by Sean Platt
“Go home, I said.”
David let his left hand hover above his slingshot. The pouch at his side wasn’t much more than a short, wide tube of leather. David stored the slingshot in it almost upside down, the handle pointing up and to his rear for easy access. He had a second reservoir of alloy balls near his right hand. Edward knew David’s adopted stance, with both hands above their cargo, was so he could fire in barely any time at all. But again, what damage could the boy do? He’d need a canon to do anything. Mayhap Goliath had the right idea. Now, David could walk out and live. If he fought, even his family would suffer. The only thing worse than living under a tyrant was living under a tyrant who had a reason to personally despise you.
David’s voice was too steady, too brave. He was being foolhardy. “Make me,” he said.
Goliath knelt. Even kneeling, he towered above David. His big right hand was on his knee. With a surprisingly quick motion, he swatted David in the chest and sent the boy flying backward. He struck a cart wheel and sent it to splinters. The cart’s produce fell to the street. The crowd gasped. Then, tentatively, a few looked at one another then at Goliath, nervously clapping.
David stood and again came forward. Bits of lettuce had peppered his shirt, but still he stood as he had, in front of Goliath’s giant paw on his massive knee, hands hovering above his slingshot and ammunition.
“This is your last chance.”
Edward automatically looked at Goliath, but it wasn’t the giant who’d spoken. That absurd sentence was said by David, whose face was set, with piercing eyes trained on his foe.
The giant reached out again, but this time David was ready. He darted to the side, toward the swipe, and easily stayed outside his hand’s arc. Goliath, seemingly annoyed, extended his arm and tried again, this time reaching. But David, who wasn’t above shameless evasion, disappeared between the crowds’ legs. Goliath stood and looked at where he’d gone, already coming forward. The crowd parted in terror. There was nothing behind them except for another cart, this one filled with fruit.
Edward looked to one side of the parted crowd then the other. He hadn’t seen David move, and didn’t see David now. Still, he had to be in one of the groups. He looked at the people, but none were looking down as if there was a boy at their feet. They were all staring at Goliath, their hands halfway up in subconscious surrender.
Goliath had figured it out, so he pushed the people to the ground as carelessly as if searching for insects in grass. The people spilled to the dirt — first one side then the other — and Goliath began to rummage through the fallen townspeople like pebbles, pushing them across the dirt with his huge fingers. He reached out and smashed the fruit cart, flinging pulp across the open space.
Before he could look further, something leaped onto his back, then sprang upward, climbing the joints in his armor like stairs. David had circled around, moving through the crowd without, apparently, alerting any of its residents. Goliath spun, now finally taking the encounter serious enough to grow angry. He swatted at his back, making sounds with his giant hands like the clanging of great bells. David kept ahead of him, skittering across his armor plates like a monkey. Goliath continued to swat, now dancing in the open space like a man on fire. David evaded him for a while, but there was only so far he could go. The boy didn’t carry a knife and needed two hands for his slingshot. He stopped when he was beside the giant’s ears and steadied himself on a ridge near Goliath’s neck plate. The giant felt him there and twitched like a horse dislodging a fly, and David, with no handholds, found himself falling. Goliath tried to punch him from the air, but gravity was faster. David struck the ground then tucked and rolled to turn his downward thrust into forward momentum.
He rolled under the giant’s feet, away from and inside the arc of his swinging fist. Goliath pivoted, trying to crush him, but Goliath had underestimated David’s courage. He didn’t retreat; he engaged without pause, jumping up to grab at the giant’s undercarriage. He again began climbing, shoving his hands into the armor’s joints as if searching for weakness.
Watching, Edward couldn’t help but think that even if David died, he’d won. Goliath had been the feared ruler of this place for years. His power came from terror. David had no fear, and Goliath was showing himself to have plenty — or at least, showing himself to have cowardice. He was fighting a small human boy, and he’d worn his best armor. It was a frail move with no dignity. No matter how the fight ended, Realm citizens would see Goliath for what he was. And, Edward thought, they would never let him rule again.
