Dark Moon ft-2

by Meredith Ann Pierce

“No more dangerous for me than for you,” Tek answered hotly.

  Dagg snorted beside her. The snow was falling thick as mare’s milk now. Their breath steamed around them like wafts of burning cloud. “Nay, Tek. Far more dangerous for you,” Sa was saying. “I am the king’s dam after all. Do you truly think that even grief-maddened as he is, my own scion would turn me out into the snow? And Dagg was your mate’s shoulder-companion from earliest colthood. I doubt Korr would do him serious harm for anything short of open rebellion.”

  Again she shook her head.

  “But you, my child. Though once Korr appeared to esteem you, at times even above his own son, his feelings towards you have greatly changed.”

  Stubbornly, the pied mare ducked her head. “I’ll not be warned away,” she said. “I’ll not let the pair of you charge boldly into wolves’ teeth without me alongside.”

  Dagg shouldered her gently. She leaned against him, grateful for his support. The grey mare sighed ruefully.

  “Very well, child, I cannot stop you. But have a care! In your present state, I fear the king’s ire can only increase as the winter months go by.”

  Tek shook her head, puzzled yet again by Sa’s words. She sensed the same reaction from Dagg.

  Once more she said, “How so?”

  The king’s dam snorted, eyeing the young mare’s gently swollen belly.

  “My dear, have you not yet realized?” she answered dryly. “You are in foal.”

  11.

  Moonbrow

  Tai-shan savored his new life in the fire-warmed enclosure, well pleased with the layer of winter fat at last beginning to sheathe his ribs. Whenever the weather held fair, the green-clad daïcha accompanied the dark unicorn to the open yard that he might frisk, leaping and galloping fiercely. Yet—maddeningly—he caught not so much as a glimpse of others of his kind. Gradually their scent within the enclosure’s vacant compartments grew old.

  The chill, dark afternoon was growing late, the daïcha just leading him back toward shelter. The weather had turned much colder than the morn. Ice slicked the squared cobblestones where formerly puddles had lain. His breath steamed like a dragon’s in the bone-dry air. All at once, Tai-shan pricked his ears. Abruptly, he halted. The muffled sound of hooves and far-off whistles reached him.

  With an astonished whinny, the dark unicorn wheeled and bolted across the yard toward the sound. He scarcely heard the dismayed exclamations of the daïcha behind him. His own heels rang sharply on the icy stones. The low, calling whickers grew louder as he ducked down a narrow passage between two buildings. Emerging, he beheld another, far more spacious yard, unpaved, and surrounded by a barrier of wooden poles. Beyond milled a group of unicorns. Tai-shan’s heart leapt like a stag.

  “Friends,” he cried. “I have found you at last!”

  The others turned in surprise. They were all mares, he noted, save for a couple of well-grown fillies, and all quite small. Their coloring was disconcerting, dull shades of brown mostly, not at all the hot sunset reds and skywater blues of the fellows he only dimly remembered. Among these strangers’ subdued, earthy hues, one mare alone stood out. Slender, clean-moving, her coat a vivid copper that was full of fire.

  “A stallion!” he heard her whisper.

  A companion nodded, murmuring, “Aye, a stallion—here! And mark the color of him.”

  “So dark—near black.”

  “He is black…”

  Tai-shan trotted toward them. “I am a stranger here,” he called. “Can you tell me what place this is?”

  None of the mares replied, though one of the fillies exclaimed, “Look! Upon his brow—”

  The coppery mare shushed her. The dark unicorn halted, puzzled. Beyond the wooden poles, the mares shifted nervously, eyeing him with mingled curiosity and alarm. Several seemed on the verge of bolting. At last, cautiously, the tall coppery mare started forward. Her companions cavaled and whickered, calling her back, but she shook them off.

  “Who—what art thou?” she demanded of him, seemingly poised between boldness and terror. “Whence comest thou?”

  The dark unicorn blinked. The other’s odd manner of speech was new to him, softly lilting. He found himself able to understand it only haphazardly.

  “I am…I am called Tai-shan,” he began, aware all at once that he still could recall no name other than the one the daïcha had given him. “I come from…from far away—”

  “Moonbrow?” the young mare interrupted. “Thou art the one our lady hath named Moonbrow?”

