, sang Kyra’s favourite songs and I imagined what she’d be like after we visited the unicorn. I wanted the best life for Kyra and would do anything to give it to her.

  Finally we made it to the steps lined with guards bearing spears twisted like the unicorn’s horn. Kyra broke my grip and ran toward one of them, her legs flinging out to the sides like a newborn colt.

  I raced after her. “Kyra, no!” My heart clenched with fear as the guard brought his spear down. A guard a step higher descended and stayed the spear arm.

  “Hold,” he said to the younger guard. I scooped Kyra up in my arms as she reached for the spears, their shine too much for her to resist. With a bow to the grey-haired guard who’d come to our rescue, I backed away into the line. Kyra’s cries of complaint drew hushing sounds from around us. I held her close as we worked our way up the stairs. It would be our turn soon.

  Priests clad in white robes, hands clasped within sleeves embroidered with the emblem of the unicorn stood at the entrance to the unicorn’s grove. One ushered us forward. I helped Kyra up the last steps to the top. The priest examined my letter of admittance, crinkled from dried teardrops. He nodded to the other priests and they stepped aside from the steel plated wooden doors. The wait had allowed me to focus on keeping Kyra occupied but now we were about to see the unicorn, I could barely breathe. Would she help?

  Two guards pulled open the doors and the rush of air smelled like home, of trees, luscious grass and moist, turned earth. This used to be a coliseum but was transformed into a self-contained grove with the aid of the unicorn’s powers. The doors closed behind us and we were in a forest worthy of myth. Kyra pulled me along the dirt path lined by blossoming deep green undergrowth which wove through strong trees reaching to the open sky. The walls remained somewhere, but we couldn’t see them. It would’ve been easy to forget they were there.

  Nerves made my palms sweaty and Kyra’s tiny hand slid out of mine. I ran after her, skidding to a stop at the sight of the unicorn. She stood in a grassy area at the end of the path, her fine white hair shining in the fading daylight. Her mane cascaded down her long neck like a waterfall, but it was her golden horn that held me transfixed. Kyra, however, didn’t stop. She ran in her lopsided way, straight toward the unicorn.

  “Kyra, stop! It will hurt,” I yelled. Kyra ignored me and threw her arms around the unicorn’s lowered neck.

  Time slowed as my daughter’s face buried into the unicorn’s mane and I braced for the screams that didn’t come. The mere touch of the unicorn should’ve had her skin burnt to blisters but Kyra only giggled.

  “Kyra, come.” I rushed forward to detach her.

  “Leave her,” the unicorn said, her voice beautiful and powerful. “Shall we sit, little one? It is not often I meet someone pure enough to hold me so.” My soul filled with light at the kindness in her tone. While Kyra clung to her, the unicorn lowered herself, gently easing them both to the soft grass beneath.

  Kyra laughed with pure delight and I felt the same giddiness rising inside of me. It was a moment of pure perfection. The unicorn lifted her head and met my eyes. For a moment I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t tell if my heart still beat. Those eyes held centuries of wisdom and a deep magic I could almost see but never understand.

  “What do you wish of me?” she asked.

  I reached under my shirt and pulled the satchel of coins from around my neck. “I have brought your offering.” I pointed a shaky finger at Kyra. “My wish is for you to heal my daughter.”

  The unicorn studied me until I might have melted under her gaze and then nudged Kyra, who laughed again and clapped her hands.

  “Your daughter does not need healing.”

  My heart fell heavy in my chest. “What do you mean?”

  “There is nothing wrong with her.”

  “Nothing? Can you not see?” I flung both hands toward my daughter, begging the unicorn with my entire being. “She is not normal.”

  The unicorn’s head bobbed up. “What is normal? Am I normal? I do not think so. Still, would I wish to be something else? Definitely not.”

  I faced the unicorn with the same ferocity I used too often to fight for my daughter. “All her life she has struggled, to eat, to walk, to talk. You think that is not worth healing?”

  “She eats and walks and talks now, does she not?”

  “But her life is so hard,” I protested, falling to my knees, all my hopes and dreams for Kyra crashing away. “She does these things but not as well as others. Can’t you see how hard it is for her? Please?”

  “She is simply living in her own time.”

  I shook my head. “I wish things to be easy for her, like everyone else.”

  The unicorn let out a soft laugh. “You think life is easy for everyone else? You don’t think other children have challenges? Other mothers suffer to see their children work through hardship? Your daughter does not need my help.”

  Her words were daggers to my heart, to my soul. “I want a better life for her. Many either mock her or ignore her, dismiss her as nothing—even her father abandoned us when he saw her. What will she do with her life?”

  “What do you do?” the unicorn asked.

  “I care for our elderly,” I answered. “Clean, cook, do errands, help bathe them, whatever they will pay me for.”

  “Your daughter could not do this when she is older?”

  “I want more for my daughter than what I have become.”

  “What you have become is the mother, teacher, and protector of this wonderful being. A most worthy existence. Your daughter will influence many people and do great things in her life.”

  Frustration and anger churned together inside of me. I pushed to my feet. “We waited for three years to come see you, travelled days to get here, stood out in that line all day and you refuse to help us?”

  “I am sorry it was difficult to see me. Many people seek my help and it fills my days.” She allowed Kyra to rub her neck, my daughter’s hands clumsy but as gentle as she could be. “I am glad to have met you.”

  Something inside me snapped. Years of waiting, months of swallowing my pride as people brought us coins, days of travel and now a return trip with nothing to show for it. What would my people think when I came back and Kyra hadn’t changed? What would Bale and his sons do? “You cannot do this to her. She isn’t safe,” I said, jaw tight.

  “She has you,” the unicorn replied.

  “I am not enough,” I yelled. The words of Bale and his sons splintered through my head. “There are those who would hurt her.” Kyra flinched and I took a brea
th to calm myself. Stress already showed on her tiny face.

  The unicorn bowed her head slightly. “She is strong. A survivor.”

  Anger flared hotter inside of me. “How can you refuse us?”

  The unicorn lifted her head with a small snort. “I am a unicorn. I do as I choose. It was your choice to come to me, mine now to tell you she does not need me.”

  I kept my voice steady for Kyra’s sake, though I wanted to scream at the unicorn. “Is it your choice to be kept here? Do you enjoy being locked within the city? You may have decided to be here to help people, but look around you. Have you forgotten walls hold you in? Priests and guards stand at the door? It’s an illusion of free will. You’re just a prisoner here, aren’t you?”

  “That is not true,” the unicorn replied.

  “No?” I shook the satchel at her. “What use do you have for coins, then?” I threw it on the ground.

  Kyra hit her breaking point, burst into tears and reached for me. I scooped her up and as she wrapped her arms around my neck, pressing her cheek to mine, our tears melted together.

  The unicorn got to her feet. “It is getting late. Stay here with me tonight, I’ll have food and blankets brought to you. In the morning you can begin your journey home.” Her hooves crunched along the path as she walked away.

  Kyra still latched onto me, I fell to my knees and whispered, “We’re going to be all right, my love. It’ll be all right.” I didn’t believe it, but I repeated it until she calmed, pulled back to look at me, gave me a tiny pat on my cheek and then smiled. I smiled back, my heart shattered. I had failed her.

  I woke with a tiny arm around my neck, a leg across my stomach and the smell of lilacs overwhelming my senses. The unicorn lay in the grass so close I could feel the heat from her body. Only Kyra’s sleeping form kept me from jumping to my feet.

  “You are safe,” the unicorn reassured me.

  As devastated as I was, her beauty and power overwhelmed me. “Please,” I whispered, wrapping an arm around Kyra. “Can you not help us?”