Unicorn Genesis (Unicorn Western)

by Sean Platt

  “What’s the difference?”

  “The difference is in understanding.” Adam turned toward Edward. “Imagine you’re walking through Mead and you discover an object that will produce steaming marshmallow chocolate whenever you touch it. And it’s the best marshmallow chocolate ever, and ready at your need. It doesn’t need to steep in magic for three days like your grammy’s. You need only to touch the thing, and sweet marshmallow chocolate is delivered. Got it?”

  Edward licked his lips. He loved marshmallow chocolate. “Okay.”

  “So you take that object home, and you use it to make marshmallow chocolate over and over. Life is good. Right?”

  “Very,” said Edward.

  Adam’s eyes darkened. “But after a while, you die.”

  Edward looked shocked. “Why?”

  “Because the object was deadly. But you didn’t know that; you thought it only made marshmallow chocolate. You didn’t know what it was or truly how to use it … or even if you should. You knew only that right there at that second, it did something you liked, and wanted.”

  Eve nudged Edward’s shoulder with her nose. “Or if you want a less morose example,” she said, eyeing her husband, “let’s say your marshmallow-chocolate-making object turns out to be like a plug in a lake’s bottom. It makes marshmallow chocolate, but that’s a side effect. Its purpose true is to keep the water in the lake, and when you pull it out, the lake runs dry.”

  “Regardless,” said Adam, “you’ve found a thing that does something pleasant, but because you don’t know what it really is or how to truly use it, you might be doing damage — to yourself or others — without realizing it, or meaning to.”

  “So the humans … ”

  “To be dramatic,” said Adam, “they’re ‘toying with forces they can’t possibly understand.’ They’re drawn to white magic, same as we are, because the artifacts they find — living things, old vessels, gems and whatnot — make their plants grow or do other things that please them. That’s how it’s been from the beginning, since they first started clustering and gathering things that either we or the world’s magic left lying around. At first, it was just a novelty for them … and, at the most, a vaguely annoying nuisance to us because we felt that only we deserved to use magic. The first I remember was when a human found a special rock, and he discovered that when he touched it to a stick when he was cold, the desire for warmth inside him caused the rock’s magic to light the stick on fire. It meant nothing to us at the time, but that one man learned to pile many sticks together to make a blaze to warm himself and his tribesmen. He told others, who found similar rocks. They learned to roast the animals they killed over the fire, and stopped succumbing to a host of diseases. Communities clustered around those able to make fire. They didn’t understand what they were doing, but they had discovered something amazing, and wanted more.”

  “So what damage are they going to do to themselves or the world with magic rocks?” said Edward. “Other than set themselves on fire, I mean.” He laughed. The idea of humans on fire was hilarious.

  “Nar any damage,” said Adam. “But that’s part of the problem. A few magic rocks wouldn’t matter. But what about when they learned to make fire using magic? What about when they learned to build with it? Do those things matter? Is there danger there? And again, at first, the answer was probably nar. And so it will continue, slowly, generation after generation. Humans are fast, Edward. In a thousand years, they might have fifty or more generations — enough to evolve their thought and societies to extents that we frankly, cannot hope to match — even with magic. Since the dawn of time, we’ve only had three generations of unicorns. We’re powerful, yar. We’re strong and smart, yar. But compared to them, we are monolithic and unchanging. We started out ahead of them. But they have it in them, with time, to surpass us.”

  Edward rolled his eyes.

  “Their speed of change is both their blessing and their curse,” Adam added. “They are friends with conflict. Unlike us, conflict brews with their every breath. So while they change fast, they don’t have time to assimilate the wisdom that should accompany knowledge. They consumed and consumed and consumed the white magic. They swarmed on it like locusts. The world is still overflowing with magic, Edward, but I fear that may change if humans continue to grow unchecked. They don’t know what they have at their disposal, and don’t know what they’re doing to the world.”

  “What are they doing?” said Edward.

  “Remember what I said about the plug at the lake’s bottom?” said Eve. “It’s like that. They are collecting and using magic, but what’s more is that they’re polarizing it. Human use of magic in itself might not be a problem if they sampled light and dark equally, but they don’t. They’re like we were at the beginning. They want joy and paradise, but they don’t want strife. They want ease without difficulty. The things they enjoy are powered by blissful white magic because it makes things easier and, by its mere proximity, makes them happier. It’s hard to turn from good feelings. So they don’t.”

  Edward looked toward the horizon’s ramshackle buildings. He understood where his grappies were going, but humans were still an oddity. Unicorns outnumbered them at least fifty to one, and controlled most of the world’s magic. Yar, the soil and the world held abundant enchantment, but it was nothing compared to what a unicorn controlled with his horn. Grappy was always dramatic, alternately telling tall tales and crusading for his version of saving the world — a world that, other unicorns keenly pointed out, Adam had helped to create and seemed in no danger. Grappy was an advocate of opening relations with humans, whereas most unicorns found the idea ridiculous and beneath them — no more beneficial or necessary than opening relations with horses. And Grammy? Grammy had been a pariah for as long as Edward had been alive — and, if he understood correctly, much longer. Both believed in trafficking with undesirables. Despite their prominence in Mead history, they would never have the support to lead. Allowing Adam and Eve to have their way would mean a Mead filled with Darkness and humans. And since the fabled tree incident (more myth than reality, most seemed to think), the unicorns, elves, and other light creatures had done their best to keep those elements out, to keep Mead pure.

