by Lena Austin
“We’ll see if we manage to get a translation at least started, Brant.” Chantrea shrugged. “We found a good scroll last night, late.”
Prince Brant waved his hand. “You are too serious, by halves! My wife wants to see you, once a decade at least. She’s expecting again, and she wants to research a name in hopes we have a girl this time.”
The name of an exotic flower popped out of Shadow’s mouth. “Orchid.”
Prince Brant leaned over the side of his pool, his face already turning pink from the heat. “Brilliant, Your Highness! Simple, yet lovely. My wife will thank you.”
Shadow stepped from the pool at Chantrea’s raised eyebrow. “You’re most welcome, Prince Brant. My regards to your lady.” With a twinkle in her eye, Chantrea tossed him a robe. He donned it and they exited the cavern arm in arm.
“Don’t let her work you too hard, Prince Shadow!” Brant’s laughter followed them down the corridor.
As soon as they entered Chantrea’s home, two Sprites flew in the open window and flitted about her hair. Magically, Chantrea’s hair not only untangled, but also dried under their ministrations. Since they appeared as two glowing balls of light, it was difficult to tell how they did it.
Shadow watched, fascinated. Chantrea winked, and his clothes appeared, neatly folded, beside him on the table. He took the hint and dressed.
Chantrea manifested a beautiful snow rose in her hand, and thanked her tiny friends. They twinkled some response, and disappeared out the window, carrying the rose between them.
With her hair now dry and covered in a multitude of braids, Chantrea dressed in another tunic and pants, this time in green.
“I’ve an idea to temporarily put our dilemma in abeyance, if you are agreeable, Shadow.” Her tone was soft, and pleading. “Let’s just live for the now, enjoy each other’s company, and let the future handle itself.” She smiled, albeit a bit sadly. “It may seem terribly Elven of me, but I prefer to deal with my problems one at a time.”
Shadow started to disagree, and then stopped. “You’re right. We have the more immediate need of finding the solution to the transfer of power. Who knows?” He shrugged. “The solution may not be there, and I fight anyway. We can but try.”
He offered her his hand, and escorted her down into the archives, happy merely to be with her.
* * *
Chantrea rubbed her tired eyes. No matter how hard she tried, she could not focus her mind on the words to translate them. She was also in desperate need of the privy after endless mugs of tea. “Shadow, I need a break. My eyes burn.”
Shadow looked up from the scroll, his eyes so red they looked like storm clouds in a sea of blood. His voice croaked out, harsh from reading the scroll aloud. “I am forced to agree, though it galls me to stop when we seem so close. Chantrea, I think we may have something here.”
“I know. It galls me to stop too. But if I don’t take a break, we shall have to blame the puddle beneath my chair on the Sprites.”
Shadow snickered. “At least I can merely find a convenient outdoor location.”
Her eyes lit up. “Let’s sit under the tree in my garden and read what we already have translated. I think we may have enough. Translating word by word means we do not have a full meaning.” Then she grinned wickedly. “I can also bring food. I would guess it is late afternoon, and my stomach is wrapping around my backbone and complaining bitterly.”
They went in separate directions and met under the oak in her garden. It did not take them long to fill their bellies and read the translated scroll.
“Unicorns travel great distances -- or many miles -- to meet once a year in the Magical Forest. If a new leader -- Herd Stallion, perhaps? -- is needed, then fighting begins.” Chantrea read this haltingly.
Shadow gently took the scroll. “It would be better if you also did not have to translate my writing. I wrote this part.” He smiled and kissed her nose as if he couldn’t help himself. He held the paper to the light and read. “It has happened three times that no one wished to challenge the old leader, or it would cause strife -- or war? Did we ever decide? -- to allow fights. Thus, the leader chose his successor.”
“And that’s where we had trouble, isn’t it? The next sentence?” Chantrea peered over his shoulder, her breast resting there and distracting him.
