One Horn to Rule Them All: A Purple Unicorn Anthology

by Lisa Mangum

  Gracefully, Gran followed her to the cottage and bowed her inside, gesturing toward his comfortable chair. She sat, waiting in pain while he pottered over the stove and set potions to brew.

  Presently he was back and had her in his lap again, gently applying his hot brew and holding pressure on her pale white skin until the thorn-punctures closed and the pain went once more.

  “Do have you more tea, Gran?” Eilin asked as the last of the pain faded into dim memory.

  “Tea?” Gran asked as he put his potions and cloths to one side.

  “The purple tea you made,” Eilin said.

  “Unicorn tea,” Gran said in a questioning tone.

  “Yes.”

  “No one can see unicorns,” Gran said, half-teasing her.

  “The tea was good,” Eilin said, feeling her eyelids drooping as the rise and fall of his chest and the warmth of him calmed her.

  “The tea will make your stings come back,” Gran said. He took a breath, then continued, “Let me tell you about the rainbows.”

  “There were three that day,” Eilin said, recalling his words from so many times before. It was a marvelous story, Gran told it so well, and Eilin always filled with pride at the brilliant trick her father had played.

  “Three rainbows and only one with gold,” Gran said by way of agreement.

  “Fool’s gold,” Eilin remembered, a smile playing on her lips.

  “Fool’s gold,” Gran agreed. “And the fool was me, parted from friend and family by the faint hope that I could find enough gold to save them—”

  “—from the famine,” Eilin finished, her eyes now closing. “The unicorn ripped through that day, ripped from our world to yours three times.”

  “Ripped indeed,” Gran agreed, his tone tightly neutral. “But no one saw them.”

  “Unicorns are invisible,” Eilin agreed, closing her mouth at last and snoring gently on the old man’s chest.

  “Clear as the water they drink,” Gran said softly to himself while the little elvish girl slept on.

  * * *

  “Gran!” Eilin shouted as she traipsed up the path to the cottage. Drat the man, where was he? “Gran!”

  He usually replied by now, doddering out from his cottage or around from the silly garden on which he so doted. He was being slow, and she’d make him bow so long in penance that his back would hurt.

  Well … maybe not that long.

  “Gran!”

  No sign of him in the cottage. He was old, Eilin remembered and picked up her pace. Disposing of bodies was something she never liked, and then there’d be the bother of having to find a new human. She sprinted around the corner, looking for him kneeling over some of his silly rhubarb or his beets, but he wasn’t there.

  His garden opened up on the fields of cloudgrass—the favorite food of unicorns. Gran had insisted on it as inspiration and best location for the sun his plants required.

  Every now and then over the years, she’d find him looking at the fields of cloudgrass, waving white and brilliant, watching as clumps were eaten by invisible grazing unicorns.

  “What do unicorns eat?” Gran had asked early on when he still dreamed of escape from the Elvenworld.

  “They eat cloudgrass and drink clear water,” Eilin had told him expansively. “That’s why they’re invisible.”

  “And how they can cut between the worlds,” Gran guessed.

  Eilin didn’t know and, as it was inappropriate for a princess to be ignorant, she said nothing, pretending that he was correct.

  Eilin gazed from Gran’s garden to the field, and her jaw dropped as she spotted the path. She followed it with her eyes, even as she willed her feet into action.

  “Gran!” she cried, racing into the cloudgrass fields. She couldn’t see him, the grass was nearly taller than she was. She’d forgotten that most days when they’d gone into the fields she’d been riding on his shoulders—Gran being her very own special two-legged beast of burden.

  “Gran!”

  In the distance, she heard thunder. Unicorns were racing. She saw lightning where their hooves struck hard ground.

  They were stampeding. Soon enough they’d bolt and tear holes between the Elvenworld and the slow world of humans.

  Was Gran hoping to catch one? How could he—they were invisible!

  “Get on!” a thin reedy voice came to her over the winds and the thunders. “Ride on, go on!”

  “Gran!” Eilin cried. “No, Gran, you’ll never catch one!” He’d be trampled for certain, unable to see the unicorns, unable to dodge their panicked flight.