Except that the people of The Realm weren’t cheering. Their eyes were wide and terrified. David was staying ahead of their big, strong ruler, naked of armor and unafraid. Yet the humans saw nothing of it. They looked ready to kneel, ready to run or worship when the giant’s fury turned on them.
As Goliath spun, trying anew to dislodge David, he proved himself even more cowardly. He couldn’t shake off the boy; David’s fingers and arms had grown strong, and he could cling to the armor plates even as Goliath danced and crashed.
The giant slammed his big back into the castle wall, making it spit dust. David clambered away from the point of impact, easily rolling to the side as the walls shook. Goliath called for his guards to help, and immediately three stout things that weren’t quite human ran from the crowd. All wore armor but not like Goliath’s; it consisted of a front and a back plate to protect the heart, with straps on the side for mobility. David looked down and saw his chance. He needed two hands to fire his weapon and needed at least one hand to hang on. So he let go. The minute he left Goliath’s shoulder, his hands drew his slingshot and an alloy ball. He fired then fired again. Two shots flew before he struck the ground and parried away. Both found their marks, piercing two of the guard things in the side. David’s pull was practiced and his aim true. The guards fell as the projectiles found their hearts.
David scampered around the castle, knowing he was faster than Goliath. He made it halfway around then stopped short just before the castle obscured Edward’s vision. He’d drawn again in a second. The crowd gasped. And when the remaining guard rounded the curved wall, it found itself staring at David’s drawn shell. The slingshot twanged. The alloy ball met the guard between the eyes and felled him.
Goliath was a half second behind, tight on the guard’s heels. David turned into the oncoming threat, knowing the giant wouldn’t know he had stopped. Without hesitating, David leaped yet again as the giant’s chest appeared before him. Goliath saw it in time and raised his hand, but David wasn’t going for his chest; he was aiming for the castle wall. He took two running steps up, holding his body erect, drew, and fired before leaping clear. But Goliath was too big, too insurmountable. The alloy ball struck him in the neck but was little more than a snipe to the giant.
He slapped at his neck where the ball had struck, somewhere between annoyed and furious. Goliath turned on David then came roaring down, slamming his giant hands into the dirt, cracking the ground under his blows. All around the crowd, people gasped, flinching back involuntarily as Goliath struck. The carts around the opening shook. But David was so little and Goliath was so large that the boy could duck between his legs, staying tight to his body so the giant couldn’t keep up. He tried to reach, and David ran to his back, tying Goliath as he tried to reach down, hitting his limit when folded, chest meeting his knees.
Goliath’s anger at David’s attack turned to rage over his humiliation. Now the boy was playing with him, making him look stupid in front of The Realm. Someone laughed as the giant tangled and fell. Goliath roared and used his giant hand to rip a castle statue from its pedestal and fling it at the offender.
David was fast, but Goliath had more fury and strength. The boy’s advantage began to wane. Just as Edward was mentally urging the boy to fall back, he did. Goliath charged. David ducked behind a barrel; Goliath shattered it and sent a torrent of brew into the dirt. The boy pivoted, using both hands to leap a vendor’s cart. Before Goliath could smash it, D
avid was on its far side, circling around to the back. He had wedged himself in a corner of the castle wall, and the giant had him cornered. Edward saw the death blow coming. Goliath’s fists rose, each half the size of the unicorn’s body.
David seemed to have been waiting for this exact second. As Goliath’s fists rose, he roared back and exposed his throat. David drew his slingshot and an alloy ball in a single smooth, lightning-quick motion as he touched knee to dirt. Sighting up at the underside of the giant’s chin, he drew the ball back and let it go. The entire maneuver took less than a second, and when Goliath’s fists struck the ground, so did the rest of him. David had to flinch back, pressing his shoulders to the wall, barely avoiding the crash.
It was over, and the crowd found its voice.
The Realm was free.