  “Do you understand, Edward?” said Adam. “It’s vital that you do. Our time here has grown short, and at the most inopportune time. I fear a tipping point is at hand, and it will fall to your generation — foretold to either be the last or the penultimate generation of unicorns — to deal with it.”

  Edward sighed then kicked at the dirt.

  “Do you understand?” Adam repeated.

  “Sure,” said Edward.

  Adam lowered his big white head and used his nose to nudge Edward’s gaze up from the dirt. “Don’t tell me what I want to hear, Edward. Yar, you are young. But you are old enough to say true what you think. I would rather you disagree with me than have my magic return to the Wellspring believing you felt true when you didn’t, especially about something so important.”

  Edward looked from his grappy to his grammy, assessing their big, blue eyes.

  “Say true, Edward,” said Eve.

  Edward sighed, and began to say true.

  “Well,” he said, “it’s just that I’ve heard what Shaman Marcus says to Ammy and Appy when he visits. And I’ve heard what the other grown unicorns say when they gather. And of course, I’ve heard it from the others my age, who — ” He paused, then surged on as he remembered his grappies’ entreaty to say true. “Who make fun of me for ‘the crazy things my grammy and grappy spout off about.’”

  “Those unicorns don’t — ” Adam began, but Eve cut him off, urging Edward to finish speaking.

  Edward paused, watching Adam resettle, then continued. “Anyway, they think there’s no danger and that you’re crazy to think there might be. They say there are a lot, lot, lot more unicorns than humans, and that there are even more elves than humans. They say that if we’re going to worry about something, it should be the trolls
. Humans are soft and have no magic. My friend Cerberus says that if the humans ever became a problem, we could just march in and wipe them out, bat them away like insects, simple as that.”

  Adam looked at Eve. Eve looked back and nodded toward Edward, waiting respectfully to see if he was finished. Edward decided he was, and said, “Anyway … ”

  “For a species as powerful as we are,” said Eve, her voice low and quiet, “unicorns are shockingly bad at seeing into the future. In that way, we’re a lot like humans. When the tree was growing larger and larger back in early Mead, nobody seemed to see that if we didn’t do something, its roots would sunder the world at its bedrock. The same is happening now. You don’t need to be magical or prophetic to see it. You need only look at the past.”

  “But I don’t understand why it’s a problem,” said Edward. “Humans use magic. So what?”

  Adam gestured with his nose toward the horizon, and the small town settled against it.

  “They are splitting the magic, the same as happened at creation,” said Adam. “Humans are — slowly, yar, but surely — creating their own paradise, just like we once had ours.”

  Edward watched his grappy, waiting to hear why it mattered.

  “The question we must ask,” Adam went on, “is this: As the humans build their paradise, what new and dark tree is beginning root inside it?”

  CHAPTER 8

  HOMEWARD

  Edward said that he understood what his grappy was saying, even though he didn’t. Humans were annoying and their horses were stupid, but they were just another tribe — another race of beings that the unicorns were content to ignore. Unicorns had, for as long as Edward knew, kept to themselves. They had their society, and they had their structure and routines. If they were threatened (which would be unwise for those doing the threatening) they were more than up to the task of defending themselves.

  Trolls were trolls. Elves were elves. Plants were plants. And humans were humans. They’d do their thing, tinkering in their small, stupid way with magic, and the world would go on just fine.

  The very air smelled of magic. It puffed out from under Edward’s small hooves with his every step. The unicorns radiated magic like a fog. And as to the Darkness? There was plenty of that, too. There were still thorns around, even in Mead. Trolls lived just beyond the Mead borders, and sometimes rumbled as if planning to attack, though they never did. There were gargoyles and ghryst and ghoulem and other dark specters. Edward felt that his own life wasn’t too easy (his appies mocked his inability to fly; the other colts and fillies mocked his horn; the entire society mocked his blood relation to Adam and Eve and their heresy), and that if the problem Grappy saw on the wind was a lack of conflict, then Edward felt sure he had it handled.

  So he nodded respectfully to his grammy and grappy and took his leave, walking back across the meadows and through the tall grass. Forget-me-knots greeted him, seeming to nod. He could feel their beauty shining like a sparkle. He wondered how much of Grappy’s story was true, and if Grappy had, indeed, had any hand in creating them. It was all stuff of legend, like the ancient grudge the whole of unicorn society seemed to still hold against Eve — not in a present way but in the way of a long-forgotten, never-resolved argument. Edward snickered at the idea of the two unicorns floating in the void, turning around and around for amusement. And with the thought, his mood brightened. He’d gone to Grammy and Grappy’s to hear one of their stories, and today he’d heard a whopper.

  But as Edward walked, he found himself remembering details of his visit — not of the story itself but of the way Grammy and Grappy had subtly supported each other’s versions, filling in details without being asked. He thought of the dead-earnest way Grappy had asked if he understood, and the similarly dead-earnest way Grammy had compared the human settlement to the peach tree of legend.