  “On with you! Thunder and lightning!” Gran’s voice, exultant came over the noises and the cloudgrass.

  Eilin remembered a knoll nearby and raced toward it. It was only a few quick strides for Gran but for the little elvish girl it was nearly a hill.

  At the top she could see over the cloudgrass, across the fields and—there!

  “Gran!” Eilin cried. Oh, the fool, the fool!

  He was riding a unicorn, his weak old arms tightly clasped around its neck, his bony legs gripping its withers tightly, and in one hand he held a long-stemmed rose, waving it wildly, striking the unicorn’s hindquarters—the unicorn’s purple hindquarters.

  Rhubarb and beets, Eilin thought to herself with sudden clarity. All those years he hadn’t given up hope, he’d merely been planning. Oh, clever human!

  He’d raised the beets and the rhubarb for the unicorns. Fed enough, the usually invisible hide took on a faint, purple hue. Coaxed with a gentle voice and the sweet and the sour of the rhubarb, it was no trouble to bring one of the unicorns to within hand’s reach.

  “Gran!” Eilin cried, her thin voice dying in the winds. “Oh, Gran, take me with you!”

  The old man didn’t hear her.

  “Gran!” Eilin cried at the top of her lungs, realizing at last how much she loved the old human. How he’d been the only one to hug her to him, the only one to ever care the slightest about her as a person. “Gran!”

  Thunder. Lightning tore through the sky and, suddenly, the wicked electric-blue glow of lightning burst from the purple-veined horn of the unicorn Gran rode.

  In an instant, the Void was torn and the far human world sprang into view. The unicorn, goaded unerringly by Gran, leaped through and the tear closed.

  A final burst of lightning and thunder rolled through the skies—unicorn and rider were only a dimming memory in the elvish girl’s eyes.

  ***

  Purple Is the New Black

  Jody Lynn Nye

  “We need something new this year, darlings,” the court wizardess Windesa said to her four apprentices, tapping her quill upon her polished ebonwood worktable. She frowned at the curling sheet of ecru parchment, which instantly smoothed itself out. She sat back upon the narrow stool, straightening her narrow back into a ramrod perpendicular to the seat. “Our patroness, Princess Amy, is getting bored of the same old thing. I had hoped that our last offering of hens that lay candy-filled eggs would last, but she has taken to throwing them at the courtiers. We need to change direction and come up with a completely new concept that she will love.”

  “What about curly horned deer?” piped up Negara, the youngest and newest of the quartet, all of fifteen, whose waves of shining black hair always peeked out from under her white lawn veil. “She has curly hair. She might enjoy seeing wild animals that resemble her.”

  Windesa smiled. Negara might not have been the brightest candle on the mantelpiece, but she was always the first to volunteer an idea, even if it had to be shut down immediately.

  “King Foghorr will see it as a new kind of prey, dear,” the enchantress replied, her tone gentle but firm. “I am afraid that the princess will freak, and you know how much trouble that will cause in the court.”

  She gave the youngsters a moment to ponder upon the last time, when Princess Amy, who had been under a curse since her first birthday, poor thing, long before Windesa came upon the scene, had overreacted to a negat
ive stimulus. Under stress, the heiress to the throne of Biggleswade deformed into bizarre shapes one after another, each possessed of terrifying magical powers. She could only resume her adorable, very feminine shape when coaxed to calm down. And, considering her not inconsiderable temper, it was not easy.

  Even King Foghorr, not shy about declaring war upon whichever of his neighbors had displeased him that season, tiptoed around his volatile daughter. It was for that reason that he and Queen Melba had sought out a witch or wizard who could beguile Princess Amy into a good mood on a regular basis.

  Windesa had not been the first of her guild to assume the job, nor might she be the last. Princess Amy had been known to take against the witches and wizards hired to entertain her. If they were lucky, she only terminated their employment. The churchyard had a corner set aside for the burial of the unlucky. The king paid top wages because he had to add hazard pay to the usual stipend enjoyed by court magicians. Windesa shared the bonuses showered upon her by the senior royals with her staff, knowing full well that she stood or fell depending on their loyalty and competence.