CHAPTER 25
UNICORN SUPERIORITY
Edward, telling his long story on Clint’s porch, paused. Clint waited for a long beat while he magicked a dish of apple brew from Clint’s kitchen. After the unicorn drank and looked up, Clint felt comfortable to speak.
“I’ve heard that story,” he said.
“Yar?” said Edward. His mouth almost wanted to twitch with a smile — strange for Edward. But the almost-smile had a look of knowing more than mirth, and already Clint felt his defenses starting to rise. He’d had enough of the unicorn feeling superior and making fun of him for his ignorance.
“That’s right,” said Clint. “Same with the flood and the man with the boat. Same with some of the others, from when I was young in yonder city. But where I know them as entertainment, you tell them like they’re history.”
“It’s a fine line, gunslinger.”
“Really.” He stood then looked Edward in the eye. This was the apocalypse. He’d seen many people die — many that he’d known and loved, in as much as the curdled heart of a widowed gunslinger could love. He’d ridden for miles and years with Edward, through agony and pain, and the unicorn still thought it was funny to mock him. He’d promised to speak true but was only spinning yarns.
“Yar, really,” said Edward. A ghostly magic arm came from Edward’s glowing horn, bent Clint in half, and planted him back on the deck, sitting against his will. “I am speaking true to you, gunslinger. The problem with you — the current problem with you, anyway — is that you have decided what is true ahead of time and will not listen to me. But what you must be too blind to see is that humans have always done that. It’s the reason Adam was afraid of you and the reason we felt the need, over and over throughout your history, to step in and guide you. It was tempting to think of our role as being that of commanders, and that’s how Cerberus saw it. He and many others wanted to make you do what we said was right, and even I, who was considered moderate, saw the point. You were impetuous then, and you remain impetuous now. Humans led the worlds to the Grand Cataclysm, and humans led the worlds to the shattering you see before you. It has always been because you assumed you were correct and acted around that assumption. Sit and listen, because now that I’m telling this story, you will dagged well hear it.”
“Unicorn superiority,” Clint growled. “You’re always right, aren’t you? You think we’re stubborn? Look in a mirror. Mayhap you should have eliminated us. It would have made things so much easier for you. Your way could have been undisputed. Just a world of unicorns, with no humans to threaten them.”
“If only that had been a possibility,” said Edward. “But no. Rest assured, in all versions of the story, you survived. And thrived.” He grumbled then snorted. “You have always been the world’s burden. The question was never one of you causing damage while pillaging lands. From the beginning, it was how much damage humans would cause. Ours was always a choice between bad and worse.”
“Glad to know we’re on the same page,” said Clint, standing again.
Edward’s left eye met both of Clint’s for a tense moment, then the unicorn’s demeanor softened. He seemed to remember that he was in the middle of his story, not its end, and that he needed an audience if he was to tell it. If Clint was reading Edward correctly — which, after all these years, he was pretty sure he was — then he was telling the truth about Clint needing to hear the story and its lessons before they marched forward to meet the waiting unknown.
“Still yourself, Clint,” said Edward. “I chose you as my rider. You saw how I felt about David. There were others — plenty of others — who were as worthy. But your species has a history of untamed darkness, and that darkness is more often than not untamed because you are lazy, not through any overt intention. It makes you volatile. You must see that.”
Clint saw Edward’s peacemaking gesture then sat to answer. “Mayhap I see it, yar. But only if you see that your kind is arrogant.”
Edward nodded surprisingly quickly. “Of course. Arrogant and blind. We have hidden behind masks of righteousness countless times. We are guilty of hoarding information and withholding secrets simply so that we alone possess them. The fact that the white unicorns among us have wings that we’ve kept hidden is just one more example.”
Clint stared. Speechless. This was the first time that Edward had ever admitted to unicorn failings, and he’d done it so completely.
“Why did you hide your wings?” said Clint.
“First things first,” said Edward. “You said that you’d heard these stories before. And it’s true, you have. But you have assumed that humanity did first and told stories second. But that’s not necessarily the order.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes, the turkey comes first. Other times, the egg.”