Shadow cleared his throat. “Yes, but I think we puzzled it out fairly well. Let’s give it a go and see how it sounds. All creatures who would be ruled then agreed or not.” Shadow turned to look at Chantrea. “You know, I like that. It would be nice to know everyone wanted me to rule, instead of having no choice in the matter.”
“Who wouldn’t want you?”
Her loyal declaration caused Shadow to smile. He flicked a finger on her tiny nose. “You, my darling, might be called prejudiced in that regard.” He sighed. “There are those who feel Tanne’s policies of equality among all creatures of the Valley are wrong. They want to return to the days when Unicorns ruled as demi-deities. Durham is the leader of that faction.”
“They would return to the Unicorns being treated as gods, using and abusing the so-called lesser creatures?” Shock and outrage rang in her voice.
Shadow laughed. “The only problem with that is that you cannot force a chick back into its shell once it is hatched. The creatures of the Valley have tasted freedom from tyranny of that type. They would rise up in rebellion, and it would be a war of such scale, it might destroy the Valley.”
Chantrea gasped. “Is that why your Father wants an orderly transition instead of risking challenge fights? To avoid the possibility that one of those who prefers tyranny might be made Herd Stallion, and thus avoid even the remotest chance of war?” The thought of all creatures battling the awesome powers of the Unicorns was not a pleasant vision. Worse was the idea that she would know Shadow was dead or defeated, for the war would not happen while he lived. She was confident of that.
Shadow gathered her in his arms. “Partially, my dove. You see, the ones who wish to fight do so until there are no more challengers. I might win the first few fights, but there is always the possibility I would be too tired to continue to win. It is a contest of strength and endurance, not necessarily magic.”
“Why not do magic as well? You are well taught!” Indignation warred with her need to remain coolly neutral so she could record events properly.
“We are permitted magic, but all Unicorns have equal access to the power flows of the Valley. Knowing how to use those energies gives you the advantage. That is not a good thing for the herd. The Stallion must have endurance and wit, in addition to a measure of how much energy he can control. What if the Valley were not here, and there were no magic? It would then be the test of the physical abilities that must win the day. So, magic is secondary.”
“Hmph!” Chantrea settled herself to lay her head on his lap. “If that is so, then if I were Durham, I would send lesser challengers to wear you out, and cause you to reveal your favorite strategies. When you were tired and most vulnerable, then I would challenge.” She made a derisive sound. “Coward!”
“That sounds like something he’d do. It wouldn’t surprise me, in any case.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, and she wondered if he remembered that they were discussing Shadow’s own brother.
“Shadow?”
“Hmm?” He stopped playing with her braids and looked at her.
“Why do some Unicorns insist they are superior?”
A mocking voice broke the birdsong. “Because we are, silly Elf!”
Shadow and Chantrea both leapt to their feet. In the trees, wearing his rarely used human form, stood Durham. Chantrea looked back and forth, startled, as she realized how similar in face and form the brothers were.
Durham pushed off from the tree he’d been leaning against and laughed derisively. “Here I thought to check on your progress, and what do I find? My dear brother cozying up with the Elf historian!” He tsked-tsked. “I can’t wait to tell the others tomorrow
how you’ve compromised yourself and your research.”
His mocking laughter echoed as he teleported away.
Chapter Seven
Shadow’s heart sank as he stared at the spot where Durham had stood. What was he to do now? They had the translation, and it was accurate. He was sure Durham would twist his relationship with Chantrea into something ugly.
At first, Chantrea stuffed her fist into her mouth and wept into his shirt. Then she was silent for a few breaths before a steady stream of curses in several different languages erupted from those sweet lips. It was shocking in its own way to hear the names she called his brother, and the anatomically impossible positions she wanted to put him in, as were the implements she threatened to use upon him.
“Hush, my darling,” he murmured into her hair, sure she could not hear him. “I am sure the Council will…”
“…be forced to take his words under consideration. You know that.” She pushed away until she stood in front of Shadow, rigid with fury. “I’m more insulted that he thinks I’d lose my objectivity like that. Historians must tell the truth, no matter how ugly. My books are even bespelled to ensure no one may change what I write once it is entered, no matter how much it discomfits those in charge. Historians have died for that.” She tilted her chin proudly.