  The biggest problem that she and her assistants faced was no matter how marvelous the marvels they created, no matter how fantastic the fantasies, no matter how unreal the unrealities they presented, Amy was just like any other girl of adolescent years. She became bored with things that had fascinated or delighted her before. Hence, Windesa had to convene these idea sessions frequently. She tried not to rely upon brainstorming, usually because of the adverse effect it had upon the kingdom weather. The Cloud Wizard, who occupied the other tower opposite hers, was jealous of his purview.

  “I won’t seek to amuse the princess, if you don’t interfere with the rain over croplands,” he warned her when she had arrived six months before. He had nodded significantly at a lightning scar on the lintel above the door to her tower, leaving no doubt that he was responsible for its presence.

  Windesa had taken the warning. Her responsibilities were all she could handle as it was. Princess Amy’s whims could be aroused by the arrival of a new troubadour, or a reading from a history scroll by her tutor, or news of a curious foreign custom brought to the court by a lady sent by King Foghorr’s fellow rulers to join the princess’s bevy of nobly born companions.

  Windesa sighed. She looked at the sheet of parchment, still lamentably empty.

  “I want sixty ideas by nightfall, children,” she warned them. “Or I will inform her highness that it was you who deprived her of her next amusement!”

  One couldn’t waste an exit line like that. Windesa swept up her arms and vanished in a blaze of light.

  She had only made herself invisible, of course. She always found it instructive to see how her apprentices coped with having the impossible dumped into their variably capable laps. They had to be capable; one day they, too, would be employed as senior witches and wizardesses in castles and mansions across the continent.

  Tall, blonde, pale Ingvie immediately took the silver ring she kept on a chain in her belt pouch and dangled it above her other palm, seeking to divine ideas from the symbols the pendulum sketched in the air. Plump, ruddy-haired Corema put her fingers in her ears and screwed her eyes shut. She always thought better without distractions from her other senses. Golden-skinned Saisun went to the bookcase and began to peruse the codices that leaned against one another in their individual protective boxes. But Negara just looked at the stool where Windesa had been sitting.

  “I will go and ask her highness what would amuse her,” she said.

  “That’s foolish,” Ingvie said, with a firm shake of her head. “Her ideas are always madly far-fetched.”

  “Outlandish,” Saisun agreed.

  “I don’t have to take her suggestions,” Negara said. “But at least I’ll know what she doesn’t want.”

  Hovering invisibly in the middle of the room, Windesa smiled.

  * * *

  “Well, your highness, I hope you will be pleased by our small offering,” Windesa said, curtseying deeply before the heiress to the throne.

  Princess Amy, her taffy-colored hair hidden beneath a black veil and her weekday crown (the one with the single large emerald in the band), lounged in the salmon-pink seat, with one tiny, ladylike fingertip pressed to her apple-like cheek. It added to her air of thoughtfulness, though Windesa knew that there was very little going on in her mind. Although she saw herself as a leader and a trendsetter, the girl was young and very easily led. The same went for her retinue. Each of them also bore her own curse or ill-blessing, like Marquise Adamine of Coquet, who turned into a wolf at the full moon. Princess Amy was comforted to be among those who were like her in affliction, but she allowed them to have more sway over her than Windesa thought wise.

  They were all dressed in the height of extreme fashion. Gone were the comfortable gowns that allowed one to breathe during exertions such as dancing or riding out to the hunt. The current trend, brought to Biggleswade by a peddler who drove a cart full of luxury silk fabric from Clementine to the south, demanded that ladies cinch in their waists until their ribs met their backbones, yet the décolleté was draped over by embroidered shawl on top of fichu on top of chemise until the wasp-waistedness below was nearly completely concealed.

  All of the garments were black, so that the girls, young as they were, seemed to be in deep mourning. (Fashion-conscious Saisun had sighed for such a costume. Windesa had allowed her to wear a borrowed gown for one day until the girl collapsed on the long spiral staircase from oxygen deprivation.) In no time at all, those ridiculous outfits would be back in the seamstresses’ quarters, awaiting deconstruction and reincarnation in future garments.