  Tai-shan frowned. Was such the meaning of his name? “You speak the two-foots’ tongue?” he asked.

  “Two-foots!” the other exclaimed. All at once, she burst out nickering.

  “Why do you laugh?” the dark unicorn asked her.

  “Thou calledst our keepers ‘two-foots’!”

  “Keepers,” the dark unicorn murmured. Short for firekeepers, doubtless. “You speak their tongue?”

  The coppery mare tossed her head. “Nay. No da can manage that. But I reck it some.”

  By reck, he guessed she must mean understand.

  “Da,” he said. “What is…?”

  He choked to a halt suddenly, noticing for the first time what he had missed before: the mare across the wooden barrier from him was hornless. No proud spiral skewer—not even a nursling’s hornbud—graced her brow. He half-reared, exclaiming in surprise, and saw that her fellows behind her were just the same: foreheads perfectly flat. Their manes stood upright along their necks like the manes of newborn foals. Like fillies’, their chins were beardless. Stranger still, their tails were not tufted only at the end, but were instead completely covered by long, silky hair. Beneath smooth, unfringed fetlocks, each hoof was a single, solid toe.

  “You are no unicorns!” he cried.

  “Unicorns?” The coppery mare cocked her head, pronouncing the word as though it were new to her.

  Tai-shan stumbled back from her, staring. “What manner of beasts are you?”

  “Daya,” the other said. “I and my sisters are the sacred daya of Dai’chon.”

  He heard footfalls behind him and glimpsed the daïcha hastening toward him. At the same moment, a commotion among the mares caused him to turn again. Beyond them, another of their kind was just entering the enclosed yard through a pivoting panel in the barricade of wooden poles. This was a stallion, as hornless as the mares. His coat was reddish umber, shanks black below the knee. He wore an odd kind of adornment about his head, made of fitted links of shining skystuff. A silver crescent resembling the daïcha’s spanned his brow. The pair of two-foots accompanying him each grasped a long strap attached to the muzzle of the thing.

  “Our lord cometh!” one of the fillies cried.

  “Hist, away!” her elder sister urged the coppery mare.

  Behind him, Tai-shan heard the daïcha draw her breath in sharply. Catching sight of him, the umber stallion pitched to a stop. His two-foot companions halted in seeming confusion. The daïcha hastened forward, calling out to them and waving one forelimb as though urging them to depart. Eyes wide, the two-foots began tugging at the long straps, but the hornless stallion planted his round hooves, stiff-legged, refusing to budge. Head up, he stared at Tai-shan. Abruptly, the umber stallion let loose a peal of rage.

  “What meaneth this? Who dareth to approach my consorts?”

  The dark unicorn snorted, confused as much by the others hot and angry tone as by his strange way of speaking. Before him, the mares screamed and scattered, thundering away toward the opposite end of the barricaded yard, all save the coppery mare, who cried out to him hastily.

  “Peace, my lord. Naught unseemly hath occurred. This is Moonbrow, that our lady hath…”

  “Moonbrow?” the other snarled. “The outlander that hath usurped my stall?”

  Tai-shan frowned. The meanings of several of the other’s words he had to guess at. Outlander must mean one from outside the two-foots’ settlement. Perhaps stall referred to the wooden enclosure in which he
now sheltered. Ignoring his escorts, the umber stallion stamped and sidled.

  “Wouldst claim my harem as well?”

  Tai-shan shook his head. He had no idea what a harem might be.

  “I seek nothing that is not my due,” he called across the barricade. “I long only to learn what place this is—”

  “A place where thou’lt find no welcome, upstart!” the stallion spat, eyes narrowed, his small, untasseled ears laid back. “Stand off, harlot,” he shouted at the coppery mare. “Thou’rt pledged to me!”

  Trembling, the coppery mare began to back away. Once more, the daïcha called sharply to her fellows. They tugged with determination at the straps of the stallion’s headgear, but he shook them furiously off.

  “Trespasser!” he flung at the dark unicorn. “Thief!” Tai-shan ramped and sidled for sheer bafflement. “What is my trespass?” he cried. “I assure you, I am no thief….”

  “Dost challenge me?” the other shrilled, rearing. “I’ll brook no such outrage!”

  With shouts of surprise, his two-foot companions lost their grip on the straps as all at once, the stallion charged. Confounded, Tai-shan sprang back.