He couldn’t help but see how some rulers and leaders would not like the ugly truth about their foibles and mistakes to be ruthlessly put down for all to see. He chuckled. “I can see where that might make for interesting reading.”
“Who needs fiction when history is much dirtier, more twisted, and heart-stoppingly suspenseful than the best imaginations could conjure?” She looked both mollified and thoughtful.
Shadow watched as the same sort of calculating and secretive smile his foster mother could produce slowly lit Chantrea’s face. The resemblance was uncanny enough to twist his heart, knowing his mother was dying.
She brushed imaginary dirt off her hands in a quick motion.
“What are you up to?” He could see she had a plan, and whatever it was, he wanted in on it.
Her glittering smile never wavered, though her eyes went round with false innocence. “It is said that you should consider the source when presenting what you believe to be the truth. I think it is time we considered the source of that.” She stabbed her finger at their handiwork, on the ground where they’d left it.
Shadow bent to pick up their translation. “Okay. What is the source?”
She gathered up the remains of their picnic with a sweep of magic and picked up the basket where it flew. “My friend MoonTyger. Come on. I’ve a message to send.”
Shadow followed her as she half-ran into her tree home. Chantrea dumped her basket carelessly on the table and took a beautifully lacquered box off a shelf. Inlaid in the center in mother-of-pearl was a huge, Gryphon-like paw print.
“What animal made that print? It is too small to be a Gryphon’s.” He ran a finger over the inlay, impressed with the handiwork.
“It’s MoonTyger’s, I understand.” She handed him the lid to study further. From inside she lifted a sheet of crystal. It was shaped like an ordinary parchment, but clearly made of rock. While lifting out a tiny brush and an equally tiny pot of ink, she muttered, “Let’s see if I remember the trick of this spell.”
“Your friend the Were-Tiger?” He studied the paw print and noted the size of the claws. “That’s a deadly looking paw she’s got. Where does she live?”
Chantrea nodded, but began to paint pictographs similar to the ones they’d been translating onto the crystal sheet. However, as soon as one was done, it disappeared into the sheet’s surface. “Far away, in a place she calls only ‘the forest.’ She won’t talk about her home much. I think she likes being mysterious. I’m asking her for clarification of the scroll. That’s her mark on the bottom of the original. She won’t like hearing a historian’s truthfulness has been called into question over her work, I can tell you.”
“I was going to ask.” Shadow replaced the lid on the box. He watched Chantrea finish her message in silence.
“There!” She replaced the lid on the inkpot and washed the brush carefully, smoothing every hair gently into place. Both went back into the box.
Then Chantrea sat down and began to fold the crystal sheet in the oddest pattern he’d ever seen. She creased it one way, smoothing it with a knife-like tool, and then opened it again, only to make another fold in another spot. Slowly, a shape formed -- that of a tiny swan, complete with a bent neck. Chantrea picked it up and showed it to Shadow. The tiny swan fluttered its wings as if alive and preparing for flight.
“Such beauty from simple paper.” Shadow didn’t bother to keep the wonderment out of his voice. The little head dipped in acknowledgement of the compliment.
Chantrea took the tiny swan to the window and blew on it. It flew out the window, hovered for a moment, and then burst forth as a full-sized swan made of crystal. The graceful creature honked once, then took off like a slung stone into the sky, flying east faster than he thought possible. Shadow ran to the window to watch it glide over the eastern cliffs and out of sight.
Chantrea watched out the window for a few minutes, and then turned to Shadow with her arms crossed. The calculating smile was back. “There! We shall see what happens now. Few question MoonTyger’s judgment.”
Shadow walked over to the fire, intending to offer her some calming tea. Instead, he found himself stalked by a little Elf with a sardonic look on her face. He backed up, smiling. It was like his Gryphon nephews and nieces hunting. “Am I your prey, now?” He laughed.