  Princess Amy glanced at her friends, as if awaiting permission. A majority of the girls inclined their heads a finger’s breadth, so she nodded to Windesa.

  “All right, enchantress, show me your marvels.”

  Windesa clapped her hands together. The room darkened to stygian blackness. Low, thrilling, otherworldly music began to play. Near the ceiling, a pearl of light glowed. From it emerged a quartet of pastel-colored spirits who represented the four elements. Windesa had learned long ago that simply presenting her gifts to the princess was tantamount to having them handed back to her at once with a bored yawn. Coming up with an exciting presentation was tedious, but necessary. Fortunately, Saisun was a genius at such things. She had a knack for obscure symbolism. Anything that was hard to understand was irresistible to the royal lady.

  A shrill shriek arose.

  “Is that you?” Windesa whispered in the darkness to her apprentice.

  “No, mistress,” Saisun replied. “I believe it is Countess Primrose Akanamawe.”

  “Good,” Windesa said, with a nod. “At least we have their attention. Proceed.”

  She had great hopes for this marvel. As predicted, Negara had returned with a blot on her nose and a list of things the girls found boring. Ingvie had come up with the creature at the heart of the wonders to come. Windesa held her breath as the tableau unfolded.

  The spirits spiraled down to the floor and began to draw out tendrils of light between their narrow hands. Where they touched one another, riotous rainbows leaped and bounded. Windesa heard delighted giggles from the noblewomen. She was pleased. All of their careful research was paying off.

  At last, the pearl began to descend. Its luminescent glow lit the upturned faces of the entire court. All looked awestruck. The globe of light dipped slowly—but not too slowly—until the anticipation made even Windesa’s nerves tingle.

  When the orb touched the ground, it exploded in a burst of flames and an ear-shattering crack. At its heart stood a tiny blue dragon. The ladies of the court emitted a collective, high-pitched “Ooooooh.”

  The music turned from a grand crescendo to the questing trill of a single flute. The little dragon looked around. With a loud coo, it recognized Princess Amy, whose image had been placed by Windesa into its gestating mind. Its jeweled eyes widened, and it began to make its tottering
way toward her.

  The girl straightened up, an expression of delight dawning on her face. She held out her hands. The little dragon gurgled and toddled faster.

  “Look at him!” squealed Amy. “Isn’t he darling? I’ve never seen anything like him!”

  “We’ve had dragons,” Lady Anatolia said, leaning back and gathering her swathes of black silk around her. “Four seasons ago. Don’t you remember? They smelled like brimstone!”

  “Yes,” said Countess Primrose, her snub nose in the air. The others all nodded. “It was so tedious. It was always trying to eat our songbirds.”

  “What?” Princess Amy demanded. She turned away from the approaching dragonet and glared at Windesa. “It’s been done before? How dare you bring me old fashions!”

  “This was your idea,” Windesa said, turning to Ingvie. “Didn’t you research all her past gifts for dragons?”

  The blonde girl turned scarlet.

  “I … I thought it was long enough ago, Mistress Windesa! And this one has blue crystal scales. The last one had green velvet skin.”

  “This one doesn’t smell,” Negara said to the princess. “He’s very sweet. And he smells of cloves and ginger. That was my part of the spell.”

  “I don’t care!” Amy declared.

  Gathering her dignity, Windesa approached the throne.

  “But he is such a fashionable dragon, your highness.” She scooped up the little creature, who seemed stricken that the object of his affections wouldn’t even meet his eyes. “Look how well he fits into your arms. We beg you to accept him. He was made for your pleasure.” She held him out to Amy. The girl hesitated. Windesa let her stern countenance relax into an encouraging smile, and proffered the dragonet again. “Go ahead. Take him.”

  Reluctantly, Amy put out her hands. The little dragon almost leaped from Windesa’s grasp into them. It snuggled into her arms, cooing and burbling. Amy stroked him, and smiled.

  He was irresistible. In spite of Ingvie’s error, this was a perfect pet. Amy could not help but be enchanted by him.