  “Peace, friend,” he exclaimed. “I seek no quarrel….”

  “No quarrel!” the other roared. “Our keepers should have cut thee, not made thee welcome, freak! I am First Stallion here!”

  His words made no sense to Tai-shan. Across the yard, the two-foot escorts cried out in alarm as the umber stallion thundered toward the dark unicorn. Tai-shan tensed: the wooden barrier between them was only shoulder high, an easy leap—then abruptly he realized it was the coppery mare, not he, who stood directly in the other’s path. With a startled cry, she scrambled aside—too slowly. The umber stallion champed and struck at her savagely.

  “Hie thee back to thy sisters, strumpet!” he snarled. Then to Tai-shan, “Be grateful a fence standeth between us, colt, else it would be to thee I’d give this drubbing.”

  Cornered against the barrier, the coppery mare cried out, unable to dodge. Tai-shan saw blood on her neck where her assailant’s teeth had found her. She stood on three limbs, favoring one bleeding foreleg. With a shout, the dark unicorn leapt the barrier and sprang between them, shouldering the umber stallion away from the coppery mare.

  “Leave off!” he shouted. “She has done you no hurt.” Behind him, he heard cries of amazement. The place seemed full of two-foots suddenly, running and calling. The daïcha’s voice rose commandingly above the rest. At the far end of the yard, the panicked mares galloped in circles. Green-clad two-foots ran to contain them. The umber stallion fell back from Tai-shan at first with an astonished look, then seemed to recover himself. Viciously, he lashed and flailed at Tai-shan, who braced and struck back, striving to hold his ground lest he himself be driven back and trapped against the barrier.

  “Nay, do not defend me, Moonbrow,” the coppery mare gasped, limping painfully out of the umber stallion’s reach.

  The chon burst into the yard suddenly. Tai-shan heard him shouting above the tumult, the clatter of footfalls as his purple-plumes rushed forward with their long, pointed staves. Screaming, the flatbrowed stallion lunged and champed Tai-shan on the shoulder, drawing blood. The dark unicorn struck him away with the flat of his horn.

  “Moonbrow, have done!” the coppery mare called to him urgently. “Thou darest do him no injury. He is sacred to Dai’chon!”

  Tai-shan glimpsed the daïcha dashing forward to intercept the charging purple-plumes. She waved her forelimbs, crying out frantically to the chon. Taking note of her, apparently for the first time, he barked an order and threw up one of his own forelimbs. Lowering their staves, the purple-plumes strayed uncertainly to a stop.

  Eyes red and wild, the umber stallion wheeled and plunged once more at the dark unicorn. Tai-shan reared and threw himself against the other’s side, catching him just as he pivoted. The flatbrow's hindquarters strained, forehooves pawing the air. The dark unicorn lunged, shifting his whole weight forward hard until, hind hooves skidding, his opponent crashed to the icy ground.

  "Hold,” the dark unicorn cried, springing to press the tip of his horn to the other’s throat. “Enough, I say!”

  Eyes wide, the fallen stallion stared up at him. The other's red-rimmed nostrils flared. His breaths came in panting gasps. He made as if to scramble away, but Tai-shan pressed his horntip harder.

  “Peace,” he insisted. “I sought no quarrel with you, nor did this mare.”

  Across the yard, the other mares had quieted. They stood silent, astonished. The two-foots as well. Eyes still on the umber stallion, Tai-shan stepped back, horn at the ready.

  “Be off,” the dark unicorn snorted. “And do not think to trouble this mare again while I stand ready in her defense.”

  With a groan, the defeated stallion pitched to his heels and limped away. His two-foot companions came forward cautiously to catch hold of his headgear’s trailing straps. Other two-foots hied the mares from the enclosed yard through the pivoting panel. They disappeared down a passage between two buildings. The crestfallen stallion allowed his escorts to lead him after the mares without further protest. Tai-shan turned back to the coppery mare.

  “Are you hale?” he asked her. “Did he do you much harm?”

  The other gazed on him in seeming wonder. “Naught but a bruise and a gash, my lord Moonbrow,” she murmured. “No more than that.”

  Warily, another two-foot edged toward them along the wooden barrier. The young mare snorted.

  “Sooth, lord,” she exclaimed, “ye must be winged, to have sprung such a height with such ease—and from a standing start!”