“Yes!” She leapt into his arms. “If Durham has his way, you will be too busy for dalliances starting tomorrow.”
Her declaration was accurate. So was her magic. Once again, he was naked. “I see. What was it someone said about wearing out a Satyr?” He teleported them both upstairs to her bed.
* * *
Shadow’s teleport did not stop the momentum her leap had caused, so he fell beneath her on the bed, laughing. She pressed her advantage and kissed every inch of his body she could reach.
Chantrea wanted -- no, needed -- to make love to Shadow with a desperation she could not explain. Perhaps it was because she knew she would lose him soon. He was destined to be Herd Stallion, ruling the Valley and preserving his kind. A cruel little snake of jealousy knotted itself in the pit of her stomach at the thought of the fillies who would get what she longed to keep for herself.
“What causes you to act so fiercely?” Shadow’s voice turned concerned, even as his chuckles died. “I’m not going anywhere!” He grabbed her arms and lifted her body so they were eye-to-eye.
“I’m frightened for you!” The lie caught in her throat. It was better he never knew how much it hurt to know they would soon be parted. It was better to let him think this was nothing more than a pleasant romp, and she’d get over her love for him.
“Liar. You said before you were sure I’d win and why. That doesn’t sound like you have anything to be scared of. Tell the truth. What ails you?” He cuddled her close anyway.
A partial lie, then. “I’m envious of all those fillies you’ll soon service.”
Shadow’s lips twitched. “Why would you be envious of them? They are nothing to me.” The twinkle in his eye told her he was teasing, but it also said he didn’t understand the problem.
She couldn’t stop the pout on her lips. “You will need to further your color line. That’s an imperative. You must!” How did you explain the concept of monogamy to a creature whose very nature went against it?
“I’ll see to it, I can promise you that.” His eyes turned sober and stormy. “I don’t have to like it, though.”
Chantrea blinked. “You don’t?”
“No. Imagine, if you will, that you are an unmated Unicorn filly about to go into heat. You feel the urges, and can think of little else. You cast about wildly, hoping some stallion you at least like will do you the kindness, when you go into full heat, of eas
ing the ache. None are available or willing.”
“Oh, no!”
“You begin to see it, don’t you? You are humiliated, and cannot help but feel ugly and unloved. In despair, you seek the last resort: the Herd Stallion. He will, at least, ease your aching need, but without love or caring. No matter how gentle or kind he is, he doesn’t love you.”
Horror had her clutching her throat. “It has to be no better for you, knowing you are the last chosen. You are there to fulfill a need, not enjoyment. She doesn’t even like you, or she would have asked before then.”
He nodded and looked haunted. “That is the duty of the Herd Stallion in peacetime, my love. Why do you think they call it ‘service,’ hmm? It is a duty to be done. Nothing more, and certainly not enjoyable.”
“It’s sexual slavery!” She sat up, nearly in tears. “You would willingly put yourself into sexual slavery?”
His smile was wry, but the haunted look did not leave his eyes. “I have no more choice than your brothers, my darling. Besides, I’ll have other things to do, like running the Valley.” He chuckled somewhat weakly. “Some stallions enjoy the duty. I’ll ask for their help when I can.”
“But still!”
“You look ready to do battle for me, my dove. I promise you, it is unnecessary. It will only happen perhaps once every ten to twenty years. Remember, Unicorns breed slowly. Only rarely will my services be necessary. Most fillies are quite capable of picking their own mates. Just as I have done.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and leered in a ludicrous manner until she laughed.
Chantrea whisked away her own clothes and slid her body suggestively until she lay full-length on top of him. “Then you shall have to prove to me that I am first in your stallion’s heart, for as long as our relationship lasts.”
“Then I shall have a long time…”
Chantrea placed her fingers over his lips before he could finish the sentence. “You know as well as I that the Valley takes note of vows. Make no promises now, for the coming days may change things. It is enough that the Valley knows we love one another.”