  He suddenly felt bad about having told Grammy and Grappy a lie. They would rather he be honest and disagree than speak untrue just to be on his way. Their words and what was behind them seemed to weigh tons.

  He looked at the so-called Realm that was hardly a realm. The humans had put a wall around their town. Why? What could such a wall possibly stop? And what, pray tell, were they trying to hide behind it?

  Grappy said that Edward’s generation would need to extend relations with the humans. Unicorns needed to be present in the human settlement, he said, to act as shepherds. They needed to help the humans use their magic so they would use it correctly. Why not simply forbid them to use magic? Edward had asked, knowing that the unicorns, with the power they held, could easily enforce such a decree if they settled inside a human town. Because WE need THEM, too, Grammy had answered.

  That was another thing that unsettled Edward as he walked — another thing he was sorry he’d lied about. Not only did Grappy want to “shepherd” the humans; he wanted to work with them — as equals! The notion raised Edward’s mane. Humans were lesser beings. He’d heard many proposals about ways to control the humans from the minority of those who were actually concerned, but he’d never before heard anyone propose partnership. Yet Adam had been deadly serious, and as he’d looked his grappy in the eye, Edward suddenly understood why Adam was so ostracized. He’d always been an outspoken advocate of communing with humans. But teaming up with them? It was truly absurd.

  Grappy said that unicorns were too proud to embrace the Darkness, even after everything Eve had shown them in early Mead. He said the world wasn’t supposed to be pure light or pure dark. The world, he said, was supposed to be a shade of gray.

  “The balance will always strive to be maintained, Edward,” Grappy had said. “There are things that will have to be done that a unicorn can’t do alone. We needed the peach tree, and the peach tree needed us. Only together could we birth conflict, only together move forward.”

  Edward had asked how that was possible. If Grappy wanted to “pollute” their white magic with Darkness, how could they do so now that the dark tree with its dark peaches was gone?

  “Today,” Grappy told him, “partnering with humans gives us our peaches.”

  At that point, the discussion grew too obtuse, and Edward started making excuses. He had games he wanted to play, and he needed to practice his flying.

  His small wings were already tingling with magic. Tomorrow would be the day for sure— but with some practice, he might take flight tonight, in secret, then wow his appies in the morning.

  He would show them.

  CHAPTER 9

  AN OCEAN OF DEATH AND DESPERATION

  It was night by the time Edward departed.

  His path from Adam and Eve’s haven in the far valley was as long and winding on the way back as it had been when he’d set out that morning, nursing humiliation over his failed attempt at flying. It took him hours and hours to traverse it, but the world was filled with white magic and Edward was a unicorn, whether or not his horn was yet fully grown. There was nothing in the woods along the mountain path that could or would hurt him, so as he walked alone through the night, he was tireless and joyous and unafraid. His appies might be mad at him for leaving without telling them and for being gone so long, but they were jerks to him even in the best of times. They’d know he wasn’t in any danger. What could happen? Would they be so lost without the hilarity of his failure?

  The night was dark, with only the sliver of a moon. The forest was dense, and Edward could see only a hundred feet or so in any direction. He trusted the magic’s whispers to tell him where he was, and that he was still on the long and winding road, slowly making his way home. He was in no hurry. Behind him was the troubling, almost sacrilegious thing his grammy and grappy had said was coming — and in the dark, the threat Grappy alluded to was harder to ignore. Ahead of him was his appies’ ridicule, along with ridicule from other colts and fillies who never tired of making fun of his tiny wings and almost-nonexistent horn. The only true friend he had was Cerberus, who accepted Edward for who and what he was.

  Thinking of this, Edward
slowed. Why was he in such a rush to get home? Why did he care what his appies thought about where he’d gone and what he was doing?

  He listened to the dark night, pausing to eat whatever plants and grasses he cared to. As he listened, Edward heard a great rushing from a nearby river, so hard and fast that the small unicorn thought the river must be catching melt from somewhere. He seemed to hear other things too, but the dark had a strange way of magnifying sounds, as it had a strange way of making your grammy and grappy’s outlandish fears seem suddenly real.

  Was a threat truly looming on the horizon? Were humans the other halves of unicorns that Grappy implied they were, as repugnant as the notion might be? Did Grappy really want to try again sending unicorn emissaries into The Realm and other settlements? Did he really want to partner with them, and stay in their settlements as friends? Did he really want to help the humans’ perversion of magic rather than stop them? And if Grappy did all of those things, how would Edward live it all down? He’d be kicked senseless by his peers, treated like an outcast even by the older unicorns.

  Edward breathed deeply, listening to the strange, almost deafening rushing of water. He considered heading down to drink from the river, but something stopped him. Despite the promised safety of Mead’s forest, he couldn’t bring himself to veer from the path. Edward made his feet move faster. His desire to dawdle was diminishing. Nothing was fair, and nothing was easy. His grappies were going to make the whole family outcasts, and his appies were jerks. There was nothing to be done about any of it. He could at least be in his own home, with familiar grass under hoof.