  The dark unicorn shook his head, amazed. These hornless daya must be puny jumpers indeed if they found such low barriers any impediment.

  “Tell me,” he asked her, “why did you suffer that other to use you so? No warrior of my race would have stood for such—”

  “Warrior!” the young mare whickered. “Lord, I am no warrior, only the least of the First Stallion’s consorts—so new he hath not even claimed me yet. Only the First Stallion is warrior here, and he hath reigned four years running, defeating all comers at the autumn sacrifice—yet ye overcame him in a trice….”

  Drawing near, the two-foot clucked. The mare turned meekly, as from long habit, and started to go to him.

  “Wait!” Tai-shan exclaimed. “Will I see you—you and your sisters—again?”

  The coppery mare hung back, seemingly torn between the desire to stay and an obligation to accompany the two-foot. He clucked again. The coppery mare shrugged.

  “If our keepers so will.”

  The overcast hung very low and grey. Feathery flakes of snow, the season’s first, had begun to float down through the darkening air. Reluctantly, the coppery mare turned to follow her two-foot escort.

  “Hold, I beg you!” the dark unicorn cried. “Tell me your name.”

  For a moment, glancing back over her shoulder, the other’s chestnut eyes met his. She nickered suddenly, despite the obvious pain of her injured leg.

  “Ryhenna, my lord Moonbrow,” she called back to him, “that meaneth fire.”

  She limped slowly, three-legged, beside her escort toward the opening in the wooden barrier across the yard. Tai-shan turned to find the daïcha deep in debate with the chon. She stood directly before him, forepaws resting on his upper limbs, which encircled her middle. Purple-plumes surrounded them. The ruler listened, frowning, seemingly reluctant to accede to whatever it was the daïcha was insisting upon. The dark unicorn saw him twice shake his head.

  In a bound, Tai-shan sprang over the wooden barrier again and was surprised once more to hear exclamations of astonishment from the two-foots. The chon and the daïcha both turned, startled. Tai-shan whickered to the lady and made to approach. The ruler’s clasp about her tightened protectively. His purple-plumes tensed. At his sharp command, they raised their pointed staves and hurried to block the dark unicorn’s path.

  Tai-shan halte
d with a puzzled snort. Turning in the chon’s grasp, the daïcha protested. Reaching out one forelimb to the dark unicorn, she continued talking to the chon. The two-foot ruler eyed the young stallion suspiciously, but at a cautious nod from him, his purple-plumes fell back, staves still at the ready. Tai-shan went forward to nuzzle the daïcha. She crooned to him and stroked his nose.

  Releasing her, the chon laid one forepaw briefly upon her shoulder, then turned and strode away across the yard in the direction the mares and the stallion had taken. His purple-plumes marched after him. Dusk had fallen. The snowfall was coming down more thickly now. The daïcha’s female companions arrived, carrying firebrands. Tai-shan held himself still as, by their flickering light, the lady ran her slender forepaws gently over his nicks and bruises. She dabbed them with a pungent salve from a hollow vessel that was the color of soft river clay but rigid as stone.

  The chon returned, striding across the yard once more with his purple-plumes. He bore in one forepaw the same silvery adornment the umber stallion had lately worn. The long, trailing straps had been removed. Its dipping, crescent browpiece gleamed, flashing in the darting firelight.

  The chon handed his prize to the daïcha, who accepted it with a delighted laugh. Curious, the dark unicorn bent forward to examine the thing more closely. It smelled of skystuff and bitter oil. Holding it up in one forepaw, the daïcha caressed his muzzle and cheek. Tai-shan had no notion what the purpose of such an odd device might be, yet he felt not the slightest misgiving as, moments later, the lady of the firekeepers fastened it securely about his head.

  12.

  Winterkill

  The first weeks of winter had proven arduous. Sa shivered hard, frigid wind gusting her flank. She moved painfully, limbs aching. Sharp little crystals of ice seemed to have formed in her joints, making them ache. In all her many years she could not remember a winter so cold.

  The weather worsened by the day. Forage grew steadily scarcer and ever more difficult to uncover beneath the hard-frozen snow. King’s scouts no longer reported newfound forage to the herd at large. Korr alone decided who should learn of such. Those who gained his favor were led to the spots: those who earned his displeasure were left to fend for themselves.