Clint was starting to feel like punching Edward again. But he fought it, knowing Edward’s cryptic statement would be followed by the story’s conclusion. In the past, Edward was obtuse and unhelpful. Now he was still obtuse, but was at least following with a yarn worth hearing.
“All right,” said Clint. “Tell me the rest.”
CHAPTER 26
KING DAVID
Decades passed.
David urged The Realm’s people to find themselves a new king and queen, but The Realm would hear none of it. David was just a boy, but he’d been the only one able to defeat the tyrant, or with enough courage to try. He had no choice but to take over.
Within days the people had moved him and his family into the castle almost as if by force. David protested, yet still people entered his old house then left carrying chairs, clothes, crates stacked with crops hastily pulled from their small personal garden. Pictures came off walls. Tools were transplanted into the castle’s outbuildings. David tried to stay in the house with his father, but every day they didn’t go was like being robbed. The only way to turn the robbery into a promotion was to follow their things.
It was too much work — and totally unnecessary in David’s opinion — to reconvert the castle to use by normal-sized humans, so they left it how it was: too large, like an ill-fitting shoe. At first, the grand entrance, high-ceilinged rooms, and enormous fireplaces were intimidating, but David soon grew used to them. His family required no such adjustment. He had two sisters and a brother, plus his ammy and appy. They all loved the gigantic dining room table, plates the size of large serving platters, and delicate cups the size of their heads. They admired forged steins, big as their torsos, beds that the entire family could fit in, though they each had their own room because Goliath had converted every bed in the spirit of greed.
David found his place in time. Townspeople used to Goliath’s tyranny asked him for his decree on laws. David told them to do whatever they wanted. They insisted, and David’s father made the choices. As years grew long and David entered his teens, he finally began to accept his role, realizing that the people needed guidance and that the best he could do for them was to be as kind and benevolent a leader as he could be. He reestablished the old ways, with farmers working the land around the castle and paying a small due of their crops to the castle in exchange for leadership, with everyone farther out allowed to make their ow
n trade.
Edward came and went. He went out on sojourn, searching for Mead, and found it in relatively short order. It was a day’s walk. He’d been wrong about The Realm’s location; it was, in fact, very near his grammies’ haven’s old location. But somehow the landmarks had shifted, and although he never got a firm explanation for why, Edward came to believe that it had happened in the fracturing of the worlds that started with the flood. This view was confirmed by the opinions (no one seemed to know for sure) of the other unicorns, still in Mead where Edward had left them all those years before.
Mead was still most of a day from the haven. But aside from the unbroken chain from Realm to haven to Mead, so much had changed around it. Edward’s old pal, Cerberus, who was shocked and delighted to see Edward return, had explained why: Since the change — which the others called the Grand Cataclysm — magic’s balance had shifted. Before, magic had been everywhere, but now it was concentrated mainly in what Cerberus called veins. The veins had always been magic’s true source, but now it was mostly contained to the veins and the areas they touched. The early unicorns had known that, which was why they’d stayed in Mead. The humans settled where they’d found the most magical rocks, which happened to be on top of the same vein. Adam and Eve had known it, which was why they’d built their haven between the two.
Edward walked between The Realm and Mead often, and every time he made the journey, he passed the site of Grammy and Grappy’s old place. The haven itself was gone, but Edward recognized its immediate surroundings, which had remained the same and intact as Mead and The Realm’s positions. He could see rock outcroppings and, when he passed through, could stand where he’d known the shelter itself to have been, remembering how he’d sat with Adam and Eve, drinking marshmallow chocolate as Grappy spun one crazy yarn after another. He walked across to the spot where Adam’s garden had been, remembering how Grappy had been spilling his magic into the ground on the day of the flood that killed them. Edward wondered, each time he crossed, if the old unicorns had actually been killed, or if they’d simply let go. Adam had been ready for the Wellspring, and so had Eve.
